The trade of Conway consists in the exportation of slate, and copper from the Llandidno mines, from whence the finest specimens of the Malachite copper is brought. The town and castle of Conway are seen to great advantage in crossing the river, which is here nearly a mile over, and at high water washes the walls of that massy ruin: in the middle of the channel is a small rocky island. We observed, from this situation, the two castles, called Bodscaleen and Dyganwy; the small remains of the latter stand on a high rock above the river; the former is a beautiful seat of the Mostyns. We were soon transported into Denbighshire; an extensive prospect of the ocean presented itself before us, and we discovered the mountains of the Isle of Man, which could scarcely be distinguished from the clouds of Heaven, and the waves of the sea. In descending a hill, about two miles from the neat bathing-town of ABERGELE, we observed, on our right, two immense caverns, about half way up the mountain; they are called Cavern-arogo, and run four or five hundred yards into the ground; but their real extent has never yet been ascertained with accuracy. From these mountains, vast quantities of lime are shipped for Liverpool, and many parts of England; they are said to be inexhaustible. Abergele, situated on the edge of Rhuddlan Marsh, is a small neat town, of one street, resorted to in the summer-season for bathing. The sands afford excellent walking; in the evening we lingered on the beach for a considerable time, enjoying the calm, but cheerful beauty of Nature, and inhaling the pure sea-breeze—for, “—The wind was hush’d, And to the beach each slowly-lifted wave, Creeping with silver curl, just kist the shore, And slept in silence.”— MASON’S _Garden_. With pleasure, mixed with reverential awe, we trod Rhuddlan Marsh, so celebrated in the annals of history. Here the ill-fated Richard the Second was betrayed into the hands of Bolinbroke, and taken prisoner to Flint: here the famous King {131} of Mercia met his untimely death: here the Welsh, under the command of Caradoc, in the year 795, were defeated in a conflict with the Saxons, and their leader slain in the action. This memorable and tragical event is handed down to posterity, by an ancient celebrated ballad, called _Morva Rhuddlan_, or the Marsh of Rhuddlan, composed by the bards on the death of Prince Caradoc. The ground we trod, connected with so many events, revived in our minds, the memory of past ages, a series of historical events came to our recollection; events, that are now so distant, as almost to be obliterated from the page of history. Passing over a bridge of two arches, thrown over the river Clwyd, we entered RHUDDLAN,