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N.B. The following facete article was presented unto me by my dear and devout friend, the Reverend Rabshakeh Rattletext, an accomplished scholar, and Baptist Preacher at Llandovery, in the neighbourhood of Llangadock. Hearing that by the blessing of the Lord, I had undertaken to illumine my fellow creatures through the enlightened medium of "the Inn-keeper's Album," he kindly offered to contribute his mite, and forthwith indited the subsequent lucubration, which is undoubtedly veracious inasmuch as my reverend friend hath often partaken of the convivialities he describes, though now from increasing age, and the holy office he hath accepted, he is for ever prevented from renewing them. For the truth of his assertions with regard to the hostilities still pending, between the Red Lion and the Castle, I can myself vouch; for on passing, the other day, through Llangadock, I was refused a glass of ale, (albeit I had the requisite monies in my hand) because Mistress Roderick unjustly suspected me of a lurking preference for her rival. Nathless, I am bound to say that excellent accommodation may be had at both places, and at the Red Lion in particular, where a damsel, of an exceeding comely and winsome aspect, ministereth unto the customers, even as the beauteous Moabitess (see Ruth, chap. III.) ministered unto Boaz, the son of Elimelech.
W. F. D.
THE VILLAGE OF LLANGADOCK.
"If I forget thee, oh! Llangadock, let my right hand forget her cunning; if I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, yea, if I prefer not Llangadock in my mirth.”
THE numberless innovations that luxury and fashion are daily introducing into England, have effected but little change in the more sequestered retirements of South Wales. Carmarthenshire, in particular, has solitudes and hamlets of its own, where the inhabitants retain much of the primitive simplicity of their manners. In the village of Llangadock these traces of a better age are as characteristic as the scenery that environs it. Shut out from general observation by its distance from the main road, it presents little or no attraction to the superficial tourist; but stands sweetly sheltered in the bosom of its own Black Mountains, like a
pleasant thought in the dreary records of memory. Its neighbourhood is eminently beautiful. A lofty range of hills terminating in the misty peaks of Llynn-y-Van, forms its barrier on one side; while on the other, flows the wizard Towey, bathing the base of a few dwarfish hills, beside which the road winds to Llanwrda. At a slight distance stands the hamlet of Pont-y-Clakas, and when the sun-set falls upon its vivid bridge, or glitters on the zied cataracts of the Southey, the effect is wildly ro
In this sequestered spot, I have for many years resided. My principal amusement has consisted in studying the characters and customs of the neighborhood, and in wandering among its mountain scenery, to watch the fishermen skim in their coracles across the water, or hear the village bell chime its melancholy music in the hallowed stillness of a Sabbath twilight. As a Dissenting Minister, I am invariably treated with respect, and in Llangadock, which is blest with as pretty a pair of meeting-houses as were ever preached in, am never begrudged a draught of delectable homebrewed, by that devout female, Mistress Rebecca Roderick, whilome spinster; but now by the blessing of God, spouse to Zerul Jabel Roderick, and landlady of the Red Lion. It is in her little front
parlour that I have become acquainted with the characters, traditions, and domestic politics of Llangadock. Here have I slept over the drowsy, but edifying harrangues of that astute pedagogue, Dr. Bartlemy Breechem; the humorous eccentricities of Lieutenant Lawrence, and the bibulous achievments of mine old chum, David Tuckwell. Happy days! but never to return. The little front parlour shall still be sanded for the accommodation of customers-the clock shall still tick in the innkitchen-the bonny Red Lion still frown, like a Dutch trumpeter, from its sign-post; but never, never more, shall Rabshakeh Rattletext behold it.
But let not the partiality of the friend, destroy the credit of the historian, or prevent me from doing justice to the character of these great men, who give a dignity and consequence to Llangadock. Among the number of these village worthies, Dr. Breechem stands pre-eminent. He is a little fat duck-legged gentleman, with a short neck, red copper nose, and bullet head. His learning is astonishingly admired, inasmuch as he has a vocabulary of tall words; with which he routs the arguments of his opponents, in the same way as a regiment of strapping Grenadiers charge a detachment of Dutch dragoons. He has kept the village school for years, and every one speaks with
awe of his intellect, for he it was who first exploded the notion, that the moon was made of greencheese. In conversation, he is slow and pompous, and as many of his long-winded words have no connexion with English, it is presumed that they must have run away from some unknown language, and enlisted as an awkward squad in his service.
A short time ago, this little fat duck-legged gentleman, went on affairs of consequence to London. On his return, he was so full of the wonders he had seen, and the dignity he had acquired, that he actually lay ill of a syllabic suffocation, produced by eight undigested descriptions, sticking all at once in his wind-pipe. Among other marvels, he had met at the Cyder Cellar, with a Greek itinerant, whose name Dapomeibomenos Polyphlosboio, Esquire, struck him as being so learned, that he resolved to secure his acquaintance, and invited him to dinner, in a letter, every word of which consisted of four syllables. The Greek accepted the invitation, and the Doctor never got over the honor. In whatever company he may be, whether at the Red Lion, or at my lowly domicile, he always quotes his name, as being an excellent way of filling up the time between dinner and
Lieutenant Lawrence is a character of very