Wild Wales: Its People, Language And Scenery By George Borrow





































































 -   He became rich, so 
they made him a magistrate; had he remained poor they would have 
hung him in spite - Page 370
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He Became Rich, So They Made Him A Magistrate; Had He Remained Poor They Would Have Hung Him In Spite Of All His Fun And Good-Nature.

Well, can't you tell me some of the things he did?"

"Oh yes, can tell you plenty. One day in time of fair Tom Shone Catti goes into ironmonger's shop in Llandovery. 'Master,' says he, 'I want to buy a good large iron porridge pot; please to show me some.' So the man brings three or four big iron porridge pots, the very best he has. Tom takes up one and turns it round. 'This look very good porridge pot,' said he; 'I think it will suit me.' Then he turns it round and round again, and at last lifts it above his head and peeks into it. 'Ha, ha,' says he; 'this won't do; I see one hole here. What mean you by wanting to sell article like this to stranger?' Says the man, 'There be no hole in it.' 'But there is,' says Tom, holding it up and peeking into it again; 'I see the hole quite plain. Take it and look into it yourself.' So the man takes the pot, and having held it up and peeked in, 'as I hope to be saved,' says he, 'I can see no hole.' Says Tom, 'Good man, if you put your head in, you will find that there is a hole.' So the man tries to put in his head, but having some difficulty, Tom lends him a helping hand by jamming the pot quite down over the man's face, then whisking up the other pots Tom leaves the shop, saying as he goes, 'Friend, I suppose you now see there is a hole in the pot, otherwise how could you have got your head inside?"'

"Very good," said I; "can you tell us something more about Twm Shone Catti?"

"Oh yes; can tell you plenty about him. The farmer at Newton, just one mile beyond the bridge at Brecon, had one very fine bull, but with a very short tail. Says Tom to himself: 'By God's nails and blood, I will steal the farmer's bull, and then sell it to him for other bull in open market place.' Then Tom makes one fine tail, just for all the world such a tail as the bull ought to have had, then goes by night to the farmer's stall at Newton, steals away the bull, and then sticks to the bull's short stump the fine bull's tail which he himself had made. The next market day he takes the bull to the market-place at Brecon, and calls out; 'Very fine bull this, who will buy my fine bull?' Quoth the farmer who stood nigh at hand, 'That very much like my bull, which thief stole t'other night; I think I can swear to him.' Says Tom, 'What do you mean?

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