ould take an interest in my
pursuits; the want of such a one I more particularly felt in the long
winter evenings. It was then that the image of the young person whom I
had seen in the house of the preacher frequently rose up distinctly
before my mind's eye, decked with quiet graces--hang not down your head,
Winifred--and I thought that of all the women in the world I should wish
her to be my partner, and then I considered whether it would be possible
to obtain her. I am ready to acknowledge, friend, that it was both
selfish and wicked in me to wish to fetter any human being to a lost
creature like myself, conscious of having committed a crime for which the
Scriptures told me there is no pardon. I had, indeed, a long struggle as
to whether I should make the attempt or not--selfishness however
prevailed. I will not detain your attention with relating all that
occurred at this period--suffice it to say that I made my suit and was
successful; it is true that the old man, who was her guardian, hesitated,
and asked several questions respecting my state of mind. I am afraid
that I partly deceived him, perhaps he partly deceived himself; he was
pleased that I had adopted his profession--we are all weak creatures.
With respect to the young person, she did not ask many questions; and I
soon found that I had won her heart. To be brief, I married her; and
here she is, the truest wife that ever man had, and the kindest. Kind I
may well call her, seeing that she shrinks not from me, who so cruelly
deceived her, in not telling her at first what I was. I married her,
friend; and brought her home to my little possession, where we passed our
time very agreeably. Our affairs prospered, our garners were full, and
there was coin in our purse. I worked in the field; Winifred busied
herself with the dairy. At night I frequently read books to her, books
of my own country, friend; I likewise read to her songs of my own, holy
songs and carols which she admired, and which yourself would perhaps
admire, could you understand them; but I repeat, you Saxons are an
ignorant people with respect to us, and a perverse, inasmuch as you
despise Welsh without understanding it. Every night I prayed fervently,
and my wife admired my gift of prayer.

'One night, after I had been reading to my wife a portion of Ellis Wyn,
my wife said, "This is a wonderful book, and containing much true and
pleasant doctrine; but how is it that you, who are so fond