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 Ijudged to be the post-master, I was as likely to obtain information with respect to the place of my destination as from any one, Istopped, 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 Iwanted: 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.