left of the Tan-y-bwlch road, by a most delightful walk cut through the
wood, we soon reached the Fall 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 basin, 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 steep of Cader Idris, lifting high above
the rolling cloud 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 valleys, watered by some foaming river; these are
often literally surcharged
“With weighted rains, and melted Alpine snows.”
Such is the true characteristic of the Welsh scenery: the finest verdure
and the most enchanting valleys 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. These
render it more enchanting to the inquisitive pedestrians, for these
landscapes are only accessible to their steps: and 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 of
our admiration. The computed measurement of this fall is estimated at
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 can be better conceived
than described.
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 rapt admiration, which loathes to be
disturbed by the mutual exchange of 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 stunned cataract, throws its troubled waters over a
rocky bed, till it unites itself with the Moddach below.
“The feelings with which we view objects of the above description,” says
the author of the Beauties, Harmonies, and Sublimities of Nature, “oppose
the theory of Mr. Burke, who confines sublimity to objects of terror;
those of Lord Kaimes, and Dr. Gerrad, who make it to consist in
magnitude, and Dr. Blair, who places it in ‘force,’ are equally
erroneous. The idea of Longinus, were we to associate sublimity in
poetry with that of the material world, (which we are, however, not
authorized to do,) is far from being correct. He defines it ‘a proud
elevation of mind.’ When applied to material objects, this is neither
cause nor consequence; for the experience of every man, from the proudest
of princes to the humblest of peasants, proclaims, that the effect of all
sublimity is astonishment, blended with awe: and when, at one moment, did
pride and awe unite in the same bosom? The difference between sublimity
of writing, and sublimity in objects, has not been sufficiently
distinguished by the several writers on the subject of taste. No objects
are beautiful and sublime, but by virtue of association. If they were,
the Vale of Aylesbury would be beautiful to him, who had long resided in
the Vale of Clwyd: and the Cliffs of Dover and the Peaks of Scotland
would be equally sublime to the native of Crim Tartary and the peasant of
the Tyrol. The opinions of many philosophers, in respect to the pleasure
we derive from objects, which excite our pity, are equally false. The
Abbé du Bos, Fontenelle, Hume, Akenside, and Burke, are all in error. We
must refer to principles; and the principle in this argument resolves
itself into the conclusion, that misfortune elicits sympathy, after the
same manner that magnets affine, and planets gravitate. But actual final
causes we have no power to define; though we frequently presume to do so.
Man, indeed, has the faculty of judging, limitedly, of effects; but vain,
proud, and arrogant as he is, he can only reason hypothetically, when he
would treat of final causes and of final consequences.”
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 grey
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 his 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, 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 Dwyryd, till we
arrived at the village of Maenwrog, situated about the middle of this
paradise. Passing through the village we observed a small but neat
cottage, which was rendered interesting to the wayfarer, by its neat
simplicity. 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 affection 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 honey-suckle, 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 our not having had 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.”
“About a mile east of this village,” says Mr. Evans, “are two remarkable
waterfalls, called Rhaiadr Du, on the river Cynvel, one about three
hundred yards above, and the other below, a rustic bridge thrown over the
river, to which it leads. The upper fall consists of three steep rocks,
over which the water foams into a deep black bason, overshadowed by the
adjoining rocks. The other is formed by a broad sheet of water,
precipitated down a rock forty feet high, and darkened by the numerous
foliage around it, almost to the edge of the stream. Between the
cataract and the bridge is a tall columnar rock, called the pulpit of
_Hugh Llwyd Cynvel_, and situate in the bed of the river, from whence,
sage tradition says, a magician used to deliver his nocturnal
incantations.” There are few objects in Wales more worthy to be visited
than these waterfalls.
From Festiniog, a pleasant excursion may be made to Tremadoc and
Criccaeth, and from thence to Pwllheli and Bardsey island. Tremadoc,
which is situate at the mouth of the Traeth Mawr, in the promontory of
Llyn, is about eight miles from Pont-Aber-Glaslyn: its situation is low,
being three feet below low water-mark, built on land reclaimed from the
sea, by the spirited exertions of the late William Alexander Madocks,
Esq. of Tany-yr-alt.
The town, which is an oblong square, contains a handsome market-house,
over which are assembly rooms: a church, a good inn, the Tremadoc Arms,
and a bank. The reclaimed land consists of about two thousand acres,
which, in less than three years, was covered with vegetation; it now
produces excellent crops of wheat, barley, clover, &c. &c.
Mr. Madocks, after having succeeded in this arduous undertaking, set
about the still more difficult one of throwing an embankment across the
mouth of the Traeth Mawr; as an inducement for the accomplishing of
which, a grant was made to him from the crown, in 1807, of the whole of
these sands, from Pontaber-glasllyn to the point of Gêst.
The length of the embankment, from north to south, would be about a mile;
its breadth at the base one hundred feet, at the top thirty. The whole
of this has been completed to within one hundred yards in the centre, and
it is to be hoped this noble work will still be accomplished: funds only
seem now necessary for its completion: strong chain cables extended
across the opening, and hulks then sunk and filled would soon allow them
to finish the embankment. After seeing those in North Holland nothing is
to be despaired of. Long faggots, from seven to ten feet, straw, rushes,
and sand are the best sea-walls, sloping them gradually for the rise of
the tide. Those in Holland seemed constantly to have been increased by
the action of the sea, instead of having been diminished.
CRICCAETH
is a small borough and market town. Its population is now about four
hundred: it, jointly with Caernarvon, &c. sends a member to parliament.
Its ruined castle is not unworthy of attention; it stands on an eminence
projecting into the sea, and the entrance to it by land, being only along
an isthmus, defended by a double foss and vallum, it must formerly have
been strong. The gateway is between two towers, or bastions, externally
round, but square within; the facings of which are ascribed to Edward the
First: the other towers are entirely square. There have been two courts,
but neither of them large, nor indeed has the whole castle been a
building of any other than small extent.
It is now in a ruinous state. The view from the ruins over the bay to
Haerlech is beautiful. In the neighbourhood of Pwllheli are several
respectable family seats; and the country in its vicinity is generally
better cultivated than the rest of the promontory: the town itself is
irregular and unpleasant; but it carries on a good coasting trade, and
vessels of considerable burthen are here built. The petty sessions for
the district of Llyn are held here; it is likewise contributory to
Caernarvon, in sending a member to parliament. Along the coast to
Bardsey Island, a considerable trade in fishing is carried on. Herrings
frequent this coast in great abundance, and are very fine: some are cured
here, and quantities sold to the Irish. Here likewise are taken both
john dories and smelts; the former of which was rejected by the fishermen
on the score of its ugliness.
To sail from hence to Bardsey Island is both tedious and dangerous.
Passing the bay called Hell’s Mouth, of which Mr. Bingley says, “I never
saw a place which presented so favourable an appearance, and that was at
the time so much dreaded by the mariners as the present. It is at the
very end of the promontory, and from point to point is supposed to
measure about eight miles; it is also nearly semicircular. None but
strange vessels, even in the most boisterous weather, ever seek for
shelter here; and when they are so unfortunate, they are soon stranded,
and never again return. ‘We remember,’ says Mr. Jones, in one of his
letters, ‘more misfortunes to have happened in this bay, and more
inhumanity shewn to the sufferers, than we have ever heard of any where
else on the Welsh coast.’ My pilot, who had been long acquainted with
every part of these coasts, informed me, that, from whatever point of the
compass the wind blew out at sea, on account of the surrounding high
rocks, it always came into the mouth of this bay; and from whatever
quarter the tide flowed, the upper current here always sets inwards.
From these circumstances the common tradition is, that the place obtained
the appellation of _Hell’s Mouth_.
“The whole coast, from the Rivals round the end of the land, nearly to
Pwllheli, is terminated only by high and steep rocks, inhabited in the
summer by a variety of sea-fowl.” Mr. Bingley, having failed in his
attempt to land in Bardsey, gives the following account of that island,
from the letters of the Rev. — Jones, vicar of Aberdaron, to whose parish
it belongs.
ISLAND OF BARDSEY.
“This island, which is the property of Lord Newborough, is somewhat more
than two miles long, and one in breadth, and contains about three hundred
and seventy acres of land; of which nearly one-third is occupied by a
high mountain, that affords feed only for a few sheep and rabbits. Its
distance from the main land is about a league. Towards the south-east
and south-west it lies entirely open, but on the north and north-east it
is sheltered by its mountain, which to the sea presents a face of
perpendicular, and in some parts overhanging rocks. Among these
precipices the intrepid inhabitants, in the spring of the year, employ
themselves in collecting the eggs of the various sea-fowl that frequent
them. This is usually done bare-footed, to prevent them from slipping
from heights, whence they must be dashed to pieces; and their concern for
their safety while seizing these eggs, is infinitely less than that of
the beholder, sitting securely in the boat below.
Nor untrembling canst thou see,
How from a craggy rock, whose prominence
Half o’ershades the ocean, hardy men
Fearless of dashing waves do gather them.
“These poor fellows do not often meet with accidents, except by the
giving way of pieces of the rock. In this case they are irrecoverably
lost. The men who venture without ropes are accounted by the natives the
most bold climbers: those who are more cautious fix a rope about their
middle, which is held by some persons on the top of the rock. By this
they slip down to the place where they think the most eggs are to be
found. Here, untying it from their body, they fasten it to the basket
that is to contain the eggs, which they carry in their hand. When this
is filled, they make a signal to their companions to draw them up. In
this manner they proceed from rock to rock, ascending or descending as
they find it necessary. They adopt the same modes in collecting
samphire, with which the rocks also abound.
“On the south-east side of the island, the only side on which it is
accessible to the mariner, there is a small but well-sheltered harbour,
capable of admitting vessels of thirty or forty tons burthen. In this
the inhabitants secure their own fishing-boats. The soil is principally
clay, and produces excellent barley and wheat; vetches, peas, and beans,
are said to succeed sufficiently well; but to oats it is not so
favourable. Trees will not grow here, the keen westerly winds
immediately destroying the young plants. Indeed, except a small quantity
of fine meadow land, all the lower ground of the island is of little
value. No reptile is ever seen in this island, except the common water
lizard. None of the inhabitants ever saw in it a frog, toad, or snake of
any kind.
“Till about fourteen years ago, no sparrows had been known to breed here:
three nests were, however, built, during the same spring, and the produce
has since completely colonized the place.
“There are here but eight houses, although the number of inhabitants is
upwards of seventy. Two or three of the principal of these rent the
island of Lord Newborough. They pay for it a hundred guineas a-year, and
have their land tithe free; and are also freed from taxes and rates of
every description. They keep about twenty horses and near thirty cows.
All the former, though greatly overstocking so small a place, are
absolutely necessary, on account of the great labour required in carrying
up the sea-weeds from the coast for manure.
“The sheep are small, and on the approach of a stranger, as Mr. Jones
informs me, they squall not much unlike hares. Their activity is very
remarkable. In the year 1801, Mr. Jones had one of them on his farm, at
Aberdaron, that had twice ventured through the sea, though the channel is
three miles across, and regained the island. The inhabitants train their
dogs to catch them; but if the sheep once gain the rocks, they bid
defiance to every attempt for the time, as, rather than suffer themselves
to be seized, they will plunge from thence into the sea. At the time of
the year when the females usually drop their offspring, the inhabitants
watch them every day, and before they are able to follow their dams, they
mark them in the ears: they then suffer them to range at liberty.
Without this attention, from the extreme wildness of the animals, the
owners would never be able to distinguish their respective property.
Some few of the sheep of the island, from having been rendered tame when
young, are more easily managed: these alone submit to be folded in the
evening.
“Curiosity induces many persons to visit this island almost every summer;
but the grandest sight the present inhabitants ever witnessed, was a
visit of the proprietor, Lord Newborough, and several persons of
distinction, in the whole to the number of about forty. This company
embarked in fishing-smacks from Porther, near Carreg Hall, in the parish
of Aberdaron. On their arrival in the island marquees were immediately
pitched. The whole company dined in the open air; and at the conclusion
of their repast, all the inhabitants were assembled. The ensuing scene
reminded a gentleman of my acquaintance, who was present, of what he had
read respecting the inhabitants of some of the South Sea islands. They
were drawn up into a circle, and Lady Newborough adorned the heads of the
females with caps and ribbons, whilst Lord Newborough distributed hats
among the men. The nominal king and queen of the island were
distinguished from the rest by an additional ribbon.”
Mr. B. concludes by giving the following history of Bardsey.
“The Welsh name of this place is Ynys-Enlli. During the violent
struggles between the Welsh and English, it was styled by the poets the
sanctuary or asylum of the Saints, and it was sometimes denominated the
Isle of Refuge. Some of these poets assert that it was the cemetery of
_twenty thousand saints_! {155}
“The reputed sanctity of this island induced the religious to resort to
it, from many very distant parts of the country. It has been asserted by
several writers, that Roderic Moelwynog, prince of North Wales, first
founded here a monastery, some time in the eighth century. He might,
perhaps, rebuild or enlarge it, but there are good grounds, from Welsh
manuscripts, for supposing that there was a religious house in this
island of a much more early date. There is an old legend yet extant,
written in Monkish Latin, which assures us that the Almighty had entered
into a particular covenant with Laudatus, the first abbot of Bardsey, in
return for the piety of his monks. This granted to all the religious of
the monastery of Bardsey, the peculiar privilege of dying according to
seniority, the oldest always going off first. By this privilege, it is
stated, that every one knew very nearly the time of his departure. The
following is a translation of it:—‘At the original foundation of the
monastery of this island, the Lord God who attendeth to the petitions of
the just, at the earnest request of the holy Laudatus, the first abbot,
entered into a covenant with that holy man, and miraculously confirmed
his promise, unto him, his successors, the abbots and monks for ever,
while they should lead holy and religious lives, that they should die by
succession, that is, that the oldest should die first, like a shock of
corn ripe for the sickle. Being thus warned of the approach of death,
each of them, therefore, should watch, as not knowing at what exact hour
the thief might come; and, being thus always prepared, each of them by
turns should lay aside his earthly form. God, who is ever faithful, kept
his covenant, as he formerly did with the Israelites, inviolable; until
the monks no longer led a religious life, but began to profane and defile
God’s sanctuary by their fornications and abominable crimes. Wherefore,
after this, they were permitted to die like other men, sometimes the
older, sometimes the younger, and sometimes the middle-aged first; and,
being thus uncertain of the approach of death, they were compelled to
submit to the general laws of mortality. Thus, when they ceased to lead
a holy and religious life, God’s miraculous covenant also ceased: and do
thou, therefore, O God, have mercy upon us.”