The view from the highlands of the park is very extensive, and commands a prospect of seventeen different counties.
The vale beneath, which winds along the foot of the vast Berwyn Mountains, was the scene of a desperate conflict between Henry the Second and the Welsh. Henry having determined once more to attempt the subjugation of Wales, and to revenge the ravages carried through the borders by its gallant prince, Owen Gwynedd, assembled a vast army at Oswestry. Owen, on the contrary, collected all the chieftains and their dependents at Corwen. The two armies met on the banks of the Ceiriog. The conflict was obstinate and bloody, and numbers of brave men perished. In the end the Welsh retired to Corwen. Henry reached the summit of the Berwyn, but was so distressed by dreadful rains, and by the activity and prudence of Owen, who cut him off from all supplies, that he was obliged to return ingloriously, with considerable loss of men and equipage. The place is still called Adwy’r Beddau, or the Pass of the Graves—of the men who were slain there.
The remains of Offa’s Dyke, the ancient boundary between England and Wales, are still visible near the castle, and may be traced a considerable distance through the park.
The Vale of the Ceiriog at Chirk, like that of the Dee between Chirk and Llangollen, is distinguished by two specimens of architectural skill and enterprise, each valley being crossed by the Ellesmere Canal and the Shrewsbury and Chester Railway, upon long ranges of arches, at a considerable elevation.
The aqueducts of Chirk and Pont y Cysylltau have long been the objects of general admiration, but for elegance of design, as well as magnitude, they must now yield the palm to the viaducts of the railway, which are, in truth, most noble structures.
In this lovely village we put up at the Chirk Castle Arms to take luncheon, which was served with much civility—cold meat, a cream salad, and a capital Cheshire cheese, with the best of Shropshire ale. This excellent inn is kept by Mr. Moses.
After proceeding about a mile and a half on the Llangollen Road, and leaving Wynnstay, the noble mansion of Sir Watkin Williams Wynn, Bart., M.P., on the right, we were conducted along the banks of a beautiful canal (the same that crosses the valley at Chirk), which was here planted with laurel and hazel in pleasing variety on either side. On a sudden, an opening in the foliage presented us with a splendid view of the Vale of the Dee, with the two noble structures, the viaduct and aqueduct, gracefully stretching from hill to hill, and the waters of the river making their way amongst the broken rocks and embowering trees, and rolling under their arches with that delightful sound which is only heard in mountain scenery.
Seldom had I experienced so delightful a sensation as the present prospect occasioned. All was so calm, so quiet, it seemed, indeed, “the Happy Valley.” Shortly after, however, we found that no golden pleasure is entirely free from alloy, for on turning a projection upon the road, we were nearly stifled from a lime furnace, and what was worse, another and another still succeeded, resembling a line of batteries blazing and vomiting forth smoke and destruction, while upon the opposite mountain an uniform body of iron works were firing away from their tall chimneys, and steadily maintained the never-ceasing conflict.
At length, however, having happily passed these belligerents, my companion led me in triumph into a little public house on the road side, which overlooked a precipice, the Aqueduct Tavern, the exterior of which promised little better accommodation than is met with in an Irish cabin. We entered, nevertheless, and although the floor was of brick, it was very clean, and the household utensils glittered along the walls.
“Pray, gentlemen, walk into the back parlour,” said a comely-looking, good-natured landlady of forty-three.