From April to October, first-class steam-packets regularly arrive from Liverpool every afternoon (except Sunday) about five o’clock at the Bangor Ferry inn (which has lately been much improved and enlarged), and return the next morning between eight and nine o’clock, calling each way at Garth Point and Beaumaris. And we may here add that this is the cheapest and most interesting marine excursion which can be enjoyed from Liverpool.
BEDDGELERT,
(Caernarvonshire.)
| Aber-glaslyn | 1½ |
| Caernarvon | 13 |
| Llanberis | 12 |
| Snowdon Summit | 6 |
| Tan-y-Bwlch | 10 |
| Tre-Madoc | 7 |
Beddgelert, a village most charmingly situated in a beautiful tract of meadows, at the junction of three vales, near the conflux of the Gwynnant and the Colwyn.
The church is erected on the site of an ancient priory of Augustine monks, with which a convent for nuns was also incorporated. Part of the arches and clustered columns which supported the nave of the priory are still visible in the wall of the church, and there are other remains which prove the original religious establishment to have been of considerable extent. In 1194 it was endowed with lands by Llywelyn the Great; and it is recorded that in those days the prior had fifty cows and twenty-two sheep. In 1283 it suffered from fire, and Edward I. repaired the damages. In 1535 Henry VIII. bestowed it on the abbey of Chertsey, in Surrey; and in 1577 it was made appurtenant to that of Bisham, Berks.
Moel Hebog (the Hawk Hill) rises boldly from the vale in front of the village, which takes its name—Beddgelert, or the Grave of Gelert, from an affecting tradition, which has been made the subject of an admirably pathetic ballad by the Hon. W. R. Spencer. Miss Costello gives this romantic legend with her wonted taste and effect:—
“King John had given to Llywelyn the Great, not only his daughter Joanna in marriage, but as a prize little inferior, a fine greyhound, of superior breed and great beauty, who was wont to take the lead in all his expeditions, and to bring down the game in gallant style. The usual season of the chase arrived, and the prince, his wife, and children had repaired to the hunting-ground in this valley: one day Llywelyn set forth, and had not gone far when he discovered that Gelert, his favourite hound, had lagged behind; he called him in vain, and, out of temper and impatient, he continued his way, and occupied himself in his sport, still, however, dwelling with vexation on the absence of his constant companion. On his return, as he was about to enter his dwelling, he was met by Gelert, who leaped upon him and shewed every demonstration of delight. The prince angrily drove him off, and, as he did so, remarked that the jaws of the dog were covered with blood, that blood was on the floor and on the walls—a strange foreboding of evil stole over his mind: his infant son had been left in the cradle—no attendant was near—he tracked the crimson stairs—they led him to the spot where his child reposed—the cradle was overturned, the infant gone, and a pool of blood was at his feet.
“Llywelyn allowed himself not a moment’s time for reflection—Gelert was fawning beside the couch of his murdered child—his fangs were red with gore—he could not doubt but that the wretched animal had torn the sleeping babe, and drawing his sword, he plunged it into the body of the hound. At this instant he heard a cry—he darted forward, removed the confused heap before him, and, struggling beneath, he beheld his child uninjured, his tiny hands resting on the body of a gaunt wolf, which had been killed by Gelert in his defence.
“What was now left for Llywelyn but remorse and late repentance?—he erected a tomb over the remains of the faithful dog, and the spot is called ‘the Grave of Gelert’ to this day.
“There is a Welsh adage which alludes to this legend, ‘he repents as much as the man who killed the dog’—and this would naturally lead one to imagine that the sad tale were indeed true; nevertheless, the same is told in many places, and seems originally to have come from the far East, where almost all beautiful stories had their birth.
“It is said to be engraven on a rock in Limerick; it is told in an old English romance; it is repeated in France; and it is the subject of Persian drama!”
Some chroniclers assert, that Prince Llywelyn founded the church of Beddgelert to commemorate the preservation of his son, and as some atonement for slaying his preserver, the faithful hound.
In a field contiguous to the churchyard, is a large stone, which is said to mark the spot where Gelert was buried. Near the stone is a building, now used as a cow-house, which is reputed to have been the residence of the prince.
There is an excellent inn here, the Goat, recently enlarged and improved, not inferior in accommodation to any in Wales. The Caernarvon and Tan-y-Bwlch mail coach passes twice a day through the village. Behind the old public house opposite is an interesting view of a solemn dell. The eye, in surveying this chasm, is relieved now and then by spots of verdure, patches of heath, thinly-scattered sheep, and the beautiful curvature of the mountain. In the Welsh annals this region is styled the Forest of Snowdon. A guide to the many objects of interest in the locality may be procured at any time at the Goat inn. When Mr. Nicholson traversed this part of the country, the name of the guide was William Lloyd, who was also the village schoolmaster, and who thus explained his occupation in a placard stuck upon the door of the inn:—“William Lloyd, conductor to Snowdon, Moel Hebog, Dinas Emrys, Llanberis pass, the lakes, waterfalls, &c. &c.” The name of the present guide is Richard Edwards.