CHAPTER XLIX.
Tom Jenkins--Ale of Bala--Sober Moments--Local Prejudices--The States--Unprejudiced Man--Welsh Pensilvanian Settlers--Drapery Line--Evening Saunter.
Scarcely had I entered the door of the inn when a man presented himself to me with a low bow.

He was about fifty years of age, somewhat above the middle size, and had grizzly hair and a dark, freckled countenance, in which methought I saw a considerable dash of humour.

He wore brown clothes, had no hat on his head, and held a napkin in his hand.

"Are you the master of this hotel ?" said I.
"No, your honour," he replied, "I am only the waiter, but I officiate for my master in all things; my master has great confidence in me, sir." "And I have no doubt," said I, "that he could not place his confidence in any one more worthy." With a bow yet lower than the preceding one the waiter replied with a smirk and a grimace, "Thanks, your honour, for your good opinion.

I assure your honour that I am deeply obliged." His air, manner, and even accent, were so like those of a Frenchman, that I could not forbear asking him whether he was one.
He shook his head and replied, "No, your honour, no, I am not a Frenchman, but a native of this poor country, Tom Jenkins by name." "Well," said I, "you really look and speak like a Frenchman, but no wonder; the Welsh and French are much of the same blood.