"The way through the Red Sea was safe enough for Israel, but not for Pharaoh; he had no business to go that way, it was a private road, that G.o.d had opened up for His own family."

"Let the oldest believer remember that Satan is older."

"Christ is the Bishop, not of t.i.tles, but of souls."

"Moses was learned, but slow of speech; it was well that he was so, or, perhaps, he would not have found time to write the law. Aaron had the gift of speech, and it does not appear that he had any other gift."

"If you have no pleasure in your religion, make haste to change it."

"Judas is much blamed for betraying Christ for three pounds; many, in our day, betray Him a hundred times for three pence."

"Pharaoh commanded that Moses should be drowned; in after days, Pharaoh was paid back in his own coin."

"Many have a brother's face, but Christ has a brother's heart."

Such was Thomas Rhys Davies; like Christmas Evans, journeying from North through South Wales, he was taken ill in the same house in which Christmas Evans died. Conscious of his approaching death, he begged that he might die in the same bed; this was not possible, but he was buried in the same grave.

Then there was EVAN JONES; he had been a _protege_ of Christmas Evans; Christmas Evans appears to have brought him forward, giving his verdict on his suitability as to the ministry. Christmas Evans was able to appreciate the young man, for he seems to have possessed really brilliant powers; in his country, and in his land's language, he attained to the distinction of a bard; and it is said that his poetry rose to an elevation of wild, and daring grandeur. As a preacher, he does not appear to have studied to be popular, or to seek to adapt his sermons to the mult.i.tude; he probably moved through cloudy grandeurs, from whence, however, he sometimes descended, with an odd quaintness, which, if always surprising, was sometimes reprehensible. Once, he was expatiating, glowingly, on the felicities of the heavenly state, in that tone, and strain which most preachers love, occasionally, to indulge, and which most hearers certainly, occasionally, enjoy; he was giving many descriptive delineations of heavenly blessedness, and incidentally said, "There they neither marry, nor are given in marriage." There was sitting beneath him a fervent brother, who, probably, not knowing what he said, sounded forth a hearty "Amen!" Evan heard it, looked the man full in the face, and said, "Ah, you've had enough of it, have you?"

This man was, perhaps, in his later years, the most intimate friend of Christmas Evans. Christmas poured his brilliant imagination, couched in his grand, although informal, rhetoric over the mult.i.tudes; Evan Jones frequently soared into fields whither, only here and there, an eye could follow his flight; but when the two friends were alone, their spirits could mingle pleasantly, for their minds were cast very much in the same mould; and when Christmas Evans died, it was this friend who published in Welsh one of the most graceful tributes to his memory.

In the history of the preaching, and preachers of a hundred years since, we meet, of course, with many instances of men, who possessed considerable power, but allied with much illiterate roughness; still, the power made itself very manifest-a power of ill.u.s.trating truth, and making it clearly apprehended. Such a preacher must SHENKIN OF PENHYDD have been, rough, and rude farmer as he was, blending, as was not at all uncommon then, and even in our own far more recent knowledge, the occupations of a farmer, and the ordained minister. Shenkin has left a very living reputation behind him; indeed, from some of the accounts we have read of him, we should regard him as quite a type of the rude, yet very effective, Welsh orator.

Whatever the Welsh preacher had to say, however abstract, it had to be committed to an ill.u.s.tration, to make it palpable, and plain. In those early times, a very large room, or barn, in which were several hundreds of people, would, perhaps, have only one solitary candle, feebly glimmering over the gloom. It was in such circ.u.mstances, or such a scene, that Shenkin was once preaching on Christ as the Light of the world. In the course of his sermon, he came to show that the world was not its own light, and announced to his hearers what, perhaps, might startle some of them, that "light was not in the eye." It seemed as if he had no sooner said this, than he felt it to be a matter that required ill.u.s.tration. As he warmed with his subject, going round, and round to make his meaning plain, but all the time seeming to fear that he was not doing much towards it with his rustic congregation, he suddenly turned to the solitary candle, and blew it out, leaving his congregation in utter darkness. "There," he exclaimed, triumphantly, to his invisible congregation, "what do you say to that? Is the light in the eye?" This, of course, settled the matter in the minds of the most obtuse; but it was still a serious matter to have to relight, in a lonely little chapel, an extinguished candle.

He was a singular creature, this Shenkin. Not many Welsh preachers have a greater variety of odd stories told than he, of his doings, and sayings. He had a very downright, and straightforward method of speech.

Thus, he would say, "There are many who complain that they can scarcely remember anything they hear. Have done with your lying!" he exclaimed.

"I'll be bound to say you remember well what you sold your old white horse for at Llandaff fair three years ago. Six or seven pounds, was it?

Certainly that has not escaped your memory. You can remember anything but the Gospel." And many of his images were much more of the rough-and-ready, than of the cla.s.sical, order. "Humility," he once said, "is as beautiful an ornament as a cow's tail; but it grows, like the cow's tail, downwards."

Wales was covered with men like this. Every district possessed them, and many of them have found their memorial in some little volume, although, in most instances, they only survive in the breath of popular remembrance, and tradition.

One of the mightiest of these sons of thunder, who has left behind him a name, and fame, scarcely inferior to the great ones on whom we have more lengthily dwelt, was EBENEZER MORRIS. He was a fine, free, cheerful spirit; his character sparkled with every Christian virtue,-a man of rare gifts, and grace. With a severe sense of what was just in the relations of life, and what const.i.tuted the principles of a strong theology, keeping his unblemished course beneath the dominion of a peaceful conscience, he enjoyed, more than many, the social fireside chat, with congenial friends. Although a pastor, and a preacher of wide fame, he was also a farmer; for he was one of an order of men, of whom it has been said, that good people were so impressed with the privilege conferred by preaching the gospel, that their hearers were careful not to deprive them of the full enjoyment of it, by remunerating their labours too abundantly.

Ebenezer Morris held a farm, and the farmer seems to have been worthy of the preacher. A story is told of him that, wanting to buy a cow, and going down to the fair, he found one for sale which he thought would suit him, and he bought it at the price named by its owner. Some days after, Mr. Morris found that the price of cattle had gone up considerably, and meeting the previous owner of the cow, he said, "Look here, I find you gave me too great a bargain the other day; the cow is worth more than I purchased her for,-here is another guinea; now I think we shall be about right."

There are several stories told, in the life of this good, and great man, showing that he could not take an unfair advantage, that he was above everything mean, unfair, and selfish, and that guineas, and farms weighed nothing with him in the balance against righteousness, and truth. His influence over his whole country was immense; so much so, that a magistrate addressed him once in public, saying, "We are under great obligations to you, Mr. Morris, for keeping the country in order, and preserving peace among the people; you are worth more than any dozen of us." On one occasion he was subpnaed, to attend before a court of justice, to give evidence in a disputed case. As the book was handed to him, that he might take the oath, the presiding magistrate said, "No! no!

take it away; there is no necessity that Mr. Morris should swear at all; his word is enough."

His appearance in preaching, his entire presence, is described as most majestic, and commanding: his voice was very loud, and it is said, a word from his mouth would roll over the people like a mighty wave. "Look at that window," said an aged deacon, in North Wales, to a minister, who had come to preach at the chapel to which the former belonged, "look at that window! It was there that Ebenezer Morris stood, when he preached his great sermon from the words, 'The way of life is above to the wise, that he may depart from h.e.l.l beneath,' and when we all turned pale while we were listening to him." "Ah!" said the minister, "do you remember any portion of that sermon?" "Remember!" said the old deacon; "remember, my good man? I should think I do, and shall remember for ever. Why, there was no flesh here that could stand before it!" "What did he say?" said the minister. "Say! my good man," replied the deacon; "say? Why, he was saying, 'Beneath, beneath, beneath! Oh, my people, h.e.l.l is beneath, beneath, _beneath_!' until it seemed as if the end of the world had come upon us all in the chapel, and outside!"

When Theophilus Jones was selected as Rowland Hill's co-pastor at Wooton-under-Edge, Ebenezer Morris came to preach on his induction. In that place, the audience was not likely to be a very sleepy one, but this preacher roused them beyond their usual mark, and strange stories are told of the sermon, while old Rowland sat behind the preacher, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. the whole of the time; and many times after, when Mr. Hill found the people heavy, and inattentive, he was in the habit of saying, "We must have the fat minister from Wales here, to rouse you up again!"

We know his likeness very well, and can almost realize his grand, solemn manner, in his black velvet cap, which made him look like a bishop, and gave much more impressiveness to his aspect, than any mitre could have done.

This Ebenezer Morris was the son of a man eminent in his own day, David Morris, of whom it was said, that he scarcely ever preached a sermon which was not the means of the conversion of men, and in his evangelistic tours he usually preached two, or three times a day. There is a sermon, still spoken of, preached at Rippont Bridge, Anglesea. The idea came to him whilst he was preaching, that many of the people before him might surely be lost, and he burst forth into a loud dolorous wail, every line of his countenance in sympathy with his agonizing cry, in Welsh, which no translation can render, "O bobl y golled fawr! y golled fawr!" The English is, "O ye people of the great loss! the great loss!" It seems slight enough to us, but it is said that the people not only moved before his words, like reeds in a storm, but to this day they speak in Anglesea of David Morris's sermon of "The Great Loss."

The great authority for the most interesting stories of the religious life in Wales, is the "History of Welsh Methodism," by the late Rev. John Hughes, of Liverpool; unfortunately, we believe it only exists in Welsh, in three volumes, amounting to nearly two thousand pages; but "Welsh Calvinistic Methodism; a Historical Sketch," by the Rev. William Williams, appears to be princ.i.p.ally a very entertaining digest, and condensation, of many of the most noticeable particulars from the larger work. There have certainly appeared, from time to time, many most interesting, and faithful men in the ministry of the Gospel in Wales, quite beyond the possibility of distinct mention; some of them were very poor, and lowly in life, and circ.u.mstances. Such was THOMAS HUGHES. He is described as a man of small talent, and slender knowledge, but of great holiness, and with an intense faith that many of his neighbours were in a very bad condition, and that it was his duty to try to speak words to them, whereby they might be saved. He used to stand under the old walls of Conway, and numbers gathered around him to listen; until at last he excited the anger of the vicar, who caused him to be arrested, and brought into his presence, when the following conversation took place:-

_Vicar_. "You ought to be a learned man, to go about, and to be able to answer deep questions."

_Hughes_. "What questions, sir?"

_Vicar_. "Here they are-those which were asked me by the Lord Bishop.

Let's see whether you will be able to answer them. Where was St. Paul born?"

_Hughes_. "In Tarsus."

_Vicar_. "Hem! I see that you know something about it. Well, can you tell me who took charge of the Virgin Mary after our blessed Redeemer was crucified?"

_Hughes_. "John."

_Vicar_. "Well, once again. Who wrote the Book of Revelation? Answer that if you can."

_Hughes_. "John the Apostle."

_Vicar_. "Ho! you seem to know a good deal, after all."

_Hughes_. "Perhaps, sir, you will allow me to ask you one or two questions?"

_Vicar_. "Oh yes; only they must be religious questions."

_Hughes_. "What is holiness? and how can a sinner be justified before G.o.d?"

_Vicar_. "Ho! we have no business to bother ourselves with such things, and you have no business to put such questions to a man in my position; go out of my sight, this minute." And to the men who had brought him, "Take care that you do not bring such people into my presence any more."

Hughes was a simple, earnest, believing man, with a good deal of Welsh cuteness. After this interview with the vicar, he was permitted to pursue his exhortations at Conway in peace. But there is a place between Conway, and Llandudno, called Towyn Ferry; it was a very ignorant little nook, and the people were steeped in unbelief, and sin; thither Hughes determined to go, but his person was not known there. The news, however, was circulated abroad, that there was to be a sermon, and religious service. When he arrived, he found things did not appear very pleasant; there were heaps of stones prepared for the preacher's reception, when he should make his appearance, or commence his work. Hughes had nothing clerical in his manner, or garb, any more than any one in the crowd, and no one suspected him to be the man, as he threw himself down on the gra.s.s, and entered familiarly into conversation with the people about him. After a time, when their patience began to fail, he stood up, and said, "Well, lads, there is no sign of any one coming; perhaps the man has heard that you are going to stone him; let one of us get up, and stand on that heap of stones, and talk, and the rest sing. Won't that be first-rate?"

"Capital," said a bully, who seemed to be the recognised leader of the crowd. "You go on the heap, and preach to us."

"Very well," said Hughes, "I'm willing to try; but mind you, I shall make some blunders, so you must be civil, and not laugh at me."

"I'll make 'em civil," said the bully. "Look here, lads, whoever laughs, I'll put one of these stones into his head!"

"Stop you!" said Hughes; "the first thing we have to do, is to pray, isn't it?"

"Ay, ay!" said the bully, "and I'll be clerk. I'll stand before you, and you shall use my shoulder for the pulpit."

So prayer was offered, short, and simple, but in real earnest; and at its close, a good many favourable words were uttered. Some volunteered the remark that, "It was every bit as good as a parson." Hughes proceeded to give out a text, but the bully shouted,-

"Hold on, you fool! we've got to sing first."

"Ay, ay!" said Hughes, "I forgot that."

So they sang a Welsh hymn, after a fashion, and then came the text, and the sermon, which was short, and simple too, listened to very attentively; and the singular part of the story is, that the bully, and clerk, left the ground with the preacher, quieted, and changed, and subsequently he became a converted man. The regeneration of Wales, through its villages, and lone remote districts, is full of anecdotes like this,-stories of persecution, and the faithful earnestness of simple men, who felt in them a strong desire to do good, and fulfilled their desire, becoming humble, but real blessings to their neighbourhoods.

Only in a history of the Welsh pulpit-and that would be a volume of no slight dimensions-would it be possible to recapitulate the names of the men who exercised, in their day, considerable influence over the scattered thousands of the Princ.i.p.ality. They const.i.tute a very varied race, and were characterized by freshness, and reality, taking, of course, the peculiar mental complexion of the preacher: some calm, and still, but waving about their words like quiet lightnings; some vehement, overwhelming, pa.s.sionate; some remarkable for their daring excursions of imagination; some abounding in wit, and humour. One of the most remarkable of these last, one who ought not to go unmentioned in such an enumeration, was SAMUEL BREEZE. This was the man who first introduced "The Churchyard World" to Dr. Raffles,-of whom it was said, that if you heard one of his sermons, you heard three preachers, so various were not only the methods of his sermons, but even the tone of his voice. He is said to have produced extraordinary effects. Christmas Evans said of him, that "his eyes were like a flame of fire, and his voice like a martial strain, calling men to arms."

The writer of this volume, in a work on the "Vocation of the Preacher,"

mentions a curious instance, which he gives from the unpublished reminiscences of a dear departed friend-the Rev. John Pyer, late of Devonport-who was present when the incident happened, in Bristol, perhaps nearly eighty years since. Sammy Breeze, as he was familiarly called by the mult.i.tudes who delighted in his ministry, came, periodically, from the mountains of Cardiganshire, or the neighbourhood of Aberystwith, to Bristol, where he spoke with more than tolerable efficiency in English.