Tongue since the time of
Saint Paul, supposing the beautiful legend to be true which tells
us that Saint Paul in his wanderings found his way to Britain and
preached to the inhabitants the inestimable efficacy of Christ's
bloodshedding in the fairest Welsh, having like all the other
apostles the miraculous gift of tongues. The good vicar did more.
In the short intervals of relaxation which he allowed himself from
the labour of the ministry during those years he composed a number
of poetical pieces, which after his death were gathered together
into a volume and published, under the title of "Canwyll y Cymry;
or, the Candle of the Welshman." This work, which has gone through
almost countless editions, is written in two common easy measures,
and the language is so plain and simple that it is intelligible to
the homeliest hind who speaks the Welsh language. All of the
pieces are of a strictly devotional character, with the exception
of one, namely, a welcome to Charles, Prince of Wales, on his
return from Spain, to which country he had gone to see the Spanish
ladye whom at one time he sought as bride. Some of the pieces are
highly curious, as they bear upon events at present forgotten; for
example, the song upon the year 1629, when the corn was blighted
throughout the land, and "A Warning to the Cumry to repent when the
Plague of Blotches and Boils was prevalent in London." Some of the
pieces are written with astonishing vigour, for example, "The Song
of the Husbandman," and "God's Better than All," of which last
piece the following is a literal translation:-
"GOD'S BETTER THAN ALL -
"God's better than heaven or aught therein,
Than the earth or aught we there can win,
Better than the world or its wealth to me -
God's better than all that is or can be.
Better than father, than mother, than nurse,
Better than riches, oft proving a curse,
Better than Martha or Mary even -
Better by far is the God of heaven.
If God for thy portion thou hast ta'en
There's Christ to support thee in every pain,
The world to respect thee thou wilt gain,
To fear thee the fiend and all his train.
Of the best of portions thou choice didst make
When thou the high God to thyself didst take,
A portion which none from thy grasp can rend
Whilst the sun and the moon on their course shall wend
When the sun grows dark and the moon turns red,
When the stars shall drop and millions dread,
When the earth shall vanish with its pomps in fire,
Thy portion still shall remain entire.
Then let not thy heart, though distressed, complain!
A hold on thy portion firm maintain.
Thou didst choose the best portion, again I say -
Resign it not till thy dying day."
The old vicarage of Llandovery is a very large mansion of dark red
brick, fronting the principal street or market-place, and with its
back to a green meadow bounded by the river Bran. It is in a very
dilapidated condition, and is inhabited at present by various poor
families. The principal room, which is said to have been the old
vicar's library, and the place where he composed his undying
Candle, is in many respects a remarkable apartment. It is of large
dimensions. The roof is curiously inlaid with stucco or mortar,
and is traversed from east to west by an immense black beam. The
fire-place, which is at the south, is very large and seemingly of
high antiquity. The windows, which are two in number and look
westward into the street, have a quaint and singular appearance.
Of all the houses in Llandovery the old vicarage is by far the most
worthy of attention, irrespective of the wonderful monument of
God's providence and grace who once inhabited it.
The reverence in which the memory of Rees Pritchard is still held
in Llandovery the following anecdote will show. As I was standing
in the principal street staring intently at the antique vicarage, a
respectable-looking farmer came up and was about to pass, but
observing how I was employed he stopped, and looked now at me and
now at the antique house. Presently he said
"A fine old place, is it not, sir? but do you know who lived
there?"
Wishing to know what the man would say provided he thought I was
ignorant as to the ancient inmate, I turned a face of inquiry upon
him; whereupon he advanced towards me two or three steps, and
placing his face so close to mine that his nose nearly touched my
cheek, he said in a kind of piercing whisper -
"The Vicar."
Then drawing his face back he looked me full in the eyes as if to
observe the effect of his intelligence, gave me two nods as if to
say, "He did, indeed," and departed.
THE Vicar of Llandovery had then been dead nearly two hundred
years. Truly the man in whom piety and genius are blended is
immortal upon earth.
CHAPTER XCVIII
Departure from Llandovery - A Bitter Methodist - North and South -
The Caravan - Captain Bosvile - Deputy Ranger - A Scrimmage - The
Heavenly Gwynfa - Dangerous Position.
ON the tenth I departed from Llandovery, which I have no hesitation
in saying is about the pleasantest little town in which I have
halted in the course of my wanderings. I intended to sleep at
Gutter Vawr, a place some twenty miles distant, just within
Glamorganshire, to reach which it would be necessary to pass over
part of a range of wild hills, generally called the Black
Mountains. I started at about ten o'clock; the morning was
lowering, and there were occasional showers of rain and hail.
