Plas Newydd.—Castell Dinas BrÂn.—Valle Crucis Abbey.—Pillar of Eliseg.—Vale of the Dee.—Corwen.—Route to Llandrillo.—Vale of Edeyrnion.—Arrival at Bala.

“I crossed in its beauty the Dee’s druid water,
The waves as I passed rippled lonely and lone,
For the brave on their borders had perished in slaughter,
The noble were banished, the gifted were gone.”

W. Wiffen.

I was dreaming of home, and happiness, and a thousand lovely things, when I was awakened by my new acquaintance, who stood before me dressed for a sturdy walk. “A lovely morning,” said my companion, rubbing his hands with much delight; “come, bustle, bustle, my young friend; you are not in London, now. Permit me to open the lattice; you will find no perfume at your chamber window in town like this; and, as he spoke, he flung open the casement, and a rush of fragrance poured into the room from hundreds of roses that clustered upon the wall without; nor was my friend at all deficient in praising its sweetness, for, taking a long breath, he stood, for a moment, with his mouth wide open, and then sent forth a sigh, long enough to form a bridge over the river for the fairies to cross upon.

“Shall we breakfast before we set out upon our ramble? I think we had better give orders for it, and visit the cottage where Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby so long resided, while it is preparing.”

This being agreed to, we gave directions for a breakfast, that would enable us to undergo the subsequent fatigue with cheerfulness, and then struck into the road for Plas Newydd. This memorable little dwelling is pleasantly situated upon a rising knoll, and commands a delightful prospect of mountain scenery.

Font in the Grounds of PlÂs Newydd

The front of the cottage is ornamented with an oaken palisade, curiously carved with grotesque figures, giving a very tasty and aristocratic appearance to the building. At the back of the house is a neat grass plot, with a birdcote, where the robins find a grateful shelter in the winter season, and where the ladies fed them every morning. It is surrounded with a fence of evergreens. From thence, the gardener conducted us under an archway, to a very pleasant and winding path, which leads to a well-stocked fruit garden. We then descended by a shady walk, arched over with tall trees, to the primrose vale, through which a refreshing stream rushes over rocks, where the sun but rarely gilds it with its beams. It is a delightful cool retreat, and well calculated to awaken the dormant spirit of poesy, in any heart where it had ever deigned to dwell. We passed over a rustic bridge which led us to the verandah, from which we had a fine view of the valley, and the Pengwern and Berwyn Mountains; and then proceeding a little farther up the glen, we seated ourselves opposite a most picturesque font, brought hither from the ruins of Valle Crucis, by the late proprietors of this spot. It is enclosed in a small arched niche, and supplied with the purest water from a murmuring rill, which falls in a thin stream into the bowl, a draught from which is an exquisite treat—for water drinkers.

The flower garden is laid out with great taste, and the little circular dairy, sunk in the ground, on the left at the front entrance, gives a most pleasing and picturesque effect. Altogether it is a place to which any person, wearied with the bustle of society, would willingly fly for refuge, and find repose.

Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby were young ladies of beauty and rank, who loved each other with so true an affection that they could never bear the afflicting idea of a separation which the marriage of either might occasion. They, therefore, resolved upon lives of celibacy, refusing many handsome offers, and remaining deaf to the persuasions of their friends, they retired to the beautiful Vale of Llangollen to enjoy the happiness of each other’s company, that as their friendship began in infancy it might be perpetuated through life.

These celebrated ladies were the pride of Llangollen for more than half a century, and by their numerous charities and general kindness of disposition, had endeared themselves to the hearts of the whole neighbourhood. It is worthy of remark that during the long period of their residence in Wales, they never, for a single night slept from home. They occasionally visited the theatres at Wrexham and Oswestry, on charitable occasions, or when a “star” was engaged; but their invariable custom was to return home after the performances, whatever might be the state of the weather.

In the lively Memoirs of the late Mr. Charles Matthews, the celebrated comedian, is the following description of “the Ladies of Llangollen,” but it must be remembered that at that time

“Age, with stealing, stealing steps,
Had clawed them in his clutch.”

“Oswestry, Sept. 4, 1820.

“The dear inseparable inimitables, Lady Butler and Miss Ponsonby were in the boxes here on Friday. They came twelve miles from Llangollen, and returned, as they never sleep from home. Oh! such curiosities! I was nearly convulsed. I could scarcely get on for the first ten minutes after my eye caught them. Though I had never seen them, I instantly knew them. As they are seated, there is not one point to distinguish them from men; the dressing and powdering of the hair; their well-starched neckcloths; the upper part of their habits, which they always wear even at a dinner-party, made precisely like men’s coats, and regular black beaver hats. They exactly looked like two respectable superannuated clergymen.”

In returning through the churchyard we passed the monument to the memory of Lady Eleanor Butler, Miss Ponsonby, and their faithful servant, Mary Carroll.

The church is of considerable antiquity, but has very little left of architectural beauty; some fine carvings on the roof and in the interior still attest its former consequence. It is noteworthy, however, inasmuch as the remains of the saint to whom it is dedicated are buried under its sacred roof. Pennant gives his name in full, which is Saint Collen ab Gwynnawg, ab Clydawg, ab Cowrda, ab Caradog Vreicvhras, ab Llyr Merim, ab Einion Yrth, ab Cunedda Wledig, by Ethni Wyddeles, daughter to Matholwch, lord of Cwl, in the kingdom of Ireland.

We now returned with good appetites to do justice to the fare provided by our host of the Hand, and here I was first destined to hear the sounds of the Welsh harp. As we discussed our fare, the harper in the hall played up his liveliest tunes.

Breakfast being despatched, we slung our pistols, i.e., leathern bottles, filled with eau de vie, to our sides, and started to view the ruins of Dinas BrÂn, an ancient fortress up the summit of a conical mountain, which forms the principal feature of this portion of the vale, and is indeed a striking object from almost every part of the neighbourhood. The ascent begins near the foot of the ancient bridge opposite to the town, which was built in the early part of the fourteenth century, by the first John Trevor, Bishop of St. Asaph. The view through the arches, either up or down the river, is extremely picturesque.

My companion was strongly built, and being accustomed to rambling amongst the Welsh vales and over its steepest mountains, far outstripped me in the ascent, which was by no means easy. We took a zig-zag direction up the hill, which was too precipitous to mount in a direct way, and as we approached the summit the ascent became more difficult; at length, after some little toil, we stood by the side of the Well, whose pure water gave joy to the inhabitants of this ancient fortress many hundred years ago, and still offers a welcome draught to the pilgrim who possesses sufficient perseverance to seek it.

The view from the summit of this mountain is beautiful in the extreme; commanding the vale east to west, with the widely spreading plains beyond its eastern extremity, and the grand and picturesque mountain scenery which forms the western boundary. Chirk Castle, Wynnstay, Valle Crucis Abbey, and Glyndwrdu, are distinctly visible from this elevation, while the romantic Dee is seen winding beneath, in light and shadow beautifully varied by the hills and woods that droop over its banks.

CASTELL DINAS BRAN.

The present remains of this ancient fortress are a few scattered walls. There is little doubt that it is of British origin, but the period of its erection, as well as the name of its founder is buried in oblivion. The original dimensions of its walls were about 300 feet long and 150 feet broad.

Castell Dinas BrÂn

In the reign of Henry the Third it afforded an asylum from his enraged countrymen to Gruffydd ab Madoc, who basely betrayed his country to that monarch.

In 1390 this castle was inhabited by Myvanwy Vechan, a most beautiful and accomplished female. She was of the house of Tudor Trevor, and her father, Ednyved Vychan, then held the castle under the noble Earl of Arundel, in the reign of the unfortunate Richard the Second. She was beloved by Howel ab Einion Lygliw, a celebrated bard, who addressed her in a most charming ode.

On the north-west side of the hill is an adjacent rock called Craig Eglwyseg, or the Eagle’s Rock. For more than half a mile this rock lies stratum upon stratum, in such a manner as to form a kind of steps, parallel with the horizon, called by naturalists saxa sedilia, affording a remarkable geological phenomenon.

VALLE CRUCIS ABBEY,

Valle Crucis Abbey

Like most abbeys, is beautifully situated. The monks of old well appreciated the value of rich lands and clear streams. This exquisite relic of a past age was founded in the year 1200, by Gruffydd ab Madoc, Lord of Bromfield and Yale, and of the neighbouring castle, Dinas BrÂn; and in conformity with the rule of the Cistercian fraternity, was dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary. The remains of the abbey at present existing consist of the church, and of a building on the southern side, part of which seems to have formed the abbot’s lodgings, the refectory, and the dormitory above, now tenanted by a farmer. The church is a cruciform building, of which the northern side has been almost destroyed, and no vestige remains of the roof except in the eastern aisle of the southern transept.

In the midst of these hallowed precincts, and until the last twelvemonths, the rubbish was heaped up to a great height, probably by the fall of the northern wall, and by the remains of the roof, but through the praiseworthy exertions of a nobleman in the neighbourhood, Viscount Dungannon, the whole has been cleared away, leaving the pavement and sides as they existed in former days.

The eastern end is most ancient, and it is adorned by three lancet arches, forming one grand window.

The entrance was in the west, under a broad and beautiful window, above which is a smaller one of marigold form, decorated with tracery and fret work, and beneath it may be deciphered the following inscription:—

Quiescat ame

+ Adam Abbas fecit hoc Opus i Pace.

The intelligent cicerone of this ancient building is Miss Jane Lloyd, who has lived in this retired but delightful spot for some years. She has a perfect knowledge of the Welsh language, and of the history of these interesting ruins, which no one who has visited them can cease to remember with admiration and regret.

THE PILLAR OF ELISEG.

Not far from the abbey, in a field called Llwyn-y-Groes, or the Grove of the Cross, stands this famous pillar, which was erected above a thousand years ago to the memory of Eliseg, the father of a Prince of Powis, called Brochwel Ysgythrog, who met his death at the Battle of Chester, in 607.

It is among the first lettered stones that succeed the Meini-Hirion, Meini-Gwyr, and Llechau, and stood on a great tumulus, perhaps always environed with wood, according to the custom of the most ancient times. During the civil wars it was thrown down and broken, and the shaft, which was originally twelve feet, is now reduced to eight. At the suggestion of Mr. Price, Bodleian Librarian, and a great antiquary, Mr. Lloyd, of Trevor Hall, had it placed in its present position.

From Valle Crucis Abbey we proceeded to the banks of the Dee, and crossing the rude bridge over the river, struck into the high road to Corwen. The country became highly interesting. The mountains are lofty; and beneath, upon the right, Glyndwrdu the Valley of the Dee, discloses its picturesque beauty.

The vale is so serpentine that it presents a succession of most exquisite views, and after a walk of three miles, on looking back, Castell Dinas BrÂn seems placed upon a lower eminence. The Valley of Llangollen may be seen likewise from hence for many miles, terminated by the distant horizon.

Pillar of ElisegThe Valley of the Dee was the patrimony of the renowned Glyndwr—Shakspere’s Glendower—and with many a mountain side and summit do the natives delight to associate his name. Just beyond the seventh mile-stone, will be seen a kind of tumulus crested with a clump of firs; this is Glyndwr’s Mount, and is, we believe, fixed upon as the site of his palace.

After passing the picturesque village of Llansaintfraid, nothing occurs to arrest the attention till Corwen is reached. The hotel is named after the mighty Owen, and has a gigantic head over the door, much resembling the Saracen’s, of Snow Hill notoriety.

The first question put to the jolly landlord was, “What can you give us to eat?”—It was about three o’clock in the day.

“Why, sir, there is a nice roast duck, and some peas.”

“And how long, pray, will it be before it is ready?”

“A quarter of an hour.”

“Very well, that will do; and in the interim I will visit the church.”

In a few minutes I was conducted to the ancient edifice.

On one side of the altar is the lid of a coffin, which bears the following inscription:—

“Hic jacet Jorwerth Sulien, Vicarius de Corvaen. Ora pro eo.”

In the church wall is shewn the private doorway through which Owen Glyndwr entered the building whenever he attended divine worship, and in the rock which overhangs the churchyard, there is a recess which bears the name of Owen Glyndwr’s Chair; and the stone which now forms the lintel of the doorway leading to his pew, is said to retain the mark of his dagger, half an inch in depth, which he threw from the said chair; but upon what occasion it is not stated.

In the cemetery there is a Cross, fixed in a circular stone, westward of the steeple; and it is supposed that the name of Corwen is a corruption of Corvaen, and derived from this Cross. Cor signifies a circle, and maen (which is likewise considered to have been changed into vaen) if joined to cor, means a cross in the circle.

Having satisfied my curiosity here, I returned to the inn, and the first object which met my delighted eyes, was the promised duck, accompanied by a dish of most elegant trout: a dainty for which I had been longing ever since I entered this territory of rocks and torrents. My friend was already placed at the table, and he clapped his hands, and rubbed them with evident delight and satisfaction at seeing me arrive so opportunely.

The fish despatched, duck and green peas, in close column brought up the rear. But I and my gallant comrade—a better trencherman ne’er poised a fork—attacked in line, cut up the one, and routed the other with the most determined bravery. The right and left wings were attacked and cut off from the main body, which, with all its materials, we dispersed in the glorious conflict, remaining masters of the field.

Although I thus warmly express my satisfaction at partaking of this not-easily-to-be-forgotten luxury, let me not be mistaken for a gourmand; but a wet and tired traveller, however much his mind may be enchanted by the scenery through which he passes, never beholds a more delightful prospect than a comfortable meal at his journey’s end.

It so happened, however, that this was not to be my journey’s end, as it was my intention to reach Bala before nightfall.

At this spot my companion and I were to separate: his path lay towards Cerrig-y-druidion, and mine towards Llandrillo and the Vale of Edeyrnion.

With a feeling of regret I never before experienced at quitting a new acquaintance of so short a standing, I squeezed his hand, and once more took the road for another walk of ten miles.

At a short distance from Corwen, a road branches off to the left, along which the traveller should trudge to the village of Llandrillo, and he will be repaid by the sight of one of the most fertile valleys in Wales. It is a mile farther to Bala by this route, but the superior beauty of the scenery will amply recompence him for the extra distance, for, with the exception of a view of Bala Lake, obtained from an eminence, the road, which runs along the opposite side of the valley, is dull and uninviting. But on the contrary, by the Llandrillo route, the eye is delighted with a succession of scenes varied and interesting in the extreme. Huge masses of rock hang over the road upon the left, in threatening grandeur, while waving woods and falling streams give endless variety to the picture.

After proceeding five miles, I crossed a bridge over a fine trout-stream, the banks of which are shaded with trees, and turning into an avenue upon the right, seated myself by the margin of the brook, secured from the hot rays of the mid-day sun, I fancied myself the melancholy Jacques. There only wanted a wounded stag, to make the illusion perfect.

As I entered the village of Llandrillo, I was much delighted with the lively scene. The long street was crowded with peasantry, in their holiday clothes. On each side were stalls, formed of tubs turned upside down, and boards placed upon them, to support their merchandise; square patches strewed with straw and covered with crockery and glass; tables well stored with woollen hose and mittens; and stands of gingerbread and ginger-pop were liberally stationed in different quarters, to gratify and refresh the happy throng. At times, a sudden opening in the crowd took place, the whole mass of people jamming each other upon either side of the street, to make way for a trotting pony, or an ambling nag, to curvet and prance down the middle and up again, to show his paces. At the upper end of the fair, a hardware man harangued a crowd of people from his travelling warehouse (a covered cart,) endeavouring to persuade them that he came to Llandrillo solely for their benefit, and for no selfish motive upon earth, and labouring to convince them, in brazier-like eloquence, that the articles he offered to their notice were considerably under prime cost, and could not be purchased elsewhere for treble the money; but, though he sold at a great sacrifice to himself, he begged them not to consider his loss, but their gain; such an opportunity would never again present itself, therefore now was their only time to buy cheap!

A party of Welsh girls attracted my attention, gathered together in front of a wall, upon which a line of men’s hats were ranged, of various qualities and prices; and great glee and laughter were elicited as each fitted the new beaver upon her head, it being considered the ne plus ultra of taste, and a powerful auxiliary to the coquetry of a Welsh girl.

Leaving Llandrillo, and proceeding towards Bala, the traveller enters the

VALE OF EDEYRNION.

The mountains here, upon either side, are covered with plantations, and the beautiful Dee winds gracefully in the centre of the valley, through delightful meadows, while corn fields wave upon the sloping banks, and everything presents to the eye the appearance of freshness and fertility, cheerfulness and content. At the bridge near Llanddervel, a small village, which is first observed upon the opposite bank of the Dee, a splendid view presents itself. The river here is broad, shallow, and deep, by turns, and looking up or down the vale, its meandering sportiveness charms the eye. At the extremity of the valley is a lofty mountain, planted to the summit, which seems so closely to envelope it as to prevent all egress. To stand upon this bridge at sunset, and listen to the whistle of the sheep-boy as he trudges merrily along the road, the song of the husbandman, or the joyous laugh of the milkmaids—sounds that float upon the silent air for miles, at such an hour—the twittering of the birds—the low crake of the rail, amidst the corn—and sweeter than all, the music of the river, discharging liquid sounds from its transparent bosom—creates a sensation which we are at a loss how to express. Excess of pleasure becomes painful; and, overpowered with delight, nature asserts her influence, and we experience the luxury of tears!—at least, I did, and I pity from my soul the man who is unfortunately incapable of a similar feeling.

Passing through the little village of Llanvor, and crossing a stream over the bridge close by the lodge of Mr. Price, of Rhiwlas, I at length arrived at the White Lion, in the town of Bala; and, tired with my day’s exertions, called for a tea-dinner and slippers, and early retired to rest.