Send boots can't you, and ask what I can have for
dinner."
"Yes, sir," said the waiter, and with a low bow departed.
"These boots are rather dusty," said the boots, a grey-haired,
venerable-looking man, after he had taken off my thick, solid,
square-toed boots. "I suppose you came walking from the railroad?"
"Confound the railroad!" said I. "I came walking from Bangor. I
would have you know that I have money in my pocket, and can afford
to walk. I am fond of the beauties of nature; now it is impossible
to see much of the beauties of nature unless you walk. I am
likewise fond of poetry, and take especial delight in inspecting
the birth-places and haunts of poets. It is because I am fond of
poetry, poets and their haunts, that I am come to Anglesey.
Anglesey does not abound in the beauties of nature, but there never
was such a place for poets; you meet a poet, or the birth-place of
a poet, everywhere."
"Did your honour ever hear of Gronwy Owen?" said the old man.
"I have," I replied, "and yesterday I visited his birth-place; so
you have heard of Gronwy Owen?"
"Heard of him, your honour; yes, and read his works. That 'Cowydd
y Farn' of his is a wonderful poem."
"You say right," said I; "the 'Cowydd of Judgment' contains some of
the finest things ever written - that description of the toppling
down of the top crag of Snowdon, at the day of Judgment, beats
anything in Homer."
"Then there was Lewis Morris, your honour," said the old man, "who
gave Gronwy his education and wrote 'The Lasses of Meirion' - and -
"
"And 'The Cowydd to the Snail,'" said I, interrupting him - "a
wonderful man he was."
"I am rejoiced to see your honour in our house," said boots; "I
never saw an English gentleman before who knew so much about Welsh
poetry, nor a Welsh one either.
