After breakfast on the morning subsequent to my arrival, Henrietta and I roamed about the town, and then proceeded to view the bridges which lead over the strait to Anglesey. One, for common traffic, is a most beautiful suspension bridge completed in 1820, the result of the mental and manual labours of the ingenious Telford; the other is a tubular railroad bridge, a wonderful structure, no doubt, but anything but graceful. We remained for some time on the first bridge, admiring the scenery, and were not a little delighted, as we stood leaning over the principal arch, to see a proud vessel pass beneath us at full sail. Satiated with gazing we passed into Anglesey, and making our way to the tubular bridge, which is to the west of the suspension one, entered one of its passages and returned to the mainland. The air was exceedingly hot and sultry, and on coming to a stone bench, beneath a shady wall, we both sat down, panting, on one end of it; as we were resting ourselves, a shabby-looking man with a bundle of books came and seated himself at the other end, placing his bundle beside him; then taking out from his pocket a dirty red handkerchief, he wiped his face, which was bathed in perspiration, and ejaculated: “By Jasus, it is blazing hot!” “Very hot, my friend,” said I; “have you travelled far to-day?” “I have not, your hanner; I have been just walking about the dirty town trying to sell my books.” “Have you been successful?” “I have not, your hanner; only three pence have I taken this blessed day.” “What do your books treat of?” “Why that is more than I can tell your hanner; my trade is to sell the books not to read them. Would your hanner like to look at them?” “O dear no,” said I; “I have long been tired of books; I have had enough of them.” “I dare say, your hanner; from the state of your hanner’s eyes I should say as much; they look so weak—picking up learning has ruined your hanner’s sight.” “May I ask,” said I, “from what country you are?” “Sure your hanner may; and it is a civil answer you will get from Michael Sullivan. It is from ould Ireland I am, from Castlebar in the county Mayo.” “And how came you into Wales?” “From the hope of bettering my condition, your hanner, and a foolish hope it was.” “You have not bettered your condition, then?” “I have not, your hanner; for I suffer quite as much hunger and thirst as ever I did in ould Ireland.” “Did you sell books in Ireland?” “I did nat, your hanner; I made buttons and clothes—that is I pieced them. I was several trades in ould Ireland, your hanner; but none of them answering, I came over here.” “Where you commenced bookselling?” said I. “I did nat; your hanner. I first sold laces, and then I sold loocifers, and then something else; I have followed several trades in Wales, your hanner; at last I got into the bookselling trade, in which I now am.” “And it answers, I suppose, as badly as the others?” “Just as badly, your hanner; divil a bit better.”