Welsh Newspapers

Search 15 million Welsh newspaper articles

Hide Articles List

13 articles on this Page

itp attfo Joton the Coaet.

News
Cite
Share

itp attfo Joton the Coaet. NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS. "AFON."—The individuai is not always got rid of when he dies. The priests secured the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, but that was not the last of Him, was it? Death is often only the beginning of a person s in- fluence in the world. "T. R." If you do not want my help you can go your own way without it. I have something else to do than to worry about passing spasms. "A BOY."—It is not easv to give wise counsel. Every position is capable of wise use. It is better to do good service where you are than to seek greater opportunities. I have spent my life in trying to make this paper. I might have vainly spent it in try- ing to get to be the editor of the Times." "ALISN."—Do you not forget that the sympathy which you long for and the recognition which you desire might be given by you to others. Why should you be the only person to re- ceive? Suppose you yourself began to lessen the world's indifference and ingratitude by thoughtful considera- tion for other people. "ONE OF THEM."—I do not believe in people's ignorance or cruelty nor in anybody's power to deceive them. The subject is complicated. "GARTREF."—'You do not need to have fifty thousand million bushels of oats in order to secure the thing called oats. A single grain is enough. The same is true of man and of many other things.. One dewdrop is as completely the thing oalled water as the whole Atlantic and Pacific oceans. MY rHIEF AMBITION. To be content. TOO MUCH While a man was working at a saw mill at 'Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, he dis- covered the petrified head of a human being embedded in an oak log. Of course, the man stood there until the oak tree grew all round his head. Anybody can believe" a simple story of this kind. You could do it yourself TillE SHAME ANT) THE GLORY OF IT. A woman was alleged to have been ser- iously injured by a brute of a son who was charged with the offence before the magis- trates. She refused to give evidence against him and in the end he was dis- charged. The woman had been suffering from a broken rib and other injuries which ake said at the time had been caused by her son kicking her. 0, the shame of it. 0, the glory of it. He was not worthy, but that does not matter. THE HE AS ON FOR IT. Major Seely in a recent speech in the House of Commons said that married men were, on the whole, more courage- ous ii- the South African War than un- married men." This statement created roars of laughter in the House, but I do not see anything to laugh at. Just think of the married man who is forced to face his wife after publio- house closing hours. Is he likely after- wards to run away from a mere phalanx of bayonets? I say, certainly not. Then think of his courage in standing his ground when ne hands over to her half his wages, having lost the other half in betting, and she says: "Is this all 2" I agree with Major Seely. Besides, it is an unfailing sign of courage in thee days that men dare to get married. LIFE'S TRAGEDIES. The tragedies in modern daily life Are not. lesJ sad than those in ancient times, But ancient tragedy is framed in verse Whilst that of our own day remains un- sung And comes to us with detail commonplace Without the edg63 smoothed by lapse of tjme. Love, hate, and jealousy, revenge and spite Are not less active now than in the past. And all that happened in remotest days Repeats itself, for men remain unchanged And that which moved them in the day of old Still moves them and will move them to the end. Untimely death, misfortune, accident— The acts of angry gods as then was thought— Lay wait for men and spill their cups of joy And bring their cherished plans and hopes to naught. Thousands of years ago men strove and failed. Or ki sed dead lips tnat could not kiss again, Or watched the light fade out of shining eyej, Or stood appalled in stillness none may break. They stifled grief and mutely bore their loss As we are mutely still and hide our grief Amid the chaffer of the market place Lest men should mock and say that we are weak. Through all the ages tragedy has been, For it is part of man's inheritance, And nothing he may think, or say, or do Can hindei ec tasy or agony, Or block the way that dire disaster treads, Or hinder fate from working out its will. The unknown men who throng the city streets Are all familiar with tragedy As great as ever ancient poets sung. For life and love and death remain un- changed. Thus so it is with you and me, God knows: And we before our fate are dumb as death! SILENCE. Silence may mean much more than speech And be far better understood Silence knows more than words can teach Of true and false and bad and good. ST. DA V ID'S DAY. I was waiting at my bit of a place on the coast in dubitating expectation for at least two pressing invitations to St. David's Day banquets. Neither of them came. This was hard upon me, as I had prepared a most excellent speech, but I am accustomed to these omissions and was not, therefore, as grieved as might have been expected by tho. e who did not know all the circumstances of the past forty or fifty years. I kept on polishing my speech and adding fresh points to it in the hope that at the very fast moment the pressing invitations would arrive, and I tried to decide which of them I would decline, but neither of them came and when I expected to have been listening to the enthusiastic applause which I anticipated would greet my speech, I was in bed asleep—or, was I a seer of visions, a dreamer of dreams. My friends must judge. I was back in the very early sixties. Men were building what is now the Uni- versity College of Wales. There were no railways to Aberystwyth, but they were being made. Wales was asleep, but was on the point of awakening and was very restless. Liberalism was not much in evidence, and when anybody spoke at pub- lic meetings they always referred to "poor Wales," "conquered Wales," "op- pressed Wales." Nonconformity was as strong then as it is now and perhaps, more genuine, but those connected with it were outside the national life—unless they were the national life. Local life, except in chapels, practically did not exist. What Welsh national life there was found its timid expression mainly in London, and, in lesser degrees, in Man- chester and Liverpool. Cardiff had not got a daily paper in those daJs and no more thought of setting up to be the capital of Wales than it thought of trying to force children to learn the Welsh language. Even the Cymmrodorion medal had not been struck, and nobody any more imagined the pos- sibility of a Welsh Liberal member being a Cabinet Minister than that it was pos- sible for all the members of Parliament for Wales to be Liberals. Gohebydd"—-everybody knew the little man. He was making a. speeah. "Gohebydd" was not a parochial national- ist. Parochial nationalists had not been invented when "Gohebydd was in the habit making speeches interspersed with coughs. He was the ubiquitous local correspondent in London for the "Baner," and he knew all there was to know about Wales—in London. He made his speech, but I am not going "to try to give it. He was everybody's favourite. He and Thomas Gee of Denbigh, the owner of the "Baner," were the two best-known public men in Wales. Wales has never yet done the right thing by Thomas Gee, who was a pioneer and a fighter and a brave, true man who went his own fearless way and did much to make possible in Wales the development of the past forty years. I saw a great procession of preachers, poets, musicians. Mynyddog, Ceiriog Hughes, and scores of others. There was Brinley Richards and many another almost forgotten composer. Ah, how they felt the loneliness and isolation of their native land, and were saddened by thoughts of the glory that had been in the days of old. They wore conscious of the new dawn. but the full noon was never theirs. There marched past me the nation makers—-strong men who did not know how great a work they were accomplish- ing. There was Mr Osborne Morgan, Mr David Davies, Llandinam, a many-sided strong man who did so much for Wales in many ways; Mr. Hugh Owen, after- wards Sir Hugh Mr J. F. Roberts, Man- chester, a true, gentle, upright man; Mr Stephen "E-van8, the hope of migratory youth who went to London Mr E. M. Richards, Mr Humphreys Cwen Stuart Rendel (now Lord Rendel) who gave co- herence to the growing Welsh national life and was the fink between the old Welsh liSe and the new and who has done far more for Wales than the parochial patriots know or could comprehend. How he stood aside when the time came, but he still serves. There are many others —journalists, landowners, ministers of religion—an undistinguished crowd among whom I also am to be counted. How few are left, but the national life goes on and will go on. Even the parochial patriot cannot hinder the march d progress, and the selfish struggle of the bastard nationalist is in vain. I do not know how it was, but I was speaking to a vast crowd of people and said strong words to them. I asked them to have faith in themselves and told them that they would even survive the com- pulsory teaching of Welsh, the foolishness of the Welsh Church Commission, the self-seeking of place hunters and honour grabbers, and the petty side of narrow- minded rivals. "Wales a nation." That is the great thing—not a clique—not North or South, not Conformist or Non- conformist, not thine or mine, not Liberal or Conservative, not rich or poor, but "Wales a nation." Then the whole people sang the national anthem, "Hen wlad fy nhadau over and over again, and I saw quite clearly Wales as it was in 1863 and as it is now in 1907. The life is not abated, the ideals are not lowered, the great principles are not debased, and if the young Welsh whelps hark loudly and cut queer caoers sometimes, the old dogs are still on the watch—notwithstanding many vacancies-and when it comes to the grip there will be no lack of force. I wonder what really became of those invitations which as a Welsh Nationalist I never received. More Post Office irregu-> laiities I suppose. If Mr. Lloyd-George were Postmaster General I would try and get him to look into this sort of thing. It is intolerable. My great speech has been practically lost. The Coast. J.G.

ABERYSTWYTH

MARRIAGE OF MISS HUMPHREYS.

DIHEWID

I MACHYNLLETH

L -N, B 'k D A li, N

! ,'v hVVCATTLE EM^YN

Guardians' Elections.

[No title]

Advertising

LLANDYSSULt;

Advertising

Family Notices