'The romantic and picturesque scenery of North and South Wales, having within these few years been considered highly noticeable and attractive, I was induced to visit this Principality with my friend Mr. Rowlandson, whose abilities as an artist need no eulogium from me. We left London in August 1797, highly expectant of gratification: nor were our highest hopes in the least frustrated.

'At the time of our excursion I had no idea of submitting to the public any of our minutes or sketches; but, as several of the subjects amongst our scenery have become topics of admiration, as well to the artist as cursory traveller, I have in the following sheets endeavoured to give a faint idea of their beauties; accompanied by some short remarks on the road, merely intended as a sort of vade mecum to stimulate the readers to further and more important enquiries; and in order, if possible, that they may, by being apprised of many inconveniences we experienced, be enabled to avoid them.'

Plates.

Speaking of the natives of Llanberris, Wigstead describes them in such picturesque terms that we are tempted to quote the paragraph:—

'The people here are really almost in a state of simple nature. The value of money is scarcely known; they pay the rent of their premises in cattle generally, which they breed on their land. Flesh is scarce ever tasted by them; and, except when visitors leave behind remnants of wine, ale, &c., milk is the principal beverage that passes their lips. They are remarkably observant of any decorations worn by ladies, such as beads, laces, and feathers, which strengthened my opinion of their similitude with the Otaheiteans, &c. These they admire, and handle with a sort of rudeness bordering on savage manners, likely to raise alarm in the breast of the fair wearer.'

The latter subject pictures forth a capital interior, in Rowlandson's own graphic manner. A turnspit is represented in his wheel, with the chain attached to the spit, for roasting the joint before the fire. It is reasonable that these poor creatures, tired of the squirrel-like performance, should have welcomed the mechanical contrivance of the roasting-jack.[3] The tourist describes one difficulty the epicure encountered under the ancient state of things:—'Newcastle is a pleasant village; a decent inn here; a dog is employed as turnspit. Great care is taken that the animal does not observe the cook approach the larder; if he does he immediately hides himself for the remainder of the day, and the guest must be satisfied with more humble fare than intended.'