Of Addison's poetry two or three lines may be in people's mouths,
though I never heard one quoted, the only line which I ever heard
quoted as Addison's not being his but Garth's:
"'Tis best repenting in a coach and six.'
Whilst of the verses of Huw Morris I never knew any one but myself,
who am not a Welshman, who could repeat a line beyond the four
which I have twice had occasion to mention, and which seem to be
generally known in North if not in South Wales.
From the flagstone I proceeded to the portico and gazed upon it
intensely. It presented nothing very remarkable, but it had the
greatest interest for me, for I remembered how many times Huw
Morris had walked out of that porch at the head of the
congregation, the clergyman yielding his own place to the inspired
bard. I would fain have entered the church, but the landlord had
not the key, and told me that he imagined there would be some
difficulty in procuring it. I was therefore obliged to content
myself with peeping through a window into the interior, which had a
solemn and venerable aspect.
"Within there," said I to myself, "Huw Morris, the greatest
songster of the seventeenth century, knelt every Sunday during the
latter thirty years of his life, after walking from Pont y Meibion
across the bleak and savage Berwyn. Within there was married
Barbara Wynn, the Rose of Maelai, to Richard Middleton, the
handsome cavalier of Maelor, and within there she lies buried, even
as the songster who lamented her untimely death in immortal verse
lies buried out here in the graveyard. What interesting
associations has this church for me, both outside and in, but all
connected with Huw; for what should I have known of Barbara, the
Rose, and gallant Richard but for the poem on their affectionate
union and untimely separation, the dialogue between the living and
the dead, composed by humble Huw, the farmer's son of Ponty y
Meibion?"
After gazing through the window till my eyes watered I turned to
the innkeeper, and inquired the way to Llan Rhyadr. Having
received from him the desired information I thanked him for his
civility, and set out on my return.
Before I could get clear of the town I suddenly encountered my
friend R-, the clever lawyer and magistrate's clerk of Llangollen.
"I little expected to see you here," said he.
"Nor I you," I replied.
"I came in my official capacity," said he; "the petty sessions have
been held here to-day."
"I know they have," I replied; "and that two poachers have been
convicted. I came here on my way to South Wales to see the grave
of Huw Morris, who, as you know, is buried in the churchyard."
"Have you seen the clergyman?" said R-.
"No," I replied.
