294 A DOG HUNT ON THE BERWYNS 



Cader Fronweu, one of the highest of the Berwyns, 

 without meeting with a trace. 



Here I was put liors cle comhat by my pony 

 sticking fast in a bog ; and as every one was too 

 busy to help me, there I had to stay, and the hunt 

 swept on. Soon the noise of the beaters died away, 

 and I was left alone, sitting on a stone which peered 

 out of the bog, holding the bridle of my unfortunate 

 steed, and every now and then cutting heather and 

 pushing it under its belly, to prevent the poor crea- 

 ture sinking any deeper into the mire. Here's a 

 pretty fix, I thought. 



Soon the mist which enveloped the summit of 

 Cader Fronwen came sweeping down the gorge in a 

 torrent of rain ; and, even if my pony had been 

 free, it would have been madness to stray from 

 where I was, as I could not see two yards before 

 me, and I did not know the paths. 



By-and-by I heard them coming back, and then 

 saw them looming gigantic in the mist. After 

 having extricated my pony, as I was chilled and 

 wet through, I made the best of my way to Llan- 

 gynog, while the rest of the party — or multitude, 

 rather — made for the Llanrhaiadr hills, but as I 

 afterwards learnt, without success. Tired with a 

 hard and long day's work, the men separated, and 

 made off for their respective homes. No traces of 



