There exist precious treasures of every kind Profoundly in earth's quiet bosom enshrin'd; There's searching about them, and ever has been, And by some they are found, and by some never seen.

With wonderful wisdom the Lord G.o.d on high Has contriv'd the two lights which exist in the sky; The sun's hot as fire, and its ray bright as gold, But the moon's ever pale, and by nature is cold.

The sun, which resembles a huge world of fire, Would burn up full quickly creation entire Save the moon with its temp'rament cool did a.s.suage Of its brighter companion the fury and rage.

Now I beg you the sun and the moon to behold, The one that's so bright, and the other so cold, And say if two things in creation there be Better emblems of Riches and Poverty.

POVERTY.

In manner most brief, yet convincing and clear, You have told the whole truth to my wond'ring ear, And I see that 'twas G.o.d, who in all things is fair, Has a.s.sign'd us the forms, in this world which we bear.

In the sight of the world doth the wealthy man seem Like the sun which doth warm everything with its beam; Whilst the poor needy wight with his pitiable case Resembles the moon which doth chill with its face.

RICHES.

You know that full oft, in their course as they run, An eclipse cometh over the moon or the sun; Certain hills of the earth with their summits of pride The face of the one from the other do hide.

The sun doth uplift his magnificent head, And illumines the moon, which were otherwise dead, Even as Wealth from its station on high, Giveth work and provision to Poverty.

POVERTY.

I know, and the thought mighty sorrow instils, The sins of the world are the terrible hills An eclipse which do cause, or a dread obscuration, To one or another in every vocation.

RICHES.

It is true that G.o.d gives unto each from his birth Some task to perform whilst he wends upon earth, But He gives correspondent wisdom and force To the weight of the task, and the length of the course.

[_Exit_.

POVERTY.

I hope there are some, who 'twixt me and the youth Have heard this discourse, whose sole aim is the truth, Will see and acknowledge, as homeward they plod, Each thing is arrang'd by the wisdom of G.o.d.

There can be no doubt that Tom was a poet, or he could never have treated the hackneyed subjects of Riches and Poverty in a manner so original, and at the same time so masterly, as he has done in the interlude above a.n.a.lysed; I cannot, however, help thinking that he was greater as a man than a poet, and that his fame depends more on the cleverness, courage and energy, which it is evident by his biography that he possessed, than on his interludes. A time will come when his interludes will cease to be read, but his making ink out of elderberries, his battle with the "cruel fighter," his teaching his horses to turn the crane, and his getting the ship to the water, will be talked of in Wales till the peak of Snowdon shall fall down.

CHAPTER LXI

Set out for Wrexham-Craig y Forwyn-Uncertainty-The Collier-Cadogan Hall-Methodistical Volume.

Having learnt from a newspaper that a Welsh book on Welsh Methodism had been just published at Wrexham, I determined to walk to that place and purchase it. I could easily have procured the work through a bookseller at Llangollen, but I wished to explore the hill-road which led to Wrexham, what the farmer under the Eglwysig rocks had said of its wildness having excited my curiosity, which the procuring of the book afforded me a plausible excuse for gratifying. If one wants to take any particular walk, it is always well to have some business, however trifling, to transact at the end of it; so having determined to go to Wrexham by the mountain road, I set out on the Sat.u.r.day next after the one on which I had met the farmer who had told me of it.

The day was gloomy, with some tendency to rain. I pa.s.sed under the hill of Dinas Bran. About a furlong from its western base I turned round and surveyed it-and perhaps the best view of the n.o.ble mountain is to be obtained from the place where I turned round. How grand, though sad, from there it looked, that grey morning, with its fine ruin on its brow, above which a little cloud hovered! It put me in mind of some old king, unfortunate and melancholy, but a king still, with the look of a king, and the ancestral crown still on his furrowed forehead. I proceeded on my way, all was wild and solitary, and the yellow leaves were falling from the trees of the groves. I pa.s.sed by the farmyard, where I had held discourse with the farmer on the preceding Sat.u.r.day, and soon entered the glen, the appearance of which had so much attracted my curiosity. A torrent, rushing down from the north, was on my right. It soon began to drizzle, and mist so filled the glen that I could only distinguish objects a short way before me, and on either side. I wandered on a considerable way, crossing the torrent several times by rustic bridges.

I pa.s.sed two lone farm-houses, and at last saw another on my left hand-the mist had now cleared up, but it still slightly rained-the scenery was wild to a degree-a little way before me was a tremendous pa.s.s, near it an enormous crag, of a strange form, rising to the very heavens, the upper part of it of a dull white colour. Seeing a respectable-looking man near the house, I went up to him. "Am I in the right way to Wrexham?" said I, addressing him in English.

"You can get to Wrexham this way, sir," he replied.

"Can you tell me the name of that crag?" said I, pointing to the large one.

"That crag, sir, is called Craig y Forwyn."

"The maiden's crag," said I; "why is it called so?"

"I do not know, sir; some people say that it is called so because its head is like that of a woman, others because a young girl in love leaped from the top of it and was killed."

"And what is the name of this house?" said I.

"This house, sir, is called Plas Uchaf."

"Is it called Plas Uchaf," said I, "because it is the highest house in the valley?"

"It is, sir; it is the highest of three homesteads; the next below it is Plas Canol-and the one below that Plas Isaf."

"Middle place and lower place," said I. "It is very odd that I know in England three people who derive their names from places so situated. One is Houghton, another Middleton, and the third Lowdon; in modern English, Hightown, Middletown, and Lowtown."

"You appear to be a person of great intelligence, sir."

"No, I am not-but I am rather fond of a.n.a.lysing words, particularly the names of persons and places. Is the road to Wrexham hard to find?"

"Not very, sir; that is, in the day-time. Do you live at Wrexham?"

"No," I replied, "I am stopping at Llangollen."

"But you won't return there to-night?"

"O yes, I shall!"

"By this road?"

"No, by the common road. This is not a road to travel by night."

"Nor is the common road, sir, for a respectable person on foot; that is, on a Sat.u.r.day night. You will perhaps meet drunken colliers, who may knock you down."

"I will take my chance for that," said I, and bade him farewell. I entered the pa.s.s, pa.s.sing under the strange-looking crag. After I had walked about half-a-mile the pa.s.s widened considerably, and a little way farther on debouched on some wild, moory ground. Here the road became very indistinct. At length I stopped in a state of uncertainty. A well-defined path presented itself, leading to the east, whilst northward before me there seemed scarcely any path at all. After some hesitation I turned to the east by the well-defined path, and by so doing went wrong, as I soon found.

I mounted the side of a brown hill covered with moss-like gra.s.s, and here and there heather. By the time I arrived at the top of the hill the sun shone out, and I saw Rhiwabon and Cefn Mawr before me in the distance.

"I am going wrong," said I; "I should have kept on due north. However, I will not go back, but will steeplechase it across the country to Wrexham, which must be towards the north-east." So turning aside from the path, I dashed across the hills in that direction; sometimes the heather was up to my knees, and sometimes I was up to the knees in quags. At length I came to a deep ravine, which I descended; at the bottom was a quagmire, which, however, I contrived to cross by means of certain stepping-stones, and came to a cart-path up a heathery hill, which I followed. I soon reached the top of the hill, and the path still continuing, I followed it till I saw some small grimy-looking huts, which I supposed were those of colliers. At the door of the first I saw a girl. I spoke to her in Welsh, and found she had little or none. I pa.s.sed on, and seeing the door of a cabin open, I looked in-and saw no adult person, but several grimy but chubby children. I spoke to them in English, and found they could only speak Welsh. Presently I observed a robust woman advancing towards me; she was barefooted, and bore on her head an immense lump of coal. I spoke to her in Welsh, and found she could only speak English.

"Truly," said I to myself, "I am on the borders. What a mixture of races and languages!" The next person I met was a man in a collier's dress; he was a stout-built fellow of the middle age, with a coal-dusty, surly countenance. I asked him in Welsh if I was in the right direction for Wrexham, he answered in a surly manner in English that I was. I again spoke to him in Welsh, making some indifferent observation on the weather, and he answered in English yet more gruffly than before. For the third time I spoke to him in Welsh, whereupon, looking at me with a grin of savage contempt, and showing a set of teeth like those of a mastiff, he said, "How's this? why, you haven't a word of English! A pretty fellow, you, with a long coat on your back, and no English on your tongue; an't you ashamed of yourself? Why, here am I in a short coat, yet I'd have you to know that I can speak English as well as Welsh, aye, and a good deal better." "All people are not equally clebber," said I, still speaking Welsh. "Clebber," said he, "clebber! what is clebber? why can't you say clever? Why, I never saw such a low, illiterate fellow in my life;" and with these words he turned away, with every mark of disdain, and entered a cottage near at hand.

"Here I have had," said I to myself, as I proceeded on my way, "to pay for the over-praise which I lately received. The farmer on the other side of the mountain called me a person of great intelligence, which I never pretended to be, and now this collier calls me a low, illiterate fellow, which I really don't think I am. There is certainly a Nemesis mixed up with the affairs of this world; every good thing which you get, beyond what is strictly your due, is sure to be required from you with a vengeance. A little over-praise by a great deal of under-rating-a gleam of good fortune by a night of misery."

I now saw Wrexham Church at about the distance of three miles, and presently entered a lane which led gently down from the hills, which were the same heights I had seen on my right hand, some months previously, on my way from Wrexham to Rhiwabon. The scenery now became very pretty-hedge-rows were on either side, a luxuriance of trees, and plenty of green fields. I reached the bottom of the lane, beyond which I saw a strange-looking house upon a slope on the right hand. It was very large, ruinous, and seemingly deserted. A little beyond it was a farm-house, connected with which was a long row of farming buildings along the roadside. Seeing a woman seated knitting at the door of a little cottage, I asked her in English the name of the old ruinous house.

"Cadogan Hall, sir," she replied.