Sullen hills were all around. Descending the hill I entered a
large village divided into two by the river, which here runs from
east to west, but presently makes a turn. There was much mire in
the street; immense swine lay in the mire, who turned up their
snouts at me as I passed. Women in Welsh hats stood in the mire,
along with men without any hats at all, but with short pipes in
their mouths; they were talking together; as I passed, however,
they held their tongues, the women leering contemptuously at me,
the men glaring sullenly at me, and causing tobacco smoke curl in
my face; on my taking off my hat, however and inquiring the way to
the Monachlog, everybody was civil enough, and twenty voices told
me the way the Monastery. I asked the name of the river:
"The Teivi, sir: the Teivi."
"The name of the bridge?"
"Pony y Rhyd Fendigaid - the Bridge of the Blessed Ford, sir."
I crossed the Bridge of the Blessed Ford, and presently leaving the
main road, I turned to the east by a dung-hill, up a narrow lane
parallel with the river. After proceeding a mile up the lane,
amidst trees and copses, and crossing a little brook, which runs
into the Teivi, out of which I drank, I saw before me in the midst
of a field, in which were tombstones and broken ruins, a rustic-
looking church; a farm-house stood near it, in the garden of which
stood the framework of a large gateway.
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