Transcribed from the 1800 J. Easton edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org

[ ]

THE
CAMBRIAN DIRECTORY,

OR,
CURSORY SKETCHES
OF THE
WELSH TERRITORIES.

WITH A CHART,

Comprehending at one View,

The advisable Route—Best Inns—Distances—and Objects most
worthy of Attention.

Authors, you know, of greatest fame,
Thro’ modesty suppress their name;
And, wou’d you with me to reveal
What these superior Wits conceal?
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
All my ambition is, I own,
To profit, and to please, unknown.

Visions in Verse.

Salisbury:
Printed and sold by J. Easton, High-street: Sold also by T. Hurst,
Pater-Noster-Row, London; L. Bull, and J. Barratt, Bath;
J. Norton, and W. Brown, Bristol; and O. Tudor, Monmouth.

1800.

TO THE
FRIENDLY AND TRULY HOSPITABLE
INHABITANTS
OF THE
PRINCIPALITY OF WALES,
THESE
Cursory Sketches,
ARE RESPECTFULLY
AND GRATEFULLY DEDICATED, BY

TO THE
INHABITANTS
OF THE
PRINCIPALITY OF WALES.

As Dedications and Prefaces are considered proper avant couriers to a Work, the omission of either might be deemed an essential breach of literary decorum:—I profess myself an Old Bachelor, and am consequently anxious every minutiæ should be properly attended to.

It is generally customary in Dedications, to solicit the patronage of an individual; but, as these Cursory Sketches will fully prove, I by no means always pursue the common beaten track, trust it will not be thought too presumptuous, addressing myself to Pluralities, and humbly requesting permission, that the Cambrian Directory may be looked upon as a Ward of the Welsh in general: for I can with safety affirm, in no country will the Tourist experience more true hospitality and friendly attention, than in the Principality of Wales: I therefore with true respect and gratitude, beg leave to subscribe myself,

Gentlemen,

Your much obliged

And most obedient

Humble servant,

The Author.

PREFACE.

Faults, in the following Work, I readily allow, there are many, many; but, flatter myself, those who are best able to discover, will be most ready to pardon them. Tours or Journals, are now hackneyed subjects; and though this may be considered as a trite apology, and (if I may so express myself) an Author’s loop-hole, yet I can most truly assert, the present Observations were by no means at first, ever intended to be scanned by the public eye; but merely for my own private amusement, as a memento, to have access to, when I wished to breathe delight from Recollection’s power; my Remarks, therefore, were only such as any Traveller, an admirer of Nature, would with a pencil briefly put down; and I must beg leave again to repeat, I had not then the most distant thought of appearing at the bar of the Public: on my return, I naturally placed my Observations in a more connected form; and some time afterwards, accidentally conversing with my Bookseller, on the romantic beauties of Wales, and shewing him a few of my Notes, was persuaded to prepare them for the press; in consequence of which, I am now embarking on the literary ocean; and, as a candid behaviour ought to be preferred to all other considerations, before I sail on my cruize, beg leave to declare, that it is not the intention of the following sheets, either to rival the lively and impressive descriptions of a Wyndham or a Warner,—to contend with the literary and historical anecdotes of a Pennant,—or to equal the mineralogical studies of an Aikin: and here I candidly acknowledge, when attempting a description of Monmouthshire, I found myself not a little intimidated, by the intended, and anxiously expected publication of that county, by a Gentleman, [x] highly classed in the literary world, for many celebrated productions; conscious of my own inability to do ample justice to that picturesque county, and particularly the rich scenery of the Wye, when it is already in such able hands: I beg from true respect and esteem, to apply to him the following passage:

Oh, while along the stream of time, thy name
Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame.
Say, shall my little bark attendant sail,
Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale?

Pope.

The Cambrian Directory, is therefore given to the Public, as a common Itinerary; nor does it presume to have discovered any thing unknown to the sage Antiquarian,—the deep Mineralogist,—and the bustling Traveller: still, however, the Author flatters himself, it may be so far useful to the Public, that the Traveller will find it a convenient Pocket Companion; it will tell him the best Inns, and lay before him in one view, the distances; the Mineralogist may occasionally learn, what Rocks will most deserve his attention; and it will point out to the Antiquarian, every venerable Ruin, that seems to tell the religious or military history of the country. Such is the “plain unvarnish’d tale:” in addition to which, I solicit permission to address my Readers with a line from a favourite Author:

“Laugh where you Must, be candid where you Can.”

THE
CAMBRIAN DIRECTORY.

THESE ARE THE HAUNTS OF MEDITATION, THESE
THE SCENES WHERE ANCIENT BARDS TH’ INSPIRING BREATH
EXTATIC FELT!

Thomson.

Two Friends, equally admirers of Nature’s landscapes, and attached to pedestrian independence, agreed to visit the wild and impressive scenery of the Cambrian Mountains; and the outlines of their Route being arranged, sallied forth in the month of July, 1798, from

CHELTENHAM,

a place much resorted to during the summer months, and celebrated for its Mineral Waters, is composed of one street, in almost a straight line, nearly the length of a mile. Since it has become a place of fashion, the lodging houses have been considerably improved, and rendered comfortable for the company, who make this place their summer residence. The season usually commences about May, and frequently continues till the beginning of November. The majority of the company who frequent Cheltenham, resort here not so much for the purpose of water-drinking, as to enjoy the delightful walks and rides, and partake of the sociability of the neighbourhood.

The Walk at the Pump-room, well planned, and kept in excellent order, is planted on each side with limes; at the end is a small square, where the Pump is situate, with a room on the left for the accommodation of the company to promenade, measuring sixty-six feet by twenty-three;—on the opposite side a reading-room, with a billiard-table over, and a house, the residence of the attendant at the Spa; beyond that, is a similar walk of three hundred and twelve feet, which leads to another serpentine walk; from the end of this, the Spire of Cheltenham Church forms a beautiful object. Near these walks, stands, on an eminence, the Seat of the Earl of Fauconberg: this was the Royal residence during their Majesties stay at this place, from July 12th to August 16, 1788.

In respect to the rides, Cleave-hill, Dowdeswell, &c. Tewkesbury and Gloucester, are most admired.

Speaking of the History of the place, we find Cheltenham was a town in the reign of William the Conqueror: Edward likewise is supposed to have marched through it, before he encamped his army on the field of Tewkesbury, previous to the battle of the Houses of York and Lancaster.

Of the efficacy of the Water, to which this town is indebted for its present celebrity, I refer my readers to a Treatise, published by Dr. Fothergill, of Bath.

GLOUCESTER.

The Pin Manufactory was established here, by John Tisley, in the year 1626, and the business is now become so extensive, that the returns from London alone are estimated at near 20,000l. per ann. Before the introduction of Pins into England (1543) skewers of brass, silver, and gold, and likewise thorns curiously scraped, called by the Welch women pin-draen, were used. Though the Pins themselves are apparently simple, yet their manufacture is not a little curious and complex. The wire in its most rough state is brought from a wire company in the neighbourhood of Bristol: till the year 1563, English iron wire was drawn out by manual strength. The first operation attending this curious process, is the fixing the circular roll of wire to the circumference of a wheel, which in its rotation throwing the wire against a board, with great violence, takes off the black external coat: vitriol is next applied to bring the brass to its common colour. The brass wire being too thick for the purpose of being cut into Pins, is reduced to any dimension the workman pleases, by forcibly drawing it through an orifice in a steel plate, of a smaller diameter. The wire, being thus reduced to its proper dimensions, is next straightened: it is then cut into portions of six inches in length, and afterwards to the size of the Pin, and each piece respectively sharpened on a grinding-stone, turned by a wheel. We now come to a distinct branch of the manufactory: the forming the heads, or, as the workmen term it, head spinning: this is accomplished by means of a spinning-wheel, which, with astonishing rapidity winds the wire round a small rod: this, when drawn out, leaves a hollow tube between the circumvolutions; every two circumvolutions, or turns, being cut with sheers, form one head. The heads, thus formed, are distributed to children, who, with great dexterity, by the assistance of an anvil, or hammer, worked by the foot, fix the point and the head together. The Pins, thus formed, are boiled in a copper, containing a solution of block-tin pulverized, and the lees of Port; and by this last process, it changes its yellow brassy colour, and assumes the appearance of silver, or tin. The labourers are all paid according to the weight of their work.

Near Gloucester, at the small island of Alney, formed by the river Severn, historians relate, that Canute and Edmund, after many bloody engagements in Essex, determined to prevent a farther effusion of blood by a single combat. Neither, however, as the story relates, obtaining a victory, peace was concluded, and the kingdom divided between them. We paid, however, little regard to the supposed place of this contest, as it was not for us, puisne antiquarians, to discuss points, on which the greatest historians had so materially differed.

I forbear to make any remarks on the Cathedral and Gaol of Gloucester, as much has already been done towards their illustration; and as ample accounts of them are given in the Gloucester Guide, which the Tourist will meet with on the spot.

The Walk from hence to

WESTBURY,

is by no means uninteresting; the country is studded with half-seen villas, and animated with churches, whilst the retrospect commands a fine view of Robin-hood’s Hill, with the dark Tower of Gloucester Cathedral, just rising in the perspective.

At Westbury is the Seat of Maynard Colchester, Esq. The Church, with a detached Spire, stands close to the house. Near this place mineralogists will be highly gratified by visiting a Cliff, called Garden, or Golden Cliffe; which is most beautifully encrusted with mundic and crystals. This rock, standing close to the Severn, is only accessible at the reflux of the tide; and when illuminated by the sun wears a most beautiful appearance.

Between Westbury and Newnham, in an extremely delightful valley, bordering on the Forest of Deane, is situate

FLAXLEY ABBEY,

the Seat of Sir Thomas Crawley Bovey. This valley was formerly called Castiard, or the Happy Valley; and a Monastery, for Cistercian Monks, was founded here by Roger, the second Earl of Hereford, and the charter confirmed by Henry II. The Abbey was standing till the year 1777, when part of it was unfortunately consumed by fire; since that a considerable portion of building has been added, and is become a very desirable summer residence. The Views from the park, behind the house, are very extensive, commanding the Vale of Gloucester, and the River Severn, gay with vessels, whilst the extensive Forest of Dean, and Flaxley Abbey, form nearer objects for admiration. This wood abounds with the most charming walks; and, while it affords refreshing shelter from a summer’s sun, admits partial views of the adjacent country. Camden, in speaking of the Forest of Dean, derives its name from Ardene, a wood in the Gaulic and British languages. It lies between the two rivers Severn and Wye, and contains thirty thousand acres. The soil is well adapted for the growth of oaks, and forest timber; and the situation particularly commodious for exporting it for ship-building, and other purposes. The immense quantities of wood annually felled for the use of the navy, have so thinned this wood of its timber, that it is now preserved till a certain growth by act of parliament. Camden observes, that the oak of this Forest was so considerable, that the Spanish Armada had orders to destroy the timber of it in 1588: it suffered considerably in the great rebellion.

The Iron Manufactory has long been carried on in this Forest; and to this day immense beds of iron cinders are found, the reliques of the Romans. These cinders are not half exhausted of their ore, and are consequently worked over again: a proof that the Romans knew only the weak power of the foot blast.

As we drew near

NEWNHAM,

the Severn became more considerable. The town, situated on the banks of the river, and backed by the Forest of Dean, is very ancient, and in 1018 this manor was granted by King Canute to the Benedictine Abbey of Pershore, in Worcestershire. [8]

The Church-yard affords a variety of objects worthy the attention of the passing stranger, amongst which the Church of Westbury forms the most conspicuous feature in the landscape.

The View, previous to our descending the hill to

LIDNEY,

is extensive and beautiful. In this place Iron Works are carried on by a Mr. Pitchcock.—About a mile from Lidney, the Old Passage,—King’s-road, with the merchant ships lying off Bristol,—Gloucestershire and Somersetshire hills, studded with gentlemens’ seats, churches, and half-seen cottages, formed a cheerful landscape.

CHEPSTOW.

The weather prevented our seeing the celebrated Walks of Piercefield, but we promised ourselves the pleasure of visiting them on our return down the Wye. The Castle of Chepstow, called Kaswent, or Castelk Gwent, stands on a rock washed by the river Wye, near its influx into the Severn. Topographical writers differ in their accounts concerning the antiquity of the Castle, but it is generally supposed to have been built at the same time with the town, appearing at that period to have been a kind of citadel to Chepstow. [9] The Castle was formerly of great extent, as, according to Leland’s account, the “waulles began at the end of the great bridge over Wy,” yet “in the castel ys one tower, as I heard say, by the name of Langine.” Little now remains of its former grandeur: but, impelled by an irresistible curiosity, we ascended the decayed steps of the tower, from whence the eye traced with pleasure the windings of the Wye, till it was at last lost in its conjunction with the Severn. With horror we examined the dark dungeon, where Henry Martin, one of the twelve judges, who sat to condemn Charles I. was confined seven and twenty years.

Grand views of the Bristol Channel still continued to form interesting objects from the road; but about three miles from Chepstow, we turned into some fields on the right, to examine the Ivy-mantled walls of

CALDECOT CASTLE.

On our first entrance we gazed with that wrapt astonishment, that fears to disturb, or be disturbed by the mutual communication of thought.—Mr. Warner, in his survey of this ruin, was much disappointed; but I cannot help allowing, although the view from it was inferior to Chepstow, yet its antiquated walls wear a nobler appearance; and the gloom that reigns around it, forces a sigh, and evinces the transitory nature of sublunary greatness. The antiquity of the building is very obscure: it is situate on a flat, and memorable for the birth of Henry VII. Passing through the village of Caldecot, we soon entered

CAERWENT,

on the Western side, through the broken fragments of its walls, of which one immense mass has recently fallen. This ancient town is now little more than a village, with a few scattered cottages, but formerly celebrated, under the auspices of Agricola, for its temples, theatre, porticos, and baths; few vestiges of its former splendour are now extant. A few fragments of loose stones only remain to point out its former extent. In an orchard, adjoining a farm-house belonging to Mr. Lewis, is the beautiful tessalated Roman Pavement, discovered in the year 1777. The tesserale or dies, about an inch in breadth, and half in depth, are nearly cubical, consisting of four colours, red, yellow, blue, and white, [11] which are still in great preservation; the whole is surrounded with a border, much resembling a Turkey carpet. The daily depredations on these curious remains of antiquity are greatly to be lamented.

In the road from Caerwent, amongst other objects for admiration, the Mansion of Sir Robert Salisbury, on the left, commanding an extensive view, attracted our notice. Passing through the neat village of Christchurch, animated with white-washed cottages, and graced with its simple Church, which stands on an eminence, we left the turnpike road, at the 13th mile stone; and following a footpath through some fields, near the banks of the Uske, soon entered the ancient city of

CAERLEON,

over a wooden bridge, built on the same plan as Chepstow. This city was formerly a metropolitan see, but St. David, the national saint of Wales, thinking the noisy intercourse of a populous city, like Caer-Lleon, ill adapted for contemplation, or the solitary cast of his mind, removed it to Menevia, which from that period has been called Ty Dewi by the Welch, and St. David by the English. [12] The remains of its ancient grandeur are still discernible. Whilst tracing the extent of its amphitheatre, surrounded by a circular entrenchment, and the grandeur of its porticoes, we took a retrospect on the exertions of man, the fate of kingdoms, and of rulers; and, marking the grand destruction of ages, it seemed to convince us of the transientness of human worth and happiness! The ships in the Bristol Channel, with Flat and Steep Holmes rising in the midst of the sea, formed pleasing objects in the distant view, whilst the mellow green of nearer woods, and meadows watered by the Uske, made a combination of hues gay and beautiful.

Near

NEWPORT

a new stone bridge is erecting by contract for 10,165l. by Mr. Edwards, son to the Edwards, who built the famous Pont y Pridd. It is to consist of five arches.

Newport Castle, standing on the bank of the river Uske, is a small distance from the bridge: it evidently appears to have been once a place of considerable extent, and built for the defence of the passage over the river; three strong towers commanded the Uske, but towards the town a common wall, without any flanks, seems to have been its sole defence. Some of the windows still remain, the relics of Gothic architecture, and appear to have been elegantly decorated. From the tower is a fine view of the Uske. Between Newport and

CARDIFF

we crossed the little stream of Ebwith, near the park of Tridegar House, belonging to Sir Charles Morgan. The grounds are well planned, and command the hills of Machan and Tombalœ, with the church of Passaness rising in the centre, on an eminence. The whole valley, indeed, is prettily situated. Passing through the villages of Pediston and Castletown, we soon reached the bridge of two arches, over the river Romney, which divides England from Wales.

The situation of Cardiff is on a low flat, near the mouth of the Taafe, over which has lately been thrown a new Bridge, built by Mr. Parry in 1796: it consists of three large and two smaller arches. The tower of the church is very light, and of elegant workmanship; but nothing in the inside is worthy of inspection.

The Castle derives its name from the river Taff, which washes its walls; Caertaph signifying the Town or Castle upon Taff. Robert Fitzham having conquered Glamorganshire, divided the country into different portions, among the twelve Norman Knights, as a reward for their service, and took for his own share the Town of Cardiff; and erected, in the year 1110, this Castle, in which he generally resided, and held his court of chancery and exchequer. In the beginning of May 1645, during the troubles under Charles I. it was in the possession of the Royalists, but it was surrendered to Parliament before August 1646.

We entered the Castle by two strong gates, which still remain in great preservation, but we were disgusted with the modern architecture of the new-built mansion, erected by the late Marquis of Bute: the neat shorn grass, the gravel walk, were circumstances that ill accorded with the mutilated walls of an ancient ruin, which has braved the storms of so many centuries. The circumstance that tends to render this Castle a melancholy place in history, is the unjust confinement of Robert Duke of Normandy, brother to William Rufus and Henry I. The accounts, however, of his confinement have been greatly exaggerated by historians; and a dark vaulted room, beneath the level of the ground, measuring nearly a square of fifteen feet and a half, is still pointed out as the place of his confinement; a small crevice in the top, about half a yard in length, and three inches wide, was the only place to admit the air. He was buried in Gloucester Cathedral, where his effigy as big as life, carved in Irish oak, and painted, is yet shewn. The Keep, which is still very perfect, of an octagon shape, stands on an eminence in the centre of a large square. Having walked round the ramparts, which command extensive views of the adjacent country, we visited the Castle itself, which has, within these few years, been repaired, but still remains in an unfinished state. In the Dining-room are some portraits, in length, of the Windsor family: the most striking are,

1st. Sir William, who first raised forces for Queen Mary.

2d. Sir Edward, who first entered the breach at the taking of St. Quintin, in Flanders, where the famous Constable de Montmorency was taken prisoner.

In the Breakfast-parlour is a family piece, consisting of seven figures: it was painted in the year 1568. Holbein, I rather imagine, was the painter: it consists of two Sisters playing at Cards, and two Brothers at Drafts, with Edward Earl of Windsor and his lady looking on. The style is stiff, with ruffs, small black caps and feathers.

This Castle belongs to a grandson of the Marquis of Bute.

In this place, Robert Earl of Gloucester founded a Priory of White-friars, and another of Black, which continued till the reign of Henry VIII. Only the shell of the White-friars is now extant, and the ruins of the Black-friars are inhabited by fishermen.

From hence we walked to inspect the remains of that once celebrated city

LANDAFF;

the ruins of the old Cathedral are very beautiful, the door cases are all Norman architecture elegantly moulded; two of which, on the North and South sides, are fine specimens of that æra. All the other parts are Gothic: the nave is unroofed. Within these ruins we entered the Cathedral, which carries with it more the appearance of a modern theatre, than a place of divine worship, so erroneous was the taste of the architect, in combining with the sacred Gothic, a fantastical work of his own. Among several ancient monuments, are two very elegant ones of the Mathews family, [18a] whose descendants own the scite of the Bishop’s Castle, of which only the gate remains: the rest, with the Archdeacon’s house, was destroyed by Owen Glendour. [18b] There are likewise the monuments of two bishops, with another, and the figure of Lady Godiva, full length, carved in marble on it.

Landaff stands on a small eminence, commanding a view of Cardiff, and the surrounding country.—We returned again to Cardiff: and the first six miles of our road to

CAERPHILY

were not very interesting, till ascending Thorn Hill, the beauties of the vale below, with Flat and Steep Holmes rising in the distant prospect, the ruins of Cardiff Castle, and the ivy-mantled walls of Landaff Cathedral, amply compensated for the trouble of climbing this eminence. A little farther on, Caerphily Castle burst upon our sight, and

—“seem’d to frown,
In awful majesty on all around.”

The founder, and the time of its erection are very uncertain; but I refer my readers to the first volume of the Archæologia; to an ingenious Dissertation, by Daines Barrington, where it is satisfactorily proved to have been the work of Edward I. This Castle is one of the noblest ruins of ancient architecture now remaining in the kingdom, and exceeds all in bigness, except that of Windsor. The Hall and the Chapel may still be traced; the former measures about seventy feet in length, thirty-four in breadth, and seventeen in height. The roof is vaulted about eight feet high, and supported by twenty arches. On the North side is a chimney, ten feet wide, with two windows on each side, extending down to the floor, and carried above the supposed height of this room. At each angle was originally a round tower of four stories, communicating with each other by a gallery. On the West side of the Hall stairs, is a low round tower, of one story, called the Mint-house, with three painted arches on the South side, and a square well on the West. The leaning tower, towards the East end, more particularly engaged our notice: it is divided into two separate parts, by a large fissure, which runs from the top down almost to the middle. Its lineal projection is supposed to be on the outer side, about eleven feet and a half. On the West and North are visible vestiges of a draw-bridge. The East wall, on the South side of the principal entrance, is fluted between the buttresses, with battlements on their tops, to protect the intermediate walls.

At Caerphily we perceived a great change in the manners of the people; in the whole village, scarcely one person was capable of speaking English.

We now came to the celebrated vale of Glamorganshire, so justly styled the Garden of South-Wales; the rapid Taafe forms an almost continued uproar for many miles; on the opposite side the mountains rose almost perpendicularly in a massy wall, and sometimes to the water’s edge, finely clothed with wood. Every circumstance conspired to heighten the solitary grandeur of the scene, and to prolong the luxurious melancholy, which the views inspired. In this celebrated vale is found the famous Pont y Pridd, or New Bridge, about three quarters of a mile from the Duke of Bridgewater’s Arms, a comfortable inn, and far surpassing our miserable quarters at Caerphily. This wonderful bridge, of one arch, is the segment of a circle; the chord of it is one hundred and forty feet, and the heighth of the key-stone, from the spring of the arch, thirty-two feet and a half. It was erected, in the year 1750, by William Edwards, a country mason, who failed in his attempt three times, till, by lightening the abutments, it has resisted, for many years, the torrents of the Taafe.

The intrusion of art in this romantic valley, where nature has been so lavish of her beauties, is much to be lamented: a canal, for the purpose of conveying the iron from the Myther Works to Cardiff, renders it a place of frequent business and confusion; a place originally so well adapted to retirement and reflection.

MYTHER TIDVIL,

is a most miserable dirty place; the soil and the inhabitants both partook of a dark dingy colour: the women destitute of shoes and stockings, the men and boys the slaves of Vulcan. The Iron-works, under the direction of Mr. Cramshaw, are the largest in the kingdom; not less than one thousand hands are employed by this gentleman, who allows the person who inspects the machinery one-eighth of the profits, to keep them in repair. Four large blast furnaces, with a number of a smaller size, besides a row of forges, are continually in use. An enormous wheel has lately been constructed, with several inferior ones, acting in contrary directions, which pumps the air into a large space, from whence it is distributed, through various tubes, to each separate furnace. This wheel is fifty feet one inch in diameter, and six feet eight inches in width. The whole weight rests on gudgeons, of one hundred tons. The gudgeons of all the wheels, and of such parts of the machine where there is any friction, have water continually running over them, to prevent their taking fire. It is the particular office of one man to grease every part of the machine, whilst in motion; to accomplish which, he is frequently obliged to ride on an iron bar, similar to the lever of a pump when in motion, a considerable way from the ground. The whole of this machinery is worked by water, not more than a foot deep, which is conveyed by a long spout to the top of the wheel, where it discharges itself. The ore, flux, [23] and coals, which they use to promote the fusion of the ore, are all found on the spot. The ore, previous to its being thrown into the furnace, is burnt in a common lime-pit, the goodness of it afterwards proved, by its adhesion to the tongue; the coal is all charked, and continually put in the furnace, with certain proportions of ore. From the pigs, the iron is rolled into flat plates by a cylinder; this is performed with the greatest dispatch. The gaunt figures of the workmen excite both pity and terror, and the sallow countenances and miserable air of the people, prove it is a labour very prejudicial to their health. From hence we travelled the road to

PONT NEATH VECHAN,

inaccessible for carriages, indifferent for pedestrians, and affording nothing worthy our attention. It lay over a barren heath, with mountains on one side, and a dreary waste of land before us. About a mile and a half from Vechan, we unexpectedly descended through a wood into a rich romantic valley, watered by Neath River. In this retired situation we found the Angel Inn, of Pont Neath Vechan. Description can scarcely suggest the full grandeur and magnificence of this valley: woods, rocks, and waterfalls, all unite, to render it beautiful. Our Ciceroni first conducted us to the fall of Scotenogam, on the river Purthen, about a mile and a half from the house: this fall we saw to great advantage, the river having gathered in its course the accumulation of many torrents after the rain, precipitates itself in one majestic expanse of water, near seventy feet high; whilst the dark lowering rocks, on each side, contrasted finely with the varied vegetation around us. The descent is by no means easy, but the grandeur of the scene amply compensated for all difficulties. Our Ciceroni next conducted us to a very inferior one, called the Lady’s Cascade, on the river Neath; but of this we caught a very indifferent prospect, the ascent of the mountain being inaccessible, and the water too high to admit of our obtaining a due inspection of it. We then returned to our inn, and set out a different road, in quest of nature’s landscapes.—Having walked about three miles, we heard the angry roar of small cascades; this we considered as preludes of scenes, where the water-fall swells into a torrent; and we soon found ourselves near the fall of Lower Culhepste. The character of this cataract differs very much from that of Scotenogam; being broken in its descent from projecting rocks, of an immense size. About a quarter of a mile from hence, we descended a rugged and steep rock to examine the fall of Upper-Culhepste, about fifty feet high. The singularity of this fall invites the curiosity of the traveller more than any other in Wales: the whole river precipitates itself with such violence, as to leave a space between the rock and the fall sufficiently wide for a horse path. Though in less than two minutes we were completely wet by the spray, yet the effect was awful and sublime; and it was necessary to remember the fixed foundation of the rocks above our heads, to soften the awe they inspired. Near this fall is Porthogo Cavern, through which the river Vendre runs. The water was too high to admit our entrance; our Conductor, however, informed us, he had penetrated about half a mile, but found the river wind so many ways, he judged it safer to return, lest he should share the fate of a poor man, who lost himself in this Cavern for the space of three days. On our return, a very intelligent gentleman, staying in the neighbourhood, strenuously recommended us to descend a steep mountain, on our left, to survey a curious quadrangular strata of marble in the rock below. With some difficulty we effected our purpose, having waded twice through the river. This strata in Welch is called Bwr Maen, which signifies a Stone Bow: it is situated close to the river Dynnas, which, forcing its way through some broken fragments of the rock, forms a cascade a little above. The price offered for this grey marble, in London, is fifteen shillings a foot square.

About five miles from Vechan is the Seat of Mrs. Holbrow, on the right. We were prevented visiting the water-falls of Melincourt and Aperdulas, the river, owing to the late floods, being too deep to ford. Our route still continued through the valley we had so much admired the evening before. As we drew near

NEATH,

the Tower of Knole Castle had a pleasing effect from a distance: it was built by Sir Herbert Mackworth, and is at present in the possession of Lady Mackworth. The windows from the banqueting-room comprehend a circle of many miles diameter, composed of Neath Valley and River, with the smoky Town of Neath,—the Mumbles Point—Swansea, and the Channel. The artificial cascade is well contrived, but, after the foaming torrents of Scotenogam and Culhepste, appears very tame.

The scite of the Refectory, the Chapel, the Hall, and several other rooms in the ruins of Neath Abbey, may still be traced. It stands on the East of the river, and was formerly, by Leland’s account, the “fairest abbay of all Wales;” but in his Collecteana [27] he seems to give Margam the preference of all the Cistercian houses in these parts. It was founded for White Monks by Richard Granville. In this Abbey, the unfortunate Edward II. secreted himself till he was taken. Near the ruins are the Copper-works. The ore is chiefly imported from Cornwall, and Wicklow in Ireland; being calcined, and thereby losing its sulphur, it is refined by the simple process of frequent melting, and taking off the dross, which forms a scum; lastly, being moulded into small plates, or pigs, it is shipped for the market. The method of reducing the metal, when melted into small particles, is by pouring it into water, and, when thus reduced, it is called Copper Shot. Brass is a compound of copper thus reduced, and lapis calaminaris, pulverized in crucibles, and moulded or cast into plates. Lapis calaminaris is dug in great quantities near Holywell, in Flintshire.

The Town of Neath is very unpleasantly situated, and generally covered with the smoke of the Copper-works; a circumstance which I should imagine renders it an unhealthy spot. On that account it is advisable, both for horsemen and pedestrians, in their way to Swansea, to take the road by Britton Ferry, in preference to the turnpike, which the smoke always renders offensive.

BRITTON FERRY.

This village is much resorted to, on account of its beautiful situation; and many a white-washed cottage straggles through the hamlet. The plantations of Lord Vernon are well disposed, and edge the water’s brink: the river is constantly filled with vessels, whose gay streamers glittering to the sun-beam, present to the eye a constant moving object. Having crossed the Ferry, we proceeded on the sands to

SWANSEA.

The whole of this walk commanded a boundless view of the ocean to the West, whilst to the South the faint hues of Somersetshire coast skirted the horizon.

Swansea is a well-built sea-port town, on the river Tawe, much resorted to during the summer months. The machines for bathing are kept about half a mile from the town, under the direction of Mrs. Landey, who likewise keeps a lodging-house near the place: the charges are twenty-five shillings a week, board and lodging, and ten shillings and six-pence a week for a private parlour. The Castle is supposed to have been erected by Henry Earl of Warwick, in the reign of Henry I.: the small arches round the top of it are exactly similar to the building of Lantphey Castle, and King John’s Hall, St. David’s, Pembrokeshire. This Castle is now turned into a goal and workhouse. The Market-place is said to be covered with the lead of St. David’s Cathedral, given by Cromwell to a gentleman of Swansea.

The clay used for the Pottery, long carried on in this place, is brought from Corfe, in Dorsetshire; having been mixed with finely-ground flint, and dissolved in water, it is passed through sieves, till it has lost all its coarser particles, then exposed to heat, which evaporates the water, and leaves the clay of a consistency sufficient for working. The vessel is first rudely formed by the hand, the clay being stuck to a circular board, which has an horizontal rotation. The other operation consists in the more perfect forming of the work by various processes, and the colouring, glazing, painting, and stamping, drying and baking kilns complete the work.

OYSTERMOUTH CASTLE,

about five miles from Swansea, is finely situated on an eminence, commanding a delightful prospect of the surrounding country, and the Mumbles’ Bay. The ivy-mantled walls of this Castle are sufficiently perfect, to distinguish what the apartments were originally designed for. It formerly belonged to the lords of Gower, but is now in the possession of the Duke of Beaufort. Our curiosity being satisfied, we hastened to the

MUMBLES,

celebrated far and near for the goodness and abundance of its oysters. This village stands at the extremity of Swansea Bay, on a vast mass of splinter’d rock: from this elevation, the wide expanse of the ocean and Swansea Bay are viewed to great advantage. These rocks are inaccessible at high-water, except in a boat; on the farthest is erected a light-house.

At Pennard, we descended some immense sand-banks, which led us into Oxwich Bay: at the head of the sand-banks are the small remains of an old castle, [30] scarcely worthy of observation. The sands in this bay are extremely fine, and the bold projections of the rock exhibit nature in her most awful and impressive attitudes. To the right of Oxwich Bay is situate, at Penrice, the Seat of Mr. Talbot: the grounds are well planned, and command extensive views of the sea: the old Castle rising behind the house gave the whole a fine effect.

Between Penrice and the neat village of

CHERITON,

we observed to our right, on a hill, a large flat stone, several tons weight, resting on about six smaller ones, placed perpendicularly, and standing about five feet high: this is vulgarly called King Arthur’s Stone. It is here proper to forewarn both Tourists and Travellers, not to fix on Pennard, Penrice, or Cheriton, as places for a night’s abode, as they cannot possibly be comfortably accommodated. This advice I mention from experience, for at the latter place, we were under the necessity of contenting ourselves with tables or chairs, as substitutes for beds, and even destitute of necessary provisions. On a hill, opposite our inn, we discovered evident vestiges of a Roman encampment; from this elevation the eye caught a fine view of Carmarthen Bay, and the bold promontory of Worm’s Head, to the South-west: this rock is only accessible at low water.

The country through which we traversed for the four or five last miles, is inhabited by a colony of Flemings, who settled here in the reign of Henry I. In the reign of this King’s Father, a great number of Flemings, having been driven out of their habitations, by a very extraordinary inundation of the sea, sought protection in England, where they were cordially received. But so many of these people being dispersed in different parts of the kingdom, began, by increase of their numbers, to create some uneasiness; which Henry I. removed, by settling them as a colony in South Wales, and gave them the country adjoining to Tenby and Haverfordwest. By this wise policy, the King rid his own dominions of an incumbrance, and curbed the insolence of the then rebellious Cambrians. [32] The little territory they inhabit is called Gwyr, and by the English, Little England beyond Wales, because their manners and language are still distinguishable from the Welsh, and, in point of speech, assimilate the English. These Flemings, to this day, seldom or never intermarry with the Welsh: they speak good English, and are very much averse to the manners and language of the country they inhabit; both sexes generally distinguish themselves by wearing a short cloak, called Gowyr Wittle.

In preference to a long walk, of near thirty miles, we crossed the River Bury, as the pleasantest and most expeditious way to

LLANELLY,

a miserable, dirty place, filled with miners and sailors. From hence to

KIDWELY,

the road leads over the Penbree Hills; and from this elevation, the Scenery is viewed to great advantage.

The Castle of Kidwely, otherwise, Cathweli, was formerly, I imagine, of great extent, and is still the most perfect we had hitherto met with in Wales, The extent of the apartments are distinguishable; some of the staircases accessible; and the four round towers, keep, gateway, and yard, spread an awful gloom around, whose beauties time had just sufficiently impaired, to heighten its grandeur and sublimity. Our Guide expatiated much on the History and Events of the Castle, and told the story with as much agitation and interest, as if it had happened yesterday.

The road to

CAERMARTHEN,

we found unpleasantly hilly, but occasional Vallies to our left enlivened our walk. Near Caermarthen we crossed a Bridge of free-stone over the Towy. This River, running through the middle of this shire, falls into the British Sea at Caermarthen Bay, and is navigable for small vessels as far as the Bridge. Immediately over it, upon a hanging rock, stand the remains of a once renowned Castle. This Town, according to Giraldus’s authority, was anciently a place of great strength, and fortified with brick walls, which are yet partly extant, near the river. This place, now considered as the Capital of the county, was formerly the residence of the Prince of South-Wales; and the Ancient Britons here held their Parliaments. The Chancery likewise, and Exchequer for South-Wales, were kept here, when this territory was first erected into a Principality, by the crown of England. In the thirty-eighth year of Henry VIII. it was created a borough-town.

This place is famous for being the birth-place of Merlin, who is styled, by an ancient author, “the sonne of a badde angell, or of an incubus spirit, the Britaine’s great Apollo, whom Geoffrey ap Arthur would ranke with the South-saying Seer, or rather with the true Prophets themselves; being none other than a meere seducer, and phantasticall vizard.” He flourished in the year 480.

At the Inn (Old Ivy-Bush) Sir Richard Steel composed his celebrated Play, called the Conscious Lovers.

From Caermarthen, we were recommended to go to

LAUGHARNE,

in order to see the Castle, but it by no means answered our expectation: little part of it now remains; and the neat gravel-walk, in the garden, but ill accords with the mutilated walls of an ancient ruin. From the garden walks, grand and extensive Sea-prospects interest the traveller. About five miles from Laugharne, we passed a small place, called

GREEN BRIDGE.

It derives its name from an excavation in the rock, through which a little rivulet runs for a mile and a half. This cavity is completely concealed from the road, and impossible to be discovered, unless pointed out by some neighbouring inhabitant. Let me, however, advise all Tourists to be cautious in their excursions to this natural curiosity, as it is a place evidently calculated for plunder, stratagems, and murder; and is now infested by an unawed banditti of smugglers, who have frequently practised the barbarous scheme of decoying vessels by false lights; and by whom we ourselves were insulted. Indeed, I would advise Travellers to alter their route from Swansea, and pursue the straight road to Caermarthen, and so to Tenby, by Narbeth. By these means they escape the unpleasant roads, (and almost, indeed, inaccessible for carriages,) leading from Oystermouth to Cheriton, and likewise from Llaugharne to Tenby. But should the Tourist be led by an invincible curiosity to inspect the Ruins of Kidwely Castle, it may easily be accomplished, by pursuing the Turnpike-road to Kidwely, and from thence to Caermarthen: in this last route you only omit visiting the Seat of Mr. Talbot, of Penrice; though an object highly worthy of inspection.

At Saunders’ Foot is a small Bay, formed on one side by a rock called the Monkstone, and on the other by the Caermarthenshire coast. Near this place is situate the Seat of Capt. Ackland; and from thence to Tenby, the dark lowering rocks rose perpendicularly to a considerable height, and then branched out into overhanging crags. It was now dusk;—and at this transforming hour, the bold promontories became shaded with unreal glooms,—the projecting cliffs assumed a more terrific aspect,—and the wild, overhanging underwood,

“Wav’d to the gale in hoarser murmurs.”

TENBY,

is much resorted to, during the summer months, for bathing. It stands on a rock facing Caermarthen Bay: the bold Promontory of the Monkstone Head to the North, and St. Catherine’s Point, to the South, form a fine Amphitheatre. The shore is well adapted for bathing, the machines excellent, and a singular rock, rising in the sea, close to the shore, shelters the bathing machines, even in the most boisterous weather. On the South of Tenby, at the extremity of the small Island of St. Catherine’s, attainable at low water, are the remains of a Roman Catholic Chapel. Entirely through this Island is a singular perforation, which, without any difficulty, may be penetrated at the reflux of the tide. The Views from the South Sands are remarkably beautiful; the character of the rocks is here awfully wild, craggy, and impending; and the distant fishing-boats with their white sails, and the voices of the fishermen, who constantly frequent this coast, borne at intervals on the air, are circumstances which animate the scene: whilst the islands of Caldy and St. Margaret’s opportunely rise, to render the terrific ocean beautiful. The retrospect is equally interesting; the neat town of Tenby, with the mutilated walls of its Castle, closes this charming scene.

The ancient walls of Tenby are still sufficiently perfect, to shew its former strength and extent; and the four round towers, standing on the extremity of the rock, point out the situation of its Castle. Near this is a ruinous building, supposed to be the remains of a Flemish manufactory, probably woollen. On the North Sands is likewise another walk, equally beautiful, commanding the whole extent of Caermarthen Bay. On the summit of the rocks, over these sands, is the walk, called the Croft: on this eminence is situated the Hotel kept by Mr. Shaw; the accommodations are very good: the charges per week are eighteen shillings board, finding your own tea, sugar, wine, and porter; six shillings for a bed-room, and at the same rate a private parlour.

This place, from the vast quantity of fish caught near the coast is called Tenby-y-Piscoid.

If the Tourist has leisure and opportunity, many excursions may be made during his stay at Tenby. The first, and most important is, to Pembroke and Milford-Haven. The road affords many grand and extensive Sea Views, with a faint prospect of Lundy Isle. About four miles from Tenby, stand the ruins of Mannorbeer Castle, supposed to have been erected about the time of William Rufus. A little farther on, the ivy-mantled walls of Carew Castle [39] burst upon us; and about three miles from Pembroke, the decayed and broken walls of Llanfeth, or Lantphey Castle, attracted our notice, once the residence of the Bishops of St. David’s, but now a monument of desolation. The three buildings of Swansea Castle, Lantphey Court, and King John’s Hall, St. David’s, are very similar in their workmanship. We now arrived at

PEMBROKE,

Mr. Wyndham has so minutely delineated the Present State of this Castle, that I cannot do better than transcribe his account.

“The approach (says this Author) to Pembroke from the River, shews the Town and Castle to the most beautiful advantage. The Town is situated upon the ridge of a long and narrow rock, gradually ascending to the highest point, on which stands the Castle, at the brink of the precipice. If I may compare small things with great, it much resembles the situation of Edinburgh.

“The Castle is of Norman architecture, mixed with early Gothic. The principal tower, which is uncommonly high and perfect, has even its stone vaulted roof remaining. The walls of this tower are fourteen feet in thickness, the diameter of the space within is twenty-five, and the heighth, from the ground to the crown of the dome, is seventy-five feet; but visible marks appear within, that its heighth was originally divided by four floors.

“Henry VII. was born in the present Castle. The natural Cavern, called the Wogan, lies immediately under the Chapel, and opens with a wide mouth towards the river. A communication from the Cavern to the Castle, was made by a stair-case, on the outside of the rock; the entrance was barricaded with a strong wall, partly remaining, through which there is now a large door-way opened to the shore of the river. The Cavern appears nearly circular; its diameter is fifty-three feet; and its height is proportionable to the diameter.

“In the Civil War this Castle was a garrison for the Crown, and being besieged, made a gallant defence.”

At Pembroke we hired a boat, [41] intending to sail round the extensive Haven of Milford; and, as we retired from the shore, we took a retrospect of the dilapidated walls of the Castle, once the terror, and even in ruins the pride of the scene. It is most advisable to make this excursion at high water, as it adds much to the picturesque scenery of the tout ensemble.

MILFORD HAVEN,

is justly compared to “an immense lake; for the mouth not being at any distance visible, the whole Haven seems land-locked. Though it is a mile and three quarters wide, it could not be defended against an enemy, nor is there a sufficiency of timber in the neighbourhood. [42a] This Haven is formed by a great advance of the sea into the land, it being above ten miles from the Southernmost point at Nangle to Pembroke, beyond which the tide comes up to and beyond Carew Castle. It is capable of holding the whole navy of England, and the same is said of Cork Harbour. [42b] The spring tides rise thirty-six feet, the neap above twenty-six. Ships may be out of this Haven in an hour’s time, and in eight or ten hours over at Ireland, or at the Land’s End, and this with almost any wind, by day or night.” Our reception at the miserable place of

HUBBERSTON,

did not induce us to stay longer than was sufficient to recruit ourselves. We found the dirty Inn pre-occupied by unfortunate Irish refugees: their situation was indeed melancholy;—driven from their country, their friends, and all most dear to them!—And, wishing to forget their past sufferings, the following lines seem applicable to their situation:

“Oh! cou’d oblivion’s friendly draught
Sooth all our sorrows to repose;
Nor that intruder, restless thought,
Renew our agonizing woes!

“Then all, unconscious of the past,
The present hour might calmly glide;
Keen retrospect no more be cast
O’er life’s tempestuous, changeful tide:

“Yet Heaven, to all its creatures kind,
With peace can gild the deepest gloom;
And, mid misfortune’s wrecks, the mind
May sweet serenity assume.”

Having refreshed ourselves, we walked to Milford, a small Village, opposite Hubberston: several comfortable houses are situated on the Hill, commanding a delightful View of the Haven. Being satisfied with our day’s excursion, we again returned to our comfortable quarters at

TENBY,

which we left with regret a few days afterwards.—We again pursued the Pembroke road; and, about two miles from Tenby, the neglected walls of Carew Castle invited curiosity;—and,

Deep struck with awe, we marked the dome o’erthrown,
Where once the Beauty bloom’d, the Warrior shone;
We saw the Castle’s mouldering tow’rs decay’d,
The loose stone tott’ring o’er the trembling shade.

This Castle, I imagine, was intended more for a noble residence, than a place of defence. The walls of this building are very thick, and constructed with stones, of a large size, strongly cemented with mortar. It is situated on a branch of Milford Haven, and consists of a range of apartments built round a quadrangle, with a circular tower at each corner. The South wall is entirely demolished; but the North consists of a spacious hall, measuring one hundred and two feet by twenty, supposed to have been built by Sir John Perrot: above and under this hall, are noble apartments, and extensive offices. This Castle appears to have been erected at different times, if we may judge from the architecture. Every ledge of the walls of the towers, denoting the different stories, were embossed with vegetation, which seemed to grow from the solid stone. Over the gate-way, at the West side, are the arms of England, Duke of Lancaster, and Carew; and contiguous to this entrance, is another spacious room, measuring eighty feet by thirty.

In the Farm-yard, adjoining the Church, which has a lofty square Tower, is a dilapidated stone-building, called the Parsonage.

Leaving Carew, we crossed a small Bridge over an arm of Milford Haven, and continued our route across a barren and uninteresting heath; till, descending to the Village of

CRESSELEY,

the luxuriant Plantation of Firs, belonging to Sir William Hamilton, attracted our attention. Small vessels constantly frequent this quay, from whence a quantity of small coal is shipped to different parts. From hence the road is extremely barren and unpicturesque; but, about three miles from

LANDSHIPPING,

an arm of Milford Haven again burst upon our sight.—Near it is situated the uninhabited house of Sir William Owen. In crossing the Ferry, Picton Castle, the property of Lord Milford, formed a prominent feature in the gay scene; and Slebitch, the Seat of Mr. Philips, standing at the end of the Haven, contributes considerably to this picturesque prospect.

The grounds of

PICTON,

through which we passed, about five miles in extent, seemed to be well planned, and kept in excellent order.

This Castle has always been inhabited; and having escaped the fate of all other Castles in Wales, during the civil wars, it retained, till very late, much of its original external form. It is now occupied by Lord Milford, and rendered a very comfortable summer residence. At the extremity of the Park, a good turnpike-road soon conducted us to

HAVERFORD-WEST,

which is considered as one of the largest Towns in South-Wales. It is very irregularly built, on the declivity of a hill, which is, in some parts, so very steep, that the ground-rooms frequently overlook the neighbouring roofs; yet there are some good houses. It is considered as a County of itself, and sends one Member to Parliament. The Town was formerly fortified by a strong wall, or rampart, on the Western summit: the shell of a once-extensive Castle, is still remaining; this is now converted into a goal.

The Parade, commanding a cheerful View of the neighbouring Country, and the ruins of an ancient Abbey, extends for a considerable way, by the side of a hill. At the extremity of this Walk, stand the ruins of an ancient Priory of Black Canons: the remains are now very inconsiderable, but we easily traced the Chapel, over one end of which is an arch, still in good preservation, and beautifully enwreathed with the rich drapery of ivy.

Haverford is called by the Welch, Hwlfordh. [47] Having finished our survey of Haverford, we started early the next morning, purporting to breakfast at

NEWGIN BRIDGE,

where we understood we should meet with every thing comfortable; but, to our disappointment, we found a most miserable, dirty pot-house, destitute of even the common comforts of life. We were literally obliged to stoop, in order to gain access to the Kitchen, which contained a small bed, and a few chairs; through this an elderly woman conduced us to what she distinguished by the name of a Parlour: in this room the furniture consisted of two beds, a dirty table, and a few chairs. With disgust we left this miserable hovel, and contented ourselves with a bason of milk: we declined eating the bread, or rather oatmeal cake, which was of the coarsest and hardest nature. I here recollected Shenstone’s complimentary lines on an Inn, but could not apply them on the present occasion:

“Whoe’er has travell’d life’s dull round,
Where’er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think that he has found
The warmest welcome at an Inn.” [49]

The road from Haverford to Newgin we found very uninteresting; and the shell of

ROACH CASTLE

did not detain us long. It stands on a rocky eminence, now completely in ruins, with only one tower remaining. “Roach Castle (says Leland) in Rouseland, to the right of the road to St. David’s, shews a round and some double out-works, visible at a great distance. It belonged to the Lords Ferrars and old Langeville, Knt. of Bucks.”

In descending the hill to Newgin, the dark lowering rocks, which form that fine Bay, called St. Bride’s, exhibited a grand prospect. In the centre of this Bay is situated Newgin, bounded on the South by the Island of Skomar, and on the North by Ramsay. The fields adjacent to this place have been frequently inundated, by extraordinary overflowings of the sea: at the reflux of the tide, the sands admit of most excellent walking.

The saunter from hence to the City of

ST. DAVIDS,

now properly deserving the name of a Village, was rather more captivating than our walk before breakfast: it was occasionally enlivened by the prospect of the wide ocean, boundless to our view on one side, whilst before us the fantastic shapes of the rocks off St. David’s Head, exhibited Nature, in her most awful and striking attitudes. Above the rest, Caern Thydy lifted its bold promontory, as if to give effect to the rude landscape. About half way between Newgin and St. Davids, the beautiful little Village of Solva unexpectedly burst upon our view; studded with neat white-washed cottages, and enclosed on each side with lofty rocks, which here form a picturesque and interesting chasm. These rocks, indeed, I could almost imagine, were torn asunder by some convulsive rent of the earth. The Cathedral, and dilapidated ruins of the episcopal Palace, are situated at the bottom of a steep hill, and scarcely visible in the town: these, and the prebendal houses, were formerly enclosed by a strong stone wall, with four gates, computed at eleven hundred yards in circuit. David, [51] the national saint of Wales, with the consent of King Arthur, is said to have removed the Metropolitan See from Cær Lleon to Menevia, which has ever since been called Ty Dewi, by the Welch, and St. David, by the English. What was the condition and extent of this town formerly, is difficult to say, having been so frequently destroyed. At present it is a very small city, and has nothing to boast, but its ruined palace, and old cathedral, dedicated to St. Andrew and St. David, which has often been demolished, but rebuilt, in its present form, by Bishop Peter, according to Giraldus, in the reign of Henry II. or as Willis, 1110, in Rhos Vale, below the town. It is still esteemed a noble pile, consisting of two transepts, measuring in length, from East to West, three hundred feet, and the body, with the aisles, seventy-six feet broad.

“Behind the choir is a most beautiful chapel, with a rich roof of carved stone, built by Vaughan, in the time of Henry VIII. as a kind of presbytery, between the choir and Lady chapel. In the last, whose roof, as well as those of the ailes of the choir and transepts, have been down ever since the civil war, are monuments for three bishops, and in the nave, &c. four or five more. In the North wall of the choir is the shrine of St. David, a kind of altar tomb, with a canopy of four pointed arches, and in front four quatrefoil holes, into which the votaries put their offerings, which were taken out by the Monks at two iron doors behind. In the choir are also the monuments of Owen Tudor, second husband of Queen Catharine, Rhys ap Tudor, [52a] Bishops Jorwerth and Anselm, in the 13th century, and Edmund Earl of Richmond, father of Henry VII. This last monument is said to have prevented Henry VIII. from removing the see to Caermarthen. Giraldus Cambrensis, who was Archdeacon of Brecon, canon of Hereford, and Rector of Chesterton, Oxford, was buried here 1213. [52b] On the North side of the church are some walls of St. Mary’s College, founded by Bishop Houghton, and John of Gaunt, 1365, valued at 106l. per annum.” [52c]

It is much to be regretted, that so little regard has been paid to the internal appearance of this noble pile; the whole of it has lately been white-washed, which gives it too much the air of a modern building: the external part, I am sorry to add, has been equally neglected; and the chapels and monuments exposed to the wanton mischief of boys and idle people. The West front of the Cathedral has very lately been repaired by a Mr. Nash, [53] who has endeavoured, with bad success, to imitate the beautiful circular window remaining in the ruins of the Bishop’s Palace. The stone, likewise, with which it is built, is of so soft a substance, that it even moulders with the touch of the finger; but possibly it may, by being exposed to the air, like the Bath stone, become more solid; and, when by time it shall have acquired a darker hue, may then better correspond with the original building.

The Bishop’s Palace now stands a monument of desolation;—and as we walked over the loose fragments of stone, which are scattered through the immense area of the fabric, the images of former times rose to reflection,—when the spacious hall stood proudly in their original splendour; when the long ailes of the chapel were only responsive to the solemn, slow-breathed chaunt. In this Palace is a very long room, purposely erected for the reception of King John: at the extremity of it is a circular window, of very elegant and curious workmanship.

Giraldus gives us a true description of the county round St. Davids, representing it “as a stony, barren, unimprovable territory, undecked with woods, undivided by rivers, unadorned with meadows, exposed only to wind and storms.” Such, indeed, is the state and situation of St. Davids; and, the environs having no hedges to divide the property of the farmers, the sheep, and even the geese, are all tethered together.

The walk to St. David’s Head, though barren, represents a view striking and awful: sublimity gives place to elegance: yet what is it to view?—a boundless waste of ocean;—not a glimpse of smiling nature,—not a patch of vegetation, to relieve the aching sight, or vary the objects of admiration. The rocks on this shore, are shook into every possible shape of horror; and, in many parts, resemble the convulsions of an earthquake, splintered, shivered, and amassed. On these rocks stood the famous rocking stone, or Y mean sigl, which, “though twenty yoke of oxen could not move it, might be shaken with the slightest touch.” We understood it was thrown off its balance, by order of the farmer, to prevent the curious from trampling on his grounds. “A mile strait West from St. David’s, betwixt Portclais and Porthmaur,” [55] is the shell of Capel Stinen, St. Stinan’s, or St. Justinian’s Chapel.

From this spot is an extensive View of Whitsand Bay, called by the Welsh Porth Maur, or the Great Bay; in which stand the six Rocks, called The Bishop and his Clerks. Half a league from hence is

RAMSEY ISLE,

half a mile long, and three quarters broad, and divided into two considerable farms. The whole island is well stocked with rabbits; and, during the Spring, the Razorbill, Puffin, and Harry Birds, resort here in flocks.

Our walk, from St. Davids to

FISHGUARD,

afforded us little room for observation; the eye, however, kept in view a wide range of the unbounded ocean, till, dim with exertion, it by degrees reposed on the dark lowering rocks, which, disregarding the angry roar of the waves, seemed to project their broad sides, to augment the idle tumult. Quitting the turnpike road, in search of the place where the French effected their landing in 1797, we passed a neat house, called Caergwent, belonging to Mrs. Harris. The kind attentions of a farmer, in the neighbourhood of this memorable spot, claim our warmest acknowledgments. Having finished a most comfortable meal at Mr. Mortimer’s house, (which, during the confusion was considered the head-quarters of the French, commanded by General Tate) he explained every minutiæ respecting this circumstance; and very obligingly pointed out the situation of their camp, and related many entertaining and interesting anecdotes. Deeply impressed with gratitude towards Mr. M. for his civilities, we soon arrived at Goodric Sands. This spot was very judiciously selected by Lord Cawdor, as a proper place for the French to lay down their arms; for, had they resisted, a cannonade of grape-shot, from a neighbouring fortress, would have instantly played upon them. Fishguard stands on a steep rock, with a convenient harbour, formed by the river Gwain; though its situation and Bay are interesting, it is by no means a desirable place to remain long at.

Several Druidical Monuments [56] engaged our attention, as we drew near

NEWPORT,

Called by Giraldus Llanhever, or The Town on the River Nevern. The fragments of the Castle are too insignificant to invite the curiosity of the passing traveller: it was demolished by Llewellyn, Prince of South-Wales, when possessed by the Flemings.

The country beyond Newport presented a more pleasing countenance; wood, water, hill, and vale, all unite, even to induce the plodding citizen to pause, and wish to spend the evening of his days in the vicinity of its enchantment. In this interesting situation, we found the Village of Velindre:—we here particularly observed the slaty quality of the hills, and could not avoid condemning the folly of the inhabitants of Velindre, in building their cottages of mud, and sparingly covering them with straw, when Nature herself seemed to place comforts, if not luxuries, before their view. But, perhaps, these reproaches were ill-grounded: for, thus veiled in obscurity, they were happy, as they knew not enough of the world seriously to regret the want of these conveniencies: their situation, indeed, seemed to verify the philosophical sentiment of Gray;

“Since ignorance is bliss,
’Tis folly to be wise.”

For though they suffer the extremes of filth and penury, yet they enjoy the two inestimable blessings, health and felicity.

The broken towers of

KILGERRAN CASTLE,

soon attracted our notice. The relicks of this ruin stand on a point of rock, impending over the river Tyvi, whose beauty time had only impaired, to heighten its grandeur. Two imperfect circular towers, and the fragments of a wall, now only remain. The river Tyvi, I imagine, abounds with fish, as we observed at every door, in the village of Kilgerran, a coracle. [58] The construction of this little water conveyance is remarkably simple, and intended solely for the use of fishing: a thick skin, or coarse pitched canvas, is stretched over wicker-work. This singular fishing-boat only conveys one man, who manages it with the greatest adroitness imaginable; the right hand being employed in using the paddle, the left in conducting the net, and the teeth in holding the line. Two coracles generally co-operate, to assist each other in fishing: they usually measure about five feet long, and four broad, and rounded at the corners; and, after the labours of the day, are conveyed, on the back, to the little cot of the fisherman, which is looked upon as a necessary appendage to the cottage door.

Description can scarcely suggest the full magnificence and beauty of the saunter from hence to Cardigan: the valley, about two miles in extent, seemed to possess all that Nature inherits; sloping hills, two hundred feet high, covered with wood, from the water’s edge, to their highest summit, and at the most acceptable distances, and truly happy situations, interrupted by a bold, naked, and projecting rock: whilst the broad and translucid stream of the Tyvi reflects, as in a mirror, the blackness of the impending shades. The retrospect commands the romantic ruins of Kilgarran Castle, whose mutilated walls close this delicious landscape. The whole valley bears a strong resemblance to the situation of the celebrated Piercefield. As this spot is entirely lost, by keeping the turnpike road, it is advisable for travellers, in general, to hire a boat from Cardigan to Kilgarran: this, our humble and less-encumbered mode of travelling rendered unnecessary.

At Llechryd, not far from Kilgerran, extensive Tin-works are carried on by Sir Benjamin Hamet. Having already examined works of this nature at Neath, we preferred the romantic vale of Kilgerran; as to accomplish both, would have occupied too much time.

We entered the town of

CARDIGAN,

over a handsome stone-bridge, built over the Tyvi, which is here of considerable width. In front of this stands, on a steep eminence, the Castle, consisting chiefly of its outer walls, which prove it to have been once a considerable building. This place, considered the principal town of the county, is called by the Britons Abertuvi; which name it receives from standing near the Mouth of the River Tyvi. It was fortified, together with the Castle, by Gilbert, son of Richard Clare, and demolished by Rhees ap Gryffith.

The town is large, and regular; its chief trade consisting in lead, exported to Ireland. The Church is large, and well-built, with a handsome tower. The new gaol, finished in 1797, is conveniently situated, and appears to be a well-planned building.

One mile West from Cardigan is

ST. DOGMAEL’s ABBEY,

called, by Leland, [61] a “Priory of Bonhommes.” The Monasticon places this house amongst the Benedictines; but it was that strict and reformed sort of Benedictines, called the order of Tiron, founded by Martin of Tours, who conquered the country of Cemmeis, about the time of King William the Conqueror. Part of the ruins is now converted into a chapel, for the convenience of the vicinity.

At the second mile stone, in our road from Cardigan, to the village of

LLANARTH,

we halted a short time, to take a retrospect of the country we had passed. From this spot, the Town and Castle of Cardigan, standing on an eminence, in the centre of a broad valley, and encircled with hills, beautifully introduced themselves to our view. From hence to

ABERAERON,

grand Sea prospects continued to enliven our route;—whilst the faint and still fainter hues of the coast of Ireland appeared just visibly skirting the distant horizon.

Aberaeron is situated in a vale, near the conflux of the river Aeron with the sea: from whence it receives its name; Aber signifying the mouth of any thing.

The entrenchment, mentioned by Sael, in his Collection of Tours, about a mile from Aberaeron, is now almost washed away, by the daily encroachments of the sea. We lamented, that the Druidical sepulchral monuments, mentioned by the same Author, were inadvertently passed unnoticed by us.

In this day’s journey, we still continued to indulge the sublime emotions, which an unconfined view of the ocean always inspires; a serene day, with partial gleams of sunshine, gave magical effects to the scenery; and the sea was enlivened with many a vessel, whose gay streamers, glittering to the sun-beams, presented to the eye a constant moving scene, and rendered the terrific ocean beautiful. Before us, the towering mountains of Merionethshire glittered in all those colours of beauty, which constitute the sublime; and we appeared only to climb one hill, to view still others rising in endless perspective: over the whole was diffused the rich glow of even; and the distant mountains were variegated by the parting tinge of lingering day. A neat Church, backed by romantic hills, animated the village of Llanrysted. Three miles from

ABERYSTWITH,

we paused at Llanryan Bridge, to admire the rich banks rising on each side of the river Ystwith, over which this bridge is thrown; it is built in the style of the celebrated Pont y Prydd, in the vale of Glamorganshire. We entered the town of Aberystwith, over a temporary wooden bridge. [63] In the year 1796, a stone bridge experienced the same fate with many others in Wales, occasioned by a sudden thaw: Mr. Edwards, from Dolgelly is now engaged in erecting another, by contract, consisting of six arches.

Aberystwith, partaking much of the dirt of sea-ports in general, is situated at the termination of the vale of Rhydol, in the Bay of Cardigan, and open to St. George’s Channel. The environs are stony and rugged; the coast affords indifferent bathing, being much exposed; and the shore rough and unpleasant. In fine, it is, in almost all respects, the reverse of Tenby, except it has the advantage in the number of houses, and, consequently, more company. At the extremity of the town, upon an eminence, stand the ruins of an ancient castle, of which little now remains but a solitary tower, overlooking a wide expanse of sea. It was rendered famous, by being, at one time, the residence of the great Cadwalader, and in all the Welch wars considered as a fortress of great strength: it was built by Gilbert Strongbow, 1107, and rebuilt by Edward I. in 1277, a few years before his complete conquest of Wales. The ruin of the castle now affords a pleasant walk.

But what formerly rendered this town more considerable, were the rich Lead Mines in its vicinity. These mines are said to have yielded near a hundred ounces of silver from a ton of lead, and to have produced a profit of two thousand pounds a month. Sir Hugh Middleton here made the vast fortune, which he afterwards expended on the New River, constructed for the purpose of supplying the Northern side of London with water. But Thomas Bushell raised these mines to their greatest height: an indenture was granted to him by Charles I. for the coining of silver pieces, to be stamped with ostrich feathers, on both sides, for the benefit of paying his workmen. This gentleman was afterwards appointed Governor of Lundy Isle. The most considerable lead mine was that of Bwlch-yr-Eskir-his, discovered in 1690. The ore was here so near the surface, that the moss and grass in some places just covered it.

Close to the scite of the old Castle, Mr. Uvedale Price, of Foxley in Herefordshire, has erected a fantastic house, in the castellated form, intended merely as a summer residence. Mr. Nash, of Caermarthen, was the architect: it consists of three octagon towers, with a balcony towards the sea. The rooms are well contrived, and elegantly furnished: the windows command an unlimited View of St. George’s Channel; and the dilapidated fragments of the Castle, are from hence viewed to great advantage.

We determined to pursue the Banks of the meandering Rhyddol, in preference to the turnpike road, in our way to Havod.

This valley comprehends every thing that constitutes the beautiful; it is enclosed by high mountains on each side, vegetating to their summits; indeed, all the tints of verdure, and diversity of foliage, here introduce themselves in one view; the Rhyddol struggling with the huge masses of rock,—its never-ceasing, tumultuous motion,—its sparkling foam;—in fine, every thing that can be imagined, by the most enthusiastic admirer of nature is blended in this short excursion:—

—“is not this vale
More free from peril than the envious courts?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The season’s difference, as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the Winter’s wind.”

Shakspeare.

To the inquisitive pedestrian, for this vale is inaccessible for carriages, the old Church of Llanbadern Vawr, which signifies The Church of Great Paternus, a native of Bretagne, is particularly interesting; who, as the writer of his Life expresses it, “by feeding governed, and by governing fed the Church of Ceretica.” To his memory this Church, and formerly an Episcopal See was founded: but the Bishopric, as Roger Hovedan writes, “early declined, because the parishioners slew their pastor.” [66]

As we drew near the

DEVIL’s BRIDGE,

a long chain of mountains excited our admiration, encircled half way down with a thick mist, similar in appearance to a girdle: this circumstance seems to justify the bold imagery, and beautiful description of a mountain given by the Poet:

“As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm;
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.”—Goldsmith.

The comfortable Inn, situated near this romantic spot, stands in front of the river Rhyddol, and commanding the most picturesque view fancy can paint, is built by the respectable and truly hospitable owner of Havod.

This celebrated Bridge, so much the object of curiosity and admiration, is so completely environed with trees, that many travellers, not intent upon deep investigation, or in pursuit of nature’s landscapes, may pass over it, without the least suspicion of the dreadful aperture, or the ancient structure, that conveys them over the gulf. On the Eastern side we descended a precipitous, and treacherous bank, consisting of slate rock, or laminac, I should imagine, near a hundred feet: this is the computed measurement; but the eye, confused by the awfulness of the scene, loses its faculty of judging. From this spot, the vast chine, or chasm, over which the bridge is thrown, is seen to great advantage: the whole of this fissure was probably occasioned by some convulsion of nature, as each indenture seems to correspond with the opposite protuberance. Under the bridge, the river Mynach, in its confined course, meeting with obstructions of massy rock, and fragments of prodigious size, rushes through the chasm with irresistible violence.

This bridge is called in Welsh Pont-ar-Fynach, or Mynach Bridge: it consists of two arches, one thrown over the other. The foundation of the under one is of great antiquity, and vulgarly attributed to the invention of the Devil: it is supposed to have been erected as far back as the year 1087, in the reign of William II., by the Monks of Strata Florida Abbey, the ruins of which are still visible, about ten miles from hence. Gerald mentions his passing over it, when he accompanied Baldwin, Archbishop of Cambray, at the time of the crusades, in the year 1188, and in the reign of Richard I. The original arch being suspected to be in a ruinous condition, the present bridge was built over it, at the expence of the county, in the year 1753.—The width of the chasm is estimated at about thirty feet.

Our Ciceroni first conducted us to a fall on the river Rhyddol, unobserved in Walker’s Description of the Devil’s Bridge, and unnoticed by Warner. The character of this fall is remarkably singular: a huge fragment of rock, projecting over the river for a considerable way, precipitates the water in a singular, and almost inexpressible direction; the rocks are occasionally variegated by the dark foliage of underwood, and sometimes barren, rugged, and impending.

Description cannot suggest the full magnificence of the prospect which spread before us, on our arrival at the grand fall of the Mynach; for though it may paint the grandeur of the elegance of outline, yet it cannot equal the archetypes in nature, or draw the minute features, that reward the actual observer, at every new choice of his position: reviewing this thundering cataract, in the leisure of recollection, these nervous lines of Thomson seem to describe much of the scene:

“Smooth to the shelving brink a copious flood
Rolls fair and placid, where collected all
In one impetuous torrent, down the steep
It thundering shoots, and shakes the country round.
At first an azure sheet, it rushes broad;
Then whitening by degrees, as prone it falls,
And from the loud-resounding rocks below
Dash’d in a cloud of foam, it sends aloft
A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower.
Nor can the tortur’d wave here find repose:
But raging still amid the shaggy rocks,
Now flashes o’er the scatter’d fragments, now
Aslant the hollow channel rapid darts;
And falling fast from gradual slope to slope,
With wild infracted course, and lessen’d roar,
It gains a safer bed, and steals, at last,
Along the mazes of the quiet vale.”

The following Table, taken from Walker’s Description of the Devil’s Bridge, gives the exact height from the top of the bridge, to the water underneath, and the different falls from thence, till the Mynach delivers itself into the Rhyddol below:

The rocks on each side of the fall rise perpendicularly to the height of eight hundred feet, and finely clothed with the richest vegetation, to its highest summit.

Near the bason of the first fall from the bridge we entered a dark cavern, formerly inhabited by a set of robbers, two brothers and a sister, called Plant Mat, or Plant Fat, signifying Matthew’s Children. Tradition reports, that they committed various depredations in the neighbourhood, and lived concealed in this “specus horrendum” for many years, from the keen research of “day’s garish eye.” The entrance just admits sufficient light to make “darkness visible.”

With regret we left this romantic spot; where, if Retirement ever had “local habitation,” this was her “place of dearest residence.” “One excursion (says Mr. Cumberland) to this place will not suffice common observers; nor indeed many, to the lovers of the grand sports of Nature.” The Mynach (in another place he describes) coming down from beneath the Devil’s Bridge, has no equal for height or beauty that I know of; for although a streamlet, to the famous fall of Narni in Italy, yet it rivals it in height, and surpasses it in elegance.

“After passing deep below the bridge, as through a narrow firth, with noises loud and ruinous, into a confined chasm, the fleet waters pour headlong and impetuous, and leaping from rock to rock, with fury, literally lash the mountain’s sides; sometimes almost imbower’d among deep groves, and flashing, at last, into a fan-like form, they fall rattling among the loose stones of the Devil’s Hole—where, to all appearance, it shoots into a gulf beneath, and silently steals away: for so much is carried off in spray, during the incessant repercussions it experiences, in this long tortuous shoot, that, in all probability, not half the water arrives at the bottom of its profound and sullen grave.”

Four miles from hence, on the Llandiloe’s road, is situated

HAVOD,

the celebrated Seat of Mr. Johnes. The former, part of the road is barren and uninteresting: but on our first entrance into the grounds, all our past complaints were lost in expressions of admiration. The mansion is a very elegant piece of architecture built of Portland stone, and the plan entirely novel, being a mixture of the Moorish and Gothic, with turrets and painted windows. The whole of it indeed does great credit to the architect, Mr. Baldwyn of Bath. It is situated near the banks of the river Ystwith, and beautifully environed by lofty hills, clothed with oak. The interior of the house corresponds in elegance with the exterior. From the hall we were conducted through a suite of elegant apartments, very judiciously fitted up with paintings, statues, and antiques; but the Library more particularly engaged our notice, containing a choice and valuable collection of books: this octagonal room is built in the form of a dome, with a gallery round it, supported by a colonade of variegated marble pillars, of the ancient Doric order, with a circular window at top, for the admission of light. We entered through a handsome door, inlaid with a large reflecting mirror; immediately opposite is another door, of transparent plate-glass, leading to the Conservatory, three hundred feet in length, and containing a number of curious, and rare exotics, with a walk down the centre of the building. In fine, the effect of the tout ensemble can better be imagined than described. Amongst the other things worthy of admiration, a handsome statue, in the Library, of Thetis dipping Anchises in the river Styx more particularly detains attention. We next passed through the Billiard-room, and were conducted to the top of the stair-case, to admire two elegant paintings, the subjects taken from Capt. Cook’s Voyages: the painter is unknown. Many of the rooms are beautifully furnished with rich Gobelin tapestry.

To give my readers a just conception of the beauties of Havod, I shall beg leave to borrow the elegant description of it, drawn by the masterly pen of Mr. Cumberland.

“Havod,” says Mr. Cumberland, “is a place in itself so pre-eminently beautiful, that it highly merits a particular description. It stands surrounded with so many noble scenes, diversified with elegance, as well as with grandeur; the country on the approach to it is so very wild and uncommon, and the place itself is now so embellished by art, that it will be difficult, I believe, to point out a spot that can be put in competition with it, considered either as the object of the Painter’s eye, the Poet’s mind, or as a desirable residence for those who, admirers of the beautiful wildness of nature, love also to inhale the pure air of aspiring mountains, and enjoy that santo pacê (as the Italians expressively term it,) which arises from solitudes made social by a family circle.

“From the portico, it commands a woody, narrow, winding vale; the undulating forms of whose ascending, shaggy sides, are richly clothed with various foliage, broken with silver water-falls, and crowned with climbing sheep-walks, reaching to the clouds.

“Neither are the luxuries of life absent; for, on the margin of the Ystwith, where it flows broadest through this delicious vale, we see hot-houses, and a conservatory; beneath the rocks, a bath; amid the recesses of the woods, a flower-garden; and within the building, whose decorations, though rich, are pure and simple, we find a mass of rare and valuable literature, whose pages here seem doubly precious, where meditation finds scope to range unmolested.

“In a word, so many are the delights afforded by the scenery of this place, and its vicinity, to a mind imbued with any taste, that the impression on mine was increased, after an interval of ten years from the first visit, employed chiefly in travelling among the Alps, the Appenines, the Sabine Hills, and the Tyrollese; along the shores of the Adriatic, over the Glaciers of Switzerland, and up the Rhine; where, though in search of beauty, I never, I feel, saw any thing so fine—never so many pictures concentred in one spot; so that, warned by the renewal of my acquaintance with them, I am irresistibly urged to attempt a description of the hitherto almost virgin-haunts of these obscure mountains.

“Wales, and its borders, both North and South, abound, at intervals, with fine things: Piercefield has grounds of great magnificence, and wonderfully picturesque beauty. Downton Castle has a delicious woody vale, most tastefully managed; Llangollen is brilliant; the banks of the Conway savagely grand; Barmouth romantically rural; the great Pistill Rhayader is horribly wild; Rhayader Wennol, gay, and gloriously irregular—each of which merits a studied description.

“But, at Havod, and its neighbourhood, I find the effects of all in one circle; united with this peculiarity, that the deep dingles, and mighty woody slopes, which from a different source, conduct the Rhyddol’s never-failing waters from Plynlimmon, and the Fynach, are of an unique character, as mountainous forests, accompanying gigantic size with graceful forms; and, taken altogether, I see the ‘sweetest interchange of hill and valley, rivers, woods, and plains, and falls, with forests crowned, rocks, dens, and caves;’ insomuch, that it requires little enthusiasm there to feel forcibly with Milton, with

“All things that be, send up from earth’s great altar
Silent praise!”

“There are four fine walks from the house, chiefly through ways artificially made by the proprietor; all dry, kept clean, and composed of materials found on the spot; which is chiefly a course stone, of a greyish cast, friable in many places, and like slate, but oftener consisting of immense masses, that cost the miner, in making some part of these walks, excessive labour; for there are places, where it was necessary to perforate the rock many yards, in order to pass a promontory, that, jutting across the way, denied further access; and to go round which, you must have taken a great tour, and made a fatiguing descent. As it is, the walks are so conducted, that few are steep; the transitions easy, the returns commodious, and the branches distinct. Neither are they too many, for much is left for future projectors; and if a man be stout enough to range the underwoods, and fastidious enough to reject all trodden paths, he may, almost every where, stroll from the studied line, till he be glad to regain the friendly conduct of the well-known way.

“Yet one must be nice, not to be content at first to visit the best points of view by the general routine; for all that is here done, has been to remove obstructions, reduce the materials, and conceal the art; and we are no where presented with attempts to force these untamed streams, or indeed to invent any thing, where nature, the great mistress, has left all art behind.”

We now for many miles passed a barren, dreary country, completely encircled with hills, and we only climbed one, to observe still others rising in the distant perspective: not even a house or tree appeared to interrupt the awfulness of the mountains, which after the copious fall of rain in the night, teemed with innumerable cataracts. According to our directions, we enquired at the foot of Plinlimmon for Rhees Morgan, as a proper man to be our conductor over the heights of the “fruitful father of rivers.” This man being absent, the whole family appeared thunderstruck at our appearance, and run with all haste imaginable into their miserable cot, or which might rather be dignified with the appellation of a pig-stye; as that filthy animal seemed to claim, with the wretched family, an equal right to a share of the hovel. One apartment served for the inhabitants of every description, with only one small hole to admit the light; the entrance unprotected by a door, but with a blanket as a substitute, was exposed to the pitiless blast of the winter’s storm. Reviewing this despicable hovel, I recalled to my mind a very just observation of Goldsmith’s, “That one half of the world are ignorant how the other half lives.”

“Ah! little think the gay licentious proud
Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround;
They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth,
And wanton, often cruel, riot waste;
Ah! little think they, while they dance along,
. . . . . .
. . . how many drink the cup
Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread
Of misery. Sore pierc’d by wintry winds,
How many shrink into the sordid hut
Of cheerless poverty.”—Thompson.

With some difficulty we prevailed on the female part of the family to give us proper directions to the source of the meandering Wye, [79] and rapid Severn. The latter they only understood by the name of Halfren, its original British name; it is likewise called in Latin Sabrina. From the top of Plinlimmon we, for the first time, discovered the shaggy summit of Cader Idris, and the spiral head of Snowdon. There is nothing particularly engaging in the character of this mountain, except to its giving rise to no less than six or eight rivers, and on this account has frequently been celebrated by the Poet. Though its summit commands a circle of many miles diameter, yet the prospect by no means answered our expectations. We descended into a swampy bottom, which afforded us unpleasant walking for two or three miles, when a most delightful and well-cultivated valley unexpectedly enlivened our spirits. The sun was making

—“a golden set,
And by the bright track of his fiery car
Gave signal of a goodly day to-morrow,”

just as we entered this interesting vale: the hay-makers, in the coolness of the evening, were returning to their homes,

“Each by the lass he loved.”

In short, the whole valley breathed delicious fragrance: add to this, innumerable cataracts rushed from the mountain’s summits, occasioned by the late copious rains.

From hence a good turnpike-road soon conducted us to the romantic town of

MACHYNLLETH,

considered as the center of the woollen manufactory in this part of the country, principally of the strong cloth, or high country cloth. [81] The situation of Machynlleth, (or as it is pronounced by the Welch, Mahunthleth) is extremely romantic, stupendous mountains forming a natural rampart round the town. We here visited the neglected Mansion, where Owen Glendwr assembled the States of the Principality, in 1402, and accepted from their hands the crown of Wales. Part of the house is now allotted for the purpose of a stable, the remainder is turned into a butcher’s shop:—

“Sic transit gloria mundi!”

In fine, the only evident remains of its ever having been celebrated in the annals of history, is a spacious door way. The town itself, in many parts, bears the appearance of antiquity; the streets are considerably wider than Welch towns in general, and the market-place is well built.

As we entered Machynlleth, being the first town in North Wales, we were in a manner instinctively induced to reflect on the various incidents that had befallen us from our first sallying forth on our pedestrian excursion. We took a retrospect on all our little troubles, with equally as much delight, as the sailor, who, by the blessing of Providence, has escaped the most imminent dangers: all our past imaginary dangers (for imaginary evils are frequently worse than real ones) were overbalanced with reflections on the many hours of pleasure that were flown unheeded by: these reflections brought to my recollection some interesting lines in Bowles’s Sonnets, which I involuntarily exclaimed aloud,

“Fair scenes ye lend a pleasure long unknown
To him who passes weary on his way;
The farewell tear, which now he turns to pay
Shall thank you; and whene’er of pleasures flown,
His heart some long-lost image would renew,
Delightful haunts! he will remember you.”

The sublimity of the walk from hence to Talylyn, literally “beggars description.” Having crossed a bridge of eight arches, thrown over the river Dovey, high mountains closed us on every side, shook into every possible form of horror; huge masses of rock hung over the road, and it seemed necessary to remember their firm basis, to soften the terror they inspired; whilst other mishapen fragments lie scattered at the side of the road. The transparent Dyflas, whose clear surface reflected the tremulous picture in all its colours, forms one continued cataract for five or six miles, overflowing with the innumerable tributary torrents, which hurry themselves down from the highest summit of the surrounding rocks; whilst to give effect to the whole prospect, the shaggy head of Cader Idris towers the majestic sentinel of the scene, whose “cloud cap’d” summit the eye aches in surveying. To our great disappointment, the weather prevented our ascending this celebrated mountain giant. Cader Idris is esteemed, in height, the second mountain in all Wales, rising two thousand eight hundred and fifty feet above the green of Dolgelly. [83]

If the weather proves favourable to ascend Cader Idris, travellers may be very comfortably accommodated with beds at

TALYLYN;

a small village, situated at the foot of the mountain; and where they will likewise meet with a conductor, in every respect suited for this Alpine excursion. Mr. Jones, the landlord of the Blue Lion, used all his influence to persuade us, by largely expatiating on the comforts of his accommodations, to detain us till the weather wore a more favourable aspect, but knowing the uncertainty of his conjectures, we determined to make Barmouth our head quarters. Quitting therefore our officiously polite landlord, we soon arrived at the Pool of Three Grains, which, though of inferior size, yet is generally credited to be unfathomable; it abounds in fish, and derives its name from three immense stones, or rather fragments of rock near it, which the common people confidently assert, and believe, the giant Idris took out of his shoes as he passed this pool.

Having ascended several hills, a quick descent of three or four miles, soon brought us to

DOLGELLY;

surrounded with “a tempestuous sea of mountains,” and watered by the rapid current of the river Avonvawr, over which is thrown a large and handsome stone bridge, at the entrance of the town.

In the neighbourhood of this romantic spot, and indeed in many parts of Merionethshire, the manufacture of strong cloth has long been carried on. [84]

We were reluctantly necessitated to leave this interesting town of Dolgelly, much sooner than we wished, had we obeyed our own inclinations. No one can picture to themselves a more picturesque situation than that of Dolgelly:—an enclosed vale, encircled with the craggy and subject mountains of Cader Idris, forming an amphitheatre,—watered by the Alpine torrent of the Maw,—and richly clothed with wood. But necessity has no law; the best Inn was pre-occupied, and no comfortable accommodations could be found, and though drenched with rain, we were compelled to quicken our pace to the well-known bathing place of

BARMOUTH.

It is advisable for all travellers, pedestrians not excepted, to leave Dolgelly at high water, as without that, the scenery loses much of its beauty; if convenient, it is certainly preferable to hire a boat, at the Stoves; the charge is three shillings and sixpence; by this you will save a walk of eight miles, and both from your situation, and from being more at your ease, will better admit of your observing the surrounding scenery, with which you cannot fail to be highly gratified.

This short excursion of eight miles, is truly grand, awful, and sublime; and though many parts of this striking valley are richly cultivated, yet, by the side of the road, enormous mountains, formed into the most capricious shapes, shoot into the clouds, and sometimes projecting so far over the road, as seeming to impede our farther progress: the wide expanse of the ocean, in front, with the arm of the sea running up the country in the centre of the valley; in fine, the tout ensemble claimed our highest admiration.

Barmouth, though considered as a bathing-place, is very inferior to Tenby, yet its situation for grandeur of rocks, has been frequently compared, by many Tourists, to Gibraltar; and by others, esteemed not unlike St. Kitts, in the West Indies. The vast sand banks, formed by the tides immediately in front of the town, are the only barriers which protect it from the inundations of the sea. The shore is extremely level, and affords, for many miles, excellent riding. In respect to the bathing, little can be said to recommend it; the machines are not drawn into the water, and by this palpable inconvenience, you are under the disagreeable necessity of walking a considerable way in, before the water is sufficiently deep for “plunging headlong in the briny flood.” During our stay here, two gentlemen perceiving that the water was very much alloyed by a fresh water stream disemboguing itself into the sea, at Barmouth, persuaded Mrs. Lewis, the obliging landlady of the Cors-y-gedol Arms, to remove the machines farther from the town; and from them we were informed, that though the salt water was purer, yet they found it impossible to draw them sufficiently deep for good bathing: the machines being stationary on the sands, the ladies likewise find it remarkably inconvenient, being equally compelled to walk in. The folly of this method seems to be more striking, as the objection might be so easily obviated. The lower class here, as in many other parts of Wales, indiscriminately dress and undress on the sands, and pay very little distinction to their sex.

The board and lodging is regulated on the same excellent plan here as at Tenby, with very little difference in respect to the expence. The town itself is very dirty, and so irregularly built, on the declivity of a rock, that the windows of one house not uncommonly look down on the neighbouring chimney. We could not avoid observing the number of pigs, which are esteemed in this part of the country far superior to any in England, lying in every corner of the street; and these pigs, I rather imagine, consider themselves, during the night, inmates of the peasant’s cottage: yet these hardships, if they may be distinguished by that name, the inhabitants of the hovel suffer without complaint, and deem themselves perfectly happy as long as they possess a pile of turf to keep off the inclemency of the winter’s blast, a small strip of ground, well stocked with potatoes, some poultry, and a fat pig; though one hovel protects them all. Though to appearance, their situation is most miserable, yet it has no effect on their tempers and dispositions; their hospitality, and indeed kindness, towards strangers in distress, is an interesting trait in their character: to instance this, I am induced to mention an anecdote, which took place at Hubberstone, not long ago. A lady anxiously waiting the arrival of her husband, from Ireland, at the miserable village of Hubberstone, soon interested even the meaner inhabitants of the place in her behalf; who willing to render her situation as comfortable as possible, seemed to vie with each other in producing the most delicious fruits, and the choicest garlands of flowers, to present them to the unhappy consort; and not content alone with this, she was generally greeted in the streets, with the phrase, “There goes poor Mrs. L—.” The lady, at last, impatient for the arrival of her husband, determined to sail for Ireland. The faithfulness of the little group that accompanied her to the shore, can better be imagined than described; the last farewell, with tears of artless innocence, and the beseeching that Providence “who governs the waves, and stills the raging of the sea,” to grant her a prosperous voyage; all this seemed to come so thoroughly from the bottom of their hearts, that we cannot avoid feeling ourselves interested in their behalf.

The road from hence to

HARLECH,

is stony and uninteresting; to the left an unbounded view of the wide ocean, and in front, the steep mountains of North Wales rose in endless perspective. About four miles from Barmouth, we passed the two lodges at Tal-y-bont, leading to Cors-y-gedol, the seat of Sir Thomas Mostyn. It is practicable to go by the sands, but we were given to understand, by Mrs. Lewis, that the turnpike was, if any thing, shorter, the scenery more pleasing, and the guides necessary for crossing those dangerous sands, in general, most complete villains.

Harlech, though formed by Edward I. into a borough, can now be esteemed little more than a dirty village: the present castle, one of the most entire in Wales, is founded on a very high rock, projecting in the Irish Sea, and defended by a deep foss on the east side; below it is a marsh of considerable extent, occasionally overflowed by the sea; from the top of the walls to this marsh the height is very considerable, and from thence the Bay of Cardigan is seen to great advantage; in addition to this, the shagged summits of Cader Buchan and Snowdon, in Caernarvonshire, being enveloped in clouds, appear scarcely visible.

At the public-house, we accidentally met with a well-informed man, who minutely delineated every part of the castle; beginning with the founder, in the true characteristic style of a Welchman, run through his pedigree several generations: this, however, did not interest us, cursory pedestrians; and with little persuasion we soon induced him to write down, in as concise a manner as possible, any information he was acquainted with respecting the castle: “The founder of Harlech Castle, A.D. 552, was Maclegwynn; Gwynead made Caer Dugoll (Shrewsbury;) Caer Gyffin (Aber Conway;) Caer Gollwyn (Harleck) supposed to be buried in Cirester, and reigned thirty-four years.” Whether this information is correct, I will not take upon me to assert; but meeting with a Welchman, in this part of the country, capable of writing, rather surprised us, and induced me to transcribe this short paragraph.

The double gate-way, with four strong towers, is still very perfect; and the whole in sufficient repair, to form a conjecture of its ancient extent and grandeur. It was originally supposed to have been a Roman town, a conjecture founded on the great number of coins, and other pieces of antiquity, which have been found here, and in the neighbourhood.

In 1408 it was taken by the Earl of Pembroke; and afforded likewise shelter to Margaret of Anjour, after the battle of Northampton, 1460, and was the last in North-Wales, which held out for the King, being surrendered to General Mytton, 1647.

In a garden near this castle was dug up, in the year 1692, an ancient golden torques, of a round form, an inch in circumference, and weighing eight ounces. This curious relick of British antiquity, exhibited in a drawing by Mr. Pennant, still continues in the possession of the Mostyn family. As we had not an opportunity of examining the original, this account can only be gathered from the information of former authors, who represent it, as “a wreathed bar, or rather three or four rods twisted together, about four feet long, flexible, but bending naturally only one way, in form of a hat-band: it originally had holes at each end, not twitted or sharp, but plain, and cut even.”

In 1694, the prodigious phenomenon of fire, or kindled exhalation, which disturbed the inhabitants of this neighbourhood, is both singular and extraordinary; sixteen ricks of hay, and two barns, were burnt by a kindled exhalation, or blue weak flame, proceeding from the sea: this lasted about a fortnight or three weeks, poisoning the grass, and firing it for the space of a mile. It is extraordinary, that it had no effect on the men, who interposed their endeavours to save the ricks from destruction, even by running into it. For a more accurate account of this singular phenomenon, I refer my readers to the Philosophical Transactions, No. 208, and likewise to the Addenda, in Cambden: suffice it to say, that the air and grass was so infected, that it occasioned a great mortality of cattle, horses, sheep, and goats. The various conjectures that have been formed, to account for this kindled exhalation, seem to be very unsatisfactory; something similar to this, both in the appearance and in the effect, happened in France in the year 1734.

As, from the unfavourableness of the weather, we had not contemplated the rich scenery between Barmouth and Dolgelly, with that nice investigation which it deserved, we determined, by again returning to our obliging landlady at the Cors-y-gedol Arms, to seize the opportunity of again admiring its beauties; and, by taking a more circuitous route to the Vale of Festiniog, pay that attention to the Falls of Doll-y-mullin, Moddach, and Caen, which they so deservedly require.

This second saunter we found by no means tedious: the scene seemed perpetually changing at every unexpected curvature of the road; and the rude features of the mountains appeared to assume new forms, as the winding presented them to the eye in different attitudes, whilst the shifting vapours, which partially concealed their minuter grandeur, assisted the illusions of the sight. Amidst new woods, rising in the majesty of foliage, the scattered cottage, with its bluish smoke curling high in the air, was frequently rendered interesting by its neat simplicity: and served to constitute the romantic beauties of this picturesque saunter.

This pleasing scenery varied little till we arrived within two miles of Dolgelly, when several gentlemens’ seats burst upon our sight; and leaving that enchanting spot to the left, at the Laneltyd turnpike, a different object presented itself to our view. For four miles we walked by the side of a hill, the most translucent stream attending us the whole way; for though the road was situated so much above it, yet the sandy bottom, with the finny tribe, in considerable numbers, sporting in this transparent element, were easily descried. On each side, the mountains rose to a considerable height, with the craggy summit of Cader Idris claiming the pre-eminence. We soon arrived at the small ale-house (Traveller’s Rest) where we met the labourer of Mr. Madox, whom we were recommended to enquire for, as a proper ciceroni to the water-falls in his vicinity. Having finished our scanty but wholesome repast, we repaired with an old woman, the labourer being confined to the house by indisposition, to the fall of Doll-y-mullin. There appeared to be something singular in the appearance of this “mountain elf;” destitute of shoes and stockings, in the true Cambrian stile, she trip’d it, occasionally singing, and sometimes discontented with the world, herself, and every thing, uttering a most dismal groan. This excited our curiosity; but to learn much of her situation we soon found impracticable; her knowledge of the English language was very trivial; and as she seemed not much inclined to give us any information respecting the adjacent country, we found it useless to make enquiries concerning her condition in life.

Our surly conductress first led us through Mr. Madox’s grounds; to the left of the Tan-y-bwlch road, by a most delightful walk cut through the wood, we now soon reached the falls of Doll-y-mullin, the roaring of which had a long time announced its vicinity. This cataract, though considered only as a prelude to the grand falls of the Cayne and Moddach, is still worthy the attention of the passing traveller; for though the river precipitates itself not more than fifty feet, yet the projection and situation of the rocks, and the thick oak, carelessly throwing its broad brown arms across the troubled waters, is singularly pleasing. We had hitherto only contemplated this scene from the foot of the fall; but how noble the effect, when we began to wind up the steep ascent, and paused at every bason, which the water had formed in the excavated rock.

By a retrograde saunter we soon gained the Tan-y-bwlch road, and passing over the romantic bridge of Pont ar Garfa, beautifully entwined with the rich drapery of ivy, we ascended a steep path over the slaty mountain of Tylyn Gwladys, two miles in extent.—Sublimity, indeed, gave place to elegance; behind us, the huge steeps of Cader Idris, lifting high above the rolling clouds its shaggy head, of which at intervals, we caught a glance through the thick mist which enveloped it; in front Snowdon, conscious of pre-eminence, rose in the distant perspective; these were the boundaries of our view. On the opposite side a barren mountain, dignified by the name of Prince of Wales, appeared scarcely accessible, but to the steps of the enthusiast; this formerly afforded a vast quantity of ore, but it has lately so much failed, as not to produce even a sufficiency to remunerate the miners. While traversing these barren mountains, it is not less singular than interesting, occasionally to meet the most delicious vallies, watered by some foaming river; these literally surcharged

“With weighted rains, and melted Alpine snows.”

Such is the true characteristic of the Welch scenery: the finest verdure, and the most enchanting vallies are discovered in the bosom of sterility, where natural cascades, precipitating themselves from their rude pinnacles, alone disturb the silence which reigns in that asylum, only to render it more enchanting to the inquisitive pedestrians, for these landscapes are only accessible to their steps: the distant swell of the cataract had now long proclaimed our proximity to the object in pursuit. The falls of the Cayne and the Moddach are at no great distance from one another, being only separated by a thick wood. Crossing a small bridge, above fifty feet from the water, formed only by the trunk of an oak, which has accidentally fallen across the rapid torrent; our conductress very judiciously selected the latter as the first object for our admiration. The computed measurement of this fall is estimated between seventy and eighty feet, dividing itself into three distinct parts, each finely broken by the projected rocks: the quantity of water is very inconsiderable; but the whole is admirably presented to the eye in one view. The first fall, about twenty feet, precipitates itself into a deep pool, thirty feet diameter; from thence over a second ledge, thirty feet high; and, lastly, it discharges itself into a pool of considerable dimensions. The declivities of the rocks are luxuriantly clothed with wood; the oak more particularly spreading its gigantic arms across the foaming torrent: a variety of trees, indeed, profusely embellish the whole of this glen, which are finely contrasted with the dark brown rocks; constituting so finished a picture, and representing such a variety of colours, that their beauties the imagination can better conceive, than the pen describe.

We now returned to the fall of the Cayne, infinitely superior to any in Wales, being two hundred feet perpendicular, uninterrupted by rocks, and not intercepted by the thick wood which encircles it. For a considerable time we both of us gazed with that wrapt admiration, which loathes to be disturbed by the mutual exchange of our ideas; and stunned with the continual uproar, and never-ceasing tumultuous motion of the sparkling foam, we silently admired the grandeur of the landscape. On each side the horrific crags seemed to bid defiance to the goat’s activity. The Cayne, after this stunning cataract, throws its troubled waters over a rocky bed, till it unites itself with the Moddach below.

With reluctance we left this romantic situation; and, according to the directions of our conductress, soon found ourselves in the turnpike road to Tan-y-bwlch, understanding that Mr. Warner’s route to Pen-street afforded indifferent walking. Stupendous mountains attended us some way; and, to borrow a description from a celebrated author, they “looked like the rude materials of creation, forming the barrier of unwrought space.” The sun was now making a “golden set;” the mountains were thrown together in noble masses, appearing to scale the heavens, to intercept its rays, and emulous to receive the parting tinge of lingering day. We were watching with admiration the mild splendour of its light, fading from the distant landscape, when we perceived the rich vale of Festiniog suddenly open itself to our view: we observed the busy group of haymakers, who had completed their day’s labour, returning to their homes:

“While heard from dale to dale,
Waking the breeze, resounds the blended voice
Of happy labour, love and social glee.”

Pleased with this rustic scene, we caught the cheerful song, which was wafted on the gentle breeze. With pleasure we anticipated a saunter through this vale, early the ensuing morning; for one tint of sober gray had now covered its various coloured features, and the sun had now gleamed its last light upon the rivulet which winds through the bottom.

TAN-Y-BWLCH.

The “rich-hair’d youth of morn” had not long left its saffron bed, and the very air was balmy as it freshened into morn, when we hurried from our Inn to enjoy the luxuries of the Vale of Festiniog, so well celebrated by the pen of Lord Littleton. “With the woman one loves, with the friend of one’s heart, (says his Lordship) and a good study of books, one may pass an age there, and think it a day. If one has a mind to live long, and renew his youth, let him come and settle at Festiniog.” These are the sentiments of Lord Littleton, in which seemed to be verified the situation of Mr. Oakley, who has selected this spot for his residence. Tan-y-bwlch Hall, (for by that name is Mr. Oakley’s Seat dignified) is environed by a thick wood, which climbs the steep mountains behind his mansion. We followed the meandering and translucent waters of the river Dryryd, till we arrived at the Village of Maentwrog, situated about the middle of this Paradise. Passing through the village, we observed a small but neat cottage, which was rendered interesting to the way-farer by its neat simplicity. Perceiving a stand of fruit at the door, we were enticed to enter the cottage, where we found the interior of the house as comfortable, as the situation was interesting. A large old-fashioned chimney corner, with benches to receive a social party, formed a most enviable retreat from the rude storms of winter, and defied alike the weather and the world:—with what pleasure did I picture,

“A smiling circle, emulous to please,”

gathering round a blazing pile of wood on the hearth, free from all the vicissitudes and cares of the world, happy in their own home, blessed in the sweet affections of kindred amity, regardless of the winter blast that struggled against the window, and the snow that pelted against the roof. On our entering, the wife who possessed “the home of happiness, an honest breast,” invited us “to take a seat” under the window, which overlooking the village, and the dark tower of the church, offered the delights of other seasons. The sweets of a little garden, joined its fragrance to the honeysuckle, which enwreathed with rich drapery the windows; and here too lay the old family Bible, which had been put aside on our first entrance; we regretted, not having an opportunity of seeing the husband, whom, I make no doubt

“Envied not, and never thought of kings,
Nor from those appetites sustain’d annoy,
That chance may frustrate, or indulgence cloy;
Each season look’d delightful as it past,
To the fond husband, and the faithful wife.”

Our intended route for this day being very short, we did not leave Tan-y-bwlch till after breakfast, and even then lingered through the valley, to take one last adieu of this paradisiacal spot; the Dryryd serpentizing through the meadows, and the lively green of the swelling declivities on each side, beautifully contrasted with the ripening corn. From the vast quantity of ore we discovered, I am inclined to believe, that any spirited speculator would find it amply repay him for the expences and labour attending his speculations. The vale of Festiniog, not exceeding three miles long, and one in breadth, is a very rich tract of land.

An extremely rough, rocky, and unpleasant road, with nothing to engage our attention; and the country uncultivated, and diverted of every thing that gives, even the shadow of civilization, brought us to the far-famed Pont Aber-glaslyn, or, The Bridge of the Harbour of the Blue Lake; and not uncommonly styled, the Devil’s Bridge. This last appellation has very frequently misled strangers, who, confounding it with the well-known bridge at Havod, have been much disappointed, their expectations being raised very high, from the general descriptions of that place. Of this, indeed, we found an instance on the very spot. This bridge connects the two counties of Merionethshire and Caernarvonshire; being, from the parapet to the water, forty feet. From the description of former tourists, it did not answer our expectations; but the salmon-leap is an interesting object from the bridge: the height is about fifteen feet; and though we observed very many attempt this surprising feat of agility, not one succeeded. Some fishermen below soon excited our curiosity, and salmon was here offered for sale at three-pence per pound.

An intelligent man here offered himself as our guide to the rich Copper-mines, in the vicinity of Pont Aber-Glaslyn. This miner, having worked both here and at the Paris mountain, confidently asserted, that one pound of this ore was now esteemed equivalent to twice the quantity, produced in Anglesea. Stupendous cliffs, by the road side, literally rise eight hundred and sixty feet perpendicularly, and hang in the most capricious forms over the torrent, which, straggling amongst the recesses of stone, is hastening forward to disembogue itself into the estuary of Traeth Mawr. The pass is not more than seventy feet; after much rain it is entirely inundated by the overflowings of the Glaslyn, which reflected, as in a mirror, the blackness of the impending cliffs. On the Caernarvonshire side are several lead mines; but they have not proved sufficiently rich, to reward the labour of working.

The situation of our Inn at

BEDDGELERT,

is very romantic, and would form an interesting drawing, by taking in a small bridge of two arches below the house. It is completely encircled by lofty mountains, which may be considered as subject to the “cloud-capt Snowdon.”