|Some of the holiday excursions which live most pleasantly in memory,
are those short "runs" of three or four days, to the mountain or the
sea, which, it may be, some unexpected holiday has enabled us to take,
or some "happy thought" has suggested as likely to be beneficial to mind
and body. The amount of enjoyment that can be compressed into so brief
a space of time is quite wonderful, provided only the place of visit be
wisely chosen, the days long, and the weather suitable.
In one such little tour, so full of interest that it is hard to believe
it to have extended only from Tuesday morning to Friday afternoon, we,
some years ago, made our first acquaintance with Snowdon. Starting from
Caernarvon before breakfast, we walked to Llanberis, by a road leading
gradually upwards beside a wild mountain torrent, till the lake from
which it issues was reached, and the impression of the mountain grandeur
first fully felt.
The ascent of Snowdon has been so often described, that we need only say
it was unexpectedly easy. The beauty of the path with which it began, up
the bank of a mountain torrent ending in a strange and lovely waterfall,
beguiled the first portion of the way, and the latter part opened up
continually such glorious views, that the fatigue was lightened, if the
progress was a little impeded, by long pauses of admiration. At length
we reached Moel-y-Wyddfa, "the far-seen summit," and were upon the
highest spot in England and Wales.
[Illustration: 0208]
[Illustration: 0209]
Of the near prospect the chief wonder, to us, was the number of lakes,
or llyns, visible. For this we were unprepared, and the endlessly
diversified outline of these gleaming pools contrasted strikingly with
the dark mountain masses amid which they lay. The distant views were at
first very clear--Skiddaw (so said our guide) in the north, the Isle of
Man in the west, appearing like a shadow on a sunlit sea, Cader Idris
and Plinlimmon in the south, with the valleys lying green among the
hills, and here and there the line of some sparkling stream, while the
habitations of man were dwarfed to insignificance, or indicated only by
dim patches, as of smoke hanging in the air. Suddenly a chilling breeze
passed across the mountain top, and we were glad to find shelter in one
of the little huts which crown--we will not say adorn--the peak. As
the mists now began to gather, it was judged time to descend. The path,
little more than eight feet wide, lay along one of the narrowest spurs
of the mountain, while on both sides are tremendous precipices. To walk
over this path in clear, calm weather would be a trial to the nerves;
but now the mists were seething and whirling below, ever and anon
rapidly parting, so as to disclose glimpses of bare rocks apparently
rising out of an ocean of cloud, or miniature meadows of sunny green
at unknown depths, or, strangest of all, leaden-coloured lakelets, each
enclosed by its bank of fog. It was a weird scene, and though the path
itself was tolerably free from mist, the sight of these abysses on
either hand, suggesting the consequences of a slip, kept us all very
quiet, very wary in our steps; and we were thankful when we reached the
point where the mountain spur expands into a broad, safe, though steep
and rugged, hill. Here we descended swiftly, and soon found ourselves
upon the turnpike road to Beddgelert, our destination.
This level dell, set in the midst of mountains, which rise on all sides,
clothed at their base with rich woods, and then towering upwards,
bare and rugged against the sky, surpassed all our expectations by the
magnificence of its environment. The faithful hound, so well known in
the stories of many lands, has here a tomb, in the very midst of the
valley, overhung by a group of willows. Perhaps the legend is but a
myth; it exists, we are told, in Persian, and in the dialects of India.
The story as it stands is not only affecting, but contains a noble
lesson; and it was in no sceptical spirit that we read Southey's fine
ballad over again, at the traditionary scene of the incident. We ended
the day by a stroll up to Pont Aberglaslyn, that most romantic of
defiles, the only defect of which is, that it is too short. The road
leads on one side by the "blue torrent," which dashes through the pass
with headlong, tremendous force; on the other by towering mountain
sides, clothed with lichen and a scanty covering of mosses and shrubs. A
marked feature in these rocks is the evident trace of glacier action,
to which Dr. Buckland has called attention by a memorandum in his
own handwriting, framed and glazed, in the hotel. The bridge at the
extremity of the pass, carrying the old road to Tan-y-bwlch, has been
thus described by Miss Costello: "There, forty feet above the river,
hangs in air apparently, just touching the two mountains, a one-arched
bridge, clothed with a robe of ivy, whose festoons wave to and fro, as
if the action of her leap had disturbed the drapery of some nymph, whose
form had hardened into stone as she performed the wondrous feat. Below,
beyond, around, the waters rave and foam and rush, and here for the
first time I recognised the beautiful colour, familiar to my eye in the
Pyrenees, which has given the name of the 'Blue Pool' to this lovely
spot." The scene was one in which to rest and muse after the exertions
and excitements of the morning; the only disturbance of the quiet being
the pertinacity of the little sellers of spar and rock fragments, or
these failing, of woollen socks, with equal readiness to sing us a
song, if no purchasers could be found for their other wares! It must in
fairness be added that the song was "sweet and low," and harmonised well
with the now gathering twilight, and the sound of rushing waters.
[Illustration: 0211]
The next day's expedition must be more briefly narrated. Somewhat tired
by the mountain climbing, we were content with a quiet walk up Nant
Gwynant, descending by the eastern half of the Pass of Llanberis to
Cape! Curig, and thence, beside the river Lugwy, to Bettws-y-Coed. Two
lakes, passed soon after leaving Beddgelert, are of the most exquisite
beauty, and the views of Snowdon, opened up a little beyond them, are of
splendour unsurpassed.
Reaching Pen-y-gwryd a little below the head of the Llanberis Pass, we
pursued a route of a totally different character to Capel Curig. For the
luxuriant beauty of Nant Gwynant we had now the sublimity of bare rock
and crag; but there was something, we must suppose, uncongenial with our
mood in the bleakness of the scene; at any rate, this part of the pass
disappointed us. We have since found that the true grandeur of the
defile is in the other, or western part, between Pen-y-gwryd and
Llanberis. The rest at Capel Curig was specially welcome, and thence
there was no want of interest in the route, on the bank of the romantic
Lugwy. The Swallow waterfall must by all means be visited, repelled as
is the true lover of nature by all those little arrangements that make
the place a show--the urchin who points out the locked gate, for fear
it should be missed, the keen-eyed dame with the keys, the guide to the
torrent s brink, apparently solicitous lest any visitor should discover
for himself the chief points of view, the miscellaneous guard of
children, with a general expectancy of coppers.
[Illustration: 0214]
All this we did not like; and yet nothing could well be finer than the
plunge of the river, with roar and foam, over the vast mass of rocks,
slanting in rugged, picturesque confusion from the summit to the foot
of the fall, and breaking the stream in its descent into numberless
cascades and tiny rapids. The picture is one of marvellous diversity,
and when the river is swollen by rain the rush and roar are tremendous.
Our day's journey was nearly over, and another hours walk, or a little
mure, brought us to that "paradise of painters," the Royal Oak at Bettws
y-Coed. Happily there was room for us, though the inn seemed crowded by
artists--many of them men of world-wide reputation--who come again and
again to this fair valley, always to find something new in form or
colour, light or shade. The next day was spent in rambling about the
neighbourhood; and almost everywhere we found artists at work with easel
and umbrella. Pont-y-pair was to us as an old friend, so often had we
seen its semblance in exhibition-rooms and books of "landscape scenery."
Few subjects, indeed, could be more adapted to the painter.
[Illustration: 0215]
But if this bridge, with its many lovely points of view, struck us with
a sense of familiarity, we were startled, as well as delighted, by the
exceeding beauty of the Fairies' Glen. A tributary stream here comes
down to the Lugwy between high wooded banks, and over mossy rocks, which
at many points can easily be crossed; the course of the rapid crystal
stream for a long distance is almost straight, and the perspective from
below is singularly fine.
The holiday, rich as it had been in delights, was now almost over, and
the last day was mainly spent in a water excursion, which a railway,
since constructed, has rendered less familiar, but which even yet we
venture to commend. The pretty little town of Llanrwst being passed, we
pursued a pleasant road between the river Conway on one side and bosky
cliffs on the other, as far as Trefriw, where a small steamer was
waiting the turn of the tide to proceed down the river to Conway town.
The sail on a fine day is one of the most charming of excursions, the
scenery on both sides being of much interest, and the quiet rest on
board the steamer being very agreeable after three days' walking and
climbing.
[Illustration: 0216]
From Trefriw, we were told, a very short excursion, up to Llyn
Geirionydd, would have brought us to one of the very finest points of
view in all North Wales, the range of Snowdon, and the scarcely less
imposing Moel Siabod, being thence seen in all their majesty. But it is
always at once a regret and an alleviation, in leaving beautiful scenes,
that much is left unvisited--regret that so many fair scenes have been
missed, alleviation, because the very fact may form so good a reason
some day for revisiting the place! As it was, with some time at our
disposal after reaching Conway, we visited the splendid ruins of the
castle, then went by rail to Llandudno, and after a hasty glance at the
promenade by the bay, finished the memorable four days' visit to Wales
by a bracing walk of six miles, round the Great Orme's Head on the path
overlooking the sea.
The holiday had been so successful, that on the next similar opportunity
it occurred to us to spend the few days at command in South Wales. We
are bound, however, to confess that the charm was felt to be inferior.
Possibly we expected another Snowdonia, and so deserved to be
disappointed. Nature does not repeat herself, and though the heights
of Plinlimmon are commanding when attained, we do not recommend the
traveller whose time is precious to traverse the intolerably circuitous
path, amid bogs and morasses, which leads him wearily at last to the
summit. The fresh breeze, and the wide prospect from the mountain's
top are, to some extent, a compensation for the toil; while it is
interesting to explore the sources of some of the many rivers which
descend from the mighty store of waters embosomed in this hill--the
Severn and the Wye being chief. But the longing for the beautiful was
unsatisfied until we reached Pont-y-Mynach, the Monk's P>ridge; better
known, perhaps, as "the Devil's Bridge." The former name denotes the
fact that the monks of Strata Florida Abbey constructed the bridge:
the latter, we suppose, expresses the simple wonder of the rustics, who
could not conceive the daring work as wrought by any power less than
supernatural. Why should they have taken for granted that the power was
evil? We presume that the explanation is to be found in the sense of
terror excited by the fury and the roar of the torrent. There is an awe
akin to joy: a solemn yet glad uplifting of the soul, as at the sight
of the starry heavens; and who could attribute the splendours of the
firmament to any but a beneficent Creator? But amid the wilder scenes
of this earth, there is not only the mere feeling of danger, but a dread
which oppresses the spirit--a "fear that hath torment,"--an instinctive
sense of sin, which has led men in such localities to imagine a
_malignant_ spirit at work.
A little way beyond the bridge are the falls of the Rheidol--a series
of cascades, perhaps the most picturesque in Wales, not from the mass of
water so much as from the magnificence of the narrow, rocky ravine, with
its wealth of foliage. Perhaps the charms of this fair glen, with the
comforts of the splendidly-placed hotel above, were heightened by the
recollection of the long morning among the morasses of Plinlimmon; but
our feeling as we sat at eventide watching the sunset, and listening
to the roar of waters, was to surrender all the rest of our brief
excursion, and to give ourselves there to the _dolce far niente_ of
three long summer days!
South Wales is so conveniently intersected with railways, that it
is almost too easy for the tourist to pass from point to point. The
preceding day, on a south-easterly slope of Plinlimmon, we had stood at
the source of the Wye, and the desire possessed us to trace the progress
of that river for awhile, to see if in its early meanderings it had
the beauty which we knew so well to belong to it in its later and more
familiar course. The excursion was not a disappointing one. It leads
through some of the most primitive of Welsh districts: Builth, which in
due time we reached, appeared quaint and attractive, and Talgarth,
where our long walk was finished, might have tempted us, under other
circumstances, to a longer stay, to explore the "Black Mountains," a
wonderfully fine range of hills, girt with woods, pierced by lovely
glens, and extending in ranges of lofty moorland for many miles.
[Illustration: 8218]
A short railway journey now brought us to Brecon, so nobly placed in the
midst of its mountain amphitheatre as to invite a longer stay: but we
had to hurry on, anxious to reach the far-famed Vale of Neath. A very
wild walk led upwards for many weary miles, as it seemed, from Brecon to
Maen Llia, the "Llia Stone," near which is the source of the Llia, one
of the streams whose confluence form the Neath. Descending rapidly, we
soon came to the point where the Llia is joined from the north-east by
the Dringarth, another confluent.
[Illustration: 9218]
At Y-strad-fellte, a little further on, the glory of the mountain vale
began to open out. We passed under the shadow of the crags to the
east, as far as to the spot where, at a break in the rocky rampart, the
Hepste, another tributary, hurries to meet the stream, forming a fine
waterfall. At Crag-y-Dinas, a huge limestone rock, commanding from its
summit both the upper glen and the lower valley as far as Swansea Bay,
the beauty of the scene is at its height. Hardly any combination
of scenery could be richer in its exquisite variety. The road
now lay between these united streams and the Neath proper, which soon
is joined from the western side by the Pyrrdin, up whose rocky glen we
turned for the sake of its two charming cascades, the "Lady's" and the
"Crooked" Fall.
[Illustration: 8219]
In fact, the whole neighbourhood teems with cataracts, many of exceeding
beauty, and a day might well be spent in exploring the rocky dingles,
through which the hurrying streams descend, until at Pont-Nedd-fechan,
"the Little Bridge of Neath," they meet and mingle in one.
The bridge is of one arch, thrown across the ravine near the point of
confluence; it is festooned with drooping ivy, which almost reaches the
surface of the stream, and in its secluded loveliness this little Welsh
Lauterbrunnen, a village of many waters among the hills, may fairly
compare with many scenes far better known to fame.
The route down the valley to the town of Neath and the port of Briton
Ferry, is rich in varied beauty. The river runs between the high
road and the railway, with, in some part of its course, a canal. The
surrounding hills are lovely in outline and richly wooded; and until
we reach the seats of industry near the port, the water, lying in long
reaches, or hurrying over its rocky bed, is crystal-clear. At a former
time Briton Ferry was lovely beyond almost any other seaside resort.
The river, here expanded to a noble breadth, flowed between lofty wooded
cliffs to an open bay. The surrounding hills were crowned with noble
oaks, and the romantic little village, protected from the north and
east, had all the attractions not only of its own exceeding beauty, but
of a mild climate, and of air exceptionally pure. All this is changed!
[Illustration: 0220]
Coal, copper, iron dominate the scene. The cliffs and the climate are
there, and Swansea Bay is beautiful in calm or storm: but the oaks have
fallen, the nooks and elens in the hills have become squalid in their
bareness, the streams are polluted, the air is murky; but the docks are
admirable, and the place is "rising rapidly." There is a divineness in
man's industry, as well as in nature's beauty.
"The old order yieldeth, giving place to new,
And God fulfils Himself in many ways."
We hurry away from the coalfields to where Carmarthen stands high on
Towy bank, grandly overlooking the course of the river to the sea.
Of the bay named from this ancient capital, the most beautiful part,
perhaps, is where Tenby, from its rocky promontory, overlooks the sea.
As we terminated our little tour in North Wales at Llandudno, so here
at Tenby we bade farewell to the southern part of the Principality. But
before leaving there was time for one little excursion along the coast,
superb beyond all our expectation, especially for the first few miles,
where the mountain limestone fronts the sea with bold, cave-pierced
cliff. Our ramble terminated at Manor-beer Castle, one of the most
extensive and complete of feudal fortresses in Great Britain. Perhaps
there is no ruin of the kind in which the arrangements for residence as
well as for defence can be so clearly traced, and certainly there are
few which more nobly command the shore below.
But our brief excursion was over. Some of the most picturesque parts
of South Wales were, perforce, left unvisited--especially Tintern, that
loveliest of British abbeys. Yet much had been seen to quicken the sense
of beauty; while the glimpse of busy industry given us along the south
coast, had quickened our desire to learn something more of the great
population gathered by its docks and ports, its mines and furnaces. For
it is the human interest which, wherever we may travel, must gradually
become supreme, and nowhere more truly than in South Wales. The heroism
often manifested in the midst of lowliest toil was never more strikingly
illustrated than in a recent incident which has made the name of
Pontypridd a household word in England. All know the story of the
imprisoned miners, and the men who bravely volunteered to rescue them,
daring the peril of compressed air, inflammable gas, and the pent-up
floods of water. "Four men"--let the tale never be forgotten at British
firesides!--"from one o'clock in the afternoon of Thursday the 19th
of April, 1877, until three o'clock in the afternoon of the next day,
worked on amid all these accumulated dangers until the rescue of their
comrades was complete. Twenty-two others were only second to those four
men--eleven in taking an actual share in the work of cutting through
the barrier of coal, and eleven others in constant presence and
superintendence. It was an intense exercise of self-devotion, patience,
and deliberate courage--a concentration, as it were, of qualities which
could only be acquired by the habitual exercise of these qualities in
every-day life, and perhaps their cultivation through many generations."
Happily they were successful, and the nation feels it to be but a worthy
recognition of such heroism, that a new order of merit, instituted to do
honour to gallantry in saving life on land, has been inaugurated by the
gift of "the Albert Medal" to those Welsh colliers. Never has decoration
been better earned! "Not the least satisfaction, however, of those who
receive it ought to be, that they have been the means of drawing public
attention and public honour to the whole class of brave and unselfish
deeds of which they have furnished one of the most conspicuous of
instances. There are no signs that the struggle of civilisation with
nature will cease to demand its victims. The progress of mankind still
depends, and must long depend, upon the bravery and unselfishness with
which unknown perils are encountered; and, perhaps, as science opens up
further fields of experiment and investigation, still bolder adventures
may be demanded. It was but right that the stamp of national honour
should be formally placed upon all such deeds; and the Welsh miners
deserve the thanks, not merely of their comrades, but of their country,
for having established in public esteem a new and permanent order of
merit." *
* _The Times_, August 8, 1877.
[Illustration: 0222]