The Argosy — page 220: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Our Philosopher. 205 “St. Paul doesn’t say rule his wife, and he wasn’t a married man,” replied Azy ; but he saw the force of the argument, and relinquished his purpose with a sigh. Easter Monday was the one quiet day of his stormy year, and he looked forward to it with pleasant expectation. He habitually marshalled his school to Trefavon, there to meet the other schools of the district, and unite with them in friendly competition. The Vicar usually accompanied them, and as Tisher preferred remaining at home, it was ever a white day to Azy. It was then the little philosopher discoursed volubly, and that third-class carriages re- echoed to sacred song and intellectual discourse. Anthems rolled off with the white smoke of the engine, and floated over hill and valley, while bright faces gazed from the windows on the green woods, ruined castle, and winding river. Arrived at Trefavon, he and the Vicar accompanied their flogk to the church on the hill, where, together with other shepherds and flocks from far and near, they found the fold prepared. It was pleasant to see it soon fill with young and old. The Welsh love and reverence Holy Scripture, and the old did not weary of the long chapters repeated in rhythmical chorus by the young, nor of the anthems and hymns sung by class after class. The Welsh are endowed with the gift of music, and the repetition in monotone, as well as the singing of the fine old sacred songs, was ever harmonious. From these and similar gatherings sprang men and women who had talent enough to master Handel, and hence the choirs of working people—of colliers, miners, ploughmen—which, united, formed the great Welsh choir that won the challenge cup at the Crystal Palace, and sang before royalty itself. As time went on, Azy had an occasional sugar-plum thrown into the oatmeal porridge of his life. On one occasion he was the success- ful competitor for an essay on ‘“‘’The Heroes of Wales” at a national Eisteddfod, and even Tisher was proud when the bells of Llanfach rang in his honour. We have said that Azy was fond of children, though they tormented him sorely. One of the small pleasures of his over-tasked existence was to aid his pupils in the manufacture of their orchards for New Year’s Day. ‘The English have their Christmas-boxes, the French their étrennes, the Welsh their orchards. The custom is pretty, curious, and characteristic. A large rosy apple is impaled on three skewers, like a three-legged stool, and surmounted by holly, box, and other evergreens. This is again festooned by strings of holly-berries, and the apple is almost lost sight of in its adornments. Nevertheless, it stands steadily on its tripod, and bravely bears the burden ruthlessly stuck into it, reminding the beholder of the head of an Indian chief. On New Year’s Day the children have the best of it, which is not always the case with the poor, if it is with the rich. Furnished with GOMIIGDOOkKS (©)