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.
[Picture: 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.
[Picture: 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,
[Picture: 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.
[Picture: Pillar of Eliseg]
The 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.