The Mowers - Deep Welsh - Extensive View - Old Celtic Hatred - Fish
Preserving - Smollet's Morgan.


NEXT morning I set out to ascend Dinas Bran, a number of children,
almost entirely girls, followed me. I asked them why they came
after me. "In the hope that you will give us something," said one
in very good English. I told them that I should give them nothing,
but they still followed me. A little way up the hill I saw some
men cutting hay. I made an observation to one of them respecting
the fineness of the weather; he answered civilly, and rested on his
scythe, whilst the others pursued their work. I asked him whether
he was a farming man; he told me that he was not; that he generally
worked at the flannel manufactory, but that for some days past he
had not been employed there, work being slack, and had on that
account joined the mowers in order to earn a few shillings. I
asked him how it was he knew how to handle a scythe, not being bred
up a farming man; he smiled, and said that, somehow or other, he
had learnt to do so.

"You speak very good English," said I, "have you much Welsh?"

"Plenty," said he; "I am a real Welshman."

"Can you read Welsh?" said I.

"Oh, yes!" he replied.