“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.