But whilst learning Welsh, did he not neglect his collegiate
studies?"
"Well, I was rather apprehensive on that point," said the old
gentleman, "but mark the event. At the examination he came off
most brilliantly in Latin, Greek, mathematics, and other things
too; in fact, a double first-class man, as I think they call it."
"I have never heard of so extraordinary an individual," said I. "I
could no more have done what you say he did, than I could have
taken wings and flown. Pray, what was his name?"
"His name," said the old gentleman, "was Earl."
I was much delighted with my new acquaintance, and paid him
frequent visits; the more I saw him the more he interested me. He
was kind and benevolent, a good old Church of England Christian,
was well versed in several dialects of the Celtic, and possessed an
astonishing deal of Welsh heraldic and antiquarian lore. Often
whilst discoursing with him I almost fancied that I was with Master
Salisburie, Vaughan of Hengwrt, or some other worthy of old, deeply
skilled in everything remarkable connected with wild "Camber's
Lande."
CHAPTER XIX
The Vicar and his Family - Evan Evans - Foaming Ale - Llam y
Lleidyr - Baptism - Joost Van Vondel - Over to Rome - The Miller's
Man - Welsh and English.
WE had received a call from the Vicar of Llangollen and his lady;
we had returned it, and they had done us the kindness to invite us
to take tea with them. On the appointed evening we went, myself,
wife, and Henrietta, and took tea with the vicar and his wife,
their sons and daughters, all delightful and amiable beings - the
eldest son a fine intelligent young man from Oxford, lately
admitted into the Church, and now assisting his father in his
sacred office. A delightful residence was the vicarage, situated
amongst trees in the neighbourhood of the Dee. A large open window
in the room, in which our party sat, afforded us a view of a green
plat on the top of a bank running down to the Dee, part of the
river, the steep farther bank covered with umbrageous trees, and a
high mountain beyond, even that of Pen y Coed clad with wood.
During tea Mr E. and I had a great deal of discourse. I found him
to be a first-rate Greek and Latin scholar, and also a proficient
in the poetical literature of his own country. In the course of
discourse he repeated some noble lines of Evan Evans, the
unfortunate and eccentric Prydydd Hir, or tall poet, the friend and
correspondent of Gray, for whom he made literal translations from
the Welsh, which the great English genius afterwards wrought into
immortal verse.
"I have a great regard for poor Evan Evans," said Mr E., after he
had finished repeating the lines, "for two reasons: first, because
he was an illustrious genius, and second, because he was a South-
Wallian like myself."
"And I," I replied, "because he was a great poet, and like myself
fond of a glass of cwrw da."
Some time after tea the younger Mr E. and myself took a walk in an
eastern direction along a path cut in the bank, just above the
stream. After proceeding a little way amongst most romantic
scenery, I asked my companion if he had ever heard of the pool of
Catherine Lingo - the deep pool, as the reader will please to
remember, of which John Jones had spoken.
"Oh yes," said young Mr E.: "my brothers and myself are in the
habit of bathing there almost every morning. We will go to it if
you please."
We proceeded, and soon came to the pool. The pool is a beautiful
sheet of water, seemingly about one hundred and fifty yards in
length, by about seventy in width. It is bounded on the east by a
low ridge of rocks forming a weir. The banks on both sides are
high and precipitous, and covered with trees, some of which shoot
their arms for some way above the face of the pool. This is said
to be the deepest pool in the whole course of the Dee, varying in
depth from twenty to thirty feet. Enormous pike, called in Welsh
penhwiaid, or ducks-heads, from the similarity which the head of a
pike bears to that of a duck, are said to be tenants of this pool.
We returned to the vicarage, and at about ten we all sat down to
supper. On the supper-table was a mighty pitcher full of foaming
ale.
"There," said my excellent host, as he poured me out a glass,
"there is a glass of cwrw, which Evan Evans himself might have
drunk."
One evening my wife, Henrietta, and myself, attended by John Jones,
went upon the Berwyn, a little to the east of the Geraint or
Barber's Hill, to botanize. Here we found a fern which John Jones
called Coed llus y Bran, or the plant of the Crow's berry. There
was a hard kind of berry upon it, of which he said the crows were
exceedingly fond. We also discovered two or three other strange
plants, the Welsh names of which our guide told us, and which were
curious and descriptive enough. He took us home by a romantic path
which we had never before seen, and on our way pointed out to us a
small house in which he said he was born.
The day after, finding myself on the banks of the Dee in the upper
part of the valley, I determined to examine the Llam Lleidyr or
Robber's Leap, which I had heard spoken of on a former occasion. A
man passing near me with a cart I asked him where the Robber's Leap
was. I spoke in English, and with a shake of his head he replied
"Dim Saesneg." On my putting the question to him in Welsh,
however, his countenance brightened up.
