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 King 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 Canterbury, at the time of the Crusades, in the year 1188,
and in the reign of King Richard I. The original arch being suspected to
be in a ruinous condition, the present bridge was built over it, at the
expense of the county, in the year 1753. The width of the chasm is
estimated at about thirty feet.
Our Cicerone 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 of 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 tortured 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.
FALLS, &c.
Feet
From the bridge to the water 114
First fall 18
Second ditto 60
Third ditto 20
Grand cataract 110
From the bridge to the Rhyddol 322
The rocks on each side of the fall rise perpendicularly to the height of
eight hundred feet, and are finely clothed with the richest vegetation to
the loftiest summit.
Near the basin 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 Hat, 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 imbowered among
deep groves, and flashing at last into a fanlike form, the 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 found and sullen grave.”
Four miles from hence, on the Llandiloe’s road, is situated
HAVOD or HAFOD,
the celebrated seat of the late 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. “A
philosopher has said,” says a modern Tourist, “that the man, who makes
two blades of grass grow, where only one grew before, is greater than the
greatest hero. If this be true, Mr. Johnes must rank before all the
conquerors of the world, as he has made the barren wilderness around him
to smile, and converted the worthless heath into waving woods, luxuriant
corn-fields, and pastures.” From October 1795, to April 1801, Mr. Johnes
planted more than 2,065,000 trees; besides a great number of acres, that
he sowed with acorns. Since this period the plantations have been
extended on the same scale with equal spirit; from one to two hundred
thousand trees being planted every year. 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 colonnade 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 Achilles in the river Styx, more particularly
detains attention. We next passed through the Billiard-room, and were
conducted to the top of the staircase, to admire two elegant paintings,
the subjects taken from Captain 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 pen of
Mr. Cumberland.
“Havod 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 pacé_, 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 form of whose ascending, shaggy sides, are richly clothed
with various foliage, broken with silver waterfalls, 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
Apennines, the Sabine Hills, and the Tyrolese; 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, warmed
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 Fynache, 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—
‘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 coarse
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 parts 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 the untamed
streams, or indeed to invent any thing where Nature, the great
mistress, has left all art behind.”
Such was the just description of Havod; but this magnificent mansion,
with the costly furniture, plate, pictures, and above all to be
regretted, the splendid library of scarce and valuable books, was
consumed by fire, during the absence of the owner, on the 13th of March,
1807.
All that the most indefatigable industry could accomplish was done by Mr.
Johnes, to replace the losses he had sustained; but the Welsh
manuscripts, and many other valuable works and specimens of art here
destroyed, no labour or money could restore. The actual pecuniary loss
suffered by Mr. Johnes, over and above the 20,000_l._ he was insured,
amounted to between 50 and 60,000_l._; but, like the destruction of the
labours of Lord Mansfield and Dr. Priestley, no estimate can be put on
the loss the proprietor and the world experienced, in thus rendering
abortive forty years of study, research, and expenditure on literary
valuables. Prior to the decease of Mr. Johnes, who did not long survive
his loss, the exterior of the building was nearly restored to its former
appearance; but the interior arrangement was considerably altered. He
likewise again established a most sumptuous collection of books, &c. part
of which, the Pesaro library, was on its way from Italy, having been
purchased by Mr. Johnes prior to the conflagration: it comprises many
very valuable books in the Spanish, French, and particularly the Italian
language, rare editions of the classics, and almost all the productions
of the Aldine press.
A minute description of the interior of Havod, prior to the fire, is
given by Mr. Malkin, which is now particularly interesting.
Unfortunately no catalogue of the books and manuscripts was ever taken,
Mr. Johnes not having completed his collection.
THE GENIUS OF HAVOD.
Formal slaves of art, avaunt!
This is Nature’s secret haunt:
The Genius of the landscape, I
Guard it, with a jealous eye—
Guard it, that no footstep rude
Upon her privacy intrude.
Here, with mystic maze, her throne
Is girt, accessible to none:
But to the highly-honour’d few
To whom I deign to lend my clue;
And chief to him, who in this grove,
Devotes his life to share her love:
From whom she seeks no charms to hide,
For whom she throws her veil aside,
Instructing him to spread abroad
Scenes for Salvator—or for Claude.
Far, oh far hence, let Brown and Eames
Zig-zag their walks, and torture streams!
But let them not my dells profane,
Or violate my Naiad train:
Nor let their arrogance invade
My meanest Dryad’s secret shade,
And with fantastic knots disgrace
The native honours of the place—
Making the vet’ran oak give way,
Some spruce exotic to display:
Their petty labours he defy’d,
Who Taste and Nature would divide!
ANON.
We now for many miles passed a barren, dreary country, completely
encircled with hills; and we only climbed one to observe others still
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 ran with all haste imaginable into
their miserable cot. 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.
“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 pierced by wintry winds,
How many shrink into the sordid hut
Of cheerless poverty.”
THOMSON.
With some difficulty we prevailed on the female part of the family to
give us proper directions to the source of the meandering Wye, {119} 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. “With respect to
Plinlimmon mountain,” says Mr. Malkin, “it is inferior only to Snowdon
and Cader Idris; if to the latter, in point of size and height. It takes
its name from five beacons; many of which, if not all, still remain, and
are seen at some distance. We may indeed compare Plinlimmon with those
formidable personages of poetical creation, who walk with their feet upon
the earth, and their heads in the region of the heavens.” There is
nothing particularly engaging in the character of this mountain, except
in 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 centre of the woollen manufactory in this part of the
country, principally of the strong cloth, or high country cloth. {121}
The situation of Machynlleth (or as it is pronounced by the Welsh,
Mahunthleth), is extremely romantic; stupendous mountains forming a
natural rampart round the town. This town is supposed to have been the
Maglona of the Romans, and where, in the name of Honorius, a lieutenant
was stationed to awe the mountaineers. It is 206 miles from London, and
33 from Montgomery: its population, 1,595 persons. We here visited the
neglected mansion where Owen Glyndour assembled the states of the
principality, in the year 1402, and accepted from their hands the crown
of Wales. Part of the house is now converted 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 Welsh towns in general, and the market-place is well-built:
tanning and the manufacture of flannels and webs constitute the principal
employment of the inhabitants.
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 of 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.”
At the village of Kevn Kaer are the remains of an oval camp, a wall, and
ditch: evidently Roman, from the coins and other antiquities found there.
The sublimity of the walk 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 our path, and it seemed necessary
to remember their firm basis, to soften the terror they inspired; whilst
other mis-shapen fragments lay 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 capt” 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. {123}
If the weather proves favourable to ascend Cader Idris, travellers may be
very comfortably accommodated with beds at
TALYLYN;
a small village, situate 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 detain us until the weather wore a more favourable aspect;
but we determined to make Barmouth our head quarters. Quitting,
therefore, our 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.
This town was known to the Romans, if we may judge from the coins found
at a well in its vicinity, bearing this inscription, “IMP. CÆSAR.
TRAJAN.” It contains 537 houses, and 3064 inhabitants: but the church is
little better than a barn, with a covered roof, supported by two rows of
rude oak pales, and a bare earth floor.
In the neighbourhood of this romantic spot, and indeed in many parts of
Merionethshire, the manufacture of strong cloth has long been carried on.
{124}
No one can picture to themselves a more delightful situation than that of
Dolgelly:—an inclosed 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.