“About two miles from Dolgelly is the pretty village of Llanettyd, and from hence, a road through the vale to Maentwrog, which vale is seen to much advantage from the bridge. From this village likewise a path leads to Y Vanner, or Kymmer Abbey, founded in 1198, by Meredith and Griffith, lords of Merioneth, and sons of Cynan ap Owen Gwynedd, prince of North Wales. The monks were of the Cistercian order, and the abbey was dedicated to St. Mary.

“The approach to Barmouth was formerly over a prodigious mountain, surmounted with great difficulty, and passed with apprehension of destruction. The magistrates of the county, however, bent on improvement, agreed with an undertaker to form a road out of the steep rocks jutting out from the sea, and to guard it with a wall. The labour was astonishing, the price two guineas a yard. It is now a most charming road, exhibiting romantic boldness of scenery.

“A stone bridge of several arches conducts over Wnion, which here flows many hundred feet wide. On the right, at a mile distant from the town, on the bank of the river, are the ruins of Kymmer Abbey. Two miles from Dolgelly is Nanneau Park, once the residence of Hawel Sele, an inveterate enemy of Owen Glyndwr, the ancient seat of the family of that name, now of Sir William Vaughan, Bart. The road is by a steep ascent, and the house stands on very high ground. Sir Robert Vaughan erected a new and handsome mansion. In the upper part of the park are the remains of a British post, called Moel Orthrwn, or the Hill of Oppression. Returning towards Barmouth, you regain the road at Llan Ettyd, where the tide flows to a considerable height. Brigs are built here of 200 tons burden.

“From Llan Ettyd to Barmouth is ten miles of most excellent road, winding round the hill opposite to Dolgelly, on a shelf of rock, through hanging woods, across a handsome stone bridge over the Mawddach, when it joins the Wnion. The expanse of water here is considerable at high tide, having the appearance of a large lake, enveloped by mountains. The vivid summit of Cader now assumes the appearance of a volcano. The road follows the inequalities of the shore, till it occupies a narrow shelf of the perpendicular rock of Barmouth. Here is a fine view of the river falling into the beautiful bay of Cardigan.”—Nicholson.

BARMOUTH.

It is advisable for all travellers, pedestrians not excepted, to leave Dolgelly at high water, as without that, the scenery loses much of its beauty; if convenient, it is certainly preferable to hire a boat at the Stoves; the charge is three shillings and sixpence; by this you will save a walk of eight miles, and both from your situation, and from being more at your ease, will better admit of your observing the surrounding scenery, with which you cannot fail to be highly gratified.

This short excursion of eight miles is truly grand, awful, and sublime; and, though many parts of this striking valley are richly cultivated, yet, by the side of the road, enormous mountains, formed into the most capricious shapes, shoot into the clouds, sometimes projecting so far over the road, as seemingly designing to impede our farther progress: the wide expanse of the ocean in front, with the arm of the sea running up the country in the centre of the valley; in fine, the tout ensemble claimed our highest admiration.

Barmouth, though considered as a bathing-place, is very inferior to Tenby, yet its situation for grandeur of rocks has been frequently compared, by many Tourists, to Gibraltar; and by others esteemed not unlike St. Kitts, in the West Indies. The vast sand-banks, formed by the tides, immediately in front of the town, are the only barriers which protect it from the inundations of the sea. The shore is extremely level, and affords, for many miles, excellent riding.

Barmouth is the only port in the county of Merioneth: but the entrance to it is difficult. The town is built on ledges of rock, one rising above another, so that the inhabitants of one street look down upon the chimnies of that which is before them.

The board and lodging is regulated on the same excellent plan here as at Tenby, with very little difference in respect to the expense. We could not avoid observing the number of pigs, which are esteemed in this part of the country far superior to any in England, lying in every corner of the street; and these pigs, I rather imagine, consider themselves, during the night, inmates of the peasant’s cottage: yet these hardships, if they may be distinguished by that name, the inhabitants of the hovel suffer without complaint, and deem themselves perfectly happy as long as they possess a pile of turf to keep off the inclemency of the winter’s blast, a small strip of ground well stocked with potatoes, some poultry, and a fat pig: one hovel, however, protects them all. Though, to appearance, their situation is most miserable, yet it has no effect on their tempers and dispositions; their hospitality, and indeed kindness, towards strangers in distress, is an interesting trait in their character: to instance this I am induced to mention an anecdote which took place at Hubberstone, not long ago. A lady anxiously waiting the arrival of her husband from Ireland at the miserable village of Hubberstone, soon interested even the meaner inhabitants of the place in her behalf; who, willing to render her situation as comfortable as possible, seemed to vie with each other in producing the most delicious fruits, and the choicest garlands of flowers, to present them to the unhappy consort; and, not content alone with this, she was generally greeted in the streets, with the phrase, “There goes poor Mrs. L—.” The lady, at last, impatient for the arrival of her husband, determined to sail for Ireland. The faithfulness of the little group that accompanied her to the shore can better be imagined than described; the last farewell, with tears of artless innocence, and the beseeching that Providence “who governs the waves, and stills the raging of the sea,” to grant her a prosperous voyage, all this seemed to come so thoroughly from the bottom of their hearts, that we cannot avoid feeling ourselves interested in their behalf.

The road from hence to

HARLECH

is stony and uninteresting; to the left, an unbounded view of the wide ocean; and, in front, the steep mountains of North Wales rose in endless perspective. About four miles from Barmouth, we past the two lodges at Tal-y-bont, leading to Corsy-Gedol, the seat of Sir Thomas Mostyn. It is practicable to go by the sands; but we were given to understand that the turnpike was, if anything, shorter, the scenery more pleasing, and the guides necessary for crossing those dangerous sands, in general, most complete villains.