  The sail to Carnarvon gave us a nearer view of the Northern Welsh coast than the one which we obtained from the Majestic. It is about two hours from Liverpool to Llandudno. The latter place is the fashionable watering place on the northern coast, and lies in a semicircular bay, between Great and Little Orme's Heads. As the St. Tudno came up to the pier, we could see that it was crowded with people, some to meet friends and some merely to watch the landing. Then on to Beaumaris Bay, past Puffin Island, and near the Anglesea shore. The island is a great bare rock, like Holyhead, but smaller, and takes its name from the multitude of puffins which live on it. They rise like a cloud from the rocks as the steamer comes near, and then settle back with harsh cries. There is the usual lighthouse on the island, but no signs of habitation. The inner shores of Anglesea are much softer than the wester & clumps of trees appear here and there, and cultivated fields. Beautiful country houses dot the shores - all of stone, and many built in castle style. The ruins, ivy covered, are seen from the pier. The village is very quaint - white washed stone houses. The strait continues to narrow till both shores may be seen: on the right, the trees and farms of Anglesea, and on the left the wilder shores of the mainland with the towers of Penrhyn Castle in the distance.
Farther back rises the Snowdonia Range, with the bare peaks of Penmaenmawr and Conway. The great wealth of this region lies in the slate quarries; and the Penrhyn estate is particularly rich in it. Bangor is the nearest port, from which quantities are shipped. A little way past Bangor is the Menai suspension bridge, famed in this region, but nothing when compared with the Brooklyn Bridge. At the Menai Bridge pier, we left the St. Tudno, and took the Ynys Mon, a tiny steamer which plies the narrow.
The scenery here is much admired and is pretty, in a simple way, near the shore; tho' on the left, the grand, bare peaks are constantly seen. The Anglesea Column was erected to the Marquis of Anglesea, who was wounded at Waterloo. It is a magnificent pillar with a statue of the Marquis on the top, and stands on a height of land overlooking the beautiful Anglesea estate and mansion.
The house is of gray stone, built on straight lines - no arches, but everything right angles. Landing at the wharf at Carnarvon, we walked up to the massive gray walls, and entered the gate. Inside, we felt, more than in any other place we had visited, that we were in a foreign city. The street was scarcely wider than the arch of the gateway, and was flanked by narrow old stone houses, very irregular in height and cheerless in appearance. On through the town, toward the castle, which could be seen from a distance, until finally the street which leads to it was reached. And there it was, towering far above the houses clustered about it, far more magnificent and imposing than I had imagined. It made one realize the power of feudalism. Looking at it and then into the faces of the people on the streets - dull and ignorant, and then thinking what their ancestors must have been, centuries ago, it was not hard to realize how might had ruled in those days. A further walk through the streets gave us glimpses up narrow lanes, from which outside stairs led to the upper floors - into queer little rooms - of houses, whose second story windows might be reached with the hand; and every where the queer Welsh chatter - every child spoke it, and the grown people seemed to, also, except to strangers.
A quaintly dressed old woman keeps the castle gates, and lives in one of the towers at the entrance. In the courts, grass is growing and a few sheep are pastured. The visitors are left to wander over the building by themselves and so one may enjoy it in his own way. It is well preserved and has been so skilfully restored from time to time that the new can scarcely be detected from the old. In each turret is a well staircase - a perfect spiral around a central post, formed by the end of each step, and completely filling the turret.
We climbed to the top of one on the Eagle Tower, and tried to imagine how the scene below must have looked six centuries ago. The view was beautiful. It was about six o'clock, and the sun, though high, threw a peculiar warm light which gave a reddish instead of a purplish tint to the distant mountains and to the stand bars and waters of the strait. There was a peculiar form of arch which appeared again and again in the castle. It is like this: and is unlike the Early Gothic style of the building.
The towers and turrets are mainly octagonal - some hexagonal - and the walls are of great thickness - usually containing a narrow passage. A loop hole is about 4 feet wide on the inside, narrowing to a mere slit on the outer wall. Across the street from the castle we secured the coziest lodgings: a sitting room, in which our meals were served, and a bedroom. The latter had an old mahogany dressing table and wash stand and a bed with a valence of white damask.
In the grate, a fire was laid, and we were given a candle at bed-time. The sitting room had an elaborate fire place with fender and fire irons of highly polished steel; and over it, a cabinet mantel containing very curious ornaments. Another little three-cornered cabinet was likewise decorated. There was an easy chair, a brown leather sofa, and three very small, oddly shaped chairs, entirely of some dark wood and showing traces of some odd enameled decoration. Castle Square is a large open space on the town side of the castle, under Queen Eleanor's gate. Seven streets open from it, and a fountain plays in the middle. About sunset, there were many groups collected about the fountain: red-coated soldiers from the barracks under the city walls, children in clattering wooden-soled Lancashire clogs, girls in their queer Sunday best, and freshly washed youths bashfully circling round. Everywhere the strange language, and faces of a new type - or rather two: one dark, heavy with rather large features; the other red-haired, small hazel eyes rather close together and often crossed and the fair skin that goes with red hair. The city walls are narrow, and the semi-circular towers which jut out from them at frequent intervals are now used for a variety of purposes: one is a part of an office building and has large square windows; another forms the outer walls of the barracks; and another is the choir of a church, and has a large oriel window and some attempt at a tower.
The promenade is just outside the walls and along the Seiont River and Menai Strait. Strolling along it and sitting upon the benches were the same kinds of people. The red coats, their tiny capes set jauntily on one side, with their arms about their sweethearts' waists gayly allowed their way through the throng of children, women with fruit baskets on their heads, and grave knickerbockered and monocled tourists.
By rail from Carnarvon to Conway is a picturesque ride, with glimpses of the water on the left, and mountains of the right. The villages, such as the one here pictured, are clusters of white-washed, slate-roofed cottages, set in the luxuriant greens of field and tree. Sometimes roses or ivy climb to the roof. Then, nearer the water, there is always the pier from which is shipped slate from the hill quarries.
There are six tunnels, each about three fourths of a mile in length in this ride of about 40 miles; and through each of them we rushed without a ray of light in the compartment. There were gas jets overhead, but as no guards accompany the trains, excepting one on the rear platform, they remained unlighted. To a stranger, it is bewildering to pass through unfamiliar stations, and to hear the names only in a distant shout from the platform. A few guards remain on each, and open carriage doors and take tickets as the train stops. If there are too many doors, the passenger must let down the sash in the door, reach out and unfasten it himself. They are never locked unless you wish the compartment to yourself and make it worth while for the guard to secure it to you. 
