Part 97 (2/2)

”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 Glamorgans.h.i.+re, to reach which it would be necessary to pa.s.s 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. I pa.s.sed by Rees Pritchard's church, holding my hat in my hand as I did so, not out of respect for the building, but from reverence for the memory of the sainted man who of old from its pulpit called sinners to repentance, and whose remains slumber in the churchyard unless washed away by some frantic burst of the neighbouring Towey. Crossing a bridge over the Bran just before it enters the greater stream, I proceeded along a road running nearly south and having a range of fine hills on the east.

Presently violent gusts of wind came on, which tore the sear leaves by thousands from the trees of which there were plenty by the roadsides.

After a little time, however, this elemental hurly-burly pa.s.sed away, a rainbow made its appearance and the day became comparatively fine.

Turning to the south-east under a hill covered with oaks, I left the vale of the Towey behind me, and soon caught a glimpse of some very lofty hills which I supposed to be the Black Mountains. It was a mere glimpse, for scarcely had I descried them when mist settled down and totally obscured them from my view.

In about an hour I reached Llangadog, a large village. The name signifies the Church of Gadog. Gadog was a British saint of the fifth century, who after labouring amongst his own countrymen for their spiritual good for many years, crossed the sea to Brittany, where he died. Scarcely had I entered Llangadog when a great shower of rain came down. Seeing an ancient-looking hostelry I at once made for it. In a large and comfortable kitchen I found a middle-aged woman seated by a huge deal table near a blazing fire, with a couple of large books open before her. Sitting down on a chair I told her in English to bring me a pint of ale. She did so and again sat down to her books, which on inquiry I found to be a Welsh Bible and Concordance. We soon got into discourse about religion, but did not exactly agree, for she was a bitter Methodist, as bitter as her beer, only half of which I could get down.

Leaving Llangadog I pushed forward. The day was now tolerably fine. In two or three hours I came to a glen, the sides of which were beautifully wooded. On my left was a river, which came roaring down from a range of lofty mountains right before me to the southeast. The river, as I was told by a lad, was the Sawdde or Southey, the lofty range the Black Mountains. Pa.s.sed a pretty village on my right standing something in the shape of a semi-circle, and in about half-an-hour came to a bridge over a river which I supposed to be the Sawdde which I had already seen, but which I subsequently learned was an altogether different stream. It was running from the south, a wild fierce flood amidst rocks and stones, the waves all roaring and foaming.

After some time I reached another bridge near the foot of a very lofty ascent. On my left to the east upon a bank was a small house, on one side of which was a wheel turned round by a flush of water running in a little artificial ca.n.a.l; close by it were two small cascades, the waters of which and also those of the ca.n.a.l pa.s.sed under the bridge in the direction of the west. Seeing a decent-looking man engaged in sawing a piece of wood by the roadside, I asked him in Welsh whether the house with the wheel was a flour-mill.

”Nage,” said he, ”it is a pandy, fulling mill.”

”Can you tell me the name of a river,” said I, ”which I have left about a mile behind me? Is it the Sawdde?”

”Nage,” said he. ”It is the Lleidach.”

Then looking at me with great curiosity he asked me if I came from the north country.

”Yes,” said I, ”I certainly come from there.”

”I am glad to hear it,” said he, ”for I have long wished to see a man from the north country.”

”Did you never see one before?” said I.

”Never in my life,” he replied: ”men from the north country seldom show themselves in these parts.”

”Well,” said I; ”I am not ashamed to say that I come from the north.”

”Ain't you? Well, I don't know that you have any particular reason to be ashamed, for it is rather your misfortune than your fault; but the idea of any one coming from the north-ho, ho!”

”Perhaps in the north,” said I, ”they laugh at a man from the south.”

”Laugh at a man from the south! No, no; they can't do that.”

”Why not?” said I; ”why shouldn't the north laugh at the south as well as the south at the north?”

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