Mary, who had entered the cottage of the ranger, in the midst of her terrors spoke of the old woman, who she said had bewitched the stag;—but, when her friends reached the door of the hut, and found they could not, by knocking, obtain admission, they broke it open, and found its inmate dead upon the floor. Rumour said that she had infused her spirit into the deer to revenge the threats of Owen on the preceding night; and her remains were treated with a ferocity which it would be as painful to listen to as to narrate.
Poor Mary never recovered from the shock; and in a few weeks after the mangled remains of her lover were deposited in the church yard of Chirk, the fresh flowers and evergreens were also placed around her grave.
For many years this tribute of friendship was regularly paid to their memories. In summer, flowers of the sweetest perfume breathed their dying odours around their graves, and, in winter, the holly and laurel spread their shining leaves to adorn their final resting place. Time, however, took away by degrees, the kind friends of the ill fated lovers, and no sign now points out the spot where, side by side, they slumber.
We now got once more into the coach road, and pushed on for Llangollen, leaving Wynstay, the seat of Sir Watkin William Wynn, upon the right. Almost every guide book will furnish the tourist with a description of this costly mansion and its beautiful grounds; but the wild scenery of nature, and the ruins of former grandeur, which yield an inexhaustible fund for contemplation and delight, together with the wild legends of the peasant or wandering minstrel, which render every spot you tread upon in this country enchanted ground, are more congenial to the feelings of the writer of this little work than all the gorgeous display of modern art and luxury. Therefore Wynstay, with Eaton Hall, the magnificent residence of the Marquis of Westminster, he resigns to those whose tastes are more refined (by luxury) to describe.
Leaving Wynstay on the right, we were conducted along the banks of a beautiful canal (the same that crossed the valley at Chirk) which was here planted with larch and hazel in pleasing variety on either side. On a sudden, an opening in the foliage presented us with a splendid view of the vale of the Dee, with the grand aqueduct stretching from hill to hill and the waters of the river making their way among broken rocks, amid embowering trees, and rolling under the arches of the aqueduct, with that delightful sound which is only heard in mountain scenery.
Seldom had I experienced so delightful a sensation as the present prospect occasioned. All was so calm, so quiet, it seemed indeed “the happy valley.” Shortly after, however, we found that no golden pleasure is entirely free from alloy, for on turning a projection upon the road, we were nearly stifled by the smoke from a lime furnace, and what was worse, “another and another still succeeded,” resembling a line of batteries blazing and vomiting forth smoke and destruction, while on the opposite mountain an uniform body of iron works were firing away from their tall chimneys, and steadily maintaining the never ceasing conflict.
At length, however, having happily passed these belligerents, my companion led me in triumph into a little public house on the road side, (which overlooked a precipice) the Aqueduct Tavern, the exterior of which promised little better accommodation than is to be met with in an Irish cabin. We entered, nevertheless, and, although the floor was of brick, it was very clean and the household utensils glittered along the walls.
“Pray, gentlemen, walk into the back parlour,” said a comely looking, good natured landlady of about forty-three.
We gladly accepted her invitation, and were agreeably surprised to find a neat room, carpeted, with a sofa, and half a dozen hair-bottomed chairs, and every thing rurally comfortable. The window looked upon the aqueduct, and commanded a beautiful view.
Here I became musical, and hummed “the woodpecker tapping,” to the no small annoyance of my companion, who had stretched himself upon the sofa with the intention, doubtless, of taking a nap after his long walk.