{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_40421/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_40421","id":"gutenberg_40421","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40421","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Humour","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Jones, Thomas, approximately 1530-approximately 1620 -- Fiction"],"text":"Transcribed from the 1900[?] W. Nicholson and Sons edition by David\nPrice, email ccx074@pglaf.org\n\n\n\n\n\n                                   THE\n                            COMICAL ADVENTURES\n                                    OF\n                             TWM SHON CATTY,\n                           (THOMAS JONES, ESQ.)\n                          COMMONLY KNOWN AS THE\n                            WELSH ROBIN HOOD.\n\n\n    \u201cIn Ystrad Feen a mirthful sound\n    Pervades the hollow hills around;\n    The very stones with laughter bound,\n    At Twm Shon Catty\u2019s jovial round.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIn presenting to the public the following Enlarged and Corrected Edition\nof \u201cTwm Shon Catty,\u201d the author cannot forget that on its first\nappearance in 1836, with \u201call its imperfections on its head,\u201d it was\nreceived with a welcome quite unlooked for on the part of the writer, and\nhe now presents this edition to the world, with several additions and\nalterations.\n\nOn examining the cause of such unlooked-for approbation, he found it, not\nin any merit of his own, but in the nationality of his subject, and the\nhumiliating suggestion that, slight as it was, it was the first attempted\nthing that could bear the title of a Welsh Novel.\n\nIt is true others have made Wales the scene of action for the heroes of\ntheir Tales; but however talented such writers might be, to the\nWelshman\u2019s feelings they lacked nationality, and betrayed the hand of the\nforeigner in the working of the web; its texture perchance, filled up\nwith yams of finer fleeces, but strange and loveless to their\nunaccustomed eyes.\n\nWere a native of one of the South Sea Islands to publish the life and\nadventures of one of their legendary heroes, it is probable that such a\nproduction would excite more attention, as a true transcript of mind and\nmanners of the people he essayed to describe, than the more polished\npages of the courtly English and French novelist, who undertook to write\non the same subject.  On the same principle, the author of this\nunpretending little provincial production accounts for the sunny gleams\nof favour that have flashed on the new tract which he has endeavoured to\ntread down, among briers and brambles of an unexplored way, while the\nsmoother path of the practised traveller has been shrouded in gloom.\n\nThe expression of the Author\u2019s gratitude is here presented to the Rev. W.\nJ. Rees, Rector of Cascob, for numerous favours; and especially for the\nhistoric and traditional matter that his researches furnished.  To the\nCritics of the Cambrian Quarterly for their favourable notice of the\n\u201cSmall Book,\u201d a skeleton as it then was, compared to the present Edition,\nimperfect as it still remains.  And lastly to the revered memory of the\nlate Archdeacon Benyon of Llandilo.  That lamented friend of Wales and\nWelshmen, (whose aims were ever directed to the enlargement of the narrow\nboundary within which prejudice and custom had encircled and enchained\nWelsh literature,) in the town-hall of Carmarthen, before his highly\nrespectable Auditors, honoured this production with a favourable notice.\nHe warmly eulogised the Author\u2019s attempt at the production of the first\nWelsh Novel; and concluded by an offer of a pecuniary reward to the\nperson who could give the best translation of it in the best Welsh\nlanguage.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nTHE name of Twm Shon Catty, popular throughout Wales.  \u201cThe Inn-Keeper\u2019s\nAlbum,\u201d and the drama founded thereon.  Twm Shon Catty apparently born in\ndifferent towns.  A correct account of his birth and parentage.\n\nIt is often the custom, however foolish it may be, to frighten the\noccupants of an English nursery into submission by saying, \u201cThe bogie is\ncoming,\u201d and though the exact form or attributes of the said \u201cbogie\u201d are\nby no means definitely known, the mere mention of the individual has\nsufficient power to make the juveniles cover their heads, and dive under\nthe bed-clothes, with fear.  The preface to the once popular farce of\n\u201cKilling no Murder\u201d informs us, that many a fry of infant Methodists are\nterrified and frightened to bed by the cry of \u201cthe Bishop is\ncoming!\u201d\u2014That the right reverend prelates of the realm should become\nbugbears and buggaboos to frighten the children of Dissenters, is curious\nenough, and evinces a considerable degree of ingenious malignity in\nbringing Episcopacy into contempt, if true.  Be that as it may in\nEngland, in Wales it is not so; for the demon of terror and monster of\nthe nursery there, to check the shrill cry of infancy, and enforce silent\nobedience to the nurse or mother is Twm Shon Catty.\n\nBut \u201cbabes and sucklings\u201d are not the only ones on whom that name has\ncontinued to act as a spell; nor for fear and wonder its only attributes,\nfor the knavish exploits and comic feats of Twm Shon Catty are, like\nthose of Robin Hood in England, the themes of many a rural rhyme, and the\nsubject of many a village tale; where, seated round the ample hearth of a\nfarm house, or the more limited one of a lowly cottage, an attentive\naudience is ever found, where his mirth-exciting tricks are told and\nlistened to with vast satisfaction, unsated by the frequency of\nrepetition; for the \u201clowly train\u201d are generally strangers to that\nfastidiousness which turns disgusted, from a twice-told tale.\n\nAlthough neither the legends, the poetry, nor the history of the\nprincipality, seem to interest, or accord with the taste of our English\nbrethren, the name of Twm Shon Catty, curiously enough, not only made its\nway among them, but had the unexpected honour of being woven into a tale,\nand exhibited on the stage, as a Welsh national dramatic spectacle, under\nthe title, and the imposing second title, of Twn _John_ Catty, or, the\nWelsh Rob Roy.  The nationality of the Welsh residents in London, who\nalways bear their country along with them wherever they go, was\nimmediately roused, notwithstanding the great offence of substituting\n\u201cJohn\u201d for \u201cShon,\u201d which called at once on their curiosity and love of\ncountry to pursue the \u201cInkeeper\u2019s Album,\u201d in which this tale first\nappeared, and to visit the Cobourg Theatre, where overflowing houses\nnightly attended the representation of the \u201cWelsh Rob Roy.\u201d  Now this\nsecond title, which confounded the poor Cambrians, was a grand expedient\nof the Dramatist, to excite the attention of the Londoners, who naturally\nassociated it with the hero of the celebrated Scotch novel.  The bait was\nimmediately swallowed, and that tale, an awkward and most weak attempt to\nimitate the \u201cGreat Unknown,\u201d and by far the worst article in a very\nclever book, actually sold the volume.\n\nAs Twm Shon Catty was invariably known to every Crymrian as a great\npractical joker, they were of course proportionately surprised to find\nhim manufactured into a stilted, injured, melo-dramatic chieftain, for\nthe love of his _Ellen_, dying the death of a hero!\n\n\u201cThis may do for London, but in Wales, where \u2018_Gwir yn erbyn y byd_\u2019 {9a}\nis our motto, we know better!\u201d muttered many a testy Cambrian, which he\nfelt doubly indignant at the authors\u2019 and actors\u2019 errors in the\nmis-writing and the mis-pronouncing the well-known \u201csponsorial or\nbaptismal appellation,\u201d {9b} as Doctor Pangloss would say: and another\nsource of umbrage to them was, that an English author\u2019s sacrilegiously\ndignifying Twm with the qualities of a hero, conveying the villanous\ninference that Wales was barren of _real_ heroes\u2014an insinuation that no\nWelshman could tamely endure to forgive.  In an instant recurred the\nhonoured names of Rodri Mawr, Owen Gwyneth, Caswallon ab Beli, Own\nGlyndwr, Rhys ab Thomas, and a vast chain of Cambrian worthies, not\nforgetting the royal race of Tudor, that gave an Elizabeth to the English\nthrone; on which the mimic scene before them, and the high vauntings of\nHuntley in the character of Twm Shon Catty, sunk into the insignificance\nof a punch and puppet show, in comparison with the mighty men who then\npassed before the mental eye.\n\nSir John Wynn, of Gwydir, bart., was the father of our hero, who was a\nnatural son by a woman called Catherine.  Little or nothing is known of\nher, but surnames not being generally adopted in Wales, her son, by\nUniversal consent, was called \u201cTwn Shon Catty,\u201d which means literally,\n\u201cThoms John Catherine.\u201d  One very astute English Commentator informs us\nthat the name \u201cCatty\u201d originated in the fact that of his armorial\nbearings included a Cat\u2019s Eye!!  This is simply nonsense, as every\nWelshman can testify.\n\nLike the immortal Homer, different towns have put forth their claims to\nthe enviable distinction of having given our hero birth; among which\nCardigan, Llandovery, and Carmarthen, are said to have displayed\nconsiderable warmth in asserting their respective pretentions.  A native\nof the latter far-famed borough town, whose carbuncled face and rubicund\nnose\u2014indelible stamps of bacchanalian royalty\u2014proclaimed him the\nundisputed prince of topers, roundly affirmed that no town but\nCarmarthen\u2014ever famed for its stout ale, large dampers, {10} and\nblustering heroes of the pipe and pot\u2014could possibly have produced such a\njolly dog.  It is with regret that we perceive such potent authority\nopposed by the united opinions of our Cambrian bards and antiquaries, who\nplace his birth in the year 1570, at Tregaron, that primitive, yet no\nlonger obscure, Cardiganshire town, but long celebrated throughout the\nprincipality for its pony fair; and above all, as the established\nbirthplace of Twm Shon Catty.\n\nHe first saw the light, it seems, at a house of his mother\u2019s, situate on\na hill south-east of Tregaron, called Llidiard-y-Fynnon, (Fountain-Gate,)\nfrom its situation beside an excellent well, that previous to the\ndiscovery of other springs nearer to their habitations, supplied the good\npeople of Tregaron with water.  That distinguished spot is now, however,\nmore generally known by the more elevated name of Pl\u00e2s Twm Shon Catty,\n(the mansion of Twm Shon Catty,) the ruins of which are now pointed out\nby the neighbouring people to any curious traveller who may wish to\nenrich the pages of his virgin tour by their important communications.\n\nAnd now, having given our hero\u2019s birth and parentage with the fidelity of\na true historian, who has a most virtuous scorn of the spurious\nembellishments of fiction, a more excursive pen shall flourish on our\nfuture chapters.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nTHE grandfather of Twm Shon Catty.  Squire Graspacre on morality.  Sir\nJno. Wynn, the practical exponent of it\u2014and our hero the result thereof.\n\nCatty, the mother of Twm, lived in the most unsophisticated manner at\nLlidiard-y-Fynnon, with an ill-favoured, hump-backed sister, who was the\ngeneral drudge and domestic manager.  Their mother had long been dead,\nand their father, the horned cattle, a small farm and all its\nappurtenances, had been lost to them about two years.  This little farm\nwas their father\u2019s property, but provokingly situated in the middle of\nthe vast possessions of Squire Graspacre, an English gentleman-farmer,\nwho condescendingly fixed himself in the principality with the laudable\nidea of civilizing the Welsh.\n\nThe most feasible mode of accomplishing so grand an undertaking, that\nappeared to him, was, to dispossess them of their property, and to take\nas much as possible of their country into his own paternal care.  The\nrude Welsh, to be sure, he found so blind to their own interests as to\nprefer living on their farms to either selling or giving them away, to\nprofit by his superior management.  His master-genius now became apparent\nto everybody; for after ruining the owners, and appropriating to himself\nhalf the neighbouring country, the other half became his own with ease,\nas the poor little freeholders found it better to accept a small sum for\ntheir property, than to have all wasted in litigation, and perhaps,\nultimately, to end their days in prison.\n\nThe maternal grandfather of Twm Shon Catty, was the last who held out\nagainst the tyranny of the squire.  He triumphantly won his cause; but\nbecause he could not pay the costs, he was imprisoned by his own\nsolicitor, in the county gaol of Cardigan, where it is said he died of a\nbroken heart.  The squire then gained his ends.  The farm-house\n(separated from the land, which was added to another farm) became the\ndwelling of the old farmer\u2019s two daughters: not a gift, as they had to\npay annually about twice as much rental as they ought to have paid.\n\nIt was soon after this admirable settlement of his affairs, that the\nsquire had a grand visitor to entertain at Graspacre Hall, who was no\nless a personage than Sir John Wynn, of Gwydir, in North Wales, whose\nsister our deep-scheming squire had just married, with the politic view\nof identifying himself with the Cambrian principality, and becoming one\nof the landed proprietors of the country.  One day, after a long ride\nwith his noble guest, over his far-spreading hills and vales, it was poor\nCatty\u2019s lot to be observed by these lordly sons of affluence.  She was\nspinning wool at the cottage door, a work which she seldom performed\nwithout the accompaniment of a song; and at that time she was giving\nutterance to a mournful ditty, as the recent death of her father had\nnaturally attuned her mind to melancholy, and cast a cloud over her usual\ncheerfulness.\n\nThe great men stopped their horses: \u201ca fine girl, Sir John,\u201d cried the\nsquire.\n\n\u201cYou are right!\u201d said the baronet: \u201cI wonder if she would object to a few\ndelicate attentions from a man of honour?\u201d\n\n\u201cObject! my dear sir, I am surprised that you should ask the question.\nThe girl is poor and friendless, and has just buried her father.  My dear\nsir, it would be kind of you, if you were to call and offer her those\n\u2018delicate attentions\u2019 of which you speak.\u201d\n\nThe amorous baronet was not slow to avail himself of this very amiable\nsuggestion, delivered with a significant leer which could not be\nmistaken; he called for several successive evenings at Llidiard-y-Fynnon;\nbut we may very reasonably question the _delicacy_ of the attentions he\nproffered to the fair Catty.  The sequel to the adventure soon became\nnotorious, and the maiden Catty became the mother of our redoubted hero,\nthence, with an illusion to his father, called Twm Shon Catty.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nTHE boy indicative of the man.  Antiquarian propensities show themselves.\nHis mother rises in the world, and assumes the dignified office of\nvillage schoolmistress.  Her mode of tuition.  Twm a member of the\n\u201cacademy.\u201d\n\nAs the period of early infancy seldom contains incidents worthy the\nrecording pen of history, we shall bring our hero at once at his fourth\nyear.  The biographers of great men have generally evinced a predilection\nto present their readers with certain early indications of the peculiar\ngenius that has distinguished their heroes in after life; and far from us\nbe the presumption of deviating from such a popular and legitimate rule,\nby any radical attempt at innovation or improvement.\n\nPope\u2019s lispings in numbers, West\u2019s quaker daublings in childhood, with\nmany other instances, not forgetting Peter Pindar\u2019s waggery on Sir Joseph\nBank\u2019s spreading spiders and butterflies on his bread and butter,\n(certain indication of the future Naturalist,) are cases in point, which\nare familiar to every reader; true or not, we have also heard the story\nof Sir Isaac Newton\u2019s partiality for apples, in childhood; that\nPaganini\u2019s first desire was for a sixpenny toy fiddle; that other great\nmen in infancy exemplified the motto that \u201cComing events cast their\nshadows before them;\u201d and it will not appear strange to those already\nacquainted with his fame, that we have to add to these eminent names that\nof our long neglected hero.\n\nIt is true he became neither a poet, a painter, nor a natural historian,\nbut, according to the unbiassed opinions of geniuses of the same caste\nwith himself, who could not be suspected of either egotism or partiality,\na superior character to either\u2014an eminent antiquary\u2014to which may be\nadded, though perhaps it ought to take the lead\u2014a no less eminent\nthief\u2014if thief he can be called whose illicit doings were prompted by no\nmotives of selfishness, but were ever the spontaneous offspring of whim\nand madcap daring.\n\nTwm\u2019s mother affirms (and when a lady affirms anything the gentlemen feel\nbound to believe in, and swear by it,) that her son\u2019s first predilection\nconsisted of an intense affection for street rubbish.  The gutters and\nsweepings of Tregaron furnished him with materials for an antiquarian\nexhibition which he held in a stable manger.  The pottery of bygone days,\nsomewhat the worse for wear and tear, but still exhibiting the taste and\nsubstantial ideas of the original manufactures\u2014cutlery of Sheffield\nmanufactures, discarded and useless, but not beneath the notice of our\njuvenile showman\u2014twisted hemp and bits of figured rags and paper, relics\nof time past\u2014all formed part and parcel of his \u201cexhibition.\u201d\n\nTo be sure his occupation was not of the cleanest.  To secure these\npriceless relics, he coated hands, face, and clothes, with a thick crust\nof mud, and thus showed his origin, by the close affection he had for\nmother earth.  As in these little fancies he spent the greater part of\nhis time, it became a wonder to his mother that he seldom ran home for\nfood; but it was soon discovered that he had a mode peculiar to himself\nof raising contributions on the public of which he was a member, by\nforcing them to part with a portion of their bread and butter\u2014a\npraiseworthy act, and trebly commendable, as in the first place it showed\nhis filial piety, in saving his mother the expense of his victuals; in\nthe next, it taught courtesy to the churlish, who in time anticipated his\ndemand by voluntary offerings; and thirdly, it engendered the principle\nof honesty in their tender minds, by marking the propriety of paying for\ntheir curiosity in gaping over the produce of his labours.  This, it will\nalso be observed, was another feature that announced his future\ncharacter, which, it will be seen, \u201cgrew with his growth, and\nstrengthened with his strength.\u201d\n\nSir Jno. Wynn was made acquainted with the result of those \u201cdelicate\nattentions,\u201d to which we have before alluded, and as some sort of\ncompensation, he bought the cottage of Squire Graspacre, and presented it\nto Catty, as the reward of her kind compliance with his \u201cdelicate\u201d\nwishes.  The little property made her of great importance in the\ndistrict.  As the house was large, and not overstocked with inhabitants,\nit occurred to the good people of Tregaron, that a day-school might be\nestablished within its walls; and having with their own consent found a\nschool-room, by the same indisputable right they fixed on Catty for its\nmistress, and instituted her governess, to rule their tender progeny.\n\nCatty, with huge grin of approbation at her unexpected promotion,\nimmediately ratified their election, and declared both her house and self\nready for the reception of pupils at the moderate terms of a penny a\nweek.  Her hump-backed sister was by no means pleased with this\narrangement, and very testily asked, \u201cWho was to clean up the house after\nthe grubby fry?\u201d  Catty made no reply, but in the pride of her heart\nhummed a gay song, scratched the mud off her boy\u2019s clothes with an old\nbirch broom, which being hardened by sweeping the house, answered the\npurpose better than a brush, and had some old coffers converted into\nbenches for the service of her scholars.\n\nShe then with singular alacrity, proceeded to cut from the hedge, with\nher own fair hand, one of the most engaging-looking birch rods, that ever\nwas wielded by rural governess.  This premature display of the sceptre of\nseverity was far from fortunate, and nearly ruined the undertaking at the\noutset.  The tender mothers of Tregaron were startled at so unexpected a\nproceeding, and practically declared they had rather their dear babes\nshould be brought up like calves and pigs, in the most bestial ignorance,\nthan have knowledge beaten into them at the nether end with a birch rod.\n\nCatty immediately quieted their fears, by protesting that she entertained\nthe utmost abhorrence of the flagellation system, and that the bunch of\nbirch was but bound together for a very different purpose, namely, to be\nsuspended as a sign over her door.  As Catty was all compliance with\ntheir requisitions, every thing was set to rights; and without more ado\nchildren were sent from every house where the affluence of the inmates\nenabled them to give their offspring the first rudiments of education.\nThe mother of Twm became the pink and paragon of schoolmistresses.  \u2019Tis\ntrue, the noise and uproar of her school was so great, that the pigs were\nfrightened from their trough, and the curate\u2019s wife, who rode an\nill-tamed horse, was thrown headlong into the well, when passing the\nacademy, from the animal taking fright; but that was no fault of Catty\u2019s;\npeople should break in their horses properly, and curates\u2019 wives should\nlearn to ride and keep their seats better.  Besides, the alleged uproar\nwas the greatest evidence in her favour, as it proved the tenderness of\nher heart in not correcting her scholars\u2014a quality more valued by their\nmaternal parents than any other that could be substituted; and in their\nappreciation of this prime desideratum, they omitted to inquire minutely\ninto her other qualifications for a governess.\n\nUnreasonable people might have asserted that she should at least have\nbeen able to read and write with ordinary ability.  But poor Catty was\nnot troubled with either of these accomplishments, and believed with\nDogberry, that \u201creading and writing came by nature,\u201d and that \u201cwhere\nignorance is bliss, \u2019twere folly to be wise.\u201d  She congratulated herself\nthat none could say to her \u201cToo much learning hath made thee mad;\u201d and\ninwardly thanked heaven that her sanity would be unquestioned if such a\ntest was applied to her.\n\nMany of Catty\u2019s pupils had been taken by their wise and considerate\nmothers out of the curate\u2019s school, fearful that his severity would break\ntheir hearts; and having there learnt their letters and a little\nspelling, they kept possession at least of what they had acquired, by\nteaching other children, which flattered their childish vanity, while it\nserved their mistress, who, like a sage general that stands aloof from\nthe broil of battle, takes to herself the credit of success, while the\nreal operators are forgotten.  Thus in time, with the powerful support of\nthe matrons of Tregaron, who took the lead of their spouses, and directed\nthe taste and opinions of the clodhopping community, Catty\u2019s school\nbecame an alarming rival to the curate\u2019s.\n\nThe mode of tuition adopted by Twm\u2019s mother, was an entirely original\none, as the reader will have surmised.  It cost very little trouble in\nacquiring, because its chief secret consisted in tutor and pupils doing\njust what they chose.  It may save a good deal of anxiety and trouble to\nthose tutors who are too conscientious if we furnish them with a leaf\nfrom the book of this original preceptor.\n\n\u201cCome here, little Guenny Cadwgan,\u201d said Catty one day, \u201cCome here, my\nlittle pretty buttercup, and say your lesson, if you can; but if you\ncan\u2019t, never mind, I won\u2019t beat nor scold you.\u201d  Guenny came forward\nbobbing a curtsey, and while his mistress broomed the mud from little\nTwm\u2019s breeches, began her lesson.\n\n_Guenny_.\u2014a, b, hab.\n\n_Catty_.\u2014There\u2019s a good maaid!\n\n_Guenny_.\u2014e, b, heb.\n\n_Catty_.\u2014There\u2019s a good maaid!\n\n_Guenny_.\u2014o, b, hob.\n\n_Catty_.\u2014There\u2019s a good maaid!\n\n_Guenny_.\u2014i, b,\u2014can\u2019t tell.\n\n_Catty_.\u2014Skipe it, child, skipe it\u2014(meaning \u201cskip it.\u201d)\n\n_Guenny_.\u2014u, b, cub.\n\n_Catty_.\u2014There\u2019s a good maaid!  Twm you little wicked dog, don\u2019t kick the\nchild.  Go on, Guenny vach.\n\n_Twm_.\u2014(who had been struggling for some time to get from under his\nmother\u2019s combs,) I want to go a fishing.\n\n_Catty_.\u2014Lord love the darling child!  You\u2019ll fall into the river and be\ndrowned.\n\n_Twm_.\u2014Oh! no, mother; I always fish in the gutters.\n\n_Dio Bengoch_.\u2014I want to go home for some bread and butter.\n\n\u201cAnd I! and I! and I!\u201d squalls every urchin in the school; and out they\nwould run in a drove, on perceiving the independent exit of master Twm,\nwithout waiting for the permission of his parent and governess.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nA LECTURE on learning.  Astuteness below stairs.  A gentleman\u2019s opinion\non servants.  A horse milliner.  Intimacy with Catty.  More suspicion of\n\u201cdelicate attentions,\u201d which so far are not quite so criminal as the\nsquire\u2019s.\n\nPerhaps our modern governesses who possess the vain accomplishment of\nreading and writing, may feel disposed to undervalue the acquirements of\nour rural Welsh governess.  But let them not triumph; and be it\nrecollected that tastes differ, and that many of our living patricians,\nas well as wealthy plebeians, who are considered the great, the mighty,\nand the respectable of the land, deprecate with becoming vehemence the\nprevailing mania for educating the poor.  We have heard ladies, and great\nones too, attired in silks and velvets, pall and purple, and \u201cfaring\nsumptuously every day,\u201d declare most positively that they never knew a\nservant good for anything that could read and write.\n\nNo sooner were they capable of wielding a goose quill, than the impudent\nhussies presumed to have a will of their own, and their opinions mounted\na step nearer to the attitude of their mistresses.  And on men, they\nsaid, education had a worse effect, as thereby they became the idle\nreaders of books and newspapers, which made them saucy to their\nsuperiors, and sometimes the most villanous cut-throat radicals.  Now it\nwill be readily admitted, we should think, that there was little danger\nof Catty\u2019s scholars ever becoming such pernicious characters; and\ntherefore, let not liberal envy withhold from her the well-merited meed\nof applause.  Alas for the good old times\u2014we see no such\nschool-mistresses now-a-days! those days of the golden age of simplicity\nare gone for ever.\n\nPerhaps we might wonder that the parents of the children, those who paid\nsuch a round sum every week for instruction administered to those \u201cbabes\nand sucklings,\u201d did not grumble at the slow pace at which the process\nwent on.  But to criticise a subject properly, we must be \u201cwell up\u201d in\nit, and the villagers of Tregaron were not exactly calculated to measure\nthe amount of \u201cbook larning\u201d their babes did, or did not acquire.  They\nwere satisfied if their children were \u201cout of the way, the livelong day\u201d\nand a penny per week was surely not so high a price to pay for that\nluxury.\n\nAlthough our hero\u2019s mother could not be called a woman of letters, she\ncertainly possessed qualities more original than generally fell to the\nlot of persons in her station.  At carding wool or spinning it, knitting\nstockings or mittens, the most envious admitted her superiority to every\nwoman in Tregaron.\n\nShe moreover had gained no small consideration in another character,\nwhich her jealous neighbours satirically denominated a hedge milliner,\nwhose province it was to mend hedging gloves and coarse frocks for\nploughmen, to darn or patch with leather the heels of their stout woollen\nstockings, and also to repair horse collars at half the price charged by\nold Daff the saddler; the latter part of her occupation, which required a\ndelicate hand to cut the slender sewing thongs from the raw bull hides,\ncaused her to be called a horse milliner, which, after all, was not much\nmore applicable than if she had been called a bull tailor.  This\nmalignant waggery, however, was unable to disturb the tranquil soul of\nCatty; she loved horses, and in her juvenile days had often whiled away\nher mornings and evenings in the rural pastime of driving them, both in\nplough and harrow, while carolling some rural ditty, till the rocks and\nmountains echoed with the cadence of her harmony.\n\nCatty, with such capabilities and accomplishments, was of course an\nobject of wonder, awe, and admiration, to many of the swains of Tregaron,\nnotwithstanding those \u201cdelicate attentions\u201d bestowed upon her by Sir Jno.\nWynn, bart., but the success of her original method of tuition made her\nquite independent of their protestations.  But, altering the sex in the\nquotation, we may say that, \u201cThere is a tide in the affairs of women;\u201d\nand it proved to be so in Catty\u2019s case.\n\nThe right man came at last.  Like all her amiable sex, she professed the\nutmost abhorrence of mercenary motives in marriage, though many\ninsinuated that she knew the value of property from having never\npossessed any worth mentioning.  It was observed that she treated with\nindifference, if not aversion, those unprofitable lovers who had nothing\nbut their goodly persons to recommend them.\n\nCertain innuendoes were even thrown out respecting a suspicion of her\ncoquettings with one of the most ugly, miserly, and repulsive of\nclowns;\u2014one who was not only a clown, but a red-haired one;\u2014not only\nknock-kneed, but squint-eyed;\u2014not only squint-eyed, but a woman-hater;\nand worse than all, a foreigner!\u2014being a native of a distant part of the\nadjoining county of Carmarthen, and known only by the nick-name of Jack\nof Sheer G\u00e2r, or Carmarthenshire Jack.\n\nThis person was repulsive in the extreme.  Clad in old, patched, dirty\nclothes, with such peculiar facial properties as we have before\nenumerated, he was apparently the last man upon whom one of the opposite\nsex would have cast her favouring eye.  He was at this time chief\nhusbandman and bailiff to the squire, an office which, giving him power\nover other servants, we may be very sure did not increase his popularity.\nBut few showed their distaste and aversion openly; it would have been a\ndangerous experiment with Jack of Sheer G\u00e2r.\n\nThe standing jest against him was, his qualifications as a trencherman,\nand his reputation as a \u201chuge feeder\u201d was certainly unrivalled.  As there\nwas not a single pastime under the head of amusement, that the ingenuity\nof man has ever devised for the entertainment of his fellows, save\neating, that possessed a charm for him, it might of course be expected\nthat this solitary recreation would be indulged in the proportion that he\nexcluded all others.  He not only performed all the functions of the\ngross glutton, but as the actors say, \u201clooked the character,\u201d to\nperfection.\n\nThe reader, measuring him by other men, would make a very erroneous guess\non the most prominent feature of his face, if he fixed on the nasal\nprotuberance\u2014no such thing\u2014his nose was flat and small, but his large\nprojecting upper teeth, like \u201crocks of pearl jutting over the sea,\u201d were\never bared for action, white as those of his only companion, the mastiff,\nand nobly independent of a sheathing lip.\n\n    Others more comely features might wear\n    But Jack was famed for his white teeth bare.\n\nAs the squire\u2019s lady was not the most liberal in supplying the servants\u2019\ntable, those wags, male or female, who were in the habit of committing\nthe silent mimicry against Jack, were soon taught a severe lesson at the\nexpense of their bowels.  It was discovered that, whenever enraged at\ntheir treatment, instead of spending his breath in vain reproaches, or\ntaking to the more violent proceeding of fisty-cuffs, Jack revenged\nhimself by eating most outrageously, so that scoffers, deprived of their\nshares, often found their stomachs minus.  His power of mastication\nincreased with his anger; and the flaming energy that was mentally\ninciting him to give an enemy a fierce facer, or a destructive\ncross-buttock, was diverted from his knuckles to his teeth; and in every\nquantum which he ground in his relentless mill, he felt the glowing\nsatisfaction of having annihilated a foe.\n\nWoe to those who were his next neighbours at table, and sat so close to\nhis elbows at those hours of excitement; fierce punches in the ribs, as\nif by accident, were among the slightest consequences; and those who were\nthus taught the manners to keep a respectable distance, declared that the\nfears they entertained was only of his knife.  But his bloodthirsty\npropensities were not so great as they were represented to be.  Jack\nbelieved in the \u201cpower of the eye,\u201d and exemplified it, in his own case,\nby making that organ express what his head never meant to carry out.  The\nsquire knew his value as a faithful servant, and turned a deaf ear to all\nthe evil that was reported of him.\n\nBefore fanaticism had cast its puritanic gloom over Wales, and identified\nitself almost with the Welsh in character, mirth and minstrelsy, dance\nand song, emulative games and rural pastimes were the order of the day;\nand, as the people worked hard all the week, it must be confessed that\nthese sports often infringed upon the sanctity of the Sabbath.\n\nSundays were often entirely spent in dancing, wrestling, and kicking the\nfoot-ball.  The latter violent exercise, at this time prevalent in\nCardiganshire, was performed in large parties of village against village,\nand parish against parish, when the country brought together its mass of\npopulation either to partake in the glories of the game or to enjoy the\nsuccess of their friends, as spectators.  On these occasions Carmarthen\nJack loved to be present, but only as a spectator, as he was never known\nto take a part in the game.\n\nJack thought the exercise of play was waste of time and breath.  He told\nothers that he \u201ckept his breath to cool his flummery, and his strength to\nmake money.\u201d  Whilst the others were panting with efforts made in the\ngame, Jack was quietly cutting and carving his wooden spoons, made out of\nthe birch or alder which he stored all the week under his bed, for the\npurpose of drying it.\n\nAt fairs also, Carmarthen Jack would be equally punctual, and after\nhaving done his master\u2019s business of buying or selling a horse or so,\nwould be seen with a load of merchandise of his own manufacture, wooden\nspoons, ladles, and clog soles, in abundance, which drew about him all\nthe rural house-keepers far and near.  \u201cNo milliner could suit her\ncustomers with gloves\u201d in greater variety than Jack with spoons to please\nhis purchasers.  He had spoons for man, woman and child, fashioned for\nevery sort of mouth, from the tiny infant\u2019s to the shark-jaws of the\nhungry ploughman, which, like his own, was said to present a gap from ear\nto ear.  He had spoons for use, and spoons for ornament; the latter,\nmeant to keep company with the showy polished pewter, were made of box or\nyew, highly polished and curiously carved with divers characters,\nsupposed to be suns, moons, stars, hearts transfixed with the dart of\ncupid, and sometimes a hen and chickens; with hieroglyphics for fear of\ntheir being mistaken for a cat and mice, with other such\nmisconstructions, Jack always explained at the time of bargaining,\nwithout any extra charge.\n\nNothing could more emphatically prove the excellency of Jack\u2019s wares,\nthan the circumstance of his being personally unpopular among the women,\nand yet his wares in the highest esteem.  The frowns of the fair, which\nthrew a gloom on the sunshine of his days, may be traced to a source not\nat all dishonourable to him.  The girls at the squire\u2019s had played him so\nmany tricks, that once in the height of aggravation, Jack waged war\nagainst the whole sex, devoting to the infernal gods every creature that\nwore a petticoat, and vowing, from that day forward, not one of the\nproscribed race should ever enter his room, which was romantically\nsituated over the stable, its wickered lattice commanding a full view of\nboth the pigsty and the dunghill.\n\nThe consequence of this terrible row caused him, at first, some trouble,\nas, to keep it, he was obliged thenceforward to be his own chambermaid,\nlaundress, and sempstress, offices that accorded ill with his previous\nhabits.  The laudable firmness of his nature, however, soon overcame\nthese petty difficulties; and so far was he from backsliding from his\nprevious determination, that he vowed to throw through the window the\nfirst woman who entered his chamber, which the satirical hussies called\nhis den\u2014a threat which effectually secured him from further intrusion.\n\nSometimes, indeed, while sitting at the door of the cow-house, or the\nstable, listening to the rural sounds of the cackling geese and grunting\npigs, and darning his hose, or patching his leather breeches, or treading\nhis shift in the brook by way of washing it, those eternal plagues of\nhis, the girls, would be seen and heard behind the covert of a wall or\nhedge, smothering their tittering, which at last would burst out, in\nspite of suppression, into a loud horse-laugh, when, one and all, they\nwould take to their heels, while Jack amused himself by pelting their\nrear, in their precipitate retreat, with clods of earth, small stones or\nanything that came in his way.\n\n\u201cCircumstances alter cases.\u201d  In time Jack gained the reputation of being\nrich.  He had made spoons to some purpose, and however the fair sex may\ncry up their disinterestedness, we are all aware that money materially\nalters the position of a man in their eyes.  One of the maids with this\nknowledge, became very suddenly enamoured of him, and tried to gain his\ngood will.  But having one day ventured to Jack\u2019s \u201csanctum,\u201d the wench\nwas pitched into the dunghill below, and as a consequence the \u201cpangs of\ndespised love\u201d raged in her bosom.  The first act of her resentment was\nto spread about the insidious report that Jack Sheer was a woman-hater\u2014an\ninsinuation that rather preyed upon his mind, as he dreaded the effect\nsuch an unmerited stigma would have upon his private trade.  But\ninnocence is ever predestined to an ultimate triumph; and an event soon\nhappened that proved the falsehood of those prevalent tales to his\ndiscredit, and convinced his greatest foes that he possessed a heart, if\nnot overflowing with human charity, at least penetrable to the\nblandishments of beauty, and quick with sensibility to female merit.\n\nOn one auspicious market-day, Carmarthen Jack appeared in the streets of\nTregaron where the market is held, loaded with his usual merchandise,\nwhich he spread on the ground, and sat beside them; but not meeting with\na ready sale, and disdaining even momentary idleness, began with\nearnestness to cut and scoop away at a piece of alder, gradually forming\nit into a huge ladle, to correspond with the largest size three-legged\niron pot.  On this eventful morning Catty had occasion to perambulate the\nfair, to purchase a new ladle, her cross-grained sister having broken the\nold one, by thumping with it on the back of an overgrown hog, whose\nforaging propensities had led him to investigate the recesses of the\nschoolroom.\n\nThe notoriety occasioned by Jack\u2019s peculiarities, and the fact of his\nhaving money, reached the ears of Catty, and our prudent tutor determined\nto make his acquaintance through the medium of the broken ladle.  Some\npeople say that Catty broke the ladle herself, broke it with a design and\nthat design was an excuse for visiting and conquering one who hated all\nher sex.  Be that as it may, she sought and found him in the fair, and\nfell in love with him and his ladle at the same instant.  After an effort\nto conquer her native bashfulness, and to look as lovely as possible, she\naccosted him with such uncommon civility as utterly astounded the poor\nclownish misanthropic bachelor.  She examined the ladle in his hand, and\nthough not half finished, declared it to be the handsomest ever her eyes\nbeheld, and paid for it without seeking the least abatement in the price.\nJack gaped at her, with open mouth and staring eyes, and thought her a\nvery interesting woman, though his first impression was, that she was\nmad, as he had asked double the selling price, on purpose to abate one\nhalf, according to the custom immemorial in Welsh dealings.\n\nShe next purchased half a dozen common birch-wood spoons, and, as many\nornamental ones made of box, to adorn her shelf, and, as before paid him\nhis own price.  Jack thought her very lovely indeed: and when she made\nanother purchase of a pair of clog soles, quite irresistible!\u2014her ready\nmoney opened his heart as the best key in the world would have done a\npatent lock; and he was almost ready to offer them as a present, but for\nfear of wounding her delicacy.  As she found he had no further variety,\nshe ordered half a dozen more common spoons, and Jack, with all the\namiability that he could possibly throw into his hard features, presented\nher with one of his most finished articles in box.  She received it with\nthat peculiar smile with which a lady accepts a welcome love-token, and\nreplied in the softest tone imaginable, \u201cIndeed I will keep it for your\nsake, John bach!\u201d\n\nJack had nothing to do but wonder\u2014he never had been called John in his\nlife before; at any other time he would have thought she mocked him\u2014and\nthe endearing term of \u201cbach\u201d too, was equally new to his ears, which\nseemed to grow longer as they tingled with the grateful sound.  This\ninteresting scene was closed by Catty asking him to her house to partake\nof a dinner of flummery and milk, which he accepted with the best grace\nimaginable, and trudged off with his wares on his back and dangling from\nhis arms and button-holes; and thus gallanting her in the most amatory\nstyle; he walked by her side to Llidiard-y-Fynon.\n\nUnaccustomed to kindness in either word or deed, poor Jack of Sheer G\u00e2r,\nmet her condescensions and advances with a sheepish sort of gratitude.  A\ncordial invitation on the part of Catty to repeat his visit as soon, and\nas often, as possible, affected him almost to tears; and as a proof of\nhis unbounded confidence, he left in her care his whole stock of\nready-made spoons and ladles, and almost blubbered when he shook her hand\nat parting.\n\nAs a proof of the beneficial effect of kindness on a churlish nature, and\nthe contrary, of ridicule and persecution, we need but contrast this\nrugged man\u2019s previous character and conduct with what followed, after the\ntenderness of Catty had melted the frost of misanthropy which formed a\ncrusty coat round his heart.  The adventure of the day produced a most\nextraordinary revolution in his habits.  None of the servants of the\nhall, male or female, could conceive what it portended, when Jack asked\none of them, his fellow husbandman, to trim his hair; and while the\nfellow clipped his rough red locks with his sheep-shears, once\nmischievously pinching his ear with them till he roared, he was surprised\nat his questions about the price of a new pair of leather breeches, and a\nred neck-cloth.  Greater still was the astonishment of the whole house,\nwhen, in a few days after, he appeared changed into a complete rustic\nbuck in those very articles of dress, and while he thought nobody saw\nhim, endeavoured to cut a dancing caper on the green, which they mistook\nfor a frisky bullock.  Changes like these are seldom without a reason,\nthought his fellow servants; and when they saw Jack\u2019s elated steps lead\nhim towards Catty\u2019s house, they jeered, and laughed, and winked; and\nnothing knew of course, although their knowledge made him all the worse.\nTregaron and its neighbourhood had now food for gossip, and gossip to\nsome people is indeed the very acme of human felicity.\n\nFlummery and milk, named here as the food on which those lovers regaled,\nhas been considered in Wales a very popular mess, common, but still a\nfavourite among high and low, and might be seen on the board of the lord\nlieutenant of county, as well as on that of the humblest cottager.  The\nlofty of the land whose pampered stomachs have turned with loathing from\nmore dainty dishes in sultry seasons, have welcomed the simplicity of\nmilk and flummery, as the advocate of native charms would greet the\nsmilings of a rustic beauty, while the meretricious fair of fashion would\nbe passed by, neglected.\n\nThe English reader will not be offended if I dilate a little praise of my\nfavourite bowl or platter, (too much to call it a dish perhaps,) while I\nexplain its nature; and if he be a bloated son of affluence, overflowing\nwith bile and spleen, he will thank us, after adopting our recommendation\nof feeding on it often during his rustication among our mountains.  Our\ncandid sages of the pill and potion, also recommend it as very effective\nin promoting an increase of good clear healthy blood.\n\nFlummery is made of the inner hulls of ground oats, when sifted from the\nmeal, some of which still adheres to it, by soaking it in water till it\nacquires a slight taste of acidity, when it is strained through a hair\nsieve and boiled till it becomes a perfect jelly.  When poured from that\nprince of culinary vessels, the large three-legged iron pot, into a vast\nearthen dish, it presents a smooth smiling aspect of the most winning\nequanimity, till destroyed by the numerous invading spoons of the\ncompany, who plunge a portion of it, scalding hot, into their bowls of\ncool milk.  Thus much of the descriptive history is given, to illustrate\nthe following ode to its immortal praise, with which we shall now close\nthis long chapter.\n\n                              MILK AND FLUMMERY.\n\n    Let luxury\u2019s imbecile train,\n       Of appetites fastidious,\n    Each sauced provocative obtain,\n       The draught or viand perfidious;\n    But oh! give me that simple food,\n       Lov\u2019d by the sons of Cymru.\n    With health, with nourishment imbued,\n       The sweet cool milk and flummery.\n\n    Let pudding-headed English folk\n       With boast of roast-beef fag us;\n    Let Scottish Burns crack rural jokes,\n       And vaunt kail-brose and haggis;\n    But Cymrian sons, of mount and plain,\n       From Brecknock to Montgomery,\n    Let us the honest praise maintain,\n       Of sweet cold milk and flummery.\n\n    On sultry days when appetites\n       Wane dull, and low, and queasy,\n    When loathing stomachs nought delights,\n       To gulph our flummery\u2019s easy.\n    Dear oaten jelly, pride of Wales!\n       Thou smooth-faced child of Cymry.\n    On the ruddy swain regales,\n       And blesses milk and flummery.\n\n    \u2019Tis sweet to stroll on Cambrian heights\n       O\u2019er-looking vales and rivers.\n    Where thin and purest air invites,\n       The soul from spleen delivers;\n    That foe of bile the light repast\n       To bloated gout may come wry.\n    But Nature\u2019s child, thy mid-day fast\n       Break thou with milk and flummery.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nANOTHER lecture in Welsh.  \u201cCourting in bed.\u201d  Our hero\u2019s education\nprogresses.  The Curate\u2019s school.\n\nWhilst our lovers were regaling themselves upon milk and flummery, Twm\nShon Catty was concocting and putting into execution his first practical\njoke, for while they sat side by side at the goodly oak table, he\nfastened them together by the coat and gown with a peeled thorn spike,\nwhich before the introduction of pins, was used by the fair sex to unite\nabout them their various articles of attire.\n\nThis freak being performed, Twm stole off unperceived, and getting on the\noutside of the door, he was joined by Watt the mole catcher, and a party\nof children instructed for the purpose, in a loud and astounding cry of\nmad bull! a mad bull! at the same time forcing before them into the house\na little trotting calf, whose buttocks were tortured by Twm\u2019s ox-goad\ntill he reared and capered up to the very table where the lover\u2019s sat.\nCatty screamed, and both jumped up mutually terrified, as sudden fear had\nmagnified the little animal to the proportions of an enormous brute of an\nenraged bull, whose uninvited visit and uncalled for appearance at their\ndinner table, portending nothing less than death.  When Twm and Watt\u2019s\nlaughter at length undeceived them, the spoon merchant, who had been so\nliberally assisted with spoon and meat, found to his dismay, that with\nhis heart Catty had carried away the skirt of his coat, by the sudden\njerk of rising from their seats; and had the gods made Jack poetical, he\nmight have exclaimed with the renowned Mr. Tag,\u2014{31}\n\n    The lovely maid on whom I dote\n    Hath made a spencer of my coat.\n\nThe wicked urchin who caused this unsanctioned union continued with his\nmischievous party, their laughter long and loud, and Catty\u2019s grumpy\nsister Juggy, for the first time in her life, astonished them with a grin\non the occasion.  Twm received a severe rebuke from his parent, and poor\nhapless Jack, with the view of propitiating an evil spirit that might\nprove troublesome to him hereafter, made him a present of a new spoon,\nwhich, because it was merely a common one he ungratefully threw into the\nblazing turf fire, that on this festal occasion glowed on the hearth in a\nhigher pile and wider dimensions than usual, and demanded one of his best\nbox-wood ware.\n\nJack would have given it to him immediately but for the intervention of\nhis mother, who forbade the indulgence.  No sooner, however, was he gone\nthan Twm watched his opportunity and purloined as many of the better sort\nas he could conveniently take away unperceived, and sold them at the\ncheap rate of stolen goods, to an old woman named, or rather nick-named,\nRachel Ketch, from some supposed resemblance in her character to that\nfinisher of the law, although some persons roundly asserted that she was\nin fact a relict of one John Ketch, Esquire, of Stretch-neck-Place,\nSession Court, Carmarthen.\n\nAs no further consequence followed this act of unprovoked delinquency, it\nwas scarcely worth mentioning, except that it stands as the first of the\nkind on record; and when discovered, Twm\u2019s over affectionate parent did\nnot punish him for it,\u2014an omission that might have watered the root of a\nvast tree of after enormities, but the mirthful mind rarely produces such\nan upas monstrosity.\n\nWe come now to the era of his history when our hero entered another scene\nof life, in that of a new school, which event was ushered in by an\nunlooked-for circumstance, that must be first narrated.\n\nTo our English readers it may be a piece of information if we make known\nthat in some parts of Wales, \u201cCourting in bed\u201d is very common.  It was\nso, at least when the first and second editions of this work were issued,\nbut now is confined only to a few particular districts.  Some of our\nreaders may be shocked; but when they are assured that the custom\nembraces nothing which is not consistent with the strictest honour, they\nwill perhaps accord our ancient custom a little more charity.  This\ncomfortable mode of forwarding a marriage connexion prevailed very\ngenerally at Tregaron, to the great scandal and virtuous indignation of\nthe lady of Squire Graspacre.  It was amazing to witness with what energy\nthis good gentlewoman set about reforming the people, by the forcible\nabolishment of what she pleased to call, this odious, dangerous,\nblasphemous, and ungodly custom.\n\nHer patronage was for ever lost to any man or woman, youth or maid, of\nthe town or country, who was related to, or connected with any person who\nconnived at bed courtship.  There was not a cottager who called at the\ngreat house for a pitcher of whey, skim milk, or buttermilk, as a return\nfor labour in harvest time, but was closely examined on this head; and\nwoe to those who had the temerity to assert that there was no harm in the\ncustom; or that the wooers merely laid down in their clothes, and thus\nconversed at their ease on their future plans or prospects; or who denied\nthat such a situation was more calculated for amorous caresses and\nendearments than sitting by a scanty fire in a chimney corner.\n\nMrs. Graspacre was certainly a very virtuous\u2014a very termagant of decorous\npropriety.  If any person dared, in her presence, to advocate this\nproscribed and utterly condemned mode, disdaining to argue the point, she\nwould settle the matter in a summary manner, peculiarly her own, by\nprotesting she would have a woman burnt alive who would submit to be\ncourted in bed.\n\nIn the course of two years there were no less than four young men, and\ntwice as many damsels, turned away from her service for courting in the\nhay-loft; and on these occasions the poor girls never escaped personal\nviolence from the indignant and persevering Mrs. Graspacre.  She also\nassured them in language undistinguished for choiceness or delicacy, that\n\u201cthey were not to try and hoodwink her by telling her it meant nothing.\nShe knew better, she had not lived all these years to be lied to and\ncheated by a common w\u2014e.\u201d  In her flaming zeal for decorum, the tongs,\nthe poker, the pitchfork, or the hay-rake, became an instrument of\nchastisement.  A double advantage was discovered in the terror thus\ncreated, the dignity of her sex being in the first place asserted and\nsupported: in the next, the offenders preferred running away without\npayment of their wages, to standing the chance of having their heads or\narms broken with a poker, or their bodies pierced by the terrible prongs\nof a pitchfork.\n\nAll the lowly dependents of Mrs. Graspacre found it their interest to\nbecome her spies, who soon vied with each other in giving the earliest\nintimation of any amorous pair who committed this most diabolical\noffence; and those who were least forward in bringing intelligence on\nthis score, immediately sunk in her esteem, and were mulct of their\nallowance of skim milk and blue whey.\n\nBut in time the old hen-wives of the neighbourhood discovered the virtue\nof sycophancy and the efficacy of a little seasonable cant! and when they\nwere not warranted by real occurrences, they contrived to conciliate\ntheir patroness by drawing upon their fertile imagination and inventions;\nat other times, their knowledge of Mrs. Graspacre\u2019s failing served their\nown revenge.  Let anybody offend them, and they immediately went to the\nlady with a manufactured tale, doing more credit to the imagination than\nthe heart.  Their enemy had been found courting in bed with Miss\nSo-and-so, which was the signal for immediate condemnation without trial.\n\nNot satisfied with these auxiliaries in the cause of virtue, the zealous\nMrs. Graspacre enlisted on her side a very powerful champion, in the\nperson of the reverend Mr. Inco Evans, the curate of Tregaron.  Great was\nher mortification to find her attempts on the rector fail of success, as\nhe declared it dangerous and ungenerous to interfere with the\npeculiarities and long-established customs of the people; especially as\nhe conceived it was rarely that any bad consequences ensued from the mode\nin question; but when the evil really occurred, if the faithless swain\ndelayed making due reparation, a gaol, exile from his native place, or a\ncompelled marriage, was the consequence, a penalty incurred.  \u201cBesides,\u201d\nquoth the worthy rector, with a hearty laugh, \u201cthat was the very way in\nwhich I courted my own wife, and many persons who are no enemies of\nvirtue, consider it the best mode in the world, and were I young again,\nha, ha, ha! egad, I think I should pursue the same fashion.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I too!\u201d cries Mr. Graspacre, \u201cas I have no objection in the world to\nthe custom.\u201d  The reader\u2019s experience of the squire will certainly give\nhim credit for speaking truth in this instance.  The notions of morality\nwould be highly forwarded by courting in bed.  But as for Mrs. Graspacre,\nhad the faces of all the foul-fiends been united in one for the purpose\nof producing a _ne plus ultra_ of concentrated devilry, it would not have\nsurpassed the amiable expression upon her face.  \u201cYou, Mr. Graspacre!\n_you_!  I\u2019m astonished; but\u201d\u2014(with a severe glance at the rector) \u201cwhen\nthe shepherd goes astray, no wonder the silly sheep follow his example!\u201d\nWith that, she bounced out of the room, and slammed the door in a high\nfit of indignation, aggravated by the calm looks of the rector, and the\nprovoking tittering of her liege lord.\n\nThe rector\u2019s honest dissent from her scheme of reformation, Mrs.\nGraspacre considered a direct declaration of hostilities, and therefore,\nby her peculiar creed of morality, she felt herself bound to vilify his\nname, and most piously longed for his death, that the cause of virtue\nmight be supported by the talents of her favourite curate, who was now,\nshe said, on a poor stipend which he increased by keeping a school in the\nchurch.\n\nThe reverend Inco Evans, the curate, played his cards well; he was a\nhard-featured man, with lowering brows and a complete ploughman\u2019s gate;\ninsolent to his poor parishioners, and a very awkward cringer to the\ngreat.  But flattery, direct or covert, does much, and in time completely\nwon him the favour of the great lady.  She encouraged his patience by\nassuring him that the vicar, in his declined state of health, could not\npossibly live long; and his death, happen when it might, must appear, to\nall unprejudiced christians, as a judgment, for advocating, or not\nprosecuting, that execrable custom courting in bed.\n\nAs the living had long been promised to him, the hopes and expectations\nof Mr. Inco Evans were very sanguine.  Waiting for dead men\u2019s shoes is\nrather a wearisome thing, especially if the object of your affectionate\nsolicitude be apparently in the best of health; but the curate was\nhopeful, and patient; and as he was no less ambitious than sycophantic\nand impervious, he looked forward with confidence to the period when he\nshould strut forth in a fire-shovel hat, as vicar of the parish, and a\nmagistrate in the county.\n\nNotwithstanding that the living was promised him by the lady, he was\naware that she was not always paramount, and therefore lost no\nopportunity of insinuating himself in the squire\u2019s favour.  He would\nlaugh loudly to the injury of his lungs, at the squire\u2019s most vapid\njokes; praise the beauty of his snub-nosed children, and call curs,\npointers; tell him where the prettiest lasses in the parish were to be\nfound; with many such _honourable_ civilities, that Squire Graspacre at\nlength discovered him to be a very useful sort of person.\n\nWhen Sir John Wynn of Gwydir paid his before mentioned visit, his sister\nintroduced and recommended our curate, as a right worthy divine who\ndeserved preferment; and the baronet promised to remember her\nrecommendation, if anything turned out, within his power, to benefit him.\nMuch time had elapsed, and nothing followed this agreeable promise; but\nInco Evans persevered in his sycophancy, and if the labour and dirty work\nbe properly estimated, he certainly justified his claims to a good\nliving\u2014in his majesty\u2019s plantations, beyond the seas; to which he ought\nto have been inducted at the expense of government, and, as the artful\nDodger says, he should have\n\n    \u201cGone abroad for the good of his health,\n    But not at his own expense!\u201d\n\nHe soon saw the weak side of his lady patroness: and anxious to\nstrengthen his influence by promoting her views, he gave great\nencouragement to those boys in his school who brought him the piquant\ntales of their grown up brothers and sisters.  Much scandal was afloat at\nthis time respecting the loves of Carmarthen Jack and Catty of\nLlidiard-y-Fynnon; he would almost have given his right hand to know how\nit was carried on.  But Jack was wily; and though Catty possessed little\nbook-learning, she had enough knowledge to outwit the curate.  These\nlovers only went out at night, and took care to choose a solitary place\nfor their meetings, so that getting information was, in their case,\ndifficult of attainment.  At length the cunning man thought he had hit\nupon a plan.\n\nLittle Twm Shon Catty, being the natural child of Sir John Wynn, was of\ncourse the illegitimate nephew of the great lady; a relationship which\nshe, however, disdained to acknowledge; but the cunning curate took the\nliberty of observing one day, it was a great pity that the slightest drop\nof the noble blood of the Wynns, however perverted and polluted, should\nbe run to waste and be neglected.  Proceeding in this drift, he\ninsinuated that if the boy Twm Shon Catty were removed to his school, he\nshould not only be instructed and improved, but that he, the curate,\nmight thereby learn from the youngster something of his mother\u2019s\nproceedings; and especially, whether she entertained her lover in the\nlegal or the proscribed manner.  This was striking on the very string\nthat made music to her busy, meddling, troublesome soul;\u2014she of course\nwarmly approved of his idea, and put it into immediate execution.  Thus,\nthe very next day, in her own and in her brother\u2019s name, little Twm Shon\nCatty was ordered for the future to be sent to the curate\u2019s school, which\nof course was complied with accordingly.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nTWM progresses at the opposition school.  Flogging made easy.  Out of the\nfrying-pan into the fire.  Sports at Whirligoogan.\n\nThe great success of Catty\u2019s school excited the ill-will of parson Inco;\nalthough he had far more scholars than he could possibly attend to.  His\nindignation at his wife\u2019s fall from her horse into the well, while\npassing his humble rival\u2019s seminary, together with the humiliating\nconsideration that many of the most juvenile deserted his rule, to submit\nto hers, wounded this consequential personage to the quick.  Like the fox\nand the grapes, he sneered at that which was out of his reach, protested\nthat the \u201croom\u201d of those scholars who had deserted him was much better\nthan their company.\n\nThis new arrangement respecting Twm, they thought could not but be\nvexatious to Catty, and therefore Mistress Evans felt herself avenged for\nthe tittering that she heard in her school, on her fall into the well as\nbefore mentioned.  But far different was the case from what they\nanticipated, for Catty no sooner heard the order, than in the sincerity\nof her heart, she exclaimed, \u201cThank God! the boy will learn something\nfrom the parson, but I could teach him nothing.\u201d\n\nLittle Twm was now in his seventh year, and as refractory a pupil as ever\nwas spoiled by a dawdling mother.  Kept aloof from his dear duck-ponds\nand puddles, and compelled to explore the mysteries of the horn-book,\nthis first change in his life was acutely felt.  Self-willed and\nstubborn, he conceived the utmost abhorrence of horn-books, cross\ncurates, and birch-rods; he wept and sulked, struck the boys who mocked\nhim, stayed away from school, and was flogged so often, that at length he\nfound it much easier to learn his book than endure the consequence of\nneglecting it.\n\nOnce arrived at this happy mood, and being one day praised by his master,\na new spirit possessed the boy; he resolved to revenge himself on those\nyouths who formerly had made him their butt of ridicule, by getting the\nstart of them in learning.  The horn-book was soon thrown by; the\nReading-made-easy and Spelling-book shared a similar fate; and the pride\nof a young heart sparkled in his eyes when his great lady aunt, on\nhearing a good account of him from his master, presented him with a\nbible, on the inside of the cover of which was the following couplet:\u2014\n\n    \u201cTake this Holy Bible book,\n    God give thee grace therein to look.\u201d\n\nA specimen of poetry which was considered by everybody to be the index to\na master-mind.  Mount Parnassus was scaled, and that by an inhabitant of\nTregaron!  Poor Catty proudly showed the book and the poetry to all her\nneighbours, who sagely declared Mrs. Graspacre\u2019s bounty and poetry\nequally fine.\n\nNotwithstanding his rapid advancement in book learning, parson Evans was\nfar from being satisfied with his pupil, nor was his main end answered in\nhaving brought him to his school.  Twm loved his mother, and felt no\ngreat affection for his master, nor gratitude for the floggings which had\nenforced so much learning into his head; and never could the generous boy\nbe brought to tell any tales to her disadvantage.  The curate\u2019s severity\nincreased, and no longer praised or encouraged; Twm became not only\nindifferent to his tasks, but wanton and unjust severity had the effect\nof blunting his feelings; and making him stubborn and revengeful; until\nat length he arrived at such an extremity of youthful recklessness, as to\nstudy tricks for the annoyance of his master, and the scholars whom he\nfound unfriendly.\n\nIn the eleventh year of his age, some decisive shoots of character made\ntheir appearance; a taste for sharp sayings, a skilful trickery in\noutwitting his opponents, appear to be his striking peculiarities, as\nwell as boldness and resolution on the play-ground, where none could\nsurpass him in robust or violent exercises.  His faithful ally and\nconstant instructor, Watt the mole catcher, taught him many useful and\n_striking_ lessons when the pedagogue had done with our hero for the day.\nTwm, under his tuition, soon became proficient in the use of cudgels and\nquarter-staff.\n\nMore particular in the latter he excelled; and his superiority in this\nancient and national exercise was exemplified by the loud cries and\nbroken heads of his defeated schoolfellows.  A catastrophe of that kind\none day, even in school-time, brought the enraged master out, who\nseverely asked Twm what he meant by such conduct.  \u201cWhy, sir,\u201d cried the\nlittle rogue, \u201cYou always say that you never can beat anything into the\nhead of Peter Penddwl, so I tried what I could do with the cudgel, that\u2019s\nall!\u201d  For this he was booked for a future flogging.  A few days after,\nhis master sent him from the school to his house, for a book which he\nwanted.\n\nTwm found the mistress and maid out, the first at the Hall, and the last\nhad made a present of her little leisure to her sweetheart, Watt the\nmole-catcher.  On entering the parlour, he saw there a fine bunch of\ngrapes, which his great lady aunt had sent his master.  As this was a\nfruit hitherto unknown to him, he deliberately tasted two or three to\ndiscover whether they were eatable.  Having gradually seen the bunch grow\n\u201cbeautifully less,\u201d it seemed a pity to separate the lovely fruit, so Twm\nthought they should all go the same way.\n\nHe therefore resolved to finish it, and lay the blame on the cat, if\ncharged with the theft; as to dividing the spoil, and leaving a portion\nfor the owner, the scheme was impracticable, he decided to abide by his\nmaster\u2019s maxim, \u201cthat it was not decent for two to eat from the same\ndish.\u201d  Lifting up the remains of the luscious bunch with affected\nceremony, he exclaimed in a lofty tone, mimicking his master, \u201cI publish\nthe banns of marriage between my mouth and this bunch of grapes; if any\none knows just cause or impediment why they should not be joined\ntogether, let him now declare it, or hereafter forever, hold his peace!\u201d\nAnd as no dissentient voice intervened, he abruptly cried\u2014\u201csilence gives\nconsent,\u201d and hastily consummated the delicious union.\n\nNo sooner had he gulped the grapes than his master made his appearance.\nSuspecting the cause of his delay, he had followed after, and witnessing\nthe imposing ritual, he stood, rod in hand, surrounded by his scholars,\nwhom he had called.  When all was in readiness, he exclaimed, \u201cI publish\nthe banns of marriage between my rod and your breech; if any one knows\njust cause or impediment why they may not be lawfully joined together in\nwedlock, let him now declare it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI forbid the banns!\u201d roared Twm Shon Catty; \u201cFor what reason?\u201d cried the\nawful pedant, flourishing his rod in eager preparation.\n\n\u201cBecause,\u201d cried the waggish urchin, \u201cthe parties are not agreed.\u201d  At\nthis moment a servant from Graspacre Hall brought a message from the lady\nof that mansion, that she wished to see the Reverend Mr. Inco Evans\nimmediately; on which Twm obtained a remission of his flogging.  History\ndoes not furnish us with satisfactory particulars as to whether Twm was\nliberated on account of his ready wit, or because necessity demanded it,\nthe pedagogue being in a hurry.\n\nThe boys were now thrilled to ecstasy with that magic word, a \u201choliday!\u201d\nand away scampered each and all to their respective amusements.  Briefly,\nhowever, was their gust of enjoyment, for parson Inco\u2019s voice was soon\nheard, vociferating his wrath in no gentle terms; and now he appeared in\nhis shirt sleeves, his best Sunday sable coat in his hand, divested of\nevery button.\n\nHis face at no time prepossessing, was now terrible to look on, inflamed\nwith anger, with a slight tint of blue-black over his native strong\nground of turkey-red.  Great was the terror of the poor enslaved scholars\nas he howled out \u201cWhat villain has cut off all the buttons from my coat?\u201d\nA general whimper of, \u201cit was not I, sir,\u201d passed among the shivering\ntrain.  And upon Mr. Inco\u2019s threat to flog them all round unless the\nculprit was instantly discovered, one blue-nosed wretch, upon whom Evans\nhad seized to commence his vengeance, roared out that it was Twm Shon\nCatty.  \u201cWhere is the young catiff?\u201d roared the Reverend Mr. Inco Evans.\n\n\u201cPlaying at whirligoogan on the horseblock.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll whirligoogan him with a vengeance,\u201d roared the Tyro, at the same\ntime snatching up his terrific bunch of birch which he had facetiously\nchristened the tree of knowledge.  Either from having a foreboding of the\ncause of this bustle, or being timely warned of the approaching danger,\nTwm had now made good his retreat, wisely considering that \u201cDiscretion\nwas the better part of valour,\u201d and that \u201cHe who fights and runs away,\nmay live to fight another day.\u201d  So that at the precise moment when the\ncurate thought Twm\u2019s presence desirable, that happy individual, not the\nleast afraid, was busy sketching a caricature of his master.\n\nThe materials were blank wall, a piece of chalk, and an extensive\nimagination, whilst he took care to place this artistic production within\nthe precincts of a small house never visited except when absolutely\nnecessary, but where he knew the curate would be able to study the fine\narts at his leisure, though possibly it might turn out to be the \u201cpursuit\nof knowledge under difficulties.\u201d  On the horse-block, however, was found\nhis stock of whirligigs, which the Welsh boys called the whirligoogans.\nThese were no other than the identical button moulds, which our hero had\ncut from the best gala-day coat of the Reverend Inco Evans, with pegs\ndriven through each centre hole, so that when twirled between finger and\nthumb, on the surface of the horse-block, they became the puerile pastime\nof the younger scholars, who preferred \u201cWhirligoogan\u201d to the more robust\nexercise of the ball or bandy.\n\nBaffled in his present vengeance, parson Inco shuffled off towards the\nhouse, and covered his buttonless coat with his gown and cassock, vowing\ninwardly, as he adjusted his dress, future chastisement, in the\nsuperlative degree, against our hero.  Unfortunately at this luckless\nmoment, a perverse hog that seemed to enter into the spirit of this\ndisastrous hour, having risen from his bed of mud in the horse-pond,\nwhere he had dreamed and philosophised away the whole morning, was making\nhis way towards the feeding trough, when a lean and sour household cur\nwhich appeared to envy him his swinish beauty, and easy-life rotoundity,\nmaliciously bit him in the breech, and drove him snorting between the\nlegs of the newly-dressed curate; so that the reverend gentleman was\nthrown headlong into the mass of muck, uniting the nature of matter and\nfluidity.\n\n\u201cThe son of Catty shall pay for all,\u201d muttered the enraged Inco Evans, as\nthe servant cleansed his soiled sables.  Thus when poor Twm was flogged\nnext morning, with the leniency that the tired arm of the pedagogue alone\nafforded, he had to answer for the sins of the hog and the dog as well as\nhis own\u2014and all for playing whirligoogan with the parson\u2019s buttons!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nMR. GRASPACRE upholds the national customs, and Welsh custom receives his\nsupport.  A \u201ctiff\u201d with Lady Graspacre.  The squire defends bed\ncourtships.  Newcastle Emlyn Ale.  Thirsty rats.\n\nAt this time a warm altercation one day took place between the squire and\nhis lady, which terminated in consequences little expected by either.\nNotwithstanding the prejudice to which Squire Graspacre\u2019s harsh conduct\nhad given birth, on his first settlement in Cardiganshire, he had about\nhim certain saving points, that not only reconciled them to his rule, but\nreally gained their esteem.  He was a plain, bold, sensible man, and\nalthough entertaining a most exalted opinion of English superiority,\ngenerally, in particular instances he had the liberality to confess that\nhe found things in this nation of mountaineers highly worthy of imitation\namong his more civilized brethren.\n\nThere are many exceptions like the squire, but we are sorry to add that\nin Wales we have more illiberal Englishmen, who sneer at all Welsh\ncustoms, because they are Welsh, than people would dream of.  They forget\nthat our usages are as dear to us, as theirs to them, and that however\npeculiar they may be in the eyes of an Englishman, the Welshman considers\nthem a _sine qua non_ of his own nationality.  But these instances are\nfast dying out.  Railroads, free and continued intercourse, and a liberal\nspirit of toleration, enable the Englishman to see our custom and our\nusages in a different light.\n\nHe had formerly expressed his disapprobation of a custom prevalent among\nWelsh farmers of leaving their corn a long time on the ground after being\ncut, instead of housing it as soon as possible; but experience taught him\nthat they were right and himself in error; among the corn was a large\nquantity of weeds, which required to be dried, before it could with\nsafety be brought to the barn or the rick, otherwise the grain was\nsweated, and literally poisoned with the rank juice.  He found the\nCardiganshire mode of cropping the young mountain furze, and giving it as\nfood for horses and cattle, worthy of his attention, and after various\ntrials, decided on its efficacy so far as to adopt it for the future; and\nactually set Carmarthen Jack to gather the seed of that mountain plant,\nwhich he forwarded to England to be sown and reared on his Devonshire\nfarms.\n\nThe planting of flowers on the graves of deceased friends, he eulogized\nas a beautiful and endearing custom, forming an agreeable contrast to the\nclumsy English tombstones with barbarous lines, often setting truth,\nrhyme and reason at defiance.  The Welsh harp he declared the prince of\nall musical instruments, and Welsh weddings the best contrived, and\nconducted in the best manner in the world, and proved his sincerity by\nalways giving something at the _Biddings_ of the peasantry, and\npatronizing all those who entered that happy state.  Above all things he\nadmired the female costume in Wales, and protested with much truth, that\nthe poor people in England were not half so well or so neatly clothed.\n\nHis lofty lady, although a Welshwoman bred and born, entertained a very\ndifferent set of ideas on these subjects.  Whenever her husband related\nthe anecdote of Polydore Virgil\u2019s ecstacy on his first landing in\nBritain, when he beheld the yellow-blossomed furze, which gave a golden\nglow to the swelling bosom of the hills\u2014how he knelt on the ground beside\na bush of it, fervently worshipping the God of Nature, that beautified\nthe world with the production of such a plant; she would instantly reply,\n\u201cThe man was a fool! for _my part_ I see nothing in the nasty prickly\nthing to admire, but wish the fire would burn them all from one end of\nthe mountains to the other.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet, my dear,\u201d he would answer, \u201cPolydore Virgil was a native of no\nrude soil, but came from the land of the laurel, the cypress, and the\nvine, the orange, the lemon, and the citron, and many other splendid\nplants, the very names of which you perhaps never heard of; yet he had\nthe liberality to admire what he justly deemed beautiful, even in a\nnorthern clime, and a comparatively harsh mountainous district.\u201d\n\nAs to the harp, whenever he praised its melody, she declared it odious\nand unbearable, and gave preference to the fiddle, the bagpipes, or even\nthe hurdy-gurdy; and the Welsh female costume she protested still more\nloudly against, and asked him with a sneer if he did not conceive it\ncapable of improvement.\n\n\u201cOh, certainly, my dear,\u201d would he reply; \u201cfor instance, I would have the\nGlamorganshire girls wear shoes, and feet to their stockings, and convert\ntheir awkward wrappers into neat gowns; the Cardiganshire fair ones\nshould doff their clogs, and wear leathern shoes; and the Breconshire\nlass, with all others who follow the abominable habit, should be hindered\nfrom wearing a handkerchief around the head; but I know of no improvement\nthat can be suggested for the Pembrokeshire damsel, except _one_ which\nwould be equally applicable to all Welsh girls,\u2014namely, to throw off\ntheir flannel shifts and wear linen ones.\u201d\n\nNow this good gentlewoman, whose leading weakness it was to suspect her\nhusband\u2019s fidelity when from home, kindled with rage at this remark.\n\u201cShifts, Mr. Graspacre,\u201d exclaimed the angered lady, \u201cwhat business have\nyou to concern yourself about such matters?  You ought, at least, to know\nnothing about such matters, but I dare say you know too much.  There\u2019s\nbut one woman\u2019s shifts in the world of which you ought to know anything,\nbut no, you seem to know the cut of every girl\u2019s shifts, and you couldn\u2019t\nget that experience without other of a different kind.\u201d\n\nAnxious as a seaman to turn his bark from the direction of a dangerous\nrock, he mildly replied, \u201cSurely, my dear, I may exercise my eyes, when\nthe washed clothes are bleaching on the hedge,\u201d and then adding in the\nsame breath, \u201cindeed, if I were you, my dear, I would make some\nimprovements, _such as your good taste will suggest_, among our own\nmaids; taking care however, not to destroy the stamp of nationality on\ntheir garbs at any rate.\u201d  This was a well-judged hit on his part, and\nhad the effect of averting the impending storm.\n\nIt should have been mentioned before, that the squire, soon after his\nmarriage, had made a tour of South Wales, and, as his lady expressed it,\ntaken a whim in his head of engaging a maid servant in every county\nthrough which he passed; so that in Graspacre Hall there were to be found\nmaiden representatives in their native costumes, of all the different\nshires in South Wales, except Radnor, in which, the squire said, the\nbarbarous jargon of Herefordshire, and the English cottons, had\nsupplanted the native tongue and dress of Wales.  There might you see the\nneat maiden of Pembrokeshire in her dark cloth dress of one hue, either a\ndark brown approximating to black, or a claret colour, made by the skill\nof a tailor, and very closely resembling the ladies\u2019 modern\nriding-habit,\u2014a perfect picture of comfort and neatness, in alliance with\ngood taste.\n\nThere would you see the extreme contrast, the Glamorganshire lass in\nstockings cut off at the ankle, and without shoes; and, although a\nhandsome brunette with fine black eyes, dressed in a slammatkin check\nwrapper of cotton and wool, utterly shapeless, and tied about the middle\nlike a wheat-sheaf, or a faggot of wood; possessing, however, the\npeculiar convenience that it could be put on in an instant, without the\nloss of time in dressing tastefully, and that it would fit every body\nalike, as it is neither a gown nor a bedgown, but between both, and\nwithout a waist.\n\nThere would you see the young woman of Breconshire, with her pretty\nblushing face, half hidden in a handkerchief which envelops her head that\nat first you would fancy the figure before you to be a grandmother at\nleast.  Her long linsey gown is pinned up behind, each extreme corner\nbeing joined together in the centre, and confined a few inches below her\nwaist; she has her wooden-soled shoes for every day, and leathern ones\nfor Sunday, or for a dance, which, with her stockings, she very\neconomically takes off should a shower of rain overtake her on a journey;\nand when it ceases, washes her feet in the first brook she meets, and\nputs them on again.  Some might term this a curious method of\nappreciating the protective excellence of the shoemaker\u2019s art, but a\nWelsh girl, or rather, a Breconshire girl studies economy quite as much\nas comfort, and considers her shoes to be made as much for ornament as\nfor use, and rather more.\n\nThis fair one takes especial care that her drapery shall be short enough\nto discover her pretty ankle, and her apron sufficiently scanty to\ndisclose her gay red petticoat with black or white stripes, beneath, and\nat the sides.  Then comes the stout Carmarthenshire lass, with her thick\nbedgown and petticoat of a flaring brick-dust red, knitting stockings as\nshe walks, and singing a loud song as she cards or spins.\n\nLastly, though not least in importance, behold the clogged and cloaked\nshort-statured woman of Cardiganshire.  She scorns the sluttish garb and\nbare feet of the Glamorganshire maiden, and hates the abominable pride of\nthe Pembrokeshire lass who is vain enough to wear leathern shoes instead\nof honest clogs; proving at the same time that her own vanity is of a\nmore pardonable stamp.  \u201cThank God too, that she is not vain like the\nothers are.  Yet in her thanks shows vanity,\u201d while she boasts with\ntruth, that her dress costs twice as much as either of the others.  The\nCardiganshire woman\u2019s dresses, in fact\u2014generally blue, with red stripes\nand bound at the bottom with red or blue worsted caddis, are entirely of\nwool, solidly woven and heavy, consequently more expensive than those\nmade of linsey or minco, or of the common intermixture of wool and\ncotton, and presenting an appearance of weighty warmth, equally\nindependent of a comely cut and tasty neatness.\n\nIt was one of the squire\u2019s fancies never to call these girls by their\nproper names, but by that of their shires, as thus, \u201cCome here little\nPembroke, and buckle my shoe: and you Carmarthen, bring me a bason of\nbroth; Cardigan, call Glamorgan and Brecon, and tell them they must drive\na harrow a piece through the ploughed part of Rockfield.\u201d\n\nOn his return to dinner, a few days after the suggestion about the\ndresses of the maids, he was astonished to find that Mrs. Graspacre had\nused her privilege with a vengeance; having with decided bad taste, put\nthem all, _at their own expense_, to be deducted from their wages, into\nglaring cotton prints.\n\nThe girls were unhappy enough at this change, as well as at the expense\nthus incurred, and they could not enter the town without experiencing the\nridicule of their friends and neighbours; the Cardiganshire maid, who\nconsidered such a change in the light of disowning her country, and like\na renegade putting on the livery of the Saxon, in something of a\ntermagant spirit, tendered her resignation to her master rather than\ncomply with such an innovation.\n\nThis ungenerous invasion of his harmless rules, roused his indignation;\nand after venting a few \u201cdamns,\u201d _a la John Bull_, against draggle-tail\ncotton rags, without a word of expostulation with his rib, he desired the\ngirls to bring all their trumpery to him, which they gladly did, and he\nmade them instantly into a bonfire in the farm-yard.  Then in a firm\nundertone of subdued resentment, gave strict injunctions that no further\nliberties should be taken with their national costume; to which his lady\nmade the polite and submissive reply, that the girls might all walk\nabroad without any dress at all if he chose, and go to the devil his own\nway.\n\nAt this juncture little Pembroke came in with rosy smiles, and told her\nmaster that Carmarthen Jack wanted to speak to him very particularly, on\nwhich the squire laughed, and asked on what _important_ matter.  \u201cWhy,\nsir,\u201d said the rustic beauty, while arch smiles and blushes contended in\nher sweet oval face, \u201cParson Inco has found out that he has been courting\nin bed, with Catty the schoolmistress, and he has run here before the\nparson to say it is all a falsehood.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s an impious rascal for you!\u201d cried the lady of the house, \u201cto\ncharge the clergyman with a falsehood; but I am sure \u2019tis true, for I\nlong suspected it.\u201d\n\n\u201cMadam, your own dignity and delicacy ought to suggest to you that the\nless you interfere in these matters the more creditable it will be to\nyour own common sense,\u201d said the squire, in a tone which was\nunmistakable.  \u201cI insist,\u201d cried the imperious dame, \u201cthat he be put in\nthe stocks, and be ducked in the river.\u201d\n\n\u201cNeither shall be done,\u201d said he firmly, \u201cand from henceforward no person\nshall be annoyed or persecuted on that score, but everyone shall court as\nhe or she pleases.\u201d  \u201cWhat!\u201d cried the indignant lady, \u201cwould you fill\nthe country with bastards!\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, madam,\u201d was the reply, \u201cbut with as happy a set of people as\npossible.\u201d\n\nEncouraged by the turn which affairs had taken, the Cardiganshire maid\nnow asked her master for her discharge; as her mistress, she said, had\nthrown a slur on her brewing abilities, which had almost broken her\nheart; \u201cfor\u201d said she, with a ludicrous whimper, \u201cshe says my brewing is\nunfit for the drinking of Christian people, and hardly worthy of the\nhogs!\u2014but,\u201d cried the sturdy little wench, raising her voice to an\naccusatory pitch, and at the same time a tone of triumph, \u201cI came from\nNewcastle Emlyn, the country of good beer, the very home where the _Cwrw\nda_ of _Hen Gymru_ {50a} is bred and born, and I would rather die than be\ntold that I can\u2019t brew!\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, Cardy,\u201d said the squire, with a smile, \u201cthough your mistress may\nhave been too severe in her censure, I must say that your two last\nbrewings were unequal to the first.\u201d  \u201cA good reason why, sir; who can\nbrew without malt and hops? who can make bricks without straw?  I hear\nsome of the great London brewers do without either malt or hops, but I\nwouldn\u2019t drink their brewings, I know; their brewings won\u2019t do for us at\nNewcastle Emlyn! and your wheat, {50b} sir, which has grown by being cut\nin the wet harvest, so as to be unfit for bread, is but a poor make-shift\nfor malt\u2014it may do for the wish-wash paltry brewers\u2019 ale of Haverfordwest\nand Fishguard, or the Swansea folk, Merthyr blacks, and Cardiff boys, but\nour ploughboys would turn up their noses at such stuff at Newcastle\nEmlyn!\n\n\u201cDamn Newcastle Emlyn!\u201d cried the squire, provoked by her continual\nreference to her native place.  \u201cMaster! master!\u201d cried the girl, as if\nrebuking him for the greatest impiety conceivable, \u201cdon\u2019t damn Newcastle\nEmlyn; I had rather you should knock me down than damn Newcastle Emlyn!\nit is the country of decent people and good home-brewed ale,\u2014the country\nwhere\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cYou brewed good ale from the grown wheat the first time,\u201d said the\nsquire, not deeming it necessary to notice her observations.\n\n\u201cGood! was it?\u201d retorts the girl, struggling between respect for her\nmaster and contempt for his taste in the matter of malt drink; \u201cgood was\nit!  I tell you what, master, you are a good master, and I have nothing\nto say against mistress, for it would not be decent, but you never tasted\nbeer like ours at Newcastle Emlyn! the real hearty _cwrw da_! which I\ncould make you to-morrow, if you would give me good malt and hops, and\nlet it stand long enough untapped.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut Cardy, there must be a sound reason for your two last brewings being\ninferior to the first.  You could brew a well-flavoured, palatable beer,\nbut you don\u2019t now, although you have the same ingredients given you.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe last was better, a good deal, than the other.  The first would have\nturned the devil\u2019s stomach, had he known what was in it.\u201d\n\n\u201cExplain yourself,\u201d said the squire, surprised.  \u201cI will, sir, if I were\nto be hanged for it,\u201d cried the girl in a tone of confidence; \u201cit seems\nthat rats love beer as well as any christian folks, and get drunk and die\nin drink, as a warning to all sober-minded rats; but that is neither here\nnor there, and I hate to tell a rigmarole story; the long and the short\nof it is, that when I came to wash out the barrels after the first\nbrewing, I found three rats in one, and two in the other.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou found what?\u201d asked the squire and his lady at the same time.\n\n\u201cI found three rats, sir, that had burst themselves with drinking beer,\nand afterwards fell in and were drowned\u2014they were then putrid, and it was\nthat, it seems, that made the ale so palatable; there were no dead\nanimals in the last brewing, so that of course it wasn\u2019t so \u2018palatable\u2019\nand well-flavoured as the other.  But had I known your mind I might have\nkilled a couple of cats, or put you in a bushel of lively cockroaches.\u201d\n\nThis explanation excited a titter among the girls, and a loud laugh from\nthe squire, while the lady evinced the shock which her delicacy had\nsustained, by making wry faces, and snuffing violently at her\nsmelling-bottle to avoid fainting.\n\nThe squire good-humouredly addressed the girl,\u2014\u201cnow, Cardy, you are\nperfectly right in the praise you bestow on your own country ale, and I\npromise you shall have the best of malt and hops for your next attempt,\nwhen I expect it to be equal to the best _cwrw da_ of Newcastle\nEmlyn\u2014and, do you hear? we shall dispense with either rats or cats in it\nfor the future.\u201d\n\nThis amicable settlement of differences set every one in good humour,\nexcept the haughty mistress, who, embittered with her double defeat,\nretired in gloom, while her husband went to give audience to Jack of\nSheer G\u00e2r.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\n\u201cTHE manners and customs\u201d attendant on a Welsh Wedding.  The Bidding.\nThe Gwahoddwr.  The Ystavell.  Pwrs a Gwregys.  Pwython.  In which our\nhero and his friend Watt play rather important parts.\n\nCarmarthen Jack had not been long waiting for his master, before little\nPembroke full of glee, ran to inform him that the embargo had been taken\nfor ever off bed courtship; and that he was now free whether guilty or\nnot.  This happy news affected him so well that he met his master with\ncomparative ease; and after some struggles with his native bashfulness,\nan important secret came out\u2014that he was going to be married to Catty the\nschoolmistress; and wished to know whether he should be retained in the\nsquire\u2019s service after that event.\n\nNow this was a circumstance exactly to the squire\u2019s taste; as a Welsh\nwedding portrayed many national features in the character of the\npeasantry, that pleased him; and, as he was generally a donor on these\noccasions, his vanity was flattered by being looked up to as their\npatron.  He of course acquiesced in his servant\u2019s request, and after a\nlittle jocular and rough rallying, proposed that the _Bidding_ should be\nimmediately commenced.\n\nA _Bidding_ was another of the excellent customs peculiar to the Welsh,\nbut of late years confined exclusively to the lower classes, which the\nsquire so much admired, and considered worthy of imitation, he said,\nthroughout the world.  It signifies a general and particular invitation\nto all the friends of the bride and bridegroom elect, to meet them at the\nhouses of their respective parents, or any other place appointed.  Any\nstrangers who choose to attend are also made welcome.  It is an\nunderstood thing that every person who comes, contributes a small sum\ntowards making a purse for the young pair to begin the world with.  They\nhave a claim on those persons whose weddings they had themselves\nattended; and at these times their parents and friends also make their\nclaims in their favour on all whom they may have at any time befriended\nin a similar manner.  These donations are always registered, and\nconsidered as debts, to be repaid, on the occurrence of weddings only;\nbut there are many contributors, especially the masters and mistresses of\nthe parties, that of course require no repayment.  These returns being\nmade only by small instalments, and only at the weddings of their donors,\nare easily accomplished; and the benefit derived from this custom is\ngreat, where the parties are respected.\n\nA novel feature, to those who have been unaccustomed to the Welsh\nwedding, is the Gwahoddwr or Bidder, who goes from house to house, with\nhis staff of office\u2014a white wand embellished with ribbons.  His hat, and\noften the breast of his coat, is similarly decorated.  Thus attired, he\nenters each house with suitable \u201cpride of place,\u201d amidst the smiles of\nthe old people, and giggling of the young ones; and taking his stand in\nthe centre of the house, and striking his wand on the floor to enforce\nsilence, announces the wedding which is to take place, sometimes in\nrhyme, but more frequently in a set speech of prose.\n\nThe banns were immediately put in, and every preparation made for the\nwedding.  Watt the mole-catcher, as the greatest wag in the parish, was\nappointed by the squire to the enviable office of _Gwahoddwr_.  The\nfollowing homely lines, from a correct and liberal translation of those\nwritten for the purpose of giving Watt\u2019s oratory full scope on this\noccasion.  The Rev. John David Rhys, a young poetical clergyman, at this\ntime a visitor with Squire Graspacre, was the author; and though they do\nnot betoken the \u201cunapproachable of Parnassus,\u201d they yet suited the\npurpose for which they were penned.\n\n    List to the Bidder!\u2014a health to all\n    Who dwell in this house, both great and small;\n    Prosperity\u2019s comforts ever attend\n    The Bride and Bridegroom\u2019s generous friend.\n\n    His door may it never need a latch;\n    His hearth a fire, his cottage a thatch;\n    His wife a card, or a spinning-wheel;\n    His floor a table, nor on it a meal!\n\n    On Saturday next a wedding you\u2019ll see,\n    In fair Tregaron, as gay as can be,\n    Between John Rees, called Jack o Sheer G\u00e2r,\n    And Catherine Jones, his chosen fair.\n\n    Haste to the wedding, its joy to share!\n    Mirth and good humour shall meet you there;\n    Come one, come all: there\u2019s a welcome true\n    To master and mistress and servants too!\n\n    Stools you will find to sit upon,\n    And tables, and goodly food thereon,\n    Butter and cheese, and flesh and fish,\n    (If you can catch them!) all you wish.\n\n    There many a lad shall a sweetheart find,\n    And many a lass meet a youth to her mind,\n    While nut-brown ale, both good and strong,\n    Shall warm the heart for the dance and song.\n\n    Oft at the wedding are matches made,\n    When dress\u2019d in their best come youth and maid,\n    And dance together, and whisper and kiss.\u2014\n    Who knows what wedding may rise from this.\n\n    Whoever may come to the bidding note,\u2014\n    There\u2019s thanks to the friend who brings three groat;\n    And ne\u2019er may they hobble upon a crutch\n    Whoe\u2019er gives the lovers twice as much!\n\n    Whatever is given, so much they\u2019ll restore\u2014\n    One shilling or two, or three, or four,\n    Whenever in similar case \u2019tis claim\u2019d,\n    Else were defaulters ever shamed. {55}\n\n    So haste to the wedding, both great small,\n    Master and mistress and servants all!\n    Catty at home, Jack\u2019s at the sign of the Cat;\n    Now God save the king and the bidder Watt!\n\nDuring this hubbub and preparation, Twm Shon Catty was granted the\nglorious privilege of a week\u2019s holiday, and his friend Watt took him\nalong with him to every house where he had to act as bidder.  To see, was\nto learn with Twm, and to learn was to imitate.  The thought soon struck\nhim that he might be a _Gwahoddwr_; so he at once cut a stout willow\nwand, peeled it, and tacked a bunch of carpenter\u2019s shavings and rush\nflags to the top.  Forth he went, and standing in the midst of a group of\nadmiring boys and girls, proceeded to imitate Watt in every motion.  On\nthis occasion it is said he invoked the aid of the tuneful nine, and\ncomposed the following effusion, but we suspect that he was only the\nmouthpiece to the real poet.\n\nAfter Watt had finished, our hero struck _his_ emblem of office upon each\nfloor, and repeated the following:\u2014\n\n    Who\u2019ll come to the wedding of Catty my mother?\n    Come mother, come daughter, son, father, brother,\n    And bring all your cousins, and uncles, and aunts,\n    To revel the feast at our jolly courants.\n    Haste, haste to the Bidding, ye stingy scrubs!\n    And out with your purses, and down with your dubs.\n\n    Come Gwenny and Griffith, and Roger and Sal;\n    Morgan, Meredith, and Peggy and Pal;\n    Come one, come all, with your best on back,\n    To see mother married to spoon-making Jack;\n    He\u2019s a spoon for his pains, as ye all shall see soon,\n    But lucky at finding a bowl to his spoon.\n\n    Haste, haste to the Bidding! my friends, if you please,\n    For lack of white money bring good yellow cheese,\n    And butter, but not in your pockets alack,\n    Bring bacon or mutton well dried on the rack.\n    So endeth my story; come, haste we, friend Watty;\n    Now God save the King, and his friend Twm Shon Catty!\n\nTwm\u2019s delivery of these lines excited much mirth and laughter, and, added\nto those of the real _Gwahoddwr_, drew more than ordinary attention to\nthis Bidding.  Many of the children of the different houses had been\nTwm\u2019s school-fellows, and the pupils of his mother, which had the effect\nof influencing them, and became a sort of tie, to claim their presence at\nher bidding.  As Jack\u2019s friends were in Carmarthenshire, another\n_Gwahoddwr_ was appointed by his master to go with him to call on his at\nhis own native place; and so liberal was the squire on this occasion,\nthat he sent them both mounted on horses of their own.\n\nJack and his Bidder had no great success, as his friends reproached him\nfor his perverse intention of marrying a strange woman in a far land; and\nfinding but little pleasure in the subject or manner of their lectures,\nhe made a precipitate retreat.  Jack blushed for his countrymen, and he\nhad sufficient native delicacy to see that their liberality would\ncontrast disadvantageously with the warm generosity of Catty\u2019s friends.\nHe therefore bribed Ianto Gwyn, the harper, who had acted as his bidder,\nto silence; and brought with him to Tregaron, in a hired cart, the common\ncontribution of a bridegroom,\u2014namely, a bedstead, a table, a stool, and a\ndresser.  These, he feigned had been bought with his bidding-money,\nreceived at Carmarthen.  Friday is always allotted to bring home the\n_Yestavell_, or the woman\u2019s furniture; consisting generally of an oaken\ncoffer or chest; a feather-bed and blankets; all the crockery and pewter;\nwooden bowls, piggings, spoons, and trenchers, with the general furniture\nof the shelf; but as Catty was already provided with every thing of this\nkind, she had but little to add to her stock.\n\nThe landlord of the public-house originally called \u201cThe Lion,\u201d but with a\nsign resembling a more ignoble animal, causing it to be ultimately known\nby no other designation than that of \u201cthe cat,\u201d offered Jack his parlour\nto receive his Cardiganshire friends in.  Accordingly, on the Friday\nbefore the wedding, he was busily employed in receiving money, cheese,\nand butter, from them, while Catty was similarly engaged at her\nresidence, with _her_ partizans, which were not a few.  This custom in\nWelsh is called _Pwrs a Gwregys_, or purse and girdle; and is, doubtless,\nof very remote origin.\n\nAt length the long-looked-for, the important Saturday arrived; a day\ngenerally fixed upon for the celebration of the hymeneal ordinances, in\nWales, from the sage persuasion that it is a _lucky day_, as well as for\nthe convenience of the Sabbath intervening between it and a working day\u2014a\nglorious season of sunshine to the children of labour.\n\nJack was agreeably disappointed to see a great many of his Carmarthen\nfriends had repented of their unkind treatment of his bidder, and had now\ncome to make amends.  They came mounted on their ponies, and honourably\npaid their _Pwython_; that is to say, returned the presents which he or\nhis relatives or friends had made at different weddings.  Jack\u2019s\nresentful and sudden disappearance, had a beneficial effect on the\nfeelings of his friends and countrymen; and a jealousy of yielding the\npalm for liberality to a neighbouring country, stirred a spirit of\nemulous contention among them, which ended in a resolution that a party\nshould attend the wedding, and bear with them the _Pwython_ of the\nothers, who had an aversion to travel such a very distant journey, being\nnearly five and twenty miles, a distance in those days which was\nconsidered no joke, but which we now, in this age of steam and\nlocomotion, bridge over in five and twenty minutes.\n\nAfter depositing their offerings, and partaking of a little refreshment,\ntwelve of the bridegroom\u2019s friends, headed by Ianto Gwyn the harper,\nmounted their ponies and called at Catty\u2019s house, to demand the bride;\nand Watt the mole-catcher and _Gwahoddwr_, who added to these functions\nthe father to Catty, expecting their arrival, at length heard without\nappearing, the following lines, delivered by the merry harper, from the\nback of his pony.\n\n    Open windows, open doors,\n    And with flowers strew the floors,\n    Heap the hearth with blazing wood,\n    Load the spit with festal food\n    The _crochen_ {58} on its hook be placed,\n    And tap a barrel of the best!\n    For this is Catty\u2019s wedding day!\n    Now bring the fair one out, I pray.\n\nOn which Watt, with the door still closed, made this reply without\nappearing.\n\n    Who are ye all! ye noisy train!\n    Be ye thieves, or honest men,\n    Tell us now what brings you here,\n    Or this intrusion costs you dear!\n\nIanto Gwyn then rejoins,\n\n    Honest men are we, who seek\n    A dainty maid both fair and meek,\n    Very good and very pretty,\n    And known to all by name of Catty;\n    We come to claim her for a bride;\n    Come, father! let the pair be tied\n    To him who loves her ever well:\u2014\n\nWatt still within, answers;\n\n    So ye say, but time will tell;\n    My daughter\u2019s very well at home,\n    So ye may pack and homeward roam.\n\nIanto Gwyn exclaims, in resolute tones,\n\n    Your home no more she\u2019s doom\u2019d to share,\n    Like every marriageable fair,\n    Her father\u2019s roof she quits for one\n    Where she is mistress: woo\u2019d and won,\n    It now remains to see her wedded,\n    And homeward brought and safely bedded;\n    Unless you give her up, we swear\n    The roof from off your house to tear,\n    Burst in the doors, and batter walls\n    To rescue her whom wedlock calls.\n\nAnother of the bridegroom\u2019s party then calls aloud, in a voice of\nauthority,\n\n    Ho! peace in the king\u2019s name, here peace!\n    Let vaunts and taunting language cease;\n    While we, the bridesmen, come to sue\n    The favour to all bridesmen due,\n    The daughter from the father\u2019s hand,\n    And entertainment kindly bland.\n\nNow the great Watt, the famous entrapper of moles, with airs mighty and\ngrand, well befitting the dignity of the occasion\u2014and however absurd our\nEnglish brethren may term the custom, it is considered of serious\nimportance with us\u2014throws open the door of Catty\u2019s dwelling, sallies\nforth to give the querists a warm welcome, and as a preliminary helps\nthem to dismount.  After taking a little more refreshment, consisting of\nnewly-baked oaten cakes, with butter and cheese, washed down with copious\ndraughts of ale, they all remounted, and were joined by those of the\nbridegroom\u2019s party; the whole rustic cavalcade making their way towards\nthe church.  A motley assemblage, in truth it was, but withal\npicturesque, and agreeable to contemplate, for every face was happy; save\nwhen now and then a cautious damsel, mounted behind her father or\nbrother, would exhibit a touch of the dismals in the length of her\nfeatures, on discovering that the _cwrw_ had any other effect but that of\nrendering her protector steady in his seat on the saddle.  Almost every\nsort of animal, large or small, lame or blind, good or bad, seemed to\nhave been pressed into the service, and reduced to the levelling system,\nand without regard to either size or quality, doomed to carry double.\n\nAnd thus they went on at a walking pace, while the loud chat of many\nseemed drowned in the loud laughter and shouting of others, till now and\nthen rebuked by some of the elders; who however, to little purpose,\nvociferated the words decency\u2014propriety\u2014sober purposes\u2014&c. &c., the\ntendency of which seemed but little understood.  Jack, the happy\nbridegroom elect, bestrode a wretched apology for a horse, whose\nantiquated legs trembled like an aspen leaf; as for its bones, they were\npainfully apparent, and the very curs seemed, as they looked upon this\ntime worn piece of cattle, to anticipate their feast.  Elevated behind\nher temporary father on a fleet horse of the squire\u2019s, poor Catty was\ndoomed to present purgatory to contrast her enjoyment of future\nhappiness, for, unprovided with a pillion, she sat on the crupper,\nholding fast by Watt\u2019s coat.  The quiet pace which commenced this little\njourney was soon changed into rough horsemanship, for the mad-cap\nmole-catcher turning his steed into the Cardigan road, gave him the spur,\nand commenced an outrageous gallop; the wedding party followed him with\nall the might of their little beasts, and like valiant villagers in chase\nof a highwayman, strove their utmost to rescue the bride.  Ianto Gwyn,\nthe rural bard and harper, ever ready with an extempore, produced on this\noccasion:\u2014\n\n    Oh yes! lost, strayed, or run away\n    This moment from the king\u2019s highway,\n    A tall and sightly strapping woman,\n    A circumstance which is a rum \u2019un;\n    \u2019Tis said a murderer of vermin\n    On her abduction did determine;\n    Whoe\u2019er will bear to gaol th\u2019 offender,\n    The lost one to her owner render,\n    Shall be as handsomely rewarded,\n    As can be readily afforded.\n\nHaving considerably distanced his pursuers, he stopped at length, at\nCatty\u2019s request, who complained sadly of being sorely bumped upon the\nbuckle of the crupper.  Dexterously turning to the bye-road toward the\nchurch, he was soon perceived and followed by the party, and altogether\nthey soon arrived at their journey\u2019s end, and alighting, they entered the\nsacred fane with due decorum.  Evans the curate, to enhance his own\nservices and increase his importance, took care to damp their hilarity by\nkeeping them waiting full three quarters of an hour, before he made his\nappearance; and when he came, his looks and demeanour partook more of the\nrigid priest of Saturn, than the heart-joining, bliss-dispensing Hymen.\nHis cherished plans, which were to result in a discovery of dishonour to\npoor Catty, were terribly overthrown by this decent Welsh marriage, and\nthe curate was in a corresponding temper.  His nature was not such as\nwould rejoice at virtue triumphant, more especially as he had calculated\nupon vice occupying the same position.\n\nHe very sternly rebuked their smiles and happy looks, and actually\nthreatened not to perform the marriage ceremony, until, alarmed at the\nmenace, they all became perfectly joyless, and most orthodoxically\ngloomy.  The indissoluble knot was soon tied; and no longer dependent on\nthe good offices of the magisterial churchman, their spirit of joyousness\nburst forth; while in the churchyard the mellow harp of Ianto Gwyn was\nplaying the sprightly air of _Morwynion Glan Meirionydd_, or the Fair\nMaids of Merionethshire; while many of the party joined in the words\nwhich belong to that beautiful and animating tune.  Suddenly changing the\nair, the eccentric harper struck up \u201cMegan has lost her garter,\u201d which\nwas succeeded by \u201cMentra Gwen,\u201d and a string of such national melodies,\nequally gay and appropriate.\n\nAfter the marriage ceremony, they returned in much the same order, or\nrather disorder; with the difference that the bride sat behind her\nhusband, instead of her father; the harper playing the whole time, and\nmany sweet voices joining in the words of the airs.\n\nComing to Catty\u2019s house, the company found that Juggy had been useful and\nhospitable.  There was a first-rate dinner provided, in ample\nproportions, of which all could and did partake freely; every one had to\npay for his own ale, but the females, by courtesy, were \u201ctreated\u201d at the\nexpense of males.  In the course of the evening, jigs, reels, and country\ndances, were successfully gone through with much spirit.  Catty danced\nwith much agility; Jack, pressed on all sides, and at length compelled to\nmake one in a country dance, showed every indication of this being his\nvirgin attempt at \u201cthe poetry of motion;\u201d and alternately stumping and\nblowing, while copious streams ran down his rugged forehead, as they\nevery instant corrected his erratic course, and literally pushed him down\nthe dance, he vowed that this his first, should also be his last\nexhibition on the \u201clight fantastic toe.\u201d\n\nYoung Twm, who had been playing at sweethearts, with little Gwenny\nCadwgan on his knee, to the great mirth of his seniors, soon brought her\nout to try her foot at the dance with him.  The poor little wench blushed\nscarlet deep, made her first essay with one equally young and\ninexperienced with herself; and the juvenile pair were very\ngood-naturedly instructed in the figure of the dance, and they\ncontributed not a little to the general harmony.  Juggy, the sister of\nCatty, absolutely refused to sport her figure among the dancers, and\ntreated Watt the mole-catcher with a hard favour in the face for\nattempting to drag her in perforce.  At length, fatigued with the\ndancing, and alarmed for the state of their inebriated friends and\ncompanions, many, especially the females, turned their serious thoughts\ntowards home.\n\nIt was now drawing towards the hour of retiring for the night, when the\nusual trick was played of concealing the bride from the bridegroom.  Poor\nJack, whom nature had not favoured with a great share of facetiousness,\nand who never mixed with such a company before, began to be seriously\nalarmed.  Great was the mirth of the company, while, with a strange\nexpression of countenance, he sought her up and down in every corner of\nthe house.  At length he discovered a part of her red petticoat sticking\nout from under the bottom of the straw arm-chair, and soon drew her out\nfrom the place of concealment.\n\nThe parting hour had now arrived; then came the general shaking of hands,\nand serious expressions of good wishes among the sober; while the tipsy\nfolks vented their wit in jocular allusions to their conjugal felicity:\nsome offering themselves for godfathers and godmothers to their future\noffspring, while others far gone in drink, laid bets on the probability\nthat the first child would be either a boy or a girl.  At this time\nconsiderable surprise was excited by the conduct of an individual who had\nbeen remarkably unsocial the whole evening, no person having heard him\nspeak a word; and when asked a question, or in answer to a health being\ndrank, he merely nodded in a hurried manner, and immediately drew hard at\nhis pipe, and puffed forth volumes of smoke, as if to envelop himself in\na cloud of invisibility.\n\nThe mysterious stranger had been evidently \u201ctaking stock\u201d the whole of\nthe evening, but whether pleased or displeased with the proceedings did\nnot appear, as reticence seemed to be about the only accomplishment he\npossessed.  Every one was too much engaged with their own pleasure to\ngive him much attention, and thus he remained till the moment of\ndeparture, when he was observed to stagger as he rose from his seat.\nSomebody then observed, that it must have been with smoke and not the\nbeer that affected his brains, as he drank but little; a remark that\nimputed niggardly and curmudgeon propensities to him.  Determined to give\nhim something of a roast, a young farmer asked him, with a defying air,\nwhether he had paid his _Pwython_.\n\n\u201cNo!\u201d roared the hitherto silent man, \u201cbut here it is\u2014take it \u2018Catty\u2019 my\ngirl, and much good may it do thee!\u201d  On which he put five golden angels\ninto her hand.  With emotions of wonder and gratitude, while catching an\neager glance at his face, Catty involuntarily exclaimed\u2014\u201cthe squire!\u201d\nwhen he darted out, mounted his horse, as did the rest of the party, rode\noff, and disappeared.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nTWM SHON CATTY improves under a more able tuition.  Watt\u2019s vagaries, and\nthe troubles and trials of a poor pedlar.  Twm begins his apprenticeship\nto a Cardiganshire farmer.\n\nDetermined to witness the humble festivities of the \u201clowly train,\u201d Squire\nGraspacre had been among them the whole evening, disguised like a rough\nmountaineer husbandman, and was heartily gratified, although his apparent\nincivility of conduct had nearly subjected him to harsh treatment from\nthe jovial ale-fraught rustics, who, of course, but little relished his\nstrange behaviour.  His deficiency in the Welsh language had been\nconcealed by alternately feigning deafness and drunkenness, which, with\nthe aid of the pipe left him free from suspicion.  The morning of Sunday\nafter the wedding, which is called _Neithior_, being come, the happy pair\nstayed at home, receiving their friends who called with their good-will,\nwhich they manifested by the payment of _Pwython_.  The day was drank\nout, but not as in every other respect, save the diminishing of ale, each\nseemed to recollect it was the Sabbath, and tossed off their cups in\nquietness.\n\nOn Monday morning the supply of ale was exhausted, tottering legs waggled\nhomeward, and all was again quiet.  Like prudent accountants, Jack and\nCatty reckoned up the amount of their wedding gifts, and found the amount\nto be twenty-seven pounds eight shillings and sixpence, besides fourteen\nwhole, and twenty-two half cheeses, the greater part of which they soon\nturned into cash.\n\nIn these days, when the value of money has been so much decreased, the\namount of the _Pwython_, and presents at a Welsh wedding, have been known\nto reach more than treble the sum here stated; especially when the\nfriends of the party have been numerous, and headed by the patronage of a\nwealthy and liberal master and mistress, who generally enlist their\nfriends and visitors under the hymeneal banners of a faithful servant,\nthe architects of whose humble fortunes they become, by laying themselves\nthe foundation stone.\n\nAs, from this part of our history, the hero will rise in importance,\nthose who have hitherto stood forward, must proportionably draw back, to\ngive him due place; especially Jack and Catty; the grand drama of whose\nlives has been closed by a matrimonial union; whence, henceforth, they\nmust sink into inconsiderable personages.\n\nIn consequence of the squire\u2019s liberality on the celebration of Catty\u2019s\nwedding, and a general report prevailing that he was inclined towards the\nWelsh, a protector of their customs, a general good-will towards him was\nmanifested by the country people.  But his popularity reached its\nculminating point when he gave forth the opinion that the Welsh female\ncostume was a useful, elegant, and picturesque one, and for once, a scion\nof John Bull became popular with us.\n\nWhen he eulogized the Welsh harp, and gave, in addition to various pieces\nof silver at different times, a golden angel to Ianto Gwyn for his\nperformances at Jack and Catty\u2019s wedding, he gained a few steps more into\ntheir good opinion.  But when he declared that bed courtship should not\nbe abolished, there was a burst of enthusiasm in his favour in every\nbreast, especially among the females.  During this new impulse given to\nthe reign of happiness, the great lady at the hall and her favourite\ncurate hid their diminished heads; the former declaring that it was\nutterly impossible that the world could last many months longer, while\nsuch immorality and ungodliness was practiced under the auspices of a\ndeclared patron.\n\nWhether it was the influence of this alarm, or the bitterness of baffled\nmalignity, that preyed on her mind, certain it is, she was soon thrown on\na sick bed, and considered seriously indisposed.  The squire, to his\nhonour be it said, although unfortunately married to a very disagreeable\nwoman, allowed a sense of duty to supply the place of affection, when his\nattentions were so indispensably needed.  During her illness, the worthy\nold rector, who had been ill but a single week, died; and Squire\nGraspacre, against his own judgment and feelings, well knowing that such\nan arrangement would be agreeable to his wife, inducted the curate,\nEvans, into the vacant living.  In a fortnight after, however, she died\nherself; a circumstance, perhaps, that gave no real sorrow to any\ncreature breathing.\n\nThe general report of a liberal English squire in Cardiganshire, who\npatronized and upheld the customs of the Welsh, penetrated to the\nextremities of the neighbouring counties, and became at last so strangely\nexaggerated, that he was represented as the patron of the learned;\nconsequently many of the humbler sons of the church took long journeys to\nbe undeceived.  Of the many who called upon him with a view of seeking\nhis patronage of their literary undertakings, one especially took his\nfancy; a young clergyman named John David Rhys, before named as the\nauthor of the Bidder\u2019s song.\n\nBut poetry was not his forte; his energy and perseverance in the\nfavourite study of Welshmen, British antiquities, and systemizing his\nnative language, deserved encouragement and applause.  He had been\ncomposing a Welsh grammar, and had actually commenced a dictionary.  As\nhe spoke English very well, the squire soon understood the merit of his\nundertakings, and promised his patronage and good offices; in the mean\ntime requesting him to remain on the footing of a friend beneath his\nroof, till something could be done for him.  This excellent person he now\nfixed upon to succeed Evans in the school and curacy; stipulating, that\nfor his fulfilment of the latter, he was to have thirty pounds, and for\nthe former ten pounds a-year.\n\nFortunate for Rhys would it have been had the old rector outlived the\nsquire\u2019s lady, in which case it is more than probable he would have\nfilled the living instead of Evans, whom the squire never liked.  The\nchange was a fortunate one for Twm Shon Catty, who, as we have before\nseen, had already a name for composing doggerel, and had even tried his\nmuse in the orthodox four-and-twenty Welsh measures.  When he found his\nnew master a kind young man, an historian, antiquarian, and something of\na poet, the homage of the heart was immediately paid him.  Twm thought he\nwas the wisest man in the world, when he heard him speak of the battles\nfought by the Britons in ancient times, against the Romans, Danes, and\nSaxons.  This was to him a knowledge the most estimable, and he longed to\nbe enabled also to talk about battles and to write patriotic songs.\nHaving now his information from a better source, he soon learnt to\ndespise the jargon and misstatements of Ianto Gwyn, with whom he argued\nboldly, and proved to him that Geoffry of Monmouth was a fabulist, and no\nhistorian; that it was not Joseph of Arimathea who christianized Britain,\nbut Br\u00e2n ab Llyr, the father of renowned Caractacus, with various other\nsuch knotty points.\n\nThe great deference which he paid his master, his attention to every word\nwhich fell from his lips, with his close and successful application to\nhis lessons, gained him the esteem and admiration of Rhys, with whom he\nbecame a great favourite.  The amiable young clergyman found much\nsatisfaction on discovering a youngster with taste, sufficient to\nappreciate his favourite pursuits, and took pleasure in explaining to him\nevery subject of his enquiries.  A thirst for information possessed the\nboy; and he rummaged the most dry and tedious works connected with Welsh\nantiquities, with an avidity that was astonishing even to his master.\n\nIt would perhaps have been fortunate for Twm had this thirst for study\nremained unchecked by any less noble desire.  But joking and learning,\n\u201clarks\u201d and Latin, practical jests and Welsh history, are scarcely likely\nto agree well.  Watt the mole-catcher occupied his attention, and, in the\nend, his acquaintance with that personage was an ill wind which blew\nnobody good.\n\nAbout eighteen months after Rhys\u2019s appointment to the school, one evening\nin the Christmas holidays, Watt asked him if he would take a share in a\nfreak that would keep him up the greater part of the night.  Twm\nimmediately assented, without enquiring its nature; enough for him it was\nthat it was a scheme of merry mischief, in the prospect of which his\nheart ever bounded.\n\nThis idle whim of Watt\u2019s was nothing more than to pull down the signs of\nall the public-houses and shops; which being few, was easily done, but\nthe greater difficulty was to suspend them from, or attach them to, the\ntenements of others, in which they however succeeded.  This trick\nelicited some humour; and a satirical application was discernible in the\nnew disposal of the boards.  When the light of day discovered their\nhandy-work, great was the astonishment of the ale-house-keepers and\nothers, to find their signs vanished, and gracing the fronts of their\nneighbours\u2019 private houses; and the anger of the reverend Inco Evans was\nboundless, on perceiving the \u201cFox and Goose\u201d over the rectory house door,\nwith the words proceeding from the mouth of reynard, \u201cI have thee now;\u201d\nand under the pictorial figures \u201cGood entertainment for man or horse.\u201d\n\nA crowd was in consequence collected about his door, and the provoking\nlaughter of the people stung him to the bitterest degree of resentment.\nA most unlucky old carl of a Scotch pedlar at this moment very innocently\nentered the house, taking it, as the sign imported, for a tavern, and\nunstrapping his huge pack, laid it on the clerical magistrate\u2019s table,\ncalling about, \u201chollow! Fox and Goose;\u201d on which the reverend host and\nhis spouse appeared, she laughing at the jest, and he frowning with the\naspect of a demon.\n\n\u201cAh ye \u2019re come,\u201d said the facetious Scot, \u201cby my saul aw never kenn\u2019d\ntwa that looked the characters sa weal afore\u2014a merry guse an a sour fox!\ncome gi us a pot of your best half and half.\u201d  The lady ran out laughing,\nbut Inco sourly answered, \u201cO yes! friend, thou shalt have half and half\nto thy heart\u2019s content;\u201d and turning his back, shut and locked the door,\nleaving the poor pedlar in gaping wonderment.\n\n\u201cThey\u2019re an aufu\u2019 time coming!  I\u2019se warrant they\u2019re brewing the beer.\nHech, sirs, this is a strange place o\u2019 ca\u2019, and they wouldna\u2019 find sic a\nvile \u2019yun, frae John o\u2019Groat\u2019s to John o\u2019 Aberdeen\u2019s!\u201d  But his\nrumination on the subject was cut short by the return of Inco, who\nunlocking the door, was followed in by two serving damsels, each bearing\na pewter vase containing something less fragrant than the sweets of\nAraby, which they duly discharged in the face of the unconscious pedlar,\naccompanied with Inco\u2019s exclamation \u201cthere\u2019s half and half for you!\u201d and\nthe girls retreated in roars of laughter, while their poor victim cursed\nthem for vile nanny goats of the mountains.\n\nAt this moment young Twm, humanely feeling for the stranger\u2019s ill\ntreatment, informed him of his error in mistaking that house, the\nresidence of the clergyman and magistrate of the town, for a tavern.\nAdding that be feared the constables were sent for, to put him in the\nstocks.  It need scarcely be added, that Sawney was soon many miles away\nfrom Tregaron.  Hop-o-my-Thumb never used his legs and his seven-leagued\nboots to such express purpose as did Sawney, for he pushed on as though\nhe knew terrors were behind, and the safety of the body depended upon the\nspeed of his legs.  Squire Graspacre from indolence or dislike to all\nbusiness except farming, declined being in the commission of the peace\nhimself, and put the parson in his stead.  Having now attained the summit\nof his ambition, as rector and justice of the peace, his overweening\npresumption and conceit became daily more conspicuous; and therefore this\nslur upon his consequence was intolerable.  The actor in this simple\nfreak became at length known in consequence of the secret being\nintrusted, a very common case, to a _confidential friend_.\n\nAlthough the twenty shillings reward which the parson offered could not\ninduce the poorest to be base enough to become an informer, yet an idle\nspirit of tattling among the women brought it at length to the ears of\nMistress Evans, and her husband soon became possessed of the whole\nparticulars.  He instantly made his complaint to the squire against both\nTwm and Watt, who were merely reprimanded, cautioned for the future, and\ndismissed.\n\nThe circumstances under which Twm Shon Catty was educated, now suddenly\noccurred to him.  \u201cWhat the goodness is to become of that young imp of\nmischief?\u201d said he, one day, to Rhys the curate, whom he had informed of\nthe particulars of the birth, and his deceased wife\u2019s whim of having him\nwell educated, in consequence of him being a slip of Sir John Wynn\u2019s.\nThat connection being entirely closed by the death of his wife, he no\nlonger felt himself bound or inclined to notice him.  When Rhys gave so\ngood an account of his proficiency, he was surprised to hear the squire\nexclaim\u2014\u201cI am sorry for it, for he has no prospect in the world but\nlabour and beggary.  As he had already had too good an education for his\ncircumstances, he must be instantly dismissed from the school.  Since Sir\nJohn does not think proper to protect his son, I don\u2019t see why I should.\nAs the poet very properly says:\u2014\n\n    \u201cToo much learning makes a man a fool;\n    I\u2019d have no lad attend too long at school:\n    Give him a taste, then turn him out adrift;\n    In knowledge, at the least, he\u2019s had a lift.\u201d\n\nTwm and his master parted with mutual regret, for latterly they were more\nlike companions than master and scholar; and the generous Rhys could not\nrestrain a tear on beholding a youth of so much promise destined to the\nuncertain wilderness of a hard and cold world, especially after having\nevinced a superiority of taste and intellect, that under favourable\nauspices would have entitled him to shine and flourish in his day.  Twm\nremained awhile at his mother\u2019s, a big boy of fifteen, idling away his\ndays without any view to the future.  Greatly concerned on his account\nand her own inability to support him, Catty went one day to the squire,\nand implored him to do something for her son; and he at last _generously_\ndecided to send him as a parish apprentice to a farmer, whose grounds\nwere situate in the neighbouring mountains.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nTHE family of the Welsh farmer.  Not a bright look-out for our hero.\n\nMorris Greeg, the farmer to whom the parish had consigned our hero, as an\napprentice, possessed a small freehold farm, fourteen miles up the\nmountain; and thither, in the company or custody of Watt the\nmole-catcher, Twm was now marched.  Dull and joyless was their journey,\nunenlivened either by incident or the charms of scenery.  On their\narrival at the destined spot, Twm could scarcely forbear shuddering at\nthe prospect before him.  The farm-house was a low long building, under\nthe same roof as the cow-house and stable, and as the whole was covered\nwith a black mass of rotten thatch, composed of varied patches of\nhalf-perished straw and fern, the only signs of its being inhabited by\nhumanity were a chimney, with two or three farm implements lying at the\nhovel door.\n\nThe farm, called Cwm y Gwarm Ddu, (Black marsh dingle,) was abbreviated\nusually to Gwern Ddu; the latter word, be it known to our English\nreaders, is pronounced _Thee_.  The land of which it was composed, had\nbeen anciently cribbed from the mountain, according to the Havod un-n\u00f4s\n{72} system.  Being too remote from any other settlements to be noticed\nby any of the parishioners but the shepherds, who were bribed to silence\nby occasional refreshment as they passed that way, the appropriation\nremained long unquestioned.  And when of later years some of the nearest\nfarmers became troublesome busy-bodies on the occasion, a few days\u2019\nlabour given gratis in harvest time by Morris Greeg\u2019s grandfather and\nfather, made all quiet again, till latterly, the farm of Gwern Ddu became\nincontestably a freehold property.\n\nTwm felt no great wonder that its existence, as narrated by Watt,\nremained so long unknown, and wished an earthquake had been so good as to\nswallow it before he had been destined to enter its precincts.\n\n    \u201cIt was in sooth a landscape harsh.\n    On one side rock, and three sides marsh:\n    With naught to please the restless eye,\n    A scene to cause a weary sigh.\u201d\n\nThe farm occupied one side of a dreary dingle, being one field\u2019s breadth\nonly from the rocky mountain above, and divided from a swampy turbary\nmarsh by a roaring torrent-like brook.  The house and the farm\nappertainments, with a view to shelter at the expense of a healthier\nfoundation, were situated on the marsh-side of the brook, the waters of\nwhich were crossed by a rustic bridge formed of a fallen tree, that led\ntowards the fields, and by a short lane and a path through the wood, to\nthe mountain above them.  Instead of the hawthorn, willow, birch, and the\nnut-bearing pleasant hazel, that usually form the hedges in more favoured\nlands, these poor little fields had their boundary ditches surmounted by\nthat rude bantling of barrenness, the prickly gorse, more poetically\ncalled the yellow-blossomed furze; intermingled here and there, as in the\nadjoining mountain, with its brunette sister, the purple-flowering heath,\nimmortalized in Scottish literature as the mountain heather.\n\nAbove the rustic bridge, the bright pure water, yet unpolluted by the\ntouch of man, rolled in a small cascade over the smooth black rock,\ncontrasting by its foaming whiteness, with the sable bed from which it\nsprung.  This little water-fall was called\u2014Y Pistyll, or the spout; from\nwhich was obtained the water destined for household uses.  From its side\nthe farm lasses scooped the gravel wherewith they scoured their\nmilk-pails, hoops and staves, rivalling by their whiteness, the\nnectarious stream within.  Below the bridge, the brook had been widened\nby human art, so as to form a considerable pool, wherein the aquatic\nmembers of the farm-yard, the stately silent geese and the noisy ducks,\nat times floated gravely, with their young yellow brood, at others,\nploughing and gambolling merrily and undisturbed; save when the horses,\ncows, or oxen were driven across; for the upper part of the pool formed\npart of the regular road.\n\nThrough this wood, ran an oblique path, that after turning the corner of\nan angular rising whose upper end was bounded by a terrific precipice of\nno less than ninety feet perpendicular height, and known by the name of\nAllt y Craig Llwyd, or Acclivious Forest of the Grey Rock, which\nindicated that trees at some period clothed the scene now defaced by\nhideous nakedness.  On winding round and gaining the summit of the peak\nabove this quarry, an extensive tract of level mountain appeared in one\ndirection; in another, the dreary monotony was broken by the appearance\nof petty lakes or mountain pools, on which floated at times certain\nfamilies of migratory aquatic birds, that here made their temporary\nresting place, in their hasty journeys to more favoured regions.\nRavines, and caves, the reputed bed-chambers of evil spirits, long-maned\nunbroken horses, and numerous flocks of wild-looking small sheep, were\nthe other objects that diversified the scene; and the horizon was closed\nby the distant mountain peaks, one above another, wildly strange, but\nmost grandly clustered.\n\nOn Watt\u2019s presenting Twm to a tall, gaunt, swarthy-faced man, who proved\nto be Morris Greeg himself, as the apprentice which the parish had sent\nhim, his brows contracted, and his sunken eyes threw out their fires in a\nflash of indignation.\n\n\u201cHa!\u201d cried the old man, after eyeing our hero with the contempt which a\nsordid clown might evince towards a puny insect, as he wondered, in the\ndulness of his conception, why heaven should trouble itself in creating a\nthing incapable of hewing wood or carrying burdens\u2014\u201ca pretty help they\nhave sent me truly!  Of what service will a weak creature like this be to\nme?\u201d\n\n\u201cNone!\u201d screamed a thin hag of a yellow-faced woman, \u201cbut to eat up all\nthe victuals; I warrant, by his thin carcass and long crane neck, that he\nhas the stomach of a hound.  This neck looks as if it had been stretched\nalready.  But if it hasn\u2019t, it soon will be by the looks of him.\u201d\n\nFour damsels, the daughters of the house, now made their appearance, and\nscrutinized our hero over each other\u2019s shoulder, as if he had been a\nreptile of some unquestionable species, whom it was not safe to approach\ntoo near.  A sturdy ploughman in a white frock sat at the table,\nsilently, but sullenly, descanting on the merits of the food before him,\nby alternately sneering and masticating what appeared to be more\nnecessary to his stomach than agreeable to his palate.  On the left of\nthe ploughman sat a singular-looking thin parrot-nosed boy, the only one\nthat appeared to greet him with a look of welcome; his small black eyes\nactually laughed with satisfaction.\n\n\u201cWell, Moses, thou hast now a companion to help thee to devour food, and\ndo nothing,\u201d said farmer Greeg, as he motioned to Watt and Twm to sit and\neat.\n\n\u201cYes, thee hast now a companion to help thee to eat and do nothing,\u201d\nrepeated the farmer\u2019s eldest daughter Shaan, whose habit it was to echo\nall the sayings of her father and mother, so as to publish herself as one\nof the authorities of the house.  Moses said nothing audibly, but a\nrueful expression of countenance gave it the lie to the insinuation most\npointedly, and Twm fancied that he brushed away a tear with his sleeve,\nas he rose hastily and walked out of the house.\n\nWatt had been busy \u201ctaking stock\u201d of the ploughman\u2019s countenance; a\ncompliment apparently by no means appreciated by the object of his\nregard.  The ploughman hastily finished his dinner, and was about to beat\na retreat, when Watt enquired, \u201cIs\u2019nt thy name Abel Prosser?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo!\u201d cried the man.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d cried Shaan, \u201cwhat does thou deny thy name for?\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, I have a warrant against thee, as the runaway father of Palley\nBais Wen\u2019s bantling,\u201d cried Watt; \u201chelp to secure him in the king\u2019s\nname!\u201d\n\nThe man made a dart from the house, and Watt after him.  The event of the\nchase remained long unknown as neither were seen again by the present\nparty for many a month.\n\n\u201cThe devil take that Watt Gwathotwr!\u201d screamed Sheeny Greeg the farmer\u2019s\nwife, \u201cfor he brings us nothing but trouble.  Two years ago he brought us\nthis Moses, the deserted bantling of a rascally Jew, who deceived the\nsilly wench of a hedge-ale-house maid, where he lodged; and now he has\nbrought another of no more strength than a grey-hound puppy; and worse\nthan all, he has scared away Abel Prosser.  What are we to do now?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo!\u201d cried Shaan scornfully, \u201cwe shall do very well; make these two\nfellows do Abel\u2019s work, and their own.\u201d  With this very comfortable\nprospect before him, Twm went to rest with the Jew boy in the hay-loft,\nthis first night after his arrival in the alpine region of Cwmny Gwern\nDdu.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nMOSES has many youthful yearnings.  The exploits of the lads in fasting\nand feasting.\n\nSome say it is a comfort to have a brother in affliction, visited by\nsimilar trials, and persecuted rigour.  Now Moses and Twm could be\nsympathetic enough, for they had to endure labour enough and too much,\nbut quite the opposite quantity of eatables; they, therefore, in their\nmisery, became firm and attached companions.  Twm at first found much to\ndisgust him with his fellow sufferer, as he seemed disposed to talk of\nnothing but culinary matters; the roast and boiled, the stewed, the\nfried, were his darling topics.  When Twm dilated on some of the festal\ndoings at Graspacre-hall, the prematurely sunken eyes of this wretched\nstarveling would glisten with a lambent flame that threatened the\nimmediate extinction of his senses, he exclaimed, \u201cO Lord, how I should\nlike to make one of them!\u2014I heard a strange man once talk of an ox being\nroasted whole\u2014can such a thing be? what a\u2014what a sight!  O Lord, how I\nshould like to tear two, three, four, hot ribs out of a roasting ox\u2014I\nwould get into the carcass, and roast with it, so that I might tug, tear,\nand eat my fill first.  If I knew my way to any great town from this\nawful place, I\u2019ll tell thee Twm, how I should like to get my living\u2014I\nwould eat for wagers\u2014I have heard of such doings, and I know I could die\ncontented, if I had once my stomach full of flesh\u2014ha! ha! ha!  I would\ntear it, and ha! ha! ha!  Oh! how I would tear and swallow it!\u201d\n\nTwm felt horror-struck to hear these frantic ravings of this poor\nfamished being, his eyes starting from their sockets, and his thin\ntalon-like hands clutching vacantly at imaginary food.  He strove to\ncomfort him with future hopes, but the wretch had now sunk into a fit of\nweeping despondency, and as the tears ran down his young emaciated face,\nhe exclaimed, in a tone of utter hopelessness, \u201cno, no, I shall sleep on\nthese mountains, and never have my fill of any thing but work and sorrow,\nwork and sorrow till I die!\u201d  Suddenly starting from his reclining\nposture to his feet, and as suddenly changing his querulous tones to\nthose of maniac rapture that was alarming from the startling\ntransition\u2014\u201cCanst thee eat raw eggs, Twm?  I have a store of them hid\naway in the barn\u2014we\u2019ll have a feast of them to-night, boy!\u201d\n\nPrevious to this scene, they had been thrashing together till over\nfatigued they sat themselves down on the straw.  The silence of their\nflails informed the quick ears of old Sheeny of this pause in their\nlabour.  Hastening with stealthy steps towards the barn, she unluckily\narrived the moment when Moses vaunted of the intended feast of eggs.\nWith the soundless steps and savage purpose of the taloned cat, that\nmarks the moment to dart upon the heedless bird, she reached over the\nlatch; unlatching it, she burst into the middle of the barn, and seizing\nthe first flail in her way, she vowed with a tremendous oath to break\nevery bone in his body with it unless the eggs were immediately produced.\nAs she had once broke his leg, which Evans the blacksmith had imperfectly\nset for him, poor Moses made a virtue of necessity, and at once took her\nto his little hoard.  Poor lad; it was like drawing his blood, to take\naway this prospect of a feed, and his eyes filled with tears as Sheeny\ngathered them all in her apron and marched off triumphantly.  The loss of\nthe eggs, valuable as they were in their hungry circumstances, was\ntrivial to the daily annoyances of the female tongues that trimmed and\nstung them both within and without doors for many a day after, on this\nsubject.\n\nOld Sheeny was certainly a notable manager, an economist to the back\nbone.  Abstemious moralists, those excellent friends of the human race,\nhave declared, that the new-fangled improvements in modern cookery have\ninclined mankind to devour twice the quantity of food requisite or\nbeneficial for the health and happiness of our species.  Sheeny Greeg,\nthe careful mistress of this mountain mansion, had no idea of inflicting\nsuch an evil on those favoured beings confided to her protection.\nTherefore, in a pure philosophic spirit, as an antidote to gluttony and\nintemperance, she took care, like an ancient Spartan dame, that the food\nand drink of her providing should be neither too rich nor too savory.\nConsequently gout and plethora were never found among the maladies of her\ninmates.  She had an admirable contrivance that did honour to her\ninventive powers, of substituting durability for the dangerous quality of\npalatableness, in the food she administered.\n\nFor instance, in the article of bread, her custom was to bake an enormous\nbatch at once; so that it soon got hard, musty and mouldy, it must be\nadmitted that the temptation to gluttonize on it and its accompaniments,\nwas diminished.  In preparing that standing dish of the Welsh farm, the\nflummery, she would steep for a considerable time, a large portion of the\noaten commodity for that purpose, till thoroughly soured to the acidity\nof crab-juice.  The skim milk, in which this mess was soused, she\nconsidered as too gross for their unsophisticated stomachs, till diluted\nwith the pure element from the brook.\n\nThe whey and butter-milk underwent the same process; and the cheese kept\nfor home consumption was manufactured of that fang-defying, heart of oak,\nsort of toughness, which answers the patriotic purpose of cannon-balls,\nto repel invaders, should their cupidity ever be inflamed by the reported\nfelicities of Cwmny Gwern Ddu: in which alarming supposition it is some\nsatisfaction to reflect, as a point to our moral, that the crime would\ncarry the punishment along with it.  Whenever those rare and almost\ndenounced strangers to the table, the beef or bacon made their\nappearance, the greedy fangs that seized them would suddenly relax their\ntenacious grip, like the blind dog that mistook a red-hot poker for a\nbone, in evident alarm, lest a portion of Lot\u2019s wife had accidentally\nfallen in their way; a cannibal impression that seemed to haunt them long\nafter, till washed away by many a copious draught of the fluid that cost\nnothing.  Morris Greeg himself was a fine example to his household, as a\nscorner of unnecessary dainties.  Doubtless it was very edifying to Twm\nand Moses, to hear him descant on the enormities of gross feeding,\nenlivened by anecdotes of people who had eaten themselves to death.\n\nHe would tell tales about the dreadful troubles brought upon a man by\nbeing over fat\u2014obesity was, to hear him, a state of existence only\nequalled in horror by the pains and penalties of the lower regions.  He\nnarrated a veritable instance of a Daniel Lambert, who got so fat, and so\nimmovable, that he rolled himself into a large trough of water, and\nvoluntarily died the death of a suicide.  Moses, the young infidel, would\ngape incredulously at such an intimation, and evidently doubted the\nprobability of such a death; and if it were possible, impious cormorant\nas he was, he would have no objection to martyrdom on such a score.\n\n\u201cPlain food, and as little of it as possible,\u201d quoth Morris, \u201cis a fine\nthing,\u201d grinding as he spoke a mass of black-eyed winter-dried beans with\nrusty bacon.  \u201cAnd leaven,\u201d cried the sage of the mountains, \u201cis far\nbetter in the bread than barn; it warms the stomach with its generous\nacid, and makes me content with little.\u201d\n\nOur hero, however, had a bold heart; and if a little better fed, would\nhave endured all with that indifference and vein of whim which were\nnatural to him.  As it was, with the wild companionship of Moses, he\nturned misery herself into a scarecrow of mirth rather than of terror.\nTogether those mischievously merry boys dispatched their breakfasts of\nhighly watered milk and porridge, thickened with mouldy bread, with\nhungry yet loathing stomachs, and indulged in under currents of laughter,\nas either of them aped some peculiarity of gait or visage in their\namiable hostess.\n\nAnd when the rusty bacon liquor was enlarged for repeated messes of\nbroth, their wry faces gave indications of their inmost feelings, whilst\nthe latter manifested themselves by a waterspout movement generally\nsupposed to indicate disquietude of the stomach.  Their patience was\nseverely tried; often when they felt a conviction that this species of\ndrenching was over, they had the unexpected mortification to find a\nquantity of water added, to spin it out for another meal.  This was truly\na sad change to Twm, compelled as he was daily to embrace his\nantipathies, and disconnect himself from all that he had learned to love.\nHe loved ballad lore, rural festivities, rambling, and all those light\nmodes of passing his time that were most allied to idleness.\n\nBut in this dreary house, not a book was to be seen nor the sound of\nmirth, harp, or song, ever heard; still Twm did not despond; his good\nhumour had the effect of brightening, by many a shade, the desponding\napprehensions of Moses; and more than once he actually won a smile from\none or two of the younger daughters of the house, who, however, soon\nrebuked themselves for descending to be pleased with anything that a\nparish apprentice boy could advance.\n\nIn the long winter evenings, when no one could possibly invent a task or\njob for them, Twm and Moses would be allowed to sit a little by the turf\nfire; when the latter would venture to narrate some hungry tale of\ngastronomic heroism, in which his fancy revelled, Twm would recite ghost\nstories that terrified the damsels; and war tales of olden times that he\nhad heard from Ianto Gwyn, or his master, Rhys, that astonished and\namused his auditors, at least part of them, for Sheeny Greeg and her echo\nShaan disdained to be among the number, but cried shame on him for\nrepeating such audacious lies.\n\nMiserly people often overshoot their mark, and it was so in this\nfarm-house.  Old Elwes would have called Morris Greeg a worthy disciple,\nwhilst other misers of even greater note would have looked upon the\nfarm-house and its ways as the very acme of human felicity.  But \u201cgreed\u201d\nbegets greater evils; and when Morris was by chance called away, the\ngirls indulged themselves in the best way they could find.  Theft was\nlargely patronized, and as we should charitably think not without very\nreasonable excuse.  One fair, day when Morris and Sheeny had betaken\nthemselves to a distant corn and cattle mart, the girls, as usual,\ncommenced their preparation for a regular junketing.  Twm and Moses, whom\nthey kept at the humble distance of lowly menials, were out together,\nmending some gaps in the hedges, when Moses sniffing the wind that blew\nfrom the direction of the house, with the gifted nose of a dog of the\nchase, called out with ecstacy, \u201cTwm, I smell pan-cake!\u201d\n\n\u201cSo do I, Moses,\u201d returned our little hero, expanding his nostrils with\njocular comicality, \u201cHa!\u201d cried Moses, with an envious snarl, \u201cThe\nselfish wenches of the house are treating their dainty chops with\nsomething nice.\u201d\n\n\u201cAye!\u201d retorted Twm, quoting from some learned Theban, \u201cwhen the cat\u2019s\naway the mice will play.  But stop thee here, Moses, and see if I don\u2019t\nbring thee a share of what is going, in five minutes.\u201d  Moses grinned and\nlicked his lips in eager anticipation as Twm hurried off.  He entered the\nhouse with a sudden startling step, and a bundle of firewood under his\narm as an excuse for the intrusion.  All was panic within an instant.\nTwo of the girls dashed their jug of sweetened small beer into the pail\nof hog\u2019s wash, as they heard the first rattle of the wooden latch on\nTwm\u2019s entrance; Shaan turned pale as the unfried pancake before her, so\ngreat was their fear that their parents had returned in the midst of\ntheir underhand clandestine doings.  \u201cIt is only that devil Twm Shon\nCatty,\u201d cried Shaan, who was the first to recover from the general\nterror; \u201cNever mind, girls, go and sweeten more beer, for father and\nmother can\u2019t be home before night.\u201d\n\n\u201cAye, go and sweeten more beer, and let poor Moses and I have a share of\nyour beer and pancakes,\u201d cried Twm, pointedly eyeing a raised heap of\nthem in a wooden platter before the fire;\u2014\u201clet _us_ have a part, and we\nwon\u2019t tell.\u201d\n\n\u201cGet along to thy work, thou saucy cur!\u201d cried Shaan, striking him with\nall her strength with the hot frying-pan.  \u201cNot till I have our share to\ntake with me,\u201d cried our hero, making a grasping snatch at the heaped\npancakes, which he bore off in spite of the united efforts of the lasses\nto re-capture them.  His manner of bestowing them was more commendable on\nthe score of security than of delicacy, as the greater portion was thrust\ninto his shirt-breast and breeches pockets; off he ran over the wooden\nbridge and along the path through the wood.\n\nIn this chase the great heat against his breast gave him considerable\npain, and almost arrested his steps, half persuaded to throw away the\nlarded delicacy; St. Vitus never danced faster nor more spasmodically\nunder his pains, than did our hero under the effects of his hot pancakes.\nThey gave him shocks equal in intensity to those from the voltaic pile;\nin fact he may be said to have been a Salamander enduring the scorchings\nof heat, but with this difference.\u2014Twm Shon Catty could not well bear\nthem, whereas the Salamander was represented as rather enjoying them than\notherwise.\n\nBut, like the Spartan boy, Twm heroically determined to bear the\nself-inflicted torture, and endure to the last.  However, it must be\nconfessed, to the minoration of his fame, that not having been favoured\nwith so stoical an education as the aforesaid Lacedemonian, he yielded to\nnature, and ran and roared, and roared and ran, till he outran his\npursuers, who returned breathless home, and he as breathless joined young\nMoses, where, in their secret haunt, they enjoyed the fruit of his\ndexterity.\n\nThe spot they occupied was one of the discoveries of Moses, before Twm\u2019s\narrival, the craggy recesses of which became the depositaries of his\nfilching achievements, and which recurring to in after years, he called\nhis larder.  It was situated above the torrent, beside the mountain, at\nthe extreme end of the farm\u2014just where the wilderness had refused to\nyield another patch to add to former accumulation.  But these\ngormandizing youths were at present too busily engaged to remark on\neither the beauties or the horrors of the scene.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nSTUDIES piscatorial and fleshy, and certain tricks connected therewith.\nPork capers\u2014a new dish.\n\nEmboldened by the impunity with which they had foraged for themselves\nduring the last three months that had followed the doings in our last\nchapter, both Twm and Moses grew somewhat daring in their gastronomical\nspeculations.  Moses, among his restless peerings for something to\ngratify appetite, had peeped into one of the mountain pools, and joyfully\ndetected the existence of a certain sizeable fish there.  This was a\ndiscovery which made the young Jew\u2019s mouth water, and his eyes distend\nwith visions of future work for the jaws!  Here was an El Dorado of good\nfood, and Moses went into proportionate rapture at the prospect.  Twm\nannoyed him not a little, by laughing at his futile attempts to spear a\npike with the dull and clumsy prongs of a dungfork.\n\nOur hero was more successful in his warfare on the trout and eels that\nabounded in a brook which ran through one of the tarns.  Without any\ncontrivance that resembled fishing-tackle in the most remote degree, he\nremarked a sweeping curve, of a horse-shoe shape, in one part of the\nbrook, and determined, with the assistance of Moses, on sporting his\nengineering skill, in cutting a new channel for the water, so that it\nmight for the future, run a straight course, and leave the horseshoe\nportion of it dry.  This at different intervals, with no small labour,\nthey at last effected; and when the flood ran along the new channel, its\ndeserted curve became a mess of slimy mud.  Into this, with naked feet,\nthey soon waded, and groping cautiously about, succeeded in gathering an\nabundant harvest of trout and eels.  Moses was noisy in his raptures at\nthe result, and so anxious to have them immediately cooked, that he could\nscarcely wait for that tedious progress.\n\nHowever, they soon kindled a fire by rubbing together some rotten wood,\nand with the aid of some dry turf, the quarry under the precipice of Allt\ny Craig became a temporary heath of blazing beauty.  Utterly void of any\nculinary utensils, they resolved on the primitive mode of broiling their\nfish on hot stones, and Moses, all alacrity, proceeded on the task of\npreparing them.\n\nBut, alas, for the sequel of their adventure!  Before they could realize\ntheir project, the dark countenance of Morris Greeg paralyzed their\nefforts, as the serpent\u2019s gaze is said to fascinate its victim.  The\nangry farmer gruffly demanded where they had been, how they had dared to\nidle away their time, and what was the meaning of that wasteful fire\nagainst the rock.  The ready lie, or presence of mind as it is favourably\ncalled, of Twm and Moses soon supplied answers, such as they were.  Twm\nsaid, that hearing the good woman of the house complain of a visit from\nthe old enemy the cholic, he determined to catch a dish of fish for her,\nto drive it away, pointing triumphantly to his piscatory store; thus\nbeating a retreat with all the diplomacy and tact of a good general, who\nwhen he finds he cannot obtain a victory, at any rate manages to gain\ncredit for a wise \u2018retrograde.\u2019\n\nMoses followed up Twm\u2019s assertion by declaring that the fire was to\nfrighten away the crows and the kites that might take fancy to the young\nlambs, or the wheat in the neighbouring field; a manifestation of care\nover his master\u2019s property, which had, at any rate, the claim of\noriginality to back it.  Morris was as great an economist of his words as\nin matters of worldly goods, and therefore, whatever he thought, he did\nnot waste breath with reply; but suddenly ordered Moses to carry the fish\ninto the house, and Twm to give some hay to the cows.  \u201cAnd be sure,\u201d\nquoth the careful farmer, \u201cthat you give most hay to the cow that gives\nmost milk.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will be sure of it!\u201d replied Twm pointedly, and with sulky asperity.\nThe next moment, to the great astonishment, and greater anger of Morris\nGreeg, he threw as much hay as his two arms could embrace, under the\nwater-spout.  \u201cThere,\u201d cried the redoubted son of Catty, \u201cthat is the cow\nwhich gives me most milk, for that cursed broth and porridge is almost\nwholly made from this never-failing animal.\u201d\n\nA precipitous retreat of course, followed this explanation, and Morris\nGreeg was left alone to chew the cud of his resentment.  At dinner the\nnext day, the wrath of Morris having evaporated, all grew smooth again.\nWhile Twm and Moses bolted their insipid mess of dovery, otherwise called\nburgoo, the gratification was rather questionable in having as their\nshare merely the smell of the fried fish, on which Sheeny and Shaan with\nthe younger daughters were regaling, and praising the flavour at every\nmouthful they swallowed.  Moses ground his teeth, and would have impaled\nthem in the excess of his rage, for the loss of his expected feast.  Twm\nsaid nothing, but inwardly resolved on faring better, and that very\nspeedily.  Shaan grinned like a hyena as she treated her dainty gums with\nfish after fish, and spitefully enjoyed their mortification, as she\nwhispered to Twm, \u201cnow we are even for the pancakes.\u201d\n\nJust at the finishing of this mid-day meal, the barking of a strange dog\ndrew Twm and Moses out to the yard.  There they saw a half-starved cur,\nbelonging to a cottager who was cutting turf in the adjoining turbary.\nThis wretched animal, evidently a cut-throat leveller in principle, was\ndisputing with one of the pigs his right to engross the whole trough to\nhimself, which the bristly conservative at length resented by snapping in\ntwo one of the hind legs of his canine enemy.\n\nThe dog set up a dismal howl as a requiem for the loss of the fourth part\nof his understanding, which was soon silenced by Moses striking him on\nthe head with a large stone, which killed him on the spot.  The cottager\nhurried home, frightened by Twm, who told him would be sued for the\ndamages done by his dog.  Our hero, with the assistance of Moses, to whom\nhe imparted the scheme he had now in hand, immediately bathed the\nbuttocks of the pig with the dog\u2019s blood; and then pouring some dry sand\nin his ear, drove him howling down the yard.  Annoyed with the freedom\nthus taken with his auricular organ, the offended gentleman of the sty\nrushed to and fro, at a rate as violent as some of his celebrated\nancestors, when they sought to drown both themselves and the devils\nwithin them in the sea.  Morris lifted his hands amidst the assembled\nhousehold, and ruefully exclaimed, \u201cthe devil is in the pig!\u201d  His\ngambols were certainly most extraordinary, and far surpassed the\nevolutions\u2019 of the bull\u2019s frisky wife, commonly called the cow\u2019s\ncourante.  He sometimes aimed to stand on his hind legs, to emulate the\nfigure, intimating in pantomime, \u201cI am as good a man as the best of you!\u201d\n\nWhile in this position, he would toss his head as loftily as an envious\nbeauty that heard her rival praised; and then, as if to evince his\nunrivalled versatility, he aimed to reverse his position, and stand on\nhis head.\n\nThus did he enliven the farm-yard, and cut sundry unusual capers, not at\nall in keeping with the hitherto grave tenor of all his modest life; at\nwhich Morris was scandalized, the women astonished, and the two\nmischievous imps that caused this torture, amused as if a party of\nmountebanks had exhibited before them.  \u201cSuch things have been in the\ndays of old,\u201d cried Morris, with a pious whine, \u201cthe pig is possessed of\na devil.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf a legion of devils!\u201d screamed Sheeny and Shaan, in the utmost alarm;\n\u201cthe pig is mad!\u201d cried Moses; \u201cthe dog was mad that bit the pig!\u201d cried\nTwm.  This remark, which assigned a natural cause for the frisky gambols\nof the tortured grunter, had the effect of sobering every one from their\nwild supernatural speculations, to the no less alarming fact that poor\nporker was the victim of hydrophobia.  Morris all at once turned pious,\nand remarked that \u201cthis might be one of the signs which were to precede\nthe end of the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d whispered Twm to Moses, \u201cit is a sign which certainly precedes the\nend of the pig.\u201d\n\nConvinced by the reiteration of Twm and Moses, that the pig was really\nstark staring maliciously and mischievously mad, Morris seemed more\ngrieved at his prospect of worldly loss in so much hog\u2019s flesh, than as\nif his first suggestion had been verified about the dissolution of the\nworld.  He pathetically lamented the loss it would be, to kill him before\nhe was duly fattened.  \u201cHe must be killed and eaten fresh,\u201d whined\nMorris, \u201cas he is too lean to be salted and baconed.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe shall be killed and buried like a dog!\u201d cried Sheeny, \u201cor we shall\nall be maddened and biting one another, if we swallow a bit of him, fat\nor lean\u2014Oh! the pity to lose this precious griskin!\u201d  \u201cI won\u2019t eat mad\npork!\u201d cried Shaan; \u201cnor I,\u201d\u2014\u201cnor I!\u201d cried the younger lasses, deeply\nhorrified at the idea of being smothered between two feather-beds, which\nTwm assured them, with a very grave and serious face, was an easy and\ncomfortable death, and such as was always allotted by law to those who\ngot mad by the bite of a mad dog, or by eating what was venomed by his\nbite.  \u201cI will never touch a bit of him,\u201d cried all the girls at once;\n\u201cbut I will!\u201d muttered both Twm and Moses, to themselves, glowing with\nthe thought of future feasting.\n\nMorris in the deepest tribulation pondered on the perversity of his\nhousehold, and at last decided on waiting till next morning before he\nwould give his ultimatum as to how the pig was to be disposed of, in the\nmeantime locking him up in a stable.  It was a night of trial for Morris.\nTo lose an entire porker at one fell swoop, and the household to be so\nvery unaccommodating as not to eat him, was a really serious thing.  He\nmentally prayed for the renewed health on the part of the pig, or else\nthat some kind pig-drover would fall from the clouds and be the saving\nangel of him.  The said Morris Greeg\u2019s conscience did not see further\nthan his own acts.  If the imaginary drover bought the pig, and others\nwere made mad, why it was none of Morris\u2019s concern.  So much for his\nrefined morality.  Thus he comforted himself by reflecting, that whoever\ngot mad with eating him, that was _their_ concern, not _his_; as it would\nbe unbecoming in him to dictate to others what they were to buy or to\neat.  And as to mentioning his faults, as some unreasonable readers\nrequire, he defied any one to prove _that_ to be a fault, which was\nevidently his misfortune.\n\nBoundless was the mirth of Twm and Moses, as in their season of rest they\nagitated the question as to what report they were to make in the morning.\n\u201cSuppose,\u201d said the waggish Jew-boy \u201cthat we let the pig out, and say\nthat he escaped into the yard, and bit a goose, (which we can kill and\neat;) that the goose got mad and bit the wheel-barrow; that the\nwheel-barrow dashed itself frantically against the dung-cart; and that\nboth together they rolled and rattled all night about the yard, like the\ncapering of ten thousand devils.\u201d  Twm over-ruled this wild suggestion,\nand gave a report more consonant with probabilities that the animal was\nmore mad than ever, and that he feared his malady would infect the\nstable, so as to make it unsafe to put the horses there again till the\nwalls were white-washed and every part of it purified.\n\nThis was a grave and plausible position in which to place the affair, and\nquite fell in with Morris\u2019s own way of thinking; and at last he\ndetermined on having the maddened monster, as he called him, killed and\nburied.  This was at last carried into effect by our young worthies, with\nthe assistance of Mike the mat-man, who inhabited a wretched hovel in the\nneighbourhood, and maintained himself, a wife, and one child, by making\nrush mats, and coarse willow baskets, which he hawked over the country.\nMike, of course, was let into the secret, and in the night the worthy\ntrio commenced their avocations of body-snatchers.  The much injured\nporker was disinterred, and more honours were paid him after death, than\nhad ever been conferred upon him in life.  But this is the way with human\nbeings, sometimes, as well as with the denizens of the sty; and if we\nchoose to moralize, we have an excellent opportunity given us\u2014but we\nforbear.\n\nMany and merry were the evenings spent over the remains of the pork, by\nTwm and Moses, under the humble roof of Mike the mat-man and his wife,\nwho were equal partakers of the feast.  These promising youths, on\npretending to retire to their nightly rest, made a point of hastening to\nthe place of goodly food and pleasant smells, where they spent the\ngreater part of the night, and thus acquired their earliest taste for\ndissipation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\nMOSES displays his inventive power in catching mutton.  The storm bursts,\nand the tricks of Twm and Moses are discovered.  Hukin Heer informs, and\nreceives his reward.  The house is in an uproar.\n\nAs the material of their feasting was waning, like a pleasant moon that\ndeclines towards the latter quarter, Moses grew more and more uneasy, as\nfoul food or starvation was staring him in the face, night and day.  As\nhe utterly failed to sleep, he employed the silent hours of midnight to\nhatch a scheme for the procurement of future provender.  \u201cTwm,\u201d quoth the\nyoung schemer one morning, \u201cyou love mutton, and so do I; and as you\nprovided the pancakes and the pigs, as well as the fish, (a quinsey fill\nthe throats that swallowed them!) it is now my turn to be founder of the\nfeast.  I will not only find the feast, but I will manage matters so\nwell, that Sheeny Greeg herself shall cook it for us.\u201d\n\nThen he related, as Morris had informed him, how in former years the\nsheep had repeatedly fallen headlong from the height of Allty Craig, and\nbeen killed, and how since those times he had made a thick hedge to keep\nthem from the edge of the precipice.  \u201cBut we won\u2019t be so particular\nnow,\u201d said Moses, \u201cfor I mean to get up an accident for one of the sheep.\nThen we may eat and be happy again; we\u2019ll have a change this time.  It\nwas pork before, and now we\u2019ll have mutton.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith all my heart,\u201d said Twm, \u201conly do it all yourself, then we shall\nsee what you can do without my assistance.\u201d  Thus challenged, Moses felt\nit as a point of humour to proceed in the affair alone.\n\nExplanatory of what follows, it is here necessary to quote the\nobservation of one of our best South Wales tourists, on the subject of\nthe Welsh hilly sheep.  \u201cI was much struck,\u201d says Malkin, \u201cwith the\ndifference between the hilly sheep and those of the vale; the former are\nnot only smaller, but infinitely more elegant and picturesque in figure.\nThey seemed to have all their wits about them, so that one would think\nthe race had acquired its proverbial character for silliness by feeding\non rich and artificial pastures, without having inherited it originally\nin the state of nature.  When we got into the lane, we met with a flock\nof several hundred, which live among the rocks all the year round, only\ncoming down in shearing time.  They had us in front, and their shepherd\nand his dog in the rear.  _The bounds many of them made in avoiding us_,\n_were equally powerful and lofty with those of wild goats_.\u201d\n\nEven such was the woolly tribe, from which the insatiate Jew was now\npreparing to select a victim.  Ambitious of the sole credit of the\nenterprise, he desired Twm to stay below and leave him to follow his own\nplan.  Scarcely thinking of the matter in hand, Twm took his seat on a\ngate, opposite to the lofty cliff of Allty Craig Llwyd, pondering in his\nmind about his distant home, the loved scenes which he had left for\nthese, and above all, his mother, from whom he had been so long\nseparated.  Moses wound up the hill, and attained the top at the back of\nthe cliff.\n\nWith the assistance of the farm-dog he soon drove one of the finest of\nthe wethers into the angular nook formed by the hedge of the adjoining\nwood, and that which screened from the edge of the terrific cliff.  The\ndog, being set on, barked and bit incessantly, while Moses shouted and\nbellowed with waving arms, till, worried by stupidity at last, the sheep\nbounded up, and sprang far over the hedge, and downward in the yielding\nair\u2014ignorant of the yawning gulf behind the hedge, and the snare laid for\nhis life!  Moses set up a triumphant yell like that of a wild Indian, as\nhe peered over the precipice and saw the downward movements of the poor\nsheep.  Startled with the shout of Moses, at this moment Twm looked up,\nand saw the animal describing a rainbow sweep, and turning over and over\nin its descent through the air, and its ultimate fall into the quarry\nbeneath, where it dropped lifeless.\n\nSo little did our hero relish this cruel affair that he would scarcely\nspeak to Moses, when the latter expected high applause for his handywork.\nBut the Jew-boy, nothing daunted, ran to the farmer, whom he found\ncobbling up an old plough in the yard, to save expense of paying a\nwheelwright.\n\n\u201cOh dear!  Oh dear!\u201d whined Moses, with the greatest appearance of\nheart-touched concern, \u201ca terrible accident has happened\u2014one of the\nsheep\u2014the fattest and finest of the whole flock\u2014has just sprung over the\nhedge above Allty Craig, and broke its beautiful neck.\u201d  Morris threw\ndown the axe he was using, and looked nearly as sorry, angry, and\ndespondent as he felt.  \u201cNothing but misfortunes!\u201d cried he at last,\n\u201cnothing but misfortunes for me, wretched man that I am!\u201d his thoughts\ndwelling at that moment on the fine pig that he lately lost.  \u201cFirst a\nfine pig, and now my finest sheep.  Verily, this must be the end of the\nworld, such judgments could not come without reason!\u201d\n\n\u201cHadn\u2019t we better cut his throat to save his life,\u201d inquired Moses in the\nmost compassionate and tender tone that he could assume, forgetting the\nslight anomaly which his suggestion presented; \u201cand then, sir, hadn\u2019t we\nbetter skin him too?\u201d continued the young slip of Judaism.  \u201cIf he isn\u2019t\nbled directly, and nothing said about the accident, the women will vote\nhim to be buried in the same grave with the hog, considering his\nbeautiful mutton as no better than so much carrion.  You know the women\nare so shamefully dainty in such matters.\u201d\n\nThis wily speech won the entire approbation of Morris Greeg, and patting\nMoses\u2019s shoulder, he thanked Providence that he had so faithful a\nservant; adding in the same breath, \u201cbe sure you don\u2019t cut the skin.\u201d\n\nThis gave Twm and Moses full employment for the rest of the evening,\nwhile Morris entered the house, and delivered the startling intelligence\nto his household that he had determined to give them all a treat, and\nthat for this purpose he had ordered one of the finest sheep to be\nslaughtered, that they might have fresh mutton.\n\nIt was just as the first dinner from this promised feast was finished, on\nthe day following, that Hukin Heer, that tall lanky cottager, whose dog\nhad been killed by Moses, under the imputation of madness, called on\nMorris and Sheeny; and in a self-sufficient mysterious manner, informed\nthem that he had a long story to tell them.  As he cast a furious look at\nMoses, that worthy felt an inward conviction that his long story boded\nhim no good; so taking up his hat in a hurried manner, he prepared to\ndepart.  Hukin Heer, however, told Morris, that as his tidings concerned\nthe whole household, and that he was a man who scorned to criminate any\none behind his back, he particularly wished that Moses and Twm should be\npresent, to hear all that he had to urge against them.  Moses treated his\ninsinuations with a bold look of defiance as his insignificant features\ncould possibly assume, yet trembling with dread that some important\ndiscoveries to his disadvantage were to be made.\n\nTwm\u2019s only amusement at that moment consisted in watching the terrified\nexpression upon the countenance of the young Israelite, and in mentally\ncommenting upon the probable consequences of Heer\u2019s information.  Now all\nthe family were seated round; Hukin occupying a chair that commanded the\npassage, in case the culprits aimed to escape, and Sheeny with her female\nbrood, bursting with curiosity to hear what diableries Hukin had to\nunfold.\n\nIt turned out that this unlucky cottager, on the destruction of whose\ncur, by the relentless hand of Moses, fled in the utmost alarm at the\nsupposed damages done by him, according to the insinuations of Twm, under\nthe influence of canine madness.  This, Hukin knew to be a fabrication,\nand suspecting the rest to be so, indulged in bitter feelings of\nresentment against the insignificant Jew whelp, as he called him, who on\nfalse pretences had destroyed his poor dog.  Brooding over his wrongs, he\nat times revenged himself, in the early dark winter evenings, by tearing\nthe hedges of Morris Greeg, by which amiable pastime he repaired the\ndeficiency of his own fuel, and gave endless labour to those parish\napprentices to repair them.\n\nOne eventful evening he caught up the clue which furnished him with the\nmeans of revenge.  He was returning home, after despoiling the hedges,\nwhen he heard the sound of footsteps; at once he concealed himself and\nhis load of faggots, and like a stealthy spy, awaited the results.  While\nin this position, by the imperfect light of a dull moon, he caught a full\nview of Twm and Moses.  Abandoning his load of wood, he dogged their\nsteps till they were housed in the hovel of Mike the mat-man.  He then\nsaw the inmates enjoying the lingering remains of the pig, gloating over\nit, and making sundry comments which might, to say the least, be\nconsidered suspicious.  For several nights Heer followed them, and saw\nthe same scene enacted; he had at last gathered a full and connected\nnarrative of the whole affair, and it was an intense satisfaction to have\nthese sweet means of revenge in his possession.\n\nOn the day previous to the present, in the full glow of triumphant\nmalice, he called on Mike, and informed him that his midnight feastings\nwere discovered.  Poor Mike trembled with apprehension of the evil\nconsequences that might accrue to him; and in the hope of propitiating\nthe angry spirit of his revengeful neighbour, confessed all he knew,\nwhich was everything, about the matter.  It seemed as if the spirit of\nvengeance had yielded a favourable ear to Hukin\u2019s desires; for on this\nsame evening, as he lurked in the wood adjoining Allty Craig, and only\nseparated from it by the hedge, it was his lot to witness the last\nenormity of Moses, in driving the sheep, on which they had been feeding,\nover the dreadful precipice.\n\nAll these particulars, with the exception of his own part in despoiling\nthe hedges, he narrated before the present assembled party, with the most\nenlarged minuteness, while the different members of the family were\nagitated with various feelings as they listened to his exaggerated\naccount of the affair.\n\nVain would be the attempt to seek words that could do adequate justice in\ndescribing the effects of this discovery on the countenance of the\neconomic Morris, and that amiable provider of short commons, his wife.\nIf one groaned forth her unutterable grief, the other ground his teeth;\nand in the vehemence of his wrath could not help thinking that the penal\nstatutes required amendment\u2014that it was an infamous interference on the\npart of the law to call the sacrifice of a parish apprentice or two, in\nthe way of just resentment, by the hideous name of murder; while to his\nthinking, it was much less criminal than clandestinely killing a pig or a\nsheep, that would fetch so much more money.  Almost delirious with his\ntroubles, he paced the house to and fro, at the frantic rate of five\nmiles to the hour, muttering to himself a complete summary of the evils\nthat had befallen him.\n\n\u201cPig not mad\u2014tickled by the sand in his ear\u2014all eaten by the boys and the\nmat-man\u2014curse their stomachs!\u2014sheep driven over the precipice\u2014worth ten\nshillings\u2014Oh!\u2014villainy unheard of\u2014the world was innocent till now\u2014all\nformer villainy child\u2019s play to this\u2014the latter day is coming fast\u2014signs\nlike these are not given for nothing!  The prophets have said\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s become of all the fine lard, you cut-throat villains?\u201d whined\nSheeny, in the most touching accents, thinking of the _tesian vroy_, or\nshort cake, that was lost to her forever; while the younger lasses looked\nbewildered at the prophetic passage alluded, and wondering where it was\nto be found.  As nobody answered her interesting inquiry, Sheeny\ncontinued to bite her nails and drum the devil\u2019s tattoo with the heel of\nthe wooden shoe; while Hukin Heer grinned like a demon at the mischief\nwhich he had made.\n\nBoth Morris and Sheeny were at length roused from their stupor by the\ninquiry of Hukin,\u2014\u201cWell, what be you going to do with them?  I have a\ncouple of hairy halters in my pockets here, that I brought for the\npurpose; we had better tie their hands behind them, and send them at once\nin a cart to jail, where they will be hanged, drawn, and quarted, as a\nwarning to all rogues who take away the lives of innocent dogs,\u201d\u2014\u201cand\npigs!\u201d roared Griffith; \u201cand sheep!\u201d shrieked Sheeny, as a climax to the\nwhole.\n\nTwm and Moses were on the alert, and in less time than it takes us to\nnarrate the fact, Moses threw a three-legged stool at the informer, and\nthat with such force that it fractured the elbow-bone of his right arm.\nIn an instant Hukin recovered himself, and was about to rush on the young\nJew.  But Twm Shon Catty was ready, his \u201csoul was in arms and eager for\nthe fray.\u201d  As Hukin advanced, Twm launched a heavy oaken stool at his\nhead, which laid his lank carcass on the floor, bathed in blood.  The\nscene was almost taking a tragic turn when Sheeny changed its spirit by\nattacking Moses with a birch broom, while one of the younger was pricking\nhim in the breech with a toasting-fork, till he blared like a beaten\ncalf.  In the confusion of the fray, Shaan attacked her father with a\ndirty flummery ladle, that whitened and disfigured his black beard and\nwhiskers, as if a barber had commenced his operations, while the good man\nstood open-mouthed marvelling whether these were not additional signs of\napproaching doom.\n\nAware that these ladle-bastings were intended for himself, Twm caught\nShaan behind, and holding her elbows fast to her sides, gave her a twist\nround, and inflicting a tremendous kiss on her fat blubbery lips; then\npouting with passion, he loosened his hold, and springing over the\nprostrate carcass of Hukin Heer, retreated through the doorway in good\norder.  Moses followed, but with considerable confusion; dodging his\nhead, and rubbing his seat of honour in his retreat, as the visions of\nbirch-brooms and toasting-forks haunted him long after he was far beyond\ntheir reach, whilst seating himself was made a painful operation, and he\nmentally thought he had undergone the same punishment as he had seen\nsomewhere in an old print, where his satanic majesty was impaling an old\nwitch in that portion of her body, _for the convenience of which_,\n_chairs were originally invented_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\nTHE flight of the Israelite and Mike.  Mirth changed to grief.  Killing\nby kindness, and saving by neglect.  A bright vision, and a supernatural\nse\u00e1nce.  The end of the miserly household.\n\nOn Twm\u2019s rushing out of the house, he sought his bed in the hay-loft, and\nlaying himself down, laughed incessantly, at the thought of the scene\njust passed; at the same time wondering what had become of his luckless\nfellow in mischief, whom he momentarily expected to follow him.  Moses,\nhowever, was so confused by his head-drubbings from the broom of Sheeny,\nand tail-piercing from the fork of little Gwenny, that failing to see Twm\nin his retreat, he ran straight forward, without knowing whither.  But\nthe very legs of Moses without the guidance of his head, seemed to have a\npredilection for the favourite road which led to the house of feasting;\nas in this instance they bore him without pause, till housed in the hovel\nof Mike, the mat-man.\n\nPoor Mike, he found busied in packing up, and loading his pony with a\ncargo of mats, and preparing for immediate departure, fearing that\nday-light would send somebody to take cognizance of the share which he\nhad taken in devouring Morris Greeg\u2019s swine-flesh.  Moses related all\nthat had passed, and entreated that he might become his companion in his\npresent excursion; assuring him that he had as sweet a voice for crying\nmats as he could meet with in a month\u2019s march.\n\nMike assented, and told him to fortify his stomach with what his hut\nafforded, against the dangers of the midnight air, a hint which was\nseldom thrown away upon him.  The good-natured wife of the mat-man\nearnestly requested her husband to divide the head of the pig (the only\npart left!) between himself and Moses.  That youth seconded the motion;\nobserving it was dangerous to leave any portion of it behind, as, though\ndead, it might tell tales, and be claimed by some of the Greeg family;\nfeelingly remarking, \u201cif you have any more pork, rather than you should\nget into a scrape, I\u2019ll risk it, and take it all myself.\u2014I am not so\nselfish as to begrudge to carry it.\u201d\n\nMike winked at his wife, intimating that he _knew_ his customer.  Next\nmorning our hero called at the mat-man\u2019s house, with the laudable desire\nof putting him on his guard, intending to communicate the adventures and\ndisclosures of the preceding day.  But he was doomed to disappointment.\nMike had \u201ccleared out\u201d three hours before, escorted by the Israelite,\nwhilst the wife had been left behind to \u201ctake care of the things,\u201d and to\nbe the link that should join them to more auspicious times.  This breach\nof good-fellowship on the part of Moses, in leaving him so abruptly,\npiqued and fretted him not a little.  With a commendable spirit that\ndisdained to act the paltry part of a run-away, he entered the house of\nMorris Greeg at the usual breakfast hour, and took his meal in silence.\nSheeny kept her bed this morning, overcome by the tumults of the\npreceding evening, and Shaan officiated in her place.\n\nThe absence of Moses was very slightly commented upon, both father and\ndaughter declaring it would have been well for them if he had taken\nhimself off much sooner; yet, under all this feigned indifference, it was\nvery perceivable to Twm that his loss was much felt by them.  Under a\ncouple of old sacks on the settle by the fire lay the damaged body of\nHukin Heer, where he had been groaning all night.  Without the slightest\nreference to the past, Twm was told that his first job that morning would\nbe to take Hukin home in a dung-cart, charging him to put plenty of clean\nstraw under him, so that he might ride in style and comfort.\n\nThus Twm had to perform an office for an enemy, who the day before\nvolunteered to do the same for him,\u2014under different circumstances, that\nhe was to be pinioned like a felon, bound hand and foot, and escorted to\nthe county jail, a reversion of the scene which Twm liked rather than\notherwise.  It reminded him of the gallows which the scriptural Jew had\nmade for some one else, but eventually took his position there himself.\n\nOn Twm\u2019s return, after depositing Hukin with his wife, whose inquiries he\ncut short, by urging his haste, he was surprised to find that although it\nwas the dinner hour, no food was prepared, nor was any one member of the\nfamily to be seen or heard.  This unusual stillness he considered as\nstrangely contrasting with the bustle and agitation of the previous day,\nnor could he in any way account for it.  At length the deep silence was\nfeebly broken by some voices upstairs, in the softened tones of pitying\ncondolement, succeeded by the heavy sobbing of a female, amidst the\nearnest and agonized prayer of a gruff broken voice, which he at once\nknew to be that of Morris.\n\nAt length he recognized the well-known voice of Sheeny, amidst the loud\nwailing of her daughters, passionately exclaiming, \u201cIt is\u2014O God, it\nis\u2014that murderous disorder, the white-plague pest!\u201d  Such was the\nexpressive name by which that awful visitor since known by the name of\nsmall-pox, was announced to be in the house.  An indescribable vague\nfeeling of terror thrilled through his whole frame, as the dreadful fact\nbecame known to him.  As in those days scarcely any one knew how to treat\nthis remorseless enemy of the race of man, its very existence in the\nneighbourhood was deemed a certain messenger of doom, and even in those\nrare cases where the life of the infected was spared, the envious demon\nstamped fearful foulness on the face of beauty, and hideously scarified\nthe smoothest cheek, so that the parent knew not the features of his\nchild.\n\nThe first hasty thought that crossed our hero\u2019s mind, was to fly, and\nescape while yet clear of the contagion; but in an instant his nobler\nthough mistaken feelings abjured the thought, bad as they had been to\nhim, of deserting this afflicted family in the dark day of their heavy\nvisitation.  However, his presence was no more noticed than his absence\nwould have been.  Day after day, things remained in a similar state; at\nlength the lower part of the house was absolutely deserted, or inhabited\nby him alone.  Even the fire was extinguished, and the house might have\nbeen uninhabited for anything to be seen to the contrary.  There were no\nsounds, except the occasional groans of Morris, and the cries of the\nfrightened females.  The family assembled together upstairs, almost\ncourting infection by their presence, and Twm was therefore left to\nprovide for his own wants.\n\nRarely could he meet with any one to enquire, as his feelings prompted,\nwho were the sufferers, and how they fared.  The third day since the\ncommencement of the sickness, as he sat lonely and languidly, from the\ndisordered state of his stomach, unable to partake of the dry food before\nhim, a shriek of women announced some fatality to have taken place.\nMorris came down, with streaming eyes and agitated face, and for the\nfirst time in his life grasping his hand in friendly wise, emphatically\nproved how suffering had subdued his selfishness, and humanized his hard\nheart.  At length, with broken voice, he said, \u201cShe is gone\u2014my youngest\ngirl is gone,\u2014and I fear my little Gwen will follow soon.\u201d\n\nEven while commiserating with Morris, Twm complained of a head-ache, and\na loathing sickness, with a feverish burning of the whole frame, that was\noverwhelming him.  Morris immediately saw that he was infected, and told\nhim to go and lie down; informing his family of the feeling evinced by\nhim for their suffering, and that he was decidedly in the disorder.  Then\ntaking his staff he hurried to the different cottages that were thinly\nscattered among the lonely mountain cwms or dingles, with the hope that\neither kindness or considerations of interest would induce an elderly\nfemale or two to engage with him as nurses, to watch and attend the sick.\n\nAccordingly, two that had gone through the ordeal of the _frech wen_, or\nthe white pest, as the small-pox was called, accompanied him home.  They\ncommenced their office by making a regular, roasting fire, and feasting\nthemselves in the best manner the house afforded, attending to number one\nfirst, as it behoved all nurses to do, their patients for the time being\nof course quite a secondary consideration.  Feasting to inaugurate their\narrival, they averred was an ancient custom, and must be adhered to.  He\nknew not whether it was an ancient one; but that it is a _convenient_\none, none could deny.  Twm soon found himself at the height of the\nmalady.  Well for him was it, that the fever and other accompaniments of\nthis fearful disorder removed from him all desire for food\u2014for none was\nbrought to him; none called to offer their kindly offices, nor to inquire\nhow he fared; and he had to feel in the acutest degree the abandoned lot\nof that \u201cno man\u2019s child,\u201d the sick and suffering parish apprentice.  His\nbed in the hay-loft was an old hop-sack, half filled with the chaff of\noats; and his covering an old tattered blanket, and a musty rug that had\nserved several offices for horses.\n\nThus, with the whistling of the wind through the numerous crevices of the\ncrazy walls, and the rain dripping on him at times, through the imperfect\nrotten thatch, he remained hours, days, and dreary nights, groaning away\nhis time, impatiently longing for death, or speedy recovery.  When\ndaylight dawned, his mind wearied by aches and pains of the body, and by\na complete absence of the power of thought, would seek some occupation\nand amusement in speculation on the formation of the dark heavy folds of\nthe numerous cob-webs that waved to and fro over his head, from the\nmouldy beams and rafters, like the triumphant flags of squalid penury;\nwhile the squeaking of mice, that ran in troops about him, became the\nmiserable music that served to vary the monotony of his heavy hours.\n\nOne night, while doubly darkened, both by the deep shades of midnight,\nand his eyes scaled by the glutinous adhesion of the putrid \u201cpest,\u201d\nlonely and uncared for, he was cheered and comforted in a manner as\nmysterious as it was delightful.  In after years, when referring to the\ncircumstances about to be detailed, marvellous and incredible as it may\nappear, he always protested with a solemnity that he deemed the subject\ncalled for, that he was neither absorbed in slumber at its occurrence,\nnor under the influence of the slightest delirium, but wakeful and\nsensible as ever he was during his healthful mid-day avocations.\n\nTurning upon his humble bed, wearied by the long and continued gloom,\nweakened by continual aches and pains, a chorus of sweet voices broke\nupon his ear, ravishing from the beauty of its strains.  In an instant\nafterwards, the wretched gloom was dispersed by a brilliant light which\nburst into the loft, and made all the old familiar objects radiant with a\nmost unearthly brilliance.  Simultaneously with the sight and sound,\npleasant sensations sprang within his breast, and every pain had\nvanished.  While striving with the efforts of reason to account for what\nhe had felt and mentally beheld, to his unutterable wonder, a tall female\nform appeared beside his lowly bed, in full glow of youth and beauty,\narrayed in costly attire.\n\nShe had nothing about her allied to what he called the supernatural\u2014all\nseemed perfect reality\u2014and although exceedingly lovely, and benevolent in\naspect, she was nothing more nor less than a living \u201clady of the land,\u201d\nin widow\u2019s weeds of the costly habiliments of the present time.  As he\nsank abashed from her fixed and smiling gaze, she extended one of the\nfinest hands he had ever beheld, and pointed to two marriage rings, one\nabove the other, on the third finger of the left hand.  He gazed\nsteadfastly on the rings, and, as he thought, he saw a third one above\nthe others, of a much paler hue; but on viewing it closer, it appeared\nsimply a white narrow silken ribbon, tied in that peculiar fashion,\ncalled a true-lover\u2019s knot.  Twice he looked from the finger to the face,\nstruggling to give utterance to the question that was trembling on his\nlips, as to the meaning indicated, when a shriek from the house thrilled\nthrough his heart; the glorious vision with the heavenly accompaniments\nof light and music, were in an instant gone.\n\nThe lovely picture vanished, leaving poor Twm more chagrined than ever\nwas Tantalus.  Like the mirage, it vanished and faded away, leaving the\nweary gazer disappointed and dispirited.  But still the heart of Twm was\ncomforted with high, though baseless hopes, that fortune had some\nprecious gift in store for him, which time would yet bring forth.\n\nThe pleasurable sensations excited in the breast of our worthy, by what\nhe ever after called his \u201cglorious vision,\u201d in healing the mind, had the\nauspicious effect in cicatrizing his body.  But as he recovered his\nsight, and found the fever abandoning him, his appetite increased, and he\nbecame at length tremendously hungry, with apparently nothing within his\nreach to appease his inward cravings; and he was yet too weak to quit his\nloft in search of any food.\n\nAt times, indeed, somewhat nerved, or rather maddened by his rage for\nfood, his weak hands would rustle in the pea-straw that was heaped\nbetween his bed and the wall; and occasionally, after a long search, to\nhis great joy, he would discover an unbroken pea-shell that had escaped\nthe searching of the flail, while in the act of thrashing in the barn.\nHe had heard tales of shipwreck and disaster, when lots had been cast\nbetween the mariners as to which should be killed to furnish food for the\nrest.  He could believe them all now, whatever doubt he might have had\nbefore.  If he could now discover a neglected pea-shell, in spite of the\nsoreness of his hands and mouth, he would open it and devour it with the\nutmost avidity.  Just as this wretched resource was failing him, one day,\nafter a vain and heart-aching search for another pea-pod, a sudden rustle\nin the straw startled him, and in great alarm he drew back his hand, in\nthe dread of coming in contact with a rat.\n\nFrom this feeling he was agreeably relieved by the clucking of a hen,\nthat in the same moment descended through a hole in the floor of the loft\ninto the stable below.  This homely \u201chousehold fowl\u201d now became his \u201cbird\nof good omen,\u201d which in after years he adopted as his crest; for after a\nshort search he discovered no less than three of her eggs.  This was\nindeed \u201cmanna in the wilderness\u201d to his declining hopes.  A spring in the\ndesert to the parched pilgrim; a port and safety to the shipwrecked\nmariner; wealth unexpected to the victim of poverty.  Not one of those\nelectrifying \u201cGod-sends\u201d was ever welcome with greater heartfelt\nthankfulness, than the humble prize presented to our hero.  But this\nassistance, however welcome at the time,\u2014and wildly welcome it most truly\nwas,\u2014proved after all but temporary.\n\nThus, although recovering fast from the horrors of the small-pox, he was\nin the perilous jeopardy of becoming a victim to starvation.  Yet hope\nwas strong within him, and wild, young, and thoughtless as he was, he was\nno stranger to the comfort to be derived from a dependence on Providence.\n\nWhile the cravings of hunger assailed the poor parish apprentice with\nunrelenting wolfishness, very different was the treatment of the\nsuffering children of the house.  The neglect visited upon the poor\nparish apprentice, was avenged by the attention paid to the children of\nMorris.  Twm\u2019s neglect proved his salvation, while the unremitting\nkindness (mistaken though it was), shown to the farmer\u2019s offspring,\nproved their destruction, for Morris literally _killed them with\nkindness_.  Without judgment, or advice, except from those\nself-interested conceited nurses, who were more ignorant than herself;\nSheeny Greeg sought every delicacy to coax the waned and pampered\nappetites of her afflicted ones.\n\nEvery breath of pure air studiously excluded from their room, they were\nalmost suffocated by the quantity of clothes in which they were wrapped.\nShe gave them the most delicate cakes that the homely hands of her\nassistants could contrive, with spiced and sugared ale, and even wine; so\nthoroughly was the accumulating spirit of avarice swallowed up by the\nnobler and more powerful passion of affection for their perishing young\nones; a feeling after all, more eulogized than it really merits, as it is\nbut another mortification of human selfishness.\n\nThree victims had already succumbed to the ravages of the disease, and\ntheir fourth child now lay at the door of death.  Lamentations and groans\nwere continual, but no proper means for the recovery of the patients were\nadopted.  A poor hedge carpenter came from the distant village of Mawn\nDee, and brought with him the last covering of the victims of disease,\nplacing them, with assistance, in the slight alder coffins; the parents\ntook their heart-rent final look, and sank insensible with excessive\ngrief;\u2014and yet the nurses feasted.  They continued to roast and boil,\npiously hoping their valuable services would be long wanted; and although\nnone of the family could partake of their cookery, yet, the nurses\nfeasted!  These good ladies, however, were rather disturbed at this time\nin their comfortable doings, as some of the Mawn Dee women, like the\nvulture which smells the warfield and the human gore afar off, followed\nin the wake of the carpenter, hoping by a little canting condolement with\nthe family, to be engaged; but finding the field occupied, they were\nguilty, as their opponents said, of the heinous offence of offering their\nservices gratis, to sit up in their turn and watch the sick.\n\nThis, it must be said, was ever a welcome office to persons of this\ndescription, especially at a substantial house; as on such occasions as\nwatching the sick, and laying out the dead, feasting is as prevalent as\nat weddings.  As the paid nurses who assumed the consequence of regulars,\nfailed to eject the volunteers, who were more numerous, they revenged\nthemselves by giving them all the work to do except what appertained to\nswilling and mastication; their own veteran talents bearing the full\nbrunt of that important piece of service, which was not to be trusted to\nmere mercenary recruits.\n\nSuperstition was rampant amongst these old hen-wives.  All sorts of\nintimations concerning future events were made out of very simple\noccurrences.  No one must go under a ladder, if they would enter the\nmatrimonial noose.  Salt was a very unfortunate article of diet, whilst\ncandlewicks were made a medium for the discovery of a coming death.  Some\nof these old grannies dilated upon corpse candles seen by them previous\nto the deaths of the young women of the house; others dilated on the\nawfulness of a spectral burial, where shadows of the living supported the\nbier of the departed towards the church-yard.\n\nOne night, between twelve and one, while the three coffins and their\ncontents presented a woeful sight, lying side by side on the oak table,\nMorris, afflicted as he was, assisted his wife in supporting by the\nfireside his fourth daughter, whose death they also deeply dreaded, as an\nold cottage woman, while she basted a loin of mutton roasting before the\nfire, dwelt much on the certainty of supernatural appearances,\nillustrating her convictions by instances of her own experience.  All at\nonce, the current of her discourse was arrested by a shudder that\novercame and struck her dumb, on hearing a rumbling and irregular noise,\nas of falling furniture, which also terrified the group about the fire.\nThe noise increased, and at last seemed as if somebody was stumbling in\nhis way in the dark.\n\nSome shrieked, some rose and ran to remote corners, covering their head\nwith their aprons, while others sat breathless, as if nailed to the\nbench, and dissolved in streams of perspiration, their eyes starting from\ntheir sockets\u2014when a figure with the air and rush of a maniac darted in,\ntore the roasting meat from the string, and disappeared with it, uttering\nin a dismal hollow tone,\n\n\u201cO God, I am famished by these wretches!\u201d  The consciences of the farmer\nand his wife were dreadfully wrung, as they recollected the poor\napprentice Twm, whom they had left in the depth of the malady which had\ndeprived them of three of their children, to live or to die, as he might;\nnor would Morris allow anybody to rescue the meat, but snatching a loaf\nfrom the shelf, he entreated Twm to come in and eat his fill at the fire.\nBut the youngster having secured the bread, re-entered his hay-loft, and\nwith the ravenousness of a starved hound devoured his precious prey in\ndarkness.  That was the sweetest meal ever eaten by our hero.\n\nIn narrating this event in after life, he used to say that the theft of\nthis joint saved his life.  He was then as ravenous as a wolf, and was\nonly endowed with supernatural strength for the moment, to effect his\npurpose.  While yet the farmer, with tears of real penitence, was calling\nout to him, a loud scream from his wife convinced him that his fourth\nchild was also dead.\n\nWith wild and insupportable agony, Morris fell upon his knees, and with\ninterrupting sobs exclaimed, \u201cI see the hand of Heaven in this, and a\nheavy judgment has befallen us for our cruelty to the poor boy; but he\nwill live! he! the lad whom we treated fouler than the beast! he will\noutlive this pest, while I and mine perish.\u201d\n\nThe suffering of the unhappy man was pitiable and heart-rending to\nwitness; and on the very day of his children\u2019s burial, with loud cries of\nremorse and sorrow, he expired.\n\nTwm recovered, according to the farmer\u2019s prediction, which was further\nverified, inasmuch as the remainder of his children did not live to see\nthe end of the year; and his wife, losing her senses, was ever after a\nwretched moping idiot.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n\nTHE return of our hero to Tregaron.  His welcome from old friends,\ncronies, and acquaintances.  Is engaged by Squire Graspacre, and is\nelevated socially and physically.\n\nAfter setting out early in the morning, and walking all day over the\nrugged mountain road, the heart of Twm Short Catty thrilled with delight,\nand the tears filled in his eyes, when, late in the evening, his own\nnative place, the humble town of Tregaron appeared before him.  Each\nobject that met his eager gaze was familiar; not a shrub but Twm knew it,\nnot a spot but was remembered in Twm\u2019s mind by some vagary or other\npractised either by himself or the renowned Watt; and although his feet\nwere so blistered that he could scarcely move, he attempted to make his\nlimbs partake of the new vigour which sprung up in his heart, and essayed\nto run, but failing in his aim, fell down completely mastered by\nexhaustion and fatigue.  Whether, like Brutus, he was re-nerved by\nbreathing awhile on the bosom of his mother earth, or that the thoughts\nwithin, of home and its association, gave him strength, he rose much\nrefreshed, but with considerable pain continued the short untraced\nportion of his journey.\n\nEntering the town, at length, just as the darkness began to veil every\nobject, he came to his mother\u2019s door, which was open, and cast an\ninquiring look before he entered.  Catty had long dismissed her scholars,\nand sat in the chimney corner with her back towards the door; whilst\nCarmarthen Jack was busily engaged upon an artistic combination upon the\nhandle of a ladle.  He was a thoroughly business man, as far as spoons\nand ladles were concerned, and on this occasion he sat sullenly busy in\nscooping out the bowl of a new ladle.\n\nTwm\u2019s merry trick-loving soul is not to be subdued by his troubles;\nhaving drawn his flat-rimmed old hat over his eyes, he leaned over his\nmother\u2019s hatch, and in a feigned voice, begged for a piece of bread and\ncheese, saying that he was a poor boy, very hungry and tired, who was\nmaking his way home to Lampeter.  \u201cWe are poor folk ourselves, and have\nnothing to give,\u201d said Carmarthen jack, rather gruffly.  \u201cStop!\u201d cried\nCatty, \u201che\u2019s a poor child, Jack, a bit of bread and cheese is not much,\nand somebody might take pity on my poor Twm, and give him as much, if he\nshould need it.\u201d\n\nThe affectionate heart of Twm could no longer contain itself, but opening\nthe latch, he burst forward, dashing his hat on the ground, and falling\non her neck, giving the most ardent utterance to the word \u201cmother,\u201d and\nafter the tender pause of nature\u2019s own embrace, he cried with streaming\neyes, \u201cMy good, kind, charitable mother! you shall never want bread and\ncheese while your poor Twm has health and strength to earn it.\u201d  Warmly\nreturning his embrace and kisses, Catty long clasped her boy, and was\nquite terrified to see his pale lean cheek, and altered looks.  Ashamed\nof the exposure of his pitiless nature, Jack now came up, shook hands and\ncondoled with him, but Twm _had seen the man_, _and loved him not_.\n\nTwm was an excellent judge of human nature, and he knew well the\nduplicity and cunning of his father-in-law, and shunned him accordingly.\nTwm would never fraternize harmoniously with those he did not like.  In\nthis, he was invariably honest.\n\nAfter being refreshed, Catty eagerly enquired of all that had happened to\nhim since he left home, and wept much as he detailed his narrow escape\nfrom starvation and the small-pox.  By twelve o\u2019clock next day, his tale\nwas known to everybody at Tregaron.\n\nThe catastrophe at Morris Greeg\u2019s, of course, was considered a judgment\nfrom heaven for his miserly propensities; and Ianto Gwyn again set his\npoetical muse at work, and after a slight effort wrote a pathetic ballad,\nto the great edification of old women and tender-hearted damsels, giving\na _true and particular_ account of the whole affair; to which was\nattached a moral on the cruelty of mal-treating parish apprentices, and\nstuffing them with mouldy bread and sour flummery.  This interesting\nballad was daily sung by Watt, the mole-catcher, to the English tune of\nChevy Chase, which gained the good-will of all those old cronies who had\ntaken deep offence at his numerous tricks.\n\nCarmarthen Jack, although so careful of his bread and cheese, was\ndetermined not to be outdone on this occasion, but brought the graphic\nart to perpetuate his stepson\u2019s tale; that is to say, he carved on a\nwooden bowl the figures of four beings, well-attended, in bed, with the\nscythe of death across their throats, while in the distance a meagre boy\nwas snatching a joint of meat from the fire.  The effort, artistically\nregarded, was not calculated to carry away the Royal Academy\u2019s prize; the\nidea perhaps was better than the execution; but altogether it gained Jack\nvery great applause.\n\nRight glad were all Twm\u2019s cronies to see him again at Tregaron; but\ndearer than all to him was the welcome of the curate Rhys, with whose\nbooks he was again permitted to make free, while he profited by his\ninstructions and conversation.  He had now been at home about three\nmonths, and recovered his health, strength and spirits to perfection;\nwhen his mother fancied he had become an eye-sore to her husband, who she\nthought looked at him with the scowling brow of a step-father, which\nTwm\u2019s conduct, she might imagine, justified, as his behaviour towards\nJack had been very unconciliating, ever since the bread and cheese\nadventure.\n\nWith this impression, Catty once more waited on Squire Graspacre, to\nsolicit that some employment should be found for her boy, as she could\nnot afford to keep him in idleness.  The tale of his sufferings at _Gwern\nDdu_, interested the squire in his favour; and he felt some reluctance to\nsend him again as a parish apprentice.  The worthy curate, Rhys, had also\nspoken a kind word in his late pupil\u2019s favour; and Carmarthen Jack,\ngaping, hat in hand, looked as if he would say much to get rid of his\nstep-son, could he hit on words to his purpose.  Amused by his simplicity\nand awkward gestures the squire asked him,\n\n\u201cWell, Jack, what would you advise me to do with Catty\u2019s boy?\u201d  This\nplain question met with as blunt an answer, \u201cMake him your servant boy,\nsir, if you please.\u201d  \u201cAnd so I will, old hedgehog!\u201d cried the squire,\nslapping him on the shoulder, \u201cYour oratory has settled the matter.\u201d\n\nAccordingly, our hero next appears as the squire\u2019s man at Graspacre-Hall.\nThis was an agreeable change in life to him, where he lived, as they say\nin clover; and by his good temper and turn for mirth, gained the\ngood-will and admiration of his fellow-servants, particularly the girls,\nwith whom he became an especial favourite.  Behold him now in the\nseventeenth year of his age, with his looks and habits of twenty, gay,\nhappy, and as mischievous as an ape; kissing and romping with the girls,\ncaring for none of them, but showing attentions to all, while he jeered\nand mocked the cross-grained and disagreeable, and whenever he could,\nraised a laugh at their peculiarities.  His employments at the squire\u2019s\nwere various, among which, waiting at table every day, neatly dressed,\nand carrying his master\u2019s gun, and attending him during his shooting\nexcursions, formed the principal.\n\nTo these, Squire Graspacre, who since the death of his wife was ever\nwench-hunting, aimed to add the noble office of pimp, which Anglicized,\nmeans, the honourable office of wench-procurer, to satisfy the lustful\nappetite of the squire.  Twm, however, had been swayed too long by the\ncounsels of Rhys the curate, to lend himself to any such service; and\nhaving by his conversations with him, and by the tenor of his readings,\nimbibed a taste for romantic honour, he was not without a secret hope\nthat his great father might some day own him, and destine him to a very\ndifferent sphere in life.  With the growth of these notions, rose in his\nmind a distaste for servitude, and an ardent longing to shine in a sphere\nallied to literature and respectability.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\nTWM goes the way of all flesh, and \u201cfalls in love.\u201d  So does the Squire,\nwith Twm\u2019s maiden.  Twm defeats his master\u2019s scheme.  The adventures of\nfarmer Cadwgan\u2019s ass.  Twm makes his exit from Squire Graspacre\u2019s \u201clocal\nhabitation.\u201d\n\nThe squire and his man Twm returning one evening from grousing on the\nhills, in their descent towards the valleys had to pass by a small\nfarm-house, inhabited by a tenant of the squire\u2019s, who whispered Twm,\n\u201cThis is the keep, the close, that contains better game, and can afford\nlivelier sport than any I have had to-day.\u201d  Twm by his silence testified\nhis ignorance of his drift; but he resumed, \u201cWhat! you don\u2019t understand\nme? haven\u2019t you seen this farmer\u2019s plump partridge of a daughter, the\npretty Gwenny Cadwgan, you young dog!  I am determined to have that bird\ndown, some way or other, and you must help me.  She is fine game, and\nwell worth bringing down.  She will take time, I know, but if she should\nbe shy why then\n\n    \u201cI\u2019ll weedle, coax, and try my arts,\n    For I can play a thousand parts;\n    When she shall weep, I\u2019ll laugh and sing:\n    The devil to my aid I\u2019ll bring.\n    She\u2019ll ne\u2019er resist me long, I ween,\n    For many a victory I have seen;\n    The wench will kick, but what of that?\n    I\u2019ll bear the brunt: she\u2019s plump and fat.\u201d\n\nBefore Twm could reply, the squire alighted and entered the cottage, at\nthe door of which the farmer and Gwenny Cadwgan, now grown a fine and\nblooming young woman, met and welcomed their landlord.  Some oaten bread,\nbutter, and cheese, and a cup of homely-brewed ale were put before him;\nand while he ate, the pretty Gwenny carried a portion to Twm, as he held\nthe horses in the yard.  While he received the welcome food from the hand\nof the happy smiling girl, he perceived the blush with which she gave it,\nand felt in his breast certain sensations no less new than agreeable.\n\nThus, while each other made brief allusions to their days of childhood, a\ntear started in the eyes of Twm, on seeing which the bright eyes of\nGwenny were also suffused, till the pearly drops over-ran her fresh ruddy\ncheeks.  Her father then calling her in, she suddenly shook hands with,\nand left our hero, who in that hour became a captive to her charms, while\nthe innocent girl herself then felt the first shooting of a passion that\ndaily grew, in sympathy with his own.\n\nThe squire having finished his hasty lunch, he remarked to his tenant\nCadwgan in a hurried manner, that he should have company the next day to\nentertain at his house, and would thank him to let his lass come to the\nhall to assist in attending on them.  The farmer of course, assented in\nwords, for what small farmer would dare to deny his landlord such a\nfavour, though his heart might tremble with apprehensions?\n\nAfter the squire\u2019s departure, Cadwgan became deeply distressed at the\npredicament in which he found himself; to deny his landlord, was probably\nto lose his farm; and to assent to his specious proposal, was to\nendanger, if not utterly ruin the innocence of his darling daughter; as\nsince the death of Mistress Graspacre, more than one of the neighbouring\ndamsels had to rue their intimacy with the squire, who inveighled them to\nthe hall with all sorts of arts, pretences, and excuses, and then\ncontriving that he should be alone with the object of his lust, had paid\nthem a little of that \u201cdelicate attention\u201d which he had previously\nrecommended to the father of Twm.  The poor farmer passed a restless\nnight of bitter reflection, and saw daylight with an agonized spirit; but\nthe active mind imbued with honourable ideas, never fails in due season\nto work its own relief.\n\nWhen Twm appeared next morning on horse-back before his door, with a\npillion behind, Cadwgan\u2019s terrors had vanished, his indignation at the\npremeditated injuries intended him, was roused, and with braced nerves,\nand a firm heart, he determined to deny the squire, and abide the\nconsequences, be what they might.  But honest nature was elsewhere at\nwork in Cadwgan\u2019s favour, and unknown to him, had raised a friend to save\nhim from the impending perils, to the preservation of both his farm and\nhis more precious daughter, in the person of young Twm Shon Catty.\n\nOn his journey home the last evening, while listening to his master\u2019s\ncommands, and hearing his plan to inveigle the innocent Gwenny, Twm was\nmentally engaged in studying some mode to preserve her from his clutches;\nand at length heroically determined to save the object of his admiration,\neven at the risk of losing his place, and being cast again on the wide\nworld.  He fed his fancy all night in dwelling on her beauty, and the\nmerit of preserving her, while he ardently enjoyed in anticipation the\nsacrifice he was about to make for her sake.\n\nThe morning came, and the squire gave the dreaded order, \u201cTake the horse\nDragon, put a saddle and pillion on him, and bring the farmer\u2019s lass\nbehind you here; tell Cadwgan not to expect her back to-night, but she\nshall be brought to-morrow, and by that time, Twm, we shall have shot the\nplump partridge, and found her good game, I doubt not.\u201d  Although Twm had\nbeen preparing himself to give a doughty reply, and so commence the\nheroic character he had modelled, yet when the moment came, his\nresolution failed him, and the high-sounding words were not forthcoming;\nalthough the determination to disobey remained as strong as ever.  He\nrode off, through Tregaron, and up the hills, in a melancholy mood,\nwithout any settled purpose, except that of straightforward resistance to\nthe orders he had received.  As he jogged on listlessly, he was suddenly\nroused from his reverie by the braying of Cadwgan\u2019s ass, that was grazing\nin a green lane, which he was about to enter.  Such an animal being a\nrarity in the country, Twm, with surprise, audibly muttered, \u201cWhat the\ndevil is that!\u201d\n\nAn old woman at that moment opening the gate, which she civilly held for\nour hero to pass into the lane which she was leaving, hearing his words,\nreplied, \u201cIt is only Cadwgan\u2019s _ass_.\u201d  Twm, whose thoughts ran entirely\non the farmer\u2019s fair daughter, mistaking what she said, rejoined,\n\u201cCadwgan\u2019s _lass_, did you say?\u201d  \u201cYou are very ready with your mocks and\npranks, Master Twm,\u201d cried the old woman, slamming the gate against the\nbuttocks of the horse, \u201cbut you know very well that I said Cadwgan\u2019s\n_ass_, and not _lass_! for I should be very sorry to compare the good and\npretty Gwenny Cadwgan to such an ugly ill-voiced animal.\u201d  Twm was amused\nat the error he had made, made the good dame the _amende honourable_,\nbade her good day, and rode forward with new spirits, for this little\nadventure had furnished him with the means of deliverance for little\nGwenny, and a defeat to his master\u2019s unlawful desires.\n\nThe farmer\u2019s mind being made up, as before observed, to refuse the\nattendance of his daughter at his landlord\u2019s, he was astonished to hear\nTwm say, \u201cMaster Cadwgan, it was Squire Graspacre\u2019s order to me, that I\nshould saddle this horse, come to your house, and, with your consent,\nbring your _ass_ to him, on the pillion behind me.\u201d  Cadwgan stared\ndoubtfully, and Twm resumed, \u201cI hope you are too sensible to question or\nlook into the reasonableness of his whims, and will be so good as to\ncatch the strange animal, which I passed on the road, that we may tie him\nacross the pillion.\u201d\n\nCadwgan immediately concluded this to be a providential mistake of the\nyoung man\u2019s, that might have the most desirable effect of relieving him\nfrom his apprehended trouble, and with a ready presence of mind said,\nlaughing, \u201cTo be sure it is no business of mine to look into the oddness\nof his fancies, and he shall have my ass by all means.\u201d\n\n\u201cPut an L to ass, and \u2019twill be _lass_,\u201d said Twm seriously, and with\nemphasis, \u201cand such is the squire\u2019s demand; but,\u201d said the youth with,\nrising enthusiasm, \u201cI will risk my life to save your daughter from his\nsnares, and will feign that I thought he said _ass_ instead of _lass_, to\nbe brought on the pillion.\u201d  Affected by this instance of generosity, the\nfarmer, as well as his lovely daughter, burst into tears, thanking and\nblessing him; whilst the former told him that if he lost his place\nthrough the adventure, his home was always open to him.  Twm was not slow\nin thanking them for their kindness, but a smile from Gwenny rewarded him\nmore than anything said, or anything promised could do.\n\nWhile Cadwgan went out to catch the long-eared victim, Twm spent a\ndelicious half-hour in the company of fair Gwenny; and took that\nopportunity to protest the ardour of his affection for her, and vowed\nthat whatever fortune favoured him with the means of getting a livelihood\nindependent of servitude, it would be the glory of his life to come and\nask her to be his own.  The maiden heard him with streaming eyes and\nheaving breast, nor withdrew her cheek when her lover imprinted on it\naffection\u2019s first kiss; she considered it as a sacred compact, the seal\nof a true lover\u2019s faithful covenant; one never to be broken by the\nintrusion of another.\n\nCadwgan at length returned, with his charge in a halter, grumbling and\nabusing the beast at every step, in consequence of having led a pretty\ndance in chase of her.  With the assistance of Twm and a neighbouring\ncottager, he now tied the animal\u2019s legs and lifted her into the seat of\nthe pillion, a situation that her struggling and resistance indicated to\nbe more elevated than comfortable.  Twm, however, rode on slowly with his\ngrotesque companion, without the occurrence of an accident, till they\narrived at Tregaron; when the whole town, men, women, and children, came\nto enjoy the strange sight, amidst roars and shouts of laughter.  The ass\neither was not comfortable, or she felt her asinine dignity assailed, and\ntherefore \u201che haw\u2019d\u201d her disapproval of the proceedings.  She further\nmanifested her displeasure by making a strong attempt to reach terra\nfirma, eventually thinking it unjust to make her ride when she was\nperfectly able and willing to walk.\n\nStraining every nerve to liberate her captive limbs, she at length\nsucceeded in breaking the cord by which she was fastened to the pillion,\nand tumbled in a heap to the ground, where she struggled hard, and soon\nshook off every remnant of her hempen gyves; and in all the pride of high\nachievement and newly acquired freedom, ran with all her might through\nthe town, brandishing her heels to right and left whenever any person\napproached to impede her career, till through a long narrow lane she\nreached the mountains.  Here she seemed to defy her numerous pursuers;\nbut after a long chase, which lasted till dusk, she was surrounded,\nsecured, and placed in her former situation behind our hero on the\npillion.\n\nAt length he reached Graspacre Hall, and made his approach at the back of\nthe house.  His step-father assisted him and his companion to alight,\nleading the latter to the stable, while Twm went to inform his master of\nhis arrival, and the cause of his long delay.  A tremor suddenly seemed\nto paralyze poor Twm, well knowing the wrath his disappointed master\nwould shower down upon his devoted head.  He mentally thought he should\nbe thankful to anybody who could liberate him out of this dilemma; but\nafter his fit of apprehension had lasted a few minutes, he plucked up his\ncourage and his breeches at the same time, exclaiming, \u201cWell! he can\u2019t\nkill me for it:\u201d and thus self-comforted he entered the house.\n\nThe squire at this time was seated at the head of the table, pushing down\nthe bottle among his friends, principally consisting of the neighbouring\ngentry.\n\nIn the course of the day he had sent several times to know whether Twm\nhad arrived.  When little Pembroke at length went in to announce his\nreturn, he desired he should be immediately sent in, and Twm approached\nhim with a burning cheek and an agitated heart.  He questioned him in an\nundertone, asking _if he had brought her_, and where he had been so long;\nto which Twm replied, \u201cYes, sir, I have brought her, and much trouble I\nhad with her, for she didn\u2019t like to come, thinking perhaps you meant her\nfoul play; and once she escaped off the pillion into the mountain.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe devil she did!\u201d cried the squire; \u201cbut you caught her again?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh yes, sir, after losing much time, I have brought her at last, and she\nis now much tamer than at first; and you can do what you like with her.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s very well,\u201d said the squire; \u201cI like the notion that she is very\ntractable.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! you\u2019ll find she\u2019ll do anything now, though I had to make her know\nher right position.  She rolled off the pillion in Tregaron, and showed\nher legs most dreadfully.\u201d\n\n\u201cFie! fie!\u201d said the squire, \u201cI hope you did not look at them?\u201d\n\n\u201cFaith, but I did then, and very pretty they looked.  But you\u2019ll be able\nto give your own opinion, sir, by and bye.\u201d\n\n\u201cA good lad, Twm, a good lad, remind me to give you a golden angel for\nthis day\u2019s work; but what have you done with her? where is she?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, sir,\u201d cried Twm.  \u201cI tied her up to the manger and locked the door,\nto prevent her escape.\u201d\n\n\u201cShame, Twm, shame! you ought not to have done that, for she will think\nit was by my orders, and hate me perhaps for my supposed cruelty,\u201d quoth\nthe squire, thinking all the time that Cadwgan\u2019s _lass_, and not his ass\nwas the subject of discussion.\n\n\u201cNo, sir,\u201d replied Twm, \u201cbut it is likely though, that she will have an\nill-will towards me, as long as she lives, for it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, well,\u201d said his master hastily, \u201ctake her from the stable into the\nhousekeeper\u2019s room, and tell Margery to comfort her and give her a glass\nof wine.\u201d\n\nThis was too much for Twm, and the smothered laugh burst out in spite of\nhis efforts; on which, his master with a severe brow, asked how he dared\nto laugh in his presence.  \u201cIndeed I could not help it,\u201d cried Twm, \u201cbut\nI don\u2019t think she ever drank a glass of wine in her life, and perhaps\nmight not like it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, that\u2019s true; then tell the butler to give out a bottle of the sweet\nhome-made wine for her\u2014let it be a bottle of the cowslip wine, and say\nthat I am very sorry for the trouble and vexation she has had.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d cried Twm, who made his bow and retired to the servants\u2019\nhall, where he made them acquainted with the squire\u2019s freak of having\nfarmer Cadwgan\u2019s ass brought there on a pillion behind him; and that it\nwas his master\u2019s orders that she was to be brought into the\nhouse-keeper\u2019s room, and a glass of wine given to her, and that Margery\nwas to make her comfortable.\n\nThey were all aware of their master\u2019s occasional eccentricities, and that\nhe was as absolute in demanding obedience to his wildest whims, as to the\nmost important matter in the world.  With one accord they therefore\nbrought the ass, not without great trouble and opposition on the part of\nthe poor animal, into the housekeeper\u2019s room, where Glamorgan Margery\nspread a small carpet for her to lie on, and amidst the side-aching\nlaughter of the servants, offered a glass of wine, which no persuasion\ncould induce her to accept.\n\nThe squire had given orders that no person was to answer the bell the\nrest of the evening but Twm.  It was now rung, and in went our hero, when\nhe was asked, \u201cHow is she now?\u201d  \u201cRather fatigued sir; she doesn\u2019t like\nwine, nor would she touch a drop of it.\u201d  \u201cWell, well,\u201d said the squire,\n\u201cif she likes ale better let her have some, with a cold fowl and\nsomething of the nicest in the house, though perhaps she would prefer a\ncup of tea to anything.  After she has taken the refreshment she chooses,\ntell Margery to put her to bed, in the green chamber, then lock the door\nand bring me the key.  I can then visit her when I am ready, you know\nTwm, and depend upon it I will reward you in the morning.\u201d  Here Twm\u2019s\nrisible faculties were again oppressed to bursting, but a look from his\nmaster checked him, though he bit his lip till the blood started in the\naid to check his laughter.\n\nSquire Graspacre now secretly anticipated the completion of his scheme,\nanxiously waiting for the departure of his guests, who by their noisy\nhilarity had long given notice that a little more devotion to the bottle\nwould lay them under the table.  The wily squire however desisted, before\nhe had passed the boundary of what topers call _half and half_,\nconsidering in the mean time, that his plan would best succeed by not\nappearing before Gwenny Cadwgan till midnight, when all his household\nwould be asleep, and himself supposed to have retired to his room.\n\nAfter some trouble, which was heightened by their forced suppression of\nlaughter, that however, broke out in spite of them, the servants got the\ndonkey up stairs, having previously fed her with bread, oaten cakes, and\noats, on her rejection of ale, wine, fowl, and tea, which to their great\namusement they had successively offered her in vain.  Having brought the\npoor animal into the green room, the best chamber in the house, and kept\nonly for particular guests, they placed her on the fine handsome bed; the\nlegs being already tied, they fastened them also to the bed-posts.  Twm\nheightened the drollery of the scene by cutting two holes in a night-cap,\ndrawing through the donkey\u2019s ears, and slitting it at the edge, he drew\nthe cap down carefully towards the eyes.  The bed-clothes were then\ncarefully drawn up to the ass\u2019s neck, the curtains half drawn, and the\nfirst ass that ever slept in a feather bed was then left to enjoy its\nslumbers as best it could.  They bade her good night, locked the door,\nand gave the key to their master.\n\nThe guests at length dispersing, they all rode off as well as their\nmuddled heads would let them, to their respective homes; the squire, as\nwas his custom, locked the door himself, and saw every light in the house\nout before he retired.  At length he gained his chamber, and all was\nstill in Graspacre-Hall.  The amorous squire, chuckling at his luck as he\nthought of the fair lass in the green-room, grew too impatient to wait\ntill the proposed hour of midnight, and leaving his candle on his own\ntable, took off his shoes, and softly approached the casket that he\ndeemed contained his precious jewel.\n\nApplying the key, he opened the door very gently, and cautiously\napproaching the side of the bed, said in a whisper towards the pillow,\n\u201cDon\u2019t be alarmed, Gwenny, my dear, \u2019tis I, the squire; fear nothing, my\ngirl, this will be the making of your fortune, my dear; and if you are as\nkind and loving as I could wish you to be, you may soon become the second\nMrs. Graspacre.\u201d\n\nHearing no reply, he considered that according to the old usage, _silence\ngives consent_, and proceeded to bend his face down to kiss the fair one,\nwhen a severe bounce inflicted by his _incognita\u2019s_ snout, knocked him\nbackwards off the bed to the floor, and set his nose a-bleeding.\n\nAfter recovering himself a little, though labouring under the delusion\nthat the blow had been struck by the hand of the fair maiden, he\nexclaimed in an under-tone, \u201cYou little wixen! how dare you treat me in\nthis manner?\u201d  The answer received was a loud and repeated \u201che-haw,\u201d with\nthe clattering of hoofs against the bedposts.  Now hoofs are suggestive,\nand the squire rather believed in the supernatural.  He again proceeded\ntowards the bed, but was completely horror-struck at the loud bray which\nthe terrified ass sent forth; while the poor terrified animal, after a\nhard struggle, liberating her limbs, struck him a severe blow on the\nforehead with her hoof, and getting off the bed, made a terrible clatter\nwith her shod feet over the boards of the room.  The unfortunate squire,\nalthough hitherto a loud decrier of superstition, now felt a thrill of\nthe utmost horror pervade him, while he decreed himself ensnared by the\nenemy of man, as the punishment of his guilty intentions; and after a\nclamorous outcry fell senseless on the floor.\n\nThe servants having but concealed the light, expecting some _denouement_\nof this sort, now rushed in, and saw their fallen master ghastly pale,\nwith streams of perspiration running over his forehead, while his\nwildly-staring eyes alternately looked at, and turned from, the monster\nof alarm.  When he had sufficiently recovered to learn the real state of\naffairs, from little Pembroke, who had been made Twm\u2019s confidante in this\nmatter\u2014how that wight had brought the farmer\u2019s ass according to his\norders behind him on the pillion, although he had been in some doubt\nwhether he had said Cadwgan\u2019s _ass_ or Cadwgan\u2019s _lass_, the squire\u2019s\nrage was boundless.\n\nSquire Graspacre\u2019s rage can be better imagined than described, and all\nthe dormant fiends of evil were at once awakened in his bosom, and the\nfeeling which first actuated him was that of revenge upon Twm, and\nsecondly shame at having been duped, and that with the knowledge of all\nhis household.  Exasperated at the trick put upon him by a mere\nyoungster, and a menial, and scarcely less provoked at the exposure he\nhad made of himself before his servants, down he rushed into the hall,\nand snatched a heavy horsewhip, unlocked the door, and made his way\ntowards our hero\u2019s chamber over the laundry; but when he reached the\nbedside, prepared to inflict the severest punishment that the thong of a\nwhip was capable of, how great was his mortification to find the bird had\nflown!  His chagrin and resentment were anything but lessened, when he\ntook a piece of paper off the bed, on which, in a large hand, were\nwritten these pretty lines:\u2014\n\n    If from lass you take the letter L.\n    Then lass is ass if I have learnt to spell;\n    Yes ass and lass methinks are coupled ill.\n    Though human asses follow lasses still!\n    An ass were I too\u2014could I so arrange ill,\n    If now I stay\u2019d to claim my promised angel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\nTWM finds that his father-in-law is as churlish as ever, but Carmarthen\nJack comes to grief in consequence.  The Squire turns reformer.  His\nchildren arrive at the hall.  A tender Devonian.  Twm satirizes the cook.\nThrashes the young squire, and then \u201cdisappears.\u201d  Calls upon Cadwgan and\nRhys.  An adventure on the hills.\n\nTwm reached his mother\u2019s at Tregaron about one o\u2019clock in the morning,\nand alarmed her greatly by the account he gave of his flight from the\nsquire\u2019s, and the cause which led to it.  Jack consoled poor Catty by\nassuring her that her son would go to the devil, and that ruin would come\nupon them through his tricks, to a certainty.  Number one again, as the\nreader will see, with very little affection for his wife\u2019s offspring.  It\nis a selfish world, and Jack did as Rome did, none the less eagerly\nbecause it always suited his own convenience.  He concluded by saying\nthat they ought to turn poor Twm adrift, and leave him to himself in\norder to conciliate the squire.  While Jack beneath the bed-clothes, was\ngrunting these suggestions of worldly wisdom, Catty half-dressed, was\nsitting dejectedly in the chimney corner.\n\nHaving caught the drift of his father-in-law\u2019s mutterings, he rose\nabruptly, snatched up his hat, and while striding to the door, cried,\n\u201cGood night, mother.\u201d  Alarmed at his precipitate movement, and the tone\nin which he spoke,\u2014\u201cWhere are you going, Twm?\u201d said Catty.  Turning\naround, while he held the door in his left hand, he replied, \u201cAnywhere\nmother\u2014the world is wide\u2014and I\u2019ll go headlong to the devil, rather than\nstay here, where I am not welcome.\u201d  With that he closed the door, and\nwas in a moment out of sight, notwithstanding the cries and entreaties of\nhis mother, who ran after, and earnestly sought to bring him back.\n\nCatty, with a bitter conscience, now found that her son had a\nstep-father, and she a husband, who was a rude and churlish tyrant.  To\ngive him his due, Jack was far from being regardless of her sorrow, but\nshowed the tenderness of a husband in comforting her, in a manner most\nnatural to himself.  \u201cWhat signifies crying for such an imp of a devil as\nthat?\u201d said this kind step-father: \u201cif he starves in the field by being\nout to-night, it will save him from dying at the gallows, where he would\nbe sure to come some day or other.\u201d\n\nThis tender-hearted speech had the unexpected effect of immediately\ncuring Catty\u2019s grief, which turned to a desperate fit of rage, and\nwithout a word to signify the transition wrought by his oratory, she\nsnatched up a stout broom-stick from the floor, and be-laboured him with\nall her strength, as he lay beneath the bed-clothes, till he roared like\na baited bull.  When the strength of her arm failed, the energy of her\ntongue commenced; and after rating him soundly, she concluded her\nharangue with eloquent pithiness, hoping that she had left him a shirtful\nof bones; and expressing a devout hope that he would eventually arrive at\nthat elevated position in society which he had described as the probable\nfate of her darling son.  After which exertion and speechifying, she\nthought proper to disappear.\n\nJack, although he received some hard blows, by dodging under the\nbed-clothes, escaped better than his help-mate intended he should; he\nsoon rose, dressed himself and went to his master\u2019s sauntering sullenly\nabout the outhouses till daylight, when a servant informed him, after\nnarrating Twm\u2019s trick on his master, that he was to take Cadwgan\u2019s ass\nhome.\n\nSquire Graspacre, since the death of his wife, gave such free range to\nhis licentious pleasures, as placed him, especially at his years, in a\nmost unseemly light.  His only son had been two years at Oxford,\nreturning only occasionally during the vacations; while his two daughters\non the death of their mother, were sent to a boarding-school at Exeter.\nThus in his own family he had no witnesses of his vices and follies.  He\nsoon found, however, that in Wales, his offences against religion and\nmorality were not to be committed with impunity.  The respect in which he\nwas formerly held by the country people gradually declined, while those\nwho had daughters became extremely shy, and sent their female inmates out\nof the way whenever he approached.\n\nThe squire was not slow to discover these changes, and all the pride of\nhis nature, that pride which loved ambition and power, which demanded\nimplicit obedience, and loved to sway the sceptre of power, had aroused\nhim within; determined to subdue the glaring insolence, as he deemed it,\nof his neighbours.  Never deficient in penetration, he was not long in\ndiscovering this change in the bearings of his tenants and neighbours,\nwhich to a mind like his, proud, fond of domineering, and being looked up\nto as the superior\u2014the grand central luminary of his sphere, round which\nall others moved as silent and respectful satellites\u2014was a very hell.\n\nThe minds of men, however, are not to be overruled, and with a wisdom\nrare as effective, he immediately resolved, as the only mode of\nre-establishing his credit and happiness, to retrace his steps\u2014to which\nend he sent for his daughters home, at a time when his son was about to\nreturn from Oxford\u2014and thus, by the presence of his children, place a\nrestrictive guard upon his future conduct.  With this change in his\nideas, it will be no wonder that Twm Shon Catty was again taken into\nfavour, and replaced in his former situation.\n\nAt length the merry bells of Tregaron announced the arrival of the heir,\nand the young ladies of Graspacre Hall, which mansion soon became a scene\nof festivity.  The meeting of the squire with his daughters was ardently\naffectionate; but his son Marmaduke had nothing of cordiality in his\nnature.  His figure was tall and thin, with loose joints and ill-knit\nbones, while his countenance indicated both phlegm, and a fidgetty,\nnervous peevishness.  He bore the marks of late and dissipated hours upon\nhis countenance.  His face was sallow, and his eyes sunken; he had the\nunmistakable air and _tout ensemble_ of a rou\u00e8 and a libertine.\n\nHe was by no means prepossessing, whilst his pride and self-sufficiency\nmade him an object of dislike to all who approached him.  He scrupled not\nto say openly that he hated Wales and Welshmen.  He condescended,\nhowever, to say, that until he could get a clever English servant, in the\nplace of the last, who ran away from him, he must put up with one of the\nWelsh savages.  Accordingly, our hero was appointed to be his temporary\nvalet, and ordered to attend exclusively on the young squire.\n\nWith the ladies came their aunt, the squire\u2019s younger sister, a very\naffected fantastical spinster from Exeter; who gave every fashion its\nDevonshire latitude in her conformation to it, carrying the mode to an\nextreme that left London absurdity far in the back-ground.  The Misses\nGraspacre were neither imitators nor very ardent admirers of their aunt,\nwhose silly affectation of excessive delicacy became their standing-point\nof ridicule, which they put in practice on the evening of their arrival.\n\nThe hearty girls wanted something substantial for their supper, after\ntravelling their long journey; but their aunt intimated her desire to\nhave something that would be light upon the stomach.  The poet expresses\nthe old lady\u2019s opinion when he wrote in homely phrases:\u2014\n\n    Sup on dainty calf-foot jelly,\n    Never sleep with well-filled belly;\n    Sup upon the lightest food,\n    Rice; or anything that\u2019s good.\n    Mind you never eat cold meat!\n    If you\u2019d sleep, that is no treat!\n    The nightmare black you\u2019ll have, be sure!\n    But suppers light are just the cure.\n\nBut great was the aunt\u2019s dismay on finding a duck and green peas brought\nto the table.  She resolved, however, even on this fare, to show her\nsuperior Devonshire breeding; and while the young ladies lifted their\npeas from their plates to their mouths in half-dozens or more at a time,\nshe, delicate soul, cut every pea in four, and swallowed a quarter at a\ntime!\n\nAnother circumstance of note happened at this supper, which, as it\nrelates to our hero, must be told.  It seems that during Twm\u2019s disgrace,\nand consequent absence from the hall, the servants there indulged\nthemselves in making remarks on his conduct, and its probable\nconsequence.  This discussion displayed their various dispositions.  Some\nspoke of him with charity, and dwelt upon his rare qualities of good\nnature and cheerfulness; while others took a malignant pleasure in\nspeaking of his satirical and mischievous propensities.  Among the latter\nwas the cook.  Twm, on his return, heard of her _kindness_, and\ndetermined to take the first opportunity of showing his sense of the\nobligations she had laid him under.  On the removal of the remains of the\nduck and its accompaniments, the company having just been helped round\nwith tart or pie, their attention was suddenly arrested by the voice of\nTwm in the passage, who loudly sung the following distich:\u2014\n\n    \u201cApple pie is very rich,\n       And so is venison pasty;\n    But then our cook has got the itch,\n       And that is very nasty.\u201d\n\nYe gods! what sounds for ears polite!  The young ladies laughed\nimmoderately on perceiving the distress of their aunt, who showed a\nwry-faced consciousness of having partaken food prepared by unclean\nhands; her countenance underwent various contortions, and she mentally\nthought of the old proverb about the obligatory rule set down upon each\nmember of humanity, that we must all eat a peck of dirt in our lifetime,\nbut she devoutly hoped that all her share was not to be eaten at one\nmeal.  Those awful thoughts had a tragic ending, for they terminated in\nthe grand climax of a shriek and a fit.  The squire\u2019s anger was instantly\nkindled against Twm, probably from an unquenched spark of his former\nresentment, which he evinced by telling his son to \u201cgive that rascal a\ngood thrashing.\u201d\n\nProud of his commission, out ran Marmaduke; and finding Twm in the hall,\nran up and struck him a blow in the face; but great was the amazement of\nthe servants to see the young man turn upon him like a lion, and with the\nmost dexterous management of his fists overpowering their young master in\nan instant, whom he left groaning with pain, and covered with bruises,\nand then made a precipitate retreat.\n\nWhile walking to Tregaron, it occurred to Twm, that for that night at\nleast, he should be favoured with a lodging by his constant friend, Rhys,\nthe curate.  Thither he went, and found the worthy man by the parlour\nfire, with a book in his hand, and papers before him, busily employed in\npreparing for the press a new edition of his Welsh Grammar.  He was\nreceived by him with his usual kindness; and when Twm told him his tale,\nwith the important addition that he must leave his native place for ever,\nand that immediately, he showed the goodness of his heart by assuring him\nof a retreat for the present, and a little pecuniary aid on his\ndeparture.  He however gave him a friendly lecture on the impropriety of\nhis conduct; observing that if he must be satirical, he ought to choose\nthe subject for his lash from the famous among the great and wealthy, and\nnot the puny and defenceless, to attack whom, he said, evinced a paltry\nand most dastardly spirit; concluding with the pithy injunction, \u201cwhile\nyou live, whatever your state while on earth, act the generous and manly\npart; and never, never, either manually, or with the lash of satire, war\nwith the weak.\u201d\n\nThese words formed in a great measure the leading rule in Twm\u2019s after\nlife.  He never forgot them, and all the more because they came from the\nlips of one whom he revered and loved; and however reprehensible the\nafter vagaries of Twm\u2019s life may have been, their harsher features were\nconsiderably modified by the remembrance of the words, \u201cWar not against\nthe weak!\u201d  Our hero was heartily pleased with his preceptor, inasmuch,\nthat amidst all his observations and lectures he imputed to him but\nslight blame for his retaliation on young Graspacre; but when he vowed\nfurther vengeance, should he ever meet him alone in the mountains\nremonstrated with him on the risk he ran, urged the necessity of\nself-preservation, and advised him not to endanger himself needlessly.\n\nThe next morning Rhys assured Twm that he had reflected on the\npeculiarity of his case, and found it by no means so bad as he had\nimagined.  \u201cAs to leaving this place,\u201d said he, \u201cI see no necessity;\nmerely keep out of the way awhile, and in due time make your submissions\nto the squire; as he is by no means a hard man, I have no doubt but all\nwill speedily be well again.\u201d  Twm adopted this idea, though he\nill-stomached the thought of submission, or of asking pardon for an act\nof manliness which he would on a similar case of aggravation repeat.\n\nThus matters rested for the present; and in the dusk of the evening he\ncrossed the hills towards Cadwgan\u2019s, and soon had the grateful\nsatisfaction of seeing once more his beauteous mistress, sitting by her\nfather before a cheerful fire.  Her mild kind face was unusually pale,\nbut brightened on his approach; and when he related his new mishap, and\nthat he thought of immediately quitting the country in consequence, her\ncheek assumed an ashy paleness, and she nearly fainted in her father\u2019s\narms.  Cadwgan dissuaded him from the thought of quitting his native\nplace for such a trifle, and advised him by all means to follow up the\nworthy curate\u2019s suggestion; and when the fair Gwenny repeated her\nfather\u2019s wishes as her own, Twm at once acquiesced, and resolved not to\nquit.\n\nThus time passed on pleasantly, for some days, when our hero said he\nlonged exceedingly for a day\u2019s coursing on the neighbouring mountains.\nCadwgan remarked that the squire had shown no desire to pursue him, as he\nhad heard at Tregaron and he conceived there would be no danger; and so\nin accordance with his opinion, he lent him his dog and gun, both great\nfavourites, and never before entrusted to any one breathing.  He advised\nhim to confine his excursion to a certain remote hill called Twyn Du\n(_Black Hill_) which being rugged of ascent and marshy, seldom invited\nthe steps of the sons of pleasure in the character of sportsmen.\n\nThus with dog and gun, and accoutred with a shot-belt, our hero felt\nhimself another and superior being to what he had ever been before,\nespecially as Gwenny assured him that the sportsman\u2019s paraphernalia\nbecame him exceedingly.  He shook Cadwgan\u2019s hand, kissed the lips of his\nfair mistress, and gallantly sallied forth.  Having gone a few yards, he\nturned his face back to assure them, that he should return and well\nloaded with game.\n\nTwm enjoyed himself thoroughly.  There was a complete sense of freedom\nand independence in his sport which more than pleased him; with light\nheart, cool head, and steady aim, he brought down bird after bird,\nfilling his bag, and carolling old Welsh airs the while.  He had been on\nTwyn Du about an hour and a half, and in that time had killed several\nbirds, when the report of his gun attracted others to the spot.  He could\nhear several persons on the hill contiguous, and saw one well mounted,\ndescending into the deep dingle that, like a gulf, yawned between the two\nhills, and making his way up the steep side of Twyn Du.\n\nHe now felt a presentiment that this visit portended him no good; but\nscorning an ignominious flight, he carelessly paced the brow of the hill\ntill the sportsman approached, when, to his great amazement, who should\npresent himself before him but his inveterate foe, Marmaduke Graspacre.\nHe approached Twm with the fury of a demoniac, asking how he dared fire a\ngun on those grounds, and after a few harsh words of abuse, which our\nhero returned with interest, he took an aim at Cadwgan\u2019s pointer, and\ninstantly shot him on the spot.\n\nThis butcherly, cowardly act, aroused the indignation of our hero.  He\nfelt his Welsh blood course madly through his veins.  The thought too,\nthat this was Cadwgan\u2019s dog, his favourite pointer, the animal petted and\nnursed by his own sweet Gwenny, drove Twm furious, and he was further\naggravated by the young squire demanding his gun, and laughing the while\nat his distress and rage.  The youth was not formed of stuff so tame as\nto endure his insolent triumph.  Snatching up his loaded gun with\ndesperate rapidity, he in a moment lodged the contents in the head of the\nsquire\u2019s fine hunter, on which his enemy sat taunting him.  No sooner had\nMarmaduke reached the ground, disengaged himself from his fallen horse,\nand stood up, than Twm flew at him, and disregarding his threats, with\nhis dexterous fists inflicted the most perfect chastisement; leaving him\nin a far worse predicament than after their first encounter.\n\nBy this time the men who attended the young squire, hearing the report of\nthe guns, and fearing that their young master had fallen in with\npoachers, made best of their way down across the dingle, and up the sides\nof Twyn Du.\n\nRoused by their shouts, Twm left his vanquished foe groaning on the\nground by the side of the dead hunter, and darting down the opposite side\nhe made a safe retreat.  This was an adventure which constituted the\nturning point of our hero\u2019s life.  The magnitude of the consequences it\ninvolved, he scarcely dreamt of at that moment.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n\nTWM is \u201cwanted.\u201d  Hides himself in a wood.  Love takes him to Cadwgan\u2019s\nhouse, where he is welcomed.  Parson Evans acting as \u201cdetector.\u201d  Twm\nescapes in the disguise of a female.  Affectionate parting with the\nfarmer and Gwenny.\n\nNo sooner was Marmaduke Graspacre taken home, and the affair made known\nby him to his father, with some little exaggeration against the\nassailant, such as the trifling mis-statement that the blows inflicted on\nhim were by the butt-end of the fowling-piece, instead of the fist, than\nthe squire\u2019s indignation was roused.\n\n\u201cAs this is not the first offence, and my forbearance has encouraged his\natrocious conduct, I am now determined to make an example of him,\u201d said\nhe, and immediately sent a servant for Parson Evans, who, in the capacity\nof magistrate, was ordered to take cognizance of the affair, and send\nconstables in all directions to arrest the culprit.  This was an office\nthat well accorded with this malignant man; he had not the generosity\nenough to forget and forgive the follies of youth; and had a bloodhound\nbeen set upon Twm\u2019s track, he would not have scented him out with more\npleasure than Parson Evans.\n\nThe hue and cry instantly was raised and spread abroad, and excited as\ngreat a commotion throughout the country as if a convicted murderer were\nchased through the land.  All Twm\u2019s haunts were searched, especially his\nmother\u2019s and farmer Cadwgan\u2019s; in each of which places there was\nheaviness and wailing for his misfortunes; and Parson Evans, who went\nthere in person, took care to assure them, that when caught, all the\nworld could not save him from the gallows, as he had attempted to murder\nthe young squire of Graspacre-Hall.\n\nBut with all the vigilance of his enemies, Twm\u2019s retreat remained\nundiscovered and those who were friendly disposed towards him began to\nwonder among themselves what had become of him.  Some thought that, in a\nfit of despondency, he had drowned himself; and others, that he had\nescaped into the neighbouring counties of Pembroke, Carmarthen, or\nBrecon; or that he had shipped himself in some vessel at Aberayon, or\nAberystwyth, and got off in safety.  The constables, however, had visited\neach of these places, and at length returned without any further\nintelligence than that their journey had been in vain.\n\nWhile the search was most hot, our hero concealed himself in a small\npatch of marshy underwood, a spot on which the keen eye of suspicion\nnever glanced, his pursuers having passed the edge of it many times\nwithout a thought occurring of seeking him there.  In this retreat he fed\nhimself on nuts and blackberries, and in the night roved about for\nrecreation, but returned to his green-wood shelter before day-light.\nEven here, Twm\u2019s love of mischief was as prominent as ever.\n\nOne night, while the moon gave a good light, he found a large deep hole,\nclose by his retreat.  Knowing that his pursuers would very probably pass\nthat way shortly, he covered over the opening with sticks and a thin\nlayer of earth and leaves.  Presently came Parson Evans, who had\nseparated himself from the rest of the searchers, and coming to the trap,\nimmediately sunk over-head, to the depth of twelve feet, giving a wild\nand very unparsonic yell as he descended.  He bawled loudly for help, but\nTwm bounded from his retreat, and shouting down the hole, \u201cHa! ha!  Evans\nthe fox is trapped at last,\u201d made best of his way to another part of the\nforest.\n\nHis concealment and life in the woods continued four days, when,\nexceedingly tired of his solitude, he one midnight ventured to Cadwgan\u2019s\ndoor, and both surprised and gratified the farmer and his kinder\ndaughter, when they heard the lost one\u2019s voice once more.  They rose and\nlet him in immediately, made a fire, gave every necessary refreshment,\nand then persuaded him to go to bed.\n\nTwm remained hidden here a week, when suspicion fixed upon Cadwgan\u2019s\nhouse, although searched before, as the probable place of concealment.\nOne day, Gwenny ran in a fright to tell her father to conceal Twm\nimmediately, as the constables, headed by Parson Evans, were coming.  Twm\nstarted up and said, \u201cBolt the door for ten minutes, and I shall be\nsafe.\u201d  Gwenny replied that they could not be there in that time, as they\nwere then descending the opposite side of the Cwm, which was three long\nfields off, and that they approached slowly, with fox-like cunning, so as\nto excite no suspicion of their purpose.\n\nWith that, at Twm\u2019s request, they both went up stairs with him, for a\npurpose which he said he was there to explain to them, as neither of them\ncould conceive in what manner he was going to preserve himself.  They all\nremained above \u2019till the loud summons of authority, in the raven voice of\nold Evans, brought Cadwgan down, when the cleric magistrate told him, in\nno gentle terms, that there was a suspicion attached to his house, as the\nplace where the young villain, Twm Shon Catty, was concealed.\n\nThe farmer replied, \u201cI must say this is very hard usage, as I have no one\nwith me but my daughter and my eldest sister, who has come on a few\nweeks\u2019 visit; but, as you are come, you may search in welcome.\u201d  After a\nbrief scrutiny below, they all went up stairs, where sat, busily employed\nat their needles, the fair Gwenny Cadwgan and the ingenious Twm Shon\nCatty, excellently disguised in the dress of Cadwgan\u2019s late wife; which\nhaving been the property of a tall women fitted him very well.  His face\nwas slightly coloured with the juice of blackberries; beneath his chin\nwas pinned a dowdyish cap, which in the scant light of a small window, by\nthe aid of a pair of spectacles he appeared a complete old granny.\n\nOn the entrance of these amiable visitors, he turned his full spectacled\nface on Parson Evans, muttering, in the tone of an old woman, which he\nmimicked well, \u201clack a day! lack a day! this is sad usage;\u201d then\nwhispered Gwenny, who took the hint, and, while they were searching, laid\nsome hog\u2019s lard on different parts of the stairs, so that, on their\ndescent, the precious party, with their rascally leader, slipped and fell\nheadlong down from top to bottom, to the great amusement of those above.\nOn being charged with this contrivance, each denied all knowledge of, and\nthe quick witted Gwenny accounted for the cause of their accident by\nsaying that they had been carrying butter and lard to the store, up\nstairs, the whole morning.\n\nIn addition to this, Twm emptied the contents of a certain piece of\ncrockery upon the devoted heads of the searchers, just as they emerged\nfrom the doorway, and when he discovered the splutterings and surprise\nmanifested by the parson, shouted down from the upper window, \u201cDear!\ndear!  I thought you lazy folk would be half a mile from the house before\nnow.  Well well! ye\u2019ll get a washing for nothing.\u201d  The parson muttered\nsomething very like a curse, while the constables \u201cd\u2014d\u201d the old woman\nunceremoniously.\n\nThey were no sooner gone than Twm assured Cadwgan that he saw there was\nno safety for him except in flight, which must take place that very\nnight.  His plan, he said, was matured, that he had no fear but he should\ndo well, and that his only regret was in parting with them.  He purposed,\nhe said, to make his way towards Carmarthenshire, or perhaps farther and\nseek employment among the farmers; or, what was more agreeable to him, he\nmight, perhaps, get to some village where he could set up a school; so\nthat after saving a sum of money to begin life with, he should return and\nmake Gwenny his wife.  With tearful eyes Cadwgan expressed his admiration\nof his plan, while poor Gwenny wept herself almost into fits, at the\nthought of his perils, and sudden departure.\n\n\u201cAt any rate, my boy, thou shalt not go penniless to wander the wide\nworld,\u201d said Cadwgan, and put an old pocket-book, containing several\nangels, and near twenty shillings in silver, which Twm reluctantly took,\npromising its return doubly when fortune favoured him.  \u201cI have two\nfavours more to ask,\u201d said he; \u201cthe first is, that you will make the best\nof my affair when you tell my poor mother and the worthy Mr. Rhys of my\nflight, and my future plans in life; and my next request is, that you\nwill give me this old woman\u2019s dress, with the red cloak belonging to it,\nas it will answer for a disguise should I be troubled before I get far\nenough off.\u201d  Cadwgan kindly acquiesced, though he smiled at the latter\nwhimsical fancy.  At length, thus attired to avoid observation, with his\nown clothes in a bundle, he took an affecting leave of them, and made a\nhasty departure from their friendly door.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n\nTWM risks another visit to Tregaron.  Alarms his friend Watt.  Danger of\nbetrayal by him.  His cunning is more than a match for Watt, Parson\nEvans, and his wife.  Escapes, and with a good booty.  Disappearance of\nthe Parson\u2019s horse, great coat, and cash.\n\nIt was a dull heavy night, in which fog and darkness contended for\nprecedence, and the moon gleamed as if about to retire altogether, when\nTwm Shon Catty shaped his course over the mountain, in the direction\nwhich led to Lampeter; he looked instinctively towards his dear native\ntown, which a fashionable tourist would perhaps have called the most\nwretched village in the universe; but, to him, it was full of sweet\nassociations, and recollections the most agreeable; the scene of his\nchildhood, the home of his mother:\n\n    Dear to all their natal spot,\n    Although \u2019twere Nature\u2019s foulest blot;\n    For, wherever we may roam,\n    There\u2019s ne\u2019er a place like Home, sweet Home.\n\nHe stopped, and looked wistfully towards Tregaron; the lights were\nglistening in their various humble casements, and he fancied that among\nthem all he could distinguish his mother\u2019s\u2014his kind fond mother\u2019s\u2014whom,\nperhaps, he was never to see again,\u2014and now he recollected many instances\nof her tenderness, which had long slumbered in his recollection.  His\neyes filled with tears, and the softness of his heart was put at once\ninto mournful harmony.\n\nA sudden thought, no less eccentric than daring, now took him, that thus\ndisguised, he might safely pass through Tregaron, and perhaps see his\nmother before his departure.  This idea was no sooner started than acted\nupon; and, before an hour had expired, he found himself once more in the\nlong and almost only street in Tregaron.  He met two or three old women\nwhom he knew well, but there was no recognition on their part, only a\nlong, vacant stare of astonishment, no doubt wondering who the stranger\ncould be, venturing into Tregaron at that late hour.  His mother\u2019s door\nwas closed for the night, and he durst not call to her, as Jack was not\nto be trusted.  He moved on, looking earnestly to every door.  The whole\nstreet seemed still as death, except that various snores, here and there,\nreminded Twm of the sweet sleep enjoyed by others though denied to him;\nwhile the stray villagers whom he had met were busy locking their doors,\nor barring them with the wooden sash.\n\nHe sauntered slowly along, meditating on the circumstance that made him\nafraid to face those who knew him, till opposite to the cottage of his\nold companion and elder brother in mischief, Watt the mole-catcher.  Watt\nhad long lived with a widowed mother, who had recently died, and now\nsojourned alone in her solitary hut; it was even reported that he had\nforsaken all his wicked ways, grown serious, and was consequently likely\nto do well.  It occurred to Twm that he had often heard Watt deny the\nexistence of ghosts and hobgoblins, and vaunt that nothing of that\ndescription could in the least frighten him; and now, thought Twm, I\u2019ll\nput his courage to the trial.\n\nPeeping through the casement, he saw Watt in bed, at the farther end of\nthe cottage, and the fire burning through the peat heaped up to preserve\nit for the night, so that the white walls within were brightened by the\ngleams cast on them from the hearth.  Softly lifting the latch, he opened\nthe door, entered, and, walking quietly towards the hearth, sat on the\nthree-legged stool, took up the old snoutless bellows, and began blowing\nthe fire with all his might.  Watt awoke in extreme terror, and seeing\nthe figure of a tall woman in the chimney corner, deeming it no other\nthan his mother\u2019s spirit, his fright increased.\n\nTrembling and almost dissolved in perspiration, he at last burst out into\na roar of \u201cLord have mercy on me! oh, mother\u2019s dear spirit, pity me!\u201d\nTwm laughed out, and ran to his bed-side to stop his roaring cries,\nexclaiming, \u201cSilence, man, \u2019tis I, Twm, your old friend, Twm Shon Catty.\u201d\nWatt slowly awoke to the consciousness that his theory did not stand the\ntest of practice, and that this had been proven by one who had often\nheard him vaunting as to his fearlessness of the supernatural.\n\nConvinced of his identity, and having heard our hero\u2019s story, he said,\n\u201c\u2019Twere better you were at the bottom of a river, Twm, than here, for I\nhave been compelled, by Parson Evans, to make an oath that if you came\nhere, I would immediately either send or run myself to inform him of your\narrival; and I can\u2019t break, an oath, Twm, for anybody.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not think,\u201d said our hero coolly, \u201cthat you, who have broken so\nmany laws, would scruple much about breaking a forced oath; but old\ncompanionship pleads weakly, opposed to the reward that will be given for\nmy apprehension; I thought, though the whole town were to turn against me\nthat you, Watt would have been my friend, for you have led me into many\ntroubles, and I never laid a jot of blame to your charge, but took all to\nmyself, and have often suffered on your account.\u201d\n\nWatt, who by this time had nearly dressed himself, was much affected by\nthis appeal, and said, \u201cNo, Twm, I will never betray you, but, if I were\nknown in the least to favour you it would ruin all my hopes of success in\nlife.  I am, next week, to be married to Betsy Gwevelheer, {140} Parson\nEvan\u2019s maid that I have courted these ten years; and the parson has\npromised to do great things at the bidding: and more than that, I am to\nbe the parish clerk and grave-digger when old Morgan Meredith dies, and\nhe can\u2019t live long, as I have made him a present of a good church-yard\ncough, by breaking a hole in the thatch over his bed, by which he has\ngained a great hoarseness, and nearly lost his voice; so that I expect to\nbe called in to officiate for him next Sunday.\u201d\n\n\u201cI see you are still my friend,\u201d said Twm, who had been lost in a reverie\nduring part of Watt\u2019s remarks, \u201cand I give you joy of your fair\nprospects, which I would not destroy on any account; you shall serve me,\nand, at the same time keep your oath.  You know my talent at mimicry, and\nsee how well this dress becomes me; aye, I become the dress equally as\nyou shall see.  Had I not already disclosed myself, I could have\ndiscoursed to you a whole hour at mid-day, fearless of a discovery; but\nlet us see how this cloak becomes you, Watt.\u201d  With that he took off the\ncloak and put it on Watt, and, after a little jesting on the subject, Twm\nsuddenly exclaimed, \u201cOnly sit down here with the cloak on your shoulders\nfor ten minutes, while I step out, and, with the assistance of my bundle,\nI will astonish you with my transformation.\u201d\n\nAll this was uttered with the gay rapidity of an anticipated freak, and\nWatt taken by surprise, immediately acquiesced, without knowing what he\nwas about.  Twm ran immediately to the Rectory House, and making a great\nclatter, roused Parson Evans, who opened the window and asked what was\nthe matter; when, assuming Watt\u2019s voice, he said hastily, \u201cMister Evans!\nMister Evans!  Twm Shon Catty is now in my cottage, dressed in a cloak,\nand sitting at the fire.  You had best be quick and secure him.  He\nwanted me not to betray him, but I could not break my oath, you know; so\npray you, Parson, make haste if you would have your desire.\u201d\n\nDelighted with this intelligence, Evans awakened the whole house,\nespecially two strapping fellows, whom he called his bull-dogs, sometimes\nemploying them as husbandry servants, at others, on account of their\nlarge size, and muscular power, as constables.  Both these fellows were\nfirst sent to saddle his horse, in case he should have to take Twm to\nCardigan gaol,\u2014and then to attend him to Watt\u2019s cottage, where the trio\nsoon went.\n\nPeeping through the casement, Evans discovered a tall figure wrapped in a\ncloak, as described.  \u201cThere he is sure enough,\u201d quoth he in a whisper;\n\u201cnow get your cords ready for binding his hands, and stay here till I\ncall you in; be sure that you watch the door well.\u201d  With that he lifted\nthe latch and went in.  Watt, who, in the interim of our hero\u2019s absence,\nhad made up a good fire, now stood up, and, as he saw the clerical\nmagistrate before him, exclaimed, \u201cWell done, Twm, my boy!  I now give\nyou credit; well, well, well, this is indeed strange; a wonderful\ndisguise; you look the old rascal to the life; if you had not told me\nbefore-hand of your intended transformation, I could have sworn you were\nold Evans himself; you look now just as he did when he promised to make\nme parish clerk.\u201d\n\nEvans remained petrified with astonishment till the last words were\nuttered, when he replied, \u201cParish devil! you infernal scoundrel, have you\nroused me out of my bed at midnight to hoax and insult me in this manner?\nbut you shall dearly repent your insolence.\u201d\n\nWatt stared with wonder, and replied, \u201cWell, well, well!  I never did\nhear such a thing in my life; you have just the old villain\u2019s voice and\nswaggering way; I wish I may die if you don\u2019t so frighten me; and I could\nalmost swear the spiteful old Evans himself stood before me; hang him, I\nhate his very looks, and I am only holding a candle to the devil, in\nhopes of the parish clerkship, by seeming so civil to him.\u201d  Evans\nthought him certainly either mad or drunk; and without any further\nexplanation, he called the two men in, and ordered them to secure him.\nThe light at length broke in on Watt\u2019s mind; Twm\u2019s trick on him, and the\nreal state of the case appeared; and he struggled hard before the fellows\ncould secure him.\n\nAt length he cleared up his confused and chagrined countenance, and said,\nin an undaunted tone, \u201cWell, well, well, I see the worst; farewell to\nmole-catching; farewell to parish-clerkship, and Bessy Gwevelheer; and\nyou, you evil-minded old scourge, may bid farewell to all hopes of having\nme to father your brat, of which your maid Bessy is big.  I will make the\ncountry ring with the stories of your rascalities if you dare to send me\nto the round house; but if you liberate me at once, I shall leave\nTregaron for ever, in the course of a few days, and go abroad, to see the\nworld and seek my fortune.\u201d\n\nTo the great surprise of the men, and, perhaps, of Watt himself, Evans\nseemed cowed by his threats, and, after a little show of parleying, gave\nhim that freedom of which he had no right to deprive him.  Leaving him\nalone in his cottage, he shuffled home, accompanied by his worthless\nfollowers.\n\nWhile Watt\u2019s cottage became the theatre of the above-described scene, Twm\nShon Catty had a performance of his own elsewhere\u2014a dance if you will\u2014to\nwhich the same reverend gentleman was doomed to pay the piper.  Having\nwatched the party to Watt\u2019s door, Twm hastened to the parson\u2019s, calling\nloudly in the assumed voice of one of the fellows who accompanied,\n\u201cMistress Evans!  Mistress Evans! make haste and send master his\npocket-book with his money, immediately; Twm Shon Catty is taken, and we\nare going off with him to Cardigan gaol.\u201d\n\nMrs. Evans sleeping in a front room, heard him instantly, and with\nunusual alacrity jumped off bed; she soon threw down the pocket-book,\nwhich was caught by Twm, and asked him, \u201cDoesn\u2019t he want his\nweather-proof great coat also?\u201d  Our hero replied, \u201cYes, but, dear me, I\ndid forget that,\u201d and immediately received the great coat likewise.  Mrs.\nEvans wishing them safe home from Cardigan, shut the window.  The saddled\nhorse was already at the gate, and Twm, well coated and cashed, instantly\nmounted and rode off, glorying in his triumph over his old rancorous\nenemy.  \u201cHere,\u201d thought Twm, \u201cis tangible revenge for all the trouble and\npersecution this reverend gentleman has brought upon me.\u201d  A full\npocket-book, a good horse, and a warm great coat, after all, were not bad\nequivalents for Twm\u2019s injuries.  Some philosophers might consider that\noutraged feelings could not be solaced in this way.  But in Twm\u2019s case,\nat any rate, they were mistaken.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\n\nTWM is robbed by a highwayman.  His meditations.  Again is despoiled by a\ngipsy and a ballad-singer at Aberayon.  He adopts the musical profession\nat Cardigan Fair.\n\nTwm took a circuitous route over the mountains towards Lampeter, and,\nwhen he felt himself secure from pursuit, his first thought was to change\nhis feminine attire for his own, as more convenient for riding, which was\nsoon accomplished, and the suits changed places in the bundle.  In his\nignorance of the world, he scarce knew whither to direct his course after\nreaching Lampeter, where he arrived between one and two o\u2019clock in the\nmorning.  He recollected that this was a central place, from which\ndifferent roads led to Aberystwith, Llandovery, Carmarthen, Aberayon, and\nCardigan; but found a difficulty in deciding which way to take.\n\nIt suddenly occurred to him that there was a fair at Cardigan the next\nday, and he determined to go there and sell the parson\u2019s horse.  The\nwhole town being wrapped in slumbers, he was now at a stand, not knowing\nthe road which led through Aberayon to Cardigan; but, rousing a cottager,\nhe soon gained the necessary information, and proceeded on.\n\nAs he approached Aberayon, for the first time in his life, the distant\nroaring of the sea struck upon his ear, still increasing as he neared the\nocean side.  Wonder, awe, and even terror, were the successive sensations\nthat agitated our hero.  The saddening sobs of the mighty waters as they\nretreated from the shore, and the fearful fury of their rallying and\nre-assaulting the repulsing beach, with their successive wailing\nretreats, to gather the powers of the advancing tide, came on his soul\nlike an accusing spirit that seemed to reproach him for his late\nmisdeeds.\n\nSevere self-accusing reflection on the atrocity of his last act,\nsucceeded the triumphs of enmity that had first given a gust to its\nperpetration.  Consciousness of guilt and terror of punishment at once\nassailed him, for he was yet young in crime.  On the impulse of the\nmoment, he determined to leave the parson\u2019s nag behind him, and then\nreturn his cash and coat as early as possible.\n\nWhile these bitter agitations were racking his breast, the clatter of a\ngalloping horse increased his terrors, and he discerned both horse and\nrider making briskly towards him.  Strange as it may appear,\nnotwithstanding the opposite quarter from where the danger proceeded, in\nthe wildness of his apprehensions he conceived it could be no other than\nSquire Graspacre, Parson Evans, and their party.  He was actually glad\nwhen made to understand that the horseman was a highwayman.  His\nunwelcome assailant quickly approached him and presenting his pistol,\nwith a loud oath, to oblige \u201cDio the Devil\u201d with all his cash and\nvaluables, or prepare for immediate death.\n\nThe name of this terrific freebooter, who had, among many other\ndescriptions of persons, robbed half the farmers in the country, and was\nsupposed to have committed more than one murder, had its full effect upon\nTwm.  He instantly resigned the parson\u2019s purse, assuring him it was all\nhe possessed and begged that he would allow him to retain a single angel;\nthese terms, the robber, in a manner, acceded to, doubling his quest by\ngiving two; but in return insisted on having his horse and great coat,\nwhich Twm gave up.  Dio (whose name, by the way, is a familiar diminutive\nof David,) then with sarcastic politeness wished him good morning, and a\npleasant journey! and galloped off in the direction of Lampeter, having\nthe rein of the parson\u2019s horse over his left arm.\n\nNo sooner had the highwaymen disappeared, than Twm was struck with a full\nconviction of the folly of the fears he had entertained, which by\ndepressing his mind, he thought, led to confusedly yielding his property\ntoo easily: vowing to himself, after some reflection, that if possessed\nof a pair of pistols, no highwayman in the world should make him stand.\nHis thoughts taking their course through this channel, wandered and\ndiverged, till his mind rested on new, but perilous prospects.\n\n\u201cWhat a life,\u201d thought he, \u201cthis Dio the Devil leads\u2014a gentleman of the\nroad\u2014the terror of wealthy scoundrels, who are themselves the scourge of\nthe hapless poor, that are starved into crime\u2014famed, feared, and mained\nat the general cost, while many an honest fool toils like the gulled\ndrudge-horse, crawls through the world half-starved, and is despised for\nmeanness!\u201d  The weight and magnitude of his reflections were such as for\na few moments to reduce him to absolute silence, when recovering himself,\nhe continued, \u201cWhat does it matter to me what others do?  I shall please\nmyself, and I don\u2019t like hard work, nor do I care for coarse fare, and\nstill less for great folk\u2019s abuse and buffets; and if I had a pistol,\nwhy, I shouldn\u2019t mind if\u2014\u201d\n\nAt this moment a countryman was about to pass him on the road, in whose\nhand he recognized his bundle, containing his feminine attire, which in\nhis terror he had dropped, and it rolled from the side of the road, it\nseems, into the ditch, previous to the halt of the highwayman.  Twm\nimmediately claimed his property, but the fellow seemed disinclined to\nattend to him, until vehemently insisting on his right, he evinced an\ninclination to battle with him; when satisfied with this very convincing\nsort of logic, the clown made restitution.\n\nHis little affray with the would-be-dishonest countryman, had not\nobliterated the thought of our hero with respect to highwaymen, and their\nindependent style of existence, and with his mind still occupied, with\nthe gentlemen of the road, he came to a small public-house near Aberayon,\nbut which was so inconveniently crowded that he could scarce find a seat.\n\nWith the exception of two or three fishermen and other seafarers, these\nwere people who made a temporary halt on their way to Cardigan fair; low\nbooth-keepers, fruit and gingerbread sellers, and suchlike.  Twm called\nfor beer and refreshment, and while eating, observed the habits of these\nstrange people with much curiosity.  He had contrived to squeeze himself\ninto a window-seat between two females who sat apart and civilly made\nroom for him, and pressed his acceptance of the place.\n\nTwm was delighted with his new position, and he was not a little\nsurprised with the contrast which the kindness and affability of his fair\ncompanions offered to the rude gestures and uncouth speech of the\nremainder of the party.  He did not think worse of them when he\ndiscovered that one was a gipsy fortune-teller, and the other a\nballad-singer.  He could not do less, he thought, than ask them to\npartake of his cup, and they found themselves bound in honour, in their\ngreat devotion to his health, to return it empty each time he handed it\nto them full.\n\nSuch gallantry on the one hand, and confidence and affability on the\nother, begot a sudden friendship between them; the gipsy insisting upon\ntelling his fortune gratis, and the ballad-singer on the acceptance of\ntwo or three favourite songs; while Twm reciprocating in the warmest\nstyle, their affectionate attentions, ordered indefinite supplies of\n\u201cnut-brown,\u201d on which he and his fair ones regaled to their hearts\u2019\ncontent.\n\nWhile Twm was busily employed in looking over the bundle of ballads,\namong which he met many old friends, which he had frequently sung, one of\nthe friendly nymphs was beckoned to, by a man at the opposite end of the\nkitchen, with whom they went out, and the gipsy soon followed them.\n\nOur hero having selected the songs that pleased him, waited impatiently\nthe return of the damsels.  No sign of their re-appearance being visible,\nand all the fair people having left one by one, until Twm found himself\nquite alone, he inquired of the landlord if he knew where the young women\nhad gone to.  He said he did not, but that the whole party having paid\nhim were gone off, and he had no further business with them.\n\nTwm thought the ballad-singer a singular good-natured young woman, as she\nhad left her bundles of melody with him, doubtless as a present, and\nmerely taken herself away thus modestly, instead of ostentatiously\nproclaiming her gift, and receiving his thanks.  His opinion was slightly\nchanged, when wishful to pay the landlord, he found he had not a\nhalfpenny in his pocket.  His vexation and confusion were evident to mine\nhost, who declared that his face was turned as white as the wall.  Having\nsearched every pocket over and over, at length the doleful tale came out\nthat he had lost his money, and could not tell how.\n\n\u201cWhy, as to that,\u201d said the landlord, with bitter coolness, \u201cif it is any\nsatisfaction to know _how_ you lost your money, I can tell you; it was by\nsitting between two thieves\u2014a gipsy and a ballad-singer and what could\nyou expect else from mixing with such cattle?\u201d  Poor Twm remained silent,\nin a miserable mood, with his elbows resting on the table, and with his\ntemples in the palms of his hands, for a full half hour; when the\nlandlord disturbed his meditations by asking payment for his fare;\ngood-naturedly adding, \u201cIf you have no money, I don\u2019t wish to be hard\nwith you, you can merely leave your jacket with me instead.\u201d  \u201cMy\njacket!\u201d quoth he indignantly; \u201cwhy that is ten times the value of what I\nowe you.\u201d  \u201cThat\u2019s just as people think; but those are my terms, and you\nshould be glad that I\u2019ll take it in place of good hard cash,\u201d was the\nreply of the uncompromising old fellow.  The fishermen in the mean time\npassed on him their rough and scurvy jokes, one observing, \u201cYou can sing\nballads without a jacket, so I advise you to go to the fair at Cardigan,\nwhere you may perhaps meet your old friends.\u201d\n\nTwm was too despondent to be much effected by these feeble attempts at\nwit, but he determined to accept the suggestion of the last speaker, and\nmake his first appearance as a public vocalist in Cardigan, so without\nmore ado he took off his jacket and gave it to the host, muttering a\ncurse on his cruelty, and commenced his journey.  The dress of Cadwgan\u2019s\nwife was again put on, not only as a fit disguise for his minstrel\nvocation, but a more perfect guard against the weather than his own,\nsince deprived of his upper-garment; and thus equipped he once more took\nto the road, his late experience having completely sobered him, and left\nhim depressed in spirits, as he glanced at the scene in which he had been\nthoroughly victimized.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\n\nTWM\u2019S appearance as a \u201cfair\u201d ballad singer at Cardigan.  A sudden alarm.\nPoor Parson Inco.  Twm\u2019s hasty flight.\n\n\u201cThe longest lane has a turning,\u201d and the weariest journey has an end,\nand at length Twm found himself in Cardigan, and prepared himself at once\nto commence his whimsical vocation.  Although naturally bold, and more\nfull of confidence than beseemed the modesty of youth, it was not without\nconsiderable efforts in struggling with some remains of diffidence that\nhe at length ventured to sing in the public street; but he had fortified\nhimself with a draught of strong beer, and his voice, in his own opinion,\nbeing almost unequalled in the country, he thought it foolish to\nhesitate.  He fixed himself in rather an obscure part of the fair; but\nhis musical voice and humorous execution of a comic song soon drew a\ncrowd about him, and put his ballads in speedy request.\n\nAdapting the usual gait and manner of street-vocalists, holding his hand\nto his mouth to secure increased power, he introduced each song with a\nwhimsical description of its matter, in a strain of drollery that set the\ngrinning rustics in high glee; \u201cHere, my merry men and maidens,\u201d quoth\nhe, \u201cis a pretty song about a young damsel, who was taken in by a false\nlover, that courted her for what he could get, and having wheedled her\nout of her heart and money, ran away and left her to wear the willow.\u201d\n\n                      THE SLIGHTED MAID\u2019S LAMENT. {149}\n\n    In comfort and in credit,\n       By the side of Pen-y-vole\n    I lived:\u2014all knew and said it,\n       None could my will control;\n    Until a worthless lover\n       Did try my heart to move:\n    Ah, soon my joys were over!\n       I listened to his love.\n\n    From far he travelled to me,\n       Full many and many a night,\n    I thought he came to woo me\u2014\n       My heart was all delight:\n    My cash he thought of gaining,\n       It was not me he sought,\n    E\u2019er mourning and complaining\n       For clothes\u2014and clothes I bought.\n\n    A pair of shoes I placed him\n       Between his soles and ground,\n    With stockings then I graced him,\n       With hat his head I crown\u2019d;\n    Red garters then I bought him,\n       At fair the best I saw,\n    To bind his hose, od rod him!\n       Instead of bands of straw.\n\n    I bought him leather breeches\n       Strong as a barley sack,\n    And laid out half my riches\n       To clothe the beggar\u2019s back;\n    I gave him money willing,\n       (Vexation now upbraids!)\n    With which the thankless villain\n       Soon treated other maids.\n\n    When thus he had bereft me\n       Of cash, and ah, my heart!\n    The cruel rover left me,\n       It grieved me then to part;\n    Those clothes will rend in tatters,\n       They cannot last him long:\n    A curse attends such matters,\n       False lovers curse is strong!\n\n    His coat will rend in creases,\n       His stockings break in holes,\n    His breeches go to pieces,\n       His shoes part from their soles;\n    His hair, like garden carrot,\n       Full soon will want a hat;\n    How soon, indeed I care not,\u2014\n       The devil care for that!\n\nHis listeners appreciated his first song so much that all his copies were\nsoon disposed of; so he selected another, before singing which he said:\n\u201cNow this, my friends, is about a Welsh boy, who was so foolish as to\nleave old Cymry and go to London, from which place, I warrant you, he\nwould have been glad enough to return, as they have neither leeks,\ncheese, nor flummery, nor anything else there fit for a Christian\npeople.\u201d\n\n    WHEN a wild rural Welsh boy I ran o\u2019er the hills,\n    And sprang o\u2019er the hedges, the gates, brooks, and rills,\n    The high oak I climb\u2019d for the nest of the kite,\n    And plung\u2019d in the river with ardent delight!\n    Ah, who then so cheerful, so happy as me,\n    As I skipp\u2019d through the woodlands and meads of Brandee?\n\n    How oft have I wander\u2019d through swamp, hedge, or brake,\n    While fearful of nought but the never-seen snake,\n    And gather\u2019d brown nuts from the copses around,\n    While ev\u2019ry bush echoed with harmony\u2019s sound!\n    Oh, gladness then thrill\u2019d me!  I bounded as free\n    As a hart o\u2019er the lawn through the meads of Brandee.\n\n    Whenever I wander\u2019d to some neighb\u2019ring farm,\n    How kindly was tendered the new milk so warm,\n    O\u2019er her best loaf as butter-or-honey she\u2019d spread,\n    The farm wife so friendly would stroke my white head,\n    And sure that she shortly again would see me\n    Whenever my rambles led forth from Brandee.\n\n    How oft have I run with my strawberry wreath\n    To rosy young Gwenny of fair Llwyn-y-neath,\n    And help\u2019d her to drive the white sheep to the pen!\n    Oh! still I think how joyously sung little Gwen!\n    The old folks, oft chuckling, vow\u2019d sweet-hearts were we,\n    Then Llwyn-y-neath maiden and boy of Brandee.\n\n    At the fair of Devynnock, o\u2019ertaken by night,\n    Returning, I\u2019ve dreaded the corpse-candle light,\n    The wandering spirit, the hobgoblin fell,\n    Of which cottage hen-wives so fearfully tell:\n    I\u2019ve ran, with my eyes shut, ghosts dreading to see,\n    Prayed, whistled, or sang as I flew to Brandee.\n\n    Pleasure and innocence hand in hand went,\n    My deeds ever blameless, my heart e\u2019er content,\n    Unknown to ambition, and free from all care,\n    A stranger to sorrow, remorse, or despair;\n    Oh bless\u2019d were those days! long departed from me,\n    Far, far\u2019s my loved Cambria! far, far is Brandee!\n\nThis did not take so well as the first, but Twm, now thoroughly\ninterested in his new vocation, commenced a fresh ditty, which he\nannounced as a sequel to the last.\n\n                                  ROSY GWEN.\n\n    Rosy Gwen, Rosy Gwen,\n    Beloved of maids, beloved of men:\n    Aye, dearly loved of grave and gay,\n    In youth\u2019s early day\u2014ah, what cheer\u2019d me then?\n          \u2019Twas her voice so sweet,\n          Her person neat,\n          Her form so sleek,\n          Her spirit meek,\n    And the cherry-merry cheek of Rosy Gwen.\n\n    Gentle girl, gentle girl,\n    Coral lipp\u2019d, with teeth of pearl,\n    On either cheek a vivid rose,\n    And raven tresses graced thy brows!\n    Ah, thou wert my love and playmate then!\n          Happy lass of smiles,\n          Unvers\u2019d in wiles,\n          Of guileless breast\u2014\n          Of minds the best.\n    Oh my merry-cheek\u2019d young Rosy Gwen!\n\n    Years have flown, years have flown,\n    And Gwenny thour\u2019t a woman grown,\n    While Time, that bears for most a sting,\n    Has fann\u2019d thy beauties with his wing;\n    Yet brighter thou canst not be than when\n          O\u2019er the mountain steep\n          Thou drov\u2019st thy sheep,\n          And sang in glee\n          A child with me,\n    Oh my cheery-merry-cheek\u2019d young Rosy Gwen.\n\nAs the last was but tolerated, the singer soon found that a merry strain\nwas most congenial to their fancies.  He therefore gave them the old and\npopular duet of \u201cHob y deri dando,\u201d rendered more comical by his singing\nalternately shrill and gruff, for male and female\u2019s parts.\n\n                           HOB Y DERI DANDO. {153}\n\n    _Ivor_.  The summer storm is on the mountain,\n    Hob y deri dando, my sweet maid!\n\n    _Gweno_.  And foul the stream, though bright the fountain,\n    Hob y deri dando for the shade.\n\n    _Ivor_.  Let my mantle love protect thee,\n    Gentle Gweno dear;\n\n    _Gweno_.  Ivor kind will ne\u2019er neglect me\n    Faithful far and near;\n\n    _Both_.  Through life the hue of first love true,\n    Will never never fade.\n\n                                  * * * * *\n\n    _Ivor_.  Thus may the frowns of life pass over,\n    Happy then our lot,\n\n    _Gweno_.  And the smile of peace be bright as ever\n    In our humble cot!\n\n    _Both_.  Through life the hue of first love true\n    Will never never fade!\n\n    _Ivor_.  The rain is past, the clouds are gone too,\n    Hob y deri dando, far they spread;\n\n    _Gweno_.  The lark is up, and bright the sun too,\n    Hob y deri dando, on the mead!\n\nHe sang the last three tunes, and sold a dozen copies; but just as he was\ngoing to favour his audience with _Nos Galan_, the malignant face of\nParson Evans presented itself before him.\n\nAs our hero wore petticoats, many gallant swains offered their treats of\ncake and ale, some of which was accepted; and presuming on that\ncircumstance, they amusingly put in their claims to further notice, and\nseemed inclined to quarrel, as for a sweetheart.\n\nWith this phalanx of protectors, beaus, and chaperons, Twm resolved to\nemploy them in a new scheme of vengeance on the unpopular parson.  \u201cYou\nsee that old fellow in black,\u201d said he, directing their attention to him\nas he passed, \u201che is a bumbailiff, and the greatest villain in all the\ncountry I come from; and at this very moment, I\u2019ll be bound for it, he is\nhunting out some poor fellow to put him in prison.  He wanted to be a\nlover of mine, but only intended to ruinate me; but if he had loved me\never so much I would not have had him, if his old yellow skin was stuffed\nwith diamonds.  The villainous old catchpole! it was owing to refusing\nhim for a sweetheart, that he grew as spiteful as a snake, and by telling\na parcel of falsehoods he got me turned out of my place without a\ncharacter, so that I am now brought to this\u2014to sing ballads in the\nstreets.\u201d\n\nHere, assuming a whimpering tone, Twm was compelled to smother a fit of\nlaughter, which emotion was taken for sobbing, and consequently drew much\non the sympathy of those now addressed! but suddenly withdrawing the\napron that veiled the features, he exclaimed, with the vehemence of a\nyoung termagant, \u201cI\u2019d give the world to see that old fellow tossed in a\nblanket!\u201d  Mark Antony\u2019s effort of eloquence to rouse the Roman citizens\nto avenge the death of C\u00e6sar, was not more effective than our hero\u2019s\nappeal.\n\nEvery one of those swains manifested the usual predilection for the\nsmiles of a handsome young woman; being \u201cfull of distempering draughts\u201d\nand ripe for a freak, their zeal became inflamed to a ferment; each felt\nhimself the leading hero to avenge the wrongs of the fair ballad singer,\nin the manner suggested by himself.\n\nOne of the young men, a native of the town, and son to the innkeeper,\nimmediately procured a blanket, when, watching their opportunity as the\nsupposed bailiff passed along, one tripped up his heels, while the rest\nreceived him in the extended blanket, and proceeded to the work-like play\nof giving the Black Kite an airing; or as Ready Rosser, a cunning clod of\nthe party, expressed it, playing the wind-instrument to the tune of the\nBumbailiff\u2019s courante.  The athletic employments of grasping the\nplough-handles, as they guided it through a stubborn soil, and the no\nless powerful exertions of wielding the axe, or hedge-bill, had their due\neffect in nerving the brawny arms of those youths of the farm and\nwoodlands for this rough exercise.\n\nDrawing the extended blanket as tight as a drumhead, with their united\nefforts, up they tossed, re-tossed, and received into what threatened to\nbe his winding-sheet, the quivering and terribly-frightened body of the\nRev. and very worshipful Inco Evans.  Whatever it might be to the parson,\n(and we do not venture to assert that it was agreeable to him,) the\nspectator of this singular and unexpected entertainment could not but\nenjoy it for the comical revolutions of the right rev. gentleman were, to\nsay the least of them, very mirth-inspiring.  As he flew upward, all legs\nand wings, and descended in the same sprawling style, one compared him to\na cat shot from a cannon; another to a staked toad tossed in the air;\nwhile the hapless victim of their frolic foamed at the mouth with rage,\nand uncouthly floundered in his attempt to grasp the blanket in his fall.\nIf for a moment he seized its edge, and shouted his threats of vengeance,\na terrific bump against the stony street loosened his hold, and up he\nbounced, again like the rebounding ball, struck on the flag-stone by the\neager hand of a merry schoolboy.\n\nWearied by their arduous labours, and tempted by the shining handful of\nsilver which the woe-begone parson eagerly offered as a conciliatory\nbribe, they at length desisted, each venting his jest on the crest-fallen\nEvans, \u201choping it would be a warning not to prosecute again a poor\nfriendless girl.\u201d  Inco answered not; but finding himself unable to walk,\nhe was carried to the Inn, where he remained some days before he was able\nto remount his horse.\n\nThe knot of swains now separated, and ran in different directions to\navoid being recognized as the perpetrators of the \u201cfreak;\u201d but soon met\nagain at an appointed place, where they had left our hero, between the\nempty carts of the ware vendors.\n\nOn their arrival at the place, they searched in vain for their\nenchantress, in whose service they had wrought so gallantly, but no\ntraces of the fair one could they find.  There was a general smelling of\na trick put upon them, and consequent \u201ccurses on all jilting jades, and\nbiting ballad-singers,\u201d uttered by the unlucky clods.\n\nA brilliant idea suddenly struck Ready Rosser.  He had taken off his coat\nand left it in the careful custody of the injured damsel.  Where was she?\nCould she have disappeared?  All doubts were soon removed, for on\nascertaining the precise spot where he had left her, he found her\ncomplete feminine attire, made into a bundle and fastened to a cart with\na band of straw, left as a love-gift for him, while she kept his as a\nsimilar token of affection; having inscribed with chalk on the side of\nthe cart.\u2014\u201cAn exchange is no robbery;\u201d a motto in which our rustic could\nnot see, in its present application, any principles of justice whatever.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\n\nESCAPE of Twm from Cardigan.  Meets an old friend.  The heiress of\nMaes-y-velin, a most tragical legendary ballad.\n\nThe addition to his wardrobe pleased Twm exactly, and he had no qualms of\nconscience to prevent him from using it, for he remembered how easily he\nhad been despoiled of his own.  Not being fastidious about a\ndressing-room, Twm retired to a stable, and soon came out fully clad in\nhis male attire; of which a coat only was before wanting.\n\nBent on a precipitate retreat, as the urgency of his case demanded, he\nbolted down St. Mary\u2019s Street, and soon found himself on the turnpike\nroad, with the good town of Cardigan some miles behind him.  In little\nmore than two hours he reached the small town of Dinas Emlyn, now called\nNew-castle-in-Emlyn, on a romantic part of the Teivy, dividing the\ncounties of Cardigan and Carmarthen, and occupying its banks on each\nside.  Entering a small public-house, he regaled himself on the fine\npotent ale for which that place has been so long famous.\n\nAfter addressing himself steadily for a good half hour to the pleasures\nof the table, he commenced a little private conversation with himself\nregarding his present and future prospects, and came to the conclusion\nthat, on the whole, they were not worth much.  Although the most serious\ncogitations on the subject might have availed little or nothing, chance\nvery unexpectedly decided him, and relieved his apprehensions for the\npresent.\n\nHe could hear, in the adjoining room, a pig-drover, whose potations had\nnot only loosened his tongue, but invested it with unusual power,\nboasting of his roaring trade at Cardigan fair, and he determined to take\nthe same route, wherever it might lead, and on inquiry, found he was\ngoing to Llandovery.\n\nThe inebriated dealer in cattle, glad of company, stretched out his hand\nat once and welcomed him as a fellow traveller.  About ten o\u2019clock that\nnight they arrived together at Lampeter, which Twm now visited for the\nsecond time.  The geography of the country being but little known to him,\nhe felt some alarm on finding himself so contiguous to his own native\nplace.\n\nTwm and the pig-drover were getting thoroughly jolly and comfortable over\na pot of foaming ale, when Twm caught sight of an old friend.  It was\nworthy Rhys the curate, who had spied him from the little parlour where\nhe had been sitting before his arrival, and now cordially welcomed him to\npartake of his supper, which was then preparing.\n\nShaking hands with the elated pig-jobber, from whom he had heard all the\nmysteries of his calling, and bidding him good night and wishing him\nsuccess in his future dealings, Twm joyously accepted the curate\u2019s\ninvitation to partake of his evening repast.  Supper dispatched, Mr. Rhys\ninformed him that he had left Tregaron for ever, disgusted with the\ntreatment he had met with from old Evans, and was on his way to\nLlandovery to take possession of the curacy of Llandingad, to which he\nhad been just appointed by the vicar, the reverend Rhys Prichard.\n\nIn return, Twm recited his late adventures, colouring them in such a\nmanner as to create a favourable impression on the curate, who laughed\nheartily at many points of his story, and finished by saying that he had\nalso determined to visit Llandovery in quest of his fortune, which,\nsomehow or another, he thought he should find there.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said he, \u201cyour fortunes are altogether romantic, and fortitude\nsuch as yours is a virtue that becomes us all.  Whatever I can do to get\nyou into employment, when you are there, rest assured shall not be\nwanting.\u201d  With this understanding Twm\u2019s hopes were buoyed up to the\nhighest pitch, and to his sanguine mind, became already certainties,\nwhich presented themselves in dreams of various felicitous shapes.\n\nThey were both early astir the following morning, and were soon on the\nroad, the curate leading his horse by the bridle, that (generous and\nconsiderate soul) he might be on a level with Twm.  They had nearly\nreached the top of Pen-y-garreg hill, over which the road leads from\nLampeter to Llandovery, while a bright prospect of the newly-risen sun\nattracted their mutual attention, when the clergyman thus addressed his\ncompanion:\n\n\u201cWe are now on the spot to be yet immortalized, perhaps, by the legendary\nmuse, for a deed of blood perpetrated here in our own times; when the\nbanks of the impetuous Teivy, now before us, became the scene of a\nlamentable tragedy.  The towers in the distance, are all that now remain\nof the family mansion of MAES-Y-VELIN, the fair seat of the ancient\nfamily of the Vaughans, once of considerable note in this part of the\nprincipality.  Ten years ago, a young lady and her three brothers, the\nlast of that race, were its possessors.  The lady named Ellen, was\nexceedingly beautiful, and beloved by the son of the venerable Rhys\nPrichard, the present vicar of Llandovery, whose curate I am now become.\n\n\u201cOn the very place where we now stand, the young man tied his\nhandkerchief to the end of a rod, that he held as a flag-staff, which was\nimmediately seen by the heiress of Maes-y-velin; and when she could\nsucceed in getting her brothers out of the way, the signal of love was\nanswered by hoisting her own handkerchief to a branch of a tree above the\nhouse, on which, both ran down from their respective hills, till they\nstood face to face on either side of the Teivy, when the fond lover,\nwhenever the stream was unfordable, dashed into the river, crossed over,\nand caught the fair one in his arms.  Perhaps you would like to hear the\ntragical story at further length; if so, I have employed my leisure time\nlately in versifying it, and will now read it to you.\u201d\n\nTwm signifying his willing assent, they took their seats on the side of\nthe hill, when Rhys drew a manuscript from his pocket and read to his\nattentive auditor\n\n                         THE HEIRESS OF MAES-Y-VELIN\n                                     AND\n                          THE FLOWER OF LLANDOVERY.\n\n    WHAT is amiss with the maiden fair,\n       What is the sweet one ailing?\u2014\n    Why pale her cheek, and her spirits low\n    And why up the hill doth she daily go,\n       The heiress of Maes-y-velin?\n\n    Why are the brows of her brothers dark?\n       Nor mother nor sire hath Ellen;\u2014\n    Her brothers whisper\u2014her steps they watch\u2014\n    The heart of her mystery eager to catch,\n       The maiden of Maes-y-velin.\n\n    The parents of Ellen her merits knew,\n       And frown\u2019d on her brothers\u2019 vices:\n    Her brothers are disinherited,\n    And Ellen is heiress in either\u2019s stead;\n       Thereat all the land rejoices.\n\n    Her brothers one day went out to hunt,\n       And alone at home left Ellen;\n    She watch\u2019d them away, then flew to her bower,\n    And cried \u201cOh now for Llandovery\u2019s Flower!\n       Right welcome to Maes-y-velin.\u201d\n\n    She hoisted her silken kerchief red,\n       To the highest branch of her bower,\n    To Pen-garreg hill then strained her eyes,\n    And the flag of her hope was seen to rise,\n       \u2019Twas thine, oh Llandovery\u2019s Flower!\n\n    Long had he watch\u2019d\u2014the faithful youth!\n       His wish each day unavailing.\n    At length he sees with wild delight,\n    His true love\u2019s signal, the lady bright,\n       The heiress of Maes-y-velin.\n\n    The signal that was chosen between the twain,\n       When absent her stern proud kindred;\n    And then would they rush from either hill,\n    The lovers true, with a right good-will,\n       Till the waters of Teivy sunder\u2019d.\n\n    Now as ers\u2019t they rush\u2019d, and as ers\u2019t they paused,\n       When arrived on the banks of Teivy,\n    They gazed at each other across the stream,\n    And gestured affection\u2019s high glow supreme,\n       Till the two hearts grew less heavy.\n\n    In plung\u2019d the youth with most anxious speed,\n       The flower of fair Llandovery,\n    The maiden trembling with wild alarms\u2014\n    She brightens\u2014she sinks in her true lover\u2019s arms,\n       Deem\u2019d lost her past recovery.\n\n    Oh nature hath many warm generous glows\u2014\n       But they say love\u2019s joys are fleeting;\n    Most dear to her mother her new-born son,\n    And sweet is the fame that\u2019s fairly won,\n    To the blind restor\u2019d, oh the summer\u2019s sun\n       Less sweet than the lovers meeting!\n\n    Sweet to the donor the generous deed,\n       That serves merit\u2019s child, unweeting;\n    Healing is sweet when gashed by the sword;\n    To the wounded heart, the benevolent word:\n    Oh sweet is the breeze to the sick restored;\n       But sweeter true lover\u2019s greeting.\n\n    Each flower that flaunts in vanity\u2019s cap,\n       And sets youthful hearts a gadding,\n    Has its charms, its zest,\u2014but the whole above,\n    Is the magical thrill of sweet woman\u2019s love,\n       That drives heart and brain a madding.\n\n    And fondly loved this youthful pair,\n       The heiress of Maes-y-velin,\n    And he to whom they called Llandovery\u2019s Flower;\n    Oh frequent their meeting and parting hour,\n       Their moments of joy and wailing.\n\n    Once when they met on Teivy\u2019s banks,\n       Canopied o\u2019er by the wild wood,\n    Mid fragrance of flowers that graced the shade,\n    The youth sung his song, of true lovers betrayed,\n    An ominous song\u2014that drew tears from the maid,\n       For her heart was as simple as childhood.\n\n    \u201c\u2018Oh come to the banks of the Teivy with me,\n    To the deep woodland glade, \u2019neath the shady green tree,\n    Fearless of foemen, of guile, or of might,\n    In the face of the day and the bright eye of light,\n    That God and his angels may witness our troth,\n    That God and his angels may favour us both.\n\n    \u201c\u2018I\u2019ll go the green-wood,\u2019 the lady replied,\n    \u2018Fore God and his angels be fairly affied,\n    Fearless of foemen, of guile, or of might,\n    In the face of the day and the bright eye of light;\n    That God and his angels may witness our troth,\n    That God and his angels may favour us both.\n\n    \u201cSo sung a young chief to his lady love,\n    At the base of her tower\u2014she answered above\u2014\n    Vile vassals espied them, and flew to their lord,\n    The lady\u2019s true lover soon fell \u2019neath his sword;\n    She hurled herself headlong, fulfilling her troth,\n    And Death was the priest that united them both.\u201d\n\n                                   PART II.\n\n    OVER the hill of Pen-garreg road\n       Is seen that leads from Llandovery,\n    Maes-y-velin\u2019s green hill is opposite,\n    The mansion below\u2014oft on either height,\n       The lovers are making discovery.\u2014\n\n    But envious eyes were on the watch,\n       And the genius of evil hover\u2019d;\n    The brothers who wish\u2019d their sister unmatch\u2019d,\n    For any approach of a lover watch\u2019d,\n       At length their flags discover\u2019d.\n\n    They hatch\u2019d a scheme to enmesh the youth,\n       And see him at length on the mountain;\n    His flag they answer\u2014he runs down the hill\u2014\n    Now forth rush the wretches resolved to kill,\n       And waste his youth heart\u2019s warm fountain.\n\n    Like prey-beasts they hide on the Teivy\u2019s banks,\n       In the covert of thick-leaved bushes;\n    The youth he dashes across the river,\n    And ardent to seek his fond receiver,\n       He seeks her form in the rushes\u2014\n\n    He deems she plays him at hide and seek,\n       Her heart he knew was gayful\u2014\n    \u201cOh come from thy covert, my Ellen dear?\n    Oh come forth and meet thy lover here!\u201d\n       He cries in soft accents playful.\n\n    No Ellen appears\u2014rustling steps he hears\u2014\n       Perhaps some perfidious stranger;\u2014\n    He quits the rushes, and steals to a copse,\n    But there not an instant for breathing stops,\n    Peril\u2019s presentiment suddenly drops,\n       And he flies for his life from danger.\n\n    He knew not his foes, up the hill he goes,\n       With the speed of the hart that\u2019s hunted:\n    The brothers pursue, till fatigued they grew\n    To Maes-y-velin his course they knew,\n       And eager revenge is blunted\u2014\n\n    They saw him enter\u2014\u201cthe foe is snared!\u201d\n       Exclaimed the elder brother;\n    \u201cTo kill him surely be firmly prepared,\n    Accursed be the arm by which he is spared!\n       Let\u2019s stab him, or drown, or smother.\u201d\n\n    \u201cLet\u2019s do him dead, and no matter how,\n       And our sister\u2019s fortune is ours;\n    No brats of her\u2019s shall supplant our hope:\n    Prepare we a dagger, a sack, and rope,\n       For brief are the stripling\u2019s hours.\u201d\n\n    Now rush\u2019d the youth through the mansion door,\n       And fell at the feet of Ellen;\n    Ere he could speak the brothers appear,\n    The maiden shrieks with terrific fear,\n       The heiress of Maes-y-velin.\n\n    She fell in a swoon, the brothers soon\n       Gag and proceed to bind him,\n    His hands they fasten\u2019d behind his back,\n    And over his head they drew a sack,\n    They jump on his body\u2014his rib bones crack,\n       Till a corpse on the ground they find him.\n\n    Oh God! \u2019twas a barbarous, bloody deed;\n       \u2019Twas piteous to hear him groaning;\n    A demon\u2019s heart might relent to hear\n    The sobs of death, and convulsions drear\u2014\n    Oh Christ! is no merciful angel near,\n       Call\u2019d down by this woeful moaning!\u2014\n\n    Oh murderous fiends! the eye of God\n       Hath flamed on this tearless murder!\n    They grasp at his throat to check his breath\u2014\n    With knees on his breast\u2014oh merciful death!\n       Thou sav\u2019st him from anguish further.\n\n    And dead in the sack his body they bore,\n       And sunk in a pool of the Teivy;\n    After many days when the corpse was found,\n    No tongue could tell whether smother\u2019d or drown\u2019d,\n       Or crush\u2019d by men\u2019s buffets heavy.\n\n    Thus fell in its bloom the blameless youth;\n       Insanity seized on Ellen,\n    The lovely maniac! with bosom bare,\n    And eyes of wildness, and streaming hair,\n       Roved frantic o\u2019er Maes-y-velin.\n\n    She said he was thrown in the Teivy\u2019s stream,\n       The flower of fair Llandovery;\n    She cross\u2019d o\u2019er the hills to his father\u2019s town,\n    And he bless\u2019d the maid like a child of his own;\n       But Ellen was past recovery.\n\n    Rhys Prichard wept long o\u2019er his murder\u2019d son\n       And buried the hapless Ellen;\n    He curs\u2019d her brothers\u2014the land of their birth\u2014\n    He curs\u2019d their mansion, its hall and hearth,\n       And the curse is on Maes-y-velin.\n\n    Strong was the curse on the savage race,\n       The murderers and their kindred;\n    Their bosoms possess\u2019d by the furies of hell,\n    Oft vented the scream, the curse, and the yell;\n       All men stood aloof and wonder\u2019d.\n\n    They quarrell\u2019d and stood forth in mortal strife,\n       Each one oppos\u2019d to the other:\n    They never, oh never! are doom\u2019d to agree,\n    While sharing poor Ellen\u2019s property,\n       To murder their elder brother.\n\n    And yet the murderers still are foes,\n       Furious and unrelenting;\n    Each coveting all his sister\u2019s share;\n    At length one falls in the other\u2019s snare,\n       Ere yet of his crimes repenting.\n\n    Now lived the survivor, a man forbid,\n       For murder his brow had branded\u2014\n    Shunn\u2019d by all men, none bade him God speed,\n    But solitude work\u2019d wild remorse for his deed,\n    In madness he seiz\u2019d on a poisonous weed,\n       And in a suicide\u2019s grave he landed.\n\n    Maes-y-velin became a deserted spot,\n       The roof of the mansion tumbled;\n    The lawns and the gardens o\u2019er-ran with weeds,\n    And reptiles, vile emblems of hellish deeds,\n       Bred there, and the strong walls crumbled.\u2014\n\n    They crumbled to dust, and fell to the earth,\n       And strangers bought Maes-y-velin;\n    Vain, it is said, their attempts to rebuild,\n    Vain was their labour in garden or field.\n    Snakes, toads, baneful weeds alone they yield.\n       Not a stone to another adhering.\n\n    The possessors fled, and oft others came,\n       But all their aims unavailing;\n    The peasants protest that at midnight hour,\n    The spirit of Ellen is seen in her bower.\n    While on Pen-gorreg stands Llandovery\u2019s Flower,\n       And shrieks burst from Maes-y-velin.\n\nTwm had listened with the most earnest attention to the terrible account,\nand rivetted his eyes on Maes-y-velin, the two hills, the banks of the\nTeivy, and scenes now subordinate to the modern grandeur of the new\ncollege of Lampeter; and still remaining silent, seemed, by the force of\nhis imagination, to bring before his eyes the whole action of this\ndomestic tragedy.  Rhys assured him that all the particulars of the\nmurder, as narrated in the ballad, were well authenticated, both by the\nevidence of the unhappy young lady herself, and that of a countryman who\nbeheld the murderers bearing the body by night, and who distinctly saw,\nas the moon shone upon them while in the act of casting their burden into\nthe river, the shining spurs of the murdered youth, projecting from the\nend of the sack which contained his body.  But in so disorderly a state\nwas the country at the time, from the civil wars between the king and the\nparliament, that no cognizance was taken of the atrocious circumstance.\n{165}  After these remarks, they got up from their grassy resting-place,\nand re-commenced their walk to Llandovery.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\n\nA SERMON on mountains and country labourers.  Twm retaliates upon Dio the\ndevil, with whom he returns in triumph to Llandovery.  The lady of Ystrad\nFeen, and Twm\u2019s gallant service in her behalf.\n\nAs they advanced on their journey, which was amongst a most mountainous\ncountry, Twm expressed his wonder at seeing the turf-cutters and\nhaymakers following their avocations almost side by side in this wild\ndistrict.  \u201cWell,\u201d cried he, \u201cI know that much has been said, sung and\nwritten, in praise of mountain scenery; and where \u2019tis truly romantic as\nwell as wild, I am a great lover of it myself; but this is not to my\nliking\u2014it is too dead in its deserted appearance for me.  Here no sound\nsalutes the ear but the lonely cry of a few melancholy kites, hungry\nenough to prey upon one another; and no object strikes the eye but the\nflat, tame desert, and a few wretched cottages thinly scattered over this\ndesolate region, whose inhabitants are miserably employed in scooping\npeat from the marsh for their fires, or cutting their bald thin crop of\nhay from the unenclosed mountain\u2014_the gwair rhos cwtta_, or moor hay,\nwhich dispensing with the incumbrance of a cart or sledge, the women\ncarry home in their aprons, as the winter maintenance of a half-starved\ncow.  To me, there is nothing that associates more with squalid poverty\nthan turf fires: the crackling faggot and the Christmas log, have their\nrustic characteristics; coal has its proud and solid warmth; the\nclay-and-culm fires of Cardigan and Pembrokeshire, formed of balls, and\nfantastically arranged by the industrious hands of fair maidens, are\nbright and durable, revealing the gay faces of the cheerful semi-circular\ngroup\u2014and above all, the smokeless cleanly stone coal; but turf, smoky,\nill-savoured, ash-creating, dusty turf\u2014recalls the marsh and moor,\nrain-loaded skies, and fern-thatched cottages, whose battered roofs swept\nby the blast, discover the rotten rafters grinning like the bare ribs of\npoverty; worse than all, the joyless faces of the toil-bowed children of\nthe desert.  The old stanza is quite to my mind when it says\u2014\n\n    \u201cHow gay seems the valley with rich waving wheat,\n    Fair hands and fair houses, with shelters so neat;\n    While the whole feather\u2019d choir to delight us conspires,\n    There\u2019s nought on the mountain but turf and turf fires.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd besides that,\u201d added Twm, \u201cI can give you a few rhyming lines of my\nown, bearing in the same direction.  Here they are,\n\n    Three things\u2014to my mind each with loveliness teems;\n    A vale between mountains that\u2019s threaded by streams;\n    A neat white-wall\u2019d cottage, \u2019mid gardens and trees;\n    And a young married pair that appreciate these.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d replied Rhys, \u201cdo not let us find too much fault with these\nscenes, for the recollection of what our mountain land has been, would\ninduce me to kiss the sod of its dullest region, when I remember how it\nbecame the refuge of our war-worsted fore-fathers in the days of old, as\nthe star of liberty seemed to vanish for ever from our sphere.\u201d  The\ncurate grew warm with his subject, and his eyes kindled with enthusiasm\nas he proceeded.  \u201cI could as soon twit my beloved mother with the\nfurrows which Time has ploughed on her honoured brows, as censure the\nhomeliest part of our dear mountains, hallowed of old by the tread of\nfreemen, when the despot foreigner usurped the valleys.\n\n       \u201cFreedom, amid a cloudy clime,\n       Erects her mountain throne sublime,\n       While natives of the vales and plains\n       Are gall\u2019d with yokes and slavish chains\u2014\n       Then shrink we ne\u2019er, unnerved as bann\u2019d\n    In the cloudy clime of the Mountain Land.\n\n       Turban\u2019d in her folds of mist\n       Our Mountain Land the sky has kiss\u2019d,\n       While on her brow the native wreath\n       Of yellow furze and purple heath\n       The rural reign her vales command,\n    And the freeman\u2019s sword of the Mountain Land.\u201d\n\nTwm accepted the remarks of Rhys as rebukes, for his own depreciatory\nobservations on his native country, and was about to clear himself from\nall suspicion of lack of nationality; when the latter, looking up at the\nsun, declared the day so far advanced that he must instantly mount his\nhorse and ride with speed, so as to meet the vicar of Llandovery at the\nplace appointed; on which, directing Twm on the route he was to take, he\nrode off and left him to pursue his way at leisure.\n\nThus left alone, Twm prepared for a lengthened walk, and pursued his way\nin thoughtful silence for many miles, but was at length brought to a\nstand by the discovery that the way he trod had ceased to be either a\nroad or beaten path; and that he was actually pacing the trackless\nmountain, with the disagreeable conviction that he had gone wrong,\nwithout a clue to recover the right way.\n\nTaking a careful and critical view of the surrounding country, he came to\nthe conclusion that there must be a road through _bwlch_, or gap, which\nhe perceived dividing the mountains at some distance.  He entered it, and\nhastened on with the utmost alacrity, till he came to a cottage on the\nroad side, opposite to which was an immense rick of turf, that at a\ndistance looked like a long black barn.  He called at the cottage, and\nasked if he was right in his route to Llandovery, \u201cRight!\u201d squeaked a\nthin old man who met him at the door, \u201cGod bless you young man, you could\nnot be more wrong, as your back is to Llandovery, and you are making\nstraight for Trecastle.\u201d\n\nTwm\u2019s face indicated his deep chagrin, as he listened to the response,\nand the old man seeing him vexed, asked him to walk in and rest himself,\nan invitation that he gladly accepted.  \u201cWhat, I suppose you thought to\nbe at Llandovery to hear the great preaching there to-day?\u201d said the\nman\u2019s wife, a little fat woman who was carding wool by the fire.  \u201cNo,\u201d\nreplied Twm, \u201cI never heard of any preaching that is to be there.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s very odd,\u201d rejoined the old man, \u201cas the whole country has been\ncrowding there to hear the good Rhys Prichard, the great vicar of\nLlandovery.\u201d  \u201cI have heard he is very popular,\u201d said Twm.\n\n\u201cPopular!\u201d screamed the weazon-faced old man, as if indignant at the\ncoldness of our hero\u2019s eulogy, \u201che is the shining light of our times, and\nhardly less than a prophet; wisely has he called his divine book the\n_Welshman\u2019s Candle_, for it blazes with exceeding brightness, and men\nfind their way by it from the darkness of perdition.  When it is known\nthat his health permits him to preach, the country hereabouts is up in\nswarms, to the distance of two score miles and more.  Then, the farmer\nforsakes his cornfield, the chapman his shop, and every tradesman and\nartizan quits his calling, to listen to the music of his discourse.\nInfirmity alone has kept me from going to hear him to-day; but my wife is\nno better than an infidel, and would rather listen to a profane fiddler,\nor a vagrant harper, than the finest preacher that ever breathed out a\npious discourse.\u201d\n\nThis was too much for any woman to listen quietly to, without saying a\nword or two in reply, and his spouse assured Twm that he was a miserable\ndreamer, whose brains had been turned by the ravings of fanatical\npreachers; that some months ago he ran three miles, howling, thinking he\nwas pursued by the foul fiend, when it turned out to be only his own\nshadow; and that when a patch of the mountain furze was set on a blaze to\nfertilize the land, nothing could convince him that the world was not on\nfire, and the day of judgment come, till he caught an ague by hiding\nhimself up to the chin in the river for twelve hours.\n\n\u201cFacts are stubborn things,\u201d and as these were most unpleasant ones to be\nserved up at his cost, for the entertainment of a stranger, the old man\u2019s\nreply was angry and indignant, and the war of words seemed likely to\ndegenerate into one of actual blows, when the violent galloping of a\nhorse drew their attention, and in an instant a steed and rider passed\nthe door; but suddenly checking his speed he returned, and calling at the\ncottage door, asking in a tone of authority if a lady had passed that way\ntowards Llandovery within the last half hour.\n\nThe old man, trembling as he spoke, protested that no lady had passed for\nmany hours; on which the bluff horseman told him as he valued his life,\nthat neither he nor his wife should appear on the outside of the cottage\ndoor till he gave them leave.  The old man assured him of his entire\nobedience, when the fellow quietly crossed the road, and effectually\nconcealed himself and horse behind the opposite turf-stack.\n\nThis scene had received all attention from Twm, who had recognized in the\ndespotic horseman, his late dearly-remembered friend, Dio the devil.  He\nsuspected Dio\u2019s intentions and prepared forthwith to take part in some\napproaching business in which his presence had not been reckoned upon.\nHe asked the timorous old cottager if he possessed such a thing as a\nlong-handled hedge bill-hook, to which the poor dotard, his teeth\nchattering the while, replied in the negative.  On searching the cottage,\nwith the assistance of his mistress, to his great vexation he could find\nno weapon, but a blunt old hatchet, and a rusty reaping hook.\n\nWhile they were yet seeking, Twm\u2019s ear, sharpened to the utmost by the\nexcitement and impending danger, heard another horse approaching, his\nheart caught fire at the sound, and with almost fierce vehemence he\ncalled to the people of the cottage, \u201cGive me some weapon in the name of\nGod! to defend you and myself from having our throats cut;\u201d but it only\nincreased their terror and confusion.\n\nAs he still spoke, there stopped opposite the cottage, a lady on a\nbeautiful white horse, and the horseman darted forward from behind the\nturf-rick, and producing pistols demanded her money.  The lady protested,\nin the most piteous and earnest tone, that she had accidentally left her\npurse behind and must be indebted to a friend at Llandovery, should she\nfail to meet her husband there, for some small change.\n\nA momentary thrill, mysteriously strange and unaccountable, overcame our\nhero, as he caught a view of the lady\u2019s face, and recognized one that he\nfelt certain he had seen before; and when, or where, he could not\nrecollect; and the enquiring thought was checked in its birth by the\nconsideration of her present danger.  \u201cI\u2019ll not be disappointed for\nnothing,\u201d cried the ruffian, \u201cDio the devil is not to be fooled, and my\npretty lady of Ystrad Feen, I have depended on a good booty from you\nto-day, so that unless in two minutes you strip, and give me every\narticle in which you are clothed, a pistol bullet shall pass through your\nfair and delicate body.\u201d\n\nThe fair horseman begged for consideration, and promised a liberal reward\nfor any mercy shown to her.  But the scoundrel laughed scornfully in her\nface, and cocked his pistol, on which she uttered a loud scream and\nfainted, when he immediately approached to dismount, strip, and rifle\nher.\n\nOur hero whose blood was boiling with honest indignation, now started up\nfrom behind the lady\u2019s horse, and struck the highwayman an astounding\nblow on the temples, with a stout hedge-stake grasped with both hands,\nand repeated that delicate treatment till it brought the desperado\nsenseless to the ground.  After the first terrible blow, confused as he\nwas, he instinctively presented his pistol at random, but Twm struck him\nheavily on the extended arm, which caused it to fall like a withered oak\nbranch smote by the thunderbolt.\n\nIn a few minutes the lady began to recover under the kind and attentive\ntreatment of the old woman, who bathed her face with water.  How Twm was\nrewarded by the deeply grateful expression on her countenance!  Truly he\nhad delivered her from peril, but into what a difficulty had he brought\nhimself!  He was in love; over head and ears.  The fair one appeared to\nbe still in dread of other dangers, but Twm, in the gentlest manner,\nassured her of her entire safety, and that he would have the happiness of\nconducting and protecting her to Llandovery, where he intended to bring\nthe highwayman dead or alive, and deliver him, with an account of the\nwhole affair, to the magistrate.\n\nPoor Twm!  The lady praising his courage, informed him that she was the\nwife of Sir George Devereaux, and that her husband would not allow his\nservices to pass without pecuniary reward.  Poor Twm! in love with\nanother man\u2019s wife, and that man with an aristocratic handle to his name.\n\u201cFor my own part,\u201d continued she, \u201cas I assured the merciless highwayman,\nI am at present without my purse, having left it accidentally at the\nhouse of a poor sick person, whom I relieved, and stayed with many hours\nthis morning, by which delay I have missed hearing the sermon preached\nto-day by the Rev. Rhys Prichard.\u201d\n\nTwm declared he did not in the least feel himself entitled to any reward;\nsufficient for him was the approval of so beautiful and amiable a lady;\nbut that he had another gratification in the action he had performed, as\nit was his fortune to have punished the man who had once stopped him on\nthe highway and robbed him of his little all.  Our hero felt quite sure\nhe had seen the lady before, and in endeavouring to remember where, he\nfell into a silent reverie; from which, however, he was suddenly roused\nby the loud groaning of his wounded captive.\n\nThe fears of the old man had driven him beneath the rickety old bedstead,\nand no threat nor offer of reward could induce him to leave his retreat,\nwhere he lay exclaiming, \u201cOh Lord! oh dear!  I shall surely have my\nthroat cut.\u201d  The lady of Ystrad Feen, however, alighted and lent an\nactive hand in binding the thief, still insensible, with old halters\ncontributed by the fat woman of the cottage, who also gave all possible\nassistance; so that with their united aid Twm soon got him across his own\nhorse, like a sack of barley, and secured him by tying him neck and heels\nunder the horse\u2019s belly.  Our elated hero leaped into the saddle, and\nrode side by side with the lady of Ystrad Feen, and conversing freely\nwith her, no longer embarrassed with his former bashfulness, till they\nreached Llandovery.\n\nThe good people of the town were just leaving Llandingad church, and were\nconsiderably astonished with what they saw, and Twm and his fair\ncompanion were soon surrounded by a large and curious crowd.  Sir George\nDevereaux, a ruddy and hearty fox-hunting Baronet, came up and assisted\nhis lady to alight, Mr. Rhys the curate approached Twm, and each in a few\nminutes was in possession of the whole story.  The baronet eagerly\ngrasped our hero by the hand, and assured him of his protection and\nfavour to the utmost of his power; declaring at the same time that no\npossible reward could equal his deserts or repay his services.\n\nAll were delighted to hear of the defeat and capture of Dio the Devil,\nas, with very few exceptions, the farmers of that district had suffered\nfrom the highwayman\u2019s depredations, and a subscription was immediately\nraised, to reward the captor; so that our hero was soon in possession of\na sum of no less than ten pounds, in addition to five more that the\ncounty awarded.\n\nTwm and Mr. Rhys received an invitation to dinner for the following day,\nat Ystrad Feen, where Sir George promised them good entertainment, and\nadded that they would decide in what manner our hero\u2019s gallant service\ncould be best repaid.  As for Dio the Devil, when the constables advanced\nto unloose him, it was discovered that he was dead.  \u201cDead as a fox\nwithin the jaws of Juno!\u201d exclaimed Sir George, as the lifeless robber\nfell heavily on the ground, amid the crowd of spectators.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\n\nTWM remains at Ystrad Feen.  The vicar of Llandovery.  A famous run with\nthe hounds.  An enthusiastic hunter\u2019s leap.\n\nTwm took up his abode, for the time, at a tavern recommended by Mr. Rhys,\nwhere, being decidedly the hero of the day, he was surrounded by a large\ncompany, all anxious to minister to the bodily wants of so brave a\nfellow, and wishful to hear the details of his desperate encounter with\nthe famous robber, from the lips of Twm himself.  Cautioned by the worthy\ncurate, however, his potations were rather limited; and urging his\nfatigue as an excuse for retiring, he soon left his admirers, and slept\non a bed of roses.\n\nAt an early hour Mr. Rhys awoke Twm, and told him that they were invited\nto breakfast with the Rev. Rhys Prichard, who had expressed a desire to\nsee the brave young man that had captured the highway robber.  This\ninvitation was the more acceptable to Twm, as he was exceedingly anxious\nto see so celebrated a character as the vicar of Llandovery; though no\nless for his pious than his poetical celebrity, and more especially the\nassociation of his name with his own family calamity, in the death of his\nson Samuel, poetically called the \u201cFlower of Llandovery,\u201d at the\nmurderous hands of the young men of Maes-y-velin, as before related.\n\nTwm was desirous to change his country suit for something better, and\ncommenced negotiations with Mr. Rhys, for the purchase of one of the\nlatest clerical cut from him.  The worthy curate, however, cut him short,\nand generously presented him with one a little the worse for wear, that\nas the mass of mankind were apt to judge by external appearances, an\nappropriate garb would aid even a man of merit in making a favourable\nimpression.\n\nThe house of the vicar of Llandovery was among the best in the town; a\nwell built strong mansion, distinguished from all others by a neat small\ncupola on the top, for a bell, to call the boys to school.  Twm and Rhys\nwaited in the breakfast parlour about half an hour, filling up the time\nby noticing and remarking on the well-waxed oaken floor and furniture,\nthat, with the prints of some of the English martyrs, with which the room\nwas hung, gave it something of a gloomy appearance; and in skimming over\nsome dusty old volumes of divinity, till the clock struck six.\n\nThe worthy vicar received his visitors with a few brief but courteous\nsentences, in which he quietly yet earnestly expressed his gratification\nat their presence.  Breakfast was preceded by prayers; after which came\nin bowls of milk and hot cakes, with cold meat, butter and cheese, and\nale.  Twm looked at his venerable host with awed reverence.  This eminent\ncharacter was of a tall, stately figure; his hair white as wool, his face\npale, and rather long, with a countenance beaming with sedate benignity.\nHe regarded Twm for some time with silent attention, and afterwards made\na few enquiries respecting his recent feat, which when answered, he\nindulged in some pious ejaculations on the fortunate event.\n\nTheir host compared the physical capacity and appearance of Twm to the\nwell developed and robust figure of Dio the Devil, and referred to the\nscriptural records of the combat between David and Goliah; strictly\ncharging the fortunate youth to take no credit to himself for the\nachievement, as he was but an humble instrument in a mighty hand, and for\na special purpose unknown to the actors of the scenes themselves.\n\nAll justice having been done to the good things before them, grace was\nsaid, and Twm received some excellent advice from the celebrated divine,\nwho placed twenty shillings and a copy of his \u201cWelshman\u2019s Candle\u201d in the\nhand of Twm; and after shaking him warmly by the hand, he saw the pair to\nthe door and bade them farewell.\n\nIn an hour or so afterwards, Rhys and Twm prepared for departure to\nYstrad Feen, the latter mounting the noble hunter which Dio the Devil had\nso lately bestrode in all his arrogant pride.  The road was entirely over\nthe mountains, through diversified scenery of much interest.  At times it\nran above the edge of a deep ravine; at others, hills overtopped them, in\npeaks of various, fantastic forms; till a length succeeded the tame and\nflat moorland, abounding with wild ducks and various aquatic and mountain\nfowl.  These scenes were soon left behind, and others of a different\ncharacter succeeded, tamed to softer beauty by the indefatigable hand of\nindustrious man.\n\nPassing through a small ravine at the base of a well-wooded hill, they\nemerged suddenly upon a view which embraces the rural chapel of Boiley,\nthe ornamented estate of Ystrad Feen, the hill of Dinas, and a glimpse of\nthe river Towey.  The ancient mansion of Ystrad Feen they found most\nromantically situated, terminating a sloping descent from the mountain,\nwith a roaring alpine brook falling headlong through its rocky bed, at\nthe back; while the high conical hill of Dinas stood, an object of\nsingular beauty, in front; and the background was occupied by an almost\nendless perspective of forest, vale and mountain.\n\nThey entered the farm-yard, which occupied one side of the house, in\nwhich stood several large elms and oaks, and, here and there, a huge\nhollow yew, that associated well with the antique appearance of the\nhouse.\n\nThey were expected, for the baronet and his lady were awaiting their\narrival, and hastened, as they appeared, to give them hearty welcome.  It\nwanted about a couple of hours to dinner time, which interim Sir George\nwished to fill up by introducing them to his fox-hounds and pigs, while\nhis lady urged the superior attractions of the lawn and flower-garden, to\nthe terror of the sporting baronet, who seemed to consider her taste not\nonly questionable, but absolutely depraved.  Sir George shook his comical\nhead in a comical manner, inferring a protest against their choice, when\nthe young men decided on seeing the garden first, and the kennel and\npig-stye after; a preference that seemed to involve an absolute inversion\nof the order of things, apparently, to his thinking.\n\nWhat a contrast there was between the lady of Ystrad Feen and her lord\nand master!  Twm\u2019s attention was almost entirely taken up with the sweet\nand unaffected grace of the lady; but we must be impartial and take some\nnotice of her husband.  Sir George was a spare and somewhat tall figure,\nthe erectness of which was frequently disturbed by what at first appeared\nsome constitutional fidgetiness\u2014a habit of perpetually drawing up, and\nletting down, his right shoulder; while he conversed in jerking short\nsentences, never standing still an instant when speaking.  These\npeculiarities, at first sight, gave him the appearance of a man afflicted\nwith St. Vitus\u2019s dance; and affected the observer with the repulsive\nsensations endured by those who, from delicacy towards the afflicted, aim\nto conceal their notice of a personal blemish or deformity.\n\nBut this strange habit had its source in a fox-hunting accident that\noccurred in a chase wherein Sir George, in the heat and ardour of the\npursuit, leapt down a terrific precipice in which the fox had sought\ncover.  His noble hunter, named Dare-devil, was killed by the achievement\nof this feat, his own neck nearly broken, and his shoulder so dislocated\nand otherwise injured, that no surgical skill could cure him of the\nnervous affection which caused the continual restlessness alluded to.\n\nSir George, however, gloried in his dearly-bought triumph, and boasted\nlike a veteran detailing the particulars of a famous battle in which he\nhad figured; winding up his narrative with\u2014\u201cglorious and remarkable\nhunt\u2014the world never saw the like\u2014and I was solus in at the death\u2014in a\nhell-hole that none but myself dared approach.\u201d\n\nHis face was no less curious than his figure.  He was rather small\nfeatured, with very light blue eyes; indeed so exceedingly light that\nthey were often described as literally white; and when he gazed, with the\nwildness of imperfect consciousness, caused by indulgence in the potent\ncup, might give no inapt idea of Pygmalion\u2019s marble statue, on its first\nwild stare when imbued with inward light and life; although his merry\nneighbour, Squire Prothero, summed their description up, less\nclassically, as the nearest approach to a boiled salmon\u2019s eyes, or the\nlack-lustre dullness of a couple of baked gooseberries.  His face was\nfair, and much freckled in the upper part; while a shock head of\nclosely-curling red hair, and white, or rather sandy eyebrows, concludes\nthe description of this strange piece of eccentric manhood.\n\nThe walk through the garden was by no means to his taste.  He did not\nunderstand flowers, and could not restrain his expression of impatience,\nprotesting that there was nothing worth seeing there.  \u201cBesides,\u201d added\nhe, with the gravity of a philosopher who aimed to eradicate a vulgar\nerror, and instil a superior principle, \u201cflowers are bad\u2014a great\nevil\u2014showy nuisance\u2014bank of violets often a snare to the hounds\u2014like\nbeauty to the boy, to lure him from the paths of duty;\u2014but come and see\nmy kennel\u2014finest dogs in the world\u2014no false charms there\u2014they say truth\u2019s\nhid in a well\u2014all a mistake\u2014she\u2019s hid in the snouts of my\nfox-hounds;\u2014strong as bulls, and swift as hell\u2014a cannon ball\u2019s a fool to\nthem\u2014deadly as the doctor wherever they rush\u2014but what\u2019s your name, my\nyoung C\u00e6sar of the Welsh mountains, hey?\u201d\n\nTwm was too busy with the lady of Ystrad Feen to listen to the rattling\ntongue of Sir George, and Mr. Rhys hastened to give the story of Twm\u2019s\nparentage, dwelling with much emphasis on the cruel neglect of his\nfather, Sir John Wynn of Gwydir; and, in conclusion, he said his friend\u2019s\nname, derived from his humble mother as well as from his stately father,\nwas Thomas ap John a Catty, familiarized into Twm Shon Catty; but that\nwhich he intended to adopt, and desired to be known by, was Thomas Jones.\n\nThe promenade had, in the fox-hunter\u2019s opinion, been unreasonably\nprolonged, and he hailed with delight their approach to his sanctum\nsanctorum, the dog-kennel, where he anticipated the delight of his\nvisitors, when\u2014how shall we express the intensity of his\ndisappointment!\u2014a voice struck on his ear, like the croak of the bird of\nill-omen with the intelligence of \u201cdinner waits!\u201d\n\nFain would he have horse-whipped the intruding messenger, and expatiated\nwith his friends on the absurdity of eating dinners, when the sublimer\npastime of entering a kennel of fox-hounds was offered to them.  But\nbefore he found words to his purpose he had the mortification to see his\nauditors accompany his lady wife into the house, where, musing on their\nquestionable taste, he followed them.\n\nWe need not dwell on the delicacy of the viands, the rarity of the wines,\nthe jocularity of Squire Prothero, the laughing magistrate, who dropped\nin and joined them after dinner; the beauty and fascination of Miss\nMeredith, the lady\u2019s companion, who almost made a conquest of the heart\nof poor Rhys\u2014and, above all, the captivating sweetness of our heroine,\nthe young hostess! and other interesting details.  But we must find space\nto say that a short hunt was got up, contrary to usual custom, in the\nevening, to save the baronet from dying of chagrin for his failure of\nexhibiting his animal treasures to his guests before dinner.\n\nA young fox being started, our hero acquitted himself so amazingly to the\nsatisfaction of his host by the most daring feats of leaping and yelling\nout, in the fox-hunter\u2019s strain, \u201cyoy, yoy, hark forward, wind him Juno!\u201d\nand many other such expressions, that Sir George in the ecstacy of his\nfeelings almost wept in the contemplation of such a promising genius,\nvowing that a year\u2019s tuition under his first whipper-in would make him a\ntruly great man, and a fit companion of princes.  Grasping his hand with\nthe tenacity of a blacksmith\u2019s vice, he vowed that from that moment he\nhad engrossed his name upon his heart, high on the list of his most\nchoice friends.\n\nSir George was not one who limited his friendship to profession only;\nand, having learned from Twm his position in life, he became desirous to\naid him permanently, and put him on the road to fortune, knowing right\nwell that if he had only a glimpse of it, that he was wide awake enough\nnever again to lose sight of it.  He lost many nights\u2019 rest in striving\nto settle this knotty point, and at last determined that he should live\nwith him on the footing of a friend; indeed so necessary had he become to\nhim in his hunts, that he at length declared it was impossible to part\nwith him.\n\nThus, as an inmate of Ystrad Feen, Twm spent some of the happiest days of\nhis life, for the best part of this, and the following year.  Alternately\nhunting with the baronet and reading with his lady, who called him her\nhero, and made him an absolute show lion among her friends, Twm could not\nbut feel this, as a remarkable contrast to the wretched life passed at\nthe house of Morris Greeg.\n\nTwm also enjoyed many happy hours with his staunch friend Rhys, at the\nhouses of the surrounding rural potentates, where, on account of his\nbrave reputation, and for his ready wit, so unsparingly lavished by him\nwherever he went, he speedily became a favourite.  We shall close this\nsomewhat long chapter with the relation of one of these adventures which\ngave universal satisfaction to his friends, and became the subject of\nremark and wonderment for many a year.\n\nLlandovery was just at this time honoured by a visit from a London buck,\nwho, thoroughly convinced of the utter darkness and benighted state of\nthat retired district, had charitably come to reside amongst the\nmiserable inhabitants thereof, that they might know and understand what\ncivilization meant, as evinced in his own proper and illustrious person.\nHe took a very ungracious way of teaching the important fact, for he did\nnothing but boast of the immense superiority of everything appertaining\nto his glorious self, and depreciate that which belonged to others.\n\nMr. Tomkins (that was his euphonious title) insisted that his gun, his\nfishing tackle, his boots, the cut of his coat, and everything that was\nhis, was better than those belonging to any body else.  But if there was\none object above all others that engrossed his volubility, it was the\npraise of his horse; daily did he ring the changes on his wonderful\nanimal, his feats, his beauty, blood, and pedigree, at every house where\nhe visited.\n\nOne day after dinner at Ystrad Feen, in company with the baronet, Squire\nProthero, our hero, and the ladies, he rudely asserted the superiority of\nhis own horse to any in that country, when both our baronet and the\nsquire seemed nettled at his disparaging remarks, which, had he not been\nhis guest, it is probable Sir George would have resented.\n\nHe offered to wager fifty pounds that his horse should surpass the best\nof theirs in running or leaping, be the given feat what it might.  Great\nand gratifying was their surprise when our hero, with much emphasis cried\n\u201cdone!\u201d  Adding, \u201cI have a mare of no very splendid exterior that shall\nperform a feat, with myself on her back, that you and your boasted hunter\ndare not follow for your lives.\u201d\n\n\u201cDone! for fifty pounds,\u201d cried the London buck; \u201cI\u2019ll back him for a\nhundred, without knowing what he is at,\u201d exclaimed the baronet; \u201cAnd so\nwill I,\u201d roared and laughed the excited Squire Prothero.  With unusual\nalacrity up rose all four, bent on having the bet lost or won instanter.\n\u201cNow hasten all together up the hill towards Craig Ddu, and I will be\nwith you in the cracking of a whip,\u201d said Twm, as he hurried off in\nanother direction.  The two neighbours looked at each other, and wondered\nwhat would be the upshot of this adventure; but, having all faith in Twm,\nthey attended the boastful Londoner to the place appointed.\n\nThe summit of Craig Ddu (the Black Rock) was soon reached, where they\nwaited Twm\u2019s arrival.  The town-bred buck expressed impatience at the\ndelay; adding with great complacency, \u201cI intend, gentlemen, to teach this\nyoungster a lesson that he will not forget as long as he lives.\u201d  \u201cHo,\nho, ho!\u201d laughed the portly Squire Prothero, \u201ctake care that he does not\nteach you one!\u201d  Scarcely were these words uttered when our hero appeared\namong them; but what was their dismay, and the sneers of his antagonist,\nwhen they beheld him mounted on a sorry old blind mare, scarcely worth a\ndozen shillings!\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll do as I do?\u201d asked our hero, addressing the Londoner, \u201cor forfeit\nfifty pounds?\u201d  \u201cThat I will, and something more too!\u201d cried the buck,\nvauntingly, \u201cin which case the forfeit of that sum will be yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cAgreed!\u201d replied Twm; and gradually facing his animal towards a rising\nsward or ditch, that had been raised to prevent the cattle from falling\nover the almost perpendicular side of a deep ravine; \u201cNow for it then,\u201d\ncried he, imitating the sound of a trumpet, and spurring his sorry jade,\n\u201cneck or nothing for the fifty pounds!\u201d and at the word the blind mare\nreached the ditch, and obedient to the spur and rein, sprung over, and\nwas out of sight in an instant.\n\n\u201cGood God, he has gone to a sure death!\u201d cried Prothero; the stout heart\nof the baronet (accustomed as he was to such mad freaks,) seemed to have\nleapt to his throat and choked his utterance, as he expanded his singular\nwhite eyes in a chalky stare towards the spot of his disappearance.  The\nparty rode forward, and, with the most thrilling anxiety looked down the\nprecipice.\n\nDown at the bottom of the ravine, lay the poor old mare, evidently having\nconcluded a hard life by an equally hard death.  But they had no time for\nsympathy with the unfortunate beast; they were too anxious about its\ndaring rider to waste much consideration on it.  Their phrenzied eyes at\nlength rested on the object of their search; scarcely six feet beneath\ntheir standing place lay the redoubted son of Catty, sound in wind and\nlimb!\n\nThe baronet yelled a terrific _view halloo_ that made the old rocks echo\nwith his dissonance, and the kind-hearted old Prothero was so over-joyed\nat his safety that he actually failed to laugh.  Our hero, who had\ndexterously thrown himself off at the critical instant that the mare\nsprung over, and fell, as he had calculated, on a projecting ledge, which\nwas thickly covered with a mass of heath and long grass; so that,\nalthough rather stunned, he was but little hurt.  An instant\u2019s delay in\nthrowing himself off would have precipitated him to the bottom, and the\nfate of the poor mare would have been his own.\n\nGreat was the delight of his friends to see him rise, and wave a\nhandkerchief in token of his safety, and in a few minutes he stood before\nhis disconcerted antagonist, who had calculated, from the appearance of\nthe ground, that a race was the thing in contemplation; but when the feat\nhere narrated took place, the pallid hue of his countenance evinced his\ninward feelings.  \u201cNow, sir, it is your turn,\u201d cried our hero, bowing\ncourteously to Mr. Tomkins, who looked paler and paler as he peered down\nthe declivity; and as his eye for a moment rested on the dead mare in the\nbottom, his teeth chattered, and he turned away shuddering.\n\n\u201cI have no notion of such mad doings,\u201d muttered the crest-fallen Mr.\nTomkins.  \u201cThen you lose the bet,\u201d cried Prothero; \u201cwhich I can afford to\npay, as well as any one here,\u201d replied the Londoner, in a tone of haughty\nsulkiness, as he witnessed the applause bestowed on our hero by the\nadmiring baronet and his friend the squire.\n\nMr. Tomkins rightly arguing that he had lost caste by this little\ntransaction, had sense enough to leave the district and take his\ndeparture for town, dispensing with the ceremony of bidding farewell to\nany of those country friends, of whose hospitality he had so often\npartaken.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\n\nTHE Land of Dreams.  Twm\u2019s journey to London.  A bet upon a bull.  Ready\nRosser outwitted, and Squire Prothero\u2019s fright.\n\nWhen Twm had any leisure or reflection, his mind was occupied with but\none subject, so that at this period of his life he could hardly be said\nto be a man of many ideas.  This remark applies only to the time when he\nindulged in retired country rambles, or when he was in the solitude of\nhis own apartment.  Confront him with any specimen of male humanity\nextant, and his faculties returned in all their natural vigour, and\nsuccess generally attended his enterprises.\n\nAs before related, the moment he first set his eyes on the remarkable and\npleasing countenance of the lady of Ystrad Feen, he felt a conviction\nthat it was not the first time that he experienced the pleasurable\nsensation that then pervaded his whole soul.  His continued intercourse\nwith her during his prolonged stay stubbornly maintained his first\nconviction that they had met before; but when, where, and under what\ncircumstances, he could not discover.  At length, when the mind had been\nrepeatedly fatigued with these vain tuggings at the nerve of memory,\nalthough compelled by exhaustion to give up the point, it was only for a\nseason, to be resumed on the first opportunity for putting his powers of\nrecollection again into practice.\n\nAfter analyzing these mental enquiries with the closest precision, he\ncame to the successive negative conclusions, that he could not possibly\nhave seen her either at Graspacre Hall, at Inco Evan\u2019s, nor, most\nassuredly, at the cottage of his mother.  \u201cThen, where on earth else?\u201d\nmuttered he, wiping his moist brow, which was a little fevered by the\nintensity of his labours in this mental research.  Determined, for his\nfuture ease, to dismiss the thought altogether, he answered himself\npeevishly, \u201cnowhere, surely, but in the land of _dreams_.\u201d\n\nYes, indeed, this chance thought provided him with the key so long\nsought, to his remembrance of the face and form of his charming hostess,\nfor scarcely had he uttered those talismanic words than they acted on his\nmemory like Ithuriel\u2019s spear;\u2014the sentence fell like a flash of fire on\nthe touch-spring of the whole mystery, and flashed in full effulgence,\nilluminating fully his long-darkened powers of recollection!\n\nLittle had he thought of putting to himself what appeared so vain a\nquery, whether it was at Morris Greeg\u2019s home of misery that he had beheld\nthe never-to-be-forgotten face of beauty and intellect\u2014but at length he\ntraced it!  And, of all places in the world, the most unfitting to be\nassociated with it\u2014the murky hay-loft of Cwm y Wern Ddu: in short\nmysterious still as the inference gave out, Lady Devereaux, in every\nglance, feature, and movement, was indeed the spirit of his glorious\nvision\u2014the lady of his dream!\n\nThoroughly absorbed by this unexpected and most interesting discovery, he\nforgot altogether the lapse of time, and was startled by the sudden\nappearance of Sir George by his bed side.  The friendly baronet inquired\nwith much concern, if he was unwell, as they had been waiting breakfast\nfor him full half an hour.  On being assured of the contrary, and that he\nhad only overslept himself, Sir George hastened down with the glad\ntidings, as the whole family feared the consequence of his temerity on\nthe day before.\n\nOur hero was soon among them, tendering his apologies, and parrying the\ngraceful banterings and rallyings of the ladies, who rated him playfully\nfor a sluggard and a lie-abed.  The baronet soon recurred to the\npunishment inflicted by our hero on the intolerable vanity and\npresumption of the London buck.  A knock at the parlour door checked the\ncurrent of his discourse, and, on permission being given, in walked that\nlittle comical undersized fellow, familiarly called Tommy Thomas, the\nsecond whipper-in, with a face of ruefully long dimensions.\n\nAfter a very worshipful bow, accompanied with many a bodily turn and\ntwist, while his fingers wandered among the regions of his head and his\nwhiskers, it turned out that honest Tom Thomas came to report a\ncalamitous visitation that had befallen this very respectable house.\nDuring this worthy functionary\u2019s absence at Llandovery, yesterday, (of\ncourse his stay was not prolonged by his curiosity to examine the quality\nof the different taps there!) he said that some audacious villain had\nbeen to the stable, and stolen all the food which he had purchased for\nthe hounds.\n\n\u201cWhat food\u2014what food?\u201d inquired the baronet; for everything was important\nto him that was in any way connected with his darling hounds.  \u201cWhy look\nyou now, I wass py an oil plind mare for ten shillings and two quarts of\nbeer from a travelling packman that wass sold off his goots, and not want\nher agen; so I did pargen for hur, see you now, and wass paay for hur,\nand dit put hur in te stapples, for foots for te hounce; and look you\nnow, some loucey peggar wass steal hur.\u201d\n\nAll the party except the baronet laughed heartily at this intimation; but\nour hero soon relieved both Sir George and honest Tommy Thomas, by\ninforming the latter that his bargain was to be found at the bottom of\nthe Craig Ddu ravine; on which the poor fellow joyfully withdrew.  Twm\nimmediately called him back, and astonished him with the present of a\nbroad piece, in company with divers smaller silver coins, in\nacknowledgment that his precious bargain had enabled him to win his bet\nfrom the Londoner.\n\nThis was another piece of information for the baronet and his friends,\nand the cause of another explosion of triumphant laughter, at the expense\nof their late nuisance, the bragging Mr. Tomkins,\u2014Sir George declaring\nthat he had repeatedly thought of asking the question as to how he had\npossessed himself of the wretched animal; and now the mystery was\namusingly explained.\n\nOne long winter\u2019s morning, when the weather was so stormy as to forbid\nall hope of being able to stir out for the day, the baronet broke an\nunusually protracted silence by saying, \u201cMr. Jones, I have a favour to\nask you.\u201d\n\n\u201cGlad in my heart,\u201d replied Twm, \u201cfor some change to make any return for\nthe favours I have received.\u201d\n\n\u201cFiddle-de-dee with your favours! you talk like a mountainer, lad,\u201d cried\nSir George; \u201cbalance against us\u2014owe thee much\u2014Joan\u2019s life\u2014thy merry\ncompany; but how the devil to part with thee!\u2014joy to thee, this\nLondon\u2014death to me\u2014no fox-hunting, all smoke and devilment!\u201d\n\nLady Devereaux came out and explained that Sir George had a pressing\nnecessity which he had long put off, of sending to London a considerable\nsum, due to a certain Mr. Martyn, being the last instalment of the\npurchase-money for some land bought of him by our baronet.\n\nHaving just received an application for the cash, Sir George was startled\nto find how much time had elapsed in the delay caused by his aversion to\ngoing personally to London; for nothing less would do in those days,\nexcept by a trusty messenger.  \u201cThou\u2019rt a lad of mettle, Twm, head as\nwell as heart,\u201d resumed Sir George\u2014\u201carms to fight, and legs to run\u2014roads\nfull of thieves\u2014can\u2019t fight them all\u2014out-wit them!\u201d\n\nTwm was at no loss to discover that the baronet was loth to leave his\nfamily residence, his fox-hunting, and his neighbours\u2019 society, to\nencounter the perils and discomforts of a journey to the metropolis, and\nthat he was wishful that Twm should go there as his representative, and\naccordingly he declared himself ready to commence his journey whenever\nSir George might please.\n\n\u201cLet us have a little fine weather first,\u201d replied his engaging hostess,\n\u201cand in the meantime we will make the necessary preparations for your\ndeparture.\u201d\n\nOur hero gazed on her animated friendly face, with an admixture of the\nromantic gallantry of the knights of old, and the religious veneration of\na devotee towards his patron saint; for he felt that his fate was somehow\nmysteriously connected with her influence, and never forgot that she was\nthe spirit of his glorious vision, the lady of his dream.\n\nSquire Prothero\u2019s hearty laugh disturbed somewhat these gentle\nreflections.  He had just bought a bull and hired a servant, and was in\nhigh glee at what he considered the accomplishment of a favourable\nbargain.  The bull, he said, was a large and glorious white creature of\nthe Herefordshire breed, and the man a small black one, of the true\nCardiganshire runt description; but cunning as a fox, and keen as a kite.\nA fellow, the worthy squire said, who was proverbially known in the\nneighbourhood of Aberteivy for his exceeding shrewdness, by no other\ncognomen than Ready Rosser.\n\nTwm chuckled inwardly at his recollection of the swain whom he had\noutwitted at Cardigan; and, in the hair-brain spirit that often possessed\nhim, longed to break a lance with this worthy once more.  As robbing the\nfields and hills was the prevalent villainy of the period, and as\nProthero, as well as some of his neighbours, had been a considerable\nloser in numerous instances, he was the more elated with his present\nacquisition.  \u201cI have now,\u201d quoth he, with the usual accompaniment of a\nhearty laugh, \u201ca guardian for my ox and my ass, my bull, and my bulwarks,\nand I defy the most cunning thief in the country to ferret away my live\nthings from the custody of Ready Rosser of Aberteivy.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ll undertake to walk off with your bull, in spite of Ready\nRosser, if you\u2019ll leave it out three nights, let him do what he pleases,\u201d\nsaid Twm, with a confident air.\n\n\u201cDone!\u201d roared the merry Prothero, with a loud ho, ho! that shook the\nroom; but recollecting himself, he added\u2014\u201cbut hark ye, my buck of bucks;\nmy bull shall not be left out to starve of these cold winter nights; he\nshall be secured within the shelter of the cow-house, and if thou canst\nabduct him from thence, within the three days and nights, welcome shalt\nthou be to his carcase, and twenty pounds to reward thy cleverness.\u201d\n\n\u201cDone!\u201d cried the baronet, \u201cand I\u2019ll pay forty pounds for him if he\nfails.\u201d\n\n\u201cRemember, three days and three nights is the time given,\u201d cried Twm, \u201cas\nit will take two to get all in train.\u201d\n\nThe squire lost no time in communicating his wager to the members of his\nhousehold, and putting them on their guard.  \u201cNow mind,\u201d he exclaimed,\n\u201cour friendly antagonist is a sharp fellow, and you must sleep with your\neyes open during the next three days.  Look out, Ready Rosser.\u201d\n\nThe worthy thus addressed merely laughed at the impudence of any one that\ncould venture on such a bet.  The emphasis which Twm laid upon the period\nof three days was merely a _ruse de guerre_ of his, to throw his\nopponents off their guard, as he fully intended commencing operations\nsoon as darkness came on.\n\nThe snow was thick on the ground; therefore, as the nearest approach to\ninvisibility, our hero arrayed himself in a white frock and a cloth cap\nof the same colour, and sallied forth at eight o\u2019clock in the evening, on\na march of observation.  Having arrived at Llwyn-mawr, the residence of\nProthero, crossing the garden hedge, he coolly leaned over the gate, and\nlistening to the squire and his party in the adjoining farm yard heard\nthe whole plan of defence, as laid down by that skilful Cardiganshire\nengineer, Ready Rosser.  The white bull the hero of the present wager,\nhad been placed in his stall for the night, the door of the cow-house\nduly locked; and now the whole party of farm servants, under the command\nof Rosser, were busily employed by lantern light in forming the outward\nfortification.\n\nIn the first place, four harrows were laid one upon the other, across the\nentrance to the cow-house; on the upper harrow was placed a heavy roller,\nthen a new implement in Welsh farming, and beside it two ploughs; the\nwhole being surmounted by a sledge, used in those days for a harvest\ncart.  To make this sledge, which was placed across the ploughs and\nroller, still more unmovable, Rosser had it heaped with hay, duly trodden\ndown, carefully, as if intended for the foundation of a rick.  His last\nstroke of masterly management was to suspend to one of the shafts of the\nsledge a large bell, which the squire, at the request of vicar Prichard,\nhad procured from Bristol, to ornament the dome of his school, and to\ncall the boys to their meals and studies.  Rosser shrewdly remarked that\nany movement of these barricades, would be announced by its peal in the\nnight.\n\nBy nine o\u2019clock the whole party, including, the squire, were wrapt in\nsound slumber, and the field was open to the operations of our hero, who,\nin the meantime had returned to Ystrad Feen, and brought back from thence\nthe tools that he required for the purpose.  These consisted of an iron\ncrow-bar and a saw, a bag containing something, and little Tommy Thomas\nfor his _avante courier_, or look out, in case of surprisal.  Twm had\nobserved that the cow-house was formed of two pine-ends, substantially\nbuilt of stone, while the back and front, were on planks, nailed across\nhorizontally.  The cunning Rosser had effectually fortified the front,\nwhere there was a door, but entirely neglected the back, where there was\nnone; considering perhaps that the duck-pool or horse-pond, which ran\nparallel the length of the lowly edifice, would prove a sufficient\nrear-guard.  But greatly did that scheming wight err in his estimation of\nthe ingenious daring of his adversary; for although three feet deep,\nblack, and full of frogs and their spawn, it was through the middle of\nthis domestic lake, our Twm, shouldering his crow-bar, made his way to\ncommence the attack, while Tommy Thomas occupied his post of observation\non the top of an old blighted oak stump.\n\nTo the great satisfaction of our hero, his onset was auspicious; he\nsucceeded without noise in wrenching off numerous planks, and in a short\ntime entered the building.  He made up at once to the grand object of his\nenterprise, and approached the mighty brute with deference; then patting\nhim kindly with a patronizing air, he called familiarly by his name,\nwhich he had learnt was Bishop, from the fair resemblance perhaps, of his\noutward bull to the outward man of the lord of the lawn sleeves; or, in\nhis dignified rotundity, to some specimens of that princely priest of our\nfavoured land.  Bishop having sniffed and snorted a little, wondering at\nthe temerity of the two-legged animal that so daringly sought his\nacquaintance treated his advances as due homage, and resumed his easy\ncontemplative posture, like a politic Autocrat that condescendingly gives\naudience to a loyal peasant.  Guessing the yearning of his mighty mind,\nand no less mighty carcase, our hero presented him with a small bag of\noats, to conciliate his good-will, which being graciously received, gave\ngoodly omen of the magnanimity of his disposition.\n\nTwm now proceeded to his task of enlarging the opening for his egress.\nAfter having heaved up, with his crowbar, two of the uprights which\nformed the ribs of the old cow-house, from which he had removed its\nsinews the planks, just as he was enjoying his conquest over his worst\nobstructions, he found to his dismay, that he had reckoned without his\nhostess, as Lady Fortune claimed more from his exertions than he thought\ndue.  A strong square heart-of-oak piece of timber ran along,\nhorizontally, the whole length of the building, which nothing but a saw\ncould remove.  As the bull, Bishop, was too lordly and unaccustomed to\ndiminish his lofty altitude by dropping on his knees, like the meek\ndocile camel, and too stiff and heavy to spring like the active dog,\nnothing remained but to remove in some way, the stout wood that formed a\nbar across his furious-looking forehead.\n\nAs he considered the noise of sawing would rouse the Philistines of\nLlwynmawr, for an instant Twm\u2019s inventive powers were at a stand; but\nthey soon rallied, and he how had to strike a bold stroke, that promised\nanything but success, while certain failure would otherwise be his lot.\nFrom the bag he took two pairs of top-boots which he had provided, and\ndrew them, one at a time, with the toes pointing backward, on the feet of\nthe bull, Bishop, who seemed at first modestly to decline such an unusual\nhonour.  But as Twm was very pressing, he meekly submitted, like a\nbashful maid to don her wedding robes, or like King Richard, to have\nfortune buckled on his back; for he in fact endured to have his boots\ncorded above his knees.\n\nTwm now took the crow-bar to the front of the house, and fixed it firmly\nthrough an old-fashioned iron ring in the farm-house door, so as utterly\nto prevent the opening of it from the inside.  Fastening next a halter to\nthe bell attached to the sledge-shaft, he instructed Tommy Thomas to ring\nand roar \u201cfire\u201d with all the strength of his arms and might of his lungs;\napplying as he spoke, a candle to the hay on the sledge, while he\nretreated to saw, amid this din, the stubborn wood that barred alike the\nbull\u2019s departure and the progress of the enterprise.\n\nWhiz, crick, crack went the blaze! ding, dong! went the clapper of the\nbell! fire, fire! roared the scare-crow voice of little Tommy Thomas;\nTwm\u2019s saw being unheard through the prevalence of these mightier sounds.\nThe squire was the first awakened by the unusual noise, and terrible was\nthe fat man\u2019s fright on seeing the blazing pyramid that illumined the\nwhole house inwardly, and all over the yard, while he beheld some little\ndevil ringing the bell and roaring \u201cfire!\u201d like a sergeant major while\ndrilling a battalion.\n\nThe activity of a fat man in a fright is truly ludicrous.  The nimbleness\nof the thinnest frightened tailor that ever hid himself behind a\nfishing-rod, was mere sluggishness compared to the flea-hopping trips of\nSquire Prothero, although almost too large to conceal himself behind a\nchurch, in some mountain parishes of Wales.  Down stairs he rolled, ten\nsteps at a time, and tried in vain to open the outward door.  Up he\nrushed again, as if his unbreeched hams and shirted shoulders had wings\nappended to them, to assist his upward flight, bellowing \u201cfire! fire!\u201d\ntill hoarseness silenced him.\n\nJust as he lost his voice, he found a deputy for it in a broomstick, with\nwhich he ran into the men\u2019s room, cudgelling Ready Rosser and the rest\nthrough the bed-clothes, till they roared a dissonant chorus to the\nhoarse bass of \u201cfire, fire!\u201d \u201cget up and be d\u2014ned to you, or be fried in\nyour own tallow!\u201d\n\nStill the bell rung, and still Tommy Thomas lustily roared \u201cfire!\u201d  Ready\nRosser, overwhelmed with fear and stupidity, proved his name to be\nhenceforth a misnomer, having, with the rest of the clowns, utterly\nfailed to open the door.  Running up stairs again, they met the squire at\nthe top, flourishing his cudgel like a flail about their heads.  In his\nextremity, to give poor Rosser his due, he tried the notable plan of\nrising above his troubles by climbing up the chimney; but when he had\nnearly attained the top, like many other ambitious aspirants, he lost his\nfooting, and tumbled down to the bottom, blackened with soot, and\nsmarting with his bruises.  At length this scene of confusion received a\nturn by the adventurous daring of Gaby Snipe, a parish apprentice boy,\nwho, squeezing himself through a narrow casement, dropped to the ground,\nand ultimately succeeded in removing the crow-bar and opening the door.\n\nDuring this scene of dire confusion, Twm\u2019s enterprise had progressed\nswimmingly, and he had his worship the bull out of the cow-house, through\nthe horse-pond, over the snow-clad field, and into a lane that led to the\nparish road, which brought them to a sheep-cot on the high mountain top,\nthat almost overhung the mansion Ystrad Feen.  Just as he had bestowed\nhis precious charge within the aforesaid shelter, he was joined by little\nTommy Thomas, terribly out of breath with running and laughing.  Our hero\nhad also his full share of laughter, daylight having now pretty well\nadvanced, in noting the paces of the mighty brute as he stamped it along\nin his top-boots, with, the toes reversed, being the first of the family,\nas he deemed, that ever was honoured with such a dashing leg and heel\ntrimmings.\n\nTommy Thomas related that on the descent of Gaby Snipe, he quitted his\nbell-rope and hid himself awhile to witness the result of the outpouring\nfrom the house.  The rush was whimsical to witness, for fear, as usual,\nhad exaggerated the danger, and when in the yard they ran to and fro like\nscared rabbits, not knowing what to do, nor what was required of them.\nThe hay being all consumed, and the fire self-extinguished, Ready Rosser\ncalled out, \u201cwater, water!\u201d which, in their confusion and imperfect state\nof wakefulness, they dashed, by pailsful, at one another, till at length\na general fight commenced in the farm-yard; and when the squire came and\nparted them, not one could tell how the fray began, any more than they\ncould account for the stirring incidents that had frightened them all out\nof their senses.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\n\nPHILOSOPHY of smiles.  Twm sets out for modern Babylon.  New use of a\npack-saddle.  A gentleman of the road, and how Twm borrowed his horse.\n\nLaughter was the order of the morning at Ystrad Feen.  Grief causes the\nloss of the appetite, but mirth produced the same effect in a different\nway on this particular occasion, as no one seemed to have strength nor\nleisure to attack the tempting delicacies spread before them in such\nprofusion.  Laughter, loud, strong, boisterous, hearty ringing laughter,\nburst forth again and again as Twm, in the drollest manner, excited their\nrisibility by a relation of what had passed the preceding evening.\n\n\u201cA bull in boots!\u201d chuckled the Baronet, laughing till the tears ran down\nhis florid countenance.  \u201cA bull in boots!\u201d cried the lady of Ystrad\nFeen, till a sweet glow diffused itself over her whole countenance,\ndeveloping, by the effort a pair of the finest dimples that ever lent\ntheir attraction to a female face.  \u201cA bull in boots!\u201d cried the Reverend\nJohn David Rhys, whose excited countenance bore animated contrast to the\n\u201cpale cast of thought\u201d that usually distinguished him, and with whom\nlaughter was not habitual.\n\n\u201cA bull in boots!\u201d tittered Miss Meredith, with something more than a\nsimper, or small grin, used to exhibit a fine set of teeth (which Parson\nRhys thought peerless;) for honest, hearty, spleen-dispersing laughter,\nwas not voted to be vulgar in those days; nor gentility and insipidity\nconsidered as synonymous terms.\n\n\u201cA bull in boots!\u201d muttered a tall elderly gentleman with a long\nsaturnine nose, that seemed to curl away, half disdainfully, from the\nmouth beneath it, which laughed, however, in spite of the nose, inclining\nto extend itself from ear to ear, in revenge for never having so indulged\nitself before.  \u201cA bull in boots!\u201d repeated he sneeringly; \u201chow\nridiculous!  I should have as soon thought to see a pig in pattens.\u201d\n\nIn the midst of this merriment, Tommy Thomas made his appearance, to\nannounce something; but catching the exclamation of \u201ca bull in boots,\u201d\nand \u201ca pig in pattens,\u201d was immediately infected with the general\ncontagion, and laughed and snorted like a pig in a hay-field, when a\ncunning cur has suddenly seized him by the buttocks.  The new arrival\npromised additional fun, and all were prepared to enjoy it.  At length he\nexplained himself in a brief sentence, \u201cMr. Prothero is coming!\u201d\n\nTwm now made a hasty retreat for some unexplained purpose; and in a few\nminutes the portly figure of Squire Prothero was seen in the yard,\nsitting on his horse, and laughing till too convulsed to alight.  The\ncompany ran out and greeted him, while the good-natured squire co-mingled\nwith their mirthful peals as hearty a \u201cho, ho, ho!\u201d as ever shook his\njolly fat sides.\n\n\u201cLaugh away, ho, ho, ho! laugh away,\u201d cried he, \u201cI know I look an ass,\nafter bragging up such a nincompoop as my fellow against this young wag\nof yours.  But where is he? where is the young dog?  I suppose my noble\nbull is slaughtered by this time.\u201d\n\n\u201cTough steaks he gave us for breakfast,\u201d cried the baronet, \u201ctough as an\nalligator with his scales on.\u201d\n\n\u201cFine fun if he had choked you all! but never mind!\u201d returned the squire,\n\u201ca joke is a joke, and a bet is a bet; and I have come to pay mine.\u201d\n\nScarcely had he uttered these magnanimous sentiments, that proved him\nworthy of the Grand Master\u2019s chair in a society of laughing philosophers,\nthan the booted bull, Bishop, gravely approached, with our hero on his\nback.  A fresh explosion now burst from the party, to note the stately\nand apparently conceited paces of the buskind king of the kine, who now\nwore his boots with toes foremost, like any other gentleman; but none\nlaughed so heartily as Prothero himself, who seemed in raptures to find\nhis bull unbutchered.\n\n\u201cThis fellow would tame a fiery dragon,\u201d quoth he, \u201caye, and ride him\nthrough the air, too, without fear, or he could never have coaxed Bishop\ninto such a good humour as to become a steed for him.\u201d\n\nThe whole party now entered the house, and Prothero narrated, to their\nboundless amusement, their ultimate discovery of the bull\u2019s abduction.\nRosser and his fellows had been sent in a body to trace the foot-prints\nof the bull in the snow, and recapture him if possible; but as such signs\nwere utterly invisible, Rosser returned in the utmost dismay, with a face\nhalf a yard long, from the effect, he said, of a new light that had just\nbroken in upon him.  With great solemnity, he declared his conviction\nthat the supposed bull was no beast at all, but the devil in disguise, as\nnot a print of his hoof was to be found anywhere, although four set of\nhuman feet were traceable, backwards and forwards.\n\n\u201cThat was no bull,\u201d said the wise Rosser; \u201cit was a devil which, after\nkicking down the cow-house, and firing the hay with his brimstone breath,\nflew away in a clap of thunder, which indeed I heard myself, as plainly\nas I hear my own voice at this moment.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor all these abominable bounces,\u201d quoth the squire, \u201cI called him a\nliar and a fool, when the fellow turned upon me with \u2018the devil take the\nbull! you didn\u2019t think I could keep him in my pocket!\u2019  Now the\nwhimsicality of the idea of a fellow\u2019s pocketing a bull, tickled me so\nmuch that I forgave him everything!\u201d  Another chorus of the trebles and\nbass aforesaid burst out again, and, at the conclusion, the ladies\ndeclared they had almost laughed themselves into illness.\n\n\u201cNever mind, fair ones, let the stay-laces crack\u2014cut them asunder, and\ngive the lungs and laughter fair play!\u201d cried the squire; closing his\nperiod with as hearty a \u201cho, ho, ho!\u201d as usually formed the climax of his\nsayings and doings.  In the present instance the elderly gentleman chimed\nin with him, and exclaiming, \u201cdroll as ever, Prothero, but now outwitted\nby a mere boy.\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue, Sir John, (your pardon for the omission of my respects thus\nlong),\u201d cried the squire, as he cordially shook his hand, \u201cbut such a boy\nas our combined manhood here never met with before.\u201d\n\nThe worthy here referred to, and before noticed as the gentleman with the\nsaturnine nose, was no less a personage than Sir John Price, Baronet, of\nPriory House, Brecon, the highly respected father of Lady Devereaux.  He\nhad arrived the preceding evening, about the time that Twm commenced his\nattack upon the bull.\n\nLady Devereaux explained to her father the great and gallant services\nwhich she had received at Twm\u2019s hands, and her statement was made in the\nmost earnest and impassioned manner, as if her gratitude was as great as\non the day she was attacked by Dio the Devil, and rescued by our hero.\nSir John Price at once rose from his chair, in a way that strongly\ncontrasted with his usual cold and ceremonious habit, and extending his\nwhite, diamond-ringed, aristocratic hand to Twm, assured him of his\nfriendship and protection in all things wherein he could serve him.\n\nTwm would not accept the money which Prothero tendered in liquidation of\nhis bet.  \u201cNo,\u201d said the successful champion, \u201cit was all for fun and\namusement, and you will allow that we have had some enjoyment out of it,\nand all I ask is that, when I am far away, and you are brought face to\nface with your well-prized bull, Bishop, you will think of me.\u201d\n\nThe generosity of his sentiments met with the encomiums of all present;\nand the worthy squire reluctantly consenting to receive back his bull\nwithout fee or fine, absolutely insisted on leaving the forfeited twenty\npounds in the hands of Lady Devereaux, who received it accordingly.\nRecollecting the manner in which he had been hunted from Tregaron, it was\ntruly gratifying to his feelings, and flattering to his pride, to hear\npersons of the rank of the present company express their regret that he\nwas to leave them the next morning.\n\nThe following day was the one appointed for Twm\u2019s departure to London,\nand he arose with a sorrowful heart, (for he was thinking of the lady of\nhis dream,) to make a preparation for his departure.  The baronet having\npresented him with a sum of money for his expenses, insisted on his\nleaving behind him, with Lady Devereaux, whatever cash he possessed, till\nhis return; while the lady herself, playfully promising to be a faithful\nbanker, threw on his neck a heavy golden chain, as her present.  Twm had\noften seen her wear it; and fervently kissing the splendid article,\nreturned it to her keeping till his return.\n\nIf anything could add to his satisfaction, it was to experience the\nattention of his two fast friends, Rhys and the Squire, who even at this\nearly hour had hastened to bid him farewell.  Right glad was he of the\nopportunity of sending some cash to his mother, and to remit what he had\nborrowed from his friend, Cadwgan.  In the yard, he had to receive the\ngood wishes and parting civilities of every man and maidservant in the\nestablishment, particularly of the huntsman and the whippers-in, with\nwhom he had become an amazing favourite.\n\nIt had been concerted that his best mode of travelling _incog._ would be\non a mean horse, with a pack-saddle, and disguised as a lowly country\nlad.  Thus mounted and accoutred, behold him at length disappearing\nthrough the yard-gate of Ystrad Feen; the cash and papers entrusted to\nhis care having been studiously concealed about his person.  Although but\nill-contented with his homely harness, he found his mountain pony, like\nhis race in general, far better than his looks promised; so that he rode\non with a heart full of glee, proud of the honours which he had gained,\nand glowing with bright anticipations of the future.\n\nThrough his native principality, his journey was interesting enough, so\nwe need not note the scenes, which, however charming in their rural\nbeauty and romantic wildness to Twm, would lose most of their attraction\nin mere description.  He jogged on steadily and perseveringly till he had\nleft Bristol behind, and he had even passed through Bath and Chippenham\nbefore a single adventure occurred worthy of record.\n\nRiding late one evening, between the last-named town and Marlborough, he\nfound it necessary to put up at a small public-house on the road-side,\ndistinguished by the sign of the \u201cHop-pole,\u201d the obscurity of which he\nconsidered favourable to his safety.\n\nHaving fed his beast and eaten his supper, he went immediately to bed;\nand, with a view of preserving his treasure in the best manner, slept\nwithout divesting himself of his clothes.  He had slept some hours, and\nday was just breaking, when he was aroused by the trampling of a horse,\nand the gruff voice of a traveller whom he heard alight and enter the\nhouse.\n\nA strong impulse of curiosity determined him to rise from his bed; and,\nas the large treble-bedded room which he occupied was over the parlour,\nto which the guest was introduced, he listened, to learn whether anything\nportended danger to himself.  He found, to his surprise and dismay, that\nhe was the subject of conversation between the landlady and her guest,\nwhom he discovered to be no other than the very character of which he\nstood most particularly in peril\u2014a highwayman.\n\nHe had heard himself described to him by the landlady, as an uncouth\nbooby of a countryman from the Welsh mountains, miserably mounted on a\npiece of animated carrion, for which the crows cawed as it limped along;\nand what booty was to be expected from such a beggar inquired she?\n\n\u201cYou are wrong, mistress, you are quite wrong,\u201d cried the stranger; \u201cfrom\nyour account I expect much from him.  I have robbed more than one such,\ndressed like a scarecrow, while making for London, and bearing with him\nthe twelvemonth\u2019s rent of half-a-dozen of his neighbours to pay the\nlandlord in town.  I shall be at this fellow as soon as he quits your\nroof; I have no doubt but what he is a prize, and if he is, you of course\ncome in for shares.\u201d\n\nHaving learnt thus much, Twm, in some trepidation, retired to his bed,\nand began to consider how he should contrive, in order to preserve the\nproperty in his possession.  He rose again, thinking to escape through\nthe window, but found it too small to admit his egress, and therefore\ngave up the idea.\n\nAs he looked out through the miserable casement, busily plotting to hatch\na scheme of deliverance, he could perceive no favourable object to aid\nhis purpose except a large pool on the road-side, in which he thought of\ndropping his cash if he could reach it, and do the act unobserved, so\nthat he might recover it at his leisure.\n\nAs nothing better offered, he determined to adopt his plan immediately;\nand therefore, after making a studied clattering in putting on his shoes,\nhe went down stairs, and called for a jug of beer and toast for his\nbreakfast.  The freebooter did not show himself, but the landlady and her\ndaughter, who seemed to be in the habit of sitting up all night to\nreceive and entertain such guests, scrutinized our hero very closely.\n\nThe worthy hostess asked him some apparently careless questions\nrespecting his business in travelling the country, to which he replied he\nwas trying to overtake a brother pigman, who was driving their joint\ncharge to London.\n\nWhile at breakfast, Twm\u2019s brain showed him another project for securing\nhis valuables, which he considered an improvement upon the pond scheme.\nTo give a more clownish character to his manners, the night before, he\nhad carried the old pack-saddle up stairs, brought it down in the\nmorning, and while at breakfast sat on it before the fire, instead of a\nstool.\n\nIt occurred to him that this peculiarity of his would have been\nattributed to other motives, and that, no doubt, the honest inmates of\nthe place thought that he would not have exhibited such care for his\npack-saddle if it were not worth more than it looked.  He was ultimately\nconvinced that they had decided that all his treasure was contained\ntherein.\n\nIndeed, it was not a bad idea, for he could then sit on it all day and\nmake a pillow of it by night.  He determined to encourage their\nsuspicions; accordingly, bursting a hole in the fore end of it, he called\nthe landlady to receive her reckoning, and in her presence, pushing his\nfist into the straw cushion of the pack-saddle, he drew out several\npieces of gold, and asked her if she could give him change; but she\nanswered in the negative, on which he again thrust his hand into the\npack-saddle, and brought out more gold and silver intermixed; and with\nthe latter settled his bill, and went to the stable for his horse.\n\nSecuring all his money about his person, he mounted his Rosinante.\nHaving cut away the girths from the pack-saddle, he bade the landlady\nfarewell, and rode with all his might towards the pool, which was about a\nquarter of a mile forward on the road.  He soon heard the highwayman\nbrushing forward in his rear, with many oaths calling on him to stop, a\nsummons that increased our hero\u2019s speed, till, being opposite the pond,\nhis pursuer overtook him.\n\nTwm rode to the edge of the water, and threw the pack-saddle, with all\nhis strength, towards the centre of the pool; but in bustling to regain a\nsteady seat as he made towards the road, he fell headlong from his horse.\nThe free-booter cursed him for a Welsh fool, and with a thundering voice\nordered him to hold his horse, or he would blow his brains out,\n(brandishing his pistol all the while,) that he might go into the water\nto recover the booty.\n\nTwm appeared to be frightened out of his senses, and trembled with very\nvisible terror as he approached to do the robber\u2019s bidding; but no sooner\nhad the highwayman reached the centre of the pool, and began groping\nabout for the object of his search, than Twm, with one spring, mounted\nhis fine tall horse, and rode away with all his might.\n\nSo far all went well; but, to Twm\u2019s unspeakable horror, the knight of the\nroad, finding himself thus tricked, placed his fingers in his mouth and\ngave a loud whistle, on which his horse immediately stopped quite still.\n\nTwm, in real terror, as he was within pistol-shot, roared \u201cmurder!\u201d with\nall his might; when the horse, to his great amazement, took his\nexclamation of terror for a counter order, and again started into a\ngallop.  The freebooter repeated his whistle, and again the horse stood\nstill as a mile-stone: Twm reiterated \u201cmurder!\u201d with all the power of his\nlungs; and the well-taught horse instantly resumed his gallop.\n\nThus the highwayman\u2019s whistle and Twm\u2019s roaring of \u201cmurder!\u201d had an\nalternate effect on the noble animal, till at length, our hero got\ncompletely out of hearing of the baffled robber.  As he rode on\ntriumphantly, he sang the old Welsh pennill or stanza\u2014{203}\n\n    \u201cNo cheat is it to cheat the cheater\n    No treason to betray the traitor:\n    Nor is it theft, but just deceiving,\n    To thieve from him who lives by thieving.\u201d\n\nAs he rode into Marlborough, in the highest spirit, one of the church\nchimes was playing \u201cSee the conquering hero comes!\u201d which appeared to him\nto be a singularly appropriate greeting, and which he accepted as a\npersonal tribute to his ingenious trickery upon the highwayman, whom, Twm\nsecretly hoped, had not yet got out the old pack-saddle from the pool.\n\nHow Twm laughed when he pictured to himself the rage and dismay of the\nvillain when he discovered its contents!  That was a thought to chuckle\nover and enjoy.  It would extort many a boisterous \u201cho, ho, ho!\u201d from old\nSquire Prothero, when he should have the pleasure of giving him the\nstory.\n\nHe received great commendation at the inn where he stayed for the night,\nwhen he related his adventure; and many of the inhabitants were loud in\ntheir congratulations to the young Welshman, who had so cleverly\noutwitted the English highwayman.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\n\nWATT, the mole-catcher, in a pleasant mood.  Twm hears of his old love,\nGwenny Cadwgan.  Tom Dorbell, and his feats.  Another adventure with a\nknight of the road.\n\nTwm had reason to be satisfied with his progress on his road to London,\nfor he had met danger, and his wit and ingenuity had proved equal to any\nemergency.  But success did not make him over-confident, and consequently\ncareless; but, on finding himself yet seventy-four miles from his\njourney\u2019s end, he prepared for more trials of his skill and courage.  He\nwas sent for next morning by the mayor of Marlborough, who had heard of\nhis adventure, and required to bring the horse with him, which he had so\nadroitly won.\n\nMany gentlemen having assembled at the entrance to the town-hall, our\nhero appeared in all the pride of a conqueror, mounted on his goodly\nsteed; although so humbly clad, their hats were doffed, and loud shouts\nof applause were immediately given.  It was soon ascertained by the mayor\nand the gentlemen present, that the horse was regularly bred to the road,\nand instructed by a highwayman, therefore, not, as at first conjectured,\nthe property of any person deprived of it by one of these free-faring\ngentry; consequently, his worship, with many comments on his cleverness\nand courage told our hero that the horse was his own by right of\nconquest; but that if he were inclined to part with it, he would give\nforty pounds for it Twm directly assented; and the money was paid to him\nthe same morning.\n\nBeing now in want of an animal on which to continue his travel, Twm\ndetermined to walk on to Hungerford, and purchase one nearly like the one\nhe had set out upon at the commencement of his journey, as he was still\nof the same opinion, that the less temptation in his outward appearance\nto the gentlemen of the road, the less likely were they to interfere with\nhim.\n\nAbout three miles out of Hungerford, he saw before him a pig-drover, with\na large herd of porkers, that he alternately cursed in his ancient\nBritish tongue, and cut up with a whip; while at intervals between these\namusing recreations he loudly sang, or roared, certain scraps of Welsh\nsongs.  Twm\u2019s ear was quick in recognizing the well-known voice, and he\nsoon stood side by side with his old friend Watt the mole-catcher.  After\nmutual expressions of wonder and congratulation, Twm immediately asked\nhim how his mother was, as well as farmer Cadwgan and his daughter\nGwenny.\n\nWatt replied that his mother and her husband were well; but instead of\nanswering the latter question, enquired his adventures since he left\nTregaron.  Twm, with animated vanity, ran over that bright portion of his\nhistory, occasionally heightening the colour of events, according to the\ngeneral practice of story-tellers, from time immemorial; dwelling\nparticularly on his fortunate preservation of the lady of Ystrad Feen,\nand the benefits which accrued to him in consequence, from the liberality\nof Sir George Devereaux, whose confidential agent he then was, on\nbusiness of the utmost importance, to London.\n\nThese extraordinary events were intended by Twm to astonish the\nsulky-looking mole-catcher, Watt, who was not in an impressionable mood;\nbut Twm, nothing daunted, still ran on, saying, in allusion to his\n\u201cfriend\u201d Sir George,\u2014\u201cWell, Watt, were he ten times as rich and happy as\nhe is, I should never envy him any thing he possessed, but one lovely\npiece of property.\u201d  \u201cAnd what might that be?\u201d asked Watt.  \u201cWhy,\u201d\nreplied the other, \u201ccould I once forget poor Gwenny Cadwgan, which I\nnever can, I should envy him the possession of his charming young wife,\nthe beautiful lady of Ystrad Feen\u2014the finest, the handsomest, and\ncleverest woman I ever saw! and although now married to a second husband,\nshe is little more than one-and-twenty years of age.  But I was asking of\nmy old sweet-heart Gwenny, poor Gwenny Cadwgan.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor Gwenny Cadwgan indeed!\u201d echoed Watt.\n\nThe sneering manner in which the mole-catcher spoke this, alarmed our\nhero; \u201cWhat of her, Watt?\u201d cried he eagerly; \u201cis anything the matter?\ntell me quickly, for Heaven\u2019s sake!\u201d  Watt replied evasively, that great\ntrouble had come to both her and her father, in consequence of their\nhaving harboured him when the hue and cry was up.  That fact, he said,\nwas discovered a few days after his disappearance, by old Rachel Ketch,\nwho sold the secret to the Squire for the highest price she could get;\nand would have sold her own soul on similar terms to the Devil himself.\n\nTwm observed Watt writhing as he spoke, and struggling inwardly, with\nsome terrible feeling, that for awhile deprived him of utterance.  He\nnoticed with regret the deep furrows of worldly care on his cheek, so\nlately ruddy and mirthful; and thought he observed a sinister expression\nin his sunken eye and trembling lips, that now were paler than his sallow\nface.  Fiercely resenting the closeness of our hero\u2019s scrutiny by an\nassumption of rude abruptness, he said \u201cbut why do I waste time in\ntalking here, when\u2014but I must be off\u2014good-bye!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you have not told me of Gwenny and her father,\u201d quote Twm, in\namazement at his demeanour.\n\n\u201cThat is soon told,\u201d replied Watt, pettishly; \u201cthe squire turned him out\nof his farm, and made so many claims one sort or other, that Cadwgan was\nbeggared, and left him so poor that he could scarcely take a cottage for\nhimself and daughter.  If I hadn\u2019t let him mine, he would have had none.\u201d\n\u201cGood heavens!\u201d exclaimed Twm, \u201cthy hovel for farmer Cadwgan and the\ngentle Gwenny!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not?\u201d replied Watt, with a lowering brow; \u201cis he not a day labourer?\nit served me _when I was one_, for many a bitter day.  His daughter too,\nthe dainty Gwenny, she was too good for me\u2014turned with scorn from poor\nWatt the mole-catcher\u2014but never mind! she was a bit of a sweet-heart of\nthine too, Twm, I remember; but set thy heart at rest, lad, if she won\u2019t\nbe mine, she will never be thine, at any rate.\u201d\n\nAll this was uttered in a tone of bitter sarcasm, that both surprised and\nenraged our hero; especially when he thus learned from his own mouth that\nWatt had sought to win the affections of the fair and generous Gwenny\nCadwgan.  He replied\u2014\u201cWell, the devil take thee when he will, for he must\nhave marked thee for his own, long since, or thou wouldst never have had\nthe impudence to court Gwenny Cadwgan!\u201d\n\n\u201cHa! ha!\u201d laughed Watt, with a bitter snarl; \u201cshe will never be thine nor\nmine! so don\u2019t burden thy memory with one who has already forgotten thee.\nFarewell! and better luck with thy next sweet-heart!\u201d  With that he\ncracked his whip and drove on his herd of swine, with an air of excited\nfierceness that was actually fearful to witness.\n\nSo much hurt was Twm at the bearing and conduct of Watt that he allowed\nhim to go without asking more questions.  His sorrow to hear of the\nchange in the fortunes of Cadwgan and his lovely daughter, threw a heavy\ncloud over his mind; and he regretted that his remittance to him, by the\nhand of his friend, was so small.  He felt rather relieved by the\nreflection that however small the sum was, it would be deemed a\n\u201cGod-send\u201d to them under present circumstances; and at the same time\nprove to friends that he was not unmindful of them, nor ungrateful for\ntheir boundless kindness in his dark days of peril.  However, he felt\nsomewhat embittered by the insinuations of Watt, that the fair Gwenny\u2019s\nregard for him was on the wane, if not altogether given to another; and\nright glad would he have been to learn the exact bearing of the whole\naffair, at which the mole-catcher\u2019s hints but darkly hinted.\n\nTwm was detained at Hungerford for some days, by starving weather; and\nwhile looking about for another animal, was taken by an old pedlar, down\na green lane, to a creature of his, left there to graze.  He was not a\nlittle surprised to find it to be his own pony, left in exchange with the\nhighwayman, having on his back the identical pack-saddle in which he had\nformerly concealed his money.  Twm made a purchase of both, and the next\nmorning took his departure from Hungerford.\n\nHis enforced leisure at Hungerford had not been unprofitably spent, for\nhe had listened attentively to the conversation of the different drinking\nparties at the tavern where he stayed; and found the dangers of the road\nto be the general theme.  The great hero of the turnpikes at this time,\nwas a certain knight of the road called the Gallant Glover, alias Tom\nDorbell, originally a leather-breeches maker and glover.  It appeared\nthat he was a man who, by his shrewdness in general, as well as\nparticular instances of cunning, combined with his dauntless daring, had\nbecome so much an object of admiration to those who had nothing to lose,\nas of terror to the men of money, who had become the victims of his\naudacity.\n\nThe following anecdote of him, told by one of these tavern worthies,\ninterested our worthy much, and had the effect of putting him on his\nmettle, in case of an accidental meeting with him during his journey.\n\nIt seems, a gentleman\u2019s son was taken for robbing on the highway; and as\nhe had been formerly pardoned, he despaired of mercy a second time.  Upon\nthis, Tom Dorbell opened a treaty with his wealthy relatives, and\nundertook, for five hundred pounds, to bring him off.  It was stipulated\nand agreed to, that one half of that sum be paid in hand, and the other\nhalf when the deliverance was effected.  On the trial of the young\ngentleman, he was found guilty; but just as the judge was about to pass\nsentence, Tom Dorbell cried out \u201cOh! what a sad thing it is to shed\ninnocent blood!\u201d and continuing to reiterate the expression, he was\napprehended, and the judge asked him what he meant by such exclamations,\nhe answered,\u2014\u201cMay it please your Lordship, it is a dreadful thing for a\nman to die wrongfully; but one may see how hard-mouthed some people are,\nby the witnesses swearing that this gentleman now at the bar robbed them\non the highway, at the time stated in the indictment, when, indeed, my\nLord, I was the person who committed that robbery.\u201d\n\nAccordingly the \u201cGallant Glover\u201d was taken into custody, and the young\ngentleman liberated.  Being brought to trial the following assizes, to\nthe astonishment of the court, he pleaded not guilty.  \u201cNot guilty!\u201d\nexclaimed the judge in a voice of thunder, \u201cdid you not at the last\nassizes own yourself guilty of the robbery in question?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d replied Tom Dorbell, as meek as a mouse, \u201chow far I was\nguilty then, but, upon my word, I am not guilty now; therefore, if any\nperson can accuse me of committing such a robbery, I desire them to prove\nthe same.\u201d  No witnesses appearing, the Gallant Glover was of course\nacquitted.\n\nWhat Twm had heard about the Gallant Glover and his achievements, warned\nhim that fresh trials on the road awaited him; but he was no \u201cBob Acre,\u201d\nand, \u201cscrewing his courage to the sticking-point,\u201d he manfully resumed\nhis journey.\n\nHe had got within ten miles of Reading, in Berkshire, anxiously hoping to\nreach it without disaster, when the sudden discharge of a pistol, close\nto his ear, convinced him that he was in the centre of danger.  Instantly\na horseman, well mounted, rode fiercely down a lane that entered the\nroad, and ordered him to stop and deliver in a minute, or have his brains\nscattered on the hedge beside him.\n\n\u201cCatch a weasel asleep!\u201d  You might do that, but to surprise Twm Shon\nCatty when he had reason to be on the alert, was almost impossible.\nAssuming an air of clownish simplicity, he replied, \u201cLord bless ye\nmaster, I ha gotten nothing to deliver but an old testament, a crooked\nsixpence, and a broken fish-hook, and\u2014and\u2014\u201d  \u201cAnd what, you prevaricating\nyoung scoundrel!\u201d roared the highwayman.  \u201cWhy, this purse,\u201d continued\nTwm, \u201cwhich uncle Timothy gave I to market for him, and pay his bills at\nReading to-morrow;\u201d producing at the same time an old stocking, which he\nhad stuffed with old nails and cockle shells, in order to make a jingle.\n{210}  The robber made a grasp at the supposed well-stocked purse, which\nTwm dexterously evaded, and flung it over the hedge into the adjoining\nfield, riding on; while the former instantly alighted, blustering out a\nstring of oaths and threats as he made his way to the field to search for\nthe coveted treasure.\n\nTwm was, of course aware that as soon as the robber had discovered how he\nhad been tricked, that he would doubtless ride after him, and in his\nrage, shoot him on the spot.  As Twm\u2019s poor pony would have no chance in\na race with the highwayman\u2019s high-spirited charger, he determined that a\ndaring act, if carried out successfully, would both ensure his safety and\nprove profitable to him likewise.  The knight of the road, when he\nalighted, had thrown his bridle over a hedge-stake; so Twm, abandoning\nhis pony for the second time, watched the robber into the field, crawled\nalong the ditch till he reached his horse, which he instantly seized by\nthe bridle, mounted and rode off in a hot gallop, till he got safe into\nthe ancient town of Reading, as the clear-toned bells of St. Lawrence\nwere chiming their last evening peal.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n\nA GRACIOUS Lawyer.  Twm determines to \u201cpedestrianize\u201d a bit.  Watt\u2019s\nhorrible tale.  A fair bevy of lasses from Cardigan.  Guilt and the\npunishment.\n\nNext morning, Twm had the horse which he had taken from the robber, cried\nthrough the town of Reading, in the honest hope that he should find the\nrightful owner.  He was right in his conjecture that it would prove to be\nthe property of some one in that town, for a wealthy attorney claimed it,\nwith a considerable degree of hauteur and insolence.  So far was this\nlimb of the law from either allowing our hero anything for the loss of\nhis own humble beast, or even thanking him for his instrumentality in\nrecovering a valuable horse, that he told him he might think himself very\nlucky he was not prosecuted for its being found in his possession.  Our\nworthy did think himself so, and took a precipitate departure\naccordingly.\n\nBeing now within eight-and-thirty miles of London, he resolved to throw\noff his disguise, and walk the rest of the journey.  Accordingly, he\nbought a suit of clothes at Reading, in which he concealed his money and\nvaluables, with a pair of pocket pistols; and thus provided he resumed\nhis journey to the metropolis.  Having walked twelve miles, he attained\nthe town of Maidenhead.\n\nOn a seat outside the Bear Inn, he beheld a jovial company of topers, and\nin the midst of them, Watt the mole-catcher.  It turned out that he had\nsold his pigs without going to London, and was now sauntering from tavern\nto tavern, squandering the money that was not his own.  The moment he\nrecognized our hero, he started on his legs, and offered him his hand.\n\n\u201cTwm, I take shame to myself for the manner in which we met and parted\nlast, but I was sober then! and in my grave and sober moods all the evil\nand bitterness of my heart come out; now I am rather mellow, there\u2019s\nnothing but good in me.\u201d  On being asked when he intended to return to\nTregaron, Watt ground his teeth and exclaimed\u2014\u201cnever!\u201d adding, \u201cit is not\nfrom fear of old Inco Evans, for I stayed there as long as I pleased, in\nspite of him, notwithstanding my promise to the contrary.  But for other\nreasons Tregaron has been made too hot for me.\u201d\n\nThe whole of the drinking party having gradually dropped off, Watt and\nour hero were left alone, when the latter with much feeling asked his old\ncompanion what was the meaning of the extraordinary change of manner, and\nof character, which he perceived in him.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell thee, lad, what\u2019s the meaning\u2014it means that instead of the\nfrank merry fellow I was in the dear gone days, I now am\u2014call it what you\nlike, but,\u201d\u2014cried Watt, laughing with wet eyes, \u201csome of my dear friends\nwho scorn flattery, would say a d\u2014ed rascal, and I quite agree with them.\nBut never mind\u2014I belong to the strongest party after all.\u201d\n\nOur hero here pressed him for something of a connected account of his\nadventures since he left Tregaron; on which Watt immediately assented,\nand ran them over in the following off-hand strain.\n\n\u201cYou remember, I dare say, Twm, that when you were only a child, that I\nwas famed throughout the village as a wit and joker; in short, that I was\nthe funny fellow of Tregaron, and my ambition was to retain this title.\nThe comical tricks and humorous saying of Watt the mole-catcher, made\nmirth at every farmer\u2019s heath, and their tables were spread with food for\nme whenever I called.  As I grew older, my pleasures and antipathies\nacquired a stronger cast; and there were but few in our adjoining\nparishes who were subject either to execration or ridicule, and dreaded\nmy satire and exposure.\n\n\u201cI formed attachments more than once among the daughters of the farmers,\nwhom I had frequently entertained at the social evening hearth; but\nalthough my jests were relished, my overtures were rejected.  In short, I\nfound that while mirth, innocence and harmless wit were my companions,\nparents generally disposed of their daughters to young men of characters\ndirectly opposite to mine\u2014the stupidly grave, and thrifty, no matter how\nknavish.  My eyes were at length opened; and I found that the funny man,\nhowever amusing as an acquaintance, was coveted by none as a relative,\nbut considered as a mere diverging vagabond at best.  Well, thought I,\nthis will never do; but since gravity is the order of the day, I will be\nas grave and roguish as the most successful of my fellow-men.  Having\ncome to this conclusion, I studied knavery, that is to say, thrifty\nrascality like a science.\n\n\u201cAs the first step I went immediately to my grandmother, who had often\nexhorted me to quit my sinful mirth and become serious, when I assured\nher of my conversion, in token of which I threw myself on my knees, and\nentreated her blessing.  She afterwards took me to a puritanic chapel,\nand in that assembly, where I had often pinned the skirts and gown-tails\nof the elect together, the poor old doting soul in the pride of her heart\nexhibited her convert to the gaze of the saints; but neglected to inform\nthem that I had robbed her that same evening of half the contents of her\npocket, as she lay asleep.  I was not long in discovering that a sedate\naspect was a goodly mask for the most profitable villainy, and therefore\ndetermined to wear it for life.  Laughter, jest, and mirthful humour, and\nall those thriftless indications of the light and harmless heart, I\nabjured for ever.\n\n\u201cI now gave a respite to the rats and moles, and set up as a butcher at\nTregaron; and for one sheep that I bought of the farmers, I stole three,\nand slaughtered them either by moonlight on the hills, or by candle-light\nin my own cottage.  Although I daily bettered my condition, I considered\nthis but a slow and creeping course of thrift; and therefore, as\nconscience no longer stood in my way, I meditated some bolder way of\nleaping into property at once.\n\n\u201cYou know that wrinkled old she-usurer of Tregaron, Rachel Ketch, who\nmade money, Heaven knows how, and increased it by lending out to country\npeople, at a higher rate than city usurers dared to ask.  In the\nbitterness of my heart, after losing all hope of a girl, whom I had long\ndoated on, I went to the old Jezabel and sought her hand in marriage;\naye, and would have taken her were she ten times as loathsome, in the\nanxious hope of her speedy death, and of succeeding to her golden hoards.\nI strove to recommend myself by assuring her I was the most finished\nscoundrel in existence; and that when gain was my object, theft, perjury,\nand even murder, however hideous to silly innocents, had no power to\nscare me from my pursuit.  This avowal of my noble qualifications I\nthought would have won her heart forever, but I was mistaken.  The\nkeen-eyed hag, who was never seen to smile before, laughed outright at my\nproposal.\n\n\u201c\u2018What! you want the old woman\u2019s gold, master cut-throat of the muttons,\ndo you? to slit her weasand also, and make away with her a month after\nmarriage, like a troublesome old ewe;\u2019 screamed she, as her spiteful\nblack and broken snags grinned defiance, and her shrill tones broke out\nin laughs of mockery.  I never saw mirth so damnable before!  I felt\nmyself the butt of her ridicule, humbled and degraded; and as my anger\nrose against the beldame, I resolved that since I could not wed her, to\nrob her would answer my purpose full as well.  Accident supplied an\nopportunity; the little boys who had formerly been my favourites, and who\nin their innocence failed to recognize my change of character, I found it\ndifficult to drive from me.\n\n\u201cA neighbour\u2019s child one day asked me to lift him up to Rachel Ketch\u2019s\nthatch, to take from it a wren\u2019s nest, which he had long watched, and\nsaid he was sure that the young ones were on the eve of flying.  It was a\nwinning little urchin that made the request, and I could not refuse him.\nThe moment that I raised him to a standing position on my shoulders, he\neagerly thrust his little hand into the thatch, and cried, \u2018Dear, dear,\nhow cold!\u2019 when a snake which he had felt, that had destroyed the young\nbirds, coiled itself round in the nest, darted out into his face, and the\nyoungster shrieked and fainted in my arms.  I carried him home, where he\nsoon died of the fright, for it appeared he was not stung.\n\n\u201cSupposing there was a nest of these reptiles in the old rotten straw\nthatch, I poked it in all directions with a long hooked stick, and at\nlast felt something attached to it.  As I drew it forward and examined\nit, to my great astonishment, I found it to be an old woollen stocking,\nclosely stuffed with various golden coins.  Here was a discovery!  I felt\nmyself a man for ever!  The old woman was at this time in\nCarmarthenshire, where she had gone to enforce her claims to certain\ndebts among her former neighbours; and therefore, having no fear of\ndetection, I pushed back the golden prize and went away, intending to\nreturn for it at night.  As I anxiously watched the hours and minutes\npass away, reflecting on my newly-acquired wealth, a raging savage spirit\nof avarice so possessed me, that I determined to plunder old Rachel\u2019s\ncottage of all the money I could find.\n\n\u201cNight came, and with breathless haste I made an entrance through the\nthatch, on the side furthest from the street, and at midnight went away\nwith a heavy booty, the greater part of which I buried beneath the floor\nof my own cottage, determined to seek an opportunity of quitting Tregaron\nfor ever.  Fortune seemed to favour me beyond my hopes; Squire Graspacre\nhaving a numerous herd of fine pigs, engaged me to drive them to England,\nand sell them at a good price; I have done so, and pocketed the cash, not\none farthing of which will the squire ever handle.  To relate all my\nrogueries since I became a grave man, would take too much of your time;\nso here ends my story.\u201d\n\nTwm had heard Watt\u2019s tale with sorrow and regret, and his spirits were\nfast sinking below zero, when a party of Cardiganshire lasses, who were\nmaking their annual journey to weed the gardens in the neighbourhood of\nLondon, passed opposite the tavern door where our worthies were sitting.\nWith heart-touched delight, our hero recognized the comfortable and not\nunpicturesque costume of his native country; and his satisfaction was\nstill increased when he found among the rural damsels, two Tregaron\ngirls; one of whom, named Martha Gwyn, was a fast friend of Gwenny\nCadwgan\u2019s.  These poor girls expressed their gladness to see their\nlong-lost \u201cneighbour\u2019s child,\u201d as their homely but touching phrase went;\nbut their recognition of Watt amounted to such terror and abhorrence that\nthe rose of health and innocence faded on their cheeks, while their\nexpanded eyes were fearfully fixed on his countenance, as if something\nunearthly met their stony stare.\n\nAt length they found words to say that he was charged, not only with the\nrobbery of Rachael Ketch\u2019s cottage, but with murder; that the constables\nwere out to search for him in all quarters, and that Squire Graspacre had\nsent out a man to supersede Watt in the care of his pigs.\n\nThis unexpected news, and the evident horror evinced by the fair maidens\nfor him, quite overcame Watt, and he showed unmistakable signs of the\nfear which had taken possession of him.  From Martha Gwyn, Twm learned\nthat poor Gwenny\u2019s affection for him was unchanged, but it was thought,\nfor all that, said the candid girl, that she will be married to a\nBreconshire farmer\u2019s son, who met her in Herefordshire, when she went a\nhop-picking there.\n\n\u201cBut if Gwenny has him,\u201d said Martha, \u201cit will be for the sake of making\na home for her poor father.\u201d\n\nTwm\u2019s generous heart prompted him to give each maiden a piece of silver;\nand, having made them eat heartily of a good homely, substantial meal of\ncheese and bread and ale, he dismissed them on their journey.  Watt, in\ngreat agony of mind, exclaimed\u2014\n\n\u201cOh God, where shall I fly! all my supposed security I find but a dream,\nand misery alone awaits me!  When I told you the tale of my enormities, I\nkept back the relation of one crime\u2014a dreadful one\u2014which, lost as I am, I\nfelt averse to acknowledge, and too heart-smote with the consciousness of\nits atrocity, to turn to it my most secret thought\u2014\u2019twas a deed of blood,\nthe crime of murder!\n\n\u201cYou remember a tall, thin, skeleton-like man, generally dressed in a\nsuit of grey, who lived in a cottage on the mountain, in the\nneighbourhood of Tregaron, known by the nickname of Stalking Simon the\nMooncalf, from his wandering by moon-light over the hills.  This man was\nknown to be a spy, employed and paid by all the neighbouring farmers.\nHis habits were, to sleep all day and to spend the night on the hill,\nwatching to identify the hedge-pluckers and sheep-stealers.  Many poor\npersons who depended on their nightly excursions for fuel, while they\ndeemed themselves unobserved of any human being, cutting down a tree, or\ndrawing dry wood from an old hedge, would suddenly find themselves in the\npresence of Stalking Simon.  So instantaneous was his appearance, as to\nstartle his victims with the idea of an apparition suddenly sprung up\nthrough the ground, as his approach was never seen till close upon them.\n\n\u201c\u2018\u2019Tis only me, neighbour,\u2019 would be the hypocrite\u2019s reply, \u2018searching\nfor my stray pony:\u2019 but when two persons had been executed and three\ntransported, on his evidence, the nature of his employment became known,\nand he was execrated by the whole country.\n\n\u201cOne moon-light night, as I was skinning a fine weather, which I had\nsuspended and spread out on an old storm-beaten thorn, in a field\nadjoining the mountain, easy in mind, and so fearless of danger, that I\nwhistled in a half hushed manner, as I followed my illicit occupation, a\ncircumstance took place that wrought a violent change in the tone of my\nmind.  My thoughts ran on the whimsicality of the idea of selling this\nvery mutton to the rightful owner, on the morrow, which was market-day,\nand laughing inwardly at the thought: all at once, Stalking Simon, with a\nsingle stride, moved from behind a mossy dwarf thorn, gray as his own\nsuit, and stood before me.  My blood curdled with terror; but when the\nold stone-hearted wretch made the old Judas-like reply\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2018It is only me, searching for my pony,\u2019 I knew my danger, and my terror\nchanged to savage ferocity against the vile informer, who had ruined so\nmany of my friends and neighbours.  I darted on him, grasped his collar\nwith one hand, and with the other stabbed him to the heart.\u201d\n\nWatt\u2019s tale was now ended, and he seemed to be terribly agitated at the\nrecollection of old Simon\u2019s murder, and of the dreadful position into\nwhich his crime had brought him.\n\n\u201cO God! what shall I do; where shall I fly?\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cI cannot\nreturn, for that road leads straight to the gallows, and in London I\nshould be in hourly danger of being seen by somebody from the country.\nSince the perpetration of this deed of blood, I have not known an hour\u2019s\npeace.  Heaven is my witness, I could be content with slavery, and smile\nbeneath the man-driver\u2019s whip\u2014could strip myself and wander the world in\nnakedness, or herd with beasts, to regain my former peace and innocence!\nOh, I could labour till my bones ached, and my exhausted body dropped to\nthe earth with fatigue, to be once more free from the keen stings of a\nguilty conscience!\u201d\n\nTwm was but a poor comforter; for his strict ideas of justice and\nretribution made him look upon Watt\u2019s terrible agony as part of the\npunishment which he was called upon to pay for the awful crime of murder.\n\nAfter all, Watt\u2019s distress was due quite as much to the fear of the\ngallows, which he now saw to be in close proximity to him, as to regret\nand repentance for his unwarrantable deed.\n\nTwm hardly recognized Watt as he sat there, his face blanched with fear,\nlarge drops of sweat rolling down his pale checks, with quivering lips\nand staring eyes, all showing the effect which his knowledge of the\ndreadful penalty which, from every prospect, speedily awaited him.\n\nA grey-coated man now approaching the tavern, brought dreadful\nassociations to Watt\u2019s terrified conscience, and, in the utmost\ntrepidation, he darted out at the back door of the inn, and ran across\nthe fields with the speed of a pursued murderer.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\n\nTWM encounters Tom Dorbell.  The quick encounter of their wits, in which\nour hero has the advantage.  Twm rescues a high dignitary of the church.\nTwm\u2019s triumphal entry into London in a bishop\u2019s carriage.\n\nIt was yet only four o\u2019clock the following morning, when our hero was\nonce more upon the road.  The stars were bright as at midnight, and the\nfine bracing frost, the glory of our northern clime, seemed to have\npurified his blood, and at the same time excited his fancy, so that both\nmind and body were sweetly attuned, and in the full glow of enjoyment.\nIt might be thought the knowledge he had gained of Gwenny\u2019s coquettings\nwould have disheartened him; but his residence at Ystrad Feen, with his\ncommunion with the \u201clady of his vision,\u201d had a little tinged his mind\nwith something of romantic forebodings, that overshone the rusticity of\nearlier impressions.\n\nElastic and lusty were his healthy limbs, as they bounded to the music of\nhis heart, while he strode forward on the highway, exulting in the\nthought that the day had at length arrived on which his eyes were to be\nregaled with a sight of the far-famed city of London.\n\nIn this happy spirit, he successively passed through Langley Broom and\nColnbrook, anxiously hoping to reach Hounslow by mid-day.  Thus, light of\nheart, and full of brilliant anticipations, he continued to bound along\nthe road.\n\nIn this overweening fit of enthusiasm, he considered danger of every sort\nentirely out of the question; and this, too, if he knew the truth, while\nhe wandered over the very hot-bed of robbers, both foot-pads and\nequestrians!  Deluded by such a course of cogitation, he began to jeer\nhimself on his simplicity in keeping his pistols loaded, and considered\nwhether he had best fire them off for amusement or not.\n\nBefore he had formed his resolution, he was startled to hear a rude and\nheavy tread close at his heels.  Sudden as the thought, he turned round,\nand reeled some steps backward at the sight that presented itself!  In\nthe advanced light of the morning, he beheld a villainous-looking\npowerful man, with a long black-beard, who might have passed for the\nhigh-priest of a Jewish synagogue.  He grasped a pistol that was levelled\nat his head, while his forefinger seemed actually pressing on the\ntrigger.  By his ominous silence, and the fierce glare of his eye, Twm\nconceived that murder and not robbery was his object, till the ruffian\nroared, \u201cGarnish or die!\u201d\n\n\u201cWha\u2014what is garnish?\u201d stuttered Twm.\n\n\u201cMoney, and be d\u2014d to you, or here goes!\u201d replied the bearded man,\nwithout the slightest touch of the dialect of the people whose\nchin-trimmings he had assumed.  Our hero saw at once that this prepared\nruffian was not to be trifled with, and that an instant\u2019s delay might\ncost him his existence; therefore, he immediately produced from his bosom\nthe packet entrusted to him by Sir George Devereaux.\n\nAs the robber reached to snatch it, Twm\u2019s wits were at work; assuming the\ndialect and foolery which he knew passed among the English for Welsh,\n\u201cHere wass the money, look you now, but God tam! it wass not mine, but\nyou shall haf it in the tifel\u2019s name, only let master see I wass praave,\nand show fight for it, look you, and not gif it up like a craaven.\u201d  With\nthat he gave it into the fellow\u2019s hand, saying, \u201cNow, her begs, and\nsolicits, and entreats you to be so kind ass to shoot some holes in hur\ncott lappets, just a pounce or two, look you, to prove hur hard fight and\npraavery.\u201d\n\n\u201cAye, with the greatest pleasure in life!\u201d cried the ruffian, laughing.\nHere Twm put off his coat in an instant, and threw it over a bush on the\nroadside.  When the robber fired at it, Twm leapt up, laughing with\nidiotic glee, crying, \u201cGot pless hur for a praave marksman! that was a\nnoble pounce, look you!  But now another pounce for tother lappet, and I\nwass have great praise for praavery!\u201d\n\nSo the foot-pad, apparently amused, fired again, and Twm leapt and\nlaughed as before, exclaiming, \u201cThat was another nople pounce, look!\u201d  He\nnow ran to the bush, and snatching up his coat, put it on, seemingly as\ndelighted with its perforations as a warrior of his vaunted scars.  \u201cNow,\none pounce more through my hat, look you, and all will be right!\u201d added\nhe, appealingly.\n\n\u201cWhy, as to that!\u201d replied the robber, commencing to break open the\nparcel with great eagerness, \u201cI have no more pounces, as you call them,\nto give you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I have!\u201d thundered our hero, holding a pistol in each hand to the\nrobber\u2019s breast, \u201creturn the packet and garnish!\u201d continued he, \u201cor I\nwill pounce your rascal prains apout the road, look you\u2014and that wass not\ngoot for your health, look you, this fine morning.\u201d\n\nThe robber was no bad judge of circumstances, so immediately returned the\npacket.  \u201cGarnish!\u201d roared Twm, laughing, and holding the pistols nearer\nto his head; \u201cI must have a new suit for the one you pounced for me, look\nyou now!\u201d  The robber handed him a heavy purse, with a couple of splendid\nwatches, exclaiming \u201cthe devil\u2019s luck to you with them!\u201d on which Twm\nsnatched off his false beard, as he laughingly said, \u201cSo much for a\nshallow knave whose length of beard is greater than his brains!\u201d  No\nsooner was the beard removed, than Twm saw a deep scar on his left jaw,\nwhich cleared all doubt as to the identity of his antagonist.\n\n\u201cNever was Tom Dorbell so humbugged before!\u201d cried the baffled ruffian,\nas he tore his hair up by the roots in resentment against Fortune, that\nallowed such an inauspicious day to dawn on him.\n\n\u201cWhat!  Tom Dorbell, the Gallant Glover?\u201d queried Twm, with amazement.\n\u201cThe same,\u201d growled the knight of the road, \u201ctill my luck turned; but now\nI am nobody.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy that blushing witness on your jaw-bone, I perceive we once met\nbefore,\u201d quoth Twm, jeeringly; \u201cI think, on the other side of Reading.  I\nthink, too, that, in token of friendship, we exchanged horses on that\noccasion, a Welsh pony for a gallant grey; and, I think, also, but\nperhaps I am mistaken, that I threw thee a long purse full of something\n_that uncle Timothy gave I to market for him at Reading_.\u201d\n\nBy the well mimicked simplicity of the latter words, the freebooter knew\nhim at once, and laughing in his turn, vowing that he was now satisfied\nthat he was outdone by no common \u2019un, \u201cbut a d\u2014ned clever fellow, whoever\nthee bee\u2019st\u201d  Quick as the fox who hears the hounds and hunters long\nbefore the sound can reach indifferent ears, Tom Dorbell started\u2014gave a\nhasty farewell, dashed through the hedge, over a field, and was soon out\nof sight.\n\nThe Gallant Glover\u2019s well-trained ears had heard the sound of horses\u2019\nfeet, and, taking all things into consideration, he had thought it best\nto decline any fresh interview with travelling humanity until he had\nrecovered his serenity of mind, and was in a position to enforce any\ndemands it might please him to make.\n\nAs the approaching horse and rider neared him, Twm perceived the latter\nto be a wounded man, evidently so much disabled as to be scarcely capable\nof sitting on his horse.  With courteous but hurried accents, the\nstranger addressed our hero, lifting his hat as he spoke.\n\n\u201cYour pardon, sir; if you are armed and inclined to act a brave and\ngenerous part, you have now an opportunity of doing so.\u201d  Twm declared\nhis readiness.  The stranger dismounted, with pain; \u201cTake this horse,\u201d\ncried he, \u201cride forward as fast as you can, and a quarter of a mile on\nyou will find a couple of robbers rifling a coach.  Other assistance may\narrive\u2014on! on, sir! in heaven\u2019s name! the party assaulted are of no\ncommon rank or estimation\u2014profit and reputation will attend their\nliberator, and\u201d\u2014Twm was out of hearing before he could finish his\nsentence.\n\nNever did a young medical practitioner, called on an emergency to the\nbedside of a wealthy patient, whom he never thought to have the honour to\napproach, ride forth with a more excited imagination.  Fire flashed from\nthe stones, ground to powder by his horse\u2019s hoofs, and brief was the\ngallop that brought him in sight of the scene of villainy.\n\nThe first object that struck his view were three or four horses, with\ntheir harness cut, one dead, and the others struggling on the road-side,\nwhile the centre was occupied by an un-horsed coach.  As he came nearer,\nhe distinctly made out a man at each door of the vehicle, their feet\nresting on the steps, while their heads, and the greater portion of their\nbodies, were invisible, implying their activity in the work of\ndepredation.  So intently devoted were they to this grand undertaking,\nthat Twm\u2019s approach seemed either unnoticed or mistaken, perhaps, for the\nwounded and unharmed gentleman\u2019s, who had apprised him of this nefarious\nbusiness.  With that happy forethought given by indulgent Providence to\nthe self-dependent, and which forms one of the grand ingredients in the\nchalice of success, our hero turned his horse from the thundering road to\nthe soundless green beside it, and silently gained upon his object.\n\nHe arrived within twenty paces of the coach, when the green altogether\nceased.  Dismounting with the alacrity of the occasion, silent as the\nmole, and swift as the greyhound, he made a rush forward, and, contrary\nto his expectation, he found himself, unchallenged or unnoticed, close to\nthe coach.  He heard one of the amiable threatening instant death to his\n\u201cLordship\u2019s reverence\u201d unless his watch accompanied his purse into the\nhands of his \u201csolicitors.\u201d\n\nThe opposite worthy was equally polite to a lady, after his own fashion,\ndeclaring that he had shot one of her sex lately for less provocation\nthan she had shown, in withholding his fair demands, which was merely all\nher cash and jewels.\n\nTwm\u2019s instantaneous action was to catch the nearest gentleman by the\nankles.  With a powerful drag backwards, his feet were jerked off the\ncoach-steps, and his full face literally _scraped_ an ungentle\nacquaintance with their iron edges, in its rapid descent to the frosty\nroad, which was flooded with his blood.\n\n\u201cHollo! where are you, Bill?\u201d enquired his active partner, thinking that\nhe had merely lost his footing and falling accidentally.\n\n\u201cHere!\u201d cried Twm, firing at the word, when the robber fell backward from\nhis perch, a lifeless corpse.  Before he could recover himself, our hero\nwas grappled at the throat by the powerful hands of the first robber.  In\nthe struggle, Twm managed to strike him twice with his discharged pistol\non his blood-covered face; but the strong ruffian\u2019s tenacious grip\ntightened notwithstanding; and our tale must have terminated here, with\nthe death of its hero, but for an unexpected relief.\n\nThe venerable and aged gentleman in the coach with his daughter, looking\nout on this deadly struggle with intense anxiety, snatched up a pistol\nwhich had been dropped in the carriage, seized a critical moment, and\ndischarged it at the ear of the freebooter, whose head was perforated by\nthe bullet, so that his grasp relaxed, and he fell backward, with his\neyes glaring on his intended victim, and, with a ferocious oath in his\nmouth, he expired.\n\nThe aged gentleman now called to the lady, who sprang from the coach,\ndeclaring he feared that the villain had succeeded in destroying their\ndeliverer.  Well, indeed, might he have thought so, as Twm had sunk\nsenseless on the road, the stagnant blood blackening in his face, and his\neyes projecting from their sockets.\n\nOn recovering a little, he found a young lady bathing his temples, and\napplying her scent-bottle, while the venerable old gentleman was busied\nin rubbing his neck to restore the circulation of the blood, which now\nhappily took place.\n\nOn his recovery, our hero learnt that the party whom he had succoured\nwere the venerable Doctor Morgan, Bishop of St. Asaph, translator of the\nScriptures into Welsh, and his only daughter; and that the wounded\ngentleman who sent Twm to their rescue, and who had now rejoined the\nparty, was his lordship\u2019s chaplain.\n\nThis spirited clergyman had manfully opposed the depredators, when they\nfirst attacked the coach, but was sadly wounded by a bullet in the right\narm.  In the midst of the congratulations, compliments, and explanations\nthat followed, the spirit of the scene became suddenly changed to one\nthat is patronized by the comic muse.\n\nAlarmed by the report of the bishop\u2019s servants, who liberated themselves,\nhaving been tied to a tree by the thieves, the town of Hounslow evinced\nits heroism by sending forth its constabulary force, with the principal\ninn-keeper, who was also a farmer, and his farm-servants.\n\nA motley assemblage, in truth, it proved!  Some were on foot, and some on\nhorse or ass-back, and one fellow was seen bestriding a large horned ox,\nthat reluctantly yielded the speed required of him; while each and all\nwere as whimsically armed as mounted.  The valiant joskin on the ox,\nflourished a flail, threatening annihilation to the rogues of the road,\nbut lucklessly struck his own sconce by exercising the weapon.  The\nostler and waiter, who was also the plough-boy, was mounted on a\nsuperannuated blind mare, and grasped a dung-fork with the consequence of\na Neptune\u2019s trident.  Among the others were seen bill-hooks, a scythe,\nthree spades, an awfully long spit, and a ponderous wooden beetle.\n\nBut the most amusing figure in the group was the old landlady and\nfarm-wife, who had hastily mounted a donkey, and was riding it in a more\nmasculine style than is usual to the fair sex, and thumping the restive\nbrute with a vast wooden ladle, with which, for she led the van, she was\nprepared to battle with the highwaymen.  Finding them already conquered,\nher heroic spirit vented itself in discontent, that she had had no hand\nin the great event.\n\n\u201cDang un!\u201d quoth the doughty dame, \u201cI would ha baisted the chops o\u2019un\nnoicely!\u201d\n\n\u201cShame on thee, dame! cover thy garters\u2014whoy dusten roide like a christen\nwoman,\u201d cried her lord and master, who rode a high horse, and bore a huge\ncavalry sword.\n\nAt this rebuke, the bishop\u2019s daughter, his lordship, and the chaplain,\nlaughed most heartily; while our hero, now pretty well recovered, joined\nin their glee.\n\nThe fallen being consigned to the care of the landlord, and the coach\nsomewhat righted, our hero was seated by the chaplain, and facing his\nlordship, who, with his amiable daughter, cordially acknowledged his\nservices; which the worthy prelate declared were not to be requited with\nmere words.\n\nTwm, with truth, averred he was indebted for his life to the promptitude\nwith which his lordship brought the ruffian down; and therefore the\nservices he received, he said, far over-balanced any that he had\nrendered.  The modest position in which he had thus placed himself,\nworked well in his favour, and was fully estimated.  After having\nrefreshed at Hounslow, and the chaplain\u2019s arm dressed, depositions having\nbeen made, before the judicial authorities, of the attack and rescue, the\nparty filled his lordship\u2019s carnage again, and all were driven off\ntowards London, well guarded by a rustic patrol sent from Hounslow.\n\nOn the way, Twm explained that he was an agent of Sir George Devereaux\u2019s\nto a Mr. Martyn\u2019s in Holborn, and the bearer of a sum of money to him.\nThe bishop seemed surprised, and declared that Mr. Martyn was his very\ngood friend, and chosen by him to be an umpire on the following day, in a\nmatter of great importance.\n\n\u201cTo-morrow, then,\u201d added the bishop, \u201cI shall see you at my friend\u2019s\nhouse, and learn from you in what manner I can serve your interests.\u201d\n\nOur hero bowed.\n\n\u201cYour lordship will have your long deferred explanation with the fiery\nold baronet, Sir John Wynn, then, to-morrow?\u201d asked the chaplain.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d replied the old bishop, \u201cand heaven send me scatheless from a\ncontest with that self-willed man!  In our interview I can only repeat\nwhat I have objected in my letters; and right well I know, he can only\nreiterate his former ill-grounded assertions.\u201d\n\nOur hero was thunderstruck with these observations and became silent and\nthoughtful.\n\nMany were the villages and suburbs through which they passed, before the\nlady, breaking a silence which had endured some time, exclaimed, \u201cThe\nstones of London, at last, my Lord.\u201d\n\nThe worthy prelate directed his coachman to drive to Mr. Martyn\u2019s; and,\nin a brief space, the carriage stopped at a large, lofty, and many gabled\nhouse, opposite to St. Andrew\u2019s Church, in Holborn, where Twm was put\ndown, and kindly received by Mr. Martyn, who helped him from the bishop\u2019s\ncoach.  His lordship observed that he was waited for by his brother, the\nBishop of London, at Lambeth Palace; briefly referred to the business of\nthe morrow, kindly shook hands with our hero, as did the young lady and\nthe chaplain, each repeating their acknowledgments, and when the carriage\ndrove off, Twm Shon Catty was ceremoniously ushered into the fine\ntown-house of Mr. Martyn.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\n\nTWM, at last, face to face with his paternal parent.  A little scene\nbetween a Baronet and a Bishop.  Twm\u2019s particular star brightens.\n\nWhen it became known that Twm was the bearer of money from the baronet to\nMr. Martyn, that he had rescued the bishop of St. Asaph and party, and\nthat he was the hero of many other encounters with daring highwaymen, he\nbecame quite a lion in the house, was regarded as a fine specimen of a\nWelshman, and, in homely language, was \u201cmade much of.\u201d\n\nPrevious to the sound slumber that soon overcame his softly-pillow\u2019d\nhead, he pondered much on what he had heard of his reputed father, and\nfelt his mind strongly impressed with the idea that the coming morrow\nteemed with events that would cast their shade or sunshine on his future\ndays.\n\nIn a dream that followed, he found himself in the presence of a\npassionate little gentleman who threatened him with terrible vengeance,\nunless he returned to the house of Morris Greeg, and gave his hand in\nmarriage to the amiable daughter Shaan; and he thought he discovered in a\nmurky recess, a parrot-nosed sprite, resembling Moses, who was grinning\nat his dilemma; when the lady of his former dream appeared suddenly, and\nsmiled like an angel on the churlish old man, who forthwith smiled again,\nwhen Ianto Gwyn stood forth with his harp; on which he joined her in a\nWelsh jig.  Then came a long and dreamless sleep, which at length was\nbroken by the numerous clocks of London, clamorously informing its\ncitizens of the seventh hour of a new day.\n\nThe letters borne by our hero to Mr. Martyn from Sir George Devereaux\nspoke most highly of his abilities and good qualities; and the trust\nreposed in him by the baronet was fully evinced by his being trusted with\nsuch an important pecuniary mission as that which had brought him to\nLondon.\n\nIn addition, his introduction by the Bishop of St. Asaph, with the\ndetails of his acknowledged services to that venerable prelate, insured\nour hero the most marked consideration among his present friends, who\nvied with each other in their attentions to him.  The whole family\nexpressed their hope that his stay would be long in town; and Mrs. Martyn\ninsisted that he would make their house his home the while.\n\nAfter breakfast, Twm requested a private conversation with his host; when\nhe explained, with straightforward candour, that, although unlooked-for\ncircumstances had placed him in his present favourable position, he was,\nin reality, the most friendless of human beings; inasmuch that he was a\nnatural son, unacknowledged by his father.\n\nMr. Martyn kindly commiserated him; and our hero continued,\u2014\u201cI learnt\nyesterday evening that the Bishop of St. Asaph is to-day engaged to meet\nthe man, who, of all others, I wish, yet dread to see\u2014my father, Sir John\nWynn of Gwydir.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir John Wynn, your father!\u201d exclaimed Mr. Martyn, in great\nastonishment.  \u201cThe same,\u201d replied Twm, \u201cyet he knows me not, nor have I\na single document or a witness to prove it.  Yet did I hope, ardently\nhope, that some chance would turn up in my favour, to avail myself of the\nmeeting of this day, between Sir John and the good bishop.\u201d  Mr. Martyn\nsaid, with much concern, that, although their mutual friend, he saw great\ndifficulties to oppose the introduction of such a matter.\n\n\u201cThis conference,\u201d continued he, \u201ccannot end amicably; one party is bent\non urging a claim, while the other is resolved to reject it, and they\nwill part bad friends at last; while I, their umpire, cannot prevent it.\nSir John, ruffled by disappointment, will be in no cue to listen to any\nclaims on his kindness, especially one of a nature so serious, more\nespecially as the very existence of such a complaint, criminates his past\nconduct.\u201d\n\nIt struck our hero, that it would be well to make the benevolent bishop\nacquainted with his tale, and take his advice; with which suggestion, Mr.\nMartyn entirely agreed.\n\n\u201cThe Bishop,\u201d observed the latter, \u201cis an early man, generally, and will,\nno doubt, be the first to call this morning.\u201d  While they were yet\nspeaking, a servant announced Sir John Wynn\u2019s carriage; and before Mr.\nMartyn could reply, or rise from his chair, Sir John Wynn entered.\nMartyn, rising with a bland countenance, met the Baronet\u2019s advances with\ncourtesy, if not cordiality.  Our hero having retired to the window, was\nunseen by Sir John, although Twm seized the opportunity of exercising all\nhis powers of observation.\n\n\u201cWell, I am the first in the field, I see,\u201d observed the Baronet; \u201cand\nnow, my dear Mr. Martyn, let me again impress you with the sense of the\nwrongs I endured from this ungrateful Priest, this Bishop of my own\nmaking.\u201d  \u201cMy dear Sir John,\u201d replied Martyn, \u201che may arrive this\ninstant, and then see how unseemly it will be to find you touching on the\ncase before his arrival, and me your unbiassed umpire.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Martyn, Martyn!\u201d replied the Baronet, disregarding the delicacy of\nthe appeal, \u201cthere is no grief like the grief of unkindness; he rewarded\nme with evil for good, to the great discomfort of my soul.  I may well\nsay so, and justly complain to you of my Lord of St. Asaph, who, besides\nwhat his ancestors received of mine, is in many matters beholden to me.\nMy mind is eased by opening to you his hard dealings with me, and my\nbenefits towards him;\u2014but who is that?\u201d\n\nOur hero, feeling the awkwardness of his situation, had coughed gently,\nto inform the gentleman of his presence, and while making towards the\ndoor, was not ungracefully apologizing for his presence.  He stopped as\nMr. Martyn took his hand, and replied, \u201cA young countryman of yours, Sir\nJohn; or, I should say, a South Walian, whom I beg leave to introduce to\nyou as my friend.\u201d\n\n\u201cHa, ha!\u201d cried Sir John, with his constitutional heartiness, \u201ca young\nWelshman, a countryman of my own; your hand, Sir!\u201d and the old gentleman\nshook it with a friendly feeling towards his country, if not the\nindividual.  \u201cI could have sworn,\u201d continued Sir John, \u201che was a native\nof our glorious mountain land, by his frank open countenance, and healthy\nlook, unlike your suet-pudding-faced cockneys here.\u201d\n\nA servant answering the bell, Mr. Martyn desired that his son should show\nhis guest to the picture gallery, on which our hero withdrew, with a tear\nin his eye which he found it impossible to suppress, when he felt the\npressure of his father\u2019s hand.\n\nThe parlour door being closed, Martyn recounted briefly our hero\u2019s\nadventures, in bringing him a considerable sum of money, from\nCarmarthenshire.  Sir John gave one of his most loud and hearty laughs,\nwhen he heard how he outwitted the notorious Tom Dorbell.  But when he\nrelated his part in the rescue of the Bishop, at the imminent peril of\nhis life, the Baronet grew serious; but giving way to his spleen against\nthe prelate, he replied, \u201cI wish he had saved some one more worthy of his\nbravery!\u2014but, Martyn, I must be better acquainted with this gallant.  A\nbrave young Welshman like this, should be known, noted, and patronized!\nbut perhaps he has abundance of friends without my thought of him.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so, Sir John, he is a stranger in London, and almost friendless\nanywhere,\u2014he is a natural son; but you may hear his history hereafter,\u201d\nreplied Mr. Martyn, almost pointedly, as he fixed his eyes on the\nBaronet.\n\nThis was not unobserved by him, as he smiled, and said, \u201cYou mean\nsomething, Martyn; but let it pass for the present; so let us proceed\nwith this matter of mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn honour and truth, I can hear no more till his lordship arrives,\u201d was\nthe reply.\n\n\u201cWell, why doesn\u2019t he come, then,\u201d said Sir John, with the unamiable\nfrown that at times distinguished him; adding, rather superciliously, \u201cis\nit fitting Mr. Martyn, that the head of the house of Gwydir should be\nwaiting the leisure of this parson lord,\u2014I shall drive out a little, and\nlet him wait for me in his turn.\u201d\n\nSir John took a quick turn towards the door, but, stopping suddenly, said\nhe would join the young men in the picture gallery, where, accompanied by\nMr. Martyn, he went.  With the younger Martyn, the Baronet was well\nenough acquainted; and now his aim was to chat with our hero.\n\nTwm became a little agitated as he found himself in close contact with\nhis father, and a something like an equality in society, since they were\nboth friends in the same family.  True, this was really owing to the\naccident of circumstances, but Twm was there fairly upon his own merits,\nand not by imposition.  Sir John asked him particulars concerning his\nadventures on the highway, and Twm, throwing all his natural wit into the\naccount, made a favourable impression on his father.\n\nThe Martyns, father and son, being summoned down stairs, the stately\nbaronet was left alone with his humble and unknown son.  Twm looked\ntowards the walls, with some feelings of awkwardness.  The old-fashioned\ngallery was hung with numerous paintings: portraits by Holbein and\nVandyke, with interesting and humorous pieces by foreign masters.  Sir\nJohn pointed out and warmly expatiated on the merits and peculiarities of\nthe various schools, fixing his eyes more on our hero\u2019s face than on the\npaintings, to measure the extent of his taste and intellect by the effect\nthey might produce on him; for the Baronet was quite an enthusiast in the\nfine arts, and would be quick in discovering whether or not he was\nthrowing away his observations on a blockhead.  He was not slow in\nobserving the evidence of mind in his auditor, from the deep interest\nwhich he took in his details; but he especially remarked that his fancy\nwas principally taken by the drolleries and homeliness of the Dutch and\nFlemish pictures, in one of which Twm fancied he saw a resemblance to\nCarmarthen Jack, his aunt Juggy, of hump-backed peculiarity, and even a\ncounterpart to the starveling Moses.  Apologizing for the rusticity of\nhis taste, he owned his admiration of the boors and the lowly damsels, as\nthey reminded him of some such, the familiars of his childhood in Wales.\n\n\u201cAnd where might that be passed?\u201d enquired the Baronet, smilingly.\n\n\u201cIn the humble town of Tregaron, in Cardiganshire,\u201d replied Twm.\n\n\u201cWho are the principal gentry in that neighbourhood?\u201d enquired the\nBaronet.  When Twm mentioned Squire Graspacre and his late lady, Sir John\nlooked him hard in the face; then, silently fixing his eyes on the floor,\nhe recollected a certain passage in his life, that prevented him visiting\nGraspacre-Hall, from the dread he entertained of the censures and\nlectures of his decorous and straight-laced sister, Mrs. Graspacre.\n\n\u201cDid you know the lady you mentioned, Mrs. Graspacre?\u201d enquired the\nbaronet.  \u201cVery well, Sir John,\u201d was Twm\u2019s reply, \u201cI have great reason,\nfor, to that lady\u2019s benevolence I am indebted for the little education I\nhave received.\u201d\n\nNow, Sir John knew very well that his sister was anything but benevolent,\nso that by this assertion our hero lost a little in his opinion, and he\nsuspected him of a little cant.\n\n\u201cIf she sent you to school, she had some motive; what was it?\u201d  \u201cI am a\nnatural son, Sir John, which, perhaps Mr. Martyn informed you of: the\nlady sent me to school, because one of her great relations was said to be\nmy father,\u201d replied Twm, fixing his eyes on the baronet\u2019s face, which he\nhad the satisfaction of seeing quail beneath his riveting gaze.\n\nRecovering himself, however, he cast a severe look on our hero, and, in a\nharsh tone and manner, said, \u201cNow must I doubt all your assertions, as\none falsehood is apparent to me.  The lady you named was my sister, and\ncertain it is that no relation of hers could be your father.\u201d\n\nHere the lion in our hero\u2019s heart was roused, and he indignantly repelled\nthe charge of falsehood, saying that he expected neither truth nor honour\nfrom his father, since he was known to him.\n\n\u201cAnd what may be your father\u2019s name then?\u201d asked the Baronet, biting his\nlip, to prevent the laughter that seemed ready to burst out.  \u201cSir John\nWynn of Gwydir!\u201d exclaimed Twm in a dare-devil strain, that made the\nBaronet start at his vehemence.  Admiring the fire that flashed in his\neyes, his honest, fearless, and energetic behaviour, Sir John opened his\narms, and received him in his embrace!\n\nWhen Mr. Martyn came to announce the arrival of the bishop, he found our\nhero sobbing on his father\u2019s neck, who soothed him by promises, that the\nneglect of years should now be remedied, and that he was glad and proud\nof the original, which he found in Mr. Martyn\u2019s picture gallery.\n\nThe interview had ended very differently to what Twm and Mr. Martyn had\nexpected, and our hero felt grateful to a protecting Providence which had\nso ordered events.\n\nSir John and Mr. Martyn descended, and our hero was left alone in the\npicture gallery.  They joined the worthy Bishop at the table in the\nold-fashioned saloon, which, being overlooked from the rails of the\ngallery, Twm saw and heard all that passed, by the particular invitation\nof his worthy host.\n\nThe Bishop commenced addressing Mr. Martyn:\u2014\n\n\u201cWe are here met to-day, Mr. Martyn,\u201d said he, \u201cto submit to your\narbitration, a matter in dispute between Sir John and myself.  Sir John\nhas expressed himself to you with reference to me, in an unfriendly\nmanner, yet I have every confidence in your impartial judgment.\u201d  Here\nMr. Martyn bowed, and Sir John, coughing to keep down his choler, of\nwhich he had as good a share as ever fell to the lot of a Cambro Briton,\nflourished his laced cambric handkerchief about his face, as he added,\n\u201cHis lordship cannot be more glad of an unbiassed umpire than I am\nmyself, Mr. Martyn.\u201d\n\nThe Bishop continued:\u2014\u201cSir John\u2019s request to me, was, that I would\nconfirm a lease for three lives, upon the rectory of Llanrwst, at the\nyearly rent of fifty pounds; the same being worth one hundred and forty\npounds, and is of my patronage.  This request much perplexed my mind, for\nit grieved me to deny Sir John anything, yet my conscience cried aloud\nagainst such a grant, so prejudicial to the church itself, and especially\nto the next incumbent, whom I should have grievously wronged by beggaring\nthe See, and injuring the living for future Clergymen.\u201d\n\nHere the Bishop resumed his seat, and the Baronet with great assumption\nof stateliness, rose and spoke in a slow and acrimonious strain.\n\n\u201cThe sower went out to sow; and some of his seed fell in stony ground,\nwhere it withered, because it took not root; the seed was good, but the\nland nought.  I may justly say so by you, my lord.  I have in all things\nshowed myself a friend, my lord; inasmuch that if I had not pointed the\nway with my finger, whereof I have yet good testimony, your lordship\nwould have been still humble vicar of Llaurhaiader.\u201d\n\nThe Bishop, without rising, mildly replied, \u201cYou have done me much\nkindness, Sir John, but no dishonest kindness; nor do I mean to deny you\nany of your fair requests.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am really much obliged to your lordship, for your present good\nopinion,\u201d replied the Baronet, with sneering courtesy, \u201cmore particularly\nthat you express your opinion before Mr. Martyn.  But the words you have\njust uttered agree only indifferently with others you have at various\ntimes used in reference to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood Sir John,\u201d replied the Bishop, \u201cyou do wrong me very much to say\nso.\u201d\n\nSir John replied with much warmth, \u201cI have good proof, my lord, that you\nprotested to your late servant, Thomas Vaughan, that all the good I ever\ndid you, when vicar of Llaurhaiader, was to go to Llandda Church, and\nwith my family add so much to your scanty congregation there; and,\nforsooth! that I had once on a time sent you a fat ox, on your\ninstallation in the See of Asaph; truly, my lord, this is to strain at a\ngnat, and swallow a camel.\u201d\n\nThe good Bishop\u2019s reply was mild and conciliating.  \u201cGood Sir John, you\nwrong yourself as much as me, to believe such idle sayings.  If this were\nnot a case of conscience, you should not need to ask me twice;\nremembering ancient kindness, your request is of great force to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou plead conscience when you should give, and make no pains to receive\ncourtesy of your friends,\u201d replied Sir John.  Then, changing from the\nsarcastic tone in which this was uttered to one of vehemence, he\nproceeded.  \u201cBut I appeal to Him who searches the consciences of all men,\nwhether you have used me well; and whether conscience, which you have\never in your mouth, be the sole hindrance of my request.  I will avow and\njustify it before the greatest divines in England, that has always been\nthe usage, now is, and ever will be, that a man may with a safe\nconscience be a farmer of a living, paying in effect for the same as much\nas it is worth.  I stand on your word, my lord of St. Asaph, your sacred\nword of promise, the confirmation of my lease and the advowson.\u201d\n\nTemperate and patient still was the Prelate\u2019s reply.  \u201cI made no such\npromise; my words were \u2018that I would be very loath to confirm any lease\nupon any presentative benefice; that I would do as much, and more for\nyou, than for any other; that if I would confirm any lease, yours would\nbe the first.\u2019  In conclusion, I never did confirm any, nor do I mean so\nto do; therefore is such conditional promise void, and my honour and word\nsufficiently vindicated.\u201d\n\nThe Baronet tenaciously urged,\u2014\u201cIt is well known that your Lordship has\nfavoured others in such a matter.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so,\u201d replied the Bishop, rather more impatiently; \u201cyou well know\nthere is a difference between granting a lease of our own, and confirming\nthe lease of another; between a presentative benefice and an\nimpropriation; between a public usage and a private one: still you refuse\nto note these distinctions, and exclaim that I have confirmed the lease,\nand will not, according to my promise, confirm yours.\u201d\n\nThe last remark of the Bishop\u2019s appeared to be unanswerable, and Sir John\nseemed to think so too, as, instead of replying to the argument directly,\nhe began to beg the question, and give way to the overbearing petulance\nof a spoiled child of fortune.\n\n\u201cIt is not,\u201d replied he, \u201cthe loss of the thing that I regard a dobkin,\nbut your unkind dealing; it shall lessen me hereafter to expect no sweet\nfruit from so sour a stock.  But my lord of St. Asaph, you know my stand\nin the world.  I never have been a man to make requests and be denied;\ntherefore having never failed before in my requests, my grief is the\ngreater.\u201d\n\n\u201cPray Heaven, Sir John, that your grief of missing be not like Ahab\u2019s\ngrief for Naboth\u2019s vineyard,\u201d was the Bishop\u2019s pithy and characteristic\nreply.\n\nHere Sir John sprang to his feet, exclaiming almost fiercely, \u201cMy lord,\nmy lord, I am not of a nature to put up with wrongs; for as I have\nstudied for your good, and wrought the same, so be assured of me as\nbitter an enemy as ever I was a steadfast friend!\u201d\n\n\u201cA fiery little father have I found to-day,\u201d thought Twm, as he noticed\nthe vehemence of the baronet.\n\n\u201cI am ashamed of you,\u201d continued he, \u201calmost forgetting the courtesy of a\ngentleman, and the firm, but mild and patriachal character of the Bishop.\nI am ashamed for you, that you have hereby given cause to your enemies\nand mine to descant on the ingrate disposition.  You have made use of\ngentlemen when they serve you, and afterwards discard them, on the\npretence of conscience, forsooth!  I laboured in your cause, my lord, as\nif it had been to save the life of one of my children.\u201d\n\nThese hard uncompromising words did not exasperate the venerable prelate,\nwhose command of temper under trying circumstances, and unjust\naspersions, was worthy of his reputation.  He rose with dignified\ndemeanour, and said, \u201cAmongst other kindnesses, Sir John you gave good\ntestimony of me; I pray you let me continue worthy of it; so many chips\nhave been already hewed from the church, that it is ready to fall; you\nought rather to help than to despoil it.  Thus it stands with us, Sir\nJohn, which I pray you Mr. Martyn note.  You ask of me certain leases\u2014you\nask me to injure my successor in my diocese, to benefit you! you urge the\nfavours I have received at your hands, and claim from me rewards that are\nnot mine to give.  Were I to grant your desires I should prove myself a\ndishonest, unconscionable, irreligious man, a sacrilegious robber of the\nchurch, a perfidious spoiler of my diocese, and an unnatural foe to\npreachers and scholars.  I do verily think it were better to rob on the\nhighway than to do the thing you request.  However hard you may take my\ndenial, be it known to you, if the father and mother whom I loved and\nhonoured were alive and made such requests, I should have the grace to\nsay nay.\u201d\n\nThe Bishop took his seat, and began to repeat his regrets, when the\nBaronet started from the table, and in a furious mood began to pace the\nsaloon to and fro; but stopping suddenly he exclaimed, \u201cYour verbal love\nI esteem as nothing!  I have ten sons\u2014(eleven interrupted the Bishop,\nwith quite jocoseness;) I say I have ten sons,\u201d repeated the Baronet; and\n\u201cif ever they forget this,\u201d\u2014\u201cEleven sons and the last as good as the\nbest;\u201d interrupted the Bishop again.  \u201cBut where is this gallant\ndeliverer?\u201d\n\nMr. Martyn beckoned our hero down, while Sir John suddenly resumed his\nseat at the table.  On the good Prelate\u2019s pressing Twm to name in what\nmanner he could reward his services, he at last replied, \u201cBy yielding to\nSir John\u2019s request as far as your Lordship sees right.\u201d\n\nThe whole party stared with amazement at the unexpected reply.  The\nBaronet was softened to tears, and but for compromising his dignity,\nwould have embraced him before them all.  The Bishop smiled, and shaking\nhis hand very cordially replied, \u201cThe request is as graceful in you to\nmake as in me, to deny; that question is disposed of.  In a few days I\nwill call again, when you may decide in what I can be of service to you.\u201d\n\nHe then took a courteous leave of Mr. Martyn and of our hero, with a\nceremonious bow to Sir John, and departed.  Right glad was Martyn to be\nrelieved, by the temper of the Baronet, from the unpleasant office of an\narbitrator of their differences.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\n\nTWM meets one of his best friends from Wales.  Death of Sir George\nDevereaux.  Hopes and fears.  Interruption of happy hours.  Lady\nDevereaux\u2019s forced return to Wales.  Twm follows her.\n\nOur hero was now living amongst the _elite_ of the metropolis, and his\ndaily communion with men of taste, feeling, and education, produced a\nquick and remarkable change for the better in his manners and personal\nappearance.  His new-found father assisted him largely in his finances,\nand a handsome pecuniary present from the worthy bishop, accompanied with\na complimentary letter, which was doubly gratifying to him, as emanating\nfrom so respectable a source.\n\nWhen he had been eight months in London, he was sitting alone one morning\nin Mr. Martyn\u2019s picture gallery, intently pondering on his future plans\nof life, considering whether to return to his friends at Ystrad Feen, or\nseek employment in town.  His reverie was disturbed by a servant\u2019s\ninforming him that a gentleman was waiting to see him.\n\nOn his descent to the parlour, great and gratifying was his surprise to\nmeet there his old friend Rhys.  The cordiality of their mutual greetings\nbut faintly echoed the ardour of their feelings.  News from the country\nwas our hero\u2019s first inquiry, and Rhys assured him he had an abundance to\nrelate.  Gwenny Cadwgan is married, and living with her husband and\nfather on a fine farm at Kevencoer-Cummer, near Merthyr.  Walt the\nmole-catcher is transported, having narrowly escaped the gallows.  Your\nmother and step-father are well.  \u201cSo much for Tregaron news,\u201d said Rhys;\n\u201cand now for Ystrad Feen and Llandovery.  A singular coincidence,\u2014in the\nsame week we lost the venerable Vicar Prichard, and your friend Sir\nGeorge Devereaux.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe last is a climax indeed to your budget; but is it really a fact that\nSir George is no more?\u201d enquired Twm, looking hard in his friend\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cFact as deeth! as the Scotchman says,\u201d replied Rhys; \u201cHe threw his life\naway in one of his foolish fox-hunting leaps.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, well!  I am truly sorry,\u201d exclaimed Twm, \u201cfor he was a kind\nbeing.\u201d  \u201cHe was so; but tell me truly,\u201d said Rhys, looking archly in his\nfriend\u2019s eyes, \u201cis it for death, or his lady\u2019s being left so young a\nwidow, that your sorrow is most intense?\u201d  Twm looked grave, but finally\nsmiled, as Rhys, with great archness, added, \u201cIt somewhat strikes me that\nthis is a sorrow which you will soon get over; and, if I mistake not, so\nwill the widow too.\u201d\n\nHere Twm took his hand, and said, \u201cYou look deeper into the hearts of men\nthan I thought; but listen to a mystery and expound the dream that has so\nlong haunted me.\u201d\n\nHere he related the particulars of the \u201cglorious vision\u201d in the hay-loft\nof Morris Greeg, and of its repetition since he came to London; \u201cand\nstrange to say,\u201d added he, \u201cit was in widow\u2019s weeds the fair spirit each\ntime appeared.  What can be the meaning or end of such dreams?\u201d  \u201cI\u2019ll\ntell thee,\u201d answered Rhys, leaning on his shoulder and looking in his\nface; \u201cDreams long nursed, especially waking dreams, in time become\nrealities\u2014so will yours; you will marry this young widow, Twm!\u201d\n\n\u201cMe! impossible!\u201d cried Twm, blushing from the chin to the forehead.\n\u201cOh, very well, I\u2019ll court her myself, then!\u201d cried Rhys; on which they\nboth burst into a most hearty laugh.\n\nOur hero was growing silent and meditative, when Rhys, striking him a\nhearty smack on the shoulder, asked, \u201cWhat would you say now, if the fair\nwidow was herself in town at this moment?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d cried Twm, starting up, with an expression of interest that\nnothing could repress.  Rhys in a most serious strain, assured him that\nher father, being chosen a knight of the shire for the ancient county of\nBrecon, was now in town with his widowed daughter.  That he had ridden to\ntown in their company, by which he had availed himself of a safe escort\nfrom the dangers of the road.  Rhys added, that he had frequently\nconversed with the Lady Devereaux, both at home and on the journey, and\nthat he, Master Thomas Jones, had always been the subject of her\nconversation and eulogy.\n\nVery shortly after this conversation, in fact as shortly after as\nsufficed to take Twm and his friend Rhys to the town-house of Sir John\nPrice, which was situated in Derby-street, Westminster, our hero was\nshaking hands and exchanging hearty good-wishes and congratulations with\nthe \u201clady of his dream.\u201d  His recollection of his dearly-cherished vision\nwas now stronger than ever, in consequence of the widows\u2019 cap which she\nhad lately assumed.\n\nOn the part of Sir John, our hero\u2019s reception was more ceremonious than\nfriendly, but the feeling evinced in his daughter\u2019s eyes, and the\nspeaking pressure of her hand, made ample amends for the baronet\u2019s\nstately coldness.\n\nHaving dined together, Sir John retired early on a more ceremonial visit,\nand the three friends were left together; for Lady Devereaux held Rhys in\ngreat esteem for his high professional character, and unassuming manners;\nand, in truth, we must add, more than all, for the friendship evinced by\nhim for our hero, and the friendly way in which he spoke of him in his\nabsence.  It was with surprise and regret they heard the announcement of\nRhys\u2019 intention (being now superceded in his curacy by the new\nincumbent,) of quitting his country and entering a foreign university, to\nseek in a far land that consideration and advancement not attainable in\nhis own.\n\nLady Devereaux being only in the fifth month of her widowhood, the\nconversation, although kindly in the extreme, was of a melancholy cast.\nRhys having to embark in the morning, urged the necessity of retiring\nearly, and took his final leave of the fair widow, who expressed the\nkindest wishes for his prosperity and success in all undertakings.\n\nAccompanying his friend, Twm bade her adieu for the evening, and gained\nher leave to repeat his visit on the morrow.  The permission to repeat\nhis visits was eagerly seized by Twm, and not once a day only, but many\ntimes did he trouble Sir John\u2019s stately domestic to open the door to him.\nThat he was welcome by the fair enchantress, he could not doubt, and\npleasant were the mid-day walks in the Park or Mall, their indoor\nconferences, and the evening parties at which they shone as twin-stars;\nbut trebly pleasant to our hero was the hour in which he ventured to\nbreak to her his tender feelings and his darling hopes.\n\nWith the utmost candour, and without the least reservation, he told the\nhumbleness of his origin, the blemish in his birth, his wretched\nbringing-up, and withal, the mysterious matter of his glorious vision.\nThe assertion that the moment he beheld her, on rescuing her from the\nrobber, he identified her face and figure with the lady of his dream,\ncalled forth her deepest blushes, and she audibly whispered \u201cIncredible!\u201d\nHis repeated assertions, passionately urged, of the truth of his\nassertion, silenced and perhaps convinced her.\n\nCertain it is that, like the gentle Desdemona, \u201cShe gave him for his\npains a world of sighs;\u201d and time evinced to him that the lady had a tale\nto tell also, which proved that although highly born, and affluent as she\nwas, her lot had not been entire sunshine.\n\n\u201cI am yet hardly twenty-one,\u201d replied she, \u201calthough I have been twice\nmarried.  To neither of these husbands have I been able to give my entire\nheart.  My first union was at my father\u2019s _command_, when solicitations\nproved useless, to his contemporary and old schoolfellow, who was\nold-fashioned enough to restore the long-exploded _abs_ in his name,\nvaunting himself as Thomas ab Rhys ab Thomas Gock, of Ystrad Feen; who\ncould carry on the antique and rusty chain of _abs_, without a broken\nlink, through several centuries up to the patriarch of his tribe, Elystan\nGlodrydd.\n\n\u201cPoor old gentleman!  I fed him with a pap-spoon, in his large gothic\narm-chair, when a stroke of paralysis had withered his right hand; but in\nsix months after our marriage (marriage!) he fell a victim to his ruling\npassion, which I will not name to his disparagement, and died of\napoplexy.  My year\u2019s mourning for him had barely expired, when my mother\nclaimed her right of choosing my next husband; and, in the course of\ntime, poor Sir George (peace to the memory of a harmless man!) became my\nsecond husband.  Had I lived to these days unwedded,\u201d said she, with a\nlook and tone of resolute firmness, almost foreign to her usual\ngentleness, \u201cit is more than probable that I should not have become the\nvictim of either of my parents\u2019 whims.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy poor mother has been long deceased; but well I know my father\u2019s\nfuture aim respecting me\u2014to have me united to some other choice of his\nown; but no! the sapling may bend to the storm, but, springing up again,\nwho shall re-bend the youthful oak that time matures?  If my good father\ninclines to play the tyrant with me, he will find some difference between\nthe woman and the child.\u201d  Applauding her resolution, Twm, kissed her\nhand with rapture; and, she added in a tone of gaiety, \u201cif ever I change\nmy state, I shall become the votary of a different shrine to any that I\nhave yet bowed to;\u201d\n\n    \u201cThe little god shall shoot the porch,\n    Ere faithful Hymen waves his torch.\u201d\n\nWith that expressive couplet, she rose, and our hero, with enlarged\nhopes, took a tender, but restrained and respectful leave of her.\n\nIf Twm was heartily welcomed by Lady Devereaux, he was no less heartily\ndisliked by her father.  Sir John had learnt that he was a natural son of\nSir John Wynn of Gwydir\u2019s, and no earthly merit could compensate, in his\nestimation, the bar of bastardy in his escutcheon.  He sternly desired\nhis daughter to break off all intercourse with our hero, as he had\ndiscovered, he said, the baseness of his origin.  Although Twm appeared\nno more in his house, he had the mortification to learn that at the play,\nthe ball, and in the Park and Mall, their meetings had been frequent.  In\na bitter spirit of resentment against his daughter, without the least\nprevious warning, he one morning compelled her roughly to enter a coach\nat the door, which soon drove off, taking her she knew not whither.\n\nOur hero\u2019s surmises became numerous and agonizing, when for three long\nweeks he had neither seen nor heard from his charmer, although he had not\nmissed one opportunity of encountering her at any of their accustomed\nplaces of meeting, and his days became burdensome, and his nights\nsleepless.  Just as he was sinking into a state of despondency, he one\nevening received a note in the hand of Lady Devereaux, informing him of\nher forcible conveyance to, and safe arrival at Ystrad Feen.  His father\nhaving long since returned to North Wales, he took an affectionate but\nhasty leave of the hospitable family of the Martyns, and commenced his\njourney to his native principality.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\n\nTWM in Wales again.  His meeting with the \u201clady of his dream.\u201d  \u201cThe\ncourse of true love never did run smooth,\u201d which Twm ruefully\nacknowledges.\n\nThe dangers of the road had been somewhat reduced by the vigorous\nprosecution of highwaymen and robbers, many of whom had been lately\nconvicted and executed.  Travellers could pursue their way in comparative\nsecurity, so Twm encountered no \u201chair-breadth escapes by flood or field\u201d\nand his journey home, consequently added no exciting incident to swell\nhis gallant reputation.  At Reading, he heard of the late execution there\nof his former antagonist Tom Dorbell.\n\nOur hero\u2019s impatience towards the close of his journey was so great that\nhe rode all night, that he might reach Ystrad Feen a day earlier.  How\nwould the \u201clady of his dream\u201d receive him?  With what delight would he\nnot gaze upon her dear face again!  When Twm, mounted on a goodly steed,\ndashed into the court-yard, Lady Devereaux, who witnessed his arrival\nsprang from her seat and hurried to meet him as he reached the entrance\nhall.  We fear, for the honour of prudery, that her resistance was not\nvery great.\n\nWhen our gallant hero caught her in his arms, and impressed a certain\nnumber of kisses somewhere about the region of the cheeks and lips, both\nof which looked many degrees redder than when, a few minutes before, she\ncomplained to Miss Meredith of his strange delay in town.\n\n\u201cKiss her also, so that she can\u2019t tell tales of me!\u201d said the gay young\nwidow; so Twm, somewhat less ardently, kissed Miss Meredith, and seemed\nto look about to see if there were any more business of that kind on\nhand.\n\n\u201cMy dear Mr. Jones, you are welcome, most welcome, back to Wales, and\ntrebly welcome to me, and the lonely walls of Ystrad Feen,\u201d were the kind\nLady Joan\u2019s first words.  Neither of the ladies was slow in discovering\nthe change for the better which had taken place in his address, his\nformer diffidence and indecision of manner being supplanted by easy\nconfidence, and high animal spirits.\n\nTwm was now, indeed, happy with the \u201clady of his dream;\u201d for he was on\nmuch more intimate terms with her than he had, at one time, ever hoped to\nbe.  She told him that when her father so suddenly forced her into the\ncoach, to be hurried towards the country, she was joined by two lofty\nladies, his maiden sisters, who literally became her jailors in the\ntravelling vehicle.  Our hero remembered them well, from seeing them at\ncards one evening at their brother\u2019s; and he did not fail to describe\nthem to young Martyn, as ugly as heartless pride, ill-temper, long\nsaturnine noses, yellow ribbons and slippers, could make them.\n\nThe ancient gentlewomen had chosen the state of ceaseless virginity, they\nsaid, to keep up the dignity of the family, which, in their persons, they\nproudly added, should never be lowered by an unworthy alliance.  During\ntheir homeward journey, they entertained their victim with ingenious\nreproaches and disparaging observations respecting \u201cthe strange young man\nwho had obtruded himself into their brother\u2019s house\u2014the unknown Mr.\nJones.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, the creature has no family,\u201d observed the long-waisted Miss Felina\nTomtabby Price.  \u201cThen,\u201d replied our heroine, \u201che is never likely to be\npestered with the claims of poor relations, nor the persecution of rich\nones.\u201d  \u201cNo, he is of no stock,\u201d said Miss Euphemia Polparrot Price,\nfollowing up her sister\u2019s remark; \u201cthe creature was only born yesterday.\u201d\n\u201cThen he is singularly young and harmless,\u201d answered the lady of Ystrad\nFeen.  \u201cAnd, above all blemishes, he is base-born,\u201d added Miss Felina\nTomtabby Price.  \u201cThat is less his fault than his misfortune, as the\nIrishman said who warranted his blind mare free from faults,\u201d answered\ntheir merry niece.\n\nThe young lady was evidently more than a match for the two elder ones,\nand so these ancient gentlewomen kept a dignified silence, or spoke only\nto each other, during the rest of the journey; which terminated at length\nby their seeing her to Ystrad Feen, and betaking themselves to the Priory\nHouse at Brecon.\n\nIn the course of many private conversations between Miss Meredith and the\nyoung widow, the subject of which discourses, strange to say, being\ninvariably Twm himself; she declared herself delighted with him, and Twm,\nit was easy to see, returned the compliment with interest.  At her\ninvitation, he became an inmate of the house, until, as she said, he\ncould put himself to rights.  The golden chain and sum of money left to\nher care, were delivered up to him with considerable additions, in return\nfor his services by a journey to London and from her own private bounty.\n\nWith the evident encouragement vouchsafed to him by the lady of Ystrad\nFeen, Twm was soon madly and irrecoverably lost in his warm affection for\nher, and there is nothing to surprise any reasonable being when he is\ntold that Twm, with energetic enthusiasm, protested that he admired\u2014nay,\nloved her!  If the lady chided him, it was with such winning gentleness\nthat it seemed to say, \u201cPray, do so again.\u201d  If she turned aside her head\nto conceal her blushes, smiles ever accompanied them, in coming and\nretreating; or if she frowned, it was so equivocally, that, for the life\nof him, our hero could not help considering each transient bend of the\nbrow as so many invitations to kiss them away, which the gallant Twm\nnever failed to accept and obey.\n\nThese golden days were too rich in delight to last long.  As the\n_good-natured and most virtuous world_ discovered that they were very\nhappy, and pleased with each other, it breathed forth its malignant\nspirit, and doubted whether they had a legitimate right to be so; of\ncourse, deciding negatively, and consequently awarding to the lovers the\npains and penalties of persecution and mutual banishment.\n\nWhen they had become for some time, undivided companions, and walked,\nrode, danced at Brecon balls, and resided under the same roof together,\nalthough under the strict guidance of moral propriety, as daily witnessed\nby the lady\u2019s female friend; it will be no wonder that scandal at last\nbecame busy with the lady\u2019s fame.  An additional incentive for raising\nthese evil reports was that she had rejected the attentions of several of\nthe rural noblesse, who had endeavoured to recommend themselves to her\ngood graces.\n\nAll at once like the inmates of a hornet\u2019s nest, the various members of\nher family, the proud Prices of Brecon, buzzed about her ears and stung\nher with their reproaches.  She bore all with determined patience, until\nassured that her fame had been vilified, and that she had been described\nas living a life of profligacy and dishonour.  Conscious of rectitude,\nhowever indiscreet she might have been, the haughtiness of her spirit now\nrose, as she indignantly repelled the infamous charges; in the end,\nrequested her _dear friends and relations_ to dismiss their tender fears\nfor her reputation, and keep to their own homes for the future, or at\nleast not to trouble hers.\n\nAlthough she had treated her officious friends with the contumely they\ndeserved, she could not afford to set at nought, altogether, the opinions\nof the little world in which she lived; and, tired, irritated, and vexed,\nby hearing the same tale from day to day, she at last consented to send\naway her deliverer and friend, as she called him, from the protection of\nher roof.  Our hero, however, could never be brought to distinguish\nbetween her real kind feelings towards him, and the constrained\nappearance which her altered conduct made in his sight.\n\nFree as the air, as he felt himself, he could not understand why a great\nand wealthy lady was not equally unshackled and independent.\nExplanations and excuses were entirely thrown away upon him, as he could\nnot, or would not, understand aught so opposed to his happiness and\npre-conceived notions.\n\nWhen, at length, it was made known to him that the separation was\ninevitable, and the season of it arrived, he received the astounding\nintelligence like a severe blow of fortune, that struck him at once both\nsorrowful and meditative.  Pride and resentment, from a supposed sense of\ninjury at last supplanted every other feeling; and, starting up with a\nfrenzied effort, he ordered his horse to be got ready, and gave\ndirections for his things to be forwarded to Llandovery; after which, he\nwrote a note, and sent it to the lady\u2019s room requesting a momentary\ninterview with her alone, before he took his departure.\n\nShe came down with a slow, languid step, and met him in the parlour.  Her\neyes were red with weeping; and, before she uttered a syllable, our\nhero\u2019s much-altered looks affected her so much, that she burst out into a\nheavy fit of sobbing.  \u201cDo not think hardly\u2014do not feel unkindly towards\nme, Jones,\u201d were her first words!  \u201cI entreat you to give me the credit\ndue to my sincerity, when I assure you that the sacrifice I made on\nconsenting to part with you, was\u2014yes! although I have buried two husbands\nwho loved me tenderly, it was the heaviest of my life.\u201d\n\nTwm replied in a tone and manner that evinced both his pride and his\nsuffering; \u201cI have but few words, madame, and they shall not long intrude\nupon your leisure.  I came here a stranger, and had some trifling claims,\nperhaps, on your attention.  Those claims have been more than\nsatisfied\u2014noble has been your remuneration of my humble services, your\nbeneficence generous and princely.\n\n\u201cA change took place in your destiny; you honoured me beyond my merits,\nand bade me stand to the world in a new character.  You called me friend,\nyour sole friend, in a faithless world; nay, lady, your lover; I loved,\nand love you with a pure but unconquerable flame!  Blame me not if I am\npresumptuous;\u2014it was your own condescension, your own encouragement, that\nmade me so, and elevated me to an equality with yourself.  You gave me\nhopes to be the future, the only husband of your choice.  You stretched\nforth your hand to aid my efforts, as I eagerly climbed towards the\ndarling object of my aim; but before I attained the summit, you, madame,\nin the spirit of caprice or treachery, dashed me headlong downwards, to\nperish in despair.\n\n\u201cYour great and wealthy friends will praise you for this, while the\nmincing madames and the insipid misses of Brecon shall learn a noble\nlesson by your conduct, and emulating you, become in their day as arrant\ncoquettes and tramplers on manly hearts, as their limited powers and\nvanity will permit.  But enough! you shall have your generous\ntriumph,\u2014and from this hour I tread the world without an aim, a wanderer\nin the wilderness, reckless of everything.  Advancement, estimation, I\nhere abjure; nor, from this hour, would I raise my hand to save from\nannihilation the being I am\u2014for life is henceforth hateful to me.\n\n\u201cLady, farewell!\u2014never more will I cross your path; but you may hear of\nmy wayward steps,\u2014and if in me you are told of a wretched idiot, a being\nwhose mind had perished while his frame was strong, remember that it was\nyourself who wrought that mental desolation.  Or, if they name me as a\nlawless being, plunged head-long into deeds of guilt, remember it is you,\nyou, madame, who are the authoress of my crimes and sorrows, and, may be,\nof an ignominious death.  And now, madame, farewell!\u201d  On which he darted\nout, mounted his horse, and rode off; while the unhappy lady of Ystrad\nFeen, whose agitation choked her utterance, caught a last glimpse of him,\nand fell on the parlour floor in a swoon.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\n\nFINE Arts at a discount.  Hungry Moses, whose appetite was his ruin.  New\ntricks and jokes on Ready Rosser.  Parson Inco once more.\n\nTwm left Ystrad Feen in no enviable state of mind.  He was in a similar\ntemper to that of a child when deprived of a favourite toy, and as he\nurged his horse with speed in the direction of Llandovery, he determined\nnever to place faith in woman again,\u2014a resolution which underwent some\nslight modification before he reached the \u201cCat and Fiddle,\u201d a\ndiminutive-looking ale-house, where for the present he decided to take up\nhis quarters.\n\nNotwithstanding his chagrin, he could not help smiling at this whimsical\nsign, then newly painted,\u2014a droll-faced creature of the feline race,\ndrawn, as an enthusiast in melody, erect on her hind feet, her eyes\nturned up in ecstacy, while her open mouth seemed to be mewing music, or\ntow-rowing harmony at a fine rate, in concord with the fiddle that she\nhandled with the most artist-like taste, and professional gravity.  If\nthe sign was to his taste, a sort of homely snuggery in the form of a\nsmall parlour, and a good-humoured-looking fat landlady, were no less so.\n\nDinah Dew, the widowed mistress of the Cat and Fiddle informed him that\nshe owed her sign to the skill of a poor tramping painter, who had run\ninto her debt, to the enormous amount of five shillings and sevenpence\nhalf-penny, for board, washing, lodging, and drinking: and the poor\nfellow being penniless and without work, \u201cI let him free,\u201d said she, \u201cfor\nthe sign, and gave him a shilling and a brown loaf over.\u201d\n\nThis liberal patronage of the fine arts, (for the sign included music,\npoetry, and painting,) gave Twm a favourable opinion of his hostess.  She\napologized to him for the absence of her hostler, and said he was a poor\nragged fellow with a pregnant wife, and two children; by trade a mat and\nbasket maker; also a waiter at two other taverns; and an occasional\nhusbandry servant with several farmers, who employed him in their busy\ntimes.  \u201cThe fellow is well enough,\u201d said the little round woman, \u201cbut\nfor his cormorant appetite; and eat what he may, he never looks better\nfor it.  Indeed your horse would scarcely be safe with him, but that this\nis not the most hungry time of year.\u201d\n\n\u201cI knew such another once,\u201d thought Twm, his mind reverting to the hungry\nhouse of Morris Greeg; as he went forward on his walk over the fields.\nThe said \u201chostler\u201d soon overtook him, to ask his commands about his\nhorse.  Twm looked with compassion on the ragged Guy Fawkes figure before\nhim, and conceived that he might earn a fair livelihood by merely walking\nover the farmer\u2019s grounds, as all the kites and crows must inevitably\nflap their departing wings at his approach.  Twm looked into a keen pair\nof ferret eyes, that glistened above a high-bridged parrot nose, and\nfound no difficulty in identifying the miserable Moses of past days.\n\nTwm\u2019s spirit of joking was rampant within him, notwithstanding the\nmorning\u2019s vexations, and he determined upon having a little fun, in\nrefreshing Moses\u2019s memory regarding a few incidents which were best\nforgotten.  Assuming an attitude of tremendous importance, and\noverwhelming authority, he commenced:\n\n\u201cYou are the very fellow I have been long seeking.  You ran away from the\ncomfortable and very plentiful house of Morris Greeg, in Cardiganshire;\nafter having in concert with a young scamp, named Twm Shon Catty, eaten\nall his pork and mutton.\u201d  Moses started and looked blue as indigo.\n\u201cI\u2019ll have thee put in stocks, and taken back to the house of that\ngenerous and most injured man,\u201d cried Twm, in the tone of a\njack-in-office.\n\nCompassionating the perplexity of the poor devil, he caught his hand and\ncried, \u201cDon\u2019t you know me?\u2014Twm, your former fellow-starveling.\u201d  \u201cWell,\nwell! who could have thought it!\u201d cried the astonished Moses; \u201cdear,\ndear, what a many good dinners you must have had to make you look so\nwell.\u201d\n\nTwm assured him, he should have dinners too, if he behaved himself, but\ncharged him to be silent as to their former acquaintance.  Moses so\nbounced and bounded up, in token of his rapture, that Twm feared the wind\nwould bear away the poor creature like a paper kite from him.\n\nPoor fellow! anticipating warmth and comfort from such a proceeding, he\nmarried a very fat widow of a butcher, who was accomplished in her\nhusband\u2019s calling.  Moses had often sought the pleasant shelter of her\nslaughter-house, and amusingly admired the dexterous and delicate manner\nin which she cut the throats, and flayed the hides off the subjects that\nshe operated on; inasmuch that he conceived the creatures themselves\nought to be delighted at being so skilfully finished.  After he had wooed\nand won the widow, oftentimes, when she was almost broken-hearted at her\nfailing to sell certain joints towards the close of the market-day, Moses\nwould be in raptures, as he feelingly observed, they would eat the unsold\nportion themselves.  Somehow their trade gradually declined, till\nlatterly it ceased altogether, and the widow was no longer a butcher,\nowing, as she protested, to her husband\u2019s being a \u201chuge feeder,\u201d and the\nmysterious disappearance of various joints that she suspected him of\ndevouring in secret.\n\nWhere were now the lover\u2019s despair and tears, his dedication to a life of\nsolitude, nay, his refusal even of life?  True, for some days, Twm\nstalked about in the neighbourhood of the \u201cCat and Fiddle\u201d as if his\nearthly mission had been brought to a sudden termination; as if, like\nOthello, his occupation was gone, and there was no likelihood of any\nother suitable employment turning up.  Alas for the consistency of the\nlover!\u2014days we repeat, and not weeks nor months, much less years, of\nseclusion of this kind.  He soon illustrated the Shaksperian adage, \u201cMen\nhave died, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.\u201d  But by him\neverything was to be done by strokes of impulse.  To banish his cares, he\nplunged at once into intemperance; and from merely tolerating a little\ncheerful company, he entered the society of the greatest topers and\nmadcaps to be found, till he emulated and outdid the highest, and became\nthe very prince of wags and practical jokers.\n\nHe was of course recognized as the conqueror of the tremendous Dio the\nDevil, and the acknowledged preserver of the lady of Ystrad Feen, which,\nwith his relation of many freaks and vagaries in England, together with\nthe assured fact that he had been once to London, and spent a year there,\ngained him no inconsiderable share of celebrity.\n\nThe good-humoured Justice Prothero, he found as merry, and as much a\nfriend as ever.  \u201cFear not for the fair widow, boy!\u201d would he exclaim,\nslapping him heartily on the back; \u201cshe\u2019ll have thee yet, in spite of the\nlong-nosed Prices and their pedigrees.\u201d\n\nTo divert him from his frequent fits of melancholy, and dangerous freaks\nof folly among his newly-made companions at Llandovery, Prothero would\nkeep him a week at a time under his friendly roof, and make trifling\nbets, to amuse him, by which freaks he secured some enjoyment for himself\nalso.\n\nReady Rosser again became his antagonist in these rustic feats and\nstratagems.  The first wager that Prothero laid, was of twenty shillings,\nthat Twm would not by his cunning decoy a sheep out of the safe keeping\nof this worthy, as he was to fetch one home for butchering on the morrow;\nbut if he succeeded, the mutton and the money would both become his own;\notherwise he would forfeit that sum and resign the woolly victim to its\nowner.  To all this our hero agreed, and prepared accordingly.\n\nReady Rosser was as loud in bidding defiance to our hero, now as he had\nbeen on a former occasion, where the result had scarcely justified his\nextravagant bragging.  He shouldered his sheep, vowing before his\ngrinning fellow-servants, who grouped round to crack their jests on him,\nthat the devil himself should not deprive him of his burden.  As he\nproceeded along a part of the high road, up a slight ascent, he\ndiscovered with surprise, a good leathern shoe lying in the mud.  A shoe\nof leather, be it known, in a country where wooden clogs are generally\nworn, is no despicable prize.  Rosser looked at the object before him\nwith a longing eye; but reflecting that one shoe, however good, was\nuseless unmatched with a fellow, spared himself the trouble of stooping,\nfor troublesome it would have been with such a weight on his shoulders,\nand passed on without lifting it.  On walking a little farther, and going\nround a bend in the road, great was his surprise on finding another shoe,\na fellow to the former, lying in the sledge mark, which like the rut of a\nwheel, indented the mud with hollow stripes.  In the height of his joy he\nlaid down the sheep, with its legs tied, beside the shoe, and ran back\nfor the other; when Twm Shon Catty, watching his opportunity, sprang over\nthe hedge, and seized his prize, which he bore off securely; won his bet,\nand ate his mutton undisturbed.\n\nThe termination of this sheep wager did not add to Ready Rosser\u2019s\nreputation, and that worthy was nearly beside himself with rage, on\nfinding himself again beaten.  His master, Squire Prothero, although the\nmost good-humoured of country gentlemen, was rather angry with Rosser,\nwhose shrewdness always became questionable when opposed to Twm\u2019s.  It\nwas admitted, in excuse, that the most cunning at times may be\naccidentally over-reached by his inferior in wit.  On this plea the merry\nmagistrate was conciliated, and induced into another wager, precisely\nlike the former, when a similar sum, against our hero, and in favour of\nhis servant, was laid and accepted.  The man of shrewdness, as before,\ndetermined to use the utmost vigilance and caution to preserve his charge\nand redeem his reputation.  He grasped his load, which was a fine fat\newe, most manfully, and swore violent oaths in answer to his master\u2019s\nexhortation to chariness, that human ingenuity should never trick him\nagain; but\n\n    \u201cGreat protestations do make that doubted,\n    Which we would else right willingly believe.\u201d\n\nIn his way to Llangattock, he had to pass through a wood, which he had\nscarcely entered, when the bleating of a sheep attracted his attention,\nand he came to a dead stand, as he intently listened to what he conceived\na well-known voice.  \u201cBaa\u2014baa!\u201d again saluted his ear.  A sudden\nconviction rushed across his mind, that this was the very sheep he had\nbefore lost, which he imagined might have been concealed by Twm in the\nrecess of the woody dingle.\n\nWhat a glorious chance, thought he, of recovering his lost credit with\nhis master, and depriving his antagonist of his laurels!  He instantly\ndeposited his burden beneath a tree; and eagerly forcing his way through\nthe copse and bushes, he followed the bleating a considerable way down\nthe wood, when to his great dismay it ceased altogether.  A thought now\nstruck him, though rather too late, that the bleating proceeded from no\nsheep, but a more subtle ram, in the presence of Twm Shon Catty; he\nhurried back in a grievous fright, and found his surmises but too\ntrue\u2014the second sheep, and his high reputation for shrewdness, had both\ntaken flight together.\n\nMoses\u2019s face and figure began to improve, for he received the greater\nproportion of the winnings both of money and mutton, and he secretly\nthanked the good fortune which had brought him into Twm\u2019s service.\n\nSquire Prothero, not yet being tired of our hero\u2019s witty genius and\ncunning cleverness, offered to oppose to his cunning, the collective\nvigilance of his husbandmen and maidens; laying a bet with him that he\nshould not steal a white ox, with which a black one was to be yoked to\nthe plough.  The plough to be held by Rosser and driven by another\nservant; while two girls, driving each a harrow, should also be on their\nguard, to prevent his aim if possible.\n\nThere could be no doubt that Twm would accept this wager as he had done\nthe others, and accordingly he very obligingly undertook to convey away\nthe white ox, as he had formerly done the bull Bishop; and to eat the\ngentleman\u2019s beef, provided it turned out sufficiently tender; protesting\nwith a half yawn, and the perfect ease of a modern Corinthian, that he\nwas absolutely tired of mutton, which he had too long persisted in\neating, against the judgment and advice of his physician.\n\nThe morning at length dawned, when the test of Twm\u2019s sagacity, the most\nsevere to which it had yet been exposed, was to be applied.  The plough\nwas guided and the cattle driven, while two bare-footed maidens giggled\nand laughed till the rocks echoed, as they whipped the horses and ran by\ntheir sides, till the harrows bounced against the stones, and sometimes\nturned over; their mirth was excited by the idea of Twm\u2019s folly in\naccepting such a bet, and thinking to steal the white ox from under their\nnoses, the impossibility of which was so evident.\n\nThe two servants at the plough also cracked and enjoyed their clumsy\njokes at the thought of our hero\u2019s temerity, at the same time keeping a\nwary eye in every direction, armed against surprisals, and exulting in\nthe thought that for once, at least, the dexterous Twm would be baffled\nin his aim.  Time went on; the day waned away towards the evening, and as\ntheir fatigue increased, their vigilance gradually lessened.\n\nSuch was the state of matters when Moses, who seemed to be loitering\nabout without any particular purpose in view, encountered them, and,\nlaughing loudly at the cautious and careful way in which they continued\nto guard their prize, assured them that Twm had given up the idea of\noutwitting such a wary and clever party, and was at that moment drinking\nhis wine with their master, whom he allowed to win the wager.\n\n\u201cAllowing, indeed!\u201d quoth a sharp-tongued lass, as she stopped her harrow\nto listen, \u201cpretty allowing, when he could not help himself!\u201d  \u201cAye,\u201d\ncried the other girl, \u201cso the fox allowed the goose to escape, when she\ntook to flight and escaped his clutches!\u201d\n\nRosser and the plough-boy exulted in their anticipated reward of a\nskin-full of strong beer.  Thus the whole party was excited to a high\npitch of triumphant mirth.  Moses was, of course, a decoy, and his report\nhad really the effect of throwing them off their guard, which another\ncircumstance contributed to aid.  The rural party had rested, sitting on\ntheir ploughs and harrows, at one end of the field, while they listened\nto their informant; and now were about to resume their labours, when a\nhare started from the adjoining thicket, crossing the ground towards the\nopposite hedge.\n\nSuddenly the halloo arose; away ran the ploughman and girls, over hedges\nand ditches, and away ran the yelping sheep-dog, amid the clamour of\nshouting and barking; but the wondering oxen stood still, and their grave\nlooks of astonishment gradually changed to a more animated expression of\nalarm on the arrival of Twm Shon Catty.\n\nHaving loosed his captive hare to decoy the clowns, he availed himself of\ntheir absence to dress the black ox in a white morning gown,\u2014that is to\nsay, a sheet, which became him much, and contrasted with his complexion\namazingly; and the white ox he attired in a suit of mourning, formed of\nthe burial pall which he had borrowed from the clerk of Llandingad church\nfor that express purpose; and, having unloosened his fair friend from the\nyoke, they suddenly disappeared through a gap in the hedge.\n\nAlthough busily engaged in the gentlemanly pastime of the chase, the\nhusbandry worthies now and then glanced towards the plough, but seeing,\nas they thought, the white ox safe, returned to it at a leisurely pace,\ntill quickened, as they neared it, by the singular sight before them; and\ntheir petty vexation at losing the hare was now swallowed up by the\nterrible circumstance of their loss of their especial charge.  A suitable\nlamentation followed, of course, which was succeeded by fear and\ntrembling, from a conviction that Twm Shon Catty dealt with the devil;\nand that the hare which they had chased was no other than the foe of man\nin disguise.  This reasonable and self-evident assumption quite satisfied\ntheir merry master, who deemed himself quite compensated for his loss by\nthe hearty laugh he enjoyed.\n\nTwm and his singular charge entered Llandovery in triumph, the white ox\nbeing gaily decorated with ribbons, and the half-starved, but\ntrustworthy, Moses seated on its back.  Loud were the huzzas and laughter\nby which he was received by the juvenile part of the population of\nLlandovery; not one of whom enjoyed the sight more than the good-humoured\nProthero, who cheerfully paid the bet, and from a tavern window had full\nview of the scene, which he declared excited his laughter till his heart\nand sides ached with the agreeable convulsion.\n\nTwm did not confine himself to love of beef and mutton.  He had higher\naspirations which evinced a very ardent passion for horse-flesh; and\npursued it with all the fiery zest of a first-love, when impeded by\ndifficulties the most insurmountable.\n\nThe lady of Ystrad Feen, still sitting on his heart like a night-mare,\nand pinching it with pain rendered him, however amusing to others,\nmiserable enough within himself.  Lassitude, chagrin, and bitterness,\noften betrayed themselves in his countenance and manners, and were only\ntransiently removed by the hilarity of the company with which he mixed,\nor the freaks which he played, in his ill-combined humours of mirth and\nsorrow.  Reckless of consequences, he now entered into the follies less\ninnocent than hitherto detailed; led to them, however, more by a spirit\nof youthful wildness than by any really criminal intention.\n\nIn one of his many walks he found himself one day at Machynlleth, in\nMontgomeryshire, and who should he see but his old enemy Inco Evans of\nTregaron, riding into the town on a fine grey horse?  \u201cHo, ho!\u201d quoth he,\n\u201cmy dear friend still alive!  Now is that horse to be mine or his?\u201d said\nhe to himself, as he produced a copper coin; \u201cnow heads for Inco, and\ntails for Twm,\u201d added he, as he tossed the penny high up in the air.  On\nits fall to the ground he found that fortune had declared against the\nparson.\n\nWith the utmost coolness he made himself known to the amiable Inco, whose\nfeatures underwent various contortions at the recognition; nor did they\nsettle to serenity when Twm with provoking laughter told him that he must\njourney homeward on foot, as it was a settled thing fixed by fate, that\nhe was to have the gallant grey himself.  Inco started and stared; but,\nwithout answering a word, he hurried to the innkeeper and the hostler,\ncharging them to lock the stable, and assist him to secure a daring\ndelinquent whom he had discovered in the street.  On reaching the stable,\nthe grey, like the grey mist of morning, had dissolved from view, and our\nhero was equally invisible in the ancient town of Machynlleth.\n\nThis last transaction sat uneasily on Twm\u2019s conscience.  He thought that\nit hardly came within the legitimate bounds of a joke, although the free\nand unlicensed spirit of the times permitted a long tether in this\nrespect; he therefore promised himself some mirth in returning the grey\nhorse to Inco, if he could be found in a Welshpool fair, which was\nprobable, as the accumulating clerical magistrate was a great trafficker\nin farm stock of all kinds.  Thither proceeded the gallant Twm, on a fine\nMonday morning, in the following week; but the purpose of his better\nthoughts was unluckily thwarted.\n\nOn entering this little wool-combing town, a certain countenance burst\nupon his recollection; the owner of the face made known to him as a\nstranger, and made overtures for the purchase of the steed.  It struck\nour hero that there would be some fun in selling it to this personage\u2014no\nother than young Marmaduke Graspacre\u2014as it could not but cause a\nwhimsical altercation with Inco Evans.  Accordingly a bargain was struck,\nand Twm received the amount in hard cash.\n\nBoth parties were highly pleased with their transaction, and Twm praised\nthe grey steed still more warmly now that he had pocketed the money.  He\nspoke quite enthusiastically of the animal\u2019s points, remarking that its\nmerits were far away in excess of what he had represented them to be.  \u201cI\nprotest to you in honesty and truth,\u201d he exclaimed with much earnestness,\n\u201cyou have a greater bargain than you imagine.  As I was not anxious to\nsell him, I have omitted to inform you of half his good qualities; he is\ncapable of performing such wonderful feats as you never heard of.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t say so!\u201d exclaimed the elated Marmaduke, staring alternately\nat his horse and at our hero.  \u201cIn fact, I assure you,\u201d cries Twm, with\nthe most sober face imaginable; \u201cand if you don\u2019t believe me, I\u2019ll\nconvince you in a moment, if you will allow me to mount him.\u201d  \u201cOh,\ncertainly, with many thanks,\u201d quoth the delighted heir of Graspacre Hall.\nTwm very leisurely mounted, and after a variety of postures and\ncurvetings, gradually got out of the fair into the high-road; suddenly\ngiving spur and rein to the \u201cgallant steed,\u201d he astonished Marmaduke by\nhis disappearance.\n\nThe \u201cgreen\u201d one had to confess with bitterness of heart, that the jockey\nhad certainly kept his word, as he showed him such a trick as he never\nbefore saw, or heard of.  But when he received a note informing him that\nthe horse-dealer was his old \u201cfriend\u201d Twm, his wrath was boundless.\n\nThe fame of Twm\u2019s cunning and adroitness spread through the whole country\nround, and his wide-spread reputation brought him many country people to\nconsult him respecting their difficulties.\n\nOne morning, while sitting in his favourite corner at the Cat and Fiddle,\na person called, who described himself as a small farmer in the\nneighbourhood, his name Morgan Thomas; and having heard so much of his\ncleverness, he came to ask his advice on an affair of great weight.  He\nhad been annoyed, he said, by the continual trespassing of a certain\nsquire\u2019s pigeons on his ground, which had made such a havoc amid his\nwheat yearly, that the loss was grievous to him; he had computed his\ndamages, and applied for the amount, for the last four years; reckoning\nthat the forty pigeons would devour at least a bushel of wheat each\nannually.  The squire only laughed at his claims and complaints, telling\nhim he might pound them and be d\u2014d, if he liked when he would pay the\nalleged damages and not till then.\n\n\u201cNow, to pound them, I should like vastly,\u201d quoth Morgan Thomas, \u201cbut\nwithout the squire\u2019s polite invitation to be d\u2014ned, at the same time.\nBut,\u201d added the poor farmer, \u201cpounding pigeons, I look upon as\nimpossible; yet as you have done feats no less wonderful, if you will\npound those mischievous pigeons for me, I will engage to give you half\nthe amount of my claims.\u201d  \u201cAgreed?\u201d cried Twm, and grasped his hand, in\ntoken that he undertook the task.\n\nHe sent a quantity of hot grains from the brewing, to the farmer, next\nmorning, which he afterwards scattered about the farm-yard.  The pigeons\ncame, as usual; and eagerly devouring the grain, each and all soon\nappeared as top-heavy as the veriest tress-pot in Carmarthenshire; and,\nlike the said fraternity incapable of returning home, they fell in stupor\non the ground.  Our hero, assisted by the farmer, picked them up, tied\ntheir legs, and put the whole party in the pound.  The squire, who was no\nother than Prothero, the laughing magistrate, ever pleased with a jest,\nespecially when cracked by our hero, immediately paid the farmer\u2019s\ndemand; and Twm generously refused the proffered remuneration for his\nvery effective assistance.\n\nOur hero never used the money acquired by his art for his own\nrequirements, and we must not forget to say here that the cash our hero\nreceived for the parson\u2019s horse, was cast into the parish poor-box.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\n\nTWM\u2019S poetical address to his \u201clady love.\u201d  \u201cA gipsy\u2019s life is a joyous\nlife.\u201d  Dinas and a singular natural cave.  Faithless woman.\n\nTwm\u2019s thoughts were not often forgetful of Ystrad Feen, and its\ninhabitants: the lady \u201cof the ilk\u201d seldom indulged in silent reverie,\nwithout making the absent Twm the principal figure in her day-dream.  She\nhad not known a day\u2019s peace since his absence, and was daily waving\nbetween a resolution to send for him back, to bestow on him her hand, and\na deference for her father and proud relatives, who insisted that if she\never married again, it should only be to a title and fortune; by which\nthey themselves might share in the honour.\n\nInformation was brought to her of his wild excesses, which gave her the\ngreatest concern, as she conceived herself in part the authoress of his\nmisfortunes.  Twm, at the same time, felt that his tedious absence from\nthe fair widow was no longer to be endured; and as he knew her to be\nwatched by her father\u2019s spies, he determined on paying her a visit in\ndisguise.  Previous to putting his design into execution, he composed and\nsent her the following poem, in which he dwells on, and exaggerates, his\nown misfortunes, in a strain calculated to move her tenderness in his\nfavour.\n\n                            CYWYDD Y GOVID. {264}\n\n    THE outcast\u2019s forced ally is mine\n       And Govid is his name;\n    It is a ruthless savage mate,\n    And like a foe that\u2019s pale with hate,\n       To crush me is his aim:\n    His cruel shafts are fiercely hurl\u2019d,\n    He forced me friendless on the world.\n\n    If forward, seeking good I wend,\n    My eager steps outstrip the fiend;\n    If backward I retreat from ill,\n    My cruel foe arrests me still:\n\n    I seek the flood to end despair,\n    Relentless Govid meets me there,\n    And tells of endless pangs of pride,\n    The wages of the suicide.\n\n    Fell Govid\u2019s mighty in the land,\n    His children are a horrid band,\n    Who joy in hapless man\u2019s distress,\n    Lo, one in debt\u2014one nakedness:\u2014\n    And need against me doth combine;\n    (Fierce Govid\u2019s loveless concubine;)\n    And care, that knows not how to yearn,\n    Is Govid\u2019s consort, keen and stern:\n    And thus this family of ill,\n    E\u2019er bruise my heart and curb my will.\n\n    Though lost to me the tranquil day,\n    My vanquisher I hope to slay;\n    The fierce enormous giant fiend\n    No more the heart of Twm shall rend,\n    If thou, my lady-love! but smile,\n    Thou gentle fair, devoid of guile\u2014\n    Thou darling object of my choice,\n    Oh bless me with assentive voice,\n    And soon shall Govid lay his length,\n    A curse! struck down by Rapture\u2019s strength.\n\nThe Lady of Ystrad Feen did not read the pathetic poem without being\ndeeply affected, and tears ran down her fair cheeks as she sobbingly\nperused it for the fourth time.  She still bowed her head in grief, when\nher maid entered her chamber, and in a tone of complaint informed her\nmistress that there was a very important and troublesome gipsy in the\nkitchen, who, after having told the fortunes of all the servants in the\nhouse, insisted on seeing her also.\n\n\u201cI am not in a mood to relish such foolery now, so send her about her\nbusiness,\u201d answered the lady, in a tone more sorrowful than angry.  \u201cIt\nis quite useless,\u201d replied the girl, \u201cto attempt to send her away; big\nEvan the gardener tried to take her by the shoulders, and turn her out by\nforce, but she whirled round, grasped him by his arms, tripped up his\nheels, and laid him in a moment on the floor.  There she sits in the\nkitchen, and vows she will not budge from thence for either man or woman,\ntill she sees the Lady of Ystrad Feen, whom she loves, she says, dearer\nthan her life, and would not for millions harm a hair of her head.\u201d\n\nAlthough too deeply absorbed in sorrow to have curiosity much excited,\nshe went down stairs, and approached the sybil, who had now taken her\nstation in the hall, asking her, \u201cWhat do you want, my good woman?\u201d\u2014\u201cTo\ntell you,\u201d answered she, \u201cnot your fortune, but what may be your fortune\nif you choose.\u201d  \u201cLet me hear then,\u201d said the Lady Joan, with a faint\nincredulous smile, walking before her, at the same time, into a little\nback parlour.  Before she could seat herself, the apparent gipsy caught\nher right hand wrist, and looking round, whispered in her ear,\u2014\n\n    \u201cTo heal your torn bosom, and ease every smart,\n    Oh take\u2014he\u2019s before you\u2014the youth of thy heart.\u201d\n\nThe colour fled from the fair widow\u2019s cheeks, and in a moment she sank\ninto a swoon in her lover\u2019s arms.  Soon recovering, she desired her maid\nto deny her to every body that called, \u201cas,\u201d added she, with a smile, \u201cI\nhave particular business with the gipsy.\u201d\n\nA scene of tears and tenderness ensued; when Twm, with the utmost\nfervour, urged his suit.  She replied that her father had insisted on,\nand received her promise that she should wed no being but who either bore\na title or stood within a prospect of one.\n\n\u201cYou did well,\u201d replied our hero, with the most easy confidence, \u201cand\nyour promise, so far from militating against me, would really be in my\nfavour, for am I not the son of a baronet? his nature child, \u2019tis true,\nbut still his son; and you would break no promise to your father in\nmarrying me; but if you did, so much the better broke than kept.  I have\nfriends at this moment who are doing their utmost to move my father, Sir\nJohn Wynn, of Gwydir, to own me publicly, for his right worthy son; and\nif he does not, the loss is his, not mine, for I shall certainly disown\nhim else for a father, and claim parentage of some greater man.\u201d\n\nIn this interview, Twm pleaded his affection with such persuasive vigour\nand tender persistence, that the old \u201clady of his dream\u201d resisted the\npromptings of her own heart no longer, and promised to be his in spite of\nevery obstacle.  The joy of our hero knew no bounds, nor did the lady\nvery strenuously resist his rapturous embraces; but seemed to find her\nheart relieved by the resolution she had come to, that now for ever put\nan end to the conflicting doubts as to her future course, which had so\nlong torn her heart, and banished her peace.\n\nIt was now time for the pretended gipsy to depart, as the sun was\ndescending rapidly, and Twm was chary of the fair widow\u2019s reputation.  He\nwould not have the faintest breath of slander associated with her name\nand so he unwillingly left.  She directed him to wait for her, and her\nconfidential friend Miss Meredith, at the entrance to the ancient cave on\nthe top of Dinas, which was the name of the conical hill exactly fronting\nthe mansion of Ystrad Feen.  He accordingly took his departure; and\nwinding round the base of Dinas, he crossed the river Towey, which, being\nthen in summer, was there little more than a brook.\n\nAfter walking over a couple of fields, and a piece of rough common, he\nhad to cross the Towey once more, when he commenced his ascent at the\nonly part of this very steep hill where it was possible to climb.\n\nDuring his former stay at Ystrad Feen, this wildly-romantic height had\nbeen his favourite haunt, as the cave in its side was the greatest\nwonder.  It was in fact a mighty mound, that bore all the appearance of\nhaving been, at the period of its formation, convulsed by an earthquake,\nand in the height of nature\u2019s tremendous heavings, suddenly arrested and\nbecalmed, even while the huge crags were in the act of tumbling down its\nsteep sides.\n\nA narrow valley encircled its base, and the mountains around of equal\nheight with itself, separated only by this deep and scanty dell, seemed\nas if rent from it, during the convulsions of the earth, and Dinas left\nalone, an interesting monument of the memorable event.  The surface of\nthe acclivity was so speckled with huge loose stones, that it was\ndangerous to hold by them in ascending, as the slightest impetus would\nroll them downward.\n\nOnce in poetical mood, when accompanied by his mistress, while tenderly\nand lovingly protecting her during their ascent at this very spot, he had\nsaid, that no doubt an earthquake had turned the bosom of the hill inside\nout, so that no secret could be therein concealed: archly insinuating\nthat he trusted the time would soon come, when, without so violent a\nprocess, her own fair bosom would be equally open to him, while it\nrejected the stony barriers that then stood between him and her heart.\n\nBut let us proceed with our description, while Twm awaits the arrival,\naccording to promise, of the Lady of Ystrad Feen.\n\nThe approach to this curious place was as romantic as the cave itself.\nIt was through a narrow aperture, formed of two immense slate rocks that\nface each other, with the space between them narrower at the bottom than\nthe top, so that the passage could be entered only side-ways, with the\nfigure inclined forward, according to the slant of the rocks, a thin\nperson being barely able to make his way in, while a man of some\nrotundity might also succeed, rising on his toes, forcing himself\nupwards.  Between these rocks of entrance a massive stone block was\nwedged at the top, so that it formed a rude resemblance to an arch.\n\nAfter _sideling_ so far through a comparatively long passage, it was a\ngreat surprise that it led to so small a cave; for it was scarcely large\nenough to shelter three persons huddled close together.  What it wanted\nin breadth, it possessed in height, as it ran up like a chimney, to the\nattitude of forty-five feet, and was opened at the top to the very summit\nof the mount, forming a skylight to the _room_ below.  Although the\nlittle cave was void of a solid roof, a very rural one was formed by the\nlarge tufts of heather and fern, which sprung through the crevices of the\nrocks; the whole being surmounted by the pendant branch of a dwarf oak,\nthat with many other trees stood like a crown on the elevated head of\nDinas.\n\nHowever singular the interior of this cave might appear to our hero, he\nhad great pleasure in examining the grand combination that graced its\nexterior.  There he saw, with never-satisfied delight and wonder, objects\nof the most romantic character, curiously united, near the junction of\nthe three counties.  The rocky Dinas, with its many inaccessible sides,\nbesides the loose crags before mentioned, was partially covered with aged\ndwarfish trees, all bending in the same direction; many with their heads\nbroken by tempests, but still throwing out branches, while others, stark,\nsere, and shrouded in green moss, were things to which seasons brought no\nchange.\n\nFrom the mouth of the cave a beautiful view was obtained of the\nwell-wooded mountain of Maesmaddegan, while the junction of the rivers\nTowey and Dorthea {269} enlivened the gloom caused by the deep gulf which\nseparated Dinas.\n\nTwm was, however, careless for this once of the extremely attractive\ncharacter of the scenery around him.  One of the most interesting pages\nin the Book of Nature lay open before him, but it remained unperused,\nunnoticed at his feet.  His eager eye was fixed steadily on the spot\nwhere it would catch the earliest glimpse of his approaching mistress.\nOut of all patience at her long delay, he now began to wonder at the\ncause of it; when at length, to his great dismay, he saw _one_ female\nhurrying on, and her not the one, although the faithful Miss Meredith.\n\nHaving reached the side of the river, which separated her from the base\nof Dinas, and finding that he was watching her, she placed a paper on the\nrock, and a stone upon it, then kissing her hand sportively, turned about\nand hastened homeward with the utmost precipitation.  In his eagerness to\novertake her, Twm attempted to run down the declivity, but soon lost his\nfooting, sliding and rolling down several yards, by which he was for a\nfew moments rather stunned.  Losing all hope of overtaking his mistress\u2019s\nconfidante, he applied to the paper on the rock, which he found to be a\nnote hastily scrawled with a pencil, containing merely these words:\u2014\n\n\u201cMy father has unexpectedly arrived, with several of his friends\u2014can\u2019t\nsee you at Llandovery on the Fair day.  Yours ever.\u201d  \u201cBy the Dood!\u201d\nmuttered Twm to himself, \u201cif this is a coquette\u2019s trick which she put on\nme, it shall avail her nothing;\u2014mine she is, by promise, and mine she\nshall be, in spite of the devil, and all her Brecknockshire friends to\nboot!\u201d  Determined to bring his affairs to a speedy crisis, he changed\nhis clothes, and soon made his way to Llandovery.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV.\n\n\nTWM assumes various disguises, and accomplishes many clever things at\nLlandovery fair.  A strange scene in a court of justice.  Twm flies and\nis pursued.\n\nTwm set off to Llandovery fair with a fluttering heart and hopeful\nanticipations of seeing his mistress, and planned another little drama,\nin which he intended the grey horse should have an important part.\n\nMuch to their credit, the neighbouring gentry had recently opened a\nsubscription for rebuilding between thirty and forty poor people\u2019s\nhouses, which had unfortunately been burnt down; and our hero resolved\nthat every farthing henceforward gained by the grey horse, or otherwise,\nclandestinely, should be appropriated to this laudable purpose.  It was\nno small satisfaction to him to find that, while it mortified the\npurse-proud vanity of the haughty squires to see so large a sum attached\nto his name, it had the good effect of increasing their contributions,\nresolved not to be outdone, in money matters at least, by so obscure a\npersonage as Twm.\n\nIt was necessary for him to disguise himself thoroughly, for he intended,\nin the first place, to offer the horse for sale.  He decided to dress as\na country booby; and after he had finished, his most intimate friend\nwould have been puzzled to recognize him.  Twm Shon Catty, (we beg his\npardon,) Mr. Thomas Jones was effectually concealed in the rough garb of\na Welsh country ploughman.  His feet got thrust into a very heavy pair of\nclogs, or wooden-soled shoes, which being stiff and large, maintained\nsuch a haughty independence of the inmates, as to need being tied on by a\nhay-band.  His legs were enveloped in a pair of wheat-stalk leggings, or\nbands of twisted straw, winding round and round, and covering them from\nthe knee to the ankle.\n\nA raw hairy cow-hide formed the material of his _inexpressibles_, which\nwere loose, like trowsers cut at the knee; and his jerkin was of a\nbrick-dust red, with black stripes, like the faded garb of the\nCarmarthenshire women.  A load of red locks, straight as a bunch of\ncarrots, hung dangling behind, but in front rather matted and entangled,\nquite innocent of the slightest acquaintance with that useful article, a\ncomb; the whole surmounted with a soldier\u2019s cast-off Monmouth cap, so\nhighly varnished with grease, as to appear waterproof.\n\nWithout any apology for a waistcoat, he wore a blue flannel shirt,\nstriped with white, opened from the chin to the waistband, to contain his\nenormous cargo of bread and cheese and leeks, which, as he was\ncontinually drawing upon his store, stood a chance of all becoming wholly\ninside passengers.  Added to this, his booby gait and stupid vacant stare\nwas such that he might have passed muster anywhere for what he pretended\nto be.\n\nHe took up his post on the outskirts of the town, preferring that\nposition to elbowing his way through the busy crowd in the middle of the\nfair.  He did not appear anxious for a customer, and munched his bread\nand cheese and onions with quiet perseverance.  Many persons, in passing\nby, gazed with wonder at this piece of cloddish rusticity, and asked if\nthe horse was for sale; but receiving such drivelling and dolt-like\nanswers, that it became a matter of wonder who could have trusted their\nproperty to such an oaf.\n\nWhen Twm had stood some time, patiently bearing the ridicule of many\nbystanders, who cracked jokes at his expense, a gentlemen, well-mounted\non a chestnut-coloured hunter, entered the town, and cast an eager eye at\nthe grey horse.  Twm recognized him at a glance as a Breconshire\nmagistrate, named Powell, one of the many rejected admirers of the lady\nof Ystrad Feen.  Riding up to our hero, he asked if the horse was for\nsale.  Twm answered in broken English, imitating the dialect of the lower\nclass, \u201cI don\u2019t no but it iss, if I cann get somebody that is not wice,\nlook you, somebody that was fools to buy him.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut why,\u201d asked the gentleman, \u201cdon\u2019t you take him into the horse-fair?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy inteed to goodness,\u201d answered Twm, \u201cI was shame to take him there;\nfor look you, he has a fault on him, and I do not find in my heart and my\nconscience to take honest people in with a horse that has a fault on him,\nfor all master did send me here to sell him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, and what is this mighty fault?\u201d asked the stranger, smiling.\n\n\u201cWhy inteed to goodness and mercy,\u201d replied Twm, \u201cit was a fault that do\nspoil him\u2014it was a fault that\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what is the fault?\u201d asked the Breconshire magistrate impatiently:\n\u201cgive it a name, man.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy inteed to goodness,\u201d replied the scrupulous horse-dealer, \u201cI will\ntell you like an honest christian man, without more worts about it; I\nwill make my sacrament and bible oaths\u201d\u2014\u201cI don\u2019t ask your oath,\u201d cried\nPowell, almost out of humour, \u201cmerely tell me in word, what ails the\nhorse?\u201d\n\n\u201cInteed and upon my soul and conscience to boot, I can\u2019t say what do ail\nhim.\u201d  \u201cYou can\u2019t?\u201d cried Powell in an angry tone, and looking as\nsurprised and wrath as might be expected from a proud Breconian;\n\u201cConfound me if I do,\u201d replied Twm, \u201cbut I will tell you why he was no\ngood to master; it wass thiss\u2014Master iss a parson, a gentleman parson,\nnot a poor curate, one mister Inco Evans, rector of Tregaron, and the\nwhite hairs do come off the grey horse here, and stick upon his best\nblack coat and preeches; and that was his fault.\u201d\n\nThis was a curious reason for disposing of so good-a-looking animal as\nthat Twm held by the bridle, and one that did not deter Powell from\nbuying him without further parley, and paying for him there and then.  He\ndisappeared with his prize, wondering at the stupid dolt from whom his\npurchase had been made.\n\nTwm retired now to a small public-house, where having asked for a\nbed-room, he contrived, after making a total change in his garb, to slip\nout again unperceived, not wishing, for various reasons, to appear before\nhis mistress _in propria person\u00e6_.  He now wore a grey sober suit,\nshining black buckles, stockings of the wool of a black sheep, and a\nknitted Welsh wig, of the same, that fitted him like a skullcap, and\nconcealed every lock of his hair.  Thus arrayed, he presented the\nappearance of a grave puritanical farmer, from the remote district of\nCardiganshire.\n\nAfter gazing awhile at the motley crowd that constitutes a fair, in a\nWelsh country town, he noticed a well-known crone, who had the reputation\nof being exceedingly covetous.  Lean, yellow, and decrepid, her\nferret-eyes glanced eagerly about for a customer, as she held beneath her\narm a large roil of stout striped flannel.  Twm, unobserved, took his\nstand behind her, and dexterously stitching her bale to his coat, he,\nwith a sudden jerk, transferred it from the old woman\u2019s grasp to his own.\nHer wonder and dismay was unutterable.\n\nElbowed and tossed about by the bustling crowd who were passing to and\nfro, she knew not who to vent her spleen upon; but, in utter despair, set\nup a tremendous howl, as a requiem for her beloved departed.  Instead of\nseeking the assistance of a light pair of heels, Twm scarcely moved a\nyard, but drew from his pocket a little black tobacco-pipe, and puffed a\ncloud with admirable coolness, while his right arm lovingly embraced the\nbale of flannel.\n\nRoused by the old beldame\u2019s outrageous expressions of grief and fury, he\nasked in a very pathetic tone, the cause of her sorrow, which she related\nwith many curses, sobs, and furious exclamations.  Shocked at her\nimpiety, and want of resignation, Twm took upon him to rebuke her, and\nedified her much, by a discourse on the virtue of patience; assuring her\nshe ought to thank heaven that she was not a neglected being.  In\nconclusion, he remarked, that fairs and markets in these degenerate days\nwere so sadly infested with rogues and vagabonds, that an honest person\nwas completely encompassed by dangers.\n\n\u201cNow for my part,\u201d continued he, \u201cI never enter such places without\npreviously sewing my goods to my clothes, which you ought also to have\ndone, in this manner.\u201d\u2014showing at the same time, the roll beneath his\narm, which he thought the old crone\u2019s eyes had glanced on, with something\nlike a light of suspicion, that instantly vanished, on this notable\ndisplay and explanation.\n\nOur hero\u2019s appetite only grew by what it fed upon, and the taste of fun\nhe had as yet been able to snatch only made him wish for more.  He did\nnot wait long for an opportunity; it was his habit to be so; he either\nmet \u201copportunity\u201d half-way or entirely created his chance, making\ncircumstances, in a measure, contribute to his especial purposes.\n\nCasting a sharp glance around, he saw making towards him, a man of the\ncadaverous aspect, one who was an entire stranger to substantial creature\ncomforts, or, if not, one who \u201cshamed his pasture\u201d considerably.\n\nOn closer scrutiny, Twm saw it was his old friend Moses, whose hungry\nstomach had kept him hopelessly poor.  Moses advanced and tried to\nbargain for a few yards of his flannel; but on reckoning his money found\nhe could not come up to the price, as he said he had to buy a three\nlegged iron pot, in addition to a winter petticoat for his wife: \u201cand,\u201d\nobserved the man of tatters, with a grin of miserable mirth, \u201cit will be\nbetter for her to go without flannel than our whole family to want a\nporridge pot.\u201d\n\nTwm liked Moses, but not his logic; which implied a want of courtesy and\ndue deference to his better half, whose indisputable right to warm\npetticoats claimed precedence to all the pots, pans, and every earthly\nconsideration.\n\n\u201cHere take this bale, take it all, for I have lost my yard and scissors,\nand pay me when you grow rich;\u2014confound your thanks! away with you,\nbestow it safe, then return here; perhaps I may get thee an iron pot at\nas cheap a rate as the flannel.\u201d\n\nMoses did not want twice bidding to induce him to avail himself of his\ngood fortune, but entering into the spirit of the scene at once, appeared\nto understand our hero\u2019s joking propensities, although he had no\nsuspicion that it was the veritable Twm himself.  Off Moses ran with his\nenormous present, and immediately returned; when our hero accompanied him\nto the shop of an old curmudgeon of an ironmonger, whose face, hardly\ndistinguishable behind his habitual screen of snuff and spectacles,\nseemed of the same material as his own hardware.\n\nThe man of rags was quite in luck, and as instructed, followed his\nbenefactor into the shop in silence.  Twm examined the culinary ware,\nwith all the caution of an old farm-wife, asking the prices of various\narticles, and turned up the whites of his eyes in the most approved\npuritanic fashion, expressive of astonishment at such excessive charges.\nOld hammerhead repelled the insinuation, and swore that cheaper or better\npots were never seen in the kitchen of a king.  \u201cThen you must mean the\nking of the beggars,\u201d quoth Twm, \u201cfor you have nothing here but damaged\nware.\u201d\n\n\u201cDamaged devil! what do you mean?\u201d roared the enraged ironmonger.  \u201cI\nmean,\u201d replied Twm Shon Catty, with provoking equanimity, \u201cthat there is\nscarcely a pot here without a hole in it; now this which I hold in my\nhand for instance, has one.\u201d  \u201cWhere! where!\u201d asked the fiery old shop\nkeeper, holding it up between his eyes and the light: \u201cif there is a hole\nin this pot, I\u2019ll eat it: where is the hole that you speak of?\u201d  \u201cHere!\u201d\nbawls the inexorable hoaxer, pulling it over his ears, and holding it\nthere, while Moses took the wink from his patron, and walked off with a\nmost choice article, which he had selected from the whole lot.\n\nHere was a predicament for a respectable old tradesman!  Our hero fairly\nheld his sides with laughter as the old curmudgeon sprawled about, vainly\nendeavouring to free himself from the pot, in which his terrible shouts\nfor help were entirely lost.  Having tied his hands behind his back, Twm\nleft him howling and sweating beneath his huge extinguisher, and made as\nhe took his departure, this consolatory speech\u2014\u201cHad there not been a hole\nin it how could that large stupid knob of yours have entered such a\nhelmet?\u201d\n\nTwm left the enraged ironmonger to get out of his dilemma as best he\ncould, having very little sympathy with him in his distress.  When once\nmore in the street, he found that the people were all moving in one\ndirection, and Twm discovered shortly that there was some unusual\nattraction at the Town Hall.  As the assemblage increased, the way, like\na choaked mill-dam, became more and more impeded, until the whole\nrestless mass was consolidated, and stood still perforce.\n\nOur hero had forced his way till near the entrance of the hall, where he\nventured to ask what cause had drawn together such a crowd; but he got no\nimmediate answer, as many came there, like himself, drawn by the powerful\ninfluence of curiosity.\n\nAt length he heard his own name buzzed about; one said that Twm Shon\nCatty whose humorous tricks were the themes of every tongue, was\ndiscovered to be a great thief: and that he who had fought against\nhighwaymen, had at last become one himself, and committed all the\nrobberies which had taken place in that country for years past.  One said\nthat he could never be taken; and a third contradicted that assertion,\ndeclaring that he was then fettered in the hall, and waiting to be\nconveyed to Carmarthen gaol.  One assigned him to the gallows as his due,\nwhile another tenderly replied that hanging was too good for him.\nOpposing the sentiments and opinions of all these, more than one declared\nthat the hemp was neither spun nor grown that would hang Twm; and pity it\nshould, as he was a friend of the poor, and an enemy to none but the\nstupid, the cruel, and the oppressive.\n\nThe disputed argument was disposed of summarily by the appearance of an\nimportant functionary, resplendent in the gorgeous dress which he wore in\nvirtue of his exalted office.  This individual, who was the town crier,\nobtaining silence, informed the assembled multitude that the magistrates\nwho were now sitting, required that any \u201c_person or persons_\u201d who might\nhave been defrauded in the fair, should now come forward, so as to form a\nclue towards the identity of the robber, which it was generally believed\nwas no other than the notorious Twm Shon Catty.  The crier retired, and\nin a few minutes re-appeared, and read the court\u2019s proclamation, offering\na reward of twenty pounds to any person who would apprehend the said Twm\nShon Catty; which was answered with loud hisses by the majority of the\ncrowd, and effectually drowned the applause of the rest.\n\nThis was a most flattering ovation for Twm, and his spirits rose\naccordingly; while, at the same time, he felt himself aggrieved by this\npublic proclamation concerning him by the authorities, who, he\nconsidered, had, in this instance, somewhat exceeded their vocation.  He\nresolved to \u201cbeard the lion in his den,\u201d or in other words, to enter the\nhall and give the lie to any base-minded cur who should dare to associate\nhis name with common robbers and felons.\n\nSoftly, Twm, softly, my boy!  On second thoughts he came to the\nconclusion that that would not be quite prudent\u2014he would make his way\ninto the Hall of Justice, and preserving his disguise, see how matters\nwere progressing, and try if he could not secure a little personal\nentertainment for himself.\n\nDaring Twm! thy genius adapted itself to circumstances; many people would\nbe doubtless astonished that our hero should venture on such cause, but\nwhen enthusiasm, and the pride of achievement, even in a worthless cause,\nactuates the passion-fraught breast, supplanting the place of reasoning\ncalculation, the wonder vanishes.  The desperate outlaw, whose temerity\nis applauded, feels the gust of heroism in as warm a degree as the\ngenerous patriot whose claim to renown is better founded and graced with\nnational approbation.  Twm soon found himself in the hall; for it was his\nown native energies stood him in better stead than the fabled cap of\nFortunatus: he wished, and obtained; hated, and was revenged; desired to\ntread a difficulty under foot, and gained his purpose; while the\ngenerality of men would be analyzing every shadow of obstruction that\nimpeded their aim.\n\nHe took his stand in a conspicuous place near the bench, the \u201cawful\njudgment-seat,\u201d which was at this time filled by three magistrates\nincluding his laughter-loving friend Prothero, whose ruddy happy round\nface deprived law itself of half its terrors.  Before him, he found his\nold _friend_ Evans of Tregaron, who had been sputtering a confused\naccount of our hero\u2019s gracelessness from his childhood, to the last trick\nhe had played him, by stealing his grey horse at Machynlleth.  How he had\ncheated the heir of Graspacre-Hall of the horse at Welshpool; and how the\nsame horse was traced into the possession of a simple fellow in straw\nboots and cow-hide breeches, who that very day had sold it to his friend\nMr. Powell; which sale, he contended, could not stand good, as the stolen\nhorse was his property to all intents and purposes, which he could prove\nby credible witnesses.\n\nThis recapitulation of Twm\u2019s tricks tickled the gravity of Prothero\namazingly; and at every pause which Evans made in his narration, he was\nanswered by the loud \u201cho, ho, ho!\u201d of that merry magistrate.\n\nMr. Powell then told his story, and, in conclusion, said he was in the\ncommission of the peace in the town of Brecon.  \u201cHo, ho, ho!\u201d roared\nProthero, \u201chere we are, three magistrates, ho, ho, ho! three magistrates,\nand all fooled by Twm Shon Catty.\u2014Clever fellow, ho, ho, ho! wild dog,\nho, ho, ho!\u2014means no great harm\u2014never keeps what he steals\u2014gives all to\nthe poor fellows that want\u2014ho, ho, ho!  Never mind, gentlemen, the fun of\nthe thing repays the loss, which can be shared between you.  Let Mr.\nEvans take the horse, on paying Mr. Powell what he gave young\ncow-breeches, ho, ho, ho! better than lose all.\u201d\n\nMr. Powell immediately acceded to the arrangement, but the\nunaccommodating Evans insisted on having the horse without the payment,\nand made some tart remarks on conniving at a rascal\u2019s tricks and\nvillanies.  \u201cFor my part, I\u2019d shoot him dead like a dog!\u201d cried the\nreverend preacher of peace and concord; drawing at the same time, a pair\nof pistols from his pocket, and replacing them, in a fiery fit of\npassion.  \u201cHo, ho, ho!\u201d roared Prothero, \u201cbut you\u2019d catch him first,\nbrother, ho, ho, ho!\u2014too cunning for you, for me, and all of us\u2014might be\nhere this moment, laughing in his sleeve at us, for what we know, ho, ho,\nho!\u201d\n\nTwm thought it was now time to be taking a more active part in the scene,\nso taking out a small book, while appearing to be deeply absorbed in its\nperusal, he gave a deep groan as if much moved by what he read, and the\nmourning sound at once attracted notice.\n\nProthero, alive to everything allied to comicality, burst out into a loud\nho, ho, ho!  Evans arrayed his naturally gloomy brows in a magisterial\nfrown, and Powell smiled, with an expression of wonder.  \u201cWhat are you\nreading, friend?\u201d asked Prothero, chuckling as he surveyed the black\nWelsh wig.  \u201cThe wisdom of Solomon,\u201d quoth the man of solemnity, drawing\nthe muscles of his face most ludicrously long; \u201cbut mark you, worshipful\ngentlemen, I mean not the Solomon of the scriptures, but our own Cambrian\nSolomon\u2014that is to say, Catwg the Wise, the excellent and erudite abbot\nof Llancarvan, and teacher of the Bard Taliesin.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s all right enough.  Catwg was doubtless a clever man, but why do\nyou bring him here?\u201d enquired Prothero, with a broad smile on his face.\n\u201cWherever I go, I have resolved to make his wisdom known, and to reprove\nall deviators from it, in the sage\u2019s own words,\u201d quoth Twm.  \u201cPoor man,\npoor man, he\u2019s crazy, his brain turned, perhaps by too much study,\u201d\nobserved Prothero.  \u201cAn impudent fellow!\u201d cried Evans; \u201cbut you are\nstrangely lenient here in Carmarthenshire; were I the king, I would have\nsuch fellows put in Bedlam.\u201d\n\nTwm looked at the clerical magistrate, then read from the book, \u201cIf a\ncrown were worn by every fool, we should all of us be kings.\u201d\n\u201cGentlemen, he calls us all fools!\u201d cried Evans.  Twm, without raising\nhis eyes from the book, read on, \u201cwere there horns on the head of every\nfool, a good sum might be gained by showing a bald man.\u201d  \u201cGentlemen, he\nmakes us all cuckolds!\u201d cried Evans, in his usual sputter; \u201chowever it\nmay fit you, gentlemen, I can safely say, that no disgrace as a horn\nbelongs to my brow.\u201d\n\nTwm read on:\u2014\u201cIf the shame of every one were written on his forehead, the\nmaterials for masks would be surprisingly dear.\u201d  \u201cHo, ho, ho!\u201d roared\nProthero, till the hall echoed with his loud laughter, which the\nCardiganshire magistrate seemed to take as a personal affront, and\nsulkily observed, that this was no place for foolery, but for gravity,\nwisdom, and truth.\n\nTwm read on:\u2014\u201cIf no tongue were to speak other than truth and wisdom, the\nnumber of mutes would be astonishingly great.\u201d  The consequential Inco,\nmumbled something about his own mode of doing business at Cardigan, and\ndeclared that he would commit such a fellow to gaol for three months, at\nleast, for disturbing a court of justice.  Twm cut him short with another\npassage from Catwg:\u2014\u201cWere the talkative to perceive the folly of his\nchattering, he would save his breath to cool his broth.\u201d\n\nHere Powell of Brecon entered a little into the spirit of the scene, by\nquoting also from the well-known aphorisms of Catwg, applying the passage\nto Twm himself;\u2014\u201cIf the buffoon were to see the vanity of his feat, he\nwould leave it off for shame.\u201d  This feeble hit excited the applause of\nthe good-humoured Prothero, who clapped the speaker heartily on the back,\nand, amid his eternal ho, ho, ho! exclaimed, \u201cWell said, brother, well\nsaid; better silence him with wit than by authority; well done, well\ndone.\u201d\n\nTwm was not slow in taking up the gauntlet which the Breconshire\nmagistrate had thrown at his feet, and so turning pointedly to him, he\nread;\u2014\u201cIf the lover were to see his weakness, terror would drive him to a\npremature end.\u201d  A general laugh at the expense of Powell, instantly\nfollowed.  To him that passage was considered peculiarly applicable, as\nthe unsuccessful woer of the gay widow of Ystrad Feen.  It was a tender\nstring to touch so roughly.  Losing his ease and temper at the same\ninstant, he cast a most ungracious frown at the utterer of proverbs, and\nsaid in an undertone of threatening energy, \u201cWhoever you may be, it were\nnot wise of you to repeat such conduct towards me again.\u201d  \u201cAgain?\u201d said\nTwm, pretending to misunderstand him, \u201cOh, certainly, I\u2019ll give you the\npassage again, or any other, to you; \u2018If the lover\u2014\u2019\u201d here Powell\u2019s face\nblazed with anger, as he clenched his fist, and cried, \u201cYou had better\nnot.\u201d\n\nTwm began again,\u2014\u201cIf the lover\u2014of war, were to see his cruelty, he would\nfear that every atom in the sunbeam might stab him as a sword.\u201d  The\ndexterous evasion, with the point given to the words \u201cof war,\u201d had its\nfull effect in restoring the good humour, so suddenly disturbed; but that\nbeautiful passage from the aphorisms of the old Welsh abbot failed to\nelicit the applause which its moral merits deserve.\n\nAt this moment the attention of all present was attracted by the noisy\nentrance of the ex-proprietress of the flannel, who almost deafened them\nby the vehemence of her complaints; which, however, were too incoherently\nexpressed to be immediately understood.\n\n\u201cOh! my roll of flannel, my fine, my excellent flannel! all of my own\nspinning too,\u2014eight and twenty good yards, and a yard and a half wide\u2014my\nwooden shoe too, that I lost in the crowd\u2014and my poor corns trod off by\nthe villains\u2014my dear sweet flannel, all of my own carding and\nspinning\u2014nobody but the devil himself, or his first cousin Twm Shon\nCatty, could have taken it in such a manner\u2014it was whisked from me as if\na whirlwind had swept it away.\u201d\n\nAt length she paused for want of breath, and Twm approached her with the\nair of a comforter, and read from his book,\u2014\u201cWere a woman as quick with\nher feet as with her tongue, she would catch the lightning to kindle her\nfire in the morning.\u201d  It is probable that she did not perfectly hear\nthis passage, as on perceiving Twm, she gave a shout of joy, and then as\nincoherently as before, appealed to the magistrate; \u201cThis honest man,\nyour worship, knows it all.  I told him, the moment I lost my\nflannel\u2014this worthy man, your worship\u2014a good man, a man who reads books,\nyour worship, he can witness.\u201d\n\nThis vehement outburst of eloquence was brought to a sudden termination,\nand the old woman\u2019s wordy complaint effectually strangled by the laughter\nand applause which greeted the appearance of a more ridiculous applicant\nfor justice and his right.\n\nSupported by two constables, who rather dragged forward, than led him,\ncame Twm\u2019s friend the hardwareman, crowned with the identical iron pot\nbefore named, which the officers, as a matter of official formality, or\nto indulge their own facetiousness, refused to remove, till in the\npresence of a magistrate.  When his laughter had a little subsided,\nProthero ordered the pot to be removed, and his hands untied.  The\nhardwareman then told his lamentable tale in a few words; in conclusion,\nhe declared, that having overheard certain words between the robber and\nhis accomplice, he had learned that the thief was no other than Twm Shon\nCatty.  His eye now caught on the figure of our hero, and with a yell as\nastounding as if the eternal enemy of man stood before him, he cried,\n\u201cThere he is! there he is!  As heaven shall save me, there stands the\nman, or devil, who crowned me with the iron pot, while his accomplice ran\noff with the other.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who robbed me of my flannel!\u201d roared the old woman, who now changed\nher opinion, as her earliest suspicions became thus suddenly confirmed.\n\n\u201cAnd who stole my grey horse!\u201d bawled Evans of Tregaron.\n\n\u201cAnd who sold it to me when disguised in straw boots and cow-hide\nbreeches!\u201d cried Powell of Brecon, who had now closely examined his\nfeatures.\n\nThings looked desperate as far as Twm was concerned, as an attack was now\nmade upon him by three or four of his most determined enemies; but Twm\neluding their eager attempts to grasp him, sprang upon the table before\nthe bench, and drawing a couple of pistols from his coat pockets, held\none in each hand, and kept them all at bay, protesting he would shoot the\nfirst who would advance an inch towards him.  Loud was his laughter when\nthey all started back: but Prothero, now sat silently on the bench,\nalarmed for his safety, which he had thought to secure by giving him\nwarning of his danger, in the feint of his proclaimed reward for his\napprehension.\n\nAs he stood in this manner, with extended arms, watchful eyes, and\ngrasping the pointed pistols with a finger to each trigger, Powell of\nBrecon exclaimed, \u201cThou art a clever fellow, by Jove, Twm! very clever\nfor a Cardy; but wert thou with us, the quick-witted sons of Brecon, thou\nwouldst soon find thyself overmatched.  I dare thee to enter Brecon, to\ntrust to thy cunning\u2014come there, and welcome, and thou shalt stand\nharmless of me, in the affair of the grey horse.\u201d  Twm smiled, and\nnodded, in token of having accepted his challenge.\n\nRather daunted by the failure of their first attempt to seize Twm, his\nassailants had held back awed by his resolute and defiant attitude, but\nrecovering their courage on reflecting upon the odds against him, they\nnow, headed by Evans of Tregaron, got behind him, and clung to his right\narm, but with one violent effort Twm shook them away, as the mighty bull\nthrows off the yelping curs that dare to attack him.  Then, with a single\nleap, he sprang from the table into the crowded court, where a lane was\nformed for him, and rushed out of the door unimpeded, and pursued by his\naccusers.  They soon lost sight of him among the moving multitude, some\nof whom dispersed from fear of accidents, while others followed him as\nspectators.\n\nTo the great astonishment of his pursuers they next caught a view of him\nmounted on that grand subject of contention, the grey horse.  He took the\nroute of Ystrad Feen, followed by several constables in the employ of\nEvans of Tregaron, and many disinterested persons from the fair.  Loud\nwere the shouts of the numerous riders; loud the tramp of galloping\nhorses; and wild the disorder and terror created, as Twm at different\nintervals turned on his pursuers, and fired his pistols.  This caused a\npowerful retrograde movement among them, by which the foremost horses\nfell back to those behind them, unhorsing some who lay groaning and\ncrying with fright on the ground, and frightening others altogether from\nthe pursuit.\n\nIt was on this occasion that a bard of that day wrote the stanza which\nappears on the title page, thus translated by the late Iolo Morganwg:\u2014\n\n    \u201cIn Ystrad Feen a doleful sound\n    Pervades the hollow hills around;\n    The very stones with terror melt,\n    Such fear of Twn Shon Catty felt.\u201d\n\nFortune still favoured Twm, who reaching the foot of Dinas somewhat in\nadvance of his motley train of pursuers, dismounted, sprung from stone to\nstone, that formed the ford of the Tower, and climbed the steep side of\nthat majestic mount, with the utmost ease.  Like a prudent sea-captain,\nTwm was chased in his small boat by a fleet of rovers, till he reaches\nhis own war-ship, and springs up her fort-like side, and treads his deck\nin the ecstasy of surmounted peril, conscious strength, and superiority.\n\nThus Twm now attained the summit of a prominent knoll, and waved his hand\ntriumphantly, in defiance of his foes below.  Evans of Tregaron, with his\ncrew of catchpoles, made an attempt to climb also; Twm permitted them to\nadvance about twenty yards above the river, when he ended the warfare, by\nrolling down several huge stones, that swept them in a mass into the bed\nof the river Towey, sadly bruised, but more frightened, from whence they\nwere extricated by the amazed and terrified spectators.\n\nEvans of Tregaron met with an accident, which during the remainder of his\nlife reminded him of his hasty chase after Twm Shon Catty.  In starting\naside to avoid the dreadful leaping crags that threatened to crush him,\nhis pistols went off in his pockets, and carried away, besides his coat\nskirts and the rear of his black breaches, a large portion of postern\nflesh, that deprived him forever after of that agreeable cushion which\nnature had provided.\n\nAmusing to the population of Tregaron was the singular sight of their\ncrest-fallen magistrate and his hated gang, brought home in woeful\nplight, as inside passenger of a dung-cart, which had been hired for the\npurpose; and more than all, that his discomfiture should have been caused\nby their long-lost countryman Twm Shon Catty.\n\nOur hero was clearly in an unassailable position, and his enemies were\nnot so stupid as to be entirely blind to that important fact.  So, like a\nprincely chieftain of the days of old, enthroned upon his native tower of\nstrength, marking in his soul\u2019s high pride the awkward predicament of his\nbaffled foes, perceiving them all depart; leaving him the undisputed lord\nof his alpine territory, the glorious height of Dinas.\n\nAfter witnessing, with his limbs stretched upon his mountain couch, the\nglorious beauty of the setting sun, he entered the cave, tore from its\ntop a sufficiency of fern and heather to form his bed, threw on it his\nfatigued, over-exerted frame, and slept soundly until morning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI.\n\n\nTWM at Brecon.  An angling feat.  Twm in a musical character.  Wins the\nprize offered for a poem.  A new style of marriage\u2014and some other little\n\u201codds and ends.\u201d  Conclusion.\n\nWith the earliest rays of the morning\u2019s sun Twm was astir, and during a\nlong ramble on the hills, was busily turning over in his mind the\nexciting-incidents of the previous day.  Unable to account for his second\ndisappointment of seeing his mistress, according to promise, he gave way\nto despondency, and conjectured the worst\u2014that she was no longer true to\nhis vows, but had yielded to the persuasions of her haughty relative, and\nbecome a renegade both to love and to honour.  He was now, however, so\nnear her residence, he would at least ascertain how matters stood; and,\nafter many efforts of resolution, he descended the hill for that purpose.\n\nOn crossing the Towey, he was surprised to find that the \u201cgallant grey\u201d\nwas still left for him; he was busily feeding in an adjoining field, and\nthe saddle and bridle hung dangling from a storm-stricken old thorn.  He\nfelt this, directly, as a handsome piece of attention to him, on the part\nof Powell of Brecon, who, doubtless, had left it there for convenience.\n\nOn examining further, he found a note, tied to the bridle, from that\ngenerous individual, inviting him to be present at the Eisteddvod, the\nRaces and the Ball, which were to take place successively in the gay town\nof Brecon.\n\nHe was doomed to disappointment; for on reaching Ystrad Feen he found\nnobody but the servants, who informed him that their lady, Miss Meredith,\nand the late visitors, were all gone to Brecon, and would not return for\nsome days.  This intelligence determined him to go there also; and\nrecollecting a trunk of clothes of his, which had been left ever since\nhis sojourning there, he called for it; and having dressed himself, and\nplaced with other things, in his saddle-bags, an elegant suit which he\nhad brought from London, he mounted his horse, and rode off for Brecon.\n\nAbout a couple of miles beyond Trecastle, he overtook a poor fellow\ndriving an ass, laden with coarse crockery ware, who turned out to be no\nother than Ready Rosser.  Having long been married to a Cardiganshire\nlass, they both, pretending to be single, entered Squire Prothero\u2019s\nservice at the same time; but the circumstance being at length\ndiscovered, they were both discharged a few days since, and now commenced\nthe crockery business for a livelihood.  After a few jests on the white\nbull, ox, and sheep, Twm spurred on, but not before he had purchased the\nwhole of Rosser\u2019s stock, which, however, that worthy was to take to\nBrecon, for a purpose to be hereafter described.\n\nAt Brecon he took lodgings at the Three Cocks\u2019 inn, to which he gave a\npreference, on account of the sign being the armorial bearings of the\ncelebrated David Gam, (Shakespeare\u2019s Captain Fuellin,) the hero of\nAgincourt.\n\nCrowds still poured into the town from all points of the compass, until\nit seemed impossible that the streets would hold them.  While our hero\nlooked through the window to observe Rosser, who arranged his crockery in\nfront of the inn, his attention was suddenly caught by the sound of a\nharp, which proceeded from the kitchen.  To his great surprise, he found\nthe performer to be his old friend the venerable Ianto Gwyn of Tregaron.\n\nThe old man was very glad to see him, and after learning the particulars\nof the fortunes he had met since he left his native town, proceeded to\ninform him of the Tregaron news.  His mother was well three weeks ago,\nand had received the various sums which he had sent her at different\ntimes, and was in daily hopes of burying her churl of a husband.  Rachael\nKetch was now dead; having broken her heart for the loss of her money,\nwhich had been stolen by Watt the mole-catcher, who was transported.\n\nIn conclusion, the old man said that he had come to the Eisteddvod rather\nas a spectator than a candidate for the prize, having accidentally hurt\nhis right hand, which nearly disabled him altogether from playing.  \u201cThat\ncircumstance is now the more provoking,\u201d said the old man, \u201cas I am\nconvinced that were my hand well, I should certainly win the noble silver\nharp, which is to be the meed of the best player.\u201d\n\nTwm took his musical friend upstairs, and, after dining together, began\ncoquetting with the harp, which with the hand of a ready player, he soon\ntinkled into alternate fits of grief and laughter, as he ran over many of\nour most popular airs.\n\nThe old man jumped up from his seat, and embraced him with rapture,\nprotesting that he could not fail to win the harp, if he chose to be a\ncandidate.  Our hero, having practised but little on the harp since he\nleft London, felt considerable diffidence in becoming a competitor among\nproficients in music, but resolved, at any rate to avail himself of the\ninstructions of his friend Ianto Gwyn.\n\nIntensely anxious to meet his mistress once more, he sought an early\nopportunity of a walk through the streets; but instead of the desired\none, it was his lot to meet Powell the magistrate, who gave him a jocular\nand right hearty welcome.  They were soon joined by two other high bloods\nof the town, one a wealthy attorney, named Phillips, and the other a\nreverend and right-portly son of the church, who shone more at the\npunch-bowl than in the pulpit.  They all adjourned to the parlour of the\nThree Cocks, where the best of wine was soon in request, and a gay scene\nof conviviality and good fellowship ensued.\n\nTwm\u2019s fame had of course preceded him, for Powell\u2019s tongue had been busy\nin his praise, although he had done him no more than justice, and those\nfour worthies soon understanding each other, they spent a pretty jolly\ntime of it.  Being all lads of the turf, the practice of betting was\nfamiliar to them; and the lawyer offered to oppose Twm in a match of\nangling for five pounds; and the bet should be, that \u201c_whoever fished the\nlargest weight_, _no matter of what kind_, _in half an hour_, _should be\ndeclared the winner_.\u201d  Our hero, although a poor angler, accepted the\nwager, and Powell, as the umpire, wrote down the terms of it, which was\nsigned by each.\n\nPossessing himself of angling paraphernalia, he repaired with them to the\nbridge, and had the upper side of it assigned to him, while Phillips had\nthe lower.  The latter displayed a grand morocco pocket-book, filled in\nthe neatest order with the most choice artificial flies, of every\ndescription, and soon had his handsome rod in order; while the former had\nnothing better than what could be procured at a shop.  The lawyer landed\nfish after fish, with great rapidity, and when half the given time had\nexpired, Twm found himself much in arrears, and the continued good\nfortune of his antagonist left him, apparently, no chance of ultimate\nsuccess.\n\n\u201cConfound these good-for-nothing flies! fetch me a beef steak!\u201d cried he\nat last, and gave money for that purpose to a by-stander, who immediately\nbrought the article wanted.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a Cardy angler, fishing for trout with a beef steak!\u201d cried the\nBreconians, with an exulting laugh.  Twm made no reply, but fastened\nseveral hooks in different parts of a strong line, to each of which he\nattached a small piece of beef; and, watching the movement of a flock of\nducks that floated in luxurious ease down the Usk, he threw the whole\namong them.\n\nLoud was the clamour of the aquatic crew, as they hustled each other, in\ntheir eagerness to partake of the showered feast, which they soon\ngobbled, and were drawn up to the top of the bridge by the singular\nangler above, amid the shouts of laughter of the numerous spectators.\n\nThis feat was greeted by the by-standers with shouts of derision, as they\nthought that Twm, in thus trifling, had practically confessed his\ninability to win the wager.  Powell called time, saying that the half\nhour had struck.  Phillips, as the conscious winner, produced a goodly\nshow of trout, and, as Twm had caught but four small fish, said it would\nbe idle to weigh them.\n\n\u201cNot so,\u201d replied our wag, \u201clet the written terms of the bet be read, and\nyou will find that my ducks have a right to be weighed against your\nboasted trout, aye! and shall make them kick the beam.\u201d\n\nPhillips started at such an assertion made in earnest, and Powell read,\n\u201cWhoever fished the largest weight, no matter of what kind, would be\ndeclared the winner,\u201d and as umpire, awarded the five pounds to our hero.\n\nSome merriment at the expense of Powell was caused by his declaring\nhimself the unlucky proprietor of the said flock of ducks; but with his\nusual good-humour, he proposed that the ducks and the trout should be\ncooked at his house for their supper, in which Phillips acquiesced.\n\nAfter dinner, when the bottle had passed pretty freely, and all were\nprepared for any fun which might fall in their way, our hero contrived to\nbring Powell, who had hitherto fought shy, into a bet with him.  He\ndeclared that a stranger as he was to Brecon, he firmly believed that he\ncould command, and be obeyed there, with greater promptitude than\nhimself, although a justice of the peace and one of the quorum.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll lay you twenty pounds to the contrary,\u201d cried the magistrate.\n\n\u201cDone!\u201d replied Twm, \u201cand we can prove it without quitting this room, by\nopening the window, and practising on some of those people opposite.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet it be yon crockery-wareman, who is the most conspicuous,\u201d said\nPowell, and Twm, of course, could have no possible objection.\n\nThe magistrate opened the window, and called in a tone of authority,\n\u201cCome here, you fellow; go directly to the Black Lion, and tell the\nlandlord to let you have Justice Powell\u2019s black mare, and bring her here\nto me.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t quit my goods, sir,\u201d said Rosser, \u201cor I would willingly oblige\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cI tell you, fellow, do as I order you, or I shall kick you and your ware\nout of the town,\u201d said Powell in a blustering tone, and with a look the\nmost terrifying that he could assume.\n\nRosser repeated his former answer; and when the magistrate increased his\nthreats, he burst out into a rude laugh, and, without further difference,\nsaid he really believed that his worship was drunk: this was enough, and\nthe worthy magistrate felt himself completely put down.\n\nOur wag now took his turn, and commenced with him: \u201cI say, fellow, did\u2019st\nthou ever see or hear of Twm Shon Catty?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d replied Rosser, \u201coften at Llandovery; once at Cardigan; and now I\nsee him before me at Brecon.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell then,\u201d continued Twm, \u201cI order thee to give us a dance in the\nmiddle of the crockery.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith all my heart, if _you_ order it, for I should dread to disobey Twm\nShon Catty more than twenty times my loss.\u201d  On which he jumped, capered\nand danced, in the midst of his brittle commodities, kicking and treading\nthe dishes, pans, basins, and other articles, to powder beneath his feet.\n\n\u201cBy the Lord, thou art a strange fellow!\u201d said Powell, as he paid him the\namount of his forfeit; \u201cand I foresee that there\u2019s much more luck for\nthee than thou dreamest of: and I confidently anticipate what will come\nin thy favour, my Cardiganian hero.\u201d\n\nTwm was much surprised to hear Powell speak thus, as his manner implied\nmuch more than his words; but his astonishment was considerably augmented\nwhen, in a subsequent conversation, our hero discovered that Powell knew\nall his affairs and connections with the lady of Ystrad Feen.\n\n\u201cShe once,\u201d said he, \u201cplayed me a jade\u2019s trick; but no matter, we are now\nfriends, and she has even assisted me in my suit with her amiable friend,\nMiss Meredith.  In heart and soul, she is attached to you, Jones; but she\nis a weak yielding woman beneath the terrors of her father\u2019s frown, and\nin some evil hour might again sacrifice herself, if you are too long out\nof her sight.  She is proud of you and of your wild achievements, and\neven finds excuses for your most blameable courses.  Now, my advice is,\nthat you will endeavour to distinguish yourself during the races, and\nstart for the gold plate: the grey horse, I suspect, has blood in him,\nand will beat the best that is to run.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut why,\u201d asked Twm, \u201cdid she not keep her promise to meet me at\nLlandovery fair?\u201d\n\nPowell replied that she was prevented by her father\u2019s sudden illness; and\ngreat is her sorrow for the disappointment she must have caused.\n\nOn the following day the town speedily put on its gala dresses, and flags\nwaved from every corner.  Bells were rung and guns fired in honour of the\nfestival, which consisted of a rather extensive programme, namely the\nEisteddvod, Races, and Ball.  Between eleven and twelve o\u2019clock, our\nhero, with other musical and literary competitors, entered the Town-Hall,\nin bardic trim, with the harp of his friend Ianto Gwyn, slung by a blue\nribbon, and attached to his shoulder.\n\nThe audience included all the intellect, taste, and fashion of the\ndistrict, and the competitors were greeted on their appearance, with\nhearty and long-continued applause.\n\nAt length the business of the meeting was begun by a speech from the\npresident, who occupied a central seat on the raised platform.  He dwelt\nemphatically on the laudable object of the Eisteddvod; \u201cto preserve from\nannihilation one of the most ancient languages spoken by mankind,\nremarkable for its perspicuousness, energy, and expression; that, like a\nperpetual living miracle, kept its firm stand in this solitary nook of\ncountry;\u2014to revive and preserve the beautiful melodies which had been the\ndelight of our gallant and patriotic forefathers;\u2014and lastly by\nemulation, to keep alive the brilliant blaze of the native Awen, the\ndarling poesy of the land, which yielded their fragrant and refreshing\nblossoms, lovely sacrifice on the altar of Taste.\u201d\n\nPenillion singing succeeded; in which the minstrels of Merionethshire\nexcelled.  The rest went on in rotation, minutely according to the\ndescription given by the ever-faithful Drayton, to whose pages we refer\nthe reader.\n\nThere was a surprise awaiting Twm.  Among the given subjects for the\nCowydd, or Poem, was \u201cGovid,\u201d or Affliction, for which it turned out that\nthere was but one who had written on it; and, to his unutterable\nastonishment, he heard his own poem on that title recited, and more than\nall, a prize awarded to it by the umpires.\n\nLady Devereaux, who had attached her name to this effusion, was called\nupon to receive the meed of her talents.  That lady, who sat by her\nfather, as one of the audience, now rose, and said, with some emotion,\nthat the poem so highly honoured was not of her composition, but had been\nsent to her by its author, a person of taste and ingenuity, whom she was\nbound ever to esteem; as to his valour and courtesy she had once been\nindebted for the preservation of her life.  Then naming Mr. Thomas Jones\nas the author, she pointed him out; and, amid loud and long applause, a\nhandsome silver medal was placed round his neck.\n\nWe will not occupy more space in relating what the reader can so readily\nimagine.  Our hero was the most successful competitor at the Eisteddvod,\nand at the Races.  At the Ball too he won the admiration of the ladies,\nand withal, the wonder and esteem of the Breconians.  But alas! the\nbuoyancy of spirits, and the exultation of heart, which owed their\nevanescent existence to these distinction, were soon doomed to give way\nto feelings of contrasted severity.\n\nNow, while in the zenith of his glory, confidently anticipating, as the\nfinal crown of his happiness, the willing hand of his mistress, a note\nfor him arrived at the inn, from the fair widow, that threw him into\nabsolute despair.  She told him in plain terms, that unless he could\noutwit her, all his hopes of her hand would be utterly in vain.  This\nintimation he could understand only as a formal _permit_ to wear the\nwillow as soon as he pleased; that she was otherwise engaged, and had\naltogether done with him.\n\nHis reasoning and conclusions in this argument received absolute and\nentire confirmation by the tantalising conduct of Miss Meredith, who\naccidentally meeting him one day, did nothing but laugh and jest at his\nanxious-looking face and restless behaviour.  She would give no answers\nto his eager, importunate questioning, and ran away and left him, half\nwild and desperate.  The next hour, at least, was spent by Twm in railing\nbitterly the \u201cvile caprice and inconsistency of woman.\u201d\n\nHearing that her company had preceded her in the way home, next evening,\nand that she was about to follow them alone, he resolved to way-lay and\nput her under contribution, at any rate; which he conceived would be one\nway, at least, of out-witting her, and perhaps the right one.\n\nHe hastily assumed a dress which thoroughly disguised him, for his\nfeatures were almost altogether concealed by a large hairy travelling\ncap, which he wore well down over his ears, and his figure was equally\nlost amongst the ample folds of a great coat, which had never been made\nfor him.\n\nHis preparations made, he took his stand by the gate that in those days\nled from the town into the mountains, through which the road ran to\nLlanspyddyd, Trecastle, and Llandovery.\n\nAt length the gay widow arrived, and Twm immediately caught hold of her\nbridle, and, in an assumed snuffling tone of voice, demanded her money.\nShe begged hard for mercy on her pocket, but in vain; and gave at last a\nconsiderable sum, which, she said, was the whole contents of her pocket.\nOur hero, having placed the booty in the crown of his cap, declared\nhimself quite satisfied; \u201cAnd so am I!\u201d cried the spirited widow; and, at\nthe same moment, grasping his cap and its whole contents, laughing aloud\nas she galloped away from him, she cried, \u201cThus the widow outwits and\ntriumphs over Twm Shon Catty!\u201d\n\nHad Fortune determined to spite poor Twm Shon Catty as much as she had\npreviously favoured him?  It looked most unpleasantly like; for he had\nnever been in such a deplorable condition as now, standing there in the\nroad, glancing wistfully at the fast retreating figure of the widow.  He\nwas shorn of his laurels completely, and at once a bankrupt in love and\nfortune; as the cap contained the whole of the money he brought with him\nto Brecon, as well as what he had gained there.\n\nThis inauspicious adventure, although it damped his spirits for a time,\nhad the ultimate effect of rousing his latent energies to the highest\npitch.  He was not long in hatching a scheme to forward his purposes,\nwhich, however, required the aid (which was soon offered to him) of\nPowell and his two friends.\n\nTwelve o\u2019clock the next morning saw him dismounting at the door of Ystrad\nFeen, accoutred in a military undress; originally used by him in London,\nas at present, for masquerading purposes.  In this disguise, he expected\nimmediate admittance as a stranger; but to his unutterable dismay,\ninstead of finding the door fly open to his knock, it appeared to have\nbeen doubly barricaded against him.\n\nAfter his repeated summons, the lady of the mansion, with pompous\nformality, appeared at the window, like the warder of a fortress holding\na parley at the outpost.  In a gay spirit of bantering, she declared that\nthe military uniform became him exceedingly, and begged to know what rank\nhe held in the army.  Our hero parried these home-thrusts but with an\nordinary degree of grace, and, in a bowed spirit, entreated admission to\nthe inner walls.  The lady Joan was quite peremptory in her refusal,\ndeclaring, that having lately heard so much to his disadvantage, she had\ndecided on breaking off all future acquaintance with him as a lover;\n\u201cespecially,\u201d added she, \u201cas, instead of the witty person I thought you,\nI find you quite a dull animal, that any school-girl might outwit.\u201d\n\nHere she indulged in a provoking laugh, and bade him \u201cgood bye,\u201d as she\nturned to close the window.\n\n\u201cNay then,\u201d said Twm in a desponding key, \u201cif we are indeed to be\nhenceforth strangers, as we have been friends, true and warm friends, you\nwill give me your hand, at least, in parting.\u201d  She slowly stretched out\nher hand through the window, and our hero, with the eager spring of a\nhungry tiger, darted forward, grasped her wrist with his left hand, and\ndrawing his sword with the right, exclaimed in a tone of affected fury,\n\u201cRevenge at least is left me\u2014by yon blessed sky above us, I\u2019ll be trifled\nwith no longer\u2014off goes your hand unless you consent to our union this\ninstant, and on this very spot.\u201d\n\n\u201cLord! don\u2019t squeeze so hard and look so fierce,\u201d cried the lady of\nYstrad Feen.\n\nTwm, with increased boisterousness, resumed, \u201cOn your answer will depend,\nwhether, for the remainder of your life, you have a single hand or a pair\nof them\u2014for on the pronouncing of a negative, this hand, this soft white\nhand, beautiful as it is, will instantly fly, severed from the wrist; and\nonly think now, my gentle lady Joan, how dreadful you would look with a\nstump.\u201d\n\nTwm looked determined enough, and what could a lady do in respectable\nsociety with only one hand?  The idea was preposterous.  In her vexation,\nshe stretched her pretty neck out, and endeavoured to make her tormentor\nrelax his grasp by inflicting a bite on the back of his hand.  Twm seized\nthis opportunity of imprinting a very decisive kiss on her check, on\nwhich she drew back her head, her face glowing radiantly with blushes.\n\n\u201cYou villain!\u201d cried she, \u201cI suspected you were about to bite my ear\noff.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, only your hand, Joan,\u201d replied Twm; \u201cand that I _will_ have, unless\nyou consent to be mine this instant.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would not so much care,\u201d cried the lady of Ystrad Feen, \u201cbut your\nhorrid name; I could not endure to be called Mrs. Twm Shon Catty.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have protested bitterly, and will not be foresworn,\u201d cried Twm, \u201cthat\nhere, even here, with your hand stretched through the window, the\nmarriage ceremony shall be performed; and so your answer at once without\nevasion.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe parson of our parish has gone to a christening,\u201d said the lady of\nYstrad Feen.\n\n\u201cYes or no!\u201d roared the terrific Twm, menacing the threatened blow.\n\n\u201cWell then, as I could not handle a knife or fork, or play my spinnet, or\ngive you a box on the ear when I want pastime, I may as well say\u2014Yes!\u201d\n\n\u201cBless thee for that,\u201d cried Twm in ecstacy, and eagerly kissed the\ncaptured hand.  Sticking his sword in the ground, he drew forth a small\nbugle, and blew a loud blast that was re-echoed by the surrounding\nmountains.  Immediately a party of ten persons, wearing masks, appeared,\none of which was arrayed in a clerical habit, who drawing forth his book,\nat once commenced the marriage ceremony, Twm the while holding her hand\nthrough the window.\n\nThe Lady of Ystrad Feen had never calculated upon being married in this\nunceremonious fashion; but she was fairly at a loss, and therefore came\nto the conclusion to endure her fate, patiently and with resignation, yet\nin her heart very glad that she was under such a pleasant pressure of\ncircumstances.\n\nThe ceremonial was nearly half over, when four windows of the first floor\nwere suddenly opened, and several highly-dressed ladies and gentlemen put\nout their heads and displayed most mirthful countenances, the fair ones\nwaving their whitest cambrics above their heads; and with shaking peals\nof laughter, looked down upon this singular wedding.  The \u201cho, ho, ho!\u201d\nof the merry Prothero, was heard with surpassing loudness; and \u201cWell\ndone, Twm!\u201d were the first words that the spirit of titillation permitted\nhim to utter.\n\nNotwithstanding this interruption, the ceremony was finished, and parson\nHughes pronounced them man and wife.  Unwilling to loosen the hand which\nhe now considered his own, our hero held it fast till he entered the\nhouse through the window.\n\nOnce within the mansion that now called him master, an amazing change of\ncircumstances took place.  The lady endearingly asked for forgiveness for\nher latter conduct, while Twm entreated the same for himself.  Squire\nProthero had been the author of many good offices for our hero; having\nconciliated Sir John Price, who, although a proud man, was also something\nof a humorist, as he proved himself in this instance.  A plan was\nconcerted to throw every impediment in the way of Twm\u2019s union, for him to\nsurmount them as he could, to afford sport for the old baronet and his\nmerry friend Prothero, in which trickery the lady herself was by promise\ncompelled to join, which accounts for her latter conduct.\n\nBeing ushered by his bride into the drawing-room, our hero was introduced\nto, and warmly greeted by two most unexpected personages, his lady\u2019s\nfather and his own!  Sir John, who had been a visitor at the Priory-House\nfor a week, was the gayest of the gay on this occasion.  Placing an\nelegant tiara of jewels on her brow, the northern Baronet embraced her\ntenderly; and handing her to our hero, said, \u201cHere, you lucky dog! prove\nthyself worthy of the blood of the Wynns, and that shall warm to thee\nyet.\u201d\n\nThis most unexampled wedding was followed in a few days by another\nceremony more befitting the social position of Lady Devereaux, and at the\nsame time Miss Meredith gave her hand to the delighted Justice Powell.\nSomehow, it did not occur to any of the parties that its brilliance was\nmuch impaired by the absence of Miss Felina Tomtabby Price, and her\nhigh-minded sister.  These stately spinsters determined to punish their\nfamily for this unprecedented proceeding, by withdrawing their\ncountenance from them, and the degenerate world for ever.\n\nSome of the _great_, (great fools!) that is to say, the most eminently\nuseless residents of the then proud town of Brecon, were in the most\nembarrassing state of dilemma on this occasion.  They entertained very\nserious doubts as to the possibility of admitting our hero into their\nexquisitely select circle, on account of his left-handed origin; and more\nthan all, his former questionable doings:\u2014certain malignant spirits\nhaving insinuated suspicions of his once figuring in London as a\nblack-leg, if not a thief.  But as the patronizing influence of Sir John\nPrice was scanned, they condescended to overlook these supposed\npeccadilloes; as it was decidedly proved to them that he had never\nvulgarized himself by any practice of usefulness in the world, by what\nthey deemed worse than witchcraft in the debasement of gentility\u2014the\nfollowing of a trade or profession.\n\nOur tale is almost ended; we have only to add a word or two with respect\nto our principal characters, as it would hardly be respectful to dismiss\nthem without some appearance of attention.\n\nReparation having been made to all parties who were sufferers by our\nhero\u2019s faults and follies, the Graspacres, father and son, by the good\noffices of Sir John Wynn and the friendly Prothero, were in time\nconciliated.  The luckless Inco Evans had soon after to add to his other\nlosses, that of his clerical gown, on account of a certain complaint\npreferred against him to his diocesan, by Miss Bessy Gwevel-heer: and his\nmagisterial function was also numbered with the things that were, but are\nnot.  When despised and impoverished, in his old age, Twm stepped forward\nwith timely aid, that more than compensated for the injuries he had ever\ndone him.\n\nTwm showed most kindly consideration for hungry Moses and his ever\nstarving family, and made a praiseworthy attempt to fatten them up.  All\nwas in vain, and Moses was struck with wonder and admiration when he saw\nan unusually stout specimen of humanity.\n\nThe venerable Ianto Gwyn was installed as the family harper; while each\nand all of the humbler companions of his wild days, were acknowledged,\nbefriended, and aided in their views in life.\n\nThe landlady of the Cat and Fiddle was so greatly benefited by the\nassociation of our hero\u2019s name in her house, that her increased wealth\nand charms gained her another husband, in the person of little Tommy\nThomas, the late under whipper-in of Ystrad Feen; and their sign\nunderwent a change to \u201cThe Twm Shon Catty Inn.\u201d\n\nOne day, many years after all these things had been so happily and\ncomfortably settled, to the satisfaction of the principal parties\nconcerned, an old friend called upon Twm in the person of Doctor John\nDavid Rhys, who had acquired great fame and honour in far-off Continental\ncities.  Their meeting was most joyous; and when he reminded his old\npupil of his prophecy respecting his union with the lady of his dream, a\nfriendly pressure of her hand accompanied by an inexpressibly sweet\nsmile, acknowledged her pleasure in the truth of his foresight.\n\nPoetical justice and fact, are unhappily at variance in our closing\nnotice of this most excellent character.  During his residence abroad, he\nchanged his profession of a Protestant Divine, and became a Catholic, and\na physician; practising among princes and nobles, he soon realized an\nample fortune.  For the enjoyment of a further intercourse with these,\nhis friends, in preference to his own native Anglesea, he fixed his\nresidence at Llanllwch, in the neighbourhood of Brecon.\n\nHere our hero\u2019s friendship stood him much in stead; for when the\n_enlightened_ Protestant mobs of the time persecuted him for his faith,\nforcibly entering his house to search for the Pope in the cavity of his\nporridge pot, and a legion of Friars in his night-chair and warming-pan,\nSquire Jones was the magistrate that stood forward to check their\nlawlessness.  His great popularity and known Protestant principles were\nall sufficient warrants for his word, when he assured the many-headed\nmonster of the groundlessness of such suspicions.\n\nOur hero, who, the reader must be aware, has shown no little power in\npoesy, set to work to write the history of the Gwydir family, when he\ndiscovered that his father was devoting himself to the same purpose.  The\nold man candidly declared that among his ten sons, not one of them\npossessed a literary taste, or evinced a congenial feeling with him in\nhis pursuits.  But his left-handed eleventh seemed to justify the adage\nrespecting luck in odd numbers, which drew on him his affections\naccordingly.\n\nSquire Jones never forgot the humble way in which he spent the earliest\nportion of his life; his was a nature as little likely to be unduly\nelevated by prosperity as unnecessarily cast down by adversity.\n\nWhen he built a mansion at Tregaron, beside the cottages of his\nchildhood, he would never suffer the homely fabric to be removed, but\nkept it as a private appendage to his house; the interior containing all\nits rude characteristics, as left at his mother\u2019s death, which took place\na week before his union; although poor Catty survived both her sister\nJuggy and her husband.  There, once a year he made a lonely visit of many\nhours; and felt his heart soften as he surveyed the rude shelves and\nwooden bowls and piggins; platters and trenchers; and even the spoons and\nladles manufactured by the coarse hand of his late step-father.  The\nunflattering reminiscences awakened by the annual visits were better than\nsackcloth to the skin of kings, as an antidote to worldly pride, and a\ncheck to the overweening heartiness and want of sympathy with our humbler\nbrethren in their struggles for a little firmer feeling on the earth;\nwhich is ever the result of the undisputed despotism of prosperity.\n\nThomas Jones, Esq., filled many most honourable offices in the good town\nof Brecon, and in such a manner as to prove that fortune for this once\nhad not showed her favours upon one unworthy of them.  His early friend,\nDr. John David Rhys, mentions him with respect as an accomplished\nantiquary, and testifies to the general excellence and worth of his\ncharacter.  For many years he was Mayor and Sheriff of Brecon, and we\nwill close our chronicle of his various achievements by one more\nanecdote.\n\n\u201cBless me!\u201d cried the lady mayoress one day to her husband, as they\npassed arm in arm through the street from church, \u201cthe people are always\nlaughing to think of my marrying you.\u201d  \u201cI don\u2019t wonder,\u201d replied the\nhero of these adventures, \u201cfor whenever I think of it, I laugh myself.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n                                APPENDIX.\n\n\nTHE Triads referred to, as the collection made by Thomas Jones, of\nTregaron, (Twm Shon Catty,) are translated from a series in the second\nvolume of the Welsh Arch\u00e6ology, p. 57.  The series bear the following\ntitle.  \u201cThese are Triads of the Island of Britain\u2014that is to say, Triads\nof memorial and record, and the information of remarkable men or things\nwhich have been in the Island of Britain; and of the events which befell\nthe Race of the Cymry, from the age of ages.\u201d\n\nTo the copy, from which the transcript was made for the London edition,\nthe following note is annexed.\n\n(Translation.) \u201cThese Triads were taken from the book of Caradoc of\nNantcarvan, and from the book of Jevan Brechva, by me, Thomas Jones, of\nTregaron\u2014and those are all I could get of _the three hundred_\u20141601.\u201d\n\nI.  The three pillars of the Race of the Island of Britain.\n\nThe first _Hu Gudarn_, who first brought the Race of the Cymry into the\nIsland of Britain; and they came from the land of _Hav_ called\n_Defrobani_, [where Constantinople stands,] and they passed over Mor\nTawch (the German ocean) to the Island of Britain, and to Llydaw where\nthey remained.\n\nThe second, _Prydain_, the son of _Aedd-Mawr_, who first established\nregal government in the Island of Britain.  [Before this, there was no\nequity but what was done by gentleness, nor any law but that of force.]\n\nThe third, _Dyfnwal Moelmud_, who first discriminated the laws and\nordinances, customs and privileges of the land and nation.  [And for\nthese reasons they were called the three pillars of the nation of Cymry.]\n\nII.  The three benevolent tribes of the Island of Britain.\n\nThe first was the stock of the _Cymry_, who came with Hu Gadarn, into the\nIsland of Britain; for _He_ would not have lands by fighting and\ncontention, but of equity, and in peace.\n\nThe second was the race of the Lloegrwys, who came from the land of\nGwas-gwyn, and were sprung from the primitive stock of the Cymry.\n\nThe third were the Britons.  They came from the land of Llydaw, and were\nalso sprung from the primordial line of the Cymry.\n\n[And they are called the three peaceful tribes because they came by\nmutual consent and permission, in peace and tranquillity.  The three\ntribes descended from the primitive race of the Cymry, and the three were\nof one language and one speech.\n\nIII.  Three tribes came, under protection, into the Island of Britain,\nand by the consent and permission of the nation of Cymry, without weapon,\nwithout assault.\n\nThe first was the tribe of the Caledonians, in the North.\n\nThe second was the Gwyddelian Race, which are now in Alban (Scotland.)\n\nThe third were the men of the Galedin, who came in their naked ships\n(canoes) into the Isle of Wight, when their country was drowned, and had\nlands assigned them by the Race of the Cymry.\n\nAnd they had neither privilege nor claim in the Island of Britain, but\nthe land and protection that they granted, under specified limits.  And\nit was decreed, that they should not enjoy the immunities of the native\nCymry, before the ninth generation.\n\nIV.  Three usurping tribes came into the Island of Britain, and never\ndeparted out of it.\n\nThe first was the _Coranied_, who came from the land of Pwyl.\n\nThe second were the Gwyddelian Fichti, who came into Alban, over the sea\nof _Llychlyn_ (Denmark).\n\nThe third were the Saxons.\n\n[The Corained are _about_ the Humber, and on the shore of Mor Tawch, and\nthe Gwyddelian Finchti are in Alban, on the shore of the sea of Llychlyn.\nThe Coranied united with the Saxons, and being partly incorporated with\nthem, deprived the Lloegrwys of their government, by wrong and\noppression; and afterwards, they deprived the Race of the Cymry of their\ncrown and sovereignty.  All the Lloegrwys became Saxons, except those who\nare found in Cornwall, and in the Commot of _Carnobun_, in _Deria_ and\n_Bernicia_.\n\nThe primitive Race of the Cymry have kept their land and their language;\nbut they lost their sovereignty of the Island of Britain, through the\ntreachery of the protected tribes, and the violence of the three usurping\ntribes.]\n\nV.  The three awful events of the Island of Britain.\n\nFirst, the bursting of the lake of waters, and the overwhelming of the\nface of all lands; so that all mankind were drowned excepting Dwyvan and\nDwyvach, who escaped in a naked vessel, (without sails), and of them the\nIsland of Britain was re-peopled.\n\nThe second was the consternation of the tempestuous fire, when the earth\nsplit asunder, to Annwn, (lower region,) and the greatest part of all\nliving was consumed.\n\nThe third was the scorching summer, when the woods and plants were set on\nfire, by the intense heat of the sun, and multitudes of men and beasts,\nand all kinds of birds, and reptiles and trees and plants irrecoverably\nlost.\n\nVI.  The three chief master works of the island of Britain.\n\nThe ship of _Nevydd Nav Neivion_, who carried in it a male and a female\nof all living, when the lake of waters burst forth.\n\nThe drawing of the _avanc_ to land out of the lake, by the branching oxen\nof _Hu Gadarn_, so that the lake burst no more;\n\nAnd the stones of Gwyddon Ganhebon, on which were read the arts and\nsciences of the world.\n\nVII.  The three great Regulators of the Island of Britain.\n\nHu Gadarn, bringing the Race of the Cymry out of the land of Hav, which\nis called Defrobahi into the Island of Britain.\n\nPrydain, the son of Aedd-Mawr, establishing government and law over the\nIsland of Britain.\n\nAnd Rhitta Gawr, who made himself a robe of the beards of kings, whom he\ncaused to be shaved (reduced to vassalage) for their oppressions and\ncontempt of justice.\n\nVIII.  The three happy controllers of the Island of Britain.\n\nPrydain, the son of Aedd-Mawr, suppressing the Dragon tyranny.  [This was\na tyranny of pillage and contempt of Equity, that sprung up in the\nIsland.]\n\nCaradog, the son of Bran, the son of Llyr, checking the oppression of the\nC\u00e6sars;\n\nAnd Rhitta Gawr, controlling the tyranny and pillage of the tumultary\nkings.\n\nIX.  The three benefactors of the Race of Cymry.\n\nThe first, Hu Gadarn, who first showed the Race of the Cymry the method\nof cultivating the ground, when they were in the land of Hav [namely,\nwhere Constantinople now stands] before they came into the Island of\nBritain.\n\nColl, the son of Coll-Frewi, who first brought wheat and barley into the\nisland of Britain, where, before, there had only been oats and rye;\n\nAnd Elldyd the knight, [a holy man of Cor Dewdws,] who improved the\nmanner of cultivating the ground, taught the Cymry a better method than\nhad been known before, and showed the art of ploughing which now\nprevails.  [For before the time of Elldyd, land was cultivated only with\na mattock and a spade, after the manner of the Gyddelians.]\n\nX.  The three primary Sages of the Race of the Cymry.\n\nHu Gadarn, who first collected the Race of the Cymry, and disposed them\ninto tribes.\n\nDyvnwal-Molemud, who first regulated the laws, privileges, and\ninstitutions of the country and the nation.\n\nAnd Tydain tad Awen, who first introduced order and method into the\nmemorials and preservation of the Oral art (poetry) and its properties.\n\nAnd from that order, the privileges and methodical usages of the Bards\nand Bardism (Druidism) of the Island of Britain, were first devised.\n\nXI.  The three primary Bards of the Island of Britain.\n\nPlennydd, Alwan, and Gwron.\n\nThese were they who devised the privileges and usages which belong to\nBards and Bardism.\n\n[Yet there had been Bards and Bardism before; but they were not\ncompletely methodized, and they enjoyed neither privileges nor\nestablished customs, but they were obtained through gentleness and\ncivility, and the protection of the country and the nation, before the\ntime of these three.\n\nSome say they were in the time of Prydain, the son of Aedd Mawr, others,\nthat they were in the time of his son, Dyvnwal-Molemud, whom some of the\nold books call Dyvnvarth, the son of Prydain.\n\nXII.  The three elementary masters of Poetry and Memorial, of the Race of\nthe Cymry.\n\nGwyddon Ganhebon, the first man in the world who composed poetry;\n\nHu Gadarn, who first adapted poetry to the preservation of records and\nmemorials;\n\nAnd Tydain Tad Awen, who first developed the art and structure of poetry,\nand the due disposition of thought.\n\nAnd, from the labours of these three personages, sprang Bards and\nBardism, and the regulation of their privileges and established\ndiscipline, by the three primary Bards, Plenvydd, Alwan, and Gwron.\n\nXIII.  The three primary baptized (or christian) Bards.\n\nMerddyn Emrys; Taliesin, the chief of the Bards, and Merddin, the son of\nMadawc Morvyn.\n\nXIV.  The three mighty Labours of the Isle of Britain.\n\nErecting the stone of Ketti.  Constructing the work of Emrys.  And\nheaping the pile of _Cyvrangon_.\n\nThe three happy astronomers.  (_Serenyddion_, _Suronides_) of the\n_Island_ of _Britain_.  _Idris Gawr_.  _Gwyddion_ the son of the _Don_.\nAnd _Gwyn_ the son of _Nudd_.\n\nSo great was their knowledge of the stars, and of their nature and\nsituations, that they could foretell whatever might be desired to be\nknown to the day of doom.\n\nXVI.  The three masters of mysterious and secret science, of the _Island_\nof _Britain_.\n\n_Math_, the son of _Mothanwy_, and he disclosed his secret to _Gwyndion_\nthe son of _Don_.\n\n_Mengw_, the son of _Teiagmaedd_, who taught his secret to _Uthyr\nBendragon_.\n\nAnd _Rhuddlwm Gawr_, and he learned his mystery of _Eddic Gor_ and\n_Coll_, the son of _Coll Frewi_.\n\nXVII.  The three great modellers of the _Island_ of _Britain_.\n\n_Corvinwr_, the Bard of _Ceri Hir_ of _Llyngwyn_, who first made a ship,\nwith a sail and a helm, for the race of the _Cymry_.\n\n_Mozdial Gwr Gweilgi_, the architect of _Ceraint_, the son of _Greidial_,\nwho first taught the race of the _Cymry_, the work of stone and lime, [at\nthe time _Alexander the Great_ was subduing the world.]\n\nAnd _Coll_, the son of _Cylin_, [the son of _Caradawr_, the son of\n_Bran_,] who first made a mill with a wheel, for the race of _Cymry_.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n           W. NICHOLSON AND SONS, LIMITED, PRINTERS, WAKEFIELD.\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes\n\n\n{9a}  The truth against the world.\n\n{9b}  The English pronunciation of Twm Shon Catty, is Toom Shone Cutty;\ninstead of which the Londoners call it TWIM JOHN KATTY, which seemed\ndoubly ludicrous as the name of a tragedy hero.\n\n{10}  A small cup, so called from its contents being able merely to damp\nthe clay of a genuine toper.\n\n{31}  In the farce of the Spirit Child.\n\n{50a}  The good ale of old Wales.\n\n{50b}  Wheat that may have been left out too long unharvested from the\nprevalence of rain, when found to sprout, is sometimes used in Wales\ninstead of malt in brewing beer.\n\n{55}  In addition to the _Gwahoddwr\u2019s_ address, there is another mode\nprevalent in the present day, of inviting to the Bidding, by a printed\ncircular, which in some parts of the principality supersedes that merry\npersonage altogether, a thing to be regretted, as it deprives the rural\nWelsh wedding of one of its most pleasing features, and cuts off its\nalliance with romance, and the manners of _oulden tyme_.  The following\nis a specimen of a Bidding circular.\n\n                                                           _October_ 183\u2013.\n\n    As we intend to enter the matrimonial state, on Saturday, the 10th\n    November next, we are encouraged by our friends to make a Bidding on\n    the occasion, the same day, at the young woman\u2019s house, called\n    Tynant, at which place, the favour of your agreeable company is most\n    respectfully solicited; and whatever donation you may be pleased to\n    bestow upon us then will be thankfully received, and cheerfully\n    repaid whenever called for on the like occasion.\n\n                                             Your obedient Servants, A. B.\n                                                                     C. D.\n\n    *** The parents of the young man, and his brothers and sisters,\n    desire that all gifts of the above nature due to them, be returned to\n    the young man on the above day, and will be thankful for all favours\n    granted.  Also, the young woman\u2019s parents and her brothers and\n    sisters, desire that all gifts of the above nature due to them, be\n    returned to the young woman on the above day, and will be thankful\n    for all favours granted.\n\n{58}  A large three-legged iron pot used for cooking.\n\n{72}  Havod un-n\u00f4s, signifies _one summer night_.  A poor wandering\nfamily pitching their tent on a common, building a hearth, and boiling\ntheir pot thereon, in the course of one Summer\u2019s day and night, claimed\nfrom ancient usage their right to the spot.  Thus a hut so built, was\ngradually made into a decent cottage; the surrounding ground, from a mere\nyard of scant dimensions, would become a yard and a garden; and patch\nafter patch being cribbed and inclosed, in the course of a few years a\nlittle farm was created, in the midst, or on the margin of a dreary\ncommon.  These practices were often _winked_ at by the parish, in favour\nof a poor industrious large family, who were thus provided for, instead\nof becoming objects of parochial relief.  If the intrusion remained\nunnoticed for sixty years, it became a freehold property!\n\n{140}  Anglice, Bessy Blubberlip.\n\n{149}  Translated from a very popular Welsh ballad, by John Jones, of\nGlangors, author of many humorous songs in the same language.\n\n{153}  Hob y deri dando signifies \u201caway my herd to the oaken grove.\u201d  Mr.\nParry, for whose Welsh Melodies the modern words were written, remarks,\n\u201cThere is something very quaint and characteristic in this ancient air,\nand it is popular in Wales.\u201d\n\n{165}  The victim of the sons of Maes-y-velin was Samuel, the son of Rhys\nPrichard, the celebrated author of \u201cCanwyll y Cymry,\u201d (the Welshman\u2019s\ncandle,) a volume of religious poems, the most popular, and said to have\ndone the most good, of any that ever was printed in the Welsh language.\nTo this favourite son the pious author addressed many of his poems,\nexhorting and directing him, by name, to the most minute acts in his\ndevotion.  On hearing of his murder, the old man is said to have burst\nout in the wildest strain of prophetic phrenzy, with the following CURSE\non the murderers of Maes-y-velin.\n\n    Melldith Duw a fyddo\u2019n dilyn\n    Pob rhyw ach o\u2019 Vaes y Felin,\n    Am daflu blodeu plwyf Llanddyvri\n    Ar ei ben i Deifi foddi.\n\nThe translation of which runs thus\u2014\n\n    May God with heavy curses chase\n    All Maes-y-velin\u2019s villain race,\n    Since they have drown\u2019d in Teivy\u2019s tide\n    Llandovery\u2019s flower\u2014Cymry\u2019s pride!\n\n{203}  In the original\u2014\n\n    \u201cNid twyll twyllo twyllwr,\n    Nid brad bradychu bradwr;\n    Nid lladrad mi wn yn dda,\n    Lladrada or ladratwr.\u201d\n\n{210}  Should it be asked why this trick (a similar one being related of\nthe Friar of Gil Blas) is attributed to Twm Shon Catty, his Editor can\nattest that this is not the only incident of the kind that he would\nwillingly have related if he had dared.  But as this, and others, have\nlong been on record, both in the memories of the country people, and in\nthe Welsh Jest Books, any omission of incident or anecdote on the score\nof being property claimable by others, would be scouted, as a\npoor-spirited compromise of their rights: it being utterly out of the\npale of possibility that the said good things could have belonged\noriginally, to any other than their own redoubted Twm Shon Catty!  This\nexplanation, once for all, must answer every similar objection on the\npart of the English reader.\n\n{264}  Signifying \u201c_The Poem of Affliction_.\u201d  The original Welsh Poem,\nin recitative measure, of which the above is rather a condensed\nparaphrase of the late Mr. Jenkins, of Llwynygroes, Cardiganshire.\n\n{269}  Between these rivers, before they unite, is an angular slip of\nlowland, being the last of Cardiganshire; Dinas, and all the interesting\nheight here described, are in Carmarthenshire; while the boundary of\nBreconshire is about half a mile off.  The reader, who if a Welshman,\nwill hence recognize the etymology of Ystrad Fin, which signifies, \u201cThe\nvale of the boundary.\u201d","title":"The Comical Adventures of Twm Shon Catty (Thomas Jones, Esq.),: Commonly known as the Welsh Robin Hood","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":100946}