"Then you won't walk in, sir?
"Not to drink tea," said I, "tea is a good thing at a proper time,
but were I to drink it now, it would make me ill."
"Pray, sir, walk in," said the woman, "and perhaps I can
accommodate you."
"Then you have ale?" said I.
"No, sir; not a drop, but perhaps I can set something before you
which you will like as well."
"That I question," said I, "however, I will walk in."
The woman conducted me into a nice little parlour, and, leaving me,
presently returned with a bottle and tumbler on a tray.
"Here, sir," said she, "is something, which though not ale, I hope
you will be able to drink."
"What is it?" said I.
"It is -, sir; and better never was drunk."
I tasted it; it was terribly strong. Those who wish for either
whisky or brandy far above proof, should always go to a temperance
house.
I told the woman to bring me some water, and she brought me a jug
of water cold from the spring. With a little of the contents of
the bottle, and a deal of the contents of the jug, I made myself a
beverage tolerable enough; a poor substitute, however, to a genuine
Englishman for his proper drink, the liquor which, according to the
Edda, is called by men ale, and by the gods beer.
I asked the woman whether she could read; she told me that she
could, both Welsh and English; she likewise informed me that she
had several books in both languages. I begged her to show me some,
whereupon she brought me some half dozen, and placing them on the
table left me to myself. Amongst the books was a volume of poems
in Welsh, written by Robert Williams of Betws Fawr, styled in
poetic language, Gwilym Du O Eifion. The poems were chiefly on
religious subjects. The following lines which I copied from
"Pethau a wnaed mewn Gardd," or things written in a garden,
appeared to me singularly beautiful:-
"Mewn gardd y cafodd dyn ei dwyllo;
Mewn gardd y rhoed oddewid iddo;
Mewn gardd bradychwyd Iesu hawddgar;
Mewn gardd amdowyd ef mewn daear."
"In a garden the first of our race was deceived;
In a garden the promise of grace he received;
In a garden was Jesus betrayed to His doom;
In a garden His body was laid in the tomb."
Having finished my glass of "summut" and my translation, I called
to the woman and asked her what I had to pay.
"Nothing," said she, "if you had had a cup of tea I should have
charged sixpence."
"You make no charge," said I, "for what I have had?"
"Nothing, sir, nothing."
"But suppose," said I, "I were to give you something by way of
present would you - " and here I stopped. The woman smiled.
"Would you fling it in my face?" said I.
"Oh dear, no, sir," said the woman, smiling more than before.
