as Dolgelly boasts of three inns, the Lion, the Angel, for travellers
without a carriage, and the new inn, called the Ship. One, two, or more
days will be passed here very pleasantly, either in excursions to Cader
Idris, Dol-y-melynllyn, the waterfalls of the Rhaiadr-du, Rhaiadr y
Mawdech and Pistyll y Cayne; or, under the sanction of Sir R. Hoare, who
says he knows of no place where so many inducements are held out to
excite the traveller to make excursions in its vicinity, he may visit the
vale of the Dee, Caer Gai, an old Roman station, at the end of the lake
of Bala, and Dinas y Mowddu, to enable them to accomplish which, ponies
and a guide are to be procured.
The following is Dr. Mavor’s account of the Cader Idris Guide, an
original Caleb Quotem, and the bill of introduction he delivered to his
employers:
“Lege, aspice Conductorem, et ride.
“ROBERT EDWARDS,
second son of the celebrated tanner, William Edwards, ap Griffith, ap
Morgan, ap David, ap Owen, ap Llewellyn, ap Cadwalader; great, great,
great grandson of an illegitimate daughter of an illustrious hero,
(no less famed for his irresistible prowess, when mildly approaching
under the velvet standards of the lovely Venus, than when sternly
advancing with the terrible banners of the bloody Mars) Sir Rice ap
Thomas!!! by Anne, alias Catherine, daughter of Howill ap Jenkin, of
Ynys-y-maesgwyn; who was the thirteenth in descent from Cadwgan, a
lineal descendant of Bleddyn ap Cynfyn, Prince of Powis. Since his
nativity full two and eighty times hath the sun rolled to his summer
solstice; fifty years was he host of the Hen and Chickens alehouse,
Pen-y-bont, twenty of which he was apparitor to the late right
reverend Father in God, John, Lord Bishop of Bangor, and his
predecessors: by chance, made a glover, by genius, a fly-dresser and
angler. He is now, by the All Divine assistance, conductor to, and
over the most tremendous mountain Cader Idris, to the stupendous
cataracts of Cayne and Mowddach, and to the enchanting cascades of
Dol-y-melynllyn, with all its beautiful romantic scenery; guide
general, and magnificent expounder of all the natural and artificial
curiosities of North Wales; professor of grand and bombastic
lexicographical words; knight of the most anomalous, whimsical (yet
perhaps happy) order of hair-brained inexplicables.”
“He is a little slender man, about five feet four inches in height,
and, notwithstanding his advanced age, hopped and skipped about the
room with all the vivacity and agility of a school-boy. The manner
in which he expresses himself is as droll as his appearance. He was
dressed in a blue coat with yellow buttons, a pair of old boots, and
a cocked hat and feather of enormous size.”
Mr. Pugh, in his Cambria Depicta, gives a portrait of him from the life,
seated on his poney, conducting a party up the mountain, and adds to his
bill the two following lines:
“_Mark_, _traveller_, what rarely meets thy view,
Thy guide, a giddy _Boy_ of eighty-two.”
Mr. Warner’s description of the view from the summit of Cader Idris is
just and concise.
“The afternoon was gloriously fine, and the atmosphere perfectly
clear, so that the vast unbounded prospect lay beneath, unobscured by
cloud, vapour, or any other interruption, to the astonished and
delighted eye; which threw its glance over a varied scene, including
a circumference of at least 500 miles. To the north-east was
Ireland, like a distant mist upon the ocean; and a little to the
right Snowdon, and the other mountains of Caernarvonshire. Further
on, in the same direction, the Isle of Man, the neighbourhood of
Chester, Wrexham, and Salop; the sharp head of the Wrekin, and the
undulating summit of the Cleehills. To the south, I saw the country
round Clifton, Pembrokeshire, St. David’s, and Swansea; to the west,
a vast prospect of the British Channel, bounded by the horizon.
Exclusive of these distant objects, the nearer views were wonderfully
striking. Numberless mountains, of different forms, appearances, and
elevation, rose in all directions; which, with the various harbours,
lakes, and rivers, towns, villages, and villas, scattered over the
extensive prospect, combined to form a scene inexpressibly august,
diversified, and impressive.” {128}
Mr. Aikin ascended it from Dolgelly. Llyn-y-Gader lies about a mile and
a half on the high road to Towyn, which having arrived at, we quitted the
road, and began our ascent. When we had surmounted the exterior ridge,
we descended a little to a deep clear lake, which is kept constantly full
by the numerous tributary torrents which fall down the surrounding rocks.
Hence we climbed a second and still higher chain, up a steep but not
difficult track, over numerous fragments of rock, detached from the
higher parts: we now came to a second and more elevated lake, called Llyn
y Cae, clear as glass, and overlooked by steep cliffs, in such a manner
as to resemble the crater of a volcano, of which a most accurate
representation may be seen in Wilson’s excellent View of Cader Idris. A
clear, loud, and distinct echo repeats every shout which is made near the
lake. The waters of this lake cover an extent of fifty acres, abounding
with trout and other fish. We now began our last and most difficult
ascent, up the summit of Cader Idris itself. The loose columnar stones
lie about in all directions, assuming in many places so regular an
appearance, that they might be mistaken for Druidic remains. Some of
them stand erect, like Maenhirion, and one is dignified with the title
Llêch Idria. Nearer the summit, numerous masses of irregular figures
present themselves. Having gained this ascent, a small plain forms the
base to two eminences, or rocky heads, of nearly equal height, one lying
towards the north, called Tyrran Mawr, the other to the south, called Pen
y Gader. We made choice of the latter, which appeared the most elevated,
and seated ourselves upon its highest pinnacle to rest, after a laborious
ascent of three hours. We were now above all the eminences within a vast
expanse, and as the clouds gradually cleared away, caught some grand
views of the surrounding country. The huge rocks, which we before looked
up to with astonishment, were now far below our feet, and many a small
lake appeared in the valleys between them. To the north, Snowdon and its
dependencies shut up the scene; on the west, we saw the whole curve of
the bay of Cardigan, bounded at a great distance by the Caernarvon
mountains, and nearer the sea, dashing its white breakers against the
rocky coast of Merioneth. The southern horizon was bounded by
Plinlimmon, the bay of Swansea, the Channel peeping through the openings
of the Brecon mountains; and on the east, the eye glanced over the lake
of Bala, the two Arennig mountains, the two Arrans, and the long chain of
the Ferwyn mountains, to the Breddin hills, on the confines of
Shropshire. Dimly, in the distant horizon, was beheld the Wrekin, rising
alone from the plain of Salop. “In viewing scenes so decidedly
magnificent,” says a pictorial writer, “and to which neither the pen nor
the pencil of the painter can ever do justice; and the contemplation of
which has the power of making ample atonement for having studied mankind,
the soul expanding and sublimed, quickens with a spirit of divinity, and
appears, as it were, associated with the Deity himself. For, in the same
manner as a shepherd feels himself ennobled, while sitting with his
prince, so, and in a far more unlimited degree, the beholder feels
himself advanced to a higher scale in the creation, in being permitted to
see and to admire the grandest of the works of nature.” Having satisfied
our curiosity, and being thoroughly chilled by the keen air of these
elevated regions, we began to descend down the side opposite to that
which we had come up.
The first stage led us to another beautiful mountain lake, the cold clear
waters of which discharge their superabundance in a stream down the side
of the mountain. All these lakes abound with trout, and in some is found
the gwniad, a fish peculiar to rocky Alpine lakes. Following the course
of the stream, we came upon the edge of the craggy cliffs which overlook
Talyllyn lake. A long and difficult descent conducted us, at last, to
the borders of Talyllyn, where we entered the Dolgelly road.
The mountain
CADER IDRIS,
in height the second in Wales, rises on the sea-shore, close upon the
north side of the estuary of the small river Disynwy, about a mile from
Towyn. It proceeds with almost a constant ascent; first northwards for
about three miles, then, for ten miles further, runs east-north-east,
giving out from its summit a branch nearly three miles long, in a
south-west direction, parallel to the main ridge. It is very steep and
craggy on every side; but the south descent, especially to the border of
Talyllyn lake, is the most precipitous, being nearly perpendicular. Its
breadth bears but a small proportion to its length; a line passing along
its base, and intersecting the summit, would scarcely equal four miles
and a half; and in the other parts it is a mere ridge, whose base hardly
ever exceeds one mile in breadth. Cader Idris is the beginning of a
chain of primitive mountains, extending in a north-north-east direction,
and including the Arrans and the Arennigs. It is much loftier and more
craggy than the slate and secondary mountains which surround it.
The following Ode, by a friend, was written at the fountain welling from
the side of this mountain.
I.
The winds are hush’d: the woods are still;
And clouds around yon towering hill,
In silent volumes roll:—
While o’er the vale, the moon serene
Throws yellow on the living green;
And wakes a harmony between
The body and the soul.
II.
Deceitful calm! yon volumes soon,
Though gilded by the golden moon,
Will send the thunder’s roar.
Gloom will succeed the glowing ray;
The storm will rage with giant sway;
And lightnings will illume its way
Along the billowy shore.
III.
’Tis thus in life, from youth to age,
Through manhood’s weary pilgrimage,
What flattering charms infest!
We little think beneath a smile,
How many a war, how many a wile,
The rich, confiding, heart beguile,
And rob it of its rest.
IV.
Then let me near this fountain lie;
And let old Time in silence fly,
Stealing my youth away!
Far from the riot of the mean,
Oh! let me o’er this fountain lean;
Till Death has drawn the darksome skreen,
That hides eternal day.
Mr. Bingley ascended this mountain from the Blue Lion, kept by Jones,
before mentioned, who acts as guide: from this spot Mr. Bingley declares
himself capable of attaining the summit in two hours, from which he
describes the views to be more varied, if not so extensive, as from
Snowdon.
“In descending,” he says, “I took a direction eastward of that in which I
had gone up, and proceeded along that part of the mountain called Mynydd
Moel. The path in this direction is sufficiently sloping to allow a
person to ride even to the summit. A gentleman, mounted on a little
Welsh poney, had done this a few days before I was here.”
“About two miles from Dolgelly is the pretty village of Llanettyd, and
from hence a road through the vale to Maentwrog, which vale is seen to
much advantage from the bridge. From this village likewise a path leads
to Y Vanner, or Kymmer Abbey, founded in 1198, by Meredith and Griffith,
lords of Merioneth, and sons of Cynan ap Owen Gwynedd, prince of North
Wales. The monks were of the Cistercian order, and the abbey was
dedicated to St. Mary.
“The approach to Barmouth was formerly over a prodigious mountain,
surmounted with great difficulty, and passed with apprehension of
destruction. The magistrates of the county, however, bent on
improvement, agreed with an undertaker to form a road out of the steep
rocks jutting out from the sea, and to guard it with a wall. The labour
was astonishing, the price two guineas a yard. It is now a most charming
road, exhibiting romantic boldness of scenery.
“A stone bridge of several arches conducts over Wnion, which here flows
many hundred feet wide. On the right, at a mile distant from the town,
on the bank of the river, are the ruins of Kymmer Abbey. Two miles from
Dolgelly is Nanneau Park, once the residence of Hawel Sele, an inveterate
enemy of Owen Glyndwr, the ancient seat of the family of that name, now
of Sir William Vaughan, Bart. The road is by a steep ascent, and the
house stands on very high ground. Sir Robert Vaughan erected a new and
handsome mansion. In the upper part of the park are the remains of a
British post, called Moel Orthrwn, or the Hill of Oppression. Returning
towards Barmouth, you regain the road at Llan Ettyd, where the tide flows
to a considerable height. Brigs are built here of 200 tons burden.
“From Llan Ettyd to Barmouth is ten miles of most excellent road, winding
round the hill opposite to Dolgelly, on a shelf of rock, through hanging
woods, across a handsome stone bridge over the Mawddach, when it joins
the Wnion. The expanse of water here is considerable at high tide,
having the appearance of a large lake, enveloped by mountains. The vivid
summit of Cader now assumes the appearance of a volcano. The road
follows the inequalities of the shore, till it occupies a narrow shelf of
the perpendicular rock of Barmouth. Here is a fine view of the river
falling into the beautiful bay of Cardigan.”—NICHOLSON.
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, sometimes projecting so far
over the road, as seemingly designing 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.
Barmouth is the only port in the county of Merioneth; but the entrance to
it is difficult. The town is built on ledges of rock, one rising above
another, so that the inhabitants of one street look down upon the
chimnies of that which is before them.
The board and lodging is regulated on the same excellent plan here as at
Tenby, with very little difference in respect to the expense. 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: one hovel, however, 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 Corsy-Gedol, the seat of Sir Thomas Mostyn. It is
practicable to go by the sands; but we were given to understand that the
turnpike road was, if anything, shorter, the scenery more pleasing, and
the guides necessary for crossing those dangerous sands, in general, most
complete villains.
Harlech, anciently called Twr-Bronwen, though formed by King 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 into the Irish sea. It consists of a square
building, each side measuring about seventy yards, having at every corner
a round tower. From each of these issued formerly a round turret, except
one or two, all now destroyed. The fortifications, fosses, and its
situation on the verge of a perpendicular rock, rendered it almost
invulnerable.
This castle is one of the strongest and handsomest in Wales. It is in
the possession of the Crown, and in time of war has a small garrison for
the defence of the coast. From the top of the walls to the 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; and, beginning with the
founder, in the true characteristic style of a Welshman, ran 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 Maelgwyn; Gwynedd; made Caer Dugoll (Shrewsbury); Caer
Gyffin (Aber Conway); Caer Gollwyn (Harleck); supposed to be buried in
Cirencester, and reigned thirty-four years.” Whether this information is
correct, I will not take upon me to assert; but meeting with a Welshman
in this part of the country capable of writing, rather surprised us, and
induced me to transcribe this short paragraph.
In the year 1408 it was taken by the Earl of Pembroke, and afforded
likewise shelter to Margaret of Anjou, after the battle of Northampton in
1460; and was the last in North Wales which held out for the King, being
surrendered to General Mytton in 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 relic 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
twisted or sharp, but plain, and cut even.”
In the year 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
Camden: suffice it to say, that the air and grass were 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 returning to our obliging landlady
at the Corsy-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
Cayne, 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 positions; 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 ramble.
This pleasing scenery varied little till we arrived within two miles of
Dolgelly, when several gentlemen’s 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 inquire for, as a proper cicerone 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 style, she tripped 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 inquiries
concerning her condition in life.