night. The morning was a
regular November one, dull and gloomy. Desirous of knowing whereabouts
in these parts the Welsh language ceased, I interrogated several people
whom I met. First spoke to Esther Williams. She told me she came from
Pennow, some miles farther on, that she could speak Welsh, and that
indeed all the people could for at least eight miles to the east of
Newport. This latter assertion of hers was, however, anything but
corroborated by a young woman, with a pitcher on her head, whom I shortly
afterwards met, for she informed me that she could speak no Welsh, and
that for one who could speak it, from where I was to the place where it
ceased altogether, there were ten who could not. I believe the real fact
is that about half the people for seven or eight miles to the east of
Newport speak Welsh, more or less, as about half those whom I met and
addressed in Welsh, answered me in that tongue.

Passed through Pennow or Penhow, a small village. The scenery in the
neighbourhood of this place is highly interesting. To the north-west at
some distance is Mynydd Turvey, a sharp pointed blue mountain. To the
south-east, on the right, much nearer, are two beautiful green hills, the
lowest prettily wooded, and having its top a fair white mansion called
Penhow Castle, which belongs to a family of the name of Cave. Thence to
Llanvaches, a pretty little village. When I was about the middle of this
place I heard an odd sound, something like a note of recognition, which
attracted my attention to an object very near to me, from which it seemed
to proceed, and which was coming from the direction in which I was going.
It was the figure seemingly of a female, wrapped in a coarse blue cloak,
the feet bare and the legs bare also nearly up to the knee, both terribly
splashed with the slush of the road. The head was surmounted by a kind
of hood, which just permitted me to see coarse red hair, a broad face,
grey eyes, a snubbed nose, blubber lips and great white teeth--the eyes
were staring intently at me. I stopped and stared too, and at last
thought I recognised the features of the uncouth girl I had seen on the
green near Chester with the Irish tinker Tourlough and his wife.

"Dear me!" said I, "did I not see you near Chester last summer?"

"To be sure ye did; and ye were going to pass me without a word of notice
or kindness had I not given ye a bit of a hail."

"Well," said I, "I beg your pardon. How is it all w