He sent a quant.i.ty of hot grains from the brewing, to the farmer, next morning, which he afterwards scattered about the farm-yard. The pigeons came, as usual; and eagerly devouring the grain, each and all soon appeared as top-heavy as the veriest tress-pot in Carmarthenshire; and, like the said fraternity incapable of returning home, they fell in stupor on the ground. Our hero, a.s.sisted by the farmer, picked them up, tied their legs, and put the whole party in the pound. The squire, who was no other than Prothero, the laughing magistrate, ever pleased with a jest, especially when cracked by our hero, immediately paid the farmer's demand; and Twm generously refused the proffered remuneration for his very effective a.s.sistance.

Our hero never used the money acquired by his art for his own requirements, and we must not forget to say here that the cash our hero received for the parson's horse, was cast into the parish poor-box.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

TWM'S poetical address to his "lady love." "A gipsy's life is a joyous life." Dinas and a singular natural cave. Faithless woman.

Twm's thoughts were not often forgetful of Ystrad Feen, and its inhabitants: the lady "of the ilk" seldom indulged in silent reverie, without making the absent Twm the princ.i.p.al figure in her day-dream. She had not known a day's peace since his absence, and was daily waving between a resolution to send for him back, to bestow on him her hand, and a deference for her father and proud relatives, who insisted that if she ever married again, it should only be to a t.i.tle and fortune; by which they themselves might share in the honour.

Information was brought to her of his wild excesses, which gave her the greatest concern, as she conceived herself in part the auth.o.r.ess of his misfortunes. Twm, at the same time, felt that his tedious absence from the fair widow was no longer to be endured; and as he knew her to be watched by her father's spies, he determined on paying her a visit in disguise. Previous to putting his design into execution, he composed and sent her the following poem, in which he dwells on, and exaggerates, his own misfortunes, in a strain calculated to move her tenderness in his favour.

CYWYDD Y GOVID. {264}

THE outcast's forced ally is mine And Govid is his name; It is a ruthless savage mate, And like a foe that's pale with hate, To crush me is his aim: His cruel shafts are fiercely hurl'd, He forced me friendless on the world.

If forward, seeking good I wend, My eager steps outstrip the fiend; If backward I retreat from ill, My cruel foe arrests me still:

I seek the flood to end despair, Relentless Govid meets me there, And tells of endless pangs of pride, The wages of the suicide.

Fell Govid's mighty in the land, His children are a horrid band, Who joy in hapless man's distress, Lo, one in debt-one nakedness:- And need against me doth combine; (Fierce Govid's loveless concubine;) And care, that knows not how to yearn, Is Govid's consort, keen and stern: And thus this family of ill, E'er bruise my heart and curb my will.

Though lost to me the tranquil day, My vanquisher I hope to slay; The fierce enormous giant fiend No more the heart of Twm shall rend, If thou, my lady-love! but smile, Thou gentle fair, devoid of guile- Thou darling object of my choice, Oh bless me with a.s.sentive voice, And soon shall Govid lay his length, A curse! struck down by Rapture's strength.

The Lady of Ystrad Feen did not read the pathetic poem without being deeply affected, and tears ran down her fair cheeks as she sobbingly perused it for the fourth time. She still bowed her head in grief, when her maid entered her chamber, and in a tone of complaint informed her mistress that there was a very important and troublesome gipsy in the kitchen, who, after having told the fortunes of all the servants in the house, insisted on seeing her also.

"I am not in a mood to relish such foolery now, so send her about her business," answered the lady, in a tone more sorrowful than angry. "It is quite useless," replied the girl, "to attempt to send her away; big Evan the gardener tried to take her by the shoulders, and turn her out by force, but she whirled round, grasped him by his arms, tripped up his heels, and laid him in a moment on the floor. There she sits in the kitchen, and vows she will not budge from thence for either man or woman, till she sees the Lady of Ystrad Feen, whom she loves, she says, dearer than her life, and would not for millions harm a hair of her head."

Although too deeply absorbed in sorrow to have curiosity much excited, she went down stairs, and approached the sybil, who had now taken her station in the hall, asking her, "What do you want, my good woman?"-"To tell you," answered she, "not your fortune, but what may be your fortune if you choose." "Let me hear then," said the Lady Joan, with a faint incredulous smile, walking before her, at the same time, into a little back parlour. Before she could seat herself, the apparent gipsy caught her right hand wrist, and looking round, whispered in her ear,-

"To heal your torn bosom, and ease every smart, Oh take-he's before you-the youth of thy heart."

The colour fled from the fair widow's cheeks, and in a moment she sank into a swoon in her lover's arms. Soon recovering, she desired her maid to deny her to every body that called, "as," added she, with a smile, "I have particular business with the gipsy."

A scene of tears and tenderness ensued; when Twm, with the utmost fervour, urged his suit. She replied that her father had insisted on, and received her promise that she should wed no being but who either bore a t.i.tle or stood within a prospect of one.

"You did well," replied our hero, with the most easy confidence, "and your promise, so far from militating against me, would really be in my favour, for am I not the son of a baronet? his nature child, 'tis true, but still his son; and you would break no promise to your father in marrying me; but if you did, so much the better broke than kept. I have friends at this moment who are doing their utmost to move my father, Sir John Wynn, of Gwydir, to own me publicly, for his right worthy son; and if he does not, the loss is his, not mine, for I shall certainly disown him else for a father, and claim parentage of some greater man."

In this interview, Twm pleaded his affection with such persuasive vigour and tender persistence, that the old "lady of his dream" resisted the promptings of her own heart no longer, and promised to be his in spite of every obstacle. The joy of our hero knew no bounds, nor did the lady very strenuously resist his rapturous embraces; but seemed to find her heart relieved by the resolution she had come to, that now for ever put an end to the conflicting doubts as to her future course, which had so long torn her heart, and banished her peace.

It was now time for the pretended gipsy to depart, as the sun was descending rapidly, and Twm was chary of the fair widow's reputation. He would not have the faintest breath of slander a.s.sociated with her name and so he unwillingly left. She directed him to wait for her, and her confidential friend Miss Meredith, at the entrance to the ancient cave on the top of Dinas, which was the name of the conical hill exactly fronting the mansion of Ystrad Feen. He accordingly took his departure; and winding round the base of Dinas, he crossed the river Towey, which, being then in summer, was there little more than a brook.

After walking over a couple of fields, and a piece of rough common, he had to cross the Towey once more, when he commenced his ascent at the only part of this very steep hill where it was possible to climb.

During his former stay at Ystrad Feen, this wildly-romantic height had been his favourite haunt, as the cave in its side was the greatest wonder. It was in fact a mighty mound, that bore all the appearance of having been, at the period of its formation, convulsed by an earthquake, and in the height of nature's tremendous heavings, suddenly arrested and becalmed, even while the huge crags were in the act of tumbling down its steep sides.

A narrow valley encircled its base, and the mountains around of equal height with itself, separated only by this deep and scanty dell, seemed as if rent from it, during the convulsions of the earth, and Dinas left alone, an interesting monument of the memorable event. The surface of the acclivity was so speckled with huge loose stones, that it was dangerous to hold by them in ascending, as the slightest impetus would roll them downward.

Once in poetical mood, when accompanied by his mistress, while tenderly and lovingly protecting her during their ascent at this very spot, he had said, that no doubt an earthquake had turned the bosom of the hill inside out, so that no secret could be therein concealed: archly insinuating that he trusted the time would soon come, when, without so violent a process, her own fair bosom would be equally open to him, while it rejected the stony barriers that then stood between him and her heart.

But let us proceed with our description, while Twm awaits the arrival, according to promise, of the Lady of Ystrad Feen.

The approach to this curious place was as romantic as the cave itself.

It was through a narrow aperture, formed of two immense slate rocks that face each other, with the s.p.a.ce between them narrower at the bottom than the top, so that the pa.s.sage could be entered only side-ways, with the figure inclined forward, according to the slant of the rocks, a thin person being barely able to make his way in, while a man of some rotundity might also succeed, rising on his toes, forcing himself upwards. Between these rocks of entrance a ma.s.sive stone block was wedged at the top, so that it formed a rude resemblance to an arch.

After _sideling_ so far through a comparatively long pa.s.sage, it was a great surprise that it led to so small a cave; for it was scarcely large enough to shelter three persons huddled close together. What it wanted in breadth, it possessed in height, as it ran up like a chimney, to the att.i.tude of forty-five feet, and was opened at the top to the very summit of the mount, forming a skylight to the _room_ below. Although the little cave was void of a solid roof, a very rural one was formed by the large tufts of heather and fern, which sprung through the crevices of the rocks; the whole being surmounted by the pendant branch of a dwarf oak, that with many other trees stood like a crown on the elevated head of Dinas.

However singular the interior of this cave might appear to our hero, he had great pleasure in examining the grand combination that graced its exterior. There he saw, with never-satisfied delight and wonder, objects of the most romantic character, curiously united, near the junction of the three counties. The rocky Dinas, with its many inaccessible sides, besides the loose crags before mentioned, was partially covered with aged dwarfish trees, all bending in the same direction; many with their heads broken by tempests, but still throwing out branches, while others, stark, sere, and shrouded in green moss, were things to which seasons brought no change.

From the mouth of the cave a beautiful view was obtained of the well-wooded mountain of Maesmaddegan, while the junction of the rivers Towey and Dorthea {269} enlivened the gloom caused by the deep gulf which separated Dinas.

Twm was, however, careless for this once of the extremely attractive character of the scenery around him. One of the most interesting pages in the Book of Nature lay open before him, but it remained unperused, unnoticed at his feet. His eager eye was fixed steadily on the spot where it would catch the earliest glimpse of his approaching mistress.

Out of all patience at her long delay, he now began to wonder at the cause of it; when at length, to his great dismay, he saw _one_ female hurrying on, and her not the one, although the faithful Miss Meredith.

Having reached the side of the river, which separated her from the base of Dinas, and finding that he was watching her, she placed a paper on the rock, and a stone upon it, then kissing her hand sportively, turned about and hastened homeward with the utmost precipitation. In his eagerness to overtake her, Twm attempted to run down the declivity, but soon lost his footing, sliding and rolling down several yards, by which he was for a few moments rather stunned. Losing all hope of overtaking his mistress's confidante, he applied to the paper on the rock, which he found to be a note hastily scrawled with a pencil, containing merely these words:-

"My father has unexpectedly arrived, with several of his friends-can't see you at Llandovery on the Fair day. Yours ever." "By the Dood!"

muttered Twm to himself, "if this is a coquette's trick which she put on me, it shall avail her nothing;-mine she is, by promise, and mine she shall be, in spite of the devil, and all her Brecknockshire friends to boot!" Determined to bring his affairs to a speedy crisis, he changed his clothes, and soon made his way to Llandovery.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

TWM a.s.sumes various disguises, and accomplishes many clever things at Llandovery fair. A strange scene in a court of justice. Twm flies and is pursued.

Twm set off to Llandovery fair with a fluttering heart and hopeful antic.i.p.ations of seeing his mistress, and planned another little drama, in which he intended the grey horse should have an important part.

Much to their credit, the neighbouring gentry had recently opened a subscription for rebuilding between thirty and forty poor people's houses, which had unfortunately been burnt down; and our hero resolved that every farthing henceforward gained by the grey horse, or otherwise, clandestinely, should be appropriated to this laudable purpose. It was no small satisfaction to him to find that, while it mortified the purse-proud vanity of the haughty squires to see so large a sum attached to his name, it had the good effect of increasing their contributions, resolved not to be outdone, in money matters at least, by so obscure a personage as Twm.

It was necessary for him to disguise himself thoroughly, for he intended, in the first place, to offer the horse for sale. He decided to dress as a country b.o.o.by; and after he had finished, his most intimate friend would have been puzzled to recognize him. Twm Shon Catty, (we beg his pardon,) Mr. Thomas Jones was effectually concealed in the rough garb of a Welsh country ploughman. His feet got thrust into a very heavy pair of clogs, or wooden-soled shoes, which being stiff and large, maintained such a haughty independence of the inmates, as to need being tied on by a hay-band. His legs were enveloped in a pair of wheat-stalk leggings, or bands of twisted straw, winding round and round, and covering them from the knee to the ankle.

A raw hairy cow-hide formed the material of his _inexpressibles_, which were loose, like trowsers cut at the knee; and his jerkin was of a brick-dust red, with black stripes, like the faded garb of the Carmarthenshire women. A load of red locks, straight as a bunch of carrots, hung dangling behind, but in front rather matted and entangled, quite innocent of the slightest acquaintance with that useful article, a comb; the whole surmounted with a soldier's cast-off Monmouth cap, so highly varnished with grease, as to appear waterproof.

Without any apology for a waistcoat, he wore a blue flannel shirt, striped with white, opened from the chin to the waistband, to contain his enormous cargo of bread and cheese and leeks, which, as he was continually drawing upon his store, stood a chance of all becoming wholly inside pa.s.sengers. Added to this, his b.o.o.by gait and stupid vacant stare was such that he might have pa.s.sed muster anywhere for what he pretended to be.

He took up his post on the outskirts of the town, preferring that position to elbowing his way through the busy crowd in the middle of the fair. He did not appear anxious for a customer, and munched his bread and cheese and onions with quiet perseverance. Many persons, in pa.s.sing by, gazed with wonder at this piece of cloddish rusticity, and asked if the horse was for sale; but receiving such drivelling and dolt-like answers, that it became a matter of wonder who could have trusted their property to such an oaf.

When Twm had stood some time, patiently bearing the ridicule of many bystanders, who cracked jokes at his expense, a gentlemen, well-mounted on a chestnut-coloured hunter, entered the town, and cast an eager eye at the grey horse. Twm recognized him at a glance as a Breconshire magistrate, named Powell, one of the many rejected admirers of the lady of Ystrad Feen. Riding up to our hero, he asked if the horse was for sale. Twm answered in broken English, imitating the dialect of the lower cla.s.s, "I don't no but it iss, if I cann get somebody that is not wice, look you, somebody that was fools to buy him."

"But why," asked the gentleman, "don't you take him into the horse-fair?"

"Why inteed to goodness," answered Twm, "I was shame to take him there; for look you, he has a fault on him, and I do not find in my heart and my conscience to take honest people in with a horse that has a fault on him, for all master did send me here to sell him."