was written Nelw Evans. She asked us if we would write in the
"Locked Book," whereupon she presented us with the key. It seems
that there is an ordinary Visitors' Book, where the common herd is
invited to scrawl its unknown name; but when persons of evident
distinction and genius patronize the inn, this "Locked Book" is put
into their hands.

I found that many a lord and lady had written on its pages, and men
mighty in Church and State had left their mark, with much bad
poetry commendatory of the beds, the food, the scenery, and the
fishing. Nobody, however, had given a line to pretty Nelw Evans;
so I pencilled her a rhyme, for which I was well paid in dimples:-


"At the Inn called the Penygwryd
A sweet little maiden is hid.
She's so rosy and pretty
I write her this ditty
And leave it at Penygwryd."


Our next halt was at Bettws-y-Coed, where we passed the week-end.
It was a memorable spot, as I failed at first to rhyme the name,
and only succeeded under threats of a fate like unto that of the
immortal babes in the wood. I left the verse to be carved on a
bronze tablet in the village church, should any one be found fitted
to bear the weight of its eulogy:-


"Here lies an old woman of Bettws-y-CoED;