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.