believe you are an Englishman, sir," said the man in grey, speaking
English, "I will therefore take the liberty of answering your question in
the English tongue. The name of this place is Dyffryn Gaint."

"Thank you," said I; "you are quite right with regard to my being an
Englishman, perhaps you are one yourself?"

"Sir," said the man in grey, "I have not the honour to be so. I am a
native of the small island in which we are."

"Small," said I, "but famous, particularly for producing illustrious
men."

"That's very true indeed, sir," said the man in grey, drawing himself up;
"it is particularly famous for producing illustrious men."

"There was Owen Tudor?" said I.

"Very true," said the man in grey, "his tomb is in the church a little
way from hence."

"Then," said I, "there was Gronwy Owen, one of the greatest bards that
ever lived. Out of reverence to his genius I went yesterday to see the
place of his birth."

"Sir," said the man in grey, "I should be sorry to leave you without
enjoying your conversation at some length. In yonder house they sell
good ale, perhaps you will not be offended if I ask you to drink some
with me and my friend?"

"You are very kind," said I, "I am fond of good ale and fonder still of
good company--suppose we go in?"

We went into the cottage, which was kept by a man and his wife, both of
whom seemed to be perfectly well acquainted with my two new friends. We
sat down on stools, by a clean white table in a little apartment with a
clay floor--notwithstanding the heat of the weather, the little room was
very cool and pleasant owing to the cottage being much protected from the
sun by its situation. The man in grey called for a jug of ale, which was
presently placed before us along with three glasses. The man in grey
having filled the glasses from the jug which might contain three pints,
handed one to me, another to his companion, and then taking the third
drank to my health. I drank to his and that of his companion; the
latter, after nodding to us both, emptied his at a draught, and then with
a kind of half-fatuous leer, exclaimed, "Da iawn, very good."

The ale, though not very good, was cool and neither sour nor bitter; we
then sat for a moment or two in silence, my companions on one side of the
table, and I on the other. After a little time the man in grey looking
at me said:

"Travelling I suppose in Anglesey for pleasure?"

"To a certain extent," said I; "but my