poet, and that he was going to Bangor to buy a horse or a pig."

"I don't see how that could be, sir," said the damsel; "my master
is at present in the house, rather unwell, and has not been out for
the last three days - there must be some mistake."

"Mistake," said I. "Isn't this the - Arms?"

"Yes, sir, it is."

"And isn't your master's name W-?"

"No, sir, my master's name is H-, and a more respectable man - "

"Well," said I interrupting her - "all I can say is that I met a
man in Dyffryn Gaint, who treated me with ale, told me that his
name was W-, that he was a prydydd and kept the - Arms at L-."

"Well," said the damsel, "now I remember, there is a person of that
name in L-, and he also keeps a house which he calls the - Arms,
but it is only a public-house."

"But," said I, "is he not a prydydd, an illustrious poet; does he
not write pennillion which everybody admires?"

"Well," said the damsel, "I believe he does write things which he
calls pennillions, but everybody laughs at them."

"Come, come," said I, "I will not hear the productions of a man who
treated me with ale, spoken of with disrespect. I am afraid that