‘I wish it may not taste like cowslip wine,’ said I; ’to tell you the truth, I am no particular admirer of ale that looks pale and delicate; for I always think there is no strength in it.’

‘Taste it, your honour,’ said Tom, ’and tell me if you ever tasted such ale.’

I tasted it, and then took a copious draught.  The ale was indeed admirable, equal to the best that I had ever before drunk—­rich and mellow, with scarcely any smack of the hop in it, and though so pale and delicate to the eye nearly as strong as brandy.  I commended it highly to the worthy Jenkins.

’That Llangollen ale indeed! no, no! ale like that, your honour, was never brewed in that trumpery hole Llangollen,’

‘You seem to have a very low opinion of Llangollen?’ said I.

’How can I have anything but a low opinion of it, your honour?  A trumpery hole it is, and ever will remain so.’

‘Many people of the first quality go to visit it,’ said I.

’That is because it lies so handy for England, your honour.  If it did not, nobody would go to see it.  What is there to see in Llangollen?’

‘There is not much to see in the town, I admit,’ said I, ’but the scenery about it is beautiful:  what mountains!’

’Mountains, your honour, mountains! well, we have mountains too, and as beautiful as those of Llangollen.  Then we have our lake, our Llyn Tegid, the lake of beauty.  Show me anything like that near Llangollen?’

‘Then,’ said I, ’there is your mound, your Tomen Bala.  The 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.