and Welsh?" said I.

"I should think so," said the woman, "for I come from the Vale of Clwyd,
where they speak the best Welsh in the world, the Welsh of the Bible."

"What do they call a salmon in the Vale of Clwyd?" said I.

"What do they call a salmon?" said the woman. "Yes," said I, "when they
speak Welsh."

"They call it--they call it--why a salmon."

"Pretty Welsh!" said I. "I thought you did not understand Welsh."

"Well, what do you call it?" said the woman.

"Eawg," said I, "that is the word for a salmon in general--but there are
words also to show the sex--when you speak of a male salmon you should
say cemyw, when of a female hwyfell."

"I never heard the words before," said the woman, "nor do I believe them
to be Welsh."

"You say so," said I, "because you do not understand Welsh."

"I not understand Welsh!" said she. "I'll soon show you that I do.
Come, you have asked me the word for salmon in Welsh, I will now ask you
the word for salmon-trout. Now tell me that, and I will say you know
something of the matter."

"A tinker of my country can tell you that," said I. "The word for
salmon-trout is gleisiad."

The countenance of the woman fell.

"I see you know something about the matter," said she; "there are very
few hereabouts, though so near to the Vale of Clwyd, who know the word
for salmon-trout in Welsh, I shouldn't have known the word myself, but
for the song which says:

Glan yw'r gleisiad yn y llyn."

"And who wrote that song?" said I.

"I don't know," said the woman.

"But I do," said I; "one Lewis Morris wrote it.'

"Oh," said she, "I have heard all about Huw Morris."

"I was not talking of Huw Morris," said I, "but Lewis Morris, who lived
long after Huw Morris. He was a native of Anglesea, but resided for some
time in Merionethshire, and whilst there composed a song about the
Morwynion bro Meirionydd or the lasses of County Merion of a great many
stanzas, in one of which the gleisiad is mentioned. Here it is in
English:

"'Full fair the gleisiad in the flood,
Which sparkles 'neath the summer's sun,
And fair the thrush in green abode
Spreading his wings in sportive fun,
But fairer look if truth be spoke,
The maids of County Merion.'"

The woman was about to reply, but I interrupted her.

"There," said I, "pray leave us to our breakfast, and the next time you
feel inclined to talk nonsense about no Englishman's understanding Welsh,