Pronunciation of the name—Owen Glyndwr—His history—David Gam—Fish—Lakes—Bugeilyn—Llyn Penrhaiadr—Towyn—Inscribed stone of S. Cadvan—Who Cadvan was—Tal y Llyn—Bass fishing—Llanegryn and its screen—Peniarth—The Wynn family—Welsh names—The Arms of Wales—The Three Feathers.

THE pronunciation of this name demands a smattering of knowledge as to how to speak it intelligibly to a Welshman; but the clerks at railway stations delivering tickets to the place are prepared to accept every laboured effort to pronounce and mispronounce it. To ensure being understood, call the place “MahÚntleth.”

The town, a cheerful little place, clean, but without anything of much interest in it, is one of the six contributing boroughs of Montgomery. It has not even an old parish church; the structure that serves for the purpose is modern and poor in design. But it does retain a little plaster-and-timber house, nearly opposite the gates of the grounds of Plas Machynlleth, the place of the Marchioness of Londonderry, which is traditionally held to have been the dwelling in which Owen Glyndwr assembled a parliament to consult as to the best means of resisting Henry IV., and the place also where an attempt was made to assassinate him by David Gam.

Owen Glyndwr was born about 1359 in South Wales, but descended from the princes of Powys, and he takes his name from Glyndyfrdwy in Yale. He first comes to notice as witness in a remarkable trial that lasted four years between the houses of Grosvenor and Scrope relative to rights to a certain coat-of-arms.

The story of rights over a common, which originated the struggle between Owen and Lord Grey of Ruthin, and brought on a contest with the whole power of England, that lasted through Glyndwr’s life, has been already told.

The treachery of the unprincipled English baron led to the desolation of Wales, to rivers of blood being shed, and to a good deal of humiliation to his master, Henry IV.

It may be remembered that when, in 1400, King Henry was preparing an expedition against Scotland, he summoned Glyndwr to join his forces, but confided the summons to Grey to deliver. Lord Grey purposely suppressed it, and then represented Owen to the King as a malcontent and a rebel; whereupon, without inquiry into the matter, Henry IV. pronounced his estate forfeit.

The Welsh had sympathised with Richard II., and they regarded Bolingbroke as a usurper, but would have contented themselves with singing dirges to the memory of Richard, had they not been exasperated to revolt by the violence and injustice of the Marchers. Owen, enraged against Grey de Ruthin, at first made a personal quarrel of his wrongs; but this soon developed and extended until it involved the whole of Wales, which rose against the English Crown.

In 1401 King Henry marched into North Wales, but the natives, and all those who held to Owen, retired into the mountains; and Henry returned to England, having effected nothing. He left Henry Prince of Wales, then a boy of thirteen, at Chester, to watch and control the Welsh, with Henry Hotspur, eldest son of the Earl of Northumberland, as Justice of North Wales and Constable of the Castles. Shakespeare has considerably disturbed men’s minds relative to persons and events of the period. He makes the fiery Percy but little older than Prince Hal, whereas he was actually older than Henry IV. And Prince Hal was by no means the roysterer at East Cheap as represented, but from early days engaged in war, and carrying on a prolonged contest with Glyndwr, a wily and able commander, in a country most difficult to hold.

Owen, finding that Harry Percy and the young prince were too strong to be attacked, now fell with all his force on South Wales, harrying the land of the English and of such Welsh as would not join him. Then he abruptly turned to the Severn valley, burnt Montgomery, and was only stopped under the red walls of the castle of Percy at Welshpool. Now all Wales was in insurrection, and everywhere Owen was regarded as one who would deliver the Cymry from their hereditary oppressors. The rapid progress of his army spread terror along the Marches, and messengers on swift horses galloped to London to announce to the King that unless succour were sent his castles would fall.

In October, 1401, King Henry and the Prince of Wales entered the Principality at the head of a huge army, and pushed on to Bangor, only to find that the Welsh had retreated to the mountains, carrying off with them all their goods. The King passed along the coast to the abbey of Strata Florida in Cardiganshire, which he gave up to pillage and fire. Having succeeded in capturing about a thousand Welsh children without having fought a battle, Henry ingloriously withdrew.

About this time, moreover, Owen succeeded in getting hold of his great enemy Lord Grey de Ruthin, and sent him to his tower of Dolbadarn, there to languish until he could raise the heavy ransom which Owen, who was sorely in want of money, demanded for his release.

Henry Percy, unable to obtain payment for his services in Wales, and reimbursement for large sums laid out by himself in the King’s service, threw up his charge and retired to Northumbria to fight the Scots.

In May, 1402, Owen Glyndwr attacked the Welsh territories of young Edmund Earl of March, who, with his younger brother Roger, was held in custody by the King, on account of his having been acknowledged by Parliament to be the lineal heir to King Richard.

Sir Edmund Mortimer, their uncle and guardian, hastened to protect the lands, assisted by the other Marchers.

They met on the border in a narrow valley at Pilleth, near Knighton, and during the battle the Welsh tenants went over in a body to the side of Glyndwr. Eleven hundred men were killed, and Mortimer was captured.

Then ensued the dispute between Harry Hotspur and King Henry which has been immortalised by Shakespeare. Henry Percy’s wife was the sister of Sir Edmund Mortimer, and he was urgent for the ransoming of the captive. But King Henry was in sore straits for money, and he was, moreover, not particularly desirous to have the uncle of the true heir to the throne at large. What he did was to lead an army a third time into Wales, whilst a second was placed under the command of the Prince of Wales, and a third under that of the Earl of Warwick.

“Never within man’s memory had there been such a September in the Welsh mountains. The very heavens themselves seemed to descend in sheets of water upon the heads of these magnificent and well-equipped arrays. Dee, Usk, and Wye, with their boisterous tributaries that crossed the English line of march, roared bank-high, and buried all trace of the fords beneath volumes of brown tumbling water, while bridges, homesteads, and such flocks as the Welsh had not driven westward for safety were carried down to the sea.”[7]

Numbers died of exposure; the King’s tent was blown over upon him; and just a fortnight after having entered Wales in all the pomp and circumstance of war, the armies had to retreat, baffled, draggled, and dispirited, and fully persuaded that their great adversary was in league with the Spirit of Evil.

Meanwhile a friendship had sprung up between Mortimer and his captive, quickened by resentment against Henry, who had refused to ransom him, and this led to a closer tie, for he married Glyndwr’s fourth daughter, Joan.

Meantime, also, the anger of Harry Hotspur against the King had reached a head. He allied himself with the Scots, and marched upon Shrewsbury, unhappily for him without having concerted a plan of operations with Owen, who was away in the South of Wales, and unaware that the fiery Percy was about to engage the King.

Tradition will have it that Glyndwr hastened towards Shrewsbury, and watched the battle from a tall oak on the Welsh road from Shrewsbury, and made no attempt to strike at Henry from the rear. But this is false. Glyndwr, at the time, was in Carmarthen in total ignorance of the movements of Harry Percy.

The defeat of Shrewsbury was disastrous to the cause of the Welsh. Owen, having lost the assistance of his northern ally, entered into negotiations with the French, who sent him some aid, which was not very effective, and from this time his power began to decline. Now it was that Owen summoned a parliament of the Welsh to meet at Machynlleth, consisting of four persons of consequence out of every Cantref in the Principality.

One of those attending it was David ab Llewelyn, nicknamed Gam, or the “squint-eyed,” a little red-haired, long-armed, unprincipled man, who had been in the household of John of Gaunt. He was a native of Brecon, no relation to Owen, though he knew him intimately, and was trusted by him. Whether at the instigation of King Henry, or moved thereto by his own treacherous heart, we know not, but he framed a plot for the assassination of Owen during the conclave. One of the conspirators betrayed the design, and David Gam would have been executed but that his Brecon friends and relations intervened. Owen Glyndwr consented to remit the extreme penalty, and sent him for confinement in prison at Dolbadarn.

In 1405 Glyndwr’s forces met with a reverse at Monnow, where they attacked Prince Henry, and a battle was fought in which no quarter was given on either side, and again at Pwll Melyn, in Brecon, where fifteen hundred Welshmen fell, and among the slain was Owen’s brother.

The King, emboldened by these successes, himself marched against Owen, but Glyndwr was too cautious to risk another pitched battle, and Henry had to retire without having effected anything.

Little is known of Owen’s movements for some while, but his power was certainly on the decline. The King offered free pardon to all his adherents, excepting, however, Owen himself, and the Welsh wavered and many deserted him.

However, in 1407 he met with a notable though not far-reaching success.

Aberystwyth Castle was held for him, and Prince Henry determined to take it. At the head of a large force he invested the fortress, and was supplied with cannons sent from Yorkshire to Bristol, and thence transported by sea. Great stores of bows, arrows, stone shot, and sulphur were collected at Hereford. Woods on the banks of the Severn were cut down to furnish siege machinery, and a troop of carpenters was despatched from Bristol to erect scaffoldings and towers for the taking of the formidable castle. But all failed. The King’s particular cannon, weighing four and a half tons, that was discharged once in the hour, and made great noise but did little harm, did not frighten the besieged into surrender.

Prince Henry found the castle impregnable, and sat down before it to reduce it by starvation. Provisions began to fail within, and Glyndwr’s commander, Rhys ab Gruffydd, was constrained to open negotiations with the besiegers. It was agreed that unless the fortress were relieved by All Saints’ Day (November 1st) the Welsh garrison should surrender.

So confident was the Prince that Glyndwr could not throw any force into it, that he left Wales, and only an inconsiderable portion of his army remained to watch the castle.

Owen seized his opportunity, slipped unexpectedly into Aberystwyth with fresh forces, and defied the English once more.

In 1408 Owen’s dearly loved and faithful wife and Sir Edmund Mortimer’s children fell into the King’s hands when he captured Harlech, and they were sent to London.

Owen’s fortunes dwindled more and more; he was accompanied by a small band only, and was engaged in a guerilla warfare alone. What eventually became of him is unknown. It was said that finally, deserted by all, he wandered about the country in the disguise of a shepherd. It is supposed, with some good reason, that he found a refuge in the house of his married daughter at Monnington.

Prince Henry, when he ascended the throne, sent a special message of pardon to his brave old antagonist. At Monnington is a tower that bears Glyndwr’s name, and it is deemed to have been that he occupied, and in the churchyard is a stone without any name upon it, beneath which he is thought to lie.

Above Machynlleth, in the parish of Llanwrin, is Mathafarn, where lived a great poet and soothsayer, David Llwyd, who was a bitter opponent of Richard III., and a partisan of James Earl of Pembroke. He subsequently threw himself into the party of Henry Earl of Richmond, who is said to have stayed a night at Mathafarn on his way to Bosworth field in August, 1485. David Llwyd was regarded by his countrymen as invested with prophetic powers; and he had a tame sea-gull that perched on his shoulder, and was supposed to communicate the secrets of the future in his ear.

On the occasion of the visit of Henry of Richmond that prince asked him as to what would be the event of his contest with Richard. David begged to be allowed the night for consideration. He tossed in bed, unable to sleep, and his gull afforded him no counsel. Then his wife asked him why he was so restless. He told her what his difficulty was. “Fool,” said she; “prophesy success. If he succeeds, your future is made. If he fails, he will never return from the battlefield to reproach you.”

This satisfied the seer.

This adventure has given rise to a Welsh proverb: “Take a wife’s advice unasked.”

The story goes on to say that Henry heard what had occasioned the prophecy of good event, and he said, “Llwyd, as I shall win, lend me your grey horse.” David could not refuse. The earl rode the grey horse to Bosworth, but the grey mare remained at Mathafarn.

Some verses composed on Richard III. by the poet have been preserved. They have been thus rendered in English:—

“King Henry hath fought and bravely done,
Our friend the golden circlet hath won,
The bards re-echo the gladsome strain
For the good of the world crooked R is slain.
That straddling letter, so pale and sad,
In England’s realm no honour had.
For ne’er could R in the place of I
Rule England’s nation royally.”

The “R” so crooked stands for Richard, and the “I” so upright stands for Iorwerth, or Edward IV.

Above Mathafarn is Cemmes Road Station, and hence a branch line runs up the Dyfi to Mallwyd and Dinas Mawddwy. The lower portion of the valley, though pleasing, lacks grandeur, but the scenery improves as we ascend. George Borrow thus describes it:—

“Scenery of the wildest and most picturesque description was rife and plentiful to a degree; hills were here, hills were there; some tall and sharp, others huge and humpy; hills were on every side; only a slight opening to the west seemed to present itself. What a valley! I exclaimed. But on passing through the opening I found myself in another, wilder and stranger, if possible. Full to the west was a long hill rising up like the roof of a barn, an enormous round hill on its north-east side, and on its south-east the tail of the range which I had long had on my left—there were trees and groves and running waters, but all in deep shadow, for night was now close at hand.”

A stream enters the valley of the Dyfi at Mallwyd, and a capital road ascends it, crosses a shoulder, and descends into the valley of the Banw, leading ultimately to Welshpool. It was in the Cwm that opens upon Mallwyd and its ramifications that lurked the “Red-haired Banditti of Mawddwy.”

After the cessation of the Wars of the Roses many lawless men, bred to deeds of violence, found time hang heavy on their hands, and lacking employment, a certain number of outlaws or felons gravitated to this wild region, and made their headquarters in this valley, whence they sallied forth, marauding, cattle-lifting, and murdering. Robert Vaughan, the Welsh antiquary, who flourished shortly after, says that they never tired of

“robbing, burning of houses, and murthering of people, in soe much that being very numerous, they did often drive great droves of cattell somtymes to the number of a hundred or more from one countrey to another at middle day, as in tyme of warre, without feare, shame, pittie, or punishment, to the utter undoing of the poorer sort.”

The occupants of manor- and farm-houses had to fix scythes and spiked bars in their chimneys to prevent the marauders entering their houses by descending the wide chimneys at night. And within the memory of man many such have been removed.

At last a commission was issued to Lewis Owen, Baron of the Exchequer of Wales, and Sheriff of Merionethshire, to clear the country of them.

In pursuance of his orders, Owen raised a body of sturdy men, and stealing up the valley on Christmas Eve, 1554, when the robbers were keeping high revel, he fell on them and secured eighty, whom he tried and hanged on the spot.

The mother of two of the worst scoundrels vowed vengeance on Owen, and “baring her breasts” before him, shrieked in his face, “These yellow breasts have given suck to those who shall wash their hands in your blood.”

The headquarters of the band were at Dugoed Mawr on the Cann Office Road, and the place of the execution, a mound about thirty feet high, now overgrown with trees, on the Collfryn Farm estate.

On All Hallows’ Eve, 1555, hardly a year after the summary execution, Baron Owen was returning from the Montgomery Assizes with his brother-in-law and two servants, when he found the road blocked at a spot, since called Llidiart-y-Barwn, by fallen trees. They had been felled by some of the survivors of the band, who had waited for an opportunity to revenge the death of their fellows. The spot is two miles from Mallwyd on the Welshpool road.

As Owen drew up at the barrier, and his servants proceeded to remove the logs, a shower of arrows was discharged at him from the dense coppice. One struck him in the face, but he plucked it out and broke it. Then the ruffians sprang into the road and attacked him with bills and spears. His son-in-law, John Lloyd of Ceiswyn, defended him to the last, but his attendants fled at the first onset. Owen fell, covered with thirty wounds, and whilst he was still breathing, the brothers of the slain sons of the hag who had threatened him ripped the murdered man open, and actually washed their hands in his blood, so as to fulfil the curse cast at him by their mother.

From Dinas Mawddwy Aran may be ascended (2,972 feet), the highest mountain in Wales next to Snowdon, and perhaps commanding a finer view. It is one vast sponge, and he who attempts to climb it must be careful to avoid the bogs.

A good road follows the River Dyfi to the pass of Bwlch y Groes and thence to the head of Bala Lake.

About four miles above Dinas Mawddwy is Llan-y-Mawddwy, where the church is buried in yew trees. The church was founded by S. Tydecho. He led an eremitical life in this sequestered valley, and according to the legend made the Saethnant run with milk.

The report of his sanctity reached Maelgwn Gwynedd, and to make unpleasantness for him he sent him a stud of white horses and bade him pasture them for him. Tydecho turned them out on the mountains, where they fed on heather, and ran wild and were ungroomed. When the king sent for them they had turned yellow, at which he was very angry, and seized on the saint’s oxen as reprisal. Thereupon stags came from the forest and allowed themselves to be yoked to the plough, and a grey wolf lost its wildness and drew the harrow for him. Maelgwn came to hunt in the neighbourhood, and being wearied seated himself on a rock, and adhered to it, and could not leave till Tydecho released him; but as a token of the miracle left the impression of his person on the rock.

Cynan, prince of Powys, carried off Tegfedd, sister of Tydecho, who, however, struck the ravisher with blindness, and obliged him to restore the damsel unhurt, and to make over some lands in compensation for the rape.

The land of Tydecho was granted many privileges; amongst these was that of Gobr Merched. By Welsh laws, for every damsel who had been outraged the ravisher was required to pay a heavy fine. Tydecho’s land was granted the very questionable privilege of exemption from the law; in other words, that on it no girl was under the protection of the law from assault.

On a rock are shown four holes in the shape of a cross, said to mark the spot where the saint was wont to kneel in prayer.

It is possible that it was due to his father’s abusive epistle, which attacked Maelgwn of Gwynedd and Cuneglas or Cynlas of Powys so fiercely, that Tydecho had to leave North Wales. Apparently he retired to the same part of Brittany as his father and his brother Cennydd or Kenneth, and took up his abode in the Isle de Groix, where he is known as S. Tudy, and where he is held to have died.

Some delightful mountain expeditions may be made from Machynlleth, as up the River Castell to the two tarns whence it springs, Glaslyn and Bugeilyn, “The Shepherd’s Pool.” This latter and Llyn Morwynion, “The Fair Maids’ Tarn,” are about the only two in North Wales that produce “trout of an exceptionally fine quality—short, thick, strong fish, that fight hard when you hook them, and cut red as salmon and creamy as curd should you be lucky enough to induce a few to face the cucumber. I would rather waste my time and energies on making the acquaintance of half a dozen from either pool than I would in courting the problematical attentions of a Dovey sewin.”[8]

Moreover, the walk to the sources of the River Castell will amply reward the lover of scenery.

Then there is the ascent of the River Dulas, and the branch from the valley by a good road to Tal-y-Llyn under red crags, Graig Goch.

Another delightful walk of about five miles is to Llyn Penrhaiadr, and one can drive to about two miles from the lake. A little beyond the point where the carriage is quitted, Pistyll-y-Llyn, the waterfall from the lake, is reached. The water shoots over a tremendous shelf of rock and plunges into a dark pool below. It is one of the finest falls in Wales, and only lacks more trees about it to make it most impressive. Waterfalls are liable to pall on one. They are either of the type of the falls of the Rhine, of the Giesbach, or of the Staubbach, and when one has seen these, one does not particularly care for such as are inferior. Waterfalls cease to interest, but, to my mind, lakes never do. They are infinitely more varied, and lend themselves to finer pictures in a way that cascades do not. There are two other tarns near, lying rather higher than Llyn Penrhaiadr. A walker will do well to strike across to the head of the River Hengwm, where is another waterfall, and to follow the stream down under the splendid crags of Bwlch Hyddgen, then turn to the left by the Rhyd Wen, and Machynlleth is reached again.

From Machynlleth a short run by rail takes us to Towyn, a rising watering-place, with a noble Norman cross-church. The central tower fell in 1696, and a western tower was erected in 1736, encroaching on two bays of the nave. This was pulled down in 1884, and the central tower rebuilt, but the nave is short of its two westernmost bays.

In the churchyard are four upright stones enclosing a quadrangular space, within which no burials are made, and in the church is an inscribed stone, that apparently stood originally by these four “marks.” On it is an inscription most puzzling to antiquaries, supposed to be couched in Early Welsh, and to record that this was the burial-place of S. Cadvan, and that his great patron Cyngen, prince of Powys and this portion of Merioneth, lies by him. It has been thus translated by Professor Westwood:—

“Beneath the mound of Cynvael lies Cadvan,

Where the earth extols his praise. Let him rest without a blemish.

The Body of Cyngen, and between them will be the marks.”

Professor Rhys, however, disputes the reading. Cadvan was a son of Gwen of the Three Breasts by her first husband, Æneas of Armorica. Owing to some dynastic revolution he fled with sundry of his cousins and followers to Wales, in the fifth century, and was well received by Cyngen, who gave him lands. Gwen afterwards married one Fragan or Brychan, and went with him to Brittany, where she became the mother of S. Winwalloe, Abbot of Landevennec.

Near the church is S. Cadvan’s Holy Well, now in the yard of a soda-water manufactory, and covered over and disregarded. Formerly it was much resorted to for baths.

From Towyn the Dysynni valley should be ascended to Tal-y-Llyn. The lake occupies the trough of a valley, and is a mile and a quarter long and a quarter of a mile wide, and is one of the most fished lakes in Wales. Although the Dysynni is full of salmon and sewin, these fish do not enter the lake, or, if they do, lose all their sporting instincts. The brooks that feed the lake absolutely swarm with trout, very small, but very delicious; and so the cormorants find them who sit on Craig Aderyn, a magnificent projecting rock down the valley, and dream off their last meal till appetite wakes them and they wing their way, now to fish in the sea and then to go inland for the trout in the lake and its tributaries.

At Towyn there is sea-fishing for others beside cormorants. Good bass angling with a fly can be had where the river enters the sea, and “these somewhat ungainly productions,” says that enthusiastic sportsman Mr. Lloyd Price, “supposed to be the most useful adjuncts to the art, with their red bodies, white and yellow wings, ephemerÆ of scorn to the salmon-fishers, display their crude and vulgar proportions in the windows of almost every shop in the town.”

The ascent of Cader Idris can be made from the head of Tal-y-Llyn Lake, and thence the cirque of Cwm Cowarch should be visited, and the wondrous tarn Llyn Caer lying, as it were, at the bottom of a crater.

Near Towyn is Llanegryn, on a height commanding a glorious view, and the church contains a magnificent rood-screen and loft in excellent preservation. In this parish is Peniarth, the house of the Wynns, with its precious legacy of Welsh MSS. The church is crowded with Wynn monuments.

The Wynns are of Irish extraction, deriving from one Osborn Wyddel (the Irishman), who came over in the thirteenth century, and obtained by marriage an estate in Merioneth. He is supposed to have been a junior of the House of the Geraldines, but the evidence is not satisfactory. The family soon became thoroughly Welsh, as far as names go, bearing those of Llewelyn, Gruffydd, Einion, Iorwerth, and quartering the arms of Owen Gwynedd.

Peniarth came to them through marriage with an heiress of the Williams family, whose arms, two foxes counter-salient, form a sign and give a name to many an inn in the Williams-Wynn country, which extends over a large portion of North Wales.

The name of Wynn was not adopted till the sixteenth century. Before that the sons were all aps. The adoption of surnames in Wales that became fixed and hereditary began in single instances with Welshmen who had become familiar with English customs, but it was not general until Rowland Lee, Bishop of Lichfield and President of Wales and the Marches, when calling over the panel of a jury one day, became weary of the repetition of the ap, and directed that “the ancient and worshipful gentleman “Thomas ap William ap Thomas ap Richard ap Howel ap Iefan Fychan, etc., of Mostyn, and the rest of the jury, should thenceforth severally assume as a surname either their last genealogical name or that of their residence. Lee died in 1543. Many of the names one meets with in Wales are thus derived: Bowen is ab Owen, Price is ap Rhys, Pritchard is ap Richard, Bevan is ab Evan, etc.; and John Jones is John son of Jones, and Thomas Evans is Thomas the son of Evan.

When the Welshmen took to giving themselves surnames, very few adopted place-names; but there are some—as Glynne, Trevor, Mostyn. Fewer still assumed such as were descriptive—as Gwyn (White), Llwyd, or Lloyd (Gray).

The majority took patronymic names, and thus we have such swarms of Joneses, Williamses, Davieses, Evanses, Robertses, and Thomases. It has become a real nuisance. “It is impossible,” says a recent writer, “to estimate the inconveniences, the annoyance, and even the suffering, occasioned by this unnecessary dearth of Welsh surnames, and the continued multiplication of the comparatively few in popular use. Indeed, our surnames are so few in number that they almost swamp the population of England in the statistics compiled to show which are the most numerous family names in use among us.”[9]

To obviate the inconvenience, in Wales it is usual to distinguish one Jones or Williams from another by appending the name of his home or his profession, or a descriptive epithet; but this serves its purpose only when he is in his native country.

Four of the Welsh members of Parliament bear the name of Thomas; and while all share a common initial, two have no other.

“What tales of infinite trouble and everlasting worry our Post Office officials in Wales could tell! How often have our local postmasters to implore persons of the same name, or of the same name and like initials, in the postal districts, to come to some amicable arrangement as to the delivery of their letters and telegrams!”

In a Carnarvonshire will case, heard in July, 1894, the number of Joneses and Robertses called as witnesses during the two days that the action lasted threw judges and counsel engaged into a condition of absolute bewilderment, and turned the court into a patronymical Bedlam.

Sometimes parents, with national enthusiasm, have their sons christened with a truly Welsh name, and are not always careful to select such as will pass smoothly over English tongues, should these sons, on growing up, go out of the Principality. Such was the case with a Rev. T. Mydir Evans, who in England became “Passon Murder Evans.” And what stumbling has been caused over the name of Dr. Gwenogfryn Evans at Oxford!

It was at Bishop Lee’s suggestion, and in the year of his death, that the shires of Wales were formally constituted, though earlier, in 1535, the counties of Denbigh, Montgomery, Merioneth, Glamorgan, Brecon, and Radnor had been constructed out of the old Marches of Wales.

In conclusion, a word must be added relative to the arms of Wales and the three feathers of its Prince’s crest.

Coats-of-arms were assumed and changed very arbitrarily in early days, and there does not seem to have been any fixed rule as to those borne by the several princes. Owen Gwynedd is said to have had on his shield vert, three eagles in fess or, membered and beaked gules, and these are quartered by the Wynns of Peniarth.

But Rhodri the Great had four banners carried before him on which were depicted lions, to represent the principalities of Gwynedd, Powys, Deheubarth, and the Isle of Man, over which his rule extended. Yet the red dragon was the symbol and ensign of the Pendragon, or chief king.

A lion rampant appears to have been the favourite bearing of the princes of Powys. Gruffydd ab Cynan of Gwynedd bore three lions passant gardant in pale argent incensed azure.

Lewis Dwnn, in his Heraldic Visitations of Wales, says that “the recognised arms of the Principality were four lions passant gardant quarterly, and that is the coat now accepted for Wales.”

The red dragon was used by Henry VII. as his crest, and as a supporter on the dexter side, and on the sinister, the greyhound of York.

Henry VIII. retained the dragon, but discarded the greyhound for a lion. The unicorn supplanted the dragon in the reign of James I. The ostrich feather was not properly a Welsh crest at all, but was employed as a badge by Edward III. It was not till the reign of Henry VII. that the three plumes, to represent the three principalities of Wales, in a circlet or coronet, were adopted as a cognisance of the Prince of Wales, and since then have remained as an appropriate symbol; for, indeed, Gwynedd, Powys, and Deheubarth are feathers in the cap of our princes of which they may well be proud.