It Consisted Entirely Of
Young Men And Women, The Former With Crimson Favours, The Latter In
The Garb Of Old Wales, Blue Tunics And Sharp Crowned Hats.
Going
up to one of the young women, I said, "Petti yw?
What's the
matter!"
"Priodas (a marriage)," she replied, after looking at me
attentively. I then asked her the name of the bridge, whereupon
she gave a broad grin, and after some, little time replied: "Pont
y Groes (the bridge of the cross)." I was about to ask her some
other question when she turned away with a loud chuckle, and said
something to another wench near her, who, grinning yet more
uncouthly, said something to a third, who grinned too, and lifting
up her hands and spreading her fingers wide, said: "Dyn oddi dir y
Gogledd - a man from the north country, hee, hee!" Forthwith there
was a general shout, the wenches crying: "A man from the north
country, hee, hee!" and the fellows crying: "A man from the north
country, hoo, hoo!"
"Is this the way you treat strangers in the south?" said I. But I
had scarcely uttered the words when with redoubled shouts the
company exclaimed: "There's Cumraeg! there's pretty Cumraeg. Go
back, David, to shire Fon! That Cumraeg won't pass here."
Finding they disliked my Welsh I had recourse to my own language.
"Really," said I in English, "such conduct is unaccountable. What
do you mean?" But this only made matters worse, for the shouts
grew louder still, and every one cried:
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