her hand on except one of her own, which if I
pleased she would lend me. I begged her to do so. Whereupon she went
out and presently returned with a very small volume, which she laid on
the table and then retired. After taking a sip of my whiskey and water I
proceeded to examine it. It turned out to be a volume of Welsh poems
entitled "Blodau Glyn Dyfi"; or, Flowers of Glyn Dyfi, by one Lewis
Meredith, whose poetical name is Lewis Glyn Dyfi. The author indites his
preface from Cemmaes, June, 1852. The best piece is called Dyffryn Dyfi,
and is descriptive of the scenery of the vale through which the Dyfi
runs. It commences thus:

"Heddychol ddyffryn tlws,"
Peaceful, pretty vale,

and contains many lines breathing a spirit of genuine poetry.

The next day I did not get up till nine, having no journey before me, as
I intended to pass that day at Machynlleth. When I went down to the
parlour I found another guest there, breakfasting. He was a tall, burly,
and clever-looking man of about thirty-five. As we breakfasted together
at the same table we entered into conversation. I learned from him that
he was an attorney from a town at some distance, and was come over to
Machynlleth to the petty sessions, to be held that day, in order to
defend a person accused of spearing a salmon in the river. I asked him
who his client was.

"A farmer," said he, "a tenant of Lord V---, who will probably preside
over the bench which will try the affair."

"Oh," said I, "a tenant spearing his landlord's fish--that's bad."

"No," said he, "the fish which he speared, that is, which he is accused
of spearing, did not belong to his landlord but to another person; he
hires land of Lord V---, but the fishing of the river which runs through
that land belongs to Sir Watkin."

"Oh, then," said I, "supposing he did spear the salmon I shan't break my
heart if you get him off: do you think you shall?"

"I don't know," said he. "There's the evidence of two keepers against
him; one of whom I hope, however, to make appear a scoundrel, in whose
oath the slightest confidence is not to be placed. I shouldn't wonder if
I make my client appear a persecuted lamb. The worst is, that he has the
character of being rather fond of fish, indeed of having speared more
salmon than any other six individuals in the neighbourhood."

"I really should like to see him," said I; "what kind of person is
he?--some fine, desperate-looking fellow, I su