After turning up my nose at the railroad, was I
to put up at its hotel? Surely to do so would be hardly acting
with consistency. "Ought I not rather to go to some public-house,
frequented by captains of fishing smacks, and be put in a bed a
foot too short for me," said I, as I reflected on my last night's
couch at Mr Pritchard's. "No, that won't do - I shall go to the
hotel, I have money in my pocket, and a person with money in his
pocket has surely a right to be inconsistent if he pleases."
So I turned back and entered the railroad hotel with lofty port and
with sounding step, for I had twelve sovereigns in my pocket,
besides a half one, and some loose silver, and feared not to
encounter the gaze of any waiter or landlord in the land. "Send
boots!" I roared to the waiter, as I flung myself down in an arm-
chair in a magnificent coffee-room. "What the deuce are you
staring at? 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. Ah, if your honour is fond of
poets and their places you did right to come to Anglesey - and your
honour was right in saying that you can't stir a step without
meeting one; you have an example of the truth of that in me - for
to tell your honour the truth, I am a poet myself, and no bad one
either."
Then tucking the dusty boots under his arm, the old man with a low
congee, and a "Good-night, your honour!" shuffled out of the room.
CHAPTER XL
Caer Gyby - Lewis Morris - Noble Character.
I DINED or rather supped well at the Railroad Inn - I beg its
pardon, Hotel, for the word Inn at the present day is decidedly
vulgar. I likewise slept well; how could I do otherwise, passing
the night, as I did, in an excellent bed in a large, cool, quiet
room? I arose rather late, went down to the coffee-room and took
my breakfast leisurely, after which I paid my bill and strolled
forth to observe the wonders of the place.
Caer Gybi or Cybi's town is situated on the southern side of a bay
on the north-western side of Anglesey. Close to it on the south-
west is a very high headland called in Welsh Pen Caer Gybi, or the
head of Cybi's city, and in English Holy Head. On the north,
across the bay, is another mountain of equal altitude, which if I
am not mistaken bears in Welsh the name of Mynydd Llanfair, or
Saint Mary's Mount. It is called Cybi's town from one Cybi, who
about the year 500 built a college here to which youths noble and
ignoble resorted from far and near. He was a native of Dyfed or
Pembrokeshire, and was a friend and for a long time a fellow-
labourer of Saint David. Besides being learned, according to the
standard of the time, he was a great walker, and from bronzing his
countenance by frequent walking in the sun was generally called
Cybi Velin, which means tawny or yellow Cybi.
So much for Cybi, and his town! And now something about one whose
memory haunted me much more than that of Cybi during my stay at
Holyhead.
Lewis Morris was born at a place called Tref y Beirdd, in Anglesey,
in the year 1700. Anglesey, or Mona, has given birth to many
illustrious men, but few, upon the whole, entitled to more
honourable mention than himself. From a humble situation in life,
for he served an apprenticeship to a cooper at Holyhead, he raised
himself by his industry and talents to affluence and distinction,
became a landed proprietor in the county of Cardigan, and inspector
of the royal domains and mines in Wales. Perhaps a man more
generally accomplished never existed; he was a first-rate mechanic,
an expert navigator, a great musician, both in theory and practice,
and a poet of singular excellence.
