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?"

"Understand every word of your discourse?" said I; "I wish I did; I
would give five pounds to understand every word of your discourse."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"That may be the custom in England," said the old man, "but it is
not so in Wales."

"What have you got to conceal?" said I; "I suppose you are honest
men."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"Have you ever been in Russia?" shouted a voice, that of the large
rough fellow who asked me the question about the Russian war.

"Oh yes, I have been in Russia," said I.

"Well, what kind of a country is it?"

"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."

"A very poor country isn't it, always covered with ice and snow?"

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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?"

"Oh yes: I have seen him frequently."

"Well, what kind of a man is he? we should like to know."

"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."

"Bravo! Did you ever see him at the head of his soldiers?"

"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."

"Bravo!" said twenty voices; "the gentleman speaks like an
areithiwr. Have you been in other countries besides Russia?"

"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?"

"Yes, sir, pray do; we all love ghost stories. Do tell us the
ghost story of Spain."

Thereupon I told the company Lope de Vega's ghost story, which is
decidedly the best ghost story in the world.

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.



CHAPTER C



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.


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.

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?"

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." (18)

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.

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:-


"Each morn, benign of countenance,
Upon Glamorgan's pennon glance!
Each afternoon in beauty clear
Above my own dear bounds appear!
Bright outline of a blessed clime,
Again, though sunk, arise sublime -
Upon my errand, swift repair,
And unto green Glamorgan bear
Good days and terms of courtesy
From my dear country and from me!
Move round - but need I thee command? -
Its chalk-white halls, which cheerful stand -
Pleasant thy own pavilions too -
Its fields and orchards fair to view.

"O, pleasant is thy task and high
In radiant warmth to roam the sky,
To keep from ill that kindly ground,
Its meads and farms, where mead is found,
A land whose commons live content,
Where each man's lot is excellent,
Where hosts to hail thee shall upstand,
Where lads are bold and lasses bland,
A land I oft from hill that's high
Have gazed upon with raptur'd eye;
Where maids are trained in virtue's school,
Where duteous wives spin dainty wool;
A country with each gift supplied,
Confronting Cornwall's cliffs of pride."


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.

"What place is this?" said, I to a boy.

"Gwaith haiarn, sir; ym perthyn i Mr Pearson. Mr Pearson's iron
works, sir."

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.

"Good-day, my friend," said I; "you seem to be able to use a
stick."

"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."

"A good thing," said I, "that there are no Old Waist-coats and
Cravats at present, at least bloody factions bearing those names."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"How do the English tyrannise over Ireland?"

"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?"

"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?"

"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."

"Then why do you blame the Protestants for keeping the Romans a
little under?"

"Why do I blame them? A purty question! Why, an't they wrong, and
an't we right?"

"But they say that they are right and you wrong."

"They say! who minds what they say? Haven't we the word of the
blessed Pope that we are right?"

"And they say that they have the word of the blessed Gospel that
you are wrong."

"The Gospel! who cares for the Gospel? Surely you are not going to
compare the Gospel with the Pope?"

"Well, they certainly are not to be named in the same day."

"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?"

"Why, I was partly educated in Munster."

"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?


"'Ulster for a soldier,
Connaught for a thief,
Munster for learning,
And Leinster for beef.'


"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."

"You don't seem to like the Connaught men," said I.

"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."

"I suppose," said I, "by your talking of splicing the mainbrace
that you are a sailor."

"I am, your honour, and hail from the Cove of Cork in the kingdom
of Munster."

"I know it well," said I, "it is the best sea-basin in the world.
Well, how came you into these parts?"

"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."

"Are you in the royal service?"

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"A fine fellow that De Courcy," said I.

"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?"

"I think I do," said I, "but I should be very glad to hear you
relate it."

"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."

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.

"What place is this?" said I to my companion.

"This is -, your honour; and here, if your honour will accept a
glass of whiskey we will splice the mainbrace together."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"Well then, farewell! Here's my hand! - Slan leat a Phatraic ui
Flannagan!"

"Slan leat a dhuine-uasail!" said Patrick, giving me his hand; "and
health, hope, and happiness to ye."

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:-

"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.'"

"Very good, sir," said the landlady with a curtsey.

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:-

"You have taken your last farewell of Wales, sir; it's no use
speaking Welsh farther on."

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.

"No Welsh, sir!"

"Why don't you speak Welsh?" said I.

"Because we never learnt it. We are not Welsh."

"Who are you then?"

"English; some calls us Flamings."

"Ah, ah!" said I to myself; "I had forgot."

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.

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."

"Can't be, sir; it's now Saturday afternoon, the shoemaker couldn't
begin them to-night!"

"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."

"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."



CHAPTER CI



Swansea - The Flemings - Towards England.


SWANSEA is called by the Welsh Abertawe, 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.

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 (19) 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.

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.

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.

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.



CHAPTER CII



Leave Swansea - The Pandemonium - Neath Abbey - Varied Scenery.


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.

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.

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.

"The Abbey," he replied.

"Neath Abbey?" said I.

"Yes!"

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.

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. (20) 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.

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.



CHAPTER CIII



Town of Neath - Hounds and Huntsman - Spectral Chapel - The Glowing
Mountain


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.

The Neath has its source in the mountains of Brecon, and enters the
sea some little way below the town of Neath.

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.

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.

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.

"PONT FAWR ei galw, sir."

I was again amongst the real Welsh - this woman had no English.

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.

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.

"Yes!" bawled the fellow at the utmost stretch of his voice.

"Thank you!" said I, taking off my hat and passing on.

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?"

"Dim Cumrag, sir!" said a voice, seemingly that of a man.

"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.

"Tair milltir - three miles, sir."

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?"

"Dross from the iron forges, sir!"

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.



CHAPTER CIV



Iron and Coal - The Martyred Princess - Cyfartha Fawr - Diabolical
Structure.


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.

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. (21)

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.

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.

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.

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.



CHAPTER CV



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.


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!"

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."

"Ye don't! Then, Biadh an taifrionn - however, I'll give ye a
chance yet. Am I to get my alms or not?"

"Before I give you alms I must know something about you. Who are
you?"

"Who am I? Who should I be but Johanna Colgan, a bedivilled woman
from the county of Limerick?"

"And how did you become bedevilled?"

"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."

"Oh, I am not to be frightened by evil prayers! I shall give you
nothing till I hear all about you."

"If I tell ye all about me will ye give me an alms?"

"Well, I have no objection to give you something if you tell me
your story."

"Will ye give me a dacent alms?"

"Oh, you must leave the amount to my free will and pleasure. I
shall give you what I think fit."

"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, (22) 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:-


"'Biaidh an taifrionn gan sholas duit a bhean shilach!'


Then turning from the door she went away with long strides. Now,
honey, can ye tell me the meaning of those words?"

"They mean," said I, "unless I am much mistaken: 'May the Mass
never comfort ye, you dirty queen!'"

"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!"

"Would you consider sixpence a decent alms?"

"I would. If you give me sixpence, I will not say my prayer over
ye."

"Would you give me a blessing?"

"I would not. A bedivilled woman has no blessing to give."

"Surely if you are able to ask people to give you alms for the
glory of God, you are able to give a blessing."

"Bodderation! are ye going to give me sixpence?"

"No! here's a shilling for you! Take it and go in peace."

"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.' (23) This is my pace - hoorah!
hoorah!" then giving two or three grotesque topples she hurried
away in the direction of Merthyr Tydvil.



CHAPTER CVI



Pen y Glas - Salt of the Earth - The Quakers' Yard - The
Rhugylgroen.


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:-


"More bliss for us our fate propounds
On Taf's green banks than Teivy's bounds."


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.

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.

"When you come to the Quakers' Yard, which is a little way further
on, you will be seven miles from Caerfili."

"What is the Quakers' Yard?"

"A place where the people called Quakers bury their dead."

"Is there a village near it?

"There is, and the village is called by the same name."

"Are there any Quakers in it?"

"Not one, nor in the neighbourhood, but there are some, I believe,
in Cardiff."

"Why do they bury their dead there?"

"You should ask them, not me. I know nothing about them, and don't
want; they are a bad set of people."

"Did they ever do you any harm?"

"Can't say they did. Indeed I never saw one in the whole of my
life."

"Then why do you call them bad?"

"Because everybody says they are."

"Not everybody. I don't; I have always found them the salt of the
earth."

"Then it is salt that has lost its savour. But perhaps you are one
of them?"

"No, I belong to the Church of England."

"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 - "

"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."

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:-


To the Memory of THOMAS EDMUNDS
Who died April the ninth 1802 aged 60 years.
And of MARY EDMUNDS
Who died January the fourth 1810 aged 70.


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?

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?

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.



CHAPTER CVII



Caerfili Castle - Sir Charles - The Waiter - Inkerman.


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