A RIDE OVER THE MOUNTAINS. 87 



haunted by the ghost of Oliver Cromwell, who once 

 slept on one of these bedsteads on the occasion of a 

 memorable visit to a neighbouring mansion. This 

 hotel belpngs to, and is well looked after by, our own 

 hostess of "The Vyrnwy," the indefatigable Miss D. 



It may be incidentally mentioned that wild Wales 

 is now about to enter into serious rivalry with Scotland 

 and Ireland in the matter of whisky ; the new Welsh 

 whisky is to surpass old Irish and old Scotch in 

 purity, strength, delicacy of flavour, and any other 

 good qualities there may be that go to make most 

 excellent toddy. This is, of course, bold assertion 

 without proof. I do not pretend to be an adequate 

 judge. I will only say that the sample I tasted was 

 very good, but being only a thimbleful, was not 

 enough to inspire me with proper eloquence. Here it 

 was, in a cellar, that we were permitted to have a 

 private view of a puncheon of the new liquor, oak- 

 polished and silver-hooped, which the Freemasons of 

 Bala are about to present to H.R.H. the Prince of 

 Wales, their Grand Master, on the occasion of his 

 approaching visit to Rhyl. 



As a curious coincidence, this old town of Bala, 

 so soon to become celebrated for its whisky^ is also 

 destined to become more celebrated for its water. We 

 are told here that London, bitterly disappointed at 

 the loss of our Vyrnwy, has now decided to seize 

 upon Bala Lake and carry its water as well as its 

 whisky to Babylon. A great dam, like the one I 

 look down upon now from Hotel Vyrnwy, is to be 

 formed below the old town, and the water will rise 

 mountains high, and that charming old town, its 



