arms, perish by the sword. Thy race shall be accursed. Each
generation shall see their lands melt away like snow; yea their
wealth shall vanish, though they may labour night and day to heap up
gold. And when nine generations have passed from the face of the
earth, thy blood shall no longer flow in the veins of any human
being. In those days the last male of thy race shall avenge me. The
son shall slay the father."

Such was the traditionary account of Owain Glendwr's speech to his
once-trusted friend. And it was declared that the doom had been
fulfilled in all things; that live in as miserly a manner as they
would, the Griffiths never were wealthy and prosperous--indeed that
their worldly stock diminished without any visible cause.

But the lapse of many years had almost deadened the wonder-inspiring
power of the whole curse. It was only brought forth from the hoards
of Memory when some untoward event happened to the Griffiths family;
and in the eighth generation the faith in the prophecy was nearly
destroyed, by the marriage of the Griffiths of that day, to a Miss
Owen, who, unexpectedly, by the death of a brother, became an
heiress--to no considerable amount, to be sure, but enough to make
the prophecy appear reversed. The heiress and her husband removed
from his small patrimonial estate in Merionethshire, to her heritage
in Caernarvonshire, and for a time the prophecy lay dormant.

If you go from Tremadoc to Criccaeth, you pass by the parochial
church of Ynysynhanarn, situated in a boggy valley running from the
mountains, which shoulder up to the Rivals, down to Cardigan Bay.
This tract of land has every appearance of having been redeemed at no
distant period of time from the sea, and has all the desolate