THE Vicar Of Llandovery Had Then Been Dead Nearly Two Hundred
Years.
Truly the man in whom piety and genius are blended is
immortal upon earth.
CHAPTER XCVIII
Departure from Llandovery - A Bitter Methodist - North and South -
The Caravan - Captain Bosvile - Deputy Ranger - A Scrimmage - The
Heavenly Gwynfa - Dangerous Position.
ON the tenth I departed from Llandovery, which I have no hesitation
in saying is about the pleasantest little town in which I have
halted in the course of my wanderings. I intended to sleep at
Gutter Vawr, a place some twenty miles distant, just within
Glamorganshire, to reach which it would be necessary to pass over
part of a range of wild hills, generally called the Black
Mountains. I started at about ten o'clock; the morning was
lowering, and there were occasional showers of rain and hail. I
passed by Rees Pritchard's church, holding my hat in my hand as I
did so, not out of respect for the building, but from reverence for
the memory of the sainted man who of old from its pulpit called
sinners to repentance, and whose remains slumber in the churchyard
unless washed away by some frantic burst of the neighbouring Towey.
Crossing a bridge over the Bran just before it enters the greater
stream, I proceeded along a road running nearly south and having a
range of fine hills on the east. Presently violent gusts of wind
came on, which tore the sear leaves by thousands from the trees, of
which there were plenty by the roadsides.
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