As I proceeded from Llantrissent, cultivation diminished; and from that fertile and populous district, bordering the Severn, I found myself entering upon the unfrequented wilds of the interior country. It soon became so dark, that I could but just distinguish the broken road that I was travelling; which, although a Welch turnpike, a modern farmer in England would be ashamed to own for his cartway. Not a human face or habitation presented itself, nor any relief from silence, except the uncheering note of the screech owl. At length, however, the distant murmur of a waterfall saluted me; which, growing louder as I advanced, presently accumulated to a hoarse roar; and, by the direction of the sound, it appeared that I was travelling on a precipice above the torrent. A plentiful shower falling at this instant did not add to the comforts of my situation; and I found by the motion of the horse, that I was on a steep descent; while his frequent slides and stumbles proved that he was on very rugged ground, and probably out of any track. In this dilemma imagination, ever active in magnifying concealed danger, pictured my situation as tottering on the brink of some such chasm as that of the Devil’s bridge. Here I might have exclaimed with Ossian’s Colma: “It is night; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms. The wind is heard on the Mountains; the torrent shrieks down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on the hill of winds.” But to remain under such apprehensions were worse than to encounter danger, and I slowly moved on in almost total darkness; until, making a sudden turn, I beheld the tops of the neighbouring hills illumined in a strange manner. In a few moments a gleam of light, transmitted by reflection through an opening in some trees, shone on my track, and discovered a dark huge figure standing at my horse’s head. I was scarcely collected from my surprize when my bridle was forcibly arrested, and a loud but unintelligible voice seemed to demand that I should stop. Already was I conceiving how to repel the attack, when the man, observing that I did not understand Welch, civilly accosted me in imperfect English, and assured me that I was on the edge of a precipice. Nor did he leave me with this service, but kindly led my horse to the little village of PONT-Y-PRIDD, then within a short distance. Here, while regaling over a mug of ale, my conductor accounted for the light that surprized me: it proceeded from an immense bonfire of a party of colliers in some distant mountains, rejoicing at the blessing of peace. At this place I determined to fix my quarters; nor could the offer of a guide and lanthorn, to conduct me to the superior accommodation of the Bridgewater arms, induce me to tempt again the dangers of the night, or quit the coarse barley bread, salt butter, and miserable beer of the village alehouse.