“And where did he live?”
“Why, I believe, he lived at the castle, which you told me once stood on the spot which you pointed out as we came up. At any rate, he lived somewhere upon Plynlimmon.”
“I wish there was some such rich gentleman at present living on Plynlimmon,” said my guide; “one of that sort is much wanted.”
“You can’t have everything at the same time,” said I: “formerly you had a chieftain who gave away wine and mead, and occasionally a bit of gold or silver, but then no travellers and tourists came to see the wonders of the hills, for at that time nobody cared anything about hills; at present you have no chieftain, but plenty of visitors who come to see the hills and the sources and scatter plenty of gold about the neighbourhood.”
We now bent our steps homeward, bearing slightly to the north, going over hills and dales covered with gorse and ling. My guide walked with a calm and deliberate gait, yet I had considerable difficulty in keeping up with him. There was, however, nothing surprising in this; he was a shepherd walking on his own hill, and having first-rate wind, and knowing every inch of the ground, made great way without seeming to be in the slightest hurry: I would not advise a road-walker, even if he be a first-rate one, to attempt to compete with a shepherd on his own, or indeed any hill; should he do so, the conceit would soon be taken out of him.
After a little time we saw a rivulet running from the west.
“This ffrwd,” said my guide, “is called Frennig. It here divides shire Trefaldwyn from Cardiganshire, one in North and the other in South Wales.”
Shortly afterwards we came to a hillock of rather a singular shape.
“This place, sir,” said he, “is called Eisteddfa.”
“Why is it called so?” said I. “Eisteddfa means the place where people sit down.”