220 WINTER SUNSHINE 



ing our ale and looking on approvingly. After a 

 while the pleasant, modest-looking bar-maid, whom 

 I had seen behind the beer-levers as I entered, came 

 in, and, after looking on for a moment, was per- 

 suaded to lay down her sewing and join in the 

 dance. Then there came in a sandy-haired Welsh- 

 man, who could speak and understand only his 

 native dialect, and finding his neighbors affiliating 

 with an Englishman, as he supposed, and trying to 

 speak the hateful tongue, proceeded to berate them 

 sharply (for it appears the Welsh are still jealous of 

 the English) ; but when they explained to him that 

 I was not an Englishman, but an American, and 

 had already twice stood the beer all around (at an 

 outlay of sixpence), he subsided into a sulky silence, 

 and regarded me intently. 



About eleven o'clock a policeman paused at the 

 door, and intimated that it was time the house was 

 shut up and the music stopped, and to outward 

 appearances his friendly warning was complied with; 

 but the harp still discoursed in a minor key, and a 

 light tripping and shuffling of responsive feet might 

 occasionally have been heard for an hour later. 

 When I arose to go, it was with a feeling of regret 

 that I could not see more of this simple and social 

 people, with whom I at once felt that "touch of 

 nature" which "makes the whole world kin," and 

 my leave-taking was warm and hearty accordingly. 



Through the wind and the darkness I threaded 

 my way to the wharf, and in less than two hours 

 afterward was a most penitent voyager, and fitfully 



