CHAPTER LXI
Set out for Wrexham—Craig y Forwyn—Uncertainty—The Collier—Cadogan Hall—Methodistical Volume.
Having learnt from a newspaper that a Welsh book on Welsh Methodism had been just published at Wrexham, I determined to walk to that place and purchase it. I could easily have procured the work through a bookseller at Llangollen, but I wished to explore the hill-road which led to Wrexham, what the farmer under the Eglwysig rocks had said of its wildness having excited my curiosity, which the procuring of the book afforded me a plausible excuse for gratifying. If one wants to take any particular walk, it is always well to have some business, however trifling, to transact at the end of it; so having determined to go to Wrexham by the mountain road, I set out on the Saturday next after the one on which I had met the farmer who had told me of it.
The day was gloomy, with some tendency to rain. I passed under the hill of Dinas Bran. About a furlong from its western base I turned round and surveyed it—and perhaps the best view of the noble mountain is to be obtained from the place where I turned round. How grand, though sad, from there it looked, that grey morning, with its fine ruin on its brow, above which a little cloud hovered! It put me in mind of some old king, unfortunate and melancholy, but a king still, with the look of a king, and the ancestral crown still on his furrowed forehead. I proceeded on my way, all was wild and solitary, and the yellow leaves were falling from the trees of the groves. I passed by the farmyard, where I had held discourse with the farmer on the preceding Saturday, and soon entered the glen, the appearance of which had so much attracted my curiosity. A torrent, rushing down from the north, was on my right. It soon began to drizzle, and mist so filled the glen that I could only distinguish objects a short way before me, and on either side. I wandered on a considerable way, crossing the torrent several times by rustic bridges. I passed two lone farm-houses, and at last saw another on my left hand—the mist had now cleared up, but it still slightly rained—the scenery was wild to a degree—a little way before me was a tremendous pass, near it an enormous crag, of a strange form, rising to the very heavens, the upper part of it of a dull white colour. Seeing a respectable-looking man near the house, I went up to him. “Am I in the right way to Wrexham?” said I, addressing him in English.
“You can get to Wrexham this way, sir,” he replied.
“Can you tell me the name of that crag?” said I, pointing to the large one.
“That crag, sir, is called Craig y Forwyn.”
“The maiden’s crag,” said I; “why is it called so?”
“I do not know, sir; some people say that it is called so because its head is like that of a woman, others because a young girl in love leaped from the top of it and was killed.”
“And what is the name of this house?” said I.