Wild Wales Part 94

"O, tolerably well, sir; we get bread and cheese and have a groat in our pockets. No great reason to complain; have we, neighbours?"

"No! no great reason to complain," said the other two.

"Dear me!" said I; "are you the publicans?"

"We are, sir," said the man with the carbuncle on his nose, "and shall be each of us glad to treat you to a pint in his own house in order to welcome you to s.h.i.+re Car-shan't we, neighbours?"

"Yes, in truth we shall," said the other two.

"By s.h.i.+re Car," said I, "I suppose you mean s.h.i.+re Cardigan?"

"s.h.i.+re Cardigan!" said the man; "no indeed; by s.h.i.+re Car is meant Carmarthens.h.i.+re. Your honour has left beggarly Cardigan some way behind you. Come, your honour, come and have a pint; this is my house," said he, pointing to one of the buildings.

"But," said I, "I suppose if I drink at your expense you will expect to drink at mine?"

"Why, we can't say that we shall have any objection, your honour; I think we will arrange the matter in this way: we will go into my house, where we will each of us treat your honour with a pint, and for each pint we treat your honour with your honour shall treat us with one."

"Do you mean each?" said I.

"Why, yes! your honour, for a pint amongst three would be rather a short allowance."

"Then it would come to this," said I, "I should receive three pints from you three, and you three would receive nine from me."

"Just so, your honour; I see your honour is a ready reckoner."

"I know how much three times three make," said I. "Well, thank you, kindly, but I must decline your offer; I am bound on a journey."

"Where are you bound to, master?"

"To Llandovery, but if I can find an inn a few miles farther on I shall stop there for the night."

"Then you will put up at the 'Pump Saint,' master; well, you can have your three pints here and your three pipes too, and yet get there easily by seven. Come in, master, come in! If you take my advice you will think of your pint and your pipe and let all the rest go to the devil."

"Thank you," said I, "but I can't accept your invitation, I must be off;"

and in spite of yet more pressing solicitations I went on.

I had not gone far when I came to a point where the road parted in two; just at the point where a house and premises belonging apparently to a stone-mason, as a great many pieces of half-cut granite were standing about, and not a few tombstones. I stopped, and looked at one of the latter. It was to the memory of somebody who died at the age of sixty-six, and at the bottom bore the following bit of poetry:-

"Ti ddaear o ddaear ystyria mewn braw, Mai daear i ddaear yn fuan a ddaw; A ddaear mewn ddaear raid aros bob darn Nes daear o ddaear gyfrodir i farn."

"Thou earth from earth reflect with anxious mind That earth to earth must quickly be consigned, And earth in earth must lie entranced enthralled Till earth from earth to judgment shall be called."

"What conflicting opinions there are in this world," said I, after I had copied the quatrain and translated it. "The publican yonder tells me to think of my pint and pipe and let everything else go to the devil, and the tombstone here tells me to reflect with dread-a much finer expression by the bye than reflect with anxious mind, as I have got it-that in a very little time I must die, and lie in the ground till I am called to judgment. Now, which is most right, the tombstone or the publican? Why, I should say the tombstone decidedly. The publican is too sweeping when he tells you to think of your pint and pipe and nothing else. A pint and pipe are good things. I don't smoke myself, but I dare say a pipe is a good thing for them who like it, but there are certainly things worth being thought of in this world besides a pint and pipe-hills and dales, woods and rivers, for example-death and judgment too are worthy now and then of very serious thought. So it won't do to go with the publican the whole hog. But with respect to the tombstone, it is quite safe and right to go with it its whole length. It tells you to think of death and judgment-and a.s.suredly we ought to think of them. It does not, however, tell you to think of nothing but death and judgment and to eschew every innocent pleasure within your reach. If it did it would be a tombstone quite as sweeping in what it says as the publican, who tells you to think of your pint and pipe and let everything else go to the devil. The wisest course evidently is to blend the whole of the philosophy of the tombstone with a portion of the philosophy of the publican and something more, to enjoy one's pint and pipe and other innocent pleasures, and to think every now and then of death and judgment-that is what I intend to do, and indeed is what I have done for the last thirty years."

I went on-desolate hills rose in the east, the way I was going, but on the south were beautiful hillocks adorned with trees and hedge-rows. I was soon amongst the desolate hills, which then looked more desolate than they did at a distance. They were of a wretched russet colour, and exhibited no other signs of life and cultivation than here and there a miserable field and vile-looking hovel; and if there was here nothing to cheer the eye, there was also nothing to cheer the ear. There were no songs of birds, no voices of rills; the only sound I heard was the lowing of a wretched bullock from a far-off slope.

I went on slowly and heavily; at length I got to the top of this wretched range-then what a sudden change! Beautiful hills in the far east, a fair valley below me, and groves and woods on each side of the road which led down to it. The sight filled my veins with fresh life, and I descended this side of the hill as merrily as I had come up the other side despondingly. About half-way down the hill I came to a small village.

Seeing a public-house I went up to it, and inquired in English of some people within the name of the village.

"Dolwen," said a dark-faced young fellow of about four-and-twenty.

"And what is the name of the valley?" said I.

"Dolwen," was the answer, "the valley is named after the village."

"You mean that the village is named after the valley," said I, "for Dolwen means fair valley."

"It may be," said the young fellow, "we don't know much here."

Then after a moment's pause he said:

"Are you going much farther?"

"Only as far as the 'Pump Saint.'"

"Have you any business there?" said he.

"No," I replied, "I am travelling the country, and shall only put up there for the night."

"You had better stay here," said the young fellow. "You will be better accommodated here than at the 'Pump Saint.'"

"Very likely," said I; "but I have resolved to go there, and when I once make a resolution I never alter it."

Then bidding him good evening I departed. Had I formed no resolution at all about stopping at the "Pump Saint" I certainly should not have stayed in this house, which had all the appearance of a tramper's hostelry, and though I am very fond of the conversation of trampers, who are the only people from whom you can learn anything, I would much rather have the benefit of it abroad than in their own lairs. A little farther down I met a woman coming up the ascent. She was tolerably respectably dressed, seemed about five-and-thirty, and was rather good-looking. She walked somewhat slowly, which was probably more owing to a large bundle which she bore in her hand than to her path being up-hill.

"Good evening," said I, stopping.

"Good evening, your honour," said she, stopping and slightly panting.

"Do you come from far?" said I.

"Not very far, your honour, but quite far enough for a poor feeble woman."

"Are you Welsh?" said I.

"Och no! your honour; I am Mary Bane from Dunmanway in the kingdom of Ireland."

"And what are you doing here?" said I.

"Och sure! I am travelling the country with soft goods."

"Are you going far?" said I.

"Merely to the village a little farther up, your honour."

"I am going farther," said I; "I am thinking of pa.s.sing the night at the 'Pump Saint.'"

"Well, then, I would just advise your honour to do no such thing, but to turn back with me to the village above, where there is an illigant inn where your honour will be well accommodated."