Wanderings and excursions in North Wales . otium cum dignitate,—Anglice, a good table, the best wineand attendance, with the best grace imaginable. How it improvesthe flavour of fresh-stream trout, of mountain-mutton, and thepleasures of a siesta and a cigar, beneath the shade of treesbeside the murmuring Glaslyn, it were needless to relate ! The views immediately around Beddgelert, though described bysuccessive travellers as admirably adapted to inspire religiousmeditation, by the bleak sombre character of the mountains,whispering groves, and tumbling waters, were far from producingany simila
Wanderings and excursions in North Wales . otium cum dignitate,—Anglice, a good table, the best wineand attendance, with the best grace imaginable. How it improvesthe flavour of fresh-stream trout, of mountain-mutton, and thepleasures of a siesta and a cigar, beneath the shade of treesbeside the murmuring Glaslyn, it were needless to relate ! The views immediately around Beddgelert, though described bysuccessive travellers as admirably adapted to inspire religiousmeditation, by the bleak sombre character of the mountains,whispering groves, and tumbling waters, were far from producingany similar impression on my mind; in part, perhaps, owing to theconversation of my friend, and a glorious sun-set which threw anenlivening splendour on every object far and near. So little wasI in the mood, that I put off my visit to the faithful Gelertsgrave, and to the little village church, till the ensuing morning,and took my way towards the rude, picturesque looking mill, withits noisy stream and rock-strewn bed. Its modern use and antique. WANDETtfNGS TIIUOUGII NORTH WALES. 151 appearance seem sufficiently at variance; but its lonely site, itsrustic air, the dashing of its waters, with the whole scene aroundand beyond, are such as to arrest the eye of the painter. Thoughmany of the cloud-capped rocks towering above no longer wearthe noble mantle of their patriarchal oaks,—ill exchanged for thedarker hues of the fir,—they give a wildness and grandeur to thepicture, especially when beheld from an eminence above the village,which no eye can behold with indifference. Returning after a quiet evening stroll to the inn,—I oughtrather to say the Beddgelert hotel, for it may vie with the bestin modern taste and true British comfort,—I remarked on myentrance the old Cambrian sign of the Goat, which the rage ofinnovation has yet spared, with its appropriate motto for the neigh-bourhood— Patria mea petra—my country is a rock. While amus-ing myself with conjectures as to its age
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