De Breos having accepted an invitation from Llewelyn to visit him, the latter no sooner got possession of his person, than he caused him to be hung on the side of the opposite hill. The next morning the bard of the palace (the princess being ignorant of his fate) accosted her in the following rhyme: “Diccyn, doccyn, gwraig Llywelyn, Beth a roit ti am weled Gwilym?” “Tell me, wife of Llywelyn, what you would give for a sight of your William?” To which the princess answered: “Cymru, Lloegr a Llywelyn Y rown I gyd am weled Gwilym!” “Wales and England and Llywelyn, I’d give them all to see my William!” The bard, thus aggravating Llewelyn’s cruelty, shewed him to her hanging on a tree, on the side of the hill, at a place called Wern Grogedig. Upon a mountain, about a mile south of Llewelyn’s Castle, in a field called Cae Gwlyn du, is a cave where William de Breos was interred, still called Tyddyn Gwilym. Aber is much resorted to during the summer season, the sands at high water affording excellent bathing: the inn likewise affords good accommodation. It chiefly belongs to Lord Bulkeley, and exhibits numerous proofs of his lordship’s benevolence: amongst the rest a new steeple to the church, with a ring of bells. From hence, after passing Gosddinog (Mrs. Crawley’s) we soon reached the dark lowering promontory of Pen-mawn-mawr, about eight miles from Bangor, rising perpendicularly, in a massy wall, to the height of one thousand four hundred feet: huge fragments of shattered rock are scattered by the side of the road; and a wall, scarcely five feet high, alone protects a carriage from the steep precipice; which, from the slightness of the foundation, has even fallen down in many parts. In this awfully sublime situation we remained for some time, astonished at the bold protuberance of the rocks, which seemed to project their dark sides to augment the idle roar of the waves. The difference between looking up and looking down a precipice is well marked by Mr. Jefferson, in the account he furnished the Marquis de Chastellux, of the Virginian bridge of rocks. “Though the sides of the bridge,” says he, “are provided, in some parts, with a parapet of fixed rocks, yet few men have resolution to walk to them, and look over into the abyss. You voluntarily fall on your hands and feet, creep to the parapet, and look over it. Looking from the height about a minute gave me a violent head-ache. If the view from the top be painful and intolerable, that from below is delightful in the extreme. It is impossible for the emotions, arising from the sublime, to be felt beyond what they are on the sight of so beautiful an arch; so elevated and so light, springing up, as it were, to heaven. The rapture of the spectator is indescribable.”