“The world—all the world, are looking for me,” replied the wretch; “but I shall escape them yet. You are a good man; you would not rob the dead, would you?”
“Ay, ay, you fear Heaven—you fear its curses here, and its vengeance hereafter. I think I may trust you, as I have not above an hour to live. Look at me! don’t you see what they hunt me for? I’m all gold!—a man of gold!—robbers seek for me, to buy them food!—Spendthrifts hunt after me, to pay their debts!—Women grasp at me, to purchase jewels!—And kings lay snares for me, to gorge and fatten!”
He then related his wonderful adventure in Ogo ap Shenkin; and, as he concluded it, exclaimed,
“Bury me safely. You make take my little finger, that will pay all expenses, but don’t break up my body—to—to—to—” and the hypochondriac expired. { 304}
There is no doubt that the vision of the goat and the chest of wealth, was a dream after one of Jordan’s drunken bouts, which produced so powerful an impression upon his mind, that it banished the few wits intoxication had left him.
A Mistake—Road to Llanrwst—Gwydir Castle—Llanrwst Shaking Bridge—Inn—The Theatre—Town Hall—Free Schools—Alms Houses—Rhaiadr y Parc Mawr—Llynn Giwionydd—Taliesin—Trefriw—Slate Quarries—Conway—The Suspension Bridge—The Castle—Local Customs—A Phrenologist—Excursion to the Ormes’ Head—The Smuggler—The Bump of _Order_.
“On a rock whose haughty brow Frowned o’er old Conway’s foaming flood, Rob’d in a sable garb of woe, With haggard eye, the poet stood.”
As I stood taking a farewell look of this beautiful village, with my knapsack on my back, and fishing rod in my hand, I was suddenly roused from my reverie, by a slap on the shoulder, and, on turning my head, I perceived an old woman, who held out to me some half dozen, much soiled, silver tea spoons, addressing me at the same time in Welsh: she might as well have spoken to me in the language of the ancient Chaldees. However, I took the spoons in my hands, and, after turning them over and over for some time, and endeavouring to elicit her meaning without success, I shook my head as gravely as my Lord Burleigh is made to do, in Sheridan’s entertainment of the Critic, and returned them to their venerable owner. Disappointment made the wrinkles of her aged forehead deeper than usual, and I was turning to resume my journey, when a flash of intelligence crossed her smoke-dried visage, and, making a sign for me to stop, she ran into her cottage, and presently returned, her face glowing like a hot coal, with an old umbrella in her hand, which she displayed fantastically in every way she thought likely to attract my notice, making use of sundry pantomimic gestures, none of which could I understand; and I began to think myself in company with some unhappy creature escaped from Bedlam. I again attempted to proceed with more earnestness than before, when, to my astonishment, a pair of grey, much worn, inexpressibles were held up to my eyes, while the gesticulations of the old woman became stronger and stronger, and I at length discovered, that I had been mistaken for a travelling pedlar by the old beldam, who wished to exchange the articles she produced for something with which she imagined my knapsack was furnished!