The Montgomery advertiser., 1904-03-06
A PICr RESCUE WELSH TOWN.
Ten Miles from the Railroad and Al. vas A Dav Behind the World.

Ten Miles from the Railroad and AL
 yas a Day Behind the World.
 Llanwyddgochlufaethe lis rather difficult to find. writes Vivian Cuthbert in The London Chronicle It Is ten miles from the railway, four miles from the nearest tavern, and a hundred years from the last century When you jolt along the stony roads you feel how 1t felt POD years ago whSn your forefathers trav- eled. The mud Is everywhere imprinted with the natives armor clad, wooden boot. of which the most fashionable style has an iron rail round the edges of the wooden sole and projecting a quarter inch downward. The women promenade their young somewhat after the manner of the marsupials. wrapping the babe fin a shawl which covers the mothers head and waist, and thus forming a snug pouch from which the youngster peeps out upon the rough world.
 It is a stony land and almost treeless. The walls, stiles, cottages are formed of stones as rough and jagged as the coast. The hilisides are spotted with stark-white. tain an oak cabinet placed conspicuously before the open door. The owners treas ure well their old teapots and pewter plates. Now and again one sees relics and curios from the innumerable wrecks which have been dashed on this wind swept shore. One-and perhaps the only example of mechanical ingenuity in the island Is the two-way open door to the porch. This outer door swings from a post in front. When the gale is from the right you shut the door to the right and can sit in shelter or gather the pieces of yourself before you enter. In this land. where you can always lean on the wind and where the rain falls horizontal- ly. you apreciate this. According to the direction of the wind, the shore-folk pa- trol the beaches for driftwood and for any other Jetsam which good chance might send.
 Fishermen always have plenty of time and Eeee they seem to have a double share of Walton's contemplativeness. The fishermen seldom fish. When there Is wind 1t is too rough, and when there IS no wind they cannot sail. The farmers live thrlftily as the French peasants, yet each one seems to have a long stock ing somewhere. They live In an era of their own-an era that needs the march of time as little as do the cromlechs and burial mounds which dot the fields. Man of the inhabitants have passed their three score years and ten. and have never trav- eled to England. On Sundays the blue jacketed laborer of the weekday. sallies forth with black hat, black clothes and a black umbrella.
 On the hottest Sunday the umbrella that sceptre of respectabilIty-is every where. The creak of leather boots and the scent of hair oil fill the air By the painfully clean faces of the children and the whiff of peppermint you always re- member Sunday Everywhere Welsh is the tongue. many knowing only a few words of English. When you ask a way farer how far 1t is to the railway he an- swers, ''Yes, indeed!' with a pleasant smile. But in revenge very few foreign CTS can master Welsh. It is a difficult language with subtle sounds and inflec- tions that would puzzle a Russian or Chi nese. Many of the words have a faraway resemblance to the French names. With our postman We are compelled to talk sign talk As the genial old gentleman struggles with his bag and umbrella across the fields through mud and win
 We feel guilty in having letters. Even thi
 one post a day seems needless hustllng
 Our policeman is a gentleman of leisure He is. moreover. total abstainer-whicl