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diff --git a/648-h/648-h.htm b/648-h/648-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..25c04ba --- /dev/null +++ b/648-h/648-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,31538 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Wild Wales, by George Borrow</title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 30%; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + + </style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Wild Wales, by George Borrow</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Wild Wales<br /> +Its People, Language and Scenery</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: George Borrow</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September, 1996 [eBook #648]<br /> +[Most recently updated: August 16, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Price and Jane Gamie</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILD WALES ***</div> + +<h1>WILD WALES</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">ITS PEOPLE, LANGUAGE<br /> +AND SCENERY</p> +<p style="text-align: center">BY GEORGE BORROW</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Their Lord they shall praise,<br /> +Their language they shall keep,<br /> +Their land they shall lose,<br /> +Except Wild Wales.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Taliesin</span>: +<i>Destiny of the Britons</i></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> + +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET<br /> +1907</p> + +<table> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">First Edition</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1862</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Second Edition</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1865</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Third Edition</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1888</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Fourth Edition</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1896</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Fifth (Definitive) Edition</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">6/-</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>March</i>, 1901</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Reprinted</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">Thin Paper</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>July</i>, 1905</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Reprinted</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">6/-</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>Sept.</i>, 1907</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Reprinted</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">2/6 net.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>Sept.</i>, 1907</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<h2>NOTE</h2> + +<p>This edition of <i>Wild Wales</i> has been carefully collated +with the first edition, in order to ensure that the spelling of +proper names shall be precisely as Borrow left it, and the +running headings on the right-hand pages as nearly as possible +those which Borrow himself wrote.</p> + +<p><i>January</i> 1901.</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<p><i>All the Plates in this volumes are from drawings by</i> Mr. +<span class="smcap">A. S. Hartrick</span> <a +name="citation0"></a><a href="#footnote0" +class="citation">[0]</a></p> + +<table> +<tr> +<td><p>Above Capel Curig on the road to Bangor +(<i>Photogravure</i>)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>Frontispiece</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Llangollen and Dinas Bran</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>to face page</i> 32</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Wilds of Snowdown</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">200</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>In Anglessey. Redwharf Bay (Treath Coch), and the +Country of Gronwy Owen</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">212</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Wondrous Valley of Gelert</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">312</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Cascade on the Moor between Festiniog and Balla</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">328</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Balla Lake in the Fifties, showing the Aran Mountain and +Cader Idris. (<i>Drawn from an old print</i>)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">346</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Chirk (Castell y Waen)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">366</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Twilight after a Storm. Dinas Mawddwy</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">494</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Eastern Street, Machynlleth, showing part of Owen +Glendower’s Parliament House</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">512</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Devil’s Bridge</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">558</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Remains of Strata Florida Abbey from the +Churchyard</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">596</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>“Pump Saint”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">632</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Map of Wales showing Borrow’s Route</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>to face page</i> 1</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>INTRODUCTORY</h2> + +<p>Wales is a country interesting in many respects, and deserving +of more attention than it has hitherto met with. Though not +very extensive, it is one of the most picturesque countries in +the world, a country in which Nature displays herself in her +wildest, boldest, and occasionally loveliest forms. The +inhabitants, who speak an ancient and peculiar language, do not +call this region Wales, nor themselves Welsh. They call +themselves Cymry or Cumry, and their country Cymru, or the land +of the Cumry. Wales or Wallia, however, is the true, +proper, and without doubt original name, as it relates not to any +particular race, which at present inhabits it, or may have +sojourned in it at any long bygone period, but to the country +itself. Wales signifies a land of mountains, of vales, of +dingles, chasms, and springs. It is connected with the +Cumbric bal, a protuberance, a springing forth; with the Celtic +beul or beal, a mouth; with the old English welle, a fountain; +with the original name of Italy, still called by the Germans +Welschland; with Balkan and Vulcan, both of which signify a +casting out, an eruption; with Welint or Wayland, the name of the +Anglo-Saxon god of the forge; with the Chaldee val, a forest, and +the German wald; with the English bluff, and the Sanscrit +palava—startling assertions, no doubt, at least to some; +which are, however, quite true, and which at some future time +will be universally acknowledged so to be.</p> + +<p>But it is not for its scenery alone that Wales is deserving of +being visited; scenery soon palls unless it is associated with +remarkable events, and the names of remarkable men. Perhaps +there is no country in the whole world which has been the scene +of events more stirring and remarkable than those recorded in the +history of Wales. What other country has been the scene of +a struggle so deadly, so embittered, and protracted as that +between the Cumro and the Saxon?—A struggle which did not +terminate at Caernarvon, when Edward Longshanks foisted his young +son upon the Welsh chieftains as Prince of Wales; but was kept up +till the battle of Bosworth Field, when a prince of Cumric blood +won the crown of fair Britain, verifying the olden word which had +cheered the hearts of the Ancient Britons for at least a thousand +years, even in times of the darkest distress and +gloom:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p> “But +after long pain<br /> + Repose we shall obtain,<br /> +When sway barbaric has purg’d us clean;<br /> + And Britons shall regain<br /> + Their crown and their domain,<br +/> +And the foreign oppressor be no more seen.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Of remarkable men Wales has assuredly produced its full +share. First, to speak of men of action:—there was +Madoc, the son of Owain Gwynedd, who discovered America, +centuries before Columbus was born; then there was “the +irregular and wild Glendower,” who turned rebel at the age +of sixty, was crowned King of Wales at Machynlleth, and for +fourteen years contrived to hold his own against the whole power +of England; then there was Ryce Ap Thomas, the best soldier of +his time, whose hands placed the British crown on the brow of +Henry the Seventh, and whom bluff Henry the Eighth delighted to +call Father Preece; then there was—who?—why Harry +Morgan, who led those tremendous fellows the Buccaneers across +the Isthmus of Darien to the sack and burning of +Panamá.</p> + +<p>What, a buccaneer in the list? Ay! and why not? +Morgan was a scourge, it is true, but he was a scourge of God on +the cruel Spaniards of the New World, the merciless task-masters +and butchers of the Indian race: on which account God favoured +and prospered him, permitting him to attain the noble age of +ninety, and to die peacefully and tranquilly at Jamaica, whilst +smoking his pipe in his shady arbour, with his smiling plantation +of sugar-canes full in view. How unlike the fate of Harry +Morgan to that of Lolonois, a being as daring and enterprising as +the Welshman, but a monster without ruth or discrimination, +terrible to friend and foe, who perished by the hands, not of the +Spaniards, but of the Indians, who tore him limb from limb, +burning his members, yet quivering, in the fire—which very +Indians Morgan contrived to make his own firm friends, and whose +difficult language he spoke with the same facility as English, +Spanish, and his own South Welsh.</p> + +<p>For men of genius Wales during a long period was particularly +celebrated.—Who has not heard of the Welsh Bards? though it +is true that, beyond the borders of Wales, only a very few are +acquainted with their songs, owing to the language, by no means +an easy one, in which they were composed. Honour to them +all! everlasting glory to the three greatest—Taliesin, Ab +Gwilym and Gronwy Owen: the first a professed Christian, but in +reality a Druid, whose poems fling great light on the doctrines +of the primitive priesthood of Europe, which correspond +remarkably with the philosophy of the Hindus, before the time of +Brahma: the second the grand poet of Nature, the contemporary of +Chaucer, but worth half a dozen of the accomplished word-master, +the ingenious versifier of Norman and Italian tales: the third a +learned and irreproachable minister of the Church of England, and +one of the greatest poets of the last century, who after several +narrow escapes from starvation both in England and Wales, died +master of a paltry school at New Brunswick, in North America, +sometime about the year 1780.</p> + +<p>But Wales has something besides its wonderful scenery, its +eventful history, and its illustrious men of yore to interest the +visitor. Wales has a population, and a remarkable +one. There are countries, besides Wales, abounding with +noble scenery, rich in eventful histories, and which are not +sparingly dotted with the birthplaces of heroes and poets, in +which at the present day there is either no population at all, or +one of a character which is anything but attractive. Of a +country in the first predicament, the Scottish Highlands afford +an example: What a country is that Highland region! What +scenery! and what associations! If Wales has its Snowdon +and Cader Idris, the Highlands have their Hill of the Water Dogs, +and that of the Swarthy Swine: If Wales has a history, so have +the Highlands—not indeed so remarkable as that of Wales, +but eventful enough: If Wales has had its heroes, its Glendower +and Father Pryce, the Highlands have had their Evan Cameron and +Ranald of Moydart; If Wales has had its romantic characters, its +Griffith Ap Nicholas and Harry Morgan, the Highlands have had Rob +Roy and that strange fellow Donald Macleod, the man of the +broadsword, the leader of the Freacadan Dhu, who at Fontenoy +caused, the Lord only knows, how many Frenchmen’s heads to +fly off their shoulders, who lived to the age of one hundred and +seven, and at seventy-one performed gallant service on the +Heights of Abraham: wrapped in whose plaid the dying Wolfe was +carried from the hill of victory.—If Wales has been a land +of song, have not the Highlands also?—If Wales can boast of +Ab Gwilym and Gronwy, the Highlands can boast of Ossian and +MacIntyre. In many respects the two regions are equals or +nearly so;—In one respect, however, a matter of the present +day, and a very important matter too, they are anything but +equals: Wales has a population—but where is that of the +Highlands?—Plenty of noble scene; Plenty of delightful +associations, historical, poetical, and romantic—but, but, +where is the population?</p> + +<p>The population of Wales has not departed across the Atlantic, +like that of the Highlands; it remains at home, and a remarkable +population it is—very different from the present +inhabitants of several beautiful lands of olden fame, who have +strangely degenerated from their forefathers. Wales has not +only a population, but a highly interesting one—hardy and +frugal, yet kind and hospitable—a bit crazed, it is true, +on the subject of religion, but still retaining plenty of old +Celtic peculiarities, and still speaking Diolch i Duw!—the +language of Glendower and the Bards.</p> + +<p>The present is a book about Wales and Welsh matters. He +who does me the honour of perusing it will be conducted to many a +spot not only remarkable for picturesqueness, but for having been +the scene of some extraordinary event, or the birth-place or +residence of a hero or a man of genius; he will likewise be not +unfrequently introduced to the genuine Welsh, and made acquainted +with what they have to say about Cumro and Saxon, buying and +selling, fattening hogs and poultry, Methodism and baptism, and +the poor, persecuted Church of England.</p> + +<p>An account of the language of Wales will be found in the last +chapter. It has many features and words in common with the +Sanscrit, and many which seem peculiar to itself, or rather to +the family of languages, generally called the Celtic, to which it +belongs. Though not an original tongue, for indeed no +original tongue, or anything approximating to one, at present +exists, it is certainly of immense antiquity, indeed almost +entitled in that respect to dispute the palm with the grand +tongue of India, on which in some respects it flings nearly as +much elucidation as it itself receives in others. Amongst +the words quoted in the chapter alluded to I wish particularly to +direct the reader’s attention to gwr, a man, and gwres, +heat; to which may be added gwreichionen, a spark. Does not +the striking similarity between these words warrant the +supposition that the ancient Cumry entertained the idea that man +and fire were one and the same, even like the ancient Hindus, who +believed that man sprang from fire, and whose word vira, <a +name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1" +class="citation">[1]</a> which signifies a strong man, a hero, +signifies also fire?</p> + +<p>There are of course faults and inaccuracies in the work; but I +have reason to believe that they are neither numerous nor +important: I may have occasionally given a wrong name to a hill +or a brook; or may have overstated or understated, by a furlong, +the distance between one hamlet and another; or even committed +the blunder of saying that Mr Jones Ap Jenkins lived in this or +that homestead, whereas in reality Mr Jenkins Ap Jones honoured +it with his residence: I may be chargeable with such +inaccuracies; in which case I beg to express due sorrow for them, +and at the same time a hope that I have afforded information +about matters relating to Wales which more than atones for +them. It would be as well if those who exhibit eagerness to +expose the faults of a book would occasionally have the candour +to say a word or two about its merits; such a wish, however, is +not likely to be gratified, unless indeed they wisely take a hint +from the following lines, translated from a cywydd of the last of +the great poets of Wales:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“All can perceive a fault, where there is +one—<br /> +A dirty scamp will find one, where there’s none.” <a +name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2" +class="citation">[2]</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p1b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Map of Wales showing Borrow’s route" +title= +"Map of Wales showing Borrow’s route" +src="images/p1s.jpg" /> +</a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p class="letter">Proposed Excursion—Knowledge of +Welsh—Singular Groom—Harmonious Distich—Welsh +Pronunciation—Dafydd Ab Gwilym.</p> + +<p>In the summer of the year 1854 myself, wife, and daughter +determined upon going into Wales, to pass a few months +there. We are country people of a corner of East Anglia, +and, at the time of which I am speaking, had been residing so +long on our own little estate, that we had become tired of the +objects around us, and conceived that we should be all the better +for changing the scene for a short period. We were +undetermined for some time with respect to where we should +go. I proposed Wales from the first, but my wife and +daughter, who have always had rather a hankering after what is +fashionable, said they thought it would be more advisable to go +to Harrowgate, or Leamington. On my observing that those +were terrible places for expense, they replied that, though the +price of corn had of late been shamefully low, we had a spare +hundred pounds or two in our pockets, and could afford to pay for +a little insight into fashionable life. I told them that +there was nothing I so much hated as fashionable life, but that, +as I was anything but a selfish person, I would endeavour to +stifle my abhorrence of it for a time, and attend them either to +Leamington or Harrowgate. By this speech I obtained my +wish, even as I knew I should, for my wife and daughter instantly +observed, that, after all, they thought we had better go into +Wales, which, though not so fashionable as either Leamington or +Harrowgate, was a very nice picturesque country, where, they had +no doubt, they should get on very well, more especially as I was +acquainted with the Welsh language.</p> + +<p>It was my knowledge of Welsh, such as it was, that made me +desirous that we should go to Wales, where there was a chance +that I might turn it to some little account. In my boyhood +I had been something of a philologist; had picked up some Latin +and Greek at school; some Irish in Ireland, where I had been with +my father, who was in the army; and subsequently whilst an +articled clerk to the first solicitor in East Anglia—indeed +I may say the prince of all English solicitors—for he was a +gentleman, had learnt some Welsh, partly from books and partly +from a Welsh groom, whose acquaintance I made. A queer +groom he was, and well deserving of having his portrait +drawn. He might be about forty-seven years of age, and +about five feet eight inches in height; his body was spare and +wiry; his chest rather broad, and his arms remarkably long; his +legs were of the kind generally known as spindle-shanks, but +vigorous withal, for they carried his body with great agility; +neck he had none, at least that I ever observed; and his head was +anything but high, not measuring, I should think, more than four +inches from the bottom of the chin to the top of the forehead; +his cheek-bones were high, his eyes grey and deeply sunken in his +face, with an expression in them, partly sullen, and partly +irascible; his complexion was indescribable; the little hair +which he had, which was almost entirely on the sides and the back +part of his head, was of an iron-grey hue. He wore a +leather hat on ordinary days, low at the crown, and with the side +eaves turned up. A dirty pepper and salt coat, a waistcoat +which had once been red, but which had lost its pristine colour, +and looked brown; dirty yellow leather breeches, grey worsted +stockings, and high-lows. Surely I was right when I said he +was a very different groom to those of the present day, whether +Welsh or English? What say you, Sir Watkin? What say +you, my Lord of Exeter? He looked after the horses, and +occasionally assisted in the house of a person who lived at the +end of an alley, in which the office of the gentleman to whom I +was articled was situated, and having to pass by the door of the +office half-a-dozen times in the day, he did not fail to attract +the notice of the clerks, who, sometimes individually, sometimes +by twos, sometimes by threes, or even more, not unfrequently +stood at the door, bareheaded—mis-spending the time which +was not legally their own. Sundry observations, none of +them very flattering, did the clerks and, amongst them, myself, +make upon the groom, as he passed and repassed, some of them +direct, others somewhat oblique. To these he made no reply +save by looks, which had in them something dangerous and +menacing, and clenching without raising his fists, which looked +singularly hard and horny. At length a whisper ran about +the alley that the groom was a Welshman; this whisper much +increased the malice of my brother clerks against him, who were +now whenever he passed the door, and they happened to be there by +twos or threes, in the habit of saying something, as if by +accident, against Wales and Welshmen, and, individually or +together, were in the habit of shouting out “Taffy,” +when he was at some distance from them, and his back was turned, +or regaling his ears with the harmonious and well-known distich +of “Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief: Taffy came to +my house and stole a piece of beef.” It had, however, +a very different effect upon me. I was trying to learn +Welsh, and the idea occurring to me that the groom might be able +to assist me in my pursuit, I instantly lost all desire to +torment him, and determined to do my best to scrape acquaintance +with him, and persuade him to give me what assistance he could in +Welsh. I succeeded; how I will not trouble the reader with +describing: he and I became great friends, and he taught me what +Welsh he could. In return for his instructions I persuaded +my brother clerks to leave off holloing after him, and to do +nothing further to hurt his feelings, which had been very deeply +wounded, so much so, that after the first two or three lessons he +told me in confidence that on the morning of the very day I first +began to conciliate him he had come to the resolution of doing +one of two things, namely, either to hang himself from the balk +of the hayloft, or to give his master warning, both of which +things he told me he should have been very unwilling to do, more +particularly as he had a wife and family. He gave me +lessons on Sunday afternoons, at my father’s house, where +he made his appearance very respectably dressed, in a beaver hat, +blue surtout, whitish waistcoat, black trowsers and Wellingtons, +all with a somewhat ancient look—the Wellingtons I remember +were slightly pieced at the sides—but all upon the whole +very respectable. I wished at first to persuade him to give +me lessons in the office, but could not succeed: “No, no, +lad;” said he, “catch me going in there: I would just +as soon venture into a nest of porcupines.” To +translate from books I had already, to a certain degree, taught +myself, and at his first visit I discovered, and he himself +acknowledged, that at book Welsh I was stronger than himself, but +I learnt Welsh pronunciation from him, and to discourse a little +in the Welsh tongue. “Had you much difficulty in +acquiring the sound of the ll?” I think I hear the reader +inquire. None whatever: the double l of the Welsh is by no +means the terrible guttural which English people generally +suppose it to be, being in reality a pretty liquid, exactly +resembling in sound the Spanish ll, the sound of which I had +mastered before commencing Welsh, and which is equivalent to the +English lh; so being able to pronounce llano I had of course no +difficulty in pronouncing Lluyd, which by-the-bye was the name of +the groom.</p> + +<p>I remember that I found the pronunciation of the Welsh far +less difficult than I had found the grammar, the most remarkable +feature of which is the mutation, under certain circumstances, of +particular consonants, when forming the initials of words. +This feature I had observed in the Irish, which I had then only +learnt by ear.</p> + +<p>But to return to the groom. He was really a remarkable +character, and taught me two or three things besides Welsh +pronunciation; and to discourse a little in Cumraeg. He had +been a soldier in his youth, and had served under Moore and +Wellington in the Peninsular campaigns, and from him I learnt the +details of many a bloody field and bloodier storm, of the +sufferings of poor British soldiers, and the tyranny of haughty +British officers; more especially of the two commanders just +mentioned, the first of whom he swore was shot by his own +soldiers, and the second more frequently shot at by British than +French. But it is not deemed a matter of good taste to +write about such low people as grooms, I shall therefore dismiss +him with no observation further than that after he had visited me +on Sunday afternoons for about a year he departed for his own +country with his wife, who was an Englishwoman, and his children, +in consequence of having been left a small freehold there by a +distant relation, and that I neither saw nor heard of him +again.</p> + +<p>But though I had lost my oral instructor I had still my silent +ones, namely, the Welsh books, and of these I made such use that +before the expiration of my clerkship I was able to read not only +Welsh prose, but, what was infinitely more difficult, Welsh +poetry in any of the four-and-twenty measures, and was well +versed in the compositions of various of the old Welsh bards, +especially those of Dafydd ab Gwilym, whom, since the time when I +first became acquainted with his works, I have always considered +as the greatest poetical genius that has appeared in Europe since +the revival of literature.</p> + +<p>After this exordium I think I may proceed to narrate the +journey of myself and family into Wales. As perhaps, +however, it will be thought that, though I have said quite enough +about myself and a certain groom, I have not said quite enough +about my wife and daughter, I will add a little more about +them. Of my wife I will merely say that she is a perfect +paragon of wives—can make puddings and sweets and treacle +posset, and is the best woman of business in Eastern +Anglia—of my step-daughter—for such she is, though I +generally call her daughter, and with good reason, seeing that +she has always shown herself a daughter to me—that she has +all kinds of good qualities, and several accomplishments, knowing +something of conchology, more of botany, drawing capitally in the +Dutch style, and playing remarkably well on the guitar—not +the trumpery German thing so-called—but the real Spanish +guitar.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Starting—Peterborough +Cathedral—Anglo-Saxon Names—Kæmpe +Viser—Steam—Norman Barons—Chester +Ale—Sion Tudor—Pretty Welsh Tongue.</p> + +<p>So our little family, consisting of myself, my wife Mary, and +my daughter Henrietta, for daughter I shall persist in calling +her, started for Wales in the afternoon of the 27th July, +1854. We flew through part of Norfolk and Cambridgeshire in +a train which we left at Ely, and getting into another, which did +not fly quite so fast as the one we had quieted, reached the +Peterborough station at about six o’clock of a delightful +evening. We proceeded no farther on our journey that day, +in order that we might have an opportunity of seeing the +cathedral.</p> + +<p>Sallying arm in arm from the Station Hotel, where we had +determined to take up our quarters for the night, we crossed a +bridge over the deep quiet Nen, on the southern bank of which +stands the station, and soon arrived at the +cathedral—unfortunately we were too late to procure +admission into the interior, and had to content ourselves with +walking round it and surveying its outside.</p> + +<p>It is named after, and occupies the site, or part of the site +of an immense monastery, founded by the Mercian King Peda, in the +year 665, and destroyed by fire in the year 1116, which +monastery, though originally termed Medeshamsted, or the +homestead on the meads, was subsequently termed Peterborough, +from the circumstance of its having been reared by the old Saxon +monarch for the love of God and the honour of Saint Peter, as the +Saxon Chronicle says, a book which I went through carefully in my +younger days, when I studied Saxon, for, as I have already told +the reader, I was in those days a bit of a philologist. +Like the first, the second edifice was originally a monastery, +and continued so till the time of the Reformation; both were +abodes of learning; for if the Saxon Chronicle was commenced in +the monkish cells of the first, it was completed in those of the +second. What is at present called Peterborough Cathedral is +a noble venerable pile, equal upon the whole in external +appearance to the cathedrals of Toledo, Burgos and Leon, all of +which I have seen. Nothing in architecture can be conceived +more beautiful than the principal entrance, which fronts the +west, and which, at the time we saw it, was gilded with the rays +of the setting sun.</p> + +<p>After having strolled about the edifice surveying it until we +were weary, we returned to our inn, and after taking an excellent +supper retired to rest.</p> + +<p>At ten o’clock next morning we left the capital of the +meads. With dragon speed, and dragon noise, fire, smoke, +and fury, the train dashed along its road through beautiful +meadows, garnished here and there with pollard sallows; over +pretty streams, whose waters stole along imperceptibly; by +venerable old churches, which I vowed I would take the first +opportunity of visiting: stopping now and then to recruit its +energies at places, whose old Anglo-Saxon names stared me in the +eyes from station boards, as specimens of which, let me only dot +down Willy Thorpe, Ringsted, and Yrthling Boro. Quite +forgetting everything Welsh, I was enthusiastically Saxon the +whole way from Medeshamsted to Blissworth, so thoroughly Saxon +was the country, with its rich meads, its old churches and its +names. After leaving Blissworth, a thoroughly Saxon place +by-the-bye, as its name shows, signifying the stronghold or +possession of Bligh or Blee, I became less Saxon; the country was +rather less Saxon, and I caught occasionally the word +“by” on a board, the Danish for a town; which +“by” waked in me a considerable portion of Danish +enthusiasm, of which I have plenty, and with reason, having +translated the glorious Kæmpe Viser over the desk of my +ancient master, the gentleman solicitor of East Anglia. At +length we drew near the great workshop of England, called by +some, Brummagem or Bromwicham, by others Birmingham, and I fell +into a philological reverie, wondering which was the right +name. Before, however, we came to the station, I decided +that both names were right enough, but that Bromwicham was the +original name; signifying the home on the broomie moor, which +name it lost in polite parlance for Birmingham, or the home of +the son of Biarmer, when a certain man of Danish blood, called +Biarming, or the son of Biarmer, got possession of it, whether by +force, fraud, or marriage—the latter, by-the-bye, is by far +the best way of getting possession of an estate—this +deponent neither knoweth nor careth. At Birmingham station +I became a modern Englishman, enthusiastically proud of modern +England’s science and energy; that station alone is enough +to make one proud of being a modern Englishman. Oh, what an +idea does that station, with its thousand trains dashing off in +all directions, or arriving from all quarters, give of modern +English science and energy. My modern English pride +accompanied me all the way to Tipton; for all along the route +there were wonderful evidences of English skill and enterprise; +in chimneys high as cathedral spires, vomiting forth smoke, +furnaces emitting flame and lava, and in the sound of gigantic +hammers, wielded by steam, the Englishman’s slave. +After passing Tipton, at which place one leaves the great working +district behind; I became for a considerable time a yawning, +listless Englishman, without pride, enthusiasm, or feeling of any +kind, from which state I was suddenly roused by the sight of +ruined edifices on the tops of hills. They were remains of +castles built by Norman Barons. Here, perhaps, the reader +will expect from me a burst of Norman enthusiasm: if so he will +be mistaken; I have no Norman enthusiasm, and hate and abominate +the name of Norman, for I have always associated that name with +the deflowering of helpless Englishwomen, the plundering of +English homesteads, and the tearing out of poor +Englishmen’s eyes. The sight of those edifices, now +in ruins, but which were once the strongholds of plunder, +violence, and lust, made me almost ashamed of being an +Englishman, for they brought to my mind the indignities to which +poor English blood has been subjected. I sat silent and +melancholy, till looking from the window I caught sight of a long +line of hills, which I guessed to be the Welsh hills, as indeed +they proved, which sight causing me to remember that I was bound +for Wales, the land of the bard, made me cast all gloomy thoughts +aside and glow with all the Welsh enthusiasm with which I glowed +when I first started in the direction of Wales.</p> + +<p>On arriving at Chester, at which place we intended to spend +two or three days, we put up at an old-fashioned inn in Northgate +Street, to which we had been recommended; my wife and daughter +ordered tea and its accompaniments, and I ordered ale, and that +which always should accompany it, cheese. “The ale I +shall find bad,” said I; Chester ale had a villainous +character in the time of old Sion Tudor, who made a first-rate +englyn upon it, and it has scarcely improved since; “but I +shall have a treat in the cheese, Cheshire cheese has always been +reckoned excellent, and now that I am in the capital of the +cheese country, of course I shall have some of the very +prime.” Well, the tea, loaf and butter made their +appearance, and with them my cheese and ale. To my horror +the cheese had much the appearance of soap of the commonest kind, +which indeed I found it much resembled in taste, on putting a +small portion into my mouth. “Ah,” said I, +after I had opened the window and ejected the half-masticated +morsel into the street, “those who wish to regale on good +Cheshire cheese must not come to Chester, no more than those who +wish to drink first-rate coffee must go to Mocha. +I’ll now see whether the ale is drinkable;” so I took +a little of the ale into my mouth, and instantly going to the +window, spirted it out after the cheese. “Of a +surety,” said I, “Chester ale must be of much the +same quality as it was in the time of Sion Tudor, who spoke of it +to the following effect:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Chester ale, Chester ale! I could +ne’er get it down,<br /> + ’Tis made of ground-ivy, of dirt, and of +bran,<br /> +’Tis as thick as a river below a huge town!<br /> + ’Tis not lap for a dog, far less drink for a +man.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Well! if I have been deceived in the cheese, I have at any +rate not been deceived in the ale, which I expected to find +execrable. Patience! I shall not fall into a passion, more +especially as there are things I can fall back upon. Wife! +I will trouble you for a cup of tea. Henrietta! have the +kindness to cut me a slice of bread and butter.”</p> + +<p>Upon the whole we found ourselves very comfortable in the +old-fashioned inn, which was kept by a nice old-fashioned +gentlewoman, with the assistance of three servants, namely, a +“boots” and two strapping chambermaids, one of which +was a Welsh girl, with whom I soon scraped acquaintance, not, I +assure the reader, for the sake of the pretty Welsh eyes which +she carried in her head, but for the sake of the pretty Welsh +tongue which she carried in her mouth, from which I confess +occasionally proceeded sounds which, however pretty, I was quite +unable to understand.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p class="letter">Chester—The Rows—Lewis Glyn +Cothi—Tragedy of Mold—Native of Antigua—Slavery +and the Americans—The Tents—Saturday Night.</p> + +<p>On the morning after our arrival we went out together, and +walked up and down several streets; my wife and daughter, +however, soon leaving me to go into a shop, I strolled about by +myself. Chester is an ancient town with walls and gates, a +prison called a castle, built on the site of an ancient keep, an +unpretending-looking red sandstone cathedral, two or three +handsome churches, several good streets, and certain curious +places called rows. The Chester row is a broad arched stone +gallery running parallel with the street within the +façades of the houses; it is partly open on the side of +the street, and just one story above it. Within the rows, +of which there are three or four, are shops, every shop being on +that side which is farthest from the street. All the best +shops in Chester are to be found in the rows. These rows, +to which you ascend by stairs up narrow passages, were originally +built for the security of the wares of the principal merchants +against the Welsh. Should the mountaineers break into the +town, as they frequently did, they might rifle some of the common +shops, where their booty would be slight, but those which +contained the more costly articles would be beyond their reach; +for at the first alarm the doors of the passages, up which the +stairs led, would be closed, and all access to the upper streets +cut off, from the open arches of which missiles of all kinds, +kept ready for such occasions, could be discharged upon the +intruders, who would be soon glad to beat a retreat. These +rows and the walls are certainly the most remarkable memorials of +old times which Chester has to boast of.</p> + +<p>Upon the walls it is possible to make the whole compass of the +city, there being a good but narrow walk upon them. The +northern wall abuts upon a frightful ravine, at the bottom of +which is a canal. From the western one there is a noble +view of the Welsh hills.</p> + +<p>As I stood gazing upon the hills from the wall a ragged man +came up and asked for charity.</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me the name of that tall hill?” said +I, pointing in the direction of the south-west. “That +hill, sir,” said the beggar, “is called Moel Vamagh; +I ought to know something about it as I was born at its +foot.” “Moel,” said I, “a bald +hill; Vamagh, maternal or motherly. Moel Vamagh, the Mother +Moel.” “Just so, sir,” said the beggar; +“I see you are a Welshman, like myself, though I suppose +you come from the South—Moel Vamagh is the Mother Moel, and +is called so because it is the highest of all the +Moels.” “Did you ever hear of a place called +Mold?” said I. “Oh, yes, your honour,” +said the beggar; “many a time; and many’s the time I +have been there.” “In which direction does it +lie?” said I. “Towards Moel Vamagh, your +honour,” said the beggar, “which is a few miles +beyond it; you can’t see it from here, but look towards +Moel Vamagh and you will see over it.” “Thank +you,” said I, and gave something to the beggar, who +departed, after first taking off his hat. Long and fixedly +did I gaze in the direction of Mold. The reason which +induced me to do so was the knowledge of an appalling tragedy +transacted there in the old time, in which there is every reason +to suppose a certain Welsh bard, called Lewis Glyn Cothi, had a +share.</p> + +<p>This man, who was a native of South Wales, flourished during +the wars of the Roses. Besides being a poetical he was +something of a military genius, and had a command of foot in the +army of the Lancastrian Jasper Earl of Pembroke, the son of Owen +Tudor, and half-brother of Henry the Sixth. After the +battle of Mortimer’s Cross, in which the Earl’s +forces were defeated, the warrior bard found his way to Chester, +where he married the widow of a citizen and opened a shop, +without asking the permission of the mayor, who with the officers +of justice came and seized all his goods, which, according to his +own account, filled nine sacks, and then drove him out of the +town. The bard in a great fury indited an awdl, in which he +invites Reinallt ap Grufydd ap Bleddyn, a kind of predatory +chieftain, who resided a little way off in Flintshire, to come +and set the town on fire, and slaughter the inhabitants, in +revenge for the wrongs he had suffered, and then proceeds to vent +all kinds of imprecations against the mayor and people of +Chester, wishing, amongst other things, that they might soon hear +that the Dee had become too shallow to bear their +ships—that a certain cutaneous disorder might attack the +wrists of great and small, old and young, laity and +clergy—that grass might grow in their streets—that +Ilar and Cyveilach, Welsh saints, might slay them—that dogs +might snarl at them—and that the king of heaven, with the +saints Brynach and Non, might afflict them with +blindness—which piece, however ineffectual in inducing God +and the saints to visit the Chester people with the curses with +which the furious bard wished them to be afflicted, seems to have +produced somewhat of its intended effect on the chieftain, who +shortly afterwards, on learning that the mayor and many of the +Chester people were present at the fair of Mold, near which place +he resided, set upon them at the head of his forces, and after a +desperate combat, in which many lives were lost, took the mayor +prisoner, and drove those of his people who survived into a +tower, which he set on fire and burnt, with all the unhappy +wretches which it contained, completing the horrors of the day by +hanging the unfortunate mayor.</p> + +<p>Conversant as I was with all this strange history, is it +wonderful that I looked with great interest from the wall of +Chester in the direction of Mold?</p> + +<p>Once did I make the compass of the city upon the walls, and +was beginning to do the same a second time, when I stumbled +against a black, who, with his arms leaning upon the wall, was +spitting over it, in the direction of the river. I +apologised, and contrived to enter into conversation with +him. He was tolerably well dressed, had a hairy cap on his +head, was about forty years of age, and brutishly ugly, his +features scarcely resembling those of a human being. He +told me he was a native of Antigua, a blacksmith by trade, and +had been a slave. I asked him if he could speak any +language besides English, and received for answer that besides +English, he could speak Spanish and French. Forthwith I +spoke to him in Spanish, but he did not understand me. I +then asked him to speak to me in Spanish, but he could not. +“Surely you can tell me the word for water in +Spanish,” said I; he, however, was not able. +“How is it,” said I, “that, pretending to be +acquainted with Spanish, you do not even know the word for +water?” He said he could not tell, but supposed that +he had forgotten the Spanish language, adding however, that he +could speak French perfectly. I spoke to him in +French—he did not understand me: I told him to speak to me +in French, but he did not. I then asked him the word for +bread in French, but he could not tell me. I made no +observations on his ignorance, but inquired how he liked being a +slave? He said not at all; that it was very bad to be a +slave, as a slave was forced to work. I asked him if he did +not work now that he was free? He said very seldom; that he +did not like work, and that it did not agree with him. I +asked how he came into England, and he said that wishing to see +England, he had come over with a gentleman as his servant, but +that as soon as he got there, he had left his master, as he did +not like work. I asked him how he contrived to live in +England without working? He said that any black might live +in England without working; that all he had to do was to attend +religious meetings, and speak against slavery and the +Americans. I asked him if he had done so. He said he +had, and that the religious people were very kind to him, and +gave him money, and that a religious lady was going to marry +him. I asked him if he knew anything about the +Americans? He said he did, and that they were very bad +people, who kept slaves and flogged them. “And quite +right too,” said I, “if they are lazy rascals like +yourself, who want to eat without working. What a pretty +set of knaves or fools must they be, who encourage a fellow like +you to speak against negro slavery, of the necessity for which +you yourself are a living instance, and against a people of whom +you know as much as of French or Spanish.” Then +leaving the black, who made no other answer to what I said, than +by spitting with considerable force in the direction of the +river, I continued making my second compass of the city upon the +wall.</p> + +<p>Having walked round the city for the second time, I returned +to the inn. In the evening I went out again, passed over +the bridge, and then turned to the right in the direction of the +hills. Near the river, on my right, on a kind of green, I +observed two or three tents resembling those of gypsies. +Some ragged children were playing near them, who, however, had +nothing of the appearance of the children of the Egyptian race, +their locks being not dark, but either of a flaxen or red hue, +and their features not delicate and regular, but coarse and +uncouth, and their complexions not olive, but rather inclining to +be fair. I did not go up to them, but continued my course +till I arrived near a large factory. I then turned and +retraced my steps into the town. It was Saturday night, and +the streets were crowded with people, many of whom must have been +Welsh, as I heard the Cambrian language spoken on every side.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Sunday Morning—Tares and +Wheat—Teetotalism—Hearsay—Irish +Family—What Profession?—Sabbath Evening—Priest +or Minister—Give us God.</p> + +<p>On the Sunday morning, as we sat at breakfast, we heard the +noise of singing in the street; running to the window, we saw a +number of people, bareheaded, from whose mouths the singing or +psalmody proceeded. These, on inquiry, we were informed, +were Methodists, going about to raise recruits for a grand +camp-meeting, which was to be held a little way out of the +town. We finished our breakfast, and at eleven attended +divine service at the Cathedral. The interior of this holy +edifice was smooth and neat, strangely contrasting with its +exterior, which was rough and weather-beaten. We had decent +places found us by a civil verger, who probably took us for what +we were—decent country people. We heard much fine +chanting by the choir, and an admirable sermon, preached by a +venerable prebend, on “Tares and Wheat.” The +congregation was numerous and attentive. After service we +returned to our inn, and at two o’clock dined. During +dinner our conversation ran almost entirely on the sermon, which +we all agreed was one of the best sermons we had ever heard, and +most singularly adapted to country people like ourselves, being +on “Wheat and Tares.” When dinner was over my +wife and daughter repaired to the neighbouring church, and I went +in quest of the camp-meeting, having a mighty desire to know what +kind of a thing Methodism at Chester was.</p> + +<p>I found about two thousand people gathered together in a field +near the railroad station; a waggon stood under some green elms +at one end of the field, in which were ten or a dozen men with +the look of Methodist preachers; one of these was holding forth +to the multitude when I arrived, but he presently sat down, I +having, as I suppose, only come in time to hear the fag-end of +his sermon. Another succeeded him, who, after speaking for +about half an hour, was succeeded by another. All the +discourses were vulgar and fanatical, and in some instances +unintelligible at least to my ears. There was plenty of +vociferation, but not one single burst of eloquence. Some +of the assembly appeared to take considerable interest in what +was said, and every now and then showed they did by devout hums +and groans; but the generality evidently took little or none, +staring about listlessly, or talking to one another. +Sometimes, when anything particularly low escaped from the mouth +of the speaker, I heard exclamations of “how low! well, I +think I could preach better than that,” and the like. +At length a man of about fifty, pock-broken and somewhat bald, +began to speak: unlike the others who screamed, shouted, and +seemed in earnest, he spoke in a dry, waggish style, which had +all the coarseness and nothing of the cleverness of that of old +Rowland Hill, whom I once heard. After a great many jokes, +some of them very poor, and others exceedingly thread-bare, on +the folly of those who sell themselves to the Devil for a little +temporary enjoyment, he introduced the subject of drunkenness, or +rather drinking fermented liquors, which he seemed to consider +the same thing; and many a sorry joke on the folly of drinking +them did he crack, which some half-dozen amidst the concourse +applauded. At length he said:—</p> + +<p>“After all, brethren, such drinking is no joking matter, +for it is the root of all evil. Now, brethren, if you would +all get to heaven, and cheat the enemy of your souls, never go +into a public-house to drink, and never fetch any drink from a +public-house. Let nothing pass your lips, in the shape of +drink, stronger than water or tea. Brethren, if you would +cheat the Devil, take the pledge and become teetotalers. I +am a teetotaller myself, thank God—though once I was a +regular lushington.”</p> + +<p>Here ensued a burst of laughter in which I joined, though not +at the wretched joke, but at the absurdity of the argument; for, +according to that argument, I thought my old friends the +Spaniards and Portuguese must be the most moral people in the +world, being almost all water-drinkers. As the speaker was +proceeding with his nonsense, I heard some one say behind +me—“a pretty fellow that, to speak against drinking +and public-houses: he pretends to be reformed, but he is still as +fond of the lush as ever. It was only the other day I saw +him reeling out of a gin-shop.”</p> + +<p>Now that speech I did not like, for I saw at once that it +could not be true, so I turned quickly round and +said—“Old chap, I can scarcely credit +that!”</p> + +<p>The man, whom I addressed, a rough-and-ready-looking fellow of +the lower class, seemed half disposed to return me a savage +answer; but an Englishman of the lower class, though you call his +word in question, is never savage with you, provided you call him +old chap, and he considers you by your dress to be his superior +in station. Now I, who had called the word of this man in +question, had called him old chap, and was considerably better +dressed than himself; so, after a little hesitation, he became +quite gentle, and something more, for he said in a +half-apologetic tone—“Well, sir, I did not exactly +see him myself, but a particular friend of mine heer’d a +man say, that he heer’d another man say, that he was told +that a man heer’d that that fellow—”</p> + +<p>“Come, come!” said I, “a man must not be +convicted on evidence like that; no man has more contempt for the +doctrine which that man endeavours to inculcate than myself, for +I consider it to have been got up partly for fanatical, partly +for political purposes; but I will never believe that he was +lately seen coming out of a gin-shop; he is too wise, or rather +too cunning, for that.”</p> + +<p>I stayed listening to these people till evening was at +hand. I then left them, and without returning to the inn +strolled over the bridge to the green, where the tents +stood. I went up to them: two women sat at the entrance of +one; a man stood by them, and the children, whom I had before +seen, were gambolling near at hand. One of the women was +about forty, the other some twenty years younger; both were +ugly. The younger was a rude, stupid-looking creature, with +red cheeks and redder hair, but there was a dash of intelligence +and likewise of wildness in the countenance of the elder female, +whose complexion and hair were rather dark. The man was +about the same age as the elder woman; he had rather a sharp +look, and was dressed in hat, white frock-coat, corduroy +breeches, long stockings and shoes. I gave them the seal of +the evening.</p> + +<p>“Good evening to your haner,” said the +man—“Good evening to you, sir,” said the woman; +whilst the younger mumbled something, probably to the same +effect, but which I did not catch.</p> + +<p>“Fine weather,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Very, sir,” said the elder female. +“Won’t you please to sit down?” and reaching +back into the tent, she pulled out a stool which she placed near +me.</p> + +<p>I sat down on the stool. “You are not from these +parts?” said I, addressing myself to the man.</p> + +<p>“We are not, your haner,” said the man; “we +are from Ireland.”</p> + +<p>“And this lady,” said I, motioning with my head to +the elder female, “is, I suppose, your wife.”</p> + +<p>“She is, your haner, and the children which your haner +sees are my children.”</p> + +<p>“And who is this young lady?” said I, motioning to +the uncouth-looking girl.</p> + +<p>“The young lady, as your haner is pleased to call her, +is a daughter of a sister of mine who is now dead, along with her +husband. We have her with us, your haner, because if we did +not she would be alone in the world.”</p> + +<p>“And what trade or profession do you follow?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“We do a bit in the tinkering line, your +haner.”</p> + +<p>“Do you find tinkering a very profitable +profession?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Not very, your haner; but we contrive to get a crust +and a drink by it.”</p> + +<p>“That’s more than I ever could,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Has your haner then ever followed tinkering?” +said the man.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I, “but I soon left +off.”</p> + +<p>“And became a minister,” said the elder female, +“Well, your honour is not the first indifferent tinker +that’s turned out a shining minister.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you think me a minister?”</p> + +<p>“Because your honour has the very look and voice of +one. Oh, it was kind in your honour to come to us here in +the Sabbath evening, in order that you might bring us +God.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by bringing you God?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Talking to us about good things, sir, and instructing +us out of the Holy Book.”</p> + +<p>“I am no minister,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Then you are a priest; I am sure you are either a +minister or a priest; and now that I look on you, sir, I think +you look more like a priest than a minister. Yes, I see you +are a priest. Oh, your Reverence, give us God! Pull +out the crucifix from your bosom, and let us kiss the face of +God!”</p> + +<p>“Of what religion are you?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Catholics, your Reverence, Catholics are we +all.”</p> + +<p>“I am no priest.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are a minister; I am sure you are either a +priest or a minister. Oh sir, pull out the Holy Book, and +instruct us from it this blessed Sabbath evening. Give us +God, sir, give us God!”</p> + +<p>“And would you, who are Catholics, listen to the voice +of a minister?”</p> + +<p>“That would we, sir; at least I would. If you are +a minister, and a good minister, I would as soon listen to your +words as those of Father Toban himself.”</p> + +<p>“And who is Father Toban?”</p> + +<p>“A powerful priest in these parts, sir, who has more +than once eased me of my sins, and given me God upon the +cross. Oh, a powerful and comfortable priest is Father +Toban.”</p> + +<p>“And what would he say if he were to know that you asked +for God from a minister?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know, and do not much care; if I get God, I do +not care whether I get Him from a minister or a priest; both have +Him, no doubt, only give Him in different ways. Oh sir, do +give us God; we need Him sir, for we are sinful people; we call +ourselves tinkers, but many is the sinful thing—”</p> + +<p>“Bi-do-hosd;” said the man: Irish words tantamount +to “Be silent!”</p> + +<p>“I will not be hushed,” said the woman, speaking +English. “The man is a good man, and he will do us no +harm. We are tinkers, sir; but we do many things besides +tinkering, many sinful things, especially in Wales, whither we +are soon going again. Oh, I want to be eased of some of my +sins before I go into Wales again, and so do you, Tourlough, for +you know how you are sometimes haunted by devils at night in +those dreary Welsh hills. Oh sir, give us comfort in some +shape or other, either as priest or minister; give us God! +Give us God!”</p> + +<p>“I am neither priest nor minister,” said, I, +“and can only say: Lord have mercy upon you!” +Then getting up I flung the children some money and departed.</p> + +<p>“We do not want your money, sir,” screamed the +woman after me; “we have plenty of money. Give us +God! Give us God!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, your haner,” said the man, “give us +God! we do not want money;” and the uncouth girl said +something, which sounded much like Give us God! but I hastened +across the meadow, which was now quite dusky, and was presently +in the inn with my wife and daughter.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p class="letter">Welsh Book Stall—Wit and +Poetry—Welsh of Chester—Beautiful Morning—Noble +Fellow—The Coiling Serpent—Wrexham Church—Welsh +or English?—Codiad yr Ehedydd.</p> + +<p>On the afternoon of Monday I sent my family off by the train +to Llangollen, which place we had determined to make our +head-quarters during our stay in Wales. I intended to +follow them next day, not in train, but on foot, as by walking I +should be better able to see the country, between Chester and +Llangollen, than by making the journey by the flying +vehicle. As I returned to the inn from the train I took +refuge from a shower in one of the rows or covered streets, to +which, as I have already said, one ascends by flights of steps; +stopping at a book-stall I took up a book which chanced to be a +Welsh one. The proprietor, a short red-faced man, observing +me reading the book, asked me if I could understand it. I +told him that I could.</p> + +<p>“If so,” said he, “let me hear you translate +the two lines on the title-page.”</p> + +<p>“Are you a Welshman?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I am!” he replied.</p> + +<p>“Good!” said I, and I translated into English the +two lines which were a couplet by Edmund Price, an old archdeacon +of Merion, celebrated in his day for wit and poetry.</p> + +<p>The man then asked me from what part of Wales I came, and when +I told him that I was an Englishman was evidently offended, +either because he did not believe me, or, as I more incline to +think, did not approve of an Englishman’s understanding +Welsh.</p> + +<p>The book was the life of the Rev. Richards, and was published +at Caerlleon, or the city of the legion, the appropriate ancient +British name for the place now called Chester, a legion having +been kept stationed there during the occupation of Britain by the +Romans.</p> + +<p>I returned to the inn and dined, and then yearning for +society, descended into the kitchen and had some conversation +with the Welsh maid. She told me that there were a great +many Welsh in Chester from all parts of Wales, but chiefly from +Denbighshire and Flintshire, which latter was her own +country. That a great many children were born in Chester of +Welsh parents, and brought up in the fear of God and love of the +Welsh tongue. That there were some who had never been in +Wales, who spoke as good Welsh as herself, or better. That +the Welsh of Chester were of various religious persuasions; that +some were Baptists, some Independents, but that the greater part +were Calvinistic-Methodists; that she herself was a +Calvinistic-Methodist; that the different persuasions had their +different chapels, in which God was prayed to in Welsh; that +there were very few Welsh in Chester who belonged to the Church +of England, and that the Welsh in general do not like Church of +England worship, as I should soon find if I went into Wales.</p> + +<p>Late in the evening I directed my steps across the bridge to +the green, where I had discoursed with the Irish +itinerants. I wished to have some more conversation with +them respecting their way of life, and, likewise, as they had so +strongly desired it, to give them a little Christian comfort, for +my conscience reproached me for my abrupt departure on the +preceding evening. On arriving at the green, however, I +found them gone, and no traces of them but the mark of their fire +and a little dirty straw. I returned, disappointed and +vexed, to my inn.</p> + +<p>Early the next morning I departed from Chester for Llangollen, +distant about twenty miles; I passed over the noble bridge and +proceeded along a broad and excellent road, leading in a +direction almost due south through pleasant meadows. I felt +very happy—and no wonder; the morning was beautiful, the +birds sang merrily, and a sweet smell proceeded from the new-cut +hay in the fields, and I was bound for Wales. I passed over +the river Allan and through two villages called, as I was told, +Pulford and Marford, and ascended a hill; from the top of this +hill the view is very fine. To the east are the high lands +of Cheshire, to the west the bold hills of Wales, and below, on +all sides a fair variety of wood and water, green meads and +arable fields.</p> + +<p>“You may well look around, Measter,” said a +waggoner, who, coming from the direction in which I was bound, +stopped to breathe his team on the top of the hill; “you +may well look around—there isn’t such a place to see +the country from, far and near, as where we stand. Many +come to this place to look about them.”</p> + +<p>I looked at the man, and thought I had never seen a more +powerful-looking fellow; he was about six feet two inches high, +immensely broad in the shoulders, and could hardly have weighed +less than sixteen stone. I gave him the seal of the +morning, and asked whether he was Welsh or English.</p> + +<p>“English, Measter, English; born t’other side of +Beeston, pure Cheshire, Measter.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” said I, “there are few Welshmen +such big fellows as yourself.”</p> + +<p>“No, Measter,” said the fellow, with a grin, +“there are few Welshmen so big as I, or yourself either; +they are small men mostly, Measter, them Welshers, very small +men—and yet the fellows can use their hands. I am a +bit of a fighter, Measter, at least I was before my wife made me +join the Methodist connection, and I once fit with a Welshman at +Wrexham, he came from the hills, and was a real Welshman, and +shorter than myself by a whole head and shoulder, but he stood up +against me, and gave me more than play for my money, till I +gripped him, flung him down and myself upon him, and then of +course t’was all over with him.”</p> + +<p>“You are a noble fellow,” said I, “and a +credit to Cheshire. Will you have sixpence to +drink?”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Measter, I shall stop at Pulford, and shall +be glad to drink your health in a jug of ale.”</p> + +<p>I gave him sixpence, and descended the hill on one side, while +he, with his team, descended it on the other.</p> + +<p>“A genuine Saxon,” said I; “I daresay just +like many of those who, under Hengist, subdued the plains of +Lloegr and Britain. Taliesin called the Saxon race the +Coiling Serpent. He had better have called it the Big +Bull. He was a noble poet, however: what wonderful lines, +upon the whole, are those in his prophecy, in which he speaks of +the Saxons and Britons, and of the result of their +struggle—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p> “A serpent which coils,<br +/> + And with fury boils,<br /> +From Germany coming with arm’d wings spread,<br /> + Shall subdue and shall enthrall<br /> + The broad Britain all,<br /> +From the Lochlin ocean to Severn’s bed.</p> + +<p> “And British men<br /> + Shall be captives then<br /> +To strangers from Saxonia’s strand;<br /> + They shall praise their God, and hold<br /> + Their language as of old,<br /> +But except wild Wales they shall lose their land.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>I arrived at Wrexham, and having taken a very hearty breakfast +at the principal inn, for I felt rather hungry after a +morning’s walk of ten miles, I walked about the town. +The town is reckoned a Welsh town, but its appearance is not +Welsh—its inhabitants have neither the look nor language of +Welshmen, and its name shows that it was founded by some Saxon +adventurer, Wrexham being a Saxon compound, signifying the home +or habitation of Rex or Rag, and identical, or nearly so, with +the Wroxham of East Anglia. It is a stirring bustling +place, of much traffic, and of several thousand +inhabitants. Its most remarkable object is its church, +which stands at the south-western side. To this church, +after wandering for some time about the streets, I +repaired. The tower is quadrangular, and is at least one +hundred feet high; it has on its summit four little turrets, one +at each corner, between each of which are three spirelets, the +middlemost of the three the highest. The nave of the church +is to the east; it is of two stories, both crenulated at the +top. I wished to see the interior of the church, but found +the gate locked. Observing a group of idlers close at hand +with their backs against a wall, I went up to them, and, +addressing myself to one, inquired whether I could see the +church. “Oh yes, sir,” said the man; “the +clerk who has the key lives close at hand; one of us shall go and +fetch him—by-the-bye, I may as well go myself.” +He moved slowly away. He was a large bulky man of about the +middle age, and his companions were about the same age and size +as himself. I asked them if they were Welsh. +“Yes, sir,” said one, “I suppose we are, for +they call us Welsh.” I asked if any of them could +speak Welsh. “No, sir,” said the man, +“all the Welsh that any of us know, or indeed wish to know, +is ‘Cwrw da.’” Here there was a general +laugh. Cwrw da signifies good ale. I at first thought +that the words might be intended as a hint for a treat, but was +soon convinced of the contrary. There was no greedy +expectation in his eyes, nor, indeed, in those of his companions, +though they all looked as if they were fond of good ale. I +inquired whether much Welsh was spoken in the town, and was told +very little. When the man returned with the clerk I thanked +him. He told me I was welcome, and then went and leaned +with his back against the wall. He and his mates were +probably a set of boon companions enjoying the air after a +night’s bout at drinking. I was subsequently told +that all the people of Wrexham are fond of good ale. The +clerk unlocked the church door, and conducted me in. The +interior was modern, but in no respects remarkable. The +clerk informed me that there was a Welsh service every Sunday +afternoon in the church, but that few people attended, and those +few were almost entirely from the country. He said that +neither he nor the clergyman were natives of Wrexham. He +showed me the Welsh Church Bible, and at my request read a few +verses from the sacred volume. He seemed a highly +intelligent man. I gave him something, which appeared to be +more than he expected, and departed, after inquiring of him the +road to Llangollen.</p> + +<p>I crossed a bridge, for there is a bridge and a stream too at +Wrexham. The road at first bore due west, but speedily took +a southerly direction. I moved rapidly over an undulating +country; a region of hills, or rather of mountains lay on my +right hand. At the entrance of a small village a poor, +sickly-looking woman asked me for charity.</p> + +<p>“Are you Welsh or English?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Welsh,” she replied; “but I speak both +languages, as do all the people here.”</p> + +<p>I gave her a halfpenny; she wished me luck, and I +proceeded. I passed some huge black buildings which a man +told me were collieries, and several carts laden with coal, and +soon came to Rhiwabon—a large village about half way +between Wrexham and Llangollen. I observed in this place +nothing remarkable, but an ancient church. My way from +hence lay nearly west. I ascended a hill, from the top of +which I looked down into a smoky valley. I descended, +passing by a great many collieries, in which I observed grimy men +working amidst smoke and flame. At the bottom of the hill +near a bridge I turned round. A ridge to the east +particularly struck my attention; it was covered with dusky +edifices, from which proceeded thundering sounds, and puffs of +smoke. A woman passed me going towards Rhiwabon; I pointed +to the ridge and asked its name; I spoke English. The woman +shook her head and replied “Dim Saesneg.”</p> + +<p>“This is as it should be,” said I to myself; +“I now feel I am in Wales.” I repeated the +question in Welsh.</p> + +<p>“Cefn Bach,” she replied—which signifies the +little ridge.</p> + +<p>“Diolch iti,” I replied, and proceeded on my +way.</p> + +<p>I was now in a wild valley—enormous hills were on my +right. The road was good, and above it, in the side of a +steep bank, was a causeway intended for foot passengers. It +was overhung with hazel bushes. I walked along it to its +termination which was at Llangollen. I found my wife and +daughter at the principal inn. They had already taken a +house. We dined together at the inn; during the dinner we +had music, for a Welsh harper stationed in the passage played +upon his instrument “Codiad yr ehedydd.” +“Of a surety,” said I, “I am in +Wales!”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Llangollen—Wyn Ab Nudd—The +Dee—Dinas Bran.</p> + +<p>The northern side of the vale of Llangollen is formed by +certain enormous rocks called the Eglwysig rocks, which extend +from east to west, a distance of about two miles. The +southern side is formed by the Berwyn hills. The valley is +intersected by the River Dee, the origin of which is a deep lake +near Bala, about twenty miles to the west. Between the Dee +and the Eglwysig rises a lofty hill, on the top of which are the +ruins of Dinas Bran, which bear no slight resemblance to a +crown. The upper part of the hill is bare with the +exception of what is covered by the ruins; on the lower part +there are inclosures and trees, with, here and there, a grove or +farm-house. On the other side of the valley, to the east of +Llangollen, is a hill called Pen y Coed, beautifully covered with +trees of various kinds; it stands between the river and the +Berwyn, even as the hill of Dinas Bran stands between the river +and the Eglwysig rocks—it does not, however, confront Dinas +Bran, which stands more to the west.</p> + +<p>Llangollen is a small town or large village of white houses +with slate roofs, it contains about two thousand inhabitants, and +is situated principally on the southern side of the Dee. At +its western end it has an ancient bridge and a modest +unpretending church nearly in its centre, in the chancel of which +rest the mortal remains of an old bard called Gryffydd +Hiraethog. From some of the houses on the southern side +there is a noble view—Dinas Bran and its mighty hill +forming the principal objects. The view from the northern +part of the town, which is indeed little more than a suburb, is +not quite so grand, but is nevertheless highly interesting. +The eastern entrance of the vale of Llangollen is much wider than +the western, which is overhung by bulky hills. There are +many pleasant villas on both sides of the river, some of which +stand a considerable way up the hill; of the villas the most +noted is Plas Newydd at the foot of the Berwyn, built by two +Irish ladies of high rank, who resided in it for nearly half a +century, and were celebrated throughout Europe by the name of the +Ladies of Llangollen.</p> + +<p>The view of the hill of Dinas Bran, from the southern side of +Llangollen, would be much more complete were it not for a bulky +excrescence, towards its base, which prevents the gazer from +obtaining a complete view. The name of Llangollen signifies +the church of Collen, and the vale and village take their name +from the church, which was originally dedicated to Saint Collen, +though some, especially the neighbouring peasantry, suppose that +Llangollen is a compound of Llan, a church, and Collen, a +hazel-wood, and that the church was called the church of the +hazel-wood from the number of hazels in the neighbourhood. +Collen, according to a legendary life, which exists of him in +Welsh, was a Briton by birth, and of illustrious ancestry. +He served for some time abroad as a soldier against Julian the +Apostate, and slew a Pagan champion who challenged the best man +amongst the Christians. Returning to his own country he +devoted himself to religion, and became Abbot of Glastonbury, but +subsequently retired to a cave on the side of a mountain, where +he lived a life of great austerity. Once as he was lying in +his cell he heard two men out abroad discoursing about Wyn Ab +Nudd, and saying that he was king of the Tylwyth or Teg Fairies, +and lord of Unknown, whereupon Collen thrusting his head out of +his cave told them to hold their tongues, for that Wyn Ab Nudd +and his host were merely devils. At dead of night he heard +a knocking at the door, and on his asking who was there, a voice +said: “I am a messenger from Wyn Ab Nudd, king of Unknown, +and I am come to summon thee to appear before my master +to-morrow, at mid-day, on the top of the hill.”</p> + +<p>Collen did not go—the next night there was the same +knocking and the same message. Still Collen did not +go. The third night the messenger came again and repeated +his summons, adding that if he did not go it would be the worse +for him. The next day Collen made some holy water, put it +into a pitcher and repaired to the top of the hill, where he saw +a wonderfully fine castle, attendants in magnificent liveries, +youths and damsels dancing with nimble feet, and a man of +honourable presence before the gate, who told him that the king +was expecting him to dinner. Collen followed the man into +the castle, and beheld the king on a throne of gold, and a table +magnificently spread before him. The king welcomed Collen, +and begged him to taste of the dainties on the table, adding that +he hoped that in future he would reside with him. “I +will not eat of the leaves of the forest,” said Collen.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever see men better dressed?” said the +king, “than my attendants here in red and blue?”</p> + +<p>“Their dress is good enough,” said Collen, +“considering what kind of dress it is.”</p> + +<p>“What kind of dress is it?” said the king.</p> + +<p>Collen replied: “The red on the one side denotes +burning, and the blue on the other side denotes +freezing.” Then drawing forth his sprinkler, he flung +the holy water in the faces of the king and his people, whereupon +the whole vision disappeared, so that there was neither castle +nor attendants, nor youth nor damsel, nor musician with his +music, nor banquet, nor anything to be seen save the green +bushes.</p> + +<p>The valley of the Dee, of which the Llangollen district forms +part, is called in the British tongue Glyndyfrdwy—that is, +the valley of the Dwy or Dee. The celebrated Welsh +chieftain, generally known as Owen Glendower, was surnamed after +this valley, the whole of which belonged to him, and in which he +had two or three places of strength, though his general abode was +a castle in Sycharth, a valley to the south-east of the Berwyn, +and distant about twelve miles from Llangollen.</p> + +<p>Connected with the Dee there is a wonderful Druidical legend +to the following effect. The Dee springs from two +fountains, high up in Merionethshire, called Dwy Fawr and Dwy +Fach, or the great and little Dwy, whose waters pass through +those of the lake of Bala without mingling with them, and come +out at its northern extremity. These fountains had their +names from two individuals, Dwy Fawr and Dwy Fach, who escaped +from the Deluge, when all the rest of the human race were +drowned, and the passing of the waters of the two fountains +through the lake, without being confounded with its flood, is +emblematic of the salvation of the two individuals from the +Deluge, of which the lake is a type.</p> + +<p>Dinas Bran, which crowns the top of the mighty hill on the +northern side of the valley, is a ruined stronghold of unknown +antiquity. The name is generally supposed to signify Crow +Castle, bran being the British word for crow, and flocks of crows +being frequently seen hovering over it. It may, however, +mean the castle of Bran or Brennus, or the castle above the Bran, +a brook which flows at its foot.</p> + +<p>Dinas Bran was a place quite impregnable in the old time, and +served as a retreat to Gruffydd, son of Madawg from the rage of +his countrymen, who were incensed against him because, having +married Emma, the daughter of James Lord Audley, he had, at the +instigation of his wife and father-in-law, sided with Edward the +First against his own native sovereign. But though it could +shield him from his foes, it could not preserve him from remorse +and the stings of conscience, of which he speedily died.</p> + +<p>At present the place consists only of a few ruined walls, and +probably consisted of little more two or three hundred years ago: +Roger Cyffyn a Welsh bard, who flourished at the beginning of the +seventeenth century, wrote an englyn upon it, of which the +following is a translation:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Gone, gone are thy gates, Dinas Bran on the +height!<br /> + Thy warders are blood-crows and ravens, I trow;<br +/> +Now no one will wend from the field of the fight<br /> + To the fortress on high, save the raven and +crow.”</p> +</blockquote> + + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Poor Black +Cat—Dissenters—Persecution—What Impudence!</p> + +<p>The house or cottage, for it was called a cottage though it +consisted of two stories, in which my wife had procured lodgings +for us, was situated in the Northern suburb. Its front was +towards a large perllan or orchard, which sloped down gently to +the banks of the Dee; its back was towards the road leading from +Wrexham, behind which was a high bank, on the top of which was a +canal called in Welsh the Camlas, whose commencement was up the +valley about two miles west. A little way up the road, +towards Wrexham, was the vicarage and a little way down was a +flannel factory, beyond which was a small inn, with pleasure +grounds, kept by an individual who had once been a +gentleman’s servant. The mistress of the house was a +highly respectable widow, who, with a servant maid was to wait +upon us. It was as agreeable a place in all respects as +people like ourselves could desire.</p> + +<p>As I and my family sat at tea in our parlour, an hour or two +after we had taken possession of our lodgings, the door of the +room and that of the entrance to the house being open, on account +of the fineness of the weather, a poor black cat entered hastily, +sat down on the carpet by the table, looked up towards us, and +mewed piteously. I never had seen so wretched a looking +creature. It was dreadfully attenuated, being little more +than skin and bone, and was sorely afflicted with an eruptive +malady. And here I may as well relate the history of this +cat previous to our arrival which I subsequently learned by bits +and snatches. It had belonged to a previous vicar of +Llangollen, and had been left behind at his departure. His +successor brought with him dogs and cats, who, conceiving that +the late vicar’s cat had no business at the vicarage, drove +it forth to seek another home, which, however, it could not +find. Almost all the people of the suburb were dissenters, +as indeed were the generality of the people of Llangollen, and +knowing the cat to be a church cat, not only would not harbour +it, but did all they could to make it miserable; whilst the few +who were not dissenters, would not receive it into their houses, +either because they had cats of their own, or dogs, or did not +want a cat, so that the cat had no home and was dreadfully +persecuted by nine-tenths of the suburb. Oh, there never +was a cat so persecuted as that poor Church of England animal, +and solely on account of the opinions which it was supposed to +have imbibed in the house of its late master, for I never could +learn that the dissenters of the suburb, nor indeed of Llangollen +in general, were in the habit of persecuting other cats; the cat +was a Church of England cat, and that was enough: stone it, hang +it, drown it! were the cries of almost everybody. If the +workmen of the flannel factory, all of whom were +Calvinistic-Methodists, chanced to get a glimpse of it in the +road from the windows of the building, they would sally forth in +a body, and with sticks, stones, or for want of other weapons, +with clots of horse dung, of which there was always plenty on the +road, would chase it up the high bank or perhaps over the Camlas; +the inhabitants of a small street between our house and the +factory leading from the road to the river, all of whom were +dissenters, if they saw it moving about the perllan, into which +their back windows looked, would shriek and hoot at it, and fling +anything of no value, which came easily to hand, at the head or +body of the ecclesiastical cat. The good woman of the +house, who though a very excellent person, was a bitter +dissenter, whenever she saw it upon her ground or heard it was +there, would make after it, frequently attended by her maid +Margaret, and her young son, a boy about nine years of age, both +of whom hated the cat, and were always ready to attack it, either +alone or in company, and no wonder, the maid being not only a +dissenter, but a class teacher, and the boy not only a dissenter, +but intended for the dissenting ministry. Where it got its +food, and food it sometimes must have got, for even a cat, an +animal known to have nine lives, cannot live without food, was +only known to itself, as was the place where it lay, for even a +cat must lie down sometimes; though a labouring man who +occasionally dug in the garden told me he believed that in the +springtime it ate freshets, and the woman of the house once said +that she believed it sometimes slept in the hedge, which hedge, +by-the-bye, divided our perllan from the vicarage grounds, which +were very extensive. Well might the cat after having led +this kind of life for better than two years look mere skin and +bone when it made its appearance in our apartment, and have an +eruptive malady, and also a bronchitic cough, for I remember it +had both. How it came to make its appearance there is a +mystery, for it had never entered the house before, even when +there were lodgers; that it should not visit the woman, who was +its declared enemy, was natural enough, but why if it did not +visit her other lodgers, did it visit us? Did instinct keep +it aloof from them? Did instinct draw it towards us? +We gave it some bread-and-butter, and a little tea with milk and +sugar. It ate and drank and soon began to purr. The +good woman of the house was horrified when on coming in to remove +the things she saw the church cat on her carpet. +“What impudence!” she exclaimed, and made towards it, +but on our telling her that we did not expect that it should be +disturbed, she let it alone. A very remarkable circumstance +was, that though the cat had hitherto been in the habit of +flying, not only from her face, but the very echo of her voice, +it now looked her in the face with perfect composure, as much as +to say, “I don’t fear you, for I know that I am now +safe and with my own people.” It stayed with us two +hours and then went away. The next morning it +returned. To be short, though it went away every night, it +became our own cat, and one of our family. I gave it +something which cured it of its eruption, and through good +treatment it soon lost its other ailments and began to look sleek +and bonny.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Mowers—Deep Welsh—Extensive +View—Old Celtic Hatred—Fish +Preserving—Smollet’s Morgan.</p> + +<p>Next morning I set out to ascend Dinas Bran, a number of +children, almost entirely girls, followed me. I asked them +why they came after me. “In the hope that you will +give us something,” said one in very good English. I +told them that I should give them nothing, but they still +followed me. A little way up the hill I saw some men +cutting hay. I made an observation to one of them +respecting the fineness of the weather; he answered civilly, and +rested on his scythe, whilst the others pursued their work. +I asked him whether he was a farming man; he told me that he was +not; that he generally worked at the flannel manufactory, but +that for some days past he had not been employed there, work +being slack, and had on that account joined the mowers in order +to earn a few shillings. I asked him how it was he knew how +to handle a scythe, not being bred up a farming man; he smiled, +and said that, somehow or other, he had learnt to do so.</p> + +<p>“You speak very good English,” said I, “have +you much Welsh?”</p> + +<p>“Plenty,” said he; “I am a real +Welshman.”</p> + +<p>“Can you read Welsh?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” he replied.</p> + +<p>“What books have you read?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I have read the Bible, sir, and one or two other +books.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever read the Bardd Cwsg?” said I.</p> + +<p>He looked at me with some surprise. “No,” +said he, after a moment or two, “I have never read +it. I have seen it, but it was far too deep Welsh for +me.”</p> + +<p>“I have read it,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Are you a Welshman?” said he.</p> + +<p>“No,” said I; “I am an +Englishman.”</p> + +<p>“And how is it,” said he, “that you can read +Welsh without being a Welshman?”</p> + +<p>“I learned to do so,” said I, “even as you +learned to mow, without being bred up to farming work.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said he, “but it is easier to learn to +mow than to read the Bardd Cwsg.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think that,” said I; “I have +taken up a scythe a hundred times but I cannot mow.”</p> + +<p>“Will your honour take mine now, and try again?” +said he.</p> + +<p>“No,” said I, “for if I take your scythe in +hand I must give you a shilling, you know, by mowers’ +law.”</p> + +<p>He gave a broad grin, and I proceeded up the hill. When +he rejoined his companions he said something to them in Welsh, at +which they all laughed. I reached the top of the hill, the +children still attending me.</p> + +<p>The view over the vale is very beautiful; but on no side, +except in the direction of the west, is it very extensive; Dinas +Bran being on all other sides overtopped by other hills: in that +direction, indeed, the view is extensive enough, reaching on a +fine day even to the Wyddfa or peak of Snowdon, a distance of +sixty miles, at least as some say, who perhaps ought to add to +very good eyes, which mine are not. The day that I made my +first ascent of Dinas Bran was very clear, but I do not think I +saw the Wyddfa then from the top of Dinas Bran. It is true +I might see it without knowing it, being utterly unacquainted +with it, except by name; but I repeat I do not think I saw it, +and I am quite sure that I did not see it from the top of Dinas +Bran on a subsequent ascent, on a day equally clear, when if I +had seen the Wyddfa I must have recognised it, having been at its +top. As I stood gazing around, the children danced about +upon the grass, and sang a song. The song was +English. I descended the hill; they followed me to its +foot, and then left me. The children of the lower class of +Llangollen are great pests to visitors. The best way to get +rid of them is to give them nothing: I followed that plan, and +was not long troubled with them.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the foot of the hill, I walked along the bank of +the canal to the west. Presently I came to a barge lying by +the bank; the boatman was in it. I entered into +conversation with him. He told me that the canal and its +branches extended over a great part of England. That the +boats carried slates—that he had frequently gone as far as +Paddington by the canal—that he was generally three weeks +on the journey—that the boatmen and their families lived in +the little cabins aft—that the boatmen were all +Welsh—that they could read English, but little or no +Welsh—that English was a much more easy language to read +than Welsh—that they passed by many towns, among others +Northampton, and that he liked no place so much as +Llangollen. I proceeded till I came to a place where some +people were putting huge slates into a canal boat. It was +near a bridge which crossed the Dee, which was on the left. +I stopped and entered into conversation with one, who appeared to +be the principal man. He told me amongst other things that +he was a blacksmith from the neighbourhood of Rhiwabon, and that +the flags were intended for the flooring of his premises. +In the boat was an old bareheaded, bare-armed fellow, who +presently joined in the conversation in very broken +English. He told me that his name was Joseph Hughes, and +that he was a real Welshman and was proud of being so; he +expressed a great dislike for the English, who he said were in +the habit of making fun of him and ridiculing his language; he +said that all the fools that he had known were Englishmen. +I told him that all Englishmen were not fools; “but the +greater part are,” said he. “Look how they +work,” said I. “Yes,” said he, +“some of them are good at breaking stones for the road, but +not more than one in a hundred.” “There seems +to be something of the old Celtic hatred to the Saxon in this old +fellow,” said I to myself, as I walked away.</p> + +<p>I proceeded till I came to the head of the canal, where the +navigation first commences. It is close to a weir over +which the Dee falls. Here there is a little floodgate, +through which water rushes from an oblong pond or reservoir, fed +by water from a corner of the upper part of the weir. On +the left, or south-west side, is a mound of earth fenced with +stones which is the commencement of the bank of the canal. +The pond or reservoir above the floodgate is separated from the +weir by a stone wall on the left, or south-west side. This +pond has two floodgates, the one already mentioned, which opens +into the canal, and another, on the other side of the stone +mound, opening to the lower part of the weir. Whenever, as +a man told me who was standing near, it is necessary to lay the +bed of the canal dry, in the immediate neighbourhood for the +purpose of making repairs, the floodgate to the canal is closed, +and the one to the lower part of the weir is opened, and then the +water from the pond flows into the Dee, whilst a sluice, near the +first lock, lets out the water of the canal into the river. +The head of the canal is situated in a very beautiful spot. +To the left or south is a lofty hill covered with wood. To +the right is a beautiful slope or lawn on the top of which is a +pretty villa, to which you can get by a little wooden bridge over +the floodgate of the canal, and indeed forming part of it. +Few things are so beautiful in their origin as this canal, which, +be it known, with its locks and its aqueducts, the grandest of +which last is the stupendous erection near Stockport, which +by-the-bye filled my mind when a boy with wonder, constitutes the +grand work of England, and yields to nothing in the world of the +kind, with the exception of the great canal of China.</p> + +<p>Retracing my steps some way I got upon the river’s bank +and then again proceeded in the direction of the west. I +soon came to a cottage nearly opposite a bridge, which led over +the river, not the bridge which I have already mentioned, but one +much smaller, and considerably higher up the valley. The +cottage had several dusky outbuildings attached to it, and a +paling before it. Leaning over the paling in his +shirt-sleeves was a dark-faced, short, thickset man, who saluted +me in English. I returned his salutation, stopped, and was +soon in conversation with him. I praised the beauty of the +river and its banks: he said that both were beautiful and +delightful in summer, but not at all in winter, for then the +trees and bushes on the banks were stripped of their leaves, and +the river was a frightful torrent. He asked me if I had +been to see the place called the Robber’s Leap, as +strangers generally went to see it. I inquired where it +was.</p> + +<p>“Yonder,” said he, pointing to some distance down +the river.</p> + +<p>“Why is it called the Robber’s Leap?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“It is called the Robber’s Leap, or Llam y +Lleidyr,” said he, “because a thief pursued by +justice once leaped across the river there and escaped. It +was an awful leap, and he well deserved to escape after taking +it.” I told him that I should go and look at it on +some future opportunity, and then asked if there were many fish +in the river. He said there were plenty of salmon and +trout, and that owing to the river being tolerably high, a good +many had been caught during the last few days. I asked him +who enjoyed the right of fishing in the river. He said that +in these parts the fishing belonged to two or three proprietors, +who either preserved the fishing for themselves, as they best +could by means of keepers, or let it out to other people; and +that many individuals came not only from England, but from France +and Germany and even Russia for the purpose of fishing, and that +the keepers of the proprietors from whom they purchased +permission to fish, went with them, to show them the best places, +and to teach them how to fish. He added that there was a +report that the river would shortly be rhydd or free and open to +any one. I said that it would be a bad thing to fling the +river open, as in that event the fish would be killed at all +times and seasons, and eventually all destroyed. He replied +that he questioned whether more fish would be taken then than +now, and that I must not imagine that the fish were much +protected by what was called preserving; that the people to whom +the lands in the neighbourhood belonged, and those who paid for +fishing did not catch a hundredth part of the fish which were +caught in the river: that the proprietors went with their +keepers, and perhaps caught two or three stone of fish, or that +strangers went with the keepers, whom they paid for teaching them +how to fish, and perhaps caught half-a-dozen fish, and that +shortly after the keepers would return and catch on their own +account sixty stone of fish from the very spot where the +proprietors or strangers had great difficulty in catching two or +three stone or the half-dozen fish, or the poachers would go and +catch a yet greater quantity. He added that gentry did not +understand how to catch fish, and that to attempt to preserve was +nonsense. I told him that if the river was flung open +everybody would fish; he said that I was much mistaken, that +hundreds who were now poachers, would then keep at home, mind +their proper trades, and never use line or spear; that folks +always longed to do what they were forbidden, and that Shimei +would never have crossed the brook provided he had not been told +he should be hanged if he did. That he himself had +permission to fish in the river whenever he pleased, but never +availed himself of it, though in his young time, when he had no +leave, he had been an arrant poacher.</p> + +<p>The manners and way of speaking of this old personage put me +very much in mind of those of Morgan, described by Smollett in +his immortal novel of “Roderick Random.” I had +more discourse with him: I asked him in what line of business he +was, he told me that he sold coals. From his complexion, +and the hue of his shirt, I had already concluded that he was in +some grimy trade. I then inquired of what religion he was, +and received for answer that he was a Baptist. I thought +that both himself and part of his apparel would look all the +better for a good immersion. We talked of the war then +raging—he said it was between the false prophet and the +Dragon. I asked him who the Dragon was—he said the +Turk. I told him that the Pope was far worse than either +the Turk or the Russian, that his religion was the vilest +idolatry, and that he would let no one alone. That it was +the Pope who drove his fellow religionists the Anabaptists out of +the Netherlands. He asked me how long ago that was. +Between two and three hundred years I replied. He asked me +the meaning of the word Anabaptist; I told him; whereupon he +expressed great admiration for my understanding, and said that he +hoped he should see me again.</p> + +<p>I inquired of him to what place the bridge led; he told me +that if I passed over it, and ascended a high bank beyond, I +should find myself on the road from Llangollen to Corwen and that +if I wanted to go to Llangollen I must turn to the left. I +thanked him, and passing over the bridge, and ascending the bank, +found myself upon a broad road. I turned to the left, and +walking briskly in about half an hour reached our cottage in the +northern suburb, where I found my family and dinner awaiting +me.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Dinner—English +Foibles—Pengwern—The +Yew-Tree—Carn-Lleidyr—Applications of a Term.</p> + +<p>For dinner we had salmon and leg of mutton; the salmon from +the Dee, the leg from the neighbouring Berwyn. The salmon +was good enough, but I had eaten better; and here it will not be +amiss to say, that the best salmon in the world is caught in the +Suir, a river that flows past the beautiful town of Clonmel in +Ireland. As for the leg of mutton it was truly wonderful; +nothing so good had I ever tasted in the shape of a leg of +mutton. The leg of mutton of Wales beats the leg of mutton +of any other country, and I had never tasted a Welsh leg of +mutton before. Certainly I shall never forget that first +Welsh leg of mutton which I tasted, rich but delicate, replete +with juices derived from the aromatic herbs of the noble Berwyn, +cooked to a turn, and weighing just four pounds.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“O its savoury smell was great,<br /> +Such as well might tempt, I trow,<br /> +One that’s dead to lift his brow.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Let any one who wishes to eat leg of mutton in perfection go +to Wales, but mind you to eat leg of mutton only. Welsh leg +of mutton is superlative; but with the exception of the leg, the +mutton of Wales is decidedly inferior to that of many other parts +of Britain.</p> + +<p>Here, perhaps, as I have told the reader what we ate for +dinner, it will be as well to tell him what we drank at +dinner. Let him know then, that with our salmon we drank +water, and with our mutton ale, even ale of Llangollen; but not +the best ale of Llangollen; it was very fair; but I subsequently +drank far better Llangollen ale than that which I drank at our +first dinner in our cottage at Llangollen.</p> + +<p>In the evening I went across the bridge and strolled along in +a south-east direction. Just as I had cleared the suburb a +man joined me from a cottage, on the top of a high bank, whom I +recognised as the mower with whom I had held discourse in the +morning. He saluted me and asked me if I were taking a +walk, I told him I was, whereupon he said that if I were not too +proud to wish to be seen walking with a poor man like himself, he +should wish to join me. I told him I should be glad of his +company, and that I was not ashamed to be seen walking with any +person, however poor, who conducted himself with propriety. +He replied that I must be very different from my countrymen in +general, who were ashamed to be seen walking with any people, who +were not, at least, as well-dressed as themselves. I said +that my country-folk in general had a great many admirable +qualities, but at the same time a great many foibles, foremost +amongst which last was a crazy admiration for what they called +gentility, which made them sycophantic to their superiors in +station, and extremely insolent to those whom they considered +below them. He said that I had spoken his very thoughts, +and then asked me whether I wished to be taken the most agreeable +walk near Llangollen.</p> + +<p>On my replying by all means, he led me along the road to the +south-east. A pleasant road it proved: on our right at some +distance was the mighty Berwyn; close on our left the hill called +Pen y Coed. I asked him what was beyond the Berwyn?</p> + +<p>“A very wild country, indeed,” he replied, +“consisting of wood, rock, and river; in fact, an +anialwch.”</p> + +<p>He then asked if I knew the meaning of anialwch.</p> + +<p>“A wilderness,” I replied, “you will find +the word in the Welsh Bible.”</p> + +<p>“Very true, sir,” said he, “it was there I +met it, but I did not know the meaning of it, till it was +explained to me by one of our teachers.”</p> + +<p>On my inquiring of what religion he was, he told me he was a +Calvinistic-Methodist.</p> + +<p>We passed an ancient building which stood on our right. +I turned round to look at it. Its back was to the road: at +its eastern end was a fine arched window like the oriel window of +a church.</p> + +<p>“That building,” said my companion, “is +called Pengwern Hall. It was once a convent of nuns; a +little time ago a farm-house, but is now used as a barn, and a +place of stowage. Till lately it belonged to the Mostyn +family, but they disposed of it, with the farm on which it stood, +together with several other farms, to certain people from +Liverpool, who now live yonder,” pointing to a house a +little way farther on. I still looked at the edifice.</p> + +<p>“You seem to admire the old building,” said my +companion.</p> + +<p>“I was not admiring it,” said I; “I was +thinking of the difference between its present and former +state. Formerly it was a place devoted to gorgeous idolatry +and obscene lust; now it is a quiet old barn in which hay and +straw are placed, and broken tumbrels stowed away: surely the +hand of God is visible here?”</p> + +<p>“It is so, sir,” said the man in a respectful +tone, “and so it is in another place in this +neighbourhood. About three miles from here, in the +north-west part of the valley, is an old edifice. It is now +a farm-house, but was once a splendid abbey, and was +called—”</p> + +<p>“The abbey of the vale of the cross,” said I, +“I have read a deal about it. Iolo Goch, the bard of +your celebrated hero, Owen Glendower, was buried somewhere in its +precincts.”</p> + +<p>We went on: my companion took me over a stile behind the house +which he had pointed out, and along a path through hazel +coppices. After a little time I inquired whether there were +any Papists in Llangollen.</p> + +<p>“No,” said he, “there is not one of that +family at Llangollen, but I believe there are some in Flintshire, +at a place called Holywell, where there is a pool or fountain, +the waters of which it is said they worship.”</p> + +<p>“And so they do,” said I, “true to the old +Indian superstition, of which their religion is nothing but a +modification. The Indians and sepoys worship stocks and +stones, and the river Ganges, and our Papists worship stocks and +stones, holy wells and fountains.”</p> + +<p>He put some questions to me about the origin of nuns and +friars. I told him they originated in India, and made him +laugh heartily by showing him the original identity of nuns and +nautch-girls, begging priests and begging Brahmins. We +passed by a small house with an enormous yew-tree before it; I +asked him who lived there.</p> + +<p>“No one,” he replied, “it is to let. +It was originally a cottage, but the proprietors have furbished +it up a little, and call it Yew-tree Villa.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose they would let it cheap,” said I.</p> + +<p>“By no means,” he replied, “they ask eighty +pounds a year for it.”</p> + +<p>“What could have induced them to set such a rent upon +it?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“The yew-tree, sir, which is said to be the largest in +Wales. They hope that some of the grand gentry will take +the house for the romance of the yew-tree, but somehow or other +nobody has taken it, though it has been to let for three +seasons.”</p> + +<p>We soon came to a road leading east and west.</p> + +<p>“This way,” said he, pointing in the direction of +the west, “leads back to Llangollen, the other to +Offa’s Dyke and England.”</p> + +<p>We turned to the west. He inquired if I had ever heard +before of Offa’s Dyke.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said I, “it was built by an old +Saxon king called Offa, against the incursions of the +Welsh.”</p> + +<p>“There was a time,” said my companion, “when +it was customary for the English to cut off the ears of every +Welshman who was found to the east of the dyke, and for the Welsh +to hang every Englishman whom they found to the west of it. +Let us be thankful that we are now more humane to each +other. We are now on the north side of Pen y Coed. Do +you know the meaning of Pen y Coed, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Pen y Coed,” said I, “means the head of the +wood. I suppose that in the old time the mountain looked +over some extensive forest, even as the nunnery of Pengwern +looked originally over an alder-swamp, for Pengwern means the +head of the alder-swamp.”</p> + +<p>“So it does, sir, I shouldn’t wonder if you could +tell me the real meaning of a word, about which I have thought a +good deal, and about which I was puzzling my head last night as I +lay in bed.”</p> + +<p>“What may it be?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Carn-lleidyr,” he replied: “now, sir, do +you know the meaning of that word?”</p> + +<p>“I think I do,” said I.</p> + +<p>“What may it be, sir?”</p> + +<p>“First let me hear what you conceive its meaning to +be,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Why, sir, I should say that Carn-lleidyr is an +out-and-out thief—one worse than a thief of the common +sort. Now, if I steal a matrass I am a lleidyr, that is a +thief of the common sort; but if I carry it to a person, and he +buys it, knowing it to be stolen, I conceive he is a far worse +thief than I; in fact, a carn-lleidyr.”</p> + +<p>“The word is a double word,” said I, +“compounded of carn and lleidyr. The original meaning +of carn is a heap of stones, and carn-lleidyr means properly a +thief without house or home, and with no place on which to rest +his head, save the carn or heap of stones on the bleak top of the +mountain. For a long time the word was only applied to a +thief of that description, who, being without house and home, was +more desperate than other thieves, and as savage and brutish as +the wolves and foxes with whom he occasionally shared his pillow, +the carn. In course of time, however, the original meaning +was lost or disregarded, and the term carn-lleidyr was applied to +any particularly dishonest person. At present there can be +no impropriety in calling a person who receives a matrass, +knowing it to be stolen, a carn-lleidyr, seeing that he is worse +than the thief who stole it, or in calling a knavish attorney a +carn-lleidyr, seeing that he does far more harm than a common +pick-pocket; or in calling the Pope so, seeing that he gets huge +sums of money out of people by pretending to be able to admit +their souls to heaven, or to hurl them to the other place, +knowing all the time that he has no such power; perhaps, indeed, +at the present day the term carn-lleidyr is more applicable to +the Pope than to any one else, for he is certainly the arch thief +of the world. So much for Carn-lleidyr. But I must +here tell you that the term carn may be applied to any who is +particularly bad or disagreeable in any respect, and now I +remember, has been applied for centuries both in prose and +poetry. One Lewis Glyn Cothi, a poet, who lived more than +three hundred years ago, uses the word carn in the sense of +arrant or exceedingly bad, for in his abusive ode to the town of +Chester, he says that the women of London itself were never more +carn strumpets than those of Chester, by which he means that +there were never more arrant harlots in the world than those of +the cheese capital. And the last of your great poets, +Gronwy Owen, who flourished about the middle of the last century, +complains in a letter to a friend, whilst living in a village of +Lancashire, that he was amongst Carn Saeson. He found all +English disagreeable enough, but those of Lancashire particularly +so—savage, brutish louts, out-and-out John Bulls, and +therefore he called them Carn Saeson.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir,” said my companion; “I now +thoroughly understand the meaning of carn. Whenever I go to +Chester, and a dressed-up madam jostles against me, I shall call +her carn-butein. The Pope of Rome I shall in future term +carn-lleidyr y byd, or the arch thief of the world. And +whenever I see a stupid, brutal Englishman swaggering about +Llangollen, and looking down upon us poor Welsh, I shall say to +myself Get home, you carn Sais! Well, sir, we are now near +Llangollen; I must turn to the left. You go straight +forward. I never had such an agreeable walk in my +life. May I ask your name?”</p> + +<p>I told him my name, and asked him for his.</p> + +<p>“Edward Jones,” he replied.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Berwyn—Mountain Cottage—The +Barber’s Pole.</p> + +<p>On the following morning I strolled up the Berwyn on the +south-west of the town, by a broad winding path, which was at +first very steep, but by degrees became less so. When I had +accomplished about three parts of the ascent I came to a place +where the road, or path, divided into two. I took the one +to the left, which seemingly led to the top of the mountain, and +presently came to a cottage from which a dog rushed barking +towards me; an old woman, however, coming to the door called him +back. I said a few words to her in Welsh, whereupon in +broken English she asked me to enter the cottage and take a glass +of milk. I went in and sat down on a chair which a +sickly-looking young woman handed to me. I asked her in +English who she was, but she made no answer, whereupon the old +woman told me that she was her daughter and had no English. +I then asked her in Welsh what was the matter with her, she +replied that she had the cryd or ague. The old woman now +brought me a glass of milk, and said in the Welsh language that +she hoped I should like it. What further conversation we +had was in the Cambrian tongue. I asked the name of the +dog, who was now fondling upon me, and was told that his name was +Pharaoh. I inquired if they had any books, and was shown +two, one a common Bible printed by the Bible Society, and the +other a volume in which the book of prayer of the Church of +England was bound up with the Bible, both printed at Oxford, +about the middle of the last century. I found that both +mother and daughter were Calvinistic-Methodists. After a +little further discourse I got up and gave the old woman twopence +for the milk; she accepted it, but with great reluctance. I +inquired whether by following the road I could get to the Pen y +bryn or the top of the hill. They shook their heads, and +the young woman said that I could not, as the road presently took +a turn and went down. I asked her how I could get to the +top of the hill. “Which part of the top?” said +she. “I’r goruchaf,” I replied. +“That must be where the barber’s pole stands,” +said she. “Why does the barber’s pole stand +there?” said I. “A barber was hanged there a +long time ago,” said she, “and the pole was placed to +show the spot.” “Why was he hanged?” said +I. “For murdering his wife,” said she. I +asked her some questions about the murder, but the only +information she could give me was, that it was a very bad murder +and occurred a long time ago. I had observed the pole from +our garden, at Llangollen, but had concluded that it was a common +flagstaff. I inquired the way to it. It was not +visible from the cottage, but they gave me directions how to +reach it. I bade them farewell, and in about a quarter of +an hour reached the pole on the top of the hill. I imagined +that I should have a glorious view of the vale of Llangollen from +the spot where it stood; the view, however, did not answer my +expectations. I returned to Llangollen by nearly the same +way by which I had come.</p> + +<p>The remainder of the day I spent entirely with my family, whom +at their particular request I took in the evening to see Plas +Newydd, once the villa of the two ladies of Llangollen. It +lies on the farther side of the bridge, at a little distance from +the back part of the church. There is a thoroughfare +through the grounds, which are not extensive. Plas Newydd +or the New Place is a small gloomy mansion, with a curious dairy +on the right-hand side, as you go up to it, and a remarkable +stone pump. An old man whom we met in the grounds, and with +whom I entered into conversation, said that he remembered the +building of the house, and that the place where it now stands was +called before its erection Pen y maes, or the head of the +field.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Welsh Farm-House—A Poet’s +Grandson—Hospitality—Mountain +Village—Madoc—The Native Valley—Corpse +Candles—The Midnight Call.</p> + +<p>My curiosity having been rather excited with respect to the +country beyond the Berwyn, by what my friend, the intelligent +flannel-worker, had told me about it, I determined to go and see +it. Accordingly on Friday morning I set out. Having +passed by Pengwern Hall I turned up a lane in the direction of +the south, with a brook on the right running amongst hazels, I +presently arrived at a small farm-house standing on the left with +a little yard before it. Seeing a woman at the door I asked +her in English if the road in which I was would take me across +the mountain—she said it would, and forthwith cried to a +man working in a field who left his work and came towards +us. “That is my husband,” said she; “he +has more English than I.”</p> + +<p>The man came up and addressed me in very good English: he had +a brisk, intelligent look, and was about sixty. I repeated +the question, which I had put to his wife, and he also said that +by following the road I could get across the mountain. We +soon got into conversation. He told me that the little farm +in which he lived belonged to the person who had bought Pengwern +Hall. He said that he was a good kind of gentleman, but did +not like the Welsh. I asked him, if the gentleman in +question did not like the Welsh, why he came to live among +them. He smiled, and I then said that I liked the Welsh +very much, and was particularly fond of their language. He +asked me whether I could read Welsh, and on my telling him I +could, he said that if I would walk in he would show me a Welsh +book. I went with him and his wife into a neat kind of +kitchen, flagged with stone, where were several young people, +their children. I spoke some Welsh to them which appeared +to give them great satisfaction. The man went to a shelf +and taking down a book put it into my hand. It was a Welsh +book, and the title of it in English was “Evening Work of +the Welsh.” It contained the lives of illustrious +Welshmen, commencing with that of Cadwalader. I read a page +of it aloud, while the family stood round and wondered to hear a +Saxon read their language. I entered into discourse with +the man about Welsh poetry and repeated the famous prophecy of +Taliesin about the Coiling Serpent. I asked him if the +Welsh had any poets at the present day. +“Plenty,” said he, “and good ones—Wales +can never be without a poet.” Then after a pause he +said, that he was the grandson of a great poet.</p> + +<p>“Do you bear his name?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I do,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“What may it be?”</p> + +<p>“Hughes,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Two of the name of Hughes have been poets,” said +I—“one was Huw Hughes, generally termed the Bardd +Coch, or red bard; he was an Anglesea man, and the friend of +Lewis Morris and Gronwy Owen—the other was Jonathan Hughes, +where he lived I know not.”</p> + +<p>“He lived here, in this very house,” said the +man. “Jonathan Hughes was my grandfather!” and +as he spoke his eyes flashed fire.</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said I; “I read some of his +pieces thirty-two years ago when I was a lad in England. I +think I can repeat some of the lines.” I then +repeated a quartet which I chanced to remember.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said the man, “I see you know his +poetry. Come into the next room and I will show you his +chair.” He led me into a sleeping-room on the right +hand, where in a corner he showed me an antique three-cornered +arm-chair. “That chair,” said he, “my +grandsire won at Llangollen, at an Eisteddfod of Bards. +Various bards recited their poetry, but my grandfather won the +prize. Ah, he was a good poet. He also won a prize of +fifteen guineas at a meeting of bards in London.”</p> + +<p>We returned to the kitchen, where I found the good woman of +the house waiting with a plate of bread-and-butter in one hand, +and a glass of buttermilk in the other—she pressed me to +partake of both—I drank some of the buttermilk, which was +excellent, and after a little more discourse shook the kind +people by the hand and thanked them for their hospitality. +As I was about to depart the man said that I should find the lane +farther up very wet, and that I had better mount through a field +at the back of the house. He took me to a gate, which he +opened, and then pointed out the way which I must pursue. +As I went away he said that both he and his family should be +always happy to see me at Ty yn y Pistyll, which words, +interpreted, are the house by the spout of water.</p> + +<p>I went up the field with the lane on my right, down which ran +a runnel of water, from which doubtless the house derived its +name. I soon came to an unenclosed part of the mountain +covered with gorse and whin, and still proceeding upward reached +a road, which I subsequently learned was the main road from +Llangollen over the hill. I was not long in gaining the top +which was nearly level. Here I stood for some time looking +about me, having the vale of Llangollen to the north of me, and a +deep valley abounding with woods and rocks to the south.</p> + +<p>Following the road to the south, which gradually descended, I +soon came to a place where a road diverged from the straight one +to the left. As the left-hand road appeared to lead down a +romantic valley I followed it. The scenery was +beautiful—steep hills on each side. On the right was +a deep ravine, down which ran a brook; the hill beyond it was +covered towards the top with a wood, apparently of oak, between +which and the ravine were small green fields. Both sides of +the ravine were fringed with trees, chiefly ash. I +descended the road which was zigzag and steep, and at last +arrived at the bottom of the valley, where there was a small +hamlet. On the further side of the valley to the east was a +steep hill on which were a few houses—at the foot of the +hill was a brook crossed by an antique bridge of a single +arch. I directed my course to the bridge, and after looking +over the parapet for a minute or two upon the water below, which +was shallow and noisy, ascended a road which led up the hill: a +few scattered houses were on each side. I soon reached the +top of the hill, where were some more houses, those which I had +seen from the valley below. I was in a Welsh mountain +village, which put me much in mind of the villages which I had +strolled through of old in Castile and La Mancha; there were the +same silence and desolation here as yonder away—the houses +were built of the same material, namely stone. I should +perhaps have fancied myself for a moment in a Castilian or +Manchegan mountain pueblicito, but for the abundance of trees +which met my eye on every side.</p> + +<p>In walking up this mountain village I saw no one, and heard no +sound but the echo of my steps amongst the houses. As I +returned, however, I saw a man standing at a door—he was a +short figure, about fifty. He had an old hat on his head, a +stick in his hand, and was dressed in a duffel greatcoat.</p> + +<p>“Good-day, friend,” said I; “what be the +name of this place?”</p> + +<p>“Pont Fadog, sir, is its name, for want of a +better.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a fine name,” said I; “it +signifies in English the bridge of Madoc.”</p> + +<p>“Just so, sir; I see you know Welsh.”</p> + +<p>“And I see you know English,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Very little, sir; I can read English much better than I +can speak it.”</p> + +<p>“So can I Welsh,” said I. “I suppose +the village is named after the bridge.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt it is, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And why was the bridge called the bridge of +Madoc?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Because one Madoc built it, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Was he the son of Owain Gwynedd?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Ah, I see you know all about Wales, sir. Yes, +sir; he built it, or I daresay he built it, Madawg ap Owain +Gwynedd. I have read much about him—he was a great +sailor, sir, and was the first to discover Tir y Gorllewin or +America. Not many years ago his tomb was discovered there +with an inscription in old Welsh—saying who he was, and how +he loved the sea. I have seen the lines which were found on +the tomb.”</p> + +<p>“So have I,” said I; “or at least those +which were said to be found on a tomb: they run thus in +English:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘Here, after sailing far I Madoc +lie,<br /> +Of Owain Gwynedd lawful progeny:<br /> +The verdant land had little charms for me;<br /> +From earliest youth I loved the dark-blue sea.’”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Ah, sir,” said the man, “I see you know all +about the son of Owain Gwynedd. Well, sir, those lines, or +something like them, were found upon the tomb of Madoc in +America.”</p> + +<p>“That I doubt,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Do you doubt, sir, that Madoc discovered +America?”</p> + +<p>“Not in the least,” said I; “but I doubt +very much that his tomb was ever discovered with the inscription +which you allude to upon it.”</p> + +<p>“But it was, sir, I do assure you, and the descendants +of Madoc and his people are still to be found in a part of +America speaking the pure iaith Cymraeg better Welsh than we of +Wales do.”</p> + +<p>“That I doubt,” said I. “However, the +idea is a pretty one; therefore cherish it. This is a +beautiful country.”</p> + +<p>“A very beautiful country, sir; there is none more +beautiful in all Wales.”</p> + +<p>“What is the name of the river, which runs beneath the +bridge?”</p> + +<p>“The Ceiriog, sir.”</p> + +<p>“The Ceiriog,” said I; “the +Ceiriog!”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever hear the name before, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I have heard of the Eos Ceiriog,” said I; +“the Nightingale of Ceiriog.”</p> + +<p>“That was Huw Morris, sir; he was called the Nightingale +of Ceiriog.”</p> + +<p>“Did he live hereabout?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, sir; he lived far away up towards the head of +the valley, at a place called Pont y Meibion.”</p> + +<p>“Are you acquainted with his works?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, sir, at least with some of them. I have +read the Marwnad on Barbara Middleton; and likewise the piece on +Oliver and his men. Ah, it is a funny piece that—he +did not like Oliver nor his men.”</p> + +<p>“Of what profession are you?” said I; “are +you a schoolmaster or apothecary?”</p> + +<p>“Neither, sir, neither; I am merely a poor +shoemaker.”</p> + +<p>“You know a great deal for a shoemaker,” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Ah, sir; there are many shoemakers in Wales who know +much more than I.”</p> + +<p>“But not in England,” said I. “Well, +farewell.”</p> + +<p>“Farewell, sir. When you have any boots to mend or +shoes, sir—I shall be happy to serve you.”</p> + +<p>“I do not live in these parts,” said I.</p> + +<p>“No, sir; but you are coming to live here.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know that?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I know it very well, sir; you left these parts very +young, and went far away—to the East Indies, sir, where you +made a large fortune in the medical line, sir; you are now coming +back to your own valley, where you will buy a property, and +settle down, and try to recover your language, sir, and your +health, sir; for you are not the person you pretend to be, sir: I +know you very well, and shall be happy to work for +you.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “if I ever settle down here, +I shall be happy to employ you. Farewell.”</p> + +<p>I went back the way I had come, till I reached the little +hamlet. Seeing a small public-house, I entered it. A +good-looking woman, who met me in the passage, ushered me into a +neat sanded kitchen, handed me a chair and inquired my commands; +I sat down, and told her to bring me some ale; she brought it, +and then seated herself by a bench close by the door.</p> + +<p>“Rather a quiet place this,” said I, “I have +seen but two faces since I came over the hill, and yours is +one.”</p> + +<p>“Rather too quiet, sir,” said the good woman, +“one would wish to have more visitors.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” said I, “people from Llangollen +occasionally come to visit you.”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes, sir, for curiosity’s sake; but very +rarely—the way is very steep.”</p> + +<p>“Do the Tylwyth Teg ever pay you visits?”</p> + +<p>“The Tylwyth Teg, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; the fairies. Do they never come to have a +dance on the green sward in this neighbourhood?”</p> + +<p>“Very rarely, sir; indeed, I do not know how long it is +since they have been seen.”</p> + +<p>“You have never seen them?”</p> + +<p>“I have not, sir; but I believe there are people living +who have.”</p> + +<p>“Are corpse candles ever seen on the bank of that +river?”</p> + +<p>“I have never heard of more than one being seen, sir, +and that was at a place where a tinker was drowned a few nights +after—there came down a flood; and the tinker in trying to +cross by the usual ford was drowned.”</p> + +<p>“And did the candle prognosticate, I mean foreshow his +death?”</p> + +<p>“It did, sir. When a person is to die his candle +is seen a few nights before the time of his death.”</p> + +<p>“Have you ever seen a corpse candle?”</p> + +<p>“I have, sir; and as you seem to be a respectable +gentleman, I will tell you all about it. When I was a girl +I lived with my parents a little way from here. I had a +cousin, a very good young man, who lived with his parents in the +neighbourhood of our house. He was an exemplary young man, +sir, and having a considerable gift of prayer, was intended for +the ministry; but he fell sick, and shortly became very ill +indeed. One evening when he was lying in this state, as I +was returning home from milking, I saw a candle proceeding from +my cousin’s house. I stood still and looked at +it. It moved slowly forward for a little way, and then +mounted high in the air above the wood, which stood not far in +front of the house, and disappeared. Just three nights +after that my cousin died.”</p> + +<p>“And you think that what you saw was his corpse +candle?”</p> + +<p>“I do, sir! what else should it be?”</p> + +<p>“Are deaths prognosticated by any other means than +corpse candles?”</p> + +<p>“They are, sir; by the knockers, and by a supernatural +voice heard at night.”</p> + +<p>“Have you ever heard the knockers, or the supernatural +voice?”</p> + +<p>“I have not, sir; but my father and mother, who are now +dead, heard once a supernatural voice, and knocking. My +mother had a sister who was married like herself, and expected to +be confined. Day after day, however, passed away, without +her confinement taking place. My mother expected every +moment to be summoned to her assistance, and was so anxious about +her that she could not rest at night. One night, as she lay +in bed, by the side of her husband, between sleeping and waking, +she heard of a sudden a horse coming stump, stump, up to the +door. Then there was a pause—she expected every +moment to hear some one cry out, and tell her to come to her +sister, but she heard no farther sound, neither voice nor stump +of horse. She thought she had been deceived, so, without +awakening her husband, she tried to go to sleep, but sleep she +could not. The next night, at about the same time, she +again heard a horse’s feet come stump, stump, up to the +door. She now waked her husband and told him to +listen. He did so, and both heard the stumping. +Presently, the stumping ceased, and then there was a loud +“Hey!” as if somebody wished to wake them. +“Hey!” said my father, and they both lay for a minute +expecting to hear something more, but they heard nothing. +My father then sprang out of bed, and looked out of the window; +it was bright moonlight, but he saw nothing. The next +night, as they lay in bed both asleep, they were suddenly aroused +by a loud and terrible knocking. Out sprang my father from +the bed, flung open the window, and looked out, but there was no +one at the door. The next morning, however, a messenger +arrived with the intelligence that my aunt had had a dreadful +confinement with twins in the night, and that both she and the +babes were dead.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said I; and paying for my ale, I +returned to Llangollen.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p class="letter">A Calvinistic-Methodist—Turn for +Saxon—Our Congregation—Pont y +Cyssyltau—Catherine Lingo.</p> + +<p>I had inquired of the good woman of the house, in which we +lived, whether she could not procure a person to accompany me +occasionally in my walks, who was well acquainted with the +strange nooks and corners of the country, and who could speak no +language but Welsh; as I wished to increase my knowledge of +colloquial Welsh by having a companion who would be obliged, in +all he had to say to me, to address me in Welsh, and to whom I +should perforce have to reply in that tongue. The good lady +had told me that there was a tenant of hers who lived in one of +the cottages, which looked into the perllan, who, she believed, +would be glad to go with me, and was just the kind of man I was +in quest of. The day after I had met with the adventures, +which I have related in the preceding chapter, she informed me +that the person in question was awaiting my orders in the +kitchen. I told her to let me see him. He presently +made his appearance. He was about forty-five years of age, +of middle stature, and had a good-natured open countenance. +His dress was poor, but clean.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I to him in Welsh, “are you the +Cumro who can speak no Saxon?”</p> + +<p>“In truth, sir, I am.”</p> + +<p>“Are you sure that you know no Saxon?”</p> + +<p>“Sir! I may know a few words, but I cannot +converse in Saxon, nor understand a conversation in that +tongue.”</p> + +<p>“Can you read Cumraeg?”</p> + +<p>“In truth, sir, I can.”</p> + +<p>“What have you read in it?”</p> + +<p>“I have read, sir, the Ysgrythyr-lan, till I have it +nearly at the ends of my fingers.”</p> + +<p>“Have you read anything else besides the holy +Scripture?”</p> + +<p>“I read the newspaper, sir, when kind friends lend it to +me.”</p> + +<p>“In Cumraeg?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, in Cumraeg. I can read Saxon a little +but not sufficient to understand a Saxon newspaper.”</p> + +<p>“What newspaper do you read?”</p> + +<p>“I read, sir, Yr Amserau.”</p> + +<p>“Is that a good newspaper?”</p> + +<p>“Very good, sir, it is written by good men.”</p> + +<p>“Who are they?”</p> + +<p>“They are our ministers, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Of what religion are you?”</p> + +<p>“A Calvinistic Methodist, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Why are you of the Methodist religion?”</p> + +<p>“Because it is the true religion, sir.”</p> + +<p>“You should not be bigoted. If I had more Cumraeg +than I have, I would prove to you that the only true religion is +that of the Lloegrian Church.”</p> + +<p>“In truth, sir, you could not do that; had you all the +Cumraeg in Cumru you could not do that.”</p> + +<p>“What are you by trade?”</p> + +<p>“I am a gwehydd, sir.”</p> + +<p>“What do you earn by weaving?”</p> + +<p>“About five shillings a week, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Have you a wife?</p> + +<p>“I have, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Does she earn anything?”</p> + +<p>“Very seldom, sir; she is a good wife, but is generally +sick.”</p> + +<p>“Have you children?”</p> + +<p>“I have three, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Do they earn anything?”</p> + +<p>“My eldest son, sir, sometimes earns a few pence, the +others are very small.”</p> + +<p>“Will you sometimes walk with me, if I pay +you?”</p> + +<p>“I shall be always glad to walk with you, sir, whether +you pay me or not.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think it lawful to walk with one of the +Lloegrian Church?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, sir, I ought to ask the gentleman of the +Lloegrian Church whether he thinks it lawful to walk with the +poor Methodist weaver.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I think we may venture to walk with one +another. What is your name?”</p> + +<p>“John Jones, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Jones! Jones! I was walking with a man of that +name the other night.”</p> + +<p>“The man with whom you walked the other night is my +brother, sir, and what he said to me about you made me wish to +walk with you also.”</p> + +<p>“But he spoke very good English.”</p> + +<p>“My brother had a turn for Saxon, sir; I had not. +Some people have a turn for the Saxon, others have not. I +have no Saxon, sir, my wife has digon iawn—my two youngest +children speak good Saxon, sir, my eldest son not a +word.”</p> + +<p>“Well; shall we set out?”</p> + +<p>“If you please, sir.”</p> + +<p>“To what place shall we go?”</p> + +<p>“Shall we go to the Pont y Cyssylltau, sir?”</p> + +<p>“What is that?”</p> + +<p>“A mighty bridge, sir, which carries the Camlas over a +valley on its back.”</p> + +<p>“Good! let us go and see the bridge of the junction, for +that I think is the meaning in Saxon of Pont y +Cyssylltau.”</p> + +<p>We set out; my guide conducted me along the bank of the Camlas +in the direction of Rhiwabon, that is towards the east. On +the way we discoursed on various subjects, and understood each +other tolerably well. I asked if he had been anything +besides a weaver. He told me that when a boy he kept sheep +on the mountain. “Why did you not go on keeping +sheep?” said “I would rather keep sheep than +weave.”</p> + +<p>“My parents wanted me at home, sir,” said he; +“and I was not sorry to go home; I earned little, and lived +badly.”</p> + +<p>“A shepherd,” said I, “can earn more than +five shillings a week.”</p> + +<p>“I was never a regular shepherd, sir,” said +he. “But, sir, I would rather be a weaver with five +shillings a week in Llangollen, than a shepherd with fifteen on +the mountain. The life of a shepherd, sir, is perhaps not +exactly what you and some other gentlefolks think. The +shepherd bears much cold and wet, sir, and he is very lonely; no +society save his sheep and dog. Then, sir, he has no +privileges. I mean gospel privileges. He does not +look forward to Dydd Sul, as a day of llawenydd, of joy and +triumph, as the weaver does; that is if he is religiously +disposed. The shepherd has no chapel, sir, like the +weaver. Oh, sir, I say again that I would rather be a +weaver in Llangollen with five shillings a week, than a shepherd +on the hill with fifteen.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to say,” said I, “that you live +with your family on five shillings a week?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. I frequently do little commissions by +which I earn something. Then, sir, I have friends, very +good friends. A good lady of our congregation sent me this +morning half-a-pound of butter. The people of our +congregation are very kind to each other, sir.”</p> + +<p>“That is more,” thought I to myself, “than +the people of my congregation are; they are always cutting each +other’s throats.” I next asked if he had been +much about Wales.</p> + +<p>“Not much, sir. However, I have been to Pen Caer +Gybi, which you call Holy Head, and to Beth Gelert, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“What took you to those places?”</p> + +<p>“I was sent to those places on business, sir; as I told +you before, sir, I sometimes execute commissions. At Beth +Gelert I stayed some time. It was there I married, sir; my +wife comes from a place called Dol Gellyn near Beth +Gelert.”</p> + +<p>“What was her name?”</p> + +<p>“Her name was Jones, sir.”</p> + +<p>“What, before she married?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, before she married. You need not be +surprised, sir; there are plenty of the name of Jones in +Wales. The name of my brother’s wife, before she +married, was also Jones.”</p> + +<p>“Your brother is a clever man,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, for a Cumro he is clebber enough.”</p> + +<p>“For a Cumro?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, he is not a Saxon, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Are Saxons then so very clever?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, sir; who so clebber? The clebberest +people in Llangollen are Saxons; that is, at carnal +things—for at spiritual things I do not think them at all +clebber. Look at Mr A., sir.”</p> + +<p>“Who is he?”</p> + +<p>“Do you not know him, sir? I thought everybody +knew Mr A. He is a Saxon, sir, and keeps the inn on the +road a little way below where you live. He is the +clebberest man in Llangollen, sir. He can do +everything. He is a great cook, and can wash clothes better +than any woman. Oh, sir, for carnal things, who so clebber +as your countrymen!”</p> + +<p>After walking about four miles by the side of the canal we +left it, and bearing to the right presently came to the aqueduct, +which strode over a deep and narrow valley, at the bottom of +which ran the Dee. “This is the Pont y Cysswllt, +sir,” said my guide; “it’s the finest bridge in +the world, and no wonder, if what the common people say be true, +namely that every stone cost a golden sovereign.”</p> + +<p>We went along it; the height was awful. My guide, though +he had been a mountain shepherd, confessed that he was somewhat +afraid. “It gives me the pendro, sir,” said he, +“to look down.” I too felt somewhat dizzy, as I +looked over the parapet into the glen. The canal which this +mighty bridge carries across the gulf is about nine feet wide, +and occupies about two-thirds of the width of the bridge and the +entire western side. The footway is towards the east. +From about the middle of the bridge there is a fine view of the +forges on the Cefn Bach and also of a huge hill near it called +the Cefn Mawr. We reached the termination, and presently +crossing the canal by a little wooden bridge we came to a +village. My guide then said, “If you please, sir, we +will return by the old bridge, which leads across the Dee in the +bottom of the vale.” He then led me by a romantic +road to a bridge on the west of the aqueduct, and far +below. It seemed very ancient. “This is the old +bridge, sir,” said my guide; “it was built a hundred +years before the Pont y Cysswllt was dreamt of.” We +now walked to the west, in the direction of Llangollen, along the +bank of the river. Presently we arrived where the river, +after making a bend, formed a pool. It was shaded by lofty +trees, and to all appearance was exceedingly deep. I +stopped to look at it, for I was struck with its gloomy +horror. “That pool, sir,” said John Jones, +“is called Llyn y Meddwyn, the drunkard’s pool. +It is called so, sir, because a drunken man once fell into it, +and was drowned. There is no deeper pool in the Dee, sir, +save one, a little below Llangollen, which is called the pool of +Catherine Lingo. A girl of that name fell into it, whilst +gathering sticks on the high bank above it. She was +drowned, and the pool was named after her. I never look at +either without shuddering, thinking how certainly I should be +drowned if I fell in, for I cannot swim, sir.”</p> + +<p>“You should have learnt to swim when you were +young,” said I, “and to dive too. I know one +who has brought up stones from the bottom, I daresay, of deeper +pools than either, but he was a Saxon, and at carnal things, you +know, none so clebber as the Saxons.”</p> + +<p>I found my guide a first-rate walker and a good botanist, +knowing the names of all the plants and trees in Welsh. By +the time we returned to Llangollen I had formed a very high +opinion of him, in which I was subsequently confirmed by what I +saw of him during the period of our acquaintance, which was of +some duration. He was very honest, disinterested, and +exceedingly good-humoured. It is true, he had his little +skits occasionally at the Church, and showed some marks of +hostility to the church cat, more especially when he saw it +mounted on my shoulders; for the creature soon began to take +liberties, and in less than a week after my arrival at the +cottage, generally mounted on my back, when it saw me reading or +writing, for the sake of the warmth. But setting aside +those same skits at the Church, and that dislike of the church +cat, venial trifles after all, and easily to be accounted for, on +the score of his religious education, I found nothing to blame, +and much to admire, in John Jones, the Calvinistic Methodist of +Llangollen.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Divine Service—Llangollen +Bells—Iolo Goch—The Abbey—Twm o’r +Nant—Holy Well—Thomas Edwards</p> + +<p>Sunday arrived—a Sunday of unclouded sunshine. We +attended Divine service at church in the morning. The +congregation was very numerous, but to all appearance consisted +almost entirely of English visitors, like ourselves. There +were two officiating clergymen, father and son. They both +sat in a kind of oblong pulpit on the southern side of the +church, at a little distance below the altar. The service +was in English, and the elder gentleman preached; there was good +singing and chanting.</p> + +<p>After dinner I sat in an arbour in the perllan, thinking of +many things, amongst others, spiritual. Whilst thus +engaged, the sound of the church bells calling people to +afternoon service came upon my ears. I listened, and +thought I had never heard bells with so sweet a sound. I +had heard them in the morning, but without paying much attention +to them, but as I now sat in the umbrageous arbour, I was +particularly struck with them. Oh how sweetly their voice +mingled with the low rush of the river, at the bottom of the +perllan. I subsequently found that the bells of Llangollen +were celebrated for their sweetness. Their merit indeed has +even been admitted by an enemy; for a poet of the Calvinistic +Methodist persuasion, one who calls himself Einion Du, in a very +beautiful ode, commencing with—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Tangnefedd i Llangollen,”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>says that in no part of the world do bells call people so +sweetly to church as those of Llangollen town.</p> + +<p>In the evening, at about half-past six, I attended service +again, but without my family. This time the congregation +was not numerous, and was composed principally of poor +people. The service and sermon were now in Welsh, the +sermon was preached by the younger gentleman, and was on the +building of the second temple, and, as far as I understood it, +appeared to me to be exceedingly good.</p> + +<p>On the Monday evening, myself and family took a walk to the +abbey. My wife and daughter, who are fond of architecture +and ruins, were very anxious to see the old place. I too +was anxious enough to see it, less from love of ruins and ancient +architecture, than from knowing that a certain illustrious bard +was buried in its precincts, of whom perhaps a short account will +not be unacceptable to the reader.</p> + +<p>This man, whose poetical appellation was Iolo Goch, but whose +real name was Llwyd, was of a distinguished family, and Lord of +Llechryd. He was born and generally resided at a place +called Coed y Pantwn, in the upper part of the Vale of +Clwyd. He was a warm friend and partisan of Owen Glendower, +with whom he lived, at Sycharth, for some years before the great +Welsh insurrection, and whom he survived, dying at an extreme old +age beneath his own roof-tree at Coed y Pantwn. He composed +pieces of great excellence on various subjects; but the most +remarkable of his compositions are decidedly certain ones +connected with Owen Glendower. Amongst these is one in +which he describes the Welsh chieftain’s mansion at +Sycharth, and his hospitable way of living at that his favourite +residence; and another in which he hails the advent of the comet, +which made its appearance in the month of March, fourteen hundred +and two, as of good augury to his darling hero.</p> + +<p>It was from knowing that this distinguished man lay buried in +the precincts of the old edifice, that I felt so anxious to see +it. After walking about two miles we perceived it on our +right hand.</p> + +<p>The abbey of the vale of the cross stands in a green meadow, +in a corner near the north-west end of the valley of +Llangollen. The vale or glen, in which the abbey stands, +takes its name from a certain ancient pillar or cross, called the +pillar of Eliseg, and which is believed to have been raised over +the body of an ancient British chieftain of that name, who +perished in battle against the Saxons, about the middle of the +tenth century. In the Papist times the abbey was a place of +great pseudo-sanctity, wealth and consequence. The +territory belonging to it was very extensive, comprising, amongst +other districts, the vale of Llangollen and the mountain region +to the north of it, called the Eglwysig Rocks, which region +derived its name Eglwysig, or ecclesiastical, from the +circumstance of its pertaining to the abbey of the vale of the +cross.</p> + +<p>We first reached that part of the building which had once been +the church, having previously to pass through a farmyard, in +which was abundance of dirt and mire.</p> + +<p>The church fronts the west and contains the remains of a noble +window, beneath which is a gate, which we found locked. +Passing on we came to that part where the monks had lived, but +which now served as a farmhouse; an open doorway exhibited to us +an ancient gloomy hall, where was some curious old-fashioned +furniture, particularly an ancient rack, in which stood a goodly +range of pewter trenchers. A respectable dame kindly +welcomed us and invited us to sit down. We entered into +conversation with her, and asked her name, which she said was +Evans. I spoke some Welsh to her, which pleased her. +She said that Welsh people at the present day were so full of +fine airs that they were above speaking the old +language—but that such was not the case formerly, and that +she had known a Mrs Price, who was housekeeper to the Countess of +Mornington, who lived in London upwards of forty years, and at +the end of that time prided herself upon speaking as good Welsh +as she did when a girl. I spoke to her about the abbey, and +asked if she had ever heard of Iolo Goch. She inquired who +he was. I told her he was a great bard, and was buried in +the abbey. She said she had never heard of him, but that +she could show me the portrait of a great poet, and going away, +presently returned with a print in a frame.</p> + +<p>“There,” said she, “is the portrait of Twm +o’r Nant, generally called the Welsh +Shakespeare.”</p> + +<p>I looked at it. The Welsh Shakespeare was represented +sitting at a table with a pen in his hand; a cottage-latticed +window was behind him, on his left hand; a shelf with plates, and +trenchers behind him, on his right. His features were rude, +but full of wild, strange expression; below the picture was the +following couplet:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Llun Gwr yw llawn gwir Awen;<br /> +Y Byd a lanwodd o’i Ben.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Did you ever hear of Twm o’r Nant?” said +the old dame.</p> + +<p>“I never heard of him by word of mouth,” said I; +“but I know all about him—I have read his life in +Welsh, written by himself, and a curious life it is. His +name was Thomas Edwards, but he generally called himself Twm +o’r Nant, or Tom of the Dingle, because he was born in a +dingle, at a place called Pen Porchell, in the vale of +Clwyd—which, by the bye, was on the estate which once +belonged to Iolo Goch, the poet I was speaking to you about just +now. Tom was a carter by trade, but once kept a toll-bar in +South Wales, which, however, he was obliged to leave at the end +of two years, owing to the annoyance which he experienced from +ghosts and goblins, and unearthly things, particularly phantom +hearses, which used to pass through his gate at midnight without +paying, when the gate was shut.”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said the dame, “you know more about +Tom o’r Nant than I do; and was he not a great +poet?”</p> + +<p>“I daresay he was,” said I, “for the pieces +which he wrote, and which he called Interludes, had a great run, +and he got a great deal of money by them, but I should say the +lines beneath the portrait are more applicable to the real +Shakespeare than to him.”</p> + +<p>“What do the lines mean?” said the old lady; +“they are Welsh, I know, but they are far beyond my +understanding.”</p> + +<p>“They may be thus translated,” said I:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“God in his head the Muse +instill’d,<br /> +And from his head the world he fill’d.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Thank you, sir,” said the old lady. +“I never found any one before who could translate +them.” She then said she would show me some English +lines written on the daughter of a friend of hers who was lately +dead, and put some printed lines in a frame into my hand. +They were an Elegy to Mary, and were very beautiful, I read them +aloud, and when I had finished she thanked me and said she had no +doubt that if I pleased I could put them into Welsh—she +then sighed and wiped her eyes.</p> + +<p>On our enquiring whether we could see the interior of the +abbey she said we could, and that if we rang a bell at the gate a +woman would come to us, who was in the habit of showing the +place. We then got up and bade her farewell—but she +begged that we would stay and taste the dwr santaidd of the holy +well.</p> + +<p>“What holy well is that?” said I.</p> + +<p>“A well,” said she, “by the road’s +side, which in the time of the popes was said to perform +wonderful cures.”</p> + +<p>“Let us taste it by all means,” said I; whereupon +she went out, and presently returned with a tray on which were a +jug and tumbler, the jug filled with the water of the holy well; +we drank some of the dwr santaidd, which tasted like any other +water, and then after shaking her by the hand, we went to the +gate, and rang at the bell.</p> + +<p>Presently a woman made her appearance at the gate—she +was genteelly drest, about the middle age, rather tall, and +bearing in her countenance the traces of beauty. When we +told her the object of our coming she admitted us, and after +locking the gate conducted us into the church. It was +roofless, and had nothing remarkable about it, save the western +window, which we had seen from without. Our attendant +pointed out to us some tombs, and told us the names of certain +great people whose dust they contained. “Can you tell +us where Iolo Goch lies interred?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No,” said she; “indeed I never heard of +such a person.”</p> + +<p>“He was the bard of Owen Glendower,” said I, +“and assisted his cause wonderfully by the fiery odes, in +which he incited the Welsh to rise against the +English.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!” said she; “well, I am sorry to say +that I never heard of him.”</p> + +<p>“Are you Welsh?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I am,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever hear of Thomas Edwards?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” said she; “I have frequently +heard of him.”</p> + +<p>“How odd,” said I, “that the name of a great +poet should be unknown in the very place where he is buried, +whilst that of one certainly not his superior, should be well +known in that same place, though he is not buried +there.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” said she, “the reason is that the +poet, whom you mentioned, wrote in the old measures and language +which few people now understand, whilst Thomas Edwards wrote in +common verse and in the language of the present day.”</p> + +<p>“I daresay it is so,” said I.</p> + +<p>From the church she led us to other parts of the ruin—at +first she had spoken to us rather cross and loftily, but she now +became kind and communicative. She said that she resided +near the ruins, which she was permitted to show, that she lived +alone, and wished to be alone; there was something singular about +her, and I believe that she had a history of her own. After +showing us the ruins she conducted us to a cottage in which she +lived; it stood behind the ruins by a fish-pond, in a beautiful +and romantic place enough; she said that in the winter she went +away, but to what place she did not say. She asked us +whether we came walking, and on our telling her that we did, she +said that she would point out to us a near way home. She +then pointed to a path up a hill, telling us we must follow +it. After making her a present we bade her farewell, and +passing through a meadow crossed a brook by a rustic bridge, +formed of the stem of a tree, and ascending the hill by the path +which she had pointed out, we went through a cornfield or two on +its top, and at last found ourselves on the Llangollen road, +after a most beautiful walk.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Expedition to Ruthyn—The +Column—Slate Quarries—The Gwyddelod—Nocturnal +Adventure.</p> + +<p>Nothing worthy of commemoration took place during the two +following days, save that myself and family took an evening walk +on the Wednesday up the side of the Berwyn, for the purpose of +botanizing, in which we were attended by John Jones. There, +amongst other plants, we found a curious moss which our good +friend said was called in Welsh, Corn Carw, or deer’s horn, +and which he said the deer were very fond of. On the +Thursday he and I started on an expedition on foot to Ruthyn, +distant about fourteen miles, proposing to return in the +evening.</p> + +<p>The town and castle of Ruthyn possessed great interest for me +from being connected with the affairs of Owen Glendower. It +was at Ruthyn that the first and not the least remarkable scene +of the Welsh insurrection took place by Owen making his +appearance at the fair held there in fourteen hundred, plundering +the English who had come with their goods, slaying many of them, +sacking the town and concluding his day’s work by firing +it; and it was at the castle of Ruthyn that Lord Grey dwelt, a +minion of Henry the Fourth and Glendower’s deadliest enemy, +and who was the principal cause of the chieftain’s entering +into rebellion, having, in the hope of obtaining his estates in +the vale of Clwyd, poisoned the mind of Harry against him, who +proclaimed him a traitor, before he had committed any act of +treason, and confiscated his estates, bestowing that part of them +upon his favourite, which the latter was desirous of +obtaining.</p> + +<p>We started on our expedition at about seven o’clock of a +brilliant morning. We passed by the abbey and presently +came to a small fountain with a little stone edifice, with a +sharp top above it. “That is the holy well,” +said my guide: “Llawer iawn o barch yn yr amser yr +Pabyddion yr oedd i’r fynnon hwn—much respect in the +times of the Papists there was to this fountain.”</p> + +<p>“I heard of it,” said I, “and tasted of its +water the other evening at the abbey;” shortly after we saw +a tall stone standing in a field on our right hand at about a +hundred yards’ distance from the road. “That is +the pillar of Eliseg, sir,” said my guide. “Let +us go and see it,” said I. We soon reached the +stone. It is a fine upright column about seven feet high, +and stands on a quadrate base. “Sir,” said my +guide, “a dead king lies buried beneath this stone. +He was a mighty man of valour and founded the abbey. He was +called Eliseg.” “Perhaps Ellis,” said I, +“and if his name was Ellis the stone was very properly +called Colofn Eliseg, in Saxon the Ellisian column.” +The view from the column is very beautiful, below on the +south-east is the venerable abbey, slumbering in its green +meadow. Beyond it runs a stream, descending from the top of +a glen, at the bottom of which the old pile is situated; beyond +the stream is a lofty hill. The glen on the north is +bounded by a noble mountain, covered with wood. Struck with +its beauty I inquired its name. “Moel Eglwysig, +sir,” said my guide. “The Moel of the +Church,” said I. “That is hardly a good name +for it, for the hill is not bald (moel).” +“True, sir,” said John Jones. “At present +its name is good for nothing, but estalom (of old) before the +hill was planted with trees its name was good enough. Our +fathers were not fools when they named their hills.” +“I daresay not,” said I, “nor in many other +things which they did, for which we laugh at them, because we do +not know the reasons they had for doing them.” We +regained the road; the road tended to the north up a steep +ascent. I asked John Jones the name of a beautiful village, +which lay far away on our right, over the glen, and near its +top. “Pentref y dwr, sir” (the village of the +water). It is called the village of the water, because the +river below comes down through part of it. I next asked the +name of the hill up which we were going, and he told me Allt +Bwlch; that is, the high place of the hollow road.</p> + +<p>This bwlch, or hollow way, was a regular pass, which put me +wonderfully in mind of the passes of Spain. It took us a +long time to get to the top. After resting a minute on the +summit we began to descend. My guide pointed out to me some +slate-works, at some distance on our left. “There is +a great deal of work going on there, sir,” said he: +“all the slates that you see descending the canal at +Llangollen came from there.” The next moment we heard +a blast, and then a thundering sound: “Llais craig yn +syrthiaw; the voice of the rock in falling, sir,” said John +Jones; “blasting is dangerous and awful work.” +We reached the bottom of the descent, and proceeded for two or +three miles up and down a rough and narrow road; I then turned +round and looked at the hills which we had passed over. +They looked bulky and huge.</p> + +<p>We continued our way, and presently saw marks of a fire in +some grass by the side of the road. “Have the +Gipsiaid been there?” said I to my guide.</p> + +<p>“Hardly, sir; I should rather think that the Gwyddelaid +(Irish) have been camping there lately.”</p> + +<p>“The Gwyddeliad?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, the vagabond Gwyddeliad, who at present +infest these parts much, and do much more harm than the Gipsiaid +ever did.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by the Gipsiaid?”</p> + +<p>“Dark, handsome people, sir, who occasionally used to +come about in vans and carts, the men buying and selling horses, +and sometimes tinkering, whilst the women told +fortunes.”</p> + +<p>“And they have ceased to come about?”</p> + +<p>“Nearly so, sir; I believe they have been frightened +away by the Gwyddelod.”</p> + +<p>“What kind of people are these Gwyddelod?</p> + +<p>“Savage, brutish people, sir; in general without shoes +and stockings, with coarse features and heads of hair like +mops.”</p> + +<p>“How do they live?”</p> + +<p>“The men tinker a little, sir, but more frequently +plunder. The women tell fortunes, and steal whenever they +can.”</p> + +<p>“They live something like the Gipsiaid.”</p> + +<p>“Something, sir; but the hen Gipsiaid were gentlefolks +in comparison.”</p> + +<p>“You think the Gipsiaid have been frightened away by the +Gwyddelians?”</p> + +<p>“I do, sir; the Gwyddelod made their appearance in these +parts about twenty years ago, and since then the Gipsiaid have +been rarely seen.”</p> + +<p>“Are these Gwyddelod poor?”</p> + +<p>“By no means, sir; they make large sums by plundering +and other means, with which, ’tis said, they retire at last +to their own country or America, where they buy land and settle +down.”</p> + +<p>“What language do they speak?”</p> + +<p>“English, sir; they pride themselves on speaking good +English, that is to the Welsh. Amongst themselves they +discourse in their own Paddy Gwyddel.”</p> + +<p>“Have they no Welsh?”</p> + +<p>“Only a few words, sir; I never heard one of them +speaking Welsh, save a young girl—she fell sick by the +roadside as she was wandering by herself—some people at a +farmhouse took her in, and tended her till she was well. +During her sickness she took a fancy to their quiet way of life, +and when she was recovered she begged to stay with them and serve +them. They consented; she became a very good servant, and +hearing nothing but Welsh spoken, soon picked up the +tongue.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know what became of her?”</p> + +<p>“I do, sir; her own people found her out, and wished to +take her away with them, but she refused to let them, for by that +time she was perfectly reclaimed, had been to chapel, renounced +her heathen crefydd, and formed an acquaintance with a young +Methodist who had a great gift of prayer, whom she afterwards +married—she and her husband live at present not far from +Mineira.”</p> + +<p>“I almost wonder that her own people did not kill +her.”</p> + +<p>“They threatened to do so, sir, and would doubtless have +put their threat into execution, had they not been prevented by +the Man on High.”</p> + +<p>And here my guide pointed with his finger reverently +upward.</p> + +<p>“Is it a long time since you have seen any of these +Gwyddeliaid?”</p> + +<p>“About two months, sir, and then a terrible fright they +caused me.”</p> + +<p>“How was that?”</p> + +<p>“I will tell you, sir; I had been across the Berwyn to +carry home a piece of weaving work to a person who employs +me. It was night as I returned, and when I was about +halfway down the hill, at a place which is called Allt Paddy, +because the Gwyddelod are in the habit of taking up their +quarters there, I came upon a gang of them, who had come there +and camped and lighted their fire, whilst I was on the other side +of the hill. There were nearly twenty of them, men and +women, and amongst the rest was a man standing naked in a tub of +water with two women stroking him down with clouts. He was +a large fierce-looking fellow and his body, on which the flame of +the fire glittered, was nearly covered with red hair. I +never saw such a sight. As I passed they glared at me and +talked violently in their Paddy Gwyddel, but did not offer to +molest me. I hastened down the hill, and right glad I was +when I found myself safe and sound at my house in Llangollen, +with my money in my pocket, for I had several shillings there, +which the man across the hill had paid me for the work which I +had done.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Turf Tavern—Don’t +Understand—The Best Welsh—The Maids of +Merion—Old and New—Ruthyn—The Ash +Yggdrasill.</p> + +<p>We now emerged from the rough and narrow way which we had +followed for some miles, upon one much wider, and more +commodious, which my guide told me was the coach road from +Wrexham to Ruthyn, and going on a little farther we came to an +avenue of trees which shaded the road. It was chiefly +composed of ash, sycamore and birch, and looked delightfully cool +and shady. I asked my guide if it belonged to any +gentleman’s house. He told me that it did not, but to +a public-house, called Tafarn Tywarch, which stood near the end, +a little way off the road. “Why is it called +Tafarn Tywarch?” said I, struck by the name which signifies +“the tavern of turf.”</p> + +<p>“It was called so, sir,” said John, “because +it was originally merely a turf hovel, though at present it +consists of good brick and mortar.”</p> + +<p>“Can we breakfast there,” said I, “for I +feel both hungry and thirsty?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, sir,” said John, “I have heard +there is good cheese and cwrw there.”</p> + +<p>We turned off to the “tafarn,” which was a decent +public-house of rather an antiquated appearance. We entered +a sanded kitchen, and sat down by a large oaken table. +“Please to bring us some bread, cheese and ale,” said +I in Welsh to an elderly woman, who was moving about.</p> + +<p>“Sar?” said she.</p> + +<p>“Bring us some bread, cheese and ale,” I repeated +in Welsh.</p> + +<p>“I do not understand you, sar,” said she in +English.</p> + +<p>“Are you Welsh?” said I in English.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am Welsh!”</p> + +<p>“And can you speak Welsh?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, and the best.”</p> + +<p>“Then why did you not bring what I asked for?”</p> + +<p>“Because I did not understand you.”</p> + +<p>“Tell her,” said I to John Jones, “to bring +us some bread, cheese and ale.”</p> + +<p>“Come, aunt,” said John, “bring us bread and +cheese and a quart of the best ale.”</p> + +<p>The woman looked as if she was going to reply in the tongue in +which he addressed her, then faltered, and at last said in +English that she did not understand.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said I, “you are fairly caught: this +man is a Welshman, and moreover understands no language but +Welsh.”</p> + +<p>“Then how can he understand you?” said she.</p> + +<p>“Because I speak Welsh,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Then you are a Welshman?” said she.</p> + +<p>“No I am not,” said I, “I am +English.”</p> + +<p>“So I thought,” said she, “and on that +account I could not understand you.”</p> + +<p>“You mean that you would not,” said I. +“Now do you choose to bring what you are bidden?”</p> + +<p>“Come, aunt,” said John, “don’t be +silly and cenfigenus, but bring the breakfast.”</p> + +<p>The woman stood still for a moment or two, and then biting her +lips went away.</p> + +<p>“What made the woman behave in this manner?” said +I to my companion.</p> + +<p>“Oh, she was cenfigenus, sir,” he replied; +“she did not like that an English gentleman should +understand Welsh; she was envious; you will find a dozen or two +like her in Wales; but let us hope not more.”</p> + +<p>Presently the woman returned with the bread, cheese and ale, +which she placed on the table.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said I, “you have brought what was +bidden, though it was never mentioned to you in English, which +shows that your pretending not to understand was all a +sham. What made you behave so?”</p> + +<p>“Why I thought,” said the woman, “that no +Englishman could speak Welsh, that his tongue was too +short.”</p> + +<p>“Your having thought so,” said I, “should +not have made you tell a falsehood, saying that you did not +understand, when you knew that you understood very well. +See what a disgraceful figure you cut.”</p> + +<p>“I cut no disgraced figure,” said the woman: +“after all, what right have the English to come here +speaking Welsh, which belongs to the Welsh alone, who in fact are +the only people that understand it.”</p> + +<p>“Are you sure that you understand Welsh?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“I should think so,” said the woman, “for I +come from the Vale of Clwyd, where they speak the best Welsh in +the world, the Welsh of the Bible.”</p> + +<p>“What do they call a salmon in the Vale of Clwyd?” +said I.</p> + +<p>“What do they call a salmon?” said the +woman. “Yes,” said I, “when they speak +Welsh.”</p> + +<p>“They call it—they call it—why a +salmon.”</p> + +<p>“Pretty Welsh!” said I. “I thought you +did not understand Welsh.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you call it?” said the woman.</p> + +<p>“Eawg,” said I, “that is the word for a +salmon in general—but there are words also to show the +sex—when you speak of a male salmon you should say cemyw, +when of a female hwyfell.”</p> + +<p>“I never heard the words before,” said the woman, +“nor do I believe them to be Welsh.”</p> + +<p>“You say so,” said I, “because you do not +understand Welsh.”</p> + +<p>“I not understand Welsh!” said she. +“I’ll soon show you that I do. Come, you have +asked me the word for salmon in Welsh, I will now ask you the +word for salmon-trout. Now tell me that, and I will say you +know something of the matter.”</p> + +<p>“A tinker of my country can tell you that,” said +I. “The word for salmon-trout is gleisiad.”</p> + +<p>The countenance of the woman fell.</p> + +<p>“I see you know something about the matter,” said +she; “there are very few hereabouts, though so near to the +Vale of Clwyd, who know the word for salmon-trout in Welsh, I +shouldn’t have known the word myself, but for the song +which says:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Glân yw’r gleisiad yn y +llyn.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“And who wrote that song?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said the woman.</p> + +<p>“But I do,” said I; “one Lewis Morris wrote +it.’</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said she, “I have heard all about Huw +Morris.”</p> + +<p>“I was not talking of Huw Morris,” said I, +“but Lewis Morris, who lived long after Huw Morris. +He was a native of Anglesea, but resided for some time in +Merionethshire, and whilst there composed a song about the +Morwynion bro Meirionydd or the lasses of County Merion of a +great many stanzas, in one of which the gleisiad is +mentioned. Here it is in English:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘Full fair the gleisiad in the +flood,<br /> + Which sparkles ’neath the summer’s +sun,<br /> +And fair the thrush in green abode<br /> + Spreading his wings in sportive fun,<br /> +But fairer look if truth be spoke,<br /> +The maids of County Merion.’”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The woman was about to reply, but I interrupted her.</p> + +<p>“There,” said I, “pray leave us to our +breakfast, and the next time you feel inclined to talk nonsense +about no Englishman’s understanding Welsh, or knowing +anything of Welsh matters, remember that it was an Englishman who +told you the Welsh word for salmon, and likewise the name of the +Welshman who wrote the song in which the gleisiad is +mentioned.”</p> + +<p>The ale was very good and so were the bread and cheese. +The ale indeed was so good that I ordered a second jug. +Observing a large antique portrait over the mantel-piece I got up +to examine it. It was that of a gentleman in a long wig, +and underneath it was painted in red letters “Sir Watkin +Wynn: 1742.” It was doubtless the portrait of the Sir +Watkin who, in 1745 was committed to the tower under suspicion of +being suspected of holding Jacobite opinions, and favouring the +Pretender. The portrait was a very poor daub, but I looked +at it long and attentively as a memorial of Wales at a critical +and long past time.</p> + +<p>When we had dispatched the second jug of ale, and I had paid +the reckoning, we departed and soon came to where stood a +turnpike house at a junction of two roads, to each of which was a +gate.</p> + +<p>“Now, sir,” said John Jones, “the way +straight forward is the ffordd newydd, and the one on our right +hand is the hen ffordd. Which shall we follow, the new or +the old?”</p> + +<p>“There is a proverb in the Gerniweg,” said I, +“which was the language of my forefathers, saying, +‘ne’er leave the old way for the new,’ we will +therefore go by the hen ffordd.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, sir,” said my guide, “that is +the path I always go, for it is the shortest.” So we +turned to the right and followed the old road. Perhaps, +however, it would have been well had we gone by the new, for the +hen ffordd was a very dull and uninteresting road, whereas the +ffordd newydd, as I long subsequently found, is one of the +grandest passes in Wales. After we had walked a short +distance my guide said, “Now, sir, if you will turn a +little way to the left hand I will show you a house, built in the +old style, such a house, sir, as I daresay the original turf +tavern was.” Then leading me a little way from the +road he showed me, under a hollow bank, a small cottage covered +with flags.</p> + +<p>“That is a house, sir, built yn yr hen dull in the old +fashion, of earth, flags and wattles and in one night. It +was the custom of old when a house was to be built, for the +people to assemble, and to build it in one night of common +materials, close at hand. The custom is not quite +dead. I was at the building of this myself, and a merry +building it was. The cwrw da passed quickly about among the +builders, I assure you.” We returned to the road, and +when we had ascended a hill, my companion told me that if I +looked to the left I should see the Vale of Clwyd.</p> + +<p>I looked and perceived an extensive valley pleasantly dotted +with trees and farm-houses, and bounded on the west by a range of +hills.</p> + +<p>“It is a fine valley, sir,” said my guide, +“four miles wide and twenty long, and contains the richest +land in all Wales. Cheese made in that valley, sir, fetches +a penny a pound more than cheese made in any other +valley.”</p> + +<p>“And who owns it?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Various are the people who own it, sir, but Sir Watkin +owns the greater part.”</p> + +<p>We went on, passed by a village called Craig Vychan, where we +saw a number of women washing at a fountain, and by a gentle +descent soon reached the Vale of Clwyd.</p> + +<p>After walking about a mile we left the road and proceeded by a +footpath across some meadows. The meadows were green and +delightful and were intersected by a beautiful stream. +Trees in abundance were growing about, some of which were +oaks. We passed by a little white chapel with a small +graveyard before it, which my guide told me belonged to the +Baptists, and shortly afterwards reached Ruthyn.</p> + +<p>We went to an inn called the Crossed Foxes, where we refreshed +ourselves with ale. We then sallied forth to look about, +after I had ordered a duck to be got ready for dinner, at three +o’clock. Ruthyn stands on a hill above the Clwyd, +which in the summer is a mere brook, but in the winter a +considerable stream, being then fed with the watery tribute of a +hundred hills. About three miles to the north is a range of +lofty mountains, dividing the shire of Denbigh from that of +Flint, amongst which, almost parallel with the town, and lifting +its head high above the rest, is the mighty Moel Vamagh, the +mother heap, which I had seen from Chester. Ruthyn is a +dull town, but it possessed plenty of interest to me, for as I +strolled with my guide about the streets I remembered that I was +treading the ground which the wild bands of Glendower had trod, +and where the great struggle commenced, which for fourteen years +convulsed Wales, and for some time shook England to its +centre. After I had satisfied myself with wandering about +the town we proceeded to the castle.</p> + +<p>The original castle suffered terribly in the civil wars; it +was held for wretched Charles, and was nearly demolished by the +cannon of Cromwell, which were planted on a hill about half a +mile distant. The present castle is partly modern and +partly ancient. It belongs to a family of the name of W--- +who reside in the modern part, and who have the character of +being kind, hospitable and intellectual people. We only +visited the ancient part, over which we were shown by a woman, +who hearing us speaking Welsh, spoke Welsh herself during the +whole time she was showing us about. She showed us dark +passages, a gloomy apartment in which Welsh kings and great +people had been occasionally confined, that strange memorial of +the good old times, a drowning pit, and a large prison room, in +the middle of which stood a singular-looking column, scrawled +with odd characters, which had of yore been used for a +whipping-post, another memorial of the good old baronial times, +so dear to romance readers and minds of sensibility. +Amongst other things which our conductor showed us was an immense +onen or ash; it stood in one of the courts and measured, as she +said, pedwar y haner o ladd yn ei gwmpas, or four yards and a +half in girth. As I gazed on the mighty tree I thought of +the Ash Yggdrasill mentioned in the Voluspa, or prophecy of Vola, +that venerable poem which contains so much relating to the +mythology of the ancient Norse.</p> + +<p>We returned to the inn and dined. The duck was capital, +and I asked John Jones if he had ever tasted a better. +“Never, sir,” said he, “for to tell you the +truth, I never tasted a duck before.” “Rather +singular,” said I. “What, that I should not +have tasted duck? Oh, sir, the singularity is, that I +should now be tasting duck. Duck in Wales, sir, is not fare +for poor weavers. This is the first duck I ever tasted, and +though I never taste another, as I probably never shall, I may +consider myself a fortunate weaver, for I can now say I have +tasted duck once in my life. Few weavers in Wales are ever +able to say as much.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Baptist Tomb-Stone—The +Toll-Bar—Rebecca—The Guitar.</p> + +<p>The sun was fast declining as we left Ruthyn. We +retraced our steps across the fields. When we came to the +Baptist Chapel I got over the wall of the little yard to look at +the grave-stones. There were only three. The +inscriptions upon them were all in Welsh. The following +stanza was on the stone of Jane, the daughter of Elizabeth +Williams, who died on the second of May, 1843:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Er myn’d i’r oerllyd annedd<br +/> +Dros dymher hir i orwedd,<br /> +Cwyd i’r lan o’r gwely bridd<br /> +Ac hyfryd fydd ei hagwedd.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>which is</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Though thou art gone to dwelling cold<br /> + To lie in mould for many a year,<br /> +Thou shalt, at length, from earthy bed,<br /> + Uplift thy head to blissful sphere.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>As we went along I stopped to gaze at a singular-looking hill +forming part of the mountain range on the east. I asked +John Jones what its name was, but he did not know. As we +were standing talking about it, a lady came up from the direction +in which our course lay. John Jones, touching his hat to +her, said:</p> + +<p>“Madam, this gwr boneddig wishes to know the name of +that moel, perhaps you can tell him.”</p> + +<p>“Its name is Moel Agrik,” said the lady, +addressing me in English.</p> + +<p>“Does that mean Agricola’s hill?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“It does,” said she, “and there is a +tradition that the Roman General Agricola, when he invaded these +parts, pitched his camp on that moel. The hill is spoken of +by Pennant.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, madam,” said I; “perhaps you can +tell me the name of the delightful grounds in which we stand, +supposing they have a name?”</p> + +<p>“They are called Oaklands,” said the lady.</p> + +<p>“A very proper name,” said I, “for there is +plenty of oaks growing about. But why are they called by a +Saxon name, for Oaklands is Saxon?”</p> + +<p>“Because,” said the lady, “when the grounds +were first planted with trees they belonged to an English +family.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said I, and, taking off my hat, I +departed with my guide. I asked him her name, but he could +not tell me. Before she was out of sight, however, we met a +labourer of whom John Jones enquired her name.</p> + +<p>“Her name is W---s,” said the man, “and a +good lady she is.”</p> + +<p>“Is she Welsh?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Pure Welsh, master,” said the man. +“Purer Welsh flesh and blood need not be.”</p> + +<p>Nothing farther worth relating occurred till we reached the +toll-bar at the head of the hen ffordd, by which time the sun was +almost gone down. We found the master of the gate, his wife +and son seated on a bench before the door. The woman had a +large book on her lap, in which she was reading by the last light +of the departing orb. I gave the group the sele of the +evening in English, which they all returned, the woman looking up +from her book.</p> + +<p>“Is that volume the Bible?” said I.</p> + +<p>“It is, sir,” said the woman.</p> + +<p>“May I look at it?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” said the woman, and placed the book +in my hand. It was a magnificent Welsh Bible, but without +the title-page.</p> + +<p>“That book must be a great comfort to you,” said I +to her.</p> + +<p>“Very great,” said she. “I know not +what we should do without it in the long winter +evenings.”</p> + +<p>“Of what faith are you?” said I.</p> + +<p>“We are Methodists,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“Then you are of the same faith as my friend +here,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” said she, “we are aware of +that. We all know honest John Jones.”</p> + +<p>After we had left the gate I asked John Jones whether he had +ever heard of Rebecca of the toll-gates.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” said he; “I have heard of that +chieftainess.”</p> + +<p>“And who was she?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I cannot say, sir; I never saw her, nor any one who had +seen her. Some say that there were a hundred Rebeccas, and +all of them men dressed in women’s clothes, who went about +at night, at the head of bands to break the gates. Ah, sir, +something of the kind was almost necessary at that time. I +am a friend of peace, sir, no head-breaker, house-breaker, nor +gate-breaker, but I can hardly blame what was done at that time, +under the name of Rebecca. You have no idea how the poor +Welsh were oppressed by those gates, aye, and the rich too. +The little people and farmers could not carry their produce to +market owing to the exactions at the gates, which devoured all +the profit and sometimes more. So that the markets were not +half supplied, and people with money could frequently not get +what they wanted. Complaints were made to government, which +not being attended to, Rebecca and her byddinion made their +appearance at night, and broke the gates to pieces with +sledge-hammers, and everybody said it was gallant work, everybody +save the keepers of the gates and the proprietors. Not only +the poor but the rich, said so. Aye, and I have heard that +many a fine young gentleman had a hand in the work, and went +about at night at the head of a band dressed as Rebecca. +Well, sir, those breakings were acts of violence, I don’t +deny, but they did good, for the system is altered; such +impositions are no longer practised at gates as were before the +time of Rebecca.”</p> + +<p>“Were any people ever taken up and punished for those +nocturnal breakings?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No, sir; and I have heard say that nobody’s being +taken up was a proof that the rich approved of the work and had a +hand in it.”</p> + +<p>Night had come on by the time we reached the foot of the huge +hills we had crossed in the morning. We toiled up the +ascent, and after crossing the level ground on the top, plunged +down the bwlch between walking and running, occasionally +stumbling, for we were nearly in complete darkness, and the bwlch +was steep and stony. We more than once passed people who +gave us the n’s da, the hissing night salutation of the +Welsh. At length I saw the Abbey looming amidst the +darkness, and John Jones said that, we were just above the +fountain. We descended, and putting my head down I drank +greedily of the dwr santaidd, my guide following my +example. We then proceeded on our way, and in about +half-an-hour reached Llangollen. I took John Jones home +with me. We had a cheerful cup of tea. Henrietta +played on the guitar, and sang a Spanish song, to the great +delight of John Jones, who at about ten o’clock departed +contented and happy to his own dwelling.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<p class="letter">John Jones and his Bundle—A Good +Lady—The Irishman’s Dingle—Ab Gwilym and the +Mist—The Kitchen—The Two Individuals—The +Horse-Dealer—I can manage him—The Mist Again.</p> + +<p>The following day was gloomy. In the evening John Jones +made his appearance with a bundle under his arm, and an umbrella +in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said he, “I am going across the +mountain with it piece of weaving work, for the man on the other +side, who employs me. Perhaps you would like to go with me, +as you are fond of walking.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” said I, “you wish to have my +company for fear of meeting Gwyddelians on the hill.”</p> + +<p>John smiled.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” said he, “if I do meet them I +would sooner be with company than without. But I dare +venture by myself, trusting in the Man on High, and perhaps I do +wrong to ask you to go, as you must be tired with your walk of +yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“Hardly more than yourself,” said I. +“Come; I shall be glad to go. What I said about the +Gwyddelians was only in jest.”</p> + +<p>As we were about to depart John said:</p> + +<p>“It does not rain at present, sir, but I think it +will. You had better take an umbrella.”</p> + +<p>I did so, and away we went. We passed over the bridge, +and turning to the right went by the back of the town through a +field. As we passed by the Plas Newydd John Jones said:</p> + +<p>“No one lives there now, sir; all dark and dreary; very +different from the state of things when the ladies lived +there—all gay then and cheerful. I remember the +ladies, sir, particularly the last, who lived by herself after +her companion died. She was a good lady, and very kind to +the poor; when they came to her gate they were never sent away +without something to cheer them. She was a grand lady +too—kept grand company, and used to be drawn about in a +coach by four horses. But she too is gone, and the house is +cold and empty; no fire in it, sir; no furniture. There was +an auction after her death; and a grand auction it was and lasted +four days. Oh, what a throng of people there was, some of +whom came from a great distance to buy the curious things, of +which there were plenty.”</p> + +<p>We passed over a bridge, which crosses a torrent, which +descends from the mountain on the south side of Llangollen, which +bridge John Jones told me was called the bridge of the Melin Bac, +or mill of the nook, from a mill of that name close by. +Continuing our way we came to a glen, down which the torrent +comes which passes under the bridge. There was little water +in the bed of the torrent, and we crossed easily enough by +stepping-stones. I looked up the glen; a wild place enough, +its sides overgrown with trees. Dreary and dismal it looked +in the gloom of the closing evening. John Jones said that +there was no regular path up it, and that one could only get +along by jumping from stone to stone, at the hazard of breaking +one’s legs. Having passed over the bed of the +torrent, we came to a path, which led up the mountain. The +path was very steep and stony; the glen with its trees and +darkness on our right. We proceeded some way. At +length John Jones pointed to a hollow lane on our right, +seemingly leading into the glen.</p> + +<p>“That place, sir,” said he, “is called Pant +y Gwyddel—the Irishman’s dingle, and sometimes Pant +Paddy, from the Irish being fond of taking up their quarters +there. It was just here, at the entrance of the pant, that +the tribe were encamped, when I passed two months ago at night, +in returning from the other side of the hill with ten shillings +in my pocket, which I had been paid for a piece of my work, which +I had carried over the mountain to the very place where I am now +carrying this. I shall never forget the fright I was in, +both on account of my life, and my ten shillings. I ran +down what remained of the hill as fast as I could, not minding +the stones. Should I meet a tribe now on my return I shall +not run; you will be with me, and I shall not fear for my life +nor for my money, which will be now more than ten shillings, +provided the man over the hills pays me, as I have no doubt he +will.”</p> + +<p>As we ascended higher we gradually diverged from the glen, +though we did not lose sight of it till we reached the top of the +mountain. The top was nearly level. On our right were +a few fields enclosed with stone walls. On our left was an +open space where whin, furze and heath were growing. We +passed over the summit, and began to descend by a tolerably good, +though steep road. But for the darkness of evening and a +drizzling mist, which, for some time past, had been coming on, we +should have enjoyed a glorious prospect down into the valley, or +perhaps I should say that I should have enjoyed a glorious +prospect, for John Jones, like a true mountaineer, cared not a +brass farthing for prospects. Even as it was, noble +glimpses of wood and rock were occasionally to be obtained. +The mist soon wetted us to the skin notwithstanding that we put +up our umbrellas. It was a regular Welsh mist, a niwl, like +that in which the great poet Ab Gwilym lost his way, whilst +trying to keep an assignation with his beloved Morfydd, and which +he abuses in the following manner:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“O ho! thou villain mist, O ho!<br /> +What plea hast thou to plague me so?<br /> +I scarcely know a scurril name,<br /> +But dearly thou deserv’st the same;<br /> +Thou exhalation from the deep<br /> +Unknown, where ugly spirits keep!<br /> +Thou smoke from hellish stews uphurl’d<br /> +To mock and mortify the world!<br /> +Thou spider-web of giant race,<br /> +Spun out and spread through airy space!<br /> +Avaunt, thou filthy, clammy thing,<br /> +Of sorry rain the source and spring!<br /> +Moist blanket dripping misery down,<br /> +Loathed alike by land and town!<br /> +Thou watery monster, wan to see,<br /> +Intruding ’twixt the sun and me,<br /> +To rob me of my blessed right,<br /> +To turn my day to dismal night.<br /> +Parent of thieves and patron best,<br /> +They brave pursuit within thy breast!<br /> +Mostly from thee its merciless snow<br /> +Grim January doth glean, I trow.<br /> +Pass off with speed, thou prowler pale,<br /> +Holding along o’er hill and dale,<br /> +Spilling a noxious spittle round,<br /> +Spoiling the fairies’ sporting ground!<br /> +Move off to hell, mysterious haze;<br /> +Wherein deceitful meteors blaze;<br /> +Thou wild of vapour, vast, o’ergrown,<br /> +Huge as the ocean of unknown.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>As we descended, the path became more steep; it was +particularly so at a part where it was overshadowed with trees on +both sides. Here, finding walking very uncomfortable, my +knees suffering much, I determined to run. So shouting to +John Jones, “Nis gallav gerdded rhaid rhedeg,” I set +off running down the pass. My companion followed close +behind, and luckily meeting no mischance, we presently found +ourselves on level ground, amongst a collection of small +houses. On our turning a corner a church appeared on our +left hand on the slope of the hill. In the churchyard, and +close to the road, grew a large yew-tree which flung its boughs +far on every side. John Jones stopping by the tree said, +that if I looked over the wall of the yard I should see the tomb +of a Lord Dungannon, who had been a great benefactor to the +village. I looked, and through the lower branches of the +yew, which hung over part of the churchyard, I saw what appeared +to be a mausoleum. Jones told me that in the church also +there was the tomb of a great person of the name of Tyrwhitt.</p> + +<p>We passed on by various houses till we came nearly to the +bottom of the valley. Jones then pointing to a large house, +at a little distance on the right, told me that it was a good +gwesty, and advised me to go and refresh myself in it, whilst he +went and carried home his work to the man who employed him, who +he said lived in a farm-house a few hundred yards off. I +asked him where we were.</p> + +<p>“At Llyn Ceiriog,” he replied.</p> + +<p>I then asked if we were near Pont Fadog; and received for +answer that Pont Fadog was a good way down the valley, to the +north-east, and that we could not see it owing to a hill which +intervened.</p> + +<p>Jones went his way and I proceeded to the gwestfa, the door of +which stood invitingly open. I entered a large kitchen, at +one end of which a good fire was burning in a grate, in front of +which was a long table, and a high settle on either side. +Everything looked very comfortable. There was nobody in the +kitchen: on my calling, however, a girl came, whom I bade in +Welsh to bring me a pint of the best ale. The girl stared, +but went away apparently to fetch it—presently came the +landlady, a good-looking middle-aged woman. I saluted her +in Welsh and then asked her if she could speak English. She +replied “Tipyn bach,” which interpreted, is, a little +bit. I soon, however, found that she could speak it very +passably, for two men coming in from the rear of the house she +conversed with them in English. These two individuals +seated themselves on chairs near the door, and called for +beer. The girl brought in the ale, and I sat down by the +fire, poured myself out a glass, and made myself +comfortable. Presently a gig drove up to the door, and in +came a couple of dogs, one a tall black grey-hound, the other a +large female setter, the coat of the latter dripping with rain, +and shortly after two men from the gig entered; one who appeared +to be the principal was a stout bluff-looking person between +fifty and sixty, dressed in a grey stuff coat and with a slouched +hat on his head. This man bustled much about, and in a +broad Yorkshire dialect ordered a fire to be lighted in another +room, and a chamber to be prepared for him and his companion; the +landlady, who appeared to know him, and to treat him with a kind +of deference, asked if she should prepare two beds; whereupon he +answered “No! As we came together and shall start +together, so shall we sleep together; it will not be for the +first time.”</p> + +<p>His companion was a small mean-looking man, dressed in a black +coat, and behaved to him with no little respect. Not only +the landlady, but the two men, of whom I have previously spoken, +appeared to know him and to treat him with deference. He +and his companion presently went out to see after the +horse. After a little time they returned, and the stout man +called lustily for two fourpennyworths of brandy and +water—“Take it into the other room!” said he, +and went into a side room with his companion, but almost +immediately came out saying that the room smoked and was cold, +and that he preferred sitting in the kitchen. He then took +his seat near me, and when the brandy was brought drank to my +health. I said thank you, but nothing farther. He +then began talking to the men and his companion upon indifferent +subjects. After a little time John Jones came in, called +for a glass of ale, and at my invitation seated himself between +me and the stout personage. The latter addressed him +roughly in English, but receiving no answer said, “Ah, you +no understand. You have no English and I no +Welsh.”</p> + +<p>“You have not mastered Welsh yet Mr ---” said one +of the men to him.</p> + +<p>“No!” said he: “I have been doing business +with the Welsh forty years, but can’t speak a word of their +language. I sometimes guess at a word, spoken in the course +of business, but am never sure.”</p> + +<p>Presently John Jones began talking to me, saying that he had +been to the river, that the water was very low, and that there +was little but stones in the bed of the stream.</p> + +<p>I told him if its name was Ceiriog no wonder there were plenty +of stones in it, Ceiriog being derived from Cerrig, a rock. +The men stared to hear me speak Welsh.</p> + +<p>“Is the gentleman a Welshman?” said one of the +men, near the door, to his companion; “he seems to speak +Welsh very well.”</p> + +<p>“How should I know?” said the other, who appeared +to be a low working man.</p> + +<p>“Who are those people?” said I to John Jones.</p> + +<p>“The smaller man is a workman at a flannel +manufactory,” said Jones. “The other I do not +exactly know.”</p> + +<p>“And who is the man on the other side of you?” +said I.</p> + +<p>“I believe he is an English dealer in gigs and +horses,” replied Jones, “and that he is come here +either to buy or sell.”</p> + +<p>The man, however, soon put me out of all doubt with respect to +his profession.</p> + +<p>“I was at Chirk,” said he; “and Mr So-and-so +asked me to have a look at his new gig and horse, and have a +ride. I consented. They were both brought +out—everything new; gig new, harness new, and horse +new. Mr So-and-so asked me what I thought of his +turn-out. I gave a look and said, ‘I like the car +very well, harness very well, but I don’t like the horse at +all; a regular bolter, rearer and kicker, or I’m no judge; +moreover, he’s pigeon-toed.’ However, we all +got on the car—four of us, and I was of course complimented +with the ribbons. Well, we hadn’t gone fifty yards +before the horse, to make my words partly good, began to kick +like a new ’un. However, I managed him, and he went +on for a couple of miles till we got to the top of the hill, just +above the descent with the precipice on the right hand. +Here he began to rear like a very devil.</p> + +<p>“‘Oh dear me!’ says Mr So-and-so; ‘let +me get out!’</p> + +<p>“‘Keep where you are,’ says I, ‘I can +manage him.’</p> + +<p>“However, Mr So-and-so would not be ruled, and got out; +coming down, not on his legs, but his hands and knees. And +then the two others said—</p> + +<p>“‘Let us get out!’</p> + +<p>“‘Keep where you are,’ said I, ‘I can +manage him.’</p> + +<p>“But they must needs get out, or rather tumble out, for +they both came down on the road, hard on their backs.</p> + +<p>“‘Get out yourself,’ said they all, +‘and let the devil go, or you are a done man.’</p> + +<p>“‘Getting out may do for you young hands,’ +says I, ‘but it won’t do for I; neither my back nor +bones will stand the hard road.’</p> + +<p>“Mr So-and-so ran to the horse’s head.</p> + +<p>“‘Are you mad?’ says I, ‘if you try to +hold him he’ll be over the pree-si-pice in a twinkling, and +then where am I? Give him head; I can manage +him.’</p> + +<p>“So Mr So-and-so got out of the way, and down flew the +horse right down the descent, as fast as he could gallop. I +tell you what, I didn’t half like it! A pree-si-pice +on my right, the rock on my left, and a devil before me, going, +like a cannon-ball, right down the hill. However, I +contrived, as I said I would, to manage him; kept the car from +the rock and from the edge of the gulf too. Well, just when +we had come to the bottom of the hill out comes the people +running from the inn, almost covering the road.</p> + +<p>“‘Now get out of the way,’ I shouts, +‘if you don’t wish to see your brains knocked out, +and what would be worse, mine too.’</p> + +<p>“So they gets out of the way, and on I spun, I and my +devil. But by this time I had nearly taken the devil out of +him. Well, he hadn’t gone fifty yards on the level +ground, when, what do you think he did? why, went regularly over, +tumbled down regularly on the road, even as I knew he would some +time or other, because why? he was pigeon-toed. Well, I +gets out of the gig, and no sooner did Mr So-and-so come up than +I says—</p> + +<p>“‘I likes your car very well, and I likes your +harness, but—me if I likes your horse, and it will be some +time before you persuade me to drive him again.’”</p> + +<p>I am a great lover of horses, and an admirer of good driving, +and should have wished to have some conversation with this worthy +person about horses and their management. I should also +have wished to ask him some questions about Wales and the Welsh, +as he must have picked up a great deal of curious information +about both in his forty years’ traffic, notwithstanding he +did not know a word of Welsh, but John Jones prevented my further +tarrying by saying, that it would be as well to get over the +mountain before it was entirely dark. So I got up, paid for +my ale, vainly endeavoured to pay for that of my companion, who +insisted upon paying for what he had ordered, made a general bow +and departed from the house, leaving the horse-dealer and the +rest staring at each other and wondering who we were, or at least +who I was. We were about to ascend the hill when John Jones +asked me whether I should not like to see the bridge and the +river. I told him I should. The bridge and the river +presented nothing remarkable. The former was of a single +arch; and the latter anything but abundant in its flow.</p> + +<p>We now began to retrace our steps over the mountain. At +first the mist appeared to be nearly cleared away. As we +proceeded, however, large sheets began to roll up the mountain +sides, and by the time we reached the summit were completely +shrouded in vapour. The night, however, was not very dark, +and we found our way tolerably well, though once in descending I +had nearly tumbled into the nant or dingle, now on our left +hand. The bushes and trees, seen indistinctly through the +mist, had something the look of goblins, and brought to my mind +the elves, which Ab Gwilym of old saw, or thought he saw, in a +somewhat similar situation:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“In every hollow dingle stood<br /> +Of wry-mouth’d elves a wrathful brood.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Drenched to the skin, but uninjured in body and limb, we at +length reached Llangollen.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Venerable Old Gentleman—Surnames in +Wales—Russia and Britain—Church of +England—Yriarte—The Eagle and his Young—Poets +of the Gael—The Oxonian—Master Salisburie.</p> + +<p>My wife had told me that she had had some conversation upon +the Welsh language and literature with a venerable old man, who +kept a shop in the town, that she had informed him that I was +very fond of both, and that he had expressed a great desire to +see me. One afternoon I said: “Let us go and pay a +visit to your old friend of the shop. I think from two or +three things which you have told me about him, that he must be +worth knowing.” We set out. She conducted me +across the bridge a little way; then presently turning to the +left into the principal street, she entered the door of a shop on +the left-hand side, over the top of which was written: +“Jones; Provision Dealer and General Merchant.” +The shop was small, with two little counters, one on each +side. Behind one was a young woman, and behind the other a +venerable-looking old man.</p> + +<p>“I have brought my husband to visit you,” said my +wife, addressing herself to him.</p> + +<p>“I am most happy to see him,” said the old +gentleman, making me a polite bow.</p> + +<p>He then begged that we would do him the honour to walk into +his parlour, and led us into a little back room, the window of +which looked out upon the Dee a few yards below the bridge. +On the left side of the room was a large case, well stored with +books. He offered us chairs, and we all sat down. I +was much struck with the old man. He was rather tall, and +somewhat inclined to corpulency. His hair was grey; his +forehead high; his nose aquiline; his eyes full of intelligence; +whilst his manners were those of a perfect gentleman.</p> + +<p>I entered into conversation by saying that I supposed his name +was Jones, as I had observed that name over the door.</p> + +<p>“Jones is the name I bear at your service, sir,” +he replied.</p> + +<p>I said that it was a very common name in Wales, as I knew +several people who bore it, and observed that most of the +surnames in Wales appeared to be modifications of Christian +names; for example Jones, Roberts, Edwards, Humphreys, and +likewise Pugh, Powel, and Probert, which were nothing more than +the son of Hugh, the son of Howel, and the son of Robert. +He said I was right, that there were very few real surnames in +Wales; that the three great families, however, had real surnames; +for that Wynn, Morgan and Bulkley were all real surnames. I +asked him whether the Bulkleys of Anglesea were not originally an +English family. He said they were, and that they settled +down in Anglesea in the time of Elizabeth.</p> + +<p>After some minutes my wife got up and left us. The old +gentleman and I had then some discourse in Welsh; we soon, +however, resumed speaking English. We got on the subject of +Welsh bards, and after a good deal of discourse the old gentleman +said:</p> + +<p>“You seem to know something about Welsh poetry; can you +tell me who wrote the following line?</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘There will be great doings in +Britain, and<br /> + I shall have no concern in +them.’”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“I will not be positive,” said I, “but I +think from its tone and tenor that it was composed by Merddyn, +whom my countrymen call Merlin.”</p> + +<p>“I believe you are right,” said the old gentleman, +“I see you know something of Welsh poetry. I met the +line, a long time ago, in a Welsh grammar. It then made a +great impression upon me, and of late it has always been ringing +in my ears. I love Britain. Britain has just engaged +in a war with a mighty country, and I am apprehensive of the +consequences. I am old, upwards of four-score, and shall +probably not live to see the evil, if evil happens, as I fear it +will—‘There will be strange doings in Britain, but +they will not concern me.’ I cannot get the line out +of my head.”</p> + +<p>I told him that the line probably related to the progress of +the Saxons in Britain, but that I did not wonder that it made an +impression upon him at the present moment. I said, however, +that we ran no risk from Russia; that the only power at all +dangerous to Britain was France, which though at present leagued +with her against Russia, would eventually go to war with and +strive to subdue her, and then of course Britain could expect no +help from Russia, her old friend and ally, who, if Britain had +not outraged her, would have assisted her, in any quarrel or +danger, with four or five hundred thousand men. I said that +I hoped neither he nor I should see a French invasion, but I had +no doubt one would eventually take place, and that then Britain +must fight stoutly, as she had no one to expect help from but +herself; that I wished she might be able to hold her own, +but—</p> + +<p>“Strange things will happen in Britain, though they will +concern me nothing,” said the old gentleman with a +sigh.</p> + +<p>On my expressing a desire to know something of his history, he +told me that he was the son of a small farmer, who resided at +some distance from Llangollen; that he lost his father at an +early age, and was obliged to work hard, even when a child, in +order to assist his mother who had some difficulty, after the +death of his father, in keeping things together; that though he +was obliged to work hard he had been fond of study, and used to +pore over Welsh and English books by the glimmering light of the +turf fire at night, for that his mother could not afford to allow +him anything in the shape of a candle to read by; that at his +mother’s death he left rural labour, and coming to +Llangollen, commenced business in the little shop in which he was +at present; that he had been married, and had children, but that +his wife and family were dead; that the young woman whom I had +seen in the shop, and who took care of his house, was a relation +of his wife; that though he had always been attentive to +business, he had never abandoned study; that he had mastered his +own language, of which he was passionately fond, and had acquired +a good knowledge of English and of some other languages. +That his fondness for literature had shortly after his arrival at +Llangollen attracted the notice of some of the people, who +encouraged him in his studies, and assisted him by giving him +books; that the two celebrated ladies of Llangollen had +particularly noticed him; that he held the situation of church +clerk for upwards of forty years, and that it was chiefly owing +to the recommendation of the “great ladies” that he +had obtained it. He then added with a sigh, that about ten +years ago he was obliged to give it up, owing to something the +matter with his eyesight, which prevented him from reading, and, +that his being obliged to give it up was a source of bitter grief +to him, as he had always considered it a high honour to be +permitted to assist in the service of the Church of England, in +the principles of which he had been bred, and in whose doctrines +he firmly believed.</p> + +<p>Here shaking him by the hand, I said that I too had been bred +up in the principles of the Church of England; that I too firmly +believed in its doctrines, and would maintain with my blood, if +necessary, that there was not such another church in the +world.</p> + +<p>“So would I,” said the old gentleman; “where +is there a church in whose liturgy there is so much Scripture as +in that of the Church of England?”</p> + +<p>“Pity,” said I, “that so many traitors have +lately sprung up in its ministry.”</p> + +<p>“If it be so,” said the old church clerk, +“they have not yet shown themselves in the pulpit at +Llangollen. All the clergymen who have held the living in +my time have been excellent. The present incumbent is a +model of a Church-of-England clergyman. Oh, how I regret +that the state of my eyes prevents me from officiating as clerk +beneath him.”</p> + +<p>I told him that I should never from the appearance of his eyes +have imagined that they were not excellent ones.</p> + +<p>“I can see to walk about with them, and to distinguish +objects,” said the old gentleman; “but see to read +with them I cannot. Even with the help of the most powerful +glasses I cannot distinguish a letter. I believe I strained +my eyes at a very early age, when striving to read at night by +the glimmer of the turf fire in my poor mother’s chimney +corner. Oh what an affliction is this state of my +eyes! I can’t turn my books to any account, nor read +the newspapers; but I repeat that I chiefly lament it because it +prevents me from officiating as under-preacher.”</p> + +<p>He showed me his books. Seeing amongst them “The +Fables of Yriarte” in Spanish, I asked how they came into +his possession.</p> + +<p>“They were presented to me,” said he, “by +one of the ladies of Llangollen, Lady Eleanor Butler.”</p> + +<p>“Have you ever read them?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No,” he replied; “I do not understand a +word of Spanish; but I suppose her ladyship, knowing I was fond +of languages, thought that I might one day set about learning +Spanish, and that then they might be useful to me.”</p> + +<p>He then asked me if I knew Spanish, and on my telling him that +I had some knowledge of that language, he asked me to translate +some of the fables. I translated two of them, which pleased +him much.</p> + +<p>I then asked if he had ever heard of a collection of Welsh +fables compiled about the year thirteen hundred. He said +that he had not, and inquired whether they had ever been +printed. I told him that some had appeared in the old Welsh +magazine called “The Greal.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you would repeat one of them,” said the +old clerk.</p> + +<p>“Here is one,” said I, “which particularly +struck me:—</p> + +<p>“It is the custom of the eagle, when his young are +sufficiently old, to raise them up above his nest in the +direction of the sun; and the bird which has strength enough of +eye to look right in the direction of the sun, he keeps and +nourishes, but the one which has not, he casts down into the gulf +to its destruction. So does the Lord deal with His children +in the Catholic Church Militant: those whom He sees worthy to +serve Him in godliness and spiritual goodness He keeps with Him +and nourishes, but those who are not worthy from being addicted +to earthly things, He casts out into utter darkness, where there +is weeping and gnashing of teeth.”</p> + +<p>The old gentleman, after a moment’s reflection, said it +was a clever fable, but an unpleasant one. It was hard for +poor birds to be flung into a gulf, for not having power of eye +sufficient to look full in the face of the sun, and likewise hard +that poor human creatures should be lost for ever, for not doing +that which they had no power to do.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” said I, “the eagle does not deal +with his chicks, or the Lord with His creatures as the fable +represents.”</p> + +<p>“Let us hope at any rate,” said the old gentleman, +“that the Lord does not.”</p> + +<p>“Have you ever seen this book?” said he, and put +Smith’s “Sean Dana” into my hand.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” said I, “and have gone through +it. It contains poems in the Gaelic language by Oisin and +others, collected in the Highlands. I went through it a +long time ago with great attention. Some of the poems are +wonderfully beautiful.”</p> + +<p>“They are so,” said the old clerk. “I +too have gone through the book; it was presented to me a great +many years ago by a lady to whom I gave some lessons in the Welsh +language. I went through it with the assistance of a Gaelic +grammar and dictionary, which she also presented to me, and I was +struck with the high tone of the poetry.”</p> + +<p>“This collection is valuable indeed,” said I; +“it contains poems, which not only possess the highest +merit, but serve to confirm the authenticity of the poems of +Ossian, published by Macpherson, so often called in +question. All the pieces here attributed to Ossian are +written in the same metre, tone, and spirit, as those attributed +to him in the other collection, so if Macpherson’s Ossianic +poems, which he said were collected by him in the Highlands, are +forgeries, Smith’s Ossianic poems, which, according to his +account, were also collected in the Highlands, must be also +forged, and have been imitated from those published by the +other. Now as it is well known that Smith did not possess +sufficient poetic power to produce any imitation of +Macpherson’s Ossian, with a tenth part the merit which the +“Sean Dana” possess, and that even if he had +possessed it, his principles would not have allowed him to +attempt to deceive the world by imposing forgeries upon it, as +the authentic poems of another, he being a highly respectable +clergyman, the necessary conclusion is that the Ossianic poems +which both published are genuine, and collected in the manner in +which both stated they were.”</p> + +<p>After a little more discourse about Ossian, the old gentleman +asked me if there was any good modern Gaelic poetry. +“None very modern,” said I: “the last great +poets of the Gael were Macintyre and Buchanan, who flourished +about the middle of the last century. The first sang of +love and of Highland scenery; the latter was a religious +poet. The best piece of Macintyre is an ode to Ben Dourain, +or the Hill of the Water-dogs—a mountain in the +Highlands. The master-piece of Buchanan is his La +Breitheanas or Day of Judgment, which is equal in merit, or +nearly so, to the Cywydd y Farn, or Judgment Day of your own +immortal Gronwy Owen. Singular that the two best pieces on +the Day of Judgment should have been written in two Celtic +dialects, and much about the same time; but such is the +fact.”</p> + +<p>“Really,” said the old church clerk, “you +seem to know something of Celtic literature.”</p> + +<p>“A little,” said I; “I am a bit of a +philologist; and when studying languages dip a little into the +literature which they contain.”</p> + +<p>As I had heard him say that he had occasionally given lessons +in the Welsh language, I inquired whether any of his pupils had +made much progress in it. “The generality,” +said he, “soon became tired of its difficulties, and gave +it up without making any progress at all. Two or three got +on tolerably well. One, however, acquired it in a time so +short that it might be deemed marvellous. He was an +Oxonian, and came down with another in the vacation in order to +study hard against the yearly collegiate examination. He +and his friend took lodgings at Pengwern Hall, then a farm-house, +and studied and walked about for some time, as other young men +from college, who come down here, are in the habit of +doing. One day he and his friend came to me, who was then +clerk, and desired to see the interior of the church. So I +took the key and went with them into the church. When he +came to the altar he took up the large Welsh Common Prayer-Book, +which was lying there, and looked into it. ‘A curious +language this Welsh,’ said he; ‘I should like to +learn it.’ ‘Many have wished to learn it, +without being able,’ said I; ‘it is no easy +language.’ ‘I should like to try,’ he +replied; ‘I wish I could find some one who would give me a +few lessons.’ ‘I have occasionally given +instructions in Welsh,’ said I, ‘and shall be happy +to oblige you.’ Well, it was agreed that he should +take lessons of me; and to my house he came every evening, and I +gave him what instructions I could. I was astonished at his +progress. He acquired the pronunciation in a lesson, and +within a week was able to construe and converse. By the +time he left Llangollen, and he was not here in all more than two +months, he understood the Welsh Bible as well as I did, and could +speak Welsh so well that the Welsh, who did not know him, took +him to be one of themselves, for he spoke the language with the +very tone and manner of a native. Oh, he was the cleverest +man for language that I ever knew; not a word that he heard did +he ever forget.”</p> + +<p>“Just like Mezzofanti,” said I, “the great +cardinal philologist. But whilst learning Welsh, did he not +neglect his collegiate studies?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I was rather apprehensive on that point,” +said the old gentleman, “but mark the event. At the +examination he came off most brilliantly in Latin, Greek, +mathematics, and other things too; in fact, a double first-class +man, as I think they call it.”</p> + +<p>“I have never heard of so extraordinary an +individual,” said I. “I could no more have done +what you say he did, than I could have taken wings and +flown. Pray, what was his name?”</p> + +<p>“His name,” said the old gentleman, “was +Earl.”</p> + +<p>I was much delighted with my new acquaintance, and paid him +frequent visits; the more I saw him the more he interested +me. He was kind and benevolent, a good old Church of +England Christian, was well versed in several dialects of the +Celtic, and possessed an astonishing deal of Welsh heraldic and +antiquarian lore. Often whilst discoursing with him I +almost fancied that I was with Master Salisburie, Vaughan of +Hengwrt, or some other worthy of old, deeply skilled in +everything remarkable connected with wild “Camber’s +Lande.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Vicar and his Family—Evan +Evans—Foaming Ale—Llam y +Lleidyr—Baptism—Joost Van Vondel—Over to +Rome—The Miller’s Man—Welsh and English.</p> + +<p>We had received a call from the Vicar of Llangollen and his +lady; we had returned it, and they had done us the kindness to +invite us to take tea with them. On the appointed evening +we went, myself, wife, and Henrietta, and took tea with the vicar +and his wife, their sons and daughters, all delightful and +amiable beings—the eldest son a fine intelligent young man +from Oxford, lately admitted into the Church, and now assisting +his father in his sacred office. A delightful residence was +the vicarage, situated amongst trees in the neighbourhood of the +Dee. A large open window in the room, in which our party +sat, afforded us a view of a green plat on the top of a bank +running down to the Dee, part of the river, the steep farther +bank covered with umbrageous trees, and a high mountain beyond, +even that of Pen y Coed clad with wood. During tea Mr E. +and I had a great deal of discourse. I found him to be a +first-rate Greek and Latin scholar, and also a proficient in the +poetical literature of his own country. In the course of +discourse he repeated some noble lines of Evan Evans, the +unfortunate and eccentric Prydydd Hir, or tall poet, the friend +and correspondent of Gray, for whom he made literal translations +from the Welsh, which the great English genius afterwards wrought +into immortal verse.</p> + +<p>“I have a great regard for poor Evan Evans,” said +Mr E., after he had finished repeating the lines, “for two +reasons: first, because he was an illustrious genius, and second, +because he was a South-Wallian like myself.”</p> + +<p>“And I,” I replied, “because he was a great +poet, and like myself fond of a glass of cwrw da.”</p> + +<p>Some time after tea the younger Mr E. and myself took a walk +in an eastern direction along a path cut in the bank, just above +the stream. After proceeding a little way amongst most +romantic scenery, I asked my companion if he had ever heard of +the pool of Catherine Lingo—the deep pool, as the reader +will please to remember, of which John Jones had spoken.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said young Mr E.: “my brothers and +myself are in the habit of bathing there almost every +morning. We will go to it if you please.”</p> + +<p>We proceeded, and soon came to the pool. The pool is a +beautiful sheet of water, seemingly about one hundred and fifty +yards in length, by about seventy in width. It is bounded +on the east by a low ridge of rocks forming a weir. The +banks on both sides are high and precipitous, and covered with +trees, some of which shoot their arms for some way above the face +of the pool. This is said to be the deepest pool in the +whole course of the Dee, varying in depth from twenty to thirty +feet. Enormous pike, called in Welsh penhwiaid, or +ducks-heads, from the similarity which the head of a pike bears +to that of a duck, are said to be tenants of this pool.</p> + +<p>We returned to the vicarage, and at about ten we all sat down +to supper. On the supper-table was a mighty pitcher full of +foaming ale.</p> + +<p>“There,” said my excellent host, as he poured me +out a glass, “there is a glass of cwrw, which Evan Evans +himself might have drunk.”</p> + +<p>One evening my wife, Henrietta, and myself, attended by John +Jones, went upon the Berwyn, a little to the east of the Geraint +or Barber’s Hill, to botanize. Here we found a fern +which John Jones called Coed llus y Brân, or the plant of +the Crow’s berry. There was a hard kind of berry upon +it, of which he said the crows were exceedingly fond. We +also discovered two or three other strange plants, the Welsh +names of which our guide told us, and which were curious and +descriptive enough. He took us home by a romantic path +which we had never before seen, and on our way pointed out to us +a small house in which he said he was born.</p> + +<p>The day after, finding myself on the banks of the Dee in the +upper part of the valley, I determined to examine the Llam +Lleidyr or Robber’s Leap, which I had heard spoken of on a +former occasion. A man passing near me with a cart I asked +him where the Robber’s Leap was. I spoke in English, +and with a shake of his head he replied “Dim +Saesneg.” On my putting the question to him in Welsh, +however, his countenance brightened up.</p> + +<p>“Dyna Llam Lleidyr, sir!” said he, pointing to a +very narrow part of the stream a little way down.</p> + +<p>“And did the thief take it from this side?” I +demanded.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, from this side,” replied the man.</p> + +<p>I thanked him, and passing over the dry part of the +river’s bed, came to the Llam Lleidyr. The whole +water of the Dee in the dry season gurgles here through a passage +not more than four feet across, which, however, is evidently +profoundly deep, as the water is as dark as pitch. If the +thief ever took the leap he must have taken it in the dry season, +for in the wet the Dee is a wide and roaring torrent. Yet +even in the dry season it is difficult to conceive how anybody +could take this leap, for on the other side is a rock rising high +above the dark gurgling stream. On observing the opposite +side, however, narrowly, I perceived that there was a small hole +a little way up the rock, in which it seemed possible to rest +one’s foot for a moment. So I supposed that if the +leap was ever taken, the individual who took it darted the tip of +his foot into the hole, then springing up seized the top of the +rock with his hands, and scrambled up. From either side the +leap must have been a highly dangerous one—from the farther +side the leaper would incur the almost certain risk of breaking +his legs on a ledge of hard rock, from this of falling back into +the deep horrible stream, which would probably suck him down in a +moment.</p> + +<p>From the Llam y Lleidyr I went to the canal and walked along +it till I came to the house of the old man who sold coals, and +who had put me in mind of Smollett’s Morgan; he was now +standing in his little coal-yard, leaning over the pales. I +had spoken to him on two or three occasions subsequent to the one +on which I made his acquaintance, and had been every time more +and more struck with the resemblance which his ways and manners +bore to those of Smollett’s character, on which account I +shall call him Morgan, though such was not his name. He now +told me that he expected that I should build a villa and settle +down in the neighbourhood, as I seemed so fond of it. After +a little discourse, induced either by my questions or from a +desire to talk about himself, he related to me his history, +which, though not one of the most wonderful, I shall +repeat. He was born near Aberdarron in Caernarvonshire, and +in order to make me understand the position of the place, and its +bearing with regard to some other places, he drew marks in the +coal-dust on the earth. His father was a Baptist minister, +who when Morgan was about six years of age, went to live at Canol +Lyn, a place at some little distance from Port Heli. With +his father he continued till he was old enough to gain his own +maintenance, when he went to serve a farmer in the +neighbourhood. Having saved some money young Morgan +departed to the foundries at Cefn Mawr, at which he worked thirty +years with an interval of four, which he had passed partly in +working in slate quarries, and partly upon the canal. About +four years before the present time he came to where he now lived, +where he commenced selling coals, at first on his own account and +subsequently for some other person. He concluded his +narration by saying that he was now sixty-two years of age, was +afflicted with various disorders, and believed that he was +breaking up.</p> + +<p>Such was Morgan’s history; certainly not a very +remarkable one. Yet Morgan was a most remarkable +individual, as I shall presently make appear.</p> + +<p>Rather affected at the bad account he gave me of his health I +asked him if he felt easy in his mind? He replied perfectly +so, and when I inquired how he came to feel so comfortable, he +said that his feeling so was owing to his baptism into the faith +of Christ Jesus. On my telling him that I too had been +baptized, he asked me if I had been dipped; and on learning that +I had not, but only been sprinkled, according to the practice of +my church, he gave me to understand that my baptism was not worth +three halfpence. Feeling rather nettled at hearing the +baptism of my church so undervalued, I stood up for it, and we +were soon in a dispute, in which I got rather the worst, for +though he spuffled and sputtered in a most extraordinary manner, +and spoke in a dialect which was neither Welsh, English nor +Cheshire, but a mixture of all three, he said two or three things +rather difficult to be got over. Finding that he had nearly +silenced me, he observed that he did not deny that I had a good +deal of book learning, but that in matters of baptism I was as +ignorant as the rest of the people of the church were, and had +always been. He then said that many church people had +entered into argument with him on the subject of baptism, but +that he had got the better of them all; that Mr P., the minister +of the parish of L., in which we then were, had frequently +entered into argument with him, but quite unsuccessfully, and had +at last given up the matter, as a bad job. He added that a +little time before, as Mr P. was walking close to the canal with +his wife and daughter and a spaniel dog, Mr P. suddenly took up +the dog and flung it in, giving it a good ducking, whereupon he, +Morgan, cried out: “Dyna y gwir vedydd! That is the +right baptism, sir! I thought I should bring you to it at +last!” at which words Mr P. laughed heartily, but made no +particular reply.</p> + +<p>After a little time he began to talk about the great men who +had risen up amongst the Baptists, and mentioned two or three +distinguished individuals.</p> + +<p>I said that he had not mentioned the greatest man who had been +born amongst the Baptists.</p> + +<p>“What was his name?” said he.</p> + +<p>“His name was Joost Van Vondel,” I replied.</p> + +<p>“I never heard of him before,” said Morgan.</p> + +<p>“Very probably,” said I: “he was born, bred, +and died in Holland.”</p> + +<p>“Has he been dead long?” said Morgan.</p> + +<p>“About two hundred years,” said I.</p> + +<p>“That’s a long time,” said Morgan, +“and maybe is the reason that I never heard of him. +So he was a great man?”</p> + +<p>“He was indeed,” said I. “He was not +only the greatest man that ever sprang up amongst the Baptists, +but the greatest, and by far the greatest, that Holland ever +produced, though Holland has produced a great many illustrious +men.”</p> + +<p>“Oh I daresay he was a great man if he was a +Baptist,” said Morgan. “Well, it’s +strange I never read of him. I thought I had read the lives +of all the eminent people who lived and died in our +communion.”</p> + +<p>“He did not die in the Baptist communion,” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Oh, he didn’t die in it,” said Morgan; +“What, did he go over to the Church of England? a pretty +fellow!”</p> + +<p>“He did not go over to the Church of England,” +said I, “for the Church of England does not exist in +Holland; he went over to the Church of Rome.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s not quite so bad,” said +Morgan; “however, it’s bad enough. I daresay he +was a pretty blackguard.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said I: “he was a pure virtuous +character, and perhaps the only pure and virtuous character that +ever went over to Rome. The only wonder is that so good a +man could ever have gone over to so detestable a church; but he +appears to have been deluded.”</p> + +<p>“Deluded indeed!” said Morgan. +“However, I suppose he went over for advancement’s +sake.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said I; “he lost every prospect of +advancement by going over to Rome: nine-tenths of his countrymen +were of the reformed religion, and he endured much poverty and +contempt by the step he took.”</p> + +<p>“How did he support himself?” said Morgan.</p> + +<p>“He obtained a livelihood,” said I, “by +writing poems and plays, some of which are wonderfully +fine.”</p> + +<p>“What,” said Morgan, “a writer of +Interludes? One of Twm o’r Nant’s gang! I +thought he would turn out a pretty fellow.” I told +him that the person in question certainly did write Interludes, +for example Noah, and Joseph at Goshen, but that he was a highly +respectable, nay venerable character.</p> + +<p>“If he was a writer of Interludes,” said Morgan, +“he was a blackguard; there never yet was a writer of +Interludes, or a person who went about playing them, that was not +a scamp. He might be a clever man, I don’t say he was +not. Who was a cleverer man than Twm o’r Nant with +his Pleasure and Care, and Riches and Poverty, but where was +there a greater blackguard? Why, not in all Wales. +And if you knew this other fellow—what’s his +name—Fondle’s history, you would find that he was not +a bit more respectable than Twm o’r Nant, and not half so +clever. As for his leaving the Baptists I don’t +believe a word of it; he was turned out of the connection, and +then went about the country saying he left it. No Baptist +connection would ever have a writer of Interludes in it, not Twm +o’r Nant himself, unless he left his ales and Interludes +and wanton hussies, for the three things are sure to go +together. You say he went over to the Church of Rome; of +course he did, if the Church of England were not at hand to +receive him, where should he go but to Rome? No respectable +church like the Methodist or the Independent would have received +him. There are only two churches in the world that will +take in anybody without asking questions, and will never turn +them out however bad they may behave; the one is the Church of +Rome, and the other the Church of Canterbury; and if you look +into the matter you will find that every rogue, rascal and hanged +person since the world began, has belonged to one or other of +those communions.”</p> + +<p>In the evening I took a walk with my wife and daughter past +the Plas Newydd. Coming to the little mill called the Melyn +Bac, at the bottom of the gorge, we went into the yard to observe +the water-wheel. We found that it was turned by a very +little water, which was conveyed to it by artificial means. +Seeing the miller’s man, a short dusty figure, standing in +the yard, I entered into conversation with him, and found to my +great surprise that he had a considerable acquaintance with the +ancient language. On my repeating to him verses from +Taliesin he understood them, and to show me that he did, +translated some of the lines into English. Two or three +respectable-looking lads, probably the miller’s sons, came +out, and listened to us. One of them said we were both good +Welshmen. After a little time the man asked me if I had +heard of Huw Morris, I told him that I was well acquainted with +his writings, and enquired whether the place in which he had +lived was not somewhere in the neighbourhood. He said it +was; and that it was over the mountains not far from Llan +Sanfraid. I asked whether it was not called Pont y +Meibion. He answered in the affirmative, and added that he +had himself been there, and had sat in Huw Morris’s stone +chair which was still to be seen by the road’s side. +I told him that I hoped to visit the place in a few days. +He replied that I should be quite right in doing so, and that no +one should come to these parts without visiting Pont y Meibion, +for that Huw Morris was one of the columns of the Cumry.</p> + +<p>“What a difference,” said I to my wife, after we +had departed, “between a Welshman and an Englishman of the +lower class. What would a Suffolk miller’s swain have +said if I had repeated to him verses out of Beowulf or even +Chaucer, and had asked him about the residence of +Skelton.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<p class="letter">Huw Morris—Immortal Elegy—The +Valley of Ceiriog—Tangled +Wilderness—Perplexity—Chair of Huw Morris—The +Walking Stick—Huw’s Descendant—Pont y +Meibion.</p> + +<p>Two days after the last adventure I set off, over the Berwyn, +to visit the birth-place of Huw Morris under the guidance of John +Jones, who was well acquainted with the spot.</p> + +<p>Huw Morus or Morris, was born in the year 1622 on the banks of +the Ceiriog. His life was a long one, for he died at the +age of eighty-four, after living in six reigns. He was the +second son of a farmer, and was apprenticed to a tanner, with +whom, however, he did not stay till the expiration of the term of +his apprenticeship, for not liking the tanning art, he speedily +returned to the house of his father, whom he assisted in +husbandry till death called the old man away. He then +assisted his elder brother, and on his elder brother’s +death, lived with his son. He did not distinguish himself +as a husbandman, and appears never to have been fond of manual +labour. At an early period, however, he applied himself +most assiduously to poetry, and before he had attained the age of +thirty was celebrated, throughout Wales, as the best poet of his +time. When the war broke out between Charles and his +parliament, Huw espoused the part of the king, not as soldier, +for he appears to have liked fighting little better than tanning +or husbandry, but as a poet, and probably did the king more +service in that capacity than he would if he had raised him a +troop of horse, or a regiment of foot, for he wrote songs +breathing loyalty to Charles, and fraught with pungent satire +against his foes, which ran like wild-fire through Wales, and had +a great influence on the minds of the people. Even when the +royal cause was lost in the field, he still carried on a poetical +war against the successful party, but not so openly as before, +dealing chiefly in allegories, which, however, were easy to be +understood. Strange to say the Independents, when they had +the upper hand, never interfered with him though they persecuted +certain Royalist poets of far inferior note. On the +accession of Charles the Second he celebrated the event by a most +singular piece called the Lamentation of Oliver’s men, in +which he assails the Roundheads with the most bitter irony. +He was loyal to James the Second, till that monarch attempted to +overthrow the Church of England, when Huw, much to his credit, +turned against him, and wrote songs in the interest of the +glorious Prince of Orange. He died in the reign of good +Queen Anne. In his youth his conduct was rather dissolute, +but irreproachable and almost holy in his latter days—a +kind of halo surrounded his old brow. It was the custom in +those days in North Wales for the congregation to leave the +church in a row with the clergyman at their head, but so great +was the estimation in which old Huw was universally held, for the +purity of his life and his poetical gift, that the clergyman of +the parish abandoning his claim to precedence, always insisted on +the good and inspired old man’s leading the file, himself +following immediately in his rear. Huw wrote on various +subjects, mostly in common and easily understood measures. +He was great in satire, great in humour, but when he pleased +could be greater in pathos than in either; for his best piece is +an elegy on Barbara Middleton, the sweetest song of the kind ever +written. From his being born on the banks of the brook +Ceiriog, and from the flowing melody of his awen or muse, his +countrymen were in the habit of calling him Eos Ceiriog, or the +Ceiriog Nightingale.</p> + +<p>So John Jones and myself set off across the Berwyn to visit +the birthplace of the great poet Huw Morris. We ascended +the mountain by Allt Paddy. The morning was lowering and +before we had half got to the top it began to rain. John +Jones was in his usual good spirits. Suddenly taking me by +the arm he told me to look to the right across the gorge to a +white house, which he pointed out.</p> + +<p>“What is there in that house?” said I.</p> + +<p>“An aunt of mine lives there,” said he.</p> + +<p>Having frequently heard him call old women his aunts, I said, +“Every poor old woman in the neighbourhood seems to be your +aunt.”</p> + +<p>“This is no poor old woman,” said he, “she +is cyfoethawg iawn, and only last week she sent me and my family +a pound of bacon, which would have cost me sixpence-halfpenny, +and about a month ago a measure of wheat.”</p> + +<p>We passed over the top of the mountain, and descending the +other side reached Llansanfraid, and stopped at the public-house +where we had been before, and called for two glasses of +ale. Whilst drinking our ale Jones asked some questions +about Huw Morris of the woman who served us; she said that he was +a famous poet, and that people of his blood were yet living upon +the lands which had belonged to him at Pont y Meibion. +Jones told her that his companion, the gwr boneddig, meaning +myself, had come in order to see the birth-place of Huw Morris, +and that I was well acquainted with his works, having gotten them +by heart in Lloegr, when a boy. The woman said that nothing +would give her greater pleasure than to hear a Sais recite poetry +of Huw Morris, whereupon I recited a number of his lines +addressed to the Gôf Du, or blacksmith. The woman +held up her hands, and a carter who was in the kitchen somewhat +the worse for liquor, shouted applause. After asking a few +questions as to the road we were to take, we left the house, and +in a little time entered the valley of Ceiriog. The valley +is very narrow, huge hills overhanging it on both sides, those on +the east side lumpy and bare, those on the west precipitous, and +partially clad with wood; the torrent Ceiriog runs down it, +clinging to the east side; the road is tolerably good, and is to +the west of the stream. Shortly after we had entered the +gorge, we passed by a small farm-house on our right hand, with a +hawthorn hedge before it, upon which seems to stand a peacock, +curiously cut out of thorn. Passing on we came to a place +called Pandy uchaf, or the higher Fulling mill. The place +so called is a collection of ruinous houses, which put me in mind +of the Fulling mills mentioned in “Don +Quixote.” It is called the Pandy because there was +formerly a fulling mill here, said to have been the first +established in Wales; which is still to be seen, but which is no +longer worked. Just above the old mill there is a meeting +of streams, the Tarw from the west rolls down a dark valley into +the Ceiriog.</p> + +<p>At the entrance of this valley and just before you reach the +Pandy, which it nearly overhangs, is an enormous crag. +After I had looked at the place for some time with considerable +interest we proceeded towards the south, and in about twenty +minutes reached a neat kind of house, on our right hand, which +John Jones told me stood on the ground of Huw Morris. +Telling me to wait, he went to the house, and asked some +questions. After a little time I followed him and found him +discoursing at the door with a stout dame about fifty-five years +of age, and a stout buxom damsel of about seventeen, very short +of stature.</p> + +<p>“This is the gentleman,” said he, “who +wishes to see anything there may be here connected with Huw +Morris.”</p> + +<p>The old dame made me a curtsey, and said in very distinct +Welsh, “We have some things in the house which belonged to +him, and we will show them to the gentleman willingly.”</p> + +<p>“We first of all wish to see his chair,” said John +Jones.</p> + +<p>“The chair is in a wall in what is called the hen ffordd +(old road),” said the old gentlewoman; “it is cut out +of the stone wall, you will have maybe some difficulty in getting +to it, but the girl shall show it to you.” The girl +now motioned to us to follow her, and conducted us across the +road to some stone steps, over a wall to a place which looked +like a plantation.</p> + +<p>“This was the old road,” said Jones; “but +the place has been enclosed. The new road is above us on +our right hand beyond the wall.”</p> + +<p>We were in a maze of tangled shrubs, the boughs of which, very +wet from the rain which was still falling, struck our faces, as +we attempted to make our way between them; the girl led the way, +bare-headed and bare-armed, and soon brought us to the wall, the +boundary of the new road. Along this she went with +considerable difficulty, owing to the tangled shrubs, and the +nature of the ground, which was very precipitous, shelving down +to the other side of the enclosure. In a little time we +were wet to the skin, and covered with the dirt of birds, which +they had left while roosting in the trees; on went the girl, +sometimes creeping, and trying to keep herself from falling by +holding against the young trees; once or twice she fell and we +after her, for there was no path, and the ground, as I have said +before very shelvy; still as she went her eyes were directed +towards the wall, which was not always very easy to be seen, for +thorns, tall nettles and shrubs, were growing up against +it. Here and there she stopped, and said something, which I +could not always make out, for her Welsh was anything but clear; +at length I heard her say that she was afraid we had passed the +chair, and indeed presently we came to a place where the +enclosure terminated in a sharp corner.</p> + +<p>“Let us go back,” said I; “we must have +passed it.”</p> + +<p>I now went first, breaking down with my weight the shrubs +nearest to the wall.</p> + +<p>“Is not this the place?” said I, pointing to a +kind of hollow in the wall, which looked something like the shape +of a chair.</p> + +<p>“Hardly,” said the girl, “for there should +be a slab on the back, with letters, but there’s neither +slab nor letters here.”</p> + +<p>The girl now again went forward, and we retraced our way, +doing the best we could to discover the chair, but all to no +purpose; no chair was to be found. We had now been, as I +imagined, half-an-hour in the enclosure, and had nearly got back +to the place from which we had set out, when we suddenly heard +the voice of the old lady exclaiming, “What are ye doing +there, the chair is on the other side of the field; wait a bit, +and I will come and show it you;” getting over the stone +stile, which led into the wilderness, she came to us, and we now +went along the wall at the lower end; we had quite as much +difficulty here as on the other side, and in some places more, +for the nettles were higher, the shrubs more tangled, and the +thorns more terrible. The ground, however, was rather more +level. I pitied the poor girl who led the way, and whose +fat naked arms were both stung and torn. She at last +stopped amidst a huge grove of nettles, doing the best she could +to shelter her arms from the stinging leaves.</p> + +<p>“I never was in such a wilderness in my life,” +said I to John Jones, “is it possible that the chair of the +mighty Huw is in a place like this; which seems never to have +been trodden by human foot. Well does the Scripture say +‘Dim prophwyd yw yn cael barch yn ei dir ei +hunan.’”</p> + +<p>This last sentence tickled the fancy of my worthy friend, the +Calvinistic-Methodist, he laughed aloud and repeated it over and +over again to the females, with amplifications.</p> + +<p>“Is the chair really here,” said I, “or has +it been destroyed? if such a thing has been done it is a disgrace +to Wales.”</p> + +<p>“The chair is really here,” said the old lady, +“and though Huw Morus was no prophet, we love and reverence +everything belonging to him. Get on Llances, the chair +can’t be far off;” the girl moved on, and presently +the old lady exclaimed, “There’s the chair, Diolch i +Duw!”</p> + +<p>I was the last of the file, but I now rushed past John Jones, +who was before me, and next to the old lady, and sure enough +there was the chair, in the wall, of him who was called in his +day, and still is called by the mountaineers of Wales, though his +body has been below the earth in the quiet church-yard one +hundred and forty years, Eos Ceiriog, the Nightingale of Ceiriog, +the sweet caroller Huw Morus, the enthusiastic partizan of +Charles and the Church of England, and the never-tiring lampooner +of Oliver and the Independents. There it was, a kind of +hollow in the stone wall, in the hen ffordd, fronting to the +west, just above the gorge at the bottom of which murmurs the +brook Ceiriog, there it was, something like a half barrel chair +in a garden, a mouldering stone slab forming the seat, and a +large slate stone, the back, on which were cut these +letters—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">H. M. B.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>signifying Huw Morus Bard.</p> + +<p>“Sit down in the chair, Gwr Boneddig,” said John +Jones, “you have taken trouble enough to get to +it.”</p> + +<p>“Do, gentleman,” said the old lady; “but +first let me wipe it with my apron, for it is very wet and +dirty.”</p> + +<p>“Let it be,” said I; then taking off my hat I +stood uncovered before the chair, and said in the best Welsh I +could command, “Shade of Huw Morus, supposing your shade +haunts the place which you loved so well when alive—a +Saxon, one of the seed of the Coiling Serpent, has come to this +place to pay that respect to true genius, the Dawn Duw, which he +is ever ready to pay. He read the songs of the Nightingale +of Ceiriog in the most distant part of Lloegr, when he was a +brown-haired boy, and now that he is a grey-haired man he is come +to say in this place that they frequently made his eyes overflow +with tears of rapture.”</p> + +<p>I then sat down in the chair, and commenced repeating verses +of Huw Morris. All which I did in the presence of the stout +old lady, the short, buxom and bare-armed damsel, and of John +Jones the Calvinistic weaver of Llangollen, all of whom listened +patiently and approvingly, though the rain was pouring down upon +them, and the branches of the trees and the tops of the tall +nettles, agitated by the gusts from the mountain hollows, were +beating in their faces, for enthusiasm is never scoffed at by the +noble simple-minded, genuine Welsh, whatever treatment it may +receive from the coarse-hearted, sensual, selfish Saxon.</p> + +<p>After some time, our party returned to the house—which +put me very much in mind of the farm-houses of the substantial +yeomen of Cornwall, particularly that of my friends at Penquite; +a comfortable fire blazed in the kitchen grate, the floor was +composed of large flags of slate. In the kitchen the old +lady pointed to me the ffon, or walking-stick, of Huw Morris; it +was supported against a beam by three hooks; I took it down and +walked about the kitchen with it; it was a thin polished black +stick, with a crome cut in the shape of an eagle’s head; at +the end was a brass fence. The kind creature then produced +a sword without a scabbard; this sword was found by Huw Morris on +the mountain—it belonged to one of Oliver’s officers +who was killed there. I took the sword, which was a thin +two-edged one, and seemed to be made of very good steel; it put +me in mind of the blades which I had seen at Toledo—the +guard was very slight like those of all rapiers, and the hilt the +common old-fashioned English officer’s hilt—there was +no rust on the blade, and it still looked a dangerous +sword. A man like Thistlewood would have whipped it through +his adversary in a twinkling. I asked the old lady if Huw +Morris was born in this house; she said no, but a little farther +on at Pont y Meibion; she said, however, that the ground had +belonged to him, and that they had some of his blood in their +veins. I shook her by the hand, and gave the chubby +bare-armed damsel a shilling, pointing to the marks of the nettle +stings on her fat bacon-like arms. She laughed, made me a +curtsey, and said: “Llawer iawn o diolch.”</p> + +<p>John Jones and I then proceeded to the house at Pont y +Meibion, where we saw two men, one turning a grind-stone, and the +other holding an adze to it. We asked if we were at the +house of Huw Morris, and whether they could tell us anything +about him; they made us no answer but proceeded with their +occupation; John Jones then said that the Gwr Boneddig was very +fond of the verses of Huw Morris, and had come a great way to see +the place where he was born. The wheel now ceased turning, +and the man with the adze turned his face full upon me—he +was a stern-looking, dark man, with black hair, of about forty; +after a moment or two he said that if I chose to walk into the +house I should be welcome. He then conducted us into the +house, a common-looking stone tenement, and bade us be +seated. I asked him if he was a descendant of Huw Morus; he +said he was; I asked him his name, which he said was +Huw—. “Have you any of the manuscripts of Huw +Morus?” said I.</p> + +<p>“None,” said he, “but I have one of the +printed copies of his works.”</p> + +<p>He then went to a drawer, and taking out a book, put it into +my hand, and seated himself in a blunt, careless manner. +The book was the first volume of the common Wrexham edition of +Huw’s works; it was much thumbed—I commenced reading +aloud a piece which I had much admired in my boyhood. I +went on for some time, my mind quite occupied with my reading; at +last lifting my eyes I saw the man standing bolt upright before +me, like a soldier of the days of my childhood, during the time +that the adjutant read prayers; his hat was no longer upon his +head, but on the ground, and his eyes were reverently inclined to +the book. After all what a beautiful thing it is, not to +be, but to have been a genius. Closing the book, I asked +him whether Huw Morris was born in the house where we were, and +received for answer that he was born about where we stood, but +that the old house had been pulled down, and that of all the +premises only a small out-house was coeval with Huw Morris. +I asked him the name of the house, and he said Pont y +Meibion.</p> + +<p>“But where is the bridge?” said I.</p> + +<p>“The bridge,” he replied, “is close by, over +the Ceiriog. If you wish to see it, you must go down yon +field, the house is called after the bridge.” Bidding +him farewell, we crossed the road and going down the field +speedily arrived at Pont y Meibion. The bridge is a small +bridge of one arch which crosses the brook Ceiriog—it is +built of rough moor stone; it is mossy, broken, and looks almost +inconceivably old; there is a little parapet to it about two feet +high. On the right-hand side it is shaded by an ash. +The brook when we viewed it, though at times a roaring torrent, +was stealing along gently, on both sides it is overgrown with +alders, noble hills rise above it to the east and west, John +Jones told me that it abounded with trout. I asked him why +the bridge was called Pont y Meibion, which signifies the bridge +of the children. “It was built originally by +children,” said he, “for the purpose of crossing the +brook.”</p> + +<p>“That bridge,” said I, “was never built by +children.”</p> + +<p>“The first bridge,” said he, “was of wood, +and was built by the children of the houses above.”</p> + +<p>Not quite satisfied with his explanation, I asked him to what +place the little bridge led, and was told that he believed it led +to an upland farm. After taking a long and wistful view of +the bridge and the scenery around it, I turned my head in the +direction of Llangollen. The adventures of the day were, +however, not finished.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Gloomy Valley—The Lonely +Cottage—Happy Comparison—Clogs—The Alder +Swamp—The Wooden Leg—The Militiaman—Death-bed +Verses.</p> + +<p>On reaching the ruined village where the Pandy stood I +stopped, and looked up the gloomy valley to the west, down which +the brook which joins the Ceiriog at this place, descends, +whereupon John Jones said, that if I wished to go up it a little +way he should have great pleasure in attending me, and that he +should show me a cottage built in the hen ddull, or old fashion, +to which he frequently went to ask for the rent; he being +employed by various individuals in the capacity of +rent-gatherer. I said that I was afraid that if he was a +rent-collector, both he and I should have a sorry welcome. +“No fear,” he replied, “the people are very +good people, and pay their rent very regularly,” and +without saying another word he led the way up the valley. +At the end of the village, seeing a woman standing at the door of +one of the ruinous cottages, I asked her the name of the brook, +or torrent, which came down the valley. “The +Tarw,” said she, “and this village is called Pandy +Teirw.”</p> + +<p>“Why is the streamlet called the bull?” said +I. “Is it because it comes in winter weather roaring +down the glen and butting at the Ceiriog?”</p> + +<p>The woman laughed, and replied that perhaps it was. The +valley was wild and solitary to an extraordinary degree, the +brook or torrent running in the middle of it covered with alder +trees. After we had proceeded about a furlong we reached +the house of the old fashion—it was a rude stone cottage +standing a little above the road on a kind of platform on the +right-hand side of the glen; there was a paling before it with a +gate, at which a pig was screaming, as if anxious to get +in. “It wants its dinner,” said John Jones, and +opened the gate for me to pass, taking precautions that the +screamer did not enter at the same time. We entered the +cottage, very glad to get into it, a storm of wind and rain +having just come on. Nobody was in the kitchen when we +entered, it looked comfortable enough, however, there was an +excellent fire of wood and coals, and a very snug chimney +corner. John Jones called aloud, but for some time no one +answered; at last a rather good-looking woman, seemingly about +thirty, made her appearance at a door at the farther end of the +kitchen. “Is the mistress at home,” said Jones, +“or the master?”</p> + +<p>“They are neither at home,” said the woman, +“the master is abroad at his work, and the mistress is at +the farm-house of—three miles off to pick feathers (trwsio +plu).” She asked us to sit down.</p> + +<p>“And who are you?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I am only a lodger,” said she, “I lodge +here with my husband who is a clog-maker.”</p> + +<p>“Can you speak English?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said she, “I lived eleven years in +England, at a place called Bolton, where I married my husband, +who is an Englishman.”</p> + +<p>“Can he speak Welsh?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Not a word,” said she. “We always +speak English together.”</p> + +<p>John Jones sat down, and I looked about the room. It +exhibited no appearance of poverty; there was plenty of rude but +good furniture in it; several pewter plates and trenchers in a +rack, two or three prints in frames against the wall, one of +which was the likeness of no less a person than the Rev. Joseph +Sanders, on the table was a newspaper. “Is that in +Welsh?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No,” replied the woman, “it is the +<i>Bolton Chronicle</i>, my husband reads it.”</p> + +<p>I sat down in the chimney-corner. The wind was now +howling abroad, and the rain was beating against the cottage +panes—presently a gust of wind came down the chimney, +scattering sparks all about. “A cataract of +sparks!” said I, using the word Rhaiadr.</p> + +<p>“What is Rhaiadr?” said the woman; “I never +heard the word before.”</p> + +<p>“Rhaiadr means water tumbling over a rock,” said +John Jones—“did you never see water tumble over the +top of a rock?”</p> + +<p>“Frequently,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said he, “even as the water with its +froth tumbles over the rock, so did sparks and fire tumble over +the front of that grate when the wind blew down the +chimney. It was a happy comparison of the Gwr Boneddig, and +with respect to Rhaiadr it is a good old word, though not a +common one; some of the Saxons who have read the old writings, +though they cannot speak the language as fast as we, understand +many words and things which we do not.”</p> + +<p>“I forgot much of my Welsh in the land of the +Saxons,” said the woman, “and so have many others; +there are plenty of Welsh at Bolton, but their Welsh is sadly +corrupted.”</p> + +<p>She then went out and presently returned with an infant in her +arms and sat down. “Was that child born in +Wales?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“No,” said she, “he was born at Bolton, +about eighteen months ago—we have been here only a +year.”</p> + +<p>“Do many English,” said I, “marry Welsh +wives?”</p> + +<p>“A great many,” said she. “Plenty of +Welsh girls are married to Englishmen at Bolton.”</p> + +<p>“Do the Englishmen make good husbands?” said +I.</p> + +<p>The woman smiled and presently sighed.</p> + +<p>“Her husband,” said Jones, “is fond of a +glass of ale and is often at the public-house.”</p> + +<p>“I make no complaint,” said the woman, looking +somewhat angrily at John Jones.</p> + +<p>“Is your husband a tall bulky man?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Just so,” said the woman.</p> + +<p>“The largest of the two men we saw the other night at +the public-house at Llansanfraid,” said I to John +Jones.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know him,” said Jones, +“though I have heard of him, but I have no doubt that was +he.”</p> + +<p>I asked the woman how her husband could carry on the trade of +a clog-maker in such a remote place—and also whether he +hawked his clogs about the country.</p> + +<p>“We call him a clog-maker,” said the woman, +“but the truth is that he merely cuts down the wood and +fashions it into squares, these are taken by an under-master who +sends them to the manufacturer at Bolton, who employs hands, who +make them into clogs.”</p> + +<p>“Some of the English,” said Jones, “are so +poor that they cannot afford to buy shoes; a pair of shoes cost +ten or twelve shillings, whereas a pair of clogs only cost +two.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” said I, “that what you call +clogs are wooden shoes.”</p> + +<p>“Just so,” said Jones—“they are +principally used in the neighbourhood of Manchester.”</p> + +<p>“I have seen them at Huddersfield,” said I, +“when I was a boy at school there; of what wood are they +made?”</p> + +<p>“Of the gwern, or alder tree,” said the woman, +“of which there is plenty on both sides of the +brook.”</p> + +<p>John Jones now asked her if she could give him a tamaid of +bread; she said she could, “and some butter with +it.”</p> + +<p>She then went out and presently returned with a loaf and some +butter.</p> + +<p>“Had you not better wait,” said I, “till we +get to the inn at Llansanfraid?”</p> + +<p>The woman, however, begged him to eat some bread and butter +where he was, and cutting a plateful, placed it before him, +having first offered me some which I declined.</p> + +<p>“But you have nothing to drink with it,” said I to +him.</p> + +<p>“If you please,” said the woman, “I will go +for a pint of ale to the public-house at the Pandy, there is +better ale there than at the inn at Llansanfraid. When my +husband goes to Llansanfraid he goes less for the ale than for +the conversation, because there is little English spoken at the +Pandy however good the ale.”</p> + +<p>John Jones said he wanted no ale—and attacking the bread +and butter speedily made an end of it; by the time he had done +the storm was over, and getting up I gave the child twopence, and +left the cottage with Jones. We proceeded some way farther +up the valley, till we came to a place where the ground descended +a little. Here Jones touching me on the shoulder pointed +across the stream. Following with my eye the direction of +his finger, I saw two or three small sheds with a number of small +reddish blocks in regular piles beneath them. Several trees +felled from the side of the torrent were lying near, some of them +stripped of their arms and bark. A small tree formed a +bridge across the brook to the sheds.</p> + +<p>“It is there,” said John Jones, “that the +husband of the woman with whom we have been speaking works, +felling trees from the alder swamp and cutting them up into +blocks. I see there is no work going on at present or we +would go over—the woman told me that her husband was at +Llangollen.”</p> + +<p>“What a strange place to come to work at,” said I, +“out of crowded England. Here is nothing to be heard +but the murmuring of waters and the rushing of wind down the +gulleys. If the man’s head is not full of poetical +fancies, which I suppose it is not, as in that case he would be +unfit for any useful employment, I don’t wonder at his +occasionally going to the public-house.”</p> + +<p>After going a little further up the glen and observing nothing +more remarkable than we had seen already, we turned back. +Being overtaken by another violent shower just as we reached the +Pandy I thought that we could do no better than shelter ourselves +within the public-house, and taste the ale, which the wife of the +clog-maker had praised. We entered the little hostelry +which was one of two or three shabby-looking houses, standing in +contact, close by the Ceiriog. In a kind of little back +room, lighted by a good fire and a window which looked up the +Ceiriog valley, we found the landlady, a gentlewoman with a +wooden leg, who on perceiving me got up from a chair, and made me +the best curtsey that I ever saw made by a female with such a +substitute for a leg of flesh and bone. There were three +men, sitting with jugs of ale near them on a table by the fire, +two were seated on a bench by the wall, and the other on a settle +with a high back, which ran from the wall just by the door, and +shielded those by the fire from the draughts of the +doorway. He of the settle no sooner beheld me than he +sprang up, and placing a chair for me by the fire bade me in +English be seated, and then resumed his own seat. John +Jones soon finding a chair came and sat down by me, when I +forthwith called for a quart of cwrw da. The landlady +bustled about on her wooden leg and presently brought us the ale +with two glasses, which I filled, and taking one drank to the +health of the company who returned us thanks, the man of the +settle in English rather broken. Presently one of his +companions getting up paid his reckoning and departed, the other +remained, a stout young fellow dressed something like a +stone-mason, which indeed I soon discovered that he was—he +was far advanced towards a state of intoxication and talked very +incoherently about the war, saying that he hoped it would soon +terminate, for that if it continued he was afraid he might stand +a chance of being shot, as he was a private in the Denbighshire +Militia. I told him that it was the duty of every gentleman +in the militia to be willing at all times to lay down his life in +the service of the Queen. The answer which he made I could +not exactly understand, his utterance being very indistinct and +broken; it was, however, made with some degree of violence, with +two or three Myn Diawls, and a blow on the table with his +clenched fist. He then asked me whether I thought the +militia would be again called out. “Nothing more +probable,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And where would they be sent to?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps to Ireland,” was my answer, whereupon he +started up with another Myn Diawl, expressing the greatest dread +of being sent to Iwerddon.</p> + +<p>“You ought to rejoice in your chance of going +there,” said I, “Iwerddon is a beautiful country, and +abounds with whisky.”</p> + +<p>“And the Irish?” said he.</p> + +<p>“Hearty, jolly fellows,” said I, “if you +know how to manage them, and all gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>Here he became very violent, saying that I did not speak +truth, for that he had seen plenty of Irish camping amidst the +hills, that the men were half naked and the women were three +parts so, and that they carried their children on their +backs. He then said that he hoped somebody would speedily +kill Nicholas, in order that the war might be at an end and +himself not sent to Iwerddon. He then asked if I thought +Cronstadt could be taken. I said I believed it could, +provided the hearts of those who were sent to take it were in the +right place.</p> + +<p>“Where do you think the hearts of those are who are gone +against it?” said he—speaking with great +vehemence.</p> + +<p>I made no other answer than by taking my glass and +drinking.</p> + +<p>His companion now looking at our habiliments which were in +rather a dripping condition asked John Jones if we had come from +far.</p> + +<p>“We have been to Pont y Meibion,” said Jones, +“to see the chair of Huw Morris,” adding that the Gwr +Boneddig was a great admirer of the songs of the Eos Ceiriog.</p> + +<p>He had no sooner said these words than the intoxicated +militiaman started up, and striking the table with his fist said: +“I am a poor stone-cutter—this is a rainy day and I +have come here to pass it in the best way I can. I am +somewhat drunk, but though I am a poor stone-mason, a private in +the militia, and not so sober as I should be, I can repeat more +of the songs of the Eos than any man alive, however great a +gentleman, however sober—more than Sir Watkin, more than +Colonel Biddulph himself.”</p> + +<p>He then began to repeat what appeared to be poetry, for I +could distinguish the rhymes occasionally, though owing to his +broken utterance it was impossible for me to make out the sense +of the words. Feeling a great desire to know what verses of +Huw Morris the intoxicated youth would repeat, I took out my +pocket-book and requested Jones, who was much better acquainted +with Welsh pronunciation, under any circumstances, than myself, +to endeavour to write down from the mouth of the young fellow any +verses uppermost in his mind. Jones took the pocket-book +and pencil and went to the window, followed by the young man +scarcely able to support himself. Here a curious scene took +place, the drinker hiccuping up verses, and Jones dotting them +down, in the best manner he could, though he had evidently great +difficulty to distinguish what was said to him. At last, +methought, the young man said—“There they are, the +verses of the Nightingale, on his death-bed.”</p> + +<p>I took the book and read aloud the following lines beautifully +descriptive of the eagerness of a Christian soul to leave its +perishing tabernacle, and get to Paradise and its +Creator:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Myn’d i’r wyl ar redeg,<br /> +I’r byd a beryi chwaneg,<br /> +I Beradwys, y ber wiw deg,<br /> +Yn Enw Duw yn union deg.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Do you understand those verses?” said the man on +the settle, a dark swarthy fellow with an oblique kind of vision, +and dressed in a pepper-and-salt coat.</p> + +<p>“I will translate them,” said I; and forthwith put +them into English—first into prose and then into rhyme, the +rhymed version running thus:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Now to my rest I hurry away,<br /> +To the world which lasts for ever and aye,<br /> +To Paradise, the beautiful place,<br /> +Trusting alone in the Lord of Grace”—</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Well,” said he of the pepper-and-salt, “if +that isn’t capital I don’t know what is.”</p> + +<p>A scene in a public-house, yes! but in a Welsh +public-house. Only think of a Suffolk toper repeating the +death-bed verses of a poet; surely there is a considerable +difference between the Celt and the Saxon.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Llangollen Fair—Buyers and +Sellers—The Jockey—The Greek Cap.</p> + +<p>On the twenty-first was held Llangollen Fair. The day +was dull with occasional showers. I went to see the fair +about noon. It was held in and near a little square in the +south-east quarter of the town, of which square the +police-station is the principal feature on the side of the west, +and an inn, bearing the sign of the Grapes, on the east. +The fair was a little bustling fair, attended by plenty of people +from the country, and from the English border, and by some who +appeared to come from a greater distance than the border. A +dense row of carts extended from the police-station half across +the space, these carts were filled with pigs, and had stout +cord-nettings drawn over them, to prevent the animals +escaping. By the sides of these carts the principal +business of the fair appeared to be going on—there stood +the owners male and female, higgling with Llangollen men and +women, who came to buy. The pigs were all small, and the +price given seemed to vary from eighteen to twenty-five +shillings. Those who bought pigs generally carried them +away in their arms; and then there was no little diversion; dire +was the screaming of the porkers, yet the purchaser invariably +appeared to know how to manage his bargain, keeping the left arm +round the body of the swine and with the right hand fast gripping +the ear—some few were led away by strings. There were +some Welsh cattle, small of course, and the purchasers of these +seemed to be Englishmen, tall burly fellows in general, far +exceeding the Welsh in height and size.</p> + +<p>Much business in the cattle-line did not seem, however, to be +going on. Now and then a big fellow made an offer, and held +out his hand for a little Pictish grazier to give it a +slap—a cattle bargain being concluded by a slap of the +hand—but the Welshman generally turned away, with a half +resentful exclamation. There were a few horses and ponies +in the street leading into the fair from the south.</p> + +<p>I saw none sold, however. A tall athletic figure was +striding amongst them, evidently a jockey and a stranger, looking +at them and occasionally asking a slight question of one or +another of their proprietors, but he did not buy. He might +in age be about eight-and-twenty, and about six feet and +three-quarters of an inch in height; in build he was perfection +itself, a better built man I never saw. He wore a cap and a +brown jockey coat, trowsers, leggings and high-lows, and sported +a single spur. He had whiskers—all jockeys should +have whiskers—but he had what I did not like, and what no +genuine jockey should have, a moustache, which looks coxcombical +and Frenchified—but most things have terribly changed since +I was young. Three or four hardy-looking fellows, +policemen, were gliding about in their blue coats and leather +hats, holding their thin walking-sticks behind them; conspicuous +amongst whom was the leader, a tall lathy North Briton with a +keen eye and hard features. Now if I add there was much +gabbling of Welsh round about, and here and there some slight +sawing of English—that in the street leading from the north +there were some stalls of gingerbread and a table at which a +queer-looking being with a red Greek-looking cap on his head, +sold rhubarb, herbs, and phials containing the Lord knows what, +and who spoke a low vulgar English dialect—I repeat, if I +add this, I think I have said all that is necessary about +Llangollen Fair.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">An Expedition—Pont y Pandy—The +Sabbath—Glendower’s Mount—Burial Place of +Old—Corwen—The Deep Glen—The +Grandmother—The Roadside Chapel.</p> + +<p>I was now about to leave Llangollen, for a short time, and to +set out on an expedition to Bangor, Snowdon, and one or two +places in Anglesea. I had determined to make the journey on +foot, in order that I might have perfect liberty of action, and +enjoy the best opportunities of seeing the country. My wife +and daughter were to meet me at Bangor, to which place they would +repair by the railroad, and from which, after seeing some of the +mountain districts, they would return to Llangollen by the way +they came, where I proposed to join them, returning, however, by +a different way from the one I went, that I might traverse new +districts. About eleven o’clock of a brilliant Sunday +morning I left Llangollen, after reading the morning-service of +the Church to my family. I set out on a Sunday because I +was anxious to observe the general demeanour of the people, in +the interior of the country, on the Sabbath.</p> + +<p>I directed my course towards the west, to the head of the +valley. My wife and daughter after walking with me about a +mile bade me farewell, and returned. Quickening my pace I +soon left Llangollen valley behind me and entered another vale, +along which the road which I was following, and which led to +Corwen and other places, might be seen extending for miles. +Lumpy hills were close upon my left, the Dee running noisily +between steep banks, fringed with trees, was on my right; beyond +it rose hills which form part of the wall of the Vale of Clwyd; +their tops bare, but their sides pleasantly coloured with yellow +corn-fields and woods of dark verdure. About an +hour’s walking, from the time when I entered the valley, +brought me to a bridge over a gorge, down which water ran to the +Dee. I stopped and looked over the side of the bridge +nearest to the hill. A huge rock about forty feet long by +twenty broad, occupied the entire bed of the gorge, just above +the bridge, with the exception of a little gullet to the right, +down which between the rock and a high bank, on which stood a +cottage, a run of water purled and brawled. The rock looked +exactly like a huge whale lying on its side, with its back turned +towards the runnel. Above it was a glen of trees. +After I had been gazing a little time a man making his appearance +at the door of the cottage just beyond the bridge I passed on, +and drawing nigh to him, after a slight salutation, asked him in +English the name of the bridge.</p> + +<p>“The name of the bridge, sir,” said the man, in +very good English, “is Pont y Pandy.”</p> + +<p>“Does not that mean the bridge of the fulling +mill?”</p> + +<p>“I believe it does, sir,” said the man.</p> + +<p>“Is there a fulling mill near?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, there was one some time ago, but it is now a +sawing mill.”</p> + +<p>Here a woman, coming out, looked at me steadfastly.</p> + +<p>“Is that gentlewoman your wife?”</p> + +<p>“She is no gentlewoman, sir, but she is my +wife.”</p> + +<p>“Of what religion are you?”</p> + +<p>“We are Calvinistic-Methodists, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Have you been to chapel?”</p> + +<p>“We are just returned, sir.”</p> + +<p>Here the woman said something to her husband, which I did not +hear, but the purport of which I guessed from the following +question which he immediately put.</p> + +<p>“Have you been to chapel, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I do not go to chapel; I belong to the +Church.”</p> + +<p>“Have you been to church, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I have not—I said my prayers at home, and then +walked out.”</p> + +<p>“It is not right to walk out on the Sabbath-day, except +to go to church or chapel.”</p> + +<p>“Who told you so?”</p> + +<p>“The law of God, which says you shall keep holy the +Sabbath-day.”</p> + +<p>“I am not keeping it unholy.”</p> + +<p>“You are walking about, and in Wales when we see a +person walking idly about, on the Sabbath-day, we are in the +habit of saying, Sabbath-breaker, where are you going?”</p> + +<p>“The Son of Man walked through the fields on the +Sabbath-day, why should I not walk along the roads?”</p> + +<p>“He who called Himself the Son of Man was God and could +do what He pleased, but you are not God.”</p> + +<p>“But He came in the shape of a man to set an +example. Had there been anything wrong in walking about on +the Sabbath-day, He would not have done it.”</p> + +<p>Here the wife exclaimed, “How worldly-wise these English +are!”</p> + +<p>“You do not like the English,” said I.</p> + +<p>“We do not dislike them,” said the woman; +“at present they do us no harm, whatever they did of +old.”</p> + +<p>“But you still consider them,” said I, “the +seed of Y Sarfes cadwynog, the coiling serpent.”</p> + +<p>“I should be loth to call any people the seed of the +serpent,” said the woman.</p> + +<p>“But one of your great bards did,” said I.</p> + +<p>“He must have belonged to the Church, and not to the +chapel then,” said the woman. “No person who +went to chapel would have used such bad words.”</p> + +<p>“He lived,” said I, “before people were +separated into those of the Church and the chapel; did you ever +hear of Taliesin Ben Beirdd?”</p> + +<p>“I never did,” said the woman.</p> + +<p>“But I have,” said the man; “and of Owain +Glendower too.”</p> + +<p>“Do people talk much of Owen Glendower in these +parts?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Plenty,” said the man, “and no wonder, for +when he was alive he was much about here—some way farther +on there is a mount, on the bank of the Dee, called the mount of +Owen Glendower, where it is said he used to stand and look out +after his enemies.”</p> + +<p>“Is it easy to find?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Very easy,” said the man, “it stands right +upon the Dee and is covered with trees; there is no mistaking +it.”</p> + +<p>I bade the man and his wife farewell, and proceeded on my +way. After walking about a mile, I perceived a kind of +elevation which answered to the description of Glendower’s +mount, which the man by the bridge had given me. It stood +on the right hand, at some distance from the road, across a +field. As I was standing looking at it a man came up from +the direction in which I myself had come. He was a +middle-aged man, plainly but decently dressed, and had something +of the appearance of a farmer.</p> + +<p>“What hill may that be?” said I in English, +pointing to the elevation.</p> + +<p>“Dim Saesneg, sir,” said the man, looking rather +sheepish, “Dim gair o Saesneg.”</p> + +<p>Rather surprised that a person of his appearance should not +have a word of English, I repeated my question in Welsh.</p> + +<p>“Ah, you speak Cumraeg, sir;” said the man +evidently surprised that a person of my English appearance should +speak Welsh. “I am glad of it! What hill is +that, you ask—Dyna Mont Owain Glyndwr, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Is it easy to get to?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Quite easy, sir,” said the man. “If +you please I will go with you.”</p> + +<p>I thanked him, and opening a gate he conducted me across the +field to the mount of the Welsh hero.</p> + +<p>The mount of Owen Glendower stands close upon the southern +bank of the Dee, and is nearly covered with trees of various +kinds. It is about thirty feet high from the plain, and +about the same diameter at the top. A deep black pool of +the river which here runs far beneath the surface of the field, +purls and twists under the northern side, which is very steep, +though several large oaks spring out of it. The hill is +evidently the work of art, and appeared to me to be some +burying-place of old.</p> + +<p>“And this is the hill of Owain Glyndwr?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Dyma Mont Owain Glyndwr, sir, lle yr oedd yn sefyll i +edrych am ei elvnion yn dyfod o Gaer Lleon. This is the +hill of Owain Glendower, sir, where he was in the habit of +standing to look out for his enemies coming from +Chester.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it was not covered with trees then?” +said I.</p> + +<p>“No, sir; it has not been long planted with trees. +They say, however, that the oaks which hang over the river are +very old.”</p> + +<p>“Do they say who raised this hill?”</p> + +<p>“Some say that God raised it, sir; others that Owain +Glendower raised it. Who do you think raised it?”</p> + +<p>“I believe that it was raised by man, but not by Owen +Glendower. He may have stood upon it, to watch for the +coming of his enemies, but I believe it was here long before his +time, and that it was raised over some old dead king by the +people whom he had governed.”</p> + +<p>“Do they bury kings by the side of rivers, +sir?”</p> + +<p>“In the old time they did, and on the tops of mountains; +they burnt their bodies to ashes, placed them in pots and raised +heaps of earth or stones over them. Heaps like this have +frequently been opened, and found to contain pots with ashes and +bones.”</p> + +<p>“I wish all English could speak Welsh, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because then we poor Welsh who can speak no English +could learn much which we do not know.”</p> + +<p>Descending the monticle we walked along the road +together. After a little time I asked my companion of what +occupation he was and where he lived.</p> + +<p>“I am a small farmer, sir,” said he, “and +live at Llansanfraid Glyn Dyfrdwy across the river.”</p> + +<p>“How comes it,” said I, “that you do not +know English?”</p> + +<p>“When I was young,” said he, “and could have +easily learnt it, I cared nothing about it, and now that I am old +and see its use, it is too late to acquire it.”</p> + +<p>“Of what religion are you?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I am of the Church,” he replied.</p> + +<p>I was about to ask him if there were many people of his +persuasion in these parts; before, however, I could do so he +turned down a road to the right which led towards a small bridge, +and saying that was his way home, bade me farewell and +departed.</p> + +<p>I arrived at Corwen which is just ten miles from Llangollen +and which stands beneath a vast range of rocks at the head of the +valley up which I had been coming, and which is called +Glyndyfrdwy, or the valley of the Dee water. It was now +about two o’clock, and feeling rather thirsty I went to an +inn very appropriately called the Owen Glendower, being the +principal inn in the principal town of what was once the domain +of the great Owen. Here I stopped for about an hour +refreshing myself and occasionally looking into a newspaper in +which was an excellent article on the case of poor Lieutenant +P. I then started for Cerrig-y-Drudion, distant about ten +miles, where I proposed to pass the night. Directing my +course to the north-west, I crossed a bridge over the Dee water +and then proceeded rapidly along the road, which for some way lay +between corn-fields, in many of which sheaves were piled up, +showing that the Welsh harvest was begun. I soon passed +over a little stream, the name of which I was told was +Alowan. “Oh, what a blessing it is to be able to +speak Welsh!” said I, finding that not a person to whom I +addressed myself had a word of English to bestow upon me. +After walking for about five miles I came to a beautiful but wild +country of mountain and wood with here and there a few +cottages. The road at length making an abrupt turn to the +north, I found myself with a low stone wall on my left, on the +verge of a profound ravine, and a high bank covered with trees on +my right. Projecting out over the ravine was a kind of +looking place, protected by a wall, forming a half-circle, +doubtless made by the proprietor of the domain for the use of the +admirers of scenery. There I stationed myself, and for some +time enjoyed one of the wildest and most beautiful scenes +imaginable. Below me was the deep narrow glen or ravine, +down which a mountain torrent roared and foamed. Beyond it +was a mountain rising steeply, its nearer side, which was in deep +shade, the sun having long sunk below its top, hirsute with all +kinds of trees, from the highest pinnacle down to the +torrent’s brink. Cut on the top surface of the wall, +which was of slate, and therefore easily impressible by the +knife, were several names, doubtless those of tourists, who had +gazed from the look-out on the prospect, amongst which I observed +in remarkably bold letters that of T . . . .</p> + +<p>“Eager for immortality, Mr T.,” said I; “but +you are no H. M., no Huw Morris.”</p> + +<p>Leaving the looking place I proceeded, and, after one or two +turnings, came to another, which afforded a view if possible yet +more grand, beautiful and wild, the most prominent objects of +which were a kind of devil’s bridge flung over the deep +glen and its foaming water, and a strange-looking hill beyond it, +below which, with a wood on either side, stood a white +farm-house—sending from a tall chimney a thin misty reek up +to the sky. I crossed the bridge, which, however +diabolically fantastical it looked at a distance, seemed when one +was upon it, capable of bearing any weight, and soon found myself +by the farm-house past which the way led. An aged woman sat +on a stool by the door.</p> + +<p>“A fine evening,” said I in English.</p> + +<p>“Dim Saesneg;” said the aged woman.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the blessing of being able to speak Welsh,” +said I; and then repeated in that language what I had said to her +in the other tongue.</p> + +<p>“I daresay,” said the aged woman, “to those +who can see.”</p> + +<p>“Can you not see?”</p> + +<p>“Very little. I am almost blind.”</p> + +<p>“Can you not see me?”</p> + +<p>“I can see something tall and dark before me; that is +all.”</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me the name of the bridge?”</p> + +<p>“Pont y Glyn bin—the bridge of the glen of +trouble.”</p> + +<p>“And what is the name of this place?”</p> + +<p>“Pen y bont—the head of the bridge.”</p> + +<p>“What is your own name?”</p> + +<p>“Catherine Hughes.”</p> + +<p>“How old are you?”</p> + +<p>“Fifteen after three twenties.”</p> + +<p>“I have a mother three after four twenties; that is +eight years older than yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Can she see?”</p> + +<p>“Better than I—she can read the smallest +letters.”</p> + +<p>“May she long be a comfort to you!”</p> + +<p>“Thank you—are you the mistress of the +house?”</p> + +<p>“I am the grandmother.”</p> + +<p>“Are the people in the house?”</p> + +<p>“They are not—they are at the chapel.”</p> + +<p>“And they left you alone?”</p> + +<p>“They left me with my God.”</p> + +<p>“Is the chapel far from here?”</p> + +<p>“About a mile.”</p> + +<p>“On the road to Cerrig y Drudion?”</p> + +<p>“On the road to Cerrig y Drudion.”</p> + +<p>I bade her farewell, and pushed on—the road was good, +with high rocky banks on each side. After walking about the +distance indicated by the old lady, I reached a building, which +stood on the right-hand side of the road, and which I had no +doubt was the chapel, from a half-groaning, half-singing noise +which proceeded from it. The door being open, I entered, +and stood just within it, bare-headed. A rather singular +scene presented itself. Within a large dimly-lighted room, +a number of people were assembled, partly seated in rude pews, +and partly on benches. Beneath a kind of altar, a few yards +from the door, stood three men—the middlemost was praying +in Welsh in a singular kind of chant, with his arms stretched +out. I could distinguish the words, “Jesus descend +among us! sweet Jesus descend among +us—quickly.” He spoke very slowly, and towards +the end of every sentence dropped his voice, so that what he said +was anything but distinct. As I stood within the door, a +man dressed in coarse garments came up to me from the interior of +the building, and courteously, and in excellent Welsh, asked me +to come with him and take a seat. With equal courtesy, but +far inferior Welsh, I assured him that I meant no harm, but +wished to be permitted to remain near the door, whereupon with a +low bow he left me. When the man had concluded his prayer, +the whole of the congregation began singing a hymn, many of the +voices were gruff and discordant, two or three, however, were of +great power, and some of the female ones of surprising +sweetness. At the conclusion of the hymn, another of the +three men by the altar began to pray, just in the same manner as +his comrade had done, and seemingly using much the same +words. When he had done, there was another hymn, after +which, seeing that the congregation was about to break up, I +bowed my head towards the interior of the building, and +departed.</p> + +<p>Emerging from the hollow way, I found myself on a moor, over +which the road lay in the direction of the north. Towards +the west, at an immense distance, rose a range of stupendous +hills, which I subsequently learned were those of +Snowdon—about ten minutes’ walking brought me to +Cerrig y Drudion, a small village near a rocky elevation, from +which, no doubt, the place takes its name, which interpreted, is +the Rock of Heroes.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Cerrig y Drudion—The +Landlady—Doctor Jones—Coll Gwynfa—The +Italian—Men of +Como—Disappointment—Weather—Glasses—Southey.</p> + +<p>The inn at Cerrig y Drudion was called the Lion—whether +the white, black, red or green Lion, I do not know, though I am +certain that it was a lion of some colour or other. It +seemed as decent and respectable a hostelry as any traveller +could wish, to refresh and repose himself in, after a walk of +twenty miles. I entered a well-lighted passage, and from +thence a well-lighted bar room, on the right hand, in which sat a +stout, comely, elderly lady, dressed in silks and satins, with a +cambric coif on her head, in company with a thin, elderly man +with a hat on his head, dressed in a rather prim and precise +manner. “Madam!” said I, bowing to the lady, +“as I suppose you are the mistress of this establishment, I +beg leave to inform you that I am an Englishman, walking through +these regions, in order fully to enjoy their beauties and +wonders. I have this day come from Llangollen, and being +somewhat hungry and fatigued, hope I can be accommodated here +with a dinner and a bed.”</p> + +<p>“Sir!” said the lady, getting up and making me a +profound curtsey, “I am, as you suppose, the mistress of +this establishment, and am happy to say that I shall be able to +accommodate you—pray sit down, sir;” she continued, +handing me a chair, “you must indeed be tired, for +Llangollen is a great way from here.”</p> + +<p>I took the seat with thanks, and she resumed her own.</p> + +<p>“Rather hot weather for walking, sir!” said the +precise-looking gentleman.</p> + +<p>“It is,” said I; “but as I can’t +observe the country well without walking through it, I put up +with the heat.”</p> + +<p>“You exhibit a philosophic mind, sir,” said the +precise-looking gentleman—“and a philosophic mind I +hold in reverence.”</p> + +<p>“Pray, sir,” said I, “have I the honour of +addressing a member of the medical profession?”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the precise-looking gentleman, getting +up and making me a bow, “your question does honour to your +powers of discrimination—a member of the medical profession +I am, though an unworthy one.”</p> + +<p>“Nay, nay, doctor,” said the landlady briskly; +“say not so—every one knows that you are a credit to +your profession—well would it be if there were many in it +like you—unworthy? marry come up! I won’t hear +such an expression.”</p> + +<p>“I see,” said I, “that I have not only the +honour of addressing a medical gentleman, but a doctor of +medicine—however, I might have known as much by your +language and deportment.”</p> + +<p>With a yet lower bow than before he replied with something of +a sigh, “No, sir, no, our kind landlady and the +neighbourhood are in the habit of placing doctor before my name, +but I have no title to it—I am not Doctor Jones, sir, but +plain Geffery Jones at your service,” and thereupon with +another bow he sat down.</p> + +<p>“Do you reside here?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, I reside here in the place of my +birth—I have not always resided here—and I did not +always expect to spend my latter days in a place of such +obscurity, but, sir, misfortunes—misfortunes . . +.”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said I, “misfortunes! they pursue +every one, more especially those whose virtues should exempt them +from them. Well, sir, the consciousness of not having +deserved them should be your consolation.”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the doctor, taking off his hat, +“you are infinitely kind.”</p> + +<p>“You call this an obscure place,” said +I—“can that be an obscure place which has produced a +poet? I have long had a respect for Cerrig y Drudion +because it gave birth to, and was the residence of a poet of +considerable merit.”</p> + +<p>“I was not aware of that fact,” said the doctor, +“pray what was his name?”</p> + +<p>“Peter Lewis,” said I; “he was a clergyman +of Cerrig y Drudion about the middle of the last century, and +amongst other things wrote a beautiful song called Cathl y Gair +Mwys, or the melody of the ambiguous word.”</p> + +<p>“Surely you do not understand Welsh?” said the +doctor.</p> + +<p>“I understand a little of it,” I replied.</p> + +<p>“Will you allow me to speak to you in Welsh?” said +the doctor.</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” said I.</p> + +<p>He spoke to me in Welsh, and I replied.</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha,” said the landlady in English; +“only think, doctor, of the gentleman understanding +Welsh—we must mind what we say before him.”</p> + +<p>“And are you an Englishman?” said the doctor.</p> + +<p>“I am,” I replied.</p> + +<p>“And how came you to learn it?”</p> + +<p>“I am fond of languages,” said I, “and +studied Welsh at an early period.”</p> + +<p>“And you read Welsh poetry?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes.”</p> + +<p>“How were you enabled to master its +difficulties?”</p> + +<p>“Chiefly by going through Owen Pugh’s version of +‘Paradise Lost’ twice, with the original by my +side. He has introduced into that translation so many of +the poetic terms of the old bards, that after twice going through +it, there was little in Welsh poetry that I could not make out +with a little pondering.”</p> + +<p>“You pursued a very excellent plan, sir,” said the +doctor, “a very excellent plan indeed. Owen +Pugh!”</p> + +<p>“Owen Pugh! The last of your very great +men,” said I.</p> + +<p>“You say right, sir,” said the doctor. +“He was indeed our last great man—Ultimus +Romanorum. I have myself read his work, which he called +Coll Gwynfa, the Loss of the place of Bliss—an admirable +translation, sir; highly poetical, and at the same time +correct.”</p> + +<p>“Did you know him?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I had not the honour of his acquaintance,” said +the doctor—“but, sir, I am happy to say that I have +made yours.”</p> + +<p>The landlady now began to talk to me about dinner, and +presently went out to make preparations for that very important +meal. I had a great deal of conversation with the doctor, +whom I found a person of great and varied information, and one +who had seen a vast deal of the world. He was giving me an +account of an island in the West Indies, which he had visited, +when a boy coming in, whispered into his ear; whereupon, getting +up he said: “Sir, I am called away. I am a country +surgeon, and of course an accoucheur. There is a lady who +lives at some distance requiring my assistance. It is with +grief I leave you so abruptly, but I hope that some time or other +we shall meet again.” Then making me an exceedingly +profound bow, he left the room, followed by the boy.</p> + +<p>I dined upstairs in a very handsome drawing-room, +communicating with a sleeping apartment. During dinner I +was waited upon by the daughter of the landlady, a good-looking +merry girl of twenty. After dinner I sat for some time +thinking over the adventures of the day, then feeling rather +lonely and not inclined to retire to rest, I went down to the +bar, where I found the landlady seated with her daughter. I +sat down with them and we were soon in conversation. We +spoke of Doctor Jones—the landlady said that he had his +little eccentricities, but was an excellent and learned +man. Speaking of herself she said that she had three +daughters, that the youngest was with her and that the two eldest +kept the principal inn at Ruthyn. We occasionally spoke a +little Welsh. At length the landlady said, “There is +an Italian in the kitchen who can speak Welsh too. +It’s odd the only two people not Welshmen I have ever known +who could speak Welsh, for such you and he are, should be in my +house at the same time.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me,” said I; “I should like to see +him.”</p> + +<p>“That you can easily do,” said the girl; “I +daresay he will be glad enough to come in if you invite +him.”</p> + +<p>“Pray take my compliments to him,” said I, +“and tell him that I shall be glad of his +company.”</p> + +<p>The girl went out and presently returned with the +Italian. He was a short, thick, strongly-built fellow of +about thirty-seven, with a swarthy face, raven-black hair, high +forehead, and dark deep eyes, full of intelligence and great +determination. He was dressed in a velveteen coat, with +broad lappets, red waistcoat, velveteen breeches, buttoning a +little way below the knee; white stockings apparently of +lamb’s-wool and high-lows.</p> + +<p>“Buona sera?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Buona sera, signore!” said the Italian.</p> + +<p>“Will you have a glass of brandy and water?” said +I in English.</p> + +<p>“I never refuse a good offer,” said the +Italian.</p> + +<p>He sat down, and I ordered a glass of brandy and water for him +and another for myself.</p> + +<p>“Pray speak a little Italian to him,” said the +good landlady to me. “I have heard a great deal about +the beauty of that language, and should like to hear it +spoken.”</p> + +<p>“From the Lago di Como?” said I, trying to speak +Italian.</p> + +<p>“Si, signore! but how came you to think that I was from +the Lake of Como?”</p> + +<p>“Because,” said I, “when I was a ragazzo I +knew many from the Lake of Como, who dressed much like +yourself. They wandered about the country with boxes on +their backs and weather-glasses in their hands, but had their +head-quarters at N. where I lived.”</p> + +<p>“Do you remember any of their names?” said the +Italian.</p> + +<p>“Giovanni Gestra and Luigi Pozzi,” I replied.</p> + +<p>“I have seen Giovanni Gestra myself,” said the +Italian, “and I have heard of Luigi Pozzi. Giovanni +Gestra returned to the Lago—but no one knows what is become +of Luigi Pozzi.”</p> + +<p>“The last time I saw him,” said I, “was +about eighteen years ago at Coruña in Spain; he was then +in a sad drooping condition, and said he bitterly repented ever +quitting N.”</p> + +<p>“E con ragione,” said the Italian, “for +there is no place like N. for doing business in the whole +world. I myself have sold seventy pounds’ worth of +weather-glasses at N. in one day. One of our people is +living there now, who has done bene, molto bene.”</p> + +<p>“That’s Rossi,” said I, “how is it +that I did not mention him first? He is my excellent +friend, and a finer, cleverer fellow never lived, nor a more +honourable man. You may well say he has done well, for he +is now the first jeweller in the place. The last time I was +there I bought a diamond of him for my daughter Henrietta. +Let us drink his health!”</p> + +<p>“Willingly!” said the Italian. “He is +the prince of the Milanese of England—the most successful +of all, but I acknowledge the most deserving. Che +viva.”</p> + +<p>“I wish he would write his life,” said I; “a +singular life it would be—he has been something besides a +travelling merchant, and a jeweller. He was one of +Buonaparte’s soldiers, and served in Spain, under Soult, +along with John Gestra. He once told me that Soult was an +old rascal, and stole all the fine pictures from the convents, at +Salamanca. I believe he spoke with some degree of envy, for +he is himself fond of pictures, and has dealt in them, and made +hundreds by them. I question whether if in Soult’s +place he would not have done the same. Well, however that +may be, che viva.”</p> + +<p>Here the landlady interposed, observing that she wished we +would now speak English, for that she had quite enough of +Italian, which she did not find near so pretty a language as she +had expected.</p> + +<p>“You must not judge of the sound of Italian from what +proceeds from my mouth,” said I. “It is not my +native language. I have had little practice in it, and only +speak it very imperfectly.”</p> + +<p>“Nor must you judge of Italian from what you have heard +me speak,” said the man of Como; “I am not good at +Italian, for the Milanese speak amongst themselves a kind of +jargon, composed of many languages, and can only express +themselves with difficulty in Italian. I have been doing my +best to speak Italian, but should be glad now to speak English, +which comes to me much more glibly.”</p> + +<p>“Are there any books in your dialect, or jergo, as I +believe you call it?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I believe there are a few,” said the Italian.</p> + +<p>“Do you know the word slandra?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Who taught you that word?” said the Italian.</p> + +<p>“Giovanni Gestra,” said I; “he was always +using it.”</p> + +<p>“Giovanni Gestra was a vulgar illiterate man,” +said the Italian; “had he not been so he would not have +used it. It is a vulgar word; Rossi would not have used +it.”</p> + +<p>“What is the meaning of it?” said the landlady +eagerly.</p> + +<p>“To roam about in a dissipated manner,” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Something more,” said the Italian. +“It is considered a vulgar word even in jergo.”</p> + +<p>“You speak English remarkably well,” said I; +“have you been long in Britain?”</p> + +<p>“I came over about four years ago,” said the +Italian.</p> + +<p>“On your own account?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Not exactly, signore; my brother, who was in business +in Liverpool, wrote to me to come over and assist him. I +did so, but soon left him, and took a shop for myself at Denbigh, +where, however, I did not stay long. At present I travel +for an Italian house in London, spending the summer in Wales, and +the winter in England.”</p> + +<p>“And what do you sell?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Weather-glasses, signore—pictures and little +trinkets, such as the country people like.”</p> + +<p>“Do you sell many weather-glasses in Wales?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“I do not, signore. The Welsh care not for +weather-glasses; my principal customers for weather-glasses are +the farmers of England.”</p> + +<p>“I am told that you can speak Welsh,” said I; +“is that true?”</p> + +<p>“I have picked up a little of it, signore.”</p> + +<p>“He can speak it very well,” said the landlady; +“and glad should I be, sir, to hear you and him speak Welsh +together.”</p> + +<p>“So should I,” said the daughter who was seated +nigh us, “nothing would give me greater pleasure than to +hear two who are not Welshmen speaking Welsh together.”</p> + +<p>“I would rather speak English,” said the Italian; +“I speak a little Welsh, when my business leads me amongst +people who speak no other language, but I see no necessity for +speaking Welsh here.”</p> + +<p>“It is a pity,” said I, “that so beautiful a +country as Italy should not be better governed.”</p> + +<p>“It is, signore,” said the Italian; “but let +us hope that a time will speedily come when she will be +so.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see any chance of it,” said +I. “How will you proceed in order to bring about so +desirable a result as the good government of Italy?”</p> + +<p>“Why, signore, in the first place we must get rid of the +Austrians.”</p> + +<p>“You will not find it an easy matter,” said I, +“to get rid of the Austrians; you tried to do so a little +time ago, but miserably failed.”</p> + +<p>“True, signore; but the next time we try perhaps the +French will help us.”</p> + +<p>“If the French help you to drive the Austrians from +Italy,” said I, “you must become their +servants. It is true you had better be the servants of the +polished and chivalrous French, than of the brutal and barbarous +Germans, but it is not pleasant to be a servant to anybody. +However, I do not believe that you will ever get rid of the +Austrians, even if the French assist you. The Pope for +certain reasons of his own favours the Austrians, and will exert +all the powers of priestcraft to keep them in Italy. Alas, +alas, there is no hope for Italy! Italy, the most beautiful +country in the world, the birth-place of the cleverest people, +whose very pedlars can learn to speak Welsh, is not only +enslaved, but destined always to remain enslaved.”</p> + +<p>“Do not say so, signore,” said the Italian, with a +kind of groan.</p> + +<p>“But I do say so,” said I, “and what is +more, one whose shoe-strings, were he alive, I should not he +worthy to untie, one of your mighty ones, has said so. Did +you ever hear of Vincenzio Filicaia?”</p> + +<p>“I believe I have, signore; did he not write a sonnet on +Italy?”</p> + +<p>“He did,” said I; “would you like to hear +it?</p> + +<p>“Very much, signore.”</p> + +<p>I repeated Filicaia’s glorious sonnet on Italy, and then +asked him if he understood it.</p> + +<p>“Only in part, signore; for it is composed in old +Tuscan, in which I am not much versed. I believe I should +comprehend it better if you were to say it in English.”</p> + +<p>“Do say it in English,” said the landlady and her +daughter: “we should so like to hear it in +English.”</p> + +<p>“I will repeat a translation,” said I, +“which I made when a boy, which though far from good, has, +I believe, in it something of the spirit of the +original:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“O Italy! on whom dark Destiny<br /> +The dangerous gift of beauty did bestow,<br /> +From whence thou hast that ample dower of wo,<br /> +Which on thy front thou bear’st so visibly.<br /> +Would thou hadst beauty less or strength more high,<br /> +That more of fear, and less of love might show,<br /> +He who now blasts him in thy beauty’s glow,<br /> +Or woos thee with a zeal that makes thee die;<br /> +Then down from Alp no more would torrents rage<br /> +Of armed men, nor Gallic coursers hot<br /> +In Po’s ensanguin’d tide their thirst assuage;<br /> +Nor girt with iron, not thine own, I wot,<br /> +Wouldst thou the fight by hands of strangers wage<br /> +Victress or vanquish’d slavery still thy lot.”</p> +</blockquote> + + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Lacing-up High-lows—The Native +Village—Game Leg—Croppies Lie Down—Keeping +Faith—Processions—Croppies Get Up—Daniel +O’Connell.</p> + +<p>I slept in the chamber communicating with the room in which I +had dined. The chamber was spacious and airy, the bed +first-rate, and myself rather tired, so that no one will be +surprised when I say that I had excellent rest. I got up, +and after dressing myself went down. The morning was +exceedingly brilliant. Going out I saw the Italian lacing +up his high-lows against a step. I saluted him, and asked +him if he was about to depart.</p> + +<p>“Yes, signore; I shall presently start for +Denbigh.”</p> + +<p>“After breakfast I shall start for Bangor,” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Do you propose to reach Bangor to-night, +signore?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Walking, signore?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I; “I always walk in +Wales.”</p> + +<p>“Then you will have rather a long walk, signore; for +Bangor is thirty-four miles from here.”</p> + +<p>I asked him if he was married.</p> + +<p>“No, signore; but my brother in Liverpool is.”</p> + +<p>“To an Italian?”</p> + +<p>“No, signore; to a Welsh girl.”</p> + +<p>“And I suppose,” said I, “you will follow +his example by marrying one; perhaps that good-looking girl the +landlady’s daughter we were seated with last +night?”</p> + +<p>“No, signore; I shall not follow my brother’s +example. If ever I take a wife she shall be of my own +village, in Como, whither I hope to return, as soon as I have +picked up a few more pounds.”</p> + +<p>“Whether the Austrians are driven away or not?” +said I.</p> + +<p>“Whether the Austrians are driven away or not—for +to my mind there is no country like Como, signore.”</p> + +<p>I ordered breakfast; whilst taking it in the room above I saw +through the open window the Italian trudging forth on his +journey, a huge box on his back, and a weather-glass in his +hand—looking the exact image of one of those men, his +country people, whom forty years before I had known at +N---. I thought of the course of time, sighed and felt a +tear gather in my eye.</p> + +<p>My breakfast concluded, I paid my bill, and after inquiring +the way to Bangor, and bidding adieu to the kind landlady and her +daughter, set out from Cerrig y Drudion. My course lay +west, across a flat country, bounded in the far distance by the +mighty hills I had seen on the preceding evening. After +walking about a mile I overtook a man with a game leg, that is a +leg which, either by nature or accident not being so long as its +brother leg, had a patten attached to it, about five inches high, +to enable it to do duty with the other—he was a fellow with +red shock hair and very red features, and was dressed in ragged +coat and breeches and a hat which had lost part of its crown, and +all its rim, so that even without a game leg he would have looked +rather a queer figure. In his hand he carried a fiddle.</p> + +<p>“Good morning to you,” said I.</p> + +<p>“A good morning to your hanner, a merry afternoon and a +roaring, joyous evening—that is the worst luck I wish to +ye.”</p> + +<p>“Are you a native of these parts?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Not exactly, your hanner—I am a native of the +city of Dublin, or, what’s all the same thing, of the +village of Donnybrook, which is close by it.”</p> + +<p>“A celebrated place,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Your hanner may say that; all the world has heard of +Donnybrook, owing to the humours of its fair. Many is the +merry tune I have played to the boys at that fair.”</p> + +<p>“You are a professor of music, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“And not a very bad one, as your hanner will say, if you +allow me to play you a tune.”</p> + +<p>“Can you play Croppies Lie Down?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot, your hanner, my fingers never learnt to play +such a blackguard tune; but if you wish to hear Croppies Get Up I +can oblige ye.”</p> + +<p>“You are a Roman Catholic, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“I am not, your hanner—I am a Catholic to the +back-bone, just like my father before me. Come, your +hanner, shall I play ye Croppies Get Up?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said I; “it’s a tune that +doesn’t please my ears. If, however, you choose to +play Croppies Lie Down, I’ll give you a +shilling.”</p> + +<p>“Your hanner will give me a shilling?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I; “if you play Croppies Lie +Down; but you know you cannot play it, your fingers never learned +the tune.”</p> + +<p>“They never did, your hanner; but they have heard it +played of ould by the blackguard Orange fiddlers of Dublin on the +first of July, when the Protestant boys used to walk round +Willie’s statue on College Green—so if your hanner +gives me the shilling, they may perhaps bring out something like +it.”</p> + +<p>“Very good,” said I; “begin!”</p> + +<p>“But, your hanner, what shall we do for the words? +though my fingers may remember the tune my tongue does not +remember the words—that is unless . . .”</p> + +<p>“I give another shilling,” said I; “but +never mind you the words; I know the words, and will repeat +them.”</p> + +<p>“And your hanner will give me a shilling?”</p> + +<p>“If you play the tune,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Hanner bright, your hanner?”</p> + +<p>“Honour bright,” said I.</p> + +<p>Thereupon the fiddler taking his bow and shouldering his +fiddle, struck up in first-rate style the glorious tune, which I +had so often heard with rapture in the days of my boyhood in the +barrack-yard of Clonmel; whilst I, walking by his side as he +stumped along, caused the welkin to resound with the words, which +were the delight of the young gentlemen of the Protestant academy +of that beautiful old town.</p> + +<p>“I never heard those words before,” said the +fiddler, after I had finished the first stanza.</p> + +<p>“Get on with you,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Regular Orange words!” said the fiddler, on my +finishing the second stanza.</p> + +<p>“Do you choose to get on?” said I.</p> + +<p>“More blackguard Orange words I never heard!” +cried the fiddler, on my coming to the conclusion of the third +stanza. “Divil a bit farther will I play; at any rate +till I get the shilling.”</p> + +<p>“Here it is for you,” said I; “the song is +ended, and, of course, the tune.”</p> + +<p>“Thank your hanner,” said the fiddler, taking the +money, “your hanner has kept your word with me, which is +more than I thought your hanner would. And now your hanner +let me ask you why did your hanner wish for that tune, which is +not only a blackguard one but quite out of date; and where did +your hanner get the words?”</p> + +<p>“I used to hear the tune in my boyish days,” said +I, “and wished to hear it again, for though you call it a +blackguard tune, it is the sweetest and most noble air that +Ireland, the land of music, has ever produced. As for the +words, never mind where I got them; they are violent enough, but +not half so violent as the words of some of the songs made +against the Irish Protestants by the priests.”</p> + +<p>“Your hanner is an Orange man, I see. Well, your +hanner, the Orange is now in the kennel, and the Croppies have it +all their own way.”</p> + +<p>“And perhaps,” said I, “before I die, the +Orange will be out of the kennel and the Croppies in, even as +they were in my young days.”</p> + +<p>“Who knows, your hanner? and who knows that I may not +play the old tune round Willie’s image in College Green, +even as I used some twenty-seven years ago?”</p> + +<p>“Oh then you have been an Orange fiddler?”</p> + +<p>“I have, your hanner. And now as your hanner has +behaved like a gentleman to me I will tell ye all my +history. I was born in the city of Dublin, that is in the +village of Donnybrook, as I tould your hanner before. It +was to the trade of bricklaying I was bred, and bricklaying I +followed till at last, getting my leg smashed, not by falling off +the ladder, but by a row in the fair, I was obliged to give it +up, for how could I run up the ladder with a patten on my foot, +which they put on to make my broken leg as long as the +other. Well your hanner, being obliged to give up my +bricklaying, I took to fiddling, to which I had always a natural +inclination, and played about the streets, and at fairs, and +wakes, and weddings. At length some Orange men getting +acquainted with me, and liking my style of playing, invited me to +their lodge, where they gave me to drink and tould me that if I +would change my religion, and join them, and play their tunes, +they would make it answer my purpose. Well, your hanner, +without much stickling I gave up my Popery, joined the Orange +lodge, learned the Orange tunes, and became a regular Protestant +boy, and truly the Orange men kept their word, and made it answer +my purpose. Oh the meat and drink I got, and the money I +made by playing at the Orange lodges and before the processions +when the Orange men paraded the streets with their Orange +colours. And oh, what a day for me was the glorious +first of July when with my whole body covered with Orange +ribbons, I fiddled Croppies Lie Down, Boyne Water, and the +Protestant Boys before the procession which walked round +Willie’s figure on horseback in College Green, the man and +horse all ablaze with Orange colours. But nothing lasts +under the sun, as your hanner knows; Orangeism began to go down; +the Government scowled at it, and at last passed a law preventing +the Protestant boys dressing up the figure on the first of July, +and walking round it. That was the death-blow of the Orange +party, your hanner; they never recovered it, but began to despond +and dwindle, and I with them; for there was scarcely any demand +for Orange tunes. Then Dan O’Connell arose with his +emancipation and repale cries, and then instead of Orange +processions and walkings, there were Papist processions and mobs, +which made me afraid to stir out, lest knowing me for an Orange +fiddler, they should break my head, as the boys broke my leg at +Donnybrook fair. At length some of the repalers and +emancipators knowing that I was a first-rate hand at fiddling +came to me and tould me, that if I would give over playing +Croppies Lie Down and other Orange tunes, and would play Croppies +Get Up, and what not, and become a Catholic and a repaler, and an +emancipator, they would make a man of me—so as my Orange +trade was gone, and I was half-starved, I consinted, not however +till they had introduced me to Daniel O’Connell, who called +me a cridit to my country, and the Irish Horpheus, and promised +me a sovereign if I would consint to join the cause, as he called +it. Well, your hanner, I joined with the cause and became a +Papist, I mane a Catholic once more, and went at the head of +processions covered all over with green ribbons, playing Croppies +Get Up, Granny Whale, and the like. But, your hanner, +though I went the whole hog with the repalers and emancipators, +they did not make their words good by making a man of me. +Scant and sparing were they in the mate and drink, and yet more +sparing in the money, and Daniel O’Connell never gave me +the sovereign which he promised me. No, your hanner, though +I played Croppies Get Up, till my fingers ached, as I stumped +before him and his mobs and processions, he never gave me the +sovereign: unlike your hanner who gave me the shilling ye +promised me for playing Croppies Lie Down, Daniel O’Connell +never gave me the sovereign he promised me for playing Croppies +Get Up. Och, your hanner, I often wished the ould Orange +days were back again. However as I could do no better I +continued going the whole hog with the emancipators and repalers +and Dan O’Connell; I went the whole animal with them till +they had got emancipation; and I went the whole animal with them +till they had nearly got repale—when all of a sudden they +let the whole thing drop—Dan and his party having frighted +the Government out of its seven senses, and gotten all they could +get, in money and places, which was all they wanted, let the +whole hullabaloo drop, and of course myself, who formed part of +it. I went to those who had persuaded me to give up my +Orange tunes, and to play Papist ones, begging them to give me +work; but they tould me very civilly that they had no further +occasion for my services. I went to Daniel O’Connell +reminding him of the sovereign he had promised me, and offering +if he gave it me to play Croppies Get Up under the nose of the +lord-lieutenant himself; but he tould me that he had not time to +attend to me, and when I persisted, bade me go to the Divil and +shake myself. Well, your hanner, seeing no prospect for +myself in my own country, and having incurred some little debts, +for which I feared to be arrested, I came over to England and +Wales, where with little content and satisfaction I have passed +seven years.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I; “thank you for your +history—farewell.”</p> + +<p>“Stap, your hanner; does your hanner think that the +Orange will ever be out of the kennel, and that the Orange boys +will ever walk round the brass man and horse in College Green as +they did of ould?”</p> + +<p>“Who knows?” said I. “But suppose all +that were to happen, what would it signify to you?”</p> + +<p>“Why then divil be in my patten if I would not go back +to Donnybrook and Dublin, hoist the Orange cockade, and become as +good an Orange boy as ever.”</p> + +<p>“What,” said I, “and give up Popery for the +second time?”</p> + +<p>“I would, your hanner; and why not? for in spite of what +I have heard Father Toban say, I am by no means certain that all +Protestants will be damned.”</p> + +<p>“Farewell,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Farewell, your hanner, and long life and prosperity to +you! God bless your hanner and your Orange face. Ah, +the Orange boys are the boys for keeping faith. They never +served me as Dan O’Connell and his dirty gang of repalers +and emancipators did. Farewell, your hanner, once more; and +here’s another scratch of the illigant tune your hanner is +so fond of, to cheer up your hanner’s ears upon your +way.”</p> + +<p>And long after I had left him I could hear him playing on his +fiddle in first-rate style the beautiful tune of “Down, +down, Croppies Lie Down.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Ceiniog Mawr—Pentre Voelas—The Old +Conway—Stupendous Pass—The Gwedir Family—Capel +Curig—The Two Children—Bread—Wonderful +Echo—Tremendous Walker.</p> + +<p>I walked on briskly over a flat uninteresting country, and in +about an hour’s time came in front of a large stone +house. It stood near the road, on the left-hand side, with +a pond and pleasant trees before it, and a number of corn-stacks +behind. It had something the appearance of an inn, but +displayed no sign. As I was standing looking at it, a man +with the look of a labourer, and with a dog by his side, came out +of the house and advanced towards me.</p> + +<p>“What is the name of this place?” said I to him in +English as he drew nigh.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the man, “the name of the house +is Ceiniog Mawr.”</p> + +<p>“Is it an inn?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Not now, sir; but some years ago it was an inn, and a +very large one, at which coaches used to stop; at present it is +occupied by an amaethwr—that is a farmer, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Ceiniog Mawr means a great penny,” said I, +“why is it called by that name?”</p> + +<p>“I have heard, sir, that before it was an inn it was a +very considerable place, namely a royal mint, at which pennies +were made, and on that account it was called Ceiniog +Mawr.”</p> + +<p>I was subsequently told that the name of this place was +Cernioge Mawr. If such be the real name the legend about +the mint falls to the ground, Cernioge having nothing to do with +pence. Cern in Welsh means a jaw. Perhaps the true +name of the house is Corniawg, which interpreted is a place with +plenty of turrets or chimneys. A mile or two further the +ground began to rise, and I came to a small village at the +entrance of which was a water-wheel—near the village was a +gentleman’s seat almost surrounded by groves. After I +had passed through the village, seeing a woman seated by the +roadside knitting, I asked her in English its name. Finding +she had no Saesneg I repeated the question in Welsh, whereupon +she told me that it was called Pentre Voelas.</p> + +<p>“And whom does the ‘Plas’ belong to yonder +amongst the groves?” said I.</p> + +<p>“It belongs to Mr Wynn, sir, and so does the village and +a great deal of the land about here. A very good gentleman +is Mr Wynn, sir; he is very kind to his tenants and a very good +lady is Mrs Wynn, sir; in the winter she gives much soup to the +poor.”</p> + +<p>After leaving the village of Pentre Voelas I soon found myself +in a wild hilly region. I crossed a bridge over a river, +which, brawling and tumbling amidst rocks, shaped its course to +the north-east. As I proceeded, the country became more and +more wild; there were dingles and hollows in abundance, and +fantastic-looking hills, some of which were bare, and others clad +with trees of various kinds. Came to a little well in a +cavity, dug in a high bank on the left-hand side of the road, and +fenced by rude stone work on either side; the well was about ten +inches in diameter, and as many deep. Water oozing from the +bank upon a slanting tile fastened into the earth fell into +it. After damming up the end of the tile with my hand, and +drinking some delicious water, I passed on and presently arrived +at a cottage, just inside the door of which sat a good-looking +middle-aged woman engaged in knitting, the general occupation of +Welsh females.</p> + +<p>“Good-day,” said I to her in Welsh. +“Fine weather.”</p> + +<p>“In truth, sir, it is fine weather for the +harvest.”</p> + +<p>“Are you alone in the house?”</p> + +<p>“I am, sir, my husband has gone to his +labour.”</p> + +<p>“Have you any children?”</p> + +<p>“Two, sir; but they are out at service.”</p> + +<p>“What is the name of this place?”</p> + +<p>“Pant Paddock, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Do you get your water from the little well +yonder?”</p> + +<p>“We do, sir, and good water it is.”</p> + +<p>“I have drunk of it.”</p> + +<p>“Much good may what you have drunk do you, +sir!”</p> + +<p>“What is the name of the river near here?”</p> + +<p>“It is called the Conway, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me; is that river the Conway?”</p> + +<p>“You have heard of it, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Heard of it! it is one of the famous rivers of the +world. The poets are very fond of it—one of the great +poets of my country calls it the old Conway.”</p> + +<p>“Is one river older than another, sir?”</p> + +<p>“That’s a shrewd question. Can you +read?”</p> + +<p>“I can, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Have you any books?”</p> + +<p>“I have the Bible, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Will you show it me?”</p> + +<p>“Willingly, sir.”</p> + +<p>Then getting up she took a book from a shelf and handed it to +me, at the same time begging me to enter the house and sit +down. I declined, and she again took her seat and resumed +her occupation. On opening the book the first words which +met my eye were: “Gad i mi fyned trwy dy dir!—Let me +go through your country” (Numb. <span +class="smcap">xx.</span> 22).</p> + +<p>“I may say these words,” said I, pointing to the +passage. “Let me go through your country.”</p> + +<p>“No one will hinder you, sir, for you seem a civil +gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“No one has hindered me hitherto. Wherever I have +been in Wales I have experienced nothing but kindness and +hospitality, and when I return to my own country I will say +so.”</p> + +<p>“What country is yours, sir?”</p> + +<p>“England. Did you not know that by my +tongue?”</p> + +<p>“I did not, sir. I knew by your tongue that you +were not from our parts—but I did not know that you were an +Englishman. I took you for a Cumro of the south +country.”</p> + +<p>Returning the kind woman her book, and bidding her farewell I +departed, and proceeded some miles through a truly magnificent +country of wood, rock, and mountain. At length I came to a +steep mountain gorge, down which the road ran nearly due north, +the Conway to the left running with great noise parallel with the +road, amongst broken rocks, which chafed it into foam. I +was now amidst stupendous hills, whose paps, peaks, and pinnacles +seemed to rise to the very heaven. An immense mountain on +the right side of the road particularly struck my attention, and +on inquiring of a man breaking stones by the roadside I learned +that it was called Dinas Mawr, or the large citadel, perhaps from +a fort having been built upon it to defend the pass in the old +British times. Coming to the bottom of the pass I crossed +over by an ancient bridge, and, passing through a small town, +found myself in a beautiful valley with majestic hills on either +side. This was the Dyffryn Conway, the celebrated Vale of +Conway, to which in the summer time fashionable gentry from all +parts of Britain resort for shade and relaxation. When +about midway down the valley I turned to the west, up one of the +grandest passes in the world, having two immense door-posts of +rock at the entrance, the northern one probably rising to the +altitude of nine hundred feet. On the southern side of this +pass near the entrance were neat dwellings for the accommodation +of visitors with cool apartments on the ground floor, with large +windows, looking towards the precipitous side of the mighty +northern hill; within them I observed tables, and books, and +young men, probably English collegians, seated at study.</p> + +<p>After I had proceeded some way up the pass, down which a small +river ran, a woman who was standing on the right-hand side of the +way, seemingly on the look-out, begged me in broken English to +step aside and look at the fall.</p> + +<p>“You mean a waterfall, I suppose?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And how do you call it?” said I.</p> + +<p>“The Fall of the Swallow, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And in Welsh?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Rhaiadr y Wennol, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And what is the name of the river?” said I.</p> + +<p>“We call the river the Lygwy, sir.”</p> + +<p>I told the woman I would go, whereupon she conducted me +through a gate on the right-hand side and down a path overhung +with trees to a rock projecting into the river. The Fall of +the Swallow is not a majestic single fall, but a succession of +small ones. First there are a number of little foaming +torrents, bursting through rocks about twenty yards above the +promontory on which I stood. Then come two beautiful rolls +of white water, dashing into a pool a little way above the +promontory; then there is a swirl of water round its corner into +a pool below on its right, black as death, and seemingly of great +depth; then a rush through a very narrow outlet into another +pool, from which the water clamours away down the glen. +Such is the Rhaiadr y Wennol, or Swallow Fall; called so from the +rapidity with which the waters rush and skip along.</p> + +<p>On asking the woman on whose property the fall was, she +informed me that it was on the property of the Gwedir +family. The name of Gwedir brought to my mind the +“History of the Gwedir Family,” a rare and curious +book which I had read in my boyhood, and which was written by the +representative of that family, a certain Sir John Wynne, about +the beginning of the seventeenth century. It gives an +account of the fortunes of the family, from its earliest rise; +but more particularly after it had emigrated, in order to avoid +bad neighbours, from a fair and fertile district into rugged +Snowdonia, where it found anything but the repose it came in +quest of. The book which is written in bold graphic +English, flings considerable light on the state of society in +Wales, in the time of the Tudors, a truly deplorable state, as +the book is full of accounts of feuds, petty but desperate +skirmishes, and revengeful murders. To many of the domestic +sagas, or histories of ancient Icelandic families, from the +character of the events which it describes and also from the +manner in which it describes them, the “History of the +Gwedir Family,” by Sir John Wynne, bears a striking +resemblance.</p> + +<p>After giving the woman sixpence I left the fall, and proceeded +on my way. I presently crossed a bridge under which ran the +river of the fall, and was soon in a wide valley on each side of +which were lofty hills dotted with wood, and at the top of which +stood a mighty mountain, bare and precipitous, with two paps like +those of Pindus opposite Janina, but somewhat sharper. It +was a region of fairy beauty and of wild grandeur. Meeting +an old bleared-eyed farmer I inquired the name of the mountain +and learned that it was called Moel Siabod or Shabod. +Shortly after leaving him, I turned from the road to inspect a +monticle which appeared to me to have something of the appearance +of a burial heap. It stood in a green meadow by the river +which ran down the valley on the left. Whether it was a +grave hill or a natural monticle, I will not say; but standing in +the fair meadow, the rivulet murmuring beside it, and the old +mountain looking down upon it, I thought it looked a very meet +resting-place for an old Celtic king.</p> + +<p>Turning round the northern side of the mighty Siabod I soon +reached the village of Capel Curig, standing in a valley between +two hills, the easternmost of which is the aforesaid Moel +Siabod. Having walked now twenty miles in a broiling day I +thought it high time to take some refreshment, and inquired the +way to the inn. The inn, or rather the hotel, for it was a +very magnificent edifice, stood at the entrance of a pass leading +to Snowdon, on the southern side of the valley, in a totally +different direction from the road leading to Bangor, to which +place I was bound. There I dined in a grand saloon amidst a +great deal of fashionable company, who, probably conceiving from +my heated and dusty appearance that I was some poor fellow +travelling on foot from motives of economy, surveyed me with +looks of the most supercilious disdain, which, however, neither +deprived me of my appetite nor operated uncomfortably on my +feelings.</p> + +<p>My dinner finished, I paid my bill, and having sauntered a +little about the hotel garden, which is situated on the border of +a small lake and from which, through the vista of the pass, +Snowdon may be seen towering in majesty at the distance of about +six miles, I started for Bangor, which is fourteen miles from +Capel Curig.</p> + +<p>The road to Bangor from Capel Curig is almost due west. +An hour’s walking brought me to a bleak moor, extending for +a long way amidst wild sterile hills.</p> + +<p>The first of a chain on the left, was a huge lumpy hill with a +precipice towards the road probably three hundred feet +high. When I had come nearly parallel with the commencement +of this precipice, I saw on the left-hand side of the road two +children looking over a low wall behind which at a little +distance stood a wretched hovel. On coming up I stopped and +looked at them; they were a boy and girl; the first about twelve, +the latter a year or two younger; both wretchedly dressed and +looking very sickly.</p> + +<p>“Have you any English?” said I, addressing the boy +in Welsh.</p> + +<p>“Dim gair,” said the boy; “not a word; there +is no Saesneg near here.”</p> + +<p>“What is the name of this place?”</p> + +<p>“The name of our house is Helyg.”</p> + +<p>“And what is the name of that hill?” said I, +pointing to the hill of the precipice.</p> + +<p>“Allt y Gôg—the high place of the +cuckoo.”</p> + +<p>“Have you a father and mother?”</p> + +<p>“We have.”</p> + +<p>“Are they in the house?”</p> + +<p>“They are gone to Capel Curig.”</p> + +<p>“And they left you alone?”</p> + +<p>“They did. With the cat and the +trin-wire.”</p> + +<p>“Do your father and mother make wire-work?”</p> + +<p>“They do. They live by making it.”</p> + +<p>“What is the wire-work for?”</p> + +<p>“It is for hedges to fence the fields with.”</p> + +<p>“Do you help your father and mother?”</p> + +<p>“We do; as far as we can.”</p> + +<p>“You both look unwell.”</p> + +<p>“We have lately had the cryd” (ague).</p> + +<p>“Is there much cryd about here?”</p> + +<p>“Plenty.”</p> + +<p>“Do you live well?”</p> + +<p>“When we have bread we live well.”</p> + +<p>“If I give you a penny will you bring me some +water?”</p> + +<p>“We will, whether you give us a penny or not. +Come, sister, let us go and fetch the gentleman water.”</p> + +<p>They ran into the house and presently returned, the girl +bearing a pan of water. After I had drunk I gave each of +the children a penny, and received in return from each a diolch +or thanks.</p> + +<p>“Can either of you read?”</p> + +<p>“Neither one nor the other.”</p> + +<p>“Can your father and mother read?”</p> + +<p>“My father cannot, my mother can a little.”</p> + +<p>“Are there books in the house?”</p> + +<p>“There are not.”</p> + +<p>“No Bible?”</p> + +<p>“There is no book at all.”</p> + +<p>“Do you go to church?”</p> + +<p>“We do not.”</p> + +<p>“To chapel?”</p> + +<p>“In fine weather.”</p> + +<p>“Are you happy?”</p> + +<p>“When there is bread in the house and no cryd we are all +happy.”</p> + +<p>“Farewell to you, children.”</p> + +<p>“Farewell to you, gentleman!” exclaimed both.</p> + +<p>“I have learnt something,” said I, “of Welsh +cottage life and feeling from that poor sickly child.”</p> + +<p>I had passed the first and second of the hills which stood on +the left, and a huge long mountain on the right which confronted +both, when a young man came down from a gully on my left hand, +and proceeded in the same direction as myself. He was +dressed in a blue coat and corduroy trowsers, and appeared to be +of a condition a little above that of a labourer. He shook +his head and scowled when I spoke to him in English, but smiled +on my speaking Welsh, and said: “Ah, you speak Cumraeg: I +thought no Sais could speak Cumraeg.” I asked him if +he was going far.</p> + +<p>“About four miles,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“On the Bangor road?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said he; “down the Bangor +road.”</p> + +<p>I learned that he was a carpenter, and that he had been up the +gully to see an acquaintance—perhaps a sweetheart. We +passed a lake on our right which he told me was called Llyn +Ogwen, and that it abounded with fish. He was very amusing, +and expressed great delight at having found an Englishman who +could speak Welsh; “it will be a thing to talk of,” +said he, “for the rest of my life.” He entered +two or three cottages by the side of the road, and each time he +came out I heard him say: “I am with a Sais who can speak +Cumraeg.” At length we came to a gloomy-looking +valley trending due north; down this valley the road ran, having +an enormous wall of rocks on its right and a precipitous hollow +on the left, beyond which was a wall equally high as the other +one. When we had proceeded some way down the road my guide +said. “You shall now hear a wonderful echo,” +and shouting “taw, taw,” the rocks replied in a +manner something like the baying of hounds. “Hark to +the dogs!” exclaimed my companion. “This pass +is called Nant yr ieuanc gwn, the pass of the young dogs, because +when one shouts it answers with a noise resembling the crying of +hounds.”</p> + +<p>The sun was setting when we came to a small village at the +bottom of the pass. I asked my companion its name. +“Ty yn y maes,” he replied, adding as he stopped +before a small cottage that he was going no farther, as he dwelt +there.</p> + +<p>“Is there a public-house here?” said I.</p> + +<p>“There is,” he replied, “you will find one a +little farther up on the right hand.”</p> + +<p>“Come, and take some ale,” said I.</p> + +<p>“No,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“I am a teetotaler,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“Indeed,” said I, and having shaken him by the +hand, thanked him for his company and bidding him farewell, went +on. He was the first person I had ever met of the +fraternity to which he belonged, who did not endeavour to make a +parade of his abstinence and self-denial.</p> + +<p>After drinking some tolerably good ale in the public house I +again started. As I left the village a clock struck +eight. The evening was delightfully cool; but it soon +became nearly dark. I passed under high rocks, by houses +and by groves, in which nightingales were singing, to listen to +whose entrancing melody I more than once stopped. On coming +to a town, lighted up and thronged with people, I asked one of a +group of young fellows its name.</p> + +<p>“Bethesda,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“A scriptural name,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Is it?” said he; “well, if its name is +scriptural the manners of its people are by no means +so.”</p> + +<p>A little way beyond the town a man came out of a cottage and +walked beside me. He had a basket in his hand. I +quickened my pace; but he was a tremendous walker, and kept up +with me. On we went side by side for more than a mile +without speaking a word. At length, putting out my legs in +genuine Barclay fashion, I got before him about ten yards, then +turning round laughed and spoke to him in English. He too +laughed and spoke, but in Welsh. We now went on like +brothers, conversing, but always walking at great speed. I +learned from him that he was a market-gardener living at Bangor, +and that Bangor was three miles off. On the stars shining +out we began to talk about them.</p> + +<p>Pointing to Charles’s Wain I said, “A good star +for travellers.”</p> + +<p>Whereupon pointing to the North star, he said:</p> + +<p>“I forwyr da iawn—a good star for +mariners.”</p> + +<p>We passed a large house on our left.</p> + +<p>“Who lives there?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Mr Smith,” he replied. “It is called +Plas Newydd; milltir genom etto—we have yet another +mile.”</p> + +<p>In ten minutes we were at Bangor. I asked him where the +Albion Hotel was.</p> + +<p>“I will show it you,” said he, and so he did.</p> + +<p>As we came under it I heard the voice of my wife, for she, +standing on a balcony and distinguishing me by the lamplight, +called out. I shook hands with the kind six-mile-an-hour +market-gardener, and going into the inn found my wife and +daughter, who rejoiced to see me. We presently had tea.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Bangor—Edmund Price—The +Bridges—Bookselling—Future Pope—Wild +Irish—Southey.</p> + +<p>Bangor is seated on the spurs of certain high hills near the +Menai, a strait separating Mona or Anglesey from +Caernarvonshire. It was once a place of Druidical worship, +of which fact, even without the testimony of history and +tradition, the name which signifies “upper circle” +would be sufficient evidence. On the decay of Druidism a +town sprang up on the site and in the neighbourhood of the +“upper circle,” in which in the sixth century a +convent or university was founded by Deiniol, who eventually +became Bishop of Bangor. This Deiniol was the son of +Deiniol Vawr, a zealous Christian prince who founded the convent +of Bangor Is Coed, or Bangor beneath the wood in Flintshire, +which was destroyed, and its inmates almost to a man put to the +sword by Ethelbert, a Saxon king, and his barbarian followers at +the instigation of the monk Austin, who hated the brethren +because they refused to acknowledge the authority of the Pope, +whose delegate he was in Britain. There were in all three +Bangors; the one at Is Coed, another in Powis, and this +Caernarvonshire Bangor, which was generally termed Bangor Vawr or +Bangor the great. The two first Bangors have fallen into +utter decay, but Bangor Vawr is still a bishop’s see, +boasts of a small but venerable cathedral, and contains a +population of above eight thousand souls.</p> + +<p>Two very remarkable men have at different periods conferred a +kind of lustre upon Bangor by residing in it, Taliesin in the +old, and Edmund Price in comparatively modern time. Both of +them were poets. Taliesin flourished about the end of the +fifth century, and for the sublimity of his verses was for many +centuries called by his countrymen the Bardic King. Amongst +his pieces is one generally termed “The Prophecy of +Taliesin,” which announced long before it happened the +entire subjugation of Britain by the Saxons, and which is perhaps +one of the most stirring pieces of poetry ever produced. +Edmund Price flourished during the time of Elizabeth. He +was archdeacon of Merionethshire, but occasionally resided at +Bangor for the benefit of his health. Besides being one of +the best Welsh poets of his age he was a man of extraordinary +learning, possessing a thorough knowledge of no less than eight +languages.</p> + +<p>The greater part of his compositions, however clever and +elegant, are, it must be confessed, such as do little credit to +the pen of an ecclesiastic, being bitter poignant satires, which +were the cause of much pain and misery to individuals; one of his +works, however, is not only of a kind quite consistent with his +sacred calling, but has been a source of considerable +blessing. To him the Cambrian Church is indebted for the +version of the Psalms, which for the last two centuries it has +been in the habit of using. Previous to the version of the +Archdeacon a translation of the Psalms had been made into Welsh +by William Middleton, an officer in the naval service of Queen +Elizabeth, in the four-and-twenty alliterative measures of the +ancients bards. It was elegant and even faithful, but far +beyond the comprehension of people in general, and consequently +by no means fitted for the use of churches, though intended for +that purpose by the author, a sincere Christian, though a +warrior. Avoiding the error into which his predecessor had +fallen, the Archdeacon made use of a measure intelligible to +people of every degree, in which alliteration is not observed, +and which is called by the Welsh y mesur cyffredin, or the common +measure. His opinion of the four-and-twenty measures the +Archdeacon has given to the world in four cowydd lines to the +following effect:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“I’ve read the master-pieces great<br +/> +Of languages no less than eight,<br /> +But ne’er have found a woof of song<br /> +So strict as that of Cambria’s tongue.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>After breakfast on the morning subsequent to my arrival, +Henrietta and I roamed about the town, and then proceeded to view +the bridges which lead over the strait to Anglesey. One, +for common traffic, is a most beautiful suspension bridge +completed in 1820, the result of the mental and manual labours of +the ingenious Telford; the other is a tubular railroad bridge, a +wonderful structure, no doubt, but anything but graceful. +We remained for some time on the first bridge, admiring the +scenery, and were not a little delighted, as we stood leaning +over the principal arch, to see a proud vessel pass beneath us in +full sail.</p> + +<p>Satiated with gazing we passed into Anglesey, and making our +way to the tubular bridge, which is to the west of the suspension +one, entered one of its passages and returned to the main +land.</p> + +<p>The air was exceedingly hot and sultry, and on coming to a +stone bench, beneath a shady wall, we both sat down, panting, on +one end of it; as we were resting ourselves, a shabby-looking man +with a bundle of books came and seated himself at the other end, +placing his bundle beside him; then taking out from his pocket a +dirty red handkerchief, he wiped his face, which was bathed in +perspiration, and ejaculated: “By Jasus, it is blazing +hot!”</p> + +<p>“Very hot, my friend,” said I; “have you +travelled far to-day?”</p> + +<p>“I have not, your hanner; I have been just walking about +the dirty town trying to sell my books.”</p> + +<p>“Have you been successful?”</p> + +<p>“I have not, your hanner; only three pence have I taken +this blessed day.”</p> + +<p>“What do your books treat of?”</p> + +<p>“Why, that is more than I can tell your hanner; my trade +is to sell the books not to read them. Would your hanner +like to look at them?”</p> + +<p>“Oh dear no,” said I; “I have long been +tired of books; I have had enough of them.”</p> + +<p>“I daresay, your hanner; from the state of your +hanner’s eyes I should say as much; they look so +weak—picking up learning has ruined your hanner’s +sight.”</p> + +<p>“May I ask,” said I, “from what country you +are?”</p> + +<p>“Sure your hanner may; and it is a civil answer you will +get from Michael Sullivan. It is from ould Ireland I am, +from Castlebar in the county Mayo.”</p> + +<p>“And how came you into Wales?”</p> + +<p>“From the hope of bettering my condition, your hanner, +and a foolish hope it was.”</p> + +<p>“You have not bettered your condition, then?”</p> + +<p>“I have not, your hanner; for I suffer quite as much +hunger and thirst as ever I did in ould Ireland.”</p> + +<p>“Did you sell books in Ireland?”</p> + +<p>“I did nat, yer hanner; I made buttons and +clothes—that is I pieced them. I was several trades +in ould Ireland, your hanner; but none of them answering, I came +over here.”</p> + +<p>“Where you commenced book-selling?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I did nat, your hanner. I first sold laces, and +then I sold loocifers, and then something else; I have followed +several trades in Wales, your hanner; at last I got into the +book-selling trade, in which I now am.”</p> + +<p>“And it answers, I suppose, as badly as the +others?”</p> + +<p>“Just as badly, your hanner; divil a bit +better.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you never beg?”</p> + +<p>“Your hanner may say that; I was always too proud to +beg. It is begging I laves to the wife I have.”</p> + +<p>“Then you have a wife?”</p> + +<p>“I have, your hanner; and a daughter, too; and a good +wife and daughter they are. What would become of me without +them I do not know.”</p> + +<p>“Have you been long in Wales?”</p> + +<p>“Not very long, your hanner; only about twenty +years.”</p> + +<p>“Do you travel much about?”</p> + +<p>“All over North Wales, your hanner; to say nothing of +the southern country.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you speak Welsh?”</p> + +<p>“Not a word, your hanner. The Welsh speak their +language so fast, that divil a word could I ever contrive to pick +up.”</p> + +<p>“Do you speak Irish?”</p> + +<p>“I do, yer hanner; that is when people spake to me in +it.”</p> + +<p>I spoke to him in Irish; after a little discourse he said in +English:</p> + +<p>“I see your hanner is a Munster man. Ah! all the +learned men comes from Munster. Father Toban comes from +Munster.”</p> + +<p>“I have heard of him once or twice before,” said +I.</p> + +<p>“I daresay your hanner has. Every one has heard of +Father Toban; the greatest scholar in the world, who they, say +stands a better chance of being made Pope, some day or other, +than any saggart in Ireland.”</p> + +<p>“Will you take sixpence?”</p> + +<p>“I will, your hanner; if your hanner offers it; but I +never beg; I leave that kind of work to my wife and daughter as I +said before.”</p> + +<p>After giving him the sixpence, which he received with a lazy +“thank your hanner,” I got up, and followed by my +daughter returned to the town.</p> + +<p>Henrietta went to the inn, and I again strolled about the +town. As I was standing in the middle of one of the +business streets I suddenly heard a loud and dissonant gabbling, +and glancing around beheld a number of wild-looking people, male +and female. Wild looked the men, yet wilder the +women. The men were very lightly clad, and were all +barefooted and bareheaded; they carried stout sticks in their +hands. The women were barefooted too, but had for the most +part head-dresses; their garments consisted of blue cloaks and +striped gingham gowns. All the females had common tin +articles in their hands which they offered for sale with violent +gestures to the people in the streets, as they walked along, +occasionally darting into the shops, from which, however, they +were almost invariably speedily ejected by the startled +proprietors, with looks of disgust and almost horror. Two +ragged, red-haired lads led a gaunt pony, drawing a creaking +cart, stored with the same kind of articles of tin, which the +women bore. Poorly clad, dusty and soiled as they were, +they all walked with a free, independent, and almost graceful +carriage.</p> + +<p>“Are those people from Ireland?” said I to a +decent-looking man, seemingly a mechanic, who stood near me, and +was also looking at them, but with anything but admiration.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to say they are, sir;” said the man, +who from his accent was evidently an Irishman, “for they +are a disgrace to their country.”</p> + +<p>I did not exactly think so. I thought that in many +respects they were fine specimens of humanity.</p> + +<p>“Every one of those wild fellows,” said I to +myself, “is worth a dozen of the poor mean-spirited +book-tramper I have lately been discoursing with.”</p> + +<p>In the afternoon I again passed over into Anglesey, but this +time not by the bridge but by the ferry on the north-east of +Bangor, intending to go to Beaumaris, about two or three miles +distant: an excellent road, on the left side of which is a high +bank fringed with dwarf oaks, and on the right the Menai strait, +leads to it. Beaumaris is at present a +watering-place. On one side of it, close upon the sea, +stand the ruins of an immense castle, once a Norman stronghold, +but built on the site of a palace belonging to the ancient kings +of North Wales, and a favourite residence of the celebrated Owain +Gwynedd, the father of the yet more celebrated Madoc, the +original discoverer of America. I proceeded at once to the +castle, and clambering to the top of one of the turrets, looked +upon Beaumaris Bay, and the noble rocky coast of the mainland to +the south-east beyond it, the most remarkable object of which is +the gigantic Penman Mawr, which interpreted is “the great +head-stone,” the termination of a range of craggy hills +descending from the Snowdon mountains.</p> + +<p>“What a bay!” said I, “for beauty it is +superior to the far-famed one of Naples. A proper place for +the keels to start from, which, unguided by the compass, found +their way over the mighty and mysterious Western +Ocean.”</p> + +<p>I repeated all the Bardic lines I could remember connected +with Madoc’s expedition, and likewise many from the Madoc +of Southey, not the least of Britain’s four great latter +poets, decidedly her best prose writer, and probably the purest +and most noble character to which she has ever given birth; and +then, after a long, lingering look, descended from my altitude, +and returned, not by the ferry, but by the suspension bridge to +the mainland.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Robert Lleiaf—Prophetic Englyn—The +Second Sight—Duncan Campbell—Nial’s +Saga—Family of Nial—Gunnar—The Avenger.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Av i dir Môn, cr dwr Menai,<br /> +Tros y traeth, ond aros trai.”</p> + +<p>“I will go to the land of Mona, notwithstanding the +water of the Menai, across the sand, without waiting for the +ebb.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>So sang a bard about two hundred and forty years ago, who +styled himself Robert Lleiaf, or the least of the Roberts. +The meaning of the couplet has always been considered to be, and +doubtless is, that a time would come when a bridge would be built +across the Menai, over which one might pass with safety and +comfort, without waiting till the ebb was sufficiently low to +permit people to pass over the traeth, or sand, which, from ages +the most remote, had been used as the means of communication +between the mainland and the Isle of Mona or Anglesey. +Grounding their hopes upon that couplet, people were continually +expecting to see a bridge across the Menai: more than two hundred +years, however, elapsed before the expectation was fulfilled by +the mighty Telford flinging over the strait an iron suspension +bridge, which, for grace and beauty, has perhaps no rival in +Europe.</p> + +<p>The couplet is a remarkable one. In the time of its +author there was nobody in Britain capable of building a bridge, +which could have stood against the tremendous surges which +occasionally vex the Menai; yet the couplet gives intimation that +a bridge over the Menai there would be, which clearly argues a +remarkable foresight in the author, a feeling that a time would +at length arrive when the power of science would be so far +advanced, that men would be able to bridge over the terrible +strait. The length of time which intervened between the +composition of the couplet and the fulfilment of the promise, +shows that a bridge over the Menai was no pont y meibion, no +children’s bridge, nor a work for common men. Oh, +surely Lleiaf was a man of great foresight!</p> + +<p>A man of great foresight, but nothing more; he foretold a +bridge over the Menai, when no one could have built one, a bridge +over which people could pass, aye, and carts and horses; we will +allow him the credit of foretelling such a bridge; and when +Telford’s bridge was flung over the Menai, Lleiaf’s +couplet was verified. But since Telford’s another +bridge has been built over the Menai, which enables things to +pass which the bard certainly never dreamt of. He never +hinted at a bridge over which thundering trains would dash, if +required, at the rate of fifty miles an hour; he never hinted at +steam travelling, or a railroad bridge, and the second bridge +over the Menai is one.</p> + +<p>That Lleiaf was a man of remarkable foresight, cannot be +denied, but there are no grounds which entitle him to be +considered a possessor of the second sight. He foretold a +bridge, but not a railroad bridge; had he foretold a railroad +bridge, or hinted at the marvels of steam, his claim to the +second sight would have been incontestable.</p> + +<p>What a triumph for Wales; what a triumph for bardism, if +Lleiaf had ever written an englyn, or couplet, in which not a +bridge for common traffic, but a railroad bridge over the Menai +was hinted at, and steam travelling distinctly foretold! +Well, though Lleiaf did not write it, there exists in the Welsh +language an englyn, almost as old as Lleiaf’s time, in +which steam travelling in Wales and Anglesea is foretold, and in +which, though the railroad bridge over the Menai is not exactly +mentioned, it may be considered to be included; so that Wales and +bardism have equal reason to be proud. This is the englyn +alluded to:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Codais, ymolchais yn Môn, cyn naw +awr<br /> +Ciniewa’n Nghaer Lleon,<br /> +Pryd gosber yn y Werddon,<br /> +Prydnawn wrth dan mawn yn Môn.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The above englyn was printed in the Greal, 1792, p. 316; the +language shows it to be a production of about the middle of the +seventeenth century. The following is nearly a literal +translation:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“I got up in Mona as soon as ’twas +light,<br /> +At nine in old Chester my breakfast I took;<br /> +In Ireland I dined, and in Mona, ere night,<br /> +By the turf fire sat, in my own ingle nook.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Now, as sure as the couplet by Robert Lleiaf foretells that a +bridge would eventually be built over the strait, by which people +would pass, and traffic be carried on, so surely does the above +englyn foreshadow the speed by which people would travel by +steam, a speed by which distance is already all but +annihilated. At present it is easy enough to get up at dawn +at Holyhead, the point of Anglesey the most distant from Chester, +and to breakfast at that old town by nine; and though the feat +has never yet been accomplished, it would be quite possible, +provided proper preparations were made, to start from Holyhead at +daybreak, breakfast at Chester at nine, or before, dine in +Ireland at two, and get back again to Holyhead ere the sun of the +longest day has set. And as surely as the couplet about the +bridge argues great foresight in the man that wrote it, so surely +does the englyn prove that its author must have been possessed of +the faculty of second sight, as nobody without it could, in the +middle of the seventeenth century, when the powers of steam were +unknown, have written anything in which travelling by steam is so +distinctly alluded to.</p> + +<p>Truly some old bard of the seventeenth century must in a +vision of the second sight have seen the railroad bridge across +the Menai, the Chester train dashing across it, at high railroad +speed, and a figure exactly like his own seated comfortably in a +third-class carriage.</p> + +<p>And now a few words on the second sight, a few calm, quiet +words, in which there is not the slightest wish to display either +eccentricity or book-learning.</p> + +<p>The second sight is the power of seeing events before they +happen, or of seeing events which are happening far beyond the +reach of the common sight, or between which and the common sight +barriers intervene, which it cannot pierce. The number of +those who possess this gift or power is limited, and perhaps no +person ever possessed it in a perfect degree: some more +frequently see coming events, or what is happening at a distance, +than others; some see things dimly, others with great +distinctness. The events seen are sometimes of great +importance, sometimes highly nonsensical and trivial; sometimes +they relate to the person who sees them, sometimes to other +people. This is all that can be said with anything like +certainty with respect to the nature of the second sight, a +faculty for which there is no accounting, which, were it better +developed, might be termed the sixth sense.</p> + +<p>The second sight is confined to no particular country, and has +at all times existed. Particular nations have obtained a +celebrity for it for a time, which they have afterwards lost, the +celebrity being transferred to other nations, who were previously +not noted for the faculty. The Jews were at one time +particularly celebrated for the possession of the second sight; +they are no longer so. The power was at one time very +common amongst the Icelanders and the inhabitants of the +Hebrides, but it is so no longer. Many and extraordinary +instances of the second sight have lately occurred in that part +of England generally termed East Anglia, where in former times +the power of the second sight seldom manifested itself.</p> + +<p>There are various books in existence in which the second sight +is treated of or mentioned. Amongst others there is one +called “Martin’s Description of the Western Isles of +Scotland,” published in the year 1703, which is indeed the +book from which most writers in English, who have treated of the +second sight, have derived their information. The author +gives various anecdotes of the second sight, which he had picked +up during his visits to those remote islands, which until the +publication of his tour were almost unknown to the world. +It will not be amiss to observe here that the term second sight +is of Lowland Scotch origin, and first made its appearance in +print in Martin’s book. The Gaelic term for the +faculty is taibhsearachd, the literal meaning of which is what is +connected with a spectral appearance, the root of the word being +taibhse, a spectral appearance or vision.</p> + +<p>Then there is the History of Duncan Campbell. The father +of this person was a native of Shetland, who, being shipwrecked +on the coast of Swedish Lapland, and hospitably received by the +natives, married a woman of the country, by whom he had Duncan, +who was born deaf and dumb. On the death of his mother the +child was removed by his father to Scotland, where he was +educated and taught the use of the finger alphabet, by means of +which people are enabled to hold discourse with each other, +without moving the lips or tongue. This alphabet was +originally invented in Scotland, and at the present day is much +in use there, not only amongst dumb people, but many others, who +employ it as a silent means of communication. Nothing is +more usual than to see passengers in a common conveyance in +Scotland discoursing with their fingers. Duncan at an early +period gave indications of possessing the second sight. +After various adventures he came to London, where for many years +he practised as a fortune-teller, pretending to answer all +questions, whether relating to the past or the future, by means +of the second sight. There can be no doubt that this man +was to a certain extent an impostor; no person exists having a +thorough knowledge either of the past or future by means of the +second sight, which only visits particular people by fits and +starts, and which is quite independent of individual will; but it +is equally certain that he disclosed things which no person could +have been acquainted with without visitations of the second +sight. His papers fell into the hands of Defoe, who wrought +them up in his own peculiar manner, and gave them to the world +under the title of the Life of Mr Duncan Campbell, the Deaf and +Dumb Gentleman: with an appendix containing many anecdotes of the +second sight from Martin’s tour.</p> + +<p>But by far the most remarkable book in existence, connected +with the second sight, is one in the ancient Norse language +entitled “Nial’s Saga.” <a +name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3" +class="citation">[3]</a> It was written in Iceland about +the year 1200, and contains the history of a certain Nial and his +family, and likewise notices of various other people. This +Nial was what was called a spámadr, that is, a spaeman or +a person capable of foretelling events. He was originally a +heathen—when, however, Christianity was introduced into +Iceland, he was amongst the first to embrace it, and persuaded +his family and various people of his acquaintance to do the same, +declaring that a new faith was necessary, the old religion of +Odin, Thor, and Frey, being quite unsuited to the times. +The book is no romance, but a domestic history compiled from +tradition about two hundred years after the events which it +narrates had taken place. Of its style, which is +wonderfully terse, the following translated account of Nial and +his family will perhaps convey some idea:—</p> + +<p>“There was a man called Nial, who was the son of +Thorgeir Gelling, the son of Thorolf. The mother of Nial +was called Asgerdr; she was the daughter of Ar, the Silent, the +Lord of a district in Norway. She had come over to Iceland +and settled down on land to the west of Markarfliot, between +Oldustein and Selialandsmul. Holtathorir was her son, +father of Thorlief Krak, from whom the Skogverjars are come, and +likewise of Thorgrim the big and Skorargeir. Nial dwelt at +Bergthorshvâl in Landey, but had another house at +Thorolfell. Nial was very rich in property, and handsome to +look at, but had no beard. He was so great a lawyer, that +it was impossible to find his equal, he was very wise, and had +the gift of foretelling events, he was good at counsel, and of a +good disposition, and whatever counsel he gave people was for +their best; he was gentle and humane, and got every man out of +trouble who came to him in his need. His wife was called +Bergthora; she was the daughter of Skarphethin. She was a +bold-spirited woman who feared nobody, and was rather rough of +temper. They had six children, three daughters and three +sons, all of whom will be frequently mentioned in this +saga.”</p> + +<p>In the history many instances are given of Nial’s skill +in giving good advice and his power of seeing events before they +happened. Nial lived in Iceland during most singular times, +in which though there were laws provided for every possible case, +no man could have redress for any injury unless he took it +himself, or his friends took it for him, simply because there +were no ministers of justice supported by the State, authorised +and empowered to carry the sentence of the law into effect. +For example, if a man were slain, his death would remain +unpunished, unless he had a son or a brother, or some other +relation to slay the slayer, or to force him to pay +“bod,” that is, amends in money, to be determined by +the position of the man who was slain. Provided the man who +was slain had relations, his death was generally avenged, as it +was considered the height of infamy in Iceland to permit +one’s relations to be murdered, without slaying their +murderers, or obtaining bod from them. The right, however, +permitted to relations of taking with their own hands the lives +of those who had slain their friends, produced incalculable +mischiefs; for if the original slayer had friends, they, in the +event of his being slain in retaliation for what he had done, +made it a point of honour to avenge his death, so that by the lex +talionis feuds were perpetuated. Nial was a great +benefactor to his countrymen, by arranging matters between +people, at variance in which he was much helped by his knowledge +of the law, and by giving wholesome advice to people in +precarious situations, in which he was frequently helped by the +power which he possessed of the second sight. On several +occasions he settled the disputes in which his friend Gunnar was +involved, a noble, generous character, and the champion of +Iceland, but who had a host of foes, envious of his renown; and +it was not his fault if Gunnar was eventually slain, for if the +advice which he gave had been followed, the champion would have +died an old man; and if his own sons had followed his advice, and +not been over fond of taking vengeance on people who had wronged +them, they would have escaped a horrible death, in which he +himself was involved, as he had always foreseen he should be.</p> + +<p>“Dost thou know by what death thou thyself wilt +die?” said Gunnar to Nial, after the latter had been +warning him that if he followed a certain course he would die by +a violent death.</p> + +<p>“I do,” said Nial.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” said Gunnar.</p> + +<p>“What people would think the least probable,” +replied Nial.</p> + +<p>He meant that he should die by fire. The kind generous +Nial, who tried to get everybody out of difficulty, perished by +fire. His sons by their violent conduct had incensed +numerous people against them. The house in which they lived +with their father was beset at night by an armed party, who, +unable to break into it owing to the desperate resistance which +they met with from the sons of Nial, Skarphethin, Helgi, and +Grimmr and a comrade of theirs called Kari, <a +name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4" +class="citation">[4]</a> set it in a blaze, in which perished +Nial, the lawyer and man of the second sight, his wife Bergthora, +and two of their sons, the third, Helgi, having been previously +slain, and Kari, who was destined to be the avenger of the +ill-fated family, having made his escape, after performing deeds +of heroism which for centuries after were the themes of song and +tale in the ice-bound isle.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<p class="letter">Snowdon—Caernarvon—Maxen +Wledig—Moel y Cynghorion—The Wyddfa—Snow of +Snowdon—Rare Plant.</p> + +<p>On the third morning after our arrival at Bangor we set out +for Snowdon.</p> + +<p>Snowdon or Eryri is no single hill, but a mountainous region, +the loftiest part of which, called Y Wyddfa, nearly four thousand +feet above the level of the sea, is generally considered to be +the highest point of Southern Britain. The name Snowdon was +bestowed upon this region by the early English on account of its +snowy appearance in winter; Eryri by the Britons, because in the +old time it abounded with eagles, Eryri <a +name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5" +class="citation">[5]</a> in the ancient British language +signifying an eyrie or breeding-place of eagles.</p> + +<p>Snowdon is interesting on various accounts. It is +interesting for its picturesque beauty. Perhaps in the +whole world there is no region more picturesquely beautiful than +Snowdon, a region of mountains, lakes, cataracts, and, groves in +which nature shows herself in her most grand and beautiful +forms.</p> + +<p>It is interesting from its connection with history: it was to +Snowdon that Vortigern retired from the fury of his own subjects, +caused by the favour which he showed to the detested +Saxons. It was there that he called to his counsels Merlin, +said to be begotten on a hag by an incubus, but who was in +reality the son of a Roman consul by a British woman. It +was in Snowdon that he built the castle, which he fondly deemed +would prove impregnable, but which his enemies destroyed by +flinging wild-fire over its walls; and it was in a wind-beaten +valley of Snowdon, near the sea, that his dead body decked in +green armour had a mound of earth and stones raised over +it. It was on the heights of Snowdon that the brave but +unfortunate Llywelin ap Griffith made his last stand for Cambrian +independence; and it was to Snowdon that that very remarkable +man, Owen Glendower, retired with his irregular bands before +Harry the Fourth and his numerous and disciplined armies, soon +however, to emerge from its defiles and follow the foe, +retreating less from the Welsh arrows from the crags, than from +the cold, rain and starvation of the Welsh hills.</p> + +<p>But it is from its connection with romance that Snowdon +derives its chief interest. Who when he thinks of Snowdon +does not associate it with the heroes of romance, Arthur and his +knights? whose fictitious adventures, the splendid dreams of +Welsh and Breton minstrels, many of the scenes of which are the +valleys and passes of Snowdon, are the origin of romance, before +which what is classic has for more than half a century been +waning, and is perhaps eventually destined to disappear. +Yes, to romance Snowdon is indebted for its interest and +consequently for its celebrity; but for romance Snowdon would +assuredly not be what it at present is, one of the very +celebrated hills of the world, and to the poets of modern Europe +almost what Parnassus was to those of old.</p> + +<p>To the Welsh, besides being the hill of the Awen or Muse, it +has always been the hill of hills, the loftiest of all mountains, +the one whose snow is the coldest, to climb to whose peak is the +most difficult of all feats; and the one whose fall will be the +most astounding catastrophe of the last day.</p> + +<p>To view this mountain I and my little family set off in a +calèche on the third morning after our arrival at +Bangor.</p> + +<p>Our first stage was to Caernarvon. As I subsequently +made a journey to Caernarvon on foot, I shall say nothing about +the road till I give an account of that expedition, save that it +lies for the most part in the neighbourhood of the sea. We +reached Caernarvon, which is distant ten miles from Bangor, about +eleven o’clock, and put up at an inn to refresh ourselves +and the horses. It is a beautiful little town situated on +the southern side of the Menai Strait at nearly its western +extremity. It is called Caernarvon, because it is opposite +Mona or Anglesey: Caernarvon signifying the town or castle +opposite Mona. Its principal feature is its grand old +castle, fronting the north, and partly surrounded by the +sea. This castle was built by Edward the First after the +fall of his brave adversary Llewelyn, and in it was born his son +Edward whom, when an infant, he induced the Welsh chieftains to +accept as their prince without seeing, by saying that the person +whom he proposed to be their sovereign was one who was not only +born in Wales, but could not speak a word of the English +language. The town Caernarvon, however, existed long before +Edward’s time, and was probably originally a Roman +station. According to Welsh tradition it was built by Maxen +Wledig or Maxentius, in honour of his wife Ellen who was born in +the neighbourhood. Maxentius, who was a Briton by birth, +and partly by origin contested unsuccessfully the purple with +Gratian and Valentinian, and to support his claim led over to the +Continent an immense army of Britons, who never returned, but on +the fall of their leader settled down in that part of Gaul +generally termed Armorica, which means a maritime region, but +which the Welsh call Llydaw, or Lithuania, which was the name, or +something like the name, which the region bore when Maxen’s +army took possession of it, owing, doubtless, to its having been +the quarters of a legion composed of barbarians from the country +of Leth or Lithuania.</p> + +<p>After staying about an hour at Caernarvon we started for +Llanberis, a few miles to the east. Llanberis is a small +village situated in a valley, and takes its name from Peris, a +British saint of the sixth century, son of Helig ab Glanog. +The valley extends from west to east, having the great mountain +of Snowdon on its south, and a range of immense hills on its +northern side. We entered this valley by a pass called Nant +y Glo or the ravine of the coal, and passing a lake on our left, +on which I observed a solitary corracle, with a fisherman in it, +were presently at the village. Here we got down at a small +inn, and having engaged a young lad to serve as guide, I set out +with Henrietta to ascend the hill, my wife remaining behind, not +deeming herself sufficiently strong to encounter the fatigue of +the expedition.</p> + +<p>Pointing with my finger to the head of Snowdon towering a long +way from us in the direction of the east, I said to +Henrietta:—</p> + +<p>“Dacw Eryri, yonder is Snowdon. Let us try to get +to the top. The Welsh have a proverb: ‘It is easy to +say yonder is Snowdon; but not so easy to ascend it.’ +Therefore I would advise you to brace up your nerves and sinews +for the attempt.”</p> + +<p>We then commenced the ascent, arm-in-arm, followed by the lad, +I singing at the stretch of my voice a celebrated Welsh stanza, +in which the proverb about Snowdon is given, embellished with a +fine moral, and which may thus be rendered:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Easy to say, ‘Behold Eryri,’<br +/> +But difficult to reach its head;<br /> +Easy for him whose hopes are cheery<br /> +To bid the wretch be comforted.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>We were far from being the only visitors to the hill this day; +groups of people, or single individuals, might be seen going up +or descending the path as far as the eye could reach. The +path was remarkably good, and for some way the ascent was +anything but steep. On our left was the Vale of Llanberis, +and on our other side a broad hollow, or valley of Snowdon, +beyond which were two huge hills forming part of the body of the +grand mountain, the lowermost of which our guide told me was +called Moel Elia, and the uppermost Moel y Cynghorion. On +we went until we had passed both these hills, and come to the +neighbourhood of a great wall of rocks constituting the upper +region of Snowdon, and where the real difficulty of the ascent +commences. Feeling now rather out of breath we sat down on +a little knoll with our faces to the south, having a small lake +near us, on our left hand, which lay dark and deep, just under +the great wall.</p> + +<p>Here we sat for some time resting and surveying the scene +which presented itself to us, the principal object of which was +the north-eastern side of the mighty Moel y Cynghorion, across +the wide hollow or valley, which it overhangs in the shape of a +sheer precipice some five hundred feet in depth. Struck by +the name of Moel y Cynghorion, which in English signifies the +hill of the counsellors, I enquired of our guide why the hill was +so called, but as he could afford me no information on the point +I presumed that it was either called the hill of the counsellors +from the Druids having held high consultation on its top, in time +of old, or from the unfortunate Llewelyn having consulted there +with his chieftains, whilst his army lay encamped in the vale +below.</p> + +<p>Getting up we set about surmounting what remained of the +ascent. The path was now winding and much more steep than +it had hitherto been. I was at one time apprehensive that +my gentle companion would be obliged to give over the attempt; +the gallant girl, however, persevered, and in little more than +twenty minutes from the time when we arose from our resting-place +under the crags, we stood, safe and sound, though panting, upon +the very top of Snowdon, the far-famed Wyddfa.</p> + +<p>The Wyddfa is about thirty feet in diameter and is surrounded +on three sides by a low wall. In the middle of it is a rude +cabin, in which refreshments are sold, and in which a person +resides through the year, though there are few or no visitors to +the hill’s top, except during the months of summer. +Below on all sides are frightful precipices except on the side of +the west. Towards the east it looks perpendicularly into +the dyffrin or vale, nearly a mile below, from which to the gazer +it is at all times an object of admiration, of wonder and almost +of fear.</p> + +<p>There we stood on the Wyddfa, in a cold bracing atmosphere, +though the day was almost stiflingly hot in the regions from +which we had ascended. There we stood enjoying a scene +inexpressibly grand, comprehending a considerable part of the +mainland of Wales, the whole of Anglesey, a faint glimpse of part +of Cumberland; the Irish Channel, and what might be either a +misty creation or the shadowy outline of the hills of +Ireland. Peaks and pinnacles and huge moels stood up here +and there, about us and below us, partly in glorious light, +partly in deep shade. Manifold were the objects which we +saw from the brow of Snowdon, but of all the objects which we +saw, those which filled us with delight and admiration, were +numerous lakes and lagoons, which, like sheets of ice or polished +silver, lay reflecting the rays of the sun in the deep valleys at +his feet.</p> + +<p>“Here,” said I to Henrietta, “you are on the +top crag of Snowdon, which the Welsh consider, and perhaps with +justice, to be the most remarkable crag in the world; which is +mentioned in many of their old wild romantic tales, and some of +the noblest of their poems, amongst others in the ‘Day of +Judgment,’ by the illustrious Goronwy Owen, where it is +brought forward in the following manner:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘Ail i’r ar ael Eryri,<br /> +Cyfartal hoewal a hi.’</p> + +<p>“‘The brow of Snowdon shall be levelled with the +ground, and the eddying waters shall murmur round it.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“You are now on the top crag of Snowdon, generally +termed Y Wyddfa, <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6" +class="citation">[6]</a> which means a conspicuous place or +tumulus, and which is generally in winter covered with snow; +about which snow there are in the Welsh language two curious +englynion or stanzas consisting entirely of vowels with the +exception of one consonant, namely the letter R.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘Oer yw’r Eira ar +Eryri,—o’ryw<br /> +Ar awyr i rewi;<br /> +Oer yw’r ia ar riw ’r ri,<br /> +A’r Eira oer yw ’Ryri.</p> + +<p>“‘O Ri y’Ryri yw’r +oera,—o’r âr,<br /> +Ar oror wir arwa;<br /> +O’r awyr a yr Eira,<br /> +O’i ryw i roi rew a’r ia.’</p> + +<p>“‘Cold is the snow on Snowdon’s brow<br /> +It makes the air so chill;<br /> +For cold, I trow, there is no snow<br /> +Like that of Snowdon’s hill.</p> + +<p>“‘A hill most chill is Snowdon’s hill,<br /> +And wintry is his brow;<br /> +From Snowdon’s hill the breezes chill<br /> +Can freeze the very snow.’”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Such was the harangue which I uttered on the top of Snowdon; +to which Henrietta listened with attention; three or four +English, who stood nigh, with grinning scorn, and a Welsh +gentleman with considerable interest. The latter coming +forward shook me by the hand exclaiming—</p> + +<p>“Wyt ti Lydaueg?”</p> + +<p>“I am not a Llydauan,” said I; “I wish I +was, or anything but what I am, one of a nation amongst whom any +knowledge save what relates to money-making and over-reaching is +looked upon as a disgrace. I am ashamed to say that I am an +Englishman.”</p> + +<p>I then returned his shake of the hand; and bidding Henrietta +and the guide follow me, went into the cabin, where Henrietta had +some excellent coffee and myself and the guide a bottle of +tolerable ale; very much refreshed we set out on our return.</p> + +<p>A little way from the top, on the right-hand side as you +descend, there is a very steep path running down in a zigzag +manner to the pass which leads to Capel Curig. Up this path +it is indeed a task of difficulty to ascend to the Wyddfa, the +one by which we mounted being comparatively easy. On +Henrietta’s pointing out to me a plant, which grew on a +crag by the side of this path some way down, I was about to +descend in order to procure it for her, when our guide springing +forward darted down the path with the agility of a young goat, in +less than a minute returned with it in his hand and presented it +gracefully to the dear girl, who on examining it said it belonged +to a species of which she had long been desirous of possessing a +specimen. Nothing material occurred in our descent to +Llanberis, where my wife was anxiously awaiting us. The +ascent and descent occupied four hours. About ten +o’clock at night we again found ourselves at Bangor.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> + +<p class="letter">Gronwy Owen—Struggles of +Genius—The Stipend.</p> + +<p>The day after our expedition to Snowdon I and my family +parted; they returning by railroad to Chester and Llangollen +whilst I took a trip into Anglesey to visit the birth-place of +the great poet Goronwy Owen, whose works I had read with +enthusiasm in my early years.</p> + +<p>Goronwy or Gronwy Owen, was born in the year 1722, at a place +called Llanfair Mathafarn Eithaf in Anglesey. He was the +eldest of three children. His parents were peasants and so +exceedingly poor that they were unable to send him to +school. Even, however, when an unlettered child he gave +indications that he was visited by the awen or muse. At +length the celebrated Lewis Morris chancing to be at Llanfair +became acquainted with the boy, and struck with his natural +talents, determined that he should have all the benefit which +education could bestow. He accordingly, at his own expense +sent him to school at Beaumaris, where he displayed a remarkable +aptitude for the acquisition of learning. He subsequently +sent him to Jesus College, Oxford, and supported him there whilst +studying for the church. Whilst at Jesus, Gronwy +distinguished himself as a Greek and Latin scholar, and gave such +proofs of poetical talent in his native language, that he was +looked upon by his countrymen of that Welsh college as the rising +Bard of the age. After completing his collegiate course he +returned to Wales, where he was ordained a minister of the Church +in the year 1745. The next seven years of his life were a +series of cruel disappointments and pecuniary +embarrassments. The grand wish of his heart was to obtain a +curacy and to settle down in Wales. Certainly a very +reasonable wish. To say nothing of his being a great +genius, he was eloquent, highly learned, modest, meek and of +irreproachable morals, yet Gronwy Owen could obtain no Welsh +curacy, nor could his friend Lewis Morris, though he exerted +himself to the utmost, procure one for him. It is true that +he was told that he might go to Llanfair, his native place, and +officiate there at a time when the curacy happened to be vacant, +and thither he went, glad at heart to get back amongst his old +friends, who enthusiastically welcomed him; yet scarcely had he +been there three weeks when he received notice from the Chaplain +of the Bishop of Bangor that he must vacate Llanfair in order to +make room for a Mr John Ellis, a young clergyman of large +independent fortune, who was wishing for a curacy under the +Bishop of Bangor, Doctor Hutton—so poor Gronwy the +eloquent, the learned, the meek, was obliged to vacate the pulpit +of his native place to make room for the rich young clergyman, +who wished to be within dining distance of the palace of +Bangor. Truly in this world the full shall be crammed, and +those who have little, shall have the little which they have +taken away from them. Unable to obtain employment in Wales +Gronwy sought for it in England, and after some time procured the +curacy of Oswestry in Shropshire, where he married a respectable +young woman, who eventually brought him two sons and a +daughter.</p> + +<p>From Oswestry he went to Donnington near Shrewsbury, where +under a certain Scotchman named Douglas, who was an absentee, and +who died Bishop of Salisbury, he officiated as curate and master +of a grammar school for a stipend—always grudgingly and +contumeliously paid—of three-and-twenty pounds a +year. From Donnington he removed to Walton in Cheshire, +where he lost his daughter who was carried off by a fever. +His next removal was to Northolt, a pleasant village in the +neighbourhood of London.</p> + +<p>He held none of his curacies long, either losing them from the +caprice of his principals, or being compelled to resign them from +the parsimony which they practised towards him. In the year +1756 he was living in a garret in London vainly soliciting +employment in his sacred calling, and undergoing with his family +the greatest privations. At length his friend Lewis Morris, +who had always assisted him to the utmost of his ability, +procured him the mastership of a government school at New +Brunswick in North America with a salary of three hundred pounds +a year. Thither he went with his wife and family, and there +he died sometime about the year 1780.</p> + +<p>He was the last of the great poets of Cambria and, with the +exception of Ab Gwilym, the greatest which she has +produced. His poems which for a long time had circulated +through Wales in manuscript were first printed in the year +1819. They are composed in the ancient Bardic measures, and +were with one exception, namely an elegy on the death of his +benefactor Lewis Morris, which was transmitted from the New +World, written before he had attained the age of +thirty-five. All his pieces are excellent, but his +masterwork is decidedly the Cywydd y Farn or “Day of +Judgment.” This poem which is generally considered by +the Welsh as the brightest ornament of their ancient language, +was composed at Donnington, a small hamlet in Shropshire on the +north-west spur of the Wrekin, at which place, as has been +already said, Gronwy toiled as schoolmaster and curate under +Douglas the Scot, for a stipend of three-and-twenty pounds a +year.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Start for Anglesey—The +Post-Master—Asking Questions—Mynydd Lydiart—Mr +Pritchard—Way to Llanfair.</p> + +<p>When I started from Bangor, to visit the birth-place of Gronwy +Owen, I by no means saw my way clearly before me. I knew +that he was born in Anglesey in a parish called Llanfair +Mathafarn eithaf, that is St Mary’s of farther +Mathafarn—but as to where this Mathafarn lay, north or +south, near or far, I knew positively nothing. Passing +through the northern suburb of Bangor I saw a small house in +front of which was written “post-office” in white +letters; before this house underneath a shrub in a little garden +sat an old man reading. Thinking that from this person, +whom I judged to be the post-master, I was as likely to obtain +information with respect to the place of my destination as from +any one, I stopped, and taking off my hat for a moment, inquired +whether he could tell me anything about the direction of a place +called Llanfair Mathafarn eithaf. He did not seem to +understand my question, for getting up he came towards me and +asked what I wanted: I repeated what I had said, whereupon his +face became animated.</p> + +<p>“Llanfair Mathafarn eithaf!” said he. +“Yes, I can tell you about it, and with good reason, for it +lies not far from the place where I was born.”</p> + +<p>The above was the substance of what he said, and nothing more, +for he spoke in English somewhat broken.</p> + +<p>“And how far is Llanfair from here?” said I.</p> + +<p>“About ten miles,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“That’s nothing,” said I: “I was +afraid it was much farther.”</p> + +<p>“Do you call ten miles nothing,” said he, +“in a burning day like this? I think you will be both +tired and thirsty before you get to Llanfair, supposing you go +there on foot. But what may your business be at +Llanfair?” said he, looking at me inquisitively. +“It is a strange place to go to, unless you go to buy hogs +or cattle.”</p> + +<p>“I go to buy neither hogs nor cattle,” said I, +“though I am somewhat of a judge of both; I go on a more +important errand, namely to see the birth-place of the great +Gronwy Owen.”</p> + +<p>“Are you any relation of Gronwy Owen?” said the +old man, looking at me more inquisitively than before, through a +large pair of spectacles which he wore.</p> + +<p>“None whatever,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Then why do you go to see his parish, it is a very poor +one.”</p> + +<p>“From respect to his genius,” said I; “I +read his works long ago, and was delighted with them.”</p> + +<p>“Are you a Welshman?” said the old man.</p> + +<p>“No,” said I, “I am no Welshman.”</p> + +<p>“Can you speak Welsh?” said he, addressing me in +that language.</p> + +<p>“A little,” said I; “but not so well as I +can read it.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the old man, “I have lived here +a great many years, but never before did a Saxon call upon me, +asking questions about Gronwy Owen, or his birth-place. +Immortality to his memory! I owe much to him, for reading +his writings taught me to be a poet!”</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said I, “are you a +poet?”</p> + +<p>“I trust I am,” said he; “though the +humblest of Ynys Fon.”</p> + +<p>A flash of proud fire, methought, illumined his features as he +pronounced these last words.</p> + +<p>“I am most happy to have met you,” said I; +“but tell me how am I to get to Llanfair?”</p> + +<p>“You must go first,” said he, “to Traeth +Coch which in Saxon is called the ‘Red Sand.’ +In the village called the Pentraeth which lies above that sand, I +was born; through the village and over the bridge you must pass, +and after walking four miles due north you will find yourself in +Llanfair eithaf, at the northern extremity of Mon. +Farewell! That ever Saxon should ask me about Gronwy Owen, +and his birth-place! I scarcely believe you to be a Saxon, +but whether you be or not, I repeat farewell.”</p> + +<p>Coming to the Menai Bridge I asked the man who took the penny +toll at the entrance, the way to Pentraeth Coch.</p> + +<p>“You see that white house by the wood,” said he, +pointing some distance into Anglesey; “you must make +towards it till you come to a place where there are four cross +roads and then you must take the road to the right.”</p> + +<p>Passing over the bridge I made my way towards the house by the +wood which stood on the hill till I came where the four roads +met, when I turned to the right as directed.</p> + +<p>The country through which I passed seemed tolerably well +cultivated, the hedge-rows were very high, seeming to spring out +of low stone walls. I met two or three gangs of reapers +proceeding to their work with scythes in their hands.</p> + +<p>In about half-an-hour I passed by a farm-house partly +surrounded with walnut trees. Still the same high hedges on +both sides of the road: are these hedges relics of the +sacrificial groves of Mona? thought I to myself. Then I +came to a wretched village through which I hurried at the rate of +six miles an hour. I then saw a long, lofty, craggy hill on +my right hand towards the east.</p> + +<p>“What mountain is that?” said I to an urchin +playing in the hot dust of the road.</p> + +<p>“Mynydd Lydiart!” said the urchin, tossing up a +handful of the hot dust into the air, part of which in descending +fell into my eyes.</p> + +<p>I shortly afterwards passed by a handsome lodge. I then +saw groves, mountain Lydiart forming a noble background.</p> + +<p>“Who owns this wood?” said I in Welsh to two men +who were limbing a felled tree by the road-side.</p> + +<p>“Lord Vivian,” answered one, touching his hat.</p> + +<p>“The gentleman is our countryman,” said he to the +other after I had passed.</p> + +<p>I was now descending the side of a pretty valley, and soon +found myself at Pentraeth Coch. The part of the Pentraeth +where I now was consisted of a few houses and a church, or +something which I judged to be a church, for there was no +steeple; the houses and church stood about a little open spot or +square, the church on the east, and on the west a neat little inn +or public-house over the door of which was written “The +White Horse. Hugh Pritchard.” By this time I +had verified in part the prediction of the old Welsh poet of the +post-office. Though I was not yet arrived at Llanfair, I +was, if not tired, very thirsty, owing to the burning heat of the +weather, so I determined to go in and have some ale. On +entering the house I was greeted in English by Mr Hugh Pritchard +himself, a tall bulky man with a weather-beaten countenance, +dressed in a brown jerkin and corduroy trowsers, with a broad +low-crowned buff-coloured hat on his head, and what might be +called half shoes and half high-lows on his feet. He had a +short pipe in his mouth, which when he greeted me he took out, +but replaced as soon as the greeting was over, which consisted of +“Good-day, sir,” delivered in a frank, hearty +tone. I looked Mr Hugh Pritchard in the face and thought I +had never seen a more honest countenance. On my telling Mr +Pritchard that I wanted a pint of ale, a buxom damsel came +forward and led me into a nice cool parlour on the right-hand +side of the door, and then went to fetch the ale.</p> + +<p>Mr Pritchard meanwhile went into a kind of tap-room, fronting +the parlour, where I heard him talking in Welsh about pigs and +cattle to some of his customers. I observed that he spoke +with some hesitation; which circumstance I mention as rather +curious, he being the only Welshman I have ever known who, when +speaking his native language, appeared to be at a loss for +words. The damsel presently brought me the ale, which I +tasted and found excellent; she was going away when I asked her +whether Mr Pritchard was her father; on her replying in the +affirmative I inquired whether she was born in that house.</p> + +<p>“No!” said she; “I was born in Liverpool; my +father was born in this house, which belonged to his fathers +before him, but he left it at an early age and married my mother +in Liverpool, who was an Anglesey woman, and so I was born in +Liverpool.”</p> + +<p>“And what did you do in Liverpool?” said I.</p> + +<p>“My mother kept a little shop,” said the girl, +“whilst my father followed various occupations.”</p> + +<p>“And how long have you been here?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Since the death of my grandfather,” said the +girl, “which happened about a year ago. When he died +my father came here and took possession of his +birth-right.”</p> + +<p>“You speak very good English,” said I; “have +you any Welsh?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, plenty,” said the girl; “we always +speak Welsh together, but being born at Liverpool, I of course +have plenty of English.”</p> + +<p>“And which language do you prefer?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I think I like English best,” said the girl, +“it is the most useful language.”</p> + +<p>“Not in Anglesey,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the girl, “it is the most +genteel.”</p> + +<p>“Gentility,” said I, “will be the ruin of +Welsh, as it has been of many other things—what have I to +pay for the ale?”</p> + +<p>“Three pence,” said she.</p> + +<p>I paid the money and the girl went out. I finished my +ale, and getting up made for the door; at the door I was met by +Mr Hugh Pritchard, who came out of the tap-room to thank me for +my custom, and to bid me farewell. I asked him whether I +should have any difficulty in finding the way to Llanfair.</p> + +<p>“None whatever,” said he, “you have only to +pass over the bridge of the Traeth, and to go due north for about +four miles, and you will find yourself in Llanfair.”</p> + +<p>“What kind of place is it?” said I.</p> + +<p>“A poor straggling village,” said Mr +Pritchard.</p> + +<p>“Shall I be able to obtain a lodging there for the +night?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Scarcely one such as you would like,” said +Hugh.</p> + +<p>“And where had I best pass the night?” I +demanded.</p> + +<p>“We can accommodate you comfortably here,” said Mr +Pritchard, “provided you have no objection to come +back.”</p> + +<p>I told him that I should be only too happy, and forthwith +departed, glad at heart that I had secured a comfortable lodging +for the night.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Leave Pentraeth—Tranquil Scene—The +Knoll—The Miller and his Wife—Poetry of +Gronwy—Kind Offer—Church of Llanfair—No +English—Confusion of Ideas—The Gronwy—Notable +Little Girl—The Sycamore Leaf—Home from +California.</p> + +<p>The village of Pentraeth Goch occupies two sides of a romantic +dell—that part of it which stands on the southern side, and +which comprises the church and the little inn, is by far the +prettiest, that which occupies the northern is a poor assemblage +of huts, a brook rolls at the bottom of the dell, over which +there is a little bridge: coming to the bridge I stopped, and +looked over the side into the water running briskly below. +An aged man who looked like a beggar, but who did not beg of me, +stood by.</p> + +<p>“To what place does this water run?” said I in +English.</p> + +<p>“I know no Saxon,” said he in trembling +accents.</p> + +<p>I repeated my question in Welsh.</p> + +<p>“To the sea,” he said, “which is not far +off, indeed it is so near, that when there are high tides, the +salt water comes up to this bridge.”</p> + +<p>“You seem feeble?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I am so,” said he, “for I am +old.”</p> + +<p>“How old are you?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Sixteen after sixty,” said the old man with a +sigh; “and I have nearly lost my sight and my +hearing.”</p> + +<p>“Are you poor?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Very,” said the old man.</p> + +<p>I gave him a trifle which he accepted with thanks.</p> + +<p>“Why is this sand called the red sand?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“I cannot tell you,” said the old man, “I +wish I could, for you have been kind to me.”</p> + +<p>Bidding him farewell I passed through the northern part of the +village to the top of the hill. I walked a little way +forward and then stopped, as I had done at the bridge in the +dale, and looked to the east, over a low stone wall.</p> + +<p>Before me lay the sea or rather the northern entrance of the +Menai Straits. To my right was mountain Lidiart projecting +some way into the sea; to my left, that is to the north, was a +high hill, with a few white houses near its base, forming a small +village, which a woman who passed by knitting told me was called +Llan Peder Goch or the Church of Red Saint Peter. Mountain +Lidiart and the Northern Hill formed the headlands of a beautiful +bay into which the waters of the Traeth dell, from which I had +come, were discharged. A sandbank, probably covered with +the sea at high tide, seemed to stretch from mountain Lidiart a +considerable way towards the northern hill. Mountain, bay +and sandbank were bathed in sunshine; the water was perfectly +calm; nothing was moving upon it, nor upon the shore, and I +thought I had never beheld a more beautiful and tranquil +scene.</p> + +<p>I went on. The country which had hitherto been very +beautiful, abounding with yellow corn-fields, became sterile and +rocky; there were stone walls, but no hedges. I passed by a +moor on my left, then a moory hillock on my right; the way was +broken and stony; all traces of the good roads of Wales had +disappeared; the habitations which I saw by the way were +miserable hovels into and out of which large sows were stalking, +attended by their farrows.</p> + +<p>“Am I far from Llanfair?” said I to a child.</p> + +<p>“You are in Llanfair, gentleman,” said the +child.</p> + +<p>A desolate place was Llanfair. The sea in the +neighbourhood to the south, limekilns with their stifling smoke +not far from me. I sat down on a little green knoll on the +right-hand side of the road; a small house was near me, and a +desolate-looking mill at about a furlong’s distance, to the +south. Hogs came about me grunting and sniffing. I +felt quite melancholy.</p> + +<p>“Is this the neighbourhood of the birth-place of Gronwy +Owen?” said I to myself. “No wonder that he was +unfortunate through life, springing from such a region of +wretchedness.”</p> + +<p>Wretched as the region seemed, however, I soon found there +were kindly hearts close by me.</p> + +<p>As I sat on the knoll I heard some one slightly cough very +near me, and looking to the left saw a man dressed like a miller +looking at me from the garden of the little house, which I have +already mentioned.</p> + +<p>I got up and gave him the sele of the day in English. He +was a man about thirty, rather tall than otherwise, with a very +prepossessing countenance. He shook his head at my +English.</p> + +<p>“What,” said I, addressing him in the language of +the country, “have you no English? Perhaps you have +Welsh?”</p> + +<p>“Plenty,” said he, laughing “there is no +lack of Welsh amongst any of us here. Are you a +Welshman?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said I, “an Englishman from the far +east of Lloegr.”</p> + +<p>“And what brings you here?” said the man.</p> + +<p>“A strange errand,” I replied, “to look at +the birth-place of a man who has long been dead.”</p> + +<p>“Do you come to seek for an inheritance?” said the +man.</p> + +<p>“No,” said I. “Besides the man whose +birth-place I came to see, died poor, leaving nothing behind him +but immortality.”</p> + +<p>“Who was he?” said the miller.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever hear a sound of Gronwy Owen?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Frequently,” said the miller; “I have +frequently heard a sound of him. He was born close by in a +house yonder,” pointing to the south.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, gentleman,” said a nice-looking woman, +who holding a little child by the hand was come to the +house-door, and was eagerly listening, “we have frequently +heard speak of Gronwy Owen; there is much talk of him in these +parts.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad to hear it,” said I, “for I have +feared that his name would not be known here.”</p> + +<p>“Pray, gentleman, walk in!” said the miller; +“we are going to have our afternoon’s meal, and shall +be rejoiced if you will join us.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, do, gentleman,” said the miller’s +wife, for such the good woman was; “and many a welcome +shall you have.”</p> + +<p>I hesitated, and was about to excuse myself.</p> + +<p>“Don’t refuse, gentleman!” said both, +“surely you are not too proud to sit down with +us?”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I shall only cause you trouble,” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Dim blinder, no trouble,” exclaimed both at once; +“pray do walk in!”</p> + +<p>I entered the house, and the kitchen, parlour, or whatever it +was, a nice little room with a slate floor. They made me +sit down at a table by the window, which was already laid for a +meal. There was a clean cloth upon it, a tea-pot, cups and +saucers, a large plate of bread-and-butter, and a plate, on which +were a few very thin slices of brown, watery cheese.</p> + +<p>My good friends took their seats, the wife poured out tea for +the stranger and her husband, helped us both to bread-and-butter +and the watery cheese, then took care of herself. Before, +however, I could taste the tea, the wife, seeming to recollect +herself, started up, and hurrying to a cupboard, produced a basin +full of snow-white lump sugar, and taking the spoon out of my +hand, placed two of the largest lumps in my cup, though she +helped neither her husband nor herself; the sugar-basin being +probably only kept for grand occasions.</p> + +<p>My eyes filled with tears; for in the whole course of my life +I had never experienced so much genuine hospitality. Honour +to the miller of Mona and his wife; and honour to the kind +hospitable Celts in general! How different is the reception +of this despised race of the wandering stranger from that of +---. However, I am a Saxon myself, and the Saxons have no +doubt their virtues; a pity that they should be all uncouth and +ungracious ones!</p> + +<p>I asked my kind host his name.</p> + +<p>“John Jones,” he replied, “Melinydd of +Llanfair.”</p> + +<p>“Is the mill which you work your own property?” I +inquired.</p> + +<p>“No,” he answered, “I rent it of a person +who lives close by.”</p> + +<p>“And how happens it,” said I, “that you +speak no English?”</p> + +<p>“How should it happen,” said he, “that I +should speak any? I have never been far from here; my wife +who has lived at service at Liverpool can speak some.”</p> + +<p>“Can you read poetry?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I can read the psalms and hymns that they sing at our +chapel,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“Then you are not of the Church?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I am not,” said the miller; “I am a +Methodist.”</p> + +<p>“Can you read the poetry of Gronwy Owen?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“I cannot,” said the miller, “that is with +any comfort; his poetry is in the ancient Welsh measures, which +make poetry so difficult that few can understand it.”</p> + +<p>“I can understand poetry in those measures,” said +I.</p> + +<p>“And how much time did you spend,” said the +miller, “before you could understand the poetry of the +measures?”</p> + +<p>“Three years,” said I.</p> + +<p>The miller laughed.</p> + +<p>“I could not have afforded all that time,” said +he, “to study the songs of Gronwy. However, it is +well that some people should have time to study them. He +was a great poet as I have been told, and is the glory of our +land—but he was unfortunate; I have read his life in Welsh +and part of his letters; and in doing so have shed +tears.”</p> + +<p>“Has his house any particular name?” said I.</p> + +<p>“It is called sometimes Ty Gronwy,” said the +miller; “but more frequently Tafarn Goch.”</p> + +<p>“The Red Tavern?” said I. “How is it +that so many of your places are called Goch? there is Pentraeth +Goch; there is Saint Pedair Goch, and here at Llanfair is Tafarn +Goch.”</p> + +<p>The miller laughed.</p> + +<p>“It will take a wiser man than I,” said he, +“to answer that question.”</p> + +<p>The repast over I rose up, gave my host thanks, and said, +“I will now leave you, and hunt up things connected with +Gronwy.”</p> + +<p>“And where will you find a lletty for night, +gentleman?” said the miller’s wife. “This +is a poor place, but if you will make use of our home you are +welcome.”</p> + +<p>“I need not trouble you,” said I, “I return +this night to Pentraeth Goch where I shall sleep.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the miller, “whilst you are at +Llanfair I will accompany you about. Where shall we go to +first?”</p> + +<p>“Where is the church?” said I. “I +should like to see the church where Gronwy worshipped God as a +boy.”</p> + +<p>“The church is at some distance,” said the man; +“it is past my mill, and as I want to go to the mill for a +moment, it will be perhaps well to go and see the church, before +we go to the house of Gronwy.”</p> + +<p>I shook the miller’s wife by the hand, patted a little +yellow-haired girl of about two years old on the head, who during +the whole time of the meal had sat on the slate floor looking up +into my face, and left the house with honest Jones.</p> + +<p>We directed our course to the mill, which lay some way down a +declivity, towards the sea. Near the mill was a +comfortable-looking house, which my friend told me belonged to +the proprietor of the mill. A rustic-looking man stood in +the mill-yard, who he said was the proprietor. The honest +miller went into the mill, and the rustic-looking proprietor +greeted me in Welsh, and asked me if I was come to buy hogs.</p> + +<p>“No,” said I; “I am come to see the +birth-place of Gronwy Owen;” he stared at me for a moment, +then seemed to muse, and at last walked away saying, “Ah! a +great man.”</p> + +<p>The miller presently joined me, and we proceeded farther down +the hill. Our way lay between stone walls, and sometimes +over them. The land was moory and rocky, with nothing grand +about it, and the miller described it well when he said it was +tîr gwael—mean land. In about a quarter of an +hour we came to the churchyard into which we got, the gate being +locked, by clambering over the wall.</p> + +<p>The church stands low down the descent, not far distant from +the sea. A little brook, called in the language of the +country a frwd, washes its yard-wall on the south. It is a +small edifice with no spire, but to the south-west there is a +little stone erection rising from the roof, in which hangs a +bell—there is a small porch looking to the south. +With respect to its interior I can say nothing, the door being +locked. It is probably like the outside, simple +enough. It seemed to be about two hundred and fifty years +old, and to be kept in tolerable repair. Simple as the +edifice was, I looked with great emotion upon it; and could I do +else, when I reflected that the greatest British poet of the last +century had worshipped God within it, with his poor father and +mother, when a boy?</p> + +<p>I asked the miller whether he could point out to me any tombs +or grave-stones of Gronwy’s family, but he told me that he +was not aware of any. On looking about I found the name of +Owen in the inscription on the slate slab of a +respectable-looking modern tomb, on the north-east side of the +church. The inscription was as follows:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">Er cof am <span +class="smcap">Jane Owen</span><br /> +Gwraig Edward Owen,<br /> +Monachlog Llanfair Mathafam eithaf,<br /> +A fu farw Chwefror 28 1842<br /> +Yn 51 Oed.</p> + +<p><i>i.e.</i> “To the memory of <span class="smcap">Jane +Owen</span> Wife of Edward Owen, of the monastery of St Mary of +farther Mathafarn, who died February 28, 1842, aged +fifty-one.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Whether the Edward Owen mentioned here was any relation to the +great Gronwy, I had no opportunity of learning. I asked the +miller what was meant by the monastery, and he told that it was +the name of a building to the north-east near the sea, which had +once been a monastery but had been converted into a farm-house, +though it still retained its original name. “May all +monasteries be converted into farm-houses,” said I, +“and may they still retain their original names in mockery +of popery!”</p> + +<p>Having seen all I could well see of the church and its +precincts I departed with my kind guide. After we had +retraced our steps some way, we came to some stepping-stones on +the side of a wall, and the miller pointing to them said:</p> + +<p>“The nearest way to the house of Gronwy will be over the +llamfa.”</p> + +<p>I was now become ashamed of keeping the worthy fellow from his +business, and begged him to return to his mill. He refused +to leave me, at first, but on my pressing him to do so, and on my +telling him that I could find the way to the house of Gronwy very +well by myself, he consented. We shook hands, the miller +wished me luck, and betook himself to his mill, whilst I crossed +the llamfa. I soon, however, repented having left the path +by which I had come. I was presently in a maze of little +fields with stone walls over which I had to clamber. At +last I got into a lane with a stone wall on each side. A +man came towards me and was about to pass me—his look was +averted, and he was evidently one of those who have “no +English.” A Welshman of his description always +averting his look when he sees a stranger who he thinks has +“no Welsh,” lest the stranger should ask him a +question and he be obliged to confess that he has “no +English.”</p> + +<p>“Is this the way to Llanfair?” said I to the +man. The man made a kind of rush in order to get past +me.</p> + +<p>“Have you any Welsh?” I shouted as loud as I could +bawl.</p> + +<p>The man stopped, and turning a dark sullen countenance half +upon me said, “Yes, I have Welsh.”</p> + +<p>“Which is the way to Llanfair?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Llanfair, Llanfair?” said the man, “what do +you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I want to get there,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Are you not there already?” said the fellow +stamping on the ground, “are you not in Llanfair?</p> + +<p>“Yes, but I want to get to the town.”</p> + +<p>“Town, town! Oh, I have no English,” said +the man; and off he started like a frighted bullock. The +poor fellow was probably at first terrified at seeing an +Englishman, then confused at hearing an Englishman speak Welsh, a +language which the Welsh in general imagine no Englishman can +speak, the tongue of an Englishman as they say not being long +enough to pronounce Welsh; and lastly utterly deprived of what +reasoning faculties he had still remaining by my asking him for +the town of Llanfair, there being properly no town.</p> + +<p>I went on, and at last getting out of the lane, found myself +upon the road, along which I had come about two hours before; the +house of the miller was at some distance on my right. Near +me were two or three houses and part of the skeleton of one, on +which some men, in the dress of masons, seemed to be +occupied. Going up to these men I said in Welsh to one, +whom I judged to be the principal, and who was rather a tall +fine-looking fellow:</p> + +<p>“Have you heard a sound of Gronwy Owain?”</p> + +<p>Here occurred another instance of the strange things people do +when their ideas are confused. The man stood for a moment +or two, as if transfixed, a trowel motionless in one of his +hands, and a brick in the other; at last giving a kind of gasp, +he answered in very tolerable Spanish:</p> + +<p>“Si, señor! he oido.”</p> + +<p>“Is his house far from here?” said I in Welsh.</p> + +<p>“No, señor!” said the man, “no esta +muy lejos.”</p> + +<p>“I am a stranger here, friend, can anybody show me the +way?”</p> + +<p>“Si señor! este mozo +luego—acompañara usted.”</p> + +<p>Then turning to a lad of about eighteen, also dressed as a +mason, he said in Welsh:</p> + +<p>“Show this gentleman instantly the way to Tafarn +Goch.”</p> + +<p>The lad flinging a hod down, which he had on his shoulder, +instantly set off, making me a motion with his head to follow +him. I did so, wondering what the man could mean by +speaking to me in Spanish. The lad walked by my side in +silence for about two furlongs till we came to a range of trees, +seemingly sycamores, behind which was a little garden, in which +stood a long low house with three chimneys. The lad +stopping flung open a gate which led into the garden, then crying +to a child which he saw within: “Gad roi +tro”—let the man take a turn; he was about to leave +me, when I stopped him to put sixpence into his hand. He +received the money with a gruff “Diolch!” and +instantly set off at a quick pace. Passing the child who +stared at me, I walked to the back part of the house, which +seemed to be a long mud cottage. After examining the back +part I went in front, where I saw an aged woman with several +children, one of whom was the child I had first seen. She +smiled and asked me what I wanted.</p> + +<p>I said that I had come to see the house of Gronwy. She +did not understand me, for shaking her head she said that she had +no English, and was rather deaf. Raising my voice to a very +high tone I said:</p> + +<p>“Ty Gronwy!”</p> + +<p>A gleam of intelligence flashed now in her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Ty Gronwy,” she said, “ah! I +understand. Come in sir.”</p> + +<p>There were three doors to the house; she led me in by the +midmost into a common cottage room, with no other ceiling, +seemingly, than the roof. She bade me sit down by the +window by a little table, and asked me whether I would have a cup +of milk and some bread-and-butter; I declined both, but said I +should be thankful for a little water.</p> + +<p>This she presently brought me in a teacup, I drank it, the +children amounting to five standing a little way from me staring +at me. I asked her if this was the house in which Gronwy +was born. She said it was, but that it had been altered +very much since his time—that three families had lived in +it, but that she believed he was born about where we were +now.</p> + +<p>A man now coming in who lived at the next door, she said I had +better speak to him and tell him what I wanted to know, which he +could then communicate to her, as she could understand his way of +speaking much better than mine. Through the man I asked her +whether there was any one of the blood of Gronwy Owen living in +the house. She pointed to the children and said they had +all some of his blood. I asked in what relationship they +stood to Gronwy. She said she could hardly tell, that tri +priodas, three marriages stood between, and that the relationship +was on the mother’s side. I gathered from her that +the children had lost their mother, that their name was Jones, +and that their father was her son. I asked if the house in +which they lived was their own; she said no, that it belonged to +a man who lived at some distance. I asked if the children +were poor.</p> + +<p>“Very,” said she.</p> + +<p>I gave them each a trifle, and the poor old lady thanked me +with tears in her eyes.</p> + +<p>I asked whether the children could read; she said they all +could, with the exception of the two youngest. The eldest +she said could read anything, whether Welsh or English; she then +took from the window-sill a book, which she put into my hand, +saying the child could read it and understand it. I opened +the book; it was an English school-book treating on all the +sciences.</p> + +<p>“Can you write?” said I to the child, a little +stubby girl of about eight, with a broad flat red face and grey +eyes, dressed in a chintz gown, a little bonnet on her head, and +looking the image of notableness.</p> + +<p>The little maiden, who had never taken her eyes off of me for +a moment during the whole time I had been in the room, at first +made no answer; being, however, bid by her grandmother to speak, +she at length answered in a soft voice, “Medraf, I +can.”</p> + +<p>“Then write your name in this book,” said I, +taking out a pocket-book and a pencil, “and write likewise +that you are related to Gronwy Owen—and be sure you write +in Welsh.”</p> + +<p>The little maiden very demurely took the book and pencil, and +placing the former on the table wrote as follows:</p> + +<p>“Ellen Jones yn perthyn o bell i gronow owen.”</p> + +<p>That is, “Ellen Jones belonging from afar to Gronwy +Owen.”</p> + +<p>When I saw the name of Ellen I had no doubt that the children +were related to the illustrious Gronwy. Ellen is a very +uncommon Welsh name, but it seems to have been a family name of +the Owens; it was borne by an infant daughter of the poet whom he +tenderly loved, and who died whilst he was toiling at Walton in +Cheshire,—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Ellen, my darling,<br /> +Who liest in the Churchyard at Walton.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>says poor Gronwy in one of the most affecting elegies ever +written.</p> + +<p>After a little farther conversation I bade the family farewell +and left the house. After going down the road a hundred +yards I turned back in order to ask permission to gather a leaf +from one of the sycamores. Seeing the man who had helped me +in my conversation with the old woman standing at the gate, I +told him what I wanted, whereupon he instantly tore down a +handful of leaves and gave them to me. Thrusting them into +my coat-pocket I thanked him kindly and departed.</p> + +<p>Coming to the half-erected house, I again saw the man to whom +I had addressed myself for information. I stopped, and +speaking Spanish to him, asked how he had acquired the Spanish +language.</p> + +<p>“I have been in Chili, sir,” said he in the same +tongue, “and in California, and in those places I learned +Spanish.”</p> + +<p>“What did you go to Chili for?” said I; “I +need not ask you on what account you went to +California.”</p> + +<p>“I went there as a mariner,” said the man; +“I sailed out of Liverpool for Chili.”</p> + +<p>“And how is it,” said I, “that being a +mariner and sailing in a Liverpool ship you do not speak +English?”</p> + +<p>“I speak English, señor,” said the man, +“perfectly well.”</p> + +<p>“Then how in the name of wonder,” said I, speaking +English, “came you to answer me in Spanish? I am an +Englishman thorough bred.”</p> + +<p>“I can scarcely tell you how it was, sir,” said +the man scratching his head, “but I thought I would speak +to you in Spanish.”</p> + +<p>“And why not English?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Why, I heard you speaking Welsh,” said the man; +“and as for an Englishman speaking Welsh—”</p> + +<p>“But why not answer me in Welsh?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Why, I saw it was not your language, sir,” said +the man, “and as I had picked up some Spanish I thought it +would be but fair to answer you in it.”</p> + +<p>“But how did you know that I could speak Spanish?” +said I.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know indeed, sir,” said the man; +“but I looked at you, and something seemed to tell me that +you could speak Spanish. I can’t tell you how it was +sir,” said he, looking me very innocently in the face, +“but I was forced to speak Spanish to you. I was +indeed!”</p> + +<p>“The long and the short of it was,” said I, +“that you took me for a foreigner, and thought that it +would be but polite to answer me in a foreign +language.”</p> + +<p>“I daresay it was so, sir,” said the man. +“I daresay it was just as you say.”</p> + +<p>“How did you fare in California?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Very fairly indeed, sir,” said the man. +“I made some money there, and brought it home, and with +part of it I am building this house.”</p> + +<p>“I am very happy to hear it,” said I, “you +are really a remarkable man—few return from California +speaking Spanish as you do, and still fewer with money in their +pockets.”</p> + +<p>The poor fellow looked pleased at what I said, more especially +at that part of the sentence which touched upon his speaking +Spanish well. Wishing him many years of health and +happiness in the house he was building, I left him, and proceeded +on my path towards Pentraeth Goch.</p> + +<p>After walking some way, I turned round in order to take a last +look of the place which had so much interest for me. The +mill may be seen from a considerable distance; so may some of the +scattered houses, and also the wood which surrounds the house of +the illustrious Gronwy. Prosperity to Llanfair! and may +many a pilgrimage be made to it of the same character as my +own.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Boxing Harry—Mr Bos—Black +Robin—Drovers—Commercial Travellers.</p> + +<p>I arrived at the hostelry of Mr Pritchard without meeting any +adventure worthy of being marked down. I went into the +little parlour, and, ringing the bell, was presently waited upon +by Mrs Pritchard, a nice matronly woman, whom I had not before +seen, of whom I inquired what I could have for dinner.</p> + +<p>“This is no great place for meat,” said Mrs +Pritchard, “that is fresh meat, for sometimes a fortnight +passes without anything being killed in the neighbourhood. +I am afraid at present there is not a bit of fresh meat to be +had. What we can get you for dinner I do not know, unless +you are willing to make shift with bacon and eggs.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said I, +“I will have the bacon and eggs with tea and +bread-and-butter, not forgetting a pint of ale—in a word, I +will box Harry.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you are a commercial gent,” said Mrs +Pritchard.</p> + +<p>“Why do you suppose me a commercial gent?” said +I. “Do I look one?”</p> + +<p>“Can’t say you do much,” said Mrs Pritchard; +“you have no rings on your fingers, nor a gilt chain at +your waistcoat-pocket, but when you said ‘box Harry,’ +I naturally took you to be one of the commercial gents, for when +I was at Liverpool I was told that that was a word of +theirs.”</p> + +<p>“I believe the word properly belongs to them,” +said I. “I am not one of them; but I learnt it from +them, a great many years ago, when I was much amongst them. +Those whose employers were in a small way of business, or allowed +them insufficient salaries, frequently used to ‘box +Harry,’ that is, have a beaf-steak, or mutton-chop, or +perhaps bacon and eggs, as I am going to have, along with tea and +ale, instead of the regular dinner of a commercial gentleman, +namely, fish, hot joint, and fowl, pint of sherry, tart, ale and +cheese, and bottle of old port, at the end of all.”</p> + +<p>Having made arrangements for “boxing Harry” I went +into the tap-room, from which I had heard the voice of Mr +Pritchard proceeding during the whole of my conversation with his +wife. Here I found the worthy landlord seated with a single +customer; both were smoking. The customer instantly +arrested my attention. He was a man, seemingly about forty +years of age with a broad red face, with certain somethings, +looking very much like incipient carbuncles, here and there, upon +it. His eyes were grey and looked rather as if they +squinted; his mouth was very wide, and when it opened displayed a +set of strong, white, uneven teeth. He was dressed in a +pepper-and-salt coat of the Newmarket cut, breeches of corduroy +and brown top boots, and had on his head a broad, black, coarse, +low-crowned hat. In his left hand he held a heavy +whale-bone whip with a brass head. I sat down on a bench +nearly opposite to him and the landlord.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mr Pritchard; “did you find +your way to Llanfair?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And did you execute the business satisfactorily which +led you there?” said Mr Pritchard.</p> + +<p>“Perfectly,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Well, what did you give a stone for your live +pork?” said his companion glancing up at me, and speaking +in a gruff voice.</p> + +<p>“I did not buy any live pork,” said I; “do +you take me for a pig-jobber?”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said the man, in pepper-and-salt; +“who but a pig jobber could have business at +Llanfair?”</p> + +<p>“Does Llanfair produce nothing but pigs?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Nothing at all,” said the man in the +pepper-and-salt, “that is, nothing worth mentioning. +You wouldn’t go there for runts, that is, if you were in +your right senses; if you were in want of runts you would have +gone to my parish and have applied to me, Mr Bos; that is if you +were in your senses. Wouldn’t he, John +Pritchard?”</p> + +<p>Mr Pritchard thus appealed to took the pipe out of his mouth, +and with some hesitations said that he believed the gentleman +neither went to Llanfair for pigs nor black cattle but upon some +particular business.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mr Bos, “it may be so, but I +can’t conceive how any person, either gentle or simple, +could have any business in Anglesey save that business was pigs +or cattle.”</p> + +<p>“The truth is,” said I, “I went to Llanfair +to see the birth-place of a great man—the cleverest +Anglesey ever produced.”</p> + +<p>“Then you went wrong,” said Mr Bos, “you +went to the wrong parish, you should have gone to Penmynnydd; the +clebber man of Anglesey was born and buried at Penmynnydd, you +may see his tomb in the church.”</p> + +<p>“You are alluding to Black Robin,” said I, +“who wrote the ode in praise of Anglesey—yes, he was +a very clever young fellow, but excuse me, he was not half such a +poet as Gronwy Owen.”</p> + +<p>“Black Robin,” said Mr Bos, “and Gronow +Owen, who the Devil were they? I never heard of +either. I wasn’t talking of them, but of the +clebberest man the world ever saw. Did you never hear of +Owen Tiddir? If you didn’t, where did you get your +education?”</p> + +<p>“I have heard of Owen Tudor,” said I, “but +never understood that he was particularly clever; handsome he +undoubtedly was—but clever—”</p> + +<p>“How not clebber?” interrupted Mr Bos. +“If he wasn’t clebber, who was clebber? +Didn’t he marry a great queen, and was not Harry the Eighth +his great grandson?”</p> + +<p>“Really,” said I, “you know a great deal of +history.”</p> + +<p>“I should hope I do,” said Mr Bos. +“Oh, I wasn’t at school at Blewmaris for six months +for nothing; and I haven’t been in Northampton, and in +every town in England, without learning something of +history. With regard to history I may say that +few—Won’t you drink?” said he, patronizingly, +as he pushed a jug of ale which stood before him on a little +table towards me.</p> + +<p>Begging politely to be excused on the plea that I was just +about to take tea, I asked him in what capacity he had travelled +all over England.</p> + +<p>“As a drover to be sure,” said Mr Bos, “and +I may say that there are not many in Anglesey better known in +England than myself—at any rate I may say that there is not +a public-house between here and Worcester at which I am not +known.”</p> + +<p>“Pray excuse me,” said I, “but is not +droving rather a low-lifed occupation?”</p> + +<p>“Not half so much as pig-jobbing,” said Bos, +“and that that’s your trade I am certain, or you +would never have gone to Llanfair.”</p> + +<p>“I am no pig-jobber,” said I, “and when I +asked you that question about droving, I merely did so because +one Ellis Wynn, in a book he wrote, gives the drovers a very bad +character, and puts them in Hell for their +mal-practices.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, he does,” said Mr Bos, “well, the next +time I meet him at Corwen I’ll crack his head for saying +so. Mal-practices—he had better look at his own, for +he is a pig-jobber too. Written a book has he? then I +suppose he has been left a legacy, and gone to school after +middle-age, for when I last saw him, which is four years ago, he +could neither read nor write.”</p> + +<p>I was about to tell Mr Bos that the Ellis Wynn that I meant +was no more a pig-jobber than myself, but a respectable +clergyman, who had been dead considerably upwards of a hundred +years, and that also, notwithstanding my respect for Mr +Bos’s knowledge of history, I did not believe that Owen +Tudor was buried at Penmynnydd, when I was prevented by the +entrance of Mrs Pritchard, who came to inform me that my repast +was ready in the other room, whereupon I got up and went into the +parlour to “box Harry.”</p> + +<p>Having dispatched my bacon and eggs, tea and ale, I fell into +deep meditation. My mind reverted to a long past period of +my life, when I was to a certain extent fixed up with commercial +travellers, and had plenty of opportunities of observing their +habits, and the terms employed by them in conversation. I +called up several individuals of the two classes into which they +used to be divided, for commercial travellers in my time were +divided into two classes, those who ate dinners and drank their +bottle of port, and those who “boxed Harry.” +What glorious fellows the first seemed! What airs they gave +themselves! What oaths they swore! and what influence they +had with hostlers and chambermaids! and what a sneaking-looking +set the others were! shabby in their apparel; no fine ferocity in +their countenances; no oaths in their mouths, except such a +trumpery apology for an oath as an occasional “confounded +hard;” with little or no influence at inns, scowled at by +hostlers, and never smiled at by chambermaids—and then I +remembered how often I had bothered my head in vain to account +for the origin of the term “box Harry,” and how often +I had in vain applied both to those who did box and to those who +did not “box Harry,” for a clear and satisfactory +elucidation of the expression—and at last found myself +again bothering my head as of old in a vain attempt to account +for the origin of the term “boxing Harry.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Northampton—Horse—Breaking—Snoring.</p> + +<p>Tired at length with my vain efforts to account for the term +which in my time was so much in vogue amongst commercial +gentlemen I left the little parlour, and repaired to the common +room. Mr Pritchard and Mr Bos were still there smoking and +drinking, but there was now a candle on the table before them, +for night was fast coming on. Mr Bos was giving an account +of his travels in England, sometimes in Welsh, sometimes in +English, to which Mr Pritchard was listening with the greatest +attention, occasionally putting in a “see there now,” +and “what a fine thing it is to have gone +about.” After some time Mr Bos exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“I think, upon the whole, of all the places I have seen +in England I like Northampton best.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” said I, “you found the men of +Northampton good-tempered, jovial fellows?”</p> + +<p>“Can’t say I did,” said Mr Bos; “they +are all shoe-makers, and of course quarrelsome and contradictory, +for where was there ever a shoemaker who was not conceited and +easily riled? No, I have little to say in favour of +Northampton as far as the men are concerned. It’s not +the men but the women that make me speak in praise of +Northampton. The men all are ill-tempered, but the women +quite the contrary. I never saw such a place for merched +anladd as Northampton. I was a great favourite with them, +and could tell you such tales.”</p> + +<p>And then Mr Bos, putting his hat rather on one side of his +head, told us two or three tales of his adventures with the +merched anladd of Northampton, which brought powerfully to my +mind part of what Ellis Wynn had said with respect to the +practices of drovers in his day, detestation for which had +induced him to put the whole tribe into Hell.</p> + +<p>All of a sudden I heard a galloping down the road, and +presently a mighty plunging, seemingly of a horse, before the +door of the inn. I rushed out followed by my companions, +and lo, on the open space before the inn was a young horse, +rearing and kicking, with a young man on his back. The +horse had neither bridle nor saddle, and the young fellow merely +rode him with a rope passed about his head—presently the +horse became tolerably quiet, and his rider jumping off led him +into the stable, where he made him fast to the rack and then came +and joined us, whereupon we all went into the room from which I +and the others had come on hearing the noise of the struggle.</p> + +<p>“How came you on the colt’s back, Jenkins?” +said Mr Pritchard, after we had all sat down and Jenkins had +called for some cwrw. “I did not know that he was +broke in.”</p> + +<p>“I am breaking him in myself,” said Jenkins +speaking Welsh. “I began with him +to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to say,” said I, “that you have +begun breaking him in by mounting his back?”</p> + +<p>“I do,” said the other.</p> + +<p>“Then depend upon it,” said I, “that it will +not be long before he will either break his neck or knees or he +will break your neck or crown. You are not going the right +way to work.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, myn Diawl!” said Jenkins, “I know +better. In a day or two I shall have made him quite tame, +and have got him into excellent paces and shall have saved the +money I must have paid away, had I put him into a jockey’s +hands.”</p> + +<p>Time passed, night came on, and other guests came in. +There was much talking of first-rate Welsh and very indifferent +English, Mr Bos being the principal speaker in both languages; +his discourse was chiefly on the comparative merits of Anglesey +runts and Scotch bullocks, and those of the merched anladd of +Northampton and the lasses of Wrexham. He preferred his own +country runts to the Scotch kine, but said upon the whole, though +a Welshman, he must give the preference to the merched of +Northampton over those of Wrexham, for free and easy demeanour, +notwithstanding that in that point which he said was the most +desirable point in females, the lasses of Wrexham were generally +considered out-and-outers.</p> + +<p>Fond as I am of listening to public-house conversation, from +which I generally contrive to extract both amusement and +edification, I became rather tired of this, and getting up, +strolled about the little village by moonlight till I felt +disposed to retire to rest, when returning to the inn, I begged +to be shown the room in which I was to sleep. Mrs Pritchard +forthwith taking a candle conducted me to a small room +upstairs. There were two beds in it. The good lady +pointing to one, next the window, in which there were nice clean +sheets, told me that was the one which I was to occupy, and +bidding me good-night, and leaving the candle, departed. +Putting out the light I got into bed, but instantly found that +the bed was not long enough by at least a foot. “I +shall pass an uncomfortable night,” said I, “for I +never yet could sleep comfortably in a bed too short. +However, as I am on my travels, I must endeavour to accommodate +myself to circumstances.” So I endeavoured to compose +myself to sleep; before, however, I could succeed, I heard the +sound of stumping steps coming upstairs, and perceived a beam of +light through the crevices of the door, and in a moment more the +door opened and in came two loutish farming lads whom I had +observed below, one of them bearing a rushlight stuck into an old +blacking-bottle. Without saying a word they flung off part +of their clothes, and one of them having blown out the rushlight, +they both tumbled into bed, and in a moment were snoring most +sonorously. “I am in a short bed,” said I, +“and have snorers close by me; I fear I shall have a sorry +night of it.” I determined, however, to adhere to my +resolution of making the best of circumstances, and lay perfectly +quiet, listening to the snorings as they rose and fell; at last +they became more gentle and I fell asleep, notwithstanding my +feet were projecting some way from the bed. I might have +lain ten minutes or a quarter of an hour when I suddenly started +up in the bed broad awake. There was a great noise below +the window of plunging and struggling interspersed with Welsh +oaths. Then there was a sound as if of a heavy fall, and +presently a groan. “I shouldn’t wonder,” +said I, “if that fellow with the horse has verified my +words, and has either broken his horse’s neck or his +own. However, if he has, he has no one to blame but +himself. I gave him fair warning, and shall give myself no +further trouble about the matter, but go to sleep,” and so +I did.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Brilliant Morning—Travelling with +Edification—A Good Clergyman—Gybi.</p> + +<p>I awoke about six o’clock in the morning, having passed +the night much better than I anticipated. The sun was +shining bright and gloriously into the apartment. On +looking into the other bed I found that my chums, the young +farm-labourers, had deserted it. They were probably already +in the field busy at labour. After lying a little time +longer I arose, dressed myself and went down. I found my +friend honest Pritchard smoking his morning pipe at the front +door, and after giving him the sele of the day, I inquired of him +the cause of the disturbance beneath my window the night before, +and learned that the man of the horse had been thrown by the +animal off its back, that the horse almost immediately after had +slipped down, and both had been led home very much hurt. We +then talked about farming and the crops, and at length got into a +discourse about Liverpool. I asked him how he liked that +mighty seaport; he said very well, but that he did not know much +about it—for though he had a house there where his family +had resided, he had not lived much at Liverpool himself, his +absences from that place having been many and long.</p> + +<p>“Have you travelled then much about England?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“No,” he replied. “When I have +travelled it has chiefly been across the sea to foreign +places.”</p> + +<p>“But what foreign places have you visited?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“I have visited,” said Pritchard, +“Constantinople, Alexandria, and some other cities in the +south latitudes.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me,” said I, “you have seen some of +the most celebrated places in the world—and yet you were +silent, and said nothing about your travels whilst that fellow +Bos was pluming himself at having been at such places as +Northampton and Worcester, the haunts of shoe-makers and +pig-jobbers.”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said Pritchard, “but Mr Bos has +travelled with edification; it is a fine thing to have travelled +when one has done so with edification, but I have not. +There is a vast deal of difference between me and him—he is +considered the ’cutest man in these parts, and is much +looked up to.”</p> + +<p>“You are really,” said I, “the most modest +person I have ever known and the least addicted to envy. +Let me see whether you have travelled without +edification.”</p> + +<p>I then questioned him about the places which he had mentioned, +and found he knew a great deal about them, amongst other things +he described Cleopatra’s needle, and the At Maidan at +Constantinople with surprising exactness.</p> + +<p>“You put me out,” said I; “you consider +yourself inferior to that droving fellow Bos, and to have +travelled without edification, whereas you know a thousand times +more than he, and indeed much more than many a person who makes +his five hundred a year by going about lecturing on foreign +places, but as I am no flatterer I will tell you that you have a +fault which will always prevent your rising in this world, you +have modesty; those who have modesty shall have no advancement, +whilst those who can blow their own horn lustily, shall be made +governors. But allow me to ask you in what capacity you +went abroad?”</p> + +<p>“As engineer to various steamships,” said +Pritchard.</p> + +<p>“A director of the power of steam,” said I, +“and an explorer of the wonders of Iscander’s city +willing to hold the candle to Mr Bos. I will tell you what, +you are too good for this world, let us hope you will have your +reward in the next.”</p> + +<p>I breakfasted and asked for my bill; the bill amounted to +little or nothing—half-a-crown I think for tea-dinner, +sundry jugs of ale, bed and breakfast. I defrayed it, and +then inquired whether it would be possible for me to see the +inside of the church.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said Pritchard. “I can let +you in, for I am churchwarden and have the key.”</p> + +<p>The church was a little edifice of some antiquity, with a +little wing and without a spire; it was situated amidst a grove +of trees. As we stood with our hats off in the sacred +edifice, I asked Pritchard if there were many Methodists in those +parts.</p> + +<p>“Not so many as there were,” said Pritchard, +“they are rapidly decreasing, and indeed dissenters in +general. The cause of their decrease is that a good +clergyman has lately come here, who visits the sick and preaches +Christ, and in fact does his duty. If all our clergymen +were like him there would not be many dissenters in Ynis +Fon.”</p> + +<p>Outside the church, in the wall, I observed a tablet with the +following inscription in English.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Here lieth interred the body of Ann, wife of +Robert Paston, who deceased the sixth day of October, Anno +Domini.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">1671.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">P.<br /> +R. A.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“You seem struck with that writing?” said +Pritchard, observing that I stood motionless, staring at the +tablet.</p> + +<p>“The name of Paston,” said I, “struck me; it +is the name of a village in my own native district, from which an +old family, now almost extinct, derived its name. How came +a Paston into Ynys Fon? Are there any people bearing that +name at present in these parts?”</p> + +<p>“Not that I am aware,” said Pritchard,</p> + +<p>“I wonder who his wife Ann was?” said I, +“from the style of that tablet she must have been a +considerable person.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps she was the daughter of the Lewis family of +Llan Dyfnant,” said Pritchard; “that’s an old +family and a rich one. Perhaps he came from a distance and +saw and married a daughter of the Lewis of Dyfnant—more +than one stranger has done so. Lord Vivian came from a +distance and saw and married a daughter of the rich Lewis of +Dyfnant.”</p> + +<p>I shook honest Pritchard by the hand, thanked him for his +kindness and wished him farewell, whereupon he gave mine a hearty +squeeze, thanking me for my custom.</p> + +<p>“Which is my way,” said I, “to Pen Caer +Gybi?”</p> + +<p>“You must go about a mile on the Bangor road, and then +turning to the right pass through Penmynnydd, but what takes you +to Holyhead?”</p> + +<p>“I wish to see,” said I, “the place where +Cybi the tawny saint preached and worshipped. He was called +tawny because from his frequent walks in the blaze of the sun his +face had become much sun-burnt. This is a furiously hot +day, and perhaps by the time I get to Holyhead, I may be so +sun-burnt as to be able to pass for Cybi himself.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Moelfre—Owain Gwynedd—Church of +Penmynnydd—The Rose of Mona.</p> + +<p>Leaving Pentraeth Coch I retraced my way along the Bangor road +till I came to the turning on the right. Here I diverged +from the aforesaid road, and proceeded along one which led nearly +due west; after travelling about a mile I stopped, on the top of +a little hill; cornfields were on either side, and in one an aged +man was reaping close to the road; I looked south, west, north +and east; to the south was the Snowdon range far away, with the +Wyddfa just discernible; to the west and north was nothing very +remarkable, but to the east or rather north-east, was mountain +Lidiart and the tall hill confronting it across the bay.</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me,” said I to the old reaper, +“the name of that bald hill, which looks towards +Lidiart?”</p> + +<p>“We call that hill Moelfre,” said the old man +desisting from his labour, and touching his hat.</p> + +<p>“Dear me,” said I; “Moelfre, +Moelfre!”</p> + +<p>“Is there anything wonderful in the name, sir?” +said the old man smiling.</p> + +<p>“There is nothing wonderful in the name,” said I, +“which merely means the bald hill, but it brings wonderful +recollections to my mind. I little thought when I was +looking from the road near Pentraeth Coch yesterday on that hill, +and the bay and strand below it, and admiring the tranquillity +which reigned over all, that I was gazing upon the scene of one +of the most tremendous conflicts recorded in history or +poetry.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me,” said the old reaper; “and whom +may it have been between? the French and English, I +suppose.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said I; “it was fought between one of +your Welsh kings, the great Owain Gwynedd, and certain northern +and Irish enemies of his.”</p> + +<p>“Only think,” said the old man, “and it was +a fierce battle, sir?”</p> + +<p>“It was, indeed,” said I; “according to the +words of a poet, who described it, the Menai could not ebb on +account of the torrent of blood which flowed into it, slaughter +was heaped upon slaughter, shout followed shout, and around +Moelfre a thousand war flags waved.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” said the old man, “I never +before heard anything about it, indeed I don’t trouble my +head with histories, unless they be Bible histories.”</p> + +<p>“Are you a Churchman?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No,” said the old man, shortly; “I am a +Methodist.”</p> + +<p>“I belong to the Church,” said I.</p> + +<p>“So I should have guessed, sir, by your being so well +acquainted with pennillion and histories. Ah, the Church. . +. . .”</p> + +<p>“This is dreadfully hot weather,” said I, +“and I should like to offer you sixpence for ale, but as I +am a Churchman I suppose you would not accept it from my +hands.”</p> + +<p>“The Lord forbid, sir,” said the old man, +“that I should be so uncharitable! If your honour +chooses to give me sixpence, I will receive it willingly. +Thank your honour! Well, I have often said there is a great +deal of good in the Church of England.”</p> + +<p>I once more looked at the hill which overlooked the scene of +Owen Gwynedd’s triumph over the united forces of the Irish +Lochlanders and Normans, and then after inquiring of the old man +whether I was in the right direction for Penmynnydd, and finding +that I was, I set off at a great pace, singing occasionally +snatches of Black Robin’s ode in praise of Anglesey, +amongst others the following stanza:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Bread of the wholesomest is found<br /> +In my mother-land of Anglesey;<br /> +Friendly bounteous men abound<br /> +In Penmynnydd of Anglesey.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>I reached Penmynnydd, a small village consisting of a few +white houses and a mill. The meaning of Penmynnydd is +literally the top of a hill. The village does not stand on +a hill, but the church which is at some distance, stands on one, +or rather on a hillock. And it is probable from the +circumstance of the church standing on a hillock, that the parish +derives its name. Towards the church after a slight glance +at the village, I proceeded with hasty steps, and was soon at the +foot of the hillock. A house, that of the clergyman, stands +near the church, on the top of the hill. I opened a gate, +and entered a lane which seemed to lead up to the church.</p> + +<p>As I was passing some low buildings, probably offices +pertaining to the house, a head was thrust from a doorway, which +stared at me. It was a strange hirsute head, and probably +looked more strange and hirsute than it naturally was, owing to +its having a hairy cap upon it.</p> + +<p>“Good day,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Good day, sar,” said the head, and in a moment +more a man of middle stature, about fifty, in hairy cap, +shirt-sleeves, and green apron round his waist, stood before +me. He looked the beau-ideal of a servant of all work.</p> + +<p>“Can I see the church?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Ah, you want to see the church,” said honest +Scrub. “Yes, sar! you shall see the church. You +go up road there past church—come to house, knock at +door—say what you want—and nice little girl show you +church. Ah, you quite right to come and see +church—fine tomb there and clebber man sleeping in it with +his wife, clebber man that—Owen Tiddir; married great +queen—dyn clebber iawn.”</p> + +<p>Following the suggestions of the man of the hairy cap I went +round the church and knocked at the door of the house, a handsome +parsonage. A nice little servant-girl presently made her +appearance at the door, of whom I inquired whether I could see +the church.</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir,” said she; “I will go for +the key and accompany you.”</p> + +<p>She fetched the key and away we went to the church. It +is a venerable chapel-like edifice, with a belfry towards the +west; the roof sinking by two gradations, is lower at the eastern +or altar end, than at the other. The girl, unlocking the +door, ushered me into the interior.</p> + +<p>“Which is the tomb of Tudor?” said I to the pretty +damsel.</p> + +<p>“There it is, sir,” said she, pointing to the +north side of the church; “there is the tomb of Owen +Tudor.”</p> + +<p>Beneath a low-roofed arch lay sculptured in stone on an altar +tomb, the figures of a man and woman; that of the man in armour; +that of the woman in graceful drapery. The male figure lay +next the wall.</p> + +<p>“And you think,” said I to the girl; “that +yonder figure is that of Owen Tudor?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said the girl; “yon figure is +that of Owen Tudor; the other is that of his wife, the great +queen; both their bodies rest below.”</p> + +<p>I forbore to say that the figures were not those of Owen Tudor +and the great queen, his wife; and I forbore to say that their +bodies did not rest in that church, nor anywhere in the +neighbourhood, for I was unwilling to dispel a pleasing +delusion. The tomb is doubtless a tomb of one of the Tudor +race, and of a gentle partner of his, but not of the Rose of Mona +and Catherine of France. Her bones rest in some corner of +Westminster’s noble abbey; his moulder amongst those of +thousands of others, Yorkists and Lancastrians, under the surface +of the plain, where Mortimer’s Cross once stood, that plain +on the eastern side of which meanders the murmuring Lug; that +noble plain, where one of the hardest battles which ever blooded +English soil was fought; where beautiful young Edward gained a +crown, and old Owen lost a head, which when young had been the +most beautiful of heads, which had gained for him the appellation +of the Rose of Anglesey, and which had captivated the glances of +the fair daughter of France, the widow of Monmouth’s Harry, +the immortal victor of Agincourt.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, long did I stare at that tomb which though not +that of the Rose of Mona and his queen, is certainly the tomb of +some mighty one of the mighty race of Theodore. Then saying +something in Welsh to the pretty damsel, at which she started, +and putting something into her hand, at which she curtseyed, I +hurried out of the church.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Mental Excitation—Land of +Poets—The Man in Grey—Drinking Healths—The +Greatest Prydydd—Envy—Welshmen not +Hogs—Gentlemanly Feeling—What Pursuit?—Tell him +to Walk Up—Editor of the <i>Times</i>—Careful +Wife—Departure.</p> + +<p>I regained the high road by a short cut, which I discovered, +across a field. I proceeded rapidly along for some +time. My mind was very much excited: I was in the +birthplace of the mighty Tudors—I had just seen the tomb of +one of them; I was also in the land of the bard; a country which +had produced Gwalchmai who sang the triumphs of Owain, and him +who had sung the Cowydd of Judgment, Gronwy Owen. So no +wonder I was excited. On I went reciting bardic snatches +connected with Anglesey. At length I began repeating Black +Robin’s ode in praise of the island, or rather my own +translation of it, executed more than thirty years before, which +amongst others, contains the following lines:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Twelve sober men the muses woo,<br /> +Twelve sober men in Anglesey,<br /> +Dwelling at home, like patriots true,<br /> +In reverence for Anglesey.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Oh,” said I, after I had recited that stanza, +“what would I not give to see one of those sober patriotic +bards, or at least one of their legitimate successors, for by +this time no doubt, the sober poets, mentioned by Black Robin, +are dead. That they left legitimate successors who can +doubt? for Anglesey is never to be without bards. Have we +not the words, not of Robin the Black, but Huw the Red to that +effect?</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘Brodir, gnawd ynddi prydydd;<br /> +Heb ganu ni bu ni bydd.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“That is: a hospitable country, in which a poet is a +thing of course. It has never been and will never be +without song.”</p> + +<p>Here I became silent, and presently arrived at the side of a +little dell or ravine, down which the road led, from east to +west. The northern and southern sides of this dell were +precipitous. Beneath the southern one stood a small +cottage. Just as I began to descend the eastern side, two +men began to descend the opposite one, and it so happened that we +met at the bottom of the dingle, just before the house, which +bore a sign, and over the door of which was an inscription to the +effect that ale was sold within. They saluted me; I +returned their salutation, and then we all three stood still, +looking at one another. One of the men was rather a tall +figure, about forty, dressed in grey, or pepper-and-salt, with a +cap of some kind on his head, his face was long and rather +good-looking, though slightly pock-broken. There was a +peculiar gravity upon it. The other person was somewhat +about sixty—he was much shorter than his companion, and +much worse dressed—he wore a hat that had several holes in +it, a dusty rusty black coat, much too large for him; ragged +yellow velveteen breeches, indifferent fustian gaiters, and +shoes, cobbled here and there, one of which had rather an ugly +bulge by the side near the toes. His mouth was exceedingly +wide, and his nose remarkably long; its extremity of a deep +purple; upon his features was a half-simple smile or leer; in his +hand was a long stick. After we had all taken a full view +of one another I said in Welsh, addressing myself to the man in +grey, “Pray may I take the liberty of asking the name of +this place.”</p> + +<p>“I believe you are an Englishman, sir,” said the +man in grey, speaking English, “I will therefore take the +liberty of answering your question in the English tongue. +The name of this place is Dyffryn Gaint.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said I; “you are quite right +with regard to my being an Englishman, perhaps you are one +yourself?”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the man in grey, “I have not the +honour to be so. I am a native of the small island in which +we are.”</p> + +<p>“Small,” said I, “but famous, particularly +for producing illustrious men.”</p> + +<p>“That’s very true indeed, sir,” said the man +in grey, drawing himself up; “it is particularly famous for +producing illustrious men.”</p> + +<p>“There was Owen Tudor?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Very true,” said the man in grey, “his tomb +is in the church a little way from hence.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said I, “there was Gronwy Owen, one +of the greatest bards that ever lived. Out of reverence to +his genius I went yesterday to see the place of his +birth.”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the man in grey, “I should be +sorry to leave you without enjoying your conversation at some +length. In yonder house they sell good ale, perhaps you +will not be offended if I ask you to drink some with me and my +friend?”</p> + +<p>“You are very kind,” said I, “I am fond of +good ale and fonder still of good company—suppose we go +in?”</p> + +<p>We went into the cottage, which was kept by a man and his +wife, both of whom seemed to be perfectly well acquainted with my +two new friends. We sat down on stools, by a clean white +table in a little apartment with a clay +floor—notwithstanding the heat of the weather, the little +room was very cool and pleasant owing to the cottage being much +protected from the sun by its situation. The man in grey +called for a jug of ale, which was presently placed before us +along with three glasses. The man in grey having filled the +glasses from the jug which might contain three pints, handed one +to me, another to his companion, and then taking the third drank +to my health. I drank to his and that of his companion; the +latter, after nodding to us both, emptied his at a draught, and +then with a kind of half-fatuous leer, exclaimed, “Da iawn, +very good.”</p> + +<p>The ale, though not very good, was cool and neither sour nor +bitter; we then sat for a moment or two in silence, my companions +on one side of the table, and I on the other. After a +little time the man in grey looking at me said:</p> + +<p>“Travelling I suppose in Anglesey for +pleasure?”</p> + +<p>“To a certain extent,” said I; “but my chief +object in visiting Anglesey was to view the birth-place of Gronwy +Owen; I saw it yesterday, and am now going to Holyhead chiefly +with a view to see the country.”</p> + +<p>“And how came you, an Englishman, to know anything of +Gronwy Owen?”</p> + +<p>“I studied Welsh literature when young,” said I, +“and was much struck with the verses of Gronwy: he was one +of the great bards of Wales, and certainly the most illustrious +genius that Anglesey ever produced.”</p> + +<p>“A great genius, I admit,” said the man in grey, +“but pardon me, not exactly the greatest Ynis Fon has +produced. The race of the bards is not quite extinct in the +island, sir. I could name one or two—however, I leave +others to do so—but I assure you the race of bards is not +quite extinct here.”</p> + +<p>“I am delighted to hear you say so,” said I, +“and make no doubt that you speak correctly, for the Red +Bard has said that Mona is never to be without a poet—but +where am I to find one? just before I saw you I was wishing to +see a poet; I would willingly give a quart of ale to see a +genuine Anglesey poet.”</p> + +<p>“You would, sir, would you?” said the man in grey, +lifting his head on high, and curling his upper lip.</p> + +<p>“I would, indeed,” said I, “my greatest +desire at present is to see an Anglesey poet, but where am I to +find one?”</p> + +<p>“Where is he to find one?” said he of the tattered +hat; “where’s the gwr boneddig to find a +prydydd? No occasion to go far, he, he, +he.”</p> + +<p>“Well” said I, “but where is he?”</p> + +<p>“Where is he? why, there,” said he, pointing to +the man in grey—“the greatest prydydd in tîr +Fon or the whole world.”</p> + +<p>“Tut, tut, hold your tongue,” said the man in +grey.</p> + +<p>“Hold my tongue, myn Diawl, not I—I speak the +truth,” then filling his glass he emptied it exclaiming, +“I’ll not hold, my tongue. The greatest prydydd +in the whole world.”</p> + +<p>“Then I have the honour to be seated with a bard of +Anglesey?” said I, addressing the man in grey.</p> + +<p>“Tut, tut,” said he of the grey suit.</p> + +<p>“The greatest prydydd in the whole world,” +iterated he of the bulged shoe, with a slight hiccup, as he again +filled his glass.</p> + +<p>“Then,” said I, “I am truly +fortunate.”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the man in grey, “I had no +intention of discovering myself, but as my friend here has +betrayed my secret, I confess that I am a bard of +Anglesey—my friend is an excellent individual but +indiscreet, highly indiscreet, as I have frequently told +him,” and here he looked most benignantly reproachful at +him of the tattered hat.</p> + +<p>“The greatest prydydd,” said the latter, +“the greatest prydydd that—” and leaving his +sentence incomplete he drank off the ale which he had poured into +his glass.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “I cannot sufficiently +congratulate myself for having met an Anglesey bard—no +doubt a graduate one. Anglesey, was always famous for +graduate bards, for what says Black Robin?</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘Though Arvon graduate bards can +boast,<br /> +Yet more canst thou, O Anglesey.’”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“I suppose by graduate bard you mean one who has gained +the chair at an eisteddfod?” said the man in grey. +“No, I have never gained the silver chair—I have +never had an opportunity. I have been kept out of the +eisteddfodau. There is such a thing as envy, sir—but +there is one comfort, that envy will not always +prevail.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said I; “envy will not always +prevail—envious scoundrels may chuckle for a time at the +seemingly complete success of the dastardly arts to which they +have recourse, in order to crush merit—but Providence is +not asleep. All of a sudden they see their supposed victim +on a pinnacle far above their reach. Then there is weeping, +and gnashing of teeth with a vengeance, and the long, melancholy +howl. Oh, there is nothing in this world which gives one so +perfect an idea of retribution as the long melancholy howl of the +disappointed envious scoundrel when he sees his supposed victim +smiling on an altitude far above his reach.”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the man in grey, “I am delighted +to hear you. Give me your hand, your honourable hand. +Sir, you have now felt the hand-grasp of a Welshman, to say +nothing of an Anglesey bard, and I have felt that of a Briton, +perhaps a bard, a brother, sir? Oh, when I first saw your +face out there in the dyffryn, I at once recognised in it that of +a kindred spirit, and I felt compelled to ask you to drink. +Drink, sir! but how is this? the jug is empty—how is +this?—Oh, I see—my friend sir, though an excellent +individual, is indiscreet, sir—very indiscreet. +Landlord, bring this moment another jug of ale!”</p> + +<p>“The greatest prydydd,” stuttered he of bulged +shoe—“the greatest prydydd—Oh—”</p> + +<p>“Tut, tut,” said the man in grey.</p> + +<p>“I speak the truth and care for no one,” said he +of the tattered hat. “I say the greatest +prydydd. If any one wishes to gainsay me let him show his +face and Myn Diawl—”</p> + +<p>The landlord brought the ale, placed it on the table, and then +stood as if waiting for something.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you are waiting to be paid,” said I; +“what is your demand?”</p> + +<p>“Sixpence for this jug, and sixpence for the +other,” said the landlord.</p> + +<p>I took out a shilling and said: “It is but right that I +should pay half of the reckoning, and as the whole affair is +merely a shilling matter, I should feel obliged in being +permitted to pay the whole, so, landlord, take the shilling and +remember you are paid.” I then delivered the shilling +to the landlord, but had no sooner done so than the man in grey, +starting up in violent agitation, wrested the money from the +other, and flung it down on the table before me +saying:—</p> + +<p>“No, no, that will never do. I invited you in here +to drink, and now you would pay for the liquor which I +ordered. You English are free with your money, but you are +sometimes free with it at the expense of people’s +feelings. I am a Welshman, and I know Englishmen consider +all Welshmen hogs. But we are not hogs, mind you! for we +have little feelings which hogs have not. Moreover, I would +have you know that we have money, though perhaps not so much as +the Saxon.” Then putting his hand into his pocket, he +pulled out a shilling, and giving it to the landlord, said in +Welsh: “Now thou art paid, and mayst go thy ways till thou +art again called for. I do not know why thou didst stay +after thou hadst put down the ale. Thou didst know enough +of me to know that thou didst run no risk of not being +paid.”</p> + +<p>“But,” said I, after the landlord had departed, +“I must insist on being my share. Did you not hear me +say that I would give a quart of ale to see a poet?”</p> + +<p>“A poet’s face,” said the man in grey, +“should be common to all, even like that of the sun. +He is no true poet, who would keep his face from the +world.”</p> + +<p>“But,” said I, “the sun frequently hides his +head from the world, behind a cloud.”</p> + +<p>“Not so,” said the man in grey. “The +sun does not hide his face, it is the cloud that hides it. +The sun is always glad enough to be seen, and so is the +poet. If both are occasionally hid, trust me it is no fault +of theirs. Bear that in mind; and now pray take up your +money.”</p> + +<p>“The man is a gentleman,” thought I to myself, +“whether a poet or not; but I really believe him to be a +poet; were he not he could hardly talk in the manner I have just +heard him.”</p> + +<p>The man in grey now filled my glass, his own, and that of his +companion. The latter emptied his in a minute, not +forgetting first to say “the best prydydd in all the +world!” the man in grey was also not slow to empty his +own. The jug now passed rapidly between my two friends, for +the poet seemed determined to have his full share of the +beverage. I allowed the ale in my glass to remain untasted, +and began to talk about the bards, and to quote from their +works. I soon found that the man in grey knew quite as much +of the old bards and their works as myself. In one instance +he convicted me of a mistake.</p> + +<p>I had quoted those remarkable lines in which an old bard, +doubtless seeing the Menai Bridge by means of second sight, +says:—“I will pass to the land of Mona +notwithstanding the waters of the Menai, without waiting for the +ebb”—and was feeling not a little proud of my +erudition, when the man in grey after looking at me for a moment +fixedly, asked me the name of the bard who composed them. +“Sion Tudor,” I replied.</p> + +<p>“There you are wrong,” said the man in grey; +“his name was not Sion Tudor but Robert Vychan, in English, +Little Bob. Sion Tudor wrote an englyn on the Skerries +whirlpool in the Menai; but it was Little Bob who wrote the +stanza in which the future bridge over the Menai is hinted +at.”</p> + +<p>“You are right,” said I, “you are +right. Well, I am glad that all song and learning are not +dead in Ynis Fon.”</p> + +<p>“Dead,” said the man in grey, whose features began +to be rather flushed, “they are neither dead nor ever will +be. There are plenty of poets in Anglesey—why, I can +mention twelve, and amongst them and not the least—pooh, +what was I going to say? twelve there are, genuine Anglesey +poets, born there, and living there for the love they bear their +native land. When I say they all live in Anglesey, perhaps +I am not quite accurate, for one of the dozen does not exactly +live in Anglesey, but just over the bridge. He is an +elderly man, but his awen, I assure you, is as young and vigorous +as ever.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” said I, +“if he was a certain ancient gentleman, from whom I +obtained information yesterday, with respect to the birth-place +of Gronwy Owen.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely,” said the man in grey; “well, +if you have seen him consider yourself fortunate, for he is a +genuine bard, and a genuine son of Anglesey, notwithstanding he +lives across the water.”</p> + +<p>“If he is the person I allude to,” said I, +“I am doubly fortunate, for I have seen two bards of +Anglesey.”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the man in grey, “I consider +myself quite as fortunate, in having met such a Saxon as +yourself, as it is possible for you to do, in having seen two +bards of Ynis Fon.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you follow some pursuit besides +bardism?” said I; “I suppose you farm?”</p> + +<p>“I do not farm,” said the man in grey, “I +keep an inn.”</p> + +<p>“Keep an inn?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the man in grey. “The --- +Arms at L---.”</p> + +<p>“Sure,” said I, “inn-keeping and bardism are +not very cognate pursuits?”</p> + +<p>“You are wrong,” said the man in grey; “I +believe the awen, or inspiration, is quite as much at home in the +bar as in the barn, perhaps more. It is that belief which +makes me tolerably satisfied with my position and prevents me +from asking Sir Richard to give me a farm instead of an +inn.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” said I, “that Sir Richard is +your landlord?”</p> + +<p>“He is,” said the man in grey, “and a right +noble landlord too.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” said I, “that he is right proud +of his tenant?”</p> + +<p>“He is,” said the man in grey, “and I am +proud of my landlord, and will here drink his health. I +have often said that if I were not what I am, I should wish to be +Sir Richard.”</p> + +<p>“You consider yourself his superior?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said the man in grey—“a +baronet is a baronet; but a bard, is a bard you know—I +never forget what I am, and the respect due to my sublime +calling. About a month ago I was seated in an upper +apartment in a fit of rapture. There was a pen in my hand, +and paper before me on the table, and likewise a jug of good ale, +for I always find that the awen is most prodigal of her favours +when a jug of good ale is before me. All of a sudden my +wife came running up, and told me that Sir Richard was below, and +wanted to speak to me. ‘Tell him to walk up,’ +said I. ‘Are you mad?’ said my wife. +‘Don’t you know who Sir Richard is?’ +‘I do,’ said I, ‘a baronet is a baronet, but a +bard is a bard. Tell him to walk up.’ Well, my +wife went and told Sir Richard that I was writing, and could not +come down, and that she hoped he would not object to walk +up. ‘Certainly not; certainly not,’ said Sir +Richard. ‘I shall be only too happy to ascend to a +genius on his hill. You may be proud of such a husband, Mrs +W.’ And here it will be as well to tell you that my +name is W.—J. W. of ---. Sir Richard then came up, +and I received him with gravity and politeness. I did not +rise of course, for I never forget myself a moment, but I told +him to sit down, and added, that after I had finished the pennill +I was engaged upon, I would speak to him. Well, Sir Richard +smiled and sat down, and begged me not to hurry myself, for that +he could wait. So I finished the pennill, deliberately, +mind you, for I did not forget who I was, and then turning to Sir +Richard entered upon business with him.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose Sir Richard is a very good-tempered +man?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said the man in grey. +“I have seen Sir Richard in a devil of a passion, but never +with me—no, no! Trust Sir Richard for not riding the +high horse with me—a baronet is a baronet, but a bard is a +bard; and that Sir Richard knows.”</p> + +<p>“The greatest prydydd,” said the man of the +tattered hat, emptying the last contents of the jug into his +glass, “the greatest prydydd that—”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “you appear to enjoy very +great consideration, and yet you were talking just now of being +ill-used.”</p> + +<p>“So I have been,” said the man in grey, “I +have been kept out of the eisteddfoddau—and then—what +do you think? That fellow, the editor of the +<i>Times</i>—”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said I, “if you have anything to do +with the editor of the <i>Times</i> you may, of course, expect +nothing but shabby treatment, but what business could you have +with him?”</p> + +<p>“Why I sent him some pennillion for insertion, and he +did not insert them.”</p> + +<p>“Were they in Welsh or English?”</p> + +<p>“In Welsh, of course.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then the man had some excuse for disregarding +them—because you know the <i>Times</i> is written in +English.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you mean the London <i>Times</i>,” said the +man in grey. “Pooh! I did not allude to that +trumpery journal, but the Liverpool <i>Times</i>, the +Amserau. I sent some pennillion to the editor for insertion +and he did not insert them. Peth a clwir cenfigen yn +Saesneg?”</p> + +<p>“We call cenfigen in English envy,” said I; +“but as I told you before, envy will not always +prevail.”</p> + +<p>“You cannot imagine how pleased I am with your +company,” said the man in grey. “Landlord, +landlord!”</p> + +<p>“The greatest prydydd,” said the man of the +tattered hat, “the greatest prydydd.”</p> + +<p>“Pray don’t order any more on my account,” +said I, “as you see my glass is still full. I am +about to start for Caer Gybi. Pray, where are you bound +for?”</p> + +<p>“For Bangor,” said the man in grey. “I +am going to the market.”</p> + +<p>“Then I would advise you to lose no time,” said I, +“or you will infallibly be too late; it must now be one +o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“There is no market to-day,” said the man in grey, +“the market is to-morrow, which is Saturday. I like +to take things leisurely, on which account, when I go to market, +I generally set out the day before, in order that I may enjoy +myself upon the road. I feel myself so happy here that I +shall not stir till the evening. Now pray stay with me and +my friend till then.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot,” said I, “if I stay longer here I +shall never reach Caer Gybi to-night. But allow me to ask +whether your business at L--- will not suffer by your spending so +much time on the road to market?”</p> + +<p>“My wife takes care of the business whilst I am +away,” said the man in grey, “so it won’t +suffer much. Indeed it is she who chiefly conducts the +business of the inn. I spend a good deal of time from home, +for besides being a bard and inn-keeper, I must tell you I am a +horse-dealer and a jobber, and if I go to Bangor it is in the +hope of purchasing a horse or pig worth the money.”</p> + +<p>“And is your friend going to market too?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“My friend goes with me to assist me and bear me +company. If I buy a pig he will help me to drive it home; +if a horse, he will get up upon its back behind me. I might +perhaps do without him, but I enjoy his company highly. He +is sometimes rather indiscreet, but I do assure you he is +exceedingly clever.”</p> + +<p>“The greatest prydydd,” said the man of the bulged +shoe, “the greatest prydydd in the world.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I have no doubt of his cleverness,” said I, +“from what I have observed of him. Now before I go +allow me to pay for your next jug of ale.”</p> + +<p>“I will do no such thing,” said the man in +grey. “No farthing do you pay here for me or my +friend either. But I will tell you what you may do. I +am, as I have told you, an inn-keeper as well as a bard. By +the time you get to L--- you will be hot and hungry and in need +of refreshment, and if you think proper to patronise my house, +the --- Arms, by taking your chop and pint there, you will oblige +me. Landlord, some more ale.”</p> + +<p>“The greatest prydydd,” said he of the bulged +shoe, “the greatest prydydd—”</p> + +<p>“I will most certainly patronise your house,” said +I to the man in grey, and shaking him heartily by the hand I +departed.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Inn at L---—The Handmaid—The +Decanter—Religious Gentleman—Truly +Distressing—Sententiousness—Way to Pay Bills.</p> + +<p>I proceeded on my way in high spirits indeed, having now seen +not only the tomb of the Tudors, but one of those sober poets for +which Anglesey has always been so famous. The country was +pretty, with here and there a hill, a harvest-field, a clump of +trees or a grove.</p> + +<p>I soon reached L---, a small but neat town. “Where +is the --- Arms?” said I to a man whom I met.</p> + +<p>“Yonder, sir, yonder,” said he, pointing to a +magnificent structure on the left.</p> + +<p>I went in and found myself in a spacious hall. A +good-looking young woman in a white dress with a profusion of +pink ribbons confronted me with a curtsey. “A pint +and a chop!” I exclaimed, with a flourish of my hand and at +the top of my voice. The damsel gave a kind of start, and +then, with something like a toss of the head, led the way into a +very large room, on the left, in which were many tables, covered +with snowy-white cloths, on which were plates, knives and forks, +the latter seemingly of silver, tumblers, and wine-glasses.</p> + +<p>“I think you asked for a pint and a chop, sir?” +said the damsel, motioning me to sit down at one of the +tables.</p> + +<p>“I did,” said I, as I sat down, “let them be +brought with all convenient speed, for I am in something of a +hurry.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, sir,” said the damsel, and then with +another kind of toss of the head, she went away, not forgetting +to turn half round, to take a furtive glance at me, before she +went out of the door.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, as I looked at the tables, with +their snowy-white cloths, tumblers, wine-glasses and what not, +and at the walls of the room glittering with mirrors, +“surely a poet never kept so magnificent an inn before; +there must be something in this fellow besides the awen, or his +house would never exhibit such marks of prosperity and good +taste—there must be something in this fellow; though he +pretends to be a wild erratic son of Parnassus, he must have an +eye to the main chance, a genius for turning the penny, or rather +the sovereign, for the accommodation here is no penny +accommodation, as I shall probably find. Perhaps, however, +like myself, he has an exceedingly clever wife who, whilst he is +making verses, or running about the country swigging ale with +people in bulged shoes, or buying pigs or glandered horses, looks +after matters at home, drives a swinging trade, and keeps not +only herself, but him respectable—but even in that event he +must have a good deal of common-sense in him, even like myself, +who always allows my wife to buy and sell, carry money to the +bank, draw cheques, inspect and pay tradesmen’s bills, and +transact all my real business, whilst I myself pore over old +books, walk about shires, discoursing with gypsies, under +hedgerows, or with sober bards—in hedge +ale-houses.” I continued musing in this manner until +the handmaid made her appearance with a tray, on which were +covers and a decanter, which she placed before me. +“What is that?” said I, pointing to a decanter.</p> + +<p>“Only a pint of sherry, sir,” said she of the +white dress and ribbons.</p> + +<p>“Dear me,” said I, “I ordered no sherry, I +wanted some ale—a pint of ale.”</p> + +<p>“You called for a pint, sir,” said the handmaid, +“but you mentioned no ale, and I naturally supposed that a +gentleman of your appearance”—here she glanced at my +dusty coat—“and speaking in the tone you did, would +not condescend to drink ale with his chop; however, as it seems I +have been mistaken, I can take away the sherry and bring you the +ale.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” said I, “you can let the +sherry remain; I do not like sherry, and am very fond of ale, but +you can let the wine remain; upon the whole I am glad you brought +it—indeed I merely came to do a good turn to the master of +the house.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir,” said the handmaid.</p> + +<p>“Are you his daughter?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh no, sir,” said the handmaid reverently; +“only his waiter.”</p> + +<p>“You may be proud to wait on him,” said I.</p> + +<p>“I am, sir,” said the handmaid, casting down her +eyes.</p> + +<p>“I suppose he is much respected in the +neighbourhood?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Very much so, sir,” said the damsel, +“especially amidst the connection.”</p> + +<p>“The connection,” said I. “Ah, I see, +he has extensive consanguinity, most Welsh have. +But,” I continued, “there is such a thing as envy in +the world, and there are a great many malicious people in the +world, who speak against him.”</p> + +<p>“A great many, sir, but we take what they say from +whence it comes.”</p> + +<p>“You do quite right,” said I. “Has +your master written any poetry lately?”</p> + +<p>“Sir!” said the damsel staring at me.</p> + +<p>“Any poetry,” said I, “any +pennillion?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” said the damsel; “my master is a +respectable man, and would scorn to do anything of the +kind.”</p> + +<p>“Why,” said I, “is not your master a bard as +well as an innkeeper?”</p> + +<p>“My master, sir, is an innkeeper,” said the +damsel; “but as for the other, I don’t know what you +mean.”</p> + +<p>“A bard,” said I, “is a prydydd, a person +who makes verses—pennillion; does not your master make +them?”</p> + +<p>“My master make them? No, sir; my master is a +religious gentleman, and would scorn to make such profane +stuff.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “he told me he did within +the last two hours. I met him at Dyffrin Gaint, along with +another man, and he took me into the public-house, where we had a +deal of discourse.”</p> + +<p>“You met my master at Dyffryn Gaint?” said the +damsel.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I, “and he treated me with ale, +told me that he was a poet, and that he was going to Bangor to +buy a horse or a pig.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how that could be, sir,” said +the damsel; “my master is at present in the house, rather +unwell, and has not been out for the last three days—there +must be some mistake.”</p> + +<p>“Mistake,” said I. “Isn’t this +the --- Arms?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, it is.”</p> + +<p>“And isn’t your master’s name +W---?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, my master’s name is H---, and a more +respectable man—”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I interrupting her—“all I +can say is that I met a man in Dyffryn Gaint, who treated me with +ale, told me that his name was W---, that he was a prydydd and +kept the --- Arms at L---.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the damsel, “now I remember, +there is a person of that name in L---, and he also keeps a house +which he calls the --- Arms, but it is only a +public-house.”</p> + +<p>“But,” said I, “is he not a prydydd, an +illustrious poet; does he not write pennillion which everybody +admires?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the damsel, “I believe he does +write things which he calls pennillions, but everybody laughs at +them.”</p> + +<p>“Come, come,” said I, “I will not hear the +productions of a man who treated me with ale, spoken of with +disrespect. I am afraid that you are one of his envious +maligners, of which he gave me to understand that he had a great +many.”</p> + +<p>“Envious, sir! not I indeed; and if I were disposed to +be envious of anybody it would not be of him; oh dear, why he +is—”</p> + +<p>“A bard of Anglesey,” said I, interrupting her, +“such a person as Gronwy Owen describes in the following +lines, which by-the-bye were written upon himself:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘Where’er he goes he’s +sure to find<br /> +Respectful looks and greetings kind.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“I tell you that it was out of respect to that man that +I came to this house. Had I not thought that he kept it, I +should not have entered it and called for a pint and +chop—how distressing! how truly distressing!”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” said the damsel, “if there is +anything distressing you have only to thank your acquaintance who +chooses to call his mug-house by the name of a respectable hotel, +for I would have you know that this is an hotel, and kept by a +respectable and a religious man, and not kept by—However, I +scorn to say more, especially as I might be misinterpreted. +Sir, there’s your pint and chop, and if you wish for +anything else you can ring. Envious, indeed, of +such—Marry come up!” and with a toss of her head, +higher than any she had hitherto given, she bounced out of the +room.</p> + +<p>Here was a pretty affair! I had entered the house and +ordered the chop and pint in the belief that by so doing I was +patronising the poet, and lo, I was not in the poet’s +house, and my order would benefit a person for whom, however +respectable and religious, I cared not one rush. Moreover, +the pint which I had ordered appeared in the guise not of ale, +which I am fond of, but of sherry, for which I have always +entertained a sovereign contempt, as a silly, sickly compound, +the use of which will transform a nation, however bold and +warlike by nature, into a race of sketchers, scribblers, and +punsters, in fact into what Englishmen are at the present +day. But who was to blame? Why, who but the poet and +myself? The poet ought to have told me that there were two +houses in L--- bearing the sign of the --- Arms, and that I must +fight shy of the hotel and steer for the pot-house, and when I +gave the order I certainly ought to have been a little more +explicit; when I said a pint I ought to have added—of +ale. Sententiousness is a fine thing sometimes, but not +always. By being sententious here, I got sherry, which I +dislike, instead of ale which I like, and should have to pay more +for what was disagreeable, than I should have had to pay for what +was agreeable. Yet I had merely echoed the poet’s +words in calling for a pint and chop, so after all the poet was +to blame for both mistakes. But perhaps he meant that I +should drink sherry at his house, and when he advised me to call +for a pint, he meant a pint of sherry. But the maid had +said he kept a pot-house, and no pot-houses have wine-licences; +but the maid after all might be an envious baggage, and no better +than she should be. But what was now to be done? Why, +clearly make the best of the matter, eat the chop and leave the +sherry. So I commenced eating the chop, which was by this +time nearly cold. After eating a few morsels I looked at +the sherry: “I may as well take a glass,” said +I. So with a wry face I poured myself out a glass.</p> + +<p>“What detestable stuff!” said I, after I had drunk +it. “However, as I shall have to pay for it I may as +well go through with it.” So I poured myself out +another glass, and by the time I had finished the chop I had +finished the sherry also.</p> + +<p>And now what was I to do next? Why, my best advice +seemed to be to pay my bill and depart. But I had promised +the poet to patronize his house, and had by mistake ordered and +despatched a pint and chop in a house which was not the +poet’s. Should I now go to his house and order a pint +and chop there? Decidedly not! I had patronised a +house which I believed to be the poet’s; if I patronised +the wrong one, the fault was his, not mine—he should have +been more explicit. I had performed my promise, at least in +intention.</p> + +<p>Perfectly satisfied with the conclusion I had come to, I rang +the bell. “The bill?” said I to the +handmaid.</p> + +<p>“Here it is!” said she, placing a strip of paper +in my hand.</p> + +<p>I looked at the bill, and, whether moderate or immoderate, +paid it with a smiling countenance, commanded the entertainment +highly, and gave the damsel something handsome for her trouble in +waiting on me.</p> + +<p>Reader, please to bear in mind that as all bills must be paid, +it is much more comfortable to pay them with a smile than with a +frown, and that it is much better by giving sixpence, or a +shilling to a poor servant, which you will never miss at the +year’s end, to be followed from the door of an inn by good +wishes, than by giving nothing to be pursued by cutting silence, +or the yet more cutting Hm!</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the good-looking, well-ribboned +damsel, “I wish you a pleasant journey, and whenever you +please again to honour our establishment with your presence, both +my master and myself shall be infinitely obliged to +you.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> + +<p class="letter">Oats and Methodism—The Little +Girl—Ty Gwyn—Bird of the Roof—Purest +English—Railroads—Inconsistency—The Boots.</p> + +<p>It might be about four in the afternoon when I left L--- bound +for Pen Caer Gybi, or Holyhead, seventeen miles distant. I +reached the top of the hill on the west of the little town, and +then walked briskly forward. The country looked poor and +mean—on my right was a field of oats, on my left a +Methodist chapel—oats and Methodism! what better symbols of +poverty and meanness?</p> + +<p>I went onward a long way, the weather was broiling hot, and I +felt thirsty. On the top of a long ascent stood a house by +the roadside. I went to the door and knocked—no +answer—“Oes neb yn y ty?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oes!” said an infantine voice.</p> + +<p>I opened the door and saw a little girl. “Have you +any water?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No,” said the child, “but I have +this,” and she brought me some butter-milk in a +basin. I just tasted it, gave the child a penny and blessed +her.</p> + +<p>“Oes genoch tad?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said she; “but I have a +mam.” Tad in mam; blessed sounds; in all languages +expressing the same blessed things.</p> + +<p>After walking for some hours I saw a tall blue hill in the far +distance before me. “What is the name of that +hill?” said I to a woman whom I met.</p> + +<p>“Pen Caer Gybi,” she replied.</p> + +<p>Soon after I came to a village near to a rocky gully. On +inquiring the name of the village, I was told it was Llan yr +Afon, or the church of the river. I passed on; the country +was neither grand nor pretty—it exhibited a kind of +wildness, however, which did not fail to interest me—there +were stones, rocks and furze in abundance. Turning round +the corner of a hill, I observed through the mists of evening, +which began to gather about me, what seemed to be rather a +genteel house on the roadside; on my left, and a little way +behind it a strange kind of monticle, on which I thought I +observed tall upright stones. Quickening my pace, I soon +came parallel with the house, which as I drew nigh, ceased to +look like a genteel house, and exhibited an appearance of great +desolation. It was a white, or rather grey structure of +some antiquity. It was evidently used as a farm-house, for +there was a yard adjoining to it, in which were stacks and +agricultural implements. Observing two men in the yard, I +went in. They were respectable, farm-looking men, between +forty and fifty; one had on a coat and hat, the other a cap and +jacket. “Good evening,” I said in Welsh.</p> + +<p>“Good evening,” they replied in the same language, +looking inquiringly at me.</p> + +<p>“What is the name of this place?” said I.</p> + +<p>“It is called Ty gwyn,” said the man of the +hat.</p> + +<p>“On account of its colour, I suppose?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Just so,” said the man of the hat.</p> + +<p>“It looks old,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And it is old,” he replied. “In the +time of the Papists it was one of their chapels.”</p> + +<p>“Does it belong to you?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“Oh no, it belongs to one Mr Sparrow from +Liverpool. I am his bailiff, and this man is a carpenter +who is here doing a job for him.”</p> + +<p>Here ensued a pause, which was broken by the man of the hat +saying in English, to the man of the cap:</p> + +<p>“Who can this strange fellow be? he has not a word of +English, and though he speaks Welsh his Welsh sounds very +different from ours. Who can he be?”</p> + +<p>“I am sure I don’t know,” said the +other.</p> + +<p>“I know who he is,” said the first, “he +comes from Llydaw, or Armorica, which was peopled from Britain +estalom, and where I am told the real old Welsh language is still +spoken.”</p> + +<p>“I think I heard you mention the word Llydaw?” +said I, to the man of the hat.</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said the man of the hat, speaking Welsh, +“I was right after all; oh, I could have sworn you were +Llydaweg. Well, how are the descendants of the ancient +Britons getting on in Llydaw?”</p> + +<p>“They are getting on tolerably well,” said I, +“when I last saw them, though all things do not go exactly +as they could wish.”</p> + +<p>“Of course not,” said he of the hat. +“We too have much to complain of here; the lands are almost +entirely taken possession of by Saxons, wherever you go you will +find them settled, and a Saxon bird of the roof must build its +nest in Gwyn dy.”</p> + +<p>“You call a sparrow in your Welsh a bird of the roof, do +you not?” said I.</p> + +<p>“We do,” said he of the hat. “You +speak Welsh very well considering you were not born in +Wales. It is really surprising that the men of Llydaw +should speak the iaith so pure as they do.”</p> + +<p>“The Welsh when they went over there,” said I, +“took effectual means that their descendants should speak +good Welsh, if all tales be true.”</p> + +<p>“What means?” said he of the hat.</p> + +<p>“Why,” said I; “after conquering the country +they put all the men to death, and married the women, but before +a child was born they cut out all the women’s tongues, so +that the only language the children heard when they were born was +pure Cumraeg. What do you think of that?”</p> + +<p>“Why, that it was a cute trick,” said he of the +hat.</p> + +<p>“A more clever trick I never heard,” said the man +of the cap.</p> + +<p>“Have you any memorials in the neighbourhood of the old +Welsh?” said I.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” said the man of the hat.</p> + +<p>“Any altars of the Druids?” said I; “any +stone tables?”</p> + +<p>“None,” said the man of the hat.</p> + +<p>“What may those stones be?” said I, pointing to +the stones which had struck my attention.</p> + +<p>“Mere common rocks,” said the man.</p> + +<p>“May I go and examine them?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes!” said he of the hat, “and we will +go with you.”</p> + +<p>We went to the stones, which were indeed common rocks, and +which when I reached them presented quite a different appearance +from that which they presented to my eye when I viewed them from +afar.</p> + +<p>“Are there many altars of the Druids in Llydaw?” +said the man of the hat.</p> + +<p>“Plenty,” said I, “but those altars are +older than the time of the Welsh colonists, and were erected by +the old Gauls.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the man of the cap, “I am glad +I have seen the man of Llydaw.”</p> + +<p>“Whom do you call a man of Llydaw?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Whom but yourself?” said he of the hat.</p> + +<p>“I am not a man of Llydaw,” said I in English, +“but Norfolk, where the people eat the best dumplings in +the world, and speak the purest English. Now a thousand +thanks for your civility. I would have some more chat with +you, but night is coming on, and I am bound to +Holyhead.”</p> + +<p>Then leaving the men staring after me, I bent my steps towards +Holyhead.</p> + +<p>I passed by a place called Llan something, standing lonely on +its hill. The country round looked sad and desolate. +It is true night had come on when I saw it.</p> + +<p>On I hurried. The voices of children sounded sweetly at +a distance across the wild champaign on my left.</p> + +<p>It grew darker and darker. On I hurried along the road; +at last I came to lone, lordly groves. On my right was an +open gate and a lodge. I went up to the lodge. The +door was open, and in a little room I beheld a nice-looking old +lady sitting by a table, on which stood a lighted candle, with +her eyes fixed on a large book.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me,” said I; “but who owns this +property?”</p> + +<p>The old lady looked up from her book, which appeared to be a +Bible, without the slightest surprise, though I certainly came +upon her unawares, and answered:</p> + +<p>“Mr John Wynn.”</p> + +<p>I shortly passed through a large village, or rather town, the +name of which I did not learn. I then went on for a mile or +two, and saw a red light at some distance. The road led +nearly up to it, and then diverged towards the north. +Leaving the road I made towards the light by a lane, and soon +came to a railroad station.</p> + +<p>“You won’t have long to wait, sir,” said a +man, “the train to Holyhead will be here +presently.”</p> + +<p>“How far is it to Holyhead?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Two miles, sir, and the fare is only +sixpence.”</p> + +<p>“I despise railroads,” said I, “and those +who travel by them,” and without waiting for an answer +returned to the road. Presently I heard the train—it +stopped for a minute at the station, and then continuing its +course passed me on my left hand, voiding fierce sparks, and +making a terrible noise—the road was a melancholy one; my +footsteps sounded hollow upon it. I seemed to be its only +traveller—a wall extended for a long, long way on my +left. At length I came to a turnpike. I felt desolate +and wished to speak to somebody. I tapped at the window, at +which there was a light; a woman opened it. “How far +to Holyhead?” said I in English.</p> + +<p>“Dim Saesneg,” said the woman.</p> + +<p>I repeated my question in Welsh.</p> + +<p>“Two miles,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Still two miles to Holyhead by the road,” thought +I. “Nos da,” said I to the woman and sped +along. At length I saw water on my right, seemingly a kind +of bay, and presently a melancholy ship. I doubled my pace, +which was before tolerably quick, and soon saw a noble-looking +edifice on my left, brilliantly lighted up. “What a +capital inn that would make,” said I, looking at it +wistfully, as I passed it. Presently I found myself in the +midst of a poor, dull, ill-lighted town.</p> + +<p>“Where is the inn?” said I to a man.</p> + +<p>“The inn, sir; you have passed it. The inn is +yonder,” he continued, pointing towards the noble-looking +edifice.</p> + +<p>“What, is that the inn?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, the railroad hotel—and a first-rate +hotel it is.”</p> + +<p>“And are there no other inns?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but they are all poor places. No gent puts +up at them—all the gents by the railroad put up at the +railroad hotel.”</p> + +<p>What was I to do? after turning up my nose at the railroad, +was I to put up at its hotel? Surely to do so would be +hardly acting with consistency. “Ought I not rather +to go to some public-house, frequented by captains of fishing +smacks, and be put in a bed a foot too short for me,” said +I, as I reflected on my last night’s couch at Mr +Pritchard’s. “No, that won’t do—I +shall go to the hotel, I have money in my pocket, and a person +with money in his pocket has surely a right to be inconsistent if +he pleases.”</p> + +<p>So I turned back and entered the railroad hotel with lofty +port and with sounding step, for I had twelve sovereigns in my +pocket, besides a half one, and some loose silver, and feared not +to encounter the gaze of any waiter or landlord in the +land. “Send boots!” I roared to the waiter, as +I flung myself down in an arm-chair in a magnificent +coffee-room. “What the deuce are you staring at? send +boots can’t you, and ask what I can have for +dinner.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said the waiter, and with a low bow +departed.</p> + +<p>“These boots are rather dusty,” said the boots, a +grey-haired, venerable-looking man, after he had taken off my +thick, solid, square-toed boots. “I suppose you came +walking from the railroad?”</p> + +<p>“Confound the railroad!” said I. “I +came walking from Bangor. I would have you know that I have +money in my pocket, and can afford to walk. I am fond of +the beauties of nature; now it is impossible to see much of the +beauties of nature unless you walk. I am likewise fond of +poetry, and take especial delight in inspecting the birth-places +and haunts of poets. It is because I am fond of poetry, +poets and their haunts, that I am come to Anglesey. +Anglesey does not abound in the beauties of nature, but there +never was such a place for poets; you meet a poet, or the +birth-place of a poet, everywhere.”</p> + +<p>“Did your honour ever hear of Gronwy Owen?” said +the old man.</p> + +<p>“I have,” I replied, “and yesterday I +visited his birth-place; so you have heard of Gronwy +Owen?”</p> + +<p>“Heard of him, your honour; yes, and read his +works. That ‘Cowydd y Farn’ of his is a +wonderful poem.”</p> + +<p>“You say right,” said I; “the ‘Cowydd +of Judgment’ contains some of the finest things ever +written—that description of the toppling down of the top +crag of Snowdon, at the day of Judgment, beats anything in +Homer.”</p> + +<p>“Then there was Lewis Morris, your honour,” said +the old man, “who gave Gronwy his education and wrote +‘The Lasses of Meirion’—and—”</p> + +<p>“And ‘The Cowydd to the Snail,’” said +I, interrupting him—“a wonderful man he +was.”</p> + +<p>“I am rejoiced to see your honour in our house,” +said boots; “I never saw an English gentleman before who +knew so much about Welsh poetry, nor a Welsh one either. +Ah, if your honour is fond of poets and their places you did +right to come to Anglesey—and your honour was right in +saying that you can’t stir a step without meeting one; you +have an example of the truth of that in me—for to tell your +honour the truth, I am a poet myself, and no bad one +either.”</p> + +<p>Then tucking the dusty boots under his arm, the old man with a +low congee, and a “Good-night, your honour!” shuffled +out of the room.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XL</h2> + +<p class="letter">Caer Gyby—Lewis Morris—Noble +Character.</p> + +<p>I dined or rather supped well at the Railroad Inn—I beg +its pardon, Hotel, for the word Inn at the present day is +decidedly vulgar. I likewise slept well; how could I do +otherwise, passing the night, as I did, in an excellent bed in a +large, cool, quiet room? I arose rather late, went down to +the coffee-room and took my breakfast leisurely, after which I +paid my bill and strolled forth to observe the wonders of the +place.</p> + +<p>Caer Gybi or Cybi’s town is situated on the southern +side of a bay on the north-western side of Anglesey. Close +to it on the south-west is a very high headland called in Welsh +Pen Caer Gybi, or the head of Cybi’s city, and in English +Holy Head. On the north, across the bay, is another +mountain of equal altitude, which if I am not mistaken bears in +Welsh the name of Mynydd Llanfair, or Saint Mary’s +Mount. It is called Cybi’s town from one Cybi, who +about the year 500 built a college here to which youths noble and +ignoble resorted from far and near. He was a native of +Dyfed or Pembrokeshire, and was a friend and for a long time a +fellow-labourer of Saint David. Besides being learned, +according to the standard of the time, he was a great walker, and +from bronzing his countenance by frequent walking in the sun was +generally called Cybi Velin, which means tawny or yellow +Cybi.</p> + +<p>So much for Cybi, and his town! And now something about +one whose memory haunted me much more than that of Cybi during my +stay at Holyhead.</p> + +<p>Lewis Morris was born at a place called Tref y Beirdd, in +Anglesey, in the year 1700. Anglesey, or Mona, has given +birth to many illustrious men, but few, upon the whole, entitled +to more honourable mention than himself. From a humble +situation in life, for he served an apprenticeship to a cooper at +Holyhead, he raised himself by his industry and talents to +affluence and distinction, became a landed proprietor in the +county of Cardigan, and inspector of the royal domains and mines +in Wales. Perhaps a man more generally accomplished never +existed; he was a first-rate mechanic, an expert navigator, a +great musician, both in theory and practice, and a poet of +singular excellence. Of him it was said, and with truth, +that he could build a ship and sail it, frame a harp and make it +speak, write an ode and set it to music. Yet that saying, +eulogistic as it is, is far from expressing all the vast powers +and acquirements of Lewis Morris. Though self-taught, he +was confessedly the best Welsh scholar of his age, and was +well-versed in those cognate dialects of the Welsh—the +Cornish, Armoric, Highland Gaelic and Irish. He was +likewise well acquainted with Hebrew, Greek and Latin, had +studied Anglo-Saxon with some success, and was a writer of bold +and vigorous English. He was besides a good general +antiquary, and for knowledge of ancient Welsh customs, +traditions, and superstitions, had no equal. Yet all has +not been said which can be uttered in his praise; he had +qualities of mind which entitled him to higher esteem than any +accomplishment connected with intellect or skill. Amongst +these were his noble generosity and sacrifice of self for the +benefit of others. Weeks and months he was in the habit of +devoting to the superintendence of the affairs of the widow and +fatherless: one of his principal delights was to assist merit, to +bring it before the world and to procure for it its proper +estimation: it was he who first discovered the tuneful genius of +blind Parry; it was he who first put the harp into his hand; it +was he who first gave him scientific instruction; it was he who +cheered him with encouragement and assisted him with gold. +It was he who instructed the celebrated Evan Evans in the ancient +language of Wales, enabling that talented but eccentric +individual to read the pages of the Red Book of Hergest as easily +as those of the Welsh Bible; it was he who corrected his verses +with matchless skill, refining and polishing them till they +became well worthy of being read by posterity; it was he who gave +him advice, which, had it been followed, would have made the +Prydydd Hir, as he called himself, one of the most illustrious +Welshmen of the last century; and it was he who first told his +countrymen that there was a youth of Anglesey whose genius, if +properly encouraged, promised fair to rival that of Milton: one +of the most eloquent letters ever written is one by him, in which +he descants upon the beauties of certain poems of Gronwy Owen, +the latent genius of whose early boyhood he had observed, whom he +had clothed, educated and assisted up to the period when he was +ordained a minister of the Church, and whom he finally rescued +from a state bordering on starvation in London, procuring for him +an honourable appointment in the New World. Immortality to +Lewis Morris! But immortality he has won, even as his +illustrious pupil has said, who in his elegy upon his benefactor, +written in America, in the four-and-twenty measures, at a time +when Gronwy had not heard the Welsh language spoken for more than +twenty years, has words to the following effect:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“As long as Bardic lore shall last, science +and learning be cherished, the language and blood of the Britons +undefiled, song be heard on Parnassus, heaven and earth be in +existence, foam be on the surge, and water in the river, the name +of Lewis of Mon shall be held in grateful remembrance.”</p> +</blockquote> + + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XLI</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Pier—Irish Reapers—Wild Irish +Face—Father Toban—The Herd of Swine—Latin +Blessing.</p> + +<p>The day was as hot as the preceding one. I walked slowly +towards the west, and presently found myself upon a pier, or +breakwater, at the mouth of the harbour. A large steamer +lay at a little distance within the pier. There were +fishing-boats on both sides, the greater number on the outer +side, which lies towards the hill of Holy Head. On the +shady side of the breakwater under the wall were two or three +dozen of Irish reapers; some were lying asleep, others in parties +of two or three were seated with their backs against the wall, +and were talking Irish; these last all appeared to be well-made +middle-sized young fellows, with rather a ruffianly look; they +stared at me as I passed. The whole party had shillealahs +either in their hands or by their sides. I went to the +extremity of the pier, where was a little lighthouse, and then +turned back. As I again drew near the Irish, I heard a +hubbub and observed a great commotion amongst them. All, +whether those whom I had seen sitting, or those whom I had seen +reclining, had got, or were getting on their legs. As I +passed them they were all standing up, and their eyes were fixed +upon me with a strange kind of expression, partly of wonder, +methought, partly of respect. “Yes, ’tis he, +sure enough,” I heard one whisper. On I went, and at +about thirty yards from the last I stopped, turned round and +leaned against the wall. All the Irish were looking at +me—presently they formed into knots and began to discourse +very eagerly in Irish, though in an undertone. At length I +observed a fellow going from one knot to the other, exchanging a +few words with each. After he had held communication with +all he nodded his head, and came towards me with a quick step; +the rest stood silent and motionless with their eyes turned in +the direction in which I was, and in which he was +advancing. He stopped within a yard of me and took off his +hat. He was an athletic fellow of about twenty-eight, +dressed in brown frieze. His features were swarthy, and his +eyes black; in every lineament of his countenance was a jumble of +savagery and roguishness. I never saw a more genuine wild +Irish face—there he stood looking at me full in the face, +his hat in one hand and his shillealah in the other.</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you want?” said I, after we had +stared at each other about half a minute.</p> + +<p>“Sure, I’m just come on the part of the boys and +myself to beg a bit of a favour of your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“Reverence,” said I, “what do you mean by +styling me reverence?”</p> + +<p>“Och sure, because to be styled your reverence is the +right of your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“Pray what do you take me for?”</p> + +<p>“Och sure, we knows your reverence very well.”</p> + +<p>“Well, who am I?”</p> + +<p>“Och, why Father Toban to be sure.”</p> + +<p>“And who knows me to be Father Toban?”</p> + +<p>“Och, a boy here knows your reverence to be Father +Toban.”</p> + +<p>“Where is that boy?”</p> + +<p>“Here he stands, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“Are you that boy?”</p> + +<p>“I am, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“And you told the rest that I was Father +Toban?”</p> + +<p>“I did, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“And you know me to be Father Toban?”</p> + +<p>“I do, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know me to be Father Toban?”</p> + +<p>“Och, why because many’s the good time that I have +heard your reverence, Father Toban, say mass.”</p> + +<p>“And what is it you want me to do?”</p> + +<p>“Why, see here, your reverence, we are going to embark +in the dirty steamer yonder for ould Ireland, which starts as +soon as the tide serves, and we want your reverence to bless us +before we goes.”</p> + +<p>“You want me to bless you?”</p> + +<p>“We do, your reverence, we want you to spit out a little +bit of a blessing upon us before we goes on board.”</p> + +<p>“And what good would my blessing do you?”</p> + +<p>“All kinds of good, your reverence; it would prevent the +dirty steamer from catching fire, your reverence, or from going +down, your reverence, or from running against the blackguard Hill +of Howth in the mist, provided there should be one.”</p> + +<p>“And suppose I were to tell you that I am not Father +Toban?”</p> + +<p>“Och, your reverence, will never think of doing +that.”</p> + +<p>“Would you believe me if I did?”</p> + +<p>“We would not, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“If I were to swear that I am not Father +Toban?”</p> + +<p>“We would not, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“On the evangiles?”</p> + +<p>“We would not, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“On the Cross?”</p> + +<p>“We would not, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“And suppose I were to refuse to give you a +blessing?”</p> + +<p>“Och, your reverence will never refuse to bless the poor +boys.”</p> + +<p>“But suppose I were to refuse?”</p> + +<p>“Why, in such a case, which by-the-bye is altogether +impossible, we should just make bould to give your reverence a +good big bating.”</p> + +<p>“You would break my head?”</p> + +<p>“We would, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“Kill me?”</p> + +<p>“We would, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“You would really put me to death?”</p> + +<p>“We would not, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“And what’s the difference between killing and +putting to death?”</p> + +<p>“Och, sure there’s all the difference in the +world. Killing manes only a good big bating, such as every +Irishman is used to, and which your reverence would get over long +before matins, whereas putting your reverence to death would +prevent your reverence from saying mass for ever and a +day.”</p> + +<p>“And you are determined on having a blessing?”</p> + +<p>“We are, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“By hook or by crook?”</p> + +<p>“By crook or by hook, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“Before I bless you, will you answer me a question or +two?”</p> + +<p>“I will, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“Are you not a set of great big blackguards?”</p> + +<p>“We are, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“Without one good quality?”</p> + +<p>“We are, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“Would it not be quite right to saddle and bridle you +all, and ride you violently down Holyhead or the Giant’s +Causeway into the waters, causing you to perish there, like the +herd of swine of old?”</p> + +<p>“It would, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“And knowing and confessing all this, you have the cheek +to come and ask me for a blessing?”</p> + +<p>“We have, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“Well, how shall I give the blessing?”</p> + +<p>“Och, sure your reverence knows very well how to give +it.”</p> + +<p>“Shall I give it in Irish?”</p> + +<p>“Och, no, your reverence—a blessing in Irish is no +blessing at all.”</p> + +<p>“In English?”</p> + +<p>“Och, murder, no, your reverence, God preserve us all +from an English blessing!”</p> + +<p>“In Latin?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sure, your reverence; in what else should you +bless us but in holy Latin?”</p> + +<p>“Well then prepare yourselves.”</p> + +<p>“We will, your reverence—stay one moment whilst I +whisper to the boys that your reverence is about to bestow your +blessing upon us.”</p> + +<p>Then turning to the rest who all this time had kept their eyes +fixed intently upon us, he bellowed with the voice of a bull:</p> + +<p>“Down on your marrow bones, ye sinners, for his +reverence Toban is about to bless us all in holy +Latin.”</p> + +<p>He then flung himself on his knees on the pier, and all his +countrymen, baring their heads, followed his example—yes, +there knelt thirty bare-headed Eirionaich on the pier of Caer +Gybi beneath the broiling sun. I gave them the best Latin +blessing I could remember, out of two or three which I had got by +memory out of an old Popish book of devotion, which I bought in +my boyhood at a stall. Then turning to the deputy I said, +“Well, now are you satisfied?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, I have a right to be satisfied, your reverence; +and so have we all—sure we can now all go on board the +dirty steamer, without fear of fire or water, or the blackguard +Hill of Howth either.”</p> + +<p>“Then get up, and tell the rest to get up, and please to +know and let the rest know, that I do not choose to receive +farther trouble, either by word or look, from any of ye, as long +as I remain here.”</p> + +<p>“Your reverence shall be obeyed in all things,” +said the fellow, getting up. Then walking away to his +companions he cried, “Get up, boys, and plase to know that +his reverence Toban is not to be farther troubled by being looked +at or spoken to by any one of us as long as he remains upon this +dirty pier.”</p> + +<p>“Divil a bit farther trouble shall he have from +us!” exclaimed many a voice, as the rest of the party arose +from their knees.</p> + +<p>In half a minute they disposed themselves in much the same +manner as that in which they were when I first saw +them—some flung themselves again to sleep under the wall, +some seated themselves with their backs against it, and laughed +and chatted, but without taking any notice of me; those who sat +and chatted took, or appeared to take, as little notice as those +who lay and slept of his reverence Father Toban.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XLII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Gage of Suffolk—Fellow in a +Turban—Town of Holyhead—Father Boots—An +Expedition—Holy Head and Finisterrae—Gryffith ab +Cynan—The Fairies’ Well.</p> + +<p>Leaving the pier I turned up a street to the south, and was +not long before I arrived at a kind of market-place, where were +carts and stalls, and on the ground, on cloths, apples and plums, +and abundance of greengages,—the latter, when good, +decidedly the finest fruit in the world, a fruit, for the +introduction of which into England, the English have to thank one +Gage of an ancient Suffolk family, at present extinct, after +whose name the fruit derives the latter part of its +appellation. Strolling about the market-place I came in +contact with a fellow dressed in a turban and dirty blue linen +robes and trowsers. He bore a bundle of papers in his hand, +one of which he offered to me. I asked him who he was.</p> + +<p>“Arap,” he replied.</p> + +<p>He had a dark, cunning, roguish countenance, with small eyes, +and had all the appearance of a Jew. I spoke to him in what +Arabic I could command on a sudden, and he jabbered to me in a +corrupt dialect, giving me a confused account of a captivity +which he had undergone amidst savage Mahometans. At last I +asked him what religion he was of.</p> + +<p>“The Christian,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“Have you ever been of the Jewish?” said I.</p> + +<p>He returned no answer save by a grin.</p> + +<p>I took the paper, gave him a penny, and then walked +away. The paper contained an account in English of how the +bearer, the son of Christian parents, had been carried into +captivity by two Mahometan merchants, a father and son, from whom +he had escaped with the greatest difficulty.</p> + +<p>“Pretty fools,” said I, “must any people +have been who ever stole you; but oh what fools if they wished to +keep you after they had got you!”</p> + +<p>The paper was stuffed with religious and anti-slavery cant, +and merely wanted a little of the teetotal nonsense to be a +perfect specimen of humbug.</p> + +<p>I strolled forward, encountering more carts and more heaps of +greengages; presently I turned to the right by a street, which +led some way up the hill. The houses were tolerably large +and all white. The town, with its white houses placed by +the seaside, on the skirt of a mountain, beneath a blue sky and a +broiling sun, put me something in mind of a Moorish piratical +town, in which I had once been. Becoming soon tired of +walking about, without any particular aim, in so great a heat, I +determined to return to the inn, call for ale, and deliberate on +what I had best next do. So I returned and called for +ale. The ale which was brought was not ale which I am +particularly fond of. The ale which I am fond of is ale +about nine or ten months old, somewhat hard, tasting well of malt +and little of the hop—ale such as farmers, and noblemen +too, of the good old time, when farmers’ daughters did not +play on pianos and noblemen did not sell their game, were in the +habit of offering to both high and low, and drinking +themselves. The ale which was brought me was thin washy +stuff, which though it did not taste much of hop, tasted still +less of malt, made and sold by one Allsopp, who I am told calls +himself a squire and a gentleman—as he certainly may with +quite as much right as many a lord calls himself a nobleman and a +gentleman; for surely it is not a fraction more trumpery to make +and sell ale than to fatten and sell game. The ale of the +Saxon squire, for Allsopp is decidedly an old Saxon name, however +unakin to the practice of old Saxon squires the selling of ale +may be, was drinkable for it was fresh, and the day, as I have +said before, exceedingly hot; so I took frequent draughts out of +the shining metal tankard in which it was brought, deliberating +both whilst drinking, and in the intervals of drinking, on what I +had next best do. I had some thoughts of crossing to the +northern side of the bay, then, bearing the north-east, wend my +way to Amlwch, follow the windings of the sea-shore to Mathafarn +eithaf and Pentraeth Coch, and then return to Bangor, after which +I could boast that I had walked round the whole of Anglesey, and +indeed trodden no inconsiderable part of the way twice. +Before coming, however, to any resolution, I determined to ask +the advice of my friend the boots on the subject. So I +finished my ale, and sent word by the waiter that I wished to +speak to him; he came forthwith, and after communicating my +deliberations to him in a few words I craved his counsel. +The old man, after rubbing his right forefinger behind his right +ear for about a quarter of a minute, inquired if I meant to +return to Bangor, and on my telling him that it would be +necessary for me to do so, as I intended to walk back to +Llangollen by Caernarvon and Beth Gelert, strongly advised me to +return to Bangor by the railroad train, which would start at +seven in the evening, and would convey me thither in an hour and +a half. I told him that I hated railroads, and received for +answer that he had no particular liking for them himself, but +that he occasionally made use of them on a pinch, and supposed +that I likewise did the same. I then observed, that if I +followed his advice I should not see the north side of the island +nor its principal town Amlwch, and received for answer that if I +never did, the loss would not be great—that as for Amlwch +it was a poor poverty-stricken place—the inn a shabby +affair—the master a very so-so individual, and the boots a +fellow without either wit or literature. That upon the +whole he thought I might be satisfied with what I had seen for +after having visited Owen Tudor’s tomb, Caer Gybi and his +hotel, I had in fact seen the cream of Mona. I then said +that I had one objection to make, which was that I really did not +know how to employ the time till seven o’clock, for that I +had seen all about the town.</p> + +<p>“But has your honour ascended the Head?” demanded +Father Boots.</p> + +<p>“No,” said I; “I have not.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said he, “I will soon find your +honour ways and means to spend the time agreeably till the +starting of the train. Your honour shall ascend the Head +under the guidance of my nephew, a nice intelligent lad, your +honour, and always glad to earn a shilling or two. By the +time your honour has seen all the wonders of the Head and +returned, it will be five o’clock. Your honour can +then dine, and after dinner trifle away the minutes over your +wine or brandy-and-water till seven, when your honour can step +into a first-class for Bangor.”</p> + +<p>I was struck with the happy manner in which he had removed the +difficulty in question, and informed him that I was determined to +follow his advice. He hurried away, and presently returned +with his nephew, to whom I offered half-a-crown provided he would +show me all about Pen Caer Gyby. He accepted my offer with +evident satisfaction, and we lost no time in setting out upon our +expedition.</p> + +<p>We had to pass over a great deal of broken ground, sometimes +ascending, sometimes descending, before we found ourselves upon +the side of what may actually be called the headland. +Shaping our course westward we came to the vicinity of a +lighthouse standing on the verge of a precipice, the foot of +which was washed by the sea.</p> + +<p>Leaving the lighthouse on our right we followed a steep +winding path which at last brought us to the top of the pen or +summit, rising, according to the judgment which I formed, about +six hundred feet from the surface of the sea. Here was a +level spot some twenty yards across, in the middle of which stood +a heap of stones or cairn. I asked the lad whether this +cairn bore a name, and received for answer that it was generally +called Bar-cluder y Cawr Glâs, words which seem to signify +the top heap of the Grey Giant.</p> + +<p>“Some king, giant, or man of old renown lies buried +beneath this cairn,” said I. “Whoever he may +be, I trust he will excuse me for mounting it, seeing that I do +so with no disrespectful spirit.” I then mounted the +cairn, exclaiming:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Who lies ’neath the cairn on the +headland hoar,<br /> +His hand yet holding his broad claymore,<br /> +Is it Beli, the son of Benlli Gawr?”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>There stood I on the cairn of the Grey Giant, looking around +me. The prospect, on every side, was noble: the blue +interminable sea to the west and north; the whole stretch of Mona +to the east; and far away to the south the mountainous region of +Eryri, comprising some of the most romantic hills in the +world. In some respects this Pen Santaidd, this holy +headland, reminded me of Finisterrae, the Gallegan promontory +which I had ascended some seventeen years before, whilst engaged +in battling the Pope with the sword of the gospel in his +favourite territory. Both are bold, bluff headlands looking +to the west, both have huge rocks in their vicinity, rising from +the bosom of the brine. For a time, as I stood on the +cairn, I almost imagined myself on the Gallegan hill; much the +same scenery presented itself as there, and a sun equally fierce +struck upon my head as that which assailed it on the Gallegan +hill. For a time all my thoughts were of Spain. It +was not long, however, before I bethought me that my lot was now +in a different region, that I had done with Spain for ever, after +doing for her all that lay in the power of a lone man, who had +never in this world anything to depend upon, but God and his own +slight strength. Yes, I had done with Spain, and was now in +Wales; and, after a slight sigh, my thoughts became all intensely +Welsh. I thought on the old times when Mona was the grand +seat of Druidical superstition, when adoration was paid to Dwy +Fawr, and Dwy Fach, the sole survivors of the apocryphal Deluge; +to Hu the Mighty and his plough; to Ceridwen and her cauldron; to +András the Horrible; to Wyn ab Nudd, Lord of Unknown, and +to Beli, Emperor of the Sun. I thought on the times when +the Beal fire blazed on this height, on the neighbouring +promontory, on the cope-stone of Eryri, and on every high hill +throughout Britain on the eve of the first of May. I +thought on the day when the bands of Suetonius crossed the Menai +strait in their broad-bottomed boats, fell upon the Druids and +their followers, who with wild looks and brandished torches lined +the shore, slew hundreds with merciless butchery upon the plains, +and pursued the remainder to the remotest fastnesses of the +isle. I figured to myself long-bearded men with white +vestments toiling up the rocks, followed by fierce warriors with +glittering helms and short broad two-edged swords; I thought I +heard groans, cries of rage, and the dull, awful sound of bodies +precipitated down rocks. Then as I looked towards the sea I +thought I saw the fleet of Gryffith Ab Cynan steering from +Ireland to Aber Menai, Gryffith, the son of a fugitive king, born +in Ireland, in the Commot of Columbcille, Gryffith the frequently +baffled, the often victorious; once a manacled prisoner sweating +in the sun, in the market-place of Chester, eventually king of +North Wales; Gryffith, who “though he loved well the +trumpet’s clang loved the sound of the harp better”; +who led on his warriors to twenty-four battles, and presided over +the composition of the twenty-four measures of Cambrian +song. Then I thought—. But I should tire the +reader were I to detail all the intensely Welsh thoughts which +crowded into my head as I stood on the Cairn of the Grey +Giant.</p> + +<p>Satiated with looking about and thinking, I sprang from the +cairn and rejoined my guide. We now descended the eastern +side of the hill till we came to a singular looking stone, which +had much the appearance of a Druid’s stone. I +inquired of my guide whether there was any tale connected with +this stone.</p> + +<p>“None,” he replied; “but I have heard people +say that it was a strange stone, and on that account I brought +you to look at it.”</p> + +<p>A little farther down he showed me part of a ruined wall.</p> + +<p>“What name does this bear?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Clawdd yr Afalon,” he replied. “The +dyke of the orchard.”</p> + +<p>“A strange place for an orchard,” I replied. +“If there was ever an orchard on this bleak hill, the +apples must have been very sour.”</p> + +<p>Over rocks and stones we descended till we found ourselves on +a road, not very far from the shore, on the south-east side of +the hill.</p> + +<p>“I am very thirsty,” said I, as I wiped the +perspiration from my face; “how I should like now to drink +my fill of cool spring water.”</p> + +<p>“If your honour is inclined for water,” said my +guide, “I can take you to the finest spring in all +Wales.”</p> + +<p>“Pray do so,” said I, “for I really am dying +of thirst.”</p> + +<p>“It is on our way to the town,” said the lad, +“and is scarcely a hundred yards off.”</p> + +<p>He then led me to the fountain. It was a little well +under a stone wall, on the left side of the way. It might +be about two feet deep, was fenced with rude stones, and had a +bottom of sand.</p> + +<p>“There,” said the lad, “is the +fountain. It is called the Fairies’ Well, and +contains the best water in Wales.”</p> + +<p>I lay down and drank. Oh, what water was that of the +Fairies’ Well! I drank and drank, and thought I could +never drink enough of that delicious water; the lad all the time +saying that I need not be afraid to drink, as the water of the +Fairies’ Well had never done harm to anybody. At +length I got up, and standing by the fountain repeated the lines +of a bard on a spring, not of a Welsh but a Gaelic bard, which +are perhaps the finest lines ever composed on the theme. +Yet MacIntyre, for such was his name, was like myself an admirer +of good ale, to say nothing of whiskey, and loved to indulge in +it at a proper time and place. But there is a time and +place for everything, and sometimes the warmest admirer of ale +would prefer the lymph of the hill-side fountain to the choicest +ale that ever foamed in tankard from the cellars of +Holkham. Here are the lines most faithfully +rendered:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The wild wine of nature,<br /> +Honey-like in its taste,<br /> +The genial, fair, thin element<br /> +Filtering through the sands,<br /> +Which is sweeter than cinnamon,<br /> +And is well known to us hunters.<br /> +O, that eternal, healing draught,<br /> +Which comes from under the earth,<br /> +Which contains abundance of good<br /> +And costs no money!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Returning to the hotel I satisfied my guide and dined. +After dinner I trifled agreeably with my brandy-and-water till it +was near seven o’clock, when I paid my bill, thought of the +waiter and did not forget Father Boots. I then took my +departure, receiving and returning bows, and walking to the +station got into a first-class carriage and soon found myself at +Bangor.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Inn at Bangor—Port Dyn +Norwig—Sea Serpent—Thoroughly Welsh +Place—Blessing of Health.</p> + +<p>I went to the same inn at Bangor at which I had been +before. It was Saturday night and the house was thronged +with people who had arrived by train from Manchester and +Liverpool, with the intention of passing the Sunday in the Welsh +town. I took tea in an immense dining or ball-room, which +was, however, so crowded with guests that its walls literally +sweated. Amidst the multitude I felt quite +solitary—my beloved ones had departed for Llangollen, and +there was no one with whom I could exchange a thought or a word +of kindness. I addressed several individuals, and in every +instance repented; from some I got no answers, from others what +was worse than no answers at all—in every countenance near +me suspicion, brutality, or conceit, was most legibly +imprinted—I was not amongst Welsh, but the scum of +manufacturing England.</p> + +<p>Every bed in the house was engaged—the people of the +house, however, provided me a bed at a place which they called +the cottage, on the side of a hill in the outskirts of the +town. There I passed the night comfortably enough. At +about eight in the morning I arose, returned to the inn, +breakfasted, and departed for Beth Gelert by way of +Caernarvon.</p> + +<p>It was Sunday, and I had originally intended to pass the day +at Bangor, and to attend divine service twice at the Cathedral, +but I found myself so very uncomfortable, owing to the crowd of +interlopers, that I determined to proceed on my journey without +delay; making up my mind, however, to enter the first church I +should meet in which service was being performed; for it is +really not good to travel on the Sunday without going into a +place of worship.</p> + +<p>The day was sunny and fiercely hot, as all the days had lately +been. In about an hour I arrived at Port Dyn Norwig: it +stood on the right side of the road. The name of this +place, which I had heard from the coachman who drove my family +and me to Caernarvon and Llanberis a few days before, had excited +my curiosity with respect to it, as it signifies the Port of the +Norway man, so I now turned aside to examine it. “No +doubt,” said I to myself, “the place derives its name +from the piratical Danes and Norse having resorted to it in the +old time.” Port Dyn Norwig seems to consist of a +creek, a staithe, and about a hundred houses: a few small vessels +were lying at the staithe. I stood about ten minutes upon +it staring about, and then feeling rather oppressed by the heat +of the sun, I bent my way to a small house which bore a sign, and +from which a loud noise of voices proceeded. “Have +you good ale?” said I in English to a good-looking buxom +dame of about forty, whom I saw in the passage.</p> + +<p>She looked at me but returned no answer.</p> + +<p>“Oes genoch cwrw da?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oes!” she replied with a smile, and opening the +door of a room on the left-hand bade me walk in.</p> + +<p>I entered the room; six or seven men, seemingly sea-faring +people, were seated drinking and talking vociferously in +Welsh. Their conversation was about the sea-serpent: some +believed in the existence of such a thing, others did not. +After a little time one said, “Let us ask this gentleman +for his opinion.”</p> + +<p>“And what would be the use of asking him?” said +another, “we have only Cumraeg, and he has only +Saesneg.”</p> + +<p>“I have a little broken Cumraeg, at the service of this +good company,” said I. “With respect to the +snake of the sea I beg leave to say that I believe in the +existence of such a creature; and am surprised that any people in +these parts should not believe in it: why, the sea-serpent has +been seen in these parts.”</p> + +<p>“When was that, Gwr Boneddig?” said one of the +company.</p> + +<p>“About fifty years ago,” said I. “Once +in October, in the year 1805, as a small vessel of the Traeth was +upon the Menai, sailing very slowly, the weather being very calm, +the people on board saw a strange creature like an immense worm +swimming after them. It soon overtook them, climbed on +board through the tiller-hole, and coiled itself on the deck +under the mast—the people at first were dreadfully +frightened, but taking courage they attacked it with an oar and +drove it overboard; it followed the vessel for some time, but a +breeze springing up they lost sight of it.”</p> + +<p>“And how did you learn this?” said the last who +had addressed me.</p> + +<p>“I read the story,” said I, “in a pure Welsh +book called the Greal.”</p> + +<p>“I now remember hearing the same thing,” said an +old man, “when I was a boy; it had slipt out of my memory, +but now I remember all about it. The ship was called the +<i>Robert Ellis</i>. Are you of these parts, +gentleman?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said I, “I am not of these +parts.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are of South Wales—indeed your Welsh is +very different from ours.”</p> + +<p>“I am not of South Wales,” said I, “I am the +seed not of the sea-snake but of the coiling serpent, for so one +of the old Welsh poets called the Saxons.”</p> + +<p>“But how did you learn Welsh?” said the old +man.</p> + +<p>“I learned it by the grammar,” said I, “a +long time ago.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, you learnt it by the grammar,” said the old +man; “that accounts for your Welsh being different from +ours. We did not learn our Welsh by the grammar—your +Welsh is different from ours, and of course better, being the +Welsh of the grammar. Ah, it is a fine thing to be a +grammarian.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is a fine thing to be a grammarian,” +cried the rest of the company, and I observed that everybody now +regarded me with a kind of respect.</p> + +<p>A jug of ale which the hostess had brought me had been +standing before me some time. I now tasted it and found it +very good. Whilst despatching it, I asked various questions +about the old Danes, the reason why the place was called the port +of the Norwegian, and about its trade. The good folks knew +nothing about the old Danes, and as little as to the reason of +its being called the port of the Norwegian—but they said +that besides that name it bore that of Melin Heli, or the mill of +the salt pool, and that slates were exported from thence, which +came from quarries close by.</p> + +<p>Having finished my ale, I bade the company adieu and quitted +Port Dyn Norwig, one of the most thoroughly Welsh places I had +seen, for during the whole time I was in it, I heard no words of +English uttered, except the two or three spoken by myself. +In about an hour I reached Caernarvon.</p> + +<p>The road from Bangor to Caernarvon is very good and the +scenery interesting—fine hills border it on the left, or +south-east, and on the right at some distance is the Menai with +Anglesey beyond it. Not far from Caernarvon a sandbank +commences, extending for miles up the Menai, towards Bangor, and +dividing the strait into two.</p> + +<p>I went to the Castle Inn which fronts the square or +market-place, and being shown into a room ordered some +brandy-and-water, and sat down. Two young men were seated +in the room. I spoke to them and received civil answers, at +which I was rather astonished, as I found by the tone of their +voices that they were English. The air of one was far +superior to that of the other, and with him I was soon in +conversation. In the course of discourse he informed me +that being a martyr to ill-health he had come from London to +Wales, hoping that change of air, and exercise on the Welsh +hills, would afford him relief, and that his friend had been kind +enough to accompany him. That he had been about three weeks +in Wales, had taken all the exercise that he could, but that he +was still very unwell, slept little and had no appetite. I +told him not to be discouraged, but to proceed in the course +which he had adopted till the end of summer, by which time I +thought it very probable that he would be restored to his health, +as he was still young. At these words of mine a beam of +hope brightened his countenance, and he said that he had no other +wish than to regain his health, and that if he did he should be +the happiest of men. The intense wish of the poor young man +for health caused me to think how insensible I had hitherto been +to the possession of the greatest of all terrestrial +blessings. I had always had the health of an elephant, but +I never remembered to have been sensible to the magnitude of the +blessing or in the slightest degree grateful to God who gave +it. I shuddered to think how I should feel if suddenly +deprived of my health. Far worse, no doubt, than that poor +invalid. He was young, and in youth there is hope—but +I was no longer young. At last, however, I thought that if +God took away my health He might so far alter my mind that I +might be happy even without health, or the prospect of it; and +that reflection made me quite comfortable.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XLIV</h2> + +<p class="letter">National School—The Young +Preacher—Pont Bettws—Spanish Words—Two Tongues, +Two Faces—The Elephant’s Snout—Llyn +Cwellyn—The Snowdon Ranger—My House—Castell y +Cidwm—Descent to Beth Gelert.</p> + +<p>It might be about three o’clock in the afternoon when I +left Caernarvon for Beth Gelert, distant about thirteen +miles. I journeyed through a beautiful country of hill and +dale, woods and meadows, the whole gilded by abundance of +sunshine. After walking about an hour without intermission +I reached a village, and asked a man the name of it.</p> + +<p>“Llan—something,” he replied.</p> + +<p>As he was standing before a long building, through the open +door of which a sound proceeded like that of preaching, I asked +him what place it was, and what was going on in it, and received +for answer that it was the National School, and that there was a +clergyman preaching in it. I then asked if the clergyman +was of the Church, and on learning that he was, I forthwith +entered the building, where in one end of a long room I saw a +young man in a white surplice preaching from a desk to about +thirty or forty people, who were seated on benches before +him. I sat down and listened. The young man preached +with great zeal and fluency. The sermon was a very +seasonable one, being about the harvest, and in it things +temporal and spiritual were very happily blended. The part +of the sermon which I heard—I regretted that I did not hear +the whole—lasted about five-and-twenty minutes: a hymn +followed, and then the congregation broke up. I inquired +the name of the young man who preached, and was told that it was +Edwards, and that he came from Caernarvon. The name of the +incumbent of the parish was Thomas.</p> + +<p>Leaving the village of the harvest sermon I proceeded on my +way which lay to the south-east. I was now drawing nigh to +the mountainous district of Eryri; a noble hill called Mount +Eilio appeared before me to the north; an immense mountain called +Pen Drws Coed lay over against it on the south, just like a +couchant elephant with its head lower than the top of its +back. After a time I entered a most beautiful sunny valley, +and presently came to a bridge over a pleasant stream running in +the direction of the south. As I stood upon that bridge I +almost fancied myself in Paradise; everything looked so beautiful +or grand—green, sunny meadows lay all around me, +intersected by the brook, the waters of which ran with tinkling +laughter over a shingly bottom. Noble Eilio to the north; +enormous Pen Drws Coed to the south; a tall mountain far beyond +them to the east. “I never was in such a lovely +spot!” I cried to myself in a perfect rapture. +“Oh, how glad I should be to learn the name of this bridge, +standing on which I have had ‘Heaven opened to me,’ +as my old friends the Spaniards used to say.” +Scarcely had I said these words when I observed a man and a woman +coming towards the bridge in the direction in which I was +bound. I hastened to meet them in the hope of obtaining +information. They were both rather young, and were probably +a couple of sweethearts taking a walk or returning from +meeting. The woman was a few steps in advance of the man; +seeing that I was about to address her, she averted her head and +quickened her steps, and before I had completed the question, +which I put to her in Welsh, she had bolted past me screaming +“Ah Dim Seasneg,” and was several yards distant.</p> + +<p>I then addressed myself to the man who had stopped, asking him +the name of the bridge.</p> + +<p>“Pont Bettws,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“And what may be the name of the river?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Afon—something,” said he.</p> + +<p>And on my thanking him he went forward to the woman who was +waiting for him by the bridge.</p> + +<p>“Is that man Welsh or English?” I heard her say +when he had rejoined her.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said the man—“he +was civil enough; why were you such a fool?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I thought he would speak to me in English,” +said the woman, “and the thought of that horrid English +puts me into such a flutter; you know I can’t speak a word +of it.”</p> + +<p>They proceeded on their way and I proceeded on mine, and +presently coming to a little inn on the left side of the way, at +the entrance of a village, I went in.</p> + +<p>A respectable-looking man and woman were seated at tea at a +table in a nice clean kitchen. 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.</p> + +<p>“Down, Perro,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Perro!” said I; “why do you call the dog +Perro?”</p> + +<p>“We call him Perro,” said the man, “because +his name is Perro.”</p> + +<p>“But how came you to give him that name?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And how came the farmer to call him Perro?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said the +man—“why do you ask?”</p> + +<p>“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. How can I +doubt it; when I reflect that more than six hundred years ago, +one of the words to denote a bad woman was Spanish. In the +oldest of Icelandic domestic Sagas, Skarphedin, the son of Nial +the seer, called Hallgerdr, widow of Gunnar, a puta—and +that word so maddened Hallgerdr that she never rested till she +had brought about his destruction. Now, why this preference +everywhere for Spanish words over those of every other +language? I never heard French words or German words used +by Russian mujiks and Turkish fig-gatherers. I question +whether I should find any in Iceland forming part of the +vernacular. I certainly never found a French or even a +German word in an old Icelandic Saga. Why this partiality +everywhere for Spanish words? the question is puzzling; at any +rate it puts me out—”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it puts me out!” I exclaimed aloud, striking +my fist on the table with a vehemence which caused the good folks +to start half up from their seats. Before they could say +anything, however, a vehicle drove up to the door, and a man +getting out came into the room. He had a glazed hat on his +head, and was dressed something like the guard of a mail. +He touched his hat to me, and called for a glass of +whiskey. I gave him the sele of the evening and entered +into conversation with him in English. In the course of +discourse I learned that he was the postman, and was going his +rounds in his cart—he was more than respectful to me, he +was fawning and sycophantic. The whiskey was brought, and +he stood with the glass in his hand. Suddenly he began +speaking Welsh to the people; before, however, he had uttered two +sentences the woman lifted her hand with an alarmed air, crying +“Hush! he understands.” The fellow was turning +me to ridicule. I flung my head back, closed my eyes, +opened my mouth and laughed aloud. The fellow stood aghast; +his hand trembled, and he spilt the greater part of the whiskey +upon the ground. At the end of about half a minute I got +up, asked what I had to pay, and on being told twopence, I put +down the money. Then going up to the man I put my right +forefinger very near to his nose, and said “Dwy o iaith dwy +o wyneb, two languages, two faces, friend!” Then +after leering at him for a moment I wished the people of the +house good-evening and departed.</p> + +<p>Walking rapidly on towards the east I soon drew near the +termination of the valley. The valley terminates in a deep +gorge or pass between Mount Eilio—which by-the-bye is part +of the chine of Snowdon—and Pen Drws Coed. The +latter, that couchant elephant with its head turned to the +north-east, seems as if it wished to bar the pass with its trunk; +by its trunk I mean a kind of jaggy ridge which descends down to +the road. I entered the gorge, passing near a little +waterfall which with much noise runs down the precipitous side of +Mount Eilio; presently I came to a little mill by the side of a +brook running towards the east. I asked the miller-woman, +who was standing near the mill, with her head turned towards the +setting sun, the name of the mill and the stream. +“The mill is called ‘The mill of the river of Lake +Cwellyn,’” said she, “and the river is called +the river of Lake Cwellyn.”</p> + +<p>“And who owns the land?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Sir Richard,” said she. “I Sir +Richard yw yn perthyn y tîr. Mr Williams, however, +possesses some part of Mount Eilio.”</p> + +<p>“And who is Mr Williams?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Who is Mr Williams?” said the miller’s +wife. “Ho, ho! what a stranger you must be to ask me +who is Mr Williams.”</p> + +<p>I smiled and passed on. The mill was below the level of +the road, and its wheel was turned by the water of a little +conduit supplied by the brook at some distance above the +mill. I had observed similar conduits employed for similar +purposes in Cornwall. A little below the mill was a weir, +and a little below the weir the river ran frothing past the +extreme end of the elephant’s snout. Following the +course of the river I at last emerged with it from the pass into +a valley surrounded by enormous mountains. Extending along +it from west to east, and occupying its entire southern part lay +an oblong piece of water, into which the streamlet of the pass +discharged itself. This was one of the many beautiful +lakes, which a few days before I had seen from the Wyddfa. +As for the Wyddfa I now beheld it high above me in the north-east +looking very grand indeed, shining like a silver helmet whilst +catching the glories of the setting sun.</p> + +<p>I proceeded slowly along the road, the lake below me on my +right hand, whilst the shelvy side of Snowdon rose above me on +the left. The evening was calm and still, and no noise came +upon my ear save the sound of a cascade falling into the lake +from a black mountain, which frowned above it on the south, and +cast a gloomy shadow far over it.</p> + +<p>This cataract was in the neighbourhood of a singular-looking +rock, projecting above the lake from the mountain’s +side. I wandered a considerable way without meeting or +seeing a single human being. At last when I had nearly +gained the eastern end of the valley I saw two men seated on the +side of the hill, on the verge of the road, in the vicinity of a +house which stood a little way up the hill. The lake here +was much wider than I had hitherto seen it, for the huge mountain +on the south had terminated and the lake expanded considerably in +that quarter, having instead of the black mountain a beautiful +hill beyond it.</p> + +<p>I quickened my steps and soon came up to the two +individuals. One was an elderly man, dressed in a smock +frock and with a hairy cap on his head. The other was much +younger, wore a hat, and was dressed in a coarse suit of blue +nearly new, and doubtless his Sunday’s best. He was +smoking a pipe. I greeted them in English and sat down near +them. They responded in the same language, the younger man +with considerable civility and briskness, the other in a tone of +voice denoting some reserve.</p> + +<p>“May I ask the name of this lake?” said I, +addressing myself to the young man who sat between me and the +elderly one.</p> + +<p>“Its name is Llyn Cwellyn, sir,” said he, taking +the pipe out of his mouth. “And a fine lake it +is.”</p> + +<p>“Plenty of fish in it?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“Plenty, sir; plenty of trout and pike and +char.”</p> + +<p>“Is it deep?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Near the shore it is shallow, sir, but in the middle +and near the other side it is deep, so deep that no one knows how +deep it is.”</p> + +<p>“What is the name,” said I, “of the great +black mountain there on the other side?”</p> + +<p>“It is called Mynydd Mawr or the Great Mountain. +Yonder rock, which bulks out from it, down the lake yonder, and +which you passed as you came along, is called Castell Cidwm, +which means Wolf’s rock or castle.”</p> + +<p>“Did a wolf ever live there?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps so,” said the man, “for I have +heard say that there were wolves of old in Wales.”</p> + +<p>“And what is the name of the beautiful hill yonder, +before us across the water?”</p> + +<p>“That, sir, is called Cairn Drws y Coed,” said the +man.</p> + +<p>“The stone heap of the gate of the wood,” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Are you Welsh, sir?” said the man.</p> + +<p>“No,” said I, “but I know something of the +language of Wales. I suppose you live in that +house?”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly, sir, my father-in-law here lives in that +house, and my wife with him. I am a miner, and spend six +days in the week at my mine, but every Sunday I come here and +pass the day with my wife and him.”</p> + +<p>“And what profession does he follow?” said I; +“is he a fisherman?”</p> + +<p>“Fisherman!” said the elderly man contemptuously, +“not I. I am the Snowdon Ranger.”</p> + +<p>“And what is that?” said I.</p> + +<p>The elderly man tossed his head proudly, and made no +reply.</p> + +<p>“A ranger means a guide, sir,” said the younger +man; “my father-in-law is generally termed the Snowdon +Ranger because he is a tip-top guide, and he has named the house +after him the Snowdon Ranger. He entertains gentlemen in it +who put themselves under his guidance in order to ascend Snowdon +and to see the country.”</p> + +<p>“There is some difference in your professions,” +said “he deals in heights, you in depths, both, however, +are break-necky trades.”</p> + +<p>“I run more risk from gunpowder than anything +else,” said the younger man. “I am a +slate-miner, and am continually blasting. I have, however, +had my falls. Are you going far to-night, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I am going to Beth Gelert,” said I.</p> + +<p>“A good six miles, sir, from here. Do you come +from Caernarvon?”</p> + +<p>“Farther than that,” said I. “I come +from Bangor.”</p> + +<p>“To-day, sir, and walking?”</p> + +<p>“To-day, and walking.”</p> + +<p>“You must be rather tired, sir, you came along the +valley very slowly.”</p> + +<p>“I am not in the slightest degree tired,” said I; +“when I start from here, I shall put on my best pace, and +soon get to Beth Gelert.”</p> + +<p>“Anybody can get along over level ground,” said +the old man, laconically.</p> + +<p>“Not with equal swiftness,” said I. “I +do assure you, friend, to be able to move at a good swinging pace +over level ground is something not to be sneezed at. +Not,” said I, lifting up my voice, “that I would for +a moment compare walking on the level ground to mountain ranging, +pacing along the road to springing up crags like a mountain goat, +or assert that even Powell himself, the first of all road +walkers, was entitled to so bright a wreath of fame as the +Snowdon Ranger.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t you walk in, sir?” said the elderly +man.</p> + +<p>“No, I thank you,” said I, “I prefer sitting +out here gazing on the lake and the noble mountains.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you would, sir,” said the elderly man, +“and take a glass of something; I will charge you +nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said I, “I am in want of +nothing, and shall presently start. Do many people ascend +Snowdon from your house?”</p> + +<p>“Not so many as I could wish,” said the ranger; +“people in general prefer ascending Snowdon from that +trumpery place Beth Gelert; but those who do are +fools—begging your honour’s pardon. The place +to ascend Snowdon from is my house. The way from my house +up Snowdon is wonderful for the romantic scenery which it +affords; that from Beth Gelert can’t be named in the same +day with it for scenery; moreover, from my house you may have the +best guide in Wales; whereas the guides of Beth Gelert—but +I say nothing. If your honour is bound for the Wyddfa, as I +suppose you are, you had better start from my house to-morrow +under my guidance.”</p> + +<p>“I have already been up the Wyddfa from +Llanberis,” said I, “and am now going through Beth +Gelert to Llangollen, where my family are; were I going up +Snowdon again I should most certainly start from your house under +your guidance, and were I not in a hurry at present, I would +certainly take up my quarters here for a week, and every day +snake excursions with you into the recesses of Eryri. I +suppose you are acquainted with all the secrets of the +hills?”</p> + +<p>“Trust the old ranger for that, your honour. I +would show your honour the black lake in the frightful hollow in +which the fishes have monstrous heads and little bodies, the lake +on which neither swan, duck nor any kind of wildfowl was ever +seen to light. Then I would show your honour the fountain +of the hopping creatures, where, where—”</p> + +<p>“Were you ever at that Wolf’s crag, that Castell y +Cidwm?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Can’t say I ever was, your honour. You see +it lies so close by, just across the lake, that—”</p> + +<p>“You thought you could see it any day, and so never +went,” said I. “Can you tell me whether there +are any ruins upon it?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t, your honour.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder,” said I, “if in +old times it was the stronghold of some robber-chieftain; cidwm +in the old Welsh is frequently applied to a ferocious man. +Castell Cidwm, I should think, rather ought to be translated the +robber’s castle than the wolf’s rock. If I ever +come into these parts again you and I will visit it together, and +see what kind of place it is. Now farewell! It is +getting late.” I then departed.</p> + +<p>“What a nice gentleman!” said the younger man, +when I was a few yards distant.</p> + +<p>“I never saw a nicer gentleman,” said the old +ranger.</p> + +<p>I sped along, Snowdon on my left, the lake on my right, and +the tip of a mountain peak right before me in the east. +After a little time I looked back; what a scene! The silver +lake and the shadowy mountain over its southern side looking now, +methought, very much like Gibraltar. I lingered and +lingered, gazing and gazing, and at last only by an effort tore +myself away. The evening had now become delightfully cool +in this land of wonders. On I sped, passing by two noisy +brooks coming from Snowdon to pay tribute to the lake. And +now I had left the lake and the valley behind, and was ascending +a hill. As I gained its summit, up rose the moon to cheer +my way. In a little time, a wild stony gorge confronted me, +a stream ran down the gorge with hollow roar, a bridge lay across +it. I asked a figure whom I saw standing by the bridge the +place’s name. “Rhyd du”—the black +ford—I crossed the bridge. The voice of the Methodist +was yelling from a little chapel on my left. I went to the +door and listened: “When the sinner takes hold of God, God +takes hold of the sinner.” The voice was frightfully +hoarse. I passed on: night fell fast around me, and the +mountain to the south-east, towards which I was tending, looked +blackly grand. And now I came to a milestone on which I +read with difficulty: “Three miles to Beth +Gelert.” The way for some time had been upward, but +now it was downward. I reached a torrent, which coming from +the north-west rushed under a bridge, over which I passed. +The torrent attended me on my right hand the whole way to Beth +Gelert. The descent now became very rapid. I passed a +pine wood on my left, and proceeded for more than two miles at a +tremendous rate. I then came to a wood—this wood was +just above Beth Gelert—proceeding in the direction of a +black mountain, I found myself amongst houses, at the bottom of a +valley. I passed over a bridge, and inquiring of some +people whom I met the way to the inn, was shown an edifice +brilliantly lighted up, which I entered.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XLV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Inn at Beth Gelert—Delectable +Company—Lieutenant P---.</p> + +<p>The inn or hotel at Beth Gelert was a large and commodious +building, and was anything but thronged with company; what +company, however, there was, was disagreeable enough, perhaps +more so than that in which I had been the preceding evening, +which was composed of the scum of Manchester and Liverpool; the +company amongst which I now was, consisted of seven or eight +individuals, two of them were military puppies, one a tallish +fellow, who though evidently upwards of thirty, affected the airs +of a languishing girl, and would fain have made people believe +that he was dying of <i>ennui</i> and lassitude. The other +was a short spuddy fellow, with a broad ugly face and with +spectacles on his nose, who talked very consequentially about +“the service” and all that, but whose tone of voice +was coarse and his manner that of an under-bred person; then +there was an old fellow about sixty-five, a civilian, with a red +carbuncled face; he was father of the spuddy military puppy, on +whom he occasionally cast eyes of pride and almost adoration, and +whose sayings he much applauded, especially certain <i>doubles +entendres</i>, to call them by no harsher term, directed to a fat +girl, weighing some fifteen stone, who officiated in the +coffee-room as waiter. Then there was a creature to do +justice to whose appearance would require the pencil of a +Hogarth. He was about five feet three inches and a quarter +high, and might have weighed, always provided a stone weight had +been attached to him, about half as much as the fat girl. +His countenance was cadaverous and was eternally agitated by +something between a grin and a simper. He was dressed in a +style of superfine gentility, and his skeleton fingers were +bedizened with tawdry rings. His conversation was chiefly +about his bile and his secretions, the efficacy of licorice in +producing a certain effect, and the expediency of changing +one’s linen at least three times a day; though had he +changed his six, I should have said that the purification of the +last shirt would have been no sinecure to the laundress. +His accent was decidedly Scotch: he spoke familiarly of Scott and +one or two other Scotch worthies, and more than once insinuated +that he was a member of Parliament. With respect to the +rest of the company I say nothing, and for the very sufficient +reason that, unlike the above described batch, they did not seem +disposed to be impertinent towards me.</p> + +<p>Eager to get out of such society I retired early to bed. +As I left the room the diminutive Scotch individual was +describing to the old simpleton, who on the ground of the +other’s being a “member,” was listening to him +with extreme attention, how he was labouring under an access of +bile owing to his having left his licorice somewhere or +other. I passed a quiet night, and in the morning +breakfasted, paid my bill, and departed. As I went out of +the coffee-room the spuddy, broad-faced military puppy with +spectacles was vociferating to the languishing military puppy, +and to his old simpleton of a father, who was listening to him +with his usual look of undisguised admiration, about the absolute +necessity of kicking Lieutenant P--- out of the army for having +disgraced “the service.” Poor P---, whose only +crime was trying to defend himself with fist and candlestick from +the manual attacks of his brutal messmates.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XLVI</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Valley of Gelert—Legend of the +Dog—Magnificent Scenery—The Knicht—Goats in +Wales—The Frightful Crag—Temperance House—Smile +and Curtsey.</p> + +<p>Beth Gelert is situated in a valley surrounded by huge hills, +the most remarkable of which are Moel Hebog and Cerrig Llan; the +former fences it on the south, and the latter, which is quite +black and nearly perpendicular, on the east. A small stream +rushes through the valley, and sallies forth by a pass at its +south-eastern end. The valley is said by some to derive its +name of Beddgelert, which signifies the grave of Celert, from +being the burial-place of Celert, a British saint of the sixth +century, to whom Llangeler in Carmarthenshire is believed to have +been consecrated, but the popular and most universally received +tradition is that it has its name from being the resting-place of +a faithful dog called Celert or Gelert, killed by his master, the +warlike and celebrated Llywelyn ab Jorwerth, from an unlucky +misapprehension. Though the legend is known to most people, +I shall take the liberty of relating it.</p> + +<p>Llywelyn during his contests with the English had encamped +with a few followers in the valley, and one day departed with his +men on an expedition, leaving his infant son in a cradle in his +tent, under the care of his hound Gelert, after giving the child +its fill of goat’s milk. Whilst he was absent a wolf +from the neighbouring mountains, in quest of prey, found its way +into the tent, and was about to devour the child, when the +watchful dog interfered, and after a desperate conflict, in which +the tent was torn down, succeeded in destroying the +monster. Llywelyn returning at evening found the tent on +the ground, and the dog, covered with blood, sitting beside +it. Imagining that the blood with which Gelert was +besmeared was that of his own son devoured by the animal to whose +care he had confided him, Llywelyn in a paroxysm of natural +indignation forthwith transfixed the faithful creature with his +spear. Scarcely, however, had he done so when his ears were +startled by the cry of a child from beneath the fallen tent, and +hastily removing the canvas he found the child in its cradle, +quite uninjured, and the body of an enormous wolf, frightfully +torn and mangled, lying near. His breast was now filled +with conflicting emotions, joy for the preservation of his son, +and grief for the fate of his dog, to whom he forthwith +hastened. The poor animal was not quite dead, but presently +expired, in the act of licking his master’s hand. +Llywelyn mourned over him as over a brother, buried him with +funeral honours in the valley, and erected a tomb over him as +over a hero. From that time the valley was called Beth +Gelert.</p> + +<p>Such is the legend, which, whether true or fictitious, is +singularly beautiful and affecting.</p> + +<p>The tomb, or what is said to be the tomb, of Gelert, stands in +a beautiful meadow just below the precipitous side of Cerrig +Llan: it consists of a large slab lying on its side, and two +upright stones. It is shaded by a weeping willow, and is +surrounded by a hexagonal paling. Who is there acquainted +with the legend, whether he believes that the dog lies beneath +those stones or not, can visit them without exclaiming with a +sigh, “Poor Gelert!”</p> + +<p>After wandering about the valley for some time, and seeing a +few of its wonders, I inquired my way for Festiniog, and set off +for that place. The way to it is through the pass at the +south-east end of the valley. Arrived at the entrance of +the pass I turned round to look at the scenery I was leaving +behind me; the view which presented itself to my eyes was very +grand and beautiful. Before me lay the meadow of Gelert +with the river flowing through it towards the pass. Beyond +the meadow the Snowdon range; on the right the mighty Cerrig +Llan; on the left the equally mighty, but not quite so +precipitous, Hebog. Truly, the valley of Gelert is a +wondrous valley—rivalling for grandeur and beauty any vale +either in the Alps or Pyrenees. After a long and earnest +view I turned round again and proceeded on my way.</p> + +<p>Presently I came to a bridge bestriding the stream, which a +man told me was called Pont Aber Glâs Lyn, or the bridge of +the debouchement of the grey lake. I soon emerged from the +pass, and after proceeding some way stopped again to admire the +scenery. To the west was the Wyddfa; full north was a +stupendous range of rocks; behind them a conical peak seemingly +rivalling the Wyddfa itself in altitude; between the rocks and +the road, where I stood, was beautiful forest scenery. I +again went on, going round the side of a hill by a gentle +ascent. After a little time I again stopped to look about +me. There was the rich forest scenery to the north, behind +it were the rocks and behind the rocks rose the wonderful conical +hill impaling heaven; confronting it to the south-east, was a +huge lumpish hill. As I stood looking about me I saw a man +coming across a field which sloped down to the road from a small +house. He presently reached me, stopped and smiled. A +more open countenance than his I never saw in all the days of my +life.</p> + +<p>“Dydd dachwi, sir,” said the man of the open +countenance, “the weather is very showy.”</p> + +<p>“Very showy, indeed,” said I; “I was just +now wishing for somebody, of whom I might ask a question or +two.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I can answer those questions, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you can. What is the name of that +wonderful peak sticking up behind the rocks to the +north?”</p> + +<p>“Many people have asked that question, sir, and I have +given them the answer which I now give you. It is called +the ‘Knicht,’ sir; and a wondrous hill it +is.”</p> + +<p>“And what is the name of yonder hill opposite to it, to +the south, rising like one big lump.”</p> + +<p>“I do not know the name of that hill, sir, farther than +that I have heard it called the Great Hill.”</p> + +<p>“And a very good name for it,” said I; “do +you live in that house?”</p> + +<p>“I do, sir, when I am at home.”</p> + +<p>“And what occupation do you follow?”</p> + +<p>“I am a farmer, though a small one.”</p> + +<p>“Is your farm your own?”</p> + +<p>“It is not, sir: I am not so far rich.”</p> + +<p>“Who is your landlord?”</p> + +<p>“Mr Blicklin, sir. He is my landlord.”</p> + +<p>“Is he a good landlord?”</p> + +<p>“Very good, sir, no one can wish for a better +landlord.”</p> + +<p>“Has he a wife?”</p> + +<p>“In truth, sir, he has; and a very good wife she +is.”</p> + +<p>“Has he children?”</p> + +<p>“Plenty, sir; and very fine children they +are.”</p> + +<p>“Is he Welsh?”</p> + +<p>“He is, sir! Cumro pur iawn.”</p> + +<p>“Farewell,” said I; “I shall never forget +you; you are the first tenant I ever heard speak well of his +landlord, or any one connected with him.”</p> + +<p>“Then you have not spoken to the other tenants of Mr +Blicklin, sir. Every tenant of Mr Blicklin would say the +same of him as I have said, and of his wife and his children +too. Good-day, sir!”</p> + +<p>I wended on my way; the sun was very powerful; saw cattle in a +pool on my right, maddened with heat and flies, splashing and +fighting. Presently I found myself with extensive meadows +on my right, and a wall of rocks on my left, on a lofty bank +below which I saw goats feeding; beautiful creatures they were, +white and black, with long silky hair, and long upright +horns. They were of large size, and very different in +appearance from the common race. These were the first goats +which I had seen in Wales; for Wales is not at present the land +of goats, whatever it may have been.</p> + +<p>I passed under a crag exceedingly lofty, and of very frightful +appearance. It hung menacingly over the road. With +this crag the wall of rocks terminated; beyond it lay an +extensive strath, meadow, or marsh bounded on the cast by a lofty +hill. The road lay across the marsh. I went forward, +crossed a bridge over a beautiful streamlet, and soon arrived at +the foot of the hill. The road now took a turn to the +right, that is to the south, and seemed to lead round the +hill. Just at the turn of the road stood a small neat +cottage. There was a board over the door with an +inscription. I drew nigh and looked at it, expecting that +it would tell me that good ale was sold within, and read: +“Tea made here, the draught which cheers but not +inebriates.” I was before what is generally termed a +temperance house.</p> + +<p>“The bill of fare does not tempt you, sir,” said a +woman who made her appearance at the door, just as I was about to +turn away with an exceedingly wry face.</p> + +<p>“It does not,” said I, “and you ought to be +ashamed of yourself to have nothing better to offer to a +traveller than a cup of tea. I am faint; and I want good +ale to give me heart, not wishy-washy tea to take away the little +strength I have.”</p> + +<p>“What would you have me do, sir? Glad should I be +to have a cup of ale to offer you, but the magistrates, when I +applied to them for a licence, refused me one; so I am compelled +to make a cup of tea, in order to get a crust of bread. And +if you choose to step in, I will make you a cup of tea, not +wishy-washy, I assure you, but as good as ever was +brewed.”</p> + +<p>“I had tea for my breakfast at Beth Gelert,” said +I, “and want no more till to-morrow morning. +What’s the name of that strange-looking crag across the +valley?”</p> + +<p>“We call it Craig yr hyll ddrem, sir; which +means—I don’t know what it means in +English.”</p> + +<p>“Does it mean the crag of the frightful look?”</p> + +<p>“It does, sir,” said the woman; “ah, I see +you understand Welsh. Sometimes it’s called Allt +Traeth.”</p> + +<p>“The high place of the sandy channel,” said I; +“did the sea ever come up here?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say, sir; perhaps it did; who +knows?”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder,” said I, “if +there was once an arm of the sea between that crag and this +hill. Thank you! Farewell.”</p> + +<p>“Then you won’t walk in, sir?</p> + +<p>“Not to drink tea,” said I, “tea is a good +thing at a proper time, but were I to drink it now, it would make +me ill.”</p> + +<p>“Pray, sir, walk in,” said the woman, “and +perhaps I can accommodate you.”</p> + +<p>“Then you have ale?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No, sir; not a drop, but perhaps I can set something +before you which you will like as well.”</p> + +<p>“That I question,” said I, “however, I will +walk in.”</p> + +<p>The woman conducted me into a nice little parlour, and, +leaving me, presently returned with a bottle and tumbler on a +tray.</p> + +<p>“Here, sir,” said she, “is something, which +though not ale, I hope you will be able to drink.”</p> + +<p>“What is it?” said I.</p> + +<p>“It is ---, sir; and better never was drunk.”</p> + +<p>I tasted it; it was terribly strong. Those who wish for +either whisky or brandy far above proof, should always go to a +temperance house.</p> + +<p>I told the woman to bring me some water, and she brought me a +jug of water cold from the spring. With a little of the +contents of the bottle, and a deal of the contents of the jug, I +made myself a beverage tolerable enough; a poor substitute, +however, to a genuine Englishman for his proper drink, the liquor +which, according to the Edda, is called by men ale, and by the +gods beer.</p> + +<p>I asked the woman whether she could read; she told me that she +could, both Welsh and English; she likewise informed me that she +had several books in both languages. I begged her to show +me some, whereupon she brought me some half dozen, and placing +them on the table left me to myself. Amongst the books was +a volume of poems in Welsh, written by Robert Williams of Betws +Fawr, styled in poetic language, Gwilym Du O Eifion. The +poems were chiefly on religious subjects. The following +lines which I copied from “Pethau a wnaed mewn +Gardd,” or things written in a garden, appeared to me +singularly beautiful:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Mewn gardd y cafodd dyn ei dwyllo;<br /> +Mewn gardd y rhoed oddewid iddo;<br /> +Mewn gardd bradychwyd Iesu hawddgar;<br /> +Mewn gardd amdowyd ef mewn daear.”</p> + +<p>“In a garden the first of our race was deceived;<br /> +In a garden the promise of grace he received;<br /> +In a garden was Jesus betrayed to His doom;<br /> +In a garden His body was laid in the tomb.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Having finished my glass of “summut” and my +translation, I called to the woman and asked her what I had to +pay.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” said she, “if you had had a cup +of tea I should have charged sixpence.”</p> + +<p>“You make no charge,” said I, “for what I +have had?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, sir, nothing.”</p> + +<p>“But suppose,” said I, “I were to give you +something by way of present would you—” and here I +stopped. The woman smiled.</p> + +<p>“Would you fling it in my face?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh dear, no, sir,” said the woman, smiling more +than before.</p> + +<p>I gave her something—it was not a sixpence—at +which she not only smiled but curtseyed; then bidding her +farewell I went out of the door.</p> + +<p>I was about to take the broad road, which led round the hill, +when she inquired of me where I was going, and on my telling her +to Festiniog, she advised me to go by a by-road behind the house +which led over the hill.</p> + +<p>“If you do, sir,” said she, “you will see +some of the finest prospects in Wales, get into the high road +again, and save a mile and a half of way.”</p> + +<p>I told the temperance woman I would follow her advice, +whereupon she led me behind the house, pointed to a rugged path, +which with a considerable ascent seemed to lead towards the +north, and after giving certain directions, not very +intelligible, returned to her temperance temple.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XLVII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Spanish Proverb—The Short +Cut—Predestinations—Rhys Goch—Old +Crusty—Undercharging—The Cavalier.</p> + +<p>The Spaniards have a proverb: “No hay atajo sin +trabajo,” there is no short cut without a deal of +labour. This proverb is very true, as I know by my own +experience, for I never took a short cut in my life, and I have +taken many in my wanderings, without falling down, getting into a +slough, or losing my way. On the present occasion I lost my +way, and wandered about for nearly two hours amidst rocks, +thickets, and precipices, without being able to find it. +The temperance woman, however, spoke nothing but the truth when +she said I should see some fine scenery. From a rock I +obtained a wonderful view of the Wyddfa towering in sublime +grandeur in the west, and of the beautiful, but spectral, Knicht +shooting up high in the north; and from the top of a bare hill I +obtained a prospect to the south, noble indeed—waters, +forests, hoary mountains, and in the far distance the sea. +But all these fine prospects were a poor compensation for what I +underwent: I was scorched by the sun, which was insufferably hot, +and my feet were bleeding from the sharp points of the rocks +which cut through my boots like razors. At length coming to +a stone wall I flung myself down under it, and almost thought +that I should give up the ghost. After some time, however, +I recovered, and getting up tried to find my way out of the +anialwch. Sheer good fortune caused me to stumble upon a +path, by following which I came to a lone farm-house, where a +good-natured woman gave me certain directions by means of which I +at last got out of the hot stony wilderness, for such it was, +upon a smooth royal road.</p> + +<p>“Trust me again taking any short cuts,” said I, +“after the specimen I have just had.” This, +however, I had frequently said before, and have said since after +taking short cuts—and probably shall often say again before +I come to my great journey’s end.</p> + +<p>I turned to the east which I knew to be my proper direction, +and being now on smooth ground put my legs to their best +speed. The road by a rapid descent conducted me to a +beautiful valley with a small town at its southern end. I +soon reached the town, and on inquiring its name found I was in +Tan y Bwlch, which interpreted signifieth “Below the +Pass.” Feeling much exhausted I entered the Grapes +Inn.</p> + +<p>On my calling for brandy and water I was shown into a handsome +parlour. The brandy and water soon restored the vigour +which I had lost in the wilderness. In the parlour was a +serious-looking gentleman, with a glass of something before +him. With him, as I sipped my brandy and water, I got into +discourse. The discourse soon took a religious turn, and +terminated in a dispute. He told me he believed in divine +predestination; I told him I did not, but that I believed in +divine prescience. He asked me whether I hoped to be saved; +I told him I did, and asked him whether he hoped to be +saved. He told me he did not, and as he said so, he tapped +with a silver tea-spoon on the rim of his glass. I said +that he seemed to take very coolly the prospect of damnation; he +replied that it was of no use taking what was inevitable +otherwise than coolly. I asked him on what ground he +imagined he should be lost; he replied on the ground of being +predestined to be lost. I asked him how he knew he was +predestined to be lost; whereupon he asked me how I knew I was to +be saved. I told him I did not know I was to be saved, but +trusted I should be so by belief in Christ, who came into the +world to save sinners, and that if he believed in Christ he might +be as easily saved as myself, or any other sinner who believed in +Him. Our dispute continued a considerable time +longer. At last, finding him silent, and having finished my +brandy and water, I got up, rang the bell, paid for what I had +had, and left him looking very miserable, perhaps at finding that +he was not quite so certain of eternal damnation as he had +hitherto supposed. There can be no doubt that the idea of +damnation is anything but disagreeable to some people; it gives +them a kind of gloomy consequence in their own eyes. We +must be something particular they think, or God would hardly +think it worth His while to torment us for ever.</p> + +<p>I inquired the way to Festiniog, and finding that I had passed +by it on my way to the town, I went back, and as directed turned +to the east up a wide pass, down which flowed a river. I +soon found myself in another and very noble valley, intersected +by the river which was fed by numerous streams rolling down the +sides of the hills. The road which I followed in the +direction of the east lay on the southern side of the valley and +led upward by a steep ascent. On I went, a mighty hill +close on my right. My mind was full of enthusiastic +fancies; I was approaching Festiniog the birthplace of Rhys Goch, +who styled himself Rhys Goch of Eryri or Red Rhys of Snowdon, a +celebrated bard, and a partisan of Owen Glendower, who lived to +an immense age, and who, as I had read, was in the habit of +composing his pieces seated on a stone which formed part of a +Druidical circle, for which reason the stone was called the chair +of Rhys Goch; yes, my mind was full of enthusiastic fancies all +connected with this Rhys Goch, and as I went along slowly, I +repeated stanzas of furious war songs of his exciting his +countrymen to exterminate the English, and likewise snatches of +an abusive ode composed by him against a fox who had run away +with his favourite peacock, a piece so abounding with hard words +that it was termed the Drunkard’s chokepear, as no drunkard +was ever able to recite it, and ever and anon I wished I could +come in contact with some native of the region with whom I could +talk about Rhys Goch, and who could tell me whereabouts stood his +chair.</p> + +<p>Strolling along in this manner I was overtaken by an old +fellow with a stick in his hand, walking very briskly. He +had a crusty and rather conceited look. I spoke to him in +Welsh, and he answered in English, saying that I need not trouble +myself by speaking Welsh, as he had plenty of English, and of the +very best. We were from first to last at cross +purposes. I asked him about Rhys Goch and his chair. +He told me that he knew nothing of either, and began to talk of +Her Majesty’s ministers and the fine sights of +London. I asked him the name of a stream which, descending +a gorge on our right, ran down the side of a valley, to join the +river at its bottom. He told me that he did not know, and +asked me the name of the Queen’s eldest daughter. I +told him I did not know, and remarked that it was very odd that +he could not tell me the name of a stream in his own vale. +He replied that it was not a bit more odd than that I could not +tell him the name of the eldest daughter of the Queen of England: +I told him that when I was in Wales I wanted to talk about Welsh +matters, and he told me that when he was with English he wanted +to talk about English matters. I returned to the subject of +Rhys Goch and his chair, and he returned to the subject of Her +Majesty’s ministers, and the fine folks of London. I +told him that I cared not a straw about Her Majesty’s +ministers and the fine folks of London, and he replied that he +cared not a straw for Rhys Goch, his chair or old women’s +stories of any kind.</p> + +<p>Regularly incensed against the old fellow, I told him he was a +bad Welshman, and he retorted by saying I was a bad +Englishman. I said he appeared to know next to +nothing. He retorted by saying I knew less than nothing, +and almost inarticulate with passion added that he scorned to +walk in such illiterate company, and suiting the action to the +word sprang up a steep and rocky footpath on the right, probably +a short cut to his domicile, and was out of sight in a +twinkling. We were both wrong: I most so. He was +crusty and conceited, but I ought to have humoured him and then I +might have got out of him anything he knew, always supposing that +he knew anything.</p> + +<p>About an hour’s walk from Tan y Bwlch brought me to +Festiniog, which is situated on the top of a lofty hill looking +down from the south-east, on the valley which I have described, +and which as I know not its name I shall style the Valley of the +numerous streams. I went to the inn, a large old-fashioned +house standing near the church; the mistress of it was a +queer-looking old woman, antiquated in her dress and rather blunt +in her manner. Of her, after ordering dinner, I made +inquiries respecting the chair of Rhys Goch, but she said that +she had never heard of such a thing, and after glancing at me +askew, for a moment, with a curiously-formed left eye which she +had, went away muttering chair, chair; leaving me in a large and +rather dreary parlour, to which she had shown me. I felt +very fatigued, rather I believe from that unlucky short cut than +from the length of the way, for I had not come more than eighteen +miles. Drawing a chair towards a table I sat down, and +placing my elbows upon the board I leaned my face upon my +upturned hands, and presently fell into a sweet sleep, from which +I awoke exceedingly refreshed just as a maid opened the room door +to lay the cloth.</p> + +<p>After dinner I got up, went out and strolled about the +place. It was small, and presented nothing very +remarkable. Tired of strolling I went and leaned my back +against the wall of the churchyard and enjoyed the cool of the +evening, for evening with its coolness and shadows had now come +on.</p> + +<p>As I leaned against the wall, an elderly man came up and +entered into discourse with me. He told me he was a barber +by profession, had travelled all over Wales, and had seen +London. I asked him about the chair of Rhys Goch. He +told me that he had heard of some such chair a long time ago, but +could give me no information as to where it stood. I know +not how it happened that he came to speak about my landlady, but +speak about her he did. He said that she was a good kind of +woman, but totally unqualified for business, as she knew not how +to charge. On my observing that that was a piece of +ignorance with which few landladies or landlords either were +taxable, he said that however other publicans might overcharge, +undercharging was her foible, and that she had brought herself +very low in the world by it—that to his certain knowledge +she might have been worth thousands instead of the trifle which +she was possessed of, and that she was particularly notorious for +undercharging the English, a thing never before dreamt of in +Wales. I told him that I was very glad that I had come +under the roof of such a landlady; the old barber, however, said +that she was setting a bad example, that such goings on could not +last long, that he knew how things would end, and finally working +himself up into a regular tiff left me abruptly without wishing +me good-night.</p> + +<p>I returned to the inn, and called for lights; the lights were +placed upon the table in the old-fashioned parlour, and I was +left to myself. I walked up and down the room some +time. At length, seeing some old books lying in a corner, I +laid hold of them, carried them to the table, sat down and began +to inspect them; they were the three volumes of Scott’s +“Cavalier”—I had seen this work when a youth, +and thought it a tiresome trashy publication. Looking over +it now when I was grown old I thought so still, but I now +detected in it what from want of knowledge I had not detected in +my early years, what the highest genius, had it been manifested +in every page, could not have compensated for, base fulsome +adulation of the worthless great, and most unprincipled libelling +of the truly noble ones of the earth, because they the sons of +peasants and handycraftsmen, stood up for the rights of outraged +humanity, and proclaimed that it is worth makes the man and not +embroidered clothing. The heartless, unprincipled son of +the tyrant was transformed in that worthless book into a +slightly-dissipated, it is true, but upon the whole brave, +generous and amiable being; and Harrison, the English Regulus, +honest, brave, unflinching Harrison, into a pseudo-fanatic, a +mixture of the rogue and fool. Harrison, probably the man +of the most noble and courageous heart that England ever +produced, who when all was lost scorned to flee, like the second +Charles from Worcester, but, braved infamous judges and the +gallows, who when reproached on his mock trial with complicity in +the death of the king, gave the noble answer that “It was a +thing not done in a corner,” and when in the cart on the +way to Tyburn, on being asked jeeringly by a lord’s bastard +in the crowd, “Where is the good old cause now?” +thrice struck his strong fist on the breast which contained his +courageous heart, exclaiming, “Here, here, +here!” Yet for that “Cavalier,” that +trumpery publication, the booksellers of England, on its first +appearance, gave an order to the amount of six thousand +pounds. But they were wise in their generation; they knew +that the book would please the base, slavish taste of the age, a +taste which the author of the work had had no slight share in +forming.</p> + +<p>Tired after a while with turning over the pages of the trashy +“Cavalier” I returned the volumes to their place in +the corner, blew out one candle, and taking the other in my hand +marched off to bed.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XLVIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Bill—The Two Mountains—Sheet +of Water—The Afanc-Crocodile—The +Afanc-Beaver—Tai Hirion—Kind Woman—Arenig +Vawr—The Beam and Mote—Bala.</p> + +<p>After breakfasting I demanded my bill. I was curious to +see how little the amount would be, for after what I had heard +from the old barber the preceding evening about the utter +ignorance of the landlady in making a charge, I naturally +expected that I should have next to nothing to pay. When it +was brought, however, and the landlady brought it herself, I +could scarcely believe my eyes. Whether the worthy woman +had lately come to a perception of the folly of undercharging, +and had determined to adopt a different system; whether it was +that seeing me the only guest in the house she had determined to +charge for my entertainment what she usually charged for that of +two or three—strange by-the-bye that I should be the only +guest in a house notorious for undercharging—I know not, +but certain it is the amount of the bill was far, far from the +next to nothing which the old barber had led me to suppose I +should have to pay, who perhaps after all had very extravagant +ideas with respect to making out a bill for a Saxon. It +was, however, not a very unconscionable bill, and merely amounted +to a trifle more than I had paid at Beth Gelert for somewhat +better entertainment.</p> + +<p>Having paid the bill without demur and bidden the landlady +farewell, who displayed the same kind of indifferent bluntness +which she had manifested the day before, I set off in the +direction of the east, intending that my next stage should be +Bala. Passing through a tollgate I found myself in a kind +of suburb consisting of a few cottages. Struck with the +neighbouring scenery, I stopped to observe it. A mighty +mountain rises in the north almost abreast of Festiniog; another +towards the east divided into two of unequal size. Seeing a +woman of an interesting countenance seated at the door of a +cottage I pointed to the hill towards the north, and speaking the +Welsh language, inquired its name.</p> + +<p>“That hill, sir,” said she, “is called Moel +Wyn.”</p> + +<p>Now Moel Wyn signifies the white, bare hill.</p> + +<p>“And how do you call those two hills towards the +east?”</p> + +<p>“We call one, sir, Mynydd Mawr, the other Mynydd +Bach.”</p> + +<p>Now Mynydd Mawr signifies the great mountain and Mynydd Bach +the little one.</p> + +<p>“Do any people live in those hills?”</p> + +<p>“The men who work the quarries, sir, live in those +hills. They and their wives and their children. No +other people.”</p> + +<p>“Have you any English?”</p> + +<p>“I have not, sir. No people who live on this side +the talcot (tollgate) for a long way have any English.”</p> + +<p>I proceeded on my journey. The country for some way +eastward of Festiniog is very wild and barren, consisting of huge +hills without trees or verdure. About three miles’ +distance, however, there is a beautiful valley, which you look +down upon from the southern side of the road, after having +surmounted a very steep ascent. This valley is fresh and +green and the lower parts of the hills on its farther side are, +here and there, adorned with groves. At the eastern end is +a deep, dark gorge, or ravine, down which tumbles a brook in a +succession of small cascades. The ravine is close by the +road. The brook after disappearing for a time shows itself +again far down in the valley, and is doubtless one of the +tributaries of the Tan y Bwlch river, perhaps the very same brook +the name of which I could not learn the preceding day in the +vale.</p> + +<p>As I was gazing on the prospect an old man driving a peat cart +came from the direction in which I was going. I asked him +the name of the ravine and he told me it was Ceunant Coomb or +hollow-dingle coomb. I asked the name of the brook, and he +told me that it was called the brook of the hollow-dingle coomb, +adding that it ran under Pont Newydd, though where that was I +knew not. Whilst he was talking with me he stood +uncovered. Yes, the old peat driver stood with his hat in +his hand whilst answering the questions of the poor, dusty +foot-traveller. What a fine thing to be an Englishman in +Wales!</p> + +<p>In about an hour I came to a wild moor; the moor extended for +miles and miles. It was bounded on the east and south by +immense hills and moels. On I walked at a round pace, the +sun scorching me sore, along a dusty, hilly road, now up, now +down. Nothing could be conceived more cheerless than the +scenery around. The ground on each side of the road was +mossy and rushy—no houses—instead of them were neat +stacks, here and there, standing in their blackness. +Nothing living to be seen except a few miserable sheep picking +the wretched herbage, or lying panting on the shady side of the +peat clumps. At length I saw something which appeared to be +a sheet of water at the bottom of a low ground on my right. +It looked far off—“Shall I go and see what it +is?” thought I to myself. “No,” thought +I. “It is too far off”—so on I walked +till I lost sight of it, when I repented and thought I would go +and see what it was. So I dashed down the moory slope on my +right, and presently saw the object again—and now I saw +that it was water. I sped towards it through gorse and +heather, occasionally leaping a deep drain. At last I +reached it. It was a small lake. Wearied and panting +I flung myself on its bank and gazed upon it.</p> + +<p>There lay the lake in the low bottom, surrounded by the +heathery hillocks; there it lay quite still, the hot sun +reflected upon its surface, which shone like a polished blue +shield. Near the shore it was shallow, at least near that +shore upon which I lay. But farther on, my eye, practised +in deciding upon the depths of waters, saw reason to suppose that +its depth was very great. As I gazed upon it my mind +indulged in strange musings. I thought of the afanc, a +creature which some have supposed to be the harmless and +industrious beaver, others the frightful and destructive +crocodile. I wondered whether the afanc was the crocodile +or the beaver, and speedily had no doubt that the name was +originally applied to the crocodile.</p> + +<p>“Oh, who can doubt,” thought I, “that the +word was originally intended for something monstrous and +horrible? Is there not something horrible in the look and +sound of the word afanc, something connected with the opening and +shutting of immense jaws, and the swallowing of writhing +prey? Is not the word a fitting brother of the Arabic +timsah, denoting the dread horny lizard of the waters? +Moreover, have we not the voice of tradition that the afanc was +something monstrous? Does it not say that Hu the Mighty, +the inventor of husbandry, who brought the Cumry from the +summer-country, drew the old afanc out of the lake of lakes with +his four gigantic oxen? Would he have had recourse to them +to draw out the little harmless beaver? Oh, surely +not. Yet have I no doubt that when the crocodile had +disappeared from the lands, where the Cumric language was spoken, +the name afanc was applied to the beaver, probably his successor +in the pool, the beaver now called in Cumric Llostlydan, or the +broad-tailed, for tradition’s voice is strong that the +beaver has at one time been called the afanc.” Then I +wondered whether the pool before me had been the haunt of the +afanc, considered both as crocodile and beaver. I saw no +reason to suppose that it had not. “If +crocodiles,” thought I, “ever existed in Britain, and +who shall say that they have not, seeing that there remains have +been discovered, why should they not have haunted this +pool? If beavers ever existed in Britain, and do not +tradition and Giraldus say that they have, why should they not +have existed in this pool?</p> + +<p>“At a time almost inconceivably remote, when the hills +around were covered with woods, through which the elk and the +bison and the wild cow strolled, when men were rare throughout +the lands and unlike in most things to the present race—at +such a period—and such a period there has been—I can +easily conceive that the afanc-crocodile haunted this pool, and +that when the elk or bison or wild cow came to drink of its +waters the grim beast would occasionally rush forth, and seizing +his bellowing victim, would return with it to the deeps before me +to luxuriate at his ease upon its flesh. And at a time less +remote, when the crocodile was no more, and though the woods +still covered the hills, and wild cattle strolled about, men were +more numerous than before, and less unlike the present race, I +can easily conceive this lake to have been the haunt of the +afanc-beaver, that he here built cunningly his house of trees and +clay, and that to this lake the native would come with his net +and his spear to hunt the animal for his precious fur. +Probably if the depths of that pool were searched relics of the +crocodile and the beaver might be found, along with other strange +things connected with the periods in which they respectively +lived. Happy were I if for a brief space I could become a +Cingalese that I might swim out far into that pool, dive down +into its deepest part and endeavour to discover any strange +things which beneath its surface may lie.” Much in +this guise rolled my thoughts as I lay stretched on the margin of +the lake.</p> + +<p>Satiated with musing I at last got up and endeavoured to +regain the road. I found it at last, though not without +considerable difficulty. I passed over moors, black and +barren, along a dusty road till I came to a valley; I was now +almost choked with dust and thirst, and longed for nothing in the +world so much as for water; suddenly I heard its blessed sound, +and perceived a rivulet on my left hand. It was crossed by +two bridges, one immensely old and terribly dilapidated, the +other old enough, but in better repair—went and drank under +the oldest bridge of the two. The water tasted of the peat +of the moors, nevertheless I drank greedily of it, for one must +not be over-delicate upon the moors.</p> + +<p>Refreshed with my draught I proceeded briskly on my way, and +in a little time saw a range of white buildings, diverging from +the road on the right hand, the gable of the first abutting upon +it. A kind of farm-yard was before them. A +respectable-looking woman was standing in the yard. I went +up to her and inquired the name of the place.</p> + +<p>“These houses, sir,” said she, “are called +Tai Hirion Mignaint. Look over that door and you will see +T. H. which letters stand for Tai Hirion. Mignaint is the +name of the place where they stand.”</p> + +<p>I looked, and upon a stone which formed the lintel of the +middlemost door I read “T. H 1630.”</p> + +<p>The words Tai Hirion it will be as well to say signify the +long houses.</p> + +<p>I looked long and steadfastly at the inscription, my mind full +of thoughts of the past.</p> + +<p>“Many a year has rolled by since these houses were +built,” said I, as I sat down on a stepping-stone.</p> + +<p>“Many indeed, sir,” said the woman, “and +many a strange thing has happened.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever hear of one Oliver Cromwell?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, sir, and of King Charles too. The men of +both have been in this yard and have baited their horses; aye, +and have mounted their horses from the stone on which you +sit.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose they were hardly here together?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“No, no, sir,” said the woman, “they were +bloody enemies, and could never set their horses +together.”</p> + +<p>“Are these long houses,” said I, “inhabited +by different families?”</p> + +<p>“Only by one, sir, they make now one +farm-house.”</p> + +<p>“Are you the mistress of it,” said I.</p> + +<p>“I am, sir, and my husband is the master. Can I +bring you anything, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Some water,” said I, “for I am thirsty, +though I drank under the old bridge.”</p> + +<p>The good woman brought me a basin of delicious milk and +water.</p> + +<p>“What are the names of the two bridges,” said I, +“a little way from here?”</p> + +<p>“They are called, sir, the old and new bridge of Tai +Hirion; at least we call them so.”</p> + +<p>“And what do you call the ffrwd that runs beneath +them?”</p> + +<p>“I believe, sir, it is called the river +Twerin.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know a lake far up there amidst the +moors?”</p> + +<p>“I have seen it, sir; they call it Llyn +Twerin.”</p> + +<p>“Does the river Twerin flow from it?”</p> + +<p>“I believe it does, sir, but I do not know.”</p> + +<p>“Is the lake deep?”</p> + +<p>“I have heard that it is very deep, sir, so much so that +nobody knows it’s depth.”</p> + +<p>“Are there fish in it?”</p> + +<p>“Digon, sir, digon iawn, and some very large. I +once saw a Pen-hwyad from that lake which weighed fifty +pounds.”</p> + +<p>After a little farther conversation I got up, and thanking the +kind woman departed. I soon left the moors behind me and +continued walking till I came to a few houses on the margin of a +meadow or fen in a valley through which the way trended to the +east. They were almost overshadowed by an enormous mountain +which rose beyond the fen on the south. Seeing a house +which bore a sign, and at the door of which a horse stood tied, I +went in, and a woman coming to meet me in a kind of passage, I +asked her if I could have some ale.</p> + +<p>“Of the best, sir,” she replied, and conducted me +down the passage into a neat room, partly kitchen, partly +parlour, the window of which looked out upon the fen. A +rustic-looking man sat smoking at a table with a jug of ale +before him. I sat down near him, and the good woman brought +me a similar jug of ale, which on tasting I found +excellent. My spirits which had been for some time very +flagging presently revived, and I entered into conversation with +my companion at the table. From him I learned that he was a +farmer of the neighbourhood, that the horse tied before the door +belonged to him, that the present times were very bad for the +producers of grain, with very slight likelihood of improvement; +that the place at which we were was called Rhyd y fen, or the +ford across the fen; that it was just half way between Festiniog +and Bala, that the clergyman of the parish was called Mr Pughe, a +good kind of man, but very purblind in a spiritual sense; and +finally that there was no safe religion in the world, save that +of the Calvinistic-Methodists, to which my companion +belonged.</p> + +<p>Having finished my ale I paid for it, and leaving the +Calvinistic farmer still smoking, I departed from Rhyd y +fen. On I went along the valley, the enormous hill on my +right, a moel of about half its height on my left, and a tall +hill bounding the prospect in the east, the direction in which I +was going. After a little time, meeting two women, I asked +them the name of the mountain to the south.</p> + +<p>“Arenig Vawr,” they replied, or something like +it.</p> + +<p>Presently meeting four men I put the same question to the +foremost, a stout, burly, intelligent-looking fellow, of about +fifty. He gave me the same name as the women. I asked +if anybody lived upon it.</p> + +<p>“No,” said he, “too cold for man.”</p> + +<p>“Fox?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No! too cold for fox.”</p> + +<p>“Crow?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No, too cold for crow; crow would be starved upon +it.” He then looked me in the face, expecting +probably that I should smile.</p> + +<p>I, however, looked at him with all the gravity of a judge, +whereupon he also observed the gravity of a judge, and we +continued looking at each other with all the gravity of judges +till we both simultaneously turned away, he followed by his +companions going his path, and I going mine.</p> + +<p>I subsequently remembered that Arenig is mentioned in a Welsh +poem, though in anything but a flattering and advantageous +manner. The writer calls it Arenig ddiffaith or barren +Arenig, and says that it intercepts from him the view of his +native land. Arenig is certainly barren enough, for there +is neither tree nor shrub upon it, but there is something +majestic in its huge bulk. Of all the hills which I saw in +Wales none made a greater impression upon me.</p> + +<p>Towards evening I arrived at a very small and pretty village +in the middle of which was a tollgate. Seeing an old woman +seated at the door of the gate-house I asked her the name of the +village. “I have no Saesneg!” she screamed +out.</p> + +<p>“I have plenty of Cumraeg,” said I, and repeated +my question. Whereupon she told me that it was called Tref +y Talcot—the village of the tollgate. That it was a +very nice village, and that she was born there. She then +pointed to two young women who were walking towards the gate at a +very slow pace and told me they were English. “I do +not know them,” said I. The old lady, who was +somewhat deaf, thinking that I said I did not know English, +leered at me complacently, and said that in that case, I was like +herself, for she did not speak a word of English, adding that a +body should not be considered a fool for not speaking +English. She then said that the young women had been taking +a walk together, and that they were much in each other’s +company for the sake of conversation, and no wonder, as the poor +simpletons could not speak a word of Welsh. I thought of +the beam and mote mentioned in Scripture, and then cast a glance +of compassion on the two poor young women. For a moment I +fancied myself in the times of Owen Glendower, and that I saw two +females, whom his marauders had carried off from Cheshire or +Shropshire to toil and slave in the Welshery, walking together +after the labours of the day were done, and bemoaning their +misfortunes in their own homely English.</p> + +<p>Shortly after leaving the village of the tollgate I came to a +beautiful valley. On my right hand was a river the farther +bank of which was fringed with trees; on my left was a gentle +ascent, the lower part of which was covered with rich grass, and +the upper with yellow luxuriant corn; a little farther on was a +green grove, behind which rose up a moel. A more bewitching +scene I never beheld. Ceres and Pan seemed in this place to +have met to hold their bridal. The sun now descending shone +nobly upon the whole. After staying for some time to gaze, +I proceeded, and soon met several carts, from the driver of one +of which I learned that I was yet three miles from Bala. I +continued my way and came to a bridge, a little way beyond which +I overtook two men, one of whom, an old fellow, held a very long +whip in his hand, and the other, a much younger man with a cap on +his head, led a horse. When I came up the old fellow took +off his hat to me, and I forthwith entered into conversation with +him. I soon gathered from him that he was a horsedealer +from Bala, and that he had been out on the road with his servant +to break a horse. I astonished the old man with my +knowledge of Welsh and horses, and learned from him—for +conceiving I was one of the right sort, he was very +communicative—two or three curious particulars connected +with the Welsh mode of breaking horses. Discourse shortened +the way to both of us, and we were soon in Bala. In the +middle of the town he pointed to a large old-fashioned house on +the right hand, at the bottom of a little square, and said, +“Your honour was just asking me about an inn. That is +the best inn in Wales, and if your honour is as good a judge of +an inn as of a horse, I think you will say so when you leave +it. Prydnawn da ’chwi!”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XLIX</h2> + +<p class="letter">Tom Jenkins—Ale of Bala—Sober +Moments—Local Prejudices—The +States—Unprejudiced Man—Welsh Pensilvanian +Settlers—Drapery Line—Evening Saunter.</p> + +<p>Scarcely had I entered the door of the inn when a man +presented himself to me with a low bow. He was about fifty +years of age, somewhat above the middle size, and had grizzly +hair and a dark, freckled countenance, in which methought I saw a +considerable dash of humour. He wore brown clothes, had no +hat on his head, and held a napkin in his hand. “Are +you the master of this hotel?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No, your honour,” he replied, “I am only +the waiter, but I officiate for my master in all things; my +master has great confidence in me, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And I have no doubt,” said I, “that he +could not place his confidence in any one more worthy.”</p> + +<p>With a bow yet lower than the preceding one the waiter replied +with a smirk and a grimace, “Thanks, your honour, for your +good opinion. I assure your honour that I am deeply +obliged.”</p> + +<p>His air, manner, and even accent, were so like those of a +Frenchman, that I could not forbear asking him whether he was +one.</p> + +<p>He shook his head and replied, “No, your honour, no, I +am not a Frenchman, but a native of this poor country, Tom +Jenkins by name.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “you really look and speak +like a Frenchman, but no wonder; the Welsh and French are much of +the same blood. Please now to show me into the +parlour.”</p> + +<p>He opened the door of a large apartment, placed a chair by a +table which stood in the middle, and then, with another bow, +requested to know my farther pleasure. After ordering +dinner I said that as I was thirsty I should like to have some +ale forthwith.</p> + +<p>“Ale you shall have, your honour,” said Tom, +“and some of the best ale that can be drunk. This +house is famous for ale.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you get your ale from Llangollen,” said +I, “which is celebrated for its ale over Wales.”</p> + +<p>“Get our ale from Llangollen?” said Tom, with +sneer of contempt, “no, nor anything else. As for the +ale it was brewed in this house by your honour’s humble +servant.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said I, “if you brewed it, it must of +course be good. Pray bring me some immediately, for I am +anxious to drink ale of your brewing.”</p> + +<p>“Your honour shall be obeyed,” said Tom, and +disappearing returned in a twinkling with a tray on which stood a +jug filled with liquor and a glass. He forthwith filled the +glass, and pointing to its contents said:</p> + +<p>“There, your honour, did you ever see such ale? +Observe its colour! Does it not look for all the world as +pale and delicate as cowslip wine?”</p> + +<p>“I wish it may not taste like cowslip wine,” said +I; “to tell you the truth, I am no particular admirer of +ale that looks pale and delicate; for I always think there is no +strength in it.”</p> + +<p>“Taste it, your honour,” said Tom, “and tell +me if you ever tasted such ale.”</p> + +<p>I tasted it, and then took a copious draught. The ale +was indeed admirable, equal to the best that I had ever before +drunk—rich and mellow, with scarcely any smack of the hop +in it, and though so pale and delicate to the eye nearly as +strong as brandy. I commended it highly to the worthy +Jenkins, who exultingly exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“That Llangollen ale indeed! no, no! ale like that, your +honour, was never brewed in that trumpery hole +Llangollen.”</p> + +<p>“You seem to have a very low opinion of +Llangollen?” said I.</p> + +<p>“How can I have anything but a low opinion of it, your +honour? A trumpery hole it is, and ever will remain +so.”</p> + +<p>“Many people of the first quality go to visit it,” +said I.</p> + +<p>“That is because it lies so handy for England, your +honour. If it did not, nobody would go to see it. +What is there to see in Llangollen?”</p> + +<p>“There is not much to see in the town, I admit,” +said I, “but the scenery about it is beautiful: what +mountains!”</p> + +<p>“Mountains, your honour, mountains! well, we have +mountains too, and as beautiful as those of Llangollen. +Then we have our lake, our Llyn Tegid, the lake of beauty. +Show me anything like that near Llangollen?”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said I, “there is your mound, your +Tomen Bala. The Llangollen people can show nothing like +that.”</p> + +<p>Tom Jenkins looked at me for a moment with some surprise, and +then said: “I see you have been here before, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said I, “never, but I have read about +the Tomen Bala in books, both Welsh and English.”</p> + +<p>“You have, sir,” said Tom. “Well, I am +rejoiced to see so book-learned a gentleman in our house. +The Tomen Bala has puzzled many a head. What do the books +which mention it say about it, your honour?”</p> + +<p>“Very little,” said I, “beyond mentioning +it; what do the people here say of it?”</p> + +<p>“All kinds of strange things, your honour.”</p> + +<p>“Do they say who built it?”</p> + +<p>“Some say the Tylwyth Teg built it, others that it was +cast up over a dead king by his people. The truth is, +nobody here knows who built it, or anything about it, save that +it is a wonder. Ah, those people of Llangollen can show +nothing like it.”</p> + +<p>“Come,” said I, “you must not be so hard +upon the people of Llangollen. They appear to me upon the +whole to be an eminently respectable body.”</p> + +<p>The Celtic waiter gave a genuine French shrug. +“Excuse me, your honour, for being of a different +opinion. They are all drunkards.”</p> + +<p>“I have occasionally seen drunken people at +Llangollen,” said I, “but I have likewise seen a +great many sober.”</p> + +<p>“That is, your honour, you have seen them in their sober +moments; but if you had watched, your honour, if you had kept +your eye on them, you would have seen them reeling +too.”</p> + +<p>“That I can hardly believe,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Your honour can’t! but I can who know them. +They are all drunkards, and nobody can live among them without +being a drunkard. There was my nephew—”</p> + +<p>“What of him?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Why he went to Llangollen, your honour, and died of a +drunken fever in less than a month.”</p> + +<p>“Well, but might he not have died of the same, if he had +remained at home?”</p> + +<p>“No, your honour, no! he lived here many a year, and +never died of a drunken fever; he was rather fond of liquor, it +is true, but he never died at Bala of a drunken fever; but when +he went to Llangollen he did. Now, your honour, if there is +not something more drunken about Llangollen than about Bala, why +did my nephew die at Llangollen of a drunken fever?”</p> + +<p>“Really,” said I, “you are such a close +reasoner, that I do not like to dispute with you. One +observation however, I wish to make: I have lived at Llangollen, +without, I hope, becoming a drunkard.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, your honour is out of the question,” said the +Celtic waiter with a strange grimace. “Your honour is +an Englishman, an English gentleman, and of course could live all +the days of your life at Llangollen without being a drunkard, he, +he! Who ever heard of an Englishman, especially an English +gentleman, being a drunkard, he, he, he. And now, your +honour, pray excuse me, for I must go and see that your +honour’s dinner is being got ready in a suitable +manner.”</p> + +<p>Thereupon he left me with a bow yet lower than any I had +previously seen him make. If his manners put me in mind of +those of a Frenchman, his local prejudices brought powerfully to +my recollection those of a Spaniard. Tom Jenkins swears by +Bala and abuses Llangollen, and calls its people drunkards, just +as a Spaniard exalts his own village and vituperates the next and +its inhabitants, whom, though he will not call them drunkards, +unless indeed he happens to be a Gallegan, he will not hesitate +to term “una caterva de pillos y embusteros.”</p> + +<p>The dinner when it appeared was excellent, and consisted of +many more articles than I had ordered. After dinner, as I +sat “trifling” with my cold brandy and water, an +individual entered, a short thick dumpy man about thirty, with +brown clothes and a broad hat, and holding in his hand a large +leather bag. He gave me a familiar nod, and passing by the +table at which I sat, to one near the window, he flung the bag +upon it, and seating himself in a chair with his profile towards +me, he untied the bag, from which he poured a large quantity of +sovereigns upon the table and fell to counting them. After +counting them three times he placed them again in the bag which +he tied up, then taking a small book, seemingly an account-book, +out of his pocket, he wrote something in it with a pencil, then +putting it in his pocket he took the bag and unlocking a beaufet +which stood at some distance behind him against the wall, he put +the bag into a drawer; then again locking the beaufet he sat down +in the chair, then tilting the chair back upon its hind legs he +kept swaying himself backwards and forwards upon it, his toes +sometimes upon the ground, sometimes mounting until they tapped +against the nether side of the table, surveying me all the time +with a queer kind of a side glance, and occasionally ejecting +saliva upon the carpet in the direction of place where I sat.</p> + +<p>“Fine weather, sir,” said I, at last, rather tired +of being skewed and spit at in this manner.</p> + +<p>“Why yaas,” said the figure; “the day is +tolerably fine, but I have seen a finer.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t remember to have seen one,” +said I; “it is as fine a day as I have seen during the +present season, and finer weather than I have seen during this +season I do not think I ever saw before.”</p> + +<p>“The weather is fine enough for Britain,” said the +figure, “but there are other countries besides +Britain.”</p> + +<p>“Why,” said I, “there’s the States, +’tis true.”</p> + +<p>“Ever been in the States, Mr?” said the figure +quickly.</p> + +<p>“Have I ever been in the States,” said I, +“have I ever been in the States?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you are of the States, Mr; I thought so from +the first.”</p> + +<p>“The States are fine countries,” said I.</p> + +<p>“I guess they are, Mr.”</p> + +<p>“It would be no easy matter to whip the +States.”</p> + +<p>“So I should guess, Mr.”</p> + +<p>“That is, single-handed,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Single-handed, no nor double-handed either. Let +England and France and the State which they are now trying to +whip without being able to do it, that’s Russia, all unite +in a union to whip the Union, and if instead of whipping the +States they don’t get a whipping themselves, call me a +braying jackass—”</p> + +<p>“I see, Mr,” said I, “that you are a +sensible man, because you speak very much my own opinion. +However, as I am an unprejudiced person, like yourself, I wish to +do justice to other countries—the States are fine +countries—but there are other fine countries in the +world. I say nothing of England; catch me saying anything +good of England; but I call Wales a fine country; gainsay it who +may, I call Wales a fine country.”</p> + +<p>“So it is, Mr.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go farther,” said I; “I wish to +do justice to everything: I call the Welsh a fine +language.”</p> + +<p>“So it is, Mr. Ah, I see you are an unprejudiced +man. You don’t understand Welsh, I guess.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand Welsh,” said I; “I +don’t understand Welsh. That’s what I call a +good one.”</p> + +<p>“Medrwch siarad Cumraeg?” said the short figure +spitting on the carpet.</p> + +<p>“Medraf,” said I.</p> + +<p>“You can, Mr! Well, if that don’t whip the +Union. But I see: you were born in the States of Welsh +parents.”</p> + +<p>“No harm in being born in the States of Welsh +parents,” said I.</p> + +<p>“None at all, Mr; I was myself, and the first language I +learnt to speak was Welsh. Did your people come from Bala, +Mr?”</p> + +<p>“Why no! Did yourn?”</p> + +<p>“Why yaas—at least from the neighbourhood. +What State do you come from? Virginny?”</p> + +<p>“Why no!”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps Pensilvany country?”</p> + +<p>“Pensilvany is a fine State,” said I.</p> + +<p>“So it is, Mr. Oh, that is your State, is it? I +come from Varmont.”</p> + +<p>“You do, do you? Well, Varmont is not a bad state, +but not equal to Pensilvany, and I’ll tell you two reasons +why; first it has not been so long settled, and second there is +not so much Welsh blood in it as there is in +Pensilvany.”</p> + +<p>“Is there much Welsh blood in Pensilvany +then?”</p> + +<p>“Plenty, Mr, plenty. Welsh flocked over to +Pensilvany even as far back as the time of William Pen, who as +you know, Mr, was the first founder of the Pensilvany +State. And that puts me in mind that there is a curious +account extant of the adventures of one of the old Welsh settlers +in Pensilvania. It is to be found in a letter in an old +Welsh book. The letter is dated 1705, and is from one Huw +Jones, born of Welsh parents in Pensilvany country, to a cousin +of his of the same name residing in the neighbourhood of this +very town of Bala in Merionethshire, where you and I, Mr, now +are. It is in answer to certain inquiries made by the +cousin, and is written in pure old Welsh language. It gives +an account of how the writer’s father left this +neighbourhood to go to Pensilvania; how he embarked on board the +ship <i>William Pen</i>; how he was thirty weeks on the voyage +from the Thames to the Delaware. Only think, Mr, of a ship +now-a-days being thirty weeks on the passage from the Thames to +the Delaware river; how he learnt the English language on the +voyage; how he and his companions nearly perished with hunger in +the wild wood after they landed; how Pensilvania city was built; +how he became a farmer and married a Welsh woman, the widow of a +Welshman from shire Denbigh, by whom he had the writer and +several other children; how the father used to talk to his +children about his native region and the places round about Bala, +and fill their breasts with longing for the land of their +fathers; and finally how the old man died leaving his children +and their mother in prosperous circumstances. It is a +wonderful letter, Mr, all written in the pure old Welsh +language.”</p> + +<p>“I say, Mr, you are a cute one and know a thing or +two. I suppose Welsh was the first language you learnt, +like myself?”</p> + +<p>“No, it wasn’t—I like to speak the +truth—never took to either speaking or reading the Welsh +language till I was past sixteen.”</p> + +<p>“’Stonishing! but see the force of blood at +last. In any line of business?”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr, can’t say I am.”</p> + +<p>“Have money in your pocket, and travel for +pleasure. Come to see father’s land.”</p> + +<p>“Come to see old Wales. And what brings you here, +Hiraeth?”</p> + +<p>“That’s longing. No, not exactly. Came +over to England to see what I could do. Got in with house +at Liverpool in the drapery business. Travel for it +hereabouts, having connections and speaking the language. +Do branch business here for a banking-house besides. Manage +to get on smartly.”</p> + +<p>“You look a smart ’un. But don’t you +find it sometimes hard to compete with English travellers in the +drapery line?”</p> + +<p>“I guess not. English travellers! set of +nat’rals. Don’t know the language and nothing +else. Could whip a dozen any day. Regularly flummox +them.”</p> + +<p>“You do, Mr? Ah, I see you’re a cute +’un. Glad to have met you.”</p> + +<p>“I say, Mr, you have not told me from what county your +forefathers were.”</p> + +<p>“From Norfolk and Cornwall counties.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t know there were such counties in +Wales.”</p> + +<p>“But there are in England.”</p> + +<p>“Why, you told me you were of Welsh parents.”</p> + +<p>“No, I didn’t. You told yourself +so.”</p> + +<p>“But how did you come to know Welsh?”</p> + +<p>“Why, that’s my bit of a secret.”</p> + +<p>“But you are of the United States?”</p> + +<p>“Never knew that before.”</p> + +<p>“Mr, you flummox me.”</p> + +<p>“Just as you do the English drapery travellers. +Ah, you’re a cute ’un—but do you think it +altogether a cute trick to stow all those sovereigns in that +drawer?”</p> + +<p>“Who should take them out, Mr?”</p> + +<p>“Who should take them out? Why, any of the swell +mob that should chance to be in the house might unlock the drawer +with their flash keys as soon as your back is turned, and take +out all the coin.”</p> + +<p>“But there are none of the swell mob here.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know, that?” said I, “the swell +mob travel wide about—how do you know that I am not one of +them?”</p> + +<p>“The swell mob don’t speak Welsh, I +guess.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be too sure of that,” said +I—“the swell coves spare no expense for their +education—so that they may be able to play parts according +to circumstances. I strongly advise you, Mr, to put that +bag somewhere else lest something should happen to it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr, I’ll take your advice. These are +my quarters, and I was merely going to keep the money here for +convenience’ sake. The money belongs to the bank, so +it is but right to stow it away in the bank safe. I +certainly should be loth to leave it here with you in the room, +after what you have said.” He then got up, unlocked +the drawer, took out the bag, and with a “Goodnight, +Mr,” left the room.</p> + +<p>I “trifled” over my brandy and water till I +finished it, and then walked forth to look at the town. I +turned up a street, which led to the east, and soon found myself +beside the lake at the north-west extremity of which Bala +stands. It appeared a very noble sheet of water stretching +from north to south for several miles. As, however, night +was fast coming on I did not see it to its full advantage. +After gazing upon it for a few minutes I sauntered back to the +square, or marketplace, and leaning my back against a wall, +listened to the conversation of two or three groups of people who +were standing near, my motive for doing so being a desire to know +what kind of Welsh they spoke. Their language as far as I +heard it differed in scarcely any respect from that of +Llangollen. I, however, heard very little of it, for I had +scarcely kept my station a minute when the good folks became +uneasy, cast side-glances at me, first dropped their conversation +to whispers, next held their tongues altogether, and finally +moved off, some going to their homes, others moving to a distance +and then grouping together—even certain ragged boys who +were playing and chattering near me became uneasy, first stood +still, then stared at me, and then took themselves off and played +and chattered at a distance. Now what was the cause of all +this? Why, suspicion of the Saxon. The Welsh are +afraid lest an Englishman should understand their language, and, +by hearing their conversation, become acquainted with their +private affairs, or by listening to it, pick up their language +which they have no mind that he should know—and their very +children sympathise with them. All conquered people are +suspicious of their conquerors, The English have forgot that they +ever conquered the Welsh, but some ages will elapse before the +Welsh forget that the English have conquered them.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER L</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Breakfast—The Tomen Bala—El +Punto de la Vana.</p> + +<p>I slept soundly that night, as well I might, my bed being good +and my body weary. I arose about nine, dressed and went +down to the parlour which was vacant. I rang the bell, and +on Tom Jenkins making his appearance I ordered breakfast, and +then asked for the Welsh American, and learned that he had +breakfasted very early and had set out in a gig on a journey to +some distance. In about twenty minutes after I had ordered +it my breakfast made its appearance. A noble breakfast it +was; such indeed as I might have read of, but had never before +seen. There was tea and coffee, a goodly white loaf and +butter; there were a couple of eggs and two mutton chops. +There was broiled and pickled salmon—there was fried +trout—there were also potted trout and potted +shrimps. Mercy upon me! I had never previously seen +such a breakfast set before me, nor indeed have I +subsequently. Yes, I have subsequently, and at that very +house when I visited it some months after.</p> + +<p>After breakfast I called for the bill. I forget the +exact amount of the bill, but remember that it was very +moderate. I paid it and gave the noble Thomas a shilling, +which he received with a bow and truly French smile, that is a +grimace. When I departed the landlord and landlady, highly +respectable-looking elderly people, were standing at the door, +one on each side, and dismissed me with suitable honour, he with +a low bow, she with a profound curtsey.</p> + +<p>Having seen little of the town on the preceding evening, I +determined before setting out for Llangollen to become better +acquainted with it, and accordingly took another stroll about +it.</p> + +<p>Bala is a town containing three or four thousand inhabitants, +situated near the northern end of an oblong valley, at least +two-thirds of which are occupied by Llyn Tegid. It has two +long streets, extending from north to south, a few narrow cross +ones, an ancient church, partly overgrown with ivy, with a very +pointed steeple, and a town-hall of some antiquity, in which +Welsh interludes used to be performed. After gratifying my +curiosity with respect to the town, I visited the mound—the +wondrous Tomen Bala.</p> + +<p>The Tomen Bala stands at the northern end of the town. +It is apparently formed of clay, is steep and of difficult +ascent. In height it is about thirty feet, and in diameter +at the top about fifty. On the top grows a gwern or +alder-tree, about a foot thick, its bark terribly scotched with +letters and uncouth characters, carved by the idlers of the town +who are fond of resorting to the top of the mound in fine +weather, and lying down on the grass which covers it. The +Tomen is about the same size as Glendower’s Mount on the +Dee, which it much resembles in shape. Both belong to that +brotherhood of artificial mounds of unknown antiquity, found +scattered, here and there, throughout Europe and the greater part +of Asia, the most remarkable specimen of which is, perhaps, that +which stands on the right side of the way from Adrianople to +Stamboul, and which is called by the Turks Mourad Tepehsi, or the +tomb of Mourad. Which mounds seem to have been originally +intended as places of sepulture, but in many instances were +afterwards used as strongholds, bonhills or beacon-heights, or as +places on which adoration was paid to the host of heaven.</p> + +<p>From the Tomen there is a noble view of the Bala valley, the +Lake of Beauty up to its southern extremity, and the neighbouring +and distant mountains. Of Bala, its lake and Tomen, I shall +have something to say on a future occasion.</p> + +<p>Leaving Bala I passed through the village of Llanfair and +found myself by the Dee, whose course I followed for some +way. Coming to the northern extremity of the Bala valley, I +entered a pass tending due north. Here the road slightly +diverged from the river. I sped along, delighted with the +beauty of the scenery. On my left was a high bank covered +with trees, on my right a grove, through openings in which I +occasionally caught glimpses of the river, over whose farther +side towered noble hills. An hour’s walking brought +me into a comparatively open country, fruitful and +charming. At about one o’clock I reached a large +village, the name of which, like those of most Welsh villages, +began with Llan. There I refreshed myself for an hour or +two in an old-fashioned inn, and then resumed my journey.</p> + +<p>I passed through Corwen; again visited Glendower’s +monticle upon the Dee, and reached Llangollen shortly after +sunset, where I found my beloved two well and glad to see me.</p> + +<p>That night, after tea, Henrietta played on the guitar the old +muleteer tune of “El Punto de la Vana,” or the main +point at the Havanna, whilst I sang the words—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Never trust the sample when you go your +cloth to buy:<br /> +The woman’s most deceitful that’s dressed most +daintily.<br /> +The lasses of Havanna ride to mass in coaches yellow,<br /> +But ere they go they ask if the priest’s a handsome +fellow.<br /> +The lasses of Havanna as mulberries are dark,<br /> +And try to make them fairer by taking Jesuit’s +bark.”</p> +</blockquote> + + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LI</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Ladies of Llangollen—Sir +Alured—Eisteddfodau—Pleasure and Care.</p> + +<p>Shortly after my return I paid a visit to my friends at the +Vicarage, who were rejoiced to see me back, and were much +entertained with the account I gave of my travels. I next +went to visit the old church clerk of whom I had so much to say +on a former occasion. After having told him some +particulars of my expedition, to all of which he listened with +great attention, especially to that part which related to the +church of Penmynydd and the tomb of the Tudors, I got him to talk +about the ladies of Llangollen, of whom I knew very little save +what I had heard from general report. I found he remembered +their first coming to Llangollen, their living in lodgings, their +purchasing the ground called Pen y maes, and their erecting upon +it the mansion to which the name of Plas Newydd was given. +He said they were very eccentric, but good and kind, and had +always shown most particular favour to himself; that both were +highly connected, especially Lady Eleanor Butler, who was +connected by blood with the great Duke of Ormond who commanded +the armies of Charles in Ireland in the time of the great +rebellion, and also with the Duke of Ormond who succeeded +Marlborough in the command of the armies in the Low Countries in +the time of Queen Anne, and who fled to France shortly after the +accession of George the First to the throne, on account of being +implicated in the treason of Harley and Bolingbroke; and that her +ladyship was particularly fond of talking of both these dukes, +and relating anecdotes concerning them. He said that the +ladies were in the habit of receiving the very first people in +Britain, “amongst whom,” said the old church clerk, +“was an ancient gentleman of most engaging appearance and +captivating manners, called Sir Alured C---. He was in the +army, and in his youth, owing to the beauty of his person, was +called, ‘the handsome captain.’ It was said +that one of the royal princesses was desperately in love with +him, and that on that account George the Third insisted on his +going to India. Whether or not there was truth in the +report, to India he went, where he served with distinction for a +great many years. On his return, which was not till he was +upwards of eighty, he was received with great favour by William +the Fourth, who amongst other things made him a +field-marshal. As often as October came round did this +interesting and venerable gentleman make his appearance at +Llangollen to pay his respects to the ladies, especially to Lady +Eleanor, whom he had known at Court as far back they say as the +American war. It was rumoured at Llangollen that Lady +Eleanor’s death was a grievous blow to Sir Alured, and that +he would never be seen there again. However, when October +came round he made his appearance at the Vicarage, where he had +always been in the habit of taking up his quarters, and called on +and dined with Miss Ponsonby at Plas Newydd, but it was observed +that he was not so gay as he had formerly been. In the +evening, on his taking leave of Miss Ponsonby, she said that he +had used her ill. Sir Alured coloured, and asked her what +she meant, adding that he had not to his knowledge used any +person ill in the course of his life. ‘But I say you +have used me ill, very ill,’ said Miss Ponsonby, raising +her voice, and the words ‘very ill’ she repeated +several times. At last the old soldier waxing rather warm +demanded an explanation. ‘I’ll give it +you,’ said Miss Ponsonby; ‘were you not going away +after having only kissed my hand?’ ‘Oh,’ +said the general, ‘if that is my offence, I will soon make +you reparation,’ and instantly gave her a hearty smack on +the lips, which ceremony he never forgot to repeat after dining +with her on subsequent occasions.”</p> + +<p>We got on the subject of bards, and I mentioned to him +Gruffydd Hiraethog, the old poet buried in the chancel of +Llangollen church. The old clerk was not aware that he was +buried there, and said that though he had heard of him he knew +little or nothing about him.</p> + +<p>“Where was he born?” said he.</p> + +<p>“In Denbighshire,” I replied, “near the +mountain Hiraethog, from which circumstance he called himself in +poetry Gruffydd Hiraethog.”</p> + +<p>“When did he flourish?”</p> + +<p>“About the middle of the sixteenth century.”</p> + +<p>“What did he write?”</p> + +<p>“A great many didactic pieces,” said I in one of +which is a famous couplet to this effect:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“He who satire loves to sing<br /> +On himself will satire bring.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Did you ever hear of William Lleyn?” said the old +gentleman.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I; “he was a pupil of Hiraethog, +and wrote an elegy on his death, in which he alludes to +Gruffydd’s skill in an old Welsh metre, called the Cross +Consonancy, in the following manner:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘In Eden’s grove from +Adam’s mouth<br /> +Upsprang a muse of noble growth;<br /> +So from thy grave, O poet wise,<br /> +Cross Consonancy’s boughs shall rise.’”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Really,” said the old clerk, “you seem to +know something about Welsh poetry. But what is meant by a +muse springing up from Adam’s mouth in Eden?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I suppose,” said I, “that Adam +invented poetry.”</p> + +<p>I made inquiries of him about the eisteddfodau or sessions of +bards, and expressed a wish to be present at one of them. +He said that they were very interesting; that bards met at +particular periods and recited poems on various subjects which +had been given out beforehand, and that prizes were allotted to +those whose compositions were deemed the best by the +judges. He said that he had himself won the prize for the +best englyn on a particular subject at an eisteddfod at which Sir +Watkin Williams Wynn presided, and at which Heber, afterwards +Bishop of Calcutta, was present, who appeared to understand Welsh +well, and who took much interest in the proceedings of the +meeting.</p> + +<p>Our discourse turning on the latter Welsh poets I asked him if +he had been acquainted with Jonathan Hughes, who the reader will +remember was the person whose grandson I met and in whose +arm-chair I sat at Ty yn y pistyll, shortly after my coming to +Llangollen. He said that he had been well acquainted with +him, and had helped to carry him to the grave, adding, that he +was something of a poet, but that he had always considered his +forte lay in strong good sense rather than poetry. I +mentioned Thomas Edwards, whose picture I had seen in Valle +Crucis Abbey. He said that he knew him tolerably well, and +that the last time he saw him was when he, Edwards, was about +seventy years of age, when he sent him in a cart to the house of +a great gentleman near the aqueduct where he was going to stay on +a visit. That Tom was about five feet eight inches high, +lusty, and very strongly built; that he had something the matter +with his right eye; that he was very satirical and very clever; +that his wife was a very clever woman and satirical; his two +daughters both clever and satirical, and his servant-maid +remarkably satirical and clever, and that it was impossible to +live with Twm O’r Nant without learning to be clever and +satirical; that he always appeared to be occupied with something, +and that he had heard him say there was something in him that +would never let him be idle; that he would walk fifteen miles to +a place where he was to play an interlude, and that as soon as he +got there he would begin playing it at once, however tired he +might be. The old gentleman concluded by saying that he had +never read the works of Twm O’r Nant, but he had heard that +his best piece was the interlude called “Pleasure and +Care.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LII</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Treachery of the Long Knives—The +North Briton—The Wounded Butcher—The Prisoner.</p> + +<p>On the tenth of September our little town was flung into some +confusion by one butcher having attempted to cut the throat of +another. The delinquent was a Welshman, who it was said had +for some time past been somewhat out of his mind; the other party +was an Englishman, who escaped without further injury than a deep +gash in the cheek. The Welshman might be mad, but it +appeared to me that there was some method in his madness. +He tried to cut the throat of a butcher: didn’t this look +like wishing to put a rival out of the way? and that butcher an +Englishman: didn’t this look like wishing to pay back upon +the Saxon what the Welsh call bradwriaeth y cyllyll hirion, the +treachery of the long knives? So reasoned I to +myself. But here perhaps the reader will ask what is meant +by “the treachery of the long knives?” whether he +does or not I will tell him.</p> + +<p>Hengist wishing to become paramount in Southern Britain +thought that the easiest way to accomplish his wish would be by +destroying the South British chieftains. Not believing that +he should be able to make away with them by open force he +determined to see what he could do by treachery. +Accordingly he invited the chieftains to a banquet to be held +near Stonehenge, or the Hanging Stones, on Salisbury +Plains. The unsuspecting chieftains accepted the +invitation, and on the appointed day repaired to the banquet, +which was held in a huge tent. Hengist received them with a +smiling countenance and every appearance of hospitality, and +caused them to sit down to table, placing by the side of every +Briton one of his own people. The banquet commenced, and +all seemingly was mirth and hilarity. Now Hengist had +commanded his people that when he should get up and cry +“nemet eoure saxes,” that is, take your knives, each +Saxon should draw his long sax, or knife, which he wore at his +side, and should plunge it into the throat of his +neighbour. The banquet went on, and in the midst of it, +when the unsuspecting Britons were revelling on the good cheer +which had been provided for them, and half-drunken with the mead +and beer which flowed in torrents, uprose Hengist, and with a +voice of thunder uttered the fatal words “nemet eoure +saxes:” the cry was obeyed, each Saxon grasped his knife +and struck with it at the throat of his defenceless +neighbour. Almost every blow took effect; only three +British chieftains escaping from the banquet of blood. This +infernal carnage the Welsh have appropriately denominated the +treachery of the long knives. It will be as well to observe +that the Saxons derived their name from the saxes, or long +knives, which they wore at their sides, and at the use of which +they were terribly proficient.</p> + +<p>Two or three days after the attempt at murder at Llangollen, +hearing that the Welsh butcher was about to be brought before the +magistrates, I determined to make an effort to be present at the +examination. Accordingly I went to the police station and +inquired of the superintendent whether I could be permitted to +attend. He was a North Briton, as I have stated somewhere +before, and I had scraped acquaintance with him, and had got +somewhat into his good graces by praising Dumfries, his native +place, and descanting to him upon the beauties of the poetry of +his celebrated countryman, my old friend, Allan Cunningham, some +of whose works he had perused, and with whom as he said, he had +once the honour of shaking hands. In reply to my question +he told me that it was doubtful whether any examination would +take place, as the wounded man was in a very weak state, but that +if I would return in half-an-hour he would let me know. I +went away, and at the end of the half-hour returned, when he told +me that there would be no public examination, owing to the +extreme debility of the wounded man, but that one of the +magistrates was about to proceed to his house and take his +deposition in the presence of the criminal and also of the +witnesses of the deed, and that if I pleased I might go along +with him, and he had no doubt that the magistrate would have no +objection to my being present. We set out together; as we +were going along I questioned him about the state of the country, +and gathered from him that there was occasionally a good deal of +crime in Wales.</p> + +<p>“Are the Welsh a clannish people?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“Very,” said he.</p> + +<p>“As clannish as the Highlanders?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said he, “and a good deal +more.”</p> + +<p>We came to the house of the wounded butcher, which was some +way out of the town in the north-western suburb. The +magistrate was in the lower apartment with the clerk, one or two +officials, and the surgeon of the town. He was a gentleman +of about two or three and forty, with a military air and large +moustaches, for besides being a justice of the peace and a landed +proprietor, he was an officer in the army. He made me a +polite bow when I entered, and I requested of him permission to +be present at the examination. He hesitated a moment and +then asked me my motive for wishing to be present at it.</p> + +<p>“Merely curiosity,” said I.</p> + +<p>He then observed that as the examination would be a private +one, my being permitted or not was quite optional.</p> + +<p>“I am aware of that,” said I, “and if you +think my remaining is objectionable I will forthwith +retire.” He looked at the clerk, who said there could +be no objection to my staying, and turning round to his superior +said something to him which I did not hear, whereupon the +magistrate again bowed and said that he should he very happy to +grant my request.</p> + +<p>We went upstairs and found the wounded man in bed with a +bandage round his forehead, and his wife sitting by his +bedside. The magistrate and his officials took their seats, +and I was accommodated with a chair. Presently the prisoner +was introduced under the charge of a policeman. He was a +fellow somewhat above thirty, of the middle size, and wore a +dirty white frock coat; his right arm was partly confined by a +manacle. A young girl was sworn, who deposed that she saw +the prisoner run after the other with something in his +hand. The wounded man was then asked whether he thought he +was able to make a deposition; he replied in a very feeble tone +that he thought he was, and after being sworn deposed that on the +preceding Saturday, as he was going to his stall, the prisoner +came up to him and asked whether he had ever done him any injury? +he said no. “I then,” said he, “observed +the prisoner’s countenance undergo a change, and saw him +put his hand to his waistcoat-pocket and pull out a knife. +I straight became frightened, and ran away as fast as I could; +the prisoner followed, and overtaking me, stabbed me in the +face. I ran into the yard of a public-house and into the +shop of an acquaintance, where I fell down, the blood spouting +out of my wound.” Such was the deposition of the +wounded butcher. He was then asked whether there had been +any quarrel between him and the prisoner? He said there had +been no quarrel, but that he had refused to drink with the +prisoner when he requested him, which he had done very +frequently, and had more than once told him that he did not wish +for his acquaintance. The prisoner, on being asked, after +the usual caution, whether he had anything to say, said that he +merely wished to mark the man but not to kill him. The +surgeon of the place deposed to the nature of the wound, and on +being asked his opinion with respect to the state of the +prisoner’s mind, said that he believed that he might be +labouring under a delusion. After the prisoner’s +bloody weapon and coat had been produced he was committed.</p> + +<p>It was generally said that the prisoner was disordered in his +mind; I held my tongue, but judging from his look and manner I +saw no reason to suppose that he was any more out of his senses +than I myself, or any person present, and I had no doubt that +what induced him to commit the act was rage at being looked down +upon by a quondam acquaintance, who was rising a little in the +world, exacerbated by the reflection that the disdainful quondam +acquaintance was one of the Saxon race, against which every +Welshman entertains a grudge more or less virulent, which, though +of course, very unchristianlike, is really, brother Englishman, +after the affair of the long knives, and two or three other +actions of a somewhat similar character of our noble Anglo-Saxon +progenitors, with which all Welshmen are perfectly well +acquainted, not very much to be wondered at.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Dylluan—The Oldest Creatures.</p> + +<p>Much rain fell about the middle of the month; in the intervals +of the showers I occasionally walked by the banks of the river +which speedily became much swollen; it was quite terrible both to +the sight and ear near the “Robber’s Leap;” +there were breakers above the higher stones at least five feet +high and a roar around almost sufficient “to scare a +hundred men.” The pool of Lingo was strangely +altered; it was no longer the quiet pool which it was in summer, +verifying the words of the old Welsh poet that the deepest pool +of the river is always the stillest in the summer and of the +softest sound, but a howling turbid gulf, in which branches of +trees, dead animals and rubbish were whirling about in the +wildest confusion. The nights were generally less rainy +than the days, and sometimes by the pallid glimmer of the moon I +would take a stroll along some favourite path or road. One +night as I was wandering slowly along the path leading through +the groves of Pen y Coed I was startled by an unearthly +cry—it was the shout of the dylluan or owl, as it flitted +over the tops of the trees on its nocturnal business.</p> + +<p>Oh, that cry of the dylluan! what a strange wild cry it is; +how unlike any other sound in nature! a cry which no combination +of letters can give the slightest idea of. What resemblance +does Shakespear’s to-whit-to-whoo bear to the cry of the +owl? none whatever; those who hear it for the first time never +know what it is, however accustomed to talk of the cry of the owl +and to-whit-to-whoo. A man might be wandering through a +wood with Shakespear’s owl-chorus in his mouth, but were he +then to hear for the first time the real shout of the owl he +would assuredly stop short and wonder whence that unearthly cry +could proceed.</p> + +<p>Yet no doubt that strange cry is a fitting cry for the owl, +the strangest in its habits and look of all birds, the bird of +whom by all nations the strangest tales are told. Oh, what +strange tales are told of the owl, especially in connection with +its long-lifedness; but of all the strange wild tales connected +with the age of the owl, strangest of all is the old Welsh +tale. When I heard the owl’s cry in the groves of Pen +y Coed that tale rushed into my mind. I had heard it from +the singular groom who had taught me to gabble Welsh in my +boyhood, and had subsequently read it in an old tattered Welsh +story-book, which by chance fell into my hands. The reader +will perhaps be obliged by my relating it.</p> + +<p>“The eagle of the alder grove, after being long married +and having had many children by his mate, lost her by death, and +became a widower. After some time he took it into his head +to marry the owl of the Cowlyd Coomb; but fearing he should have +issue by her, and by that means sully his lineage, he went first +of all to the oldest creatures in the world in order to obtain +information about her age. First he went to the stag of +Ferny-side Brae, whom he found sitting by the old stump of an +oak, and inquired the age of the owl. The stag said: +‘I have seen this oak an acorn which is now lying on the +ground without either leaves or bark: nothing in the world wore +it up but my rubbing myself against it once a day when I got up, +so I have seen a vast number of years, but I assure you that I +have never seen the owl older or younger than she is +to-day. However, there is one older than myself, and that +is the salmon-trout of Glyn Llifon.’ To him went the +eagle and asked him the age of the owl and got for answer: +‘I have a year over my head for every gem on my skin and +for every egg in my roe, yet have I always seen the owl look the +same; but there is one older than myself, and that is the ousel +of Cilgwry.’ Away went the eagle to Cilgwry, and +found the ousel standing upon a little rock, and asked him the +age of the owl. Quoth the ousel: ‘You see that the +rock below me is not larger than a man can carry in one of his +hands: I have seen it so large that it would have taken a hundred +oxen to drag it, and it has never been worn save by my drying my +beak upon it once every night, and by my striking the tip of my +wing against it in rising in the morning, yet never have I known +the owl older or younger than she is to-day. However, there +is one older than I, and that is the toad of Cors Fochnod; and +unless he knows her age no one knows it.’ To him went +the eagle and asked the age of the owl, and the toad replied: +‘I have never eaten anything save what I have sucked from +the earth, and have never eaten half my fill in all the days of +my life; but do you see those two great hills beside the +cross? I have seen the place where they stand level ground, +and nothing produced those heaps save what I discharged from my +body, who have ever eaten so very little—yet never have I +known the owl anything else but an old hag who cried Too-hoo-hoo, +and scared children with her voice even as she does at +present.’ So the eagle of Gwernabwy; the stag of +Ferny-side Brae; the salmon trout of Glyn Llifon; the ousel of +Cilgwry; the toad of Cors Fochnod, and the owl of Coomb Cowlyd +are the oldest creatures in the world; the oldest of them all +being the owl.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LIV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Chirk—The Middleton Family—Castell +y Waen—The Park—The Court Yard—The Young +Housekeeper—The Portraits—Melin y +Castell—Humble Meal—Fine Chests for the +Dead—Hales and Hercules.</p> + +<p>The weather having become fine, myself and family determined +to go and see Chirk Castle, a mansion ancient and beautiful, and +abounding with all kinds of agreeable and romantic +associations. It was founded about the beginning of the +fifteenth century by a St John, Lord of Bletsa, from a descendant +of whom it was purchased in the year 1615 by Sir Thomas +Middleton, the scion of an ancient Welsh family who, following +commerce, acquired a vast fortune, and was Lord Mayor of +London. In the time of the great civil war it hoisted the +banner of the king, and under Sir Thomas, the son of the Lord +Mayor, made a brave defence against Lambert, the Parliamentary +General, though eventually compelled to surrender. It was +held successively by four Sir Thomas Middletons, and if it +acquired a war-like celebrity under the second, it obtained a +peculiarly hospitable one under the fourth, whose daughter, the +fruit of a second marriage, became Countess of Warwick and +eventually the wife of the poet and moralist Addison. In +his time the hospitality of Chirk became the theme of many a +bard, particularly of Huw Morris, who, in one of his songs, has +gone so far as to say that were the hill Cefn Uchaf turned into +beef and bread, and the rill Ceiriog into beer or wine, they +would be consumed in half a year by the hospitality of +Chirk. Though no longer in the hands of one of the name of +Middleton, Chirk Castle is still possessed by one of the blood, +the mother of the present proprietor being the eldest of three +sisters, lineal descendants of the Lord Mayor, between whom in +default of an heir male the wide possessions of the Middleton +family were divided. This gentleman, who bears the name of +Biddulph, is Lord Lieutenant of the county of Denbigh, and +notwithstanding his war-breathing name, which is Gothic, and +signifies Wolf of Battle, is a person of highly amiable +disposition, and one who takes great interest in the propagation +of the Gospel of peace and love.</p> + +<p>To view this place, which, though in English called Chirk +Castle, is styled in Welsh Castell y Waen, or the Castle of the +Meadow, we started on foot about ten o’clock of a fine +bright morning, attended by John Jones. There are two roads +from Llangollen to Chirk, one the low or post road, and the other +leading over the Berwyn. We chose the latter. We +passed by the Yew Cottage, which I have described on a former +occasion, and began to ascend the mountain, making towards its +north-eastern corner. The road at first was easy enough, +but higher up became very steep, and somewhat appalling, being +cut out of the side of the hill which shelves precipitously down +towards the valley of the Dee. Near the top of the mountain +were three lofty beech-trees growing on the very verge of the +precipice. Here the road for about twenty yards is fenced +on its dangerous side by a wall, parts of which are built between +the stems of the trees. Just beyond the wall a truly noble +prospect presented itself to our eyes. To the north were +bold hills, their sides and skirts adorned with numerous woods +and white farm-houses; a thousand feet below us was the Dee and +its wondrous Pont y Cysultau. John Jones said that if +certain mists did not intervene we might descry “the sea of +Liverpool”; and perhaps the only thing wanting to make the +prospect complete, was that sea of Liverpool. We were, +however, quite satisfied with what we saw, and turning round the +corner of the hill, reached its top, where for a considerable +distance there is level ground, and where, though at a great +altitude, we found ourselves in a fair and fertile region, and +amidst a scene of busy rural life. We saw fields and +inclosures, and here and there corn-stacks, some made, and others +not yet completed, about which people were employed, and waggons +and horses moving. Passing over the top of the hill, we +began to descend the southern side, which was far less steep than +the one we had lately surmounted. After a little way, the +road descended through a wood, which John Jones told us was the +beginning of “the Park of Biddulph.”</p> + +<p>“There is plenty of game in this wood,” said he; +“pheasant cocks and pheasant hens, to say nothing of hares +and coneys; and in the midst of it there is a space sown with a +particular kind of corn for the support of the pheasant hens and +pheasant cocks, which in the shooting-season afford pleasant +sport for Biddulph and his friends.”</p> + +<p>Near the foot of the descent, just where the road made a turn +to the east, we passed by a building which stood amidst trees, +with a pond and barns near it.</p> + +<p>“This,” said John Jones, “is the house where +the bailiff lives who farms and buys and sells for Biddulph, and +fattens the beeves and swine, and the geese, ducks, and other +poultry which Biddulph consumes at his table.”</p> + +<p>The scenery was now very lovely, consisting of a mixture of +hill and dale, open space and forest, in fact the best kind of +park scenery. We caught a glimpse of a lake in which John +Jones said there were generally plenty of swans, and presently +saw the castle, which stands on a green grassy slope, from which +it derives its Welsh name of Castell y Waen; gwaen in the Cumrian +language signifying a meadow or uninclosed place. It fronts +the west, the direction from which we were coming; on each side +it shows five towers, of which the middlemost, which protrudes +beyond the rest, and at the bottom of which is the grand gate, is +by far the bulkiest. A noble edifice it looked, and to my +eye bore no slight resemblance to Windsor Castle.</p> + +<p>Seeing a kind of ranger, we inquired of him what it was +necessary for us to do, and by his direction proceeded to the +southern side of the castle, and rung the bell at a small +gate. The southern side had a far more antique appearance +than the western; huge towers with small windows, and partly +covered with ivy, frowned down upon us. A servant making +his appearance, I inquired whether we could see the house; he +said we could, and that the housekeeper would show it to us in a +little time but that at present she was engaged. We entered +a large quadrangular court: on the left-hand side was a door and +staircase leading into the interior of the building, and farther +on was a gateway, which was no doubt the principal entrance from +the park. On the eastern side of the spacious court was a +kennel, chained to which was an enormous dog, partly of the +bloodhound, partly of the mastiff species, who occasionally +uttered a deep magnificent bay. As the sun was hot, we took +refuge from it under the gateway, the gate of which, at the +further end, towards the park, was closed. Here my wife and +daughter sat down on a small brass cannon, seemingly a +six-pounder, which stood on a very dilapidated carriage; from the +appearance of the gun, which was of an ancient form, and very +much battered, and that of the carriage, I had little doubt that +both had been in the castle at the time of the siege. As my +two loved ones sat, I walked up and down, recalling to my mind +all I had heard and read in connection with this castle. I +thought of its gallant defence against the men of Oliver; I +thought of its roaring hospitality in the time of the fourth Sir +Thomas; and I thought of the many beauties who had been born in +its chambers, had danced in its halls, had tripped across its +court, and had subsequently given heirs to illustrious +families.</p> + +<p>At last we were told that she housekeeper was waiting for +us. The housekeeper, who was a genteel, good-looking young +woman, welcomed us at the door which led into the interior of the +house. After we had written our names, she showed us into a +large room or hall on the right-hand side on the ground floor, +where were some helmets and ancient halberts, and also some +pictures of great personages. The floor was of oak, and so +polished and slippery, that walking upon it was attended with +some danger. Wishing that John Jones, our faithful +attendant, who remained timidly at the doorway, should +participate with us in the wonderful sights we were about to see, +I inquired of the housekeeper whether he might come with +us. She replied with a smile that it was not the custom to +admit guides into the apartments, but that he might come, +provided he chose to take off his shoes; adding, that the reason +she wished him to take off his shoes was, an apprehension that if +he kept them on he would injure the floors with their rough +nails. She then went to John Jones, and told him in English +that he might attend us, provided he took off his shoes; poor +John, however, only smiled and said “Dim +Saesneg!”</p> + +<p>“You must speak to him in your native language,” +said I, “provided you wish him to understand you—he +has no English.”</p> + +<p>“I am speaking to him in my native language,” said +the young housekeeper, with another smile—“and if he +has no English, I have no Welsh.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are English?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she replied, “a native of +London.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me,” said I. “Well, it’s +no bad thing to be English after all; and as for not speaking +Welsh, there are many in Wales who would be glad to have much +less Welsh than they have.” I then told John Jones +the condition on which he might attend us, whereupon he took off +his shoes with great glee and attended us, holding them in his +hand.</p> + +<p>We presently went upstairs, to what the housekeeper told us +was the principal drawing-room, and a noble room it was, hung +round with the portraits of kings and queens, and the mighty of +the earth. Here, on canvas, was noble Mary, the wife of +William of Orange, and her consort by her side, whose part like a +true wife she always took. Here was wretched Mary of +Scotland, the murderess of her own lord. Here were the two +Charleses and both the Dukes of Ormond—the great Duke who +fought stoutly in Ireland against Papist and Roundhead; and the +Pretender’s Duke who tried to stab his native land, and +died a foreign colonel. And here, amongst other daughters +of the house, was the very proud daughter of the house, the +Warwick Dowager who married the Spectator, and led him the life +of a dog. She looked haughty and cold, and not particularly +handsome; but I could not help gazing with a certain degree of +interest and respect on the countenance of the vixen, who served +out the gentility worshipper in such prime style. Many were +the rooms which we entered, of which I shall say nothing, save +that they were noble in size and rich in objects of +interest. At last we came to what was called the picture +gallery. It was a long panelled room, extending nearly the +whole length of the northern side. The first thing which +struck us on entering was the huge skin of a lion stretched out +upon the floor; the head, however, which was towards the door, +was stuffed, and with its monstrous teeth looked so formidable +and life-like, that we were almost afraid to touch it. +Against every panel was a portrait; amongst others was that of +Sir Thomas Middleton, the stout governor of the castle, during +the time of the siege. Near to it was the portrait of his +rib, Dame Middleton. Farther down on the same side were two +portraits of Nell Gwynn; the one painted when she was a girl; the +other when she had attained a more mature age. They were +both by Lely, the Apelles of the Court of wanton Charles. +On the other side was one of the Duke of Gloucester, the son of +Queen Anne, who, had he lived, would have kept the Georges from +the throne. In this gallery on the southern side was a +cabinet of ebony and silver, presented by Charles the Second to +the brave warrior Sir Thomas, and which, according to tradition, +cost seven thousand pounds. This room, which was perhaps +the most magnificent in the castle, was the last we +visited. The candle of God, whilst we wandered through +these magnificent halls, was flaming in the firmament, and its +rays, penetrating through the long narrow windows, showed them +off, and all the gorgeous things which they contained to great +advantage. When we left the castle we all said, not +excepting John Jones, that we had never seen in our lives +anything more princely and delightful than the interior.</p> + +<p>After a little time, my wife and daughter complaining of being +rather faint, I asked John Jones whether there was an inn in the +neighbourhood where some refreshment could be procured. He +said there was, and that he would conduct us to it. We +directed our course towards the east, rousing successively, and +setting a-scampering, three large herds of deer—the common +ones were yellow and of no particular size—but at the head +of each herd we observed a big old black fellow with immense +antlers; one of these was particularly large, indeed as huge as a +bull. We soon came to the verge of a steep descent, down +which we went, not without some risk of falling. At last we +came to a gate; it was locked; however, on John Jones shouting, +an elderly man with his right hand bandaged, came and opened +it. I asked him what was the matter with his hand, and he +told me that he had lately lost three fingers whilst working at a +saw-mill up at the castle. On my inquiring about the inn he +said he was the master of it, and led the way to a long neat low +house, nearly opposite to a little bridge over a brook, which ran +down the valley towards the north. I ordered some ale and +bread-and-butter, and whilst our repast was being got ready John +Jones and I went to the bridge.</p> + +<p>“This bridge, sir,” said John, “is called +Pont y Velin Castell, the bridge of the Castle Mill; the inn was +formerly the mill of the castle, and is still called Melin y +Castell. As soon as you are over this bridge you are in +shire Amwythig, which the Saxons call Shropshire. A little +way up on yon hill is Clawdd Offa or Offa’s dyke, built of +old by the Brenin Offa in order to keep us poor Welsh within our +bounds.”</p> + +<p>As we stood on the bridge I inquired of Jones the name of the +brook which was running merrily beneath it.</p> + +<p>“The Ceiriog, sir,” said John, “the same +river that we saw at Pont y Meibion.”</p> + +<p>“The river,” said I, “which Huw Morris loved +so well, whose praises he has sung, and which he has introduced +along with Cefn Uchaf in a stanza in which he describes the +hospitality of Chirk Castle in his day, and which runs thus:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Pe byddai ’r Cefn Ucha,<br /> +Yn gig ac yn fara,<br /> +A Cheiriog fawr yma’n fir aml bob tro,<br /> +Rhy ryfedd fae iddyn’<br /> +Barhâu hanner blwyddyn,<br /> +I wyr bob yn gan-nyn ar ginio.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“A good penill that, sir,” said John Jones. +“Pity that the halls of great people no longer flow with +rivers of beer, nor have mountains of bread and beef for all +comers.”</p> + +<p>“No pity at all,” said I; “things are better +as they are. Those mountains of bread and beef, and those +rivers of ale merely encouraged vassalage, fawning and idleness; +better to pay for one’s dinner proudly and independently at +one’s inn, than to go and cringe for it at a great +man’s table.”</p> + +<p>We crossed the bridge, walked a little way up the hill which +was beautifully wooded, and then retraced our steps to the little +inn, where I found my wife and daughter waiting for us, and very +hungry. We sat down, John Jones with us, and proceeded to +despatch our bread-and-butter and ale. The bread-and-butter +were good enough, but the ale poorish. Oh, for an Act of +Parliament to force people to brew good ale! After +finishing our humble meal, we got up and having paid our +reckoning went back into the park, the gate of which the landlord +again unlocked for us.</p> + +<p>We strolled towards the north along the base of the +hill. The imagination of man can scarcely conceive a scene +more beautiful than the one which we were now enjoying. +Huge oaks studded the lower side of the hill, towards the top was +a belt of forest, above which rose the eastern walls of the +castle; the whole forest, castle and the green bosom of the hill +glorified by the lustre of the sun. As we proceeded we +again roused the deer, and again saw three old black fellows, +evidently the patriarchs of the herds, with their white enormous +horns; with these ancient gentlefolks I very much wished to make +acquaintance, and tried to get near them, but no! they would +suffer no such thing; off they glided, their white antlers, like +the barked top boughs of old pollards, glancing in the sunshine, +the smaller dapple creatures following them bounding and +frisking. We had again got very near the castle, when John +Jones told me that if we would follow him he would show us +something very remarkable; I asked him what it was.</p> + +<p>“Llun Cawr,” he replied. “The figure +of a giant.”</p> + +<p>“What giant?” said I.</p> + +<p>But on this point he could give me no information. I +told my wife and daughter what he had said, and finding that they +wished to see the figure, I bade John Jones lead us to it. +He led us down an avenue just below the eastern side of the +castle; noble oaks and other trees composed it, some of them +probably near a hundred feet high; John Jones observing me +looking at them with admiration, said:</p> + +<p>“They would make fine chests for the dead, +sir.”</p> + +<p>What an observation! how calculated, amidst the most bounding +joy and bliss, to remind man of his doom! A moment before I +had felt quite happy, but now I felt sad and mournful. I +looked at my wife and daughter, who were gazing admiringly on the +beauteous scenes around them, and remembered that in a few short +years at most we should all three be laid in the cold narrow +house formed of four elm or oaken boards, our only garment the +flannel shroud, the cold damp earth above us, instead of the +bright glorious sky. Oh, how sad and mournful I +became! I soon comforted myself, however, by reflecting +that such is the will of Heaven, and that Heaven is good.</p> + +<p>After we had descended the avenue some way John Jones began to +look about him, and getting on the bank on the left side +disappeared. We went on, and in a little time saw him again +beckoning to us some way farther down, but still on the +bank. When we drew nigh to him he bade us get on the bank; +we did so and followed him some way, midst furze and lyng. +All of a sudden he exclaimed, “There it is!” We +looked and saw a large figure standing on a pedestal. On +going up to it we found it to be a Hercules leaning on his club, +indeed a copy of the Farnese Hercules, as we gathered from an +inscription in Latin partly defaced. We felt rather +disappointed, as we expected that it would have turned out to be +the figure of some huge Welsh champion of old. We, however, +said nothing to our guide. John Jones, in order that we +might properly appreciate the size of the statue by contrasting +it with his own body, got upon the pedestal and stood up beside +the figure, to the elbow of which his head little more than +reached.</p> + +<p>I told him that in my country, the eastern part of Lloegr, I +had seen a man quite as tall as the statue.</p> + +<p>“Indeed, sir,” said he; “who is +it?”</p> + +<p>“Hales the Norfolk giant,” I replied, “who +has a sister seven inches shorter than himself, who is yet seven +inches taller than any man in the county when her brother is out +of it.”</p> + +<p>When John Jones got down he asked me who the man was whom the +statue was intended to represent.</p> + +<p>“Erchwl,” I replied, “a mighty man of old, +who with club cleared the country of thieves, serpents, and +monsters.”</p> + +<p>I now proposed that we should return to Llangollen, whereupon +we retraced our steps, and had nearly reached the farm-house of +the castle when John Jones said that we had better return by the +low road, by doing which we should see the castle-lodge and also +its gate which was considered one of the wonders of Wales. +We followed his advice and passing by the front of the castle +northwards soon came to the lodge. The lodge had nothing +remarkable in its appearance, but the gate which was of iron was +truly magnificent.</p> + +<p>On the top were two figures of wolves which John Jones +supposed to be those of foxes. The wolf of Chirk is not +intended to be expressive of the northern name of its proprietor, +but as the armorial bearing of his family by the maternal side, +and originated in one Ryred, surnamed Blaidd or Wolf from his +ferocity in war, from whom the family, which only assumed the +name of Middleton in the beginning of the thirteenth century, on +the occasion of its representative marrying a rich Shropshire +heiress of that name, traces descent.</p> + +<p>The wolf of Chirk is a Cambrian not a Gothic wolf, and though +“a wolf of battle,” is the wolf not of Biddulph but +of Ryred.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LV</h2> + +<p class="letter">A Visitor—Apprenticeship to the +Law—Croch Daranau—Lope de Vega—No Life like the +Traveller’s.</p> + +<p>One morning as I sat alone a gentleman was announced. On +his entrance I recognised in him the magistrate’s clerk, +owing to whose good word, as it appeared to me, I had been +permitted to remain during the examination into the affair of the +wounded butcher. He was a stout, strong-made man, somewhat +under the middle height, with a ruddy face, and very clear, grey +eyes. I handed him a chair, which he took, and said that +his name was R---, and that he had taken the liberty of calling, +as he had a great desire to be acquainted with me. On my +asking him his reason for that desire he told me that it +proceeded from his having read a book of mine about Spain, which +had much interested him.</p> + +<p>“Good,” said I, “you can’t give an +author a better reason for coming to see him than being pleased +with his book. I assure you that you are most +welcome.”</p> + +<p>After a little general discourse I said that I presumed he was +in the law.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said he, “I am a member of that +much-abused profession.”</p> + +<p>“And unjustly abused,” said I; “it is a +profession which abounds with honourable men, and in which I +believe there are fewer scamps than in any other. The most +honourable men I have ever known have been lawyers; they were men +whose word was their bond, and who would have preferred ruin to +breaking it. There was my old master, in particular, who +would have died sooner than broken his word. God bless +him! I think I see him now with his bald, shining pate, and +his finger on an open page of ‘Preston’s +Conveyancing.’”</p> + +<p>“Sure you are not a limb of the law?” said Mr +R---.</p> + +<p>“No,” said I, “but I might be, for I served +an apprenticeship to it.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad to hear it,” said Mr R---, shaking me +by the hand. “Take my advice, come and settle at +Llangollen and be my partner.”</p> + +<p>“If I did,” said I, “I am afraid that our +partnership would be of short duration; you would find me too +eccentric and flighty for the law. Have you a good +practice?” I demanded after a pause.</p> + +<p>“I have no reason to complain of it,” said he, +with a contented air.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you are married?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said he, “I have both a wife and +family.”</p> + +<p>“A native of Llangollen?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No,” said he: “I was born at Llan Silin, a +place some way off across the Berwyn.”</p> + +<p>“Llan Silin?” said I, “I have a great desire +to visit it some day or other.”</p> + +<p>“Why so?” said he, “it offers nothing +interesting.”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon,” said I; “unless I am +much mistaken, the tomb of the great poet Huw Morris is in Llan +Silin churchyard.”</p> + +<p>“Is it possible that you have ever heard of Huw +Morris?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said I; “and I have not only heard +of him but am acquainted with his writings; I read them when a +boy.”</p> + +<p>“How very extraordinary,” said he; “well, +you are quite right about his tomb; when a boy I have played +dozens of times on the flat stone with my +schoolfellows.”</p> + +<p>We talked of Welsh poetry; he said he had not dipped much into +it, owing to its difficulty; that he was master of the colloquial +language of Wales, but understood very little of the language of +Welsh poetry, which was a widely different thing. I asked +him whether he had seen Owen Pugh’s translation of Paradise +Lost. He said he had, but could only partially understand +it, adding, however, that those parts which he could make out +appeared to him to be admirably executed, that amongst these +there was one which had particularly struck him namely:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p> “Ar eu +col o rygnu croch<br /> +Daranau.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The rendering of Milton’s</p> + +<blockquote> +<p> “And on +their hinges grate<br /> +Harsh thunder.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>which, grand as it was, was certainly equalled by the Welsh +version, and perhaps surpassed, for that he was disposed to think +that there was something more terrible in “croch +daranau,” than in “harsh thunder.”</p> + +<p>“I am disposed to think so too,” said I. +“Now can you tell me where Owen Pugh is buried?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot,” said he; “but I suppose you can +tell me; you, who know the burying-place of Huw Morris are +probably acquainted with the burying-place of Owen +Pugh.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said I, “I am not. Unlike Huw +Morris, Owen Pugh has never had his history written, though +perhaps quite as interesting a history might be made out of the +life of the quiet student as out of that of the popular +poet. As soon as ever I learn where his grave is I shall +assuredly make a pilgrimage to it.” Mr R--- then +asked me a good many questions about Spain, and a certain +singular race of people about whom I have written a good +deal. Before going away he told me that a friend of his, of +the name of J---, would call upon me, provided he thought I +should not consider his doing so an intrusion. “Let +him come by all means,” said I; “I shall never look +upon a visit from a friend of yours in the light of an +intrusion.”</p> + +<p>In a few days came his friend, a fine tall athletic man of +about forty. “You are no Welshman,” said I, as +I looked at him.</p> + +<p>“No,” said he, “I am a native of +Lincolnshire, but I have resided in Llangollen for thirteen +years.”</p> + +<p>“In what capacity?” said I.</p> + +<p>“In the wine-trade,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Instead of coming to Llangollen,” said I, +“and entering into the wine-trade, you should have gone to +London, and enlisted into the Life Guards.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said he, with a smile, “I had once +or twice thought of doing so. However, fate brought me to +Llangollen, and I am not sorry that she did, for I have done very +well here.”</p> + +<p>I soon found out that he was a well-read and indeed highly +accomplished man. Like his friend R---, Mr J--- asked me a +great many questions about Spain. By degrees we got on the +subject of Spanish literature. I said that the literature +of Spain was a first-rate literature, but that it was not very +extensive. He asked me whether I did not think that Lope de +Vega was much overrated.</p> + +<p>“Not a bit,” said I; “Lope de Vega was one +of the greatest geniuses that ever lived. He was not only a +great dramatist and lyric poet, but a prose writer of marvellous +ability, as he proved by several admirable tales, amongst which +is the best ghost story in the world.”</p> + +<p>Another remarkable person whom I got acquainted with about +this time was A---, the innkeeper, who lived a little way down +the road, of whom John Jones had spoken so highly, saying, +amongst other things, that he was the clebberest man in +Llangollen. One day as I was looking in at his gate, he +came forth, took off his hat, and asked me to do him the honour +to come in and look at his grounds. I complied, and as he +showed me about he told me his history in nearly the following +words:—</p> + +<p>“I am a Devonian by birth. For many years I served +a travelling gentleman, whom I accompanied in all his +wanderings. I have been five times across the Alps, and in +every capital of Europe. My master at length dying left me +in his will something handsome, whereupon I determined to be a +servant no longer, but married, and came to Llangollen, which I +had visited long before with my master, and had been much pleased +with. After a little time these premises becoming vacant, I +took them, and set up in the public line, more to have something +to do, than for the sake of gain, about which, indeed, I need not +trouble myself much, my poor, dear master, as I said before, +having done very handsomely by me at his death. Here I have +lived for several years, receiving strangers, and improving my +house and grounds. I am tolerably comfortable, but confess +I sometimes look back to my former roving life rather wistfully, +for there is no life so merry as the +traveller’s.”</p> + +<p>He was about the middle age and somewhat under the middle +size. I had a good deal of conversation with him, and was +much struck with his frank, straightforward manner. He +enjoyed a high character at Llangollen for probity and likewise +for cleverness, being reckoned an excellent gardener, and an +almost unequalled cook. His master, the travelling +gentleman, might well leave him a handsome remembrance in his +will, for he had not only been an excellent and trusty servant to +him, but had once saved his life at the hazard of his own, +amongst the frightful precipices of the Alps. Such retired +gentlemen’s servants, or such publicans either, as honest +A---, are not every day to be found. His grounds, +principally laid out by his own hands, exhibited an infinity of +taste, and his house, into which I looked, was a perfect picture +of neatness. Any tourist visiting Llangollen for a short +period could do no better than take up his abode at the hostelry +of honest A---.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LVI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Ringing of Bells—Battle of +Alma—The Brown Jug—Ale of +Llangollen—Reverses.</p> + +<p>On the third of October—I think that was the +date—as my family and myself, attended by trusty John +Jones, were returning on foot from visiting a park not far from +Rhiwabon we heard, when about a mile from Llangollen, a sudden +ringing of the bells of the place, and a loud shouting. +Presently we observed a postman hurrying in a cart from the +direction of the town. “Peth yw y matter?” said +John Jones. “Y matter, y matter!” said the +postman in a tone of exultation, “Sebastopol wedi +cymmeryd. Hurrah!”</p> + +<p>“What does he say?” said my wife anxiously to +me.</p> + +<p>“Why, that Sebastopol is taken,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Then you have been mistaken,” said my wife +smiling, “for you always said that the place would either +not be taken at all or would cost the allies to take it a deal of +time and an immense quantity of blood and treasure, and here it +is taken at once, for the allies only landed the other day. +Well, thank God, you have been mistaken!”</p> + +<p>“Thank God, indeed,” said I, “always +supposing that I have been mistaken—but I hardly think from +what I have known of the Russians that they would let their +town—however, let us hope that they have let it be +taken. Hurrah!”</p> + +<p>We reached our dwelling. My wife and daughter went +in. John Jones betook himself to his cottage, and I went +into the town, in which there was a great excitement; a wild +running troop of boys were shouting “Sebastopol wedi +cymmeryd. Hurrah! Hurrah!” Old Mr Jones was +standing bare-headed at his door. “Ah,” said +the old gentleman, “I am glad to see you. Let us +congratulate each other,” he added, shaking me by the +hand. “Sebastopol taken, and in so short a +time. How fortunate!”</p> + +<p>“Fortunate indeed,” said I, returning his hearty +shake; “I only hope it may be true.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, there can be no doubt of its being true,” +said the old gentleman. “The accounts are most +positive. Come in, and I will tell you all the +circumstances.” I followed him into his little back +parlour, where we both sat down.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said the old church clerk, “I will +tell you all about it. The allies landed about twenty miles +from Sebastopol and proceeded to march against it. When +nearly half way they found the Russians posted on a hill. +Their position was naturally very strong, and they had made it +more so by means of redoubts and trenches. However, the +allies undismayed, attacked the enemy, and after a desperate +resistance, drove them over the hill, and following fast at their +heels entered the town pell-mell with them, taking it and all +that remained alive of the Russian army. And what do you +think? The Welsh highly distinguished themselves. The +Welsh fusileers were the first to mount the hill. They +suffered horribly—indeed almost the whole regiment was cut +to pieces; but what of that? they showed that the courage of the +Ancient Britons still survives in their descendants. And +now I intend to stand beverage. I assure you I do. No +words! I insist upon it. I have heard you say you are +fond of good ale, and I intend to fetch you a pint of such ale as +I am sure you never drank in your life.” Thereupon he +hurried out of the room, and through the shop into the +street.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, when I was by myself, “if +this news does not regularly surprise me! I can easily +conceive that the Russians would be beaten in a pitched battle by +the English and French—but that they should have been so +quickly followed up by the allies, as not to be able to shut +their gates and man their walls, is to me inconceivable. +Why, the Russians retreat like the wind, and have a thousand +ruses at command, in order to retard an enemy. So at least +I thought, but it is plain that I know nothing about them, nor +indeed much of my own countrymen; I should never have thought +that English soldiers could have marched fast enough to overtake +Russians, more especially with such a being to command them, as +---, whom I, and indeed almost every one else have always +considered a dead weight on the English service. I suppose, +however, that both they and their commander were spurred on by +the active French.”</p> + +<p>Presently the old church clerk made his appearance with a +glass in one hand, and a brown jug of ale in the other.</p> + +<p>“Here,” said he, filling the glass, “is some +of the real Llangollen ale. I got it from the little inn, +the Eagle, over the way, which was always celebrated for its +ale. They stared at me when I went in and asked for a pint +of ale, as they knew that for twenty years I have drunk no liquor +whatever, owing to the state of my stomach, which will not allow +me to drink anything stronger than water and tea. I told +them, however, it was for a gentleman, a friend of mine, whom I +wished to treat in honour of the fall of Sebastopol.”</p> + +<p>I would fain have excused myself, but the old gentleman +insisted on my drinking.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, taking the glass, “thank God +that our gloomy forebodings are not likely to be realised. +Oes y byd i’r glôd Frythoneg! May +Britain’s glory last as long as the world!”</p> + +<p>Then, looking for a moment at the ale, which was of a +dark-brown colour, I put the glass to my lips and drank.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said the old church clerk, “I see you +like it, for you have emptied the glass at a draught.”</p> + +<p>“It is good ale,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Good,” said the old gentleman rather hastily, +“good; did you ever taste any so good in your +life?”</p> + +<p>“Why, as to that,” said I, “I hardly know +what to say; I have drunk some very good ale in my day. +However, I’ll trouble you for another glass.”</p> + +<p>“Oh ho, you will,” said the old gentleman; +“that’s enough; if you did not think it first-rate, +you would not ask for more. This,” said he, as he +filled the glass again, “is genuine malt and hop liquor, +brewed in a way only known, they say, to some few people in this +place. You must, however, take care how much you take of +it. Only a few glasses will make you dispute with your +friends, and a few more quarrel with them. Strange things +are said of what Llangollen ale made people do of yore; and I +remember that when I was young and could drink ale, two or three +glasses of the Llangollen juice of the barleycorn would make +me—however, those times are gone by.”</p> + +<p>“Has Llangollen ale,” said I, after tasting the +second glass, “ever been sung in Welsh? is there no englyn +upon it?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said the old church clerk, “at any +rate, that I am aware.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “I can’t sing its +praises in a Welsh englyn, but I think I can contrive to do so in +an English quatrain, with the help of what you have told +me. What do you think of this?—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Llangollen’s brown ale is with malt +and hop rife;<br /> +’Tis good; but don’t quaff it from evening till +dawn;<br /> +For too much of that ale will incline you to strife;<br /> +Too much of that ale has caused knives to be drawn.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“That’s not so bad,” said the old church +clerk, “but I think some of our bards could have produced +something better—that is, in Welsh; for example +old—What’s the name of the old bard who wrote so many +englynion on ale?”</p> + +<p>“Sion Tudor,” said I; “O yes; but he was a +great poet. Ah, he has written some wonderful englynion on +ale; but you will please to bear in mind that all his englynion +are upon bad ale, and it is easier to turn to ridicule what is +bad, than to do anything like justice to what is good.”</p> + +<p>O, great was the rejoicing for a few days at Llangollen for +the reported triumph; and the share of the Welsh in that triumph +reconciled for a time the descendants of the Ancient Britons to +the seed of the coiling serpent. “Welsh and Saxons +together will conquer the world!” shouted brats, as they +stood barefooted in the kennel. In a little time, however, +news not quite so cheering arrived. There had been a battle +fought, it is true, in which the Russians had been beaten, and +the little Welsh had very much distinguished themselves, but no +Sebastopol had been taken. The Russians had retreated to +their town, which, till then almost defenceless on the land side, +they had, following their old maxim of “never +despair,” rendered almost impregnable in a few days, whilst +the allies, chiefly owing to the supineness of the British +commander, were loitering on the field of battle. In a +word, all had happened which the writer, from his knowledge of +the Russians and his own countrymen, had conceived likely to +happen from the beginning. Then came the news of the +commencement of a seemingly interminable siege, and of disasters +and disgraces on the part of the British; there was no more +shouting at Llangollen in connection with the Crimean +expedition. But the subject is a disagreeable one, and the +writer will dismiss it after a few brief words.</p> + +<p>It was quite right and consistent with the justice of God that +the British arms should be subjected to disaster and ignominy +about that period. A deed of infamous injustice and cruelty +had been perpetrated, and the perpetrators, instead of being +punished, had received applause and promotion; so if the British +expedition to Sebastopol was a disastrous and ignominious one, +who can wonder? Was it likely that the groans of poor Parry +would be unheard from the corner to which he had retired to hide +his head by “the Ancient of days,” who sits above the +cloud, and from thence sends judgments?</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LVII</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Newspaper—A New +Walk—Pentré y Dwr—Oatmeal and +Barley-Meal—The Man on Horseback—Heavy News.</p> + +<p>“Dear me,” said I to my wife, as I sat by the fire +one Saturday morning, looking at a newspaper which had been sent +to us from our own district, “what is this? Why, the +death of our old friend Dr ---. He died last Tuesday week +after a short illness, for he preached in his church at --- the +previous Sunday.”</p> + +<p>“Poor man!” said my wife. “How sorry I +am to hear of his death! However, he died in the fulness of +years, after a long and exemplary life. He was an excellent +man and good Christian shepherd. I knew him well; you I +think only saw him once.”</p> + +<p>“But I shall never forget him,” said I, “nor +how animated his features became when I talked to him about +Wales, for he, you know, was a Welshman. I forgot to ask +what part of Wales he came from. I suppose I shall never +know now.”</p> + +<p>Feeling indisposed either for writing or reading, I determined +to take a walk to Pentré y Dwr, a village in the +north-west part of the valley which I had not yet visited. +I purposed going by a path under the Eglwysig crags which I had +heard led thither, and to return by the monastery. I set +out. The day was dull and gloomy. Crossing the canal +I pursued my course by romantic lanes till I found myself under +the crags. The rocky ridge here turns away to the north, +having previously run from the east to the west.</p> + +<p>After proceeding nearly a mile amidst very beautiful scenery, +I came to a farm-yard where I saw several men engaged in +repairing a building. This farm-yard was in a very +sequestered situation; a hill overhung it on the west, half-way +up whose side stood a farm-house to which it probably +pertained. On the north-west was a most romantic hill +covered with wood to the very top. A wild valley led, I +knew not whither, to the north between crags and the wood-covered +hill. Going up to a man of respectable appearance, who +seemed to be superintending the others, I asked him in English +the way to Pentré y Dwr. He replied that I must +follow the path up the hill towards the house, behind which I +should find a road which would lead me through the wood to +Pentré Dwr. As he spoke very good English, I asked +him where he had learnt it.</p> + +<p>“Chiefly in South Wales,” said he, “where +they speak less Welsh than here.”</p> + +<p>I gathered from him that he lived in the house on the hill and +was a farmer. I asked him to what place the road up the +valley to the north led.</p> + +<p>“We generally go by that road to Wrexham,” he +replied; “it is a short but a wild road through the +hills.”</p> + +<p>After a little discourse on the times, which he told me were +not quite so bad for farmers as they had been, I bade him +farewell.</p> + +<p>Mounting the hill I passed round the house, as the farmer had +directed me, and turned to the west along a path on the side of +the mountain. A deep valley was on my left, and on my right +above me a thick wood, principally of oak. About a mile +further on the path winded down a descent, at the bottom of which +I saw a brook and a number of cottages beyond it.</p> + +<p>I passed over the brook by means of a long slab laid across, +and reached the cottages. I was now as I supposed in +Pentré y Dwr, and a pentré y dwr most truly it +looked, for those Welsh words signify in English the village of +the water, and the brook here ran through the village, in every +room of which its pretty murmuring sound must have been +audible. I looked about me in the hope of seeing somebody +of whom I could ask a question or two, but seeing no one, I +turned to the south intending to regain Llangollen by the way of +the monastery. Coming to a cottage I saw a woman, to all +appearance very old, standing by the door, and asked her in Welsh +where I was.</p> + +<p>“In Pentré Dwr,” said she. +“This house, and those yonder,” pointing to the +cottages past which I had come, “are Pentré y +Dwr. There is, however, another Pentré Dwr up the +glen yonder,” said she, pointing towards the +north—“which is called Pentré Dwr uchaf (the +upper)—this is Pentré Dwr isaf (the +lower).”</p> + +<p>“Is it called Pentré Dwr,” said I, +“because of the water of the brook?”</p> + +<p>“Likely enough,” said she, “but I never +thought of the matter before.”</p> + +<p>She was blear-eyed, and her skin, which seemed drawn tight +over her forehead and cheek-bones, was of the colour of +parchment. I asked her how old she was.</p> + +<p>“Fifteen after three twenties,” she replied; +meaning that she was seventy-five.</p> + +<p>From her appearance I should almost have guessed that she had +been fifteen after four twenties. I, however, did not tell +her so, for I am always cautious not to hurt the feelings of +anybody, especially of the aged.</p> + +<p>Continuing my way I soon overtook a man driving five or six +very large hogs. One of these which was muzzled was of a +truly immense size, and walked with considerable difficulty on +account of its fatness. I walked for some time by the side +of the noble porker, admiring it. At length a man rode up +on horseback from the way we had come; he said something to the +driver of the hogs, who instantly unmuzzled the immense creature, +who gave a loud grunt on finding his snout and mouth free. +From the conversation which ensued between the two men I found +that the driver was the servant and the other the master.</p> + +<p>“Those hogs are too fat to drive along the road,” +said I at last to the latter.</p> + +<p>“We brought them in a cart as far as the Pentré +Dwr,” said the man on horseback, “but as they did not +like the jolting we took them out.”</p> + +<p>“And where are you taking them to?” said. I.</p> + +<p>“To Llangollen,” said the man, “for the fair +on Monday.”</p> + +<p>“What does that big fellow weigh?” said I, +pointing to the largest hog.</p> + +<p>“He’ll weigh about eighteen score,” said the +man.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by eighteen score?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Eighteen score of pounds,” said the man.</p> + +<p>“And how much do you expect to get for him?”</p> + +<p>“Eight pounds; I shan’t take less.”</p> + +<p>“And who will buy him?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Some gent from Wolverhampton or about there,” +said the man; “there will be plenty of gents from +Wolverhampton at the fair.”</p> + +<p>“And what do you fatten your hogs upon?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Oatmeal,” said the man.</p> + +<p>“And why not on barley-meal?”</p> + +<p>“Oatmeal is the best,” said the man; “the +gents from Wolverhampton prefer them fattened on +oatmeal.”</p> + +<p>“Do the gents of Wolverhampton,” said I, +“eat the hogs?”</p> + +<p>“They do not,” said the man; “they buy them +to sell again; and they like hogs fed on oatmeal best, because +they are the fattest.”</p> + +<p>“But the pork is not the best,” said I; “all +hog-flesh raised on oatmeal is bitter and wiry; because do you +see—”</p> + +<p>“I see you are in the trade,” said the man, +“and understand a thing or two.”</p> + +<p>“I understand a thing or two,” said I, “but +I am not in the trade. Do you come from far?”</p> + +<p>“From Llandeglo,” said the man.</p> + +<p>“Are you a hog-merchant?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said he, “and a horse-dealer, and a +farmer, though rather a small one.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose as you are a horse-dealer,” said I, +“you travel much about?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the man; “I have travelled a +good deal about Wales and England.”</p> + +<p>“Have you been in Ynys Fon?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I see you are a Welshman,” said the man.</p> + +<p>“No,” said I, “but I know a little +Welsh.”</p> + +<p>“Ynys Fon!” said the man. “Yes, I have +been in Anglesey more times than I can tell.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know Hugh Pritchard,” said I, “who +lives at Pentraeth Coch?”</p> + +<p>“I know him well,” said the man, “and an +honest fellow he is.”</p> + +<p>“And Mr Bos?” said I.</p> + +<p>“What Bos?” said he. “Do you mean a +lusty, red-faced man in top-boots and grey coat?”</p> + +<p>“That’s he,” said I.</p> + +<p>“He’s a clever one,” said the man. +“I suppose by your knowing these people you are a drover or +a horse-dealer. Yes,” said he, turning half-round in +his saddle and looking at me, “you are a +horse-dealer. I remember you well now, and once sold a +horse to you at Chelmsford.”</p> + +<p>“I am no horse-dealer,” said I, “nor did I +ever buy a horse at Chelmsford. I see you have been about +England. Have you ever been in Norfolk or +Suffolk?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said the man, “but I know something of +Suffolk. I have an uncle there.”</p> + +<p>“Whereabouts in Suffolk?” said I.</p> + +<p>“At a place called ---,” said the man.</p> + +<p>“In what line of business?” said I.</p> + +<p>“In none at all; he is a clergyman.”</p> + +<p>“Shall I tell you his name?” said I.</p> + +<p>“It is not likely you should know his name,” said +the man.</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless,” said I, “I will tell it +you—his name was ---”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the man, “sure enough that is +his name.”</p> + +<p>“It was his name,” said I, “but I am sorry +to tell you he is no more. To-day is Saturday. He +died last Tuesday week and was probably buried last Monday. +An excellent man was Dr. H. O. A credit to his country and +to his order.”</p> + +<p>The man was silent for some time and then said with a softer +voice and a very different manner from that he had used before, +“I never saw him but once, and that was more than twenty +years ago—but I have heard say that he was an excellent +man—I see, sir, that you are a clergyman.”</p> + +<p>“I am no clergyman,” said I, “but I knew +your uncle and prized him. What was his native +place?”</p> + +<p>“Corwen,” said the man, then taking out his +handkerchief he wiped his eyes, and said with a faltering voice: +“This will be heavy news there.”</p> + +<p>We were now past the monastery, and bidding him farewell I +descended to the canal, and returned home by its bank, whilst the +Welsh drover, the nephew of the learned, eloquent and exemplary +Welsh doctor, pursued with his servant and animals his way by the +high road to Llangollen.</p> + +<p>Many sons of Welsh yeomen brought up to the Church have become +ornaments of it in distant Saxon land, but few, very few, have by +learning, eloquence and Christian virtues reflected so much +lustre upon it as Hugh O--- of Corwen.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LVIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Sunday Night—Sleep, Sin, and Old +Age—The Dream—Lanikin Figure—A Literary +Purchase.</p> + +<p>The Sunday morning was a gloomy one. I attended service +at church with my family. The service was in English, and +the younger Mr E--- preached. The text I have forgotten, +but I remember perfectly well that the sermon was scriptural and +elegant. When we came out the rain was falling in +torrents. Neither I nor my family went to church in the +afternoon. I however attended the evening service which is +always in Welsh. The elder Mr E--- preached. Text, 2 +Cor. x. 5. The sermon was an admirable one, admonitory, +pathetic and highly eloquent; I went home very much edified, and +edified my wife and Henrietta, by repeating to them in English +the greater part of the discourse which I had been listening to +in Welsh. After supper, in which I did not join, for I +never take supper, provided I have taken dinner, they went to bed +whilst I remained seated before the fire, with my back near the +table and my eyes fixed upon the embers which were rapidly +expiring, and in this posture sleep surprised me. Amongst +the proverbial sayings of the Welsh, which are chiefly preserved +in the shape of triads, is the following one: “Three things +come unawares upon a man, sleep, sin, and old age.” +This saying holds sometimes good with respect to sleep and old +age, but never with respect to sin. Sin does not come +unawares upon a man: God is just, and would never punish a man, +as He always does, for being overcome by sin if sin were able to +take him unawares; and neither sleep nor old age always come +unawares upon a man. People frequently feel themselves +going to sleep and feel old age stealing upon them; though there +can be no doubt that sleep and old age sometimes come +unawares—old age came unawares upon me; it was only the +other day that I was aware that I was old, though I had long been +old, and sleep came unawares upon me in that chair in which I had +sat down without the slightest thought of sleeping. And +there as I sat I had a dream—what did I dream about? the +sermon, musing upon which I had been overcome by sleep? not a +bit! I dreamt about a widely-different matter. +Methought I was in Llangollen fair in the place where the pigs +were sold, in the midst of Welsh drovers, immense hogs and +immense men whom I took to be the gents of Wolverhampton. +What huge fellows they were! almost as huge as the hogs for which +they higgled; the generality of them dressed in brown sporting +coats, drab breeches, yellow-topped boots, splashed all over with +mud, and with low-crowned broad-brimmed hats. One enormous +fellow particularly caught my notice. I guessed he must +have weighed eleven score, he had a half-ruddy, half-tallowy +face, brown hair, and rather thin whiskers. He was higgling +with the proprietor of an immense hog, and as he higgled he +wheezed as if he had a difficulty of respiration, and frequently +wiped off, with a dirty-white pocket-handkerchief, drops of +perspiration which stood upon his face. At last methought +he bought the hog for nine pounds, and had no sooner concluded +his bargain than turning round to me, who was standing close by +staring at him, he slapped me on the shoulder with a hand of +immense weight, crying with a half-piping, half-wheezing voice, +“Coom, neighbour, coom, I and thou have often dealt; +gi’ me noo a poond for my bargain, and it shall be all thy +own.” I felt in a great rage at his unceremonious +behaviour, and, owing to the flutter of my spirits, whilst I was +thinking whether or not I should try and knock him down, I awoke +and found the fire nearly out and the ecclesiastical cat seated +on my shoulders. The creature had not been turned out, as +it ought to have been, before my wife and daughter retired, and +feeling cold had got upon the table and thence had sprung upon my +back for the sake of the warmth which it knew was to be found +there; and no doubt the springing on my shoulders by the +ecclesiastical cat was what I took in my dream to be the slap on +my shoulders by the Wolverhampton gent.</p> + +<p>The day of the fair was dull and gloomy, an exact counterpart +of the previous Saturday. Owing to some cause I did not go +into the fair till past one o’clock, and then seeing +neither immense hogs nor immense men I concluded that the gents +of Wolverhampton had been there, and after purchasing the larger +porkers had departed with their bargains to their native +district. After sauntering about a little time I returned +home. After dinner I went again into the fair along with my +wife; the stock business had long been over, but I observed more +stalls than in the morning, and a far greater throng, for the +country people for miles round had poured into the little +town. By a stall on which were some poor legs and shoulders +of mutton I perceived the English butcher, whom the Welsh one had +attempted to slaughter. I recognised him by a patch which +he wore on his cheek. My wife and I went up and inquired +how he was. He said that he still felt poorly, but that he +hoped he should get round. I asked him if he remembered me; +and received for answer that he remembered having seen me when +the examination took place into “his matter.” I +then inquired what had become of his antagonist and was told that +he was in prison awaiting his trial. I gathered from him +that he was a native of the Southdown country and a shepherd by +profession; that he had been engaged by the squire of Porkington +in Shropshire to look after his sheep, and that he had lived +there a year or two, but becoming tired of his situation he had +come to Llangollen, where he had married a Welshwoman and set up +as a butcher. We told him that as he was our countryman we +should be happy to deal with him sometimes; he, however, received +the information with perfect apathy, never so much as saying +“thank you.” He was a tall lanikin figure with +a pair of large, lack-lustre staring eyes, and upon the whole +appeared to be good for very little. Leaving him we went +some way up the principal street; presently my wife turned into a +shop, and I observing a little bookstall went up to it and began +to inspect the books. They were chiefly in Welsh. +Seeing a kind of chap book, which bore on its title-page the name +of Twm O’r Nant, I took it up. It was called Y Llwyn +Celyn or the Holy Grove, and contained the life and one of the +interludes of Tom O’ the Dingle or Thomas Edwards. It +purported to be the first of four numbers, each of which amongst +other things was to contain one of his interludes. The +price, of the number was one shilling. I questioned the man +of the stall about the other numbers, but found that this was the +only one which he possessed. Eager, however, to read an +interlude of the celebrated Tom, I purchased it and turned away +from the stall. Scarcely had I done so when I saw a +wild-looking woman with two wild children looking at me. +The woman curtseyed to me, and I thought I recognised the elder +of the two Irish females whom I had seen in the tent on the green +meadow near Chester. I was going to address her, but just +then my wife called to me from the shop and I went to her, and +when I returned to look for the woman she and her children had +disappeared, and though I searched about for her I could not see +her, for which I was sorry, as I wished very much to have some +conversation with her about the ways of the Irish +wanderers. I was thinking of going to look for her up +“Paddy’s dingle,” but my wife meeting me, +begged me to go home with her, as it was getting late. So I +went home with my better half, bearing my late literary +acquisition in my hand.</p> + +<p>That night I sat up very late reading the life of Twm +O’r Nant, written by himself in choice Welsh, and his +interlude which was styled “Cyfoeth a Thylody; or, Riches +and Poverty.” The life I had read in my boyhood in an +old Welsh magazine, and I now read it again with great zest, and +no wonder, as it is probably the most remarkable autobiography +ever penned. The interlude I had never seen before, nor +indeed any of the dramatic pieces of Twm O’r Nant, though I +had frequently wished to procure some of them—so I read the +present one with great eagerness. Of the life I shall give +some account and also some extracts from it, which will enable +the reader to judge of Tom’s personal character, and also +an extract of the interlude, from which the reader may form a +tolerably correct idea of the poetical powers of him whom his +countrymen delight to call “the Welsh +Shakespear.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LIX</h2> + +<p class="letter">History of Twm O’r Nant—Eagerness +for Learning—The First Interlude—The Cruel +Fighter—Raising Wood—The Luckless +Hour—Turnpike-Keeping—Death in the +Snow—Tom’s Great Feat—The Muse a +Friend—Strength in Old Age—Resurrection of the +Dead.</p> + +<p>“I am the first-born of my parents,” says Thomas +Edwards. “They were poor people and very +ignorant. I was brought into the world in a place called +Lower Pen Parchell, on land which once belonged to the celebrated +Iolo Goch. My parents afterwards removed to the Nant (or +dingle) near Nantglyn, situated in a place called Coom +Pernant. The Nant was the middlemost of three homesteads, +which are in the Coom, and are called the Upper, Middle, and +Lower Nant; and it so happened that in the Upper Nant there were +people who had a boy of about the same age as myself, and +forasmuch as they were better to do in the world than my parents, +they having only two children whilst mine had ten, I was called +Tom of the Dingle, whilst he was denominated Thomas +Williams.”</p> + +<p>After giving some anecdotes of his childhood he goes on +thus:—“Time passed on till I was about eight years +old, and then in the summer I was lucky enough to be sent to +school for three weeks; and as soon as I had learnt to spell and +read a few words I conceived a mighty desire to learn to write; +so I went in quest of elderberries to make me ink, and my first +essay in writing was trying to copy on the sides of the leaves of +books the letters of the words I read. It happened, +however, that a shop in the village caught fire, and the greater +part of it was burnt, only a few trifles being saved, and amongst +the scorched articles my mother got for a penny a number of +sheets of paper burnt at the edges, and sewed them together to +serve as copy-books for me. Without loss of time I went to +the smith of Waendwysog, who wrote for me the letters on the +upper part of the leaves; and careful enough was I to fill the +whole paper with scrawlings which looked for all the world like +crow’s feet. I went on getting paper and ink, and +something to copy now from this person, and now from that, until +I learned to read Welsh and to write it at the same +time.”</p> + +<p>He copied out a great many carols and songs, and the +neighbours observing his fondness for learning persuaded his +father to allow him to go to the village school to learn +English. At the end of three weeks, however, his father, +considering that he was losing his time, would allow him to go no +longer, but took him into the fields in order that the boy might +assist him in his labour. Nevertheless Tom would not give +up his literary pursuits, but continued scribbling, and copying +out songs and carols. When he was about ten he formed an +acquaintance with an old man, chapel-reader in Pentre y Foelas, +who had a great many old books in his possession, which he +allowed Tom to read; he then had the honour of becoming an +amanuensis to a poet.</p> + +<p>“I became very intimate,” says he, “with a +man who was a poet; he could neither read nor write; but he was a +poet by nature, having a muse wonderfully glib at making triplets +and quartets. He was nicknamed Tum Tai of the Moor. +He made an englyn for me to put in a book in which I was +inserting all the verses I could collect:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘Tom Evans’ the lad for hunting +up songs,<br /> +Tom Evans to whom the best learning belongs;<br /> +Betwixt his two pasteboards he verses has got,<br /> +Sufficient to fill the whole country, I wot.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“I was in the habit of writing my name Tom or Thomas +Evans before I went to school for a fortnight in order to learn +English; but then I altered it, into Thomas Edwards, for Evan +Edwards was the name of my father, and I should have been making +myself a bastard had I continued calling myself by my first +name. However, I had the honour of being secretary to the +old poet. When he had made a song he would keep it in his +memory till I came to him. Sometimes after the old man had +repeated his composition to me I would begin to dispute with him, +asking whether the thing would not be better another way, and he +could hardly keep from flying into a passion with me for putting +his work to the torture.”</p> + +<p>It was then the custom for young lads to go about playing what +were called interludes, namely dramatic pieces on religious or +moral subjects, written by rustic poets. Shortly after Tom +had attained the age of twelve he went about with certain lads of +Nantglyn playing these pieces, generally acting the part of a +girl, because, as he says, he had the best voice. About +this time he wrote an interlude himself, founded on “John +Bunyan’s Spiritual Courtship,” which was, however, +stolen from him by a young fellow from Anglesey, along with the +greater part of the poems and pieces which he had copied. +This affair at first very much disheartened Tom: plucking up his +spirits, however, he went on composing, and soon acquired amongst +his neighbours the title of “the poet,” to the great +mortification of his parents, who were anxious to see him become +an industrious husbandman.</p> + +<p>“Before I was quite fourteen,” says he, “I +had made another interlude, but when my father and mother heard +about it they did all they could to induce me to destroy +it. However, I would not burn it, but gave it to Hugh of +Llangwin, a celebrated poet of the time, who took it to +Landyrnog, where he sold it for ten shillings to the lads of the +place, who performed it the following summer; but I never got +anything for my labour, save a sup of ale from the players when I +met them. This at the heel of other things would have +induced me to give up poetry, had it been in the power of +anything to do so. I made two interludes,” he +continues, “one for the people of Llanbedr in the Vale of +Clwyd, and the other for the lads of Llanarmon in Yale, one on +the subject of Naaman’s leprosy, and the other about +hypocrisy, which was a re-fashionment of the work of Richard +Parry of Ddiserth. When I was young I had such a rage or +madness for poetizing, that I would make a song on almost +anything I saw—and it was a mercy that many did not kill me +or break my bones, on account of my evil tongue. My parents +often told me I should have some mischief done me if I went on in +the way in which I was going. Once on a time being with +some companions as bad as myself, I happened to use some very +free language in a place where three lovers were with a young +lass of my neighbourhood, who lived at a place called Ty Celyn, +with whom they kept company. I said in discourse that they +were the cocks of Ty Celyn. The girl heard me, and +conceived a spite against me on account of my scurrilous +language. She had a brother, who was a cruel fighter; he +took the part of his sister, and determined to chastise me. +One Sunday evening he shouted to me as I was coming from +Nantglyn—our ways were the same till we got nearly +home—he had determined to give me a thrashing, and he had +with him a piece of oak stick just suited for the purpose. +After we had taunted each other for some time, as we went along, +he flung his stick on the ground, and stripped himself stark +naked. I took off my hat and my neck-cloth, and took his +stick in my hand, whereupon running to the hedge he took a stake, +and straight we set to like two furies. After fighting some +time, our sticks were shivered to pieces and quite short; +sometimes we were upon the ground, but did not give up fighting +on that account. Many people came up and would fain have +parted us, but he would by no means let them. At last we +agreed to go and pull fresh stakes, and then we went at it again +until he could no longer stand. The marks of this battle +are upon him and me to this day. At last, covered with a +gore of blood, he was dragged home by his neighbours. He +was in a dreadful condition, and many thought he would die. +On the morrow there came an alarm that he was dead, whereupon I +escaped across the mountain to Pentré y Foelas to the old +man Sion Dafydd to read his old books.”</p> + +<p>After staying there a little time, and getting his wounds +tended by an old woman, he departed and skulked about in various +places, doing now and then a little work, until hearing his +adversary was recovering, he returned to his home. He went +on writing and performing interludes till he fell in love with a +young woman rather religiously inclined, whom he married in the +year 1763, when he was in his twenty-fourth year. The young +couple settled down on a little place near the town of Denbigh, +called Ale Fowlio. They kept three cows and four +horses. The wife superintended the cows, and Tom with his +horses carried wood from Gwenynos to Ruddlan, and soon excelled +all other carters “in loading and in everything connected +with the management of wood.” Tom in the pride of his +heart must needs be helping his fellow-carriers, whilst labouring +with them in the forests, till his wife told him he was a fool +for his pains, and advised him to go and load in the afternoon, +when nobody would be about, offering to go and help him. He +listened to her advice and took her with him.</p> + +<p>“The dear creature,” says he, “assisted me +for some time, but as she was with child, and on that account not +exactly fit to turn the roll of the crane with levers of iron, I +formed the plan of hooking the horses to the rope, in order to +raise up the wood which was to be loaded, and by long teaching +the horses to pull and to stop, I contrived to make loading a +much easier task, both to my wife and myself. Now this was +the first hooking of horses to the rope of the crane which was +ever done either in Wales or England. Subsequently I had +plenty of leisure and rest instead of toiling amidst other +carriers.”</p> + +<p>Leaving Ale Fowlio he took up his abode nearer to Denbigh, and +continued carrying wood. Several of his horses died, and he +was soon in difficulties, and was glad to accept an invitation +from certain miners of the county of Flint to go and play them an +interlude. As he was playing them one called “A +Vision of the Course of the World,” which he had written +for the occasion, and which was founded on, and named after, the +first part of the work of Master Ellis Wyn, he was arrested at +the suit of one Mostyn of Calcoed. He, however, got bail, +and partly by carrying and partly by playing interludes, soon +raised money enough to pay his debt. He then made another +interlude, called “Riches and Poverty,” by which he +gained a great deal of money. He then wrote two others, one +called “The Three Associates of Man, namely, the World, +Nature, and Conscience;” the other entitled “The +King, the Justice, the Bishop and the Husbandman,” both of +which he and certain of his companions acted with great +success. After he had made all that he could by acting +these pieces he printed them. When printed they had a +considerable sale, and Tom was soon able to set up again as a +carter. He went on carting and carrying for upwards of +twelve years, at the end of which time he was worth, with one +thing and the other, upwards of three hundred pounds, which was +considered a very considerable property about ninety years ago in +Wales. He then, in a luckless hour, “when,” to +use his own words, “he was at leisure at home, like King +David on the top of his house,” mixed himself up with the +concerns of an uncle of his, a brother of his father. He +first became bail for him, and subsequently made himself +answerable for the amount of a bill, due by his uncle to a +lawyer. His becoming answerable for the bill nearly proved +the utter ruin of our hero. His uncle failed, and left him +to pay it. The lawyer took out a writ against him. It +would have been well for Tom if he had paid the money at once, +but he went on dallying and compromising with the lawyer, till he +became terribly involved in his web. To increase his +difficulties work became slack; so at last he packed his things +upon his carts, and with his family, consisting of his wife and +three daughters, fled into Montgomeryshire. The lawyer, +however, soon got information of his whereabouts, and threatened +to arrest him. Tom, after trying in vain to arrange matters +with him, fled into South Wales, to Carmarthenshire, where he +carried wood for a timber-merchant, and kept a turnpike gate, +which belonged to the same individual. But the “old +cancer” still followed him, and his horses were seized for +the debt. His neighbours, however, assisted him, and bought +the horses in at a low price when they were put up for sale, and +restored them to him for what they had given. Even then the +matter was not satisfactorily settled, for, years afterwards, on +the decease of Tom’s father, the lawyer seized upon the +property, which by law descended to Tom O’r Nant, and +turned his poor old mother out upon the cold mountain’s +side.</p> + +<p>Many strange adventures occurred to Tom in South Wales, but +those which befell him whilst officiating as a turnpike-keeper +were certainly the most extraordinary. If what he says be +true, as of course it is—for who shall presume to doubt Tom +O’ the Dingle’s veracity?—whosoever fills the +office of turnpike-keeper in Wild Wales should be a person of +very considerable nerve.</p> + +<p>“We were in the habit of seeing,” says Tom, +“plenty of passengers going through the gate without paying +toll; I mean such things as are called phantoms or +illusions—sometimes there were hearses and mourning +coaches, sometimes funeral processions on foot, the whole to be +seen as distinctly as anything could be seen, especially at +night-time. I saw myself on a certain night a hearse go +through the gate whilst it was shut; I saw the horses and the +harness, the postillion, and the coachman, and the tufts of hair +such as are seen on the tops of hearses, and I saw the wheels +scattering the stones in the road, just as other wheels would +have done. Then I saw a funeral of the same character, for +all the world like a real funeral; there was the bier and the +black drapery. I have seen more than one. If a young +man was to be buried there would be a white sheet, or something +that looked like one—and sometimes I have seen a flaring +candle going past.</p> + +<p>“Once a traveller passing through the gate called out to +me: ‘Look! yonder is a corpse candle coming through the +fields beside the highway.’ So we paid attention to +it as it moved, making apparently towards the church from the +other side. Sometimes it would be quite near the road, +another time some way into the fields. And sure enough +after the lapse of a little time a body was brought by exactly +the same route by which the candle had come, owing to the proper +road being blocked up with snow.</p> + +<p>“Another time there happened a great wonder connected +with an old man of Carmarthen, who was in the habit of carrying +fish to Brecon, Menny, and Monmouth, and returning with the +poorer kind of Gloucester cheese: my people knew he was on the +road and had made ready for him, the weather being dreadful, wind +blowing and snow drifting. Well, in the middle of the +night, my daughters heard the voice of the old man at the gate, +and their mother called to them to open it quick, and invite the +old man to come in to the fire! One of the girls got up +forthwith, but when she went out there was nobody to be +seen. On the morrow, lo and behold! the body of the old man +was brought past on a couch, he having perished in the snow on +the mountain of Tre ’r Castell. Now this is the truth +of the matter.”</p> + +<p>Many wonderful feats did Tom perform connected with loading +and carrying, which acquired for him the reputation of being the +best wood carter of the south. His dexterity at moving huge +bodies was probably never equalled. Robinson Crusoe was not +half so handy. Only see how he moved a ship into the water, +which a multitude of people were unable to do.</p> + +<p>“After keeping the gate for two or three years,” +says he, “I took the lease of a piece of ground in +Llandeilo Fawr and built a house upon it, which I got licensed as +a tavern for my daughters to keep. I myself went on +carrying wood as usual. Now it happened that my employer, +the merchant at Abermarlais, had built a small ship of about +thirty or forty tons in the wood about a mile and a quarter from +the river Towy, which is capable of floating small vessels as far +as Carmarthen. He had resolved that the people should draw +it to the river by way of sport, and had caused proclamation to +be made in four parish churches, that on such a day a ship would +be launched at Abermarlais, and that food and drink would be +given to any one who would come and lend a hand at the +work. Four hogsheads of ale were broached, a great oven +full of bread was baked, plenty of cheese and butter bought, and +meat cooked for the more respectable people. The ship was +provided with four wheels, or rather four great rolling stocks, +fenced about with iron, with great big axle-trees in them, well +greased against the appointed day. I had been loading in +the wood that day, and sending the team forward, I went to see +the business—and a pretty piece of business it turned +out. All the food was eaten, the drink swallowed to the +last drop, the ship drawn about three roods, and then left in a +deep ditch. By this time night was coming on, and the +multitude went away, some drunk, some hungry for want of food, +but the greater part laughing as if they would split their +sides. The merchant cried like a child, bitterly lamenting +his folly, and told me that he should have to take the ship to +pieces before he could ever get it out of the ditch.</p> + +<p>“I told him that I could take it to the river, provided +I could but get three or four men to help me; whereupon he said +that if I could but get the vessel to the water he would give me +anything I asked, and earnestly begged me to come the next +morning, if possible. I did come with the lad and four +horses. I went before the team, and set the men to work to +break a hole through a great old wall, which stood as it were +before the ship. We then laid a piece of timber across the +hole from which was a chain, to which the tackle, that is the +rope and pulleys, was hooked. We then hooked one end of the +rope to the ship, and set the horses to pull at the other. +The ship came out of the hole prosperously enough, and then we +had to hook the tackle to a tree, which was growing near, and by +this means we got the ship forward; but when we came to soft +ground we were obliged to put planks under the wheels to prevent +their sinking under the immense weight; when we came to the end +of the foremost planks we put the hinder ones before, and so on; +when there was no tree at hand to which we could hook the tackle, +we were obliged to drive a post down to hook it to. So from +tree to post it got down to the river in a few days. I was +promised noble wages by the merchant, but I never got anything +from him but promises and praises. Some people came to look +at us, and gave us money to get ale, and that was all.”</p> + +<p>The merchant subsequently turned out a very great knave, +cheating Tom on various occasions, and finally broke very much in +his debt. Tom was obliged to sell off everything, and left +South Wales without horses or waggon; his old friend the Muse, +however, stood him in good stead.</p> + +<p>“Before I left,” says he, “I went to Brecon, +and printed the ‘Interlude of the King, the Justice, the +Bishop, and the Husbandman,’ and got an old acquaintance of +mine to play it with me, and help me to sell the books. I +likewise busied myself in getting subscribers to a book of songs +called the ‘Garden of Minstrelsy.’ It was +printed at Trefecca. The expense attending the printing +amounted to fifty-two pounds, but I was fortunate enough to +dispose of two thousand copies. I subsequently composed an +interlude called ‘Pleasure and Care,’ and printed it; +and after that I made an interlude called the ‘Three +Powerful Ones of the World: Poverty, Love, and +Death.’”</p> + +<p>The poet’s daughters were not successful in the tavern +speculation at Llandeilo, and followed their father into North +Wales. The second he apprenticed to a milliner, the other +two lived with him till the day of his death. He settled at +Denbigh in a small house which he was enabled to furnish by means +of two or three small sums which he recovered for work done a +long time before. Shortly after his return, his father +died, and the lawyer seized the little property “for the +old curse,” and turned Tom’s mother out.</p> + +<p>After his return from the South Tom went about for some time +playing interludes, and then turned his hand to many +things. He learnt the trade of stonemason, took jobs, and +kept workmen. He then went amongst certain bricklayers, and +induced them to teach him their craft; “and shortly,” +as he says, “became a very lion at bricklaying. For +the last four or five years,” says he, towards the +conclusion of his history, “my work has been to put up iron +ovens and likewise furnaces of all kinds, also grates, stoves and +boilers, and not unfrequently I have practised as a smoke +doctor.”</p> + +<p>The following feats of strength he performed after his return +from South Wales, when he was probably about sixty years of +age:—</p> + +<p>“About a year after my return from the South,” +says he, “I met with an old carrier of wood, who had many a +time worked along with me. He and I were at the Hand at +Ruthyn along with various others, and in the course of discourse +my friend said to me: ‘Tom, thou art much weaker than thou +wast when we carted wood together.’ I answered that +in my opinion I was not a bit weaker than I was then. Now +it happened that at the moment we were talking there were some +sacks of wheat in the hall which were going to Chester by the +carrier’s waggon. They might hold about three bushels +each, and I said that if I could get three of the sacks upon the +table, and had them tied together, I would carry them into the +street and back again; and so I did; many who were present tried +to do the same thing, but all failed.</p> + +<p>“Another time when I was at Chester I lifted a barrel of +porter from the street to the hinder part of the waggon solely by +strength of back and arms.”</p> + +<p>He was once run over by a loaded waggon, but strange to say +escaped without the slightest injury.</p> + +<p>Towards the close of his life he had strong religious +convictions, and felt a loathing for the sins which he had +committed. “On their account,” says he in the +concluding page of his biography, “there is a strong +necessity for me to consider my ways and to inquire about a +Saviour, since it is utterly impossible for me to save myself +without obtaining knowledge of the merits of the Mediator, in +which I hope I shall terminate my short time on earth in the +peace of God enduring unto all eternity.”</p> + +<p>He died in the year 1810, at the age of 71, shortly after the +death of his wife, who seems to have been a faithful, loving +partner. By her side he was buried in the earth of the +graveyard of the White Church, near Denbigh. There can be +little doubt that the souls of both will be accepted on the great +day when, as Gronwy Owen says:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Like corn from the belly of the ploughed +field, in a thick crop, those buried in the earth shall arise, +and the sea shall cast forth a thousand myriads of dead above the +deep billowy way.”</p> +</blockquote> + + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LX</h2> + +<p class="letter">Mystery Plays—The Two Prime +Opponents—Analysis of Interlude—Riches and +Poverty—Tom’s Grand Qualities.</p> + +<p>In the preceding chapter I have given an abstract of the life +of Tom O’ the Dingle; I will now give an analysis of his +interlude; first, however, a few words on interludes in +general. It is difficult to say with anything like +certainty what is the meaning of the word interlude. It may +mean, as Warton supposes in his history of English Poetry, a +short play performed between the courses of a banquet or +festival; or it may mean the playing of something by two or more +parties, the interchange of playing or acting which occurs when +two or more people act. It was about the middle of the +fifteenth century that dramatic pieces began in England to be +called Interludes; for some time previous they had been styled +Moralities; but the earliest name by which they were known was +Mysteries. The first Mysteries composed in England were by +one Ranald, or Ranulf, a monk of Chester, who flourished about +1322, whose verses are mentioned rather irreverently in one of +the visions of Piers Plowman, who puts them in the same rank as +the ballads about Robin Hood and Maid Marion, making Sloth +say:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“I cannon perfitly my Paternoster as the +priest it singeth,<br /> +But I can rhymes of Robin Hood and Ranald of Chester.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Long, however, before the time of this Ranald Mysteries had +been composed and represented both in Italy and France. The +Mysteries were very rude compositions, little more, as Warton +says, than literal representations of portions of +Scripture. They derived their name of Mysteries from being +generally founded on the more mysterious parts of Holy Writ, for +example the Incarnation, the Atonement, and the +Resurrection. The Moralities displayed something more of +art and invention than the Mysteries; in them virtues, vices and +qualities were personified, and something like a plot was +frequently to be discovered. They were termed Moralities +because each had its moral, which was spoken at the end of the +piece by a person called the Doctor. <a name="citation7"></a><a +href="#footnote7" class="citation">[7]</a> Much that has +been said about the moralities holds good with respect to the +interludes. Indeed, for some time dramatic pieces were +called moralities and interludes indifferently. In both +there is a mixture of allegory and reality. The latter +interludes, however, display more of every-day life than was ever +observable in the moralities; and more closely approximate to +modern plays. Several writers of genius have written +interludes, amongst whom are the English Skelton and the Scottish +Lindsay, the latter of whom wrote eight pieces of that kind, the +most celebrated of which is called “The Puir Man and the +Pardoner.” Both of these writers flourished about the +same period, and made use of the interlude as a means of +satirizing the vices of the popish clergy. In the time of +Charles the First the interlude went much out of fashion in +England; in fact, the play or regular drama had superseded +it. In Wales, however, it continued to the beginning of the +present century, when it yielded to the influence of +Methodism. Of all Welsh interlude composers Twm O’r +Nant or Tom of the Dingle was the most famous. Here follows +the promised analysis of his “Riches and +Poverty.”</p> + +<p>The entire title of the interlude is to this effect. The +two prime opponents Riches and Poverty. A brief exposition +of their contrary effects on the world; with short and +appropriate explanations of their quality and substance according +to the rule of the four elements, Water, Fire, Earth, and +Air.</p> + +<p>First of all enter Fool, Sir Jemant Wamal, who in rather a +foolish speech tells the audience that they are about to hear a +piece composed by Tom the poet. Then appears Captain +Riches, who makes a long speech about his influence in the world +and the general contempt in which Poverty is held; he is, +however, presently checked by the Fool, who tells him some home +truths, and asks him, among other questions, whether Solomon did +not say that it is not meet to despise a poor man, who conducts +himself rationally. Then appears Howel Tightbelly, the +miser, who in capital verse, with very considerable glee and +exultation, gives an account of his manifold rascalities. +Then comes his wife, Esther Steady, home from the market, between +whom and her husband there is a pithy dialogue. Captain +Riches and Captain Poverty then meet, without rancour, however, +and have a long discourse about the providence of God, whose +agents they own themselves to be. Enter then an old +worthless scoundrel called Diogyn Trwstan, or Luckless Lazybones, +who is upon the parish, and who, in a very entertaining account +of his life, confesses that he was never good for anything, but +was a liar and an idler from his infancy. Enter again the +Miser along with poor Lowry, who asks the Miser for meal and +other articles, but gets nothing but threatening language. +There is then a very edifying dialogue between Mr Contemplation +and Mr Truth, who, when they retire, are succeeded on the stage +by the Miser and John the Tavern-keeper. The publican owes +the Miser money, and begs that he will be merciful to him. +The Miser, however, swears that he will be satisfied with nothing +but bond and judgment on his effects. The publican very +humbly says that he will go to a friend of his in order to get +the bond made out; almost instantly comes the Fool who reads an +inventory of the publican’s effects. The Miser then +sings for very gladness, because everything in the world has +hitherto gone well with him; turning round, however, what is his +horror and astonishment to behold Mr Death, close by him. +Death hauls the Miser away, and then appears the Fool to moralise +and dismiss the audience.</p> + +<p>The appropriate explanations mentioned in the title are given +in various songs which the various characters sing after +describing themselves, or after dialogues with each other. +The announcement that the whole exposition, etc., will be after +the rule of the four elements, is rather startling; the dialogue, +however, between Captain Riches and Captain Poverty shows that +Tom was equal to his subject, and promised nothing that he could +not perform.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Captain Poverty</span></p> + +<p>O Riches, thy figure is charming and bright,<br /> +And to speak in thy praise all the world doth delight,<br /> +But I’m a poor fellow all tatter’d and torn,<br /> +Whom all the world treateth with insult and scorn.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Riches</span></p> + +<p>However mistaken the judgment may be<br /> +Of the world which is never from ignorance free,<br /> +The parts we must play, which to us are assign’d,<br /> +According as God has enlightened our mind.</p> + +<p>Of elements four did our Master create<br /> +The earth and all in it with skill the most great;<br /> +Need I the world’s four materials declare—<br /> +Are they not water, fire, earth, and air?</p> + +<p>Too wise was the mighty Creator to frame<br /> +A world from one element, water or flame;<br /> +The one is full moist and the other full hot,<br /> +And a world made of either were useless, I wot.</p> + +<p>And if it had all of mere earth been compos’d<br /> +And no water nor fire been within it enclos’d,<br /> +It could ne’er have produc’d for a huge multitude<br +/> +Of all kinds of living things suitable food.</p> + +<p>And if God what was wanted had not fully known,<br /> +But created the world of these three things alone,<br /> +How would any creature the heaven beneath,<br /> +Without the blest air have been able to breathe?</p> + +<p>Thus all things created, the God of all grace,<br /> +Of four prime materials, each good in its place.<br /> +The work of His hands, when completed, He view’d,<br /> +And saw and pronounc’d that ’twas seemly and +good.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Poverty</span></p> + +<p>In the marvellous things, which to me thou hast told<br /> +The wisdom of God I most clearly behold,<br /> +And did He not also make man of the same<br /> +Materials He us’d when the world He did frame?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Riches</span></p> + +<p>Creation is all, as the sages agree,<br /> +Of the elements four in man’s body that be;<br /> +Water’s the blood, and fire is the nature,<br /> +Which prompts generation in every creature.</p> + +<p>The earth is the flesh which with beauty is rife<br /> +The air is the breath, without which is no life;<br /> +So man must be always accounted the same<br /> +As the substances four which exist in his frame.</p> + +<p>And as in their creation distinction there’s none<br /> +’Twixt man and the world, so the Infinite One<br /> +Unto man a clear wisdom did bounteously give<br /> +The nature of everything to perceive.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Poverty</span></p> + +<p>But one thing to me passing strange doth appear<br /> +Since the wisdom of man is so bright and so clear<br /> +How comes there such jarring and warring to be<br /> +In the world betwixt Riches and Poverty?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Riches</span></p> + +<p>That point we’ll discuss without passion or fear<br /> +With the aim of instructing the listeners here;<br /> +And haply some few who instruction require<br /> +May profit derive like the bee from the briar.</p> + +<p>Man as thou knowest, in his generation<br /> +Is a type of the world and of all the creation;<br /> +Difference there’s none in the manner of birth<br /> +’Twixt the lowliest hinds and the lords of the earth.</p> + +<p>The world which the same thing as man we account<br /> +In one place is sea, in another is mount;<br /> +A part of it rock, and a part of it dale—<br /> +God’s wisdom has made every place to avail.</p> + +<p>There exist precious treasures of every kind<br /> +Profoundly in earth’s quiet bosom enshrin’d;<br /> +There’s searching about them, and ever has been,<br /> +And by some they are found, and by some never seen.</p> + +<p>With wonderful wisdom the Lord God on high<br /> +Has contriv’d the two lights which exist in the sky;<br /> +The sun’s hot as fire, and its ray bright as gold,<br /> +But the moon’s ever pale, and by nature is cold.</p> + +<p>The sun, which resembles a huge world of fire,<br /> +Would burn up full quickly creation entire<br /> +Save the moon with its temp’rament cool did assuage<br /> +Of its brighter companion the fury and rage.</p> + +<p>Now I beg you the sun and the moon to behold,<br /> +The one that’s so bright and the other so cold.<br /> +And say if two things in creation there be<br /> +Better emblems of Riches and Poverty.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Poverty</span></p> + +<p>In manner most brief, yet convincing and clear,<br /> +You have told the whole truth to my wond’ring ear,<br /> +And I see that ’twas God, who in all things is fair,<br /> +Has assign’d us the forms, in this world which we bear.</p> + +<p>In the sight of the world doth the wealthy man seem<br /> +Like the sun which doth warm everything with its beam;<br /> +Whilst the poor needy wight with his pitiable case<br /> +Resembles the moon which doth chill with its face.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Riches</span></p> + +<p>You know that full oft, in their course as they run,<br /> +An eclipse cometh over the moon or the sun;<br /> +Certain hills of the earth with their summits of pride<br /> +The face of the one from the other do hide.</p> + +<p>The sun doth uplift his magnificent head,<br /> +And illumines the moon, which were otherwise dead,<br /> +Even as Wealth from its station on high,<br /> +Giveth work and provision to Poverty.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Poverty</span></p> + +<p>I know, and the thought mighty sorrow instils,<br /> +The sins of the world are the terrible hills<br /> +An eclipse which do cause, or a dread obscuration,<br /> +To one or another in every vocation.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Riches</span></p> + +<p>It is true that God gives unto each from his birth<br /> +Some task to perform while he wends upon earth,<br /> +But He gives correspondent wisdom and force<br /> +To the weight of the task, and the length of the course.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Poverty</span></p> + +<p>I hope there are some, who ’twixt me and the youth<br /> +Have heard this discourse, whose sole aim is the truth,<br /> +Will see and acknowledge, as homeward they plod,<br /> +Each thing is arrang’d by the wisdom of God.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>There can be no doubt that Tom was a poet, or he could never +have treated the hackneyed subjects of Riches and Poverty in a +manner so original and at the same time so masterly as he has +done in the interlude above analyzed: I cannot, however, help +thinking that he was greater as a man than a poet, and that his +fame depends more on the cleverness, courage and energy, which it +is evident by his biography that he possessed, than on his +interludes. A time will come when his interludes will cease +to be read, but his making ink out of elderberries, his battle +with the “cruel fighter,” his teaching his horses to +turn the crane, and his getting the ship to the water, will be +talked of in Wales till the peak of Snowdon shall fall down.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Set out for Wrexham—Craig y +Forwyn—Uncertainty—The Collier—Cadogan +Hall—Methodistical Volume.</p> + +<p>Having learnt from a newspaper that a Welsh book on Welsh +Methodism had been just published at Wrexham, I determined to +walk to that place and purchase it. I could easily have +procured the work through a bookseller at Llangollen, but I +wished to explore the hill-road which led to Wrexham, what the +farmer under the Eglwysig rocks had said of its wildness having +excited my curiosity, which the procuring of the book afforded me +a plausible excuse for gratifying. If one wants to take any +particular walk it is always well to have some business, however +trifling, to transact at the end of it; so having determined to +go to Wrexham by the mountain road, I set out on the Saturday +next after the one on which I had met the farmer who had told me +of it.</p> + +<p>The day was gloomy, with some tendency to rain. I passed +under the hill of Dinas Bran. About a furlong from its +western base I turned round and surveyed it—and perhaps the +best view of the noble mountain is to be obtained from the place +where I turned round. How grand though sad from there it +looked, that grey morning, with its fine ruin on its brow above +which a little cloud hovered! It put me in mind of some old +king, unfortunate and melancholy but a king still, with the look +of a king, and the ancestral crown still on his furrowed +forehead. I proceeded on my way, all was wild and solitary, +and the yellow leaves were falling from the trees of the +groves. I passed by the farmyard, where I had held +discourse with the farmer on the preceding Saturday, and soon +entered the glen, the appearance of which had so much attracted +my curiosity. A torrent, rushing down from the north, was +on my right. It soon began to drizzle, and mist so filled +the glen that I could only distinguish objects a short way before +me, and on either side. I wandered on a considerable way, +crossing the torrent several times by rustic bridges. I +passed two lone farm-houses and at last saw another on my left +hand. The mist had now cleared up, but it still slightly +rained—the scenery was wild to a degree—a little way +before me was a tremendous pass, near it an enormous crag of a +strange form rising to the very heavens, the upper part of it of +a dull white colour. Seeing a respectable-looking man near +the house I went up to him.</p> + +<p>“Am I in the right way to Wrexham?” said I, +addressing him in English.</p> + +<p>“You can get to Wrexham this way, sir,” he +replied.</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me the name of that crag?” said I, +pointing to the large one.</p> + +<p>“That crag, sir, is called Craig y Forwyn.”</p> + +<p>“The maiden’s crag,” said I; “why is +it called so?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know sir; some people say that it is called so +because its head is like that of a woman, others because a young +girl in love leaped from the top of it and was killed.”</p> + +<p>“And what is the name of this house?” said I.</p> + +<p>“This house, sir, is called Plas Uchaf.”</p> + +<p>“Is it called Plas Uchaf,” said I, “because +it is the highest house in the valley?”</p> + +<p>“It is, sir; it is the highest of three homesteads; the +next below it is Plas Canol—and the one below that Plas +Isaf.”</p> + +<p>“Middle place and lower place,” said I. +“It is very odd that I know in England three people who +derive their names from places so situated. One is +Houghton, another Middleton, and the third Lowdon; in modern +English, Hightown, Middletown, and Lowtown.”</p> + +<p>“You appear to be a person of great intelligence, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“No, I am not—but I am rather fond of analysing +words, particularly the names of persons and places. Is the +road to Wrexham hard to find?”</p> + +<p>“Not very, sir; that is, in the day-time. Do you +live at Wrexham?”</p> + +<p>“No,” I replied, “I am stopping at +Llangollen.”</p> + +<p>“But you won’t return there to-night?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I shall!”</p> + +<p>“By this road?”</p> + +<p>“No, by the common road. This is not a road to +travel by night.”</p> + +<p>“Nor is the common road, sir, for a respectable person +on foot; that is, on a Saturday night. You will perhaps +meet drunken colliers who may knock you down.”</p> + +<p>“I will take my chance for that,” said I, and bade +him farewell. I entered the pass, passing under the +strange-looking crag. After I had walked about half a mile +the pass widened considerably and a little way further on +debauched on some wild moory ground. Here the road became +very indistinct. At length I stopped in a state of +uncertainty. A well-defined path presented itself, leading +to the east, whilst northward before me there seemed scarcely any +path at all. After some hesitation I turned to the east by +the well-defined path, and by so doing went wrong, as I soon +found.</p> + +<p>I mounted the side of a brown hill covered with moss-like +grass, and here and there heather. By the time I arrived at +the top of the hill the sun shone out, and I saw Rhiwabon and +Cefn Mawr before me in the distance. “I am going +wrong,” said I; “I should have kept on due +north. However, I will not go back, but will steeple-chase +it across the country to Wrexham, which must be towards the +north-east.” So turning aside from the path, I dashed +across the hills in that direction; sometimes the heather was up +to my knees, and sometimes I was up to the knees in quags. +At length I came to a deep ravine which I descended; at the +bottom was a quagmire, which, however, I contrived to cross by +means of certain stepping-stones, and came to a cart path up a +heathery hill which I followed. I soon reached the top of +the hill, and the path still continuing, I followed it till I saw +some small grimy-looking huts, which I supposed were those of +colliers. At the door of the first I saw a girl. I +spoke to her in Welsh, and found she had little or none. I +passed on, and seeing the door of a cabin open I looked +in—and saw no adult person, but several grimy but chubby +children. I spoke to them in English, and found they could +only speak Welsh. Presently I observed a robust woman +advancing towards me; she was barefooted and bore on her head an +immense lump of coal. I spoke to her in Welsh, and found +she could only speak English. “Truly,” said I +to myself, “I am on the borders. What a mixture of +races and languages!” The next person I met was a man +in a collier’s dress; he was a stout-built fellow of the +middle age, with a coal-dusty surly countenance. I asked +him in Welsh if I was in the right direction for Wrexham, he +answered in a surly manner in English, that I was. I again +spoke to him in Welsh, making some indifferent observation on the +weather, and he answered in English yet more gruffly than +before. For the third time I spoke to him in Welsh, +whereupon looking at me with a grin of savage contempt, and +showing a set of teeth like those of a mastiff, he said, +“How’s this? why you haven’t a word of +English? A pretty fellow you, with a long coat on your back +and no English on your tongue, an’t you ashamed of +yourself? Why, here am I in a short coat, yet I’d +have you to know that I can speak English as well as Welsh, aye +and a good deal better.” “All people are not +equally clebber,” said I, still speaking Welsh. +“Clebber,” said he, “clebber! what is clebber? +why can’t you say clever! Why, I never saw such a +low, illiterate fellow in my life;” and with these words he +turned away with every mark of disdain, and entered a cottage +near at hand.</p> + +<p>“Here I have had,” said I to myself, as I +proceeded on my way, “to pay for the over-praise which I +lately received. The farmer on the other side of the +mountain called me a person of great intelligence, which I never +pretended to be, and now this collier calls me a low, illiterate +fellow, which I really don’t think I am. There is +certainly a Nemesis mixed up with the affairs of this world; +every good thing which you get, beyond what is strictly your due, +is sure to be required from you with a vengeance. A little +over-praise by a great deal of underrating—a gleam of good +fortune by a night of misery.”</p> + +<p>I now saw Wrexham Church at about the distance of three miles, +and presently entered a lane which led gently down from the +hills, which were the same heights I had seen on my right hand, +some months previously, on my way from Wrexham to Rhiwabon. +The scenery now became very pretty—hedge-rows were on +either side, a luxuriance of trees and plenty of green +fields. I reached the bottom of the lane, beyond which I +saw a strange-looking house upon a slope on the right hand. +It was very large, ruinous, and seemingly deserted. A +little beyond it was a farm-house, connected with which was a +long row of farming buildings along the road-side. Seeing a +woman seated knitting at the door of a little cottage, I asked +her in English the name of the old, ruinous house?</p> + +<p>“Cadogan Hall, sir,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“And whom does it belong to?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know exactly,” replied the woman, +“but Mr Morris at the farm holds it, and stows his things +in it.”</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me anything about it?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Nothing farther,” said the woman, “than +that it is said to be haunted, and to have been a barrack many +years ago.”</p> + +<p>“Can you speak Welsh?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No,” said the woman, “I are Welsh but have +no Welsh language.”</p> + +<p>Leaving the woman I put on my best speed and in about half an +hour reached Wrexham.</p> + +<p>The first thing I did on my arrival was to go to the bookshop +and purchase the Welsh Methodistic book. It cost me seven +shillings, and was a thick, bulky octavo with a +cut-and-come-again expression about it, which was anything but +disagreeable to me, for I hate your flimsy publications. +The evening was now beginning to set in, and feeling somewhat +hungry I hurried off to the Wynstay Arms through streets crowded +with market people. On arriving at the inn I entered the +grand room and ordered dinner. The waiters, observing me +splashed with mud from head to foot, looked at me dubiously; +seeing, however, the respectable-looking volume which I bore in +my hand—none of your railroad stuff—they became more +assured, and I presently heard one say to the other, +“It’s all right—that’s Mr So-and-So, the +great Baptist preacher. He has been preaching amongst the +hills—don’t you see his Bible?”</p> + +<p>Seating myself at a table I inspected the volume. And +here perhaps the reader expects that I shall regale him with an +analysis of the Methodistical volume at least as long as that of +the life of Tom O’ the Dingle. In that case, however, +he will be disappointed; all that I shall at present say of it +is, that it contained a history of Methodism in Wales, with the +lives of the principal Welsh Methodists. That it was +fraught with curious and original matter, was written in a +straightforward, Methodical style, and that I have no doubt it +will some day or other be extensively known and highly +prized.</p> + +<p>After dinner I called for half a pint of wine. Whilst I +was trifling over it, a commercial traveller entered into +conversation with me. After some time he asked me if I was +going further that night.</p> + +<p>“To Llangollen,” said I.</p> + +<p>“By the ten o’clock train?” said he.</p> + +<p>“No,” I replied, “I’m going on +foot.”</p> + +<p>“On foot!” said he; “I would not go on foot +there this night for fifty pounds.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” said I.</p> + +<p>“For fear of being knocked down by the colliers, who +will be all out and drunk.”</p> + +<p>“If not more than two attack me,” said I, “I +shan’t much mind. With this book I am sure I can +knock down one, and I think I can find play for the other with my +fists.”</p> + +<p>The commercial traveller looked at me. “A strange +kind of Baptist minister,” I thought I heard him say.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Rhiwabon Road—The Public-house +Keeper—No Welsh—The Wrong Road—The Good +Wife.</p> + +<p>I paid my reckoning and started. The night was now +rapidly closing in. I passed the toll-gate and hurried +along the Rhiwabon road, overtaking companies of Welsh going +home, amongst whom were many individuals, whom, from their thick +and confused speech, as well as from their staggering gait, I +judged to be intoxicated. As I passed a red public-house on +my right hand, at the door of which stood several carts, a scream +of Welsh issued from it.</p> + +<p>“Let any Saxon,” said I, “who is fond of +fighting and wishes for a bloody nose go in there.”</p> + +<p>Coming to the small village about a mile from Rhiwabon, I felt +thirsty, and seeing a public-house, in which all seemed to be +quiet, I went in. A thick-set man with a pipe in his mouth +sat in the tap-room, and also a woman.</p> + +<p>“Where is the landlord?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I am the landlord,” said the man, huskily. +“What do you want?”</p> + +<p>“A pint of ale,” said I.</p> + +<p>The man got up and with his pipe in his mouth went staggering +out of the room. In about a minute he returned holding a +mug in his hand, which he put down on a table before me, spilling +no slight quantity of the liquor as he did so. I put down +three-pence on the table. He took the money up slowly piece +by piece, looked at it and appeared to consider, then taking the +pipe out of his mouth he dashed it to seven pieces against the +table, then staggered out of the room into the passage, and from +thence apparently out of the house. I tasted the ale which +was very good, then turning to the woman who seemed about +three-and-twenty and was rather good-looking, I spoke to her in +Welsh.</p> + +<p>“I have no Welsh, sir,” said she.</p> + +<p>“How is that?” said I; “this village is I +think in the Welshery.”</p> + +<p>“It is,” said she, “but I am from +Shropshire.”</p> + +<p>“Are you the mistress of the house?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No,” said she, “I am married to a +collier;” then getting up she said, “I must go and +see after my husband.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t you take a glass of ale first?” said +I, offering to fill a glass which stood on the table.</p> + +<p>“No,” said she; “I am the worst in the world +for a glass of ale;” and without saying anything more she +departed.</p> + +<p>“I wonder whether your husband is anything like you with +respect to a glass of ale,” said I to myself; then +finishing my ale I got up and left the house, which when I +departed appeared to be entirely deserted.</p> + +<p>It was now quite night, and it would have been pitchy-dark but +for the glare of forges. There was an immense glare to the +south-west, which I conceived proceeded from those of Cefn +Mawr. It lighted up the south-western sky; then there were +two other glares nearer to me, seemingly divided by a lump of +something, perhaps a grove of trees.</p> + +<p>Walking very fast I soon overtook a man. I knew him at +once by his staggering gait.</p> + +<p>“Ah, landlord!” said I; “whither +bound?”</p> + +<p>“To Rhiwabon,” said he, huskily, “for a +pint.”</p> + +<p>“Is the ale so good at Rhiwabon,” said I, +“that you leave home for it?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said he, rather shortly, +“there’s not a glass of good ale in +Rhiwabon.”</p> + +<p>“Then why do you go thither?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Because a pint of bad liquor abroad is better than a +quart of good at home,” said the landlord, reeling against +the hedge.</p> + +<p>“There are many in a higher station than you who act +upon that principle,” thought I to myself as I passed +on.</p> + +<p>I soon reached Rhiwabon. There was a prodigious noise in +the public-houses as I passed through it. “Colliers +carousing,” said I. “Well, I shall not go +amongst them to preach temperance, though perhaps in strict duty +I ought.” At the end of the town, instead of taking +the road on the left side of the church, I took that on the +right. It was not till I had proceeded nearly a mile that I +began to be apprehensive that I had mistaken the way. +Hearing some people coming towards me on the road I waited till +they came up; they proved to be a man and a woman. On my +inquiring whether I was right for Llangollen, the former told me +that I was not, and in order to get there it was necessary that I +should return to Rhiwabon. I instantly turned round. +About half-way back I met a man who asked me in English where I +was hurrying to. I said to Rhiwabon, in order to get to +Llangollen. “Well, then,” said he, “you +need not return to Rhiwabon—yonder is a short cut across +the fields,” and he pointed to a gate. I thanked him, +and said I would go by it; before leaving him I asked to what +place the road led which I had been following.</p> + +<p>“To Pentre Castren,” he replied. I struck +across the fields and should probably have tumbled half-a-dozen +times over pales and the like, but for the light of the Cefn +furnaces before me which cast their red glow upon my path. +I debauched upon the Llangollen road near to the tramway leading +to the collieries. Two enormous sheets of flame shot up +high into the air from ovens, illumining two spectral chimneys as +high as steeples, also smoky buildings, and grimy figures moving +about. There was a clanging of engines, a noise of shovels +and a falling of coals truly horrible. The glare was so +great that I could distinctly see the minutest lines upon my +hand. Advancing along the tramway I obtained a nearer view +of the hellish buildings, the chimneys, and the demoniac +figures. It was just such a scene as one of those described +by Ellis Wynn in his Vision of Hell. Feeling my eyes +scorching I turned away, and proceeded towards Llangollen, +sometimes on the muddy road, sometimes on the dangerous +causeway. For three miles at least I met nobody. Near +Llangollen, as I was walking on the causeway, three men came +swiftly towards me. I kept the hedge, which was my right; +the two first brushed roughly past me, the third came full upon +me and was tumbled into the road. There was a laugh from +the two first and a loud curse from the last as he sprawled in +the mire. I merely said “Nos Da’ki,” and +passed on, and in about a quarter of an hour reached home, where +I found my wife awaiting me alone, Henrietta having gone to bed +being slightly indisposed. My wife received me with a +cheerful smile. I looked at her and the good wife of the +Triad came to my mind.</p> + +<p>“She is modest, void of deceit, and obedient.</p> + +<p>“Pure of conscience, gracious of tongue, and true to her +husband.</p> + +<p>“Her heart not proud, her manners affable, and her bosom +full of compassion for the poor.</p> + +<p>“Labouring to be tidy, skilful of hand, and fond of +praying to God.</p> + +<p>“Her conversation amiable, her dress decent, and her +house orderly.</p> + +<p>“Quick of hand, quick of eye, and quick of +understanding.</p> + +<p>“Her person shapely, her manners agreeable, and her +heart innocent.</p> + +<p>“Her face benignant, her head intelligent, and +provident.</p> + +<p>“Neighbourly, gentle, and of a liberal way of +thinking.</p> + +<p>“Able in directing, providing what is wanting, and a +good mother to her children.</p> + +<p>“Loving her husband, loving peace, and loving God.</p> + +<p>“Happy the man,” adds the Triad, “who +possesses such a wife.” Very true, O Triad, always +provided he is in some degree worthy of her; but many a man +leaves an innocent wife at home for an impure Jezebel abroad, +even as many a one prefers a pint of hog’s wash abroad to a +tankard of generous liquor at home.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Preparations for Departure—Cat provided +for—A Pleasant Party—Last Night at Llangollen.</p> + +<p>I was awakened early on the Sunday morning by the howling of +wind. There was a considerable storm throughout the day, +but unaccompanied by rain. I went to church both in the +morning and the evening. The next day there was a great +deal of rain. It was now the latter end of October; winter +was coming on, and my wife and daughter were anxious to return +home. After some consultation it was agreed that they +should depart for London, and that I should join them there after +making a pedestrian tour in South Wales.</p> + +<p>I should have been loth to quit Wales without visiting the +Deheubarth or Southern Region, a land differing widely, as I had +heard, both in language and customs from Gwynedd or the Northern, +a land which had given birth to the illustrious Ab Gwilym, and +where the great Ryce family had flourished, which very much +distinguished itself in the Wars of the Roses—a member of +which Ryce ap Thomas placed Henry the Seventh on the throne of +Britain—a family of royal extraction, and which after the +death of Roderic the Great for a long time enjoyed the +sovereignty of the south.</p> + +<p>We set about making the necessary preparations for our +respective journeys. Those for mine were soon made. I +bought a small leather satchel with a lock and key, in which I +placed a white linen shirt, a pair of worsted stockings, a razor +and a prayer-book. Along with it I bought a leather strap +with which to sling it over my shoulder: I got my boots new +soled, my umbrella, which was rather dilapidated, mended; put +twenty sovereigns into my purse, and then said I am all right for +the Deheubarth.</p> + +<p>As my wife and daughter required much more time in making +preparations for their journey than I for mine, and as I should +only be in their way whilst they were employed, it was determined +that I should depart on my expedition on Thursday, and that they +should remain at Llangollen till the Saturday.</p> + +<p>We were at first in some perplexity with respect to the +disposal of the ecclesiastical cat; it would of course not do to +leave it in the garden to the tender mercies of the Calvinistic +Methodists of the neighbourhood, more especially those of the +flannel manufactory, and my wife and daughter could hardly carry +it with them. At length we thought of applying to a young +woman of sound church principles, who was lately married and +lived over the water on the way to the railroad station, with +whom we were slightly acquainted, to take charge of the animal, +and she on the first intimation of our wish, willingly acceded to +it. So with her poor puss was left along with a trifle for +its milk-money, and with her, as we subsequently learned, it +continued in peace and comfort till one morning it sprang +suddenly from the hearth into the air, gave a mew, and +died. So much for the ecclesiastical cat!</p> + +<p>The morning of Tuesday was rather fine, and Mr Ebenezer E---, +who had heard of our intended departure, came to invite us to +spend the evening at the Vicarage. His father had left +Llangollen the day before for Chester, where he expected to be +detained some days. I told him we should be most happy to +come. He then asked me to take a walk. I agreed with +pleasure, and we set out, intending to go to Llansilio at the +western end of the valley and look at the church. The +church was an ancient building. It had no spire, but had +the little erection on its roof, so usual to Welsh churches, for +holding a bell.</p> + +<p>In the churchyard is a tomb in which an old squire of the name +of Jones was buried about the middle of the last century. +There is a tradition about this squire and tomb to the following +effect. After the squire’s death there was a lawsuit +about his property, in consequence of no will having been +found. It was said that his will had been buried with him +in the tomb, which after some time was opened, but with what +success the tradition sayeth not.</p> + +<p>In the evening we went to the Vicarage. Besides the +family and ourselves there was Mr R--- and one or two more. +We had a very pleasant party; and as most of those present wished +to hear something connected with Spain, I talked much about that +country, sang songs of Germania, and related in an abridged form +Lope de Vega’s ghost story, which is decidedly the best +ghost story in the world.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon of Wednesday I went and took leave of certain +friends in the town; amongst others of old Mr Jones. On my +telling him that I was about to leave Llangollen, he expressed +considerable regret, but said that it was natural for me to wish +to return to my native country. I told him that before +returning to England I intended to make a pedestrian tour in +South Wales. He said that he should die without seeing the +south; that he had had several opportunities of visiting it when +he was young, which he had neglected, and that he was now too old +to wander far from home. He then asked me which road I +intended to take. I told him that I intended to strike +across the Berwyn to Llan Rhyadr, then visit Sycharth, once the +seat of Owain Glendower, lying to the east of Llan Rhyadr, then +return to that place, and after seeing the celebrated cataract +across the mountains to Bala—whence I should proceed due +south. I then asked him whether he had ever seen Sycharth +and the Rhyadr; he told me that he had never visited Sycharth, +but had seen the Rhyadr more than once. He then smiled and +said that there was a ludicrous anecdote connected with the +Rhyadr, which he would relate to me. “A traveller +once went to see the Rhyadr, and whilst gazing at it a calf which +had fallen into the stream above, whilst grazing upon the rocks, +came tumbling down the cataract. ‘Wonderful!’ +said the traveller, and going away reported that it was not only +a fall of water, but of calves, and was very much disappointed, +on visiting the waterfall on another occasion, to see no calf +come tumbling down.” I took leave of the kind old +gentleman with regret, never expecting to see him again, as he +was in his eighty-fourth year—he was a truly excellent +character, and might be ranked amongst the venerable ornaments of +his native place.</p> + +<p>About half-past eight o’clock at night John Jones came +to bid me farewell. I bade him sit down, and sent for a +pint of ale to regale him with. Notwithstanding the ale, he +was very melancholy at the thought that I was about to leave +Llangollen, probably never to return. To enliven him I gave +him an account of my late expedition to Wrexham, which made him +smile more than once. When I had concluded he asked me +whether I knew the meaning of the word Wrexham: I told him I +believed I did, and gave him the derivation which the reader will +find in an early chapter of this work. He told me that with +all due submission, he thought he could give me a better, which +he had heard from a very clever man, gwr deallus iawn, who lived +about two miles from Llangollen on the Corwen road. In the +old time a man of the name of Sam kept a gwestfa, or inn, at the +place where Wrexham flow stands; when he died he left it to his +wife, who kept it after him, on which account the house was first +called Ty wraig Sam, the house of Sam’s wife, and then for +shortness Wraig Sam, and a town arising about it by degrees, the +town too was called Wraig Sam, which the Saxons corrupted into +Wrexham.</p> + +<p>I was much diverted with this Welsh derivation of Wrexham, +which I did not attempt to controvert. After we had had +some further discourse John Jones got up, shook me by the hand, +gave a sigh, wished me a “taith hyfryd,” and +departed. Thus terminated my last day at Llangollen.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXIV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Departure for South +Wales—Tregeiriog—Pleasing Scene—Trying to +Read—Garmon and Lupus—The Cracked Voice—Effect +of a Compliment—Llan Rhyadr.</p> + +<p>The morning of the 21st of October was fine and cold; there +was a rime frost on the ground. At about eleven +o’clock I started on my journey for South Wales, intending +that my first stage should be Llan Rhyadr. My wife and +daughter accompanied me as far as Plas Newydd. As we passed +through the town I shook hands with honest A---, whom I saw +standing at the door of a shop, with a kind of Spanish hat on his +head, and also with my venerable friend old Mr Jones, whom I +encountered close beside his own domicile. At the Plas +Newydd I took an affectionate farewell of my two loved ones, and +proceeded to ascend the Berwyn. Near the top I turned round +to take a final look at the spot where I had lately passed many a +happy hour. There lay Llangollen far below me, with its +chimneys placidly smoking, its pretty church rising in its +centre, its blue river dividing it into two nearly equal parts, +and the mighty hill of Brennus overhanging it from the north.</p> + +<p>I sighed, and repeating Einion Du’s verse</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Tangnefedd i Llangollen!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>turned away.</p> + +<p>I went over the top of the hill and then began to descend its +southern side, obtaining a distant view of the plains of +Shropshire on the east. I soon reached the bottom of the +hill, passed through Llansanfraid, and threading the vale of the +Ceiriog at length found myself at Pont y Meibion in front of the +house of Huw Morris, or rather of that which is built on the site +of the dwelling of the poet. I stopped and remained before +the house thinking of the mighty Huw, till the door opened, and +out came the dark-featured man, the poet’s descendant, whom +I saw when visiting the place in company with honest John +Jones—he had now a spade in his hand and was doubtless +going to his labour. As I knew him to be of a rather sullen +unsocial disposition, I said nothing to him, but proceeded on my +way. As I advanced the valley widened, the hills on the +west receding to some distance from the river. Came to +Tregeiriog a small village, which takes its name from the brook; +Tregeiriog signifying the hamlet or village on the Ceiriog. +Seeing a bridge which crossed the rivulet at a slight distance +from the road, a little beyond the village, I turned aside to +look at it. The proper course of the Ceiriog is from south +to north; where it is crossed by the bridge, however, it runs +from west to east, returning to its usual course, a little way +below the bridge. The bridge was small and presented +nothing remarkable in itself: I obtained, however, as I looked +over its parapet towards the west a view of a scene, not of wild +grandeur, but of something which I like better, which richly +compensated me for the slight trouble I had taken in stepping +aside to visit the little bridge. About a hundred yards +distant was a small water-mill, built over the rivulet, the wheel +going slowly, slowly round; large quantities of pigs, the +generality of them brindled, were either browsing on the banks or +lying close to the sides half immersed in the water; one immense +white hog, the monarch seemingly of the herd, was standing in the +middle of the current. Such was the scene which I saw from +the bridge, a scene of quiet rural life well suited to the +brushes of two or three of the old Dutch painters, or to those of +men scarcely inferior to them in their own style, Gainsborough, +Moreland, and Crome. My mind for the last half-hour had +been in a highly excited state; I had been repeating verses of +old Huw Morris, brought to my recollection by the sight of his +dwelling-place; they were ranting roaring verses, against the +Roundheads. I admired the vigour but disliked the +principles which they displayed; and admiration on the one hand +and disapproval on the other, bred a commotion in my mind like +that raised on the sea when tide runs one way and wind blows +another. The quiet scene from the bridge, however, produced +a sedative effect on my mind, and when I resumed my journey I had +forgotten Huw, his verses, and all about Roundheads and +Cavaliers.</p> + +<p>I reached Llanarmon, another small village, situated in a +valley through which the Ceiriog or a river very similar to it +flows. It is half-way between Llangollen and Llan Rhyadr, +being ten miles from each. I went to a small inn or +public-house, sat down and called for ale. A waggoner was +seated at a large table with a newspaper before him on which he +was intently staring.</p> + +<p>“What news?” said I in English.</p> + +<p>“I wish I could tell you,” said he in very broken +English, “but I cannot read.”</p> + +<p>“Then why are you looking at the paper?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Because,” said he, “by looking at the +letters I hope in time to make them out.”</p> + +<p>“You may look at them,” said I, “for fifty +years without being able to make out one. You should go to +an evening school.”</p> + +<p>“I am too old,” said he, “to do so now; if I +did the children would laugh at me.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind their laughing at you,” said I, +“provided you learn to read; let them laugh who +win!”</p> + +<p>“You give good advice, mester,” said he, “I +think I shall follow it.”</p> + +<p>“Let me look at the paper,” said I.</p> + +<p>He handed it to me. It was a Welsh paper, and full of +dismal accounts from the seat of war.</p> + +<p>“What news, mester?” said the waggoner.</p> + +<p>“Nothing but bad,” said I; “the Russians are +beating us and the French too.”</p> + +<p>“If the Rusiaid beat us,” said the waggoner, +“it is because the Francod are with us. We should +have gone alone.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you are right,” said I; “at any +rate we could not have fared worse than we are faring +now.”</p> + +<p>I presently paid for what I had had, inquired the way to Llan +Rhyadr, and departed.</p> + +<p>The village of Llanarmon takes its name from its church, which +is dedicated to Garmon, an Armorican bishop, who with another +called Lupus came over into Britain in order to preach against +the heresy of Pelagius. He and his colleague resided for +some time in Flintshire, and whilst there enabled in a remarkable +manner the Britons to achieve a victory over those mysterious +people the Picts, who were ravaging the country far and +wide. Hearing that the enemy were advancing towards Mold, +the two bishops gathered together a number of the Britons, and +placed them in ambush in a dark valley through which it was +necessary for the Picts to pass in order to reach Mold, strictly +enjoining them to remain quiet till all their enemies should have +entered the valley and then do whatever they should see them, the +two bishops, do. The Picts arrived, and when they were +about half-way through the valley the two bishops stepped forward +from a thicket and began crying aloud, +“Alleluia!” The Britons followed their example, +and the wooded valley resounded with cries of “Alleluia! +Alleluia!” The shouts and the unexpected appearance +of thousands of men caused such terror to the Picts that they +took to flight in the greatest confusion; hundreds were trampled +to death by their companions, and not a few were drowned in the +river Alan <a name="citation8"></a><a href="#footnote8" +class="citation">[8]</a> which runs through the valley.</p> + +<p>There are several churches dedicated to Garmon in Wales, but +whether there are any dedicated to Lupus I am unable to +say. After leaving Llanarmon I found myself amongst lumpy +hills through which the road led in the direction of the +south. Arriving where several roads met I followed one and +became bewildered amidst hills and ravines. At last I saw a +small house close by a nant or dingle, and turned towards it for +the purpose of inquiring my way. On my knocking at the door +a woman made her appearance, of whom I asked in Welsh whether I +was in the road to Llan Rhyadr. She said that I was out of +it, but that if I went towards the south I should see a path on +my left which would bring me to it. I asked her how far it +was to Llan Rhyadr.</p> + +<p>“Four long miles,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“And what is the name of the place where we are +now?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Cae Hir” (the long inclosure), said she.</p> + +<p>“Are you alone in the house?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Quite alone,” said she; “but my husband and +people will soon be home from the field, for it is getting +dusk.”</p> + +<p>“Have you any Saxon?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Not a word,” said she, “have I of the iaith +dieithr, nor has my husband, nor any one of my people.”</p> + +<p>I bade her farewell, and soon reached the road, which led +south and north. As I was bound for the south I strode +forward briskly in that direction. The road was between +romantic hills; heard Welsh songs proceeding from the hill fields +on my right, and the murmur of a brook rushing down a deep nant +on my left. I went on till I came to a collection of houses +which an old woman, with a cracked voice and a small tin +milk-pail, whom I assisted in getting over a stile into the road, +told me was called Pen Strit—probably the head of the +street. She spoke English, and on my asking her how she had +learnt the English tongue, she told me that she had learnt it of +her mother who was an English woman. She said that I was +two miles from Llan Rhyadr, and that I must go straight +forward. I did so till I reached a place where the road +branched into two, one bearing somewhat to the left, and the +other to the right. After standing a minute in perplexity I +took the right-hand road, but soon guessed that I had taken the +wrong one, as the road dwindled into a mere footpath. +Hearing some one walking on the other side of the hedge I +inquired in Welsh whether I was going right for Llan Rhyadr, and +was answered by a voice in English, apparently that of a woman, +that I was not, and that I must go back. I did so, and +presently a woman came through a gate to me.</p> + +<p>“Are you the person,” said I, “who just now +answered me in English after I had spoken in Welsh?”</p> + +<p>“In truth I am,” said she, with a half laugh.</p> + +<p>“And how came you to answer me in English after I had +spoken to you in Welsh?”</p> + +<p>“Because,” said she, “it was easy enough to +know by your voice that you were an Englishman.”</p> + +<p>“You speak English remarkably well,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And so do you Welsh,” said the woman; “I +had no idea that it was possible for any Englishman to speak +Welsh half so well.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder,” thought I to myself, “what you +would have answered if I had said that you speak English +execrably.” By her own account she could read both +Welsh and English. She walked by my side to the turn, and +then up the left-hand road, which she said was the way to Llan +Rhyadr. Coming to a cottage she bade me good-night and went +in. The road was horribly miry: presently, as I was +staggering through a slough, just after I had passed a little +cottage, I heard a cracked voice crying, “I suppose you +lost your way?” I recognised it as that of the old +woman whom I had helped over the stile. She was now +standing behind a little gate which opened into a garden before +the cottage. The figure of a man was standing near +her. I told her that she was quite right in her +supposition.</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said she, “you should have gone +straight forward.”</p> + +<p>“If I had gone straight forward,” said I, “I +must have gone over a hedge, at the corner of a field which +separated two roads; instead of bidding me go straight forward +you should have told me to follow the left-hand road.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said she, “be sure you keep straight +forward now.”</p> + +<p>I asked her who the man was standing near her.</p> + +<p>“It is my husband,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Has he much English?” said I.</p> + +<p>“None at all,” said she, “for his mother was +not English, like mine.” I bade her good-night and +went forward. Presently I came to a meeting of roads, and +to go straight forward it was necessary to pass through a +quagmire; remembering, however, the words of my friend the +beldame I went straight forward, though in so doing I was +sloughed up to the knees. In a little time I came to rapid +descent, and at the bottom of it to a bridge. It was now +very dark; only the corner of the moon was casting a faint +light. After crossing the bridge I had one or two ascents +and descents. At last I saw lights before me which proved +to be those of Llan Rhyadr. I soon found myself in a dirty +little street, and, inquiring for the inn, was kindly shown by a +man to one which he said was the best, and which was called the +Wynstay Arms.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Inn at Llan Rhyadr—A low +Englishman—Enquiries—The Cook—A Precious +Couple.</p> + +<p>The inn seemed very large, but did not look very +cheerful. No other guest than myself seemed to be in it, +except in the kitchen, where I heard a fellow talking English and +occasionally yelling an English song: the master and the mistress +of the house were civil, and lighted me a fire in what was called +the Commercial Room, and putting plenty of coals in the grate +soon made the apartment warm and comfortable. I ordered +dinner or rather supper, which in about half-an-hour was brought +in by the woman. The supper whether good or bad I +despatched with the appetite of one who had walked twenty miles +over hill and dale.</p> + +<p>Occasionally I heard a dreadful noise in the kitchen, and the +woman told me that the fellow there was making himself +exceedingly disagreeable, chiefly she believed because she had +refused to let him sleep in the house. She said that he was +a low fellow that went about the country with fish, and that he +was the more ready to insult her as the master of the house was +now gone out. I asked if he was an Englishman, +“Yes,” said she, “a low Englishman.”</p> + +<p>“Then he must be low indeed,” said I. +“A low Englishman is the lowest of the low.” +After a little time I heard no more noise, and was told that the +fellow was gone away. I had a little whisky and water, and +then went to bed, sleeping in a tolerable chamber but rather +cold. There was much rain during the night and also wind; +windows rattled, and I occasionally heard the noise of falling +tiles.</p> + +<p>I arose about eight. Notwithstanding the night had been +so tempestuous the morning was sunshiny and beautiful. +Having ordered breakfast I walked out in order to look at the +town. Llan Rhyadr is a small place, having nothing +remarkable in it save an ancient church and a strange little +antique market-house, standing on pillars. It is situated +at the western end of an extensive valley and at the entrance of +a glen. A brook or rivulet runs through it, which comes +down the glen from the celebrated cataract, which is about four +miles distant to the west. Two lofty mountains form the +entrance of the glen, and tower above the town, one on the south +and the other on the north. Their names, if they have any, +I did not learn.</p> + +<p>After strolling about the little place for about a quarter of +an hour, staring at the things and the people, and being stared +at by the latter, I returned to my inn, a structure built in the +modern Gothic style, and which stands nearly opposite to the +churchyard. Whilst breakfasting I asked the landlady, who +was bustling about the room, whether she had ever heard of Owen +Glendower.</p> + +<p>“In truth, sir, I have. He was a great gentleman +who lived a long time ago, and, and—”</p> + +<p>“Gave the English a great deal of trouble,” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Just so, sir; at least I daresay it is so, as you say +it.”</p> + +<p>“And do you know where he lived?”</p> + +<p>“I do not, sir; I suppose a great way off, somewhere in +the south.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean South Wales?”</p> + +<p>“In truth, sir, I do.”</p> + +<p>“There you are mistaken,” said I; “and also +in supposing he lived a great way off. He lived in North +Wales, and not far from this place.”</p> + +<p>“In truth, sir, you know more about him than +I.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever hear of a place called Sycharth?</p> + +<p>“Sycharth! Sycharth! I never did, sir.”</p> + +<p>“It is the place where Glendower lived, and it is not +far off. I want to go there, but do not know the +way.”</p> + +<p>“Sycharth! Sycharth!” said the landlady musingly: +“I wonder if it is the place we call Sychnant.”</p> + +<p>“Is there such a place?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sure; about six miles from here, near +Langedwin.”</p> + +<p>“What kind of place is it?”</p> + +<p>“In truth, sir, I do not know, for I was never +there. My cook, however, in the kitchen, knows all about +it, for she comes from there.”</p> + +<p>“Can I see her?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sure; I will go at once and fetch her.”</p> + +<p>She then left the room and presently returned with the cook, a +short, thick girl with blue staring eyes.</p> + +<p>“Here she is, sir,” said the landlady, “but +she has no English.”</p> + +<p>“All the better,” said I. “So you come +from a place called Sychnant?” said I to the cook in +Welsh.</p> + +<p>“In truth, sir, I do;” said the cook.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever hear of a gwr boneddig called Owen +Glendower?”</p> + +<p>“Often, sir, often; he lived in our place.”</p> + +<p>“He lived in a place called Sycharth?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir; and we of the place call it Sycharth as +often as Sychnant; nay, oftener.”</p> + +<p>“Is his house standing?”</p> + +<p>“It is not; but the hill on which it stood is still +standing.”</p> + +<p>“Is it a high hill?”</p> + +<p>“It is not; it is a small, light hill.”</p> + +<p>“A light hill!” said I to myself. “Old +Iolo Goch, Owen Glendower’s bard, said the chieftain dwelt +in a house on a light hill.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘There dwells the chief we all +extol<br /> +In timber house on lightsome knoll.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Is there a little river near it,” said I to the +cook, “a ffrwd?”</p> + +<p>“There is; it runs just under the hill.”</p> + +<p>“Is there a mill upon the ffrwd?”</p> + +<p>“There is not; that is, now—but there was in the +old time; a factory of woollen stands now where the mill once +stood.”</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘A mill a rushing brook upon<br /> +And pigeon tower fram’d of stone.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“So says Iolo Goch,” said I to myself, “in +his description of Sycharth; I am on the right road.”</p> + +<p>I asked the cook to whom the property of Sycharth belonged and +was told of course to Sir Watkin, who appears to be the Marquis +of Denbighshire. After a few more questions I thanked her +and told her she might go. I then finished my breakfast, +paid my bill, and after telling the landlady that I should return +at night, started for Llangedwin and Sycharth.</p> + +<p>A broad and excellent road led along the valley in the +direction in which I was proceeding.</p> + +<p>The valley was beautiful and dotted with various farm-houses, +and the land appeared to be in as high a state of cultivation as +the soil of my own Norfolk, that county so deservedly celebrated +for its agriculture. The eastern side is bounded by lofty +hills, and towards the north the vale is crossed by three rugged +elevations, the middlemost of which, called, as an old man told +me, Bryn Dinas, terminates to the west in an exceedingly high and +picturesque crag.</p> + +<p>After an hour’s walking I overtook two people, a man and +a woman laden with baskets which hung around them on every +side. The man was a young fellow of about eight-and-twenty, +with a round face, fair flaxen hair, and rings in his ears; the +female was a blooming buxom lass of about eighteen. After +giving them the sele of the day I asked them if they were +English.</p> + +<p>“Aye, aye, master,” said the man; “we are +English.”</p> + +<p>“Where do you come from?” said I.</p> + +<p>“From Wrexham,” said the man.</p> + +<p>“I thought Wrexham was in Wales,” said I.</p> + +<p>“If it be,” said the man, “the people are +not Welsh; a man is not a horse because he happens to be born in +a stable.”</p> + +<p>“Is that young woman your wife?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes;” said he, “after a +fashion”—and then he leered at the lass, and she +leered at him.</p> + +<p>“Do you attend any place of worship?” said I.</p> + +<p>“A great many, master!”</p> + +<p>“What place do you chiefly attend?” said I.</p> + +<p>“The Chequers, master!”</p> + +<p>“Do they preach the best sermons there?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“No, master! but they sell the best ale +there.”</p> + +<p>“Do you worship ale?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes, master, I worships ale.”</p> + +<p>“Anything else?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes, master! I and my mort worships something +besides good ale; don’t we, Sue?” and then he leered +at the mort, who leered at him, and both made odd motions +backwards and forwards, causing the baskets which hung round them +to creak and rustle, and uttering loud shouts of laughter, which +roused the echoes of the neighbouring hills.</p> + +<p>“Genuine descendants, no doubt,” said I to myself +as I walked briskly on, “of certain of the old heathen +Saxons who followed Rag into Wales and settled down about the +house which he built. Really, if these two are a fair +specimen of the Wrexham population, my friend the Scotch +policeman was not much out when he said that the people of +Wrexham were the worst people in Wales.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXVI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Sycharth—The Kindly Welcome—Happy +Couple—Sycharth—Recalling the Dead—Ode to +Sycharth.</p> + +<p>I was now at the northern extremity of the valley near a great +house past which the road led in the direction of the +north-east. Seeing a man employed in breaking stones I +inquired the way to Sychnant.</p> + +<p>“You must turn to the left,” said he, +“before you come to yon great house, follow the path which +you will find behind it, and you will soon be in +Sychnant.”</p> + +<p>“And to whom does the great house belong?”</p> + +<p>“To whom? why, to Sir Watkin.”</p> + +<p>“Does he reside there?”</p> + +<p>“Not often. He has plenty of other houses, but he +sometimes comes there to hunt.”</p> + +<p>“What is the place’s name?”</p> + +<p>“Llan Gedwin.”</p> + +<p>I turned to the left, as the labourer had directed me. +The path led upward behind the great house round a hill thickly +planted with trees. Following it I at length found myself +on a broad road on the top extending east and west, and having on +the north and south beautiful wooded hills. I followed the +road which presently began to descend. On reaching level +ground I overtook a man in a waggoner’s frock, of whom I +inquired the way to Sycharth. He pointed westward down the +vale to what appeared to be a collection of houses, near a +singular-looking monticle, and said, “That is +Sycharth.”</p> + +<p>We walked together till we came to a road which branched off +on the right to a little bridge.</p> + +<p>“That is your way,” said he, and pointing to a +large building beyond the bridge, towering up above a number of +cottages, he said, “that is the factory of Sycharth;” +he then left me, following the high road, whilst I proceeded +towards the bridge, which I crossed, and coming to the cottages +entered one on the right hand of a remarkably neat +appearance.</p> + +<p>In a comfortable kitchen by a hearth on which blazed a +cheerful billet sat a man and woman. Both arose when I +entered: the man was tall, about fifty years of age, and +athletically built; he was dressed in a white coat, corduroy +breeches, shoes, and grey worsted stockings. The woman +seemed many years older than the man; she was tall also, and +strongly built, and dressed in the ancient female costume, +namely, a kind of round, half Spanish hat, long blue woollen +kirtle or gown, a crimson petticoat, and white apron, and broad, +stout shoes with buckles.</p> + +<p>“Welcome, stranger,” said the man, after looking +me a moment or two full in the face.</p> + +<p>“Croesaw, dyn dieithr—welcome, foreign man,” +said the woman, surveying me with a look of great curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you sit down?” said the man, handing +me a chair.</p> + +<p>I sat down, and the man and woman resumed their seats.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you come on business connected with the +factory?” said the man.</p> + +<p>“No,” said I, “my business is connected with +Owen Glendower.”</p> + +<p>“With Owen Glendower?” said the man, staring.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I, “I came to see his +place.”</p> + +<p>“You will not see much of his house now,” said the +man—“it is down; only a few bricks remain.”</p> + +<p>“But I shall see the place where his house stood,” +said I, “which is all I expected to see.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you can see that.”</p> + +<p>“What does the dyn dieithr say?” said the woman in +Welsh with an inquiring look.</p> + +<p>“That he is come to see the place of Owen +Glendower.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said the woman with a smile.</p> + +<p>“Is that good lady your wife?” said I.</p> + +<p>“She is.”</p> + +<p>“She looks much older than yourself.”</p> + +<p>“And no wonder. She is twenty-one years +older.”</p> + +<p>“How old are you?”</p> + +<p>“Fifty-three.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me,” said I, “what a difference in +your ages. How came you to marry?”</p> + +<p>“She was a widow and I had lost my wife. We were +lone in the world, so we thought we would marry.”</p> + +<p>“Do you live happily together?”</p> + +<p>“Very.”</p> + +<p>“Then you did quite right to marry. What is your +name?”</p> + +<p>“David Robert.”</p> + +<p>“And that of your wife?”</p> + +<p>“Gwen Robert.”</p> + +<p>“Does she speak English?”</p> + +<p>“She speaks some, but not much.”</p> + +<p>“Is the place where Owen lived far from here?”</p> + +<p>“It is not. It is the round hill a little way +above the factory.”</p> + +<p>“Is the path to it easy to find?”</p> + +<p>“I will go with you,” said the man. “I +work at the factory, but I need not go there for an hour at +least.”</p> + +<p>He put on his hat and bidding me follow him went out. He +led me over a gush of water which passing under the factory turns +the wheel; thence over a field or two towards a house at the foot +of the mountain where he said the steward of Sir Watkin lived, of +whom it would be as well to apply for permission to ascend the +hill, as it was Sir Watkin’s ground. The steward was +not at home; his wife was, however, and she, when we told her we +wished to go to the top of Owain Glendower’s Hill, gave us +permission with a smile. We thanked her and proceeded to +mount the hill or monticle once the residence of the great Welsh +chieftain, whom his own deeds and the pen of Shakespear have +rendered immortal.</p> + +<p>Owen Glendower’s hill or mount at Sycharth, unlike the +one bearing his name on the banks of the Dee, is not an +artificial hill, but the work of nature, save and except that to +a certain extent it has been modified by the hand of man. +It is somewhat conical and consists of two steps or gradations, +where two fosses scooped out of the hill go round it, one above +the other, the lower one embracing considerably the most +space. Both these fosses are about six feet deep, and at +one time doubtless were bricked, as stout large, red bricks are +yet to be seen, here and there, in their sides. The top of +the mount is just twenty-five feet across. When I visited +it it was covered with grass, but had once been subjected to the +plough as various furrows indicated. The monticle stands +not far from the western extremity of the valley, nearly midway +between two hills which confront each other north and south, the +one to the south being the hill which I had descended, and the +other a beautiful wooded height which is called in the parlance +of the country Llwyn Sycharth or the grove of Sycharth, from +which comes the little gush of water which I had crossed, and +which now turns the wheel of the factory and once turned that of +Owen Glendower’s mill, and filled his two moats, part of +the water by some mechanical means having been forced up the +eminence. On the top of this hill or monticle in a timber +house dwelt the great Welshman Owen Glendower, with his wife, a +comely, kindly woman, and his progeny, consisting of stout boys +and blooming girls, and there, though wonderfully cramped for +want of room, he feasted bards who requited his hospitality with +alliterative odes very difficult to compose, and which at the +present day only a few book-worms understand. There he +dwelt for many years, the virtual if not the nominal king of +North Wales, occasionally no doubt looking down with +self-complaisance from the top of his fastness on the parks and +fish-ponds of which he had several; his mill, his pigeon tower, +his ploughed lands, and the cottages of a thousand retainers, +huddled round the lower part of the hill, or strewn about the +valley; and there he might have lived and died had not events +caused him to draw the sword and engage in a war, at the +termination of which Sycharth was a fire-scathed ruin, and +himself a broken-hearted old man in anchorite’s weeds, +living in a cave on the estate of Sir John Scudamore, the great +Herefordshire proprietor, who married his daughter Elen, his only +surviving child.</p> + +<p>After I had been a considerable time on the hill looking about +me and asking questions of my guide, I took out a piece of silver +and offered it to him, thanking him at the same time for the +trouble he had taken in showing me the place. He refused +it, saying that I was quite welcome.</p> + +<p>I tried to force it upon him.</p> + +<p>“I will not take it,” said he; “but if you +come to my house and have a cup of coffee, you may give sixpence +to my old woman.”</p> + +<p>“I will come,” said I, “in a short +time. In the meanwhile do you go; I wish to be +alone.”</p> + +<p>“What do you want to do?”</p> + +<p>“To sit down and endeavour to recall Glendower, and the +times that are past.”</p> + +<p>The fine fellow looked puzzled; at last he said, “Very +well,” shrugged his shoulders, and descended the hill.</p> + +<p>When he was gone I sat down on the brow of the hill, and with +my face turned to the east began slowly to chant a translation +made by myself in the days of my boyhood of an ode to Sycharth +composed by Iolo Goch when upwards of a hundred years old, +shortly after his arrival at that place, to which he had been +invited by Owen Glendower:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Twice have I pledg’d my word to thee<br /> +To come thy noble face to see;<br /> +His promises let every man<br /> +Perform as far as e’er he can!<br /> +Full easy is the thing that’s sweet,<br /> +And sweet this journey is and meet;<br /> +I’ve vowed to Owain’s court to go,<br /> +And I’m resolved to keep my vow;<br /> +So thither straight I’ll take my way<br /> +With blithesome heart, and there I’ll stay,<br /> +Respect and honour, whilst I breathe,<br /> +To find his honour’d roof beneath.<br /> +My chief of long lin’d ancestry<br /> +Can harbour sons of poesy;<br /> +I’ve heard, for so the muse has told,<br /> +He’s kind and gentle to the old;<br /> +Yes, to his castle I will hie;<br /> +There’s none to match it ’neath the sky:<br /> +It is a baron’s stately court,<br /> +Where bards for sumptuous fare resort;<br /> +There dwells the lord of Powis land,<br /> +Who granteth every just demand.<br /> +Its likeness now I’ll limn you out:<br /> +’Tis water girdled wide about;<br /> +It shows a wide and stately door<br /> +Reached by a bridge the water o’er;<br /> +’Tis formed of buildings coupled fair,<br /> +Coupled is every couple there;<br /> +Within a quadrate structure tall<br /> +Muster the merry pleasures all.<br /> +Conjointly are the angles bound—<br /> +No flaw in all the place is found.<br /> +Structures in contact meet the eye<br /> +Upon the hillock’s top on high;<br /> +Into each other fastened they<br /> +The form of a hard knot display.<br /> +There dwells the chief we all extol<br /> +In timber house on lightsome knoll;<br /> +Upon four wooden columns proud<br /> +Mounteth his mansion to the cloud;<br /> +Each column’s thick and firmly bas’d,<br /> +And upon each a loft is plac’d;<br /> +In these four lofts, which coupled stand,<br /> +Repose at night the minstrel band;<br /> +Four lofts they were in pristine state,<br /> +But now partitioned form they eight.<br /> +Tiled is the roof, on each house-top<br /> +Rise smoke-ejecting chimneys up.<br /> +All of one form there are nine halls<br /> +Each with nine wardrobes in its walls<br /> +With linen white as well supplied<br /> +As fairest shops of fam’d Cheapside.<br /> +Behold that church with cross uprais’d<br /> +And with its windows neatly glaz’d;<br /> +All houses are in this comprest—<br /> +An orchard’s near it of the best,<br /> +Also a park where void of fear<br /> +Feed antler’d herds of fallow deer.<br /> +A warren wide my chief can boast,<br /> +Of goodly steeds a countless host.<br /> +Meads where for hay the clover grows,<br /> +Corn-fields which hedges trim inclose,<br /> +A mill a rushing brook upon,<br /> +And pigeon tower fram’d of stone;<br /> +A fish-pond deep and dark to see,<br /> +To cast nets in when need there be,<br /> +Which never yet was known to lack<br /> +A plenteous store of perch and jack.<br /> +Of various plumage birds abound;<br /> +Herons and peacocks haunt around,<br /> +What luxury doth his hall adorn,<br /> +Showing of cost a sovereign scorn;<br /> +His ale from Shrewsbury town he brings;<br /> +His usquebaugh is drink for kings;<br /> +Bragget he keeps, bread white of look,<br /> +And, bless the mark! a bustling cook.<br /> +His mansion is the minstrels’ home,<br /> +You’ll find them there whene’er you come<br /> +Of all her sex his wife’s the best;<br /> +The household through her care is blest<br /> +She’s scion of a knightly tree,<br /> +She’s dignified, she’s kind and free.<br /> +His bairns approach me, pair by pair,<br /> +O what a nest of chieftains fair!<br /> +Here difficult it is to catch<br /> +A sight of either bolt or latch;<br /> +The porter’s place here none will fill;<br /> +Her largess shall be lavish’d still,<br /> +And ne’er shall thirst or hunger rude<br /> +In Sycharth venture to intrude.<br /> +A noble leader, Cambria’s knight,<br /> +The lake possesses, his by right,<br /> +And midst that azure water plac’d,<br /> +The castle, by each pleasure grac’d.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>And when I had finished repeating these lines I said, +“How much more happy, innocent, and holy, I was in the days +of my boyhood when I translate Iolo’s ode than I am at the +present time!” Then covering my face with my hands I +wept like a child.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXVII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Cup of Coffee—Gwen—Bluff old +Fellow—A Rabble Rout—All from Wrexham.</p> + +<p>After a while I arose from my seat and descending the hill +returned to the house of my honest friends, whom I found sitting +by their fire as I had first seen them.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the man, “did you bring back +Owen Glendower?”</p> + +<p>“Not only him,” said I, “but his house, +family, and all relating to him.”</p> + +<p>“By what means?” said the man.</p> + +<p>“By means of a song made a long time ago, which +describes Sycharth as it was in his time, and his manner of +living there.”</p> + +<p>Presently Gwen, who had been preparing coffee in expectation +of my return, poured out a cupful, which she presented to me, at +the same time handing me some white sugar in a basin.</p> + +<p>I took the coffee, helped myself to some sugar, and returned +her thanks in her own language.</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said the man, in Welsh, “I see you are +a Cumro. Gwen and I have been wondering whether you were +Welsh or English; but I see you are one of ourselves.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said I in the same language, “I am an +Englishman, born in a part of England the farthest of any from +Wales. In fact, I am a Carn Sais.”</p> + +<p>“And how came you to speak Welsh?” said the +man.</p> + +<p>“I took it into my head to learn it when I was a +boy,” said I. “Englishmen sometimes do strange +things.”</p> + +<p>“So I have heard,” said the man, “but I +never heard before of an Englishman learning Welsh.”</p> + +<p>I proceeded to drink my coffee, and having finished it, and +had a little more discourse I got up, and having given Gwen a +piece of silver, which she received with a smile and a curtsey, I +said I must now be going.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you take another cup?” said Gwen, +“you are welcome.”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you,” said I, “I have had +enough.”</p> + +<p>“Where are you going?” said the man in +English.</p> + +<p>“To Llan Rhyadr,” said I, “from which I came +this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Which way did you come?” said the man.</p> + +<p>“By Llan Gedwin,” I replied, “and over the +hill. Is there another way?”</p> + +<p>“There is,” said the man, “by Llan +Silin.”</p> + +<p>“Llan Silin!” said I; “is not that the place +where Huw Morris is buried?”</p> + +<p>“It is,” said the man.</p> + +<p>“I will return by Llan Silin,” said I, “and +in passing through pay a visit to the tomb of the great +poet. Is Llan Silin far off?”</p> + +<p>“About half a mile,” said the man. “Go +over the bridge, turn to the right, and you will be there +presently.”</p> + +<p>I shook the honest couple by the hand and bade them +farewell. The man put on his hat and went with me a few +yards from the door, and then proceeded towards the +factory. I passed over the bridge, under which was a +streamlet, which a little below the bridge received the brook +which once turned Owen Glendower’s corn-mill. I soon +reached Llan Silin, a village or townlet, having some high hills +at a short distance to the westward, which form part of the +Berwyn.</p> + +<p>I entered the kitchen of an old-fashioned public-house, and +sitting down by a table told the landlord, a red-nosed elderly +man, who came bowing up to me, to bring me a pint of ale. +The landlord bowed and departed. A bluff-looking old +fellow, somewhat under the middle size, sat just opposite to me +at the table. He was dressed in a white frieze coat, and +had a small hat on his head set rather consequentially on one +side. Before him on the table stood a jug of ale, between +which and him lay a large crabstick. Three or four other +people stood or sat in different parts of the room. +Presently the landlord returned with the ale.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you come on sessions business, sir?” +said he, as he placed it down before me.</p> + +<p>“Are the sessions being held here to-day?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“They are,” said the landlord, “and there is +plenty of business; two bad cases of poaching, Sir Watkin’s +keepers are up at court and hope to convict.”</p> + +<p>“I am not come on sessions business,” said I; +“I am merely strolling a little about to see the +country.”</p> + +<p>“He is come from South Wales,” said the old fellow +in the frieze coat, to the landlord, “in order to see what +kind of country the north is. Well at any rate he has seen +a better country than his own.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know that I come from South Wales?” +said I.</p> + +<p>“By your English,” said the old fellow; +“anybody may know you are South Welsh by your English; it +is so cursedly bad. But let’s hear you speak a little +Welsh; then I shall be certain as to who you are.”</p> + +<p>I did as he bade me, saying a few words in Welsh.</p> + +<p>“There’s Welsh,” said the old fellow, +“who but a South Welshman would talk Welsh in that +manner? It’s nearly as bad as your +English.”</p> + +<p>I asked him if he had ever been in South Wales.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said he; “and a bad country I found +it; just like the people.”</p> + +<p>“If you take me for a South Welshman,” said I, +“you ought to speak civilly both of the South Welsh and +their country.”</p> + +<p>“I am merely paying tit for tat,” said the old +fellow. “When I was in South Wales your people +laughed at my folks and country, so when I meet one of them here +I serve him out as I was served out there.”</p> + +<p>I made no reply to him, but addressing myself to the landlord +inquired whether Huw Morris was not buried in Llan Silin +churchyard. He replied in the affirmative.</p> + +<p>“I should like to see his tomb,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” said the landlord, “I shall be +happy to show it to you whenever you please.”</p> + +<p>Here again the old fellow put in his word.</p> + +<p>“You never had a prydydd like Huw Morris in South +Wales,” said he; “nor Twm o’r Nant +either.”</p> + +<p>“South Wales has produced good poets,” said I.</p> + +<p>“No, it hasn’t,” said the old fellow; +“it never produced one. If it had, you wouldn’t +have needed to come here to see the grave of a poet; you would +have found one at home.”</p> + +<p>As he said these words he got up, took his stick, and seemed +about to depart. Just then in burst a rabble rout of +game-keepers and river-watchers who had come from the petty +sessions, and were in high glee, the two poachers whom the +landlord had mentioned having been convicted and heavily +fined. Two or three of them were particularly boisterous, +running against some of the guests who were sitting or standing +in the kitchen, and pushing the landlord about, crying at the +same time that they would stand by Sir Watkin to the last, and +would never see him plundered. One of them, a fellow of +about thirty, in a hairy cap, black coat, dirty yellow breeches, +and dirty white top-boots, who was the most obstreperous of them +all, at last came up to the old chap who disliked South Welshmen +and tried to knock off his hat, swearing that he would stand by +Sir Watkin; he, however, met a Tartar. The enemy of the +South Welsh, like all crusty people, had lots of mettle, and with +the stick which he held in his hand forthwith aimed a blow at the +fellow’s poll, which, had he not jumped back, would +probably have broken it.</p> + +<p>“I will not be insulted by you, you vagabond,” +said the old chap, “nor by Sir Watkin either; go and tell +him so.”</p> + +<p>The fellow looked sheepish, and turning away proceeded to take +liberties with other people less dangerous to meddle with than +old crabstick. He, however, soon desisted, and sat down +evidently disconcerted.</p> + +<p>“Were you ever worse treated in South Wales by the +people there than you have been here by your own +countrymen?” said I to the old fellow.</p> + +<p>“My countrymen?” said he; “this scamp is no +countryman of mine; nor is one of the whole kit. They are +all from Wrexham, a mixture of broken housekeepers and fellows +too stupid to learn a trade; a set of scamps fit for nothing in +the world but to swear bodily against honest men. They say +they will stand up for Sir Watkin, and so they will, but only in +a box in the Court to give false evidence. They won’t +fight for him on the banks of the river. Countrymen of +mine, indeed! they are no countrymen of mine; they are from +Wrexham, where the people speak neither English nor Welsh, not +even South Welsh as you do.”</p> + +<p>Then giving a kind of flourish with his stick he departed.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXVIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Llan Silin Church—Tomb of Huw +Morris—Barbara and Richard—Welsh Country +Clergyman—The Swearing Lad—Anglo-Saxon Devils.</p> + +<p>Having discussed my ale I asked the landlord if he would show +me the grave of Huw Morris. “With pleasure, +sir,” said he; “pray follow me.” He led +me to the churchyard, in which several enormous yew trees were +standing, probably of an antiquity which reached as far back as +the days of Henry the Eighth, when the yew bow was still the +favourite weapon of the men of Britain. The church fronts +the south, the portico being in that direction. The body of +the sacred edifice is ancient, but the steeple which bears a +gilded cock on its top is modern. The innkeeper led me +directly up to the southern wall, then pointing to a broad +discoloured slab, which lay on the ground just outside the wall, +about midway between the portico and the oriel end, he said:</p> + +<p>“Underneath this stone lies Huw Morris, +sir.” Forthwith taking off my hat I went down on my +knees and kissed the cold slab covering the cold remains of the +mighty Huw, and then, still on my knees, proceeded to examine it +attentively. It is covered over with letters three parts +defaced. All I could make out of the inscription was the +date of the poet’s death, 1709. “A great +genius, a very great genius, sir,” said the inn-keeper, +after I had got on my feet and put on my hat.</p> + +<p>“He was indeed,” said I; “are you acquainted +with his poetry?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said the innkeeper, and then repeated +the four lines composed by the poet shortly before his death, +which I had heard the intoxicated stonemason repeat in the +public-house of the Pandy, the day I went to visit the +poet’s residence with John Jones.</p> + +<p>“Do you know any more of Huw’s poetry?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“No,” said the innkeeper. “Those +lines, however, I have known ever since I was a child and +repeated them, more particularly of late since age has come upon +me and I have felt that I cannot last long.”</p> + +<p>It is very odd how few of the verses of great poets are in +people’s mouths. Not more than a dozen of +Shakespear’s lines are in people’s mouths: of those +of Pope not more than half that number. Of Addison’s +poetry two or three lines may be in people’s mouths, though +I never heard one quoted, the only line which I ever heard quoted +as Addison’s not being his but Garth’s:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“’Tis best repenting in a coach and +six.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Whilst of the verses of Huw Morris I never knew any one but +myself, who am not a Welshman, who could repeat a line beyond the +four which I have twice had occasion to mention, and which seem +to be generally known in North if not in South Wales.</p> + +<p>From the flagstone I proceeded to the portico and gazed upon +it intensely. It presented nothing very remarkable, but it +had the greatest interest for me, for I remembered how many times +Huw Morris had walked out of that porch at the head of the +congregation, the clergyman yielding his own place to the +inspired bard. I would fain have entered the church, but +the landlord had not the key, and told me that he imagined there +would be some difficulty in procuring it. I was therefore +obliged to content myself with peeping through a window into the +interior, which had a solemn and venerable aspect.</p> + +<p>“Within there,” said I to myself, “Huw +Morris, the greatest songster of the seventeenth century, knelt +every Sunday during the latter thirty years of his life, after +walking from Pont y Meibion across the bleak and savage +Berwyn. Within there was married Barbara Wynn, the Rose of +Maelai, to Richard Middleton, the handsome cavalier of Maelor, +and within there she lies buried, even as the songster who +lamented her untimely death in immortal verse lies buried out +here in the graveyard. What interesting associations has +this church for me, both outside and in, but all connected with +Huw; for what should I have known of Barbara, the Rose, and +gallant Richard but for the poem on their affectionate union and +untimely separation, the dialogue between the living and the +dead, composed by humble Huw, the farmer’s son of Ponty y +Meibion?”</p> + +<p>After gazing through the window till my eyes watered I turned +to the innkeeper, and inquired the way to Llan Rhyadr. +Having received from him the desired information I thanked him +for his civility, and set out on my return.</p> + +<p>Before I could get clear of the town I suddenly encountered my +friend R---, the clever lawyer and magistrate’s clerk of +Llangollen.</p> + +<p>“I little expected to see you here,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Nor I you,” I replied.</p> + +<p>“I came in my official capacity,” said he; +“the petty sessions have been held here to-day.”</p> + +<p>“I know they have,” I replied; “and that two +poachers have been convicted. I came here on my way to +South Wales to see the grave of Huw Morris, who, as you know, is +buried in the churchyard.”</p> + +<p>“Have you seen the clergyman?” said R---.</p> + +<p>“No,” I replied.</p> + +<p>“Then come with me,” said he; “I am now +going to call upon him. I know he will be rejoiced to make +your acquaintance.”</p> + +<p>He led me to the clergyman’s house, which stood at the +south-west end of the village within a garden fenced with an iron +paling. We found the clergyman in a nice comfortable +parlour or study, the sides of which were decorated with +books. He was a sharp clever-looking man, of about the +middle age. On my being introduced to him he was very glad +to see me, as my friend R--- told me he would be. He seemed +to know all about me, even that I understood Welsh. We +conversed on various subjects: on the power of the Welsh +language; its mutable letters; on Huw Morris, and likewise on +ale, with an excellent glass of which he regaled me. I was +much pleased with him, and thought him a capital specimen of the +Welsh country clergyman. His name was Walter Jones.</p> + +<p>After staying about half-an-hour I took leave of the good kind +man, who wished me all kind of happiness, spiritual and temporal, +and said that he should always be happy to see me at Llan +Silin. My friend R--- walked with me a little way and then +bade me farewell. It was now late in the afternoon, the sky +was grey and gloomy, and a kind of half wintry wind was +blowing. In the forenoon I had travelled along the eastern +side of the valley, which I will call that of Llan Rhyadr, +directing my course to the north, but I was now on the western +side of the valley, journeying towards the south. In about +half-an-hour I found myself nearly parallel with the high crag +which I had seen from a distance in the morning. It was now +to the east of me. Its western front was very precipitous, +but on its northern side it was cultivated nearly to the +summit. As I stood looking at it from near the top of a +gentle acclivity a boy with a team, whom I had passed a little +time before, came up. He was whipping his horses, who were +straining up the ascent, and was swearing at them most +frightfully in English. I addressed him in that language, +inquiring the name of the crag, but he answered Dim Saesneg, and +then again fell to cursing; his horses in English. I +allowed him and his team to get to the top of the ascent, and +then overtaking him, I said in Welsh: “What do you mean by +saying you have no English? You were talking English just +now to your horses.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the lad, “I have English enough +for my horses, and that is all.”</p> + +<p>“You seem to have plenty of Welsh,” said I; +“why don’t you speak Welsh to your horses?”</p> + +<p>“It’s of no use speaking Welsh to them,” +said the boy; “Welsh isn’t strong enough.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t Myn Diawl tolerably strong?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Not strong enough for horses,” said the boy +“if I were to say Myn Diawl to my horses, or even Cas +András, they would laugh at me.”</p> + +<p>“Do the other carters,” said I, “use the +same English to their horses which you do to yours?”</p> + +<p>“Yes” said the boy, “they’ll all use +the same English words; if they didn’t the horses +wouldn’t mind them.”</p> + +<p>“What a triumph,” thought I, “for the +English language that the Welsh carters are obliged to have +recourse to its oaths and execrations to make their horses get +on!”</p> + +<p>I said nothing more to the boy on the subject of language, but +again asked him the name of the crag. “It is called +Craig y Gorllewin,” said he. I thanked him, and soon +left him and his team far behind.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding what the boy said about the milk-and-water +character of native Welsh oaths, the Welsh have some very pungent +execrations, quite as efficacious, I should say, to make a horse +get on as any in the English swearing vocabulary. Some of +their oaths are curious, being connected with heathen times and +Druidical mythology; for example that Cas András, +mentioned by the boy, which means hateful enemy or horrible +András. András or Andraste was the fury or +Demigorgon of the Ancient Cumry, to whom they built temples and +offered sacrifices out of fear. Curious that the same oath +should be used by the Christian Cumry of the present day, which +was in vogue amongst their pagan ancestors some three thousand +years ago. However, the same thing is observable amongst us +Christian English: we say the Duse take you! even as our heathen +Saxon forefathers did, who worshipped a kind of Devil so called, +and named a day of the week after him, which name we still retain +in our hebdomadal calendar like those of several other +Anglo-Saxon devils. We also say: Go to old Nick! and Nick +or Nikkur was a surname of Woden, and also the name of a spirit +which haunted fords and was in the habit of drowning +passengers.</p> + +<p>Night came quickly upon me after I had passed the swearing +lad. However, I was fortunate enough to reach Llan Rhyadr, +without having experienced any damage or impediment from Diawl, +András, Duse, or Nick.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXIX</h2> + +<p class="letter">Church of Llan Rhyadr—The +Clerk—The Tablet—Stone—First View of the +Cataract.</p> + +<p>The night was both windy and rainy like the preceding one, but +the morning which followed, unlike that of the day before, was +dull and gloomy. After breakfast I walked out to take +another view of the little town. As I stood looking at the +church a middle-aged man of a remarkably intelligent countenance +came up and asked me if I should like to see the inside. I +told him I should, whereupon he said that he was the clerk and +would admit me with pleasure. Taking a key out of his +pocket he unlocked the door of the church and we went in. +The inside was sombre, not so much owing to the gloominess of the +day as the heaviness of the architecture. It presented +something in the form of a cross. I soon found the clerk +what his countenance represented him to be, a highly intelligent +person. His answers to my questions were in general ready +and satisfactory.</p> + +<p>“This seems rather an ancient edifice,” said I; +“when was it built?”</p> + +<p>“In the sixteenth century,” said the clerk; +“in the days of Harry Tudor.”</p> + +<p>“Have any remarkable men been clergymen of this +church?”</p> + +<p>“Several, sir; amongst its vicars was Doctor William +Morgan, the great South Welshman, the author of the old Welsh +version of the Bible, who flourished in the time of Queen +Elizabeth. Then there was Doctor Robert South, an eminent +divine, who, though not a Welshman, spoke and preached Welsh +better than many of the native clergy. Then there was the +last vicar, Walter D---, a great preacher and writer, who styled +himself in print Gwalter Mechain.”</p> + +<p>“Are Morgan and South buried here?” said I.</p> + +<p>“They are not, sir,” said the clerk; “they +had been transferred to other benefices before they +died.”</p> + +<p>I did not inquire whether Walter D--- was buried there, for of +him I had never heard before, but demanded whether the church +possessed any ancient monuments.</p> + +<p>“This is the oldest which remains, sir,” said the +clerk, and he pointed with his finger to a tablet-stone over a +little dark pew on the right side of the oriel window. +There was an inscription upon it, but owing to the darkness I +could not make out a letter. The clerk, however, read as +follows.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">1694. 21 Octr.<br +/> +Hic Sepultus Est<br /> +Sidneus Bynner.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Do you understand Latin?” said I to the +clerk.</p> + +<p>“I do not, sir; I believe, however, that the stone is to +the memory of one Bynner.”</p> + +<p>“That is not a Welsh name,” said I.</p> + +<p>“It is not, sir,” said the clerk.</p> + +<p>“It seems to be radically the same as Bonner,” +said I, “the name of the horrible Popish Bishop of London +in Mary’s time. Do any people of the name of Bynner +reside in this neighbourhood at present?”</p> + +<p>“None, sir,” said the clerk; “and if the +Bynners are descendants of Bonner, it is, perhaps, well that +there are none.”</p> + +<p>I made the clerk, who appeared almost fit to be a clergyman, a +small present, and returned to the inn. After paying my +bill I flung my satchel over my shoulder, took my umbrella by the +middle in my right hand, and set off for the Rhyadr.</p> + +<p>I entered the narrow glen at the western extremity of the town +and proceeded briskly along. The scenery was romantically +beautiful; on my left was the little brook, the waters of which +run through the town; beyond it a lofty hill; on my right was a +hill covered with wood from the top to the bottom. I +enjoyed the scene, and should have enjoyed it more had there been +a little sunshine to gild it.</p> + +<p>I passed through a small village, the name of which I think +was Cynmen, and presently overtook a man and boy. The man +saluted me in English, and I entered into conversation with him +in that language. He told me that he came from Llan Gedwin, +and was going to a place called Gwern something, in order to +fetch home some sheep. After a time he asked me where I was +going.</p> + +<p>“I am going to see the Pistyll Rhyadr,” said I</p> + +<p>We had then just come to the top of a rising ground.</p> + +<p>“Yonder’s the Pistyll!” said he, pointing to +the west.</p> + +<p>I looked in the direction of his finger, and saw something at +a great distance, which looked like a strip of grey linen hanging +over a crag.</p> + +<p>“That is the waterfall,” he continued, +“which so many of the Saxons come to see. And now I +must bid you good-bye, master; for my way to the Gwern is on the +right.”</p> + +<p>Then followed by the boy he turned aside into a wild road at +the corner of a savage, precipitous rock.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXX</h2> + +<p class="letter">Mountain Scenery—The +Rhyadr—Wonderful Feat.</p> + +<p>After walking about a mile with the cataract always in sight, +I emerged from the glen into an oblong valley extending from +south to north, having lofty hills on all sides, especially on +the west, from which direction the cataract comes. I +advanced across the vale till within a furlong of this object, +when I was stopped by a deep hollow or nether vale into which the +waters of the cataract tumble. On the side of this hollow I +sat down, and gazed down before me and on either side. The +water comes spouting over a crag of perhaps two hundred feet in +altitude between two hills, one south-east and the other nearly +north. The southern hill is wooded from the top, nearly +down to where the cataract bursts forth; and so, but not so +thickly, is the northern hill, which bears a singular resemblance +to a hog’s back. Groves of pine are on the lower +parts of both; in front of a grove low down on the northern hill +is a small white house of a picturesque appearance. The +water of the cataract, after reaching the bottom of the +precipice, rushes in a narrow brook down the vale in the +direction of Llan Rhyadr. To the north-east, between the +hog-backed hill and another strange-looking mountain, is a wild +glen, from which comes a brook to swell the waters discharged by +the Rhyadr. The south-west side of the vale is steep, and +from a cleft of a hill in that quarter a slender stream rushing +impetuously joins the brook of the Rhyadr, like the rill of the +northern glen. The principal object of the whole is of +course the Rhyadr. What shall I liken it to? I +scarcely know, unless to an immense skein of silk agitated and +disturbed by tempestuous blasts, or to the long tail of a grey +courser at furious speed. Through the profusion of long +silvery threads or hairs, or what looked such, I could here and +there see the black sides of the crag down which the Rhyadr +precipitated itself with something between a boom and a roar.</p> + +<p>After sitting on the verge of the hollow for a considerable +time I got up, and directed my course towards the house in front +of the grove. I turned down the path which brought me to +the brook which runs from the northern glen into the waters +discharged by the Rhyadr, and crossing it by stepping-stones, +found myself on the lowest spur of the hog-backed hill. A +steep path led towards the house. As I drew near two +handsome dogs came rushing to welcome the stranger. Coming +to a door on the northern side of the house I tapped, and a +handsome girl of about thirteen making her appearance, I inquired +in English the nearest way the waterfall; she smiled, and in her +native language said that she had no Saxon. On my telling +her in Welsh that I was come to see the Pistyll she smiled again, +and said that I was welcome, then taking me round the house, she +pointed to a path and bade me follow it. I followed the +path which led downward to a tiny bridge of planks, a little way +below the fall. I advanced to the middle of the bridge, +then turning to the west, looked at the wonderful object before +me.</p> + +<p>There are many remarkable cataracts in Britain and the +neighbouring isles, even the little Celtic Isle of Man has its +remarkable waterfall; but this Rhyadr, the grand cataract of +North Wales, far exceeds them all in altitude and beauty, though +it is inferior to several of them in the volume of its +flood. I never saw water falling so gracefully, so much +like thin beautiful threads, as here. Yet even this +cataract has its blemish. What beautiful object has not +something which more or less mars its loveliness? There is +an ugly black bridge or semi-circle of rock, about two feet in +diameter and about twenty feet high, which rises some little way +below it, and under which the water, after reaching the bottom, +passes, which intercepts the sight, and prevents it from taking +in the whole fall at once. This unsightly object has stood +where it now stands since the day of creation, and will probably +remain there to the day of judgment. It would be a +desecration of nature to remove it by art, but no one could +regret if nature in one of her floods were to sweep it away.</p> + +<p>As I was standing on the planks a woman plainly but neatly +dressed came from the house. She addressed me in very +imperfect English, saying that she was the mistress of the house +and should be happy to show me about. I thanked her for her +offer, and told her that she might speak Welsh, whereupon she +looked glad, and said in that tongue that she could speak Welsh +much better than Saesneg. She took me by a winding path up +a steep bank on the southern side of the fall to a small plateau, +and told me that was the best place to see the Pistyll +from. I did not think so, for we were now so near that we +were almost blinded by the spray, though, it is true, the +semicircle of rock no longer impeded the sight; this object we +now saw nearly laterally rising up like a spectral arch, spray +and foam above it, and water rushing below. “That is +a bridge rather for ysprydoedd <a name="citation9"></a><a +href="#footnote9" class="citation">[9]</a> to pass over than +men,” said I.</p> + +<p>“It is,” said the woman; “but I once saw a +man pass over it.”</p> + +<p>“How did he get up?” said I. “The +sides are quite steep and slippery.”</p> + +<p>“He wriggled to the sides like a llysowen, <a +name="citation10"></a><a href="#footnote10" +class="citation">[10]</a> till he got to the top, when he stood +upright for a minute, and then slid down on the other +side.”</p> + +<p>“Was he any one from these parts?” said I.</p> + +<p>“He was not. He was a dyn dieithr, a Russian; one +of those with whom we are now at war.”</p> + +<p>“Was there as much water tumbling then as +now?”</p> + +<p>“More, for there had fallen more rain.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose the torrent is sometimes very +dreadful?” said I.</p> + +<p>“It is indeed, especially in winter; for it is then like +a sea, and roars like thunder or a mad bull.”</p> + +<p>After I had seen all I wished of the cataract, the woman asked +me to come to the house and take some refreshment. I +followed her to a neat little room where she made me sit down and +handed me a bowl of butter-milk. On the table was a book in +which she told me it was customary for individuals who visited +the cataract to insert their names. I took up the book +which contained a number of names mingled here and there with +pieces of poetry. Amongst these compositions was a Welsh +englyn on the Rhyadr, which, though incorrect in its prosody, I +thought stirring and grand. I copied it, and subjoin it +with a translation which I made on the spot.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Crychiawg, ewynawg anian—yw y +Rhyadr<br /> +Yn rhuo mal taran;<br /> +Colofn o dwr, gloyw-dwr glan,<br /> +Gorwyllt, un lliw ag arian.”</p> + +<p>Foaming and frothing from mountainous height,<br /> + Roaring like thunder the Rhyadr falls;<br /> +Though its silvery splendour the eye may delight,<br /> + Its fury the heart of the bravest appals.</p> +</blockquote> + + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Wild Moors—The Guide—Scientific +Discourse—The Land of Arthur—The +Umbrella—Arrival at Bala.</p> + +<p>When I had rested myself and finished the buttermilk, I got +up, and making the good woman a small compensation for her +civility, inquired if I could get to Bala without returning to +Llan Rhyadr.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said she, “if you cross the hills +for about five miles you will find yourself upon a road which +will take you straight to Bala.”</p> + +<p>“Is there anyone here,” said I, “who will +guide me over the hills, provided I pay him for his +trouble?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said she, “I know one who will be +happy to guide you whether you pay him or not.”</p> + +<p>She went out and presently returned with a man about +thirty-five, stout and well-looking, and dressed in a +waggoner’s frock.</p> + +<p>“There,” said she, “this is the man to show +you over the hills; few know the paths better.”</p> + +<p>I thanked her, and telling the man I was ready, bade him lead +the way. We set out, the two dogs of which I have spoken +attending us, and seemingly very glad to go. We ascended +the side of the hog-backed hill to the north of the Rhyadr. +We were about twenty minutes in getting to the top, close to +which stood a stone or piece of rock, very much resembling a +church altar, and about the size of one. We were now on an +extensive moory elevation, having the brook which forms the +Rhyadr a little way on our left. We went nearly due west, +following no path, for path there was none, but keeping near the +brook. Sometimes we crossed water-courses which emptied +their tribute into the brook, and every now and then ascended and +descended hillocks covered with gorse and whin. After a +little time I entered into conversation with my guide. He +had not a word of English.</p> + +<p>“Are you married?” said I.</p> + +<p>“In truth I am, sir.”</p> + +<p>“What family have you?”</p> + +<p>“I have a daughter.”</p> + +<p>“Where do you live?”</p> + +<p>“At the house of the Rhyadr.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you live there as servant?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, I live there as master.”</p> + +<p>“Is the good woman I saw there your wife?”</p> + +<p>“In truth, sir, she is.”</p> + +<p>“And the young girl I saw your daughter?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, she is my daughter.”</p> + +<p>“And how came the good woman not to tell me you were her +husband?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose, sir, you did not ask who I was, and she +thought you did not care to know.”</p> + +<p>“But can you be spared from home?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, sir, I was not wanted at home.”</p> + +<p>“What business are you?”</p> + +<p>“I am a farmer, sir.”</p> + +<p>“A sheep farmer?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Who is your landlord.”</p> + +<p>“Sir Watkin.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it was very kind of you to come with +me.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all, sir; I was glad to come with you, for we +are very lonesome at Rhyadr, except during a few weeks in the +summer, when the gentry come to see the Pistyll. Moreover, +I have sheep lying about here which need to be looked at now and +then, and by coming hither with you I shall have an opportunity +of seeing them.”</p> + +<p>We frequently passed sheep feeding together in small +numbers. In two or three instances my guide singled out +individuals, caught them, and placing their heads between his +knees examined the insides of their eyelids, in order to learn by +their colour whether or not they were infected with the pwd or +moor disorder. We had some discourse about that +malady. At last he asked me if there was a remedy for +it.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said I; “a decoction of +hoarhound.”</p> + +<p>“What is hoarhound?” said he.</p> + +<p>“Llwyd y Cwn,” said I. “Pour some of +that down the sheep’s throat twice a day, by means of a +horn, and the sheep will recover, for the bitterness, do you see, +will destroy the worm <a name="citation11"></a><a +href="#footnote11" class="citation">[11]</a> in the liver, which +learned men say is the cause of the disorder.”</p> + +<p>We left the brook on our left hand and passed by some ruined +walls which my guide informed me had once belonged to houses but +were now used as sheepfolds. After walking several miles, +according to my computation, we began to ascend a considerable +elevation covered with brown heath and ling. As we went on +the dogs frequently put up a bird of a black colour, which flew +away with a sharp whirr.</p> + +<p>“What bird is that?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Ceiliog y grug, the cock of the heath,” replied +my guide. “It is said to be very good eating, but I +have never tasted it. The ceiliog y grug is not food for +the like of me. It goes to feed the rich Saxons in Caer +Ludd.”</p> + +<p>We reached the top of the elevation.</p> + +<p>“Yonder,” said my guide, pointing to a white bare +place a great way off to the west, “is Bala +road.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will not trouble you to go any further,” +said I; “I can find my way thither.”</p> + +<p>“No, you could not,” said my guide; “if you +were to make straight for that place you would perhaps fall down +a steep, or sink into a peat hole up to your middle, or lose your +way and never find the road, for you would soon lose sight of +that place. Follow me, and I will lead you into a part of +the road more to the left, and then you can find your way easily +enough to that bare place, and from thence to Bala.” +Thereupon he moved in a southerly direction down the steep and I +followed him. In about twenty minutes we came to the +road.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said my guide, “you are on the road; +bear to the right and you cannot miss the way to Bala.”</p> + +<p>“How far is it to Bala?” said I.</p> + +<p>“About twelve miles,” he replied.</p> + +<p>I gave him a trifle, asking at the same time if it was +sufficient. “Too much by one-half,” he replied; +“many, many thanks.” He then shook me by the +hand, and accompanied by his dogs departed, not back over the +moor, but in a southerly direction down the road.</p> + +<p>Wending my course to the north, I came to the white bare spot +which I had seen from the moor, and which was in fact the top of +a considerable elevation over which the road passed. Here I +turned and looked at the hills I had come across. There +they stood, darkly blue, a rain cloud, like ink, hanging over +their summits. Oh, the wild hills of Wales, the land of old +renown and of wonder, the land of Arthur and Merlin!</p> + +<p>The road now lay nearly due west. Rain came on, but it +was at my back, so I expanded my umbrella, flung it over my +shoulder and laughed. Oh, how a man laughs who has a good +umbrella when he has the rain at his back, aye and over his head +too, and at all times when it rains except when the rain is in +his face, when the umbrella is not of much service. Oh, +what a good friend to a man is an umbrella in rain time, and +likewise at many other times. What need he fear if a wild +bull or a ferocious dog attacks him, provided he has a good +umbrella? He unfurls the umbrella in the face of the bull +or dog, and the brute turns round quite scared, and runs +away. Or if a footpad asks him for his money, what need he +care provided he has an umbrella? He threatens to dodge the +ferrule into the ruffian’s eye, and the fellow starts back +and says, “Lord, sir! I meant no harm. I never +saw you before in all my life. I merely meant a little +fun.” Moreover, who doubts that you are a respectable +character provided you have an umbrella? You go into a +public-house and call for a pot of beer, and the publican puts it +down before you with one hand without holding out the other for +the money, for he sees that you have an umbrella and consequently +property. And what respectable man, when you overtake him +on the way and speak to him, will refuse to hold conversation +with you, provided you have an umbrella? No one. The +respectable man sees you have an umbrella, and concludes that you +do not intend to rob him, and with justice, for robbers never +carry umbrellas. Oh, a tent, a shield, a lance, and a +voucher for character is an umbrella. Amongst the very best +friends of man must be reckoned an umbrella. <a +name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12" +class="citation">[12]</a></p> + +<p>The way lay over dreary, moory hills; at last it began to +descend, and I saw a valley below me with a narrow river running +through it, to which wooded hills sloped down; far to the west +were blue mountains. The scene was beautiful but +melancholy; the rain had passed away, but a gloomy almost +November sky was above, and the mists of night were coming down +apace.</p> + +<p>I crossed a bridge at the bottom of the valley and presently +saw a road branching to the right. I paused, but after a +little time went straight forward. Gloomy woods were on +each side of me and night had come down. Fear came upon me +that I was not on the right road, but I saw no house at which I +could inquire, nor did I see a single individual for miles of +whom I could ask. At last I heard the sound of hatchets in +a dingle on my right, and catching a glimpse of a gate at the +head of a path, which led down into it, I got over it. +After descending some time I hallooed. The noise of the +hatchets ceased. I hallooed again, and a voice cried in +Welsh, “What do you want?” “To know the +way to Bala,” I replied. There was no answer, but +presently I heard steps, and the figure of a man drew nigh, half +undistinguishable in the darkness, and saluted me. I +returned his salutation, and told him I wanted to know the way to +Bala. He told me, and I found I had been going right. +I thanked him and regained the road. I sped onward, and in +about half-an-hour saw some houses, then a bridge, then a lake on +my left, which I recognised as the lake of Bala. I skirted +the end of it, and came to a street cheerfully lighted up, and in +a minute more was in the White Lion Inn.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Cheerful Fire—Immense Man—Doctor +Jones—Recognition—A Fast Young Man—Excellent +Remarks—Disappointment.</p> + +<p>I was conducted into the coffee-room of the White Lion by a +little freckled maid whom I saw at the bar, and whom I told that +I was come to pass the night at the inn. The room presented +an agreeable contrast to the gloomy, desolate places through +which I had lately come. A good fire blazed in the grate, +and there were four lights on the table. Lolling in a chair +by one side of the fire was an individual at the sight of whom I +almost started. He was an immense man, weighing I should +say at least eighteen stone, with brown hair, thinnish whiskers, +half-ruddy, half-tallowy complexion, and dressed in a brown +sporting coat, drab breeches, and yellow-topped boots—in +every respect the exact image of the Wolverhampton gent or +hog-merchant who had appeared to me in my dream at Llangollen, +whilst asleep before the fire. Yes, the very counterpart of +that same gent looked this enormous fellow, save and except that +he did not appear to be more than seven or eight and twenty, +whereas the hog-merchant looked at least fifty. Laying my +satchel down I took a seat and ordered the maid to get some +dinner for me, and then asked what had become of the waiter, Tom +Jenkins.</p> + +<p>“He is not here at present, sir,” said the +freckled maid; “he is at his own house.”</p> + +<p>“And why is he not here?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Because he is not wanted, sir; he only comes in summer +when the house is full of people.”</p> + +<p>And having said this the little freckled damsel left the +room.</p> + +<p>“Reither a cool night, sir!” said the enormous man +after we had been alone together a few minutes.</p> + +<p>I again almost started, for he spoke with the same kind of +half-piping, half-wheezing voice, with which methought the +Wolverhampton gent had spoken to me in my dream.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I; “it is rather cold out +abroad, but I don’t care as I am not going any farther +to-night.”</p> + +<p>“That’s not my case,” said the stout man, +“I have got to go ten miles, as far as Cerrig Drudion, from +which place I came this afternoon in a wehicle.”</p> + +<p>“Do you reside at Cerrig Drudion?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No,” said the stout man, whose dialect I shall +not attempt further to imitate, “but I have been staying +there some time; for happening to go there a month or two ago I +was tempted to take up my quarters at the inn. A very nice +inn it is, and the landlady a very agreeable woman, and her +daughters very agreeable young ladies.”</p> + +<p>“Is this the first time you have been at +Bala?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, the first time. I had heard a good deal +about it, and wished to see it. So to-day, having the offer +of a vehicle at a cheap rate, I came over with two or three other +gents, amongst whom is Doctor Jones.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me,” said I, “is Doctor Jones in +Bala?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the stout man. “Do you +know him?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said I, “and have a great respect +for him; his like for politeness and general learning is scarcely +to be found in Britain.”</p> + +<p>“Only think,” said the stout man. +“Well, I never heard that of him before.”</p> + +<p>Wishing to see my sleeping room before I got my dinner, I now +rose and was making for the door, when it opened, and in came +Doctor Jones. He had a muffler round his neck, and walked +rather slowly and disconsolately, leaning upon a cane. He +passed without appearing to recognise me, and I, thinking it +would be as well to defer claiming acquaintance with him till I +had put myself a little to rights, went out without saying +anything to him. I was shown by the freckled maid to a nice +sleeping apartment, where I stayed some time adjusting +myself. On my return to the coffee-room I found the doctor +sitting near the fire-place. The stout man had left the +room. I had no doubt that he had told Doctor Jones that I +had claimed acquaintance with him, and that the doctor, not +having recollected me, had denied that he knew anything of me, +for I observed that he looked at me very suspiciously.</p> + +<p>I took my former seat, and after a minute’s silence said +to Doctor Jones, “I think, sir, I had the pleasure of +seeing you some time ago at Cerrig Drudion?”</p> + +<p>“It’s possible, sir,” said Doctor Jones in a +tone of considerable hauteur, and tossing his head so that the +end of his chin was above his comforter, “but I have no +recollection of it.”</p> + +<p>I held my head down for a little time, then raising it and +likewise my forefinger, I looked Doctor Jones full in the face +and said, “Don’t you remember talking to me about +Owen Pugh and Coll Gwynfa?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do,” said Doctor Jones in a very low +voice, like that of a person who deliberates; “yes, I +do. I remember you perfectly, sir,” he added almost +immediately in a tone of some animation; “you are the +gentleman with whom I had a very interesting conversation one +evening last summer in the bar of the inn at Cerrig +Drudion. I regretted very much that our conversation was +rather brief, but I was called away to attend to a case, a +professional case, sir, of some delicacy, and I have since +particularly regretted that I was unable to return that night, as +it would have given me much pleasure to have been present at a +dialogue, which I have been told by my friend the landlady, you +held with a certain Italian who was staying at the house, which +was highly agreeable and instructive to herself and her +daughter.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “I am rejoiced that fate has +brought us together again. How have you been in health +since I had the pleasure of seeing you?”</p> + +<p>“Rather indifferent, sir, rather indifferent. I +have of late been afflicted with several ailments, the original +cause of which, I believe, was a residence of several years in +the Ynysoedd y Gorllewin—the West India Islands—where +I had the honour of serving her present gracious Majesty’s +gracious uncle, George the Fourth—in a medical capacity, +sir. I have likewise been afflicted with lowness of +spirits, sir. It was this same lowness of spirits which +induced me to accept an invitation made by the individual lately +in the room to accompany him in a vehicle with some other people +to Bala. I shall always consider my coming as a fortunate +circumstance, inasmuch as it has given me an opportunity of +renewing my acquaintance with you.”</p> + +<p>“Pray,” said I, “may I take the liberty of +asking who that individual is?”</p> + +<p>“Why,” said Doctor Jones, “he is what they +call a Wolverhampton gent.”</p> + +<p>“A Wolverhampton gent,” said I to myself; +“only think!”</p> + +<p>“Were you pleased to make any observation, sir?” +said the doctor.</p> + +<p>“I was merely saying something to myself,” said +I. “And in what line of business may he be? I +suppose in the hog line.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no!” said Doctor Jones. “His +father, it is true, is a hog-merchant, but as for himself he +follows no business; he is what is called a fast young man, and +goes about here and there on the spree, as I think they term it, +drawing, whenever he wants money, upon his father, who is in +affluent circumstances. Some time ago he came to Cerrig +Drudion, and was so much pleased with the place, the landlady, +and her daughters, that he has made it his headquarters ever +since. Being frequently at the house I formed an +acquaintance with him, and have occasionally made one in his +parties and excursions, though I can’t say I derive much +pleasure from his conversation, for he is a person of little or +no literature.”</p> + +<p>“The son of a hog-merchant,” thought I to +myself. “Depend upon it, that immense fellow whom I +saw in my dream purchase the big hog at Llangollen fair, and who +wanted me to give him a poond for his bargain, was this +gent’s father. Oh, there is much more in dreams than +is generally dreamt of by philosophy!”</p> + +<p>Doctor Jones presently began to talk of Welsh literature, and +we were busily engaged in discussing the subject when in walked +the fast young man, causing the floor to quake beneath his +ponderous tread. He looked rather surprised at seeing the +doctor and me conversing, but Doctor Jones turning to him, said, +“Oh, I remember this gentleman perfectly.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said the fast young man; “very +good!” then flinging himself down in a chair with a force +that nearly broke it, and fixing his eyes upon me, said, “I +think I remember the gentleman too. If I am not much +mistaken, sir, you are one of our principal engineers at +Wolverhampton. Oh yes! I remember you now +perfectly. The last time I saw you was at a public dinner +given to you at Wolverhampton, and there you made a speech, and a +capital speech it was.”</p> + +<p>Just as I was about to reply Doctor Jones commenced speaking +Welsh, resuming the discourse on Welsh literature. Before, +however, he had uttered a dozen words he was interrupted by the +Wolverhampton gent, who exclaimed in a blubbering tone: “O +Lord, you are surely not going to speak Welsh. If I had +thought I was to be bothered with Welsh I wouldn’t have +asked you to come.”</p> + +<p>“If I spoke Welsh, sir,” said the doctor, +“it was out of compliment to this gentleman, who is a +proficient in the ancient language of my country. As, +however, you dislike Welsh, I shall carry on the conversation +with him in English, though peradventure you may not be more +edified by it in that language than if it were held in +Welsh.”</p> + +<p>He then proceeded to make some very excellent remarks on the +history of the Gwedir family, written by Sir John Wynn, to which +the Wolverhampton gent listened with open mouth and staring +eyes. My dinner now made its appearance, brought in by the +little freckled maid—the cloth had been laid during my +absence from the room. I had just begun to handle my knife +and fork, Doctor Jones still continuing his observations on the +history of the Gwedir family, when I heard a carriage drive up to +the inn, and almost immediately after, two or three young fellows +rollicked into the room: “Come let’s be off,” +said one of them to the Wolverhampton gent; “the carriage +is ready.” “I’m glad of it,” said +the fast young man, “for it’s rather slow work +here. Come, doctor! are you going with us or do you intend +to stay here all night?” Thereupon the doctor got up, +and coming towards me leaning on his cane, said: “Sir! it +gives me infinite pleasure that I have met a second time a +gentleman of so much literature. That we shall ever meet a +third time I may wish but can scarcely hope, owing to certain +ailments under which I suffer, brought on, sir, by a residence of +many years in the Occidental Indies. However, at all +events, I wish you health and happiness.” He then +shook me gently by the hand and departed with the Wolverhampton +gent and his companions; the gent as he stumped out of the room +saying, “Good-night, sir; I hope it will not be long before +I see you at another public dinner at Wolverhampton, and hear +another speech from you as good as the last.” In a +minute or two I heard them drive off. Left to myself I +began to discuss my dinner. Of the dinner I had nothing to +complain, but the ale which accompanied it was very bad. +This was the more mortifying, for, remembering the excellent ale +I had drunk at Bala some months previously, I had, as I came +along the gloomy roads the present evening, been promising myself +a delicious treat on my arrival.</p> + +<p>“This is very bad ale!” said I to the freckled +maid, “very different from what I drank in the summer, when +I was waited on by Tom Jenkins.”</p> + +<p>“It is the same ale, sir,” said the maid, +“but the last in the cask; and we shan’t have any +more for six months, when he will come again to brew for the +summer; but we have very good porter, sir, and first-rate +Allsopp.”</p> + +<p>“Allsopp’s ale,” said I, “will do for +July and August, but scarcely for the end of October. +However, bring me a pint; I prefer it at all times to +porter.”</p> + +<p>My dinner concluded, I trifled away my time till about ten +o’clock, and then went to bed.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Breakfast—The Freckled Maid—Llan +uwch Llyn—The Landlady—Llewarch Hen—Conversions +to the Church.</p> + +<p>Awaking occasionally in the night I heard much storm and +rain. The following morning it was gloomy and +lowering. As it was Sunday I determined to pass the day at +Bala, and accordingly took my Prayer Book out of my satchel, and +also my single white shirt, which I put on.</p> + +<p>Having dressed myself I went to the coffee-room and sat down +to breakfast. What a breakfast!—pot of hare; ditto of +trout; pot of prepared shrimps; dish of plain shrimps; tin of +sardines; beautiful beef-steak; eggs, muffin; large loaf, and +butter, not forgetting capital tea. There’s a +breakfast for you!</p> + +<p>As the little freckled maid was removing the breakfast things +I asked her how old she was.</p> + +<p>“Eighteen, sir, last Candlemas,” said the freckled +maid.</p> + +<p>“Are your parents alive?”</p> + +<p>“My mother is, sir, but my father is dead.”</p> + +<p>“What was your father?”</p> + +<p>“He was an Irishman, sir! and boots to this +inn.”</p> + +<p>“Is your mother Irish?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, she is of this place; my father married her +shortly after he came here.”</p> + +<p>“Of what religion are you?”</p> + +<p>“Church, sir, Church.”</p> + +<p>“Was your father of the Church?”</p> + +<p>“Not always, sir; he was once what is called a +Catholic. He turned to the Church after he came +here.”</p> + +<p>“A’n’t there a great many Methodists in +Bala?”</p> + +<p>“Plenty, sir, plenty.”</p> + +<p>“How came your father not to go over to the Methodists +instead of the Church?”</p> + +<p>“’Cause he didn’t like them, sir; he used to +say they were a trumpery, cheating set; that they wouldn’t +swear, but would lie through a three-inch board.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose your mother is a Church-woman?”</p> + +<p>“She is now, sir; but before she knew my father she was +a Methodist.”</p> + +<p>“Of what religion is the master of the house?”</p> + +<p>“Church, sir, Church; so is all the family.”</p> + +<p>“Who is the clergyman of the place?”</p> + +<p>“Mr Pugh, sir!”</p> + +<p>“Is he a good preacher?”</p> + +<p>“Capital, sir! and so is each of his curates; he and +they are converting the Methodists left and right.”</p> + +<p>“I should like to hear him.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir! that you can do. My master, who is +going to church presently, will be happy to accommodate you in +his pew.”</p> + +<p>I went to church with the landlord, a tall gentlemanly man of +the name of Jones—Oh that eternal name of Jones! Rain +was falling fast, and we were glad to hold up our +umbrellas. We did not go to the church at Bala, at which +there was no service that morning, but to that of a little +village close by, on the side of the lake, the living of which is +incorporated with that of Bala. The church stands low down +by the lake at the bottom of a little nook. Its name which +is Llan uwch Llyn, is descriptive of its position, signifying the +Church above the Lake. It is a long, low, ancient edifice, +standing north-east by south-west. The village is just +above it on a rising ground, behind which are lofty hills +pleasantly dotted with groves, trees, and houses. The +interior of the edifice has a somewhat dilapidated +appearance. The service was in Welsh. The clergyman +was about forty years of age, and had a highly-intelligent +look. His voice was remarkably clear and distinct. He +preached an excellent practical sermon, text, 14th chapter, 22nd +verse of Luke, about sending out servants to invite people to the +supper. After the sermon there was a gathering for the +poor.</p> + +<p>As I returned to the inn I had a good deal of conversation +with the landlord on religious subjects. He told me that +the Church of England, which for a long time had been a +down-trodden Church in Wales, had of late begun to raise its +head, and chiefly owing to the zeal and activity of its present +ministers; that the former ministers of the Church were good men, +but had not energy enough to suit the times in which they lived; +that the present ministers fought the Methodist preachers with +their own weapons, namely, extemporary preaching, and beat them, +winning shoals from their congregations. He seemed to think +that the time was not far distant when the Anglican Church would +be the popular as well as the established Church of Wales.</p> + +<p>Finding myself rather dull in the inn, I went out again, +notwithstanding that it rained. I ascended the toman or +mound which I had visited on a former occasion. Nothing +could be more desolate and dreary than the scene around. +The woods were stripped of their verdure and the hills were half +shrouded in mist. How unlike was this scene to the smiling, +glorious prospect which had greeted my eyes a few months +before. The rain coming down with redoubled violence, I was +soon glad to descend and regain the inn.</p> + +<p>Shortly before dinner I was visited by the landlady, a fine +tall woman of about fifty, with considerable remains of beauty in +her countenance. She came to ask me if I was +comfortable. I told her that it was my own fault if I was +not. We were soon in very friendly discourse. I asked +her her maiden name.</p> + +<p>“Owen,” said she, laughing, “which, after my +present name of Jones, is the most common name in +Wales.”</p> + +<p>“They were both one and the same originally,” said +I, “Owen and Jones both mean John.”</p> + +<p>She too was a staunch member of the Church of England, which +she said was the only true Church. She spoke in terms of +high respect and admiration of her minister, and said that a new +church was being built, the old one not being large enough to +accommodate the numbers who thronged to hear him.</p> + +<p>I had a noble goose for dinner, to which I did ample +justice. About four o’clock, the weather having +cleared up, I took a stroll. It was a beautiful evening, +though rain clouds still hovered about. I wandered to the +northern end of Llyn Tegid, which I had passed in the preceding +evening. The wind was blowing from the south, and tiny +waves were beating against the shore, which consisted of small +brown pebbles. The lake has certainly not its name, which +signifies Lake of Beauty, for nothing. It is a beautiful +sheet of water, and beautifully situated. It is oblong and +about six miles in length. On all sides, except to the +north, it is bounded by hills. Those at the southern end +are very lofty, the tallest of which is Arran, which lifts its +head to the clouds like a huge loaf. As I wandered on the +strand I thought of a certain British prince and poet, who in the +very old time sought a refuge in the vicinity of the lake from +the rage of the Saxons. His name was Llewarch Hen, of whom +I will now say a few words.</p> + +<p>Llewarch Hen, or Llewarch the Aged, was born about the +commencement of the sixth and died about the middle of the +seventh century, having attained to the prodigious age of one +hundred and forty or fifty years, which is perhaps the lot of +about forty individuals in the course of a millennium. If +he was remarkable for his years he was no less so for the number +of his misfortunes. He was one of the princes of the +Cumbrian Britons; but Cumbria was invaded by the Saxons, and a +scene of horrid war ensued. Llewarch and his sons, of whom +he had twenty-four, put themselves at the head of their forces, +and in conjunction with the other Cumbrian princes made a brave +but fruitless opposition to the invaders. Most of his sons +were slain, and he himself with the remainder sought shelter in +Powys, in the hall of Cynddylan, its prince. But the Saxon +bills and bows found their way to Powys too. Cynddylan was +slain, and with him the last of the sons of Llewarch, who, reft +of his protector, retired to a hut by the side of the lake of +Bala, where he lived the life of a recluse, and composed elegies +on his sons and slaughtered friends, and on his old age, all of +which abound with so much simplicity and pathos that the heart of +him must be hard indeed who can read them unmoved. Whilst a +prince he was revered for his wisdom and equity, and he is said +in one of the historical triads to have been one of the three +consulting warriors of Arthur.</p> + +<p>In the evening I attended service in the old church at +Bala. The interior of the edifice was remarkably plain; no +ornament of any kind was distinguishable; the congregation was +overflowing, amongst whom I observed the innkeeper and his wife, +the little freckled maid and the boots. The entire service +was in Welsh. Next to the pew in which I sat was one filled +with young singing women, all of whom seemed to have voices of +wonderful power. The prayers were read by a strapping young +curate at least six feet high. The sermon was preached by +the rector, and was a continuation of the one which I had heard +him preach in the morning. It was a very comforting +discourse, as the preacher clearly proved that every sinner will +be pardoned who comes to Jesus. I was particularly struck +with one part. The preacher said that Jesus’ arms +being stretched out upon the cross was emblematic of His +surprising love and His willingness to receive anybody. The +service concluded with the noble anthem Teyrnasa Jesu Mawr, +“May Mighty Jesus reign!”</p> + +<p>The service over I returned to the parlour of the inn. +There I sat for a long-time, lone and solitary, staring at the +fire in the grate. I was the only guest in the house; a +great silence prevailed both within and without; sometimes five +minutes elapsed without my hearing a sound, and then, perhaps, +the silence would be broken by a footstep at a distance in the +street. At length, finding myself yawning, I determined to +go to bed. The freckled maid as she lighted me to my room +inquired how I liked the sermon. “Very much,” +said I. “Ah,” said she, “did I not tell +you that Mr Pugh was a capital preacher?” She then +asked me how I liked the singing of the gals who sat in the next +pew to mine. I told her that I liked it exceedingly. +“Ah,” said she, “them gals have the best voices +in Bala. They were once Methody gals, and sang in the +chapels, but were converted, and are now as good Church as +myself. Them gals have been the cause of a great many +convarsions, for all the young fellows of their acquaintance +amongst the Methodists—”</p> + +<p>“Follow them to church,” said I, “and in +time become converted. That’s a thing of +course. If the Church gets the girls she is quite sure of +the fellows.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXIV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Proceed on Journey—The Lad and +Dog—Old Bala—The Pass—Extensive View—The +Two Men—The Tap Nyth—The Meeting of the +Waters—The Wild Valley—Dinas Mawddwy.</p> + +<p>The Monday morning was gloomy and misty, but it did not rain, +a circumstance which gave me no little pleasure, as I intended to +continue my journey without delay. After breakfast I bade +farewell to my kind host, and also to the freckled maid, and +departed, my satchel o’er my shoulder and my umbrella in my +hand.</p> + +<p>I had consulted the landlord on the previous day as to where I +had best make my next halt, and had been advised by him to stop +at Mallwyd. He said that if I felt tired I could put up at +Dinas Mawddwy, about two miles on this side of Mallwyd, but that +if I were not he would advise me to go on, as I should find very +poor accommodation at Dinas. On my inquiring as to the +nature of the road, he told me that the first part of it was +tolerably good, lying along the eastern side of the lake, but +that the greater part of it was very rough, over hills and +mountains, belonging to the great chain of Arran, which +constituted upon the whole the wildest part of all Wales.</p> + +<p>Passing by the northern end of the lake I turned to the south, +and proceeded along a road a little way above the side of the +lake. The day had now to a certain extent cleared up, and +the lake was occasionally gilded by beams of bright +sunshine. After walking a little way I overtook a lad +dressed in a white greatcoat and attended by a tolerably large +black dog. I addressed him in English, but finding that he +did not understand me I began to talk to him in Welsh.</p> + +<p>“That’s a fine dog,” said I.</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—Very fine, sir, and a good dog; though young +he has been known to kill rats.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—What is his name?</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—His name is Toby, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—And what is your name?</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—John Jones, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—And what is your father’s?</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—Waladr Jones, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Is Waladr the same as Cadwaladr?</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—In truth, sir, it is.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—That is a fine name.</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—It is, sir; I have heard my father say that +it was the name of a king.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—What is your father?</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—A farmer, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Does he farm his own land?</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—He does not, sir; he is tenant to Mr Price +of Hiwlas.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Do you live far from Bala?</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—Not very far, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Are you going home now?</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—I am not, sir; our home is on the other side +of Bala. I am going to see a relation up the road.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Bala is a nice place.</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—It is, sir; but not so fine as old Bala.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—I never heard of such a place. +Where is it?</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—Under the lake, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—What do you mean?</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—It stood in the old time where the lake now +is, and a fine city it was, full of fine houses, towers, and +castles, but with neither church nor chapel, for the people +neither knew God nor cared for Him, and thought of nothing but +singing and dancing and other wicked things. So God was +angry with them, and one night, when they were all busy at +singing and dancing and the like, God gave the word, and the city +sank down into Unknown, and the lake boiled up where it once +stood.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—That was a long time ago.</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—In truth, sir, it was.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Before the days of King Cadwaladr.</p> + +<p><i>Lad</i>.—I daresay it was, sir.</p> + +<p>I walked fast, but the lad was a shrewd walker, and though +encumbered with his greatcoat contrived to keep tolerably up with +me. The road went over hill and dale, but upon the whole +more upward than downward. After proceeding about an hour +and a half we left the lake, to the southern extremity of which +we had nearly come, somewhat behind, and bore away to the +south-east, gradually ascending. At length the lad, +pointing to a small farm-house on the side of a hill, told me he +was bound thither, and presently bidding me farewell, turned +aside up a footpath which led towards it.</p> + +<p>About a minute afterwards a small delicate furred creature +with a white mark round its neck and with a little tail trailing +on the ground ran swiftly across the road. It was a weasel +or something of that genus; on observing it I was glad that the +lad and the dog were gone, as between them they would probably +have killed it. I hate to see poor wild animals persecuted +and murdered, lose my appetite for dinner at hearing the screams +of a hare pursued by greyhounds, and am silly enough to feel +disgust and horror at the squeals of a rat in the fangs of a +terrier, which one of the sporting tribe once told me were the +sweetest sounds in “natur.”</p> + +<p>I crossed a bridge over a deep gulley which discharged its +waters into a river in a valley on the right. Arran rose in +great majesty on the farther side of this vale, its head partly +shrouded in mist. The day now became considerably +overcast. I wandered on over much rough ground till I came +to a collection of houses at the bottom of a pass leading up a +steep mountain. Seeing the door of one of the houses open I +peeped in, and a woman who was sitting knitting in the interior +rose and came out to me. I asked the name of the +place. The name which she told me sounded something like Ty +Capel Saer—the House of the Chapel of the Carpenter. +I inquired the name of the river in the valley. Cynllwyd, +hoary-headed, she seemed to say; but here, as well as with +respect to her first answer, I speak under correction, for her +Welsh was what my old friends, the Spaniards, would call muy +cerrado, that is, close or indistinct. She asked me if I +was going up the bwlch. I told her I was.</p> + +<p>“Rather you than I,” said she, looking up to the +heavens, which had assumed a very dismal, not to say awful, +appearance.</p> + +<p>Presently I began to ascend the pass or bwlch, a green hill on +my right intercepting the view of Arran, another very lofty hill +on my left with wood towards the summit. Coming to a little +cottage which stood on the left I went to the door and +knocked. A smiling young woman opened it, of whom I asked +the name of the house.</p> + +<p>“Ty Nant—the House of the Dingle,” she +replied.</p> + +<p>“Do you live alone?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No; mother lives here.”</p> + +<p>“Any Saesneg?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said she with a smile, “S’sneg +of no use here.”</p> + +<p>Her face looked the picture of kindness. I was now +indeed in Wales amongst the real Welsh. I went on some +way. Suddenly there was a moaning sound, and rain came down +in torrents. Seeing a deserted cottage on my left I went +in. There was fodder in it, and it appeared to serve partly +as a barn, partly as a cow-house. The rain poured upon the +roof, and I was glad I had found shelter. Close behind this +place a small brook precipitated itself down rocks in four +successive falls.</p> + +<p>The rain having ceased I proceeded, and after a considerable +time reached the top of the pass. From thence I had a view +of the valley and lake of Bala, the lake looking like an immense +sheet of steel. A round hill, however, somewhat intercepted +the view of the latter. The scene in my immediate +neighbourhood was very desolate; moory hillocks were all about me +of a wretched russet colour; on my left, on the very crest of the +hill up which I had so long been toiling, stood a black pyramid +of turf, a pole on the top of it. The road now wore nearly +due west down a steep descent. Arran was slightly to the +north of me. I, however, soon lost sight of it, as I went +down the farther side of the hill, which lies over against it to +the south-east. The sun, now descending, began to shine +out. The pass down which I was now going was yet wilder +than the one up which I had lately come. Close on my right +was the steep hill’s side out of which the road or path had +been cut, which was here and there overhung by crags of wondrous +forms; on my left was a very deep glen, beyond which was a black, +precipitous, rocky wall, from a chasm near the top of which +tumbled with a rushing sound a slender brook, seemingly the +commencement of a mountain stream, which hurried into a valley +far below towards the west. When nearly at the bottom of +the descent I stood still to look around me. Grand and wild +was the scenery. On my left were noble green hills, the +tops of which were beautifully gilded by the rays of the setting +sun. On my right a black, gloomy, narrow valley or glen +showed itself; two enormous craggy hills of immense altitude, one +to the west and the other to the east of the entrance; that to +the east terminating in a peak. The background to the north +was a wall of rocks forming a semicircle, something like a bent +bow with the head downward; behind this bow, just in the middle, +rose the black loaf of Arran. A torrent tumbled from the +lower part of the semicircle, and after running for some distance +to the south turned to the west, the way I was going.</p> + +<p>Observing a house a little way within the gloomy vale I went +towards it, in the hope of finding somebody in it who could give +me information respecting this wild locality. As I drew +near the door two tall men came forth, one about sixty, and the +other about half that age. The elder had a sharp, keen +look; the younger a lumpy and a stupid one. They were +dressed like farmers. On my saluting them in English the +elder returned my salutation in that tongue, but in rather a +gruff tone. The younger turned away his head and said +nothing.</p> + +<p>“What is the name of this house?” said I, pointing +to the building.</p> + +<p>“The name of it,” said the old man, “is Ty +Mawr.”</p> + +<p>“Do you live in it?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I live in it.”</p> + +<p>“What waterfall is that?” said I, pointing to the +torrent tumbling down the crag at the farther end of the gloomy +vale.</p> + +<p>“The fountain of the Royal Dyfi.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you call the Dyfy royal?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Because it is the king of the rivers in these +parts.”</p> + +<p>“Does the fountain come out of a rock?”</p> + +<p>“It does not; it comes out of a lake, a llyn.”</p> + +<p>“Where is the llyn?”</p> + +<p>“Over that crag at the foot of Aran Vawr.”</p> + +<p>“Is it a large lake?”</p> + +<p>“It is not; it is small.”</p> + +<p>“Deep?”</p> + +<p>“Very.”</p> + +<p>“Strange things in it?”</p> + +<p>“I believe there are strange things in it.” +His English now became broken.</p> + +<p>“Crocodiles?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know what cracadailes be.”</p> + +<p>“Efync?”</p> + +<p>“Ah! No, I do not tink there be efync dere. +Hu Gadarn in de old time kill de efync dere and in all de lakes +in Wales. He draw them out of the water with his ychain +banog his humpty oxen, and when he get dem out he burn deir +bodies on de fire, he good man for dat.”</p> + +<p>“What do you call this allt?” said I, looking up +to the high pinnacled hill on my right.</p> + +<p>“I call that Tap Nyth yr Eryri.”</p> + +<p>“Is not that the top nest of the eagles?”</p> + +<p>“I believe it is. Ha! I see you understand +Welsh.”</p> + +<p>“A little,” said I. “Are there eagles +there now?”</p> + +<p>“No, no eagle now.”</p> + +<p>“Gone like avanc?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, gone like avanc, but not so long. My father +see eagle on Tap Nyth, but my father never see avanc in de +llyn.”</p> + +<p>“How far to Dinas?”</p> + +<p>“About three mile.”</p> + +<p>“Any thieves about?”</p> + +<p>“No, no thieves here, but what come from England,” +and he looked at me with a strange, grim smile.</p> + +<p>“What is become of the red-haired robbers of +Mawddwy?”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said the old man, staring at me, “I +see you are a Cumro. The red-haired thieves of +Mawddwy! I see you are from these parts.”</p> + +<p>“What’s become of them?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dead, hung. Lived long time ago; long before +eagle left Tap Nyth.”</p> + +<p>He spoke true. The red-haired banditti of Mawddwy were +exterminated long before the conclusion of the sixteenth century, +after having long been the terror not only of these wild regions +but of the greater part of North Wales. They were called +the red-haired banditti because certain leading individuals +amongst them had red foxy hair.</p> + +<p>“Is that young man your son?” said I, after a +little pause.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he my son.”</p> + +<p>“Has he any English?”</p> + +<p>“No, he no English, but he plenty of Welsh—that is +if he see reason.”</p> + +<p>I spoke to the young man in Welsh, asking him if he had ever +been up to the Tap Nyth, but he made no answer.</p> + +<p>“He no care for your question,” said the old man; +“ask him price of pig.” I asked the young +fellow the price of hogs, whereupon his face brightened up, and +he not only answered my question, but told me that he had fat hog +to sell. “Ha, ha,” said the old man; “he +plenty of Welsh now, for he see reason. To other question +he no Welsh at all, no more than English, for he see no +reason. What business he on Tap Nyth with eagle? His +business down below in sty with pig. Ah, he look lump, but +he no fool; know more about pig than you or I, or any one +’twixt here and Mahuncleth.”</p> + +<p>He now asked me where I came from, and on my telling him from +Bala, his heart appeared to warm towards me, and saying that I +must be tired, he asked me to step in and drink buttermilk, but I +declined his offer with thanks, and bidding the two adieu, +returned to the road.</p> + +<p>I hurried along and soon reached a valley which abounded with +trees and grass; I crossed a bridge over a brook, not what the +old man had called the Dyfi, but the stream whose source I had +seen high up the bwlch, and presently came to a place where the +two waters joined. Just below the confluence on a fallen +tree was seated a man decently dressed; his eyes were fixed on +the rushing stream. I stopped and spoke to him.</p> + +<p>He had no English, but I found him a very sensible man. +I talked to him about the source of the Dyfi. He said it +was a disputed point which was the source. He himself was +inclined to believe that it was the Pistyll up the bwlch. I +asked him of what religion he was. He said he was of the +Church of England, which was the Church of his father and his +grandfather, and which he believed to be the only true +Church. I inquired if it flourished. He said it did, +but that it was dreadfully persecuted by all classes of +dissenters, who, though they were continually quarrelling with +one another, agreed in one thing, namely, to persecute the +Church. I asked him if he ever read. He said he read +a great deal, especially the works of Huw Morris, and that +reading them had given him a love for the sights of nature. +He added that his greatest delight was to come to the place where +he then was of an evening, and look at the waters and +hills. I asked him what trade he was. “The +trade of Joseph,” said he, smiling. +“Saer.” “Farewell, brother,” said +I; “I am not a carpenter, but like you I read the works of +Huw Morris and am of the Church of England.” I then +shook him by the hand and departed.</p> + +<p>I passed a village with a stupendous mountain just behind it +to the north, which I was told was called Moel Vrith or the +party-coloured moel. I was now drawing near to the western +end of the valley. Scenery of the wildest and most +picturesque description was rife and plentiful to a degree: hills +were here, hills were there; some tall and sharp, others huge and +humpy; hills were on every side; only a slight opening to the +west seemed to present itself. “What a valley!” +I exclaimed. But on passing through the opening I found +myself in another, wilder and stranger, if possible. Full +to the west was a long hill rising up like the roof of a barn, an +enormous round hill on its north-east side, and on its south-east +the tail of the range which I had long had on my left—there +were trees and groves and running waters, but all in deep shadow, +for night was now close at hand.</p> + +<p>“What is the name of this place?” I shouted to a +man on horseback, who came dashing through a brook with a woman +in a Welsh dress behind him.</p> + +<p>“Aber Cowarch, Saxon!” said the man in a deep +guttural voice, and lashing his horse disappeared rapidly in the +night.</p> + +<p>“Aber Cywarch!” I cried, springing half a yard +into the air. “Why, that’s the place where +Ellis Wynn composed his immortal ‘Sleeping Bard,’ the +book which I translated in the blessed days of my youth. +Oh, no wonder that the ‘Sleeping Bard’ is a wild and +wondrous work, seeing that it was composed amidst the wild and +wonderful scenes which I here behold.”</p> + +<p>I proceeded onwards up an ascent; after some time I came to a +bridge across a stream, which a man told me was called Avon +Gerres. It runs into the Dyfi, coming down with a rushing +sound from a wild vale to the north-east between the huge +barn-like hill and Moel Vrith. The barn-like hill I was +informed was called Pen Dyn. I soon reached Dinas Mawddwy, +which stands on the lower part of a high hill connected with the +Pen Dyn. Dinas, trough at one time a place of considerable +importance, if we may judge from its name, which signifies a +fortified city, is at present little more than a collection of +filthy huts. But though a dirty squalid place, I found it +anything but silent and deserted. Fierce-looking, +red-haired men, who seemed as if they might be descendants of the +red-haired banditti of old, were staggering about, and sounds of +drunken revelry echoed from the huts. I subsequently +learned that Dinas was the head-quarters of miners, the +neighbourhood abounding with mines both of lead and stone. +I was glad to leave it behind me. Mallwyd is to the south +of Dinas—the way to it is by a romantic gorge down which +flows the Royal Dyfi. As I proceeded along this gorge the +moon rising above Moel Vrith illumined my path. In about +half-an-hour I found myself before the inn at Mallwyd.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Inn at Mallwyd—A Dialogue—The +Cumro.</p> + +<p>I entered the inn, and seeing a comely-looking damsel at the +bar, I told her that I was in need of supper and a bed. She +conducted me into a neat sanded parlour, where a good fire was +blazing, and asked me what I would have for supper. +“Whatever you can most readily provide,” said I; +“I am not particular.” The maid retired, and +taking off my hat, and disencumbering myself of my satchel, I sat +down before the fire and fell into a doze, in which I dreamed of +some of the wild scenes through which I had lately passed.</p> + +<p>I dozed and dozed till I was roused by the maid touching me on +the shoulder and telling me that supper was ready. I got up +and perceived that during my doze she had laid the cloth and put +supper upon the table. It consisted of bacon and +eggs. During supper I had some conversation with the +maid.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Are you a native of this place?</p> + +<p><i>Maid</i>.—I am not, sir; I come from Dinas.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Are your parents alive?</p> + +<p><i>Maid</i>.—My mother is alive, sir, but my father is +dead.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Where does your mother live?</p> + +<p><i>Maid</i>.—At Dinas, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—How does she support herself?</p> + +<p><i>Maid</i>.—By letting lodgings to miners, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Are the miners quiet lodgers?</p> + +<p><i>Maid</i>.—Not always, sir; sometimes they get up at +night and fight with each other.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—What does your mother do on those +occasions?</p> + +<p><i>Maid</i>.—She draws the quilt over her head, and says +her prayers, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Why doesn’t she get up and part +them?</p> + +<p><i>Maid</i>.—Lest she should get a punch or a thwack for +her trouble, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Of what religion are the miners?</p> + +<p><i>Maid</i>.—They are Methodists, if they are anything; +but they don’t trouble their heads much about religion.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Of what religion are you?</p> + +<p><i>Maid</i>.—I am of the Church, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Did you always belong to the Church?</p> + +<p><i>Maid</i>.—Not always. When I was at Dinas I +used to hear the preacher, but since I have been here I have +listened to the clergyman.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Is the clergyman here a good man?</p> + +<p><i>Maid</i>.—A very good man indeed, sir. He lives +close by. Shall I go and tell him you want to speak to +him?</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Oh dear me, no! He can employ his +time much more usefully than in waiting upon me.</p> + +<p>After supper I sat quiet for about an hour. Then ringing +the bell, I inquired of the maid whether there was a newspaper in +the house. She told me there was not, but that she thought +she could procure me one. In a little time she brought me a +newspaper, which she said she had borrowed at the +parsonage. It was the <i>Cumro</i>, an excellent Welsh +journal written in the interest of the Church. In perusing +its columns I passed a couple of hours very agreeably, and then +went to bed.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXVI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Mallwyd and its Church—Sons of +Shoemakers—Village Inn—Dottings.</p> + +<p>The next day was the thirty-first of October, and was rather +fine for the season. As I did not intend to journey farther +this day than Machynlleth, a principal town in Montgomeryshire, +distant only twelve miles, I did not start from Mallwyd till just +before noon.</p> + +<p>Mallwyd is a small but pretty village. The church is a +long edifice standing on a slight elevation on the left of the +road. Its pulpit is illustrious from having for many years +been occupied by one of the very celebrated men of Wales, namely +Doctor John Davies, author of the great Welsh and Latin +dictionary, an imperishable work. An immense yew tree grows +in the churchyard, and partly overshadows the road with its +branches. The parsonage stands about a hundred yards to the +south of the church, near a grove of firs. The village is +overhung on the north by the mountains of the Arran range, from +which it is separated by the murmuring Dyfi. To the south +for many miles the country is not mountainous, but presents a +pleasant variety of hill and dale.</p> + +<p>After leaving the village a little way behind me I turned +round to take a last view of the wonderful region from which I +had emerged on the previous evening. Forming the two sides +of the pass down which comes “the royal river” stood +the Dinas mountain and Cefn Coch, the first on the left, and the +other on the right. Behind, forming the background of the +pass, appearing, though now some miles distant, almost in my +proximity, stood Pen Dyn. This hill has various names, but +the one which I have noted here, and which signifies the head of +a man, perhaps describes it best. From where I looked at it +on that last day of October it certainly looked like an enormous +head, and put me in mind of the head of Mambrino, mentioned in +the master work which commemorates the achievements of the +Manchegan knight. This mighty mountain is the birthplace of +more than one river. If the Gerres issues from its eastern +side, from its western springs the Maw, that singularly +picturesque stream, which enters the ocean at the place which the +Saxons corruptly call Barmouth and the Cumry with great propriety +Aber Maw, or the disemboguement of the Maw.</p> + +<p>Just as I was about to pursue my journey two boys came up, +bound in the same direction as myself. One was a large boy +dressed in a waggoner’s frock, the other was a little +fellow in a brown coat and yellowish trowsers. As we walked +along together I entered into conversation with them. They +came from Dinas Mawddwy. The large boy told me that he was +the son of a man who carted mwyn or lead ore, and the little +fellow that he was the son of a shoemaker. The latter was +by far the cleverest, and no wonder, for the son of shoemakers +are always clever, which assertion should anybody doubt I beg him +to attend the examinations at Cambridge, at which he will find +that in three cases out of four the senior wranglers are the sons +of shoemakers. From this little chap I got a great deal of +information about Pen Dyn, every part of which he appeared to +have traversed. He told me amongst other things that there +was a castle upon it. Like a true son of a shoemaker, +however, he was an arch rogue. Coming to a small house with +a garden attached to it in which there were apple-trees, he +stopped, whilst I went on with the other boy, and after a minute +or two came up running with a couple of apples in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Where did you get those apples?” said I; “I +hope you did not steal them.”</p> + +<p>He made no reply, but bit one, then making a wry face he flung +it away, and so he served the other. Presently afterwards, +coming to a side lane, the future senior wrangler, for a senior +wrangler he is destined to be, always provided he finds his way +to Cambridge, darted down it like an arrow, and disappeared.</p> + +<p>I continued my way with the other lad, occasionally asking him +questions about the mines of Mawddwy. The information, +however, which I obtained from him was next to nothing, for he +appeared to be as heavy as the stuff which his father +carted. At length we reached a village forming a kind of +semicircle on a green which looked something like a small English +common. To the east were beautiful green hills; to the west +the valley with the river running through it, beyond which rose +other green hills yet more beautiful than the eastern ones. +I asked the lad the name of the place, but I could not catch what +he said, for his answer was merely an indistinct mumble, and +before I could question him again he left me, without a word of +salutation, and trudged away across the green.</p> + +<p>Descending a hill I came to a bridge, under which ran a +beautiful river, which came foaming down from a gulley between +two of the eastern hills. From a man whom I met I learned +that the bridge was called Pont Coomb Linau, and that the name of +the village I had passed was Linau. The river carries an +important tribute to the Dyfi, at least it did when I saw it, +though perhaps in summer it is little more than a dry +water-course.</p> + +<p>Half-an-hour’s walking brought me from this place to a +small town or large village, with a church at the entrance and +the usual yew tree in the churchyard. Seeing a kind of inn +I entered it, and was shown by a lad-waiter into a large kitchen, +in which were several people. I had told him in Welsh that +I wanted some ale, and as he opened the door he cried with a loud +voice, “Cumro!” as much as to say, Mind what you say +before this chap, for he understands Cumraeg—that word was +enough. The people, who were talking fast and eagerly as I +made my appearance, instantly became silent and stared at me with +most suspicious looks. I sat down, and when my ale was +brought I took a hearty draught, and observing that the company +were still watching me suspiciously and maintaining the same +suspicious silence, I determined to comport myself in a manner +which should to a certain extent afford them ground for +suspicion. I therefore slowly and deliberately drew my +note-book out of my waistcoat pocket, unclasped it, took my +pencil from the loops at the side of the book, and forthwith +began to dot down observations upon the room and company, now +looking to the left, now to the right, now aloft, now alow, now +skewing at an object, now leering at an individual, my eyes half +closed and my mouth drawn considerably aside. Here follow +some of my dottings:—</p> + +<p>“A very comfortable kitchen with a chimney-corner on the +south side—immense grate and brilliant fire—large +kettle hanging over it by a chain attached to a transverse iron +bar—a settle on the left-hand side of the fire—seven +fine large men near the fire—two upon the settle, two upon +chairs, one in the chimney-corner smoking a pipe, and two +standing up—table near the settle with glasses, amongst +which is that of myself, who sit nearly in the middle of the room +a little way on the right-hand side of the fire.</p> + +<p>“The floor is of slate; a fine brindled greyhound lies +before it on the hearth, and a shepherd’s dog wanders +about, occasionally going to the door and scratching as if +anxious to get out. The company are dressed mostly in the +same fashion, brown coats, broad-brimmed hats, and yellowish +corduroy breeches with gaiters. One who looks like a +labouring man has a white smock and a white hat, patched +trowsers, and highlows covered with gravel—one has a blue +coat.</p> + +<p>“There is a clock on the right-hand side of the kitchen; +a warming-pan hangs close by it on the projecting side of the +chimney-corner. On the same side is a large rack containing +many plates and dishes of Staffordshire ware. Let me not +forget a pair of fire-irons which hang on the right-hand side of +the chimney-corner!”</p> + +<p>I made a great many more dottings, which I shall not insert +here. During the whole time I was dotting the most +marvellous silence prevailed in the room, broken only by the +occasional scratching of the dog against the inside of the door, +the ticking of the clock, and the ruttling of the smoker’s +pipe in the chimney-corner. After I had dotted to my +heart’s content I closed my book, put the pencil into the +loops, then the book into my pocket, drank what remained of my +ale, got up, and, after another look at the apartment and its +furniture, and a leer at the company, departed from the house +without ceremony, having paid for the ale when I received +it. After walking some fifty yards down the street I turned +half round and beheld, as I knew I should, the whole company at +the door staring after me. I leered sideways at them for +about half a minute, but they stood my leer stoutly. +Suddenly I was inspired by a thought. Turning round I +confronted them, and pulling my note-book out of my pocket, and +seizing my pencil, I fell to dotting vigorously. That was +too much for them. As if struck by a panic, my quondam +friends turned round and bolted into the house; the +rustic-looking man with the smock-frock and gravelled highlows +nearly falling down in his eagerness to get in.</p> + +<p>The name of the place where this adventure occurred was +Cemmaes.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXVII</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Deaf Man—Funeral +Procession—The Lone Family—The Welsh and their +Secrets—The Vale of the Dyfi—The Bright Moon.</p> + +<p>A little way from Cemmaes I saw a respectable-looking old man +like a little farmer, to whom I said:</p> + +<p>“How far to Machynlleth?”</p> + +<p>Looking at me in a piteous manner in the face he pointed to +the side of his head, and said—“Dim +clywed.”</p> + +<p>It was no longer no English, but no hearing.</p> + +<p>Presently I met one yet more deaf. A large procession of +men came along the road. Some distance behind them was a +band of women and between the two bands was a kind of bier drawn +by a horse with plumes at each of the four corners. I took +off my hat and stood close against the hedge on the right-hand +side till the dead had passed me some way to its final home.</p> + +<p>Crossed a river, which like that on the other side of Cemmaes +streamed down from a gulley between two hills into the valley of +the Dyfi. Beyond the bridge on the right-hand side of the +road was a pretty cottage, just as there was in the other +locality. A fine tall woman stood at the door, with a +little child beside her. I stopped and inquired in English +whose body it was that had just been borne by.</p> + +<p>“That of a young man, sir, the son of a farmer, who +lives a mile or so up the road.”</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—He seems to have plenty of friends.</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Oh yes, sir, the Welsh have plenty of +friends both in life and death.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—A’n’t you Welsh, then?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Oh no, sir, I am English, like yourself, +as I suppose.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Yes, I am English. What part of +England do you come from?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Shropshire, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Is that little child yours?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Yes, sir, it is my husband’s child +and mine.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—I suppose your husband is Welsh.</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Oh no, sir, we are all English.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—And what is your husband?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—A little farmer, sir, he farms about forty +acres under Mrs ---.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Well, are you comfortable here?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Oh dear me, no, sir, we are anything but +comfortable. Here we are three poor lone creatures in a +strange land, without a soul to speak to but one another. +Every day of our lives we wish we had never left Shropshire.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Why don’t you make friends amongst +your neighbours?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Oh, sir, the English cannot make friends +amongst the Welsh. The Welsh won’t neighbour with +them, or have anything to do with them, except now and then in +the way of business.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—I have occasionally found the Welsh very +civil.</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Oh yes, sir, they can be civil enough to +passers-by, especially those who they think want nothing from +them—but if you came and settled amongst them you would +find them, I’m afraid, quite the contrary.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Would they be uncivil to me if I could +speak Welsh?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Most particularly, sir; the Welsh +don’t like any strangers, but least of all those who speak +their language.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Have you picked up anything of their +language?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Not a word, sir, nor my husband +neither. They take good care that we shouldn’t pick +up a word of their language. I stood the other day and +listened whilst two women were talking just where you stand now, +in the hope of catching a word, and as soon as they saw me they +passed to the other side of the bridge, and began buzzing +there. My poor husband took it into his head that he might +possibly learn a word or two at the public-house, so he went +there, called for a jug of ale and a pipe, and tried to make +himself at home just as he might in England, but it +wouldn’t do. The company instantly left off talking +to one another and stared at him, and before he could finish his +pot and pipe took themselves off to a man, and then came the +landlord, and asked him what he meant by frightening away his +customers. So my poor husband came home as pale as a sheet, +and sitting down in a chair said, “Lord, have mercy upon +me!”</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Why are the Welsh afraid that strangers +should pick up their language?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Lest, perhaps, they should learn their +secrets, sir!</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—What secrets have they?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—The Lord above only knows, sir!</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Do you think they are hatching treason +against Queen Victoria?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Oh dear no, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Is there much murder going on amongst +them?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Nothing of the kind, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Cattle-stealing?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Oh no, sir!</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Pig-stealing?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—No, sir!</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Duck or hen stealing?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Haven’t lost a duck or hen since I +have been here, sir.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Then what secrets can they possibly +have?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—I don’t know, sir! perhaps none at +all, or at most only a pack of small nonsense that nobody would +give three farthings to know. However, it is quite certain +they are as jealous of strangers hearing their discourse as if +they were plotting gunpowder treason or something worse.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Have you been long here?</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Only since last May, sir! and we hope to +get away by next, and return to our own country, where we shall +have some one to speak to.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Good-bye!</p> + +<p><i>Woman</i>.—Good-bye, sir, and thank you for your +conversation; I haven’t had such a treat of talk for many a +weary day.</p> + +<p>The Vale of the Dyfi became wider and more beautiful as I +advanced. The river ran at the bottom amidst green and +seemingly rich meadows. The hills on the farther side were +cultivated a great way up, and various neat farm-houses were +scattered here and there on their sides. At the foot of one +of the most picturesque of these hills stood a large white +village. I wished very much to know its name, but saw no +one of whom I could inquire. I proceeded for about a mile, +and then perceiving a man wheeling stones in a barrow for the +repairing of the road I thought I would inquire of him. I +did so, but the village was then out of sight, and though I +pointed in its direction and described its situation I could not +get its name out of him. At last I said hastily, “Can +you tell me your own name?”</p> + +<p>“Dafydd Tibbot, sir,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Tibbot, Tibbot,” said I; “why, you are a +Frenchman.”</p> + +<p>“Dearie me, sir,” said the man, looking very +pleased, “am I, indeed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you are,” said I, rather repenting of my +haste, and giving him sixpence, I left him.</p> + +<p>“I’d bet a trifle,” said I to myself, as I +walked away, “that this poor creature is the descendant of +some desperate Norman Tibault who helped to conquer Powisland +under Roger de Montgomery or Earl Baldwin. How striking +that the proud old Norman names are at present only borne by +people in the lowest station. Here’s a Tibbot or +Tibault harrowing stones on a Welsh road, and I have known a +Mortimer munching poor cheese and bread under a hedge on an +English one. How can we account for this save by the +supposition that the descendants of proud, cruel, and violent +men—and who so proud, cruel and violent, as the old +Normans—are doomed by God to come to the dogs?”</p> + +<p>Came to Pont Velin Cerrig, the bridge of the mill of the +Cerrig, a river which comes foaming down from between two rocky +hills. This bridge is about a mile from Machynlleth, at +which place I arrived at about five o’clock in the +evening—a cool, bright moon shining upon me. I put up +at the principal inn, which was of course called the Wynstay +Arms.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXVIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Welsh Poems—Sessions Business—The +Lawyer and his Client—The Court—The Two +Keepers—The Defence.</p> + +<p>During supper I was waited upon by a brisk, buxom maid who +told me that her name was Mary Evans. The repast over, I +ordered a glass of whiskey and water, and when it was brought I +asked the maid if she could procure me some book to read. +She said she was not aware of any book in the house which she +could lay her hand on except one of her own, which if I pleased +she would lend me. I begged her to do so. Whereupon +she went out and presently returned with a very small volume, +which she laid on the table and then retired. After taking +a sip of my whiskey and water I proceeded to examine it. It +turned out to be a volume of Welsh poems entitled “Blodau +Glyn Dyfi”; or, Flowers of Glyn Dyfi, by one Lewis +Meredith, whose poetical name is Lewis Glyn Dyfi. The +author indites his preface from Cemmaes, June, 1852. The +best piece is called Dyffryn Dyfi, and is descriptive of the +scenery of the vale through which the Dyfi runs. It +commences thus:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Heddychol ddyffryn tlws,”<br /> +Peaceful, pretty vale,</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>and contains many lines breathing a spirit of genuine +poetry.</p> + +<p>The next day I did not get up till nine, having no journey +before me, as I intended to pass that day at Machynlleth. +When I went down to the parlour I found another guest there, +breakfasting. He was a tall, burly, and clever-looking man +of about thirty-five. As we breakfasted together at the +same table we entered into conversation. I learned from him +that he was an attorney from a town at some distance, and was +come over to Machynlleth to the petty sessions, to be held that +day, in order to defend a person accused of spearing a salmon in +the river. I asked him who his client was.</p> + +<p>“A farmer,” said he, “a tenant of Lord V---, +who will probably preside over the bench which will try the +affair.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said I, “a tenant spearing his +landlord’s fish—that’s bad.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said he, “the fish which he speared, +that is, which he is accused of spearing, did not belong to his +landlord but to another person; he hires land of Lord V---, but +the fishing of the river which runs through that land belongs to +Sir Watkin.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, then,” said I, “supposing he did spear +the salmon I shan’t break my heart if you get him off: do +you think you shall?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said he. +“There’s the evidence of two keepers against him; one +of whom I hope, however, to make appear a scoundrel, in whose +oath the slightest confidence is not to be placed. I +shouldn’t wonder if I make my client appear a persecuted +lamb. The worst is, that he has the character of being +rather fond of fish, indeed of having speared more salmon than +any other six individuals in the neighbourhood.”</p> + +<p>“I really should like to see him,” said I; +“what kind of person is he?—some fine, +desperate-looking fellow, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“You will see him presently,” said the lawyer; +“he is in the passage waiting till I call him in to take +some instructions from him; and I think I had better do so now, +for I have breakfasted, and time is wearing away.”</p> + +<p>He then got up, took some papers out of a carpet bag, sat +down, and after glancing at them for a minute or two, went to the +door and called to somebody in Welsh to come in. Forthwith +in came a small, mean, wizzened-faced man of about sixty, dressed +in a black coat and hat, drab breeches and gaiters, and looking +more like a decayed Methodist preacher than a spearer of imperial +salmon.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the attorney, “This is my +client, what do you think of him?”</p> + +<p>“He is rather a different person from what I had +expected to see,” said I; “but let us mind what we +say or we shall offend him.”</p> + +<p>“Not we,” said the attorney; “that is, +unless we speak Welsh, for he understands not a word of any other +language.”</p> + +<p>Then sitting down at the further table he said to his client +in Welsh: “Now, Mr So-and-so, have you learnt anything more +about that first keeper?”</p> + +<p>The client bent down, and placing both his hands upon the +table began to whisper in Welsh to his professional +adviser. Not wishing to hear any of their conversation I +finished my breakfast as soon as possible and left the +room. Going into the inn-yard I had a great deal of learned +discourse with an old ostler about the glanders in horses. +From the inn-yard I went to my own private room and made some +dottings in my note-book, and then went down again to the +parlour, which I found unoccupied. After sitting some time +before the fire I got up, and strolling out, presently came to a +kind of marketplace, in the middle of which stood an +old-fashioned-looking edifice supported on pillars. Seeing +a crowd standing round it I asked what was the matter, and was +told that the magistrates were sitting in the town-hall above, +and that a grand poaching case was about to be tried. +“I may as well go and hear it,” said I.</p> + +<p>Ascending a flight of steps I found myself in the hall of +justice, in the presence of the magistrates and amidst a great +many people, amongst whom I observed my friend the attorney and +his client. The magistrates, upon the whole, were rather a +fine body of men. Lord V--- was in the chair, a highly +intelligent-looking person, with fresh complexion, hooked nose, +and dark hair. A policeman very civilly procured me a +commodious seat. I had scarcely taken possession of it when +the poaching case was brought forward. The first witness +against the accused was a fellow dressed in a dirty +snuff-coloured suit, with a debauched look, and having much the +appearance of a town shack. He deposed that he was a hired +keeper, and went with another to watch the river at about four +o’clock in the morning; that they placed themselves behind +a bush, and that a little before day-light they saw the farmer +drive some cattle across the river. He was attended by a +dog. Suddenly they saw him put a spear upon a stick which +he had in his hand, run back to the river, and plunging the spear +in, after a struggle, pull out a salmon; that they then ran +forward, and he himself asked the farmer what he was doing, +whereupon the farmer flung the salmon and spear into the river +and said that if he did not take himself off he would fling him +in too. The attorney then got up and began to +cross-question him. “How long have you been a +keeper?”</p> + +<p>“About a fortnight.”</p> + +<p>“What do you get a week?”</p> + +<p>“Ten shillings.”</p> + +<p>“Have you not lately been in London?”</p> + +<p>“I have.”</p> + +<p>“What induced you to go to London?”</p> + +<p>“The hope of bettering my condition.”</p> + +<p>“Were you not driven out of Machynlleth?”</p> + +<p>“I was not.”</p> + +<p>“Why did you leave London?”</p> + +<p>“Because I could get no work, and my wife did not like +the place.”</p> + +<p>“Did you obtain possession of the salmon and the +spear?”</p> + +<p>“I did not.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“The pool was deep where the salmon was struck, and I +was not going to lose my life by going into it.”</p> + +<p>“How deep was it?”</p> + +<p>“Over the tops of the houses,” said the fellow, +lifting up his hands.</p> + +<p>The other keeper then came forward; he was brother to the +former, but had much more the appearance of a keeper, being +rather a fine fellow, and dressed in a wholesome, well-worn suit +of velveteen. He had no English, and what he said was +translated by a sworn interpreter. He gave the same +evidence as his brother about watching behind the bush, and +seeing the farmer strike a salmon. When cross-questioned, +however, he said that no words passed between the farmer and his +brother, at least, that he heard. The evidence for the +prosecution being given, my friend the attorney entered upon the +defence. He said that he hoped the court were not going to +convict his client, one of the most respectable farmers in the +county, on the evidence of two such fellows as the keepers, one +of whom was a well-known bad one, who for his evil deeds had been +driven from Machynlleth to London, and from London back again to +Machynlleth, and the other, who was his brother, a fellow not +much better, and who, moreover, could not speak a word of +English—the honest lawyer forgetting no doubt that his own +client had just as little English as the keeper. He +repeated that he hoped the court would not convict his +respectable client on the evidence of these fellows, more +especially as they flatly contradicted each other in one material +point, one saying that words had passed between the farmer and +himself, and the other that no words at all had passed, and were +unable to corroborate their testimony by anything visible or +tangible. If his client speared the salmon and then flung +the salmon with the spear sticking in its body into the pool, why +didn’t they go into the pool and recover the spear and +salmon? They might have done so with perfect safety, there +being an old proverb—he need not repeat it—which +would have secured them from drowning had the pool been not +merely over the tops of the houses but over the tops of the +steeples. But he would waive all the advantage which his +client derived from the evil character of the witnesses, the +discrepancy of their evidence, and their not producing the spear +and salmon in court. He would rest the issue of the affair +with confidence, on one argument, on one question; it was +this. Would any man in his senses—and it was well +known that his client was a very sensible man—spear a +salmon not his own when he saw two keepers close at hand watching +him—staring at him? Here the chairman observed that +there was no proof that he saw them—that they were behind a +bush. But my friend the attorney very properly, having the +interest of his client and his own character for consistency in +view, stuck to what he had said, and insisted that the farmer +must have seen them, and he went on reiterating that he must have +seen them, notwithstanding that several magistrates shook their +heads.</p> + +<p>Just as he was about to sit down I moved up behind him and +whispered: “Why don’t you mention the dog? +Wouldn’t the dog have been likely to have scented the +fellows out even if they had been behind the bush?”</p> + +<p>He looked at me for a moment and then said with a kind of +sigh: “No, no! twenty dogs would be of no use here. +It’s no go—I shall leave the case as it +is.”</p> + +<p>The court was cleared for a time, and when the audience were +again admitted Lord V--- said that the Bench found the prisoner +guilty; that they had taken into consideration what his counsel +had said in his defence, but that they could come to no other +conclusion, more especially as the accused was known to have been +frequently guilty of similar offences. They fined him four +pounds, including costs.</p> + +<p>As the people were going out I said to the farmer in Welsh: +“A bad affair this.”</p> + +<p>“Drwg iawn”—very bad indeed, he replied.</p> + +<p>“Did these fellows speak truth?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Nage—Dim ond celwydd”—not they! +nothing but lies.</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said I to myself, “what an +ill-treated individual!”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXIX</h2> + +<p class="letter">Machynlleth—Remarkable Events—Ode +to Glendower—Dafydd Gam—Lawdden’s Hatchet.</p> + +<p>Machynlleth, pronounced Machuncleth, is one of the principal +towns of the district which the English call Montgomeryshire, and +the Welsh Shire Trefaldwyn or the Shire of Baldwin’s town, +Trefaldwyn or the town of Baldwin being the Welsh name for the +town which is generally termed Montgomery. It is situated +in nearly the centre of the valley of the Dyfi, amidst pleasant +green meadows, having to the north the river, from which, +however, it is separated by a gentle hill. It possesses a +stately church, parts of which are of considerable antiquity, and +one or two good streets. It is a thoroughly Welsh town, and +the inhabitants, who amount in number to about four thousand, +speak the ancient British language with considerable purity.</p> + +<p>Machynlleth has been the scene of remarkable events, and is +connected with remarkable names, some of which have rung through +the world. At Machynlleth, in 1402, Owen Glendower, after +several brilliant victories over the English, held a parliament +in a house which is yet to be seen in the Eastern Street, and was +formally crowned King of Wales; in his retinue was the venerable +bard Iolo Goch, who, imagining that he now saw the old prophecy +fulfilled, namely, that a prince of the race of Cadwaladr should +rule the Britons, after emancipating them from the Saxon yoke, +greeted the chieftain with an ode, to the following +effect:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Here’s the life I’ve +sigh’d for long:<br /> +Abash’d is now the Saxon throng,<br /> +And Britons have a British lord<br /> +Whose emblem is the conquering sword;<br /> +There’s none I trow but knows him well,<br /> +The hero of the watery dell,<br /> +Owain of bloody spear in field,<br /> +Owain his country’s strongest shield;<br /> +A sovereign bright in grandeur drest,<br /> +Whose frown affrights the bravest breast.<br /> +Let from the world upsoar on high<br /> +A voice of splendid prophecy!<br /> +All praise to him who forth doth stand<br /> +To ’venge his injured native land!<br /> +Of him—of him a lay I’ll frame<br /> +Shall bear through countless years his name,<br /> +In him are blended portents three,<br /> +Their glories blended sung shall be:<br /> +There’s Oswain, meteor of the glen,<br /> +The head of princely generous men;<br /> +Owain the lord of trenchant steel,<br /> +Who makes the hostile squadrons reel;<br /> +Owain, besides, of warlike look,<br /> +A conqueror who no stay will brook;<br /> +Hail to the lion leader gay!<br /> +Marshaller of Griffith’s war array;<br /> +The scourger of the flattering race,<br /> +For them a dagger has his face;<br /> +Each traitor false he loves to smite,<br /> +A lion is he for deeds of might;<br /> +Soon may he tear, like lion grim,<br /> +All the Lloegrians limb from limb!<br /> +May God and Rome’s blest father high<br /> +Deck him in surest panoply!<br /> +Hail to the valiant carnager,<br /> +Worthy three diadems to bear!<br /> +Hail to the valley’s belted king!<br /> +Hail to the widely conquering,<br /> +The liberal, hospitable, kind,<br /> +Trusty and keen as steel refined!<br /> +Vigorous of form he nations bows,<br /> +Whilst from his breast-plate bounty flows.<br /> +Of Horsa’s seed on hill and plain<br /> +Four hundred thousand he has slain.<br /> +The copestone of our nation’s he,<br /> +In him our weal, our all we see;<br /> +Though calm he looks his plans when breeding,<br /> +Yet oaks he’d break his clans when leading.<br /> +Hail to this partisan of war,<br /> +This bursting meteor flaming far!<br /> +Where’er he wends, Saint Peter guard him,<br /> +And may the Lord five lives award him!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>To Machynlleth on the occasion of the parliament came Dafydd +Gam, so celebrated in after time; not, however, with the view of +entering into the councils of Glendower, or of doing him homage, +but of assassinating him. This man, whose surname Gam +signifies crooked, was a petty chieftain of Breconshire. He +was small of stature and deformed in person, though possessed of +great strength. He was very sensitive of injury, though +quite as alive to kindness; a thorough-going enemy and a +thorough-going friend. In the earlier part of his life he +had been driven from his own country for killing a man, called +Big Richard of Slwch, in the High Street of Aber Honddu or +Brecon, and had found refuge in England and kind treatment in the +house of John of Gaunt, for whose son Henry, generally called +Bolingbroke, he formed one of his violent friendships. +Bolingbroke, on becoming King Henry the Fourth, not only restored +the crooked little Welshman to his possessions, but gave him +employments of great trust and profit in Herefordshire. The +insurrection of Glendower against Henry was quite sufficient to +kindle against him the deadly hatred of Dafydd, who swore +“by the nails of God” that he would stab his +countryman for daring to rebel against his friend King Henry, the +son of the man who had received him in his house and comforted +him when his own countrymen were threatening his +destruction. He therefore went to Machynlleth with the full +intention of stabbing Glendower, perfectly indifferent as to what +might subsequently be his own fate. Glendower, however, who +had heard of his threat, caused him to be seized and conducted in +chains to a prison which he had in the mountains of +Sycharth. Shortly afterwards, passing through Breconshire +with his host, he burnt Dafydd’s house—a fair edifice +called the Cyrnigwen, situated on a hillock near the river +Honddu—to the ground, and seeing one of Gam’s +dependents gazing mournfully on the smouldering ruins he uttered +the following taunting englyn:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Shouldst thou a little red man descry<br /> + Asking about his dwelling fair,<br /> +Tell him it under the bank doth lie,<br /> + And its brow the mark of the coal doth +bear.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Dafydd remained confined till the fall of Glendower, shortly +after which event he followed Henry the Fifth to France, where he +achieved that glory which will for ever bloom, dying, covered +with wounds, on the field of Agincourt after saving the life of +the king, to whom in the dreadest and most critical moment of the +fight he stuck closer than a brother, not from any abstract +feeling of loyalty, but from the consideration that King Henry +the Fifth was the son of King Henry the Fourth, who was the son +of the man who received and comforted him in his house, after his +own countrymen had hunted him from house and land.</p> + +<p>Connected with Machynlleth is a name not so widely celebrated +as those of Glendower and Dafydd Gam, but well known to and +cherished by the lovers of Welsh song. It is that of +Lawdden, a Welsh bard in holy orders, who officiated as priest at +Machynlleth from 1440 to 1460. But though Machynlleth was +his place of residence for many years, it was not the place of +his birth, Lychwr in Carmarthenshire being the spot where he +first saw the light. He was an excellent poet, and +displayed in his compositions such elegance of language, and such +a knowledge of prosody, that it was customary, long after his +death, when any masterpiece of vocal song or eloquence was +produced, to say that it bore the traces of Lawdden’s +hatchet. At the request of Griffith ap Nicholas, a powerful +chieftain of South Wales, and a great patron of the Muse, he drew +up a statute relating to poets and poetry, and at the great +Eisteddfodd, or poetical congress, held at Carmarthen in the year +1450, under the auspices of Griffith, which was attended by the +most celebrated bards of the north and south, he officiated as +judge, in conjunction with the chieftain, upon the compositions +of the bards who competed for the prize—a little silver +chair. Not without reason, therefore, do the inhabitants of +Machynlleth consider the residence of such a man within their +walls, though at a far by-gone period, as conferring a lustre on +their town, and Lewis Meredith has probability on his side when, +in his pretty poem on Glen Dyfi, he says:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Whilst fair Machynlleth decks thy quiet +plain,<br /> +Conjoined with it shall Lawdden’s name remain.”</p> +</blockquote> + + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXX</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Old Ostler—Directions—Church +of England Man—The Deep Dingle—The Two +Women—The Cutty Pipe—Waen y Bwlch—The Deaf and +Dumb—The Glazed Hat.</p> + +<p>I rose on the morning of the 2nd of November intending to +proceed to the Devil’s Bridge, where I proposed halting a +day or two, in order that I might have an opportunity of +surveying the far-famed scenery of that locality. After +paying my bill I went into the yard to my friend the old ostler, +to make inquiries with respect to the road.</p> + +<p>“What kind of road,” said I, “is it to the +Devil’s Bridge?”</p> + +<p>“There are two roads, sir, to the Pont y Gwr Drwg; which +do you mean to take?”</p> + +<p>“Why do you call the Devil’s Bridge the Pont y Gwr +Drwg, or the bridge of the evil man?”</p> + +<p>“That we may not bring a certain gentleman upon us, sir, +who doesn’t like to have his name taken in vain.”</p> + +<p>“Is their much difference between the roads?”</p> + +<p>“A great deal, sir; one is over the hills, and the other +round by the valleys.”</p> + +<p>“Which is the shortest?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that over the hills, sir; it is about twenty miles +from here to the Pont y Gwr Drwg over the hills, but more than +twice that by the valleys.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose you would advise me to go by the +hills?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir—that is, if you wish to break your +neck, or to sink in a bog, or to lose your way, or perhaps, if +night comes on, to meet the Gwr Drwg himself taking a +stroll. But to talk soberly. The way over the hills +is an awful road, and, indeed, for the greater part is no road at +all.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I shall go by it. Can’t you give me +some directions?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do my best, sir, but I tell you again that +the road is a horrible one, and very hard to find.”</p> + +<p>He then went with me to the gate of the inn, where he began to +give me directions, pointing to the south, and mentioning some +names of places through which I must pass, amongst which were +Waen y Bwlch and Long Bones. At length he mentioned Pont +Erwyd, and said: “If you can but get there, you are all +right, for from thence there is a very fair road to the bridge of +the evil man; though I dare say if you get to Pont +Erwyd—and I wish you may get there—you will have had +enough of it and will stay there for the night, more especially +as there is a good inn.”</p> + +<p>Leaving Machynlleth, I ascended a steep hill which rises to +the south of it. From the top of this hill there is a fine +view of the town, the river, and the whole valley of the +Dyfi. After stopping for a few minutes to enjoy the +prospect I went on. The road at first was exceedingly good, +though up and down, and making frequent turnings. The +scenery was beautiful to a degree: lofty hills were on either +side, clothed most luxuriantly with trees of various kinds, but +principally oaks. “This is really very +pleasant,” said I, “but I suppose it is too good to +last long.” However, I went on for a considerable +way, the road neither deteriorating nor the scenery decreasing in +beauty. “Surely I can’t be in the right +road,” said I; “I wish I had an opportunity of +asking.” Presently seeing an old man working with a +spade in a field near a gate, I stopped and said in Welsh: +“Am I in the road to the Pont y Gwr Drwg?” The +old man looked at me for a moment, then shouldering his spade he +came up to the gate, and said in English: “In truth, sir, +you are.”</p> + +<p>“I was told that the road thither was a very bad +one,” said I, “but this is quite the +contrary.”</p> + +<p>“This road does not go much farther, sir,” said +he; “it was made to accommodate grand folks who live about +here.”</p> + +<p>“You speak very good English,” said I; +“where did you get it?”</p> + +<p>He looked pleased, and said that in his youth he had lived +some years in England.</p> + +<p>“Can you read?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said he, “both Welsh and +English.”</p> + +<p>“What have you read in Welsh?” said I.</p> + +<p>“The Bible and Twm O’r Nant.”</p> + +<p>“What pieces of Twm O’r Nant have you +read?”</p> + +<p>“I have read two of his interludes and his +life.”</p> + +<p>“And which do you like best—his life or his +interludes?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I like his life best.”</p> + +<p>“And what part of his life do you like best?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I like that part best where he gets the ship into +the water at Abermarlais.”</p> + +<p>“You have a good judgment,” said I; “his +life is better than his interludes, and the best part of his life +is where he describes his getting the ship into the water. +But do the Methodists about here in general read Twm O’r +Nant?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said be; “I am no +Methodist.”</p> + +<p>“Do you belong to the Church?”</p> + +<p>“I do.”</p> + +<p>“And why do you belong to the Church?”</p> + +<p>“Because I believe it is the best religion to get to +heaven by.”</p> + +<p>“I am much of your opinion,” said I. +“Are there many Church people about here?”</p> + +<p>“Not many,” said he, “but more than when I +was young.”</p> + +<p>“How old are you?”</p> + +<p>“Sixty-nine.”</p> + +<p>“You are not very old,” said I.</p> + +<p>“An’t I? I only want one year of fulfilling +my proper time on earth.”</p> + +<p>“You take things very easily,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Not so very easily, sir; I have often my quakings and +fears, but then I read my Bible, say my prayers, and find hope +and comfort.”</p> + +<p>“I really am very glad to have seen you,” said I; +“and now can you tell me the way to the bridge?”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly, sir, for I have never been there; but you +must follow this road some way farther, and then bear away to the +right along yon hill”—and he pointed to a distant +mountain.</p> + +<p>I thanked him, and proceeded on my way. I passed through +a deep dingle, and shortly afterwards came to the termination of +the road; remembering, however, the directions of the old man, I +bore away to the right, making for the distant mountain. My +course lay now over very broken ground where there was no path, +at least that I could perceive. I wandered on for some +time; at length on turning round a bluff I saw a lad tending a +small herd of bullocks. “Am I in the road,” +said I, “to the Pont y Gwr Drwg?”</p> + +<p>“Nis gwn! I don’t know,” said he +sullenly. “I am a hired servant, and have only been +here a little time.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s the house,” said I, “where +you serve?”</p> + +<p>But as he made no answer I left him. Some way farther on +I saw a house on my left, a little way down the side of a deep +dingle which was partly overhung with trees, and at the bottom of +which a brook murmured. Descending a steep path, I knocked +at the door. After a little time it was opened, and two +women appeared, one behind the other. The first was about +sixty; she was very powerfully made, had stern grey eyes and +harsh features, and was dressed in the ancient Welsh female +fashion, having a kind of riding-habit of blue and a high conical +hat like that of the Tyrol. The other seemed about twenty +years younger; she had dark features, was dressed like the other, +but had no hat. I saluted the first in English, and asked +her the way to the Bridge, whereupon she uttered a deep guttural +“augh” and turned away her head, seemingly in +abhorrence. I then spoke to her in Welsh, saying I was a +foreign man—I did not say a Saxon—was bound to the +Devil’s Bridge, and wanted to know the way. The old +woman surveyed me sternly for some time, then turned to the other +and said something, and the two began to talk to each other, but +in a low, buzzing tone, so that I could not distinguish a +word. In about half a minute the eldest turned to me, and +extending her arm and spreading out her five fingers wide, +motioned to the side of the hill in the direction which I had +been following.</p> + +<p>“If I go that way shall I get to the bridge of the evil +man?” said I, but got no other answer than a furious +grimace and violent agitations of the arm and fingers in the same +direction. I turned away, and scarcely had I done so when +the door was slammed to behind me with great force, and I heard +two “aughs,” one not quite so deep and abhorrent as +the other, probably proceeding from the throat of the younger +female.</p> + +<p>“Two regular Saxon-hating Welsh women,” said I, +philosophically; “just of the same sort no doubt as those +who played such pranks on the slain bodies of the English +soldiers, after the victory achieved by Glendower over Mortimer +on the Severn’s side.”</p> + +<p>I proceeded in the direction indicated, winding round the side +of the hill, the same mountain which the old man had pointed out +to me some time before. At length, on making a turn I saw a +very lofty mountain in the far distance to the south-west, a hill +right before me to the south, and, on my left, a meadow overhung +by the southern hill, in the middle of which stood a house from +which proceeded a violent barking of dogs. I would fain +have made immediately up to it for the purpose of inquiring my +way, but saw no means of doing so, a high precipitous bank lying +between it and me. I went forward and ascended the side of +the hill before me, and presently came to a path running east and +west. I followed it a little way towards the east. I +was now just above the house, and saw some children and some dogs +standing beside it. Suddenly I found myself close to a man +who stood in a hollow part of the road, from which a narrow path +led down to the house; a donkey with panniers stood beside +him. He was about fifty years of age, with a carbuncled +countenance, high but narrow forehead, grey eyebrows, and small, +malignant grey eyes. He had a white hat, with narrow eaves +and the crown partly knocked out, a torn blue coat, corduroy +breeches, long stockings and highlows. He was sucking a +cutty pipe, but seemed unable to extract any smoke from it. +He had all the appearance of a vagabond, and of a rather +dangerous vagabond. I nodded to him, and asked him in Welsh +the name of the place. He glared at me malignantly, then, +taking the pipe out of his mouth, said that he did not know, that +he had been down below to inquire and light his pipe, but could +get neither light nor answer from the children. I asked him +where he came from, but he evaded the question by asking where I +was going to.</p> + +<p>“To the Pont y Gwr Drwg,” said I.</p> + +<p>He then asked me if I was an Englishman.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said I, “I am Carn Sais;” +whereupon, with a strange mixture in his face of malignity and +contempt, he answered in English that he didn’t understand +me.</p> + +<p>“You understood me very well,” said I, without +changing my language, “till I told you I was an +Englishman. Harkee, man with the broken hat, you are one of +the bad Welsh who don’t like the English to know the +language, lest they should discover your lies and +rogueries.” He evidently understood what I said, for +he gnashed his teeth, though he said nothing. +“Well,” said I, “I shall go down to those +children and inquire the name of the house;” and I +forthwith began to descend the path, the fellow uttering a +contemptuous “humph” behind me, as much as to say, +“Much you’ll make out down there.” I soon +reached the bottom and advanced towards the house. The dogs +had all along been barking violently; as I drew near to them, +however, they ceased, and two of the largest came forward wagging +their tails. “The dogs were not barking at me,” +said I, “but at that vagabond above.” I went up +to the children; they were four in number, two boys and two +girls, all red-haired, but tolerably good-looking. They had +neither shoes nor stockings. “What is the name of +this house?” said I to the eldest, a boy about seven years +old. He looked at me, but made no answer. I repeated +my question; still there was no answer, but methought I heard a +humph of triumph from the hill. “Don’t crow +quite yet, old chap,” thought I to myself, and putting my +hand into my pocket, I took out a penny, and offering it to the +child said: “Now, small man, Peth yw y enw y lle +hwn?” Instantly the boy’s face became +intelligent, and putting out a fat little hand, he took the +ceiniog and said in an audible whisper, “Waen y +Bwlch.” “I am all right,” said I to +myself; “that is one of the names of the places which the +old ostler said I must go through.” Then addressing +myself to the child I said: “Where’s your father and +mother?”</p> + +<p>“Out on the hill,” whispered the child.</p> + +<p>“What’s your father?”</p> + +<p>“A shepherd.”</p> + +<p>“Good,” said I. “Now can you tell me +the way to the bridge of the evil man?” But the +features became blank, the finger was put to the mouth, and the +head was hung down. That question was evidently beyond the +child’s capacity. “Thank you!” said I, +and turning round I regained the path on the top of the +bank. The fellow and his donkey were still there. +“I had no difficulty,” said I, “in obtaining +information; the place’s name is Waen y Bwlch. But +oes genoch dim Cumraeg—you have no Welsh.” +Thereupon I proceeded along the path in the direction of the +east. Forthwith the fellow said something to his animal, +and both came following fast behind. I quickened my pace, +but the fellow and his beast were close in my rear. +Presently I came to a place where another path branched off to +the south. I stopped, looked at it, and then went on, but +scarcely had done so when I heard another exulting +“humph” behind. “I am going wrong,” +said I to myself; “that other path is the way to the +Devil’s Bridge, and the scamp knows it or he would not have +grunted.” Forthwith I faced round, and brushing past +the fellow without a word turned into the other path and hurried +along it. By a side glance which I cast I could see him +staring after me; presently, however, he uttered a sound very +much like a Welsh curse, and, kicking his beast, proceeded on his +way, and I saw no more of him. In a little time I came to a +slough which crossed the path. I did not like the look of +it at all, and to avoid it ventured upon some green mossy-looking +ground to the left, and had scarcely done so when I found myself +immersed to the knees in a bog. I, however, pushed forward, +and with some difficulty got to the path on the other side of the +slough. I followed the path, and in about half-an-hour saw +what appeared to be houses at a distance. “God grant +that I maybe drawing near some inhabited place!” said +I. The path now grew very miry, and there were pools of +water on either side. I moved along slowly. At length +I came to a place where some men were busy in erecting a kind of +building. I went up to the nearest and asked him the name +of the place. He had a crowbar in his hand, was half naked, +had a wry mouth and only one eye. He made me no answer, but +mowed and gibbered at me.</p> + +<p>“For God’s sake,” said I, “don’t +do so, but tell me where I am!” He still uttered no +word, but mowed and gibbered yet more frightfully than +before. As I stood staring at him another man came to me +and said in broken English: “It is of no use speaking to +him, sir, he is deaf and dumb.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad he is no worse,” said I, “for I +really thought he was possessed with the evil one. My good +person, can you tell me the name of this place?”</p> + +<p>“Esgyrn Hirion, sir,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Esgyrn Hirion,” said I to myself; “Esgyrn +means ‘bones,’ and Hirion means +‘long.’ I am doubtless at the place which the +old ostler called Long Bones. I shouldn’t wonder if I +get to the Devil’s Bridge to-night after all.” +I then asked the man if he could tell me the way to the bridge of +the evil man, but he shook his head and said that he had never +heard of such a place, adding, however, that he would go with me +to one of the overseers, who could perhaps direct me. He +then proceeded towards a row of buildings, which were, in fact, +those objects which I had guessed to be houses in the +distance. He led me to a corner house, at the door of which +stood a middle-aged man, dressed in a grey coat, and saying to +me, “This person is an overseer,” returned to his +labour. I went up to the man, and, saluting him in English, +asked whether he could direct me to the Devil’s Bridge, or +rather to Pont Erwyd.</p> + +<p>“It would be of no use directing you, sir,” said +he, “for with all the directions in the world it would be +impossible for you to find the way. You would not have left +these premises five minutes before you would be in a maze without +knowing which way to turn. Where do you come +from?”</p> + +<p>“From Machynlleth,” I replied.</p> + +<p>“From Machynlleth!” said he. “Well, I +only wonder you ever got here, but it would be madness to go +farther alone.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “can I obtain a +guide?”</p> + +<p>“I really don’t know,” said he; “I am +afraid all the men are engaged.”</p> + +<p>As we were speaking a young man made his appearance at the +door from the interior of the house. He was dressed in a +brown short coat, had a glazed hat on his head, and had a pale +but very intelligent countenance.</p> + +<p>“What is the matter?” said he to the other +man.</p> + +<p>“This gentleman,” replied the latter, “is +going to Pont Erwyd, and wants a guide.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the young man, “we must find +him one. It will never do to let him go by +himself.”</p> + +<p>“If you can find me a guide,” said I, “I +shall be happy to pay him for his trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you can do as you please about that,” said +the young man; “but, pay or not, we would never suffer you +to leave this place without a guide, and as much for our own sake +as yours; for the directors of the Company would never forgive us +if they heard we had suffered a gentleman to leave these premises +without a guide, more especially if he were lost, as it is a +hundred to one you would be if you went by yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Pray,” said I, “what Company is this, the +directors of which are so solicitous about the safety of +strangers?”</p> + +<p>“The Potosi Mining Company,” said he, “the +richest in all Wales. But pray walk in and sit down, for +you must be tired.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXI</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Mining Compting Room—Native of +Aberystwyth—Story of a Bloodhound—The Young +Girls—The Miner’s Tale—Gwen Frwd—The +Terfyn.</p> + +<p>I followed the young man with the glazed hat into a room, the +other man following behind me. He of the glazed hat made me +sit down before a turf fire, apologising for its smoking very +much. The room seemed half compting-room, half +apartment. There was a wooden desk with a ledger upon it by +the window, which looked to the west, and a camp bedstead +extended from the southern wall nearly up to the desk. +After I had sat for about a minute, the young man asked me if I +would take any refreshment. I thanked him for his kind +offer, which I declined, saying, however, that if he would obtain +me a guide I should feel much obliged. He turned to the +other man and told him to go and inquire whether there was any +one who would be willing to go. The other nodded, and +forthwith went out.</p> + +<p>“You think, then,” said I, “that I could not +find the way by myself?”</p> + +<p>“I am sure of it,” said he, “for even the +people best acquainted with the country frequently lose their +way. But I must tell you, that if we do find you a guide, +it will probably be one who has no English.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” said I, “I have enough Welsh +to hold a common discourse.”</p> + +<p>A fine girl about fourteen now came in, and began bustling +about.</p> + +<p>“Who is this young lady?” said I.</p> + +<p>“The daughter of a captain of a neighbouring +mine,” said he; “she frequently comes here with +messages, and is always ready to do a turn about the house, for +she is very handy.”</p> + +<p>“Has she any English?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Not a word,” he replied. “The young +people of these hills have no English, except they go abroad to +learn it.”</p> + +<p>“What hills are these?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Part of the Plynlimmon range,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Dear me,” said I, “am I near +Plynlimmon?”</p> + +<p>“Not very far from it,” said the young man, +“and you will be nearer when you reach Pont +Erwyd.”</p> + +<p>“Are you a native of these parts?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I am not,” he replied; “I am a native of +Aberystwyth, a place on the sea-coast about a dozen miles from +here.”</p> + +<p>“This seems to be a cold, bleak spot,” said I; +“is it healthy?”</p> + +<p>“I have reason to say so,” said he; “for I +came here from Aberystwyth about four months ago very unwell, and +am now perfectly recovered. I do not believe there is a +healthier spot in all Wales.”</p> + +<p>We had some further discourse. I mentioned to him the +adventure which I had on the hill with the fellow with the +donkey. The young man said that he had no doubt that he was +some prowling thief.</p> + +<p>“The dogs of the shepherd’s house,” said I, +“didn’t seem to like him, and dogs generally know an +evil customer. A long time ago I chanced to be in a posada, +or inn, at Valladolid in Spain. One hot summer’s +afternoon I was seated in a corridor which ran round a large open +court in the middle of the inn; a fine yellow, three-parts-grown +bloodhound was lying on the ground beside me with whom I had been +playing, a little time before. I was just about to fall +asleep, when I heard a ‘hem’ at the outward door of +the posada, which was a long way below at the end of a passage +which communicated with the court. Instantly the hound +started upon his legs, and with a loud yell, and with eyes +flashing fire, ran nearly round the corridor, down a flight of +steps, and through the passage to the gate. There was then +a dreadful noise, in which the cries of a human being and the +yells of the hound were blended. I forthwith started up and +ran down, followed by several other guests, who came rushing out +of their chambers round the corridor. At the gate we saw a +man on the ground and the hound trying to strangle him. It +was with the greatest difficulty, and chiefly through the +intervention of the master of the dog, who happened to be +present, that the animal could be made to quit his hold. +The assailed person was a very powerful man, but had an evil +countenance, was badly dressed, and had neither hat, shoes nor +stockings. We raised him up and gave him wine, which he +drank greedily, and presently, without saying a word, +disappeared. The guests said they had no doubt that he was +a murderer flying from justice, and that the dog by his instinct, +even at a distance, knew him to be such. The master said +that it was the first time that the dog had ever attacked any one +or shown the slightest symptom of ferocity. Not the least +singular part of the matter was, that the dog did not belong to +the house, but to one of the guests from a distant village; the +creature therefore could not consider itself the house’s +guardian.”</p> + +<p>I had scarcely finished my tale when the other man came in and +said that he had found a guide, a young man from Pont Erwyd, who +would be glad of such an opportunity to go and see his parents, +that he was then dressing himself, and would shortly make his +appearance. In about twenty minutes he did so. He was +a stout young fellow with a coarse blue coat, and coarse white +felt hat; he held a stick in his hand. The kind young +book-keeper now advised us to set out without delay, as the day +was drawing to a close and the way was long. I shook him by +the hand, told him that I should never forget his civility, and +departed with the guide.</p> + +<p>The fine young girl, whom I have already mentioned, and +another about two years younger, departed with us. They +were dressed in the graceful female attire of old Wales.</p> + +<p>We bore to the south down a descent, and came to some moory, +quaggy ground intersected with water-courses. The agility +of the young girls surprised me; they sprang over the +water-courses, some of which were at least four feet wide, with +the ease and alacrity of lawns. After a short time we came +to a road, which, however, we did not long reap the benefit of, +as it only led to a mine. Seeing a house on the top of a +hill, I asked my guide whose it was.</p> + +<p>“Ty powdr,” said he, “a powder house,” +by which I supposed he meant a magazine of powder used for +blasting in the mines. He had not a word of English. . If +the young girls were nimble with their feet, they were not less +so with their tongues, as they kept up an incessant gabble with +each other and with the guide. I understood little of what +they said, their volubility preventing me from catching more than +a few words. After we had gone about two miles and a half, +they darted away with surprising swiftness down a hill towards a +distant house, where, as I learned from my guide, the father of +the eldest lived. We ascended a hill, passed between two +craggy elevations, and then wended to the south-east over a +strange, miry place, in which I thought any one at night not +acquainted with every inch of the way would run imminent risk of +perishing. I entered into conversation with my guide. +After a little time he asked me if I was a Welshman. I told +him no.</p> + +<p>“You could teach many a Welshman,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Why do you think so?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Because many of your words are quite above my +comprehension,” said he.</p> + +<p>“No great compliment,” thought I to myself; but +putting a good face upon the matter I told him that I knew a +great many old Welsh words.</p> + +<p>“Is Potosi an old Welsh word?” said he.</p> + +<p>“No,” said I; “it is the name of a mine in +the Deheubarth of America.”</p> + +<p>“Is it a lead mine?”</p> + +<p>“No!” said I, “it is a silver +mine.”</p> + +<p>“Then why do they call our mine, which is a lead mine, +by the name of a silver mine?”</p> + +<p>“Because they wish to give people to understand,” +said I, “that it is very rich—as rich in lead as +Potosi in silver. Potosi is, or was, the richest silver +mine in the world, and from it has come at least one half of the +silver which we use in the shape of money and other +things.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said he, “I have frequently asked, +but could never learn before why our mine was called +Potosi.”</p> + +<p>“You did not ask at the right quarter,” said I; +“the young man with the glazed hat could have told you as +well as I.” I inquired why the place where the mine +was bore the name of Esgyrn Hirion or Long Bones. He told +me that he did not know, but believed that the bones of a cawr or +giant had been found there in ancient times. I asked him if +the mine was deep.</p> + +<p>“Very deep,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“Do you like the life of a miner?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Very much,” said he, “and should like it +more, but for the noises of the hill.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean the powder blasts?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh no!” said he, “I care nothing for them; +I mean the noises made by the spirits of the hill in the +mine. Sometimes they make such noises as frighten the poor +fellow who works underground out of his senses. Once on a +time I was working by myself very deep underground, in a little +chamber to which a very deep shaft led. I had just taken up +my light to survey my work, when all of a sudden I heard a +dreadful rushing noise, as if an immense quantity of earth had +come tumbling down. ‘Oh God!’ said I, and fell +backwards, letting the light fall, which instantly went +out. I thought the whole shaft had given way, and that I +was buried alive. I lay for several hours half stupefied, +thinking now and then what a dreadful thing it was to be buried +alive. At length I thought I would get up, go to the mouth +of the shaft, feel the mould, with which it was choked up, and +then come back, lie down, and die. So I got up and tottered +to the mouth of the shaft, put out my hand and +felt—nothing; all was clear. I went forward, and +presently felt the ladder. Nothing had fallen; all was just +the same as when I came down. I was dreadfully afraid that +I should never be able to get up in the dark without breaking my +neck; however, I tried, and at last, with a great deal of toil +and danger, got to a place where other men were working. +The noise was caused by the spirits of the hill in the hope of +driving the miner out of his senses. They very nearly +succeeded. I shall never forget how I felt when I thought I +was buried alive. If it were not for those noises in the +hill, the life of a miner would be quite heaven below.”</p> + +<p>We came to a cottage standing under a hillock, down the side +of which tumbled a streamlet close by the northern side of the +building. The door was open, and inside were two or three +females and some children. “Have you any +enwyn?” said the lad, peeping in.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes!” said a voice—“digon! +digon!” Presently a buxom, laughing girl brought out +two dishes of buttermilk, one of which she handed to me and the +other to the guide. I asked her the name of the place.</p> + +<p>“Gwen Frwd—the ‘Fair Rivulet,’” +said she.</p> + +<p>“Who lives here?”</p> + +<p>“A shepherd.”</p> + +<p>“Have you any English?”</p> + +<p>“Nagos!” said she, bursting into a loud +laugh. “What should we do with English here?” +After we had drunk the buttermilk I offered the girl some money, +but she drew back her hand angrily, and said: “We +don’t take money from tired strangers for two drops of +buttermilk; there’s plenty within, and there are a thousand +ewes on the hill. Farvel!”</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” thought I to myself as I walked away; +“that I should once in my days have found shepherd life +something as poets have represented it!”</p> + +<p>I saw a mighty mountain at a considerable distance on the +right, the same I believe which I had noted some hours +before. I inquired of my guide whether it was +Plynlimmon.</p> + +<p>“Oh no!” said he, “that is Gaverse; +Pumlimmon is to the left.”</p> + +<p>“Plynlimmon is a famed hill,” said I; “I +suppose it is very high.”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” said he, “it is high; but it is not +famed because it is high, but because the three grand rivers of +the world issue from its breast, the Hafren, the Rheidol, and the +Gwy.”</p> + +<p>Night was now coming rapidly on, attended with a drizzling +rain. I inquired if we were far from Pont Erwyd. +“About a mile,” said my guide; “we shall soon +be there.” We quickened our pace. After a +little time he asked me if I was going farther than Pont +Erwyd.</p> + +<p>“I am bound for the bridge of the evil man,” said +I; “but I daresay I shall stop at Pont Erwyd +to-night.”</p> + +<p>“You will do right,” said he; “it is only +three miles from Pont Erwyd to the bridge of the evil man, but I +think we shall have a stormy night.”</p> + +<p>“When I get to Pont Erwyd,” said I, “how far +shall I be from South Wales?”</p> + +<p>“From South Wales!” said he; “you are in +South Wales now; you passed the Terfyn of North Wales a quarter +of an hour ago.”</p> + +<p>The rain now fell fast and there was so thick a mist that I +could only see a few yards before me. We descended into a +valley, at the bottom of which I heard a river roaring.</p> + +<p>“That’s the Rheidol,” said my guide, +“coming from Pumlimmon, swollen with rain.”</p> + +<p>Without descending to the river, we turned aside up a hill, +and, after passing by a few huts, came to a large house, which my +guide told me was the inn of Pont Erwyd.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Consequential +Landlord—Cheek—Darfel Gatherel—Dafydd +Nanmor—Sheep Farms—Wholesome Advice—The Old +Postman—The Plant de Bat—The Robber’s +Cavern.</p> + +<p>My guide went to a side door, and opening it without ceremony +went in. I followed and found myself in a spacious and +comfortable-looking kitchen: a large fire blazed in a huge grate, +on one side of which was a settle; plenty of culinary utensils, +both pewter and copper, hung around on the walls, and several +goodly rows of hams and sides of bacon were suspended from the +roof. There were several people present, some on the settle +and others on chairs in the vicinity of the fire. As I +advanced, a man arose from a chair and came towards me. He +was about thirty-five years of age, well and strongly made, with +a fresh complexion, a hawk nose, and a keen grey eye. He +wore top-boots and breeches, a half jockey coat, and had a round +cap made of the skin of some animal on his head.</p> + +<p>“Servant, sir!” said he in rather a sharp tone, +and surveying me with something of a supercilious air.</p> + +<p>“Your most obedient humble servant!” said I; +“I presume you are the landlord of this house.”</p> + +<p>“Landlord!” said he, “landlord! It is +true I receive guests sometimes into my house, but I do so solely +with the view of accommodating them; I do not depend upon +innkeeping for a livelihood. I hire the principal part of +the land in this neighbourhood.”</p> + +<p>“If that be the case,” said I, “I had better +continue my way to the Devil’s Bridge; I am not at all +tired, and I believe it is not very far distant.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, as you are here,” said the farmer-landlord, +“I hope you will stay. I should be very sorry if any +gentleman should leave my house at night after coming with an +intention of staying, more especially in a night like this. +Martha!” said he, turning to a female between thirty and +forty—who I subsequently learned was the +mistress—“prepare the parlour instantly for this +gentleman, and don’t fail to make up a good +fire.”</p> + +<p>Martha forthwith hurried away, attended by a much younger +female.</p> + +<p>“Till your room is prepared, sir,” said he, +“perhaps you will have no objection to sit down before our +fire?”</p> + +<p>“Not the least,” said I; “nothing gives me +greater pleasure than to sit before a kitchen fire. First +of all, however, I must settle with my guide, and likewise see +that he has something to eat and drink.”</p> + +<p>“Shall I interpret for you?” said the landlord; +“the lad has not a word of English; I know him +well.”</p> + +<p>“I have not been under his guidance for the last three +hours,” said I, “without knowing that he cannot speak +English; but I want no interpreter.”</p> + +<p>“You do not mean to say, sir,” said the landlord, +with a surprised and dissatisfied air, “that you understand +Welsh?”</p> + +<p>I made no answer, but turning to the guide thanked him for his +kindness, and giving him some money asked him if it was +enough.</p> + +<p>“More than enough, sir,” said the lad; “I +did not expect half as much. Farewell!”</p> + +<p>He was then about to depart, but I prevented him saying:</p> + +<p>“You must not go till you have eaten and drunk. +What will you have?”</p> + +<p>“Merely a cup of ale, sir,” said the lad.</p> + +<p>“That won’t do,” said I; “you shall +have bread and cheese and as much ale as you can drink. +Pray,” said I to the landlord, “let this young man +have some bread and cheese and a large quart of ale.”</p> + +<p>The landlord looked at me for a moment, then turning to the +lad he said:</p> + +<p>“What do you think of that, Shon? It is some time +since you had a quart of ale to your own cheek.”</p> + +<p>“Cheek,” said I—“cheek! Is that +a Welsh word? Surely it is an importation from the English, +and not a very genteel one.”</p> + +<p>“Oh come, sir!” said the landlord, “we can +dispense with your criticisms. A pretty thing indeed for +you, on the strength of knowing half-a-dozen words of Welsh, to +set up for a Welsh critic in the house of a person who knows the +ancient British language perfectly.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said I, “how fortunate I am! a +person thoroughly versed in the ancient British language is what +I have long wished to see. Pray what is the meaning of +Darfel Gatherel?”</p> + +<p>“Oh sir!” said the landlord, “you must +answer that question yourself; I don’t pretend to +understand gibberish!”</p> + +<p>“Darfel Gatherel,” said I, “is not +gibberish; it was the name of the great wooden image at Ty Dewi, +or Saint David’s, in Pembrokeshire, to which thousands of +pilgrims in the days of popery used to repair for the purpose of +adoring it, and which at the time of the Reformation was sent up +to London as a curiosity, where it eventually served as firewood +to burn the monk Forrest upon, who was sentenced to the stake by +Henry the Eighth for denying his supremacy. What I want to +know is, the meaning of the name, which I could never get +explained, but which you who know the ancient British language +perfectly can doubtless interpret.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir,” said the landlord, “when I said I +knew the British language perfectly, I perhaps went too far there +are, of course, some obsolete terms in the British tongue, which +I don’t understand. Dar, Dar—what is it? +Darmod Cotterel amongst the rest; but to a general knowledge of +the Welsh language I think I may lay some pretensions; were I not +well acquainted with it, I should not have carried off the prize +at various eisteddfodau, as I have done. I am a poet, +sir—a prydydd.”</p> + +<p>“It is singular enough,” said I, “that the +only two Welsh poets I have seen have been innkeepers—one +is yourself, the other a person I met in Anglesey. I +suppose the Muse is fond of cwrw da.”</p> + +<p>“You would fain be pleasant, sir,” said the +landlord; “but I beg leave to inform you that I am not fond +of pleasantries; and now, as my wife and the servant are +returned, I will have the pleasure of conducting you to the +parlour.”</p> + +<p>“Before I go,” said I, “I should like to see +my guide provided with what I ordered.” I stayed till +the lad was accommodated with bread and cheese and a foaming +tankard of ale, and then bidding him farewell, I followed the +landlord into the parlour, where I found a fire kindled, which, +however, smoked exceedingly. I asked my host what I could +have for supper, and was told that he did not know, but that if I +would leave the matter to him he would send the best he +could. As he was going away, I said: “So you are a +poet? Well, I am very glad to hear it, for I have been fond +of Welsh poetry from my boyhood. What kind of verse do you +employ in general? Did you ever write an awdl in the +four-and-twenty measures? What are the themes of your +songs? The deeds of the ancient heroes of South Wales, I +suppose, and the hospitality of the great men of the +neighbourhood who receive you as an honoured guest at their +tables. I’ll bet a guinea that however clever a +fellow you may be you never sang anything in praise of your +landlord’s housekeeping equal to what Dafydd Nanmor sang in +praise of that of Ryce of Twyn four hundred years ago:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>‘For Ryce if hundred thousands +plough’d<br /> +The lands around his fair abode;<br /> +Did vines of thousand vineyards bleed,<br /> +Still corn and wine great Ryce would need;<br /> +If all the earth had bread’s sweet savour,<br /> +And water all had cyder’s flavour,<br /> +Three roaring feasts in Ryce’s hall<br /> +Would swallow earth and ocean all.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Hey?”</p> + +<p>“Really, sir,” said the landlord, “I +don’t know how to reply to you, for the greater part of +your discourse is utterly unintelligible to me. Perhaps you +are a better Welshman than myself; but however that may be, I +shall take the liberty of retiring in order to give orders about +your supper.”</p> + +<p>In about half-an-hour the supper made its appearance in the +shape of some bacon and eggs. On tasting them I found them +very good, and calling for some ale I made a very tolerable +supper. After the things had been removed I drew near to +the fire, but as it still smoked, I soon betook myself to the +kitchen. My guide had taken his departure, but the others +whom I had left were still there. The landlord was talking +in Welsh to a man in a rough great-coat, about sheep. +Setting himself down near the fire I called for a glass of +whiskey and water, and then observing that the landlord and his +friend had suddenly become silent, I said: “Pray go on with +your discourse; don’t let me be any hindrance to +you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir!” said the landlord snappishly, +“go on with our discourse for your edification, I +suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “suppose it is for my +edification; surely you don’t grudge a stranger a little +edification which will cost you nothing?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that, sir,” said the landlord; +“I don’t know that. Really, sir, the kitchen is +not the place for a gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is,” said I, “provided the parlour +smokes. Come, come, I am going to have a glass of whiskey +and water; perhaps you will take one with me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir!” said the landlord, in rather a +softened tone, “I have no objection to take a glass with +you.”</p> + +<p>Two glasses of whiskey and water were presently brought, and +the landlord and I drank to each other’s health.</p> + +<p>“Is this a sheep district?” said I, after a pause +of a minute or two.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said the landlord; “it may to a +certain extent be called a sheep district.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose the Southdown and Norfolk breeds would not do +for these here parts,” said I, with a regular Norfolk +whine.</p> + +<p>“No, sir, I don’t think they would exactly,” +said the landlord, staring at me. “Do you know +anything about sheep?”</p> + +<p>“Plenty, plenty,” said I; “quite as much +indeed as about Welsh words and poetry.” Then in a +yet more whining tone than before, I said: “Do you think +that a body with money in his pocket could hire a nice +comfortable sheep farm hereabouts?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir!” said the landlord in a furious tone, +“you have come to look out for a farm, I see, and to outbid +us poor Welshmen: it is on that account you have studied Welsh; +but, sir, I would have you know—”</p> + +<p>“Come!” said I, “don’t be afraid; I +wouldn’t have all the farms in your country, provided you +would tie them in a string and offer them to me. If I +talked about a farm, it was because I am in the habit of talking +about everything, being versed in all matters, do you see, or +affecting to be so, which comes much to the same thing. My +real business in this neighbourhood is to see the Devil’s +Bridge and the scenery about it.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, sir,” said the landlord; “I +thought so at first. A great many English go to see the +Devil’s Bridge and the scenery near it, though I really +don’t know why, for there is nothing so very particular in +either. We have a bridge here too, quite as good as the +Devil’s Bridge; and as for scenery, I’ll back the +scenery about this house against anything of the kind in the +neighbourhood of the Devil’s Bridge. Yet everybody +goes to the Devil’s Bridge and nobody comes +here!”</p> + +<p>“You might easily bring everybody here,” said I, +“if you would but employ your talent. You should +celebrate the wonders of your neighbourhood in cowydds, and you +would soon have plenty of visitors; but you don’t want +them, you know, and prefer to be without them.”</p> + +<p>The landlord looked at me for a moment, then taking sip of his +whiskey and water he turned to the man with whom he had +previously been talking and recommenced the discourse about +sheep. I make no doubt, however, that I was a restraint +upon them; they frequently glanced at me, and soon fell to +whispering. At last both got up and left the room, the +landlord finishing his glass of whiskey and water before he went +away.</p> + +<p>“So you are going to the Devil’s Bridge, +sir!” said an elderly man, dressed in a grey coat, with a +broad-brimmed hat, who sat on the settle smoking a pipe in +company with another elderly man with a leather hat, with whom I +had heard him discourse sometimes in Welsh, sometimes in English, +the Welsh which he spoke being rather broken.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I, “I am going to have a sight +of the bridge and the neighbouring scenery.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, I don’t think you will be +disappointed, for both are wonderful.”</p> + +<p>“Are you a Welshman?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No, sir, I am not; I am an Englishman from Durham, +which is the best county in England.”</p> + +<p>“So it is,” said I—“for some things at +any rate. For example, where do you find such beef as in +Durham?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, where indeed, sir? I have always said that +neither the Devonshire nor the Lincolnshire beef is to be named +in the same day with that of Durham.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “what business do you follow +in these parts? I suppose you farm?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, I do not; I am what they call a mining +captain.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose that gentleman,” said I, motioning to +the man in the leather hat, “is not from Durham?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, he is not; he is from this +neighbourhood.”</p> + +<p>“And does he follow mining?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, he does not; he carries about the +letters.”</p> + +<p>“Is your mine near this place?”</p> + +<p>“Not very, sir; it is nearer the Devil’s +Bridge.”</p> + +<p>“Why is the bridge called the Devil’s +Bridge?” said</p> + +<p>“Because, sir, ’tis said that the Devil built it +in the old time, though that I can hardly believe; for the Devil, +do ye see, delights in nothing but mischief, and it is not likely +that such being the case he would have built a thing which must +have been of wonderful service to people by enabling them to pass +in safety over a dreadful gulf.”</p> + +<p>“I have heard,” said the old postman with the +leather hat, “that the Devil had no hand in de work at all, +but that it was built by a Mynach, or monk, on which account de +river over which de bridge is built is called Afon y +Mynach—dat is de Monk’s River.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever hear,” said I, “of three +creatures who lived a long time ago near the Devil’s +Bridge, called the Plant de Bat?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, master!” said the old postman, “I do +see that you have been in these parts before; had you not, you +would not know of the Plant de Bat.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said I, “I have never been here +before; but I heard of them when I was a boy, from a Cumro who +taught me Welsh, and had lived for some time in these +parts. Well, what do they say here about the Plant de Bat? +for he who mentioned them to me could give me no further +information about them than that they were horrid creatures who +lived in a cave near the Devil’s Bridge several hundred +years ago.”</p> + +<p>“Well, master,” said the old postman, thrusting +his forefinger twice or thrice into the bowl of his pipe, +“I will tell you what they says here about the Plant de +Bat. In de old time—two, three hundred year +ago—a man lived somewhere about here called Bat or +Bartholomew; this man had three children, two boys and one girl, +who, because their father’s name was Bat, were generally +called ‘Plant de Bat,’ or Bat’s children. +Very wicked children they were from their cradle, giving their +father and mother much trouble and uneasiness; no good in any one +of them, neither in the boys nor the girl. Now the boys, +once when they were rambling idly about, lighted by chance upon a +cave near the Devil’s Bridge. Very strange cave it +was, with just one little hole at top to go in by; so the boys +said to one another: ‘Nice cave this for thief to live +in. Suppose we come here when we are a little more big and +turn thief ourselves.’ Well, they waited till they +were a little more big, and then leaving their father’s +house they came to de cave and turned thief, lying snug there all +day and going out at night to rob upon the roads. Well, +there was soon much talk in the country about the robberies which +were being committed, and people often went out in search of de +thieves, but all in vain; and no wonder, for they were in a cave +very hard to light upon, having, as I said before, merely one +little hole at top to go in by. So, Bat’s boys went +on swimmingly for a long time, lying snug in cave by day and +going out at night to rob, letting no one know where they were +but their sister, who was as bad as themselves, and used to come +to them and bring them food and stay with them for weeks, and +sometimes go out and rob with them. But as de pitcher which +goes often to de well comes home broke at last, so it happened +with Bat’s children. After robbing people upon the +roads by night many a long year and never being found out, they +at last met one great gentleman upon the roads by night and not +only robbed, but killed him, leaving his body all cut and gashed +near to Devil’s Bridge. That job was the ruin of +Plant de Bat, for the great gentleman’s friends gathered +together and hunted after his murderers with dogs, and at length +came to the cave, and going in, found it stocked with riches, and +the Plant de Bat sitting upon the riches, not only the boys but +the girl also. So they took out the riches and the Plant de +Bat, and the riches they did give to churches and spyttys, and +the Plant de Bat they did execute, hanging the boys and burning +the girl. That, master, is what they says in dese parts +about the Plant de Bat.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you!” said I. “Is the cave yet +to be seen?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes! it is yet to be seen, or part of it, for it is +not now what it was, having been partly flung open to hinder +other thieves from nestling in it. It is on the bank of the +river Mynach, just before it joins the Rheidol. Many +gentlefolk in de summer go to see the Plant de Bat’s +cave.”</p> + +<p>“Are you sure,” said I, “that Plant de Bat +means Bat’s children?”</p> + +<p>“I am not sure, master; I merely says what I have heard +other people say. I believe some says that it means +‘the wicked children,’ or ‘the Devil’s +children.’ And now, master, we may as well have done +with them, for should you question me through the whole night, I +could tell you nothing more about the Plant de Bat.”</p> + +<p>After a little further discourse, chiefly about sheep and the +weather, I retired to the parlour, where the fire was now burning +brightly; seating myself before it, I remained for a considerable +time staring at the embers and thinking over the events of the +day. At length I rang the bell and begged to be shown to my +chamber, where I soon sank to sleep, lulled by the pattering of +rain against the window and the sound of a neighbouring +cascade.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Wild Scenery—Awful Chasm—John +Greaves—Durham County—Queen Philippa—The Two +Aldens—Welsh Wife—The Noblest Business—The +Welsh and the Salve—The Lad John.</p> + +<p>A rainy and boisterous night was succeeded by a bright and +beautiful morning. I arose and having ordered breakfast +went forth to see what kind of country I had got into. I +found myself amongst wild, strange-looking hills, not, however, +of any particular height. The house, which seemed to front +the east, stood on the side of a hill, on a wide platform +abutting on a deep and awful chasm, at the bottom of which chafed +and foamed the Rheidol. This river enters the valley of +Pont Erwyd from the north-west, then makes a variety of +snake-like turns, and at last bears away to the south-east just +below the inn. The banks are sheer walls, from sixty to a +hundred feet high, and the bed of the river has all the +appearance of a volcanic rent. A brook, running from the +south past the inn, tumbles into the chasm at an angle, and forms +the cascade whose sound had lulled me to sleep the preceding +night.</p> + +<p>After breakfasting I paid my bill, and set out for the +Devil’s Bridge without seeing anything more of that +remarkable personage in whom were united landlord, farmer, poet, +and mighty fine gentleman—the master of the house. I +soon reached the bottom of the valley, where are a few houses and +the bridge from which the place takes its name, Pont Erwyd +signifying the bridge of Erwyd. As I was looking over the +bridge, near which are two or three small waterfalls, an elderly +man in a grey coat, followed by a young lad and dog, came down +the road which I had myself just descended.</p> + +<p>“Good day, sir,” said he, stopping, when he came +upon the bridge. “I suppose you are bound my +road?”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said I, recognising the old mining captain +with whom I had talked in the kitchen the night before, “is +it you? I am glad to see you. Yes, I am bound your +way, provided you are going to the Devil’s +Bridge.”</p> + +<p>“Then, sir, we can go together, for I am bound to my +mine, which lies only a little way t’other side of the +Devil’s Bridge.”</p> + +<p>Crossing the bridge of Erwyd, we directed our course to the +south-east.</p> + +<p>“What young man is that,” said I, “who is +following behind us?”</p> + +<p>“The young man, sir, is my son John, and the dog with +him is his dog Joe.”</p> + +<p>“And what may your name be, if I may take the liberty of +asking?”</p> + +<p>“Greaves, sir; John Greaves from the county of +Durham.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! a capital county that,” said I.</p> + +<p>“You like the county, sir? God bless you! +John!” said he in a loud voice, turning to the lad, +“why don’t you offer to carry the gentleman’s +knapsack?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t let him trouble himself,” said +I. “As I was just now saying, a capital county is +Durham county.”</p> + +<p>“You really had better let the boy carry your bag, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said I, “I would rather carry it +myself. I question upon the whole whether there is a better +county in England.”</p> + +<p>“Is it long since your honour was in Durham +county?”</p> + +<p>“A good long time. A matter of forty +years.”</p> + +<p>“Forty years!—why that’s the life of a +man. That’s longer than I have been out of the county +myself. I suppose your honour can’t remember much +about the county.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I can! I remember a good deal.”</p> + +<p>“Please, your honour, tell me what you remember about +the county. It would do me good to hear it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I remember it was a very fine county in more +respects than one. One part of it was full of big hills and +mountains, where there were mines of coal and lead, with mighty +works with tall chimneys spouting out black smoke, and engines +roaring, and big wheels going round, some turned by steam, and +others by what they call forces, that is, brooks of water dashing +down steep channels. Another part was a more level country, +with beautiful woods, happy-looking farm-houses well-filled +fields and rich, glorious meadows, in which stood stately, with +brown sides and short horns, the Durham ox.”</p> + +<p>“Oh dear, oh dear!” said my companion. +“Ah! I see your honour knows everything about Durham +county. Forces? none but one who had been in Durham county +would have used that word. I haven’t heard it for +five-and-thirty years. Forces! there was a force close to +my village. I wonder if your honour has ever been in Durham +city?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes! I have been there.”</p> + +<p>“Does your honour remember anything about Durham +city?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes! I remember a good deal about +it.”</p> + +<p>“Then, your honour, pray tell us what you remember about +it—pray do I perhaps it will do me good.”</p> + +<p>“Well then, I remember that it was a fine old city +standing on a hill with a river running under it, and that it had +a fine old church, one of the finest in the whole of Britain; likewise +a fine old castle; and last, not least, a capital old inn, where +I got a capital dinner off roast Durham beef, and a capital glass +of ale, which I believe was the cause, of my being ever after +fond of ale.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me! Ah, I see your honour knows all about +Durham city. And now let me ask one question. How +came your honour to Durham, city and county? I don’t +think your honour is a Durham man either of town or +field.”</p> + +<p>“I am not; but when I was a little boy I passed through +Durham county with my mother and brother to a place called +Scotland.”</p> + +<p>“Scotland! a queer country that, your honour!”</p> + +<p>“So it is,” said I; “a queerer country I +never saw in all my life.”</p> + +<p>“And a queer set of people, your honour.”</p> + +<p>“So they are,” said I; “a queerer set of +people than the Scotch you would scarcely see in a summer’s +day.”</p> + +<p>“The Durham folks, neither of town or field, have much +reason to speak well of the Scotch, your honour.”</p> + +<p>“I dare say not,” said I; “very few people +have.”</p> + +<p>“And yet the Durham folks, your honour, generally +contrived to give them as good as they brought.”</p> + +<p>“That they did,” said I; “a pretty licking +the Durham folks once gave the Scots under the walls of Durham +city, after the scamps had been plundering the country for three +weeks—a precious licking they gave them, slaying I +don’t know how many thousands, and taking their king +prisoner.”</p> + +<p>“So they did, your honour, and under the command of a +woman too.”</p> + +<p>“Very true,” said I; “Queen +Philippa.”</p> + +<p>“Just so, your honour! The idea that your honour +should know so much about Durham, both field and town!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “since I have told you so +much about Durham, perhaps you will tell me something about +yourself. How did you come here?”</p> + +<p>“I had better begin from the beginning, your +honour. I was born in Durham county close beside the Great +Force, which no doubt your honour has seen. My father was a +farmer, and had a bit of a share in a mining concern. I was +brought up from my childhood both to farming and mining work, but +most to mining, because, do you see, I took most pleasure in it, +being the more noble business of the two. Shortly after I +had come to man’s estate my father died, leaving me a +decent little property, whereupon I forsook farming altogether +and gave myself up, body, soul, and capital, to mining, which at +last I thoroughly understand in all its branches. Well, +your honour, about five-and-thirty years ago—that was when +I was about twenty-eight—a cry went through the north +country that a great deal of money might be made by opening +Wales, that is, by mining in Wales in the proper fashion, which +means the north country fashion, for there is no other fashion of +mining good for much. There had long been mines in Wales, +but they had always been worked in a poor, weak, languid manner, +very different from that of the north country. So a company +was formed, at the head of which were the Aldens, George and +Thomas, for opening Wales, and they purchased certain mines in +these districts which they knew to be productive, and which might +be made yet more so, and settling down here called themselves the +Rheidol United. Well, after they had been here a little +time they found themselves in want of a man to superintend their +concerns, above all in the smelting department. So they +thought of me, who was known to most of the mining gentry in the +north country, and they made a proposal to me through George +Alden, afterwards Sir George, to come here and superintend. +I said no at first, for I didn’t like the idea of leaving +Durham county to come to such an outlandish place as Wales; +howsomeover, I at last allowed myself to be overpersuaded by +George Alden, afterwards Sir George, and here I came with my wife +and family—for I must tell your honour I had married a +respectable young woman of Durham county, by whom I had two +little ones—here I came and did my best for the service of +the Rheidol United. The company was terribly set to it for +a long time, spending a mint of money and getting very poor +returns. To my certain knowledge, the two Aldens, George +and Tom, spent between them thirty thousand pounds. The +company, however, persevered, chiefly at the instigation of the +Aldens, who were in the habit of saying, ‘Never say +die!’ and at last got the better of all their difficulties +and rolled in riches, and had the credit of being the first +company that ever opened Wales, which they richly deserved, for I +will uphold it that the Rheidol United, particularly the Aldens, +George and Thomas, were the first people who really opened +Wales. In their service I have been for five-and-thirty +years, and daresay shall continue so till I die. I have +been tolerably comfortable, your honour, though I have had my +griefs, the bitterest of which was the death of my wife, which +happened about eight years after I came to this country. I +thought I should have gone wild at first, your honour; having, +however, always plenty to do, I at last got the better of my +affliction. I continued single till my English family grew +up and left me, when, feeling myself rather lonely, I married a +decent young Welshwoman, by whom I had one son, the lad John who +is following behind with his dog Joe. And now your honour +knows the whole story of John Greaves, miner from the county of +Durham.”</p> + +<p>“And a most entertaining and instructive history it +is,” said I. “You have not told me, however, +how you contrived to pick up Welsh: I heard you speaking it last +night with the postman.”</p> + +<p>“Why, through my Welsh wife, your honour! Without +her I don’t think I should ever have picked up the Welsh +manner of discoursing—she is a good kind of woman, my Welsh +wife, though—”</p> + +<p>“The loss of your Durham wife must have been a great +grief to you,” said I.</p> + +<p>“It was the bitterest grief, your honour, as I said +before, that I ever had; my next worst I think was the death of a +dear friend.”</p> + +<p>“Who was that?” said I</p> + +<p>“Who was it, your honour? why, the Duke of +Newcastle.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said I, “how came you to know +him?”</p> + +<p>“Why, your honour, he lived at a place not far from +here, called Hafod, and so—”</p> + +<p>“Hafod?” said I; “I have often heard of +Hafod and its library; but I thought it belonged to an old Welsh +family called Johnes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, so it did, your honour, but the family died away, +and the estate was put up for sale, and purchased by the Duke, +who built a fine house upon it, which he made his chief place of +residence—the old family house, I must tell your honour, in +which the library was, had been destroyed by fire. Well, he +hadn’t been long settled there before he found me out and +took wonderfully to me, discoursing with me and consulting me +about his farming and improvements. Many is the pleasant +chat and discourse I have had with his Grace for hours and hours +together, for his Grace had not a bit of pride, at least he never +showed any to me, though perhaps the reason of that was that we +were both north country people. Lord! I would have +laid down my life for his Grace and have done anything but one +which he once asked me to do. ‘Greaves,’ said +the Duke to me one day, ‘I wish you would give up mining +and become my steward.’ ‘Sorry I can’t +oblige your Grace,’ said I, ‘but give up mining I +cannot. I will at any time give your Grace all the advice I +can about farming and such like, but give up mining I cannot; +because why?—I conceive mining to be the noblest business +in the ‘versal world.’ Whereupon his Grace +laughed, and said he dare say I was right, and never mentioned +the subject again.”</p> + +<p>“Was his Grace very fond of farming and +improving?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, your honour. Like all the great gentry, +especially the north country gentry, his Grace was wonderfully +fond of farming and improving; and a wonderful deal of good he +did, reclaiming thousands of acres of land which was before good +for nothing, and building capital farm-houses and offices for his +tenants. His grand feat, however, was bringing the Durham +bull into this country, which formed a capital cross with the +Welsh cows. Pity that he wasn’t equally fortunate +with the north country sheep.”</p> + +<p>“Did he try to introduce them into Wales?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but they didn’t answer, as I knew they +wouldn’t. Says I to the Duke: ‘It won’t +do, your Grace, to bring the north country sheep here: because +why? the hills are too wet and cold for their +constitutions’; but his Grace, who had sometimes a will of +his own, persisted and brought the north country sheep to these +parts, and it turned out as I said—the sheep caught the +disease, and the wool parted and—”</p> + +<p>“But,” said I, “you should have told him +about the salve made of bran, butter and oil; you should have +done that.”</p> + +<p>“Well, so I did, your honour. I told him about the +salve, and the Duke listened to me, and the salve was made by +these very hands; but when it was made, what do you think? the +foolish Welsh wouldn’t put it on, saying that it was +against their laws and statties and religion to use it, and +talked about Devil’s salves and the Witch of Endor, and the +sin against the Holy Ghost, and such like nonsense. So to +prevent a regular rebellion, the Duke gave up the salve, and the +poor sheep pined away and died, till at last there was not one +left.”</p> + +<p>“Who holds the estate at present?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Why, a great gentleman from Lancashire, your honour, +who bought it when the Duke died; but he doesn’t take the +same pleasure in it which the Duke did, nor spend so much money +about it, the consequence being that everything looks very +different from what it looked in the Duke’s time. The +inn at the Devil’s Bridge and the grounds look very +different from what they looked in the Duke’s time, for you +must know that the inn and the grounds form part of the Hafod +estate, and are hired from the proprietor.”</p> + +<p>By this time we had arrived at a small village, with a +toll-bar and a small church or chapel at some little distance +from the road, which here made a turn nearly full south. +The road was very good, but the country was wild and rugged; +there was a deep vale on the right, at the bottom of which rolled +the Rheidol in its cleft, rising beyond which were steep, naked +hills.</p> + +<p>“This village,” said my companion, “is +called Ysbytty Cynfyn. Down on the right, past the church, +is a strange bridge across the Rheidol, which runs there through +a horrid kind of a place. The bridge is called Pont yr +Offeiriad, or the Parson’s Bridge, because in the old time +the clergyman passed over it every Sunday to do duty in the +church here.”</p> + +<p>“Why is this place called Ysbytty Cynfyn?” said I, +“which means the hospital of the first boundary; is there a +hospital of the second boundary near here?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say anything about boundaries, your +honour; all I know is, that there is another Spytty farther on +beyond Hafod called Ysbytty Ystwyth, or the ’Spytty upon +the Ystwyth. But to return to the matter of the +Minister’s Bridge: I would counsel your honour to go and +see that bridge before you leave these parts. A vast number +of gentry go to see it in the summer time. It was the +bridge which the landlord was mentioning last night, though it +scarcely belongs to his district, being quite as near the +Devil’s Bridge inn as it is to his own, your +honour.”</p> + +<p>We went on discoursing for about half a mile farther, when, +stopping by a road which branched off to the hills on the left, +my companion said. “I must now wish your honour good +day, being obliged to go a little way up here to a mining work on +a small bit of business; my son, however, and his dog Joe will +show your honour the way to the Devil’s Bridge, as they are +bound to a place a little way past it. I have now but one +word to say, which is, that should ever your honour please to +visit me at my mine, your honour shall receive every facility for +inspecting the works, and moreover have a bellyful of drink and +victuals from Jock Greaves, miner from the county of +Durham.”</p> + +<p>I shook the honest fellow by the hand, and went on in company +with the lad John and his dog as far as the Devil’s +Bridge. John was a highly-intelligent lad, spoke Welsh and +English fluently, could read, as he told me, both languages, and +had some acquaintance with the writings of Twm o’r Nant, as +he showed by repeating the following lines of the carter poet, +certainly not the worst which he ever wrote:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Twm or Nant mae cant a’m galw,<br /> +Tomas Edwards yw fy enw.”</p> + +<p>“Tom O Nant is a nickname I’ve got,<br /> +My name’s Thomas Edwards, I wot.”</p> +</blockquote> + + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIV</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Hospice—The Two Rivers—The +Devil’s Bridge—Pleasant Recollections.</p> + +<p>I arrived at the Devil’s Bridge at about eleven +o’clock of a fine but cold day, and took up my quarters at +the inn, of which I was the sole guest during the whole time that +I continued there; for the inn, standing in a lone, wild +district, has very few guests except in summer, when it is +thronged with tourists, who avail themselves of that genial +season to view the wonders of Wales, of which the region close by +is considered amongst the principal.</p> + +<p>The inn, or rather hospice—for the sounding name of +hospice is more applicable to it than the common one of +inn—was built at a great expense by the late Duke of +Newcastle. It is an immense lofty cottage with projecting +eaves, and has a fine window to the east which enlightens a +stately staircase and a noble gallery. It fronts the north, +and stands in the midst of one of the most remarkable localities +in the world, of which it would require a far more vigorous pen +than mine to convey an adequate idea.</p> + +<p>Far to the west is a tall, strange-looking hill, the top of +which bears no slight resemblance to that of a battlemented +castle. This hill, which is believed to have been in +ancient times a stronghold of the Britons, bears the name of Bryn +y Castell, or the hill of the castle. To the north-west are +russet hills, to the east two brown paps, whilst to the south is +a high, swelling mountain. To the north, and just below the +hospice, is a profound hollow with all the appearance of the +crater of an extinct volcano; at the bottom of this hollow the +waters of two rivers unite; those of the Rheidol from the north, +and those of the Afon y Mynach, or the Monks’ River, from +the south-east. The Rheidol, falling over a rocky precipice +at the northern side of the hollow, forms a cataract very +pleasant to look upon from the middle upper window of the +inn. Those of the Mynach which pass under the celebrated +Devil’s Bridge are not visible, though they generally make +themselves heard. The waters of both, after uniting, flow +away through a romantic glen towards the west. The sides of +the hollow, and indeed of most of the ravines in the +neighbourhood, which are numerous, are beautifully clad with +wood.</p> + +<p>Penetrate now into the hollow above which the hospice +stands. You descend by successive flights of steps, some of +which are very slippery and insecure. On your right is the +Monks’ River, roaring down its dingle in five successive +falls, to join its brother the Rheidol. Each of the falls +has its own peculiar basin, one or two of which are said to be of +awful depth. The length which these falls with their basins +occupy is about five hundred feet. On the side of the basin +of the last but one is the cave, or the site of the cave, said to +have been occupied in old times by the Wicked Children—the +mysterious Plant de Bat—two brothers and a sister, robbers +and murderers. At present it is nearly open on every side, +having, it is said, been destroyed to prevent its being the haunt +of other evil people. There is a tradition in the country +that the fall at one time tumbled over its mouth. This +tradition, however, is evidently without foundation, as from the +nature of the ground the river could never have run but in its +present channel. Of all the falls, the fifth or last is the +most considerable: you view it from a kind of den, to which the +last flight of steps, the ruggedest and most dangerous of all, +has brought you. Your position here is a wild one. +The fall, which is split into two, is thundering beside you; +foam, foam, foam is flying all about you; the basin or cauldron +is boiling frightfully below you; hirsute rocks are frowning +terribly above you, and above them forest trees, dank and wet +with spray and mist, are distilling drops in showers from their +boughs.</p> + +<p>But where is the bridge, the celebrated bridge of the Evil +Man? From the bottom of the first flight of steps leading +down into the hollow you see a modern-looking bridge, bestriding +a deep chasm or cleft to the south-east, near the top of the +dingle of the Monks’ River; over it lies the road to Pont +Erwyd. That, however, is not the Devil’s Bridge; but +about twenty feet below that bridge, and completely overhung by +it, don’t you see a shadowy, spectral object, something +like a bow, which likewise bestrides the chasm? You +do! Well, that shadowy, spectral object is the celebrated +Devil’s Bridge, or, as the timorous peasants of the +locality call it, the Pont y Gwr Drwg. It is now merely +preserved as an object of curiosity, the bridge above being alone +used for transit, and is quite inaccessible except to birds and +the climbing wicked boys of the neighbourhood, who sometimes at +the risk of their lives contrive to get upon it from the +frightfully steep northern bank, and snatch a fearful joy, as, +whilst lying on their bellies, they poke their heads over its +sides worn by age, without parapet to prevent them from falling +into the horrid gulf below. But from the steps in the +hollow the view of the Devil’s Bridge, and likewise of the +cleft, is very slight and unsatisfactory. To view it +properly, and the wonders connected with it, you must pass over +the bridge above it, and descend a precipitous dingle on the +eastern side till you come to a small platform in a crag. +Below you now is a frightful cavity, at the bottom of which the +waters of the Monks’ River, which comes tumbling from a +glen to the east, whirl, boil, and hiss in a horrid pot or +cauldron, called in the language of the country Twll yn y graig, +or the hole in the rock, in a manner truly tremendous. On +your right is a slit, probably caused by volcanic force, through +which the waters after whirling in the cauldron eventually +escape. The slit is wonderfully narrow, considering its +altitude which is very great—considerably upwards of a +hundred feet. Nearly above you, crossing the slit, which is +partially wrapt in darkness, is the far-famed bridge, the Bridge +of the Evil Man, a work which, though crumbling and darkly grey, +does much honour to the hand which built it, whether it was the +hand of Satan or of a monkish architect; for the arch is chaste +and beautiful, far superior in every respect, except in safety +and utility, to the one above it, which from this place you have +not the mortification of seeing. Gaze on these objects, +namely, the horrid seething pot or cauldron, the gloomy volcanic +slit, and the spectral, shadowy Devil’s Bridge for about +three minutes, allowing a minute to each, then scramble up the +bank and repair to your inn, and have no more sight-seeing that +day, for you have seen enough. And if pleasant +recollections do not haunt you through life of the noble falls +and the beautiful wooded dingles to the west of the bridge of the +Evil One, and awful and mysterious ones of the monks’ +boiling cauldron, the long, savage, shadowy cleft, and the grey, +crumbling, spectral bridge, I say boldly that you must be a very +unpoetical person indeed.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Dinner at the Hospice—Evening +Gossip—A Day of Rain—A Scanty Flock—The Bridge +of the Minister—Legs in Danger.</p> + +<p>I dined in a parlour of the inn commanding an excellent view +of the hollow and the Rheidol fall. Shortly after I had +dined, a fierce storm of rain and wind came on. It lasted +for an hour, and then everything again became calm. Just +before evening was closing in I took a stroll to a village which +stands a little way to the west of the inn. It consists +only of a few ruinous edifices, and is chiefly inhabited by +miners and their families. I saw no men, but plenty of +women and children. Seeing a knot of women and girls +chatting I went up and addressed them. Some of the girls +were very good-looking; none of the party had any English; all of +them were very civil. I first talked to them about +religion, and found that, without a single exception, they were +Calvinistic-Methodists. I next talked to them about the +Plant de Bat. They laughed heartily at the first mention of +their name, but seemed to know very little about their +history. After some twenty minutes’ discourse I bade +them good-night and returned to my inn.</p> + +<p>The night was very cold; the people of the house, however, +made up for me a roaring fire of turf, and I felt very +comfortable. About ten o’clock I went to bed, +intending next morning to go and see Plynlimmon, which I had left +behind me on entering Cardiganshire. When the morning came, +however, I saw at once that I had entered upon a day by no means +adapted for excursions of any considerable length, for it rained +terribly; but this gave me very little concern; my time was my +own, and I said to myself: “If I can’t go to-day I +can perhaps go to-morrow.” After breakfast I passed +some hours in a manner by no means disagreeable, sometimes +meditating before my turf fire, with my eyes fixed upon it, and +sometimes sitting by the window, with my eyes fixed upon the +cascade of the Rheidol, which was every moment becoming more +magnificent. At length about twelve o’clock, fearing +that if I stayed within I should lose my appetite for dinner, +which has always been one of the greatest of my enjoyments, I +determined to go and see the Minister’s Bridge which my +friend the old mining captain had spoken to me about. I +knew that I should get a wetting by doing so, for the weather +still continued very bad, but I don’t care much for a +wetting provided I have a good roof, a good fire, and good fare +to betake myself to afterwards.</p> + +<p>So I set out. As I passed over the bridge of the Mynach +River I looked down over the eastern balustrade. The Bridge +of the Evil One, which is just below it, was quite +invisible. I could see, however, the pot or crochan +distinctly enough, and a horrible sight it presented. The +waters were whirling round in a manner to describe which any word +but frenzied would be utterly powerless. +Half-an-hour’s walking brought me to the little village +through which I had passed the day before. Going up to a +house I knocked at the door, and a middle-aged man opening it, I +asked him the way to the Bridge of the Minister. He pointed +to the little chapel to the west, and said that the way lay past +it, adding that he would go with me himself, as he wanted to go +to the hills on the other side to see his sheep.</p> + +<p>We got presently into discourse. He at first talked +broken English, but soon began to speak his native +language. I asked him if the chapel belonged to the +Methodists.</p> + +<p>“It is not a chapel,” said he, “it is a +church.”</p> + +<p>“Do many come to it?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Not many, sir, for the Methodists are very powerful +here. Not more than forty or fifty come.”</p> + +<p>“Do you belong to the Church?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I do, sir—thank God!”</p> + +<p>“You may well be thankful,” said I, “for it +is a great privilege to belong to the Church of +England.”</p> + +<p>“It is so, sir,” said the man, “though few, +alas! think so.”</p> + +<p>I found him a highly-intelligent person. On my talking +to him about the name of the place, he said that some called it +Spytty Cynfyn, and others Spytty Cynwyl, and that both Cynwyl and +Cynfyn were the names of people, to one or other of which the +place was dedicated, and that, like the place farther on called +Spytty Ystwyth, it was in the old time a hospital or inn for the +convenience of the pilgrims going to the great monastery of +Ystrad Flur or Strata Florida.</p> + +<p>Passing through a field or two we came to the side of a very +deep ravine, down which there was a zigzag path leading to the +bridge. The path was very steep, and, owing to the rain, +exceedingly slippery. For some way it led through a grove +of dwarf oaks, by grasping the branches of which I was enabled to +support myself tolerably well; nearly at the bottom, however, +where the path was most precipitous, the trees ceased +altogether. Fearing to trust my legs, I determined to slide +down, and put my resolution in practice, arriving at a little +shelf close by the bridge without any accident. The man, +accustomed to the path, went down in the usual manner. The +bridge consisted of a couple of planks and a pole flung over a +chasm about ten feet wide, on the farther side of which was a +precipice with a path at least quite as steep as the one down +which I had come, and without any trees or shrubs by which those +who used it might support themselves. The torrent rolled +about nine feet below the bridge; its channel was tortuous; on +the south-east side of the bridge was a cauldron, like that on +which I had looked down from the bridge over the river of the +monks. The man passed over the bridge and I followed him; +on the other side we stopped and turned round. The river +was rushing and surging, the pot was boiling and roaring, and +everything looked wild and savage; but the locality, for +awfulness and mysterious gloom, could not compare with that on +the east side of the Devil’s Bridge, nor for sublimity and +grandeur with that on the west.</p> + +<p>“Here you see, sir,” said the man, “the +Bridge of the Offeiriad, called so, it is said, because the popes +used to pass over it in the old time; and here you have the +Rheidol, which, though not so smooth nor so well off for banks as +the Hafren and the Gwy, gets to the sea before either of them, +and, as the pennill says, is quite as much entitled to +honour:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘Hafren a Wy yn hyfryd eu +wêdd<br /> +A Rheidol vawr ei anrhydedd.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Good rhyme, sir, that. I wish you would put it into +Saesneg.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I shall make a poor hand of it,” said +I; “however, I will do my best:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘Oh pleasantly do glide along the +Severn and the Wye;<br /> +But Rheidol’s rough, and yet he’s held by all in +honour high.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Very good rhyme that, sir! though not so good as the +pennill Cymraeg. Ha, I do see that you know the two +languages and are one poet. And now, sir, I must leave you, +and go to the hills to my sheep, who I am afraid will be +suffering in this dreadful weather. However, before I go, I +should wish to see you safe over the bridge.”</p> + +<p>I shook him by the hand, and retracing my steps over the +bridge, began clambering up the bank on my knees.</p> + +<p>“You will spoil your trousers, sir!” cried the man +from the other side.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care if I do,” said I, +“provided I save my legs, which are in some danger in this +place, as well as my neck, which is of less +consequence.”</p> + +<p>I hurried back amidst rain and wind to my friendly hospice, +where, after drying my wet clothes as well as I could, I made an +excellent dinner on fowl and bacon. Dinner over, I took up +a newspaper which was brought me, and read an article about the +Russian war, which did not seem to be going on much to the +advantage of the allies. Soon flinging the paper aside, I +stuck my feet on the stove, one on each side of the turf fire, +and listened to the noises without. The bellowing of the +wind down the mountain passes and the roaring of the Rheidol fall +at the north side of the valley, and the rushing of the five +cascades of the river Mynach, were truly awful. Perhaps I +ought not to have said the five cascades of the Mynach, but the +Mynach cascade, for now its five cascades had become one, +extending from the chasm over which hung the bridge of Satan to +the bottom of the valley.</p> + +<p>After a time I fell into a fit of musing. I thought of +the Plant de Bat; I thought of the spitties or hospitals +connected with the great monastery of Ystrad Flur or Strata +Florida; I thought of the remarkable bridge close by, built by a +clever monk of that place to facilitate the coming of pilgrims +with their votive offerings from the north to his convent; I +thought of the convent built in the time of our Henry the Second +by Ryce ab Gruffyd, prince of South Wales; and lastly, I thought +of a wonderful man who was buried in its precincts, the greatest +genius which Wales, and perhaps Britain, ever produced, on whose +account, and not because of old it had been a magnificent +building, and the most celebrated place of popish pilgrimage in +Wales, I had long ago determined to visit it on my journey, a man +of whose life and works the following is a brief account.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Birth and Early Years of Ab +Gwilym—Morfudd—Relic of Druidism—The Men of +Glamorgan—Legend of Ab Gwilym—Ab Gwilym as a +Writer—Wonderful Variety—Objects of +Nature—Gruffydd Gryg.</p> + +<p>Dafydd Ab Gwilym was born about the year 1320, at a place +called Bro Gynnin in the county of Cardigan. Though born in +wedlock he was not conceived legitimately. His mother being +discovered by her parents to be pregnant, was turned out of doors +by them, whereupon she went to her lover, who married her, though +in so doing he acted contrary to the advice of his +relations. After a little time, however, a general +reconciliation took place. The parents of Ab Gwilym, though +highly connected, do not appear to have possessed much +property. The boy was educated by his mother’s +brother Llewelyn ab Gwilym Fychan, a chief of Cardiganshire; but +his principal patron in after life was Ifor, a cousin of his +father, surnamed Hael, or the bountiful, a chieftain of +Glamorganshire. This person received him within his house, +made him his steward and tutor to his daughter. With this +young lady Ab Gwilym speedily fell in love, and the damsel +returned his passion. Ifor, however, not approving of the +connection, sent his daughter to Anglesey, and eventually caused +her to take the veil in a nunnery of that island. Dafydd +pursued her, but not being able to obtain an interview, he +returned to his patron, who gave him a kind reception. +Under Ifor’s roof he cultivated poetry with great assiduity +and wonderful success. Whilst very young, being taunted +with the circumstances of his birth by a brother bard called Rhys +Meigan, he retorted in an ode so venomously bitter that his +adversary, after hearing it, fell down and expired. Shortly +after this event he was made head bard of Glamorgan by universal +acclamation.</p> + +<p>After a stay of some time with Ifor, he returned to his native +county and lived at Bro Gynnin. Here he fell in love with a +young lady of birth called Dyddgu, who did not favour his +addresses. He did not break his heart, however, on her +account, but speedily bestowed it on the fair Morfudd, whom he +first saw at Rhosyr in Anglesey, to which place both had gone on +a religious account. The lady after some demur consented to +become his wife. Her parents refusing to sanction the +union, their hands were joined beneath the greenwood tree by one +Madawg Benfras, a bard, and a great friend of Ab Gwilym. +The joining of people’s hands by bards, which was probably +a relic of Druidism, had long been practised in Wales, and +marriages of this kind were generally considered valid, and +seldom set aside. The ecclesiastical law, however, did not +recognise these poetical marriages, and the parents of Morfudd by +appealing to the law soon severed the union. After +confining the lady for a short time, they bestowed her hand in +legal fashion upon a chieftain of the neighbourhood, very rich +but rather old, and with a hump on his back, on account which he +was nicknamed bow-back, or little hump-back. Morfudd, +however, who passed her time in rather a dull manner with this +person, which would not have been the case had she done her duty +by endeavouring to make the poor man comfortable, and by visiting +the sick and needy around her, was soon induced by the bard to +elope with him. The lovers fled to Glamorgan, where Ifor +Hael, not much to his own credit, received them with open arms, +probably forgetting how he had immured his <i>own</i> daughter in +a convent, rather than bestow her on Ab Gwilym. Having a +hunting-lodge in a forest on the banks of the lovely Taf, he +allotted it to the fugitives as a residence. Ecclesiastical +law, however, as strong in Wild Wales as in other parts of +Europe, soon followed them into Glamorgan, and, very properly, +separated them. The lady was restored to her husband, and +Ab Gwilym fined to a very high amount. Not being able to +pay the fine, he was cast into prison; but then the men of +Glamorgan arose to a man, swearing that their head bard should +not remain in prison. “Then pay his fine!” said +the ecclesiastical law, or rather the ecclesiastical +lawyer. “So we will!” said the men of +Glamorgan, and so they did. Every man put his hand into his +pocket; the amount was soon raised, the fine paid, and the bard +set free.</p> + +<p>Ab Gwilym did not forget this kindness of the men of +Glamorgan, and, to requite it, wrote an address to the sun, in +which he requests that luminary to visit Glamorgan, to bless it, +and to keep it from harm. The piece concludes with some +noble lines somewhat to this effect</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“If every strand oppression strong<br /> +Should arm against the son of song,<br /> +The weary wight would find, I ween,<br /> +A welcome in Glamorgan green.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Some time after his release he meditated a second elopement +with Morfudd, and even induced her to consent to go off with +him. A friend, to whom he disclosed what he was thinking of +doing, asking him whether he would venture a second time to take +such a step, “I will,” said the bard, “in the +name of God and the men of Glamorgan.” No second +elopement, however, took place, the bard probably thinking, as +has been well observed, that neither God nor the men of Glamorgan +would help him a second time out of such an affair. He did +not attain to any advanced age, but died when about sixty, some +twenty years before the rising of Glendower. Some time +before his death his mind fortunately took a decidedly religious +turn.</p> + +<p>He is said to have been eminently handsome in his youth, tall, +slender, with yellow hair falling in ringlets down his +shoulders. He is likewise said to have been a great +libertine. The following story is told of him:—</p> + +<p>“In a certain neighbourhood he had a great many +mistresses, some married and others not. Once upon a time, +in the month of June he made a secret appointment with each of +his lady-loves, the place and hour of meeting being the same for +all; each was to meet him at the same hour beneath a mighty oak +which stood in the midst of a forest glade. Some time +before the appointed hour he went, and climbing up the oak, hid +himself amidst the dense foliage of its boughs. When the +hour arrived he observed all the nymphs tripping to the place of +appointment; all came, to the number of twenty-four—not one +stayed away. For some time they remained beneath the oak +staring at each other. At length an explanation ensued, and +it appeared that they had all come to meet Ab Gwilym.</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, the treacherous monster!’ cried they +with one accord; ‘only let him show himself and we will +tear him to pieces.’</p> + +<p>“‘Will you?’ said Ab Gwilym from the oak; +‘here I am; let her who has been most wanton with me make +the first attack upon me!’</p> + +<p>“The females remained for some time speechless; all of a +sudden, however, their anger kindled, not against the bard, but +against each other. From harsh and taunting words they soon +came to actions: hair was torn off, faces were scratched, blood +flowed from cheek and nose. Whilst the tumult was at its +fiercest Ab Gwilym slipped away.”</p> + +<p>The writer merely repeats this story, and he repeats it as +concisely as possible, in order to have an opportunity of saying +that he does not believe one particle of it. If he believed +it, he would forthwith burn the most cherished volume of the +small collection of books from which he derives delight and +recreation, namely, that which contains the songs of Ab Gwilym, +for he would have nothing in his possession belonging to such a +heartless scoundrel as Ab Gwilym must have been had he got up the +scene above described. Any common man who would expose to +each other and the world a number of hapless, trusting females +who had favoured him with their affections, and from the top of a +tree would feast his eyes upon their agonies of shame and rage, +would deserve to be—emasculated. Had Ab Gwilym been +so dead to every feeling of gratitude and honour as to play the +part which the story makes him play, he would have deserved not +only to be emasculated, but to be scourged with harp-strings in +every market-town in Wales, and to be dismissed from the service +of the Muse. But the writer repeats that he does not +believe one tittle of the story, though Ab Gwilym’s +biographer, the learned and celebrated William Owen, not only +seems to believe it, but rather chuckles over it. It is the +opinion of the writer that the story is of Italian origin, and +that it formed part of one of the many rascally novels brought +over to England after the marriage of Lionel, Duke of Clarence, +the third son of Edward the Third, with Violante, daughter of +Galeazzo, Duke of Milan.</p> + +<p>Dafydd Ab Gwilym has been in general considered as a songster +who never employed his muse on any subject save that of love, and +there can be no doubt that by far the greater number of his +pieces are devoted more or less to the subject of love. But +to consider him merely in the light of an amatory poet would be +wrong. He has written poems of wonderful power on almost +every conceivable subject. Ab Gwilym has been styled the +Welsh Ovid, and with great justice, but not merely because like +the Roman he wrote admirably on love. The Roman was not +merely an amatory poet: let the shade of Pythagoras say whether +the poet who embodied in immortal verse the oldest, the most +wonderful, and at the same time the most humane, of all +philosophy was a mere amatory poet. Let the shade of blind +Homer be called up to say whether the bard who composed the +tremendous line—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Surgit ad hos clypei dominus septemplicis +Ajax”—</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>equal to any save <i>one</i> of his own, was a mere amatory +songster. Yet, diversified as the genius of the Roman was, +there is no species of poetry in which he shone in which the +Welshman may not be said to display equal merit. Ab Gwilym, +then, has been fairly styled the Welsh Ovid. But he was +something more—and here let there be no sneers about Welsh: +the Welsh are equal in genius, intellect and learning to any +people under the sun, and speak a language older than Greek, and +which is one of the immediate parents of the Greek. He was +something more than the Welsh Ovid: he was the Welsh Horace, and +wrote light, agreeable, sportive pieces, equal to any things of +the kind composed by Horace in his best moods. But he was +something more: he was the Welsh Martial, and wrote pieces equal +in pungency to those of the great Roman +epigrammatist,—perhaps more than equal, for we never heard +that any of Martial’s epigrams killed anybody, whereas Ab +Gwilym’s piece of vituperation on Rhys Meigan—pity +that poets should be so virulent—caused the Welshman to +fall down dead. But he was yet something more: he could, if +he pleased, be a Tyrtaeus; he was no fighter—where was +there ever a poet that was?—but he wrote an ode on a sword, +the only warlike piece that he ever wrote, the best poem on the +subject ever written in any language. Finally, he was +something more: he was what not one of the great Latin poets was, +a Christian; that is, in his latter days, when he began to feel +the vanity of all human pursuits, when his nerves began to be +unstrung, his hair to fall off, and his teeth to drop out, and he +then composed sacred pieces entitling him to rank with—we +were going to say Caedmon; had we done so we should have done +wrong; no uninspired poet ever handled sacred subjects like the +grand Saxon Skald—but which entitle him to be called a +great religious poet, inferior to none but the +protégé of Hilda.</p> + +<p>Before ceasing to speak of Ab Gwilym, it will be necessary to +state that his amatory pieces, which constitute more than +one-half of his productions, must be divided into two classes: +the purely amatory and those only partly devoted to love. +His poems to Dyddgu and the daughter of Ifor Hael are productions +very different from those addressed to Morfudd. There can +be no doubt that he had a sincere affection for the two first; +there is no levity in the cowydds which he addressed to them, and +he seldom introduces any other objects than those of his +love. But in his cowydds addressed to Morfudd is there no +levity? Is Morfudd ever prominent? His cowydds to +that woman abound with humorous levity, and for the most part +have far less to do with her than with natural objects—the +snow, the mist, the trees of the forest, the birds of the air, +and the fishes of the stream. His first piece to Morfudd is +full of levity quite inconsistent with true love. It states +how, after seeing her for the first time at Rhosyr in Anglesey, +and falling in love with her, he sends her a present of wine by +the hands of a servant, which present she refuses, casting the +wine contemptuously over the head of the valet. This +commencement promises little in the way of true passion, so that +we are not disappointed when we read a little farther on that the +bard is dead and buried, all on account of love, and that Morfudd +makes a pilgrimage to Mynyw to seek for pardon for killing him, +nor when we find him begging the popish image to convey a message +to her. Then presently we almost lose sight of Morfudd +amidst birds, animals and trees, and we are not sorry that we do; +for though Ab Gwilym is mighty in humour, great in describing the +emotions of love and the beauties of the lovely, he is greatest +of all in describing objects of nature; indeed in describing them +he has no equal, and the writer has no hesitation in saying that +in many of his cowydds in which he describes various objects of +nature, by which he sends messages to Morfudd, he shows himself a +far greater poet than Ovid appears in any one of his +Metamorphoses. There are many poets who attempt to describe +natural objects without being intimately acquainted with them, +but Ab Gwilym was not one of these. No one was better +acquainted with nature; he was a stroller, and there is every +probability that during the greater part of the summer he had no +other roof than the foliage, and that the voices of birds and +animals were more familiar to his ears than was the voice of +man. During the summer months, indeed, in the early part of +his life, he was, if we may credit him, generally lying perdue in +the woodland or mountain recesses near the habitation of his +mistress, before or after her marriage, awaiting her secret +visits, made whenever she could escape the vigilance of her +parents, or the watchful of her husband, and during her absence +he had nothing better to do than to observe objects of nature and +describe them. His ode to the Fox, one of the most +admirable of his pieces, was composed on one of these +occasions.</p> + +<p>Want of space prevents the writer from saying as much as he +could wish about the genius of this wonderful man, the greatest +of his country’s songsters, well calculated by nature to do +honour to the most polished age and the most widely-spoken +language. The bards his contemporaries, and those who +succeeded him for several hundred years, were perfectly convinced +of his superiority, not only over themselves, but over all the +poets of the past; and one, and a mighty one, old Iolo the bard +of Glendower, went so far as to insinuate that after Ab Gwilym it +would be of little avail for any one to make verses—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Aed lle mae’r eang dangneff,<br /> +Ac aed y gerdd gydag ef.”</p> + +<p>“To Heaven’s high peace let him depart,<br /> +And with him go the minstrel art.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>He was buried at Ystrad Flur, and a yew tree was planted over +his grave, to which Gruffydd Gryg, a brother bard, who was at one +time his enemy, but eventually became one of the most ardent of +his admirers, addressed an ode, of part of which the following is +a paraphrase:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Thou noble tree, who shelt’rest +kind<br /> +The dead man’s house from winter’s wind;<br /> +May lightnings never lay thee low;<br /> +Nor archer cut from thee his bow,<br /> +Nor Crispin peel thee pegs to frame;<br /> +But may thou ever bloom the same,<br /> +A noble tree the grave to guard<br /> +Of Cambria’s most illustrious bard!”</p> +</blockquote> + + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Start for Plynlimmon—Plynlimmon’s +Celebrity—Troed Rhiw Goch.</p> + +<p>The morning of the fifth of November looked rather +threatening. As, however, it did not rain, I determined to +set off for Plynlimmon, and, returning at night to the inn, +resume my journey to the south on the following day. On +looking into a pocket almanac I found it was Sunday. This +very much disconcerted me, and I thought at first of giving up my +expedition. Eventually, however, I determined to go, for I +reflected that I should be doing no harm, and that I might +acknowledge the sacredness of the day by attending morning +service at the little Church of England chapel which lay in my +way.</p> + +<p>The mountain of Plynlimmon to which I was bound is the third +in Wales for altitude, being only inferior to Snowdon and Cadair +Idris. Its proper name is Pum, or Pump, Lumon, signifying +the five points, because towards the upper part it is divided +into five hills or points. Plynlimmon is a celebrated hill +on many accounts. It has been the scene of many remarkable +events. In the tenth century a dreadful battle was fought +on one of its spurs between the Danes and the Welsh, in which the +former sustained a bloody overthrow; and in 1401 a conflict took +place in one of its valleys between the Welsh, under Glendower, +and the Flemings of Pembrokeshire, who, exasperated at having +their homesteads plundered and burned by the chieftain who was +the mortal enemy of their race, assembled in considerable numbers +and drove Glendower and his forces before them to Plynlimmon, +where, the Welshmen standing at bay, a contest ensued, in which, +though eventually worsted, the Flemings were at one time all but +victorious. What, however, has more than anything else +contributed to the celebrity of the hill is the circumstance of +its giving birth to three rivers, the first of which, the Severn, +is the principal stream in Britain; the second, the Wye, the most +lovely river, probably, which the world can boast of; and the +third, the Rheidol, entitled to high honour from its boldness and +impetuosity, and the remarkable banks between which it flows in +its very short course, for there are scarcely twenty miles +between the ffynnon or source of the Rheidol and the aber or +place where it disembogues itself into the sea.</p> + +<p>I started about ten o’clock on my expedition, after +making, of course, a very hearty breakfast. Scarcely had I +crossed the Devil’s Bridge when a shower of hail and rain +came on. As, however, it came down nearly perpendicularly, +I put up my umbrella and laughed. The shower pelted away +till I had nearly reached Spytty Cynwyl, when it suddenly left +off and the day became tolerably fine. On arriving at the +Spytty, I was sorry to find that there would be no service till +three in the afternoon. As waiting till that time was out +of the question, I pushed forward on my expedition. Leaving +Pont Erwyd at some distance on my left, I went duly north till I +came to a place amongst hills where the road was crossed by an +angry-looking rivulet, the same, I believe which enters the +Rheidol near Pont Erwyd, and which is called the Castle +River. I was just going to pull off my boots and stockings +in order to wade through, when I perceived a pole and a rail laid +over the stream at little distance above where I was. This +rustic bridge enabled me to cross without running the danger of +getting a regular sousing, for these mountain streams, even when +not reaching so high as the knee, occasionally sweep the wader +off his legs, as I know by my own experience. From a lad +whom I presently met I learned that the place where I crossed the +water was called Troed rhiw goch, or the Foot of the Red +Slope.</p> + +<p>About twenty minutes’ walk from hence brought me to +Castell Dyffryn, an inn about six miles distant from the +Devil’s Bridge, and situated near a spur of the Plynlimmon +range. Here I engaged a man to show me the sources of the +rivers and the other wonders of the mountain. He was a +tall, athletic fellow, dressed in brown coat, round buff hat, +corduroy trousers, linen leggings and highlows, and, though a +Cumro, had much more the appearance of a native of Tipperary than +a Welshman. He was a kind of shepherd to the people of the +house, who, like many others in South Wales, followed farming and +inn-keeping at the same time.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">The Guide—The Great Plynlimmon—A +Dangerous Path—Source of the Rheidol—Source of the +Severn—Pennillion—Old Times and New—The Corpse +Candle—Supper.</p> + +<p>Leaving the inn, my guide and myself began to ascend a steep +hill just behind it. When we were about halfway up I asked +my companion, who spoke very fair English, why the place was +called the Castle.</p> + +<p>“Because, sir,” said he, “there was a castle +here in the old time.”</p> + +<p>“Whereabouts was it?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yonder,” said the man, standing still and +pointing to the right. “Don’t you see yonder +brown spot in the valley? There the castle +stood.”</p> + +<p>“But are there no remains of it?” said I. +“I can see nothing but a brown spot.”</p> + +<p>“There are none, sir; but there a castle once stood, and +from it the place we came from had its name, and likewise the +river that runs down to Pont Erwyd.”</p> + +<p>“And who lived there?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, sir,” said the man; +“but I suppose they were grand people, or they would not +have lived in a castle.”</p> + +<p>After ascending the hill and passing over its top, we went +down its western side and soon came to a black, frightful bog +between two hills. Beyond the bog and at some distance to +the west of the two hills rose a brown mountain, not abruptly, +but gradually, and looking more like what the Welsh call a rhiw, +or slope, than a mynydd, or mountain.</p> + +<p>“That, sir,” said my guide, “is the grand +Plynlimmon.”</p> + +<p>“It does not look much of a hill,” said I.</p> + +<p>“We are on very high ground, sir, or it would look much +higher. I question, upon the whole, whether there is a +higher hill in the world. God bless Pumlummon Mawr!” +said he, looking with reverence towards the hill. “I +am sure I have a right to say so, for many is the good crown I +have got by showing gentlefolks like yourself to the top of +him.”</p> + +<p>“You talk of Plynlimmon Mawr, or the great +Plynlymmon,” said I; “where are the small +ones?”</p> + +<p>“Yonder they are,” said the guide, pointing to two +hills towards the north; “one is Plynlimmon Canol, and the +other Plynlimmon Bach—the middle and the small +Plynlimmon.”</p> + +<p>“Pumlummon,” said I, “means five +summits. You have pointed out only three; now, where are +the other two?”</p> + +<p>“Those two hills which we have just passed make up the +five. However, I will tell your worship that there is a +sixth summit. Don’t you see that small hill connected +with the big Pumlummon, on the right?”</p> + +<p>“I see it very clearly,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Well, your worship, that’s called Bryn y +Llo—the Hill of the Calf, or the Calf Plynlimmon, which +makes the sixth summit.”</p> + +<p>“Very good,” said I, “and perfectly +satisfactory. Now let us ascend the Big +Pumlummon.”</p> + +<p>In about a quarter of an hour we reached the summit of the +hill, where stood a large carn or heap of stones. I got +upon the top and looked around me.</p> + +<p>A mountainous wilderness extended on every side, a waste of +russet coloured hills, with here and there a black, craggy +summit. No signs of life or cultivation were to be +discovered, and the eye might search in vain for a grove or even +a single tree. The scene would have been cheerless in the +extreme had not a bright sun lighted up the landscape.</p> + +<p>“This does not seem to be a country of much +society,” said I to my guide.</p> + +<p>“It is not, sir. The nearest house is the inn we +came from, which is now three miles behind us. Straight +before you there is not one for at least ten, and on either side +it is an anialwch to a vast distance. Plunlummon is not a +sociable country, sir; nothing to be found in it, but here and +there a few sheep or a shepherd.”</p> + +<p>“Now,” said I, descending from the carn, “we +will proceed to the sources of the rivers.”</p> + +<p>“The ffynnon of the Rheidol is not far off,” said +the guide; “it is just below the hill.”</p> + +<p>We descended the western side of the hill for some way; at +length, coming to a very craggy and precipitous place, my guide +stopped, and pointing with his finger into the valley below, +said:—</p> + +<p>“There, sir, if you look down you can see the source of +the Rheidol.”</p> + +<p>I looked down, and saw far below what appeared to be part of a +small sheet of water.</p> + +<p>“And that is the source of the Rheidol?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said my guide; “that is the +ffynnon of the Rheidol.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I; “is there no getting to +it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes! but the path, sir, as you see, is rather steep +and dangerous.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” said I. “Let us try +it.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t seeing the fountain sufficient for you, +sir?”</p> + +<p>“By no means,” said I. “It is not only +necessary for me to see the sources of the rivers, but to drink +of them, in order that in after times I may be able to harangue +about them with a tone of confidence and authority.”</p> + +<p>“Then follow me, sir; but please to take care, for this +path is more fit for sheep or shepherds than +gentlefolk.”</p> + +<p>And a truly bad path I found it; so bad indeed that before I +had descended twenty yards I almost repented having +ventured. I had a capital guide, however, who went before +and told me where to plant my steps. There was one +particularly bad part, being little better than a sheer +precipice; but even here I got down in safety with the assistance +of my guide, and a minute afterwards found myself at the source +of the Rheidol.</p> + +<p>The source of the Rheidol is a small beautiful lake, about a +quarter of a mile in length. It is overhung on the east and +north by frightful crags, from which it is fed by a number of +small rills. The water is of the deepest blue, and of very +considerable depth. The banks, except to the north and +east, slope gently down, and are clad with soft and beautiful +moss. The river, of which it is the head, emerges at the +south-western side, and brawls away in the shape of a +considerable brook, amidst moss, and rushes down a wild glen +tending to the south. To the west the prospect is bounded, +at a slight distance, by high, swelling ground. If few +rivers have a more wild and wondrous channel than the Rheidol, +fewer still have a more beautiful and romantic source.</p> + +<p>After kneeling down and drinking freely of the lake I +said:</p> + +<p>“Now, where are we to go to next?”</p> + +<p>“The nearest ffynnon to that of the Rheidol, sir, is the +ffynnon of the Severn.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said I; “let us now go and see +the ffynnon of the Severn!”</p> + +<p>I followed my guide over a hill to the north-west into a +valley, at the farther end of which I saw a brook streaming +apparently to the south, where was an outlet.</p> + +<p>“That brook,” said the guide, “is the young +Severn.” The brook came from round the side of a very +lofty rock, singularly variegated, black and white, the northern +summit presenting something of the appearance of the head of a +horse. Passing round this crag we came to a fountain +surrounded with rushes, out of which the brook, now exceedingly +small, came murmuring.</p> + +<p>“The crag above,” said my guide, “is called +Crag y Cefyl, or the Rock of the Horse, and this spring at its +foot is generally called the ffynnon of the Hafren. +However, drink not of it, master; for the ffynnon of the Hafren +is higher up the nant. Follow me, and I will presently show +you the real ffynnon of the Hafren.”</p> + +<p>I followed him up a narrow and very steep dingle. +Presently we came to some beautiful little pools of water in the +turf, which was here remarkably green.</p> + +<p>“These are very pretty pools, an’t they, +master?” said my companion. “Now, if I was a +false guide I might bid you stoop and drink, saying that these +were the sources of the Severn; but I am a true cyfarwydd, and +therefore tell you not to drink, for these pools are not the +sources of the Hafren, no more than the spring below. The +ffynnon of the Severn is higher up the nant. Don’t +fret, however, but follow me, and we shall be there in a +minute.”</p> + +<p>So I did as he bade me, following him without fretting higher +up the nant. Just at the top he halted and said: +“Now, master, I have conducted you to the source of the +Severn. I have considered the matter deeply, and have come +to the conclusion that here, and here only, is the true +source. Therefore stoop down and drink, in full confidence +that you are taking possession of the Holy Severn.”</p> + +<p>The source of the Severn is a little pool of water some twenty +inches long, six wide, and about three deep. It is covered +at the bottom with small stones, from between which the water +gushes up. It is on the left-hand side of the nant, as you +ascend, close by the very top. An unsightly heap of black +turf-earth stands right above it to the north. Turf-heaps, +both large and small, are in abundance in the vicinity.</p> + +<p>After taking possession of the Severn by drinking at its +source, rather a shabby source for so noble a stream, I said, +“Now let us go to the fountain of the Wye.”</p> + +<p>“A quarter of an hour will take us to it, your +honour,” said the guide, leading the way.</p> + +<p>The source of the Wye, which is a little pool, not much larger +than that which constitutes the fountain of the Severn, stands +near the top of a grassy hill which forms part of the Great +Plynlimmon. The stream after leaving its source runs down +the hill towards the east, and then takes a turn to the +south. The Mountains of the Severn and the Wye are in close +proximity to each other. That of the Rheidol stands +somewhat apart front both, as if, proud of its own beauty, it +disdained the other two for their homeliness. All three are +contained within the compass of a mile.</p> + +<p>“And now, I suppose, sir, that our work is done, and we +may go back to where we came from,” said my guide, as I +stood on the grassy hill after drinking copiously of the fountain +of the Wye.</p> + +<p>“We may,” said I; “but before we do I must +repeat some lines made by a man who visited these sources, and +experienced the hospitality of a chieftain in this neighbourhood +four hundred years ago.” Then taking off my hat, I +lifted up my voice and sang:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“From high Plynlimmon’s shaggy side<br +/> +Three streams in three directions glide;<br /> +To thousands at their mouths who tarry<br /> +Honey, gold and mead they carry.<br /> +Flow also from Plynlimmon high<br /> +Three streams of generosity;<br /> +The first, a noble stream indeed,<br /> +Like rills of Mona runs with mead;<br /> +The second bears from vineyards thick<br /> +Wine to the feeble and the sick;<br /> +The third, till time shall be no more,<br /> +Mingled with gold shall silver pour.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Nice pennillion, sir, I daresay,” said my guide, +“provided a person could understand them. +What’s meant by all this mead, wine, gold, and +silver?”</p> + +<p>“Why,” said I, “the bard meant to say that +Plynlimmon, by means of its three channels, sends blessings and +wealth in three different directions to distant places, and that +the person whom he came to visit, and who lived on Plynlimmon, +distributed his bounty in three different ways, giving mead to +thousands at his banquets, wine from the vineyards of Gascony to +the sick and feeble of the neighbourhood, and gold and silver to +those who were willing to be tipped, amongst whom no doubt was +himself, as poets have never been above receiving a +present.”</p> + +<p>“Nor above asking for one, your honour; there’s a +prydydd in this neighbourhood who will never lose a shilling for +want of asking for it. Now, sir, have the kindness to tell +me the name of the man who made those pennillion.”</p> + +<p>“Lewis Glyn Cothi,” said I; “at least, it +was he who made the pennillion from which those verses are +translated.”</p> + +<p>“And what was the name of the gentleman whom he came to +visit?”</p> + +<p>“His name,” said I, “was Dafydd ab Thomas +Vychan.”</p> + +<p>“And where did he live?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I believe, he lived at the castle, which you told +me once stood on the spot which you pointed out as we came +up. At any rate, he lived somewhere upon +Plynlimmon.”</p> + +<p>“I wish there was some rich gentleman at present living +on Plynlimmon,” said my guide; “one of that sort is +much wanted.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t have everything at the same +time,” said I; “formerly you had a chieftain who gave +away wine and mead, and occasionally a bit of gold or silver, but +then no travellers and tourists came to see the wonders of the +hills, for at that time nobody cared anything about hills; at +present you have no chieftain, but plenty of visitors, who come +to see the hills and the sources, and scatter plenty of gold +about the neighbourhood.”</p> + +<p>We now bent our steps homeward, bearing slightly to the north, +going over hills and dales covered with gorse and ling. My +guide walked with a calm and deliberate gait, yet I had +considerable difficulty in keeping up with him. There was, +however, nothing surprising in this; he was a shepherd walking on +his own hill, and having first-rate wind, and knowing every inch +of the ground, made great way without seeming to be in the +slightest hurry: I would not advise a road-walker, even if he be +a first-rate one, to attempt to compete with a shepherd on his +own, or indeed any hill; should he do so, the conceit would soon +be taken out of him.</p> + +<p>After a little time we saw a rivulet running from the +west.</p> + +<p>“This ffrwd,” said my guide, “is called +Frennig. It here divides shire Trefaldwyn from +Cardiganshire, one in North and the other in South +Wales.”</p> + +<p>Shortly afterwards we came to a hillock of rather a singular +shape.</p> + +<p>“This place, sir,” said he, “is called +Eisteddfa.”</p> + +<p>“Why is it called so?” said I. +“Eisteddfa means the place where people sit +down.”</p> + +<p>“It does so,” said the guide, “and it is +called the place of sitting because three men from different +quarters of the world once met here, and one proposed that they +should sit down.”</p> + +<p>“And did they?” said I.</p> + +<p>“They did, sir; and when they had sat down they told +each other their histories.”</p> + +<p>“I should be glad to know what their histories +were,” said I.</p> + +<p>“I can’t exactly tell you what they were, but I +have heard say that there was a great deal in them about the +Tylwyth Teg or fairies.”</p> + +<p>“Do you believe in fairies?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I do, sir; but they are very seldom seen, and when they +are they do no harm to anybody. I only wish there were as +few corpse-candles as there are Tylwith Teg, and that they did as +little harm.”</p> + +<p>“They foreshow people’s deaths, don’t +they?” said I.</p> + +<p>“They do, sir; but that’s not all the harm they +do. They are very dangerous for anybody to meet with. +If they come bump up against you when you are walking carelessly +it’s generally all over with you in this world. +I’ll give you an example: A man returning from market from +Llan Eglos to Llan Curig, not far from Plynlimmon, was struck +down dead as a horse not long ago by a corpse-candle. It +was a rainy, windy night, and the wind and rain were blowing in +his face, so that he could not see it, or get out of its +way. And yet the candle was not abroad on purpose to kill +the man. The business that it was about was to +prognosticate the death of a woman who lived near the spot, and +whose husband dealt in wool—poor thing! she was dead and +buried in less than a fortnight. Ah, master, I wish that +corpse-candles were as few and as little dangerous as the Tylwith +Teg or fairies.”</p> + +<p>We returned to the inn, where I settled with the honest +fellow, adding a trifle to what I had agreed to give him. +Then sitting down, I called for a large measure of ale, and +invited him to partake of it. He accepted my offer with +many thanks and bows, and as we sat and drank our ale we had a +great deal of discourse about the places we had visited. +The ale being finished, I got up and said:</p> + +<p>“I must now be off for the Devil’s +Bridge!”</p> + +<p>Whereupon he also arose, and offering me his hand, said:</p> + +<p>“Farewell, master; I shall never forget you. Were +all the gentlefolks who come here to see the sources like you, we +should indeed feel no want in these hills of such a gentleman as +is spoken of in the pennillion.”</p> + +<p>The sun was going down as I left the inn. I recrossed +the streamlet by means of the pole and rail. The water was +running with much less violence than in the morning, and was +considerably lower. The evening was calm and beautifully +cool, with a slight tendency to frost. I walked along with +a bounding and elastic step, and never remember to have felt more +happy and cheerful.</p> + +<p>I reached the hospice at about six o’clock, a bright +moon shining upon me, and found a capital supper awaiting me, +which I enjoyed exceedingly.</p> + +<p>How one enjoys one’s supper at one’s inn after a +good day’s walk, provided one has the proud and glorious +consciousness of being able to pay one’s reckoning on the +morrow!</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIX</h2> + +<p class="letter">A Morning View—Hafod Ychdryd—The +Monument—Fairy-looking Place—Edward Lhuyd.</p> + +<p>The morning of the sixth was bright and glorious. As I +looked from the window of the upper sitting-room of the hospice +the scene which presented itself was wild and beautiful to a +degree. The oak-covered tops of the volcanic crater were +gilded with the brightest sunshine, whilst the eastern sides +remained in dark shade and the gap or narrow entrance to the +north in shadow yet darker, in the midst of which shone the +silver of the Rheidol cataract. Should I live a hundred +years I shall never forget the wild fantastic beauty of that +morning scene.</p> + +<p>I left the friendly hospice at about nine o’clock to +pursue my southern journey. By this time the morning had +lost much of its beauty, and the dull grey sky characteristic of +November began to prevail. The way lay up a hill to the +south-east; on my left was a glen down which the river of the +Monk rolled with noise and foam. The country soon became +naked and dreary, and continued so for some miles. At +length, coming to the top of a hill, I saw a park before me, +through which the road led after passing under a stately +gateway. I had reached the confines of the domain of +Hafod.</p> + +<p>Hafod Ychdryd, or the summer mansion of Uchtryd, has from time +immemorial been the name of a dwelling on the side of a hill +above the Ystwyth, looking to the east. At first it was a +summer boothie or hunting lodge to Welsh chieftains, but +subsequently expanded to the roomy, comfortable dwelling of Welsh +squires, where hospitality was much practised and bards and +harpers liberally encouraged. Whilst belonging to an +ancient family of the name of Johnes, several members of which +made no inconsiderable figure in literature, it was celebrated, +far and wide, for its library, in which was to be found, amongst +other treasures, a large collection of Welsh manuscripts on +various subjects—history, medicine, poetry and +romance. The house, however, and the library were both +destroyed in a dreadful fire which broke out. This fire is +generally called the great fire of Hafod, and some of those who +witnessed it have been heard to say that its violence was so +great that burning rafters mixed with flaming books were hurled +high above the summits of the hills. The loss of the house +was a matter of triviality compared with that of the +library. The house was soon rebuilt, and probably, +phoenix-like, looked all the better for having been burnt, but +the library could never be restored. On the extinction of +the family, the last hope of which, an angelic girl, faded away +in the year 1811, the domain became the property of the late Duke +of Newcastle, a kind and philanthrophic nobleman, and a great +friend of agriculture, who held it for many years, and +considerably improved it. After his decease it was +purchased by the head of an ancient Lancashire family, who used +the modern house as a summer residence, as the Welsh chieftains +had used the wooden boothie of old.</p> + +<p>I went to a kind of lodge, where I had been told that I should +find somebody who would admit me to the church, which stood +within the grounds and contained a monument which I was very +desirous of seeing, partly from its being considered one of the +masterpieces of the great Chantrey, and partly because it was a +memorial to the lovely child, the last scion of the old family +who had possessed the domain. A good-looking young woman, +the only person whom I saw, on my telling my errand, forthwith +took a key and conducted me to the church. The church was a +neat edifice with rather a modern look. It exhibited +nothing remarkable without, and only one thing remarkable within, +namely, the monument, which was indeed worthy of notice, and +which, had Chantrey executed nothing else, might well have +entitled him to be considered, what the world has long pronounced +him, the prince of British sculptors.</p> + +<p>This monument, which is of the purest marble, is placed on the +eastern side of the church, below a window of stained glass, and +represents a truly affecting scene: a lady and gentleman are +standing over a dying girl of angelic beauty, who is extended on +a couch, and from whose hand a volume, the Book of Life, is +falling. The lady is weeping.</p> + +<p>Beneath is the following inscription—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">To the Memory of<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mary</span><br /> +The only child of <span class="smcap">Thomas</span> and <span +class="smcap">Jane Johnes</span><br /> +Who died in 1811<br /> +After a few days’ sickness<br /> +This monument is dedicated<br /> +By her parents.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>An inscription worthy, by its simplicity and pathos, to stand +below such a monument.</p> + +<p>After presenting a trifle to the woman, who, to my great +surprise, could not speak a word of English, I left the church, +and descended the side of the hill, near the top of which it +stands. The scenery was exceedingly beautiful. Below +me was a bright green valley, at the bottom of which the Ystwyth +ran brawling, now hid amongst groves, now showing a long stretch +of water. Beyond the river to the east was a noble +mountain, richly wooded. The Ystwyth, after a circuitous +course, joins the Rheidol near the strand of the Irish Channel, +which the united rivers enter at a place called Aber Ystwyth, +where stands a lovely town of the same name, which sprang up +under the protection of a baronial castle, still proud and +commanding even in its ruins, built by Strongbow, the conqueror +of the great western isle. Near the lower part of the +valley the road tended to the south, up and down through woods +and bowers, the scenery still ever increasing in beauty. At +length, after passing through a gate and turning round a sharp +corner, I suddenly beheld Hafod on my right hand, to the west at +a little distance above me, on a rising ground, with a noble +range of mountains behind it.</p> + +<p>A truly fairy place it looked, beautiful but fantastic, in the +building of which three styles of architecture seemed to have +been employed. At the southern end was a Gothic tower; at +the northern an Indian pagoda; the middle part had much the +appearance of a Grecian villa. The walls were of +resplendent whiteness, and the windows, which were numerous, +shone with beautiful gilding. Such was modern Hafod, a +strange contrast, no doubt, to the hunting lodge of old.</p> + +<p>After gazing at this house of eccentric taste for about a +quarter of an hour, sometimes with admiration, sometimes with a +strong disposition to laugh, I followed the road, which led past +the house in nearly a southerly direction. Presently the +valley became more narrow, and continued narrowing till there was +little more room than was required for the road and the river, +which ran deep below it on the left-hand side. Presently I +came to a gate, the boundary in the direction in which I was +going of the Hafod domain.</p> + +<p>Here, when about to leave Hafod, I shall devote a few lines to +a remarkable man whose name should be ever associated with the +place. Edward Lhuyd was born in the vicinity of Hafod about +the period of the Restoration. His father was a clergyman, +who after giving him an excellent education at home sent him to +Oxford, at which seat of learning he obtained an honourable +degree, officiated for several years as tutor, and was eventually +made custodiary of the Ashmolean Museum. From his early +youth he devoted himself with indefatigable zeal to the +acquisition of learning. He was fond of natural history and +British antiquities, but his favourite pursuit, and that in which +he principally distinguished himself, was the study of the Celtic +dialects; and it is but doing justice to his memory to say, that +he was not only the best Celtic scholar of his time, but that no +one has arisen since worthy to be considered his equal in Celtic +erudition. Partly at the expense of the university, partly +at that of various powerful individuals who patronized him, he +travelled through Ireland, the Western Highlands, Wales, Cornwall +and Armorica, for the purpose of collecting Celtic +manuscripts. He was particularly successful in Ireland and +Wales. Several of the most precious Irish manuscripts in +Oxford, and also in the Chandos Library, were of Lhuyd’s +collection, and to him the old hall at Hafod was chiefly indebted +for its treasures of ancient British literature. Shortly +after returning to Oxford from his Celtic wanderings he sat down +to the composition of a grand work in three parts, under the +title of Archaeologia Britannica, which he had long +projected. The first was to be devoted to the Celtic +dialects; the second to British Antiquities, and the third to the +natural history of the British Isles. He only lived to +complete the first part. It contains various Celtic +grammars and vocabularies, to each of which there is a preface +written by Lhuyd in the particular dialect to which the +vocabulary or grammar is devoted. Of all these prefaces the +one to the Irish is the most curious and remarkable. The +first part of the Archaeologia was published at Oxford in 1707, +two years before the death of the author. Of his +correspondence, which was very extensive, several letters have +been published, all of them relating to philology, antiquities, +and natural history.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XC</h2> + +<p class="letter">An Adventure—Spytty +Ystwyth—Wormwood.</p> + +<p>Shortly after leaving the grounds of Hafod I came to a bridge +over the Ystwyth. I crossed it, and was advancing along the +road which led apparently to the south-east, when I came to a +company of people who seemed to be loitering about. It +consisted entirely of young men and women, the former with +crimson favours, the latter in the garb of old Wales, blue tunics +and sharp crowned hats. Going up to one of the young women, +I said, “Petti yw? what’s the matter!”</p> + +<p>“Priodas (a marriage),” she replied, after looking +at me attentively. I then asked her the name of the bridge, +whereupon she gave a broad grin, and after some, little time +replied: “Pont y Groes (the bridge of the +cross).” I was about to ask her some other question +when she turned away with a loud chuckle, and said something to +another wench near her, who, grinning yet more uncouthly, said +something to a third, who grinned too, and lifting up her hands +and spreading her fingers wide, said: “Dyn oddi dir y +Gogledd—a man from the north country, hee, +hee!” Forthwith there was a general shout, the +wenches crying: “A man from the north country, hee, +hee!” and the fellows crying: “A man from the north +country, hoo, hoo!”</p> + +<p>“Is this the way you treat strangers in the +south?” said I. But I had scarcely uttered the words +when with redoubled shouts the company exclaimed: +“There’s Cumraeg! there’s pretty Cumraeg. +Go back, David, to shire Fon! That Cumraeg won’t pass +here.”</p> + +<p>Finding they disliked my Welsh I had recourse to my own +language. “Really,” said I in English, +“such conduct is unaccountable. What do you +mean?” But this only made matters worse, for the +shouts grew louder still, and every one cried: +“There’s pretty English! Well, if I +couldn’t speak better English than that I’d never +speak English at all. No, David; if you must speak at all, +stick to Cumraeg.” Then forthwith, all the company +set themselves in violent motion, the women rushing up to me with +their palms and fingers spread out in my face, without touching +me, however, as they wheeled round me at about a yard’s +distance, crying: “A man from the north country, hee, +hee!” and the fellows acting just in the same way, rushing +up with their hands spread out, and then wheeling round me with +cries of “A man from the north country, hoo, +hoo!” I was so enraged that I made for a heap of +stones by the road-side, intending to take some up and fling them +at the company. Reflecting, however, that I had but one +pair of hands and the company at least forty, and that by such an +attempt at revenge I should only make myself ridiculous, I gave +up my intention, and continued my journey at a rapid pace, +pursued for a long way by “hee, hee,” and “hoo, +hoo,” and: “Go back, David, to your goats in +Anglesey, you are not wanted here.”</p> + +<p>I began to descend a hill forming the eastern side of an +immense valley, at the bottom of which rolled the river. +Beyond the valley to the west was an enormous hill, on the top of +which was a most singular-looking crag, seemingly leaning in the +direction of the south. On the right-hand side of the road +were immense works of some kind in full play and activity, for +engines were clanging and puffs of smoke were ascending from tall +chimneys. On inquiring of a boy the name of the works I was +told that they were called the works of Level Vawr, or the Great +Level, a mining establishment; but when I asked him the name of +the hill with the singular peak, on the other side of the valley, +he shook his head and said he did not know. Near the top of +the hill I came to a village consisting of a few cottages and a +shabby-looking church. A rivulet descending from some crags +to the east crosses the road, which leads through the place, and +tumbling down the valley, joins the Ystwyth at the bottom. +Seeing a woman standing at the door, I inquired the name of the +village.</p> + +<p>“Spytty Ystwyth,” she replied, but she, no more +than the boy down below, could tell me the name of the +strange-looking hill across the valley. This second Spytty +or monastic hospital, which I had come to, looked in every +respect an inferior place to the first. Whatever its former +state might have been, nothing but dirt and wretchedness were now +visible. Having reached the top of the hill I entered upon +a wild moory region. Presently I crossed a little bridge +over a rivulet, and seeing a small house on the shutter of which +was painted “cwrw,” I went in, sat down on an old +chair, which I found vacant, and said in English to an old woman +who sat knitting by the window: “Bring me a pint of +ale!”</p> + +<p>“Dim Saesneg!” said the old woman.</p> + +<p>“I told you to bring me a pint of ale,” said I to +her in her own language.</p> + +<p>“You shall have it immediately, sir,” said she, +and going to a cask, she filled a jug with ale, and after handing +it to me resumed her seat and knitting.</p> + +<p>“It is not very bad ale,” said I, after I had +tasted it.</p> + +<p>“It ought to be very good,” said the old woman, +“for I brewed it myself.”</p> + +<p>“The goodness of ale,” said I, “does not so +much depend on who brews it as on what it is brewed of. Now +there is something in this ale which ought not to be. What +is it made of?”</p> + +<p>“Malt and hop.”</p> + +<p>“It tastes very bitter,” said I. “Is +there no chwerwlys <a name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13" +class="citation">[13]</a> in it?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know what chwerwlys is,” said the old +woman.</p> + +<p>“It is what the Saxons call wormwood,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh, wermod. No, there is no wermod in my beer, at +least not much.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, then there is some; I thought there was. Why +do you put such stuff into your ale?”</p> + +<p>“We are glad to put it in sometimes when hops are dear, +as they are this year. Moreover, wermod is not bad stuff, +and some folks like the taste better than that of +hops.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t. However, the ale is +drinkable. What am I to give you for the pint?”</p> + +<p>“You are to give me a groat.”</p> + +<p>“That is a great deal,” said I, “for a groat +I ought to have a pint of ale made of the best malt and +hops.”</p> + +<p>“I give you the best I can afford. One must live +by what one sells. I do not find that easy work.”</p> + +<p>“Is this house your own?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no! I pay rent for it, and not a cheap +one.”</p> + +<p>“Have you a husband?</p> + +<p>“I had, but he is dead.”</p> + +<p>“Have you any children?”</p> + +<p>“I had three, but they are dead too, and buried with my +husband at the monastery.”</p> + +<p>“Where is the monastery?”</p> + +<p>“A good way farther on, at the strath beyond Rhyd +Fendigaid.”</p> + +<p>“What is the name of the little river by the +house?”</p> + +<p>“Avon Marchnad (Market River).”</p> + +<p>“Why is it called Avon Marchnad?”</p> + +<p>“Truly, gentleman, I cannot tell you.”</p> + +<p>I went on sipping my ale and finding fault with its bitterness +till I had finished it, when getting up I gave the old lady her +groat, bade her farewell, and departed.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XCI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Pont y Rhyd Fendigaid—Strata +Florida—The Yew-Tree—Idolatry—The +Teivi—The Llostlydan.</p> + +<p>And now for the resting-place of Dafydd Ab Gwilym! After +wandering for some miles towards the south over a bleak moory +country I came to a place called Fair Rhos, a miserable village, +consisting of a few half-ruined cottages, situated on the top of +a hill. From the hill I looked down on a wide valley of a +russet colour, along which a river ran towards the south. +The whole scene was cheerless. Sullen hills were all +around. Descending the hill I entered a large village +divided into two by the river, which here runs from east to west, +but presently makes a turn. There was much mire in the +street; immense swine lay in the mire, who turned up their snouts +at me as I passed. Women in Welsh hats stood in the mire, +along with men without any hats at all, but with short pipes in +their mouths; they were talking together; as I passed, however, +they held their tongues, the women leering contemptuously at me, +the men glaring sullenly at me, and causing tobacco smoke curl in +my face; on my taking off my hat, however and inquiring the way +to the Monachlog, everybody was civil enough, and twenty voices +told me the way the Monastery. I asked the name of the +river:</p> + +<p>“The Teivi, sir: the Teivi.”</p> + +<p>“The name of the bridge?”</p> + +<p>“Pony y Rhyd Fendigaid—the Bridge of the Blessed +Ford, sir.”</p> + +<p>I crossed the Bridge of the Blessed Ford, and presently +leaving the main road, I turned to the east by a dung-hill, up a +narrow lane parallel with the river. After proceeding a +mile up the lane, amidst trees and copses, and crossing a little +brook, which runs into the Teivi, out of which I drank, I saw +before me in the midst of a field, in which were tombstones and +broken ruins, a rustic-looking church; a farm-house stood near +it, in the garden of which stood the framework of a large +gateway. I crossed over into the churchyard, ascended a +green mound, and looked about me. I was now in the very +midst of the Monachlog Ystrad Flur, the celebrated monastery of +Strata Florida, to which in old times Popish pilgrims from all +parts of the world repaired. The scene was solemn and +impressive: on the north side of the river a large bulky hill +looked down upon the ruins and the church, and on the south side, +some way behind the farm-house, was another which did the +same. Rugged mountains formed the background of the valley +to the east, down from which came murmuring the fleet but shallow +Teivi. Such is the scenery which surrounds what remains of +Strata Florida: those scanty broken ruins compose all which +remains of that celebrated monastery, in which saints and mitred +abbots were buried, and in which, or in whose precincts, was +buried Dafydd Ab Gwilym, the greatest genius of the Cimbric race +and one of the first poets of the world.</p> + +<p>After standing for some time on the mound I descended, and +went up to the church. I found the door fastened, but +obtained through a window a tolerable view of the interior, which +presented an appearance of the greatest simplicity. I then +strolled about the churchyard looking at the tombstones, which +were humble enough and for the most part modern. I would +give something, said I, to know whereabouts in this neighbourhood +Ab Gwilym lies. That, however, is a secret that no one can +reveal to me. At length I came to a yew-tree which stood +just by the northern wall, which is at a slight distance from the +Teivi. It was one of two trees, both of the same species, +which stood in the churchyard, and appeared to be the oldest of +the two. Who knows, said I, but this is the tree that was +planted over Ab Gwilym’s grave, and to which Gruffydd Gryg +wrote an ode? I looked at it attentively, and thought that +there was just a possibility of its being the identical +tree. If it was, however, the benison of Gruffydd Gryg had +not had exactly the effect which he intended, for either +lightning or the force of wind had splitten off a considerable +part of the head and trunk, so that though one part of it looked +strong and blooming, the other was white and spectral. +Nevertheless, relying on the possibility of its being the sacred +tree, I behaved just as I should have done had I been quite +certain of the fact. Taking off my hat I knelt down and +kissed its root, repeating lines from Gruffydd Gryg, with which I +blended some of my own in order to accommodate what I said to +present circumstances:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“O tree of yew, which here I spy,<br /> +By Ystrad Flur’s blest monast’ry,<br /> +Beneath thee lies, by cold Death bound,<br /> +The tongue for sweetness once renown’d.<br /> +Better for thee thy boughs to wave,<br /> +Though scath’d, above Ab Gwilym’s grave,<br /> +Than stand in pristine glory drest<br /> +Where some ignobler bard doth rest;<br /> +I’d rather hear a taunting rhyme<br /> +From one who’ll live through endless time,<br /> +Than hear my praises chanted loud<br /> +By poets of the vulgar crowd.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>I had left the churchyard, and was standing near a kind of +garden, at some little distance from the farm-house, gazing about +me and meditating, when a man came up attended by a large +dog. He had rather a youthful look, was of the middle size, +and dark complexioned. He was respectably dressed, except +that upon his head he wore a common hairy cap.</p> + +<p>“Good evening,” said I to him in Welsh.</p> + +<p>“Good evening, gentleman,” said he in the same +language.</p> + +<p>“Have you much English?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Very little; I can only speak a few words.”</p> + +<p>“Are you the farmer?”</p> + +<p>“Yes! I farm the greater part of the +Strath.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose the land is very good here?”</p> + +<p>“Why do you suppose so?”</p> + +<p>“Because the monks built their house here in the old +time, and the monks never built their houses except on good +land.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I must say the land is good; indeed I do not +think there is any so good in Shire Aberteifi.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you are surprised to see me here; I came to +see the old Monachlog.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, gentleman; I saw you looking about it.”</p> + +<p>“Am I welcome to see it?”</p> + +<p>“Croesaw! gwr boneddig, croesaw! many, many welcomes to +you, gentleman!”</p> + +<p>“Do many people come to see the monastery?”</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—Yes! many gentlefolks come to see it in +the summer time.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—It is a poor place now.</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—Very poor, I wonder any gentlefolks come +to look at it.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—It was a wonderful place once; you merely +see the ruins of it now. It was pulled down at the +Reformation.</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—Why was it pulled down then?</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Because it was a house of idolatry to +which people used to resort by hundreds to worship images. +Had you lived at that time you would have seen people down on +their knees before stocks and stones, worshipping them, kissing +them, and repeating pennillion to them.</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—What fools! How thankful I am that +I live in wiser days. If such things were going on in the +old Monachlog it was high time to pull it down.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—What kind of a rent do you pay for your +land?</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—Oh, rather a stiffish one.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Two pounds an acre?</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—Two pound an acre! I wish I paid no +more!</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Well, I think that would be quite +enough. In the time of the old monastery you might have had +the land at two shillings an acre.</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—Might I? Then those couldn’t +have been such bad times, after all.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—I beg your pardon! They were +horrible times—times in which there were monks and friars +and graven images, which people kissed and worshipped and sang +pennillion to. Better pay three pounds an acre and live on +crusts and water in the present enlightened days than pay two +shillings an acre and sit down to beef and ale three times a day +in the old superstitious times.</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—Well, I scarcely know what to say to +that.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—What do you call that high hill on the +other side of the river?</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—I call that hill Bunk Pen Bannedd.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Is the source of the Teivi far from +here?</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—The head of the Teivi is about two miles +from here high up in the hills.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—What kind of place is the head of the +Teivi?</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—The head of the Teivi is a small lake +about fifty yards long and twenty across.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Where does the Teivi run to?</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—The Teivi runs to the sea, which it +enters at a place which the Cumri call Aber Teivi and the Saxons +Cardigan.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Don’t you call Cardiganshire Shire +Aber Teivi?</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—We do.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Are there many gleisiaid in the +Teivi?</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—Plenty, and salmons too—that is, +farther down. The best place for salmon and gleisiaid is a +place, a great way down the stream, called Dinas Emlyn.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Do you know an animal called +Llostlydan?</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—No, I do not know that beast.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—There used to be many in the Teivi.</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—What kind of beast is the Llostlydan?</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—A beast with a broad tail, on which +account the old Cumri did call him Llostlydan. Clever beast +he was; made himself house of wood in middle of the river, with +two doors, so that when hunter came upon him he might have good +chance of escape. Hunter often after him, because he had +skin good to make hat.</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—Ha, I wish I could catch that beast now +in Teivi.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Why so?</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—Because I want hat. Would make +myself hat of his skin.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Oh, you could not make yourself a hat +even if you had the skin.</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—Why not? Shot coney in Bunk Pen +Banedd; made myself cap of his skin. So why not make hat of +skin of broadtail, should I catch him in Teivi?</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—How far is it to Tregaron?</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—’Tis ten miles from here, and eight +from the Rhyd Fendigaid.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Must I go back to Rhyd Fendigaid to get +to Tregaron?</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—You must.</p> + +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Then I must be going, for the night is +coming down. Farewell!</p> + +<p><i>Farmer</i>.—Farvel, Saxon gentleman!</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XCII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Nocturnal Journey—Maes y Lynn—The +Figure—Earl of Leicester—Twm Shone Catti—The +Farmer and Bull—Tom and the Farmer—The Cave—The +Threat—Tom a Justice—The Big Wigs—Tregaron.</p> + +<p>It was dusk by the time I had regained the high-road by the +village of the Rhyd Fendigaid.</p> + +<p>As I was yet eight miles from Tregaron, the place where I +intended to pass the night, I put on my best pace. In a +little time I reached a bridge over a stream which seemed to +carry a considerable tribute to the Teivi.</p> + +<p>“What is the name of this bridge?” said I to a man +riding in a cart, whom I met almost immediately after I had +crossed the bridge.</p> + +<p>“Pont Vleer,” methought he said, but as his voice +was husky and indistinct, very much like that of a person +somewhat the worse for liquor, I am by no means positive.</p> + +<p>It was now very dusk, and by the time I had advanced about a +mile farther dark night settled down, which compelled me to abate +my pace a little, more especially as the road was by no means +first-rate. I had come, to the best of my computation, +about four miles from the Rhyd Fendigaid when the moon began +partly to show itself, and presently by its glimmer I saw some +little way off on my right hand what appeared to be a large sheet +of water. I went on, and in about a minute saw two or three +houses on the left, which stood nearly opposite to the object +which I had deemed to be water, and which now appeared to be +about fifty yards distant in a field which was separated from the +road by a slight hedge. Going up to the principal house I +knocked, and a woman making her appearance at the door, I +said:</p> + +<p>“I beg pardon for troubling you, but I wish to know the +name of this place.”</p> + +<p>“Maes y Lynn—The Field of the Lake,” said +the woman.</p> + +<p>“And what is the name of the lake?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I do not know,” said she; “but the place +where it stands is called Maes Llyn, as I said before.”</p> + +<p>“Is the lake deep?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Very deep,” said she.</p> + +<p>“How deep?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Over the tops of the houses,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“Any fish in the lake?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes! plenty.”</p> + +<p>“What fish?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, there are llysowen, and the fish we call +ysgetten.”</p> + +<p>“Eels and tench,” said I; “anything +else?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know,” said the woman; “folks say +that there used to be queer beast in the lake, water-cow used to +come out at night and eat people’s clover in the +fields.”</p> + +<p>“Pooh,” said I, “that was merely some +person’s cow or horse, turned out at night to fill its +belly at other folks’ expense.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps so,” said the woman; “have you any +more questions to ask?”</p> + +<p>“Only one,” said I; “how far is it to +Tregaron?”</p> + +<p>“About three miles: are you going there?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am going to Tregaron.”</p> + +<p>“Pity that you did not come a little time ago,” +said the woman; “you might then have had pleasant company +on your way; pleasant man stopped here to light his pipe; he too +going to Tregaron.”</p> + +<p>“It doesn’t matter,” said I; “I am +never happier than when keeping my own company.” +Bidding the woman good night, I went on. The moon now shone +tolerably bright, so that I could see my way, and I sped on at a +great rate. I had proceeded nearly half a mile, when I +thought I heard steps in advance, and presently saw a figure at +some little distance before me. The individual, probably +hearing the noise of my approach, soon turned round and stood +still. As I drew near I distinguished a stout burly figure +of a man, seemingly about sixty, with a short pipe in his +mouth.</p> + +<p>“Ah, is it you?” said the figure, in English, +taking the pipe out of his mouth; “good evening, I am glad +to see you.” Then shaking some burning embers out of +his pipe, he put it into his pocket, and trudged on beside +me.</p> + +<p>“Why are you glad to see me?” said I, slackening +my pace; “I am a stranger to you; at any rate, you are to +me.”</p> + +<p>“Always glad to see English gentleman,” said the +figure; “always glad to see him.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know that I am an English gentleman?” +said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know Englishman at first sight; no one like him +in the whole world.”</p> + +<p>“Have you seen many English gentleman?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, have seen plenty when I have been up in +London.”</p> + +<p>“Have you been much in London?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes; when I was a drover was up in London every +month.”</p> + +<p>“And were you much in the society of English gentlemen +when you were there?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes; a great deal.”</p> + +<p>“Whereabouts in London did you chiefly meet +them?”</p> + +<p>“Whereabouts? Oh, in Smithfield.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said I; “I thought that was +rather a place for butchers than gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>“Great place for gentlemen, I assure you,” said +the figure; “met there the finest gentleman I ever saw in +my life; very grand, but kind and affable, like every true +gentleman. Talked to me a great deal about Anglesey runts, and +Welsh legs of mutton, and at parting shook me by the hand, and +asked me to look in upon him, if I was ever down in his parts, +and see his sheep and taste his ale.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know who he was?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes; know all about him; Earl of Leicester, from +county of Norfolk; fine old man indeed—you very much like +him—speak just in same way.”</p> + +<p>“Have you given up the business of drover long?” +said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes; given him up a long time, ever since +domm’d railroad came into fashion.”</p> + +<p>“And what do you do now?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh, not much; live upon my means; picked up a little +property, a few sticks, just enough for old crow to build him +nest with—sometimes, however, undertake a little job for +neighbouring people and get a little money. Can do +everything in small way, if necessary; build little bridge, if +asked;—Jack of all Trades—live very +comfortably.”</p> + +<p>“And where do you live?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, not very far from Tregaron.”</p> + +<p>“And what kind of place is Tregaron?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, very good place; not quite so big as London but +very good place.”</p> + +<p>“What is it famed for?” said I,</p> + +<p>“Oh, famed for very good ham; best ham at Tregaron in +all Shire Cardigan.”</p> + +<p>“Famed for anything else?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes! famed for great man, clever thief, Twm Shone +Catti, who was born there.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said I; “when did he +live?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, long time ago, more than two hundred +year.”</p> + +<p>“And what became of him?” said I; “was he +hung?”</p> + +<p>“Hung, no! only stupid thief hung. Twm Shone +clever thief; died rich man, justice of the peace and mayor of +Brecon.”</p> + +<p>“Very singular,” said I, “that they should +make a thief mayor of Brecon.”</p> + +<p>“Oh Twm Shone Catti very different from other thieves; +funny fellow, and so good-natured that everybody loved +him—so they made him magistrate, not, however, before he +had become very rich man by marrying great lady who fell in love +with him.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, ah,” said I; “that’s the way of +the world. He became rich, so they made him a magistrate; +had he remained poor they would have hung him in spite of all his +fun and good-nature. Well, can’t you tell me some of +the things he did?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, can tell you plenty. One day in time of +fair Tom Shone Catti goes into ironmonger’s shop in +Llandovery. ‘Master,’ says he, ‘I want to +buy a good large iron porridge pot; please to show me +some.’ So the man brings three or four big iron +porridge pots, the very best he has. Tom takes up one and +turns it round. ‘This look very good porridge +pot,’ said he; ‘I think it will suit me.’ +Then he turns it round and round again, and at last lifts it +above his head and peeks into it. ‘Ha, ha,’ +says he; ‘this won’t do; I see one hole here. +What mean you by wanting to sell article like this to +stranger?’ Says the man, ‘There be no hole in +it.’ ‘But there is,’ says Tom, holding it +up and peeking into it again; ‘I see the hole quite +plain. Take it and look into it yourself.’ So +the man takes the pot, and having held it up and peeked in, +‘as I hope to be saved,’ says he, ‘I can see no +hole.’ Says Tom, ‘Good man, if you put your +head in, you will find that there is a hole.’ So the +man tries to put in his head, but having some difficulty, Tom +lends him a helping hand by jamming the pot quite down over the +man’s face, then whisking up the other pots Tom leaves the +shop, saying as he goes, ‘Friend, I suppose you now see +there is a hole in the pot, otherwise how could you have got your +head inside?”’</p> + +<p>“Very good,” said I; “can you tell us +something more about Twm Shone Catti?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes; can tell you plenty about him. The farmer +at Newton, just one mile beyond the bridge at Brecon, had one +very fine bull, but with a very short tail. Says Tom to +himself: ‘By God’s nails and blood, I will steal the +farmer’s bull, and then sell it to him for other bull in +open market place.’ Then Tom makes one fine tail, +just for all the world such a tail as the bull ought to have had, +then goes by night to the farmer’s stall at Newton, steals +away the bull, and then sticks to the bull’s short stump +the fine bull’s tail which he himself had made. The +next market day he takes the bull to the market-place at Brecon, +and calls out; ‘Very fine bull this, who will buy my fine +bull?’ Quoth the farmer who stood nigh at hand, +‘That very much like my bull, which thief stole +t’other night; I think I can swear to him.’ +Says Tom, ‘What do you mean? This bull is not your +bull, but mine.’ Says the farmer, ‘I could +swear that this is my bull but for the tail. The tail of my +bull was short, but the tail of this is long. I would fain +know whether the tail of this be real tail or not.’ +‘You would?’ says Tom; ‘well, so you +shall.’ Thereupon he whips out big knife and cuts off +the bull’s tail, some little way above where the false tail +was joined on. ‘Ha, ha,’ said Tom, as the +bull’s stump of tail bled, and the bit of tail bled too to +which the false tail was stuck, and the bull kicked and +bellowed. ‘What say you now? Is it a true tail +or no?’ ‘By my faith!’ says the farmer, +‘I see that the tail is a true tail, and that the bull is +not mine. I beg pardon for thinking that he +was.’ ‘Begging pardon,’ says Tom, +‘is all very well; but will you buy the bull?’ +‘No,’ said the farmer; ‘I should be loth to buy +a bull with tail cut off close to the rump.’ +‘Ha,’ says Tom; ‘who made me cut off the tail +but yourself? Did you not force me to do so in order to +clear my character? Now as you made me cut off my +bull’s tail, I will make you buy my bull without his +tail.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ cried the mob; +‘as he forced you to cut off the tail, do you now force him +to buy the bull without the tail.’ Says the farmer, +‘What do you ask for the bull?’ Says Tom: +‘I ask for him ten pound.’ Says the farmer, +‘I will give you eight.’ ‘No,’ says +Tom; ‘you shall give me ten, or I will have you up before +the justice.’ ‘That is right,’ cried the +mob. ‘If he won’t pay you ten pound, have him +up before the justice.’ Thereupon the farmer, +becoming frightened, pulled out the ten pounds and gave it for +his own bull to Tom Shone Catti, who wished him joy of his +bargain. As the farmer was driving the bull away he said to +Tom: ‘Won’t you give me the tail?’ +‘No,’ said Tom; ‘I shall keep it against the +time I steal another bull with a short tail;’ and thereupon +he runs off.”</p> + +<p>“A clever fellow,” said I; “though it was +rather cruel in him to cut off the poor bull’s tail. +Now, perhaps, you will tell me how he came to marry the rich +lady?</p> + +<p>“Oh yes; I will tell you. One day as he was +wandering about, dressed quite like a gentleman, he heard a cry, +and found one very fine lady in the hands of one highwayman, who +would have robbed and murdered her. Tom kills the +highwayman and conducts the lady home to her house and her +husband, for she was a married lady. Out of gratitude to +Tom for the service he has done, the gentleman and lady invite +him to stay with them. The gentleman, who is a great +gentleman, fond of his bottle and hunting, takes mightily to Tom +for his funny sayings and because Tom’s a good hand at a +glass when at table, and a good hand at a leap when in field; the +lady also takes very much to Tom, because he one domm’d +handsome fellow, with plenty of wit and what they call +boetry—for Tom, amongst other things, was no bad boet, and +could treat a lady to pennillion about her face and her ancle, +and the tip of her ear. At last Tom goes away upon his +wanderings, not, however, before he has got one promise from the +lady, that if ever she becomes disengaged she will become his +wife. Well, after some time, the lady’s husband dies +and leaves her all his property, so that all of a sudden she +finds herself one great independent lady, mistress of the whole +of Strath Feen, one fair and pleasant valley far away there over +the Eastern hills, by the Towey, on the borders of Shire +Car. Tom, as soon as he hears the news of all this, sets +off for Strath Feen and asks the lady to perform her word; but +the lady, who finds herself one great and independent lady, and +moreover does not quite like the idea of marrying one thief, for +she had learnt who Tom was, does hum and hah, and at length begs +to be excused, because she has changed her mind. Tom begs +and entreats, but quite in vain, till at last she tells him to go +away and not trouble her any more. Tom goes away, but does +not yet lose hope. He takes up his quarters in one strange +little cave, nearly at the top of one wild hill, very much like +sugar loaf, which does rise above the Towey, just within Shire +Car. I have seen the cave myself, which is still called +Ystafell Twm Shone Catty. Very queer cave it is, in strange +situation; steep rock just above it, Towey River roaring +below. There Tom takes up his quarters, and from there he +often sallies forth, in hope of having interview with fair lady +and making her alter her mind, but she will have nothing to do +with him, and at last shuts herself up in her house and will not +go out. Well, Tom nearly loses all hope; he, however, +determines to make one last effort; so one morning he goes to the +house and stands before the door, entreating with one loud and +lamentable voice that the lady will see him once more, because he +is come to bid her one eternal farewell, being about to set off +for the wars in the kingdom of France. Well, the lady who +hears all he says relents one little, and showing herself at the +window, before which are very strong iron bars, she says: +‘Here I am! whatever you have to say, say it quickly and go +your way.’ Says Tom: ‘I am come to bid you one +eternal farewell, and have but one last slight request to make, +which is that you vouchsafe to stretch out of the window your +lily-white hand, that I may impress one last burning kiss of love +on the same.’ Well, the lady hesitates one little +time; at last, having one woman’s heart, she thinks she may +grant him this last little request, and stretching her hand +through the bars, she says: ‘Well, there’s my hand, +kiss it once and begone.’ Forthwith Tom, seizing her +wrist with his left hand, says: ‘I have got you now, and +will never let you go till you swear to become my +wife.’ ‘Never,’ said the lady, +‘will I become the wife of one thief,’ and strives +with all her might to pull her hand free, but cannot, for the +left hand of Tom is more strong than the right of other +man. Thereupon Tom with his right hand draws forth his +sword, and with one dreadful shout does exclaim,—‘Now +will you swear to become my wife, for if you don’t, by +God’s blood and nails, I will this moment smite off your +hand with this sword.’ Then the lady being very much +frightened, and having one sneaking kindness for Tom, who though +he looked very fierce looked also very handsome, +said,—‘Well, well! a promise is a promise; I promised +to become your wife, and so I will; I swear I will; by all I hold +holy I swear; so let go my hand, which you have almost pulled +off, and come in and welcome!’ So Tom lets go her +hand, and the lady opens her door, and before night they were +married, and in less than one month Tom, being now very rich and +Lord of Ystrad Feen, was made justice of the peace and chairman +at quarter session.”</p> + +<p>“And what kind of justice of the peace did Tom +make?”</p> + +<p>“Ow, the very best justice of the peace that there ever +was. He made the old saying good: you must get one thief to +catch one thief. He had not been a justice three year +before there was not a thief in Shire Brecon nor in Shire Car, +for they also made him justice of Carmarthenshire, and a child +might walk through the country quite safe with a purse of gold in +its hand. He said that as he himself could not have a +finger in the pie, he would take care nobody else should. +And yet he was not one bloody justice either; never hanged thief +without giving him a chance to reform; but when he found him +quite hardened he would say: ‘Hang up de +rogue!’ Oh, Tom was not a very hard man, and had one +grateful heart for any old kindness which had been sewn +him. One day as Tom sat on de bench with other big wigs, +Tom the biggest wig of the lot, a man was brought up charged with +stealing one bullock. Tom no sooner cast eye on the man +than he remembered him quite well. Many years before Tom +had stole a pair of oxen, which he wished to get through the town +of Brecon, but did not dare to drive them through, for at that +very time there was one warrant out against Tom at Brecon for +something he had done. So Tom stands with his oxen on the +road, scratching his head and not knowing what to do. At +length there comes a man along the road, making towards Brecon, +to whom Tom says: ‘Honest man, I want these two oxen to be +driven to such and such a public-house two miles beyond Brecon; I +would drive them myself only I have business to do elsewhere of +more importance. Now if you will drive them for me there +and wait till I come, which will not be long, I will give you a +groat.’ Says the man; ‘I will drive them there +for nothing, for as my way lies past that same public-house I can +easily afford to do so.’ So Tom leaves the oxen with +the man, and by rough and roundabout road makes for the +public-house—beyond Brecon, where he finds the man waiting +with the oxen, who hands them over to him and goes on his +way. Now, in the man brought up before him and the other +big wigs on the bench for stealing the bullock, Tom does +recognise the man who had done him that same good turn. +Well! the evidence was heard against the man, and it soon +appeared quite clear that the man did really steal the +bullock. Says the other big wigs to Tom: ‘The fact +has been proved quite clear. What have we now to do but to +adshudge at once that the domm’d thief be +hung?’ But Tom, who remembered that the man had once +done him one good turn, had made up his mind to save the +man. So says he to the other big wigs: ‘My very +worthy esteemed friends and coadshutors, I do perfectly agree +with you that the fact has been proved clear enough, but with +respect to de man, I should be very much grieved should he be +hung for this one fact, for I did know him long time ago, and did +find him to be one domm’d honest man in one transaction +which I had with him. So my wordy and esteemed friends and +coadshutors I should esteem it one great favour if you would +adshudge that the man should be let off this one time. If, +however, you deem it inexpedient to let the man off, then of +course the man must be hung, for I shall not presume to set my +opinions and judgments against your opinions and judgments, which +are far better than my own.’ Then the other big wigs +did look very big and solemn, and did shake their heads and did +whisper to one another that they were afraid the matter could not +be done. At last, however, they did come to the conclusion +that as Tom had said that he had known the fellow once to be one +domm’d honest man, and as they had a great regard for Tom, +who was one domm’d good magistrate and highly respectable +gentleman with whom they were going to dine the next +day—for Tom I must tell you was in the habit of giving the +very best dinners in all Shire Brecon—it might not be +incompatible with the performance of their duty to let the man +off this one time, seeing as how the poor fellow had probably +merely made one slight little mistake. Well: to make the +matter short, the man was let off with only a slight reprimand, +and left the court. Scarcely, however, had he gone twenty +yards, when Tom was after him, and tapping him on the shoulder +said: ‘Honest friend, a word with you!’ Then +the man turning round Tom said: ‘Do you know me, +pray?’ ‘I think I do, your honour,’ said +the man. ‘I think your honour was one of the big +wigs, who were just now so kind as to let me off.’ +‘I was so,’ said Tom; ‘and it is well for you +that I was the biggest of these big wigs before whom you stood +placed, otherwise to a certainty you would have been hung up on +high; but did you ever see me before this affair?’ +‘No, your honour,’ said the man, ‘I don’t +remember ever to have seen your honour before.’ Says +Tom, ‘Don’t you remember one long time ago driving a +pair of oxen through Brecon for a man who stood scratching his +head on the road?’ ‘Oh yes,’ says the +man; ‘I do remember that well enough.’ +‘Well,’ said Tom; ‘I was that man. I had +stolen that pair of oxen, and I dared not drive them through +Brecon. You drove them for me; and for doing me that good +turn I have this day saved your life. I was thief then but +am now big wig. I am Twm Shone Catti. Now lookee! I +have saved your life this one time, but I can never save it +again. Should you ever be brought up before me again, +though but for stealing one kid, I will hang you as high as ever +Haman was hung. One word more; here are five pieces of +gold. Take them: employ them well, and reform as I have +done, and perhaps in time you may become one big wig, like +myself.’ Well: the man took the money, and laid it +out to the best advantage, and became at last so highly +respectable a character that they made him a constable. And +now, my gentleman, we are close upon Tregaron.”</p> + +<p>After descending a hill we came to what looked a small suburb, +and presently crossed a bridge over the stream, the waters of +which sparkled merrily in the beams of the moon which was now +shining bright over some lofty hills to the south-east. +Beyond the bridge was a small market-place, on the right-hand +side of which stood an ancient looking church. The place +upon the whole put me very much in mind of an Andalusian village +overhung by its sierra. “Where is the inn?” +said I to my companion.</p> + +<p>“Yonder it be;” said he pointing to a large house +at the farther end of the market-place. “Very good +inn that—Talbot Arms—where they are always glad to +see English gentlemans.” Then touching his hat, and +politely waving his hand, he turned on one side, and I saw him no +more.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XCIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Tregaron Church—The Minister—Good +Morning—Tom Shone’s Disguises—Tom and the +Lady—Klim and Catti.</p> + +<p>I experienced very good entertainment at the Tregaron Inn, had +an excellent supper and a very comfortable bed. I arose at +about eight in the morning. The day was dull and +misty. After breakfast, according to my usual fashion, I +took a stroll to see about. The town, which is very small, +stands in a valley, near some wild hills called the Berwyn, like +the range to the south of Llangollen. The stream, which +runs through it and which falls into the Teivi at a little +distance from the town, is called the Brennig, probably because +it descends from the Berwyn hills. These southern Berwyns +form a very extensive mountain region, extending into Brecon and +Carmarthenshire, and contain within them, as I long subsequently +found, some of the wildest solitudes and most romantic scenery in +Wales. High up amidst them, at about five miles from +Tregaron, is a deep, broad lake which constitutes the source of +the Towy, a very beautiful stream, which after many turnings and +receiving the waters of numerous small streams discharges itself +into Carmarthen Bay.</p> + +<p>I did not fail to pay a visit to Tregaron church. It is +an antique building with a stone tower. The door being +open, as the door of a church always should be, I entered, and +was kindly shown by the clerk, whom I met in the aisle, all about +the sacred edifice. There was not much to be seen. +Amongst the monuments was a stone tablet to John Herbert, who +died 1690. The clerk told me that the name of the clergyman +of Tregaron was Hughes; he said that he was an excellent, +charitable man, who preached the Gospel, and gave himself great +trouble in educating the children of the poor. He certainly +seemed to have succeeded in teaching them good manners: as I was +leaving the church, I met a number of little boys belonging to +the church school: no sooner did they see me than they drew +themselves up in a rank on one side, and as I passed took off +their caps and simultaneously shouted, +“Good-morning!”</p> + +<p>And now something with respect to the celebrated hero of +Tregaron, Tom Shone Catti, concerning whom I picked up a good +deal during my short stay there, and of whom I subsequently read +something in printed books. <a name="citation14"></a><a +href="#footnote14" class="citation">[14]</a></p> + +<p>According to the tradition of the country, he was the +illegitimate son of Sir John Wynn of Gwedir, by one Catherine +Jones of Tregaron, and was born at a place called Fynnon Lidiart, +close by Tregaron, towards the conclusion of the sixteenth +century. He was baptised by the name of Thomas Jones, but +was generally called Tom Shone Catti, that is Tom Jones, son of +Catti or Catherine. His mother, who was a person of some +little education, brought him up, and taught him to read and +write. His life, till his eighteenth year, was much like +other peasant boys; he kept crows, drove bullocks, and learned to +plough and harrow, but always showed a disposition to roguery and +mischief. Between eighteen and nineteen, in order to free +himself and his mother from poverty which they had long endured, +he adopted the profession of a thief, and soon became celebrated +through the whole of Wales for the cleverness and adroitness +which he exercised in his calling; qualities in which he appears +to have trusted much more than in strength and daring, though +well endowed with both. His disguises were innumerable, and +all impenetrable; sometimes he would appear as an ancient crone; +sometimes as a begging cripple; sometimes as a broken +soldier. Though by no means scrupulous as to what he stole, +he was particularly addicted to horse and cattle stealing, and +was no less successful in altering the appearance of animals than +his own, as he would frequently sell cattle to the very persons +from whom he had stolen them, after they had been subjected to +such a metamorphosis, by means of dyes and the scissors, that +recognition was quite impossible. Various attempts were +made to apprehend him, but all without success; he was never at +home to people who particularly wanted him, or if at home he +looked anything but the person they came in quest of. Once +a strong and resolute man, a farmer, who conceived, and very +justly, that Tom had abstracted a bullock from his stall, came to +Tregaron well armed in order to seize him. Riding up to the +door of Tom’s mother, he saw an aged and miserable-looking +object, with a beggar’s staff and wallet, sitting on a +stone bench beside the door. “Does Tom Shone Catti +live here?” said the farmer. “Oh yes, he lives +here,” replied the beggar. “Is he at +home?” “Oh yes, he is at home.” +“Will you hold my horse whilst I go in and speak to +him?” “Oh yes, I will hold your +horse.” Thereupon the man dismounted, took a brace of +pistols out of his holsters, gave the cripple his horse’s +bridle and likewise his whip, and entered the house boldly. +No sooner was he inside than the beggar, or rather Tom Shone +Catti, for it was he, jumped on the horse’s back, and rode +away to the farmer’s house which was some ten miles +distant, altering his dress and appearance as he rode along, +having various articles of disguise in his wallet. Arriving +at the house he told the farmer’s wife that her husband was +in the greatest trouble, and wanted fifty pounds, which she was +to send by him, and that he came mounted on her husband’s +horse, and brought his whip, that she might know he was +authorised to receive the money. The wife, seeing the horse +and the whip, delivered the money to Tom without hesitation, who +forthwith made the best of his way to London, where he sold the +horse, and made himself merry with the price, and with what he +got from the farmer’s wife, not returning to Wales for +several months. Though Tom was known by everybody to be a +thief, he appears to have lived on very good terms with the +generality of his neighbours, both rich and poor. The poor +he conciliated by being very free of the money which he acquired +by theft and robbery, and with the rich he ingratiated himself by +humorous jesting, at which he was a proficient, and by being able +to sing a good song. At length, being an extremely +good-looking young fellow, he induced a wealthy lady to promise +to marry him. This lady is represented by some as a widow, +and by others as a virgin heiress. After some time, +however, she refused to perform her promise and barred her doors +against him. Tom retired to a cave on the side of a steep +wild hill near the lady’s house, to which he frequently +repaired, and at last, having induced her to stretch her hand to +him through the window bars, under the pretence that he wished to +imprint a parting kiss upon it, he won her by seizing her hand +and threatening to cut it off unless she performed her +promise. Then, as everything at the time at which he lived +could be done by means of money, he soon obtained for himself a +general pardon, and likewise a commission as justice of the +peace, which he held to the time of his death, to the +satisfaction of everybody except thieves and ill-doers, against +whom he waged incessant war, and with whom he was admirably +qualified to cope, from the knowledge he possessed of their ways +and habits, from having passed so many years of his life in the +exercise of the thieving trade. In his youth he was much +addicted to poetry, and a great many pennillion of his +composition, chiefly on his own thievish exploits, are yet +recited by the inhabitants of certain districts of the shires of +Brecon, Carmarthen, and Cardigan.</p> + +<p>Such is the history or rather the outline of the history of +Twm Shone Catti. Concerning the actions attributed to him, +it is necessary to say that the greater part consist of myths, +which are told of particular individuals of every country, from +the Indian Ocean to the Atlantic: for example, the story of +cutting off the bull’s tail is not only told of him but of +the Irish thief Delany, and is to be found in the “Lives of +Irish Rogues and Rapparees;” certain tricks related of him +in the printed tale bearing his name are almost identical with +various rogueries related in the story-book of Klim the Russian +robber, <a name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15" +class="citation">[15]</a> and the most poetical part of Tom +Shone’s history, namely, that in which he threatens to cut +off the hand of the reluctant bride unless she performs her +promise, is, in all probability, an offshoot of the grand myth of +“the severed hand,” which in various ways figures in +the stories of most nations, and which is turned to considerable +account in the tale of the above-mentioned Russian worthy +Klim.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XCIV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Llan Ddewi Brefi—Pelagian +Heresy—Hu Gadarn—God of Agriculture—The Silver +Cup—Rude Tablet.</p> + +<p>It was about eleven o’clock in the morning when I +started from Tregaron; the sky was still cloudy and heavy. +I took the road to Lampeter, distant about eight miles, +intending, however, to go much farther ere I stopped for the +night. The road lay nearly south-west. I passed by +Aber Coed, a homestead near the bottom of a dingle down which +runs a brook into the Teivi, which flows here close by the road; +then by Aber Carvan, where another brook disembogues. Aber, +as perhaps the reader already knows, is a disemboguement, and +wherever a place commences with Aber there to a certainty does a +river flow into the sea, or a brook or rivulet into a +river. I next passed through Nant Derven, and in about +three-quarters of an hour after leaving Tregaron reached a place +of old renown called Llan Ddewi Brefi.</p> + +<p>Llan Ddewi Brefi is a small village situated at the entrance +of a gorge leading up to some lofty hills which rise to the east +and belong to the same mountain range as those near +Tregaron. A brook flowing from the hills murmurs through it +and at length finds its way into the Teivi. An ancient +church stands on a little rising ground just below the hills; +multitudes of rooks inhabit its steeple and fill throughout the +day the air with their cawing. The place wears a remarkable +air of solitude, but presents nothing of gloom and horror, and +seems just the kind of spot in which some quiet pensive man, +fatigued but not soured by the turmoil of the world, might settle +down, enjoy a few innocent pleasures, make his peace with God, +and then compose himself to his long sleep.</p> + +<p>It is not without reason that Llan Ddewi Brefi has been called +a place of old renown. In the fifth century, one of the +most remarkable ecclesiastical convocations which the world has +ever seen was held in this secluded spot. It was for the +purpose of refuting certain doctrines, which had for some time +past caused much agitation in the Church, and which originated +with one Morgan, a native of North Wales, who left his country at +an early age and repaired to Italy, where having adopted the +appellation of Pelagius, which is a Latin translation of his own +name Morgan, which signifies “by the seashore,” he +soon became noted as a theological writer. It is not +necessary to enter into any detailed exposition of his opinions; +it will, however, be as well to state that one of the points +which he was chiefly anxious to inculcate was that it is possible +for a man to lead a life entirely free from sin by obeying the +dictates of his own reason without any assistance from the grace +of God—a dogma certainly to the last degree delusive and +dangerous. When the convocation met there were a great many +sermons preached by various learned and eloquent divines, but +nothing was produced which was pronounced by the general voice a +satisfactory answer to the doctrines of the heresiarch. At +length it was resolved to send for Dewi, a celebrated teacher of +theology at Mynyw in Pembrokeshire, who from motives of humility +had not appeared in the assembly. Messengers therefore were +despatched to Dewi, who, after repeated entreaties, was induced +to repair to the place of meeting, where after three days’ +labour in a cell he produced a treatise in writing in which the +tenets of Morgan were so triumphantly overthrown that the +convocation unanimously adopted it and sent it into the world +with a testimony of approbation as an antidote to the heresy, and +so great was its efficacy that from that moment the doctrines of +Morgan fell gradually into disrepute. <a name="citation16"></a><a +href="#footnote16" class="citation">[16]</a></p> + +<p>Dewi shortly afterwards became primate of Wales, being +appointed to the see of Minevai or Mynyw, which from that time +was called Ty Ddewi or David’s House, a name which it still +retains amongst the Cumry, though at present called by the Saxons +Saint David’s. About five centuries after his death +the crown of canonization having been awarded to Dewi, various +churches were dedicated to him, amongst which was that now called +Llan Ddewi Brefi, which was built above the cell in which the +good man composed his celebrated treatise.</p> + +<p>If this secluded gorge or valley is connected with a +remarkable historical event it is also associated with one of the +wildest tales of mythology. Here according to old tradition +died one of the humped oxen of the team of Hu Gadarn. +Distracted at having lost its comrade, which perished from the +dreadful efforts which it made along with the others in drawing +the afanc hen or old crocodile from the lake of lakes, it fled +away from its master, and wandered about, till coming to the glen +now called that of Llan Ddewi Brefi, it fell down and perished +after excessive bellowing, from which noise the place probably +derived its name of Brefi, for Bref in Cumbric signifies a mighty +bellowing or lowing. Horns of enormous size, said to have +belonged to this humped ox or bison, were for many ages preserved +in the church.</p> + +<p>Many will exclaim who was Hu Gadarn? Hu Gadarn in the +Gwlad yr Haf or summer country, a certain region of the East, +perhaps the Crimea, which seems to be a modification of Cumria, +taught the Cumry the arts of civilised life, to build comfortable +houses, to sow grain and reap, to tame the buffalo and the bison, +and turn their mighty strength to profitable account, to +construct boats with wicker and the skins of animals, to drain +pools and morasses, to cut down forests, cultivate the vine and +encourage bees, make wine and mead, frame lutes and fifes and +play upon them, compose rhymes and verses, fuse minerals and form +them into various instruments and weapons, and to move in masses +against their enemies, and finally when the summer country became +over-populated led an immense multitude of his countrymen across +many lands to Britain, a country of forests, in which bears, +wolves, and bisons wandered, and of morasses and pools full of +dreadful efync or crocodiles, a country inhabited only by a few +savage Gauls, but which shortly after the arrival of Hu and his +people became a smiling region, forests being thinned, bears and +wolves hunted down, efync annihilated, bulls and bisons tamed, +corn planted and pleasant cottages erected. After his death +he was worshipped as the God of agriculture and war by the Cumry +and the Gauls. The Germans paid him divine honours under +the name of Heus, from which name the province of Hesse in which +there was a mighty temple devoted to him, derived its +appellation. The Scandinavians worshipped him under the +name of Odin and Gautr, the latter word a modification of Cadarn +or mighty. The wild Finns feared him as a wizard and +honoured him as a musician under the name of Wainoemoinen, and it +is very probable that he was the wondrous being whom the Greeks +termed Odysses. Till a late period the word Hu amongst the +Cumry was frequently used to express God—Gwir Hu, God +knows, being a common saying. Many Welsh poets have called +the Creator by the name of the creature, amongst others Iolo Goch +in his ode to the ploughman:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The mighty Hu who lives for ever,<br /> +Of mead and wine to men the giver,<br /> +The emperor of land and sea,<br /> +And of all things that living be<br /> +Did hold a plough with his good hand,<br /> +Soon as the deluge left the land,<br /> +To show to men both strong and weak,<br /> +The haughty-hearted and the meek,<br /> +Of all the arts the heaven below<br /> +The noblest is to guide the plough.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>So much for Hu Gadarn or Hu the Mighty, whose name puts one +strangely in mind of the Al Kader Hu or the Almighty He of the +Arabians.</p> + +<p>I went to see the church. The inside was very rude and +plain—a rough table covered with a faded cloth served for +an altar—on the right-hand side was a venerable-looking +chest.</p> + +<p>“What is there in that box?” said I to the old +sexton who attended me.</p> + +<p>“The treasure of the church, sir,” he replied in a +feeble quaking voice.</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said I, “what does the treasure +consist of?”</p> + +<p>“You shall see, sir,” said he, and drawing a large +key out of his pocket he unlocked the chest and taking out a cup +of silver he put it into my hand saying:—“This is the +treasure of the church, sir!”</p> + +<p>I looked at the cup. It was tolerably large and of very +chaste workmanship. Graven upon it were the following +words:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Poculum Eclesie De LXXN Dewy Brefy +1574.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Do you always keep this cup in that chest?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Yes sir! we have kept it there since the cup was given +to us by de godly Queen Elizabeth.”</p> + +<p>I said nothing, but I thought to myself:—“I wonder +how long a cup like this would have been safe in a crazy chest in +a country church in England.”</p> + +<p>I kissed the sacred relic of old times with reverence, and +returned it to the old sexton.</p> + +<p>“What became of the horns of Hu Gadarn’s +bull?” said I, after he had locked the cup again in its +dilapidated coffer.</p> + +<p>“They did dwindle away, sir, till they came to +nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever see any part of them?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh no, sir; I did never see any part of them, but one +very old man who is buried here did tell me shortly before he +died that he had seen one very old man who had seen of dem one +little tip.”</p> + +<p>“Who was the old man who said that to you?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“I will show you his monument, sir,” then taking +me into a dusky pew he pointed to a small rude tablet against the +church wall and said:—“That is his monument, +sir.”</p> + +<p>The tablet bore the following inscription, and below it a rude +englyn on death not worth transcribing:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">Coffadwriaeth am<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thomas Jones</span><br /> +Diweddar o’r Draws Llwyn yn y Plwyf hwn:<br /> +Bu farw Chwefror 6 fed 1830<br /> +Yn 92 oed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the memory of<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thomas Jones</span><br /> +Of Traws Llwyn (across the Grove) in this<br /> +parish who died February the sixth, 1830.<br /> +Aged 92.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>After copying the inscription I presented the old man with a +trifle and went my way.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XCV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Lampeter—The Monk Austin—The Three +Publicans—The Tombstone—Sudden +Change—Trampers—A Catholic—The Bridge of +Twrch.</p> + +<p>The country between Llan Ddewi and Lampeter presented nothing +remarkable, and I met on the road nothing worthy of being +recorded. On arriving at Lampeter I took a slight +refreshment at the inn, and then went to see the college which +stands a little way to the north of the town. It was +founded by Bishop Burgess in the year 1820, for the education of +youths intended for the ministry of the Church of England. +It is a neat quadrate edifice with a courtyard in which stands a +large stone basin. From the courtyard you enter a spacious +dining-hall, over the door of which hangs a well-executed +portrait of the good bishop. From the hall you ascend by a +handsome staircase to the library, a large and lightsome room, +well stored with books in various languages. The grand +curiosity is a manuscript Codex containing a Latin synopsis of +Scripture which once belonged to the monks of Bangor Is +Coed. It bears marks of blood with which it was sprinkled +when the monks were massacred by the heathen Saxons, at the +instigation of Austin the Pope’s missionary in +Britain. The number of students seldom exceeds forty.</p> + +<p>It might be about half-past two in the afternoon when I left +Lampeter. I passed over a bridge, taking the road to +Llandovery which, however, I had no intention of attempting to +reach that night, as it was considerably upwards of twenty miles +distant. The road lay, seemingly, due east. After +walking very briskly for about an hour I came to a very small +hamlet consisting of not more than six or seven houses; of these +three seemed to be public-houses, as they bore large flaming +signs. Seeing three rather shabby-looking fellows standing +chatting with their hands in their pockets, I stopped and +inquired in English the name of the place.</p> + +<p>“Pen--- something,” said one of them, who had a +red face and a large carbuncle on his nose, which served to +distinguish him from his companions, who though they had both +very rubicund faces had no carbuncles.</p> + +<p>“It seems rather a small place to maintain three +public-houses,” said I; “how do the publicans manage +to live?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, tolerably well, sir; we get bread and cheese and +have a groat in our pockets. No great reason to complain; +have we, neighbours?”</p> + +<p>“No! no great reason to complain,” said the other +two.</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said I; “are you the +publicans?”</p> + +<p>“We are, sir,” said the man with the carbuncle on +his nose, “and shall be each of us glad to treat you to a +pint in his own house in order to welcome you to Shire +Car—shan’t we, neighbours?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, in truth we shall,” said the other two.</p> + +<p>“By Shire Car,” said I, “I suppose you mean +Shire Cardigan?”</p> + +<p>“Shire Cardigan!” said the man; “no indeed; +by Shire Car is meant Carmarthenshire. Your honour has left +beggarly Cardigan some way behind you. Come, your honour, +come and have a pint; this is my house,” said he, pointing +to one of the buildings.</p> + +<p>“But,” said I, “I suppose if I drink at your +expense you expect to drink at mine?”</p> + +<p>“Why, we can’t say that we shall have any +objection, your honour; I think we will arrange the matter in +this way; we will go into my house, where we will each of us +treat your honour with a pint, and for each pint we treat your +honour with your honour shall treat us with one.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean each?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes! your honour, for a pint amongst three would +be rather a short allowance.”</p> + +<p>“Then it would come to this,” said I, “I +should receive three pints from you three, and you three would +receive nine from me.”</p> + +<p>“Just so, your honour, I see your honour is a ready +reckoner.”</p> + +<p>“I know how much three times three make,” said +I. “Well, thank you, kindly, but I must decline your +offer; I am bound on a journey.”</p> + +<p>“Where are you bound to, master?”</p> + +<p>“To Llandovery, but if I can find an inn a few miles +farther on I shall stop there for the night.”</p> + +<p>“Then you will put up at the ‘Pump Saint,’ +master; well, you can have your three pints here and your three +pipes too, and yet get easily there by seven. Come in, +master, come in! If you take my advice you will think of +your pint and your pipe and let all the rest go to the +devil.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said I, “but I can’t +accept your invitation, I must be off;” and in spite of yet +more pressing solicitations I went on.</p> + +<p>I had not gone far when I came to a point where the road +parted into two; just at the point were a house and premises +belonging apparently to a stonemason, as a great many pieces of +half-cut granite were standing about, and not a few +tombstones. I stopped and looked at one of the +latter. It was to the memory of somebody who died at the +age of sixty-six, and at the bottom bore the following bit of +poetry:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Ti ddaear o ddaear ystyria mewn braw,<br /> +Mai daear i ddaear yn fuan a ddaw;<br /> +A ddaear mewn ddaear raid aros bob darn<br /> +Nes daear o ddaear gyfrodir i farn.”</p> + +<p>“Thou earth from earth reflect with anxious mind<br /> +That earth to earth must quickly be consigned,<br /> +And earth in earth must lie entranced enthralled<br /> +Till earth from earth to judgment shall be called.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“What conflicting opinions there are in this +world,” said I, after I had copied the quatrain and +translated it. “The publican yonder tells me to think +of my pint and pipe and let everything else go to the devil, and +the tombstone here tells me to reflect with dread—a much +finer expression by-the-bye than reflect with anxious mind, as I +have got it—that in a very little time I must die, and lie +in the ground till I am called to judgment. Now, which is +most right, the tombstone or the publican? Why, I should +say the tombstone decidedly. The publican is too sweeping +when he tells you to think of your pint and pipe and nothing +else. A pint and pipe are good things. I don’t +smoke myself, but I daresay a pipe is a good thing for them who +like it, but there are certainly things worth being thought of in +this world besides a pint and pipe—hills and dales, woods +and rivers, for example—death and judgment too are worthy +now and then of very serious thought. So it won’t do +to go with the publican the whole hog. But with respect to +the tombstone, it is quite safe and right to go with it its whole +length. It tells you to think of death and +judgment—and assuredly we ought to of them. It does +not, however, tell you to think of nothing but death and judgment +and to eschew every innocent pleasure within your reach. If +it did it would be a tombstone quite as sweeping in what it says +as the publican, who tells you to think of your pint and pipe and +let everything else go to the devil. The wisest course +evidently is to blend the whole of the philosophy of the +tombstone with a portion of the philosophy of the publican and +something more, to enjoy one’s pint and pipe and other +innocent pleasures, and to think every now and then of death and +judgment—that is what I intend to do, and indeed is what I +have done for the last thirty years.”</p> + +<p>I went on—desolate hills rose in the east, the way I was +going, but on the south were beautiful hillocks adorned with +trees and hedge-rows. I was soon amongst the desolate +hills, which then looked more desolate than they did at a +distance. They were of a wretched russet colour, and +exhibited no other signs of life and cultivation than here and +there a miserable field and vile-looking hovel; and if there was +here nothing to cheer the eye there was also nothing to cheer the +ear. There were no songs of birds, no voices of rills; the +only sound I heard was the lowing of a wretched bullock from a +far-off slope.</p> + +<p>I went on slowly and heavily; at length I got to the top of +this wretched range—then what a sudden change! +Beautiful hills in the far east, a fair valley below me, and +groves and woods on each side of the road which led down to +it. The sight filled my veins with fresh life, and I +descended this side of the hill as merrily as I had come up the +other side despondingly. About half-way down the hill I +came to a small village. Seeing a public-house I went up to +it, and inquired in English of some people within the name of the +village.</p> + +<p>“Dolwen,” said a dark-faced young fellow of about +four-and-twenty.</p> + +<p>“And what is the name of the valley?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Dolwen,” was the answer, “the valley is +named after the village.”</p> + +<p>“You mean that the village is named after the +valley,” said I, “for Dolwen means fair +valley.”</p> + +<p>“It may be so,” said the young fellow, “we +don’t know much here.”</p> + +<p>Then after a moment’s pause he said:</p> + +<p>“Are you going much farther?”</p> + +<p>“Only as far as the ‘Pump Saint.’”</p> + +<p>“Have you any business there?” said he.</p> + +<p>“No,” I replied, “I am travelling the +country, and shall only put up there for the night.”</p> + +<p>“You had better stay here,” said the young +fellow. “You will be better accommodated here than at +the ‘Pump Saint.’”</p> + +<p>“Very likely,” said I; “but I have resolved +to go there, and when I once make a resolution I never alter +it.”</p> + +<p>Then bidding him good evening I departed. Had I formed +no resolution at all about stopping at the ‘Pump +Saint,’ I certainly should not have stayed in this house, +which had all the appearance of a trampers’ hostelry, and +though I am very fond of the conversation of trampers, who are +the only people from whom you can learn anything, I would much +rather have the benefit of it abroad than in their own +lairs. A little farther down I met a woman coming up the +ascent. She was tolerably respectably dressed, seemed about +five-and-thirty, and was rather good-looking. She walked +somewhat slowly, which was probably more owing to a large bundle +which she bore in her hand than to her path being up-hill.</p> + +<p>“Good evening,” said I, stopping.</p> + +<p>“Good evening, your honour,” said she, stopping +and brightly panting.</p> + +<p>“Do you come from far?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Not very far, your honour, but quite far enough for a +poor feeble woman.”</p> + +<p>“Are you Welsh?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Och no! your honour; I am Mary Bane from Dunmanway in +the kingdom of Ireland.”</p> + +<p>“And what are you doing here?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Och sure! I am travelling the country with soft +goods.”</p> + +<p>“Are you going far?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Merely to the village a little farther up, your +honour.”</p> + +<p>“I am going farther,” said I, “I am thinking +of passing the night at the ‘Pump Saint.’”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I would just advise your honour to do no +such thing, but to turn back with me to the village above, where +there is an illigant inn where your honour will be well +accommodated.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I saw that as I came past,” said I; “I +don’t think there is much accommodation there.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, your honour is clane mistaken; there is always an +illigant fire and an illigant bed too.”</p> + +<p>“Is there only one bed?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, there are two beds, one for the accommodation +of the people of the house and the other for that of the +visitors.”</p> + +<p>“And do the visitors sleep together then?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes! unless they wish to be unsociable. Those +who are not disposed to be sociable sleeps in the +chimney-corners.”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said I, “I see it is a very agreeable +inn; however, I shall go on to the ‘Pump +Saint.’”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry for it, your honour, for your honour’s +sake; your honour won’t be half so illigantly served at the +‘Pump Saint’ as there above.”</p> + +<p>“Of what religion are you?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m a Catholic, just like your honour, for if +I am not clane mistaken your honour is an Irishman.”</p> + +<p>“Who is your spiritual director?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Why, then, it is just Father Toban, your honour, whom +of course your honour knows.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes!” said I; “when you next see him +present my respects to him.”</p> + +<p>“What name shall I mention, your honour?”</p> + +<p>“Shorsha Borroo,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh, then I was right in taking your honour for an +Irishman. None but a raal Paddy bears that name. A +credit to your honour is your name, for it is a famous name, <a +name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17" +class="citation">[17]</a> and a credit to your name is your +honour, for it is a neat man without a bend you are. God +bless your honour and good night! and may you find dacent +quarters in the ‘Pump Saint.’”</p> + +<p>Leaving Mary Bane I proceeded on my way. The evening was +rather fine but twilight was coming rapidly on. I reached +the bottom of the valley and soon overtook a young man dressed +something like a groom. We entered into conversation. +He spoke Welsh and a little English. His Welsh I had great +difficulty in understanding, as it was widely different from that +which I had been accustomed to. He asked me where I was +going to; I replied to the “Pump Saint,” and then +enquired if he was in service.</p> + +<p>“I am,” said he.</p> + +<p>“With whom do you live?” said I.</p> + +<p>“With Mr Johnes of Dol Cothi,” he answered.</p> + +<p>Struck by the word Cothi, I asked if Dol Cothi was ever called +Glyn Cothi.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said he, “frequently.”</p> + +<p>“How odd,” thought I to myself, “that I +should have stumbled all of a sudden upon the country of my old +friend Lewis Glyn Cothi, the greatest poet after Ab Gwilym of all +Wales!”</p> + +<p>“Is Cothi a river?” said I to my companion.</p> + +<p>“It is,” said he.</p> + +<p>Presently we came to a bridge over a small river.</p> + +<p>“Is this river the Cothi?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No,” said he, “this is the Twrch; the +bridge is called Pont y Twrch.”</p> + +<p>“The bridge of Twrch or the hog,” said I to +myself; “there is a bridge of the same name in the Scottish +Highlands, not far from the pass of the Trossachs. I wonder +whether it has its name from the same cause as this, namely, from +passing over a river called the Twrch or Torck, which word in +Gaelic signifies boar or hog even as it does in +Welsh.” It had now become nearly dark. After +proceeding some way farther I asked the groom if we were far from +the inn of the “Pump Saint.”</p> + +<p>“Close by,” said he, and presently pointing to a +large building on the right-hand side he said: “This is the +inn of the ‘Pump Saint,’ sir. Nos +Da’chi!”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XCVI</h2> + +<p class="letter">“Pump Saint”—Pleasant +Residence—The Watery Coom—Philological +Fact—Evening Service—Meditation.</p> + +<p>I entered the inn of the “Pump Saint.” It +was a comfortable old-fashioned place, with a very large kitchen +and a rather small parlour. The people were kind and +attentive, and soon set before me in the parlour a homely but +savoury supper, and a foaming tankard of ale. After supper +I went into the kitchen, and sitting down with the good folks in +an immense chimney-corner, listened to them talking in their +Carmarthenshire dialect till it was time to go to rest, when I +was conducted to a large chamber where I found an excellent and +clean bed awaiting me, in which I enjoyed a refreshing sleep, +occasionally visited by dreams in which some of the scenes of the +preceding day again appeared before me, but in an indistinct and +misty manner.</p> + +<p>Awaking in the very depth of the night I thought I heard the +murmuring of a river; I listened and soon found that I had not +been deceived. “I wonder whether that river is the +Cothi,” said I, “the stream of the immortal +Lewis. I will suppose that it is”—and rendered +quite happy by the idea, I soon fell asleep again.</p> + +<p>I arose about eight and went out to look about me. The +village consists of little more than half-a-dozen houses. +The name “Pump Saint” signifies “Five +Saints.” Why the place is called so I know not. +Perhaps the name originally belonged to some chapel which stood +either where the village now stands or in the +neighbourhood. The inn is a good specimen of an ancient +Welsh hostelry. Its gable is to the road and its front to a +little space on one side of the way. At a little distance +up the road is a blacksmith’s shop. The country +around is interesting: on the north-west is a fine wooded +hill—to the south a valley through which flows the Cothi, a +fair river, the one whose murmur had come so pleasingly upon my +ear in the depth of night.</p> + +<p>After breakfast I departed for Llandovery. Presently I +came to a lodge on the left-hand beside an ornamental gate at the +bottom of an avenue leading seemingly to a gentleman’s +seat. On inquiring of a woman, who sat at the door of the +lodge, to whom the grounds belonged, she said to Mr Johnes, and +that if I pleased I was welcome to see them. I went in and +advanced along the avenue, which consisted of very noble oaks; on +the right was a vale in which a beautiful brook was running north +and south. Beyond the vale to the east were fine wooded +hills. I thought I had never seen a more pleasing locality, +though I saw it to great disadvantage, the day being dull, and +the season the latter fall. Presently, on the avenue making +a slight turn, I saw the house, a plain but comfortable +gentleman’s seat with wings. It looked to the south +down the dale. “With what satisfaction I could live +in that house,” said I to myself, “if backed by a +couple of thousands a-year. With what gravity could I sign +a warrant in its library, and with what dreamy comfort translate +an ode of Lewis Glyn Cothi, my tankard of rich ale beside +me. I wonder whether the proprietor is fond of the old bard +and keeps good ale. Were I an Irishman instead of a Norfolk +man I would go in and ask him.”</p> + +<p>Returning to the road I proceeded on my journey. I +passed over Pont y Rhanedd or the bridge of the Rhanedd, a small +river flowing through a dale, then by Clas Hywel, a lofty +mountain which appeared to have three heads. After walking +for some miles I came to where the road divided into two. +By a sign-post I saw that both led to Llandovery, one by Porth y +Rhyd and the other by Llanwrda. The distance by the first +was six miles and a half, by the latter eight and a half. +Feeling quite the reverse of tired I chose the longest road, +namely the one by Llanwrda, along which I sped at a great +rate.</p> + +<p>In a little time I found myself in the heart of a romantic +winding dell, overhung with trees of various kinds, which a tall +man whom I met told me was called Cwm Dwr Llanwrda, or the Watery +Coom of Llanwrda; and well might it be called the Watery Coom, +for there were several bridges in it, two within a few hundred +yards of each other. The same man told me that the war was +going on very badly, that our soldiers were suffering much, and +that the snow was two feet deep at Sebastopol.</p> + +<p>Passing through Llanwrda, a pretty village with a +singular-looking church, close to which stood an enormous yew, I +entered a valley which I learned was the valley of the +Towey. I directed my course to the north, having the river +on my right, which runs towards the south in a spacious bed, +which, however, except in times of flood, it scarcely half +fills. Beautiful hills were on other side, partly +cultivated, partly covered with wood, and here and there dotted +with farm-houses and gentlemen’s seats; green pastures +which descended nearly to the river occupying in general the +lower parts. After journeying about four miles amid this +kind of scenery I came to a noble suspension bridge, and crossing +it found myself in about a quarter of an hour at Llandovery.</p> + +<p>It was about half-past two when I arrived. I put up at +the Castle Inn and forthwith ordered dinner, which was served up +between four and five. During dinner I was waited upon by a +strange old fellow who spoke Welsh and English with equal +fluency.</p> + +<p>“What countryman are you?” said I.</p> + +<p>“An Englishman,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“From what part of England?”</p> + +<p>“From Herefordshire.”</p> + +<p>“Have you been long here?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes! upwards of twenty years.”</p> + +<p>“How came you to learn Welsh?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I took to it and soon picked it up.”</p> + +<p>“Can you read it?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No, I can’t.”</p> + +<p>“Can you read English?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I can; that is, a little.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you try to learn to read +Welsh?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I did; but I could make no hand of it. +It’s one thing to speak Welsh and another to read +it.”</p> + +<p>“I can read Welsh much better than I can speak +it,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Ah, you are a gentleman—gentlefolks always find +it easier to learn to read a foreign lingo than to speak it, but +it’s quite the contrary with we poor folks.”</p> + +<p>“One of the most profound truths ever uttered connected +with language,” said I to myself. I asked him if +there were many Church of England people in Llandovery.</p> + +<p>“A good many,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“Do you belong to the Church?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do.”</p> + +<p>“If this were Sunday I would go to church,” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Oh, if you wish to go to church you can go +to-night. This is Wednesday, and there will be service at +half-past six. If you like I will come for you.”</p> + +<p>“Pray do,” said I; “I should like above all +things to go.”</p> + +<p>Dinner over I sat before the fire occasionally dozing, +occasionally sipping a glass of whiskey-and-water. A little +after six the old fellow made his appearance with a kind of +Spanish hat on his head. We set out; the night was very +dark; we went down a long street seemingly in the direction of +the west. “How many churches are there in +Llandovery?” said I to my companion.</p> + +<p>“Only one, but you are not going to Llandovery Church, +but to that of Llanfair, in which our clergyman does duty once or +twice a week.”</p> + +<p>“Is it far?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh no; just out of the town, only a few steps +farther.”</p> + +<p>We seemed to pass over a bridge and began to ascend a rising +ground. Several people were going in the same +direction.</p> + +<p>“There,” said the old man, “follow with +these, and a little farther up you will come to the church, which +stands on the right hand.”</p> + +<p>He then left me. I went with the rest and soon came to +the church. I went in and was at once conducted by an old +man, who I believe was the sexton, to a large pew close against +the southern wall. The inside of the church was dimly +lighted; it was long and narrow, and the walls were painted with +a yellow colour. The pulpit stood against the northern wall +near the altar, and almost opposite to the pew in which I +sat. After a little time the service commenced; it was in +Welsh. When the litanies were concluded the clergyman, who +appeared to be a middle-aged man, and who had rather a fine +voice, began to preach. His sermon was from the 119th +Psalm: “Am hynny hoffais dy gorchymynion yn mwy nag +aur:” “Therefore have I loved thy commandments +more than gold.” The sermon, which was extempore, was +delivered with great earnestness, and I make no doubt was a very +excellent one, but owing to its being in South Welsh I did not +derive much benefit from it as I otherwise might have done. +When it was over a great many got up and went away. +Observing, however, that not a few remained, I determined upon +remaining too. When everything was quiet the clergyman, +descending from the pulpit, repaired to the vestry, and having +taken off his gown went into a pew, and standing up began a +discourse, from which I learned that there was to be a sacrament +on the ensuing Sabbath. He spoke with much fervency, +enlarging upon the high importance of the holy communion, and +exhorting people to come to it in a fit state of mind. When +he had finished a man in a neighbouring pew got up and spoke +about his own unworthiness, saying this and that about himself, +his sins of commission and omission, and dwelling particularly on +his uncharitableness and the malicious pleasure which he took in +the misfortunes of his neighbours. The clergyman listened +attentively, sometimes saying “Ah!” and the +congregation also listened attentively, a voice here and there +frequently saying “Ah.” When the man had +concluded the clergyman again spoke, making observations on what +he had heard, and hoping that the rest would be visited with the +same contrite spirit as their friend. Then there was a hymn +and we went away.</p> + +<p>The moon was shining on high and cast its silvery light on the +tower, the church, some fine trees which surrounded it, and the +congregation going home; a few of the better dressed were talking +to each other in English, but with an accent and pronunciation +which rendered the discourse almost unintelligible to my +ears.</p> + +<p>I found my way back to my inn and went to bed, after musing +awhile on the concluding scene of which I had been witness in the +church.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XCVII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Llandovery—Griffith ap +Nicholas—Powerful Enemies—Last Words—Llandovery +Church—Rees Pritchard—The Wiser +Creature—God’s better than All—The Old +Vicarage.</p> + +<p>The morning of the ninth was very beautiful, with a slight +tendency to frost. I breakfasted, and having no intention +of proceeding on my journey that day, I went to take a leisurely +view of Llandovery and the neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>Llandovery is a small but beautiful town, situated amidst +fertile meadows. It is a water-girdled spot, whence its +name Llandovery or Llanymdyfri, which signifies the church +surrounded by water. On its west is the Towey, and on its +east the river Bran or Brein, which descending from certain lofty +mountains to the north-east runs into the Towey a little way +below the town. The most striking object which Llandovery +can show is its castle, from which the inn, which stands near to +it, has its name. This castle, majestic though in ruins, +stands on a green mound, the eastern side of which is washed by +the Bran. Little with respect to its history is +known. One thing, however, is certain, namely that it was +one of the many strongholds, which at one time belonged to +Griffith ap Nicholas, Lord of Dinevor, one of the most remarkable +men which South Wales has ever produced, of whom a brief account +here will not be out of place.</p> + +<p>Griffith ap Nicholas flourished towards the concluding part of +the reign of Henry the Sixth. He was a powerful chieftain +of South Wales and possessed immense estates in the counties of +Carmarthen and Cardigan. King Henry the Sixth, fully aware +of his importance in his own country, bestowed upon him the +commission of the peace, an honour at that time seldom vouchsafed +to a Welshman, and the captaincy of Kilgarran, a strong royal +castle situated on the southern bank of the Teivi a few miles +above Cardigan. He had many castles of his own, in which he +occasionally resided, but his chief residence was Dinevor, half +way between Llandovery and Carmarthen, once a palace of the kings +of South Wales, from whom Griffith traced lineal descent. +He was a man very proud at heart, but with too much wisdom to +exhibit many marks of pride, speaking generally with the utmost +gentleness and suavity, and though very brave addicted to dashing +into danger for the mere sake of displaying his valour. He +was a great master of the English tongue, and well acquainted +with what learning it contained, but nevertheless was +passionately attached to the language and literature of Wales, a +proof of which he gave by holding a congress of bards and +literati at Carmarthen, at which various pieces of eloquence and +poetry were recited, and certain alterations introduced into the +canons of Welsh versification. Though holding offices of +trust and emolument under the Saxon, he in the depths of his soul +detested the race, and would have rejoiced to see it utterly +extirpated from Britain. This hatred of his against the +English was the cause of his doing that which cannot be justified +on any principle of honour, giving shelter and encouragement to +Welsh thieves, who were in the habit of plundering and ravaging +the English borders. Though at the head of a numerous and +warlike clan, which was strongly attached to him on various +accounts, Griffith did not exactly occupy a bed of roses. +He had amongst his neighbours four powerful enemies who envied +him his large possessions, with whom he had continual disputes +about property and privilege. Powerful enemies they may +well be called, as they were no less personages than Humphrey +Duke of Buckingham, Richard Duke of York, who began the contest +for the crown with King Henry the Sixth, Jasper Earl of Pembroke, +son of Owen Tudor, and half-brother of the king, and the Earl of +Warwick. These accused him at court of being a comforter +and harbourer of thieves, the result being that he was deprived +not only of the commission of the peace, but of the captaincy of +Kilgarran, which the Earl of Pembroke, through his influence with +his half-brother, procured for himself. They moreover +induced William Borley and Thomas Corbet, two justices of the +peace for the county of Hereford, to grant a warrant for his +apprehension on the ground of his being in league with the +thieves of the Marches. Griffith in the bosom of his mighty +clan bade defiance to Saxon warrants, though once having ventured +to Hereford he nearly fell into the power of the ministers of +justice, only escaping by the intervention of Sir John Scudamore, +with whom he was connected by marriage. Shortly afterwards, +the civil war breaking out, the Duke of York apologised to +Griffith, and besought his assistance against the king which the +chieftain readily enough promised, not out of affection for York, +but from the hatred which he felt, on account of the Kilgarran +affair, for the Earl of Pembroke, who had sided, very naturally, +with his half-brother, the king, and commanded his forces in the +west. Griffith fell at the great battle of Mortimer’s +cross, which was won for York by a desperate charge made right at +Pembroke’s banner by Griffith and his Welshmen, when the +rest of the Yorkists were wavering. His last words were: +“Welcome, Death! since honour and victory make for +us.”</p> + +<p>The power and wealth of Griffith ap Nicholas, and also parts +of his character, have been well described by one of his bards, +Gwilym ab Ieuan Hen, in an ode to the following +effect:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Griffith ap Nicholas, who like thee<br /> +For wealth and power and majesty!<br /> +Which most abound, I cannot say,<br /> +On either side of Towey gay,<br /> +From hence to where it meets the brine,<br /> +Trees or stately towers of thine?<br /> +The chair of judgment thou didst gain,<br /> +But not to deal in judgments vain—<br /> +To thee upon thy judgment chair<br /> +From near and far do crowds repair;<br /> +But though betwixt the weak and strong<br /> +No questions rose from right or wrong<br /> +The strong the weak to thee would hie;<br /> +The strong to do thee injury,<br /> +And to the weak thou wine wouldst deal,<br /> +And wouldst trip up the mighty heel.<br /> +A lion unto the lofty thou,<br /> +A lamb unto the weak and low.<br /> +Much thou resemblest Nudd of yore,<br /> +Surpassing all who went before;<br /> +Like him thou’rt fam’d for bravery,<br /> +For noble birth and high degree.<br /> +Hail, captain of Kilgarran’s hold!<br /> +Lieutenant of Carmarthen old!<br /> +Hail, chieftain, Cambria’s choicest boast!<br /> +Hail, justice, at the Saxon’s cost!<br /> +Seven castles high confess thy sway,<br /> +Seven palaces thy hands obey.<br /> +Against my chief, with envy fired,<br /> +Three dukes and judges two conspired,<br /> +But thou a dauntless front didst show,<br /> +And to retreat they were not slow.<br /> +O, with what gratitude is heard<br /> +From mouth of thine the whispered word,<br /> +The deepest pools in rivers found<br /> +In summer are of softest sound;<br /> +The sage concealeth what he knows,<br /> +A deal of talk no wisdom shows;<br /> +The sage is silent as the grave,<br /> +Whilst of his lips the fool is slave;<br /> +Thy smile doth every joy impart,<br /> +Of faith a fountain is thy heart;<br /> +Thy hand is strong, thine eye is keen,<br /> +Thy head o’er every head is seen.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The church of Llandovery is a large edifice standing at the +southern extremity of the town in the vicinity of the +Towey. The outside exhibits many appearances of antiquity, +but the interior has been sadly modernized. It contains no +remarkable tombs; I was pleased, however, to observe upon one or +two of the monuments the name of Ryce, the appellation of the +great clan to which Griffith ap Nicholas belonged; of old the +regal race of South Wales. On inquiring of the clerk, an +intelligent young man who showed me over the sacred edifice, as +to the state of the Church of England at Llandovery, he gave me a +very cheering account, adding, however, that before the arrival +of the present incumbent it was very low indeed. +“What is the clergyman’s name?” said I; +“I heard him preach last night.”</p> + +<p>“I know you did, sir,” said the clerk, bowing, +“for I saw you at the service at Llanfair—his name is +Hughes.”</p> + +<p>“Any relation of the clergyman at Tregaron?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Own brother, sir.”</p> + +<p>“He at Tregaron bears a very high character,” said +I.</p> + +<p>“And very deservedly, sir,” said the clerk, +“for he is an excellent man; he is, however, not more +worthy of his high character than his brother here is of the one +which he bears, which is equally high, and which the very +dissenters have nothing to say against.”</p> + +<p>“Have you ever heard,” said I, “of a man of +the name of Rees Pritchard, who preached within these walls some +two hundred years ago?”</p> + +<p>“Rees Pritchard, sir! Of course I have—who +hasn’t heard of the old vicar—the Welshman’s +candle? Ah, he was a man indeed! We have some good +men in the Church, very good; but the old vicar—where shall +we find his equal?”</p> + +<p>“Is he buried in this church?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No, sir, he was buried out abroad in the churchyard, +near the wall by the Towey.”</p> + +<p>“Can you show me his tomb?” said I. +“No, sir, nor can any one; his tomb was swept away more +than a hundred years ago by a dreadful inundation of the river, +which swept away not only tombs but dead bodies out of +graves. But there’s his house in the market-place, +the old vicarage, which you should go and see. I would go +and show it you myself but I have church matters just now to +attend to—the place of church clerk at Llandovery, long a +sinecure, is anything but that under the present clergyman, who, +though not a Rees Pritchard, is a very zealous Christian, and not +unworthy to preach in the pulpit of the old vicar.”</p> + +<p>Leaving the church I went to see the old vicarage, but before +saying anything respecting it, a few words about the old +vicar.</p> + +<p>Rees Pritchard was born at Llandovery, about the year 1575, of +respectable parents. He received the rudiments of a +classical education at the school of the place, and at the age of +eighteen was sent to Oxford, being intended for the clerical +profession. At Oxford he did not distinguish himself in an +advantageous manner, being more remarkable for dissipation and +riot than application in the pursuit of learning. Returning +to Wales, he was admitted into the ministry, and after the lapse +of a few years was appointed vicar of Llandovery. His +conduct for a considerable time was not only unbecoming a +clergyman, but a human being in any sphere. Drunkenness was +very prevalent in the age in which he lived, but Rees Pritchard +was so inordinately addicted to that vice that the very worst of +his parishioners were scandalized, and said: “Bad as we may +be we are not half so bad as the parson.”</p> + +<p>He was in the habit of spending the greater part of his time +in the public-house, from which he was generally trundled home in +a wheel-barrow in a state of utter insensibility. God, +however, who is aware of what every man is capable of, had +reserved Rees Pritchard for great and noble things, and brought +about his conversion in a very remarkable manner.</p> + +<p>The people of the tavern which Rees Pritchard frequented had a +large he-goat, which went in and out and mingled with the +guests. One day Rees in the midst of his orgies called the +goat to him and offered it some ale; the creature, far from +refusing it, drank greedily, and soon becoming intoxicated, fell +down upon the floor, where it lay quivering, to the great delight +of Rees Pritchard, who made its drunkenness a subject of jest to +his boon companions, who, however, said nothing, being struck +with horror at such conduct in a person who was placed among them +to be a pattern and example. Before night, however, +Pritchard became himself intoxicated, and was trundled to the +vicarage in the usual manner. During the whole of the next +day he was very ill and kept at home, but on the following one he +again repaired to the public-house, sat down and called for his +pipe and tankard. The goat was now perfectly recovered, and +was standing nigh. No sooner was the tankard brought than +Rees taking hold of it held it to the goat’s mouth. +The creature, however, turned away its head in disgust, and +hurried out of the room. This circumstance produced an +instantaneous effect upon Rees Pritchard. “My +God!” said he to himself, “is this poor dumb creature +wiser than I? Yes, surely; it has been drunk, but having +once experienced the wretched consequences of drunkenness, it +refuses to be drunk again. How different is its conduct to +mine! I, after having experienced a hundred times the +filthiness and misery of drunkenness, have still persisted in +debasing myself below the condition of a beast. Oh, if I +persist in this conduct what have I to expect but wretchedness +and contempt in this world and eternal perdition in the +next? But, thank God, it is not yet too late to amend; I am +still alive—I will become a new man—the goat has +taught me a lesson.” Smashing his pipe he left his +tankard untasted on the table, went home, and became an altered +man.</p> + +<p>Different as an angel of light is from the fiend of the pit +was Rees Pritchard from that moment from what he had been in +former days. For upwards of thirty years he preached the +Gospel as it had never been preached before in the Welsh tongue +since the time of Saint Paul, supposing the beautiful legend to +be true which tells us that Saint Paul in his wanderings found +his way to Britain and preached to the inhabitants the +inestimable efficacy of Christ’s bloodshedding in the +fairest Welsh, having like all the other apostles the miraculous +gift of tongues. The good vicar did more. In the +short intervals of relaxation which he allowed himself from the +labour of the ministry during those years he composed a number of +poetical pieces, which after his death were gathered together +into a volume and published, under the title of “Canwyll y +Cymry; or, the Candle of the Welshman.” This work, +which has gone through almost countless editions, is written in +two common easy measures, and the language is so plain and simple +that it is intelligible to the homeliest hind who speaks the +Welsh language. All of the pieces are of a strictly +devotional character, with the exception of one, namely, a +welcome to Charles, Prince of Wales, on his return from Spain, to +which country he had gone to see the Spanish ladye whom at one +time he sought as bride. Some of the pieces are highly +curious, as they bear upon events at present forgotten; for +example, the song upon the year 1629, when the corn was blighted +throughout the land, and “A Warning to the Cumry to repent +when the Plague of Blotches and Boils was prevalent in +London.” Some of the pieces are written with +astonishing vigour, for example, “The Song of the +Husbandman,” and “God’s Better than All,” +of which last piece the following is a literal +translation:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">“<span +class="smcap">God’s Better Than All</span>.</p> + +<p>“God’s better than heaven or aught therein,<br /> +Than the earth or aught we there can win,<br /> +Better than the world or its wealth to me—<br /> +God’s better than all that is or can be.<br /> +Better than father, than mother, than nurse,<br /> +Better than riches, oft proving a curse,<br /> +Better than Martha or Mary even—<br /> +Better by far is the God of heaven.<br /> +If God for thy portion thou hast ta’en<br /> +There’s Christ to support thee in every pain,<br /> +The world to respect thee thou wilt gain,<br /> +To fear thee the fiend and all his train.<br /> +Of the best of portions thou choice didst make<br /> +When thou the high God to thyself didst take,<br /> +A portion which none from thy grasp can rend<br /> +Whilst the sun and the moon on their course shall wend<br /> +When the sun grows dark and the moon turns red,<br /> +When the stars shall drop and millions dread,<br /> +When the earth shall vanish with its pomps in fire,<br /> +Thy portion still shall remain entire.<br /> +Then let not thy heart, though distressed, complain!<br /> +A hold on thy portion firm maintain.<br /> +Thou didst choose the best portion, again I say—<br /> +Resign it not till thy dying day.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The old vicarage of Llandovery is a very large mansion of dark +red brick, fronting the principal street or market-place, and +with its back to a green meadow bounded by the river Bran. +It is in a very dilapidated condition, and is inhabited at +present by various poor families. The principal room, which +is said to have been the old vicar’s library, and the place +where he composed his undying Candle, is in many respects a +remarkable apartment. It is of large dimensions. The +roof is curiously inlaid with stucco or mortar, and is traversed +from east to west by an immense black beam. The fire-place, +which is at the south, is very large and seemingly of high +antiquity. The windows, which are two in number and look +westward into the street, have a quaint and singular +appearance. Of all the houses in Llandovery the old +vicarage is by far the most worthy of attention, irrespective of +the wonderful monument of God’s providence and grace who +once inhabited it.</p> + +<p>The reverence in which the memory of Rees Pritchard is still +held in Llandovery the following anecdote will show. As I +was standing in the principal street staring intently at the +antique vicarage, a respectable-looking farmer came up and was +about to pass, but observing how I was employed he stopped, and +looked now at me and now at the antique house. Presently he +said:</p> + +<p>“A fine old place, is it not, sir? but do you know who +lived there?”</p> + +<p>Wishing to know what the man would say provided he thought I +was ignorant as to the ancient inmate, I turned a face of inquiry +upon him; whereupon he advanced towards me two or three steps, +and placing his face so close to mine that his nose nearly +touched my cheek, he said in a kind of piercing +whisper—</p> + +<p>“The Vicar.”</p> + +<p>Then drawing his face back he looked me full in the eyes as if +to observe the effect of his intelligence, gave me two nods as if +to say, “He did, indeed,” and departed.</p> + +<p><i>The</i> Vicar of Llandovery had then been dead nearly two +hundred years. Truly the man in whom piety and genius are +blended is immortal upon earth.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XCVIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Departure from Llandovery—A Bitter +Methodist—North and South—The Caravan—Captain +Bosvile—Deputy Ranger—A Scrimmage—The Heavenly +Gwynfa—Dangerous Position.</p> + +<p>On the tenth I departed from Llandovery, which I have no +hesitation in saying is about the pleasantest little town in +which I have halted in the course of my wanderings. I +intended to sleep at Gutter Vawr, a place some twenty miles +distant, just within Glamorganshire, to reach which it would be +necessary to pass over part of a range of wild hills, generally +called the Black Mountains. I started at about ten +o’clock; the morning was lowering, and there were +occasional showers of rain and hail. I passed by Rees +Pritchard’s church, holding my hat in my hand as I did so, +not out of respect for the building, but from reverence for the +memory of the sainted man who of old from its pulpit called +sinners to repentance, and whose remains slumber in the +churchyard unless washed away by some frantic burst of the +neighbouring Towey. Crossing a bridge over the Bran just +before it enters the greater stream, I proceeded along a road +running nearly south and having a range of fine hills on the +east. Presently violent gusts of wind came on, which tore +the sear leaves by thousands from the trees, of which there were +plenty by the roadsides. After a little time, however, this +elemental hurly-burly passed away, a rainbow made its appearance, +and the day became comparatively fine. Turning to the +south-east under a hill covered with oaks, I left the vale of the +Towey behind me, and soon caught a glimpse of some very lofty +hills which I supposed to be the Black Mountains. It was a +mere glimpse, for scarcely had I descried them when mist settled +down and totally obscured them from my view.</p> + +<p>In about an hour I reached Llangadog, a large village. +The name signifies the church of Gadog. Gadog was a British +saint of the fifth century, who after labouring amongst his own +countrymen for their spiritual good for many years, crossed the +sea to Brittany, where he died. Scarcely had I entered +Llangadog when a great shower of rain came down. Seeing an +ancient-looking hostelry I at once made for it. In a large +and comfortable kitchen I found a middle-aged woman seated by a +huge deal table near a blazing fire, with a couple of large books +open before her. Sitting down on a chair I told her in +English to bring me a pint of ale. She did so, and again +sat down to her books, which on inquiry I found to be a Welsh +Bible and Concordance. We soon got into discourse about +religion, but did not exactly agree, for she was a bitter +Methodist, as bitter as her beer, only half of which I could get +down.</p> + +<p>Leaving Llangadog I pushed forward. The day was now +tolerably fine. In two or three hours I came to a glen, the +sides of which were beautifully wooded. On my left was a +river, which came roaring down from a range of lofty mountains +right before me to the south-east. The river, as I was told +by a lad, was the Sawdde or Southey, the lofty range the Black +Mountains. Passed a pretty village on my right standing +something in the shape of a semicircle, and in about half-an-hour +came to a bridge over a river which I supposed to be the Sawdde +which I had already seen, but which I subsequently learned was an +altogether different stream. It was running from the south, +a wild, fierce flood, amidst rocks and stones, the waves all +roaring and foaming.</p> + +<p>After some time I reached another bridge near the foot of a +very lofty ascent. On my left to the east upon a bank was a +small house, on one side of which was a wheel turned round by a +flush of water running in a little artificial canal; close by it +were two small cascades, the waters of which, and also those of +the canal, passed under the bridge in the direction of the +west. Seeing a decent-looking man engaged in sawing a piece +of wood by the roadside, I asked him in Welsh whether the house +with the wheel was a flour mill.</p> + +<p>“Nage,” said he, “it is a pandy, fulling +mill.”</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me the name of a river,” said I, +“which I have left about a mile behind me. Is it the +Sawdde?’</p> + +<p>“Nage,” said he, “it is the +Lleidach.”</p> + +<p>Then looking at me with great curiosity, he asked if I came +from the north country.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I, “I certainly come from +there.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad to hear it,” said he, “for I have +long wished to see a man from the north country.”</p> + +<p>“Did you never see one before?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Never in my life,” he replied; “men from +the north country seldom show themselves in these +parts.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I; “I am not ashamed to say +that I come from the north.”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t you? Well, I don’t know that +you have any particular reason to be ashamed, for it is rather +your misfortune than your fault; but the idea of any one coming +from the north—ho, ho!”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps in the north,” said I, “they laugh +at a man from the south.”</p> + +<p>“Laugh at a man from the south! No, no; they +can’t do that.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” said I; “why shouldn’t the +north laugh at the south as well as the south at the +north?”</p> + +<p>“Why shouldn’t it? why, you talk like a +fool. How could the north laugh at the south as long as the +south remains the south and the north the north? Laugh at +the south! you talk like a fool, David, and if you go on in that +way I shall be angry with you. However, I’ll excuse +you; you are from the north, and what can one expect from the +north but nonsense? Now tell me, do you of the north eat +and drink like other people? What do you live +upon?”</p> + +<p>“Why, as for myself,” said I; “I generally +live on the best I can get.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s hear what you eat; bacon and eggs?</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I eat bacon and eggs when I can get nothing +better.”</p> + +<p>“And what do you drink? Can you drink +ale?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said I; “I am very fond of ale +when it’s good. Perhaps you will stand a +pint?”</p> + +<p>“Hm,” said the man looking somewhat blank; +“there is no ale in the Pandy and there is no public-house +near at hand, otherwise—Where are you going +to-night?”</p> + +<p>“To Gutter Vawr.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, you had better not loiter; Gutter Vawr is a +long way off over the mountain. It will be dark, I am +afraid, long before you get to Gutter Vawr. Good evening, +David! I am glad to have seen you, for I have long wished +to see a man from the north country. Good evening! you will +find plenty of good ale at Gutter Vawr.”</p> + +<p>I went on my way. The road led in a south-eastern +direction gradually upward to very lofty regions. After +walking about half-an-hour I saw a kind of wooden house on wheels +drawn by two horses coming down the hill towards me. A +short black-looking fellow in brown-top boots, corduroy breeches, +jockey coat and jockey cap sat on the box, holding the reins in +one hand and a long whip in the other. Beside him was a +swarthy woman in a wild flaunting dress. Behind the box out +of the fore part of the caravan peered two or three black +children’s heads. A pretty little foal about four +months old came frisking and gambolling now before now beside the +horses, whilst a colt of some sixteen months followed more +leisurely behind. When the caravan was about ten yards +distant I stopped, and raising my left hand with the little +finger pointed aloft, I exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Shoon, Kaulomengro, shoon! In Dibbel’s nav, +where may tu be jawing to?”</p> + +<p>Stopping his caravan with considerable difficulty the small +black man glared at me for a moment like a wild cat, and then +said in a voice partly snappish, partly kind:</p> + +<p>“Savo shan tu? Are you one of the +Ingrines?”</p> + +<p>“I am the chap what certain folks calls the Romany +Rye.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll be jiggered if I wasn’t thinking +so and if I wasn’t penning so to my juwa as we were welling +down the chong.”</p> + +<p>“It is a long time since we last met, Captain Bosvile, +for I suppose I may call you Captain now?”</p> + +<p>“Yes! the old man has been dead and buried this many a +year, and his sticks and titles are now mine. Poor soul, I +hope he is happy; indeed I know he is, for he lies in Cockleshell +churchyard, the place he was always so fond of, and has his +Sunday waistcoat on him with the fine gold buttons, which he was +always so proud of. Ah, you may well call it a long time +since we met—why, it can’t be less than thirty +year.”</p> + +<p>“Something about that—you were a boy then of about +fifteen.”</p> + +<p>“So I was, and you a tall young slip of about twenty; +well, how did you come to jin mande?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I knew you by your fighting mug—there +ain’t such another mug in England.”</p> + +<p>“No more there an’t—my old father always +used to say it was of no use hitting it for it always broke his +knuckles. Well, it was kind of you to jin mande after so +many years. The last time I think I saw you was near +Brummagem, when you were travelling about with Jasper Petulengro +and—I say, what’s become of the young woman you used +to keep company with?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t? Well, she was a fine young woman +and a vartuous. I remember her knocking down and giving a +black eye to my old mother, who was wonderfully deep in Romany, +for making a bit of a gillie about you and she. What was +the song? Lord, how my memory fails me! Oh, here it +is:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘Ando berkho Rye canó<br /> +Oteh pivò teh khavó<br /> +Tu lerasque ando berkho piranee<br /> +Teh corbatcha por pico.’”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Have you seen Jasper Petulengro lately?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I have seen him, but it was at a very considerable +distance. Jasper Petulengro doesn’t come near the +likes of we now. Lord! you can’t think what grand +folks he and his wife have become of late years, and all along of +a trumpery lil which somebody has written about them. Why, +they are hand and glove with the Queen and Prince, and folks say +that his wife is going to be made dame of honour, and Jasper +Justice of the Peace and Deputy Ranger of Windsor +Park.”</p> + +<p>“Only think,” said I. “And now tell +me, what brought you into Wales?”</p> + +<p>“What brought me into Wales? I’ll tell you; +my own fool’s head. I was doing nicely in the Kaulo +Gav and the neighbourhood, when I must needs pack up and come +into these parts with bag and baggage, wife and childer. I +thought that Wales was what it was some thirty years agone when +our foky used to say—for I was never here before—that +there was something to be done in it; but I was never more +mistaken in my life. The country is overrun with Hindity +mescrey, woild Irish, with whom the Romany foky stand no +chance. The fellows underwork me at tinkering, and the +women outscream my wife at telling fortunes—moreover, they +say the country is theirs and not intended for niggers like we, +and as they are generally in vast numbers what can a poor little +Roman family do but flee away before them? A pretty journey +I have made into Wales. Had I not contrived to pass off a +poggado bav engro—a broken-winded horse—at a fair, I +at this moment should be without a tringoruschee piece in my +pocket. I am now making the best of my way back to +Brummagem, and if ever I come again to this Hindity country may +Calcraft nash me.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder you didn’t try to serve some of the +Irish out,” said I.</p> + +<p>“I served one out, brother; and my wife and childer +helped to wipe off a little of the score. We had stopped on +a nice green, near a village over the hills in Glamorganshire, +when up comes a Hindity family, and bids us take ourselves +off. Now it so happened that there was but one man and a +woman and some childer, so I laughed, and told them to drive us +off. Well, brother, without many words, there was a regular +scrimmage. The Hindity mush came at me, the Hindity mushi +at y my juwa, and the Hindity chaves at my chai. It +didn’t last long, brother. In less than three minutes +I had hit the Hindity mush, who was a plaguey big fellow, but +couldn’t fight, just under the point of the chin, and sent +him to the ground with all his senses gone. My juwa had +almost scratched an eye out of the Hindity mushi, and my chai had +sent the Hindity childer scampering over the green. +‘Who has got to quit now?’ said I to the Hindity mush +after he had got on his legs, looking like a man who has been cut +down after hanging just a minute and a half. ‘Who has +got notice to quit, now, I wonder?’ Well, brother, he +didn’t say anything, nor did any of them, but after a +little time they all took themselves off, with a cart they had, +to the south. Just as they got to the edge of the green, +however, they turned round and gave a yell which made all our +blood run cold. I knew what it meant, and said, ‘This +is no place for us.’ So we got everything together +and came away and, though the horses were tired, never stopped +till we had got ten miles from the place; and well it was we +acted as we did, for, had we stayed, I have no doubt that a whole +Hindity clan would have been down upon us before morning and cut +our throats.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “farewell. I +can’t stay any longer. As it is, I shall be late at +Gutter Vawr.”</p> + +<p>“Farewell, brother!” said Captain Bosvile; and, +giving a cry, he cracked, his whip and set his horses in +motion.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you give us sixpence to drink?” cried +Mrs Bosvile, with a rather shrill voice.</p> + +<p>“Hold your tongue, you she-dog,” said Captain +Bosvile. “Is that the way in which you take leave of +an old friend? Hold your tongue, and let the Ingrine +gentleman jaw on his way.”</p> + +<p>I proceeded on my way as fast as I could, for the day was now +closing in. My progress, however, was not very great; for +the road was steep, and was continually becoming more so. +In about half-an-hour I came to a little village, consisting of +three or four houses; one of them, at the door of which several +carts were standing, bore the sign of a tavern.</p> + +<p>“What is the name of this place?” said I to a man +who was breaking stones on the road.</p> + +<p>“Capel Gwynfa,” said he.</p> + +<p>Rather surprised at the name, which signifies in English the +Chapel of the place of bliss, I asked the man why it was called +so.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said the man.</p> + +<p>“Was there ever a chapel here?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, sir; there is none now.”</p> + +<p>“I daresay there was in the old time,” said I to +myself, as I went on, “in which some holy hermit prayed and +told his beads, and occasionally received benighted +strangers. What a poetical word that Gwynfa, place of +bliss, is. Owen Pugh uses it in his translation of +‘Paradise Lost’ to express Paradise, for he has +rendered the words Paradise Lost by Col Gwynfa—the loss of +the place of bliss. I wonder whether the old scholar picked +up the word here. Not unlikely. Strange fellow that +Owen Pugh. Wish I had seen him. No hope of seeing him +now, except in the heavenly Gwynfa. Wonder whether there is +such a place. Tom Payne thinks there’s not. +Strange fellow that Tom Payne. Norfolk man. Wish I +had never read him.”</p> + +<p>Presently I came to a little cottage with a toll-bar. +Seeing a woman standing at the door, I inquired of her the name +of the gate.</p> + +<p>“Cowslip Gate, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Has it any Welsh name?”</p> + +<p>“None that I know of, sir.”</p> + +<p>This place was at a considerable altitude, and commanded an +extensive view to the south, west, and north. Heights upon +heights rose behind it to the east. From here the road ran +to the south for a little way nearly level, then turned abruptly +to the east, and was more steep than ever. After the turn, +I had a huge chalk cliff towering over me on the right, and a +chalk precipice on my left. Night was now coming on fast, +and, rather to my uneasiness, masses of mist began to pour down +the sides of the mountain. I hurried on, the road making +frequent turnings. Presently the mist swept down upon me, +and was so thick that I could only see a few yards before +me. I was now obliged to slacken my pace, and to advance +with some degree of caution. I moved on in this way for +some time, when suddenly I heard a noise, as if a number of carts +were coming rapidly down the hill. I stopped, and stood +with my back close against the high bank. The noise drew +nearer, and in a minute I saw distinctly through the mist, +horses, carts, and forms of men passing. In one or two +cases the wheels appeared to be within a few inches of my +feet. I let the train go by, and then cried out in English, +“Am I right for Gutter Vawr?”</p> + +<p>“Hey?” said a voice, after a momentary +interval.</p> + +<p>“Am I right for Gutter Vawr?” I shouted yet +louder.</p> + +<p>“Yes sure!” said a voice, probably the same.</p> + +<p>Then instantly a much rougher voice cried, “Who the +Devil are you?”</p> + +<p>I made no answer, but went on, whilst the train continued its +way rumbling down the mountain. At length I gained the top, +where the road turned and led down a steep descent towards the +south-west. It was now quite night, and the mist was of the +thickest kind. I could just see that there was a frightful +precipice on my left, so I kept to the right, hugging the side of +the hill. As I descended I heard every now and then loud +noises in the vale, probably proceeding from stone +quarries. I was drenched to the skin, nay, through the +skin, by the mist, which I verily believe was more penetrating +than that described by Ab Gwilym. When I had proceeded +about a mile I saw blazes down below, resembling those of +furnaces, and soon after came to the foot of the hill. It +was here pouring with rain, but I did not put up my umbrella, as +it was impossible for me to be more drenched than I was. +Crossing a bridge over a kind of torrent, I found myself amongst +some houses. I entered one of them from which a blaze of +light and a roar of voices proceeded, and, on inquiring of an old +woman who confronted me in the passage, I found that I had +reached my much needed haven of rest, the tavern of Gutter Vawr +in the county of Glamorgan.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XCIX</h2> + +<p class="letter">Inn at Gutter Vawr—The +Hurly-burly—Bara y Caws—Change of Manner—Welsh +Mistrust—Wonders of Russia—The Emperor—The +Grand Ghost Story.</p> + +<p>The old woman who confronted me in the passage of the inn +turned out to be the landlady. On learning that I intended +to pass the night at her house, she conducted me into a small +room on the right-hand side of the passage, which proved to be +the parlour. It was cold and comfortless, for there was no +fire in the grate. She told me, however, that one should be +lighted, and going out, presently returned with a couple of buxom +wenches, who I soon found were her daughters. The good lady +had little or no English; the girls, however, had plenty, and of +a good kind too. They soon lighted a fire, and then the +mother inquired if I wished for any supper.</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” said I, “for I have not eaten +anything since I left Llandovery. What can I +have?”</p> + +<p>“We have veal and bacon,” said she.</p> + +<p>“That will do,” said I; “fry me some veal +and bacon, and I shan’t complain. But pray tell what +prodigious noise is that which I hear on the other side of the +passage?”</p> + +<p>“It is only the miners and the carters in the kitchen +making merry,” said one of the girls.</p> + +<p>“Is there a good fire there?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said the girl, “we have always a +good fire in the kitchen.”</p> + +<p>“Well then,” said I, “I shall go there till +supper is ready, for I am wet to the skin, and this fire casts +very little heat.”</p> + +<p>“You will find them a rough set in the kitchen,” +said the girl.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care if I do” said I; “when +people are rough I am civil, and I have always found that +civility beats roughness in the long run.” Then going +out I crossed the passage and entered the kitchen.</p> + +<p>It was nearly filled with rough unkempt fellows, smoking, +drinking, whistling, singing, shouting or jabbering, some in a +standing, some in a sitting, posture. My entrance seemed at +once to bring everything to a dead stop; the smokers ceased to +smoke, the hand that was conveying the glass or the mug to the +mouth was arrested in air, the hurly-burly ceased and every eye +was turned upon me with a strange inquiring stare. Without +allowing myself to be disconcerted I advanced to the fire, spread +out my hands before it for a minute, gave two or three deep +“ahs” of comfort, and then turning round said: +“Rather a damp night, gentlemen—fire cheering to one +who has come the whole way from Llandovery—Taking a bit of +a walk in Wales, to see the scenery and to observe the manners +and customs of the inhabitants—Fine country, gentlemen, +noble prospects, hill and dale—Fine people +too—open-hearted and generous; no wonder! descendants of +the Ancient Britons—Hope I don’t intrude—other +room rather cold and smoking—If I do, will retire at +once—don’t wish to interrupt any gentleman in their +avocations or deliberations—scorn to do anything ungenteel +or calculated to give offence—hope I know how to behave +myself—ought to do so—learnt grammar at the High +School at Edinburgh.”</p> + +<p>“Offence, intrusion!” cried twenty voices. +“God bless your honour! no intrusion and no offence at all; +sit down—sit here—won’t you drink?”</p> + +<p>“Please to sit here, sir,” said an old +grimy-looking man, getting up from a seat in the +chimney-corner—“this is no seat for me whilst you are +here, it belongs to you—sit down in it,” and laying +hold of me he compelled me to sit down in the chair of dignity, +whilst half-a-dozen hands pushed mugs of beer towards my face; +these, however, I declined to partake of on the very satisfactory +ground that I had not taken supper, and that it was a bad thing +to drink before eating, more especially after coming out of a +mist.</p> + +<p>“Have you any news to tell of the war, sir?” said +a large tough fellow, who was smoking a pipe.</p> + +<p>“The last news that I heard of the war,” said I, +“was that the snow was two feet deep at +Sebastopol.”</p> + +<p>“I heard three,” said the man; “however, if +there be but two it must be bad work for the poor soldiers. +I suppose you think that we shall beat the Russians in the +end.”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t,” said I; “the Russians +are a young nation and we are an old; they are coming on and we +are going off; every dog has its day.”</p> + +<p>“That’s true,” said the man, “but I am +sorry that you think we shall not beat the Russians, for the +Russians are a bad set.”</p> + +<p>“Can you speak Welsh?” said a darkish man with +black, bristly hair and a small inquisitive eye.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know two words in Welsh,” said I; +“bara y caws.”</p> + +<p>“That’s bread and cheese,” said the man, +then turning to a neighbour of his he said in Welsh: “He +knows nothing of Cumraeg, only two words; we may say anything we +please; he can’t understand us. What a long nose he +has!”</p> + +<p>“Mind that he an’t nosing us,” said his +neighbour. “I should be loth to wager that he +doesn’t understand Welsh; and, after all, he didn’t +say that he did not, but got off by saying he understood those +two words.”</p> + +<p>“No, he doesn’t understand Welsh,” said the +other; “no Sais understands Welsh, and this is a +Sais. Now with regard to that piece of job-work which you +and I undertook.” And forthwith he and the other +entered into a disquisition about the job-work.</p> + +<p>The company soon got into its old train, drinking and smoking +and making a most terrific hullabaloo. Nobody took any +farther notice of me. I sat snug in the chimney-corner, +trying to dry my wet things, and as the heat was very great, +partially succeeded. In about half-an-hour one of the girls +came to tell me that my supper was ready, whereupon I got up and +said:</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen, I thank you for your civility; I am now +going to supper; perhaps before I turn in for the night I may +look in upon you again.” Then without waiting for an +answer I left the kitchen and went into the other room, where I +found a large dish of veal cutlets and fried bacon awaiting me, +and also a smoking bowl of potatoes. Ordering a jug of ale +I sat down, and what with hunger and the goodness of the fare, +for everything was first-rate, made one of the best suppers I +ever made in my life.</p> + +<p>Supper over I called for a glass of whiskey-and-water, over +which I trifled for about half-an-hour and then betook myself +again to the kitchen. Almost as soon as I entered, the +company—who seemed to be discussing some point, and were +not making much hurly-burly—became silent, and looked at me +in a suspicious and uneasy manner. I advanced towards the +fire. The old man who had occupied the seat in the +chimney-corner and had resigned it to me, had again taken +possession of it. As I drew near to the fire he looked upon +the ground, and seemed by no means disposed to vacate the place +of honour; after a few moments, however, he got up and offered me +the seat with slight motion of his hand and without saying a +word. I did not decline it but sat down, and the old +gentleman took a chair near. Universal silence now +prevailed; sullen looks were cast at me, and I saw clearly enough +that I was not welcome. Frankness was now my only +resource. “What’s the matter, gentlemen?” +said I; “you are silent and don’t greet me kindly; +have I given you any cause of offence?” No one +uttered a word in reply for nearly a minute, when the old man +said slowly and deliberately: “Why, sir, the long and short +of it is this: we have got it into our heads that you understand +every word of our discourse; now, do you or do you +not?”</p> + +<p>“Understand every word of your discourse?” said I; +“I wish I did; I would give five pounds to understand every +word of your discourse.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a clever attempt to get off, sir,” +said the old man, “but it won’t exactly do. +Tell us whether you know more Welsh than bara y caws, or to speak +more plainly, whether you understand a good deal of what we +say.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “I do understand more Welsh +than bara y caws—I do understand a considerable part of a +Welsh conversation; moreover, I can read Welsh, and have the life +of Tom O’r Nant at my fingers’ ends.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, that is speaking plain, and I will tell you +plainly that we don’t like to have strangers among us who +understand our discourse, more especially if they be +gentlefolks.”</p> + +<p>“That’s strange,” said I; “a Welshman +or foreigner, gentle or simple, may go into a public-house in +England, and nobody cares a straw whether he understands the +discourse of the company or not.”</p> + +<p>“That may be the custom in England,” said the old +man, “but it is not so in Wales.”</p> + +<p>“What have you got to conceal?” said I; “I +suppose you are honest men.”</p> + +<p>“I hope we are, sir,” said the old man; “but +I must tell you, once for all, that we don’t like strangers +to listen to our discourse.”</p> + +<p>“Come,” said I, “I will not listen to your +discourse, but you shall listen to mine. I have a wonderful +deal to say if I once begin; I have been everywhere.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” said the old man, “if you have +anything to tell us about where you have been and what you have +seen, we shall be glad to hear you.”</p> + +<p>“Have you ever been in Russia?” shouted a voice, +that of the large rough fellow who asked me the question about +the Russian war.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I have been in Russia,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Well, what kind of a country is it?”</p> + +<p>“Very different from this,” said I, “which +is a little country up in a corner, full of hills and mountains; +that is an immense country, extending from the Baltic Sea to the +confines of China, almost as flat as a pancake, there not being a +hill to be seen for nearly two thousand miles.”</p> + +<p>“A very poor country isn’t it, always covered with +ice and snow?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no; it is one of the richest countries in the world, +producing all kinds of grain, with noble rivers intersecting it, +and in some parts covered with stately forests. In the +winter, which is rather long, there is a good deal of ice and +snow, it is true, but in the summer the weather is warmer than +here.”</p> + +<p>“And are there any towns and cities in Russia, sir, as +there are in Britain?” said the old man who had resigned +his seat in the chimney-corner to me; “I suppose not, or if +there be, nothing equal to Hereford or Bristol, in both of which +I have been.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said I, “there are plenty of towns +and cities. The two principal ones are Moscow and Saint +Petersburg, both of which are capitals. Moscow is a fine +old city, far up the country, and was the original seat of +empire. In it there is a wonderful building called the +Kremlin, situated on a hill. It is partly palace, partly +temple, and partly fortress. In one of its halls are I +don’t know how many crowns, taken from various kings whom +the Russians have conquered. But the most remarkable thing +in the Kremlin is a huge bell in a cellar or cave, close by one +of the churches; it is twelve feet high, and the sound it gives +when struck with an iron bar, for there are no clappers to +Russian bells, is so loud that the common Russians say it can be +heard over the empire. The other city, Saint Petersburg, +where the Court generally reside, is a modern and very fine city; +so fine indeed, that I have no hesitation in saying that neither +Bristol nor Hereford is worthy to be named in the same day with +it. Many of the streets are miles in length, and straight +as an arrow. The Nefsky Prospect, as it is called, a street +which runs from the grand square, where stands the +Emperor’s palace, to the monastery of Saint Alexander +Nefsky, is nearly three miles in length, and is full of noble +shops and houses. The Neva, a river twice as broad and +twice as deep as the Thames, and whose waters are clear as +crystal, runs through the town, having on each side of it a +superb quay, fenced with granite, which affords one of the most +delightful walks imaginable. If I had my choice of all the +cities of the world to live in, I would choose Saint +Petersburg.”</p> + +<p>“And did you ever see the Emperor?” said the rough +fellow, whom I have more than once mentioned, “did you ever +see the Emperor Nicholas?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes: I have seen him frequently.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what kind of a man is he? we should like to +know.”</p> + +<p>“A man of colossal stature, with a fine, noble, but +rather stern and severe aspect. I think I now see him, with +his grey cloak, cocked hat, and white waving plumes, striding +down the Nefsky Prospect, and towering by a whole head over other +people.”</p> + +<p>“Bravo! Did you ever see him at the head of his +soldiers?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes! I have seen the Emperor review forty +thousand of his chosen troops in the Champs de Mars, and a famous +sight it was. There stood the great, proud man looking at +his warriors as they manoeuvred before him. Two-thirds of +them were cavalry, and each horseman was mounted on a beautiful +blood charger of Cossack or English breed, and arrayed in a +superb uniform. The blaze, glitter and glory were too much +for my eyes, and I was frequently obliged to turn them +away. The scene upon the whole put me in mind of an immense +field of tulips of various dyes, for the colours of the dresses, +of the banners and the plumes, were as gorgeous and manifold as +the hues of those queenly flowers.”</p> + +<p>“Bravo!” said twenty voices; “the gentleman +speaks like an areithiwr. Have you been in other countries +besides Russia?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes! I have been in Turkey, the people of +which are not Christians, but frequently put Christians to shame +by their good faith and honesty. I have been in the land of +the Maugrabins, or Moors—a people who live on a savoury +dish called couscousoo, and have the gloomiest faces and the most +ferocious hearts under heaven. I have been in Italy, whose +people, though the most clever in the world, are the most +unhappy, owing to the tyranny of a being called the Pope, who, +when I saw him, appeared to be under the influence of strong +drink. I have been in Portugal, the people of which supply +the whole world with wine, and drink only water themselves. +I have been in Spain, a very fine country, the people of which +are never so happy as when paying other folks’ +reckonings. I have been—but the wind is blowing +wildly without, and the rain pelting against the windows; this is +a capital night for a ghost story; shall I tell you a ghost story +which I learnt in Spain?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, pray do; we all love ghost stories. Do +tell us the ghost story of Spain.”</p> + +<p>Thereupon I told the company Lope de Vega’s ghost story, +which is decidedly the best ghost story in the world.</p> + +<p>Long and loud was the applause which followed the conclusion +of the grand ghost story of the world, in the midst of which I +got up, bade the company good-night, and made my exit. +Shortly afterwards I desired to be shown to my sleeping +apartment. It was a very small room upstairs, in the back +part of the house; and I make no doubt was the chamber of the two +poor girls, the landlady’s daughters, as I saw various +articles of female attire lying about. The spirit of +knight-errantry within me was not, however, sufficiently strong +to prevent me taking possession of the female dormitory; so, +forthwith divesting myself of every portion of my habiliments, +which were steaming like a boiling tea-kettle, I got into bed +between the blankets, and in a minute was fast in the arms of +Morpheus.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER C</h2> + +<p class="letter">Morning—A Cheerless Scene—The +Carter—Ode to Glamorgan—Startling +Halloo—One-sided Liberty—Clerical Profession—De +Courcy—Love of the Drop—Independent +Spirit—Another People.</p> + +<p>I slept soundly through the night. At about eight +o’clock on the following morning I got up and looked out of +the window of my room, which fronted the north. A strange +scene presented itself: a roaring brook was foaming along towards +the west, just under the window. Immediately beyond it was +a bank, not of green turf, grey rock, or brown mould, but of coal +rubbish, coke and cinders; on the top of this bank was a fellow +performing some dirty office or other, with a spade and barrow; +beyond him, on the side of a hill, was a tramway, up which a +horse was straining, drawing a load of something towards the +north-west. Beyond the tramway was a grove of +yellow-looking firs; beyond the grove a range of white houses +with blue roofs, occupied, I suppose, by miners and their +families; and beyond these I caught a sight of the mountain on +the top of which I had been the night before—only a partial +one, however, as large masses of mist were still hanging about +it. The morning was moist and dripping, and nothing could +look more cheerless and uncomfortable than the entire scene.</p> + +<p>I put on my things, which were still not half dry, and went +down into the little parlour, where I found an excellent fire +awaiting me, and a table spread for breakfast. The +breakfast was delicious, consisting of excellent tea, buttered +toast, and Glamorgan sausages, which I really think are not a +whit inferior to those of Epping. After breakfast I went +into the kitchen, which was now only occupied by two or three +people. Seeing a large brush on a dresser, I took it up, +and was about to brush my nether habiliments, which were terribly +bespattered with half-dried mire. Before, however, I could +begin, up started one of the men, a wild, shock-headed fellow +dressed like a carter, in rough blue frieze coat, yellow, broad +corduroy trowsers, grey woollen stockings and highlows, and +snatching the brush out of my hand, fell to brushing me most +vigorously, puffing and blowing all the time in a most tremendous +manner. I did not refuse his services, but let him go on, +and to reward him as I thought, spoke kindly to him, asking him +various questions. “Are you a carter?” said +I. No answer. “One of Twm O’r +Nant’s people?” No answer. “Famous +fellow that Twm O’r Nant, wasn’t he? Did you +ever hear how he got the great tree in at Carmarthen Gate? +What is wood per foot at present? Whom do you cart +for? Or are you your own master? If so, how many +horses do you keep?”</p> + +<p>To not one of these questions, nor to a dozen others which I +put, both in English and Welsh, did my friend with the brush +return any verbal answer, though I could occasionally hear a kind +of stifled giggle proceeding from him. Having at length +thoroughly brushed not only my clothes, but my boots and my hat, +which last article he took from my head, and placed it on again +very dexterously, after brushing it, he put the brush down on the +dresser, and then advancing to me made me a bow, and waving his +forefinger backwards and forwards before my face, he said, with a +broad grin: “Nice gentleman—will do anything for him +but answer questions, and let him hear my discourse. Love +to listen to his pleasant stories of foreign lands, ghosts and +tylwith teg; but before him, deem it wise to be mum, quite +mum. Know what he comes about. Wants to hear +discourse of poor man, that he may learn from it poor man’s +little ways and infirmities, and mark them down in one small, +little book to serve for fun to Lord Palmerston and the other +great gentlefolks in London. Nice man, civil man, I +don’t deny; and clebber man too, for he knows Welsh, and +has been everywhere—but fox—old fox—lives at +Plas y Cadno.” <a name="citation18"></a><a +href="#footnote18" class="citation">[18]</a></p> + +<p>Having been informed that there was a considerable iron +foundry close by, I thought it would be worth my while to go and +see it. I entered the premises, and was standing and +looking round, when a man with the appearance of a respectable +mechanic came up and offered to show me over the place. I +gladly accepted his offer, and he showed me all about the iron +foundry. I saw a large steam-engine at full play, terrible +furnaces, and immense heaps of burning, crackling cinders, and a +fiery stream of molten metal rolling along. After seeing +what there was to be seen, I offered a piece of silver to my kind +conductor, which he at once refused. On my asking him, +however, to go to the inn and have a friendly glass, he smiled, +and said he had no objection. So we went to the inn, and +had two friendly glasses of whiskey-and-water together, and also +some discourse. I asked him if there were any English +employed on the premises. “None,” said he, +“nor Irish either; we are all Welsh.” Though he +was a Welshman, his name was a very common English one.</p> + +<p>After paying the reckoning, which only amounted to three and +sixpence, I departed for Swansea, distant about thirteen +miles. Gutter Vawr consists of one street, extending for +some little way along the Swansea road, the foundry, and a number +of huts and houses scattered here and there. The population +is composed almost entirely of miners, the workers at the +foundry, and their families. For the first two or three +miles the country through which I passed did not at all +prepossess me in favour of Glamorganshire: it consisted of low, +sullen, peaty hills. Subsequently, however, it improved +rapidly, becoming bold, wild, and pleasantly wooded. The +aspect of the day improved, also, with the appearance of the +country. When I first started the morning was wretched and +drizzly, but in less than an hour it cleared up wonderfully, and +the sun began to flash out. As I looked on the bright +luminary I thought of Ab Gwilym’s ode to the sun and +Glamorgan, and with breast heaving and with eyes full of tears, I +began to repeat parts of it, or rather of a translation made in +my happy boyish years:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Each morn, benign of countenance,<br /> +Upon Glamorgan’s pennon glance!<br /> +Each afternoon in beauty clear<br /> +Above my own dear bounds appear!<br /> +Bright outline of a blessed clime,<br /> +Again, though sunk, arise sublime—<br /> +Upon my errand, swift repair,<br /> +And unto green Glamorgan bear<br /> +Good days and terms of courtesy<br /> +From my dear country and from me!<br /> +Move round—but need I thee command?—<br /> +Its chalk-white halls, which cheerful stand—<br /> +Pleasant thy own pavilions too—<br /> +Its fields and orchards fair to view.</p> + +<p>“O, pleasant is thy task and high<br /> +In radiant warmth to roam the sky,<br /> +To keep from ill that kindly ground,<br /> +Its meads and farms, where mead is found,<br /> +A land whose commons live content,<br /> +Where each man’s lot is excellent,<br /> +Where hosts to hail thee shall upstand,<br /> +Where lads are bold and lasses bland,<br /> +A land I oft from hill that’s high<br /> +Have gazed upon with raptur’d eye;<br /> +Where maids are trained in virtue’s school,<br /> +Where duteous wives spin dainty wool;<br /> +A country with each gift supplied,<br /> +Confronting Cornwall’s cliffs of pride.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Came to Llanguick, a hamlet situated near a tremendous gorge, +the sides of which were covered with wood. Thence to the +village of Tawy Bridge, at the bottom of a beautiful valley, +through which runs the Tawy, which, after the Taf, is the most +considerable river in Glamorganshire. Continuing my course, +I passed by an enormous edifice which stood on my right +hand. It had huge chimneys, which were casting forth smoke, +and from within I heard the noise of a steam-engine and the roar +of furnaces.</p> + +<p>“What place is this?” said, I to a boy.</p> + +<p>“Gwaith haiarn, sir; ym perthyn i Mr Pearson. Mr +Pearson’s iron works, sir.”</p> + +<p>I proceeded, and in about half-an-hour saw a man walking +before me in the same direction in which I was. He was +going very briskly, but I soon came up to him. He was a +small, well-made fellow, with reddish hair and ruddy, determined +countenance, somewhat tanned. He wore a straw hat, +checkered shirt, open at the neck, canvas trousers and blue +jacket. On his feet were shoes remarkably thin, but no +stockings, and in his hand he held a stout stick, with which, +just before I overtook him, he struck a round stone which lay on +the ground, sending it flying at least fifty yards before him on +the road, and following it in its flight with a wild and somewhat +startling halloo.</p> + +<p>“Good-day, my friend,” said I; “you seem to +be able to use a stick.”</p> + +<p>“And sure I ought to be, your honour, seeing as how my +father taught me, who was the best fighting man with a stick that +the Shanavests ever had. Many is the head of a Caravaut +that he has broken with some such an Alpeen wattle as the one I +am carrying with me here.”</p> + +<p>“A good thing,” said I, “that there are no +Old Waist-coats and Cravats at present, at least bloody factions +bearing those names.”</p> + +<p>“Your honour thinks so! Faith! I am clane of +a contrary opinion. I wish the ould Shanavests and +Caravauts were fighting still, and I among them. Faith! +there was some life in Ireland in their days.”</p> + +<p>“And plenty of death too,” said I. +“How fortunate it is that the Irish have the English among +them to prevent their cutting each other’s +throats.”</p> + +<p>“The English prevent the Irish from cutting each +other’s throats! Well, if they do, it is only that +they may have the pleasure of cutting them themselves. The +bloody tyrants! too long has their foot been upon the neck of +poor old Ireland.”</p> + +<p>“How do the English tyrannise over Ireland?”</p> + +<p>“How do they tyrannise over her? Don’t they +prevent her from having the free exercise of her Catholic +religion, and make her help to support their own Protestant +one?”</p> + +<p>“Well, and don’t the Roman Catholics prevent the +Protestants from having the free exercise of their religion, +whenever they happen to be the most numerous, and don’t +they make them help to support the Roman Catholic +religion?”</p> + +<p>“Of course they do, and quite right! Had I my +will, there shouldn’t be a place of Protestant worship left +standing, or a Protestant churl allowed to go about with a head +unbroken.”</p> + +<p>“Then why do you blame the Protestants for keeping the +Romans a little under?”</p> + +<p>“Why do I blame them? A purty question! Why, +an’t they wrong, and an’t we right?”</p> + +<p>“But they say that they are right and you +wrong.”</p> + +<p>“They say! who minds what they say? Haven’t +we the word of the blessed Pope that we are right?”</p> + +<p>“And they say that they have the word of the blessed +Gospel that you are wrong.”</p> + +<p>“The Gospel! who cares for the Gospel? Surely you +are not going to compare the Gospel with the Pope?”</p> + +<p>“Well, they certainly are not to be named in the same +day.”</p> + +<p>“They are not? Then good luck to you! We are +both of the same opinion. Ah, I thought your honour was a +rale Catholic. Now, tell me from what kingdom of Ireland +does your honour hail?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I was partly educated in Munster.”</p> + +<p>“In Munster! Hoorah! Here’s the hand +of a countryman to your honour. Ah, it was asy to be seen +from the learning, which your honour shows, that your honour is +from Munster. There’s no spot in Ireland like Munster +for learning. What says the old song?</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘Ulster for a soldier,<br /> +Connaught for a thief,<br /> +Munster for learning,<br /> +And Leinster for beef.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Hoorah for learned Munster! and down with beggarly, +thievish Connaught! I would that a Connaught man would come +athwart me now, that I might break his thief’s head with my +Alpeen.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t seem to like the Connaught men,” +said I.</p> + +<p>“Like them! who can like them? a parcel of beggarly +thievish blackguards. So your honour was edicated in +Munster—I mane partly edicated. I suppose by your +saying that you were partly edicated, that your honour was +intended for the clerical profession, but being over fond of the +drop was forced to lave college before your edication was quite +completed, and so for want of a better profession took up with +that of merchandise. Ah, the love of the drop at college +has prevented many a clever young fellow from taking holy +orders. Well, it’s a pity but it can’t be +helped. I am fond of a drop myself, and when we get +to—shall be happy to offer your honour a glass of +whiskey. I hope your honour and I shall splice the +mainbrace together before we part.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” said I, “by your talking of +splicing the mainbrace that you are a sailor.”</p> + +<p>“I am, your honour, and hail from the Cove of Cork in +the kingdom of Munster.”</p> + +<p>“I know it well,” said I, “it is the best +sea-basin in the world. Well, how came you into these +parts?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell your honour; my ship is at Swansea, and +having a relation working at the foundry behind us I came to see +him.”</p> + +<p>“Are you in the royal service?”</p> + +<p>“I am not, your honour; I was once in the royal service, +but having a dispute with the boatswain at Spithead, I gave him a +wipe, jumped overboard and swam ashore. After that I sailed +for Cuba, got into the merchants’ service there, and made +several voyages to the Black Coast. At present I am in the +service of the merchants of Cork.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder that you are not now in the royal +service,” said I, “since you are so fond of +fighting. There is hot work going on at present up the +Black Sea, and brave men, especially Irishmen, are in great +request.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, brave Irishmen are always in great request with +England when she has a battle to fight. At other times they +are left to lie in the mud with the chain round their +necks. It has been so ever since the time of De Courcy, and +I suppose always will be so, unless Irishmen all become of my +mind, which is not likely. Were the Irish all of my mind, +the English would find no Irish champion to fight their battles +when the French or the Russians come to beard them.”</p> + +<p>“By De Courcy,” said I, “you mean the man +whom the King of England confined in the Tower of London after +taking from him his barony in the county of Cork.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, your honour, and whom he kept in the Tower +till the King of France sent over a champion to insult and beard +him, when the king was glad to take De Courcy out of the dungeon +to fight the French champion, for divil a one of his own English +fighting men dared take the Frenchman in hand.”</p> + +<p>“A fine fellow that De Courcy,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Rather too fond of the drop though, like your honour +and myself, for after he had caused the French champion to flee +back into France he lost the greater part of the reward which the +King of England promised him, solely by making too free with the +strong drink. Does your honour remember that part of the +story?”</p> + +<p>“I think I do,” said I, “but I should be +very glad to hear you relate it.”</p> + +<p>“Then your honour shall. Right glad was the King +of England when the French champion fled back to France, for no +sooner did the dirty spalpeen hear that they were going to bring +De Courcy against him, the fame of whose strength and courage +filled the whole world, than he betook himself back to his own +country, and was never heard of more. Right glad, I say, +was the King of England, and gave leave to De Courcy to return to +Ireland. ‘And you shall have,’ said he, +‘of the barony which I took from you all that you can ride +round on the first day of your return.’ So De Courcy +betook himself to Ireland and to his barony, but he was anything +but a lucky man, this De Courcy, for his friends and relations +and tenantry, hearing of his coming, prepared a grand festival +for him, with all kinds of illigant viands and powerful liquors, +and when he arrived there it was waiting for him, and down to it +he sat, and ate, and drank, and for joy of seeing himself once +more amongst his friends and tenantry in the hall of his +forefathers, and for love of the drop, which he always had, he +drank of the powerful liquors more than he ought, and the upshot +was that he became drunk, agus do bhi an duine maith sin misgeadh +do ceather o glog; the good gentleman was drunk till four +o’clock, and when he awoke he found that he had but two +hours of day remaining to win back his brave barony. +However, he did not lose heart, but mounted his horse and set off +riding as fast as a man just partly recovered from intoxication +could be expected to do, and he contrived to ride round four +parishes, and only four, and these four parishes were all that he +recovered of his brave barony, and all that he had to live upon +till his dying day, and all that he had to leave to his +descendants, so that De Courcy could scarcely be called a very +lucky man, after all.”</p> + +<p>Shortly after my friend the sailor had concluded his account +of De Courcy, we arrived in the vicinity of a small town or +rather considerable village. It stood on the right-hand +side of the road, fronting the east, having a high romantic hill +behind it on the sides of which were woods, groves, and +pleasant-looking white houses.</p> + +<p>“What place is this?” said I to my companion.</p> + +<p>“This is ---, your honour; and here, if your honour will +accept a glass of whiskey we will splice the mainbrace +together.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said I; “but I am in haste to +get to Swansea. Moreover, if I am over fond of the drop, as +you say I am, the sooner I begin to practise abstinence the +better.”</p> + +<p>“Very true, your honour! Well, at any rate, when +your honour gets to Swansea, you will not be able to say that Pat +Flannagan walked for miles with your honour along the road, +without offering your honour a glass of whiskey.”</p> + +<p>“Nor shall Pat Flannagan be able to say the same thing +of my honour. I have a shilling in my pocket at Pat +Flannagan’s service, if he chooses to splice with it the +mainbrace for himself and for me.”</p> + +<p>“Thank your honour; but I have a shilling in my own +pocket, and a dollar too, and a five-pound note besides; so I +needn’t be beholden for drink money to anybody under the +sun.”</p> + +<p>“Well then, farewell! Here’s my +hand!—Slan leat a Phatraic ui Flannagan!”</p> + +<p>“Slan leat a dhuine-uasail!” said Patrick, giving +me his hand; “and health, hope, and happiness to +ye.”</p> + +<p>Thereupon he turned aside to ---, and I continued my way to +Swansea. Arrived at a place called Glandwr, about two miles +from Swansea, I found that I was splashed from top to toe, for +the roads were frightfully miry, and was sorry to perceive that +my boots had given way at the soles, large pieces of which were +sticking out. I must, however, do the poor things the +justice to say, that it was no wonder that they were in this +dilapidated condition, for in those boots I had walked at least +two hundred miles, over all kinds of paths, since I had got them +soled at Llangollen. “Well,” said I to myself, +“it won’t do to show myself at Swansea in this +condition, more especially as I shall go to the best hotel; I +must try and get myself made a little decent here.” +Seeing a little inn, on my right, I entered it, and addressing +myself to a neat comfortable landlady, who was standing within +the bar, I said:—</p> + +<p>“Please to let me have a glass of ale!—and +hearkee; as I have been walking along the road, I should be glad +of the services of the ‘boots.’”</p> + +<p>“Very good, sir,” said the landlady with a +curtsey.</p> + +<p>Then showing me into a nice little sanded parlour, she brought +me the glass of ale, and presently sent in a lad with a boot-jack +to minister to me. Oh, what can’t a little money +effect? For sixpence in that small nice inn, I had a glass +of ale, my boots cleaned, and the excrescences cut off, my +clothes wiped with a dwile, and then passed over with a brush, +and was myself thanked over and over again. Starting again +with all the spirited confidence of one who has just cast off his +slough, I soon found myself in the suburbs of Swansea. As I +passed under what appeared to be a railroad bridge I inquired in +Welsh of an ancient-looking man, in coaly habiliments, if it was +one. He answered in the same language that it was, then +instantly added in English:—</p> + +<p>“You have taken your last farewell of Wales, sir; +it’s no use speaking Welsh farther on.”</p> + +<p>I passed some immense edifices, probably manufactories, and +was soon convinced that, whether I was in Wales or not, I was no +longer amongst Welsh. The people whom I met did not look +like Welsh. They were taller and bulkier than the +Cambrians, and were speaking a dissonant English jargon. +The women had much the appearance of Dutch fisherwomen; some of +them were carrying huge loads on their heads. I spoke in +Welsh to two or three whom I overtook.</p> + +<p>“No Welsh, sir!”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you speak Welsh?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Because we never learnt it. We are not +Welsh.”</p> + +<p>“Who are you then?”</p> + +<p>“English; some calls us Flamings.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, ah!” said I to myself; “I had +forgot.”</p> + +<p>Presently I entered the town, a large, bustling, dirty, gloomy +place, and inquiring for the first hotel, was directed to the +“Mackworth Arms,” in Wine Street.</p> + +<p>As soon as I was shown into the parlour I summoned the +“boots,” and on his making his appearance I said in a +stern voice: “My boots want soling; let them be done by +to-morrow morning.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t be, sir; it’s now Saturday afternoon, +the shoemaker couldn’t begin them to-night!”</p> + +<p>“But you must make him!” said I; “and look +here, I shall give him a shilling extra, and you an extra +shilling for seeing after him.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; I’ll see after him—they shall be +done, sir. Bring you your slippers instantly. Glad to +see you again in Swansea, sir, looking so well.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER CI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Swansea—The Flemings—Towards +England.</p> + +<p>Swansea is called by the Welsh Abertawé, which +signifies the mouth of the Tawy. Aber, as I have more than +once had occasion to observe, signifies the place where a river +enters into the sea or joins another. It is a Gaelic as +well as a Cumric word, being found in the Gaelic names Aberdeen +and Lochaber, and there is good reason for supposing that the +word harbour is derived from it. Swansea or Swansey is a +compound word of Scandinavian origin, which may mean either a +river abounding with swans, or the river of Swanr, the name of +some northern adventurer who settled down at its mouth. The +final ea or ey is the Norwegian aa, which signifies a running +water; it is of frequent occurrence in the names of rivers in +Norway, and is often found, similarly modified, in those of other +countries where the adventurous Norwegians formed +settlements.</p> + +<p>Swansea first became a place of some importance shortly after +the beginning of the twelfth century. In the year 1108, the +greater part of Flanders having been submerged by the sea <a +name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19" +class="citation">[19]</a> an immense number of Flemings came over +to England, and entreated of Henry the First the king then +occupying the throne, that he would all allot to them lands in +which they might settle, The king sent them to various parts of +Wales, which had been conquered by his barons or those of his +predecessors: a considerable number occupied Swansea and the +neighbourhood; but far the greater part went to Dyfed, generally +but improperly called Pembroke, the south-eastern part of which, +by far the most fertile, they entirely took possession of, +leaving to the Welsh the rest, which is very mountainous and +barren.</p> + +<p>I have already said that the people of Swansea stand out in +broad distinctness from the Cumry, differing from them in +stature, language, dress, and manners, and wished to observe that +the same thing may be said of the inhabitants of every part of +Wales which the Flemings colonised in any considerable +numbers.</p> + +<p>I found the accommodation very good at the “Mackworth +Arms”; I passed the Saturday evening very agreeably, and +slept well throughout the night. The next morning to my +great joy I found my boots, capitally repaired, awaiting me +before my chamber door. Oh the mighty effect of a little +money! After breakfast I put them on, and as it was Sunday +went out in order to go to church. The streets were +thronged with people; a new mayor had just been elected, and his +worship, attended by a number of halbert and javelin men, was +going to church too. I followed the procession, which moved +with great dignity and of course very slowly. The church +had a high square tower, and looked a very fine edifice on the +outside, and no less so within, for the nave was lofty with noble +pillars on each side. I stood during the whole of the +service as did many others, for the congregation was so great +that it was impossible to accommodate all with seats. The +ritual was performed in a very satisfactory manner, and was +followed by an excellent sermon. I am ashamed to say that +have forgot the text, but I remember a good deal of the +discourse. The preacher said amongst other thing that the +Gospel was not preached in vain, and that he very much doubted +whether a sermon was ever delivered which did not do some +good. On the conclusion of the service I strolled about in +order to see the town and what pertained to it. The town is +of considerable size, with some remarkable edifices, spacious and +convenient quays, and a commodious harbour into which the river +Tawy flowing from the north empties itself. The town and +harbour are overhung on the side of the east by a lofty green +mountain with a Welsh name, no doubt exceedingly appropriate, but +which I regret to say has escaped my memory.</p> + +<p>After having seen all that I wished, I returned to my inn and +discharged all my obligations. I then departed, framing my +course eastward towards England, having traversed Wales nearly +from north to south.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER CII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Leave Swansea—The +Pandemonium—Neath Abbey—Varied Scenery.</p> + +<p>It was about two o’clock of a dull and gloomy afternoon +when I started from Abertawy or Swansea, intending to stop at +Neath, some eight miles distant. As I passed again through +the suburbs I was struck with their length and the evidences of +enterprise which they exhibited—enterprise, however, +evidently chiefly connected with iron and coal, for almost every +object looked awfully grimy. Crossing a bridge I proceeded +to the east up a broad and spacious valley, the eastern side of +which was formed by russet-coloured hills, through a vista of +which I could descry a range of tall blue mountains. As I +proceeded I sometimes passed pleasant groves and hedgerows, +sometimes huge works; in this valley there was a singular mixture +of nature and art, of the voices of birds and the clanking of +chains, of the mists of heaven and the smoke of furnaces.</p> + +<p>I reached Llan---, a small village half-way between Swansea +and Neath, and without stopping continued my course, walking very +fast. I had surmounted a hill, and had nearly descended +that side of it which looked towards the east, having on my left, +that is to the north, a wooded height, when an extraordinary +scene presented itself to my eyes. Somewhat to the south +rose immense stacks of chimneys surrounded by grimy +diabolical-looking buildings, in the neighbourhood of which were +huge heaps of cinders and black rubbish. From the chimneys, +notwithstanding it was Sunday, smoke was proceeding in volumes, +choking the atmosphere all around. From this pandemonium, +at the distance of about a quarter of a mile to the south-west, +upon a green meadow, stood, looking darkly grey, a ruin of vast +size with window holes, towers, spires, and arches. Between +it and the accursed pandemonium, lay a horrid filthy place, part +of which was swamp and part pool: the pool black as soot, and the +swamp of a disgusting leaden colour. Across this place of +filth stretched a tramway leading seemingly from the abominable +mansions to the ruin. So strange a scene I had never beheld +in nature. Had it been on canvas, with the addition of a +number of Diabolical figures, proceeding along the tramway, it +might have stood for Sabbath in Hell—devils proceeding to +afternoon worship, and would have formed a picture worthy of the +powerful but insane painter, Jerome Bos.</p> + +<p>After standing for a considerable time staring at the strange +spectacle I proceeded. Presently meeting a lad, I asked him +what was the name of the ruin.</p> + +<p>“The Abbey,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“Neath Abbey?” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes!”</p> + +<p>Having often heard of this abbey, which in its day was one of +the most famous in Wales, I determined to go and inspect +it. It was with some difficulty that I found my way to +it. It stood, as I have already observed, in a meadow, and +was on almost every side surrounded by majestic hills. To +give any clear description of this ruined pile would be +impossible, the dilapidation is so great, dilapidation evidently +less the effect of time than of awful violence, perhaps that of +gunpowder. The southern is by far the most perfect portion +of the building; there you see not only walls but roofs. +Fronting you full south, is a mass of masonry with two immense +arches, other arches behind them: entering, you find yourself +beneath a vaulted roof, and passing on you come to an oblong +square which may have been a church; an iron-barred window on +your right enables you to look into a mighty vault, the roof of +which is supported by beautiful pillars. Then—but I +forbear to say more respecting these remains, for fear of stating +what is incorrect, my stay amongst them having been exceedingly +short.</p> + +<p>The Abbey of Glen Neath was founded in the twelfth century by +Richard Grenfield, one of the followers of Robert Fitzhamon, who +subjugated Glamorgan. Neath Abbey was a very wealthy one, +the founder having endowed it with extensive tracts of fertile +land along the banks of the rivers Neath and Tawy. In it +the unfortunate Edward of Carnarvon sought a refuge for a few +days from the rage of his revolted barons, whilst his favourite, +the equally unfortunate Spencer, endeavoured to find a covert +amidst the thickets of the wood-covered hill to the north. +When Richmond landed at Milford Haven to dispute the crown with +Richard the Second, the then Abbot of Neath repaired to him and +gave him his benediction, in requital for which the adventurer +gave him his promise that in the event of his obtaining the +crown, he would found a college in Glen Neath, which promise, +however, after he had won the crown, he forgot to perform. <a +name="citation20"></a><a href="#footnote20" +class="citation">[20]</a> The wily abbot, when he hastened +to pay worship to what he justly conceived to be the rising sun, +little dreamt that he was about to bless the future father of the +terrible man doomed by Providence to plant the abomination of +desolation in Neath Abbey and in all the other nests of monkery +throughout the land.</p> + +<p>Leaving the ruins I proceeded towards Neath. The scenery +soon became very beautiful; not that I had left machinery +altogether behind, for I presently came to a place where huge +wheels were turning, and there was smoke and blast, but there was +much that was rural and beautiful to be seen, something like park +scenery, and then there were the mountains near and in the +distance. I reached Neath at about half-past four, and took +up my quarters at an inn which had been recommended to me by my +friend the boots at Swansea.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER CIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Town of Neath—Hounds and +Huntsman—Spectral Chapel—The Glowing Mountain</p> + +<p>Neath is a place of some antiquity, for it can boast of the +remains of a castle and is a corporate town. There is but +little Welsh spoken in it. It is situated on the Neath, and +exports vast quantities of coal and iron, of both of which there +are rich mines in the neighbourhood. It derives its name +from the river Nedd or Neth, on which it stands. Nedd or +Neth is the same word as Nith, the name of a river in Scotland, +and is in some degree connected with Nidda, the name of one in +Germany. Nedd in Welsh signifies a dingle, and the word in +its various forms has always something to do with lowness or +inferiority of position. Amongst its forms are Nether and +Nieder. The term is well applied to the Glamorganshire +river, which runs through dingles and under mountains.</p> + +<p>The Neath has its source in the mountains of Brecon, and +enters the sea some little way below the town of Neath.</p> + +<p>On the Monday morning I resumed my journey, directing my +course up the vale of Neath towards Merthyr Tydvil, distant about +four-and-twenty miles. The weather was at first rainy, +misty and miserable, but improved by degrees. I passed +through a village which I was told was called Llanagos; close to +it were immense establishments of some kind. The scenery +soon became exceedingly beautiful; hills covered with wood to the +tops were on either side of the dale. I passed an avenue +leading somewhere through groves, and was presently overtaken and +passed by hounds and a respectable-looking old huntsman on a +black horse; a minute afterwards I caught a glimpse of an old +red-brick mansion nearly embosomed in groves, from which +proceeded a mighty cawing. Probably it belonged to the +proprietor of the dogs, and certainly looked a very fit mansion +for a Glamorganshire squire, justice of the peace and keeper of a +pack of hounds.</p> + +<p>I went on, the vale increasing in beauty; there was a +considerable drawback, however: one of those detestable +contrivances, a railroad, was on the farther side—along +which trains were passing, rumbling and screaming.</p> + +<p>I saw a bridge on my right hand with five or six low arches +over the river, which was here full of shoals. Asked a +woman the name of the bridge.</p> + +<p>“<i>Pont Fawr</i> ei galw, sir.”</p> + +<p>I was again amongst the real Welsh—this woman had no +English.</p> + +<p>I passed by several remarkable mountains, both on the south +and northern side of the vale. Late in the afternoon I came +to the eastern extremity of the vale and ascended a height. +Shortly afterwards I reached Rhigos, a small village.</p> + +<p>Entering a public-house I called for ale and sat down amidst +some grimy fellows, who said nothing to me and to whom I said +nothing—their discourse was in Welsh and English. Of +their Welsh I understood but little, for it was a strange corrupt +jargon. In about half-an-hour after leaving this place I +came to the beginning of a vast moor. It was now growing +rather dusk, and I could see blazes here and there; occasionally +I heard horrid sounds. Came to Irvan, an enormous +mining-place with a spectral-looking chapel, doubtless a +Methodist one. The street was crowded with rough, +savage-looking men. “Is this the way to Merthyr +Tydvil?” said I to one.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” bawled the fellow at the utmost stretch of +his voice.</p> + +<p>“Thank you!” said I, taking off my hat and passing +on.</p> + +<p>Forward I went, up hill and down dale. Night now set +in. I passed a grove of trees and presently came to a +collection of small houses at the bottom of a little +hollow. Hearing a step near me I stopped and said in Welsh: +“How far to Merthyr Tydvil?”</p> + +<p>“Dim Cumrag, sir!” said a voice, seemingly that of +a man.</p> + +<p>“Good night!” said I, and without staying to put +the question in English, I pushed on up an ascent, and was +presently amongst trees. Heard for a long time the hooting +of an owl or rather the frantic hollo. Appeared to pass by +where the bird had its station. Toiled up an acclivity and +when on the top stood still and looked around me. There was +a glow on all sides in the heaven, except in the north-east +quarter. Striding on I saw a cottage on my left hand, and +standing at the door the figure of a woman. “How far +to Merthyr?” said I in Welsh.</p> + +<p>“Tair milltir—three miles, sir.”</p> + +<p>Turning round a corner at the top of a hill I saw blazes here +and there, and what appeared to be a glowing mountain in the +south-east. I went towards it down a descent which +continued for a long, long way; so great was the light cast by +the blazes and that wonderful glowing object, that I could +distinctly see the little stones upon the road. After +walking about half-an-hour, always going downwards, I saw a house +on my left hand and heard a noise of water opposite to it. +It was a pistyll. I went to it, drank greedily, and then +hurried on. More and more blazes, and the glowing object +looking more terrible than ever. It was now above me at +some distance to the left, and I could see that it was an immense +quantity of heated matter like lava, occupying the upper and +middle parts of a hill, and descending here and there almost to +the bottom in a zigzag and tortuous manner. Between me and +the hill of the burning object lay a deep ravine. After a +time I came to a house, against the door of which a man was +leaning. “What is all that burning stuff above, my +friend?”</p> + +<p>“Dross from the iron forges, sir!”</p> + +<p>I now perceived a valley below me full of lights, and +descending reached houses and a tramway. I had blazes now +all around me. I went through a filthy slough, over a +bridge, and up a street, from which dirty lanes branched off on +either side, passed throngs of savage-looking people talking +clamorously, shrank from addressing any of them, and finally, +undirected, found myself before the Castle Inn at Merthyr +Tydvil.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER CIV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Iron and Coal—The Martyred +Princess—Cyfartha Fawr—Diabolical Structure.</p> + +<p>Merthyr Tydvil is situated in a broad valley through which +roll the waters of the Taf. It was till late an +inconsiderable village, but is at present the greatest mining +place in Britain, and may be called with much propriety the +capital of the iron and coal.</p> + +<p>It bears the name of Merthyr Tydvil, which signifies the +Martyr Tydvil, because in the old time a Christian British +princess was slain in the locality which it occupies. +Tydvil was the daughter of Brychan, Prince of Brecon, surnamed +Brycheiniawg, or the Breconian, who flourished in the fifth +century and was a contemporary of Hengist. He was a man +full of Christian zeal, and a great preacher of the Gospel, and +gave his children, of which he had many, both male and female, by +various wives, an education which he hoped would not only make +them Christians, but enable them to preach the Gospel to their +countrymen. They proved themselves worthy of his care, all +of them without one exception becoming exemplary Christians, and +useful preachers. In his latter days he retired to a +hermitage in Glamorganshire near the Taf, and passed his time in +devotion, receiving occasionally visits from his children. +Once, when he and several of them, amongst whom was Tydvil, were +engaged in prayer, a band of heathen Saxons rushed in upon them +and slew Tydvil with three of her brothers. Ever since that +time the place has borne the name of Martyr Tydvil. <a +name="citation21"></a><a href="#footnote21" +class="citation">[21]</a></p> + +<p>The Taf, which runs to the south of Merthyr, comes down from +Breconshire, and enters the Bristol Channel at Cardiff, a place +the name of which in English is the city on the Taf. It is +one of the most beautiful of rivers, but is not navigable on +account of its numerous shallows. The only service which it +renders to commerce is feeding a canal which extends from Merthyr +to Cardiff. It is surprising how similar many of the Welsh +rivers are in name: Taf, Tawey, Towey, Teivi, and Duffy differ +but very little in sound. Taf and Teivi have both the same +meaning, namely a tendency to spread out. The other names, +though probably expressive of the properties or peculiarities of +the streams to which they respectively belong, I know not how to +translate.</p> + +<p>The morning of the fourteenth was very fine. After +breakfast I went to see the Cyfartha Fawr iron works, generally +considered to be the great wonder of the place. After some +slight demur I obtained permission from the superintendent to +inspect them. I was attended by an intelligent +mechanic. What shall I say about the Cyfartha Fawr? I +had best say but very little. I saw enormous +furnaces. I saw streams of molten metal. I saw a long +ductile piece of red-hot iron being operated upon. I saw +millions of sparks flying about. I saw an immense wheel +impelled round with frightful velocity by a steam-engine of two +hundred and forty horse power. I heard all kinds of +dreadful sounds. The general effect was stunning. +These works belong to the Crawshays, a family distinguished by a +strange kind of eccentricity, but also by genius and enterprising +spirit, and by such a strict feeling of honour that it is a +common saying that the word of any one of them is as good as the +bond of other people.</p> + +<p>After seeing the Cyfartha I roamed about, making general +observations. The mountain of dross which had startled me +on the preceding night with its terrific glare, and which stands +to the north-west of the town, looked now nothing more than an +immense dark heap of cinders. It is only when the shades of +night have settled down that the fire within manifests itself, +making the hill appear an immense glowing mass. All the +hills around the town, some of which are very high, have a +scorched and blackened look. An old Anglesea bard, rather +given to bombast, wishing to extol the abundant cheer of his +native isle said: “The hills of Ireland are blackened by +the smoke from the kitchens of Mona.” With much more +propriety might a bard of the banks of the Taf, who should wish +to apologise for the rather smutty appearance of his native vale +exclaim: “The hills around the Taf once so green are +blackened by the smoke from the chimneys of Merthyr.” +The town is large and populous. The inhabitants for the +most part are Welsh, and Welsh is the language generally spoken, +though all have some knowledge of English. The houses are +in general low and mean, and built of rough grey stone. +Merthyr, however, can show several remarkable edifices, though of +a gloomy horrid Satanic character. There is the hall of the +Iron, with its arches, from whence proceeds incessantly a +thundering noise of hammers. Then there is an edifice at +the foot of a mountain, half way up the side of which is a +blasted forest and on the top an enormous crag. A truly +wonderful edifice it is, such as Bos would have imagined had he +wanted to paint the palace of Satan. There it stands: a +house of reddish brick with a slate roof—four horrid black +towers behind, two of them belching forth smoke and flame from +their tops—holes like pigeon holes here and there—two +immense white chimneys standing by themselves. What edifice +can that be of such strange mad details? I ought to have put that +question to some one in Tydvil, but did not, though I stood +staring at the diabolical structure with my mouth open. It +is of no use putting the question to myself here.</p> + +<p>After strolling about for some two hours with my hands in my +pockets, I returned to my inn, called for a glass of ale, paid my +reckoning, flung my satchel over my shoulder, and departed.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER CV</h2> + +<p class="letter">Start for Caerfili—Johanna +Colgan—Alms-Giving—The Monstrous Female—The +Evil Prayer—The Next Day—The Aifrionn—Unclean +Spirits—Expectation—Wreaking Vengeance—A decent +Alms.</p> + +<p>I left Merthyr about twelve o’clock for Caerfili. +My course lay along the valley to the south-east. I passed +a large village called Troed y Rhiw, or the foot of the slope, +from its being at the foot of a lofty elevation, which stands on +the left-hand side of the road, and was speeding onward fast, +with the Taf at some distance on my right, when I saw a +strange-looking woman advancing towards me. She seemed +between forty and fifty, was bare-footed and bare-headed, with +grizzled hair hanging in elf locks, and was dressed in rags and +tatters. When about ten yards from me, she pitched forward, +gave three or four grotesque tumbles, heels over head, then +standing bolt upright, about a yard before me, raised her right +arm, and shouted in a most discordant voice—“Give me +an alms, for the glory of God!”</p> + +<p>I stood still, quite confounded. Presently, however, +recovering myself, I said:—“Really, I don’t +think it would be for the glory of God to give you +alms.”</p> + +<p>“Ye don’t! Then, Biadh an +taifrionn—however, I’ll give ye a chance yet. +Am I to get my alms or not?”</p> + +<p>“Before I give you alms I must know something about +you. Who are you?”</p> + +<p>“Who am I? Who should I be but Johanna Colgan, a +bedivilled woman from the county of Limerick?”</p> + +<p>“And how did you become bedevilled?”</p> + +<p>“Because a woman something like myself said an evil +prayer over me for not giving her an alms, which prayer I have at +my tongue’s end, and unless I get my alms will say over +you. So for your own sake, honey, give me my alms, and let +me go on my way.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am not to be frightened by evil prayers! I +shall give you nothing till I hear all about you.”</p> + +<p>“If I tell ye all about me will ye give me an +alms?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I have no objection to give you something if you +tell me your story.”</p> + +<p>“Will ye give me a dacent alms?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you must leave the amount to my free will and +pleasure. I shall give you what I think fit.”</p> + +<p>“Well, so ye shall, honey; and I make no doubt ye will +give me a dacent alms, for I like the look of ye, and knew ye to +be an Irishman half a mile off. Only four years ago, +instead of being a bedivilled woman, tumbling about the world, I +was as quiet and respectable a widow as could be found in the +county of Limerick. I had a nice little farm at an aisy +rint, horses, cows, pigs, and servants, and, what was better than +all, a couple of fine sons, who were a help and comfort to +me. But my black day was not far off. I was a mighty +charitable woman, and always willing to give to the bacahs and +other beggars that came about. Every morning, before I +opened my door, I got ready the alms which I intended to give +away in the course of the day to those that should ask for them, +and I made so good a preparation that, though plenty of cripples +and other unfortunates wandering through the world came to me +every day, part of the alms was sure to remain upon my hands +every night when I closed my door. The alms which I gave +away consisted of meal; and I had always a number of small +measures of meal standing ready on a board, one of which I used +to empty into the poke of every bacah or other unfortunate who +used to place himself at the side of my door and cry out +‘Ave Maria!’ or ‘In the name of +God!’ Well, one morning I sat within my door +spinning, with a little bit of colleen beside me who waited upon +me as servant. My measures of meal were all ready for the +unfortunates who should come, filled with all the meal in the +house; for there was no meal in the house save what was in those +measures—divil a particle, the whole stock being exhausted; +though by evening I expected plenty more, my two sons being gone +to the ballybetagh, which was seven miles distant, for a fresh +supply, and for other things. Well, I sat within my door, +spinning, with my servant by my side to wait upon me, and my +measures of meal ready for the unfortunates who might come to ask +for alms. There I sat, quite proud, and more happy than I +had ever felt in my life before; and the unfortunates began to +make their appearance. First came a bacah on crutches; then +came a woman with a white swelling; then came an individual who +had nothing at all the matter with him, and was only a poor +unfortunate, wandering about the world; then came a far cake, <a +name="citation22"></a><a href="#footnote22" +class="citation">[22]</a> a dark man, who was led about by a +gossoon; after him a simpley, and after the simpleton somebody +else as much or more unfortunate. And as the afflicted +people arrived and placed themselves by the side of the door and +said ‘Ave Mary,’ or ‘In the name of God,’ +or crossed their arms, or looked down upon the ground, each +according to his practice, I got up and emptied my measure of +meal into his poke, or whatever he carried about with him for +receiving the alms which might be given to him; and my measures +of meal began to be emptied fast, for it seemed that upon that +day, when I happened to be particularly short of meal, all the +unfortunates in the county of Limerick had conspired together to +come to ask me for alms. At last every measure of meal was +emptied, and there I sat in my house with nothing to give away +provided an unfortunate should come. Says I to the colleen: +‘What shall I do provided any more come, for all the meal +is gone, and there will be no more before the boys come home at +night from the ballybetagh.’ Says the colleen: +‘If any more come, can’t ye give them something +else?’ Says I: ‘It has always been my practice +to give in meal, and loth should I be to alter it; for if once I +begin to give away other things, I may give away all I +have.’ Says the colleen: ‘Let’s hope no +one else will come: there have been thirteen of them +already.’ Scarcely had she said these words, when a +monstrous woman, half-naked, and with a long staff in her hand, +on the top of which was a cross, made her appearance; and placing +herself right before the door, cried out so that you might have +heard her for a mile, ‘Give me an alms for the glory of +God!’ ‘Good woman,’ says I to her, +‘you will be kind enough to excuse me: all the preparation +I had made for alms has been given away, for I have relieved +thirteen unfortunates this blessed morning—so may the +Virgin help ye, good woman!’ ‘Give me an +alms,’ said the Beanvore, with a louder voice than before, +‘or it will be worse for you.’ ‘You must +excuse me, good mistress,’ says I, ‘but I have no +more meal in the house. Those thirteen measures which you +see there empty were full this morning, for what was in them I +have given away to unfortunates. So the Virgin and Child +help you.’ ‘Do you choose to give me an +alms?’ she shrieked, so that you might have heard her to +Londonderry. ‘If ye have no meal give me something +else.’ ‘You must excuse me, good lady,’ +says I: ‘it is my custom to give alms in meal, and in +nothing else. I have none in the house now; but if ye come +on the morrow ye shall have a triple measure. In the +meanwhile may the Virgin, Child, and the Holy Trinity assist +ye!’ Thereupon she looked at me fixedly for a moment, +and then said, not in a loud voice, but in a low, half-whispered +way, which was ten times more deadly:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘Biaidh an taifrionn gan sholas duit +a bhean shilach!’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Then turning from the door she went away with long +strides. Now, honey, can ye tell me the meaning of those +words?”</p> + +<p>“They mean,” said I, “unless I am much +mistaken: ‘May the Mass never comfort ye, you dirty +queen!’”</p> + +<p>“Ochone! that’s the maning of them, sure +enough. They are cramped words, but I guessed that was the +meaning, or something of the kind. Well, after hearing the +evil prayer, I sat for a minute or two quite stunned; at length +recovering myself a bit I said to the colleen: ‘Get up, and +run after the woman and tell her to come back and cross the +prayer.’ I meant by crossing that she should call it +back or do something that would take the venom out of it. +Well, the colleen was rather loth to go, for she was a bit scared +herself, but on my beseeching her, she got up and ran after the +woman, and being rather swift of foot, at last, though with much +difficulty, overtook her, and begged her to come back and cross +the prayer, but the divil of a woman would do no such thing, and +when the colleen persisted she told her that if she didn’t +go back, she would say an evil prayer over her too. So the +colleen left her, and came back, crying and frighted. All +the rest of the day I remained sitting on the stool speechless, +thinking of the prayer which the woman had said, and wishing I +had given her everything I had in the world, rather than she +should have said it. At night came home the boys, and found +their mother sitting on the stool, like one stupefied. +‘What’s the matter with you, mother?’ they +said. ‘Get up and help us to unpack. We have +brought home plenty of things on the car, and amongst others a +whole boll of meal.’ ‘You might as well have +left it behind you,’ said I; ‘this morning a single +measure of meal would have been to me of all the assistance in +the world, but I question now if I shall ever want meal +again.’ They asked me what had happened to me, and +after some time I told them how a monstrous woman had been to me, +and had said an evil prayer over me, because having no meal in +the house I had not given her an alms. ‘Come, +mother,’ said they, ‘get up and help us to unload! +never mind the prayer of the monstrous woman—it is all +nonsense.’ Well, I got up and helped them to unload, +and cooked them a bit, and sat down with them, and tried to be +merry, but felt that I was no longer the woman that I was. +The next day I didn’t seem to care what became of me, or +how matters went on, and though there was now plenty of meal in +the house, not a measure did I fill with it to give away in the +shape of alms; and when the bacahs and the liprous women, and the +dark men, and the other unfortunates placed themselves at the +side of the door, and gave me to understand that they wanted +alms, each in his or her particular manner, divil an alms did I +give them, but let them stand and took no heed of them, so that +at last they took themselves off, grumbling and cursing. +And little did I care for their grumblings and cursings. +Two days before I wouldn’t have had an unfortunate grumble +at me, or curse me, for all the riches below the sun; but now +their grumblings and curses didn’t give me the slightest +unasiness, for I had an evil prayer spoken against me in the +Shanna Gailey by the monstrous woman, and I knew that I was +blighted in this world and the next. In a little time I +ceased to pay any heed to the farming business, or to the affairs +of the house, so that my sons had no comfort in their home. +And I took to drink and induced my eldest son to take to drink +too—my youngest son, however, did not take to drink, but +conducted himself well, and toiled and laboured like a horse and +often begged me and his brother to consider what we were about, +and not to go on in a way which would bring us all to ruin, but I +paid no regard to what he said, and his brother followed my +example, so that at last seeing things were getting worse every +day, and that we should soon be turned out of house and home, for +no rint was paid, every penny that could be got being consumed in +waste, he bade us farewell and went and listed for a +sodger. But if matters were bad enough before he went away, +they became much worse after; for now when the unfortunates came +to the door for alms, instead of letting them stand in pace till +they were tired, and took themselves off, I would mock them and +point at them, and twit them with their sores and other +misfortunes, and not unfrequently I would fling scalding water +over them, which would send them howling and honing away, till at +last there was not an unfortunate but feared to come within a +mile of my door. Moreover I began to misconduct myself at +chapel, more especially at the Aifrionn or Mass, for no sooner +was the bell rung, and the holy corpus raised, than I would shout +and hoorah, and go tumbling and toppling along the floor before +the holy body, as I just now tumbled along the road before you, +so that the people were scandalized, and would take me by the +shoulders and turn me out of doors, and began to talk of ducking +me in the bog. The priest of the parish, however, took my +part, saying that I ought not to be persecuted, for that I was +not accountable for what I did, being a possessed person, and +under the influence of divils. ‘These, +however,’ said he, ‘I’ll soon cast out from +her, and then the woman will be a holy cratur, much better than +she ever was before.’ A very learned man was Father +Hogan, especially in casting out divils, and a portly, +good-looking man too, only he had a large rubicon nose, which +people said he got by making over free with the cratur in +sacret. I had often looked at the nose, when the divil was +upon me, and felt an inclination to seize hold of it, just to see +how it felt. Well, he had me to his house several times, +and there he put holy cloths upon me, and tied holy images to me, +and read to me out of holy books, and sprinkled holy water over +me, and put questions to me, and at last was so plased with the +answers I gave him, that he prached a sermon about me in the +chapel, in which he said that he had cast six of my divils out of +me, and should cast out the seventh, which was the last, by the +next Sabbath, and then should present me to the folks in the +chapel as pure a vessel as the blessed Mary herself—and +that I was destined to accomplish great things, and to be a +mighty instrument in the hands of the Holy Church, for that he +intended to write a book about me, describing the miracle he had +performed in casting the seven divils out of me, which he should +get printed at the printing-press of the blessed Columba, and +should send me through all Ireland to sell the copies, the +profits of which would go towards the support of the holy society +for casting out unclane spirits, to which he himself +belonged. Well, the people showed that they were plased by +a loud shout, and went away longing for the next Sunday when I +was to be presented to them without a divil in me. Five +times the next week did I go to the priest’s house, to be +read to, and be sprinkled, and have cloths put upon me, in order +that the work of casting out the last divil, which it seems was +stronger than all the rest, might be made smooth and aisy, and on +the Saturday I came to have the last divil cast out, and found +his riverince in full canonicals, seated in his aisy chair. +‘Daughter,’ said he when he saw me, ‘the work +is nearly over. Now kneel down before me, and I will make +the sign of the cross over your forehead, and then you will feel +the last and strongest of the divils, which have so long +possessed ye, go out of ye through your eyes, as I expect you +will say to the people assembled in the chapel +to-morrow.’ So I put myself on my knees before his +reverence, who after muttering something to himself, either in +Latin or Shanna Gailey—I believe it was Latin, said, +‘Look me in the face, daughter!’ Well, I looked +his reverence in the face, and there I saw his nose looking so +large, red, and inviting that I could not resist the temptation, +and before his reverence could make the sign of the cross, which +doubtless would have driven the divil out of me, I made a spring +at it, and seizing hold of it with forefinger and thumb, pulled +hard at it. Hot and inctious did it feel. Oh, the +yell that his reverence gave! However, I did not let go my +hold, but kept pulling at the nose, till at last to avoid the +torment, his reverence came tumbling down upon me, causing me by +his weight to fall back upon the floor. At the yell which +he gave, and at the noise of the fall, in came rushing his +reverence’s housekeeper and stable-boy, who seeing us down +on the floor, his reverence upon me and my hand holding his +reverence’s nose, for I felt loth to let it go, they +remained in astonishment and suspense. When his reverence, +however, begged them, for the Virgin’s sake, to separate +him from the divil of a woman, they ran forward, and having with +some difficulty freed his reverence’s nose from my hand, +they helped him up. The first thing that his reverence did, +on being placed on his legs, was to make for a horse-whip, which +stood in one corner of the room, but I guessing how he meant to +use it, sprang up from the floor, and before he could make a cut +at me, ran out of the room, and hasted home. The next day, +when all the people for twenty miles round met in the chapel, in +the expectation of seeing me presented to them a purified and +holy female, and hearing from my mouth the account of the miracle +which his reverence had performed, his reverence made his +appearance in the pulpit with a dale of gould bater’s leaf +on his nose, and from the pulpit he told the people how I had +used him, showing them the gould bater’s leaf on his +feature, as testimony of the truth of his words, finishing by +saying that if at first there were seven devils, there were now +seven times seven within me. Well, when the people heard +the story, and saw his nose with the bater’s leaf upon it, +they at first began to laugh, but when he appealed to their +consciences, and asked them if such was fitting tratement for a +praist, they said it was not, and that if he would only but curse +me, they would soon do him justice upon me. His reverence +then cursed by book, bell, and candle, and the people, setting +off from the chapel, came in a crowd to the house where I lived, +to wrake vengeance upon me. Overtaking my son by the way, +who was coming home in a state of intoxication, they bate him +within an inch of his life, and left him senseless on the ground, +and no doubt would have served me much worse, only seeing them +coming, and guessing what they came about, though I was a bit +intoxicated myself, I escaped by the back of the house out into +the bog, where I hid myself amidst a copse of hazels. The +people coming to the house, and not finding me there, broke and +destroyed every bit of furniture, and would have pulled the house +down, or set fire to it, had not an individual among them cried +out that doing so would be of no use, for that the house did not +belong to me, and that destroying it would merely be an injury to +the next tenant. So the people, after breaking my furniture +and ill-trating two or three dumb beasts, which happened not to +have been made away with, went away, and in the dead of night I +returned to the house, where I found my son, who had just crawled +home covered wit bruises. We hadn’t, however, a home +long, for the agents of the landlord came to seize for rent, took +all they could find, and turned us out upon the wide world. +Myself and son wandered together for an hour or two, then, having +a quarrel with each other, we parted, he going one way and I +another. Some little time after I heard that he was +transported. As for myself, I thought I might as well take +a leaf out of the woman’s book who had been the ruin of +me. So I went about bidding people give me alms for the +glory of God, and threatening those who gave me nothing that the +mass should never comfort them. It’s a dreadful curse +that, honey; and I would advise people to avoid it even though +they give away all they have. If you have no comfort in the +mass, you will have comfort in nothing else. Look at me: I +have no comfort in the mass, for as soon as the priest’s +bell rings, I shouts and hoorahs, and performs tumblings before +the blessed corpus, getting myself kicked out of chapel, and as +little comfort as I have in the mass have I in other things, +which should be a comfort to me. I have two sons who ought +to be the greatest comfort to me, but are they so? +We’ll see—one is transported, and of course is no +comfort to me at all. The other is a sodger. Is he a +comfort to me? Not a bit. A month ago when I was +travelling through the black north, tumbling and toppling about, +and threatening people with my prayer, unless they gave me alms, +a woman, who knew me, told me that he was with his regiment at +Cardiff, here in Wales, whereupon I determined to go and see him, +and crossing the water got into England, from whence I walked to +Cardiff asking alms of the English in the common English way, and +of the Irish, and ye are the first Irish I have met, in the way +in which I asked them of you. But when I got to Cardiff did +I see my son? I did not, for the day before he had sailed +with his regiment to a place ten thousand miles away, so I shall +never see his face again nor derive comfort from him. Oh, +if there’s no comfort from the mass there’s no +comfort from anything else, and he who has the evil prayer in the +Shanna Gailey breathed upon him, will have no comfort from the +mass. Now, honey, ye have heard the story of Johanna +Colgan, the bedivilled woman. Give her now a dacent alms +and let her go!”</p> + +<p>“Would you consider sixpence a decent alms?”</p> + +<p>“I would. If you give me sixpence, I will not say +my prayer over ye.”</p> + +<p>“Would you give me a blessing?”</p> + +<p>“I would not. A bedivilled woman has no blessing +to give.”</p> + +<p>“Surely if you are able to ask people to give you alms +for the glory of God, you are able to give a blessing.”</p> + +<p>“Bodderation! are ye going to give me +sixpence?”</p> + +<p>“No! here’s a shilling for you! Take it and +go in peace.”</p> + +<p>“There’s no pace for me,” said Johanna +Colgan, taking the money. “What did the monstrous +female say to me? ‘Biaidh an taifrionn gan sholas +duit a bhean shalach.’ <a name="citation23"></a><a +href="#footnote23" class="citation">[23]</a> This is my +pace—hoorah! hoorah!” then giving two or three +grotesque topples she hurried away in the direction of Merthyr +Tydvil.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER CVI</h2> + +<p class="letter">Pen y Glas—Salt of the Earth—The +Quakers’ Yard—The Rhugylgroen.</p> + +<p>As I proceeded on my way the scenery to the south on the +farther side of the river became surprisingly beautiful. On +that side noble mountains met the view, green fields and majestic +woods, the latter brown it is true, for their leaves were gone, +but not the less majestic for being brown. Here and there +were white farm-houses: one of them, which I was told was called +Pen y Glas, was a truly lovely little place. It stood on +the side of a green hill with a noble forest above it, and put me +wonderfully in mind of the hunting lodge, which Ifor Hael +allotted as a retreat to Ab Gwilym and Morfydd, when they fled to +him from Cardigan to avoid the rage of the Bow Bach, and whose +charming appearance made him say to his love:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“More bliss for us our fate propounds<br /> +On Taf’s green banks than Teivy’s bounds.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>On I wandered. After some time the valley assumed the +form of an immense basin, enormous mountains composed its +sides. In the middle rose hills of some altitude, but +completely overcrowned by the mountains around. These hills +exhibited pleasant inclosures, and were beautifully dotted with +white farm-houses. Down below meandered the Taf, its +reaches shining with a silver-like splendour. The whole +together formed an exquisite picture, in which there was much +sublimity, much still quiet life, and not a little of fantastic +fairy loveliness.</p> + +<p>The sun was hastening towards the west as I passed a little +cascade on the left, the waters of which, after running under the +road, tumbled down a gully into the river. Shortly +afterwards meeting a man I asked him how far it was to +Caerfili.</p> + +<p>“When you come to the Quakers’ Yard, which is a +little way further on, you will be seven miles from +Caerfili.”</p> + +<p>“What is the Quakers’ Yard?”</p> + +<p>“A place where the people called Quakers bury their +dead.”</p> + +<p>“Is there a village near it?</p> + +<p>“There is, and the village is called by the same +name.”</p> + +<p>“Are there any Quakers in it?”</p> + +<p>“Not one, nor in the neighbourhood, but there are some, +I believe, in Cardiff.”</p> + +<p>“Why do they bury their dead there?”</p> + +<p>“You should ask them, not me. I know nothing about +them, and don’t want; they are a bad set of +people.”</p> + +<p>“Did they ever do you any harm?”</p> + +<p>“Can’t say they did. Indeed I never saw one +in the whole of my life.”</p> + +<p>“Then why do you call them bad?”</p> + +<p>“Because everybody says they are.”</p> + +<p>“Not everybody. I don’t; I have always found +them the salt of the earth.”</p> + +<p>“Then it is salt that has lost its savour. But +perhaps you are one of them?”</p> + +<p>“No, I belong to the Church of England.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you do. Then good-night to you. I am a +Methodist. I thought at first that you were one of our +ministers, and had hoped to hear from you something profitable +and conducive to salvation, but—”</p> + +<p>“Well, so you shall. Never speak ill of people of +whom you know nothing. If that isn’t a saying +conducive to salvation, I know not what is. Good evening to +you.”</p> + +<p>I soon reached the village. Singular enough, the people +of the very first house, at which I inquired about the +Quakers’ Yard, were entrusted with the care of it. On +my expressing a wish to see it, a young woman took down a key, +and said that if I would follow her she would show it me. +The Quakers’ burying-place is situated on a little +peninsula or tongue of land, having a brook on its eastern and +northern sides, and on its western the Taf. It is a little +oblong yard, with low walls, partly overhung with ivy. The +entrance is a porch to the south. The Quakers are no +friends to tombstones, and the only visible evidence that this +was a place of burial was a single flag-stone, with a +half-obliterated inscription, which with some difficulty I +deciphered, and was as follows:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">To the Memory of <span +class="smcap">Thomas Edmunds</span><br /> +Who died April the ninth 1802 aged 60 years.<br /> +And of <span class="smcap">Mary Edmunds</span><br /> +Who died January the fourth 1810 aged 70.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The beams of the descending sun gilded the Quakers’ +burial-ground as I trod its precincts. A lovely +resting-place looked that little oblong yard on the peninsula, by +the confluence of the waters, and quite in keeping with the +character of the quiet Christian people who sleep within +it. The Quakers have for some time past been a decaying +sect, but they have done good work in their day, and when they +are extinct they are not destined to be soon forgotten. +Soon forgotten! How should a sect ever be forgotten, to +which have belonged three such men as George Fox, William Penn, +and Joseph Gurney?</p> + +<p>Shortly after I left the Quakers’ Yard the sun went down +and twilight settled upon the earth. Pursuing my course I +reached some woodlands, and on inquiring of a man, whom I saw +standing at the door of a cottage, the name of the district, was +told that it was called Ystrad Manach—the Monks’ +Strath or valley. This name it probably acquired from +having belonged in times of old to some monkish +establishment. The moon now arose and the night was +delightful. As I was wandering along I heard again the same +wild noise which I had heard the night before, on the other side +of Merthyr Tydvil. The cry of the owl afar off in the +woodlands. Oh that strange bird! Oh that strange +cry! The Welsh, as I have said on a former occasion, call +the owl Dylluan. Amongst the cowydds of Ab Gwilym there is +one to the dylluan. It is full of abuse against the bird, +with whom the poet is very angry for having with its cry +frightened Morfydd back, who was coming to the wood to keep an +assignation with him, but not a little of this abuse is +wonderfully expressive and truthful. He calls the owl a +grey thief—the haunter of the ivy bush—the chick of +the oak, a blinking eyed witch, greedy of mice, with a visage +like the bald forehead of a big ram, or the dirty face of an old +abbess, which bears no little resemblance to the chine of an +ape. Of its cry he says that it is as great a torment as an +agonizing recollection, a cold shrill laugh from the midst of a +kettle of ice; the rattling of sea-pebbles in an old sheep-skin, +on which account many call the owl the hag of the +Rhugylgroen. The Rhugylgroen, it will be as well to +observe, is a dry sheepskin containing a number of pebbles, and +is used as a rattle for frightening crows. The likening the +visage of the owl to the dirty face of an old abbess is capital, +and the likening the cry to the noise of the rhugylgroen is +anything but unfortunate. For, after all, what does the +voice of the owl so much resemble as a diabolical rattle. +I’m sure I don’t know. Reader, do you?</p> + +<p>I reached Caerfili at about seven o’clock, and went to +the “Boar’s Head,” near the ruins of a +stupendous castle, on which the beams of the moon were +falling.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER CVII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Caerfili Castle—Sir Charles—The +Waiter—Inkerman.</p> + +<p>I slept well during the night. In the morning after +breakfast I went to see the castle, over which I was conducted by +a woman who was intrusted with its care. It stands on the +eastern side of the little town, and is a truly enormous +structure, which brought to my recollection a saying of our great +Johnson, to be found in the account of his journey to the Western +Islands, namely “that for all the castles which he had seen +beyond the Tweed the ruins yet remaining of some one of those +which the English built in Wales would find +materials.” The original founder was one John De +Bryse, a powerful Norman who married the daughter of Llewellyn Ap +Jorwerth, the son-in-law of King John, and the most war-like of +all the Welsh princes, whose exploits, and particularly a victory +which he obtained over his father-in-law, with whom he was always +at war, have been immortalized by the great war-bard, Dafydd +Benfras. It was one of the strongholds which belonged to +the Spencers, and served for a short time as a retreat to the +unfortunate Edward the Second. It was ruined by Cromwell, +the grand foe of the baronial castles of Britain, but not in so +thorough and sweeping a manner as to leave it a mere heap of +stones. There is a noble entrance porch fronting the +west—a spacious courtyard, a grand banqueting room, a +corridor of vast length, several lofty towers, a chapel, a +sally-port, a guard-room and a strange underground vaulted place +called the mint, in which Caerfili’s barons once coined +money, and in which the furnaces still exist which were used for +melting metal. The name Caerfili is said to signify the +Castle of Haste, and to have been bestowed on the pile because it +was built in a hurry. Caerfili, however, was never built in +a hurry, as the remains show. Moreover, the Welsh word for +haste is not fil but ffrwst. Fil means a scudding or +darting through the air, which can have nothing to do with the +building of a castle. Caerfili signifies Philip’s +City, and was called so after one Philip a saint. It no +more means the castle of haste than Tintagel in Cornwall +signifies the castle of guile, as the learned have said it does, +for Tintagel simply means the house in the gill of the hill, a +term admirably descriptive of the situation of the building.</p> + +<p>I started from Caerfili at eleven for Newport, distant about +seventeen miles. Passing through a toll-gate I ascended an +acclivity, from the top of which I obtained a full view of the +castle, looking stern, dark and majestic. Descending the +hill I came to a bridge over a river called the Rhymni or Rumney, +much celebrated in Welsh and English song—thence to Pentref +Bettws, or the village of the bead-house, doubtless so called +from its having contained in old times a house in which pilgrims +might tell their beads.</p> + +<p>The scenery soon became very beautiful—its beauty, +however, was to a certain extent marred by a horrid black object, +a huge coal work, the chimneys of which were belching forth smoke +of the densest description. “Whom does that work +belong to?” said I to a man nearly as black as a chimney +sweep.</p> + +<p>“Who does it belong to? Why, to Sir +Charles.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean Sir Charles Morgan?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I only know that it belongs +to Sir Charles, the kindest-hearted and richest man in Wales and +in England too.”</p> + +<p>Passing some cottages I heard a group of children speaking +English. Asked an intelligent-looking girl if she could +speak Welsh.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said she, “I can speak it, but not +very well.” There is not much Welsh spoken by the +children hereabout. The old folks hold more to it.</p> + +<p>I saw again the Rhymni river, and crossed it by a bridge; the +river here was filthy and turbid, owing of course to its having +received the foul drainings of the neighbouring coal works. +Shortly afterwards I emerged from the coom or valley of the +Rhymni, and entered upon a fertile and tolerably level +district. Passed by Llanawst and Machen. The day +which had been very fine now became dark and gloomy. +Suddenly, as I was descending a slope, a brilliant party, +consisting of four young ladies in riding-habits, a youthful +cavalier and a servant in splendid livery—all on noble +horses, swept past me at full gallop down the hill. Almost +immediately afterwards, seeing a road-mender who was standing +holding his cap in his hand—which he had no doubt just +reverentially doffed—I said in Welsh: “Who are those +ladies?”</p> + +<p>“Merched Sir Charles—the daughters of Sir +Charles,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“And is the gentleman their brother?”</p> + +<p>“No! the brother is in the Crim—fighting with the +Roosiaid. I don’t know who yon gentleman +be.”</p> + +<p>“Where does Sir Charles live?”</p> + +<p>“Down in the Dyfryn, not far from Basallaig.”</p> + +<p>“If I were to go and see him,” I said, “do +you think he would give me a cup of ale?”</p> + +<p>“I daresay he would; he has given me one many a +time.”</p> + +<p>I soon reached Basallaig, a pleasant village standing in a +valley and nearly surrounded by the groves of Sir Charles +Morgan. Seeing a decent public-house I said to myself, +“I think I shall step in and have my ale here, and not go +running after Sir Charles, whom perhaps after all I +shouldn’t find at home.” So I went in and +called for a pint of ale. Over my ale I trifled for about +half-an-hour, then paying my groat I got up and set off for +Newport, in the midst of a thick mist which had suddenly come on, +and which speedily wetted me nearly to the skin.</p> + +<p>I reached Newport at about half-past four, and put up at a +large and handsome inn called the King’s Head. During +dinner the waiter, unasked, related to me his history. He +was a short thick fellow of about forty, with a very disturbed +and frightened expression of countenance. He said that he +was a native of Brummagen, and had lived very happily at an inn +there as waiter, but at length had allowed himself to be spirited +away to an establishment high up in Wales amidst the +scenery. That very few visitors came to the establishment, +which was in a place so awfully lonesome that he soon became +hipped, and was more than once half in a mind to fling himself +into a river which ran before the door and moaned dismally. +That at last he thought his best plan would be to decamp, and +accordingly took French leave early one morning. That after +many frights and much fatigue he had found himself at Newport, +and taken service at the King’s Head, but did not feel +comfortable, and was frequently visited at night by dreadful +dreams. That he should take the first opportunity of +getting to Brummagen, though he was afraid that he should not be +able to get into his former place, owing to his ungrateful +behaviour. He then uttered a rather eloquent eulogium on +the beauties of the black capital, and wound up all by saying +that he would rather be a brazier’s dog at Brummagen than +head waiter at the best establishment in Wales.</p> + +<p>After dinner I took up a newspaper and found in it an account +of the battle of Inkerman, which appeared to have been fought on +the fifth of November, the very day on which I had ascended +Plynlimmon. I was sorry to find that my countrymen had +suffered dreadfully, and would have been utterly destroyed but +for the opportune arrival of the French. “In my +childhood,” said I, “the Russians used to help us +against the French; now the French help us against the +Russians. Who knows but before I die I may see the Russians +helping the French against us?”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER CVIII</h2> + +<p class="letter">Town of Newport—The Usk—Note of +Recognition—An Old Acquaintance—Connamara +Quean—The Wake—The Wild Irish—The Tramping +Life—Business and Prayer—Methodists—Good +Counsel.</p> + +<p>Newport is a large town in Monmouthshire, and had once walls +and a castle. It is called in Welsh Cas Newydd ar Wysg, or +the New Castle upon the Usk. It stands some miles below +Caerlleon ar Wysg, and was probably built when that place, at one +time one of the most considerable towns in Britain, began to fall +into decay. The Wysg or Usk has its source among some wild +hills in the south-west of Breconshire, and, after absorbing +several smaller streams, amongst which is the Hondu, at the mouth +of which Brecon stands, which on that account is called in Welsh +Aber Hondu, and traversing the whole of Monmouthshire, enters the +Bristol Channel near Newport, to which place vessels of +considerable burden can ascend. Wysg or Usk is an ancient +British word, signifying water, and is the same as the Irish word +uisge or whiskey, for whiskey, though generally serving to denote +a spirituous liquor, in great vogue amongst the Irish, means +simply water. The proper term for the spirit is +uisquebaugh, literally acqua vitae, but the compound being +abbreviated by the English, who have always been notorious for +their habit of clipping words, one of the strongest of spirits is +now generally denominated by a word which is properly expressive +of the simple element water.</p> + +<p>Monmouthshire is at present considered an English county, +though certainly with little reason, for it not only stands on +the western side of the Wye, but the names of almost all its +parishes are Welsh, and many thousands of its population still +speak the Welsh language. It is called in Welsh Sir, or +Shire, Fynwy, and takes its name from the town Mynwy or Monmouth, +which receives its own appellation from the river Mynwy or Minno, +on which it stands. There is a river of much the same name, +not in Macedon but in the Peninsula, namely the Minho, which +probably got its denomination from that race cognate to the +Cumry, the Gael, who were the first colonisers of the Peninsula, +and whose generic name yet stares us in the face and salutes our +ears in the words Galicia and Portugal.</p> + +<p>I left Newport at about ten o’clock on the 16th; the +roads were very wet, there having been a deluge of rain during +the night. The morning was a regular November one, dull and +gloomy. Desirous of knowing whereabouts in these parts the +Welsh language ceased, I interrogated several people whom I +met. First spoke to Esther Williams. She told me she +came from Pennow, some miles farther on, that she could speak +Welsh, and that indeed all the people could for at least eight +miles to the east of Newport. This latter assertion of hers +was, however, anything but corroborated by a young woman, with a +pitcher on her head, whom I shortly afterwards met, for she +informed me that she could speak no Welsh, and that for one who +could speak it, from where I was to the place where it ceased +altogether, there were ten who could not. I believe the +real fact is that about half the people for seven or eight miles +to the east of Newport speak Welsh, more or less, as about half +those whom I met and addressed in Welsh, answered me in that +tongue.</p> + +<p>Passed through Pennow or Penhow, a small village. The +scenery in the neighbourhood of this place is highly +interesting. To the north-west at some distance is Mynydd +Turvey, a sharp pointed blue mountain. To the south-east, +on the right, much nearer, are two beautiful green hills, the +lowest prettily wooded, and having its top a fair white mansion +called Penhow Castle, which belongs to a family of the name of +Cave. Thence to Llanvaches, a pretty little village. +When I was about the middle of this place I heard an odd sound, +something like a note of recognition, which attracted my +attention to an object very near to me, from which it seemed to +proceed, and which was coming from the direction in which I was +going. It was the figure seemingly of a female, wrapped in +a coarse blue cloak, the feet bare and the legs bare also nearly +up to the knee, both terribly splashed with the slush of the +road. The head was surmounted by a kind of hood, which just +permitted me to see coarse red hair, a broad face, grey eyes, a +snubbed nose, blubber lips and great white teeth—the eyes +were staring intently at me. I stopped and stared too, and +at last thought I recognised the features of the uncouth girl I +had seen on the green near Chester with the Irish tinker +Tourlough and his wife.</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said I, “did I not see you near +Chester last summer?”</p> + +<p>“To be sure ye did; and ye were going to pass me without +a word of notice or kindness had I not given ye a bit of a +hail.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “I beg your pardon. +How is it all wid ye?”</p> + +<p>“Quite well. How is it wid yere hanner?’</p> + +<p>“Tolerably. Where do you come from?”</p> + +<p>“From Chepstow, yere hanner.”</p> + +<p>“And where are you going to?”</p> + +<p>“To Newport, yere hanner.”</p> + +<p>“And I come from Newport, and am going to +Chepstow. Where’s Tourlough and his wife?”</p> + +<p>“At Cardiff, yere hanner; I shall join them again +to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Have you been long away from them?”</p> + +<p>“About a week, yere hanner.”</p> + +<p>“And what have you been doing?”</p> + +<p>“Selling my needles, yere hanner.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! you sell needles. Well, I am glad to have met +you. Let me see. There’s a nice little inn on +the right: won’t you come in and have some +refreshment?”</p> + +<p>“Thank yere hanner; I have no objection to take a glass +wid an old friend.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, come in; you must be tired, and I shall be +glad to have some conversation with you.”</p> + +<p>We went into the inn—a little tidy place. On my +calling, a respectable-looking old man made his appearance behind +a bar. After serving my companion with a glass of +peppermint, which she said she preferred to anything else, and me +with a glass of ale, both of which I paid for, he retired, and we +sat down on two old chairs beneath a window in front of the +bar.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “I suppose you have Irish: +here’s slainte—”</p> + +<p>“Slainte yuit a shaoi,” said the girl, tasting her +peppermint.</p> + +<p>“Well: how do you like it?’</p> + +<p>“It’s very nice indeed.”</p> + +<p>“That’s more than I can say of the ale, which, +like all the ale in these parts, is bitter. Well, what part +of Ireland do you come from?”</p> + +<p>“From no part at all. I never was in Ireland in my +life. I am from Scotland Road, Manchester.”</p> + +<p>“Why, I thought you were Irish?”</p> + +<p>“And so I am; and all the more from being born where I +was. There’s not such a place for Irish in all the +world as Scotland Road.”</p> + +<p>“Were your father and mother from Ireland?”</p> + +<p>“My mother was from Ireland: my father was Irish of +Scotland Road, where they met and married.”</p> + +<p>“And what did they do after they married?”</p> + +<p>“Why, they worked hard, and did their best to get a +livelihood for themselves and children, of which they had several +besides myself, who was the eldest. My father was a +bricklayer, and my mother sold apples and oranges and other +fruits, according to the season, and also whiskey, which she made +herself, as she well knew how; for my mother was not only a +Connacht woman, but an out-and-out Connamara quean, and when only +thirteen had wrought with the lads who used to make the raal +cratur on the islands between Ochterard and Bally na hinch. +As soon as I was able, I helped my mother in making and disposing +of the whiskey and in selling the fruit. As for the other +children, they all died when young, of favers, of which there is +always plenty in Scotland Road. About four years +ago—that is, when I was just fifteen—there was a +great quarrel among the workmen about wages. Some wanted +more than their masters were willing to give; others were willing +to take what was offered them. Those who were dissatisfied +were called bricks; those who were not were called dungs. +My father was a brick; and, being a good man with his fists, was +looked upon as a very proper person to fight a principal man +amongst the dungs. They fought in the fields near Salford +for a pound a side. My father had it all his own way for +the first three rounds, but in the fourth, receiving a blow under +the ear from the dung, he dropped, and never got up again, dying +suddenly. A grand wake my father had, for which my mother +furnished usquebaugh galore; and comfortably and dacently it +passed over till about three o’clock in the morning, when, +a dispute happening to arise—not on the matter of wages, +for there was not a dung amongst the Irish of Scotland +Road—but as to whether the O’Keefs or O’Kellys +were kings of Ireland a thousand years ago, a general fight took +place, which brought in the police, who, being soon dreadfully +baten, as we all turned upon them, went and fetched the military, +with whose help they took and locked up several of the party, +amongst whom were my mother and myself, till the next morning, +when we were taken before the magistrates, who, after a slight +scolding, set us at liberty, one of them saying that such +disturbances formed part of the Irish funeral service; whereupon +we returned to the house, and the rest of the party joining us, +we carried my father’s body to the churchyard, where we +buried it very dacently, with many tears and +groanings.”</p> + +<p>“And how did your mother and you get on after your +father was buried?”</p> + +<p>“As well as we could, yere hanner; we sold fruit, and +now and then a drop of whiskey, which we made; but this state of +things did not last long, for one day my mother seeing the dung +who had killed my father, she flung a large flint stone and +knocked out his right eye, for doing which she was taken up and +tried, and sentenced to a year’s imprisonment, chiefly it +was thought because she had been heard to say that she would do +the dung a mischief the first time she met him. She, +however, did not suffer all her sentence, for before she had been +in prison three months she caught a disorder which carried her +off. I went on selling fruit by myself whilst she was in +trouble, and for some time after her death, but very lonely and +melancholy. At last my uncle Tourlough, or, as the English +would call him, Charles, chancing to come to Scotland Road along +with his family, I was glad to accept an invitation to join them +which he gave me, and with them I have been ever since, +travelling about England and Wales and Scotland, helping my aunt +with the children, and driving much the same trade which she has +driven for twenty years past, which is not an unprofitable +one.”</p> + +<p>“Would you have any objection to tell me all you +do?”</p> + +<p>“Why I sells needles, as I said before, and sometimes I +buys things of servants, and sometimes I tells +fortunes.”</p> + +<p>“Do you ever do anything in the way of +striopachas?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no! I never do anything in that line; I would be +burnt first. I wonder you should dream of such a +thing.”</p> + +<p>“Why surely it is not worse than buying things of +servants, who no doubt steal them from their employers, or +telling fortunes, which is dealing with the devil.”</p> + +<p>“Not worse? Yes, a thousand times worse; there is +nothing so very particular in doing them things, but +striopachas—Oh dear!”</p> + +<p>“It’s a dreadful thing I admit, but the other +things are quite as bad; you should do none of them.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take good care that I never do one, and that +is striopachas; them other things I know are not quite right, and +I hope soon to have done wid them; any day I can shake them off +and look people in the face, but were I once to do striopachas I +could never hold up my head.”</p> + +<p>“How comes it that you have such a horror of +striopachas?”</p> + +<p>“I got it from my mother, and she got it from +hers. All Irish women have a dread of striopachas. +It’s the only thing that frights them; I manes the wild +Irish, for as for the quality women I have heard they are no bit +better than the English. Come, yere hanner, let’s +talk of something else.”</p> + +<p>“You were saying now that you were thinking of leaving +off fortune-telling and buying things of servants. Do you +mean to depend upon your needles alone?”</p> + +<p>“No; I am thinking of leaving off tramping altogether +and going to the Tir na Siar.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t that America?”</p> + +<p>“It is, yere hanner; the land of the west is +America.”</p> + +<p>“A long way for a lone girl.”</p> + +<p>“I should not be alone, yere hanner; I should be wid my +uncle Tourlough and his wife.”</p> + +<p>“Are they going to America?”</p> + +<p>“They are, yere hanner; they intends leaving off +business and going to America next spring.”</p> + +<p>“It will cost money.”</p> + +<p>“It will, yere hanner; but they have got money, and so +have I.”</p> + +<p>“Is it because business is slack that you are thinking +of going to America?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, yere hanner; we wish to go there in order to get +rid of old ways and habits, amongst which are fortune-telling and +buying things of sarvants, which yere hanner was jist now +checking me wid.”</p> + +<p>“And can’t you get rid of them here?”</p> + +<p>“We cannot, yere hanner. If we stay here we must +go on tramping, and it is well known that doing them things is +part of tramping.”</p> + +<p>“And what would you do in America?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, we could do plenty of things in America—most +likely we should buy a piece of land and settle down.”</p> + +<p>“How came you to see the wickedness of the tramping +life?”</p> + +<p>“By hearing a great many sarmons and preachings and +having often had the Bible read to us by holy women who came to +our tent.”</p> + +<p>“Of what religion do you call yourselves now?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, yere hanner; we are clane unsettled +about religion. We were once Catholics and carried Saint +Colman of Cloyne about wid us in a box; but after hearing a +sermon at a church about images, we went home, took the saint out +of his box and cast him into a river.”</p> + +<p>“Oh it will never do to belong to the Popish religion, a +religion which upholds idol-worship and persecutes the +Bible—you should belong to the Church of +England.”</p> + +<p>“Well, perhaps we should, yere hanner, if its ministers +were not such proud violent men. Oh, you little know how +they look down upon all poor people, especially on us +tramps. Once my poor aunt, Tourlough’s wife, who has +always had stronger conviction than any of us, followed one of +them home after he had been preaching, and begged him to give her +God, and was told by him that she was a thief, and if she +didn’t take herself out of the house he would kick her +out.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, after all,” said I; “you had +better join the Methodists—I should say that their ways +would suit you better than those of any other denomination of +Christians.”</p> + +<p>Yere hanner knows nothing about them, otherwise ye +wouldn’t talk in that manner. Their ways would never +do for people who want to have done with lying and staring, and +have always kept themselves clane from striopachas. Their +word is not worth a rotten straw, yere hanner, and in every +transaction which they have with people they try to cheat and +overreach—ask my uncle Tourlough, who has had many dealings +with them. But what is far worse, they do that which the +wildest calleen t’other side of Ougteraarde would be burnt +rather than do. Who can tell ye more on that point than I, +yere hanner? I have been at their chapels at nights, and +have listened to their screaming prayers, and have seen +what’s been going on outside the chapels after their +services, as they call them, were over—I never saw the like +going on outside Father Toban’s chapel, yere hanner! +Yere hanner’s hanner asked me if I ever did anything in the +way of striopachas—now I tell ye that I was never asked to +do anything in that line but by one of them folks—a great +man amongst them he was, both in the way of business and prayer, +for he was a commercial traveller during six days of the week and +a preacher on the seventh—and such a preacher. Well, +one Sunday night after he had preached a sermon an +hour-and-a-half long, which had put half a dozen women into what +they call static fits, he overtook me in a dark street and wanted +me to do striopachas with him—he didn’t say +striopachas, yer hanner, for he had no Irish—but he said +something in English which was the same thing.”</p> + +<p>“And what did you do?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I asked him what he meant by making fun of a poor +ugly girl—for no one knows better than myself, yere hanner, +that I am very ugly—whereupon he told me that he was not +making fun of me, for it had long been the chief wish of his +heart to commit striopachas with a wild Irish Papist, and that he +believed if he searched the world he should find none wilder than +myself.”</p> + +<p>“And what did you reply?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I said to him, yere hanner, that I would tell the +congregation, at which he laughed and said that he wished I +would, for that the congregation would say they didn’t +believe me, though at heart they would, and would like him all +the better for it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and what did you say then?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, at all, yere hanner; but I spat in his face +and went home and told my uncle Tourlough, who forthwith took out +a knife and began to sharp it on a whetstone, and I make no doubt +would have gone and stuck the fellow like a pig, had not my poor +aunt begged him not on her knees. After that we had nothing +more to do with the Methodists as far as religion +went.”</p> + +<p>“Did this affair occur in England or Wales?”</p> + +<p>“In the heart of England, yere hanner; we have never +been to the Welsh chapels, for we know little of the +language.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I am glad it didn’t happen in Wales: I have +rather a high opinion of the Welsh Methodist. The worthiest +creature I ever knew was a Welsh Methodist. And now I must +leave you and make the best of my way to Chepstow.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t yere hanner give me God before ye +go?”</p> + +<p>“I can give you half-a-crown to help you on your way to +America.”</p> + +<p>“I want no half-crowns, yere hanner; but if ye would +give me God I’d bless ye.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by giving you God?”</p> + +<p>“Putting Him in my heart by some good counsel which will +guide me through life.”</p> + +<p>“The only good counsel I can give you is to keep the +commandments; one of them it seems you have always kept. +Follow the rest and you can’t go very wrong.”</p> + +<p>“I wish I knew them better than I do, yere +hanner.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t you read?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, yere hanner, I can’t read, neither can +Tourlough nor his wife.”</p> + +<p>“Well, learn to read as soon as possible. When you +have got to America and settled down you will have time enough to +learn to read.”</p> + +<p>“Shall we be better, yere hanner, after we have learnt +to read?”</p> + +<p>“Let’s hope you will.”</p> + +<p>“One of the things, yere hanner, that have made us +stumble is that some of the holy women, who have come to our tent +and read the Bible to us, have afterwards asked my aunt and me to +tell them their fortunes.”</p> + +<p>“If they have, the more shame for them, for they can +have no excuse. Well, whether you learn to read or not, +still eschew striopachas, don’t steal, don’t deceive, +and worship God in spirit, not in image. That’s the +best counsel I can give you.”</p> + +<p>“And very good counsel it is, yere hanner, and I will +try to follow it, and now, yere hanner, let us go our two +ways.”</p> + +<p>We placed our glasses upon the bar and went out. In the +middle of the road we shook hands and parted, she going towards +Newport and I towards Chepstow. After walking a few yards I +turned round and looked after her. There she was in the +damp lowering afternoon wending her way slowly through mud and +puddle, her upper form huddled in the rough frieze mantle, and +her coarse legs bare to the top of the calves. +“Surely,” said I to myself, “there never was an +object less promising in appearance. Who would think that +there could be all the good sense and proper feeling in that +uncouth girl which there really is?”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER CIX</h2> + +<p class="letter">Arrival at Chepstow—Stirring +Lyric—Conclusion.</p> + +<p>I passed through Caer Went, once an important Roman station, +and for a long time after the departure of the Romans a +celebrated British city, now a poor desolate place consisting of +a few old-fashioned houses and a strange-looking dilapidated +church. No Welsh is spoken at Caer Went, nor to the east of +it, nor indeed for two or three miles before you reach it from +the west.</p> + +<p>The country between it and Chepstow, from which it is distant +about four miles, is delightfully green, but somewhat tame.</p> + +<p>Chepstow stands on the lower part of a hill, near to where the +beautiful Wye joins the noble Severn. The British name of +the place is Aber Wye or the disemboguement of the Wye. The +Saxons gave it the name of Chepstow, which in their language +signifies a place where a market is held, because even in the +time of the Britons it was the site of a great cheap or +market. After the Norman Conquest it became the property of +De Clare, one of William’s followers, who built near it an +enormous castle, which enjoyed considerable celebrity during +several centuries from having been the birthplace of Strongbow, +the conqueror of Ireland, but which is at present chiefly +illustrious from the mention which is made of it in one of the +most stirring lyrics of modern times, a piece by Walter Scott, +called the “Norman Horseshoe,” commemorative of an +expedition made by a De Clare, of Chepstow, with the view of +insulting with the print of his courser’s shoe the green +meads of Glamorgan, and which commences thus:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Red glows the forge”—</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>I went to the principal inn, where I engaged a private room +and ordered the best dinner which the people could provide. +Then leaving my satchel behind me I went to the castle, amongst +the ruins of which I groped and wandered for nearly an hour, +occasionally repeating verses of the Norman Horseshoe. I +then went to the Wye and drank of the waters at its mouth, even +as some time before I had drunk of the waters at its +source. Then returning to my inn I got my dinner, after +which I called for a bottle of port, and placing my feet against +the sides of the grate I passed my time drinking wine and singing +Welsh songs till ten o’clock at night, when I paid my +reckoning, amounting to something considerable. Then +shouldering my satchel I proceeded to the railroad station, where +I purchased a first-class ticket, and ensconcing myself in a +comfortable carriage, was soon on the way to London, where I +arrived at about four o’clock in the morning, having had +during the whole of my journey a most uproarious set of +neighbours a few carriages behind me, namely, some hundred and +fifty of Napier’s tars returning from their expedition to +the Baltic.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CUMRO AND CUMRAEG.</h2> + +<p>The original home of the Cumro was Southern Hindustan, the +extreme point of which, Cape Comorin, derived from him its +name. It may be here asked what is the exact meaning of the +word Cumro? The true meaning of the word is a youth. +It is connected with a Sanscrit word, signifying a youth, and +likewise a prince. It is surprising how similar in meaning +the names of several nations are: Cumro, a youth; Gael, a hero; +<a name="citation24"></a><a href="#footnote24" +class="citation">[24]</a> Roman, one who is comely, a husband; <a +name="citation25"></a><a href="#footnote25" +class="citation">[25]</a> Frank or Frenchman, a free, brave +fellow; Dane, an honest man; Turk, a handsome lad; Arab, a +sprightly fellow. Lastly, Romany Chal, the name by which +the Gypsy styles himself, signifying not an Egyptian, but a lad +of Rome. <a name="citation26"></a><a href="#footnote26" +class="citation">[26]</a></p> + +<p>The language of the Cumro is called after him Cumraeg. +Of Cumric there are three dialects, the speech of Cumru or Wales; +that of Armorica or, as the Welsh call it, Llydaw, and the +Cornish, which is no longer spoken, and only exists in books and +in the names of places. The Cumric bears considerable +affinity to the Gaelic, or the language of the Gael, of which +there are also three dialects, the Irish, the speech of the +Scottish Highlanders, and the Manx, which last is rapidly +becoming extinct. The Cumric and Gaelic have not only a +great many thousand words in common, but also a remarkable +grammatical feature, the mutation and dropping of certain initial +consonants under certain circumstances, which feature is peculiar +to the Celtic languages. The number of Sanscritic words +which the Cumric and Gaelic possess is considerable. Of the +two the Gaelic possesses the most, and those have generally more +of the Sanscritic character, than the words of the same class +which are to be found in the Welsh. The Welsh, however, +frequently possesses the primary word when the Irish does +not. Of this the following is an instance. One of the +numerous Irish words for a mountain is codadh. This word is +almost identical with the Sanscrit kuta, which also signifies a +mountain; but kuta and codadh are only secondary words. The +Sanscrit possesses the radical of kuta, and that is kuda, to heap +up, but the Irish does not possess the radical of codadh. +The Welsh, without possessing any word for a hill at all like +codadh, has the primary or radical word; that word is codi, to +rise or raise, almost identical in sound and sense with the +Sanscrit kuda. Till a house is raised there is no house, +and there is no hill till the Nara or Omnipotent says +<i>Arise</i>.</p> + +<p>The Welsh is one of the most copious languages of the world, +as it contains at least eighty thousand words. It has seven +vowels; w in Welsh being pronounced like oo, and y like u and +i. Its most remarkable feature is the mutation of initial +consonants, to explain which properly would require more space +than I can afford. <a name="citation27"></a><a href="#footnote27" +class="citation">[27]</a> The nouns are of two numbers, the +singular and plural, and a few have a dual number. The +genders are three, the Masculine, the Feminine and the +Neuter. There are twelve plural terminations of nouns, of +which the most common is au. Some substantives are what the +grammarians call aggregate plurals, <a name="citation28"></a><a +href="#footnote28" class="citation">[28]</a> “which +are not used in the plural without the addition of diminutive +terminations, for example adar, birds, aderyn, a bird; gwenyn, +bees, gwenynen, a single bee.” There are different +kinds of adjectives; some have a plural, some have none; some +have a feminine form, others have not; the most common plural +termination is ion. It is said by some that the verb has +properly no present tense, the future being used instead. +The verbs present many difficulties, and there are many defective +and irregular ones. In the irregularities of its verbs the +Welsh language very much resembles the Irish.</p> + +<p>The numerals require some particular notice: forty, sixty and +eighty are expressed by deugain, trigain, and pedwarugain, +literally, two twenties, three twenties, and four twenties; +whilst fifty, seventy, and ninety are expressed by words +corresponding with ten after two twenties, ten after three +twenties, and ten after four twenties. Whether the Welsh +had ever a less clumsy way of expressing the above numbers is +unknown—something similar is observable in French, and the +same practice prevails in the modern Gaelic; in the ancient +Gaelic, however, there are such numerals as ceathrachad, seasgad, +and naochad, which correspond with quadraginta, sexaginta, and +nonaginta. The numerals dau, tri, and pedwar, or two, +three, and four, have feminine forms, becoming when preceding +feminine nouns, dwy, tair, and pedair. In Gaelic no numeral +has a feminine form; certain numerals, however, have an influence +over nouns which others have not, and before cead, a hundred, and +mile, a thousand, do, two, is changed into da, for it is not +customary to say do chead, two hundred, and do mhile, two +thousand, but da chead and da mhile. <a name="citation29"></a><a +href="#footnote29" class="citation">[29]</a> With respect +to pedwar, the Welsh for four, I have to observe that it bears no +similitude to the word for the same number in Gaelic; the word +for four in Gaelic is ceathair, and the difference between +ceathair and pedwar is great indeed. Ceathair is what may +be called a Sanscritic numeral; and it is pleasant to trace it in +various shapes, through various languages, up to the grand speech +of India: Irish, ceathair; Latin, quatuor; Greek, +téssares; Russian, chetúri; Persian, chahar; +Sanscrit, chatur. As to pedwar, it bears some resemblance +to the English four, the German vier, is almost identical with +the Wallachian patrou, and is very much like the Homeric word +πίσυρες, but beyond +Wallachia and Greece we find nothing like it, bearing the same +meaning, though it is right to mention that the Sanscrit word +páda signifies a <i>quarter</i>, as well as a foot. +It is curious that the Irish word for five, cuig, is in like +manner quite as perplexing as the Welsh word for four. The +Irish word for five is not a Sanscritic word, pump, the Welsh +word for five, is. Pantschan is the Sanscrit word for five, +and pump is linked to pantschan by the Æolick pémpe, +the Greek pénte and pémptos, the Russian piat and +the Persian Pantsch; but what is cuig connected with? Why +it is connected with the Latin quinque, and perhaps with the +Arabic khamsa; but higher up than Arabia we find nothing like it; +or if one thinks one recognises it, it is under such a disguise +that one is rather timorous about swearing to it—and now +nothing more on the subject of numerals.</p> + +<p>I have said that the Welsh is exceedingly copious. Its +copiousness, however, does not proceed, like that of the English, +from borrowing from other languages. It has certainly words +in common with other tongues, but no tongue, at any rate in +Europe, can prove that it has a better claim than the Welsh to +any word which it has in common with that language. No +language has a better supply of simple words for the narration of +events than the Welsh, and simple words are the proper garb of +narration; and no language abounds more with terms calculated to +express the abstrusest ideas of the meta-physician. Whoever +doubts its capability for the purpose of narration, let him +peruse the Welsh Historical Triads, in which are told the most +remarkable events which befell the early Cumry; and whosoever +doubts its power for the purpose of abstruse reasoning, let him +study a work called Rhetorick, by Master William Salisbury, +written about the year 1570, and I think he will admit that there +is no hyperbole, or, as a Welshman would call it, +<i>gorwireb</i>, in what I have said with respect to the +capabilities of the Welsh language.</p> + +<p>As to its sounds—I have to observe that at the will of a +master it can be sublimely sonorous, terribly sharp, diabolically +guttural and sibilant, and sweet and harmonious to a remarkable +degree. What more sublimely sonorous than certain hymns of +Taliesin; more sharp and clashing than certain lines of Gwalchmai +and Dafydd Benfras, describing battles; more diabolically grating +than the Drunkard’s Choke-pear by Rhys Goch, and more sweet +than the lines of poor Gronwy Owen to the Muse? Ah, those +lines of his to the Muse are sweeter even than the verses of +Horace, of which they profess to be an imitation. What +lines in Horace’s ode can vie in sweetness with</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Tydi roit â diwair wén<br /> +Lais eos i lysowen!”</p> + +<p>“Thou couldst endow, with thy dear smile,<br /> +With voice of lark the lizard vile!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Eos signifies a nightingale, and Lysowen an eel. Perhaps +in no language but the Welsh, could an eel be mentioned in lofty +poetry: Lysowen is perfect music.</p> + +<p>Having stated that there are Welsh and Sanscrit words which +correspond, more or less, in sound and meaning, I here place side +by side a small number of such words, in order that the reader +may compare them.</p> + +<table> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Welsh</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Sanscrit</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Aber, a meeting of waters, an outflowing; Avon, a river; +Aw, a flowing</p> +</td> +<td><p>Ap, ápah, water; apagá, a river; Persian, +ab, water; Wallachian, apa</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Anal, breath</p> +</td> +<td><p>Anila, air</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Arian, silver<br /> +Aur, gold</p> +</td> +<td><p>Ara, brass; Gypsy, harko, copper <a +name="citation30"></a><a href="#footnote30" +class="citation">[30]</a></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Athu, to go</p> +</td> +<td><p>At’ha; Russian, iti</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Bôd, being, existence</p> +</td> +<td><p>Bhavat, bhúta</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Brenin, a king</p> +</td> +<td><p>Bharanda, a lord; Russian barín</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Caer, a wall, a city</p> +</td> +<td><p>Griha, géha, a house; Hindustani, ghar; Gypsy, +kair, kaer</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Cain, fine, bright</p> +</td> +<td><p>Kánta, pleasing, beautiful; Kana, to shine</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Canu, to sing</p> +</td> +<td><p>Gána, singing</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Cathyl, a hymn</p> +</td> +<td><p>Khéli a song; Gypsy, gillie</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Coed, a wood, trees</p> +</td> +<td><p>Kut’ha, kuti, a tree</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Cumro, a Welshman</p> +</td> +<td><p>Kumára, a youth, a prince</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Daear, daeren, the earth</p> +</td> +<td><p>Dhará, fem. dharaní</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Dant, a tooth</p> +</td> +<td><p>Danta</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Dawn, a gift</p> +</td> +<td><p>Dána</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Derw, an oak</p> +</td> +<td><p>Dáru, timber</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Dewr, bold, brave</p> +</td> +<td><p>Dhíra</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Drwg, bad</p> +</td> +<td><p>Durgati, hell; Durgá, the goddess of +destruction</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Duw, God</p> +</td> +<td><p>Déva, a god</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Dwfr, dwfyr, water</p> +</td> +<td><p>Tívara, the ocean (Tiber, Tevere)</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Dwr, water</p> +</td> +<td><p>Uda; Greek, υδωρ; Sanscrit, +dhlíra, the ocean; Persian, deria, dooria, the sea; Gypsy, +dooria</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>En, a being, a soul, that which lives</p> +</td> +<td><p>An, to breathe, to live; ána, breath; Irish, an, a +man, fire</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Gair, a word</p> +</td> +<td><p>Gir, gira, speech</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Gwr, a man<br /> +Gwres, heat</p> +</td> +<td><p>Víra, a hero, strong, fire; Lat. vir, a man; Dutch, +vuur, fire; Turkish, er, a man; Heb., ur, fire</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Geneth, girl</p> +</td> +<td><p>Kaní</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Geni, to be born</p> +</td> +<td><p>Jana</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Gwybod, to know</p> +</td> +<td><p>Vid</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Hocedu, to cheat</p> +</td> +<td><p>Kúhaka, deceit</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Huan, the sun</p> +</td> +<td><p>Ina</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Ieuanc,young</p> +</td> +<td><p>Youvan</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Ir, fresh, juicy<br /> +Irdra, juiciness</p> +</td> +<td><p>Irá, water</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Llances, a girl</p> +</td> +<td><p>Lagnika</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Lleidyr, a thief</p> +</td> +<td><p>Lata</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Maen, a stone</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mani, a gem</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Mam, mother</p> +</td> +<td><p>Ma</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Marw, to die</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mára, death</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Mawr, great</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mahá</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Medd, mead</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mad’hu, honey</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Meddwi, to intoxicate</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mad, to intoxicate; Máda, intoxication; Mada, +pleasure; Madya, wine; Matta, intoxicated; Gypsy, matto, drunk; +Gr. yέθυ, wine, +μεδύω, to be drunk</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Medr, a measure</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mátra</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Nâd, a cry</p> +</td> +<td><p>Nad, to speak; Náda, sound</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Nant, ravine, rivulet</p> +</td> +<td><p>Nadí, a river</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Neath, Nedd, name of a river; nedd, a dingle, what is low, +deep (Nith, Nithsdale)</p> +</td> +<td><p>Nícha, low, deep; níchagá, a river, +that which descends; nítha, water</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Nêf, heaven</p> +</td> +<td><p>Nabhas; Russian, nabeçá, the heavens; Lat., +nubes, a cloud</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Neidiaw, to leap;</p> +</td> +<td><p>Nata, to dance; Náta, dancing</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Nêr, the Almighty, the Lord, the Creator</p> +</td> +<td><p>Nara, that which animates every thing, the spirit of God +<a name="citation31"></a><a href="#footnote31" +class="citation">[31]</a></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Nerth, strength, power</p> +</td> +<td><p>Nara, man, the spirit of God; Gr. άνηρ, a +man, νευρον strength; Persian, +nar, a male; Arabic, nãr, fire</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Noddwr, a protector</p> +</td> +<td><p>Nátha</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Nôs, night</p> +</td> +<td><p>Nisá</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Pair, a cauldron</p> +</td> +<td><p>Pit’hara</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Pêd, a foot; pedair, four</p> +</td> +<td><p>Pad, a foot; páda, a quarter</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Pridd, earth</p> +</td> +<td><p>Prithiví, the earth</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Prif, principal, prime</p> +</td> +<td><p>Prabhu, a lord, a ruler</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Rhên, the Lord</p> +</td> +<td><p>Rájan, a king</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Rhian, a lady</p> +</td> +<td><p>Hindustani, rani</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Rhôd, a wheel</p> +</td> +<td><p>Ratha, a car</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Swm, being together</p> +</td> +<td><p>Sam</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Swynwr, a wizard, sorcerer</p> +</td> +<td><p>Sanvanana, a witch; Hindustani, syani</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Tâd, father</p> +</td> +<td><p>Táta</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Tân, fire</p> +</td> +<td><p>Dahana</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Tant, a string</p> +</td> +<td><p>Tantu</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Tanu, to expand</p> +</td> +<td><p>Tana</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Toriad, a breaking, cutting</p> +</td> +<td><p>Dári, cutting</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Uchafedd, height</p> +</td> +<td><p>Uchch’ya</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Ych, ox</p> +</td> +<td><p>Ukshan</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>In the above list of Cumric and Sanscrit words there are +certainly some remarkable instances of correspondence in sound +and sense, the most interesting of which is that afforded by +Nêr, the Cumric word for the Lord, and Nara, the Sanscrit +word for the Spirit of God. From comparing the words in +that list one might feel disposed to rush to the conclusion that +the Cumric sprang from the Sanscrit, the sacred language of sunny +Hindustan. But to do so would be unwise, for deeper study +would show that if the Welsh has some hundreds of words in common +with the Sanscrit, it has thousands upon thousands which are not +to be found in that tongue, after making all possible allowance +for change and modification. No subject connected with what +is called philosophy is more mortifying to proud human reason +than the investigation of languages, for in what do the +researches of the most unwearied philologist terminate but a +chaos of doubt and perplexity, else why such exclamations as +these? Why is the Wallachian word for water Sanscrit? for +what is the difference between apa and ap? Wallachian is +formed from Latin and Sclavonian; why then is not the word for +water either woda or aqua, or a modification of either? Why +is the Arabic word for the sea Irish, for what is the difference +between bahar, the Arabic word for sea, and beathra, an old Irish +word for water, pronounced barra, whence the river Barrow? +How is it that one of the names of the Ganges is Welsh; for what +is the difference between Dhur, a name of that river, and dwr, +the common Welsh word for water? How is it that aequor, a +Latin word for the sea, so much resembles Ægir, the name of +the Norse God of the sea? and how is it that Asaer, the +appellative of the Northern Gods, is so like Asura, the family +name of certain Hindu demons? Why does the scanty Gailk, +the language of the Isle of Man, possess more Sanscrit words than +the mighty Arabic, the richest of all tongues; and why has the +Welsh only four words for a hill, and its sister language the +Irish fifty-five? How is it that the names of so many +streams in various countries, for example Donau, Dwina, Don, and +Tyne, so much resemble Dhuni, a Sanscrit word for a river? +How is it that the Sanscrit devila stands for what is wise and +virtuous, and the English devil for all that is desperate and +wicked? How is it that Alp and Apennine, Celtic words for a +hill, so much resemble ap and apah, Sanscrit words for +water? Why does the Sanscrit kalya mean to-morrow as well +as yesterday, and the Gypsy merripen life as well as death? +How is it that ur, a Gaelic word for fire, is so like urá +the Basque word for water, and Ure the name of an English +stream? Why does nerón, the Modern Greek word for +water, so little resemble the ancient Greek +υδωρ and so much resemble the Sanscrit +níra? and how is it that nára, which like +níra signifies water, so much resembles nara, the word for +man and the Divinity? How is it that Nereus, the name of an +ancient Greek water god, and Nar, the Arabic word for fire, are +so very like Nêr, the Welsh word for the Creator? How +is it that a certain Scottish river bears the name of the wife of +Oceanus, for what is Teith but Teithys? How indeed! and why +indeed! to these and a thousand similar questions. Ah man, +man! human reason will never answer them, and you may run wild +about them, unless, dropping your pride, you are content to turn +for a solution of your doubts to a certain old volume, once +considered a book of divine revelation, but now a collection of +old wives’ tales, the Bible.</p> +<div class="gapline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">THE END</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Printed by Hazell</i>, <i>Watson +& Viney</i>, <i>Ld.</i>, <i>London and Aylesbury</i>.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> + +<p><a name="footnote0"></a><a href="#citation0" +class="footnote">[0]</a> Unfortunately none of the +illustrations can be included as the Project Gutenberg +transcriber lives in a country where they are still in copyright, +Archibald Standish Hartrick having died in 1950.—DP.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" +class="footnote">[1]</a> That vira at one time meant man in +general, as well as fire, there can be no doubt. It is +singular how this word or something strikingly like it, occurs in +various European languages, sometimes as man, sometimes as +fire. Vir in Latin signifies man, but vuur in Dutch +signifies fire. In like manner fear in Irish signifies a +man, but fire in English signifies the consuming, or, as the +Hindus would call it, the producing element.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2" +class="footnote">[2]</a> “Pawb a’i cenfydd, o +bydd bai,<br /> +A Bawddyn, er na byddai.”—<span class="smcap">Gronwy +Owen</span>.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3" +class="footnote">[3]</a> One or two of the characters and +incidents in this Saga are mentioned in the Romany Rye. +London, 1857, vol. i. p. 240; vol. ii. p. 150.</p> + +<p>A partial translation of the Saga, made by myself, has been +many years in existence. It forms part of a mountain of +unpublished translations from the Northern languages. In my +younger days no London publisher, or indeed magazine editor, +would look at anything from the Norse, Danish, etc.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4" +class="footnote">[4]</a> All these three names are very +common in Norfolk, the population of which is of Norse +origin. Skarphethin is at present pronounced Sharpin. +Helgi Heely. Skarphethin, interpreted, is a keen +pirate.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5" +class="footnote">[5]</a> Eryri likewise signifies an +excrescence or scrofulous eruption. It is possible that +many will be disposed to maintain that in the case of Snowdon the +word is intended to express a rugged excrescence or eruption on +the surface of the earth.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6" +class="footnote">[6]</a> It will not be amiss to observe +that the original term is gwyddfa but gwyddfa; being a feminine +noun or compound commencing with g, which is a mutable consonant, +loses the initial letter before y the definite article—you +say Gwyddfa a tumulus, but not y gwyddfa <i>the</i> tumulus.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7" +class="footnote">[7]</a> Essay on the Origin of the English +Stage by Bishop Percy. London, 1793.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8" +class="footnote">[8]</a> The above account is chiefly taken +from the curious Welsh book called “Dych y prif +Oesoedd.”</p> + +<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9" +class="footnote">[9]</a> Spirits.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10" +class="footnote">[10]</a> Eel.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11" +class="footnote">[11]</a> For an account of this worm, +which has various denominations, see article “Fasciola +Hepatica” in any Encyclopædia.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12" +class="footnote">[12]</a> As the umbrella is rather a +hackneyed subject two or three things will of course be found in +the above eulogium on an umbrella which have been said by other +folks on that subject; the writer, however, flatters himself that +in his eulogium on an umbrella two or three things will also be +found which have never been said by any one else about an +umbrella.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13" +class="footnote">[13]</a> Bitter root.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14" +class="footnote">[14]</a> Amongst others a kind of novel +called “The Adventures of Twm Shon Catty, a Wild Wag of +Wales.” It possesses considerable literary merit, the +language being pure, and many of the descriptions graphic. +By far the greater part of it, however, would serve for the life +of any young Welsh peasant, quite as well as for that of Twm Shon +Catti. Its grand fault is endeavouring to invest Twm Shon +with a character of honesty, and to make his exploits appear +rather those of a wild young waggish fellow than of a +robber. This was committing a great mistake. When +people take up the lives of bad characters the more rogueries and +villainies they find, the better they are pleased, and they are +very much disappointed and consider themselves defrauded by any +attempt to apologise for the actions of the heroes. If the +thieves should chance to have reformed, the respectable readers +wish to hear nothing of their reformation till just at the close +of the book, when they are very happy to have done with them for +ever.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15" +class="footnote">[15]</a> Skazka O Klimkie. Moscow, +1829.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16" +class="footnote">[16]</a> Hanes Crefydd Yn Nghymru.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17" +class="footnote">[17]</a> The good gentlewoman was probably +thinking of the celebrated king Brian Boromhe slain at the battle +of Clontarf.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote18"></a><a href="#citation18" +class="footnote">[18]</a> Fox’s Court—perhaps +London.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19" +class="footnote">[19]</a> Drych y Prif Oesoedd, p. 100.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote20"></a><a href="#citation20" +class="footnote">[20]</a> Y Greal, p. 279.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21" +class="footnote">[21]</a> Hanes Crefydd Yn NGhymru.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22" +class="footnote">[22]</a> Fear caoch: vir cæcus.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23" +class="footnote">[23]</a> Curses of this description, or +evil prayers as they are called, are very common in the Irish +language, and are frequently turned to terrible account by that +most singular class or sect, the Irish mendicants. Several +cases have occurred connected with these prayers, corresponding +in many respects with the case detailed above.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24" +class="footnote">[24]</a> Sanscrit, Kali, a hero.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25" +class="footnote">[25]</a> Sanscrit, Rama, Ramana, a +husband.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26" +class="footnote">[26]</a> Romany chal, son of Rome, lad of +Rome. Romany chi, daughter of Rome, girl of Rome. +Chal, chiel, child, the Russian cheloviek, a man, and the +Sanscrit Jana, to be born, are all kindred words.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote27"></a><a href="#citation27" +class="footnote">[27]</a> For a clear and satisfactory +account of this system see Owen’s Welsh Grammar, p. 13.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote28"></a><a href="#citation28" +class="footnote">[28]</a> Owen’s Grammar, p. 40.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote29"></a><a href="#citation29" +class="footnote">[29]</a> Pronounced vile or +wile—here the principle of literal mutation is at work.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30" +class="footnote">[30]</a> Lat. aurum, gold; +<i>ær</i>is, of brass. Perhaps the true meaning of +ara, aurum, &c., is unrefined metal; if so, we have the root +of them all in our own word ore.</p> + +<p><a name="footnote31"></a><a href="#citation31" +class="footnote">[31]</a> “The Eternal, the divine +imperishable spirit pervading the +universe.”—<i>Wilson’s Sanscrit Dictionary</i>, +p. 453.</p> + +<p>The Nara is called by the Tartars soukdoun, and by the Chinese +ki: “Principe qui est dans le ciel, sur la terre, dans +l’homme, et dans toutes les choses matérielles et +immatérielles.”—<i>Dictioinnaire Tartare +Mantchou</i>, par Amyot. Tome second, p, 124.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILD WALES ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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