I.

"I am not," said the miller; "I am a Methodist."

"Can you read the poetry of Gronwy Owen?" said I.

"I cannot," said the miller, "that is with any comfort; his poetry is in
the ancient Welsh measures, which make poetry so difficult that few can
understand it."

"I can understand poetry in those measures," said I.

"And how much time did you spend," said the miller, "before you could
understand the poetry of the measures?"

"Three years," said I.

The miller laughed.

"I could not have afforded all that time," said he, "to study the songs
of Gronwy. However, it is well that some people should have time to
study them. He was a great poet as I have been told, and is the glory of
our land--but he was unfortunate; I have read his life in Welsh and part
of his letters; and in doing so have shed tears."

"Has his house any particular name?" said I.

"It is called sometimes Ty Gronwy," said the miller; "but more frequently
Tafarn Goch."

"The Red Tavern?" said I. "How is it that so many of your places are
called Goch? there is Pentraeth Goch; there is Saint Pedair Goch, and
here at Llanfair is Tafarn Goch."

The miller laughed.

"It will take a wiser man than I," said he, "to answer that question."

The repast over I rose up, gave my host thanks, and said, "I will now
leave you, and hunt up things connected with Gronwy."

"And where will you find a lletty for night, gentleman?" said the
miller's wife. "This is a poor place, but if you will make use of our
home you are welcome."

"I need not trouble you," said I, "I return this night to Pentraeth Goch
where I shall sleep."

"Well," said the miller, "whilst you are at Llanfair I will accompany you
about. Where shall we go to first?"

"Where is the church?" said I. "I should like to see the church where
Gronwy worshipped God as a boy."

"The church is at some distance," said the man; "it is past my mill, and
as I want to go to the mill for a moment, it will be perhaps well to go
and see the church, before we go to the house of Gronwy."

I shook the miller's wife by the hand, patted a little yellow-haired girl
of about two years old on the head, who during the whole time of the meal
had sat on the slate floor looking up into my face, and left the house
with honest Jones.

We directed our course to the mill, which lay some way down a declivity,
towards the sea. Near the mill was a comfortable-looking house, which my
friend told me belonged to