We left Streatham 11 a.m. Price of four horses 2s. a mile.

Barnet 1.40 p.m. On the road I read Tully's Epistles. At night at Dunstable. To Lichfield, 83 miles. To the Swan[1161].

To Mrs. Porter's[1162]. To the Cathedral. To Mrs. Aston's. To Mr. Green's. Mr. Green's Museum was much admired, and Mr. Newton's china.

To Mr. Newton's. To Mrs. Cobb's. Dr. Darwin's[1163]. I went again to Mrs. Aston's. She was sorry to part.

Breakfasted at Mr. Garrick's. Visited Miss Vyse[1164]. Miss Seward. Went to Dr. Taylor's. I read a little on the road in Tully's Epistles and Martial. Mart. 8th, 44, 'lino pro limo[1165].'

Morning, at church. Company at dinner.

At Ham[1166]. At Oakover. I was less pleased with Ham than when I saw it first, but my friends were much delighted.

At Chatsworth. The Water willow. The cascade shot out from many spouts. The fountains[1167]. The water tree[1168]. The smooth floors in the highest rooms. Atlas, fifteen hands inch and half[1169].

River running through the park. The porticoes on the sides support two galleries for the first floor.

My friends were not struck with the house. It fell below my ideas of the furniture. The staircase is in the corner of the house. The hall in the corner the grandest room, though only a room of passage.

On the ground-floor, only the chapel and breakfast-room, and a small library; the rest, servants' rooms and offices[1170].

A bad inn.

At Matlock.

At dinner at Oakover; too deaf to hear, or much converse. Mrs. Gell.

The chapel at Oakover. The wood of the pews grossly painted. I could not read the epitaph. Would learn the old hands.

At Ashbourn. Mrs. Diot and her daughters came in the morning. Mr. Diot dined with us. We visited Mr. Flint.

At Dovedale, with Mr. Langley[1172] and Mr. Flint. It is a place that deserves a visit; but did not answer my expectation. The river is small, the rocks are grand. Reynard's Hall is a cave very high in the rock; it goes backward several yards, perhaps eight. To the left is a small opening, through which I crept, and found another cavern, perhaps four yards square; at the back was a breach yet smaller, which I could not easily have entered, and, wanting light, did not inspect.

I was in a cave yet higher, called Reynard's Kitchen. There is a rock called the Church, in which I saw no resemblance that could justify the name.

Dovedale is about two miles long. We walked towards the head of the Dove, which is said to rise about five miles above two caves called the Dog-holes, at the end of Dovedale.

In one place, where the rocks approached, I proposed to build an arch from rock to rock over the stream, with a summer-house upon it.

The water murmured pleasantly among the stones.

I thought that the heat and exercise mended my hearing. I bore the fatigue of the walk, which was very laborious, without inconvenience.

There were with us Gilpin[1173] and Parker[1174]. Having heard of this place before, I had formed some imperfect idea, to which it did not answer. Brown[1175] says he was disappointed. I certainly expected a larger river where I found only a clear quick brook. I believe I had imaged a valley enclosed by rocks, and terminated by a broad expanse of water.

He that has seen Dovedale has no need to visit the Highlands.

In the afternoon we visited old Mrs. Dale.

Sunday morning, at church.

Afternoon, at Mr. Diot's.

Dined at Mr. Gell's[1176].

We went to Kedleston[1177] to see Lord Scarsdale's new house, which is very costly, but ill contrived. The hall is very stately, lighted by three skylights; it has two rows of marble pillars, dug, as I hear from Langley, in a quarry of Northamptonshire; the pillars are very large and massy, and take up too much room; they were better away. Behind the hall is a circular saloon, useless, and therefore ill contrived.

The corridors that join the wings to the body are mere passages through segments of circles. The state bed-chamber was very richly furnished. The dining parlour was more splendid with gilt plate than any that I have seen. There were many pictures. The grandeur was all below. The bedchambers were small, low, dark, and fitter for a prison than a house of splendour. The kitchen has an opening into the gallery, by which its heat and its fumes are dispersed over the house. There seemed in the whole more cost than judgment.

We went then to the silk mill at Derby[1178], where I remarked a particular manner of propagating motion from a horizontal to a vertical wheel.

We were desired to leave the men only two shillings. Mr. Thrale's bill at the inn for dinner was eighteen shillings and tenpence.

At night I went to Mr. Langley's, Mrs. Wood's, Captain Astle, &c.

We left Ashbourn and went to Buxton, thence to Pool's Hole, which is narrow at first, but then rises into a high arch; but is so obstructed with crags, that it is difficult to walk in it. There are two ways to the end, which is, they say, six hundred and fifty yards from the mouth. They take passengers up the higher way, and bring them back the lower. The higher way was so difficult and dangerous, that, having tried it, I desisted. I found no level part.

At night we came to Macclesfield, a very large town in Cheshire, little known. It has a silk mill: it has a handsome church, which, however, is but a chapel, for the town belongs to some parish of another name[1179], as Stourbridge lately did to Old Swinford.

Macclesfield has a town-hall, and is, I suppose, a corporate town.

We came to Congleton, where there is likewise a silk mill. Then to Middlewich, a mean old town, without any manufacture, but, I think, a Corporation. Thence we proceeded to Namptwich, an old town: from the inn, I saw scarcely any but black timber houses. I tasted the brine water, which contains much more salt than the sea water. By slow evaporation, they make large crystals of salt; by quick boiling, small granulations. It seemed to have no other preparation.

At evening we came to Combermere[1180], so called from a wide lake.

We went upon the Mere. I pulled a bulrush of about ten feet. I saw no convenient boats upon the Mere.

We visited Lord Kilmorey's house[1181]. It is large and convenient, with many rooms, none of which are magnificently spacious. The furniture was not splendid. The bed-curtains were guarded[1182]. Lord Kilmorey shewed the place with too much exultation. He has no park, and little water[1183].

We went to a chapel, built by Sir Lynch Cotton for his tenants. It is consecrated, and therefore, I suppose, endowed. It is neat and plain. The Communion plate is handsome. It has iron pales and gates of great elegance, brought from Lleweney, 'for Robert has laid all open[1184].'

We saw Hawkestone, the seat of Sir Rowland Hill, and were conducted by Miss Hill over a large tract of rocks and woods; a region abounding with striking scenes and terrifick grandeur. We were always on the brink of a precipice, or at the foot of a lofty rock; but the steeps were seldom naked: in many places, oaks of uncommon magnitude shot up from the crannies of stone; and where there were not tall trees, there were underwoods and bushes.

Round the rocks is a narrow patch cut upon the stone, which is very frequently hewn into steps; but art has proceeded no further than to make the succession of wonders safely accessible. The whole circuit is somewhat laborious; it is terminated by a grotto cut in a rock to a great extent, with many windings, and supported by pillars, not hewn into regularity, but such as imitate the sports of nature, by asperities and protuberances.

The place is without any dampness, and would afford an habitation not uncomfortable. There were from space to space seats in the rock. Though it wants water, it excels Dovedale by the extent of its prospects, the awfulness of its shades, the horrors of its precipices, the verdure of its hollows, and the loftiness of its rocks: the ideas which it forces upon the mind are, the sublime, the dreadful, and the vast. Above is inaccessible altitude, below is horrible profundity. But it excels the garden of Ilam only in extent.

Ilam has grandeur, tempered with softness; the walker congratulates his own arrival at the place, and is grieved to think that he must ever leave it. As he looks up to the rocks, his thoughts are elevated; as he turns his eyes on the vallies, he is composed and soothed.

He that mounts the precipices at Hawkestone, wonders how he came thither, and doubts how he shall return. His walk is an adventure, and his departure an escape. He has not the tranquillity, but the horror, of solitude; a kind of turbulent pleasure, between fright and admiration.

Ilam is the fit abode of pastoral virtue, and might properly diffuse its shades over Nymphs and Swains. Hawkestone can have no fitter inhabitants than giants of mighty bone and bold emprise[1185]; men of lawless courage and heroic violence. Hawkestone should be described by Milton, and Ilam by Parnel.

Miss Hill shewed the whole succession of wonders with great civility. The house was magnificent, compared with the rank of the owner.

We left Combermere, where we have been treated with great civility. Sir L. is gross, the lady weak and ignorant. The house is spacious, but not magnificent; built at different times, with different materials; part is of timber, part of stone or brick, plastered and painted to look like timber. It is the best house that I ever saw of that kind.

The Mere, or Lake, is large, with a small island, on which there is a summer-house, shaded with great trees; some were hollow, and have seats in their trunks.

In the afternoon we came to West-Chester; (my father went to the fair, when I had the small-pox). We walked round the walls, which are compleat, and contain one mile three quarters, and one hundred and one yards; within them are many gardens: they are very high, and two may walk very commodiously side by side. On the inside is a rail. There are towers from space to space, not very frequent, and, I think, not all compleat[1186].

We staid at Chester and saw the Cathedral, which is not of the first rank. The Castle. In one of the rooms the Assizes are held, and the refectory of the Old Abbey, of which part is a grammar school. The master seemed glad to see me. The cloister is very solemn; over it are chambers in which the singing men live.

In one part of the street was a subterranean arch, very strongly built; in another, what they called, I believe rightly, a Roman hypocaust.

Chester has many curiosities.

We entered Wales, dined at Mold, and came to Lleweney[1187].

We were at Lleweney.

In the lawn at Lleweney is a spring of fine water, which rises above the surface into a stone basin, from which it runs to waste, in a continual stream, through a pipe.

There are very large trees.

The Hall at Lleweney is forty feet long, and twenty-eight broad. The gallery one hundred and twenty feet long, (all paved.) The Library forty-two feet long, and twenty-eight broad. The Dining-parlours thirty-six feet long, and twenty-six broad.

It is partly sashed, and partly has casements.

We went to BÂch y Graig, where we found an old house, built 1567, in an uncommon and incommodious form. My Mistress[1188] chattered about tiring, but I prevailed on her to go to the top. The floors have been stolen: the windows are stopped.

The house was less than I seemed to expect; the river Clwyd is a brook with a bridge of one arch, about one third of a mile.

The woods[1189] have many trees, generally young; but some which seem to decay. They have been lopped. The house never had a garden. The addition of another story would make an useful house, but it cannot be great. Some buildings which Clough, the founder, intended for warehouses, would make store-chambers and servants' rooms[1190]. The ground seems to be good. I wish it well.

JULY 31. We went to church at St. Asaph. The Cathedral, though not large, has something of dignity and grandeur. The cross aisle is very short. It has scarcely any monuments. The Quire has, I think, thirty-two stalls of antique workmanship. On the backs were CANONICUS, PREBEND, CANCELLARIUS, THESAURARIUS, PRAECENTOR. The constitution I do not know, but it has all the usual titles and dignities. The service was sung only in the Psalms and Hymns.

The Bishop was very civil[1191]. We went to his palace, which is but mean. They have a library, and design a room. There lived Lloyd[1192] and Dodwell[1193].

We visited Denbigh, and the remains of its Castle.

The town consists of one main street, and some that cross it, which I have not seen. The chief street ascends with a quick rise for a great length: the houses are built, some with rough stone, some with brick, and a few are of timber.

The Castle, with its whole enclosure, has been a prodigious pile; it is now so ruined, that the form of the inhabited part cannot easily be traced.

There are, as in all old buildings, said to be extensive vaults, which the ruins of the upper works cover and conceal, but into which boys sometimes find a way. To clear all passages, and trace the whole of what remains, would require much labour and expense. We saw a Church, which was once the Chapel of the Castle, but is used by the town: it is dedicated to St. Hilary, and has an income of about—

At a small distance is the ruin of a Church said to have been begun by the great Earl of Leicester[1194], and left unfinished at his death. One side, and I think the east end, are yet standing. There was a stone in the wall, over the door-way, which it was said would fall and crush the best scholar in the diocese. One Price would not pass under it[1195]. They have taken it down.

We then saw the Chapel of Lleweney, founded by one of the Salusburies: it is very compleat: the monumental stones lie in the ground. A chimney has been added to it, but it is otherwise not much injured, and might be easily repaired.

We went to the parish Church of Denbigh, which, being near a mile from the town, is only used when the parish officers are chosen.

In the Chapel, on Sundays, the service is read thrice, the second time only in English, the first and third in Welsh. The Bishop came to survey the Castle, and visited likewise St. Hilary's Chapel, which is that which the town uses. The hay-barn, built with brick pillars from space to space, and covered with a roof. A more[1196] elegant and lofty Hovel.

The rivers here, are mere torrents which are suddenly swelled by the rain to great breadth and great violence, but have very little constant stream; such are the Clwyd and the Elwy. There are yet no mountains. The ground is beautifully embellished with woods, and diversified by inequalities.

In the parish church of Denbigh is a bas relief of Lloyd the antiquary, who was before Camden. He is kneeling at his prayers[1197].

We rode to a summer-house of Mr. Cotton, which has a very extensive prospect; it is meanly built, and unskilfully disposed.

We went to Dymerchion Church, where the old clerk acknowledged his Mistress. It is the parish church of BÂch y Graig. A mean fabrick: Mr. Salusbury[1198] was buried in it. BÂch y Graig has fourteen seats in it.

As we rode by, I looked at the house again. We saw Llannerch, a house not mean, with a small park very well watered. There was an avenue of oaks, which, in a foolish compliance with the present mode, has been cut down[1199]. A few are yet standing. The owner's name is Davies.

The way lay through pleasant lanes, and overlooked a region beautifully diversified with trees and grass[1200].

At Dymerchion Church there is English service only once a month. This is about twenty miles from the English border.

The old clerk had great appearance of joy at the sight of his Mistress, and foolishly said, that he was now willing to die. He had only a crown given him by my Mistress[1201].

At Dymerchion Church the texts on the walls are in Welsh.

Holywell is a market town, neither very small nor mean. The spring called Winifred's Well is very clear, and so copious, that it yields one hundred tuns of water in a minute. It is all at once a very great stream, which, within perhaps thirty yards of its eruption, turns a mill, and in a course of two miles, eighteen mills more. In descent, it is very quick. It then falls into the sea. The well is covered by a lofty circular arch, supported by pillars; and over this arch is an old chapel, now a school. The chancel is separated by a wall. The bath is completely and indecently open. A woman bathed while we all looked on.

In the Church, which makes a good appearance, and is surrounded by galleries to receive a numerous congregation, we were present while a child was christened in Welsh.

We went down by the stream to see a prospect, in which I had no part. We then saw a brass work, where the lapis calaminaris[1203] is gathered, broken, washed from the earth and the lead, though how the lead was separated I did not see; then calcined, afterwards ground fine, and then mixed by fire with the copper.

We saw several strong fires with melting pots, but the construction of the fire-places I did not learn.

At a copper-work which receives its pigs of copper, I think, from Warrington, we saw a plate of copper put hot between steel rollers, and spread thin; I know not whether the upper roller was set to a certain distance, as I suppose, or acted only by its weight.

At an iron-work I saw round bars formed by a knotched hammer and anvil. There I saw a bar of about half an inch, or more, square cut with shears worked by water, and then beaten hot into a thinner bar. The hammers all worked, as they were, by water, acting upon small bodies, moved very quick, as quick as by the hand.

I then saw wire drawn, and gave a shilling. I have enlarged my notions[1204], though not being able to see the movements, and having not time to peep closely, I know less than I might. I was less weary, and had better breath, as I walked farther.

Ruthin Castle is still a very noble ruin; all the walls still remain, so that a compleat platform, and elevations, not very imperfect, may be taken. It encloses a square of about thirty yards. The middle space was always open.

The wall is, I believe, about thirty feet high, very thick, flanked with six round towers, each about eighteen feet, or less, in diameter. Only one tower had a chimney, so that there was[1205] commodity of living. It was only a place of strength. The garrison had, perhaps, tents in the area.

Stapylton's house is pretty[1206]: there are pleasing shades about it, with a constant spring that supplies a cold bath. We then went to see a Cascade.

I trudged unwillingly, and was not sorry to find it dry. The water was, however, turned on, and produced a very striking cataract. They are paid an hundred pounds a year for permission to divert the stream to the mines. The river, for such it may be termed[1207], rises from a single spring, which, like that of Winifred's, is covered with a building.

We called then at another house belonging to Mr. Lloyd, which made a handsome appearance. This country seems full of very splendid houses.

Mrs. Thrale lost her purse. She expressed so much uneasiness, that I concluded the sum to be very great; but when I heard of only seven guineas, I was glad to find that she had so much sensibility of money.

I could not drink this day either coffee or tea after dinner. I know not when I missed before.

Last night my sleep was remarkably quiet. I know not whether by fatigue in walking, or by forbearance of tea[1208].

I gave the ipecacuanha[1209]. Vin. emet. had failed; so had tartar emet.

I dined at Mr. Myddleton's, of Gwaynynog. The house was a gentleman's house, below the second rate, perhaps below the third, built of stone roughly cut. The rooms were low, and the passage above stairs gloomy, but the furniture was good. The table was well supplied, except that the fruit was bad. It was truly the dinner of a country gentleman. Two tables were filled with company, not inelegant.

After dinner, the talk was of preserving the Welsh language. I offered them a scheme. Poor Evan Evans was mentioned, as incorrigibly addicted to strong drink. Worthington[1210] was commended. Myddleton is the only man, who, in Wales, has talked to me of literature. I wish he were truly zealous. I recommended the republication of David ap Rhees's Welsh Grammar.

Two sheets of Hebrides came to me for correction to-day, F.G.[1211]

I corrected the two sheets. My sleep last night was disturbed.

Washing at Chester and here, 5s. 1d.

I did not read.

I saw to-day more of the out-houses at Lleweney. It is, in the whole, a very spacious house.

I was at Church at Bodfari. There was a service used for a sick woman, not canonically, but such as I have heard, I think, formerly at Lichfield, taken out of the visitation.

The Church is mean, but has a square tower for the bells, rather too stately for the Church.

Dixit injustus, Ps. 36, has no relation to the English[1212].

Preserve us, Lord, has the name of Robert Wisedome, 1618.—Barker's Bible[1213].

Battologiam ab iteratione, recte distinguit Erasmus.—Mod. Orandi Deum, p. 56-144[1214].

Southwell's Thoughts of his own death[1215].

Baudius on Erasmus[1216].

The Bishop and much company dined at Lleweney. Talk of Greek—and of the army[1217]. The Duke of Marlborough's officers useless. Read Phocylidis[1218], distinguished the paragraphs. I looked in Leland: an unpleasant book of mere hints.

Lichfield School, ten pounds; and five pounds from the Hospital[1219].

At Lloyd's, of Maesmynnan; a good house, and a very large walled garden. I read Windus's Account of his Journey to Mequinez, and of Stewart's Embassy[1220]. I had read in the morning Wasse's Greek Trochaics to Bentley. They appeared inelegant, and made with difficulty. The Latin Elegy contains only common-place, hastily expressed, so far as I have read, for it is long. They seem to be the verses of a scholar, who has no practice of writing. The Greek I did not always fully understand. I am in doubt about the sixth and last paragraphs, perhaps they are not printed right, for [Greek: eutokon] perhaps [Greek: eustochon.] q?

The following days I read here and there. The Bibliotheca Literaria was so little supplied with papers that could interest curiosity, that it could not hope for long continuance[1221]. Wasse, the chief contributor, was an unpolished scholar, who, with much literature, had no art or elegance of diction, at least in English.

At Bodfari I heard the second lesson read, and the sermon preached in Welsh. The text was pronounced both in Welsh and English. The sound of the Welsh, in a continued discourse, is not unpleasant.

[Greek: Brosis oligae][1222].

The letter of Chrysostom, against transubstantiation. Erasmus to the Nuns, full of mystick notions and allegories.

Imbecillitas genuum non sine aliquantulo doloris inter ambulandum quem a prandio magis sensi[1223].

We left Lleweney, and went forwards on our journey.

We came to Abergeley, a mean town, in which little but Welsh is spoken, and divine service is seldom performed in English.

Our way then lay to the sea-side, at the foot of a mountain, called Penmaen RhÔs. Here the way was so steep, that we walked on the lower edge of the hill, to meet the coach, that went upon a road higher on the hill. Our walk was not long, nor unpleasant: the longer I walk, the less I feel its inconvenience. As I grow warm, my breath mends, and I think my limbs grow pliable.

We then came to Conway Ferry, and passed in small boats, with some passengers from the stage coach, among whom were an Irish gentlewoman, with two maids, and three little children, of which, the youngest was only a few months old. The tide did not serve the large ferry-boat, and therefore our coach could not very soon follow us. We were, therefore, to stay at the Inn. It is now the day of the Race at Conway, and the town was so full of company, that no money could purchase lodgings. We were not very readily supplied with cold dinner. We would have staid at Conway if we could have found entertainment, for we were afraid of passing Penmaen Mawr, over which lay our way to Bangor, but by bright daylight, and the delay of our coach made our departure necessarily late. There was, however, no stay on any other terms, than of sitting up all night.

The poor Irish lady was still more distressed. Her children wanted rest. She would have been content with one bed, but, for a time, none could be had. Mrs. Thrale gave her what help she could. At last two gentlemen were persuaded to yield up their room, with two beds, for which she gave half a guinea. Our coach was at last brought, and we set out with some anxiety, but we came to Penmaen Mawr by daylight; and found a way, lately made, very easy, and very safe.[1224] It was cut smooth, and enclosed between parallel walls; the outer of which secures the passenger from the precipice, which is deep and dreadful. This wall is here and there broken, by mischievous wantonness.[1225] The inner wall preserves the road from the loose stones, which the shattered steep above it would pour down. That side of the mountain seems to have a surface of loose stones, which every accident may crumble. The old road was higher, and must have been very formidable. The sea beats at the bottom of the way.

At evening the moon shone eminently bright; and our thoughts of danger being now past, the rest of our journey was very pleasant. At an hour somewhat late, we came to Bangor, where we found a very mean inn, and had some difficulty to obtain lodging. I lay in a room, where the other bed had two men.

We obtained boats to convey us to Anglesey, and saw Lord Bulkeley's House, and Beaumaris Castle.

I was accosted by Mr. Lloyd, the Schoolmaster of Beaumaris, who had seen me at University College; and he, with Mr. Roberts, the Register of Bangor, whose boat we borrowed, accompanied us. Lord Bulkeley's house is very mean, but his garden garden is spacious, and shady with large trees and smaller interspersed. The walks are straight, and cross each other, with no variety of plan; but they have a pleasing coolness, and solemn gloom, and extend to a great length.

The castle is a mighty pile; the outward wall has fifteen round towers, besides square towers at the angles. There is then a void space between the wall and the Castle, which has an area enclosed with a wall, which again has towers, larger than those of the outer wall. The towers of the inner Castle are, I think, eight. There is likewise a Chapel entire, built upon an arch as I suppose, and beautifully arched with a stone roof, which is yet unbroken. The entrance into the Chapel is about eight or nine feet high, and was, I suppose, higher, when there was no rubbish in the area.

This Castle corresponds with all the representations of romancing narratives. Here is not wanting the private passage, the dark cavity, the deep dungeon, or the lofty tower. We did not discover the Well. This is the most compleat view that I have yet had of an old Castle.[1226] It had a moat.

The Towers.

We went to Bangor.

We went by water from Bangor to Caernarvon, where we met Paoli and Sir Thomas Wynne. Meeting by chance with one Troughton,[1227] an intelligent and loquacious wanderer, Mr. Thrale invited him to dinner. He attended us to the Castle, an edifice of stupendous magnitude and strength; it has in it all that we observed at Beaumaris, and much greater dimensions: many of the smaller rooms floored with stone are entire; of the larger rooms, the beams and planks are all left: this is the state of all buildings left to time. We mounted the Eagle Tower by one hundred and sixty-nine steps, each of ten inches. We did not find the Well; nor did I trace the Moat; but moats there were, I believe, to all castles on the plain, which not only hindered access, but prevented mines. We saw but a very small part of this mighty ruin, and in all these old buildings, the subterraneous works are concealed by the rubbish.

To survey this place would take much time: I did not think there had been such buildings; it surpassed my ideas.

We were at Church; the service in the town is always English; at the parish Church at a small distance, always Welsh. The town has by degrees, I suppose, been brought nearer to the sea side.

We received an invitation to Dr. Worthington. We then went to dinner at Sir Thomas Wynne's,—the dinner mean, Sir Thomas civil, his Lady nothing.[1228] Paoli civil.

We supped with Colonel Wynne's Lady, who lives in one of the towers of the Castle.

I have not been very well.

We went to visit Bodville, the place where Mrs. Thrale was born; and the Churches called Tydweilliog and Llangwinodyl, which she holds by impropriation.

We had an invitation to the house of Mr. Griffiths of Bryn o dol, where we found a small neat new built house, with square rooms: the walls are of unhewn stone, and therefore thick; for the stones not fitting with exactness, are not strong without great thickness. He had planted a great deal of young wood in walks. Fruit trees do not thrive; but having grown a few years, reach some barren stratum and wither.

We found Mr. Griffiths not at home; but the provisions were good. Mr. Griffiths came home the next day. He married a lady who has a house and estate at [Llanver], over against Anglesea, and near Caernarvon, where she is more disposed, as it seems, to reside than at Bryn o dol.

I read Lloyd's account of Mona, which he proves to be Anglesea.

In our way to Bryn o dol, we saw at Llanerk a Church built crosswise, very spacious and magnificent for this country. We could not see the Parson, and could get no intelligence about it.

We went to see Bodville. Mrs. Thrale remembered the rooms, and wandered over them with recollection of her childhood. This species of pleasure is always melancholy. The walk was cut down, and the pond was dry. Nothing was better.[1229]

We surveyed the Churches, which are mean, and neglected to a degree scarcely imaginable. They have no pavement, and the earth is full of holes. The seats are rude benches; the Altars have no rails. One of them has a breach in the roof. On the desk, I think, of each lay a folio Welsh Bible of the black letter, which the curate cannot easily read.[1230]

Mr. Thrale purposes to beautify the Churches, and if he prospers, will probably restore the tithes. The two parishes are, Llangwinodyl and Tydweilliog.[1231] The Methodists are here very prevalent. A better church will impress the people with more reverence of publick worship.

Mrs. Thrale visited a house where she had been used to drink milk, which was left, with an estate of two hundred pounds a year, by one Lloyd, to a married woman who lived with him.

We went to Pwllheli, a mean old town, at the extremity of the country. Here we bought something, to remember the place.

We returned to Caernarvon, where we ate with Mrs. Wynne.

We visited, with Mrs. Wynne, Llyn Badarn and Llyn Beris, two lakes, joined by a narrow strait. They are formed by the waters which fall from Snowdon and the opposite mountains. On the side of Snowdon are the remains of a large fort, to which we climbed with great labour. I was breathless and harassed. The Lakes have no great breadth, so that the boat is always near one bank or the other.

Note. Queeny's goats, one hundred and forty-nine, I think.[1232]

We returned to Bangor, where Mr. Thrale was lodged at Mr. Roberts's, the Register.

We went to worship at the Cathedral. The quire is mean, the service was not well read.

We came to Mr. Myddelton's, of Gwaynynog, to the first place, as my Mistress observed, where we have been welcome.

Note. On the day when we visited Bodville, we turned to the house of Mr. Griffiths, of Kefnamwycllh, a gentleman of large fortune, remarkable for having made great and sudden improvements in his seat and estate. He has enclosed a large garden with a brick wall. He is considered as a man of great accomplishments. He was educated in literature at the University, and served some time in the army, then quitted his commission, and retired to his lands. He is accounted a good man, and endeavours to bring the people to church.

In our way from Bangor to Conway, we passed again the new road upon the edge of Penmaen Mawr, which would be very tremendous, but that the wall shuts out the idea of danger. In the wall are several breaches, made, as Mr. Thrale very reasonably conjectures, by fragments of rocks which roll down the mountain, broken perhaps by frost, or worn through by rain.

We then viewed Conway.

To spare the horses at Penmaen RhÔs, between Conway and St. Asaph, we sent the coach over the road across the mountain with Mrs. Thrale, who had been tired with a walk sometime before; and I, with Mr. Thrale and Miss, walked along the edge, where the path is very narrow, and much encumbered by little loose stones, which had fallen down, as we thought, upon the way since we passed it before.

At Conway we took a short survey of the Castle, which afforded us nothing new. It is larger than that of Beaumaris, and less than that of Caernarvon. It is built upon a rock so high and steep, that it is even now very difficult of access. We found a round pit, which was called the Well; it is now almost filled, and therefore dry. We found the Well in no other castle. There are some remains of leaden pipes at Caernarvon, which, I suppose, only conveyed water from one part of the building to another. Had the garrison had no other supply, the Welsh, who must know where the pipes were laid, could easily have cut them.

We came to the house of Mr. Myddelton, (on Monday,) where we staid to September 6, and were very kindly entertained. How we spent our time, I am not very able to tell[1233].

We saw the wood, which is diversified and romantick.

We dined with Mr. Myddelton, the clergyman, at Denbigh, where I saw the harvest-men very decently dressed, after the afternoon service, standing to be hired. On other days, they stand at about four in the morning. They are hired from day to day.

We lay at Wrexham; a busy, extensive, and well built town. It has a very large and magnificent Church. It has a famous fair.

We came to Chirk Castle.

We came to the house of Dr. Worthington[1234], at Llanrhaiadr. Our entertainment was poor, though his house was not bad. The situation is very pleasant, by the side of a small river, of which the bank rises high on the other side, shaded by gradual rows of trees. The gloom, the stream, and the silence, generate thoughtfulness. The town is old, and very mean, but has, I think, a market. In this house, the Welsh translation of the Old Testament was made. The Welsh singing Psalms were written by Archdeacon Price. They are not considered as elegant, but as very literal, and accurate.

We came to Llanrhaiadr, through Oswestry; a town not very little, nor very mean. The church, which I saw only at a distance, seems to be an edifice much too good for the present state of the place.

We visited the waterfall, which is very high, and in rainy weather very copious. There is a reservoir made to supply it. In its fall, it has perforated a rock. There is a room built for entertainment. There was some difficulty in climbing to a near view. Lord Lyttelton[1235] came near it, and turned back.

When we came back, we took some cold meat, and notwithstanding the Doctor's importunities, went that day to Shrewsbury.

I sent for Gwynn[1236], and he shewed us the town. The walls are broken, and narrower than those of Chester. The town is large, and has many gentlemen's houses, but the streets are narrow. I saw Taylor's library. We walked in the Quarry; a very pleasant walk by the river.[1237] Our inn was not bad.

Sunday. We were at St. Chads, a very large and luminous Church. We were on the Castle Hill.

We called on Dr. Adams,[1238] and travelled towards Worcester, through Wenlock; a very mean place, though a borough. At noon, we came to Bridgenorth, and walked about the town, of which one part stands on a high rock; and part very low, by the river. There is an old tower, which, being crooked, leans so much, that it is frightful to pass by it.

In the afternoon we came through Kinver, a town in Staffordshire; neat and closely built. I believe it has only one street.

The road was so steep and miry, that we were forced to stop at Hartlebury, where we had a very neat inn, though it made a very poor appearance.

We came to Lord Sandys's, at Ombersley, where we were treated with great civility.[1239]

The house is large. The hall is a very noble room.

We went to Worcester, a very splendid city. The Cathedral is very noble, with many remarkable monuments. The library is in the Chapter House. On the table lay the Nuremberg Chronicle, I think, of the first edition. We went to the china warehouse. The Cathedral has a cloister. The long aisle is, in my opinion, neither so wide nor so high as that of Lichfield.

We went to Hagley, where we were disappointed of the respect and kindness that we expected[1240].

We saw the house and park, which equalled my expectation. The house is one square mass. The offices are below. The rooms of elegance on the first floor, with two stories of bedchambers, very well disposed above it. The bedchambers have low windows, which abates the dignity of the house. The park has one artificial ruin[1241], and wants water; there is, however, one temporary cascade. From the farthest hill there is a very wide prospect.

I went to church. The church is, externally, very mean, and is therefore diligently hidden by a plantation. There are in it several modern monuments of the Lytteltons.

There dined with us, Lord Dudley, and Sir Edward Lyttelton, of Staffordshire, and his Lady. They were all persons of agreeable conversation.

I found time to reflect on my birthday, and offered a prayer, which I hope was heard.

We made haste away from a place, where all were offended[1242]. In the way we visited the Leasowes[1243]. It was rain, yet we visited all the waterfalls. There are, in one place, fourteen falls in a short line. It is the next place to Ham Gardens[1244]. Poor Shenstone never tasted his pension. It is not very well proved that any pension was obtained for him. I am afraid that he died of misery[1245].

We came to Birmingham, and I sent for Wheeler, whom I found well.

We breakfasted with Wheeler,[1246] and visited the manufacture of Papier MachÉ. The paper which they use is smooth whited brown; the varnish is polished with rotten stone. Wheeler gave me a tea-board. We then went to Boulton's,[1247] who, with great civility, led us through his shops. I could not distinctly see his enginery.

Twelve dozen of buttons for three shillings.[1248] Spoons struck at once.

Wheeler came to us again.

We came easily to Woodstock.

We saw Blenheim and Woodstock Park.[1249] The Park contains two thousand five hundred acres; about four square miles. It has red deer. Mr. Bryant[1250] shewed me the Library with great civility. Durandi Rationale, 1459[1251]. Lascaris' Grammar of the first edition, well printed, but much less than later editions[1252]. The first Batrachomyomachia[1253].

The Duke sent Mr. Thrale partridges and fruit.

At night we came to Oxford.

We visited Mr. Coulson[1254]. The Ladies wandered about the University.

We dine with Mr. Coulson. Vansittart[1255] told me his distemper.

Afterwards we were at Burke's, where we heard of the dissolution of the Parliament. We went home[1256].

ere streaked with white. From the deep-set brown eyes looked sadness and fatigue, as well as a great kindness for his fellow-men.

"I came the moment I received your letter," he said. "I had no idea you were back from London already."

"Dr. Blundell," said Sir Timothy, pompously, "when I took the very unusual step of leaving home the day before yesterday, I had resolved to follow the advice you gave me. I went to fulfil an appointment I had made with a specialist."

"With Sir James Power?"

"No, with a man named Herslett. You may have heard of him."

"Heard of him!" ejaculated Blundell. "Why, he's world-famous! A new man. Very clever, of course. If anything, a greater authority. Only I fancied you would perhaps prefer an older, graver man."

"No doubt I committed a breach of medical etiquette," said Sir
Timothy, in self-satisfied tones. "But I fancied you might have
written your version of the case to Power. Ah, you did? Exactly. But
I was determined to have an absolutely unbiassed opinion."

"Well," said Blundell, gently.

"Well—I got it, that's all," said Sir Timothy. The triumph seemed to die out of his voice.

"Was it—unsatisfactory?"

"Not from your point of view," said the squire, with a heavy jocularity which did not move the doctor to mirth. "I'm bound to say he confirmed your opinion exactly. But he took a far more serious view of my case than you do."

"Did he?" said Blundell, turning away his head.

"The operation you suggested as a possible necessity must be immediate. He spoke of it quite frankly as the only possible chance of saving my life, which is further endangered by every hour of delay."

"Fortunately," said Blundell, cheerfully, "you have a fine constitution, and you have lived a healthy abstemious life. That is all in your favour."

"I am over sixty years of age," said Sir Timothy, coldly, "and the ordeal before me is a very severe one, as you must be well aware. I must take the risk of course, but the less said about the matter the better."

Dr. Blundell had always regarded Sir Timothy Crewys as a commonplace contradictory gentleman, beset by prejudices which belonged properly to an earlier generation, and of singularly narrow sympathies and interests. He believed him to be an upright man according to his lights, which were not perhaps very brilliant lights after all; but he knew him to be one whom few people found it possible to like, partly on account of his arrogance, which was excessive; and partly on account of his want of consideration for the feelings of others, which arose from lack of perception.

People are disliked more often for a bad manner than for a bad heart. The one is their private possession—the other they obtrude on their acquaintance.

Sir Timothy's heart was not bad, and he cared less for being liked than for being respected. He was the offspring of a mÉsalliance; and greatly over-estimating the importance in which his family was held, he imagined he would be looked down upon for this mischance, unless he kept people at a distance and in awe of him. The idea was a foolish one, no doubt, but then Sir Timothy was not a wise man; on the contrary, his lifelong determination to keep himself loftily apart from his fellow-men had resulted in an almost extraordinary ignorance of the world he lived in—a world which Sir Timothy regarded as a wild and misty place, peopled largely and unnecessarily with savages and foreigners, and chiefly remarkable for containing England; as England justified its existence by holding Devonshire, and more especially Barracombe.

Sir Timothy had never been sent to school, and owed such education as he possessed almost entirely to his half-sisters. These ladies were considerably his seniors, and had in turn been brought up at Barracombe by their grandmother; whose maxims they still quoted, and whose ideas they had scarcely outgrown. Under the circumstances, the narrowness of his outlook was perhaps hardly to be wondered at.

But the dull immovability and sense of importance which characterized him now seemed to the doctor to be almost tragically charged with the typical matter-of-fact courage of the Englishman; who displays neither fear nor emotion; and who would regard with horror the suspicion that such repression might be heroic.

"When is it to be?" said Blundell.

"To-morrow."

"To-morrow!"

"And here," said Sir Timothy; "Dr. Herslett objected, but I insisted. I won't be ill in a strange house. I shall recover far more rapidly—if I am to recover—among my people, in my native air. London stifles me. I dislike crowds and noise. I hate novelty. If I am to die, I will die at home."

"Herslett himself performs the operation, of course?"

"Yes. He is to arrive at Brawnton to-night, and sleep there. I shall send the carriage over for him and his assistants early to-morrow morning. You, of course, will meet him here, and the operation is to take place at eleven o'clock."

In his alarm lest the doctor might be moved to express sympathy, Sir
Timothy spoke with unusual severity.

Dr. Blundell understood, and was silent.

"I sent for you, of course, to let you know all this," said Sir
Timothy, "but I wished, also, to introduce you to my cousin, John
Crewys, who came down with me."

"The Q.C.?"

"Exactly. I have made him my executor and trustee, and guardian of my son."

"Jointly with Lady Mary, I presume?" said the doctor, unguardedly.

"Certainly not," said Sir Timothy, stiffly. "Lady Mary has never been troubled with business matters. That is why I urged John to come down with me. In case—anything—happens to-morrow, his support will be invaluable to her. I have a high opinion of him. He has succeeded in life through his own energy, and he is the only member of my family who has never applied to me for assistance. I inquired the reason on the journey down, for I know that at one time he was in very poor circumstances; and he replied that he would rather have starved than have asked me for sixpence. I call that a very proper spirit."

The doctor made no comment on the anecdote. "May I ask how Lady Mary is bearing this suspense?" he asked.

"Lady Mary knows nothing of the matter," said the squire, rather peevishly.

"You have not prepared her?"

"No; and I particularly desire she and my sisters should hear nothing of it. If this is to be my last evening on earth, I should not wish it to be clouded by tears and lamentations, which might make it difficult for me to maintain my own self-command. Herslett said I was not to be agitated. I shall bid them all good night just as usual. In the morning I beg you will be good enough to make the necessary explanations. Lady Mary need hear nothing of it till it is over, for you know she never leaves her room before twelve—a habit I have often deplored, but which is highly convenient on this occasion."

Dr. Blundell reflected for a moment. "May I venture to remonstrate with you, Sir Timothy?" he said. "I fear Lady Mary may be deeply shocked and hurt at being thus excluded from your confidence in so serious a case. Should anything go wrong," he added bluntly, "it would be difficult to account to her even for my own reticence."

Sir Timothy rose majestic from his chair. "You will say that I forbade you to make the communication," he said, with rather a displeased air.

"I beg your pardon," said Dr. Blundell, "but—"

"I am not offended," interrupted Sir Timothy, mistaking remonstrance for apology. He was quite honestly incapable of supposing that his physician would presume to argue with him.

"You do not, very naturally, understand Lady Mary's disposition as well as I do," he said, almost graciously. "She has been sheltered from anxiety, from trouble of every kind, since her childhood. To me, more than a quarter of a century her senior, she seems, indeed, still almost a child."

Dr. Blundell coloured. "Yet she is the mother of a grown-up son," he said.

"Peter grown-up! Nonsense! A schoolboy."

"Eighteen," said the doctor, shortly. "You don't wish him sent for?"

"Most certainly not. The Christmas holidays are only just over. Rest assured, Dr. Blundell," said Sir Timothy, with grim emphasis, "that I shall give Peter no excuse for leaving his work, if I can help it."

There was a tap at the door. The squire lowered his voice and spoke hurriedly.

"If it is the canon, tell him, in confidence, what I have told you, and say that I should wish him to be present to-morrow, in his official capacity, in case of—"

It was the canon, whose rosy good-humoured countenance appeared in the doorway whilst Sir Timothy was yet speaking.

"I hope I am not interrupting," he said, "but the ladies desired me—that is, Lady Belstone and Miss Crewys desired me—to let you know that tea was ready."

The canon had an innocent surprised face like a baby; he was constitutionally timid and amiable, and his dislike of argument, or of a loud voice, almost amounted to fear.

Sir Timothy mistook his nervousness for proper respect, and maintained a distant but condescending graciousness towards him.

"I hear you came back by the afternoon train, Sir Timothy. A London outing is a rare thing for you. I hope you enjoyed yourself," said the canon, with a meaningless laugh.

"I transacted my business successfully, thank you," said Sir Timothy, gravely.

"Brought back any fresh news of the war?"

"None at all."

"I hear the call for more men has been responded to all over the country. It's a fine thing, so many young fellows ready and willing to lay down their lives for their country."

"Very few young men, I believe," said Sir Timothy, frigidly, "can resist any opportunity to be concerned in brawling and bloodshed, especially when it is legalized under the name of war. My respect is reserved for the steady workers at home."

"And how much peace would the steady workers at home enjoy without the brawlers abroad to defend them, I wonder!" cried the canon, flushing all over his rosy face, and then suddenly faltering as he met the cold surprise of the squire's grey eyes.

"I have some letters to finish before post time," said Sir Timothy, after an impressive short pause of displeasure. "I will join you presently, Dr. Blundell, at the tea-table, if you will return to the ladies with Canon Birch."

Sir Timothy rang for lights, and his visitors closed the door of the study behind them. Dr. Blundell's backward glance showed him the tall and portly form silhouetted against the window; the last gleam of daylight illuminating the iron-grey hair; the face turned towards the hilltop, where the spires of the skeleton larches were sharply outlined against a clear western sky.

"What made you harp upon the war, man, knowing what his opinions are?" the doctor asked vexedly, as he stumbled along the uneven stone passage towards the hall.

"I did not exactly intend to do so; but I declare, the moment I see Sir Timothy, every subject I wish to avoid seems to fly to the tip of my tongue," said the poor canon, apologetically; "though I had a reason for alluding to the war to-night—a good reason, as I think you will acknowledge presently. I want your advice, doctor."

"Not for yourself, I hope," said the doctor, absently.

"Come into the gun-room for one moment," said Birch. "It is very important. Do you know I've a letter from Peter?"

"From Peter! Why should you have a letter from Peter?" said the doctor, and his uninterested tone became alert.

"I'm sure I don't know why not. I was always fond of Peter," said the canon, humbly. "Will you cast your eye over it? You see, it's written from Eton, and posted two days later in London."

Dr. Blundell read the letter, which was written in a schoolboy hand, and not guiltless of mistakes in spelling.

"DEAR CANON BIRCH,

"As my father wouldn't hear of my going out to South Africa, I've taken the law into my own hands. I wrote to my mother's cousin, Lord Ferries, to ask him to include me in his yeomanry corps. Of course I let him suppose papa was willing and anxious, which perhaps was a low-down game, but I remembered that all's fair in love and war; and besides, I consider papa very nearly a pro-Boer. We've orders to sail on Friday, which is sharp work; but I should be eternally disgraced now if they stopped me. As my father never listens to reason, far less to me, you had better explain to him that if he's any regard for the honour of our name, he's no choice left. I expect my mother had better not be told till I'm gone, or she will only fret over what can't be helped. I'll write to her on board, once we're safely started. I know you're all right about the war, so you can tell papa I was ashamed to be playing football while fellows younger than me, and fellows who can't shoot or ride as I can, are going off to South Africa every day.

"Yours affectionately,

"PETER CREWYS.

"P.S.—Hope you won't mind this job. I did try to get papa's leave fair and square first."

"I always said Peter was a fine fellow at bottom," said Canon Birch, anxiously scanning the doctor's frowning face.

"He's an infernal self-willed, obstinate, heartless young cub on top, then," said Blundell.

"He's a chip of the old block, no doubt," said the canon; "but still"—his admiration of Peter's boldness was perceptible in his voice—"he doesn't share his father's reprehensible opinions on the subject of the war."

"Sons generally begin life by differing from their fathers, and end by imitating them," said Blundell, sharply. "Birch, we must stop him."

"I don't see how," said the canon; and he indulged in a gentle chuckle. "The young rascal has laid his plans too well. He sails to-morrow. I telegraphed inquiries. Ferries' Horse are going by the Rosmore Castle to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock."

Dr. Blundell made an involuntary movement, which the canon did not perceive.

"I don't relish the notion of breaking this news to Sir Timothy. But I thought we could consult together, you and me, how to do it," said the innocent gentleman. "There's no doubt, you know, that it must be done at once, or he can't get to Southampton in time to see the boy off and forgive him. I suppose even Sir Timothy will forgive him at such a moment. God bless the lad!"

Dr. Blundell uttered an exclamation that did not sound like a blessing.

"Look here, Birch," he said, "this is no time to mince matters. If the boy can't be stopped—and under the circumstances he's got us on toast—he can't cry off active service—as the boy can't be stopped, you must just keep this news to yourself."

"But I must tell Sir Timothy!"

"You must not tell Sir Timothy."

"Though all my sympathies are with the boy—for I'm a patriot first, and a parson afterwards—God forgive me for saying so," said Birch, in a trembling voice, "yet I can't take the responsibility of keeping Peter's father in ignorance of his action. I see exactly what you mean, of course. Sir Timothy will make unpleasantness, and very likely telegraph to his commanding officer, and disgrace the poor boy before his comrades; and shout at me, a thing I can't bear; and you kindly think to spare me—and Peter. But I can't take the responsibility of keeping it dark, for all that," said the canon, shaking his head regretfully.

"I take the responsibility," said the doctor, shortly. "As Sir Timothy's physician, I forbid you to tell him."

"Is Sir Timothy ill?" The canon's light eyes grew rounder with alarm.

"He is to undergo a dangerous operation to-morrow morning."

"God bless my soul!"

"He desires this evening—possibly his last on earth—to be a calm and unclouded one," said the doctor. "Respect his wishes, Birch, as you would respect the wishes of a dying man."

"Do you mean he won't get over it?" said the canon, in a horrified whisper.

"You always want the t's crossed and the i's dotted," said
Blundell, impatiently. "Of course there is a chance—his only chance.
He's a d——d plucky old fellow. I never thought to like Sir Timothy
half so well as I do at this moment."

"I hope I don't dislike any man," faltered the canon. "But—"

"Exactly," said the doctor, dryly.

"But what shall I do with Peter's letter?" said the unhappy recipient.

"Not one word to Sir Timothy. Agitation or distress of mind at such a moment would be the worst thing in the world for him."

"But I can't let Peter sail without a word to his people. And his mother. Good God, Blundell! Is Lady Mary to lose husband and son in one day?"

"Lady Mary," said the doctor, bitterly, "is to be treated, as usual, like a child, and told nothing of her husband's danger till it's over. As for Peter—well, devoted mother as she is, she must be pretty well accustomed by this time to the captious indifference of her spoilt boy. She won't be surprised, though she may be hurt, that he should coolly propose to set off without bidding her good-bye."

"Couldn't we tell her in confidence about Peter?" said the canon, struck with a brilliant idea.

"Certainly not; she would fly to him at once, and leave Sir Timothy alone in his extremity."

"Couldn't we tell her in confidence about Sir Timothy?"

"I have allowed Sir Timothy to understand that neither you nor I will betray his secret."

"I'm no hand at keeping a secret," said the canon, unhappily.

"Nonsense, canon, nonsense," said Dr. Blundell, laying a friendly hand on his shoulder. "No man in your profession, or in mine, ought to be able to say that. Pull yourself together, hope for the best, and play your part."