beard. He was so great a lawyer, that it was impossible to find
his equal, he was very wise, and had the gift of foretelling
events, he was good at counsel, and of a good disposition, and
whatever counsel he gave people was for their best; he was gentle
and humane, and got every man out of trouble who came to him in his
need. His wife was called Bergthora; she was the daughter of
Skarphethin. She was a bold-spirited woman who feared nobody, and
was rather rough of temper. They had six children, three daughters
and three sons, all of whom will be frequently mentioned in this
saga."

In the history many instances are given of Nial's skill in giving
good advice and his power of seeing events before they happened.
Nial lived in Iceland during most singular times, in which though
there were laws provided for every possible case, no man could have
redress for any injury unless he took it himself, or his friends
took it for him, simply because there were no ministers of justice
supported by the State, authorised and empowered to carry the
sentence of the law into effect. For example, if a man were slain,
his death would remain unpunished, unless he had a son or a
brother, or some other relation to slay the slayer, or to force him
to pay "bod," that is, amends in money, to be determined by the
position of the man who was slain. Provided the man who was slain
had relations, his death was generally avenged, as it was
considered the height of infamy in Iceland to permit one's
relations to be murdered, without slaying their murderers, or
obtaining bod from them. The right, however, permitted to
relations of taking with their own hands the lives of those who had
slain their friends, produced incalculable mischiefs; for if the
original slayer had friends, they, in the event of his being slain
in retaliation for what he had done, made it a point of honour to
avenge his death, so that by the lex talionis feuds were
perpetuated. Nial was a great benefactor to his countrymen, by
arranging matters between people, at variance in which he was much
helped by his knowledge of the law, and by giving wholesome advice
to people in precarious situations, in which he was frequently
helped by the power which he possessed of the second sight. On
several occasions he settled the disputes in which his friend
Gunnar was involved, a noble, generous character, and the champion
of Iceland, but who had a host of foes, envious of his renown; and
it was not his fault if Gunnar was eventually slain, for if the
advice which he gave had been followed, the champion would have
died an old man; and if his own sons had followed his advice, and
not been over fond of taking vengeance on people who had wronged
them, they would have escaped a horrible death, in which he himself
was involved, as he had always foreseen he should be.

"Dost thou know by what death thou thyself wilt die?" said Gunnar
to Nial, after the latter had been warning him that if he followed
a certain course he would die by a violent death.

"I do," said Nial.

"What is it?" said Gunnar.

"What people would think the least probable," replied Nial.

He meant that he should die by fire. The kind generous Nial, who
tried to get everybody out of difficulty, perished by fire. His
sons by their violent conduct had incensed numerous people against
them. The house in which they lived with their father was beset at
night by an armed party, who, unable to break into it owing to the
desperate resistance which they met with from the sons of Nial,
Skarphethin, Helgi, and Grimmr and a comrade of theirs called Kari,
(4) set it in a blaze, in which perished Nial, the lawyer and man
of the second sight, his wife Bergthora, and two of their sons, the
third, Helgi, having been previously slain, and Kari, who was
destined to be the avenger of the ill-fated family, having made his
escape, after performing deeds of heroism which for centuries after
were the themes of song and tale in the ice-bound isle.



CHAPTER XXIX



Snowdon - Caernarvon - Maxen Wledig - Moel y Cynghorion - The
Wyddfa - Snow of Snowdon - Rare Plant.


ON the third morning after our arrival at Bangor we set out for
Snowdon.

Snowdon or Eryri is no single hill, but a mountainous region, the
loftiest part of which, called Y Wyddfa, nearly four thousand feet
above the level of the sea, is generally considered to be the
highest point of Southern Britain. The name Snowdon was bestowed
upon this region by the early English on account of its snowy
appearance in winter; Eryri by the Britons, because in the old time
it abounded with eagles, Eryri (5) in the ancient British language
signifying an eyrie or breeding-place of eagles.

Snowdon is interesting on various accounts. It is interesting for
its picturesque beauty. Perhaps in the whole world there is no
region more picturesquely beautiful than Snowdon, a region of
mountains, lakes, cataracts, and, groves in which nature shows
herself in her most grand and beautiful forms.

It is interesting from its connection with history: it was to
Snowdon that Vortigern retired from the fury of his own subjects,
caused by the favour which he showed to the detested Saxons. It
was there that he called to his counsels Merlin, said to be
begotten on a hag by an incubus, but who was in reality the son of
a Roman consul by a British woman. It was in Snowdon that he built
the castle, which he fondly deemed would prove impregnable, but
which his enemies destroyed by flinging wild-fire over its walls;
and it was in a wind-beaten valley of Snowdon, near the sea, that
his dead body decked in green armour had a mound of earth and
stones raised over it. It was on the heights of Snowdon that the
brave but unfortunate Llywelin ap Griffith made his last stand for
Cambrian independence; and it was to Snowdon that that very
remarkable man, Owen Glendower, retired with his irregular bands
before Harry the Fourth and his numerous and disciplined armies,
soon however, to emerge from its defiles and follow the foe,
retreating less from the Welsh arrows from the crags, than from the
cold, rain and starvation of the Welsh hills.

But it is from its connection with romance that Snowdon derives its
chief interest. Who when he thinks of Snowdon does not associate
it with the heroes of romance, Arthur and his knights? whose
fictitious adventures, the splendid dreams of Welsh and Breton
minstrels, many of the scenes of which are the valleys and passes
of Snowdon, are the origin of romance, before which what is classic
has for more than half a century been waning, and is perhaps
eventually destined to disappear. Yes, to romance Snowdon is
indebted for its interest and consequently for its celebrity; but
for romance Snowdon would assuredly not be what it at present is,
one of the very celebrated hills of the world, and to the poets of
modern Europe almost what Parnassus was to those of old.

To the Welsh, besides being the hill of the Awen or Muse, it has
always been the hill of hills, the loftiest of all mountains, the
one whose snow is the coldest, to climb to whose peak is the most
difficult of all feats; and the one whose fall will be the most
astounding catastrophe of the last day.

To view this mountain I and my little family set off in a caleche
on the third morning after our arrival at Bangor.

Our first stage was to Caernarvon. As I subsequently made a
journey to Caernarvon on foot, I shall say nothing about the road
till I give an account of that expedition, save that it lies for
the most part in the neighbourhood of the sea. We reached
Caernarvon, which is distant ten miles from Bangor, about eleven
o'clock, and put up at an inn to refresh ourselves and the horses.
It is a beautiful little town situated on the southern side of the
Menai Strait at nearly its western extremity. It is called
Caernarvon, because it is opposite Mona or Anglesey: Caernarvon
signifying the town or castle opposite Mona. Its principal feature
is its grand old castle, fronting the north, and partly surrounded
by the sea. This castle was built by Edward the First after the
fall of his brave adversary Llewelyn, and in it was born his son
Edward whom, when an infant, he induced the Welsh chieftains to
accept as their prince without seeing, by saying that the person
whom he proposed to be their sovereign was one who was not only
born in Wales, but could not speak a word of the English language.
The town Caernarvon, however, existed long before Edward's time,
and was probably originally a Roman station. According to Welsh
tradition it was built by Maxen Wledig or Maxentius, in honour of
his wife Ellen who was born in the neighbourhood. Maxentius, who
was a Briton by birth, and partly by origin contested
unsuccessfully the purple with Gratian and Valentinian, and to
support his claim led over to the Continent an immense army of
Britons, who never returned, but on the fall of their leader
settled down in that part of Gaul generally termed Armorica, which
means a maritime region, but which the Welsh call Llydaw, or
Lithuania, which was the name, or something like the name, which
the region bore when Maxen's army took possession of it, owing,
doubtless, to its having been the quarters of a legion composed of
barbarians from the country of Leth or Lithuania.

After staying about an hour at Caernarvon we started for Llanberis,
a few miles to the east. Llanberis is a small village situated in
a valley, and takes its name from Peris, a British saint of the
sixth century, son of Helig ab Glanog. The valley extends from
west to east, having the great mountain of Snowdon on its south,
and a range of immense hills on its northern side. We entered this
valley by a pass called Nant y Glo or the ravine of the coal, and
passing a lake on our left, on which I observed a solitary
corracle, with a fisherman in it, were presently at the village.
Here we got down at a small inn, and having engaged a young lad to
serve as guide, I set out with Henrietta to ascend the hill, my
wife remaining behind, not deeming herself sufficiently strong to
encounter the fatigue of the expedition.

Pointing with my finger to the head of Snowdon towering a long way
from us in the direction of the east, I said to Henrietta:-

"Dacw Eryri, yonder is Snowdon. Let us try to get to the top. The
Welsh have a proverb: 'It is easy to say yonder is Snowdon; but
not so easy to ascend it.' Therefore I would advise you to brace
up your nerves and sinews for the attempt."

We then commenced the ascent, arm-in-arm, followed by the lad, I
singing at the stretch of my voice a celebrated Welsh stanza, in
which the proverb about Snowdon is given, embellished with a fine
moral, and which may thus be rendered:-


"Easy to say, 'Behold Eryri,'
But difficult to reach its head;
Easy for him whose hopes are cheery
To bid the wretch be comforted."


We were far from being the only visitors to the hill this day;
groups of people, or single individuals, might be seen going up or
descending the path as far as the eye could reach. The path was
remarkably good, and for some way the ascent was anything but
steep. On our left was the Vale of Llanberis, and on our other
side a broad hollow, or valley of Snowdon, beyond which were two
huge hills forming part of the body of the grand mountain, the
lowermost of which our guide told me was called Moel Elia, and the
uppermost Moel y Cynghorion. On we went until we had passed both
these hills, and come to the neighbourhood of a great wall of rocks
constituting the upper region of Snowdon, and where the real
difficulty of the ascent commences. Feeling now rather out of
breath we sat down on a little knoll with our faces to the south,
having a small lake near us, on our left hand, which lay dark and
deep, just under the great wall.

Here we sat for some time resting and surveying the scene which
presented itself to us, the principal object of which was the
north-eastern side of the mighty Moel y Cynghorion, across the wide
hollow or valley, which it overhangs in the shape of a sheer
precipice some five hundred feet in depth. Struck by the name of
Moel y Cynghorion, which in English signifies the hill of the
counsellors, I enquired of our guide why the hill was so called,
but as he could afford me no information on the point I presumed
that it was either called the hill of the counsellors from the
Druids having held high consultation on its top, in time of old, or
from the unfortunate Llewelyn having consulted there with his
chieftains, whilst his army lay encamped in the vale below.

Getting up we set about surmounting what remained of the ascent.
The path was now winding and much more steep than it had hitherto
been. I was at one time apprehensive that my gentle companion
would be obliged to give over the attempt; the gallant girl,
however, persevered, and in little more than twenty minutes from
the time when we arose from our resting-place under the crags, we
stood, safe and sound, though panting, upon the very top of
Snowdon, the far-famed Wyddfa.

The Wyddfa is about thirty feet in diameter and is surrounded on
three sides by a low wall. In the middle of it is a rude cabin, in
which refreshments are sold, and in which a person resides through
the year, though there are few or no visitors to the hill's top,
except during the months of summer. Below on all sides are
frightful precipices except on the side of the west. Towards the
east it looks perpendicularly into the dyffrin or vale, nearly a
mile below, from which to the gazer it is at all times an object of
admiration, of wonder and almost of fear.

There we stood on the Wyddfa, in a cold bracing atmosphere, though
the day was almost stiflingly hot in the regions from which we had
ascended. There we stood enjoying a scene inexpressibly grand,
comprehending a considerable part of the mainland of Wales, the
whole of Anglesey, a faint glimpse of part of Cumberland; the Irish
Channel, and what might be either a misty creation or the shadowy
outline of the hills of Ireland. Peaks and pinnacles and huge
moels stood up here and there, about us and below us, partly in
glorious light, partly in deep shade. Manifold were the objects
which we saw from the brow of Snowdon, but of all the objects which
we saw, those which filled us with delight and admiration, were
numerous lakes and lagoons, which, like sheets of ice or polished
silver, lay reflecting the rays of the sun in the deep valleys at
his feet.

"Here," said I to Henrietta, "you are on the top crag of Snowdon,
which the Welsh consider, and perhaps with justice, to be the most
remarkable crag in the world; which is mentioned in many of their
old wild romantic tales, and some of the noblest of their poems,
amongst others in the 'Day of Judgment,' by the illustrious Goronwy
Owen, where it is brought forward in the following manner:


"'Ail i'r ar ael Eryri,
Cyfartal hoewal a hi.'

"'The brow of Snowdon shall be levelled with the ground, and the
eddying waters shall murmur round it.'


"You are now on the top crag of Snowdon, generally termed Y Wyddfa,
(6) which means a conspicuous place or tumulus, and which is
generally in winter covered with snow; about which snow there are
in the Welsh language two curious englynion or stanzas consisting
entirely of vowels with the exception of one consonant, namely the
letter R.


"'Oer yw'r Eira ar Eryri, - o'ryw
Ar awyr i rewi;
Oer yw'r ia ar riw 'r ri,
A'r Eira oer yw 'Ryri.

"'O Ri y'Ryri yw'r oera, - o'r ar,
Ar oror wir arwa;
O'r awyr a yr Eira,
O'i ryw i roi rew a'r ia.'

"'Cold is the snow on Snowdon's brow
It makes the air so chill;
For cold, I trow, there is no snow
Like that of Snowdon's hill.

"'A hill most chill is Snowdon's hill,
And wintry is his brow;
From Snowdon's hill the breezes chill
Can freeze the very snow.'"


Such was the harangue which I uttered on the top of Snowdon; to
which Henrietta listened with attention; three or four English, who
stood nigh, with grinning scorn, and a Welsh gentleman with
considerable interest. The latter coming forward shook me by the
hand exclaiming -

"Wyt ti Lydaueg?"

"I am not a Llydauan," said I; "I wish I was, or anything but what
I am, one of a nation amongst whom any knowledge save what relates
to money-making and over-reaching is looked upon as a disgrace. I
am ashamed to say that I am an Englishman."

I then returned his shake of the hand; and bidding Henrietta and
the guide follow me, went into the cabin, where Henrietta had some
excellent coffee and myself and the guide a bottle of tolerable
ale; very much refreshed we set out on our return.

A little way from the top, on the right-hand side as you descend,
there is a very steep path running down in a zigzag manner to the
pass which leads to Capel Curig. Up this path it is indeed a task
of difficulty to ascend to the Wyddfa, the one by which we mounted
being comparatively easy. On Henrietta's pointing out to me a
plant, which grew on a crag by the side of this path some way down,
I was about to descend in order to procure it for her, when our
guide springing forward darted down the path with the agility of a
young goat, in less than a minute returned with it in his hand and
presented it gracefully to the dear girl, who on examining it said
it belonged to a species of which she had long been desirous of
possessing a specimen. Nothing material occurred in our descent to
Llanberis, where my wife was anxiously awaiting us. The ascent and
descent occupied four hours. About ten o'clock at night we again
found ourselves at Bangor.



CHAPTER XXX



Gronwy Owen - Struggles of Genius - The Stipend.


THE day after our expedition to Snowdon I and my family parted;
they returning by railroad to Chester and Llangollen whilst I took
a trip into Anglesey to visit the birth-place of the great poet
Goronwy Owen, whose works I had read with enthusiasm in my early
years.

Goronwy or Gronwy Owen, was born in the year 1722, at a place
called Llanfair Mathafarn Eithaf in Anglesey. He was the eldest of
three children. His parents were peasants and so exceedingly poor
that they were unable to send him to school. Even, however, when
an unlettered child he gave indications that he was visited by the
awen or muse. At length the celebrated Lewis Morris chancing to be
at Llanfair became acquainted with the boy, and struck with his
natural talents, determined that he should have all the benefit
which education could bestow. He accordingly, at his own expense
sent him to school at Beaumaris, where he displayed a remarkable
aptitude for the acquisition of learning. He subsequently sent him
to Jesus College, Oxford, and supported him there whilst studying
for the church. Whilst at Jesus, Gronwy distinguished himself as a
Greek and Latin scholar, and gave such proofs of poetical talent in
his native language, that he was looked upon by his countrymen of
that Welsh college as the rising Bard of the age. After completing
his collegiate course he returned to Wales, where he was ordained a
minister of the Church in the year 1745. The next seven years of
his life were a series of cruel disappointments and pecuniary
embarrassments. The grand wish of his heart was to obtain a curacy
and to settle down in Wales. Certainly a very reasonable wish. To
say nothing of his being a great genius, he was eloquent, highly
learned, modest, meek and of irreproachable morals, yet Gronwy Owen
could obtain no Welsh curacy, nor could his friend Lewis Morris,
though he exerted himself to the utmost, procure one for him. It
is true that he was told that he might go to Llanfair, his native
place, and officiate there at a time when the curacy happened to be
vacant, and thither he went, glad at heart to get back amongst his
old friends, who enthusiastically welcomed him; yet scarcely had he
been there three weeks when he received notice from the Chaplain of
the Bishop of Bangor that he must vacate Llanfair in order to make
room for a Mr John Ellis, a young clergyman of large independent
fortune, who was wishing for a curacy under the Bishop of Bangor,
Doctor Hutton - so poor Gronwy the eloquent, the learned, the meek,
was obliged to vacate the pulpit of his native place to make room
for the rich young clergyman, who wished to be within dining
distance of the palace of Bangor. Truly in this world the full
shall be crammed, and those who have little, shall have the little
which they have taken away from them. Unable to obtain employment
in Wales Gronwy sought for it in England, and after some time
procured the curacy of Oswestry in Shropshire, where he married a
respectable young woman, who eventually brought him two sons and a
daughter.

From Oswestry he went to Donnington near Shrewsbury, where under a
certain Scotchman named Douglas, who was an absentee, and who died
Bishop of Salisbury, he officiated as curate and master of a
grammar school for a stipend - always grudgingly and contumeliously
paid - of three-and-twenty pounds a year. From Donnington he
removed to Walton in Cheshire, where he lost his daughter who was
carried off by a fever. His next removal was to Northolt, a
pleasant village in the neighbourhood of London.

He held none of his curacies long, either losing them from the
caprice of his principals, or being compelled to resign them from
the parsimony which they practised towards him. In the year 1756
he was living in a garret in London vainly soliciting employment in
his sacred calling, and undergoing with his family the greatest
privations. At length his friend Lewis Morris, who had always
assisted him to the utmost of his ability, procured him the
mastership of a government school at New Brunswick in North America
with a salary of three hundred pounds a year. Thither he went with
his wife and family, and there he died sometime about the year
1780.

He was the last of the great poets of Cambria and, with the
exception of Ab Gwilym, the greatest which she has produced. His
poems which for a long time had circulated through Wales in
manuscript were first printed in the year 1819. They are composed
in the ancient Bardic measures, and were with one exception, namely
an elegy on the death of his benefactor Lewis Morris, which was
transmitted from the New World, written before he had attained the
age of thirty-five. All his pieces are excellent, but his
masterwork is decidedly the Cywydd y Farn or "Day of Judgment."
This poem which is generally considered by the Welsh as the
brightest ornament of their ancient language, was composed at
Donnington, a small hamlet in Shropshire on the north-west spur of
the Wrekin, at which place, as has been already said, Gronwy toiled
as schoolmaster and curate under Douglas the Scot, for a stipend of
three-and-twenty pounds a year.



CHAPTER XXXI



Start for Anglesey - The Post-Master - Asking Questions - Mynydd
Lydiart - Mr Pritchard - Way to Llanfair.


WHEN I started from Bangor, to visit the birth-place of Gronwy
Owen, I by no means saw my way clearly before me. I knew that he
was born in Anglesey in a parish called Llanfair Mathafarn eithaf,
that is St Mary's of farther Mathafarn - but as to where this
Mathafarn lay, north or south, near or far, I knew positively
nothing. Passing through the northern suburb of Bangor I saw a
small house in front of which was written "post-office" in white
letters; before this house underneath a shrub in a little garden
sat an old man reading. Thinking that from this person, whom I
judged to be the post-master, I was as likely to obtain information
with respect to the place of my destination as from any one, I
stopped, and taking off my hat for a moment, inquired whether he
could tell me anything about the direction of a place called
Llanfair Mathafarn eithaf. He did not seem to understand my
question, for getting up he came towards me and asked what I
wanted: I repeated what I had said, whereupon his face became
animated.

"Llanfair Mathafarn eithaf!" said he. "Yes, I can tell you about
it, and with good reason, for it lies not far from the place where
I was born."

The above was the substance of what he said, and nothing more, for
he spoke in English somewhat broken.

"And how far is Llanfair from here?" said I.

"About ten miles," he replied.

"That's nothing," said I: "I was afraid it was much farther."

"Do you call ten miles nothing," said he, "in a burning day like
this? I think you will be both tired and thirsty before you get to
Llanfair, supposing you go there on foot. But what may your
business be at Llanfair?" said he, looking at me inquisitively.
"It is a strange place to go to, unless you go to buy hogs or
cattle."

"I go to buy neither hogs nor cattle," said I, "though I am
somewhat of a judge of both; I go on a more important errand,
namely to see the birth-place of the great Gronwy Owen."

"Are you any relation of Gronwy Owen?" said the old man, looking at
me more inquisitively than before, through a large pair of
spectacles which he wore.

"None whatever," said I.

"Then why do you go to see his parish, it is a very poor one."

"From respect to his genius," said I; "I read his works long ago,
and was delighted with them."

"Are you a Welshman?" said the old man.

"No," said I, "I am no Welshman."

"Can you speak Welsh?" said he, addressing me in that language.

"A little," said I; "but not so well as I can read it."

"Well," said the old man, "I have lived here a great many years,
but never before did a Saxon call upon me, asking questions about
Gronwy Owen, or his birth-place. Immortality to his memory! I owe
much to him, for reading his writings taught me to be a poet!"

"Dear me!" said I, "are you a poet?"

"I trust I am," said he; "though the humblest of Ynys Fon."

A flash of proud fire, methought, illumined his features as he
pronounced these last words.

"I am most happy to have met you," said I; "but tell me how am I to
get to Llanfair?"

"You must go first," said he, "to Traeth Coch which in Saxon is
called the 'Red Sand.' In the village called the Pentraeth which
lies above that sand, I was born; through the village and over the
bridge you must pass, and after walking four miles due north you
will find yourself in Llanfair eithaf, at the northern extremity of
Mon. Farewell! That ever Saxon should ask me about Gronwy Owen,
and his birth-place! I scarcely believe you to be a Saxon, but
whether you be or not, I repeat farewell."

Coming to the Menai Bridge I asked the man who took the penny toll
at the entrance, the way to Pentraeth Coch.

"You see that white house by the wood," said he, pointing some
distance into Anglesey; "you must make towards it till you come to
a place where there are four cross roads and then you must take the
road to the right."

Passing over the bridge I made my way towards the house by the wood
which stood on the hill till I came where the four roads met, when
I turned to the right as directed.

The country through which I passed seemed tolerably well
cultivated, the hedge-rows were very high, seeming to spring out of
low stone walls. I met two or three gangs of reapers proceeding to
their work with scythes in their hands.

In about half-an-hour I passed by a farm-house partly surrounded
with walnut trees. Still the same high hedges on both sides of the
road: are these hedges relics of the sacrificial groves of Mona?
thought I to myself. Then I came to a wretched village through
which I hurried at the rate of six miles an hour. I then saw a
long, lofty, craggy hill on my right hand towards the east.

"What mountain is that?" said I to an urchin playing in the hot
dust of the road.

"Mynydd Lydiart!" said the urchin, tossing up a handful of the hot
dust into the air, part of which in descending fell into my eyes.

I shortly afterwards passed by a handsome lodge. I then saw
groves, mountain Lydiart forming a noble background.

"Who owns this wood?" said I in Welsh to two men who were limbing a
felled tree by the road-side.

"Lord Vivian," answered one, touching his hat.

"The gentleman is our countryman," said he to the other after I had
passed.

I was now descending the side of a pretty valley, and soon found
myself at Pentraeth Coch. The part of the Pentraeth where I now
was consisted of a few houses and a church, or something which I
judged to be a church, for there was no steeple; the houses and
church stood about a little open spot or square, the church on the
east, and on the west a neat little inn or public-house over the
door of which was written "The White Horse. Hugh Pritchard." By
this time I had verified in part the prediction of the old Welsh
poet of the post-office. Though I was not yet arrived at Llanfair,
I was, if not tired, very thirsty, owing to the burning heat of the
weather, so I determined to go in and have some ale. On entering
the house I was greeted in English by Mr Hugh Pritchard himself, a
tall bulky man with a weather-beaten countenance, dressed in a
brown jerkin and corduroy trowsers, with a broad low-crowned buff-
coloured hat on his head, and what might he called half shoes and
half high-lows on his feet. He had a short pipe in his mouth,
which when he greeted me he took out, but replaced as soon as the
greeting was over, which consisted of "Good-day, sir," delivered in
a frank, hearty tone. I looked Mr Hugh Pritchard in the face and
thought I had never seen a more honest countenance. On my telling
Mr Pritchard that I wanted a pint of ale, a buxom damsel came
forward and led me into a nice cool parlour on the right-hand side
of the door, and then went to fetch the ale.

Mr Pritchard meanwhile went into a kind of tap-room, fronting the
parlour, where I heard him talking in Welsh about pigs and cattle
to some of his customers. I observed that he spoke with some
hesitation; which circumstance I mention as rather curious, he
being the only Welshman I have ever known who, when speaking his
native language, appeared to be at a loss for words. The damsel
presently brought me the ale, which I tasted and found excellent;
she was going away when I asked her whether Mr Pritchard was her
father; on her replying in the affirmative I inquired whether she
was born in that house.

"No!" said she; "I was born in Liverpool; my father was born in
this house, which belonged to his fathers before him, but he left
it at an early age and married my mother in Liverpool, who was an
Anglesey woman, and so I was born in Liverpool."

"And what did you do in Liverpool?" said I.

"My mother kept a little shop," said the girl, "whilst my father
followed various occupations."

"And how long have you been here?" said I.

"Since the death of my grandfather," said the girl, "which happened
about a year ago. When he died my father came here and took
possession of his birth-right."

"You speak very good English," said I; "have you any Welsh?"

"Oh yes, plenty," said the girl; "we always speak Welsh together,
but being born at Liverpool, I of course have plenty of English."

"And which language do you prefer?" said I.

"I think I like English best," said the girl, "it is the most
useful language."

"Not in Anglesey," said I.

"Well," said the girl, "it is the most genteel."

"Gentility," said I, "will be the ruin of Welsh, as it has been of
many other things - what have I to pay for the ale?"

"Three pence," said she.

I paid the money and the girl went out. I finished my ale, and
getting up made for the door; at the door I was met by Mr Hugh
Pritchard, who came out of the tap-room to thank me for my custom,
and to bid me farewell. I asked him whether I should have any
difficulty in finding the way to Llanfair.

"None whatever," said he, "you have only to pass over the bridge of
the Traeth, and to go due north for about four miles, and you will
find yourself in Llanfair."

"What kind of place is it?" said I.

"A poor straggling village," said Mr Pritchard.

"Shall I be able to obtain a lodging there for the night?" said I.

"Scarcely one such as you would like," said Hugh.

"And where had I best pass the night?" I demanded.

"We can accommodate you comfortably here," said Mr Pritchard,
"provided you have no objection to come back."

I told him that I should be only too happy, and forthwith departed,
glad at heart that I had secured a comfortable lodging for the
night.



CHAPTER XXXII



Leave Pentraeth - Tranquil Scene - The Knoll - The Miller and his
Wife - Poetry of Gronwy - Kind Offer - Church of Llanfair - No
English - Confusion of Ideas - The Gronwy - Notable Little Girl -
The Sycamore Leaf - Home from California.


THE village of Pentraeth Goch occupies two sides of a romantic dell
- that part of it which stands on the southern side, and which
comprises the church and the little inn, is by far the prettiest,
that which occupies the northern is a poor assemblage of huts, a
brook rolls at the bottom of the dell, over which there is a little
bridge: coming to the bridge I stopped, and looked over the side
into the water running briskly below. An aged man who looked like
a beggar, but who did not beg of me, stood by.

"To what place does this water run?" said I in English.

"I know no Saxon," said he in trembling accents.

I repeated my question in Welsh.

"To the sea," he said, "which is not far off, indeed it is so near,
that when there are high tides, the salt water comes up to this
bridge."

"You seem feeble?" said I.

"I am so," said he, "for I am old."

"How old are you?" said I.

"Sixteen after sixty," said the old man with a sigh; "and I have
nearly lost my sight and my hearing."

"Are you poor?" said I.

"Very," said the old man.

I gave him a trifle which he accepted with thanks.

"Why is this sand called the red sand?" said I.

"I cannot tell you," said the old man, "I wish I could, for you
have been kind to me."

Bidding him farewell I passed through the northern part of the
village to the top of the hill. I walked a little way forward and
then stopped, as I had done at the bridge in the dale, and looked
to the east, over a low stone wall.

Before me lay the sea or rather the northern entrance of the Menai
Straits. To my right was mountain Lidiart projecting some way into
the sea; to my left, that is to the north, was a high hill, with a
few white houses near its base, forming a small village, which a
woman who passed by knitting told me was called Llan Peder Goch or
the Church of Red Saint Peter. Mountain Lidiart and the Northern
Hill formed the headlands of a beautiful bay into which the waters
of the Traeth dell, from which I had come, were discharged. A
sandbank, probably covered with the sea at high tide, seemed to
stretch from mountain Lidiart a considerable way towards the
northern hill. Mountain, bay and sandbank were bathed in sunshine;
the water was perfectly calm; nothing was moving upon it, nor upon
the shore, and I thought I had never beheld a more beautiful and
tranquil scene.

I went on. The country which had hitherto been very beautiful,
abounding with yellow corn-fields, became sterile and rocky; there
were stone walls, but no hedges. I passed by a moor on my left,
then a moory hillock on my right; the way was broken and stony; all
traces of the good roads of Wales had disappeared; the habitations
which I saw by the way were miserable hovels into and out of which
large sows were stalking, attended by their farrows.

"Am I far from Llanfair?" said I to a child.

"You are in Llanfair, gentleman," said the child.

A desolate place was Llanfair. The sea in the neighbourhood to the
south, limekilns with their stifling smoke not far from me. I sat
down on a little green knoll on the right-hand side of the road; a
small house was near me, and a desolate-looking mill at about a
furlong's distance, to the south. Hogs came about me grunting and
sniffing. I felt quite melancholy.

"Is this the neighbourhood of the birth-place of Gronwy Owen?" said
I to myself. "No wonder that he was unfortunate through life,
springing from such a region of wretchedness."

Wretched as the region seemed, however, I soon found there were
kindly hearts close by me.

As I sat on the knoll I heard some one slightly cough very near me,
and looking to the left saw a man dressed like a miller looking at
me from the garden of the little house, which I have already
mentioned.

I got up and gave him the sele of the day in English. He was a man
about thirty, rather tall than otherwise, with a very prepossessing
countenance. He shook his head at my English.

"What," said I, addressing him in the language of the country,
"have you no English? Perhaps you have Welsh?"

"Plenty," said he, laughing "there is no lack of Welsh amongst any
of us here. Are you a Welshman?"

"No," said I, "an Englishman from the far east of Lloegr."

"And what brings you here?" said the man.

"A strange errand," I replied, "to look at the birth-place of a man
who has long been dead."

"Do you come to seek for an inheritance?" said the man.

"No," said I. "Besides the man whose birth-place I came to see,
died poor, leaving nothing behind him but immortality."

"Who was he?" said the miller.

"Did you ever hear a sound of Gronwy Owen?" said I.

"Frequently," said the miller; "I have frequently heard a sound of
him. He was born close by in a house yonder," pointing to the
south.

"Oh yes, gentleman," said a nice-looking woman, who holding a
little child by the hand was come to the house-door, and was
eagerly listening, "we have frequently heard speak of Gronwy Owen;
there is much talk of him in these parts."

"I am glad to hear it," said I, "for I have feared that his name
would not be known here."

"Pray, gentleman, walk in!" said the miller; "we are going to have
our afternoon's meal, and shall be rejoiced if you will join us."

"Yes, do, gentleman," said the miller's wife, for such the good
woman was; "and many a welcome shall you have."

I hesitated, and was about to excuse myself.

"Don't refuse, gentleman!" said both, "surely you are not too proud
to sit down with us?"

"I am afraid I shall only cause you trouble," said I.

"Dim blinder, no trouble," exclaimed both at once; "pray do walk
in!"

I entered the house, and the kitchen, parlour, or whatever it was,
a nice little room with a slate floor. They made me sit down at a
table by the window, which was already laid for a meal. There was
a clean cloth upon it, a tea-pot, cups and saucers, a large plate
of bread-and-butter, and a plate, on which were a few very thin
slices of brown, watery cheese.

My good friends took their seats, the wife poured out tea for the
stranger and her husband, helped us both to bread-and-butter and
the watery cheese, then took care of herself. Before, however, I
could taste the tea, the wife, seeming to recollect herself,
started up, and hurrying to a cupboard, produced a basin full of
snow-white lump sugar, and taking the spoon out of my hand, placed
two of the largest lumps in my cup, though she helped neither her
husband nor herself; the sugar-basin being probably only kept for
grand occasions.

My eyes filled with tears; for in the whole course of my life I had
never experienced so much genuine hospitality. Honour to the
miller of Mona and his wife; and honour to the kind hospitable
Celts in general! How different is the reception of this despised
race of the wandering stranger from that of -. However, I am a
Saxon myself, and the Saxons have no doubt their virtues; a pity
that they should be all uncouth and ungracious ones!

I asked my kind host his name.

"John Jones," he replied, "Melinydd of Llanfair."

"Is the mill which you work your own property?" I inquired.

"No," he answered, "I rent it of a person who lives close by."

"And how happens it," said I, "that you speak no English?"

"How should it happen," said he, "that I should speak any? I have
never been far from here; my wife who has lived at service at
Liverpool can speak some."

"Can you read poetry?" said I.

"I can read the psalms and hymns that they sing at our chapel," he
replied.

"Then you are not of the Church?" said I.

"I am not," said the miller; "I am a Methodist."

"Can you read the poetry of Gronwy Owen?" said I.

"I cannot," said the miller, "that is with any comfort; his poetry
is in the ancient Welsh measures, which make poetry so difficult
that few can understand it."

"I can understand poetry in those measures," said I.

"And how much time did you spend," said the miller, "before you
could understand the poetry of the measures?"

"Three years," said I.

The miller laughed.

"I could not have afforded all that time," said he, "to study the
songs of Gronwy. However, it is well that some people should have
time to study them. He was a great poet as I have been told, and
is the glory of our land - but he was unfortunate; I have read his
life in Welsh and part of his letters; and in doing so have shed
tears."

"Has his house any particular name?" said I.

"It is called sometimes Ty Gronwy," said the miller; "but more
frequently Tafarn Goch."

"The Red Tavern?" said I. "How is it that so many of your places
are called Goch? there is Pentraeth Goch; there is Saint Pedair
Goch, and here at Llanfair is Tafarn Goch."

The miller laughed.

"It will take a wiser man than I," said he, "to answer that
question."

The repast over I rose up, gave my host thanks, and said, "I will
now leave you, and hunt up things connected with Gronwy."

"And where will you find a lletty for night, gentleman?" said the
miller's wife. "This is a poor place, but if you will make use of
our home you are welcome."

"I need not trouble you," said I, "I return this night to Pentraeth
Goch where I shall sleep."

"Well," said the miller, "whilst you are at Llanfair I will
accompany you about. Where shall we go to first?"

"Where is the church?" said I. "I should like to see the church
where Gronwy worshipped God as a boy."

"The church is at some distance," said the man; "it is past my
mill, and as I want to go to the mill for a moment, it will be
perhaps well to go and see the church, before we go to the house of
Gronwy."

I shook the miller's wife by the hand, patted a little yellow-
haired girl of about two years old on the head, who during the
whole time of the meal had sat on the slate floor looking up into
my face, and left the house with honest Jones.

We directed our course to the mill, which lay some way down a
declivity, towards the sea. Near the mill was a comfortable-
looking house, which my friend told me belonged to the proprietor
of the mill. A rustic-looking man stood in the mill-yard, who he
said was the proprietor. The honest miller went into the mill, and
the rustic-looking proprietor greeted me in Welsh, and asked me if
I was come to buy hogs.

"No," said I; "I am come to see the birth-place of Gronwy Owen;" he
stared at me for a moment, then seemed to muse, and at last walked
away saying, "Ah! a great man."

The miller presently joined me, and we proceeded farther down the
hill. Our way lay between stone walls, and sometimes over them.
The land was moory and rocky, with nothing grand about it, and the
miller described it well when he said it was tir gwael - mean land.
In about a quarter of an hour we came to the churchyard into which
we got, the gate being locked, by clambering over the wall.

The church stands low down the descent, not far distant from the
sea. A little brook, called in the language of the country a frwd,
washes its yard-wall on the south. It is a small edifice with no
spire, but to the south-west there is a little stone erection
rising from the roof, in which hangs a bell - there is a small
porch looking to the south. With respect to its interior I can say
nothing, the door being locked. It is probably like the outside,
simple enough. It seemed to be about two hundred and fifty years
old, and to be kept in tolerable repair. Simple as the edifice
was, I looked with great emotion upon it; and could I do else, when
I reflected that the greatest British poet of the last century had
worshipped God within it, with his poor father and mother, when a
boy?

I asked the miller whether he could point out to me any tombs or
grave-stones of Gronwy's family, but he told me that he was not
aware of any. On looking about I found the name of Owen in the
inscription on the slate slab of a respectable-looking modern tomb,
on the north-east side of the church. The inscription was as
follows:


Er cof am JANE OWEN
Gwraig Edward Owen,
Monachlog Llanfair Mathafam eithaf,
A fu farw Chwefror 28 1842
Yn 51 Oed.


I.E. "To the memory of JANE OWEN Wife of Edward Owen, of the
monastery of St Mary of farther Mathafarn, who died February 28,
1842, aged fifty-one."


Whether the Edward Owen mentioned here was any relation to the
great Gronwy, I had no opportunity of learning. I asked the miller
what was meant by the monastery, and he told that it was the name
of a building to the north-east near the sea, which had once been a
monastery but had been converted into a farm-house, though it still
retained its original name. "May all monasteries be converted into
farm-houses," said I, "and may they still retain their original
names in mockery of popery!"

Having seen all I could well see of the church and its precincts I
departed with my kind guide. After we had retraced our steps some
way, we came to some stepping-stones on the side of a wall, and the
miller pointing to them said:

"The nearest way to the house of Gronwy will be over the llamfa."

I was now become ashamed of keeping the worthy fellow from his
business, and begged him to return to his mill. He refused to
leave me, at first, but on my pressing him to do so, and on my
telling him that I could find the way to the house of Gronwy very
well by myself, he consented. We shook hands, the miller wished me
luck, and betook himself to his mill, whilst I crossed the llamfa.
I soon, however, repented having left the path by which I had come.
I was presently in a maze of little fields with stone walls over
which I had to clamber. At last I got into a lane with a stone
wall on each side. A man came towards me and was about to pass me
- his look was averted, and he was evidently one of those who have
"no English." A Welshman of his description always averting his
look when he sees a stranger who he thinks has "no Welsh," lest the
stranger should ask him a question and he be obliged to confess
that he has "no English."

"Is this the way to Llanfair?" said I to the man. The man made a
kind of rush in order to get past me.

"Have you any Welsh?" I shouted as loud as I could bawl.

The man stopped, and turning a dark sullen countenance half upon me
said, "Yes, I have Welsh."

"Which is the way to Llanfair?" said I.

"Llanfair, Llanfair?" said the man, "what do you mean?"

"I want to get there," said I.

"Are you not there already?" said the fellow stamping on the
ground, "are you not in Llanfair?

"Yes, but I want to get to the town."

"Town, town! Oh, I have no English," said the man; and off he
started like a frighted bullock. The poor fellow was probably at
first terrified at seeing an Englishman, then confused at hearing
an Englishman speak Welsh, a language which the Welsh in general
imagine no Englishman can speak, the tongue of an Englishman as
they say not being long enough to pronounce Welsh; and lastly
utterly deprived of what reasoning faculties he had still remaining
by my asking him for the town of Llanfair, there being properly no
town.

I went on, and at last getting out of the lane, found myself upon
the road, along which I had come about two hours before; the house
of the miller was at some distance on my right. Near me were two
or three houses and part of the skeleton of one, on which some men,
in the dress of masons, seemed to be occupied. Going up to these
men I said in Welsh to one, whom I judged to be the principal, and
who was rather a tall fine-looking fellow:

"Have you heard a sound of Gronwy Owain?"

Here occurred another instance of the strange things people do when
their ideas are confused. The man stood for a moment or two, as if
transfixed, a trowel motionless in one of his hands, and a brick in
the other; at last giving a kind of gasp, he answered in very
tolerable Spanish:

"Si, senor! he oido."

"Is his house far from here?" said I in Welsh.

"No, senor!" said the man, "no esta muy lejos."

"I am a stranger here, friend, can anybody show me the way?"

"Si senor! este mozo luego - acompanara usted."

Then turning to a lad of about eighteen, also dressed as a mason,
he said in Welsh:

"Show this gentleman instantly the way to Tafarn Goch."

The lad flinging a hod down, which he had on his shoulder,
instantly set off, making me a motion with his head to follow him.
I did so, wondering what the man could mean by speaking to me in
Spanish. The lad walked by my side in silence for about two
furlongs till we came to a range of trees, seemingly sycamores,
behind which was a little garden, in which stood a long low house
with three chimneys. The lad stopping flung open a gate which led
into the garden, then crying to a child which he saw within: "Gad
roi tro" - let the man take a turn; he was about to leave me, when
I stopped him to put sixpence into his hand. He received the money
with a gruff "Diolch!" and instantly set off at a quick pace.
Passing the child who stared at me, I walked to the back part of
the house, which seemed to be a long mud cottage. After examining
the back part I went in front, where I saw an aged woman with
several children, one of whom was the child I had first seen. She
smiled and asked me what I wanted.

I said that I had come to see the house of Gronwy. She did not
understand me, for shaking her head she said that she had no
English, and was rather deaf. Raising my voice to a very high tone
I said:

"Ty Gronwy!"

A gleam of intelligence flashed now in her eyes.

"Ty Gronwy," she said, "ah! I understand. Come in sir."

There were three doors to the house; she led me in by the midmost
into a common cottage room, with no other ceiling, seemingly, than
the roof. She bade me sit down by the window by a little table,
and asked me whether I would have a cup of milk and some bread-and-
butter; I declined both, but said I should be thankful for a little
water.

This she presently brought me in a teacup, I drank it, the children
amounting to five standing a little way from me staring at me. I
asked her if this was the house in which Gronwy was born. She said
it was, but that it had been altered very much since his time -
that three families had lived in it, but that she believed he was
born about where we were now.

A man now coming in who lived at the next door, she said I had
better speak to him and tell him what I wanted to know, which he
could then communicate to her, as she could understand his way of
speaking much better than mine. Through the man I asked her
whether there was any one of the blood of Gronwy Owen living in the
house. She pointed to the children and said they had all some of
his blood. I asked in what relationship they stood to Gronwy. She
said she could hardly tell, that tri priodas, three marriages stood
between, and that the relationship was on the mother's side. I
gathered from her that the children had lost their mother, that
their name was Jones, and that their father was her son. I asked
if the house in which they lived was their own; she said no, that
it belonged to a man who lived at some distance. I asked if the
children were poor.

"Very," said she.

I gave them each a trifle, and the poor old lady thanked me with
tears in her eyes.

I asked whether the children could read; she said they all could,
with the exception of the two youngest. The eldest she said could
read anything, whether Welsh or English; she then took from the
window-sill a book, which she put into my hand, saying the child
could read it and understand it. I opened the book; it was an
English school-book treating on all the sciences.

"Can you write?" said I to the child, a little stubby girl of about
eight, with a broad flat red face and grey eyes, dressed in a
chintz gown, a little bonnet on her head, and looking the image of
notableness.

The little maiden, who had never taken her eyes off of me for a
moment during the whole time I had been in the room, at first made
no answer; being, however, bid by her grandmother to speak, she at
length answered in a soft voice, "Medraf, I can."

"Then write your name in this book," said I, taking out a pocket-
book and a pencil, "and write likewise that you are related to
Gronwy Owen - and be sure you write in Welsh."

The little maiden very demurely took the book and pencil, and
placing the former on the table wrote as follows:

"Ellen Jones yn perthyn o bell i gronow owen."

That is, "Ellen Jones belonging from afar to Gronwy Owen."

When I saw the name of Ellen I had no doubt that the children were
related to the illustrious Gronwy. Ellen is a very uncommon Welsh
name, but it seems to have been a family name of the Owens; it was
borne by an infant daughter of the poet whom he tenderly loved, and
who died whilst he was toiling at Walton in Cheshire, -


"Ellen, my darling,
Who liest in the Churchyard at Walton."


says poor Gronwy in one of the most affecting elegies ever written.

After a little farther conversation I bade the family farewell and
left the house. After going down the road a hundred yards I turned
back in order to ask permission to gather a leaf from one of the
sycamores. Seeing the man who had helped me in my conversation
with the old woman standing at the gate, I told him what I wanted,
whereupon he instantly tore down a handful of leaves and gave them
to me. Thrusting them into my coat-pocket I thanked him kindly and
departed.

Coming to the half-erected house, I again saw the man to whom I had
addressed myself for information. I stopped, and speaking Spanish
to him, asked how he had acquired the Spanish language.

"I have been in Chili, sir," said he in the same tongue, "and in
California, and in those places I learned Spanish."

"What did you go to Chili for?" said I; "I need not ask you on what
account you went to California."

"I went there as a mariner," said the man; "I sailed out of
Liverpool for Chili."

"And how is it," said I, "that being a mariner and sailing in a
Liverpool ship you do not speak English?"

"I speak English, senor," said the man, "perfectly well."

"Then how in the name of wonder," said I, speaking English, "came
you to answer me in Spanish? I am an Englishman thorough bred."

"I can scarcely tell you how it was, sir," said the man scratching
his head, "but I thought I would speak to you in Spanish."

"And why not English?" said I.

"Why, I heard you speaking Welsh," said the man; "and as for an
Englishman speaking Welsh -"

"But why not answer me in Welsh?" said I.

"Why, I saw it was not your language, sir," said the man, "and as I
had picked up some Spanish I thought it would be but fair to answer
you in it."

"But how did you know that I could speak Spanish?" said I.

"I don't know indeed, sir," said the man; "but I looked at you, and
something seemed to tell me that you could speak Spanish. I can't
tell you how it was sir," said he, looking me very innocently in
the face, "but I was forced to speak Spanish to you. I was
indeed!"

"The long and the short of it was," said I, "that you took me for a
foreigner, and thought that it would be but polite to answer me in
a foreign language."

"I daresay it was so, sir," said the man. "I daresay it was just
as you say."

"How did you fare in California?" said I.

"Very fairly indeed, sir," said the man. "I made some money there,
and brought it home, and with part of it I am building this house."

"I am very happy to hear it," said I, "you are really a remarkable
man - few return from California speaking Spanish as you do, and
still fewer with money in their pockets."

The poor fellow looked pleased at what I said, more especially at
that part of the sentence which touched upon his speaking Spanish
well. Wishing him many years of health and happiness in the house
he was building, I left him, and proceeded on my path towards
Pentraeth Goch.

After walking some way, I turned round in order to take a last look
of the place which had so much interest for me. The mill may be
seen from a considerable distance; so may some of the scattered
houses, and also the wood which surrounds the house of the
illustrious Gronwy. Prosperity to Llanfair! and may many a
pilgrimage be made to it of the same character as my own.



CHAPTER XXXIII



Boxing Harry - Mr Bos - Black Robin - Drovers - Commercial
Travellers.


I ARRIVED at the hostelry of Mr Pritchard without meeting any
adventure worthy of being marked down. I went into the little
parlour, and, ringing the bell, was presently waited upon by Mrs
Pritchard, a nice matronly woman, whom I had not before seen, of
whom I inquired what I could have for dinner.

"This is no great place for meat," said Mrs Pritchard, "that is
fresh meat, for sometimes a fortnight passes without anything being
killed in the neighbourhood. I am afraid at present there is not a
bit of fresh meat to be had. What we can get you for dinner I do
not know, unless you are willing to make shift with bacon and
eggs."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said I, "I will have the bacon and
eggs with tea and bread-and-butter, not forgetting a pint of ale -
in a word, I will box Harry."

"I suppose you are a commercial gent," said Mrs Pritchard.

"Why do you suppose me a commercial gent?" said I. "Do I look
one?"

"Can't say you do much," said Mrs Pritchard; "you have no rings on
your fingers, nor a gilt chain at your waistcoat-pocket, but when
you said 'box Harry,' I naturally took you to be one of the
commercial gents, for when I was at Liverpool I was told that that
was a word of theirs."

"I believe the word properly belongs to them," said I. "I am not
one of them; but I learnt it from them, a great many years ago,
when I was much amongst them. Those whose employers were in a
small way of business, or allowed them insufficient salaries,
frequently used to 'box Harry,' that is, have a beaf-steak, or
mutton-chop, or perhaps bacon and eggs, as I am going to have,
along with tea and ale, instead of the regular dinner of a
commercial gentleman, namely, fish, hot joint, and fowl, pint of
sherry, tart, ale and cheese, and bottle of old port, at the end of
all."

Having made arrangements for "boxing Harry" I went into the tap-
room, from which I had heard the voice of Mr Pritchard proceeding
during the whole of my conversation with his wife. Here I found
the worthy landlord seated with a single customer; both were
smoking. The customer instantly arrested my attention. He was a
man, seemingly about forty years of age with a broad red face, with
certain somethings, looking very much like incipient carbuncles,
here and there, upon it. His eyes were grey and looked rather as
if they squinted; his mouth was very wide, and when it opened
displayed a set of strong, white, uneven teeth. He was dressed in
a pepper-and-salt coat of the Newmarket cut, breeches of corduroy
and brown top boots, and had on his head a broad, black, coarse,
low-crowned hat. In his left hand he held a heavy whale-bone whip
with a brass head. I sat down on a bench nearly opposite to him
and the landlord.

"Well," said Mr Pritchard; "did you find your way to Llanfair?"

"Yes," said I.

"And did you execute the business satisfactorily which led you
there?" said Mr Pritchard.

"Perfectly," said I.

"Well, what did you give a stone for your live pork?" said his
companion glancing up at me, and speaking in a gruff voice.

"I did not buy any live pork," said I; "do you take me for a pig-
jobber?"

"Of course," said the man, in pepper-and-salt; "who but a pig
jobber could have business at Llanfair?"

"Does Llanfair produce nothing but pigs?" said I.

"Nothing at all," said the man in the pepper-and-salt, "that is,
nothing worth mentioning. You wouldn't go there for runts, that
is, if you were in your right senses; if you were in want of runts
you would have gone to my parish and have applied to me, Mr Bos;
that is if you were in your senses. Wouldn't he, John Pritchard?"

Mr Pritchard thus appealed to took the pipe out of his mouth, and
with some hesitations said that he believed the gentleman neither
went to Llanfair for pigs nor black cattle but upon some particular
business.

"Well," said Mr Bos, "it may be so, but I can't conceive how any
person, either gentle or simple, could have any business in
Anglesey save that business was pigs or cattle."

"The truth is," said I, "I went to Llanfair to see the birth-place
of a great man - the cleverest Anglesey ever produced."

"Then you went wrong," said Mr Bos, "you went to the wrong parish,
you should have gone to Penmynnydd; the clebber man of Anglesey was
born and buried at Penmynnydd, you may see his tomb in the church."

"You are alluding to Black Robin," said I, "who wrote the ode in
praise of Anglesey - yes, he was a very clever young fellow, but
excuse me, he was not half such a poet as Gronwy Owen."

"Black Robin," said Mr Bos, "and Gronow Owen, who the Devil were
they? I never heard of either. I wasn't talking of them, but of
the clebberest man the world ever saw. Did you never hear of Owen
Tiddir? If you didn't, where did you get your education?"

"I have heard of Owen Tudor," said I, "but never understood that he
was particularly clever; handsome he undoubtedly was - but clever -
"

"How not clebber?" interrupted Mr Bos. "If he wasn't clebber, who
was clebber? Didn't he marry a great queen, and was not Harry the
Eighth his great grandson?"

"Really," said I, "you know a great deal of history."

"I should hope I do," said Mr Bos. "Oh, I wasn't at school at
Blewmaris for six months for nothing; and I haven't been in
Northampton, and in every town in England, without learning
something of history. With regard to history I may say that few -
Won't you drink?" said he, patronizingly, as he pushed a jug of ale
which stood before him on a little table towards me.

Begging politely to be excused on the plea that I was just about to
take tea, I asked him in what capacity he had travelled all over
England.

"As a drover to be sure," said Mr Bos, "and I may say that there
are not many in Anglesey better known in England than myself - at
any rate I may say that there is not a public-house between here
and Worcester at which I am not known."

"Pray excuse me," said I, "but is not droving rather a low-lifed
occupation?"

"Not half so much as pig-jobbing," said Bos, "and that that's your
trade I am certain, or you would never have gone to Llanfair."

"I am no pig-jobber," said I, "and when I asked you that question
about droving, I merely did so because one Ellis Wynn, in a book he
wrote, gives the drovers a very bad character, and puts them in
Hell for their mal-practices."

"Oh, he does," said Mr Bos, "well, the next time I meet him at
Corwen I'll crack his head for saying so. Mal-practices - he had
better look at his own, for he is a pig-jobber too. Written a book
has he? then I suppose he has been left a legacy, and gone to
school after middle-age, for when I last saw him, which is four
years ago, he could neither read nor write."

I was about to tell Mr Bos that the Ellis Wynn that I meant was no
more a pig-jobber than myself, but a respectable clergyman, who had
been dead considerably upwards of a hundred years, and that also,
notwithstanding my respect for Mr Bos's knowledge of history, I did
not believe that Owen Tudor was buried at Penmynnydd, when I was
prevented by the entrance of Mrs Pritchard, who came to inform me
that my repast was ready in the other room, whereupon I got up and
went into the parlour to "box Harry."

Having dispatched my bacon and eggs, tea and ale, I fell into deep
meditation. My mind reverted to a long past period of my life,
when I was to a certain extent fixed up with commercial travellers,
and had plenty of opportunities of observing their habits, and the
terms employed by them in conversation. I called up several
individuals of the two classes into which they used to be divided,
for commercial travellers in my time were divided into two classes,
those who ate dinners and drank their bottle of port, and those who
"boxed Harry." What glorious fellows the first seemed! What airs
they gave themselves! What oaths they swore! and what influence
they had with hostlers and chambermaids! and what a sneaking-
looking set the others were! shabby in their apparel; no fine
ferocity in their countenances; no oaths in their mouths, except
such a trumpery apology for an oath as an occasional "confounded
hard;" with little or no influence at inns, scowled at by hostlers,
and never smiled at by chambermaids - and then I remembered how
often I had bothered my head in vain to account for the origin of
the term "box Harry," and how often I had in vain applied both to
those who did box and to those who did not "box Harry," for a clear
and satisfactory elucidation of the expression - and at last found
myself again bothering my head as of old in a vain attempt to
account for the origin of the term "boxing Harry."



CHAPTER XXXIV



Northampton - Horse - Breaking - Snoring.


TIRED at length with my vain efforts to account for the term which
in my time was so much in vogue amongst commercial gentlemen I left
the little parlour, and repaired to the common room. Mr Pritchard
and Mr Bos were still there smoking and drinking, but there was now
a candle on the table before them, for night was fast coming on.
Mr Bos was giving an account of his travels in England, sometimes
in Welsh, sometimes in English, to which Mr Pritchard was listening
with the greatest attention, occasionally putting in a "see there
now," and "what a fine thing it is to have gone about." After some
time Mr Bos exclaimed:

"I think, upon the whole, of all the places I have seen in England
I like Northampton best."

"I suppose," said I, "you found the men of Northampton good-
tempered, jovial fellows?"

"Can't say I did," said Mr Bos; "they are all shoe-makers, and of
course quarrelsome and contradictory, for where was there ever a
shoemaker who was not conceited and easily riled? No, I have
little to say in favour of Northampton as far as the men are
concerned. It's not the men but the women that make me speak in
praise of Northampton. The men all are ill-tempered, but the women
quite the contrary. I never saw such a place for merched anladd as
Northampton. I was a great favourite with them, and could tell you
such tales."

And then Mr Bos, putting his hat rather on one side of his head,
told us two or three tales of his adventures with the merched
anladd of Northampton, which brought powerfully to my mind part of
what Ellis Wynn had said with respect to the practices of drovers
in his day, detestation for which had induced him to put the whole
tribe into Hell.

All of a sudden I heard a galloping down the road, and presently a
mighty plunging, seemingly of a horse, before the door of the inn.
I rushed out followed by my companions, and lo, on the open space
before the inn was a young horse, rearing and kicking, with a young
man on his back. The horse had neither bridle nor saddle, and the
young fellow merely rode him with a rope passed about his head -
presently the horse became tolerably quiet, and his rider jumping
off led him into the stable, where he made him fast to the rack and
then came and joined us, whereupon we all went into the room from
which I and the others had come on hearing the noise of the
struggle.

"How came you on the colt's back, Jenkins?" said Mr Pritchard,
after we had all sat down and Jenkins had called for some cwrw. "I
did not know that he was broke in."

"I am breaking him in myself," said Jenkins speaking Welsh. "I
began with him to-night."

"Do you mean to say," said I, "that you have begun breaking him in
by mounting his back?"

"I do," said the other.

"Then depend upon it," said I, "that it will not be long before he
will either break his neck or knees or he will break your neck or
crown. You are not going the right way to work."

"Oh, myn Diawl!" said Jenkins, "I know better. In a day or two I
shall have made him quite tame, and have got him into excellent
paces and shall have saved the money I must have paid away, had I
put him into a jockey's hands."

Time passed, night came on, and other guests came in. There was
much talking of first-rate Welsh and very indifferent English, Mr
Bos being the principal speaker in both languages; his discourse
was chiefly on the comparative merits of Anglesey runts and Scotch
bullocks, and those of the merched anladd of Northampton and the
lasses of Wrexham. He preferred his own country runts to the
Scotch kine, but said upon the whole, though a Welshman, he must
give the preference to the merched of Northampton over those of
Wrexham, for free and easy demeanour, notwithstanding that in that
point which he said was the most desirable point in females, the
lasses of Wrexham were generally considered out-and-outers.

Fond as I am of listening to public-house conversation, from which
I generally contrive to extract both amusement and edification, I
became rather tired of this, and getting up, strolled about the
little village by moonlight till I felt disposed to retire to rest,
when returning to the inn, I begged to be shown the room in which I
was to sleep. Mrs Pritchard forthwith taking a candle conducted me
to a small room upstairs. There were two beds in it. The good
lady pointing to one, next the window, in which there were nice
clean sheets, told me that was the one which I was to occupy, and
bidding me good-night, and leaving the candle, departed. Putting
out the light I got into bed, but instantly found that the bed was
not long enough by at least a foot. "I shall pass an uncomfortable
night," said I, "for I never yet could sleep comfortably in a bed
too short. However, as I am on my travels, I must endeavour to
accommodate myself to circumstances." So I endeavoured to compose
myself to sleep; before, however, I could succeed, I heard the
sound of stumping steps coming upstairs, and perceived a beam of
light through the crevices of the door, and in a moment more the
door opened and in came two loutish farming lads whom I had
observed below, one of them bearing a rushlight stuck into an old
blacking-bottle. Without saying a word they flung off part of
their clothes, and one of them having blown out the rushlight, they
both tumbled into bed, and in a moment were snoring most
sonorously. "I am in a short bed," said I, "and have snorers close
by me; I fear I shall have a sorry night of it." I determined,
however, to adhere to my resolution of making the best of
circumstances, and lay perfectly quiet, listening to the snorings
as they rose and fell; at last they became more gentle and I fell
asleep, notwithstanding my feet were projecting some way from the
bed. I might have lain ten minutes or a quarter of an hour when I
suddenly started up in the bed broad awake. There was a great
noise below the window of plunging and struggling interspersed with
Welsh oaths. Then there was a sound as if of a heavy fall, and
presently a groan. "I shouldn't wonder," said I, "if that fellow
with the horse has verified my words, and has either broken his
horse's neck or his own. However, if he has, he has no one to
blame but himself. I gave him fair warning, and shall give myself
no further trouble about the matter, but go to sleep," and so I
did.



CHAPTER XXXV



Brilliant Morning - Travelling with Edification - A Good Clergyman
- Gybi.


I AWOKE about six o'clock in the morning, having passed the night
much better than I anticipated. The sun was shining bright and
gloriously into the apartment. On looking into the other bed I
found that my chums, the young farm-labourers, had deserted it.
They were probably already in the field busy at labour. After
lying a little time longer I arose, dressed myself and went down.
I found my friend honest Pritchard smoking his morning pipe at the
front door, and after giving him the sele of the day, I inquired of
him the cause of the disturbance beneath my window the night
before, and learned that the man of the horse had been thrown by
the animal off its back, that the horse almost immediately after
had slipped down, and both had been led home very much hurt. We
then talked about farming and the crops, and at length got into a
discourse about Liverpool. I asked him how he liked that mighty
seaport; he said very well, but that he did not know much about it
- for though he had a house there where his family had resided, he
had not lived much at Liverpool himself, his absences from that
place having been many and long.

"Have you travelled then much about England?" said I.

"No," he replied. "When I have travelled it has chiefly been
across the sea to foreign places."

"But what foreign places have you visited?" said I.

"I have visited," said Pritchard, "Constantinople, Alexandria, and
some other cities in the south latitudes."

"Dear me," said I, "you have seen some of the most celebrated
places in the world - and yet you were silent, and said nothing
about your travels whilst that fellow Bos was pluming himself at
having been at such places as Northampton and Worcester, the haunts
of shoe-makers and pig-jobbers."

"Ah," said Pritchard, "but Mr Bos has travelled with edification;
it is a fine thing to have travelled when one has done so with
edification, but I have not. There is a vast deal of difference
between me and him - he is considered the 'cutest man in these
parts, and is much looked up to."

"You are really," said I, "the most modest person I have ever known
and the least addicted to envy. Let me see whether you have
travelled without edification."

I then questioned him about the places which he had mentioned, and
found he knew a great deal about them, amongst other things he
described Cleopatra's needle, and the At Maidan at Constantinople
with surprising exactness.

"You put me out," said I; "you consider yourself inferior to that
droving fellow Bos, and to have travelled without edification,
whereas you know a thousand times more than he, and indeed much
more than many a person who makes his five hundred a year by going
about lecturing on foreign places, but as I am no flatterer I will
tell you that you have a fault which will always prevent your
rising in this world, you have modesty; those who have modesty
shall have no advancement, whilst those who can blow their own horn
lustily, shall be made governors. But allow me to ask you in what
capacity you went abroad?"

"As engineer to various steamships," said Pritchard.

"A director of the power of steam," said I, "and an explorer of the
wonders of Iscander's city willing to hold the candle to Mr Bos. I
will tell you what, you are too good for this world, let us hope
you will have your reward in the next."

I breakfasted and asked for my bill; the bill amounted to little or
nothing - half-a-crown I think for tea-dinner, sundry jugs of ale,
bed and breakfast. I defrayed it, and then inquired whether it
would be possible for me to see the inside of the church.

"Oh yes," said Pritchard. "I can let you in, for I am churchwarden
and have the key."

The church was a little edifice of some antiquity, with a little
wing and without a spire; it was situated amidst a grove of trees.
As we stood with our hats off in the sacred edifice, I asked
Pritchard if there were many Methodists in those parts.

"Not so many as there were," said Pritchard, "they are rapidly
decreasing, and indeed dissenters in general. The cause of their
decrease is that a good clergyman has lately come here, who visits
the sick and preaches Christ, and in fact does his duty. If all
our clergymen were like him there would not be many dissenters in
Ynis Fon."

Outside the church, in the wall, I observed a tablet with the
following inscription in English.


Here lieth interred the body of Ann, wife of Robert Paston, who
deceased the sixth day of October, Anno Domini.

1671.
P.
R. A.


"You seem struck with that writing?" said Pritchard, observing that
I stood motionless, staring at the tablet.

"The name of Paston," said I, "struck me; it is the name of a
village in my own native district, from which an old family, now
almost extinct, derived its name. How came a Paston into Ynys Fon?
Are there any people bearing that name at present in these parts?"

"Not that I am aware," said Pritchard,

"I wonder who his wife Ann was?" said I, "from the style of that
tablet she must have been a considerable person."

"Perhaps she was the daughter of the Lewis family of Llan Dyfnant,"
said Pritchard; "that's an old family and a rich one. Perhaps he
came from a distance and saw and married a daughter of the Lewis of
Dyfnant - more than one stranger has done so. Lord Vivian came
from a distance and saw and married a daughter of the rich Lewis of
Dyfnant."

I shook honest Pritchard by the hand, thanked him for his kindness
and wished him farewell, whereupon he gave mine a hearty squeeze,
thanking me for my custom.

"Which is my way," said I, "to Pen Caer Gybi?"

"You must go about a mile on the Bangor road, and then turning to
the right pass through Penmynnydd, but what takes you to Holyhead?"

"I wish to see," said I, "the place where Cybi the tawny saint
preached and worshipped. He was called tawny because from his
frequent walks in the blaze of the sun his face had become much
sun-burnt. This is a furiously hot day, and perhaps by the time I
get to Holyhead, I may be so sun-burnt as to be able to pass for
Cybi himself."



CHAPTER XXXVI



Moelfre - Owain Gwynedd - Church of Penmynnydd - The Rose of Mona.


LEAVING Pentraeth Coch I retraced my way along the Bangor road till
I came to the turning on the right. Here I diverged from the
aforesaid road, and proceeded along one which led nearly due west;
after travelling about a mile I stopped, on the top of a little
hill; cornfields were on either side, and in one an aged man was
reaping close to the road; I looked south, west, north and east; to
the south was the Snowdon range far away, with the Wyddfa just
discernible; to the west and north was nothing very remarkable, but
to the east or rather north-east, was mountain Lidiart and the tall
hill confronting it across the bay.

"Can you tell me," said I to the old reaper, "the name of that bald
hill, which looks towards Lidiart?"

"We call that hill Moelfre," said the old man desisting from his
labour, and touching his hat.

"Dear me," said I; "Moelfre, Moelfre!"

"Is there anything wonderful in the name, sir?" said the old man
smiling.

"There is nothing wonderful in the name," said I, "which merely
means the bald hill, but it brings wonderful recollections to my
mind. I little thought when I was looking from the road near
Pentraeth Coch yesterday on that hill, and the bay and strand below
it, and admiring the tranquillity which reigned over all, that I
was gazing upon the scene of one of the most tremendous conflicts
recorded in history or poetry."

"Dear me," said the old reaper; "and whom may it have been between?
the French and English, I suppose."

"No," said I; "it was fought between one of your Welsh kings, the
great Owain Gwynedd, and certain northern and Irish enemies of
his."

"Only think," said the old man, "and it was a fierce battle, sir?"

"It was, indeed," said I; "according to the words of a poet, who
described it, the Menai could not ebb on account of the torrent of
blood which flowed into it, slaughter was heaped upon slaughter,
shout followed shout, and around Moelfre a thousand war flags
waved."

"Well, sir," said the old man, "I never before heard anything about
it, indeed I don't trouble my head with histories, unless they be
Bible histories."

"Are you a Churchman?" said I.

"No," said the old man, shortly; "I am a Methodist."

"I belong to the Church," said I.

"So I should have guessed, sir, by your being so well acquainted
with pennillion and histories. Ah, the Church. . . . ."

"This is dreadfully hot weather, said I, "and I should like to
offer you sixpence for ale, but as I am a Churchman I suppose you
would not accept it from my hands."

"The Lord forbid, sir," said the old man, "that I should be so
uncharitable! If your honour chooses to give me sixpence, I will
receive it willingly. Thank your honour! Well, I have often said
there is a great deal of good in the Church of England."

I once more looked at the hill which overlooked the scene of Owen
Gwynedd's triumph over the united forces of the Irish Lochlanders
and Normans, and then after inquiring of the old man whether I was
in the right direction for Penmynnydd, and finding that I was, I
set off at a great pace, singing occasionally snatches of Black
Robin's ode in praise of Anglesey, amongst others the following
stanza:-


"Bread of the wholesomest is found
In my mother-land of Anglesey;
Friendly bounteous men abound
In Penmynnydd of Anglesey."


I reached Penmynnydd, a small village consisting of a few white
houses and a mill. The meaning of Penmynnydd is literally the top
of a hill. The village does not stand on a hill, but the church
which is at some distance, stands on one, or rather on a hillock.
And it is probable from the circumstance of the church standing on
a hillock, that the parish derives its name. Towards the church
after a slight glance at the village, I proceeded with hasty steps,
and was soon at the foot of the hillock. A house, that of the
clergyman, stands near the church, on the top of the hill. I
opened a gate, and entered a lane which seemed to lead up to the
church.

As I was passing some low buildings, probably offices pertaining to
the house, a head was thrust from a doorway, which stared at me.
It was a strange hirsute head, and probably looked more strange and
hirsute than it naturally was, owing to its having a hairy cap upon
it.

"Good day," said I.

"Good day, sar," said the head, and in a moment more a man of
middle stature, about fifty, in hairy cap, shirt-sleeves, and green
apron round his waist, stood before me. He looked the beau-ideal
of a servant of all work.

"Can I see the church?" said I.

"Ah, you want to see the church," said honest Scrub. "Yes, sar!
you shall see the church. You go up road there past church - come
to house, knock at door - say what you want - and nice little girl
show you church. Ah, you quite right to come and see church - fine
tomb there and clebber man sleeping in it with his wife, clebber
man that - Owen Tiddir; married great queen - dyn clebber iawn."

Following the suggestions of the man of the hairy cap I went round
the church and knocked at the door of the house, a handsome
parsonage. A nice little servant-girl presently made her
appearance at the door, of whom I inquired whether I could see the
church.

"Certainly, sir," said she; "I will go for the key and accompany
you."

She fetched the key and away we went to the church. It is a
venerable chapel-like edifice, with a belfry towards the west; the
roof sinking by two gradations, is lower at the eastern or altar
end, than at the other. The girl, unlocking the door, ushered me