you please, sir, we will return by the
old bridge, which leads across the Dee in the bottom of the vale." He
then led me by a romantic road to a bridge on the west of the aqueduct,
and far below. It seemed very ancient. "This is the old bridge, sir,"
said my guide; "it was built a hundred years before the Pont y Cysswllt
was dreamt of." We now walked to the west, in the direction of
Llangollen, along the bank of the river. Presently we arrived where the
river, after making a bend, formed a pool. It was shaded by lofty trees,
and to all appearance was exceedingly deep. I stopped to look at it, for
I was struck with its gloomy horror. "That pool, sir," said John Jones,
"is called Llyn y Meddwyn, the drunkard's pool. It is called so, sir,
because a drunken man once fell into it, and was drowned. There is no
deeper pool in the Dee, sir, save one, a little below Llangollen, which
is called the pool of Catherine Lingo. A girl of that name fell into it,
whilst gathering sticks on the high bank above it. She was drowned, and
the pool was named after her. I never look at either without shuddering,
thinking how certainly I should be drowned if I fell in, for I cannot
swim, sir."

"You should have learnt to swim when you were young," said I, "and to
dive too. I know one who has brought up stones from the bottom, I
daresay, of deeper pools than either, but he was a Saxon, and at carnal
things, you know, none so clebber as the Saxons."

I found my guide a first-rate walker and a good botanist, knowing the
names of all the plants and trees in Welsh. By the time we returned to
Llangollen I had formed a very high opinion of him, in which I was
subsequently confirmed by what I saw of him during the period of our
acquaintance, which was of some duration. He was very honest,
disinterested, and exceedingly good-humoured. It is true, he had his
little skits occasionally at the Church, and showed some marks of
hostility to the church cat, more especially when he saw it mounted on my
shoulders; for the creature soon began to take liberties, and in less
than a week after my arrival at the cottage, generally mounted on my
back, when it saw me reading or writing, for the sake of the warmth. But
setting aside those same skits at the Church, and that dislike of the
church cat, venial trifles after all, and easily to be accounted for, on
the score of his religious education, I found nothing to blame, and much
to admire, in John