That 'Cowydd y Farn' of his is a wonderful poem." "You say right," said I; "the 'Cowydd of Judgment' contains some of the finest things ever written--that description of the toppling down of the top crag of Snowdon, at the day of Judgment, beats anything in Homer." "Then there was Lewis Morris, your honour," said the old man, "who gave Gronwy his education and wrote 'The Lasses of Meirion'-- and--" "And 'The Cowydd to the Snail,'" said I, interrupting him--"a wonderful man he was." "I am rejoiced to see your honour in our house," said boots; "I never saw an English gentleman before who knew so much about Welsh poetry, nor a Welsh one either.

Ah, if your honour is fond of poets and their places you did right to come to Anglesey--and your honour was right in saying that you can't stir a step without meeting one; you have an example of the truth of that in me--for to tell your honour the truth, I am a poet myself, and no bad one either." Then tucking the dusty boots under his arm, the old man with a low congee, and a "Good-night, your honour!" shuffled out of the room..