Look at me: I have no comfort in the mass, for as
soon as the priest's bell rings, I shouts and hoorahs, and performs
tumblings before the blessed corpus, getting myself kicked out of
chapel, and as little comfort as I have in the mass have I in other
things, which should be a comfort to me. I have two sons who ought
to be the greatest comfort to me, but are they so? We'll see - one
is transported, and of course is no comfort to me at all. The
other is a sodger. Is he a comfort to me? Not a bit. A month ago
when I was travelling through the black north, tumbling and
toppling about, and threatening people with my prayer, unless they
gave me alms, a woman, who knew me, told me that he was with his
regiment at Cardiff, here in Wales, whereupon I determined to go
and see him, and crossing the water got into England, from whence I
walked to Cardiff asking alms of the English in the common English
way, and of the Irish, and ye are the first Irish I have met, in
the way in which I asked them of you. But when I got to Cardiff
did I see my son? I did not, for the day before he had sailed with
his regiment to a place ten thousand miles away, so I shall never
see his face again nor derive comfort from him. Oh, if there's no
comfort from the mass there's no comfort from anything else, and he
who has the evil prayer in the Shanna Gailey breathed upon him,
will have no comfort from the mass. Now, honey, ye have heard the
story of Johanna Colgan, the bedivilled woman. Give her now a
dacent alms and let her go!"
"Would you consider sixpence a decent alms?"
"I would. If you give me sixpence, I will not say my prayer over
ye."
"Would you give me a blessing?"
"I would not. A bedivilled woman has no blessing to give."
"Surely if you are able to ask people to give you alms for the
glory of God, you are able to give a blessing."
"Bodderation! are ye going to give me sixpence?"
"No! here's a shilling for you! Take it and go in peace."
"There's no pace for me," said Johanna Colgan, taking the money.
"What did the monstrous female say to me? 'Biaidh an taifrionn gan
sholas duit a bhean shalach.' (23) This is my pace - hoorah!
hoorah!" then giving two or three grotesque topples she hurried
away in the direction of Merthyr Tydvil.
CHAPTER CVI
Pen y Glas - Salt of the Earth - The Quakers' Yard - The
Rhugylgroen.
AS I proceeded on my way the scenery to the south on the farther
side of the river became surprisingly beautiful. On that side
noble mountains met the view, green fields and majestic woods, the
latter brown it is true, for their leaves were gone, but not the
less majestic for being brown. Here and there were white farm-
houses: one of them, which I was told was called Pen y Glas, was a
truly lovely little place. It stood on the side of a green hill
with a noble forest above it, and put me wonderfully in mind of the
hunting lodge, which Ifor Hael allotted as a retreat to Ab Gwilym
and Morfydd, when they fled to him from Cardigan to avoid the rage
of the Bow Bach, and whose charming appearance made him say to his
love:-
"More bliss for us our fate propounds
On Taf's green banks than Teivy's bounds."
On I wandered. After some time the valley assumed the form of an
immense basin, enormous mountains composed its sides. In the
middle rose hills of some altitude, but completely overcrowned by
the mountains around. These hills exhibited pleasant inclosures,
and were beautifully dotted with white farm-houses. Down below
meandered the Taf, its reaches shining with a silver-like
splendour. The whole together formed an exquisite picture, in
which there was much sublimity, much still quiet life, and not a
little of fantastic fairy loveliness.
The sun was hastening towards the west as I passed a little cascade
on the left, the waters of which, after running under the road,
tumbled down a gully into the river. Shortly afterwards meeting a
man I asked him how far it was to Caerfili.
"When you come to the Quakers' Yard, which is a little way further
on, you will be seven miles from Caerfili."
"What is the Quakers' Yard?"
"A place where the people called Quakers bury their dead."
"Is there a village near it?
"There is, and the village is called by the same name."
"Are there any Quakers in it?"
"Not one, nor in the neighbourhood, but there are some, I believe,
in Cardiff."
"Why do they bury their dead there?"
"You should ask them, not me. I know nothing about them, and don't
want; they are a bad set of people."
"Did they ever do you any harm?"
"Can't say they did. Indeed I never saw one in the whole of my
life."
"Then why do you call them bad?"
"Because everybody says they are."
"Not everybody. I don't; I have always found them the salt of the
earth."
"Then it is salt that has lost its savour. But perhaps you are one
of them?"
"No, I belong to the Church of England."
"Oh, you do. Then good-night to you. I am a Methodist. I thought
at first that you were one of our ministers, and had hoped to hear
from you something profitable and conducive to salvation, but - "
"Well, so you shall. Never speak ill of people of whom you know
nothing. If that isn't a saying conducive to salvation, I know not
what is.
