Now our road wound round the side of a wooded hill, from which there was a fine view of the country; and in this wood I sought shelter from the sultry sun and rested there awhile for refreshment, when the birds began to sing for my special entertainment, for there was no one else for them to sing to, and the "Wind, that grand old harper," struck his harp of pines by my side and played a soft accompaniment. Reclining at ease on a mossy bank I smoked a fragrant pipe, well pleased with my wayside hostelry, my comfortable couch, and the music provided with my meal. "The outer world, from which we cower into our houses, seems after all a gentle habitable place," says Stevenson. Only at night in the summer time do I desire to "cower" into a house, and that for the convenience of it; indeed the only room I can suffer on a summer day is a library walled round with a goodly company of books, and with just a picture here and there of a pleasant landscape for my eyes, when in a lazy mood, to rest upon. On winter days, when the wild Nor'-easter blows and the rain and hail descend, I grant it is good to be indoors; then give me a seat in a good old-fashioned ingle-nook with a blazing wood fire upon the wide hearth before me, the sweet incense of it reminiscent of the forest. As Richard Jefferies says, "The wood gives out as it burns the sweetness it has imbibed through its leaves from the atmosphere which floats above grass and flowers."
Once more on the road we dropped down into a valley and soon came to the Severn again, here in its youth lashing and frolicking along—how good it is to be young and gay! So we followed the rejoicing river up to Newton, where I took the precaution of filling my petrol tank before making my dash across wild Wales. The man who sold me the petrol asked me where I was going—this, as he politely explained, in case he might give me any information as to the route. Such is the friendliness of the road. When I told him where I was bound, he exclaimed, "You've got a lovely drive before you, through the most beautiful scenery." I was glad to hear this, though I expected much of the country, and I was pleased to find that the vendor of petrol had a thought for the scenic charms around. He was not a mere vendor of petrol, though he courteously supplied it to a needful world.
Soon after leaving Newton we entered upon a pleasant valley, as pleasant a valley indeed as shapely hills, shady woods, and a sparkling river running through it could make a valley; an uncommercial clear-running river, for it turned no mill by its banks as far as I could see. Its only concern was to be beautiful, and after all that is no small concern. Clouds appear as devoted to the hills as a lover to his lass, and here we found the clouds prevailing over the blue sky, shadowing for a time the hills; then as the clouds passed over them, and a gleam of sunshine came, the hillsides would stand forth all in glowing colour, purple where the heather grew, glowing with gold where the gorse was in bloom, a yellow green on their grassy slopes, and a gleaming grey where the wet rocks showed. For the rich and varied colour of its landscapes I know no country to compare with Wales, though it has its dull days, of course, like most other lands.
So we drove on in contemplative enjoyment, and then we came to Carno, a tiny hamlet pleasantly placed on a crag above the voiceful river that would be heard as well as seen. I wish all Welsh villages had such easily spelt and such pronounceable names as Carno; for many a day and many a time, when I have been on the road in Wales, have I been unable to ask my way because I could not pronounce the names of places so that a Welshman could understand me. What can you make of a gathering of consonants, with only a stray vowel here and there amongst the lot? At Carno I espied a homely little inn, the "Aleppo Merchant," to wit, though what possible connection there could be between an Eastern merchant and this remote and tiny village I could not fathom. There I pulled up and called for a glass of ale as an excuse to take a glance at the interior of the old house in case it were answerable to its exterior, for some of these Welsh houses within are most picturesque; nor was I disappointed. There I caught sight of a low, brown-beamed, ceilinged room—I think it was the kitchen, for there was a fire in it though the day was warm, and above the fireplace, arranged in orderly array, were sundry old brass utensils, so brightly polished as to glow like gold; and mingled with these were some pewter pots that shone like silver, and how pleasant they were to look upon. For decorative effect there is nothing like blue and white china, and polished brass and pewter, and they are all as much at home in a mansion as in a cottage. Hanging from the beams I saw a goodly display of hams, no less than thirty-four in all, for I carefully counted them out of curiosity. "Home-cured," the maid who served me with my ale declared. I thought I would buy one, for home-cured hams are not easy to come by nowadays, and such a ham is a delicacy to be enjoyed. But they were not for sale; not even one of them would they spare me, though I did not haggle about the price. "We want them all for ourselves," explained the maid, and with that she went away to serve another customer. I thought to myself these Welsh country people do not fare so badly.
A BIT OF WILD WALES.
Some way beyond Carno we began to climb out of the valley and reached a wide moorland, encircled by misty mountains. A moorland waste enlivened only by the dreary gleams of peaty pools, but how buoyant and bracing were the breezes that blew over it! The air was inspiriting if the scene was not. From the moorland we descended steeply to the Tal valley with its tumbling river by our side making wild music as it dashed on its downward way. We were
Amongst a multitude of hills,
Crags, woodlands, waterfalls, and rills.