[1799.] rable weather-boarded hovels, sordid with smoke and filth, without glass to the windows, and with ragged ends of plank tacked together for chimneys:-particularly in the suburbs. Passed, as we came along, some still more wretched huts, constructed solely of loose stones, sods, and faggots; and merely pierced, to let out the smoke and admit the light. JULY the 24th. Crossed the Severn by the wooden bridge, just below its junction with the Lleweddock river, and pursued the latter for some way, gushing in a deep and romantic hollow to the left, thickly shrouded in wood: then struck to the right, and, with some difficulty of approach, gained the summit of the Van mountain, which had confronted us so nobly yesterday:-evidently the highest ground immediately round Llanidloes. A gloomy tempest to the North, blackened and obscured every thing beneath it; but to the West of the North, stretched the whole ridge of Plinlimmon, of a lumpish form and unimposing aspect, but uplifted upon other heights, and incontestibly supreme: farther Northwards, as the weather cleared up, appeared the ragged summits of the Merionethshire mountains-two spiky tops, probably of Cader Idris and the Arran, pre-eminent, with light fleecy vapours floating athwart them: to the East, spread, in a vast expanse, the vale of Severn; marked in remote distance by the peaked top of the Breddin mountain: to the South, lay Llanidloes; apparently at our feet, though 4 miles distant. JULY the 25th. Ascended Plinlimmon. Pursued for 7 or 8 miles, the left bank of the Severn, dwindling by degrees to an alpine torrent, and raging at the bottom of a deep and narrow glen; our track hanging fearfully on a ledge to the right. Opened at length, between the receding heights, on the supreme ridge of Plinlimmon: its top saddened and obscured with driving storms; its sides furrowed deep with torrents. Entered an open and dreary moor extending to its base, and left our horses at a solitary hovel to the right, on a spot the most truly desolate and forlorn I have ever seen inhabited. Pursued our way up the side of the mountain, keeping the Severn torrent to our left, by a long but gradual ascent through perpetual bog; then struck to the right, and attained the highest elevation of the ridge, conspicuously marked to the surrounding country by two considerable piles of stones:-clouds driving and whirling, on all sides, with a rapid motion, beneath and athwart us; and allowing only partial glimpses of the [1799.] mountain-tops around;-some, afar off, illumined by the sun, and exhibited, through the openings of the mist, in bright and beautiful transparency. To the left, an immense and dreary plain, extending several miles into Cardiganshire, and excluding all view in that direction. Crossed a part of this plain, intersected by deep grips formed in the loose texture of the boggy soil of which it is composed, about a mile, to visit the source of the Severn-a small rill of strongly chalybeate-water, gushing down the side of one of these gullies;-and stopped, without difficulty, the course of this mighty river with my hand. The rise of the Wye, about 2 miles farther on; and of a similar character. Of the view from Plinlimmon, we are incompetent judges; but there is nothing in the form or aspect of the mountain itself, remote or near, which is at all striking; and it owes its principal celebrity, I should suppose, to the two distinguished rivers which spring from it. JULY the 26th. Drove to the Devil's Bridge, 20 miles. Met the Wye, and pursued it for some way, placidly meandring, to our left, over a pebbly channel; then crossed it, rolling as a torrent through a recess to the right, opening upwards to Plinlimmon. Pursued a wild and dreary mountain hollow, without tree or bush or brake, but here and there a wretched hovel; till, turning to the left, we opened on the spiky and jagged summits of the Cardiganshire mountains, towering one above another in sublime confusion. Overtook the Rheiddol, hid in a deep and feathered cleft to the right; and crossing the Devil's Bridge, ascended to the Inn, a solitary house, commanding nearly the same view which Grimm has heavily and feebly pourtrayed in Wyndham's Tour.Spent the evening in feasting our eyes upon the scene before us; which is surely more romantic and delicious than ever fancy feigned-and cannot be described: soft vapours, as the evening advanced, steaming up the sides of the feathered clefts below, from the concussion of the waters; and the sun, from beneath a stormy cloud, with "farewell sweet", pouring his last glories on the heights above. JULY the 27th. Visited the Monach, raging through a shaggy chasin from above, and working down its tremendous way, under the Bridge, through a yawning fissure in the black rock, worn smooth by its friction. Then walked to a projecting point of the cleft, and viewed the remainder of the fall:-400 feet in the whole; but broken into four or five parts, and taking rather a curve to the right :-the spray, at the bottom, blown [1799.] about like vapour. Explored our way down the side of the cleft through which it flows, to the Rheiddol; and climbed over the rugged rocks which form its channel, to the foot of the fall of that stream, which, diminutive as it appears from our window, is the perpendicular plunge of a considerable river, from a height of not less than 30 fect: a projection of the rock catches part of the stream in the first, gush of its descent, and whirls it round with a fury that adds much to the grandeur and spirit of the effect.-Descended afterwards by a slippery and precipitous track, through a thicket immediately beneath the Inn, to the foot of the great cataract; viewing all its falls successively in our way. The last plunge is down a steep, almost, but not quite perpendicular, of 120 feet, when the whole mass of waters raging headlong from above, is transmuted into foam; and part, encountering a ragged projection of slate rock, dissipated in vapour :-a maddening scene.-A storm came on in the evening, which raged with encreasing violence till two in the morning, when it blew a hurricane. The stunning roar of the adjoining cataracts exasperated into fury by torrents of rain, heard deeply swelling in the pauses of the gusts, and sensibly shaking the earth with the momentum of their fall, beyond expression awful. JULY the 30th. Visited Hafod, three miles from our Inn, Col. Johnes'. Had the Monach for some way to our left; hid, like the Rheiddol, in a feathered cleft. Passed a mill upon it, from whence a woman, some years since, attempting to ford the river after rain, was-the blood curdles at the thought-hurried away by the stream, precipitated down all the falls of the great cataract, and found floating, a mangled spectacle, half a mile below. Pursued our way over naked hills; then struck to the right, and burst suddenly on Hafod House and Grounds, in a deep hollow richly mantled with wood, the Ystwith flowing through it-a scene of enchantment amidst this barren waste. The House sweetly sheltered to the North and East by richly wooded acclivities surmounted by bare heights rising behind; a waving Lawn spreads before it, the Ystwith rolls beyond, and then towers a lofty and magnificent screen of hill nobly shagged with timber to its summit. Made a tour of the grounds, by walks conducted with admirable taste along the steep side-screens of the valley, and, as they descend or climb or wind, exhibiting the scenery around, in all its possible combinations; the Ystwith, or some tributary stream, for ever murmuring in deep glens, raging over rocks, or dashing in cascades, and diffusing, at every turn, a new and refreshing spirit on the scene. Much struck with a waterfall, accessible only by a dark and winding passage hollowed through the rock, and which, after a long suspense, [1799.] opens abruptly and closely, full in front, on the stream plunging from above into a deep and gloomy chasm beneath: the head of the cleft being immediately closed with rock, the narrow aperture at the top overspread with foliage, and the only exit for the waters an inscrutable fissure to the left-the effect of this natural picture, thus singularly circumscribed and illumined, seen from the dim twilight of the cavern's mouth, is altogether magical.-Col. Johnes, we were assured, had planted above three millions of trees. Were his example followed, Cardiganshire, from a stormy sea of bleak denuded hills, might be converted into one of the most pleasing counties in the Principality: under the most unpromising aspect, a Hafod exists potentially in almost every valley. Drove in the evening to Aberystwith, 12 miles. The road conducted on a sort of terrace, overlooking the hollow of the vale of Rheiddol to the right; and exhibiting, towards the latter part of the drive, a grand view of the Merionethshire mountains, gilded by a gorgeous sunset, and towering, one behind another, in striking tumult: Cader Idris, with its double apex, distinctly visible; and Snowdon said to be so, but obscured by storms. AUGUST the 1st. Perambulated Aberystwith; lying in a wide-spread opening to the sea, at the confluence of the rivers and the vales of Rheiddol and Ystwith, and between two noble cliffs rising to the North and South of the town. The two rivers, previously separated by the ridge we traversed yesterday, form a junction a little South of the town, and then run for some way parallel with the shore, before they meet the sea; presenting a very narrow, and, I should suppose, difficult entrance to the port.—The remains of the Castle, nearly effaced; and its area converted into pleasant walks, opening on the sea.-Ascended the lofty cliff to the North of the town; commanding the whole sweep of Cardigan Bay, from Bardsey Isle to St. David's Head;-the mountains of North Wales rearing their majestic heads one over another to the North West. AUGUST the 3d. Reached Machynlleth, 20 miles from Aberystwith. Passing Tal y Bont, an extensive prospect opens to the left, over an immense turbary and the estuary of the Dovy, spreading to the sea. Skirted, after this, the Eastern acclivities of the vale of Dovy; having the river winding to the left, and the heights of Merionethshire [1799.] rising in great majesty beyond it. Every step we advance, the features of the country grow bolder and bolder; and we are sensible that what before struck us as grand in the Principality, would now appear inconsiderable. A most noble mountainTaran y Cesailor Thunder beneath the Arm-Pit-throwing out its vast roots, and lifting its awful summit, wrapped in a night of shade, on the other side of the valley, approaching the town. AUGUST the 7th. Crossed the valley of the Dovy, and explored our way, by a narrow and rugged path, up one of the roots of Taran y Cesail; having on either side a deep glen, richly feathered with thickets. Opened at length on the mountain itself, rearing its gigantic head most awfully above; and making a long sweep to the left, attained the foot of the steep and lofty ridge which forms its capital. Climbed laboriously up this last and stiff ascent, having a terrific precipice to our right, and then struck to the point where this crowning height projects roundly and boldly towards Cardigan Bay. A most transporting scene! The air clarified to keenest transparency by the late rains; and only a few light fleecy clouds floating far above the region of the mountain tops. To the North, apparently close at hand, rose the whole rugged form of Cader Idris, with its jutting precipices craggy steeps and dark recesses, tapering in a jagged line to its supreme apex, and barring from its superior elevation all farther view in that quarter. In an opposite direction, ranged the heavy ridge of Plinlimmon, running out in the line of heights which break down towards Machynlleth. South of Plinlimmon, beyond the river, vale, and æstuary of the Dovey, spread the whole Western part of South Wales, comparatively flat, stretching out beyond the Bercely mountains-their summits blue and clear, their bases hazy-in a long-drawn line to the extreme rising of St. David's Head. South of Cader Idris, extended the intensely blue summits of the Caernarvonshire mountains, projecting into the vast promontory of Lhyn, shooting far into the sea, and pointed by the Isle of Bardsey--so exquisitely clear, that we could discern the surf, all the way, upon the shore. To the North East, rose, sharp grey and clear, over intervening ridges, the two peaks of the Arran: and to the South West, expanded the whole crescent of Cardigan Bay, from St. David's Head to Bardsey Isle, smooth as a mirror, and brightly burnished towards its centre with the midday sun.—I have missed few opportunities of ascending remarkable heights; but this is unquestionably the most magnificent mountain prospect I ever beheld. |