About an hour’s walk from Tan y Bwlch brought me to Festiniog, which is situated on the top of a lofty hill looking down from the south-east, on the valley which I have described, and which, as I know not its name, I shall style the Valley of the numerous streams. I went to the inn, a large old-fashioned house, standing near the church; the mistress of it was a queer-looking old woman, antiquated in her dress, and rather blunt in her manner. Of her, after ordering dinner, I made inquiries respecting the chair of Rhys Goch, but she said that she had never heard of such a thing; and after glancing at me askew for a moment, with a curiously formed left eye which she had, went away muttering chair, chair, leaving me in a large and rather dreary parlour, to which she had shown me. I felt very fatigued, rather I believe from that unlucky short cut than from the length of the way, for I had not come more than eighteen miles. Drawing a chair towards a table, I sat down, and placing my elbows upon the board, I leaned my face upon my upturned hands, and presently fell into a sweet sleep, from which I awoke exceedingly refreshed, just as a maid opened the room door to lay the cloth. After dinner I got up, went out, and strolled about the place. It was small, and presented nothing very remarkable. Tired of strolling, I went and leaned my back against the wall of the churchyard, and enjoyed the cool of the evening, for evening, with its coolness and shadows, had now come on. As I leaned against the wall, an elderly man came up and entered into discourse with me. He told me he was a barber by profession, had travelled all over Wales, and had seen London. I asked him about the chair of Rhys Goch. He told me that he had heard of some such chair a long time ago, but could give me no information as to where it stood. I know not how it happened that he came to speak about my landlady, but speak about her he did. He said that she was a good kind of woman, but totally unqualified for business, as she knew not how to charge. On my observing that that was a piece of ignorance with which few landladies, or landlords either, were taxable, he said that, however other publicans might overcharge, undercharging was her foible, and that she had brought herself very low in the world by it—that to his certain knowledge she might have been worth thousands instead of the trifle which she was possessed of, and that she was particularly notorious for undercharging the English, a thing never before dreamt of in Wales. I told him that I was very glad that I had come under the roof of such a landlady; the old barber, however, said that she was setting a bad example, that such goings on could not last long, that he knew how things would end, and finally working himself up into a regular tiff, left me abruptly without wishing me good night.