Part 3

But there is a more general influence which has left its permanent mark on England. Within that old cathedral of St. David, of which I just now spoke, the most conspicuous tomb which rises in the midst of it, and which, according to the tradition of the place, saved the cathedral itself from destruction, is that of Edmund Tudor, father of Henry VII. and grandfather of Henry VIII., who, for its sake, spared the venerable church where it stands. This very church of Holyhead was in great part rebuilt in the time of Henry VII. son of that Edmund Tudor. The rose of the Tudor family is visible to this day on its walls. Owen Tudor, the ancestor of them all, was a native of this island of Anglesey. We are thus reminded of the fact, which we sometimes forget, that, after Saxon and Norman and Plantagenet had done their best and passed away, a Welsh and British dynasty at last was seated once more on the throne of Britain, and swayed the destinies of the whole empire.

When in Westminster Abbey we pass from the tombs of the earlier kings to the magnificent chapel of King Henry VII., it is a striking thought to any one, especially to any one who has a drop of the ancient Welsh blood in his veins, that he enters there on a new field of the history of England, inaugurated by a succession of princes whose boast it was to be descended, not from Edward the Confessor or William the Conqueror, but from Arthur and Llewellyn, and that about the tomb of the first Tudor sovereign, intertwined with the emblems of his English descent, is to be seen the Red Dragon of Cadwallader.

That Tudor race, in their quick understanding, in their fiery temper, the true representatives of their ancient Celtic lineage, were the instruments raised up by God’s providence at the critical season of the new birth of England in the Reformation, for guiding, stimulating, freshening the Church and the nation to the performance of new duties, the fulfilment of new hopes, the application of new truths.

The sharpness of wit and liveliness of mind which were amongst the precocious gifts of Henry and Edward and Elizabeth, were common to them with their Welsh ancestors, and contributed in no small degree to the fresh start which England then made in the movements of that moving age. These qualities, whenever found, though they are not the highest of gifts, are inestimable for enlivening, cheering, enkindling the more powerful and the more highly civilised to action and to enquiry. Cherish them, even if they sometimes outrun discretion; correct them, if so be, not by repressing them, but by striving to develop the opposite gifts which are needed to balance and to chasten them.

II. And this leads us to two general remarks in conclusion.

(1) First let us remember that these graces of the Cambrian or Celtic character, which our Heavenly Father has thus vouchsafed to us, are also by His good providence blended in the English race with exactly those qualities which furnish their counterpoise—with that self-control, that moral discipline, that solid steadiness of purpose, without which poetic sentiment, religious fervour, mental vivacity are often useless, or worse than useless.

The old hermit in his solitude, the preacher in his fervid appeal, was good; but the honest, manly Christian, doing his duty faithfully and truthfully in his own station of life, is better. The sailor who remembers on the broad sea that God’s eye is always upon him; the workman or tradesman who endeavours to render to his Maker the best of all services, the offering of honest labour, the offering of unadulterated food, the offering of an upright conscientious traffic; the railway official or partner who cheers and encourages friendless travellers by a kindly word or by a helping hand, not for reward, but for love of his fellow creatures,—these are the modes by which, far more than by sudden conversion or enthusiastic hymns, we can fulfil God’s goodwill towards us.

(2) Another remark, still more obvious, but one of which we sometimes lose sight in speaking of the good influences of race and nationality, is that the power of religion, of the Christian religion, though coloured by these several influences, is yet above and beyond and independent of them all. I spoke before of the old story which tells how he who stands on the turf from St. David’s churchyard and looks out on the western sea was believed to see in the distance the green island of the fairies. But there is a still better thing that can be done by each one of us, Saxon or Celt, Englishman or Briton, old and young, rich and poor. Take your stand on any good religious lesson, learnt from whatever quarter—any piece of fresh fragment of knowledge, cut out of your inner experience—a good text from your Bible, a good prayer from your prayer-book, a good hymn from your hymn-book, a good counsel, or example of friend or teacher anywhere, which has enabled you better to know yourself, and better to know what God is,—stand fast upon it, and look out over the wide sea of your future years, and the still wider ocean of eternity beyond, and from that green turf of duty or of knowledge you will see in the distance the islands, not of the fairies, but something far better—the islands of the blessed, of the eternal shores across the stormy waves of this troublesome world.

Such an example, such a memory, such a life {39} you have had in the recollection of her who devoted her life to the welfare of the people of Holyhead, who loved the Welsh nation with a constant love, who spoke their tongue as her own, who cherished all their traditions, who longed for the restoration of this venerable church, whose heart’s desire has been on this day fulfilled by its reproduction in all its antique simplicity, in all its gracious adaptation to our living needs. She was a Welshwoman to the heart’s core; but she was also a generous, loving, wise, Christian spirit; and when we stand round her grave, and in this church which is the monument of her goodness, we stand as it were on the fragment of St. David’s turf, and we look out beyond a wider than any earthly sea to those islands of the better land where she and the great family of God’s servants have gone before; the islands of eternal rest—the islands where truth and holiness have “room and verge enough” to flourish undisturbed by earthly tempests, unwarped by the winds of earthly cares—in the haven where they and we would all be, through the grace of God and the power of His Spirit in our Lord Jesus Christ.

On a granite cross standing upon rocky ground near Llanfawr, is engraven the following inscription by Dean Stanley.

To the dear memory of Ellin, forty-four years the beloved and loving wife of the Honble. William Owen Stanley of Penrhos, Lord Lieutenant of Anglesey. The constant friend of the poor and afflicted of her native Wales, with which, from youth to age, she was one in heart and speech, in word and deed. Born Nov. 9th, 1809. Died Nov. 24th, 1876. This was erected by her sorrowing husband.

FOOTNOTES.

{16} Within the last half century, the old church of St. Cybi proved no longer sufficient for the needs of the parish; a second church was therefore built in 1857, dedicated to St. Seiriol, so that the memory of both Saints still survives in the minds of their people.

{27} The Saxon Arch opening into the Belfry at west end of the Nave of St. Cybi’s Church.

{32} This Sermon was preached in the Spring of 1879, during the Zulu war.

{39} The Honble. Mrs. W. O. Stanley.