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"You never had a prydydd like Huw Morris in South Wales," said he; "nor Twm o'r Nant either." "South Wales has produced good poets," said I. "No, it hasn't," said the old fellow; "it never produced one. If it had, you wouldn't have needed to come here to see the grave of a poet; you would have found one at home." As he said these words he got up, took his stick, and seemed about to depart.
Ann had just laid the dinner on the table, and Ebben Owens had lounged in. "Well, the threshing will be done soon," said the old man; "Twm is a capital fellow. Don't know in the world what I should do without him." "What is that noise?" asked Morva, pushing back her hair to listen, as a curious sound as of shaking and thumping was heard by all. "'Tis upstairs, and in your room, Gwilym," said Ann.
"Natty shop you have. Little shop and big traffic, Mistress Jinkins?" "Quick you are." "Know you Tom Mathias Tabernacle Street?" Evan inquired. "Seen him have I in the big meetings at Capel King's Cross." "Getting on he is, for certain sure. Hundreds of pints he sells. And groceries." "Pwf," Mrs. Jenkins sneered. "Fulbert you are to believe him. A liar without shame is Twm. And a cheat.
No Baptist connection would ever have a writer of Interludes in it, not Twm o'r Nant himself, unless he left his ales and Interludes and wanton hussies, for the three things are sure to go together. You say he went over to the Church of Rome; of course he did, if the Church of England were not at hand to receive him, where should he go but to Rome?
And if you knew this other fellow what's his name Fondle's history, you would find that he was not a bit more respectable than Twm o'r Nant, and not half so clever. As for his leaving the Baptists I don't believe a word of it; he was turned out of the connection, and then went about the country saying he left it.
But setting aside those same skits at the Church, and that dislike of the church cat, venial trifles after all, and easily to be accounted for, on the score of his religious education, I found nothing to blame, and much to admire, in John Jones, the Calvinistic Methodist of Llangollen. Divine Service Llangollen Bells Iolo Goch The Abbey Twm o'r Nant Holy Well Thomas Edwards
"I wasn't going to give them away for half price, not I!" he said. "I'd rather keep them till next fair." So Twm had driven them home again, and was even now turning them into the old cowhouse. "Well! I have a wonderful piece of news to give you all," said Gwilym Morris, leaning back in his chair and diving deep into his pocket.
Ebben Owens was already up to receive them, the big oak coffers in the grain room were swept out, the dry meal poured into them, and Twm the carter, with white cotton stockings kept for the occasion drawn over his feet and legs, stood in the coffers treading the meal into as hard a mass as possible.
"There," said she, "is the portrait of Twm o'r Nant, generally called the Welsh Shakespeare." I looked at it. The Welsh Shakespeare was represented sitting at a table with a pen in his hand; a cottage-latticed window was behind him, on his left hand; a shelf with plates, and trenchers behind him, on his right.
"Very singular," said I, "that they should make a thief mayor of Brecon." "Oh Twm Shone Catti very different from other thieves; funny fellow, and so good-natured that everybody loved him so they made him magistrate, not, however, before he had become very rich man by marrying great lady who fell in love with him." "Ah, ah," said I; "that's the way of the world.
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