CONWAY CASTLE.

The village consists of a few cottages, unconnected and poor looking: riches or civilization would not harmonize with the scenery of Dolwydellan, which is as though it existed in an age when the use of money and the various arts of life were still unknown or undiscovered.

Conwayis an ancient fortified town, seated on the western bank of the noble river from which it takes its name, and formerly called Aber-Conway, i.e. the mouth or embouchure of the chief river. The position is happily chosen, both as a strong post of defence and a key to those parts of Denbigh and Caernarvon which lie remote from the sea. In thearrangement and decorations of the interior the town of Conway has little to attract a mere spectator, the streets being few, narrow, and irregular: but the historian and the antiquary will view with much interest the old Plas Mawr, erected in the year 1585, by Robert Wynne, of Gwydyr, Esq., uncle of Sir John Wynne the historian. Over the principal entrance, in Greek characters, are inscribed the words ανεχθ απεχθ, i.e. bear and forbear; and above may be observed, in Roman capitals, J. H. S. X. P. S. supposed to be the initials of the words “Jesus Hominum Salvator et populi salus;” the interpretation of the three first letters is probably correct, but of the latter three extremely questionable. The old college, which stands in Castle Street, is adorned with armorial bearings of the Stanleys, and was possibly an alms-house or charitable institution of some sort, founded or endowed by that noble family. Of the old Cistercian Abbey, founded by Llewellyn ap Jorwerth in the year 1185, no traces are now visible; Edward the First transformed the building into a parish church, removed the monks to Maenan Abbey, on the Denbighshire side of the river, three miles distant from Llanrwst, and obliterated all traces of the monkish establishment as far as it was practicable.

The church is a low unarchitectural structure, built and repaired from time to time from the mouldering walls of the ancient abbey, without having borrowed one happy thought from the symmetry of its proportions. Here is a fine baptismal font, supported by a clustered pillar of gothic design; and a tabletto the memory of Nicholas Hookes, of Conway, Gent., who was the forty-first child of William and Alice Hookes, and himself the father of twenty-seven. He died on the 20th of March, 1637.

The town was incorporated and made a free borough by Edward the First, the charter constituting the mayor to be governor of the castle also. This politic prince erected the castles of Caernarvon, Beaumaris, and Conway, to awe the turbulent spirit of his dearly acquired subjects; and whatever merit may be due to the policy of the plan, sufficient admiration can hardly be awarded to the choice of position and beauty of design. If he had not been the prince who commanded those walls to be erected, he might well have wished to have been their architect. The picturesque features of these fine ruins are quite distinct; Caernarvon boasts magnitude, Conway a most romantic position, and the great hall of Beaumaris brings back the spectator immediately into the society of other days.

The embattled walls which surround the town are coeval with the castle, and drawn in the form of a British harp, like those encompassing Caernarvon. The design and style of the castle however are wholly different, and most happily suited to its bold position. The ground plan is nearly in form a parallelogram. Two sides of the castle rise from a steep rock, washed by the tide water of a little creek that runs up along the town walls, and by the flood of the Conway river. The exterior presents to view eight noble circular towers, from the walls of whichissue slender machiolated turrets, giving a singular lightness to the whole design, and connected by massive embattled curtains. A long wall formerly extended from the southern angle of the castle into the river, terminated by a little water tower, used to obstruct the passage of enemies, and facilitate the landing of their friends. The principal entrance, which is tolerably perfect, was by a drawbridge thrown across a deep fosse, concealed within a barbacan. The interior is divided into two distinct parts, an outer and an inner court, the entrance to the latter impassable by more than one person at a time, and that by the permission of those within. Around the outer courtyard were the apartments of the garrison, the chapel, great hall, &c.: the inner area was encompassed by the apartments of the royal founder and his household. The walls of a small chamber, still entire, with an open ornamented casement, bear the name of the Queen’s Oriel, and appear, from a poem of the age in which it was erected, to have been the ladies’ dressing-room. At the south-western extremity, beyond the royal apartments, a broad terrace is raised above the river upon a ledge of solid rock; from this, as from the oriel, a view of the adjacent country is enjoyed, intersected by cultivated hills, between which and the castle the Conway is seen to roll his flood, passing beneath the broad waterway afforded by a beautiful suspension bridge, which, from the appropriateness of style, seems an appendage of the ancient pile. A curious proof is here afforded of the excellence of masonry in theearly ages. Although the castle appears identified with the rock from which it springs, a separation has taken place in one instance; neither has this occurred from the disintegration of the walls, which hang out beyond the base of the broken tower, it is the rock itself that has crumbled away.

There are many historic events of deep interest connected with the story of this warrior pile. Like the artist of the brazen bull, Edward was the first who was necessitated to make trial of the sufficiency of his new state prison. Here he was besieged and nearly reduced by famine, and only rescued from such a critical situation by the providential arrival of a fleet with supplies. This was also the appointed rendezvous of forty thousand loyalists who attached themselves to the fortunes of King Richard the Second, and were destined to check the career of Bolingbroke. Here Percy and King Richard held an interview, from which it would appear that the unhappy prince mistrusted his faithful friends; for, secretly withdrawing from Conway, he put himself into the hands of Northumberland, at Flint, by whom he was betrayed into the power of his rival. Amongst its different vicissitudes Conway Castle was once converted into a public treasury, and discharged its trust with honour and good fortune. In the civil wars of King Charles’s time, being held by Dr. Williams, archbishop of York, for the king, the country gentlemen entrusted to his Grace’s keeping their title deeds, plate, and most valuable moveables. This trust he cheerfully undertook and made himself entirely responsiblefor their value by giving to each depositor a personal receipt. In the May of 1645, Prince Rupert was appointed governor of the castle, and by his order Sir John Owen was substituted for the archbishop in the guardianship of the valuables lodged within. Sir John constantly evading the archbishop’s applications on the subject of the deposit, the prelate, to avoid his own ruin, and seeing no prospect of a return to regal government, joined the Parliamentarians, assisted Mytton in the reduction of the castle, and having again got into possession of those treasures for which he had pledged himself, restored them uninjured to the respective owners. For these services parliament granted him a free pardon and a release from all his sequestrations. The singular beauty of this fortress appears to have obtained for it not only the admiration but the respect of the ruin-making conquerors of the seventeenth century; but being at last granted by Charles the Second to Lord Conway, while it was still roofed and perfect, that gothic personage dismantled the entire structure, and sold the lead, iron, timber, and all other disposable materials which could be easily separated.

The suspension bridge at Conway is thrown from the foot of the southern tower to a small island in the river, the suspension piers corresponding in design with the rounders of the castle occasion little interruption to the harmony of the whole, and reduce it to a mere question of taste, whether the bridge be not an appropriate accession to the scene, and the very drawbridge of the castle.

Thevillage of Beddgelert, the Goodesberg of Cambria, is situated on a little plain reposing amidst wild and awful mountains, and adorned by the conflux of two bright streams, the Glaslyn and the Colwyn. The agreeable and fascinating character of the scene is more immediately and vividly impressed upon the traveller who approaches it from the Caernarvon hills. After traversing a wild heathy district, and coasting along the banks of many gloomy lakes, the little village of Beddgelert, in the centre of a verdant mead, with its cheerful accompaniments of inhabitation, breaks suddenly on the view amidst all the horrors of untamed nature. No situation could be more happily chosen for the inspiration of religious meditation, or more wisely selected for the maintenance of an institution of human beings, in a region so savage and unproductive as this must have been when the vale was occupied by a college of monks. The village consists of a few huts coarsely and substantially built, deriving all their charms from the beauty of their position, a handsome inn, embosomed high in tufted trees, and the old parish church. Moel Hebog, or the hill of the falcon, known in the world of elegant literature as “Lord Lyttleton’s Hill,” hangs over the valley on the opposite side to the village, and at its base was discovered, in the year 1784, a Roman shield of a circular shape, and formed of thin brass.

The church, which is dedicated to St. Mary, was anciently conventual, and belonged to a priory of Augustines, conjectured to be also of the class called Gilbertines. The regulations of this last order permitted the residence of men and women beneath the same roof, their convents being separated by a wall; and this opinion receives some support from the circumstances of a tract of land adjoining the church being known to this day by the appellation of “The Nun’s Meadow,” in Welsh Dol y Lleian. Beddgelert is the oldest monastic establishment in North Wales, Bardsey excepted. Llewellyn the Great, who commenced his reign in 1184, appears to have bestowed upon it certain grants of land, and David ap Llewellyn granted others which were afterwards resumed, an investigation establishing the property of them to have been originally in Tudor ap Madoc, and not in the reigning prince. Besides many granges in Caernarvon and Anglesea, an allowance of fifty cows and twenty-two sheep, the Prior had a certain tithe or proportion of bees, or rather of their honey and wax. It is extremely probable that all the preceding were not intended for the sustenance of the few religious of this house, but for the maintenance and extension of a liberal hospitality to all persons travelling this way from North to South Wales, and England to Ireland. Mead was the favourite drink of those times, the nectar of that age, whence the veneration in which bees were held of so vain a character, that the priests fabled them to have been blessed by the Almighty at theirdeparture from Paradise, and that therefore no mass ought to be celebrated but by the light of wax. This conceit is mentioned in the laws of Howel Dda. A farther and rather substantial testimony of the hospitality practised here in by-gone days, was afforded in the existence of a pewter drinking mug, capable of containing about two quarts, which remained until within a very few years in an old tenement called the Prior’s House. Any traveller who could grasp the Beddgelert pint with one hand, when filled with good ale (cwrw dda) and quaff it at a single draught, was entitled to the liquorgratis. The tenant was to charge the value to the lord of the manor, who deducted the amount from the ensuing rent. It was also for the further continuance of such an useful hospitality that Edward the First munificently repaired the damages which the convent had sustained by an accidental fire in 1283; and Bishop Anian granted indulgences to other benefactors. At the dissolution of monasteries the revenues of Beddgelert were estimated at seventy pounds, Edward Conway was its last Prior, and its lands in Caernarvonshire were granted to the Bodvells.

Here are interred two eminent bards, Rhys Gôch Eryri, who flourished about the year 1420, and Dafydd Nanmor, whose death is placed in 1460. The poet attributes the foundation of Beddgelert church to a later date, and to a different prince, and rests his proof upon the following tradition. Llewellyn the Great came to reside here, during the hunting season, accompanied by his princess and their children; andone day while the family were abroad a fierce wolf was seen to approach the palace. The prince, upon his return from the chase, was met at his entrance by his faithful dog Gelert all smeared with blood, though still using his accustomed indications of happiness upon seeing his master. Llewellyn alarmed ran with haste into the nursery, and there finding the cradle overturned and the floor stained with blood, concluded that Gelert had been the destroyer of his child, and drawing his sword instantly plunged it into the heart of his favourite dog. But upon restoring the cradle to its proper position the infant was discovered wrapped confusedly in the clothing, and a monstrous wolf lying dead by its side. Llewellyn, says tradition, immediately erected a church upon the spot, in thankfulness to God, and placed a tomb over the remains of poor Gelert, who lies buried in the centre of the valley, called from that day Beddgelert, or Gelert’s Grave. This interesting tale forms the subject of the following pleasing ballad, by the Hon. W. R. Spencer—

The spearman heard the bugle sound,And cheerly smiled the morn,And many a brach and many a houndAttend Llewellyn’s horn.

And still he blew a louder blast,And gave a louder cheer,“Come, Gelert, why art thou the lastLlewellyn’s horn to hear?

“Oh where does faithful Gelert roam?The flower of all his race:So true, so brave, a lamb at home,A lion in the chase.”

’Twas only at Llewellyn’s boardThe faithful Gelert fed;He watch’d, he served, he cheer’d his lord,And sentinel’d his bed.

In sooth he was a peerless hound,The gift of royal John;[46]But now no Gelert could be found,And all the chase rode on.

And now as over rocks and dellsThe gallant chidings rise,All Snowdon’s craggy chaos yellsWith many mingled cries.

That day Llewellyn little lovedThe chase of hart or hare,And scant and small the booty proved,For Gelert was not there.

Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied,When near the royal seat,His truant Gelert be espied,Bounding his lord to greet.

But when he gain’d his castle door,Aghast the chieftain stood;The bound was smear’d with gouts of gore,His lips and fangs ran blood.

Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise,Unused such looks to meet,His favourite check’d his joyful guise,And crouch’d and lick’d his feet.

Onward in haste Llewellyn pass’d,And on went Gelert too,And still where’er his eyes he cast,Fresh blood gouts shock’d his view.

O’erturn’d his infant’s bed he found,The blood-stain’d covert rent;And all around the walls and ground,With recent blood besprent.

He call’d his child—no voice replied:He search’d with terror wild;Blood, blood, he found on every side,But no where found the child!

“Hell-hound, by thee my child’s devour’d,”The frantic father cried:And to the hilt the vengeful sword,He plunged in Gelert’s side.

His suppliant, as to earth he fell,No pity could impart;But still his Gelert’s dying yellPass’d heavy o’er his heart.

Aroused by Gelert’s dying yell,Some slumberer waken’d nigh;What words the parent’s joy can tellTo hear his infant cry?

Conceal’d between a mingled heapHis hurried search had miss’d:All glowing from his rosy sleep,His cherub boy he kiss’d!

Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread,But the same couch beneathLay a great wolf, all torn and dead,Tremendous still in death!

Ah, what was then Llewellyn’s pain!For now the truth was clear,The gallant hound the wolf had slain,To save Llewellyn’s heir.

Vain, vain, was all Llewellyn’s woe,Best of thy kind, adieu!The frantic deed which laid thee low,This heart shall ever rue.

And now a gallant tomb they raiseWith costly sculpture deck’d,And marbles storied with his praisePoor Gelert’s bones protect.

Here never could the spearman pass,Or forester, unmoved,Here oft the tear besprinkled grass,Llewellyn’s sorrow proved.

And here he hung his horn and spear,And oft as evening fell,In fancy’s piercing sounds would hearPoor Gelert’s dying yell!

And till great Snowdon’s rocks grow old,And cease the storm to brave,The consecrated spot shall holdThe name of Gelert’s grave.

Llyn Ogwen; Pont y-Pair; Llanberis lake. London. Published by T. T. & J. Tegg, Cheapside, Oct. 1st 1832

OgwenLake is contained within a circumference of about three miles, presenting itself in rather an oval form. It is encircled by mountains, except at the eastern extremity, which fall abruptly into the water, and afford scenery in the highest degree romantic. On the left the broken shattered crags of Trifaen[48]hang over the margin of the lake, and throw the surface into an everlasting shadow. The distant forms of Francôn mountains are, if possible, still more grand and picturesque; but the side skreen of Braich-ddû slopes down more smoothly and gradually to the water’s surface. Perhaps there are too many broken summits hovering over Ogwen; probably the mind of true taste may think the simplicityand grandeur of the scene interrupted by their repetition, but this is too refined a criticism. Ogwen is generally acknowledged to present the finest lake scene in Caernarvonshire, the very Derwent of North Wales, and, like it, well described as “Beauty sleeping in the lap of Horror.” The waters of Llyn Ogwen abound in a species of red trout, easily taken with the fly, and not inferior in flavour to salmon. The surplus waters discharge themselves at the western end of the pool through a chasm in the rocks, and tumbling in three noble cataracts down a height of about one hundred feet, are concentrated into a bed in the green meadows of Nant Francon; flowing by Dolawen and Penrhyn Castle, they are lost at length in the Mænai straits.

The noble line of road constructed through the Welsh mountains, under the surveillance of parliamentary commissioners, is carried along the very margin of Llyn Ogwen, amidst the great debris that continue annually falling from the rocky sides of Trifaen. In the winter of 1831 upwards of one thousand tons of rock fell from the dizzy heights of Benclog, a little below the Ogwen cataracts; part rolling straight across the road fell into the valley and river in the bottom, while another part having acquired a less momentum rested on the ledge the road supplied them. The intercourse of travellers was for some days impeded, although one hundred miners were engaged in clearing and restoring the surface of the road. A gentleman from the vale of Llanrwst hadjust passed along in his phaeton, on his way to Bangor, when the terrific sound of the dissolving mountain fell upon his astonished ear.

About one mile from Llyn Ogwen, in a deep hollow of the Glyder mountains, lies the dark pool, called Llyn Idwal. The gloomy horrors of the surrounding scene exceed even those of Ogwen; the encircling cliffs are overhanging, broken, and dark; in one part the whole mountain is rent asunder, and the chasm of “Twll ddû,” or the “black cleft,” gapes between the terrific masses. The solitude of Cwm Idwal proved favourable to the perpetration of a deed of blood, and it was here that young Idwal, the infant heir of Prince Owen Gwynedd, was treacherously assassinated by order of his foster-father Nefydd, to whose care his father had consigned him:—

And thou, O Idwal, of immortal fame,Dying, to the vale hath left thy name.

Thiscurious and picturesque bridge is thrown over the rapid river Llugwy,[50b]at the village of Bettws-y-Coed,[50c]in the county of Caernarvon. Though flung high above the surface of the water it consists of but little masonry, the natural rock supplying piers themost solid and enduring. One of the arches affords an open transit for the waters which flow from the noble fall and salmon leap above the bridge, and produce by their impetuous rotatory motion a deep reservoir or caldron below it, whence this graceful structure derives its appropriate name. Four of the arches are dry except in rainy seasons, when the torrent rises with such rapidity as would endanger a less substantial work, at which period these openings are found perfectly necessary.

The history of the origin of Pont-y-Pair possesses a singular though simple interest. Howel, a mason, from Penllyn, having occasion to attend the assizes then, A.D. 1468, held at Conway, found his passage over the Lleder, which flows through Dolwydellan, obstructed by the violence and greatness of the flood. This suggested to him the idea of removing to the spot and of erecting a bridge there, at his own expense, trusting to the generosity of travellers for compensation. The success of one project engendered a second, and Howel next resolved upon the erection of the beautiful bridge at Bettws-y Coed, called now the Pont-y-Pair; but he did not live to see its final completion.

To the right of the Pont-y-Pair is the “Carreg y gwalch,” or rock of the Falcon, a beautiful hill of singular and broken forms, clothed with wood for the most part, a few fine bold rocks occasionally elevating their fronts above the foliage, and producing a noble and great effect. In this rock is a deeprecess, called Ogo ap Shenkin, or the Cave of Jenkin, in which that famous outlaw took shelter during the Lancastrian wars. A large rock now blocks up the entrance, like the grotto of Polyphemus, and there is a tradition that this was once rolled away by some inquisitive persons, who, advancing a few yards, discovered a huge oak chest clasped with iron, on the top of which stood a monstrous goat bowing his aged head, and following with his horns the direction of those who had the courage to approach. The chest of course continues in this dreary treasury, and the character of its guardian is hinted at by the discoverers, but never openly declared.

Dafydd ap Shenkin held the fastnesses of Nant-conway for fifteen years, during which period he was unrelentingly pursued by the captains of Edward the Fourth. From their persecution, when he could no longer keep the open country, he sought refuge in his mountain cave. Howel ap Jevan ap Rhys Gethyn, a contemporary of Jenkin, and the Robin Hood of those times and this country, was also Shenkin’s or Jenkin’s mortal foe. Being expelled from the castle of Dolwydellan, and from his strong hold at Penanmen, he was compelled to flee into Ireland, where he continued for a year or more, and then returning appeared with his followers all clad in green, spent the residue of his life as an outlaw, seeking a fortuitous existence amongst the mountains and forests of his native land. There is a township in the parish of Bettws-y-Coed stillbearing the name of Hendre-Rhys-Gethyn; it is the estate of Dafydd D. Price, Esq., and was once probably part of the possessions of the brave but unfortunate Howel, the consistency of whose politics constituted his greatest offence.

The village of Bettws, an attractive and fascinating spot, is situated near the meeting of the Llugwy and Conway rivers. The few cottages composing it, though poor in detail, are rich in composition, no village in the principality presenting a more beautiful landscape than Bettws, viewed from the road to Coed Cynheliar. The village church stands in a little cemetery in the centre of the vale, resembling in some degree the church of Beddgelert. It is enclosed by a few stately forest trees, and forms a venerable and interesting object. Within is shown a fine effigiated tomb of Gryffydd ap Dafydd Goch, son of Dafydd Goch, who was a natural son of Dafydd, brother to the last reigning Prince of Wales. The figure is recumbent, clad in armour, and the outside border of the torus is inscribed with these words,

Hic jacet Grufud ap Davyd Coch, Agnus Dei misêre mei.

Above the village, on the stream of the Llugwy, is the famous waterfall called Rhaidar y Wennol, or the cataract of the swallow. It consists of three noble falls, differing in character, though all conspicuous in picturesque interest; the highest consists of innumerable frothy streams, gliding with great velocity down a sloping rock but little broken; thesecond is a concentrated volume, rushing with impetuosity into a foaming caldron; and in the third the whole is dashed away in spray. A huge perpendicular rock rises abruptly from one side to a height of five hundred feet and upwards, while the opposite side is formed of broken banks and rocky patches, clothed with noble aged oaks. In the solemn depths of the lowest fall the spirit of the turbulent Sir John Wynne, of Gwydyr, which had haunted the glen for many years, is supposed to be laid at rest beneath the waters.

Theselakes, though not remarkable for extent of surface, are distinguished by the solemn grandeur of their rocks and mountains, that rise in very bold and awful characters. On the northern shore the mountain rises to a towering height, and with great abruptness. The hills on the opposite side are more rugged and sterile, but recede more gradually, while they aspire to an equal elevation. Between the lakes a bold promontory issues from the mountain and shoots into the water, adorned by the majesty of Dolbadarn’s ruined castle, whose ivy-mantled walls seem part of the very rock on which they stand. Beyond this a second expanse of waters is disclosed, enveloped in scenery yet more terrific and sublime than the former, the perspective being terminated by the dark blue heads of innumerable mountains,projections merely of great Snowdon and the Glydyr, where the mountains appear to meet and shut in the scene. Amidst scattered rocks, at the entrance of Bwlch y Gwyddol, and where fragments from the heights almost choke up the pass, stands the little church of Llanberis. If solitude and simplicity be inseparable characters of a religious edifice, then is Llanberis Church most entirely suited to its pious destination. Saint Peris, to whom the church is dedicated, lived in the thirteenth century, and this is supposed to have been his retreat. Here he founded a church, blessed a well, which now bears his name, and to which miraculous qualities were ascribed. The most singular circumstance however, connected with the later history of this holy well is, that here a monstrous trout has continued for upwards of twenty years, and become so familiar, that it will take a worm from the hand of a poor person, who appears to have adopted that privilege as her own. Peris was a legate from the church of Rome, and accompanied in his mission by Saint Padarn. Our saint chose the little meadows on the upper lake, in Nant y Monach, or the Monk’s Vale; and Padarn, his friend, settled on the lower lake, which is still called after his name.

Dolbadarn Castle consists at this day of a single round tower or keep; but traces of a greater occupation are sufficiently distinct around. Time has rolled its dark waves over the date of foundation and name of founder, and, one incident excepted,nothing but conjecture remains as to its history. Padarn Beisrydd, the son of Idwal, was the supposed builder of this fortress, the obvious utility of which was to guard the mountain pass behind it. The date of its erection, in that case, would be some time previous to the eleventh century; a conjecture supported by the style of architecture, which is clearly Welsh. Owen Goch was imprisoned here by his brother Llewellyn ap Gryffydd, last Prince of Wales, of the British line, for the term of twenty years, and his merits are celebrated in an ode composed by Howel-Voel, bewailing the captivity of the unhappy prince.

The following translation of the opening stanzas embraces the meaning, but does not pretend to imitate the bold spirit of Howel’s lamentation.

Ye powers, that rule both earth and sea,Release from dark captivity,Snatch from an inglorious graveThe lion-hearted, mild yet brave,Owen,—a prince of matchless strength,Whose bright lance dripped, for all its length,With the best blood of the bravest menThat dared to foray his mountain glen.’Twas his to succour,—relieve distress,The proud to humble, the foe to oppress.His charity measureless, his bounty great,His gifts well suited such wide estate.But now these vales seem dark and dreary,No hall to shelter the weak, the weary,Since Owen has changed his lordly bowerFor the darksome dungeon of Padarn’s tower:Its dark gray walls their prince now severFrom those who have lost their glory for ever.Their pride, their honour, their fame is fled,Their light is extinguished, their hopes are dead.Oh! Owen, dauntless, valiant and bright,Chieftain of Cambria,—warrior knight, &c. &c.

The seclusion of Llanberis has been broken by the formation of a new line of road along Llyn Padarn to the town of Caernarvon, and the charms of its solitude dissipated by the erection of two spacious inns in the immediate vicinity of the ancient castle.

To scenes like these, a tale of wonder is a welcome introduction; it awakes the mind, and adds new interest to every rock and precipice. The melancholy fate of little John Closs, who was overtaken by a mist, and perished in the snows upon Moel Eilio, calls forth a tear, but excites no wonder. Thefeatsof Margaret uch Evan, though very singular, are as certainly well attested: she dwelt near the margin of the lower lake, and was the last specimen of the strength and spirit of the ancient Briton. Her biographer asserts that “she was the greatest hunter, fisher, shooter of her time: she kept a dozen of dogs, terriers, greyhounds, and spaniels, all excellent in their kind. She killed more foxes in one year than all the confederate hunts did in ten: rowed stoutly, and was queen of the lakes: fiddled excellently, and was acquainted with all the old British music: was also a good joiner: and at the age of seventy years, was so expert a wrestler, that few young men dared try a fall with her. She was a blacksmith, shoemaker, and manufacturer of harps.She shod her own horses, made her own shoes, and built her own boats while under contract to convey the copper ore down the lakes. Contemporary bards celebrated her praises in strains purely British. She gave her hand, at length, to the most effeminate of her suitors, as if determined to exert that physical superiority which nature had bestowed on her even in the married state. Foulk Jones, of Ty Dû, was also a person of singular powers; the tales related of his prowess recall the poet’s character of Entellus.

—“he then confronts the bull,And on his ample forehead, aiming fall,The deadly stroke descending, pierced the skull.”Æneid, v. 666.

—“he then confronts the bull,And on his ample forehead, aiming fall,The deadly stroke descending, pierced the skull.”

Æneid, v. 666.

The pass of Nant Peris is entered by a gap called Bwlch y Gwyddol;[58a]tremendous rocks impend on either side in masses of gray crag, the long shattered ridge of Snowdon on the one hand, and the broken forms of Glydyr fawr on the other. These rocks are overlooked again by still more awful mountains, that fall in abrupt lines and close up the vista, except where they are commanded by some peak of Snowdon or its opposing rival. Images of desolation and of stupendous greatness compose the scene. A solitary cottage disturbs the retirement; and sometimes the shepherd’s shrill call, in “the office of his mountain watch,” is heard repeated among the rocks of the “Blue Vale.”[58b]Some distanceup the pass a huge stone, which does not appear to have been an appendage of the mountain, but rather an independent erection, lies across the centre of the defile. A hollow beneath it was once converted by a poor woman into a summer habitation, for the convenience of tending her little flock. It exceeds the dimensions of the Boother stone[59]in Westmoreland; and the spot on which it rests is called, from the story of the poor herdswoman, “Ynys Hettys,” or Betty’s Island. The scenery decreases in magnificence as the highest point or resting-place (Gorphwysffa) is attained, where new and different beauties burst upon the sight, in the view down the Bwlch Eisteddffau into the enchanting vale of Gwynant.

Accomplishing the passage of the “Blue Vale” was amongst the great boasts of Cambrian tourists: if the reward was great, so were the difficulties of the task.

“If the path be dangerous known,The danger’s self is lure alone,”

might then have been the adopted motto of the inquisitive tourist, but now the wheels of a stage-coach, in mimickry of the revolutions of time and of events, roll rapidly over the Gorphwysffa itself, that spot where the way-worn traveller paused to take a congratulating retrospect of the difficulties he had passed.

Thelargest, most wealthy, and populous shire in North Wales. Its form is irregular; the greatest length from north to south extends forty miles, and the mean breadth is calculated at twenty-three. The area occupies a surface exceeding four hundred thousand acres. It presents a front of a few miles length to the Irish sea. Parts of Flint, Cheshire, and Shropshire form the eastern boundary; Merioneth and Montgomeryshires the south; and it is joined on the west by the county of Caernarvon. The surface presents an endless variety, and may be illustrated by the idea of an island whose shores are peopled and cultivated, while the interior is comparatively in a state of natural wildness. The vales of Llanrwst, the Abergelle line of coast, the fertile vale of Clwyd, represent the fringe of cultivation which surrounds an elevated though improvable district of many thousand acres. With the exception of the Dee and Conway, which form natural county bounds on the east and west, the rivers of Denbigh are inconsiderable. The mean elevation of the interior district, extending from Bettws-Abergele to Derwen, and from Denbigh to the Gwytherin hills; is about eight hundred feet above sea level. Several small pools are found amongst the hills, possessing neither great extent nor much natural beauty; and, being collected in the highest regions, they are devoid of those accompaniments which give such picturesqueeffects to those lakes that are deposited in deep and hollow valleys. Cairn y Brain, between Llangollen and Llandegle, is the highest point in Denbighshire, reaching one thousand eight hundred and fifty-eight feet above the sea; and Llyn Conway is the largest assemblage of waters. The county of Denbigh, under the late Reform Bill, sends two members to parliament; the united boroughs of Denbigh, Rhuthyn, Holt, and Wrexham return one.

Denbigh; Aber waterfall; Llyn Gwynant. London. Published by T. T. & J. Tegg, Cheapside, Oct. 1st 1832

Theborough town of Denbigh occupies the sides of a steep hill, rising abruptly from the level of the beautiful vale of Clwyd, and bearing on its towering crest the venerable ruins of an ancient castle, a proud memorial of the bravery of the inhabitants in those days, when love of anarchy was mistaken for independence, and loyalty and fidelity were terms of reproach. The principal street approaches the market-place from the foot of the hill, and contains several very elegant and handsome private residences. The Town Hall possesses no architectural beauties, its sole merit is utility. Many excellent private houses are scattered through the town, which terminates at the other side of the hill in a miserable approach called Henllan Street. Denbigh, in conjunction with Rhuthyn and Holt, has for many years returned a member to parliament, but Wrexham has been admitted to a participation in the privilege, by a clause in the newReform Bill. The corporation derived its last charter from King Charles the Second, and consists of two aldermen, a recorder, two bailiffs, and two coroners. Whitchurch, where the old parish church of St. Marcellus is situated, lies in the open valley one mile from the town. It is no longer used as a place of worship, but resembles a chapel or oratory, in which the remains of chiefs and men of learning are deposited. Their blazoned arms and sumptuous tombs are rapidly yielding to the decay incident on damp and negligence. In the porch is a brass plate, engraven with figures of Richard Myddleton, governor of Denbigh Castle in the reigns of Edward the Sixth, Mary and Elizabeth, with the Lady Jane, his wife. Behind him are represented his nine sons and seven daughters in the attitude of prayer. Many of his sons rendered themselves conspicuous in public life, and even “did the state some service.” William Myddleton, his third son, was a post captain in the British navy, and behaved with great coolness and wisdom when sent to reconnoitre the Spanish fleet off the Azores in 1591. He was one of the first persons who smoked tobacco publicly in England, and was a poet of eminence in his day. Thomas, the fourth son, was Lord Mayor of London, and founder of the Chirk Castle family in this county. And, Sir Hugh Myddleton, the sixth son, was a person whose useful life would impart a lustre to the greatest family. This was the enterprising individual who “smote the rock” and brought the waters of the New River into London.

A mural monument vainly attempts to perpetuate the fame of Humphrey Llwyd, the scholar and antiquary. This remarkable person is celebrated as a master of eloquence, an excellent rhetorician, and a sound philosopher. In the art of medicine and study of antiquities his knowledge appears to have been unconfined. Camden eulogises his memory. His friend, Ortelius, owes to him his map of England; and some of the most rare and valuable works in the British Museum were collected by Llwyd for his brother-in-law, Lord Lumley. He was born in the town of Denbigh in the year 1527, and died at the early age of forty-one. The altar tomb of Sir John Salisbury is a rich specimen of monumental architecture. In the cemetery surrounding the church is a slab to the memory of Twm y Nant, the Cambrian Shakspeare, who died in the year 1810, at the age of seventy-one years. (See account of Denbigh Castle, p.72.)

Thelittle village of Aber is situated on the coast of Caernarvonshire, at the foot of a steep green hill, against which the tower of the little church appears relieved, and forms a useful landmark to travellers who venture to cross the Lavan sands and ferry from Beaumaris. In foggy weather they are directed in their dangerous journey by the tolling of the church bell. The church and inn constitute nearly thewhole of the buildings, public and private, in this sequestered spot. At a little distance from the village, and in the bwlch or entrance of a grand defile, stands an artificial mount, anciently the site of a palace belonging to Llewellyn ap Gryffydd. William de Breos, a powerful lord in the reign of Henry the Third, happening to fall into the hands of Llewellyn, at the siege of Montgomery, was conducted by him to his castle at Aber, and detained there a state prisoner for a considerable time. After his liberation suspicions of jealousy began to haunt the prince’s mind, and with a baseness which nothing but that hateful passion could create, invited De Breos to return to Aber as a guest; and, under the guise of friendship, violated all laws of princely honour and hospitality by hanging up his guest at the palace gate. While the luckless lord was suspended from the tree, Llewellyn is said to have asked his princess, in a taunting manner, what would she give to see her lover; and leading her to the window, pointed out to her the lifeless body of De Breos. Tradition preserves this tale in a few bardic lines, thus translated:

Lovely princess, said Llewellyn,What will you give to see your Gwillim?Wales and England and LlewellynI’d freely give to see my Gwillim, &c.

In a field now called Caer y Gwillim Ddû, or the field of Black William, a cave is shown in which De Breos is believed to have been interred. The life of the Princess Joan, both before and after thiscruel tragedy, contradicts the unworthy suspicions of her lord.

Aber was also the favourite residence of Dafydd ap Llewellyn, who, sinking beneath a weight of afflictions, expired here in the year 1246, and was interred in the abbey of Conway. The royal palace occupied the site of an ancient fort, auxiliary to the castle of Caer-Hun, in protecting the pass of Bwlch y ddau ffaen.

A noble glen at right angles, nearly with the line of coast, opens towards the Rhaidar mawr, or Great Cataract of Aber. Precipitous hills close in on either side, and all egress seems denied in the remote distance. Down the front of Maes y Gaer, a height of one hundred feet and upwards, the waters are thrown with vast impetuosity, and dashed from the lower part of the fall with a wonderful horizontal projection. The suddenness of the break, over which the cascade tumbles, leads many an innocent victim to a painful termination of its existence, and the gloomy character of the picture is generally increased by the shattered remains of some poor animal numbered amongst the rocks at the foot of the great fall.

—“the roused up river pours along,Resistless, roaring dreadful, down it comesFrom the rude mountain and the mossy wild,Tumbling through rocks abrupt, and sounding far.”Thomson.

—“the roused up river pours along,Resistless, roaring dreadful, down it comesFrom the rude mountain and the mossy wild,Tumbling through rocks abrupt, and sounding far.”

Thomson.

Thisis one of two fine lakes occupying the beautiful vale between Beddgelert and Dyffryn Mymbre, or Capel Curig. It washes the lowest visible part of Snowdon’s base, and is supplied by a noble cataract issuing from Ffynnon las,[66]one of the pools in the dark recesses of the great mountain. The hills around it, though picturesque and lofty, are not sufficiently broken for sublimity. On the southern extremity of the lake some fragments of a building are still discernible, confidently believed to be the ruins of a chapel erected by Madoc, the son of Owen Gwynedd, who dwelt here previous to his emigration to South America. The vale here contracts, and the grand mountain masses rapidly close in, forming the hollow of “Cwn Llan,” where Snowdon is observed to tower with greater majesty than in any other position. Beneath his darkening front, and encompassed by a noble amphitheatre of mountains, is Plas Gwynant, the truly romantic seat of Mr. Vaudrey. At this precise spot the beauty of the scenery increases wonderfully, and the spectator is lost in an endless variety of rock, and wood, and flood, and mountain. Llanberis Vale may be more sublime, no valley in Wales is equally beautiful. Nor is the accompaniment of lake wanting here. Lyn Dinas now opens to the view, with its dark brown surfaceand verdant banks. At its extremity rises a remarkable hill commanding the whole vale, whose rough, bold sides are in unison with the surrounding objects. Here are the ramparts of a fortress, which frowned, from its precipices, over the dark waters of the lake, and commanded the narrow avenues of the valley. This is the Dinas Emrys, where

Prophetic Merlyn sat, when to the British kingThe changes long to come auspiciously he told.

Here Vortigern retired, disgusted with the treachery of his Saxon allies; and being frustrated in his first essays to raise a fortress, by some invisible hand, consulted all the wise men of the age, who assured him, that his palace would always want stability until sprinkled with the blood of one “without a father born.” In the town of Caermarthen the child Merlin was found, the circumstances of whose life corresponded with the advice of the elders. The harmless boy was ordered to be sacrificed, but his questions so confounded the base advisers of his death, that he obtained both life and liberty. The legend is thus embodied in poetic translation by Drayton:

“To that mighty king, which rashly undertookA strong walled tower to rear, those earthly spirits that shookThe great foundation still, in dragon’s horrid shape,That dreaming wizard told, making the mountain gapeWith his most powerful charms, to view those caverns deep.And from the top of Bridd, so high and wondrous steep,Where Dinas Emrys stood, shew’d where the serpents fought,Thewhitethat tore thered; from whence the prophet wroughtThe Briton’s sad decay, then shortly to ensue.”

Thecharacter of Llangollen Vale is peculiar. The hills on either side are steep and lofty, and descend abruptly, though in verdant lawns, to the channel of the Dee. Although it may be considered to extend a length of ten or twelve miles, yet such is the extraordinary sinuosity of its form, that it hardly admits a prospect of half that extent or distance. The village has partaken largely of the benefits resulting from good public roads, and has progressed with much rapidity. It is more visited by tourists than any other part of the principality. The church, a handsome structure, is dedicated to Saint Collen, and from the cemetery is seen the much admired view of the old bridge across the Dee, with rich accompaniments of wood and rock, and the fine back-ground of Dinas Bran. About four miles from the village the vale expands, and discloses a scene of inexpressible beauty. Here the noble aqueduct of Pont-y-Cysyllte, on a scale so vast as to approach the character of a natural creation, is thrown from mountain to mountain. It extends a length of nine hundred and eighty feet, and is sustained by twenty piers one hundred and sixteen feet in height from the bed of the river Dee, the span of the intervening arches being forty-five feet. At each end are spaciousembankments, now clothed with the richest foliage; and the old bridge across the river has not only lent its name to the great work, but has made a sacrifice of its beauty and publicity, being concealed and quite eclipsed by the towering structure above it. The object of its construction, as well as the meritorious exertions of its originators, are fully set forth in the following inscription graven on the central pier:

The Nobility and Gentry of the adjacent countieshaving united their efforts with the great commercialinterests of this country, in creating an intercourse andunion between England and Wales, by a navigablecommunication of the three rivers, Severn, Dee, and Mersey,for the mutual benefit of agriculture and trade, causedthe first stone of this Aqueduct of Pont-y-cysyllty tobe laid on the 25th day of July, 1795; when Richard Myddleton,of Chirk, Esq. M.P. one of the original patrons of the Ellesmere Canal,was Lord of the Manor, and in the reign of our sovereign George III.When the equity of the laws and security of property promoted thegeneral welfare of the nation; while the arts and sciences flourishedby his patronage, and the conduct of civil life was improved by hisexample.

This inscription is doubtless true, and conveys a rational moral; but the writer forgot that artists and men of science deserve, as a reward for their great services, at least, the introduction of their names upon such commemorative tables. Mr. Telford furnished the design, and the contract for its erection was fulfilled by Wilson.

Llangollen vale & aqueduct; Plas Newydd; Denbigh Castle. London. Published by T. T. & J. Tegg, Cheapside, Oct. 1st 1832

Thehistory of the late occupants of this beautiful little cottage is at variance with the censure of the poet’s Angelina on the quality of friendship. Lady Eleanor Butler, daughter of the Earl of Ormond, was born in Dublin, and almost from her cradle had been an orphan. Wealthy, beautiful, and nobly sprung, her hand was sought by persons of rank and fortune equal to her own; but to all addresses of that description she expressed at once her disinclination. Although she openly avowed this taste for independence, no woman was ever more distinguished for mildness, modesty, and all those feminine graces which adorn and give interest to the sex. Miss Ponsonby, a member of the noble family of Besborough, had been an early associate of Lady Eleanor; and, possibly, it may have contributed in some degree to cement their growing friendship, the incidental circumstance of both having been born in the same city, upon the same day and year, and being both bereaved of their parents at precisely the same period. Minds of so much sensibility soon mistook their fancies for realities, and rapidly concluding that they were destined for a life of independence, at the early age of seventeen vowed eternal friendship and devotion to each other for the residue of their lives. At the age of twenty-one, when the arm of the law rescued them from the friendly detentionof their relatives, they withdrew to the solitary little cottage of Plas-Newydd, never to return again to the gay, glittering world of fashion, or the country which gave them birth. Having enlarged and decorated their rural dwelling, laid out and planted their grounds, the selection of a library became an early care. Here much time was spent; and the glowing language of Miss Seward, a friend and frequent guest at Plas-Newydd, bears a high testimony to the philosophic quality of their minds. “All that is grateful, all that is attached, will be ever warm from my heart towards each honoured and accomplished friend, whose virtues and talents diffuse intellectual sunshine that adorns and cheers the loveliest of the Cambrian vales.”—Letter 38.

The habits and manners of the “Llangollen ladies” were frank and open, and their hospitality of the most liberal kind. They visited and received the neighbouring gentry until the “weight of years pressed heavy on them.” Madame de Genlis and the Mademoiselle D’Orleans, are to be numbered amongst their visiters; and it was here that intellectual being first heard the wild notes of our Æolian harp, of which she remarks, “it is natural for such an instrument to have originated in a country of storms and tempests, of which it softens the manners.”

Upwards of half a century these amiable companions graced the valley of Llangollen, extending a cheerful hospitality to their numerous guests, and exercising a benevolence the most unlimited towardsthe most friendless of their neighbours. At length they were called before the throne of brightness and purity, at the advanced ages of seventy-two and seventy-seven. Their remains are deposited in a vault in Llangollen cemetery, where the body of Mrs. Mary Carroll, their faithful servant, had been laid at rest before them.

Thecastle of Denbigh (Dinbach, the little fort) occupies the crown of a rocky eminence on the south side of the noble vale of Clwyd, and commanding an extensive prospect over that rich and beautiful vein of country. This impregnable fortress, with one thousand pounds in lands, was granted by Edward the First to Davydd, the brother of Llewellyn, as a marriage portion with the Earl of Derby’s widow, whom he espoused at the king’s request. Davydd forfeited these grants by his rebellion, which enabled Edward to reward one of his English followers with this noble estate. The fortunate grantee was Henry Lacy, Earl of Lincoln and of Denbigh, who had married the daughter and sole heiress of Long-sword, Earl of Salisbury, by whom he had two sons, Edmund and John, who both died young, one of them by a fall into a very deep well within the castle of Denbigh; and a daughter named Alicia, espoused by Thomas Plantagenet, Earl of Lancaster, who, in right of this lady, became Earl ofLincoln and of Sarum, Lord of Denbigh, Halton, Pomfret, and constable of Chester Castle. The melancholy death of his son Edmund so afflicted the earl, that Leland assures us it caused him to desert his proud castle without completing its great design. Upon the attainder of Thomas of Lancaster, son-in-law of Lacy, the lordship of Denbigh was conferred upon Hugh D’Espencer, a favourite of Edward the Second; but this unpopular person being also cut off by violence, Roger Mortimer obtained a grant of his estates, in fulfilment of a promise made to his mother by Edward the Third, before he ascended the throne, “that he would bestow one thousand pounds upon her son if ever he should succeed to the crown of England.” The proprietorship of this impregnable rock seems to have inspired its lords with ideas of independence, uniformly growing up into rebellion. Mortimer was infected with the same anti monarchical notions, and met with a similar fate. The succession of tragedies was at length arrested by a Sir William Montacute, afterwards Earl of Salisbury, who continued a grateful and zealous adherent of the crown. Salisbury dying without issue, and the attainder of Mortimer being reversed, Denbigh was restored, by marriage, to the house of York, and, consequently, to the crown once more.

Queen Elizabeth bestowed the lordship of Denbigh upon her favourite Leicester, who did not conciliate the affections of the Welsh people with the same zeal he did those of his royal mistress, and an insurrectionof the tenantry was the consequence of his tyrannical government. In the year 1696 a similar unpopular grant was made of the lordships of Denbigh, Bromfield, and Yale to the Earl of Portland; but the resistance given to the investment of the grantee by the Welsh gentry was so decided, that parliament petitioned the crown to reverse the grant.

Edward the Fourth, while Duke of York, sustained a siege here from the army of Henry the Sixth, and ultimately effected his escape. Charles the First lodged in the castle for a short period after his retreat from Chester; and the Siambr y Brennin, or king’s apartments, though totally ruined, are still pointed out. The Welsh, however, have greater cause of self-gratulation, and may point to this monument of departed power with more pride, from the gallant defence which they made from its walls, under the conduct of the brave William Salisbury, against the parliamentary forces, than from any adventitious circumstance involved in its sad and eventful history.

The ruins are of great extent, and the grand portal is nearly entire; but from the mode of its erection, as well as the means of its destruction, they afford but little that is picturesque in their appearance. The ground plan was at first surrounded by double walls, parallel to each other, and distant only by six or eight feet, the intermural space was then filled up with rubble stone and hot mortar, which on cooling became a solid conglomerate. Upon the barbarous dismantling of the castle, afterthe Restoration, which was done by springing a mine of gunpowder beneath it, the walls separated and fell from the grouting, exposing a mass of shattered fragments, without the advantage of a single tree or any impending object to throw a relieving shadow over the melancholy heap.

Near to the grand entrance of the castle stand the side walls of an unfinished church, one hundred and seventy feet in length, and pierced by many spacious windows. These were raised by the Earl of Leicester, and destined for the celebration of the reformed service; but he did not like, or, as others say, did not live to visit his oppressed Welsh tenantry, and left this pious work unfinished. A subscription was some years afterwards set on foot, and ample funds obtained for roofing over the walls, but the Earl of Essex, on his way to Ireland, procured a loan of the sum collected, and no effort was ever after made to save the whole from falling to decay.

An interesting and national spectacle was exhibited on the bowling-green under the castle walls of Denbigh, in the autumn of 1828; it is called in Welsh an Eistedfodd, and means a meeting of the bards. This is an institution of ancient origin, and was formerly held under a precept or commission from the crown, directed to the principal inhabitants in the district where the meeting was intended to be held. The latest royal mandate for the holding of an Eistedfodd was issued by Queen Elizabeth, and directed to the ancestors of some of the mostrespectable families now resident in Flint and Denbigh shires. The bardic assemblage of 1828 was accompanied by circumstances of a very peculiar and gratifying character, and the remembrance of it will long be cherished by all Cambrians who witnessed it, with feelings of the deepest and warmest enthusiasm. The verdant platform of the bowling-green commands one of the richest and happiest prospects in nature; the eye sweeps down the green hills on the south, and passing over the noble and broad valley of the Clwyd, climbs rapidly the Clwydian hills, where it finds an index to a brighter prospect in the national monument on Moel Ffammau. Here a handsome obelisk on the highest of the hills commemorates the fiftieth year of the eventful reign of King George the Third. This accidental circumstance gave an additional interest to this bardic meeting, for, by a singular coincidence, Sir E. Mostyn, a descendant of Sir Piers, one of the persons named in the precept of Elizabeth, was president of the Eistedfodd. A noble individual, the representative of the brave William Salisbury, the defender of the castle, graced the assemblage by his presence. A dignitary of the church, who embodied those gallant actions in a valuable history, judged some of the bardic effusions, and a royal prince looked gratefully over the heads of an innocent and happy people towards the monument which their loyalty and affection had raised to his venerable father.

Valle Crucis Abbey; Ruthin Castle; Wynnstay. London. Published by T. T. & J. Tegg, Cheapside, Oct. 1st 1832

TheVale of Crucis opens into the beautiful scenery of Llangollen, about two miles from the little village. Fancy cannot paint a scene more suited to the indulgence of solemn thought. It is the spot which a recluse, enamoured of the great scenes of nature, where the eye is continually presented with sublime ideas, where every object contributes to soothe, but not transport the mind, would select as an habitation of cheerful solitude. In the days of its greatness it must have been a place consecrated to retirement, but now how much is the solitude of the scene heightened by the accompaniment of a ruined abbey shrouded in forest trees that wave over its mouldering towers,—

Say, ivy’d Valle Crucis; time decay’dDim on the brink of Deva’s wandering floods,Your ivy’d arch glittering through the tangled shade,Your gray hills towering o’er your night of woods;Deep in the vale recesses as you stand,And, desolately great, the rising sigh command:Say, lonely ruin’d pile, when former yearsSaw your pale train at midnight altars bow,Saw superstition frown upon the tearsThat mourn’d the rash, irrevocable vow,Were one young lip gay Eleanora’s[77]smile?Did “Zara’s look serene one tedious hour beguile?”

The foundation of the Cistercian Abbey of Valle Crucis is attributed to Gryffydd ap Madoc Maelor, Lord of Bromfield and Yale, about the year 1200;considerable parts of both church and abbey still remain. The former was cruciformed, and exhibits several styles of architecture. The eastern end is the most ancient; it is adorned by three lancet slips, forming one grand window. The entrance was in the west beneath a broad and beautifully ornamented window, above which is a smaller one of a marigold form, decorated with tracery and fret work, and under it may be discovered the following inscription:

A.D.A.M. D.N.S.—fecit hoc opus, pace beatâ quiescat. Amen.

The abbey and cloisters are more imperfect, the latter evidently built in a rich and ornamental style of architecture, well calculated to shed a “dim religious light,” but now desecrated into a farm house and offices.

Rhuthyn, or (Rhudd-Din, the red fort), is placed upon a gentle eminence on the south side of the vale of Clwyd, backed by wooded hills, and is one of the best and most agreeable towns in North Wales. It has undergone much modern improvement, and is possessed of several ancient endowments and privileges. The great sessions for the county are held here in a very elegant modern hall, faced with cut stone, and accurately finished in the interior. The church is spacious and architectural, designed and finished in an excellent style. A range of alms houses surround the churchyard, and represent the ancient hospital; and adjacent to the mansion ofthe warden is the free school, richly endowed by Gabriel Goodman, D.D. whose monument is set up against the north wall of the church.

Some doubt appears to exist as to the foundation of a castle here anciently, the Welsh name “Castell gôch yn gwernfor,” indicating a fortress of earlier date than any erected by the Saxons. The general belief, however, is, that Reginald de Grey, second son of Lord Grey de Wilton, had a grant of the lordship of Rhuthyn, then embracing nearly the whole vale of Clwyd, as a reward for his services in reducing the ancient Britons. This great captain built the noble castle and enclosed the town, and, to secure the quiet enjoyment of his grant, did homage to Edward the Second at Chester in the year 1301. A drawing preserved amongst the manuscripts in the British Museum exhibits the magnitude and stateliness of De Grey’s castle, and fully justifies the wordy description of the honest Churchyard:

“This castle stands on rocke much like red bricke,The dykes are cut with toole through stonie cragge,The towers are hye, the walles are large and thicke,The worke itself would shake a subject’s bagge.”

Both castle and lordship continued in the posterity of De Grey until the reign of Henry the Seventh, when, by a special compact, George Grey, Earl of Kent, and Lord of Rhuthyn, assigned them to the crown. From this period until the reign of Elizabeth this stately fabric was suffered to decay, but was then new roofed and entirely restored by Ambrose, Earl of Warwick, on whom the queen bestowed it.From the Warwick family it passed to the Myddletons of Chirk Castle, by the marriage of Charlotte, daughter of Sir Thomas Myddleton, who had for her first husband an Earl of Warwick. The lordship has since continued in this family, and the rights are exercised by one of the coheiresses of the late Richard Myddleton, Esq.

A modern castle has arisen from the ruins, the ancient ground plan being pursued with the assistance of the drawing before alluded to. The restoration does not extend over the entire area, yet forms a truly lordly residence. A reference to the original plan indicated the existence of a well in the centre of the rocky citadel, where, after a careful examination, it was at length discovered, built around with stone, and having a depth of nearly one hundred feet.

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