A mile or two further the ground began to rise, and I came to a small village at the entrance of which was a water-wheel--near the village was a gentleman's seat almost surrounded by groves.

After I had passed through the village, seeing a woman seated by the roadside knitting, I asked her in English its name.
Finding she had no Saesneg I repeated the question in Welsh, whereupon she told me that it was called Pentre Voelas.
"And whom does the 'Plas' belong to yonder amongst the groves ?" said I.
"It belongs to Mr Wynn, sir, and so does the village and a great deal of the land about here.

A very good gentleman is Mr Wynn, sir; he is very kind to his tenants and a very good lady is Mrs Wynn, sir; in the winter she gives much soup to the poor." After leaving the village of Pentre Voelas I soon found myself in a wild hilly region.

I crossed a bridge over a river, which, brawling and tumbling amidst rocks, shaped its course to the north-east.

As I proceeded, the country became more and more wild; there were dingles and hollows in abundance, and fantastic-looking hills, some of which were bare, and others clad with trees of various kinds.