At Length,
Seeing Some Old Books Lying In A Corner, I Laid Hold Of Them,
Carried Them To The Table, Sat Down And Began To Inspect Them; They
Were The Three Volumes Of Scott's "Cavalier" - I Had Seen This Work
When A Youth, And Thought It A Tiresome Trashy Publication.
Looking over it now when I was grown old I thought so still, but I
now detected in it
What from want of knowledge I had not detected
in my early years, what the highest genius, had it been manifested
in every page, could not have compensated for, base fulsome
adulation of the worthless great, and most unprincipled libelling
of the truly noble ones of the earth, because they the sons of
peasants and handycraftsmen, stood up for the rights of outraged
humanity, and proclaimed that it is worth makes the man and not
embroidered clothing. The heartless, unprincipled son of the
tyrant was transformed in that worthless book into a slightly-
dissipated, it is true, but upon the whole brave, generous and
amiable being; and Harrison, the English Regulus, honest, brave,
unflinching Harrison, into a pseudo-fanatic, a mixture of the rogue
and fool. Harrison, probably the man of the most noble and
courageous heart that England ever produced, who when all was lost
scorned to flee, like the second Charles from Worcester, but,
braved infamous judges and the gallows, who when reproached on his
mock trial with complicity in the death of the king, gave the noble
answer that "It was a thing not done in a corner," and when in the
cart on the way to Tyburn, on being asked jeeringly by a lord's
bastard in the crowd, "Where is the good old cause now?" thrice
struck his strong fist on the breast which contained his courageous
heart, exclaiming, "Here, here, here!" Yet for that "Cavalier,"
that trumpery publication, the booksellers of England, on its first
appearance, gave an order to the amount of six thousand pounds.
But they were wise in their generation; they knew that the book
would please the base, slavish taste of the age, a taste which the
author of the work had had no slight share in forming.
Tired after a while with turning over the pages of the trashy
"Cavalier" I returned the volumes to their place in the corner,
blew out one candle, and taking the other in my hand marched off to
bed.
CHAPTER XLVIII
The Bill - The Two Mountains - Sheet of Water - The Afanc-Crocodile
- The Afanc-Beaver - Tai Hirion - Kind Woman - Arenig Vawr - The
Beam and Mote - Bala.
AFTER breakfasting I demanded my bill. I was curious to see how
little the amount would be, for after what I had heard from the old
barber the preceding evening about the utter ignorance of the
landlady in making a charge, I naturally expected that I should
have next to nothing to pay. When it was brought, however, and the
landlady brought it herself, I could scarcely believe my eyes.
Whether the worthy woman had lately come to a perception of the
folly of undercharging, and had determined to adopt a different
system; whether it was that seeing me the only guest in the house
she had determined to charge for my entertainment what she usually
charged for that of two or three - strange by-the-bye that I should
be the only guest in a house notorious for undercharging - I know
not, but certain it is the amount of the bill was far, far from the
next to nothing which the old barber had led me to suppose I should
have to pay, who perhaps after all had very extravagant ideas with
respect to making out a bill for a Saxon. It was, however, not a
very unconscionable bill, and merely amounted to a trifle more than
I had paid at Beth Gelert for somewhat better entertainment.
Having paid the bill without demur and bidden the landlady
farewell, who displayed the same kind of indifferent bluntness
which she had manifested the day before, I set off in the direction
of the east, intending that my next stage should be Bala. Passing
through a tollgate I found myself in a kind of suburb consisting of
a few cottages. Struck with the neighbouring scenery, I stopped to
observe it. A mighty mountain rises in the north almost abreast of
Festiniog; another towards the east divided into two of unequal
size. Seeing a woman of an interesting countenance seated at the
door of a cottage I pointed to the hill towards the north, and
speaking the Welsh language, inquired its name.
"That hill, sir," said she, "is called Moel Wyn."
Now Moel Wyn signifies the white, bare hill.
"And how do you call those two hills towards the east?"
"We call one, sir, Mynydd Mawr, the other Mynydd Bach."
Now Mynydd Mawr signifies the great mountain and Mynydd Bach the
little one.
"Do any people live in those hills?"
"The men who work the quarries, sir, live in those hills. They and
their wives and their children. No other people."
"Have you any English?"
"I have not, sir. No people who live on this side the talcot
(tollgate) for a long way have any English."
I proceeded on my journey. The country for some way eastward of
Festiniog is very wild and barren, consisting of huge hills without
trees or verdure. About three miles' distance, however, there is a
beautiful valley, which you look down upon from the southern side
of the road, after having surmounted a very steep ascent. This
valley is fresh and green and the lower parts of the hills on its
farther side are, here and there, adorned with groves. At the
eastern end is a deep, dark gorge, or ravine, down which tumbles a
brook in a succession of small cascades. The ravine is close by
the road. The brook after disappearing for a time shows itself
again far down in the valley, and is doubtless one of the
tributaries of the Tan y Bwlch river, perhaps the very same brook
the name of which I could not learn the preceding day in the vale.
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