glen, which, running directly inland into the heart of the mountains, is bounded on one side by the stupendous hill, called Maes y Gaer, whose grey surface is partly bare, partly hidden by trees. Down the steep declivity of the mountain, that closes the extremity of the glen, a cataract of vast height precipitates itself, which has not without reason been compared to the Staubbach in the valley of Lauterbrunnen. In the mouth of the defile, near the village, stands a great artifical mound, the site in other days of one of Llewellyn's palaces. Many years ago, some antiquarian, by excavating for the purpose, discovered several of its massy substructions.

On quitting Aber, I pursued the road following the sweep of the shore towards Penmaen Mawr, whose rocky, precipitous base, running out in a bluff promontory, projects into the waves. In the course of the afternoon, while pausing on an eminence to contemplate the features of the landscape, I beheld at a distance a vast rainbow, bending like an arch over the sea, whose cerulean pinnacles, now tinged with purple, it seemed to embrace within its mighty span. It was a glorious spectacle. The contrast of the many-coloured bow with the dark waters, the sparkling clearness of the sky above, the brightness of the sunshine resting on the surrounding hills, and the various features of the nearer scenery, formed altogether so magnificent a scene, that even the traveller in the grander regions of the Valais or Savoy can seldom witness anything more sublime.

It was towards nightfall when I approached that part of my journey where the road, hewn out of the solid rock, was like a terrace midway along the face of the mountain, many hundred feet above the sea, which breaks in thunder below. The evening was mild and beautiful. Clouds, slightly charged with lightning, hung over sea and land; and, from time to time, bright flashes, unaccompanied by thunder, kindled the firmament, showing momentarily the form of the clouds, and gleaming over the face of the ocean. Occasionly the eye caught by this transient light glimpses of the black, beetling rocks overhanging the road, communicating to them

a gloomy grandeur of character which I should in vain endeavour to describe. Formerly, before the genius of Sylvester had discovered the means of widening the road and defending it with a parapet, this passage of Penmaen Mawr was full of danger.* But, though terrific, it is now perfectly safe; unless we contemplate the possibility of the rain or frost detaching, as it sometimes does, vast rocky fragments of the superincumbent mountain, and hurling them headlong upon the helpless traveller. Ideas of such catastrophes naturally enough present themselves in such situations to the mind; it was therefore not without pleasure that I found myself beyond the possibility of danger.

Correctly speaking, this great mountain promontory has two divisions, one of which is called Penmaen Mawr, the other Penmaen Bach; but the whole is generally known to the tourist by the former name. Less than a century ago, a narrow zigzag path, along the side of the rock, was the only convenience for travellers. Many accidents consequently occurred, which induced the Legislature, in 1772, to assist in forming the present grand terrace, which has more recently been further enlarged and improved under the direction of Mr. Telford. It is well guarded on the sea side, and many of the overhanging fragments of rock have been blasted.

* Pennant observes, that 'a vein of crumbling stratum in one part so contracted the road as to exite new horrors. ' But the breach, he adds, 'is now effectually repaired by a series of arches; a work the just admiration of travellers.' Here, during the latter part of the seventeenth and the beginning of the eighteenth centuries, numerous accidents happened, some of which, in his pleasant way, he relates :-'I have often heard,' says he, ' of an accident, attended with such romantic circumstances that I would not venture to mention it, had I not the strongest traditional authority, to this day in the mouth of every one in the parish of Llanvair Vachan, in which this promontory stands. Above a century ago, Siôn Humphries of this parish paid his addresses to Ann Thomas of Creyddin, on the other side of Conway river. They had made an appointment to meet at the town of Conway. He in his way fell over Penmaen Mawr; she was overset in the ferry boat, and was the only person saved out of more than fourscore. They were married, and lived very long together in the parish of Llanfair. She was buried 1744, aged 116. He survived her five years, and was buried 1749, close by her in the parish churchyard, where their graves are familiarly shown to this day.'