Upon our preparing for the renewal of our journey, a material difficulty occurred; my poney was so completely knocked up, that he had not, as the jockeys phrase it, “a leg to stand on.” The alternative in this case was to buy another; and upon enquiry I found that my landlord had one to dispose of, which was forthwith produced. This was a good-sized poney, with plenty of bone, but ill-made; he had, however, an excellent character: his knees too were sadly broken; but a circumstantial tale shewed that to be the effect of accident, and not habitual awkwardness: upon the whole, he did not seem dear at the price demanded, which was only five guineas: a bargain was therefore struck, the saddle transferred from the invalid to the back of my new purchase; and after given directions for the return of the former, which by the way incurred an expence more than his value, we set forward for the celebrated grounds of Hafod, about two miles distant.
Our road lay on the steep bank of the Mynach, commanding a full view of the glen, and its romantic bridge. Then ascending the Cwm Ystwith hill, through a current of clouds, we gained from its summit an uninterrupted view of the whole range of North Walean mountains, stretching from the English counties to the great bay of Cardigan: the intervening hollows were concealed by fields of mist; so that the uncultivated heights exhibited a scene as rugged as when
“—Nature first made man,
Ere the base laws of servitude began,
And wild in woods the noble savage ran.”
We now took a farewel view of the Mynach’s glen, and quitted its interesting scenery, with such sensations as one feels in losing a friend whose intercourse has afforded both pleasure and improvement. We then descended to the vale of Ystwith, but unenlivened by its scenery, for a morning mist floated through the valley and spread a veil over its charms. A handsome park gate announced the entrance of Hafod, and the thundering of an unseen waterfall formed a grand symphony to the spectacle that we were soon to witness.—Almost immediately the cloud of mist disappeared, rising like a huge curtain before us, and discovered such an assemblage of beauties, of cheerful walks and silent glens, of woody precipices, shadowy glades, garden thickets and waterfalls, that, considered with the barren wilds of the surrounding country, it secured a second Paradise rising from a newly-subsided chaos. This charming place, occupying a deep narrow valley, watered by the Ystwith, is the creation of Col. Johnes, whose persevering genius has forced a mantle of wood upon rocky precipices where nature seemed to deny the access of verdure, and who in his elegant and useful projects of farther improvement gives employment to the country around. Upon a spot judiciously chosen, where the banks of the valley gently incline, and the coverture of lofty woods afford a shelter from the north-eastern winds, stands the mansion, with a sloping lawn in front, commanding a comprehensive view of the enchanting valley; which if Dryden could but see, he would wish to recall the line,
“God never made his works for man to mend.”
On putting ourselves under the direction of the gardener, we were first led to the kitchen-garden, furnished with extensive forcing-houses, and replete with every necessary appendage. The flower-garden also displayed its appropriate charms; but from these atchievements of art we turned, without regret, to where the bold hand of nature reared the scene in stupendous majesty;
“There along the dale,
With woods o’erhung, and shagg’d with mossy rocks,
Where on each hand the gushing waters play,
And down the rough cascade white dashing fall,”
we passed, enamoured with the incessant though congenial variety of our subject. After visiting the cold bath, a small sequestered building, a mazy walk romantically traced by the side of a brawling torrent, and amidst tangled shrubberies, led to a small cascade; and soon after a superior waterfall engaged our attention, where the whole volume of the Ystwith burst over a ledge of rocks in a composition truly grand and picturesque. But a scene of awful sublimity disclosed itself on exploring a dark cavernous passage in a rock and reaching its extremity, where a lofty cascade of transcendent beauty, throwing itself over a strata of black rocks, bounded close to the opening of the cave, and shrouded the aperture with its spray, as it became engulphed in a dark chasm beneath.
The towering mountains clothed with myriads of oaks, which environ this remarkable valley, afford a diversity of walks and combinations of view, to describe which words would be inadequate, and prove at best but tedious. A walk of twelve miles scarcely comprises a complete survey of the grounds, as we are told; but, being pressed for time, our perambulation was confined to a much smaller space; yet enough was seen to convince us that this is one of the most delightful rural retreats in the kingdom.
The mansion is a handsome modern edifice; in the Gothic style of architecture; which idea is perfectly consonant with the romantic cast of the scenery; and the general outline of the building is certainly pleasing: but we were sorry that Col. Johnes had not been better advised in the execution of this design, which though we had read of, in one place, as built “in the most correct taste,” and in another as “a mansion in the Italian style,” we found to be a heterogeneous jumble; wherein a bastard sort of Greek and Saxon architecture was blended with the prevailing Gothic. The house internally we understood to be richly fitted up, and furnished with an excellent library, but did not visit it; for, though the demand of five shillings for the gardener’s attendance was willingly paid, yet the same sum, which we found would be required by the housekeeper, appeared to us more than the show of any Welch house was worth.