That night, after tea, Henrietta played on the guitar the old muleteer tune of “El Punto de la Vana,” or the main point at the Havanna, whilst I sang the words:—
“Never trust the sample when you go your cloth to buy:
The woman’s most deceitful that’s dressed most daintily,
The lasses of Havanna ride to mass in coaches yellow,
But ere they go they ask if the priest’s a handsome fellow.
The lasses of Havanna as mulberries are dark,
And try to make them fairer by taking Jesuit’s bark.”
CHAPTER LI
The Ladies of Llangollen—Sir Alured—Eisteddfodau—“Pleasure and Care.”
Shortly after my return I paid a visit to my friends at the vicarage, who were rejoiced to see me back, and were much entertained with the account I gave of my travels. I next went to visit the old church clerk of whom I had so much to say on a former occasion. After having told him some particulars of my expedition, to all of which he listened with great attention, especially to that part which related to the church of Penmynydd and the tomb of the Tudors, I got him to talk about the ladies of Llangollen, of whom I knew very little save what I had heard from general report. I found he remembered their first coming to Llangollen, their living in lodgings, their purchasing the ground called Pen y maes, and their erecting upon it the mansion to which the name of Plas Newydd was given. He said they were very eccentric, but good and kind, and had always shown most particular favour to himself; that both were highly connected, especially Lady Eleanor Butler, who was connected by blood with the great Duke of Ormond, who commanded the armies of Charles in Ireland in the time of the great rebellion, and also with the Duke of Ormond who succeeded Marlborough in the command of the armies in the Low Countries in the time of Queen Anne, and who fled to France shortly after the accession of George the First to the throne, on account of being implicated in the treason of Harley and Bolingbroke; and that her ladyship was particularly fond of talking of both those dukes, and relating anecdotes concerning them. He said that the ladies were in the habit of receiving the very first people in Britain, “amongst whom,” said the old church clerk, “was an ancient gentleman of most engaging appearance and captivating manners, called Sir Alured C—. He was in the army, and in his youth, owing to the beauty of his person, was called ‘the handsome captain.’ It was said that one of the royal princesses was desperately in love with him, and that on that account George the Third insisted on his going to India. Whether or not there was truth in the report, to India he went, where he served with distinction for a great many years. On his return, which was not till he was upwards of eighty, he was received with great favour by William the Fourth, who amongst other things made him a field-marshal. As often as October came round did this interesting and venerable gentleman make his appearance at Llangollen to pay his respects to the ladies, especially to Lady Eleanor, whom he had known at Court as far back, they say, as the American war. It was rumoured at Llangollen that Lady Eleanor’s death was a grievous blow to Sir Alured, and that he would never be seen there again. However, when October came round he made his appearance at the vicarage, where he had always been in the habit of taking up his quarters, and called on and dined with Miss Ponsonby at Plas Newydd, but it was observed that he was not so gay as he had formerly been. In the evening, on his taking leave of Miss Ponsonby, she said that he had used her ill. Sir Alured coloured, and asked her what she meant, adding that he had not to his knowledge used any person ill in the course of his life. ‘But I say you have used me ill, very ill,’ said Miss Ponsonby, raising her voice, and the words ‘very ill’ she repeated several times. At last the old soldier, waxing rather warm, demanded an explanation. ‘I’ll give it you,’ said Miss Ponsonby; ‘were you not going away after having only kissed my hand?’ ‘O,’ said the general, ‘if that is my offence, I will soon make you reparation,’ and instantly gave her a hearty smack on the lips, which ceremony he never forgot to repeat after dining with her on subsequent occasions.”
We got on the subject of bards, and I mentioned to him Gruffydd Hiraethog, the old poet buried in the chancel of Llangollen church. The old clerk was not aware that he was buried there, and said that though he had heard of him, he knew little or nothing about him.
“Where was he born?” said he.
“In Denbighshire,” I replied, “near the mountain Hiraethog, from which circumstance he called himself in poetry Gruffydd Hiraethog.”
“When did he flourish?”
“About the middle of the sixteenth century.”