Some day, when the oft-discussed project is realised of making Holyhead, instead of Liverpool, the terminus of the trans-Atlantic voyage, the melancholy wastes surrounding the town will be built upon or excavated for docks. Even now, a large proportion of the American passenger traffic comes this way: travellers landing from the great liners at Queenstown saving time and escaping the tedious up-channel voyage and delays at Liverpool by taking train from Queenstown for Dublin, and so across to Holyhead. More than five millions sterling have been sunk in harbour, lighthouse, and railway works at this bleak port. Close under the sheltering hills behind the town are the original harbour and the railway company’s improvements upon it; and away in the distance the great breakwater of the Harbour of Refuge, that occupied twenty-eight years in building, and was completed in 1873. The breakwater stretches half way across Holyhead Bay, a distance of nearly a mile and a half, with a lighthouse at its seaward end; the greater lighthouses of the Skerries, seven miles away, and the South Stack, on the other side of Holyhead Mountain, guarding the approaches to this perilous coast. LVIII But to end the Holyhead Road in the mean streets of Holyhead, or by merely tracing Telford’s modern highway, would be to conclude on a very feeble and inadequate note. Fortunately, the “old post road” across Anglesey still remains. It is three miles longer than Telford’s, and is especially interesting because it affords an excellent means of seeing with our own eyes what were the difficulties travellers had to contend with in the days before road reform. The twists and turns, and hills and hollows, remain just as they were, but as the road is still in use as a means of communication between several villages, with one town midway, the surface, it is safe to assume, is in better condition than in old times. It branches off to the right from the modern road, half a mile beyond Menai Bridge, and gives a taste of its quality at the outset, in making straight for a steep hill. Having climbed this, and passed through Braint and Ceint, up and down and to right and left, it climbs the hill of Penmynydd, whose very name is significant. Here the stage-coaches and the mails were accustomed to be overturned, and it was at sight of this portion of the road that some London coachmen, imported to work this stage, threw up their engagement and went home again. Travellers were not so much interested in Penmynydd being the historic place whence sprang the Tydyrs (“Tiddir” in the Welsh pronunciation and “Tudor” in English), as they were concerned in getting over the ground without broken bones; and the horsemen who preceded coach-travelling looked dismayed in each other’s faces at such a wild spot as this; reassured, however, on descending the rough and stony hill by a sight of a gallows that then overhung the roadway. Cheered by this evidence of