way to Llanfair?"

"Yes," said I.

"And did you execute the business satisfactorily which led you there?"
said Mr Pritchard.

"Perfectly," said I.

"Well, what did you give a stone for your live pork?" said his companion
glancing up at me, and speaking in a gruff voice.

"I did not buy any live pork," said I; "do you take me for a pig-jobber?"

"Of course," said the man, in pepper-and-salt; "who but a pig jobber
could have business at Llanfair?"

"Does Llanfair produce nothing but pigs?" said I.

"Nothing at all," said the man in the pepper-and-salt, "that is, nothing
worth mentioning. You wouldn't go there for runts, that is, if you were
in your right senses; if you were in want of runts you would have gone to
my parish and have applied to me, Mr Bos; that is if you were in your
senses. Wouldn't he, John Pritchard?"

Mr Pritchard thus appealed to took the pipe out of his mouth, and with
some hesitations said that he believed the gentleman neither went to
Llanfair for pigs nor black cattle but upon some particular business.

"Well," said Mr Bos, "it may be so, but I can't conceive how any person,
either gentle or simple, could have any business in Anglesey save that
business was pigs or cattle."

"The truth is," said I, "I went to Llanfair to see the birth-place of a
great man--the cleverest Anglesey ever produced."

"Then you went wrong," said Mr Bos, "you went to the wrong parish, you
should have gone to Penmynnydd; the clebber man of Anglesey was born and
buried at Penmynnydd, you may see his tomb in the church."

"You are alluding to Black Robin," said I, "who wrote the ode in praise
of Anglesey--yes, he was a very clever young fellow, but excuse me, he
was not half such a poet as Gronwy Owen."

"Black Robin," said Mr Bos, "and Gronow Owen, who the Devil were they? I
never heard of either. I wasn't talking of them, but of the clebberest
man the world ever saw. Did you never hear of Owen Tiddir? If you
didn't, where did you get your education?"

"I have heard of Owen Tudor," said I, "but never understood that he was
particularly clever; handsome he undoubtedly was--but clever--"

"How not clebber?" interrupted Mr Bos. "If he wasn't clebber, who was
clebber? Didn't he marry a great queen, and was not Harry the Eighth his
great grandson?"

"Really," said I, "you know a great deal of history."

"I should hope I do," said Mr Bos. "Oh, I wasn't at school at Blewmaris
for six months for noth