the memorials left of the residence of those ancient philosophers the Druids here." These are gone now; but the tradition is preserved. There is a tumulus called Pen-y-Caer, about a mile south-east of the village, and near it is another spot bearing the same name, which we fancy to be the places Camden speaks of. Somewhere in the neighbourhood, too, is a hill of unmanageable title, whereon is said to have stood the castle at which, according to the Welsh version, Caractacus was delivered into the hands of the Romans by a Cymric Delilah.

The road here is in dull weather sufficiently dreary. The mountains lie somewhat away, and are lumpish in form. No sparkling rivulet meanders on either side; instead is a level peat-bog, unvaried by house or tree. But there is one scene which would repay thrice the extent of dreariness. You come almost suddenly, where the left-hand mountains open, upon a view of the entire range of the Snowdon Mountains. (Cut, No. 9.) Under almost any aspect it must be a grand sight, for nowhere else is the entire range so fairly seen: but it was truly a thing to remember as we beheld it at the close of a day of remarkable beauty. The sun had just descended behind the most northern of the hills, when suddenly the summits in that direction became as it were incandescent, while those at the opposite extremity, and the giant Snowdon himself, rapidly changed in hue from a blueish purple into the deepest gloom,-their bases meanwhile being concealed by a pinky vapour, out of which the mighty hills rose like islands from a foaming sea,—and over-head the fleecy clouds gathered into a canopy of crimson and gold: it was a glorious vision; but it retained only for a moment its full splendour, and then fled swiftly into the darkness.

THE VALLEY OF THE CONWAY.

At Pentre Voelas-where, as well as at Cernioge, which has just been passed, there is a good tourist's inn -the river Conway comes down from the mountains, and will be our guide and companion for the day's ramble. It has its source only a few miles higher, a little above Llyn Conway, and is in its early course a beautiful stream: but it is in the few miles from Pentre Voelas to Bettws-y-Coed that it appears to feel its strength, and there it exhibits best its daring and frolicsome spirit. As it advances it grows soberer, and at length settles down into a dignified gravity. Gray should not have written "Old Conway's foaming flood:" it would have been applicable enough to its youthful career.

The scenery as well as the river is full of beauty for all this distance: but in one part it is eminently fine. About seven miles from Capel Curig, there opens a view of an uncommon kind even in this region of splendid views. (Cut, No. 7.) The valley is bounded by lofty hills, which send their projecting roots far into the vale, where they terminate in rugged cliffs; a narrow stream plays along the bottom; groups of handsome trees are in the foreground; while the enormous form of Moel

Siabod is seen in all its vastness filling the distance. We have given an engraving of the view, but it is impossible to represent the fitful play of light and shadow along the slopes, the gloom of the hollows, and the creeping mists on which so much of the effect of such a scene depends. (Cut, No. 8.)

Immediately beyond this occurs another famous scene,-the Falls of the Conway. They will be found just out of the main road, where that to Ffestiniog is carried by a lofty arch across a chasm :-but the ear will be a sufficient guide to the spot. The Conway, a stream of considerable volume, is here pent within a narrow ravine, through which it rushes with tremendous impetuosity, and after making a short sharp turnseeming indeed as though it burst through the rockflings itself over a long slope of riven rocks into a deep pool below. The rocky banks, as well as the fallen fragments which check the progress of the stream, are of the grandest forms. The cataract altogether is of the finest kind; but there are two things which detract a good deal from its grandeur, the thick plantation of trees which has a formal air, and the proximity of the road, together banishing effectually what most befits such an object-the feeling of solitude, of standing alone in the presence of the untouched handiwork of Nature.

Not far from this cataract is another formed by the Machno river, a short distance before its junction with the Conway. The Falls of the Machno are not comparable with those of the Conway, either for magnitude or grandeur; but they are eminently picturesque and beautiful. The mass of water foams and dashes from rock to rock in every variety of form and curve, before it takes its grand plunge, and then quickly recovering from the shock starts forward again, making in its rapid way a multitude of wild waterbreaks. From every clift spring self-planted trees and shrubs. On one side is seen a pandy (or fulling) mill, sufficiently rude and informal to add to the effect as a picture.

From the Falls to Bettws-y-Coed, the Conway continues to maintain the wild beauty of its character. Now passing along a close wooded glen, again, through a more open but still wild valley, and occasionally crossed by bridges noticeable both for their fine forms and often striking positions. This part of the stream is the delight of the skilful angler, with whom the Oak at Bettws-y-Coed is a favourite little hostel. The sketch (Cut, No. 10) will show better than words the kind of scenery which the fisherman meets with in here pursuing his gentle craft along the margin of Conway. The spot represented is a wild rocky passage, about a mile above Bettws-y-Coed,-well known to artists and anglers, but from the difficulty of access not often seen by the tourist; though, as the engraving shows, well worth scrambling down to.

Bettws-y-Coed-or, as cockney tourists resolutely pronounce it, 'Betsy Code,'-is a quiet, thoroughly Welsh village (with something of English neatness superadded), seated in a beautiful neighbourhood, just by the confluence of the Llugwy with the Conway

The only thing in the village which aspires to a place in tourists' books, is the mutilated statue of Gruffydd ap Davydd Goch, a nephew of the last of the Welsh princes: it is set in a niche in the church wall. But the village itself will find a place in the tourist's memory: it is one of the spots which is not likely to be quickly forgotten. The bridge which crosses the Llugwy just before it falls into the Conway, is one of the Welsh notabilities: it is somewhat rude in form, and consists of five arches, the piers of which rest on separate rocks, which stand in the bed of the river. The river here forms a cascade, of no great height, but one that appears eminently picturesque, as seen in connection with the singular bridge and the detached masses of rock which strew the channel. When the river is in flood, and pours at once through all the arches, the effect must be very striking: ordinarily one or two arches suffice for the passage of the waters.

The road through the village soon brings the wanderer to Capel Curig, and into the heart of the mountain district;—a tempting route, but one that we must leave for a while. Our way is still beside our river. There is a road on each side of the Conway to Llanrwst; that on the right is the main road, but the other, which lies along the foot of wild craggy slopes and steep cliffs, is the quieter and the pleasanter. Just before Llanrwst is reached, is Gwydyr, the patrimony of an ancient branch of the Wynne family, now extinct. Gwydyr House, now the property of Lord Willoughby d'Eresby, stands in beautiful grounds, and is permitted to be seen.

The steep bridge by which we cross the river to Llanrwst, erected by Inigo Jones, is said to have the peculiar property that "if a person thrusts himself against the large stone over the centre of the middle arch, the whole fabric will vibrate;" but we neglected to test its vibratory capabilities. The Gwydyr Chapel attached to Llanrwst Church, is also the work of Inigo, and tempts one to say of him, as did crabbed Ben Jonson, "He had a monstrous medley wit of his own." In the chapel are some interesting monuments; and both it and the old church, to which it is joined, merit attention.

one.

Llanrwst is a town of some importance in the locality. It has considerable trade, and contains some 4000 inhabitants. The houses are small and plain; but the situation of the town renders it an important object in the landscape; and it is not an unpicturesque The Vale of Llanrwst, as this part of the valley of the Conway is called, is often said to be the finest in Wales-uniting in itself the beauties of the Vales of Clwyd and Llangollen; and tourists fortify the assertion by quoting from the guide-books, that " Burke declared it to be the most charming spot in Wales;" and that Windham said something to the same effect. But here is a very pretty blunder. These are not the Burke and Windham, but a couple of nobodies, who wrote accounts of Wales that have been forgotten long ago, and whose names would never be mentioned, but that, having once got into the guide-books, they are as a matter of course, repeated in all succeeding ones. We fancy that, if tourists knew this, "Burke and

The Conway is navigable, for vessels of 50 or 60 tons burden, as high as Trefriew,-a village, a mile or so below Llanrwst. They bring hither coal, lime, and timber; and carry back the produce of the farm, and of the mines and quarries in the neighbourhood. Trefriew is an unpretending village, but a very pretty one. The neighbourhood, too, is rich in the kind of objects which usually find a place in the sketch-book. There is a mill close by, which is unrivalled in Wales: it stands in a most picturesque spot; and the water falls in succession over two wheels, placed one immediately above the other; while the surplus supply finds its way over a number of huge moss-covered blocks of stone. The singular-looking mill and the waterfall, together with the wild scenery around, form a noticeable scene, which has been often painted. In this vicinity are several waterfalls: the chief is the Rhaidr Porthlwyd, or Rhaidr Mawr (the Great Waterfall), as it is commonly called by the peasantry. It is situated far up in the mountains: the path to it must be taken somewhere near Porthlwyd Bridge, about seven miles from Conway. The fall is one of the largest class of Welsh cataracts, and the accompaniments are on a grand scale. Many tourists and writers pronounce it to be the finest waterfall in the principality; but it is seldom that there is a sufficient body of water to give it due importance. Another fall, about a mile from this, is formed by the Dolgarrog, a lively but not very ample stream. This, which is known as Rhaidr Dolgarrog, is on a smaller scale than the last, but is exceedingly pretty. On the mountains may be found two or three Llyns which, if there be time, will repay the labour of ascending to them,-if only by the views that will be had on the road. Llyn Geirionydd is the most celebrated, Taliesin, Prince of Bards,' having dwelt on its margin-as is often repeated in the Welsh bardic verse. Lord Willoughby d'Eresby has erected a column there, in memory of the famous minstrel.

6

About five miles from Conway is the village of Caer Rhun, a place which is by most antiquaries fixed on * These are light boats, formed of skin or tarred canvas,

stretched over a wicker frame in the manner described in our

notice of 'The Wye,' vol. i., p. 247. They carry only one person, are moved and guided by means of a paddle, and are chiefly used by fishermen.

The vale maintains its character for richness and for beauty quite up to Conway; and when, at length, the old town comes fairly into sight, it affords a noble termination to the prospect; while from the heights the backward view, extending over the valley, now changed in character by the frequent passage of boats and small craft to and fro on the smooth stream, and closed by magnificent mountains, is scarcely less interesting and more impressive. A more delightful day's ramble could hardly be found, of its kind, than this of the Vale of Conway, or a more fitting resting-place, at the close of such a day, than the fine old town.

BANGOR.

In the good old times, the fifteen miles from Conway to Bangor were thought rather a serious journey: one at any rate not to be undertaken without due consideration. The road lay along the brow of the precipitous Penmaen Mawr; and to traverse it was often really dangerous. The only means of avoiding this road by a land passage was to proceed along the sands, which could only be ventured upon when the tide was out. Even as late as 1774, after a better road had been constructed, it appears to have been regarded as sufficiently formidable. Dr. Johnson was here with the Thrales in that year, and he has this entry in his Diary: "Aug. 18.-We would have stayed at Conway, if we could have found entertainment; [it was race-day, and the inns were full ;] for we were afraid of passing Penmaen Mawr, over which lay our way to Bangor, but by bright daylight. . . . There was no stay, however, on any other terms than of sitting up all night. . . Our coach was at last brought, and we set out with some anxiety, but we came to Penmaen Mawr by daylight; and we found a way lately made, very easy and very safe." This road was afterwards improved, and in 1827 was re-constructed by Telford, and rendered one of the finest in the kingdom-a remark applicable, by-the-way, to the great Holyhead lines of road which that eminent engineer formed by order of the Government throughout the principality, on a scale of greatness and excellence till then unseen in this country. Even now, some portions of the road along Penmaen Mawr wear, in stormy weather, a rather startling appearance; especially where it is in part cut out of the face of the beetling cliff, with the sea at a considerable distance below, and the grim precipice towering high over head. Never for a moment, however, does a feeling of insecurity obtain the substantial character of every part

: