She
told me there was not, but that she thought she could procure me one. In
a little time she brought me a newspaper, which she said she had borrowed
at the parsonage. It was the _Cumro_, an excellent Welsh journal written
in the interest of the Church. In perusing its columns I passed a couple
of hours very agreeably, and then went to bed.

CHAPTER LXXVI

Mallwyd and its Church--Sons of Shoemakers--Village Inn--Dottings.

The next day was the thirty-first of October, and was rather fine for the
season. As I did not intend to journey farther this day than
Machynlleth, a principal town in Montgomeryshire, distant only twelve
miles, I did not start from Mallwyd till just before noon.

Mallwyd is a small but pretty village. The church is a long edifice
standing on a slight elevation on the left of the road. Its pulpit is
illustrious from having for many years been occupied by one of the very
celebrated men of Wales, namely Doctor John Davies, author of the great
Welsh and Latin dictionary, an imperishable work. An immense yew tree
grows in the churchyard, and partly overshadows the road with its
branches. The parsonage stands about a hundred yards to the south of the
church, near a grove of firs. The village is overhung on the north by
the mountains of the Arran range, from which it is separated by the
murmuring Dyfi. To the south for many miles the country is not
mountainous, but presents a pleasant variety of hill and dale.

After leaving the village a little way behind me I turned round to take a
last view of the wonderful region from which I had emerged on the
previous evening. Forming the two sides of the pass down which comes
"the royal river" stood the Dinas mountain and Cefn Coch, the first on
the left, and the other on the right. Behind, forming the background of
the pass, appearing, though now some miles distant, almost in my
proximity, stood Pen Dyn. This hill has various names, but the one which
I have noted here, and which signifies the head of a man, perhaps
describes it best. From where I looked at it on that last day of October
it certainly looked like an enormous head, and put me in mind of the head
of Mambrino, mentioned in the master work which commemorates the
achievements of the Manchegan knight. This mighty mountain is the
birthplace of more than one river. If the Gerres issues from its eastern
side, from its western springs the Maw, that singularly picturesque
stream,