"And isn't your master's name W-?"
"No, sir, my master's name is H-, and a more respectable man - ""Well," said I interrupting her - "all I can say is that I met a man in Dyffryn Gaint, who treated me with ale, told me that his name was W-, that he was a prydydd and kept the - Arms at L-.""Well," said the damsel, "now I remember, there is a person of that name in L-, and he also keeps a house which he calls the - Arms, but it is only a public-house.""But," said I, "is he not a prydydd, an illustrious poet; does he not write pennillion which everybody admires?""Well," said the damsel, "I believe he does write things which he calls pennillions, but everybody laughs at them.""Come, come," said I, "I will not hear the productions of a man who treated me with ale, spoken of with disrespect. I am afraid that you are one of his envious maligners, of which he gave me to understand that he had a great many.""Envious, sir! not I indeed; and if I were disposed to be envious of anybody it would not be of him; oh dear, why he is - ""A bard of Anglesey," said I, interrupting her, "such a person as Gronwy Owen describes in the following lines, which by-the-bye were written upon himself:-"'Where'er he goes he's sure to find Respectful looks and greetings kind.'
"I tell you that it was out of respect to that man that I came to this house. Had I not thought that he kept it, I should not have entered it and called for a pint and chop - how distressing! how truly distressing!""Well, sir," said the damsel, "if there is anything distressing you have only to thank your acquaintance who chooses to call his mug-house by the name of a respectable hotel, for I would have you know that this is an hotel, and kept by a respectable and a religious man, and not kept by - However, I scorn to say more, especially as I might be misinterpreted. Sir, there's your pint and chop, and if you wish for anything else you can ring. Envious, indeed, of such - Marry come up!" and with a toss of her head, higher than any she had hitherto given, she bounced out of the room.
Here was a pretty affair! I had entered the house and ordered the chop and pint in the belief that by so doing I was patronising the poet, and lo, I was not in the poet's house, and my order would benefit a person for whom, however respectable and religious, Icared not one rush. Moreover, the pint which I had ordered appeared in the guise not of ale, which I am fond of, but of sherry, for which I have always entertained a sovereign contempt, as a silly, sickly compound, the use of which will transform a nation, however bold and warlike by nature, into a race of sketchers, scribblers, and punsters, in fact into what Englishmen are at the present day. But who was to blame? Why, who but the poet and myself? The poet ought to have told me that there were two houses in L- bearing the sign of the - Arms, and that I must fight shy of the hotel and steer for the pot-house, and when I gave the order I certainly ought to have been a little more explicit;when I said a pint I ought to have added - of ale. Sententiousness is a fine thing sometimes, but not always. By being sententious here, I got sherry, which I dislike, instead of ale which I like, and should have to pay more for what was disagreeable, than Ishould have had to pay for what was agreeable. Yet I had merely echoed the poet's words in calling for a pint and chop, so after all the poet was to blame for both mistakes. But perhaps he meant that I should drink sherry at his house, and when he advised me to call for a pint, he meant a pint of sherry. But the maid had said he kept a pot-house, and no pot-houses have wine-licences; but the maid after all might be an envious baggage, and no better than she should be. But what was now to be done? Why, clearly make the best of the matter, eat the chop and leave the sherry. So Icommenced eating the chop, which was by this time nearly cold.
After eating a few morsels I looked at the sherry: "I may as well take a glass," said I. So with a wry face I poured myself out a glass.
"What detestable stuff!" said I, after I had drunk it. "However, as I shall have to pay for it I may as well go through with it."So I poured myself out another glass, and by the time I had finished the chop I had finished the sherry also.
And now what was I to do next? Why, my best advice seemed to be to pay my bill and depart. But I had promised the poet to patronize his house, and had by mistake ordered and despatched a pint and chop in a house which was not the poet's. Should I now go to his house and order a pint and chop there? Decidedly not! I had patronised a house which I believed to be the poet's; if Ipatronised the wrong one, the fault was his, not mine - he should have been more explicit. I had performed my promise, at least in intention.
Perfectly satisfied with the conclusion I had come to, I rang the bell. "The bill?" said I to the handmaid.
"Here it is!" said she, placing a strip of paper in my hand.
I looked at the bill, and, whether moderate or immoderate, paid it with a smiling countenance, commanded the entertainment highly, and gave the damsel something handsome for her trouble in waiting on me.
Reader, please to bear in mind that as all bills must be paid, it is much more comfortable to pay them with a smile than with a frown, and that it is much better by giving sixpence, or a shilling to a poor servant, which you will never miss at the year's end, to be followed from the door of an inn by good wishes, than by giving nothing to be pursued by cutting silence, or the yet more cutting Hm!
"Sir," said the good-looking, well-ribboned damsel, "I wish you a pleasant journey, and whenever you please again to honour our establishment with your presence, both my master and myself shall be infinitely obliged to you."
