
Your card was welcomed the other day; but I was sorry it did not give a better account of your present condition. I hope the bright American autumn weather will serve you better than the summer has done,—bringing a renascence of the imagination at least.
If in imagination you could only come to this Welsh mountain valley, & go
exploring some of its mountain sides & its swift streams with me in this
splendid October sunshine,—this alone would be a sufficient
medecine
medicine
for the soul surely! I suppose these late weeks here have been the
happiest of my life,—in the sense of physical delight at any rate; & the
keen pure air makes one mentally alert & energetic too. A good part of every
day goes in excursions across the mountains, but I usually write in the mornings
& evenings—of necessity, & so get through a fair amount of work.
The life of the farm, which you know so well in the States, is essentially the same here no doubt. Harvest is late this year, & on some farms the corn is not yet all gathered in; but here at Blaen Sawdde, the two energetic sons of the house working under the shrewd & restless direction of their father, the last field was stacked ten days or more ago. Old William Williams, the father, is a typical Welsh peasant of the better class. He is just seventy years old, & except for indigestion & occasional rheumatism, is very hale & strong for his age, as I found out one day soon after coming here, when he took up the hatchet to show me how to chop a log of wood in two. Of the two sons now at home, the eldest David is about 34 years old, & William about 25.

Like most Welshmen, they are both good singer's singers , & take bass in the parish church on Sundays. William moreover is a remarkably comely & well-built youth, without an evil trick in his whole nature. It is really inspiring to see him at work: he does everything with such ease & strength. And he is equally quick mentally, and reads English & Welsh readily & with imagination. I almost envy him his self-reliance & manly sufficiency.
Two days ago quite a momentous event,—the bi-annual sale by auction of sheep,
cattle & mountain ponies, took place at the farm, & some hundreds of farmers
rode across the mountains & from the surrounding hamlets to attend it. The sight
of so many sturdy countrymen, with their ponies & beautiful collie dogs, would
have delighted you greatly. A plentiful supply of Welsh ale & beef & mutton
& other things made a feast quite Baronial, & put them all into good humour.
In the evening the younger fellows wrestled on the grass until the new moon sank
behind the hills & it was too dark to see any longer. Later they sat round the
fire, & sang & told stories,—all in Welsh of course, & some score
or more of them did not return home, but stayed here & sat up all night,
continuing the fun. Altogether a fine experience for me, as you may imagine. Every
day I gather in this way some new association to add to my store; & all the
while I am picking up the Welsh idiom, difficult as it is, & hope in a month or
two to be able to read the old Welsh MSS. poetry & romances chiefly at the
British Museum.
I am glad to think that November Boughs & the complete 900 page volume are so nearly ready, & look forward to having them. It is within the bounds of possibility that I may write a review of the complete book for one of our leading monthlies,—the XIXth Century or Fortnightly Review; but I must not be too sure.
If Gilchrist is with you, give him greetings. & Mrs. Davis too.
With much love, Ernest RhysI shall probably stay here two or three weeks more, & then go to London after a short stay in the Vale of Avallon in Somerset.

