[DOWNLOAD] "The Tourist's Guide Through North Wales 1853" by G. J. Bennett * Book PDF Kindle ePub Free

📘 Read Now     📥 Download

eBook details

• Title: The Tourist's Guide Through North Wales 1853
• Author : G. J. Bennett
• Release Date : January 04, 2020
• Genre: Europe,Books,History,Travel & Adventure,Europe,
• Pages : * pages
• Size : 17916 KB

Description

CHAPTER I

Preliminary Observations.—Preparations for a Tour.—Rail to Shrewsbury.—Battlefield Church.—Chirk.—The Castle.—Brynkinalt.—Viaducts and Aqueducts.—A Delightful Walk.—Llangollen.

“Like brethren now do Welshmen still agree

In as much love as any men alive;

The friendship there and concord that I see

I doe compare to bees in honey hive,

Which keep in swarme, and hold together still,

Yet gladly showe to stranger great good will;

A courteous kinde of love in every place

A man may finde, in simple people’s face.”

Churchyard.

Various, as the features of human nature, are the sources of human happiness.  Some derive their choicest pleasure from historical accounts of men who lived in by-gone ages, and in re-creating events that have long since been engulphed in the abyss of time,—breaking down the barrier of intervening years, and mingling, in idea, with those who were once deemed the glorious of the earth, who now lie blended with its grossest atoms, or are confounded with the purer elements.  Some, parching with the thirst of knowledge, seek to slake the fever of their minds with most 


laborious research; explore the utmost regions of the globe to find a shorter marine passage; or pierce into its depths to seek for treasures which only exist in their heated fancies.  The vast ocean is fathomed to satisfy the ruling principle of their natures,—curiosity; and the realms of air traversed with the same motive to insure the universally desired result, self-gratification.  While some, leaving the elements to perform the destined changes, are willing to agree with the poet, who in the warmth of his philanthropy exclaims:

“The proper study of mankind is man;”

and among this class of beings the author of these pages may be ranked, although he willingly confesses nature has the power of charming him in her most minute as in her most stupendous works, from the curious and confined instinct of the ant and of the bee to the wonderful and exhaustless energies of the human mind,

            “That source

Whence learning, virtue, wisdom, all things flow.”

The court, the city, and the country, present an endless variety of subjects for contemplation; and the latter being the region of delight to those whose business confines them to the metropolis for the winter months, the author of this volume is anxious to be thought a useful and amusing companion to such tourists who, in pursuit of health and the charms of nature, may wander

“In the Welsh vales ’mid mountains high.”

where the sublime and beautiful present themselves 


at every turn to captivate the eye, and ruddy health colours the smiling faces of every peasant girl and shepherd boy, from Chirk to Holyhead.

To a mind capable of estimating fine scenery, how delightful are the hurry and bustle which usually take place on the morning of departure, in fond expectation of realizing the anticipated pleasure of viewing those beauties of nature the imagination has but weakly painted!  The sun is scarcely sooner up than the traveller; and, although, perhaps, it is yet three hours to the time of departure, his anxiety preponderates over the now slighted comforts of his bed of down, and with an agile leap he quits his restless pillow, and hastily despatching the business of his toilet, with his heart beating high, and his knapsack already stuffed with three shirts, as many pairs of stockings, guide books, and as few other necessaries as may be, in order to make his walking wardrobe as light as possible, he prepares to take the road.  If a disciple of old Izaac Walton and Cotton, he will not fail to have his book of flies, lines, reels, &c., and a light fly-rod to carry in his hand, and for which he is sure to have use whenever he feels inclined for piscatory pastime on his tour.  So stocked and provided, he bids defiance to the evils of life; and may exclaim with the poet

“Warly cares and warly men

May a’ gae tapsalteeree O!”

“The cab is at the door, Sir.”

“Very good.”


“Is everything I want put into it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well, good-bye!”

“Now, my man, drive to Euston-square Station.”

“All right, Sir.”  And away we went,

What a scene of bustle and confusion a metropolitan railway station presents a few minutes before the starting of a train, and more especially in holiday time.  Men, women, and children, in every direction, hurriedly traversing the crowded platform; luggage barrows, with porters, rushing to and fro; newspaper venders bawling “Times!  Chronicle!  Punch!”  Cabs galloping into the yard with anxious passengers; others, after having deposited their living burthens, slowly quitting it; the crowd of persons pressing forward for their tickets, jamming and jostling each other, as if the existence of each individual depended upon his or her obtaining that necessary passport.  At length all are supplied and seated in their various carriages.  Phiz! goes the steam, and the train slowly and majestically quits the station, gathering fresh speed in its progress, until the travellers find themselves whirled along at the rate of thirty or forty miles an hour; station after station appear and disappear like the lightning flash of a summer’s cloud—

“A moment bright, then lost for ever,”

and in the short space of a few hours the journey to Shrewsbury is accomplished.

BATTLEFIELD.

Within two miles of Shrewsbury, and nearly the same distance from the railway, upon the right of the line, the traveller will behold Battlefield Church, built by Henry the Fourth to commemorate the celebrated Battle of Shrewsbury, which, like that of Bosworth, has been immortalised by the magic pen of Shakspere.  Who cannot call to remembrance the gallant and fiery Hotspur, or the future Hero of Agincourt?—“Young Harry with his beaver on,”—and last, not least, fat Jack Falstaff, his humourous catechism upon “Honour;” with whom discretion was the better part of valour, notwithstanding his “long hour’s fight by Shrewsbury clock?”  Here, covered with wounds, the ambitious Hotspur fell, and his dead body, which had been buried on the field, was unearthed, and barbarously bruised between two millstones, and afterwards beheaded and quartered.

SHREWSBURY.

The old town of Shrewsbury contains many objects of considerable interest and historical association, which will afford to the antiquary or the curious abundant gratification for the few hours he may devote to them.  Those to which the traveller should in particular direct his attention are the Castle, the Abbey, and St. Giles’s Church; the two former were built by the first Norman Earl of Shrewsbury, Roger de Montgomery.

The town is beautifully situated on the Severn, on a 


peninsula made by the bend of the river; and, standing upon gentle eminences, it presents a bold and commanding appearance.  Upon the west side of the town, stretching along upon the banks of the river, and over-arched with magnificent lime trees, is a most delightful promenade—called the Quarry.

Having stayed the night in Shrewsbury, the following morning I once more placed myself in a railway carriage for a short ride upon the line to Chirk, at which place I had made up my mind to commence my pedestrian tour.  I think it necessary, however, to impress upon the minds of tourists that the Llangollen Road Station (which is a mile beyond Chirk) is unquestionably the key upon this side of the country to the very heart of the finest scenery in Wales, and that from thence he can obtain public conveyances which run daily to Capel Curig, Snowdon, Bala, Barmouth, Dolgelley, and a hundred other enchanting places in the Principality.

Arriving at Chirk Station, I, like the Honourable Dick Dowlas, with my wardrobe on my back, and a light heart, proceeded on the road to the village.  Bees hummed, birds sang, and blossoms sent forth their fragrance, to delight the traveller as he gaily trudged “the footpath way.”  Cheerfulness was above, beneath, and around me, and in my heart.  I had not taken many paces when I was accosted by an elderly person, in a straw hat, fustian shooting coat, knee breeches, gaiters, and shoes, he had a stout cudgel in his hand, 


and knapsack more capacious than mine strapped over his shoulders.  He appeared to be about fifty-five years of age, and being furnished like myself, it struck me that a passing traveller might naturally take us for father and son.

Fortunately, we were pursuing the same route, and a desultory dialogue commenced with the never-failing observation—

“A fine morning, Sir.”

“Very.”

“A great admirer of the charms of nature, I presume?”

“An enthusiastic one.”

“You’re for the Welsh vales, I suppose?”

“And mountains high,” I exclaimed, warming to my loquacious companion—

“In the Welsh vales ’mid mountains high,”

sang he, in a round-toned voice, with which I chimed in, and we were the best friends on a sudden.

There certainly is no society so interesting as that picked up by the tourist, who leaves with contempt the starched formalities of a great city behind him, and walks forth unencumbered by care, to enjoy the society of mankind in its varied and unsophisticated nature.  Every person we meet affords us information and delight; for a kindred spirit animates almost every individual whom you may chance to encounter in countries remarkable for beauties of scenery, and especially in a region like North Wales, where inns of the best 


kind are situated at the most convenient points, and the foot passenger is treated with as much respect as a lord in his carriage.  The landlords of inns here think that a man may make the proper use of his legs without being a beggar; and that the costume of a pedestrian may cover the form of a gentleman.  This philanthropic conception contributes to form that happy combination, civil hosts and merry travellers.

There is no want of society, nor any difficulty in selecting that with which you are best pleased; for every evening brings in fresh comers from various quarters to the different places of rest and refreshment.  The exchange of information respecting routes, the different adventures of the day, the peculiar feelings displayed in their recital, and countenances lit up with pleasure, give a degree of animation to the evening, never to be equalled in the brilliant drawing-room, the blaze of which seems to put out the eyes of reason,—

“And men are—what they name not to themselves

And trust not to each other.”

THE VILLAGE OF CHIRK

is agreeably situated upon the northern bank of the river Ceiriog, which divides England from Wales.  The village church is dedicated to St. Mary, and is an impropriation belonging to Valle Crucis Abbey, and contains some monuments erected to the memories of the Chirk families.  The most interesting is that of the famous Sir Thomas Myddelton.  In the churchyard are some fine aged yew trees.

BRYNKINALT.

Taking the road upon the left of the church, we entered the charming park of Brynkinalt, and visited one of the most picturesque seats in the Principality.  This elegant mansion, with its ivy-covered walls, is the principal residence of the Viscount Dungannon, who is descended from Tudor Trevor, Earl of Hereford, founder of one of the fifteen tribes of North Wales.  Valle Crucis Abbey, as well as many of the churches in the neighbourhood, have been greatly improved at his lordship’s expense, who is distinguished for archæological taste and research.  The house was built during the reign of James the First, from a design by Inigo Jones, and is delightfully situated upon the brow of a hill, from which circumstance it derives its name.  The park is divided by the river Ceiriog.

The late Duke of Wellington was maternally descended from this house.  His mother, the Countess of Mornington, who was a daughter of Arthur Hill-Trevor, first Viscount Dungannon, spent much of her time here during the boyhood of our illustrious hero, who frequently visited his noble parent during the Eton holidays.  There are yet living those who remember the boyish frolics of him who was at a later period destined to act so conspicuous a part in the world’s history.

By permission of the noble proprietor, the house and grounds are accessible to strangers during the summer months, and the paintings by Claude, Titian, Salvator 


Rosa, Carravaggio, Zucharelli, &c., are well worthy the inspection of the connoisseur and artist.

CHIRK CASTLE.

   “In Cambria’s noon of story,

   Ere bright she set in glory,

The brave and great, in princely state,

      All hail’d Chirk Castle walls.

   With splendid arms returning,

   The flaring torches burning,

’Mid armour’s clang the clarions rang,

   And search’d the sounding halls.”

SONG BY F. M. DOVASTON, A.M.

Chirk Castle is delightfully situated on the spacious domain, spreading over the summit of, what would be deemed, by a southern, a lofty mountain, but which is here only designated a hill, projecting from the range of the Berwyn Mountains, and is well calculated to recall the stories of the days of old, when flourished—

   “The good old rule, the simple plan,

That they should take who have the power,

   And they should keep who can.”

It is built of solid stone; and the ivy, mantling over the walls, gives them an appearance of solemnity and grandeur peculiarly interesting.  It is quadrangular, and is strengthened by five massive towers, one at each corner, and the fifth projecting from the principal front, through which is a lofty entrance into the court-yard, 165 feet in length, and 100 feet in breadth, surrounded on every side by noble suites of apartments.  The picture gallery measures 100 feet in length, by twenty-two in breadth, and contains some very excellent paintings, and several portraits of the Myddelton family.  Amongst the latter is that of Sir Thomas Myddelton, 

who defended himself gallantly against the forces of Cromwell.  He was rewarded for his loyalty by Charles the Second, who granted him £30,000 for the loss he had sustained, besides many valuable presents; amongst others, a cabinet, which is shewn in the gallery, valued at £7000, richly ornamented with silver; in various compartments of which are paintings, said to have been executed by Rubens.  The monarch offered to elevate Sir Thomas to the peerage, which he declined.

PDF Books "The Tourist's Guide Through North Wales 1853" Online ePub Kindle