Transcribed from the 1838 Henry Colburn edition by David Price. Many thanks to Mold Library for allowing their copy to be consulted.

THE
PEDESTRIAN’S GUIDE
THROUGH
NORTH WALES.

A TOUR
PERFORMED IN 1837.

BY
G. J. BENNETT, ESQ.

WITH TWENTY ETCHINGS,

BY A. CLINT.

LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN PUBLISHER,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1838.

LONDON:
SCHULZE AND CO., 13, POLAND STREET.

ILLUSTRATIONS, &c.

		Page
1	Caernarvonshire, from Anglesea.	Title
2	Chirk Castle.	68
3	Llangollen.	93
4	Font in the grounds of Plas Newydd.	99
5	Castle Dinas, Bran.	108
6	Valle Crucis Abbey.	121
7	Pillar of Eliseg.	128
8	Bala Lake.	155
9	Cader Idris, from the Bala Road.	171
10	Parliament House of Owen Glyndwr.	174
11	View from Carreg y Saeth.	209
12	Harlech Castle.	215
13	The Vale of Maentwrog.	219
14	The Raven Fall, near Maentwrog.	231
15	Pont Aber Glaslyn.	237
16	Snowdon, from the Pass of Llyn Gwynant.	251
17	Pass of Llanberis.	254
18	The Coffin of Leolinus Magnus.	319
19	Conway Castle.	325
20	Aber.	362
WELSH MELODIES, ETC.
21	Guide for the Pedestrian.	11
22	The Fairy’s Serenade.	109
23	Battle Song.	131
24	Jenny Davies.	143
25	Mountain Mary.	176
26	Dafydd ap Shenkin.	305
27	Farewell to North Wales.	384

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
	Page
Preliminary observations—Preparations for a tour—Coach conversation—A breakfast and an American traveller—Route to Birmingham—A dinner—Road to Wolverhampton—Eccentric passengers—Lord Hill’s monument—Shrewsbury.	11
CHAPTER II.
Walk to Montford Bridge—The Severn—An agreeable companion—Delights of a Tourist—Histrionic Ambition—Wittington—The Castle—The Church—Curious Epitaphs.	30
CHAPTER III.
Chirk—The Aqueduct—The Deserted, a legend—Description of Chirk Castle—Sketch—The Park—Legend of the enchanted Stag—The Vale of Llangollen—Account of the Aqueduct called Pont-y-Cysylltau—Stanzas for music—Llangollen—The Hand in Hand—A view of the village.	57
CHAPTER IV.
Waking prospect—Plas Newydd and the grounds—Lines written at the font—Castle Dinas, Bran—Legend of Mick Mallow—View of the Castle—Legend of the Minstrel Fay—Original Air—Festival.	96
CHAPTER V.
Valle Crucis—The Abbey—Lines written in the ruins—A loquacious porteress—A view of the Abbey—The pillar of Eliseg—A parting—Road to Corwen—Vale of the Dee—The musical pedestrian—War song—Over the hills and far away—An adventure—Corwen—The Church—College—Cross and Circle—Air Llwyn-own—Route to Llandrillo—An old soldier and his son—Village of Llandrillo—A fair—Vale of Edeyrnion—Arrival at Bala.	121
CHAPTER VI.
Bala—The Lake—A Meeting of Magistrates—The Doctor—Rhewlas—Lines written at Rhewlas—Farewell to the Bull’s Head—A Jolter—Llanthyn—Vale of Drwstynrnt—Legend of handsome Hugh and the Fairy—Cader Idris—Dolgelley—Song “Mountain Mary”—The Town Hall—Parliament House—St. Mary’s Church—Inns—Angling Station, Doluwcheogryd—The Cataracts of Rhaiadr Du and Pistyll y Cain—Nannau Park—Anecdote of Owen Glyndwr and Howell Sele—Road to Barmouth—Arrival—Inns—A Walk on the sands.	154
CHAPTER VII.
Description of Barmouth—Sketch of the Town—The Estuary—Friar’s Island—Dinas Gortin—Earl of Richmond—Anecdote of the men of Ardudwy, and the men of Denbighshire—Mostyn Hall—A pic-nic party—Llyn Cwm Bychan—Carreg y Saeth—The Witch of Cwm Bychan—Legendary Tale—Bwlch Tyddiad—A mountain ride and a regretful farewell	183
CHAPTER VIII.
Harlech—The Inn—The Castle—Anecdote of Dafydd ap Ivan ap Einion—Road to Maentwrog—View—A persevering Cobbler—The Oakley Arms—Pleasures of Fly fishing—New Companions—Angling Stations—An Adventure—Road to Tremadoc—Tan y Bwlch—Port Madoc Breakwater and Mountain Scenery described—Tremadoc—Tan yr Allt—Pont Aber Glas Llyn—Lines written at the Bridge—Beddgelert—The Inn—Story of a Pointer.	213
CHAPTER IX.
Departure from Beddgelert—Vortigern’s Hill—Snowdon—Llynn Gwynant—Lines written upon Llynn Gwynant—Gwrydd—Public House—Lake Fishing—A Night Adventure—Pass of Llanberis—Legend of the Giant’s Night-Cap—The Lakes—The Castle of Dolbadarn and Legend—View of Llanberis.	246
CHAPTER X.
The church of Llanberis—Monumental inscriptions—Story of little John Closs—The Pellings—Capel Curig—Moel Siabod—Castle of Dolwyddélan—Falls of Benclog—Llyn Ogwen—Llyn Idwal—Story of Idwal—Route to Llanrwst—Falls of Rhaiadr y Wennol—Bettws y Coed—The church—Monuments—Pont y Pair—Ogo ap Shenkin, a Legend—Glee, “Shenkin was a noble fellow!”	280
CHAPTER XI.
A Mistake—Road to Llanrwst—Gwydir Castle—Llanrwst Shaking Bridge—Inn—The Theatre—Town Hall—Free Schools—Alms Houses—Rhaiadr y Parc Mawr—Llyn Gierionydd—Taliesin—Trefriw—Slate Quarries—Conway—The Suspension Bridge—The Castle—Local Customs—A Phrenologist—Excursion to the Ormes’ Head—The Smuggler—The Bump of Order.	306
CHAPTER XII.
Route to Aber—Penmaen Mawr—The pet Goat—Aber—Legend of Llywelyn and the Captive Knight—Road from Aber to Bangor—Penrhyn Castle—Bangor—Inns—The Cathedral—The Castle—Free Schools—The Menai Bridge—Song, Farewell to North Wales, air, Ar Hyd y Nos—Conclusion	352
Appendix	375

PREFACE.

The Author’s object in offering to the Public the following pages is, that all who have a desire to examine the beauties of Welsh scenery may also have an opportunity of seeing the most interesting portion of it in a tour which will not occupy more than a month. The route described in this volume presents a variety of pictures which can scarcely be equalled, and certainly not surpassed, in any quarter of the globe. It is true there are hills higher far than any in Snowdonia, and valleys more extensive; but, while we are astonished at a description of the enormous magnitude of the Asiatic and American mountains, and the noble rivers, and sea-like lakes of the latter, let us take into our consideration which is the most desirable country to explore; that in which nature’s prodigies are so extensive that we can neither ascend the eminences, ford the rivers, nor view the opposite shores of the extensive lakes; or that where mountains may be scaled with ease, from the summits of which, a series of glorious panoramas burst upon the eye,—wherein the valleys, glens and wild ravines present an endless variety of sublimity and beauty, and the loud torrent and the waterfall pour forth their melody of never tiring sweetness, to delight the ear?

Seas must be crossed, and miles of dreary and uninteresting country traversed, in wandering from one grand object to another in the former; while, in the route here represented to the Public,—within the reach of all—repose and admiration charm the heart by turns, in the rich fertile valleys, lofty and wood-clad hills, or heather-mantled mountains, of North Wales. The traveller is likewise insured the comfort of a good inn, where he may rest his wearied limbs, after a day’s ramble in whatever part of the district he chooses to select for his excursion; and the healthy and active should decidedly make use of their limbs, to bear them through this tour, in preference to the more easy and luxurious vehicle, and even to the equestrian mode of conveyance. A good horsewoman may venture into the dark defiles, or climb the craggy heights upon the ponys, which are always in readiness at the inns for that purpose; but between a man and his steed there will most assuredly be a strong feeling of sympathy created by a conviction, that the one is a most unnecessary burthen to the other.

For the etchings which illustrate this little work, the Author is indebted to his friend Mr. Alfred Clint, who accompanied him in his second tour, and whose judicious selection of subjects has given a value to the volume, which, without his aid, would have been deficient in its principal ornaments. There is no composition in any of the illustrations; they are the scenes of nature reflected in the mirror of art. Not a mountain or valley, grey ruin or waterfall, but is represented as it really is; and for the best reason in the world, viz. that any attempt to improve upon the subjects, would destroy their real beauty.

The peasantry are simple, honest, and obliging; and, as they trudge along, a spirit of freedom sparkles in their eyes, and seems to animate every action of their unfettered limbs. Though their fare is humble, they enjoy it with an appetite to which the bracing air of their hills, and their happy ignorance of luxuries, give an enviable zest. Drunkenness is a vice almost unknown among these primitive mountaineers: milk is their common beverage, oatmeal cakes, and potatoes, with a plentiful supply of trout from their native streams, form their chief summer food; while, in winter, dry salted beef and mutton serve to satisfy their utmost wishes.

“Though poor the peasant’s hut, his feasts tho’ small,
He sees his little lot the lot of all.

* * * * *

Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms.
And, as a child, when scaring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to the mother’s breast,
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind’s roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.”

DIRECTIONS
TO THOSE UNACQUAINTED WITH THE WELSH LANGUAGE.

A knowledge of the Welsh alphabet is indispensable to those who are desirous of correctly pronouncing the necessary questions and answers that transpire upon the road. The names of places must effectually puzzle any tourist, who is not acquainted with the peculiar sound of each letter, particularly where there are many consonants in a word. In order therefore to aid the traveller in Wales, I have selected the following rules.

In the Welsh alphabet there are no mutes; and all letters that are circumflex must be pronounced long, as

Bôn like the English Bone.

Bin, as Been.

C, as Can, but never soft as in City.

Ch, is pronounced as the Greek χ.

Dd, as the English Th in theme.

F, as V in English.

Ff, as F and double F in English.

G, as G in good, but never soft as in genial.

I, as I in king but never as in fire.

Ll, as L aspirated.

Th, as in thought.

U, as I in the English words bliss, kiss &c.

W, as double O in good, wood.

Y, as U in burn, but in the last syllable of a word; and in all monosyllables except Y, Ydd, Ym, Yn, Yr, Ys, Fy, Dy, Myn, it is like I in Sin.

By attending to these rules, the stranger will easily make himself understood by the peasantry, and on his tours, in enquiring for any place to which he may be journeying.

GLOSSARY.

Ap, or Ab, is prefixed to proper names, and signifies, the son of.

Aber, the fall of one water into another, a confluence.

Am, about, around.

Ar, upon, or bordering upon.

Avon, or Afon, a river.

Ban, high, lofty, tall.

Bach, little, small.

Bedd, a grave, a sepulchre.

Bettws, a station between hill and vale.

Blaen, a point or end.

Bôd, a residence.

Braich, a branch.

Bron, the breast or slope of a hill.

Bryn, a hill, a mount.

Bychan, little.

Bylch, a gap or pass.

Cader, a chair.

Caer, a city.

Capel, a chapel.

Carn, a heap.

Carnedd, a heap of stones.

Careg, a stone.

Castell, a castle, fortress.

Cil, (pronounced keel) a retreat, a recess.

Clawdd, a hedge, a dyke.

Clogwyn, a precipice.

Coed, a wood.

Cors, a bog, a fen.

Craig, a rock or craig.

Croes, a cross.

Cym, a valley or glen.

Dinas, a fort, a city, or a fortified place.

Dol, a meadow or dale in the bend of the river.

Drws, a doorway, a pass.

Dû, black.

Dwfr or Dwr, water.

Dyffryn, a valley.

Eglwys, a church.

Ffordd, away, a road a passage.

Ffynnon, a well, a spring.

Garth, a hill bending round.

Glàn, a brink or shore.

Glâs, bluish or greyish green.

Glyn, a glen or valley through which a river runs.

Gwern, a watery meadow.

Gwydd, a wood.

Gwyn, white, fair.

Llan, a church, a smooth area, an inclosure.

Llwyn, a grove.

Maen, a stone.

Mawr, great.

Moel, a smooth conical hill.

Mynydd, a mountain.

Nant, a ravine, a brook.

Newydd, new, fresh.

Pant, a hollow or valley.

Pistyll, a spout, a cataract.

Plas, a hall or palace.

Plwyf, a parish.

Pont, a bridge.

Porth, a ferry, a port, a gateway.

Pwll, a pit or pool.

Rhaiadr, a cataract.

Rhiw, an ascent.

Ryhd, a ford.

Sarn, a causeway, a pavement.

Tal, the front or head, also tall.

Traeth, a sand or shore.

Tre or Tref, a home, a town.

Twr, a tower.

Ty, a house.

Y, the, of.

Yn, in, at, into.

Ynys, an island.

Ystrad, a vale, a dale.

Yspytty, a hospital, an almshouse.

By referring to this short Glossary, the tourist will find no difficulty in understanding the meanings of the different names given to the different places through which he will have to pass.

INTERJECTIONS.

As there are many interjectional adverbs made use of in the following pages, a glossary of them might prove useful.

Aro! stop!

Dacw! yonder!

Dyna, dyna! there, there.

Dyt, dyt! hold, hold!

Fwrz! away!

Gwae, woe.

Hai how! heigho!

Hwnt! avaunt!

O dyn! oh dear!

Oia! oh pray!

Oio! hear me!

Truan bac! poor little thing!

Truan hyny! poor thing, that it was!

Twt! pshaw!

Wela, wela! well, well!

Ysywaeth! the more the pity!

GUIDE FOR THE PEDESTRIAN.

ROUTE.	COUNTIES.	MILES.	PRINCIPAL INNS.	OBJECTS OF INTEREST.	ANGLING STATIONS.
From London to Shrewsbury,	Salop	154	The Talbot—Raven—Lion, and the Fox.	The House of Industry—Military Depôt—Lord Hill’s Column—Quarry Walk—and the Castle.	The Severn.
thence to Wittington	Do.	16		The Castle, and the Church.	The Severn.
Chirk	Denbighshire	6	The Hand.	The Castle—The Aqueduct and Vale.	The Ceiriog.
Llangollen	Do.	7	The Hand—King’s Head, and Royal Oak.	Bran—Church—Plas Newydd—Pont Cysylltan.	The Dee—to Corwen or Overton.
Corwen	Merionethshire	10	The Owen Glyndwr.	The Church—Cross—Glyndwys Seat—Vale of Edeyrnion.	Between Corwen and Llan St. Ffraid bridge.
Bala	Do.	12	White Lion & Bull’s Head.	The Lake—Aran Fowddwy—Arrenig Vawr—Arrenig Vach.	Bala lake and pool, halfway up the Arrenig Vach—R. Dee.
Dolgelley	Do.	18	Golden Lion—Angel, & Ship.	Nannau Park—Kymmer Abbey—County gaol—Parliament House of Owen Glyndwr—The Falls of Rhaiadr Mawddach—Rhaiadr Du, and Pistyll-y-Cain.	Lanvachreth 3½ miles—Dol-y-gammed, on the Avon, 4 miles—Llyn Cregnan, S.W. 4 miles—Llyn Gader, 1½ m—Llyn Griew, 5 m—Tal-y-llyn, on Cader Idris, 6 m.
Barmouth	Do.	10	Commercial Inn, and Cors-y-gedol Arms.	Old Town—Sarn Badric—Cors-y-gedol.	Llyn Raithlyn, near Trawsfynydd—Arthog Chapel, 3 m. distant—Llyn Bodlyn, 4 M. from Barmouth—Llyn Teddin and Llyn Gierw, near the town.
Harlech	Do.	10	The Blue Lion.	The Castle—Cwm Bychan—The Cromlech, 2 miles S. in a farm called Gwern Einion—A Druidical circle between the Farm and Harlech.	Llanvihangel, on Dwyryd, 5 m—Llanbedr on the Bychan, 3 m—Llyn-y-Vedw, Llyn Eiddaw, Llyn Glyn—Llyn-y-cwm Bychan—Llyn Trewyn.
Maentwrog	Do.	10	Maentwrog Inn, and Oakley Arms.	Tan-y-Bwlch—Slate Quarries, 5 m—Rhaiadr Du and Raven fall, 2 m—Festiniog, 3 m—Falls of Cynfall—Roman encampment (Toman Mur) 3 m from Festiniog.	Llyn Llanyrch, 3½ m (good trout)—Cwmmorthin Lake (in the pass of Cwmmorthin) 4½ m—Llyn Mannot, 6 m (large trout)—Llyn Murionion, 6 m—Llyn Tackwyn. 3 m.
Tremadoc	Caernarvonshire.	10½	Madoc Arms.	The Breakwater at Port Madoc—The Church.	Angling from Tremadoc.
Beddgelert	Do.	10½	The Goat.	Gelert’s grave—The chair of Rhys Gocho’r’ Ryri—Pont Aber Glas Llyn.	Nant Gwynnant—Llyn Dinas—Cwm Llan—Llyn Gwynnant—Llyn Llydan.
Llanberis	Do.	14	The Victoria, and Snowdonia.	Dolbadarn Castle—The Church—The Tomb of little John Closs—Well of St. Peris—Lakes—Pass.	Upper and lower lakes (bad sport)—Llyn Cwm Dwythog, 2 m—Llyn Llydan (on Snowdon), 5 m—Glaslyn, on the W. of Snowdon.
Capel Curig	Do.	10	Capel Curig Inn.	Rhaiadr-y-Wennol waterfall—Moel-Siabod—Dolwyddelan Castle, 5 m.
Bettws-y-Coed	Do.	5		Pont-y-pair—Shenkin’s Cave—Church—Monument to Davyd Goch.	Lake Ogwen—Nant Francon—Llyn Idwal—R. Llugwy.
Llanrwst	Denbighshire.	5	The Eagles.	The Bridge—Gwydir Castle—The Church—Gwydir Chapel.
Conway	Caernarvonshire.	12	The Castle, and the Newborough Arms.	The Castle—Church—Curious monuments—Plas Mawr—Ormes-head.	Bettws-y-Coed, 3 m—Trevriw, 2 ½ m—Dol-garrog, 4 m—Llanbedr, 5 m—Dolwyddelan, 8 m—Tal-y-Llyn, and Llyn Crafnant, near Llanrwst.
Aber-gwyngregyn	Do.	9	The Bulkley Arms.	The Waterfall and Glen—Penmaen Mawr.	Llyn Ogwen—Llyn Idwal, and Ogwen river.
Bangor	Do.	5½	The Penrhyn Arms—The Castle—the Liverpool Arms, and Albion.	Penrhyn Castle—Slate quarries—Caenarvon—Menai Bridge—Beaumaris and Castle—Penmon Monastery—Plas Newydd—Baron Hill—Puffin Island, and the Cathedral.	The fishing stations as above.

CHAPTER I.

Preliminary observations—Preparations for a tour—Coach conversation—A breakfast and an American traveller—Route to Birmingham—A dinner—Road to Wolverhampton—Eccentric passengers—Lord Hill’s monument—Shrewsbury.

“Like brethren now do Welshmen still agree
In as much love as any men alive;
The friendship there and concord that I see
I doe compare to bees in honey hive,
Which keep in swarme, and hold together still,
Yet gladly showe to stranger great good will;
A courteous kinde of love in every place
A man may finde, in simple people’s face.”

CHURCHYARD.

Various, as the features of human nature, are the sources of human happiness. Some derive their choicest pleasure from historical accounts of men who lived in by-gone ages, and in re-creating events that have long since been engulphed in the abyss of time,—breaking down the barriers of intervening years, and mingling, in idea, with those who were once deemed the glorious of the earth, who now lie blended with its grossest atoms, or are confounded with the purer elements. Some, parching with the thirst of knowledge, seek to slake the fever of their minds with most laborious research; explore the utmost regions of the globe to find a shorter marine passage; or pierce into its depths to seek for treasures which only exist in their heated fancies. The vast ocean is fathomed to satisfy the ruling principle of their natures,—curiosity; and the realms of air traversed with the same motive to insure the universally desired result, self-gratification. While some, leaving the elements to perform the destined changes, are willing to agree with the poet, who in the warmth of his philanthropy exclaims:

“The proper study of mankind is man;”

and among this class of beings the author of these pages may be ranked, although he willingly confesses nature has the power of charming him in her most minute as in her most stupendous works, from the curious and confined instinct of the ant and of the bee to the wonderful and exhaustless energies of the human mind,

“That source
Whence learning, virtue, wisdom, all things flow.”

The court, the city, and the country, present an endless variety of subjects for contemplation; and the latter being the region of delight to those whose business confines them to the metropolis for the winter months, the author of this volume is anxious to be thought a useful and an amusing companion to such tourists who, in pursuit of health and the charms of nature, may wander

“In the Welsh vales ’mid mountains high,”

where the sublime and beautiful present themselves at every turn to captivate the eye, and ruddy health colours the smiling faces of every peasant girl and shepherd boy, from Chirk to Holyhead.

To a mind capable of estimating fine scenery, how delightful are the hurry and bustle which usually take place on the morning of departure, in fond expectation of realizing the anticipated pleasure of viewing those beauties of nature the imagination has but weakly painted! The sun is scarcely sooner up than the traveller; and, although the coach in which he is to be rolled some hundred and fifty miles will not start for perhaps three hours, his anxiety preponderates over the now slighted comforts of his bed of down, and with an agile leap he quits his restless pillow, and hastily despatching the business of his toilet, with his heart beating high, and his knapsack already stuffed with three shirts, as many pairs of stockings, guide books, and as few other necessaries as may be, in order to make his walking wardrobe as light as possible, he prepares to “take the road.” If a disciple of old Isaac Walton and Cotton, he will not fail to have his book of flies, lines, reel, &c., and a light fly rod to carry in his hand, and for which he is sure to have use whenever he feels inclined for piscatory pastime on his tour. So stocked and provided, he bids defiance to the evils of life; and may exclaim with the poet

“Warly cares and warly men
May a’ gae tapsalteeree O!”

“Do you ride upon the box, sir?”

“To be sure I do—paid that fellow to keep it for me.”

“All right, sir: mount if you please,—not a minute to spare. All right behind there?”

“All right.”

“Hold fast, sir!—let ’em go, Joey! Blow avay, Bill,” then addressing the near wheeler; “eh, vot, you’re at your tantarums again! I’ll vork ’em out of you before ve gets to the end of the stage. Do you know, sir, it vas all along of this here varmint that ve’d the upset last veek.”

“Indeed! we’ve a pleasant prospect before us, then.”

“Oh there’s no fear, sir; I vas never upset in my life, and I’ve been upon this here road for five and twenty years come next Christmas; but it vas all along of a gemman as had the reins in hand, ven poor Ned Burkem just vent in for his mornins, at the King’s Arms—yonder you may see the sign just afore us; ve alvays stops there for our mornins, case you see, sir, the landlord vas von of us, and his daughter is a main pretty girl. I suppose, sir, you’ve no objection to look at a pretty girl, ha, ha!”

“None in the world, James.”

“Veil, here ve are; and now, sir, if you’ll just lay hold of the ribbons for von minute, I’ll leave ’em this here parcel.”

To this proposition I agreed, with the proviso that one ostler should hold the tricksey mare, and another stand at the leaders’ heads, having no wish for a repetition of poor old Ned Burkem’s mishap. The parcel being delivered, the half pint of purl swallowed, and James again seated, like ruddy Phœbus, on the coach box, the horses were put in motion to the tune of eleven miles an hour.

“Very pretty travelling this, Mr. —, I beg your pardon, sir, but your name is —”

“Yes, you’re right, James.”

“Veil, I thought I vas, sir; it’s not always that I can remember names, sir; for you must know that, although I’ve drove some thousands in my time, just seated where you are, sir, at this present, I don’t think I could remember one half of their names.”

“Very surprising indeed, for a man of your observation.”

“Lord bless you, sir, vy my observation is nothing to Squire —, that’s his house you see on your left; they say he can see the Eclipse (coach) in the moon. But they can’t tool ’em along as ve does here, I take it, sir. Go along, snarler!”

James’s tongue and the coach continued in rapid progress; and in due time we reached the Sportsman Inn at Whetstone, when the passengers had an opportunity of displaying the extraordinary effects produced by the morning air upon fasting stomachs. A lady and her daughter, who were inside passengers, did ample justice to the fare; the latter, in particular, payed away at the cold fowl and ham in a manner truly surprising. “Coach ready, ladies,” cried James; and up jumped mother and pet, with mouths full of fowl, toast, etc., which they washed down, unmasticated, with the dregs of their tea; and in a minute were again seated inside the coach, opposite to two gentlemen, one rather a corpulent man, with “spectacles on nose,” the other a gay young citizen, who was to leave us at Barnet.

The coach had not started above five minutes, before fragrant wreaths of smoke were making their escape out of the window, and delighting the outside passengers with the refreshing odour: for this we were indebted to the stout gentleman before mentioned, who having lately arrived from America, could not be expected to understand the civilized customs of travellers in England, and who inconsiderately concluded that his cigar was as agreeable to the ladies as to himself. It proved otherwise, however: the cold fowl lay uneasy, and the ham seemed to object to being smoked. This, both ladies endeavoured to intimate to their opposite neighbour, by sundry wry faces and beseeching looks. At length, his cigar being nearly finished, the smoker could no longer pretend blindness to the distressing condition to which he had reduced his companions—and he then asked “if they had any objection to smoking?”

The elderly lady, whose politeness had extended to the utmost limits of her nature, with a forced smile replied (while the ashy paleness of her face spoke the tumult that was stirring within,) “Not the—slightest, sir, if you have no objection to—to—” open the other window, she would have said, but the daughter could no longer support the motion of the coach and the fumes of tobacco, and, to the horror of the American gentleman, he instantly found himself in no very enviable situation.

He started from his seat, and almost lifted the roof of the coach off by the concussion between it and his head. “No objection, madam!” cried he in great wrath; “but I wish you to understand that I have a very great objection to this, I calculate!—Here, coachman! stop! let me get out! will you?”

Coachee complied, and the ladies were doubly relieved.

“I’m in a pretty considerable pickle, I’m thinking!” said he, as he seated himself behind us on the roof.

The more agreeable rattle of the wheels prevented our hearing more of his complaints, and we arrived at Barnet.

About a mile and a half from Barnet, upon the right, is the estate of Mr. Byng, and a little further, on the left, that of Mr. Trotter. The town of St. Albans with its ancient Abbey, which creates pleasing ideas of bygone times, of monks and friars, “fat pullets and clouted cream,” was passed through; and descending the hill, on leaving the town, fresh objects became interesting to the eye.

After leaving Gorham Bury, Earl Verulam’s seat on the left, we came to Market Street and passed a delightful residence called Market Cell, the property of a Mr. Johnson, and beyond Sir F. P. Turner’s on the right, and Mr. Duncombe’s on the left, are places that make a man desirous of possessing £10,000 per annum.

Dunstable is rattled through next, and then comes Fenny Stratford, Stony Stratford, Easton Neston, and then Lord Pomfret’s noble domain. Towcester comes next upon the list, and Weedon Barracks, where a view of the rail road presents itself.

Then the coach enters Dunchurch, changing horses at the Dun Inn; where being pretty well roasted in the hot sun, some of the passengers endeavoured to obtain a draught of something to moisten their parched throats; but if the garrison of Weedon had discharged all their powder in firing an alarm, and the bells of Dunchurch had joined in the uproar, I do not think a single soul would have answered the summons in the Dun Inn. We were obliged therefore to ascend again, with throats unquenched.

From Dunchurch the coach passes through a noble avenue of elms and firs which stretches for six miles beyond the village, certainly the finest avenue, in extent, I ever beheld; and the size of the trees is not the least interesting object, spreading their luxuriant branches until they form almost a continuous bower.

Coventry sends forth her store of ragged urchins to see the London coach come in, and peeping Tom, in effigy, looks as inquisitive as peeping Tom himself could have done.

Aylesley Church is a very beautiful structure; and a little beyond is Packington Hall, the Mansion of Lord Aylesford.

At Bucknell, another view of the railroad is obtained; and at length, to the infinite joy of hungry passengers, Birmingham, and dinner, appear in the distance.

We drew up to the inn. I was the only passenger who entered the dining room. The coach was to stop for twenty minutes; and after waiting ten with the patience of a stoic, the waiter entered with a calf’s head, cold, over which some boiling water had been poured, by way of sauce. I am fond of a mealy potatoe, and some were placed before me thoroughly saturated; a cauliflower, boiled in the scented waters of fifty other vegetables, completely scared away my appetite, and fully answered the purposes both of landlord and coachman.

The latter at that moment popping his head in at the door, “Coach ready, sir, if you please!”

“I’m glad of it; what’s to pay, my girl?”

“Three and sixpence for dinner, sir, if you please, and threepence for ale.”

“Experience makes fools wise,”

I exclaimed, as with an empty stomach I reseated myself upon the box.

“St—st—go along! a fine town this, sir!”

“Is it?”

“Don’t you think so, sir?

“I never was in such a half starved, hungry looking place in my life,” cried I, at that time feeling the cravings of nature strong within me, and fancying I saw the ghost of a London cook shop, flitting before my eyes.

The road from Birmingham to Shrewsbury, if travelled by night, gives a stranger a glowing idea of the “fiery regions,” never mentioned to “ears polite.” No description can come up to the flaming reality exhibited in the appearance of this country; hundreds of hills of burning coke blaze in all directions, and the air is scarcely endurable from the gaseous qualities of the smoke, which sweeps across the road in huge columns, almost suffocating every passenger who ventures upon that dismal tract.

But increasing horrors gather round the devoted tourist as he advances further, on the road to Wolverhampton: thousands of indistinct forms move in the glare of the distant fires, or flit, like a legion of black devils, over the burning coals; sometimes standing in bold relief before the blazing chimneys of fifty or sixty steam engines, that send up bursts of flame glaring in all directions; and imagination might picture thousands of fallen angels, tossing their flaming brands above their heads, in frantic sport and direful revelry.

Groups of grinning imps sat scattered near the road side, whose yellings made the welkin ring again as we passed by them. Roaring Bacchanals filled the air with their drunken shouts; and withered hags held out their bony hands for alms, to be expended in liquid fire for their throats.

Behind me, on the roof of the coach, were two most eccentric travellers who had taken their places at Birmingham for Shrewsbury. The night was cold, and one, whom I discovered to be of the Emerald Isle, had, with national foresight, provided himself with a dacent drop of “the mountain dew,” just to keep the wind off his stomach; and next to him was seated a demure looking personage, who by his peculiar dialect proved to be a son of Scotia—

“Land of the mountain and the flood.”

“By the honor of Erin!” exclaimed the first, “I’m not at all surprised to find you such a silent companion, for it’s a mighty cowld night, and your conversation must nat’rally freeze before its spoken. Will you take a drop of comfort to thaw it, my darlint?” at the same time presenting a flask of potheen to the party he addressed.

It must be observed that this sprig of shamrock was dressed in a blue jacket, with a light summer waistcoat, and a pair of duck trowsers, which suited admirably the mid-day ride, but were inefficient to exclude the cold night air. But I suppose he went, like the generality of his countrymen, upon the philosophical principle, that “a light heart and a thin pair of breeches goes thorough the world, my brave boys.” His companion was dressed in a velvet shooting jacket, thick plush trowsers, and waistcoat of the same, over which he wore a heavy box coat, which was encased in a cloth cloak of unusual dimensions: over this was a mackintosh cape, and his head was enveloped in a fur cap, fastened by an Indian silk handkerchief tied round the chin—and altogether he seemed to defy wind and weather.

This bundle of comfort, pulling down for an instant the neckerchief, which was also rolled round the aperture of speech, emphatically stated that he had no need of the offer.

“For ye ken,” said he, “that I’m a prudent mon, and never venture outside o’ the coach, unless I have a’ the comforts o’ the inside about me; there’s ne’er a mon, sir, shut up in that unhealthy box, ye may ken, but is caulder than mysel; and I guess, fra’ the garments on your person, that ye’re no quite sae warm.”

“Why thin if I was, I’d be thinking myself nearer to a certain personage than I have any inclination to be for the next half century.”

“But ye ken that extremes meet; and I think by that calculation ye may be nearer to the friend ye mention than I am, seeing that I am but just comfortable, and ye are near the freezing point.”

Having uttered this sarcasm upon his shivering companion, the canny Scot replaced the muffler over his lips, as a signal for silence, while the Irishman, taking another draught from his pocket pistol, sang a stanza of Erin go bragh, and consoled himself with striking a light for his cigar, from which he sent clouds of smoke, which made our travelling convenience resemble, in the gloom, a steam carriage, as it flew along, with nearly as great rapidity; the lighted end serving, as a warming pan to his nose, which thus illuminated, seemed not much unlike a blue light, such as mariners burn for signals of distress.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Boxer,” said he, touching me on the shoulder, “but are you a politician?”

“Why, to say the truth, sir,” I replied, “I interfere as little as possible with what, I conceive, wiser heads than mine are greatly puzzled.”

“Why that’s true, sure enough,” continued he, “but may be you’ve heard of the—holloa!”

Here he was interrupted by his bulky companion, whom a lurch of the coach had flung heavily upon him as he was leaning forward to reach my ear. The Scotchman had fallen asleep, and effectually prevented his neighbour from regaining his sitting posture, by the weight of his body and its envelopes.

“Blood an’ ’ounds, man, what are ye about?” roared my friend in the thin inexpressibles. “Sure I might as well be porter to Atlas himself, and carry his load. Will you get up, if you please? By the shade of O’Donahue, but I’ll create a connexion betwixt your nose and the lighted end of my cigar, if you don’t let me up.”

A sonorous grunt, which drowned the rattle of the coach wheels, was the only reply to this appeal, and Paddy being unacquainted with the language, immediately put his threat into execution. I have said before it was a cold night, and Sandy, who naturally enough started, at the application of the cigar to his proboscis, from his ideal world to a dreamy consciousness of his real situation, placing his hand on the injured part, exclaimed, still half bewildered, “Eh! that’s vera true, indeed. It’s a cauld night, and I verily believe that my nose is frost-bitten. I maun pit t’other shawl round it;” saying which he dragged one from his pocket, and was completely enveloped, apparently to suffocation.

“Why then, I’ve heard of salamanders, but Scotland must be mighty cauld since you left it,” said my thinly clad fellow traveller, when a half smothered voice spoke through the rolls of shawls and silk handkerchiefs. “Do you find yoursel’ sae hot in my company?”

The castinet-like sounds of the Irishman’s teeth was the only reply to this question, and silence ensued.

“What column is that we are approaching, coachman?”

“Why that, sir, is a pillar.”

“Thank ye; but what was it placed there for?”

“Why, sir, it was put there by subscription, as a compliment to Lord Hill.”

“Oh, indeed!”

The column is of the Doric order, rising from a base. The angles are ornamented with lions couchant, and the height of the pillar is 132 feet; upon its summit was placed a figure which old Push-along assured me was a fine likeness of old Rowley; it was erected in 1814.

“Blow the horn, Ned, will you!” And now, rattling over stones, through streets crowded with youthful idlers assembled to catch a sight of the new comers, we rapidly approached the inn. In a moment more we were at the gate of the Lion.

A good supper and a comfortable bed made amends for the bad dinner and the cold ride, and in the morning I arose much refreshed, and sallied forth to view the town.

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Pedestrian's Guide through North Wales

THE PEDESTRIAN’S GUIDE THROUGH NORTH WALES.