"You are wrong," said the man in grey; "I believe the awen, or
inspiration, is quite as much at home in the bar as in the barn,
perhaps more. It is that belief which makes me tolerably satisfied
with my position and prevents me from asking Sir Richard to give me
a farm instead of an inn."
"I suppose," said I, "that Sir Richard is your landlord?"
"He is," said the man in grey, "and a right noble landlord too."
"I suppose," said I, 'that he is right proud of his tenant?"
"He is," said the man in grey, "and I am proud of my landlord, and
will here drink his health. I have often said that if I were not
what I am, I should wish to be Sir Richard."
"You consider yourself his superior?" said I.
"Of course," said the man in grey - "a baronet is a baronet; but a
bard, is a bard you know - I never forget what I am, and the
respect due to my sublime calling. About a month ago I was seated
in an upper apartment in a fit of rapture. There was a pen in my
hand, and paper before me on the table, and likewise a jug of good
ale, for I always find that the awen is most prodigal of her
favours when a jug of good ale is before me. All of a sudden my
wife came running up, and told me that Sir Richard was below, and
wanted to speak to me.
