1824] 
ened out of his wits at the tempest. 
To quiet his agitation we brought him 
to our tent, and having replenished his 
exhausted courage with a dram, listened 
attentively to his wild legends of Clynn 
y Van and the adjacent ruins of Castle 
Dynevor. It is inthe season of horror 
that the feelings are most alive. The 
common-place man by day, may become 
romantic at night; and in a situation to 
elicit the dormant faculties of the soul, 
poetry may spring from the lips of even 
amerchant. The legends of this simple 
Welch herdsman were told with a dread- 
ful earnestness; we say dreadful, be- 
cause none but those who listened can 
have an idea of the energy of his detail, 
excited as his feelings had been by the 
tempest, which evennowroared gloomily 
in the distance. The following is a faint 
sketch of the popular tradition of the 
White Lady, the very mention of whose 
name is enough to petrify a Welchman 
with horror. Our party was grouped 
round the fire while the peasant related 
it; and as the flames played on his 
countenance, quivering with the varied 
emotions of his narrative, they commu- 
nicated an expression of fear that we 
have never since seen equalled. 
“ Many centuries ago, an ancestor of 
the Bynevor family, who were at that 
time the owners of the immense tracts 
in the neighbourhood of Clynn y Van, 
formed an attachment to a young pea- 
sant girl. He was a determined liber- 
tine, and spared no pains to accomplish 
his intentions. Chance favoured him. 
He was sauntering one evening by the 
pool side, when the object of his ena- 
moured fancy passed him in her way to 
the neighbourang village. The situation 
was lonely—the evening dark—the pea- 
sants had long since quitted the fields, 
and the tinkling of the distant sheep- 
bell was the only sound that broke the 
stillness of the hour. The nobleman 
marked his opportunity. He approach- 
ed his victim, and in the height of 
phrenzy blasted her character for ever. 
She survived her disgrace but a short 
time, and drowned herself in the pool 
beside whose banks she was undone. 
Her seducer returns to the metropolis, 
and from the haunts of dissipation 
brought down with him a gay assem- 
blage of fashion. Balls, tournaments, 
succeeded each other in rotation; and 
one day, a party was proposed to Clynn 
yVan. The day of amusement arrived— 
it was the same day that had witnessed 
the scene of violence. Towards evening, 
when the tents were pitched for the dance, 
Adventures in Wales. 
195 
the lord of the feast was observed to be 
impressed with unusual melancholy. He 
wandered thoughtful along the banks of 
the lake, and remembered the woman 
whom he had murdered. The village clock 
struck nine. It had struck the same 
fatal hour when last he was there with 
his victim. Suddenly the pool became 
agitated—a cloud hovered on its surface 
—from the midst of which rose a female 
form, arrayed in milk-white garments. 
It held an hour glass in its hand, and 
pointed to the affrighted nobleman. 
The sand slowly ebbed away, and the 
spectre, as if anxious to hasten its de- 
crease, shook it in her skeleton hand. 
Ten o’clock struck, the moon became 
suddenly overcast, and the last grains 
of sand disappeared. A deep groan was 
heard on the instant. The party rushed 
to the spot. The nobleman was dead. 
From that period, on a certain day and 
hour in the year the water bubbles up 
with foam, and the White Lady is seen 
to rise from the surface, screaming with 
the hollow lungs of death—* The clock 
has struck—the knell is tolled —the 
priest is at the altar—the victim in his 
grave.” 
The turf-cutter concluded his legend, 
and infinite was the consternation of 
the party. Robert looked around as if 
afraid of the visit of a ghost, and espy- 
ing a hole in the tent, enquired of the 
trembling peasant, if it was large enough 
to admit a goblin. He was answered 
in the affirmative; and without more 
ado applied himself briskly to mend it. 
As for poor Morgan, he sat fearfully in 
the corner, sipping diluted brandy, and 
brushing up the embers of the fire. The 
storm had now subsided, and nature was 
again at rest. It was deep midnight; 
the peasant seemed anxious to remain, 
and in order to pass away the time we 
finished our trout for supper. Robert, 
in the interim, who had once served in 
the army, proposed that we should 
mount alternate guard without our tent. 
A difficulty now arose, who should take 
the first watch during the coldest part 
of the night. To settle the dispute we 
agreed to cast lots, and having luckily 
a piece of Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister, 
with the major part of which we had 
lighted our segars, being the only light 
that the book had ever thrown upon a 
subject, we tore it into three divisions. 
The soldier was unsuccessful in his lot, 
and buckling himself up in his mantle, 
with a pipe in his mouth, and a cudgel 
by his side, paraded without the tent, 
Meanwhile (thanks to the brandy) we 
2C 2 recovered 
