with relating all that occurred at this period—­suffice it to say that I made my suit and was successful; it is true that the old man, who was her guardian, hesitated, and asked several questions respecting my state of mind.  I am afraid that I partly deceived him, perhaps he partly deceived himself; he was pleased that I had adopted his profession—­we are all weak creatures.  With respect to the young person, she did not ask many questions; and I soon found that I had won her heart.  To be brief, I married her; and here she is, the truest wife that ever man had, and the kindest.  Kind I may well call her, seeing that she shrinks not from me, who so cruelly deceived her, in not telling her at first what I was.  I married her, friend; and brought her home to my little possession, where we passed our time very agreeably.  Our affairs prospered, our garners were full, and there was coin in our purse.  I worked in the field; Winifred busied herself with the dairy.  At night I frequently read books to her, books of my own country, friend; I likewise read to her songs of my own, holy songs and carols which she admired, and which yourself would perhaps admire, could you understand them; but I repeat, you Saxons are an ignorant people with respect to us, and a perverse, inasmuch as you despise Welsh without understanding it.  Every night I prayed fervently, and my wife admired my gift of prayer.

’One night, after I had been reading to my wife a portion of Ellis Wyn, my wife said, “This is a wonderful book, and containing much true and pleasant doctrine; but how is it that you, who are so fond of good books, and good things in general, never read the Bible?  You read me the book of Master Ellis Wyn, you read me sweet songs of your own composition, you edify me with your gift of prayer, but yet you never read the Bible.”  And when I heard her mention the Bible I shook, for I thought of my own condemnation.  However, I dearly loved my wife, and as she pressed me, I commenced on that very night reading the Bible.  All went on smoothly for a long time; for months and months I did not find the fatal passage, so that I almost thought that I had imagined it.  My affairs prospered much the while, so that I was almost happy,—­taking pleasure in everything around me,—­in my wife, in my farm, my books and compositions, and the Welsh language; till one night, as I was reading the Bible, feeling particularly comfortable, a thought having just come into my head that I would print some of my compositions, and purchase a particular field of a neighbour—­O God—­God!  I came to the fatal passage.

’Friend, friend, what shall I say?  I rushed out.  My wife followed me, asking me what was the matter.  I could only answer with groans—­for three days and three nights I did little else than groan.  Oh the kindness and solicitude of my wife!  “What is the matter husband, dear husband?” she was continually saying.  I became at last more calm.  My wife still persisted in asking me the cause of my late paroxysm.  It is hard to keep a secret from a wife, especially such a wife as mine, so I told my wife the tale, as we sat one night—­it was a mid-winter night—­over the dying brands of our hearth, after the family had retired to rest, her hand locked in mine, even as it is now.