I sat down on a chair near the table, and
called for ale - the ale was brought me in a jug - I drank some,
put the jug on the table, and began to discourse with the people in
Welsh. A handsome dog was seated on the ground; suddenly it laid
one of its paws on its master's knee.
"Down, Perro," said he.
"Perro!" said I; "why do you call the dog Perro?"
"We call him Perro," said the man, "because his name is Perro."
"But how came you to give him that name?" said I.
"We did not give it to him," said the man - "he bore that name when
he came into our hands; a farmer gave him to us when he was very
young, and told us his name was Perro."
"And how came the farmer to call him Perro?" said I.
"I don't know," said the man - "why do you ask?"
"Perro," said I, "is a Spanish word, and signifies a dog in
general. I am rather surprised that a dog in the mountains of
Wales should be called by the Spanish word for dog." I fell into a
fit of musing. "How Spanish words are diffused! Wherever you go
you will find some Spanish word or other in use. I have heard
Spanish words used by Russian mujiks and Turkish fig-gatherers - I
have this day heard a Spanish word in the mountains of Wales, and I
have no doubt that were I to go to Iceland I should find Spanish
words used there.
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