y tossed overboard: behind the rocky screen of the
coast appeared a tumultuous assemblage of mountains, the remotest of
which melted away into a faint aerial blue: and finally the boat's
company itself, consisting of sailors rowing in their shirt-sleeves,
fishermen and their wives in dresses of deep red and indigo, with the
usual marine adjuncts of fish, tangle, sea-weed, &c. composed a centre
to the spectacle which inspirited the whole by its rich colouring,
grouping, and picturesque forms. The living part of the contributors to
this fine composition seemed however but little aware of their own
share in the production of the picturesque: for most of them were
engaged in amusing their fancies at the expense of Bertram, whose
motions had but given a different turn to the satiric humour which
Captain le Harnois had called forth. One old man, who sate opposite to
Bertram, laid aside his pipe, and said in an under tone to his next
neighbour:

"Well, in my life I never saw the man that brought as much to paper in
a summer's day as young master here has done in one half hour; he beats
the parson and 'torney Williams all to nothing. But I see how it is:
they say Merlin wrote the History of Wales down to the day of judgment
upon these very rocks that lie right a-head: and sure, if he did,
there's somebody must come to read it: and _that_ must be young master
here. For you see he cocks his eye at the rocks, as if he had some run
goods in his pocket, and was looking out for a signal to come on shore.
Look at him now! Lord how nimbly his fingers go! One would swear he
believed that all must be over with this world, if he should stop above
half a minute. See, look at him! there he goes again!"

"Aye," said another: "but I think he's hardly writing Merlin's history:
though it's true enough that old saying about Merlin: he wrote it all
with his fore finger: and yet they tell me it is cut as deep into the
rock as if it had been done with chisel and mallet. But he must clear
the moss off the face of the rock before he'll read _that_. And it's
not every man that will read it when that's done,"

"Who then?"

"Why none but a seventh son of a seventh son; nor he neither, except in
the moonlight."

"Well, I know not," said the first speaker: "but, as to this writing
and reading, I see little good it does. Lord! to think of these
gentlefolks that come up to Tan-y-bwlch and Festiniog in the summer
time like a shoal of herrings: I go wit