This is on the left--a wide and splendid landscape; and meanwhile on the right are wild hills rising from the road, cleft here and there by narrow wooded gorges or tumbling mountain streams. At Ysgubor-y-coed the water dashes down between sharp rocks, and makes a lovely picture with the great mill-wheel and mossy-tiled building that stand beside it; and just beyond Glan Dovey station we catch a momentary glimpse of the steep sides of the beautiful Llyfnant Valley. Thence four level miles bring us to Machynlleth.
There is a charm about Machynlleth. Its wide central street is planted with trees. In most Welsh towns, History, though she has lived in them so long, has rather an uneasy air: tales of valour, or of treachery on a large scale, blend rather incongruously with prim grey houses and slate roofs. But in Machynlleth we are quite prepared to learn that these quaint and quiet streets--and some of the houses, even--are bound up very closely with the picturesque life of the last of the Welsh princes: so closely indeed, that Owen Glyndwr’s royal seal figures in the arms of the town. In those low, whitewashed cottages he held his first parliament; and in that little corner-house in the next street he rested the uneasy head that wore a crown for such a brief and troublous time. It is the oldest house in Wales, they say, but much renovation and a new chimney have destroyed any picturesqueness it ever had; and it is now neither as venerable nor as interesting in appearance as the Old Mayor’s House, a timber-and-plaster building at one end of the main street, with gables leaning in all directions. Neither do the whitewashed Houses of Parliament show any signs of their distinguished past--yet here Glyndwr accepted his crown and very nearly lost his life. For among the members of this his first parliament was one who was his enemy, and the sworn man of the House of Lancaster. Davy Gam, “the Crooked,” a little red-haired, squinting man who, whatever he was, was no coward, came to this house with the intention of killing Glyndwr, but being betrayed, was thrown into prison for ten years, while his house near Brecon was burnt to ashes. Owen, with unusual forbearance, spared his life, perhaps in acknowledgment of the man’s courage in coming among his enemies single-handed. He showed his courage more honourably at Agincourt. “There are enough to kill,” he said of the French just before the battle, “enough to be taken prisoners, and enough to run away.” He died on that field, and was knighted by Henry V. as he lay dying. “He lived like a wolf and died like a lion,” it has been said of him.