_Proceedings at Denbigh in consequence of the Death of Ap Rees’s
Daughter. Our Hero retires to Glen Morgan. The Address of the blind
Minstrel of Penruth to the People concludes the Volume._
Upon the arrival of old Robin Ap Rees in the forenoon of the day
succeeding that, in which his daughter died, he required to be led to
the chamber, where her corpse was laid out. There had been some stir in
the town about the manner of her death, for the story had in part got
abroad, and the name of Sir David Owen began to be circulated with such
comments, as seemed to indicate a propensity in the town’s-folk to take
the cause into their own hands, and administer tumultuous justice in
their own mob-way.
This was by all means to be avoided, and when it was understood that old
Robin meant to be present at the funeral of his daughter, it was judged
highly expedient that he should be cautioned and prevailed upon to
employ his influence for the purpose not of aggravating, but allaying,
the dangerous indignation of the inhabitants; for Robin Ap Rees was a
popular character, and not meanly endowed with that species of
eloquence, which is competent to disturb or to preserve the peace of the
community.
It was also thought advisable, that our hero John De Lancaster, whose
good deeds every tongue had trumpeted, should withdraw himself from the
spot, where commotion was apprehended: this without difficulty he was
persuaded to do; his grandfather’s letter favouring that measure: he
accordingly set out with Mrs. Jennings and Amelia for Glen Morgan,
having committed every thing, in which he had concern, to the conduct
and discretion of his excellent friend and preceptor Mr. Wilson, who had
come over most opportunely for all parties on this critical occasion.
Whilst all affairs, that prudence could provide for, were going on at
Denbigh under the management of the wise divine and worthy doctor, John
in the retired and shady walks of Glen Morgan was enjoying the society
of his beloved Amelia, and listening to the praises she bestowed upon
him.
I could wish, he said to her as they were sauntering under the
yew-trees, that you would not be so ingenious in describing actions
better than they are: they can only be appreciated according to the
worthiness of the motives, that have inspired them. You will allow, that
where money is laid out without inconvenience or regret, pecuniary
donations require but little effort, and of course imply but little
merit. If I give so secretly that no one can discover me, it is plain I
take a secret pleasure in the act of giving; but if I know that my
munificence, or my active services, can purchase the approbation of an
angel, that will bless and praise me for the deed, what does it prove
but that I have been industrious to obtain a reward, that is worthy of
my pains, and can only claim the credit of having found out something,
that is better than money, and more gratifying than indolence? How then
can you be perfectly assured that I did not exert myself in the case of
poor Nancy Ap Rees from the desire, which I must naturally have, of
recommending myself to you?
Whilst conversation of this sort was carried on in shady walks and
groves propitious to the cause of love, the seniors of the family, lame
Morgan and lame Wilson, who mustered only one effective leg between
them, kept house, and whil’d away the lagging hours partly in talk, and
partly in such humble resources as human nature is fain to resort to,
when age and decrepitude conspire to narrow our enjoyments, and,
shutting out all hope of future pleasure, confine us to the recollection
only of the past.
When you and I, said Morgan, were as young as my grandson John, I am
afraid, friend Wilson, we were neither of us altogether as worthy or as
wise. I can answer for one; and when our acquaintance commenced as
brother ensigns in Barrel’s regiment, I doubt we were not quite such
sturdy champions in the cause of virtue, as he now is, or as we ought
then to have been. I recollect when you turned out for me as second in
my affair with Cornet Flanagan, it was a foolish quarrel for a very
worthless cause; but no matter! those days are over and we are now old
fellows. You held on in the army, performed honourable service, received
honourable wounds and are at length laid up with an honourable, though
in my opinion not a very adequate, compensation: I quitted upon the
peace; came into possession of an ample property, led an idle, useless
and luxurious life, made my neighbours welcome, and kept the bottle
moving till the gout laid hold of me, and I could not move myself. What
a sorry figure in the calendar of antient British worthies shall I make?
A mere man of straw, without one ear of corn, save only a few grains of
good will in a bye-corner of my heart for an old friend like you, and
perhaps here and there for another of like honest nature with
yourself.--And now, Wilson, listen to me.--When I talk of my affairs my
steward has just now satisfied me, that I am confoundedly given to
involuntary lying; for I am considerably richer than I have believed or
represented myself to be.--John will have my land and house and all that
he can find about it, but, by the L--d, I won’t leave him a shilling of
my ready money. He won’t want it and others will--You for instance: you
have a son in the army, a son in the church, and I know you don’t
abound: you have a small invalided government, and a small patrimonial
lot of barren land--What then? I have left you a bit of money in my
will: ’tis true I shan’t keep it from you long at all events, for I am
brushing off after my poor daughter: give me the pleasure, brother
soldier, before I die, of telling me in what way a moderate sum can be
of service to you.
The tear that stood on Wilson’s manly cheek when it became his turn to
make reply, witnessed his grateful feelings for the good old man--Live
only, my dear sir, he said, live and be happy as your benevolence can
make you; I ask no more, and nothing can I receive beyond the sincere
gratification it now affords me to find myself thus honoured in your
friendship, and assured of your esteem.
Well, well! I know you for a sturdy soldier, the old gentleman replied;
so take your course: ’tis not the first time you have served me thus.
Perhaps ’tis natural to a mind like your’s to find that kind of
arrogance in money, which establishes a sort of patronage in the giver,
not quite consistent with your sense of independant friendship; and if
such be your construction of the case, wait, my good fellow, till the
time shall come, when I can have no use for what I bestow, and you no
longer any motive for declining to receive it--
Death shall soon furnish that conclusive plea,
Which ends the contest betwixt you and me.
Whilst time passed in this manner at Glen Morgan the interment of poor
Nancy Ap Rees, as regulated by the Reverend Mr. Wilson, took place at
Denbigh. A great concourse of people assembled; the whole corps of
harpers from all the neighbouring parts attended in honour of their
illustrious compatriot, and formed themselves in his train as he
followed the bearers of the coffin, led by his son. The minstrels of
Kray Castle and Glen Morgan, in their professional habits, and
distinguishable by the attributes of their respective patrons, both men
of eminence in their art and favourites of the muse, were present and
attracted general notice and respect.
As it was known that the venerable father of the deceased purposed to
speak to the people after the solemn service was concluded, the body was
no sooner committed to the earth than the crowd formed themselves into a
circle, of which he became the centre, and, having passed the word for
silence, heard themselves addressed, as follows.
Friends and my countrymen!--A dark old man, whose eyes no ray of light
hath visited these threescore years, stands here beside the grave of his
new-buried child, and wishes you to hear with patience a few plain and
pacifying words, to which, amidst the sorrows of his heart, he feels
himself in conscience bound to pray you for your own sakes to attend.
My station in the family of the deceased Sir Owen Ap Owen is well known
to all: from my youth up I have fulfilled the duties of his household
minstrel, and though it becomes me to speak modestly of my services, let
me hope they have been such, as do not disgrace the patronage of that
worthy master and his ancient venerable house. In the course of my
servitude having taken to wife a daughter of the celebrated Owen Gwynn,
whose name yet lives amongst us, I became the father of two children,
the elder of whom, a son, stands now at my side, the sharer of my
sorrows and the staff of my declining age: the younger, a daughter dear
to my sad heart as the blood that visits it, lies low at my feet in the
narrow chamber, whither we must all repair.
Friends, I beseech you, move me not to unfold the dreadful dealings,
that conspired the death of this most innocent and much injured child.
Be satisfied to know her wrongs are not within the reach of human
justice; God will avenge them; God will not permit the violator to
escape unpunished. Why should I name him? he is not of us; he was not
born of unmixed British blood! he is gone, self-banished, fled, and
never will he dare to return amongst us, and abide the perilous
inquisition, that awaits him.
Be patient therefore, my dear countrymen! stir not a hand in my redress,
and reverence the tombs of Penruth Abbey, where sleep the fathers and
the heroes of your ancient race: account yourselves rather so far
fortunate as you are henceforth rescued from a wretch without humanity,
an alien to your nation, one who respects no laws divine or human, so
void of honour, so abandoned of all virtue, so surrendered to all
villainy, that, when the purity of my child repulsed his guilty passion,
he scrupled not to make her mind a ruin, and levelled the defences of
her reason in order to accomplish the destruction of her innocence--And
now, my friends, you, who are fathers, will dismiss your fears; he, that
has destroyed my peace, cannot harm you--_My_ daughter dies, that
_your’s_ may be in safety.
Here I should end, for he, of whom you all expect to hear, seeks not the
praise of men, and modestly requires me to conceal the wondrous
bounties, he has heaped upon me: but I cannot obey him; I will speak his
praise, and in the ears of this assembly declare aloud, that to the
charity of John, the young De Lancaster, sole heir of his paternal and
maternal houses, I owe as much as man can owe to man--a grave for my
child, a patron for my cause and an asylum for my age--Heaven’s best of
blessings light upon his heart!--I have said.”
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
Harding and Wright, Printers, St. John’s Square.
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
it to be stoped=> it to be stopped {pg 13}
and Mrs. De Lancastar=> and Mrs. De Lancaster {pg 15}
that I coudn’t get=> that I couldn’t get {pg 97}
these addresed him=> these addressed him {pg 118}
you are two subtle=> you are too subtle {pg 123}
advisable to wave the=> advisable to waive the {pg 275}
all villiany=> all villainy {pg 291}