Mingled with gold shall silver pour."

"Nice pennillion, sir, I daresay," said my guide, "provided a person
could understand them. What's meant by all this mead, wine, gold, and
silver?"

"Why," said I, "the bard meant to say that Plynlimmon, by means of its
three channels, sends blessings and wealth in three different directions
to distant places, and that the person whom he came to visit, and who
lived on Plynlimmon, distributed his bounty in three different ways,
giving mead to thousands at his banquets, wine from the vineyards of
Gascony to the sick and feeble of the neighbourhood, and gold and silver
to those who were willing to be tipped, amongst whom no doubt was
himself, as poets have never been above receiving a present."

"Nor above asking for one, your honour; there's a prydydd in this
neighbourhood who will never lose a shilling for want of asking for it.
Now, sir, have the kindness to tell me the name of the man who made those
pennillion."

"Lewis Glyn Cothi," said I; "at least, it was he who made the pennillion
from which those verses are translated."

"And what was the name of the gentleman whom he came to visit?"

"His name," said I, "was Dafydd ab Thomas Vychan."

"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 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