It
is half-way between Llangollen and Llan Rhyadr, being ten miles
from each. I went to a small inn or public-house, sat down and
called for ale. A waggoner was seated at a large table with a
newspaper before him on which he was intently staring.
"What news?" said I in English.
"I wish I could tell you," said he in very broken English, "but I
cannot read."
"Then why are you looking at the paper?" said I.
"Because," said he, "by looking at the letters I hope in time to
make them out."
"You may look at them," said I, "for fifty years without being able
to make out one. You should go to an evening school."
"I am too old," said he, "to do so now; if I did the children would
laugh at me."
"Never mind their laughing at you," said I, "provided you learn to
read; let them laugh who win!"
"You give good advice, mester," said he, "I think I shall follow
it."
"Let me look at the paper," said I.
He handed it to me. It was a Welsh paper, and full of dismal
accounts from the seat of war.
