HOLYHEAD.

To trace a mighty river to its source, has ever been considered a sublime and interesting employment. It is pleasing to ascend its course from the point where it opens into the ocean, and becomes an inlet of wealth to an empire, till we arrive at the spot where it bubbles up a spring just sufficient to irrigate the meadows of a neighbouring farm, and to observe, as it receives the confluence of tributary waters, how it diffuses its benefits to the tribes that dwell upon its banks. Still more engaging is the task to trace the history of flourishing cities and thriving towns. The rise and progress of Holyhead, from an obscure and mean condition to one of increasing prosperity, is full of interest. Its early history appears to have had but little attention, and perhaps deservedly, from the insignificancy of the object. In giving a succinct account of it, the writer finds himself somewhat perplexed, in consequence of the very scanty materials with which he is furnished. The historical guide-stones placed along the march of time are few and far between. There are centuries in which the footprints of its history are scarcely traceable. Roll back the tide of time, and you will find Holyhead a small fishing village, where

When and by whom the Isle of Holyhead was first peopled is involved in obscurity; to us in this age, this part of its history is a profound secret; all that is, therefore, said on that subject must be mere conjecture. Antiquarians and historians have exercised their ingenuity with respect to the origin of the name of the town. On this subject there are various opinions. It was regarded as peculiarly sacred, in consequence of its being the place of interment of pious people, and thence called Holy Island. Some suppose the place was called Holy-head, from the great number of chapels or places of religious worship that were in it. Others assert that its most ancient name was Llan y Gwyddel; and they say that the word Llan probably signifies the Irishman’s beach or shore, and not church, as generally accepted, for the shore is called in this parish, and no where else in Wales, Llan y Mor, instead of Glan y Mor; and in support of this supposition, our histories make frequent mention of the Irish rovers landing here, and of their incursions into several parts of the Island of Mona, or Anglesey, and also raising some rude fortifications to protect their shipping. At the present time there are places near Holyhead called Porth y Gwyddyl, (Irishman’s port); Pentre Gwyddyl, (Irishman’s village, or hamlet); Cytiau’r Gwyddelod, (Irishman’s cottages.)

Again it is conjectured, that Holyhead, like most Welsh towns, dates its origin from an early Saint; and there are also the usual stories of miraculous arrivals, especially as relates to one St. Fraid, (Bride) an Irish Saintess, who, it is said, sailed from Ireland on a sod of green turf, which, on her landing, became a firm hillock, and upon which she built her chapel. And one of the old Bards founds the name of the Island as springing from this mysterious lady, which he chronicles in the following couplet:—

Swift o’er the sea the floating island fled, While glorious rays illum’d her Holy Head.

But its most usual Welsh name is Caer Cybi, (Fort of Cybi,) so called from St. Cybi. History records the following account of this singular and extraordinary personage.—Holyhead was the residence of a British Saint, named Corincus, or Cybi, son of Solomon, Duke of Cornwall; who, it is said, about the middle of the fourth century, after having lived a very religious life for 20 years, went over to France, to Hilary, Bishop of Poictiers; and finding favour with the Bishop, was ordained by him, and officiated as his assistant until the Bishop’s death. He then returned to his native place; but on account of tribulation in the country, and some painful occurrences in the circumstances of his family, he left home again, and arrived at St. David’s, and ultimately crossed over to Ireland; and after residing there four years, returned and settled in Holyhead. A Prince in Anglesey, out of compassion to him, in consequence of his low pecuniary circumstances, gave him a castle, which was in the neighbourhood. Cybi founded a small monastery within the castle walls, and the establishment was called Côr Cybi, in allusion to the monastery, or Caer Cybi, in reference to the castle walls. Mr. Pennant presumes that the name of the town has originated from the castle walls, the remains of which are still to be seen. Mr. Morris says, that Caer Cybi, lived at the time of the dissolution of the Roman Empire in Britain, and was contemporary, and on great friendship with Seiriol, an eminent Saint, of Priestholme, or Ynys Seiriol, (Seiriol’s Island,) near Beaumaris. St. Cybi, observes Tanner, flourished about A.D. 380, and founded a small monastery in Holyhead. In the beginning of the 15th century, the Irish fleet invaded Anglesey; and after committing some depredations, returned to Ireland, taking with them the shrine of St. Cybi, which trophy they deposited among the relics in Christ’s church.

Whether this town took its name from the Irish, who very early resided here,—or from its number of chapels,—or from the interment of the pious,—or from the legend of St. Bride,—or from the Saint who dwelt within its ancient fort,—is surely now of very little consequence.

About A.D. 389, the Irish, under the command of Serigi, (the Rover,) landed in Anglesey; and having defeated the natives, took possession of the Island. On this invasion, Caswallon-Llaw-Hir, (or the longhanded) Prince of Wales, came to the relief of Mona; and having routed the enemy, pursued them to Holyhead, where their fleet lay; here they fought a second battle, in which Caswallon slew Serigi, the Irish commander, with his own hand. It is said that in this action the tribe of Caswallon put the fetters of their horses upon their own legs, by two and two, to shew their determination was,

The few records we have concerning Caswallon-Llaw-Hir, delineate the great man and the hero. He was the eldest son of Einion Yrth, sovereign of North Wales. The Triads record him with Rhiwallon son of Urier, and Belyn, as the chiefs of the three golden-banded tribes. In consequence of the signal bravery of the people of Caswallon, in the great battle of Holyhead, their leader obtained a privilege of wearing the golden bands, which denoted that no other power had jurisdiction there except the voice of the national diet, assembled on extraordinary occasions. After this conquest, a chapel was erected, within the fortification of Holyhead, over Serigi, called Eglwys y Bedd, i.e., the church of the grave. This church was afterwards endowed with distinct revenues from those of the Collegiate Church, as appears by the College leases; it was called in the British manuscript, Capel Llan y Gwyddel, or the Chapel of the Irishman. At length it fell into ruin, and remained disused for ages; and was ultimately removed, in order to render the way to the church more commodious. In digging, the workmen found a stone coffin, or chest, under an arch in the north side of the chancel, with human bones of a prodigious size. Serigi was canonized by his countrymen, and had in this chapel a shrine, which seems to have been held in exceedingly high repute, for several very wonderful qualities and cures; but according to an old Irish chronicle, it was carried off by some Irish rovers, and deposited in the Cathedral of Christ Church, Dublin; from whence, they were removed with many others, after the reformation, to — a place not far from Dublin, where the relics that could be preserved from that universal destruction are still kept.

A religious house is said to have been erected here by Prince Maelgwyn Gwynedd, in the latter part of the 6th century. Maelgwyn Gwynedd endowed the See of Bangor with lands and franchises; he also built or repaired Shrewsbury, and the Castle of Harlech; also the Priory of Penmon; and was the patron of Taliesin, the Post Laureate, and prince of the celebrated Bards. A castle, now in ruins, over against the town of Conway, was originally erected by him; he was contempory with Prince Arthur:—

History says he died of the yellow fever, which then desolated the country, in the church of Llanrhos, which gave rise to an adage,—

The sleep of Maelgwyn in the church of Llanrhos.

Holyhead being a landing place for the enemy, was often the scene of violent encounters, between the Welsh on the one side, and the Irish, Picts, Danes, and Saxons on the other.

In A.D. 914, the men of Dublin destroyed Holyhead and ravaged the Isle of Anglesey.

In A.D. 958, Abloic, King of Ireland, burnt Holyhead, and spoiled the country.

The house for canons regular, called the College, appears to have been founded by Hwfa ap Cynddelw, lord of Llys Llifon, and one of the fifteen tribes of North Wales, a contemporary with Owen Gwynedd, who began his reign in 1137. This college was granted by James I. to Francis Morris, and Francis Phillips. It afterwards became the property of Rice Gwynne, Esq., who, in the year 1640, transferred the tithes to Jesus College, Oxford, for the maintenance of two Scholars, and two Fellows; since that time, the parish has been served by a Curate, nominated by the College. The Rev. Charles Williams, B.D., is the present Incumbent.

The head of this institute, formerly one of the three Spiritual Lords of Anglesey, was usually denominated Penclas, or Pencolas. The Rev. Mr. Evans considers it to have been Pencais, or chief judge in ecclesiastical matters. But from the inscription on the exergue of the ancient seal belonging to the Chapter, “Sigillum Rectoris et capitali Ecclesia de Caer Gybi;” it appears that his customary title was that of Rector. He was styled in a subsequent period Provost; for Edward III. bestowed the Provostship of “his free Chapel, Caer Cybi, on his Chaplain, Thomas de London,” for which the King, in 1351, dispensed with his services to himself. The original number of Canons is uncertain. By an inquisition made in 1553, twelve persons, styled Prependaries, were found on the pension list, receiving an annual allowance of twenty shillings each. Prior to the dissolution, the Provost had an income of thirty-nine marks, (£26); one Chaplain, a stipend of thirteen marks, (£8 13s. 4d.); and two others, each a moiety of the latter sum. The estimate, therefore, made in the time of Henry VIII., of its annual revenue, as amounting to £24, must have been an under valuation.

In 1745, the materials of Capel Llan y Gwyddel, or the Irishman’s Chapel, were used for the purpose of building a Public School, by Edward Wynn, L.L.D., of Bodewryd, in this county, who gave by bond, dated Nov. 25th, 1748, the sum of £120 for the endowment of it; the interest thereof to be paid annually, on the 24th of November, to the Schoolmaster, for teaching six poor boys of the town to read and write.

THE CHURCH

Is a handsome, embattled, cruciform structure, consisting of a chancel, nave, ailes, and transept, with a square tower, surmounted by a low flat kind of spire. The present edifice, exclusive of the chancel, appears to have been rebuilt, in the time of Edward III., and the latter was repaired in the beginning of the last century. The inside of the entrance porch, and the external part of the south end of the transept, are decorated with rude, but curious carvings. On the latter are the figures of a dragon, a man leading a bear, and other grotesque representations. On the pediments and embattlements are cherubic heads; and one or two figures in supplicating posture. The exterior carvings, in consequence of being executed on soft stone, and exposed to the sea, are almost mouldered away; under the porch, however, where sheltered from the weather, they are much more perfect. There is the following inscription, in Gothic characters, on the north side of the Church,—“Sancte Kybi; ora pro nobis.” “During the last century (says the Rev. John Price, in his account of Holyhead) the natives showed the print of Kybi’s foot in a rock by the east end of the chancel, till it was destroyed by the Rev. Mr. Ellis, Fellow of Jesus College, Oxford, then Curate of this place.”

THE CHURCH WALLS

Are considered a very perfect specimen of Roman architecture. The form is parallelogram, about 220 feet long, and about 130 broad; three of its sides consist of massive walls, 6 feet thick, and 17 in height; the fourth is open to the harbour, having only a low parapet laid on the precipitous cliffs. At the north-east angle is a circular bastion tower; and along the walls are two rows of circular holes, four inches in diameter, having the inside smoothly plastered. The cement, mixed with coarse pebbles, is extremely hard, and this, in conjunction with other circumstances, exhibits ancient marks of Roman masonry. The Church, altogether, will repay the time spent in its examination.

Holyhead is a place of great antiquity, situated at the western extremity of Anglesey, upon an island, or more properly a peninsula, which at high water becomes insulated, but still it forms part of the county of Anglesey. It is a seaport, market town, (market on Saturday) and contributory borough. About three miles from the town the Stanley Embankment crosses the sands, and an arm of the sea, connecting the Isle of Holyhead with the main land of Anglesey. This vast embankment is three quarters of a mile in length, and on an average 28 feet in height, with a bridge of one arch 19 feet span, under which the tide, compressed into a narrow compass, ebbs and flows with great force and velocity.

Here ocean rushes from her wide domains, With distant roar salutes the sandy plains; Now slow, serene, the placid currents creep, Then backwards roll terrific to the deep.

Though Holyhead is not of large pretensions, and cannot fairly claim the picturesque scenery of some parts of the Principality, yet its history is pregnant with interest. There is an air of the nautical about the place, and, though near to some of the most uncultivated parts of Wales, it appears to possess an ideality of its own, and one differing materially from that of the surrounding country. It has been but little noticed by some excursionists, who have favoured the public, through the medium of the press, with the result of their wanderings; although they have written largely and excellently on the Principality, they have scarcely thought it worth their notice to pay a passing tribute to this ancient place. Indeed, the Island of Anglesey, which has to be traversed in order to reach it, is flat and uninteresting. This circumstance, has, doubtless, had the effect of deterring many persons from visiting this place, and contemplating the grand marine views around it.

Mr. Walpole, whose splendid work appeared in 1784, makes the following remark on Holyhead:—“The village consists of a straggling confused heap of thatched houses built on rocks.” The Rev. R. Warner, who wrote his interesting and learned work on North Wales, in 1798, merely observes, “The parish of Holyhead reckons a population of about 2000.” Mr. Bingley, in his instructive volume, gives us some half-dozen lines on the place; but Mr. Aiken, and several others have not so much as named it. From what they had heard and read, they concluded that the insignificant village possessed but few events at all worthy of being recorded, and those few not of the most interesting nature. They, therefore, refused

To strike their harps amid the cheerless gloom.

Such was Holyhead a few years ago. At that time there was no harbour for her vessels, but what the rude hand of Nature had formed—no lighthouse streaming in the midnight gloom—no telegraph to announce to distant parties what vessels heaved in sight—no railway train gliding swiftly and smoothly along the iron-road—no joyous excursionists pouring in by thousands, paying their respects to the natives, beneath the shining of a Summer’s sun—no coachman with his sounding horn—no spirit for commercial enterprise—no Bible Society—no Missionary Society—no schools to “teach the young idea how to shoot”—no Saving’s Bank—no Libraries—no Mechanic’s Institute. It could not boast, like other towns, of advance in trade, or commercial prosperity. It had rather to hang its harp upon the willows, and wonder why all the mighty advantages that Nature had lavished on its transcendently lovely Bay, had been so long comparatively overlooked.

The present century rose on Holyhead like a sun in smiles. Her growth to importance has taken place within the last half century; the time of her visitation had dawned, her set time was come; the tide of her future prosperity sprung auspiciously; the sympathies of England were turned towards her—the wealth of England was expended on her—and the experience, science, industry, and enterprise of England were put forth on her behalf. The erection of South Stack Lighthouse in 1808, the commencement of the Pier, with its Harbour, Graving Dock, and Lighthouse in 1810, the Government establishment, and the completion of the great Parliamentary road, gave a commercial impulse to the place, and materially contributed to attract and support a thriving population.

The commencement of the Breakwater, or New Harbour, and the Chester and Holyhead Railway, sounded the tocsin aloud for the advancement of Holyhead; and the advantage was taken by the spirited inhabitants in a manner which did them credit. Within the last four years, in particular, it has rapidly increased in extent and improved in appearance: streets and public edifices, large and well built, seem to have started into existence as by the enchantment of some mighty magician; almost everything is new, and everything wonderfully improved, affording ample accommodation of every kind for the numerous visitors who may do themselves the honour of reposing within its precincts. The town is rapidly rising to that respectability and celebrity to which the salubrity of its air, its rich and varied prospects, by land and sea, so justly entitle it; but like most other places in a transition state, it exhibits a motley mixture of old and new houses. The important conveyances, vehicles to all parts of the country, the railway, and steamers, to and from Ireland daily, bestow on it a charm which it is in vain to look for in any other spot in the Principality.

There are places of worship, exclusive of the parish Church, for Independents, Baptists, Calvinistic and Wesleyan Methodists. There are two Public Schools, conducted respectively upon the National and British plan; and an Infant School, under the auspices of the Independents. The British School was erected in 1848, on land given by the late Lord Stanley, of Alderley, and the Hon. W. O. Stanley, of Penrhos. A Mechanics’ Institute has been established—a new Church and Cemetery are in contemplation—a Gas Company is formed—accommodations for bathing are “looming in the future.” Indeed, although the writer is not a prophet, nor the son of a prophet, yet he will venture to divine that, a few years hence, there will be a convenient Market-place—water will be brought to every roan’s door—gas, one of the greatest desiderata in the march of improvement, will illumine our streets, and other improvements necessary and desirable for the sanitary condition of the town, will follow in the wake, and Holyhead will be raised to that position which she is designed to occupy.

We trust the sun of Holyhead’s hope has at length arisen; may it be the beginning of a bright and prosperous day, not only in a commercial point of view, but in a moral aspect, for with increasing shipping, trade, population, &c., will Christian responsibility increase also; and benevolent efforts to meet the multiplied demand, we trust, will not be found wanting.

POPULATION OF HOLYHEAD.

The parish of Holyhead contained, in 1841, 3,868; in 1851, 8,665; houses, 1,800. The population is now (1853) nearly 9,000, and 1,850 houses.

DISTANCES OF PLACES.

Holyhead is distant from London 263 miles—Chester, 85—Bangor, 25—Britannia Bridge, 23—Beaumaris, 27—Carnarvon, 33—Kingstown (Ireland), 63.

POST OFFICE.

Mr. W. B. Jones, Postmaster.

DELIVERY OF LETTERS.

Letters from London, and all parts of England, arrive every morning at half-past Six. Delivery commences at eight. Letters from Ireland arrive every evening about Six p.m., and are delivered the same evening.

DESPATCH OF LETTERS.

Letters to London, and all parts of England, are despatched at Seven, every evening: Box closes at Six. Letters to Ireland are despatched at One, a.m., and Six, a.m.

AGENTS.

City of Dublin Co.’s Mail Packet Office.—Superintendent—Commander C. Fraser, R.N.

Harbour Master—Lieut. J. Lascelles, R.N.

Admiralty Office—Commander M. Skinner, R.N.

Custom’s Office—Mr. Lennox.

Woods and Forests—J. Provis, Esq., C.E.

Chester and Holyhead Railway Steam Packet Office—Mr. William Storey, Clerk.

Stamp Office—Mr. H. G. Hughes, Druggist, Distributor.

New Harbour Stores’ Keeper—Mr. N. F. Woolmer.

Chester and Holyhead Steam Packet Office.—Superintendent—Capt. Hirst.

BANKS.

North and South Wales Bank, Stanley-street (draws on the London and Westminster Bank)—Mr. Robert Roberts, Manager.

National Provincial Bank (Branch), Boston-street (draws on Hanbury, Taylors, and Lloyd, London)—Mr. Edward Hughes, Manager.

ANCIENT CUSTOMS.—EGG TAKING, FROM THE CLIFFS OF HOLYHEAD.

The eggs of many of the birds named in another page were formerly sought after as delicious food, and considered as a great treat to the epicurean. The price procured for them was a sufficient inducement for the poor to follow the adventurous trade of egg-taking; but in this, as in the pearl fishery on the coasts of Persia, the gains bear no tolerable proportion to the danger incurred. Until the dangerous practice was prohibited, men were employed in collecting them in the following manner. The adventurers having furnished themselves with every necessary implement for the business, while the sun afforded assistance by his beams, entered on the terrific undertaking. Two—for this was a trade in which co-partnership was absolutely necessary—took a station; and he whose turn it happened to be, or whose superior agility rendered it eligible, prepared for the rupestrian expedition. A strong stake was driven into the ground, at some distance from the edge of the cliff, to which a rope, of sufficient length to reach the lowest haunts of the birds, was affixed. Fastening the other end round his middle, taking the coil on his arm, and laying hold with both his hands, he threw himself over the brow of the cliff, placing his feet against its sides, and carefully shifting his hands, he gradually descended till he came to the abode of the birds; then putting his hand into the hole, while suspending himself with the other, he took possession of its contents, carefully placing the eggs in a basket slung at his back for the purpose. Having despoiled all the nests within his extent of rope, he ascended by the same means to the edge of the cliff, where his partner, whose duty hitherto was to guard the stake, crawling on hands and knees, afforded him assistance in doubling the cliff, which otherwise he would be unable to do. Dangerous occupation! A slip of the foot, or the hand, would in an instant be fatal to both. Instances have occurred where the weight of the one overcoming the strength of the other, both have been precipitated down the craggy steep, and their mangled carcases buried in the ocean.

To a stranger and bystander, this occupation appeared more dangerous than it really was; in persons habituated to bodily difficulty, the nervous system became gradually braced, and the solids attained that state of rigidity which banished irritability; while the mind, accustomed to scenes of danger, lost that timidity which frequently led to the dreadful disaster. To the person whose heart palpitates at the near approach to such heights, it must appear a presumptuous venture, and daily instances of its fatality might be expected; but facts demonstrate the contrary, and serve to prove how much we are the creatures of habit, and to what an extent difficulty and danger may be made subordinate to art and perseverance. A sight of this perilous employment would remind the beholder of that fine description—

— How fearful And dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midnight air, Shew scarce so gross as beetles. Half-way down Hangs one who gathers samphire;—dreadful trade.

SHALL I GET MARRIED THIS MONTH?

During the last century a singular custom was observed at Capel Lochwyd, on the celebration of the annual wakes at Holyhead. This joyous festival then continued a fortnight and a day,—commencing the Sunday before the 25th of July, and ending the second Sunday after. On each of the three Sundays of the wakes, all the inhabitants of the town and neighbourhood, old and young, repaired to the chapel, which is situated on a very high part of the mountain, on the west side, close to a cleft, or ravine, that leads down, or rather led down, to the sea shore, (as the pass is now partly obstructed by loose stones); the old to be spectators, and the young, of both sexes that were or thought that they were marriageable, to be actors. On the shore, just above high water-mark, there is a well of most delicious water, called Ffynon (well) of Lochwyd,—having fine gravel at the bottom; and the custom was, for the lasses and lads to take a mouthful of the water, and fill both their hands with the gravel from the bottom of the well, and then endeavour to ascend the ravine (which must at all times have been very difficult,) to the chapel. Whoever succeeded, without spilling a drop of the water or dropping a single pebble, in arriving at the chapel, and casting the water and gravel on the altar, was esteemed certain of being married before the moon had attained its greatest age. The distance between the well and the chapel is about a quarter of a mile; and those who had been unfortunate in either spilling the water or dropping the gravel, were obliged to return; and, to defeat the endeavour of others to ascend, they used all their wit, resorting to grimace and buffoonery to excite laughter in those they met; by which means, very few ever reached the desired goal with the freight they started with from the well. And even, some of those who were successful, I opine, would have another difficulty to grapple with, perhaps greater than that of carrying water and pebbles from the well to the chapel, viz., that of obtaining a suitable “help-mate” in so short a time. As this ceremony took place only on the Sundays of the wakes, it was called “Suliau y Creiriau,” (Sabbaths of the Relics.) The altar disappeared many years ago, and there is scarcely a vestige of the chapel left.

DANCING MATCH.

During the week-days of the wakes at Holyhead, as many musicians were collected together as could be found in and around the town; and one of them played till he was tired, when he was relieved by a fresh one; so that there was music without cessation. To this music twenty young women danced till they were tired; and who ever held out the longest gained the prize of a complete suit of apparel; if it was not decided in one day, the whole twenty commenced again on the following day, and so on to the end of the wakes. This prize, like the “Suliau y Creiriau,” was left sometimes undecided, as the girls would dance till they fainted, rather than acknowledge a defeat. There was an old woman living in this parish in 1826, and who was then nearly a hundred years of age, who, in her youth, assisted in the performance of both the above customs. These barbarous usages were suppressed by a pious Curate of Holyhead, of the name of Ellis, about the year 1748.

HOLYHEAD PIER—OLD HARBOUR.

The first stone of this great national work was laid in the month of August, 1810. The Pier extends from the small island called Ynys Halen, or Salt Island, in an east-south-east direction into the sea; and is about 1000 feet in length. On the south side it is faced with a perpendicular wall of cut stone; near the east end a spur projects 60 feet at right angles with the wall, so as to afford shelter from the east winds. The back of the Pier, or part towards the sea, is on an inclined plane from the top of the parapet, and is built with large rough stones placed edge-ways, as close together as possible, and wedged with smaller ones, so that the sea has no power over it. A morning or evening walk on the parapet, which is used as a promenade, is strongly recommended; it will have a tendency to enliven the spirits, and brace the nerves. On the south side of the Harbour is a fine Graving Dock, admirably constructed, and one of the first in England. The Dock gates are protected by a spur projecting from Turkey Shore to the northward 330 feet, on the east side of the gates. The whole of the above improvements were effected for about £130,000—the Graving Dock about £12,000. Formerly the road to the Pier was through the town; but Government constructed a new road on the margin of the Pool or Basin, which covers an area of fifty or sixty acres, and is filled with water at high tide, but dry at low water.

The anchorage ground outside the Harbour having been so much raked by use that the anchors would not hold, several vessels were in consequence lost. In 1831, a very strong chain of 300 feet in length was laid down across the entrance; so that when a vessel now drags her anchor before the gale, she drives forward until she grapples the chain. This plan has been the means of saving a number of vessels, and none have been on shore since it was adopted. On the Pier there is a large capstan of great power, for the use of the Government Packets and other vessels. Many large ships, by the aid of a plentiful supply of warps, have been brought into the Harbour during heavy gales, evidently snatched from destruction by the prompt assistance thus rendered. A Life Boat reposes on a frame furnished with wheels, in order that it may be moved at an instant’s notice; a gratifying proof that the cause of humanity is not suffered to slumber.

GRAND TRIUMPHAL ARCH.

The Triumphal Arch was erected to commemorate the arrival of His Majesty George IV. On the 7th of August, 1821, His Majesty landed at Holyhead, on his passage to Ireland; an event which forms an epoch in the history of the Principality, and of Anglesey in particular. Upwards of six centuries had elapsed since a British Monarch was seen in Wales; but his Majesty’s visit was under circumstances widely different from those which attended the visit of the first English King. This auspicious day had been anxiously expected by the natives of Holyhead for some time previously; and preparations for His Majesty’s reception had been made with enthusiastic loyalty by every class of people. On the appearance of the Royal Yacht, about half past four in the evening, a signal was made from the top of Holyhead Mountain; but the tide being contrary, and the wind light, the yacht and attendant squadron could not approach the bay until 12 o’clock, when they anchored directly opposite the town, which was immediately illuminated. On the following day, His Majesty landed on the shores of Cambria, and was enthusiastically greeted by the cheers of thousands. The confidence which His Majesty felt in the attachment of the loyal and patriotic Cambro-Britons is strongly evinced in the circumstance, that this was the first time of his being abroad without a military escort. After remaining a short time on the Pier, His Majesty and suite proceeded in three of the Marquis of Anglesey’s carriages to Plas Newydd. On His Majesty’s return to Holyhead, he was received at the entrance of the town with similar attention and marks of respect as were evinced on his landing; and he was conducted to his barge amidst the reiterated cheers of the assembled multitude. The squadron immediately manned their yards, royal salutes were fired, and the town was again illuminated. Being detained in the bay by boisterous weather, the King left the Yacht, and embarked in the Steam Packet Lightning, commanded by the unfortunate Captain Skinner, (see page 21,) and proceeded to the shores of Ireland.

As the visits of Monarchs are “few and far between,” such an event was not to be lightly passed over. A public meeting was held on the 9th of August, and a general subscription was resolved to be entered into, for the purpose of erecting a Triumphal Arch, commemorative of the landing of His Majesty. On Wednesday, the 7th of August, 1822, the foundation stone was laid, with every circumstance that was calculated to produce an impressive effect. On the 6th of August, 1824, this elegant monument of loyalty was opened. It is a chaste and beautiful structure, in the Doric style, formed of Mona marble. It consists of four handsome pillars, twenty feet high, which are placed two on either side of a carriage-way, fourteen feet wide. Outside of the pillars, and of the same height, are two rectangular pillars, twelve feet by three feet six inches, leaving a footpath on each side of the carriage-way of five feet. The whole is surmounted with a bold and projecting cornice, and covered over by three diminishing tiers of masonry, forming a platform. Over the carriage-way, on either side, are empannelled inscriptions, in Welsh and Latin, commemorative of the event.

HOLYHEAD LIGHT-HOUSE.

The Light-house at the end of the Pier is one of the finest pieces of masonry in the kingdom—it is a master-piece of the kind, and is proof against the most violent storms and hurricanes by which it can be assailed. It is built of Moelfre stone, a kind of marble, inside as well as outside, on an inverted arch, and without any other timber than what was necessary for the door cases and window frames. It consists of three stories, or landing places, the ceilings of which are groined, and the gloves are of smooth stone. The floors are of rough polished stones. Its base is six feet above high water mark, and is protected from the sea by a strong glacis. The tower, which is circular, is thirty-three feet in height to the gallery, and the lantern, which is ten feet higher, is lighted with twenty brilliant lights of gas, having reflectors plated with silver, and displaying a strong white light in every direction, which being at an elevation of fifty feet above the level of the sea, affords a safe guide to vessels approaching the Harbour. There is a lamp, with reflector, placed opposite an aperture, twenty feet below the lantern, shewing a red light. This is not seen by vessels until they have cleared all rocks outside, when it at once appears, and the vessel alters her course, and runs for the Pier-head with confidence. In thick weather the packets are guided by signal guns and bells, which are so well arranged that sometimes the Pier Light-house has been the first object seen after crossing the channel from Ireland.

MONUMENT TO CAPTAIN SKINNER.

This gallant officer, formerly commander of a post-office packet on the Holyhead station, lost his life, in 1833, by being washed overboard in an almost unaccountable manner, while standing on his own vessel speaking to one of his sailors, who was carried away by the same wave with his captain, and both ultimately disappeared. It is said the weather was not very boisterous, and that the accident was one of the most extraordinary ever known in the annals of naval experience.

The obelisk monument, erected by public subscription, to the memory of the estimable and noble-spirited officer, is now to be seen on the rocks south of the harbour. He was generally respected, and his loss greatly regretted by his numerous friends. Surely no one can visit this generous, humane, and affecting tribute of regard, without reflecting on the solemn and sudden visitations of an inscrutable Providence, as exemplified in the untimely end of the brave and benevolent Capt. Skinner.

THE CAPTAIN’S GRAVE.

No sculptured slab of marble rare The Captain’s grave discloses; No flattering strain of praise records Where his pale corse reposes; No weeping kindred o’er his bier With praises laud the brave; No floweret gemmed with memory’s tear Proclaims the Captain’s grave.

Wrapped in a shroud of pale sea flowers, Deep in a rocky grot, The clay-cold form lies silently, Where man disturbeth not. No solemn train of funeral pomp, He died as died the brave; The fond hope of a hardy crew Rests calm below the wave.

SKERRIES LIGHT-HOUSE.

The Skerries are a group of bare or half covered rocks, eight or ten in number, about nine miles from Holyhead, and two miles from the northern extremity of the Isle of Anglesey. It is called in Welsh, Ynys y Moelrhoniaid, or the Isle of Seals, from the great number of seals seen about it. It is inhabited by a few poor sheep, and a numerous colony of rabbits. The length of the Island is about a quarter of a mile; it is greatly indented at the sides, and at high water is even divided into a number of smaller insulated rocks. In fine weather it has a most dreary appearance, and in high winds the breaking of the sea against its rugged base, and the immense clouds of foam which darken the air, render the ocean inexpressibly awful and terrific. A bay light, to mark the situation of a cluster of dangerous rocks at the north entrance of Holyhead, was first placed here in 1730, for the convenience of ships navigating between the ports of Liverpool, Bristol, and Ireland. The present Light-house was erected, and the first oil-light exhibited, in 1804. Before that time coals were used, of which a great fire was kept burning in the conical grate, which appears on the summit of the front peak of the rock. The light from this beacon may be seen 25 or 30 miles off, and is of infinite service to navigation; for, prior to its erection, scarce a winter passed here without shipwrecks, and nearly always accompanied with loss of lives, for the surge beats against it with incredible fury. Fish sport about the sides of this island in amazing multitudes; they are principally the colefish, the whiting, pollocks, and the cod-fish. The beautiful corasses, &c., are caught here. Puffins resort to this place in great plenty; they come in a surprising manner, all in a flock in one night, and, when their season arrives, depart in the same manner. Those who love the bold and awful rather than the calm scenes of nature, will do well to visit this island.

SOUTH STACK—BY LAND.

On South Stack rock what glories feast our eyes, Entrance our senses and our souls surprise! To paint each scene no colours can be found, Romantic beauties crowd the enchanted ground.

South Stack may be visited either by land or water; cars and boats may be hired at a moderate charge. The way by land is the mountain road, as far as a farm called Glan yr Afon, (river side) and then across the mountain to the heights directly opposite.

THE LIGHT-HOUSE

Is erected on an island, or rather the summit of an isolated rock, from which it takes its name, situated at the south west point of Holyhead mountain, and about four miles from the town. This splendid structure was commenced in the month of August, 1808; and the light was first exhibited on the night of the 9th of February, 1809, and is of essential service in facilitating the access to the Holyhead Harbour. It was built at the sole expense of the Corporation of Trinity House, London. The light is a revolving one, displaying a full-faced light every two minutes, which, in clear weather, is distinctly visible at a distance of ten leagues. The frame that is attached to the pivot on which the Argand lamps is fixed is triangular, having seven brilliant lamps and powerful reflectors on each side or face. The different lamps which illuminate by night have behind them large brass reflectors, lined with silver, and kept in a state of unsullied brilliance. The angles of the triangle, being all acute, the light cannot be seen when any of them points towards an object which is more than a league distant. This affords to mariners the means of distinguishing it from the Skerries Light, distant from the South Stack about nine miles. A moveable red light is also placed for the use of the government packets.

The elevation of the summit of the rock on which the Lighthouse is erected, is 140 feet above the level of the sea at high water mark; the height of the tower, from the base to the gallery, is 60 feet, and the lantern is 12 feet from the gallery, making the total elevation of the light 212 feet above high water mark, and is visible over the whole of Carnarvon Bay. The whole of this establishment was under the able superintendence of Captain H. Evans, who first pointed out the necessity of erecting a light on this spot, and whose name is imperishably connected with Holyhead and its vicinity.

From the summit of the cliff, from which the island and Lighthouse appear but diminutive objects, a zig-zag flight of steps, 365 in number, (as many steps as there are days in the year) are cut in the side of the mountain, secured by a parapet, so as to afford an easy descent to the nearest part of the rock on a level with the island. The descent to the suspension bridge, which spans the sound below, affords a variety of interesting views. Each winding in the face of the rock gives a change of scenery terrific and sublime. In the summer months the sea-fowl are very numerous, thousands will be seen hovering round the huge rocks and caverns of which the coast is composed, and contribute much to impress the minds of visitors with a due sense of the grandeur and sublimity of the scene. After a few turnings, and expressions of surprise, in reference to the romantic scenery, the numerous birds wheeling in every direction, and their plaintive cry—the bridge will be attained. Once upon a time, before the suspended bridge was there, ferry-boats made an occasional passage to the Light-house, but the rough seas caused by the strong tides, about the Head, rendered the communication by boat very precarious. In order to obviate the danger, a passage was contrived by means of two ropes thrown across the gulf, along which the individual was drawn in a box or cradle, five feet in length, by the assistance of pullies affixed at each end, his body hanging down, and the bellowing ocean raging below to swallow him, if the tackling did not hold him secure. This plan was superseded by a bridge of ropes, which was used some years after, and although considered perfectly safe and convenient, was by no means agreeable to the affrighted Tourist, but it seldom happened that it became an obstacle in the way of those who wished to visit the Light-house. The present Suspension Bridge which connects the South Stack rock with the Head, was formed in 1827. It is over a chasm 110 feet in width, and built on the same principle as the Menai Bridge, two chain cables passing across, firmly fixed in the rocks on either side, and carried over two massive stone pillars erected for the purpose. The chain supports the platform of timber five feet wide, and 70 feet above high-water mark. The crossing of the bridge to some will be a little trying to the nerves. The thunders of the rolling flood below are enough to make the heart tremble, particularly when the wind blows briskly. The fairer portion of visitors, in virtue of the balloon-like construction of their attire, will more particularly court the notice of rude Boreas, and ere they can successfully battle with this bold and ungallant deity, they must exercise their ingenuity, and reef sails as well as circumstances will admit; they then, as boldly as any lord of the creation, face the warring element, and arrive safely upon the opposite crag.

Having reached the Light-house, and ascended its steep and rocky stairs, the steps of which number 80, you may gaze, from the summit, on the wilderness of waters around; observe the myriads of gulls and guillemots, standing on the edge of the rocks, or flying about in all directions; see the Telegraph, and gaze upon the ever-varying ocean, enlivened by numerous vessels passing up or down the channel. On returning, a little exertion will be required to scale the towering acclivity, but the labour is not felt between the bracing effects of the atmosphere, and the excitement. An occasional moment’s pause, for breathing purposes, will afford the visitor a fine opportunity for inhaling the balmy and invigorating air; and I would advise the visitor to draw long breaths for the pleasure of it.

Previous to the erection of this Light-house, scores of vessels had, from time to time, been on shore at the back of the Head, in many of which instances all on board had perished; but since its erection it has been the means of saving from destruction several valuable lives, and many hundred thousand pounds’ worth of property.

SOUTH STACK—BY WATER.

Rocks, Which raise their crested heads into the clouds, Piled in sublimity, create a scene More grand, more soothing to the pensive soul Than Rome with all its splendour.

Almost at all hours of the day the service of steady and experienced watermen may be engaged at the Harbour. The little pinnace, with its white sail, will soon be ready to convey you on your cruise. I scarcely need remark, that in order to enjoy the trip, the atmosphere must be clear and the weather calm. The Tourists having taken their seats in their snug boat, will no sooner have given the well-known signal, “all right,” than the stout seamen will take to their oars, with long and strong pulls, and in a few minutes they will find themselves smoothly gliding on the crystal flood, across the beautiful and spacious Bay; and should the boatmen be in merry mood, they may enliven the scene by singing

MY NATIVE BAY.

On the left is the New Harbour, to the right the Skerries Light-house, before you St. George’s Channel. As you draw near the rocks you gain a full and varied view of the scene. In wildness and grandeur of aspect no place, assuredly, can surpass this portion of the Anglesey coast. Here nature exhibits her rude outline in the most sublime and magnificent scenery.

Let us go round, And let the sail be slack, the course be slow, That at our leisure, as we coast along, We may contemplate, and from every scene Receive its influence.

As you advance, the grand promontory, with its towering precipitous cliffs—its crags, fretted by decay and storm—its magnificent caverned rocks, and bleak indented sides, appear to the utmost advantage. The effect, as you draw nearer and nearer within the verge of these tremendous caverns, is truly appalling; at last, when you come under the black shadows of the super-ambient rocks, and approach the dismal chasms, and hear the wild plaintive cry of the sea-birds, wheeling above your heads, it is impossible not to feel sensations equally unexpected and solemn. Grand receding arches of different shapes, supported by gigantic pillars of rock, formed by the incessant action of the waves, which, in stormy weather, roll with terrific violence against this high rocky coast, and exhibit a strange magnificence—a wild and savage beauty, mingle with a dread repose which continues to haunt the imagination even after quitting the scene. The singular and fantastic shapes and positions of these rocky formations, either primitive or time-worn, pinnacled or projecting, running off in bold escapement, or shelving into sheet-like floors of granite—sometimes yawning in chasms too deep for the light of summer’s sun to reach, or rounded into Amphitheatres that might have formed the council hall of a race of giants, gleaming in the hues of grey, green, and purple, lying in ribbon streaks, or mingled in rich combination—all, all, lies immediately before you. The largest of these caverns is peculiarly worth attention; it has received the vulgar appellation of the Parliament House, from the frequent visits of water parties to see this wonderful cavern; it being only accessible by boats, and that at half ebb-tide. It is entered through a noble arch about 70 feet high, and consists of a series of receding arches, supported by massive and lofty pillars of rock, displaying an interior of picturesque and sublime grandeur. It is a magnificent instance of the effects of the sea, in producing beautiful or fantastic forms from the soluble parts of stratified rocks, more especially where calcareous substances are prevalent in their composition. Not far from this cavern the face edges to the sea slightly divided, resembling a facade of slender columns, descending from an elevation of 250 feet perpendicular to the sea. The whole promontory is chloride schist, in strata of about six feet. Seated among these rocks, or whirling in circles above and around you, are various sea-fowls which seek these solitary abodes. You cannot look upon them without an interest seldom inspired by the tamer species; whether curlews, gulls, razorbills, guillimots, cormorants, or herons, there is something wild and eccentric in their habits and appearance, which produces ideas of solitude and freedom; for we feel that they are not our slaves, but commoners of nature. Occasionally may be seen on one of the loftiest rocks a peregrine falcon, in high repute when falconry was in fashion—one of those feudal warriors who has survived his fame, no longer the companion of courts and courtly halls.

Indeed, there are few objects more interesting than the appearance of the South Stack, when approaching it by water—the Light-house towering, 212 feet above the level of the sea—the sound of life and industry—mingled with the lashing of the sea, and the cry of innumerable birds, are altogether of so unwonted a character, that if you were transported to the antipodes you would not feel more unfeigned surprise.

“The traveller,” (observes Dr. Stanley, late Bishop of Norwich) “by day, in his passage up or down the Channel, near the eastern shores, must have observed a white tower, posted like a sentinel, on the brow of a low hammock, apparently forming a projecting ledge from the seaward base of Caer Gybi, or the Mountain of Holyhead. On approaching still nearer, he will perceive that this hammock, is, in fact, an island, torn from the main mass, but connected therewith by a link, at a distance resembling the gauze-work of a gossamer, which in its fall, had accidentally caught upon the corresponding projections of the disjointed rocks. Let him look a little longer, and he will now and then detect minute objects to and fro, and come to the obvious conclusion that this aerial pathway is neither more nor less than a connecting ladder of accommodation formed by the hand of man. The speck by night, the white tower by day, with its hammock and fairy bridge, comprise what is called South Stack, and, taken together it forms a prominent feature in the bold, romantic scenery of this iron-bound coast, and combines so many objects worthy of notice, natural and artificial, that be the observer what he may, poet, philosopher, or naturalist, he will find wherewithal to excite his curiosity, and reward his labour, in visiting a spot which has not many rivals in its kind in the wide world.”

The Tourist by this time will be convinced that the description given in these pages is not over-coloured, not chimerical; for I am fully persuaded, that no one can visit this magnificent scenery without wishing for a vocabulary varied and rich as the Alpine aspect before him; but language supplies no expressions that could paint the effect of the whole assemblage upon his mind. A painter might here use his pencil with effect, and a poet indulge himself in his sublimities. But what are high and impending rocks—what are the giant heavings of an angry ocean—and what the proudest summit of the Andes, when placed in the scale of such interminable vastness as the creating, balancing, and peopling of innumerable globes? In contemplating systems so infinite, who can forbear exclaiming—What a mole-hill is our earth, and how insignificant are we who creep so proudly on her surface.

SOUTH STACK SEA-BIRDS.

Though but a small number amongst the many who direct their steps to South Stack may have turned their attention to ornithology, yet none visit this romantic spot without expressing their unqualified admiration in reference to the thousands of sea-birds which perform their rapid circumlocutions in every direction, filling the air with their shrill screaming voices. Presuming, therefore, that a few remarks on the natural history of these aquatic tribes may not be deemed uninteresting, we give the following information concerning some of them.

We would, however, first observe, that we cannot complain of want of music on the sea-shore, for wind and wave make there a constant melody; but we rarely listen, when near the sea, to the voice of a singing-bird; such birds are uttering their joy far away over the corn fields, or among the leafy boughs of the deep green woodland, or in the stillness of the meadow, or among the water sedges. But if the voices of our sea-birds are not in themselves musical, they please us by their association with the rude and wild scenes around us, and by their fitness for their haunts. Of little use to the sea-bird would be the sweet clear tones of the nightingale or the lark. Loud as they seem to us when uttered amid the stillness of the country, they would hardly be heard over the sea, and would be of small service as a language to the winged creatures whose homes are rocky precipices, ever dashed against by loud-sounding waves. To these the screaming hoarse voices of the sea-gulls are far better attuned, and these are indeed the only utterances which could avail them amidst the storm.

Nor is this powerful voice of the sea-bird the only fitness for its haunts which is presented to our minds as we look and listen. Besides that it possesses, in common with all birds, that wonderful power of vision, without which it could neither direct its flight with safety, nor gain any idea of distance or motion, it has immense strength of wing; and such species as the sea-gulls, which are destined to live on water rather than land, have small legs and feet; while such as are made like the curlew, to roam the marshes, have long legs, adapted for walking and wading in among them.

SEA GULLS.

No bird is better known, on most parts of our coast, than the common gull, which is in some places called the winter-mew. Active and restless as it may seem on the wing, it has, when in repose, little that would remind us of the frequent comparison, “blithe as a bird.” We sometimes see it in gardens near the coast, with clipped wings, wandering in solitude over the paths with dejected and melancholy air, as if pining for its native sea and its companions. When free, its manners seem almost agitated as it darts eagerly on its prey, swallowing it so impetuously that it sometimes seizes the hook and bait which the fisherman has put out to take the fish, and thus wounds itself and becomes a captive. Buffon calls the clamorous and voracious gulls the vultures of the sea; they not only feed on fish, molluscous and other living animals, but seize on dead and putrid matter of every description, either floating on the waters or spread on the shore. Gulls do not dive into the water for food, but they dip now and then to seize it. They have been found by voyagers in all latitudes, and are very numerous in northern regions, where the carcases of whales and of large fish offer them an abundant store of nourishment. Hard and tough as their flesh is, yet it may be eaten; and the eggs, which are placed in large nests made of grass and sea-weeds, are very good. The gull comes to South Stack in April or May, and leaves in September.

THE GUILLEMOT.

Much of that loud, wild screaming which resounds among the cliffs, and which sometimes rises shrill and hoarse, even above the wildest roar of the sea, is made by some of those birds which look like the diver, and which can also both swim and dive exceedingly well. The common guillemot is commonly called the foolish guillemot, or foolish Willie, or wild Willie; though why it should be deemed inferior to other sea-birds in sense is not very apparent, as it seems to surpass many of them in this respect. It may be that when on shore the bird has an awkward appearance, as the legs are placed so far back beneath the body that they walk badly, and their wings are so short and narrow that they can scarcely flutter. Let our bird, however, but get upon the face of the waters, and we shall see it swim with grace and ease, while the very position of its legs, which renders it a bad walker, is suited to facilitate its diving. It dives very low, and the wings aid its progress as it rises to the surface when some tempting fish, or marine insect, induces it to urge onwards with great rapidity. It is by means of these short wings, too, that the guillemots clear the projecting ledges of rocks and cliffs, and jump from point to point, till they reach those high, and to us inaccessible, spots where they often build. Its single egg is placed on the bare rock. The guillemot visits South Stack about the month of April, and by the month of September, both old and young, leave the rocks, and make their dwellings, both by night and by day, on that wide world of waters for which they are so admirably fitted.

Amidst the flashing and feathery foam The common guillemot finds a home; A home, if such a place can be For her who lives on the wide, wide sea.

The migratory movement of birds may be regarded as one of the most wonderful impulses possessed by animals, and it supplies an apt illustration of the Prophet’s view, when he reproached the chosen nation of God for their neglect of appointed duty. “Yea, the stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed time; and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow, observe the time of their coming: but my people know not the judgment of the Lord.”—Jer. viii. 7.

REFLECTIONS ON THE THREE LIGHT-HOUSES.

Light-houses, beacons, warning-bells, and the like, are among the most indispensable adjuncts of maritime conveyance; without them, indeed, it would be utterly impossible to conduct it with anything like regularity or safety; and if there be one thing more than another that has given me pleasure while writing these pages, it is that of recording three light-houses (viz., South Stack, Skerries, and Holyhead) connected with the thriving Port of Holyhead. If it would not be deemed too figurative and fanciful, I should denominate these light-houses—BRILLIANT EYES LOOKING OUT FOR THE RETURN OF THE WEATHER-BEATEN SONS OF THE OCEAN. What vast improvements have been made in this, as well as in other departments of nautical affairs! Humanity, as well as interest, led to the adoption of light-houses, both as beacons and guides; and it speaks well for the sympathy and benevolence of Britons that there are on and about the British coasts upwards of 200 light-houses, which are classed as “harbour lights” and “general lights.”

The first attempts were rude; common fires, first of wood, and then of coals, were originally used to furnish light. A coal fire was employed for this purpose in the Isle of Man for 180 years (as late as the year 1816). Tallow candles succeeded;—candles fastened on wooden rods were burnt in the Eddystone light-house for 40 years after it was completed by Smeaton; then came lamps with twisted cotton wicks. The glimmering lamps of by-gone days have disappeared, and are superseded by Argand lamps, with lenses and reflecting prisms. The hand of science has extinguished the faint splendours of the last century, and lighted up midnight suns, fixing them in their furbished orbits, on elegant structures, high in aerial heaven, whose reflected rays mingle together, so as to form one concentrated blaze of light, intense and beautiful, illuminating and adorning the shore and rock.

One of the most remarkable light-houses in England is the Eddystone, erected on a solitary rock, opposite the coast of Plymouth: it has withstood many a terrific tempest, and appears likely to stand firm amid the elemental wars for years to come. Not unfrequently, at the mouth of harbours, as at Harwich, two light-houses are erected, one more elevated than the other; one to guide the vessels in their approach to the coast, and the other to direct them in their entrance to the harbour.

Not far from the room where I am now writing, break the waves of St. George’s Channel. I hear the roar—it is, indeed, a stormy night—wild blows the wind,—

I think of the mariner tossed on the billow, Afar from the home of his childhood and youth; No mother to watch o’er his sleep-broken pillow, No father to counsel—no sister to soothe! [33]

A tide of joy rises in my soul at the thought that, close to my own door, I can gaze upon two light-houses, one of which is, mid the foaming deep, presenting a brilliant point of light—a distinct and striking object—though some nine miles of waters are rolling between us. It is the Skerries Light-house. I love to look at it. Its constancy and fixedness interest me. No sooner are the last rays of the sun retiring from land and sea, than the watchful keeper hastens to kindle the beacon. If to the midnight hour I protract my musings, and cast a glance upon the sea, there shines the light. If long before the dawn of day I have arisen to my labours, there it still shines. The week, the month, the year rolls round, and there is no failure. What deeply interesting facts are announced by that brilliant light; it is as if an angel of mercy, with a voice of thunder, stood and announced what part it was of a dangerous coast to which the mariner was most contiguous, and in which direction he must look for shoal and breaker. He is kindly told when there is peril, and when safety. There is language in that radiance which streams far forth upon the dark, deep sea. Facts of highest moment are announced by it. The whole surrounding region of shore and sea is suggested to the sailor by that welcome light. There it stands—a beacon against danger, and a guide to the desired haven. For the erection and maintenance of light-houses, a rate is levied on all vessels passing them within certain limits, this rate varying from one farthing to one penny per ton for each light so passed.

Let the reader picture to himself the advantage of light-houses, when the storm is up—when the bright beacons send forth their refulgent beams through the blackness of tempest, on the dark winter night. Who can say how many mariners owe their lives to their friendly warnings. The vessels that are wrecked through want of light-houses are recorded; but there is no record of the greater number which, no doubt, light-houses have saved. Melancholy indeed would be the consequences were all the lighthouses to be extinguished. What would become of our ships and our sailors? How dreary a scene would be presented,—the hope of the sailor would be wrecked, and dismal despair would sit on the countenances of the navigators of the sea. The swift ship approaches—the mariner looks for the friendly beacon; but it is gone! There is no voice to announce the presence of peril, and, for want of it, the noble vessel strikes the rock, and all the horrors of shipwreck ensue. Shine on, thou brilliant beacon of the perilous path of the mariner! Thou canst not rival the bright luminary of the sky, but a noble office canst thou do for seafaring men.

I love the light that streams afar to save The storm-tossed seaman from the ’whelming wave; The ocean-beacon and the river-ranger, That lures from evil, and that warns from danger.

A STROLL TO THE MOUNTAIN TELEGRAPH.

Placed on this mount, what various views delight The ravished soul, and captivate the sight! Lo! yonder mountains high o’er mountains rise, Each higher than the last, the highest strike the skies.

The beauty of rural scenery has engaged the attention and been the theme of the poet and novelist under every clime and in every nation, from the arctic regions of the North to the burning tropics of the South. It arouses the slumbering energies of the mind, pours delight into the heart, and beguiles the languishing understanding by its smiling, soothing, refreshing loveliness, and wonderful effect. Where is there a man so callous who has not felt the vivifying influence of nature, when the summer’s sun in his meridian glory shoots abroad his dazzling rays over many a fair and beautiful prospect, animating everything with the warmth of his genial fire. The view is not bounded by tall houses and slooping roofs, between which we can only get a bird’s eye view of a narrow strip of sky, but we see across the fields, and meadows, and landscape, for many miles, to a distant horizon, where sky, and earth, and sea seem to meet, strongly reminding one of the following poetic dash:—

God made the country, and man made the town.

In tracing the beauties of old Cambria through its length and breadth, but few spots have given a more pleasing idea of its graces than those seen from the summit of Holyhead Mountain, which is nearly 800 feet above the level of the sea. Though it cannot boast of the wonders of the untrodden glaciers of Switzerland, the mighty Alps, the stupendous Andes, and the Himalaya of other hemispheres, still the mountain partakes sufficiently of the magnitude to impress the beholder with feelings of awe and admiration. If not on the largest scale, it can yet boast almost every variety of the noblest characteristics of mountain scenery, even to the terrible. Let the visitor make up his mind

To face the breeze and catch its sweetness.

Let him, pointing to the pomp of mountain summit, inspire his companions in travel by exclaiming

Now for our mountain sport—up yon hill.

The stroll, which is only from two to three miles, will be most delightful. On reaching the base of the mountain, I may just remind you, that

To climb steep hills requires slow pace at first.

If you are a lover of nature many objects will attract your attention, and beguile your moments, as you ascend higher and higher. Do you take a pleasure in Botany? There are the shrub, bush, diversified flowers, and rare plants, emitting a reviving fragrance; and there is not

A plant, a leaf, a blossom, but contains A folio volume. You may read, and read, And read again, and still find something new.

Do you delight in the study of Ornithology? There is the lark soaring high, and pouring forth his lovely notes, and other songsters of the feathered tribes in varied music warbling their wildest notes; and it is hardly an unnatural suggestion, that a new laid egg has cleared the rejoicing throat of the cuckoo that is loudly exulting. Has Entomology any attractions for you? There is the humble-bee pursuing his busy course, too happy to keep his joy to himself, humming aloud while on the wing; but suspending his monotonous song, if song it may be called, the moment he alights upon a flower.—The butterfly of no common kind fluttering up and down the air with his companion, banquetting on pleasure in the sunny beams, enjoying its fourth state of existence. Stand and gaze for a moment on that pretty rainbow-tinted creature; and as you look, consider the different grades of its existence,—metamorphosis to its final transformation,—the egg of the butterfly has one life, and the caterpillar which springs from it has another, and the chrysalis into which the caterpillar changes has a third, and the gay butterfly which rises from the chrysalis has a fourth;—then there is the gossamer spider, which has just covered the bush with its webs in every direction, and while spangling with dew, and trembling in the breeze, they glitter in the sun-light like some silver tissue woven with gems; and unnumbered species of insects, of peculiar kind, may be seen buzzing and flying, creeping and jumping, above, around, beneath;—

And each, within its little bulk, contains A heart, which drives the torrents through its veins; Muscles to move its limbs aright; a brain And nerves disposed for pleasure and for pain: Eyes to distinguish; sense whereby they know What’s good or bad; is, or is not, its foe.

Is the tourist a Geologist? Here are unnumbered stones, of different sizes, shapes, and colours, which Nature appears to have thrown up in one of her wildest freaks.—Is he an Antiquarian? If he will follow the path chalked out in these pages, he will find materials which will furnish him with an intellectual repast, before he leaves the mountain. But more of this anon.

What are these mast-like things just a-head, peeping over the mountain’s brow? A few more steps, enquiring traveller, and they will answer for themselves. Another minute, and you will reach the breathing point. The panoramic view that suddenly opens, after gaining the eminence, baffles all description. You will feel a thrill of pleasure as you stand and gaze on the majestic ocean, ruffled by the breeze, giving back the sun-beam from ten thousand glittering waves, rolling clear and deep, carrying on her liquid bosom her rich and varied burdens. While, however, you form a Pic Nic for a few minutes, I will amuse you with the following apposite poetic effusion:—

THE TOURIST’S PIC NIC.

Now welcome May comes brightly in, With sunny shower and azure sky; Come, quit the city’s dust and din Ere yet the season’s freshness fly. This is a spot of ancient turf, The grass is purely fresh and green; Just within hearing of the surf: Few lovelier spots than this, I ween, Both land and sea in prospect fair, Well have a merry Pic Nic here.

Come woo we nature’s loveliness, Her landscapes fair, her scenes sublime, While young and lightsome footsteps press Fresh odours from the mountain thyme. ’Tis good to be where old and young In social happiness are met, And every heart to mirth is strung, As if life’s sunshine ne’er would set. The younger folk shall dance and sing, The older chat of bye-gone times; Or poet of the party bring The tribute of some idle rhymes. Let every one dismiss dull care And have a happy Pic Nic here.

THE SIGNAL OR SEMAPHORIC TELEGRAPH.

This is a most ingenious invention, for the purpose of carrying on a communication with distant persons. The line of Telegraphs, or stations (eleven in number), was established by the Trustees of the Liverpool Docks; they extend along the coast as far as Liverpool, and are fixed on commanding heights, at an average distance of a little less than eight miles apart. A constant look-out is kept during the day at each of these stations. The rapidity with which a communication is made from Holyhead mountain to Liverpool, a distance of about 80 miles, is truly astonishing. A question is sometimes asked at Liverpool, and an answer received from Holyhead in less than a minute,—on some occasions in 30 seconds. The ordinary intelligence of what ships are in sight, &c., is generally conveyed in 5 minutes. The Telegraph consists of two vertical columns. Each of these columns is provided with two pairs of arms, moveable on pivots, at a sufficient distance from each other to prevent any confusion in the working. There are thus eight arms, which, when out of operation or indicating a cipher, or the ciphers required in expressing hundreds and thousands, are invisible within the mast. Each arm is capable of three points of elevation, and is worked from below by means of chains hitched on to levers of a peculiar construction. Any number, from 1 to 9, is indicated by one or both of the arms being pointed obliquely or horizontally. This arrangement of motion is applicable to each of the four pairs of arms; but otherwise, each has a different arithmetical power, indicating units, tens, hundreds, thousands; so that the four powers in combination are capable of exhibiting every number from 1 to 9,999; but in order to extend the number still further, each mast is provided with an indicator, or board, working vertically on its summit; these indicators, when not in operation, being invisible. By this means four series of numbers, from 1 to 9,999, may be obtained, the telegraphic powers being extended to 39,996 signals. Contiguous to this telegraph is one of older date, connected with the Holyhead Harbour.

THE EXTENSIVE PROSPECT FROM THE MOUNTAIN TELEGRAPH.

By the aid of the excellent telescopes of the Telegraph, all the more distant objects of attraction can be seen, and with a singular mellowness. The South Stack Light-house is brought so near, although about two miles off, as to make the individuality of persons in the lantern (previously known) easily and amusingly recognisable. Should the sky be unclouded and the weather propitious, the natural scenery that presents itself will be surpassingly grand. The view of the vast Snowdonian amphitheatre of mountains—

So shadowy, so sublime,

breaks like magic upon the eye, extending in one connected Alpine chain from the Irish Sea to the Bristol Channel, the contour of which is varied, at irregular intervals, by the numerous diversified peaks towering above the rest, till they gradually advance to the summit of Snowdon, and then uniformly declining, till they terminate in the North horn of Cardigan Bay. The Isle of Anglesey, with her distant little hills and coasts, spread like a map,

Lies smiling before you;

that time-honoured Isle—a land of chivalry, of exciting incident, of music and of song, of venerable tradition and marvellous legend—the chief seat of the ancient Druids—where the Princes of Wales had their Palace for centuries. There the Picts, the Danes, the Irish, the Saxons, and other warlike tribes,

All armed in rugged steel unfiled,

pursued their conquests with great ferocity; ravaging the Island with fire and sword, blood and slaughter, their banners were

Fanned by conquest’s crimson wing,

and the hungry ravens reddened their beaks from the war of men. From this mountainous throne may also be seen the Isle of Man; Wicklow, the garden of Ireland; the mountains in the county of Down, near the Bay of Dundrum; Bardsey Island; the Cumberland hills, and parts of the Highlands of Scotland: the vast expanding waters of the Carnarvon Bay, St. George’s Channel, and Holyhead Bay, roll before you. Below you lies the Pier on Salt Island, with the Light-house on the extremity—the New Harbour, with its whistling engines, bustling workmen, and prancing horses; contiguous to which stand the modern mansions erected for the accommodation of those whose intellectual brains, like a main-spring, keep the stupendous machinery in operation, and whose engineering mappings and dottings, and sketchings and plannings, keep this corner of the world wide awake—the Old Harbour, with its vessels and smaller craft in different stages of preparation, and packets busily preparing for immediate sail—the modest Obelisk peeping over the town—the Skerry Rocks—the sea-washed South Stack, and other objects of interest, open out on every side perspicuously to the view. The painter would be at a loss upon what particular spot to fix his eye; turn which way he will, some beauty, variable and exhaustless, is before him; it is impossible for either the artist or poet to describe, with a hope of doing anything like justice to, so picturesque and varied a landscape. The impression is that of singular wildness and solitude, stretching in a succession of prospects, fading into distant softening vista, as agreeable to the eye as the imagination. While standing on this promontory, your thoughts flow poetically, although you have neither rhythm nor music in your composition.

Having filled every cell in the lungs with exquisitely pure air, that comes direct from a “high ethereal source”—air so uncorrupted as to be met with only far, far from the haunts of men, and the hum of human cities, we must now bid farewell to this enchanting and enchaining spot, but the scene will leave an undying impression on the mind.

I love to stand upon the hill, And gaze on the ocean wide; See ships of commerce—not of war, On her bright bosom glide. But now before our eyes the mirror fades, Yet our strain’d glance shall linger on the scene.

A RAMBLE TO THE MOUNTAIN HEAD.

O! let us away to yon heights, Where the Roman encamp’d him of old; With his train’d bowmen and Knights, And his banner all burnish’d with gold.

Having reluctantly turned our backs upon the Telegraph, we now direct our steps to the mountain apex. The road is not macadamized, but a romantic walk of 30 minutes will scarcely be felt between the bracing effects of the atmosphere and the excitement; and I feel assured that the antiquities will amply repay the additional toil. From the summit there is a commanding view of the Promontory, and you may mark its varying breadth and inequalities, its storm indented figure, and its broken fantastic cliffs, abrupt declivities, and deep gorges, as by some earthquake cleft.

There is, indeed, a charm connected with this mount, before which the pageant of pomp, and the heralds of emblazonry must bow down. That charm is

The power of thought, the magic of the mind.

What thoughts crowd upon the mind while standing on this memorable mountain! What triumphs and defeats have been experienced here. Hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, have alternately swelled the breasts of thousands mid these rocks, while watching every movement of an adverse fleet, or the approach of distant armies. The transactions of bye-gone centuries pass in review before our eyes—

Pen Caer Gybi stands renown’d, Proud in song, and known in story; Where proud Rome in triumph frown’d O’er the Welsh, who died in glory.

These were the mighty fastnesses to which the ancient Britons had recourse when overpowered by numbers and military tactics in the plain. There is no wonder that these “sons of the mountain heroes” so long successfully withstood the inroads of Roman legions, when such craggy and adamantine rocks, were the “external circumstances” in their “formation of character;” and nothing less than the refined expedient of powder and ball could dislodge them from these rocky fastnesses and natural barricades; bows and arrows, swords and spears, were only adapted for milder game, or closer quarters. On this mountain our hardy ancestors stood and nobly fought, when liberty made her last stand in this kingdom against the strides of Roman power; their determination was

To leave the battle only on their biers,

“to conquer or to die,” and thousands fell

Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. Here we tread On sacred ground, and press the mingled dust of heroes; Far, far beneath they sleep, nor does a stone Or marble column rear its head to show The spot where now they moulder.

ANTIQUITIES.

There are several remains of military forts in this neighbourhood, whose appearance indicates them to be of Roman origin. While reviewing them our thoughts are instinctively carried back to those days when the stranger tenanted the land—

When o’er this rugged mountain Rome’s earliest legions past.

Upon the summit of the mountain called Pen Caer Gybi (the Head of Cybi’s Fort) is a remarkable Roman antiquity, viz.: Caer Twr, (Fort Tower). This circular building was formerly strongly cemented with the same kind of mortar as the Fort (church walls) of the Town, and supposed to have been a Roman Pharos, or Watch Tower. It had stood and braved the crushing thunder, vivid lightning, and warring winds and storms, for perhaps sixteen hundred centuries. But the rude hand of man has marred it, hoping by so doing to meet with an Australian digging.

Upon this mount a tower stands Well known in days of yore; When chieftains with their hostile bands, Shed floods of human gore.

’Tis now in ruins—but a spell Of grandeur haunts the scene; While none remain the deeds to tell, The deeds of blood there seen.

Upon the side of the mountain runs a long dry wall, several feet high in many places. The peculiar form of the wall exhibits the Roman architect; and there is no doubt the Romans had here one of their posts, or walled encampments.

There is a power And magic in the ruined battlement For which the palace of the present hour Must yield, and wait, till ages are its dower.

On the opposite or West side of the mountain, and about ten minutes’ walk from the Telegraph, on the right hand of the footpath leading to South Stack, and in a situation awfully romantic, may be seen traces of a religious house called Capel Lochwyd. Here also the hand of man has effected a greater demolition than the elemental war of many centuries; the altar and walls have been removed with the hope of finding treasure. It is worth while to visit this spot were it but to admire the taste which these hermits of old had in fixing their residence; and the piety, it may be, which led them to seek a solitary abode so favourable to devotion. From this spot has ascended the voice of prayer, and the hymn of praise. I doubt not but the surrounding rocks have witnessed such acts of self-denial, fervent devotion, and entire consecration to God as would put many of us, who are making a flaming profession, to the blush. I should imagine that few could view these remarkable remains of ancient piety without feeling, in some degree, the sentiment so admirably expressed by the Poet—

I do love these ancient ruins; We never tread upon them but we set Our foot upon some reverend history.

Close to this sacred spot is one of the most extraordinary clefts in the solid rock ever seen by man. It would well repay the walk of miles to see it. It was here the Welsh lads and lasses of the last century descended and ascended, when they tested their fortunes in reference to the profound hymeneal question named in page 17. My friend who accompanied me to view these ancient ruins, descended the ravine, but I preferred remaining in meditative mood. The information, however, which he gave, on returning, of the scenery of the “lower regions,” created in my bosom a desire, which I purpose, at some future period, should life be spared, to gratify. It is a delightful walk from here to South Stack, which may be accomplished in about half-an-hour. Many Roman coins of the time of late emperors were found a few years ago in this mountain; also several coins of Constantine the Great, in a very perfect state, one of which was presented to the Marquis of Anglesey by Captain H. Evans. In 1835, in removing some old walls at Ty Mawr (Large House) the property of Lord Stanley of Alderley, were found several spear-heads, axes, and rings, of bronze, with red amber blades, which, from the form and nature of the materials, appear to be of Phœnician origin.

It is a pity that ruins of such thrilling interest should have been so shamefully demolished. As the number of visitors to Holyhead will increase annually, it is hoped that efforts will be made to restore some of them, for they will always be objects of attraction.

By this time, I presume, you feel disposed for the “good things” of this life, and cast a longing look towards your quarters. Of one thing I am fully persuaded, that you will feel your health better, your spirits brighter, your appetite keener, your mind expanded, your thoughts assuming a loftier and yet more refined bearing, from your having visited Nature in a few of her sublimer abodes.

REFLECTIONS.

While descending the rugged mount, the scenes you have just left behind may lead to a train of thought somewhat similar to the following. What a great change has taken place in this Island since the Roman Eagle fluttered in the breeze, and the conquering legions rent the heavens with shouts of victory. When the historic lamp disclosed this land, it presented a race of rude barbarians,

Wild as the untaught Indian brood.

Superstition then triumphed over the minds of the masses. In yon valley was the sequestered grove devoted to obscure and horrid mysteries—altars were reared, on which the innocent, as well as the guilty, were doomed to bleed—the Druid priests performed the horrid murders, and pretended that they could, by such means, foretel future events, blasphemously asserting that the attitude in which the victim fell, the writhing agonies of expiring life, the manner in which the blood flowed, or the convulsions of the wounds opened, or closed, were indications of futurity—they conducted gloomy processions, with victims, bound with cords, for slaughter and sacrifice, filling the air with shrieks of agony and screams of horror—gross idolatry, savage manners, bloody rites, funeral pile, echoing whoop—all, all were there!

Wrapped in deep sleep, the ancient Britons lay, Hugged their vile chains, and dream’d their age away.

Such was Wales, and such was Britain too, before the light of the Christian Religion shone on her coasts. That heaven-born system, with its train of imperishable blessings, took its stand amid these wild regions, and like yon sun in the heavens, diffused her light, extended her influence, and multiplied her bloodless conquests. She has organized, humanized, civilized, moralized, and, in many instances, evangelized the inhabitants. Christianity has expelled idolatry, restored natural affection, and has conferred, and is conferring, numerous, most substantial, and positive blessings. And while she has, on the one hand, discouraged and eradicated those vices which were the harbingers of a nation’s ruin, she has, on the other, implanted those principles on which the welfare of nations depend. It is true she has prepared weapons, but they are not carnal; enlisted soldiers, but their fight is without “confused noise of warriors, and garments rolled in blood;” she has erected a standard, but it is the Cross; unfurled a banner, but its emblem is the dove—the bond of brotherhood; and when sovereigns, senators, and legislators, are properly influenced by the pacific principles of the Gospel, war will be known no more; the sun will no more rise upon an embattled plain, nor set upon a field of blood.

Then the labourer will Drive his yoked oxen, and with careless steps Lean o’er the share, and carol as he guides The obliterating furrow o’er their graves.

Contrasting the present with the past, we feel that other times now bless our land, and that while peace and joy bound over the mountain tops, we can with peculiar feelings give utterance to the language of the poet:—

Where once the Roman marshall’d his bold host, Bristling with swords and spears the rocky heights, The shepherd leads his flock, and the young lambs In sporting gambols tread the flowery turf.

NEW HARBOUR.

Here numerous ships security may gain From raging tempests and the blustering main.

For want of a more extensive area of shelter, and deeper water, great destruction of shipping has occurred on the rocks outside the Holyhead Old Harbour by vessels endeavouring to reach the Pier; hence the necessity of an outer harbour, sufficiently spacious to admit a man-of-war at all times. This necessity had for many years been deeply impressed upon the minds of gentlemen of talent and experience. The many fearful wrecks in the bay tended to produce a conviction that no money, within a reasonable limit, should be spared for effecting a spacious and complete harbour. It is an admitted fact that the aspect of entrance to the present harbour, together with its inefficiency in size, have been the sole cause of most of the shipwrecks in the bay. The following melancholy record will serve to shew that it was high time some effort should be made to save life and property.

Dec. 18th, 1790.—On the north point of Salt Island the Charlemont packet, on her passage from Parkgate to Dublin, was lost, when 110 souls perished, owing to the want of a sufficient draught in the Old Harbour.

Feb. 5th, 1824.—The John, from Cork to Liverpool, was driven on the rocks at Penrhos, in this bay—13 lives lost. She came under the lee of the Light-house in the entrance of the harbour, but, owing to its aspect, could not come into it, consequently was blown off.

Nov. 24th, 1826.—The Marquis of Wellington, from Liverpool to Buenos Ayres, drove on shore out of the Old Harbour upon Brynglas Rocks—16 lost. This vessel was from 2 o’clock, p.m., until 5 30, p.m., at the entrance of the Harbour. The captain had actually written to Liverpool that evening, and sent the letter on shore with the boatman, informing his owner and friends of his safe arrival at Holyhead; before 12 o’clock all had perished!

Jan. 14th, 1827.—The Panthia, N. Y. packet, bound for Liverpool, was driven into the bay by the violence of the gale, and in attempting to make the harbour, went on shore about 300 yards to the eastward of the South-pier-head. Ship broken up.

April 28th, 1829.—The Harlequin, from Palermo to Liverpool, drifted on the rocks at Turkey Shore, at the entrance of the harbour, and became a total wreck.

April 28th, 1829.—The Fame, from Barbadoes to Liverpool, drifted on the rocks at Turkey Shore, at the entrance of the harbour, south side.

April 28, 1829, the “Fitia,” from Rotterdam to Liverpool, drifted from the pier to Pen Manarch, Penrhos Point, and was much damaged. The captain’s wife was drowned. This vessel approached so near to the north pier that a pound weight could have been thrown on her deck; notwithstanding owing to the aspect of the harbour, shipwreck was the consequence. To this affecting catalogue a long and fearful list might be added, shewing that a vast amount of life and property has been lost—lost for ever. But sufficient has been recorded to prove that the New Harbour, which is now stretching out her welcome wings across the beautiful Bay of Holyhead, was a desideratum.

Holyhead is formed by Nature to become a great trading community. The bay presents a fine spacious opening, one half sheltered by eternal rocks, and on each side of its entrance, are brilliant lights to guide the mariner. It is, moreover, centrally situated in St. George’s Channel, in the tract of all its trade; and presents the only station from the Land’s End to the Clyde, on the east side of the channel, (except Milford,) to which vessels can approach when the tide has considerably ebbed. No wonder then, that the various commissioners appointed by Government, consisting of some of the most eminent naval and civil engineers, should select it as the best place on the coast for an asylum harbour, and a packet station.

Several plans were proposed for the New Harbour by different eminent engineers. The first plan proposed was by the late noble spirited and indefatigably enterprising, Captain H. Evans, Holyhead Harbour Master; but it enclosed too small an area, and too wide an entrance. J. Walker, Esq., C.E., to the Admiralty, proposed a plan which was to enclose an area of 90 acres, and 3,300 feet of breakwater, and 2,500 feet of pier, at an expense of £400,000. Captain Beechy, R.N., proposed to enclose 176 acres, with 4,500 feet of breakwater, and 3,500 feet of pier, at an expense of £500,000; and J. M. Rendall, Esq., C.E., of Westminster, (the constructor of the Docks at Birkenhead, Great Grimsby, and Leith,) proposed a splendid design, on a very large scale, and adopted by the Government. It consists of a breakwater of 5,100 feet from Soldier’s Point eastward, to terminate at the Platter’s Buoy; and a pier of 2,100 feet from Ynys Halen, (Salt Island,) with its head resting on the outward Platter, enclosing an area of 316 acres,—three quarters of a mile long, and in seven fathoms of water,—making one of the most splendid refuge harbours and packet stations in the universe; the estimate cost of which is £700,000.