I
soon reached Llan Silin, a village or townlet, having some high
hills at a short distance to the westward, which form part of the
Berwyn.
I entered the kitchen of an old-fashioned public-house, and sitting
down by a table told the landlord, a red-nosed elderly man, who
came bowing up to me, to bring me a pint of ale. The landlord
bowed and departed. A bluff-looking old fellow, somewhat under the
middle size, sat just opposite to me at the table. He was dressed
in a white frieze coat, and had a small hat on his head set rather
consequentially on one side. Before him on the table stood a jug
of ale, between which and him lay a large crabstick. Three or four
other people stood or sat in different parts of the room.
Presently the landlord returned with the ale.
"I suppose you come on sessions business, sir?" said he, as he
placed it down before me.
"Are the sessions being held here to-day?" said I.
"They are," said the landlord, "and there is plenty of business;
two bad cases of poaching, Sir Watkin's keepers are up at court and
hope to convict."
"I am not come on sessions business," said I; "I am merely
strolling a little about to see the country."
"He is come from South Wales," said the old fellow in the frieze
coat, to the landlord, "in order to see what kind of country the
north is.
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