“Having nothing else to do for a dismal hour or two, I sit down to write to you, in such rhymes as may ensue, be they many be they few, according to the cue which I happen to pursue. I was obliged to stay at Llangedwin till to-day; though I wished to come away, Wynn would make me delay my departure yesterday, in order that he and I might go to see a place whereof he once sent a drawing to me.
“And now I’ll tell you why it was proper that I should go thither to espy the place with mine own eye. ’Tis a church in a vale, whereby hangs a tale, how a hare being pressed by the dogs and much distressed, the hunters coming nigh and the dogs in full cry, looked about for some one to defend her, and saw just in time, as it now comes pat in rhyme, a saint of the feminine gender.
“The saint was buried there, and a figure carved with care, in the churchyard is shown, as being her own; but ’tis used for a whetstone (like the stone at our back door), till the pity is the more, (I should say the more’s the pity, if it suited with my ditty), it is whetted half away,—lack-a-day, lack-a-day!
“They show a mammoth’s rib (was there ever such a fib?) as belonging to the saint Melangel. It was no use to wrangle, and tell the simple people, that if this had been her bone, she must certainly have grown, to be three times as tall as the steeple.
| Ætat. 46. | OF ROBERT SOUTHEY. | 37 |
“Moreover there is shown a monumental stone, as being the tomb of Yorwerth Drwndwn (w, you must know, serves in Welsh for long o). In the portfolio there are drawings of their tombs, and of the church also. This Yorwerth was killed six hundred years ago. Nevertheless, as perhaps you may guess, he happened to be an acquaintance of mine, and therefore I always have had a design to pay him a visit whenever I could, and now the intention is at last made good. . . . .
“God bless you!
