I quickened my steps, and soon came up to the two individuals. One was an elderly man, dressed in a smock frock, and with a hairy cap on his head. The other was much younger, wore a hat, and was dressed in a coarse suit of blue, nearly new, and doubtless his Sunday's best. He was smoking a pipe. I greeted them in English, and sat down near them. They responded in the same language, the younger man with considerable civility and briskness, the other in a tone of voice denoting some reserve.  
"May I ask the name of this lake?" said I, addressing myself to the young man, who sat between me and the elderly one.
 
"Its name is Llyn Cwellyn, sir," said he, taking the pipe out of his mouth. "And a fine lake it is."
 
"Plenty of fish in it?" I demanded.
 
"Plenty, sir; plenty of trout and pike and char."
 
"Is it deep?" said I.
 
"Near the shore it is shallow, sir, but in the middle and near the other side it is[Pg 132] deep, so deep that no one knows how deep it is."
 
"What is the name," said I, "of the great black mountain there on the other side?"
 
"It is called Mynydd Mawr, or the Great Mountain. Yonder rock, which bulks out from it, down the lake yonder, and which you passed as you came along, is called Castell Cidwm, which means Wolf s rock or castle."
 
"Did a wolf ever live there?" I demanded.
 
"Perhaps so," said the man, "for I have heard say that there were wolves of old in Wales."
 
"And what is the name of the beautiful hill yonder, before us across the water?"
 
"That, sir, is called Cairn Drws y Coed," said the man.
 
"The stone heap of the gate of the wood," said I.
 
"Are you Welsh, sir?" said the man.
 
"No," said I, "but I know something of the language of Wales. I suppose you live in that house?"
 
"Not exactly, sir; my father-in-law here lives in that house, and my wife with him. I am a miner, and spend six days in the week at my mine, but every Sunday I come here, and pass the day with my wife and him."
 
"And what profession does he follow?" said I; "is he a fisherman?"
 
[Pg 133]
 
"Fisherman!" said the elderly man contemptuously, "not I. I am the Snowdon Ranger."
 
"And what is that?" said I.
 
The elderly man tossed his head proudly, and made no reply.
 
"A ranger means a guide, sir," said the younger man—"my father-in-law is generally termed the Snowdon Ranger because he is a tip-top guide, and he has named the house after him the Snowdon Ranger. He entertains gentlemen in it who put themselves under his guidance in order to ascend Snowdon and to see the country."
 
"There is some difference in your professions," said I; "he deals in heights, you in depths; both, however, are break-necky trades."
 
"I run more risk from gunpowder than anything else," said the younger man. "I am a slate-miner, and am continually blasting. I have, however, had my falls. Are you going far to-night, sir?"
 
"I am going to Bethgelert," said I.
 
"A good six miles, sir, from here. Do you come from Caernarvon?"
 
"Farther than that," said I. "I come from Bangor."
 
"To-day, sir, and walking?"
 
"To-day, and walking."
 
[Pg 134]
 
"You must be rather tired, sir; you came along the valley very slowly."
 
"I am not in the slightest degree tired," said I; "when I start from here, I shall put on my best pace, and soon get to Bethgelert."
 
"Anybody can get along over level ground," said the old man, laconically.
 
"Not with equal swiftness," said I. "I do assure you, friend, to be able to move at a good swinging pace over level ground is something not to be sneezed at. Not," said I, lifting up my voice, "that I would for a moment compare walking on the level ground to mountain ranging, pacing along the road to springing up crags like a mountain goat, or assert that even Powell himself, the first of all road walkers, was entitled to so bright a wreath of fame as the Snowdon Ranger."
 
"Won't you walk in, sir?" said the elderly man.
 
"No, I thank you," said I; "I prefer sitting out here, gazing on the lake and the noble mountains."
 
"I wish you would, sir," said the elderly man, "and take a glass of something; I will charge you nothing."
 
"Thank you," said I—"I am in want of nothing, and shall presently start. Do many people ascend Snowdon from your house?"
 
"Not so many as I could wish," said the[Pg 135] ranger; "people in general prefer ascending Snowdon from that trumpery place Bethgelert; but those who do are fools—begging your honour's pardon. The place to ascend Snowdon from is my house. The way from my house up Snowdon is wonderful for the romantic scenery which it affords; that from Bethgelert can't be named in the same day with it for scenery; moreover, from my house you may have the best guide in Wales; whereas the guides of Bethgelert—but I say nothing. If your honour is bound for the Wyddfa, as I suppose you are, you had better start from my house to-morrow under my guidance."
 
"I have already been up the Wyddfa from Llanberis," said I, "and am now going through Bethgelert to Llangollen, where my family are; were I going up Snowdon again, I should most certainly start from your house under your guidance, and were I not in a hurry at present, I would certainly take up my quarters here for a week, and every day make excursions with you into the recesses of Eryri. I suppose you are acquainted with all the secrets of the hills?"
 
"Trust the old ranger for that, your honour. I would show your honour the black lake in the frightful hollow, in which the fishes have monstrous heads and little bodies, the lake on[Pg 136] which neither swan, duck nor any kind of wildfowl was ever seen to light. Then I would show your honour the fountain of the hopping creatures, where, where——"
 
"Were you ever at that Wolf's crag, that Castell y Cidwm?" said I.
 
"Can't say I ever was, your honour. You see it lies so close by, just across that lake, that——"
 
"You thought you could see it any day, and so never went," said I. "Can't you tell me whether there are any ruins upon it?"
 
"I can't, your honour."
 
"I shouldn't wonder," said I, "if in old times it was the stronghold of some robber-chieftain; cidwm in the old Welsh is frequently applied to a ferocious man. Castell Cidwm, I should think, rather ought to be translated the robber's castle, than the wolf's rock. If I ever come into these parts again, you and I will visit it together, and see what kind of a place it is. Now farewell! It is getting late." I then departed.
 
"What a nice gentleman!" said the younger man, when I was a few yards distant.
............