[Illustration: BARMOUTH.]
Let us make a brief excursion south of Mount Snowdon, along the coast of
the pastoral county of Merioneth, where Nature has put many crags and
stones and a little gold and wheat, but where the people's best reliance
is their flocks. At the place where the Mawddach joins the sea is
Barmouth, where a fishing-village has of late years bloomed into a
fashionable watering-place. The houses are built on a strip of sand and
the precipitous hillside beyond, and the cottages are perched wherever
they can conveniently hold on to the crags, the devious pathways and
flights of steps leading up to them presenting a quaint aspect. The
bends of the Mawddach, as it goes inland among the hills, present miles
of unique scenery, the great walls of Cader Idris closing the
background. Several hilltops in the neighborhood contain fortifications,
and are marked by the old tombs known as cromlechs and Druids' altars.
On the sea-coast curious reefs project, the chief of them being St.
Patrick's Causeway. The legend tells us that a Welsh chieftain fifteen
hundred years ago constructed these reefs to protect the lowlands from
the incursions of the sea, and on the lands thus reclaimed there stood
no less than twelve fortified Welsh cities. But, unfortunately, one
stormy night the guardian of the embankments got drunk, and, slumbering
at the critical moment, the waves rushed in, sweeping all before them.
In the morning, where had before been fortified cities and a vast
population, there was only a waste of waters. St. Patrick, we are told,
used his causeway to bear him dryshod as far as possible when he walked
the waters to Ireland.
[Illustration: BARMOUTH ESTUARY.]
Let us penetrate into the interior by going up the romantic valley of
the Mawddach and viewing the frowning sides of the chief Merioneth
mountain, Cader Idris, which towers on the right hand to the height of
3100 feet. It is a long ridge rather than a peak, and steep precipices
guard the upper portion. Two little lakes near the summit, enclosed by
cliffs, afford magnificent scenery. Here is "Idris's Chair," where the
grim magician, who used to make the mountain his home, sat to perform
his incantations, whilst in a hollow at the summit he had his couch.
According to Welsh tradition, whoever passed the night there would
emerge in the morning either mad or a poet. This mountain, like Snowdon,
is said to have been formerly a volcano, and legends tell of the fiery
outbursts that came from its craters, now occupied by the two little
lakes. But the truth of these legends, though interwoven into Welsh
poetry, is denied by prosaic geologists. A rough and steep track, known
as the "Fox's Path," leads to the summit, and there is a fine view
northward across the valleys to the distant summits of Snowdon and its
attendant peaks, while spread at our feet to the westward is the broad
expanse of Cardigan Bay. Lakes abound in the lowlands, and, pursuing the
road up the Mawddach we pass the "Pool of the Three Pebbles." Once upon
a time three stones got into the shoe of the giant Idris as he was
walking about his domain, and he stopped here and threw them out. Here
they still remain--three ponderous boulders--in the lake.
[Illustration: CADER IDRIS, ON THE TALY-SLYN ASCENT.]
[Illustration: RHAYADR-Y-MAWDDACH.]
We leave the Mawddach and follow its tributary, the little river Wnion,
as it ripples along over its pebbly bed guarded by strips of meadow.
Soon we come to the lovely "Village of the Hazels," Dolgelly, standing
in the narrow valley, and probably the prettiest spot in Wales. Steep
hills rise on either hand, with bare craggy summits and the lower slopes
richly wooded. Deep dells running into the hills vary the scenery, and
thus the town is set in an amphitheatre of hills, up whose flanks the
houses seem to climb. There is a little old church, and in a back court
the ruins of the "Parliament House," where Owen Glendower assembled the
Welsh Parliament in 1404. The Torrent Walk, where the stream from the
mountain is spanned by picturesque bridges, is a favorite resort of the
artist, and also one of the most charming bits of scenery in the
neighborhood of this beautiful town. Pursuing the valley farther up and
crossing the watershed, we come to the largest inland water of Wales,
the beautiful Bala Lake, heretofore referred to in describing the river
Dee, which drains it. It is at an elevation of six hundred feet,
surrounded by mountain-peaks, and the possibility of making it available
as a water-supply for London has been considered.
[Illustration: DOLGELLY.]
[Illustration: OWEN GLENDOWER'S PARLIAMENT HOUSE.]
[Illustration: THE LOWER BRIDGE, TORRENT WALK, DOLGELLY.]
[Illustration: BALA LAKE.]
There is an attractive place on the Merioneth coast to the southward of
Barmouth, at the mouth of the Rheidol, and near the estuary of the river
Dovey. A ruined tower on a low eminence guards the harbor, where now is
a fashionable watering-place, and is almost all that remains of the once
powerful Aberystwith Castle, another stronghold of King Edward I.
Portions of the entrance-gate and barbican can be traced, while the
modern houses of the town are spread to the northward along the
semicircular bay. The University College of Wales is located here, and
the town is popularly known as the "Welsh Brighton," while among its
antiquities in the suburbs is the ruined castellated mansion of Plas
Crug, said to have been Glendower's home. On the northern part of the
Merioneth coast is the entrance to the pleasant vale of Pfestiniog,
another attractive spot to tourists. Tan-y-bwlch and Maentwrog are
romantic villages adjoining each other in this pretty valley full of
waterfalls, among these being the renowned Black Cataract and the Raven
Fall.
[Illustration: ABERYSTWITH.]
About twelve miles north of Barmouth the picturesque Harlech Castle
stands on a promontory guarding the entrance to the Traeth. The cliff is
precipitous, with just enough level surface on the top to accommodate
the castle. The place is a quadrangle, with massive round towers at the
corners connected by lofty curtain-walls. Circular towers, protected by
a barbican, guard the entrance on the land side. Deep ditches cut in the
rock surround the castle where that defence is necessary. From this
fortress on the Rock of Harlech the view is magnificent. This crag is
said to have supported a castle as early as the third century, when Lady
Bronwen built it, and, being of most sensitive honor, died afterwards of
grief because her husband had struck her. Unhappily, she was in advance
of her age in her demonstration of woman's rights. Another castle
replaced the first one in the sixth century, and some of its ruins were
worked into the present castle, which is another achievement of the
great Welsh fortress-builder, Edward I. It has stood several sieges.
Owen Glendower held it five years against the English. When Edward IV.
became king, Harlech still held out for the Lancastrian party, the
redoubtable Welshman, David ap Ifon, being the governor. Summoned to
surrender, the brave David replied, "I held a town in France till all
the old women in Wales heard of it, and now I will hold a castle in
Wales till all the old women in France hear of it." But David was
starved into surrender, and then Edward IV. tried to break the terms of
capitulation made by Sir Richard Pembroke, the besieger. Sir Richard,
more generous, told the king, "Then, by Heaven, I will let David and his
garrison into Harlech again, and Your Highness may fetch him out by any
who can, and if you demand my life for his, take it." The song of "The
March of the Men of Harlech" is a memorial of this siege. Harlech was
the last Welsh fortress during the Civil Wars that held out for Charles
I., and since then it has been gradually falling to decay.
[Illustration: HARLECH CASTLE.]
We have now conducted the tourist to the chief objects in North Wales.
The railway runs on to Holyhead, built on the extreme point of Holy
Island on the western verge of Anglesea, where there is a fine harbor of
refuge, lighthouses, and an excellent port. Here comes the "Wild
Irishman," as the fast train is called that runs between London and
Ireland, and its passengers are quickly transferred to the swift
steamers that cross the Channel to Dublin harbor. Lighthouses dot the
cliffs on the coast, and at this romantic outpost we will close the
survey of North Wales.
"There ever-dimpling Ocean's cheek
Reflects the tints of many a peak,
Caught by the laughing tides that lave
Those Edens of the Western wave."