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Caer Madoc is a sleepy little Welsh town, lying two miles from the sea

coast Far removed from the busy centres of civilisation, where the

battle of life breeds keen wits and deep interests, it is still, in the

opinion of its inhabitants, next to London, the dom It has its church and three chapels, its mayor and

corporation, jail, town hall, and market-place; but, more especially,

it has its fairs, and awakes to spasmodic jollity on such occasions,

which come pretty often--quite ten tins itself contentedly to its nory

The day on which my story opens had seen the busiest andfound the little town looking jaded and

disreputable after its few hours of dissipation, the dusty High Street

being littered with scraps of paper, orange-peel, and such like

débris The o-rounds and the "shows" had departed, the last

donkey-cart had rattled out of the town, laden with eon three men stooped in conclave over the

hind foot of a horse Deio, the ostler, and Roberts, the farrier,

agreed in their verdict for a wonder; and Caradoc Wynne, the owner of

the horse, straightened hi posture with a nod of