We reached the termination, and presently crossing
the canal by a little wooden bridge we came to a village. My guide
then said, "If you please, sir, we will return by the old bridge,
which leads across the Dee in the bottom of the vale." He then led
me by a romantic road to a bridge on the west of the aqueduct, and
far below. It seemed very ancient. "This is the old bridge, sir,"
said my guide; "it was built a hundred years before the Pont y
Cysswllt was dreamt of." We now walked to the west, in the
direction of Llangollen, along the bank of the river. Presently we
arrived where the river, after making a bend, formed a pool. It
was shaded by lofty trees, and to all appearance was exceedingly
deep. I stopped to look at it, for I was struck with its gloomy
horror. "That pool, sir," said John Jones, "is called Llyn y
Meddwyn, the drunkard's pool. It is called so, sir, because a
drunken man once fell into it, and was drowned. There is no deeper
pool in the Dee, sir, save one, a little below Llangollen, which is
called the pool of Catherine Lingo. A girl of that name fell into
it, whilst gathering sticks on the high bank above it. She was
drowned, and the pool was named after her. I never look at either
without shuddering, thinking how certainly I should be drowned if I
fell in, for I cannot swim, sir.
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