e there; some tall and sharp, others
huge and humpy; hills were on every side; only a slight opening to the
west seemed to present itself. "What a valley!" I exclaimed. But on
passing through the opening I found myself in another, wilder and
stranger, if possible. Full to the west was a long hill rising up like
the roof of a barn, an enormous round hill on its north-east side, and on
its south-east the tail of the range which I had long had on my
left--there were trees and groves and running waters, but all in deep
shadow, for night was now close at hand.

"What is the name of this place?" I shouted to a man on horseback, who
came dashing through a brook with a woman in a Welsh dress behind him.

"Aber Cowarch, Saxon!" said the man in a deep guttural voice, and lashing
his horse disappeared rapidly in the night.

"Aber Cywarch!" I cried, springing half a yard into the air. "Why,
that's the place where Ellis Wynn composed his immortal 'Sleeping Bard,'
the book which I translated in the blessed days of my youth. Oh, no
wonder that the 'Sleeping Bard' is a wild and wondrous work, seeing that
it was composed amidst the wild and wonderful scenes which I here
behold."

I proceeded onwards up an ascent; after some time I came to a bridge
across a stream, which a man told me was called Avon Gerres. It runs
into the Dyfi, coming down with a rushing sound from a wild vale to the
north-east between the huge barn-like hill and Moel Vrith. The barn-like
hill I was informed was called Pen Dyn. I soon reached Dinas Mawddwy,
which stands on the lower part of a high hill connected with the Pen Dyn.
Dinas, trough at one time a place of considerable importance, if we may
judge from its name, which signifies a fortified city, is at present
little more than a collection of filthy huts. But though a dirty squalid
place, I found it anything but silent and deserted. Fierce-looking,
red-haired men, who seemed as if they might be descendants of the
red-haired banditti of old, were staggering about, and sounds of drunken
revelry echoed from the huts. I subsequently learned that Dinas was the
head-quarters of miners, the neighbourhood abounding with mines both of
lead and stone. I was glad to leave it behind me. Mallwyd is to the
south of Dinas--the way to it is by a romantic gorge down which flows the
Royal Dyfi. As I proceeded along this gorge the moon rising above Moel
Vrith illumined my path. In about half-an-hour I found mys