"What would you have me do, sir? Glad should I be to have a cup of
ale to offer you, but the magistrates, when I applied to them for a
licence, refused me one; so I am compelled to make a cup of tea, in
order to get a crust of bread. And if you choose to step in, I
will make you a cup of tea, not wishy-washy, I assure you, but as
good as ever was brewed."
"I had tea for my breakfast at Beth Gelert," said I, "and want no
more till to-morrow morning. What's the name of that strange-
looking crag across the valley?"
"We call it Craig yr hyll ddrem, sir; which means - I don't know
what it means in English."
"Does it mean the crag of the frightful look?"
"It does, sir," said the woman; "ah, I see you understand Welsh.
Sometimes it's called Allt Traeth."
"The high place of the sandy channel," said I; "did the sea ever
come up here?"
"I can't say, sir; perhaps it did; who knows?"
"I shouldn't wonder," said I, "if there was once an arm of the sea
between that crag and this hill. Thank you! Farewell."
"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.
I gave her something - it was not a sixpence - at which she not
only smiled but curtseyed; then bidding her farewell I went out of
the door.
I was about to take the broad road, which led round the hill, when
she inquired of me where I was going, and on my telling her to
Festiniog, she advised me to go by a by-road behind the house which
led over the hill.
"If you do, sir," said she, "you will see some of the finest
prospects in Wales, get into the high road again, and save a mile
and a half of way."
I told the temperance woman I would follow her advice, whereupon
she led me behind the house, pointed to a rugged path, which with a
considerable ascent seemed to lead towards the north, and after
giving certain directions, not very intelligible, returned to her
temperance temple.
CHAPTER XLVII
Spanish Proverb - The Short Cut - Predestinations - Rhys Goch - Old
Crusty - Undercharging - The Cavalier.
THE Spaniards have a proverb: "No hay atajo sin trabajo," there is
no short cut without a deal of labour. This proverb is very true,
as I know by my own experience, for I never took a short cut in my
life, and I have taken many in my wanderings, without falling down,
getting into a slough, or losing my way. On the present occasion I
lost my way, and wandered about for nearly two hours amidst rocks,
thickets, and precipices, without being able to find it.
