The scenery was romantically beautiful;
on my left was the little brook, the waters of which run through
the town; beyond it a lofty hill; on my right was a hill covered
with wood from the top to the bottom. I enjoyed the scene, and
should have enjoyed it more had there been a little sunshine to
gild it.
I passed through a small village, the name of which I think was
Cynmen, and presently overtook a man and boy. The man saluted me
in English, and I entered into conversation with him in that
language. He told me that he came from Llan Gedwin, and was going
to a place called Gwern something, in order to fetch home some
sheep. After a time he asked me where I was going.
"I am going to see the Pistyll Rhyadr," said I
We had then just come to the top of a rising ground.
"Yonder's the Pistyll!" said he, pointing to the west.
I looked in the direction of his finger, and saw something at a
great distance, which looked like a strip of grey linen hanging
over a crag.
"That is the waterfall," he continued, "which so many of the Saxons
come to see. And now I must bid you good-bye, master; for my way
to the Gwern is on the right"
