in his forty years' traffic, notwithstanding he did not know a word
of Welsh, but John Jones prevented my further tarrying by saying,
that it would be as well to get over the mountain before it was
entirely dark. So I got up, paid for my ale, vainly endeavoured to
pay for that of my companion, who insisted upon paying for what he
had ordered, made a general bow and departed from the house,
leaving the horse-dealer and the rest staring at each other and
wondering who we were, or at least who I was. We were about to
ascend the hill when John Jones asked me whether I should not like
to see the bridge and the river. I told him I should. The bridge
and the river presented nothing remarkable. The former was of a
single arch; and the latter anything but abundant in its flow.

We now began to retrace our steps over the mountain. At first the
mist appeared to be nearly cleared away. As we proceeded, however,
large sheets began to roll up the mountain sides, and by the time
we reached the summit were completely shrouded in vapour. The
night, however, was not very dark, and we found our way tolerably
well, though once in descending I had nearly tumbled into the nant
or dingle, now on our left hand. The bushes and trees, seen
indistinctly through the mist, had something the look of goblins,
and brought to my mind the elves, which Ab Gwilym of old saw, or
thought he saw, in a somewhat similar situation:-


"In every hollow dingle stood
Of wry-mouth'd elves a wrathful brood."


Drenched to the skin, but uninjured in body and limb, we at length