After a little time,
meeting two women, I asked them the name of the mountain to the
south.
"Arenig Vawr," they replied, or something like it.
Presently meeting four men I put the same question to the foremost,
a stout, burly, intelligent-looking fellow, of about fifty. He
gave me the same name as the women. I asked if anybody lived upon
it.
"No," said he, "too cold for man."
"Fox?" said I.
"No! too cold for fox."
"Crow?" said I.
"No, too cold for crow; crow would be starved upon it." He then
looked me in the face, expecting probably that I should smile.
I, however, looked at him with all the gravity of a judge,
whereupon he also observed the gravity of a judge, and we continued
looking at each other with all the gravity of judges till we both
simultaneously turned away, he followed by his companions going his
path, and I going mine.
I subsequently remembered that Arenig is mentioned in a Welsh poem,
though in anything but a flattering and advantageous manner. The
writer calls it Arenig ddiffaith or barren Arenig, and says that it
intercepts from him the view of his native land.
