Irish words tantamount to "Be silent!"
"I will not be hushed," said the woman, speaking English. "The man
is a good man, and he will do us no harm. We are tinkers, sir; but
we do many things besides tinkering, many sinful things, especially
in Wales, whither we are soon going again. Oh, I want to be eased
of some of my sins before I go into Wales again, and so do you,
Tourlough, for you know how you are sometimes haunted by devils at
night in those dreary Welsh hills. Oh sir, give us comfort in some
shape or other, either as priest or minister; give us God! Give us
God!"
"I am neither priest nor minister," said, I, "and can only say:
Lord have mercy upon you!" Then getting up I flung the children
some money and departed.
"We do not want your money, sir," screamed the woman after me; "we
have plenty of money. Give us God! Give us God!"
"Yes, your haner," said the man, "give us God! we do not want
money;" and the uncouth girl said something, which sounded much
like Give us God! but I hastened across the meadow, which was now
quite dusky, and was presently in the inn with my wife and
daughter.
CHAPTER V
Welsh Book Stall - Wit and Poetry - Welsh of Chester - Beautiful
Morning - Noble Fellow - The Coiling Serpent - Wrexham Church -
Welsh or English? - Codiad yr Ehedydd.
ON the afternoon of Monday I sent my family off by the train to
Llangollen, which place we had determined to make our head-quarters
during our stay in Wales. I intended to follow them next day, not
in train, but on foot, as by walking I should be better able to see
the country, between Chester and Llangollen, than by making the
journey by the flying vehicle. As I returned to the inn from the
train I took refuge from a shower in one of the rows or covered
streets, to which, as I have already said, one ascends by flights
of steps; stopping at a book-stall I took up a book which chanced
to be a Welsh one. The proprietor, a short red-faced man,
observing me reading the book, asked me if I could understand it.
I told him that I could.
"If so," said he, "let me hear you translate the two lines on the
title-page."
"Are you a Welshman?" said I.
"I am!" he replied.
"Good!" said I, and I translated into English the two lines which
were a couplet by Edmund Price, an old archdeacon of Merion,
celebrated in his day for wit and poetry.
The man then asked me from what part of Wales I came, and when I
told him that I was an Englishman was evidently offended, either
because he did not believe me, or, as I more incline to think, did
not approve of an Englishman's understanding Welsh.
