Mr. Chainmail was in love: but the determination he had long before formed and fixed in his mind, to marry only a lady of gentle blood, without a blot in her escutcheon, repressed the declarations of passion which were often rising to his lips. In the meantime he left no means untried to pluck out the heart of her mystery. The young lady soon divined his passion, and penetrated his prejudices. She began to look on him with favourable eyes; but she feared her name and parentage would present an insuperable barrier to his feudal pride. Things were in this state when the Captain returned, and unpacked his maps and books in the parlour of the inn. _Mr. Chainmail_.—Really, Captain, I find so many objects of attraction in this neighbourhood, that I would gladly postpone our purpose. _Captain Fitzchrome_.—Undoubtedly this neighbourhood has many attractions; but there is something very inviting in the scheme you laid down. _Mr. Chainmail_.—No doubt there is something very tempting in the route of Giraldus de Barri. But there are better things in this vicinity even than that. To tell you the truth, Captain, I have fallen in love. _Captain Fitzchrome_.—What! while I have been away? _Mr. Chainmail_.—Even so. _Captain Fitzchrome_.—The plunge must have been very sudden, if you are already over head and ears. _Mr. Chainmail_.—As deep as Llyn-y-dreiddiad-vrawd. _Captain Fitzchrome_.—And what may that be? _Mr. Chainmail_.—A pool not far off: a resting-place of a mountain stream which is said to have no bottom. There is a tradition connected with it; and here is a ballad on it, at your service. LLYN-Y-DREIDDIAD-VRAWD. THE POOL OF THE DIVING FRIAR. Gwenwynwyn withdrew from the feasts of his hall: He slept very little, he prayed not at all: He pondered, and wandered, and studied alone; And sought, night and day, the philosopher’s stone. He found it at length, and he made its first proof By turning to gold all the lead of his roof: Then he bought some magnanimous heroes, all fire, Who lived but to smite and be smitten for hire. With these on the plains like a torrent he broke; He filled the whole country with flame and with smoke; He killed all the swine, and he broached all the wine; He drove off the sheep, and the beeves, and the kine; He took castles and towns; he cut short limbs and lives; He made orphans and widows of children and wives: This course many years he triumphantly ran, And did mischief enough to be called a great man. When, at last, he had gained all for which he held striven, He bethought him of buying a passport to heaven; Good and great as he was, yet he did not well know, How soon, or which way, his great spirit might go.