We contented ourselves with driving
direct to the principal hotel, where I know not what kept us from
placing ourselves for life. We had tea and jam en the pretty
lawn, and the society of a large company of wasps of the yellow-
jacket variety, which must have been true Welsh wasps, as
peaceful as they were musical, and no interloping Scotch or
Irish, for they did not offer to attack us, but confined
themselves altogether to our jam: to be sure, we thought best to
leave it to them.
[Illustration: CONWAY CASTLE]
It is said that the purple year is not purpler at any point on
the southernmost shores of England than it is at Llandudno. In
proof of the mildness of its winter climate, the presence of many
sorts of tender evergreens is alleged, and the persistence of
flowers in blooming from Christmas to Easter. But those who have
known the deceitful habits of flowers on the Riviera, where they
bloom in any but an arctic degree of cold, will not perhaps hurry
to Llandudno much later than November. All the way to Penmaenmawr
the flowers showed us what they could do in summer, whether in
field or garden, and there was one beautiful hill on which
immense sweeps and slopes of yellow gorse and purple heather
boldly stretched separately, or mingled their dyes in the
fearlessness of nature when she spurns the canons of art.
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