Myself. Why not?
“Why? Because you can see plenty of fountains nearer home.”
Myself. But this is a well.
“Yes; a well to be sure. But don’t the waters of all rivers come from wells?”
Myself. Of course they do. But it requires a hundred wells to make up the Severn, the Wye, and the Ithon, but here is a large river from one well, one spring. I’ll certainly go one of these days and see it.
Many, many years, however, came, and passed away, before the design I then formed was carried out.
* * * * *
My first visit to Holywell, or Treffynnon, took place just about the close of the Crimean War. I arrived in the town late one evening in mid winter, but as the night was extremely dark, while the rain descended in torrents, I refrained from leaving my hotel, the name of which I do not at present remember. It was then the principal inn of the town, with a first rate bill of fare.
Being a private gentleman, and therefore debarred from joining the commercials, breakfast was prepared for me in a snug little parlour which was generally used by the landlady as her private sitting-room. Before I had taken my seat at the breakfast, the waitress came into the room, all smiles, and asked me if I had any objection to a gentleman joining me at the morning meal.
“Who is the gentleman?” I asked the waitress.