The evening was now beginning to set in,
and feeling somewhat hungry I hurried off to the Wynstay Arms
through streets crowded with market people. On arriving at the inn
I entered the grand room and ordered dinner. The waiters,
observing me splashed with mud from head to foot, looked at me
dubiously; seeing, however, the respectable-looking volume which I
bore in my hand - none of your railroad stuff - they became more
assured, and I presently heard one say to the other, "It's all
right - that's Mr So-and-So, the great Baptist preacher. He has
been preaching amongst the hills - don't you see his Bible?"
Seating myself at a table I inspected the volume. And here perhaps
the reader expects that I shall regale him with an analysis of the
Methodistical volume at least as long as that of the life of Tom O'
the Dingle. In that case, however, he will be disappointed; all
that I shall at present say of it is, that it contained a history
of Methodism in Wales, with the lives of the principal Welsh
Methodists. That it was fraught with curious and original matter,
was written in a straightforward, Methodical style, and that I have
no doubt it will some day or other be extensively known and highly
prized.
After dinner I called for half a pint of wine. Whilst I was
trifling over it, a commercial traveller entered into conversation
with me. After some time he asked me if I was going further that
night.
"To Llangollen," said I.
"By the ten o'clock train?" said he.
"No," I replied, "I'm going on foot."
"On foot!" said he; "I would not go on foot there this night for
fifty pounds."
"Why not?" said I.
"For fear of being knocked down by the colliers, who will be all
out and drunk."
"If not more than two attack me," said I, "I shan't much mind.
With this book I am sure I can knock down one, and I think I can
find play for the other with my fists."
The commercial traveller looked at me. "A strange kind of Baptist
minister," I thought I heard him say.
CHAPTER LXII
Rhiwabon Road - The Public-house Keeper - No Welsh - The Wrong Road
- The Good Wife.
I PAID my reckoning and started. The night was now rapidly closing
in. I passed the toll-gate and hurried along the Rhiwabon road,
overtaking companies of Welsh going home, amongst whom were many
individuals, whom, from their thick and confused speech, as well as
from their staggering gait, I judged to be intoxicated. As I
passed a red public-house on my right hand, at the door of which
stood several carts, a scream of Welsh issued from it.
"Let any Saxon," said I, "who is fond of fighting and wishes for a
bloody nose go in there."
Coming to the small village about a mile from Rhiwabon, I felt
thirsty, and seeing a public-house, in which all seemed to be
quiet, I went in. A thick-set man with a pipe in his mouth sat in
the tap-room, and also a woman.
"Where is the landlord?" said I.
"I am the landlord," said the man, huskily. "What do you want?"
"A pint of ale," said I.
The man got up and with his pipe in his mouth went staggering out
of the room. In about a minute he returned holding a mug in his
hand, which he put down on a table before me, spilling no slight
quantity of the liquor as he did so. I put down three-pence on the
table. He took the money up slowly piece by piece, looked at it
and appeared to consider, then taking the pipe out of his mouth he
dashed it to seven pieces against the table, then staggered out of
the room into the passage, and from thence apparently out of the
house. I tasted the ale which was very good, then turning to the
woman who seemed about three-and-twenty and was rather good-
looking, I spoke to her in Welsh.
"I have no Welsh, sir," said she.
"How is that?" said I; "this village is I think in the Welshery."
"It is," said she, "but I am from Shropshire."
"Are you the mistress of the house?" said I.
"No," said she, "I am married to a collier;" then getting up she
said, "I must go and see after my husband."
"Won't you take a glass of ale first?" said I, offering to fill a
glass which stood on the table.
"No," said she; "I am the worst in the world for a glass of ale;"
and without saying anything more she departed.
"I wonder whether your husband is anything like you with respect to
a glass of ale," said I to myself; then finishing my ale I got up
and left the house, which when I departed appeared to be entirely
deserted.
It was now quite night, and it would have been pitchy-dark but for
the glare of forges. There was an immense glare to the south-west,
which I conceived proceeded from those of Cefn Mawr. It lighted up
the south-western sky; then there were two other glares nearer to
me, seemingly divided by a lump of something, perhaps a grove of
trees.
Walking very fast I soon overtook a man. I knew him at once by his
staggering gait.
"Ah, landlord!" said I; "whither bound?"
"To Rhiwabon," said he, huskily, "for a pint."
"Is the ale so good at Rhiwabon," said I, "that you leave home for
it?"
"No," said he, rather shortly, "there's not a glass of good ale in
Rhiwabon."
"Then why do you go thither?" said I.
