So seating ourselves in the chimney corner, we partook of the refreshments brought us by an old withered matron, who finished a scene forming a lively counterpart to that of the cavern in Gil Blas. Our dame soon took a leading part in conversation; she gratefully expatiated on the bounty of Providence in sending us a plentiful year, and lamented the misery that prevailed last winter, when, she declared, they were all starving, and many of her neighbours died outright of hunger. This statement I found general throughout the country. We left this humble but hospitable roof with regret; nor was it without much difficulty that we could prevail on our hostess to accept of a trifling acknowledgement for her favours. We again set forward through mire and darkness, conducted by one of the men, who beguiled the time with stories of ghosts that had been seen at Manorbeer castle. At length it became somewhat lighter, and we parted with our friendly guide upon his shewing us the strait road to CAREW. “Cold and comfortless,” we knocked at the inn door (for inn is the name of every alehouse in Wales); when, to put a finishing stroke to the troubles of this eventful day, we learned that they had neither beds for us nor stabling for our horses; but we had previously heard, that the village boasted two inns, and accordingly went to the other: a similar information, however, awaited us here; with the additional intelligence, that there was not a stable in the village, and only one spare bed, which was at the other alehouse; there was no alternative; we were constrained to turn our tired and hungry horses into a field, and go back to the first house.