chief object in visiting Anglesey
was to view the birth-place of Gronwy Owen; I saw it yesterday, and am
now going to Holyhead chiefly with a view to see the country."

"And how came you, an Englishman, to know anything of Gronwy Owen?"

"I studied Welsh literature when young," said I, "and was much struck
with the verses of Gronwy: he was one of the great bards of Wales, and
certainly the most illustrious genius that Anglesey ever produced."

"A great genius, I admit," said the man in grey, "but pardon me, not
exactly the greatest Ynis Fon has produced. The race of the bards is not
quite extinct in the island, sir. I could name one or two--however, I
leave others to do so--but I assure you the race of bards is not quite
extinct here."

"I am delighted to hear you say so," said I, "and make no doubt that you
speak correctly, for the Red Bard has said that Mona is never to be
without a poet--but where am I to find one? just before I saw you I was
wishing to see a poet; I would willingly give a quart of ale to see a
genuine Anglesey poet."

"You would, sir, would you?" said the man in grey, lifting his head on
high, and curling his upper lip.

"I would, indeed," said I, "my greatest desire at present is to see an
Anglesey poet, but where am I to find one?"

"Where is he to find one?" said he of the tattered hat; "where's the gwr
boneddig to find a prydydd? No occasion to go far, he, he, he."

"Well" said I, "but where is he?"

"Where is he? why, there," said he, pointing to the man in grey--"the
greatest prydydd in tir Fon or the whole world."

"Tut, tut, hold your tongue," said the man in grey.

"Hold my tongue, myn Diawl, not I--I speak the truth," then filling his
glass he emptied it exclaiming, "I'll not hold, my tongue. The greatest
prydydd in the whole world."

"Then I have the honour to be seated with a bard of Anglesey?" said I,
addressing the man in grey.

"Tut, tut," said he of the grey suit.

"The greatest prydydd in the whole world," iterated he of the bulged
shoe, with a slight hiccup, as he again filled his glass.

"Then," said I, "I am truly fortunate."

"Sir," said the man in grey, "I had no intention of discovering myself,
but as my friend here has betrayed my secret, I confess that I am a bard
of Anglesey--my friend is an excellent individual but indiscreet, highly
indiscreet, as I have frequently told him," and here he looked most
benignantly reproachful at him of the tattered ha