reason our kings to this day wear a leek (the badge of
Wales) on St. David's Day, the patron of this country; as they do the
Order of the Thistle on St. Andrew's Day, the patron of Scotland.

Carnarvon is a pretty little town, situated in the bottom of a bay, and
might be a place of good trade, if the country afforded a consumption.

The sea flows quite round from Bangor to Carnarvon Bay, which separates
Anglesea from the rest of Wales, and makes it an island. Beaumaris, the
capital of the island, hath been a flourishing town; there are still two
very good streets, and the remains of a very large castle. The Lord
Bulkeley hath a noble ancient seat planted with trees on the side of the
hill above the town, from whence one hath a fine prospect of the bay and
adjacent country; the church is very handsome, and there are some fine
ancient monuments of that family and some Knights Templars in it. The
family of Bulkeley keep in their family a large silver goblet, with which
they entertain their friends, with an inscription round relating to the
royal family when in distress, which is often remembered by the
neighbouring gentry, whose affections run very much that way all over
Wales.

I went from hence to Glengauny, the ancient residence of Owen Tudor, but
now belongs to the Bulkeleys, and to be sold. It is a good old house,
and I believe never was larger. There is a vulgar error in this country
that Owen Tudor was married to a Queen of England, and that the house of
York took that surname from him; whereas the Queen of England that was
married to him was a daughter of the King of France and dowager of
England, and had no relation to the Crown; he had indeed two daughters by
her, that were married into English noble families--to one of which Henry
VII. was related. But Owen Tudor was neither of the blood of the Princes
of Wales himself, nor gave descent to that of the English. He was a
private gentleman, of about 3,000 pounds a year, who came to seek his
fortune at the English court, and the queen fell in love with him.

I was invited to a cock-match some miles from Glengauny, where were above
forty gentlemen, most of them of the names of Owen, Parry, and Griffith;
they fought near twenty battles, and every battle a cock was killed.
Their cocks are doubtless the finest in the world; and the gentlemen,
after they were a little heated with liquor, were as warm as their cocks.
A great deal of bustle and noise grew by degr