ound myself in the heart of a romantic winding dell,
overhung with trees of various kinds, which a tall man whom I met told me
was called Cwm Dwr Llanwrda, or the Watery Coom of Llanwrda; and well
might it be called the Watery Coom, for there were several bridges in it,
two within a few hundred yards of each other. The same man told me that
the war was going on very badly, that our soldiers were suffering much,
and that the snow was two feet deep at Sebastopol.

Passing through Llanwrda, a pretty village with a singular-looking
church, close to which stood an enormous yew, I entered a valley which I
learned was the valley of the Towey. I directed my course to the north,
having the river on my right, which runs towards the south in a spacious
bed, which, however, except in times of flood, it scarcely half fills.
Beautiful hills were on other side, partly cultivated, partly covered
with wood, and here and there dotted with farm-houses and gentlemen's
seats; green pastures which descended nearly to the river occupying in
general the lower parts. After journeying about four miles amid this
kind of scenery I came to a noble suspension bridge, and crossing it
found myself in about a quarter of an hour at Llandovery.

It was about half-past two when I arrived. I put up at the Castle Inn
and forthwith ordered dinner, which was served up between four and five.
During dinner I was waited upon by a strange old fellow who spoke Welsh
and English with equal fluency.

"What countryman are you?" said I.

"An Englishman," he replied.

"From what part of England?"

"From Herefordshire."

"Have you been long here?"

"Oh yes! upwards of twenty years."

"How came you to learn Welsh?"

"Oh, I took to it and soon picked it up."

"Can you read it?" said I.

"No, I can't."

"Can you read English?"

"Yes, I can; that is, a little."

"Why didn't you try to learn to read Welsh?"

"Well, I did; but I could make no hand of it. It's one thing to speak
Welsh and another to read it."

"I can read Welsh much better than I can speak it," said I.

"Ah, you are a gentleman--gentlefolks always find it easier to learn to
read a foreign lingo than to speak it, but it's quite the contrary with
we poor folks."

"One of the most profound truths ever uttered connected with language,"
said I to myself. I asked him if there were many Church of England
people in Llandovery.

"A good many," he replied.

"Do you belong to the Church