THE CHRONICLE OF CLEMENDY
naughty words in the old French Tongue, in the Dog-Latin Tongue, and in the language of Paradise itself, for everybody knows that Adam was a Welshman, that from his body came all the Ap-Adams, one of the largest and noblest families in the world, who have made themselves loved, feared, reverenced, and honoured both in the lands on this side the sea and in the lands beyond seas. There are some currish fellows now (and I suppose there always have been such), who say there never was, never is, and never will be an Ap-Adam good for anything alive or dead but fattening the soil, that this earth would be passably pleasant if there were no Ap-Adams on it, that the young Ap-Adams who are round and soft and wear cote-hardies cause more burning plagues and hot damnifications than the old ones with bristly beards, breeches, and grisly oaths. But these are ill-natured folks who have been crossed in love, so you mustn't mind what they say; and besides in this very church outside the east gate of Burgavenny lies the glorious tomb of Sir William ap-Thomas from whose body cometh the worshipful and illustrious house of Herbert, and he was the grandson of Jenkin ap-Adam, nor can the heralds trace this house back any further. But after all this genealogical and moral discourse you are still in the dark as to what it was that made all Abergavenny into a stewpan with a hot, glowing fire under it, and in it a heap of Drogos, Humphreys, Mauds, Matildas, Efans, Owens, Jorwerths, and Gwrgans with Prior Hadrian de Mortuo Mari and his monks, all snort-
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