Came to
Irvan, an enormous mining-place with a spectral-looking chapel,
doubtless a Methodist one. The street was crowded with rough,
savage-looking men. "Is this the way to Merthyr Tydvil?" said I to
one.
"Yes!" bawled the fellow at the utmost stretch of his voice.
"Thank you!" said I, taking off my hat and passing on.
Forward I went, up hill and down dale. Night now set in. I passed
a grove of trees and presently came to a collection of small houses
at the bottom of a little hollow. Hearing a step near me I stopped
and said in Welsh: "How far to Merthyr Tydvil?"
"Dim Cumrag, sir!" said a voice, seemingly that of a man.
"Good night!" said I, and without staying to put the question in
English, I pushed on up an ascent, and was presently amongst trees.
Heard for a long time the hooting of an owl or rather the frantic
hollo. Appeared to pass by where the bird had its station. Toiled
up an acclivity and when on the top stood still and looked around
me. There was a glow on all sides in the heaven, except in the
north-east quarter. Striding on I saw a cottage on my left hand,
and standing at the door the figure of a woman.
