Nothing farther worth relating occurred till we reached the toll-bar at the head of the hen ffordd, by which time the sun was almost gone down. We found the master of the gate, his wife, and son seated on a bench before the door. The woman had a large book on her lap, in which she was reading by the last light of the departing orb. I gave the group the seal of the evening in English, which they all returned, the woman looking up from her book. “Is that volume the Bible?” said I. “It is, sir,” said the woman. “May I look at it?” said I. “Certainly,” said the woman, and placed the book in my hand. It was a magnificent Welsh Bible, but without the title-page. “That book must be a great comfort to you,” said I to her. “Very great,” said she. “I know not what we should do without it in the long winter evenings.” “Of what faith are you?” said I. “We are Methodists,” she replied. “Then you are of the same faith as my friend here,” said I. “Yes, yes,” said she, “we are aware of that. We all know honest John Jones.” After we had left the gate I asked John Jones whether he had ever heard of Rebecca of the toll-gates. “O, yes,” said he; “I have heard of that chieftainess.” “And who was she?” said I. “I cannot say, sir: I never saw her, nor any one who had seen her. Some say that there were a hundred Rebeccas, and all of them men dressed in women’s clothes, who went about at night, at the head of bands to break the gates. Ah, sir, something of the kind was almost necessary at that time. I am a friend of peace, sir; no head-breaker, house-breaker, nor gate-breaker, but I can hardly blame what was done at that time, under the name of Rebecca. You have no idea how the poor Welsh were oppressed by those gates, aye, and the rich too. The little people and farmers could not carry their produce to market owing to the exactions at the gates, which devoured all the profit and sometimes more. So that the markets were not half supplied, and people with money could frequently not get what they wanted. Complaints were made to government, which not being attended to, Rebecca and her byddinion made their appearance at night, and broke the gates to pieces with sledge-hammers, and everybody said it was gallant work, everybody save the keepers of the gates and the proprietors. Not only the poor, but the rich said so. Aye, and I have heard that many a fine young gentleman had a hand in the work, and went about at night at the head of a band dressed as Rebecca. Well, sir, those breakings were acts of violence, I don’t deny, but they did good, for the system is altered; such impositions are no longer practised at gates as were before the time of Rebecca.” “Were any people ever taken up and punished for those nocturnal breakings?” said I. “No, sir; and I have heard say that nobody’s being taken up was a proof that the rich approved of the work and had a hand in it.”