many thousands of "the saved" had been added to the Lord." Amid storms of persecution that which the Lord had planted continued to live and thrive and bring forth fruit. But the revival which attended the rise of Methodism was like a refreshing shower in June, when the ground has been parched by the easterly winds of May; and the Nonconformity of Wales at the present day, no doubt, owes much of its strength and vigour to that revival. The names of those who at that period turned the little world of Wales upside down are naturally very dear to Welshmen. Howell Harris, Daniel Rowlands, and William Williams of Pantycelyn, are names as fresh and as sweet now as they were a century ago-names which shall be in everlasting remembrance, and at the mention of which the rivalry of sects is forgotten.

There is this important difference between the great speaker and the great writer, that while the speaker produces the deepest impression on those who listen to him, the impression produced by him who writes his thoughts is transmitted to future ages and is frequently deepened by time. Thus, the power of Harris and Rowlands was far more mightily felt by the crowds who listened to them than it is possible for it to be felt at present, whereas the hymns of Williams continue to touch the hearts of thousands of worshippers every Sabbath, and his power is certainly greater by far now than it was in his own day. Of him it may almost literally be said: "He being dead, yet speaketh." From the many congregations which assemble every Sabbath throughout the principality, "songs of praises" ascend to heaven, clothed in the thoughts and

language of Williams of Pantycelyn. The mother soothes her little one and sings it to sleep with one of Old Williams' hymns. Young men and maidens find in them a depth and reality and beauty which add pleasure to the pleasure of singing; and the aged pilgrim, like Christmas Evans, takes one of the Pantycelyn Hymns to give expression to his dying thoughts.

William Williams was born in the year 1717 at Cefn-y-coed, in the parish of Llanvair-y-bryn, near Llandovery, Caermarthenshire. His parents, John and Dorothy Williams, were members of the Independent Church at Cefnarthen near Llandovery. His father, who was an honest and respected farmer, died when his son was young. A maternal uncle left considerable property to him and his mother. He was educated at Llwynllwyd Nonconformist Academy, Radnorshire, which was in those days a famed college. He intended being a surgeon, and diligently studied for the profession. But, on returning home from college in 1738, an event took place which gave a new turn to the whole of his after life.

Howell Harris was at that time beginning to arouse Wales by his preaching, "thundering most awfully against cursers, swearers, drunkards, fighters, liars, Sabbath-breakers," &c.; and it was the will of Him who doeth all things well that the sweet Hymnist of Wales, who was to furnish the people of God with spiritual melodies, should be aroused from his soul-slumbers by the man whose countenance inspired his hearers with awe, and whose words "scattered sparks of the fire of hell."

On a certain Sabbath morning in 1738, a large crowd of people might

be seen assembled in Talgarth churchyard. The morning service is over, but the congregation instead of going home remain in the churchyard, evidently expecting something further. The number of church-going parishioners is increased by a large multitude from the neighbouring villages, who are continually flocking in. What's up? A cockfight is perhaps about to commence; or the young men and maidens are going to have a dance after the service; or, more probably, they are going to play a game of ball against the gable-end of the church. Let us go in and see. A middle aged man, rather short, is standing on a tombstone and speaking to the people. His appearance is commanding. He has a powerful voice. His tones are solemn. He is thoroughly in earnest. He feels the power of his message. He is not what many would call a great speaker; there is no remarkable elegance of diction; there is no elaborate style; no great profundity of thought; there may be here and there a weak link in an argument. He has probably not sat for half an hour to prepare his sermon; and yet he speaks with overwhelming power. A deep solemnity pervades the audience. His denunciations of sin, his solemn warnings, his pictures of death and hell, fall like flames of living fire and arouse his hearers. Faces grow pale. Strong men tremble. Tears flow. Some shout aloud for mercy. The powers of the world to come are mightily felt. Amongst the hearers is a young man of one and twenty, tall and handsome, and very gentlemanly in appearance. His eyes are fixed on the preacher. His cheeks are as pale as death. He trembles with fear. He moves to and

fro like a leaf shaken by the storm. The arrow from Howell Harris's quiver has been carried into the heart of young Williams of Pantycelyn. He gives himself up a willing captive to the conquering Saviour. He is no longer his own. He is a new-made man in Christ Jesus.

"Dyma'r boreu byth mi gofiaf
Cly wais innau lais y nef”

"I shall ne'er forget that morning

When I heard the voice of heaven." Never! Never shall it be forgotten in the history of thy well-beloved country! Never shall it be forgotten in the annals of heaven!

In the year 1740, William Williams was ordained a deacon in the Established Church by Nicholas Claget, Bishop of St. David's. He was curate of Llanwrtyd and Llanddewy Abergwesin for three years, but was not at all successful. He used to say, with a good deal of pleasantness, that he was put in the bishop's court for nineteen sins, of which, refusing to form the sign of the cross in administering baptism, and omitting some parts of the Church Lessons, were two very important ones. On account of these and similar irregularities, especially his preaching in other places besides the churches of his own parish, the bishop refused to fully ordain him. In his after life he did not himself approve of this irregularity. He considered his conduct blameable, and thought that had he acted less rashly he might have been more useful. From this it would seem that his leaving the Church was voluntary and not compulsory. After this, up to the time of his death, he continued to travel through the whole of the principality, preaching the Gospel to his

countrymen, who were literally "sitting in darkness and the shadow of death." Eleven days before his death, which took place on the 11th January, 1791, he made the following remarks in a letter to the Rev. Thomas Charles, of Bala: "I have but little hope that I shall be able to go out much more, if at all again, for I am even seventythree years old. But think what a disappointment it must be to one who used to travel 3,000 miles yearly, during fifty years, and is now not able to move more than about forty feet in a day, that is, from the fire to the bed! But thus the Lord would deal with me, and it is good."

He died at Pantycelyn in the parish of Llanvair-y-bryn, and was buried on the east side of Llanvair-y-bryn churchyard, not far from Llandovery.

William Williams was a sweet and evangelical preacher. His public

ministry and private conversations were baptized with heavenly influences. The Countess of Huntingdon used to say, that taking him for all in all, Wales had no one in whom she could more justly boast than Williams of Pantycelyn.

Though living in an age of persecution, the Hymnist of Wales was not called upon to suffer much on behalf of his Lord. He frequently spoke of one circumstance which he met with in North Wales. He had been announced to preach in a publichouse. At the appointed hour for the service a gentleman with a number of attendants came in to persecute the preacher. The innkeeper clothed him. in his own clothes in order that he might escape. When he came among them no one suspected him; but that passage, "Whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny be

fore my Father which is in heaven," came into his mind with such power that he could no longer disguise himself. He went, and having put on his own clothes, came again among them. His enemies immediately seized him, but the publican by some means rescued him.

The name of Williams, of Pantycelyn, is remembered and dearly loved in Wales, as that of the sweetest of all hymnists. Indeed, it would be a very hopeless task to convince some of us red-hot Welshmen, that there are such hymns in any language as those of Old Williams. Dewi Wyna poet of no mean order-used to say, that if he were placed in a room without any fire in the depth of winter, and there to read some of the hymns of Old Pantycelyn, he would not only keep himself warm but be covered with perspiration. To some this may seem very strong language, but those who know the influence of deep feeling on the temperature of the body will perhaps believe that the language, though strong, is quite true.

It would be vain to attempt to give anything like a perfect metrical translation of Williams' hymns. There is a beauty and softness of expression in some of them which cannot be translated. There is that old hymn—

"O llefara addfwyn Iesu Mae dy eiriau el y gwin." We have stood and sat over it, and tried and tried again to translate it, but have failed. I once wrote

"Speak, Oh speak, Thou gentle Jesus!

Sweeter are Thy words than wine."

But it is very poor. The softness of the language in which the Hymnist of Pantycelyn implores his Saviour to speak to him is exceedingly beautiful.

I fear, however, that I am doing injustice to William Williams by thus praising him. I have tried to render a few of his hymns into English; and when these are read and fail, as a translation must do, to inspire the same sentiments as the original hymn, the disappointment which will follow may be wrongly attributed to the author instead of the translator. Nothing could be more unjust. With a caution, therefore, against it, we append a translation of a few of the hymns of the Hymnist of Wales :

"Who'll give me balm from Gilead,

Forgiveness full and free;

And make me look with boldness

Upon eternity?

"Who can dispel my terrors,

Who can deliver me?

There's no one but that Saviour

Who died on Calvary.

"That burden which the strongest Of men could never bear, Weighed heavily on Jesus,

Who came our griefs to share.

"What righteousness demanded

A Saviour's love has paid, By Calvary's cross and passion Our peace with God was made." Christian fellowship was far more precious in the days of the Hymnist than it is in the present day. Many of his hymns express the strong desire of his heart to enjoy the communion of saints. The following is an example

"Oh for strength to spend my lifetime Where my Father's children meet, Living always in the sunshine, Darkness yonder 'neath my feet;

"Living without sunset ever,

Without cloud, and without pain,
Feasting always without ceasing

On the Lamb for sinners slain."

Many of his hymns are, of course, suitable only for a minor key. But there is music in his tears.

"How long the days of wailing seem,
Babel's captivity!
Soon may I hear the Jubil trump
Proclaiming liberty.

"To Zion would I fly away,

My former sweet abode;
I'd seek no other company
Than the eternal God.

"If once my fettered feet were free
To leave this horrid place,

I think I'd never cease to sing

Of Calvary's love and grace."