"You had better stay here," said the young fellow. "You will be
better accommodated here than at the 'Pump Saint.'"
"Very likely," said I; "but I have resolved to go there, and when I
once make a resolution I never alter it."
Then bidding him good evening I departed. Had I formed no
resolution at all about stopping at the 'Pump Saint,' I certainly
should not have stayed in this house, which had all the appearance
of a trampers' hostelry, and though I am very fond of the
conversation of trampers, who are the only people from whom you can
learn anything, I would much rather have the benefit of it abroad
than in their own lairs. A little farther down I met a woman
coming up the ascent. She was tolerably respectably dressed,
seemed about five-and-thirty, and was rather good-looking. She
walked somewhat slowly, which was probably more owing to a large
bundle which she bore in her hand than to her path being up-hill.
"Good evening," said I, stopping.
"Good evening, your honour," said she, stopping and brightly
panting.
"Do you come from far?" said I.
"Not very far, your honour, but quite far enough for a poor feeble
woman."
"Are you Welsh?" said I.
"Och no! your honour; I am Mary Bane from Dunmanway in the kingdom
of Ireland."
"And what are you doing here?" said I.
"Och sure! I am travelling the country with soft goods."
"Are you going far?" said I.
"Merely to the village a little farther up, your honour."
"I am going farther," said I, "I am thinking of passing the night
at the 'Pump Saint.'"
"Well, then, I would just advise your honour to do no such thing,
but to turn back with me to the village above, where there is an
illigant inn where your honour will be well accommodated."
"Oh, I saw that as I came past," said I; "I don't think there is
much accommodation there."
"Oh, your honour is clane mistaken; there is always an illigant
fire and an illigant bed too."
"Is there only one bed?" said I.
"Oh, yes, there are two beds, one for the accommodation of the
people of the house and the other for that of the visitors."
"And do the visitors sleep together then?" said I.
"Oh yes! unless they wish to be unsociable. Those who are not
disposed to be sociable sleeps in the chimney-corners."
"Ah," said I, "I see it is a very agreeable inn; however, I shall
go on to the 'Pump Saint.'"
"I am sorry for it, your honour, for your honour's sake; your
honour won't be half so illigantly served at the 'Pump Saint' as
there above."
"Of what religion are you?" said I.
"Oh, I'm a Catholic, just like your honour, for if I am not clane
mistaken your honour is an Irishman."
"Who is your spiritual director?" said I.
"Why, then, it is just Father Toban, your honour, whom of course
your honour knows."
"Oh yes!" said I; "when you next see him present my respects to
him."
"What name shall I mention, your honour?"
"Shorsha Borroo," said I.
"Oh, then I was right in taking your honour for an Irishman. None
but a raal Paddy bears that name. A credit to your honour is your
name, for it is a famous name, (17) and a credit to your name is
your honour, for it is a neat man without a bend you are. God
bless your honour and good night! and may you find dacent quarters
in the 'Pump Saint.'"
Leaving Mary Bane I proceeded on my way. The evening was rather
fine but twilight was coming rapidly on. I reached the bottom of
the valley and soon overtook a young man dressed something like a
groom. We entered into conversation. He spoke Welsh and a little
English. His Welsh I had great difficulty in understanding, as it
was widely different from that which I had been accustomed to. He
asked me where I was going to; I replied to the "Pump Saint," and
then enquired if he was in service.
"I am," said he.
"With whom do you live?" said I.
"With Mr Johnes of Dol Cothi," he answered.
Struck by the word Cothi, I asked if Dol Cothi was ever called Glyn
Cothi.
"Oh yes," said he, "frequently."
"How odd," thought I to myself, "that I should have stumbled all of
a sudden upon the country of my old friend Lewis Glyn Cothi, the
greatest poet after Ab Gwilym of all Wales!"
"Is Cothi a river?" said I to my companion.
"It is," said he.
Presently we came to a bridge over a small river.
"Is this river the Cothi?" said I.
"No," said he, "this is the Twrch; the bridge is called Pont y
Twrch."
"The bridge of Twrch or the hog," said I to myself; "there is a
bridge of the same name in the Scottish Highlands, not far from the
pass of the Trossachs. I wonder whether it has its name from the
same cause as this, namely, from passing over a river called the
Twrch or Torck, which word in Gaelic signifies boar or hog even as
it does in Welsh." It had now become nearly dark. After
proceeding some way farther I asked the groom if we were far from
the inn of the "Pump Saint."
"Close by," said he, and presently pointing to a large building on
the right-hand side he said: "This is the inn of the 'Pump Saint,'
sir. Nos Da'chi!"
CHAPTER XCVI
"Pump Saint" - Pleasant Residence - The Watery Coom - Philological
Fact - Evening Service - Meditation.
I ENTERED the inn of the "Pump Saint." It was a comfortable old-
fashioned place, with a very large kitchen and a rather small
parlour.
