frame of mountains, with the verdant slopes, the woods, a church or two, and a few villas and humbler houses, all repeated in the depths of the serene water, clear and perfect as they appear above, save where lines of silver stream across the blue expanse, form a picture which cannot be looked on without delight, or remembered without pleasure. A road is carried quite round the lake, and the circuit should be made it will yield a grand diversity of prospects. Some of the very finest views of Bala are those obtained from the east side, looking towards Arenig. If it be perambulated, and afterwards a boat be taken upon the lake for an hour or two-and especially towards evening or by moonlight-Bala will not only be thoroughly seen, but certainly remembered. Seen from the heights at a little distance, the lake, lying nestled in the bosom of the mountains, has quite a new and most beautiful

appearance.

Several streamlets flow down from the mountains, and enter the head of Bala Lake: the largest of them is known as Dwfrdwy, and is generally considered to be the head stream of the Dee; but it is difficult to imagine how that can be, unless, as old writers (and

Camden among others) affirmed, the waters of the Dee passed through Pimble Mere (for so English writers used to call Llyn Tegid), without mingling with it. The river, which flows out of Bala Lake, is the Dee; and the vale along which it flows is known as the Vale of Edeirnion-by many considered to be one of the most lovely of the Welsh valleys. Bala Lake and the Dee here are both well known to anglers. In Bala great numbers of a fish called the gwyniaid, so named, it is said, from the whiteness of its scales, are taken; they are much esteemed for their delicate flavour. Bala is a good fishing station. Besides the lake, there are numerous mountain-llyns in the vicinity, which yield fair sport to a skilful artist.

We must not quit the banks of Bala without reminding the reader that they are classic ground. Llywarch Hen, one of the most famous of Welsh bards-the author of the Triads,' translated by Mr. William Owen

spent the last years of his life here, seeking to solace himself under his misfortunes; and perhaps finding comfort in repeating them. Llywarch had been a soldier before he became a bard: he took up his pen only when he laid aside his lance. When he wrote,

Wretched is the fate that was fated

For Llywarch on the night he was born,

Long pains, without being delivered of his trouble." His sorrows did not abbreviate his days much, if the tradition may be credited which makes him to have lived to the age of a hundred and fifty years. It is said that a spot in this neighbourhood is still shown as the place where he died, and that it bears his name. If the reader have not formed an acquaintance with the ancient Welsh triads, this translation of Llywarch Hen is the best he can turn to: it is full of real poetry.

Which is the best place to visit the famous cataract Pistyll Rhaiadr from is not easy to say: from no place is it very accessible. From Bala there is a way to it | over the Bearwyn mountains; but the distance is above fourteen miles of a rough mountain road. If the Vale of Edeirnion be descended, the road from Llandrillo, over the mountains, may be taken the distance is some nine miles. The nearest village on the Denbighshire side is Llanrhaiadr, which is only about four miles from the fall. Pistyll Rhaiadr, the Spout of the Cataract, is formed by the little river Rhaiadr, which falls over a mountain side at the end of a close valley. It is a wild and lonely spot, and the waterfall has a most remarkable appearance. The water is said to fall the height of 240 feet. The rocky scarp down which it tumbles is bare, black, and precipitous, and contrasts well with the woody hollow; but there is a want of water, unless after stormy weather; and altogether it is hardly so fine an object as, from its height, would be expected. There is a little inn close by; and the neighbourhood, we imagine, would be worth devoting a day or so to.

DOLGELLEY.

The road from Bala to Dolgelley it would be tedious to describe; and, indeed, we believe the tourist would find it best to avail himself of the coach which runs during the summer months between these places. From Ffestiniog there is a very interesting road by the coast. Dolgelley is, like most Welsh towns, nought in itself. The houses are mean, irregular, and hardly picturesque; the streets are narrow and dirty: it has a considerable population, and some trade. The manufacture of flannel, once carried on to some extent, has declined; but of late the weaving of finer woollen cloths has been tried with success.

The interest of the place to tourists, however, consists altogether in its admirable situation as a centre from which to examine the beauties of this part of Merionethshire. Old Camden was moved to declare that Merioneth was matchless alike for the loveliness of its

indisputably true in the days of Elizabeth is no less certainly true in those of Victoria. So every native asserts; and the stranger, though his means of judging are unhappily but limited, seldom hesitates to admit and corroborate the assertion. Great is the pity, therefore, that we can make but brief tarriance in this land of loveliness; but as we have indicated what is to be looked for, the visitor will not complain. We lingered too long at Ffestiniog and Bala to stay long here.

In whatever direction the stranger turns, he will find beauty on every hand: and the little town itself, though anything but beautiful when in it, is really a beautiful object when seen from a distance. More than in most parts of the mountainous districts, the ancient woods seem to have been preserved around Dolgelley: hence there is what is always so beautiful and cheerful,-a succession of rich prospects, formed by the combination of grand old trees with mountains and running streams. This may be witnessed to perfection by turning towards Nannau, the seat of Sir R. W. Vaughan: a spot famous for its almost matchless scenery, ancient hospitality, old traditions, and almost equally for its modern splendour. The park is extensive, broken into hill and dingle, well stored with venison, lively streams run through it, and it abounds in those

"Old patrician trees

And plebeian underwood"

that so distinguish English parks; what kind of scenery it may exhibit, therefore, when the distant and finelyformed mountain summits—and old Cader is among the number-are added, will readily be conceived. Passing through Nannau, or taking the road, the next visit will be made to the waterfalls. The first of them, Rhaiadr Ddu, the Black Cataract, is about four miles from Dolgelley, on the road to Maentwrog: it stands within private grounds, but access is granted to it; a path has been formed to the bottom, whence it can be best seen. The fall is said to be sixty feet; there is a tolerable sheet of water; the rocks around and above are crested with luxuriant wood; and the scene altogether is striking and beautiful. Two or three miles farther is another fall, Pistyll-y-Cain, the Spout of the Cain. Here the water is precipitated from a height of 150 feet; but the stream is comparatively small, the rocks are flat and regularly stratified; and though there is wood, it, too, seems to partake of the prevalent formality. However, it might not always appear so, and Pistyll-y-Cain is at any rate sufficiently remarkable to deserve a visit. Not far from it is another but less important fall, the Rhaiadr-y-Mawddach, so called from the river by which it is formed. The neighbourhood is very picturesque.

This road to Maentwrog is not, as will be seen, lacking in interest: yet the road by the sea is the preferable one, as Barmouth and Harlech may be thus visited. We must run rapidly over the ground to Harlech. The road lies along the north bank of the Maw river, or Afon Mawddoch. A mile below Dolgelley a boat may be

We have noticed in the book of a lady-tourist the remark, that in the journey between Barmouth and Dolgelley "it is difficult to decide as to which bank is to be preferred, both offering so much to be admired." In a coach it may be difficult (though, by the way, there is no coach-road on the south bank, and any road on that side to or from Barmouth will be found rather roundabout), but on foot the difficulty would quickly vanish. The scenery along the south bank cannot but be pleasing, but it cannot be more-along the north it is of almost indescribable beauty, and of the richest variety. After awhile (we are supposing that the tourist has chosen the time of full tide, else there is a muddy swamp) the stream expands rapidly into a broad and noble river; the banks are richly wooded; and looking across the river, southwards, you have the glorious range of mountains, of which Cader Idris is the chief, and which is of course invisible from the opposite bank; whence you see a comparatively tame tract. About Glyn-dwr, eight miles from Dolgelley, the river makes a bold bend, and appears like an inland lake, of above a mile and a quarter broad, and several miles long. From the heights just by, you have a well-wooded foreground, then this fine sheet of water, and beyond, towering high above the lesser mountains, the magnificent form of Cader Idris. There are several other views hardly inferior. The views, too, up the river are very beautiful; while downwards, the estuary of the Mawddoch, with the sea beyond and the high banks on either hand, is extremely fine.

Barmouth is a watering-place: whether as flourishing as it used to be we really do not know. It is a strange little town. The houses are oddly dotted about, here and there, in all sorts of queer and awkward situations; some by the beach, some on the hill-side almost on the top of each other, some in every out-of-the-way nook and corner. And they are as odd-looking as oddplaced. The town stands at the confluence of the river; in front stretches a long waste of shifting sand. The sand fills the roadway, fills the houses, promises to fill up the town. It is nevertheless a pleasant place, after its kind. There are boarding-houses and a library; baths and a good beach; also a pier. There is a capital hotel, wherein is a strenuous harper. There are young ladies and ladies of a certain age; and there are gentlemen of the kind who commonly dawdle about at watering-places and all are ever laudably watching for some new arrival, some new scandal, or some new thing, that may afford them some new occupation or

Very dull is the road between Barmouth and Harlech : every body says so, and every body is doubtless right. Yet there is the sea on one hand, and on the other is many an opening in the too monotonous mountainslopes, which might well tempt aside a leisurely wanderer: and there are moreover many villages, Llan somethings or other (there are at least half a dozen of these Llans between Barmouth and Harlech), with their humble churches and churchyards, with the curiously inscribed grave-stones, calling you aside to rest or to moralize. There is, in truth, a good deal of quiet rustic character about some of these villages, and we cannot help thinking that he must be a somewhat fastidious person who finds this road quite intolerable. A little way. past Lord Mostyn's house there are a couple of cromlechs at a short distance from the road.

Harlech Castle was built by Edward I.,- -as native historians assert, on the site of an old British fortress. The situation is a strong one-and, what is more important at present, a picturesque one. The Castle stands on a lofty cliff, whose base was at one time washed by the sea, though now a marshy tract intervenes. The building is nearly a square, of two hundred feet each way, with round towers at the angles, and on each side of the chief entrance. On some of the towers slight fragments of the light turrets which rose from them yet remain. The castle is quite ruinous. Seen from the marsh below, its appearance, raised aloft on the edge of the steep rock, is very striking. But it appears even finer from the summit of the rocks just outside the road wall, a hundred yards or two before you reach the castle: there the building and the cliff on which it stands are both seen to perfection, while beyond is the broad Traeth Mawr, backed by a low dark range of mountains, above which are the cloudcapt peaks of Snowdon.

Harlech Castle must unquestionably have been a very formidable place to assault when first erected, and before villainous gunpowder was used in a siege. From the sea, with such a rock to scale, it was almost impregnable; while on the land-side there was a huge fosse cut out of the rock to get over. The walls were stout; the round towers with their turrets so constructed as to cover every approach. It was taken on several occasions, but it stood out long enough to sustain the credit of the architect no less than the garrison. It was besieged and taken by Owen Glyndwr ; and it was maintained by him for four years. During the War of the Roses it was held by a sturdy Welsh captain, Davydd ap Jefan ap Einion, for Henry VI., and was only surrendered when the garrison were nearly starved. Queen Margaret for awhile found refuge here. In the great civil war, Harlech Castle maintained its old loyal reputation; it was the last castle in North Wales to yield to the Parliament. It was dismantled not long after.

The ruins of Harlech Castle are worth going over, though not so interesting as those of some of the other

castles we have visited. There is a magnificent view from them on a fair day. Far above the intervening mountains rises the Snowdon chain; and sometimes, when the valley is filled with a light vapour and the base is invisible, the black peaks stand out as though self-supported in front of the pale sky. But always, unless obscured by cloud or mist, that mountain view is a noble one. The town of Harlech is a small poor place; but the old-looking scrambling houses about the outskirts, with an occasional glimpse of one of the castle-towers, might tempt an artist, like our old favourite Prout, to draw forth his sketch-book. There is a good inn here for any one who may choose to make this a halting-place; and there are some things worth staying to see, if there be abundant leisure. There is a narrow valley and pass, called Cwm Bychan, and Drws Ardudwy, some four or five miles distant, which are said to be remarkably fine. But we have not seen them; nor a waterfall there is somewhere within two or three miles of Harlech, which we have heard highly spoken of. The antiquary will find a great many tumuli, cromlechs, a stone circle, and other British or Celtic remains, within the compass of a few miles from Harlech. The road from Harlech to Maentwrog is certainly much finer than from Barmouth to Harlech. On arriving at Traeth Bach, the estuary of the Dwyryd, it becomes really fine, and increases in beauty more or less up to Maentwrog.

MALLWYD.

Should the visitor determine to ascend Cader Idris, he may obtain a guide (and it is a kind of mountain that perhaps needs one as much as most) at Dolgelley, from which place the ascent will be best made. We have not been on the summit, only over the shoulder, of Cader, the weather having been perverse each time we have been in the vicinity. The base of Cader Idris is less extended than most of the greater of the Welsh mountains, and the climb is therefore probably a rather laborious one; as indeed it is generally said to be. But the view from it is generally praised; and it is no doubt worth ascending. It is nonsense to say, as many do, that it is enough to ascend one mountain in a district to understand the character of the scenery. It may be as much perhaps as it is convenient to do; for mountain-climbing takes up a great deal of time, and can only be done (by the stranger) to any good purpose in fair weather. But nothing is more certain than that every great mountain has features all its own; that each is quite unlike every other; and that the labour will be abundantly recompensed to him who has time to make the ascent. The height above the sea is 2,914 feet.

Cader Idris signifies the Seat of Idris: according to the tradition it was the favourite observatory (for he was an astronomer) of that very great personage. How great a person he was, any one may see who passes along the Machynlleth road which winds round the base of Cader Idris. A lake will be noticed, by which