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 comf