第10章
SoJohnJonesandmyselfsetoffacrosstheBerwyntovisitthebirthplaceofthegreatpoetHuwMorris。WeascendedthemountainbyAlltPaddy。Themorningwasloweringandbeforewehadhalfgottothetopitbegantorain。JohnJoneswasinhisusualgoodspirits。Suddenlytakingmebythearmhetoldmetolooktotherightacrossthegorgetoawhitehouse，whichhepointedout。
"Whatisthereinthathouse？"saidI。
"Anauntofminelivesthere，"saidhe。
Havingfrequentlyheardhimcalloldwomenhisaunts，Isaid，"Everypooroldwomanintheneighbourhoodseemstobeyouraunt。"
"Thisisnopooroldwoman，"saidhe，"sheiscyfoethawgiawn，andonlylastweekshesentmeandmyfamilyapoundofbacon，whichwouldhavecostmesixpence—halfpenny，andaboutamonthagoameasureofwheat。"
Wepassedoverthetopofthemountain，anddescendingtheothersidereachedLlansanfraid，andstoppedatthepublic—housewherewehadbeenbefore，andcalledfortwoglassesofale。WhilstdrinkingouraleJonesaskedsomequestionsaboutHuwMorrisofthewomanwhoservedus；shesaidthathewasafamouspoet，andthatpeopleofhisbloodwereyetlivinguponthelandswhichhadbelongedtohimatPontyMeibion。Jonestoldherthathiscompanion，thegwrboneddig，meaningmyself，hadcomeinordertoseethebirth—placeofHuwMorris，andthatIwaswellacquaintedwithhisworks，havinggottenthembyheartinLloegr，whenaboy。
ThewomansaidthatnothingwouldgivehergreaterpleasurethantohearaSaisrecitepoetryofHuwMorris，whereuponIrecitedanumberofhislinesaddressedtotheGofDu，orblacksmith。Thewomanheldupherhands，andacarterwhowasinthekitchensomewhattheworseforliquor，shoutedapplause。Afteraskingafewquestionsastotheroadweweretotake，weleftthehouse，andinalittletimeenteredthevalleyofCeiriog。Thevalleyisverynarrow，hugehillsoverhangingitonbothsides，thoseontheeastsidelumpyandbare，thoseonthewestprecipitous，andpartiallycladwithwood；thetorrentCeiriogrunsdownit，clingingtotheeastside；theroadistolerablygood，andistothewestofthestream。Shortlyafterwehadenteredthegorge，wepassedbyasmallfarm—houseonourrighthand，withahawthornhedgebeforeit，uponwhichseemstostandapeacock，curiouslycutoutofthorn。PassingonwecametoaplacecalledPandyuchaf，orthehigherFullingmill。Theplacesocalledisacollectionofruinoushouses，whichputmeinmindoftheFullingmillsmentionedin"DonQuixote。"ItiscalledthePandybecausetherewasformerlyafullingmillhere，saidtohavebeenthefirstestablishedinWales；whichisstilltobeseen，butwhichisnolongerworked。Justabovetheoldmillthereisameetingofstreams，theTarwfromthewestrollsdownadarkvalleyintotheCeiriog。
AttheentranceofthisvalleyandjustbeforeyoureachthePandy，whichitnearlyoverhangs，isanenormouscrag。AfterIhadlookedattheplaceforsometimewithconsiderableinterestweproceededtowardsthesouth，andinabouttwentyminutesreachedaneatkindofhouse，onourrighthand，whichJohnJonestoldmestoodonthegroundofHuwMorris。Tellingmetowait，hewenttothehouse，andaskedsomequestions。AfteralittletimeIfollowedhimandfoundhimdiscoursingatthedoorwithastoutdameaboutfifty—
fiveyearsofage，andastoutbuxomdamselofaboutseventeen，veryshortofstature。
"Thisisthegentleman"saidhe，"whowishestoseeanythingtheremaybehereconnectedwithHuwMorris。"
Theolddamemademeacurtsey，andsaidinverydistinctWelsh，"Wehavesomethingsinthehousewhichbelongedtohim，andwewillshowthemtothegentlemanwillingly。"
"Wefirstofallwishtoseehischair，"saidJohnJones。
"Thechairisinawallinwhatiscalledthehenffordd（oldroad），"saidtheoldgentlewoman；"itiscutoutofthestonewall，youwillhavemaybesomedifficultyingettingtoit，butthegirlshallshowittoyou。"Thegirlnowmotionedtoustofollowher，andconductedusacrosstheroadtosomestonesteps，overawalltoaplacewhichlookedlikeaplantation。
"Thiswastheoldroad，"saidJones；"buttheplacehasbeenenclosed。Thenewroadisaboveusonourrighthandbeyondthewall。"
Wewereinamazeoftangledshrubs，theboughsofwhich，verywetfromtherainwhichwasstillfalling，struckourfaces，asweattemptedtomakeourwaybetweenthem；thegirlledtheway，bare—
headedandbare—armed，andsoonbroughtustothewall，theboundaryofthenewroad。Alongthisshewentwithconsiderabledifficulty，owingtothetangledshrubs，andthenatureoftheground，whichwasveryprecipitous，shelvingdowntotheothersideoftheenclosure。Inalittletimewewerewettotheskin，andcoveredwiththedirtofbirds，whichtheyhadleftwhileroostinginthetrees；onwentthegirl，sometimescreeping，andtryingtokeepherselffromfallingbyholdingagainsttheyoungtrees；onceortwiceshefellandweafterher，fortherewasnopath，andtheground，asIhavesaidbeforeveryshelvy；stillasshewenthereyesweredirectedtowardsthewall，whichwasnotalwaysveryeasytobeseen，forthorns，tallnettlesandshrubs，weregrowingupagainstit。Hereandthereshestopped，andsaidsomething，whichIcouldnotalwaysmakeout，forherWelshwasanythingbutclear；
atlengthIheardhersaythatshewasafraidwehadpassedthechair，andindeedpresentlywecametoaplacewheretheenclosureterminatedinasharpcorner。
"Letusgoback，"saidI；"wemusthavepassedit。"
Inowwentfirst，breakingdownwithmyweighttheshrubsnearesttothewall。
"Isnotthistheplace？"saidI，pointingtoakindofhollowinthewall，whichlookedsomethingliketheshapeofachair。
"Hardly，"saidthegirl，"forthereshouldbeaslabontheback，withletters，butthere’sneitherslabnorlettershere。"
Thegirlnowagainwentforward，andweretracedourway，doingthebestwecouldtodiscoverthechair，butalltonopurpose；nochairwastobefound。Wehadnowbeen，asIimagined，half—an—
hourintheenclosure，andhadnearlygotbacktotheplacefromwhichwehadsetout，whenwesuddenlyheardthevoiceoftheoldladyexclaiming，"Whatareyedoingthere，thechairisontheothersideofthefield；waitabit，andIwillcomeandshowityou；"gettingoverthestonestile，whichledintothewilderness，shecametous，andwenowwentalongthewallatthelowerend；wehadquiteasmuchdifficultyhereasontheotherside，andinsomeplacesmore，forthenettleswerehigher，theshrubsmoretangled，andthethornsmoreterrible。Theground，however，wasrathermorelevel。Ipitiedthepoorgirlwholedtheway，andwhosefatnakedarmswerebothstungandtorn。Sheatlaststoppedamidstahugegroveofnettles，doingthebestshecouldtoshelterherarmsfromthestingingleaves。
"Ineverwasinsuchawildernessinmylife，"saidItoJohnJones，"isitpossiblethatthechairofthemightyHuwisinaplacelikethis；whichseemsnevertohavebeentroddenbyhumanfoot。WelldoestheScripturesay’Dimprophwydywyncaelbarchyneidireihunan。’"
Thislastsentencetickledthefancyofmyworthyfriend，theCalvinistic—Methodist，helaughedaloudandrepeateditoverandoveragaintothefemales，withamplifications。
"Isthechairreallyhere，"saidI，"orhasitbeendestroyed？ifsuchathinghasbeendoneitisadisgracetoWales。"
"Thechairisreallyhere，"saidtheoldlady，"andthoughHuwMoruswasnoprophet，weloveandreverenceeverythingbelongingtohim。GetonLlances，thechaircan’tbefaroff；"thegirlmovedon，andpresentlytheoldladyexclaimed，"There’sthechair，DiolchiDuw！"
Iwasthelastofthefile，butInowrushedpastJohnJones，whowasbeforeme，andnexttotheoldlady，andsureenoughtherewasthechair，inthewall，ofhimwhowascalledinhisday，andstilliscalledbythemountaineersofWales，thoughhisbodyhasbeenbelowtheearthinthequietchurch—yardonehundredandfortyyears，EosCeiriog，theNightingaleofCeiriog，thesweetcarollerHuwMorus，theenthusiasticpartizanofCharlesandtheChurchofEngland，andthenever—tiringlampoonerofOliverandtheIndependents。Thereitwas，akindofhollowinthestonewall，inthehenffordd，frontingtothewest，justabovethegorgeatthebottomofwhichmurmursthebrookCeiriog，thereitwas，somethinglikeahalfbarrelchairinagarden，amoulderingstoneslabformingtheseat，andalargeslatestone，theback，onwhichwerecuttheseletters—
H。M。B。
signifyingHuwMorusBard。
"Sitdowninthechair，GwrBoneddig，"saidJohnJones，"youhavetakentroubleenoughtogettoit。"
"Do，gentleman，"saidtheoldlady；"butfirstletmewipeitwithmyapron，foritisverywetanddirty。"
"Letitbe，"saidI；thentakingoffmyhatIstooduncoveredbeforethechair，andsaidinthebestWelshIcouldcommand，"ShadeofHuwMorus，supposingyourshadehauntstheplacewhichyoulovedsowellwhenalive—aSaxon，oneoftheseedoftheCoilingSerpent，hascometothisplacetopaythatrespecttotruegenius，theDawnDuw，whichheiseverreadytopay。HereadthesongsoftheNightingaleofCeirioginthemostdistantpartofLloegr，whenhewasabrown—hairedboy，andnowthatheisagrey—
hairedmanheiscometosayinthisplacethattheyfrequentlymadehiseyesoverflowwithtearsofrapture。"
Ithensatdowninthechair，andcommencedrepeatingversesofHuwMorris。AllwhichIdidinthepresenceofthestoutoldlady，theshort，buxomandbare—armeddamsel，andofJohnJonestheCalvinisticweaverofLlangollen，allofwhomlistenedpatientlyandapprovingly，thoughtherainwaspouringdownuponthem，andthebranchesofthetreesandthetopsofthetallnettles，agitatedbythegustsfromthemountainhollows，werebeatingintheirfaces，forenthusiasmisneverscoffedatbythenoblesimple—minded，genuineWelsh，whatevertreatmentitmayreceivefromthecoarse—hearted，sensual，selfishSaxon。
Aftersometime，ourpartyreturnedtothehouse—whichputmeverymuchinmindofthefarm—housesofthesubstantialyeomenofCornwall，particularlythatofmyfriendsatPenquite；acomfortablefireblazedinthekitchengrate，thefloorwascomposedoflargeflagsofslate。Inthekitchentheoldladypointedtometheffon，orwalking—stick，ofHuwMorris；itwassupportedagainstabeambythreehooks；Itookitdownandwalkedaboutthekitchenwithit；itwasathinpolishedblackstick，withacromecutintheshapeofaneagle’shead；attheendwasabrassfence。Thekindcreaturethenproducedaswordwithoutascabbard；
thisswordwasfoundbyHuwMorrisonthemountain—itbelongedtooneofOliver’sofficerswhowaskilledthere。Itookthesword，whichwasathintwo—edgedone，andseemedtobemadeofverygoodsteel；itputmeinmindofthebladeswhichIhadseenatToledo—
theguardwasveryslightlikethoseofallrapiers，andthehiltthecommonold—fashionedEnglishofficer’shilt—therewasnorustontheblade，anditstilllookedadangeroussword。AmanlikeThistlewoodwouldhavewhippeditthroughhisadversaryinatwinkling。IaskedtheoldladyifHuwMorriswasborninthishouse；shesaidno，butalittlefartheronatPontyMeibion；shesaid，however，thatthegroundhadbelongedtohim，andthattheyhadsomeofhisbloodintheirveins。Ishookherbythehand，andgavethechubbybare—armeddamselashilling，pointingtothemarksofthenettlestingsonherfatbacon—likearms。Shelaughed，mademeacurtsey，andsaid："Llaweriawnodiolch。"
JohnJonesandIthenproceededtothehouseatPontyMeibion，wherewesawtwomen，oneturningagrind—stone，andtheotherholdinganadzetoit。WeaskedifwewereatthehouseofHuwMorris，andwhethertheycouldtellusanythingabouthim；theymadeusnoanswerbutproceededwiththeiroccupation；JohnJonesthensaidthattheGwrBoneddigwasveryfondoftheversesofHuwMorris，andhadcomeagreatwaytoseetheplacewherehewasborn。Thewheelnowceasedturning，andthemanwiththeadzeturnedhisfacefulluponme—hewasastern—looking，darkman，withblackhair，ofaboutforty；afteramomentortwohesaidthatifIchosetowalkintothehouseIshouldbewelcome。Hethenconductedusintothehouse，acommon—lookingstonetenement，andbadeusbeseated。IaskedhimifhewasadescendantofHuwMorus；hesaidhewas；Iaskedhimhisname，whichhesaidwasHuw—。"HaveyouanyofthemanuscriptsofHuwMorus？"saidI。
"None，"saidhe，"butIhaveoneoftheprintedcopiesofhisworks。"
Hethenwenttoadrawer，andtakingoutabook，putitintomyhand，andseatedhimselfinablunt，carelessmanner。ThebookwasthefirstvolumeofthecommonWrexhameditionofHuw’sworks；itwasmuchthumbed—IcommencedreadingaloudapiecewhichIhadmuchadmiredinmyboyhood。Iwentonforsometime，mymindquiteoccupiedwithmyreading；atlastliftingmyeyesIsawthemanstandingboltuprightbeforeme，likeasoldierofthedaysofmychildhood，duringthetimethattheadjutantreadprayers；hishatwasnolongeruponhishead，butontheground，andhiseyeswerereverentlyinclinedtothebook。Afterallwhatabeautifulthingitis，nottobe，buttohavebeenagenius。Closingthebook，I
askedhimwhetherHuwMorriswasborninthehousewherewewere，andreceivedforanswerthathewasbornaboutwherewestood，butthattheoldhousehadbeenpulleddown，andthatofallthepremisesonlyasmallout—housewascoevalwithHuwMorris。I
askedhimthenameofthehouse，andhesaidPontyMeibion。
"Butwhereisthebridge？"saidI。
"Thebridge，"hereplied，"iscloseby，overtheCeiriog。Ifyouwishtoseeit，youmustgodownyonfield，thehouseiscalledafterthebridge。"Biddinghimfarewell，wecrossedtheroadandgoingdownthefieldspeedilyarrivedatPontyMeibion。ThebridgeisasmallbridgeofonearchwhichcrossesthebrookCeiriog—itisbuiltofroughmoorstone；itismossy，broken，andlooksalmostinconceivablyold；thereisalittleparapettoitabouttwofeethigh。Ontheright—handsideitisshadedbyanash。Thebrookwhenweviewedit，thoughattimesaroaringtorrent，wasstealingalonggently，onbothsidesitisovergrownwithalders，noblehillsriseaboveittotheeastandwest，JohnJonestoldmethatitaboundedwithtrout。IaskedhimwhythebridgewascalledPontyMeibion，whichsignifiesthebridgeofthechildren。"Itwasbuiltoriginallybychildren，"saidhe，"forthepurposeofcrossingthebrook。"
"Thatbridge，"saidI，"wasneverbuiltbychildren。"
"Thefirstbridge，"saidhe，"wasofwood，andwasbuiltbythechildrenofthehousesabove。"
Notquitesatisfiedwithhisexplanation，Iaskedhimtowhatplacethelittlebridgeled，andwastoldthathebelieveditledtoanuplandfarm。Aftertakingalongandwistfulviewofthebridgeandthesceneryaroundit，IturnedmyheadinthedirectionofLlangollen。Theadventuresofthedaywere，however，notfinished。
CHAPTERXXI
TheGloomyValley—TheLonelyCottage—HappyComparison—Clogs—
TheAlderSwamp—TheWoodenLeg—TheMilitiaman—Death—bedVerses。
ONreachingtheruinedvillagewherethePandystoodIstopped，andlookedupthegloomyvalleytothewest，downwhichthebrookwhichjoinstheCeiriogatthisplace，descends，whereuponJohnJonessaid，thatifIwishedtogoupitalittlewayheshouldhavegreatpleasureinattendingme，andthatheshouldshowmeacottagebuiltinthehenddull，oroldfashion，towhichhefrequentlywenttoaskfortherent；hebeingemployedbyvariousindividualsinthecapacityofrent—gatherer。IsaidthatIwasafraidthatifhewasarent—collector，bothheandIshouldhaveasorrywelcome。"Nofear，"hereplied，"thepeopleareverygoodpeople，andpaytheirrentveryregularly，"andwithoutsayinganotherwordheledthewayupthevalley。Attheendofthevillage，seeingawomanstandingatthedoorofoneoftheruinouscottages，Iaskedherthenameofthebrook，ortorrent，whichcamedownthevalley。"TheTarw，"saidshe，"andthisvillageiscalledPandyTeirw。"
"Whyisthestreamletcalledthebull？"saidI。"IsitbecauseitcomesinwinterweatherroaringdowntheglenandbuttingattheCeiriog？"
Thewomanlaughed，andrepliedthatperhapsitwas。Thevalleywaswildandsolitarytoanextraordinarydegree，thebrookortorrentrunninginthemiddleofitcoveredwithaldertrees。Afterwehadproceededaboutafurlongwereachedthehouseoftheoldfashion—
itwasarudestonecottagestandingalittleabovetheroadonakindofplatformontheright—handsideoftheglen；therewasapalingbeforeitwithagate，atwhichapigwasscreaming，asifanxioustogetin。"Itwantsitsdinner，"saidJohnJones，andopenedthegateformetopass，takingprecautionsthatthescreamerdidnotenteratthesametime。Weenteredthecottage，verygladtogetintoit，astormofwindandrainhavingjustcomeon。Nobodywasinthekitchenwhenweentered，itlookedcomfortableenough，however，therewasanexcellentfireofwoodandcoals，andaverysnugchimneycorner。JohnJonescalledaloud，butforsometimenooneanswered；atlastarathergood—
lookingwoman，seeminglyaboutthirty，madeherappearanceatadooratthefartherendofthekitchen。"Isthemistressathome，"
saidJones，"orthemaster？"
"Theyareneitherathome，"saidthewoman，"themasterisabroadathiswork，andthemistressisatthefarm—houseof—threemilesofftopickfeathers（trwsioplu）。"Sheaskedustositdown。
"Andwhoareyou？"saidI。
"Iamonlyalodger，"saidshe，"Ilodgeherewithmyhusbandwhoisaclog—maker。"
"CanyouspeakEnglish？"saidI。
"Ohyes，"saidshe，"IlivedelevenyearsinEngland，ataplacecalledBolton，whereImarriedmyhusband，whoisanEnglishman。"
"CanhespeakWelsh？"saidI。
"Notaword，"saidshe。"WealwaysspeakEnglishtogether。"
JohnJonessatdown，andIlookedabouttheroom。Itexhibitednoappearanceofpoverty；therewasplentyofrudebutgoodfurnitureinit；severalpewterplatesandtrenchersinarack，twoorthreeprintsinframesagainstthewall，oneofwhichwasthelikenessofnolessapersonthantheRev。JosephSanders，onthetablewasanewspaper。"IsthatinWelsh？"saidI。
"No，"repliedthewoman，"itistheBOLTONCHRONICLE，myhusbandreadsit。"
Isatdowninthechimney—corner。Thewindwasnowhowlingabroad，andtherainwasbeatingagainstthecottagepanes—presentlyagustofwindcamedownthechimney，scatteringsparksallabout。
"Acataractofsparks！"saidI，usingthewordRhaiadr。
"WhatisRhaiadr？"saidthewoman；"Ineverheardthewordbefore。"
"Rhaiadrmeanswatertumblingoverarock，"saidJohnJones—"didyouneverseewatertumbleoverthetopofarock？"
"Frequently，"saidshe。
"Well，"saidhe，"evenasthewaterwithitsfrothtumblesovertherock，sodidsparksandfiretumbleoverthefrontofthatgratewhenthewindblewdownthechimney。ItwasahappycomparisonoftheGwrBoneddig，andwithrespecttoRhaiadritisagoodoldword，thoughnotacommonone；someoftheSaxonswhohavereadtheoldwritings，thoughtheycannotspeakthelanguageasfastaswe，understandmanywordsandthingswhichwedonot。"
"IforgotmuchofmyWelshinthelandoftheSaxons，"saidthewoman，"andsohavemanyothers；thereareplentyofWelshatBolton，buttheirWelshissadlycorrupted。"
Shethenwentoutandpresentlyreturnedwithaninfantinherarmsandsatdown。"WasthatchildborninWales？"Idemanded。
"No，"saidshe，"hewasbornatBolton，abouteighteenmonthsago—
wehavebeenhereonlyayear。"
"DomanyEnglish，"saidI，"marryWelshwives？"
"Agreatmany，"saidshe。"PlentyofWelshgirlsaremarriedtoEnglishmenatBolton。"
"DotheEnglishmenmakegoodhusbands？"saidI。
Thewomansmiledandpresentlysighed。
"Herhusband，"saidJones，"isfondofaglassofaleandisoftenatthepublic—house。"
"Imakenocomplaint，"saidthewoman，lookingsomewhatangrilyatJohnJones。
"Isyourhusbandatallbulkyman？"saidI。
"Justso，"saidthewoman。
"Thelargestofthetwomenwesawtheothernightatthepublic—
houseatLlansanfraid，"saidItoJohnJones。
"Idon’tknowhim，"saidJones，"thoughIhaveheardofhim，butI
havenodoubtthatwashe。"
Iaskedthewomanhowherhusbandcouldcarryonthetradeofaclog—makerinsucharemoteplace—andalsowhetherhehawkedhisclogsaboutthecountry。
"Wecallhimaclog—maker，"saidthewoman，"butthetruthisthathemerelycutsdownthewoodandfashionsitintosquares，thesearetakenbyanunder—masterwhosendsthemtothemanufactureratBolton，whoemployshands，whomakethemintoclogs。"
"SomeoftheEnglish，"saidJones，"aresopoorthattheycannotaffordtobuyshoes；apairofshoescosttenortwelveshillings，whereasapairofclogsonlycosttwo。"
"Isuppose，"saidI，"thatwhatyoucallclogsarewoodenshoes。"
"Justso，"saidJones—"theyareprincipallyusedintheneighbourhoodofManchester。"
"IhaveseenthematHuddersfield，"saidI，"whenIwasaboyatschoolthere；ofwhatwoodaretheymade？"
"Ofthegwern，oraldertree，"saidthewoman，"ofwhichthereisplentyonbothsidesofthebrook。"
JohnJonesnowaskedherifshecouldgivehimatamaidofbread；
shesaidshecould，"andsomebutterwithit。"
Shethenwentoutandpresentlyreturnedwithaloafandsomebutter。
"Hadyounotbetterwait，"saidI，"tillwegettotheinnatLlansanfraid？"
Thewoman，however，beggedhimtoeatsomebreadandbutterwherehewas，andcuttingaplateful，placeditbeforehim，havingfirstofferedmesomewhichIdeclined。
"Butyouhavenothingtodrinkwithit，"saidItohim。
"Ifyouplease，"saidthewoman，"Iwillgoforapintofaletothepublic—houseatthePandy，thereisbetteraletherethanattheinnatLlansanfraid。WhenmyhusbandgoestoLlansanfraidhegoeslessforthealethanfortheconversation，becausethereislittleEnglishspokenatthePandyhowevergoodtheale。"
JohnJonessaidhewantednoale—andattackingthebreadandbutterspeedilymadeanendofit；bythetimehehaddonethestormwasover，andgettingupIgavethechildtwopence，andleftthecottagewithJones。Weproceededsomewayfartherupthevalley，tillwecametoaplacewherethegrounddescendedalittle。HereJonestouchingmeontheshoulderpointedacrossthestream。Followingwithmyeyethedirectionofhisfinger，Isawtwoorthreesmallshedswithanumberofsmallreddishblocksinregularpilesbeneaththem。Severaltreesfelledfromthesideofthetorrentwerelyingnear，someofthemstrippedoftheirarmsandbark。Asmalltreeformedabridgeacrossthebrooktothesheds。
"Itisthere，"saidJohnJones，"thatthehusbandofthewomanwithwhomwehavebeenspeakingworks，fellingtreesfromthealderswampandcuttingthemupintoblocks。Iseethereisnoworkgoingonatpresentorwewouldgoover—thewomantoldmethatherhusbandwasatLlangollen。"
"Whatastrangeplacetocometoworkat，"saidI，"outofcrowdedEngland。Hereisnothingtobeheardbutthemurmuringofwatersandtherushingofwinddownthegulleys。Iftheman’sheadisnotfullofpoeticalfancies，whichIsupposeitisnot，asinthatcasehewouldbeunfitforanyusefulemployment，Idon’twonderathisoccasionallygoingtothepublic—house。"
Aftergoingalittlefurtheruptheglenandobservingnothingmoreremarkablethanwehadseenalready，weturnedback。BeingovertakenbyanotherviolentshowerjustaswereachedthePandyI
thoughtthatwecoulddonobetterthanshelterourselveswithinthepublic—house，andtastetheale，whichthewifeoftheclog—
makerhadpraised。Weenteredthelittlehostelrywhichwasoneoftwoorthreeshabby—lookinghouses，standingincontact，closebytheCeiriog。Inakindoflittlebackroom，lightedbyagoodfireandawindowwhichlookeduptheCeiriogvalley，wefoundthelandlady，agentlewomanwithawoodenleg，whoonperceivingmegotupfromachair，andmademethebestcurtseythatIeversawmadebyafemalewithsuchasubstituteforalegoffleshandbone。
Therewerethreemen，sittingwithjugsofalenearthemonatablebythefire，twowereseatedonabenchbythewall，andtheotheronasettlewithahighback，whichranfromthewalljustbythedoor，andshieldedthosebythefirefromthedraughtsofthedoorway。Heofthesettlenosoonerbeheldmethanhesprangup，andplacingachairformebythefirebademeinEnglishbeseated，andthenresumedhisownseat。JohnJonessoonfindingachaircameandsatdownbyme，whenIforthwithcalledforaquartofcwrwda。Thelandladybustledaboutonherwoodenlegandpresentlybroughtusthealewithtwoglasses，whichIfilled，andtakingonedranktothehealthofthecompanywhoreturnedusthanks，themanofthesettleinEnglishratherbroken。Presentlyoneofhiscompanionsgettinguppaidhisreckoninganddeparted，theotherremained，astoutyoungfellowdressedsomethinglikeastone—mason，whichindeedIsoondiscoveredthathewas—hewasfaradvancedtowardsastateofintoxicationandtalkedveryincoherentlyaboutthewar，sayingthathehopeditwouldsoonterminate，forthatifitcontinuedhewasafraidhemightstandachanceofbeingshot，ashewasaprivateintheDenbighshireMilitia。ItoldhimthatitwasthedutyofeverygentlemaninthemilitiatobewillingatalltimestolaydownhislifeintheserviceoftheQueen。TheanswerwhichhemadeIcouldnotexactlyunderstand，hisutterancebeingveryindistinctandbroken；itwas，however，madewithsomedegreeofviolence，withtwoorthreeMynDiawls，andablowonthetablewithhisclenchedfist。HethenaskedmewhetherIthoughtthemilitiawouldbeagaincalledout。
"Nothingmoreprobable，"saidI。