My wife had told me that she had had some conversation upon the Welsh language and literature with a venerable old man, who kept a shop in the town, that she had informed him that I was very fond of both, and that he had expressed a great desire to see me.  One afternoon I said: “Let us go and pay a visit to your old friend of the shop.  I think from two or three things which you have told me about him, that he must be worth knowing.”  We set out.  She conducted me across the bridge a little way; then presently turning to the left into the principal street, she entered the door of a shop on the left-hand side, over the top of which was written: “Jones; Provision Dealer and General Merchant.”  The shop was small, with two little counters, one on each side.  Behind one was a young woman, and behind the other a venerable-looking old man.

“I have brought my husband to visit you,” said my wife, addressing herself to him.

“I am most happy to see him,” said the old gentleman, making me a polite bow.

He then begged that we would do him the honour to walk into his parlour, and led us into a little back room, the window of which looked out upon the Dee a few yards below the bridge.  On the left side of the room was a large case, well stored with books.  He offered us chairs, and we all sat down.  I was much struck with the old man.  He was rather tall, and somewhat inclined to corpulency.  His hair was grey; his forehead high; his nose aquiline; his eyes full of intelligence; whilst his manners were those of a perfect gentleman.

I entered into conversation by saying that I supposed his name was Jones, as I had observed that name over the door.

“Jones is the name I bear at your service, sir,” he replied.

I said that it was a very common na