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The Welsh is a splendit language. My son Howels there he is to be proving it do always say so. Ah! that's "The rising of the lark," I was singing that myself years ago. London! to be seure! Now there was singing I was hearing at the play. My son Howels did tak us to the play. I never was hearing or seeing the like in my life.
"The veather is splendit, ve shall drife to the Champs Elysees, and Montame Saint-Estefe and Eugenie shall carry dere all your clo'es an' your linen, an' ve shall dine in de Rue Saint-Georches." "I will do whatever you please," said Esther, "if only you will be so kind as to call my cook Asie, and Eugenie Europe.
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