BY THE WAY
ON THE next morning while the darkness still palpitated in the sky, and the lucent day-star shone over the dreaming woods and rivulets; a tread of heavy boots clamoured about the passages and stairs, and at our doors was a knocking and a voice crying "Domini ocula aperiatis," or words resembling these, for I could never teach Efan to latinise honestly though I had laboured a whole month to put some learning into him. But I was pleased to hear Tom Bamfylde responding in a set Latin speech beginning "Justum: nam ibimus per vias nemorosas et vereta locorum amaeno"—It is meet: for we are to go by wooded ways and pleasant greeny places—"by streams of water and running brooks," he went on, "by the castle on the hill and the church by the road, even unto that delicious city the very jewell of sweet old Gwent." For Latin came from his tongue full smoothly, and hearing that tongue spoken half asleep he answered in it, much to the confusion and dismay of Efan who hated the language he was compelled now and again to speak; and as he would say "The words do rankle in my belly like sour ale, for they be not good words nor wholesome; but loathsome and hideous." And hearing this flight of Latin whistling about his ears, he made haste, and cursed himself in Welsh, and
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