"Very," said he.

"As clannish as the Highlanders?" said I.

"Yes," said he, "and a good deal more."

We came to the house of the wounded butcher, which was some way out of the town in the north-western suburb. The magistrate was in the lower apartment with the clerk, one or two officials, and the surgeon of the town. He was a gentleman of about two or three-and-forty, with a military air and large moustaches, for besides being a justice of the peace, and a landed proprietor, he was an officer in the army. He made me a polite bow when I entered, and I requested of him permission to be present at the examination. He hesitated a moment, and then asking me my motive for wishing to be present at it.

"Merely curiosity," said I.

He then observed that, as the examination would be a private one, my being permitted or not was quite optional.

"I am aware of that," said I, "and if you think my remaining is objectionable, I will forthwith retire." He looked at the clerk, who said there could be no objection to my staying, and turning round to his superior, said something to him which I did not hear, whereupon the magistrate again bowed, and said that he should be very happy to grant my request.

We went upstairs, and found the wounded man in bed, with a bandage round his forehead, and his wife sitting by his bedside. The magistrate and his officials took their seats, and I was accommodated with a chair.

Presently the prisoner was introduced under the charge of a policeman.

He was a fellow somewhat above thirty, of the middle size, and wore a dirty white frock coat; his right arm was partly confined by a manacle-a young girl was sworn, who deposed that she saw the prisoner run after the other with something in his hand. The wounded man was then asked whether he thought he was able to make a deposition; he replied in a very feeble tone that he thought he was, and after being sworn, deposed that on the preceding Sat.u.r.day, as he was going to his stall, the prisoner came up to him and asked whether he had ever done him any injury? he said no. "I then," said he, "observed the prisoner's countenance undergo a change, and saw him put his hand to his waistcoat pocket and pull out a knife. I straight became frightened, and ran away as fast as I could; the prisoner followed, and overtaking me, stabbed me in the face. I ran into the yard of a public-house, and into the shop of an acquaintance, where I fell down, the blood spouting out of my wound." Such was the deposition of the wounded butcher. He was then asked whether there had been any quarrel between him and the prisoner? He said there had been no quarrel, but that he had refused to drink with the prisoner when he requested him, which he had done very frequently, and had more than once told him that he did not wish for his acquaintance. The prisoner, on being asked, after the usual caution, whether he had anything to say, said that he merely wished to mark the man, but not to kill him. The surgeon of the place deposed to the nature of the wound, and on being asked his opinion with respect to the state of the prisoner's mind, said that he believed that he might be labouring under a delusion. After the prisoner's b.l.o.o.d.y weapon and coat had been produced, he was committed.

It was generally said that the prisoner was disordered in his mind; I held my tongue, but judging from his look and manner, I saw no reason to suppose that he was any more out of his senses than I myself, or any person present, and I had no doubt that what induced him to commit the act was rage at being looked down upon by a quondam acquaintance, who was rising a little in the world, exacerbated by the reflection that the disdainful quondam acquaintance was one of the Saxon race, against which every Welshman entertains a grudge more or less virulent, which, though of course very unchristianlike, is really, brother Englishman, after the affair of the long knives, and two or three other actions of a somewhat similar character, of our n.o.ble Anglo-Saxon progenitors, with which all Welshmen are perfectly well acquainted, not very much to be wondered at.

CHAPTER LIII

The Dylluan-The Oldest Creatures.

Much rain fell about the middle of the month; in the intervals of the showers I occasionally walked by the banks of the river, which speedily became much swollen; it was quite terrible both to the sight and ear near the "Robber's Leap;" there were breakers above the higher stones at least five feet high, and a roar around almost sufficient "to scare a hundred men." The pool of Catherine Lingo was strangely altered; it was no longer the quiet pool which it was in summer, verifying the words of the old Welsh poet that the deepest pool of the river is always the stillest in the summer and of the softest sound, but a howling turbid gulf, in which branches of trees, dead animals, and rubbish were whirling about in the wildest confusion. The nights were generally less rainy than the days, and sometimes by the pallid glimmer of the moon I would take a stroll along some favourite path or road. One night, as I was wandering slowly along the path leading through the groves of Pen y Coed, I was startled by an unearthly cry-it was the shout of the dylluan, or owl, as it flitted over the tops of the trees on its nocturnal business.

Oh, that cry of the dylluan! what a strange, wild cry it is; how unlike any other sound in nature! a cry which no combination of letters can give the slightest idea of. What resemblance does Shakespear's to-whit-to-whoo bear to the cry of the owl? none whatever; those who hear it for the first time never know what it is, however accustomed to talk of the cry of the owl and to-whit-to-whoo. A man might be wandering through a wood with Shakespear's owl-chorus in his mouth, but were he then to hear for the first time the real shout of the owl, he would a.s.suredly stop short and wonder whence that unearthly cry could proceed.

Yet no doubt that strange cry is a fitting cry for the owl, the strangest in its habits and look of all birds, the bird of whom by all nations the strangest tales are told. Oh, what strange tales are told of the owl, especially in connection with its long-lifedness; but of all the strange, wild tales connected with the age of the owl, strangest of all is the old Welsh tale. When I heard the owl's cry in the groves of Pen y Coed, that tale rushed into my mind. I had heard it from the singular groom, who had taught me to gabble Welsh in my boyhood, and had subsequently read it in an old tattered Welsh story-book, which by chance fell into my hands.

The reader will perhaps be obliged by my relating it.

"The eagle of the alder grove, after being long married, and having had many children by his mate, lost her by death, and became a widower.

After some time he took it into his head to marry the owl of the Cowlyd Coomb; but fearing he should have issue by her, and by that means sully his lineage, he went first of all to the oldest creatures in the world, in order to obtain information about her age. First he went to the stag of Ferny-side brae, whom he found sitting by the old stump of an oak, and inquired the age of the owl. The stag said: 'I have seen this oak an acorn which is now lying on the ground without either leaves or bark: nothing in the world wore it up but my rubbing myself against it once a day when I got up, so I have seen a vast number of years, but I a.s.sure you that I have never seen the owl older or younger than she is to-day.

However, there is one older than myself, and that is the salmon-trout of Glyn Llifon.' To him went the eagle, and asked him the age of the owl, and got for answer: 'I have a year over my head for every gem on my skin, and for every egg in my roe, yet have I always seen the owl look the same; but there is one older than myself, and that is the ousel of Cilgwry.' Away went the eagle to Cilgwry, and found the ousel standing upon a little rock, and asked him the age of the owl. Quoth the ousel: 'You see that the rock below me is not larger than a man can carry in one of his hands: I have seen it so large that it would have taken a hundred oxen to drag it, and it has never been worn save by my drying my beak upon it once every night, and by my striking the tip of my wing against it in rising in the morning, yet never have I known the owl older or younger than she is to-day. However, there is one older than I, and that is the toad of Cors Fochnod; and unless he knows her age no one knows it.' To him went the eagle, and asked the age of the owl, and the toad replied: 'I have never eaten anything save what I have sucked from the earth, and have never eaten half my fill in all the days of my life; but do you see those two great hills beside the cross? I have seen the place where they stand level ground, and nothing produced those heaps save what I discharged from my body, who have ever eaten so very little-yet never have I known the owl anything else but an old hag who cried Too-hoo-hoo, and scared children with her voice, even as she does at present.' So the eagle of Gwernabwy, the stag of Ferny-side brae, the salmon-trout of Glyn Llifon, the ousel of Cilgwry, the toad of Cors Fochnod, and the owl of Coomb Cowlyd, are the oldest creatures in the world, the oldest of them all being the owl."

CHAPTER LIV

Chirk-The Middleton Family-Castell y Waen-The Park-The Court Yard-The Young Housekeeper-The Portraits-Melin y Castell-Humble Meal-Fine Chests for the Dead-Hales and Hercules.

The weather having become fine, myself and family determined to go and see Chirk Castle, a mansion ancient and beautiful, and abounding with all kinds of agreeable and romantic a.s.sociations. It was founded about the beginning of the fifteenth century by a St. John, Lord of Bletsa, from a descendant of whom it was purchased in the year 1615 by Sir Thomas Middleton, the scion of an ancient Welsh family who, following commerce, acquired a vast fortune, and was Lord Mayor of London. In the time of the great civil war it hoisted the banner of the king, and under Sir Thomas, the son of the Lord Mayor, made a brave defence against Lambert, the Parliamentary General, though eventually compelled to surrender. It was held successively by four Sir Thomas Middletons, and if it acquired a warlike celebrity under the second, it obtained a peculiarly hospitable one under the fourth, whose daughter, the fruit of a second marriage, became Countess of Warwick, and eventually the wife of the poet and moralist, Addison. In his time the hospitality of Chirk became the theme of many a bard, particularly of Huw Morris, who, in one of his songs, has gone so far as to say that were the hill of Cefn Uchaf turned into beef and bread, and the rill Ceiriog into beer or wine, they would be consumed in half a year by the hospitality of Chirk. Though no longer in the hands of one of the name of Middleton, Chirk Castle is still possessed by one of the blood, the mother of the present proprietor being the eldest of three sisters, lineal descendants of the Lord Mayor, between whom, in default of an heir male, the wide possessions of the Middleton family were divided. This gentleman, who bears the name of Biddulph, is Lord Lieutenant of the county of Denbigh, and notwithstanding his war-breathing name, which is Gothic, and signifies Wolf of Battle, is a person of highly amiable disposition, and one who takes great interest in the propagation of the Gospel of peace and love.

To view this place which, though in English called Chirk Castle, is styled in Welsh Castell y Waen, or the Castle of the Meadow, we started on foot about ten o'clock of a fine bright morning, attended by John Jones. There are two roads from Llangollen to Chirk, one the low or post road, and the other leading over the Berwyn. We chose the latter. We pa.s.sed by the Yew cottage, which I have described on a former occasion, and began to ascend the mountain, making towards its north-eastern corner. The road at first was easy enough, but higher up became very steep, and somewhat appalling, being cut out of the side of the hill which shelves precipitously down towards the valley of the Dee. Near the top of the mountain were three lofty beech trees, growing on the very verge of the precipice. Here the road for about twenty yards is fenced on its dangerous side by a wall, parts of which are built between the stems of the trees. Just beyond the wall a truly n.o.ble prospect presented itself to our eyes. To the north were bold hills, their sides and skirts adorned with numerous woods and white farmhouses; a thousand feet below us was the Dee, and its wondrous Pont y Cysultau. John Jones said that if certain mists did not intervene we might descry "the sea of Liverpool;" and perhaps the only thing wanting to make the prospect complete was that sea of Liverpool. We were, however, quite satisfied with what we saw, and turning round the corner of the hill, reached its top, where for a considerable distance there is level ground, and where, though at a great alt.i.tude, we found ourselves in a fair and fertile region, and amidst a scene of busy rural life. We saw fields and inclosures, and here and there corn-stacks, some made, and others not yet completed, about which people were employed, and waggons and horses moving. Pa.s.sing over the top of the hill, we began to descend the southern side, which was far less steep than the one we had lately surmounted. After a little way the road descended through a wood, which John Jones told us was the beginning of the "Park of Biddulph."

"There is plenty of game in this wood," said he; "pheasant c.o.c.ks and pheasant hens, to say nothing of hares and coneys; and in the midst of it there is a s.p.a.ce sown with a particular kind of corn for the support of the pheasant hens and pheasant c.o.c.ks, which in the shooting-season afford pleasant sport for Biddulph and his friends."

Near the foot of the descent, just where the road made a turn to the east, we pa.s.sed by a building which stood amidst trees, with a pond and barns near it.

"This," said John Jones, "is the house where the bailiff lives, who farms and buys and sells for Biddulph, and fattens the beeves and swine, and the geese, ducks, and other poultry which Biddulph consumes at his table."

The scenery was now very lovely, consisting of a mixture of hill and dale, open s.p.a.ce and forest, in fact the best kind of park scenery. We caught a glimpse of a lake, in which John Jones said there were generally plenty of swans, and presently saw the castle, which stands on a green gra.s.sy slope, from which it derives its Welsh name of Castell y Waen; gwaen in the c.u.mrian language signifying a meadow or unenclosed place.

It fronts the west, the direction from which we were coming; on each side it shows five towers, of which the middlemost, which protrudes beyond the rest, and at the bottom of which is the grand gate, is by far the bulkiest. A n.o.ble edifice it looked, and to my eye bore no slight resemblance to Windsor Castle.

Seeing a kind of ranger, we inquired of him what it was necessary for us to do, and by his direction proceeded to the southern side of the castle, and rung the bell at a small gate. The southern side had a far more antique appearance than the western; huge towers, with small windows, and partly covered with ivy, frowned down upon us. A servant making his appearance, I inquired whether we could see the house; he said we could, and that the housekeeper would show it to us in a little time, but that at present she was engaged. We entered a large quadrangular court; on the left hand side was a door and staircase leading into the interior of the building, and farther on was a gateway, which was no doubt the princ.i.p.al entrance from the park. On the eastern side of the s.p.a.cious court was a kennel, chained to which was an enormous dog, partly of the bloodhound, partly of the mastiff species, who occasionally uttered a deep magnificent bay. As the sun was hot we took refuge from it under the gateway, the gate of which, at the farther end, towards the park, was closed. Here my wife and daughter sat down on a small bra.s.s cannon, seemingly a six-pounder, which stood on a very dilapidated carriage; from the appearance of the gun, which was of an ancient form and very much battered, and that of the carriage, I had little doubt that both had been in the castle at the time of the siege. As my two loved ones sat I walked up and down, recalling to my mind all I had heard and read in connection with this castle. I thought of its gallant defence against the men of Oliver; I thought of its roaring hospitality in the time of the fourth Sir Thomas; and I thought of the many beauties who had been born in its chambers, had danced in its halls, had tripped across its court, and had subsequently given heirs to ill.u.s.trious families.

At last we were told that the housekeeper was waiting for us. The housekeeper, who was a genteel, good-looking young woman, welcomed us at the door which led into the interior of the house. After we had written our names, she showed us into a large room or hall on the right-hand side on the ground floor, where were some helmets and ancient halberts, and also some pictures of great personages. The floor was of oak, and so polished and slippery that walking upon it was attended with some danger.

Wishing that John Jones, our faithful attendant, who remained timidly at the doorway, should partic.i.p.ate with us in the wonderful sights we were about to see, I inquired of the housekeeper whether he might come with us. She replied with a smile that it was not the custom to admit guides into the apartments, but that he might come provided he chose to take off his shoes; adding, that the reason she wished him to take off his shoes was, an apprehension that if he kept them on he would injure the floors with their rough nails. She then went to John Jones and told him in English that he might attend us provided he took off his shoes; poor John, however, only smiled, and said, "Dim Saesneg!"

"You must speak to him in your native language," said I, "provided you wish him to understand you-he has no English."

"I am speaking to him in my native language," said the young housekeeper, with another smile; "and if he has no English, I have no Welsh."

"Then you are English?" said I.

"Yes," she replied, "a native of London."

"Dear me," said I. "Well, it's no bad thing to be English after all; and as for not speaking Welsh, there are many in Wales who would be glad to have much less Welsh than they have." I then told John Jones the condition on which he might attend us, whereupon he took off his shoes with great glee and attended us, holding them in his hand.

We presently went upstairs to what the housekeeper told us was the princ.i.p.al drawing-room, and a n.o.ble room it was, hung round with the portraits of kings and queens and the mighty of the earth. Here, on canvas, was n.o.ble Mary the wife of William of Orange, and her consort by her side, whose part like a true wife she always took. Here was wretched Mary of Scotland, the murderess of her own lord. Here were the two Charleses, and both the Dukes of Ormond-the great Duke who fought stoutly in Ireland against Papist and Roundhead; and the Pretender's Duke who tried to stab his native land, and died a foreign colonel. And here, amongst other daughters of the house, was the very proud daughter of the house, the Warwick Dowager who married the Spectator, and led him the life of a dog. She looked haughty and cold, and not particularly handsome; but I could not help gazing with a certain degree of interest and respect on the countenance of the vixen, who served out the gentility worshipper in such prime style. Many were the rooms which we entered, of which I shall say nothing, save that they were n.o.ble in size, and rich in objects of interest. At last we came to what was called the picture gallery. It was a long panelled room, extending nearly the whole length of the northern side. The first thing which struck us on entering was the huge skin of a lion stretched out upon the floor; the head, however, which was towards the door, was stuffed, and with its monstrous teeth looked so formidable and lifelike that we were almost afraid to touch it.

Against every panel was a portrait; amongst others was that of Sir Thomas Middleton, the stout governor of the castle during the time of the siege.

Near to it was the portrait of his rib, Dame Middleton. Farther down on the same side were two portraits of Nell Gwynn; the one painted when she was a girl, the other when she had attained a more mature age. They were both by Lely, the Apelles of the Court of wanton Charles. On the other side was one of the Duke of Gloucester, the son of Queen Anne, who, had he lived, would have kept the Georges from the throne. In this gallery, on the southern side, was a cabinet of ebony and silver, presented by Charles the Second to the brave warrior Sir Thomas, and which, according to tradition, cost seven thousand pounds. This room, which was perhaps the most magnificent in the castle, was the last we visited. The candle of G.o.d whilst we wandered through these magnificent halls was flaming in the firmament, and its rays penetrating through the long, narrow windows, showed them off, and all the gorgeous things which they contained, to great advantage. When we left the castle we all said, not excepting John Jones, that we had never seen in our lives anything more princely and delightful than the interior.

After a little time my wife and daughter, complaining of being rather faint, I asked John Jones whether there was an inn in the neighbourhood where some refreshment could be procured. He said there was, and that he would conduct us to it. We directed our course towards the east, rousing successively, and setting a-scampering, three large herds of deer-the common ones were yellow and of no particular size-but at the head of each herd we observed a big old black fellow with immense antlers; one of these was particularly large, indeed as huge as a bull. We soon came to the verge of a steep descent, down which we went, not without some risk of falling. At last we came to a gate; it was locked; however, on John Jones shouting, an elderly man, with his right hand bandaged, came and opened it. I asked him what was the matter with his hand, and he told me that he had lately lost three fingers, whilst working at a saw-mill up at the castle. On my inquiring about the inn, he said he was the master of it, and led the way to a long, neat, low house nearly opposite to a little bridge over a brook, which ran down the valley towards the north.

I ordered some ale and bread-and-b.u.t.ter, and whilst our repast was being got ready, John Jones and I went to the bridge.

"This bridge, sir," said John, "is called Pont y Velin Castell, the bridge of the Castle Mill; the inn was formerly the mill of the castle, and is still called Melin y Castell. As soon as you are over the bridge you are in shire Amwythig, which the Saxons call Shropshire. A little way up on yon hill is Clawdd Offa, or Offa's d.y.k.e, built of old by the Brenin Offa in order to keep us poor Welsh within our bounds."

As we stood on the bridge, I inquired of Jones the name of the brook which was running merrily beneath it.

"The Ceiriog, sir," said John; "the same river that we saw at Pont y Meibion."

"The river," said I, "which Huw Morris loved so well, whose praises he has sung, and which he has introduced along with Cefn Uchaf in a stanza in which he describes the hospitality of Chirk Castle in his day, and which runs thus:

'Pe byddai 'r Cefn Ucha, Yn gig ac yn fara, A Cheiriog fawr yma'n fir aml bob tro, Rhy ryfedd fae iddyn'

Barhau hanner blwyddyn, I wyr bob yn gan-nyn ar ginio.'"

"A good penill that, sir," said John Jones. "Pity that the halls of great people no longer flow with rivers of beer, nor have mountains of bread and beef for all comers."

"No pity at all," said I; "things are better as they are. Those mountains of bread and beef, and those rivers of ale merely encouraged va.s.salage, fawning and idleness; better to pay for one's dinner proudly and independently at one's inn, than to go and cringe for it at a great man's table."

We crossed the bridge, walked a little way up the hill, which was beautifully wooded, and then retraced our steps to the little inn, where I found my wife and daughter waiting for us, and very hungry. We sat down, John Jones with us, and proceeded to despatch our bread-and-b.u.t.ter and ale. The bread-and-b.u.t.ter were good enough, but the ale poorish. O, for an Act of Parliament to force people to brew good ale! After finishing our humble meal we got up, and having paid our reckoning, went back into the park, the gate of which the landlord again unlocked for us.