hotel; much frequented in the summer. There was only one good house, that built by Mr. Parry, of the firm of Parry and Brown, ship brokers, where Mrs. Parry, a fine, handsome lady, dispensed graceful hospitality. Her brother, Mr. David Brown, afterwards removed to London to a fine office in Leadenhall Street, and lived and died at a charming retreat he built for himself in Harrow. There I one day met Lord Shaftesbury, who came to a drawing-room meeting held in connection with the London City Mission, and where we were all handsomely regaled.
Perhaps at that time the most active man in Cardiff was Mr. John Batchelor—whose statue, erected by his admirers, still adorns the place—a sad thorn in the side of the old-fashioned people who then ruled the town, especially the Marquis of Bute’s trustees or the men who represented them in Cardiff. Mr. John Batchelor was a keen critic, a good speaker, a sturdy Nonconformist, and a man of high character and great influence. His death was a great loss to the town. Just outside the town lived Mr. Booker, the proprietor of tin-works at Velindra, a fine well-made man, and a good speaker, who got into Parliament to maintain Protection, in which attempt he failed. His admirers had a full portrait of him painted by Mr. John Deffet Francis, who afterwards lived in Swansea. Mr. Francis was a very versatile genius, and got up
an amateur performance in which he acted the part of a vagabond to perfection, somewhat to the confusion of some of the ladies, who had never witnessed such a realistic performance before. In connection with myself quite a storm in a teacup took place. In St. Mary Street there was an Athenæum, as the local reading-room was called. It was thought by some of my friends that I ought to be on the committee, but as I was not qualified a motion was made to set the standing rules on one side in order that I might be elected. The little town was quite excited on the occasion, and the great Mr. Booker was appealed to to use his influence against me, which he did, but I was elected nevertheless. In my capacity of committee-man I did something to get up some lectures, which were a great success. One of the lecturers was Mr. George Dawson, with whom I spent a pleasant day. Another was my old and comic friend, Mr. George Grossmith, the celebrated father of a yet more celebrated son. Another was Mrs. Balfour, the mother of the Balfour who, in later times, was to do a lot of misdeeds and to attain a very disagreeable notoriety in consequence. On another occasion I was also enabled to do the town some service by getting Mr. James Taylor, of Birmingham, to come and explain his scheme for the formation of Freehold Land Societies, an idea then in its infancy, but which has been for the social and
moral elevation of the working classes, who used to spend in drink what they now devote to a better purpose. There was a great deal of drinking in Cardiff. Indeed, it was the chief amusement of the place. The sailors, at that time consisting of representatives of almost every nation under heaven, were much given to drinking, and some of the boarding-houses were by no means of a respectable character. There was no other form of social enjoyment unless you belonged to the strict religious bodies who, as Congregationalists, or Baptists, or Calvinistic Methodists, had many chapels, which were well filled. It was in one of these chapels Harry Vincent came to lecture when I was at Cardiff, and electrified the town.
The Member of Parliament for the town lived a very quiet life, and seemed to take but little interest in political affairs. One of the most accomplished and certainly best-educated men in the place was Mr. Chas. Bernard, architect and surveyor; without him life would have been very dull to me at Cardiff. I imagine that his chief reason for pitching his tent in what must have been to him a very ungenial clime was that his sister was married to the late Mr. Reece, local Coroner. It grieves me to state that he has long since joined the majority. Another great friend of mine was Mr. Peter Price—now, alas! no more, who was destined, however, to do much good before he passed away. The
Public Library, which he did much to establish, still retains his portrait. Another of the excellent of the earth was Mr. W. P. James, the brother-in-law of Mr. Peter Price, who came to Cardiff to build the new Town Hall. They were all gentlemen who had come from a distance to settle in Cardiff, the character of which they did much to improve and elevate. We all did something to get up an Eisteddfod, which, if it did nothing else, had this advantage, that it did something to develop the powers of a Cardiff artist—Mr. D. Marks—who, when I saw him last, had a studio in Fitzroy Square, London, and was engaged to paint several portraits of distinguished personages, one of these being a fine portrait of the great and good Earl of Shaftesbury. It was presented to his lordship at a great meeting held in the Guildhall, presided over by the Lord Mayor, Sir William Macarthur, in April, in 1881. The committee of the Ragged School Union took the initiative to do honour to their president.
As a newspaper man in Cardiff and a comparative stranger to the town I had a somewhat unscrupulous opponent, the editor of the local organ, The Cardiff and Merthyr Guardian. He was a very unscrupulous man, apparently all smiles and friendship, but I never could trust him. Nor was I surprised to learn that when he became secretary of the Cardiff Savings Bank there was a very serious defalcation in the
funds. The man always seemed to me utterly untrustworthy, but his civil manners apparently won him many friends. As editor of a Liberal newspaper I had to fight the battle under very great disadvantages. It was no easy thing to run a newspaper then. The taxes on knowledge were a great impediment. On every paper a penny stamp had to be paid, and the advertisement duty was eighteenpence on every advertisement. The repeal of these taxes was a great boon for the local papers; and then there was a tax on paper, which was an additional obstacle. As to telegraphs, they were unheard of; and it was to the London dailies that we had to trust for foreign news. One of the most important events when I was at Cardiff was the opening of the South Wales Railway as far as Swansea. The first train was driven by Mr. Brunel, the eminent engineer, accompanied by a distinguished party of directors and local magnates. I joined the train at Cardiff. At Swansea the event was celebrated in grand style. All the population seemed to me to have turned out to witness the arrival of the train. There were flags and decorations everywhere, and later on a grand banquet, at which I was privileged to assist so far as eating and drinking and cheering the speakers went. And thus my reminiscences close. I cannot look back on my career at Cardiff with unmixed satisfaction. I was by no means the steady old party I have
since become. It is not always easy to put an old head upon young shoulders, but at any rate in my small way I did something for the advent of that brighter and better day which has dawned not only upon Cardiff but on all the land.
In this connection I may naturally add a few particulars of worthy Welshmen I have known. The Scotchman who prayed that the Lord would give them a good conceit of themselves, had he lived among the Welsh, would have found that portion of his prayer superfluous. It is to the credit of the Welsh that they always have a good conceit of themselves. As a rule, the world takes people at their own valuation, and the man who assumes a superiority over his fellows—at any rate, till he is found out—has his claim allowed. A Welshman has a profound faith in his country and himself, especially as regards oratory. There are no such preachers as those of Wales, and I was quite amused when I first lived in Cardiff with the way in which a Welshman, who lodged in the house where I had taken up my abode, descanted on the gifts of Welshmen in London of whom I had never heard, and I felt quite ashamed of my ignorance as he rolled forth one Welsh name after another, and had to admit my ignorance of the eminent men whose names he had at his fingers’ ends. Why, there were no such clever men anywhere, according to his