“And which language do you prefer?” said I.
“I think I like English best,” said the girl, “it is the most useful language.”
“Not in Anglesey,” said I.
“Well,” said the girl, “it is the most genteel.”
“Gentility,” said I, “will be the ruin of Welsh, as it has been of many other things—what have I to pay for the ale?”
I paid the money, and the girl went out. I finished my ale, and getting up made for the door; at the door I was met by Mr. Hugh Pritchard, who came out of the tap-room to thank me for my custom, and to bid me farewell. I asked him whether I should have any difficulty in finding the way to Llanfair.
“None whatever,” said he; “you have only to pass over the bridge of the traeth, and to go due north for about four miles, and you will find yourself in Llanfair.”
“What kind of place is it?” said I.
“A poor straggling village,” said Mr. Pritchard.