I dined, or rather supped, well at the Railroad Inn—I beg its pardon, Hotel, for the word Inn at the present day is decidedly vulgar. I likewise slept well; how could I do otherwise, passing the night, as I did, in an excellent bed in a large, cool, quiet room? I arose rather late, went down to the coffee-room and took my breakfast leisurely, after which I paid my bill and strolled forth to observe the wonders of the place. Caer Gybi, or Cybi’s town, is situated on the southern side of a bay on the north-western side of Anglesey. Close to it, on the south-west, is a very high headland, called in Welsh Pen Caer Gybi, or the head of Cybi’s city, and in English Holyhead. On the north, across the bay, is another mountain of equal altitude, which, if I am not mistaken, bears in Welsh the name of Mynydd Llanfair, or Saint Mary’s Mount. It is called Cybi’s town from one Cybi, who, about the year 500, built a college here, to which youths, noble and ignoble, resorted from far and near. He was a native of Dyfed, or Pembrokeshire, and was a friend, and for a long time a fellow-labourer, of Saint David. Besides being learned, according to the standard of the time, he was a great walker, and from bronzing his countenance by frequent walking in the sun, was generally called Cybi Velin, which means tawny, or yellow Cybi. So much for Cybi, and his town! And now something about one whose memory haunted me much more than that of Cybi during my stay at Holyhead. Lewis Morris was born at a place called Tref y Beirdd, in Anglesey, in the year 1700. Anglesey, or Mona, has given birth to many illustrious men, but few, upon the whole, entitled to more honourable mention than himself. From a humble situation in life, for he served an apprenticeship to a cooper at Holyhead, he raised himself by his industry and talents to affluence and distinction, became a landed proprietor in the county of Cardigan, and inspector of the royal domains and mines in Wales. Perhaps a man more generally accomplished never existed; he was a first-rate mechanic, an expert navigator, a great musician, both in theory and practice, and a poet of singular excellence. Of him it was said, and with truth, that he could build a ship and sail it, frame a harp and make it speak, write an ode and set it to music. Yet that saying, eulogistic as it is, is far from expressing all the vast powers and acquirements of Lewis Morris. Though self-taught, he was confessedly the best Welsh scholar of his age, and was well-versed in those cognate dialects of the Welsh—the Cornish, Armoric, Highland Gaelic and Irish. He was likewise well acquainted with Hebrew, Greek and Latin, had studied Anglo-Saxon with some success, and was a writer of bold and vigorous English. He was besides a good general antiquary, and for knowledge of ancient Welsh customs, traditions and superstitions had no equal. Yet all has not been said which can be uttered in his praise: he had