THE PASSENGERS.

NO. IV.

[Continued from vol. I. p. 485.]

Τίς δὲ νύ τοι νήσων, ποῖον δ' ὄρος εὔαδε πλεῖσον;

Τίς δὲ λιμὴν ; οοίη δὲ πόλις.

CALLIMACHUS

Which now of all islands, what mountain chiefly delighted?
What city, what harbour?

Clanvoy. THE glass rises! if we live, what is there to prevent our being on the top of Wyddva this day? Larndon! Allansley! I have had a conference with old Evan Jones, who has been preengaged by "a gentleman from London," who is going to see Dolwyddelan, under the impression that it is a kind of Windsor castle; and Evan Jones, not the least aware of his high-flown expectations, does nothing to undeceive him.

Larndon. How do you know all this?

Clanvoy. Indeed, I know it very well, and without having recourse to hiding behind the arras, or any other kind of concealment.

Allansley. What are we to do?

Clanvoy. Why, freely to tell you my opinion, I have the greatest respect for Evan Jones, the guide of this inn of Capel Cerig; and would recommend him to any friends of mine, as an intelligent, experienced attendant for a party to take with them up Snowdon: he and I before now have got into rather awkward places in our wanderings; but I know you are fond of a desultory life among the mountains, and so am I. Let us agree to be the creatures of circumstance and the sport of accident.

Allansley. Why didn't you speak to Evan Jones last night? Clanvoy. I inquired for him, but he was not in at the time; and, after all, I am sure you don't wish merely to go the shortest way to the top, and then down again. You may safely put yourselves under my direction; for the fact is, I know the mountain better than any guide. I have been up there alone or in company, during all kinds of weather: I have been buried among the clouds

NO. V.

K

for hours, and have witnessed all their wonderful changes of scenery. Do not, therefore, be afraid of my leading you astray. If a mist falls on you on the flat summit of Mangerton at Killarney, or on the Berwyn, or the moors of Plinlimmon, I should be sorry for you, nothing but the compass can direct you; and if you go south instead of north, you are not likely to get into bed before morning. But there is no flat ground on Snowdon, and every part has a peculiar character; so that, although it is the most intricate of mountains, it is not like the desert, where you may retrace your path, and still think you are advancing. Let us put a few things all together into one bag, and send a boy with it to Llanberris. We can take a chaise from here to the foot of Snowdon, about four miles and a half; and then we shall be fresh for starting, when we reach the place where the footpath leaves the road. The lad, by the by, who takes our luggage, may get somewhere outside of the chaise, and we can send him off when we take to our own feet.

Larndon. Very well: I suppose we may depend upon you for knowing what is best.

Allansley. And we will throw the blame of all accidents upon

you.

Clanvoy. Not unless you put yourselves under my direction; and submit, with blind obedience, to my orders. Of course you are aware, that we must have with us a small supply of some spirit or other, whiskey, or brandy: which will you have?

Allansley. How can you dare to propose whiskey with so grave a face? Do you really suppose I will agree to take any of that abo

mination with me?

Clanvoy. How far prejudice will carry an otherwise well-disposed and moderate man! So you take, in preference to the colourless and pure spirit, not less transparent than the torrent wave with which you mix it, the dark, muddy, porter-coloured beverage, which you dignify with the title of brandy! However, I once thought as you do, so I will not be severe; and if Larndon is for brandy, let us take it, until such time as experience may prove

your error.

Larndon. I say, brandy; because I have a sort of indefinite bad opinion of whiskey, never having tasted it. What is it like?

Clanvoy. Fire and soot, with a slight mixture of brimstone.
Allansley. So I should suppose.

Clanvoy. I was not in earnest.

The chaise was now ordered, and the sandwiches, and usual quantity of brandy, were put into Allansley's pockets, Larndon and Clanvoy being loaded with sketching apparatus. As they proceeded along the Beddgelert road, on their way to the foot of

Snowdon, a change took place in the weather, and the summit of Wyddva became obscured.

On reaching a grey stone that marks the beginning of the horse-path to Llanberris, our three friends alighted; and, after sending on the boy with directions to order beds for them at Closs's, of the Vaenol Arms, a small public-house in the village, they arranged their own incumbrances as well as they could. Larndon had a portfolio, sketching-box, and sketching stool: Clanvoy, two sketchbooks, and a sketching-box. They had now before them a beautiful view into the glen of Cwm Duli; and part of a blue lake (Llyn Gwynant) was in sight, forming the central object of the landscape.

Nothing would now satisfy Larndon, but stopping to make a sketch of this view, on account of its exhibiting "the downward effect" in a peculiar degree, which is always difficult in drawing. So the party seated themselves on various bunches of heath; and Clanvoy, who had already taken it some years ago, did not bring out his pencil on this occasion, but began to pacify the impatience of Allansley, who could hardly keep himself quiet, while the spiteful wind every now and then delayed Larndon's work, by blowing up his paper.

Clanvoy. Never mind, Allansley; why not rest here? why not allow yourself to inhale the spirit of the scene at leisure? Often as I have been here, I gaze upon it again this day with feelings of renewed admiration. If you wish really to enjoy mountain scenery, spend your time in doing so, and it will not be wasted. I really remember, with some gratitude, the exclamation of a tourist who made one of a party that were crossing the Wengern Alp, near Grindelwald: when we arrived opposite the glaciers of the Yungfraw, he cried out, "here I am fixed, at least for three hours!" And although he was no sketcher, yet certainly he did not spend his time unprofitably: nay, his determination influ. enced all of us, and we carried away with us a far clearer notion of that sublime scene, than we could have done without remaining there so long.

Allansley. But then you had arrived at the chief object of your journey, and I am afraid we are losing the finest part of the day.

Clanvoy. No such thing. What o'clock is it? not quite nine. The summit is in clouds, at present; and by delaying on our way there, we are more likely to find it clear: I know, by the glass, that it will not be clouded all day long. Attend, attend, Allansley! for I will try to recollect some Iambic rhymes which describe the scenery that you are now looking at; or, rather, what you will see hereafter. Hah! doubtful man! do you think we can spout the Anapest in rhyme, and shall we shrink from the Greek Iambic?

1

or if we pour forth Iambic trimeters, will you defy us in the proud hexameter?

Welcome, secluded glens! belov'd, well-known vallies!

Where from the bard's loud harp the wild echoes arose;
Where from the secret lake the fierce torrent sallies,
Whose angry wave those mouldering fragments oppose!
Again to my fond eyes the dark mountains appear,
And wafted odours fill yon embroider'd meadows;
While, as the fitful breeze passes leisurely here,

The mazy clouds remove or advance their shadows!
Here, ev'ry moss-grown rock that encumbers the soil,
Reveals a wondrous tale of its Alpine descent;
When from the heights above with uncontroll'd recoil
It rush'd beneath: an awful and hurried event!
( thou solemn vale! I traverse thy wild bowers,

By fancy led, by secret and thoughtful pleasure,
Drawn from departed ages and long-past hours,

And from the pensive heart's everlasting treasure!
In childhood and in youth have I wander'd among

These lonely regions, while around each red summit
The black shadows of thundering clouds darkly hung;
Or pass'd in all their marvellous brightness from it.
Then, then, behold, the half-reveal'd obscurity

That lately brooded o'er the pale mountain-flowers,
Gave way before the splendor and the purity

That sheds a cloudless beam upon feudal towers!

Ilere once the deluge wave, higher still, and higher
Than ev'ry proudest Alp, would unsparingly roll:
And here the raging fierceness of judgment fire

Shall blaze abroad in fury from pole unto pole.
More is to come than that which is past already,
But tho' terrors and earthly vexations abound,
One hope remains, one word, ever true and steady,

Proclaims the path where Wisdom and Love may be found.

Allansley. Go on, Clanvoy, I am not unwilling to hear.

Clanvoy. My song is ended. Would you have me wound your fastidious modern ears any more with so gross a mixture of classical and romantic ingredients? I wonder you can ask it.

Allansley. O, Clanvoy, how can you change your tone so suddenly from the serious to the sarcastic?

Clanvoy. How otherwise can I converse with you on this puzzling subject, I should wish to know? How can I be otherwise than sarcastic, when you turn and waver, and think this and think that, and abuse Gothic, and prefer the Greek orders, and hate classic metre, and patronise modern versification?

Allansley. You know as well as I do, how complex the whole question is.

Clanvoy. Then of course you will encourage a free discussion of it. Larndon. I have done drawing. I'm sure I haven't long delayed you.

Clanvoy. No, indeed, I think you have been very quick. Let me see: fifteen minutes by my watch. Half an hour is a very fair average time for an outline. A quarter of an hour is the shortest that it is worth while to spend on any subject, unless it is very simple and easy. That's a good memorandum of the place, if you can fill it up in the colouring: well done, and quickly done.

Larndon. I should have done it sooner if I had not been attending to your iambics. What rule do you follow in making these odd verses, Clanvoy?

Clanvoy. I wish with all my heart I could explain it to you, for I am not in the least ambitious of keeping it a secret. After a long and laborious investigation of the matter, I at length obtained the power of distinguishing accent in any language from long or short metrical quantity. But, although I have this power and use it on all occasions, I have never yet succeeded in making any one else understand the difference between them. When I mention instances of the difference in English words, (as the pronunciation of a living language cannot be disputed,) they admit each individual fact; yet they are as far as ever from seeing the real difference between accent and quantity. My only resource, therefore, is in practical proof: in showing, as in those iambics, that every verse of them is equal, in syllabic length, to an Alexandrine; yet that, by adopting a certain system, they appear shorter and if I sugar them well with rhyme, I do not utterly despair of persuading even Allansley himself. I do not speak hastily concerning this: I will not assert what I cannot prove. The question is an important one, and, sooner or later, must engage the attention of every scholar. The modern system of confessedly false pronunciation in the classic tongues cannot last for ever.

Now, it seems, the Welsh language contains within itself, not only the Greek, but also the Latin diphthongs a and c in their only true and original breadth of sound; approaching so nearly to that of a i and o i, that some ears hardly recognise the difference.

From this living language, therefore, if those who know it best will pronounce it carefully, we may hope that the cause of true classical pronunciation will derive support. Upon true pronunciation the Greek metres depend for their effect, and it is pedantic to talk about the rules of prosody, when you violate them in almost every word.

Allansley. Clanvoy, whenever I think of Snowdon in future, I shall remember your lecture upon classical pronunciation.

Clanvoy. So much the better. The whole subject, as connected