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that I believed in divine prescience。 He asked me whether I hoped
to be saved； I told him I did； and asked him whether he hoped to be
saved。 He told me he did not； and as he said so； he tapped with a
silver tea…spoon on the rim of his glass。 I said that he seemed to
take very coolly the prospect of damnation； he replied that it was
of no use taking what was inevitable otherwise than coolly。 I
asked him on what ground he imagined he should be lost； he replied
on the ground of being predestined to be lost。 I asked him how he
knew he was predestined to be lost； whereupon he asked me how I
knew I was to be saved。 I told him I did not know I was to be
saved； but trusted I should be so by belief in Christ； who came
into the world to save sinners； and that if he believed in Christ
he might be as easily saved as myself； or any other sinner who
believed in Him。 Our dispute continued a considerable time longer。
At last； finding him silent； and having finished my brandy and
water； I got up； rang the bell； paid for what I had had； and left
him looking very miserable； perhaps at finding that he was not
quite so certain of eternal damnation as he had hitherto supposed。
There can be no doubt that the idea of damnation is anything but
disagreeable to some people； it gives them a kind of gloomy
consequence in their own eyes。 We must be something particular
they think； or God would hardly think it worth His while to torment
us for ever。
I inquired the way to Festiniog； and finding that I had passed by
it on my way to the town； I went back； and as directed turned to
the east up a wide pass； down which flowed a river。 I soon found
myself in another and very noble valley； intersected by the river
which was fed by numerous streams rolling down the sides of the
hills。 The road which I followed in the direction of the east lay
on the southern side of the valley and led upward by a steep
ascent。 On I went； a mighty hill close on my right。 My mind was
full of enthusiastic fancies； I was approaching Festiniog the
birthplace of Rhys Goch； who styled himself Rhys Goch of Eryri or
Red Rhys of Snowdon； a celebrated bard； and a partisan of Owen
Glendower； who lived to an immense age； and who； as I had read； was
in the habit of composing his pieces seated on a stone which formed
part of a Druidical circle； for which reason the stone was called
the chair of Rhys Goch； yes； my mind was full of enthusiastic
fancies all connected with this Rhys Goch； and as I went along
slowly； I repeated stanzas of furious war songs of his exciting his
countrymen to exterminate the English； and likewise snatches of an
abusive ode composed by him against a fox who had run away with his
favourite peacock； a piece so abounding with hard words that it was
termed the Drunkard's chokepear； as no drunkard was ever able to
recite it； and ever and anon I wished I could come in contact with
some native of the region with whom I could talk about Rhys Goch；
and who could tell me whereabouts stood his chair。
Strolling along in this manner I was overtaken by an old fellow
with a stick in his hand； walking very briskly。 He had a crusty
and rather conceited look。 I spoke to him in Welsh； and he
answered in English； saying that I need not trouble myself by
speaking Welsh； as he had plenty of English； and of the very best。
We were from first to last at cross purposes。 I asked him about
Rhys Goch and his chair。 He told me that he knew nothing of
either； and began to talk of Her Majesty's ministers and the fine
sights of London。 I asked him the name of a stream which；
descending a gorge on our right； ran down the side of a valley； to
join the river at its bottom。 He told me that he did not know； and
asked me the name of the Queen's eldest daughter。 I told him I did
not know； and remarked that it was very odd that he could not tell
me the name of a stream in his own vale。 He replied that it was
not a bit more odd than that I could not tell him the name of the
eldest daughter of the Queen of England： I told him that when I
was in Wales I wanted to talk about Welsh matters； and he told me
that when he was with English he wanted to talk about English
matters。 I returned to the subject of Rhys Goch and his chair； and
he returned to the subject of Her Majesty's ministers； and the fine
folks of London。 I told him that I cared not a straw about Her
Majesty's ministers and the fine folks of London； and he replied
that he cared not a straw for Rhys Goch； his chair or old women's
stories of any kind。
Regularly incensed against the old fellow； I told him he was a bad
Welshman； and he retorted by saying I was a bad Englishman。 I said
he appeared to know next to nothing。 He retorted by saying I knew
less than nothing； and almost inarticulate with passion added that
he scorned to walk in such illiterate company； and suiting the
action to the word sprang up a steep and rocky footpath on the
right； probably a short cut to his domicile； and was out of sight
in a twinkling。 We were both wrong： I most so。 He was crusty and
conceited； but I ought to have humoured him and then I might have
got out of him anything he knew； always supposing that he knew
anything。
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