“Dear me!” thought I to myself as I walked away, “that I should once in my days have found shepherd life something as poets have represented it!”
I saw a mighty mountain at a considerable distance on the right, the same I believe which I had noted some hours before. I inquired of my guide whether it was Plynlimmon.
“O no!” said he, “that is Gaverse; Pumlimmon is to the left.”
“Plynlimmon is a famed hill,” said I; “I suppose it is very high.”
“Yes!” said he, “it is high, but it is not famed because it is high, but because the three grand rivers of the world issue from its breast; the Hafren, the Rheidol, and the Gwy.”
Night was now coming rapidly on, attended with a drizzling rain. I inquired if we were far from Pont Erwyd. “About a mile,” said my guide; “we shall soon be there.” We quickened our pace. After a little time he asked me if I was going farther than Pont Erwyd.
“I am bound for the bridge of the evil man,” said I; “but I dare say I shall stop at Pont Erwyd tonight.”
“You will do right,” said he; “it is only three miles from Pont Erwydd to the bridge of the evil man, but I think we shall have a stormy night.”
“When I get to Pont Erwyd,” said I, “how far shall I be from South Wales?”
“From South Wales!” said he; “you are in South Wales now; you passed the Terfyn of North Wales a quarter of an hour ago.”