On ye 29th we went through Birmingham. Having seen it last year we did not stop, but went straight on to the Leasowes, a spot rendered celebrated by Shenstone; it is very unworthy of the praise he bestowed upon it, and is now fallen into decay. About three miles further is Hagley; the park is very beautiful, the house simple. The comfortless taste prevalent in England of placing the house in a lawn where sheep and cattle feed close to the windows, instead of ornamental gardens, gives rather a disconsolate appearance to it; otherwise it is almost as desirable as a country residence (a bad thing at best) can be. It was built by the good Ld. Lyttelton,[1] as he is generally called to distinguish him from his son, who, in contradistinction, is termed the bad. His much-loved wife, whom he celebrates under the name of Lucy, is buried in the church. It destroys the pathos excited by his elegy, if one recollects that within two years of her death he married a fat, vulgar, rich widow, for her wealth.

IRON BRIDGES

Went thro’ Bridgenorth, situated picturesquely upon the Severn, which, by-the-bye, is a yellow, muddy stream flowing with some rapidity, its only beauty. From thence we went to Coalbrookdale to sleep. There is the first iron bridge that was constructed; it is more curious from its novelty and use than beautiful. I deprecate their becoming general, as they are far inferior in point of beauty to those of stone; the dull black of the iron assorts ill with limpid streams and verdant banks, whereas on the contrary nothing can offer a more beautiful object than a stone bridge of well-turned arches. The inhabitants are chiefly quakers. During the American war they were offered a high gratification if they would cast cannon; they replied that they worked for the benefit of mankind, and not for their destruction, and peremptorily refused. It is an increasing place.

On Tuesday, 30th, got to Shrewsbury, a place for ever distinguished by the fall of the gallant Percy. One of the most admirable of Shakespeare’s plays commemorates this event. What can be better than the scene between the Triumvirate partitioning out the spoils of Britain, the impetuosity of Hotspur, and the arrogant credulity of Glendower? The crafty Worcester is a well-drawn character.

Passing Llanrwst, Conway, and Bangor they reached Carnarvon on August 3rd.

4th August. Sunday.—We left Carnarvon to go to Welsh Pool. From that place to Tan y Bwlch the road is over a high mountain. Snowdon in sight to our left.

Before Tan y Bwlch we came to Pont y Aberglassen, a remarkable salmon leap; Ld. H. screamed with delight at the sight of the salmons leaping up. It is a pretty sight. Myself, I could have looked at them with delight for an hour or two. At Tan y Bwlch, a small solitary inn, we found every room occupied. The Judges were there. The civility of some gentlemen enabled us to be under cover in a decent room whilst we dined, but the house was so full that we were compelled to go on nineteen miles at half-past seven, a mountainous road and a stormy night, to Dolgelly; I wonder how we achieved it amidst the torrents and precipices safely. The weather was so bad the next day that we saw nothing.

6th August.—This morning, set off from M——; such a deluge of rain that we saw nothing to our right or left. To-night we are at Welsh Pool, so disgusted with the roads and climate that we have some thoughts of giving up doing Aberystwith. The beauties of Wales are very inferior both to those of Scotland and Cumberland. The mts. are not so lofty, the torrents are small and noiseless, no cascades: in short, the old castles are alone worthy of notice. The country generally is thinly inhabited; the postillions are chiefly boys, their men being either in the army or employed in the navy. The Evil visibly afflicts a large portion of the people.

On ye 7th of August we had a day very unusual; it did not rain. We drove to Powys Castle, which is about a mile from Welsh Pool. It is finely situated upon an eminence that commands the country around; the place is neglected and the house is rambling and comfortless. In the park is a fathomless pool, which gives name to the adjacent town. We were obliged to stay the whole of the 7th, as horses were not to be had. In the eve. Ld. H. and I had a very snug walk again to the castle.

WELSH SCENERY