Pity
that he wasn't equally fortunate with the north country sheep."
"Did he try to introduce them into Wales?"
"Yes, but they didn't answer, as I knew they wouldn't. Says I to
the Duke: 'It won't do, your Grace, to bring the north country
sheep here: because why? the hills are too wet and cold for their
constitutions'; but his Grace, who had sometimes a will of his own,
persisted and brought the north country sheep to these parts, and
it turned out as I said - the sheep caught the disease, and the
wool parted and - "
"But," said I, "you should have told him about the salve made of
bran, butter and oil; you should have done that."
"Well, so I did, your honour. I told him about the salve, and the
Duke listened to me, and the salve was made by these very hands;
but when it was made, what do you think? the foolish Welsh wouldn't
put it on, saying that it was against their laws and statties and
religion to use it, and talked about Devil's salves and the Witch
of Endor, and the sin against the Holy Ghost, and such like
nonsense. So to prevent a regular rebellion, the Duke gave up the
salve, and the poor sheep pined away and died, till at last there
was not one left."
"Who holds the estate at present?" said I.
"Why, a great gentleman from Lancashire, your honour, who bought it
when the Duke died; but he doesn't take the same pleasure in it
which the Duke did, nor spend so much money about it, the
consequence being that everything looks very different from what it
looked in the Duke's time. The inn at the Devil's Bridge and the
grounds look very different from what they looked in the Duke's
time, for you must know that the inn and the grounds form part of
the Hafod estate, and are hired from the proprietor."
By this time we had arrived at a small village, with a toll-bar and
a small church or chapel at some little distance from the road,
which here made a turn nearly full south. The road was very good,
but the country was wild and rugged; there was a deep vale on the
right, at the bottom of which rolled the Rheidol in its cleft,
rising beyond which were steep, naked hills.
"This village," said my companion, "is called Ysbytty Cynfyn. Down
on the right, past the church, is a strange bridge across the
Rheidol, which runs there through a horrid kind of a place. The
bridge is called Pont yr Offeiriad, or the Parson's Bridge, because
in the old time the clergyman passed over it every Sunday to do
duty in the church here."
"Why is this place called Ysbytty Cynfyn?" said I, "which means the
hospital of the first boundary; is there a hospital of the second
boundary near here?"
"I can't say anything about boundaries, your honour; all I know is,
that there is another Spytty farther on beyond Hafod called Ysbytty
Ystwyth, or the 'Spytty upon the Ystwyth. But to return to the
matter of the Minister's Bridge: I would counsel your honour to go
and see that bridge before you leave these parts. A vast number of
gentry go to see it in the summer time. It was the bridge which
the landlord was mentioning last night, though it scarcely belongs
to his district, being quite as near the Devil's Bridge inn as it
is to his own, your honour."
We went on discoursing for about half a mile farther, when,
stopping by a road which branched off to the hills on the left, my
companion said. "I must now wish your honour good day, being
obliged to go a little way up here to a mining work on a small bit
of business; my son, however, and his dog Joe will show your honour
the way to the Devil's Bridge, as they are bound to a place a
little way past it. I have now but one word to say, which is, that
should ever your honour please to visit me at my mine, your honour
shall receive every facility for inspecting the works, and moreover
have a bellyful of drink and victuals from Jock Greaves, miner from
the county of Durham."
I shook the honest fellow by the hand, and went on in company with
the lad John and his dog as far as the Devil's Bridge. John was a
highly-intelligent lad, spoke Welsh and English fluently, could
read, as he told me, both languages, and had some acquaintance with
the writings of Twm o'r Nant, as he showed by repeating the
following lines of the carter poet, certainly not the worst which
he ever wrote:-
"Twm or Nant mae cant a'm galw,
Tomas Edwards yw fy enw,"
Tom O Nant is a nickname I've got,
My name's Thomas Edwards, I wot."
CHAPTER LXXXIV
The Hospice - The Two Rivers - The Devil's Bridge - Pleasant
Recollections.
I ARRIVED at the Devil's Bridge at about eleven o'clock of a fine
but cold day, and took up my quarters at the inn, of which I was
the sole guest during the whole time that I continued there; for
the inn, standing in a lone, wild district, has very few guests
except in summer, when it is thronged with tourists, who avail
themselves of that genial season to view the wonders of Wales, of
which the region close by is considered amongst the principal.
The inn, or rather hospice - for the sounding name of hospice is
more applicable to it than the common one of inn - was built at a
great expense by the late Duke of Newcastle.
