ced. The
river ran at the bottom amidst green and seemingly rich meadows. The
hills on the farther side were cultivated a great way up, and various
neat farm-houses were scattered here and there on their sides. At the
foot of one of the most picturesque of these hills stood a large white
village. I wished very much to know its name, but saw no one of whom I
could inquire. I proceeded for about a mile, and then perceiving a man
wheeling stones in a barrow for the repairing of the road I thought I
would inquire of him. I did so, but the village was then out of sight,
and though I pointed in its direction and described its situation I could
not get its name out of him. At last I said hastily, "Can you tell me
your own name?"

"Dafydd Tibbot, sir," said he.

"Tibbot, Tibbot," said I; "why, you are a Frenchman."

"Dearie me, sir," said the man, looking very pleased, "am I, indeed?"

"Yes, you are," said I, rather repenting of my haste, and giving him
sixpence, I left him.

"I'd bet a trifle," said I to myself, as I walked away, "that this poor
creature is the descendant of some desperate Norman Tibault who helped to
conquer Powisland under Roger de Montgomery or Earl Baldwin. How
striking that the proud old Norman names are at present only borne by
people in the lowest station. Here's a Tibbot or Tibault harrowing
stones on a Welsh road, and I have known a Mortimer munching poor cheese
and bread under a hedge on an English one. How can we account for this
save by the supposition that the descendants of proud, cruel, and violent
men--and who so proud, cruel and violent, as the old Normans--are doomed
by God to come to the dogs?"

Came to Pont Velin Cerrig, the bridge of the mill of the Cerrig, a river
which comes foaming down from between two rocky hills. This bridge is
about a mile from Machynlleth, at which place I arrived at about five
o'clock in the evening--a cool, bright moon shining upon me. I put up at
the principal inn, which was of course called the Wynstay Arms.

CHAPTER LXXVIII

Welsh Poems--Sessions Business--The Lawyer and his Client--The Court--The
Two Keepers--The Defence.

During supper I was waited upon by a brisk, buxom maid who told me that
her name was Mary Evans. The repast over, I ordered a glass of whiskey
and water, and when it was brought I asked the maid if she could procure
me some book to read. She said she was not aware of any book in the
house which she could lay