On the next day everything was ready for our departure. The good family of the house came to bid us farewell. There were shaking of hands, and kisses, as on the night of our arrival.
And as I stood somewhat apart, the young girl of whom I have spoken so often, came up to me, and holding out her hand, said, "Farewell, young man, wherever thou goest." Then, after looking around her, she said, "It was all true you told me. Yesterday I received a letter from him thou wottest of, he is coming soon. G.o.d bless you, young man; who would have thought thou knewest so much!"
So, after we had taken our farewell of the good family, we departed, proceeding in the direction of Wales. Peter was very cheerful, and enlivened the way with G.o.dly discourse and spiritual hymns, some of which were in the Welsh language. At length I said, "It is a pity that you did not continue in the Church; you have a turn for psalmody, and I have heard of a man becoming a bishop by means of a less qualification."
"Very probably," said Peter; "more the pity. But I have told you the reason of my forsaking it. Frequently, when I went to the church door, I found it barred, and the priest absent; what was I to do? My heart was bursting for want of some religious help and comfort; what could I do? as good Master Rees Pritchard observes in his "Candle for Welshmen."
""It is a doleful thing to see little children burning on the hot coals for want of help; but yet more doleful to see a flock of souls falling into the burning lake for want of a priest.""
"The Church of England is a fine church," said I; "I would not advise any one to speak ill of the Church of England before me."
"I have nothing to say against the Church," said Peter; "all I wish is that it would fling itself a little more open, and that its priests would a little more bestir themselves; in a word, that it would shoulder the cross and become a missionary church."
"It is too proud for that," said Winifred.
"You are much more of a Methodist," said I, "than your husband. But tell me," said I, addressing myself to Peter, "do you not differ from the Church in some points of doctrine? I, of course, as a true member of the Church, am quite ignorant of the peculiar opinions of wandering sectaries."
"Oh, the pride of that Church!" said Winifred, half to herself; "wandering sectaries!"
"We differ in no points of doctrine," said Peter; "we believe all the Church believes, though we are not so fond of vain and superfluous ceremonies, snow-white neckcloths and surplices, as the Church is. We likewise think that there is no harm in a sermon by the road-side, or in holding free discourse with a beggar beneath a hedge, or a tinker," he added, smiling; "it was those superfluous ceremonies, those surplices and white neckcloths, and, above all, the necessity of strictly regulating his words and conversation, which drove John Wesley out of the Church, and sent him wandering up and down as you see me, poor Welsh Peter, do."
Nothing farther pa.s.sed for some time; we were now drawing near the hills: at last I said, "You must have met with a great many strange adventures since you took up this course of life?"
"Many," said Peter, "it has been my lot to meet with; but none more strange than one which occurred to me only a few weeks ago. You were asking me, not long since, whether I believed in devils? Ay, truly, young man; and I believe that the abyss and the yet deeper Unknown do not contain them all; some walk about upon the green earth. So it happened, some weeks ago, that I was exercising my ministry about forty miles from here. I was alone, Winifred being slightly indisposed, staying for a few days at the house of an acquaintance; I had finished afternoon"s worship--the people had dispersed, and I was sitting solitary by my cart under some green trees in a quiet retired place; suddenly a voice said to me, "Good evening, Pastor"; I looked up, and before me stood a man, at least the appearance of a man, dressed in a black suit of rather a singular fashion. He was about my own age, or somewhat older. As I looked upon him, it appeared to me that I had seen him twice before whilst preaching. I replied to his salutation, and perceiving that he looked somewhat fatigued, I took out a stool from the cart, and asked him to sit down. We began to discourse; I at first supposed that he might be one of ourselves, some wandering minister; but I was soon undeceived.
Neither his language nor his ideas were those of any one of our body. He spoke on all kinds of matters with much fluency; till at last he mentioned my preaching, complimenting me on my powers. I replied, as well I might, that I could claim no merit of my own, and that if I spoke with any effect, it was only by the grace of G.o.d. As I uttered these last words, a horrible kind of sneer came over his countenance, which made me shudder, for there was something diabolical in it. I said little more, but listened attentively to his discourse. At last he said that I was engaged in a paltry cause, quite unworthy of one of my powers. "How can that be," said I, "even if I possessed all the powers in the world, seeing that I am engaged in the cause of our Lord Jesus?"
"The same kind of sneer again came on his countenance, but he almost instantly observed, that if I chose to forsake this same miserable cause, from which nothing but contempt and privation were to be expected, he would enlist me into another, from which I might expect both profit and renown. An idea now came into my head, and I told him firmly, that if he wished me to forsake my present profession and become a member of the Church of England, I must absolutely decline; that I had no ill-will against that Church, but I thought I could do most good in my present position, which I would not forsake to be Archbishop of Canterbury.
Thereupon he burst into a strange laughter, and went away, repeating to himself, "Church of England! Archbishop of Canterbury!" A few days after, when I was once more in a solitary place, he again appeared before me, and asked me whether I had thought over his words, and whether I was willing to enlist under the banners of his master, adding, that he was eager to secure me, as he conceived that I might be highly useful to the cause. I then asked him who his master was; he hesitated for a moment, and then answered, "The Roman Pontiff." "If it be he," said I, "I can have nothing to do with him, I will serve no one who is an enemy of Christ." Thereupon he drew near to me, and told me not to talk so much like a simpleton; that as for Christ, it was probable that no such person ever existed, but that if he ever did, he was the greatest impostor the world ever saw. How long he continued in this way I know not, for I now considered that an evil spirit was before me, and shrank within myself, shivering in every limb; when I recovered myself and looked about me, he was gone. Two days after, he again stood before me, in the same place, and about the same hour, renewing his propositions, and speaking more horribly than before. I made him no answer; whereupon he continued; but suddenly hearing a noise behind him, he looked round and beheld Winifred, who had returned to me on the morning of that day. "Who are you?" said he, fiercely. "This man"s wife," said she, calmly fixing her eyes upon him. "Begone from him, unhappy one, thou temptest him in vain." He made no answer, but stood as if transfixed: at length recovering himself, he departed, muttering "Wife! wife! If the fool has a wife, he will never do for us.""
CHAPTER Lx.x.x
The Border--Thank You Both--Pipe and Fiddle--Taliesin.
We were now drawing very near the hills, and Peter said, "If you are to go into Wales, you must presently decide, for we are close upon the border."
"Which is the border?" said I.
"Yon small brook," said Peter, "into which the man on horseback who is coming towards us is now entering."
"I see it," said I, "and the man; he stops in the middle of it, as if to water his steed."
We proceeded till we had nearly reached the brook. "Well," said Peter, "will you go into Wales?"
"What should I do in Wales?" I demanded.
"Do!" said Peter, smiling; "learn Welsh."
I stopped my little pony. "Then I need not go into Wales; I already know Welsh."
"Know Welsh!" said Peter, staring at me.
"Know Welsh!" said Winifred, stopping her cart.
"How and when did you learn it?" said Peter.
"From books, in my boyhood."
"Read Welsh!" said Peter; "is it possible?"
"Read Welsh!" said Winifred; "is it possible?"
"Well, I hope you will come with us," said Peter.
"Come with us, young man," said Winifred; "let me, on the other side of the brook, welcome you into Wales."
"Thank you both," said I, "but I will not come."
"Wherefore?" exclaimed both, simultaneously.
"Because it is neither fit nor proper that I cross into Wales at this time, and in this manner. When I go into Wales, I should wish to go in a new suit of superfine black, with hat and beaver, {246} mounted on a powerful steed, black and glossy, like that which bore Greduv to the fight of Catraeth. I should wish, moreover, to see the Welshmen a.s.sembled on the border ready to welcome me with pipe and fiddle, and much whooping and shouting, and to attend me to Wrexham, or even as far as Machynllaith, where I should wish to be invited to a dinner at which all the bards should be present, and to be seated at the right hand of the president, who, when the cloth was removed, should arise, and, amidst cries of silence, exclaim--"Brethren and Welshmen, allow me to propose the health of my most respectable friend the translator of the odes of the great Ab Gwilym, the pride and glory of Wales.""
"How!" said Peter, "hast thou translated the works of the mighty Dafydd?"
"With notes critical, historical, and explanatory."
"Come with us, friend," said Peter. "I cannot promise such a dinner as thou wishest, but neither pipe nor fiddle shall be wanting."
"Come with us, young man," said Winifred, "even as thou art, and the daughters of Wales shall bid thee welcome."
"I will not go with you," said I. "Dost thou see that man in the ford?"
"Who is staring at us so, and whose horse has not yet done drinking? Of course I see him."
"I shall turn back with him. G.o.d bless you."
"Go back with him not," said Peter; "he is one of those whom I like not, one of the clibberty clabber, as Master Ellis Wyn observes--turn not with that man."
"Go not back with him," said Winifred. "If thou goest with that man, thou wilt soon forget all our profitable counsels; come with us."
"I cannot; I have much to say to him. Kosko Divvus, Mr. Petulengro."
"Kosko Divvus, Pal," {247} said Mr. Petulengro, riding through the water; "are you turning back?"
I turned back with Mr. Petulengro. Peter came running after me: "One moment, young man,--who and what are you?"