Our hero awoke by sun-rise, after a refreshing sleep; but his mind was far from being cheered by the bright beams of morning. Unable to account fairly for his second disappointment of seeing his mistress, according to promise, he gave way to despondency, and conjectured the worst—that she was no longer true to her vows, but had yielded to the persuasions of her haughty relatives, and become a renegade both to love and honor. He was now, however, so near her residence, he could at least ascertain how matters stood; and, after many efforts of resolution, he descended the hill for that purpose. On crossing the Towey, he was surprised to find that the “gallant grey” was still left for him; he was busily feeding in an adjoining field, and the saddle and bridle hung dangling from a storm-stricken old thorn. He felt this, directly, as a handsome piece of attention to him, on the part of Powell of Brecon, who, doubtless, had left it there for his convenience. On examining further, he found a note, tied to the bridle, from that generous individual, inviting him to be present at the Eisteddvod, the Races, and the Ball, which were to take place successively in the gay town of Brecon.
At Ystrad Fîn he found nobody but the servants, who informed him that their lady, Miss Meredith, and the late visitors, were all gone to Brecon, and would not return for some days. This intelligence determined him to go there also; and, recollecting a trunk of clothes of his, which had been left ever since his former sojourning here, he called for it; and having dressed himself, and placed, with other things, in his saddle-bags, an elegant suit which he had brought from London, he mounted his horse, and rode off for Brecon. About a couple of miles beyond Trecastle, he overtook a poor fellow driving an ass, laden with coarse crockery ware, who turned out to be no other than “shrewd Roger.” He had been enabled to commence this humble merchandize by the success he met with in the sale of the greater portion of the roll of flannel, received from our hero the day before, with the produce of which he purchased the stock of an old Neath hawker, whom illness had detained at Llandovery. Having long been married to a Cardiganshire lass, they both, pretending to be single, entered Squire Prothero’s service at the same time, but the circumstance being at length discovered, they were both discharged, and had since lived in great poverty; and therefore our hero’s bounty was a great lift in life to the lowly pair. After some jests on the feats of the fair day, Twm spurred on, but not before he had purchased the whole of Roger’s stock, which, however, that worthy was to take to Brecon, for a purpose to be hereafter described. At Brecon he took lodgings at the Three Cocks’ inn, to which he gave the preference, on account of the sign being the armorial bearings of the celebrated David Gam, the hero of Agincourt.
The town, although continually filling, seemed now as full as on a fair. While our hero looked out at the window to observe Roger, who arranged his crockery in front of the inn, his attention was suddenly caught by the sound of a harp, which proceeded from the kitchen. To his great surprise, he found the performer to be his old friend, the venerable Ianto Gwyn of Tregaron. The old man was very glad to see him, and after learning the particulars of the fortunes he had met since he left his native town, proceeded to inform him of the Tregaron news. His mother was well, and had received the various small sums which he had sent her at different times, and was in daily hopes of burying her churl of a husband. Wat the mole-catcher was arrested in London by young Graspacre, who sent him down to Cardigan, where he was hanged two months before. Rachel Ketch was dead; having broke her heart for the loss of her money, which had been stolen by Wat. In conclusion, the old man said that he had come to the Eisteddvod rather as a spectator than a candidate for the prize, having accidentally hurt his right hand, which had nearly disabled him altogether from playing. “That circumstance is now the more provoking,” said the old man, “as I am convinced that were my hand well, I should certainly win the noble silver harp, which is to be the meed of the best player.” Twm took his musical friend up stairs, and, after dining together, began coquetting with the harp, which, with the hand of a ready player, he tickled into alternate fits of grief and laughter, as he ran over many of our most popular airs. The old man jumped up from his seat, and embraced him with raptures, protesting that he could not fail to win the harp, if he chose to be a candidate. Our hero, having practiced but little on the harp since he left London, felt considerable diffidence in becoming a competitor among proficients in music, but resolved, at any rate, to avail himself of the instructions of his friend Ianto Gwyn. Intensely anxious to meet his mistress once more, he sought an early opportunity of a walk through the streets; but instead of the desired one, it was his lot to meet Powell the magistrate, who gave him a jocular and right hearty welcome. They were soon joined by two other high bloods of the town, one a wealthy attorney, named Phillips, and the other a reverend and right portly son of the church, who shone more at the punch-board than in the pulpit. They all adjourned to the parlour of the Three Cocks, where the best of wine was soon in request, and a gay scene of conviviality and good fellowship ensued.
Each of the Breconians was well acquainted with Twm’s celebrity, and found unusual satisfaction in this meeting. Being all high lads of the turf, the practice of betting was familiar to them; and the lawyer offered at once to oppose Twm in a match of angling for five pounds; and the bet should be, that whoever fished the largest weight, no matter of what kind, in half an hour, should be declared the winner. Our hero, although a poor angler, accepted the wager, and Powell, as the umpire, wrote down the terms of it, which was signed by each. Possessing himself of the angler’s paraphernalia, he repaired with them to the bridge; and had the upper side of it assigned to him, while Phillips took the lower. The latter displayed a grand morocco pocket-book, filled in the neatest order with the most choice artificial flies, of every description, and soon had his handsome rod in order; while the former had nothing better than what could be procured at a shop. The lawyer landed fish after fish, with great rapidity, and when half the given time was expired, Twm found himself much in arrears, and the continued good fortune of his antagonist left him, apparently, no chance of ultimate success. “Confound these good-for-nothing flies, fetch me a beef steak!” cried he at last, and gave money for that purpose to a bye-stander, who immediately brought the article wanted. “There’s a Cardy angler, fishing for trout with a beef steak!” cried the Breconians, with an exulting laugh; Twm said nothing in reply, but fastened several hooks in different parts of a strong line, to each of which he attached a small piece of beef, and, watching the movement of a flock of ducks that floated in luxurious ease down the Usk, he threw the whole among them. Loud was the clamour of the aquatic crew, as they hustled each other, in their eagerness to partake of the showered feast, which they soon gobbled, and were drawn up to the top of the bridge by the singular angler above, amid the shouts and laughter of the numerous spectators.
Powell now held up his watch, and declared that the stipulated half hour was just up. Phillips, as the conscious winner, produced a goodly shew of trout, and, as Twm had caught but four small fish, said it would be idle to weigh them. “Not so,” replied our wag, “let the written terms of the bet be read, and you will find that my ducks have a right to be weighed against your boasted trout, aye! and shall make them kick the beam.” Phillips stared at such an assertion made in earnest, and Powell read, “Whoever fished the largest weight, no matter of what kind, would be declared the winner,” and, as umpire, awarded the five pounds to our hero. Some merriment at the expense of Powell was caused by his declaring himself the unlucky proprietor of the said flock of ducks; but with his usual good-humour, he proposed that the ducks and trout should be cooked at his house for their supper, in which Phillips acquiesed.
They were promenading, soon after this, in the agreeable walks of the Priory Grove, where there was a large rookery, almost every third tree being crowned with the nest of one of these sable and clamorous children of the air. “Let us try,” said Hughes, who was also much addicted to betting, addressing our hero, “which can the most completely take one of those nests, you or I.” “Done, be the bet what it may,” cried the Tregaron wag. It was agreed that this boyish feat was to be for a wager of five pounds, and Phillips to be the umpire. Hughes observed to his opponent, “I propose that we accompany each other up our respective trees, to be satisfied that nothing but fair play is used,” to which Twm assented, and gave him the first chance and choice of his nest. The pair were soon at the top of a lofty oak, and the merry parson took out the eggs, one at a time, placing them in his coat pocket, and afterwards removed the nest, and brought it down with him. Twm then went to a distant tree, and climbed to the top with the utmost caution, before his opponent had reached the lower branches, and, with good management, that proved him an adept in this idle business, placed his hat on the top, and thus secured the old bird. Fastening the hat and nest together, he descended with them both. Hughes was the first to declare his antagonist the winner; but the umpire requiring him to produce the amount of his adventure, his surprise was great, on finding that he had nothing more to shew than the empty nest; our hero having slipped his pen-knife through the bottom of his pocket, and received the eggs in the palm of his hand, in the same order that they were taken from the nest. On this discovery, Hughes declared that Twm Shôn Catti would never meet his match, till Satan himself became his opponent.
While sitting with the aforesaid trio, some time after, paying their devotions to the bottle, at the Three Cocks, our hero contrived to bring Powell, who had hitherto fought shy, into a bet with him. He declared that a stranger as he was, at Brecon, he firmly believed he could command, and be obeyed there, with greater promptitude than himself, although a justice of the peace and quorum. “I’ll lay you twenty pounds to the contrary,” cried the magistrate. “Done!” replied Twm, “and we can prove it without quitting this room, by opening the window, and practising on one of those people opposite.” “Let it be on yonder crockery-ware man, who is the most conspicuous,” said Powell, and Twm, of course, could have no possible objection. The magistrate opened the window, and called in a tone of authority, “Come here, you fellow; go directly to the Black Lion, and tell the landlord to let you have Justice Powell’s black mare, and bring her here to me.” “I can’t quit my goods, sir,” said Roger, “or I would willingly oblige you.” “I tell you, fellow, do as I order you, or I shall kick you and your ware out of the town,” said Powell in a blustering tone, and with a look the most terrifying that he could assume. Roger repeated his former answer; and when the magistrate increased his threats, he burst out into a rude laugh, and, without further deference, said, he really believed that his worship was drunk: this was enough, and the worthy magistrate felt himself completely put down. Our wag now took his turn, and commenced with him: “I say, fellow, did’st thou ever see, or hear of Twm Shôn Catti?” “Yes,” replied Roger, “often at Llandovery, once at Cardigan, and now I see him before me at Brecon.” “Well then,” continued Twm, “I order thee to give us a dance, in the middle of thy crockery.” “With all my heart, if you order it, for I should dread to disobey Twm Shôn Catti more than twenty times my loss.” On which he jumped, capered, and danced, in the midst of his brittle commodities, kicking and treading the dishes, pans, basins, and other articles, to powder beneath his feet. “By the Lord, thou art a strange fellow;” said Powell, as he paid him down the amount of his forfeit; “and I foresee that there’s much more luck for thee than thou dreamest of: and I confidently anticipate what will surely come to pass in thy favour, my Cardiganian hero.”
These words, uttered in a very pointed manner, and with a significant expression of countenance, could not but excite surprise in him, to whom they were addressed; but on parting with the other gentlemen, after the jovial supper at the magistrate’s, he found, to his utter amazement, that Powell was in the whole secret of his affairs with the lady of Ystrad Fîn. “She once,” said he, “played me a jade’s trick, but no matter, we are now friends, and she has even assisted me in my suit with her amiable friend, Miss Meredith. In heart and soul, she is attached to you, Jones, but she is a weak yielding woman beneath the terrors of her father’s frown, and in some evil hour might again sacrifice herself, if you are too long out of her sight. She is proud of you, and of your wild achievements, and even finds excuses for your most blameable courses. Now, my advice is, that you will endeavour to distinguish yourself during the races, and start for the gold plate: the grey horse, I suspect, has blood in him, and will beat the best that is to run.” “But why,” asked Twm, “did she not keep her promise to meet me at Llandovery fair?” Powell replied that she was prevented by her father’s sudden illness; and great is her sorrow for the disappointment she must have caused.
The next morning was ushered in with the ringing of bells, firing of guns, and every demonstration of the gaiety that prevails on a gala day; and this was an especial one, to be honored successively by the Eisteddvod, the Races, and a grand Ball. Between eleven and twelve o’clock, our hero, with many other musical and literary competitors, entered the town hall, in bardic trim, with the harp of his friend Ianto Gwyn, slung by a blue ribbon, and attached to his shoulder.
The hall, which was handsomely decorated, now shone with the presence of a vast number of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen; in fact, it was a bright assemblage of the beauty and fashion of the town, and surrounding country, sitting in anxious expectation of the commencement. At length the business of the meeting was begun by a speech from the president, who occupied a central seat on the raised platform. He dwelt emphatically on the laudable object of the Eisteddvod; “to preserve from annihilation one of the most ancient languages spoken by mankind, remarkable for its copiousness, energy, and expression; that, like a perpetual living miracle, kept its firm stand in this solitary nook of country, the principal vestige of our national characteristics;—to revive and preserve the beautiful melodies which had been the delight of our gallant and patriotic forefathers;—and lastly, by emulation, to keep alive the brilliant blaze of the native Awen, the darling poesy of the land, which yielded their fragrant and refreshing blossoms, lovely sacrifices on the altar of Taste; that with their incense appeased the rugged Genius of the cold and stern realities of life.” Penillion singing succeeded; in which the minstrels of Merionethshire excelled. The rest went on in rotation, minutely according with the description given by the ever-faithful Michael Drayton. [245a]