" said he, "frequently."

"How odd," thought I to myself, "that I should have stumbled all of a
sudden upon the country of my old friend Lewis Glyn Cothi, the greatest
poet after Ab Gwilym of all Wales!"

"Is Cothi a river?" said I to my companion.

"It is," said he.

Presently we came to a bridge over a small river.

"Is this river the Cothi?" said I.

"No," said he, "this is the Twrch; the bridge is called Pont y Twrch."

"The bridge of Twrch or the hog," said I to myself; "there is a bridge of
the same name in the Scottish Highlands, not far from the pass of the
Trossachs. I wonder whether it has its name from the same cause as this,
namely, from passing over a river called the Twrch or Torck, which word
in Gaelic signifies boar or hog even as it does in Welsh." It had now
become nearly dark. After proceeding some way farther I asked the groom
if we were far from the inn of the "Pump Saint."

"Close by," said he, and presently pointing to a large building on the
right-hand side he said: "This is the inn of the 'Pump Saint,' sir. Nos
Da'chi!"

CHAPTER XCVI

"Pump Saint"--Pleasant Residence--The Watery Coom--Philological
Fact--Evening Service--Meditation.

I entered the inn of the "Pump Saint." It was a comfortable
old-fashioned place, with a very large kitchen and a rather small
parlour. The people were kind and attentive, and soon set before me in
the parlour a homely but savoury supper, and a foaming tankard of ale.
After supper I went into the kitchen, and sitting down with the good
folks in an immense chimney-corner, listened to them talking in their
Carmarthenshire dialect till it was time to go to rest, when I was
conducted to a large chamber where I found an excellent and clean bed
awaiting me, in which I enjoyed a refreshing sleep, occasionally visited
by dreams in which some of the scenes of the preceding day again appeared
before me, but in an indistinct and misty manner.

Awaking in the very depth of the night I thought I heard the murmuring of
a river; I listened and soon found that I had not been deceived. "I
wonder whether that river is the Cothi," said I, "the stream of the
immortal Lewis. I will suppose that it is"--and rendered quite happy by
the idea, I soon fell asleep again.

I arose about eight and went out to look about me. The village consists
of little more than half-a-dozen houses. The name "Pump Saint" signifies
"Five Saints." Why the place is called so I kn