PONT Y PAIR

THE SCENERY,

ANTIQUITIES, AND LEGENDS OF
NORTH WALES.

"The Falls of the Conway," says Miss Costello, "have been aptly compared by a poet, who resides in their neighbourhood, to the rush and leap of a wild horse, whose mane streams to the wind as he hurls himself over the precipice. A rocky hollow, scooped by nature into an immense cauldron, receives the hurrying, startled wave into its bosom, where it boils and foams and lashes onward again down the shivering rocks into a hundred lesser falls. The river Machno joins the Conway at the distance of a few yards above that fall. Scarcely one hundred yards from the junction, and ascending the river Machno, is the very beautiful fall to which it gives its name. It is, I believe, sometimes called 'the Pandy Fall,' from the circumstance of a fulling mill, in Welsh, pandy, having been built close to it. From this fall the river Machno runs through a deep, narrow, rocky chasm to the Conway. Rhaidr y Wenol, or the Swallow, comes angrily over a ledge of rocks in several gushing streams, throwing itself from point to point, and finally alighting in a deep cavern far below

NO. 1273.

TALKS

its first leap; then, with prodigious impetuosity, it hurries on for several miles to the romantic bridge of Pont y Pair, where by degrees it becomes calmer, but not till after it has finished its strife of waters near that beautiful spot, where the Llugwy, violent and crested with foam, forms a hundred cataracts as it hurries through the luxuriant scenes of Betws y Coed, and at Pont y Pair dashes over a barrier of broken rocks, and thunders down the vale."

It is here that Moel Siabod rises in awful majesty, its height appearing little inferior to that of the great Snowdon itself. It would seem, says the agreeable writer already quoted, "as if that part of the country, called the principality," had been created by nature in a holiday humour for the recreation of English tourists, who had not leisure to seek for beauties abroad; for, collected into a small space, more may be found in North Wales than in any other spot in Europe."

This praise the sketches of Mr. McKewan, admirably engraved and lithographed as they are by the brothers 1. and E. Gilks, make good. For varieties of picturesque scenery, Wales can hardly be surpassed. In her peaceful valleys almost everything that the "pomp and prodigality of Heaven"

VOL. XLVI.

can bestow, charms the eye; and the simple habits of the people give additional interest to their romantic home. Here the tourist will sometimes be rowed in a market boat, which he would be likely to call a barge, by four sturdy females, and if, in his liberality, he should feel disposed to treat them with something to drink, ale and spirits will be offered them in vain, as they take nothing stronger than tea.

And many a scene rendered historically important by events of ancient days is here

to be found. Sometimes, as in the case of Flint Castle, the strongholds of former grandeur have been so completely overthrown that little but the site remains. This is, perhaps, still more exemplified in the scene represented in the spirited cut which follows, where we find in "the few rugged stones in a dirty corner, all that remains of the Parliament House where Owen Glendower held meetings with his friends." "Sic transit gloria mundi."

Here, too, as in most parts of the world, we find many wild legends. One of them, as it is pleasantly told by the lady tourist in her profusely embellished volume, we subjoin

"A young man who was remarkable for his good looks, and who was employed by a farmer, had been sent to a town near his residence to the fair, to purchase some lambs. Having succeeded to his wish, he led the lambs to graze close to Llyn-y-VanVach, on the Black Mountains. When

ever he visited his charge as he sat by the side of the lake, he used to see three lovely female figures hovering about on its borders: he perceived them distinctly, but their movements were as rapid as those of birds or butterflies, and they almost dazzled his eyes by the quickness of their motions as they skimmed along the waters, their little feet just touching the surface, and then darting off to another part of the lake. The young man was so fascinated with their appearance, that he loved to sit whole days in the sun, watching them, and at last his desire became extreme to catch and

look at them nearer. Accordingly, the next time they appeared, he started up and pursued them round the lake, till he was almost exhausted with his vain efforts, for

every time he thought them within his reach, they would flit off to a distance, and he heard a low silver laugh, and caught the taunting words,

'Cras dy fara

Anhawdd dy ddala,' which signifies For him who eateth baked bread, it is difficult to catch us.' This almost dispirited the young shepherd; but one day, as he was leaning his cheek on his hand, wishing he could hit on some expedient to secure the volatile beauties, he observed some substance like bread floating on the waters. He put forth his crook and drew it to land; it looked like the finest wheaten bread, and it had round it a golden-coloured border, as if it was made of the yellow flour which is sprinkled in the heart of a water-lily: he tasted it. and thought he had never eaten anything so delicious: he therefore finished it with great avidity and satisfaction. That day the lovely ladies did not appear, and it was with some apprehension of having offended them, that he came the next morning to the lake: to his great joy, however, he saw the three beauties again, and commenced his chase after them as usual. This time he was successful, and caught them all three in his arms, as they stood on the

points of some flags at the water's edge. Now then,' exclaimed he, since I have you, beautiful creatures, you shall not go again till one of you promises to be my wife. We are willing,' they replied, smiling choose the one of us you prefer, and then let us go. She shall be your wife, if, when we all three return tomorrow, you can distinguish her from the other two.' This was agreed-he found it somewhat difficult to choose, for each was as perfect in beauty as her sister, but he thought one looked upon him with greater tenderness: this one, he observed, had the clasp of the shining sandal that bound her small foot rather differently arranged from those of the others, and as they were about to depart, he entreated her in a whisper to tell him how he should know her again. I will,' said the fair being, 'stand between my sisters, and turn my right foot a little to the right.' The next morning the shepherd was made happy, for the fairies came, and he claimed the one who was to be his bride. She left the lake, and her sisters disappeared: as soon as she stood on the ground, she made a signal with her hand, and from the waters came seven cows, one bull, and two oxen. This is my dower,' said she, 'I will be your wife and live with you, till you strike me three times, but if that ever happens, I must leave you instantly.' They lived in their farm most happily for several years, and the lovely lady brought him three sons the celebrated Meddygon Myddvai, great physicians and learned men-but while they were yet children, the shepherd was one day preparing to attend a fair in the neighbourhood, and told his wife to go to the field and fetch his horse. She said she would, but being rather dilatory, he playfully reproached her, saying, 'Dos, dôs, dôs,' or Go, go, go,' and as he did so, he tapped her three times unwittingly with the glove be held in his hand. She fled instantly, and he heard her voice summoning her cattle to follow her. The oxen were then ploughing the field, but they obeyed her call, and carried off the plough with them. The furrow from the field in which they were ploughing, extends to the margin of the lake, and may be traced there at the present day. After her departure she met her three sons in a cwm (hollow), and delivered to each of them a bag, containing something very mysterious, but the use of which she taught them: this it was that gave them the power of healing all diseases, and which made them afterwards so famous in their day."

station. In consequence of a misunderstanding with his suzerain, his property was seized, himself ignominiously scourged like a serf, and his wife and two lovely daugh ters, having been subjected to every species of coarse brutality, died raving mad. The man's nature was changed-hitherto he had been known only as a quiet, conciliating, and generous landlord-his purse and home ever open to the distressed, whom he was also always the first to assist by his counseland sympathy under misfortune; but now, fearful and ominous was the differencehe never shed a tear; not a groan was suffered to escape his breast; calm and stern, his cold, clear, bright eye, caused an inward shudder in the spectator as he gazed upon him. He fled, and put himself at the head of a party of his countrymen, who were ripe for revolt. His efforts proved successful; and before many months had elapsed, the whole country was aroused, and he found himself at the head of a hundred thousand horsemen. Then commenced his revenge: castles were stormed; princes and nobles, in their robes and coronets, in bitter mockery, gibbetted on their own walls, having been compelled personally to witness the females of their families, many allied to the various royal houses in Europe, first subjected to the loathsome brutality of an infuriate soldiery, and then pitilessly murdered. During this time, Bogdan feasted his eyes, in maniac gladness, with the agonies of his victims-the most atrocious of these scenes invariably taking place in his presence, and under his superintendence. And yet, in the still hour of night, wrapped in his cloak, he would leave his camp and wander forth, followed at a distance by some faithful adherents-who, however, did not dare to intrude upon his presence-and, gazing upon vacancy, while not a sound, save a low and suppressed sob and wailing, came from him, would remain till the dawn of morning. What were his thoughts at that lone and silent period?—reverting to the past, the dishonour of his home, and the slaughter of his beauteous offspring?— or, did a transcient shade of pity cross his mind in that hour of solitude for the victims (innocent as many were) of his own fearful implacability? None could tell, deepburied and inscrutable to the human eye remained his feelings; and the morn saw him cold, calm, cruel, and pitiless as ever. He lived to an advanced age, shot and steel alike seeming to guide harmlessly by him; and, when he died, was worn to a skeleton by the conflict, which while it exhibited not itself in outward appearance upon his countenance, at length slowly, but surely, destroyed the fibres of the sinewy and iron frame, which military toil and hardship had served but to fortify and strengthen."Cumeron.

THE AUTHOR RUSTICATING. DEDICATED TO THE NOW RUSTICATING

GENTRY OF LONDON.

BY DR. EDWARDS.

As this is the season in which the quality, the gentry, and wealthy artizans are thinking of leaving the city for the country, we thought it might not be amiss to give the particulars of a trip of the last summer, which has never yet met the public eye. We have it from a gentleman now at our elbow, to whom the scenes appear as real and graphic in memory as when actually occurring. They have nothing romantic about them; but though, on that account, they may be less entertaining to some, they will perhaps be more instructive to others, if not to all. The delineation of character, and especially of female cha racter, is a labour suitable and deserving for a writer in THE MIRROR, in which cha racters, like faces, should be shown as correctly and fully as in a glass-not such as good Queen Bess was accustomed to, but those true representations with which most beautiful women at least are familiar, when they can feast upon themselves without flattery.

"To paint mankind our sole pretence,

And all our wisdom common sense." Similar portraits may be inspected in our city, but they look more interesting in the retirement of rural life, where they stand out in broad relief and appear to greater advantage, more open to the close study of the metaphysician and moralist. There is no danger of the present article reaching the ears or eyes of the party in question; to prove which assertion we might mention many facts, but it will be unnecessary. The friend of the writer-a literary gentleman, of good family and fortune-had, for some two or three years back, promised to pay a visit to an acquaintance, a baronet, who had repeatedly solicited him, with all the bribery of large promises, to domesticate during the summer season at his delightful rookery. As the baronet was evidently sincere, and the gentleman had no disinclination to save his purse, he most cordially accepted of the invitation.

Sir Thomas Winterbotham is a gentleman possessed of good fortune, a good constitution, and good nature. But it cannot be said that this excellent baronet is graced and fortified by a good or great mind; like the many, Sir Thomas is neither possessed of common sense or of fine sense, though blest with no small share of what a great modern writer styles "the gift of the gab." As such, he is at least a powerful, influential man, in general company, an fully exemplifies the following portraiture, given by the author of "Mes

Prisons," in one of his captives:—“ Près de ma prison, en était une autre habitée par plusieurs hommes. Je les entendais aussi parler; l'un d'eux avait pris sur les autres une grande autorité, non qu'il fut, je pense, d'une moins basse condition, mais parce qu'il avait plus de loquacité et d'audace. Il faisait le docteur, comme on dit. Il querellait et imposait silence à ses adversaires avec le ton impérieux de sa voix et la fougue de se 3 paroles; il leur dictait ce qu'ils devaient penser et sentir, et ceux-ci, après quelque resistance, finissaient par lụi donner raison en tout." His lady, as is perhaps generally the case, was a totally opposite character; and no less did she differ in person. She was about as beautiful and handsome as Sir Thomas was remarkably plain, and had about as much good common sense and fine sense as she wanted volubility of tongue. Unfortunately, however, she exerted little more influence in the family than one of her domestics, and that little influence has now been for some years withdrawn, when her ladyship paid the debt to nature-a debt, some have said, paid before the due time, payment being forced, owing to the want of congeniality between herself and family.

It is often singular to see how fond opposites seem to be, or what are the mighty attractions which they discover in their correlates! So it was in the present instance. The man who had a mine in his mind, felt a sort of wild pleasure, with a kind of childish curiosity, in the anticipation of visiting the seat of the wealthy baronet. Besides luxuriating in all the riches of nature, ever enkindling new fancy, and feeling, and rapture to him who looks upon the external world with the eyes of a lover, there were also the luxuries to gratify the palate; and so many country belles walking and talking in all the lovely simplicity and artlessness of romantic life-the honest, weather-beaten, but benevolent, good-tempered countenances of the peasantry-pleasant ridessequestration in woody rambles-with a thousand amusing adventures to enrich the reminiscences of after-life, and entertain city friends when other anecdotes failed. The time at length expired, and our literary friend takes his departure for this hallowed scene, this true recreation, retreat, and sparkling cordial to his wearied spirits. How abundantly I will sacrifice, said he, to all the good heathen gods and goddesses-to Pan, Hebe, Flora, Pomona, Cupid, Bacchus, and Momus! Such were the expectations of our friend. We shall shortly see how far they were realised.

The first break to these jovial, entertaining reflections, was a sort of break in the coach, about half-way on his route.