No, when this Welshman visited London, the bridge had a line of shops
on both sides of the passage way, and reaching from end to end.
Taffy was the name of this fellow from Denbigh, in Wales, and he was a
drover. He had brought, all the way from one of the richest of the
Welsh provinces, a great drove of Black Welsh cattle, such as were in
steady demand by Englishmen, who have always been lovers of roast
beef. Escaping all the risks of cattle thieves, rustlers, and
highwaymen, he had sold his beeves at a good price; so that his
pockets were now fairly bulging out with gold coins, and yet this
fellow wanted more. But first, before going home, he would see the
sights of the great city, which then contained about a hundred
thousand people.
While he was handling some things in a shop, to decide what he should
take home to his wife, his three daughters and his two little boys, he
noticed a man looking intently, not at him, but at his stick. After a
while, the stranger came up to him and asked him where he came from.
Now Taffy was not very refined in his manners, and he thought it none
of the fellow's business.
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