There were only three. The inscriptions upon them were all in
Welsh. The following stanza was on the stone of Jane, the daughter
of Elizabeth Williams, who died on the second of May, 1843:
"Er myn'd i'r oerllyd annedd
Dros dymher hir i orwedd,
Cwyd i'r lan o'r gwely bridd
Ac hyfryd fydd ei hagwedd."
which is
"Though thou art gone to dwelling cold
To lie in mould for many a year,
Thou shalt, at length, from earthy bed,
Uplift thy head to blissful sphere."
As we went along I stopped to gaze at a singular-looking hill
forming part of the mountain range on the east. I asked John Jones
what its name was, but he did not know. As we were standing
talking about it, a lady came up from the direction in which our
course lay. John Jones, touching his hat to her, said:
"Madam, this gwr boneddig wishes to know the name of that moel,
perhaps you can tell him."
"Its name is Moel Agrik," said the lady, addressing me in English.
"Does that mean Agricola's hill?" said I.
"It does," said she, "and there is a tradition that the Roman
General Agricola, when he invaded these parts, pitched his camp on
that moel. The hill is spoken of by Pennant."
"Thank you, madam," said I; "perhaps you can tell me the name of
the delightful grounds in which we stand, supposing they have a
name?"
"They are called Oaklands," said the lady.
"A very proper name," said I, "for there is plenty of oaks growing
about. But why are they called by a Saxon name, for Oaklands is
Saxon?"
"Because," said the lady, "when the grounds were first planted with
trees they belonged to an English family."
"Thank you," said I, and, taking off my hat, I departed with my
guide. I asked him her name, but he could not tell me. Before she
was out of sight, however, we met a labourer of whom John Jones
enquired her name.
"Her name is W-s," said the man, "and a good lady she is."
"Is she Welsh?" said I.
"Pure Welsh, master," said the man. "Purer Welsh flesh and blood
need not be."
Nothing farther worth relating occurred till we reached the toll-
bar at the head of the hen ffordd, by which time the sun was almost
gone down. We found the master of the gate, his wife and son
seated on a bench before the door. The woman had a large book on
her lap, in which she was reading by the last light of the
departing orb. I gave the group the sele of the evening in
English, which they all returned, the woman looking up from her
book.
"Is that volume the Bible?" said I.
"It is, sir," said the woman.
"May I look at it?" said I.
"Certainly," said the woman, and placed the book in my hand. It
was a magnificent Welsh Bible, but without the title-page.
"That book must be a great comfort to you," said I to her.
"Very great," said she. "I know not what we should do without it
in the long winter evenings."
"Of what faith are you?" said I.
"We are Methodists," she replied.
"Then you are of the same faith as my friend here," said I.
"Yes, yes," said she, "we are aware of that. We all know honest
John Jones."
After we had left the gate I asked John Jones whether he had ever
heard of Rebecca of the toll-gates.
"Oh, yes," said he; "I have heard of that chieftainess."
"And who was she?" said I.
"I cannot say, sir; I never saw her, nor any one who had seen her.
Some say that there were a hundred Rebeccas, and all of them men
dressed in women's clothes, who went about at night, at the head of
bands to break the gates. Ah, sir, something of the kind was
almost necessary at that time. I am a friend of peace, sir, no
head-breaker, house-breaker, nor gate-breaker, but I can hardly
blame what was done at that time, under the name of Rebecca. You
have no idea how the poor Welsh were oppressed by those gates, aye,
and the rich too. The little people and farmers could not carry
their produce to market owing to the exactions at the gates, which
devoured all the profit and sometimes more. So that the markets
were not half supplied, and people with money could frequently not
get what they wanted. Complaints were made to government, which
not being attended to, Rebecca and her byddinion made their
appearance at night, and broke the gates to pieces with sledge-
hammers, and everybody said it was gallant work, everybody save the
keepers of the gates and the proprietors. Not only the poor but
the rich, said so. Aye, and I have heard that many a fine young
gentleman had a hand in the work, and went about at night at the
head of a band dressed as Rebecca. Well, sir, those breakings were
acts of violence, I don't deny, but they did good, for the system
is altered; such impositions are no longer practised at gates as
were before the time of Rebecca."
"Were any people ever taken up and punished for those nocturnal
breakings?" said I.
"No, sir; and I have heard say that nobody's being taken up was a
proof that the rich approved of the work and had a hand in it."
Night had come on by the time we reached the foot of the huge hills
we had crossed in the morning. We toiled up the ascent, and after
crossing the level ground on the top, plunged down the bwlch
between walking and running, occasionally stumbling, for we were
nearly in complete darkness, and the bwlch was steep and stony.
