Notwithstanding the night had been so
tempestuous the morning was sunshiny and beautiful. Having ordered
breakfast I walked out in order to look at the town. Llan Rhyadr
is a small place, having nothing remarkable in it save an ancient
church and a strange little antique market-house, standing on
pillars. It is situated at the western end of an extensive valley
and at the entrance of a glen. A brook or rivulet runs through it,
which comes down the glen from the celebrated cataract, which is
about four miles distant to the west. Two lofty mountains form the
entrance of the glen, and tower above the town, one on the south
and the other on the north. Their names, if they have any, I did
not learn.
After strolling about the little place for about a quarter of an
hour, staring at the things and the people, and being stared at by
the latter, I returned to my inn, a structure built in the modern
Gothic style, and which stands nearly opposite to the churchyard.
Whilst breakfasting I asked the landlady, who was bustling about
the room, whether she had ever heard of Owen Glendower.
"In truth, sir, I have. He was a great gentleman who lived a long
time ago, and, and - "
"Gave the English a great deal of trouble," said I.
"Just so, sir; at least I daresay it is so, as you say it."
"And do you know where he lived?"
"I do not, sir; I suppose a great way off, somewhere in the south."
"Do you mean South Wales?"
"In truth, sir, I do."
"There you are mistaken," said I; "and also in supposing he lived a
great way off.
