inn, is by far the prettiest, that which occupies
the northern is a poor assemblage of huts, a brook rolls at the bottom of
the dell, over which there is a little bridge: coming to the bridge I
stopped, and looked over the side into the water running briskly below.
An aged man who looked like a beggar, but who did not beg of me, stood
by.

"To what place does this water run?" said I in English.

"I know no Saxon," said he in trembling accents.

I repeated my question in Welsh.

"To the sea," he said, "which is not far off, indeed it is so near, that
when there are high tides, the salt water comes up to this bridge."

"You seem feeble?" said I.

"I am so," said he, "for I am old."

"How old are you?" said I.

"Sixteen after sixty," said the old man with a sigh; "and I have nearly
lost my sight and my hearing."

"Are you poor?" said I.

"Very," said the old man.

I gave him a trifle which he accepted with thanks.

"Why is this sand called the red sand?" said I.

"I cannot tell you," said the old man, "I wish I could, for you have been
kind to me."

Bidding him farewell I passed through the northern part of the village to
the top of the hill. I walked a little way forward and then stopped, as
I had done at the bridge in the dale, and looked to the east, over a low
stone wall.

Before me lay the sea or rather the northern entrance of the Menai
Straits. To my right was mountain Lidiart projecting some way into the
sea; to my left, that is to the north, was a high hill, with a few white
houses near its base, forming a small village, which a woman who passed
by knitting told me was called Llan Peder Goch or the Church of Red Saint
Peter. Mountain Lidiart and the Northern Hill formed the headlands of a
beautiful bay into which the waters of the Traeth dell, from which I had
come, were discharged. A sandbank, probably covered with the sea at high
tide, seemed to stretch from mountain Lidiart a considerable way towards
the northern hill. Mountain, bay and sandbank were bathed in sunshine;
the water was perfectly calm; nothing was moving upon it, nor upon the
shore, and I thought I had never beheld a more beautiful and tranquil
scene.

I went on. The country which had hitherto been very beautiful, abounding
with yellow corn-fields, became sterile and rocky; there were stone
walls, but no hedges. I passed by a moor on my left, then a moory
hillock on my right; the way was broken and stony; all traces of