ed in our place."

"He lived in a place called Sycharth?" said I.

"Well, sir; and we of the place call it Sycharth as often as Sychnant;
nay, oftener."

"Is his house standing?"

"It is not; but the hill on which it stood is still standing."

"Is it a high hill?"

"It is not; it is a small, light hill."

"A light hill!" said I to myself. "Old Iolo Goch, Owen Glendower's bard,
said the chieftain dwelt in a house on a light hill.

"'There dwells the chief we all extol
In timber house on lightsome knoll.'

"Is there a little river near it," said I to the cook, "a ffrwd?"

"There is; it runs just under the hill."

"Is there a mill upon the ffrwd?"

"There is not; that is, now--but there was in the old time; a factory of
woollen stands now where the mill once stood."

"'A mill a rushing brook upon
And pigeon tower fram'd of stone.'

"So says Iolo Goch," said I to myself, "in his description of Sycharth; I
am on the right road."

I asked the cook to whom the property of Sycharth belonged and was told
of course to Sir Watkin, who appears to be the Marquis of Denbighshire.
After a few more questions I thanked her and told her she might go. I
then finished my breakfast, paid my bill, and after telling the landlady
that I should return at night, started for Llangedwin and Sycharth.

A broad and excellent road led along the valley in the direction in which
I was proceeding.

The valley was beautiful and dotted with various farm-houses, and the
land appeared to be in as high a state of cultivation as the soil of my
own Norfolk, that county so deservedly celebrated for its agriculture.
The eastern side is bounded by lofty hills, and towards the north the
vale is crossed by three rugged elevations, the middlemost of which,
called, as an old man told me, Bryn Dinas, terminates to the west in an
exceedingly high and picturesque crag.

After an hour's walking I overtook two people, a man and a woman laden
with baskets which hung around them on every side. The man was a young
fellow of about eight-and-twenty, with a round face, fair flaxen hair,
and rings in his ears; the female was a blooming buxom lass of about
eighteen. After giving them the sele of the day I asked them if they
were English.

"Aye, aye, master," said the man; "we are English."

"Where do you come from?" said I.

"From Wrexham," said the man.

"I thought Wrexham was in Wales," said

"If it be," said the man, "the peop