tf liiJipii;ii;^i!ii^^ 1 1 Itit/MitiHH^BBBM T* O ; > 30/ OUJ/ \IHii J 1 *' ii'iU3kA> iT-I'" c ^ is ^^EUNI ilFO/?^ lYjaV • CD 33 V/ OPC iFCALIF0/7r ^.OPCAIIFO%^ >Ati iN"^^ //- .^\ ^"//y^ ^^Cfif,.r,K -< i^"^ '^/i"83AINIl-3^V'* 3F5 .4;0F CAIirnD., 0K r of TA! ^ ,v. :.v^ i^. >i <, 7/, .V %. .-'■o A*^ .>^^ r( t irn r« - . r f k I t r r\r\ C5 ^• ^v ^ 15 .dJ,\lNUJU> v> ,..xV-IK> t % 0^ is: viur^ -k- mw 1-^^^ O ' <-J St 0^. '^ 'Ai JLuC^e^j^^i'^--^^''^^ ■ TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES: By CHARLES WILKINS, Membeii of the Camb. Arch. Association ; Author of " \Vai-ks Past and Present," " History of Mertiivr," etc., etc. AIJ. KIOHTS RESERVED. CARDIFF : PANIKL OWKN .\ND COMPANY, 1879. -DA DEDTCATTON. 'I'o TiiK liiGiiT Hon. Loiid AViNnsoR, I pray you my Lord accept the dedication of this hook on the auspicious occasion of your Lordsliip's entry into puhlic life. Your Lordsliip has indicated in the strong-est, and most satisfactory manner, the warmest sympathy in all that pertain to Wales, not only in the comfort and happiness of the people, hut in the development of the natural and mineral riches of the country; and I am assured, that nothing would he more gratifying to your Lordship than to find that happiness immeasurahly increased, and those riches more considerahly enhanced. May it he your Lordship's privilege not only to see these hlessings realized, hut to aid in that consummation with vigorous intellect and generous action, so that in future years, and far distant may they he, when time writes its verdict over men and deeds, it shall l)e said that the military renown of the ancestor was paralleled l)y the moral excellence of the descendant, and that if Clive helped to make his country glorious, Windsor strove to make it happy, great, and good. That this may he accorded, with the enjoyment of fullest health, and the long possession of tliose wlio have ennohled home life, and given it all its peaceful attraction and its singular sweetness and charm, are tlie earnest wishes of .Your Lordsliip's faithful servant, CHAliLES AVILKIXS. Sprinofieli), ^[ERT^Y^, January, 1870, ••■|f^^**J) J ' U E F A C E Those who open this book iiiid expect to find it a dry and learned compilation by a member of an antiquarian society, will I fear, be mistaken. Yet my aim has been an aml)itioLis one. I liave endeavoured to mirror Wales, not only its old history, but social life, manners, customs, superstitions ; and just as a faithful mirror gives back every object of prominence, so in mine will, I trust, live again the grey old castle, hoary mountain, winding, river and pleasant valley, whitewashed farm, and coast line, which are the specialties of Wales. I have endeavoured to the best of my power to keep strictly to chronological p recedence, and thus early liistory and old customs precede farm life and mining industries ; but should, acci- dentally, a grim Ironside come in too close proximity with a collier, or, worse still, a belted knio-ht be inharmoniouslv contrasted with a weather-beaten farmer, believe more or less in the identity of each of the characters. They have lived, or they live ; the error is mine. With this brief prelude, I send my leaflets down the stream, to be ingulphed and lost, or to sail at length into a quiet inglenook of the river, and there fade away. That I must leave to destiny. The Ai Tjioii. c () N r !•: X 'I' s I'AUK lirycliiiii, Iviiig of lircuuii, iind Tyiliil the Martyr ... The Footstep at the Dour; a Tale ol" the Welsh Coast Megan Verch Kvau ... The Legend of Huvod Uehtryd Davydd ah (jlwilym and Ifor Hael The Legend of Cader Idris Kvan ah Rohert ; or a Glance at OKI Times How a Scotchman hecame Prince of Wales The Beantiful Fluur and Murchan the Thief The Welsh Smugo;ler ... ... ... The Old Qouse in the Khondda A Border Fight Llantwit Major; a Sketch of Monastic Days The Poisoned Arrow The Sister's Itevenge ; a Breconshire Tale Life Below the Jvirtli ; or what the Collier Dared and Won Who was Harvey ; a Talc of Social Life in Wales The Legend of the White Lady of Uysterniouth Castle Owen Glyndsvr and the Skeleton The Lady of Castell Coch Saxon Slander and Morfa Uhuddlan The Unknown Knight; a Tale of Brecknock A Mysterions Murder Pixie Led; a Pembrokeshire Talc The Village Boys; a Tale of the Welsh Borders ... The Fate of Sir Walter Mansel ; a Tale of Kidwelly Castle ... 1 11 15 16 19 ... 23 • • • 28 • • • 33 • • ■ 37 39 ... 42 ... 45 . . • 46 • • • 50 ... 51 I 50 . . . Gl . .. 64 69 72 . . • 82 . • • 85 89 95 . . . lUl le 105 viii. CONTENTS. PAGE. March of the Men of Harlech... ... ... ... ... HI The Stranger; a Pembrokeshh-e Tale ... , .. ... ... 113 Eiuson, the Fugitive; the Origiial Enoch Ardcn of Tennyson ... 121 The Crock of Gold ... ... ... ... ... ... 125 The Life and Times of Llewellyn, last Prince of Wales ... .... 130 Lundy Island ... ... ... ... ... .•• 14' A Legend of the Black Mountains .. ... ... ... 149 Carmarthen and Merlin ... ... ... ... ... 152 Ellen Dwn, the true Heroine of Young Lochinvar ... ... 154 Visit of Welsh Barons to London in the Fourteenth Century ... 159 Farm Life in Wales ... ... ... ... ... ... 160 The Devil's Bridge ... ... ... ... ... ... 162' A May Day Tale ... ... ... ... ... ... 165 A Tale of Haverfordwest Castle ... ... ... ... 168 The " Signal Box " in the Welsh Mountains ... ... ... 174 The Girl at the " Fox " ... ... ... ... ... 177 The Strange Mark on the Hand ; a Welsh Country Tale ... ... 184 William .Jones and the Monmouth Alms-houses ... ... ... 189 Buried Alive, the Fate of Matilda Despencer ; a Tale of Coity and Caerphilly... ... ... ... ... ... 194 Owen Tudor ab Meredydd, Founder of the Royal Knglish line of Tudor 200 Sir Rhys ab Thomas ... ... ... ... ... 202 Ancient Spiritualism in Wales ... ... ... ... 207 A Sketch amongst the AVelsh Hills ... ... ... ... 212 How Turbcrvillo the Norman ivnigiit Won his Wife ... ... 213 The Vicar's Daughter ... ... ... ... ... 214 An Old Welsh Fair ... ... ... ... ... 220 Caerleou and King Arthur ... ... ... ... ... 224 The Dark Room ... ... ... ... ... ... 228 The Practical Jokers of Llandovery ... ... ... ... 233 l)r. Liiilyn .J(jnes ... ... ... ... ... ... 236 Old Superstitions of the Welsh Peasantry ... ... ... 2^ Th.: IX'ath Cry ... ... ... ... ... ... 242 CONTENTS. IX. PAGE The Returned Soldier; or the Welsh Tiuhborne Case ... ... 245 The Welsii Crusader ... ... ... ... ... 249 A Tale of Langland IJay ... ... ... ... ... 250 A Triad of Welsh Characters ... ... ... ... ... 252 The Life and Times of Owen Glyndwr ... ... ... ... 256 Quiet Nooks in Wales ... ... ... ... ... 274 The Old Collier and the Vision ... ... ... ... 276 The Lord (»!" Dunraven ... ... ... ... ... 280 An Eviction ... ... ... ... ... ... 291 Cheating the Old Gentleman ... ... ... ... ... 296 A Run up the Rhondda ... ... ... ... ... 299 David Lewis the Chartist ; a Tale of the Newport Riots ... ... .303 On the Mountains ... ... ... ... ... ... 310 The London Doctor (from the Annals of the Cwyune Family) ... 314 I Our Colliers ... ... ... ... ... ... 318 The Bohemian on the Welsh Mo\m tains... ... ... ... 322 Recollections of an Emnient Welshman ... ... ... 327 The Last French Invasion of ^Vales ... ... ... ... 329 Craig Evan Leyshon .. . ... ... ... ... ... 331 The Mystery of the Neath Valley ... ... ... ... 334 Llanstephan Castle ... ... ... ... ... ... 341 Pontypridd and the Druid ... ... ... ... ... ;-i44 A Haunted House in Wales ... ... ... ... ... 349 Rambles in and around Brecon ... ... ... ... 354 Money in the Ground ... ... ... ... ... 362 A Night at l.laudrindod ... ... ... ... ... 364 The Battle of St. Fagans ; a May Day Sketch ... ... ... 367 A Welsh Jacobite ... ... ... ... ... ... 373 The " Signal Box " in the Welsh Mountains ... ... ... 375 Penry Williams, the Eminent Painter ... ... ... ... 381 LIST OF SUBSCKlBl^KS. Earl of Powis Karl of Jersey Marquess of Bute, Cardiff (six copies) Lord Tredegar (two copies) .Lord Windsor (two copies) Lady Mary ('live (two copies) Lady Kaye Lady Cuulitt'e Sir E. H. Hamilton Sir George Elliott (two copies) Judge Ealconer (two copies) The Misses Bassett, Bovertou House, Cowbridge (two copies'^ Mrs. Crawshay, Cyfixrthfa (two copies) Mrs. Ellen Davies, Llandaff Mrs. Goddard, Llandaff Mrs. George Thomas, Ystrad-Mynach Mrs. Trevor Parkyns, Glasfryn Mrs. Davies, IJryntirion Miss Davies, ( liurcli Street, Merthyr Miss Pritchard, Crofta ^Irs. Johnes, Dolacothy Mrs. W. Thomas, Cric'khowell Mrs. Treharne, Coedriglan Mrs. Stephens, Merthyr Miss Prichard, Cardiff Mrs. Davidson, Ludlow Mrs. (jlreeuer, Pontmorlais Miss Jenkins, Llandyssil Lieut.-Col. (J. G. Francis, Swansea Lieut. -(.'ol. Hill, Llandaff Col. W. David, Llandaff Col.C.ILPage,Dulwichlfuuse,Llaii(Iall' Col. J. L. Chester, L. L.D., [^ondon Col. Kemys Tynte, Cefn Mably Col. Stuart, M.I*., Newbury Col. John Allen Kolls, Monmoutli Col. Kvans, lliglimead Major ('. Lloyd, High SheriH' of I'rcconsliiie Major Stuart, Peniarth Delia, Towyu Major (hx'Hswcll, Dowlais .Maj'ir I' •well. .\lM're's Vicarage, Pontypool Rev. W. David, St. Fagans Rev. 0. Davies, Vicar of Tregaron Rev. Thomas Evans, Merthyr Tydvil Rev. H. Evans, Vicar of Llanwyddyr Rev. J. J. Evans, Rector, Cantroff, Brecon Rev. S. Edwards, Lampeter Grannnar * School Rev. J. Griflith, Rector of Merthyr Rev. D. (;. GrilHths, Rector of Tretilan Rev. D. (Jriftiths, I\Ierthyr Tydvil Rev. W. Green, Pontyrhun Rev. AV. H. Hughes, Dean of Oxford, J usus' College Hev.J. Howells, Rector of Llanhamlach Rev. (J. Howell, R.D., Llangattock Rev. Ivobcrt Jones, Vicar of All Saints, Roliierhithe Rev. W, Jones, Rector of Newton Nottage Rev. J. Jones, 15.1)., Vicar of Bassaleg \[vv. T. James, M.A., L.L.D., F.S.A., lluddersfield LIHT OK XinscKlliliUS. XI. llev. I). M. Jones, li.A., .St. Islmiaors Kev. E. Jones, Vicar of Tredegar Rev. L. Jones, Vicar of Cadoxton Jlov. L. Jones, TaH-teelian Ivev. 1). Jenkins, Rector of St. Andrew's Dinas Powis Rev. E. Jacob, Kl>ley Rev. E. Jones, Tredc<;ar Rectory Rev. C. K. Knight, Tygetheston Couit Rev. H. Kirkliouse, Cyfarthfa Rev. P. Llewellyn, Llangynydd Vicarage Rev. M. A. Lee Rev. E. Lewis, Vicar of Dolgelly Rev. H. Lewis, Vicar of St. Brides Minor Rev. S. V. Lewis, Abingdon Rev. D. Morgan, Rector of Llanbadarn, Pen-y-bont Rev. J. 0. Morgan, Vicar of Swansea Rev. John Morgan, Rector of Dowlais Rev. L. Price, Vicar of Llandilo Rev. Canon Phillijis, Aberystwitli Rev. A. Roberts, ^'icar of Llangattociv Rev. L. T. Rowlands, Llanddewi-Brevi Rev. E. E. B. Salisbury, }l.T>. Rev. Cyril Stacey, Dulas Court Rev.T. Theophilus, Vicar of Pontlottyn Rev. D. R. Thomas, Moifod Rev. E. Venables, Llysdinan, New- bridg.e-on-Wye Rev. B. AVillianis, Rector of Myddfai Rev. N. R. Williams, Merthyr 'lydvil Rev. R. Williams, B.D., Whitchurch Vicarage, Solva Rev. E. T. Williams, Caldicot Rev. R. Williams, Rector of Vaynoi- Rev. J. Williams, Llangwm Rectin-y Rev. D. Williams, Rector of Llan- dynarog Rev. T. Walters, Vicar of Llansamlet Rev. Canon Williams, Llanfyllin Rev. W. Winston, Rector of Penderrin G. W. Armstrong, Es(.[., Cardiff John Aubrey, Esq., Hirwain Mrs. Alexander, Merthyr Tydvil J. Alexander, Esq., Pontypridd W. Alexander, Esq., Park Place (two copies) H. W. Adnitt, Esc]., Shrewsbury Ur. W. A. Allen, Duke Sreet, Cardiff" J. Almond, Esq., Redlaud, Bristol (two copies) G. F. Adams, Esq., Carditl" R. Alexander, Esq., Bush Hotel A. J. Jiereton, EiH[. (Andreas U'r Fon), Mold (two copies) C. Bath, Estj., Swansea J. TiC Boulanger, Esc]., Carrecon Mr. William Morris, Accountant Mr. William Morgan, Pant Mr, Morris, Cefn Brewery AV. Morris, I^S(|., Aberdare E. Meredith, Esq., Merthyr W. Meredith, Ksc]., Merthyr ('. E. Mattlifws, Esi]., Ccfn Moricn, I'ontypfidd O. Morgan, Esij., Old llaldrosford M. W. Morgan, Es(|,, Solicitor, Ponty- pridd .lohu Morgan, Es(|., Tallcy T. \\. W. .\birgan, Esq., Havod D.ifydd Morganwg, Ifirwiiin l)d. Moigati, Ks<|., \l;H'syddor\v(>n, .Mountain Ash .1. .1. .\b>rgan, Kh(|., Tredegar Mr. Molyneux, .Nh^rtliyr K. J. M.'.rris, Ksi]., Heathricld Dd, Mcintosh, Esq. , Wernddu, Usk J, Maddock, Esq., Newport, Mon, 0, Morgan, Esq., The Friars, Newport, Mon. J, Morris, Esq., Blaenywen T. C, Mon-is, Esq , Brynerddu, Car- marthen W. Merchant, Esq., Bank, Pont^'pridd B. Martin, Esq., Liverpool Mr. George Morgan, Sculptor, Mr, Robert Morgan, Blaina Works Mr. W. MorgaUj^Ystalyfera J. Middleton, Esq., Cheltenham Dr, D, ^[organ, Brighton D, H. Mytton, Esq., Garth Welshpool Mr. .J. C. Newcombe, Merthyr Tydvil Mr. Nicholas, Georgetown .T. C. Nicholl, Esq., Merthyr :\Iawr (two copies) Newport Free Library G. W. Nicholl, Esq., 'The Ham, Cow- bridge George Overton, Esq., Brecon J, Owen, Esq., Whitland D, Owen, Esq., Troedyrhiw John Owen, Esq. (Owain Alaw), Chester D. L. Owen, Esq., Ash Hall Love Jones Parry, Esq., Madryn Castle, Pwllheli (two copies) E. C, Phillips, Esq., Solicitor, Brecon John Plows, Esq., Solicitor, Merthyr Tydvil T, M, Price, Esq., Surveyor, Neath Mr, Wm, Pugh, Llwydcoed J, C, Parkinson, Esq., Westminster H. D. Pearce, Esq., Cefn G. C. Pearce, Esq., Cyfarthfa TJoyd Phillips, Esq.,M.A., Haverford- west \V. Price, Esq., Solicitor, Abergavenny Edward Purchase, Esq., Ynysygorred K. Pluminor, I. Rowlands, Ksq., M.A., Haver- fordwest TiCyshon Rhys, Esq., Hirwain (two copies a. Arthur Rees, Esq., Llandoverv T. D. Roberts. Ks.|., Mai pas T. H. Riches, Esq., Taft" \'ale Railway N. Adanmon Rock, Es([., Tenby Dr. Stradling Carne, Bridgend (tw(» copies Mr. W. Sharp, Troedyrhiw Mr. 'SI. Samuel, High Street, Merthyr W. Simons, Esq., Solicitor, Cwaiiii- farmn .1. Snapc, Esq., Abcraman .Tames Shaw, Esq., Cwmavon John Smith, Esq., Aberdare J. E. Stacey, Es(|., Llandough < 'astle John Seddon, Esq., Brixton, S.W. E. R. G. Salisbury, Esq., Chester Hubert Smith, Ksq., Bridgnorth E. Swedenbank, Esq., Tredegar J. Sloper, Ks(|., Cardiff J. Percy Severn, Ksq., Penybont, Radnor W. Sykes, Esq., U.S. Consul, Cardiff E. Stephens, Esq., Thomas Street H. W. Southey, Esci-, Merthyr Tydvil G. P. Simpson, Es(|., IMyniDuth AVurks W. Thomss, Esq.,Resi)lveu (two copies) Mr. Thomas, 1, Uniak- hurst, Oswestiy .1. Ware, Esq., I'rier Bank, Penarth XVI. LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Henry Williams, Esq., Mertliyr, (twelve copies) Edward Williams, Esq., Middlesbro' (two copies) Dr. Webster, Merthyr Tydvil Thomas Williams, Esq. , J. P. , Gwaelodv, Garth J. D. Williams, Esq., High Street Thomas Williams, Esq., Deputy Coroner •J. F. Williams, Esq., Chiu'ch Street W. Williams, Esq., Pontypridd Peter Williams, Esq., Merthyr Tydvil Mr. John Williams, Castle Street C Waldron, Esq., Llandaff D. Williams, Esq., Glanwern W. J. Wells, Esq., Cwmbach E. G. Williams, Esq., Blackwood W. Williams, Esq., Cleveland Villa Mr. John Williams, Brecon Mr. W. Williams, Brecon T. Webb, Esq., Cardiff W. J. White, Esq., Reading W. W. E. Wynne, Esq., Penarth B. T. WiUiams, Esq., M.P., London Penry Williams, Esq., Rome H. Wilkins, Esq., London F. Wilkins, Esq., Thomastown E. Williamson, Esq., Congleton (two copies) M. S. Williams, Esq., Aberpergwm Mr. J. Williams, Cefu R. H. Ward, Esq., F.S.A., Rugby J. Williams, Esq., Llandovery Dr. Walters, Cardiff Thos. Williams, Esq., F.R.S.L., Sussex House, Cardiff Mr. B. Williams, Draper, Tredegar W. Williams, Esq., Oakfield Villa John Williams, Esq., London W. B. Watkins, Esq., Llandaff Place, (two copies) J. J. Williams, Esq.. Tremadoc Mr. T. P. White, Cwmaman F, Wienholt, Esq., Laugharne B. F. Williams, Esq., Temple W. William, Esq., Heathlands, Cardiff H. D. Williams, Esq., Trecynon Dr. Woollett, Newport, Mon. Dr. Williams, Wrexham Thos. Williams, Esq., Penarth W. Payne Woodleigh, Esq., London T. V. Yorath, Esq., Canton BRYCHAN, "KING" OF BEECON, AND TYDFIL THE MARTYR. IT I LIFT the veil from before old Roman times, and carry back the reader to the age of the first Emperor Valentinianus. How startling the change wi'ought in history since then. The poor Italian sailor at Cardiff, scraping decks and tarring ropes, may be the descendant of men who represented Rome, the world's conqneror ; and now what is Rome, what is Italy, and the descendants of the barbarians and the strangers, what have they not become 1 To thoroughly understand the epoch upon which I am about to enter, it is necessary that some idea of the times be given. The painter needs a background, that his characters may stand forth prominently upon the canvas. The Britons had lived in harmony with Rome. Ostorius had died from vexation with the mountaineers of Wales ; but Severus ruled, and from stray relics upon the line of the Usk and the Wye, and upon the broad mountain roads by which the Romans penetrated Wales, it is evident that Roman luxury and refinement were known in localities of the most isolated character. Thus at Gelligaor, a quarter of a century ago, in the byways of a rural and unsophisticated population, fragments of Roman pottery, of baths, of tesselated pavement, could be found amongst the debris of modern ware, just as relics of the nations of antiquity may be even built up, as it were, in the formation of the language of to-day, and even now at Dolacothy and at other places in the neighbourhood of Lampeter, the same evidences still are found. The Romans, coming alone, many unmarried, had intermarried amongst the people, and the dark hue and hair of the " Union " linger amongst us at the present — they had to all intents and purposes " settled down," and four hundred years of occupation, allowing eight generations of the blended races to go down the stream of years, prove very forcibly that the Roman life and the British life had become one. Then, as every schoolboy knows, troubles at homo called for the retm-u of 2 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. the Roman soldiei's, and how strongly flash upon the mind the scenes which followed ! Putting aside the entire island, and .sketching only a part of the Welsh mountains, we can easily see what an excitement would ensue. In every district mourning, and the sorrow of an impulsive race, such as the Keltic, mingling with that of the lighter-hearted, but still impassioned southern. Let but a community leave a hill side now, or a band of emigrants wend their way from any town or village, what a commotion follows, even in our days of constant and considerable travel, when the railway run is one of the necessities of, life. But then ! when the only carriage seen was that relic of old Roman times, the primitive imitation of the chariot, an imitation with which farmers a few years ago usqd to cart away their ferns ; and men and women vised so little locomotion that they were like their oaks vegetating on the spot where they were born, then the exodus of a crowd, many taking their wives and children, was an event of the most thrilling, most heartrending nature, and left an impress which necessitated the passing away of more than a generation or two before its effects were forgotten Few and fiiint are the records handed down. What- we know relates principally to the large and settled communities on the English side of. the Severn and the Dee ; of the' Welsh mountains and the character and results of the exodus of the Roman, all that can be gleaned is of a fragmentary kind, and the. inquirer has as much difficulty in g-etting any details as the philologist has in hewing out from modern speech stray fossils of the Greek and the Roman. What little we know is gleaned from the annals of the chiefs or petty kings who ruled, and that little I interweave in my narrative even as the weaver does the bright tinted thread which forms so little a part and yet gives distinction to the fabric. In the period, then, when the Roman rule was waning, Tewdrig, one of the lesser kings, or, more correctly, princes, ruled in the district called Garth- madrin. In modern days this is represented by the county of Brecon. Unlike his successors, whose families were truly patriarchal as regarded their number, he had only one child, and this was a daughter. Her name was Marcella, and the health and safe custody of this young lady, who is described as very beautiful, was a subject of greater interest to Tewdrig than the aflairs of his little kingdom. And there came a time when this consideration for his daughter became of necessity all absorbing, for one of those grievous pestilences which periodically infested the country in those pre-sanitary days began to desolate Breconshii-c. So, according to the old monkish chroniclers, quoted by Theophihis Jones, he summoned his daughter to him and said : " I am very uneasy lest your health should suffer from this pestilential disorder which now ravages the country. Go, therefore, my daughter, to Ireland, and God grant that you may arrive there in safety." Marcella w'ore a girdle made of a certain skin, which was believed to be a charm, evidently an oM Roman, belief against any infection, and though she had such faith in this that she felt perfectly aecuro herself, yet she yielded to his entreaties, and prepared to go. Tewdrig gave her an esQort worthy of liis condition. Twelve maids of TALKS AND SKETCHES OP WALES. O honour accompanied licr, and tlircc Imiidreil valianh men of arms. Having seen Iier- safely on her wa}', he, with his principal officers, retired to Bryncoyn — a place identified as near Llanvaes — where, isolated from the rest of the people, they remained initil the enemy, in the form of the pestilence, had worked out its hateful life. The incidents of Marcella's journey were hy no means encouraging. On the first' night, reaching a place in Carmarthenshire, such was the rigour of the cold that no less than one hundred of her attendants died. This was appalling, ])ut ^still more so on completing her second day's journey, when another hundred men succumbed. This, however, did not prevent her from continuing her travehs, for she reached the Pembrokeshire coast, and with her maidens and the rcmaiuing hundred of her male attendants, set sail for ' Ireland, and landed in safety. There was no one waiting to welcome her, but a inessenger having been despatched, it may be assumed, to the Court, the king's son, Anlach, with a princely train, made all haste to give the maiden a royal greeting. The legend states that he was at the first glace smitten with her beauty, and after a very short acquaintance made honourable overtures to her. and married her. " During the early months of their married life," continues the legend, " he made her a promise that in the event of her presenting him with a son they would go and live in Britain." This in due course came to pass, but not before each of the twelve maidens had been given away in honourable marriage. Then Anlach and his wife sailed over to Britain, and the royal pair with their son, who was named Brychan, settled, it is suggested — names of places being difficult to reconcile — ^at Abergavenny. Theiie Brychan was put under the care of an ancient man named Drychan, and at four years of age he was taken to see his grandfather, Tcwdrig. Migration from ' Abergavenny to Brecon seems to have formed the holiday jaunts of the young prince, and never had any Ulysses a more severe mentor than Drychan was to him. This " ancient ' man, doubtless prosy and sententious,. according to the genus, revelled literally in auguries and portents. Those familiar with the histories of Greece and Rome know how strongly all these portents were believed — that divinations were common, and that the most ordinary flying of a flock of birds suggested the course to be taken in great battles. As an illustration, Drychan called to him one day when he was in his seventh year, and being dim of sight said, . " Bring my cane to me," and they appeared to walk away from the dwelling to the river side. As they stood there a boar came out of the wood and stood by the side of the Usk. In the- river, which was shallow, a stag was drinking, and underneath the stag the old sage was able to discern a fish glance by. All this he deciphered to mean abundance of wealth to Brychan. There was also a beech growing on the banks of the river, whereon the bees made honey. So Drychan said to his foster son, " Behold this tree of bees and honey. I will also give thee full measure of gold and silver, and may the grace of God remain with thee here and hereafter." Thus ends the legends in the Cottonian MSS., and we arc left to assume A'^ ■ 4 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES, that this was the closing benediction of Drychan, and that thenceforth the care of the future regulus of Brecon was given over to other hands. And Tewdrig was gathered to his fathers, and Anlach in right of his wife Marcella, succeeded him, beginning his reign in the year a.d. 400, when the power of Rome was iJready beginning to wane'. Anlach, about the time when Brychan had arrived at the years of yx)ung manhood, fell out with Bedanell, otherwise known as Benlli Gawr, king of Powys." Their territories joined, and like neighbouring farmers, occasionally, in the same condition they got into logger- heads, and after, I dare say. a good deal of fighting, though no records are extant, young Brychan was given over to Benlli Gawr, as a hostage, and lived at the court of the King of Powys. Benlli, described as a man of morose and brutal character, had, according to the principles of nursery story books, a daughter so fair, so bewitchingly beautiful, that Brychan, a very impressionable young maij, as may be inferred from his Welsh-Irish parentage, forgot his delicate -position at the court, over- looked his danger, and in the sight of God, but not of man, they became man and wife. The esponsal was of so secret a character that no one appears to have suspected it, and fortunately for both, but unfortunately for the King of Powys, he did not live to make the discovery. ■ The strange wildness of the legend which describes the king's death is •worth narrating, but it is not unlikely that a natural occurrence has been made to wear a supernatural form. The age was decidedly a religious one, miracles were common, wells would spring up in chosen places, young maidens of pious views would sail on pieces of turf to other lands. Thus the characteristics of the period were martial valour, religious fervour, and simple faith. Holy men, who afterwards became saints, walked the land as did the apostles, and dared like them perils, privations, and even death. Such was the character of St. German, who, in the course of his wanderings, finding the weather becoming stormy and the hour late, called one evening at the dwelling of Benlli ; and claimed his protection and hospitality. But Benlli, true to that description of him which story books have immortalised, not only refused, but did so with a great display of auger. We can imagine the pious man, gentle of fiice, as became the pv)Ssessor of Christian virtues, knocking at the king's door. It was no palace, but simply a larger kind of farm house, built in homely fashion, and whitewashed, and at the door, the tall, stern form of the Pagan shouting him away, and denying him cither shelter or food. Down still fell the rain on thatpitlcss night, and turning away from the inhospitable place the poor saint made his way to a iuimbler cottage, where lived one Cadell, the chief swine- herd of the king. On telling him who he was and what he wanted, Cadell, gave him the heartiest welcome, and feasted him with the best. Savoury morsels of pig — and the pig then, judging from the vast number of places associated witli the name, .such as Vochriw, was in groat use— with flowing mead, soon made up for the harshness of the petty ruler, and after the supper, St. German, warming his toes, by the fire, told Cadell the subject of his mission, and related to him the old atory of infinite interest and unfading charm — man's creation, his TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. fall, and his ultimate restoration to bliss by the mediation of the Saviour. So eloquently did St. German speak, so stirring, and at times pathetic, was the marvellous tale, that Cadell was melted to tears, and thci-e and then not only renounced his pagan folly, but- became a convert to the Christian faith. But while this touching scene was being enacted, a horriltlc one was taking place at a little distance. Around and about the cottage of the swineherd the storm revelled, drowning all other sounds — the sound of the hissing, crackling, fire, of the shrieks of women, and the hoarse shouts of men. The king's house and the adjoining cluster, figuratively termed the city, had been struck, and when the morn broke the storm had died away, but the city and palace, and all the people had f;wled from view, " burnt by fire from heaven ! " What follows is even more wonderful, but it shows the exceedingly primitive character of kingship, "and CadcU, the hospitable swineherd, was made king in his stead." This was a remarkable elevation, but not unlikely or impossible when we consider that the chief" agent was a man of great influence ; was regarded with superstitious veneration ; and was under the direction of a race who did not seruple to get their emperors even from the plough. Cadell was not ungrateful. Thus placed in a day in the possession of large tracts of land and in absolute rule of a province, he became the most generous son that the Church had. Not only did he give largely himself, but his heirs followed in the excollent course, and theautiquary examining old deeds and grants of abbeys, churches, and endowments of lands, not unfrequently comes across tangible evidence of the elevation of Cadell, and of the " swineherd's " gratitude. In the awful calamity which thus fell on the ogre Benlli, his daughter, the "wife " of Brychan, was included. She perished with the rest, but their son, Cynog, • Brychan's first born, escaped, to win, in after years, gi-eat fame for Christian virtues. He was baptised by Dubricius, and his father was so proud of him that at the ceremony he encircled the child's arm with a bracelet of gold, said to have magical power, and like the girdle, of Marcella, to pi'otect from harm. And now, when the natural decline of years had replaced vigour with decrepitude, and Anlach, tired of the sovereignty of his land, breathed his last, Brychan succeeded him. This was in the year a.d. 400, and only another generation or two had to pass before the warning hour of the Romans in Britain had come. Whatever Brychan was in his youth, it is certain that his wild seeds were quickly sown, and from the period of his rule he was famous for his moral, well-conducted life ;■ was a pattern husband, a good father, and had all those in viemoriam recommendations which unfortunately arc more frequently ascribed, than really possessed. Before entering upon details regarding Brychan and his family, and the martyrdom of Tydfil, it would l)e well, as they do in the drama, to dismiss some of the principal characters, and thus leave the stage more free for action.. Cadell flourished in feats. Marcella slept. Dubricius, who succeeded St. German, or as he was Latinised, Germauus, retired from the front to the duties of his post, and St. German next turns up, wandering still, but in North Wales, just at the time when bands of fresh barbarians like those 6 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES.. described in Nerval came over hills and dales plundering and murdering in the peaceful valleys, both of North and South Wales. These barbarians, Picts, or Peclitis, and Saxons, not only relished murder of itself, but when it included the massacre of good, holy men, it was still more enjoyable. Historians not unfrequently put a great deal of those massacres to the discredit of the Picts and Scots, but it is singular how frequently Pictau and Pictish appears in old nomenclature, and Steson as frequently, but little or no reference is made to the Scoti. St. German on a memorable occasion, accompanied- by his brother bishop. Lupus, had assembled an immense host of converts near the river Alyn, and was going through the baptismal ceremony with quite a crowd of converts, when news was borne chat the Pagans were upon them. To I'etreat from the river to the bank, and to look around in the direction of the foe, was the work of a moment. Yes ! there, only too visible, was a strong armed body of men' rushing through a gap of the hill, their bodies painted with hideous figures, so done to frighten their adversary, and their harsh wild cry as they poured down was alone enough to strike terror into the hearts of the faithful. But St. German was a host in himself, and he was. a wise man, and a wary one. He was like the modern sea captain who trusted in God, yet kept his powder dry, for though bent upon religious services, and devoted to his work, yet the good saint had a considerable number of h's men armed. And the converts were not the mild, weak people generally associated with con- version, but hardy men, familiar with arms and expert in the use of them. The saint, calling for silence, told them that if they fled the barbarians would 'be upon theoa and would slaughter them like so many sheep, V)ut if they would trust to him, and remain bowed in silent prayer until he called out a word, then they were to spring to their feet, repeat the word as loudly as it was possible to do so, and rush with him upon the enemy. On came tiie Ixarbarians with their uucouth cries, with waving of axe, and spear, and ghastly billhook ; but as they came near and saw that the people did not, as was their custom, flee in aftright, their speed lessened, and, like so many wolves before possible danger, they hung back a moment ere making another spring. Upon an eminence knelt the saint with uplifted head and outstretclied hands, his whole being seemingly in prayer, and before, in wrapt and solemn silence was the crowd of believers. Wonderingly and fearful did the Pagans look, and as they looked St. German, springing to his feet like a clmrch militant, shouted out Hallelujah ! The people in one grand chorus re-echoed the sacred word, and fjUowiug the example of their vigorous loader, rushed upon the foe with such irresistible power that they cut them down hke wheat. The panic was overwhelming ; few escaped back over thie mountaius whence they came ; and far over Christian Britain went the tale of this miraculouH intervention. In this great drama Lupus also took part ; and for a time the Pictish swarms appear to have been sensibly retarded. And now once again to Hry(;han. Discontinuing the old name of Garth Madrin, so called from tlie number of foxes in that part, he had his principality called Brychciniog, now very generally, by Welsh and English, called Brecon. TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 7 Soon after taking the reins of power into his own hands, lie married, tliis time in due form ; but he was fated to survive not only his second wife Ijiit his tliird, and even his fourth, and to see around him no less than 50 children, 26 da^ightcrs and 24 sons. Llewelyn Pritchard, in his excellent little work on the heroines of Wales, cites cases almost equal to this. The first was William ap Howell ap lowerth, the patriarch of Tregalan, who died in the year 1580, at the age of 105. He had by his first wife 22 children ; by his second 10 ; by his third four; and by two concubines seven ; in all 43 children. His eldest son was 8.3 at the time of his father's death, and his youngest son only 2| years old. Between the birth of his first child and his last there was an interval of 82 years, and the total progeny from the whole amounted to no less than 300 people. The next case quoted is also interesting. Writing of the valley of Festiniog in the .year 1756 Lord Lyttlcton states not long ago there died in that neigh- bourhood an honest Welsh farmer who was 105 years of age. By his first wife he had thirty children, and by his second four, and by his third and two concubines seven. His youngest son was eighty-one yeax-s younger than his eldest, and eight hundred persons descended from his body attended his funeral ! . If Brychan had piirposely selected the quaintest names for his wives he could not have been .more successful than he really was, for the first lawful wife was named Eurbrawst, the second Ambrost, and the third Pharwysty. The names of the sons given in Bonedd y Saint are as follows : — Cynog, Cledwyn, Drugad, Arthen, Cyvlevyr, Rhain, Dy vnau, Gerwyn, Cadog, Matthairn, Pasgen, Nefixi, Pabiali, Llechan, Cynbryd, Cynoran, Hyclian, Dyvrig, Cyniu, Dogvan, llhawn, Rhun, -Cledog, and Caiau. The daughters were :-^Gwladys, Arianwen, Tanglwystl, Mechel, Nevyn, Gwawr, Gwrgon, Eleri, Lleian, Neyydd, Rheingar, Goleuddydd, Gwenddydd, Tydian, ' Elined, Ceindrych, Gwen, Cenedlou, Cymorth, Clydai, Dwynwen, Ceinwen, Envail, Tydfil, Hawystyl and Tybian. Brychan not only filled his " palace" with children, but the calendar with saints, and this -list is given to show those interested in the various districts of Wales how many became canonised, and are now identified with the grey and ecclesiastical structui'cs of Cambria. Cynog, the first-born, a man of austere principles, much beloved for his zeal in Christianity, met his death on tlie Van, a mountain between Builth aiitl Brecon, at the hands of a band of marauding Saxons. Throughout the whole of the district of the Silures his ftime was great, and we may be assured that the sorrow aroused by his sad fate was of equal intensity. The collar which his father had placed on his arm ir the days of his infancy retained its marvellous character after the death of the saint, for it is related that a man who had obtained possession of it, and was trying to break it up so as to dispose of the gold, lost his eyesight iu the attempt. • A proud old man was Brychan as he looked around him and saw his sons filling high stations, some famous for their valour, others for their piety.; his daughters, many married amongst the great chieftains of the country, and not 8 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. a few actively employed in single blessedness, winning converts to Heaven by their persuasive eloquence and their good deeds. Not the least in note was Tydfil, who laboured year after year with undiminished zeal in her holy calliiig, and visited every part of the wide district which owned her father's rule. In the picturesque valley of the TafF, wooded from the river line to the mountain's summit, were many fair nooks sheltered from the northern, winds, and open to the full play of the southern gale. Sunny nooks, where nature, revelled in its wild and untrained profusion ; where the sunshine gleamed, and the sunset lingered as if loth to leave. In the valley there was no sound heard save that of the river, and of the wind, and of the birds. Perhaps, at intervals, from some small haiiilet, came the ring of the smithy, or the festive sound of village games. At times, along the mountain line, a band of native warriors would pass, in the track once taken by the sturdy veterans of Rome ; but the occasions were rare. Silence reigned there amidst the beauties of tree and wild flower, and in this favoured haunt Tanglwyfetl chose her summer home. An old farm-house, bearing inward indications, by double roof and stronger make than ordinary, and about five miles from Merthyr Tydfil, is known -as Havod Tauglwys, and this has been suggested, and I think with sound reason, as the summer abode of Tanglwystl. She was the third daughter of Brychau, and the name " pledge of peace " has been assumed by Llewelyn Pritchard to have" been given in memory " that her coming • soothed some family feud, caused very likely by the notorious galivantings of Brychan." This is rather hard upon Brychan, but it is admitted that though he was a convert to the faith, he had yet a " weakness," and was very susceptible even in his old age to beauty. To this house of Tanglwystl journeyed, one sunny day in August, Tydfil, her sister, and the martyr. So few, and faint, and contradictory are the records of the martyrdom of Tydfil, the twenty-fourth daughter, that the scene no matter by whom described, is like a poem, where a large amount of poetic lie ence has been taken, or a picture for which all that can be claimed is that its title is correct, but that the imagination has been the chief guide. Let me, then; with historic outlines laid down by a long list of authorities from tlic Trueman MSS. to Cambrian Biography, essay to sketch the MARTYRDOM OF ST. TYDFIL. Old Bryclian, grey, and bent, and saddened, by the constant incui'sions of. the pagans who, if driven off from one valley were sure to pour in and desolate another, travelled in the month of August, it is conjectured about a.d. 470, to visit his datighter Tanglwystl. The calvacadc was a large one. T^alfil, was there, with lier luisl)and and her sons, and Rhawin and Rhun her brothers, and as journeying at these times was dangerous in the extreme, a strong body of armed men accompanied them. Winding up the Roman road, and passing over the Beacons, and so down gently into the valley of the Taff Fcchan they go, the clou*- bracing air of Cador Arthur giving animation to TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 9 all, and each picturesque view calling forth pleasure. The times were rude and the days of sentiment had not dawned, but the elevating and refining influences of the Christian religion had had their effect, and even then, nearly 1,400 years ago, men and women could look " through nature up to nature's God," with a deeper sense of its inner life and beauty than many a modem lady feels who delights in the romantic. Journeying along by the banks of the Taff, its bed even then time worn, they reached at length the home of Tanglwystl, and joyful was the meeting. There, with his favourite daughter once again by his side, the old man felt young ngain, and the heavy cares of his little kingdom were perceptibly lessened. His daughters in full womanhood, his grandcliildren around him, and that fair August time, when the wealth of nature, hidden before, came out in the gold of hai'vest fields, to please the eye and delight the heart. So peaceful was the scene, so far away seemed pagan and bloodshed, that Brychan thought it wrong to keep a strong force near them. There was no necessity for it. They could return .again at a given time, and act as escort back, -but perhaps their services were even then urgently needed in the great mountain tracts extending to the borders of Radnorshire. So the men were sent away under the command of one of his grandsons, and in devotional services and domestic happiness time fled by. Then- came the hour of parting. It was time for the escort to return. We can imagine that Tanglwystl pressed the old king to stay until they came, but age has its peculiarities, and the seeming pressure of cares are felt more in the decline of life than when the spirits are high, and the strength of manhood at its full. Brychan . must go. There was no fear. His arm was still stout, and his sons and grandsons were with him, and to such a place, a wooded solitude no pagan had come. So the old man and Tydfil, with most of the party^ started, Rhawin and Rhuu lingering behind a while until the rest had nearly reached the site of Merthyr. Then when the two sons were scarcely a mile from their sister's home, down upon them swooped the Brachtyr Fechti. Rhawin soon fell mortally wounded. Rhuu gallantly defended a small bridge over the river like a hero of old, until over- whelmed, and next full speed was made by the murderous party in pursuit of Brychan. The little cavalcade had reached the site of the hamlet, which was afterwards formed thex'e, when they were overtaken. Glorying in slaughter, the pagaii dashed upon them ; grey hairs, age, beauty, were unheeded. They saw something to kill ; the garb and ornaments woru savoured of plunder, and mercilessly did they hack and hew. The strong arm of Tydfil's husband, and of the grandsons, the efforts of Brychan himself gave but temporary obstacles, aud but one of the gi-andsons escaped. The rest lay butchered and disfigured, and, the deed done, the Picts hastened over the river and up the mountain side in full run for the sea shore and their boats. But the avengers were near. The grandson who escaped had not fled a long away when he met the lagging escort, and to hurry back to. the scene, to scan a moment the horrible picture, and then to follow on the track of the pagan, was but the work of a short time. On the mountain of Aberdare, where strange 10 TALES AND SKETCHES. OF WALES. names linger yet, the " Irishman's hill "■ amongst the number, and faint remains of hastily thrown up defences are still visible they were overtaken? and speedy and ample was the revenge. Few, if any, escaped, for the escort was strong, and the fulness of their anger made them invincible. To return and bury the dead was the next sad duty, and if tradition is to be credited, the body of Tydfil was placed on the spot where in after years a church was built to her memory. Her holy and zealous life called for such a memento, but why neither Brychan nor Tydfil's husband, nor yet any of the members of the family, had a tribute placed has always been a matter of surprise, and it can only be accounted for by the fact that in her Christian labours she was conspicuously foremost, and that at the last sad scene, the butchery, there were some circumstances attending it in her case which singled her out for distinction. What those circumstances were it is easy to imagine, that when Brychan and his eon-in-law, and grandson, were fighting for their life amidst the crowd of savages who sti-uck wildly at them, uttering fiendish shouts the while in the abandon of their ferocity, she, Tydfil, imbued, with holiest of feelings, running away a pace or two in the impulse of her woman's nature, knelt in the higher impulse of her Christian promptings, and so kneeling and praying devoutly was then brutally cut down, the fair features hacked and mangled, and the beautiful form trampled upon in the ungovernable hate of the pagan. . ^ ■ It must have been this which caused the horrible butchery to be regarded as a martyrdom, and led in after years to the erection of a church when the hamlet of shepherds and yeomen began to be formed. Such was -the martyr- • dom of Tydfil, and in the secluded valley, first a hamlet arose, and then a village, and by the institution of a fair on the mountain by Jestyn ap Gwrgant, the village increased and slowly progressed, -through the Norman times, and Ivor's rule, into the fuller developement of the agricultural era, imtil the eighteenth century was reached, when the -discovery, first of ironstone and then of coal, u.sliercd in the iron age anil the commercial history of Mcrthjr Tydfil. THE FOOTSTEP AT THE DOOR. A TALE OF THE WELSH COAST. jHEliE is a small fislihig village on the coast of Glamorganshire, insignificant in name, and in history, and itself lacking all claims to the picturesque. True a little way off there are the remains of a Xurman castle, and the time was when a Grenville at the head of his retainers rode by the shore. But the castle is in ruins, and is not an integral part of the fishing village, which has crept as close to the shore as the spring tides would let it, and there, huddled by the beach, receiving ever and and again the contemptuous spray of the ocean, it cringes and _lurks, its inhabitants vending oysters, and supplying hot water to the young men and maidens, shopkeepers' assistants generally, who make it their Hastings and Ramsgate, and have their day's outing by the sea. One I'arely hears the souad of Welsh there. Its people seems to be a mixture of many nations, as varied as the characteristics of the slungle, yet all speaking English without the patois of any English district. Its women are uninteresting, and seem always to have crying children in their arms, or chubby boys clinging to their garments. Its men are stalwart, affecting principally jerseys and vast boots, and their ordinary occupation seems to be to loaf by the water edge. That they work is certain, but the work is done either in tlie early morning or at night, or out at sea. One rarely sees anything but loafing. Its shops are marvels of heterogeneous collection. Herrings, kidney beans, bread, cheese, potatoes, and confectionery, are mixed in the windows without order, and tlic arrangements in the window seem to last from year's end to year's end. Outlying from the cottages and shops- are rows of more pretentious houses, which look down patronisingly on the fishing village, but their gentility is modified by the unambitious announcement of " lodgings " in almost every one.. Sprinkle amongst the jerseys and top boots an occasional coastguard man, a few artillerymen, whose hair is always oiled and brushed, and who wear their caps jauntily to the admiration of servant girls ; mix a few visitors who walk about listlessly in the streets, and you have shingles, some would call it Mumbles and not be far wrong, as deadly lively a place in wet weather as it is possible to conceive. Its redeeming features are its closeness of access to a 12 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. fine coast line, dented with many sandy bays and nooks, all having a wide outlook upon the sea. Far as the eye can scour, the sea heaves and frets, and iipon it sloop and steamer sail by. One never tires of lying down upon the heather and gazing out upon the varied sea-scape, noting now the pleasure bark, and again the laden merchantman, passing onward silently and rapidly to their destination. And then the cosy bay, with its rocky shelters for naiads, from whence they emerge in the most tempting of bathing costumes, and plunge and revel in the waves. Pleasant the sound of their mirth above the murmur of the surf. One would never think that such mermaids with their sportiveness and fun had any thought of fashion, could discuss reputations at tea tables, and dream of cliques and caste. Far away from these, and out of the sound of their happy abandon, on the shingly beach, at a place where the shore gives a wide view of the sea, an old lady used to be taken by an attendant, and placed there tenderly, as an infant, -to rest awhile. She would sit upon the shore alone, wet or dry, and invai'iably at the same time of the day. If wet, she was well wrapped up in a waterproof, and an umbrella placed in her hand, and then she would be left alone. After a time the attendant would return and gently lead her away, and this day after day, mouth aftei" mouth, year after year. Shall I tell her tale ? Yearp ago, at one of the most busy of the Welsh ports, no more active and able captain lived than Captain Williams. From a boy he had been upon the sea. He had passed through a hardy apprenticeship, figured as an able seaman, become mate, and afterwards acted as master in several vessels of more or less importance. Such were his carefulness -and discipline that after a time a wealthy firm gave him the command of one their largest merchantmen, and trip after trip only made them the more satisfied with their selection. Coming back from one of his voyages, the captain brought a long pending love affair to a happy issue by marrying one of the best tempered and domes-, ticated girls of a village within a stone's throw of the port. She was not a pretty girl, nor was she handsome. Eccentric nature had not, in her case, as she does in many, glossed over defects with beauty, and hid, with sparkling eyes and ringlets and regular features, a rugged disposition. She was just the wife for Williams, and dearly did he love her. As the years went by, the captain grew more jolly and stout and portly, and his " Yo heave yo " as he came back from a cruise, and paced up the narrow pathway to his villa, was a cherry sound that gladdened everybody. Ever}-l)ody implies more than the wife ; and true enough, sunny-eyed boys and girls were crowding round the table now, and the captain had to think of other things to bring back than sandal-wood workboxcs, snch as he used to bring liis lady love in tlie old days. Tiicre was now a stalwart image of himself, fast getting fit for apprenticeship, and amongst the girls one had already begun to dream of valentines. Life on the whole flowed i)lca8antly, but it was not all fair weather. TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. 13 Once the captain had suffered wreck, and more than once had put into port witli damage to hull or sails. This, however, was tlie necessary alloy. Life, all sweetness, becomes tame and insipid, " Ci>nHtant good will sure to cloy, 'Tis but by mixturo with alloy That bli.-i.s is bliss, and }oy is joy, And ecstasy is ecstasy." After his wreck, the captain remained on shore for more than a year. Then another ship was offered him, and away he went, made a capital voyage and returned. Then for years notliing occured to alter the even tenour of his way. He was beginning to think it time to give up sea life and settle down. He could, comfortably. When he looked at his wife, and saw the snow just showing itself amongst the raven hair, and noted his boys growing to manhood, and his girls to womanhood, he thought it was time, and more than once when in the office with his owners, it was upon" his tongue, as he would say, to resign his post. He did say so at last, but was laughed out of it by the senior owner, who said, " Why, Williams, let us both keep together. We began about the same time, have been knocked about a bit, you by your wreck, and I by my land troubles ; let's try another voyage, and then let the younger men fall in ! " Williams consented, and; when the Ides of March were raving, sailed away with a large cargo to a distant shore. What the cargo was and where the shore cannot be named, for reasons which will be seen ere my tale is done. There was a warm yet sorrowful parting at home, and quite a little crowd of his own flesh and blood gathered on the steps to cheer as with a true, seaman's gait he went down the pathway and shut the gate. The sound of his voice, and the rattle of the gate long lingered upon the ■ good wife's ears, and it was days and days before she fell again into the old track. Mouths passed, and in the summer time a letter with a foreign post mark came, written in the well known hand. He had reached his destination and by the time she had the letter would be nearing home. There was happiness in the little villa by the sea, and soon after the receipt of the letter every day was ushered in with hope ; but the days passed, and the summer passed, and the autumnal nights came in, and still there was no sign of the captain's return. The wife began to make almost daily journeys to the office, and the owners were becoming concerned and doubtful. Something they feared had happened. They hoped for her sake it was no worse than his former mishap. To themselves the owners spoke with bated breath. They knew Williams, valued him as a tried and trusty man, and, however unfortunate, if living, they knew he would send them tidings from some port or other, or by a chance vessel met at sea. . One night — she never forgot it — the good wife and the eldest daughter were sitting up alone, busy in making some gai-ment for one of the youngest ones'. All at once, as she described it, they both heard the click of the garden gate. Nervously expectant, they looked at one another. They heard a tread upon 14 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. the sliiugly pathway, and iastautly came the hearty sounds, known and loved so well, of : • " Yo, heave yo ! " " Husband ! father ! " they cried, as they ran to the door and threw it wide open ; but there was no one visible. The rain fell pitilessly, and upon their ears only came the sough of the wind and the hoarse mi;rmur of the sea. Out into the night, the dark night, they peered tremulously, nervous, fearful. Could they have been deceived % Had loving thought shaped those words, and imagination revived the tones they knew so well i Half dazed, they closed the door, and retui*ned to the room, but there was no more .work that night, nor did they seek their beds until early morning. Da'^s and weeks again passed, and still no news was brought, and when even the mother had given up all hope, a seaman called one day, the bearer of evil tidings at last. • He brought a bundle with him that .contained all the effects of the poor captain. After leaving port for home he had sickened of fever and died, and was buried in mid ocean. Then the mate took command, and troubles followed them : they got out of their course, and were wrecked, and only after a long time and with difficulty did the survivors get home to Wales It was the mate himself who spoke to them, and* tears trickled down the bronzed cheeks of the narrator as he spoke of the closing hours of the captain, and how, even as the glaze of death was settling upon his eyes, he looked fixedly into the distance, and with a " Yo, heave yo !." died. Once a day, wet or fine, the old lady comes to the seaside, and looks out " upon her husband's grave." Just as the mourners go into the graveyard and sit by the withied or flower-clad mound where the lost one sleeps, so does she gaza upon the sea, the gi'ave of her dead husband, and listen to the ever- fretting wave, which seems to her his requiem. And in the roar of many waters, dashing ever and again upon the time-worn cliiFs, she fancies the " Yo, heave yo I " comes back again, and stretches forth her thin, wan hands eagerly towards that other shore, that far-distant land, whither silent time is takinir her to him. and will not be stayed. MEGA^ VERCII EVAN. JIE English reader lias always been impressed with the idea that a ''^'4 Welsh woman was an exceedingly masculine personage. In the first place, he could not reconcile gentleness and amiability co-existing with "the rough, warlike, and impulsive Welsh chieftains. Naturally he thought the women were of the same stamp as the men, and if the men were, as they ail knew, untamable and wild, so also in degree must be the women. This impression was deepened by the accounts in modern times of the assemblage of the Pembrokeshire women in red cloaks pn the heights when the French sought to invade Wales, and the belief was general that had the French made a more vigorous sortie the red-cloaked women might have taken an active part in the fray. " . I have one x'ecord to present of a woman who came up to the masculine idea of the Englishman. Her Welsh name was Megan Verch Evan, but in plainer phrase she was called Margaret Evans of Penllyn. Pennant describes her as being in the year 178G about 90 years of age. Her home was near the Lake of Llanberris, but her reputation extended not only through the county, but to all parts of North Wales. She was not a type of that ancient class who sit with spectacled brow hour after hour before her Bible, and when nut so occcupied plying the knitting needles as if the making of a stocking was the sole aim of her existence. Not she ! Meg was a hunter of great repute. She could shoot, and did shoot with unerring aim, and as for fishing, trout had a sorry time of it in her locality. But this was not a tithe of her abilities, and so varied were they, that she well deserved to be regarded as the Admirable Crichtoness of her age and country. She could row excellently well, was a capital player on the violin, and knew all the old music. She understood mechanics, was a good carpenter and boat builder, could repair as well as play the harp, was as good a blacksmith as she was a shoemaker, and in her seventieth year could wrestle with any man. When in her prime, a number of admirers paid their addresses to her, but with the usual discrimination of her sex, which ever suggests choosing the most opposite, physically as well as mentally, she gave her hand to the most efteminate, as if, states Pennant, she was determined to maintain the superiority which nature gave her. In appearance she was tall and of *' noble presence," but of her death no 16 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. record remains, and whether she had descendants or not, and, if so, whether they were above or below the commonaHty, the age that was unblessed with newspapers has left no chronicle. Only one such lady has come to the writer's notice. She figured in a caravan as a giantess, and from this position an admiring youth took her, and she in return, when duly wedded, took the admiring youth to the sunny plains of Texas, where they may sojourn to this day. In the caravan she was out of sight, except at certain profitable intervals, but in the domestic duties she was in the way, and it was perhaps a discreet step to go where the appearance of an exceedingly tall and stout woman linked with an exceedingly delicate and undersized man could not attract so m\ich attention. THE LEGEND OF HAVOD UCHTRYD. W/j^M HO has not heard of the beautiful mansion of Mr. Johnes, of Havod -^ Uchtryd, with its grand library, its collection of antiquities from all parts of the world, its eastern treasures, its fine gallery of paintings ? Not throughout all Wales was there a mansion that was such a casket of gems as that of Havod Uchtryd. One wild night, this precious casket was attacked by that fierce foe of art treasures, fire, and when the next day had passed, all that was left was a smouldering heap of ruins. It is not of art that I am going to write, nor am I going to add one more lamentation to the many which have been passed over the great national loss sustained by the destruction of the priceless library. All that has been done, is preserved in tourists' guides and in local histories. My aim is to tell the Legend of Havod Uchtryd, and of all legends it is one of the most weird. I must not be supposed to place implicit faith in the legend, but to be regarded as the nan*ator of certain strange doings, which, in the neighbourhood around Aberystwith, say for a circle embracing twenty square miles, were at the time and have been since, held in strong belief, and recounted with extreme CiirnestnesH. •And tlicse narrations are not the so-called old women's tales ; bluff men, well-to-do farmers, intelligent traders, tell them, and tell them seriously and with an air which says more strongly than words, " Believe it or not, 1 do ! " Well, then, when the house, or mansion rather, of Mr. Johnes was in its pride, there was a rumour current in the neighbourhood that it was haunted. TALKS AND SKETCHES OF WALES, 17 The haunting took a different form in tlie common run. No white form flittod through 1 1,(1 1 and vestibule; no strange sounds were heard; no ratthng of chains ; no conflict between exasperated shades, ending with a sudden lunge and a dying groan. There was none of this. The haunting was done by a mischievous but somewhat humorous sprite, and the chief scene of his vagaries was in the stables. If Mr. Johnes wanted a horse saddled quickly, the moment it was done everything would be taken off by invisible hands. Demure mares would suddenly become restive ; buSy stablemen would get lumps of turf thrown at them, and would be obliged to run away in fear and trembling, and when they returned it was to find everything in disorder — combs and brushes lying about in all sorts of places, harness piled in a heap, and, in fact, just such a condition of things as one might expect from the hands of a practical joker. After the mansion had been destroyed, Mr. Johnes seriously thought that it was advisable not to rebuild it. What was the use of restoring a place for the imps to gambol in again 1 And, besides, the current opinion was that it was not elves or fairies who had ^ done these things, but that they were the work of the Old Gentleman in his sportive moods. As if Nicholas was ever sportive ! While Mr. Johnes was debating in his own mind the propriety of rebuilding, he was told that a graduate of Oxford, who had come to reside in the locality, possessed special power in laying evil spirits. This was an opportunity not to be lost, and a message was sent to the Oxford gentleman to call upon Mr. Johnes, and in due time he came, and a long conference took place, during which the visitor was told of the extraordinary doings which had occurred prior to the burning down of the mansion. When fully posted up with the performances of the sprite, Mr. Johnes put the question : " Now, can you get rid of this tormentor'?" And the answer came as promptly : " I can." One fact was made known to the Oxford gentleman, and that was that since the destruction of the house the gambols of the tormentor had been continued even amidst the ruins. So it was decided that the process of " laying ' should take place in the I'uins. It was a serious undertaking this laying of the evil spirit, and arrangements for the ceremony were conducted with all the gravity that the occasion demanded. Mr. Johnes and a friend or two were in attendance, and together all went to the ruins of the stable, when, selecting an open place, the Oxford man drew a large circle into which they all stepped, and then, opening a book, the performer- in-chief went through various incantations. At the end of these a loud roar was heard, and a bull, exceedingly savage in appearance, dashed at them with so much fierceness that all in the circle gave themselves up as lost, and were only restrained from making ii mad effort to escape by the Oxford man who counselled calmness, and ti.>ld thc^u that nothing cjuld pass the line unless B is TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. he 'ftilled it. The mad bull, for such it seemed, glared at them almost face to face, and then disappeared. Again went on the incantation, and a ferocious bull-dog sprang at them with glistening teeth and staring eyes, and again they were only restrained from flight by the strong arm of their friend. In the utmost apprehension they now waited for the third appearance, which was to be the last ; but no I'oar was heard. An intense calm seemed to prevail, and this continued for a time, when a faint buzz sounded above and over the circle, then, adroitly defying the charm, came a fly and rested on the open book. In a moment the enchanter closed the • volume, and with a loud cry exclaimed, " I have got him, the devil is in a trap ! " And sure enough, from the mysterious book came a voice of supplication. Only let him escape, and he would never trouble the house again. His prayer was most pitiable. There was nothing that he would not consent to, and be bound by the most solemn oath, only let him be free. But this was a delicate matter, and it required long consultations and discussion before an arrangement could be brought about, and finally it was agreed that the evil spirit should betake himself to the Devil's Bridge, and there, with an ounce hammer and a tin tack, cut off a fathom of the rock. If he would consent to that, then he should be liberated. What the nature of the oath was, and how it .was made binding, is not stated ; but the good people in the neighbourhood say that the Old Gentleman consented to the terms, and was forthwith released. They further add that if you go to the Devil's Bridge and get down by the side of the water, and stoop low, you will hear the steady tap of the ounce hammer, as the unfortunate tormentor labom'S away at his impossible task. More than this, gossips say that from that day there was no more haunting, and men and horses had perfect peace at Havod Uchtryd. DAVYDD AB GWILYM AND IFOll HAEL. I HE traditional bard on the traditional rock, by Gray, and painted by the lamented W. E. Jones, was utterly dissimilar to the poet Davydd ab Cwilym, the bard pre-eminent of the 14th century. Let us picture him. Tall and slender, with flaxen hair, hair so long, that it flowed down in ringlets over his shoulder, quietly but elegantly -dressed, witching eyes, which made the hearts of all young ladies thi'ob painfully, and voice dulcet-like in its sweetness. Just as the old bard of the heroic age of Welsh independence was suited to the time to rouse the Welsh to the highest point of daring, to soothe them in the darkest moments of despair, and again pour forth indignation in .passionate strains, grand and harmonious, and in keeping with the scenery, so David, was adapted to that softer age which followed, when the turbulence of the nation was gone, and the young gallants of Wales began to court, with more earnestness than they had been wont, the graces and the beauties of their country. David with his handsome person, his masterly power with the harp, and his quick poetic instincts, was, it must be admitted, a dangerous young man, and the fair sex were then as impressionable as they are now ; for, though nearly five luuidrcd years ago, no less than twenty fair maidens claimed at one time the honour of being the chosen bride of graceless David. This folly on his part is the most censurable feature of his life, for not content with loving and being loved by so many, he made an appointment one day with the whole of them to meet him in a certain place alone. A little before the hour of meeting he concealed himself in a tree, and there waited until all the fair ones were assembled. It was a picture for the study of a philosopher, but utterly unworthy of a poet. The glances of wDnderment, then of suspicion, and, as the truth dawned upon them, of hate, could only form amusement for a thoughtless or an eccentric mind. David seems to have enjoyed the fun, and when the whole bevy were assembled he had the audacity not only to make his appearance, but to tell them in flowing rhyme that the one who was the dearest to him should first assail him. The outcry at this point was such that David was obliged to make a precipitate retreat, David was a Cardiganshire man, and was born in 1340 at Bro Grin, in the parish of Llanbadarn Vawr. Being connected, possibly in a left-handed way, with several noble families — left-handed connections were very common then 20 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. — early noted for his wit and rhyming powers, and petted and spoiled, as precocious boys invariably are, he seems to have fluctuated between the lordly house of Llewelyn ab Gwilym in Cardigan, au uncle of his, and the house of Ifor Hael at Maessaleg, in Monmouthshire, and there his life, or the earliest part, seem to have been one long summer's day. Apart from the interest attached to David's life, which was the unmistakable, erratic life of a thorough poet, his career is of great value as showing the social condition of Wales in his time. We are apt in P^ngland to speak of the old times of baronial grandeur and hospitality, to associate the homes of the squires, even, and the gentry in the past with good cheer — a round of festivity, in fact ; but it is not generally known that this is a British trait, and that if we want to look for the antecedents of this we must go back to the era of Owen Glyndwr, of Llewelyn ab Gwilym, and of Ifor Hael. There not only was it a round of good cheer and hearty enjoyment, but musical and literary jousts were common between bards, and in the pleasant strife the guests realised the utmost pleasure. Let us picture one of these at the hall of Ifor. Thither came, as streams flow from the hill-side and meet in the river, so came chieftain and wife and daughters from afar, all meeting in the hall upon terms of the pleasantest equality. Wine and ale flowed freely, long tables graced the banqueting room, the position of each guest being well defined above or below " the salt," and the old harper, a retainer of inauy privileges, enlivened the feast with alter- nately patriotic or loving strains. Then, when the feast was over, bai-dic contests in song, music, or englynion became the order of the day, and the company revelled in those impromptu eisteddfoddau of which our annual gatherings are the faint but much cherished refrain. David's poems are valu- able, as indicating the manners and customs of the age, and that they were lax it requires no great penetration to discover. David's marriage, for he did many eventually, is a case in point. With classic fidelity »je resorted to a gi-ove with his bride, and there a considerate friend usurped the post of priest, and made them one. The ceremony throughout was poetic, but as soon as it was possible the parents of the young lady took her away, and left David wifeless. At his uncle's seat at Emlyn, David's great opponent was one Rhys Migan, a bard of high degree, and as satirical as our bard. Between these two there was a great deal of rivalry, and many a time they made each other wince. The strife we may be certain was not conducted with lofty courteousness. The hits were personal and keen ; any little weakness in the character of one was eagerly seized iipon by the other, and woe betidcd the unfortunate bard who had slijiped socially or morally. David's weakness for the ladies furnished his opponent with a great fund of raillery, and he used it with vigour. But this came to an end, and if we may accept David's own version, as given in one of his poems, with a fatal result. In a bardic contest between the two, so over- wlaliiiing was the assault of David that poor llhys fell down and died on the spot. TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 21 The lot of a poet is proverbially one of a chequered character. He is a child of nature, and, like her, has alternations of sunshine and shadow. Brief episodes of peace are enjoyed, followed by the storm. How long the list of poets to whom this applies. In fact it is the exceptional laureate only who seems above adversity. Many like Chatterton knew sorrow from their infancy, and still more, like blind old Homer, " sing their ballads " for bread. In the eternal fitness of things, the grand adjustment and rectification of the here- after, this will be righted — let us doubt not, and believe that a special sphere higher than all others is devoted to the poet where the idealities will be made facts, and the lustre of their imagination realised. " Our" David knew what the inside of a gaol was, and, but for the services of a friend, in gaol he might have lingered and died. Nor was this all. He had the misfortune to outlive his friends, and a more terrible destmy can scarcely be imagined. The generous Ifor was gone, the open-handed LJewelyn, one and all who had been his patrons, who had prompted him to higher efforts, smoothed the ruffled ways of the world to him, and made his course easy, were gone, and he was left alone to mourn them in touching strains and with mood so melancholy, that one cannot doubt that his character was transformed from the gallant to the saint. For had he not also lost his loves ; the hand- some bearing gone, the long auburn hair grizzled with age, wrinkles clouding the face once lit with smiles ? Before him too, loomed the future. He confessed to a life that had been most unsaintlike, and the burden of many of his poems is a lament for the past, and the dread of the coming censorship. In that mood were, passed his later years, and when he had reached, for him, the old age of sixty, he laid himself down and died. So much for Davydd ab Gwilym. Let us pause a moment over the career of Ifor Hael. All that the historian knows of him is that of the genial, festive- loving man. He figures as no warrior ; no doughty combat, no joust in the field of war, no gathering of retainers and contest for independence preserve his name. He is remembered for his social virtues. He was the open-handed friend to everyone, the kind host, the jovial companion. One cannot imagine that his features were ever ruffled into a frown, or that the hearty grasp of the hand could grip as heartily the trenchant blade. In coursing and the general sports of the field he passed a great part of his time, and when he died not only the poet David lamented him, but everyone who knew him. David's lament is worthy of preservation : — From dewy lawns I'll pluck the rose, With every fragrant flower that blows ; The earliest promise of the spring To Ivor's hontmred grave I'll bring ; This huni))le rite shall oft be paid To deck the spot where he is laid — To show liow much for him I mourn, How much I weep o'er Ivor's urn. Strange is the metamorphosis of time. Three hundred years passed, and the descendant of Ifor Hael was Squire Morgan, of Tredegar, a gentleman 22 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. who inherited most of the hon homme qualities of his ancestors. Like him he revelled in open house keeping. Like him was passionately fond of the sports of the field. Nothing liked he so much as to ride over those brown moantains of his which stretched away from -Tredegar to the hills around Dowlais. How came it that good, honest old Thomas never knew of the mines of wealth beneath the fern covered hills 1 How was it that the black strips in the ravines never caught his eye, that the heavy nodules of iron stone never arrested his attention, or diverted him from fox or hare 1 But the time came when the fact that coal and iron were underneath his mountains was brought under his notice, and so little even then did he think of it that he gave a lease of the whole for a considerable period at a nominal fio-ure, onlv one hundred pounds a year ! The venturesome worthy who speculated, told his wife what he had done, and she, seeing utter ruin in the futui'e, gave her husband no peace until he had resigned the lease to another. Short-sighted Thomas Morgan, shorter-sighted woman. In a very few years afterwards, the Penydarran Company began to pay £50,000 a year for the moiety of the property, while from the whole came that great wealth which the Guest family derived, until the estate lapsed to the Marquess of Bute, and terms more commensurate with its value were obtained. Ifor Hael the generous, and his boon friend the bard, making the days melodious, and the nights mellow. Old Thomas Morgan the sportsman, and the intervening families, all living in happy ignorance of coal and iron, and knowing nothing of Dowlais, save as that of a bleak mountain, with a farm or two, and a fair held from ancient times on the Waun. The change from all this to the habitations of twenty-five thousand people, the flash of furnace fires, and the delving in the earth for a dozen miles, complete a transformation scene before which the wonders of the stage dwindle into babyism, and its lustre into the veriest tawdry that ever delighted the youthful mind. THE LEGEND OF CADER IDIIIS. iHERE 18 a wonderful stone on Cader Idris, upon which, if a tourist sliould chance to sleep, he awakens either a poet or a madman- Such is the tradition of the country, and Mrs. Hemans has made the legend memorable in one of her sweetly flowing poems. Lacy and Brindle were two clerks in the Stock Exchange, resident, one at Newington and the other at Hampstead. They had been up the Rhine, they had done Paris, they had ascended Mount Blanc, and become so familiar with tables d'hote, rouge et noir, Mentone, Naples, and Rome, that they longed for fresh fields and pastures new. One evening towards the end of June, they sat in the smoking-room of Audertons, preparatory to taking their homeward 'bus, when Lacy said, "Well, we have discussed various places for our July trip, what say you to North Wales]" " Quite agreed," rejoified Brindle. " T believe that in running about to other countries we have bvei'looked the beauties of our own." So the two friends quickly settled the matter, and in the first week of July started for North Wales. There were the usual bitters at occasional refresh- ment-rooms, the tipping of giiards, the surreptitious naps, and the final awaking at Dolgelly, " from whence," said their guide-book, to which they made constant reference, "a convenient ascent of Cader Idris may be made." In their hotel that night, traveller-like, having long ago had the conventional angles rubbed off by mixture with men, they fraternised in the bar, and were very pleased with an old-fashioned gentleman who. Lacy whispered, " might have stood for Rip Van Winkle." He was full of (piaint anecdotes, and stirring adventures as well, and when he heard of their intention to ascend Cader Idris on the morrow, he gave them many a useful hint to mp.ke their task a lighter one. " But look here," he added, after taking a deep sip of Scotch whisky, " Whatever you do, don't go to sleep on the wonderful stone ! " " Wonderful stone ! " exclaimed Brindle, who had a notion, Cockney-like that the old man was "joking" him, " what is thaf? " " Well," said the stranger, " when you are about a half a mile from the summit, by taking the direction I have pointed out to you, and where a bit of a hut has been constructed, take the turn to the left, instead of following up ' the direct road, and in a few minutes you will reach a little hollow, quite 24 TALES AXD SKETCHES OF WALES. hidden from the track, and there, hidden in one corner, you will find a large weather-beaten stone, so flat that you can sleep on it. That is the stone ; but mind,, if tired, or sleepy, or the day be hot, or for any reason, don't have so much as forty winks upon it, for there is a tradition that whoever does will wake up either a poet or a madman." Brindle looked at Lacy as much as to say this is something new and good. " But," said Lacy, " I suppose it is only an old woman's tale. Has there ever been a case known 1 " "Well," hummed and hah'd the stranger, " can't say exactly, but there are more fools in Dolgelly than in many a town of bigger size," and he laughed meiTily at his own wit, in which the two Londoners joined as heartily. "But now," said Brindle seriously, "do you believe 1" Buckstone might have envied the face which the stranger assumed, so prcternaturally grave, so tinged with deepest melancholy. Without saying a word he deliberately struck the ashes out of his pipe, drank the remainder of his whisky, and buttoning his summer coat, arose and said .• " You have put a plain question. I will give you as plain an answer. I do ! Good night, gentlemen," and he was gone. The two friends laughed at one another, and retired to rest so full of excite- ment at the prospects of the next day that, even tired as they were, neither slept for a long time, and when they did sleep it was a troubled one. Compai'ing notes at breakfast next morning, one had endured a railway smash and the other been overwhelmed by an avalanche, a particularly large stone, much like the wonderful one, crushing him on the head. Lacy, with philosophic calmness, attributed the dreams to the bad whisky, but added : " I am game to have a nap on the stone, if we can find it." " And I," joined in Brhidle, " but query as to seeing the wonderful stone. And even if we did we shouldn't know it to be the right one. Well, the old buff'er's directions were minute enough, so let's try." Then the host was called in, and fortified by directions, and with a 'guide of peculiarly stolid face, they set out. Most of the way was taken up with light, harmless chaiF at the expense of the stolid youth who led them, and neither showed any very great mental capacity cither in this or in the interchange of thought. Thought ! No, they were more of a practical than a thoughtful turn. They liked the realities of life — the tangible, that which could be grasped and enjoyed ; and though both could appreciate the beautiful in nature or in art, it was with that passing glance men of the world give to such matters. Jirindle and Lacy were types of a very large class of men — men of the potters' school, fairly educated, well trained, gentlemanly in their deportment, HO schooled that they never stumbled in their aspirates, and yet they were going through the World, ])!issing through life, without the deeper feelings, the Htrongrr emotions, tiio liighcr instincts of their nature, having been aroused in the least degree ; now a ditty from a London music-hall, then a TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 25 merry strain, the refrain of an Alpine memory ; then, again, a blessing on the rocky road, and the stubbomess of Welsli hills, and the length of Welsh miles. So they trudged onward and upward. It was the '' turn of the day " when they reached the hut by the wayside, and in their eagerness to reach higher altitudes, and discern more of the beautiful and the grand scenery that w^as unveiling, they had almost forgotten the old gentleman of the previous night and his tale. But the hut re-called it, and stopping short, Lacy said to the guide : " Do you know, boy, of any wonderful stone up that road 1 " pointing to the place. Yes, the boy had, but it was only a big stone. Lots of people had gone to look at it, that was all — there was nothing about it. " Well," exclaimed Brindle, " recollect our promise. Lead the way, boy, to the stone," and a few minutes walk brought them to the edge of a dingle, and there in the corner, " sure enough," said Lacy, was the big stone. As che boy said, there was nothing about it. It was only a stone, and its chief virtues consisted in being so flat that a tired man could sit upon it comfort- ably. Both looked at the stone, and then assuming a tragic air. Lacy said — " Boy ! get you to the main track. Here we stop and rest. If we do not come to you in an hour come back to us ! " The boy looked rather suspicious, and was evidently doubtful of his fee, upon which he had been thinking, such is the nature of the class, ever since he started. The friends sat down upon the stone, lit their pipes, and puffed and chatted. The day was sultry ; they were tired. Gradually a delicious sense of comfort, stole over them ; they nodded ; they slept. " Hullo ! hi, hullo ! " And looking up, the two travellers saw, standing by their side, the stolid- fiiced youth, now red in the face fi'om exertions he had been put to in awakening them. " What fool is this 1 " said Lacy. " Ha ha" laughed Brindle ; " I dreamt of a grandeur passing all human thought, and lo here is an idiot prancing. " Ho, ho ! " roared Brindle. . Lacy looked from the boy to Brindle and from Brindle to the boy, " Why here are two idiots ! " Brindle, upon hearing his remark, capered oft" apparently in great delight, and, taking the arm of the astonished guide, did a wild waltz in the dingle, which exhausted the hapless guide, and landed that worthy upon the turf. This delighted Brindle, who made an abortive attempt to stand upon his head, and, failing, sat down by the guide and laughed again. Lacy looked from one to the other, and pressed his hand to his brow. Was this simpering fool the friend of his youth 1 What wild transformation was this ? " Brindle ! " he exclaimed with severity, but Brindle had no ears for his friend. Creeping along on all fours, with an expression in his eyes that now savoured more of the madman than the idiot, he was making, pantherlike, in the direction of the youth, who, seeing his approach in sucli a manner, gave vent to one long howl of terror, and disappeared, followed by Brindle, who 26 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. evidently intended making short work of him if he could catch him. Left alone, Lacy began to climb the hill, and, reaching a lofty point, gave free vent to his feelings. " Grand old mountain ! " he exclaimed. " From the fountain of thy deep thou scatterest on every hand perennial streams. The tiny rivulet, the boisterous torrent, and the calmly flowing river, all have their birth from thee ; leaping down, amidst the tangled thorn and honeysuckle, thy brooks laugh in the sunshine, carolling their way like children, running forth to play. Winding around storied scene and tower, by meadow land, busy town and city, thy elder daughters wander, in turn bearing onward pleasure boat and barque imtil lost in the mighty sea. But for thee, ocean would dwarf and shrink into littleness. 'Tis thou that feedeth its storms, and by thy power enables it to send its foam tempest tossed to the skies. Huge clouds sweep around from the Infinite and dash themselves against thee. Through the rife thy hoary head hath made the sungleams spring down and light the land, while fertilising showers seek earth's laboratory, where bee and bird and gay-tinted flowers, and fragrant leaf, with glorious trees, come forth in their appointed time and season. About thy head the thunder rolls, and into thy sides the lightnings flash ; yet calm, unimpaired, and unhurt thy grand old brow looketh up to God ! Fitting it was in the olden time that is gone for sage and prophet to hitherward dii'ect their steps, and here commune with Him." For a time Lacy remained in rapt enthusiasm and silence. He had ascended to the highest peak, aud looked upon the wondrous expanse of mountains and valleys. Here and there a tiny stream of silver gleamed, with broader bands denoting distant seas. Hill beyond hill filled in the great circle, and as the day was exceedingly clear the view was perfect. Even the farms, miles away, seemed close at hand, and the efforts and successes of man blended in so beautifully, and, as guide-books say, so harmoniously with nature, that Lacy again burst forth — " No rime of age upon the handiwork of God ! All that is of man, castled height, or ancient city, monument aud column, memorial of saint or battle- field, all bear the impress of decay, but thou, Nature, never ftxdest ! Emerg- ing from the icy folds of winter, which seeks her death, she comes more lovely every spring time. Joyously, a thing of beauty, she crowns the world with summer glory, lingering through the autumn when her sunsets have tinged the leaves, and e'en the flowers are garnered. Sweet, pure nature, I see her in the distant time, loth to part, like the sweet love of my youth, with whom I parted in the winding lane, and who, ever and anon, turned to give back her look of lKi])piucss aud love ! So thou gleamcst through coming siutumn shower and storm until tlic end, and Icttcth thy sunshine and thy melody of rill and woodland linger to the eve." Again Lacy paused, and once ■ more spoke. " No city hum or whirl of trade cometh here. Vice, with its flaunting robes, shuns this scene, (irandcur of silent majesty ! How opposed to gaslight beauty, to song of opera or nui.sic hall. The clink of gold, the grasp of greed, ambitious strivingH, the fever of fashion, tlic tliirstfor power, the wild mad race TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. . 27 of man to make his little span immortal — God, how insignificant and mean all appear to Thee." " Lacy, my boy, what the dickens are you doing ? " shouted Brindle, as he came up at a brisk pace towards him, in company with several of the towns- men. Lacy started ; " Why, Brindle, what is it 1 Where have you been 1 How did we separate V and a flood of interrogations followed. Brindle explained that under some inconceivable impulse he had chased the boy down fairly into Dolgelly, and then, wondering .and alarmed, he sought assistance, to find his friend whom he feared ho had lost for ever. Their mutual gladness was pleasant to witness, and the party, giving old Cader Idris brow but a cursory glance, descended the hill. Lacy was tired, and, though he admitted that the view was splendid, it was scarcely worth the climb. " Want some of our city men here, Brindle ! " he said, " to level a bit. A lot might be done in smoothing the road from Dolirelly. And looking at a good photograph or a painting might spare our legs ! " That night they sat in the little bar comparing notes. Brindle's escapade and Lacy's euthanasia were dreams, bad dreams, of which little or nothing was retained. The old man sat in the corner eyeing the two. He was a bar fixture and by long habit seemed to fit the position. " Well," quoth he, " did you see the stone? " Yes, both had, and slept upon it, but beyond an ugly dream they had no recollection. " Then what made one of you kick up such a dust in the town 1 " said the bar fixture. " I was afraid my friend had got into danger." " But how came you to leave him." " Ah, there," said Brindle. " I see," said the old man, " think back in your city home both of you, unwind the thread of your memory, and see if you won't have a clearer recol- lection about the wonderful stone of Cader Idris." Next morning saw the friends on their further travels, but wherever they went, whatever they did, phantoms like the bar fixture came before them^ and misty memories, fancies they thought, streamed around the mind. No wonder, then, that, back again in their London home, the thread was unwound, and the legend of Cader Idris written. Here it is ! EVAN AB ROBERT: OR, A GLANCE AT OLD TIMES. ^(Tr is only incidentally that we get any idea of the social life of the 1^ people in the old days of independence and in the early years of u;|jl English rule. Feuds between individuals, combats between the ^ refainers of one chieftain and those of another, like those that once occurred between the rival clans in Scotland, with the periodical leaguing of the people against Plots and Scots, Romans, Saxons, Englishmen, as the successive waves of invasion swept on and over the coast, all this, collectively^ make up the history of the country as we get it from the old historians. The little gleams that can be gathered from family histories fill up the blanks, and are invaluable. The only regret one can have is that they are so scarce. One of these sources is the " Historic of the Gwydir Family," by Sir John Wynn, and from this antique source I propose taking something to amuse, even if it does not instruct so much as the revelations of a later and more civilised life. A great occupation of the principal men in South Wales, and, for that matter, the North as well, was to meet every day at one another's houses, and contend with each other in archery. Doubtless the old yews which still meet one's eye near old-fLishioned family residences point to that time when the bow was the gi'cat weapon, and this tree invaluable in supplying material for the bow. No gentleman was then without his wme cellar ; but, most singularly, Wynn states that the wine was sold to his profit, implying that guests paid for their libations just in the same manner as at a public-house. But they were moderate as a rule, and the class given to. " healthing," that is.'toasting one another's health, was one that came upon the scene several centuries afterwards. In addition to archery, the sports of the Welsh extended to running races, throwing the sledge, wrestling, and other acts of "activitie," and in this masters and men united with commendable zeal and freedom, keeping up the enter- tainment as long as it was light enough to see, and carrying it on with great good luimour. One of the most noted men of this time was Evan ab Robert, one of the nnccHtral lino of the Wynn family, and if contemporary evidence can bo believed, lie was truly a grand man, or, as the ancient writer phrases it, "a goodlie man of personage and of groat stature." It does not follow that TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 29 " goodlic " men are always valiant. Shakespeare thoroughly understood this by describing the big man Falstaff inferentially as a coward. It is your little men generally who are fearless. Nature compensates for bulk by giving brain, or a valorous disposition ; her big children of immense sinews, she wisely thinks, can protect themselves. But Evan was not only stout and tall, but as brave as a lion, and by no means the man one would care to hove for an enemy. Between him and his brother-in-law, Howel ab Rhys, there was a desperate feud. How it began no one knew. They had been boon companions, but the fervour of friendship is not unfrequently followed by the fierceness of hate, and it was so in this case, though the relationship was of a double character, Evan's sister having married Howel, and Evan in turn marrying the sister of Howel. Howel's wife died, probably from ill-ti'eatment ; at all events, from the date of her death, Evan shunned the society of Howel, and fraternised with his nephew, John Meredith, who had always been at loggerheads with Howel. Going thus over literally to the enemy so incensed Howel, that he began to l^lot, or, as it was said in those times, " draw a draught " and conspire to slay the redoubtable, and very difficult to kill, Evan ab Robert. Our hero had made ari'angemeuts to have a shooting match with his friend and relation, John Meredith, and, in company with a few of his retainers, started on the day appointed, his wife riding with him nearly half the distance, and then parting from him with a pleasant farewell. Scarcely, however, had she passed out of sight of her husband, when a very different face met her view, a dar^, louring, sinister face, as of a thunder- cloud waiting to discharge its ai'tillery. Catherine, the wife, knowing her brother's passionate character, and rightly guessing that he meant mischief to her husband, as he was accompanied by a strong party of armed men, implored him not to harm her husband, as ho meant no ill to him or to anybody. Howel, without replying, turned his horse on one side to avoid her, when she dexterously caught hold of its tail, and clung on for a considerable time, until, forgetting his kinship as well as his manhood, Howel drew his short sword and aimed a blow at her arm, which she observing, let the tail go. Still she was not discomfited, for, running before him to a narrow passage which he had to pass, she took the top rail from off the rustic bridge at the foi'd, and aimed so violent a blow in turn at his head that he only avoided it with difficulty, and then rode off with his men at the top of his speed. The arrangement for the murder of Evan was as follows : — One man, called the Butcher, was to keep aloof from the rest, find then when the melee was at full his instructions were to go warily behind and strike down the tallest man he saw, which was Evan, who was a head and shoulders above the height of any man. " But," said Howel to the assassin, " take care, whatever you do, of Evan's foster brother, Robiu ab luko, he is a little fellow, but he is always on the watch, and taketh care of Evan from behind." 30 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. ' " ' Now, then, pushing on with all speed, Howel and his gang soon came up with Evan, and though the latter was much overmatched as regards men, yet he awaited the meeting with calmness. From strong words the whole party- soon came to blows, and the combat raged for a long time, Howel discreetly keeping out of the way of his brother-in-law's strong arm.. In the very heat of the strife the Butcher stole behind Evan, and was just on the point of giving him a fatal blow, when little Robin, ever watchful, ran him through and slew him on the spot. This did not suit Howel's plans, so, calling to his men, he made off with the same speed at which he came, crying out, " I had given charge that Robin ab Inko should have been better looked into." Howel's wife seems to have been of the same villain stamp as her husband. She heard that Evan had put out a child to foster with the plain, homely parson of Llanvrothen, whose character, is excellently summed up in one sentence, " He used not to deny any." Filled with wrath against the parson, Howel's wife sent a woman to his house to crave shelter for the night, and in the dead of the night she made such a violent outcry that the good old man, " waking up in his sleep," made for the direction of the outcry with all his household at his heels, when she accused him with great vehemence " that he sought to take undue freedom with her, and so got out of doors," and informed her three brothers, men fit for any deed of villainy, and these watching their opportunity, pounced upon the parson, and murdered him as he was looking after his cattle. The three men then fled for shelter to a neighbouring county, being then termed Llawrudd, or red hand ; but the custom was, that only the man who gave the fiital blow was in peril, all who assisted not being looked after. Why, then, the three men should have fled seems at first a mystery ; but it was a wholesome fear of Evan which prompted the step, and the issue showed that they reasoned aright There was another custom also observant ; two clans or fixmilies indifferent parts would make compact with one another, so that any murderers whom one family employed would fly and receive protection from the other family, and, vice versa. The three men escaped for the time, and obtained protection from a friend of Howel's ; but Evan had also his friend in the same locality, and from him obtained information, which satisfied him that they were in hiding, so, accom- paiiicd by only six men, he made all speed to the spot and, after watching patiently for several nights, caught two of his men. It appears that the fellows, also according to custom, slept in the friend's house during the day, and went out to wine-houses at night, and duiiug one of their drinking bouts fell into the trap. The question now with Evan was how to get them into his own district. The family who had secreted them, the Trevors, were a powerful clan, and would waylay them at some naiTow point or other, and destroy them. Then, if he put them into the hands of the law, thtit would bo only another mode TALES AND SKKTCHES OP WALES. 31 of liberating them ; foi.' what would be the course ? He would have to take them to the castle gate, where the lord of the manor lived, and as it was a case of murder, and not treason, which latter was amongst the unpardonable offences, it was only necessary for the friends of the offenders to bring a fino of £5 for each criminal to get them acquitted. This law remained in force until done away in the twenty-seventh year of the reign of Henry VIII. Evan reviewed mentally for a few minutes the dithculties before him, and then, coming to a sudden resolution, said to one of his men, " Strike of their heads !" His man attempted to do this, but so clumsily that one of the fellows, though wounded, said with a jeer, " If I had your head under my sword I'd make it take better edge," which so incensed our excitable Evan that he drew his own blade, and with two strokes only sent both heads rolling to the groimd. But where was the third murderer 1 This was a question which puzzled Evan, and he rode home anything but satisfied that even one should escape. The answer came before he reached his raajision. Very quietly were the party riding along a densely wooded hill side, the famed Gallt y Morva Hir, each face and the equipments visible a long way off, so clear was the moonlight, when suddenly the ping of an arrow was heard, and with great force it darted right into the midst of them. " Oh, oh," shouted Evan, " the enemy is upon us," and instinctively all turned and bent their bows in the direction whence the arrow came, and though no person was visible, yet out of the seven arrows one pierced the body of the third miu-derer who was then in hiding. One is tempted to think that there was not much difference in the morals of Howel and Evan, for the " veracious storie " to which we are indebted for particulars goes on to state that there was at the time in hiding at Evan's own house certain murderers who had been sent to him by friends and relatives in Cardiganshire in order to be '' safely hid." Howel was informed of this, and, watching his opportunity, selected a day for his plot when Evan had gone to Carnarvon assizes. Next he obtained the assistance of a noted outlaw, David ab Jenkin, who had a retreat in the rocks of Carreg-y-Walch, with his band of men, and, aided by these, the house of Evan was assailed by force. Evan was absent, but his good wife Catherine, being in charge, had taken all precautions, and stationed a man on the Carreg to give her notice, so that from the first appearance of the enemy there was a little time left to receive them in form. Ou that eventful morn- ing, being a woman of rare energy and " activitie," she was engaged in brewing mead, and quite a little army of maids was there with great vats and steaming cauldrons. As soon as the signal was given from the Carreg, Catherine aroused all the men in the house, though they were but few, most of the retainers having gone with her husband. Arming them with all available weapons and securing the doors, one man was told off to keep the alarm bell ringing at full force, and then Cathei'ine awaited the attack. It soon came : gates were quickly levelled, even to the outer doors broken down, and a crowd of men dashed in even to the inner door before they saw anyone. But no sooner 32 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. was the inner door down than the cnrious spectacle was presented of a bevy of maid-servants each with a ladle beside a vessel of scalding mead. Scarcely had the foe seen this, when, obeying the instructions of her mistress, each servant dashed a quantity of mead full in their faces, and down, rank after rank, they dropped in horror, screaming out in the intensity of their agony. As the girls were kept well served with fresh mead, the attack in this direction was speedily given up, and efforts directed at other parts ; but here the men had been posted at the command of the redoubtable Robin ab Inko, and though the fight continued all day and night, the house was so strong, and the besieged so vigilant, that the enemy were completely foiled, and drew off to hold a parley. Robin then saw his opportunity, and calling to them, advised a speedy retreat. " As soon," said he, " as the tide goes, Evan Krach, my master's kinsman, will be here with his Ardydwy n.en, and then you shall be all slain." The fame of Evan Krach was sufficient, and, smarting with scalds and wounds, the foe made a rapid and ignominious retreat. "When Evan retiu-ned to find the outworks of his house a wreck, his wrath must have been intense, but no record remains of any vengeance inflicted upon his brother-in-law. Strong of arm, indomitable in resolution as he was, Evan fell a victim to an enemy more insidious and powerful than the most daring of Howel's. In his thirty-first year the plague swept him away with a great number of others, and the record of a valiant man came to a close. Under the head of plagues, Wales was ravaged several times, but the pestilence was in all probability of home growth, and not imported from east or west. Little was known then ol Nature's laws, sanitary measures were never resorted to beyond those of the simplest character, and up to the verge even of the present generation, the mysterious epidemics which periodically occured, were ascribed to the action of an offended Deity, and not due to neglect or wilful disobedience of His laws. HOW A SCOTCHMAN BECAME PRINCE OF WALES. IT is a matter for philosophic conjecture why Scotchmen should have n ij sucli a wandering propensity. My own impression is that it is inborn, IJI and in' strict harmony with the condition of things. There, in the hxnd of the mountain and the flood, are reared men of vigour and of enterprise, but so sterile and rugged is the country tiiat a& soon as the native comes to years of maturity he has a natural desire, which is soon gratified, to wander away from his hard cradle to more congenial soils. Hence it is that in every part of the world they are to be found, the substratum in every colony, the practical element in every society. And the wandering tendency is by no means modern. It has existed from remote times, a'nd would almost seem as if it bore, a relationship to the magnetic current, so marked and certain is' its charactei'. In the year 985 Meredith ap Owen came upoii the scene of Welsh history, and while his father Owen contrived, and only by very great care, to keep possession of his own principality, this uncommonly turbulent young man set himself to win a district, or even a principality, for himself. Very soon a most favourable opportunity presented itself, and he may be regarded as serving the hand of Providenee in punishing a murderer. At tliat time North Wales was ruled by Cadwallon, who adopted a very favourite mode. amongst ruling powers by getting rid of cousins or brothers who stood in the way. In this particular case the stumbling-blocks were Edward and. lonaval, the sons of his uncle Meyric. lonaval, the eldest, was soon, slain privately, but Edward escaped. Meredith heard of these things, and, raising an army, marched into the country, and after a series of battles conquered Cadwallon and slew him, and reigned in his stead. Unfortunately for Meredith, that stalwart race who have left their descen- dants in the form of strongly-built, gaunt men, with red hair and prominent noses, amongst us to this day, the Danes, were at this period seeking for spoil and abiding places for themselves, and they made it so warm for Meredith that he hurried away from his new kingdom, leaving the JSorth Walians to make the best terms they could with the invaders. The Danes, failing to get hold of Meredith, did the next best thing they could, and seized his brother, 34 • TALES AND SKETCHES ' OF WALES. and, as usual, put out his eyes^ and then pillaged and murdered until a murrain or plagxie broke out, when they decamped. Meredith had one son, and it is about this son that considerable interest was aroused. "What he was like the early chroniclers fail to tell us ; but in relation to Welsh history he figures the same as Harold did in connection with our Saxon history, and the sou of Louis the Sixteenth in connection with France and the Revolution. To this day, partially fanned by novelists, it is believed that Hai'old never died at Hastings ; and as regards France, there is more than a suspicion that Simon the Cobbler was privy to a plot which substituted a deaf and dumb boy for the young prince, who afterwards figured in some of the stirring scenes of Napoleon's career. I might notice a host of historical parallels — Perkin Warbeck, the Stuarts, &c. — but must hasten to our Scotch- man. The chroniclers state that Meredith was so assailed by the Danes that he consented to give a penny to them for every person in South Wales, and paid it, which to the Danes was more to the purpose. But even this did not secure peace. Claimants arose then, as they do now ; the Saxons and Danes, whose swords and pikes were as purchaseable as legal aid now is^ were only too.ready to be at the beck and call of a Welsh prince, and, after pocketing the penny for a time, they came into South Wales with their leader Edwyn, a nephew of Meredith, and a temble scene of slaughter took place. Such a factious spirit was roused by this that a civil war broke out, and what with that and the Saxons and Danes, the doom of South Wales seemed knelled. In that wild stormy night of Welsh history the son — and he was the only son of Meredith — was slain. Poor Rhun, noted for his prowess and admired for his promise, was no more. His fate, just in the dawn of young manhood, was inexpressibly sad. The chieftains were overwhelmed with sorrow, and as for Meredith, it so affected him that he seemed to care little what became of his kingdom. Dolorous sat the harper in the hall, and wailed forth the lament of departed greatness : — I looked forth in the morning And my son was here. Kei;n Of eye even as the hawk, and Strong and invincible. Nigiit came and he was no more. , Gone is the grandeur of the king's house, , Faded his greainess. Desolation sitteth by the liearthstone, And mourning is all over the land. Tliis blow was not the only one that poor Meredith had to endure. Disdaining the penny tribute, and hoping to get still more spoil than from any such Hmall subsci-iptious, the Danes again laid the territory waste even up to. the gates of the City of St. David, and as a finishing stroke to their pagan deeds they wound up their foray by killing the bishop. The death of his son, and this last raid, proved too much for i\lcredith, and according to the chronicles he sank under his calamities, and died of grief. Llewelyn up Sciayllt, by right of his wife succeeded -to the Principality of South TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 35 Wales, and in the faction fights that ensued our Scotchman, for the first time, ccraes to view. His name is unknown, his clanship the same. How he came to Wales is not stated, nor the why thereof. The only thing that can be gleaned is that he bore a most marvellous resemblance to the lamented Prince Rhun. And when Mac (somebody) was clad in the Welsh garb, with a tufted plume, the likeness was perfect. " It's his very self," the chieftains cried, and one is led by sul)sequent events to assume that thejt almost believed it them- selves, for they fought so hard in his defence. The old chronicles are so filmy, and confine themselves so much to striking •events, leaving minor but interest- ing matters to the irhagination, that oi;c is tempted to fill in the blanks, and picture, for instance, the aged harper moving his fingers more rapidly, and chanting another strain : — Wonderful is the fortune of this house — Lo ! Rhuu is alive again ! He wlio was laid 'neath the tall stoiles, And over whom oak was burnt to ashes, Is again with us. His sword is sharp. Meredith descended into the grave Full of years. He sendeth back Rhun to defend his country. The strangenesss of the context must be an excuse for the fiction. Imagine tho grave and grim Meredith stalking through Hades, and directing Rhun to banish inglorious rest, and return to his duties ! This is hard to imagine, but still more difficult to imagine a Scotchman coming back, and rather unkind of the Welshmen to put a Scotchman into such a representative position. One way way or another — how is not stated — the rebellious chieftains were so successful in palming off the Scotchman that the greatest enthusiasm was aroused throughout South -Wales, and from one end to the other the news spread, "Rhun, the son of our king, was not dead; he is here to defend us." Then men began to arm in real. earnest, and the time selected was a favoiu'able one, for Llewelyn had taken up his residence in North Wales, and news travelled slowly. When he did hear that his rule in South Wales was threate.neil, he'collected a large force, and marched by i"apid stages until he reached the confines of the South. It would appear that the South Walians were equally energetic, for they too had gathered a large army, and instead of waiting in some mountain fastness and there meeting the enraged king, they advanced to Abergwili, and, taking up a formidable position, prepared to give battle. At their head was the redoubtable Scotchman ; but I regret to add that he was more .cunning than valorous, for instead of giving an illustra- tion which might have been adduced by subsequent historians as an example imitated by Richard on the field of Bosworth, he simply showed himself to the South Walians, as much as to say, " Here I am, Rhun, the identical Simon Pure, the real, not the counterfeit," and then he privately retired out of the battle ! Llewelyn, made of manlier stuff', placed himself at the head of his men, and, shouting loudly for the impostor to come forward, dashed into the fray. It was no despicable fight. Greek met Greek that day. The rebels, as the 36 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. men of the South were called, fought with the greatest bravery, and for a. long time neither party showed signs of giving way. The chieftains who led the rebels knew that they. fought for their lives. To them it was death or glory, and under this impulse they animated their men to deeds of utmost daring. No canister shot, no grape, no mitrailleuse, but strong arm against strong arm, pike and sword against sword and pike^what a hideous roar was there of strange barbaric war-cries, a faint refrain of which we get now in rural fights, when " Cymro gwillt ega, Shon Betsy Shon ega " bounded into the melee. No one cried for quarter ;• the whirl of the sword, the hard thud, the half sob, half scream, as the life was hurled through the horrid gash ; the mad shouts as a little group gave away, and were wildly chased until again reinforced, and pursued became pursuers, gave a' scene of vigorous individual effort and realism to which the mai'ch and attack of infantry in square of our day seems mechanical in comparison. , " Where is the impostor 1 " still shouted Llewelyn, who, an army in himself, a very Richard, hewed down in his progress, and showed himself such invincible valour, that at length the spirit seemed to fly to and rouse bis whole army, until, like a whirlwind^ they overwhelmed and sent the South Walians fleeing from the field. Not even at the last did the Scotchman come forth from his retreat. One would have imagined that, sprung from so warlike a race, the " Die nevers" of all om' battle fields, he would in the sequel have sprung amon'gst the foe and died, at all events sword in hand. But, alas ! that it should have to be recorded, the counterfeit Rhun emulated the dead prince, only in name, and running away and displaying the greatest possible agility in so doing, was overtaken and ingloriously slain. Successful rebellion is glorified, while the answerable actors in a failure only get from the hand of the historian contumely and neglect. Had our Scotch- man succeeded in his effort, had he shown individual heroism, and worn the crown he contended for, how very difterent would have been the treat- ment of the Welsh chroniclers. Then we should have known his name and- ancestry, and the chances are that a claim would have been set up in his behalf, for a descetit at some remote period from Welsh forefathers. THE BEAUTIFUL FLUUR AND MURCIIAN THE THIEF. IIKRE is a belief entertained in most countries, and found particularly strong in the east, that it is to women we are indebted for all the mishaps, misfortunes, and accidents of life. As the opinion is so current in the eastern world it is but logical deduction to assume that the tradition has floated down, a relic on the sea of time, from the earliest ages, when men and women talked together of a grand inheritance lost in Eden just as the greybeard and the dame review some pleasant dream of their youth. One of the most memorable instances on record lurks under the traditions of an early history. It is . so vague and misty that none of the standard historians appear to have noticed if, or if they did they must have designedly passed it by as mythical. But, in sifting the mythical from the true, the natural and prosaic narrative, which has neither superhuman feats nor extraordinary occurrences, impresses one with belief in its truth. It is when venerable " young " women, in the guise of saints, make wells spring from impossible places; grain to ripen- prematurely, and ai'e thus enabled to feed a distressed multitude when suffer- ing from hunger, that doubts are generated, and if any gleam of Arthur and the Knights of the Hound Table blend in with a narrative, one may safely put it down as a " boy's tale," in which a modicum of historic fact is wrapped up in a good covering of fiction. . So far as it concerns secular history, the men and women of the past have been the same as the men and women of the present, and effect has followed cause in the same prosy way as it does now. Anything to the contrary may be set down as legendary, the .invention of an imaginative brain told to amuse, even as the wandering troubadours, journeying back from the sacred city, scattered broadcast" their quaint lyric poems, or fancifully embellished tales, which kept the ancient Welshman in gratified dread, and filled the harper's stomach and his purse. Now, as I have promised, this tale is very striking, and yet matter of fact. Assisted by Owen Pugh and M. Prichard, I draw the curtain. Old Mygnach Cor was a powerful chieftain who fl"ourished in that early "period of our history which has left few solid records behind. AH that one can gleam 38 TALES AVD SKETCHES OP WALES. of him is that he was so insignificant in size that he was popularly known as the Dwarf. Nature, regi-etting such a Conception asMygnach, and wishing to atone, as she often does, and that too in a variety of ways less common than' placing the antidote by the bane, gave him a daughter, so surpassingly fair that her beauty and her goodness were the theme of every minstrel who visited her father's court. Fair as she was, the minstrel still more exaggerated her beauty, so that those who heard of her in other districts imagined that the world had never seen one so lovely and lovable as" the beautiful Fluiir, the betrothed of Caswallawn. If such a view was held- by the honest Britons, what must have been the impression conveyed to the lively, e-xcitable, and most impulsive people on the other side of the channel ! . We are told that in Gascony iier fart^e was incredibly great, and one, at least, named Murchan was almost at his wits end, in thinking how he could contrive to gain the wondrous prize. After much deliberation he disguised himself, probably as a minstrel, and journeyed alone towards Britain. It was a striking picture when he put aside his decorations, and resigned his' state, for he was a king, and prepared for his journey, its hazards, and its allure- ments. We are left to picture him, bidding his friends adieu, after looking to the proper charge of his kingdom ; to view him in his cockle-shell boat as he crossed the channel ; and then, the minstrel's profession' being regarded as almost sacred, to see him wending his way, steadily but slowly, towards the home of the beautiful Fluiir. He did gain 'it, at length, after a weary tramp. 0, unborn age of first-class railway tickets, special trains, and loconiotive superintendents driving royal trains ! There was he, a king, footsore and thinking himself a big fool, for he was getting on in years, was Murchan, standing in a beggar, garb, by the door of beauty, and also of the Dwarf ! . He soon gained adpiittance, and soon revelled in' the glory of her attrac- tions. Fame had not magnified her charms, and even as he gazed and felt how difficult it would be for him to win such a peerless damsel, for was he not getting grisly and rat like, a great idea possessed his mind, and as soon as he could tear himself away he did so aud hastened back to his own countiy. There he speedily collected a lot of hardy fellows who would do anything he wanted, either by boldly attacking a company or putting a few to death secretly, and getting into his galley, he made for the British coast and reached there at the dead of night. Myguach the Dwarf docs not appear to have lived in a fortress, for without much trouble Murchan disarmed the guards, possibly by using keys against which human force is weak, and seizing the maiden, dcsj)ite all resistance, bore her oflf to the sea shore and succeeded in reaching liis kingdom in safety. But he little knew the storm he had roused, for while the thief was gloating over the prize, and debating with himself about his pet idea of disposing of her to advantage, the lover, furious as the eagle robbed of its mate, flow here and there rousing the country to join him in regaining his bride. Soon he had a TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. 30 large array af his command, and, having ascertained whither Fhiiir had lieen taken, he crossed the seas "ivith' his troops and attacking Murchan not only routed him ignominously but slew six thousand of his men. In this f-reat victory he was aided, according to Owen Pugh, by his nephews Gwenwynwyn and Gwenar, and by people of the Netherlands and some from the neighbour- hood of Boulogne, who acted as auxiliaries when occasion required. The victory was complete, for Caswallawn recovered liis beloved and returned in triumph. Now comes the moral, Murchan, who ' ever afterwards was known as the Lleider, or Thief^ had intended presenting Fluiir to Julius Crcsar, and it is shrewdly suspected that this assault on Gaul by Caswallawn, and probably the exaggerated reports sent about the circumstances and its cause to Home, led to the invasion of Britain by the Romans ! THE WELSH SMUGGLER. HE Welsh coast used to be a favourite resort for smugglers, and I am very much afraid that the extreme shrewedness which characterises . some of the coast dwellers, take for example Cardiganshire, is a relic of • the wariness, the expertness, and the craft exercised to the full, either in " dodging " the king's cruisers, evading the excisemen or coastguard, or finding a way to dispose of the smuggled goods at the best possible price. The coast-dweller, as a rule, is a man who knows the value of a penny, and how many beans make five. If he sells, the highest prices are named. If he buys, he haggles, and when the bargain is concluded, puts down one shilling after another, as if they were drops of blood. There was an excursion once from a large district on the Welsh coast, and I exclaimed to a publican in the town to which the excursion was coming, "You'll do well to-morrow." " Why sol" he asked. " A large excursion is coming in I hear." " Oh ! oh ! " and he laughed heartily. • " Why, do you know how those people do 1" I confessed I did not. " Well," he added, " the usual course is for three, say, to come in, bringing in their own bread and cheese with them, and they'll either have a bottle of pop, or, at the most, a pint between them ! " ' ■ To the publican's mind, the contrast was great between this niggardliness and the habits of colliers and puddlcrs, who once upon a time would scatter a week's earniiigs in a few hours. 40 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. One of the easy ways of getting rid of the " run " of a vessel, the choice brandy brought over from France, was by means o# butter carriers, and for a lono' time honest Thomas Williams the butter dealer was allowed to trudge by the side of his primitive cart with a good stock of kegs under his butter tubs, until the device was fouud out, and other methods had to be adopted. Until the discovery, traders holding respectable positions in the inland towns . were ready enough to take a keg or two, some for themselves and the rest for sale. One came to my own knowledge of a grocer in a large way of business, who had a hogshead which did double duty. One half was filled with sugar, and the lower' part was a store for a brandy. One day the excise officers nearly caught him. He had emptied several kegs of brandy "into the lower part, put down the division and was filling in the sugar when the officer came down and looked on. The grocer was a man of contrivance, and as he talked he worked, and having completed the filling, they both discussed some choice brandy up stairs. Ten minutes earlier on the part of the officer would have been fatal. As it was, the grocer died a rich man, unsuspected, and the local, papers descanted upon his virtues and his labours. One of the ablest runners of smuggled cargoes on the Pembrokeshire coast was Captain Jack, or, as he was more politely called. Captain Furze. "About 1800, the dwellers in the neighbourhood of Manorbear .Castle, noticed a jolly-looking seaman patrolling in the grounds of the castle, and taking stock as they called it, of the neighbourhood, and he was such a pleasant, free-hearted rover, that those who were favoured with his calls of an evening, liked his society immensely. He told them that " he had saved a few pounds, and thought of taking the farm that was to be let in connection with the old castle." He had an impression too " that there was coal in the vicinity, and while some of his people should look after the cows, and work the land, others would sink trial pits." As for himself, "he had a small brig that he should keep running between the Welsh coast and Tenby, and he might be able to .do a little trading as well as give occasional inspections to his miners and his labourers." The honest people thought that the good times were come at last. Who knows that if the worthy seaman was successful he might rebuild the castle, and become the squire, and thus bring prosperity and happiness into the district ? So they chatted. In due time a number of stout Cornishmen came over in the brig, and busy cnougli they were in and about the castle, and on the farm, but there was a gpod deal more drinking going on, gossips thought, than the owner of the vessel liked, and some stormy scenes occasionally were overheard, which begat suspicion that all was not right. Little by little it oozed out that the jolly sea- man was Captain Furze, or Captain Jack as his men called him, and the knowing ones discovered that it was not mining or tilling land that was the object of settlement on the coast, but smuggling. For ft time the captain ])\irHucd his smuggling course undetected by the authoriticH ; the vaults underneath the castle cellar, on the clifls, and, so tradition bays, oven under the parsonage walls, afforded ample place for con- TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 41 cealment, and it was more than hinted that sedate persons would wink at the matter, and squires voted -Captain Jack a very worthy man, so long as they had kegs oC brandy in their own collars, and their wives and daughters wore laces, which were- bought for a song. But after a lengthy tenure of success, the captain found it getting, as lie phrased it, " too hot." One day he was nearing the coast with his vessel well. laden, when the watch descried a sti-ange vessel upon his lee. " Can't make her out, sir ! " he said to the captain, handing him the glass. The captain took a long look, and with an expression which would take a quantity of salt water to make present- able, shouted out, " tack away, give the Jane the wind " — this was the name of his craft — " by all that's living, 'tis a king's ship and she's now showing her buntiug." As he spoke a flag went up, and a puff of smoke came from the side of the stranger, as the gun was fired as the signal to " heave to." But Jack, by no means disconcerted, clapped on all sail, and his craft,' being a thorough clipper, made a good run oft" the coast, and getting the wind while the king's ship lay almost becalmed, increased his position to a respectable distance from his foe. For -a short time the smuggler's craft succeeded in its tacking manoeuvres, and there seemed a likelihood of its escaping altogether ; but, at a critical moment the king's ship caught the wind and came onwards so fast and so ably worked that the Saucy Jane was brought within range of her stern chasers. Then a storm of shots flew into the Jane and about the deck, making the little craft reel again, and the crew to look despondingly at the captain. Some even implored him to yield, but the jolly smuggler had.no such word in his voca- bulary, and taking the helm watched his opportunity, and directly the smoke belched forth from his antagonist, tacked and escaped the storm. Again and again the king's sliip poured forth a volume, but with the dexterity of a hare the Jane doubled, and then shot on its way. For an hour the unequal contest continued. The dusk was ndw creeping steadily on, necessitating to the cruiser a determined eff'ort, or, in the darkness, their prey would escape. So putting on all sail the pursuer dashed onwards, and then pausing, raked her fore and aft ; but still Captain Jack was inexorable. "Run below, you lub bers!". he said to his men, "or lie down on deck, I'll manage the bi-ig myself," and alone at the helm, seeming to have a charmed life, unhurt, while the iron hail cut up his rigging, or made match-wood of his deck, he continued to double and tack until the welcome darkness settled down,- and the cruisQr, fearful of the coast, drew off" from the pursuit. " . Tradition says that Captain Jack shouted with ecstasy at his good luck, and exclaimed, " I told you so, you beggars, the timber is not spliced that'll run down Jack Furze ! " But though he succeeded with his run the- escape was too narrow a one to be attempted again, and Manorbear Vaults were cleared out, and the brig was seen'uo more at Tenby. Yet, for many years after, in a sunny spot, on the' Pembrokeshire coast, there lived one of the jolliest of retired seamen. He had his ti-im villa and 42 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. ueat little garden, and in the front a cosy seat, where the old man. with a chosen (^roup would sit in the evening time and smoke his pipe, and talk about the sea which, ever restless, foamed at his feet, now spreading out its emerald expanse, and then rearing up as if gambolling and wantoning in the. sio-ht of one it loved. And gossips Say that the jolly seaman could tell strange tales, eventful incidents, and narrow escapes, and knew all about the key- stoned vaults of ]\Ianorbear, and the fight of the Saucy Jane with the cruiser of the king. THE OLD HOUSE IN THE RHONDDA. /OykHE traveller up the Rhondda will notice a grey old house standing on l^^ the left hand of the valley, and near the Havod. Though in the last stage of decay, there are indications abput it of better days. One is as stnxck by it as when meeting an . erect, dignified man, in seedy coat and greasy hat. It has all the appearance of old comfort and dignity, and if the patched linen of a collier does. flutter on the hedge, and. a slattern figure or two appear at the back, it doesn't detract from the old house, which seems con- stantly to re-assert its dignity, and to say, " I have nothing to do with colliers. I belong to the past, and in my old age and decay am only pondering over. all that I have. been." What was the old house, who the owner? The house was the Hall, the most important mansion in the whole of the Rhondda. The squire resident there was Homfray, who, in his capacity as ironmaster of Penydarran, paid the Dowlais Company a rental of fifty thousand pounds a' year, and who held greater' state in his mansion at Penydarran than even the Guests and Crawshays. Briefly let mc tell the talo of Penydarran ; it has more lustre about it than romance, and with its history is wrapped up that of the Havod. Years hence, when the present generation shall have passed away, only misty traditions will remain of the early colonisation of the iron and mini^ig districts, unless, from tlio old inhabitants some trustworthy information is gained and handed down. The subject is not a dull one ; on the contrary, it is full of interest and with regard to one district iu particular it is exceedingly so. Let the reader accompany mc mentally to a place midway between Mcrthyr TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 13 and Dowlais. Tt is known as Penydarran, in tho vernacular, as " head of the rock." Ouco there were flourishing ironworks and compact colUeries there. Now tlie place is left to decay. From the furnaces, even as out of old castellated buildings, trees are growing, and tlie rooks build in the very mouth, and in all corners and crevices birds make their nests. Carry back the mind -seventy or eighty years, and there is nothing there only a ftvrmhouse perched on the rock ; and the brook running down is sylvan, and meadows and hedgerows arc where mills and traniways were placed in after days. The transformation from such a state was not done by the rubbing of a lamp, as in tho " Arabian Nights." It was accomplished by hai'dy, energetic inen, in a long course of time — by men who regarded obstacles and difliculties as natural, and who sat down to their task as veterans do to a siege, determined to succeed. In a place that was purely agricultural before the iron trade began, one gi*eat necessity, after the discovery of iron in the neighbourhood, was the getting of men to turn the discovery to account. The aborigines of the district were not an energetic class of men. They had no gift in the way of discovery, and no talent in the form of ijivention. They were the relics or descendants of the old retainers who had fought under Ifor Bach and other chieftains, and who, ■ when the fighting days had passed away, tilled little plots of land, grew oats, reared sheep, and all the fighting characteristics of their nature were exercised in noisy scenes, at Fair-y-Waun or at the Star, and in later days still in " ddadls," or equally noisy controversies. It was a heterogeneous collection, fond of alehouses ; and as late as the seventeenth century the diligent student of history and of physiognomy might easily have found descendants of Ifor's men farming land, Normans and Flemings following the pursuit of artisans, grandsons of Cromwell's troopers cutting headstones for the departed villagers, and' genuine Jacobites farming snug little farms on the hills. With the discovery of iron came a great influx of men from all parts of the . country. From east, west, north, and south th"ey came, and records are extant showing the primitive mode of journeying; the home-made waggon used, piled up as high as possible with household goods, and accompanied by sturdy men, not armed, as in prairie life, for the times were peaceful, but carrying either a favourite child or a dog. When Homfray began his career at Penydarran he imported ironworkers from Broseley, and they canie in this manner. Wales was the far off and unknown land, its people strange and theii* dialect uncouth, so the bravo and adventurous Broseleyans journeyed to Penydarran just as they would have journeyed to a distant part of the world. They brought with them the whole of their possessions, wives and children accom- panied them; one had his favourite blackl)ird, another his equally favourite cat. Old roots and fruit trees, and old fashioned and fragrant flowers taken up from the little garden plots of home, were safely stowed away in secure corners of the waggons, and strange utensils and furniture, such as the villagers 44 ' TALES AXD SKETCHES OP WALES. had never seen before, figured on the top. Part of the way they came by water, and the hardships and bufFetings of the voyage were great. Long, too, was the travel on land, and when the haven was reached, there was much praying and praising (for the colonists were a religious people), for the preser- vation they had been favoured with. Settled down at last in rows of cottages", they planted their fruit-trees and their flowers in their leisure hours, and laboured hard in the construction of iron works' and then the making of iron. For a period of fifty ytars, increasing aijd multiplying, producing- iron of excellent cha«-actei-, making fortunes for their employers, and in many instances competencies for themselves, building chapels, taking a part in. local politics, and imparting a solidity to social life ; and then the great glare of Penydarran fires began to smoulder, and with the exit of the Homfrays, and the Thompsons, and Formans it died out, and, save in a solitary and eccentric instance, was never revived. The Homfrays are still rej)resented in Monmouthshire, thd Browns have held high position in the same county ; but as regards Penydarran, the whole of the early colonists and their descendants have been swept away. You may. find in the town of Merthyr, and in neighbouring valleys, men who claim descent from these early settlers, and wherever found, whether man or woman, the descendant is one who holds a position of respect, if not affluence ; but as far as Penydarran is concerned, the old settlers are gone. Turn your steps, reader, to the scene not only of riiin but of decay, and recall the past. Visit the row of cottages and revive in memory's ear the strange tongue of men, women, and children ; glance at the old garden plots wherein for the first time lavender, and heart's-ease, and mint, and thyme flourished, and then look at the grassy tramways, and the tree-decked furnaces, once the scene of prosperous life, now as hopelessly decayed as Pompeii. Like a venerable'couple who have faded side by side, so the old house and Penydarran decayed quietly at the same time ; when Penydarran was in its glory so too was the old ho'isn j when Penydarran was becoming mean and its prosperity fluctuating so did the old house degenerate ; and. very near about the same period as the works fell into disuse the old dwelling began to exhibit the picture of desolation it now presents. By the side of the wonderful branch of the Taff" Vale, that is incessantly carrying down its long trains of coal, which neither by night nor by day is relieved of.tlie rapid roll and the shrill scream of locomotive, stands the old house, old times fading away by the side of new, decay quietly sinking in the view of new and vigorous life. Wliy wonder that in the narrative of such a hi.story the mournful solemnity iuiparts its character to the story 1 For are wo not ill (he " corridors of time," and the autumnal wind roves through deserted Imlls telling of the past. A ]K)RDER FIGHT. . f NE of the most gallant combats recorded in Welshhistory occurred '^Ps'^ in the neighbourhood of Monmouth in 1231, when the occasional outbreaks of Llewelyn, and the constant disagreements between King Henry and his nobles made the' border land and the interior of Wales the scene of incessant warfare. Baldwin de Guisnes, with a large troop of foreign mercenaries, was in com- mand of the castle of Monmouth, and anxious was the time and sharp the look-out kept, as Earl Richard was known to be in the vicinity with a large army. . True enough, upon a certain day the earl with his army came up, and, as Monmouth town offered a tempting prize, he ordered his men to march on- wards a considerable distance, evidently to make a detour of the place and find out its weakest point. When they had gone the carl, who was left with only a hundred of his knights, rode up to the castle, and very coolly and quite at his ease examined the fortifications, taking care only to keep out of the way of the arrows. One can imagine the ire of Baldwin, himself a stout and bold soldier, at this freedom. He was not to be brooked ; so, hastily gathei-ing a strong force of not less than a thousand well-trained men, he had the portcullis drawn up and at once swooped down iipon the foe. Their intention was to capture the earl and take him prisoner to the king, and had the earl been an ordinary warrior they would have succeeded at once, so great were the odds in favour of the Monmouth braves. . Even the followers of the earl saw the power of the steel avalanche that was upon them, and begged him to fly. " I," said Richard, " I never yet did turn my back upon the enemy, and I won't do it now !" • . So, making the best of a bad case, the knights closed around their chief, and the battle began. It was a battle royaL While the mass of the mer- cenaries pounded away at the knights, Baldwin, with twelve of his strongest and best-armed men, made . straight for the earl, who received them with particular coolness and address. ■ • ' Strong were the biceps of Richard, long and keen his sword ; no .man ventm-ed within reach but was cut down, and one after the other they fell, 46 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. unable even to reach him. Despairing of success, one of the bravest attacked the earl's horse with his lance, and managed to kill. it. No sooner however, was the earl dismounted than he caught one of the enemy by the legs, upset him, mounted- the animal, and began the fight again. Maddened at this, Baldwin contrived to throw himself upon the earl and to tear his helmet from his face ; then, seizing the horse _ by the middle, he began pulling his sturdy adversai-y towards the castle. They had him at last. What would not the king say to such a prize 1 Alas for their momentary victory ! One of the* earl's "bowmen, seeing his master's danger, aimed his arrow so well as to pierce the breast of Baldwin. This created a diversion. Again the long sword came into play, and the army of the earl coming. up, the much reduced soldiers of Baldwin darted at their utmost speed into the castle again. Such was one of the many border fights of old, when individual prowess .effected so much, and the strong right arm was of greater consideration than military strategy. LLANTWIT MAJOR. A SKETCH '.OF MONASTIC DAYS. OL'RISTS amongst the hills come not imfrcquontly across some re- y ^ mains of old in the shape of a lloman road, a camp, ancient burial 2''' marks, or a record in the form of an old legend, or even name, eii.slu-ining a record of the past. Quaint looking farms will be found to have a remnant of antiquity built \\\) in some part of the building, and the name " iMyiiach," " Monach," or " Monachy," or some garbled form of the same carries back the mind to monkish days, even before Julius Ctcsur lauded, or Stoue- licngc had become the great temple of the West. I'erhaps few places excel Llantwit-Major for its associations with the past, thougli anyone! unacquainted with the fact might walk through the village, as ho would any ordinary coast village of Wales, and fail to discern either beauty or attraction. The stranger might find in hot summer days tliat uttentiun to sewerage was not so pruniinent a feature of village life as it is of town life, and if ho became a resident for a short time he might regret that railways were not as oonniinu as highways, and that places like Llantwit wore TALKS AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 4:7 not tacked on to one of the Great Western lines. Queer, old-fashioned place as it is, with its pleasant walks through the. fields to the sea, its cosy farms^ iti^ antique cottages, its here and there more pretentious houses, its mingling of farm and sea life, its people who arc reminiscent of ploughed fields and of the. sea, — who would think that here, in old days, one of the great monasteries was founded as a residence, and also a seminary of learning, of which Cowbridge Grammar School, with its savour of learning and antiquity, may be regarded as the descendant ? Some date the antiquity of Llantwit to the fifth century, and ascribe the origin to Iltutus ; but old Welsh MSS. state that long prior to this the second Emperor Theodoaius established an institution of learning at Caerwrgon. This hall of learning, which flourished at a time when the ordinary people affected blue paint, and lived in primitive condition, was called Bangor Tewdws, or the College 'of Theodosius, and conspicuous amongst, its early members is said to have been St. Patrick, the great apostle of Ireland, and his contrast Morgan, the heretic, as he was cynically called, but better known in history as Pelagius, a man who caused more religious discussion and rancour than Pusey or Wiseman in our day. Iltutus succeeded in the course of time to the chief position in the monastery, and hence the name Llari Illtud, now corrupted into Llantwit. He appears to have been a remarkable " all round man," and was not only famous as a classical scholar, but took an interest in farming, invented a plough, and doubtless imitated the Greeks in combining mental and physical exercise. This ensured his health and long life, and contributed to that calm, equable mind for which he was famed. Jf one were to examine the records Df colleges in Wales, by the aid of some old gossip, he would be told, " So and so, who was once scholar here, became vicar of Penhoel ; that one, rector of Cwmblaen ; another, tutor in such a nobleman's family; another, a canon of Llandaff";" and so on. But Iltutus- could boast of kings, archbishops, bishops, astronomers, and bards amongst the scholars who owned him ruler. He had no less than seven kings — doubtless of the very smallest sample of regal life, kings then being jplentiful ; and Gildas the writer, Aneurin the bard, and Taliesin, plodded there to school in their young days just as embryo clerks and undeveloped tradesmen do now. Iltutus is reported to have attained an extreme old age, and for ninety years' to have remained the head of the college ; but this statement is, like many of those made in ancient times, to be taken with due reserve, and with a good many grains of salt. .Cornewall Lewis would at once have put down the state- ment as legendary, for he held total unbelief in anyone attaining even to cue hundred years, and to be ninety years head of a college would require that Iltutus should at all events have been one hundred and twenty at the time of his death. Old stones, with half defiiced inscriptions, memorial stones, and others, are to be found in the neighbourhood ; but there has been, even in this secluded spot, a good deal of defacement of inscriptions. Cromwell's troops are generally credited with mutilating statues, cutting of their noses, burning down castles and the like ; but it is very probable that the ultra-zealots of the Ileformation 48 , TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. • . . were quite as busy with crosses and ancient stones in and around churches as ever -were the soldiers of the Protector. • ■ One stone now to be seen at the east side of the porch, inscribed to the memory of Samson, Archbishop of D61, in Bretagne, and also King Juthail, was recovered from a deep hole in the ground, wherein it had fallen by a most strange accident. Edward Williams, lolo Morganwg, tells the tale of this and other stories ; and it is as follows : — " About the year 1730 Mr. Thos. Morgan, a schoolmaster of Llantwit, found an ancient cross of the same age and style o^sculpture with that of Iltutus, in an old ruinous place, where tradition said a church formerly stood. Spots are pointed out where seven churches formerly stood, but possibly they might have been chapels of so many separate colleges, or societies of monks and students. The ancient cross just mentioned, Mr. Thomas Morgan placed on the ground before the church door, expressing a desire that he rmght be buried • under it. His wish, I am told, was complied with." . lolo further states: " In the summer of 1789 I dug out of the ground in Llantwit churchyard a large monumental- stone. It has been the shaft of a cross, and its history affords a remarkable instance of the fidelity of popular ti*adition. About fifty years ago a very old man, whose name was Richard Panter, was living at Lanmaes-juxta-Llantwit. He, though a shoemaker, was a more intelligent person than most of his class— he had read history more than many, and was something of an antiquary, and had stored his memory with a number of interesting popular traditions, I was then about twelve or fourteen years of age, and like him, fond of history, and antiquities. He one day showed me a spot on the east side of the porch of the old church at ' Llantwit where he said a large monumental stone lay buried in. the ground, with an inscription on it to the memory of two kings. The tradition of the- accident which occasioned its inhumation he gave as follows* : — " Long ago, before the memory of the oldest person that he ever knew (and he was eighty), there was a young man at Llantwit, conmionly called Will the Giant. At the age of seventeen he was seven feet seven inches high ; but, as is usually the case in premature and preternatural growth, he fell into a decline, of which at that age he died. He had expressed a wish to be buried near the monumental stone which stood by the porch, and his wishes were complied witli. The gi'ave was dug necessarily nuich larger and longer than graves usually are, so that one end of it extended to the foot of the stone that was fixed in the groiuid. Just as tlie corpse had been. laid in, the stone gave way, and fell into the grave, nearly fillijig it up. Some had a very narrow escape with their lives, but the stone being so large and difficult to remove it was left where it fell, and covered over with earth. "After I had hcnnl lliis account," continued old lolo, " I had a great desire to dig for this Htone, and many times endeavoured to engage the attention and •the assistance of several persons, but my idea was always? treated with ridicule. In the year 171)0 being at work in Llantwit Church, TALKS AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 49 and l)cing ono day unable to go on with what I had in hand for want of assistanae, for it was thon the height of the corn harvest, and not a man was to be found whoso time and hands were unoccupied, I employed a great part of one afternoon in digging in search of this stone, and having discovered it, I cleared away all the earth about it. Evening brought the farmers and their ■workmen home, and Mr. Christopher Wilkins and the late Mr. David Jones, two very respectable gentlemen . farmers, on seeing the stone, ordered their men to assist me. Wo with great difficulty got it out of the ground, and placed it where it now is. The inscription reads : — " 'In nomine Di summiincipifc crux Salvatoris qu39 preparavit Sam.sona pati pro anima sua et pro anima Juthahclo Rex et art mali tegam.' " So much for antiquity. It is only necessary to add that the greatness is gone away from the place, and the glories of the monastic college exist only as a tradition. Still they add to the interest of the visitor; and if you do meet, on entering .the half village, half broken down town, with the usual everyday life institutions of public-house, grocery, butcher's shop, and chapel, there is something about the old church and the traditions that villagers tell that will give a great amount of fascination to the spot. You will think, coming up by the mighty gap in the hill, through which once thundered the sea, that down by the ripple of the w^ave once strolled the monk of old and looked out, even as you look out upon the wide expanse of sea and sky, that bards wandered along the coast weaving their poetic fancies; and through the unfenced meadows strolled even kings ! Modern life may obtrude itself in the form of postmen, newspapers, and landladies who eye you in the street with lodging-house proclivities; but there is a savour of antiquity about old'Llantwit which will force back the mind to the past, and the absence of trains, 'buses, and cabs, favours the process. D THE POISONED ARROW. i jT is a wonder that the enthusiastic Welshmen who claim Shakespeare as one of themselves have not noted the fact- that, in addition to the general knowledge the poet had of Wales and its history, "one of the leading characters in the play of "'Othello " •bears an old Welsh name. In that period of Welsh history between the departure of the Romans and the conquest by the Saxons, a prince named lago flourished in North Wales, and as his wife's name was Helen, we may fairly assume that wherever he had his from, the wife's was due to Helen, the wife of the Emperoi" Masimus, who left her name in the nomenclature of roads, such as Sarn Helen, as well as in domestic life. lago was uncle to Howel, and, by the way, as this Howcl was notorious for his deeds of infamy, and deserved, if he did not get, the name of Howel • • • ' Drwg, it throws some light upon the reason why his later namesake was designated Howel Dda. Howel Drwg, then, was not content with slaying foes, and putting enemies into captivity, but he must needs extend the same acts to his blood relatives. "Uncle " has become, by modern usage, a term so endearing as now to stand, in trading life, for a most usqful and accommodating friend, but in the old times uncles were always regarded with mistrust ; and Shakespeare, it will be recollected, in the play of " Hamlet," gave the name to the personification of all that was low and depraved. When Howel came to years of discretion, he put lago into prison, and as he and Edward Vychan also disappeared from history, the conclusion must be that both were, after some time, cruelly murdered. But lago had a wife named Helen, and a son named Cawythu Ddu, and these, getting the aid of a large number of Danes, who were always ready to assist in local outbreaks, invaded the dominions of Howcl, aiKl ravaged Anglesey. Helen appears to have been of a somewhat different stamp to her namesake, the wife of Mcnclaus, and instead of causing war, by her beauty and intrigues, acted in the battlefield like another Amazon. Cawythu led the rear ot the ravaging army of delighted Danes and Welshmen. Everything was loot. Tlioy luul fullest license to burn, kill, and destroy, and to pillage to their heart's content. In the van marched Helen, the TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 51 Amazonian Joador, and on their way they had to pass through a narrow defile, upon which, perched like a crow upon a steeple, was the impregnable Castle of Cedwm, On the tower, safe himself from danger, was Howel, and it is creditable to him that he allowed his aunt to pass unmolested, ])ut as his cousin's troops came in sight, and he noticed the gay stripling, flushed with conquest, career- ing by, the old passions woke up, a deadly aim was taken, and Cawythu fell, pierced by an arrow. llowel noted the fall, and cried out : " Are you wounded ? " " Yes," said his cousin. " Ah, then," was the reply, " you are a dead man, for the arrow was poisoned ! " . The news was soon taken to Helen, then steadily marching on, and she exclaimed, " This is a cross hour," and to this day the place bears the name of "Cross Hour," though the legend of the sting of the poisoned arrow is probably forgotten. THE SISTER'S liEVENGE. A BRECONSHIRE TALE, ii5 ,UBLIC-HOUSES were in olden times called wine-houses, and before they were brought ixnder the rule of the law were scenes of the utmost licence. Shooting grounds were attached to many of them for archery, and therein not unfrequently many a fierce fight took place, ending in the death of one and. the mortal wounding of the other combatant. In the wine-house heavy potations brewed discord, and to go out into the enclosure and settle differences was a very common occuiTence. As the country became more ti'auquil, and law and order asserted themselves, dangerous pastimes gave way to peaceful ones; for fencing, and shooting with the bow and arrow — sometimes at one another — ball playing was sub- stituted, and other innocent games ; and if passions were aroused in the ale- house that replaced the wine-house, then nature's weapons were the only ones tolerated. In the annals of one of the Breconshire families closely connected with 52 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. Sir David Gam, there is the record of a sad tragedy. Let us lift the mould- ering tapestry in the ancient hall of in the neighbourhood of Talgarth, and, entering into the scene whence have passed away. more generations than I care to remember, call back,- in antique costume and quaint manner, the men and women of the fifteenth century, and seethe tragedy played out that once thrilled the whole country around. 'Tis evening time in autumn, and the wine-house of Llinwent is a ncisy spot. Herds are grazing in the fields , the rooks are hurrying home — other birds at rest ; nature is tranquilly settling down for its rest ; but from the roystering place not only come sounds of revelry, but of anger, and forth into the soft evening come a crowd, conspicuous ' amongst whom are two cousins — David Vaughan, of Hengest, in Herefordshire, and Shon Hir, or John the Tall, as he was called, son of Philip Vaughan, of Talgarth. Though so closely related, there was no good blood between them. From time almost immemo- rial a feud had raged between the families, each one aspiring to be thought the head of the Vaughans ; and as they were about equal in point of wealth, position, and acreage of lands, the emulation between them was all the moro bitter, as neither could justly lay claim to precedence. In the wine-house the old subject of precedence had burst forth, and after a noisy dispute forth they came, as I have stated, not to part in angei*, but to decide by the sword which of the two cousins was the better man, A ring was soon formed. There were no constables then, and the sheriff", who generally looked afcer these matters, was many a mile away, so, undis- turbed, the cousins drew their swords and vengefully rushed at one another. Both men'were strong, healthy fellows, and skilled in fence; but the combat was most unequal, for while David was slight and undersized, John, his cousin, was stout and unusually tall. This difference in height alone gave him a great advantage, and, notwitlistanding the agility of David, it was soon seen that his chance was but a slight one, and, after a brief but severe contest, he was run through the body, and killed on the spot. It was a no uncommon issue in those times. The lookers on betook them- selves to their homes, Shon Hir, by no means downcast, went to his, and the next day the body of poor David was convejed to his father's house, from which, only a day before, he had left in full possession of life, and health, and cheerfulness. Dismal was the wail that echoed through the fiunily home of Hengest. It was sad to sec the grey old father sobbing like a cliild over the body of his only boy, and calling down vengeance upon his destroyer ; but still more sad to witness the grief of Ellen. David and Ellen were the only children of Vaughan of Hengest. They had ])ccn playfellows togctlun-, had grown up side by side, and in all the little world wherein they moved, there was no better man, no truer tyi)e of the brave, loving Wtjlshman to Ellon, than her l)rotlier David. Her grief was awful in its al)sencc of anytliing like demonHtnition. She could not weep, she did not rave. With eyes fixed, and face blanched, tALES AND .SKETCHES OF ' WALES. 53 and licr liands pressed convulsively, slic gazed, hor whole soul in licr eyes upon the blood-stained face, and the rich dark locks that lay matted in sweat and gore. This was her old playmate, this her friend, her dear brother. It was a struggle with her for life. Had she been f)f weaker frame, such was the intensity of her emotion, that she must have fiillen down and died ; l)ut her strong nature triumphed, and when the tears rained down her face, she was safe, and they bore her away. When the first paroxysm had passed the full details were learnt. David's servant, wlio had been with him at the gathering, and had witnessed the whole aftray,told all, and if the old man had not been prevented, he would have saddled horse, and with his faithful men, dashed away to Talgarth, and there either fallen a victim himself, or crushed the destroyer of his son. But his age was too advanced for such a step, and so he only sat in his armchair moaning his son's name, and conjuring up the recollections of his boy from the time when he was a crowing infant, the pet and darling, until he had attained his young manhood. Ellen' said little, but every moment strengthened her motives. She had no brother to act for her, and her father was too old, but she was no weak woman, find, God helping her and giving her strength, she would avenge her brother. So ran her thoughts, and' as the days passed each day made her mind more settled, and her plan of action more clear. As soon as the body of the ill-fated youth was taken to its last home, Ellen selected from her men-ser.vants a trusted spy, and sent him to Talgarth t'o find out what was being done, and to let her know the movements of the detested cousin. It was not long befoi'c the messenger returned with the very information she wished- to get, and this was that on- a certain day Shon Hir was to attend a shooting match or an archery contest with a party of yoimg men at a place called Llandewi', in Radnor. This was the wished-for opportunity. Very carefully she selected one of poor David's bows, and an assort- ment of arrows. Next she dressed herself in male attire, studiously careful in every respect to make her disguise complete, even to the feather in the hat and sword at the side, and as Ellen secretly departed, her mission and its object, known only to her faithful tirewoman, she was, woman-like, half led to forget her grief in the honest flattery of her maid. " So handsome a gentle- man she had never seen ;"' but it was only for a moment that smile lit her face ; the next the old stern grief settled down, and, with hurried direction to make an excuse for her father, she left. On her way to Llandewi she passed the fatal spot, and if a momentary fit of a woman's weakness had stolen over her as she thought of the ti'ial before her, it was quickly brushed away. "There w'as the very ground wdiere her dear brother had met his foe, on that grassy sward his blood had flowed like water. From thence, late erect and in full vigour, he had been carried away like a felled ox ! " Again came the shadow of her grief over her, and to tighten her sword girth and pass quickly on was the course instinctively adopted. She was unattended, and, though the times were rough ones, no fear of 54 . ' TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. " " harm or mishap crossed her m'iud. 'She had a stout arm of her own, and a keen sword, and . she knew how to use them. Then, had she not David's favourite bow with which she could drive an arrow home at several hundred yards distance 1 So she brushed on, and, after a few miles walking, came within the sound of voices ringing out loudly from a dingle near the village. How pleasant the sound heard from a little distance, rising and falling as the wind listeth ! Who does not remember journeying homeward after long years of absence, and in the mellow summer evening hearing the merry shout of boys at play ? The school is closed, books forgotten, and loudly and glee- fully oome the tones of happiness. It was just such a shout that greeted Ellen, and she paused a moment to listen. But it was no boyish glee she heard. Deep-toned voices were there, and she knew at once that the contest had begun. Hui-rying to the scene she found herself in the niidst of -a busy throng, and all was excitement and anticipation. One or two matches had already been concluded, and she was pressed to say whether she would take part in the trial then coming on; but she said, assuming as gruff a voice as she could, that she would wait, so on went the contest, and every good shot was greeted with. a burst of applause. That match ended with the success of Shon Hir, who had already carried off every prize, and great was the acclamation which greeted his prowess. Ellen looked at him as the decoration was placed around his neck. He was a fine fellow, his face open and manly. There was nothing mean or treacherous in his countenance, and, but for David's memory, his was a form she might have admired as he stood in unstudied attitude, his bow poised, one foot slightly in advance, and his keen eyes flashing forth. as he took deliberate aini. Again the match was declared in favour of Shon Hir, and now only one match more was to be fought out that evening, and Ellen saw that her time was come. Hitherto -she had stood a little way out from the crowd, more as a spectator than a competitor ; now with assumed easy gait, imitating the braggart as much as possible, she entered amongst the young archers, and loudly called for the best man on the ground to compete with her. Every one looked at her in amazement, and all felt that the challenge was for Shon Hir, who was incompai-ably the best on the field that day. Shon looked at his slightly-built adversary. " Who could he be 1 There was a something fainiliar about the face. He had seen it before; but where 1 He must be mistaken. Some gallant or other from the English side, but," muttered Shon, " I'll show him the way to senU an arrow home ! " Shon immediately accepted the challenge, and as was the custom in that day, told the young stranger to shoot first, but this Ellen declined, courteously begging Shon to take first shot. Then strode forth Shon, and taking most careful aim, drew his bow, and the arrow, speeding away like a flash of lightning, quivered in the very centre of the bull's-eye ! " Ah ! ah !" roared Shon, full of excitement at his splendid hit, "l)eat that you stripling, if you can !" " I'll try 1" waH Ellen's confident answer, and. placing herself in a studied TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 65 attitiilo, and taking extreme caro to have the arrovr in the very centre of the bow, she took the string in hand, and leisurely pulled it until it grazed her car, thcq, while every eye s'canned the target, expecting to see another fine hit, she suddenly swerved, and the arrow, fleeing with a speed almost as great as that of her cousin's, pierced Shon to the heart ! That was her bull's-eye ! Such was the march she had calculated upon ! ■ And while every one ran hither and thither in extreme excitement, she made her escape, so that when the body had been taken into the wine-house, and inquiries wore made for the stranger, Ellen was gone, and the closest search proved ineffectual to find her. ' Still, once at home, she did not hesitate to proclaim aloud what she had done, and openly exulted in having avenged her brother's death. Ellen Vaughan, from that, time called Ellen Gethin, or the Terrible, was voted a heroine throughout the length and breadth of the land. No sheriff brought her to justice, and even the family of Shon Hir confined themselves to lamentations. In some years after she gave her hand to Thomas ab Rosser, son of Sir Vaughan, Knight, of Trctower, Breconshire, fathei -in-law to Sir David Gam, and for some years enjoyed a happy life. Three brave sons were hers, and a devoted husband, when the wars between the Red and White Roses aroused the land, and at the battle of Danesmore the brave Sir Thomas fell. Of his prowess and her sorrows the famous bard, Lewis Glyn Cothir, sings plaintively. And she needed consolation. Time passed, and her son Richard also died, and then Ellen fades from history, and all that is left of the bravo and loving sister, the devoted wife and fond mother, is what we all get in a greater or lesser degree — a memory. LIFE BELOW THE EARTH, OR WHAT THE COLLIER DARED AND WON. 1 N the dark coal heading, under the drip, drip of the ceaseless fall of water __. o, from the roof, amidst the keen sulphur-laden air that steadily passed ^ U by into the remotest parts of one of our deepest coal mines, worked Jenkins, the collier. You scarcely saw him by the light of his small candle. Intense gloom was around. Silence, too, profound at times, and only broken by the stroke of his mandril, and the occasional clang and rattle of the iron tram. No sunshine streamed down to him ; the wave of summer leaves and the carol of summer birds canue not. In imagination he may have seen the sheen revelling on distant meadow lands, and heard the soft splash of the brook that wandered on. But the refrain of the drip, drip, drip ; and the clang of the iron tram burst in monotonously every moment upon his fancies. Far away the ideal, there the real — the labour for bread that an aged mother might live in comfort, and know nothing of the chill penury of the street, or the cold charity of the workhouse. Jenkins was simply a collier. He was a young man at the time he first came under our notice, but very different in character and disposition to the men around him. His wages were small but sufficient, as he put them out to the best advantage, and the only luxuries he indulged in were his weekly news- paper and an occasional book from the second-hand book stall. His evenings were passed in the society of his poor old mother, she wuth her knitting, he with his book, and a glance into the small cottage showed a cleanly, cosy place, which, had it but a little more and a trifle better furniture, would have served well as a pattern workman's home. It was quiet. Woman was there repre- sented l)y one whose summer had long passed away. The bright, smiling fiico of man's better half, and the toddling steps and loving coo of infancy were not. If ever Jenkins gave a passing thought to such things, they were brushed aside (jiiickly. He felt that if ever he left the pit it nuist be by incessant exertions and unremitting self-denial. Hard was tlic mental fight, severe as ever the physical struggle on old fonghten fields. i'>ut witli .linkins no plaudit greeted his onward steps, often bhroudcd in the gloom of despair. TALKS AMI SKKTcnKS OF WALKS. 57 " You do work too hard, my boy," said his inotlier in her simple Welsh accents, one day to him as they sat at the homely evening meal. " I wish I wasn't such a burden to you, or could help you." " So you do help me, mother ; look what a cheerful home I come to, and as for a burden, we sons should think and work more for our mothers than we do." " Well, well," re- joined the old dame, " I know you never will be tired of me, or of giving me half your loaf, but I feel that I am keeping off one who could do better for you than ever I can." " Oh ! oh ! " laughed Jenkins, "do you think, mother, I am dying for a wife ? No, no. My books are wife and children to me. If I married I should bo a collier all my life; and that I don't mean to be. Marriage is a fetter, though a pleasant one perhaps. I intend, God helping me with health, to show that even' the coal pit may become a school-room from which a man may go into the world and win a name." The conversation ended here. The old lady could scarcely follow the drift of her son's remarks, but there came a light into her eye and a tremor to her lip as she. looked at " the dear boy ! the good boy !. " in whose face, now becom- ing that of a man, lurked, hidden to all but a mother's gaze, the dimples of the baby of long ago. Strong and fervent, and abiding, is a mother's love ; passion may disfigure, a life of vice transform, but through veiled and altered character live to her ever the one tended and fondled in early mother days. Even neglect she can forget, and cruelty forgive ; to love her child is a part of her nature, ending only with life. Drip, drip, drip, the water pattered down, and the blows of the mandril were ftilling fast. Jenkins was working harder than usual ; it was getting near the end of the month, and the pit was in full activity. The colliers were intent on making up for their shortcomings, their frequent holidays, their indulgencies, and the rattle of the trams was more frequent, and the play of the rope at the pit's mouth more unceasing. If the surfiice could have been rolled away, what a scene of arduous life would have been witnessed. Three or four hiuidred men scattered over a wide tract, labouring in an underground city, and its streets and lanes and teeming life, lights twinkling here and there oat of the gloom, and the sounds of labour unremitting. Have you ever by the sea shore, or in the deep wood, felt the stronge, the solemn influence of a sudden lull. One moment, and the wind has been sweep- ing past, rhyming in with the general activity of nature, with the wave of trees, the harmony of birds, the ripple of the river ; the next a sudden pause, not a breath of air moves. It was so in the deep mine, and the old hands knew in an instant its mean- ing, and before the mandrils could be thrown aside, the poor garments gathered, there was a sullen report, a puff of laden air, and the fire fiend of the coal pit was upon them, rioting in a strength surpassing all that a stranger can imagine. Coal trucks and horses were tossed aside like straws, and the colliers hurled, burnt and mangled, to the ground. There was no hesitation in the ravage of the fiend ; no mercy or selection shown. With equal violence were coal trams 58 TALES A^n SKETCHES OF WALES. and men dashed to the earth, and in the breath of the fiery power, stealthily creepiug on, came the afterdamp, completing the destruction so savagely begtin. Those who were working nearer the airway, and had timely warning, escaped the one only to fall victims to the other. The wild and agonising cry of man in the last dire extremity; the frightful shriek of wounded horses were hushed ; hushed, too, the struggle, momentary, but great, for life ; and silence fell upon the scene as profound as the -gloom that enwrapped it. A Gabriel had passed over the highways and byways of the coal city, and its workers lay dead. Above, crowds of earnest and heroic men were making preparations to descend, and as soon as the ventilation was in part restored they penetrated into the mine, in tfme to save some few poor stragglers, whose vitality was either stronger than the rest, or who had fallen near pools of water, into which they had buried their faces until the storm of death had passed by. Amongst them was Jenkins, but he was at the last gasp, and when taken to the top of the pit lay fluttering between life and death. When his senses did return, and he opened his eyes, there was a shout of delight from the assembled thousands, for he was a. well-known man. Around him were his fellow-woi'kers — workers no more ; some in every attitude of painful horroi-, others in a seeming sleep as calm "is that of a child. Here, powerfully built men, their huge arms bent over their brawny chests, as if warding off the blow that felled them to tho ground. There, men bruised, blackened, their eyeballs staring, as though gazing on a presence such as no one could look upon and live. There, boys of tender age, just from the school and the playground, the 'prenticeship of their collier trade visible about them, and on their little garments the patches and darnings of the mother-hand, the mothers who would never see them alive . again ! It was a cruel, a woful sight ; and for a long time there was wailing and lamentation in the vale over the calamity which had hurled a hundred men to untimely graves. Jenkins was carried home, and the meeting between him and his mother was a sad one, common, alas ! in a land where danger attends the employment of the many, and no restraint is ever placed on the fullest display of the excited feelings. For months he remained at home, slowly recovering. The pit had been restored to working order, fresh hands replaced those resting silently iii the grave, but still day after day Jenkins lay on his humble bed, looking out on the clear blue summer skies, and listeniug to the far echoing shouts of a happy childhood with the yearning the invalid alone can feel. When fully recovered he again entered the pit, rctui-ning to the old routine of daily work and evening study with fresh zest. In the dark stall, wherein lie laboured he found, as he often phrased it, his best study. There was no object to distract the attention, scarcely a sound to be heard. Ihe dark void he could fill with l)rilliant fancies. The characters of the works ho read passed vividly before the mental eye. Grave Shakespeare stood by the flowing Avon; sightless Milton smiled upon him, noble divines thronged around him. Thoughts, too, the winged creations of the mind, passed before him — not the ideas of TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 59 great men alone, of the living or the dead, but the conception of his own brain ; such as, clothed in brilliant guise, and given with all a "Welshman's fine oratory, were some day to encliain thousands and sway their feelings with irresistible power. In that fell darkness, his pure conscience raised no upbraiding shade — peaceful the tliemcs indulged ; if ambition pictured great results, they were decked with no false lustre, no mock glory. Fame throned him in the career of exalted usefulness, not on the full onslaught of destruction. His return to work was hailed with pleasure, for though his habits were very different to that of the others, and he had few companions, such was his inoffensive disposition and his readiness to aid either by his strong arm or his humble means, that his friends were numerous, and bold would" be the man to utter a word of derision against him in the hearing of his fellow-workmen. Amongst a large collier community it was but natural to find n^en of most varied character. To the eye of the superficial they were all alike, mere ' potter's moulds, the uniform black face, and dusty jacket having its corres- ponding agreement in a benighted condition both of mind and morals. Jenkins knew better. He could point to one man conspicuous by the plain and most homely patches of his clo-thing, who was not only an exquisite vocalist, but was able, at the he.ad of the choir he conducted, to hold in pleased thrall the largest assembly. To another, a tall broad-shouldered man, whose acquaintance with the Bible was wonderfully great, and who was able to hold his own in the severest argument. Then political debaters were numerous amongst them, and not a few. could be found far superior to those shallow declaimers whose incentive to political agitation was their own poverty, and their incapacity to elevate themselves either by greatness of mind or goodness of heart. One day, it was Sunday, .Jenkins preached for the first time. In connection with a few devout men he had often addressed a cottage gathering, but this was the first time for him to pi-each. There was one amongst the little con- gregation who showed unusual restlessness, . It was astonishing how often the large brass-rimmed spectacles required rubbing with the comer of the faded shawl ; how the poor old hands trembled ; how eager the gaze in the direction of the pulpit ; how anxiously the head was bent forward to catch every word. But there was general attention that day ; sympathy shown when there was any hesitation on the part of the minister ; confidence, delight, when the stream of discourse from rocky sources and devious windings, began to flow onward with eloquence and power. The dim spectacles were forgotten to be rubbed ; look where one would, brightened eyes were to be seen, and intense interest was exhibited. It was not the trained orator or the gentleman they listened to, but an earnest man of their own order, familiar with their homely lives, with their characters, their needs, and shortcomings; and .when to this thorough personal knowledge was coupled the natural gift of eloquence, we need not wonder at the influence he exercised and the converts he won. After this successful essay he still continued the old roimd, but not with the same regularity was he found in the coal pit, and when full of years his mother was borne away to the grave, the mandril was laid aside for ever. 60 "TALES AND SKKTCHES OF WALES. With his own little savings, and the aid of many good friends, he entered one of. the Welsh colleges, and applied himself industriously to learning, and with rare success. Only a few years elapsed, and his name was to be seen amongst the list of the ordained ministers of his country, and. the announce- ment of his coming, especially to his native locality, was the signal for the gathering of those vast crowds so specially and peculiarly an institutipn of Wales. There was no one of his near relatives left to hear of his fame, none to congratulate him on the reward for all his years of earnest labour. No near and dear ones around him to brighten up his home with the sweet presence of ineffable love. That Jenkins felt this home loneliness at times is certain ; but his duties were many, and he was wedded to them. Every step taken was onward and upward. English congregations he would fascinate equally with those of his own countrymen. There was a fire in his oratory, and a swell of action about him which commanded all attention, and won alike the interest of gentle and simple. Though his heart yearned for his native mountains, his destiny led in mature manhood far away from them, and made his residence in one of the most cultured of societies, and his special province a chair of theology, which he held to the day of his death. Ther3 was an occasional abstraction of character about him, and on Christmas Eve it Was strikingly visible to his friends. He had to preach .before a large and fashionaWe congregation, and as he arose and turned over the notes before him, he suddenly changed' his attitude to one of intense thought. Drip, drip, he heard again the falling water, and the stroke of the busy mandril ; again to his ears came the clang of the iron tram and the coarse shouts of the driver. The dark .coal mine, the throng of fellow-workers were there, he lived again the daily round, supped off the collier's fare, stood once more amongst the villagers, enjoying with them their simple sports, heard his mother's voice, and sat by her aged form in his old collier's garb. Was he dreaming? he passed his hand across his bi-ow, and the vision of the imforgotten faded. Before him sat a thoiisand admirers ; beauty and fashion, intellect and rank wei'e there, and though time had slightly silvered his hair, one loving soul, affluent in goodness and riches, whose destiny he afterwards shared, gazed and wondered. The spell was broken ; such a torrent of tliought, firey capped — such a cataract of eloquence had never been heard within those walls, and when the service was over, the awed yet delighted crowd withdrew homeward, vehemently praising one who never forgot that lie had been simply a collier boy. WHO WAS HARVEY? A TALE OF SOCIAL LTFR TN WALES. MONGST the singular acquaintances of a lifetime there was one man who from the first attracted my particular interest, and yet he was only a collier. Many will smile at this statement, especially in a locality where colliers are as plentiful as blackberries in autumn time. Still, to the least observant, there was an indescribable something which singled Harvey out from the mass. He was tall and well built, and when I knew him first must have been about thirty-five years of age. His face was as bare as the palm of one's hand, and the impression amongst his friends was that he never washeil it.' The tinge of coal was always upon it. Whether lie washed his face on Sundays or not no one but his landlady knew. He was never seen in church or chapel, and openly avowed opinions at variance with dissenting minister and clergyman. There wfis another jDCculiarity about him — he had a decided stoop, which considerably reduced his height, but once or twice in conversation I noticed that the stoop disappeared, and he stood per- fectly erect ; but, as if involuntarily, he as suddenly fell into the old habit, and it was remarkable what a difference it made in him. His face, though so disguised, indicated some degree of refinement, and his eyes were especially attractive. Piercing and glittering when in conversation, they generally fell upon the casual object or person with a sleepy gaze, as if half shi'ouded by their long eyelashes, or, as it struck me, purposely to lessen the glitter which distinguished them. He was only a collier. His clothes were patched, and his wages, even in the comparatively good times of twenty-five years ago, did not exceed a pound a week ; but, as he admitted, he was lazy, had no wife or child, and his wants were few. He worked simply to live, and being a remarkably sober man little was I'equired. His luxuries were newspapers and books ; these, with a pipe — for he was an inordinate smoker — were all that he cared about. How I knew him — why we came frequently in contact — are matters of no interest. Sufficient that I saw him frequently, and the oftener the more was I impressed with his superiority to the general class. His diction was good, . he had read considerably, and in logical discussion, even upon his favourite but unpopular themes ot scepticism, he would hold his own, even \,ith men 62 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. who had professionally devoted their life, from college to old age, in elucidation .and expositi,on of Holy Writ. -- But his reading was not confined to the sober fields of thought. A great war was raging when I knew him, and in this he was much interested. He noted every movement of the allied forces with interest ; extolled, lamented, or blamed as the occasion justified, and upon supreme occasions, when describ- ing the great victory won, would thrill his friends with the energy of his manner, his flow of language, and flashing eye, until, as if recalled by some deep-seated secret, he would droop into silence and seeming unconcern. Man, however abrupt or singular, is a social animal, and nature decreed, by giving each one special traits, either good or bad, that he should mix with his fellows. ■ Thus the collective virtues and intellectual powers became the image on which he was fashioned, and the collective vices no less represent the evil genius of humanity, popularly described with the tail and horns ! Every man, I repeat, is a social animal, and, however quaint, has a friend, Defoe understood this by giving Crusoe his man Friday. Harvey's familiar was a very ordinary man with no originality, no virtue out of the common, only that he was a good listener. He was Harvey's echo and clung to him. I never heard him dissent or object to any opinion Harvey advanced. Applause was his function, and he did it quietly but invariably. In the stirring strikes of the Welsh colliers, in their various movements, I often pictured Harvey as the leading spirit. He was by nature a leader, and could move a great mass of men with the utmost ease, but, excepting an -occasion or two, he always refrained from public action, and on those occasions he only addressed his fellows in their committee-room, and in his working dress, but with a power so telling that more than one, hearing his name, exclaimed, " Who is Harvey 1 " Strangest of men, evidently fitted to have taken a post amongst those who think, and direct, rather than amongst the human mechanism which is driven, Harvey lived some half dozen years to my recollection and knowledge, and then I saw him uo more. It was a month, possibly two, before I noticed with a start that I had not seen him for a length of time, and almost simultaneously with the thought the echo, the familiar friend, Harvey's inseparable companion, stood before mc. " Where is Harvey ? " I said, " I have not seen him for an age." " He is dead ! " was the reply, " and buried." "Good God ! " I exclaimed, " is it possible'? What was the matter^ an accident 1 " , '' Yes," said his friend, " he was brought homo with his head crushed, and only lived a few minutes." " Poor, poor fellow," I exclaimed, " and such a futc ! " " But who and what was he 1 " 1 asked. '. " Did he never tell youl" was the query. " No. I never liked to question him." " Ah, his life was a sad one," exclaimed his friend. " His family was a good TALES AND SKETCHES OP WAT,R9, 63 one, ho was well educated, but his liabits were bad, and quarrelling with his friends he enlisted into the regulars." " I thought he had been a soldier," I said. "Yes, lie was several years one of the rank and file, and in that time ho corrected his habits and set himself, not only to improve his mind, but to get promotion. He did both, and was fast nearing the highest post amongst the •non-commissioned officers, when he and the lieutenant of the regiment fell out. They were on active service then. The row took place, Harvey told me, just before going into action. No one but themselves was present, but it was bitter, and there was a lady in the case. When the battle was over, the lieutenant was reported amongst the slain, and Harvey amongst the missing. He came to Wales and saw that the coal pit was a good hiding place and the clothes of a collier a good disguise, and here he has been. There was never any outcry or reward offered, as it was thought he must have fallen, and was buried, uni'ecognised. " " And do you think he killed the lieutenant 1 " I asked. "God only knows !" said his friend. " He never told me. He had a fiery spirit, but he was a generous soul. If he did, he suffered. Ten years he was in a Welsh coal pit, yet any day by disclosing himself he might have claimed kinship with people, not only with tails, but with long handles to their names." And this was Harvey. I have often thought, when thinking of the poor collier deserter, that the coal pits of Wales have concealed many a time from the knowledge of friends of position in the world, and from the hands of justice, men, who, in one sense or in another, which the reader can well understand, ought to have figured in the world. THE LEGEND Of THE WHITE LADY OF OTSTERMOUTH CASTLE. • T was the close of summer time. Fair summer which had glorified the V o I land, and made beautiful every single nook, seemed loth to leave. ^.I| Her sunsets had tinged the leaves with gold, and glorious colours yet lingered on the flowers. Nature, in her ceaseless round, Seemed to pause, and there was a soothing hum in the air, and a refined cadence in the groves, as the fairest season in all the year prepared, like the swallow, to wing its way, and leave the scene for the blasts, and the snows, and frosts of chiir wintertime. At such a time, in the meadow fronting the Osytermouth Castle, there stood a woman, differing in every respect from the women of the locality. She was tall and fair, yet with the ting-e t-f the southern sun upon her face. But her dress was the distinctive feature. This was purely white, and supported the name she had won amongsl the serfs and fc^llowers of Neville, which was, the '■' White Lady." How such a woman could be the wife of the saturnine, robust Earl Neville was a mystery. It was the oak stooping down to the aspen. A tiger toying with a beautiful dove. No one ever saw anything but a wan, fearful smile, or heard her voice raised above the faintest accents. Gentle to a degree, kind to a fault, ever exhibiting a thoughtful regard for the poor serfs who came now and then up to the castle gates, so she lived. Every now and then the retainers heard the burly earl roaring in her chambers with unsuppressed passion. Loud and stormy was his voice, and as it was followed by a low scream and succeeded by silence, listeners vowed that my lord had struck his lady as usual, and women's eyes filled with tears, and strong men felt their hands instinctively clench. Nay, one worthy, who had received many a kindness from the White Lady, so far forgot himself one day so as to draw his sword — he was alone — and go through a most elaborate attack, ending by drawing his weapon through an imaginary opponent, he himself dancing jubilantl}' afterwards ! There were few women in the castle, and the few were old, and as gnarled and rugged as the thorns on the hill aide. Ancient prototypes of the Sarah Gamps of modern days, they had no evening indulgences in fragrant tea or seductive old Tom, l)ut l)rewed instead a mixture of honey and mead, wliicli soon aflectcd the head and math' the tongue l(K|U!i('i()ii8, TALES AND SKETCHES OK WALES. 65 One evening, two of these ancient worthies were sitting in a square cell-like chamber fronting the sea. Their labour of the day was over, their lord was away, and the lady was at rest. Out from its place of concealment came a brown j)itcher, from which anything but a tempting di-ink was poured into curiously shaped mugs. Still stranger the compound seemed. It must have had a fine flavour judging from the lips that smacked, and the eyes that glistened, after a di-ink. They sat themselves cosily down, and chatted, and, while the wind beat high, crooned and chirped, old dames as they were, fitter to ride on broomsticks than do housework and cook savoury pottage or drink metheglin. " Ah," said one, " if my lady only did the right tiling, she wouldn't die slowly as she is doing now from the cruel brute ! " *' However, did they come together T' said the youngest of the two, who had not long been at the castle. " Didn't you hear 1 " said Hilda. " No," was the reply. " "Well," said Hilda, dropping her voice to a low tone, " it is said that master, years ago, used to gather all his men together, and go down to Milford Haven, and then sail over seas to some country about a day's sail off, and run up into the place, and burn, and slay, and come back with great booty. Well, it happened that, one time that even a bishop's palace was not spared, and in the fight most of the men and women were slaughtered. One lady, who was said to be the bishop's niece, was saved from the flames. She was very beautiful, and my lord carried her off. One of the men who came back ■whispered that she struggled hard, and said she was the plighted bride of some prince, that he would give any ransom, but it wouldn't do. She was brought here and married against her will in the chapel belonging to the castle. Poor thing, she had better have died. He uses her cruelly, and many and many a time have I seen bruises on her poor shoulders from his violence." "But what do you mean by saying that she wouldn't die slowly if she did the right thing ? " • " Oh," said Hilda, " that's another secret. In the lowest dungeon of the castle they used to keep prisoners until they died. Many a time some poor fellow-has been put there and forgotten, the men going off to fight somewhere, and so the prisoner would starve to death, and when his old gaoler came back there would only be a corpse half-eaten by the rats ! " " Mercy me 1 " said the listener with a shrug, and both quaff'cd of the mug to drive away the horrible picture from their minds. " Well, long before my lady was brought here, my lord came back from a long journey with some prisoners, and amongst others, a monk. The monk had put himself in the way of the earl, and promised to lead him over a dangerous marsh, by which he might fall upon the Welsh and surprise them ; but, in- stead of that, my lord lost several of his best men, and was nearly destroyed himself; so the monk was brought here that he might be starved to death like others before him." E 66 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. " The saints spare us ! " said her listener, as she shivered again. " Surely that ought to have brought my lord, to a miserable death, and soon." " Not a bit. The monk didn't die so easily as my lord thought. In the middle of the dungeon was a large pillar, and the youngest gaoler, who deeply pitied the monk hollowed out several places where food might be kept, and this was brought secretly and put there. My lord was suspicious of everybody, and used to go- down himself and search about to see if food was given ; but the secret of the pillar was not found. Still, what with being shut up so long from the fresh air, and having only poor food, the monk gradually declined and died. Before he died he told his young friend that the pillar should be sacred evermore ; that if any good man or woman, free from sin, should come to the pillar, and pray there, and pace around it nine times, his or her wish would be granted." ■ • " Has it ever been tried 1 " said the friend. " Not that I know of, successfully," said Hilda, " for who is there that has not sin 1 I have heard of some of our people going down thefe at midnight and trying it, but they always came back frightened." " Do they see anything, then 1 " " Well, some won't s&y, but old Lenof vowed he saw the monk." " Tell her, Hilda ! " said the other. " Tell my lady, and perhaps she may escape." " I will, I vow it,"rejoined Hilda, and the two old cronies went rather heavily to rest. . • Neville is away, hunting, through brushwood and briar, his old opponents the leather jackets. He has had a tough fight in the furtherest parts of Gower- land, but we assume he has conquered, and many a noble foe has been laid low, while he, armour-clad and valiant to a degree, has escaped without a scratch. He is resting from his labours. It is night, and armed men pace around the camp fire, while he and his retainers sleep. It is night, and the castle, far away from the battle scene, is shrouded in gloom. Only the distant surge and the night-bird's scream strike upon the ear. The castle is strong, and requires few defenders, and those defenders are wrapped in deep slumber. Only a light is visiblb from the western tower — the light in my lady's chamber — and it burns strongly, like a beacon-star, to be seen miles away. Had a watcher been on the distant, hill he would have seen that steady light suddenly move, and, at the midnight hour, traced it as it went from casement to "casement, from tower to basement, and then disappear. What did it mean 1 That night, just l)efore the bell of the castle clanged forth the hour, Hilda- and my lady were closeted together. The time was opportune, for the earl was away, and ray lady was not proof against tlie superstitions of her race. She was frail in licalth. Her life was a martyrdom, and dearly, ardently, • more than for anything on earth, she longed to bo free. She had heard the talc of the wishing post from Hilda, and, though at first disposed to smile, yet TALES AND 8KETCHES OF WALES, 67 in time she thought even from the reed slie might deserve help, aud, God helping her, she would try. So, at the niidnight hour, they cautiously made their way down to the dungeon. Tlierc was no captive, and the great door, with its rusty bars, was wide open. They were scared though, for the light startled the rats, and there was a clatter amongst dry bones in the corner, which froze their blood, as they thought of the wretched fate some poor prisoner had met. Still, in they went, a damp, heavy air clinging around the torch, and there was the pillar, the " wishing post." Meekly, as before pictured samt, she bowed and prayed, while Hilda stood in shivering suspense. Her prayer ended, she walked around the pillar, aud then, her task ended, she tottered into Hilda's arms. The ordeal was almost too great ; the prayer to be free almost beyond her power. Cautiously they stepped up the narrow and winding stepSj seeing nothing, hearing nothing. No monk with ghastly visage peered around the corners, though Hilda to her dying day said she saw him;. But the pure lady, without sin, innocent as the child that crows in its mother's arms, saw nothing, and arrived at the chamber. Hilda was dismissed, and the lady sought sweet hopeful sleep. The morning rose over the battle field, and with the first gleams of the sun the earl was afoot and soon they were marching homewards. " Hang that chicken-hearted jade," he muttered in his way ; " more pouting, more tears. Sorry ever the day I tore her from the Irish coast. No more white-faced girls ; no more monks. Doubly hang that monk ! I dreamt last .night the brute was at my throat, and though I put out all my strength his .thin sinewy arms wound around me like snakes, and down, down I was forced, my throat swollen and parched, my eyes starting from their sockets ! 'Twas a horrible dream," added the earl, as he shrugged his shoulders and rode onward with greater speed, as if to drive away fell thoughts. The morning I'ose gently on the Mumbles heights ; the sun thiging hill and tower and sparkling upon the waves. There was a lazy movement in the Castle of Oystermouth. The heavy portcullis was raised for the herdsman to enter, and here and there a figure might be discerned looking out upon the tranquil scene. The women folk were busy preparing the morning meal, all except Hilda, whose midnight adventure had made her sleep later and heavier than usual. When she did awake it was with a start, and, seeing that the sun was getting high in the heavens, she hastily dressed herself, and, hurrying along the corridor to the breakfast-room, inquired if her ladyship had called. No she had not. So Hilda, satisfied that her mistress had also slept late, quietly made her way to the chamber, and, knocking, entered. Through the latticed window the sun shone in full glory upon the bed, lighting up with unusual power the whole face, whiter than ever Hilda had seen it, of her ladyship. Like a saint, with hands folded on her breast, she lay, the eyes fixed on the morning sky— so fixed that Hilda rushed to. the bed and fell, in trembling sorrow, on the body. It was but a body, the prayer had been answered, the " wish " granted, for the soul had fled to the Eternal, and the White Lady was — free ! 68 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. When Neville returned, and found 'that his victim was dead he swore roundly, and men and women had a sorry time of it. Then when the storm had passed his troubles began, and what with his accusing conscience and the periodical visits of the monk, Oystermouth became unbearable; but whether he forgot his torments in rougher crusades, or turned penitent and voyaged to Jerusalem, this chronicler cannot state. Hundreds of years have passed away since then, and long ago the castle has become simply a picturesque ruin. But every summer men and maidens journey there, some to wander where Neville strode, and retainer paced his rounds, and not a few to descend into the dungeon and walk around the wishing post, some to wish for sweethearts, others for fame, and old as well as young to pray for money. Many a rude formula is used, and sticking pins in the pillar is resorted to, in order to further the spell. As the antiquary brightens up a " rubbing " and restores a picture, so I, from fragments heard at a late visit, put the orthodox formula for wishing for money into order, and with it end my tale. Round and round, like the old hag Wider the round, higger the bag. One round, two, three, and a four, So we trot on the dungeon floor. Five, six, seven, and a eight, Keeping time and the body straight. Now for the wish, round number nine, Stick a pin in the pillar, just in a line, Then look on the wall, away from the light. And there you will see the Lady in White. OWEN GLYNDWR AND THE SKELETON. ,^* jHERE are few characters in Welsh history around whom more poetry hangs than Owen Glyndwr. In retirement the scholar, in action the warrrior, to the fair a thorough gentleman, to the poor generous and complaisant, and yet, in the closing years of life no man had a bigger skeleton in his closet than Ov/en. We have all our skeletons ! The outside world knows nothing of them, yet in our inner consciousness we know we have one. It may be but a. memory, yet even as athwart a May-day a cloud darkens, so in the midst of festivity, of jollity, the memory comes, and the • light leaves the eye, and a shadow covers the face, and seems to fall upon the heart. Owen had a kinsman named Howell Sele, and in the days when patriotic efforts were filling the land with glory, and with blood, Howell estranged himself fi-om his people by taking part with the Lancastrians. This act destroyed all Owen's friendship. For the lowest hind in his' employ to be a traitor to his country was unpardonable, but for one of the race of the Glyu- dwr's to do so was a sin that nothing could efface. The Abbott of Kymmer thought otherwise. Good old man, more imbued with faith and holiness than versed in knowledge of human nature, he thought that if h'j could bi'ing the two chieftains together, the soothing influences which might be brought to bear, the memory of early days, of boyish friend- ship, possibly would drive away all feud, and effect a lasting friendship. Perhaps he was right as regarded Owen, for that illustrious worthy had a noble soul, but he erred -with respect to Howell. The abbot contrived a meeting. It was in the vicinity of Nannan, in Merioneth- shire, were Howell lived, and the abbot was delighted with the cordiality of the meeting, and, Icaying the two together, he disappeared. Forth one summer's day the chieftains wandered. Glyndwr studiously avoided any topic of diflference. The historian is mute over the interview. Let us fill up the void. Both were men of fine stature, and well versed in arms. If Howell had the largest frame Owen possessed greater nervous power and energy. He was one of nature's kings, quick in conception, rapid in action, yet slow, by reason of his philosophic character, to adopt any rash course, but when adopted he resembled his own mountain torrents and was overwhelming. " So, Howell, we meet again, and in amity." 70 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. *' We do, Owen, but I could wish that you saw how useless it is to contend against the power of England, and cease to create disaffection in the country !'' " There you and I diflfer, Howell. If to your household a stranger came, and sought to take possession, to oust you, and seize your property, would you not resent, and exert all your power to expel 1" " Certainly," said Howell. " Well, we ai'e in the same position. Wales is our own land. We do not crave one rood over the borders ; but we do claim to possess, and will, that which is our own.". " But you have not power enough to hold it," said Howell. '' The Saxon is more than your match. Defeated once, they can bring superior forces again, and must beat you, even by force of numbers. It is better in such a case to make the best of a bad case, and, instead of keeping the poor mountaineers in a ferment, to side with the stronger, and, by so doing, get a position by policy,- which you could not by force." "That," said Owen, hotly, "is not the sentiment of a Welshman. So, going back to my first illustration, you would, seeing you could not defeat the intruder of your household, welcome him, and let him share your possessions, and even allow your wife to . But there, Howell ! " he exclaimed, break- ing off his sentence, " enough of this, look at that doe, you always was a good marksman with your bow, see if you can strike the game." Owen had not obseiwed the fitful light that gleamed in the eyes of Howell. Suddenly drawing his bow at the mark, that worthy, apparently bent upon slaying the doe, as suddenly turiled and discharged his arrow wuth all his force at Owen's breast. But Glyudwr wore armour underneath his vest, and, though staggered, was unhurt. In a moment all kinship, all friendship, all philosophy flew. He saw before him a ruffian who wanted his life. Drawing his sword, he called upon him to do the same, and in that green glade, without a spectator, save the sweet singing birds and the distant deer, they fought. Far above the sound of the river's song was the clash of steel. They fought with greed for life. Well trained, nerved in each subtle cut and thrust, they wound around each other, until tlie glade was trampled as if by a troop of contending foes. Howell fought for his life, for he knew the prowess and the skill of his kinsman. Owen fought for revenge, and he soon had it, for, watching his opportunity, when the other had become wearied and less active,* Owen dashed upon him, cut him down, and by a thrust let the life blood of his foe stream out upon the earth. Witli an ordinaiy man it has been the case that when his foe is at his feet, rancour flies, and in comes slow-paced melancholy. Not so with Owen. Sounding his horn as he rushed from tlie spot, he soon had around him his faithful troop, and marching at their head he proceeded to the residence of Howell, and fortliwith burnt it down to the ground. It was only when the household had fled, the building razied, and the night, coming on apace, that the fever of revenge began to subside. The day had been a full one. In the morning his kinsmiui was in the full possession of life and health, house and TALKS AND SKF.TCHES OP WALES. 71 lands. Now ho was dead', his f^xmily scattero 1, ami his residence burnt to ashes. It was an awful revenge. Owen began to loose his warlike feelings ; philosophy, grave, tlioughtful, gleamed from his brow. As he mused his regrets became frenzied. lie was in despair. What should he do? How hide his dreadful deed 1 Leaving his men and bidding them disperse he hastened back to tlie spot where but a few hours before he had walked with Howell, and where after that short fierce combat he had left him dead. As he neared the scene there was a scampering away of some beast of the woods which had already been at work at its tyrant man, but skulked away at the firm tread of Owen. There lay the vanquished, and in the darkening night came the thouglit, how hide the dreadful deed 1 Sorely disturbed, Owen walked to and fro, plotting and contriving. Suddenly he came to a blasted oak of large size and great bulk, but hollow. '*Ah, the very thing," he exclaimed, as he sprang down from his examination and quick as thought the huge body of Howell was in his arms, and, by dint of repeated efforts, he not only succeeded in getting it to the top of the oak but in placing it down the hollow so carefully that only by mounting the tree could the awful secret be disclosed. His work accomplished, the deed hidden, Owen Glyndwr walked moodily away, a changed man. True, he had fought fairly, but there was something of the assassin in this concealment, and his own soul told him that he had done a sorry deed, and was ashamed of it. On the field of warfare he could have seen foe after foe go down, heard their cries for mercy, listened to their groans and watched the hot blood spring from the fount of life, and be all forgotten the next moment. But this ! that white corpse-like face on which the wolf was feeding, the change from life and sparkling conversation to death and despair, was horrible, and forth Owen rushed away and time after time he tried to drown his sorrow and to keep back the skeleton in the closet. Sometimes the effort was success- ful, yet all who knew Owen intimately, knew that to his dying day, in the midst of home happiness, amidst the whirl of state, cares of life, patriotic strivings, a sombre feeling seemed to possess him, and he was like a haunted man. Howell was supposed to have perished in the flames of his household gods, but a many a surmise was hazarded by the poets of an after day as to the disappearance of Howell. Time, which solves most problems, solved this. During a great storm the huge oak was riven in two by a lightning flash, and forth upon the glade fell the whitened skeleton of Howell Sele. How it came there no one knew, and again conjecture ran wild. To this day the ai't of the romancist is exercised to explain the mystery, but the searcher for facts need not stray from this nari'ative. THE LADY OF C ASTELL COCH. CHAPTER I. 'EW castles have a lordlier look than that of Castell Coch, with its belt of corn, woodland, and pasture. There, in the twelfth century, Owen Griffith lived in state, a feudal king, strong of arm, quick of speech.. Na one was readier in action than he, and no one quicker in resenting an insult. He was a true Welshman, a fast friend and' a fierce foe, and his annals, like the notched tomahawk of the Red Indian, bore evidences of the relentless way in which he displayed the latter characteristic in the acquisition of castles and spoil. But time had told on Owen, as it does on all mundane things ; it liad weakened his arm .and enfeebled his gait. He was not the bold warrior that he once was, and he saw that, even as his forefathers had fought and died so the day was nearing when he too would have to lie down and be at rest. How wonderful is the power and influence of time ! AVe see a bold bad man in our midst, who has no respect for virtue, and still less for Gbd. He seems to possess a charmed life, and, like the fabled Midias, all that he touches is turned to gold, and with gold he boasts that he can buy everything that life affords or man can own. Woman, the noblest creature of the Divine, whose intellectual perceptions are inspirations, not, like our own, acquisitions, is to him a toy, played with one hour, and the next thrown aside, a bruised flower, to be trampled in the mud. Art, learning, are to him petty crafts, akin to feats of jugglery. Gold, and the power it brings is his god, and it alone does he worship. Wonderful is time ! One day we envy or wonder ; We look, and, he is gone. Upon all, bad and good alike, it falls with soothing, correcting or remedying influence ; over the ruined tower, hanging its traces of ivy and healing wounds caused by death and desolation that no man could heal. Griffith was not a bad man, neither was he a saint. His true position in the category was pcrha])S, like most of us moderns, neither one nor the other, occasionally exhibiting some exooUcut qualities and sometimes showing that moral weakness which the pulpit insists upon as a relic of the Fall ! TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES.' 73 Owen was blessed with a daughter who, in tlioso. pre-cosmetic and paiiier days, was a delightful picture to contemplate. I would not describe her as the novelist is apt to sketch his heroine :— a picture of graceful animation. She was a child of nature. In her days there was neither piano nor crotchet work. Some little tapestry occupied her nimble fingers, and there was a harp upOn which, by old Gwilym's aid, she had mastered an air. Then as she was motherless, for years before that at which my tale opens the dearly beloved and gentle wife of the rough Owen Griffiths had been laid to sleep, the housework of the castle in those primitive times had to be overlooked by her, and she was not too proud to more than busy herself with the cows and the cream, and the plentiful store of bees and honey. So Hawys had no time for sentimental reflection, even had siich matters then occupied any mind, but her days were days of usefulness, and her nights sweet dreams, periods of rest, which restored the rare bloom of her cheeks and the elasticity of her tread. People lived then pretty well as they do now. Humanity is about the same, not only in every age, but in every clime ; and the garb and speeches are nearly the only distinctions. Owen and his family, and men and womenkind, who lived in the clustering white- washed cottages, ate, drank, worked, and slept. Shops' were unknown institutions ; the great and almost only place of trade was the periodical fair. Weavers made the homespun, women the stockings, cunning hands amongst the men turned out smiths' work, the youths fashioned arrows just as the gipsy boys now turn out clothes pegs, and the same knife that shaped the arrow was also quick in cutting out a spopn or a dish from a piece of wood. This was the work of peaceful times, combined with the" little attention that was given to agriculture. Nature did nearly all in the field, and man then simply assisted. In our day men work and nature is the dutiful servant'. But peaceful days were the exceptions, and if the Welsh princes were not engaged collectively in fighting the English king, then they were sure to have a feud amongst themselves, and these feuds they carried on with a fierce earnestness that too often consumed the opponents, and left the prize in dispute to be seized by a third, or by the king. The same traits exist now, but the times are altered, and the weapons are different. By the pen or the voice the descendant of the old race gives expression to his manly indignation in a style as unfettered as the wind that careers over his ancient mountains ; and as the arena for combat is now closed, and the law has a gloomy and vindictive way of dealing with men who inter- fere with the silver cord and the golden bowl illegally, they rush into law, ruin themselves as surely as their predecessors killed one another, leaving lands and stock to the enjoyment of lawyer or Crown. Owen GritUth hud fought and had suffered. He knew too, that while ho was getting older and weaker his foes were closing around him, and chief of these, sad to narrate, but not at all wonderful to the student of Welsh history, were his five brothers. Those brothers, men of position and wealth, but 74 TALES AN'D SKETCHES OF WALES. . inferior in both to their elder brother Owen, saw that the day would soon come wh.en the old lion would die, and then there was only a poor little girl between them and vast domains. They talked over this with extreme unction. They took furtive visits to the hilltop,and gazed down upon Castell Coch, and there luxuriated, ogres as they were, over the coming feast, and the dainty morsel they would swallow. But Owen was also a diplomatist, and, ardent Welshman as he was, he determined to sacrifice his national feelings to save his child. Nation gave way to nature. So, feeling the infirmities of life coming even more quickly, he journeyed to the Parliament at Shrewsbury, and resigned into the king's hands the whole of his lordship, receiving them again from the monarch as a fief or holding under the Crown. Only his daughter knew of the transfor- mation. He was still Lord of Powys, ruled unfettered as of old, but in his own consciousness he was only an appendage, a part of the fringe, a tassel to the dignity of another. CHAPTER IT. The pomp and pride and circumstance are gone. Throned, yet dethroned, a picture, puppet, not a man. Arwn. The sands in the hour-glass of Owen Griffith's life were running fast, as they always do at the end. Note the hour-glass, and how slowly at the' beginning one grain follows another. Like the progress of infancy, one month seemeth like to a whole. year, but faster and faster go the grains, and so rapidly do they fly at the close that the actual disappearance of the last can scarcely be detected. Very soon after his return from Shrewsbury he laid himself down and died. Whether his somewhat sudden decqase was caused by the abandonment of his old national feelings, the chroniclers do not say, but it is likely that the feeble frame had been sustained by the vigorous independent spirit, and, this nourished no more, the stalwart oak gave way and crumbled into dust. With sorrowful faces but gleeful hearts four of the brothers hastened to Castell Coch to play the hypocrite, just as many a mourner now does, save that crape and bi'oadcloth were not in use, and cambric was unknown. They condoled with the maiden ; they talked of the old times they had had with their brother when ])oys, and lamented that any feud should have arisen to lessen the old affection ; i^nd they swore roundly, by peculiar' Welsh oaths, which had reference to the scene surveyed by Virgil and to the presiding power who was so intimately mixed up in the abduction of Proserpine ; and the girl believed them, and, witli all her love for her dead father in her heart and welling from her eyes, put her little hand into the horny ones and promised she would be a dutiful little maid, and would love and obey. Her fifth uncle William, who was Lord of Mawddy, was a man of a better stamp. TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 75 He had not been over much in love with liis brother Owen, as he thought witli the rest that in the division of lands Owen had received too much. Still, he could not dissemble or feign regret which he did not feel, so he attended the funeral, and then left, leaving his brothers to act the part of executors until the maiden l)Ccamo of age. The old routine of the novelist at this stage would here call up CJwilyni the harper, with whom the young lady would have a tearful conference, in which there would be reference tt) some young Llewellyn or other ; but I cannot infringe, upon historical probabilites, as there does not appear any reference to any suitor at this time, and Gwilym the harper, a gentleman pleasant to look at as a picture, but of doubtful sanitaiy character, and not over-given to ablutions, need not be brought upon the scene. The grave closed over the old Welsh lord, and matters seem to have gone for a time smoothly. The fair lordship was ruled by the brothers just as if it were their own, and the young lady, having no heavy milliners' bills or sub- scriptions to ^Ludie's to annoy her, quietly blossomed into womanhood as gracefully as the rose expands into perfection. But then came troubles — not of a lover kind, for still no daring suitor had been found hardy enough to face four grim uncles and plead his love -at her feet, but troubles of a monetary character. She found herself hampered and thwarted at every step. She had no money allowed her to give in benison, or to buy' a fair young colt of the mountains, or some of the rare work the wandering pedlar exliibitcd in lace or gold; and little by little it dawned upon her mind that her father's property had been seized by her uncles, and that she was simply a servant, acting as housekeeper without wage, and living upon sufferance and charity. She began to get sleepless nights, and thei'e was more of the lily and less of the rose on her countenance than used to be. Still she gave no si^jn of what she felt and thought, and the uncles kept on their way undisturbed. Mouths passed. Spring had given way to summer, and the woods, never neglected, as poor man often is, put on their summer suits, and looked n\ost beautiful. To an ' utilitarian eye, however, there was more of the wood than of the corn in that neighbourhood. Great wastes abounded, fenced here and there with rude unmortared stone walls, and no- where were square plots of verdancy with trim green hedgerows as now. Still- summer smishine threw its gold over every defect, and there was a murmur in the song of the stream, and a cadence in the outpourings of the lark even as delightful as in our time ; but then it was tlie playing out of a grand drama on a noble stage to an empty, or at all events a heedlessj or inattentive, house ; think of a concert without an audience, of roses blooming with no appreciative nose ! As well imagine fond turtles — not doves — sunning themselves in bliss most innocent upon unknown shores, long prior to the advent of aldermen and mayors ! Summer in mid- Wales brought about a very necessaiy condition. It made the roads, which were huge ruts, or as like ditches as possible, more easy to traverse, and this fact decided the mind of the fair lady Hawys upon the course to take. Her dead father had been a baron of the king's creation. 76 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. This he had told her ; why should she not make her way to the king ? This was her thought, and all her wits wei'e exercised to find an opportunity for carrying out her scheme. Owilym, of course, was taken into confidence, and told of her intention, at which the worthy old man was alarmed beyond measure. " To ride to London ! " said he, " why, lady,- it's madness, pure madness. I remember once when our good lord who is gone, journeyed there before you were born, Hawys, and it took him a week to reach there, and .the troubles and dangers he met with were awful. He said he'd never go again. Even in peaceful times like now it's a great risk,* Hawys. The Saxon hasn't very great love for the Welsh. They say we cross the border too often for their liking, and that our arrows have keen points. No, no, Hawys, don't go." But the little lady was resolate, and she reminded Gwilym that even if she died on the way, or was carried ofi" to sea and captivity as many a poor Welshman and Welshwoman were, what then, " Gwilym," she exclaimed, " am I certain of my life here 1 My uncles want the property, and once put me out of the way and they can do as they like." Ladies, however weak and infirm of purpose, are rather obstinate when it comes to the point, and Hawys vindicated the characteristic of her sex, and steadily persisted in making her preparations. . One or other of her uncles was always resident at the castle, so the difficulty was in getting a day, for if she could obtain a day's start she felt herself safe. Fortunately a hunting day was announced. The livrch, or roebuck, was to be hunted, and preparations on a grand scale began to be put forward. Hawys saw her opportunity, and, hurrying on the evening before the hunt to the stables, took the man in charge into her confidence, and by promise of a good reward on her return succeeded in getting him to invent an excuse, by which a favourite black mare could be kept at home. She knew, with all a woman's sagacity, that if she pleaded illness on the day of the hunt it might be taken as an excuse for herself, but not for the mare, which would be immediately picked up by someone ; and her reasoning proved correct. The day came, and the sound of horn and hound rang around Castell Coch. More active than sti-ong, as Giraldus describes the ancient Welsh, the young bounded hither and thither, now racing at the top of their speed and again wrestling with each other with boisterous cry and mirthfulness, while the older and the more sedate looked to the primitive trajipiugs of their unkempt horses or waited quietly, looking up at the castle for the lords to come forth. William, lord of Mawddy, was absent, so also was David, who on hunting the salmon had slipped out of his coracle and had a narrow escape of being drowned. John, Griffith Vychan, and Llewellyn were there, and with them a number of friends, full of eager anticipation at the chase in view. Hawys pleaded sickness, and as she was really unwell no pressure was exerted, but the marc when asked for could not be found. " She had broken loose " the man thouglit, " the night before, but he would be away at once in search, and he would soon have her back ; " ihe mare all the time being quietly stabled in a little hollow quite out of the way of any probable course the hunt would T.\r,RS AND SKETCnES OF WALES. 77 take. And so with renewed uproar, and shout, and song, the mass of men and dogs swept away, and find or no find, Ilawys knew that she could get a fair start. Her preparations were simple, a bundle of oaten cakes fastened to the saddle, a little money in her purse, and bidding old Gwilym a tearful farewell which sadly discomposed that worthy, she made her way eastward. Tho world all before her, where to choose And providence her guide. CHAPTER in. " To London and the king." What an expedition for a woman ! Well might Gwilym tune his' harp to the most dolorous' of airs, and the maids, all of whom loved her, watch yearn- ingly as long as she was in sight, and then mourn her as lost for eveh Two hundred miles, great roadless wastes, vast hills to ascend, and bog and path- less woods to traverse, and her only guide the sun ! But Hawys was made jn the heroic mould. She had well considered all obstacles. It was to do or die, to see the king or never more return to Castell Coch. That day she passed over a great stretch of country, and at night slept in a wood. It was no great privation. The common class were adepts in con- trivances. Many .simply lived in osier houses, and as for sleeping out, a few twigs on the ground, and a woollen covering over was all that was needed. So Hawys took a wrinkle from the villian's life, and rose with the sun and the lark, and pushed on her way. Excelsior ! That traditional young man mounting through the snow up an ordinary hill-side had a pleasant time of it compared with that of Hawys Here a fordless river, necessitating a great bend, there a ravine blocking her way, and at its foot the bleaching bones of mountain sheep or steed. Then a mountain, rearing up grim and gaunt on her way, its sides so slippery that once Hawys threw herself on the ground, and in anger and vexation cried herself ill. Still, onward, no strange device but " London and the king," the mental passwords cheering her on. The active mare browsed now and then, and drank of the brook. Her store of oaten cakes was a fair one, and the brook refreshed and satisfied. Hitherto she had kept aloof from castle and dwelling, but on the evening of the third day after crossing the border she drew up at one of the old monastic institutions which in those days afforded rest, refuge, and hospitality. Some may deride these places as conservatories of a " creed outworn " but they were conservatories also of the seedlings of literature, and art, and science, and therein the poor obtained the only arms obtainable, and wanderers such as Hawys the refreshment and shelter now dispensed at wayside inn or commodious hotel. It was left for the middle ages to hang a bush by the door or put a quaint sign on the elm before ale-houses, and only in the time of George the Second that 78 Tales and sketches op wales. ale-houses came into note and legislature enacted, and according to Hume, and in his own words, " laws were passed which enabled justices of the peace to t}Tanuise over publicans ! " How Hawys fared at the monasteries or afterwards history tells us not. Pritchard, who includes her in his list of Welsh heroines, thinks she had a difficult time of it on her journey, so overrun was the country with robbers, but the sturdy Welsh lady overcame all obstacles, and once on English ground, with a clean chart laid down for her guidance, the worst part of the great undertaking seemed to her over. We are left to imagine the interest with which she passed thi'ough the strange scenes, landscapes which lacked the woody character of her own, but were more fertile, and more thickly peopled. Scenes all new to her, whose history had yet to be made ; people with whom nature was familiar, but civilisation had not even opened an acquaintance. Franklin once remarked that he should Kke to be the fly in amber to come forth at some distant age upon the scene and see the changes in life and manners. Better still would it be, with the knowledge now possessed to be carried mentally back, and wander on through the years. See Chaucer as a little boy, go on a pilgrimage with the Canterbury pilgrims, be with Shakespeare or else Yarth, note Millar in his age and live through each great chapter of the country's history. Better this than this fly ! Several times she wished herself back amongst the heath and the gorse, and would better have liked ravine and boisterous mountain stream than the rude churls, and ruder men-at-arms, with whom she occasionally came in con- tact. Passing throu.gh one large city where the soldiers were in great force, she evaded them with difficulty, and it would have fared ill with her but for one in command, who came opportunely on the scene. Fortunately for her womanly modesty, the rude jest and licentious remarks were not understood, and it was only when a brawler stood in her path or endeavoured to molest her that she comprehended her danger. The morning of the eighth day saw her nearing Babylon, then a great city, but not the mighty Babel it now is. Surrounded by a great wall, garrisoned and armed at every point, the .inner circle was full of wretchedly-built houses, chiefly of wood, which were to bo patched and repaired until the great fire read a lesson for architect and builder. Cheapsido then was the Chepe or trading place, and the Straiid simply the shore of the Thames. Rude arid primitive as it was, the hugeness of the place, the varied costumes, the diff'erent nationalities congregated there, were to her a wonder. To her the scope of her view had been bounded by the everlasting hills, and a few hundred men had been the lai'gest multitude she had seen. Good luck favoured her even at the gates, for the guard took her to the officer in command, one Sir John Charlcton, who lost his heart at the first glance. Coming as he did from a neighbouring county, and knowing a little of the language, he was able to converse, and soon won her warmest thanks by the enthusiastic way in which he proceeded to obtain for her an interview with the king. This was troublesome, but at that period was not so difficult a matter as now. Royalty, won by the strong TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES.' 79 arm and iron will, and retained by their exercise, was of and amongst the •.people. The throne had not its surroundings, tlie king nothing like modern state. It was no unusal thing for a king to fight on the battle field as hardily as any common soldier, to tramp the country a pedlar refugee wanting the necessities of life. Kingship in England is a growth, a development, and the youth of kingship had its sorx'ows and trials as much as anything of human birth or institution. It took an age to fashion its surroundings to form the Olympus and gather the clouds. Edward received the Welsh maiden graciously and heard her tale, and as he listened he thought here was a chance for one of his knights. This pretty girl was marriageable, she had a fine dowry. Many of his knights were as poor as rooks, and would gladly pluck such a prize. He did not listen very attentively to the appeal ; petitioners'very rarely get such condescension. His mind seized upon the salient facts. " Father dead, large estate, under executors to the girl, and wish to get property. Large property. Uncles have it] "No! One of my knights have it] Yes. How ] marry the girl ! So very graciously Edward took his fair pleader's hand and said, " Lady, I will inquire into the case, and if .it should be as stated, and of that I have no doubt, your prayer shall be granted upon one condition. That condition is, you marry one of my nobles. I could not think that one so beautiful and so rich should return alone into the wild mountains of Wales without one to protect you from all future wrong." Gwilym polished up the king's English, but this was the sense. The audience was over. Red as the reddest of heroines, Hawys hastened away to her temporary residence. Sir John attending, and looking defiance upon all and everyone who dared to cast a longing look upon the fair heroine. Edward was an astute monarch, and Wales was to him what Ireland was to this country at a later age, a veritable thorn in his side, so this espousal of Welsh heiresses to Norman knights was a favourite plan of his, and was au addition to the tranquilising elements. He had then one more support in the enemy's camp. As regarded the lady's views, that was a secondary matter. Love even in her day was a cottage question. Rank, wealth, the paramount matter in hall and of court. Let us be thankful for the country, and for the existence of a humanity ungilt by rank, and bound to no slavish love of wealth. It is amongst such that the virtues are born : that purity of thought, and high principle, and faith, and charity, go forth to leaven the world, which would otherwise stagnate into corruption. Pure and bright and sunny the rivulet at the fountain amongst the hills. Watch it upon its course — how fouled it becomes ere passing and losing itself for ever in the sea ; but track it again to its source, and purity once more meets the eye. Fortunately for Hawys, the strong passion aroused in Sir John Charleton was reciprocated. Sir John was in close attendance upon the king, and it was liot long before he contrived to bring matters to an issue, and in grand starte, the envied of all the court, to call Hawys not only his sweetheart, but his bride. 80 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. CHAPTER IV. Return we now to our old home, and. to the irate and disappointed uncles, who intheir disgust and aifright, and yet seeming vexation, doubtlessly crooned some ancient melody like :— Oh where, and oh where is my true love gone. Griffith Vychan did not so express himself when he came home, but he swore as roundly as a ti'ooper when Hawys was reported missing. It was night when they returned, and they had come back unsuccessful. Men and horses were jaded, dogs were tired. There was a disposition on the part of the uncles to use adjectives freely, and serving men and serving women had a bad time of it. " But where was Hawys ; still in bed 1 " No, she had arisen immediately after the lords had gone. "And the "black mare, please," said the hind who had charge of the stables, " I found it in about an hour, and when coming back to the castle met my mistress, who took it from me and rode away." The uncles looked at . one another. What did it mean. There were no friends near to whom she was likely to have gone. She had never expressed any great liking for her uncle William, but there was old Meredith, a great friend of her father's at the Van. Could she have gone there. They discussed the probabilities, and it ended in sending a man on one of the best bred of the animals to enquii-e if she were there. It was morning when he returned, and the news he brought was unsatisfactory. Old Meredith knew nothing of her. The truth oozed out, however, in the course of the day from some incautious expression by one of the girls. Then the harper was stoutly examined, and being pushed into a corner told all he knew. This "all" was serious enough. Edward the king was known to have had a great liking for Welsh nobles, but more for Welsh lands, and the story " of the girl, whatever it might be, possibly would bring a hornet about their ears. But how circumvent, how intercept ! Far ahead amidst the unborn years was the wonderful iron horse, and still further away the magic electric current, possessing the unseen and instantaneous attribute of thought. Marvellous secret of natui'e, only wrung from her after the lapse of many a thousand years. What could they do. The black mare was " the better horse," and to overtake was impossible. So they did the only thing they could do, which was nothing, and waited for the storm which could not be averted. The position of the harper in a Welsh household was somewhat of a sacred one, and Gwilym's grey hairs were respected, but they did not extend to the adroit worthy who had supplied the mare, and if he had not lied even more soundly in his own defence than he had in aiding his young mistress leuan would have lost an eye, or his tongue, or possibly have had his tenure of life summarily shortened. But he swore, and he called the saints to witness that tALRS AND SKETCHES OK WALR.S, 81 the mare had escaped tlie pruviuus niglit, that on rutmuing with the animal his mistress liad taken it, as lie tliouglit, fur a ride, and so with a ciifr lie was sent abont his business. Crinitli Vychan, the most cholcrjc of the uncles, and conragcous to a fixult, began forthwitli to put his house, or rather his castle, into order. The defences were looked to, the young men busily employed, some in making the light greave kind of armour worn, others in getting an ample supply of bows and arrows^ while cattle were slaughtered and the place provisioned for a siege. But the days went by, and there was no sign of Hawys. No penny post, no telegram then 1 All was dark and mysterious, and, as time passed by, the uncles began to hope that Hawys had met with some mischance which would effectually prevent her return. Possibly in some remote nunnery she had been tempted to stay and forego the practical affairs of every day life for the spiritual, or possibly her beauty had tempted some ruffians of the road and she had been destroyed. They would not have been much concerned at this, or, at any rate, so long as she did not come back to trouble them. A month passed, and still no sign. The} took heart, the jade was dead, the castle and lauds w^ere theirs. But, alas ! one fine autumnal day the look-out reported the gleam of spears in the distance, and soon afterwards announced a strong body of soldiery approaching. Vychan was only at the castle, but he prepared instantly for defence, for he was bold if bad, nud was determined to fight to the death. Yet, as the foe came nearei', he was sick at heart in seeing that the force much out nimibered his own, and that amidst a brilliant throng of knights there were ladies, one of whom his own conscience told him must be Howys. Nearer still they came, and riding out from the throng a messenger chal- lenged the castle in the king's name, and demanded that it be forthwith given up to its lawful owners, the Lady Hawys and Sir John Charleton, her husband. Griffith Vychan saw that to defy the king wouUl be madness, and called a parley. This ended in a meeting between the contending parties, when the whole circumstances of the case were explained, and formal possession given np to Sir John and his wife. History is mute as to the subsequent action of either party, whether the lady and her uncle were thoroughly reconciled or not ; but this is known, that love and happiness for many a year took up their permanent quarters at Castell Coch, and that the descendants of that happy couple, by the name of Clive, not only figured in the brilliant successes of India, but are to this day most intimately connected with Wales. SAXON SLANDER AND MORFAR RHUDDLAN. HERE is an old Saxon distich which has reference to the predatory visits of " Taffy " into England. He is represented as making free with Saxon beef and Saxon bone in this manner : — Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief, Taffy came to my house, Aud stole a leg of beef. I went to Taffy's house, Taffy wasn't at home, Taffy came to my house. And stole a marrow bone. There is a great deal of history wi-apped up in these ancient rhymes, and they are well worth analysing and expounding. With regard to this distich, it is of course at once seen that it is composed from a Saxon's point of view, and embodies his pi*ejudices and his bias. But Taffy was justified in his visits, for they were simply retaliatory, aud provoked by the previous marauding expedi- tions of the Saxons. Divested of its animus, and put into historical phraseology, the legend would read thus : — The Welshman came into the land of the Saxon, and made free with the he)-ds of cattle that were found in the enclosures of wealthy landowners. Provoked by this raid, the Saxons armed themselves, and, crossing the borders, penetrated int(^V^es ; but the natives fled to their mountainous recesses, and tlic assailants returned empty handed to their country. Scarcely, however, had they returned than the Welshmen again entered into the lands bordering the Severn, aud, enriching themselves with spoil, retreated safely into their own mountains. That is the historical rendering of the collection of rhymes, which have an antiquity equal to that of any ballad or distich wc possess. Now let us trace the origin of the slander, and sec who really was to blame. Rowland's " Mona Antiqua," p. 188, states that in 7G3 OfTa reigned in Mcrcia. It was this worthy who set an example in plundering. He it was who, looking at the fair lands of South Wales which bordered the Sevei'n, was seized with an uncontrollable desire to possess them, and actually directed a constant series of inroads, aimed firat at the herds and goods of the Welsh, and scc'iudly to get actual possession of their lands. So well was tliis TALES AND SKETCnES OF WALES. 83 accomplished that the Welsh were driven to inliabit the rocky fastnesses, wliile a their fertile lowlands were taken by the Saxons. They endured this fof a time, but being stung by the incessant attacks and encroachments, at length mus- tered in force, and, inspired liy a common feeling of hatred, paid the Saxons out in their own coin, entering Mercia witli fire and sword, and pillaging to the very top of their bent. The retiii'n of the victorious Welshmen was the signal for great rejoicing. Not only were they loaded with booty, but in their midst were numerous herds of cattle, which had been driven away from Saxon lands ; fat kine of large size, and such as gladdened the wives and children of the mountaineers. One can imagine the rapturous delight of a people who had up to this time suffered all the horrors of invasion, now to taste the sweets of spoil themselves. The division of booty, the sharing of the herds, the pleasure in looking at the substantial cattle which had cost simply the labour of driving them away was luxury. The first taste was so good that greater bands, more numerous and determined, began to make periodical incursions, imtil at length Offa was roused to action, and, mustering a large army, aided by the other Saxon princes, crossed the Severn and penetrated into Wales. But the Welshman " was not at hOme." Unable to resist so great a force, the South Walians retreated into the mountains, where they were secure, though it is tolerably certain that the Saxons did not return empty- handed, but took all that was movable, and what they could not take destroyed. It was to prevent these inroads of the Welsh that the fomous Dyke of OfFa was made, extending a hundred miles, from the Dee to the Wye. Towns also were built, and strong bodies of Saxons placed in them as frontier posts, and for a time this step would seem to have had the necessary effect, and the Welshmen were confined to their own country. But the remembrance of Saxon beef, the lingering fragrance of Saxon marrow bones, once again tempted the Welshman. ' . Pom-ing over the Dyke, and assailing Offa even in his camp, near Hereford, they committed dreadful slaughtei", and the gi'eat Saxon leader only escaped witli difficulty. Offa, however, had jirevious to this insisted upon, and ol)tained hostages from the Welsh for their good behaviour, and incensed by this rupture of the Welsh, and their breaking of the truce, he not only confined the hostages, who must have been persons of rank, still more securely, but he sold their wives and families into slavery. And as soon as he could collect forces he again entered Wales, and is stated to have endeavoured for several years to subdue the natives, but " he could not catch them ! " They did with Oflfa as their forefathers did with Ostorius, the Roman general, decamped from superior forces, cut off detached parties, and from every point of 'vantage harassed and fretted him. Still, made of that stern stuff which knows not defeat, a characteristic which 84 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. combined with the fortitude of the Gael and the clan of the Kelt, has won deathless fields of glory for Britain, Offa pursued the Welsh with a pertinacity that was not to be checked, and coming up to Rhuddlan, where the natives xmder Caradoc were assembled in great numbex'S, a battle ensued, and the Welsh were routed with great slaughter. Offa, Herod like in his hatred of children, ordered all who fell into his hands to be massacred, and the histoi'ian relates that it was with difficulty that the women escaped his fury. This sad day for Wales is immortalised by one of the most ancient and most touching Welsh ballads extant, namely " Morfa Rhuddlan." It is composed iivthe minor key, and, by its weird and plaintive melody, recalls one of the most sorrowful days of old. Historians are somewhat in doubt whether the ballad refers to this conflict with Offa, or to one of the two other defeats the Welsh sustained at Rhuddlan. But the internal evidence of the work points to the one I have described. There is no mention of the slaughter of children, or the seizure of wives and daughters, at any of the others. The Welsh could lose a prince, or sustain a defeat, without much exhibition of lament. Forced to flee they would assemble, and combat again. Conquered they would submit, would bide tlieir time, and at the first favourable opportunity would again rise and fall upon the con- querors. Lands tFiey might lose, herds be taken from them, and in their own turn they would make reprisals, and regain lands and houses with interest. But the dead children could not be restored, and the abducted wives were lost for ever. It was this which touched the soul, and the doleful lament of the bard is the expression of the country's grief — a grief which could not be soothed, " Rachel mourning for her children, and would not be comforted." THE UNKNOWN KNIGHT. A TALE OF BRECKNOCK. m ' A^ llANCE has had its Man with the Iron Mask, the unknown and " unhappy VX^ nobleman " about whom all sorts of conjectures have been hazarded, ^ and yet to this day it is uncertain who and what he was, though many a close guess has been formed. England has had its Man with the Iron Mask, a literary imknown — Junius — who lashed his political enemies until they writhed, and then he disappeared, or died, and made no sign. 'Who and what he was, whether Francis or Biu-ke, is to this day a mystery, and the most valuable treatise on the subject is still but a guess. AVales has had its Man with the Iron Mask, who figured conspicuously in the Norman era and then— but I must not anticipate, but cull from chronicle and legend, an(l present to my readers the tale of THE UNKNOWN KNIGHT. In the time of Henry the First Traharn ab Caradoc was King of North Wales, and -had for wufe Nest, the daughter of Griffith ab Llewelyn ab Seisyllt. Two children figured as the issue of the marriage — Llywarch, the son, and Nest, the daughter. Of Llywarch nothing good can be said, as his prowess in the field was linked with infiimy in the dark, and, however bold a warrior he may have been in open conflict, he did not scruple to lend his hand now and then to assassination. Nest was a beautiful woman, inheriting her mother's charms and her misfortunes. The history of all times and all countries is pretty much the same. Quiet virtues rarely come to the front, and aggression, violence, and vice arc- the* Icinds that are recorded. Of that age, when Traharn ruled, .and the Norman was stoutly battling for supremacy, we know little of the virtues ; the home life of kings and queens, of knights and the people, remained the under- current, while the seething foam and the wreck were alone visible to the chronicler. What the home life of the daughter Nest was we are all ignorant, but this is known, that after the death of her father, at the memorable battle of 86 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. Carno, she and her mother and brother, the first of whom had estates in South Wales, hved in the neighbom-hood of Brecon, and, though divested of much of their old state and gi'andeur, still held high position. This, too, is known, that when- a young maiden in all the freshness and glory of her beauty she fell in love with an unknown knight and was privately married. Suspicion may have pointed to this one or that, but whoever he was is not stated. All that can be learned is that he was a gentleman of martial bearing ; and, inductively, one can glean a little of traits and characteristics, which proved that Nest had not given her heart to a shadow. Pleasant was the home of Nest in Breconshire. No cloud was upon her horizon. Her life flowed smoothly as a brook in June, and even the secret affiance gave a charm, and her husband's love was all her own. That the marriage would be revealed they both knew welL Nature would tell their secret, and some day or other it must come out, and they would have to dare parental strife and brother's scorn. But, till then, flow on the soft brook, and let the woods murmur, and love's dalliance last. ■ This was the condition of things when Bernard de Newmarch the Norman invaded Breconshire, and that thoughtful and vigorous worthy, remembering well, by the example of his brethren in arms, how much better it was to cement conquest by marrying into the race he had conquered, bent low before Nest the beautiful, and craved her love and her hand. What consternation overwhelmed her ! Bernard was a noble personage. She migJit have loved him had she never raet the Unknown ; but now ! The mother and brother wei-e delighted with the conquest of Nest, and thought the offer a golden one. They had their suspicions of the secret marriage, but that could soon be put aside, and Llywarch, skilled in the art of dispatching his enemies, made no secret of his intention to put the obstacle, whoever he was, out of the way. This Nest discovered, and lost no time in hurrying to her husband and bidding him, as he loved her, and regarded his own safety, to floe. The Unknown yielded to her wishes. The fond and secret parting must bo imagined, for his history records it not, and, escaping the dagger of the assassin, he made his way out of the country, and in anotlier land began a life of martial adventure and success. The coast was now clear for the Norman, and Bernard so jilied his suit that Nest very shortly afterwards became his wife. In tliat age the chapel was confined either to the castle or the monastery, and we are left to assume that marriage vows, religious feeling, and the moral virtues, were quite as restricted. It was an age when might was right, when the strong arm won the land or the wife of his enemy, and in many cases the wife was as easily won as was the land ! The rigorous observance of marriage vows seems to liave grown in harmony with our commercial progress, and, tiiongh abuHeuut Pixicu. TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 97 And certain w.as she, many times in the following night, to be much disturbed by rambling incoheronciea, which again, gossips, whom she spoke to, attiibiitcd to beer, but John, defiantly, to Pixies. Sitting in the corner of the kitchen at the Ship, he was occasionally solicited to give some account of the Pixies, " what they were like ; did they speak ; and what did they say 1 " and his information was always of a relishable kind. " They were little men and women of the size of dolls, very quick in their movements, and they would chatter away at a fine rate. There were many • of them, too, and very strong. If John wished to go one away, and they didn't want him, a number of them would pull at his coat, some would climb up his back, and cover his eyes with their caps, so that he couldn't see which way to go, and it was dangerous to hurt them. He never did. If he had, he shouldn't be there then." It was said that his hearers, looking preternaturally solemn at John, would wink at one another, while he was looking into -the bottom of his pint, and it was equally said that, even as they winked they would pursue their inrjuiries, and put John to no end of trouble in answering their questions. John, at times, was very communicative, and his description of the dances he had seen in the moonlight, and the bright green rings left in the morning, showing where they had been in their speed and lightness, and the suddenness with which they vanished if a stranger came near, was all very interesting, but the most astounding event of his life was to come, and all the frolics and gambols he had seen were to be surpassed. He told the tale when a very old man. One Farmer Morris was a customer of his, and he lived a long way off amongst the .mountains. It was always a- day's journey for John to go there and return, and to do it comfortably ; John liked the word comfortably. He always started early in the morning. Farmer Morris had ordered a pair of winter boots, strong in uppers and thick in sole, and the boots were ready. John's wife tied the boots in one of the old-fashioned bundle handkerchiefs, and, fortified with a cup of tea, on the eventful morn- ing John started away, promising as usual to come back straight ; but the day passed and the night came and there was no John, The long-suffering wife made her usual journeys, but there was no shock-headed husband busily drinking away the price of the boots and shoes. She even went far out of the village in the direction of the farm, but no sound of footstep came upon the ear, only the sough of the wind and the distant wash of the sea against the cliff could be heard. So back she hastened, thinking he might have taken another road, but on arriving at the house there was no John. The poor woman made another round of the Ships ana the Golden Lions, with the same ill success, and at length went to bed, comforting herself with the thought that Farmer Morris might have kept John all night ; but her own convictions were that he had not, as it was a thing he never did. The day dawned, and still no John, and about midday the poor woman sallied oft" accompanied by a neighbour — for the village was now all astir — to find her way to Farmer Morris's, and see what had become of John. They 98 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. duly reached the farmer's, and learned that after miking a heai-ty dinner he had returned home, " and had scarcely drunk anything," a piece of informa- tion which surprised the wife immensely. The poor woman was now greatly distressed. He had fallen into one of the coal pits, that she was certain. There were many of these pits on the hills, and the probability was not a remote one. They hurried back to the village to alarm the place, and sent out parties to scour the hills, and in the afternoon of the second day sturdy men were tramping about the mountains, and every possible place that could be searched was searched, and still no John. It was getting quite dark on the second night, and che bands of searchers had returned. John's wife was seated at the fire-side taking a stronger cup of tea than usual, with two or three old ladies similarly employed. And the old ladies, neighbours cf hers, were soothing John's wife, and talking of his virtues. They always do, good old ladies, at such times, and every foible, and even vices and defects, are forgotten, so charitable are they on such occasions. Now and then John's wife would relieve her feelings by putting her apron to her eyes, and at such times she would saw about, and rock herself, and think of depai*ted goodness. Poor old soul. Too good for John ! Presently, there was a noise at the door, and rushing to open it, there was John ! dazed, bewildered, and with him the one and only village constable. He, the constable, had been coming from a neighboring village, and on the way had met John, and taken him, not into custody, but into his care, and had brought him home. " Drunk as a fiddler," said the constable, in a whisper to one of the old ladies. '' Pixies," said John, overhearing the remark, " Pixies ! " The wife was too overjoyed to scold, and when the ueiglibours and the constable had departed, John told his tale, as he told it ever afterwards, but it was noticed with variations and additions. He had started away from the farmer's, placing his bundle handkerchief in his pocket, and had passed through a couple of fields on his homeward journey, when a little voice, about the compass of a tin whistle, said : " Here's fun, here's a handkerchief!" and looking round a dozen of the Pixies had abstracted his handkerchief, and, holding it out like a table cloth, they were tossing one of their companions in it. " Coine now," said John, " let's have the 'kcrchcr," but they couldn't think of such a thing, so John, giving it up as a bad job, turned sulky and ti-udgcd away home without it ; but in a minute or two they wore after him, and climbing up his shoulders like a swarm of bees. He tried to release himself but could not, and what did the elfish sprites do but tie the handkerchief iilirMit his neck, ami ;i hundred of them, yes, he was sure they were a hundred, pulled him, now one way, and then another, until he was tired to death. Then they releuHcd him, after a gi'eat deal of merriment, and he plodded towards the village, but ho felt he was " Pixie led," for do what he would he could TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 99 not keep in the right track. As darkness came on he hecame frightened, and especially so when he stumbled and fell, tripped u[» ho believed at the side of a dark opening in the ground. Another minute and he would have been dashed to pieces. There were more sounds after these of the tin whistle compass, and he got up and took an entirely different direction and before he was aware of it he had plunged into a ditch. It was with some difficulty he got out, and as he was climbing up the bank he was hastened by sharp pins being driven into various parts of his body, and at every groan there were more tin whistle accompaniments. All night he wandered about, now on the mountains and then in the fields, and when the morning broke he was so tii*ed that he went to sleep in a deserted colliery hut, and slept until midday. Then he began to look about him to see where he was. His tormentors were gone, and taking heart he stepped out briskly, feeling the while awfully hungi*y, as he expressed himself, and soon found himself at a village some four or five miles from his own. There he halted and there he melted some of the price of the boots, and at night took the road home, and on the way was met by the village constable. This was John's tale, and its main features he related to the last. But there were some matters that the wife could not understand. The money given by Farmer Morris had been considerably diminished, and though John suggested the Pixies must have taken some, the village constable, who occasionally went to the neighbouring village, whispered another talc, and hinted about a " cruise," " having a night of it," and certain other unfriendly remarks. So it is in this life. Tlie suspicious element prevails, and any doubtful act is regarded in the most unsatisfactory light. John, the last or one of the last believers in the fair world, was apt when commenting upon any strange occurrence to take his short pipe out his mouth to say " Pixies," and jiut it back again, while the village tailor, himself an oracle, politician, and sceptic, would as scutentiously withdraw his pipe, a long one, and with the word " beer," replace it and blow a full cloud as a commentary. G^ THE VILLAGE BOYS. A TALE OF THE WELSH BORDERS. AM going to tell a plain and simple tale ; it shall neither unveil any vice nor disclose any wretchedness. There shall be no exaltation to wealth, nor shall there be any fall to poverty. Simple and unadorned as are the lives of the people, so is this simple and unadorned ; yet if, in the lowly undergrowth by the wayside, one little flower can.be seen upon which the eye of the passer-by may rest with love and tenderness, the tale will not have been told in vain. " Why tell it if only a simple tale of the people 1 " " Ah, there ; I believe that there is in the honest and Inimble home-brewed of common life very often more substantial good than in the airy, and winsome, and sparkling champagne. You read of startling incident, grouped amidst the flutter of high life, and in the lees is there anything to think of with pleasure or recall with profit 1" ' Do you remember the apples your grandfathers stored, and brought out from hidden recesses in the winter time to give to truant and much-spoilt grandchildren — the wrinkled " Blenheim apples," the famous, and also wrinkled, " Ril)stone pippins ? " Enlarge a couple of these, and imagine them human faces ; let grey hair in scanty locks steal over them on stalwart frames, bowed with the weight of three score years and ten ; give each a stout stick, such as no dandy would carry, and you have John and George. I saw them first, old, wrinkled, yet happy-faced men at a fair on the Welsh borders, and was so struck with them as to make persistent inquiries into who and what they were. They would have stood for the brothers Cheery ble. They were men who had been stalwart in tlicir day, and were still stout and hearty, they were comfortably clad, Imt the softened, happy expression of each face was the most noticeable thing about them, and no one could look at them without a tender, softened fooling stealing into the eyes. Quiet, unaffected goodness, content gleamed there. If tlie dream of their lives had been like our mountain brooks, rugged, and wild and heedless, all had sobered down into a calm, even as the Btream Bobcrs ere it passes into the mighty sea and is lost for over. TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 101 John nnd George had been village hoys seventy years before T saw them first. One was the son of a weaver, and the other of a tailor, and the fathers of both wore poor men. They played together at the national schools. They sailed paper ships on the same pond, and flew kites, played marbles, or trundled hoops in the idle hours, just as other boys did, and have done since the time that kites, marbles, and hoops have been invented. Fortunately for both, the schoolmaster was a good and wise man. Ho saw in both the signs of superior capacity, and thanks to him, ere they reached young manhood^ boLh were in a good way of life, though in different towns. Before they were separated, they made a compact, that, if fortune should favour them, they would end their days even as they had begun them, together; and with this, and a hearty shake of the hand, they parted. Years rolled on, and the lot of the friends was unchequered by misfortune or sorrow. Once or twice they met ; occasionally they corresponded ; but the duties of life pressed heavily, and the youthful friendship seemed a far-away picture of the past, a memory that time had dimmed, as it dims all things. One married, and reared a large fsimily, and sitting by the wife's side as the years flew on, he '' saw himself go wooing with his boys, while she was courted in her girls." George did not marry. He wooed science, and in his leism-e hours gazed with wrapt wonderment through the eyelets of Science. Electricity and the microscope were his loves, enabled in the worKing of one to stand seeminglyin the great engine-room of Nature, whence came the grand forces tha^t worked her will, and. gratified by the other in tracing a beauty and perfection which to the thousands remained unseen and luiknown. The world had prospered with tliem, but John realised the lot that seems inseparable from humanity. His children went forth into the world, even as he had gone. His girls, mothers themselves then, and in other counties, his sons, some on foreign shores, and all wrapt up in their own hopes and pursuits, gone too, and the old couple left by the hearth alone. They had listened to the prattle of infancy ; had watched their children's growth and progress ; had looked, half sorrowfully, and all lovingly, as one by one they had wandered away; and the old home echoed no more to the prattle of child, or to maiden's song. Have you ever thought, reader, of the indurability, so to express it, given to an old house ? How its rooms are hallowed, and made sacred by the home life that has been born and nourished to its fulness there 1 So it was with the old homestead of John. A few years more, a little more silvering of the hair, and the wife of his heart and the mother of his boys passed softly away, gently as the seared leaf fixlls in autumn time. Now, truly alone, John thought of his old schoolfellow, of whom he had not heai'd for many long years, and putting his house in order he sallied forth on his pilgrimage to the town from whence he heard of him last. Thei'e everyone knew Geoi-ge, retired now, but not over wc^xltliy, said his informant. He liad 102 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. got his bread and cheese. Would have been a rich man if he hked, but, Lord bless you, anybody could do him, his pocket belonged to all the beggars in the place. You had only to di'aw a long face and "whimper, and he'd say, " don't, now, don't," and in would go his hand into his pocket, and ofiF would go the beggar with a chuckle. And then he'd stand looking after him and say, " Dear bless me, what troubles and poverty there are in the world ! " " Scientific man still 1" " yes, and that's one reason he didn't become a very rich man. Would leave the shop any day to see some strange plant, or a butterfly miles off, and, at the briskest time at night was up, moon gazing on the roof, when he ought to have been behind his counter." " Was doubtless robbed V " I believe you. Young Jennings dressed better than his mastei*, and. sported no end of jewellery, and lived in such style ! The old man's eyes were opened at last. Wouldn't believe it for ever so long, but found him out one day, and then found, too, he must have lost thousands." " What did ho do 1 " " Took him into his parlour, and talked, and talked with him, as a father would, and then let him go with his boxes and things, just as if he was sending off his son for a holiday ! " With these and other insights into his old friend's life, John was much interested, and amongst other things he learned that every night, at a certain hour, he was in the habit of going to the Free Library, and there poring over the daily paper before going home to his rest. John had been to his house, but he was away, and not expected until the evening, so, at the expected hour he sallied forth from his hotel and sat, aj)parently busy with a newspaper, until his friend came in. . A click of the latch, a step, and in, quietly, came George. Placid the face, calm as that of a man who looked beyond the trifles and petty vexatious of life, the face of the earnest thinker, Looking tlirough Nature up to Nature's God. He came and sat by Jolni. That worthy knew it must be his friend, from some fiiint resemblance to what he was in tlie old days, but George only saw a stranger. Very methodically the last comer pulled out his si)cctacles, wiped them and placed them on his brow. Then as methodically he looked for the paper which John had secured, and when George was about solacing himself with an old one, luitil the last was disengaged, John said, handing him the paper at the same time, " The day's paper, sir." " Thanks, many thanks," ho rejoined, and as he took it into his hand he Becmcd to muse over the voice of the stranger. It touched an old chord of the incmory, it was familiar, and yet where had ho heard it ? So alTected was he that after a minute's hesitation and pondering he turned around and said, " I have heard your voice before," looking him full in the face. "George!" the old smile beamed over old Jdlm's face as bespoke, and TALEa ANT) SKKTCHES OF WALES. 103 with the exclamation " John ! " hand was clasped in hand, and firmly held. There was no readin<^ newspapers then, but a speedy adjournment heme, and hasty preparations for a repast. Then a sitting up long into the night, when each told his talc, and hotli planned the futin-e course of action. A week or two after that, they might have been seen walking through the villagre, the scene of their birth and childhood ; the elms were there on the village green ; the white gate at the parsonage looked smaller than of old ; the place more quiet and further away than ever it had been from the track of busy trailc. Even the villagers spoke to one another with a quiet, half- aslcop manner. Not even in the bark of the dogs was there anything like briskness, and children's mirth was sobered too in that little hamlet amidst the hills, where the only changes seemed to be in the increase of little mounds in the village churchyard. Quietly throiigh the village, noting each old spot, the friends walked, gazed at by every man and woman and child, and at length they came to the Grange, the old squire's residence, but the squire was- dead ! Tired of the monotony of having nothing to do, and having no taste for any of the out-door amusements which give such a zest to country life, he had deliberately committed suicide, and now the heir lived in another county, and the old place was going to ruin. They made inquiries, and, finding it could be had for a moderate rental, took it. Then, entrusting the repair to competent hands, and arousing quite a clnmour in the village by the act, they again disappeared. It was not long before the business of George was sold, and the homestead of John satisfactorily let. This done, and the Grange finished, and well supplied with furniture and. all things necessary, the old friends settled down. Very soon their seci*et oozed out, and they had a swarm of friends and old faces gathered around them. They were known as the two old bachelors, and there was not a curly-pated youngster who did not know Uncle George and Uncle John. You might see them any day in the fine weather, either in the village street, in their carefully kept garden, or sitting in front of the Grange, and very frequently together. Starting away in early life, they had returned with wealth to be of the greatest benefit and comfort. There was no selfish indulgence, no consideration of self. John liked to smoke his pipe, and look out upon the village street, and see in the distance the train whirling on its- way to London ; on retui-ning, bound for the innermost parts of Wales ; and nothing pleased George so nuuh as to go up to Doverous Wood, and come back laden with trophies in the shape of insects or plants, over which he would descnnt with animation, the while John smoked, and looked half amused at his companion's earnestness. Looking at them together, one would note, perhaps, a shade more of thoughtfulness on the face of John than there was on that of George, and ■ those who knew their history, and saw John gazing at the distant hills through the clouds of smoke from his long pipe, believed that the mental gaze was riveted on those that had been loved and lost, and above the song of birds or 104 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. wave of trees, or even the gleeful tumult of the old school playground, voices were heard that had sounded by the fireside, or when " good-bye " was uttered for the last time. Once a year, and that at Christmas-time, and for a whole week, the sedateness and solitude of the Grange were disturbed. George was driven to his wit's end in taking care of his cherished specimens, and of his instruments. The place was invaded. Curly-headed boys, and young damsels ringleted, marched everywhere, and George had all his work to interest and amuse them. As for John, it was the happiest time of his life to take his children and his grand- children all over the village or sit with them around the groaning table. And how rich were the invaders when they left the Grange ; what soft crackling paper filled their pocket books ; how wealthy were all the youngsters in treasures of toys J and how inconsolable they were, as they looked out of the village fly taking them stationward from " pore ole gran-pa ! " It was a long time before the old quiet was restored, or the echo had seemed to die away of merriment and childlike fun. But it did return, and was again broken, and was again restoi-ed many and many a year. Old Time, ever breaking up home circles and ending human histories, seemed to pause over the career of John and George, and linger lovingly, not caring to write its solemn finis to their life. But one day a whisper ran through the old hamlet on the Welsh borders, John was dead ; he had died in his sleep, and on his brow, placid as that of a child, no sign of pain. George followed him to the grave, and a little knot of men — themselves aged, his own sons — followed too. Again time lingered, and still, with unchanged zeal, old George — " Old Squire George " — followed his bent, and through fields and woods and over marshy lands pursued his hobby. But rheumatism came, and pains and sickness. He rallied, but from that time was an old, old man ; he gently faded ; a child of natui*e, his end was as one — the tranquil- endings of nature's times and periods. The day blended into the night, and loving friends knew not when the day ended and the night began. # * * * * -if-.* * Now and then I visit the border village, and a void seems there. The generous hearts are at rest, but their names are household words, and better than storied \n-n or monumental bust, tlian eulogistic epitaph or painted memoriam, is the " In memory of" which is inscribed on the Grange, and which renders it the almshouse of the village, where half-a-dozen old men live in comfort and thank God nightly, if not hourly, tliat men like John and George were not only blessed with riches, but with kind hearts to bequeath those riches after them to the benefit of old villagers for ever. THE FATE OF SIR WALTER MANSEL. A TALE OF KIDWELLY CASTLE. (from the annals op the margam family.) ^IvyHHE character of a nation is no more susceptible of jshange than that -''*■-' of an individual. The Psalms denounce usury, which was evidently a favourite pursuit of the Jews, as indicated by the fact that they did business in the Temple, and " converted it into a den of thieves ; " and' how strikingly maintained is that usurious character in the bill-of-sale- loving Isi'aelite of to-day. I am led to this thought by the recollection that many a writer in Wales thinks the Welsh of the Middle Ages but little above the heathen. Listead of that they were a most devout people. Holy wells abounded, monasteries were common, and " yspytty," or hospitals, in the widest and most generous sense, showed that the religion believed in was capable of a most pi-actical application. That devotional character of the Welsh shown by deep-seated superstitions in the early ages, by Roman Catholic devotedness in after times, is now as strongly indicated in the churches and chapels of the present day. In fact, every colliery community which nestles down in a solitary dingle soon indicntes its nationality by founding a chapel, and as they advance to a higher degree of refinement, and approach more the character of a town, found a church. It was at the time of the Crusades when, as William of Malmesbury states, the Welshman left his hunting, the Dane his drinking party, and the Norwegian his raw fish, in order to fight for the Cross. Hunting was the passionate amusement of the Welsh gentleman, but this he gave up readily to fight the Saracen. From all parts of Wales the Crusaders journeyed ; the lord of castle and laud, the young scion whose only inheritance was his sword, and the sturdy villager, into whose devout soul the monks had infused their own earnest zeal — all gave up castle and home, and journeyed away, careless whether or not they returned, so long as the great object of wresting the sacred spot from the infidel was attained. 106 TALES AXD SKETCHES OF WALE?. At Kidwelly Castle all was excitement. The Crusades had been proclaimed, and the Lord of Kidwelly, Elirdir Ddu, Knight of the Sepulchre, was preparing to depart. He had a yearning to be away, for not long before the Saxon wife of his heart had been laid to sleep. He was not alone in the world, for three children had been born to him ; but sorrow pressed heavily upon him, and he felt that it was only in the thick of battle that he could forget. What a din of preparation went on ; rubbing of trappings of man and horse ; ladies working assiduously at banners, and huge leather contrivances, now represented by Gladstone bags, being put in order for holding the necessities o; Sir Elirdir Ddu. We pry not into what they were. Romance gives us pictures of knights who seem to live and sleep in armoui', and we are told nothing of hose or linen ; do not know about collars or studs, and no reference is made even to brushes and combs. Romance is too dignified for detail, so we take the knight, who, by-the-way, is a strictly historical personage, in the lump as he was, namely, in armour. ' The leave-taking, when it came, was a sad one. His youngest son, Rhys, was to accompany him, and Griffith and fair Nest, the only daughter, remained behind. There was anotlier fair lady, too, amongst those who were left, and this was Gwladys, a niece of Sir Elirdir's, and daughter of Sir Elirdir's brother, Philip ap Ddu, wdio, having the misfortune to die at an untimely age, left his only daughter to his brother's care. * * * * * * ** A great clattering in the court-yard, a neighing of steeds, loving and Sad farewells, and tlie band of the worthy knight pass under the raised gateway, and like an arrow disappear into the mist of the morning. It will be mnny a day ere they return, if ever. Who shall say who will, or. will not, leave his bones to bleach on the battle plains of the East 1 Griffith now was governor of the castle, and, like many young men placed in positions of greater responsibility than their age^^ warrant, ruled rather differently to his sorrowful sire. How loi'dly his voice, how imperious his commands ! He was very different to his sister, who was the very pattern of loving amiabiHty,just the kind of wife a man loves who places implicit confidence in her husband, and eschews all idea of Caudlcism. Nest was in love, and her lover was Sir AV alter Mansel, a young and gallant knight, whose attentions to Nest had only just begun at the time when Sir Elirdir left, and so strongly had Sir Walter fallen in love that he could not think of Crusades, or* of anything else that would take him from the presence of his beloved. Unfortunately for Sir Walter he was the very man with whom ladies always fall in love. Nature liad made him in every essential of bearing and deportment a lady's man. lie was winning, fascinating, accom- ])lishcd in arms and si)orts, gay, t/eio/mf«"re. What more can bo said 1 But unfortunately, I repeat it, for Sir Walter, ho iKjt only captivated Nest, but licr cousin f Jwladys as well, and unwittingly, for ho was a true knight, and was qnite content to know that Nest returned his love. He did not caro for the other, though she, too, was very beaut ilul ; bii) while Nest had, as TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 107 an old writer described it, soft blue orbs and golden ringlets, Gwladys had the clear, rich, dark complexion, flashing eyes, and glossy black han- of Cambria. Gwladys loved him passionately from the moment she saw him first, and unheeding the fact that he had openly professed to love her cousin, did all she could to wean his attention to herself. But Walter was firm to his allegiance, and even when Gwladys had almost overstepped the bounds of maidenly decorum in her blind infatuation for him, he gently parried endearment of word and allurement of eyes. Nest was worthy of all his devotion, and to Nest he would be true. This was a serious complication. In the stately old castle two ladies in love with the same man ! Nor was this all. Griffith was also in love with his cousin Gwladys ! • Little did the good knight. Sir Elirdir Ddu, think of this as he went jogging along to the seaboard. Little knew he of the clouds that were looming, as the transport bore him and many a stout Welshman away. Griffith loved his cousin as fervently as she loved Walter, and she saw this, and, like a cuiniing jade,- began to plot how to turn it to account. She did not like Griffith; he was too coarse and impulsive ; but she dissembled. She might make his love a weapon, and if she could not gain the lov£"of Walter, she was determined no one else should ! That one so beautiful should entertain such a vicious determination is one . of the strange problems of hviman history. In the lower types of life, what venom lurks under the fascination of the cobra, and in the higher, of what villainy was not the superbly handsome Borgias. capable ! There was yet another complication at Kidwelly Castle. Previous to setting out upon his journey, Sir Elrrdir had been won over to some extent by Griffith to refuse Sir Walter admittance into the castle until his return, for Griffith hated Walter most vindictively, and regarded him not only as a personal enemy, but as one of those hateful Normans who had assisted so materially in despoiling the rightful Welsh lords of their property. Sir Klirdir was more generous, but still he thought that young blood was hot, and possibly some quarrel might ensue between the young men, so ho hinted to Walter that he did not dislike his attentions to Nest, but it woidd be better that he did not visit the castle until his return. Such was the tangled web at Kidwelly Castle, and after remaining unaltered for a month or two, Gwladys made a discovery which sent her anger up to extreme heat, and scattered her love for Walter for ever. The discovery was this, She had noticed her cousin going out occasionally, and displaying more than ordinary care in her dress. She had further noticed that the occasional absence was often a long one, and that Nest looked particularly flushed and happy on her return. What should Gwladys do 1 She soon settled the point by watching her opportunity and following Nest at a safe distance upon her stolen journey. At starting, poor Nest, innocent crafty one as she was, took a course diametrically opposite to that she intended taking, and when out of sight of the castle, 108 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. proceeded in the direction of Trimsaran, where Sir Walter had a temporary dwelling, from which he now and then drove to Margam. Veiy quickly, now, Nest went on her way, and very stealthily Gwladys followed. There was no one to see the pursuit of the dove by the hawk. Gwladys took good care of that, and cautiously pursued until she saw a scarf fly in the distance, and noticed Sir Walter bound over the sandy- common, and meet her with eveiy indication of the most ardent affection. Gwladys did not wait. She saw enough. She saw that, as she had feared, Sir Walter had given the whole of his heart to her cousin, and from that time the Cambrian beauty vowed a fearful revenge, and repeated her dire resolve. If she could not have Sir Walter no one else should. The place of meeting was called Pont y-Gwendraeth, and it spanned a river which, being indirect, and in near connection with the sea, was a tidal one, and very deep. Very soon after her return Gwladys had a quiet meeting with Grifiith, wha was delighted to be thus favoured, arid thought that his cousin was beginning to respond to his love suit at last ; but instead of telling him that his love- was returned, she fenced him off in this respect, and broke to him the stolen meetings of his sister and Walter. Welshmen, in their present refined ei*a, have the credit of being quick in anger and speedy in revenge; but then, unfettered by the law, their volcanic currents had no limit, but poured down, destroying everything in their track. Fired with anger, GrifP.th. took hasty resolvCj and a letter was intercepted from Walter to Nest naming the next meeting. This was all the conspirators wanted, and when Griffith said that the only thing now wanted was a man who would carry out their intentions, Gwladys at once fixed • upon the individual. This was the black sheep of the castle, her own foster brother, Merig Maneg — a fellow who lacked every good feeling, and was so notoriously knavish and villainous that nature very kindly, and not all according to her wont, had put a mark upon him in the foi'm of a crafty, cruel, and malicious look. Your genuine scoundrel is not unfrequently a very plausible, good-looking fellow, and Merig was, in consequence, very generally avoided. Gwladys sent for him, and the fellow, very proud of the distinction, took an oath to obey Griffith in whatever he wished, and then the beautiful snake, satisfied that all was in fair trim, proceeded to play soft dalliance with Nest, so as Vietter to conceal the part she was taking in the affixlr. The day came for the tryst. It was a beautiful day in September, too early for the slightest sign of winter, but not too late for autumn's gold. Very fragrant the air, very soft the wind ; the radiance of many a sunset seemed to linger on the trees, as if stamped indelibly there by the Power that bestowed and loved all its bestowals and its creations, even as we do the little ones of our home and heart. Very beautiful was the sky — so blue, and wide, and far stretched, no cloud to hide some watching angel guarding flic life and happiness of Nest. And gently tripping over meadow and common she went. . The bridge was near. There was the play of the scarf, and the old bound as ho sprang upon the bridge, but as she neared the centre she heard the whiiT TALES AND SKRTCnES OF WALES. 109 of an arrow, saw him stagger and fall, and ere she could gain the side of the stream she saw Merig, the villainous, spring from a place of concealment on to the bridge, and, catching up her lover in his arms as he would a child, throw him into the waves ! Nest waited not, faltered not, but, giving one wild shriek of despair, plunged in after the hapless knight, and the tide, then turning, carried both the bodies out to sea. One minute sufficed for the tragedy, and two strong loving hearts were stilled for ever. There was a great ado at the castle the next day, for neither Griffith nor Gwladys had calculated upon such an ending, The death of the knight was all that was wanted, rind now here was another complication, and what would Sir Elirdir do 1 Together the worthless pair concocted a tale — how it had come to their knowledge that Nest had agreed to elope with Sir Walter ; that the window of her bed chamber was found open and the bed undisturbed ; that tracks were found reaching down to the sands ; and that evidently, in trying to get ■ away, the tide had overtaken them and drowned them. The bodies were first discovered by a fisherman, who, whenever he heard what the people said at the castle, laid a forefinger, an ancient sign, against his nose, and looked uncommonly shrewd. And to his cronies over their cups — for it woidd not do when a man's life w^as worth less than a cow's to tell stories of the ruling powers — the fisherman whispered of an an-ow w^ound near Sir Walter's heart. Unhappy Sir Elirdir ! Little did he think that at the moment his bright broadsword cut down Saracens to the chine that his beloved and only daughter was meeting such a hapless fate. When the news did come, borne by messenger, sorrow and sickness and exposure broke down the little vitality that was left, and Elirdir slept where so. many a noble Briton had slept, and were to rest again under the shadow of the cypress and the cross. Griffith waited a little while after his sister's death to renew his profession of love to Gwladys, but she wouldn't hear of it. " She marry the man who caused his sister's death ! " and she shrugged her shoulders and retired, leaving Griffith to meditate whether it would be better to kill her, hang himself, or go to the Crusades. Fortunately for Gwladys he decided upon going himself to join his father in the East, and, accompanied by that precious scoundrel Merig, he started and did good service, for if he was a bad, he was a brave man, as many a Saracen found to their cost. In the lapse of time Rhys, the younger brother, returned home, and about the period when Griflith fell in a great conflict with the infidel, he and Gwladys were married. But, hear it, ye believers in the eventful shaping of the roughest end, and the reward of a just life, and the satisfactory dealing out of justice to the honest, she was not happy, and when gossips began to speak of a white- veiled form haunting the bridge of Pont-y-Gwendraeth, the little reason she had, left her, and for a time she was under restraint. From this she rallied, and, though in sinking health, was sufficiently rational one day to receive her foster brother, who had returned in broken health to Kidwelly to die. 110 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES, From the momeut he had murdered Sir Walter he had known no rest. One glance of an anguished face was ever before him, one wild shriek ever in his ears. He had followed Sir Griffith to the wars to get rid of life ; but some charm about him made him invulnerable. In the thickest of the fight, wherever men went down like corn bofore the reaping hook, there was Merig to be seen, and out of it he alwo.ys came imhurt and free. The first time that Nest appeared to him was on the death of Sir Elirdir, . and then she told him, " that her spirit was doomed to walk the earth as a punishment for her suicide, until a marriage should take place between one of her father's descendants, and a member of the Mansel family. When this came to pass," she stated, "that her probation would be over; but that until it did occur, she would appear on Pont-y-Gwendraeth to give warning of the approaching death of every member of the family." She also added " that a descendant of ]\Ierig's would meet with an ignominious death through the instrumentality of one of her's, and that, about that time, her visitations on earth would cease." Such was the tale told by Merig, and very shortly afterwards his troubles came to an end, and a narrow grave received him. And now for an authentic verification of a genuine ghost story. From that day the bridge became known as Pont-yr-yspryd-Gwyn, (the bridge of the white spirit,) and for many a generation it was said to be the scene where a white form would occasionally appear, give utterance to a wild unearthly shriek, and vanish. In 1775, Mr. Rhys, a lineal descendant of Rhys Ddu, of Kidwelly Castle, lived in the neighbourhood. The fortunes of the family were not so bright as of old. They were no longer lords of Kidwelly, and the castle was a ruin. Still Mr. Rhys was a gentleman of position, and a magistrate, and he was returning one evening from quarter sessions, when he was startled by seeing a white figure flit rapidly across the bridge, and disappear over it into the water. Mr. Rhys felt the horse he rode tremble under him, and the animal for some time doggedly refused to go onward. Instantly Mr. Rhys thought of the ghost story and the prediction, and riding towards Kidwelly, when a few miles from home, noticed a large crowd, and heard tliat a shocking murder had been committed upon a poor old woman. He entei-ed the cottage, and discovered on looking about, a small portion of a man's coat-sleevo lying upon the bed. This he held up, and asked if any one was known who wore a coat of that colour, and a dozen voices at once shouted out " Will Mancg ! " Will was arrested, and, confessing his guilt, was hanged on Pcmbrcy Mountain ; while, as still further to strengthen the prediction, Mr. Rhys was infoi'med that day of the death of his brother, Artinir, of the Royal Navy, who was drowned at sea, and of his wife's mother's death. Lady Mansel, of Iscoed, who was burnt to death at Kidwelly, her sleeve having cauglit fire as she was in the act of. scaling a letter. After so correct a fulfilment, no wcll-l)chaved ghost could be expected to faal in kcui)iiig its word, and thus though tlic tradition lingers in the neighbour- TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. Ill liood of Kidwelly still, and many a lover tells the talc and makes his sweetheart cling more confidently to the strong arm upon which she leans, yet the only thin;;- that retains any resemblance to a visionary life is in the name of the, bridge, tlie Pont-yr-yspryd-Gwyn. MARCH OF THE MEN OF IIAIILECH. jOPULAR as this musical composition has always been, it is unquestionably now placed in the highest rank by the genius of Brinley Richards. Those who have heard him, and watched his wonderful fingering on the pianoforte, are enthusiastic in his praise. Yet he claims no credit, but awards all honour to the unknown author, who, somewhere in the fourteenth century, composed a piece which, for musical talent and military fire, stands equal to the finest martial composition of modern days. Harlech means bold rock, and throughout the history of Wales, from, it is conjectured, the fourth to the foui'teenth, or even the fifteenth century, maintained its character as one of the most formidable castles in Wales. It was first built by Mallgwynedd, prince of North Wales, about the year 350, and after figuring in many important strifes, was rebuilt by Edward the First, in the thirteenth century. Here the fair Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry the Sixth, found an asylum, and in the romantic quietude of this lonely spot recalled the gay and brilliant past, and dreamt of the possible restoration of former grandeur. Here, too, came the last Welsh chieftain, Owen Glyndwr, and in possession of the fortress pictured himself in full possession of the title and power he craved. It was, however, in the fifteenth century that the old castle won its immortality by its brilliant defence against the king by the Lancastrians. Sturdy old Davydd ap Ivan ap Einion was then the governor, and he scorned capitulation and defied all assault. William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, besieged it in force, and long remained camped without the walls, every effort being frustrated by the brave defenders. The Earl's brother marched to his assistance, and all supplies being cut oft', they literally starved the old Welshman out. Glyu Cothi, the bard, has 112 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. described the march to the support of Herbert in an able poem, but the defence, and the undaunted .bravery of the defenders, won from other hands a tribute more imperishable than Glyn Cothi's muse — the celebrated " March." The whole district is, fo coin a phrase, martialised. Stones still erect are known as the tombs of heroes, glens are dignified by the term of '' the loud shout to battle." An impress of valour seems yet to linger about the spot, and to recall the day when, in defence of land and liberty, the men of Harlech fought and died. When one listens to the martial strain, and is roused to enthusiasm by its patriotic fire, it is pleasant to think that the descendants of those who assailed and those who defended are now welded together ; are blended into one race, and that while the old valorous spii'it still exists, and is as ready now as ever to defend home and land, or win fresh renown on foreign battle fields, that the habits insensibly have long become directed and moulded into peaceful channels. The fire we trace in the pulpit, the energy in commerce, the ability in literary pursuits, the sword, in fact, has been ground down to the ploughshare, and the reaping hook ; and the ripened corn falls in golden heaps where once fell a ruddier stain. Harlech is now a scene for the poet and the artist. The one may pen his ballad, and the other perpetuate upon canvas ruined towers and living foliage. Never again is it likely to be the scene of strife. Eauk, wealth, and com- merce now camp beneath its walls, in mansion, villa, and dwelling, and the past has become simply a tradition to while away the leisure of the tourist, and bring back the grim days of old. r|^ THE STRANGER. A TRUR PRMBllOKRSITTRE TALE. Preface. rtr > EST it be thought that I am romancing, it will be as well to assure the reader that the substance of this strange tale was told me by one who heai'd it from the doctor's lips. It was told me one winter eve by the fireside, in a low solemn voice, and though in the after part, and the general working up, I may have departed from the exact wording of the original, yet the outline is the same. For the "text,"then, blame my informant; who he was must remain unknown. For the " sermon " I am answerable. ■ There was not a more bountiful man in the whole of Pembrokeshire than Dr. , I will call him Dr. Thomas. In early life he had studied the art of healing ; had walked the hospitals ; lived in France ; sojourned in Germany, and had settled down in his native .town to practice, when an old uncle — how fortunate it is to have an old uncle, how traditionally excellent is even the name — died, leaving him a large tract of freehold, and a good round sum at his bankers. By his uncle's decease he became suddenly a rich man. Dr. Thomas soon put his resolves into action. His lotions, powders, and calomel, were placed into a cupboard for occasional service amongst the poor, and then the doctor became the country gentleman, and, being a man of culture and refinement, who had seen a good deal of the world and observed and thought much, his society was sought after, and many a tempting heiress might have been had for the plucking. But he had contracted bachelor habits, and though he liked society as an occasional variation, he liked still better his books and solitude. Yet, it was not to be expected that this state of things could continue long, and so, after a few years of bachelor freedom, he married, and, as he called it, settled down, dispensing physic and good advice to any poor labourer, and justice once a week in his capacity of J. P. H 114 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. At the time when my tale opened he and his good lady were famed for their hospitality, and their generous aid in any hopeful movement. No children had blessed their union, and so the wealth they possessed "was xised liberally, not simply in catering to a clique, giving elaborate parties, and confining them- selves to a circle of inanities ; but extending a wide and beneficent action over the whole neighbourhood, so that, far and near, the fame of the open house of Dilstone was known. ' • " It was the hay harvest. The doctor, as he was always called, had seen the heavy swath scattered about by men and maidens. Through the lanes had gone the great loads, leaving, amidst the wild roses and the honeysuckles, the fragrant " wisps " Of hay. In great stacks it had been placed in the ample yard near his residence, which was half farm, half mansion'in appeai'ance, and one fine morning the doctor was standing near one of them, admiring its build, and delighted with its fragrance, when a little, weazened-looking man, dressed in rusty black, and wearing boots dusty and worn with travel, stepped nimbly from behind it, with a '' good morning, sir ! There's many a worse place than a hay stack to sleep under." " Good gracious ! " exclaimed the worthy doctor, "you don't mean to say that you have slept there all night." " Yes," said the stranger, "and slept like a top ! " " But why not have had a bed in the village, or knocked at my door 1 you should have had a bed and supper too if you wanted." " Thanks," said the rusty man, " but I'm accustomed to this sort of thing, and in the summer it's refreshing. There's a smell in common houses, but a fragrance here. My lot has lain amongst the poor, and, do you know, there's a particular odour with poverty, just as there is a special odour with crime, and I don't like either." The doctor laughed at the quaintness of the stranger, and said, " well, you have not broken your fast, will you come and do so in my house 1 " " Again thanks," was the rejoinder, " but my wants are very few. I have still a few pence for a crust, and the brook will supply the rest." The doctor again pressed him, for he saw that he was not speaking with an ordinary tramp. The little man liad taken olf his shabby hat, and above that weazened fixce was a thoughtful brow, and his eyes, too, glittered with a keenness and power which had a strange weird fascination. Tlie doctor was determined he would know more about the stranger he was talking to, and, yielding reluctantly to his request, the stranger accompanied him to the house. "Now," he said as they reached it, "either you shall get your wants supplied in the kitchen or in the breakfast room with me." " The kitclien, by all means ! " was the reply. " You don't know who I am. Perhaps I have been tliinking to ])lunder yoiii- lien roost, or to set fire to your stacks, and it wouM bo singular," and he laughed strangely, " for the criminal to iiob nob with the magistrate." " How do you know I am a magistrate " TALES AND SKRTOHEH OF WALES. 115 " Well, if you are not, it would be singular. You have the best house in the neiglibourhood, and possess an intelligence above the usual clodhopper farmer ; but tliere's a manner about a man who rules which those who arc ruled can scarcely fail to observe." • The doctor smiled, and, ushering his visitor into the kitchen, bade a servant lay a substantial I'opast before hiiu, and nodding a good-bye, saying, "don't go luitil I've seen you again," went nito his own breakfast-room to tell his wife of his adventure. " I never see'd such a man as master is," thought the girl, as she placed the fragrant ham and snowy eggs before the stranger. " I can't abear his eyes. If I don't look after the spoons my name isn't Jane." • " Good girl," said the little man. " Now, don't let me detain you. Your spoons shall be all right, I promise you." The girl started. " Majiy thanks, this is the best meal I have had for many a day, don't stay, As the girl told the housemaid she added, " you could a' knocked me down with a handkerchief, he seemed to know what I was a thinking of." She didn't stay, and was " only too glad to be away from them eyes." " Well, sir, I hope you have enjoyed yourself," cried the doctor, as he looked in after giving him sufiicient time, as he thought, to satisfy himself. *■ Very much indeed," was the reply, " and if I had an inclination for your hen roost, it is all gone I" ' " " Had you an inclination 1 " laughed the doctor. " Well, I can't say. Hunger prompts a man to do things which he wouldn't think of after a good meal. It's a spur, a whet, often, to villainy. Hunger and drink fill the gaols. Giles, starving, ti-aps a hare — Giles drunk, becomes very often a fiend. " Very Crue/' said the doctor, more than ever struck Avith the man's quaintness. " By the . way," he added, " can I help you in any manner on your road 1 What du'ection are you taking 1" " The roads I choose," was the reply, "are those which are the easiest walked. I have no particular coiu'se, or, indeed, object." " What are you ? " said the doctor. "Simply a traveller." " But how do you live V " As I can." " Have you no means of livelihood 1 " " None ; I am worse off than the gipsy, who has his clothes pegs in moral moments ; and lower than the tinker, who is able to patch a tin when he can't get a stray fowl, or pilfer a sheet ott' a hedge." " But surely you have not always been a poor traveller 1 " " Haven't I," was the rejoinder, that seemed more a soliloquy than a reply. Then in a musing manner he continued : " I have tramped the prairies of the H- 116 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. nor'-west, and slept in the shadow of the Pyramids. I know what the Indian sun is like, and I have felt the rigour of the Kussian steppes. I have lived in France so long as to feel myself imbued with the instincts of a Frenchman, in Germany until Bavarian beer and saner kraut seemed indispensable. Ones I was near besoming a mandarin in China, and I have since lielped Sir John Franklin with his whaleboats." " Mad as a March hare ! " said the doctor to himself. " Not a bit of it ! " exclaimed the stranger. " One of the worst guesses you have made." " God bless me," thought the doctor. " I hope he will ! " said the little man. " I say 1 " cried the doctor, " either I think aloud or you read my thoughts. You and I don't part easily. Come into my study. Let me know more about you, and see if I cannot help you in some way or another." " Alas ! Alas ! " was the reply. " I don't see how you can. If you could transform me into one of your docile William Williamses or John Joneses, that I could hedge or plough ; get me from myself, make me other than I am, then you might. But now, alas ! " • • " Whatever you are, one thing is clear, you are poor." " Yes, I have only a few shillings, not a ducat, a Napoleon, or a greenback, but I can get some when hard pressed." "■ And how"? " queried the doctor. " Preach at the wayside, write an article to your papers, or magazines. My last pound came from Blackwood ; or teach." '^ Can you teach ] " said the doctor, " Yes," said the rusty man, " train village boys through their ABC, spelling and rudiments, help others with their Latin and euclidj and put embryo ministers up in Hebrew points or their Greek articles." " Then," said the doctor, who was holding this conversation in his study " you are the ver}' man for tliis neighbourhood. We have lost our school- master, and if you like the post I can get it for you." " Thanks again," said the stranger. . " I'll think about it," adding, with a laugh, " It will be funny to talk to the Pembrokeites about Tasso and Petrarch, amuse them with old Horace, and give them rural notions from Virgil. Shakespeare, too. I'll quote Hainlet until they dream of graveyards, and rant Richard until they are wild with military fever." " No, no," said the doctor. " All we want is someone to teach the simple rudiments of education. I don't think that you will have any scope for anything else." " Ah, there," snid the little man, "now we can't agree. I am a child of nature, like the brook wiiicli goes on its way unchecked; like the wind which blows or does not, as it listeth ; like a bird ; yes, many worse things than a l)ird if it wasn't for hawks and fowling pieces." "But surely," said the doctor, "you would conform to a few simple rules." TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 117 " Well, now I think of it," said the stranger, " I will. I accept your ofter with thanks, for a time at least." " Now you are getting reasonable, and if you will come with me we will make the first step." Thus speaking the doctor took his hat, and first introducing the little man to his wife, as the new schoolmaster, accompanied him to the little town or village of The first thing the worthy doctor did was to find him comfortable lodgings, next to secure him the post at the village school, and after the lapse of a few hours this was completed, and helping him liberally from his purse, the doctor departed homewards. But before leaving him he said " there is one thing 1 have omitted. You have not given me your name." "Name?" said the stranger, "no, exactly; what shall it be — Jones or •Williams, "just as you please." " No, no," said the doctor, " let me have your real name." " Real name ; " was the reply, '•' I have forgotten it." " Ah ! now you are not dealing honestly by me," said the doctor, " or you have some special reason for concealing it." " On my honour," was the i*ejoinder, " I don't know it. It's changed in every place and in every country that I have been, and what it originally was I really don't know. Let me see," he said, musingly. " Ben Akim. Some- thing like— well, say Benjamin, Mr. Benjamin." " Well, then, Mr. Benjamin, good day," and with a hearty shake of the hand they separated. The doctor felt that Mr. Benjamin was a puzzle, an enigma which he could not solve. His knowledge, his great penetration, were undeniable. Had the doctor lived in the days of witchery and the occult sciences he would have put Mr. Benjamin down amongst the professors of the black art. As it was his singular power in reading one's thoughts was, in his opinion, simply due to extreme sagacity. So thinking he gained his residence. The next day Mr. Benjamin began his duties as schoolmaster. His predecessor had been a tall man, and the high stool and desk had not been out of place. Now it was decidedly, and the little man looked almost grotesque as he sat perched there. He was not quite at his ease. He missed the song of the brook, and the freshness and beauty of nature. Every now and then he would sniff the air, and look plaintively towards the open window like a caged bird sighing for freedom, but louder uproars within soon recalled his attention, and the boys felt that their master was there. Upon the third or fourth day the doctor called at the schoolmaster's lodgings, after school hours, and begged him to come and dine with him the next day, and this was the beginning of frequent visits, the doctor and his wife being charmed with the strange knowledge and wonderful learning which flowed from the master's garrulous lips. He had a strange way, too, of identifying himself with the past, and in his remarks concerning men spoke as if they were personally acquainted with him. " Socrates and Hugh Miller," he had 118 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. ^ remarked, "types 'each of their specinl class,- in different ages, both hadn't philosophy enough to wait and let the sauds of life run out. They must needs shake the hour glass rudely. Fine man however, was Socrates. Knew him. He had a grandness of view superior to Plato. Socrates had. more of the Christian character than the other, Diogenes was a prig— just a cobbler critic, a little removed from the men one meets with nowadays. He also was a type of his class — a class comprising the hermit of six to eight hundred years ago, and the genuine monk of the present. Always bilious. Knew him. Surely people are not naturally bad-tempered people. Astonishing how much is due to a weak stomach and a disordered liver." And so he would wander on, touch- ing on men of ancient days as well as those of. a century or less ago. He invariably ended his remarks with " knew him " and a solemn pause, as if recalling some familiar face ; but when the doctor would say with a surprised air, " But surely you did not kiiow him personally ? " he was always met with " Did I say so 1 " and a boisterous laugh. By this time he had a free entry into the doctor's house, and was constantly in the library, whether the master was there or not. The domestics gave him a wide margin, for none cared particularly about him, and the cook especially, who never forgot his reading her thoughts, always voted him, if not the old gentleman, then somebody very closely acquainted. The doctor's lady was amused with him,- but he was too prosy and learned for her, and she rarely came in his way. So it was that it fell out upon a certain evening that the good doctor, who had been warmly disputing with his friend in the library upon some matters pertaining to Goethe and Schiller, was called away suddenly by one of his own men, whose wife was dangerously ill, and the little man was left alone. For a time he read, and then soliloquised aloud. He had forgotten the open window and the prying servants, and gave vent to his feelings. " I must leave this," he said. " He is very good, too good ; but the old feeling is growing too strong to be resisted. It is love of home, the heim weh of the German ] My God, wliat home hava II Is it thirsting for solitude, and the mountains, and the streams ? Pai-tly, perhaps, Nature soothes me with her great hush, and I fall to sleep, and dream not. Is it ever to be thus throughout the ages, myself untouched and unfading, while all around die 1 What use to me is love 1 — the j^assion of the bird for its m&.te is not much mcjre fleeting than the passion of man. One is a summer mouth and the other a few short years. I was one of the gnats that sunned in the glory of Caesar's throne. Where are the other gnats ? ICarth claims her children back when wearied with the sport and turmoil, calls them as a mother calls her children to her bosom, there to sleep and sleep. No sleep for me, no rest for the weary." The listening servants heard him pace the library floor rapidly, and then all was quiet. When the doctor returned home his friend had left, but he was told a curious tale " that Mr. Schoolmaster had been just like one beside himself, TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. 119 and had cried out he must f^o several times, and tliat he wanted to sleep, and a lot more of Jkdlam-like stuff." This made the doctor anxious to see his friend in the morning, but when he called there he had not returned the previous night, and the servant thought he must, have slept at the doctor's, as he had occasionally. Then the doctor went to the school, and awaited its opening, but no schoolmaster came. One by one came the future labourers, and sextons' assistants, and public-house keepers that were to be when this generation had passed away ; but tlie weazened face, and the glittering eyes, and the' quaint figui-e, came not, and, in high glee at so unexpected a holiday, the boys gambolled home. Mr. Benjamin came no more. No one in the village ever saw him again, with the exception of the worthy doctor. That good man was sojourning for his health many ^ears after at the German spas, when a man passed him whom he thought he knew. A huge cloak muffled the. figure, and partially draped the face, so that is was difficult to recognise. So hard -and steady, however, Wiis the glance of the doctor that the stranger, who still remained near, was evidently discomposed, and seemed halting, as if uncertain what to do. At length, appearing to make up his mind, he came near, removed the cloak, and .said. " Yes, you are right. I am your base, ungrateful friend ; but don't scold, don't say a word. Couldn't help it, no more than, the snared hare let loose springs back to its covert, or the released bird to soar in the golden sunshine and sing good-bye. Thanks, again thanks — thanks ever. Not a word," he continued, as the doctor seemed on the point of bursting out with a flood of questions. " As long as I live I will remember you and thank you ; and I shall live, yes ! live when all of your race and name are resolved into dust ; when your boasted institutions are talked of as we speak of those of Greece and Rome ; when other creeds replace the prominent ones of the age, and your literature is dreamt over by the savan even as you ponder over Brahmin lore and Chinese philosophy. " You start. I mean what I say. Your poets crave immortality ! I have it ! To you all the shroud is a terror, and the last sleep an agony. God ! how gladly I would lay me down and die, and shut my eyes for ever to the sight of the earth and its beauties, and my ears to the baleful sound of man's happiness and mirth. Death, which makes your cheek blanch and your knees tremble, I welcome! death ! come and wind, around me those fleshless ai'ms, and bring that ghastly face close beside my own. Fairer than from any of earth's fixir daughters would I hail that embrace, and with ardent, passionate love would take it, the thing you hate, to my arms, and in its winding shroud sleep — sleep on and in this life wake no more. " Farewell ! I see by your eyes you have guessed who T am. I am indeed the Wandering Jew, condemned ever to . walk the earth until He comes to judge ; to know no peace, no rest until then, but through all lands, in all ages, unloved, unfriended, make my wayalone, the poor, wretched — Wandering Jew,' EINSON, THE FUGITIVE. THE ORIGINAL "ENOCH ARDEN " OF TENNYSON. ^VERYBODY who has read Tenny sou's poems kuows that the source of a great deal of his inspiratiou is the fruitful field of Welsh history, the idylls and legendary lore of Arthur's time, and the long epoch generally of early British history, which, with all its marvellous doings, its giants, its wonder workers, it feats of arms with magic swords, have supplied poets, play-wi'iters, and nursery rhymists for the last hundred and tifty years.- All this is well known to the educated reader, but very few even of these are aware that " Enoch Arden " and his pathetic story comes from the same source, and that we have in Cambrian annals the original of that much enduring man, as described by the poet, who exhibited as great an amount of philosophy as can possibly be shown by any man, no matter what his nationaUty. Ever since Tennyson's noble poem appeared the papers have occasionally supplied incidents of a similar character, and we have had American •' Enoch Ardens," French " Enoch Ardcns," and "' Enoch Ardens " of other nationalities. Let us now see the original, and tell the story of The Welsh " Enoch Arden." In the neighbourhood of Amlwch there is a fine old seat of the Pantoii fiimily, known as Plas Gwynn, and in one of the fields are two stones, grey with antiquity, and preserved with great care in their original situ. No one passing that way would notice anything unusual about them, and the ordinary tourist would imagine that they were " mere stones " placed to mark some parochial or parliamentary boundary; but the stones have a place in tradition, and the tale told is one of the most novel. Einson, in the era prior to Norman rule, was one of the youthful celebrities of the neighbourhood, and combined, in \x remarkable way, mental and physical excellences. Superbly built, he could wrestle, or shoot with bow and arrow, aiid run or kai) with the sti'ongest. Then his dancing was i^erfcct, and he was as noticeable in courteous bearing as he was agile and brave in the field. Nor was this all ; his touch on the harf) was perfection, and few could surpass him in original accom|)animents. ThcBc original accompaniments are special features of the old days, dating TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. 121 from the epoch of the wandering miuistrelH, and doubtless came to their acme of development in the time of the Crusades. It was not to be expected that so gifted a man should go through the world by himself, and certain it is that many a fair one looked upon iiim with favour, and sighed to think that he did not return their affection. The fact was he soared high. There was one beautiful damsel in the same district who also united two very essential virtues ; those of being beautiful and rich. She was an heiress of an old house, the last of an old line. Inheriting, with immense possessions, the hauteur of her family, she was not so approachable as were most of the young ladies of the county, and it was a common remark of the young men that the " eagle of the rock " would be worth possessing ; biit the danger of the attempt and almost certain result of failure could not -be borne. So men looked and sighed when Angharad came to the merry makings or was seen in any of the public gatherings, but Angharad passed by as cold and as calm as though they were not present and the male gender was an inferior creation. But it came under the observation of certain dowagers who had pretty daughters — for there were dowagers then as well as now, and as long as roses have blown there have been thorns to guard them— that Angharad stole now and then a look at Einson, which meant a great deal. In that unspoken and most ancient of languages, that of the eyes, it meant, " Why don't you try 1 Surely I am worth the winning. Try, man, try ! " He caught the look one day, and it sent his heart bounding. Hack from the eyelet of his soul flashed responsive feeling— she was loved ! After that little unspoken speech everything went smoothly. Einson sought . her presence and was favourably received, and step by step gained her complete affection, so that she admitted there was no one in the world she loved so well as Einson, but-^. These little " buts " generally protrude themselves in the most disagreeable manner at awkward times. Your friend would have the greatest possible pleasure in advancing you a loan, but—. Your solo composition at the eisteddfod was by far the finest rendered, but — . Your old uncle fully intended leaving you the whole of his property, but — . So a but protruded itself in Einson's case. The lady had a weakness, as most of the amiable creatures have in one way or the other, and the weakness of Angharad was to be won by some man who would distinguish himself in leaping, or doing some extraordinary feat. It was necessary first that candidates for her hand should be of almost equal position to herself, and that she should feel a strong affection for them ; but, more than this, they must signalise themselves by doing something exceedingly wonderful. Here we cannot but wander a little from the current of the story, and recall incidents which sliow that this whim of the lady is as "old as the hills." How often in the Athenian games have not the prizes been really and truly the lady's hand — the lion fights in the old Roman era where the lady would drop her glove for her lover to bring out of the very jaws of death ; the Spanish bull fights where fans and handkerchiefs have been thrown into the arena for 122 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. the same purpose ; and finally, that touching German tradition of " Vergiss mich nicht," where the lover, sinking into the stream, threw to his beloved one the forget-me-not which she had implored him to get. Doubtless the little jade knew by repute that it was a safe venture, as his renown in lenping was established, so. when she told him that he must distinguish himself by excelling everything he had done before, and that then her hand .should be his prize, both were tolerably well satisfied that the marriage was a cei'tainity. A people like the Welsh, hardy and impulsive, could not " moon " over the mountains, tending sheep, sit down always in the evening to their harps, and talk poetry to brooks and trees. The old sagas of the tribe might like the meditation pipe, but youth loved to wrestle and to run, as possibly the great progenitors of the race did in days of which blind old Homer sings. Periodical contests of this kind, handed down from remote antiquity, were much encouraged, as they maintained the strength of the youth of a district in full vigour, and gave to warlike and impulsive spirits a good vent. So from youth upwards Angharad had been familiar with such sports, land to encourage the victor, and reward him either with prize or praise, had been one of the greatest of her duties. It was all settled. At the next feast, or merry-making, Einson was to give a prize for the longest leap, and in this he was to enter himself as one of the .^competitors, it being an understood thing that if he won no further objection would be raised to his suit. This oozed out, as most little private arrangements do, and great was the concourse and warm the enthusiasm at the game. One by one the minor competitors passed ; the throwing the disc or quoit, the wrestling match, the contest with bow and arrow, the race, where the competitors had not, as- Achilles had, the support of one of those accommodating goddesses who always descend fx'om the clouds at the right moment, but their own muscles to depend upon ; and finally came the event of the day. On an elevated p^rt of the ground sat Angharad and all the principal gentry. Amidst the throng of eager youth stood Einson, his face all aglow with excitement, his thin, keenly cut lips pressed tightly, his nostrils dilating like those of a high bred horse, as he stands eager for the contest, and the rise and fall of his chest as it heaved and fell was alone a picture. There they stand ; it is to be a level leap, and amongst the competitors are some of the best runners m the country. One, two, three ! they are off, headed by Einson, who coming to the muik, bounded into the air like a stag, and cleared fifty feet, alighting at a distance so far from the mark, and in a way so raagniticently done, that only one or two of the rest' attempted it, and all fell miserably short. Then rang the welkin with uproarious applause, and 80 overcome was Angharad, strong and courageous, and no timid dame as she was by nature, that her friends had to take her way. There was no difficulty now in the way of marriage, and very speedily were Angharad and Einson united amidst great rejoicings and festivities. In tlie ordinary course of life this is the termination of a man's public TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 123 • • ' qarcer. Tlie novelist has laid it down with unerring dictum that all proceedings of a man's or a woman's life after are matter-of-fiict, commonplace. The race forthe golden apple was exciting before; won, how tame become all tilings connected witli it. But Angharad and Einson were no connnon people, and it was fated that they shovild be the means of handing down one of the most remarkable incidents in Welsh history. They were married; how life passed with tliem, what was the number of their family, what special occupation engaged their time, history sayeth not, but tells only this, that after a lapse of a number of years Einson disappeared ! Some hint is thrown out that he ran away, and we are left to assume that he became mixed up in transactions either such as conflicted with his native laud and made him regarded as a traitor, or else some matter of home life, overwhelming debts, or the like. At all events he disappeared, and years and years passed by, and to Angharad came no sign or sound of Einson. It was more than -passing strange that after such a display of fervent affection Einson should have been content to allow his wife to remain in ignorance of his ftxte, and she was, after a lapse of many years, quite justified in thinking that he was dead. Prior to the dawn of modern times, it was not. unusual for a man even of note to disappear. The envy or malice of relations, the feud of neighbours, caused many a disappearance. It was a short shrift, a dagger in the back, a plunge into a stream, and there was no unpleasant inquiiy, no vexatiously troublesome detectives prying here and there. When Einson " ran away," his wife was still in the full bloom of her matronly beauty, aud when, her husband had been completely given upas dead, she consoled herself by marrying another. It was quite a marriage of affection, though youth was no longer on her side ; and she now anticipated, with a good aud kind husband by her, a I'evival of the old hai)piness she had formerly experienced in the affection of Einson. The marriage party had returned to the hall. The guests were in the grounds and the house, and sounds of mirth and music, of light feet tripping, and of light hearts exultant, came from the festive scene, when a poor old harper made his appearance, and sat down by the gate. For a harper to come at sucli a time was a very common event, but the harper did not seem at all anxious to join in with the festivities. He wanted only to see the lady of the house. The lady of the house had no wish to see troublesome old harpers ; but af length she was induced by a whisper of tidings of Einson to go to the door, and there was confronted by her long lost husband ! The harper was Einson come back from the wanderings of many years, but so altered that his best friend would not have known him, and even His wife scrupled, or feigned to do so. Einson, seeing her doubts, placed his harp on the ground, and, running his hands over the strings, sang — " Look not , Angharad, on my silver hair, Which once shone bright of goklon lively hue ; Man does not last like gold ; he that was fair Will soon decay, though gold continues new. 124 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. If I have loat, Angharad, lovely, fair, The gift of brave Edynfed, and my spouse, All I have not lost (all must from hence repair) No bed, nor harp, nor yet my ancient house. I once have leaped to show my active power — A leap which none could equal or exceed, The leap in Ober Mwydd, which thou, fan- flower, Did once so much admire — thyself the meed^ — Full fifty feet, as still the truth is known, And many witnesses can still attest • How there the prize I won — thyself must own This action stamped my worth within thy breast." Such was the plaintive melody poui-ed forth by Einson, but it does not appear to have been effectual. His aged appearance contrasted badly with the bridegi'oom's, and Angharad dismissed him by vowing that he must have fallen in, years before, with her long-lost Einson, and gathering from him, before his death, some details of the place, and of the festive games and the leap, had come to pass himself off as the lost. " She would not entertain him, wretch, impostor. Men drive the rascal away ! " We are left to assume that the harper retired from the scene, his home, his wife, now another's ; his own children recognising him not ; but who shall say that in the after time, in quiet hours of thought, the old harper did not come again before the mind's eye of Angharad and chide her, and conscience sting her for what she had done. Nay, more ; can we not imagine that in the quiet autumnal eve, when the incident of the harper was passing away from memory, and all. the ferment and fever of the new marriage had sobered down, that, sitting by the table with husband and children around, the harper should come once more to the casement, and look in ere wandering away for ever. Such is the picture of " Enoch Arden," and such, we imagine, is the germ handled so well by Tennyson — another proof, if one were needed, that in the old legends of Wales there is much that Southey and Sir Walter Scott left unexplored. THE CROCK OF GOLD. N the borders of Radnorshire, where so many a wild foray has taken place in past times, where the Fleming has settled, the Norman ^^ fought, and the Welsh mountaineer pillaged and burnt when incensed by invaders, it is no uncommon thing for a farmer to come across some old landmark, some mound, or quaint cluster of stones that are records of strife, invasion, burial, or what not, the history of which is unknown. The farmer, as a rule, cares little about these things. He leaves sentiment to the wanderer, who passes by and sketches his farm cither by pencil or in poetic effusion. He is eminently practical, and nothing pleases him so much as to make a discovery, that is of a substantial character, such, for instance, as a " crock of gold." I will tell you a tale of a crock of gold, and it shall not be without its moral. John Davies, who was better known as Shon Bach, lived on the Welsh edge of Radnorshire, and had all his life been noted in the little dingle amongst the grand old Radnorshire hills as a hard-working, striving man. Under the direction of his father he had been taught all the wrinkles, and hints, and modes which constitute the practical knowledge of a farmer. He had gathered almost, so to speak, instinctively, the lesson of nature ; could tell the meaning of the fiery sunset and the red dawn, the early leaf of the oak, and the rest- lessness of the herds, the mackerel sky, and in fact and in short the hundred little indications given forth by nature as the prophecies of the future, whether as regarded the weather or the crops. In addition he knew tolerably well how to crop his land, where lime was good, and where " long " or " short " manure was valuable ; where fallow was needed, what a proper " succession " should be ; and in the rearing of cattle Shon Bach was regarded as one of the most successful. It is almost useless, after this, to state that John was a thriving, well-to-do farmer. Like the majority of his neighbours in the dingle he was a f\^mily man, and having married a cousin, as most of the others had done, or a cousin more distantly removed, he was allied to the majority of the little farmers of the valley. They formed a clan, or " sept/' and old dames of stocking- knitting and gossiping proclivities could tell thedegx'ees of relationship linking them all, and if a death occurred, as one did occasionally, could interest 126 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. their hearers by a detail of rustic biography that was very gratifying and instructive. A funeral in that lone, out-of-the-world valley was a great event. From the death of the person until the burial all was preparation and expectation, and when the day came what a gathering there was. From east, west, north, and south the old farmers came jogging over the mountains on their antique steeds, some with a wife, or a son or daughter, and novel was the spectacle of the gathering, first from all quarters, the winding journey to. the grave, and the farewell feast, where the memory of the dead was kept green, and the home-brewed, specially prepared for the occasion, was drunk with freedom and approval. Such was the scene when Shon Bach bore his poor old father to the grave- yard, an,d returned home to find himself " master of all he surveyed," and his " claim," notwithstanding the litigious character of Welsh cousins, brothers, aunts, and uncles, " there was none to dispute." So John went on tilling and hedging, and ditching, and going to market, and thriving as his old father had done before him, in the dim years when the wrinkled old man and the aged wife were bustling about in their little world. " What are you going to do to-day, Shon 1 " said Shan one morning in February. "Well, I be going to pull down that old hedge twixt Cross-fa wr and Cross- fach, and make two fields into one. There's a main sight of good land wasted there as may be turned to account." " ! " said Shan. " Well, I'll sing out when the broth is ready, as you'll want to work late, days being short." And John, without any more farewell than a grunt of approbation, departed, followed by his constant shadow, his old sheep dog. John set to work manfully. The hedge was oi\e only in name. Here and there a stray thorn grew, but it was more a mound than a hedgerow, and John's opinion of the qualities of the soil was justified as rich soil crumbled under his blows. " The very stuff," said John, " for tatos ! " The sheep dog watched the process as if at one time or other he had been an old farmer, occasionally looking up wistfully at the distant sheep on the hill- side, and giving a furtive whine. Steadily Shon Bach worked, and after a long spell he began now and then to look towards the house, and to wonder how it was that one of the young ones did not come to him, or Shan call, as she had promised. As he worked he thought of the constituents of that famous mutton broth he should have for dinner, the bit of mutton in the pot, the turnips, the herbs ; and the taste of the last bowl was beginning to come strangely to that memory taste which is HO strongly and strangely a pai't of our nature, when liis pick struck against a stone and jarred his cll)()w. " I'll get it out," ho said, " 'fore dinner, as 'tis a big one." TALES AND SKETCHRS OF WALES. ' 127 Anti he strove arduously for the next ten minutes, but failed. He couldn't move it. Then he brought his spade into action, and, throwing away the earth, found that it was a huge " crock," more like a circular stone box than anything else. Ho was now all excitement, and wiping tlie heavy perspiration away from his bi'ow with his hand, he looked down upon it with wonder. "Shon!" clearly and distinctly on the air came the shrill cry of his wife,"Shon!" John looked, around and waved his hand in sign of hearing, and then nervously tried to prize the "box "open with his pick. Failing in this, he threw a little earth over it, lest anyone should see his discovery, and trudged away to dinner. Never before had he been so absent. That unctuous mutton broth disappeared with'nit comment. He said little to Jane, less to his troop of small children, and, without waiting to have his after-dinner pipe — a most extaordinary occur- rence — sallied off to his work. ITis wife said nothing, but thought he was anxious to get the job finished, and went busily about her work of cleaning up. John reached his hedge, uncovered the crock once more, and then cai*efully working around it, so as to get the upper part quite free, managed to lift the lid. What a sight ! It was full to the brim with spade guineas ! He looked around. Not. a soul was in sight. He dipped his hand in and drank in with intensity a metallic chink. " Gdod Lord ! " he exclaimed, " here's a prize ! I'm a tich man for life ! " Very stealthily he filled every pocket. He put on his old brown coat, and filled the pockets of that, and then, heavily laden, and still keeping his eyes intently around him, hastened to the farm, and, calling his wife into council, told her all as he emptied the treasure trove on the table. It was necessary to be cautious, as there was -a servant girl in the house — the only servant man was away at a fair. "Thank God for it," said John. So getting a basket and a cover, the farmer trudged back to his " find," and as the basket was brought in the wife as carefully put the contents by. Six journeys did John make, and then the " box " was emptied. The servant was adroitly sent away the first journey to a neighbouring fann for a loan of some articles for the dairy. So the two had ample time to put their guineas by in a place of security ; but as for counting them, it was impossible. They could only estimate that there were several thousands. As for the box, or crock, John broke that up inJ;o the smallest fragments, lest his man, as he plirascd it, " might think something, John Williams, of the Frwd, having found a crock with some few pieces nf bones in it, and some money, years ago." There was none of the old ti'anquil sleep that night. Both farmer and dame turned and twisted; dreams, most unu-sual things, troubled them, and Shan saw herself " in silks and satins, and with gold jewellery " like the squire and the parson's wife, and " giving parties." And as for John, he was the squire, and had his hounds, and kept great state. 128 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. When the morning came there was the same opinion with both that the past day's discovery had been a dream, and it needed a visit to the hoard to convince them otherwise. Then came the query, what shall we do with it ; and, after a long conversation, it was decided that John should take a few to the nearest town and see what he could get for them. He was wise enough to know^ for the discovery of the last crock had shown it, that money found was treasure trove, and claimed by the Crown, and he had no inclination, so he said in his rather strong and peculiarly disloyal phraseology, though he was not as a rule a disloyal subject — " to grease fat pigs." " Did you ever hear, Shan," he said, " that old David John, my grandfather, was a very rich man, but his gold never came to light ] " No, Shan had not. " Well," pursued John, " it be true, my father often told me that he was never more surprised in all his life that his father cut up " — another rather ugly expression of John's — " so badly ; and now I see how it is ; this is his, and if 'twas his 'twas my father's, and if 'twas my father's 'tis mine." And the logic being conclusive, John satisfied himself that as the legal owner he could justly keep it. This, however, I must say, was a highly coloured fiction. Old David John had been a hard-working, striving man, and he was reported to be worth a pound or two, but no neighbour or son knew what he spent in the law suit between himself and Moi-gan Jenkins about the ownership of the Coedcae, and the fact that no money was found after him was simply owing to his having given it to Owen and Davies, the lawyers, in the town of R . But .the more Shon- thought of his fiction the better he liked it, and the good wife was equally ready to believe as stronglj, though both admitted it would not do to tell any one of the neighbours. Putting twenty of the spade guineas into his old leather bag, John started away the next morning on the mare to the market town. There one John Williams kept a shop as watchmaker and jeweller, and a good business he did inselling time "keepers," repairing them, suppl^'ing spectacles to suit all ages, and furnishing those little gold circles which are used in one of the most sacred and solemn of rites as emblematic of the link which binds all Shons and Shans ! "I've got a few old guineas of my grandfather's," said John to John AVilliams, the watchmaker ; "what would you give for 'em]" and as he spoke he pulled them out of his pocket. • ' The watchmaker looked at them, weighed them, and very generously said they'd fetch as old gold about sixteen shillings apiece. This John took rather reluctantly, and returned home. " He didn't like," he said to his wife, "to quarrel about it, but if they wasn't worth a pound they wasn't worth anything." Again there was cogitation and discussion. . .lulm Williams was not a rich iiuin. He had to scrape up the money to pay for the twenty guineas, and it was not likely that he could buy u humlred, much less a thousand. Besides TAT.es and SKETOriRS OF WALF.S. 129 R was too near. People minhttalk and make inquiries. Long and serions talk ended in John starting first to R and then by coach to London with five hundred of the spado guineas in his carpet bag. It was a matter of some risk, but it was necessary, and on the fourth day after the start John, with his bag on a stout stick, found himself for the first time in the great city. He was wary and shrewd, and, by keeping a still tongue in his head, passing by obtrusive strangers, and putting up at a respectable hotel, he escaped the dangers to which so many fall a ready victim. He had little difficulty in disposing of the guineas for eighteen shillings each at a shop in Fleet Street, where a goldsmith also kept a bank, and returned unscathed, with a fund of anecdote which ever after gave hini place and dignity in the eyes of his friends. No one but his wife knew why he went. To all he said it was to see the world, Init more than one wondered why this desire to see the world should have necessitated half a dozen visits that year, the neglect of the farm, and the losing of a reputation for quiet, plodding industry, which John never regained. People talked and wondered when tlie old farm was sold, and John and his family went to live in R , where they had quite a mansion. Still more when a gossip went about, given forth in the first instance from the old bank, that John had the largest amount of ready money in the bank of any customer ! The old valley saw no more of John. He became a guardian, a J. P. in R ; his sons and daughters grew up young gentlefolk, and Shan had her wish to ride in a carriage of her own, and to wear silks and satins and gold jewellery. One of the sons became an officer, and left his bones in the East ; a daughter married well ; another son came to grief in horse racing and almost ruined the old man, and certainly shortened his days, John died, aged sixty or thereabouts, and his widow a few years after him. Good living did not suit them, and it is questionable whether either had derived a tithe of the happiness that had been expected. They had seen the world, mixed amongst the gay and thoughtless, innocently ignorant of the amusement they created amongst those to whom they gave their banquets. But the old healthful feeling that John had enjoyed at his work and in his rambles on the hills was lost. Many a time, sitting in broadcloth, and listening to the small nothings and inanities of parties, he would too gladly have donned the old brown coat, taken the slip of mountain ash in hand, and with his sheep-dog trudged away through copse, over brook and up mountain side, a spring in his gait, and contentment in his heart. No gout then, no sleepless nights, no headaches. No dainty had ever delighted him, as the old and fiimous mutton broth ; nor, when clothed in her ** silk and satins and gold jewellery," did Shan forget the pleasure of the quiet cup of tea and bakestone cake with widow Jones in the days of old. 130 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES, To both, the whitewashed farm in the valley was a dear picture of the past. The crock had brought them wealth, but it had lessened that calm, pleasur- able content which no crocks ever have, or ever will give. THE LIFE AND TIMES OE LLEAVELYN, THE LAST PRINCE OF WALES. I HERE is a romantic as well as a practical element in the history of most nations, for the sentiment of a people must find its vent as well as the commercial or any other characteristic. Welsh history has less romance than Spanish history, for example ; still it has its share, and not a little gleams forth in the closing years of native rule. Possibly the investigator might find a great deal in the earlier and more flourishing years, but there is less of the poetic about the sun at midday than there is at sunset. In the one we have the garish brilliance, but the softened tints and harmonious blending ot colours are reserved for the end. Thus it is that the life and deeds of Llewelyn possess such charms ; that the cultured Welshman still resident in liis own land or in founding families of repute and distinction in America, Australia, or other lands reverts mentally, as he thinks of home and country, to the noble prince who closed in his own person the line of native princes, and with whose untimely death ended, with the solitary exception of the irregular eff^orts of Glyndwr, the dynasty of the Princes of Wales. History, dictated l)y the cold })ractical Saxon, tells the tale of his life with a few lines, but song and story and tradition have filled the bare outlines, and bequeathed a record which will only fade when the language ceases to ])0 spoken. Llewelyn, the last Welsh prince, was the son of GrufTydd, who was the natural Hon of Llewelyn ab lorwerth, and in 124G he and his brother Owain were elected Princes (;f North Wales. At that time might was held to bo right, and questions of inheritance instead of being dispassionately reasoned out in courts of law, were summarily settled by the sword. Had Llewelyn flourislicd in our own era, his claims as a natural son would have been very quickly placed on one side, and Sir Ralph TALES AND .SKETCHES OF WALES. 131 Mortimer, who had married the legitimate daughter of Llewelyn ab lorwerth, would unquestionably have liad to act with hia wife in the discharge of the legal duties as sovereign ruler of the Principality. But the very fact of Sir Ralph being a stranger was sufficient to do away with the remotest chance of his success, even had he been sufficiently powerful to raise a strong force in vindication of his right, and so Llewelyn remained for a few months in peaceful occupation of his thi-one. But Henry the Third, who was uncle to Mortimer, thinking this a favour- able opportunity to gain a share at least of the power in Wales, invaded this country, and was so successful as to bring Llewelyn to terms. The arrangement was that the Welsh prince should serve Henry on the Marches with one thousand foot and twenty-four horse, or with five hundred foot elsewhere; that he should hold his rule under Henry, but that Llewelyn was to receive the homage of the Welsh chieftains as the Prince of Wales. The chroniclers tell us that for nine long and peaceful years after this event Llewelyn ruled ; his sway unquestioned ; his whole heart and soul bent on making his country the scene of contented labour and civilising progress ; but the great curse of the country — internal discord — once again showed itself, and with the close of the ninth year our prince found himself confronte^l with a most formidable rebellion, led by his brother Owain, and aided by his younger brother David. It will be remembered that the sovereignty of Wales had been given to Llewelyn and Owain, and the latter for a time had been content with a divided empire ; but with his growth grew the thirst for supreme power, and it did not require much entreaty to persuade David to join hinx in trying to obtain it. There is every reason to suppose that the English king took advantage of the quarrel to move secretly in the matter. There always was, from the fii'st to the last of the feudal days, a strong desire amongst those who witnessed a row to benefit at the expense of one or other of the combatants, not unfre- quently both, and not unfrequently was the row actually fomented for ulterior purposes, pelf, or aggrandisement. Llewelyn, in the campaign which ensued, showed rare capacity. Not only did he signally defeat his brothers, whom he placed in confinement, but, having received an appeal from North Wales to the eft'ect that the English were becoming most oppressive on the borders, he turned his attention in that quarter, and in the course of a few days such was his vigorous onslaught that he had not only chastised the foe severely, but recovered all the land and property generally of which his countrymen had been despoiled. An old writer, describing the principal battles which took place between Llewelyn and his brothers, quaintly gives the true picture by stating that the English stood by, well prepared to fall upon both ! The year following was full of vigorous action. In Cardigan, as Avell as in Brcconshire, and still more so in North Wales, there were many chieftains who envied Llewelyn, and thought it was unfair that he alone should have the I- 132 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. kino-clom. These stirred up sucli dissension that tlio prince gathered all his forces together, and, aided by Meredri ap PJiys Grye, inflicted summary chas- tisement upon them, meteiug out justice by the old rule of equity- — taking lands from one rebellious chief and giving them to another. Singularly enough, one of these transactions took place in the neighbourhood of Builth, where it was Llewelyn's aim to render an act of generous thoughtfiilness to a family from whom in the end he received the greatest injury. Next he despoiled the lord of Builth of his castle and lands, which so incensed Vychan that he went over to England, and so represented his case to the king that Henry sent over a strong army under the command of Bacon, who early in the spring, landed at Carmarthen. Then, having formed into order, he proceeded forthwith to march in the direction of Dynevor Castle, doing as much damage on the road as it was possible to be accomplished. The invaders had been pent up on board their vessels, and, like boj^s let out of school, were ripe for all sorts of mischief. Coming to Dynevor Castle, this place, then of considerable strength, was besieged, and the English soldiers were already congratulating themselves on the certainty of reducing it, when Llewelyn with his army hurriedly rushed up, and the enemy withdrew from before the castle, and prepared to give battle. The contest that ensued may well merit the term of a battle-royal. The forces opposed were fairly equal, and there were none but valiant hearts, the English being well selected for their bravery, while Llewelyn commanded men whose valour had been proved in many a desperate strife. How long the battle raged no record shows, all that the chroniclers agree in is that it was a long time, but that in the end the enemy broke and fled, loaving Llewelyn master of the situation, and two thousand men dead on tlie field. Llewelyn's army at that time consisted of ten thousand men, a large and well-disciplined force, with which he proceeded, in the manner approved of by Welsh princes, to settle personal quarrels and grievances, and read lessons to doughty Welsh nobles, which they took sullenly, muttering to themselves, there is no doubt, that a time would come when it would be their tuini. One of these rejoiced in tlie name of Griffith ap Madoc Maylor, a man wlio loved to o])press, and to injure, and whose patriotism was at so low an ebb that when Llewelyn was opposed by the Earl of Chester, he joined the earl with all his forces. When Llewelyn had settled matters with the earl, he turned his attention to Maylor, and we may be sure that his vengeance was complete, if we only accept the simple record of the historian, " that he miserably laid waste the whole countiy," that is, the district where the son of Madoc luxuriated as lord. Ill tliis year an incident took place which shows that the Welsh were not thf piior nation of mountaineers so often rcjirescnted, living in great part on tlio pilhige exacted in strife. For at this period they had a fleet of their own, and one not simply on jjaper, but, as shown by 8ul)sequcut events, one able to liguro well at sea in a naval engagement. TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. 133 It would appear that Edward, Earl of Cliester, was so afraid of being over- matched, that he sent over to Tielaiid for lacrconaries to aid him. Of this Llewelyn had timely notice, and equipped a fleet, which sailed av.-ay and met the Irish contingent in mid-sea. The Welsh proved not only that they could figure well on land, but take their part as sailors to perfection, as was but natural to a nation having such a rugged nursery for seamen as the long extent of rocky coast gave them. So it was not surprising that after a warm conflict the Irish were beaten back with.severe loss. This disaster x'oused tiie king to put forth his best efforts to aid the earl, and rapidly collecting all possible support from St. Michael's Mount to the Tweed, he entered Wales and advanced with a great army into the interior of North Wales. In this difficulty Llewelyn proved himself a shrewd general, for he so contrived to limit the invaders by cutting down bridges and harassing them that, in want of food and forage, and in dire extremity, tlie enemy took that backward march wdiich was so frequently adopted by the aggressor from the English side of the border. To march into Wales with flying colours, to make the valleys ring with the shouts of a strange soldiery, to burn, and destroy, and kill, was always a feature of invasion, and to go back stdl more hurriedly, to die by the roadside for want of ordinary nourishment, equally characteristic of these raids. By the discomfiture of the king, Llewelyn's foes in Wales were rendered powerless, and so again he marched hither and thither, settling scores, taking the lord of Bromfield prisoner, banishing the chieftain of Powys, and raising the castles of obnoxious nobles. In this journey the Welsh encountered the steel-clad veterans of Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, and one of these picturesque aftVays b'jtween Norman and Welshmen took place which have made Welsh hillsides and valleys so memorable. But Llewelyn's army was too powerful for the Norman, who was driven off" in disorder, and as Llewelyn then made it his special business to reduce the castles which were on the lands of Gilbert, it is more than probable that many a mossy ruin around which tradition lurks, and the destruction of which has been ascribed to the much later times of the great castle destroyer and monument defiicer Oliver Cromwell dated their destruction from this period. The defeat of the king's stoutest soldier, Gilbert de Clare, not only incensed, but alarmed him. Where will this end 1 This enterprising Llewelyn, who was clearing Wales of the disaffected, linking diverse natures, and winning powerful support by the freedom with which he bestowed castles and lands upon his generals, would soon become too formidable to cope with, and once more the stage-like farce of gathering soldiers and journeying towards Wales was resorted to. This time, however, such was the fear inspired by the prowess of Llewelyn that the invaders only went as far as the borders, and there the medley of an army composed of valiant E^nglishmen, excitable Irish, and blustering mercenaries from Gascony contented themselves in the sunny autumn by destroying all the corn they could see, and perpetrating as much mischief as it was possible to do, taking good care to keep out of the way of the Welshmen, and not venturing far into the valleys, 134 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. The invaders soon retm'ned to safer quarters, but it was not long before the mountaineers were assailed by an enemy that did them more injury than the Norman horse or foot accomplished. Lord Dudley, the father-in-law of the lord of Bromfield, went secretly to Germany, and succeeded in getting the aid of a large number of German horsemen. The appearance of these, the unusual size of the horses, which were probably of that heavy Flanders type which still retains its huge character, startled the Welshmen, and when the first encounter took place the Germans had it all their own way, and pimished the "Welsh forces exceedingly. One of the leading features of a high-spirited race is its objection to defeat. To be defeated at any time was galling, but especially so after a long series of victories, when triumph seemed to have cast ts nimbus ai'ound the Welsh crown, and clothed with invulnerability its defenders. Deep laid schemes of vengeance were forthwith concocted, and a strong force proceeded to the territory of Lord James Audley and, as they expected, forth came the Germans with a rush, and the active little Welsh ponies, and fleet footmen, for the Welsh always excelled in running, darted away with agility to a chosen spot. There the Germans, elated with their recent victory, pursued them. But the slow-witted Germans found themselves iu straits. Had they been on a plain, with free scope for the management of their horses, the task would have been an easy one ; but now it was the case of a bull in a marsh surrounded by hornets, and with so much vigour and hate were they assailed, that scarcely any of the luckless heavy brigade returned home to tell of the disastei-. The defeat was overwhelming, and we fail to hear of any more incui'sions of Germans for a length of time. At this time, 1258, there was a great scarcity of oxen and horses in England, and from a solitary line in the annals of Wales are gleams that a groat deal of beef used in England was supplied from the Welsh Marches, and already that great cementer and civiliser. Trade, was beginning its work, prompting the Welshman to devote his time to the rearing of cattle, and the growing of corn, instead of being constantly in the strife of battle. How interesting would have been the pictures of social life, ampliBed from these mere lines in history and anuals ; to have heard of the loading of the corn, and its transport in amongst people, who the next day would be at deadly feud ; to see the drove of oxen from valleys and plains, such as those extending from Newport to Cardiff, so excellent for the rearing of cattle, to see them making their way under the shadows of the hills until the Gloucestershire inglenooks were reached, where the descendants uf the Dane, the sinewy, big framed, and long-nosed maker of gloves, tanner of skins, yeoman, or the like, drove hard bargains, and buying the cattle sent them forthwith into the English country. 'I hese were the forerunners of those never ending flocks of Welsh mutton which we of modern days have taugiit the old enemy to love with a love j)assing most good things of life. How vividly such tilings pass athwart the mental view, and how infinitely superior to those incessant records of beating this army and razing that castle, TALES ANn SKETCHES OP WALES. 1 SH wliich, witli occasioiiiil murder anil frequent slaughter, seemed to the old annalist all that was necessary to l)e(|ucath as history. The year 1259 was a startling one in the annals of Wales. Just as the traditional league was said to have been formed by the animals against the common enemy, so did all chieftains and nobles forget their personal grievance* and unite in a band of defence against their invaders, the English. In a solemn Gonclave they promised to be for ever accused of perjury if they broke faith, and it seemed, so eager and earnest were they, that from that day Wales would begin a new and more glorious page in its history, and end the factious spirit which had so long weakcnd its councils, lessened its strength in the field, and opened wide its fertile land to the enemy. Alas ! scarcely was the ink dry on the parchment when Meredith ap Khys, more indebted than any mail to Prince Llewelyn, broke his plighted bond, and went over to the service of the English King. Henry was so pleased with this sign that he hurriedly began preparations for the conquest of Wales, and if Parliament had only granted the necessary supplies the conquest would have been attempted early in the year, but the king himself was not surrounded by the most loyal of supporters, and his measures fell through by reason of a ferment amongst his nobles. In a subsequent meeting of Parliament, which was held at Oxford, repre- sentatives from Wales stated that the Welsh lords were open to be tried for any offence they might have committed against the king, but this did not suit the policy of Henry (if the Welsh annals can be relied upon), who showed his desire to be rather that of crushing out all iudependence and annexing the country than to tolerate that quasi freedom which the Welsh enjoyed. As a speculative venture the lordship of Kidwelly was given to one of the king's parasites, a fellow noble as regards name, but thoroughly ignoble in nature, judging from his actions. He luxuriated in the name of Patrick de Canton, a blending of the Irish-Norman, always good for warfare and unquestioned as regards gallantry, but foremost in affairs of a shady or treacherous character. Patrick soon gave a proof of this. His gift was in accordance with royal gifts of the kind — to take if he could, to hold if it was possible, and to enjoy as long as the Welsh would let him. If we can imagine the estate of Dynevor, Dunraven, or Bute offered in our days to a needy adventurer who has found out the weak side side of a ruling power, we can realise the condition of things when Patrick made his way as lieutenant for the king to Carmarthen, with the object of meeting commissioners of Prince Llewelyn and arraiiging a peace. Llewelyn accordingly sent two of his trusty genei'als with a small company of men to Newcastle Emlyn, and Patrick, knowing their route, and hoping by one good blow to seize the prince, laid an ambuscade, into which the Welsh fell and sufiered severely. It was a bold stroke of Patrick's in the heart of an enemy's country ; and in the midst of his exultation he found out his mistake, for the few who escaped the snare soon roused the country, and brought such a force against the traitor that he was caught in his own trap, and was miserably slain with a great many of his followers. 136 ^ TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. Naturally incensed as Llewelyn was by so gross an act, he still saw that for the interest of Wales it would be better to sheath the sword and live at peace with England. The thought of the emptiness of military glory ; that, while the country rang with plaudits and rejoicings over the defeat of this invasion, and the retirement of that, the land remained untilled, commerce declined, and poverty spread her ragged and sable garb over all — this prompted him, in the highest spirit of patriotic thoughtfulness to make an offer to the king, to purchase peace by paying first seven thousand five hundred marks, and as this was not considered sufficient, then, through the Bishop of Bangor, sixteen thousand pounds were offered, on condition, first, that the Welsh should enjoy their ancient laws and customs, and that all causes should be tried at Chester. The king, utterly unable to appreciate the purity of Llewelyn's sentiments, and resolved, when he was able, to complete the entire subjugation of Wales, returned no answer, and, as no record of any reply is extant, would seem to have treated the application with contempt. This was more galling than defeat to the pi'ide of Llewelyn, and unsheathing his sword, scarcely waiting for the snows and frosts of winter to disappear, he marched from his mountain eyrie in North Wales into lladnorshire, and fell upon Sir Roger Mortimer at Builth with the violence of an avalanche. Tn the castle of Builth he found a great quantity of warlike stores, which were of eminent service, and having drawn Mortimer out with his retainers and taken possession, he proceeded deliberately throughout the greater part of South Wales, received everywhere with enthusiasm. It was a royal progress, with some of the elements of a barbaric time around it. The sinewy men, half armoured, the quaint device and the red dragon flaunting in the wind, as borne by a stalwart North Walian, made it picturesque as it wound through the Welsh valleys, now crossing mountains and keeping an old Roman trackway, and again descending and entering towns, where, disalTectiou- being felt, it was deemed politic not to show it. The " progress " was continued initil the palace of Aber, near Bangor, was reached, and for the remainder of the year the country enjoyed some measure of tranquillity. Yet the peace enjoyed was scarcely deserving of the name. There was not sufficient exercise of power in the Principality, and we may fiiirly assume that many a far-seeing mind saw around the indications of an approaching time when a strong and stable government would be a necessity if the country was not to be given up altogether to rapine and abuse of might. Around the border land, like liungry wolves, roamed needy nobles, hungering for the flocks and possessions of Wales, and within the land of the mountain and flood, right was still exercised by the strong liand whether of Welshman or stranger. As little chance had the virtues to flourish then as for unobtrusive worth to be recognised, or the poor man liave justice meted out to him. Llewelyn was in the north, as far removed in those roadless days as if he had been on the continent of Europe; and thus tlic government of the country wiiK left to )»is nobles, many of whom regarded the land as tJioir own and the TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 137 people as created to serve or fight for them. Still there was no great conflict or open rupture, nothing in fact to bring Llewelyn from the north until 1263, when some Welsh troops sacked Melicynyth Castle on the estate of Sir Roger Mortimer, and, taking Meyric, the governor, and his wife prisoners, put the rest of the garrison to the sword. This was done with the full knowledge of Llewelyn, as he gave orders personally that the castle should be demolished. Roger, hearing of the strife, marched to the spot, and posted himself with his men and knights amidst the ruins, half fearing to take any attitude but that of defence before so tried a warrior as the prince. The army of Llewelyn and the forces of Mortimer retained this position for some time, when at length Mortimer sued for peace, and was allowed by his forgiving antagonist to march away in safety. We next find Llewelyn in confederacy with some of King Henry's barons, Simon de Montford amongst them, who were opposed to his rule, and several conflicts took place, the castle of the Earl of Chester being in particular singled out for destruction. Increase of power and the evident hesitation of the king to enter Wales for a time lulled Llewelyn into a sense of security, and, looking around him, he was reminded of his brother David, whom ho had kept in captivity for the preservation of his own power. He now released him, and David's retaliation was to make all speed to the English court, where he was received with great favour. Troubles rarely come singly. While Llewelyn was in a fever of expectancy as to the course David might take, Griffith ap Gwenwynwyn, one of the leading- Welsh chieftains, also deserted from him, and his great representative in South Wales, Meredith ap Owen, who had kept the rather factious South Walians in good ordei*, succumbed to the united influences of care and age, and in him Llewelyn lost his right hand. At this critical period in Welsh history, when Llewelyn expected every day to hear of the appearance once more of the king, and a powerful army, the representative of the Pope did good service, and was instrumental in bringing about a peace between the Welsh and English. The name of this good man, Latinised into Ollobonus, deserves to be recorded, and htmded down with all respect and veneration. He was a shrewd and a practical Christian. He knew that the promulgation of the Christian doctrines amongst a people always at war was a waste of eftort, and ho could but see and deplore that while the Principality remained the object of the king's desire on the one part, and the nursery ground for vigorous defence as well as determined offence on the other, it was useless to plant the seeds of peace, and charity, and good- will. So he bent his whole mind to the task, and was happily successful in getting the king to accept thirty thousand marks from Llewelyn as an indemnity for the past. In return the king was to grant the Prince of Wales a charter, empowering him to receive homage from " all the nobility and barons in Wales except one." Thenceforth Llewelyn was the lawful Prince of Wales, even in the estimation of the English king, and wielded supreme power j and this important 138 TAIES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. arrangement, having been accepted by King Henry and endorsed by the Pope, remained in observance until the death of the king in 1272. Four years of tranquil rule were thus enjoyed, and in that time Wales prospered, and the com lands were luxuriant, and the herds increased, and flocks dotted every bleak mountain side. By the death of King Henry the treaty fell into abeyance, or indeed was supposed to be virtually ended, and scai'cely had the obsequies ended when the English barons began to look forward with avidity to the prospect of getting border land, or for that matter some of the rich possessions in the interior of South and North Wales. Still Llewelyn was allowed a longer interval of rest than at first was expected, as Prince Edward, valorous to a degree, was at the time of his father's death getting rid of his great surplus of vitality by fighting the Turks in the Holy Land, and maturing that military sagacity which afterwards served him in good stead in the control of his own dominions and Wales. As soon as Edward arrived in England preparations were made for the solemnisation of his coronation, and amongst the nobles directed to attend was Prince Llewelyn. But knowing the treachery which had been so often exercised against Welsh delegates and hostages, he refused to go to the cere- mony unless a safe conduct was given to him. He evidently had not much faith in the king, and still less had he in his nobles through whose dominions he would have to pass. His demands, honestly, were rather stronger than he could reasonably expect the king to grant. His stipulations were that the king's brother and the Lord Chief Justice of England should be delivered into his custody as pledges that he should go and return unharmed. The reason for this stipulation he for- warded to the Archbishop of Canterbury in a letter still extant, and no stronger evidence can be given both of his superior, thoughtful nature, and of the earnest interest he felt in the preservation of peace. Indeed, this fear, that by his coming, hostilities would be aroused on the route, and his subjects retaliate, and war again break out, is the biu'den of his letter. King Edward was but a man, and, divested of his regal jiower and military tact, a very ordinary one. He could not forget that once upon a time he had suffered defeat at the hand of this obnoxious Welshman, and the deep injury then inflicted ever rankled, like an old wound, and he vowed, there can be no doubt from his subsequent conduct, to have revenge. As soon as he could gather his forces he marched into North Wales, and reaching Chester, again sent to Llewelyn, insisting upon his coming to p;iy liim homage. Once more the Prince of Wales rctuniL'd a firm refusal. Then Edward, skilfully dividing his forces, and giving the command of a division to Paganua de Camutis, a general of high renown, proceeded to devastate the country. Paganus came as far as the west of Wales, conquering wherever he went; but on nearing the lioidcirs of the south, voluntary submission was tendered to him, which ho as readily accepted. TALES AND SKKTOHES OP WALE8. 139 It may here be worthy of notice to remark that the warlike springs were generally to be found in the north. The character of tlic Soutli Walian was of a far more tractable kind, and even in later tumults it svill Iju found thut one section, notably the people of Cardigan, were more disposed to Engli.sh rule, as it favoured peace and commerce, than to join in movements which left the great body of the people in a worse plight and simply gave power and dignity to one. They always wei*e a shrewd people, those of Cardiganshire, and have retained the characteristic to this day. In this great invasion of Edward's, when all resistance seemed to be hopeless, Llewelyn took a wise step. He saw that his own subjects were not to be relied upon, and made a virtue of necessity by asking for peace. But to the careful student of the times, especially regarding the past annals, wherein the invader, however successful at first, always came to grief in the end, it is apparent that Llewelyn would have fought with energy even at this juncture but for woman ! When battling against King Henry, and aidiug thereby the disaffected Earl of Leicester, that nobleman conceived an attachment for Llewelyn, so great as to briug him to the notice of his fair daughter Eleanor. Like all Welshmen, he was impressionable, and if her beauty and character were anything like that which the historian and the poet tell, it was no wonder. At a subsequent interview troth was plighted between the two, and Llewelyn yearned for peace, so that he might wed her, and place her in the proud and hapj^y state her virtues deserved. He yearned for home life, and looked less pleasantly upon the camp and the battlefield, and from the date of his attachment was, it must be confessed, less anxious for the razing of castles and the discomfiture of factious nobles. Woman's wiles had softened his heart, and made him think philosophically of the fleeting visions of fame. So the stern critic will say. Possibly the stern critic was right. Just, then, when Edward was favoured with victories, and Paganus receiving submission, Eleanor, the betrothed bride of Llewelyn, fell into the hands of the enemy, and Llewelyn felt unnerved and unmanned ! The capture of Eleanor, the betrothed of Prince Llewelyn, by King Edward, when on her way from a Erench convent to England, at once led the prince to submit, even though the terms were most exacting. With Eleanor in poverty he could be happy. Without her no power, no rank, or condition could satisfy the aching heart. Plato believed that man and woman were originally one; that being separated and scattered, happy marriages are the results of the right halves coming together, and unhappy ones of the reverse. The wonderful love and amity of Llewelyn and Eleanor favoured this eccentric notion. Intended for each other, their first acquaintance led at once to love ; apart they were unhap})y ; together all other attractions and influences became secondary. The home surpassed the kingdom, and to rule lovingly in the household was preferable to ruling an empire. 140 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. It was a master-stroke of policy on the part of the king to secure Eleanor. No sooner was Llewelyn awai-e of his loss than he made a humble application to the king for peace, and obtained a prompt reply granting it, but upon certain conditions, which even the most ai'dent lover would have thought exacting. The annals state that the conditions were ten in number, and these were as follow : Fii-st. That the prince should set all prisoners at liberty who had been confined on account of the king, that is, who had taken part with the king in any movement against Llewelyn. Second. That he should pay fifty thousands marks. Third. That four cautrens or hundreds, wherein Tegamony Castle, Denbigh, Rhuddlan, and Rhuthy stand, should remain in the king's hands. Fourth. That the lord marchers should quietly enjoy all the lands they had conquered within Wales, excepting in the Isle of Anglesey, which the prince was permitted to retain. Fifth. That f )r this island he should pay down five thousand mai-ks, and one thousand marks yearly from Michaelmas, and in the event of Llewelyn dying without issue, then the island to relapse to the kiug. Sixth. That the prince should come every year to England, and pay homage to the king. Seventh. That all the barons of Wales, excepting five in number, should hold their lands and estates of the king and no other. Eighth, and this was as hard as any of the others, and one that few would have expected Llewelyn to sign : That the title of prince should remain only for his life, and not descend to his successors, and after his death the five lords of Snowdon should only hold their lands from the king. Ninth. That ten persons of the highest position in Wales should be given up as hostages, the king to detain them how and where he liked ; and that twenty persons chosen by the king in North Wales should make oath for the due fulfilment of the conditions, and that if not fulfilled, and their warning not be heeded to repent, then the twenty persons sliould become the prince's enemies. Tenth. That Llewelyn's brothers should quietly enjoy their own in Wales. It is very probable that the king thouglit his fierce opponent would refuse to sign these articles, and such was the changing chai'acter of the times, so evidently was the breach between North and South Wales widening, that Edward must have felt himself able to overwhelm the lingering remnants of indej)cndcnce whatever action Llewelyn took. IJut Llewelyn did not refuse. Patriotism became subservient to love. Llewelyn not only signed the condi- tions, but went to London, accompanied by many of his principal nobles, and the place allotted for them was in the " merrio " village of Islington. Tiiey were not sorry to get back to their mountains, and very shortly after tlio return of Llewelyn he had the first indication of vassalage by a most peremptory order to meet the king at Worcester. TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. 141 It was most galling to do so, Ijut the prince had lirushed away scruples ; the cii]i (if l)itterne33 must be drunk to the dregs. Conceive liis surprise, his delight, when, on arriving at Worcester, he was received kindly by tlie king, who presented him first to the queen and then to — Eleanor ! Tliey were married in that city on the thirteenth of October, 127>^, before a brilliant gathering, graced by royal presence ; but the astute monarch, even in the midst of the festivities, exacted another promise, and that was to refuse all protection to anyone who had incurred the royal displeasure. With what profound joy did Llewelyn hasten aw^ay after the wedding, leaving the improvised English Court, tlio presence of the king he hated, and yet affected to like, the wondering looks of the yokels of Worcester, untutored then in the china and pottery which made their place famous, and, turning his back upon them, sought the old mountains, which in their hazy outline, even from there, seemed to woo him back — to woo him from court and festivity and duplicity to where tranquil peace might be enjoyed, and a reign begun that should be for his subjects happiness as much as for his own. Alas for the fleeting and unstable hopes of man. The duration of Llewelyn's married bliss was limited to two short years, and then in the bright morning " of her life Eleano" was taken away. Her death acutely, violently aroused Llewelyn from his di-eam, though for a time he remained passive, venting his grief in solitude, facing scenes endeared to him by her memory, and wherein his imagination recalled every look and word of the dear one that was gone. When at length time had soothed, and time only can soothe in such a trial, he began to look around and to listen to that growing complaint of his people which, unheai'd by him at his retreat at Aber, near Conway, now forced itself upon his attention, and prompted decisive action. A nation of inerts, slaves from their birth, and accustomed to the yoke generation after generation, can bear fresh imposts of tyranny without a murmur, much less making one bold efl'ort to be free. Not so the mountaineer, be the land that of Tell, of Bruce, or of Llewelyn. An instinctive love of freedom forbids the endurance of oppression, and if it is endured for a time it is only to gather strength in order to overwhelm. Thus with Wales ; though a growing dissension continued between North and South they ha.d but one feeling in common against the injustice which was literally heaped up against them. While Llewelyn seemed to forget his position as native Prince of Wales, and defer to the rule of the English King, and even allow the lords marchers to do almost what they liked, the people chafed and fretted, praying for the hour of their deliverance. At length they roused Llewelyn to action by studiously ignoring him, and going to his brother David with their complaints and prayers. David received the deputation'with kindness and attention, and though he had been a favom-ite with Edward, and received a great deal of consideration at the English Court, he elected for the sake of his country to be regarded as an ingrate, and openly denouced all allegiance to England. Llewelyn learning this, at once made overtures to his 142 TALES A\D SKETCHES OF WALES. brother, and the two became reconciled after a long and sometimes bitter feud between them. As soon as this was brought about Llewelyn thi-ew off also his allegiance, and publicly raised the staiidai-d of revolt. Soon there was a gallant gathering, and led by Llewelyn and David, the Welsh began to attack the lords marchers, and woimd np a successful campaign by laying siege to the castles of Flint and Rhuddlan, Llewelyn taking the lead at one place and David at the other. The discomfited lords marchers in the meanwhile were not idle. A post, travelling night and day, soon reached Edward, and directly the king heard of the revolt of the brothers a hasty levy of money and men was made thi*oughout the kingdom. The preparations completed, the vigorous king, not at all disliking the opportunity once again to unsheath the sword which he had wielded so well against the Saracen, invaded North Wales on the Chester side, and with the utmost celerity and determination attacked the prince, who, quietly gathering in his forces, cautiously retired to the edge almost of the Conway, when, getting into a favourable position, he in turn attacked the king, and so skilfully had he laid his plans that Edward was beaten at all points and compelled to retire with the loss of fourteen standards and several thousands slain. Amongst the killed were Lords 'Audley and Clifford, and a large number of prisoners in addition were taken. This great victory was not gained without a severe struggle, and many a brave Welshman succumbed in the course of the contest. Possibly one great cause of the defeats so often sustained by the English in their invasion of Wales lay in the incongruous elements of which their army was composed. Retainers of Warwick were massed by the side of De Clare, of Hereford ; men of Kent and men of Suffolk, men of Gloucester and men of Surrey, all were banded together, with a number of foreign mercenaries, and having had no experience in acting with one another could not naturally succeed so well against the compact masses of Welshmen, who were often in concert, and were animated by the same feelings — love of country and hate of king. Edward, beaten thoroughly, had a great deal of the bulldog element in him, and a defeat simply provoked him to further and more determined measures. He retreated to Hope, on the borders of Flintshire, not to make his way back into England but to recruit and prepare. This done, and fired with vengeance, he again began his march against Llewelyn and arrived at Rhuddlan Castle where he was constrained to stay a while b}' the urgent entreaties of Archbishop Pcckham, of Cantcrl)ui-y, who thought he might emulate Ollobonus, and bring about a peace between the two belligerents. Llewelyn had in the past time prayed the assistance of the archbishop, and now it was tendered, Imt Pcckham was of the true Church militant, and his eccentric letter to Llewelyn alternately brcatlicd of peace and of war. Parry, referring to it, said it was a singular mixttu-c of admonition and of menace, exhorting him, on the one hand, to a declaration of his grievances, and, on the other, threatening him with the severest penalties, both spiritual and temporal. Llewelyn was sincere in his wish for a peaceful settlement with the king, but roaolvod to light to the bitter end rather than cuter again into any such TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 143 servile arrangement as tlie last. The conduct of the lords marchers had been SO gross that life and property were not respected, and even religious houses, which by this time had multiplieil in tlic land, suffered gross injustice, monks and nuns having been wantonly murdered without redress. From sundry stray notices gleaned from various sources, it is evident that the hold of England upon Wales, principally by the lords marchers, had become a strong one. Justiciaries and bailiffs executed the king's authority in all directions and with severity, and the rule of the prince was, especially in the south, regarded as simply nominal. The seashore especially was under the sway of the marchers; flot and jetsam were theirs, and insidiously they had extended their influence inland, having little regard for native lords, and no scruple about the acquisition of their lands. In the far North Llewelyn of the '* red lance," as the poets of the time described him, was still a Power, and over a great portion of North Wales exercised it, but the green tents which formed his encampment were rarely seen in the South, and the trade-driving southerners equally with those who lived in the domains of the marchers cared little about seeing them again. Edward appears to have taken quite a secondary part in the eflforts to promote peace, and as soon as it was seen that Llewelyn refused vassalage thenceforth, he started a large force by sea to take possession of Anglesey, and placing himself at the head of another and still more numei'ous body, marched towards the defences of Llewelyn, determined to bring the contest to a speedy issue, let the cost be what it would. His general, reaching Anglesey, made short work of all who supported the cause of the prince, and a slaughter took place, the tidings of which, borne by a few of the escaped fugitives to Llewelyn, showed what he was to expect from so bitter an opponent. But instead of dismaying it filled the hearts of the Welshmen with the keenest resentment, and fierce and uncompromising they awaited the opportunity for repaying back the wholesale murder with interest. We left King Edward luxuriating in the slaughter of the unoffending natives of Anglesey, and making preparations for driving Llewelyn into a corner of the Welsh mountains, where resistance would be fruitless, and the independence of Wales could be summarily ended. The Welsh were, on the other hand, equally on the alert, and determined to fight to the bitter end. They appear to have been chiefly North Walians, with some few of the more warlike spirits from South Wales. Few mercenaries were to be found with the Welsh army, but the reverse was the case with the English, amongst whom fighting men from Germany, France and even Spain were to be seen, who let their swords and strong arms at so much per diem, and with the same matter-of-fact unconcern as artificers in modern days sell their skill and labour. Let us then picture the motley army of English and foreigners, steadily wending their way to the foot of the lofty mountains. Edward is there, the king, and around him, or in command of divisions, are some of the bravest generals of the kingdom. 144 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. What force can Wales own that will discomfit such a gallant throng 1 The storms now are at rest. Nature no longer favours the children of the mountain and the flood, and if their valour serve them not, now is the hour of their decline. Gifted with considerable sti-ategy, Edward devised a plan for crossing the Menai at a nari'ow point called Mal-y-Don, near Bangor, and a bridge of boats was so formed that sixty men were able to march over it abreast. As soon as this was completed, a large number of the army, principally the Spanish contingent, under the command of Sir Lucas Thang, and a force of English, under Latimer, marched across, and pushed their way from the shore toward the land in all directions, and in some cases ascending the hills, but without seeing the least sign of ths enemy. The enemy, however, was there, and in considerable force. From their mountain retreats they saw the whole scheme, the bridge of boats, the marching over, and the parade of English and foreigners, and they must have chuckled amongst themselves, as they thought cf the coming tide, which would render the bridges useless, and put the invaders at their mercy. Sure enough, the tide began to rise, and when the bridge was for the time useless, Llewelyn swept down. * ' As mountain wave from wasted land, swept back to ocean blue." There was no time for flight, only time to die ! The onslaught of the AVelsh warriors was terrific, and the fight between the foemen was worthy of one another. The invaders saw themselves in a trap. On the banks opposite were their friends, useless to aid. Rushing at them from every 'vantage ground, with lance and sword, came the race whose prowess they knew only too well. Some faint hearts amongst the foreigners giving way led to a fatal issue, and by the sword or wave perished nearly every one of the brave host who had dared to assail Llewelyn in his own mountains. A few good swimmers, not in armour, managed to get across ; the rest wci'e literally cut down as they stood, or trying to flee were lost. It was a miserable ending to a campaign that promised so much, and Edward appears to have been half maddened at his losses. Latimer escaped by swimming his horse over, but the death roll enumerated thirteen knights of fame, seventeen cadets, and a whole host of ordinary soldiery. Llewelyn did not remain in idleness to exult over his victory, but continuing his advance assailed Edward, and closed the run of good fortune by putting the king to flight and taking fourteen colours. Here, again, a number of brave men were slain, and Edward had to mourn the loss of several lords who were personal friends as well as material supports to the royal cause. The king escaped to the castle of J lope, and there remained deliberating upon the course of action he should take. In the meanwhile the South Walians were active. A strong force in Cardigan and another in Carmarthenshire were fighting TALE« AND HKETUHES OF WALES. 145 with valom- against superior numbers-, and in some cases without winning the decided success which had attended Llewelyn. The Earl of Gloucester and Sir Edward Mortimer had the commaml in the south, and the co-operation of Rhys ap Meredith. Hence it was natural that when Llewelyn had effectually crippled the king, he should make Ids way down to the south to aid his friends against the lord marchers. The English historian has blamed him for so doing, and maintains that after so great a victory his policy should have been to retire to his mountain stronghold and wait the certain retreat back again of Edward into England. But those who so condemn have paid but little attention to the external character of Llewelyn's nature. He was not the man to repose on his laurels when his own countrymen were struggling against superior numbers. Valiant to a degree, impulsive to rashness, like so many of his race, he disdained inglorious ease, and hence we find him very soon after the battle of Mal-y-Don in the midst of the lands of the renegade Rhys, burning down his houses, wasting the produce of the lands, and doing all the damage that it was possible to achieve. But having accomplished this he found that the people lacked the warm-hearted adhesion to his cause which characterised the men of North Wales, and while his own army was small, that of the Earl of Gloucester was very large, and constantly increasing. He appears to have put himself in communication with some of the Welsh chief- tains, and there is too much reason to fear that not only was ho deliberately enticed into a dangerous locality, but that information at the same time was given to the enemy. Coming to the neighbourhood of Builth, where he expected to meet his friends, he found himself in the vicinity of Mortimer's forces, and their numbers prompted a retreat which he would have done well to have adopted. But his star was setting, and setting amidst clouds, of ruin and disastex*. The closing annals of Llewelyn's career have had numberless chroniclei-g, and each has exercised his imagination in accounting for the results which followed Llewelyn's approach to Builth. Their material — that is, the certain facts known — is confined to a few lines, and with this many a surmise has been added which is out of keeping with the disposition of our hero. Throwing aside these surmises, and keeping strictly to the little that is known, we abandon the old rut of the annalist and the biographer, and sketch for ourselves what appears to have been the cause and the issue of the last campaign of the prince. A change, and a startling one, had "come o'er the spirit of his dream." All around him were Welshmen who indicated dislike instead enthusiasm. And it was to free these that he had fouglit ! Men he had i-aised to power had supported the king; friends whom he had taken from obscurity had for- saken hiin. His hold upon life was gone. His wife was no longer living to cheer him to fresh exertion. What was to be the end of all this turmoil and vexation — this waste of blood 1 Some day he might rctarn into North Wales, to Abor, where once was happiness, but now desolation. There, true, he might hear again the ringing shout of his own men, but in a little while Edward would again assail, and he must exert himself to the uttermost, and 146 TALES AND SKETCHES OP WALES. for what 1 — to defend a people who caved not for his defence, and to retain an independence they did not appear to think worth preserving. Picture him, then, moody, depressed, exhibiting none of his old resolution, and, though in the face of a superior army to his own, showing no forethought beyond what the merest tyro in military matters might have shown. All he did was to station' a force i\pon one of the little bridges over the Wye, and then leaving his men he wandered away mto a thick wood, in the expectation, it is assumed, of meeting one of the native chieftains; but instead of meeting him the enemy was apprised of his whereabouts, and n, strong party assailed the men on the bridge. The fight was severe; though unable to force a way, yet they conti'ived to sret a detachment over a ford lower down, and the Welsh thus assailed in front and flank, and without the inspiriting influence of Llewelyn to cheer them, gave way, leaving him to his fate. The traditions of the district intimate that Llewelyn was on horseback, that hearing the skirmish, and finding that he was betrayed, he made all possible haste to the bridge, but only in time to share in the general overthrow ; that in the wild pursuitwhich followed, when every man* either fought or ran for his life, he succeeded in escaping to a rocky ravine a few miles to the south of Builth, and there remained for a time in one of the natural caverns that is still pointed out as bearing his name. Local traditions add that, from this place he made his way past Builth and obtained the assistance of a smith, who shod his horse, and reversed his shoes to mislead his pursuers ; that keeping his way as due north as possible, evidently bent on making his way to North Wales, he reached Cwm Llewelyn, several miles from Builth, where secreting in a wood he was assailed by the mercenaries of Sir Edmund Mortimer, one of whom, named Adam Francton, pierced him with a spear and left him for dead. People still point to a small ravine where he is said to have remained, and to have received a cup of water at the hands of an aged woman. Others state that when dying he received the last office from a monk ; but this is certain, that at the time of his death, or immediately afterwards, his head was cut off and taken first to Mortimer, and then sent to King Edward, who received it with the utmost exultation, for now the most formidable of his enemies was no more, and Wales was at last at his feet. Sucli was tlie end of Llewelyn, and the descendants of his race, whose supinencss or positive cinuity led to his destruction have religiously ])rcserved. in name and .stor^' all that reminds one of the gallant but ill-fated prince. Amidst the crowd of the brave he looms a conspicuous figure, linked with the mil n[' his great predecessors, yet himself standing on the threshold of the new age, when, merging her history into tliat of England, Wales entered again a career of industrial development, and carved a name as illustrious for peace and iinlrr as it Inul bucn fm- uullinching detci'mination and bravery in'the days of old. LUNDY ISLAND AND THE PIRATE DE MARISCO. ^ Jl^sHK n'reat expanse of the Bristol Channel is as smooth as glass, and "" ' ' the sky as blue as that of Italy. How peacefully the giant ocean slumbers, how calm in repose ! ^Vllo would think that the playful whisper of the wind would make it lift its hand, and that a soft caress would send a great ihrill along its deeps 1 Still less would one believe that the moment the wind rises with anger the response of the ocean is sudden, and the howl of one is echoed in the harsh moan of the other. Unruflicd lies the Channel on a midsummer day of 1242, and few are the ships and small their proportion that speck the horizon line. One vessel larger than the usual run lies idly rocking in the sea, making little headway. Her head is in the direction of Lundy Island, and, judging from her course, she has come from the fishing port of Cardiff. Though of large bnilt, only a few men are on deck. Is she a merchantman or a king's ship 1 Where is she bound 1 A little group on Lundy Island, lying huddled together, ask these questions. Various nationalities are there represented, and the samples are not of the .choicest kind. Murder is written on many a foce ; craft and brutality on nearlj'- all. There is the German mercenary kicked out from amongst his companions for his bad deeds ; here a few of the scum from Normandy, mixed with Welsh and English, all of low type, and with but one desire in common, to get plunder and indulge themselves in every riotous manner to the top of their bent. At their head is De Marisco, who, too low in the scale to get castles and lands like the knights witli whom ho came to Wales, has fixed himself on Lundy to play the pirate on all nationalities, and no more make a selection than does the tiger crouching in his lair. " Get ready boats, men ! " said De Marisco ; •' if the wind docs not rise wo shall board her in a few minutes. She is drifting down with the current. But stop ! " and with a coarse imprecation he jumped to his feet. The large vessel was now within a bowshot, and to the astonishment and alarm of the freebooters on the island, there was seen man after man to come up from below deck, until no less than a hundred armed soldiers were visible, and here and there were men in armour, with one stalwart furm heavily mailed, who was shouting words of command. •) • K- 148 TALKS AND SKETCHES OF AVALES. " We are lost ! " said Marisco, as a fliglit of sirrows came to tlic very spot ■where they lay. '' Curse the earl ; to cover until they laud, and then fight for your lives ! " The men, some of them wounded, sullenly obeyed. " What could a few score do against men in armour and of superior force 1 Better yield at once," so they muttered. But they knew that De Marisco would not give in without a struggle. For him, against whose account many a dark deed was placed, capture meant death, and it was as well to die sword in hand as without one. Now boats began to be lowered, and while a strong body of archers guarded the landing, the rest landed and took up a position until the ways and means of defence on the island were seen. The group they had noticed croiiching near the beach were gone. What their strength were was uncertain, but they knew the cunning of their leader, and were cautious. It was well they were so, for now from the rocks came a steady flight of arrows, and so skilfully directed that many a brave Norman went down, and still not a foe was visible. All they could do was to aim in the direction from whence came the arrows, but the outlaws were so concealed that none of them suffered, and it was evident that could that strategy be pursued the invaders might be thinned until too weak to oppose, and then the big ship would be theirs. So thought the pirate. Tliey did not know the valour or military sagacity of their leader. Retiring to a little distance, the Normans divided their furces, one part by a rapid detour reaching an elevated height commanding the rocks and completely exposing the pirates to their attack. Once seen the stoi'm of arrows was incessant, and while the attention of the pirates was fully occupied the other part took them in flank, and, after a desperate struggle, all who survived, and they were but few, were taken prisoners. De Marisco, mucli as he would have liked to die with las front to the foe, for he Avas a brave though a bad man, was disarmed and secured, and over his fate, which was no doubt a summary one, with a short shrift, history is mute. There was great satisfaction in all quarters when the good news spread that the pirates' nest had been broken up. Taken by fishing-smack or sloop, the welcome tidings spread not only coastwise but over Cliannel, and Lundy from that day lost its evil cliaractoi', and was no longer avoided as worse than a sunken reef. A. LmMB OF TIIl^] BLiCK )[0[JXTV[XS. Black Moimtains, ruji-god, vast, and louoly, were just the places for the strangely imaginative mind of the Welsh in former days to people with strange beings, and make the scene of equally strange events If gnomes of dwarfish size and elfish character were to be found, it was on some of the ranges of the Black Mountains that they disported themselves, and the Vale of Neath and their own recesses divided between themselves the honour of being the localities where fairy men and fairy women lived out their l)nef life, as the gnats do in the sunshine. Like those things of a summer day — but what a summer of sunshine and dancing, there life was limited and brief, but it was an existence, judging from the traditions we have con- cerning it, of a very joyous character. Tiiey paid neither rent nor taxes, and avoided all the worry and trouble which assail bigger mortals. In fact, it was only when they were enticed to fall into the ranks of humanity that they shared humanity's sorrows, and then, poor fairies, often and often they wished themselves back again in their former condition. In the legend of Myddfai this is well shown, and to Giraldus (J. Rowlands) I am indebted for material, which, without further preamble, I add to ray collection. Once upon a time there was a very impressionable young farmer living at a snug little farm, where the brook that ran near was shaded by lofty trees, and altogther was a desirable residence. Tall trees indicated deep soil, and the soil was deep and rich, and the farmer luxuriated in the possession of a herd of milking cows. Such had been the case for generations, so that the farm was known as Esgairllaethdy. Our farmer at a late fair had purchased a number of lambs, which he drove up on the Black Mountains in the neighbourhood of Llyn-y-Fan-Vach, and there, occasionally, lest a fox should steal down from the rocks and take one of them, our farmer would go and look up his lambs, and note how (piickly they grew from nipping the short sweet grass of the mountains. One beautiful evening while he was taking a last look he noticed three white figures come out of the lake and walk along the banks. He was entranced ! They were like tlie pictures of angels in his mother's old Bible at home, and as he gazed upon them he quietly stepped nearer. As he did so all religious feeling and, indeed, all spiritual feeling fled, the figures were so beautiful, so 150 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. captivating, aud looked so archly at him that he increased his stealthy pace to a run and tried to catch them, but the effort was a failure, aud he had to return home disconsolate, and to dream, when he was not too sound asleep for that, which was often, that he had captured one of them and had made her his wife. Every day now he visited the lake, and every day repeated the attempt, and in each case the beautiful fairies, for such he concluded they were, teased him until he was almost grasping them, aud then one with a wicked laugh would say, as they plunged into the waters of the Llyn, " Cras dy fara Auliawdd eiu dala." which, translated, would run, You who baked bread eat, To catch us are by no means fleet. Dan Jones, the farmer, mourned excessively, and his sale of milk fell off and his farm suffered, but he kept perseveringly on, vowing in his own mind "One of you three my wife shall be." And one day, as he stood by the lake, a piece of moist bread came in his way, which he eagerly devoured, and when the three fair damsels came next, to their surprise and his delight, he caught them. They were, indeed, beautiful, aud had Dan known the couplet he would have exclaimed with the poet, How happy could I be with either, Were t'other dear charmers away. Dan talked most lovingly to them, and in a few minutes summoned enough <)ourage there and then to propose marriage to the one he thought not only the prettiest but the best. The fairy tenderly accepted his heart and hand on one condition, which was that he should distinguish her from her sisters on the fallowing day. This was a puzzle to the farmer, for they were so like in form and dress, biit what will not a Welshman in love accomplish 1 He looked so full of love, and so beseechingly to the fair one of his choice, that she, smitten herself in turn by his earnest devotion, drew his attention by a glance of the eye to her feet, when he discerned that there was a slight (lin'erencc in the tying of the sandal. This was enough for him, aud the next day he was able to ssingle her out and bear her away. Tiic legend docs not say anything about marriage, but as he had professed it, no doubt the priest blessed them, though he must have been kept in the dark as to the lady. I'cforc departing from the lake, the fairy thought fiiat a marriage portion would not be unacceptable, and l)y a wave of the wand, which did away with all rcaiing or attending fairs, and would be an acceptable art now-a-days to many a needy fanner, out stoppeil from the lake seven cows, tw'o oxen and a bull. Settled down and liajipy, the farmer promised to U)ve and honour her faithfully until death, and nhc, as fervent, promised always to be his good wife, until auch time as he struck her three times without cause, TALES AN' I) SKF.TCIIES OP WALES. 1 ■") I This the farmer thoiiglit \\:is c(iuiv:ilcnt to throe warnings, and he was quite certain, not only that he shouUl never strike lier three times, hut that ho shouhl never strike her once. The fairy wife, judging from a little incident or two, cast aside all her fairy propensities, and i)ecame a model housewife, never scrupling to put her hand to anything useful. The years flowed ou like a calm and gentle river, and the f\\rmer, in a few years, saw four brave sons and a comely wife sitting by the hearth that was once desolate. He wasvery happy, and this was the time whenhe should havebeen mostcareful. It is when fortune wraps us warm that we should treasure the fortune ; care and self-denial in the dark hour of bitterness arc useless exercises. Fair day came round, and Dan was in a groat hurry to be off. With his mouth full of oatmeal cake and milk, he went on lacing his boots, so as to loose no time in getting ready, and while so doing, asked his wife to go into the Held and bring him the horse for him to ride. She said she would, but as she took a little more time than he thought necessary in starting, he said playfully to her, slapping her at the saine time with his glove : " Dos, dos, dos," or " Go, go, go." One glance gave the wife, With a sigh froni her heart, " 0, Dan, you'\'e forgotten, And now we must part." One glance gave the wife, One grjan gave poor Dan, And out from the farmhouse The fairy-wife ran. It was all over. Dan saw it in a minute, and as ill-luck generally comes in a cluster, Dan found his stock was sensibly diminished, as the seven cows, two ■ oxen, the bull and the descendants all came lowing out of the fields, and, taking whatever was attached to them in the shape of ploughs, harness, or what not, and going to the margin of the lake, walked in with the fairy-wife in advance and disappeared. The legend does not tell us what became of the bereaved husband, thus losing a wife - without having even the melancholy pleasure of following her to the grave ; but he disappears from notice, and if it was into the mysterious lake, so much the better. The four sons grew up, not in riches, but that which surpasseth riches, which are often the accompaniments of a fool — wisdom, .and dearly did they love in their youthful manhood, even as they had in their youth, to resort to a ravine called Cwm-y-Meddygon, and talk of their beautiful mother who had faded away, and of the sweet voice they should never hear again. But they did hear it. They were sitting there one summer's evening as usual, when, with the old sweet smile, she came in the midst of them and wound her loving arms round her dear boys and kissed them, but she said that she could not stay. She had no power to ; all that she could do was to give them some blessing that would aid them in the battle of life ; and with this and still more sweet kisses, she gave each a bag, and was gone. 152 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. These boys became noted in history as the " Meddygou Myddtai," and were respectively Rhiwallon, Cadwgan, Gruffuad, and Emon, famous about the year 1220 for their skill in the art of healing, taking precedence of all the most learned cures ; and doughty Rhys Grug, Lord of Dynevor, had the benefit and the honour of regarding them as Jiis own physicians. A good deal of conjecture has been hazarded on the matter of the three little bags, but the age that regarded the healing art as a gift, and not, as we do, a science, has always maintained that in the bags were either some choice medicines or some written directions to cui'e various diseases. And so ends the legend of the Black Mountains. CARMARTHEN AND MERLIN THE WIZARD. ^ARMARTHEN, the Caer Merddin, or Merlin's town of the Welsh, and ^-^ the Maridunum of the Romans, is one of the most conspicuous towns >^^ in Wales for historic associations. In old times and in new, it has O figured prominently. It was here that the pro])het Merlin was born, here that I'icton went a truant boy to school ; here that Nott the warrior- hero died. Plain and unambitious, destitute of grand architectui'al attraction as it may be, thei'e is that in its history which is full of interest, for on its scenes old Welsh warriors, Roman, Norman, and the other elements, which in combination with the Welsh make up the British race, have paced along, and so pacing, making history, doing deeds of woe or weal, wliich schoolboys read about with bated breath, and historians mixse upon. Merlin was the Bacon of the day, the monk, not the philosoi)hcr. Just as in a young forest, one sapling will shoot high above the rest, so in the early history ot our civilisation, there were some great minds which stood out boldly from the common herd. Look at Chaucer, the father of English poetry. How great his stature above his contemporaries. So, too, Shakespeare, amidst the play-Wrights, Milton amongst the courtiers ; but this century has ushered in a change, there is a greater dead level of respectable eminence of moderate talent, smd the a])prccintivo capacity has kept good pace with the creation. Fn Merlin's time the monks seem to have monopolised the very ordinary ability which was diaplayed. Wiu; or the simplest of agriculture, occupied the attention of tlie people, and leligion, and some very faint mental strivings that of the monks. MltHu, who was no monk, Imt a man of great learning, was so utterly distinct from ilic ni;.,ss, (1: m he was regarded as possessed of TALKS AN'D SrCKTCUKS OF WALES. 153 supernatnml power, Ilis personality is a subject of dispute. Davies, of " Keltic Researches " fame, believed in two Merddins, one the son of Mororyn the Merddin the Wild of Welsli bards, and the Merddin 'Emrys, or Merlin Ambrosius of Nennius Godfrey and the romances. But Stephens in his literature of the Kymry, in a most exhaustive section, has so stripped away his identity with the poems ascribed to him in the " Apples " and the " Pigs," that one is doul)tful as to wherein his fame really lay, whether in divination or in poetry. With regard to the quaintness of the subject matter of the poetry ascribed to Merlin, apples and pigs, Davies is inclined to regard the first as having a Druidic meaning, but Stephens regards it as a reminiscence rather of the time when the Kymry were in the Sunimerland. My own view, given with all deference is, that the apple has a religious aspect. The first mental influences brought to bear on tlie mind of the Welsh were religious, and the storj' of Eden in its striking simplicity, and with its wonderful results, coidd but have had a strong effect on the primitive people amongst whom the monks related it. And thus the bards, men of few ideas, having this Iliad of Paradise riveted upon their attention, used the " apple " in their poems, and metaphorically applied the term in their narrative of history. Then again, as this is a prosaic dissertation, with regard to pigs, the pig is a favourite with the Keltic family, both with the AVelshman and his cousin, the Irishman. One large section of North Walians were known as the Mochnant, and not the least conspicuous of the AVelsh poets was the " Poet of the Pigs." The pig was esteemed for its wisdom when living, and for its savoury character when dead. " Listen little pig," is the invocation as well known as the classic, " Men and arms I ring." " As contented as a sow in stubble " is one of the oldest of proverbs. Even to this day the pig is "respected," and the expression of a genial freeholder, that no dinner was complete without pig, in some form or other, is one that will be gcnei'ally accepted by the majority. Hence I take it that, without any far-fetched Orientalism, the religious feature of the apple and the familiar one of the pig explain everything. When Gwortryern ruled in Britain the days of the complete governing of the island were drawinii; to a close. In fact he was driven bv Saxon inroad to the mountains of Cambria, and not knowing how he shoidd preserve even his standing there, he sought a wizard, who told him to build a fort or stronghold in a certain place. This he attempted to do, but dii-ectly the foundation was laid it sunk from sight. Day after day this continued, aud in his extremity he again sought advice and was told to send messengers abroad in order to find a boy who was born without a father. This boy was to be slain, and the foundation cemented with his blood, which would secure the stability of the building. The messengers did as directed. They came to Carmarthen, and when walking through the street one evening, watching some boys at play, they overheard one taunt the other with having no father. They immediately seized the lad, and, making inquiries, found that it was as stated. That his mother had been " surprised by a spirit," and the boy was the issue. They 154 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. brought the boy to the king, aud when he was told that he was to die he wanted to know the why and the wherefore. He then said that under the rushes which grew there, there was a pool of water and at the bottom of it a stone chest in which two dragons wez-e asleep, and that every now and then they awoke and it was the encounter of their fighting that caused the foundation to sink. The king saw that the boy was above the ordinary rank, and by his assistance the pool was drained and there appeared the chest which, on being opened, disclosed two dragons, who began, forthwith, a despei-ate fight. The red one proved the stronger, and not only drove out the white one, but almost killed it. This white one, the boy said, was the Saxon, and the ted one the Briton, and though the British were now oppressed, yet in the end they would triumph and get rid of their oppressors. Such was the manner in which the great wizard Merddin first came into notice, and, from that date, into fame. His achievements, powers, and prophecies permeate the literature of the past, and a great deal more is placed to his credit than is deserved. Stripped of borrowed plumes, and of the credit of deeds which he took no part in, the simple foct remains, first, that there was such a man ; secondly, that he was above the ordinary dead level, and that, to the popular eye^ the possession of a little intellect gave him the fame of super- natural power. ELLEN DWN, THE TRUE HEROINE OF "YOUNG L0CHIN7AR." i^^ai) ^^^ Walter Scott, like Shakespeare, drew his inspiration from other ^V:iV lands than liis own. We have to thank Denmark for giving us the ^ y\ immortal Hamlet, and to Wales is due the credit of supplying Scott, ^ amongst many (jtlicr fiagments, the Norman Horse-shoe to wit, with the much admired, and often (pioted and sung " Young Lochinvar." I do not profess to have made tiie discovery. It is due to poor Llewel3n Prichard, whoso life was one long u})liill game, and whose death was as miserable as it is possible to conceive. But of that more anon, hit lie eventful and stirring incidents connected with the life of Kllcii Own, I'richard traced the fount whence the gcr.ius of Sir Walter Scott drew liis " Young Lochinvar." IJiit Sir Walter Scott, as TALKS AND SKKTCHES OK WALES. 155 Priclianl states, Scotchified it, and concealed its Cambrian origin, and glossed over with his gentle and (lowcry niiiistrcLsy some details that would have given a tragic colouring to the history. With this tribute to Prichard I will now in my own way tell the story of ELLKN DWN. The' Dwns, as the name indicates, were of Welsh extraction, and prior to the reign of Edward IV. had settled themselves on the English side of the river Dee. There, in the coiu'se of generations, the name had been altered to Done, and in the reign of Edward IV. the representative of the family was Sir John Done, of Ulkington, county of Chester, His daughter Ellen was the impcrsonification of a poet's dream. She was not a picture only for the eye to admire, but a living reality, as good as she was beautiful, with a will of her own that rightly regarded her future destiny as a mattei* of consideration to herself more than to her parents. With every regard and duty to her parents, she yet thought that in the disposal of her hand it was necessary that her own heart should be consulted. She was not like an estate to be sold to the highest bidder, and come woe, come weal, she would have her own way. One cannot but admire those strong-minded w^omen of the past. Such as she was were the mothers of the men who laid the solid substmtum of England's greatness, the mothers of the men who won our battlefields and naval victories ; ■who founded our commercial basis ; who carved out our canals and railways. They could dance a " measure," but did not make the ball-room an idol. They liked the attractions of dress, but did not bow down to it as a fetish, and follow fashion blindly, and often, as we see it, to the death. Many a panegyric has been devoted to great men who kept cottage and hall in times past, and made themselves a name in the history of their country, but little attention has been given to those who in the early years of childhood, and up to manhood, watched over and nurtured the proud spirits which won deathless names. In the Walhalla of our count ly, Westminster Abbey, those names are preserved ; they live again in storied verse, in classic painting, in sculptured niavblc ; but the mothers who bore them are forgotten. Fair Ellen Dwn ! When David Myddleton, the young, the gallant Welsh- man, saw her he lost his heart, and he vowed a vow that no other should be his wife. His family were in point of rank equal to the Dwns, or Dones. He was allied to the Myddletons of Chirk Castle, he held high office under the king, and he boasted a descent from the ancient tribe of Ririd Vlaidd. Still the Dwn pere and the Dwn mere did not like him, for some reason or other which history has not handed down. Tliey resolutely put their face against David, antl, instead, tried all they could to bring about a match between Ellen and a cousin named Richard Done. Bold as he was ardent, and relying upon Ellen's love, and also upon his own family prestige, David made a formal request to the parents for liberty to pay his addresses to their daughter. " Couldn't think of it," said Sir John, " Her afiections arc otherwise engaged," said Lady Done. l.")G TALES AND SKETCHES OF AVAl^ES. " Hximph ! " quoth David, '' Ellen's eyes tell me otherwise. I will dissemble a while, but forego her never." Debarred from visiting at the Dones David was only able to get au occasional brief meeting with his beloved, and often was obliged to be content with a distant view of his fair mistress in the church. In the old and sacred pile, where the radiance of the summer falls through painted windows in dreamy light upon aisle and worshipper, Ellen would sit and exchange those telegrams of love which need but the eyes as the medium, and the heart as the interpreter. And David would look, and dream, and plot, and yet for the life of him he could not see the way to accomplish his ends. In the few and furtive interviews they had been able to obtain David had won her avowal. The love was mutual ; but she could not run against the wishes of her father ; she hoped that time would soften his dislike, and that all would yet be well. But David Myddleton was a proud man, and, fully conscious that Ellen would be his eventually, secretly resolved to put a bold face on the matter, and show as much unconcern as possible. So his attendance at church became unfrequent, and when he did attend he seemed more inclined to devotion than to exchange loving glances. Ellen was piqued at this, and the father saw it, and thinking it a golden opportunity lost no time in hinting to his daughter that : — " x\.fter all, you see I was right ; that young Myddleton was evidently taken up with some fresh fancy. That was not the man to make a good husband. L)ok at your cousm Richard, he was a plainer man, not half so gallant or handsome, but how true, how faithful ; he worshipped the very ground she trod upon, and if she married him he would be her slave." Power is a great attraction to man and woman. To rule, to have someone that looks up to you, flatters the small vanities we possess, and Ellen was not proof to feeling in her annoyance with David some little bit of gratification that somebody thought well of her, if he didn't. And yet, when the evening- died away into night, and she was alone in her own room with no one near her to disparage David, the recollection of his manly form, the remembrance of his tender voice, of his earnest avowals, would come and revive all her love. Then, again, with the morrow would come the parental influence ; sometimes, also, the cousin lover came and made himself as amiable as it was possible to be, and calked of his lands and of his mansion, and of his horses and hounds, and again and again begged her to become mistress of Croten Court. AVith the best of women there are moments when the weakness inherited from mother Eve displays itself — the tendency to yield. Tn primeval days of rustic sim- plicity the apple was suflicient ; gold, gems, estates, are now required. Ear from it be my intention to think even slightingly of the fair Ellen, or wander from narrative into metaphysics; but the temptation to speculate at this trying period of Ellen's career is great, and so it will be advisable to imagine the best, to believe the best, in fact, to put the best appearance forward before the very grave truth that in an evil hour l-^llen forgot David, and promised llichard that she would on a certain day become his wife. TALKS AM) SKKTOIIKS OK WALRS. 157 To her credit I mu^t iuld tlKitcveii tliis slie did conditioiuilly,aii(l the condition was, if by the time mentioned David did not come and claim her as liib wife. So even at the worst aspect it is possible that Ellen was only dissimulating a little to get rid of her pestering lover and her plaguing relatives; that, after all, her love for David was as firm as ever, and her belief in his coming to save her as strong. The day that the promise was extorted from her was to her one of the saddest. What if he did not come ? What if he had really foi'gctten her 1 Then her ha})pincss would be sacrificed for ever. It must be understood that the women of those days were of a practical turn of mind ; it was left for a later age to resort to poisons, running brooks, and other means of ending misery, though, as a rule, at any period of history there are more of these things, and the *' worm in the bud," and " tlie damask check," in shilling novels than in real life. Many a noble woman may be found amongst us whose dream of love never dawned into the day ; whose romance lies buried with a faded flower or a locket ; whose early love is the obese (practical too) somebody else's John, while she herself has found that comfort and family cares, and the prattle of children, coupled with household expenses, help considerably to obliterate the moonlight nights and the wooing of old. What did Ellen do in her extremity 1 The moment she had signed the bond her peril was disclosed to her, and without a moment's delay she sent a messenger to David, telling him what she had done, and conjuring him, if he still retained any love for her, to come and save hex* — save her from her cousin, from her friends, from her fate. It is not known in what manner the message was sent. History tells us that it was by a faithful messenger, and*in that case there was no necessity of resorting to the quaint handwriting and expression of the period, thus : — " I besych yo as yo vale mi luve to come ere th vij Monath. I wis yo," &c. Whatever the way, the message was sent, and the messenger arrived safely at his destination ; but, alack a day ! David was abi?ent ; no one knew where he was gone, and no one knew when he would return ! The messenger had taken a long time to travel, and there was only a few days to spare ere Ellen would be led to the altar. That ancient illustration of the wife of Blue-beard asking her sister if she saw anyone coming was indeed but a nursery tale compared to the anxiety with which Ellen looked out upon road and moor for a glimpse of her messenger. The hours flew by; day succeeded day; the wedding preparations, hurried on by the parents, were near completion, and the cousin llichard gloated delightfully over the prize that he felt was now his own. The eventful morning dawned. Feverish with anxiety, Ellen looked forth for the last time from her casement, and the bleak distance, dotted by no figure, chilled her heart. It was all over then; either her messenger had been inter- cepted or David loved her not. In a maze, scarcely knowing what she did, she descended at the last moment, arrayed, as many have been, and will be, for the sacrifice, yet unassisted, with step that was still firm, and mien proud 158 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. in its gi-acefuluess, she began the journey to the church, whence came sv/eetly on the ear the sound of harmonious bells. And what of David 1 Late the night before, or very early in the morning, he had returned home, found the despairing messenger awaiting him, and in a trice was informed of the fate that awaited Ellen ! Like a madman he sprang to horse, rode fui'iously here and there to the residences of his friends, and collecting a dozen stalwart supporters, who donned their mail and girded themselves for the fight, led the way, and as in a battle charge, without once halting or drawing rein, rode desperately at their head to the rescue of his beloved. Yet even as he rode he knew it was hopeless. She would be lost to him. No power on earth could save her, and he swore fierce oaths he would be revenged. She should be his wife or the wife of no othei-. Furious as was the pace the rescuers ai'rived too late. They drew rein as they nearcd the church, and wondering rustics gathered around and told him that the wedding party had been in the church a long time, and even as they spoke the bells again rang forth and out came the long array, the bride looking wondrously beautiful but faint even to death, while the bridegroom, an " insignificant man with smirking air" looked about him for the joyous shout that the rustics failed to give. One glance gave David at the group, one spring gave he from the saddle, then as the panther leaps upon its prey, so bounded he, sword in hand, upon the hapless Richard, and one thrust through the heart and the smirk of triumph was stilled in deatli ! Not more rapid is the lightning stroke than was the flash of his sword, then while a cry of horror ran around, One touch to her hand, one word in her ear, So light to the croup the fair hidy he swung, Si> Hght to the saddle before her he sprung, She is wan, we are gone over liank, Inisli, and scaur, They'll have fleet steeds that follow ijuoth young Lochinvar. The action of David was instantaneous ; his friends closed around him, and shouting the word on, he leading the way, dashed at the utmost speed of his horse into the river Dec. This once forded, and in the land of Cambria, he defied all pursuit. Once at a safe distance the party took things more leisurely, and arriving at the abl)cy of Denbigh, fair Ellen was again married, and however much she may have regretted the hapless fate of her cDusin, in David's ovcrwliclming love tlic past was forgotten. One is alwjiys wishful to know the subse(iuent fate of the hero or heroine. Generally the novelist gives the suggestive sentence — "Ilapiiy ever after- wards," and we arc left to conclude that the storms i)f adversities after a period are bottled up, only to be used again upon tlie unfortunate Ulysses when he angers the god«. But we all know that this, if it suited past ages cither of classic time or dim remote history, is out of place with our shop- keeping i)ractical era. With regard to David Myddleton he was too powerful with the kin;4 to HuHcr |)iniiHhment, and the transitional cm of a Welsh history TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALKS. 1R9 was such, and so many matters of greater importance pending, that this was looked upon as a little escapade, and soon forgotten. Of their married life little is known but that the sons from this union descended the present Myddletons of Chester County. VISIT OF WELSH BAIIONS TO LONDON IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. SHALL have occasion in the course of these sketches to pourtray many a romantic scene and interesting incident, especially those associated with Llewelyn ap Griffith, and his brother David ; with David's grandson known in Franco as Yvoinde Galles, or Evan of Wales, and with Owen Glyndwr. In connection with Llewelyn's life and rule there is one incident which is not generally known, and yet well deserves not only to be known, but to form the subject of an historical picture. This is the visit of the barons of Wales, knights, or clneftains, as termed by others, to the Court of Edward L in London, there to pay him homage. The Londoners have seen from time to time the entrance of remai'kable men, emperor and sultan, pasha and native prince. Even our own Dr. Price, of Pontypridd, has attracted attention in the Strand by the novelty of his costume ! Macaulay relates the visit of rcpi'escntatives of the reigning-house of Russia in an emblazonment of jewels. Yet it is questionable if at any time the Cockneys have had a greater attraction than was afforded them about the year 1378, when the Welsh chieftains paid homage to Edward. They were accompanied as usual by large retinues, and being so considerable in number were located at Islington and, as the historian then described it. other adjacent villages. " Merrie Islington " would be startled now by such an appellation. They were not very happy there. We are told that they could not get sufficient milk, and that they did not like the London beer and wine. Very probably the same objections would be raised now by the modern visitors ! But still more, they disliked the crowd of curious men, women, and children, who thronged to see them go out, and come in to their lodgings, just in the same way as the public gaze now at the variegated colours of circus men. The proud Welshmen could not endure this show business. For them, lords 160 TALES AND SKETCHES UK WALKS. of the mountaiu aud the valley, to be gazed ut by the Saxon, with just the same curious interest as would now be given to the inevitable New Zealander, was galling to their pride, and the historian relates that there, in Islington, they vowed a vow never to snbmit to such humiliation again, but to revolt at the first opportunity. Little did the Saxons think of the storms they were helping to brew. Returned to their native mountains, the bitterness awakened knew no rest iintil many a lordly Norman house had lost its best and bravest sons, and Edward, chafed to the uttermost point of auger, had risked his own rule in the effort to I'etaliate and vanquish. Saxon churl, Norman knight, Welsh chieftain, in the London of the fourteenth century, might form a fitting theme for one of our native artists. Even the relation is of extreme interest. It brings the past vividly before one. The mist of centuries is blown away from before the land of mountain and flood, and there is the impulsive, irritable, warlike race before us, just as they were with war plumes, and wild fanciful dress, disliking town and artificial life, aud ■ preferring the grand loveliness of nature and the simplest diet. Such a picture is worth all the histories which exalt or decry, represent the old chietains as either like the Homeric gods or little better than North American Indians. A GLIMPSE OF FARM LIFE IN WALES. SKETCHED FROM CEFN, NEAR LLANDOVERY. (HE life of a Welsh farmer is, as a rule, a placid course of things, and no wonder that, wrinkled like the old thorns on the hill-side, tanned like a sailor, they live to a good old ag(!.. There is not so much fret of lite with them or jarring of the nervous system, none of that irritation going on which, in town and city life, contributes so ranch to the tinging of the hiiir with grey, the l)ringing on of " crows feet," and other indications of tnnibleH, and of age. Then there arc times of pleasurable excitement, and up in the Carmarthen shire districts, the delight of a cheery fox hunt accross the ferny hills is no nncoininon treat. I well recollect, in the neighbourhood of Llandovery, hearing a Imrst of music, on the hill toj), imd an excited farmer shout " 'tis the fiiieHt muHic in the world." TALRS Axn .■^ketouks of w.vleh. ini Dnrini; a hunt the hospitalities of any farm liouse on the route are offered in the freest manner, and anyone neglecting so to do earns the name of a churl, and lies ever after under a cloud. But, as a rule, the farmer visited is only too happy to spread his table, and to bring out the best things, eatables and drinkables, he has in stock, and if the hunt, after a good day's vigorous run, does not find itself at the close in the condition of Burn's character, " happy and glorious," it will be no fault of the jovial old farmers amongst the hills. A gi-eat day also, in the neighbourhood of Llandovery, is the sheep-washing. What a bustle of preparation there is in the morning ! With the first faint streaks of dawn the family are up, and Moss, and every other dog besides ou the premises, having an instinctive feeling that work is brewing, are up and jumping about, and barking noisily. They have scarcely patience to wait for the breakfast to finish, and when it is ovei", the sturdy old farmer and his sons and servants set out, some for the river with their raddle and hurdles, and the rest with the dogs to the mountains, the excitement increases. Then when the dogs have the signals to gather in the flocks, what a splendid scene is presented. Far away little dots of snow upon the vast mountain-chain may be seen at rest ; but at the first bark of the dog there is a commotion, and if one wore nearer it would be highly interesting to see the small delicate head of the mountain sheep raised, the eyes glistening, the whole attitude one of attention an-d fear. That far away sound is known only too well, the enemy is approaching, and soon the little dots of snow gather in a cluster, all in a state of the highest nervous excitement. When the enemy, in the form of Moss with his tongue out, appears on the scene, then the scamper is instantaneous, and the old routine of running away like mad, then swerving around as Moss gets ahead, is to be seen, the old dog working them well, and eventually bringing all down panting and troubled to the water's edge. How vividly comes back the picture of the far distant past, the gathering together of a mighty flock of sheep, such as one of the patriarchs might have owned with pride ; the excited dogs, proud of their prowess, and rounding the flocks with incessant haste and delighted bark of self-esteem. How, I repeat, comes back vividly the past. Then comes the real work of the day, and sturdy must be the arms to lift the struggling sheep and souse them in the water and restrain their frantic plunges to be free. The evening sun gleaming upon the little gathering down by the river, the scene of action, uf thorough farm life, set in as it were in a frame-work of repose ; the lofty background of stern, solemn hills, unchanged since Adam ; the distant white-washed fixrm and surroundings. No " rails " in sight, no sound of steam heard in this hollow amongst the hills, all impress the mind of the " Saxon " stranger with pleasure, with wonder, and a profound sense of calm happiness, and it is no unfrequent matter for a visitor to wish that he could put office life or shop life on one side, and settle down amongst the eternal hills, and forget all of business and worry. h 1G2 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. But if his stay should be long at a Welsh farm he will find 'that to thrive the farmer must not sleep, but from morn till night be incessantly occupied, and turning everything to account. Then markets, sales, tairs, to be profitably attended must be thoroughly looked after, and, as the good wife keeps the purse, and is the cashier, treasui'er, and director-general of all things in the money way, the good man if he would keep things pleasant at home must be careful in his sales and his purchases. In many cases the wife sells her own butter and poultry, leaving the husband to manage the ponies and cattle, she reserving her power to express an opinion, and a very decided one too, upon all transactions. So it is, that in looking at the tranquil picture of the farm house in the hollow, the river that runs by untiuged as yet with coal, and tlie valley resonant not with the whistle of engines, that one is apt to dream of a peace and happiness passing all human understanding. Yet sooth to say, liere, as in everything else that is of this earth earthy, there are cares and sorrows, and trials and troubles, and the bed of the farmer is not, any more than that of the king, one of roses. But in one respect the Welsh farmer manages his troubles better than the townsman. He of the town gets thin and careworn and his face tells his tale. Not so the farmer ; the wild free air around him seems to waft away a good deal of his vexations, unchanged con- tinues the tint upon his cheek, even as cei'tainly as it does upon his apples; and with active life, bracing air, plain but substantial food, and an occasional extra indulgence at market-day, he bears his load lightly 'and sees grandsons liolding the plough before Time approaches him with his scythe. THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE. N that |)iiiiiitive age of our g^-eat grandfathers, which was so delightfully rb\ innocent \iw\ arcadian compared with this t)f uurs when the keenest ^O exercise of the wits is necessary to keep ahead in the world, everv- > thing unusually clever, from a cathedral to a bridge, was i)ut down as the work of the devil. It was a wonder that the celebrated bridge of l'(»ntyj)ridd was not credited to his sublunar majesty j ;uid had l^klwards berii a stranger of dark complexion, wearing of necessity a tall hat and large boots, for obvious purposes of concealment, it would have been ; but Edwards was so wtlhknown and was such an innocent, good-natured fellow, that everybody knew and liked him. 'I'he I (evil's Jiridgc is certainly, as regards its workmanship, so astonishing TALKS ANTt .SKETOIfEfi OF WALES. 1G3 a pofformanco, that the old-ftishioned people in that part of the world might be excused for thiiikinij that it was built ])y no human hands. Bold, majestic, it blends in with the bold and majestic of nature, and seems to be as much a part of nature as the ravine and the falls, and the great rocks and rivers. So it must have been in tlie days of its glory, but the necessities of the age have now led to the old brid,ii,e being retained simply for its associations, picturesque character, and as an attraction to tourists who pay; while a new one, rising in place of the old, better serves the pnrposes of the trader and the traveller. The old bridge is stated to have been built by the monks of Strata Florida, and such would be the local opinion, as it is known in the district as Pont-y- Myuach, but as there is an hospitiuni not fiir away, dedicated to St. Jolni, an opinion has prevailed that the knights of St. John built the bridge, and exercised their masonic skill, not in the subtle ethics and pure philosophy of freemasonry, but as operatives. If one could believe that, it would invest the crumbling and ivy-ornamented bridge with additional interest, but no amount of jilansible statement will satisfy the peasantry but that the devil had a hand m it ; so as such we will let it remain, and tell the legend that still lingers in the district. The dark visasjed i^entlcman, on whose face a thunder-cloud seems to have rested ever since the eventful expulsion from heaven, was wandering in the neighbourhood of the bridge, when he heard a great row. He looked about to see what was the matter, and there saw that an old woman, well known in the place as a very good bargain-driving farmer's widow, was wringing her hands, and pulling her hair, on the banks of the Mynach ; while on the other side, leisurely cropping the grass, was a favourite cow, the last of all her stock. How the cow got there was a mystery to the woman, but not to the old gentle- man, who, it is shrewdly suspected, whisked the cow over himself, as a quiet kind of hazard to see what would come of it, just as he had speculated in the matter of the apple. Assuming an air of great nonchalance, he walked up to the woman and inquired the cause of her grief, and she, drying her eyes, pointed to the cow, and said she was i-uined. It was her only cow, and there was no getting it back! "Oh!" said her questioner, " thut's nothing ; I can join those rocks easily by a bridge." " 0, do it, do it," cried the woman, beginning to have her wits about her as to whom she was talking. " Yes, will I," said the devil. But, looking at the old lady, he added, " the first thing that crosses must be mine, and on that condition I will build a bridge at once." The woman gladly consented, and in a few minutes there was the famous bridge of Pont-y-Mynach. " Now," said the devil with a leer, " fetch your cow;" but she, taking from a convenient pocket a piece of bread, called to her little dog and threw it over the bridge, and the cur, bounding after it, brought it gleefully back and began to eat it. 1} 1G4 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. " There," said the old woman, " that's the first to cross over, so you must take the dog." "Done brown!" exclaimed the devil, "and very cleverly. But as I don't want dogs you can keep it," and away he walked, and if tail there were, doubtless it was not so curly and defiant as before. Possibly, however, as the old gentleman looked at the old lady, he consoled himself with the thought that she would have been no great catch. Men have a convenient philosophy for soothing themselves in misadventure or misfortune, and why not the devil '? In an old MS. quoted by Giraldus the tale is well told in verse, and in this- we get further particulars : — " Old Megan Llaudonacli, of Pout-y-Mynach, Had lost her only cow ; Across the ra\nue the cow was seen, But to reach it she couldn't tell how. " The devil, that chanced to wander that way, Said he, ' Megan, what is the matter ? ' ' I am ruined,' said she, ' for the cow's lost to me,' And she set up a dolorous clatter. " Said the devil, 'A bridge I'll raise from the ridge, And the two rocks together I'll join • To recover your losses ; but the first thing that crosses Must ever and ever be mine.' "Old Megan contented, and quickly consented ; Satan hojied to have made her his jirey ; So under her nose the high arch arose — Said the devil, ' Now tiudge it away.' " In her pocket she fumbled — a crust out she tumbled. Then called to her little black cur ; The crust over she threw, the cur after it flew, Said she, ' The dog's yt)urs, crafty sir.' " Old Satan looked queer, and scratched his right ear. And sprang from the side of the ravine ; Said he, ' A fair hit — the biter is bit, For the mangy cur isn't worth having.' " A MAY DAY TALE. HAT a glorious time is May ! A southern wind gently streams up the valleys and over the mountains, and nature, with its minor key, the hush of the stream, and the low hum of wandering bees, exei'ciscs a soothing influence upon all human kind. The winter is forgotten, and the troubles of life fret not as we gaze on the soft green ti'acery and the delicate tints which prevail everywhere, whether in copse or mountain, or in the field where the labour of ploughman and sower is beginning to bear fruit. The old lanes, which have been clogged up with snow, or made almost impass- able by heavy rainfalls, have become the trysting-place, for violets peep out from green coverts, and primroses star the banks, and sweet is the smell of the hawthorn and grateful its leafery. But nature's pictures, however beautiful ^ require human life to redeem them from sameness, and human life placed in the most witching of scenes must have an object of comfort, love, or ambition, or else the mind becomes dissatisfied, and there foils the baleful ennui, or weariness of the soul. Annie Thomas, the merriest, and most charming of Welsli maidens, had an object on the ]\Iay-day we are picturing, as she was hurrying througli the old green lane leading from the farm-house where she lived near Creyddyn, on the river Conway. She had promised to meet her lover, a stalwart young farmer, who lived in the neighbourhood of Penmaenmawr, and to effect this they had to cross by the ferry-boat. It was a fair day, and there were many maidens and many stalwart firmers going upon the same mission. Most of them, too, were young people, and the May influence which shone so gloriously on trees and all animated things did not, of course, exempt the lads and lasses, and thus every face was bright, and every eye shone, and feet and hearts were light with happiness. How comes it that when the sun is pouring down tropical rays, and the sky is at the bluest, the thunderstorm is near "? that in the fullest bliss of happines we are nearest sorrow 1 in the height of mirth the nearest tears'? So it is, and the eventful amials of Annie Thomas, of Creyddyn, proved this. In gleeful haste they poured down the banks ; the ferry-boat, accustomed to take over a solitary old farmer or a tourist, was unused to the lond, but away went the boat, groaning and cicaking as if it felt the burden, until midstream was 166 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES, reached, and even then it is tolerably certain that a safe journey would have been performed if the young men in the boat covild have refrained from giving practical evidences of the regard in which they held the young women sitting bv them. The rough embrace, the slap on the face, and " don't, John," with its accompanying floundering about of young men and women, who had no claim to be considered sylphs, taxed the old boat to the uttermost, and a more than usually vigorous attack settled it. Over went the boat, and down went the passengers, and where late song and laughter, and pleasant greetings were heard, only shrieks, and the panting cry Of some strong swimmer iu his agony. People on the bank, waiting for the boat, saw the accident, and though it was some away across, more than one stout farmer plunged in, and made for the boat, which had righted, and to which one or two clung in their terror and anguish. But before anyone could get there, one by one the survivors of the great struggle disappeared, until only one woman was left, and that was Annie. Out of eighty persons, says Pennant, she was the only sole survivor ! Seventy-nine unfortunates carried down Conway's flood, like the flotsam and jetsam of the shores, the wild flower, the wisp of hay, the branch of tree — and as bereft of life and as inanimate, and Annie, all colour gone from her cheeks, and her hair hanging in wet profusion around her face, lying on the bank in seeming death. I have said that her mission was to meet her lover, one John Humphreys, an honest, plodding young husdaudman, whose sole ambition in life- was a comfortable farm and the hand of Annie. What to him were castles, great estates, titles, gold 1 Just enough to enable him to rub along, and to pay his way that was enough, and he began to think that he could manage it. Such was the burden of honest Shon's thoughts on the day of the accident, and little did he know that, even as he pictured the little farm, and the happy wife, and all those interesting additions which follow a man when he pitches his tent in the world-wide wilderness, Annie was lying on the grassy shore of the Couway, with hard but honest faces about her, and tender hands aiding in trying to woo the spirit back, as it seemed to hesitate in its journey to the far away. Strive gently, but firmly and zealously, tender hands ! coy is the spirit. Does it not seem to long for the eternal and to be free % Does it not gaze down upon the earthly tabernacle and think of the trials and sorrows of earth which ever assail it ? Does it not look upward and with its spirit eyes see the eternal heavens in the light and glory of suns that never wane ? Softly coy spirit, shall the human love that lately filleil tiiat poor heart there come back no more, and the merry eyes lose their radiance, and the cheeks their tinge 1 Come back — oh ! come back. Softly as the evening zephyrs steal into the landscape at evening time, sweetly as the blush of maiden comes stealing o'er face and brow, so came back the soul, and Annie opened her eyes and gasped heavily. She was saved ! TALES ANM) SKKTCnRS OI" WALKS. 167 Jolin flidii'fc tliiuk at all about this, as ho knew nothing of the occurrence; but with his heart full of love he huniocl on, and was much too abstracted for the very dangerous road over tlie pionitniotory of Penniaenmawr, a road which not only required at that time full daylight, but keen eyes and a steady tread Along the frightful precipice, here and there treacherously worn, he dashed, and scarcely a hundred yards apart were records, known to him, though not to the ordinary traveller, of narrow escape and horrible death. But even as the beacon love would lure o'er a sea swarming with shoals and sunken reefs, so love of Annie led him by a constant sei'ies of dangers, and for a time in safety. 'I hen came a stumble, a partial roll over the cliff, next a wild, despairing eftbrt to regain his footing, a glance to heaven for help, a vivid sweep through the brain of every incident from boyhood, a palsing of the trembling hands, a sob for mercy and forgiveness, and down the steep sides of the precipice, bounding from point to point, fell poor hapless unfortunate Shon. " Dashed to pieces, of course," is the verdict of the reader. Not a bit of it ! Weirdly, as if ministering hands broke his fall at every jutting crag, did he come upon a bush or outstretched branches, and when he fell prostrate on the jiebbly beach he was certainly shaken and stunned, but there was not a bone broken, and in the lapse of an hour, feeling a little dizzy, as if something had disagreed with him, Shon limped, or rather I shall say, shambled off, and contrived to reached the beach, at which the ferry-boat was usually moored, and where not only did he welconae Annie, but hear the wonderful tale of her escape. This remarkable incident, or trace of incidents, must not be classed amongst the imaginative. Pennant and other veracious chroniclers of Welsh history support the statement in its entirety, and add that in a very short time afterwards, the fortunate couple were married, and so little did the accidents each sustained affect them, that Annie lived to the good old age of one hundred and sixteen and her husband survived her five years. The scene of Shon's accident became memorable after this by the successive fall at the same place of an exciseman and of an attorney, both of whom also escaped unhurt, but the Rev. Thomas Jones, rector of Llauhau, had a narrow escape. He started off hurriedly one night to fetch the midwife, an interesting event in his family being imminent. He rode a stout nag, and on the retuni journey, the old lady being mounted behind, the nag fell down, carrying the double burden with it to the bottom of the precipice. Llewelyn Prichard relates the anecdote, and adds that the nag w-as killed and the midwife, but that the rector was unhurt, and gathering up the trappings of his steed, as a sagacious North Walian would do, marched off rejoicing. A TALE OF HAVERFORDWEST CASTLE. NE of the most daring of men was Ivan-ap-Meyric. By the Earl of yX^ Clare he was denounced as a robber, but no common robber was he in the modern acceptation of the word. Ivan believed, on the best of grounds, that a large tract of country was his ; that a castle was his, and as might was right in those days, and the bold earl and his retainers were too many for him, he just took what he could seize on the principle of the bold Robin Hood of Huntingdon and Sherwood Forest notoriet}^; with this difference that whereas Robin is reported on the authority of tradition to have taken from fat millers and given to lean ploughmen, Ivan kept all he could get, A famous archer was Ivan, as many of the Welsh were in early days. No one could pull a string with stronger power or more unerring aim, and his arrow seemed by instinct to fly to the joints of the Norman armour, and find out the weak and vulnerable spot. The odds, however, were so uneqiuilj a j^oor Welsh ''robber" and a few men against an earl and a strongly armed force, that in tlie end, and it was not long in coming, Ivan was overpowered and secured. Very jaunty was the earl as he took Ivan bound to his saddle homeward. Hearty were the shouts of the vassals as the drawbridge of Haverfordwest Castle was lowered, and like a chained dog Ivan was led in, as he knew only too well, first to languish in a dungeon and then to die. Dungeons in the old times of Welsh liistory, and of any other country's history, were as inseparable from the requisites of a castle as cellars are from dwelling-houses of our day. In their cellars they stored captives ; we put wine, and beer, and the general run of the good things of life, into ours. They scowled and frowned, and always had disordered livers; we laugh and sing and carry a smile on the face instead of a thundercloud, and are \niqucstionably a happier people than the men who built castles or those who lived in them. Hapj)y is the change. Let the graveiary cling around their homes. We surround ours with flowers. Dark is the gloom of their vaults, ominous in many arc the scored mementoes of the doomed. Fine is the flavour that hangeth arMuii'I mus, where the only captives arc betswingcd bottles and puncheons ! Ivan, witli all possH^le contempt, was cast into a dungeon, and there TALKS AN'I) SKETCIIKS OF WALKS. 169 left. Every now iuid tliuu there would be ;i rustling of chains, and a pitcher of water and an oaten cake or two would be placed within. Then the door would swing to, and the stej) depart, and Ivan was left to dream of the mountain stream, that in all human probability he was never to see again. His hatred of the Normans was great before, now it was intensified, and he would lie day after day in a species of maddened stupor, strength still in his arms, the will to crush still as dominant as ever, and yet he was as powerless as a child. He lost all reckoning of time, and as the days passed by, and still was brought the Avater and the oaten cuke, it dawned upon his mind that he was to be kept a prisoner for life. In that dark cell he was to feel old age creep over him, the limbs now so strong would weaken ; the grey feeling steal over face and head — see he could not, and some day, not far remote, the gaoler Avould come and find that neither water nor oaten cake would be wanted any more. Better death than this he thought, and he pondered how he should thwart the cruel earl. But the eai*l did not intend any such a fate. He was simply too much occupied with the king to think of his prisoner. When he did think of him, it was to promise him the gratification of seeing him die. Thei'e was gloom and despair in the dungeon ; yet above, on terrace and in tapestried apartments, there was both sunshme and happiness. The stern earl had a wife, and she was as beautiful and kind as he was ungainly and harsh. How comes it that fate links so many of the opposites ; that so many Blue- beards have such gentle better halves 1 The hunchback calls the fair Clarinda his, and the flowing streams of life, even in a casual glance shows age and youth, feebleness and grace, austerity and beauty, mated ? Tliree fair boys blessed the marriage of the earl and countess, and comelier lads it was difficult to find. They inherited with their mother's gracefulness all the warlike tastes of the sire, and tlie eldest son in particular already longed like another Norval to enter upon the field of action. He was strongly impressed wnth the accounts given to him of the prisoner, and one day during the earl's absence accompanied the gaoler to the dungeon, and actually went in and accosted him. Ivan was at first uncouth and distant ; but Avith a second and a third interview became conversational, and was sorry when the surly gaoler — gaolers are always surly — told the young fellow that he must go. Again and again he visited Ivan, and Ivan told him many of his stirring adven- tures, and related incidents of heroism and strife, worth all the nursery tales. Happening one day to speak of arrows, and the difficulty he, the young nobleman, found in getting his man to fiishiou them properly, Ivan vohniteered to make some if the materials were brought. Tlie young heir gladly complied, and sticks, fcatliers, and points were brought, with a good strong and sharp knife to make them. The result was a bountiful supply, which answered so admirably that they wei'e soon exhausted in being shot at every imaginable object. The brothers after this became wishful also to get their arrows made by Ivan, and thence- forth the three boys now and then accompanied the gaoler, and as they rarely 170 TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. visited him -without some better food thau he was in the habit of having, and occasionallv a flask of wine, the sturdy old Welshman began to look more hope- fiillv at his position, and to dream yet of life and liberty. Even the surliness of the o-aoler gave way, and it was nothing uncommon for gaoler and prisoner to sit down together and discuss the wine, while the lads were employed under Ivan's skilful directions in making the arrows. While so employed Ivan heard, and not without a tremor, that the earl was soon expected. In fact preparations were already being made for his return. The o-leam of sunshine then was to fade I He knew too well the earl's vindictive and cruel natui-e, and was satisfied that these pleasant visits would henceforth be forbidden. Lone he brooded over the darkening prospect ; plans, schemes without number were thought of only to be dismissed as useless. He was doomed, and must be resigned. The last day came. On the morrow would come the earl. The young fellows, more than ever wishful to soothe their good friend, broufht with them an unusually bountiful repast, and the gaoler and he, who had become fast friends, were helping themselves liberally, when suddenly a loud blast of the horn was heard, and a distant rumbling of the drawbridge. " Lord ! " cried the gaoler, jumping to his feet, " it's the earl ! Get all these things together while I see. I won't be a moment," and he dashed up the steps like a hare. Ivan saw the golden opportunity ; the key was in the lock ! His plan came like an inspiration. Springing to the door he withdrew the key, and pushing the large door close, locked it from within. Then, while the startled boys looked in amaze and fright, he said : " Pardon me, sirs. You are good boys, you have been very kind to me, but my' life is as dear to me as yours is to you." " But what do you mean by locking us i'.i 1 " said the heir. " Mean this, that either I go out with you, a free man, or the earl j'our father will find you stretched dead upon this straw and myself by the side of you : " So saying, with the utmost deliberation, he sharpened the knife which had been given to him to make the arrows, and for the next ten minutes nothing was heard in that lonely cell but the measured rasping of the knife, and the wailing of the younger lads. Tlie valiant heir for a moment looked at the stalwart Ivan, and meditated a rush upon him, and a desperate effort for life, but Ivan flourished his knife, and with a " down boy, I'll not hurt you, unless your father compels me ; " so in fear and trembling they waited the issue. It was not long in coming. Hurriedly down the steps came the gaoler. They heard him pause, and utter an exclamation at the door, and then push strongly against it. " Hallo Ivan ! " lie cried, " open the door (juickly, it is the earl." "I gucH8e SKETCHES OP WALES. " Oh, no," said William with a laugh, " I believe she had lots, but I cut them out." " Was anyone in particular," said the detective, " that you cut out ; anyone, now, very spoony, who fell wild because he failed and you succeeded 1 " " Well," said William, a sudden light coming athwart his face, " there was one, John Thomas, the carpenter, of , he did feel, I believe, and if looks could kill I should have been dead long ago." '•■ Where this John Thomas live 1 " was the next query, and being directed to the house the detective left, first strougly impressing upon William's attention the necessity of being as " mum as a mouse" Johu Thomas, as red of eyes as of whiskers, aud with a wliite anxious looking face, was told in the course of a quarter of an hour that a gentleman wanted to see him. John was engaged at his dinner in the corner of the room, wherein the landlady washed and children played about on the floor, the breadwinner, a sturdy collier, being then at his labours. John, flurried, put down his knife, and went to the door, where stood the stranger, who, on hearing that his name was Johu Thomas, eyed him with a glance so keen and investigating that John didn't like it. " I want to see you privately," said the stranger. John didn't know where to take him. " There was no other room downstairs." " You have a bedroom, I suppose ? " was the query. " Yes, he had." " That will do," was the rejoinder, and up both went. "Now," said the stranger, "Where were you on such a night? lama puliccofficer. John, who felt uncomfortable at first, now waxed doubly so, and the stranger, as he saw the nervous guilty look, began to think he was on the right track. John, in reply, said that he " was home, never left the house, and he could call Avitnesses in proof." " Well," replied the stranger, " we'll see into that. Someone is accused of throwing the Taff Vale engine off the line, and I am sure you will aid in catching the parties." John professed his great willingness to do so, and felt better. " Got a knife ? " said the detective, taking out an ordinary black lead pencil. John coolly handed him the needed article, aud the detective leisurely oj)ened, not the small, but the large blade. In an instant came back all John's terrors, especially when the stranger held it up to the light in keen Hcnitiny. " Tliat — that knife," said John, stuttering in haste, " is not the one I carry. 1 liail liad that knife in my — my box till to-day !" " Oh," Haid the detective. " 1 am afraid, John Tiiomas, you are telling lies. The Hiick that fore up the rail from its bed was cut with a knife that had a notch on tjjc blade. This knife has got a notch. The attempt was made by Homcono who had a spite against William (Jcorgo. Yiai h;ivo a spite against TALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. 183 William George, because ^^ary Walters preferred hitn to you. Come, now," said the detective. " Your little game is up, or I am a " And John, with a curse, admitted it was, and shortly after left the house in custody, " No, ho didn't want to lock his box, or to do anything. They might hang him now. Ho had been jilted for a pudding-headed fellow, and as he could not have the girl, didn't care what became of him." In due course the trial came on. John pleaded guilty, and was sentenced to a term of penal servitude, which he took without a murmur, and when it was ended came back, once only, but not to live again in the old valley of the Talf. In the North Walian town, as a grey-headed carpenter, reputed well off, with a wife and children, no one would recognise the red-whiskered John who was transported years, aye, years ago. " And what of Mary and William George 1 " The course of true love is rarely smoth. The obliging novelist would wind up the tale with the marriage of the two, and possibly give a parting sketch at rosy cheeked reminders of Mary and George. I am very sorry that I cannot oblige you, lady readers. William George was terribly smitten by an " uncommonly pretty girl which got out at the junction," and so fell off in his visits to the " Fox " that M-ary first rebuked and then discarded him, and, what was more, would have nothing to do with Will, the runner, but kept at her labours as pleasant as ever, as bustling as ever, apt at times in her bedroom to sigh and " sniff"" audibly, and was caught crying by her good-hearted mistress more than once. People said at length she would never be married, but Mary had a letter one day that made her start, and soon after a visitor called, but not at the "Fox." Singularly, and following closely on letter and visitor, Mary gave the usual month's notice, and, do what her mistress would, nothing could induce Mary to stay. When she left, the " Fox " seemed to lose its individuality, to contract itself, to look meaner, and never again was it looked upon with the same warmth as before, though the beer was as good, and the landlady as jolly. "And what became of Mary 1" This I cannot state, but the industrious wife of the cai'penter in a North Walian town, which is well-to-do in the world, is uncommonly like the old servant girl of the " Fox," with fifteen years added to her age. If she is really Mary Walters she is happy, and her husband's love is unfading. Her name is Mary. His is John, and " John Thomas, carpenter and builder " is on the sign. TEE STRANGE MARK ON THE flAND. A WELSH COUNTRY TALE. ' ROM the same ministerial frieud to which I have been indebted for one or two well-known tales, notably the "Wandering Jew," and the '* Farmer's Magic," I received, some years ago, the outlines of the following, which, in the parlance of the novelist, would be described as thrilling. My readers may receive it with some distrust ; especially the practical and hard-headed ones ; but if they had seen the grave foce of the minister who told the tale, their view might have been shaken ; at all events, they would give him the credit of saying that which he believed to be true. With this prelude I will begin my story, the scene of which was laid in a pleasant rural districc on the borders of Pembrokeshire. Jenny Thomas was one of the servants in the household of Sqnire . In all the girls on the establishment were four in number, and as they were all smart and passably good-looking, three of the girls had most devoted sweet- hearts, in the form of country swains, but Jenny, most singularly, so everyone thought who did not know her well, had no sweetheart. Sarah, Mary, and Betsy, had their occasional trips to the fair, their Sundays out, their mysterious whisperings, at back doors, with the respective John, Thomas, and William ; and yet no one saw Jenny with a lover at the fair, church, or chapel, walk or anywhere else. " She is too pioud," said neighbours ; " look's above us," said the coachman, who had made overtures, and had been " freczed," as l:c said ; while as for the young gardener, "cauliflower" they calldl iiim, ho one day presuming to present her with the first June rose, and to make a pretty compliment at the time, was " determined from that time forth, to know first who he gave his presents too, and not to fine starchy misses, who thought everybody dirt but them.selves !" The ."Sfpiire's wife liked .Kniiy, and kept her in attendance upon herself, and there \h no douljt tliiit the constant gazing into looking-glasses, handling jewellery, and rcHorting to the thousand little ways ladyfolk have to make themselves cliarniing, had insensiltly imbuetl Jciniy witii higher notions of TALES AND SKKTOIIE^ OF WALE?*. 185 herself than her position in life wMrnmtuil. linis, when (h'essing her mistress's hair, she saw before her a very plain face, thoroughly angular, and ba