A Mistake—Road to Llanrwst—Gwydir Castle—Llanrwst Shaking Bridge—Inn—The
Theatre—Town Hall—Free Schools—Alms Houses—Rhaiadr y Parc Mawr—Llynn
Giwionydd—Taliesin—Trefriw—Slate Quarries—Conway—The Suspension
Bridge—The Castle—Local Customs—A Phrenologist—Excursion to the Ormes’
Head—The Smuggler—The Bump of _Order_.
“On a rock whose haughty brow
Frowned o’er old Conway’s foaming flood,
Rob’d in a sable garb of woe,
With haggard eye, the poet stood.”
GRAY.
As I stood taking a farewell look of this beautiful village, with my
knapsack on my back, and fishing rod in my hand, I was suddenly roused
from my reverie, by a slap on the shoulder, and, on turning my head, I
perceived an old woman, who held out to me some half dozen, much soiled,
silver tea spoons, addressing me at the same time in Welsh: she might as
well have spoken to me in the language of the ancient Chaldees. However,
I took the spoons in my hands, and, after turning them over and over for
some time, and endeavouring to elicit her meaning without success, I
shook my head as gravely as my Lord Burleigh is made to do, in Sheridan’s
entertainment of the Critic, and returned them to their venerable owner.
Disappointment made the wrinkles of her aged forehead deeper than usual,
and I was turning to resume my journey, when a flash of intelligence
crossed her smoke-dried visage, and, making a sign for me to stop, she
ran into her cottage, and presently returned, her face glowing like a hot
coal, with an old umbrella in her hand, which she displayed fantastically
in every way she thought likely to attract my notice, making use of
sundry pantomimic gestures, none of which could I understand; and I began
to think myself in company with some unhappy creature escaped from
Bedlam. I again attempted to proceed with more earnestness than before,
when, to my astonishment, a pair of grey, much worn, inexpressibles were
held up to my eyes, while the gesticulations of the old woman became
stronger and stronger, and I at length discovered, that I had been
mistaken for a travelling pedlar by the old beldam, who wished to
exchange the articles she produced for something with which she imagined
my knapsack was furnished!
Within half a mile from the town of Llanrwst is
GWYDIR CASTLE,
the property of Lord Willoughby d’Eresby, a family mansion of no very
attractive appearance. It is situated on the right of the road, which
winds between it and a lofty wood-clad precipice, called Carreg-y-Gwalch,
or the Rock of the Falcon. It was built by John Wynne ab Meredydd, in
1555, and has lately undergone some alteration. The breakfast parlour
contains a curious carving of the arms of the Gwydir family, supported by
Julius Cæsar and Augustus; the former holding his commentaries in one
hand, and his sword in the other; the latter, his sword only. The
dining-room has some specimens of carving, that are worthy of
observation; but throughout the mansion there is very little of what
belonged to it originally. The chairs, panelling, and even tables, being
coloured for the purpose of giving the apartments the appearance of
antique splendour, which, until lately, they wanted.
The drawing-room is spacious and lofty, and is lighted by a double row of
windows, which gives it a heavy look: this unusual arrangement was caused
by the removal of the dormitory, to give height to this room. Over the
fire place is a finely executed carving of Julius Cæsar in oak. At the
N.W. end of the room, a piece of tapestry represents a vintage, and at
the S.E. another specimen of needlework commemorates the landing of
Charles V at Grenada.
The coronation chair of George II is shewn in this apartment, and the
footstool used by Queen Caroline on her trial at Westminster Hall. There
is a centre table, very richly ornamented with carved work; and another,
which in shape exactly resembles the slab and pedestal of a tombstone, so
that the visitor, naturally enough walks up to it, expecting to see the
customary, “Hic jacet” etc.
The cradle of Sir Richard Wynne, bearing the date 1634, completes the
list of curiosities contained in this room.
The garden, which is extensive, contains some valuable plants and shrubs,
and the terrace is a pleasant promenade, sloping from which are beds of
exceedingly beautiful flowers, of various classes and descriptions.
After satisfying the housekeeper with a trifling gratuity, I proceeded to
Llanrwst, but halted upon the bridge to take a view of the Conway (over
which beautiful river its arches expand), and the town to which it leads.
I was here accosted by an old man, who asked me, “if I should like to
feel the bridge shake?” As I answered in the affirmative, he desired me
to place my back against the side over the centre arch, and striking the
opposite parapet rather heavily with his own, a tremulous motion was
distinctly felt; on this account, it is called the Shaking Bridge. It
was built in 1636, from a plan of the celebrated Inigo Jones, and cost
£1000, which was defrayed by the counties of Denbighshire and
Caenarvonshire, which it unites.
LLANRWST
is built upon the Denbighshire side of the river. The Three Eagles is
the most commodious inn in the town; and, being rather fatigued, I threw
my limbs upon a sofa, and resigned myself to the drowsy god, first taking
especial care to order a substantial repast to be in readiness for me on
my return from the land of Nod. My last waking recollection was the
words of Mr. Lover’s favourite song,
“There’s no use at all in my going to bed,
For it’s dhrames and not sleep, that comes into my head.”
Dreams, however, did not picture my slumbers, and I awoke to the
unrivalled delight of a weary and hungry traveller—an excellent hot
dinner. While the waiter cleared the table, and put on the desert, I
took a glance from the windows at the market-place and town-hall; against
the latter were pasted sundry bills, some of which bore, I thought, a
strong resemblance to the dramatic announcements.
“What bills are those?” said I to the waiter, as he placed my pint of
port before me.
“Play bills, sir.”
“What, have you a theatre here?” said I, opening my eyes with
astonishment.
The man stared, appeared confused and stammered, and, supposing me
shocked at the immoral announcement, proceeded to assure me, that
although the players were tolerated, they had very little patronage,
“Indeed, sir,” continued he, “such vagabonds do a great deal of harm to
business; we feel it, sir. Now to-night there is a bespeak, which will
do us a serious injury, for we have no less than six visitors who are
going!”
“A bespeak, eh! and who bespoke the play?”
“Oh, sir, ’tis Mr. —.”
“Mr. —!” I exclaimed, with a sort of inquiring glance, which occasioned
the waiter to look more ridiculous than ever.
“Do you mean Mr. —, of Belmont?”
“Yes, sir, that’s the gentleman.”
No sooner had I received this information, than filling my glass, “His
honored health!” I cried, adding the words of the bard,
“May never-fading laurels flourish round him,
And consecrate his name ev’n to Time’s end!”
“Bring me a bill of the play,” said I. The man withdrew with much
apparent reluctance, but shortly returned with one, which, snatching from
his hand, I began eagerly to peruse, until perceiving the increasing
wonderment which stupified the eyes of the waiter, I followed up the
foregoing quotation with another, which I addressed to him in seeming
wrath.
“The Devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!
Where got’st thou that goose look?”
which had the desired effect, and relieved me from his presence.
A month had passed away since I had visited a temple dedicated to Thalia
or Melpomene, and, with all the enthusiasm such divinities inspire, I
hastened to arrange my dress in the best manner possible, to pay them my
devoirs.
The play was announced to begin at half past seven o’clock. The time had
nearly arrived, and fully anticipating much gratification I reached the
Town Hall. A staircase, not of the cleanest, led to the theatre on the
first floor, and passing some hanging of green-baize, which formed a
narrow passage to the pit and gallery, I was ushered into the former,
which being set apart for the _gentry_, consisted of about six forms,
such as are used in schools, and ranged behind each other. A barrier of
the most unostentatious fabric stretched across the room from wall to
wall, behind which were about the same number of forms, arranged in like
manner, this back portion being denominated the gallery. As I entered, I
perceived a fine portly gentleman, seated in a large elbow chair at the
extremity of the first form, whose countenance was lighted up by half a
dozen candles, that flared magnificently within three feet of the front
row, and divided the stage from the audience. “There needed no ghost” to
tell me that this was the gentleman who had honored the theatre by his
patronage on that occasion, and to whom I was the bearer of a letter of
introduction, then in my pocket-book. The proscenium was of painted
canvass, and a green curtain of the same material scantily screened the
mysteries which were preparing on the stage. Upon the right of the room,
a temporary box contained the band. Those who have heard the burst of
melodious sounds thunder forth from the orchestra of the opera, which
startles the uninitiated, in an overture of Mozart’s, or in the wild and
stormy grandeur which characterizes the compositions of Weber, may have
some idea of the overpowering effect produced by a violin, played by a
boy about twelve years of age, who was leader of the band, consisting of
one old man of sixty, who rasped fearfully on a violincello, and an
enthusiastic trombone player, who successfully drowned the unskilful
efforts of the other two with the tremendous roar of his elongating
distracter. The front of the house was illuminated by three tallow
candles, one on each side, stuck in tin candlesticks and nailed against
the wall, and one at the extremity of the room. The first piece to be
acted was the _Mid’ night Hour_; after which, I thought it high time to
retire.
The following morning I employed in paying my respects to the different
gentlemen to whom I had letters, and in gaining what information I could
respecting the objects most worthy of notice in the town, and surrounding
neighbourhood.
The church and chapel adjoining, were the first subjects to engage my
attention. In the former there is nothing interesting, excepting an
oaken screen, exquisitely carved, which was taken from the Abbey of
Maenan, the gallery for the singers being above it. On the opposite side
is the
GWYDIR CHAPEL.
This beautiful structure was erected in the year 1633, by Sir Richard
Wynne, of Gwydir, from a design of Inigo Jones, and was for many years
the burial place of the illustrious family of Gwydir. At the sides of
the chapel, fixed in panels of wood, are several engravings on brass,
illustrative of the personages who are interred below; and in the east
corner is a tablet of white marble, containing the following remarkable
pedigree, comprising a period of 500 years.
“This chapel was erected A.D. 1633, by Sir Richard Wynne of Gwydir,
in the county of Carnaervon, Knight and Baronet, Treasurer to the
High and Mighty Princess Henrietta Maria, Queen of England, Daughter
of Henry the Fourth, King of France, and Wife to our Sovereign Lord
King Charles; where lyeth buried his father Sir John Wynne, of
Gwydir, Knight and Baronet, son and heir to Morris Wynne, son and
heir to John Wynne, son and heir to Meredith Wynne, which three lie
buried in the Church of Dolwyddelen, with tombs over them. This
Meredith was son and heir to Evan, son and heir to Robert, son and
heir to Meredith, son and heir to Howell, son and heir to David, son
and heir to Griffith, son and heir to Cradock, son and heir to
Roderick, Lord of Anglesea, son to Owen Gwynedd, Prince of Wales, and
younger brother to David, Prince of Wales, who married Emma
Plantaginet, sister to King Henry the Second. There succeeded this
David three princes; His nephew Leolinus Magnus, who married Joan
daughter to King John,—David his son, nephew to King Henry the
Third,—and Llewelyn the last Prince of Wales of that House and line,
who lived in King Edward the First’s time. Sir John Wynne married
Sydney, who lyeth buried here, daughter of Sir William Gerrard,
Knight, Lord Chancellor of Ireland, by whom he had issue, Sir John
Wynne, who died at Lucca, in Italy, Sir Richard Wynne now living,
Thomas Wynne who lyeth here, Owen Wynne now living, Robert Wynne who
lyeth here, Roger Wynne who lyeth here, William Wynne now living,
Maurice Wynne now living, Ellis Wynne who lyeth buried at Whitford,
in the county of Flint, Henry Wynne now living, Roger Wynne who lyeth
here, and two daughters, Mary now living, married to Sir Roger
Mostyn, in the county of Flint, Knight, and Elizabeth now living,
married to Sir John Bodville, in the County of Carnaervon, Knight.”
Beneath this is a superb engraving of Dame Sarah Wynne, one of the
daughters of the old Chevalier Sir Thomas Middleton of Chirk Castle, and
wife of the above mentioned Sir Richard Wynne; she died June 16th, 1671.
This piece of engraving was executed by one William Vaughan, in a style
of elegance hardly to be met with, and may be justly reckoned among the
first productions of the age in which he lived.
On the south side are two stately pyramidical columns of variegated
marble, decorated with martial insignias; one to the memory of Meredith
Wynne, the other to Sir John Wynne and Sydney his wife; on their
pedestals are Latin inscriptions on black marble, which have been thus
translated:
“To the Memory of Meredith Wynne, a descendant of Owen Gwynedd,
Prince of Wales, who, under happy auspices, founded the House of
Gwydir, removed and endowed the Church of Sant Gwyddelen, during the
third tournean expedition, in the fifth year of Henry the Eighth. He
died in the month of March 1525.”
“To the Memory of John Wynne of Gwydir, Knight and Baronet, with
Sydney the daughter of William Gerrard, Knight, Chancellor of the
Kingdom of Ireland, the wife of his youth, to whom she bore eleven
sons, and two daughters; they lie here waiting the appearance of
Christ in Glory.”
Between the above Monuments is a small Tablet of white marble to the
Memory of John Wynne ap Meredith, with a Latin inscription to the
following effect:
“John Wynne ap Meredith, an Inheritor of his
Father’s virtues, a just and pious Man, to
whom Euna his wife brought five sons
and two daughters. He died the
9th of July 1559.”
On the floor is a stone effigy in armour, with the feet resting on a lion
couchant, of Howell Coetmore ap Griffith Vychan ap Dafydd Gam, alias
Gôch, natural son to David, Prince of Wales, from whose descendants,
according to tradition, Gwydir was purchased by the Wynnes.
[Picture: The Coffin of Leolinus Magnus]
Near to the effigy of Howell Coetmore is the underpart of a stone coffin
in which Llewelyn ap Iorwerth, surnamed the Great, the son-in-law of King
John, was buried at the Abbey of Conwy; to the coffin is fixed a piece of
brass with this inscription:
“This is the coffin of Leolinus Magnus, Prince
of Wales, who was buried at the Abbey of
Conwy, which upon the dissolution
was removed thence.”
On going from the chapel to the church, you pass over a large square flag
of free stone, having on its sides a Latin inscription thus translated:
“To the Memory of the Sons of John Wynne of Gwydir, Knight and
Baronet, who died during their father’s life time: John Knight, was
buried at Lucca, in the free State of Italy, in the year of his age
30, of our Lord 1613. Robert, who had entered into holy orders, in
the year of his age 24, of our Lord 1617. Thomas, Roger, Thomas, in
their minority.—Death! a vapour! Behold! we have existed.”
In the chancel, between the reading desk and the communion table, is a
flag of freestone on the remains of Margaret Vaughan, heiress of Caergai;
she was esteemed the Sappho of her age; many of her poetical productions
are still extant.
The gallery over the reading desk is said to have been removed here from
the Abbey of Aberllechog or Maenan Abbey, upon the dissolution of that
religious house.
Under the reading desk in the Church, in a pew belonging to Kyffdy, is a
Latin epitaph to the memory of Griffith Lloyd, of Bryniog, Rector of this
parish; this is said to have been written by himself, and has been much
admired for its singularity:—it runs thus:
“Once the undeserving School-master,
Then the more undeserving Lecturer,
And last of all, the most undeserving Rector of this Parish.
Do not think, speak, or write any thing evil of the Dead.”
There is a Market Hall, Town Hall, free schools and alms houses. The
latter were erected by Sir John Wynne, in 1610, and received the name of
Jesus Hospital. He endowed them for the reception of twelve poor men, by
ceding the rectorial tithes of Eglwys Fach, which are valued at £200 per
annum. Within a mile of Llanrwst there is a spring, which is much
esteemed for its healthful qualities. The water is soft, and a drop of
sal-volatile mixed with a cup of it, turns it white as milk, while oil of
tartar causes it to assume a pearl colour. If during the tourist’s visit
to Llanrwst there should chance to fall much rain, I would advise him by
all means to view the cataract called
RHAIADR-Y-PARC MAWR,
in the valley of Nant Bwlch yr Haiarn, near Gwydir, but otherwise the
minuteness of the stream occasions no extraordinary effect from this
fall, which is about one hundred feet in height. The chief object of
interest, however, in this vicinity, is the celebrated lakes, called
LLYN GEIRIONYDD,
upon the borders of which once lived the chief of the Welsh bards,
_Taliesin_. At the eastern side of the lake is a mound, upon the summit
of which there is a kind of hollow, and in it are the remains of an
ancient edifice, which was probably the residence of Taliesin, in the
reign of Maelgwn Gwynedd, king of Britain. Taliesin when an infant was
found by Prince Elphin by the side of a wear belonging to his father
Gwyddno Garanhir, lord of Cantrev Gwaelod. The prince fostered the
infant, and had it liberally educated; and, at a proper age, introduced
him to the court of his father Gwyddno. Upon this occasion, Taliesin
presented the king with a poem, the subject of which was his own history,
and another to the prince, which he called Dyhuddiant Elphin, or the
consolation of Elphin, a translation of which is in Evan’s specimens of
Welsh poetry.
Taliesin had an opportunity of being serviceable to his benefactor; for
once, when the prince was imprisoned by his uncle Maelgwn, in the castle
of Tejanwy, the magic of his muse effected his release.
This celebrated bard was the preceptor of Myrddin ap Merfryn, and to him
the lovers of poetry are indebted for five new metres, while the
historian and antiquary are equally benefitted by his accurate
description of the manners and customs of the ancient Britons.
I quitted Llanrwst on the following morning, and took the road to Conway:
two miles and a half brought me to the pretty village of
TREFRIW,
which presents an animated scene. It is situated upon the banks of the
beautiful river Conway, which is navigable up to this point for vessels
of fifty tons burthen, that supply the town and neighbourhood with coals,
lime, groceries, &c. &c. and return laden with slate, supplied from the
adjacent mines and quarries.
A number of small boats, called coracles, used by the fishermen, are seen
studding the delightful stream, while the larger vessels, towed against
the wind or sailing before it, present a pleasing picture.
From this place to Conway there is nothing particularly to attract
attention, until you arrive within a mile of that celebrated town, when
from the brow of a hill, is obtained a view of the venerable fortress
erected by the first Edward, and the strongly fortified walls, completely
encompassing the town, and strengthened by massive towers. They are
coeval with the castle, and are built in the form of a Welsh harp, like
those of Caernarvon; but here there are no environs, and the town
presents the same appearance as when the chivalric monarch first
fortified it.
CONWAY.
The town derives its name from Cyn (chief) and Wy (river).
The principal inn is the Castle, which affords every accommodation the
traveller can desire. The Wynnes are celebrated here, as in all parts of
North Wales. In the interior of the town stands _Plas Mawr_, which was
erected in 1585, and is still a remarkable structure; its founder was
Robert Wynne of Gwydir, the uncle of Sir John Wynne the historian. Over
the grand entrance is inscribed, in Greek characters, “_bear and
forbear_,” over which in Roman characters, “J. H. S. X. P. S.” (Jesus
Hominum Salvator et populi salus). The old college is in Castle Street,
and the church is built from the remains of the ancient Cistercian Abbey,
which was founded here by Llewellyn ap Jorwerth, 1185. It contains a
rich baptismal font of gothic structure, with a tablet to the memory of
Nicholas Hookes of the town of Conway, who was the forty-first child of
William and Alice Hookes, and who was himself the father of twenty-seven
children.
[Picture: Conway Castle]
During my short stay in Conway, I endeavoured to discover the best view
of the town, which I think is from the eastern side of the river, about
midway between the chain bridge and the mansion of Sir John Hilton.
Nothing can be more interesting. The variety of small craft, sailing and
anchored, before its warlike screen; the castle, with its towers and
turrets, rising in hostile grandeur upon its rocky base; the bridge, and
lovely scenery beyond of purple hills and thriving villages; and the
bright waters sporting with the luxuriant foliage of its woody margin,
create a sensation of delight in the pursuer of picturesque scenery,
which he has probably seldom before experienced.
Another delightful view may be obtained by ascending the rock, which
overhangs the lodge of the bridge upon its eastern side. A flight of
steps conducts to the summit, where a seat is most conveniently placed
for the accommodation of the lovers of romantic beauty; and the bridge,
although inferior in magnitude to the stupendous work of art which
stretches over Bangor Ferry, commands the admiration of the spectator.
But the chief object of interest is the castle, which surpasses in
picturesque grandeur any building of the kind I ever beheld. I thought
Carnaervon Castle the most beautiful of ruins, but it is not, in my
opinion, to be compared with Conway. The solidity of its structure, and
its expansive site, resembling the fortresses of Syria and the Holy Land,
give to its exterior all that the most romantic imagination could desire.
Its foundation is a rock of slate, and its works are impregnable.
Nothing but famine could, at the time it was erected, have had power to
subdue it. Its walls are from ten to twelve feet in thickness, and it
had formerly a deep and broad moat, on the west and north west sides;
which with the sea washing its base on the east and south, formed
insurmountable barriers to the assailants.
It was evening when I first entered this noble ruin. The porteress very
ungraciously left me to my meditations after admitting me, locking the
gate after her, and leaving me like a state prisoner in the royal
fortress. I confess I was little pleased with the manners of my
conductress and the solitary situation in which I was placed, and
sensations arose within me like those which a school boy feels when
passing a churchyard at midnight.
The sun had set, and the deep shadows of eve were darkening into night,
as I stood alone in the court yard, and flitting visions arose before me
of those who crossed its space in distant bygone ages—“the plumed
troops,” and courtly dames, and all the glitter of the olden times. As I
thus stood amongst the ruins, a deep drawn sigh, close by my ear, made my
heart leap into my throat, as I turned to discover from whence it
proceeded. But all was solitude around. The huge festoons of ivy,
unruffled by a breath of air, hung heavily in funereal grandeur on the
walls. As I passed into what had been the banqueting hall, the darkness
increased. It was a noble apartment, and measured 130 feet in length,
and thirty in breadth, in height twenty. Nine windows looked southward,
up the river, and two into the courtyard. In the recesses were stone
seats, capable of accommodating twelve persons; and, as I seated myself
in one of these, my delusion of other days came over me. Here sat the
first Edward, the hero of Palestine; here was the monarch besieged, and
almost reduced by famine; here Hotspur and King Richard held a
conference; and the latter, putting himself into the power of
Northumberland, was betrayed by him, and sent a prisoner to the usurper
Bolingbroke.
“Life’s but a walking shadow—a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more!”
As I made this apt quotation, another deep and heavy sigh, and a rustling
in the ivy, startled me, and the bird of solitude, the lonely owl,
flapped his heavy wings, and flew past me to a remoter corner of the
ruined hall. I arose, and walked to a small chamber, where there was an
open ornamented casement, and which, as I was afterwards informed, bears
the name of the queen’s oriel; from which there is a pleasant prospect of
part of the ruin and scenery beyond.
I then proceeded to the terrace, at the south western extremity, which is
on the surface of the rock; and the prospect from this spot, interesting
at all times, is doubly so by moonlight. The suspension bridge beneath,
the ocean on the left, and this fertile valley on the right, with the
sparkling Conway meandering through it, compose a scene of unexampled
beauty.
In the year 1290, when Edward was engaged in a dispute with the King of
France, and was determined to revenge himself upon that potentate, in
order to obtain supplies, he made the experiment of taxing his newly
acquired Welsh subjects; which they resented by hanging Roger de
Pulesdon, who had been appointed to collect the tax; and by defeating the
English forces, who attempted to enforce them.
Alarmed at a revolt, which was now rising into importance, and which
threatened to wrest from him his new dominions, Edward entered North
Wales, to conduct the war in person.
Having proceeded in his march to Conway, he crossed that arm of the sea
with a part of his forces, and retiring into the castle with them,
awaited the arrival of the remainder. In his passage he lost many
waggons, and other carriages, loaded with provisions, which were
intercepted by the Welsh, who came down in multitudes from the mountains,
and invested the castle, upon the land side, while a sudden rise in the
Conway, which prevented his troops from crossing the river and rendering
him assistance, made his situation extremely alarming. He was surrounded
by water and the enemy, cut off from his army, and threatened with
famine.
The good fortune of Edward, however, returned to him in the hour of need.
The river subsided, and his forces being able to cross to his relief, the
Welsh again retired to the mountains, and the English monarch passed his
Christmas holidays without interruption at the castle.
In 1665, the Earl of Conway, under pretence of its being for his
majesty’s service, stripped the castle of all its furniture, iron and
lead, and shipped them off to Ireland, otherwise it might have remained
as firm and entire at the present day, as when it was first erected.
If these Goths were aware of the ignominy they attached to their shields
by acts so disgraceful, they might perhaps have permitted beauty and
grandeur to remain undefiled by their sacrilegious touch.
The young men still keep up many of the ancient local customs; amongst
which, on Nos Calanmai, or, the eve of the first of May, they hang on the
houses of their sweethearts bunches of rosemary and ribbons.
At the door of a prude they tie a penglog, or part of a horse’s skeleton.
There is likewise a custom preserved called Stocsio. Upon Easter Sunday,
a great number of boys and men assemble on Pentwthil, with wands of
gorse, to proclaim the laws and regulations which are to be observed upon
the following morning. The last married person is sought to perform this
office, who, mounted on a heap of stones, issues his mandate, while the
rest listen with silent attention. He decrees that all men under sixty
years of age are to appear in the street before six o’clock on the
following morning; and all under forty, before four; and all under twenty
are commanded not to go to bed at all, under penalty of being put into
the stocks.
The orator then descends, amidst loud cheering, and the assembled parties
separate; the younger branches to form plans of amusement, and the graver
to secure their carts, waggons, and wheelbarrows, with chains and locks,
to prevent their being seized upon the following day; a very necessary
precaution, as every vehicle, unmanacled, or otherwise unsecured, is sure
of being pressed before dawn of day into the service of the light-hearted
youths, who are not over careful of their neighbour’s property during the
uproarious period of their festivity.
Early in the morning, the stocks are placed at one end of the street, and
a party, marching to the inspiring music of a drum and fife, parade the
town, in order to convey to the place of punishment all seceders from
this ancient law of custom. When they arrive at a house where a rebel
resides, the storming party endeavour by all practicable means to gain
admittance; such as climbing in at the windows, forcing open the back
door, &c., and they generally secure the culprit; who, if he be caught in
bed, is allowed sufficient time to dress himself, and then hurried away
to the stocks, amid the exulting shouts of the assembled multitude.
His feet being secured, one of the party gives him a severe lecture upon
the sin of idleness, and of breaking old established customs. Then
taking his right hand, he puts questions to him; such as, whether he
would rather kiss the mistress or the maid?—whether he prefers buttermilk
or strong ale?—and the more satisfactory his answers are to the party,
the more thickly his hand is plaistered with mud, until at length he is
released, and, with loud cheering, permitted to join the forces, as they
march off in search of another rebel.
There is a pearl fishery at Conway, and many poor families are supported
by gathering the muscles, which contain these gems.
The fish is called by Linnæus _myd margaritefera_. The produce is
transmitted to London in the pure natural state, and easily finds a
market amongst the jewellers, who purchase them by weight, but in the
neighbourhood of Conway the purposes they are appropriated to are
unknown.
It was my good fortune to meet with a brother tourist at the Castle Inn;
who, after acquainting me with the above facts, offered to conduct me in
the morning to Llandudno, which offer I thankfully accepted; and, before
the sun had finished his draught of mountain dew, we had crossed the
bridge, and were pursuing our course to the appointed spot. The tide was
at low ebb, and a pleasant walk of three quarters of a mile upon the hard
sand brought us to
DINAS GONWY
“The fort of the Conway.” By the English, it is called the Gannoc and by
the common people in the neighbourhood “Y Faer dre.”
The ruins of an ancient castle are to be seen at a short distance,
situated upon two hillocks, near the shore. From thence we crossed by
Eglwy’s Rhôs, where Maelgwn Gwynedd is said to have taken refuge to avoid
the yellow fever, which was committing great havoc in all parts of
Europe. Gloddaeth, the residence of Lady Mostyn Champneys, is sweetly
situated near this place. It was built by her ancestors in the reign of
Elizabeth, and is celebrated for the Welsh manuscripts contained in the
library. The grounds are most tastefully laid out, and the tourist will
find himself amply rewarded for his pains while viewing the extreme
beauty of the scenes around.
LLANDUDNO
is built upon a huge mass of rock which projects into the sea, called The
Great Orme’s Head; a small village, where formerly a great deal of
smuggling was carried on; and, as we stood gazing upon the frightful
precipice beneath us, at the base of which the ocean breaks its mighty
bulk, and foams as if enraged at opposition, my companion related a story
of a fisherman’s daughter and her lover, the circumstances of which took
place within view of the position we then occupied.
THE SMUGGLER.
“It was my fortune, or rather my misfortune,” said my companion, “some
forty years ago, to take up my quarters at a fisherman’s hut in the
village, who was a widower with one child, a lovely girl of about sixteen
years of age. She performed all the household duties for her father with
the greatest neatness and cheerfulness, and at evening was looked upon by
the youth of the surrounding neighbourhood, as the gayest and handsomest
lass that tripped upon the hard sands to the music of a blind harper, who
lived in the vicinity. Many a time as I stood and saw her light feet
moving in the inspiring dance, have I said to myself, it would be a pity
now if so light a foot should ever carry a heavy heart. Poor Jane! she
was the sweetest wild flower of the cliff—nursed in storm and tempest,
yet in her simplicity more winning to the heart and eye than the proudest
exotic luxury could produce. I took a pleasing interest in her; and for
the attention she paid me, resolved upon improving her education to the
extent of my ability, which I considered an easy task, for the organ of
veneration, I observed, was large, which induced me to think she
respected those who took an interest in her welfare. Benevolence and
hope were equally prominent, and, when this happy association appears,
the leading feature of such persons’ characters may be perceived in the
religious obedience they pay to all those who are anxious to instruct
their minds and purify their thoughts. I felt notwithstanding,
considerable anxiety for her future welfare; for at the lower part and
back of the head, between the _mastoid processes_ and the _occipital
bone_, I had noticed an enlargement, which I knew, combined as it was
with the moral sentiments and the organs of adhesiveness, strongly
developed, would either prove the blessing or the bane of her existence,
as these opposites depended not only upon the man’s disposition to whom
she might yield her affections, but to the destiny of that man,
successful or disastrous. And I had frequent opportunities of observing
that she had a strong partiality for a youth who was possessed of
personal and mental qualifications far beyond those of his associates,
but who was wild, with the bump of marvellousness extremely prominent.”
“Zounds,” said I, “if you cover your story with so many excrescences, I
shall never be able to remember one half of it.”
My companion smiled benevolently, as he replied, I perceive you lack the
organ of _individuality_; and then resumed the thread of his discourse.
After remaining with them nearly three months, during which I may give
myself credit for having made good use of my time in improving the
manners and intellect of my docile pupil, I took leave of the fisherman
and his daughter, promising to pay them a visit in the course of a month,
before I returned to merry England. Tears stood in the eyes of poor Jane
as I turned to quit the cottage, and the old father squeezed my hand with
a cordiality that effectually stopped the circulation of my blood in that
extremity. Mark, her lover, seemed neither sorry nor pleased, but
leaning his broad back against the white-washed wall of the cottage,
whistled with the greatest composure, “The jovial fellow’s farewell.”
After a month’s ramble, I returned to this spot on a dark, stormy day in
October;—it was indeed a dreary evening. The rain fell in torrents, and
the hoarse sound of the surge came heavily upon my ear as I approached
the cottage of my late worthy host; when suddenly, as I lifted my eyes
from the ground, I perceived a number of persons walking in slow
procession, as from a funeral, and a cold shudder came over me as I
recognised the father of Jane; his white locks exposed to the beating
rain, his head bent to the ground, and his hands clasped upon his breast,
in the action of mental agony.
Thinking my visit would prove ill-timed, I proceeded to a small
public-house, and, while my garments were drying at the fire, I managed
to extract from the landlord, that the funeral of Jane Morgan had just
taken place. Astonishment and sorrow chained my tongue for some time; I
shall never forget the sensations I experienced at this mournful
relation. I sat motionless in my chair, without uttering a syllable for
a full hour, or noticing anything that transpired around me during that
time. I could think of nothing but Jane Morgan; I could see nothing but
her young blooming face and yellow locks, which used to glitter like
threads of gold in the sunbeams, as the fresh sea breeze blew them into a
thousand fantastic waves; her airy form, as it flew along the sand on
which her light foot scarcely left a print; her simple dress; all this I
brought to my “mind’s eye,” and afterwards the church-yard where she was
laid a corpse—I burst into tears.
Her lover, Mark Bratts, who had for more than a twelvemonth paid
courtship to poor Jane, had obtained her father’s consent to their union,
whenever he could realize a sufficient sum to begin the world with in a
prudent and respectable way. The precarious life of a fisherman,
however, appeared to Mark to hold out but little prospect of wealth
enough either to gain or to support a wife; and he resolved upon
obtaining the object of his wishes as speedily as possible in some other
way.
A man named Simpson, a notorious smuggler in the neighbourhood, was known
to have amassed a considerable property, and Mark resolved to offer
himself to serve as one of the crew on board his lugger; hoping, that in
a trip or two, he might earn sufficient to claim his promised bride. He
was accepted aboard; and the day following the little vessel spread her
light sails to the breeze, and took her course for Holland. Mark
possessed a little money which he laid out in a venture, trusting thereby
to clear so much as would enable him to claim as his bride the object of
his love.
It was a stormy day when the inhabitants of Llandudno were roused by the
report of guns from seaward, the wind blowing furiously right on shore.
It was about the time that the smuggler’s vessel was expected, and those
interested in her safe arrival hastily ran to this promontory to
ascertain if she was in sight, or in danger, for a king’s cutter was
known to be cruising on the coast. It was just dawn; the sea was running
mountains high; and within a league of the rocks they perceived two
vessels within half a mile of each other. The first was a small lugger,
carrying a press of canvass that seemed to run her hull under as she made
directly for the headland, and her masts bent like reeds to the fury of
the tempest. As she approached the headland, a number of kegs piled one
upon another on the decks, were observed to vanish into the deep by
dozens, being flung overboard by the busy crew. They were within a mile
of the shore, when the revenue cutter, hauling her wind, poured a
broadside of grape shot into the smuggler, so well directed that several
were seen to fall from their stations in various parts of the vessel.
Still they carried every stitch of canvass, knowing that there was water
enough for the light lugger to cross the bar after they had rounded the
point, and that the revenue cutter would be sure to strike upon the sands
if she attempted to follow them half a mile further, being of much
heavier tonnage. Besides, she was already in some peril, by venturing so
far in shore, with a gale blowing heavily from the north east.
She was soon within hail of the head, and the cliffs were covered with
human beings, gazing eagerly upon the little craft beneath it, when
suddenly, a chain shot from the cutter carried away her mainmast, which
fell over the side. To cut away the stays and clear the wreck, was the
work of a minute, and the smuggler’s bark swept like a sea bird round the
great Ormes head into the Bay of Conway, but not until their pursuers had
sent another broadside into her hull as they stood off shore. As the
Typhon, the name of the king’s vessel turned from the pursuit; the daring
outlaws sent up a shout of triumph, which was echoed from those upon the
rocks, and after a slight shock which the lugger received, as she crossed
the sand-bank, they floated safely in smooth water.
But where was Jane? Foremost of that crowd which gathered on the rocks,
when the firing was first heard, flew the light form of the loving
maiden, like a young eagle glaring for its mate. She stood upon the
extreme verge of the cliff, unconscious of every thing, save the peril of
her lover, her eyes fixed upon the vessels, straining as they would crack
their strings, to discover the form of him who had her heart in keeping;
and, as the vessel glided under the headland, she hung over the brink of
the precipice, gazing upon the dead and dying, with whom the decks were
strewed. But she saw him not. With the swiftness of the seamew, she
followed the course of the smuggler along the shore; and when at last she
saw the white sails gathered to the yards, and the vessel riding safely
at anchor in the rocky bay, she leaped into a boat, and rowed herself to
its side. A moment, and she jumped upon the deck, calling wildly for
poor Mark. But no one answered her. With hair dishevelled, and eyes
glancing fire, she turned each dead man’s face up to the sky. At length,
a headless trunk met her distracted gaze. A bright gold ringlet of hair,
tinged with the smuggler’s blood, and fastened to the breast of his
shirt, the blue pea-jacket she gave Mark at his departure, and the brass
buckles which her father wore, and presented to him as a pledge of future
favour, all flashed conviction on her mind, that it was the mutilated
form of her lover. A wild scream, which struck terror into the hearts of
the daring crew, proclaimed her heart was broken; and falling on his
mangled corse she instantly expired.
This was the melancholy end of the lovers. And you may remember that I
said her happiness or misery would depend not only on the disposition of
the man she loved, but upon his future destiny; the organs of amativeness
and adhesiveness being so largely developed.
* * * * *
Here an object attracted his attention at a short distance, and he
suddenly left off speaking to examine the scull of a melancholy donkey,
which stood gazing upon the waste of waters.
Having carefully examined the animal’s pericranium, on which he made some
scientific remarks, elaborately pointing out the distinguishing
characteristics of the quadruped and biped race, I reminded him that it
was high time to retrace our steps to Conway, and, as we trudged along,
he related a story of rather a whimsical nature, which, as it tended to
illustrate his favorite science, afforded me much amusement.
THE BUMP OF ORDER.
He lived, he said, at one time opposite to a house where resided a newly
married couple. The house had the appearance of particular neatness, the
flag stones before the door being white as snow, as were those supporting
the railing of the area. The ledges of the windows were in keeping with
the rest, and the windows themselves were perfectly unstained. The
curtains below were of green damask, and above of elegant chintz, with
pink linings. A variety of plants bloomed in the balcony, and the pots
were ranged in precise order.
It greatly excited his curiosity, that every week, for upwards of a
twelvemonth, he saw one or two new servants. It appeared that one week
was the longest period the lady ever permitted any menial to remain in
the house.
This circumstance created some surprise, as, during the time, he had
never observed a single gentleman or lady knock at their door.
He had an opera glass, through which he took every opportunity of
examining their heads across the street. At length, his bump of
curiosity over-mastering every other consideration, determined him to
seek an occasion of becoming acquainted with the lady of the house. For
this purpose, he dressed himself with peculiar nicety, and stepping over,
intimated by a rat-tat-tat that he was at the door. A female servant
answered the summons, and ushered him into the parlour, where the lady
was seated gazing with a vacant stare upon some pots of geraniums, which
occupied a niche in the apartment. When a lady receives a visit from a
gentleman she has never been introduced to, it is natural for her to look
in his face, and an opinion is too frequently formed by the
Lavater-loving sex, of the character, at first sight, of the being before
them. But Mrs. — took a very different view of my philosophical friend;
for her eyes fell from the geraniums to the toes of her visitor, as if
she had the art of discovering the character of a man by the state of his
boots.
“I hope you will excuse the appearance of a stranger at”—
The lady interrupted him with, “None of the cleanest, indeed, Mr.
Thingumbob. Good God, Susan, why did’nt you tell him to wipe his feet on
the mat!”
“I beg you will excuse,”—continued my friend, apologizing.
“Well, I suppose I must excuse. My gracious! what are you doing, sir?
you’ve put your nasty wet hat upon my beautiful rose-wood table! Why,
Susan, I say, bring a cloth—who could ever believe that any man would
bring his hat into a parlour! you stupid girl, is that the way to rub a
table? use a little elbow grease, you intolerable slow coach—there, get
away and let me do it myself!” and with that the lady snatched the cloth
from the hands of her domestic, and began rubbing and puffing in a style
which sufficiently proved she was capable of _giving_, if not _receiving_
a polish.
After ten minutes’ exercise, the lady returned the rubber to the servant,
and with a face ruddy as the full moon at its rising, seated herself upon
the chair, and cast a look of satisfaction round the room at the peculiar
neatness of its appearance.
“I perceive, madam,” said my friend, “you take particular delight in
seeing your apartments kept clean and neat, and the arrangement of this
room does honour to your taste;” he had touched the string that vibrated
to her heart.
“I confess, sir, I feel a pride in seeing every thing in its place, and
cleanliness is an indispensable qualification in the servant I engage.
Will you believe me, sir, when I tell you that this girl you just saw, is
the forty-ninth I have had in the last twelvemonth, and I have no more
idea of keeping her than I have of taking back any of her predecessors.”
“Ah madam, servants are sad plagues!”
“Plagues, sir, they are devils. Why, it was but yesterday, when I
thought my house, from the attic to the kitchen, was so clean, that not a
speck of dirt could be visible to a fly, I was obliged to upset a whole
boiler full of the most delicious pea-soup into the middle of the
kitchen!”
The phrenologist lifted up his legs, by instinct, as if he felt the
sprinkling of it upon them, and exclaimed, “How unfortunate!”
“Unfortunate, sir, it was insupportable,” cried the lady; “but I made her
clean it up again!”
My learned friend was then put to a nonplus; he could not for the life of
him, make out why Mrs. — should have taken the trouble to upset a boiler
of pea-soup into the middle of the clean kitchen; and this he politely
requested her to explain.
“Why, I’ll tell you, sir, it is my pleasure to see every thing in its
place, and a grease spot to me is as bad as a plague spot to many. Now,
sir, although the kitchen looked better, I’ll be bound to say, than any
other kitchen in town, yet I was anxious to see if my servant had obeyed
my orders in taking a spot of grease out of the boards, which by accident
fell upon them the day before; so lifting up the oil-cloth—judge of my
horror and dismay to find it untouched! I inquired the reason. The
servants had the impudence to tell me, they had not time, at which, I
made no more ado, but threw the boiler of soup upon it, which took them a
good two hours to clean up again. I _will_ have every thing done, and in
order.”
“Indeed, madam,” said my friend, “I perceive the admirable effects of
your system—this room is in admirable order.”
“This room, sir! have the goodness to walk into my bed-room up stairs!”
My phrenological friend, although he had passed the meridian of life,
could not help thinking this invitation rather extraordinary, more
particularly so, when the lady desired him to take off his shoes.
“For,” said she, “I never allow even my husband to come up stairs in his
shoes.”
Now it so happened that my friend had a particular reason for wishing to
avoid this ceremony, having walked a hole in one of his stockings the day
before, and the laundress was in possession of his _other_ pair.
Nothing, however, could alter her determination of exhibiting her
cleanliness. She protested he should see her bed-room, and insisted on
his taking off his shoes!
With a shrug _à la française_, he submitted, but had not ascended half
way up the stair-case before the lady who followed, perceived the injury
his hose had sustained, and with a cry of horror exclaimed, “Susan! bring
up a needle and thread!” the words were scarcely uttered, when the girl
appeared, and without hesitation (without asking him to draw off his
hose) seizing him by the foot, compelled him to submit to her needle’s
operation; blushing and confounded at the awkward position his
unjustifiable curiosity had drawn him into; having completed her orders,
the girl descended to the kitchen, while he ascended to a square landing
place on the first floor. On the outside of the window was a veranda
filled with the choicest plants and flowers; the casement being open a
delightful breeze entered the house, bringing with it the odours of the
little garden; and he was about making a complimentary observation upon
the admirable arrangement of her bough-pots, when, helter-skelter, in,
through the casement, bolted a large tabby cat, and with a spring,
clearing my friend’s shoulders, alighted upon the elegantly laced cap of
the precise Mrs. —. They had not time to recover from their first alarm,
when down tumbled all the roses, lignum vitæs, rhododandrums, geraniums
and myrtles, being dislodged by a huge tom-cat rushing in, in pursuit of
the aforesaid timid feline intruder. Crash, crash! went the
bough-pots—squall, squall, went the lady. Damnation! exclaimed the
gentleman. The lady’s foot slipped, and she slid and bumped to the
bottom of the stairs; the phrenologist, endeavouring to save her,
blundered completely over the lady. The two cats scampered round and
athwart the elegantly arranged parlour, dislodging every ornament from
the chimney-piece; and at length, my friend, having recovered his shoes,
hastily snatched up his hat and cane, and made a precipitate escape from
the house of a lady, who was unfortunate in having the bump of _order_
too strongly developed.
* * * * *
We arrived at the castle in Conway greatly fatigued, and equally
delighted with our day’s ramble.