at the top he halted and said: "Now, master, I have conducted
you to the source of the Severn. I have considered the matter deeply,
and have come to the conclusion that here, and here only, is the true
source. Therefore stoop down and drink, in full confidence that you are
taking possession of the Holy Severn."

The source of the Severn is a little pool of water some twenty inches
long, six wide, and about three deep. It is covered at the bottom with
small stones, from between which the water gushes up. It is on the
left-hand side of the nant, as you ascend, close by the very top. An
unsightly heap of black turf-earth stands right above it to the north.
Turf-heaps, both large and small, are in abundance in the vicinity.

After taking possession of the Severn by drinking at its source, rather a
shabby source for so noble a stream, I said, "Now let us go to the
fountain of the Wye."

"A quarter of an hour will take us to it, your honour," said the guide,
leading the way.

The source of the Wye, which is a little pool, not much larger than that
which constitutes the fountain of the Severn, stands near the top of a
grassy hill which forms part of the Great Plynlimmon. The stream after
leaving its source runs down the hill towards the east, and then takes a
turn to the south. The Mountains of the Severn and the Wye are in close
proximity to each other. That of the Rheidol stands somewhat apart front
both, as if, proud of its own beauty, it disdained the other two for
their homeliness. All three are contained within the compass of a mile.

"And now, I suppose, sir, that our work is done, and we may go back to
where we came from," said my guide, as I stood on the grassy hill after
drinking copiously of the fountain of the Wye.

"We may," said I; "but before we do I must repeat some lines made by a
man who visited these sources, and experienced the hospitality of a
chieftain in this neighbourhood four hundred years ago." Then taking off
my hat, I lifted up my voice and sang:--

"From high Plynlimmon's shaggy side
Three streams in three directions glide;
To thousands at their mouths who tarry
Honey, gold and mead they carry.
Flow also from Plynlimmon high
Three streams of generosity;
The first, a noble stream indeed,
Like rills of Mona runs with mead;
The second bears from vineyards thick
Wine to the feeble and the sick;
The third, till time shall be no more,