We soon alighted at our inn, and over breakfast we recounted to the ladies all the particulars of our morning excursion. Some of them immediately expressed their determination to cross the chains on their intended visit to the bridge, that evening or the next day; indeed, they were adventurous enough for any thing. We found they had not been idle during our absence; and they afforded us an ample account of their walks about the Cathedral, and the environs of the city. After our repast, and after I had made two or three calls on business in the town, the car was again brought to the door, pursuant to our orders, with an extra horse, à la tandem, mounted by a youthful postillion, under the command of our driver. About ten o’clock we all took our seats in the commodious vehicle, and we’re speedily whisked along, upon the road to Conway, under the brilliance and heat of a sun which rendered the ladies’ parasols almost invaluable. As we proceeded we admired very much the gates of Penryn Park, which are quite out of the common style; and, as we approached Penmaen-mawr, the truly grand view of Beaumaris Bay on our left, with Puffin Island in the distance, the mountainous elevations on our right, and the fresh sea-breeze gently blowing on our faces, and all around us were quite delightful. The cool clear waves were rippling along the shore beneath us, and curling over the pebbly margin, as if to refresh us by their playful agitation. We met Pomona in the shape of a poor “Welse umman,” carrying a small basket filled with tempting grapes; we relieved her of part of her burden, much to her satisfaction; and, as we journeyed along, we discussed the merits of the grapes with much more taste than the fox in the fable did.
Presently we began to ascend the elevated part of the road, which, like one of Jupiter’s belts, girds the bulk of Penmaen-mawr. We found it much higher from the sea than it appeared to be when we were on board the Llewellyn; the huge mountain close on our right, and the precipice from the road side to the water on our left, were steep almost as walls. While we stopped to enjoy the view, we threw several stones down towards the water, and were surprised on observing the length of time which elapsed before they disappeared in the waves. A party of Irish harvesters, who, we supposed, had landed at Holyhead, and were in search of employment, were here strolling along; they had a stock of bread with them, and the small streams which they passed afforded them water; but they begged of us, very earnestly and very persuasively, “a few coppers, with which to buy a morsel of backy.” Descending towards the eastern foot of the mountain, and again rising up a very steep road, we began to feel the heat of the day to be rather oppressive: but we soon stopped at a small public-house, where we refreshed our horses with water, our drivers with beer, and ourselves with some excellent buttermilk of the real cut-throat kind. We then walked up the hill, having a deep romantic glen on the left, with a glimpse of Beaumaris Bay behind us, on our right some bold and rugged crags, and near the top, a mass of specimens, large and small, amongst which a mineralogist might spend many pleasant hours.
We resumed our seats in the car, and found a pretty level road for some distance. We saw before us the vale in which the river Conway meets the sea; and at length, between us and the water, we discerned what we all agreed was the very beau ideal of an ancient city and castle. It was Conway, which lay right before us and below us; our elevation affording us a delightful bird’s-eye view of the whole place; and certainly its walls and turrets (completely inclosing all the houses) and the Castle with its numerous and beautifully formed towers, were the best realization we had ever beheld of the ideas formed by our reading of cities and castles, in the stories of antiquity. Conway is quite perfect in this respect, and we entered its gates with feelings of uncommon interest. The city lies entirely on the slope of the hill, and the Castle, which is at the lower and eastern side of it, almost touches the water. The whole is admirably situated, and every view around it is worthy of the painter’s pencil. It was about half-past twelve when we arrived at the Castle Inn, where we put up. We thence proceeded immediately to view the Castle, the ruins of which are extremely extensive and grand. Near the entrance we were annoyed by a swarm of children, who rushed out of the neighbouring cottages, begging for “a ha’penny, pleace eu ma’am; a ha’penny, pleace eu sair;” words which they are taught to utter in a whining tone, and which they continue repeating as long as they dare follow a party of strangers, in defiance of any remonstrance on their parts. This is a very common nuisance in some parts of Wales, and it is a matter of regret that the cottagers do not foresee what a deep and lasting mischief they are doing to their children, by initiating them in such degrading practices. We were shown into the Castle, among the ruins of which we enjoyed a cool lounge for a considerable time, the ladies always taking the lead in searching after the picturesque and gloomy, among broken towers and staircases. The scene around us was that in which Monk Lewis has placed his drama of the Castle Spectre: and, certainly, a finer theatre for the adventures of Angela, Father Philip, Reginald, and the Ghost itself, could not have been chosen than Conway Castle must have been in the days of its glory, and in the times of chivalry, of romance, and of dark deeds. From the terrace, near the water, we had our first view of the piers, and other works in progress, for the small, but handsomely-designed Chain-bridge over the dangerous ferry of Conway; an improvement in which the public are deeply interested, and by which they will be materially benefited.
Soon after our return to the inn, the time arrived when my cheerful companions and I were to part; they on their return to Bangor (to meet the lady’s brother whom I mentioned as having been with Belzoni) whence they would proceed on their expedition to the Chain-bridge and to the top of Snowdon; and I on my way to Llanrwst and Llangollen. Our regret that we could not longer accompany each other seemed proportionate to the pleasure we had enjoyed since we met; and that, certainly, was glowing and unmixed, and will, doubtless, be memorable to us all. They took their seats in the car, and after many a hearty “good bye,” they were soon out of sight. I then walked down to the water’s edge, and crossed the ferry on business. On my return to Conway I was struck with the excellent design and situation of the Chain-bridge. The approach to it from the Denbighshire side is along a new-made terrace or breakwater, advancing across the greater part of the river’s breadth, and, of course, confining the rapid stream to very narrow limits on the Carnarvonshire side. From this terrace the Chain-bridge will appear to be the grand entrance, under triumphal arches, to the Castle itself; and although, on coming close to that venerable structure, there is a sudden turn from it, leading directly to the town, I fancy a party of travellers would not regret, that, instead of being deposited within the naked and roofless walls of the Castle, they were handed into a small but comfortable parlour at the Castle Inn.
About five o’clock in the afternoon I hired a small car to convey me to Llanrwst, about twelve miles up the vale; and having lost my living companions, I amused myself with that pathetic but strange compound of religion and romance, the “Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life,” from which I turned, ever and anon, to gaze upon the charming landscape through which I was passing, and at the lovely “lights and shadows” which the declining sun and the tinted mountains were casting upon it. So forward was the harvest in this fertile and extensive vale, that numbers of reapers were busy in the corn-fields; and on my arrival at Llanrwst I was informed that already (July 28) a loaf of new wheat had been baked there. In transacting some business at Llanrwst that evening I found that the absence of one individual would leave me a vacant hour from eight to nine o’clock; and, as I was desirous of taking that opportunity of refreshing myself by bathing in the Conway, a tradesman accompanied me and pointed out a deep and retired corner of the river, in which I laved myself in the warm and clear stream with great pleasure. My conductor, I found, had seen the world, and his range of conversation was not confined either to these realms or to India. Inquiring in the town respecting the prevailing religious sects there, I was told by an inhabitant that they were chiefly Churchmen, Methodists, and “Wess lions.” From this classification I learned that the new connexion assume the name of Methodists almost exclusively, while the “Wess lions” are content with the title they derive from the name of the indefatigable and pious John Wesley.
The evening was extremely fine, and soon after nine o’clock I was ready to pursue my journey. As I had sent my luggage by coach direct from Bangor to Llangollen, I had no incumbrance; and I decided upon walking about four miles, to Bettws y Coed, a small place on the great Welsh road. On leaving Llanrwst, and crossing the bridge towards Gwydyr House and wood, I was much pleased with the beauty of the scenery up the river; scenery which forcibly reminded me of the exquisite Diorama of Holyrood Chapel. The unclouded moon was shining above the summits of the hills towards the south-east, and brightly illumined the left bank of the river, and all the neighbouring objects in that direction; while the thick and lofty wood on the right cast a broad dark shade over the lower ground, and over part of the bed of the river, which was dry, in consequence of the long-continued fair weather. In the midst of this dark shade, and on the dry pebbles of the river, two or three boys had kindled a small but brilliant fire; the reflection of which from their hands and faces, as they knelt around it, was highly picturesque. Passing through a part of the wood on the right, I soon reached the high road, and continued my solitary walk over ground I had never before trodden, till I arrived at Bettws y Coed, where I was accommodated with humble but cleanly lodgings, at an inn on the road side.
On the following morning, charming landscapes and a clear sky rendered every thing around me delightful; and at an early hour I set out towards Llangollen, upon one of the Holyhead and Shrewsbury coaches, with every disposition to enjoy the interesting scenery through which we had to pass, upon one of the finest roads, perhaps the very finest, in the world. Nor was I disappointed. The iron bridge, the hills on one hand, the deep ravines on the other, and the variety which every turn in the road afforded to the view, made the journey short and pleasant. At a place where we stopped a few moments, a poor “Welse umman” solicited our favours, asking very assiduously of each passenger, (and at the same time exhibiting the various products of her industry)—“D’you want a Welse wig?—d’you want a wool stockings?—d’you want a wool gloves?—d’you want a Welse wig?”—and so on, alternately; but the weather was not harvest weather to her, and she obtained no orders. Soon after we passed Kernioge, and while we were travelling at full speed, I was surprised by a poor woman getting up behind the coach, obtaining a footing among the passengers, and handing her hat round, not only to those near her, but to those in front, to whom she reached across the roof; nor did I perceive, until I was informed of the fact, that she was perfectly blind! She descended from the coach with the utmost ease; although such was our rapidity, that, in a few moments, she was left far behind us. Passing through Corwen, I reached Llangollen about one o’clock. The beauties of this place, or rather of the vale in which it is situated, are well known. The bridge, standing upon foundations furnished by nature itself, is always an object of admiration; and if the town and church were light coloured, so as to present a distinct contrast to the surrounding foliage, the whole would have a most charming appearance. So exhausted was the river Dee at this season, that I crossed the timber of a small wear, and the bed of the river, without wetting even the soles of my shoes. From Llangollen, homewards, my journey was merely on business; but I thought, that, up to this period, a narrative of the incidents which had occurred during a trip of only three days and three hours’ duration, might not be uninteresting to some of my friends.
APPENDIX,
Containing some particulars of Objects and Places mentioned in “The Trip.”
Chiefly extracted from “The Cambrian Traveller’s Guide,” a large and useful volume, published by Mr. George Nicholson, of Stourport.