considerable light on the state of society in Wales, in
the time of the Tudors, a truly deplorable state, as the book is full of
accounts of feuds, petty but desperate skirmishes, and revengeful
murders. To many of the domestic sagas, or histories of ancient
Icelandic families, from the character of the events which it describes
and also from the manner in which it describes them, the "History of the
Gwedir Family," by Sir John Wynne, bears a striking resemblance.

After giving the woman sixpence I left the fall, and proceeded on my way.
I presently crossed a bridge under which ran the river of the fall, and
was soon in a wide valley on each side of which were lofty hills dotted
with wood, and at the top of which stood a mighty mountain, bare and
precipitous, with two paps like those of Pindus opposite Janina, but
somewhat sharper. It was a region of fairy beauty and of wild grandeur.
Meeting an old bleared-eyed farmer I inquired the name of the mountain
and learned that it was called Moel Siabod or Shabod. Shortly after
leaving him, I turned from the road to inspect a monticle which appeared
to me to have something of the appearance of a burial heap. It stood in
a green meadow by the river which ran down the valley on the left.
Whether it was a grave hill or a natural monticle, I will not say; but
standing in the fair meadow, the rivulet murmuring beside it, and the old
mountain looking down upon it, I thought it looked a very meet
resting-place for an old Celtic king.

Turning round the northern side of the mighty Siabod I soon reached the
village of Capel Curig, standing in a valley between two hills, the
easternmost of which is the aforesaid Moel Siabod. Having walked now
twenty miles in a broiling day I thought it high time to take some
refreshment, and inquired the way to the inn. The inn, or rather the
hotel, for it was a very magnificent edifice, stood at the entrance of a
pass leading to Snowdon, on the southern side of the valley, in a totally
different direction from the road leading to Bangor, to which place I was
bound. There I dined in a grand saloon amidst a great deal of
fashionable company, who, probably conceiving from my heated and dusty
appearance that I was some poor fellow travelling on foot from motives of
economy, surveyed me with looks of the most supercilious disdain, which,
however, neither deprived me of my appetite nor operated uncomfortably on
my feelings.

My dinner finished, I pa