I met two or three gangs of reapers proceeding to their work with scythes in their hands.
In about half-an-hour I passed by a farm-house partly surrounded with walnut trees.

Still the same high hedges on both sides of the road: are these hedges relics of the sacrificial groves of Mona?
thought I to myself.

Then I came to a wretched village through which I hurried at the rate of six miles an hour.

I then saw a long, lofty, craggy hill on my right hand towards the east.
"What mountain is that ?" said I to an urchin playing in the hot dust of the road.
"Mynydd Lydiart!" said the urchin, tossing up a handful of the hot dust into the air, part of which in descending fell into my eyes.
I shortly afterwards passed by a handsome lodge.

I then saw groves, mountain Lydiart forming a noble background.
"Who owns this wood ?" said I in Welsh to two men who were limbing a felled tree by the road-side.
"Lord Vivian," answered one, touching his hat.
"The gentleman is our countryman," said he to the other after I had passed.
I was now descending the side of a pretty valley, and soon found myself at Pentraeth Coch.