"The ffynnon of the Rheidol is not far off," said the guide; "it is
just below the hill."
We descended the western side of the hill for some way; at length,
coming to a very craggy and precipitous place, my guide stopped,
and pointing with his finger into the valley below, said:-
"There, sir, if you look down you can see the source of the
Rheidol."
I looked down, and saw far below what appeared to be part of a
small sheet of water.
"And that is the source of the Rheidol?" said I.
"Yes, sir," said my guide; "that is the ffynnon of the Rheidol."
"Well," said I; "is there no getting to it?"
"Oh yes! but the path, sir, as you see, is rather steep and
dangerous."
"Never mind," said I. "Let us try it."
"Isn't seeing the fountain sufficient for you, sir?"
"By no means," said I. "It is not only necessary for me to see the
sources of the rivers, but to drink of them, in order that in after
times I may be able to harangue about them with a tone of
confidence and authority."
"Then follow me, sir; but please to take care, for this path is
more fit for sheep or shepherds than gentlefolk."
And a truly bad path I found it; so bad indeed that before I had
descended twenty yards I almost repented having ventured. I had a
capital guide, however, who went before and told me where to plant
my steps. There was one particularly bad part, being little better
than a sheer precipice; but even here I got down in safety with the
assistance of my guide, and a minute afterwards found myself at the
source of the Rheidol.
The source of the Rheidol is a small beautiful lake, about a
quarter of a mile in length. It is overhung on the east and north
by frightful crags, from which it is fed by a number of small
rills. The water is of the deepest blue, and of very considerable
depth. The banks, except to the north and east, slope gently down,
and are clad with soft and beautiful moss. The river, of which it
is the head, emerges at the south-western side, and brawls away in
the shape of a considerable brook, amidst moss, and rushes down a
wild glen tending to the south. To the west the prospect is
bounded, at a slight distance, by high, swelling ground. If few
rivers have a more wild and wondrous channel than the Rheidol,
fewer still have a more beautiful and romantic source.
After kneeling down and drinking freely of the lake I said:
"Now, where are we to go to next?"
"The nearest ffynnon to that of the Rheidol, sir, is the ffynnon of
the Severn."
"Very well," said I; "let us now go and see the ffynnon of the
Severn!"
I followed my guide over a hill to the north-west into a valley, at
the farther end of which I saw a brook streaming apparently to the
south, where was an outlet.
"That brook," said the guide, "is the young Severn." The brook
came from round the side of a very lofty rock, singularly
variegated, black and white, the northern summit presenting
something of the appearance of the head of a horse. Passing round
this crag we came to a fountain surrounded with rushes, out of
which the brook, now exceedingly small, came murmuring.
"The crag above," said my guide, "is called Crag y Cefyl, or the
Rock of the Horse, and this spring at its foot is generally called
the ffynnon of the Hafren. However, drink not of it, master; for
the ffynnon of the Hafren is higher up the nant. Follow me, and I
will presently show you the real ffynnon of the Hafren."
I followed him up a narrow and very steep dingle. Presently we
came to some beautiful little pools of water in the turf, which was
here remarkably green.
"These are very pretty pools, an't they, master?" said my
companion. "Now, if I was a false guide I might bid you stoop and
drink, saying that these were the sources of the Severn; but I am a
true cyfarwydd, and therefore tell you not to drink, for these
pools are not the sources of the Hafren, no more than the spring
below. The ffynnon of the Severn is higher up the nant. Don't
fret, however, but follow me, and we shall be there in a minute."
So I did as he bade me, following him without fretting higher up
the nant. Just at the top he halted and said: "Now, master, I
have conducted you to the source of the Severn. I have considered
the matter deeply, and have come to the conclusion that here, and
here only, is the true source. Therefore stoop down and drink, in
full confidence that you are taking possession of the Holy Severn."
The source of the Severn is a little pool of water some twenty
inches long, six wide, and about three deep. It is covered at the
bottom with small stones, from between which the water gushes up.
It is on the left-hand side of the nant, as you ascend, close by
the very top. An unsightly heap of black turf-earth stands right
above it to the north. Turf-heaps, both large and small, are in
abundance in the vicinity.
After taking possession of the Severn by drinking at its source,
rather a shabby source for so noble a stream, I said, "Now let us
go to the fountain of the Wye."
"A quarter of an hour will take us to it, your honour," said the
guide, leading the way.
The source of the Wye, which is a little pool, not much larger than
that which constitutes the fountain of the Severn, stands near the
top of a grassy hill which forms part of the Great Plynlimmon.
