Читать книгу The Tourist's Guide through North Wales - G. J. Bennett - Страница 9

Table of Contents

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.