“Are there any books in your dialect, or jergo, as I believe you call it?” said I. “I believe there are a few,” said the Italian. “Do you know the word slandra?” said I. “Who taught you that word?” said the Italian. “Giovanni Gestra,” said I—“he was always using it.” “Giovanni Gestra was a vulgar illiterate man,” said the Italian; “had he not been so he would not have used it. It is a vulgar word; Rossi would not have used it.” “What is the meaning of it?” said the landlady eagerly. “To roam about in a dissipated manner,” said I. “Something more,” said the Italian. “It is considered a vulgar word even in jergo.” “You speak English remarkably well,” said I; “have you been long in Britain?” “I came over about four years ago,” said the Italian. “On your own account?” said I. “Not exactly, signore; my brother, who was in business in Liverpool, wrote to me to come over and assist him. I did so, but soon left him, and took a shop for myself at Denbigh, where, however, I did not stay long. At present I travel for an Italian house in London, spending the summer in Wales and the winter in England.” “And what do you sell?” said I. “Weather-glasses, signore—pictures and little trinkets, such as the country people like.” “Do you sell many weather-glasses in Wales?” said I. “I do not, signore. The Welsh care not for weather-glasses; my principal customers for weather-glasses are the farmers of England.” “I am told that you can speak Welsh,” said I; “is that true?” “I have picked up a little of it, signore.” “He can speak it very well,” said the landlady; “and glad should I be, sir, to hear you and him speak Welsh together.” “So should I,” said the daughter, who was seated nigh us; “nothing would give me greater pleasure than to hear two who are not Welshmen speaking Welsh together.” “I would rather speak English,” said the Italian; “I speak a little Welsh, when my business leads me amongst people who speak no other language; but I see no necessity for speaking Welsh here.” “It is a pity,” said I, “that so beautiful a country as Italy should not be better governed.” “It is, signore,” said the Italian; “but let us hope that a time will speedily come when she will be so.” “I don’t see any chance of it,” said I. “How will you proceed in order to bring about so desirable a result as the good government of Italy?” “Why, signore, in the first place we must get rid of the Austrians.” “You will not find it an easy matter,” said I, “to get rid of the Austrians: you tried to do so a little time ago, but miserably failed.” “True, signore; but the next time we try perhaps the French will help us.”