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."

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.

"Where was he born?" said he.

"In Denbighshire," I replied, "near the mountain Hiraethog, from
which circumstance he called himself in poetry Gruffydd Hiraethog."

"When did he flourish?"

"About the middle of the sixteenth century."

"What did he write?"

"A great many didactic pieces," said I in one of which is a famous
couplet to this effect:


"He who satire loves to sing
On himself will satire bring."


"Did you ever hear of William Lleyn?" said the old gentleman.

"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:


'"In Eden's grove from Adam's mouth
Upsprang a muse of noble growth;
So from thy grave, O poet wise,
Cross Consonancy's boughs shall rise.'"


"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?"

"Why, I suppose," said I, "that Adam invented poetry."

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.

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."



CHAPTER LII



The Treachery of the Long Knives - The North Briton - The Wounded
Butcher - The Prisoner.


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.

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.

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.

"Are the Welsh a clannish people?" I demanded.

"Very," said he.

"As clannish as the Highlanders?" said I.

"Yes," said he, "and a good deal more."

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.

"Merely curiosity," said I.

He then observed that as the examination would be a private one, my
being permitted or not was quite optional.

"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.

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.

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.



CHAPTER LIII



The Dylluan - The Oldest Creatures.


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.

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.

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.

"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."



CHAPTER LIV



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.


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.

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."

"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."

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.

"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."

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.

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.

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!"

"You must speak to him in your native language," said I, "provided
you wish him to understand you - he has no English."

"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."

"Then you are English?" said I.

"Yes," she replied, "a native of London."

"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.

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.

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.

"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."

As we stood on the bridge I inquired of Jones the name of the brook
which was running merrily beneath it.

"The Ceiriog, sir," said John, "the same river that we saw at Pont
y Meibion."

"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:


"Pe byddai 'r Cefn Ucha,
Yn gig ac yn fara,
A Cheiriog fawr yma'n fir aml bob tro,
Rhy ryfedd fae iddyn'
Barhau hanner blwyddyn,
I wyr bob yn gan-nyn ar ginio."


"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."

"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."

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.

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.

"Llun Cawr," he replied. "The figure of a giant."

"What giant?" said I.

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:

"They would make fine chests for the dead, sir."

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.

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.

I told him that in my country, the eastern part of Lloegr, I had
seen a man quite as tall as the statue.

"Indeed, sir," said he; "who is it?"

"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."

When John Jones got down he asked me who the man was whom the
statue was intended to represent.

"Erchwl," I replied, "a mighty man of old, who with club cleared
the country of thieves, serpents, and monsters."

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.

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.

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.



CHAPTER LV



A Visitor - Apprenticeship to the Law - Croch Daranau - Lope de
Vega - No Life like the Traveller's.


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.

"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."

After a little general discourse I said that I presumed he was in
the law.

"Yes," said he, "I am a member of that much-abused profession."

"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.'"

"Sure you are not a limb of the law?" said Mr R-.

"No," said I, "but I might be, for I served an apprenticeship to
it."

"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."

"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.

"I have no reason to complain of it," said he, with a contented
air.

"I suppose you are married?" said I.

"Oh yes," said he, "I have both a wife and family."

"A native of Llangollen?" said I.

"No," said he: "I was born at Llan Silin, a place some way off
across the Berwyn."

"Llan Silin?" said I, "I have a great desire to visit it some day
or other."

"Why so?" said he, "it offers nothing interesting."

"I beg your pardon," said I; "unless I am much mistaken, the tomb
of the great poet Huw Morris is in Llan Silin churchyard."

"Is it possible that you have ever heard of Huw Morris?"

"Oh yes," said I; "and I have not only heard of him but am
acquainted with his writings; I read them when a boy."

"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."

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:


"Ar eu col o rygnu croch
Daranau."


The rendering of Milton's


"And on their hinges grate
Harsh thunder."


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."

"I am disposed to think so too," said I. "Now can you tell me
where Owen Pugh is buried?"

"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."

"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."

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.

"No," said he, "I am a native of Lincolnshire, but I have resided
in Llangollen for thirteen years."

"In what capacity?" said I.

"In the wine-trade," said he.

"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."

"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."

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.

"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."

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:-

"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."

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-.



CHAPTER LVI



Ringing of Bells - Battle of Alma - The Brown Jug - Ale of
Llangollen - Reverses.


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!"

"What does he say?" said my wife anxiously to me.

"Why, that Sebastopol is taken," said I.

"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!"

"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!"

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!"

"Fortunate indeed," said I, returning his hearty shake; "I only
hope it may be true."

"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.

"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.

"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."

Presently the old church clerk made his appearance with a glass in
one hand, and a brown jug of ale in the other.

"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."

I would fain have excused myself, but the old gentleman insisted on
my drinking.

"Well," said I, taking the glass, "thank God that our gloomy
forebodings are not likely to be realised. Oes y byd i'r glod
Frythoneg! May Britain's glory last as long as the world!"

Then, looking for a moment at the ale, which was of a dark-brown
colour, I put the glass to my lips and drank.

"Ah!" said the old church clerk, "I see you like it, for you have
emptied the glass at a draught."

"It is good ale," said I.

"Good," said the old gentleman rather hastily, "good; did you ever
taste any so good in your life?"

"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."

"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."

"Has Llangollen ale," said I, after tasting the second glass, "ever
been sung in Welsh? is there no englyn upon it?"

"No," said the old church clerk, "at any rate, that I am aware."

"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? -


"Llangollen's brown ale is with malt and hop rife;
'Tis good; but don't quaff it from evening till dawn;
For too much of that ale will incline you to strife;
Too much of that ale has caused knives to be drawn."


"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?"

"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."

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.

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?



CHAPTER LVII



The Newspaper - A New Walk - Pentre y Dwr - Oatmeal and Barley-Meal
- The Man on Horseback - Heavy News.

"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."

"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."

"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."

Feeling indisposed either for writing or reading, I determined to
take a walk to Pentre 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.

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 Pentre 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 Pentre Dwr. As he spoke very
good English, I asked him where he had learnt it.

"Chiefly in South Wales," said he, "where they speak less Welsh
than here."

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.

"We generally go by that road to Wrexham," he replied; "it is a
short but a wild road through the hills."

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.

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.

I passed over the brook by means of a long slab laid across, and
reached the cottages. I was now as I supposed in Pentre y Dwr, and
a pentre 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.

"In Pentre Dwr," said she. "This house, and those yonder,"
pointing to the cottages past which I had come, "are Pentre y Dwr.
There is, however, another Pentre Dwr up the glen yonder," said
she, pointing towards the north - "which is called Pentre Dwr uchaf
(the upper) -this is Pentre Dwr isaf (the lower)."

"Is it called Pentre Dwr," said I, "because of the water of the
brook?"

"Likely enough," said she, "but I never thought of the matter
before."

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.

"Fifteen after three twenties," she replied; meaning that she was
seventy-five.

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.

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.

"Those hogs are too fat to drive along the road," said I at last to
the latter.

"We brought them in a cart as far as the Pentre Dwr," said the man
on horseback, "but as they did not like the jolting we took them
out."

"And where are you taking them to?" said. I.

"To Llangollen," said the man, "for the fair on Monday."

"What does that big fellow weigh?" said I, pointing to the largest
hog.

"He'll weigh about eighteen score," said the man.

"What do you mean by eighteen score?" said I.

"Eighteen score of pounds," said the man.

"And how much do you expect to get for him?"

"Eight pounds; I shan't take less."

"And who will buy him?" said I.

"Some gent from Wolverhampton or about there," said the man; "there
will be plenty of gents from Wolverhampton at the fair."

"And what do you fatten your hogs upon?" said I.

"Oatmeal," said the man.

"And why not on barley-meal?"

"Oatmeal is the best," said the man; "the gents from Wolverhampton
prefer them fattened on oatmeal."

"Do the gents of Wolverhampton," said I, "eat the hogs?"

"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."

"But the pork is not the best," said I; "all hog-flesh raised on
oatmeal is bitter and wiry; because do you see - "

"I see you are in the trade," said the man, "and understand a thing
or two."

"I understand a thing or two," said I, "but I am not in the trade.
Do you come from far?"

"From Llandeglo," said the man.

"Are you a hog-merchant?" said I.

"Yes," said he, "and a horse-dealer, and a farmer, though rather a
small one."

"I suppose as you are a horse-dealer," said I, "you travel much
about?"

"Yes," said the man; "I have travelled a good deal about Wales and
England."

"Have you been in Ynys Fon?" said I.

"I see you are a Welshman," said the man.

"No," said I, "but I know a little Welsh."

"Ynys Fon!" said the man. "Yes, I have been in Anglesey more times
than I can tell."

"Do you know Hugh Pritchard," said I, "who lives at Pentraeth
Coch?"

"I know him well," said the man, "and an honest fellow he is."

"And Mr Bos?" said I.

"What Bos?" said he. "Do you mean a lusty, red-faced man in top-
boots and grey coat?"

"That's he," said I.

"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."

"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?"

"No," said the man, "but I know something of Suffolk. I have an
uncle there."

"Whereabouts in Suffolk?" said I.

"At a place called -," said the man.

"In what line of business?" said I.

"In none at all; he is a clergyman."

"Shall I tell you his name?" said I.

"It is not likely you should know his name," said the man.

"Nevertheless," said I, "I will tell it you - his name was - "

"Well," said the man, "sure enough that is his name."

"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."

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."

"I am no clergyman," said I, "but I knew your uncle and prized him.
What was his native place?"

"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."

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.

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.



CHAPTER LVIII



Sunday Night - Sleep, Sin, and Old Age - The Dream - Lanikin Figure
- A Literary Purchase.


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.

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.

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."



CHAPTER LIX



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.


"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."

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."

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.

"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:


"'Tom Evans' the lad for hunting up songs,
Tom Evans to whom the best learning belongs;
Betwixt his two pasteboards he verses has got,
Sufficient to fill the whole country, I wot.'


"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."

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.

"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 Pentre
y Foelas to the old man Sion Dafydd to read his old books."

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.

"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."

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.

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.

"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.

"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.

"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."

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.

"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.

"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."

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.

"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.'"

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.

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."

The following feats of strength he performed after his return from
South Wales, when he was probably about sixty years of age:-

"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.

"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