valley, brought me to a bridge over a gorge, down which water ran
to the Dee. I stopped and looked over the side of the bridge
nearest to the hill. A huge rock about forty feet long by twenty
broad, occupied the entire bed of the gorge, just above the bridge,
with the exception of a little gullet to the right, down which
between the rock and a high bank, on which stood a cottage, a run
of water purled and brawled. The rock looked exactly like a huge
whale lying on its side, with its back turned towards the runnel.
Above it was a glen of trees. After I had been gazing a little
time a man making his appearance at the door of the cottage just
beyond the bridge I passed on, and drawing nigh to him, after a
slight salutation, asked him in English the name of the bridge.

"The name of the bridge, sir," said the man, in very good English,
"is Pont y Pandy."

"Does not that mean the bridge of the fulling mill?"

"I believe it does, sir," said the man.

"Is there a fulling mill near?"

"No, sir, there was one some time ago, but it is now a sawing
mill."

Here a woman, coming out, looked at me steadfastly.

"Is that gentlewoman your wife?"

"She is no gentlewoman, sir, but she is my wife."