Leaving the village of the harvest sermon, I proceeded on my way, which lay to the south-east. I was now drawing nigh to the mountainous district of Eryri—a noble hill called Mount Eilio appeared before me to the north; an immense mountain called Pen Drws Coed lay over against it on the south, just like a couchant elephant, with its head lower than the top of its back. After a time, I entered a most beautiful sunny valley, and presently came to a bridge over a pleasant stream running in the direction of the south. As I stood upon that bridge, I almost fancied myself in paradise; everything looked so beautiful or grand—green, sunny meadows lay all around me, intersected by the brook, the waters of which ran with tinkling laughter over a shingley bottom. Noble Eilio to the north; enormous Pen Drws Coed to the south; a tall mountain far beyond them to the east. “I never was in such a lovely spot!” I cried to myself in a perfect rapture. “O, how glad I should be to learn the name of this bridge, standing on which I have had ‘heaven opened to me,’ as my old friends the Spaniards used to say.” Scarcely had I said these words, when I observed a man and a woman coming towards the bridge from the direction in which I was bound. I hastened to meet them, in the hope of obtaining information; they were both rather young, and were probably a couple of sweethearts taking a walk, or returning from meeting. The woman was a few steps in advance of the man; seeing that I was about to address her, she averted her head and quickened her steps, and before I had completed the question, which I put to her in Welsh, she had bolted past me screaming, “Ah Dim Saesneg,” and was several yards distant.
I then addressed myself to the man, who had stopped, asking him the name of the bridge.
“Pont Bettws,” he replied.
“And what may be the name of the river?” said I.
“Afon — something,” said he.
And on my thanking him, he went forward to the woman, who was waiting for him by the bridge.
“Is that man Welsh or English?” I heard her say when he had rejoined her.
“I don’t know,” said the man—“he was civil enough; why were you such a fool?”
“O, I thought he would speak to me in English,” said the woman, “and the thought of that horrid English puts me into such a flutter; you know I can’t speak a word of it.”
They proceeded on their way, and I proceeded on mine, and presently coming to a little inn on the left side of the way, at the entrance of a village, I went in.