"And you read Welsh poetry?"

"Oh yes."

"How were you enabled to master its difficulties?"

"Chiefly by going through Owen Pugh's version of 'Paradise Lost'
twice, with the original by my side. He has introduced into that
translation so many of the poetic terms of the old bards, that
after twice going through it, there was little in Welsh poetry that
I could not make out with a little pondering."

"You pursued a very excellent plan, sir," said the doctor, "a very
excellent plan indeed. Owen Pugh!"

"Owen Pugh! The last of your very great men," said I.

"You say right, sir," said the doctor. "He was indeed our last
great man - Ultimus Romanorum. I have myself read his work, which
he called Coll Gwynfa, the Loss of the place of Bliss - an
admirable translation, sir; highly poetical, and at the same time
correct."

"Did you know him?" said I.

"I had not the honour of his acquaintance," said the doctor - "but,
sir, I am happy to say that I have made yours."

The landlady now began to talk to me about dinner, and presently