I left Merthyr about twelve o’clock for Caerfili. My course lay along the valley to the south-east. I passed a large village called Troed y Rhiw, or the foot of the slope, from its being at the foot of a lofty elevation, which stands on the left-hand side of the road, and was speeding onward fast, with the Taf at some distance on my right, when I saw a strange-looking woman advancing towards me. She seemed between forty and fifty, was bare-footed and bare-headed, with grizzled hair hanging in elf locks, and was dressed in rags and tatters. When about ten yards from me, she pitched forward, gave three or four grotesque tumbles, heels over head, then standing bolt upright, about a yard before me, raised her right arm, and shouted in a most discordant voice—“Give me an alms, for the glory of God!”
I stood still, quite confounded. Presently, however, recovering myself, I said:—“Really, I don’t think it would be for the glory of God to give you alms.”
“Ye don’t! Then, Biadh an taifrionn—however, I’ll give ye a chance yet. Am I to get my alms or not?”
“Before I give you alms I must know something about you. Who are you?”
“Who am I? Who should I be but Johanna Colgan, a bedivilled woman from the county of Limerick?”
“And how did you become bedevilled?”
“Because a woman something like myself said an evil prayer over me for not giving her an alms, which prayer I have at my tongue’s end, and unless I get my alms will say over you. So for your own sake, honey, give me my alms, and let me go on my way.”
“Oh, I am not to be frightened by evil prayers! I shall give you nothing till I hear all about you.”
“If I tell ye all about me will ye give me an alms?”
“Well, I have no objection to give you something if you tell me your story.”