The house was first
called Ty wraig Sam, the house of Sam's wife, and then for
shortness Wraig Sam, and a town arising about it by degrees, the
town too was called Wraig Sam, which the Saxons corrupted into
Wrexham.
I was much diverted with this Welsh derivation of Wrexham, which I
did not attempt to controvert. After we had had some further
discourse John Jones got up, shook me by the hand, gave a sigh,
wished me a "taith hyfryd," and departed. Thus terminated my last
day at Llangollen.
CHAPTER LXIV
Departure for South Wales - Tregeiriog - Pleasing Scene - Trying to
Read - Garmon and Lupus - The Cracked Voice - Effect of a
Compliment - Llan Rhyadr.
THE morning of the 21st of October was fine and cold; there was a
rime frost on the ground. At about eleven o'clock I started on my
journey for South Wales, intending that my first stage should be
Llan Rhyadr. My wife and daughter accompanied me as far as Plas
Newydd. As we passed through the town I shook hands with honest A-
, whom I saw standing at the door of a shop, with a kind of Spanish
hat on his head, and also with my venerable friend old Mr Jones,
whom I encountered close beside his own domicile. At the Plas
Newydd I took an affectionate farewell of my two loved ones, and
proceeded to ascend the Berwyn. Near the top I turned round to
take a final look at the spot where I had lately passed many a
happy hour. There lay Llangollen far below me, with its chimneys
placidly smoking, its pretty church rising in its centre, its blue
river dividing it into two nearly equal parts, and the mighty hill
of Brennus overhanging it from the north.
I sighed, and repeating Einion Du's verse
"Tangnefedd i Llangollen!"
turned away.
I went over the top of the hill and then began to descend its
southern side, obtaining a distant view of the plains of Shropshire
on the east. I soon reached the bottom of the hill, passed through
Llansanfraid, and threading the vale of the Ceiriog at length found
myself at Pont y Meibion in front of the house of Huw Morris, or
rather of that which is built on the site of the dwelling of the
poet. I stopped and remained before the house thinking of the
mighty Huw, till the door opened, and out came the dark-featured
man, the poet's descendant, whom I saw when visiting the place in
company with honest John Jones - he had now a spade in his hand and
was doubtless going to his labour. As I knew him to be of a rather
sullen unsocial disposition, I said nothing to him, but proceeded
on my way. As I advanced the valley widened, the hills on the west
receding to some distance from the river. Came to Tregeiriog a
small village, which takes its name from the brook; Tregeiriog
signifying the hamlet or village on the Ceiriog. Seeing a bridge
which crossed the rivulet at a slight distance from the road, a
little beyond the village, I turned aside to look at it. The
proper course of the Ceiriog is from south to north; where it is
crossed by the bridge, however, it runs from west to east,
returning to its usual course, a little way below the bridge. The
bridge was small and presented nothing remarkable in itself: I
obtained, however, as I looked over its parapet towards the west a
view of a scene, not of wild grandeur, but of something which I
like better, which richly compensated me for the slight trouble I
had taken in stepping aside to visit the little bridge. About a
hundred yards distant was a small water-mill, built over the
rivulet, the wheel going slowly, slowly round; large quantities of
pigs, the generality of them brindled, were either browsing on the
banks or lying close to the sides half immersed in the water; one
immense white hog, the monarch seemingly of the herd, was standing
in the middle of the current. Such was the scene which I saw from
the bridge, a scene of quiet rural life well suited to the brushes
of two or three of the old Dutch painters, or to those of men
scarcely inferior to them in their own style, Gainsborough,
Moreland, and Crome. My mind for the last half-hour had been in a
highly excited state; I had been repeating verses of old Huw
Morris, brought to my recollection by the sight of his dwelling-
place; they were ranting roaring verses, against the Roundheads. I
admired the vigour but disliked the principles which they
displayed; and admiration on the one hand and disapproval on the
other, bred a commotion in my mind like that raised on the sea when
tide runs one way and wind blows another. The quiet scene from the
bridge, however, produced a sedative effect on my mind, and when I
resumed my journey I had forgotten Huw, his verses, and all about
Roundheads and Cavaliers.
I reached Llanarmon, another small village, situated in a valley
through which the Ceiriog or a river very similar to it flows. It
is half-way between Llangollen and Llan Rhyadr, being ten miles
from each. I went to a small inn or public-house, sat down and
called for ale. A waggoner was seated at a large table with a
newspaper before him on which he was intently staring.
"What news?" said I in English.
"I wish I could tell you," said he in very broken English, "but I
cannot read."
"Then why are you looking at the paper?" said I.
"Because," said he, "by looking at the letters I hope in time to
make them out."
"You may look at them," said I, "for fifty years without being able
to make out one.
