Welsh Journals

THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF ROBERT ROBERTS CHAPTER XXI. (Continued). I kept very quiet the rest of the evening, resolving to say nothing till I was asked a question. Indeed, I was troubled about the mistakes I made already, and dreaded lest I might lose his Lordship's good graces altogether. But before we parted that evening, I had recovered some of his good opinion by giving an answer that pleased him to an etymo- logical question. The Bishop prided himself upon his knowledge of the origin of the names of places, and though he knew very little Welsh, and could not pronounce half-a-dozen words in that language intelligibly, he told us that he had an ambition to be reckoned an authority on such matters. Many words were discussed, e.g., Rhyl, Dinbych, etc. I thought the Bishop's explanations of some of these words fanciful, and in some cases decidedly incorrect, but of course, I was silent. But I was not allowed to be altogether so. The word Bettws was men- tioned. Some thought it was Bead-house, i.e., prayer house. The Bishop asked me what I thought. I thought it hardly fair to be obliged to give my poor opinion in that way who knows whether I may be running my head against another pet crotchet." But here goes-happen what may. So I told him that in West Denbighshire we called a declivity where birch or brushwood grew, a bettws or place of birch that there were half-a-dozen such bettwses on the old farm where I was born, and that all the Churches I knew of that name were built on or near such wooded declivities. Hence I thought the word to be Welsh. Now this was luckily a derivation that suited the Bishop. He pronounced it to be the right one, and Wynne Edwards and his bead-house were put out of court. He hoped that I would pay attention to the study of etymology. After that we had no mishap so far as I was concerned. A few Sundays afterwards I was ordained deacon, and went over to my new Curacy. It was only three miles from St. Asaph, and I walked over on the Monday after the ordination. The parish was a small one, delightfully situated on the eastern side of the famed Vale of Clwyd. About a mile before that valley of beauty expanded into the plain or marsh of Rhuddlan, the Flintshire hills receded for about a mile and formed by the bend the lovely hollow of Cwm. Moel Hiraddug, a high bold hill, protected it on the north, and the Marian or plateau of Flint rose on the east. On the west and south it sloped gradually till it reached the meadows where the Clwyd and Elwy met. A lovelier spot did not exist the view was magnificent, extending from the Irish Sea and Rhuddlan Marsh in the north, over the wooded glades of Bodelwyddan, Trefnant, Cefn, to the hills of Yale, in the far distant south. The majestic remains of Longshanks' Castle of Rhuddlan appeared on the right. The grey towers of St. Asaph rose in front-a little further frowned the grey ruins of Denbigh Castle, and away south- ward the red pile of Ruthin towered above the plain. All round was beauty, fertility, wealth. So far as outward appearance went, my new home was a delightful spot the eye never tired of gazing on beauty everywhere, near, afar off, right, left, around move ten jards in any direction and a new panorama opened before you, more delightful if possible than the last new combinations were formed, endless, inexhaustible. The village was a cluster of seven or eight houses, built on each side of a road that ascended in a zipzap manner up to the plateau above mentioned. There was a public house, of course, to which a good- sized farm was attached there was a small school with master's house attached the parish clerk had a cottage and a pretty garden, and there were three or four cottages of a humbler sort without the pretty gardens. The principal house was the vicarage, a comfortable house of hewn stone, new and solid looking: around were grounds well laid out in fruit trees and ornamental shrubberies. Close by was the Church, a grey, weatherworn old building, much out of repair, and round it was a large church- yard, not much filled with gravestones, shaded by a few fine yews, and surrounded by a thick holly hedge. On my calling at the Vicarage the Vicar made his appearance, a hale, stout little man of about seventy. He seemed strong enough as yet for all the work that might be required of him, but he saw rest that it was good, and as he had no children to provide for and could afford the luxury of a Curate, he employed one. I was to reside at the Vicarage and was to receive £ 30 in addition to my board. The duty was not heavy, and there would be plenty of time for