THE MILLS OF TREFRIEW. 47 



me in, can now eradicate. This, if I mistake 

 not, is the identical stone on which we rested, and 

 this, the very mountain rivulet by which the poet of 

 old might have refreshed himself, when he said — 



" The wearie traveller, wandering tbis way, 

 Herein doth often quench his thirsty beat ! 

 And then by it his wearie limbes display, 



Whiles creeping slomber makes him to forget 



His former payne, and wipes away his toilsome sweat." 



That ''wearie traveiler" is your humble servant, 

 I confess ; so, to oblige me, and with the aid of 

 this pure stream 



" To cool the maWs intemperate glow," 



let us take a cup of welcome, and drink pros- 

 perity to our coming occupation. 



Tlieoph. — Agreed. Success to us both; ''and 

 may the east wind never blow when we go a- 

 fishing," as Walton says. But come, no more of 

 you propitiatory libations, or I shall never get 

 you to our " roosting" place. 



Herb. — Stay a bit, and let me admire once 

 again this specimen of lovely Wales, where every 

 footstep treads on some fresh burst of beauty, — 

 ever varying, always new ! This — the mills of 

 Trefriew clambering over each other, like thirsty 

 hounds to catch the purest gush of water — is as 

 picturesque a " bit" as can well be imagined. 

 How it lies, lulled in the lap of these wood- 

 crowned hills, from whose feet the Conway's 



