Chapter II. Nationality And Revival.

WHAT is nationality? We define it in the same way as we do or should define character. No one attribute is more fundamental than another; and, therefore, no one quality should hold a prior place. The various qualities may be separated for the purpose of analysis; but we must consider them in their totality before we can ascertain what the character is. All the elements in a man’s make-up must be taken into account if we are to form a true estimate of him. We resent the manner in which foreigners judge us as a nation, by emphasizing our weak points and ignoring our strong ones; yet, we proceed upon similar lines when pronouncing judgment upon individual men and women. It is not within the province of this work to discuss the basis and reality of Welsh nationality, or whether it involves separate political institutions, or clearly-defined boundaries, or purity of race, or a common history and a common literature, or a separate language, or community of religious feeling. In its popular sense nationality means a separate individuality; and by a separate individuality or characteristics we mean national ideals, religious and political. It embraces language, temperament, habit of thought, instincts, tradition, common literature, and a consciousness of unity. Even a cursory study of these characteristics shows that the genius of the Welsh runs in a different direction from that of the English or that of any other nation, whether ancient or modern. The vitality of nations, like the vitality of individuals, runs into different grooves. In the case of the ancient Greeks, it ran into the region of physical culture; with the Romans, into the intellectual; with the English, into the genius for commerce; but the vitality of the Welsh ran into that of its religious consciousness. No nature has a stronger individuality than the Welsh, and that vigorous native note is more markedly virile and sharply defined in the sphere of religion than in any other direction. The religious atmosphere is essentially the national atmosphere. Not only is the fact of Welsh nationality patent to every student versed in the study of comparative races, but the sense or consciousness of nationality is equally patent. For its manifestations we need only refer to the profound regard of the Welsh for their religious ideals, to their enthusiasm for the educational advance of the masses of the people, to the demand for special legislation in temperance and education, and to the agitation for State recognition of aspirations that are distinctly Welsh. It also finds expression on the side of its unity, intensity and culture in the National Eisteddfod and the University system. It is also seen in the devotion to the native tongue. True, there are dormant periods in its history. The longest of all is the period covered by the second, third, fourth, and fifth centuries after the Roman subjection. Among its causes may be cited the overwhelming power of Rome, together with the social, political and intellectual advantages accruing from the Roman Government. The effects were twofold—physical effeminacy and higher civilization. Another period dates from 1282 to 1399; that is, between the fall of Llywelyn the last Prince and the rise of Owen Glyndwr. It was due to lack of leadership. It resulted in a closer and a finer attention to poetry and literature of a general character. It was the dawn and noonday of the Golden Age of Welsh poetry. The third period dates from 1485 to 1567—between the accession of Henry VII. (the first Tudor Sovereign) and the translation of the New Testament into Welsh. Here, again, we may attribute the cause to lack of leadership. All the gentry of Wales became Anglicized owing to one of their own class having become King. The deterioration that followed was both serious and widespread—-(a) a falling-off in the quality of the literature of Wales; (b) the beginning of the great decay of Welsh as a spoken language among all classes except the peasantry; (c) a general demoralization of the whole manners and morals of the people. The fourth dormant period lasted form 1603 to 1730—between the death of Elizabeth and the advent of Griffith Jones of Llanddowror and his Welsh Circulating Schools. This was due to two causes—(a) the accession of the Stuarts; (b) the spread of Puritanism. Its effects were threefold—(a) a further decay of Welsh poetry and prose; (b) a chaotic state of religious opinion and practice; (c) a poorer state of agriculture and industries. But notwithstanding these periods of inertia and apathy, the Welsh nation never lost the sense and the traces of its individuality and its identity. It is a remarkable tribute to the force of its own inward energy. Rarely do we find a nation capable of preserving its imaginative genius, its faculty for religion and its language, by the sheer force of its own life. As to the growth of the sentiment of nationality, it is coincident with the progress of education; the one has acted and reacted upon the other. From age to age it has existed in the blood and sinews of the people. Caesar, Augustine and Edward discovered it. Centuries of social atrocities of the most vindictive kind, and prolonged periods of intertribal strifes, failed to exterminate it. Many of the Welsh gentry adopted English habits and ideals; but the masses clung to the language, religion and aspirations of their ancestors. The greatest mystery in all the mysterious history of the Welsh has been their non-assimilative quality. It is claimed that the characteristics which differentiate the Welsh enable them to blend with men of other races. This it seems, is the contention of Professor Anwyl and his school. But their history is bad, so is their psychology. True, a few Welshmen scattered over the face of the earth have exhibited the power of social, political and philosophic adaptability and acquisition; but the Welsh in the aggregate, the Welsh as a people, have always been indisposed, even antagonistic, to ideals, modes of thought and types of life differing from their own. The Welshman abroad makes an excellent colonial or American citizen. He loses his insularity and his harsh individuality. He takes a broad and practical interest in the great problems of life, as well as in matters of international import. He loses that fanaticism for everything Welsh which characterized him during his former days, in his former home. The acquired aversion of the Cambro-American for what is British, the contempt with which he regards native Welsh habits, methods of living, laws, mechanical appliances, education, and what he calls the servility of the old folks at home, is one of the most notorious facts in his history. No student who knows him as he is abroad will question this. Such is the effect which the impact of the varied civilizations of the American Continent has upon him; He has no desire to return, and if he does, it is not to remain; he is always gIad to get back. He is like a man who feels he has been disillusioned. He makes a better American citizen abroad than a British citizen at home, and on his native heath he has but little pride in his English or British citizenship. He claims the rights of citizenship, but he has no corresponding sense of his imperial obligations as a British citizen. Such is the attitude of mind which his domestic environment, his politics and even his religious proclivities engender. The typical Welshman always thinks parochially, provincially and nationally. He never troubles about continents and empires. His thought-energy is confined to his chapel, his school, his college and even his party. If we ask what Welsh patriotism means, the answer comes that it is Welsh nationalism. If we ask again what Welsh nationalism means, we are informed that it is Welsh Liberalism, and that Welsh Liberalism is synonymous with organized official Liberalism. That is the ideal. The Welshman who does not subscribe to it must bear the brand of disloyalty, for Welsh national advancement, we are told, depends on official Liberalism. So runs the argument. The man of genius is nothing, the poet is nothing, the middleman is nothing, the littérateur is nothing, if he fails to see that patriotism is confined within these narrow and sharply-defined channels. But Welsh patriotism existed as a fact, and as a force, before Liberalism was invented. The sentiment of nationality among the Welsh is older than Parliament. It bears upon its speech, instincts and ideals the marks of very early days. As to the Welsh Renaissance, that dates back to the Tudor period. It was accompanied by a great stirring of intellectual life. Undoubtedly, it felt the force of the wave of nationalism that passed over the Continent of Europe in the early part of the past century; but its main artery of inspiration came from within. Welsh nationality is the result of forces, political and social, that are inherent in the nation. It marked another stage in the historical evolution of the race. Welsh culture gave Welsh nationalism an impelling force. It is a separate movement, possessing characteristics that are distinct from those of other nations. Our patriotic boasting is not altogether fantastic, though we do overstate our virtues and claim others we do not possess. Another feeder of Welsh nationalism, has been the Eisteddfod. It has broadened the Welsh outlook, it has fostered the spirit of unity by bringing together, on the same platform and under the same roof, men of different creeds and conditions. But the great foster-fathers of Welsh nationality have come from the ranks of the dissenters. Through the instrumentality of the Sunday School, the pulpit, literary societies, monthly and quarterly periodicals, and Nonconformist homesteads, chiefly, the national sentiment has been nursed and strengthened. For two centuries and a half Nonconformity has been the great bulwark that has enabled the Welsh to withstand the inroads of English habits and characteristics. It is contended that the Mother-Church in the past has not encouraged the spread of the sentiment of nationality among the Welsh. That there is a degree of truth in this cannot be disputed. Of all the besetting sins of the Church, this stands out first and foremost, namely, her fatal policy of placing herself outside the current of our national life. What Church authorities do encourage is, an Oxford First. Literary ability is not patronized. The Church has not a single periodical or paper that can be said to reflect the sentiments of the nation. Number nine of the King’s Regulations for Officers of the Navy contains these words: “Every officer is to refrain from making remarks, or passing criticisms, on the conduct or orders of his superiors which may tend to bring them into contempt, and is to avoid saying or doing anything which might discourage the men, or render them dissatisfied with their condition, or with the service on which they are or may be employed.” These regulations have been canonized by Church authorities in Wales, and have been incorporated, both in spirit and effect, into its administration. There is plenty of national feeling among the clergy in Wales, but it is being suppressed by officialism. The clergy as a body stand out for such sincerity, goodness, faithfulness and patriotism as demand the highest appreciation. As a class they are animated by the purest motives and most exalted goodness. Many of them are badly and unjustly paid, and have to labour daily under very trying conditions. They are weighed down by crosses they were never meant to bear, but which they have to bear without any hope of redress or any outlet of expression. Restraint is being put upon them; neither the right nor the duty of personal convictions, within the ecclesiastical zone, is being recognized. Moreover, the tendency of the day, even within the Church itself, is to undervalue the work of the parochial clergyman. He is rapidly becoming a local agent for his bishop and for central organizations. It is fast killing his originality, and robbing him of the power of initiative. The importance of the non-parochial official is being emphasized more and more; money is being lavishly spent upon central organization, while the rank and file of the parochial clergy are inadequately remunerated. The impression is abroad that the Church of England is enormously wealthy. Such an impression has some justification when we consider the expenditure upon central institutions. The Ecclesiastical Commission pays out in annual salaries £49,520. The buildings cost £160,000. The Church House pays in annual salaries £1,031, and the cost of buildings amounts to £112,784. The S.P.G. pays in annual salaries £12,775; and the buildings cost £33,310. The C.M.S. pays in annual salaries £24,078, and has spent £134,231 on its buildings. What must be the feeling of a poor country clergyman as he leaves the gorgeous abode of the Ecclesiastical Commission, with its officials drawing nearly £50,000 a year in salaries, after having being told that they never help any living the income of which exceeds £300? And how many clergymen there are in Wales who do not receive more than £150 a year? I mean, not curates, but beneficed clergymen. It is the highly paid official, whose usefulness no one can see, that creates the ill-feeling. Nonconformists respect the hard-working parish clergymen, many of whom are unable to make two ends meet. If there are legal difficulties in the way of justice being done to the clergy, why do not the bishops use their political power to remove them? To the demand for reform, our dignitaries plead that a Liberal Parliament will give them no assistance in this direction; but why did they not go to a Conservative Parliament? Why do they not go to the House of Lords, where they have bishops and friends in abundance? Let them give practical evidence of their sincerity. Those whose duty it is to lead and to guide are doing nothing. If the poor clergy are expected to defend their Church, they should be made to feel that they have a system that is worthy of defence. The great stream of national life flows past, and there is none to direct and to control its course. So far as elementary education is concerned, the Church in Wales has done excellent work. She established National Schools all over the land long before the State took any interest in the matter. Justice demands us to acknowledge, and acknowledge with gratitude, the fact that the idea of a Welsh University did not begin with the movement that ended in the establishment of the University College at Aberystwyth. Credit must be given to the late Bishop Hughes of St. Asaph and others, who made an effort long before this to get St. David’s College, Lampeter, endowed as a University. But the general policy of the leaders and ecclesiastical authorities has always been to leave to dissent the guidance of great national movements. This policy has cost the Church her leadership, and much of her ancient prestige as a national institution. There is no sign or likelihood of the inclusion of Lampeter as one of the constituent colleges of the Welsh University. It is too much out of touch and sympathy with Welsh needs and aspirations, headed by a staff of men who with one or two exceptions, are alien in blood, language and civilization, and who, to all intents and purposes, evince no appreciation of what concerns Welsh life and thought. How the council of the college continues to sanction the folly of the old policy passes understanding. It condemns the clergy who are educated there to the inferiority of seminarists, and places them at a disadvantage in the struggle for promotion in a church that claims to be Welsh in reality as well as in name. The Church needs an educational institution more in touch with our life and with the legitimate expectations of the Welsh people. Lampeter College has never produced one scholar in the technical acceptance of the word. A large number of Lampeter men in the past and present are known as sound theologians and well-read men, but the college has never produced a single specialist, to my knowledge, in any branch of science. Only a mere handful, have attained to positions of dignity in the Welsh Church. The college since its foundation has produced one bishop (Bishop Hughes), not a single dean, one archdeacon (Archdeacon Griffiths of Neath), three or four residential canons, and a few prebendaries. It is altogether a wretched record for such an institution, for it obviously shows the low opinion (without exception) the Welsh bishops have entertained for Lampeter men. It is a significant fact that the few who have been raised to positions of dignity excelled as preachers or organizers, and were appointed not because but in spite of the fact that they were Lampeter men. Not only from the Cathedral stalls, but from the incumbencies in nearly all the important parishes in Wales, have Lampeter men been excluded. The few exceptions have only proved the rule. The experiences of the past eighty years of the college have proved to us that Lampeter at present is capable of nothing more than “hewers of wood and drawers of water” in the Church. With the possibility of extending its usefulness by the extension of the Charter so as to include the M.A. degree, I doubt if the Lampeter M.A. would be of greater value than its B.A. As Sir Harry Reichel points out, what Lampeter lacks is facilities for specializing. To provide this would involve an outlay of £50,000 to begin with. If the money were forthcoming, would it be wise to spend it in this way? Church people have already contributed largely toward the University colleges. Why should not the Welsh Church derive some benefit from them? Let Lampeter give up her charter for the Arts degrees, and let the men take their Arts degrees at one of the Welsh University colleges or at Oxford or Cambridge, and then spend two years or more at Lampeter at the Church’s expense, not only in preparation for the sacred ministry, but in laying the foundation of the B.D. degree, which they would secure from Lampeter after five years’ priesthood. The gain to the Church would be enormous. The present dual systems of University men for the cathedrals and towns and Lampeter men for the country parishes would be done away with. The preparation for the ministry would be of a more thorough and spiritual character, and Lampeter would be a tower of strength instead of a source of weakness to the Church in Wales. The fact that the Mother-Church has not encouraged the sentiment of nationality may be attributed to poor episcopal statesmanship, the attitude of certain Lord Chancellors, patrons of Welsh livings, who knew nothing and cared nothing for Welsh aspirations. Welshmen of character and ability were ignored and their claims disregarded. This fatal policy is being continued. The nation has drifted from its moorings, but St. David’s College is still anchored in an ecclesiastical backwater, maintaining its unpatriotic attitude, having ceased to be Welsh and failing to be English. Its intellectual insolence is in direct proportion to the want of sympathy with Welsh thought, sentiment and aspiration. The Church is being borne along by forces beneath and around it, whose strength and direction it did not foresee in the past. A policy of mere negation and defence, having for its sole, as well as immediate, object the preservation of the material side of the Church as an establishment, will not suffice. Cultured Welshmen are proud of the Church as a spiritual organization. Her tolerant spirit, her wealth of learning and tradition, her unbroken historic past, and her incomparable liturgy, appeal to them, but they cannot understand why a clergyman who identifies himself with national movements should be regarded with suspicion. A Church that claims to be national should cultivate Welsh characteristics, and by Welsh characteristics we mean Welsh habits of thought, language, temperament, literature and ideals. The phrase, “Celtic characteristics,” is often heard. What does it signify? To the Welsh it is one thing, to the Irish another, and to the Scotch something different from both. Each section of the Celtic stock has a different ideal. They vary in social customs, in temperament, in political aspirations, and in their religious proclivities. The Welsh are as serious as the Greeks of old Welsh hymns, Welsh poetry and Welsh literature are mostly serious—very many of the hymns sad. The French are the very opposite in temperament. Moreover, the Welsh are as religious as the French are irreligious. The Irish have something of the Welsh literary popular afflatus, but there is a striking unlikeness in national habits, in their conception of national glory, and in political action. The religions of the two countries make a difference. With the Irish, religion comes first, and the race second. As far back as the Tudor period, the Welsh made their choice; and the choice was for their race and against their religion. To the days of the Reformation they were devoted Papists; even when the Reformation came, it did not penetrate Wales. But when the Jesuits captured the College at Rome, which was a Welsh presentation and in which Welsh priests were being trained, and when they began intriguing against Queen Elizabeth, who was a Welshwoman, they renounced their allegiance to Romanism, and Wales became an Anglican community. They were willing to accept either Franciscan or Benedictine monks; but Elizabeth was Welsh, a descendant of Henry Tudor; and being a race of Celts, they stood by her dynasty. It was the beginning of the Welsh Renaissance. What are the main features or characteristics of Welsh nationality? First, Dwysder.—It is impossible to convey in words—even in Welsh—its exact and full meaning. Some of the most forceful and exquisite words have no equivalent in English. “Hiraeth” is one, and “Dwysder” is another. The authorities translate it “gravity”; but “gravity” is entirely inadequate and unworthy. In Welsh “dwysder” means “alaeth yr enaid “—the result of a consciousness of a burden, It conveys the sense of oppression—the wail of the soul. It is not essentially a religious sentiment. That its origin may be traced to the consciousness that we are a conquered race is a pure figment of the imagination. There is in it an element of seriousness; and yet seriousness does not cover the meaning. There is in it also an element of sadness, of retrospective contemplation, and of intensity; yet it is more than, and different from, either. It is a combination of all. In the region of religious life it suggests the sighing or heaving of the soul as if crushed under a heavy weight. Thus most of our Welsh hymns are in the minor key. Such a temperament is attracted by the sad, the serious and the tragic. It is predisposed to religion and religious exuberance. It explains the paramount place of religion in Welsh thought and life, being first and foremost, above amusement, above intellectuality, above science and even family affection. From hour to hour, from place to place, and even in political aspirations, the sense of it is not far away. Thus it is that there is such an abnormal development of spiritual life among the Welsh. This “dwysder” may be classed among the most sacred and powerful of their characteristics. The Welsh mind is reverential and serious, and any approach to levity or off-handedness in spiritual matters is highly repugnant to it. One of the most distressing features of the last Welsh Revival was the flippancy manifested, especially by the young and others who had just emerged from the depths of iniquity. It helped to kill the Revival. In the opinion of some thoughtful Christians, it was the chief factor in the break-up of the movement and the revulsion of feeling that marked the closing scenes. Faber went over to Rome because of the dreadful facility of turning to God indicated by what he was pleased to call the base theology of the evangelical school. But what would Faber think if he heard terms in which girls and boys in their teens, quarrymen, miners, and peasants, who had reached the age of discretion, addressed the Almighty God? Here we have the human side of the Revival, partly humorous and partly irreverent, but sincere and autobiographical, with just a tinge of blasphemy, due to the excessive freedom that prevailed at the meetings. It shows that there is a good deal of vulgarity still left in Nonconformity. It has been claimed by a distinguished Welshman who is a Cabinet Minister that Nonconformity has affected Welsh character. How and in what direction? It has, he says, “steadied” the Welsh character, and given it “perseverance.” Such a claim has no historical foundation. It is not based on experience. The Welsh are as mercurial, as impulsive, as ever. The last Revival gave abundant evidence of this fact. As to “perseverance,” it is one of the immemorial qualities of the Welsh. It is a native trait. It was Welsh perseverance that made Welsh Nonconformity possible. Perseverance is not the child, but the parent, of Nonconformity. It founded the Tudor dynasty. It has enabled the race to outlive generations of oppressive laws, neglect, unrest, and intertribal strife. Long before the Tudor period, as far back as the fourteenth century, a large number of statutes of a most oppressive kind had been passed, designed to destroy the Welsh as a nation. For instance, no Welshman could buy land within England, no Welshman could become a municipal officer, nor, indeed, could enjoy the rights of a citizen or a burgess. No Englishman could be convicted at the suit of any Welshman in Wales except by the judgment of English justices, and no Englishman who was married to a Welshwoman could be put into office either in Wales or the Marches. In the Marches it was almost impossible to punish criminal offenders. The Lords Marchers, when not fighting with each other, were making raids upon the Welsh. Could a nation devoid of perseverance preserve its identity against such prohibitive conditions? Those who were carried away by the excitement of the Revival called it “Pentecost”; but, judged by its popular characteristic marks, nothing could be farther from the truth. This brings us to the human side of the movement. It is a curious study in the history and psychology of religious experiences. For instance, at Llanrhaeadr, in North Wales, a brother prayed after this fashion: “Lord, forgive me for going to the public-house from the church meeting the other night, and forgive the grey-haired old deacons who were there like myself. Thou knowest who they are; but I shall never mention their names.” At Canton, Cardiff, a man said, “The people, Lord, do not understand the strange things that are happening, neither do the horses that are down in the pit.” This was the petition of a drunkard who had confessed at Bethesda, Carnarvon: “Almighty God, thou knowest that I return to South Wales to-morrow. May the fire continue to burn here: they have plenty of it in the South already.” Immediately he finished, he was followed by an old friend who said, “Dear God, remember Sam; keep an eye on Sam—watch Sam. Thou knowest the temptations that are in the South. Sam holds on well here, in his old home; but I shall be afraid of him when in the neighbourhood of the coal-pits. Watch Sam in the wilderness of the South. Lord Jesus, keep him straight. I thank Thee for snatching me from the jaws of evil. Satan is busy. Oh, the old devil! what a sneak he is! If he were here now. I would strike him.” While uttering this last sentence he assumed the attitude of a pugilist. At Abergynolwyn, North Wales, an old soldier, notorious for his profanity, expressed himself after this fashion: “I have been for years, Lord, in the British Army, but now I am in the Army of the Lamb. Talk about pension from the British Government! Here is a pension.” Just then a woman swooned. Dr. Wynne Griffiths went to her, and with one hand he unloosened her collar and blouse, with the other he led the singing, at the same time joining in the refrain, “Crown Him.” Some laughed, others cried, and a few did both at the same time. At Horeb Chapel, Treherbert, a young man prayed with great fervour: “Lord Jesus, someone said, ‘Between Piahiroth and Baalzephon as long as I live I’ll remember the place.’ I can say now, between Blaengwynfi and Treherbert as long as I live I’ll remember the spot. There the darkness disappeared, there the dawn broke, and light came into my soul. Lord, save the man who walked with me as far as the pit yesterday. Thou knowest him. He has been wounded, but he has not been overthrown. Also, remember the two men who, are lodging in the same house as myself. The one of them is among the hearers at Horeb. Save him, Lord. Now, Lord, now, this moment. I shall not give Thee rest henceforth. I shall continue to disturb Thy peace for the salvation of some one or other.” At the same meeting a young collier came forward and addressed the Throne of Grace in this manner: “Blessed be Thy name, Lord, for descending the coal-pit to look for me. Some of the old saints accompanied me home last night; and when I entered the house, my little boy ran into my arms and exclaimed, ‘Dada, I love Jesus.’ Glory be to God for the change!” The following evening a neighbour and companion of the last begged of his Heavenly Father to expel the devil from that meeting, and from every heart as well. “Lord,” he continued, “fling him out: we do not want him here. Thou knowest that he has occupied the armchair in my heart for years. Turn him out to-night, and then take the chair Thyself, and stay there for ever. Dear God, remember those who despise and make fun of us. Don’t forget the brother that sneers in the columns of the ‘Western Mail’ this morning. He calls himself a Churchman—yes, a Churchman; but it would be more appropriate if he called himself a ‘Sporting man’!” In the Aberdare valley a quaint old collier made a strange request: “Almighty Father, I am afraid of the devil: he is after me everywhere. Send him to for a pair of clogs, that I may hear his footsteps.” At Tonypandy a man in the gallery shouted out that he was going to heaven there and then, whereupon a well-known character in the district, who felt annoyed, called out, “If you are going to heaven, go; but go quietly.” At Bala a youth got up to pray: “Give me a clean heart, Lord. It is time for Christmas boxes now: give me a Christmas box. I have a blank leaf in my life. Give me a Christmas box from the white page of the New Year.” At Bethesda, Carnarvonshire, an old prodigal offered up his supplication with an earnestness that was unmistakable: “Save this district, Lord, the whole district. I have felt for some time that there was something in the way, whatever it is. The English call it a ‘stumbling-block.’ We feel it all the time; but Thou canst through the Spirit put Thy finger on it.” In a certain part of Merioneth a Church member gave vent to his feelings in these words: “Lord, many a time have we begged of Thee to remember us; but we never dreamt that we would be remembered in this fashion.” At Skewen a woman, who evidently knew a great deal about Briton Ferry, implored God to remember the people and the place: “Lord, bless Briton Ferry, save Briton Ferry. Oh, drunken Briton Ferry, infidel Briton Ferry, beastly Briton Ferry!” An effort was made at Narberth, in Pembrokeshire, as was done in other places, to work up a Revival spirit. A noted character in the neighbourhood, who is now dead, pioneered the movement. He and a few others decided to hold a prayer-meeting outside the town. The brother in question prayed after this fashion: “Almighty God, we have met together in this strange place to ask Thy blessing. Thou hast been with us in other parts, and we pray Thee not to forsake us now. Dear Lord, come to-night. We know that Thou art having a busy time of it just now: Christians everywhere are wanting Thee, and it is hard for Thee to please us all. Lord, if Thou art too busy to come Thyself to us here to-night, please send Gabriel or someone else.” Very significant was the prayer of an Anglesey man: “We thank Thee, O Lord, that Thou hast shunted our ministers to the side-line that we, the people, might come to the front. But, Lord, do not keep them there too long, for fear they may get rusty.” Another in the same district prayed as follows: “Thou, Lord, dost receive all kinds of people. The King of England will not permit any man to enlist as a soldier in the British Army unless he is 5 feet 9 inches and has so much breast-measure. But Thou dost accept everybody—fathers and mothers, young and old, rich and poor alike.” “Come into our hearts,” implored another. “Thou hast been knocking at the door for years; we have the key, and Thou art too much of a gentleman to enter without being invited.” An aged Christian woman living in the quarry district of North Wales prayed thus: “We pray Thee, dear Jesus, to send Thy clean and Holy Spirit to us in this place, and may we do some spring-cleaning in the house, that we may be ready to receive Him, for He will not come into a very dirty house; and after He comes, let us have peace and quietness, for Thy Spirit is like a dove. He will fly away at the least noise and disturbance.” In the Avan Valley in Glamorganshire one young man offered this prayer: “Lord, forgive me and my old friend for neglecting other services of Thy House for so long at a time, and for going up to the mountain to play cards, pitch-and-toss, and drink beer on Sunday. Now I give my heart to Thee, and I give my life. Lord, bless me and keep me.” Such examples could be multiplied; but these are sufficient for my purpose. They are highly uncanonical in expression, and sound worse in English than in Welsh. But they must be judged, partly at any rate, in the light of the occasion and of the atmosphere. Their puritanic anthropomorphism may shock some of my readers; but they cannot be dismissed as wanting in value or significance. What do they show? In some of them we have the low-water mark of the indiscretions of the Revival. Others are typical of the Revival prayer—half-sermon and half-prayer, due both to physical causes and the consciousness of deliverance from guilt and the power of evil. They show that the rise of religious democracy in Wales was coincident with the rise and spread of the Revival wave, and they throw some sidelight on some of the customs that largely prevailed in Wales at one time, and that still exist in many parts. Here we have an insight into the attitude of many of our religious leaders in the principality, especially in some out-of-the-way rural districts, with regard to public-houses. We have also in these prayers unmistakable evidence that the Revival, though in form unexpected, was itself expected, and had been prepared for, long before any outbreak had been recorded. Moreover, some of the prayers clearly indicate that many of the raw converts of the Revival thoroughly understood the meaning of forgiveness, and were prepared to exercise the grace they had received. These are simple, beautiful and childlike, full of unconscious humour and even of deplorable ignorance, yet overflowing with earnestness, trust in God, and zeal against evil as a personality. In many Revival supplications, as well as in many of the addresses and confessions, there was a freedom and a recklessness of utterance that impressed many God-fearing people as irreverent, if not as blasphemous. On a certain occasion Evan Roberts spoke about new birth, and the necessity for it. When be had finished, a woman got up and addressed the meeting, giving the details of a natural birth with such graphic exactness that the people were amazed. A Cwmavon minister who had not been allowed to preach for several Sundays approached a group of young men between the ages of sixteen and twenty-three: “Am I,” asked he, “to preach to-night?” The answer he received was this: “It depends upon what the Spirit will tell us.” The italics (underlining) are the author’s. Many of the ministers did not preach for months. They were utterly powerless. The rest was probably not unwelcome,—to some, at any rate; but it shows how lamentably they had failed to grasp the situation, and to control a movement that had in it the seeds of untold blessings. It was allowed to drift and to degenerate. Evan Roberts did nothing to check its downward course. A shrewd man like himself could not fail to see the advantage that was being taken, and the dry-rot that was eating away the essence of the Revival; but the chief responsibility rests with those who surrounded him, who acted as his bodyguard, and who sought to convert it into an instrument for additional denominational prestige and the canonization of sectarianism. Second, Superstition.—This is to be found, more or less, in every man and every nation. Evidences of it are found in far-sundered races in all the ends of the earth. It is a permanent fact, independent of civilization, of education, and of the progress of mankind. Superstition has become the pastime of the intellectuals, and even scientists are not free from it. We now count superstition as one of the great staying qualities of human nature. It has, we are told, this one virtue to its credit. It has done good service to humanity in promoting respect for human life. How these credulities came into existence, and what power keeps them in existence, against the natural instincts and the everyday experience of those who hold them, passes understanding. In spite of reason and of knowledge, belief in witchcraft and in the evil eye, in the influence of the heavenly bodied, both benign and malign, upon the lives and fortunes of men and nations, continues to hold its ground. It operates as openly and as effectively in the field of religion as in any other department of human life. The Welsh branch of the Celtic race seems to have been particularly endowed in this direction. From time immemorial the Welsh mind has familiarized itself with the mysterious and incomprehensible. Houses were and are believed to be haunted by the reappearance of departed ones in the form of ghosts to worry and revenge themselves upon the living. Certain people were supposed to be in constant communication with the unseen world, and to be able to predict impending calamities. The fall of a star, or an eclipse, was an augury of pestilence or disaster. Immense superstructures were built on incidents that were worthy of nothing but ridicule and contempt. Tales of the weird and wonderful have always engaged the minds of the Welsh. Nameless spirits were supposed to haunt houses where money had been hoarded. “Farthing dips” were kept burning all night in bedrooms for fear some ghost or mysterious something might come in the night to terrify the inmates while asleep. On certain nights, called the “Three Spirit Nights,” it was thought that the branches of the yew-trees rustled whether there was wind or not. The bells in the belfry would creak without human touch. On these nights men would take girls’ garters and tie them in a true lover’s knot, uttering words over them. Then they laid the knots under their shirts next their hearts. If the swallows flew near the ground, or the cows had their tails to the wind, or the domestic cat became frisky, it was a sure sign of rain. Superstition seems to be in the very blood and fibre of the people, as if it were one of the gifts conferred upon them by the genius that presided at the birth of the race. It has distorted their vision, and engrafted into them vicious prejudices and obstinate predispositions. It has left its impress upon their poetry, their literature, their history and habits of thought. This is what makes Welsh history so intricate and difficult. It is almost impossible to distinguish between the real and the mythical. Welsh tradition is unreliable. It is surrounded by clouds of miraculous encumbrances. So strong is this element of superstition in the native mind that it is ever ready to burst into consciousness and action when occasion shall allow. It takes refuge in every conceivable hole and corner, and peeps out in the most unexpected manner, and at the most unexpected time. Dryden said, “When reason goes to sleep, superstition wakes.” Among the Welsh, emotion has always been in the ascendant. Reason has been subordinated to feeling. The spirit of judgment has been conspicuous by its absence Hero-worship has been a prominent feature. A man of courage and resource, with pretensions to superior wisdom, professing to have a vision of the future, is certain of the most abject homage. The value of hero-worship depends upon its character. If it is blind adoration, if it is a defiance of frank and honest, but courteous, criticism of the hero’s policy, or if it is an aggressive defence of all that he says and does, then it is a curse, and not a blessing. “My hero right or wrong,” is not the noblest of sentiments, nor the sanest. Moreover, it is not true patriotism. What is the explanation? It is found in the lack of education, of travel, or association, and the absence of the critical faculty. The geographical position of Wales must also be taken into consideration. For generations the Cymry have been imprisoned within narrow limits, and the pressure of their immediate surroundings has been so real that it has developed an intellectual parochialism that has narrowed their outlook, contracted their life, and made them regard their type of goodness as the one and only ideal. True, there is no superstition that has not something sublime at the bottom of it, and on which wise teachers may build, and build nobly. All nations with such a history, and such a cast of mind, are pre-eminently disposed to periods of religious excitement; and it explains the intemperate emotions and extraordinary outbursts that accompanied the upheaval of 1904. It was on the anvil of Welsh superstition that, Evan Roberts forged his fame. People believed that he possessed the powers of life and death. Many sought the opportunity of coming into physical contact with him, that they might partake of his virtue. There are instances when men rubbed his hat with the sleeve of their coat, and said that the dust was holy dust. One would imagine that such things would be impossible in this enlightened age, and especially among a race of people with such strong brain power—a race that has developed an excellent educational system. It was thought that education would not only nurse the new patriotism, but that it would also be the means of eradicating the superstitions to which the Welsh have clung so tenaciously, and that under the impulse of Welsh culture, broadened by the impact of other minds, they would be thrown over to the bats and owls. The sooner it is done the better. Third, Imaginative genius,—Fancy is often confounded with imagination; but the difference is wide and real. Fancy wanders aimlessly like a phantom, and has no objective point. It is controlled neither by conscience nor reason. It has no plan, and no substance. Whether it originates in the head or in the heart it is impossible to say. Imagination is both creative and constructive. It is allied to reason, and implies a larger development of the intellect. Imagination is constructive. There is a certain degree of imagination necessary in all great scientific and mechanical achievements. Great strategists are men of imagination. They manipulate forces, and launch them in new combinations, taking everything into account, calculating and providing for every contingency. Imagination, like superstition, is found to some extent in every man and every race. Homer and Shakespeare possessed it to an extraordinary degree. So did Christmas Evans. A Doré or a Rembrandt would have filled his canvas with many a weird scene, and peopled many a gallery with vivid portraitures, after retiring from the spell of this great prose-poet. His charm was in his imagination. In this regard he was, and is, the premier man of his race; the flower of the stock; an exception, it is true, but an exception only in the measure of his endowment. The quality which he exhibited on the heights is one of the historic Cambrian qualities. It is in the very temperament of the people. It predisposes them in favour of religion, of the poetry of religion, and even of the romance of religion. The disposition is peculiarly Welsh. How his imagination quickens as he listens to the mournful gust sweeping over the brow of the hill, and as he watches the mist rolling up the mountain-side. The character of his country is reflected in his own. The gorgeous, even weird costume, in which some of the Bible pronouncements have been clothed has a fascination for him that it cannot possibly have for a less poetic or mercurial soul. This explains why the illustrative style of preaching has been so common in the Principality. The old preachers revelled in the witchery of the imagination. Not that they eschewed reason or argument, or wandered aimlessly into the region of improbability and of fiction; some of them were exceptionally strong in argument, in analysis and in perceptive power. The catholicity of their moral and spiritual apprehension was wonderful. Reason and judgment were seldom absent, and imagination was invariably kept within its proper province. Then, what is its province? It is to illustrate. What logic is exclusively to a cold, unimpassioned mind, that is imagination, subordinately, to a genuine Welsh preacher. Imagination is ever at hand to supply the requisite imagery for exposition and embellishment. This is the source of that variety, freshness, beauty and charm of the ideal Welsh sermon. There is also this difference between imagination and fancy — imagination is closely allied to patriotism. In the Welsh temperament this is very pronounced. They act and react the one upon the other. Their imprint is found in our music, our literature and our religion. It is said that patriotism is mainly moral; but the truth is, it is very largely an imaginative passion. It is not difficult to embrace the idea of a clan or a class, especially if its aspirations be in accord with our own; but in grasping the connection of nationality, one has to entertain countless thoughts and associations, gathered from every remote period. Nevertheless, imagination has its limitation. There is an ultra-sensual world that is at present beyond its ken—a world as vast and as varied as the one the imagination is now able to contemplate. Beyond the border-land of the ultra-sensual world is mystery; and so far, it is forbidden ground. The limitations of imagination are likewise revealed when it seeks to form an adequate conception of God and to embrace the idea of the Infinite. Literature, and more especially poetic literature, teems with illustrations, showing how insuperable has been the task of bringing God within the compass of human imagination. Moreover, imagination enters very largely into the making and unmaking of life’s shadow and sunshine. It can give pain, and it can give pleasure. It is more dreadful than reality. It is more pleasing than reality. We get out of life what imagination puts into it. As there are many consciences, so there are many imaginations. Some men have a lascivious imagination. It is more insidious and far-reaching in its effect than the popular vices that are being constantly denounced by the pulpit and the press. There is also a religious imagination—an imagination saturated with spirituality of thought. It is among the greatest of moral forces. Of all the races of mankind of which we have any knowledge, there is no race that possesses this type of imagination in so marked a degree as the Welsh. It is one of their great constitutional qualities, and goes far to explain their poetic and religious proclivities. It makes them highly sensitive to those fluctuations of feeling to which all forms of religion are subject.