I “trifled” over my brandy-and-water till I finished it, and then walked forth to look at the town. I turned up a street, which led to the east, and soon found myself beside the lake at the north-west extremity of which Bala stands. It appeared a very noble sheet of water, stretching from north to south for several miles. As, however, night was fast coming on, I did not see it to its full advantage. After gazing upon it for a few minutes, I sauntered back to the square, or market-place, and leaning my back against a wall, listened to the conversation of two or three groups of people who were standing near, my motive for doing so being a desire to know what kind of Welsh they spoke. Their language, as far as I heard it, differed in scarcely any respect from that of Llangollen. I, however, heard very little of it, for I had scarcely kept my station a minute when the good folks became uneasy, cast side-glances at me, first dropped their conversation to whispers, next held their tongues altogether, and finally moved off, some going to their homes, others moving to a distance, and then grouping together—even certain ragged boys who were playing and chattering near me became uneasy, first stood still, then stared at me, and then took themselves off and played and chattered at a distance. Now what was the cause of all this? Why, suspicion of the Saxon. The Welsh are afraid lest an Englishman should understand their language, and, by hearing their conversation, become acquainted with their private affairs; or, by listening to it, pick up their language, which they have no mind that he should know—and their very children sympathise with them. All conquered people are suspicious of their conquerors. The English have forgot that they ever conquered the Welsh, but some ages will elapse before the Welsh forget that the English have conquered them. CHAPTER L The Breakfast—The Tomen Bala—El Punto de la Vana. I slept soundly that night, as well I might, my bed being good and my body weary. I arose about nine, dressed and went down to the parlour, which was vacant. I rang the bell, and on Tom Jenkins making his appearance, I ordered breakfast, and then asked for the Welsh American, and learned that he had breakfasted very early, and had set out in a gig on a journey to some distance. In about twenty minutes after I had ordered it, my breakfast made its appearance. A noble breakfast it was; such, indeed, as I might have read of, but had never before seen. There was tea and coffee, a goodly white loaf and butter; there were a couple of eggs and two mutton chops. There was broiled and pickled salmon—there was fried trout—there were also potted trout and potted shrimps. Mercy upon me! I had never previously seen such a breakfast set before me, nor, indeed, have I subsequently. Yes, I have subsequently, and at that very house, when I visited it some months after.