I laughed at his conceit, and replied in the affirmative.
“Oh! that belongs to Mr. Jones, and is called Llandysilio Hall—a very worthy man. This glen, sir, has been the scene of many sanguinary conflicts.”
Here he struck up “The Battle of Prague,” and we marched on for about a mile further, when he suddenly stopped short before a small public house, upon the road side.
“I have an idea,” said he, “that a small drop of brandy, mixed with a little mulled ale, sugar and nutmeg, would make us get over the next four miles—prestissimo—eh? Con spirito, um?”
I agreed to the con spirito, but assured him a moderato movement would suit my inclination better for the remainder of the walk to Corwen. He then led the way into the house; and certainly, of all the comforts a tourist can experience, that of seeing a neatly sanded room, with shining oaken seats and tables, walls white as snow, pans and pots glittering in well ordered arrangement against them, a fine polished kitchen range enclosing a good fire, and a smiling, civil, hospitable hostess anxious to attend your commands, however trifling they may be, is the most desirable. I never saw any country where so much attention is paid to the cleanliness of the interior of their cottages, if I except Holland, and in this respect the peasantry resemble each other.
Having despatched this agreeable beverage, we resumed our walk, and in about ten minutes, the rain, which had long been threatening us, fell in torrents, and we resembled a couple of half drowned rats as we faced the storm.
My companion, with a half-comic and half melancholy cast of countenance, observed, “I declare, I can hardly make my instrument speak, although I have got a natural shake in my voice, as you may hear. Very cold, sir; isn’t it? Look yonder,” continued he, pointing to a clump of fir trees. “There, sir, once stood the celebrated wooden house, attached to the mansion of that mighty warrior and magician who could
“Call spirits from the vasty deep—”
for the purpose of lodging the guests. The mansion stood upon our left, and was formerly of grand dimensions, they say; though now alas! not a vestige of it remains. The site of the visitor’s lodging rooms commands a fine prospect of the valley. Perhaps you would like to walk up to it?”
“Certainly;” and, accordingly, we jumped over a stile and climbed to the summit of the mound, from which a glorious view of the valley was obtained. Upon reaching the top, the traveller is surprised to find, that what he looked upon as a mere mound, when viewed from the road, assumes the form of a tremendous precipice as he looks down upon the dark waters of the Dee, (which wind around its base), and glances over the fertile valley stretched far beneath, where Glyndwr vanquished the oppressor Grey. I had fallen into a reverie, from which I was awakened by the shrill sounds of the musician’s fife stick, which startled me with its discordant notes, and brought me back from the fourteenth century to the nineteenth, with a celerity far from pleasing.