In the 18th century a well-known wizard in the same county was one John Jenkins, a schoolmaster. But the greatest wizard in the beginning of 19th century was Aby Biddle, of Millindingle, who was in league with the evil one or at least many of the people in South Pembrokeshire believed so. Aby Biddle’s real name was Harries; but, of course, he was not the same person as Harries of Cwrtycadno, in Carmarthenshire. There are still many most curious stories concerning him in South Pembrokeshire, and as typical of other tales, I give the following story which appeared a few years ago in “The Welsh Tit Bits” column of the “Cardiff Times:”—
THE PRIESTS AND THE HORNETS.
In the winter of 1803 there was an evening gathering at the —— Vicarage, which consisted chiefly of clerics, and Aby Biddle was of the number of the guests, having been invited as a source of pastime to help beguile some of the long hours of that forsaken spot. Seldom did he go beyond the solemn dingle, but he had been prevailed upon on this occasion. Much merriment was expected, nor was the expectation misleading, save that it was entirely at the expense of the clerics. The hours glided along gently on the wings of fairy tales. The party remained until the small hours of the morning, singing, merry-making, and tale-telling in turn. The conversation now furtively drifted in the direction of occult science. Aby Biddle sat near the window. Every now and again as he listened to the words magic and witchcraft and various opinions respecting them, he pulled back a corner of the blind and the pale light of the moon flickered on his countenance, revealing the lines of a retreating smile.
A loquacious young cleric interposed a caustic remark at this point and fanned the fire into flame, and the discussion was like to have taken a somewhat lively turn had not a broad-browed divine on whose head rested the snow of full three score winters and ten, sternly rebuked the young priest. This divine denounced sorcery and conjuration in unmeasured language. Another aged divine of Puritanic air nodded his assent.
Aby Biddle said nothing, though some of the company invited him to speak, but played carefully with the fringe of the curtain. During a momentary lull in the conversation, he rose suddenly, paced the room for a minute or two, and disappeared into the lawn. He was not gone many seconds before he returned with three small rings in his hands. He held these up and remarked, “Gentlemen, we’ll see whether conjuring is possible or not.” He placed the rings on the floor, at a distance of about a yard apart, and hurriedly left the room, taking care to turn the key in the lock on the smooth side of the door. The priests turned their gaze intently in the direction of the rings. Suddenly there appeared in one of the rings a fly flitting and buzzing. The fly grew. In half a minute or less it had grown into a monster hornet. No sooner had this metamorphosis taken place than it frisked into one of the other rings, and another fly appeared in its place. This one also developed into a hornet, giving way, when fully formed, to a third fly. Each ring was now occupied, and the clerics wondered what next would happen. Little time had they for musing, for the third fly quickly accomplished its transformation, when the first one left the ring and flew through the room. New hornets appeared in quick and quicker succession. The guests became now thoroughly alarmed. Priestly amusement gave way to pallid amazement. More and more came the dreaded hornets, louder and louder their droning hum. They filled the room, they darkened the whitened ceiling, and insinuated themselves into the hoary locks of the Puritanic divine so that he yelled hoarsely. It was utter confusion, and all were rushing wildly here and there for refuge or escape, when the conjuror reappeared with a merry laugh, and a loud “Ho! is conjuring possible now, gentlemen?” The Cloth was soon pacified, the hornets dismissed to their sylvan home, and the reputation of the Aby Biddle established as a mighty magician in the minds of some noted parsons of Pembrokeshire.
SIR DAFYDD LLWYD, YSPYTTY YSTWYTH.
About two hundred years ago there lived in the neighbourhood of Ysbytty Ystwyth, in Cardiganshire, a wizard and a medical man, known as Sir Dafydd Llwyd, who had been a clergyman before he was turned out by the Bishop for dealing in the Black Art. According to “A Relation of Apparitions,” by the Rev. Edmund Jones, it was thought that he had learnt the magic art privately at Oxford in the profane time of Charles II. Like other wizards Sir Dafydd also had a Magic Book, for the Rev. Edmund Jones tells us that on one occasion when he had “gone on a visit towards the Town of Rhaiadr Gwy, in Radnorshire, and being gone from one house to another, but having forgotten his Magic Book in the first house, sent his boy to fetch it, charging him not to open the book on the way; but the boy being very curious opened the book, and the evil Spirit immediately called for work; the boy, though surprised and in some perplexity, said, “Tafl gerrig o’r afon,—(throw stones out of the river) he did so; and after a while having thrown up many stones out of the river Wye, which ran that way, he again after the manner of confined Spirits, asking for something to do; the boy had his senses about him to bid it to throw the stones back into the river, and he did so. Sir David seeing the boy long in coming, doubted how it was; came back and chided him for opening the book, and commanded the familiar Spirit back into the book.”