Pontycymmer has never witnessed such scenes as those which made a huge throng tremble with a strange excitement at the Congregational Chapel to-night. In response to an invitation from the religious bodies of the town of Pontycymmer, Mr. Evan Roberts came down to the colliery village from Aberdare, and in his simple and unostentatious way created a convulsion of feeling which must have convinced the most sceptical that the revival in Wales is sweeping over Pontycymmer with telling force. People had come from all parts of the Garw Valley to hear this young man, whose fame has spread on every hand, and whose name is already on every tongue. He is spoken of now as the John Wesley of Wales, a man whose message is peace and goodwill. His gospel has no terrors for anyone. There is no gloom in it. His countenance reflects happiness, even to joyousness, and this he imparts to all who listen to him and believes in what he preaches.

His address at Pontycymmer was similar in tone to that delivered at Trecynon on Monday evening. No attempt was made to set a flame to people’s passion with the torch of rhetoric. Evan Roberts’s methods are in keeping with his character. He is plain and simple in the severest degree, and his own constant endeavour is to sink his own personality in the depths of his subject.

Those who heard him tonight for the first time were so full of curiosity to know what manner of man he was that their minds for a time were solely intent upon a close and keen observation of his style and mannerisms rather than upon listening to what he had to say. They had read in the “Western Mail” of his habit of swaying his arms and walking along the aisles. He varied not these little idiosyncrasies in the conduct of this meeting, except that he did not walk up and down the aisle’s. To have done so was an impossibility, unless he had walked on the heads of the people.

There was not a cubic inch of vacant ground space anywhere. People clambered up the rails of the pulpit, sat on the steps leading from one pew to another in the gallery, and scores struggled in vain at the entrance to the chapel to get within bearing distance. The atmosphere was excessively oppressive but the man who seemed to feel it least, or to feel it not at all, was the man who worked the hardest—the pale faced young revivalist. Women fainted and had to be carried out while He was speaking, but he went along with the same smile on his face. “Don’t take them out; don’t take them out,” he pleaded. “Let them go on their knees and ask for forgiveness. That is the sovereign remedy. ”

Having spoken for over an hour, he asked the assembly to sing, and someone started “Gwaed y Groes sy'n codi fyny.” There was, not sufficient spirit in the singing to please Evan Roberts, and he asked them to sing the hymn again. Immediately the refrain was repeated for the last time a young woman, who seemed to be greatly excited, stood up in a pew, and, turning her back on the missioner, addressed the people in the rear part of the chapel. What she said could not be understood where I was sitting, and she seemed to be oblivious of her surroundings. She was still speaking when the stentorian voice of a man drowned that of the woman. He was singing, 'Duw mawr y rhyfeddodau maith,' and the congregation promptly joined him and sang the tuneful old hymn with thrilling fervour.

Without any invitation, a young woman came forward to the “set fawr,” and, going on her knees, made a piteous appeal for forgiveness. The impression produced was intense, and her voice was drowned in a sudden chorus of “amens.”

Then an elderly woman stood up in her pew. She also prayed, and was remarkably eloquent. Strong, rough-looking men, who had hitherto showed no signs of emotion, now took up their handkerchiefs, and wept bitterly. One of these shrieked “amen” again and again in a shrill voice, which was weird and piercing. The scene was a memorable one. With greater enthusiasm than ever “Mae addewid Nef o'm hochr” and the repetitions of the refrain, “Pwy a wyr na wrendy clustiau? ” became so numerous, and the feeling growing so intense, that people here and there were seen to be impatient to take some apart in the service.

O man arose from his seat and made gesticulations, but could not make himself heard. His voice was choked with weeping and he had to sit down without having spoken a single word. Then every man and woman joined simultaneously, some praying, others singing, and others again, endeavouring to speak. All this while Evan Roberts sat in the “set fawr,” clapping his hands and exhorting the people to go on. The enthusiasm and ecstatic fervour of the meeting were evidently delightful to him.

After a large number of people had confessed their belief, the meeting closed at 11.30, a very old woman pronouncing the Benediction.