I gave him the seal of the morning, and asked
whether he was Welsh or English.
"English, Measter, English; born t'other side of Beeston, pure
Cheshire, Measter."
"I suppose," said I, "there are few Welshmen such big fellows as
yourself."
"No, Measter," said the fellow, with a grin, "there are few
Welshmen so big as I, or yourself either; they are small men
mostly, Measter, them Welshers, very small men - and yet the
fellows can use their hands. I am a bit of a fighter, Measter, at
least I was before my wife made me join the Methodist connection,
and I once fit with a Welshman at Wrexham, he came from the hills,
and was a real Welshman, and shorter than myself by a whole head
and shoulder, but he stood up against me, and gave me more than
play for my money, till I gripped him, flung him down and myself
upon him, and then of course t'was all over with him."
"You are a noble fellow," said I, "and a credit to Cheshire. Will
you have sixpence to drink?"
"Thank you, Measter, I shall stop at Pulford, and shall be glad to
drink your health in a jug of ale."
I gave him sixpence, and descended the hill on one side, while he,
with his team, descended it on the other.
"A genuine Saxon," said I; "I daresay just like many of those who,
under Hengist, subdued the plains of Lloegr and Britain. Taliesin
called the Saxon race the Coiling Serpent. He had better have
called it the Big Bull. He was a noble poet, however: what
wonderful lines, upon the whole, are those in his prophecy, in
which he speaks of the Saxons and Britons, and of the result of
their struggle -
"A serpent which coils,
And with fury boils,
From Germany coming with arm'd wings spread,
Shall subdue and shall enthrall
The broad Britain all,
From the Lochlin ocean to Severn's bed.
"And British men
Shall be captives then
To strangers from Saxonia's strand;
They shall praise their God, and hold
Their language as of old,
But except wild Wales they shall lose their land."
I arrived at Wrexham, and having taken a very hearty breakfast at
the principal inn, for I felt rather hungry after a morning's walk
of ten miles, I walked about the town. The town is reckoned a
Welsh town, but its appearance is not Welsh - its inhabitants have
neither the look nor language of Welshmen, and its name shows that
it was founded by some Saxon adventurer, Wrexham being a Saxon
compound, signifying the home or habitation of Rex or Rag, and
identical, or nearly so, with the Wroxham of East Anglia. It is a
stirring bustling place, of much traffic, and of several thousand
inhabitants.
