"Rhyd du"-- the black ford--I crossed the bridge.

The voice of the Methodist was yelling from a little chapel on my left.

I went to the door and listened: "When the sinner takes hold of God, God takes hold of the sinner." The voice was frightfully hoarse.

I passed on: night fell fast around me, and the mountain to the south-east, towards which I was tending, looked blackly grand.

And now I came to a milestone on which I read with difficulty: "Three miles to Beth Gelert." The way for some time had been upward, but now it was downward.