ur 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 of good books,
and good things in general, never read the Bible? You read me the book
of Master Ellis Wyn, you read me sweet songs of your own composition, you
edify me with your gift of prayer, but yet you never read the Bible.'
And when I heard her mention the Bible I shook, for I thought of my own
condemnation. However, I dearly loved my wife, and as she pressed me, I
commenced on that very night reading the Bible. All went on smoothly for
a long time; for months and months I did not find the fatal passage, so
that I almost thought that I had imagined it. My affairs prospered much
the while, so that I was almost happy,--taking pleasure in everything
around me,--in my wife, in my farm, my books and compositions, and the
Welsh language; till one night, as I was reading the Bible, feeling
particularly comfortable, a thought having just come into my head that I
would print some of my compositions, and purchase a particular field of a
neighbour--oh, God--God! I came to the fatal passage.

"Friend, friend, what shall I say? I rushed out. My wife followed me,
asking me what was the matter. I could only answer with groans--for
three days and three nights I did little else than groan. Oh, the
kindness and solicitude of my wife! 'What is the matter, husband, dear
husband?' she was continually saying. I became at last more calm. My
wife still persisted in asking me the cause of my late paroxysm. It is
hard to keep a secret from a wife, especially such a wife as mine, so I
told my wife the tale, as we sat one night--it was a mid-winter
night--over the dying brands of our hearth, after the family had retired
to rest, her hand locked in mine, even as it