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Updated: June 13, 2025
Jones told her that his companion, the gwr boneddig, meaning myself, had come in order to see the birth-place of Huw Morris, and that I was well acquainted with his works, having gotten them by heart in Lloegr, when a boy.
I made no reply to him, but addressing myself to the landlord inquired whether Huw Morris was not buried in Llan Silin churchyard. He replied in the affirmative. "I should like to see his tomb," said I. "Well, sir," said the landlord, "I shall be happy to show it to you whenever you please." Here again the old fellow put in his word.
He is standing on a bridge over the Ceiriog, just after visiting the house of Huw Morus at Pont y Meibion: "About a hundred yards distant was a small watermill, built over the rivulet, the wheel going slowly, slowly round; large quantities of pigs, the generality of them brindled, were either browsing on the banks, or lying close to the sides, half immersed in the water; one immense white hog, the monarch seemingly of the herd, was standing in the middle of the current.
His success is all the more wonderful when his position and his almost total lack of condescension and concession are considered, but considered they must be. When he met a Welsh clergyman who could talk about the Welsh language, Huw Morus and ale, he said nothing about him except that he was "a capital specimen of the Welsh country clergyman. His name was Walter Jones."
I asked him if he ever read. He said he read a great deal, especially the works of Huw Morris, and that reading them had given him a love for the sights of nature. He added that his greatest delight was to come to the place where he then was of an evening, and look at the waters and hills. I asked him what trade he was. "The trade of Joseph," said he, smiling. "Saer."
The kind creature then produced a sword without a scabbard; this sword was found by Huw Morris on the mountain it belonged to one of Oliver's officers who was killed there.
It was the custom in those days in North Wales for the congregation to leave the church in a row with the clergyman at their head, but so great was the estimation in which old Huw was universally held, for the purity of his life and his poetical gift, that the clergyman of the parish abandoning his claim to precedence, always insisted on the good and inspired old man's leading the file, himself following immediately in his rear.
He was a sharp clever- looking man, of about the middle age. On my being introduced to him he was very glad to see me, as my friend R- told me he would be. He seemed to know all about me, even that I understood Welsh. We conversed on various subjects: on the power of the Welsh language; its mutable letters; on Huw Morris, and likewise on ale, with an excellent glass of which he regaled me.
He read the songs of the Nightingale of Ceiriog in the most distant part of Lloegr, when he was a brown-haired boy, and now that he is a grey-haired man he is come to say in this place that they frequently made his eyes overflow with tears of rapture. "I then sat down in the chair, and commenced repeating verses of Huw Morus.
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