"No, I have never gained
the silver chair - I have never had an opportunity. I have been
kept out of the eisteddfodau. There is such a thing as envy, sir -
but there is one comfort, that envy will not always prevail."
"No," said I; "envy will not always prevail - envious scoundrels
may chuckle for a time at the seemingly complete success of the
dastardly arts to which they have recourse, in order to crush merit
- but Providence is not asleep. All of a sudden they see their
supposed victim on a pinnacle far above their reach. Then there is
weeping, and gnashing of teeth with a vengeance, and the long,
melancholy howl. Oh, there is nothing in this world which gives
one so perfect an idea of retribution as the long melancholy howl
of the disappointed envious scoundrel when he sees his supposed
victim smiling on an altitude far above his reach."
"Sir," said the man in grey, "I am delighted to hear you. Give me
your hand, your honourable hand. Sir, you have now felt the hand-
grasp of a Welshman, to say nothing of an Anglesey bard, and I have
felt that of a Briton, perhaps a bard, a brother, sir? Oh, when I
first saw your face out there in the dyffryn, I at once recognised
in it that of a kindred spirit, and I felt compelled to ask you to
drink.
