4 1 8 Saddle arid Sirloin. 



read in the chancel how the first Baron Penrhyn, a 

 Chancellor and Bishop, and the Lord Keeper Wil- 

 liams, " enriched the county with buildings, agricul- 

 ture, and plantations," and then leaving the ro^d to 

 wind itself out of sight among the trim laurel banks 

 near the school-house — that fitting In Memoriam of 

 the late Mrs. Pennant — we strolled through the Castle 

 grounds on our homeward route to Bangor. 



The high winds and the nature of the soil may 

 have borne hard on the oaks and ashes ; but they 

 battled with the sycamores in vain, and the laurels, 

 hollies, and rhododendrons " enjoyed themselves 

 amazingly." Looking down from the terrace of the 

 Castle — near which Her Majesty planted two trees 

 on the last morning of her visit — they formed one 

 richly-tangled mass of green, under which many a 

 white scut was seen darting back at each fresh foot- 

 fall, from his trip for the tiny grass blades among the 

 bracken and the briar. The ground is blue with the 

 hyacinth, and the ragged robin with its scarlet leaves, 

 creeps coyly among the fern. Far beneath, 



" Where alders droop and willows weep, 

 You hear those streams repine," 



as the Ogwen flows through its wooded valley to the 

 sea ; and whatever belief we might have previously 

 accorded to the legend of the Virgin Monacella — who, 

 according to the guide-book, protected Welsh hares 

 under her skirts in a grove and the year of grace 604, 

 when the Prince of Powys hunted them near Pennant 

 Melangell — was wholly dispelled, as the kennel cry of 

 the harriers rose above its murmur at feeding time. 

 The place seemed a complete epitome of sports and 

 agriculture, which would keep struggling for pre- 

 eminence. 



A merino ram roamed in a garden meadow with 

 a steeple-chase brood mare, and an English dog and 

 a French vixen fox (which had a litter of cubs) wer^ 



