ll, no more than English, for
he see no reason. What business he on Tap Nyth with eagle? His business
down below in sty with pig. Ah, he look lump, but he no fool; know more
about pig than you or I, or any one 'twixt here and Mahuncleth."

He now asked me where I came from, and on my telling him from Bala, his
heart appeared to warm towards me, and saying that I must be tired, he
asked me to step in and drink buttermilk, but I declined his offer with
thanks, and bidding the two adieu, returned to the road.

I hurried along and soon reached a valley which abounded with trees and
grass; I crossed a bridge over a brook, not what the old man had called
the Dyfi, but the stream whose source I had seen high up the bwlch, and
presently came to a place where the two waters joined. Just below the
confluence on a fallen tree was seated a man decently dressed; his eyes
were fixed on the rushing stream. I stopped and spoke to him.

He had no English, but I found him a very sensible man. I talked to him
about the source of the Dyfi. He said it was a disputed point which was
the source. He himself was inclined to believe that it was the Pistyll
up the bwlch. I asked him of what religion he was. He said he was of
the Church of England, which was the Church of his father and his
grandfather, and which he believed to be the only true Church. I
inquired if it flourished. He said it did, but that it was dreadfully
persecuted by all classes of dissenters, who, though they were
continually quarrelling with one another, agreed in one thing, namely, to
persecute the Church. I asked him if he ever read. He said he read a
great deal, especially the works of Huw Morris, and that reading them had
given him a love for the sights of nature. He added that his greatest
delight was to come to the place where he then was of an evening, and
look at the waters and hills. I asked him what trade he was. "The trade
of Joseph," said he, smiling. "Saer." "Farewell, brother," said I; "I
am not a carpenter, but like you I read the works of Huw Morris and am of
the Church of England." I then shook him by the hand and departed.

I passed a village with a stupendous mountain just behind it to the
north, which I was told was called Moel Vrith or the party-coloured moel.
I was now drawing near to the western end of the valley. Scenery of the
wildest and most picturesque description was rife and plentiful to a
degree: hills were here, hills wer