As we went along I stopped to gaze at a singular-looking hill
forming part of the mountain range on the east. I asked John Jones
what its name was, but he did not know. As we were standing
talking about it, a lady came up from the direction in which our
course lay. John Jones, touching his hat to her, said:

"Madam, this gwr boneddig wishes to know the name of that moel,
perhaps you can tell him."

"Its name is Moel Agrik," said the lady, addressing me in English.

"Does that mean Agricola's hill?" said I.

"It does," said she, "and there is a tradition that the Roman
General Agricola, when he invaded these parts, pitched his camp on
that moel. The hill is spoken of by Pennant."

"Thank you, madam," said I; "perhaps you can tell me the name of
the delightful grounds in which we stand, supposing they have a
name?"

"They are called Oaklands," said the lady.

"A very proper name," said I, "for there is plenty of oaks growing
about. But why are they called by a Saxon name, for Oaklands is
Saxon?"

"Because," said the lady, "when the grounds were first planted with
trees they belonged to an English family."