With regret we left this romantic spot; where, if retirement ever had “local habitation,” this was her “place of dearest residence.” “One excursion,” says Mr. Cumberland, “to this place, will not suffice common observers; nor indeed many, to the lovers of the grand sports of Nature.” “The Mynach” (in another place he describes,) “coming down from beneath the Devil’s Bridge, has no equal for height or beauty that I know of; for, although a streamlet to the famous fall of Narni in Italy, yet it rivals it in height, and surpasses it in elegance.
“After passing deep below the bridge, as through a narrow firth, with noises loud and ruinous, into a confined chasm, the fleet waters pour headlong and impetuous, and leaping from rock to rock, with fury literally lash the mountain’s sides; sometimes almost imbowered among deep groves, and flashing at last into a fanlike form, the fall rattling among the loose stones of the Devil’s Hole—where, to all appearance, it shoots into a gulf beneath, and silently steals away: for so much is carried off in spray, during the incessant repercussions it experiences, in this long tortuous shoot, that in all probability, not half the water arrives at the bottom of its found and sullen grave.”
Four miles from hence, on the Llandiloe’s road, is situated
HAVOD or HAFOD,
the celebrated seat of the late Mr. Johnes. The former part of the road is barren and uninteresting; but, on our first entrance into the grounds, all our past complaints were lost in expressions of admiration. “A Philosopher has said,” says a modern Tourist, “that the man, who makes two blades of grass grow, where only one grew before, is greater than the greatest hero. If this be true, Mr. Johnes must rank before all the conquerors of the world, as he has made the barren wilderness around him to smile, and converted the worthless heath into waving woods, luxuriant corn-fields, and pastures.” From October 1795, to April 1801, Mr. Johnes planted more than 2,065,000 trees; besides a great number of acres, that he sowed with acorns. Since this period the plantations have been extended on the same scale with equal spirit; from one to two hundred thousand trees being planted every year. The Mansion is a very elegant piece of architecture, built of Portland stone, and the plan entirely novel, being a mixture of the Moorish and Gothic, with turrets and painted windows. The whole of it indeed does great credit to the architect, Mr. Baldwyn of Bath. It is situated near the banks of the river Ystwith, and beautifully environed by lofty hills, clothed with oak. The interior of the house corresponds in elegance with the exterior.
From the hall we were conducted through a suite of elegant apartments, very judiciously fitted up with paintings, statues, and antiques; but the Library more particularly engaged our notice, containing a choice and valuable collection of books: this octagonal room is built in the form of a dome with a gallery round it, supported by a colonnade of variegated marble pillars of the ancient Doric order, with a circular window at top for the admission of light. We entered through a handsome door, inlaid with a large reflecting mirror: immediately opposite is another door of transparent plate-glass, leading to the conservatory, three hundred feet in length, and containing a number of curious and rare exotics, with a walk down the centre of the building. In fine, the effect of the tout ensemble can better be imagined than described.
Amongst the other things worthy of admiration, a handsome statue, in the library, of Thetis dipping Achilles in the River Styx, more particularly detains attention. We next passed through the Billiard-room, and were conducted to the top of the staircase, to admire two elegant paintings, the subjects taken from Captain Cook’s Voyages: the painter is unknown. Many of the rooms are beautifully furnished with rich Gobelin tapestry.
To give my readers a just conception of the beauties of Havod, I shall beg leave to borrow the elegant description of it, drawn by the pen of Mr. Cumberland.
“Havod is a place in itself so pre-eminently beautiful, that it highly merits a particular description. It stands surrounded with so many noble scenes, diversified with elegance, as well as with grandeur; the country on the approach to it is so very wild and uncommon, and the place itself is now so embellished by art, that it will be difficult, I believe, to point out a spot that can be put in competition with it, considered either as the object of the painter’s eye, the poet’s mind, or as a desirable residence for those who, admirers of the beautiful wildness of Nature, love also to inhale the pure air of aspiring mountains, and enjoy that santo pacé, as the Italians expressively term it, which arises from solitudes made social by a family circle.
“From the portico it commands a woody, narrow, winding vale; the undulating forms of whose ascending, shaggy sides, are richly clothed with various foliage, broken with silver waterfalls, and crowned with climbing sheep-walks, reaching to the clouds.
“Neither are the luxuries of life absent; for on the margin of the Ystwith, where it flows broadest through this delicious vale, we see hot-houses and a conservatory: beneath the rocks a bath; amid the recesses of the woods a flower garden; and, within the building, whose decorations, though rich, are pure and simple, we find a mass of rare and valuable literature, whose pages here seem doubly precious, where meditation finds scope to range unmolested.
“In a word, so many are the delights afforded by the scenery of this place and its vicinity, to a mind imbued with any taste, that the impression on mine was increased, after an interval of ten years from the first visit, employed chiefly in travelling among the Alps, the Apennines, the Sabine Hills, and the Tyrollese; along the shores of the Adriatic, over the Glaciers of Switzerland, and up the Rhine; where, though in search of beauty, I never, I feel, saw any thing so fine—never so many pictures concentred in one spot; so that, warned by the renewal of my acquaintance with them, I am irresistibly urged to attempt a description of the hitherto almost virgin haunts of these obscure mountains.
“Wales, and its borders, both North and South, abound, at intervals, with fine things: Piercefield has grounds of great magnificence, and wonderfully picturesque beauty. Downton Castle has a delicious woody vale, most tastefully managed; Llangollen is brilliant; the banks of the Conway savagely grand; Barmouth romantically rural; the great Pistill Rhayader is horribly wild; Rhayader Wennol, gay, and gloriously irregular,—each of which merits a studied description.
“But, at Havod, and its neighbourhood, I find the effects of all in one circle; united with this peculiarity, that the deep dingles, and mighty woody slopes, which, from a different source, conduct the Rhyddol’s never-failing waters from Plynlimmon, and the Fynache, are of an unique character, as mountainous forests, accompanying gigantic size with graceful forms; and taken altogether, I see ‘the sweetest interchange of hill and valley, rivers, woods and plains, and falls, with forests crowned, rocks, dens, and caves,’ insomuch, that it requires little enthusiasm there to feel forcibly with Milton,
‘All things that be send up from earth’s great altar
Silent praise!’“There are four fine walks from the house, chiefly through ways artificially made by the proprietor; all dry, kept clean, and composed of materials found on the spot; which is chiefly a coarse stone, of a greyish cast, friable in many places, and like slate, but oftener consisting of immense masses, that cost the miner, in making some parts of these walks, excessive labour; for there are places, where it was necessary to perforate the rock many yards, in order to pass a promontory, that, jutting across the way, denied further access; and to go round which, you must have taken a great tour, and made a fatiguing descent. As it is, the walks are so conducted, that few are steep; the transitions easy, the returns commodious, and the branches distinct. Neither are they too many, for much is left for future projectors; and if a man be stout enough to range the underwoods, and fastidious enough to reject all trodden paths, he may, almost every where, stroll from the studied line, till he be glad to regain the friendly conduct of the well-known way.
“Yet one must be nice, not to be content at first to visit the best points of view by the general routine; for all that is here done, has been to remove obstructions, reduce the materials, and conceal the art; and we are no where presented with attempts to force the untamed streams, or indeed to invent any thing where nature, the great mistress, has left all art behind.”
Such was the just description of Havod; but this magnificent mansion, with the costly furniture, plate, pictures, and above all to be regretted, the splendid library of scarce and valuable books, was consumed by fire, during the absence of the owner, on the 13th of March, 1807.