e a public-house here?" said I.

"There is," he replied, "you will find one a little farther up on the
right hand."

"Come, and take some ale," said I.

"No," said he.

"Why not?" I demanded.

"I am a teetotaler," he replied.

"Indeed," said I, and having shaken him by the hand, thanked him for his
company and bidding him farewell, went on. He was the first person I had
ever met of the fraternity to which he belonged, who did not endeavour to
make a parade of his abstinence and self-denial.

After drinking some tolerably good ale in the public house I again
started. As I left the village a clock struck eight. The evening was
delightfully cool; but it soon became nearly dark. I passed under high
rocks, by houses and by groves, in which nightingales were singing, to
listen to whose entrancing melody I more than once stopped. On coming to
a town, lighted up and thronged with people, I asked one of a group of
young fellows its name.

"Bethesda," he replied.

"A scriptural name," said I.

"Is it?" said he; "well, if its name is scriptural the manners of its
people are by no means so."

A little way beyond the town a man came out of a cottage and walked
beside me. He had a basket in his hand. I quickened my pace; but he was
a tremendous walker, and kept up with me. On we went side by side for
more than a mile without speaking a word. At length, putting out my legs
in genuine Barclay fashion, I got before him about ten yards, then
turning round laughed and spoke to him in English. He too laughed and
spoke, but in Welsh. We now went on like brothers, conversing, but
always walking at great speed. I learned from him that he was a
market-gardener living at Bangor, and that Bangor was three miles off.
On the stars shining out we began to talk about them.

Pointing to Charles's Wain I said, "A good star for travellers."

Whereupon pointing to the North star, he said:

"I forwyr da iawn--a good star for mariners."

We passed a large house on our left.

"Who lives there?" said I.

"Mr Smith," he replied. "It is called Plas Newydd; milltir genom
etto--we have yet another mile."

In ten minutes we were at Bangor. I asked him where the Albion Hotel
was.

"I will show it you," said he, and so he did.

As we came under it I heard the voice of my wife, for she, standing on a
balcony and distinguishing me by the lamplight, called out. I shook
hands with the kind six-mile-an-hour market-gardener, and