_THE LOST INHERITANCE REGAINED_.
The day previous to the return of Mr. Wynn and young Roberts to town,
they went out alone for a stroll. They took the road leading to Pont
Aberglaslyn, and as both gentlemen were excellent pedestrians, they soon
arrived at that exquisitely beautiful glen. When on the bridge, they
gazed in silence for some minutes on the dark mad water beneath. After
some minutes’ silence, Mr. Wynn asked his friend if he had previously
visited the glen.
“Yes; I have been here once, Cadwgan.”
“Don’t you think it’s a charming spot?”
“In my judgment, Cadwgan, this is the grandest scene in all Wales.”
“Then you prefer it to Bettws-y-Coed?”
“I do. This place has a charm for me which that sylvan vale has not.”
“So it has for me, my friend. The meandering river flowing down this
valley, the high hills on either side of the glen, the stupendous and
overhanging rocks, with a thousand different colours, foliage, trees,
shrubs, and mosses, with grand old Snowdon in the distance: these, and
early recollections and associations, have rendered this place dearer to
me than all other scenes in my dear native land. I am glad that our
views of this delectable valley are identical, though I cannot convey to
you the depth of my emotion in contemplating the scene.”
“Cadwgan,” replied Mr. Roberts, “the spot on which I now stand is as dear
to me as my life. You have been my adviser, my counsellor, my friend—ay,
more than a brother to me. Oh, advise me how to act! I confessed here
to your sister my love, and offered her my hand and heart. I asked her
to become mine; but oh, Cadwgan, she rejected my offer!”
“Did she, that is, my sister, give any reason for declining your offer?”
“Indeed she did not.”
“Did she tell you she was engaged already?”
“Nay; she told me she was free.”
“Did you ask her for an immediate answer?”
“Yes.”
“What was her reply?”
“That she could not be mine.”
“Then she gave you no other reason?”
“No, no, Cadwgan; but was not that enough? Since then I’ve been the most
miserable of men. Oh, you must dissuade her from acting towards me so
cruelly.”
“I am glad, Roberts, my sister acted as she did, though I deeply regret
the pain her refusal has occasioned you. I blame you for confessing your
love, though I do not blame you for feeling admiration for my dear
sister.”
“I take it, Cadwgan, you are not favourable to my suit.”
“So far from being unfavourable, my dear Roberts, I will confess to you
that I know of no one whom I should so like to have for a brother as
yourself.”
“Then you are willing for me to renew my suit hereafter?”
“Most willing.”
“But you have expressed your approval of your sister’s rejection of my
suit?”
“Yes.”
“You are incomprehensible to me. Pray explain yourself, my dear
Cadwgan.”
“I’ll do so in a few words. Before I can permit my dear sister to
entertain your proposal, your father must be fully informed of your
intention. His views of such an alliance might be very different from
yours. He might wish you to marry the daughter of a wealthy city
merchant, therefore he would regard your proposal as foolish and
imprudent.”
“Cadwgan, you do my dear father great injustice. He has an abundance of
wealth. He would be the last man to make my marriage a matter of money
speculation. I know better than you can his feelings, and am sure that,
in a matter so momentous, his first consideration would be my happiness.”
“I have no doubt but such are your father’s feelings; still, as I am but
a clerk in his establishment, I can’t permit you to address my sister
until his consent is given fully and freely.”
“Well, knowing your high character and scruples, I must tell you that I
have taken steps in order to anticipate your objection.”
“I hope you have not written Mr. Roberts?”
“Indeed I have, Cadwgan.”
“I’m very sorry; you really should have waited.”
“Nay, nay, I couldn’t wait.”
“Has your father replied?”
“Yes; his answer came this morning.”
“I suppose he has ordered your immediate return home?”
“Oh no. I’m to stay another week if I like.”
“Well, has he given you his consent for you to propose to my dear
sister?”
“Yes; I have his hearty approval.”
“Then my sister was not aware of this when you offered her your hand?”
“Certainly not. My father’s letter came this morning.”
“Have you informed her of your father’s feeling in the matter?”
“No. I delayed doing so until I spoke to you.”
“I’m glad you have kept the information from Gwenfan. But she must not
be kept in ignorance longer than can be helped; and since you have opened
your mind freely to me, I may as well tell you that at the proper time
and after I have consulted your father, she is prepared to accept your
hand. As her brother and guardian, I will then, my dear Roberts, give
her to you. I know you will watch over her with the deepest affection
and solicitude. In this matter I have only one request to make, which I
am sure will be readily granted. Will you promise?”
“To me, dear friend, you will is law.”
“My request is a simple one, namely, that your marriage be deferred for a
time?”
“You are too cruel to defer the day of my being made perfectly happy.”
“But for your and her sake I think there should be reasonable delay. It
is true your father is a rich man, but for the present you are simply a
son of a city prince. Possibly he might give you £1000 a year, but I
should like to see you in business yourself before you settle down. Then
my dear sister is young: only little over eighteen years. Three or four
years is not long to wait.”
“For the present I will not argue the point with you, you will learn that
I am not in the position you fancy I am. I cannot explain myself further
now, but when we return to town, you, dear Cadwgan, will know all.
Others will reveal facts to you which I am bound to keep secret.”
“Well, well, we’ll talk on this matter again. We must now return to the
Villa, and make our arrangements for our immediate return to London.
Early to-morrow morning we must leave, otherwise we shall arrive at the
warehouse on the day our leave expires.”
During the evening, Mr. Roberts and Gwenfan had a long conversation.
When he returned to the library to join Cadwgan, he whispered, “It is all
settled; I’m now happy.”
In the following August, Miss Wynn and her aunt paid a long visit to
London. During their stay, they were frequent visitors at Mr. Roberts’
urban mansion. The more he saw of the gentle, quiet, and lovely Gwenfan,
the more he liked her; and when the time came when those loving hearts
were to be made one, he took his son’s and future daughter’s hands in
his, saying, “Be true to each other; and you, my son, guard this
beautiful Cambrian plant, for I am persuaded she is worth her weight in
gold. You, Rhys, have made a wise choice, I would rather have Gwenfan
for my daughter than a princess of the royal blood. May Heaven bless
your union!”
We now pass over a brief period of history. Mr. Roberts had now ceased
to be a partner in the firm. From the date of Mr. Wynn joining the firm
until Mr. Roberts’ retirement, the house had prospered year after year.
The partners became wealthy men, were of high repute in the city, and Mr.
Wynn, who was considered the soul of the business, was looked up to as a
man almost unequalled for business talents, while his word was regarded
as law by all with whom he had any mercantile transactions.
Of Mr. Roberts’ intended retirement, Mr. Wynn knew nothing until the very
morning it was carried out. When they met in the former’s private
office, he asked,—
“How many years, Mr. Wynn, has our partnership lasted?”
“Five years, sir.”
“How long have you been with me?”
“Ten years to-day, sir, I entered your service.”
“Oh, how rapidly the time passes! Well I have to thank my heavenly
Father for having directed your footsteps here. You have proved yourself
a faithful friend, since the date of our partnership. By your tact,
judgment, business habits, industry, and integrity, you have raised our
house to the highest commercial position. You are almost as dear to me,
Cadwgan, as if you were my own child.”
“From you,” replied Mr. Wynn, “I have received the greatest kindness and
consideration. To me you have been a second father. No parent could
have shown a deeper interest in a son than you have shown in me.”
“As you are now a rich man, Cadwgan, why don’t you seek a wife. I’m sure
you would be a better and happier man?”
“I have, Mr. Roberts, anticipated your wish.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Cadwgan, though you surprise me. I was not aware
of your having fixed your heart on any young lady. I hope she is worthy
of you.”
“From you, sir, I keep nothing. The lady is Miss Jones; she has accepted
my offer, and her parents have given their consent to our union.”
“I’m glad to hear this, for your sake and hers. Jones is a capital
fellow, and his daughter is a noble girl. She has in her own right a
splendid fortune, and her father must be a rich man. She will make you
an excellent wife. Her fortune is in the funds, and if necessary you
could turn it to immediate account. I hope you will get back the old
place.
“Now, Mr. Wynn, as you have told me your secret, I see no reason why I
should withhold from you mine. I, too, am about to contract a marriage;
I do not find it good to be alone; I am going to be wedded to my first
love. Strange to say, her name is Wynn. Do you know any lady in your
parts of North Wales of that name?”
“Indeed, sir, I don’t at present recollect any lady of the name of Wynn.”
“Try, Cadwgan, and remember. My impression is you must remember; she is
acquainted with you.”
“Surely, Mr. Roberts, you don’t refer to my aunt?”
“I do though. Are you willing to give her to me?”
“Most willing, sir, as far as I am concerned.”
“Then you are pleased at the prospect of a closer connection between us?
You have placed me in possession of your feeling. Now please give me the
reason of its existence?”
“That I will do, sir, in a few words. Though she is my aunt, and the
only relative I have in the world, except my dear sister, I must say that
she is one of the kindest and best of women. I am sure she will make you
happy. But, sir, I did not know you had ever seen my aunt until she came
to visit me in London?”
“Miss Wynn was my earliest love. I proposed to her, but her brother,
your dear father, objected to our union. I left for London immediately
afterwards, got married, settled down in business, but from the day of my
departure until her visit to you we never met. Mr. Jones was fully aware
of the circumstance of my being rejected. It was, indeed, the fact of my
proposal of which Jones took advantage to plead so persistently for you
when he wished you to come here. Little did I know then what a noble boy
you were, what a treasure I was to have in you. But let that pass: I
have one favour to ask you. Will you grant it?”
“Yes, sir, to the extent of every penny I possess.”
“Will you consent to be married on the same day as myself? And we will
arrange that Rhys and your sister shall also be united on the occasion.
Next, will you sign that parchment, without asking any question, or
examining its contents? you can make yourself acquainted with the
particulars hereafter.”
“Heartily I say yes, to your questions.”
“My dear boy, I thank you from my heart of hearts for your goodness and
confidence. The document contains a dissolution of partnership so far as
I am concerned. You, and your future brother are now the owners of
everything here.”
“Mr. Roberts,” replied Cadwgan, with tears in his eyes, “how can I ever
repay you for so noble and so generous an act?”
“My dear boy, you have already repaid me with your grateful tear, by your
ten years of faithful services, and by the splendid gift of your aunt.
There is the ledger, which you can scan at leisure. You will find the
facts fully set forth. Here is a mortgage deed for £50,000,—a sum which
simply represents your share of the profits of the business during the
period of our partnership. The other mortgagee is your intended
father-in-law, who has invested his daughter’s fortune in the same
property as her trustee and guardian. The two sums amount to £115,000,
which are secured on your paternal estate, Wynn Castle. On the day of
your marriage, the estate, which has been greatly improved since your
poor father’s death, will be conveyed to you as sole owner, by cancelling
those deeds. How this matter has been arranged it is not necessary for
you to know. I rejoice beyond measure in your being about to take
possession of your lost inheritance, and to regain it by means so
honourable to yourself. My prayer shall be that Heaven will bless you
with health and prosperity, and that you may long live to enjoy it. I
have now done my day’s work, so for the present must wish you good
morning. We shall soon meet again.”
But few additional words are necessary to complete this history. In a
few months after the above interview, Mr. Roberts, Mr. Roberts junior,
and Cadwgan were married to the ladies of their choice.
During a portion of each summer, Mr. and Mrs. Cadwgan Wynn, and Mr. and
Mrs. Roberts, senior and junior spent several weeks at Wynn Castle, where
Mr. and Mrs. Owen Jones had taken up their permanent abode. The various
tenants on the estate rejoiced in possessing such an excellent landlord,
but their joy was unbounded on the morning the news reached them of the
birth of a son and heir. On the return to the castle after this event,
his tenantry presented him with an address, to which he replied as
follows:—
“Friends and neighbours,—After many years of exile from the land of my
birth and the home of my father’s sepulchre, I feel it my first duty to
return my gratitude to Him who guides and directs the destiny of us all,
for having in His good and merciful providence again directed my
footsteps to the land of my love and my warmest affection. Twelve years
to day I went out in the wide world, poor and almost penniless. I
resolved, with Heaven’s help, to succeed, that is if success could be
achieved by honesty, integrity, and plodding. After wandering about
London for several days, I found myself one summer evening on London
Bridge, faint, anxious, and sick, with but a few shillings in my pocket.
Just as I was about to settle down to sleep on the cold stone, a good
Welsh Samaritan who was passing by had compassion on the forlorn one, and
took me to his home. Strange to say, his noble daughter fell in love
with me, poor and friendless though I was. That lady is my wife and the
mother of my son. I might tell you that her love for dear old Cambria is
as deep and as intense as is her love for her offspring. Moreover, her
heart is full of sympathy for the sons and daughters of human suffering
wherever found, and she will consider it not only a pleasure but a duty
to visit and administer consolation and solace to the distressed in this
beautiful valley. But, says my friend on my right, you must not remain
idle; you have work to do. My dear friend, the Rev. Thomas Charles, who
is an honour to our country, is doing much for the intellectual, moral,
and religious welfare of the people. You ought to support his efforts by
every means in your power. Him I will aid with my purse and influence.
I hope in this effort we shall be united, conformists and nonconformists,
joining hand in hand and heart with heart, so that our people may become
an intelligent and religious people. To bring about such a glorious
consummation is the chief desire of my soul. I have only one more word
to add, that is to thank you for your beautiful address. Be assured that
I and my wife will endeavour to earn your good opinion. We will try to
promote your commercial welfare, and with it your highest interest.”
* * * * *
McLiver in due time was brought before the bar of justice, and his guilt
having been clearly established, was banished the kingdom. After
undergoing ten years of punishment in Van Diemen’s Land, he obtained his
release, and settled down in one of the Australian colonies as a small
farmer. His uncle and cousin were finally apprehended, and being found
guilty were transported. Donald was allowed to go free, as his guilt
could not be legally established. Some years afterwards Mr. Wynn learned
that he was engaged in the fish trade in one of the Orkney Islands.
TRADITIONS OF LLYN SAVATHAN;
OR LLANGORSE, OR TALYLLYN LAKE.
CHAPTER I.
_TRADITIONS OF GIRALDUS_.
“Not a tree,
A llyn, a leaf, a blossom, but contains
A folio volume. We may read, and read,
And read again, and still find something new.”
Respecting Llyn Savathan, which also bears the several names of Lake
Brecheinoc, Brecinaumere, Llangorse, and Talyllyn Pool, Giraldus relates
that in the reign of Henry I., Gruffydd, son of Rhys ap Theodor, held
under the king one comot, namely, the fourth part of the cantref of Caoc,
in the cantref Mawr. When Gruffydd, on his return from the king’s court,
passed near this lake, which at this cold season of the year was covered
with wild fowl of various sorts, being accompanied by Milo, Earl of
Hereford and Lord of Brecon, and Payn FitzJohn, Lord of Ewyas, who at
that time were secretaries and privy counsellors to the King, Earl Milo,
wishing to draw from Gruffydd some discourse concerning his innate
nobility, rather jocularly than seriously thus addressed him: “It is an
ancient saying in Wales, that if the natural prince of the country,
coming to this lake, shall order the birds to sing, they will immediately
obey him.” To which Gruffydd replied, “Do you, therefore, who now hold
the dominion of this land, first give the command.” But he and Payn,
having in vain commanded, and Gruffydd perceiving that it was necessary
for him to do so in his turn, dismounted from his horse, and falling on
his knees towards the east, as if he had been about to engage in battle,
prostrate on the ground, with his eyes and hands uplifted to heaven,
poured forth devout prayers to the Lord; and at length rising up, and
signing his face and forehead with the figure of the cross, thus openly
spake, “Almighty God, and Lord Jesus Christ, who knowest all things,
declare here, this day, Thy power. If Thou hast caused me to descend
lineally from the natural princes of Cambria, I command these birds, in
Thy name, to declare it.” And immediately, beating the waters with their
wings, the birds began to cry aloud and proclaim him. The spectators
were astonished and confounded; and Earl Milo, with FitzJohn, hastily
returned to court, and related this singular occurrence to Henry, who is
said to have replied, “By the death of Christ, it is not a matter of so
much wonder; for although by our great authority we commit acts of
violence and wrong against these people, yet they are known to be the
rightful inheritors of this land.”
CHAPTER II.
_THE LAST WARNING_.
Long previous to the time to which the tradition of Giraldus relates, the
place occupied by Llyn Savathan formed a beautiful and picturesque
valley, through which the waters of the Llewenny meandered and flowed
gently along in their progress towards the Wye. On the left bank of the
Llynfi, and within half a mile of its channel, there stood the church of
Llangasty, which was dedicated to Saint Gasty, an eminent British saint
who flourished in the fifth century, and was murdered on the Van
Mountain, in the parish of Merthyr Cynog. On the other side of the
Llynfi, and nearly opposite the church, there stood a magnificent palace,
belonging to and occupied by a tyrannical prince, who neither feared God
nor regarded man, who scorned religion, and loathed everything which was
pure and good and beautiful; a prince who, by the magnitude of his
extortions and the relentlessness with which he pursued his unfortunate
vassals, became the object of hate and intense aversion to all who had
dealings or came in contact with him. Moreover, as he grew older, his
extortions became more burdensome, while his tyranny increased in its
fury, notwithstanding the warnings he received from those who desired the
perpetuation of his reign. To all those warnings he turned a deaf ear,
while he punished with the utmost rigour those who sought to thwart him
in his infamous practices.
It was a cold December morning, when Father Olyver, of Llangasty,
repaired to the palace in order to condole with the prince on the death
of a son. On entering the reception-room, and finding the prince alone,
he thus addressed him—
“My heart grieves and is sad, my prince, at the loss you have sustained.
Another prop of your house has been taken away, and oh, reflect, I pray,
on your present mode of life; consider your ways and be wise.”
“Cease thy babbling, Father Olyver,” replied the prince. “ D— it, man,
all must die. The death of another son, thou senseless priest, only
diminishes my responsibility as a father, and now I shall have more to
leave to the survivors.”
“Pray, don’t speak thus, my lord, of your child. The fruit of your loins
should ever be regarded with affection.”
“I loved the boy when living, Father Olyver. But now, man, he has ceased
to live; the spirit, the soul, has gone; a clod of earth only remains.”
“Be it so, my lord. Yet I must own that I look on his untimely end as a
terrible warning to you. The event tells you to set your house in order,
for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.”
“All right, Father Olyver. I suppose, when He comes, I must go like the
rest, in spite of the saints and mother Church.”
“But are you prepared, my prince, when the voice calls?”
“Of course I am, father. Let his majesty come whenever he pleases, I’ll
accompany him.”
“Are you ready, my dear prince, to appear, without fear, before your God
when He calls you hence?”
“There are beautiful maidens, too, father, before whom I must and delight
to appear, after my evening’s carousals! Ah! ah! ah! I’ll be bound that
even you, Father Olyver, with your sanctimonious jib, are not indifferent
to the smiles of a pretty wench, and you won’t turn away when you happen
to have a glimpse of a fine ankle. Human nature is human nature all the
world over. I warrant priests of mother Church don’t always keep it in
subjection. Oh! Oh!”
“This is not the time, nor is it a fitting occasion, my lord, to indulge
in such language,” replied the priest. “For one day, at least,
especially in the presence of the dead, I beseech you to cease speaking
thus.”
“Why should I, man, refrain from telling the truth even now? Bedad, I’ve
hit the right nail on the head this time at any rate.”
“For the present, however, I shall regard your charge of me and my orders
in silence. I have come here to perform the last rites of the Church
over the dead. The day to me is one of unusual solemnity. I loved your
son as if he had been my own child. He was a good and pious youth,
notwithstanding the evil influences by which he was surrounded. But he
is gone, and the place that knew him shall know him no more. And now, my
lord, what hour have you fixed for carrying his remains to that silent
bourne from whence no traveller ever comes back?”
“We propose to bury at five; and after the funeral I have, Father Olyver,
a grand banquet in my palace, and we anticipate a merry meeting.”
“And cannot you, my lord, give up folly and pleasure for a single day?
Can’t you devote one evening to pursuits which harmonize with the
solemnity of the day? You have received from time to time, and year
after year, the most terrible warnings, yet you heed them not. You hear
the sound of the trumpet, to which you have paid no attention. If you
continue to live as you have lived, my dear prince—if you resolve, come
what will, to steel your heart, and defy the Almighty,—the day is not far
distant when the wrath of an angry God will descend upon you and yours,
and on that day—rather on that dark and dismal night—the sword of His
justice will descend, and the innocent and the guilty shall perish
together. I now leave you, my prince, but in a few hours we shall meet
again at the grave of departed virtue, and something tells me that when
we then part it will be a parting for ever.”
At the time appointed the funeral cortège arrived at Llangasty. The
young prince was buried with extraordinary pomp. When the service was
concluded, Father Olyver went up and pressed the hand of the prince, and
bidding him good-bye, whispered in his ear, “Remember, my lord, the
warning voice: it has spoken once, twice, ay, thrice; the next time it
will speak in thunder and lightning, when the earth shall move and reel
like a drunken man. So now, farewell. I fear we shall never meet
again.”
The good priest then turned away from prince and people. He re-entered
the church for evening song, while the prince and the mourners returned
to the palace to make merry and be glad. Before they arrived home, the
day had disappeared, and the night had come. Darkness had settled down
upon the earth. When they entered the palace, they little dreamt of
being on the very brink of a precipice over which they would be hurled by
the fiat of the Eternal.
CHAPTER III.
_THE FATAL BANQUET_; _OR_, _VENGEANCE AT HAND_.
The palace of the Prince of Llynfi was characterized by drunkenness and
vice, dissipation and sensuality, intemperance and debauchery. Virtue
had no lodgment there. Righteousness had no habitation there. Justice,
religion, and truth were wholly absent from the palace of the prince. He
and his family gave themselves up to pleasure, to riotous living, and to
revellings; and from day to day, week to week, and month to month, they
lived as if there was no God—no hereafter—no judgment to come! Moreover,
they had so sunk in sin and iniquity, that they were quite insensible to
those feelings which are common and general, and indeed universal, in the
lowest state of humanity. Flower after flower of the family circle had
withered and died, or had been plucked from the tree of life by the will
of the Almighty, yet from the heart of the survivors there never escaped
a sigh; never a tear was shed; their hearts had become a flinty rock, and
were as insensible of impression as the Parian marble. Thus they lived:
thus, too, they died; for at last they were cut down as cumberers of the
ground.
Before the untimely death of the son, the prince had arranged for a grand
banquet to take place on the very day his mortal remains were consigned
to the tomb. During the progress of preparation for the funeral,
preparations were also being made for the expected banquet. On their
return from the church, many of the guests had already arrived and many
more soon followed. By nine o’clock the palace was filled with a
splendid array of the licentious male and female inhabitants of the
villages in the surrounding country. According to old traditions, two
renowned minstrels from a distance had been summoned to cheer them in
their revels; and riot and disorder, such as had never before been
witnessed even in that palace, resounded among the hills. The party had
been many hours assembled: it was midnight. In the midst of their
revellings there was suddenly heard a crash of thunder, which shook the
palace to its foundation; and this was immediately followed by louder and
louder peals, which boomed through the valley as the noise of a thousand
pieces of artillery. The prince and his riotous companions were
awe-struck, and presently they heard a voice saying in deep, solemn
tones, “Vengeance is at hand!” In a moment the two minstrels arose, and
beholding in the air a mysterious hand beckoning to them, they fled after
it as it retreated. The hand moved faster and faster, and as it moved
they increased their speed. After they had gone a considerable distance
the earth heaved violently, and appeared to totter on its foundations.
For a moment they turned round to see the distance they had come. They
saw the ground divide in twain, and up through this large chasm they
beheld the waters rushing forth like the ocean when convulsed, and
mingling with the roaring sound of the waters were the dying shrieks of
the revellers. Pausing for another moment in their flight, the minstrels
observed, with great terror, a wide expanse of boiling and agitated
waters where the palace and village had stood, engulfing the palace and
its wicked and impious inmates far below its bosom. Since then, Llyn
Savathan has ever been regarded as an unhallowed spot; the great
wickedness of the prince and his followers having drawn upon them the
just judgment of the Eternal.
TREFFYNNON;
OR,
LEGENDS OF SAINT WINIFRED.
“The lifeless tears she shed into a fountain turn,
And, that for her alone the water should not mourn,
The pure vermilion blood that issued from her veins
Unto this very day the pearly gravel stains,
As erst the white and red were mixèd in her cheek.
And that one part of her might be the other like,
Her hair was turned to moss, whose sweetness doth declare,
In liveliness of youth the natural sweets she bare.”
MICHAEL DRAYTON.
When but a mere youth, I had a strong and extreme longing to visit
Holywell, or Treffynnon, which according to my youthful fancy was the
most wonderful place under the sun. This desire had its origin in the
following circumstances.
About three miles from my paternal abode there was situate a small
village, which had risen into fame and notoriety by reason of its annual
May fair. At this fair an immense number of people congregated. Young
men and maidens were there. Farmers’ sons and daughters flocked in great
numbers; and this being the annual hiring fair, hundreds of men and women
servants went to find either new masters or fresh mistresses. Then from
the neighbouring towns and villages, people came for the purpose of
providing fun, amusement, and entertainment for the holiday seekers.
Shows innumerable were there; Mr. Cheap Jack vending his wares, with
which he combined interesting stories and flashes of wit, had thousands
of willing and enchanted listeners, and a goodly number of ready
purchasers. On the roadside from one end of the village to the other was
a continuous row of stalls, laden with every conceivable variety of
articles. All these marvellous things filled my boyish fancy with
amazement and wonder.
But what struck me most, was a person who had a stall situate near the
bridge, on which were placed in rows several thousands of small wooden
boxes, which in circumference were about the size of a crown piece, and
three quarters of an inch deep. These boxes he arranged with great
deliberation and care, and when he completed his work, not a single box
could be seen out of its proper place.
This person was fantastically dressed. He wore a three-cornered hat, the
brim of which was tipped with gold. He had pink velvet breeches, with a
waistcoat of similar material; red stockings, and shoes with silver
buckles. His frock coat, made of good West of England broadcloth, had,
in consequence of many years’ wear, become a dark blood colour. In his
hat were placed two rows of feathers, arranged in the form of the Prince
of Wales’ plume. He was certainly a most singular looking figure, and
from the hour when he commenced to expatiate on the virtues of his wares
until the dusk of the evening, attracted an immense audience.
When his preparations were finished, he took in his left hand one of the
little boxes, from which he removed the lid, or cover, and commenced to
address the crowd in the following fashion. “This box, ladies and
gentlemen,” he said, “contains wonderful ointment. It will cure the
itch, the stitch, and nettle-rash. It is a sure remedy for all diseases
of the skin. It will, when applied, remove warts from the fingers, corns
from the toes, and bunions from the feet. It is an effectual cure for
cuts, bruises, and for every kind of wounds. Time, ladies and gentlemen,
would fail me to speak of its wonderful properties, and the history of
cases it has cured would fill a dozen large volumes. Every man should
therefore possess half a dozen boxes of this valuable salve. They should
be placed in the nobleman’s palace, in every farm house, in every poor
man’s cottage. The use of this wonderful ointment will save you many a
long doctor’s bill, and, between you and me, doctors are doing their best
to stop its sale, because one box of this salve is worth a hundred visits
of the physician. People have paid lots of money to doctors without
getting any benefit; they then came to me, and by using one box only,
were made perfectly whole. This ointment is the grandest discovery of
the age. It was found out, not by man’s skill, oh, no; but an angel came
from distant worlds and directed my sainted mother how to make it. The
secret is with me, and it must remain with me; for were it known, its
efficacy would disappear.
“You, ladies and gentlemen, would doubtless like to know the several
constituent parts of this justly renowned ointment, but as I have already
said, I dare not reveal the secret. The spirit of one who when on this
earth was as pure as she was comely and beautiful, told the secret to my
sainted mother. I refer to Saint Winifred, who was murdered twelve
hundred years ago. From the spot on which she was beheaded, her head
rolled down the declivity, and did not stop until it reached the altar of
the church, and immediately there sprang up a spring of water, which in
volume is unequalled in the world. The wonderful salve is not called
after the saint, this her spirit forbade, but Eli Treffynnon, or Holywell
salve. As I make it myself, I can offer to sell it at twopence per box,
though doctors charge sixpence for a far inferior article. Twopence per
box being the price, for which I charge no more nor will I take less.
Who will buy? who will buy? Now is your time, for I shall not visit
these parts for twelve months.”
The people then rushed to the vendor of Eli Treffynnon, and in less than
an hour he had disposed of more than a thousand boxes of the ointment.
“A wonderful man that, is he not?” said I to my companion.
“Yes, truly.”
_Myself_. Can you tell me where Treffynnon is?
“Not exactly,” replied my companion; “but it is in the north.”
_Myself_. In the north of England or Scotland, which?
“Oh, no, in neither; but in North Wales.”
_Myself_. Is it a town or a village?
“A town, I believe; but it is not a large place.”
_Myself_. Have you ever heard of the remarkable well before?
“Oh, yes. I’ve seen an account of it in an old book.”
_Myself_. If I knew the way, I would go and see this wonderful fountain.
“Don’t talk nonsense. Go two hundred miles to see a spring!”
_Myself_. Why not?
“Why? Because you can see plenty of fountains nearer home.”
_Myself_. But this is a well.
“Yes; a well to be sure. But don’t the waters of all rivers come from
wells?”
_Myself_. Of course they do. But it requires a hundred wells to make up
the Severn, the Wye, and the Ithon, but here is a large river from one
well, one spring. I’ll certainly go one of these days and see it.
Many, many years, however, came, and passed away, before the design I
then formed was carried out.
* * * * *
My first visit to Holywell, or Treffynnon, took place just about the
close of the Crimean War. I arrived in the town late one evening in mid
winter, but as the night was extremely dark, while the rain descended in
torrents, I refrained from leaving my hotel, the name of which I do not
at present remember. It was then the principal inn of the town, with a
first rate bill of fare.
Being a private gentleman, and therefore debarred from joining the
commercials, breakfast was prepared for me in a snug little parlour which
was generally used by the landlady as her private sitting-room. Before I
had taken my seat at the breakfast, the waitress came into the room, all
smiles, and asked me if I had any objection to a gentleman joining me at
the morning meal.
“Who is the gentleman?” I asked the waitress.
“Oh, Squire Eli, of Ffynnon Hall.”
_Myself_. What kind of a person is he? Is he old or young, has he a
hump on his back, and does he wear spectacles? is he a nice,
good-tempered fellow, or sour as crab beer? Tell me, gentle maid, the
kind of companion I am to be honoured with.
“Oh, sir, how you do talk. Squire is a nice, well-spoken gentleman; and
I am sure you’ll like him.”
_Myself_. Show the gentleman up; but tell your mistress that she will be
a loser by his introduction, because I generally eat twice as much in
company as when alone.
Presently Mr. Eli made his appearance, and I expressed to him how greatly
pleased I was at his honouring me with his presence.
He replied to my remarks in a very neat speech, and said he was delighted
in the opportunity of making my acquaintance, having heard of me from a
common friend.
Before rising from the table I said, “What a beautiful name you have
selected for your seat!”
“Then do you know Welsh?”
_Myself_. I know a little; I wish I knew more. It is the grandest
language under the sun.
“For expressiveness and eloquence and poetry, you are right.”
_Myself_. I presume you selected the name because you have a crystal
fountain by the Hall?
“Oh, dear, no. There is a fountain it is true, but its existence in no
way determined me to select the name; and, between us, I don’t think
there is a similar designation for a house in North or South Wales.”
_Myself_. Have you visited the south, Mr. Eli?
“Visited the South! Why, there is not a town or village in the six
counties I’ve not been in. I know the country well.”
“Have you ever been at Bridgend, in the county of R.?”
“At Bridgend! Of course I have; many and many a time.”
_Myself_. If I’m not mistaken, I have seen you there.
“Probably you have; that is, if you ever attended its annual May fair.”
_Myself_. Then you are the man, the veritable vendor of Eli Treffynnon?
“Of course I am. I thought the waitress had duly informed you of that.”
_Myself_. No, no; but never mind. I’m delighted to see you. Your
speech on your ointment awoke in my bosom an intense longing to see this
place; and I’ve come almost specially to see for myself its wonders. I
hope, therefore, Mr. Eli, you have no special engagement this morning.
“And suppose I have not?”
_Myself_. In that case I trust you will be my cicerone. I am extremely
anxious to know the history and traditions of the wonderful well.
“I’ll accompany you with pleasure, and tell its wondrous history. When
shall we start?”
_Myself_. Now, if you please.
Just as we reached the lower part of the principal street, we saw a man
with measured steps approaching us. The man had a leathern strap
fastened round his neck, at the other end of which was suspended a large
bell, a cushion being buckled to the right knee. Every time the
cushioned knee came forward the bell jingled, and it being of
considerable size its tones could be heard a long distance from the scene
of the man’s perambulations. When he came up to the place where we were
standing, I asked Mr. Eli the question,—
“Is that man mad?”
“By no means: he is in his right mind.”
_Myself_. No sane man, I should think, would be guilty of such folly.
“The man,” replied Mr. Eli, “is doing a Christian duty.”
_Myself_. I fail to see any act of devotion in carrying a bell about the
town. Please, Mr. Eli, explain yourself.
“You, a stranger, very naturally conclude the man is demented. When you
know the object of his mission you will come to a different opinion.”
_Myself_. Pray, Mr. Eli, enlighten me.
“We have a church here, my dear sir.”
_Myself_. Yes.
“That church is situate in a hole at the head of a deep dell.”
_Myself_. But what has that to do with this man?
“This,” replied Mr. Eli; “we cannot, up the town, hear the church chimes,
though we are not two hundred yards from them.”
_Myself_. But the man does not carry your church bells on his knee.
“Oh, dear me, no; but this man walks round the town just before divine
service, and the ringing of his bell warns the people that it is time for
them to go to church.”
_Myself_. A singular invention, certainly. Pity they built the church
in such an outlandish place.
_Mr. Eli_. Oh, don’t say so. The church was built there by direction.
It is close to the well of St. Winifred, the healing waters of which, as
you are aware, are celebrated far and near.
_Myself_. Then the tales you and others tell about the efficacy of the
waters of the fountain are really true?
“Yes, of course, they are perfectly true. When all is said and written
about the waters, we can truly say that the half is not told.”
_Myself_. I should like to possess a true and authentic history of the
place.
“Doubtless,” replied Mr. Eli, “you would. Its history has yet to be
written.”
_Myself_. There is, then, evidence, Mr. Eli, that people who have bathed
in its waters have been made whole?
“Yes; plenty of evidence,” replied Mr. Eli; “and if you will now
accompany me to the well, I’ll show you some of the many witnesses.”
When we entered the building, my friend conducted me to a spot where we
had a good view of the interior. He pointed with his finger to the roof,
at the same time remarking, “Up there, look up there, for there is the
evidence, the witnesses, to which I referred.”
_Myself_. Do you mean those barrows, hand carts, crutches, and staves,
and other things too numerous to mention, fastened to the ceiling?
“Of course I do. Are they not irresistible witnesses to the healing
power of these waters?”
_Myself_. I really fail to see your point, Mr. Eli. Pray explain
yourself more fully.
“People come here,” said my friend, “from all parts of the world. Some
come on wheel-barrows, some on crutches, some by the aid of
walking-sticks; they bathe in these healing waters, like they did when
our Lord was upon earth, and are cleansed. They leave here new men and
women, and having no further need of either crutch or barrow, leave them
behind as witnesses to the power of this wonderful fountain.”
_Myself_. You have greatly excited my curiosity, Mr. Eli. Pray furnish
me with some information respecting the history of this place.
“You are heartily welcome to the facts and traditions I have been
fortunate enough to succeed in collecting, which can be briefly told.
They are as follows:—
“Once upon a time, that is, about twelve hundred and twenty-five years
ago, this Treffynnon was a royal city, and then the king’s palace was
within its precincts. The then reigning sovereign was Allen the First,
and his dominion extended over the whole of the hundred of Coleshill,
from the royal mines of which he derived a princely income. The king had
a son of the name of Cradocus, a name which has led old writers to
conclude that his mother was a daughter of some Roman, who, preferring
this country to his own, and having espoused a British lady, settled down
here.
“At the time of which I speak, there resided in Holywell a potent lord of
the Trewith, who married Lady Wento, an only sister of Saint Beuno,
descendants of an ancient and illustrious Montgomeryshire family. The
only issue of this marriage was a daughter, a beautiful and lovely
maiden, who was as pure as she was beautiful, whose name was Winifred.
“When she had grown up to be a young lady, her uncle, Saint Beuno, who
resided at Clynnog, in Carnarvonshire, came on one occasion to this royal
town to pay a friendly visit to his family. During his stay he obtained
a grant of land from Lord Trewith, his brother-in-law, upon which he
erected a church. Now the altar of that church was close by yon bubbling
fountain.”
_Myself_. Have you historical proofs of this, Mr. Eli? I asked.
“You will see by-and-by the evidence upon which I rely.”
_Myself_. Pray proceed; your narrative is deeply interesting.
“After the erection of the church,” Mr. Eli continued, “Saint Beuno took
under his charge his niece Winifred, who vowed to remain a virgin, and to
devote her life to works of charity, mercy, and religion.
“On a lovely Sunday evening, on the 22nd of June, the Lady Winifred left
her parents’ castle for the purpose of taking a walk in the cool of the
day. When she attained the summit of the hill her progress was stayed by
Prince Cradocus, who, being struck with her extreme beauty, at once made
a proposal of marriage.
“‘Prince,’ replied Lady Winifred, ‘I can form no earthly ties. I have
already vowed my life and wealth to the work of my Saviour.’
“‘But, noble and beautiful lady, I have sworn you shall be mine, and
nothing shall prevent the fulfilment of my oath.’
“‘Your offer, illustrious prince, comes too late; my vow is irrevocable.’
“‘Pray, Lady Winifred, don’t say that. Your hand I am resolved to
possess, and you shall share with me the throne of my ancestors.’
“‘For earthly thrones, prince, I care not; my treasures are not here but
above.’
“‘If you persist, noble lady, in your refusal, I am resolved to effect my
object by force.’
“‘You dare not do that, prince. You must not further molest me. Stand
by, for I would proceed on my way.’
“Cradocus was vexed at being thus robbed of his prey, and getting into a
fearful passion, took his sword from its sheath, and there and then,—oh,
horror of horrors! cut off the head of the virgin. For his guilty act,
vengeance from on high soon overtook him. On the spot where he committed
the crime, he fell down a dead man, and the earth opening, swallowed his
impious corpse. {260} There is, however, a tradition, that Cradocus’s
master, the devil, carried off his body to the dismal regions of despair.
“Now about the well. I’ve told you, that it was on the hillside above
here where Cradocus committed the foul deed. It appears that when the
head was severed from the body it commenced to roll down the steep hill
by which we descended, and stopped when it reached the altar, before
which a number of devout people were kneeling. The very moment the head
stopped there came up this fountain, the waters of which possess the same
miraculous power as did those waters of the pool of Bethesda referred to
in the Gospel of St. John.
“It appears Saint Beuno was the officiating priest at the altar when this
sad event took place. Recognising the head as that of his beloved niece,
he took it up, and ran with it to where the mangled body lay, to which he
rejoined it. To the astonishment of all present, the head at once united
itself to the body, the place of separation being only marked by a white
ring or line, which extended round the neck. From that hour she was
called Saint Winifred, and was always after regarded as a holy person, a
special vessel chosen by Christ to do His work. After this event she
lived fifteen years, and gained universal fame by her deeds of love and
charity. Well, though more than twelve hundred years have come and gone
since then, this fountain is as powerful to-day as it was then in healing
and in curing diseases. Hundreds, aye, thousands, have blessed the day
on which they bathed in this Iachâd Ffynnon—healing fountain. Now, my
story is done.”
_Myself_. And a most interesting tale it is, Mr. Eli, for which I thank
you very much. There is one more circumstance I wish to be informed of
in order to have a complete history of the sainted lady.
“To what do you refer?” asked Mr. Eli.
_Myself_. I presume the lady died here.
“Oh yes; she died in her father’s mansion.”
_Myself_. In that case, I presume, her sepulchre is in your churchyard?
“Not so, my friend,” replied Mr. Eli.
_Myself_. Then she was not buried here?
“No, she was not interred here, and for this reason. Her uncle, Saint
Beuno, died on the 21st of April, 660, and his remains were interred in
the Abbey Church of Bardsey Island. On his death, Saint Winifred retired
to Gwytheriu, and placed herself under the protection of St. Elerius, who
at that time was living in devotional seclusion in that sequestered
mountain village. At that time there was there a convent of nuns under
the superintendence of Theonia. Saint Winifred assumed the veil, and on
the death of Theonia became the abbess. On her death, the remains were
removed from Treffynnon to Gwytheriu, and interred near the graves of St.
Cybi and St. Sannan. After a lapse of five hundred years from the date
of her death, the bones of St. Winifred were removed with great pomp to
the church of St. Peter and St. Paul, Shrewsbury. The wooden chest in
which the remains were preserved is still kept. The translation of the
saint’s remains took place in the reign of King Stephen.”
_Myself_. It’s a pity that no monument to her memory has been erected
here. Don’t you think so, Mr. Eli?
“I cannot share your opinion, my friend. This well and its wonderful
cures are monuments which will live when Parian marble shall crumble into
dust. But there is another monument. Observe,” said Mr. Eli, “the sweet
scented moss which grows there by the well-side, the _Jungermannia
esplenoides_ of Linnæus. On each anniversary of the decollation of Saint
Winifred, this moss, and the stones of the fountain, assume the colour of
blood. This annual change in the tint of the moss is an immortal
monument of the dear departed saint, as if it said:—
“For thee, blest maid, my tears, my endless pain,
Shall in immortal monuments remain.
The image of thy death each year renew,
And prove my grief, to distant ages, true.”
After making a general inspection of the well, and examining the
grotesque figures of animals and other works of sculpture, my friend and
I paid a brief visit to the chapel over the well. During our stay there,
he placed in my hand a copy of the following letter, addressed by the
queen of James II., to Sir Roger Mostyn.
“SIR ROGER MOSTYN,—
“It having pleased the king, by his royal grant, to bestow upon me
the ancient chapel adjoining St. Winifred’s Well, these are to desire
you to give present possession, in my name, of the said chapel, to
Mr. Thomas Roberts, who will deliver this letter into your hands. It
being also my intention to have the place decently repaired, and put
to a good use, I further desire that you will afford him your favour
and protection, that he may not be disturbed in the performance
thereof. You may rest assured that what you do herein, according to
my desire, shall be very kindly remembered by
“Your good friend,
“MARY REGINA.
“WHITEHALL,
_May_ 8_th_, 1687.”
On leaving the chapel, I cordially thanked my friend for the information
he had imparted respecting the Winifred legend; and told him, that some
day I would try to make his name and his Eli Treffynnon as immortal as
the saint whose history he had so eloquently told. But before my tale
sees the light, my entertainer has gone to that bourne from whence no
traveller returns; yet it may be,—who knows?—that his spirit still visits
our world, and communes with dear ones and friends left behind.
[Picture: View of Swansea in September, 1748]
THE VISIT OF ELIDORUS TO THE FAIRY KINGDOM BENEATH THE BAY.
A short time before our visit to Swansea, wrote Giraldus Cambrensis, a
circumstance worthy of note occurred in these parts, which Elidorus, a
priest, most strenuously affirmed had befallen him. When a youth of
twelve years, and learning his letters, since, as Solomon says, “The root
of learning is bitter, although the fruit is sweet,” in order to avoid
the discipline and frequent stripes inflicted on him by his preceptor, he
ran away, and concealed himself under the hollow bank of a river. After
fasting in that situation for two days, two little men of pigmy stature
appeared to him, saying, “If you will come with us, we will lead you into
a country full of delights and sports.” Assenting and rising up, he
followed his guides through a path, at first subterraneous and dark, into
a most beautiful country, adorned with rivers and meadows, woods and
plains, but obscure, and not illuminated with the full light of the sun.
All the days were cloudy, and the nights extremely dark, on account of
the absence of the moon and stars. The boy was brought before the king,
and introduced to him in the presence of the court; who, having examined
him for a long time, delivered him to his son, who was then a boy. The
men were of the smallest stature, but very well proportioned in their
make; they were all of a fair complexion, with luxuriant hair falling
over their shoulders like that of women. They had horses and greyhounds
adapted to their size. They neither ate flesh nor fish, but lived on
milk diet, made up into messes with saffron. They never took an oath,
for they detested nothing so much as lies. As often as they returned
from our upper hemisphere, they reprobated our ambition, infidelities,
and inconstancies. They had no form of public worship, being strict
lovers and reverers, as it seemed, of truth.
The boy frequently returned to our hemisphere, sometimes by the way he
had first gone, sometimes by another; at first in company with other
persons, and afterwards alone; and made himself known only to his mother,
declaring to her the manners, nature, and state of that people. Being
desired by her to bring a present of gold, with which that region
abounded, he stole, when at play with the king’s son, the golden ball
with which he used to divert himself, and brought it to his mother in
great haste; and when he reached the door of his father’s house, but not
unpursued, and was entering it in a great hurry, his foot stumbled on the
threshold, and falling down into the room where his mother was sitting,
the two pigmies seized the ball, which had dropped from his hand, and
departed, showing the boy every mark of contempt and derision. On
recovering from the fall, confounded with shame, and execrating the evil
counsel of his mother, he returned by the usual track to the
subterraneous road, but found no appearance of any passage, though he
searched for it on the banks of the river (Tawe) for nearly the space of
a year. But since those calamities which reason cannot mitigate are
often alleviated by time, and length of time alone blunts the edge of our
afflictions, and puts an end to many evils, the youth having been brought
back by his friends and mother, and restored to his right way of
thinking, and to his learning, in process of time attained the rank of
priesthood. Whenever David II., Bishop of St. David’s, talked to him in
his advanced state of life concerning this event, he could never relate
the particulars without shedding tears. He had made himself acquainted
with the language of that nation, the words of which, in his younger
days, he used to recite, which, as the bishop had often informed me, were
very conformable to the Greek idiom. When they asked for water, they
said, “Ydor ydorum,” which meant, bring water; for “ydor,” in their
language, signifies water, and dwr also, in the British language,
signifies water. When they wanted salt they said, “Halgein ydorum,”
bring salt. Salt is called halen in British.
[So far the narrative of Giraldus Cambrensis. We are happy to be able to
lay before our readers some further details, hitherto unpublished, of the
early life of Elidorus, and of his visits to the fairy kingdom beneath
the bay.]
On the brow of Town Hill, and commanding a magnificent view of Swansea
Bay, the channel, and their circumjacent coast, with the Devonian range
of mountains in the distance; there stood, at the time of which we write,
a small thatched cottage, with mud or clay walls, which was then occupied
by Shôn Gwyllt, his wife Mary, and their son John, an only child.
Shôn, as had been his father and his grandfather before him, was a
fisherman, which, in those times, was a highly remunerative business.
Fish of all kinds were then abundant, and they commanded a ready market.
In the bay were shoals of conger, cod, mullet, sole, whiting, and
flat-fish; while, in the season, the fishermen were often fortunate
enough to secure in their nets sea trout and salmon, which, for delicacy
of flavour, were unequalled in the British seas and rivers, the Tawe
excepted. In the Tawe salmon were as plentiful as the daisy on the
verdant mead in early summer. The waters of that river then, and for
several hundred years after, were as clear as the crystal dewdrops. Now
it was on that delightful, that glossy and pellucid river that Shôn
Gwyllt plied his trade, and the sylvan groves on its banks resounded with
the sound of his rich tenor voice. Shôn loved a good song, and the echo
of his voice in the near and distant groves had for him a peculiar charm.
We have already observed that Shôn plied his calling on the Tawe. He had
a horror of the sea. Upon its waters he never ventured. Nothing could
induce him to join his brother fishermen in the bay. Though they often
tempted him by predicting that they would certainly have a splendid haul
of fish, yet the prospect of a rich reward for his labour had no
influence on his mind. To their solicitation he used to reply, “The Tawe
has been a good and generous parent to me, so I shall not forsake the
kind and rich old mother.” And Shôn did not forsake her. Day after day,
during the season, he might be seen with his coracle on his back, wending
his way down Mount Pleasant and across the fields to the Tawe (there were
no houses there then), and thence he fished up the river as far as
Morriston, which at that time consisted of a few clod-built huts. It was
but seldom that he ventured above that village, though occasionally, and
once in a way, he fished up to Ynistawe, but never went so high up the
stream as Penllwch. His aversion to Penllwch appears to have arisen from
the circumstance that his cousin met with an untimely end there, and Shôn
dreaded to fish the deep pools under Glais, where the young man, whom he
loved as a brother, was drowned.
Although Shôn was passionately fond of his trade, yet, strange to say, he
was strongly opposed to his son following in his footsteps. He reasoned
thus: It is an occupation in which there is a great risk of life. The
fisherman has to contend with bad seasons, and occasionally fish is a
drug in the market. The business is not respectable; those engaged in it
are men of the lowest class, ignorant, drunken, and improvident, living
from hand to mouth, never saving a penny against a rainy day. Instead of
allowing young John to accompany him, he resolved to send him to school;
and to school accordingly his son was duly sent. John, however, hated
school, and intensely disliked his preceptor, a dislike he gloried in
exhibiting whenever an opportunity offered itself. The teacher resented
the boy’s conduct by the free use of the cane. In the severity of
punishment he had no mercy, and to escape chastisement young Gwyllt often
absented himself from school. The hours thus spent were among the
happiest of his boyhood. After his father had gone, John would walk down
to the Tawe, and leaping into a stranded coracle, he, with his paddle,
would spend hour after hour in skimming over the waters. When he got
tired, he would row to the bank, and fastening his little boat to the
stake, lie down to rest. The remainder of the youth’s story we shall
tell in his own words, which are as follows:—
I lay me down on the banks of Tawe’s crystal waters, and slept. In my
sleep, behold I had a dream. In my dream or vision I saw a man
approaching who was exceeding small in stature. He was clad in rich
apparel, and the fastenings of his garments—which were as white as the
winter’s snow—were of pure gold, rubies, and other precious gems. When
he came up to the place where I lay, he addressed me in the softest and
sweetest voice I had ever heard, and the voice said, “Oh, youth with
ruddy cheeks and curly locks, why sleepest thou, seeing it is only the
third hour after the sun of thy world has passed his meridian?”
“I sleep,” I replied, “to forget the past, to drown the very thought of
existence.”
“With youth,” said the voice, “there is nothing to regret. The days of
youth are days of innocence and pleasure. Every breeze fans the flame of
delight.”
“But my sorrow, sweet voice, does not spring from the heart’s passion or
paternal unkindness, but from stripes inflicted upon my body by a
tyrannical and cruel teacher, a man who has no mercy nor kindness of
heart.”
“Methinks you neglect your lesson,” said the voice, “and your preceptor
uses the rod in order to teach you to be wise and learned.”
“If that be so, I’d rather be ignorant with whole bones, than learned
with the lash so frequently used on my back.”
“There is a saying in your country, is there not?” said the voice,
“‘spare the rod; spoil the child.’”
“Yes, yes; there is such a proverb, though I believe in it not.”
“What do you then believe in, my child?” asked the voice.
“I believe in gentleness and kindness. The victory that overcometh the
world is love. Love will soften the hardest heart, subdue the most
stubborn will, and melt the hardest natures like wax is melted in the
fire.”
“If you worked hard at your books, and were attentive to your lessons,
your master would probably be kind to you. You should remember that
youth is the time to acquire knowledge, and that its possession is one of
the most pleasurable things on earth.”
“Knowledge might be all you say in its favour, sweet voice, but I care
not for it. One day spent on the banks of this beautiful river, or
skimming on the bosom of its limpid and crystal waters in some friend’s
coracle, from which I often watch the finny tribe below in their plays
and gambols—is better to me than a thousand anywhere else. The waters of
the Tawe are to me a source of exquisite delight, an unspeakable charm.
I could gaze upon them for ever.”
“Ah, comely youth,” said the voice, “you speak what you know, and I must
own to being charmed with your enthusiasm. You are young, and your
vision is contracted. You are inexperienced; your world is bounded by
the surrounding horizon. If you will come with me, I will show you
fairer climes than these, more beautiful landscapes, grander hills and
mountains; vales infinitely more lovely, and streamlets, brooks and
rivers, which surpass in splendour and sublimity all other running waters
of the world. Besides, in my country, everything is beautiful. The gold
is as abundant there as are the stones on this lowland strand or on
ocean’s tidal shore.”
“You have drawn, sweet voice, a charming picture of your country, but
where is it? Is it an ideal or a real kingdom? If it be real, I would
visit if I knew the way. Pray tell me the road which leads to a world so
resplendently beautiful.”
“Fair youth,” said the voice, “the road is nigh thee; it is close to
where thou sleepest. I will conduct thee there.”
“On one condition only will I be thy companion.”
“Name your condition, and if it be in my power, it shall be granted.”
“That you solemnly promise to guide me back again to my own native
sphere, in the event of my failing to find the way.”
“Yes; I promise. Further, you shall have perfect liberty to stay, or to
return to this upper world, at any time you desire. I will, too, be your
companion.”
“But who art thou? What, too, is thy name?”
“I am a prince of my kingdom; and my name is Tippin.”
“What is your highness’ position at the royal court?”
“I am chancellor of my royal master, King Penaf, the wisest and best of
monarchs.”
“Pray prince, is your king a giant like you?”
“In wisdom, yes. But fair youth, you should judge all men, not by their
stature, but by their wise words, weighty sayings, and just decrees. The
mind is the standard of man, for mind is the man. But don’t let us tarry
longer. Awake! awake! oh sleeper; arise from your couch of sand; let us
away, for my hour of departure has come.”
When I awoke, I found myself being carried through a dimly-lighted tunnel
on the wings of the wind; I say on the wings of the wind for I was not
conscious that any palpable substance touched my body. The further we
receded from the earth, the wider and loftier became the subterranean
passage; and by means of the dim light, I discerned rocks of gold and
precious stones. When we arrived at the end of the passage, there
appeared in the distance a scene which filled my bosom with wonder and
admiration; never had I previously beheld such a combination of beauty.
How shall I describe it! This I cannot do, for it passes description;
far grander, infinitely grander, was the scene than anything I had ever
witnessed.
In the distance were high hills and Alpine heights, plains and meads, and
dells, which were covered with grass of emerald green. I could see
neither sun, nor moon, nor stars; but the country was illumined by a
beautiful blue soft light which was delightful, and most agreeable to the
eye. Between day and night, there appeared no perceptible difference;
while in those regions, summer and winter, spring and autumn, were
unknown. Their year was distinguished by no seasons; they enjoyed a
perpetual spring. Beautiful was their clime, exquisitely lovely was
their country, singular and mysterious were the people.
As regards the climate, it had no variation. There was always there a
soft, gentle, and warm breeze; which produced the most delectable
sensation. This breeze appeared to possess life-giving and
life-sustaining properties. When it came, as it sometimes did, in
stronger currents than was generally the case, the old would repair to
the mountain tops or bwllchs, and after two or three hours’ stay would
return to the plain strong, blooming, and hale. But more of this anon.
Immediately after our arrival in the open country, the prince conducted
me in silence to a building, the walls of which were formed of the finest
marble. Its entrance was guarded by two little men, even less in stature
than my conductor, who made obeisance as we passed. The prince conducted
me up a flight of stairs, and then through several rooms, containing rich
and costly furniture; at last we came to a door on which was printed in
letters of gold “The King’s Chamber.” This chamber we entered. Having
placed a chair beside me for my use, he then walked to the other side of
the chamber, where there was a curious instrument fastened to a silver
slab, and touched a small spring. There was attached to the instrument a
thread or wire of the most delicate workmanship, which quivered at the
touch; presently I heard the sound of a bell, which was followed by
several ticks, and when the ticks ceased, the prince remarked that the
royal carriage from Dinas Aur would arrive there in half an hour, in
order to take us to the golden city.
“And how far is it to your city?” I asked.
“The actual distance is one hundred and twenty miles.”
“But your carriage travels more swiftly than the flight of the bird?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, is it safe to go so fast?”
“Yes, perfectly safe.”
“Your assurance contents me. Will you, please, answer me one question,
namely: as you appear to travel about 250 miles in an hour, I want to
know in what consists your motive power? Surely your horses can’t travel
so rapidly as that?”
“Oh no; we don’t use horses. In these regions we make nature administer
to our every want. We shall travel through the air, which we use to
propel us along; more I cannot say, as this singular phenomenon is beyond
my comprehension. The thing was discovered by our wise men, who keep the
secret in their own breasts. Look, my young friend,” said the prince,
addressing me; “the carriage is coming, do you observe its approach?”