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He appeared almost as if he was afraid of wakening from a happy dream, and his lively merriment seemed all gone; there were only beams of recognition and gladness at 'Wyn's own nursery, Wyn's own pretty cup, touching it as if to make sure that it was real, and pleased to see the twisted crusts, his special treat.

I will, however, quote from "The Sleeping Bard, or Visions of the World, Death and Hell," his translation of Elis Wyn's "Y Bardd Cwsg."

Yes, give her to sister, and tell her that's the way to serve sour females! I declare, Ursula, she has got something of your expression. 'Oh Wynnie, Wynnie! said Nuttie, as he trotted up to her, 'is sister cross and ugly? and she opened her arms to him. 'Sister, Wyn's own sister, said the child affectionately, letting himself be kissed as he saw her grieved.

He awoke smiling and happy; he looked about and said gladly, 'Wyn at home! Wyn's own nursery, but he did not want to get up; 'Wyn so tired, he said, speaking of himself in the baby form that he had for several months discarded, but he said his pretty 'thank you, and took delight in breakfasting in his cot, though still in a subdued way, and showing great reluctance to move or be touched.

He kicked poor little Fan with his great heavy big boots 'cause Fan would say Wyn's prayers. 'Who was Fan? asked the puzzled doctor. 'Himself, whispered Nuttie. 'Alas! himself! 'Wyn was Fan, said Alwyn. 'Fan's gone now! 'And did the man kick poor little Fan, repeated the doctor 'here? 'Oh don't don't! It hurts so. Master said he would have none of that, and he kicked with his big boot. Oh!

He clung quite desperately to his sister when Mark offered to lift him from the carriage, but nurse was close behind, and it was good to see the little arms stretched out, and the head laid on her shoulder, the hand put up to stroke her cheek, and the lips whispering 'Wyn's own nursie. The jubilant greeting and triumphant procession with which he was borne upstairs seemed almost to oppress him.

Their house was one of his homes, and he was a frequent guest at our own. He petted and spoiled my two children: he was very soft and kind to me, whom he called "Mamma," after Wyn's example, and he considered that my husband "understood good manners" a compliment which he did not pay to every one. A dear little daughter whom we had lost had been very fond of him: the child had died in his arms.

He was usually very conversable, and would chat away by the hour together, in a fashion half shrewd, half simple, often very interesting; but now he was silent and distrait. "Carry," said Mrs. Moore, "are there not some of Wyn's things here yet in that old trunk in your lumber-room?" "Yes.

This is very significant as indicating the nature of the relations between the two men. Borrow was to experience yet another disappointment. A Welsh bookseller, living in the neighbourhood of Smithfield, commissioned him to translate into English Elis Wyn's The Sleeping Bard, a book printed originally in 1703.