shouldn't wonder," said I, "if there was once an arm of the sea
between that crag and this hill. Thank you! Farewell."

"Then you won't walk in, sir?

"Not to drink tea," said I, "tea is a good thing at a proper time, but
were I to drink it now, it would make me ill."

"Pray, sir, walk in," said the woman, "and perhaps I can accommodate
you."

"Then you have ale?" said I.

"No, sir; not a drop, but perhaps I can set something before you which
you will like as well."

"That I question," said I, "however, I will walk in."

The woman conducted me into a nice little parlour, and, leaving me,
presently returned with a bottle and tumbler on a tray.

"Here, sir," said she, "is something, which though not ale, I hope you
will be able to drink."

"What is it?" said I.

"It is ---, sir; and better never was drunk."

I tasted it; it was terribly strong. Those who wish for either whisky or
brandy far above proof, should always go to a temperance house.

I told the woman to bring me some water, and she brought me a jug of
water cold from the spring. With a little of the contents of the bottle,
and a deal of the contents of the jug, I made myself a beverage tolerable
enough; a poor substitute, however, to a genuine Englishman for his
proper drink, the liquor which, according to the Edda, is called by men
ale, and by the gods beer.

I asked the woman whether she could read; she told me that she could,
both Welsh and English; she likewise informed me that she had several
books in both languages. I begged her to show me some, whereupon she
brought me some half dozen, and placing them on the table left me to
myself. Amongst the books was a volume of poems in Welsh, written by
Robert Williams of Betws Fawr, styled in poetic language, Gwilym Du O
Eifion. The poems were chiefly on religious subjects. The following
lines which I copied from "Pethau a wnaed mewn Gardd," or things written
in a garden, appeared to me singularly beautiful:--

"Mewn gardd y cafodd dyn ei dwyllo;
Mewn gardd y rhoed oddewid iddo;
Mewn gardd bradychwyd Iesu hawddgar;
Mewn gardd amdowyd ef mewn daear."

"In a garden the first of our race was deceived;
In a garden the promise of grace he received;
In a garden was Jesus betrayed to His doom;
In a garden His body was laid in the tomb."

Having finished my glass of "summut" and my translation, I called to the
woman and asked her what I had to pay.

"Nothing