Departure from Beddgelert.—Vortigern’s Hill.—Snowdon.—Llyn Gwynant.—Gwrydd.—Public Houses.—Lake Fishing.—Pass of Llanberis.—The Lakes.—The Castle of Dolbadarn.—View of the Lakes.—The Church of Llanberis.—Story of little John Closs.—Capel Curig.—Moel Siabod.—Castle of Dolwyddelan.—Falls of Benglog.—Llyn Ogwen.—Llyn Idwal.—Route to Llanrwst.—Falls of Rhaiadr y Wennol.—Bettws y Coed.—The Church.—Monuments.—Pont y Pair.

“Oh, who hath stood on Snowdon’s side,
And glanced o’er Mona’s virgin pride;
And gazed on fatal Moel y don,
But thought of those once there undone?
When Saxons and their foreign band,
Were crushed by the sons of the mountain land.”

T. J. Llewelyn Prichard.

On the following morning I quitted the inn, where every attention was shown that a traveller could desire, and proceeded over the Ivy bridge, through which the Gwynant flowed, deep and smooth as glass, without an obstruction to ruffle its clear waters, that glided along, kissing its verdant banks, like the stream of a happy life. Quietude reigned in this region uninterrupted. About half a mile from Beddgelert, a rocky eminence projects into the road, called Vortigern’s Hill, or Dinas Emrys, a magician, who was sent for to this place by Vortigern, when he found himself hated by his subjects, and fled from their just anger to this secluded spot. Passing this memorable place, a round clump of rock attracts the eye, rising as it were in the centre of the valley, and called Moel Wyn. Looking backward, Moel Hebog, the Hawk Hill, rises majestically and closes up the entrance to Beddgelert. Moel Siabod towers in front, and, as we pursued our delightful path about two miles and a half from Beddgelert, an opening of the hills upon the left displayed a deep gorge, and the base of Snowdon, whose high peak, rising in the unclouded skies, held up the holy symbol of Christianity, as if in adoration of the Creator. At length I reached Llyn Dinas, a lake of about three quarters of a mile in extent, through which the Gwynant runs; it is surrounded by lofty mountains of a deeper tint than is usually seen upon the Welsh hills. A beautifully situated cottage here at the far end of the lake, belonging to Mr. Sampson, nestles among the protecting woods, and forms a delightful object. The river which feeds the lake, winds through the verdant and undulating grounds which form a miniature park between the cottage and the lake. Following up the course of the stream, I left Llyn Dinas behind me, and proceeded by a gradual ascent through the most delightful scenery I ever beheld, until I caught glimpses through the plantations of

LLYN GWYNANT,

and after a while beheld it stretching beneath me upon my left hand. The valley forms a bowl among the hills. The bottom is a small grassy plain, dotted with trees, which has obtained the appellation of Beauty sleeping in the lap of Terror. The mountains that surround the vale have a wild and rugged appearance. As I proceeded along the road towards the head of the valley, a horn was sounded from the mountain, and I perceived a Welsh girl standing upon a projecting eminence: bare headed and bare footed was this nymph of Cambria; her cheeks were swelled out with her occupation, and she looked like a female Boreas, bursting with the wind she was sending forth by degrees to alarm the world.

Snowdon, from the Pass of Llyn Gwynant

She eyed me with glances of curiosity all the while, and I thought she could perhaps give me some information about the valley, which might be interesting; so quitting the direct road, I scrambled up the hill side, and asked her the meaning of her sounding the horn so loudly? But she either did not, or would not, understand me; and after vainly endeavouring to extract anything from her, I quietly sat myself down, delighted by the splendid view beneath me.

Having nearly reached the extremity of this valley, I gazed, from my elevated situation, upon the dark and perpendicular rocks on the opposite side; and towering in the air immediately over the centre of the valley was a hawk with expanded wings, apparently motionless. Presently it rose a little higher, but without the slightest visible exertion, then stooped again, mounted once more, and, as fast as the eye could follow, swept round the huge buttresses of sharp ridged cliffs, that hang over the entrance of the Pass of Llanberis.

As Llyn Gwynant is gradually shut out from the lingering gaze of the traveller, (who, it may be said, during the whole of the ascent, should turn his eyes behind him,) and he at length looks forward in the direction of Llanberis, a new scene of grandeur bursts upon him. He has left beauty behind in its loveliest form;—but the sublime and wonderful now call forth all the springs of admiration.

Snowdon again appears in all his splendour! Mountains that by comparison looked like hillocks rise round his regal waist, in groups numerous and picturesque. The deep black crags that form the western side of the valley make a magnificent fore-ground, and open here like nature’s gates, to disclose the secrets of her bosom. The accompanying etching gives an admirable idea of this imposing scene. About a mile from hence is a place called Gwrydd, where there is a small public house, with a sign signifying nothing. Here I resolved to “rough it” for a day, intending to fish the lakes, situated immediately above this spot, as nature’s cisterns to water the pleasant valleys.

The public house possesses a small parlour, carpeted, with half a dozen hair-bottomed chairs, and a mahogany table. A silent but most importunate monitor urged me to discover what food this mountain chalet could produce. “Eggs and bacon,” was the expected reply to my question; and I soon had the pleasure of seeing this humble, but most grateful, fare placed before me, and in spite of the indifferent style of the cooking, I partook of it eagerly, having that incomparable sauce “a good appetite.”

After I had repaired my broken rod, I ascended the mountain at the back of the house, and arrived at a large oval lake, in which the black and sterile rocks that form inaccessible ramparts on one side are reflected in its generally unruffled surface. The scene is wild and desolate, such as Despair herself would select for her abode. There are plenty of fish in this lake, but they are all small and extremely shy. I remained upon its margin until the shadows of night gave me warning to attend to my safety, and make the best of my way to my lodging, where I speedily ascended by a ladder-like staircase to a kind of cock-loft, which was divided into two compartments, one for the accommodation of the family, man, wife, children, and servants, the other fitted up for travellers. Sleep soon overtook me, and I should have continued to sleep, I have no doubt, until breakfast time, had I not been awakened by a trifling accident

“At the mid hour of night, when stars were weeping,”

and ghosts of the mighty walk upon the hills, with a variety of other interesting objects that poets and nursery-maids have described infinitely better than I can pretend to do, I was visited by a dream in which the ghost of a lobster popped his head out of a salad bowl, and demanded upon what authority I had presumed to make mince-meat of his body, when a loud crash roused me from my slumber, and I found myself, with my knees doubled up to my chin, upon the floor; the bedstead having broken in the middle, and deposited me in this unenviable position. I need not say that for the remaining part of the night I was wholly left to waking reveries, and uncontrollable desires for the blessings of daylight, which at last greeted my longing eyes, and hurrying on my clothes, I descended, and walked forth to scent the morning air in the direction of Llanberis. The mists rolled like troubled lakes in the valleys, and the black bleak rocks looked cheerless and forbidding. The breeze was keen and piercing, and I started at a round pace to get myself warm by exercise. Having reached the summit of the roadway, I plunged at once into the pass of Llanberis, wild and gloomy. The precipices on my left looked truly terrible, like the shadow of death wrapped in a vapoury shroud. This pass is above four miles in length, and is a fine specimen of rugged grandeur. Not a single tree enlivens with its verdure this tremendous chasm. Range above range of rocks tower over the traveller upon either side, bearing various tints of black, brown, green, and purple, according to the disposition of the sun’s rays, and the distances of the ponderous masses. The rocks on both sides are nearly perpendicular; and, about two miles down the pass, the tourist will perceive some prodigious masses of rock upon his right hand that have fallen from the overhanging cliffs, which, when he pauses to look upon, will strike a feeling of terror into his heart, as he inwardly exclaims, “could any one have witnessed the descent of this tremendous mass?” The accompanying sketch gives a most accurate description.

Pass of Llanberis

We soon obtained a view of the lakes that spread themselves before us—viz.: Llyn Peris and Llyn Padarn, with the romantic castle of Dolbadarn upon its rocky promontory. On issuing from a pass on our left, as I was informed, is a valuable copper mine, and a stream of water conveyed over the road, by the aid of a wooden conduit, into the lake, which stream was for the use of the mine.

At length, I reached the inn, called Victoria, ordered breakfast, and procured an admittance to the Castle of Dolbadarn. This ancient fortress is supposed to have been built by one Padarn Beisrudd ab Idwal, for the purpose of guarding the mountain pass which I had just quitted. A single round tower is all that remains of the castle, although traces are left of a much more extensive building. Here Owen GÔch was imprisoned twenty years by his brother Llewelyn, the last Prince of Wales of the British line; and an ode is still extant, written by Howel Voel, wherein his captivity is affectionately lamented.The view from the castle is truly sublime, comprising the two lakes, and the tremendous range of mountains, that seem to admit of no outlet from the vale. But the most beautiful prospect is from the lake in front of the promontory on which the castle stands, and is reflected in the smooth waters beneath, while the majestic Snowdon towers in the distance.

Returning to the Victoria, I partook of the refreshments provided, and then retracing my steps, I visited the little rustic church of Llanberis, which, for its simplicity, is well worthy of attention. Upon entering the doorway, there is a small stone font placed upon a pedestal which is approached by three stone steps: it resembles a small washing tub, and its cover is much like a copper-lid. Advancing into the interior, the music loft is upon the left, under which is a dilapidated screen, opposite to the font. A doorway in the centre of the screen leads into the body of the church, where ancient oaken benches are ranged upon either side, and the pulpit and communion table are immediately in front. The old arched roof is held together by iron pins, which project on each side of the timbers, and the whole interior is whitewashed. The only pew in the church adjoins the communion table, both of which have suffered materially by the worm and time. The few monuments in this simple structure are upon small slate slabs, about the size of a school-boy’s, and are hung up on the wooden beams.

On leaving the church, there is a monumental slate slab on the left of the path, bearing the following inscription and verses:—

Underneath
Lieth the remains
Of John, the son of
Robert Closs, who was
Interred Decr. 1st,
1805, aged 7 years.

Ar ben mynydd dydd-y-daith oÎ howyder
A che dodd y maith
Gadewais (gwelais goeg waith)
Drueni’r Byd ar unwaith.
Oerfel fu uchel a chos, i angau
Llyn ingol i’mddangos
Mantell niwl mewn tywyll nos
A dychryniad dechreunos.

Upon returning to my inn at Gwrydd, I discovered that the landlady was sister to little John Closs; and from her I learnt the story of his melancholy fate. It is as follows:—

John was a pretty boy, about seven years of age, with fair hair and blue eyes, of a sweet temper, adored by his parents, and loving them most affectionately in return. Indeed little John Closs was the talk of the parish, and held up as a pattern of filial love and reverence to all the children in the village. His uncle had a small farm at Nant Bettws; and John’s father having sent him to reside there for a few months, the fond mother would often cross the mountain to see her son and her sister, returning home in the evening of the same day. Little John got tired of living away from home, and one night, after his mother had quitted the cottage to return to Llanberis, he wept so bitterly, and prayed so earnestly to be permitted to follow her home, that the good people at Bettws permitted him to try and overtake her, which they considered he might easily do, as she had not left the house ten minutes before he started.

The mother reached Llanberis in safety; but the poor boy lost his way in a snow storm on Moel Einion, and was not heard of for more than a week afterwards; when, one day, a man crossing the mountain, found the child stretched on the ground in a slumbering position, his face towards the earth, buried in his hands, and quite dead.

The following morning, I proceeded towards Capel Curig, but this road is very uninteresting. The tourist is, however, amply gratified, if it happen to be tolerably clear weather, on his arrival at an ancient stone bridge which crosses a stream that tumbles over some black rocks on the right, and winds its way in graceful variety, forming a pleasing spot to rest upon. Looking back towards Llanberis, the mountain scenery is very fine; and I here took my farewell look of Snowdon arid Snowdonia.

CAPEL CURIG,

is in the parish of Llandegai. It derives its name from a man who was canonized, and founded a chapel in this mountainous region. He was the son of Llawdden Lluyddog, of Edinburgh. There are here two lakes, and some tolerable fishing may be had, if you take a boat; but from the banks it is quite useless to attempt it. From this spot, excursions may be made to Llanberis, and

MOEL SIABOD,

from the summit of which a magnificent view is obtained of the mountains of Snowdonia, of nine different lakes, and the sea beyond Carnarvon. The distance from the inn to the apex of the mountain does not exceed three miles and a half.

DOLWYDDELAN CASTLE,

situated about five miles from Capel Curig, and on the eastward side of Moel Siabod, deserves notice. It is built upon a lofty rock, which on one side is inaccessible. There are two square towers, and a court in the middle. It is surrounded by mountains, and must in ancient days have been a fortress of considerable importance. It is said, Llewelyn the Great was born in the castle; and this fact is sufficient to interest the stranger who is capable of appreciating and feeling reverence for a hero, who so long struggled with unwearied assiduity and unconquerable bravery for his native land, and who fought and died in the sacred cause of liberty.

Within four miles of Capel Curig is an oval lake, of about three miles in circumference, called Llyn Ogwen which must by no means be overlooked. The scenery around is delightful and the waters are well stored with excellent trout of fine flavour, and surpassing all others in that respect, in the Carnarvonshire lakes.

At the western end of this lake, are the Falls of Benglog, (being three in number and upwards of one hundred feet in height) from whence the waters take their course through Beavers’ Hollow, a wild and romantic glen, rocky and barren.

Powell, in his History of North Wales, says, “In Tevi, above all the rivers in Wales, were, in Giraldus’s time, a great number of castells, which may be Englished beavers, and are called in Welsh avanc, which name onlie remaineth in Wales at this day, but what it is, very few can tell. It is a beast not much unlike an otter, but that it is bigger, all hearie saving the taile, which is like a fish taile as broad as a man’s hand. This beast useth as well the water as the land; and hath a voice, sharp teeth, and biteth cruellie till he perceives the bones cracke. * * * * He that will learn what strong nests they make, which Giraldus calleth castells, which they build upon the face of the water with great bowes, which they cut with their teeth, and how some lie upon their backs holding the wood with their fore feet, which the other draweth with a crosse stick, the which he holdeth in his mouth, to the water’s side, and other particularities of their natures, let him read Giraldus in his Topographie of Wales.”

In this stream are found the fresh water muscle, which the country people call cregyn diluw, i.e. shells of the deluge, supposed to have been brought into it by Noah’s flood.

On the left of the lake are the Crags of Trivaen, huge shattered ridges, which overhang the pool and keep it in continual shadow, while the sides of Braich-ddu slope gradually to the lake’s margin. The Francon Mountains, in the distance, are astonishing, and altogether this lake scene may be considered the finest in Carnarvonshire.

A gentleman, in the winter of 1831, was driving along the road which skirts the borders of the lake, when upwards of a thousand tons of rock fell from the heights of Benglog, a little below the Falls, into Nant Francon, a short time after he had passed them, and he beheld one portion roll into the valley and river, while the other rested upon the road he had just travelled, rendering it impossible for any carriage to proceed by that route, until the obstruction was removed.

A mile distant from Llyn Ogwen is another lake, well worthy of being visited, which lies in a deep hollow of the Glyder Mountains, called

LLYN IDWAL,

where the gloomy horror of the scenery is most appalling; particularly the terrific chasm of Twll Du, or the Black Cleft. This spot derived its name from the following crime which was perpetrated here.

Prince Owain Gwynedd, who reigned in the twelfth century, had a favourite called Nevydd Hardd, to whose care he intrusted his son Idwal, and who betraying his trust, commanded his son Dunawt to destroy the young prince, a crime which he too faithfully obeyed, perpetrating the cruel deed at this place. But, being discovered, Nevydd and his posterity were degraded from the rank of nobles to bondsmen, and Rhun, the son of Dunawt, who again became possessed of the property of his ancestors, granted the ground upon which the Church of Llanrwst now stands, as an expiatory gift for the foul crime imputed to his father. The grave of Idwal is still pointed out by the inhabitants, close to the lake.

The scenery around is well calculated to inspire fear in the timid, as being adapted to the committal of atrocity of any kind. Bleak, black, desolate, and stern, it thrills the beholder with an indescribable sensation of terror.

The lake is well stored with fish, of a darker colour than those in the Ogwen, and of a less delicate flavour. These lakes are in the parish of Llan Tegai, so called from its patron saint Tegai, the son of Ithel Hael, a nobleman of Armorica, brother to Credivael and Flewin, who built Penmynydd and Llanflewin, in Anglesey, about the year 636. See Rowland’s Mona Antiqua Rest. p. 189.

After a delightful day’s ramble amongst this wild and sublime scenery, I returned to the inn at Capel Curig, and on the following morning took the road to Llanrwst, which in a short time becomes particularly interesting. The dark and comfortless sterility is exchanged for a delightful valley, with luxuriant woods, which stretch to the summit of the hills upon either side; and near the two mile stone is one of the most picturesque cottages imaginable, placed on the side of a hill above the bridge, which crosses the river Llugwy, and gives additional beauty to the romantic dell.

Half a mile beyond is an Observatory, which stands upon the highest point of a towering cliff, a portion of whose summit is clothed with purple heath, and the remainder presents a face of grey barren rock, while beneath a forest of rich foliage creeps from its base far up the craggy sides.

Within a mile of this place are the celebrated waterfalls, called

RHAIADR Y WENNOL,

i.e. the Cataract of the Swallow—a fall of about sixty feet in width. The river, at the top of the first fall, flows in an unbroken sheet, but soon becomes dispersed in various streams that dash and struggle through the impending masses of rock, charming the ear with their complicated roar. At the second fall, it rushes in a collected volume into the boiling vortex, from whence, at the third, it is dispersed in spray. A small wicket gate by the road side, leads to a footpath through the grounds to the Falls, where the visitor cannot fail to find an adequate reward for his digression. The old oak trees that overhang the ravine are beautifully grouped. On one side, a large rock rises perpendicularly nearly 500 feet, and the earth is clothed with velvet moss and decked with wild flowers. Fancy would picture just such a retreat, for a wandering sylph! while the rays of light, darting through the greenwoods, remind us of the flittings of Sir John Wynne’s ghost, which was said to haunt this glen for many years, but is now laid at rest in the depths of the Lower Fall. Journeying onward, I reached the village of

BETTWS Y COED,

which, being translated, is the Station in the Wood; and a most delightful station it is. The Shrewsbury and Holyhead road runs through it, and the junction of the Llugwy and the Conwy rivers is at no great distance. The church is a venerable structure, and contains an old monument, erected to the memory of Gruffydd, the son of David GÔch, who was a natural son of David, the brother of Llewelyn, the last Prince of Wales. He died in the fourteenth century, and a stone statue of him is in a recess on the north side of the church, with this inscription: “Hic jacet Gruffydd ap Davyd GÔch, agnus Dei miserere mei.”

At about a mile from Bettws is an iron bridge of one arch, which carries the Holyhead road over the river Conwy. Its span is 105 feet, and it is called the Waterloo Bridge, from its having been erected in the year that tremendous battle was fought. But the principal object is

PONT-Y-PAIR,

the Bridge of the Caldron. It has four arches, and the natural rock supplies it with piers, that seem to defy the efforts of time or the fury of the waters. Immediately above the bridge is the fall and salmon-leap. The river rolls and plunges into a deep reservoir below. The grandeur of the scene during the floods, I was informed, surpasses imagination, and unfortunately for me, the heat of the sun had dried them up, when I visited this celebrated spot.

For this bridge the inhabitants are indebted to one Howell, a mason, who resided at Penllyn in the year 1468; and having occasion to attend the assizes at Conway, he was unexpectedly prevented from passing the Lleder by the fury of the flood. That a similar disappointment might not occur to others, he erected a wooden bridge across that river, and trusted to the generosity of travellers to remunerate him. The success of this attempt encouraged him to erect the bridge at Bettws y Coed, which is now called Pont y Pair, but he died before it was completed.

Upon the right of this bridge is Carreg y Gwalch, or the Rock of the Falcon, well clothed with trees, through which the bald cliffs peep, like a body of sharp shooters from a brush wood anxious to escape detection. In this rock is a recess called the Cave of Shenkin, a celebrated outlaw, who found shelter here from the unremitting efforts of justice during the reign of Edward IV. It is blocked up by a piece of rock.