CARDIFF AND THE WELSH.
In 1849 I lived at Cardiff. I had come there to edit _The Principality_,
a paper started, I believe, by Mr. David Evans, a good sort of man, who
had made a little money, which, I fear, he lost in his paper speculation.
His aim was to make the paper the mouthpiece for Welsh Nonconformity. I
must own, as I saw how Cardiff was growing to be a big place, my aim was
to make the paper a good local organ. But the Cardiff of that time was
too Conservative and Churchified for such a paper to pay, and as Mr. John
Cassell offered me a berth on his paper, _The Standard of Freedom_, my
connection with Cardiff came to an end. I confess I left it with regret,
as I had some warm friends in the town, and there was a charming little
blue-eyed maid--I wonder if she is alive now--the daughter of an alderman
and ex-mayor, with whom I had fallen desperately in love for a time.
At that time Cardiff had a population of some 14,000. Lord Bute had
built his docks, not by any means as extensive as they are now, and it
was beginning to do an extensive trade in coal brought down by the Taff
Vale Railway. There was no rail to Cardiff then. To get to it from
London I had to take the rail to Bristol, spend the night there, and go
to Cardiff by the steamer which plied daily, according to the state of
the tide, between that port and Bristol, at that time the commercial
capital of the South Wales district. The mails from London came by a
four-horse coach, which plied between Gloucester and Cardiff. I felt
rather miserable when I landed at the docks and looked at the sad expanse
of ground behind me and the Bristol Channel. A long street led up to the
town, with shabby houses on one side and a large expanse of marshy land
on the other. I had heard so much of the romance of Wales that when I
realised where I really was my heart quite sank within me. At the end of
St. Mary Street was a very primitive old town hall, where I gave a
lecture on "The Progress of the Nation," the only time I ever gave a
lecture in my life. The chairman was Mr. Vachell, father of the late Dr.
Vachell, an old resident in Cardiff, a man of considerable eminence in
the town--as he was supposed to be very wealthy--and in the Cardiff of
that day wealth was regarded as the only claim to respect; he, at the end
of my lecture, expressed an opinion favourable to my talents, but at the
same time intimating that he had no sympathy with much I had uttered.
Especially he differed from me in the estimate I had given of the "Rights
of Man," by Tom Paine. Once more I had an opportunity of lifting up my
voice in the Old Town Hall. It was on the subject of Teetotalism. My
opponent was a worthy, sturdy teetotaler known as Mr. Cory, whose sons
still flourish as the great coal merchants of our day. Cardiff was a
town of publicans and sinners, and I am sorry to say I secured an easy
triumph; and Mr. Cory created great laughter as he said, in the course of
his oration, that if he were shut up in a cask he would cry out through
the bunghole, "Teetotalism for ever!" He kept a place at the lower end
of the town to supply ships' stores, and was in every way, as I
afterwards found by the friendship that existed between us, a sterling
character.
Just opposite the Town Hall, on the other side of the way, was the
Castle, then in a very neglected condition, with a large enclosure which
was open to the public as a promenade. The street between them contained
the best shops in the town. It extended a little way to Crockherbtown on
one side and to the Cardiff Arms Hotel on the other, and then you were in
the country. Beyond the Cardiff Arms was a pleasant walk leading to
Llandaff Cathedral, then almost in a state of decay; and to Penarth a
charming hill, overlooking the Bristol Channel, on the other, with a
little old-fashioned hotel; much frequented in the summer. There was
only one good house, that built by Mr. Parry, of the firm of Parry and
Brown, ship brokers, where Mrs. Parry, a fine, handsome lady, dispensed
graceful hospitality. Her brother, Mr. David Brown, afterwards removed
to London to a fine office in Leadenhall Street, and lived and died at a
charming retreat he built for himself in Harrow. There I one day met
Lord Shaftesbury, who came to a drawing-room meeting held in connection
with the London City Mission, and where we were all handsomely regaled.
Perhaps at that time the most active man in Cardiff was Mr. John
Batchelor--whose statue, erected by his admirers, still adorns the
place--a sad thorn in the side of the old-fashioned people who then ruled
the town, especially the Marquis of Bute's trustees or the men who
represented them in Cardiff. Mr. John Batchelor was a keen critic, a
good speaker, a sturdy Nonconformist, and a man of high character and
great influence. His death was a great loss to the town. Just outside
the town lived Mr. Booker, the proprietor of tin-works at Velindra, a
fine well-made man, and a good speaker, who got into Parliament to
maintain Protection, in which attempt he failed. His admirers had a full
portrait of him painted by Mr. John Deffet Francis, who afterwards lived
in Swansea. Mr. Francis was a very versatile genius, and got up an
amateur performance in which he acted the part of a vagabond to
perfection, somewhat to the confusion of some of the ladies, who had
never witnessed such a realistic performance before. In connection with
myself quite a storm in a teacup took place. In St. Mary Street there
was an Athenaeum, as the local reading-room was called. It was thought
by some of my friends that I ought to be on the committee, but as I was
not qualified a motion was made to set the standing rules on one side in
order that I might be elected. The little town was quite excited on the
occasion, and the great Mr. Booker was appealed to to use his influence
against me, which he did, but I was elected nevertheless. In my capacity
of committee-man I did something to get up some lectures, which were a
great success. One of the lecturers was Mr. George Dawson, with whom I
spent a pleasant day. Another was my old and comic friend, Mr. George
Grossmith, the celebrated father of a yet more celebrated son. Another
was Mrs. Balfour, the mother of the Balfour who, in later times, was to
do a lot of misdeeds and to attain a very disagreeable notoriety in
consequence. On another occasion I was also enabled to do the town some
service by getting Mr. James Taylor, of Birmingham, to come and explain
his scheme for the formation of Freehold Land Societies, an idea then in
its infancy, but which has been for the social and moral elevation of the
working classes, who used to spend in drink what they now devote to a
better purpose. There was a great deal of drinking in Cardiff. Indeed,
it was the chief amusement of the place. The sailors, at that time
consisting of representatives of almost every nation under heaven, were
much given to drinking, and some of the boarding-houses were by no means
of a respectable character. There was no other form of social enjoyment
unless you belonged to the strict religious bodies who, as
Congregationalists, or Baptists, or Calvinistic Methodists, had many
chapels, which were well filled. It was in one of these chapels Harry
Vincent came to lecture when I was at Cardiff, and electrified the town.
The Member of Parliament for the town lived a very quiet life, and seemed
to take but little interest in political affairs. One of the most
accomplished and certainly best-educated men in the place was Mr. Chas.
Bernard, architect and surveyor; without him life would have been very
dull to me at Cardiff. I imagine that his chief reason for pitching his
tent in what must have been to him a very ungenial clime was that his
sister was married to the late Mr. Reece, local Coroner. It grieves me
to state that he has long since joined the majority. Another great
friend of mine was Mr. Peter Price--now, alas! no more, who was destined,
however, to do much good before he passed away. The Public Library,
which he did much to establish, still retains his portrait. Another of
the excellent of the earth was Mr. W. P. James, the brother-in-law of Mr.
Peter Price, who came to Cardiff to build the new Town Hall. They were
all gentlemen who had come from a distance to settle in Cardiff, the
character of which they did much to improve and elevate. We all did
something to get up an Eisteddfod, which, if it did nothing else, had
this advantage, that it did something to develop the powers of a Cardiff
artist--Mr. D. Marks--who, when I saw him last, had a studio in Fitzroy
Square, London, and was engaged to paint several portraits of
distinguished personages, one of these being a fine portrait of the great
and good Earl of Shaftesbury. It was presented to his lordship at a
great meeting held in the Guildhall, presided over by the Lord Mayor, Sir
William Macarthur, in April, in 1881. The committee of the Ragged School
Union took the initiative to do honour to their president.
As a newspaper man in Cardiff and a comparative stranger to the town I
had a somewhat unscrupulous opponent, the editor of the local organ, _The
Cardiff and Merthyr Guardian_. He was a very unscrupulous man,
apparently all smiles and friendship, but I never could trust him. Nor
was I surprised to learn that when he became secretary of the Cardiff
Savings Bank there was a very serious defalcation in the funds. The man
always seemed to me utterly untrustworthy, but his civil manners
apparently won him many friends. As editor of a Liberal newspaper I had
to fight the battle under very great disadvantages. It was no easy thing
to run a newspaper then. The taxes on knowledge were a great impediment.
On every paper a penny stamp had to be paid, and the advertisement duty
was eighteenpence on every advertisement. The repeal of these taxes was
a great boon for the local papers; and then there was a tax on paper,
which was an additional obstacle. As to telegraphs, they were unheard
of; and it was to the London dailies that we had to trust for foreign
news. One of the most important events when I was at Cardiff was the
opening of the South Wales Railway as far as Swansea. The first train
was driven by Mr. Brunel, the eminent engineer, accompanied by a
distinguished party of directors and local magnates. I joined the train
at Cardiff. At Swansea the event was celebrated in grand style. All the
population seemed to me to have turned out to witness the arrival of the
train. There were flags and decorations everywhere, and later on a grand
banquet, at which I was privileged to assist so far as eating and
drinking and cheering the speakers went. And thus my reminiscences
close. I cannot look back on my career at Cardiff with unmixed
satisfaction. I was by no means the steady old party I have since
become. It is not always easy to put an old head upon young shoulders,
but at any rate in my small way I did something for the advent of that
brighter and better day which has dawned not only upon Cardiff but on all
the land.
In this connection I may naturally add a few particulars of worthy
Welshmen I have known. The Scotchman who prayed that the Lord would give
them a good conceit of themselves, had he lived among the Welsh, would
have found that portion of his prayer superfluous. It is to the credit
of the Welsh that they always have a good conceit of themselves. As a
rule, the world takes people at their own valuation, and the man who
assumes a superiority over his fellows--at any rate, till he is found
out--has his claim allowed. A Welshman has a profound faith in his
country and himself, especially as regards oratory. There are no such
preachers as those of Wales, and I was quite amused when I first lived in
Cardiff with the way in which a Welshman, who lodged in the house where I
had taken up my abode, descanted on the gifts of Welshmen in London of
whom I had never heard, and I felt quite ashamed of my ignorance as he
rolled forth one Welsh name after another, and had to admit my ignorance
of the eminent men whose names he had at his fingers' ends. Why, there
were no such clever men anywhere, according to his account, and yet I
knew not the name of any of them! At the same time I had come into
contact with some Welshmen who had made their mark in London. First on
my list is that of Caleb Morris, who preached in Fetter Lane Chapel, now
in a declining state, but at times filled with a large and very
respectable congregation. He was much given to discuss the objective and
subjective, a novelty to me at that time in pulpit discourse. The state
of his health latterly interfered with his pulpit success; and before he
died he had taken to preaching in a room in Mecklenburg Square, where a
large number of his admirers flocked to hear him. He was an amiable and
thoughtful man, universally esteemed. Another Welshman of whom I used to
know more was the Rev. Henry Richard, who was then a young man, preaching
with a great deal of fire, in the Congregational Chapel in the
Marlborough Road, on the other side of the water. He lived to become the
popular M.P. for Merthyr, and to be known all the world over as the
advocate of Peace. He was the secretary for many years of the Peace
Society. He became a successful platform speaker, and his speeches were
full of a humour which always told at public meetings. Short and sturdy
in build, he was always fit for work, and had a long and laborious public
life. He was a Welshman to the core--always ready with his pen or tongue
to do battle for his native land when aspersed by ignorant or partisan
writers, and he did much to help on the Liberation Society, being after
all a much more popular speaker--especially in the House of Commons--than
his fellow-worker Edward Miall, and his loss to the Nonconformists all
over the land was very great.
But, after all, the Welshman with whom I was most intimate, and whom I
most admired, was Joseph Edwards, the sculptor. He came from the
neighbourhood of Merthyr, where he had many relatives, whom he never
forgot, and whose poverty he was always ready to relieve. He had a
studio in Robert Street, Hampstead Road, and lived in the house close by.
He had an uphill work to fight, and to lead a life of labour and
self-denial, relieved by a few intervals of sunshine, as when at a dinner
party he had the privilege of meeting Mr. Gladstone--or as when staying
at the Duke of Beaufort's, from whom he had a commission, he had the
honour of escorting the Duchess into the drawing-room--an honour on which
I never forgot to chaff him as I used to sit in his studio watching him
at work. He must have had to work hard to make both ends meet; and when
I went to see him on his death-bed, as it proved to be, I was shocked
with grief to see a man of such rare and lofty genius have to sleep in a
little room at the very top of the house. But commissions were rare, and
the material on which he had to work (marble) was very costly, and the
sculptor works at a great disadvantage compared with the popular portrait
painter. I believe he derived a great part of his income by going to the
studio of a more successful artist, and giving finishing touches to what
work might be on hand, much to the astonishment of the assistants, who,
when they returned in the morning, were astonished to find what progress
had been made in the night, which they attributed to the visitation of a
ghost. Edwards was an enthusiastic poet, and many of his works in
plaster--waiting, alas! for the commission to transfer to the marble
which never came--were exquisitely beautiful, and were often engraved in
_The Art Journal_. Both Mr. Hall, the editor, and his wife, the clever
authoress, were great admirers of Mr. Edwards' lofty and poetical
idealisms, which sometimes soared a little above my poor prosaic
qualities. As I listened to his rapt and ardent speech, I felt impelled
somewhat to make a few remarks to bring him down from his starry heights,
and the result ended in a hearty peal of laughter, for no man better
loved a joke. I have a medallion of myself which he gave me after it had
been exhibited at the Royal Academy, which I cherish as the most
beautiful work of art in my possession; but he was too modest and
retiring, and never gained the public esteem to which he had an undoubted
claim. I was present at the unveiling of his fine marble bust of Edith
Wynne, then radiant in her glory as the Welsh Nightingale, of whom I saw
enough to learn that she was as charming in private as in public life.
The place was Hanover Square Rooms. My friend Edwards received quite an
ovation, the Sir Watkin Wynne of that day presiding; but on the whole I
fear that Edwards by his genius did more for Wales than ever Wales did
for him. His life ought to have been written. Young men, I am sure,
would have learned many a useful lesson. He was a true genius, with, as
far as I could see, none of the failings which by some are supposed to be
associated with genius. It was my painful privilege to be one of the
mourners at his funeral in Highgate Cemetery. His works he left to the
Cymmrodorion Society, where I hope that they are guarded with tender
care. South Wales has reason to rejoice in having had born to her such a
son. Let me mention another Merthyr man whom I knew, who, if not such a
genius as Joseph Edwards, had at any rate as great an enthusiasm for the
literature and language of Wales. He was a chemist and druggist, named
Stephens, and found time to write a work on Wales, which was deemed
worthy of the prize offered on the subject by some Welshman of wealth and
position, whose name has, alas, escaped my treacherous memory. At that
time Wales had failed to attract much attention on the part of England.
It was far away and difficult to get at. Now and then an adventurous
Englishman made his way thither, and wrote a book to show how grand was
the scenery and hospitable the people, and how cheap it was as a place of
residence. But as a rule the average Englishman knew as little of it as
he did of Timbuctoo. Since then Wales has learnt the art of advertising
and is better known, and that is an advantage not to be overlooked, for
it is now all the richer. Then few English resided there, and those
chiefly from motives of economy.
Another Welshman whom I had the honour to reckon as a friend was Sir Hugh
Owen, an earnest worker in the Temperance cause, and for the social
elevation of the people and righteousness. In his case his high position
on the Poor-Law Board was won by merit, and by merit alone, as he entered
the Department in a subordinate capacity, and gradually worked his way up
to the top of the tree, not having the advantage of aristocratic birth
and breeding. I first met him in Claremont Chapel--a Congregational
place of worship in Pentonville--at one time one of the most flourishing
churches of that body, though I fear it has somewhat declined of late.
He was a man of kindly speech and presence, always ready to help whatever
was worthy of help, and lived in the Holloway Road, where I once spent
with him a pleasant Sunday, and was much charmed with one of his married
daughters, who happened to be there at the time. No Temperance gathering
in general, and no Welsh gathering in particular, was complete without
Mr. Hugh Owen, as he then was called. In all London there was no more
genial representative of gallant little Wales. He lived to a good old
age, beloved and respected. The last time I met him was in the
Farringdon Road, when he complained that he felt a little queer in his
head. My reply was that he had no need to trouble himself on that
account, as I knew many people who were in the same condition who seemed
to get on very well nevertheless.
Another Welshman who yet lives--in a far-off land--was Dr. Llewellen
Bevan, the popular Congregational minister in the beautiful city of
Melbourne, where he is, as he justly deserves to be, a great power. He
commenced his labours in London as co-pastor with Mr. Thomas Binney.
Thence he moved to Tottenham Court Chapel, which became very prosperous
under his popular ministry. From there he went to America, where he did
not remain long. He now lives in a beautiful bungalow a few miles out of
Melbourne, where I once spent with him a very pleasant night, chatting of
England and old times. A curious memory occurs to me in connection with
my visit to the reverend and popular divine at Melbourne. On one
occasion I heard him at a public meeting in Tottenham Court Road Chapel
declare, amidst the cheers of the great audience, that he had given up
smoking because one of his people complained to him that her son had come
home the worse for liquor, which he had taken while smoking, and he
thought there could be no harm in smoking, because he had seen Mr. Bevan
smoking. "From that hour," said Mr. Bevan, amidst prolonged applause, "I
resolved to give up smoking," and the deacons looked at me to see if I
was not ashamed of my indulgence in a habit which in the case alluded to
had produced such disastrous results. I must own that the reason adduced
by the reverend gentleman was not to me convincing, for as far as my
experience goes the smoker infinitely prefers a cup of coffee with his
cigar or pipe to any amount of alcoholic liquor. Judge, then, of my
surprise when at Melbourne, after our evening meal, Mr. Bevan proposed to
me that we should adjourn to his study and have a smoke--an invitation
with which I gladly complied. After my recollection of the scene in the
London chapel I was glad to find the Doctor, as regards tobacco, sober
and in his right mind. Long may he be spared after the labours of his
busy life to soothe his wearied mind with the solace of the weed! The
Doctor has a noble presence, and seemed to me when I saw him last to be
getting in face more and more like England's greatest orator--as regards
latter days--Mr. John Bright. In his far-away home he seemed to me to
retain his love for Wales and the sense of the superiority of the
Welshman to any one on the face of the earth. The Doctor is an ardent
Gladstonite--and people of that way of thinking are not quite as numerous
in the Colonies as they are at home.
Another Welshman who made his mark in London was the Rev. Dr. Thomas, a
Congregational minister at Stockwell, a fine-looking young man when I
first knew him as a minister at Chesham. He developed the faculty of his
countrymen for lofty ideas and aims to an extent that ended in disastrous
failure. It was he who originated the idea of _The Dial_--which was to
be a daily to advocate righteousness, and to beat down and to supplant
_The Times_. The motto was to be "Righteousness exalteth a nation, but
sin is a reproach to any people." He got a great many people to take
shares, and commenced the publication of _The Dial_ in the first place as
a weekly. But the paper was a failure from the first. Another idea of
his was to raise a million to build workmen's institutes and recreation
halls all over the kingdom, but as the late Earl of Derby, when appealed
to on the subject, replied, it carried its own condemnation in the face
of it. A society, however, was started, but it never came to much. The
real fact is that institutions established for working men, not by them,
are rarely a success. Dr. Thomas also claimed to have started the idea
of the University for Wales, and was very angry with me when I, after
some inquiry, failed to support his claim. His great success was the
publication of a magazine for preachers, under the title of _The
Homilist_. The writer was a great man, not so much so, perhaps, as he
thought, and had his full share of Welsh enthusiasm and fire. But he
made a terrible blunder over his _Dial_ scheme. He had done better had
he kept to the pulpit. Parsons are not always practical, and the
management of successful daily newspapers is not exactly in their line.
The shoemaker should stick to his last; but in spite of Welsh poetic
geniuses, the great fact which always strikes men in London is the
commercial successes of the Welshmen who venture to try their fortune on
the metropolitan stage. This especially strikes me with regard to the
drapery trade. Many of the largest establishments in that way are owned
at this present time by Welshmen--such as Jones, of Holloway; Evans, of
Oxford Street, and many more. Few of them had capital or friends to help
them, yet few men have done better in the pleasant art of
money-making--an art rare, alas! to the class to which I have the honour
to belong.