The route from Corwen to Pentre Voelas is perhaps the least interesting in North Wales; though on the road, about mid-way, the traveller is surprised and delighted by the picturesque scenery around a romantic bridge called Pont y Glyn. The river rolls over its rocky bed most preciptantly, and, passing through a deep and richly wooded ravine, is afterwards observed quietly enriching the vale below.

On my way to Cernioge, I turned off to visit the mountain of Pengwerwyn, about a mile from Cerig y Druidion, where, tradition says, Caractacus had a castle, in which he was betrayed by Queen Cartismandua, and sent prisoner to Rome. Here he delivered his well-known oration; and his noble appearance and dignified conduct produced such an effect on Claudius, that he set him at liberty.*

Walking some two or three miles over the moors, brought me to the pleasantly situated inn at Cernioge, and having previously heard of the excellence of this house of entertainment I resolved to rest myself for a day or two; and truly the comfort and accommodations have not been exaggerated. This place has a decidedly English appearance, for in the yard were four large ricks of hay, (an extraordinary sight in Wales) extensive and well-built stabling, and the arrivals and departures were frequent. There is a large

* In the writings of Tacitus will be found a detailed account of Caractacus. On being placed before the tribunal at Rome, he delivered himself in the following manner:-* If to the nobility of my birth, and the splendour of exalted station, I had united the virtues of moderation, Rome had beheld me, not in captivity, but a Royal visitor, and a friend. The alliance of a prince descended from an illustrious line of ancestors; a prince whose sway extended over many nations, would not have been unworthy of your choice. A reverse of fortune is now the lot of Caractacus. The event to you is glorious, and to me humiliating. I had arms, and men, and horses; I had wealth in abundance: can you wonder that I was unwilling to lose them? The ambition of Rome aspires to universal dominion; and must mankind, by consequence, stretch their necks to the yoke? I stood at bay for years: had I acted otherwise, where on your part had been the glory of conquest, and where on mine the honour of a brave resistance? I am now in your power: if you are bent on vengeance, execute your purpose; the bloody scene will soon be over, and the name of Caractacus will sink into oblivion. Preserve my life, and I shall be, to late posterity, a monument of Roman clemency.'

pool in the neighbourhood, called Llyn Cwrt, well-stocked with trout, eels, &c., which afford excellent sport to the angler. The land about Cernioge Mawr is the highest between London and Holyhead. The moors, abounding with grouse, present extensive but unvaried and barren prospects.

Having passed over some sterile wastes, I reached the small village of Yspytty Evan, and striking into Caernarvonshire, over the river Conway, traversed the wild, lone districts near Hafod Evan, and from thence among the mountains to the dreary and sequestered lake of Conway. The changing mists and rack were driving over the wild adjacent moors, and several birds, apparently of the heron kind, rose from its surface, and slowly took wing towards the falls of the river. Hence over Pont Penfedw I entered the delightful valley, and soon the secluded little hamlet of Penmachno, with its white cottages, verdant farms, and pretty dwellings, scattered over the declivities, embosomed in the vale, or the deep sheltered recesses of the hills. No lovelier scene had yet greeted my eyes; it had all that patriarchal appearance of uninterrupted quiet and lonely beauty ascribed to the old pastoral And such it almost was; for here generation had followed generation in the same calm tenour of existence, and in the same unvarying pursuits. There was about it an air of serenity and solitude I had hardly before dreamed of, although I had before spent many days among the hills.

life.

I had passed through scenes of the loveliest and the wildest character, yet the falls of the Conway, the Machno, the wild vale of Dolwyddelan-its heathy mountain and romantic pass, which lay before me,-excited the imagination and pleased the eye in an extraordinary degree. It was an hour well suited to the scene; over the dark, majestic mountain of Moel Siabod, and the dreary heights about Tan y Foel and Bryncoch, a splendid sunset was now closing, tinging vale and lake, as its last beams yet lingered on the ruins of the lonely tower of Dolwyddelan; from whose dilapidated and shivered walls, and ivy-mantled wreck of former splendour,