Strolling Along In This Manner I Was Overtaken By An Old Fellow
With A Stick In His Hand, Walking Very Briskly.
He had a crusty
and rather conceited look.
I spoke to him in Welsh, and he
answered in English, saying that I need not trouble myself by
speaking Welsh, as he had plenty of English, and of the very best.
We were from first to last at cross purposes. I asked him about
Rhys Goch and his chair. He told me that he knew nothing of
either, and began to talk of Her Majesty's ministers and the fine
sights of London. I asked him the name of a stream which,
descending a gorge on our right, ran down the side of a valley, to
join the river at its bottom. He told me that he did not know, and
asked me the name of the Queen's eldest daughter. I told him I did
not know, and remarked that it was very odd that he could not tell
me the name of a stream in his own vale. He replied that it was
not a bit more odd than that I could not tell him the name of the
eldest daughter of the Queen of England: I told him that when I
was in Wales I wanted to talk about Welsh matters, and he told me
that when he was with English he wanted to talk about English
matters. I returned to the subject of Rhys Goch and his chair, and
he returned to the subject of Her Majesty's ministers, and the fine
folks of London. I told him that I cared not a straw about Her
Majesty's ministers and the fine folks of London, and he replied
that he cared not a straw for Rhys Goch, his chair or old women's
stories of any kind.
Regularly incensed against the old fellow, I told him he was a bad
Welshman, and he retorted by saying I was a bad Englishman. I said
he appeared to know next to nothing. He retorted by saying I knew
less than nothing, and almost inarticulate with passion added that
he scorned to walk in such illiterate company, and suiting the
action to the word sprang up a steep and rocky footpath on the
right, probably a short cut to his domicile, and was out of sight
in a twinkling. We were both wrong: I most so. He was crusty and
conceited, but I ought to have humoured him and then I might have
got out of him anything he knew, always supposing that he knew
anything.
About an hour's walk from Tan y Bwlch brought me to Festiniog,
which is situated on the top of a lofty hill looking down from the
south-east, on the valley which I have described, and which as I
know not its name I shall style the Valley of the numerous streams.
I went to the inn, a large old-fashioned house standing near the
church; the mistress of it was a queer-looking old woman,
antiquated in her dress and rather blunt in her manner. Of her,
after ordering dinner, I made inquiries respecting the chair of
Rhys Goch, but she said that she had never heard of such a thing,
and after glancing at me askew, for a moment, with a curiously-
formed left eye which she had, went away muttering chair, chair;
leaving me in a large and rather dreary parlour, to which she had
shown me. I felt very fatigued, rather I believe from that unlucky
short cut than from the length of the way, for I had not come more
than eighteen miles. Drawing a chair towards a table I sat down,
and placing my elbows upon the board I leaned my face upon my
upturned hands, and presently fell into a sweet sleep, from which I
awoke exceedingly refreshed just as a maid opened the room door to
lay the cloth.
After dinner I got up, went out and strolled about the place. It
was small, and presented nothing very remarkable. Tired of
strolling I went and leaned my back against the wall of the
churchyard and enjoyed the cool of the evening, for evening with
its coolness and shadows had now come on.
As I leaned against the wall, an elderly man came up and entered
into discourse with me. He told me he was a barber by profession,
had travelled all over Wales, and had seen London. I asked him
about the chair of Rhys Goch. He told me that he had heard of some
such chair a long time ago, but could give me no information as to
where it stood. I know not how it happened that he came to speak
about my landlady, but speak about her he did. He said that she
was a good kind of woman, but totally unqualified for business, as
she knew not how to charge. On my observing that that was a piece
of ignorance with which few landladies or landlords either were
taxable, he said that however other publicans might overcharge,
undercharging was her foible, and that she had brought herself very
low in the world by it - that to his certain knowledge she might
have been worth thousands instead of the trifle which she was
possessed of, and that she was particularly notorious for
undercharging the English, a thing never before dreamt of in Wales.
I told him that I was very glad that I had come under the roof of
such a landlady; the old barber, however, said that she was setting
a bad example, that such goings on could not last long, that he
knew how things would end, and finally working himself up into a
regular tiff left me abruptly without wishing me good-night.
I returned to the inn, and called for lights; the lights were
placed upon the table in the old-fashioned parlour, and I was left
to myself. I walked up and down the room some time.
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