At this spot my companion and I were to separate: his path lay towards Cerrig-y-druidion, and mine towards Llandrillo and the Vale of Edeyrnion.
With a feeling of regret I never before experienced at quitting a new acquaintance of so short a standing, I squeezed his hand, and once more took the road for another walk of ten miles.
At a short distance from Corwen, a road branches off to the left, along which the traveller should trudge to the village of Llandrillo, and he will be repaid by the sight of one of the most fertile valleys in Wales. It is a mile farther to Bala by this route, but the superior beauty of the scenery will amply recompence him for the extra distance, for, with the exception of a view of Bala Lake, obtained from an eminence, the road, which runs along the opposite side of the valley, is dull and uninviting. But on the contrary, by the Llandrillo route, the eye is delighted with a succession of scenes varied and interesting in the extreme. Huge masses of rock hang over the road upon the left, in threatening grandeur, while waving woods and falling streams give endless variety to the picture.
After proceeding five miles, I crossed a bridge over a fine trout-stream, the banks of which are shaded with trees, and turning into an avenue upon the right, seated myself by the margin of the brook, secured from the hot rays of the mid-day sun, I fancied myself the melancholy Jacques. There only wanted a wounded stag, to make the illusion perfect.
As I entered the village of Llandrillo, I was much delighted with the lively scene. The long street was crowded with peasantry, in their holiday clothes. On each side were stalls, formed of tubs turned upside down, and boards placed upon them, to support their merchandise; square patches strewed with straw and covered with crockery and glass; tables well stored with woollen hose and mittens; and stands of gingerbread and ginger-pop were liberally stationed in different quarters, to gratify and refresh the happy throng. At times, a sudden opening in the crowd took place, the whole mass of people jamming each other upon either side of the street, to make way for a trotting pony, or an ambling nag, to curvet and prance down the middle and up again, to show his paces. At the upper end of the fair, a hardware man harangued a crowd of people from his travelling warehouse (a covered cart,) endeavouring to persuade them that he came to Llandrillo solely for their benefit, and for no selfish motive upon earth, and labouring to convince them, in brazier-like eloquence, that the articles he offered to their notice were considerably under prime cost, and could not be purchased elsewhere for treble the money; but, though he sold at a great sacrifice to himself, he begged them not to consider his loss, but their gain; such an opportunity would never again present itself, therefore now was their only time to buy cheap!
A party of Welsh girls attracted my attention, gathered together in front of a wall, upon which a line of men’s hats were ranged, of various qualities and prices; and great glee and laughter were elicited as each fitted the new beaver upon her head, it being considered the ne plus ultra of taste, and a powerful auxiliary to the coquetry of a Welsh girl.
Leaving Llandrillo, and proceeding towards Bala, the traveller enters the
VALE OF EDEYRNION.
The mountains here, upon either side, are covered with plantations, and the beautiful Dee winds gracefully in the centre of the valley, through delightful meadows, while corn fields wave upon the sloping banks, and everything presents to the eye the appearance of freshness and fertility, cheerfulness and content. At the bridge near Llanddervel, a small village, which is first observed upon the opposite bank of the Dee, a splendid view presents itself. The river here is broad, shallow, and deep, by turns, and looking up or down the vale, its meandering sportiveness charms the eye. At the extremity of the valley is a lofty mountain, planted to the summit, which seems so closely to envelope it as to prevent all egress. To stand upon this bridge at sunset, and listen to the whistle of the sheep-boy as he trudges merrily along the road, the song of the husbandman, or the joyous laugh of the milkmaids—sounds that float upon the silent air for miles, at such an hour—the twittering of the birds—the low crake of the rail, amidst the corn—and sweeter than all, the music of the river, discharging liquid sounds from its transparent bosom—creates a sensation which we are at a loss how to express. Excess of pleasure becomes painful; and, overpowered with delight, nature asserts her influence, and we experience the luxury of tears!—at least, I did, and I pity from my soul the man who is unfortunately incapable of a similar feeling.
Passing through the little village of Llanvor, and crossing a stream over the bridge close by the lodge of Mr. Price, of Rhiwlas, I at length arrived at the White Lion, in the town of Bala; and, tired with my day’s exertions, called for a tea-dinner and slippers, and early retired to rest.