Whereupon pointing to the North star, he said:
“I forwyr da iawn—a good star for mariners.”
We passed a large house on our left.
“Who lives there?” said I.
“Mr. Smith,” he replied. “It is called Plas Newydd; milltir genom etto—we have yet another mile.”
In ten minutes we were at Bangor. I asked him where the Albion Hotel was.
“I will show it you,” said he, and so he did.
As we came under it I heard the voice of my wife, for she, standing on a balcony and distinguishing me by the lamplight, called out. I shook hands with the kind six-mile-an-hour market gardener, and going into the inn found my wife and daughter, who rejoiced to see me. We presently had tea.
CHAPTER XXVII
Bangor—Edmund Price—The Bridges—Bookselling—Future Pope—Wild Irish—Southey.