CONWAY CASTLE.
September 13th.--On Monday we went with O'Sullivan to Conway by rail.
Certainly this must be the most perfect specimen of a ruinous old castle
in the whole world; it quite fills up one's idea. We first walked round
the exterior of the wall, at the base of which are hovels, with dirty
children playing about them, and pigs rambling along, and squalid women
visible in the doorways; but all these things melt into the
picturesqueness of the scene, and do not harm it. The whole town of
Conway is built in what was once the castle-yard, and the whole circuit
of the wall is still standing in a delightful state of decay. At the
angles, and at regular intervals, there are round towers, having half
their circle on the outside of the walls, and half within. Most of these
towers have a great crack pervading them irregularly from top to bottom;
the ivy hangs upon them,--the weeds grow on the tops. Gateways, three or
four of them, open through the walls, and streets proceed from them into
the town. At some points, very old cottages or small houses are close
against the sides, and, old as they are, they must have been built after
the whole structure was a ruin. In one place I saw the sign of an
alehouse painted on the gray stones of one of the old round towers. As
we entered one of the gates, after making the entire circuit, we saw an
omnibus coming down the street towards us, with its horn sounding.
Llandudno was its place of destination; and, knowing no more about it
than that it was four miles off, we took our seats.
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