The railroad to Barmouth runs under what were sea-cliffs, but the sea has retreated, and at the mouth of the Nant Col and Artro, and between that of the mouth of the brook Afon Ysgethin, is an exclusive stretch of Morfa, or sand-dune. So also between Harlech and the estuary of the Afon Glaslyn. Near Harlech are several of the Cytiau’r Gwyddelod, circular stone habitations dating back from the Irish occupation of the country, if not more ancient still. But a more interesting monument of prehistoric antiquity is the Caer on Moel Goedog, standing 1,210 feet above the sea, where is a stone fort, and there also are stone circles. Other relics of a remote antiquity lie to the south, about Llyn Irddyn, to be reached by ascending the valley of the Ysgethin. Here are camps, remains of a prehistoric village, and cairns. At Llanfair, in the church, is a stained-glass window to the memory of Ellis Wynne, and his birthplace, Glasynys, is about a mile and a half from Harlech. Ellis Wynne was born there in 1671. Some twenty-five years before he saw the light Harlech Castle had been the scene of many a fray between Roundheads and Cavaliers, and of the last stand made by the Welsh for King Charles. The remembrance of these events must have been fresh as he grew up. In 1703 he published _The Visions of the Sleeping Bard_, which has ever since been regarded as a classic work in Welsh prose. It was not original in its inception. In 1668 Sir Robert l’Estrange had published his translations of Gomez de Quevedo’s _Dreams_, and this must have fallen into the hands of Ellis Wynne. Quevedo had his visions of the World, of Death, and Hell, and Wynne followed in having the same. The same characters are represented in both, the same classes are satirised, and the same punishments are meted out. Wynne had also composed a _Vision of Heaven_, but when it was detected that he was a plagiarist, he was so annoyed that he threw his manuscript into the fire. Nevertheless, _The Visions of the Sleeping Bard_ remains, and ever will remain, a Welsh classic. “No better model exists of the pure idiomatic Welsh of the last century, before writers became influenced by English style and method. Vigorous, fluent, crisp, and clear, it shows how well our language is adapted to description and narration. It is written for the people, and in the picturesque and poetic strain which is always certain to fascinate the Celtic mind.”[5] On a summer day the bard ascends one of the Welsh mountains “spy-glass in hand. Through the clear, tenuous air and the calm, shimmering heat, I beheld far, far away over the Irish Sea many a fair scene.” So he falls asleep, dreams, and finds himself among the fairies, whom he approaches, and of whom he requests permission to join their society. They snatch him up forthwith and fly away with him over lands and seas, till they reach the Castle Delusive, where an Angel of light appears, and delivers him from their hands.