As I stood taking a farewell look of this beautiful village, with my knapsack on my back, and fishing rod in my hand, I was suddenly roused from my reverie, by a slap on the shoulder, and, on turning my head, I perceived an old woman, who held out to me some half dozen, much soiled, silver tea spoons, addressing me at the same time in Welsh: she might as well have spoken to me in the language of the ancient Chaldees. However, I took the spoons in my hands, and, after turning them over and over for some time, and endeavouring to elicit her meaning without success, I shook my head as gravely as my Lord Burleigh is made to do, in Sheridan’s entertainment of the Critic, and returned them to their venerable owner. Disappointment made the wrinkles of her aged forehead deeper than usual, and I was turning to resume my journey, when a flash of intelligence crossed her smoke-dried visage, and, making a sign for me to stop, she ran into her cottage, and presently returned, her face glowing like a hot coal, with an old umbrella in her hand, which she displayed fantastically in every way she thought likely to attract my notice, making use of sundry pantomimic gestures, none of which could I understand; and I began to think myself in company with some unhappy creature escaped from Bedlam. I again attempted to proceed with more earnestness than before, when, to my astonishment, a pair of grey, much worn, inexpressibles were held up to my eyes, while the gesticulations of the old woman became stronger and stronger, and I at length discovered, that I had been mistaken for a travelling pedlar by the old beldam, who wished to exchange the articles she produced for something with which she imagined my knapsack was furnished!
Within half a mile from the town of Llanrwst is
GWYDIR CASTLE,
the property of Lord Willoughby d’Eresby, a family mansion of no very attractive appearance. It is situated on the right of the road, which winds between it and a lofty wood-clad precipice, called Carreg-y-Gwalch, or the Rock of the Falcon. It was built by John Wynne ab Meredydd, in 1555, and has lately undergone some alteration. The breakfast parlour contains a curious carving of the arms of the Gwydir family, supported by Julius Cæsar and Augustus; the former holding his commentaries in one hand, and his sword in the other; the latter, his sword only. The dining-room has some specimens of carving, that are worthy of observation; but throughout the mansion there is very little of what belonged to it originally. The chairs, panelling, and even tables, being coloured for the purpose of giving the apartments the appearance of antique splendour, which, until lately, they wanted.
The drawing-room is spacious and lofty, and is lighted by a double row of windows, which gives it a heavy look: this unusual arrangement was caused by the removal of the dormitory, to give height to this room. Over the fire place is a finely executed carving of Julius Cæsar in oak. At the N.W. end of the room, a piece of tapestry represents a vintage, and at the S.E. another specimen of needlework commemorates the landing of Charles V at Grenada.
The coronation chair of George II is shewn in this apartment, and the footstool used by Queen Caroline on her trial at Westminster Hall. There is a centre table, very richly ornamented with carved work; and another, which in shape exactly resembles the slab and pedestal of a tombstone, so that the visitor, naturally enough walks up to it, expecting to see the customary, “Hic jacet” etc.
The cradle of Sir Richard Wynne, bearing the date 1634, completes the list of curiosities contained in this room.
The garden, which is extensive, contains some valuable plants and shrubs, and the terrace is a pleasant promenade, sloping from which are beds of exceedingly beautiful flowers, of various classes and descriptions. After satisfying the housekeeper with a trifling gratuity, I proceeded to Llanrwst, but halted upon the bridge to take a view of the Conway (over which beautiful river its arches expand), and the town to which it leads. I was here accosted by an old man, who asked me, “if I should like to feel the bridge shake?” As I answered in the affirmative, he desired me to place my back against the side over the centre arch, and striking the opposite parapet rather heavily with his own, a tremulous motion was distinctly felt; on this account, it is called the Shaking Bridge. It was built in 1636, from a plan of the celebrated Inigo Jones, and cost £1000, which was defrayed by the counties of Denbighshire and Caenarvonshire, which it unites.
LLANRWST
is built upon the Denbighshire side of the river. The Three Eagles is the most commodious inn in the town; and, being rather fatigued, I threw my limbs upon a sofa, and resigned myself to the drowsy god, first taking especial care to order a substantial repast to be in readiness for me on my return from the land of Nod. My last waking recollection was the words of Mr. Lover’s favourite song,