THE VALE OF DRWSTYNRNT,
where, to my great satisfaction, the car stopped at the sign of the Welsh Prince, a distance of ten miles from Bala, and eight from Dolgelly. Being thoroughly tired with my ride, I thought I would endeavour to obtain the proper use of my limbs, and rest myself by walking the remainder of the journey. Dismissing the car, therefore, and strapping my knapsack to my shoulders, I once more took the road.
About a mile beyond the Welsh Prince, the valley becomes truly beautiful. Waving woods adorn the mountains upon either side. The Wnion here begins to be an important stream; and, though in its course towards Dolgelly it is swelled by numerous mountain tributaries into a broad river, the trees upon its banks form an impenetrable screen, which conceal it from the traveller, and its hoarse murmur, as it dashes over the rocks that vainly endeavour to intercept its way, alone remind him of its vicinity. At length, I arrived at a spot, where a road leads over a bridge to the opposite side of the river. Thinking this would be a proper place to see the Wnion to advantage, I advanced to the centre of the bridge. The effect is beautiful; hanging woods adorn the banks of the stream, lofty ash trees, (around the trunks of which the ivy winds itself in snakelike folds, feeding upon the tree that supports it), spread their proud heads above, and form a pleasing shade, while below the river roars, as it is precipitated beneath the arch in two large falls, that form a deep pool on the opposite side.
“It was in that pool,” said a voice at my shoulder, “that Hugh Evans first saw the fairy.” Upon turning round, I saw an old man, much bent with age, knitting hose.
“What fairy, my good man?” said I, “and who was Hugh Evans?”
“Ah! you are a stranger here, sir. Why, it’s a tale my grandfather used to tell me, of a lad, who worked with him in the fields yonder.”