BARRIER OF NORTH AND SOUTH WALES—THE DEVIL’S BRIDGE—GRAND CATARACT OF THE MYNACH—CWM YSTWITH HILLS—HAFOD—ANCIENT ENCAMPMENTS—STARFLOWER ABBEY—TREGARRON—ROMAN ANTIQUITIES AT LLANDEWI BREVI—LAMPETER—LLANSAWEL EDWIN’S FORD—LLANDILO.
We were detained at Aberistwyth by the continuance of a violent rain which had deluged the neighbourhood for several days. At length a cessation of the storm allowed us to resume our journey, though not to perform a projected excursion to the summit of Plinlimmon, which is only free from clouds in very fair weather. Returning up the hilly confines of the valley, we again admired the meandering Rhydol, and its gentle accompanyment; but following its course, as we advanced through a wild romantic district, the character of the valley soon changed; dark wooded hills, aspiring to the dignity of mountains, advanced their shagged sides toward the stream, and, gradually closing to an impervious glen, shut up the river in their recess. Beyond these hills rose the broken line of mountains forming the termination of South Wales, where mighty Plinlimmon, lord of the boundary, raised his stupendous head in majestic desolation, though half concealed by eddying clouds: the whole scene exhibited unfettered nature in her wildest mood. A pouring rain that now fell over us circumscribed our desert prospects, while we proceeded over uncultivated hills, with scarcely a token of society, to the Devil’s Bridge.
The Devil’s Bridge
The cataract that is here formed by the falls of the Mynach saluted us with its thundering roar, long ere we approached it; but, as we drew near, the strong verberation, rebellowed by surrounding cavernous rocks, seemed to convulse the atmosphere! We hastily put up our horses at the Hafod arms, a solitary inn; and in a few paces found ourselves on the bridge, suspended over a gulph at which even recollection shudders. This bridge bestrides a lane of almost perpendicular rocks, patched with wood, whose summits are here scarcely five yards asunder. At a terrific depth in the glen rages unseen the impetuous Mynach, engulphed beneath protruding craigs and pendant foliage: but on looking over the parapet, the half-recoiling sight discovers the phrenzied torrent, in one volume of foam, bursting into light, add threatening, as it breaks against the opposing rocks, to tear the mountains from their strong foundations; then, instantly darting into the black abyss beneath, it leaves the imagination free to all the terrors of concealed danger. With emotions of awe, nor without those of fear, we climbed down the side of the rock assisted by steps that were cut in it, and with some peril reached the level of the darkened torrent; where, standing on a projecting craig against which the river bounded, immersed in its spray and deafened by its roar, we involuntarily clung to the rock. The impression of terror subsiding, left us at liberty to examine the features of the scene. Nearly over our heads appeared the bridge attributed to the handy-works of the Devil; but a less cunning workman might have thrown an arch across a fissure of a few feet span; and indeed the native mason who, about 50 years since, built the bridge now used, standing perpendicularly over the old one, has constructed the best arch of the two. The original bridge was built by the Monks of Starflower Abbey near 700 years since. Nor is the singular appearance of these arches devoid of picturesque effect; being tastefully besprinkled with verdure, and relieved by the intervention of numerous branchy trees: while the naked black opposing cliffs, worn out into curious hollows by the torrents, exhibit as bold a rocky chasm as ever was traced by the pencil of Salvator.
On climbing from this hollow, we proceeded two or three hundred yards to the left of the bridge, and again descended a fearful track, to witness the grand falls of the Mynach. Under the direction of a guide, we reached the ordinary station with little difficulty, where the view of the cataract disclosed itself with considerable effect, in four separate cascades; though, from the great fall’s being divided by the intervention of a projecting rock, they appeared too much alike: the eye, accustomed to picturesque disposition, in vain sought to fix itself on a pre-eminent feature. I wished to get lower, but it seemed impracticable: emboldened, however, by the example of our guide, I clambered upon the edge of an immense perpendicular strata of rock, to nearly the lower channel of the torrent; when the cataract appeared in the most perfect disposition imaginable: the great fall displayed itself in uninterrupted superiority, and the lesser ones retired as subordinate parts. The perpendicular descent of this cataract is not less than two hundred and ten feet; the first fall is not more than twenty feet; the next increases to sixty; the third diminishes to about twenty; then, after a momentary pause, the torrent bounds over a shelving rook in one tremendous fall of one hundred and ten feet, and soon unites with the Rhydol, here a similar mountain torrent.
Falls of the Mynach
This grand cataract receives no inconsiderable augmentation of terrific appearance from the black stratified rocks forming the glen down which it thunders; nor can the beholder, however firm his mind, divest himself of terror, while, near the bottom of an abyss for ever denied a ray of sun, he views the menacing torrent bursting before him; or contemplates its foaming course tearing at his feet among craigs that its fury has disjoined. If he ventures to look up the acclivitous rock, more real danger threatens his return, when a devious balance or false step would ensure his certain destruction. Yet from the horrors of this gloomy chasm some favoured projections relieve the imagination, ornamented by the light and tasteful penciling of the mountain ash, intermixed with vigorous sapling oaks; while here and there a tree of riper years, unable to derive support from the scanty soil, falls in premature decay a prostrate ruin.—I have seen water-falls more picturesquely grand than the cataract of the Mynach, but none more awfully so, not even excepting the celebrated fells of Lowdore and Scaleforce in Cumberland.
Climbing from this scene of terrors, I rejoined my companion, and at the Haford Arms obtained a change of clothes; a comfort which, although wet to the skin for several hours, I should still longer have denied myself, had not the approach of night forced me from the Mynach’s interesting scenery. Our active hostess quickly provided a tolerable dinner of mutton chops; and, cheered by a good peat-fire and a bottle of wine, we listened to the torrent’s roar without dismay. On the following morning we did not neglect to revisit the romantic glen. The weather was fine; and, the effect of the late rains having subsided, the bulk of the torrent had much diminished; yet did the scene gain in beauty what it lost in terrific grandeur; for the intermingling foliage, darting from opposite sides of the glen, and reflecting various tints and degrees of light, softened the asperitous black rocks, and spread a lively net-work over the gloom.
Upon our preparing for the renewal of our journey, a material difficulty occurred; my poney was so completely knocked up, that he had not, as the jockeys phrase it, “a leg to stand on.” The alternative in this case was to buy another; and upon enquiry I found that my landlord had one to dispose of, which was forthwith produced. This was a good-sized poney, with plenty of bone, but ill-made; he had, however, an excellent character: his knees too were sadly broken; but a circumstantial tale shewed that to be the effect of accident, and not habitual awkwardness: upon the whole, he did not seem dear at the price demanded, which was only five guineas: a bargain was therefore struck, the saddle transferred from the invalid to the back of my new purchase; and after given directions for the return of the former, which by the way incurred an expence more than his value, we set forward for the celebrated grounds of Hafod, about two miles distant.
Our road lay on the steep bank of the Mynach, commanding a full view of the glen, and its romantic bridge. Then ascending the Cwm Ystwith hill, through a current of clouds, we gained from its summit an uninterrupted view of the whole range of North Walean mountains, stretching from the English counties to the great bay of Cardigan: the intervening hollows were concealed by fields of mist; so that the uncultivated heights exhibited a scene as rugged as when
“—Nature first made man,
Ere the base laws of servitude began,
And wild in woods the noble savage ran.”
We now took a farewel view of the Mynach’s glen, and quitted its interesting scenery, with such sensations as one feels in losing a friend whose intercourse has afforded both pleasure and improvement. We then descended to the vale of Ystwith, but unenlivened by its scenery, for a morning mist floated through the valley and spread a veil over its charms. A handsome park gate announced the entrance of Hafod, and the thundering of an unseen waterfall formed a grand symphony to the spectacle that we were soon to witness.—Almost immediately the cloud of mist disappeared, rising like a huge curtain before us, and discovered such an assemblage of beauties, of cheerful walks and silent glens, of woody precipices, shadowy glades, garden thickets and waterfalls, that, considered with the barren wilds of the surrounding country, it secured a second Paradise rising from a newly-subsided chaos. This charming place, occupying a deep narrow valley, watered by the Ystwith, is the creation of Col. Johnes, whose persevering genius has forced a mantle of wood upon rocky precipices where nature seemed to deny the access of verdure, and who in his elegant and useful projects of farther improvement gives employment to the country around. Upon a spot judiciously chosen, where the banks of the valley gently incline, and the coverture of lofty woods afford a shelter from the north-eastern winds, stands the mansion, with a sloping lawn in front, commanding a comprehensive view of the enchanting valley; which if Dryden could but see, he would wish to recall the line,
“God never made his works for man to mend.”
On putting ourselves under the direction of the gardener, we were first led to the kitchen-garden, furnished with extensive forcing-houses, and replete with every necessary appendage. The flower-garden also displayed its appropriate charms; but from these atchievements of art we turned, without regret, to where the bold hand of nature reared the scene in stupendous majesty;
“There along the dale,
With woods o’erhung, and shagg’d with mossy rocks,
Where on each hand the gushing waters play,
And down the rough cascade white dashing fall,”
we passed, enamoured with the incessant though congenial variety of our subject. After visiting the cold bath, a small sequestered building, a mazy walk romantically traced by the side of a brawling torrent, and amidst tangled shrubberies, led to a small cascade; and soon after a superior waterfall engaged our attention, where the whole volume of the Ystwith burst over a ledge of rocks in a composition truly grand and picturesque. But a scene of awful sublimity disclosed itself on exploring a dark cavernous passage in a rock and reaching its extremity, where a lofty cascade of transcendent beauty, throwing itself over a strata of black rocks, bounded close to the opening of the cave, and shrouded the aperture with its spray, as it became engulphed in a dark chasm beneath.
The towering mountains clothed with myriads of oaks, which environ this remarkable valley, afford a diversity of walks and combinations of view, to describe which words would be inadequate, and prove at best but tedious. A walk of twelve miles scarcely comprises a complete survey of the grounds, as we are told; but, being pressed for time, our perambulation was confined to a much smaller space; yet enough was seen to convince us that this is one of the most delightful rural retreats in the kingdom.
The mansion is a handsome modern edifice; in the Gothic style of architecture; which idea is perfectly consonant with the romantic cast of the scenery; and the general outline of the building is certainly pleasing: but we were sorry that Col. Johnes had not been better advised in the execution of this design, which though we had read of, in one place, as built “in the most correct taste,” and in another as “a mansion in the Italian style,” we found to be a heterogeneous jumble; wherein a bastard sort of Greek and Saxon architecture was blended with the prevailing Gothic. The house internally we understood to be richly fitted up, and furnished with an excellent library, but did not visit it; for, though the demand of five shillings for the gardener’s attendance was willingly paid, yet the same sum, which we found would be required by the housekeeper, appeared to us more than the show of any Welch house was worth.
There always appears to me something very unworthy in great men allowing their servants to exact the sums that they do from the spectators of their grandeur; but, such emoluments are taken into the account of a servant’s hire, and in some measure contribute to the support of the great man’s establishment: as far as they do this, they indirectly form part of his revenue; and in that view I consider the Grandee as somewhat of a mercenary showman, however magnifique.
A ride of nearly a mile extent, among delightful plantations, led us out of Hafod; when, crossing the Ystwith over a good stone bridge, we soon passed through a little romantic village on the road to Tregarron, from whence the country continued wild, without grandeur or interest, a succession of
“Barren heaths, and rushy meers,”
until the approach to Llandilo. In this mid-land route the hills were much less continuous than round the coast, and the valleys frequently extensive; but, overrun with peat-bogs, they neither displayed fertility nor beauty. About half way to Tregarron, a few hundred yards to the right of the road, were two considerable hills, each crowned with a large ancient encampment: we did not stop to examine them, but quickly turned off the road, over moorlands on our left, in search of the remains of Starflower or Strata Florida Abbey. We had no track to direct us; nor did a human creature appear for many miles: after a fruitless wandering, therefore, we gave up the object, with this consolation, that almost the only relic remaining is an ornamented circularly-arched gateway. Yet was this place, now lost in a trackless desert, once of high importance. Strata Florida Abbey (in British, Munachlog Ystrad flur) was founded anno 1164 for Cistertian Monks [123] by Rhesus Prince of South-Wales. In it many of the Welch Princes were buried, and their acts kept and recorded: it suffered considerably when Edward the First overran Wales, but was soon after repaired.
A sloppy ride brought us to Tregarron: a poor straggling ill-built town, situated in an abrupt hollow watered by an arm of the Tivy; yet, plentifully interspersed with trees, it forms a pleasing relief to the surrounding dreariness. Its church is a respectable old building, and it boasts the dignity of a mayor. Our inn here afforded us a capacious dish of eggs and bacon for dinner; but, though it was not more than ordinarily strong and greasy for the wilds of Wales, we grew delicate, and, leaving our meal almost untasted, pursued our journey on the turnpike road to Lampeter. About three miles from Tregarron, immediately on the left of the road, we observed a large mound encircled by a moat; but could not determine whether it was the site of an antient citadel, or monumental of a deceased chieftain. In the same neighbourhood is the church of Landewi-Brevi, where in 522, at a Holy Synod, St. David opposed the opinions of the Pelagians. A prodigious petrified horn which is shewn at the church is said to have remained there from that time; and in the year 1187 Bishop Beck founded a college on the spot. Several Roman inscribed stones appear in and about the church; but at a place some distance southward of it, called Kaer Kestilh (the field of the castles), a great number have at various times been discovered, as also coins and Roman bricks. Dr. Gibson considers this to be the Lovantinum of Ptolemy, in which opinion he is followed by Mr. Horsley: Yet is this spot, the site of a Roman town, and once occupied by its legions, now with difficulty traced among barren fields remote from habitation:
“No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread,
But all the bloomy flush of life is fled.”
From a fatiguing day’s journey we gladly reposed at a better inn than might be expected in so poor a town as Lampeter; and the following morning sallied forth to visit a large old seat of Sir Robert Lloyd’s; which, we learned, “exhibited a striking appearance with its four great towers crowned with domes in the midst of well-planted inclosures, but now scarcely inhabited.” A thick mist denied us this view; so, crossing the long old bridge of Lampeter, we entered Carmarthenshire on our way to Llandilo. Nothing can be imagined more dreary than the first half of this ride; lying over an extensive range of lumpy hills, as remote from any thing picturesque as profitable. No tree, not a bush could be seen; and as we mournfully looked round, where, except the miserable road on which we travelled, no trace of society appeared, our disgusted sight would have even rested with pleasure on a furze bush. From such a region of sterility we gladly caught a gleam of cultivation, in some distant hills bordering on Brecknockshire; but more gladly still, on a sudden turn, we looked down on the pleasing little valley Llansawel, watered by a crystaline branch of the Cothy. The sun had now dispersed the mists through which we set out, and shone direct on the vale: from its verdant level high hills, enjoying different degrees of cultivation, rose on every side; and under one of them, at the further end of the valley, the well-whitened village sparkled through the intervening foliage.
This valley was immediately succeeded another called Edwin’s-ford, a delightful spot, whose high encircling hills are clothed with extensive plantations to their very summits. In the bottom, is a large old manor house belonging to Colonel Williams, beautified “above, below, around,” with leaded mercuries, shepherdesses, and sportsmen. Yet is this place, remaining in the genuine style of King William’s reign, with all its absurdities, more interesting; as shewing us a specimen of that time, than if it were patched up with modern improvements; or a new villa, of the packing-case mode of building that now prevails. We rode through the long avenues of trees that extend from the house; and, quitting the valley, descended to another, pleasingly decorated with wood, and the ruin of Talley church. A cheerful road, lined with
“Hedge-row elms and coppice green,”
now led us through a succession of swells and hollows, adorned with numerous plantations, particularly those of Lord Robert Seymour Conway’s, to Llandilo, a pretty market town, seated on a descent to the justly famed vale of Towey.
