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
ST. ASAPH,
affords a most rich and beautiful walk, extending along the celebrated vale of Clwyd. This rich tract of land, called the Eden of North Wales, extends in length about twenty-five miles, and in breadth about eight. The neighbourhood of Ruthin affords the best view of this vale. Though it is by no means so interesting and romantic as the vale of Glamorgan, yet its high cultivation, and the picturesque, but moderate height of the hills, rising on each side of the river Clwyd, renders the scenery pleasing: its chief produce is corn. Both these vales claim the attention of the traveller; and both have to boast of particular beauties. One mile from St. Asaph we passed, on our right, the elegant seat of Sir Edward Lloyd. We still followed the banks of the Clwyd; and at the farthest extremity a light elegant bridge of seven arches, with the dark tower of St. Asaph’s cathedral rising on an eminence just over it, gave a picturesque effect to the whole scenery.
The town itself is built on a hill, in one straight line, with a few neat houses. The cathedral naturally demands attention: the inside is remarkably neat and elegant, entirely Gothic, with the ceiling of chesnut, and open ribs like the skeleton of a ship. The monument of David ap Owen, bishop of this diocese, was particularly pointed out to us. The bishop’s palace has been entirely rebuilt by the present diocesan. The choir consists of a bishop, dean, six canons, seven prebends, and four vicars. There are no monuments in the churchyard, and few of any importance within its venerable walls.
St. Asaph receives its derivation from its patron, who established a bishop’s see here, in the year 590: but in British it is named Llan-Elwy, on account of the conflux of the Elwy with the Clwyd. It is singular, that the cathedral is not used as a parish church, as all the other Welsh cathedrals are; and that the bishop’s jurisdiction extends over no entire county, but includes part of Flintshire, Denbighshire, Montgomeryshire, Merionethshire, and Shropshire.
From St. Asaph to Holywell the distance is about ten miles. The first part of the road continuing through the vale of Clwyd, affords prospects of agricultural riches rarely excelled; the latter part is rocky and rugged, but pleasant. On the one side you enjoy the distant view of Denbigh, with its ancient castle fast mouldering to decay, and on the other that of Rhyddlan, backed by the distant sea view. The whole of this tract of country abounds in lead-mines and calamine. Between this road and the sea stands Downing, late the residence of the celebrated Mr. Pennant, to whom the world was so much indebted for his numerous and laborious literary publications.