I soon reached Rhiwabon. There was a prodigious noise in the public-houses as I passed through it. “Colliers carousing,” said I. “Well, I shall not go amongst them to preach temperance, though perhaps in strict duty I ought.” At the end of the town, instead of taking the road on the left side of the church, I took that on the right. It was not till I had proceeded nearly a mile that I began to be apprehensive that I had mistaken the way. Hearing some people coming towards me on the road, I waited till they came up; they proved to be a man and a woman. On my inquiring whether I was right for Llangollen, the former told me that I was not, and in order to get there it was necessary that I should return to Rhiwabon. I instantly turned round. About half-way back I met a man who asked me in English where I was hurrying to. I said to Rhiwabon, in order to get to Llangollen. “Well, then,” said he, “you need not return to Rhiwabon—yonder is a short cut across the fields,” and he pointed to a gate. I thanked him, and said I would go by it; before leaving him, I asked to what place the road led which I had been following. “To Pentre Castren,” he replied. I struck across the fields, and should probably have tumbled half-a-dozen times over pales and the like, but for the light of the Cefn furnaces before me, which cast their red glow upon my path. I debouched upon the Llangollen road near to the tramway leading to the collieries. Two enormous sheets of flame shot up high into the air from ovens, illumining two spectral chimneys as high as steeples, also smoky buildings, and grimy figures moving about. There was a clanging of engines, a noise of shovels and a falling of coals truly horrible. The glare was so great that I could distinctly see the minutest lines upon my hand. Advancing along the tramway, I obtained a nearer view of the hellish buildings, the chimneys and the demoniac figures. It was just such a scene as one of those described by Ellis Wynn in his Vision of Hell. Feeling my eyes scorching, I turned away, and proceeded towards Llangollen, sometimes on the muddy road, sometimes on the dangerous causeway. For three miles at least I met nobody. Near Llangollen, as I was walking on the causeway, three men came swiftly towards me. I kept the hedge, which was my right; the two first brushed roughly past me, the third came full upon me, and was tumbled into the road. There was a laugh from the two first, and a loud curse from the last as he sprawled in the mire. I merely said “Nos Da’ki,” and passed on, and in about a quarter of an hour reached home, where I found my wife awaiting me alone, Henrietta having gone to bed, being slightly indisposed. My wife received me with a cheerful smile. I looked at her, and the good wife of the Triad came to my mind. “She is modest, void of deceit, and obedient. “Pure of conscience, gracious of tongue, and true to her husband.