There were three men, sitting with jugs of ale near them on a table by the fire, two were seated on a bench by the wall, and the other on a settle with a high back, which ran from the wall just by the door, and shielded those by the fire from the draughts of the doorway. He of the settle no sooner beheld me than he sprang up, and placing a chair for me by the fire bade me in English be seated, and then resumed his own seat. John Jones soon finding a chair came and sat down by me, when I forthwith called for a quart of cwrw da. The landlady bustled about on her wooden leg and presently brought us the ale with two glasses, which I filled, and taking one drank to the health of the company who returned us thanks, the man of the settle in English rather broken. Presently one of his companions getting up paid his reckoning and departed, the other remained, a stout young fellow dressed something like a stone-mason, which indeed I soon discovered that he was - he was far advanced towards a state of intoxication and talked very incoherently about the war, saying that he hoped it would soon terminate, for that if it continued he was afraid he might stand a chance of being shot, as he was a private in the Denbighshire Militia. I told him that it was the duty of every gentleman in the militia to be willing at all times to lay down his life in the service of the Queen. The answer which he made I could not exactly understand, his utterance being very indistinct and broken; it was, however, made with some degree of violence, with two or three Myn Diawls, and a blow on the table with his clenched fist. He then asked me whether I thought the militia would be again called out.
"Nothing more probable," said I.
"And where would they be sent to?"
"Perhaps to Ireland," was my answer, whereupon he started up with another Myn Diawl, expressing the greatest dread of being sent to Iwerddon.
"You ought to rejoice in your chance of going there," said I, "Iwerddon is a beautiful country, and abounds with whisky.""And the Irish?" said he.
"Hearty, jolly fellows," said I, "if you know how to manage them, and all gentlemen."Here he became very violent, saying that I did not speak truth, for that he had seen plenty of Irish camping amidst the hills, that the men were half naked and the women were three parts so, and that they carried their children on their backs. He then said that he hoped somebody would speedily kill Nicholas, in order that the war might be at an end and himself not sent to Iwerddon. He then asked if I thought Cronstadt could be taken. I said I believed it could, provided the hearts of those who were sent to take it were in the right place.
"Where do you think the hearts of those are who are gone against it?" said he - speaking with great vehemence.
I made no other answer than by taking my glass and drinking.
His companion now looking at our habiliments which were in rather a dripping condition asked John Jones if we had come from far.
"We have been to Pont y Meibion," said Jones, "to see the chair of Huw Morris," adding that the Gwr Boneddig was a great admirer of the songs of the Eos Ceiriog.
He had no sooner said these words than the intoxicated militiaman started up, and striking the table with his fist said: "I am a poor stone-cutter - this is a rainy day and I have come here to pass it in the best way I can. I am somewhat drunk, but though Iam a poor stone-mason, a private in the militia, and not so sober as I should be, I can repeat more of the songs of the Eos than any man alive, however great a gentleman, however sober - more than Sir Watkin, more than Colonel Biddulph himself."He then began to repeat what appeared to be poetry, for I could distinguish the rhymes occasionally, though owing to his broken utterance it was impossible for me to make out the sense of the words. Feeling a great desire to know what verses of Huw Morris the intoxicated youth would repeat, I took out my pocket-book and requested Jones, who was much better acquainted with Welsh pronunciation, under any circumstances, than myself, to endeavour to write down from the mouth of the young fellow any verses uppermost in his mind. Jones took the pocket-book and pencil and went to the window, followed by the young man scarcely able to support himself. Here a curious scene took place, the drinker hiccuping up verses, and Jones dotting them down, in the best manner he could, though he had evidently great difficulty to distinguish what was said to him. At last, methought, the young man said - "There they are, the verses of the Nightingale, on his death-bed."I took the book and read aloud the following lines beautifully descriptive of the eagerness of a Christian soul to leave its perishing tabernacle, and get to Paradise and its Creator:-"Myn'd i'r wyl ar redeg, I'r byd a beryi chwaneg, I Beradwys, y ber wiw deg, Yn Enw Duw yn union deg.""Do you understand those verses?" said the man on the settle, a dark swarthy fellow with an oblique kind of vision, and dressed in a pepper-and-salt coat.
"I will translate them," said I; and forthwith put them into English - first into prose and then into rhyme, the rhymed version running thus:-"Now to my rest I hurry away, To the world which lasts for ever and aye, To Paradise, the beautiful place, Trusting alone in the Lord of Grace" -"Well," said he of the pepper-and-salt, "if that isn't capital Idon't know what is."
A scene in a public-house, yes! but in a Welsh public-house. Only think of a Suffolk toper repeating the death-bed verses of a poet;surely there is a considerable difference between the Celt and the Saxon.
