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Diogenes the Cynic) were lovers of society, and lived among the thickest of their fellow-creatures, and imparted their knowledge readily, as if you had lived at Aberystwith and taught the inhabitants of that place common civility and letters : few of them, or none, have run to the tops of mountains to instruct sheep and deer. Among the first Christians indeed, there were a surly kind of people who affected retirement and lived in caves, but they seldom did any good, except what they did to themselves in mortifying the flesh. Am not I a silly fellow for attempting to persuade you to leave Ystrad Meurig, and to live at Aberystwith ? that was my scheme, but I am afraid to no purpose, for you seem to be like the plant Chamæmorus, who will live nowhere but on the top of Snowdon. My messenger who comes with shirts for the boys calls on me for the letter, and says it will be too late to stay longer. In my last meeting with Ieuan Fardd I have convinced him that it is in vain for him to attempt Nennius until he has a better copy than Archbishop Usher's Nennius in Llannerch library, which is far from being correct, and will lead the world into intolerable errors. Nothing will do it but Mr. Robert Vaughan of Hengwrt's copy, which hath been compared with all the ancient copies in the public libraries, the Cotton, Bodleian, Cambridge, the King's Library, and with Usher's own transcript from eleven MSS. ; but the difficulty is to come at it, for Mr. Vaughan will suffer no man to see it, though his father hath suffered me to make some extracts out of it, which is the test I have to try all other copies by. That was the only man that understood Nennius, and that knew what he wrote about him, I mean Mr. Robert Vaughan, who was cotemporary with Usher. If you, who have so critical a knowledge of the Latin tongue, would take such a translation in hand, it would make you immortal, and the history loudly calls to be turned into English, being just expiring; but you have a thousand excuses, though indolence


“ Dear Sir,

is the real reason. I conclude this with my respects to your fireside, and am,

" Your Friend and Servant,


Penbryn, July 4th, 1760. “Dear Sir,—I have yours of Dygwyl ffair fadr, with Dr. Philipps' and Mr. Pegge's letters, which made me stare, and I now return them. Their compliments are so high, that they made me turn about like the drunken woman, whose cloaths had been changed while asleep, and I asked myself, Ai fi ydwyf fi ? doubting much whether the character fits me. Besides, there is an old proverb among us which says, 'A fynno glod bid farw'. According to this, either I am dead, or this is no praise. Last night I had no sleep, a summer cough (the worst of coughs) has seized me, and brought an inflammation of the pleura, which has been partly removed by bleeding, but am still very bad. Ped fai waeth i neb arall ond fy eppil fy hun.

“Our friend Ieuan has sent me some of Aneurin's works that is worth its weight in gold. O bishops, O princes, O ye fat men of the land, why suffer ye that man to starve ? Do not flinch from your part of attacking Camden, or you will have a chance of being shot in the head. I will send you an account, when I have leisure, of some parts of his body that are not invulnerable, not about his heels, but about his head. Yours is the first edition of him, and therefore is the best, for there you have the author in his native simplicity before he hath called allies to his assistance. Have good courage, nid oedd ond dyn fal dyn arall. Pwy ond Dewi Fardd sy'n dyfod ar llythyr hwn, ar ryw neges i Ieuan, ag i edrych noethni ’r wlad mae 'n debyg.

“Mr. Pegge and Dr. Philipps are welcome to copy my



letters, provided no use is made of them without my consent. During a correspondence of about two years I had with the late Mr. Carte, I had some disputes with him about our antiquities. He has printed in his book of the History of England whole paragraphs out of my letters, and never owned but one from whence he got the matter (which is in page 31), and even that without my consent or knowledge. It is dangerous to correspond with such antiquaries; but what is worse, some points which he had given up in his letters to me, he maintains in his book, to the dishonour of our Ancient Britons, and indeed to his own shame. I have annotations upon my interleaved British copy of Tyssilio, but I despair ever to have health to undertake a translation of it; besides that, my collection of Celtic Remains, to which I am almost intirely devoted, keeps me from everything else ; and to encourage Ieuan to give us an English translation of Nennius is my great ambition. I am sure that neither Leland, Camden, Selden, Usher, Sir Simon D'Ewes, Dr. Gale, nor any of the moderns, ever understood him, though they have been all beating about the bush. All that we want is the great Usher's genuine transcript, which he collated with eleven MSS. We have a copy of it; but it is not correct.

“ Yours sincerely,


Penbryn, July 6th, 1760. “ Dear Sir,—Yours wrote yesterday I received by Dewi Ddifardd. He is but short indeed; ond rhaid i'r adar mân gael bwyd. He takes his flight to-morrow. Yea, yea, watch Cainden, and give him a knock now and then when he slips. If I have a little leisure next week I shall send you a few notes on him for your guidance. Ask Mr. Pegge questions by all means, and exert yourself. Knowledge is not a native plant of any one country more than another : it may be in your closet as well as Mr. Pegge's. Pray, let me see Morgan

, Herbert's epitaph. Let me also into the secret of the dispute you have about some passages in Lilly's Grammar, though I may not understand such high things. Well, now comes the jest of the cause. Lewis and John's mother longs for a sight of her sons for four days. Her pretence is, that they want to be patched and mended; but they had a sort of promise to come when the fruit grew ripe, and in the shearing season, when feasting goes on after the manner of the old patriarchs; and lo, here are horses to bring them this very day. You'll think it expressly against the rules of the Christian religion to send for them on the seventh day ; but in the time of the primitive Christians they were not so nice, as I find by the Gododin, where Aneurin makes one of the greatest characters of his northern heroes in Cattraeth do it.

“ Yn lladd Saesson y seithfed dydd. “My cough is a little better to day. I had but three fits of it last night.

"I am, yours sincerely,


"Penbryn, July 13th, 1760. “Dear Sir,- The boys return after a stay of four days, and two days their mother kept them, for which I am not accountable: for though Scripture and the Church say man and wife are one, yet, if ever you are blessed with a wife, you will find yourselves to be two most commonly, especially in disputes about children. The bearer will bring me Morgan Herbert's epitaph, I suppose, and the song.

Usher did not understand Nennius, because he was a Welchman; not because he wanted learning, &c. You say you are lazy, but that you are resolved to be honest in your calling. You may read Camden and give me a little help, and be honest too.


Well, I have now in my thoughts to write a letter, to be sent to Dr. Philipps and Mr. Pegge, by way of reprisals. It is not fair I should always be on the defence. It is about some Saxon affair. If coughing and death do not interfere you shall have it soon. I am really very bad as to my health, and jogg on by mere dint of strength of spirits only. Many an heroe would have sunk under such infirmities. If the materials of my body will hold out, I am now in a fit humour to write what I know of natural philosophy and antiquities : for I am not fit for any active part of life, which requires strength and motion. For God's sake, make no excuses. The world wants to know what you know, and are capable of knowing in a more exquisite manner than others. You that are arm’d with all manner of weapons can fight with more effect than a poor fellow with twcca carn corn, let him be ever so willing Such a one am I. God be with you.

"I am, yours sincerely,


than ever.

“Penbryn, July 27th, 1760. “Dear Sir,-By the nature of things I expected this summer, after my illness last winter, to be in tolerable health; but so it is that, considering everything, I am really worse

I cannot sit down for half an hour to write; I cannot walk about for want of breath. Tho'I endeavour to be with my haymakers hitherto, I can scarce be said to exist anywhere, and live merely by art. This is my case. The Herbert inscription was designed by a good hand, but murdered either by the stonecutter or the schoolmaster that copied it. I thank you for your translation of it. The ori. ginal should be, I think, as I wrote it in the inclosed copy. Pray, let me hear how far you have gone with Camden.

“I am, yours, whilst


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