Royal Dyfi, to Mallwyd, where I spent the night.

Next morning I descended the valley of the Dyfi to Machynlleth, a
thoroughly Welsh town situated among pleasant green meadows. At
Machynlleth, in 1402, Owen Glendower held a parliament, and was formally
crowned King of Wales. To Machynlleth came Dafydd Gam, with the view of
assassinating Owen, who, however, had him seized and conducted in chains
to a prison in the mountains of Sycharth.

On November 2, I left Machynlleth by a steep hill to the south, whence
there is a fine view of the Dyfi valley, and set out for the Devil's
Bridge. The road was at first exceedingly good, and the scenery
beautiful. Afterwards I had to pass over very broken ground, and the
people of whom I asked my way were Saxon-haters and uncivil. Night was
coming on fast when I reached the inn of Pont Erwyd.

Next day I went on to the Devil's Bridge in the agreeable company of a
Durham mining captain, who had come to this country thirty-five years
before to help in opening Wales--that is, by mining in Wales in the
proper fashion, which means the North-country fashion. Arrived at the
Devil's Bridge, I viewed its magnificent scenery, and especially
observed the cave of the Wicked Children, the mysterious Plant de Bat,
sons of Bat or Bartholomew, who concealed themselves in this recess and
plundered the neighbourhood. Finally, they fell upon a great gentleman
on the roads by night, and not only robbed, but murdered him. "That job
was the ruin of Plant de Bat," an old postman told me, "for the great
gentleman's friends hunted after his murderers with dogs, and at length
came to the cave, and, going in, found it stocked with riches, and the
Plant de Bat sitting upon the riches, not only the boys, but their
sister, who was as bad as themselves. So they took out the riches and
the Plant de Bat, and the riches they did give to churches and
hospitals, and the Plant de Bat they did execute, hanging the boys, and
burning the girl."

After a visit to the Minister's Bridge, not far distant, a place very
wild and savage, but not comparable in sublimity with the Devil's
Bridge, I determined to ascend the celebrated mountain of Plynlimmon,
where arise the rivers Rheidol, Severn and Wye. I caused my guide to
lead me to the sources of each of the three rivers. That of the Rheidol
is a small, beautiful lake, overhung on two sides by frightful crags.
The source of the Severn is a little pool some twenty inches long,
c