the old man, "I have lived here a great many years, but
never before did a Saxon call upon me, asking questions about Gronwy
Owen, or his birth-place. Immortality to his memory! I owe much to him,
for reading his writings taught me to be a poet!"

"Dear me!" said I, "are you a poet?"

"I trust I am," said he; "though the humblest of Ynys Fon."

A flash of proud fire, methought, illumined his features as he pronounced
these last words.

"I am most happy to have met you," said I; "but tell me how am I to get
to Llanfair?"

"You must go first," said he, "to Traeth Coch which in Saxon is called
the 'Red Sand.' In the village called the Pentraeth which lies above
that sand, I was born; through the village and over the bridge you must
pass, and after walking four miles due north you will find yourself in
Llanfair eithaf, at the northern extremity of Mon. Farewell! That ever
Saxon should ask me about Gronwy Owen, and his birth-place! I scarcely
believe you to be a Saxon, but whether you be or not, I repeat farewell."

Coming to the Menai Bridge I asked the man who took the penny toll at the
entrance, the way to Pentraeth Coch.

"You see that white house by the wood," said he, pointing some distance
into Anglesey; "you must make towards it till you come to a place where
there are four cross roads and then you must take the road to the right."

Passing over the bridge I made my way towards the house by the wood which
stood on the hill till I came where the four roads met, when I turned to
the right as directed.

The country through which I passed seemed tolerably well cultivated, the
hedge-rows were very high, seeming to spring out of low stone walls. I
met two or three gangs of reapers proceeding to their work with scythes
in their hands.

In about half-an-hour I passed by a farm-house partly surrounded with
walnut trees. Still the same high hedges on both sides of the road: are
these hedges relics of the sacrificial groves of Mona? thought I to
myself. Then I came to a wretched village through which I hurried at the
rate of six miles an hour. I then saw a long, lofty, craggy hill on my
right hand towards the east.

"What mountain is that?" said I to an urchin playing in the hot dust of
the road.

"Mynydd Lydiart!" said the urchin, tossing up a handful of the hot dust
into the air, part of which in descending fell into my eyes.

I shortly afterwards passed by a handsome lodge. I then saw groves,
moun