eaten and drunk. What will you have?"

"Merely a cup of ale, sir," said the lad.

"That won't do," said I; "you shall have bread and cheese and as much ale
as you can drink. Pray," said I to the landlord, "let this young man
have some bread and cheese and a large quart of ale."

The landlord looked at me for a moment, then turning to the lad he said:

"What do you think of that, Shon? It is some time since you had a quart
of ale to your own cheek."

"Cheek," said I--"cheek! Is that a Welsh word? Surely it is an
importation from the English, and not a very genteel one."

"Oh come, sir!" said the landlord, "we can dispense with your criticisms.
A pretty thing indeed for you, on the strength of knowing half-a-dozen
words of Welsh, to set up for a Welsh critic in the house of a person who
knows the ancient British language perfectly."

"Dear me!" said I, "how fortunate I am! a person thoroughly versed in the
ancient British language is what I have long wished to see. Pray what is
the meaning of Darfel Gatherel?"

"Oh sir!" said the landlord, "you must answer that question yourself; I
don't pretend to understand gibberish!"

"Darfel Gatherel," said I, "is not gibberish; it was the name of the
great wooden image at Ty Dewi, or Saint David's, in Pembrokeshire, to
which thousands of pilgrims in the days of popery used to repair for the
purpose of adoring it, and which at the time of the Reformation was sent
up to London as a curiosity, where it eventually served as firewood to
burn the monk Forrest upon, who was sentenced to the stake by Henry the
Eighth for denying his supremacy. What I want to know is, the meaning of
the name, which I could never get explained, but which you who know the
ancient British language perfectly can doubtless interpret."

"Oh, sir," said the landlord, "when I said I knew the British language
perfectly, I perhaps went too far there are, of course, some obsolete
terms in the British tongue, which I don't understand. Dar, Dar--what is
it? Darmod Cotterel amongst the rest; but to a general knowledge of the
Welsh language I think I may lay some pretensions; were I not well
acquainted with it, I should not have carried off the prize at various
eisteddfodau, as I have done. I am a poet, sir--a prydydd."

"It is singular enough," said I, "that the only two Welsh poets I have
seen have been innkeepers--one is yourself, the other a person I met in
Anglesey. I suppose the Muse is fond of