Woman.—Not a word, sir, nor my husband neither. They take good care that we shouldn’t pick up a word of their language. I stood the other day and listened whilst two women were talking just where you stand now, in the hope of catching a word, and as soon as they saw me they passed to the other side of the bridge, and began buzzing there. My poor husband took it into his head that he might possibly learn a word or two at the public-house, so he went there, called for a jug of ale and a pipe, and tried to make himself at home just as he might in England, but it wouldn’t do. The company instantly left off talking to one another and stared at him, and before he could finish his pot and pipe took themselves off to a man, and then came the landlord, and asked him what he meant by frightening away his customers. So my poor husband came home as pale as a sheet, and sitting down in a chair said, “Lord, have mercy upon me!”
Myself.—Why are the Welsh afraid that strangers should pick up their language?
Woman.—Lest, perhaps, they should learn their secrets, sir!
Myself.—What secrets have they?
Woman.—The Lord above only knows, sir!
Myself.—Do you think they are hatching treason against Queen Victoria?
Woman.—Oh dear no, sir.
Myself.—Is there much murder going on amongst them?
Woman.—Nothing of the kind, sir.
Myself.—Cattle-stealing?