proud, cruel and violent, as the old Normans - are doomed by God to
come to the dogs?"

Came to Pont Velin Cerrig, the bridge of the mill of the Cerrig, a
river which comes foaming down from between two rocky hills. This
bridge is about a mile from Machynlleth, at which place I arrived
at about five o'clock in the evening - a cool, bright moon shining
upon me. I put up at the principal inn, which was of course called
the Wynstay Arms.



CHAPTER LXXVIII



Welsh Poems - Sessions Business - The Lawyer and his Client - The
Court - The Two Keepers - The Defence.


DURING supper I was waited upon by a brisk, buxom maid who told me
that her name was Mary Evans. The repast over, I ordered a glass
of whiskey and water, and when it was brought I asked the maid if
she could procure me some book to read. She said she was not aware
of any book in the house which she could lay her hand on except one
of her own, which if I pleased she would lend me. I begged her to
do so. Whereupon she went out and presently returned with a very
small volume, which she laid on the table and then retired. After
taking a sip of my whiskey and water I proceeded to examine it. It
turned out to be a volume of Welsh poems entitled "Blodau Glyn
Dyfi"; or, Flowers of Glyn Dyfi, by one Lewis Meredith, whose
poetical name is Lewis Glyn Dyfi. The author indites his preface
from Cemmaes, June, 1852. The best piece is called Dyffryn Dyfi,
and is descriptive of the scenery of the vale through which the
Dyfi runs. It commences thus:


"Heddychol ddyffryn tlws,"
Peaceful, pretty vale,


and contains many lines breathing a spirit of genuine poetry.

The next day I did not get up till nine, having no journey before
me, as I intended to pass that day at Machynlleth. When I went
down to the parlour I found another guest there, breakfasting. He
was a tall, burly, and clever-looking man of about thirty-five. As
we breakfasted together at the same table we entered into
conversation. I learned from him that he was an attorney from a
town at some distance, and was come over to Machynlleth to the
petty sessions, to be held that day, in order to defend a person
accused of spearing a salmon in the river. I asked him who his
client was.

"A farmer," said he, "a tenant of Lord V-, who will probably
preside over the bench which will try the affair."

"Oh," said I, "a tenant spearing his landlord's fish - that's bad."

"No," said he, "the fish which he speared, that is, which he is
accused of spearing, did not belong to his landlord but to another
person; he hires land of Lord V-, but the fishing of the river
which runs through that land belongs to Sir Watkin."

"Oh, then," said I, "supposing he did spear the salmon I shan't
break my heart if you get him off: do you think you shall?"

"I don't know," said he. "There's the evidence of two keepers
against him; one of whom I hope, however, to make appear a
scoundrel, in whose oath the slightest confidence is not to be
placed. I shouldn't wonder if I make my client appear a persecuted
lamb. The worst is, that he has the character of being rather fond
of fish, indeed of having speared more salmon than any other six
individuals in the neighbourhood."

"I really should like to see him," said I; "what kind of person is
he? - some fine, desperate-looking fellow, I suppose?"

"You will see him presently," said the lawyer; "he is in the
passage waiting till I call him in to take some instructions from
him; and I think I had better do so now, for I have breakfasted,
and time is wearing away."

He then got up, took some papers out of a carpet bag, sat down, and
after glancing at them for a minute or two, went to the door and
called to somebody in Welsh to come in. Forthwith in came a small,
mean, wizzened-faced man of about sixty, dressed in a black coat
and hat, drab breeches and gaiters, and looking more like a decayed
Methodist preacher than a spearer of imperial salmon.

"Well," said the attorney, "This is my client, what do you think of
him?"

"He is rather a different person from what I had expected to see,"
said I; "but let us mind what we say or we shall offend him."

"Not we," said the attorney; "that is, unless we speak Welsh, for
he understands not a word of any other language."

Then sitting down at the further table he said to his client in
Welsh: "Now, Mr So-and-so, have you learnt anything more about
that first keeper?"

The client bent down, and placing both his hands upon the table
began to whisper in Welsh to his professional adviser. Not wishing
to hear any of their conversation I finished my breakfast as soon
as possible and left the room. Going into the inn-yard I had a
great deal of learned discourse with an old ostler about the
glanders in horses. From the inn-yard I went to my own private
room and made some dottings in my note-book, and then went down
again to the parlour, which I found unoccupied. After sitting some
time before the fire I got up, and strolling out, presently came to
a kind of marketplace, in the middle of which stood an old-
fashioned-looking edifice supported on pillars. Seeing a crowd
standing round it I asked what was the matter, and was told that
the magistrates were sitting in the town-hall above, and that a
grand poaching case was about to be tried. "I may as well go and
hear it," said I.

Ascending a flight of steps I found myself in the hall of justice,
in the presence of the magistrates and amidst a great many people,
amongst whom I observed my friend the attorney and his client. The
magistrates, upon the whole, were rather a fine body of men. Lord
V- was in the chair, a highly intelligent-looking person, with
fresh complexion, hooked nose, and dark hair. A policeman very
civilly procured me a commodious seat. I had scarcely taken
possession of it when the poaching case was brought forward. The
first witness against the accused was a fellow dressed in a dirty
snuff-coloured suit, with a debauched look, and having much the
appearance of a town shack. He deposed that he was a hired keeper,
and went with another to watch the river at about four o'clock in
the morning; that they placed themselves behind a bush, and that a
little before day-light they saw the farmer drive some cattle
across the river. He was attended by a dog. Suddenly they saw him
put a spear upon a stick which he had in his hand, run back to the
river, and plunging the spear in, after a struggle, pull out a
salmon; that they then ran forward, and he himself asked the farmer
what he was doing, whereupon the farmer flung the salmon and spear
into the river and said that if he did not take himself off he
would fling him in too. The attorney then got up and began to
cross-question him. "How long have you been a keeper?"

"About a fortnight."

"What do you get a week?"

"Ten shillings."

"Have you not lately been in London?"

"I have."

"What induced you to go to London?"

"The hope of bettering my condition."

"Were you not driven out of Machynlleth?"

"I was not."

"Why did you leave London?"

"Because I could get no work, and my wife did not like the place."

"Did you obtain possession of the salmon and the spear?"

"I did not."

"Why didn't you?"

"The pool was deep where the salmon was struck, and I was not going
to lose my life by going into it."

"How deep was it?"

"Over the tops of the houses," said the fellow, lifting up his
hands.

The other keeper then came forward; he was brother to the former,
but had much more the appearance of a keeper, being rather a fine
fellow, and dressed in a wholesome, well-worn suit of velveteen.
He had no English, and what he said was translated by a sworn
interpreter. He gave the same evidence as his brother about
watching behind the bush, and seeing the farmer strike a salmon.
When cross-questioned, however, he said that no words passed
between the farmer and his brother, at least, that he heard. The
evidence for the prosecution being given, my friend the attorney
entered upon the defence. He said that he hoped the court were not
going to convict his client, one of the most respectable farmers in
the county, on the evidence of two such fellows as the keepers, one
of whom was a well-known bad one, who for his evil deeds had been
driven from Machynlleth to London, and from London back again to
Machynlleth, and the other, who was his brother, a fellow not much
better, and who, moreover, could not speak a word of English - the
honest lawyer forgetting no doubt that his own client had just as
little English as the keeper. He repeated that he hoped the court
would not convict his respectable client on the evidence of these
fellows, more especially as they flatly contradicted each other in
one material point, one saying that words had passed between the
farmer and himself, and the other that no words at all had passed,
and were unable to corroborate their testimony by anything visible
or tangible. If his client speared the salmon and then flung the
salmon with the spear sticking in its body into the pool, why
didn't they go into the pool and recover the spear and salmon?
They might have done so with perfect safety, there being an old
proverb - he need not repeat it - which would have secured them
from drowning had the pool been not merely over the tops of the
houses but over the tops of the steeples. But he would waive all
the advantage which his client derived from the evil character of
the witnesses, the discrepancy of their evidence, and their not
producing the spear and salmon in court. He would rest the issue
of the affair with confidence, on one argument, on one question; it
was this. Would any man in his senses - and it was well known that
his client was a very sensible man - spear a salmon not his own
when he saw two keepers close at hand watching him - staring at
him? Here the chairman observed that there was no proof that he
saw them - that they were behind a bush. But my friend the
attorney very properly, having the interest of his client and his
own character for consistency in view, stuck to what he had said,
and insisted that the farmer must have seen them, and he went on
reiterating that he must have seen them, notwithstanding that
several magistrates shook their heads.

Just as he was about to sit down I moved up behind him and
whispered: "Why don't you mention the dog? Wouldn't the dog have
been likely to have scented the fellows out even if they had been
behind the bush?"

He looked at me for a moment and then said with a kind of sigh:
"No, no! twenty dogs would be of no use here. It's no go - I shall
leave the case as it is."

The court was cleared for a time, and when the audience were again
admitted Lord V- said that the Bench found the prisoner guilty;
that they had taken into consideration what his counsel had said in
his defence, but that they could come to no other conclusion, more
especially as the accused was known to have been frequently guilty
of similar offences. They fined him four pounds, including costs.

As the people were going out I said to the farmer in Welsh: "A bad
affair this."

"Drwg iawn" - very bad indeed, he replied.

"Did these fellows speak truth?" said I.

"Nage - Dim ond celwydd" - not they! nothing but lies.

"Dear me!" said I to myself, "what an ill-treated individual!"



CHAPTER LXXIX



Machynlleth - Remarkable Events - Ode to Glendower - Dafydd Gam -
Lawdden's Hatchet.


MACHYNLLETH, pronounced Machuncleth, is one of the principal towns
of the district which the English call Montgomeryshire, and the
Welsh Shire Trefaldwyn or the Shire of Baldwin's town, Trefaldwyn
or the town of Baldwin being the Welsh name for the town which is
generally termed Montgomery. It is situated in nearly the centre
of the valley of the Dyfi, amidst pleasant green meadows, having to
the north the river, from which, however, it is separated by a
gentle hill. It possesses a stately church, parts of which are of
considerable antiquity, and one or two good streets. It is a
thoroughly Welsh town, and the inhabitants, who amount in number to
about four thousand, speak the ancient British language with
considerable purity.

Machynlleth has been the scene of remarkable events, and is
connected with remarkable names, some of which have rung through
the world. At Machynlleth, in 1402, Owen Glendower, after several
brilliant victories over the English, held a parliament in a house
which is yet to be seen in the Eastern Street, and was formally
crowned King of Wales; in his retinue was the venerable bard Iolo
Goch, who, imagining that he now saw the old prophecy fulfilled,
namely, that a prince of the race of Cadwaladr should rule the
Britons, after emancipating them from the Saxon yoke, greeted the
chieftain with an ode, to the following effect:-


"Here's the life I've sigh'd for long:
Abash'd is now the Saxon throng,
And Britons have a British lord
Whose emblem is the conquering sword;
There's none I trow but knows him well,
The hero of the watery dell,
Owain of bloody spear in field,
Owain his country's strongest shield;
A sovereign bright in grandeur drest,
Whose frown affrights the bravest breast.
Let from the world upsoar on high
A voice of splendid prophecy!
All praise to him who forth doth stand
To 'venge his injured native land!
Of him - of him a lay I'll frame
Shall bear through countless years his name,
In him are blended portents three,
Their glories blended sung shall be:
There's Oswain, meteor of the glen,
The head of princely generous men;
Owain the lord of trenchant steel,
Who makes the hostile squadrons reel;
Owain, besides, of warlike look,
A conqueror who no stay will brook;
Hail to the lion leader gay!
Marshaller of Griffith's war array;
The scourger of the flattering race,
For them a dagger has his face;
Each traitor false he loves to smite,
A lion is he for deeds of might;
Soon may he tear, like lion grim,
All the Lloegrians limb from limb!
May God and Rome's blest father high
Deck him in surest panoply!
Hail to the valiant carnager,
Worthy three diadems to bear!
Hail to the valley's belted king!
Hail to the widely conquering,
The liberal, hospitable, kind,
Trusty and keen as steel refined!
Vigorous of form he nations bows,
Whilst from his breast-plate bounty flows.
Of Horsa's seed on hill and plain
Four hundred thousand he has slain.
The copestone of our nation's he,
In him our weal, our all we see;
Though calm he looks his plans when breeding,
Yet oaks he'd break his clans when leading.
Hail to this partisan of war,
This bursting meteor flaming far!
Where'er he wends, Saint Peter guard him,
And may the Lord five lives award him!"


To Machynlleth on the occasion of the parliament came Dafydd Gam,
so celebrated in after time; not, however, with the view of
entering into the councils of Glendower, or of doing him homage,
but of assassinating him. This man, whose surname Gam signifies
crooked, was a petty chieftain of Breconshire. He was small of
stature and deformed in person, though possessed of great strength.
He was very sensitive of injury, though quite as alive to kindness;
a thorough-going enemy and a thorough-going friend. In the earlier
part of his life he had been driven from his own country for
killing a man, called Big Richard of Slwch, in the High Street of
Aber Honddu or Brecon, and had found refuge in England and kind
treatment in the house of John of Gaunt, for whose son Henry,
generally called Bolingbroke, he formed one of his violent
friendships. Bolingbroke, on becoming King Henry the Fourth, not
only restored the crooked little Welshman to his possessions, but
gave him employments of great trust and profit in Herefordshire.
The insurrection of Glendower against Henry was quite sufficient to
kindle against him the deadly hatred of Dafydd, who swore "by the
nails of God" that he would stab his countryman for daring to rebel
against his friend King Henry, the son of the man who had received
him in his house and comforted him when his own countrymen were
threatening his destruction. He therefore went to Machynlleth with
the full intention of stabbing Glendower, perfectly indifferent as
to what might subsequently be his own fate. Glendower, however,
who had heard of his threat, caused him to be seized and conducted
in chains to a prison which he had in the mountains of Sycharth.
Shortly afterwards, passing through Breconshire with his host, he
burnt Dafydd's house - a fair edifice called the Cyrnigwen,
situated on a hillock near the river Honddu - to the ground, and
seeing one of Gam's dependents gazing mournfully on the smouldering
ruins he uttered the following taunting englyn:-


"Shouldst thou a little red man descry
Asking about his dwelling fair,
Tell him it under the bank doth lie,
And its brow the mark of the coal doth bear."


Dafydd remained confined till the fall of Glendower, shortly after
which event he followed Henry the Fifth to France, where he
achieved that glory which will for ever bloom, dying, covered with
wounds, on the field of Agincourt after saving the life of the
king, to whom in the dreadest and most critical moment of the fight
he stuck closer than a brother, not from any abstract feeling of
loyalty, but from the consideration that King Henry the Fifth was
the son of King Henry the Fourth, who was the son of the man who
received and comforted him in his house, after his own countrymen
had hunted him from house and land.

Connected with Machynlleth is a name not so widely celebrated as
those of Glendower and Dafydd Gam, but well known to and cherished
by the lovers of Welsh song. It is that of Lawdden, a Welsh bard
in holy orders, who officiated as priest at Machynlleth from 1440
to 1460. But though Machynlleth was his place of residence for
many years, it was not the place of his birth, Lychwr in
Carmarthenshire being the spot where he first saw the light. He
was an excellent poet, and displayed in his compositions such
elegance of language, and such a knowledge of prosody, that it was
customary, long after his death, when any masterpiece of vocal song
or eloquence was produced, to say that it bore the traces of
Lawdden's hatchet. At the request of Griffith ap Nicholas, a
powerful chieftain of South Wales, and a great patron of the Muse,
he drew up a statute relating to poets and poetry, and at the great
Eisteddfodd, or poetical congress, held at Carmarthen in the year
1450, under the auspices of Griffith, which was attended by the
most celebrated bards of the north and south, he officiated as
judge, in conjunction with the chieftain, upon the compositions of
the bards who competed for the prize - a little silver chair. Not
without reason, therefore, do the inhabitants of Machynlleth
consider the residence of such a man within their walls, though at
a far by-gone period, as conferring a lustre on their town, and
Lewis Meredith has probability on his side when, in his pretty poem
on Glen Dyfi, he says:-


"Whilst fair Machynlleth decks thy quiet plain,
Conjoined with it shall Lawdden's name remain."



CHAPTER LXXX



The Old Ostler - Directions - Church of England Man - The Deep
Dingle - The Two Women - The Cutty Pipe - Waen y Bwlch - The Deaf
and Dumb - The Glazed Hat.


I ROSE on the morning of the 2nd of November intending to proceed
to the Devil's Bridge, where I proposed halting a day or two, in
order that I might have an opportunity of surveying the far-famed
scenery of that locality. After paying my bill I went into the
yard to my friend the old ostler, to make inquiries with respect to
the road.

"What kind of road," said I, "is it to the Devil's Bridge?"

"There are two roads, sir, to the Pont y Gwr Drwg; which do you
mean to take?"

"Why do you call the Devil's Bridge the Pont y Gwr Drwg, or the
bridge of the evil man?"

"That we may not bring a certain gentleman upon us, sir, who
doesn't like to have his name taken in vain."

"Is their much difference between the roads?"

"A great deal, sir; one is over the hills, and the other round by
the valleys."

"Which is the shortest?"

"Oh, that over the hills, sir; it is about twenty miles from here
to the Pont y Gwr Drwg over the hills, but more than twice that by
the valleys."

"Well, I suppose you would advise me to go by the hills?"

"Certainly, sir - that is, if you wish to break your neck, or to
sink in a bog, or to lose your way, or perhaps, if night comes on,
to meet the Gwr Drwg himself taking a stroll. But to talk soberly.
The way over the hills is an awful road, and, indeed, for the
greater part is no road at all."

"Well, I shall go by it. Can't you give me some directions?"

"I'll do my best, sir, but I tell you again that the road is a
horrible one, and very hard to find."

He then went with me to the gate of the inn, where he began to give
me directions, pointing to the south, and mentioning some names of
places through which I must pass, amongst which were Waen y Bwlch
and Long Bones. At length he mentioned Pont Erwyd, and said: "If
you can but get there, you are all right, for from thence there is
a very fair road to the bridge of the evil man; though I dare say
if you get to Pont Erwyd - and I wish you may get there - you will
have had enough of it and will stay there for the night, more
especially as there is a good inn."

Leaving Machynlleth, I ascended a steep hill which rises to the
south of it. From the top of this hill there is a fine view of the
town, the river, and the whole valley of the Dyfi. After stopping
for a few minutes to enjoy the prospect I went on. The road at
first was exceedingly good, though up and down, and making frequent
turnings. The scenery was beautiful to a degree: lofty hills were
on either side, clothed most luxuriantly with trees of various
kinds, but principally oaks. "This is really very pleasant," said
I, "but I suppose it is too good to last long." However, I went on
for a considerable way, the road neither deteriorating nor the
scenery decreasing in beauty. "Surely I can't be in the right
road," said I; "I wish I had an opportunity of asking." Presently
seeing an old man working with a spade in a field near a gate, I
stopped and said in Welsh: "Am I in the road to the Pont y Gwr
Drwg?" The old man looked at me for a moment, then shouldering his
spade he came up to the gate, and said in English: "In truth, sir,
you are."

"I was told that the road thither was a very bad one," said I, "but
this is quite the contrary."

"This road does not go much farther, sir," said he; "it was made to
accommodate grand folks who live about here."

"You speak very good English," said I; "where did you get it?"

He looked pleased, and said that in his youth he had lived some
years in England.

"Can you read?" said I.

"Oh yes," said he, "both Welsh and English."

"What have you read in Welsh?" said I.

"The Bible and Twm O'r Nant."

"What pieces of Twm O'r Nant have you read?"

"I have read two of his interludes and his life."

"And which do you like best - his life or his interludes?"

"Oh, I like his life best."

"And what part of his life do you like best?"

"Oh, I like that part best where he gets the ship into the water at
Abermarlais."

"You have a good judgment," said I; "his life is better than his
interludes, and the best part of his life is where he describes his
getting the ship into the water. But do the Methodists about here
in general read Twm O'r Nant?"

"I don't know," said be; "I am no Methodist."

"Do you belong to the Church?"

"I do."

"And why do you belong to the Church?"

"Because I believe it is the best religion to get to heaven by."

"I am much of your opinion," said I. "Are there many Church people
about here?"

"Not many," said he, "but more than when I was young."

"How old are you?"

"Sixty-nine."

"You are not very old," said I.

"An't I? I only want one year of fulfilling my proper time on
earth."

"You take things very easily," said I.

"Not so very easily, sir; I have often my quakings and fears, but
then I read my Bible, say my prayers, and find hope and comfort."

"I really am very glad to have seen you," said I; "and now can you
tell me the way to the bridge?"

"Not exactly, sir, for I have never been there; but you must follow
this road some way farther, and then bear away to the right along
yon hill" - and he pointed to a distant mountain.

I thanked him, and proceeded on my way. I passed through a deep
dingle, and shortly afterwards came to the termination of the road;
remembering, however, the directions of the old man,, I bore away
to the right, making for the distant mountain. My course lay now
over very broken ground where there was no path, at least that I
could perceive. I wandered on for some time; at length on turning
round a bluff I saw a lad tending a small herd of bullocks. "Am I
in the road," said I, "to the Pont y Gwr Drwg?"

"Nis gwn! I don't know," said he sullenly. "I am a hired servant,
and have only been here a little time."

"Where's the house," said I, "where you serve?"

But as he made no answer I left him. Some way farther on I saw a
house on my left, a little way down the side of a deep dingle which
was partly overhung with trees, and at the bottom of which a brook
murmured. Descending a steep path, I knocked at the door. After a
little time it was opened, and two women appeared, one behind the
other. The first was about sixty; she was very powerfully made,
had stern grey eyes and harsh features, and was dressed in the
ancient Welsh female fashion, having a kind of riding-habit of blue
and a high conical hat like that of the Tyrol. The other seemed
about twenty years younger; she had dark features, was dressed like
the other, but had no hat. I saluted the first in English, and
asked her the way to the Bridge, whereupon she uttered a deep
guttural "augh" and turned away her head, seemingly in abhorrence.
I then spoke to her in Welsh, saying I was a foreign man - I did
not say a Saxon - was bound to the Devil's Bridge, and wanted to
know the way. The old woman surveyed me sternly for some time,
then turned to the other and said something, and the two began to
talk to each other, but in a low, buzzing tone, so that I could not
distinguish a word. In about half a minute the eldest turned to
me, and extending her arm and spreading out her five fingers wide,
motioned to the side of the hill in the direction which I had been
following.

"If I go that way shall I get to the bridge of the evil man?" said
I, but got no other answer than a furious grimace and violent
agitations of the arm and fingers in the same direction. I turned
away, and scarcely had I done so when the door was slammed to
behind me with great force, and I heard two "aughs," one not quite
so deep and abhorrent as the other, probably proceeding from the
throat of the younger female.

"Two regular Saxon-hating Welsh women," said I, philosophically;
"just of the same sort no doubt as those who played such pranks on
the slain bodies of the English soldiers, after the victory
achieved by Glendower over Mortimer on the Severn's side."

I proceeded in the direction indicated, winding round the side of
the hill, the same mountain which the old man had pointed out to me
some time before. At length, on making a turn I saw a very lofty
mountain in the far distance to the south-west, a hill right before
me to the south, and, on my left, a meadow overhung by the southern
hill, in the middle of which stood a house from which proceeded a
violent barking of dogs. I would fain have made immediately up to
it for the purpose of inquiring my way, but saw no means of doing
so, a high precipitous bank lying between it and me. I went
forward and ascended the side of the hill before me, and presently
came to a path running east and west. I followed it a little way
towards the east. I was now just above the house, and saw some
children and some dogs standing beside it. Suddenly I found myself
close to a man who stood in a hollow part of the road, from which a
narrow path led down to the house; a donkey with panniers stood
beside him. He was about fifty years of age, with a carbuncled
countenance, high but narrow forehead, grey eyebrows, and small,
malignant grey eyes. He had a white hat, with narrow eaves and the
crown partly knocked out, a torn blue coat, corduroy breeches, long
stockings and highlows. He was sucking a cutty pipe, but seemed
unable to extract any smoke from it. He had all the appearance of
a vagabond, and of a rather dangerous vagabond. I nodded to him,
and asked him in Welsh the name of the place. He glared at me
malignantly, then, taking the pipe out of his mouth, said that he
did not know, that he had been down below to inquire and light his
pipe, but could get neither light nor answer from the children. I
asked him where he came from, but he evaded the question by asking
where I was going to.

"To the Pont y Gwr Drwg," said I.

He then asked me if I was an Englishman.

"Oh yes," said I, "I am Carn Sais;" whereupon, with a strange
mixture in his face of malignity and contempt, he answered in
English that he didn't understand me.

"You understood me very well," said I, without changing my
language, "till I told you I was an Englishman. Harkee, man with
the broken hat, you are one of the bad Welsh who don't like the
English to know the language, lest they should discover your lies
and rogueries." He evidently understood what I said, for he
gnashed his teeth, though he said nothing. "Well," said I, "I
shall go down to those children and inquire the name of the house;"
and I forthwith began to descend the path, the fellow uttering a
contemptuous "humph" behind me, as much as to say, "Much you'll
make out down there." I soon reached the bottom and advanced
towards the house. The dogs had all along been barking violently;
as I drew near to them, however, they ceased, and two of the
largest came forward wagging their tails. "The dogs were not
barking at me," said I, "but at that vagabond above." I went up to
the children; they were four in number, two boys and two girls, all
red-haired, but tolerably good-looking. They had neither shoes nor
stockings. "What is the name of this house?" said I to the eldest,
a boy about seven years old. He looked at me, but made no answer.
I repeated my question; still there was no answer, but methought I
heard a humph of triumph from the hill. "Don't crow quite yet, old
chap," thought I to myself, and putting my hand into my pocket, I
took out a penny, and offering it to the child said: "Now, small
man, Peth yw y enw y lle hwn?" Instantly the boy's face became
intelligent, and putting out a fat little hand, he took the ceiniog
and said in an audible whisper, "Waen y Bwlch." "I am all right,"
said I to myself; "that is one of the names of the places which the
old ostler said I must go through." Then addressing myself to the
child I said: "Where's your father and mother?"

"Out on the hill," whispered the child.

"What's your father?"

"A shepherd."

"Good," said I. "Now can you tell me the way to the bridge of the
evil man?" But the features became blank, the finger was put to
the mouth, and the head was hung down. That question was evidently
beyond the child's capacity. "Thank you!" said I, and turning
round I regained the path on the top of the bank. The fellow and
his donkey were still there. "I had no difficulty," said I, "in
obtaining information; the place's name is Waen y Bwlch. But oes
genoch dim Cumraeg - you have no Welsh." Thereupon I proceeded
along the path in the direction of the east. Forthwith the fellow
said something to his animal, and both came following fast behind.
I quickened my pace, but the fellow and his beast were close in my
rear. Presently I came to a place where another path branched off
to the south. I stopped, looked at it, and then went on, but
scarcely had done so when I heard another exulting "humph" behind.
"I am going wrong," said I to myself; "that other path is the way
to the Devil's Bridge, and the scamp knows it or he would not have
grunted." Forthwith I faced round, and brushing past the fellow
without a word turned into the other path and hurried along it. By
a side glance which I cast I could see him staring after me;
presently, however, he uttered a sound very much like a Welsh
curse, and, kicking his beast, proceeded on his way, and I saw no
more of him. In a little time I came to a slough which crossed the
path. I did not like the look of it at all, and to avoid it
ventured upon some green mossy-looking ground to the left, and had
scarcely done so when I found myself immersed to the knees in a
bog. I, however, pushed forward, and with some difficulty got to
the path on the other side of the slough. I followed the path, and
in about half-an-hour saw what appeared to be houses at a distance.
"God grant that I maybe drawing near some inhabited place!" said I.
The path now grew very miry, and there were pools of water on
either side. I moved along slowly. At length I came to a place
where some men were busy in erecting a kind of building. I went up
to the nearest and asked him the name of the place. He had a
crowbar in his hand, was half naked, had a wry mouth and only one
eye. He made me no answer, but mowed and gibbered at me.

"For God's sake," said I, "don't do so, but tell me where I am!"
He still uttered no word, but mowed and gibbered yet more
frightfully than before. As I stood staring at him another man
came to me and said in broken English: "It is of no use speaking
to him, sir, he is deaf and dumb."

"I am glad he is no worse," said I, "for I really thought he was
possessed with the evil one. My good person, can you tell me the
name of this place?"

"Esgyrn Hirion, sir," said he.

"Esgyrn Hirion," said I to myself; "Esgyrn means 'bones,' and
Hirion means 'long.' I am doubtless at the place which the old
ostler called Long Bones. I shouldn't wonder if I get to the
Devil's Bridge to-night after all." I then asked the man if he
could tell me the way to the bridge of the evil man, but he shook
his head and said that he had never heard of such a place, adding,
however, that he would go with me to one of the overseers, who
could perhaps direct me. He then proceeded towards a row of
buildings, which were, in fact, those objects which I had guessed
to be houses in the distance. He led me to a corner house, at the
door of which stood a middle-aged man, dressed in a grey coat, and
saying to me, "This person is an overseer," returned to his labour.
I went up to the man, and, saluting him in English, asked whether
he could direct me to the Devil's Bridge, or rather to Pont Erwyd.

"It would be of no use directing you, sir," said he, "for with all
the directions in the world it would be impossible for you to find
the way. You would not have left these premises five minutes
before you would be in a maze without knowing which way to turn.
Where do you come from?"

"From Machynlleth," I replied.

"From Machynlleth!" said he. "Well, I only wonder you ever got
here, but it would be madness to go farther alone."

"Well," said I, "can I obtain a guide?"

"I really don't know," said he; "I am afraid all the men are
engaged."

As we were speaking a young man made his appearance at the door
from the interior of the house. He was dressed in a brown short
coat, had a glazed hat on his head, and had a pale but very
intelligent countenance.

"What is the matter?" said he to the other man.

"This gentleman," replied the latter, "is going to Pont Erwyd, and
wants a guide."

"Well," said the young man, "we must find him one. It will never
do to let him go by himself."

"If you can find me a guide," said I, "I shall be happy to pay him
for his trouble."

"Oh, you can do as you please about that," said the young man;
"but, pay or not, we would never suffer you to leave this place
without a guide, and as much for our own sake as yours; for the
directors of the Company would never forgive us if they heard we
had suffered a gentleman to leave these premises without a guide,
more especially if he were lost, as it is a hundred to one you
would be if you went by yourself."

"Pray," said I, "what Company is this, the directors of which are
so solicitous about the safety of strangers?"

"The Potosi Mining Company," said he, "the richest in all Wales.
But pray walk in and sit down, for you must be tired."



CHAPTER LXXXI



The Mining Compting Room - Native of Aberystwyth - Story of a
Bloodhound - The Young Girls - The Miner's Tale - Gwen Frwd - The
Terfyn.


I FOLLOWED the young man with the glazed hat into a room, the other
man following behind me. He of the glazed hat made me sit down
before a turf fire, apologising for its smoking very much. The
room seemed half compting-room, half apartment. There was a wooden
desk with a ledger upon it by the window, which looked to the west,
and a camp bedstead extended from the southern wall nearly up to
the desk. After I had sat for about a minute, the young man asked
me if I would take any refreshment. I thanked him for his kind
offer, which I declined, saying, however, that if he would obtain
me a guide I should feel much obliged. He turned to the other man
and told him to go and inquire whether there was any one who would
be willing to go. The other nodded, and forthwith went out.

"You think, then," said I, "that I could not find the way by
myself?"

"I am sure of it," said he, "for even the people best acquainted
with the country frequently lose their way. But I must tell you,
that if we do find you a guide, it will probably be one who has no
English."

"Never mind," said I, "I have enough Welsh to hold a common
discourse."

A fine girl about fourteen now came in, and began bustling about.

"Who is this young lady?" said I.

"The daughter of a captain of a neighbouring mine," said he; "she
frequently comes here with messages, and is always ready to do a
turn about the house, for she is very handy."

"Has she any English?" said I.

"Not a word," he replied. "The young people of these hills have no
English, except they go abroad to learn it."

"What hills are these?" said I.

"Part of the Plynlimmon range," said he.

"Dear me," said I, "am I near Plynlimmon?"

"Not very far from it," said the young man, "and you will be nearer
when you reach Pont Erwyd."

"Are you a native of these parts?" said I.

"I am not," he replied; "I am a native of Aberystwyth, a place on
the sea-coast about a dozen miles from here."

"This seems to be a cold, bleak spot," said I; "is it healthy?"

"I have reason to say so," said he; "for I came here from
Aberystwyth about four months ago very unwell, and am now perfectly
recovered. I do not believe there is a healthier spot in all
Wales."

We had some further discourse. I mentioned to him the adventure
which I had on the hill with the fellow with the donkey. The young
man said that he had no doubt that he was some prowling thief.

"The dogs of the shepherd's house," said I, "didn't seem to like
him, and dogs generally know an evil customer. A long time ago I
chanced to be in a posada, or inn, at Valladolid in Spain. One hot
summer's afternoon I was seated in a corridor which ran round a
large open court in the middle of the inn; a fine yellow, three-
parts-grown bloodhound was lying on the ground beside me with whom
I had been playing, a little time before. I was just about to fall
asleep, when I heard a 'hem' at the outward door of the posada,
which was a long way below at the end of a passage which
communicated with the court. Instantly the hound started upon his
legs, and with a loud yell, and with eyes flashing fire, ran nearly
round the corridor, down a flight of steps, and through the passage
to the gate. There was then a dreadful noise, in which the cries
of a human being and the yells of the hound were blended. I
forthwith started up and ran down, followed by several other
guests, who came rushing out of their chambers round the corridor.
At the gate we saw a man on the ground and the hound trying to
strangle him. It was with the greatest difficulty, and chiefly
through the intervention of the master of the dog, who happened to
be present, that the animal could be made to quit his hold. The
assailed person was a very powerful man, but had an evil
countenance, was badly dressed, and had neither hat, shoes nor
stockings. We raised him up and gave him wine, which he drank
greedily, and presently, without saying a word, disappeared. The
guests said they had no doubt that he was a murderer flying from
justice, and that the dog by his instinct, even at a distance, knew
him to be such. The master said that it was the first time that
the dog had ever attacked any one or shown the slightest symptom of
ferocity. Not the least singular part of the matter was, that the
dog did not belong to the house, but to one of the guests from a
distant village; the creature therefore could not consider itself
the house's guardian."

I had scarcely finished my tale when the other man came in and said
that he had found a guide, a young man from Pont Erwyd, who would
be glad of such an opportunity to go and see his parents, that he
was then dressing himself, and would shortly make his appearance.
In about twenty minutes he did so. He was a stout young fellow
with a coarse blue coat, and coarse white felt hat; he held a stick
in his hand. The kind young book-keeper now advised us to set out
without delay, as the day was drawing to a close and the way was
long. I shook him by the hand, told him that I should never forget
his civility, and departed with the guide.

The fine young girl, whom I have already mentioned, and another
about two years younger, departed with us. They were dressed in
the graceful female attire of old Wales.

We bore to the south down a descent, and came to some moory, quaggy
ground intersected with water-courses. The agility of the young
girls surprised me; they sprang over the water-courses, some of
which were at least four feet wide, with the ease and alacrity of
lawns. After a short time we came to a road, which, however, we
did not long reap the benefit of, as it only led to a mine. Seeing
a house on the top of a hill, I asked my guide whose it was.

"Ty powdr," said he, "a powder house," by which I supposed he meant
a magazine of powder used for blasting in the mines. He had not a
word of English. . If the young girls were nimble with their feet,
they were not less so with their tongues, as they kept up an
incessant gabble with each other and with the guide. I understood
little of what they said, their volubility preventing me from
catching more than a few words. After we had gone about two miles
and a half, they darted away with surprising swiftness down a hill
towards a distant house, where, as I learned from my guide, the
father of the eldest lived. We ascended a hill, passed between two
craggy elevations, and then wended to the south-east over a
strange, miry place, in which I thought any one at night not
acquainted with every inch of the way would run imminent risk of
perishing. I entered into conversation with my guide. After a
little time he asked me if I was a Welshman. I told him no.

"You could teach many a Welshman," said he.

"Why do you think so?" said I.

"Because many of your words are quite above my comprehension," said
he.

"No great compliment," thought I to myself; but putting a good face
upon the matter I told him that I knew a great many old Welsh
words.

"Is Potosi an old Welsh word?" said he.

"No," said I; "it is the name of a mine in the Deheubarth of
America."

"Is it a lead mine?"

"No!" said I, "it is a silver mine."

"Then why do they call our mine, which is a lead mine, by the name
of a silver mine?"

"Because they wish to give people to understand," said I, "that it
is very rich - as rich in lead as Potosi in silver. Potosi is, or
was, the richest silver mine in the world, and from it has come at
least one half of the silver which we use in the shape of money and
other things."

"Well," said he, "I have frequently asked, but could never learn
before why our mine was called Potosi."

"You did not ask at the right quarter," said I; "the young man with
the glazed hat could have told you as well as I." I inquired why
the place where the mine was bore the name of Esgyrn Hirion or Long
Bones. He told me that he did not know, but believed that the
bones of a cawr or giant had been found there in ancient times. I
asked him if the mine was deep.

"Very deep," he replied.

"Do you like the life of a miner?" said I.

"Very much," said he, "and should like it more, but for the noises
of the hill."

"Do you mean the powder blasts?" said I.

"Oh no!" said he, "I care nothing for them; I mean the noises made
by the spirits of the hill in the mine. Sometimes they make such
noises as frighten the poor fellow who works underground out of his
senses. Once on a time I was working by myself very deep
underground, in a little chamber to which a very deep shaft led. I
had just taken up my light to survey my work, when all of a sudden
I heard a dreadful rushing noise, as if an immense quantity of
earth had come tumbling down. 'Oh God!' said I, and fell
backwards, letting the light fall, which instantly went out. I
thought the whole shaft had given way, and that I was buried alive.
I lay for several hours half stupefied, thinking now and then what
a dreadful thing it was to be buried alive. At length I thought I
would get up, go to the mouth of the shaft, feel the mould, with
which it was choked up, and then come back, lie down, and die. So
I got up and tottered to the mouth of the shaft, put out my hand
and felt - nothing; all was clear. I went forward, and presently
felt the ladder. Nothing had fallen; all was just the same as when
I came down. I was dreadfully afraid that I should never be able
to get up in the dark without breaking my neck; however, I tried,
and at last, with a great deal of toil and danger, got to a place
where other men were working. The noise was caused by the spirits
of the hill in the hope of driving the miner out of his senses.
They very nearly succeeded. I shall never forget how I felt when I
thought I was buried alive. If it were not for those noises in the
hill, the life of a miner would be quite heaven below."

We came to a cottage standing under a hillock, down the side of
which tumbled a streamlet close by the northern side of the
building. The door was open, and inside were two or three females
and some children. "Have you any enwyn?" said the lad, peeping in.

"Oh yes!" said a voice - "digon! digon!" Presently a buxom,
laughing girl brought out two dishes of buttermilk, one of which
she handed to me and the other to the guide. I asked her the name
of the place.

"Gwen Frwd - the 'Fair Rivulet,'" said she.

"Who lives here?"

"A shepherd."

"Have you any English?"

"Nagos!" said she, bursting into a loud laugh. "What should we do
with English here?" After we had drunk the buttermilk I offered the
girl some money, but she drew back her hand angrily, and said: "We
don't take money from tired strangers for two drops of buttermilk;
there's plenty within, and there are a thousand ewes on the hill.
Farvel!"

"Dear me!" thought I to myself as I walked away; "that I should
once in my days have found shepherd life something as poets have
represented it!"

I saw a mighty mountain at a considerable distance on the right,
the same I believe which I had noted some hours before. I inquired
of my guide whether it was Plynlimmon.

"Oh no!" said he, "that is Gaverse; Pumlimmon is to the left."

"Plynlimmon is a famed hill," said I; "I suppose it is very high."

"Yes!" said he, "it is high; but it is not famed because it is
high, but because the three grand rivers of the world issue from
its breast, the Hafren, the Rheidol, and the Gwy."

Night was now coming rapidly on, attended with a drizzling rain. I
inquired if we were far from Pont Erwyd. "About a mile," said my
guide; "we shall soon be there." We quickened our pace. After a
little time he asked me if I was going farther than Pont Erwyd.

"I am bound for the bridge of the evil man," said I; "but I daresay
I shall stop at Pont Erwyd to-night."

"You will do right," said he; "it is only three miles from Pont
Erwyd to the bridge of the evil man, but I think we shall have a
stormy night."

"When I get to Pont Erwyd," said I, "how far shall I be from South
Wales?"

"From South Wales!" said he; "you are in South Wales now; you
passed the Terfyn of North Wales a quarter of an hour ago."

The rain now fell fast and there was so thick a mist that I could
only see a few yards before me. We descended into a valley, at the
bottom of which I heard a river roaring.

"That's the Rheidol," said my guide, "coming from Pumlimmon,
swollen with rain."

Without descending to the river, we turned aside up a hill, and,
after passing by a few huts, came to a large house, which my guide
told me was the inn of Pont Erwyd.



CHAPTER LXXXII



Consequential Landlord - Cheek - Darfel Gatherel - Dafydd Nanmor -
Sheep Farms - Wholesome Advice - The Old Postman - The Plant de Bat
- The Robber's Cavern.


MY guide went to a side door, and opening it without ceremony went
in. I followed and found myself in a spacious and comfortable-
looking kitchen: a large fire blazed in a huge grate, on one side
of which was a settle; plenty of culinary utensils, both pewter and
copper, hung around on the walls, and several goodly rows of hams
and sides of bacon were suspended from the roof. There were
several people present, some on the settle and others on chairs in
the vicinity of the fire. As I advanced, a man arose from a chair
and came towards me. He was about thirty-five years of age, well
and strongly made, with a fresh complexion, a hawk nose, and a keen
grey eye. He wore top-boots and breeches, a half jockey coat, and
had a round cap made of the skin of some animal on his head.

"Servant, sir!" said he in rather a sharp tone, and surveying me
with something of a supercilious air.

"Your most obedient humble servant!" said I; "I presume you are the
landlord of this house."

"Landlord!" said he, "landlord! It is true I receive guests
sometimes into my house, but I do so solely with the view of
accommodating them; I do not depend upon innkeeping for a
livelihood. I hire the principal part of the land in this
neighbourhood."

"If that be the case," said I, "I had better continue my way to the
Devil's Bridge; I am not at all tired, and I believe it is not very
far distant."

"Oh, as you are here," said the farmer-landlord, "I hope you will
stay. I should be very sorry if any gentleman should leave my
house at night after coming with an intention of staying, more
especially in a night like this. Martha!" said he, turning to a
female between thirty and forty - who I subsequently learned was
the mistress - "prepare the parlour instantly for this gentleman,
and don't fail to make up a good fire."

Martha forthwith hurried away, attended by a much younger female.

"Till your room is prepared, sir," said he, "perhaps you will have
no objection to sit down before our fire?"

"Not the least," said I; "nothing gives me greater pleasure than to
sit before a kitchen fire. First of all, however, I must settle
with my guide, and likewise see that he has something to eat and
drink."

"Shall I interpret for you?" said the landlord; "the lad has not a
word of English; I know him well."

"I have not been under his guidance for the last three hours," said
I, "without knowing that he cannot speak English; but I want no
interpreter."

"You do not mean to say, sir," said the landlord, with a surprised
and dissatisfied air, "that you understand Welsh?"

I made no answer, but turning to the guide thanked him for his
kindness, and giving him some money asked him if it was enough.

"More than enough, sir," said the lad; "I did not expect half as
much. Farewell!"

He was then about to depart, but I prevented him saying:

"You must not go till you have eaten and drunk. What will you
have?"

"Merely a cup of ale, sir," said the lad.

"That won't do," said I; "you shall have bread and cheese and as
much ale as you can drink. Pray," said I to the landlord, "let
this young man have some bread and cheese and a large quart of
ale."

The landlord looked at me for a moment, then turning to the lad he
said:

"What do you think of that, Shon? It is some time since you had a
quart of ale to your own cheek."

"Cheek," said I - "cheek! Is that a Welsh word? Surely it is an
importation from the English, and not a very genteel one."

"Oh come, sir!" said the landlord, "we can dispense with your
criticisms. A pretty thing indeed for you, on the strength of
knowing half-a-dozen words of Welsh, to set up for a Welsh critic
in the house of a person who knows the ancient British language
perfectly."

"Dear me!" said I, "how fortunate I am! a person thoroughly versed
in the ancient British language is what I have long wished to see.
Pray what is the meaning of Darfel Gatherel?"

"Oh sir!" said the landlord, "you must answer that question
yourself; I don't pretend to understand gibberish!"

"Darfel Gatherel," said I, "is not gibberish; it was the name of
the great wooden image at Ty Dewi, or Saint David's, in
Pembrokeshire, to which thousands of pilgrims in the days of popery
used to repair for the purpose of adoring it, and which at the time
of the Reformation was sent up to London as a curiosity, where it
eventually served as firewood to burn the monk Forrest upon, who
was sentenced to the stake by Henry the Eighth for denying his
supremacy. What I want to know is, the meaning of the name, which
I could never get explained, but which you who know the ancient
British language perfectly can doubtless interpret."

"Oh, sir," said the landlord, "when I said I knew the British
language perfectly, I perhaps went too far there are, of course,
some obsolete terms in the British tongue, which I don't
understand. Dar, Dar - what is it? Darmod Cotterel amongst the
rest; but to a general knowledge of the Welsh language I think I
may lay some pretensions; were I not well acquainted with it, I
should not have carried off the prize at various eisteddfodau, as I
have done. I am a poet, sir - a prydydd."

"It is singular enough," said I, "that the only two Welsh poets I
have seen have been innkeepers - one is yourself, the other a
person I met in Anglesey. I suppose the Muse is fond of cwrw da."

"You would fain be pleasant, sir," said the landlord; "but I beg
leave to inform you that I am not fond of pleasantries; and now, as
my wife and the servant are returned, I will have the pleasure of
conducting you to the parlour."

"Before I go," said I, "I should like to see my guide provided with
what I ordered." I stayed till the lad was accommodated with bread
and cheese and a foaming tankard of ale, and then bidding him
farewell, I followed the landlord into the parlour, where I found a
fire kindled, which, however, smoked exceedingly. I asked my host
what I could have for supper, and was told that he did not know,
but that if I would leave the matter to him he would send the best
he could. As he was going away, I said: "So you are a poet?
Well, I am very glad to hear it, for I have been fond of Welsh
poetry from my boyhood. What kind of verse do you employ in
general? Did you ever write an awdl in the four-and-twenty
measures? What are the themes of your songs? The deeds of the
ancient heroes of South Wales, I suppose, and the hospitality of
the great men of the neighbourhood who receive you as an honoured
guest at their tables. I'll bet a guinea that however clever a
fellow you may be you never sang anything in praise of your
landlord's housekeeping equal to what Dafydd Nanmor sang in praise
of that of Ryce of Twyn four hundred years ago:


'For Ryce if hundred thousands plough'd
The lands around his fair abode;
Did vines of thousand vineyards bleed,
Still corn and wine great Ryce would need;
If all the earth had bread's sweet savour,
And water all had cyder's flavour,
Three roaring feasts in Ryce's hall
Would swallow earth and ocean all.'


Hey?"

"Really, sir," said the landlord, "I don't know how to reply to
you, for the greater part of your discourse is utterly
unintelligible to me. Perhaps you are a better Welshman than
myself; but however that may be, I shall take the liberty of
retiring in order to give orders about your supper."

In about half-an-hour the supper made its appearance in the shape
of some bacon and eggs. On tasting them I found them very good,
and calling for some ale I made a very tolerable supper. After the
things had been removed I drew near to the fire, but as it still
smoked, I soon betook myself to the kitchen. My guide had taken
his departure, but the others whom I had left were still there.
The landlord was talking in Welsh to a man in a rough great-coat,
about sheep. Setting himself down near the fire I called for a
glass of whiskey and water, and then observing that the landlord
and his friend had suddenly become silent, I said: "Pray go on
with your discourse; don't let me be any hindrance to you."

"Yes, sir!" said the landlord snappishly, "go on with our discourse
for your edification, I suppose?"

"Well," said I, "suppose it is for my edification; surely you don't
grudge a stranger a little edification which will cost you
nothing?"

"I don't know that, sir," said the landlord; "I don't know that.
Really, sir, the kitchen is not the place for a gentleman."

"Yes, it is," said I, "provided the parlour smokes. Come, come, I
am going to have a glass of whiskey and water; perhaps you will
take one with me."

"Well, sir!" said the landlord, in rather a softened tone, "I have
no objection to take a glass with you."

Two glasses of whiskey and water were presently brought, and the
landlord and I drank to each other's health.

"Is this a sheep district?" said I, after a pause of a minute or
two.

"Yes, sir," said the landlord; "it may to a certain extent be
called a sheep district."

"I suppose the Southdown and Norfolk breeds would not do for these
here parts," said I, with a regular Norfolk whine.

"No, sir, I don't think they would exactly," said the landlord,
staring at me. "Do you know anything about sheep?"

"Plenty, plenty," said I; "quite as much indeed as about Welsh
words and poetry." Then in a yet more whining tone than before, I
said: "Do you think that a body with money in his pocket could
hire a nice comfortable sheep farm hereabouts?"

"Oh, sir!" said the landlord in a furious tone, "you have come to
look out for a farm, I see, and to outbid us poor Welshmen: it is
on that account you have studied Welsh; but, sir, I would have you
know - "

"Come!" said I, "don't be afraid; I wouldn't have all the farms in
your country, provided you would tie them in a string and offer
them to me. If I talked about a farm, it was because I am in the
habit of talking about everything, being versed in all matters, do
you see, or affecting to be so, which comes much to the same thing.
My real business in this neighbourhood is to see the Devil's Bridge
and the scenery about it."

"Very good, sir," said the landlord; "I thought so at first. A
great many English go to see the Devil's Bridge and the scenery
near it, though I really don't know why, for there is nothing so
very particular in either. We have a bridge here too, quite as
good as the Devil's Bridge; and as for scenery, I'll back the
scenery about this house against anything of the kind in the
neighbourhood of the Devil's Bridge. Yet everybody goes to the
Devil's Bridge and nobody comes here!"

"You might easily bring everybody here," said I, "if you would but
employ your talent. You should celebrate the wonders of your
neighbourhood in cowydds, and you would soon have plenty of
visitors; but you don't want them, you know, and prefer to be
without them."

The landlord looked at me for a moment, then taking sip of his
whiskey and water he turned to the man with whom he had previously
been talking and recommenced the discourse about sheep. I make no
doubt, however, that I was a restraint upon them; they frequently
glanced at me, and soon fell to whispering. At last both got up
and left the room, the landlord finishing his glass of whiskey and
water before he went away.

"So you are going to the Devil's Bridge, sir!" said an elderly man,
dressed in a grey coat, with a broad-brimmed hat, who sat on the
settle smoking a pipe in company with another elderly man with a
leather hat, with whom I had heard him discourse sometimes in
Welsh, sometimes in English, the Welsh which he spoke being rather
broken.

"Yes," said I, "I am going to have a sight of the bridge and the
neighbouring scenery."

"Well, sir, I don't think you will be disappointed, for both are
wonderful."

"Are you a Welshman?" said I.

"No, sir, I am not; I am an Englishman from Durham, which is the
best county in England."

"So it is," said I - "for some things at any rate. For example,
where do you find such beef as in Durham?"

"Ah, where indeed, sir? I have always said that neither the
Devonshire nor the Lincolnshire beef is to be named in the same day
with that of Durham."

"Well," said I, "what business do you follow in these parts? I
suppose you farm?"

"No, sir, I do not; I am what they call a mining captain."

"I suppose that gentleman," said I, motioning to the man in the
leather hat, "is not from Durham?"

"No, sir, he is not; he is from this neighbourhood."

"And does he follow mining?"

"No, sir, he does not; he carries about the letters."

"Is your mine near this place?"

"Not very, sir; it is nearer the Devil's Bridge."

"Why is the bridge called the Devil's Bridge?" said

"Because, sir, 'tis said that the Devil built it in the old time,
though that I can hardly believe; for the Devil, do ye see,
delights in nothing but mischief, and it is not likely that such
being the case he would have built a thing which must have been of
wonderful service to people by enabling them to pass in safety over
a dreadful gulf."

"I have heard," said the old postman with the leather hat, "that
the Devil had no hand in de work at all, but that it was built by a
Mynach, or monk, on which account de river over which de bridge is
built is called Afon y Mynach - dat is de Monk's River."

"Did you ever hear," said I, "of three creatures who lived a long
time ago near the Devil's Bridge, called the Plant de Bat?"

"Ah, master!" said the old postman, "I do see that you have been in
these parts before; had you not, you would not know of the Plant de
Bat."

"No," said I, "I have never been here before; but I heard of them
when I was a boy, from a Cumro who taught me Welsh, and had lived
for some time in these parts. Well, what do they say here about
the Plant de Bat? for he who mentioned them to me could give me no
further information about them than that they were horrid creatures
who lived in a cave near the Devil's Bridge several hundred years
ago."

"Well, master," said the old postman, thrusting his forefinger
twice or thrice into the bowl of his pipe, "I will tell you what
they says here about the Plant de Bat. In de old time - two, three
hundred year ago - a man lived somewhere about here called Bat or
Bartholomew; this man had three children, two boys and one girl,
who, because their father's name was Bat, were generally called
'Plant de Bat,' or Bat's children. Very wicked children they were
from their cradle, giving their father and mother much trouble and
uneasiness; no good in any one of them, neither in the boys nor the
girl. Now the boys, once when they were rambling idly about,
lighted by chance upon a cave near the Devil's Bridge. Very
strange cave it was, with just one little hole at top to go in by;
so the boys said to one another: 'Nice cave this for thief to live
in. Suppose we come here when we are a little more big and turn
thief ourselves.' Well, they waited till they were a little more
big, and then leaving their father's house they came to de cave and
turned thief, lying snug there all day and going out at night to
rob upon the roads. Well, there was soon much talk in the country
about the robberies which were being committed, and people often
went out in search of de thieves, but all in vain; and no wonder,
for they were in a cave very hard to light upon, having, as I said
before, merely one little hole at top to go in by. So, Bat's boys
went on swimmingly for a long time, lying snug in cave by day and
going out at night to rob, letting no one know where they were but
their sister, who was as bad as themselves, and used to come to
them and bring them food and stay with them for weeks, and
sometimes go out and rob with them. But as de pitcher which goes
often to de well comes home broke at last, so it happened with
Bat's children. After robbing people upon the roads by night many
a long year and never being found out, they at last met one great
gentleman upon the roads by night and not only robbed, but killed
him, leaving his body all cut and gashed near to Devil's Bridge.
That job was the ruin of Plant de Bat, for the great gentleman's
friends gathered together and hunted after his murderers with dogs,
and at length came to the cave, and going in, found it stocked with
riches, and the Plant de Bat sitting upon the riches, not only the
boys but the girl also. So they took out the riches and the Plant
de Bat, and the riches they did give to churches and spyttys, and
the Plant de Bat they did execute, hanging the boys and burning the
girl. That, master, is what they says in dese parts about the
Plant de Bat."

"Thank you!" said I. "Is the cave yet to be seen?"

"Oh yes! it is yet to be seen, or part of it, for it is not now
what it was, having been partly flung open to hinder other thieves
from nestling in it. It is on the bank of the river Mynach, just
before it joins the Rheidol. Many gentlefolk in de summer go to
see the Plant de Bat's cave."

"Are you sure," said I, "that Plant de Bat means Bat's children?"

"I am not sure, master; I merely says what I have heard other
people say. I believe some says that it means 'the wicked
children,' or 'the Devil's children.' And now, master, we may as
well have done with them, for should you question me through the
whole night, I could tell you nothing more about the Plant de Bat."

After a little further discourse, chiefly about sheep and the
weather, I retired to the parlour, where the fire was now burning
brightly; seating myself before it, I remained for a considerable
time staring at the embers and thinking over the events of the day.
At length I rang the bell and begged to be shown to my chamber,
where I soon sank to sleep, lulled by the pattering of rain against
the window and the sound of a neighbouring cascade.



CHAPTER LXXXIII



Wild Scenery - Awful Chasm - John Greaves - Durham County - Queen
Philippa - The Two Aldens - Welsh Wife - The Noblest Business - The
Welsh and the Salve - The Lad John.


A RAINY and boisterous night was succeeded by a bright and
beautiful morning. I arose and having ordered breakfast went forth
to see what kind of country I had got into. I found myself amongst
wild, strange-looking hills, not, however, of any particular
height. The house, which seemed to front the east, stood on the
side of a hill, on a wide platform abutting on a deep and awful
chasm, at the bottom of which chafed and foamed the Rheidol. This
river enters the valley of Pont Erwyd from the north-west, then
makes a variety of snake-like turns, and at last bears away to the
south-east just below the inn. The banks are sheer walls, from
sixty to a hundred feet high, and the bed of the river has all the
appearance of a volcanic rent. A brook, running from the south
past the inn, tumbles into the chasm at an angle, and forms the
cascade whose sound had lulled me to sleep the preceding night.

After breakfasting I paid my bill, and set out for the Devil's
Bridge without seeing anything more of that remarkable personage in
whom were united landlord, farmer, poet, and mighty fine gentleman
- the master of the house. I soon reached the bottom of the
valley, where are a few houses and the bridge from which the place
takes its name, Pont Erwyd signifying the bridge of Erwyd. As I
was looking over the bridge, near which are two or three small
waterfalls, an elderly man in a grey coat, followed by a young lad
and dog, came down the road which I had myself just descended.

"Good day, sir," said he, stopping, when he came upon the bridge.
"I suppose you are bound my road?"

"Ah," said I, recognising the old mining captain with whom I had
talked in the kitchen the night before, "is it you? I am glad to
see you. Yes, I am bound your way, provided you are going to the
Devil's Bridge."

"Then, sir, we can go together, for I am bound to my mine, which
lies only a little way t'other side of the Devil's Bridge."

Crossing the bridge of Erwyd, we directed our course to the south-
east.

"What young man is that," said I, "who is following behind us?"

"The young man, sir, is my son John, and the dog with him is his
dog Joe."

"And what may your name be, if I may take the liberty of asking?"

"Greaves, sir; John Greaves from the county of Durham."

"Ah! a capital county that," said I.

"You like the county, sir? God bless you! John!" said he in a
loud voice, turning to the lad, "why don't you offer to carry the
gentleman's knapsack?"

"Don't let him trouble himself," said I. "As I was just now
saying, a capital county is Durham county."

"You really had better let the boy carry your bag, sir."

"No," said I, "I would rather carry it myself. I question upon the
whole whether there is a better county in England."

"Is it long since your honour was in Durham county?"

"A good long time. A matter of forty years."

"Forty years! - why that's the life of a man. That's longer than I
have been out of the county myself. I suppose your honour can't
remember much about the county."

"Oh yes, I can! I remember a good deal."

"Please, your honour, tell me what you remember about the county.
It would do me good to hear it."

"Well, I remember it was a very fine county in more respects than
one. One part of it was full of big hills and mountains, where
there were mines of coal and lead, with mighty works with tall
chimneys spouting out black smoke, and engines roaring, and big
wheels going round, some turned by steam, and others by what they
call forces, that is, brooks of water dashing down steep channels.
Another part was a more level country, with beautiful woods, happy-
looking farm-houses well-filled fields and rich, glorious meadows,
in which stood stately, with brown sides and short horns, the
Durham ox."

"Oh dear, oh dear!" said my companion. "Ah! I see your honour
knows everything about Durham county. Forces? none but one who had
been in Durham county would have used that word. I haven't heard
it for five-and-thirty years. Forces! there was a force close to
my village. I wonder if your honour has ever been in Durham city?"

"Oh yes! I have been there."

"Does your honour remember anything about Durham city?"

"Oh yes! I remember a good deal about it."

"Then, your honour, pray tell us what you remember about it - pray
do I perhaps it will do me good."

"Well then, I remember that it was a fine old city standing on a
hill with a river running under it, and that it had a fine old
church, one of the finest in the of Britain; likewise a fine old
castle; and last, not least, a capital old inn, where I got a
capital dinner off roast Durham beef, and a capital glass of ale,
which I believe was the cause, of my being ever after fond of ale."

"Dear me! Ah, I see your honour knows all about Durham city. And
now let me ask one question. How came your honour to Durham, city
and county? I don't think your honour is a Durham man either of
town or field."

"I am not; but when I was a little boy I passed through Durham
county with my mother and brother to a place called Scotland."

"Scotland! a queer country that, your honour!"

"So it is," said I; "a queerer country I never saw in all my life."

"And a queer set of people, your honour."

"So they are," said I; "a queerer set of people than the Scotch you
would scarcely see in a summer's day."

"The Durham folks, neither of town or field, have much reason to
speak well of the Scotch, your honour."

"I dare say not," said I; "very few people have."

"And yet the Durham folks, your honour, generally contrived to give
them as good as they brought."

"That they did," said I; "a pretty licking the Durham folks once
gave the Scots under the walls of Durham city, after the scamps had
been plundering the country for three weeks - a precious licking
they gave them, slaying I don't know how many thousands, and taking
their king prisoner."

"So they did, your honour, and under the command of a woman too."

"Very true," said I; "Queen Philippa."

"Just so, your honour! The idea that your honour should know so
much about Durham, both field and town!"

"Well," said I, "since I have told you so much about Durham,
perhaps you will tell me something about yourself. How did you
come here?"

"I had better begin from the beginning, your honour. I was born in
Durham county close beside the Great Force, which no doubt your
honour has seen. My father was a farmer, and had a bit of a share
in a mining concern. I was brought up from my childhood both to
farming and mining work, but most to mining, because, do you see, I
took most pleasure in it, being the more noble business of the two.
Shortly after I had come to man's estate my father died, leaving me
a decent little property, whereupon I forsook farming altogether
and gave myself up, body, soul, and capital, to mining, which at
last I thoroughly understand in all its branches. Well, your
honour, about five-and-thirty years ago - that was when I was about
twenty-eight - a cry went through the north country that a great
deal of money might be made by opening Wales, that is, by mining in
Wales in the proper fashion, which means the north country fashion,
for there is no other fashion of mining good for much. There had
long been mines in Wales, but they had always been worked in a
poor, weak, languid manner, very different from that of the north
country. So a company was formed, at the head of which were the
Aldens, George and Thomas, for opening Wales, and they purchased
certain mines in these districts which they knew to be productive,
and which might be made yet more so, and settling down here called
themselves the Rheidol United. Well, after they had been here a
little time they found themselves in want of a man to superintend
their concerns, above all in the smelting department. So they
thought of me, who was known to most of the mining gentry in the
north country, and they made a proposal to me through George Alden,
afterwards Sir George, to come here and superintend. I said no at
first, for I didn't like the idea of leaving Durham county to come
to such an outlandish place as Wales; howsomeover, I at last
allowed myself to be overpersuaded by George Alden, afterwards Sir
George, and here I came with my wife and family - for I must tell
your honour I had married a respectable young woman of Durham
county, by whom I had two little ones - here I came and did my best
for the service of the Rheidol United. The company was terribly
set to it for a long time, spending a mint of money and getting
very poor returns. To my certain knowledge, the two Aldens, George
and Tom, spent between them thirty thousand pounds. The company,
however, persevered, chiefly at the instigation of the Aldens, who
were in the habit of saying, 'Never say die!' and at last got the
better of all their difficulties and rolled in riches, and had the
credit of being the first company that ever opened Wales, which
they richly deserved, for I will uphold it that the Rheidol United,
particularly the Aldens, George and Thomas, were the first people
who really opened Wales. In their service I have been for five-
and-thirty years, and daresay shall continue so till I die. I have
been tolerably comfortable, your honour, though I have had my
griefs, the bitterest of which was the death of my wife, which
happened about eight years after I came to this country. I thought
I should have gone wild at first, your honour; having, however,
always plenty to do, I at last got the better of my affliction. I
continued single till my English family grew up and left me, when,
feeling myself rather lonely, I married a decent young Welshwoman,
by whom I had one son, the lad John who is following behind with
his dog Joe. And now your honour knows the whole story of John
Greaves, miner from the county of Durham."

"And a most entertaining and instructive history it is," said I.
"You have not told me, however, how you contrived to pick up Welsh:
I heard you speaking it last night with the postman."

"Why, through my Welsh wife, your honour! Without her I don't
think I should ever have picked up the Welsh manner of discoursing
- she is a good kind of woman, my Welsh wife, though - "

"The loss of your Durham wife must have been a great grief to you,"
said I.

"It was the bitterest grief, your honour, as I said before, that I
ever had; my next worst I think was the death of a dear friend."

"Who was that?" said I

"Who was it, your honour? why, the Duke of Newcastle."

"Dear me!" said I, "how came you to know him?"

"Why, your honour, he lived at a place not far from here, called
Hafod, and so - "

"Hafod?" said I; "I have often heard of Hafod and its library; but
I thought it belonged to an old Welsh family called Johnes."

"Well, so it did, your honour, but the family died away, and the
estate was put up for sale, and purchased by the Duke, who built a
fine house upon it, which he made his chief place of residence -
the old family house, I must tell your honour, in which the library
was, had been destroyed by fire. Well, he hadn't been long settled
there before he found me out and took wonderfully to me,
discoursing with me and consulting me about his farming and
improvements. Many is the pleasant chat and discourse I have had
with his Grace for hours and hours together, for his Grace had not
a bit of pride, at least he never showed any to me, though perhaps
the reason of that was that we were both north country people.
Lord! I would have laid down my life for his Grace and have done
anything but one which he once asked me to do. 'Greaves,' said the
Duke to me one day, 'I wish you would give up mining and become my
steward.' 'Sorry I can't oblige your Grace,' said I, 'but give up
mining I cannot. I will at any time give your Grace all the advice
I can about farming and such like, but give up mining I cannot;
because why? - I conceive mining to be the noblest business in the
'versal world.' Whereupon his Grace laughed, and said he dare say
I was right, and never mentioned the subject again."

"Was his Grace very fond of farming and improving?"

"Oh yes, your honour. Like all the great gentry, especially the
north country gentry, his Grace was wonderfully fond of farming and
improving; and a wonderful deal of good he did, reclaiming
thousands of acres of land which was before good for nothing, and
building capital farm-houses and offices for his tenants. His
grand feat, however, was bringing the Durham bull into this
country, which formed a capital cross with the Welsh cows. Pity
that he wasn't equally fortunate with the north country sheep."

"Did he try to introduce them into Wales?"

"Yes, but they didn't answer, as I knew they wouldn't. Says I to
the Duke: 'It won't do, your Grace, to bring the north country
sheep here: because why? the hills are too wet and cold for their
constitutions'; but his Grace, who had sometimes a will of his own,
persisted and brought the north country sheep to these parts, and
it turned out as I said - the sheep caught the disease, and the
wool parted and - "

"But," said I, "you should have told him about the salve made of
bran, butter and oil; you should have done that."

"Well, so I did, your honour. I told him about the salve, and the
Duke listened to me, and the salve was made by these very hands;
but when it was made, what do you think? the foolish Welsh wouldn't
put it on, saying that it was against their laws and statties and
religion to use it, and talked about Devil's salves and the Witch
of Endor, and the sin against the Holy Ghost, and such like
nonsense. So to prevent a regular rebellion, the Duke gave up the
salve, and the poor sheep pined away and died, till at last there
was not one left."

"Who holds the estate at present?" said I.

"Why, a great gentleman from Lancashire, your honour, who bought it
when the Duke died; but he doesn't take the same pleasure in it
which the Duke did, nor spend so much money about it, the
consequence being that everything looks very different from what it
looked in the Duke's time. The inn at the Devil's Bridge and the
grounds look very different from what they looked in the Duke's
time, for you must know that the inn and the grounds form part of
the Hafod estate, and are hired from the proprietor."

By this time we had arrived at a small village, with a toll-bar and
a small church or chapel at some little distance from the road,
which here made a turn nearly full south. The road was very good,
but the country was wild and rugged; there was a deep vale on the
right, at the bottom of which rolled the Rheidol in its cleft,
rising beyond which were steep, naked hills.

"This village," said my companion, "is called Ysbytty Cynfyn. Down
on the right, past the church, is a strange bridge across the