“Very well, that will do; and in the interim I will visit the church.”
In a few minutes I was conducted to the ancient edifice.
On one side of the altar is the lid of a coffin, which bears the following inscription:—
“Hic jacet Jorwerth Sulien, Vicarius de Corvaen. Ora pro eo.”
In the church wall is shewn the private doorway through which Owen Glyndwr entered the building whenever he attended divine worship, and in the rock which overhangs the churchyard, there is a recess which bears the name of Owen Glyndwr’s Chair; and the stone which now forms the lintel of the doorway leading to his pew, is said to retain the mark of his dagger, half an inch in depth, which he threw from the said chair; but upon what occasion it is not stated.
In the cemetery there is a Cross, fixed in a circular stone, westward of the steeple; and it is supposed that the name of Corwen is a corruption of Corvaen, and derived from this Cross. Cor signifies a circle, and maen (which is likewise considered to have been changed into vaen) if joined to cor, means a cross in the circle.
Having satisfied my curiosity here, I returned to the inn, and the first object which met my delighted eyes, was the promised duck, accompanied by a dish of most elegant trout: a dainty for which I had been longing ever since I entered this territory of rocks and torrents. My friend was already placed at the table, and he clapped his hands, and rubbed them with evident delight and satisfaction at seeing me arrive so opportunely.
The fish despatched, duck and green peas, in close column brought up the rear. But I and my gallant comrade—a better trencherman ne’er poised a fork—attacked in line, cut up the one, and routed the other with the most determined bravery. The right and left wings were attacked and cut off from the main body, which, with all its materials, we dispersed in the glorious conflict, remaining masters of the field.
Although I thus warmly express my satisfaction at partaking of this not-easily-to-be-forgotten luxury, let me not be mistaken for a gourmand; but a wet and tired traveller, however much his mind may be enchanted by the scenery through which he passes, never beholds a more delightful prospect than a comfortable meal at his journey’s end.
It so happened, however, that this was not to be my journey’s end, as it was my intention to reach Bala before nightfall.