The workmen now turned to seek a night's lodging where they could, for their temporary dwellings had shared the fate of the more lordly castle. Llewelyn, still carrying his child, motioned to his mother to draw somewhat aside, and as they slowly remounted the hill, frequently pausing to cast wistful glances around, and to strain their eyes in vain toward the fading west, he related to her the various occurrences of that fatal day and repeated the farewell words of his lost wife. "Hear me, mother," exclaimed he, as they gained the door of the shieling; "by the remembrance of my Esgair's pure and holy life, I devote myself henceforth to the fulfilment of her behest, and while life and strength remain I promise so to cherish and bring up our child (aided by heavenly power) that he shall renew the memory of his sainted mother, and become the benefactor of mankind."
Clasping the babe closer in his arms he turned to enter at the lowly door, but with a cry of joy the infant stretched out its little arms, and lo! soft and pure in the western sky gleamed through the dusk the gentle Evening Star. Then Llewelyn knew in his heart that his vow had been heard, and that an angel spirit shone approval of his humble resolution.
With mournful resignation, aided by his mother and cheered by the ministrations of the good Father Tudno, Llewelyn passed the remainder of his days in the careful up-bringing of his son. They never returned to the Castle of the Lakes. For at daybreak on the morning which succeeded Esgair's translation, a messenger arrived footsore and weary bringing strange tidings of devastation. As the last stroke of midnight clanged from the castle clock the whole mighty fabric disappeared, and with it the numerous servants, the fleet steeds, and the fabulous wealth which Esgair's bridal night had brought to Llewelyn.
Gwynneth and Llewelyn now fixed their abode on the giant slopes of Penmaenmaur, and often at sunset the father was seen pointing up the golden pathway and watching with his little son for the first pale ray of the Evening Star.
Rhiwallon grew and flourished apace. His was a fearless nature. He loved the sea, the hills, the birds, and the flowers. His childish brow only became clouded with pain or sorrow for the sufferings of man and beast, which even in earliest boyhood he ever yearned to alleviate.
When still an infant he was often found with a sweet smile upon his countenance, and in after years could recall the dim vision of an angel form that bent over and lulled him in his dreams, but was ever absent when he awoke. Gwynneth and Llewelyn were long spared to foster his awakening talents, and ere they were gathered to their fathers the name of Rhiwallon had become a household word, for the sweet songs of the gentle bard are to this day remembered and sung wherever the Cymri tongue is known and loved.[ [1]
EOTHWALD: THE YOUNG SCULPTOR.
It will not surprise you, dear children, to learn that after Hans Christian Andersen wrote his touching story of "The Little Mermaid," the whole world sighed with a strong desire to behold the true likeness of that loving and lovely heroine.
Painters and sculptors wandered anxiously by the sea-shore; not alone in Denmark, but in many other countries, seeking thus to obtain a glimpse of one of the mermaidens—whose whole race has been for ever immortalized by the gentle Dane—longing to depict on canvas, or to carve in marble, the fair lineaments of the faithful sea-child who gave her voice and her life for the Prince she loved.