nd 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. "He was indeed our last great
man--Ultimus Romanorum. I have myself read his work, which he called
Coll Gwynfa, the Loss of the place of Bliss--an admirable translation,
sir; highly poetical, and at the same time correct."

"Did you know him?" said I.

"I had not the honour of his acquaintance," said the doctor--"but, sir, I
am happy to say that I have made yours."

The landlady now began to talk to me about dinner, and presently went out
to make preparations for that very important meal. I had a great deal of
conversation with the doctor, whom I found a person of great and varied
information, and one who had seen a vast deal of the world. He was
giving me an account of an island in the West Indies, which he had
visited, when a boy coming in, whispered into his ear; whereupon, getting
up he said: "Sir, I am called away. I am a country surgeon, and of
course an accoucheur. There is a lady who lives at some distance
requiring my assistance. It is with grief I leave you so abruptly, but I
hope that some time or other we shall meet again." Then making me an
exceedingly profound bow, he left the room, followed by the boy.

I dined upstairs in a very handsome drawing-room, communicating with a
sleeping apartment. During dinner I was waited upon by the daughter of
the landlady, a good-looking merry girl of twenty. After dinner I sat
for some time thinking over the adventures of the day, then feeling
rather lonely and not inclined to retire to rest, I went down to the bar,
where I found the landlady seated with her daughter. I sat down with
them and we were soon in conversation. We spoke of Doctor Jones--the
landlady said that he had his little eccentricities, but was an excellent
and learned man. Speaking of herself she said that she had three
daughters, that the youngest was with her and that the two eldest kept