  Chirk—The Aqueduct—The Deserted, a legend—Description of Chirk Castle—Sketch—The Park—Legend of the enchanted Stag—The Vale of Llangollen—Account of the Aqueduct called Pont-y-Cyssyltau—Stanzas for music—Llangollen—The Hand in Hand—A view of the village.
A pleasant walk of six miles brought us to Chirk; agreeably situated upon the northern bank of the river Ceriog, which divides England The aqueduct is the great lion of this place; consisting of ten arches, the piers of which are sixty-five feet high. The Ellesmere canal is continued across the valley by this beautiful specimen of art, then enters a tunnel 220 yards long; emerging from which it proceeds on its course through the parish, and then enters another tunnel, which having traversed, its waters are transported over the vale of the Dee by the stupendous aqueduct of Pont-y-Cysylltau. The village of Chirk is seven miles from Llangollen, and five from Oswestry, from Knaton six, and from London 171. “Upon this spot,” said my amusing companion, “a legend was repeated to me, which I thought rather amusing; and, as you say you are a collector of strange stories, I will relate it THE DESERTED.Mary Griffith was a tall, raw-boned, bouncing girl, whose skin had felt the influence of nineteen summers: with red ropy hair, which fell in mop-like luxuriance about her face and back, partially hiding two gooseberry eyes, that looked, or seemed to look, in opposite directions. Roger ap Morgan was a stout, sturdy, hard-working peasant: and once, while under the influence of his master’s strong harvest ale, bestowed on Mary such tender melting words, as had never before been addressed to her beauty, and which her unaccustomed ear drank with astonishment and delight. She greedily banqueted on the honey of his tongue, and in short was never so pleased in her life before. It was remarked, that from this night Mary and Roger were more intimate than ever; and they were therefore looked upon as a couple shortly to be united in the bands of matrimony. Roger bore all these bursts of admiration without the slightest tinge of jealousy, and even sometimes, with a good humoured laugh, joined in the jests of his companions. But there is such a thing as over fondness in adoring woman: and Roger began to discover, that if Mary would only love him half as much as she did, he might perhaps have a far greater liking for her than he had; but unfortunately Mary knew no measure in her love. She vowed he should marry her; Roger swore heartily he would not. At length, it became apparent that Mary had yielded up not only her heart but her honour, also, to the too insidious and fascinating Roger. His ingratitude, in refusing to keep his word, and make an honest woman of her, sank deep into her heart. She resolved, however, not to let him off so easily; and determined, if he persisted in denying At this period, a number of baronial laws, although dormant, might still be enforced on occasion, and amongst them was one which furnished Mary with a promising prospect of recompense. It decreed, that in cases of seduction, the injured fair, on making application to the presiding magistrate, was entitled to remuneration by submitting to the following ordeal:—The tail of a three years old bull, the property of the seducer, being well shaven, greased and introduced through a wicker door, if the applicant could, by so treacherous a handle, detain the animal for a certain period with both hands, while two men goaded it to escape, it became hers, by right of conquest, in satisfaction for her lost virtue; and, in case of failure, she forfeited all further claim, and was rewarded for her attempt with so much of the grease and soap as remained in her hands. Women know no medium in the master-passion: “Where most they love, there most they hate when slighted:”—and so with Molly. All nature seemed to change: the beautiful valley no longer heard the soft murmurings of Roger’s One morning after a long expostulation, with her inconstant, she summoned him before the magistrate of the district, and, accompanied by her friends, demanded the ordeal, which was the right, from time immemorial, of the victims of seduction and desertion. The magistrate, being a lover of old laws and customs, and also somewhat of a humorist, readily acceded to her wishes, and the following morning was appointed for the accomplishment of her vengeance, verifying the Welsh proverb—“Gnawd rhygas wedi rhysere.” Common is extreme hate after extreme fondness. This was woful intelligence for Roger, whose farming stock consisted of an only cow, which was sentenced to be substituted for the bull, which the original act specified should be liable to confiscation. This cow was the chief source of his livelihood; her butter furnished him with the means of procuring clothes, and other necessaries, and the skimmed milk, a pleasant beverage On the following day, the peaceful inhabitants of this lovely spot were startled from their various occupations by a loud shout which issued from the thick woods of the vale, and then
The clamour was raised by the revilings of Roger’s friends against Mary, and Mary’s friends against Roger, as the object of interest (Roger’s cow) approached the dwelling of the deceived and neglected fair one, who mounted astride upon its back, turned her fierce glances or Mary’s mother, an ancient gammer, whose sun-tanned skin seemed, as Shakspeare has it, capable of
armed with a branch of tough ash, was urging the progress of the beast, and at every push she made, a yell of indignation burst from the opposite party, which was answered by a shout of exultation from the friends of Mary. At length the barber, one Gryffyd, was called on to lend his aid, which he did, in a masterly manner by lathering, and shaving the beast’s tail of every hair that adorned it, from the insertion to the tuft, and afterwards greasing and soaping it thoroughly. Mary eyed it, meanwhile, as though she longed to convert it into soup. These preparations being completed, Mary addressed her false-hearted swain, and even then, generously offered to give up the chance if he would repent and make her an honest woman. This noble proposition excited murmurs of applause. “Then may I never be married,” cried she, “if ever you take your cow home again!” “That’s yet to be tried,” cried Roger. Molly then bared her brawny arms, and held up her ten fingers—as much as to say, “Let her escape my grip if she can!”—and, with a countenance flashing anger and resolution, she took her station at the wicket, “screwed up to the sticking point,” and resolved to “stand the hazard of the die.” With the grasp of a vice, she seized the pendant ornament; and now it was pull cow, pull Molly!—for the two sturdy brothers of Roger belaboured the animal most unmercifully. “Hold your own!” shrieked Mary’s mother. “Go it, you old devil!” cried the brothers of Roger, as they thrashed and goaded the poor cow. Still with heroic firmness Mary kept her hold.
The period of detention had nearly arrived;—half a minute more, and Mary would be victorious—her vengeance complete—and Roger quite undone!—when lo! the tortured animal leaped
It was rumoured that foul play had been committed by Roger’s brothers; and that a stick, with a sharp instrument at the end of it, had caused the catastrophe;—but, as there was no means of ascertaining the fact, the affair dropped. A rustic bard, who had been hospitably received in Mary’s dwelling, presented to her the following Lament, which he composed, in gratitude, for her consolation.
After proceeding about a mile and a half on the Llangollen road, we turned off, to the left, up CHIRK CASTLEIs delightfully situated on the spacious domain, spreading over the summit of, what would be deemed, by a southern, a lofty mountain, but which is here only designated a hill, projecting from the range of Berwyn mountains; and is well calculated to recall the stories of the days of old, when flourished
It is built of solid stone; and the ivy, mantling over the walls, gives them an appearance of solemnity and grandeur, peculiarly interesting. It is quadrangular, and is strengthened by five massive towers, one at each corner, and the fifth projecting from the principal front, through which is a lofty entrance into the court-yard, 165 feet in length, and 100 feet in breadth, surrounded on every side by noble suites of apartments. The picture gallery measures 100 feet in length, by twenty-two in breadth; and contains some very excellent paintings, and several The walls of the castle are eighteen feet in thickness; but sleeping and other apartments have been cut into them, for the accommodation of the family. The celebrated picture of Pystil Rhaidar, in the dining-room, shows that noble waterfall tumbling into the sea, where several ships are quietly riding at anchor. “Pystil Rhaidar,” i.e. “The spout of the Cataract,” is considered the largest fall in Wales. In the valley of Mochnant, about four miles from the village, the river falls over an almost perpendicular rock, 240 feet high; thence rushing furiously under a natural arch towards the bottom, it plunges into a deep black pool, overhung with impervious shaggy wood. The present building was completed in two years. The first stone being laid in the year 1011, and in 1013 the castle frowned defiance to the foe. It was built by Roger Mortimer, Earl of Wigmore, as a stronghold to defend him from the just vengeance he had created by the murder of the sons of Gryffydd ap Madoc, to whom he was appointed guardian, in conjunction with John, Earl of Warren, in the hope of inheriting their joint estates. Mortimer was to seize upon Nanheuddwg and Chirk, the property of the youngest; and Warren upon the lands of Broomfield, Yale, and Dinas Bran, belonging to the eldest. Travellers should not neglect to visit this noble specimen of warlike architecture. Its On the foundation of the present castle anciently stood Castle Crogen; and the territory around bore the name of Tref-y-Waun, the property of the lords of Dinas Bran, and continued in their possession up to the death of Gryffydd ap Madoc, in the reign of Edward the First. The view from the highlands of the park is very extensive, commanding a prospect of seventeen different counties. “The ground upon which we now stand,” said my companion, “is remarkable for a melancholy circumstance, which caused much grief and sorrow in the castle and its neighbourhood. The story of Owen-ap-Mylton and Mary Fuller will perhaps interest you, as it gave a name to this part of the estate, which it still retains, ‘The Black Park.’” THE ENCHANTED STAG.In a poor hut, which formerly stood upon the site of a few cottages, upon the right of the lane leading to the castle from the high road, lived an aged woman, who kept no society, and was considered, from her reserved
Her patch of ground she cultivated without help from any; and no one knew by what means she obtained clothing, as her garden stock only consisted of a few eatables, which she could ill afford to part with for wool to supply her spinning wheel; and yet her hose were good and clean, and her woollen petticoat and russet gown well fitted to endure the weather’s extremes. Strange stories were, however, reported respecting her, as it was said she had come from the Devil’s Peak in Derbyshire, where she had the credit of being a witch, and was nearly apprehended, upon a special order from King James himself, by the officers of justice, who, when they would have laid hands upon her, were astonished to find that they had seized each other, she having vanished suddenly from betwixt them, and, on the same day, it was said, appeared at Chirk Castle, offering to pay a half Owen, the ranger, was a tall, handsome, light-hearted, well-meaning lad, as any in the country, much esteemed amongst his associates, and admired by all the lasses from Chirk to Llangollen, from whom he had selected Mary Fuller for his bride, a blue-eyed, flaxen-haired, pretty lass, who lived as servant in the castle. Owen’s cottage, situated where now stands a handsome house, was a neat building, consisting of four rooms; it was thatched, and the interior was adorned with implements of the chase. It commanded a pleasant and romantic prospect; the view down the valley being extremely picturesque. Upon the trunk of an elm tree, the stump of which is almost all that time has spared, are still to be traced, although faintly discernible, the widely expanded initials, O. M. and M. F. which in former days were doubtless deeply cut in its bark. It was the favourite tree of Owen One night, as they were walking, with arms clasped round each other’s waist, near the hut of the old strange woman, they were surprised at beholding her patting a noble stag, which had strayed from the park, and which seemed fond of his new acquaintance, for it licked her face and capered before her, and put its mouth close to her ear, while she continued to pat him with her hand, and speak to him in a language totally unknown to the peasantry. Owen, enraged at seeing one whom he considered a witch, seducing one of his noblest stags from the park, raised his cross-bow and shook his head at her, as if to intimate that he would shoot her, should she dare to fondle the deer again. The old beldame, frightened at his looks and gestures, retreated into her hut, but shook her hand at him in a threatening manner; while the stag, bounding suddenly from her door, made towards the park, like lightning, and leaping the high fence, began to browze as usual on its native pasture. Mary noticed the look and threatening action of the old woman with fear, and for sometime they continued their walk in silence, neither being anxious to speak upon the subject, but both unable Owen informed her that his master had promised him the finest buck he could kill in the park, and a couple of barrels of his old October, to regale his friends and guests; he had likewise, he said, presented him with a new bed and furniture, fit for a baron to lie upon, and large enough for six to sleep in! Mary was happy, and Owen more animated, as he spoke of the bounty of his gracious master. Mary, eager to enumerate the presents she had received, began the catalogue of articles necessary for their domestic economy and comfort, and had nearly ran through the names of fifty by the time they arrived at her cottage door, which was the signal Owen went whistling along the road with a light heart, in fond anticipation of future felicity, when suddenly, as he turned into the dark lane, upon his way to his own lodge, he was startled by the appearance of a dark form, with glaring eyes of fire, squatted upon the trunk of an old alder tree, that had been blasted by the lightning a few days before; and an unearthly mew! broke from its lips; and it spat a quantity of saliva in his face. Hot, hot, and burning, seemed the filthy rheum! A low growl increased his terrors; and a wild squall gave him the speed of a deer, as he darted along the dark and narrow lane, his hair standing on end. When he had reached the solitary’s door, he saw her seated by her iron pot, stirring the contents with the handle of a broom, while the glare from the crackling fagot shot frequent but transient streams of light upon her time-worn visage. Being now more convinced than ever that sorcery was at work, he redoubled his speed, and heated with fright and fear, reached his welcome home, where he sank breathless into a chair in the chimney corner. Strange dreams afflicted him during the night; and he arose at daybreak feverish and unrefreshed. Mary’s friends, meanwhile, were no less anxious to evince their regard for her; and presents poured in from all parts of the neighbourhood, from warm hearted and considerate well-wishers relations and acquaintances, in consideration of the happy morrow which was to unite two beings universally respected and beloved. There was a happy congregation in the valley of Chirk, upon the evening previous to the appointed bridal morn. The minstrel struck up his liveliest notes; the maidens danced joyfully; and even grand-sires and their dames exerted themselves in the dance, evincing that though time had somewhat burthened their bodies, their “hearts were all light and merry.” There are few who have not felt the power of love: but very few perhaps have stood as these two stood, upon the slope of a dark mountain rock, listening to the parting accents of their friends as they subsided into silence, while beneath them roared the never quiet-waters, brawling through rocky fragments, and shaking the wild tangled shrubs that grew upon their banks; with limpid kisses pure and fresh. And there they paused, and looked, and sighed, and loved, and murmured sweet words of anticipated happiness; when suddenly the sky, serene before, was overcast with clouds, and the wind rushed by them with a fury powerful as unexpected. The night grew darker and darker, and they were Owen bore his senseless burthen to the cottage, where he acquainted her mother that a sudden fright had caused her to be thus overcome, desiring that she should be put to bed upon the instant, and that when she recovered she might be persuaded, what she had seen was merely the illusion of a dream; and he quitted the cottage with a heavy heart. The night was a sleepless one both to Mary and to her lover; but with the rising beams of the morning their gloom dispersed; and, as the rays gilded the mountain tops, they were both up, and waiting for the numerous friends of both sexes, that usually, on such occasions, are anxious to be foremost in paying their salutations. The bride’s cottage being of the smallest class, Owen’s was agreed upon to be the place of rendezvous, and a plentiful store of viands was ready for the guests to partake of at an early hour. The gay friends of the preceding evening were seen decorated in their holiday garments, fresh and fair as the cool breeze and the sweetest wild flowers of their native hills, clustering together before their cottages, and tripping in various groups towards Owen’s pleasant dwelling. The bride, habited in a snow white dress, with some white heath flowers bound in her braided hair, was the admiration of all. Owen in his new suit, made for the occasion, looked handsomer She was soon missed; and, suspecting it was a trick to perplex them, away the whole party ran in different directions in search of the runaway. Mary had nearly arrived at the old woman’s cottage when Owen descried her. He had not forgotten the scene of the preceding night, and his heart had some painful misgivings that all was not right when he first missed his bride so suddenly from the breakfast table. Owen shouted and shouted! but the more he exercised his lungs, the faster she made use of her heels, when suddenly the “stag of six,” which he had seen the night before, darted from the old woman’s cottage, and ran furiously at Mary, who turned round and retraced her steps with fear and terror, but with the speed of the wind. She Mary, who had entered the cottage of the ranger, in the midst of her terrors spoke of the old woman, who she said had bewitched the stag;—but, when her friends reached the door of the hut, and found they could not, by knocking, obtain admission, they broke it open, and found its inmate dead upon the floor. Rumour said that she had infused her spirit into the Poor Mary never recovered from the shock; and in a few weeks after the mangled remains of her lover were deposited in the church yard of Chirk, the fresh flowers and evergreens were also placed around her grave. For many years this tribute of friendship was regularly paid to their memories. In summer, flowers of the sweetest perfume breathed their dying odours around their graves, and, in winter, the holly and laurel spread their shining leaves to adorn their final resting place. Time, however, took away by degrees, the kind friends of the ill fated lovers, and no sign now points out the spot where, side by side, they slumber. We now got once more into the coach road, and pushed on for Llangollen, leaving Wynstay, the seat of Sir Watkin William Wynn, upon the right. Almost every guide book will furnish the tourist with a description of this costly mansion and its beautiful grounds; but the wild scenery of nature, and the ruins of former grandeur, which yield an inexhaustible fund for contemplation and delight, together with the wild legends Leaving Wynstay on the right, we were conducted along the banks of a beautiful canal (the same that crossed the valley at Chirk) which was here planted with larch and hazel in pleasing variety on either side. On a sudden, an opening in the foliage presented us with a splendid view of the vale of the Dee, with the grand aqueduct stretching from hill to hill and the waters of the river making their way among broken rocks, amid embowering trees, and rolling under the arches of the aqueduct, with that delightful sound which is only heard in mountain scenery. Seldom had I experienced so delightful a sensation as the present prospect occasioned. All was so calm, so quiet, it seemed indeed “the happy valley.” Shortly after, however, we found that no golden pleasure is entirely free from alloy, for on turning a projection upon the At length, however, having happily passed these belligerents, my companion led me in triumph into a little public house on the road side, (which overlooked a precipice) the Aqueduct Tavern, the exterior of which promised little better accommodation than is to be met with in an Irish cabin. We entered, nevertheless, and, although the floor was of brick, it was very clean and the household utensils glittered along the walls. “Pray, gentlemen, walk into the back parlour,” said a comely looking, good natured landlady of about forty-three. We gladly accepted her invitation, and were agreeably surprised to find a neat room, carpeted, with a sofa, and half a dozen hair-bottomed chairs, and every thing rurally comfortable. The window looked upon the aqueduct, and commanded a beautiful view.
“And here will I take up my quarters for the night. A glass of gin and water, cold and weak, if you please, Mrs. —, for I am thirsty. Very good, indeed;—now, a sheet of paper, to take down my notes of the day’s ramble. Very good again, Mrs. —, and now if you have good beds you may get us a lamb chop, with some tea, etc. etc. and leave us to enjoy this lovely prospect.” “No beds, I am sorry to say.” “No beds, Mrs. —!” “No, sir, I hope to get some by next summer.” “Why then, Mrs. —, I am afraid we shall have to proceed to the village. How far is Llangollen from this?” “Six miles, sir.” “And it is now—” “Then bring in two screeching hot tumblers of punch, there’s a good lady, and
Here the trumpet of my companion began to sound; but I thought it would be advisable for him to rise before he became too stiff to resume his walk; therefore, with “yoicks! yoicks!” I startled the heavy god from his eyelids, and informed him of our unfortunate situation. “It matters but little,” said he; “there is sufficient upon the road to interest us, and perhaps the twilight of such an evening as this is preferable to the morning.” Having discussed our punch and lighted our cigars, we quitted the comfortable little cottage, and bent our steps towards the aqueduct, intending to cross by it to the opposite side of the vale. A cigar in the cool of the evening is delightful.
So sang the Noble Bard, the music of whose lyre We soon reached the centre of the aqueduct; it extends from mountain to mountain in length 980 feet; it is sustained by twenty piers, 116 feet in height from the bed of the river Dee, and the span of the arches is forty-five feet. “Do you observe yon house?” inquired my companion, with a grave air, pointing to a building which seemed to have belonged to some opulent person in times gone by, although it was now in a state of decay. Having replied in the affirmative, he proceeded:—“In that house lived a creature who was called ‘the Pride of the Valley.’ She was the daughter of a rich merchant of Bristol, and was beloved by a poor but honest and well-educated youth, who was, and has been since, a wanderer from his birth. Her christian name was Eveleen; no matter for her father’s. The following verses were written upon her untimely fate:
“She was ordered to the Indies,” he said, vainly endeavouring to hide a tear, which told me the secret of his heart. I know not how it is, love tales are generally a great bore to the listener, but there was something so true, so heartfelt, in that single drop which glistened in the eye of my companion, that if delicacy would have permitted me, I should certainly have taxed him as being the hero of his own tale, and have requested him to give me a more minute relation of the affair. I never felt the influence of the sublime mingled with the beautiful so deeply as when I stood upon this wonderful work of art; wherever I turned my eyes, the scene was calculated to excite the warmest feelings of admiration. The Having crossed the aqueduct, we proceeded by the left bank of the canal, passing a forge that nearly stifled us with gaseous smoke, along a pathway made of cinders and small coal, the refuse of the foundry. Trees of every description hung over our heads, and sloped down a deep declivity to the margin of the Dee, while on the opposite bank the mountain frowned above us. The partial glances we obtained of the vale through the woods, discovered scenes which the artist’s fancy might vainly attempt to equal. The water-flies, darting along the surface of the canal, and leaving long streaks of light At length, we reached the bridge of Llangollen, where the river is seen to great advantage, tumbling over its rocky bed, and rushing beneath the dark shelter of the overhanging trees. The village is small, and contains three respectable inns; viz.: the Hand, at which we stopped by the advice of my companion, the King’s Head, and the Royal Hotel. We were shewn into a very good parlour, and, after ordering a tea and supper dinner, my friend, somewhat exhausted by the day’s march, flung himself once more upon a sofa, while I resumed my journal. Supper or dinner, or whatever it may be termed being over, inquiries were made about our bed rooms. “Your bed, sir, is made over the way.” “Over the way!” “Oh certainly, my good girl; and who is to guide me ‘over the way,’ eh! for it’s as dark as Erebus?” “Oh, sir, John, the ostler. Here, John! John!” And away went the girl. I confess I have a strong aversion, after having taken off my boots, put on my slippers, and made up my mind to be comfortable for the night, to be obliged to walk some hundred yards from the parlour fireside, across or along a damp street, in a dark night, to my bedchamber; chilling work it is. At length, however, the deed was done, and I was shewn into a bedroom, where the murmurs of the flowing Dee were distinctly heard beneath the window. I felt cold and uncomfortable. “Here am I, then,” said I, soliloquizing, as I pressed the pillow, “here am I, at length, in the vale of Llangollen—in the village of Llangollen! the spot which I have so often longed to visit!
And how fortunate, too, to meet with such an |
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