"Oh, how glad I should be to learn the name of this bridge, standing on which I have had 'Heaven opened to me,' as my old friends the Spaniards used to say." Scarcely had I said these words when I observed a man and a woman coming towards the bridge in the direction in which I was bound.

I hastened to meet them in the hope of obtaining information.

They were both rather young, and were probably a couple of sweethearts taking a walk or returning from meeting.

The woman was a few steps in advance of the man; seeing that I was about to address her, she averted her head and quickened her steps, and before I had completed the question, which I put to her in Welsh, she had bolted past me screaming "Ah Dim Seasneg," and was several yards distant.
I then addressed myself to the man who had stopped, asking him the name of the bridge.
"Pont Bettws," he replied.
"And what may be the name of the river ?" said I.
"Afon--something," said he.
And on my thanking him he went forward to the woman who was waiting for him by the bridge.
"Is that man Welsh or English ?" I heard her say when he had rejoined her.
"I don't know," said the man--"he was civil enough; why were you such a fool ?" "Oh, I thought he would speak to me in English," said the woman, "and the thought of that horrid English puts me into such a flutter; you know I can't speak a word of it." They proceeded on their way and I proceeded on mine, and presently coming to a little inn on the left side of the way, at the entrance of a village, I went in.
A respectable-looking man and woman were seated at tea at a table in a nice clean kitchen.

I sat down on a chair near the table, and called for ale--the ale was brought me in a jug--I drank some, put the jug on the table, and began to discourse with the people in Welsh.