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principal meal； I； being the youngest； was left to take care of the
premises； to answer the bell； and so forth； till relieved； which
was seldom before the expiration of an hour and a half； when I
myself went home； this period； however； was anything but
disagreeable to me； for it was then that I did what best pleased
me； and； leaving off copying the documents； I sometimes indulged in
a fit of musing； my chin resting on both my hands； and my elbows
planted on the desk； or； opening the desk aforesaid； I would take
out one of the books contained within it； and the book which I took
out was almost invariably； not Blackstone； but Ab Gwilym。
Ah； that Ab Gwilym！ I am much indebted to him； and it were
ungrateful on my part not to devote a few lines to him and his
songs in this my history。 Start not； reader； I am not going to
trouble you with a poetical dissertation； no； no； I know my duty
too well to introduce anything of the kind； but I； who imagine I
know several things； and amongst others the workings of your mind
at this moment； have an idea that you are anxious to learn a
little； a very little； more about Ab Gwilym than I have hitherto
told you； the two or three words that I have dropped having
awakened within you a languid kind of curiosity。 I have no
hesitation in saying that he makes one of the some half…dozen
really great poets whose verses； in whatever language they wrote；
exist at the present day； and are more or less known。 It matters
little how I first became acquainted with the writings of this man；
and how the short thick volume； stuffed full with his immortal
imaginings； first came into my hands。 I was studying Welsh； and I
fell in with Ab Gwilym by no very strange chance。 But； before I
say more about Ab Gwilym； I must be permitted … I really must … to
say a word or two about the language in which he wrote； that same
'Sweet Welsh。' If I remember right； I found the language a
difficult one； in mastering it； however； I derived unexpected
assistance from what of Irish remained in my head； and I soon found
that they were cognate dialects； springing from some old tongue
which itself； perhaps； had sprung from one much older。 And here I
cannot help observing cursorily that I every now and then； whilst
studying this Welsh； generally supposed to be the original tongue
of Britain； encountered words which； according to the
lexicographers； were venerable words highly expressive； showing the
wonderful power and originality of the Welsh； in which； however；
they were no longer used in common discourse； but were relics；
precious relics； of the first speech of Britain； perhaps of the
world； with which words； however； I was already well acquainted；
and which I had picked up； not in learned books； classic books； and
in tongues of old renown； but whilst listening to Mr。 Petulengro
and Tawno Chikno talking over their everyday affairs in the
language of the tents； which circumstance did not fail to give rise
to deep reflection in those moments when； planting my elbows on the
deal desk； I rested my chin upon my hands。 But it is probable that
I should have abandoned the pursuit of the Welsh language； after
obtaining a very superficial acquaintance with it； had it not been
for Ab Gwilym。
A strange songster was that who； pretending to be captivated by
every woman he saw； was； in reality； in love with nature alone …
wild； beautiful； solitary nature … her mountains and cascades； her
forests and streams； her birds； fishes； and wild animals。 Go to；
Ab Gwilym； with thy pseudo…amatory odes； to Morfydd； or this or
that other lady； fair or ugly； little didst thou care for any of
them； Dame Nature was thy love； however thou mayest seek to
disguise the truth。 Yes； yes； send thy love…message to Morfydd；
the fair wanton。 By whom dost thou send it； I would know？ by the
salmon forsooth； which haunts the rushing stream！ the glorious
salmon which bounds and gambols in the flashing water； and whose
ways and circumstances thou so well describest … see； there he
hurries upwards through the flashing water。 Halloo！ what a glimpse
of glory … but where is Morfydd the while？ What； another message
to the wife of Bwa Bach？ Ay； truly； and by whom？ … the wind！ the
swift wind； the rider of the world； whose course is not to be
stayed； who gallops o'er the mountain； and； when he comes to
broadest river； asks neither for boat nor ferry； who has described
the wind so well … his speed and power？ But where is Morfydd？ And
now thou art awaiting Morfydd； the wanton； the wife of the Bwa
Bach； thou art awaiting her beneath the tall trees； amidst the
underwood； but she comes not； no Morfydd is there。 Quite right； Ab
Gwilym； what wantest thou with Morfydd？ But another form is nigh at
hand； that of red Reynard； who； seated upon his chine at the mouth
of his cave； looks very composedly at thee； thou startest； bendest
thy bow； thy cross…bow； intending to hit Reynard with the bolt just
about the jaw； but the bow breaks； Reynard barks and disappears
into his cave； which by thine own account reaches hell … and then
thou ravest at the misfortune of thy bow； and the non…appearance of
Morfydd； and abusest Reynard。 Go to； thou carest neither for thy
bow nor for Morfydd； thou merely seekest an opportunity to speak of
Reynard； and who has described him like thee？ the brute with the
sharp shrill cry； the black reverse of melody； whose face sometimes
wears a smile like the devil's in the Evangile。 But now thou art
actually with Morfydd； yes； she has stolen from the dwelling of the
Bwa Bach and has met thee beneath those rocks … she is actually
with thee； Ab Gwilym； but she is not long with thee； for a storm
comes on； and thunder shatters the rocks … Morfydd flees！ Quite
right； Ab Gwilym； thou hadst no need of her； a better theme for
song is the voice of the Lord … the rock…shatterer … than the frail
wife of the Bwa Bach。 Go to； Ab Gwilym； thou wast a wiser and a
better man than thou wouldst fain have had people believe。
But enough of thee and thy songs！ Those times passed rapidly； with
Ab Gwilym in my hand； I was in the midst of enchanted ground； in
which I experienced sensations akin to those I had felt of yore
whilst spelling my way through the wonderful book … the delight of
my childhood。 I say akin； for perhaps only once in our lives do we
experience unmixed wonder and delight； and these I had already
known。
CHAPTER XX
Silver gray … Good word for everybody … A remarkable youth …
Clients … Grades in society … The archdeacon … Reading the Bible。
'I AM afraid that I have not acted very wisely in putting this boy
of ours to the law；' said my father to my mother； as they sat
together one summer evening in their little garden； beneath the
shade of some tall poplars。
Yes； there sat my father in the garden chair which leaned