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THE

National Eisteddfod

held at Wrexham in August, 1876, holds a unique position in the annals of the ancient festival of the Cymry. The chairing of the successful bard has for centuries held its place as the chief feature of our great national gathering. There is no part of the eisteddfod's proceedings that kindles in the hearts of Welsh

men such en

thusiasm as the

of

ceremony "Cadeirio'r Bardd."

A prize of £20, a gold medal, and a carved oak chair was offered at Wrexham for the best ode to Helen of the legions; and a goodly number of compositions came to the adjudicators. Three eminent bards were appointed to constitute the board of adjudicators, and to judge the merits of the odes, -the Venerable Archdeacon Howell, then vicar of Wrexham, -Gwalchmai, and Tudno. When the chairing ceremony was reached on

THE CHAIR IN MOURNING.

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THE CHAIR IN MOURNING.-An episode of the National Eisteddfod of 1876. (Key to illustration on opposite page).

A

the programme, Mynyddog, who was the conductor of the day's proceedings, called out the names of the bards who were to take part in the chief event, according to the ancient rites of the Lards of the Isle of Britain. When the group of bards, as shown in our illustration, formed a circle round the bardic chair, and the three adjudicators stood side by side, the venerable Gwalchmai read the adjudication, and declared "ar air a chydwybod" that "Eusebius" was the chair bard of 1876. Then Mynyddog, in a clear and thrilling voice, called out,—“ Is Eusebius present?" Then a voice from the audience on the right side. of the platform answered "Yes. young man now got up, and amidst great cheering walked towards the platform, saying he was not "Eusebius," but his representative. Whereupon Mynyddog told him to stay where he was, and walking in that direction, returned in a few minutes. saying that "Eusebius" was the late Thomas Jones, of Llangollen, better known to the bardic world by his nom de plume Taliesin o Eifion. The bard had died some weeks before. The genial conductor added, in a broken voice, that Taliesin had forwarded his ode to Wrexham on the very day of his death, and his dying words were, “ Ydi yr awdl wedi ei gyrru i Wrecsam yn sâff?"*

The

announcement was not received with the usual boisterous acclamations of the vast audience, but by a deepdrawn sigh; and tears fell freely from the eyes of many an old friend of the lamented bard. The bards now filed off the platform, and entered an ante-room to consider the situation, and to assume some sort of mourning suitable to the occasion. In a few minutes they returned, headed by Hwfa Môn and Gwalchmai, all wearing emblems of mourning, not to the strains of "See the conquering hero comes" and the flourish of trumpets, but to the mournful "Dead march" in Saul. The empty chair was draped with black, and Mr. J. Ř. Elias (Y Thesbiad) now advanced, bearing upon

"Has the ode been safely sent to Wrexham ?"

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the pavilion of the Wrexham Eisteddfod of 1876.

Among the bards on the platform stood the chairman of the day, the late Sir Watkin Williams Wynn, the popular baronet of Wynnstay, known in eisteddfodic circles as "Eryr Eryrod Eryri,”—a man respected and revered by Welshmen throughout the world, irrespective of religious or political creed. The kindly baronet was deeply affected, as were many other distinguished visitors. The ever memorable ceremony was brought to a close by the recital by Gwalchmai of the following impromptu englynion,—

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The illustrations in this number have caused two or three articles to be crowded out. In the August number articles will appear on the National Eisteddfod of 1894, Quarrying at Bethesda, Anglesey Parsons, a Ramble with the Cambrian Association, the Rise of Cardiff, the History of Wrexham, and Across Monmouthshire. The articles will be illustrated by M. Thomas, S. M. Jones, J. T. Davies, and other Welsh artists.

I am making an effort to call the attention of Welshmen to the pure beauties of Henry Vaughan and John Dyer, the Breconshire and Carmarthenshire poets. Illustrated articles on the Welsh scenes described by these poets are in preparation.

In this number is seen an article by Andronicus, on the eisteddfod of 1876. The key to the illustration was kindly furnished by R. Roberts, J.P. Among the group will be found Ceiriog, the best lyrical poet of Wales; Idris Vychan, the penillion singer; Y Gohebydd, the pioneer of Welsh modern politics; Ioan Pedr, the antiquarian; and many others of eisteddfodic fame, who have now "joined the dim choir of the bards that have been."

CYMRU'R PLANT, the only non-sectarian children's magazine in Wales, is now published at the WALES office. This penny monthly magazine, -32 pages in a red cover, is plentifully illustrated. It is my hope that it will be welcomed to every home where children are taught Welsh.

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With regard to what I wrote in my first number about the teaching of Welsh, the head master of an important country school sends me the following:

"In WALES I at once found myself in a congenial and bracing atmosphere. But when I came to the editor's notes, I was grieved to find that the elementary teachers of Wales came under your severe strictures. Teachers of anti-Welsh sympathies are exceptions, and not the rule. You referred to Welsh being taught in the great industrial centres, while it is banished from most country schools. The explanation is simple. This state of affairs is merely a reflex of the attitude of the district inspector towards the Welsh question. Let the editor of WALES take the district of any individual inspector, ascertain his sentiments, and then inform his readers if the state of the inspector's mind is not faithfully reflected in his district. Every lover of freedom will declare that this is a state of servility that should not exist in a free country. Nevertheless, it is only too true. While the inspector, with one stroke of the pen, can make or mar a reputation, and while the purse-strings of the nation are in his hands, school teachers will remain in a more galling state of bondage than the slaves of an eastern potentate. Outsiders may think that the picture is highly coloured, but all who are acquainted with the inner working of our educational system know that my statements can be proved to the hilt,"

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O HOW sweet, on fair spring morning. 'neath its cloak of hoar-frost peering,

'Tis to see the tiny blossom, with its smile the earth adorning,
O'tis sweet, O 'tis sweet.

But the smiles of Howel slender, and his kind and gentle bearing,
When my icebound heart he's thawing with his honeyed kisses tender,
Are sweeter far a thousand times, sweeter far.

Sweet the violet on the swelling bank when first it shyly bloweth,
Pale and but cheerily smiling on its lonely sheltered dwelling,
O'tis sweet, O 'tis sweet.

wan,

But the sight of Howel coming,-sweeter is than flower that groweth,
On his cheeks a greater beauty,-near the fold at hour of gloaming,
Sweeter is a thousand times.

Laughing ever in the sunlight, primrose brakes the hill-side cover,
April breezes stir the petals till they smile beneath the twilight,—
O they are sweet, they are sweet.

So, in spite of opposition, true and constant is my lover,
Ne'er a moment he forgets me in the night of persecution,
O sweetheart mine, sweetheart mine.

Sweet the countless daisies flecking grass-green glade and meadow dewy,
Like some rich and precious jewels nature's verdant garment decking,
O they are sweet, they are sweet.

The blue eyes of Howel glowing, 'neath his forehead broad and ruddy,
When the tears,-love's best enchantment,-fill them full to overflowing,-
Are sweeter far a thousand times, sweeter far.

Roses white and lilies tender, marigolds and all sweet posies,
Filling all the breeze with fragrance, fair are they in summer weather,
O lily white, O roses fair.

But like every tender blossom lilies fade, and so do roses;

There's one flower that fadeth never, bloom of love shall never wither,
O sweetheart mine, O Howel true.

Leafy beech in verdant hollow, mighty oak with branches hoary,
Sycamores-all proudly wearing autumn garb of russet yellow,-
These are fair, O these are fair.

But when darling Howel's near me, what reck I of woodland glory,
Fairer far than sylvan boscage is my sweetheart's face to cheer me,—
Fairer far a thousand times, O fairer far.

Sweet the song of thrushes filling all the air with shake and quiver,
While the feathered songsters vying each with each their songs are trilling,
Sweet the sound, O sweet the sound.

But to me my love's caressing words and looks are sweeter ever,
Would this moment I were near him, and my lips to his were pressing,
O sweetheart mine, O sweetheart mine.

God in heaven, be thou his sentry, guard him from the tempests wintry,
Sheep and shepherd ever tending; this my prayer to heaven ascending,
Hear my cry, and guard my love.

Gentle Jesus, stay beside me, let thy Holy Spirit guide me;
Keep my feet from rock and mire, till within thy heavenly choir
I shall dwell with thee above.

THE VALE OF CLWYD A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

T is more than a
hundred years
ago, say one
hundred and
twenty years.
"That is

and a little catechising, in Lent, was all the education most of the districts had.

At Llandyrnog, the curate, Peter Jones, resided at Foxhall, five miles from his parish, according to his own confession. But he evidently did not neglect his duties. He had two services every Sunday in not so long Welsh, and he preached every Sunday, ago. The except sacrament Sundays, occasionally in documents English. He administered the sacrament just pubevery month, and he catechised the lished by children in Lent in English and Welsh, the Cymmrod- "making observations suitable to their capacities." He was in mortal fear that Daniel Rowland," who travels in a chaise from one farmer's house to another," would come and disturb him; and he was much more afraid the bishop would ask him to come nearer his parish and leave pleasant Foxhall,-very lovely it must have been in that July, 1775. in that July, 1775. But he had a good opinion of a Methodist who lived close by; he kept the register of births and deaths most strictly, in a book that had been bought more than a hundred years before; he registered marriages in a strong parchment book; and he had written a terrier of church lands carefully with his own hand. He had no school of any kind in his parish.

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orion give a glimpse of the Vale of Clwyd more than six hundred years back." True, but greater changes have taken place within the last two hundred years in the Vale of Clwyd than within the preceding four hundred years. One hundred and twenty years ago there was little or no dissent in the parishes of the upper Vale of Clwyd, though its good sleepy parsons had heard of Daniel Rowland. Then there were no schools, except a few that had been founded by generous benefactors of their native vale. An occasional sermon

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