on towards the east I soon drew near the termination of
the valley. The valley terminates in a deep gorge or pass between Mount
Eilio--which by-the-bye is part of the chine of Snowdon--and Pen Drws
Coed. The latter, that couchant elephant with its head turned to the
north-east, seems as if it wished to bar the pass with its trunk; by its
trunk I mean a kind of jaggy ridge which descends down to the road. I
entered the gorge, passing near a little waterfall which with much noise
runs down the precipitous side of Mount Eilio; presently I came to a
little mill by the side of a brook running towards the east. I asked the
miller-woman, who was standing near the mill, with her head turned
towards the setting sun, the name of the mill and the stream. "The mill
is called 'The mill of the river of Lake Cwellyn,'" said she, "and the
river is called the river of Lake Cwellyn."

"And who owns the land?" said I.

"Sir Richard," said she. "I Sir Richard yw yn perthyn y tir. Mr
Williams, however, possesses some part of Mount Eilio."

"And who is Mr Williams?" said I.

"Who is Mr Williams?" said the miller's wife. "Ho, ho! what a stranger
you must be to ask me who is Mr Williams."

I smiled and passed on. The mill was below the level of the road, and
its wheel was turned by the water of a little conduit supplied by the
brook at some distance above the mill. I had observed similar conduits
employed for similar purposes in Cornwall. A little below the mill was a
weir, and a little below the weir the river ran frothing past the extreme
end of the elephant's snout. Following the course of the river I at last
emerged with it from the pass into a valley surrounded by enormous
mountains. Extending along it from west to east, and occupying its
entire southern part lay an oblong piece of water, into which the
streamlet of the pass discharged itself. This was one of the many
beautiful lakes, which a few days before I had seen from the Wyddfa. As
for the Wyddfa I now beheld it high above me in the north-east looking
very grand indeed, shining like a silver helmet whilst catching the
glories of the setting sun.

I proceeded slowly along the road, the lake below me on my right hand,
whilst the shelvy side of Snowdon rose above me on the left. The evening
was calm and still, and no noise came upon my ear save the sound of a
cascade falling into the lake from a black mountain, which frowned above
it on the south, and cast a gloo