Leaving the road I made
towards the light by a lane, and soon came to a railroad station.
"You won't have long to wait, sir," said a man, "the train to
Holyhead will be here presently."
"How far is it to Holyhead?" said I.
"Two miles, sir, and the fare is only sixpence."
"I despise railroads," said I, "and those who travel by them," and
without waiting for an answer returned to the road. Presently I
heard the train - it stopped for a minute at the station, and then
continuing its course passed me on my left hand, voiding fierce
sparks, and making a terrible noise - the road was a melancholy
one; my footsteps sounded hollow upon it. I seemed to be its only
traveller - a wall extended for a long, long way on my left. At
length I came to a turnpike. I felt desolate and wished to speak
to somebody. I tapped at the window, at which there was a light; a
woman opened it. "How far to Holyhead?" said I in English.
"Dim Saesneg," said the woman.
I repeated my question in Welsh.
"Two miles," said she.
"Still two miles to Holyhead by the road," thought I. "Nos da,"
said I to the woman and sped along. At length I saw water on my
right, seemingly a kind of bay, and presently a melancholy ship.
