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ocean with light dancing hearts, as if they too were endowed with human feelings, and participated in the rapture of the motion. Man never appears so truly great, and ought never to be so truly humble, as when contemplating the mighty ocean as we are contemplating it now. The rich music of the eversinging sea is borne to us here ; and the sunny lightness of the ever-laughing waves thrills us with the most exquisite and ineffable pleasure. The birds that are flying and singing above us, the richly feathered insects that are buzzing their short lives out around us, the happy sheep nibbling the grass at our feet; all seem to feel the beneficent influence, and to-day are more joyous than is even their wont. All is lightness, sunshine, glory, and peace. We lie on the soft green carpet of nature's providing, and take in all the splendour of the scene quietly, but not listlessly, repeating the lines of some of the gifted ones who have sung of the sea, the ships, the mountains, and the wonders of the visible world. Such blessed hours and such glorious scenes should be counted, prized, and treasured up as heavenly enjoyments in a world not too full of such for those on whom the burden of life sits not altogether lightly; for they are portions of that eternal bliss which is but rarely given to man in time.

The views from the top of the Great Orme's Head are very grand. We have the Cumberland hills to limit the horizon view; the Isle of Man greets us there; there is Priestholm; then Puffin Island, with its sailor-loved lighthouse ; then the white stone


houses of Beaumaris with its noble bay; further down are those wonders of man's genius, the Tubular and Suspension bridges, spanning the Straits, and connecting land with land by their welcome embraces. There also is Penrhyn Castle, with its fine picturesque position, looking at the rugged heights of Penmaenmaur. Rarely in so limited a range are crowded so many fair and pleasant sights, and the rambler will do well to take his time in gazing upon them.

On the summit of the hill is a telegraphic station. We had a sight through one of the telescopes, and brought one or two distant vessels into view; but nothing was added to the natural grandeur of the scene. The top is covered with clumps of rich gorse, which was in full bloom at the time of our visit. Nor must we still forget to mention one or two objects of special interest, which remain for the antiquarian traveller. There is the Lletty Madog, or the House of Madoc, an old gentleman of doubtful historic fame, but supposed to have been the ancestor of Gladdaeth; and not far from this house is a straight narrow path, with stones on each side, “probably," say the guidebooks, "the remains of two walls, called Gwylfa-yCeirw, a watch-place for deer, as the Welsh name signifies." We dare say that all about this Gladdaeth is very interesting; but we had not time, opportunity, or inclination to pursue such investigations; and satisfied ourselves with a few wild speculations about him and his, as we descended from, which was almost as pleasant as the ascent of, the Great Orme's Head.






A RECENT journey, partly of business and partly of pleasure, having caused us to have a day to spare at Holyhead, we resolved to spend a few hours of it in paying a visit to the celebrated Stack Lighthouse. It was a fine August day, and a rapid ride from Conway soon brought us to Holyhead. Until you pass the famous Britannia Tubular Bridges, the ride is one of extreme interest. From Conway to Bangor the railway runs along the coast, and you have the sea in sight almost the whole of the way. From the carriage you obtain a very fine view of the Orme's Heads, Great and Little, of the noble Conway Bay, and its ruined castle, probably the most perfect ruin in the whole Principality. As you ride along, the sound of the waves, as they roll upon the shore in foaming billows, is distinctly heard above the rattling noise of the train, and the shrieking voice of the engine. For miles its deep monotonous chant accompanies you,a chant so dear to us islanders, dear lovers of the sea as we all are. On we go, past the romantic headland of Penmaenmaur. Then Aber presents itself, whence, if you are so disposed, you may take a pleasant ramble to the wonderful slate quarries which are being worked in the neighbourhood; and which are well worth a visit. The next station is Bangor, at which the passengers who are going to Caernarvon change carriages, and the Holyhead travellers proceed on their journey.

There are not many more beautiful rides than this from Conway to Bangor. On the one side there is the sea with its abutting headlands, dark, white, precipitous, or gently inclining, as the nature of their formations necessitates; occasionally you get a glimpse of a steamer coming from Liverpool to Menai, or making the return passage; then the beautiful white sails of pleasure-boats, dotted about here and there, and gleaming like the wings of some gigantic bird beneath the bright sun; while the sparkling waves go bounding on in their own mighty joyousness, singing ever their great burden of praise. Then whole flights of sea-birds sweeping along on apparently never-wearied wings; now along the bosom of the billows, as if they drew deep delight from the fleeting embrace; and now, high in the air, away they go to some distant home, to which instinct so unerringly guides them. To which attractions is to be added the romantically situated Penrhyn Castle, with its admirably laid-out grounds of woodland and lawn. On the other side are the ever welcome hills, some cultivated to their very tops; and at the time of our visit the golden wheat, the graceful oat, or the manly-bearded barley, was gleaming in happy sunlight from many a hill-side. Others were entirely barren; some, like the slate hills, black as night; others, those composed of


carboniferous limestone, were of a beautiful whiteness, while their fine spar-rocks glimmered and glittered in the sun, a very splendour of light. The passes between the hills were filled with trees, and our imagination pictured with a glow of rapture the glorious rambles which might be had there by those who were awake to their beauty, and capable of obtaining their pleasure in the exercise. Here was a deep ravine between two hills, winding its way in a path of rich greenery; and at the end another green hill towered up, closing the path to all but the adventurous pedestrian who stays not for stream, for wood, or for hill. We were sorely tempted to leave our journey uncompleted, and spend the time still left to us in these alluring scenes. But on went the inexorable train, and we soon left Bangor behind us.

After you leave the delightful scenery of Menai, with its aërially wonderful suspension bridge, and its still more wonderful, though not so delicately beautiful, tubular bridges, there is little that is attractive all the way to Holyhead. As soon as you lose sight of the hills which stretch out to Caernarvon, the road lies, for the most part, through low, barren, and swampy land; for some miles you ride through the finest sand, which the wind has swept up into drifts of every imaginable shape, and sometimes of strange beauty. If the day be at all windy, the fine particles are blown through every crevice of the carriage, and you are in a small way reminded of travels in the desert. Sometimes we could not see through the

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