Chapter IV: Part 4

The guests at length dispersing, they all rode off as well as their muddled heads would let them, to their respective homes; the squire, as was his custom, locked the door himself, and saw every light in the house out before he retired himself. At length he gained his chamber, and all was still in Graspacre Hall. The amorous squire, chuckling at his luck as he thought of the fair lass in the green chamber, grew too impatient to wait till the proposed hour of midnight, and leaving his candle on his own table, took off his shoes, and softly approached the casket, that he deemed contained his precious jewel. Applying the key, he opened the door very gently, and cautiously approaching the side of the bed, said in a whisper towards the pillow, “Don’t be alarmed Gwenny, my dear, ’tis I, the squire; fear nothing my girl, this will be the making of your fortune my dear; and if you are as kind and loving as I could wish you to be, you may soon become the second Mrs. Graspacre.” Hearing no reply, he considered that according to the old adage, _silence gives consent_, and proceeded to bend his face down to kiss the fair one, when a severe bounce inflicted by a toss of his _incognita’s_ snout, knocked him backwards off the bed to the floor, and set his nose a-bleeding. After recovering himself a little, though labouring under the delusion that the blow had been struck by the hand of a fair maiden, he exclaimed in an under tone, “You little vixen, how dare you treat me in this manner?” Proceeding more roughly again towards the bed, he was completely horror-struck at the loud bray which the terrified ass sent forth; while the poor animal, after a hard struggle, liberating her limbs, struck him a severe blow on the forehead with her hoof, and getting off the bed, made a terrible clatter with her shod feet over the boards of the room. The unfortunate squire, although hitherto a loud decrier of superstition, now felt a thrill of the utmost horror pervade him, while he deemed himself ensnared by the enemy of man, as the punishment of his guilty intentions; and after a clamorous outcry fell senseless on the floor.

The servants, having but concealed the lights, expecting some _denouement_ of this sort, now rushed in, and saw their fallen master ghastly pale, with streams of perspiration running over his forehead, while his wildly-staring eyes alternately looked at and turned from the monster of alarm. When he had sufficiently recovered to learn the real stand of the affair, from little Pembroke, who had been made Twm’s confidante in this matter—how that wight had brought the farmer’s ass according to his orders behind him on the pillion, although he had been in some doubt whether he had said Cadwgan’s _ass_, or Cadwgan’s _lass_, the squire’s rage was boundless. Exasperated at the trick put upon him by a mere youngster, and a menial, and scarcely less provoked at the exposure he had made of himself before his servants, down he rushed into the hall, and snatched a heavy horse-whip, unlocked the door, and made his way towards our hero’s chamber over the lawndry; but when he reached the bed-side, prepared to inflict the severest punishment that the thong of a whip was capable of, how great was his mortification to find the bird flown! his chagrin and resentment were anything but lessened, when he took up a sheet of paper off the bed, on which in a large hand were written these pretty lines.

If from _lass_ you take the letter L,
Then lass is ass if I have learnt to spell;
Yet ass and lass methinks are coupled ill,
Though human asses follow lasses still;
An ass were I too—one yclept a ninny—
If now I stay’d to claim my promised guinea.

CHAP. XII.

Carmarthen Jack’s churlishness to Twm. His mishap in consequence. Squire Graspacre reforms his conduct. Sends for his son and daughters home. A delicate Devonshire lady, Twm’s satire on the cook. Gives the young squire a thrashing, and runs away. Visits Rhys and Cadwgan. About to be married to Gwenny. A dreadful adventure on the hills that ruins all his prospects.

TWM reached his mother’s at Tregaron about one o’clock in the morning, and alarmed her greatly by the account he gave of his flight from the squire’s, and the cause which led to it. Jack made the best of the affair, in his own manner, by assuring his wife that her son had been the absolute ruin of both himself and her, unless they did their utmost to conciliate the squire by turning Twm adrift, and refusing him a temporary shelter. While Jack beneath the bedclothes was grunting these suggestions of worldly wisdom, Catti, half-drest, was making up a bed for her son, who, the while, was sitting dejectedly in the chimney corner. Having caught the drift of his father-in-law’s mutterings, he rose abruptly, snatched up his hat, and while striding towards the door, cried, “Good night mother.” Alarmed at his precipitate movement, and the tone with which he spoke, “Where are you going Twm?” said Catti. Turning round, while he held the door in his left hand, he replied, “Any where mother—the world is wide—and I’ll go headlong to the devil rather than stay here, when I am not welcome.” With that he closed the door, and was in a moment out of sight, notwithstanding the cries and entreaties of his mother, who ran after, and earnestly sought to bring him back.

Catti, with a bitter consciousness, now found that her son had a stepfather, and she a husband, who was a rude and churlish tyrant. The severity of this reflection preyed heavily on her mind; nor could she be persuaded to go to bed again, but sitting at the fireless hearth she loudly wept and lamented her hard fate. To give him his due, Jack was far from being regardless of her sorrow, but shewed the tenderness of a husband in comforting her, in the manner most natural to himself. “What signifies crying for such an imp of the devil as that,” said this kind stepfather, “if he starves in the field by being out to-night, it will save him from dying at the gallows, where he would be sure to come some day or other.” This tender-hearted speech had the unexpected effect of immediately curing Catti’s grief, which turned to a desperate fit of rage, and without a word to signify the transition wrought by his oratory, she snatched up a stout broom-stick from the floor, and be-laboured him with all her strength, as he lay beneath the bedclothes, till he roared like a baited bull: had she taken a wager for thrashing a given quantity of corn in a certain number of minutes, she could not have laid on her blows more briskly or vigorously. When the strength of her arms failed, the energy of her tongue commenced, and after rating him soundly, she concluded her harangue with eloquent pithiness, hoping that she had left him a shirtful of broken bones; after which exertion she thought proper to disappear.

Jack although he received some hard blows, by dodging under the bedclothes, escaped better than his help-mate intended he should; he soon rose, dressed himself, and went to his master’s, sauntering sullenly about the outhouses till daylight, when a servant informed him, after narrating Twm’s trick on his master, that he was to take Cadwgan’s ass home.

Squire Graspacre, since the death of his wife, gave such free range to his licentious pleasures, as placed him, especially at his years, in a most unseemly light. His only son had been two years at Oxford, returning only occasionally during vacations; while his two daughters, on the death of their mother, were sent to a boarding school at Exeter. Thus in his own family he had no witnesses of his vices and follies. He soon found, however, that in Wales, his offences against religion and morality were not to be committed with impunity. The respect in which he was formerly held by the country people gradually declined, while those who had daughters became extremely shy, and sent their female inmates out of the way whenever he approached. Never deficient in penetration, he was not long in discovering this change in the bearings of his tenants and neighbours, which to a mind like his, proud, fond of domineering, and being looked up to as the superior—the grand central luminary of his sphere, round which all others moved as silent and respectful satellites—was a very hell. The minds of men, however, his knowledge of mankind told him, were not to be over-ruled, and with a wisdom rare as effective, he immediately resolved, as the only mode of re-establishing his credit and happiness, to retrace his steps—to which end he sent for his daughters home, at a time when his son was about to return from Oxford—and thus, by the presence of his children, place a restrictive guard upon his future conduct. With this change in his ideas, it will be no wonder that Twm Shôn Catti was again taken into favor, and replaced in his former situation.

At length the merry bells of Tregaron announced the arrival of the heir, and the young ladies of Graspacre Hall, which mansion soon became a scene of festivity. The meeting of the squire with his daughters was ardently affectionate; but his son Marmaduke had nothing of cordiality in his nature. His figure was tall and spare, with loose joints and ill-knit bones, while his countenance indicated both phlegm and a fidgetty, nervous peevishness. A curious eye might also discover in it decisive marks of late hours and dissipated habits. Proud, rash, and self-sufficient, his dislike of Wales and Welshmen surpassed his father’s partiality for them. He condescended, however, to say, that until he could get a clever English servant, in the place of the last, who ran away from him, he must put up with one of the Welsh savages. Accordingly, our hero was appointed to be his temporary valet, and ordered to attend exclusively on the young squire.

With the ladies came their aunt, the squire’s younger sister, a very affected fantastical spinster from Exeter; who gave every fashion its full Devonshire latitude in her conformation to it, carrying the mode to an extreme that left London absurdity far in the back ground. The Misses Graspacre were neither imitators nor very ardent admirers of their aunt, whose silly affectation of excessive delicacy became their standing point of ridicule, which they put in practice on the very evening of their arrival. The hearty girls wanted something substantial for their supper, after travelling their long journey; but their aunt intimated her desire to have something that would be light on he stomach: but great was her dismay on finding a duck and green pease brought to the table. She resolved however, even on this fare, to shew her superior Devonshire breeding; and while the young ladies lifted their pease from their plates to their mouths in half-dozens or more at a time, she, delicate soul, cut every pea in four, and swallowed a quarter at a time! This display of refinement excited stares of wonder from the squire and some of his friends, whom he had invited on the occasion, but in her nieces, nothing but smothered laughter.

Another circumstance of note happened at this supper, which, as it relates to our hero, must be here told. It seems that during Twm’s disgrace, and consequent absence from the hall, the servants there indulged themselves and one another in making remarks on his conduct, and its probable consequence. This discussion displayed their various dispositions; some spoke of him with charity, and dwelt upon his rare qualities of good nature and cheerfulness; while others took a malignant pleasure in speaking of his satirical and mischievous propensities. Among the latter was the cook. Twm, on his return, heard of her _kindness_, and determined to take the first opportunity of shewing his sense of the obligations she had laid him under. On the removal of the remains of the duck and its accompaniments, the company having just been helped round with tart or pie, their attention was suddenly arrested by the voice of Twm, in the passage, who loudly sung the following distich.

“Apple pie is very rich,
And so is venison pasty,
Our cook has got the itch,
And that is very nasty.”

Ye gods! what sounds for ears polite! The young ladies laughed immoderately on perceiving the distress of their aunt, who shewed a wry-faced consciousness of having partaken of food prepared by unclean hands; her countenance underwent various contortions, which terminated in the grand climax of a shriek and a fit. The squire’s anger was instantly kindled against Twm, probably from an unquenched spark of his former resentment, which he evinced by telling his son to “give that rascal a good thrashing.” Proud of the commission, out ran Marmaduke, and finding Twm in the hall, ran up and struck him a blow in the face, but great was the amazement of the servants to see the young man turn upon him like a lion, and with the most dexterous management of his fists overpowering their young master in an instant, whom he left groaning with pain, and covered with bruises, and then made a precipitate retreat.

While walking to Tregaron, it occurred to Twm, that for that night at least, he might be favored with a lodging by his constant friend, Rhys the curate. Thither he went, and found the worthy man by his parlour fire, with a book in his hand, and papers before him, busily employed in preparing for the press a new edition of his Welsh Grammar. He was received by him with his usual kindness; and when Twm had told him his tale, with the important addition that he must leave his native place for ever, and immediately, he shewed the goodness of his heart by assuring him of a retreat for the present, and a little pecuniary aid on his departure. He however gave him a friendly lecture on the impropriety of his conduct; observing, that if he must be satirical, he ought to choose the subjects for his lash from the infamous among the great and wealthy, and not the puny and defenceless, to attack whom, he said, evinced a paltry and most dastardly spirit; concluding with the pithy injunction, “while you live, whatever your state while on earth, act the generous and manly part; and never, never, either manually or with the lash of satire, war with the weak.” These words were never forgotten by Twm, and however reprehensible his erratic courses in after life, they were much less so from his reception of this noble sentiment, which became his standing rule of conduct. Had it been Twm’s lot to have lived in a loftier sphere and in the days of chivalry, he would doubtless have had inscribed on his shield those words so deeply written on his memory “War not with the weak.” Our hero was heartily pleased with his preceptor, inasmuch, that amidst all its observations and lectures he imputed to him but slight blame for his retaliation on young Graspacre; but when he vowed further vengeance, should he ever meet him alone in the mountains, remonstrated with him on the risk he ran, urged the necessity of self-preservation, and advised him not to endanger himself needlessly.

The next morning Rhys assured Twm that he had reflected on the peculiarity of his case, and found it by no means so bad as he had imagined. “As to leaving this place,” said he “I see no necessity; merely keep out of the way awhile, and in due time make your submissions to the squire, and as he is by no means a hard man, I have no doubt but all will speedily be well again.” Twm in a manner adopted this idea, though he ill stomached the thought of submission, or asking pardon for an act of manliness which he would on a similar case of aggravation repeat. Thus matters rested for the present; and in the dusk of evening he crossed the hills towards Cadwgan’s, and soon had the grateful satisfaction of seeing once more his beauteous mistress, sitting by her father before a cheerful fire. Her mild kind face was unusually pale, but brightened on his approach, and when he related his new mishap, and that he thought of immediately quitting the country in consequence, her cheek assumed an ashy paleness, and she nearly fainted in her father’s arms. Cadwgan dissuaded him from the thought of quitting his native place for such a trifle, and advised him by all means to follow up the worthy curate’s suggestion; and when the fair Gwenny repeated her father’s wishes as her own, Twm at once acquiesced, and resolved not to quit.

Cadwgan daily witnessed the affection of the young pair, and at length thus addressed the young man. “You are a brave and generous lad; you love my daughter—” “In my heart and soul I do,” said he, enthusiastically interrupting him; “And I am sure my Gwenny is not behind hand with you in affection: are you my girl?” Poor Gwenny blushed deeply, then shed tears, and sobbed heavily, in the midst of which, she gave her hand to her lover, which he pressed, shed tears upon, and kissed ardently. Cadwgan continued “And therefore my boy, as nobody deserves her so well, you shall have her before the best in the county; and you know how many sweethearts she has refused for you.” Twm grasped his hand in silence, and before an hour had expired since the commencement of this discourse, the wedding day became the subject of discussion, but which could not be fixed until Twm had made his peace with the squire. Thus time passed on pleasantly, for some days, when our hero, who was constitutionally formed for active life, felt the effect of being immured day and night within doors, and said he longed exceedingly for a day’s coursing on the neighbouring mountains. Cadwgan remarked that as the squire had shown no desire to seek or pursue him, as he had heard at Tregaron, he conceived there would be no danger; and in accordance with his opinion, he lent him his dog and gun, both great favorites, and never before entrusted to any one breathing. He advised him to confine his excursion to a certain remote hill called Twyn Du (_Black hill_) which being rugged of ascent and marshy, seldom invited the steps of the sons of pleasure in the character of sportsmen.

Thus with dog and gun, and accoutred with a shot-belt, our hero felt himself another and superior being to what he had ever been before, especially as Gwenny assured him that the sportsman’s paraphernalia became him exceedingly. Flattered with the joint encomiums of the father and daughter, and with a consciousness that they were not without good foundation, in full health and high spirits, with an eye sparkling with happiness, he shook Cadwgan’s hand, kissed the lips of his fair mistress, and gallantly sallied forth; having gone a few yards, he turned his face back to assure them, as they looked anxiously after him, that he should soon return, and well loaded with game.

While the buoyancy of youth uplifted his gay heart, and dazzled his perception with bright dreams of the future, little thought he of the sorrows so soon to overtake him, or that the sombre hill of Twyn Du was to colour with its gloom the closing scene of his innocent hopes, and form the most important epoch of his life.

Twm had been on Twyn Du about an hour and a half, and in that time had killed several birds, when the report of his gun attracted others to the spot. He could see several persons on the hill contiguous, and one well mounted, descending into the deep dingle, that, like a gulf, yawned between the two hills, and making his way up the steep side of Twyn Du. He now felt a presentiment that this visit portended him no good, but scorning an ignominious flight, he carelessly paced the brow of the hill till the sportsman approached, when, to his great amazement, who should present himself before him but his inveterate foe, Marmaduke Graspacre. He approached Twm with the fury of a demoniac, asking how he dared fire a gun on those grounds, and after a few harsh words of abuse, which our hero returned with interest, he took an aim at Cadwgan’s pointer, and instantly shot him on the spot.

Aware of the regard in which Cadwgan held his excellent dog, this outrage drove Twm furious, and he was further aggravated by the young squire’s demanding his gun and laughing the while at his distress and rage. The youth was not formed of stuff so tame as to endure his insolent triumph; snatching up his loaded gun with desperate rapidity, he in a moment lodged the contents in the head of the squire’s fine hunter, on which his enemy sat taunting him. No sooner had Marmaduke reached the ground, disengaged himself from the fallen horse, and stood up, than Twm flew at him, and disregarding his threats, with his dexterous fists inflicted the most perfect chastisement; leaving him in a far worse predicament than after their first encounter.

By this time the men who attended the young squire, hearing the report of the guns, and fearing that their young master had fallen in with poachers, made the best of their way down across the dingle, and up the sides of Twyn Du.

Roused by their shouts, he left his vanquished foe groaning on the ground by the side of the dead hunter, and darting down the opposite side he made a safe retreat.

CHAP. XIII.

A hue and cry after Twm. He conceals himself in a wood. Ventures to Cadwgan’s house and is kindly received. Sought there by Parson Evans. Escapes, disguised as a woman. Affectionate parting with Cadwgan and his daughter.

NO sooner was Marmaduke Graspacre taken home, and the affair made known by him to his father, with some little exaggeration against the assailant, such as the trifling mis-statement that the blows inflicted on him were by the butt end of the fowling-piece, instead of the fist, than the squire’s indignation was roused. “As this is not his first offence, and my forbearance has encouraged his atrocious conduct, I am now determined to make an example of him,” said he, and immediately sent a servant for Parson Evans, who, in his capacity of magistrate, was ordered to take cognizance of the affair, and send constables in all directions to arrest the culprit. This was an office that well accorded with the feelings of this malignant man, and well pleased was he to set the myrmidons of justice abroad to hunt an unfortunate young man, whom he hated for the trifling offences of youth, that at a distant period, it seems, stung his consequence. The hue and cry instantly was raised and spread abroad, and excited as great a commotion throughout the country, as if a convicted murderer was chased through the land. All Twm’s known haunts were searched, especially his mother’s and Farmer Cadwgan’s; in each of which places there was heaviness and wailing for his misfortunes; and Parson Evans, who went there in person, took care to assure them, that when caught, all the world could not save him from the gallows, as he had attempted to murder the young squire of Graspacre Hall. But with all the vigilance of his enemies, Twm’s retreat remained undiscovered, and those who were friendly disposed towards him, began to wonder among themselves what could have become of him. Some thought that in a fit of despondency he had drowned himself, and others that he had escaped into the neighbouring counties of Pembroke, Carmarthen, or Brecon, or shipped himself in some vessel at Aberaeron or Aberystwyth, and got off in safety. The constables, however, had visited each of these places, and at length, like heavy war-ships that vainly chaced a smart privateer, returned without any further intelligence than that their journey had been in vain.

While the search had been most hot, our hero had concealed himself in a small patch of marshy underwood, a spot on which the keen eye of suspicion had never glanced, his pursuers having passed the edge of it several times, without a thought occurring of seeking him there. In this retreat he fed himself on nuts and blackberries, and in the night roved about for recreation, but returned to his green-wood shelter before daylight. This continued four days, when exceedingly tired of his solitude, he one midnight ventured to Cadwgan’s door, and both surprised and gratified the kind farmer and his kinder daughter, when they heard the lost one’s voice once more. They rose and let him in immediately, made a fire, gave every necessary refreshment, and then persuaded him to go to bed.

Twm remained hidden here a week, when suspicion fixed upon Cadwgan’s house, although searched before, as the probable place of his concealment. One day, Gwenny, in a fright ran in to tell her father to conceal Twm immediately, as the constables, headed by Parson Evans were coming. Twm started up and said, “Bolt the door for ten minutes, and I shall be safe.” Gwenny said they could not be there in that time, as they were then descending the opposite side of the Cwm, which was three long fields off, and they approached slowly, with fox-like cunning, so as to excite no suspicion of their purpose. With that, at Twm’s request, they both went up stairs with him, for a purpose he was there to explain to them, as neither of them could conceive in what manner he was going to preserve himself. They all remained above, till the loud summons of authority, in the raven voice of old Evans, brought Cadwgan down, when the cleric magistrate told him, in no gentle terms, that there was a suspicion attached to his house, as the place where the young villain, Twm Shôn Catti was concealed. The farmer replied, “I must say this is very hard usage, as I have nobody with me but my daughter and my eldest sister, who has come on a few week’s visit. But as you are come, you may search and welcome.” After a brief scrutiny below, they all went up stairs, where sat, busily employed at their needles, the fair Gwenny Cadwgan and the ingenious Twm Shôn Catti, excellently disguised in the dress of Cadwgan’s late wife, which, having been the property of a tall woman, fitted him very well; his face was slightly coloured with the juice of blackberries; beneath his chin was pinned a dowdyish cap, which, in the scant light of a small window, by the aid of a pair of spectacles he appeared a complete old granny. On the entrance of these amiable visitors, he turned his full spectacled face on Parson Evans, muttering in the tone of an old woman, which he mimicked well “lack a day! lack a day! this is sad usage,” then whispered Gwenny, who took his hint, and while they were searching, laid some hog’s-lard on different part of the stairs, so that on their descent the precious party, with their rascally leader, fell headlong down from top to bottom, to the great amusement of those above. On being charged of this contrivance, each denied all knowledge of it, and the quick-witted Gwenny, accounted for the cause of their accident by saying they had been carrying butter and lard to the store, up stairs, the whole morning.

They were no sooner gone than Twm assured Cadwgan, that he saw there was no safety for him, except in flight, which must take place that very night. His plan, he said, was matured, that he had no fear but he should do well, and that his only regret was in parting with them. He purposed, he said, to make his way towards Carmarthenshire, or perhaps further, and seek employment among the farmers; or what was more agreeable to him, he might, perhaps, get to some village, where he might set up a school: so that after saving a sum of money, to begin life with, he might return, and make Gwenny his wife. With tearful eyes Cadwgan expressed his admiration of this plan, while poor Gwenny wept herself almost into fits, at the thought of his perils, and sudden departure. “At any rate, my boy, thou shalt not go pennyless to wander the wide world,” said Cadwgan, and put an old pocket book containing three guineas and near twenty shillings in silver, which Twm reluctantly took, promising its return doubly, when fortune favored him. “I have two favors more to ask,” said he, “the first is, that you will make the best of my affair when you tell my poor mother and the worthy Mr. Rhys of my flight, and my future plans in life; and my next request is, that you will give me this old woman’s dress, with the red cloak belonging to it, as it will answer for a disguise, should I be troubled before I get far enough off.” Cadwgan kindly acquiesced, though he smiled at the latter whimsical fancy. At length, thus attired, to avoid observation, with his own clothes in a bundle, he took an affectionate and affecting leave of them, and made a hasty departure from their friendly door.

CHAP. XIV.

Twm ventures to Tregaron in the night. Frightens Wat the mole-catcher. In danger of being betrayed by him. Outwits Wat, Parson Evans, and his wife. Escapes, with the Parson’s horse, great coat, and money.

IT was a dull heavy night, in which fog and darkness contended for precedence, and the moon gleamed dimly as if about to retire altogether, when Twm Shôn Catti shaped his course over the mountain, in the direction which led to Lampeter: he looked instinctively towards his dear native town, which a fashionable tourist would perhaps have called the most wretched village in the universe; but to him it was full of sweet associations, and recollections the most agreeable, the scene of his childhood, the home of his mother;

Dear to all their natal spot,
Although twere Nature’s foulest blot.

He stopped, and looked wistfully towards Tregaron; the lights were glistening in their various humble casements, and he fancied that among them all, he could distinguish his mother’s—his kind fond mother, whom perhaps he was never to see again—and now he recollected many instances of her tenderness, which had long slumbered in his recollection. His eyes filled with tears, and the softness of his heart was put at once into mournful harmony, from thus accidentally touching its first string, thrilled by reminiscences of maternal tenderness. He sat on a stone and gave his excited feelings full vent, till at length his heart-pangs subsided to a calm and sensitive melancholy. A sudden thought, no less eccentric than daring, now took him, that thus disguised, he might safely pass through Tregaron, and perhaps see his mother before his departure. This idea was no sooner started than acted upon; and before an hour had expired, he found himself once more in the long, and almost only street in Tregaron. His mother’s door was closed for the night, and he durst not call to her, as Jack was not to be trusted. He moved on, looking earnestly to every door, but saw no signs of people being up, any where; the whole street seemed still as death, except that various snores here and there, reminded Twm of the sweet sleep enjoyed by others, though denied to him. He sauntered slowly along, meditating on the circumstances that made him alone a watcher, till opposite to the cottage of his old companion and elder brother in mischief, Wat the mole-catcher. Wat had long lived with a widowed mother, who had recently died, and now sojourned alone in her solitary hut; it was even reported that he had forsaken all his wicked merry ways, grown serious, and was consequently likely to do well. It occurred to Twm that he had often heard Wat deny the existence of ghosts and hob-goblings, to the great horror of the elect, who considered such a declaration scarcely less impious than the denial of his creed; and vaunt that nothing of that description could in the least frighten him: and now, thought he, I’ll put his courage to the trial. Peeping through the casement, he saw Wat in bed, at the further end of the cottage, and the fire burning through the peat heaped up to preserve it for the night, so that the white walls within were brightened by the gleams cast on them from the hearth. Such a wonder as a lock, or even a bolt, Twm knew was rarely to be found in Tregaron, and therefore softly lifting the latch, he opened the door, entered, and walking quietly towards the hearth, sat on a three-legged stool, took up the old snoutless bellows, and blew the fire with all his might. Wat awoke in extreme terror, and seeing the figure of a tall woman in the chimney corner, deeming it no other than his mother’s spirit, his fright increased, trembling and almost dissolved in perspiration, he at last burst out into a roar of “Lord have mercy on me! oh mother’s dear spirit pity me!” Twm laughed out and ran to his bed-side to stop his roaring cries, exclaiming, “Silence man, ’tis I, Twm, your old friend Twm Shôn Catti.”

Convinced, at length, of his identity, and having heard of our hero’s story, he said, “Twere better you were at the bottom of a river Twm, than here, for I have been compelled by Parson Evans to make oath that if you came here I would immediately either send or run myself to inform him of your arrival, and I can’t break an oath, Twm, for any body.” “I did not think,” said our hero, coolly, “that you, who have broken so many laws, would scruple much, about breaking a forced oath; but old companionship pleads weakly opposed to the reward that will be given for my apprehension; and I thought, though the whole town might turn against me, that you Wat, would have been my friend, for you have led me into many troubles, and I never laid a jot of blame to your charge, but took all to myself, and have often suffered on your account.”

Wat, who by this time, had nearly dressed himself, was affected by this appeal, and said, “No Twm, I will never betray you, but if I was known in the least to favor you, it would ruin all my hopes of success in life. I am next week to be married to Bessy Gwevel-hîr, Parson Evans’s maid, that I have courted these ten years; and the Parson has promised to do great things at the bidding: and more than that, I am to be parish clerk and grave-digger, when old Morgan Meredith dies, and he can’t live long, as I have made him a present of a good churchyard cough by breaking a hole in the thatch right over his bed, by which he has gained a great hoarseness, and nearly lost his voice; so that I expect to be called in to officiate for him next Sunday.” “I see you are still my friend,” said Twm, who had been lost in a reverie during part of Wat’s remarks, “and I give you joy of your fair prospects, which I would not destroy on any account; you shall serve me, and at the same time keep your oath. You know my talent at mimickry, and see how well this dress becomes me; aye, I become the dress equally as you shall see. Had I not already disclosed myself, I could have discoursed to you a whole hour at mid-day, fearless of a discovery, but let us see how this cloak becomes you Wat.” With that he took off the cloak, and put it on Wat, and after a little jesting on the subject, Twm suddenly exclaimed, “Only sit down here with the cloak on your shoulders for ten minutes, while I step out, and with the assistance of my bundle I will astonish you with my transformation.”

All this was uttered with the gay rapidity of an anticipated freak, and Wat being taken by surprise, immediately acquiesced, without knowing what he was about. Twm ran immediately to the Rectory House, and making a great clatter, roused Parson Evans, who opened the window and asked what was the matter; when, assuming Wat’s voice, he said hastily “Mister Evans! Mister Evans! make haste, Twm Shôn Catti is now in my cottage, dressed in a cloak, and sitting at the fire.”

Delighted with this intelligence, Evans wakened the whole house, especially two strapping fellows whom he called his bull-dogs, sometimes employing them as husbandry servants, and at others, on account of their large size and muscular power, as constables. Both these fellows were first sent to saddle his horse, in case he should have to take Twm to Cardigan gaol, and then to attend him to Wat’s cottage, where the trio soon went. Peeping through the casement, Evans discerned a tall figure wrapped in a cloak, as described. “There he is sure enough,” quoth he, in a whisper, “now get your cords ready for binding his hands, and stay here till I call you in; be sure that you watch the door well.” With that he lifted the latch and went in. Wat, who in the interim of our hero’s absence, had made up a good fire now stood up, and as he saw the clerical magistrate before him exclaimed, with a hearty laugh, “Well done Twm, my boy! I now give you credit; well, well, well, this is indeed strange, a wonderful disguise? you look the old rascal to the life: if you had not told me before-hand of your intended transformation, I could have sworn you were old Evans himself; you look now just as he did when he promised to make me parish clerk.” Evans remained dumb with astonishment till the last words, when he replied, “Parish devil! you infernal scoundrel, have you roused me out of my bed at midnight to hoax and insult me? but you shall dearly repent your insolence.” Wat stared with wonder, and replied, “Well, well well! I did never hear such a thing in my life, you have just the old villain’s voice and swaggering way, I wish I may die, if you don’t frighten me, and I could almost swear the spiteful old Evans stood himself before me; hang him, I hate his very looks, and I am only holding the candle to the devil, in hopes of the parish clerkship, by seeming so civil to him.” Evans thought him certainly either mad or drunk; and without any further explanation he called the two men in, and ordered them to secure him. The light at length broke on Wat’s mind; Twm’s trick on him, and the real state of the case appeared: and he struggled hard before the fellows could secure him. At length he cleared up his confused and chagrined countenance, and said in an undaunted tone, “Well, well, well, I see the worst, farewell to mole-catching, farewell to parish-clerkship, and Bessy Gwevel-hîr; and you, you evil-minded old scourge, may bid farewell to all hopes of having me to father your brat, of which your maid Bessy is big, I’ll make the country ring with the stories of your rascalities, if you dare to send me to the round-house; but if you liberate me at once, I shall leave Tregaron forever in the course of a few days, and go abroad to see the world and seek my fortune.”

To the great surprise of the men, and perhaps of Wat himself, Evans seemed awed by his threats, and after a little shew of parleying, gave him that freedom of which he had no legal right to deprive him. Leaving him alone in his cottage, he shuffled home, accompanied by his worthy followers.

While Wat’s cottage became the theatre of the above-described scene, Twm Shôn Catti had a performance of his own elsewhere—a dance if you will—to which the same reverend gentleman was doomed to pay the piper. Having watched the party to Wat’s door, Twm hastened to the parson’s, calling loudly, in the assumed voice of one of the fellows who accompanied him, “Mistress Evans! Mistress Evans! make haste, make haste, and send master his pocket-book with his money, immediately; Twm Shôn Catti is taken, and we are going off with him to Cardigan gaol.” Mrs. Evans sleeping in a front room, heard him instantly, and with unusual alacrity jumping out of bed, she soon threw down the pocket-book, which was caught by Twm, and asked him, “Doesn’t he want his weather-proof great coat also?” Our hero replied “Yes, but dear me I did forget that,” and immediately received the great coat also, Mrs. Evans wishing them safe home from Cardigan, shut the window. The saddled horse was already at the gate, and Twm, well coated and cashed, instantly mounted and rode off, glorying in his triumph over his old rancorous enemy.

CHAP. XV.

Twm’s remorse and terror on the perpetration of his first crime. Determined to make restitution of the stolen property. Stopped by a highwayman and robbed. His reflections. Robbed again by a gypsy and ballad-singer, at Aberayron. Determined to sing ballads at Cardigan fair.

TWM took a circuitous route over the mountains towards Lampeter, and when he felt himself secure from pursuit, his first thought was to change his feminine attire for his own, as more convenient for riding, which was soon accomplished, and the suits changed places in the bundle. In his ignorance of the world, he scarce knew where to direct his course after reaching Lampeter, where he arrived between one and two o’clock in the morning. He recollected that this was a central place, from which different roads led to Aberystwyth, Llandovery, Carmarthen, Aberayron, and Cardigan; but found a difficulty in deciding which way to take. It suddenly occurred to him that there was to be a fair at Cardigan the next day, and he determined to go there to sell the parson’s horse. The whole town being wrapped in slumbers, he was now at a stand, not knowing the road which led through Aberayron to Cardigan, but rousing a cottager, he soon gained the necessary information and proceeded on.

The distant roaring of the sea gave him notice of his approach to Aberayron, and the awful sound struck an indescribable dread into his mind, that seemed unaccountable. Severe self-accusing reflections on the atrocity of his last act, succeeded the triumphs of enmity that had at first given a gust to its perpetration: consciousness of gilt and terror of punishment at once assailed him, for he was yet young in crime. To give immediate ease to the agony of his mind, he determined on dismounting and leaving the parson’s horse behind, and to return him, by the first opportunity, his coat and money.

While these first, and consequently bitter, agitations of remorse and terror were racking his breast, the clatter of a distant galloping horse increased his terrors; and the day beginning to break he discerned both horse and rider, and making briskly towards him. Strange as it may appear, notwithstanding the opposite quarter from whence the danger proceeded, in the wildness of his apprehensions he conceived it could be no other than Squire Graspacre, Parson Evans, and their party. He was actually glad when made to understand that the horseman was a highwayman. When the desperado approached within a few yards, he stopped his horse, levelled a pistol, and commanded him, with a tremendous oath, to surrender his money to “Dio the devil!” {129} or take his death at once.

The name of this terrific freebooter, who had among many other descriptions of persons, robbed half the farmers in the country, and was supposed to have committed more than one murder, had its full effect on Twm. He instantly resigned the Parson’s purse, assuring him it was all he possessed, and begged that he would allow him to retain one guinea; these terms the robber in a manner, acceded to, giving him two guineas, but in return, insisting on having his horse and great coat, which Twm gave up. Dio the devil, then insolently bade him good morning, rode off towards Lampeter, holding the parson’s horse by the bridle.

No sooner had the highwayman disappeared, than Twm was struck with a full conviction of the folly of the fears he had entertained, which, by depressing his mind, he thought, led to confusedly yielding his property too easily: vowing to himself, after some reflection, that if possessed of a pair of pistols, no highwayman in the world should make him stand. His thoughts taking their course through this channel, wandered and diverged, till his mind rested on new, but perilous prospects. “What a life,” thought he, “this Dio the devil leads—a gentleman of the road—the terror of wealthy scoundrels, who are themselves the terror of the hapless poor that are starved into crime—famed, feared, and maintained at the general cost, while many an honest fool toils like the galled drudge-horse, crawls through the world half starved, and is despised for his meanness.” Thus he pondered and soliloquised, and after being silent for a while, he continued “Let others do as they please, but for me, I have no taste for buffetings or drudgery, and had I but a good horse and pistols—” At this moment a countryman was about to pass him on the road, in whose hand he recognized his bundle, containing his feminine attire, which in his terror he had dropped, and it rolled from the side of the road, it seems, into the ditch, previous to the halt of the highwayman. Twm immediately claimed his property, but the fellow seemed but little disposed to attend to him, until vehemently insisting on his right, he evinced an inclination to battle with him; when satisfied with this very convincing sort of logic, the clown made restitution.

With his mind full of pistols and highwaymen, he trudged on at a slow ruminating pace, till he reached a humble public house at Aberayron. This lowly tavern he found so full that he could scarcely get a seat. With the exception of two or three fishermen and other sea-farers, these were people who made a temporary halt on their way to Cardigan fair, low booth-keepers, fruit and gingerbread sellers, and such like. Twm called for beer and refreshment, and while eating, observed the habits of these strange people with much curiosity. He had contrived to squeeze himself into a window seat between two females who sat apart and civilly made room for him, and pressed his acceptance of the place. This act of good-breeding won upon him amazingly, and he could not help contrasting their politeness with the rude indifference of the rest of the party; nor was his opinion of them changed when one turned out to be a fortune-telling gypsy, and the other a ballad singer. He could not do less he thought than ask them both to partake of his cup, and they felt themselves bound in honor, in their great devotion to his health, to return it empty each time he handed it to them full. Such gallantry on one hand, and confidence and affability on the other, begot a sudden friendship between them; the gypsy insisting upon telling his fortune gratis, and the ballad singer on his acceptance of two or three favorite songs, while our hero, not to be behind-hand in disinterested kindness, insisted that they would continue to partake of his cup.

While Twm was busily employed in looking over the bundle of ballads, among which he met many old friends, which he had frequently sung, one of the friendly nymphs was beckoned to, by a man at the opposite end of the kitchen, with whom she went out, and the gypsy soon followed them.

Our hero having selected the songs that pleased him, waited impatiently for the return of the damsels. Having waited about an hour and a half, by which time all the fair people had dropped off, he discovered some symptoms of surprise, and asked the landlord if he knew what had become of the young women. He said he did not know, but that the whole party had paid him and gone off, and that he had no further business with them. Twm thought the ballad singer a singular good natured young woman, as she had left her bundle of melody with him, doubtless as a present, and merely taken herself away thus modestly, instead of ostentatiously proclaiming her gift, and receiving his thanks. Putting his hand into his pocket to settle his account, he was confounded on finding his two guineas gone; his terror, agony, and confusion was manifested to the landlord, by his sudden change of manner and appearance, who declared that his face was turned as white as the wall. Having searched every pocket over and over, at length the doleful tale came out that he had lost his money, and could not tell how. “Why as to that,” said the landlord with cool bitterness, “if it is any satisfaction to know _how_ you lost your money, I can tell you; it was by sitting between two thieves—a gypsy and a ballad singer, and what could you expect else from mixing with such cattle?” Poor Twm remained silent in a miserable mood, with his elbows resting on the table, and his temples in the palms of his hands for a full half hour, when the landlord disturbed his meditations by asking payment for his fare; good-naturedly adding, “If you have no money, I don’t wish to be hard with you, you can merely leave your jacket with me instead.” “My jacket!” quoth he indignantly, “why, that is ten times the value of what I owe you.” “May be so, but if you can’t pay you must leave it, and be thankful that I condescend to take it instead of cash;” replied the old gruffy. The fishermen in the mean time passed on him their rough jokes, one observing “You can sing ballads without a jacket, so I advise you to go on to the fair at Cardigan, where you may perhaps meet your old friends.” This advice, given in ridicule, Twm at once determined to take in earnest, and literally sing the ballads so as to turn them into money. So without more ado he took off his jacket and gave it to his host, muttering a curse on his cruelty, and commenced his journey to Cardigan. The dress of Cadwgan’s wife was again put on, not only as a fit disguise for his minstrel vocation, but as a more perfect guard against the weather than his own, since deprived of his upper garment; and in this garb, very low in spirits, and with no cheering prospects before him, he trod the miry road towards the county town.

CHAP. XVI.

Twm, disguised as a woman, sings ballads at Cardigan fair. Is alarmed on seeing an unexpected person. Takes a sudden departure from thence.

TWM at length reached the end of his dreary journey, the latter part of which was rendered more cheerful from having fallen into company with a party of drovers, who gallantly treated the apparent fair one with bread and cheese and ale. Thus he entered Cardigan in comparative good spirits, and prepared to commence his whimsical new vocation. Although naturally bold, and more full of confidence than beseemed the modesty of youth, it was not without considerable efforts in struggling with some remains of diffidence that he at length ventured to sing in the public street; but the beer which he had drank was strong, and his voice he knew was almost unequalled in the county of Cardigan; and with this persuasion he thought it foolish to hesitate. He fixed himself in rather an obscure part of the fair, but his musical voice and humorous execution of a comic song soon drew a crowd about him, and put his ballads in speedy request.

According to the general custom with street melodists, he introduced each song with a whimsical argument of its matter, in a strain of drollery that set the grinning rustics in high glee: “Here my merry men and maidens,” quoth he, “is a pretty song about a young damsel, who was taken in by a false lover, that courted her only for what he could get, and having wheedled her out of her heart and money, then ran away and left her to wear the willow.”

THE SLIGHTED MAID’S LAMENT {134}

1

In comfort and in credit
By the side of Pen-y-vole
I liv’d;—all knew and said it,
None could my will controul;
Until a worthless lover
Did try my heart to move,
Ah soon my joys were over,
I listened to his love.

2

From far he travell’d to me,
Full many and many a night,
I thought he came to woo me,
My heart was all delight:
My cash he thought of gaining,
It was not me he sought,
E’er moaning and complaining
For clothes—and clothes I bought.

3