Presently I came to a bridge bestriding the stream, which a man
told me was called Pont Aber Glas Lyn, or the bridge of the
debouchement of the grey lake. I soon emerged from the pass, and
after proceeding some way stopped again to admire the scenery. To
the west was the Wyddfa; full north was a stupendous range of
rocks; behind them a conical peak seemingly rivalling the Wyddfa
itself in altitude; between the rocks and the road, where I stood,
was beautiful forest scenery. I again went on, going round the
side of a hill by a gentle ascent. After a little time I again
stopped to look about me. There was the rich forest scenery to the
north, behind it were the rocks and behind the rocks rose the
wonderful conical hill impaling heaven; confronting it to the
south-east, was a huge lumpish hill. As I stood looking about me I
saw a man coming across a field which sloped down to the road from
a small house. He presently reached me, stopped and smiled. A
more open countenance than his I never saw in all the days of my
life.
"Dydd dachwi, sir," said the man of the open countenance, "the
weather is very showy."
"Very showy, indeed," said I; "I was just now wishing for somebody,
of whom I might ask a question or two."
"Perhaps I can answer those questions, sir?"
"Perhaps you can.
