Victory! Victory over all the powers of darkness! Hallelujah! I can do all things through Christ who strengtheneth me." Shenkyn, as a preacher, was "a law unto himself." In preaching, as in everything else, he was thoroughly Shenkynite. He could hardly help being understandable, and he was always very practical-sometimes a little too much so to please his hearers. About five miles out of Neath there is a wild desolate spot called Creunant, which is, at present, one of the stations on the Neath and Brecon Railway. But in Shenkyn's time, neither man nor beast at Creunant had been frightened by the screech of an engine's whistle. The Methodist chapel was a very primitive structure. The preacher had to stand as well as he could on a little form, which served the purpose of a pulpit. A little above the speaker's head a piece of iron with a hole in one end had been driven into the wall, and a halfpenny candle was put into this candlestick. In this brilliant light the congregation rejoiced while the minister held forth. Shenkyn one night had chosen for his text, "I am the Light of the world," a text, perhaps, suggested by the need of light, which was greatly felt on the occasion. “What would be the good of this world," said he, "without light? What could we do with a world of darkness? And where is the light? Is it in the eye?" Shenkyn maintained that it was not. But how could he prove the subject? out much difficulty. Turning around to the wall where the candle was fixed, he very coolly put out the little light. "There," said he, to the astonished rustics, can you see now?" Some time elapsed before light could be again obtained. How this period of utter darkness was spent, whether Shenkyn still went on speaking of "the Light" in the dark, we are not told. But when the candle had been replaced in the iron fixture over the preacher's head, he proceeded to improve that which he had so effectually demonstrated. "There," said he, "there, will you believe now that the light is not in the eye? Light and life are to be found in Christ, and not in yourselves. Go for everything to where it is to be found." 66 66 With Shenkyn's outspokenness and honesty of dealing suited the Society quite as well, if not better, than the pulpit. The Society, which is peculiar to the Principality, is a meeting of Church members for mutual improvement in the Christian life. If a member of the congregation wishes to become a member of the Church, he makes this known by going to the Society. When any member of the Church violates its laws by public sin, he is expelled from the Society. The Society is generally held once a week. The members, who are so inclined, give their experience in soul-matters; and exhortations, kindly counsels, and sometimes reproofs are freely given both by the pastor and the members. The Society is a capital meeting when it is real; but the danger is to be satisfied with the shell without the kernel. Shenkyn had very little patience with shells, by which he was frequently much troubled. When one's own experience is below par, the temptation is strong to use that of another. Shenkyn was once called upon to give a word of advice to " a leading brother, whom he suspected of thus using that which did not really belong to him. "I understand," said he, addressing the leader, "that thy ale is not so good as it used to be, and what thinkest thou is the reason? In the parish of Ystradfellte an old woman lived, long ago, in a small cottage by the roadside. Aunt Bess, for such was her name, used to brew her own ale, and as it was very good, nearly everyone who passed by called in to get a drop. The good ale became, at length, a proverb, so that when anything was very good, it was said to be as good as Aunt Bess's ale. The old woman, however, either to spare trouble or to make more money, determined to buy ale ready brewed, instead of brewing it herself. Travellers called as before, but very soon found out a difference in the ale. They taste, and make an ugly face, and taste again, but at last say, Bah this ale is not your own brewing, Aunt Bess, so good-bye!" Then turning to the deacon, he said, "William, brew thine own ale, brother. Give nothing to thy brethren here but that which thou knowest to be good for thine own soul, for if once thou dost begin to deal in brewery beer, thy friends will forsake thee." . Beneath a rough exterior, Shenkyn Penhydd carried in his bosom a good and kind heart. So noted was he for making peace, that he was sometimes called "Shenkyn the peacemaker." The means which he used to attain the end were not always the same, but he very seldom failed to attain it. The Methodist Church at Caerphilly had been for some time in a very unhappy state. Several good ministers had visited it to try to make peace between the two parties. When the case was brought before a Monthly Meeting, and when nearly all had given it up in despair, some one suggested that, as a last resource, Shenkyn should be sent thither. He reluctantly consented to go. When he arrived he found that matters were not any better than he had expected to find them. He spoke a good deal of the evil of dissensions, and the value of peace and love. But his words fell powerless. Shenkyn now got up with his huge staff in his hand, and walked up and down the chapel, with his eyes turned to heaven, exclaiming, while he struck the floor with his staff, " Lord, is this Thy spouse? Lord, is this Thy spouse ?" The people's attention was now arrested by the preacher's strange question, who still went on asking, "Is this Thy spouse? Slay her!" Then came an imaginary reply: "No, I will not." "Sell her then." "No, I will not." "Renounce her then." "No, I will not." Shenkyn now lifted up his voice, saying, "She has cost me too much to give her up. I have bought her with my own blood. How can I give her up? How can I forsake her ?" Afterwards he fell on his knees and prayed fervently, and while he prayed, the Spirit of the God of Peace descended upon the people. When he rose, those who before were quarrelling were now weeping. Thus was peace restored. Shenkyn, as we have seen, had always a way of his own. Two sisters, members of the Church at the Dyffryn, had had a quarrel, and could not by any means be pacified. At one of the Society Meetings they were both called forward, and the leading brethren did all they could to reconcile them. Shenkyn Thomas, have you anything to say to them?" said one to Shenkyn. "Not anything that I can say publicly," answered the preacher ; "but I should like to speak to them both apart for a few minutes.' He then took his hat and asked them to follow him. Out they went, Shenkyn and the two sisters, each following the leader as fast as she could up a little hillock that stood near the chapel. When the prophet considered that he had gone far enough, he turned to the women and said, "There, that is your place! Go and make peace, and don't come near us again until you have made it." The two sisters being thus brought together, and left all alone in their glory to have a quiet chat, made up their quarrel, and went back to the Society, promising faithfully that they would henceforth live in peace. Shenkyn Penhydd died on the 26th December, 1807. EDWARD EDMUNDS. JANET HAMILTON-THE SCOTTISH POETESS. We are delighted to form the acquaintance of Janet Hamilton, and are not a little surprised to find that she is old and blind before we have heard of her existence. The story of her quiet, thoughtful, noble life, as told by Mr. Gilfillan and Dr. Wallace, is one which few countries but Scotland could produce, and one of which Scotland may well be proud. Janet Thomson-such was her maiden name-is connected through her maternal ancestors with the heroes of the Covenant. She is the fifth in descent from John Whitelaw, who was executed at the Old Tolbooth in Edinburgh, 1683, four years after the battle of Bothwell Bridge, in which he had taken a part, and who was otherwise well-known as a determined supporter of Covenanting principles. Her mother's name was Mary Brownlee, and her grandfather was a very remarkable person in his day. He seems to have been in reality very nearly what David Deans was in fiction, or the "Cottar of the Saturday Night” in poetry. Of the outward current of her own life she says: "My father, being bred a shoemaker, found it convenient to remove to the town of Hamilton with his wife and child (myself). I would then be between two and three years of age. There we resided till I was about seven years old, when my parents, having suffered severely in their health by the close confinement, removed to the small village of Langloan, parish of Old Monkland, where they both worked as field labourers on the home farm of the estate of Drumpellier for about two years, while I kept house at home; and being early taught by my mother to spin, my daily task, in her absence, was to produce two hanks of sale yarn, in which I seldom failed. When my mother left the out-door labour I was taught to work at the tambour-frame, which was then a very remunerative employment for women and girls. My father also left the out-door labour a short time after, and commenced working at his trade on his own account. He engaged a very respectable young man to assist him in his work. This young man became my husband in 1809. I had ten children by him, seven of whom with their father, still survive. We have lived together in the married state for 59 years. My husband will be eighty years of age in August, 1868, and I seventy-three in October of the same year," In the preface to the second edition of her "Poems and Essays," Mrs. Hamilton has given a brief but pleasing sketch of her young studies; her early mastery of the alphabet; her reading of Bible stories and children's halfpenny books ere she was five years of age; her finding, when eight, upon the loom of an intellectual weaver, a copy of "Paradise Lost" and Allan Ramsay's poems; her becoming a reader in the village library, where she had access to many good and solid books, in history, geography, biography, travels, and voyages; her devouring, instead of novels, of which she met few, Rollin, Plutarch's "Lives," " Ancient Universal History," Raynal's "India," and Pitscotties' "Scotland," besides the "Spectator," "Rambler," Fergusson, Burns, and Macneill, as tidbits, while all the time she had a daily task assigned her never neglected-first at the spinning wheel, and afterwards at the tambouring frame. Her mother, who was a very pious woman, made her read a chapter from the Bible every morning; and this practice she says was never omitted for a single day till she married and left the house; and "during all the years of childhood, every night when I laid my head on my pillow my mother's mouth was close at my ear praying for me, and teaching me to pray for myself." Dr. Alexander Wallace describes a visit he paid to the home of Janet Hamilton's old age in Coatbridge. "Few places," he says, "could be more unfavourable for the cultivation of the poetic faculty than the smoky region in which the rapidly growing town of Coatbridge is situated, with its flaming furnaces and great mounds of slag, turning the green fields and the blessed light of heaven into a very pandemonium, and making confusion worse confounded, both above and below the vexed earth. 66 Several times," he says, 66 we inquired the way to her dwelling, not that it was so difficult to find, but we were curious to see how her name would be received, and on every occasion the very mention of it produced a pleasant smile on the face of every one whom we questioned. All seemed proud of 'Old Janet.' as they kindly named her. Some gave her the familiar name of 'Jenny,' and with a softer and more reverential tone than usual. Our last inquiry was addressed to a rough-looking fellow seated at a door-step, and who was doubtless employed in some department of the Iron Works in the district. He rose to his feet on hearing our question, took the cutty pipe from his mouth, told us that we had but to turn the corner, which he pointed out, and go up a back stair. His face relaxed into a smile, which was worth far more than his whole week's earnings, as he closed his instructions with the assurance that we would be certain to find Janet at home, as she never left the house, and that she was 'gey frail and blin.' Pleased at the interest manifested in the object of our visit by this rough diamond, we turned the corner as directed and got into a collier-row looking range of houses, with the usual number of ash pits. men folk and children were squatted about the door steps. Ascending the back stair, we found the door open, and recognised Janet at once by her peculiar head dress covering her eyes, from which sight has entirely fled. Most kindly did she welcome us to her humble dwelling, which consists of ' two apartments, a small kitchen, and a still smaller room entering from it, -in short, a 'but and a ben.' Wo "Never," he continues," have we heard the pathetic or the humorous in ballad poetry rendered with such happy effect as in the snatches which she repeated of her own ballads or from the old minstrel lore. She is a gentlewoman, in the true sense of that term, by instinct, or by a certain delicacy of feeling, and by self-culture. Her ease, self-possession, native grace, and dignity, all so thoroughly natural and simple-in short, her true womanliness, are qualities as remarkable, perhaps, as her poetic genius. 66 "When a mere girl," he tells us, "she revelled in the ballad lore of the country, and drank deeply into its spirit. Her grannie had a large collection of old-world stories and ballads, and these she repeated and sang to the highly-delighted youngsters who gathered in the winter evenings around her spinning wheel. Her aged relative was certainly as remarkable for her retentive memory, and for her large store of floating traditions in song, ballad, and story, as was the old woman who resided in Burns' family. Her love of nature is intense, and, notwithstanding her blindness, the wild flowers are still as near and dear to her as ever. It is remarkable that she has never seen a mountain, nor the sea, nor any river but the Clyde, the Falls of which she has never visited, and she has never been the distance of twenty miles from her humble dwelling. Her region of song, so far as scenery is concerned, has been very limited. It may be all comprised in the glen of the Calder, and the bosky dells and breckan-covered banks of her favourite stream, the Luggie, before it was polluted with the refuse of the furnaces, and its sweet' wilding flowers' covered with slag. That was her fairy rivulet in the days of childhood, and to her youthful imagination it was peopled with everything that was bright, and beautiful, and fair. It was there, when a lassie, she caught the minnows of which she so frequently sings, and gathered in the fairy nooks the primrose, the hyacinth, and the blue bell, her favourite flowers. Again and again, during our brief visit, did she refer with all the warmth of youthful glee to her exploits at 'mennin' fishing, which she has described in 'Luggie, Past and Present.' It is with all the bitter regret of a genuine poet that she mourns the sad changes which have passed over the streamlet of her childhood. In spite of all these changes, this 'burn' and all its sweet memories of life's young day, have been to her as a first love. 'She concludes one of her recent letters to a friend in these affecting words: I must confess feeling a weakness when sitting darkling in my chair, as the woods and fields are pictured in my mind's eye, clothed in their summer garb. All is for the best. James (referring to her son) keeps me pretty well supplied with wilding flowers beloved from childhood.' "With her intense love of nature, it will not be surprising to our readers to learn that Shakspeare's description of a bank of wild thyme, in the 'Midsummer Night's Dream,' has lingered for so many years in her memory, or that it should form one of her favourite quotations: 'I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows; Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine: There sleeps Titania.' "It was very touching when Mirren, her daughter, read some ballads in this volume, in which there are beautiful allusions to nature, to hear the blind old mother say again and again, |