Twm took up his abode, for the time, at a tavern recommended by Mr. Rhys, where, being decidedly the hero of the day, he was surrounded by a large company, all anxious to minister to the bodily wants of so brave a fellow, and wishful to hear the details of his desperate encounter with the famous robber, from the lips of Twm himself. Cautioned by the worthy curate, however, his potations were rather limited; and urging his fatigue as an excuse for retiring, he soon left his admirers, and slept on a bed of roses.
At an early hour Mr. Rhys awoke Twm, and told him that they were invited to breakfast with the Rev. Rhys Prichard, who had expressed a desire to see the brave young man that had captured the highway robber. This invitation was the more acceptable to Twm, as he was exceedingly anxious to see so celebrated a character as the vicar of Llandovery; though no less for his pious than his poetical celebrity, and more especially the association of his name with his own family calamity, in the death of his son Samuel, poetically called the “Flower of Llandovery,” at the murderous hands of the young men of Maes-y-velin, as before related.
Twm was desirous to change his country suit for something better, and commenced negotiations with Mr. Rhys, for the purchase of one of the latest clerical cut from him. The worthy curate, however, cut him short, and generously presented him with one a little the worse for wear, that as the mass of mankind were apt to judge by external appearances, an appropriate garb would aid even a man of merit in making a favourable impression.
The house of the vicar of Llandovery was among the best in the town; a well built strong mansion, distinguished from all others by a neat small cupola on the top, for a bell, to call the boys to school. Twm and Rhys waited in the breakfast parlour about half an hour, filling up the time by noticing and remarking on the well-waxed oaken floor and furniture, that, with the prints of some of the English martyrs, with which the room was hung, gave it something of a gloomy appearance; and in skimming over some dusty old volumes of divinity, till the clock struck six.
The worthy vicar received his visitors with a few brief but courteous sentences, in which he quietly yet earnestly expressed his gratification at their presence. Breakfast was preceded by prayers; after which came in bowls of milk and hot cakes, with cold meat, butter and cheese, and ale. Twm looked at his venerable host with awed reverence. This eminent character was of a tall, stately figure; his hair white as wool, his face pale, and rather long, with a countenance beaming with sedate benignity. He regarded Twm for some time with silent attention, and afterwards made a few enquiries respecting his recent feat, which when answered, he indulged in some pious ejaculations on the fortunate event.
Their host compared the physical capacity and appearance of Twm to the well developed and robust figure of Dio the Devil, and referred to the scriptural records of the combat between David and Goliah; strictly charging the fortunate youth to take no credit to himself for the achievement, as he was but an humble instrument in a mighty hand, and for a special purpose unknown to the actors of the scenes themselves.
All justice having been done to the good things before them, grace was said, and Twm received some excellent advice from the celebrated divine, who placed twenty shillings and a copy of his “Welshman’s Candle” in the hand of Twm; and after shaking him warmly by the hand, he saw the pair to the door and bade them farewell.
In an hour or so afterwards, Rhys and Twm prepared for departure to Ystrad Feen, the latter mounting the noble hunter which Dio the Devil had so lately bestrode in all his arrogant pride. The road was entirely over the mountains, through diversified scenery of much interest. At times it ran above the edge of a deep ravine; at others, hills overtopped them, in peaks of various, fantastic forms; till a length succeeded the tame and flat moorland, abounding with wild ducks and various aquatic and mountain fowl. These scenes were soon left behind, and others of a different character succeeded, tamed to softer beauty by the indefatigable hand of industrious man.
Passing through a small ravine at the base of a well-wooded hill, they emerged suddenly upon a view which embraces the rural chapel of Boiley, the ornamented estate of Ystrad Feen, the hill of Dinas, and a glimpse of the river Towey. The ancient mansion of Ystrad Feen they found most romantically situated, terminating a sloping descent from the mountain, with a roaring alpine brook falling headlong through its rocky bed, at the back; while the high conical hill of Dinas stood, an object of singular beauty, in front; and the background was occupied by an almost endless perspective of forest, vale and mountain.
They entered the farm-yard, which occupied one side of the house, in which stood several large elms and oaks, and, here and there, a huge hollow yew, that associated well with the antique appearance of the house.