could not always
make out, for her Welsh was anything but clear; at length I heard her say
that she was afraid we had passed the chair, and indeed presently we came
to a place where the enclosure terminated in a sharp corner.

"Let us go back," said I; "we must have passed it."

I now went first, breaking down with my weight the shrubs nearest to the
wall.

"Is not this the place?" said I, pointing to a kind of hollow in the
wall, which looked something like the shape of a chair.

"Hardly," said the girl, "for there should be a slab on the back, with
letters, but there's neither slab nor letters here."

The girl now again went forward, and we retraced our way, doing the best
we could to discover the chair, but all to no purpose; no chair was to be
found. We had now been, as I imagined, half-an-hour in the enclosure,
and had nearly got back to the place from which we had set out, when we
suddenly heard the voice of the old lady exclaiming, "What are ye doing
there, the chair is on the other side of the field; wait a bit, and I
will come and show it you;" getting over the stone stile, which led into
the wilderness, she came to us, and we now went along the wall at the
lower end; we had quite as much difficulty here as on the other side, and
in some places more, for the nettles were higher, the shrubs more
tangled, and the thorns more terrible. The ground, however, was rather
more level. I pitied the poor girl who led the way, and whose fat naked
arms were both stung and torn. She at last stopped amidst a huge grove
of nettles, doing the best she could to shelter her arms from the
stinging leaves.

"I never was in such a wilderness in my life," said I to John Jones, "is
it possible that the chair of the mighty Huw is in a place like this;
which seems never to have been trodden by human foot. Well does the
Scripture say 'Dim prophwyd yw yn cael barch yn ei dir ei hunan.'"

This last sentence tickled the fancy of my worthy friend, the
Calvinistic-Methodist, he laughed aloud and repeated it over and over
again to the females, with amplifications.

"Is the chair really here," said I, "or has it been destroyed? if such a
thing has been done it is a disgrace to Wales."

"The chair is really here," said the old lady, "and though Huw Morus was
no prophet, we love and reverence everything belonging to him. Get on
Llances, the chair can't be far off;" the girl moved on, and presently
the old lady exclaimed, "There's