"By Llan Gedwin," I replied, "and over the hill. Is there another
way?"
"There is," said the man, "by Llan Silin."
"Llan Silin!" said I; "is not that the place where Huw Morris is
buried?"
"It is," said the man.
"I will return by Llan Silin," said I, "and in passing through pay
a visit to the tomb of the great poet. Is Llan Silin far off?"
"About half a mile," said the man. "Go over the bridge, turn to
the right, and you will be there presently."
I shook the honest couple by the hand and bade them farewell. The
man put on his hat and went with me a few yards from the door, and
then proceeded towards the factory. I passed over the bridge,
under which was a streamlet, which a little below the bridge
received the brook which once turned Owen Glendower's corn-mill. I
soon reached Llan Silin, a village or townlet, having some high
hills at a short distance to the westward, which form part of the
Berwyn.
I entered the kitchen of an old-fashioned public-house, and sitting
down by a table told the landlord, a red-nosed elderly man, who
came bowing up to me, to bring me a pint of ale. The landlord
bowed and departed. A bluff-looking old fellow, somewhat under the
middle size, sat just opposite to me at the table. He was dressed
in a white frieze coat, and had a small hat on his head set rather
consequentially on one side. Before him on the table stood a jug
of ale, between which and him lay a large crabstick. Three or four
other people stood or sat in different parts of the room.
Presently the landlord returned with the ale.
"I suppose you come on sessions business, sir?" said he, as he
placed it down before me.
"Are the sessions being held here to-day?" said I.
"They are," said the landlord, "and there is plenty of business;
two bad cases of poaching, Sir Watkin's keepers are up at court and
hope to convict."
"I am not come on sessions business," said I; "I am merely
strolling a little about to see the country."
"He is come from South Wales," said the old fellow in the frieze
coat, to the landlord, "in order to see what kind of country the
north is. Well at any rate he has seen a better country than his
own."
"How do you know that I come from South Wales?" said I.
"By your English," said the old fellow; "anybody may know you are
South Welsh by your English; it is so cursedly bad. But let's hear
you speak a little Welsh; then I shall be certain as to who you
are."
I did as he bade me, saying a few words in Welsh.
"There's Welsh," said the old fellow, "who but a South Welshman
would talk Welsh in that manner?
