I have longed for the mountain scenery, and for the free inhabitants of North Wales; and even the majestic valleys of the Wye and the Derwent have been to me but typical of something more perfect in beauty and grandeur.
Whenever it shall seem fitting to you, I shall be prepared for our long contemplated journey, and do not delay your departure;—before the 21st would be more agreeable to me than after that period; and then we shall be able to view the horns of the next moon, where they are most beautiful.
I have enquired much concerning Dove-dale, since I have been here, and, from the most accurate accounts, I am inclined to believe that it is inferior, in point of sublime scenery, to Chee Tor, near Bakewell, and in beauty, to the valley of the Great Tor, in which I am now writing. On the whole, I think your best plan will be to meet me at Matlock, which you must see, and then, in our route to Buxton, we can visit the valley of the Wye, and the most noble Chee Tor.
Concerning the excursion of Dove-dale, I am undecided, and it shall depend upon you to determine with regard to it.
As one great object in our excursions is to view Nature and man in their most simple forms, and to gain a temporary life of new impressions, I submit to you whether it will not be best to steer clear of towns, cities, and civilized society, in which, for the most part, we can see what we have only seen before.
If we visit Sir Joseph Banks, it certainly should be only en passant: and to see that most excellent personage, and to be obliged to quit him immediately, will be at least painful; for the respectful feelings he produces in the mind are always modified by affection.
I have no room to give you the quantity of information that I have gained concerning the places and people of Wales; this shall serve for our Derbyshire chat. I thank you much for your last kind letter, which gave me high pleasure. You possess the true spirit of composition, which embodies facts in words.
I am, &c.
H. Davy.
I am informed by Mr. Purkis, that in the latter end of this summer, he made a pedestrian tour with Davy, through North and South Wales, and he has transmitted to me the following account of this excursion.—"We visited every place possessing any remains of antiquity, any curious productions of nature or art, and every spot distinguished by romantic and picturesque scenery. Our friend's diversified talents, with his knowledge of Geology, and Natural History in general, rendered him a most delightful companion in a tour of this description. Every mountain we beheld, and every river we crossed, afforded a fruitful theme for his scientific remarks. The form and position of the mountain, with the several strata of which it was composed, always procured for me information as to its character and classification; and every bridge we crossed invariably occasioned a temporary halt, with some appropriate observations on the productions of the river, and on the diversion of angling.
"In one of our morning excursions in North Wales, we ascended the summit of Arran Benllyn, a celebrated mountain, inferior only to Snowdon and Cader Idris, a few miles from the lake of Bala. Here we were fortunate in beholding a scene of extraordinary sublimity, seldom witnessed in this climate. From the top of this mountain we looked down, about mid-day, on a deep valley eight or ten miles in length, and as many in breadth, the whole of which, for a considerable height from the surface of the ground, was filled with beautiful clouds, while the atmosphere around the summit on which we stood was perfectly clear, and the sky above us of a deep blue colour. The clouds in the valley were in irregular, gentle undulations, dense, compact, and continuous, of that kind which is denominated by Meteorologists cirro-cumulus, and by the vulgar, woolpack clouds, such as are often seen in the higher regions on a fine summer's day. The sun shone with great brilliancy, and illumined their various forms with silver, grey and blue tints of exquisite beauty. As there was scarcely a breath of air stirring below the mountain, this aggregation of clouds, probably occasioned by some electrical agency, remained fixed and stationary, as if identified with the valley. The higher parts of most of the surrounding hills were enveloped in mist, above which the tops of Snowdon and Cader Idris towered distinctly visible, and appeared like small islands rising out of the sea. This scene altogether was one of inexpressible magnificence and grandeur, filling the mind with awe and rapture. We seemed to feel ourselves like beings of a higher order in a celestial region, looking down on the lower world with conscious superiority.