in the land of Howel Dda, Gwalchmai, and Dafydd ab Gwilym. "It is proposed to raise a national memorial to our chivalrous and ill-fated prince, Llywelyn ab Gruffydd, Ein Llyw Olaf.' Though not perhaps the greatest of our national heroes, Prince Llywelyn will always be one of the most interesting. Soldier, statesman, scholar, lover, patriot, and martyr,—his life is among the most romantic, his death among the most pathetic, of which our annals tell. His Angevin conqueror's stately tomb stands high in the Abbey Church of Westminster; for three centuries the cattle have grazed over the desecrated resting place of the last Welsh prince of Wales. "It is in the hope of honourably repairing this long neglect of our beloved national hero that we confidently appeal to Welshmen throughout the world. We wish to raise a worthy monument in Wales, to speak to all time of one whose life and death were significant of the strong national feeling we are conscious of to-day. "What form the memorial is to take will be left to the general voice of the subscribers to determine. "Some donors have already expressed a wish that our first effort should be to rear a fitting tomb over the prince's burial place among the ruins of Abbey Cwm Hir; others as strongly desire a monument to be erected as near as possible to the place where he actually fell, whilst still a large number wish to see his memory honoured in his native Gwynedd. "Donations to any one of these specific objects will be applied as desired by each individual subscriber. All others will be placed in a general fund, to be dealt with as the subscribers shall ultimately determine." Mr. Allenson, of 30, Paternoster Row, London, sends me a copy of his newly puplished "Roberts of Tientsin." It is a well got up book of some 220 pages; its author is Mrs. Bryson, a well known writer on Chinese missionary life. In it we get a charming description of a Welsh Puritan home, a more meagre account of student life at Aberystwyth and Edinburgh, and a very full and most interesting account of the devoted young missionary's life in China. From the home of famous doctors in Anglesea to that far-off hospital in Tientsin, the life-history of the earnest student we knew at Aberystwyth, not so long ago, is among the most honourable and unselfish careers that have yet been cut out for themselves by Aberystwyth men. Messrs. Jarvis & Foster will shortly publish a facsimile reprint of the rare first edition of Gweledigaethau y Bardd Cwsc," with notes by Professor J. Morris Jones. It will be issued first to subscribers, printed on hand-made paper and bound in limp vellum, at 7s. 6d., post free. Only 250 copies of this edition will be printed, nearly the whole of which have already been subscribed for. To prevent disappointment intending subscribers should send their names at once to the publishers. A cheaper edition will be issued later. The new Astronomical Society of Wales has, evidently, a most useful career before it. It is gradually showing Welshmen what charms observational astronomy has for them. The president, in the September number of the Journal, shows that the beauties of the heavens need not be hidden from the poor. He has constructed a telescope, at a cost of little over ten shillings, that gives capital views of sun-spots; a good deal of detail of the moon,-Messier and its " tail," the crater Pierce in Mare Crisium just visible, all prominent craters and markings; Venus, distinct crescent; Saturn, poor; Jupiter's moons easily, of course. "Sir William Bailey urged that the time had come when Welsh authors should give their productions to the public in the English tongue, and not further persist in the idea that the art of thinking could be done best in a pagan language by words that it took two men to pronounce. I had never seen the name of this gentleman before; but, as he is reported to have made the above remarks at last month's Cardiff meeting of the Library Association of the United Kingdom, I suppose he must be taken seriously. Though I fondly love the strong literary life of Welsh Wales and though I know that, from the point of view of a reader of books, the English peasant is a very benighted being compared with the Welsh peasant, -still I am not nettled myself by these ignorant remarks. I have heard them a good many times before; and I find that, invariably, the one who utters them knows no Welsh, knows no language at all save his own. 66 Monoglot," I believe, is not a recognised English word; but it is a word that one is continually tempted to use. A "monoglot" Welshman or Englishman or German would soon set the languages of the world right, according to his own view. Mr. Nicholas Bennett is publishing by subscription a collection of Welsh airs, edited by Mr. Emlyn Evans. Mr. Bennett is well known as a patron of Welsh literature and as the friend of Ceiriog and of many a bard; he is said to have all the accomplishments of a Welsh gentleman of the olden time, not excepting the making of a harp and playing it. The work of collecting has taken him years and years. Mr. Emlyn Evans is the highest living authority on the history of Welsh airs. I have only just heard of this most interesting project, and hope to have more details about it in my next number. Meanwhile, I hope Mr. Bennett will receive the names of all lovers of Welsh song who can afford a guinea and a half as subscribers to what will be, I am certain, a most acceptable book to all interested in Wales and in music. It now generally agreed that Islwyn is the greatest of all our Welsh poets. He died in 1878, and the public have only got a few songs and pryddestau. Into the causes of delay in publishing I need not enter here. I am happy to say that the publishing of our greatest poet's works has been entrusted to me. They will be in one volume, illustrated, well printed and bound, not exceeding half a guinea in price. I need the names of five hundred subscribers before I begin to print. May I ask those who wish to possess Islwyn's poetical works to send me their names? The sad accidents in South Wales coalpits, where the snapping of the chain of a "bowk" hurled men to instant and fearful death, reminds me that the pages of WALES will soon contain a number of descriptions of life in the colliery districts. Death strikes terror into happy families so often, the fortunes of families vary so suddenly, that no life has really so much of the pathetic as a collier's life. There is much that is sordid and much that is brutal in the coal villages; but suffering often draws out unequalled heroism and self-sacrifice where the existence of these qualities would be least expected. The Pwllheli Intermediate School has commenced, under very happy auspices, with seventy eight pupils. At the Wrexham local eisteddfod, to be held next Good Friday, the chair is to be given for a dramatic piece, not exceeding three hundred lines, on Ednyfed Fychan, the able and gallant general of Llywelyn the Great, and ancestor of the Tudor kings of England and Wales. 66 The good people of Machynlleth,-a place of Roman and mediæval fame,-are at present stirred by a healthy ambition. They claim that Machynlleth, having been the seat of at least one 'parliament" of Owen Glendower, is the capital of Wales. Lord Henry Vane Tempest, Mr. Richard Rees, C.C., and Mr. Edmund Gillart, have persuaded the Machynlleth Urban Council to adopt as their seal the famous seal of Owen Glendower. "Owen Glendower is depicted," a correspondent says, "seated on a stone sedile, having a canopy over his head, and with the lion of Powys emblazoned on the back of the throne. Ready to descends The back-ground is ornamented with diaper work, and the title on the riband reads thus,-Insel Gyffredin Rhandir Dinesig Machynlleth." Machynlleth is going to bid also for the University of Wales office. It is very refreshing to find signs of public spirit, especially when there is a tinge of poetry about it. It is to be hoped that, before long, every district and urban council will have a seal, as far as possible recalling its past. And, let us hope, a copy of all these seals will be seen on the walls of a national museum for Wales. Very many well-written historical tales are offered me which I have to refuse on account of inaccuracy of detail. But I must postpone my advice until the next number. 60. The following are translations of gipsy snatches, Transylvanian Ziegeuner folk songs. They are very like the Welsh penhillion, but I do not know whether they are sung in the same way, "Crush no floweret in thy way, None shield me from north winds wild, "Withered spinster, haggard wife, "From the moment I was born 61. PISTYLL GWYN.-I happened to be staying in the neighbourhood of Llanuwchllyn lately, and I made inquiries about the Pistyll Gwyn. I was told it was a stream of water rushing out of a rock, that it had important medicinal qualities, that there was an old Roman bath near it, and that it contained sand, though it is quite a thousand feet above the level of the sea. The way up to it is certainly most interesting. I followed the Lliw until I found myself underneath the frowning precipice which has Carndochan Castle as a broken iron crown on its rocky height. I struck to the left, following the course of a rill which runs to the Lliw along the land side of the precipitous wooded range of which the Carndochan rock is part. I came upon what seemed to be a grass-grown road, striking from Carndochan and the Roman road towards the valley of the Wnion. Following this road,—if it was a road,-I reached two huge boulders between which my way seemed to go. Close to them I saw a tiny stream of beautiful crystal water, rushing, apparently from the rock. It came from a cleft in the rock, from the heart of the mountain, and it was delightfully sweet to drink. Beneath it there was a wall, like those around wishing wells, about seven feet by three, overgrown with heather, devil's bit, and diminutive blackberry and raspberry and bilberry trees. There was no sand, but the crumbled bits of the yellow rock looked like sand at first sight in the stream between the Pistyll and the moors below. I do not know whether the Pistyll Gwyn has any medicinal properties, but I should be very much surprised to hear that any one has failed to renew his strength by a journey to so bracing a place. The views are magnificent; between the Aran and the Arennig, and over Bala Lake, the numberless peaks and knolls of the Hiraethog and the Berwyn are seen. Behind Creigiau Llwyn Gwern rise steeply, sometimes bare rock, and sometimes covered with dwarf birch trees. On my way back I met a man on his way to Pistyll Gwyn, intending to get his rheumatism cured. 62. In one of the next numbers there will appear an illustrated article on Welsh seventeenth century tokens, including the Pwllheli ones. 63. The Cistercian abbeys in Wales were more important than any others. They were Basingwerk, Aber Conway, Valle Crucis, Cymer, Ystrad Marchell, Cwm Hir, Strata Florida, Margam, Neath, Whitland, Tintern. 64. W. Davies, Port Dinorwic, sends the following translation of the well known Welsh hymn,— "How sweet to contemplate at times When troubles sore arise, That after desert paths there waits A rest in Paradise. When faint and wearied, with the ills Though losing friends so fond and true How sweet to think we all shall meet The Holy Spirit with his powers Prepare us in such wise That we, redeemed, may meet our friends Once more in Paradise." Men in white. And as we neared the walled height, In Jerusalem. "They signalled us for peace, and we Though alien lords had held the place, The hermit's grotto. A hermit lived from year to year, A solemn quest. "We sought this sage in solemn quest, He hailed us in the name of God; The seamless coat. "We thought to tell him of the king; But he forestalled our words, Protesting we were right to bring This vestment to our lords, And we were spellbound as he told The condition of success. Each held a sceptre in his hand, And pointing straight exclaimed, 'Let no man dare before it stand Unless he be unblamed." " G A STORY ILLUSTRATIVE OF WELSH THOUGHT FIFTY YEARS AGO. BY THE REV. E. CYNFFIG DAVIES, M.A., MENAI BRIDGE. CHAPTER XIII. FAIR ESTIMATES. AYBREY had become a favourite in the homes of Mr. Penrith and his underground agent, J. Edwards, and they felt a keen regret in thinking that the time of his departure for his second session in Edinburgh was approaching; but to no family in the district had he endeared himself more than to the family of Idris Jones, Havod y Bryn, where he spent a night once a week when taking charge of the church meeting at the English chapel of Abervale. After one of those visits Mrs. Gwen Jones told her husband,—“I am growing more attached to this Australian youth every day; and he reminds me forcibly of someone we know. Can you guess of whom?" "No, I cannot, my dear Gwen, and I do not remember any youth of his stamp. If he sees many days, he will be a noted man," replied Mr. Jones in sturdy idiomatic Welsh. Gladys, their daughter, who saw much more of Gaybrey than their parents, hearing their conversation, told herself,-" And there is another member of your family who is becoming too fond of Gaybrey's company. My views of life and religion are totally changed since he has been staying under our roof; but why should his name pass through my thoughts? I am ashamed of myself that I think so much of him. But he understands me and speaks to me in a way that no man ever did before. Why is it? And on the other hand Gaybrey did not endeavour to analyse his feelings towards Gladys, yet he was never happier than when in her company listening to her using the flexible and nervous Welsh diction inherited from her father, and charmed by her melodious rendering of her native hymns to her own accompaniment on the |