Part 95 (1/2)
”O, I saw that as I came past,” said I; ”I don't think there is much accommodation there.”
”O, your honour is clane mistaken; there is always an illigant fire and an illigant bed too.”
”Is there only one bed?” said I.
”O 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.
”O 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.
”O, 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 jist Father Toban, your honour, whom of course your honour knows.”
”O 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, {538} and a credit to your name is your honour, for it is a neat man without a bend you are. G.o.d 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 inquired 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.
”O 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.