been different, he would have made his mark on the literature of his country and age. He possessed all the requisites of a poet. In the language of our triad, he had" An eye to see nature, a heart to feel nature, and a hand to dare follow nature." And, to his honour be it said, he never wrote a line that "Dying he might wish to blot." He could be severe when he had to deal chastisement to immorality or oppression; but even when compelled to take up the weapons of the satirist, he used them kindly and considerately, and in a way that drew down on him the enmity of no man. His memory is deeply cherished by the few friends that still survive. He died while yet a very young man. That terrible bane of our climate, pulmonary consumption, had for some time marked him for its victim; and he gradually, yet uncomplainingly, day by day, succumbed to his dread enemy. While yet his emaciated form lay on the couch froin which he never rose again, his mind was as active, and his imaginative powers as daring, as in the heyday of his life. The following exquisite lines -exquisite in their rich pathos-were addressed by him but a short time before his departure to the writer of this narrative; and they prove how mighty even then the spirit was that animated the fragile form it was about to cast aside : "How are you, Myllin ?" His reply came in the form of englynion, which he uttered in a deep tone of sadness, almost of wailing: Mae trwm gystudd prudd yn parhau―arnaf, Mal oer ernest angau ;` Egwanu mae 'm gewyna; O na chawn fy llawn iachau! Gan nychdod darfod bob dydd-mae 'm corph ; A mwy yw 'm cur beunydd ; Ofnaf-Ŏ brau yw 'nefnydd! Mai marw wnaf ym moreu 'nydd! Eiddigor y Pen-meddygon-etto A rhoi iechyd llwyrbryd, llon, When the sun of the following day had risen, bright and cloudless, over the earth now gay with the glories of returning spring, our poet lay dead in his little chamber. The spirit had fled on the wings of the morning to where the morning never fades away, and where the inhabitant shall not say, "I am sick."1 Many years afterwards the writer of this little biography re-visited his native place for the purpose of delivering a lecture on the genius and poetry of his early friend. There were but few to sympathise. A new generation had sprung up, who knew but little of either the poet or his writings. Some were in their graves, others had moved away to distant scenes; a few only remembered the talented, intellectual, warmhearted young poet, whose life and example were not only honourable to himself, but served as beacons to light others to follow in his steps. 1 With the sorrow we cherish at the untimely death of our poetfriend, a feeling of deep regret springs up as we think of the loss which Welsh literature has sustained by his early removal. He who wrote "for all time" says that when men desert the stage, "The good is oft interred with their bones." In a certain sense we adopt his words. Together with our young poet a fund of literary wealth disappeared-interred in the same grave. We allude not to the fruits which his matured and cultivated intellect might have brought forth; though these would have been neither few nor trivial. We refer to the treasure-house of his well-stored mind, where lay commingled the poetry of the old bards, traditionary tale and legend, folk-lore, and proverb, and saw; and, more than all, the fragments of history gathered from a yet primitive people who had handed them down from sire to son, in communities where homes were rarely changed, and where the intercourse between families was kept up, generation after generation, unbroken and uninterrupted. Of these Myllin had collected a rich possession. But, not committing them to paper, they perished with him. In this, as well as in its ordinary acceptation, how true the saying, "Litera scripta manet." The scanty proceeds of the lecture, and the generous help of a few friends, enabled the committee that had taken up the matter to erect a stone to his memory, on which were inscribed the following stanzas, written by our poet himself, in anticipation of the early death that awaited him : Och! er cau dorau durol-a gwylio Nid ieungetid, llawn gwrid, na grym— A ettyl gledd lleithwedd, llym, MYTTON MANUSCRIPTS. LETTERS AND PAPERS OF THOMAS MYTTON, OF HALSTON, ESQ., (Sometime Major-General of the Parliament's Army in North Wales, 1642 to 1655.) (Continued from page 376 of Vol. vii.) PAPER XII. WITH the capture of Shrewsbury, the scene of Gen. Mytton's activities was changed. Shropshire was now altogether in the hands of the Parliament, but North Wales, from Anglesey to the Cheshire border, was garrisoned for the King, and reinforcements were being poured in at Holyhead as fast as the Duke of Ormonde could send them across the water. The task of reducing North Wales was entrusted to Gen. Mytton. The Civil War had now raged throughout England for three years, yet the issue still seemed doubtful. With his head-quarters at Oxford, the King held the strong castles of Wallingford, Worcester, Newark, and Hereford, in the centre of his kingdom,-Chester in the north-west, Bristol in the south-west, the former backed by North Wales and succours from Ireland, the latter supported by South Wales and the counties of Cornwall, Devon, and Somerset. The rout of Prince Rupert at Marston Moor had, indeed, made the Parliament paramount in the north, but nevertheless, in the summer of 1645, the King was at the head of an army equal in point of numbers to any which could be brought against him. We all know how that army was shattered on the 14th of June, 1645, at Naseby. In the August following Bristol fell. In the February following Chester fell. We must, however, turn our attention to North Wales, where General Mytton held command. As owner of the lordship of Dinas Mawddwy, which extends into the counties of Merioneth and Montgomery, he was fighting partly on his own ground, and, like his brother-in-law, Sir Thomas Myddleton, whose castle of Chirk was one of the king's garrisons in spite of its owner, he could only set foot there by force of arms. The previous history of North Wales from the beginning of the Civil War had been remarkable. It was in 1642 garrisoned for the King. In the second year of the War, Sir William Brereton brought it under the dominion of the Parliament. When, however, the Irish reinforcements began to arrive, the Cavaliers were able in their turn to drive out the Roundheads, and the Principality was again held for the King. It was now General Mytton's business to try to reduce it a second time. At the opening of the campaign of 1645, Sir John Watts was Cavalier Governor of Chirk, Sir William Neale of Hawarden Castle, Colonel William Salesbury of Denbigh, Sir Richard Lloyd of Holt, Sir John Owen of Conway, Lord Bulkeley of Beaumaris, Colonel William Owen of Harlech. Lord Byron was governor of Chester, and when he surrendered Chester to Sir William Brereton on the 6th of February, 1646, he retired to Caernarvon, and became the Cavalier Captain-General of North Wales. One after the other, all these castles were reduced by General Mytton and his lieutenants, Colonel Roger Pope, his son-in-law, Colonel John Jones, the regicide, Colonel Carter, Colonel Twistleton, Captain Richard Price, and Captain Simkies. We regret that General Mytton's correspondence is extremely scanty during this eventful period. Indeed, the following gossiping letter from his brother-in-law, Richard Napier, is the only letter we have. No doubt "he was full of business" all the time. |