AFTER a while I arose from my seat and descending the hill returned
to the house of my honest friends, whom I found sitting by their
fire as I had first seen them.
"Well," said the man, "did you bring back Owen Glendower?"
"Not only him," said I, "but his house, family, and all relating to
him."
"By what means?" said the man.
"By means of a song made a long time ago, which describes Sycharth
as it was in his time, and his manner of living there."
Presently Gwen, who had been preparing coffee in expectation of my
return, poured out a cupful, which she presented to me, at the same
time handing me some white sugar in a basin.
I took the coffee, helped myself to some sugar, and returned her
thanks in her own language.
"Ah," said the man, in Welsh, "I see you are a Cumro. Gwen and I
have been wondering whether you were Welsh or English; but I see
you are one of ourselves."
"No," said I in the same language, "I am an Englishman, born in a
part of England the farthest of any from Wales. In fact, I am a
Carn Sais."
"And how came you to speak Welsh?" said the man.
"I took it into my head to learn it when I was a boy," said I.
"Englishmen sometimes do strange things."
"So I have heard," said the man, "but I never heard before of an
Englishman learning Welsh."
I proceeded to drink my coffee, and having finished it, and had a
little more discourse I got up, and having given Gwen a piece of
silver, which she received with a smile and a curtsey, I said I
must now be going,
"Won't you take another cup?" said Gwen, "you are welcome."
"No, thank you," said I, "I have had enough."
"Where are you going?" said the man in English.
"To Llan Rhyadr," said I, "from which I came this morning."
"Which way did you come?" said the man.
"By Llan Gedwin," I replied, "and over the hill. Is there another
way?"
"There is," said the man, "by Llan Silin."
"Llan Silin!" said I; "is not that the place where Huw Morris is
buried?"
"It is," said the man.
"I will return by Llan Silin," said I, "and in passing through pay
a visit to the tomb of the great poet. Is Llan Silin far off?"
"About half a mile," said the man. "Go over the bridge, turn to
the right, and you will be there presently."
I shook the honest couple by the hand and bade them farewell. The
man put on his hat and went with me a few yards from the door, and
then proceeded towards the factory. I passed over the bridge,
under which was a streamlet, which a little below the bridge
received the brook which once turned Owen Glendower's corn-mill. I
soon reached Llan Silin, a village or townlet, having some high
hills at a short distance to the westward, which form part of the
Berwyn.
I entered the kitchen of an old-fashioned public-house, and sitting
down by a table told the landlord, a red-nosed elderly man, who
came bowing up to me, to bring me a pint of ale. The landlord
bowed and departed. A bluff-looking old fellow, somewhat under the
middle size, sat just opposite to me at the table. He was dressed
in a white frieze coat, and had a small hat on his head set rather
consequentially on one side. Before him on the table stood a jug
of ale, between which and him lay a large crabstick. Three or four
other people stood or sat in different parts of the room.
Presently the landlord returned with the ale.
"I suppose you come on sessions business, sir?" said he, as he
placed it down before me.
"Are the sessions being held here to-day?" said I.
"They are," said the landlord, "and there is plenty of business;
two bad cases of poaching, Sir Watkin's keepers are up at court and
hope to convict."
"I am not come on sessions business," said I; "I am merely
strolling a little about to see the country."
"He is come from South Wales," said the old fellow in the frieze
coat, to the landlord, "in order to see what kind of country the
north is. Well at any rate he has seen a better country than his
own."
"How do you know that I come from South Wales?" said I.
"By your English," said the old fellow; "anybody may know you are
South Welsh by your English; it is so cursedly bad. But let's hear
you speak a little Welsh; then I shall be certain as to who you
are."
I did as he bade me, saying a few words in Welsh.
"There's Welsh," said the old fellow, "who but a South Welshman
would talk Welsh in that manner? It's nearly as bad as your
English."
I asked him if he had ever been in South Wales.
"Yes," said he; "and a bad country I found it; just like the
people."
"If you take me for a South Welshman," said I, "you ought to speak
civilly both of the South Welsh and their country."
"I am merely paying tit for tat," said the old fellow. "When I was
in South Wales your people laughed at my folks and country, so when
I meet one of them here I serve him out as I was served out there."
I made no reply to him, but addressing myself to the landlord
inquired whether Huw Morris was not buried in Llan Silin
churchyard. He replied in the affirmative.
"I should like to see his tomb," said I.
"Well, sir," said the landlord, "I shall be happy to show it to you
whenever you please."
Here again the old fellow put in his word.
