preserving in
my translation the alliterative euphony which constitutes one of the most
remarkable features of Welsh prosody? Yes, I had accomplished all this;
and I doubted not that the public would receive my translations from Ab
Gwilym with quite as much eagerness as my version of the Danish ballads.
But I found the publishers as untractable as ever, and to this day the
public has never had an opportunity of doing justice to the glowing fire
of my ballad versification, {397} and the alliterative euphony of my
imitations of Ab Gwilym.

I had not seen Francis Ardry since the day I had seen him taking lessons
in elocution. One afternoon as I was seated at my table, my head resting
on my hands, he entered my apartment; sitting down, he inquired of me why
I had not been to see him.

"I might ask the same question of you," I replied. "Wherefore have you
not been to see me?" Whereupon Francis Ardry told me that he had been
much engaged in his oratorical exercises, also in escorting the young
Frenchwoman about to places of public amusement; he then again questioned
me as to the reason of my not having been to see him.

I returned an evasive answer. The truth was, that for some time past my
appearance, owing to the state of my finances, had been rather shabby;
and I did not wish to expose a fashionable young man like Francis Ardry,
who lived in a fashionable neighbourhood, to the imputation of having a
shabby acquaintance. I was aware that Francis Ardry was an excellent
fellow; but, on that very account, I felt, under existing circumstances,
a delicacy in visiting him.

It is very possible that he had an inkling of how matters stood, as he
presently began to talk of my affairs and prospects. I told him of my
late ill success with the booksellers, and inveighed against their
blindness to their own interest in refusing to publish my translations.
"The last that I addressed myself to," said I, "told me not to trouble
him again unless I could bring him a decent novel or a tale."

"Well," said Frank, "and why did you not carry him a decent novel or a
tale?"

"Because I have neither," said I; "and to write them is, I believe, above
my capacity. At present I feel divested of all energy--heartless, and
almost hopeless."

"I see how it is," said Francis Ardry, "you have overworked yourself,
and, worst of all, to no purpose. Take my advice; cast all care aside,
and only think of diverting yourself for a month at least.