The Newspaper - A New Walk - Pentre y Dwr - Oatmeal and Barley-Meal - The Man on Horseback - Heavy News.
"DEAR me," said I to my wife, as I sat by the fire one Saturday morning, looking at a newspaper which had been sent to us from our own district, "what is this? Why, the death of our old friend Dr -. He died last Tuesday week after a short illness, for he preached in his church at - the previous Sunday.""Poor man!" said my wife. "How sorry I am to hear of his death!
However, he died in the fulness of years, after a long and exemplary life. He was an excellent man and good Christian shepherd. I knew him well; you I think only saw him once.""But I shall never forget him," said I, "nor how animated his features became when I talked to him about Wales, for he, you know, was a Welshman. I forgot to ask what part of Wales he came from.
I suppose I shall never know now."
Feeling indisposed either for writing or reading, I determined to take a walk to Pentre y Dwr, a village in the north-west part of the valley which I had not yet visited. I purposed going by a path under the Eglwysig crags which I had heard led thither, and to return by the monastery. I set out. The day was dull and gloomy.
Crossing the canal I pursued my course by romantic lanes till Ifound myself under the crags. The rocky ridge here turns away to the north, having previously run from the east to the west.
After proceeding nearly a mile amidst very beautiful scenery, Icame to a farm-yard where I saw several men engaged in repairing a building. This farm-yard was in a very sequestered situation; a hill overhung it on the west, half-way up whose side stood a farm-house to which it probably pertained. On the north-west was a most romantic hill covered with wood to the very top. A wild valley led, I knew not whither, to the north between crags and the wood-covered hill. Going up to a man of respectable appearance, who seemed to be superintending the others, I asked him in English the way to Pentre y Dwr. He replied that I must follow the path up the hill towards the house, behind which I should find a road which would lead me through the wood to Pentre Dwr. As he spoke very good English, I asked him where he had learnt it.
"Chiefly in South Wales," said he, "where they speak less Welsh than here."I gathered from him that he lived in the house on the hill and was a farmer. I asked him to what place the road up the valley to the north led.
"We generally go by that road to Wrexham," he replied; "it is a short but a wild road through the hills."After a little discourse on the times, which he told me were not quite so bad for farmers as they had been, I bade him farewell.
Mounting the hill I passed round the house, as the farmer had directed me, and turned to the west along a path on the side of the mountain. A deep valley was on my left, and on my right above me a thick wood, principally of oak. About a mile further on the path winded down a descent, at the bottom of which I saw a brook and a number of cottages beyond it.
I passed over the brook by means of a long slab laid across, and reached the cottages. I was now as I supposed in Pentre y Dwr, and a pentre y dwr most truly it looked, for those Welsh words signify in English the village of the water, and the brook here ran through the village, in every room of which its pretty murmuring sound must have been audible. I looked about me in the hope of seeing somebody of whom I could ask a question or two, but seeing no one, I turned to the south intending to regain Llangollen by the way of the monastery. Coming to a cottage I saw a woman, to all appearance very old, standing by the door, and asked her in Welsh where I was.
"In Pentre Dwr," said she. "This house, and those yonder,"pointing to the cottages past which I had come, "are Pentre y Dwr.
There is, however, another Pentre Dwr up the glen yonder," said she, pointing towards the north - "which is called Pentre Dwr uchaf (the upper) -this is Pentre Dwr isaf (the lower).""Is it called Pentre Dwr," said I, "because of the water of the brook?""Likely enough," said she, "but I never thought of the matter before."She was blear-eyed, and her skin, which seemed drawn tight over her forehead and cheek-bones, was of the colour of parchment. I asked her how old she was.
"Fifteen after three twenties," she replied; meaning that she was seventy-five.
From her appearance I should almost have guessed that she had been fifteen after four twenties. I, however, did not tell her so, for I am always cautious not to hurt the feelings of anybody, especially of the aged.
