Church of Llan Rhyadr—The Clerk—The Tablet—Stone—First View of the
Cataract.
The night was both windy and rainy like the preceding one, but the
morning which followed, unlike that of the day before, was dull and
gloomy. After breakfast I walked out to take another view of the little
town. As I stood looking at the church a middle-aged man of a remarkably
intelligent countenance came up and asked me if I should like to see the
inside. I told him I should, whereupon he said that he was the clerk and
would admit me with pleasure. Taking a key out of his pocket he unlocked
the door of the church and we went in. The inside was sombre, not so
much owing to the gloominess of the day as the heaviness of the
architecture. It presented something in the form of a cross. I soon
found the clerk what his countenance represented him to be, a highly
intelligent person. His answers to my questions were in general ready
and satisfactory.
“This seems rather an ancient edifice,” said I; “when was it built?”
“In the sixteenth century,” said the clerk; “in the days of Harry Tudor.”
“Have any remarkable men been clergymen of this church?”
“Several, sir; amongst its vicars was Doctor William Morgan, the great
South Welshman, the author of the old Welsh version of the Bible, who
flourished in the time of Queen Elizabeth. Then there was Doctor Robert
South, an eminent divine, who, though not a Welshman, spoke and preached
Welsh better than many of the native clergy. Then there was the last
vicar, Walter D---, a great preacher and writer, who styled himself in
print Gwalter Mechain.”
“Are Morgan and South buried here?” said I.
“They are not, sir,” said the clerk; “they had been transferred to other
benefices before they died.”
I did not inquire whether Walter D--- was buried there, for of him I had
never heard before, but demanded whether the church possessed any ancient
monuments.
“This is the oldest which remains, sir,” said the clerk, and he pointed
with his finger to a tablet-stone over a little dark pew on the right
side of the oriel window. There was an inscription upon it, but owing to
the darkness I could not make out a letter. The clerk, however, read as
follows.
1694. 21 Octr.
Hic Sepultus Est
Sidneus Bynner.
“Do you understand Latin?” said I to the clerk.
“I do not, sir; I believe, however, that the stone is to the memory of
one Bynner.”
“That is not a Welsh name,” said I.
“It is not, sir,” said the clerk.
“It seems to be radically the same as Bonner,” said I, “the name of the
horrible Popish Bishop of London in Mary’s time. Do any people of the
name of Bynner reside in this neighbourhood at present?”
“None, sir,” said the clerk; “and if the Bynners are descendants of
Bonner, it is, perhaps, well that there are none.”
I made the clerk, who appeared almost fit to be a clergyman, a small
present, and returned to the inn. After paying my bill I flung my
satchel over my shoulder, took my umbrella by the middle in my right
hand, and set off for the Rhyadr.
I entered the narrow glen at the western extremity of the town and
proceeded briskly along. The scenery was romantically beautiful; on my
left was the little brook, the waters of which run through the town;
beyond it a lofty hill; on my right was a hill covered with wood from the
top to the bottom. I enjoyed the scene, and should have enjoyed it more
had there been a little sunshine to gild it.
I passed through a small village, the name of which I think was Cynmen,
and presently overtook a man and boy. The man saluted me in English, and
I entered into conversation with him in that language. He told me that
he came from Llan Gedwin, and was going to a place called Gwern
something, in order to fetch home some sheep. After a time he asked me
where I was going.
“I am going to see the Pistyll Rhyadr,” said I
We had then just come to the top of a rising ground.
“Yonder’s the Pistyll!” said he, pointing to the west.
I looked in the direction of his finger, and saw something at a great
distance, which looked like a strip of grey linen hanging over a crag.
“That is the waterfall,” he continued, “which so many of the Saxons come
to see. And now I must bid you good-bye, master; for my way to the Gwern
is on the right.”
Then followed by the boy he turned aside into a wild road at the corner
of a savage, precipitous rock.