MYSELF. - Oh dear me, no! He can employ his time much more
usefully than in waiting upon me.
After supper I sat quiet for about an hour. Then ringing the bell,
I inquired of the maid whether there was a newspaper in the house.
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, which enters the ocean at the place which the Saxons
corruptly call Barmouth and the Cumry with great propriety Aber
Maw, or the disemboguement of the Maw.
