The Welsh service being ended, my big friend on the next chair asked me, in the same language, if I was a llafarwr (preacher). I answered him in the usual Welsh phrase, “Byddaf yn dweyd ychydig weithiau,” which means that I did a little in that way. On learning this, he desired my “cyhoeddiad” (publication—another Welsh phrase) to preach there some night during the coming week; and he wished it to be announced there and then, to which I would not consent. He introduced me to Mr. Jones, the minister. After most of the congregation were gone, a groupe, including my big friend and Mr. Jones, collected around me, and most earnestly pressed for my “publication.” I told them I had never been a Welsh preacher, that it was nearly five-and-twenty years since I had left the Principality, and that, moreover, I could not preach at all to men who put down their heads in the sluggish and sleepy manner in which most of their men had done that night. “Oh! but they won't do so when you, a stranger, preach,” was the reply. “Then,” I said, “there must be a great want of true devotion among them, if that would make all the difference.” However, being much pressed, I promised at last to give them, before I left the city, a little missionary information in Welsh.