“I suppose you never beg?” “Your hanner may say that; I was always too proud to beg. It is begging I laves to the wife I have.” “Then you have a wife?” “I have, your hanner; and a daughter, too; and a good wife and daughter they are. What would become of me without them I do not know.” “Have you been long in Wales?” “Not very long, your hanner; only about twenty years.” “Do you travel much about?” “All over North Wales, your hanner; to say nothing of the southern country.” “I suppose you speak Welsh?” “Not a word, your hanner. The Welsh speak their language so fast, that divil a word could I ever contrive to pick up.” “Do you speak Irish?” “I do, your hanner; that is when people spake to me in it.” I spoke to him in Irish; after a little discourse he said in English: “I see your hanner is a Munster man. Ah! all the learned men comes from Munster. Father Toban comes from Munster.” “I have heard of him once or twice before,” said I. “I dare say your hanner has. Everyone has heard of Father Toban; the greatest scholar in the world, who they say stands a better chance of being made Pope, some day or other, than any saggart in Ireland.” “Will you take sixpence?” “I will, your hanner; if your hanner offers it; but I never beg; I leave that kind of work to my wife and daughter, as I said before.” After giving him the sixpence, which he received with a lazy “thank your hanner,” I got up, and followed by my daughter returned to the town. Henrietta went to the inn, and I again strolled about the town. As I was standing in the middle of one of the busiest streets I suddenly heard a loud and dissonant gabbling, and glancing around beheld a number of wild-looking people, male and female. Wild looked the men, yet wilder the women. The men were very lightly clad, and were all barefooted and bareheaded; they carried stout sticks in their hands. The women were barefooted too, but had for the most part headdresses; their garments consisted of blue cloaks and striped gingham gowns. All the females had common tin articles in their hands which they offered for sale with violent gestures to the people in the streets, as they walked along, occasionally darting into the shops, from which, however, they were almost invariably speedily ejected by the startled proprietors, with looks of disgust and almost horror. Two ragged, red-haired lads led a gaunt pony, drawing a creaking cart, stored with the same kind of articles of tin, which the women bore. Poorly clad, dusty and soiled as they were, they all walked with a free, independent, and almost graceful carriage. “Are those people from Ireland?” said I to a decent-looking man, seemingly a mechanic, who stood near me, and was also looking at them, but with anything but admiration. “I am sorry to say they are, sir,” said the man, who from his accent was evidently an Irishman, “for they are a disgrace to their country.”