"The treasure of the church, sir," he replied in a feeble quaking
voice.
"Dear me!" said I, "what does the treasure consist of?"
"You shall see, sir," said he, and drawing a large key out of his
pocket he unlocked the chest and taking out a cup of silver he put
it into my hand saying:- "This is the treasure of the church, sir!"
I looked at the cup. It was tolerably large and of very chaste
workmanship. Graven upon it were the following words:-
"Poculum Eclesie De LXXN Dewy Brefy 1574."
"Do you always keep this cup in that chest?" said I.
"Yes sir! we have kept it there since the cup was given to us by de
godly Queen Elizabeth."
I said nothing, but I thought to myself:- "I wonder how long a cup
like this would have been safe in a crazy chest in a country church
in England."
I kissed the sacred relic of old times with reverence, and returned
it to the old sexton.
"What became of the horns of Hu Gadarn's bull?" said I, after he
had locked the cup again in its dilapidated coffer.
"They did dwindle away, sir, till they came to nothing."
"Did you ever see any part of them?" said I.
"Oh no, sir; I did never see any part of them, but one very old man
who is buried here did tell me shortly before he died that he had
seen one very old man who had seen of dem one little tip."
"Who was the old man who said that to you?" said I.
"I will show you his monument, sir," then taking me into a dusky
pew he pointed to a small rude tablet against the church wall and
said:- "That is his monument, sir."
The tablet bore the following inscription, and below it a rude
englyn on death not worth transcribing:-
Coffadwriaeth am
THOMAS JONES
Diweddar o'r Draws Llwyn yn y Plwyf hwn:
Bu farw Chwefror 6 fed 1830
Yn 92 oed.
To the memory of
THOMAS JONES
Of Traws Llwyn (across the Grove) in this
parish who died February the sixth, 1830.
Aged 92.
After copying the inscription I presented the old man with a trifle
and went my way.
CHAPTER XCV
Lampeter - The Monk Austin - The Three Publicans - The Tombstone -
Sudden Change - Trampers - A Catholic - The Bridge of Twrch.
THE country between Llan Ddewi and Lampeter presented nothing
remarkable, and I met on the road nothing worthy of being recorded.
On arriving at Lampeter I took a slight refreshment at the inn, and
then went to see the college which stands a little way to the north
of the town. It was founded by Bishop Burgess in the year 1820,
for the education of youths intended for the ministry of the Church
of England. It is a neat quadrate edifice with a courtyard in
which stands a large stone basin. From the courtyard you enter a
spacious dining-hall, over the door of which hangs a well-executed
portrait of the good bishop. From the hall you ascend by a
handsome staircase to the library, a large and lightsome room, well
stored with books in various languages. The grand curiosity is a
manuscript Codex containing a Latin synopsis of Scripture which
once belonged to the monks of Bangor Is Coed. It bears marks of
blood with which it was sprinkled when the monks were massacred by
the heathen Saxons, at the instigation of Austin the Pope's
missionary in Britain. The number of students seldom exceeds
forty.
It might be about half-past two in the afternoon when I left
Lampeter. I passed over a bridge, taking the road to Llandovery
which, however, I had no intention of attempting to reach that
night, as it was considerably upwards of twenty miles distant. The
road lay, seemingly, due east. After walking very briskly for
about an hour I came to a very small hamlet consisting of not more
than six or seven houses; of these three seemed to be public-
houses, as they bore large flaming signs. Seeing three rather
shabby-looking fellows standing chatting with their hands in their
pockets, I stopped and inquired in English the name of the place.
"Pen- something," said one of them, who had a red face and a large
carbuncle on his nose, which served to distinguish him from his
companions, who though they had both very rubicund faces had no
carbuncles.
"It seems rather a small place to maintain three public-houses,"
said I; "how do the publicans manage to live?"
"Oh, tolerably well, sir; we get bread and cheese and have a groat
in our pockets. No great reason to complain; have we, neighbours?"
"No! no great reason to complain," said the other two.
"Dear me!" said I; "are you the publicans?"
"We are, sir," said the man with the carbuncle on his nose, "and
shall be each of us glad to treat you to a pint in his own house in
order to welcome you to Shire Car - shan't we, neighbours?"
"Yes, in truth we shall," said the other two.
"By Shire Car," said I, "I suppose you mean Shire Cardigan?"
"Shire Cardigan!" said the man; "no indeed; by Shire Car is meant
Carmarthenshire. Your honour has left beggarly Cardigan some way
behind you. Come, your honour, come and have a pint; this is my
house," said he, pointing to one of the buildings.
"But," said I, "I suppose if I drink at your expense you expect to
drink at mine?"
"Why, we can't say that we shall have any objection, your honour; I
think we will arrange the matter in this way; we will go into my
house, where we will each of us treat your honour with a pint, and
for each pint we treat your honour with your honour shall treat us
with one."
"Do you mean each?" said I.
