Its western front was very precipitous,
but on its northern side it was cultivated nearly to the summit.
As I stood looking at it from near the top of a gentle acclivity a
boy with a team, whom I had passed a little time before, came up.
He was whipping his horses, who were straining up the ascent, and
was swearing at them most frightfully in English. I addressed him
in that language, inquiring the name of the crag, but he answered
Dim Saesneg, and then again fell to cursing; his horses in English.
I allowed him and his team to get to the top of the ascent, and
then overtaking him, I said in Welsh: "What do you mean by saying
you have no English? You were talking English just now to your
horses."
"Yes," said the lad, "I have English enough for my horses, and that
is all."
"You seem to have plenty of Welsh," said I; "why don't you speak
Welsh to your horses?"
"It's of no use speaking Welsh to them," said the boy; "Welsh isn't
strong enough."
"Isn't Myn Diawl tolerably strong?" said I.
"Not strong enough for horses," said the boy "if I were to say Myn
Diawl to my horses, or even Cas Andras, they would laugh at me."
"Do the other carters," said I, "use the same English to their
horses which you do to yours?"
"Yes" said the boy, "they'll all use the same English words; if
they didn't the horses wouldn't mind them."
"What a triumph," thought I, "for the English language that the
Welsh carters are obliged to have recourse to its oaths and
execrations to make their horses get on!"
I said nothing more to the boy on the subject of language, but
again asked him the name of the crag.
