he Llangollen
people can show nothing like that.'

Tom Jenkins looked at me for a moment with some surprise, and then said:
'I see you have been here before, sir.'

'No,' said I, 'never, but I have read about the Tomen Bala in books, both
Welsh and English.'

'You have, sir,' said Tom. 'Well, I am rejoiced to see so book-learned a
gentleman in our house. The Tomen Bala has puzzled many a head. What do
the books which mention it say about it, your honour?'

'Very little,' said I, 'beyond mentioning it; what do the people here say
of it?'

'All kinds of strange things, your honour.'

'Do they say who built it?'

'Some say the Tylwyth Teg built it, others that it was cast up over a
dead king by his people. The truth is, nobody here knows who built it,
or anything about it, save that it is a wonder. Ah, those people of
Llangollen can show nothing like it.'

* * * * *

The strength of the ox,
The wit of the fox,
And the leveret's speed
Full oft to oppose
To their numerous foes,
The Rommany need.

Our horses they take,
Our waggons they break,
And ourselves they seize,
In their prisons to coop,
Where we pine and droop,
For want of breeze.

When the dead swallow
The fly shall follow
O'er Burra-panee,
Then we will forget
The wrongs we have met
And forgiving be.

* * * * *

I began to think: 'What was likely to be the profit of my present way of
life; the living in dingles, making pony and donkey shoes, conversing
with gypsy-women under hedges, and extracting from them their odd
secrets?' What was likely to be the profit of such a kind of life, even
should it continue for a length of time?--a supposition not very
probable, for I was earning nothing to support me, and the funds with
which I had entered upon this life were gradually disappearing. I was
living, it is true, not unpleasantly, enjoying the healthy air of heaven;
but, upon the whole, was I not sadly misspending my time? Surely I was;
and, as I looked back, it appeared to me that I had always been doing so.
What had been the profit of the tongues which I had learnt? had they ever
assisted me in the day of hunger? No, no! it appeared to me that I had
always misspent my time, save in one instance, when by a desperate effort
I had collected all the powers of my imagination, and written the Life of
Joseph Sell; but even when I wrote the Life of Sell, was I not in a false
position? Provided I had not misspent my time, would it have been
n