.

." "Ah," said I, "misfortunes! they pursue every one, more especially those whose virtues should exempt them from them.

Well, sir, the consciousness of not having deserved them should be your consolation." "Sir," said the doctor, taking off his hat, "you are infinitely kind." "You call this an obscure place," said I--"can that be an obscure place which has produced a poet?
I have long had a respect for Cerrig y Drudion because it gave birth to, and was the residence of a poet of considerable merit." "I was not aware of that fact," said the doctor, "pray what was his name ?" "Peter Lewis," said I; "he was a clergyman of Cerrig y Drudion about the middle of the last century, and amongst other things wrote a beautiful song called Cathl y Gair Mwys, or the melody of the ambiguous word." "Surely you do not understand Welsh ?" said the doctor.
"I understand a little of it," I replied.
"Will you allow me to speak to you in Welsh ?" said the doctor.
"Certainly," said I.
He spoke to me in Welsh, and I replied.
"Ha, ha," said the landlady in English; "only think, doctor, of the gentleman understanding Welsh--we must mind what we say before him." "And are you an Englishman ?" said the doctor.
"I am," I replied.
"And how came you to learn it ?" "I am fond of languages," said I, "and studied Welsh at an early period." "And you read Welsh poetry ?" "Oh yes." "How were you enabled to master its difficulties ?" "Chiefly by going through Owen Pugh's version of 'Paradise Lost' twice, with the original by my side.

He has introduced into that translation so many of the poetic terms of the old bards, that after twice going through it, there was little in Welsh poetry that I could not make out with a little pondering." "You pursued a very excellent plan, sir," said the doctor, "a very excellent plan indeed.

Owen Pugh!" "Owen Pugh! The last of your very great men," said I.
"You say right, sir," said the doctor.