RHUDDLAN,
once the largest and most respectable town in North Wales. Walking over the ruins of the castle, in which Edward I. kept three Christmases, I recurred, by a natural association of ideas, to the times when the parliament-house, the halls, and courts, echoed with the voices of those, who have been long since swept from the earth by the unerring hand of death. One solitary Gothic window is now only remaining to distinguish the old parliament-house, where King Edward the First instituted that famous code of laws, under the title of the statute of Rhuddlan, from a neighbouring barn: and what once contained the parliament of England, now contains nothing but bark for the supply of a tan-yard.
The old castle is built of red stone; it consists of a square area, strongly fortified with a wall. This court we entered through the grand gateway, between two round towers: the opposite side corresponds. The whole is encircled by a deep entrenchment faced with stone on the river side, with two square towers, one of which still remains.
“The Bishop of St. Asaph,” says Mr. Evans, “distributes among the farmers of the parish of Rhyddlan, five guineas for the best crop of turnips; and three guineas for the best crop of wheat upon a fallow, manured only with lime compost. All the competitors partake of a feast on the day of decision; and the victors, beside their premiums, have the honourable distinction of being crowned with the garland of Ceres, by some of the ladies present.” This stimulus has had great effect in exciting a spirit of improvement.
The road from hence to