DENBIGH TOWN.
The borough 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 new Reform 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].)
ABER WATERFALL.
The little 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 the whole 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 Llewellyn
I’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 this cruel 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 comes
From the rude mountain and the mossy wild,
Tumbling through rocks abrupt, and sounding far.”Thomson.