44 
EEENY COMBES. 
sparkling water; but it will be served to you on 
so white a table as perchance your eyes ne’er lighted 
on, and your snowy sheets will smell refreshingly 
of mountain peat. Yet, if you follow my sugges¬ 
tion, you will find yourself landed at a little wayside 
public-house, in the middle of a moor. Never 
mind! only accompany me, and you will have a 
treat you little expect. 
We descend the lane opposite the house, passing 
an old square castle where the Stannary Courts 
were formerly held, and the notorious Jeffreys sat 
in judgment: he is supposed to haunt the place 
still in the form of a black pig. There are number¬ 
less pigs hereabouts, white as well as black, all 
sufficiently ugly to personate Jeffreys or any other 
unjust judge. Now we stand on Lydford Bridge. 
We look around with a feeling of disappointment; 
we came to see something fine, and do not see it. 
“ Hush ! do you hear that low murmur ?” 
“ Come, look over the parapet.” 
You start back astonished ! giddy! 
Bar, far, below you, at the bottom of a nar¬ 
row fissure (not unlike that at Pont-y-Mynach, 
near Aberystwith), rushes the mountain torrent 
through its polished slippery bed, hollowed out of 
the solid rock into innumerable “ punch-bowls,” 
inaccessible to the most venturous and surefooted. 
