Philosophy of smiles. Twm sets out for modern Babylon. New use of a pack-saddle. A gentleman of the road, and how Twm borrowed his horse.

Laughter was the order of the morning at Ystrad Feen. Grief causes the loss of the appetite, but mirth produced the same effect in a different way on this particular occasion, as no one seemed to have strength nor leisure to attack the tempting delicacies spread before them in such profusion. Laughter, loud, strong, boisterous, hearty ringing laughter, burst forth again and again as Twm, in the drollest manner, excited their risibility by a relation of what had passed the preceding evening.

“A bull in boots!” chuckled the Baronet, laughing till the tears ran down his florid countenance. “A bull in boots!” cried the lady of Ystrad Feen, till a sweet glow diffused itself over her whole countenance, developing, by the effort a pair of the finest dimples that ever lent their attraction to a female face. “A bull in boots!” cried the Reverend John David Rhys, whose excited countenance bore animated contrast to the “pale cast of thought” that usually distinguished him, and with whom laughter was not habitual.

“A bull in boots!” tittered Miss Meredith, with something more than a simper, or small grin, used to exhibit a fine set of teeth (which Parson Rhys thought peerless;) for honest, hearty, spleen-dispersing laughter, was not voted to be vulgar in those days; nor gentility and insipidity considered as synonymous terms.

“A bull in boots!” muttered a tall elderly gentleman with a long saturnine nose, that seemed to curl away, half disdainfully, from the mouth beneath it, which laughed, however, in spite of the nose, inclining to extend itself from ear to ear, in revenge for never having so indulged itself before. “A bull in boots!” repeated he sneeringly; “how ridiculous! I should have as soon thought to see a pig in pattens.”

In the midst of this merriment, Tommy Thomas made his appearance, to announce something; but catching the exclamation of “a bull in boots,” and “a pig in pattens,” was immediately infected with the general contagion, and laughed and snorted like a pig in a hay-field, when a cunning cur has suddenly seized him by the buttocks. The new arrival promised additional fun, and all were prepared to enjoy it. At length he explained himself in a brief sentence, “Mr. Prothero is coming!”

Twm now made a hasty retreat for some unexplained purpose; and in a few minutes the portly figure of Squire Prothero was seen in the yard, sitting on his horse, and laughing till too convulsed to alight. The company ran out and greeted him, while the good-natured squire co-mingled with their mirthful peals as hearty a “ho, ho, ho!” as ever shook his jolly fat sides.

“Laugh away, ho, ho, ho! laugh away,” cried he, “I know I look an ass, after bragging up such a nincompoop as my fellow against this young wag of yours. But where is he? where is the young dog? I suppose my noble bull is slaughtered by this time.”

“Tough steaks he gave us for breakfast,” cried the baronet, “tough as an alligator with his scales on.”

“Fine fun if he had choked you all! but never mind!” returned the squire, “a joke is a joke, and a bet is a bet; and I have come to pay mine.”

Scarcely had he uttered these magnanimous sentiments, that proved him worthy of the Grand Master’s chair in a society of laughing philosophers, than the booted bull, Bishop, gravely approached, with our hero on his back. A fresh explosion now burst from the party, to note the stately and apparently conceited paces of the buskind king of the kine, who now wore his boots with toes foremost, like any other gentleman; but none laughed so heartily as Prothero himself, who seemed in raptures to find his bull unbutchered.“This fellow would tame a fiery dragon,” quoth he, “aye, and ride him through the air, too, without fear, or he could never have coaxed Bishop into such a good humour as to become a steed for him.”

The whole party now entered the house, and Prothero narrated, to their boundless amusement, their ultimate discovery of the bull’s abduction. Rosser and his fellows had been sent in a body to trace the foot-prints of the bull in the snow, and recapture him if possible; but as such signs were utterly invisible, Rosser returned in the utmost dismay, with a face half a yard long, from the effect, he said, of a new light that had just broken in upon him. With great solemnity, he declared his conviction that the supposed bull was no beast at all, but the devil in disguise, as not a print of his hoof was to be found anywhere, although four set of human feet were traceable, backwards and forwards.

“That was no bull,” said the wise Rosser; “it was a devil which, after kicking down the cow-house, and firing the hay with his brimstone breath, flew away in a clap of thunder, which indeed I heard myself, as plainly as I hear my own voice at this moment.”

“For all these abominable bounces,” quoth the squire, “I called him a liar and a fool, when the fellow turned upon me with ‘the devil take the bull! you didn’t think I could keep him in my pocket!’ Now the whimsicality of the idea of a fellow’s pocketing a bull, tickled me so much that I forgave him everything!” Another chorus of the trebles and bass aforesaid burst out again, and, at the conclusion, the ladies declared they had almost laughed themselves into illness.

“Never mind, fair ones, let the stay-laces crack—cut them asunder, and give the lungs and laughter fair play!” cried the squire; closing his period with as hearty a “ho, ho, ho!” as usually formed the climax of his sayings and doings. In the present instance the elderly gentleman chimed in with him, and exclaiming, “droll as ever, Prothero, but now outwitted by a mere boy.”

“True, Sir John, (your pardon for the omission of my respects thus long),” cried the squire, as he cordially shook his hand, “but such a boy as our combined manhood here never met with before.”

The worthy here referred to, and before noticed as the gentleman with the saturnine nose, was no less a personage than Sir John Price, Baronet, of Priory House, Brecon, the highly respected father of Lady Devereaux. He had arrived the preceding evening, about the time that Twm commenced his attack upon the bull.

Lady Devereaux explained to her father the great and gallant services which she had received at Twm’s hands, and her statement was made in the most earnest and impassioned manner, as if her gratitude was as great as on the day she was attacked by Dio the Devil, and rescued by our hero. Sir John Price at once rose from his chair, in a way that strongly contrasted with his usual cold and ceremonious habit, and extending his white, diamond-ringed, aristocratic hand to Twm, assured him of his friendship and protection in all things wherein he could serve him.

Twm would not accept the money which Prothero tendered in liquidation of his bet. “No,” said the successful champion, “it was all for fun and amusement, and you will allow that we have had some enjoyment out of it, and all I ask is that, when I am far away, and you are brought face to face with your well-prized bull, Bishop, you will think of me.”

The generosity of his sentiments met with the encomiums of all present; and the worthy squire reluctantly consenting to receive back his bull without fee or fine, absolutely insisted on leaving the forfeited twenty pounds in the hands of Lady Devereaux, who received it accordingly. Recollecting the manner in which he had been hunted from Tregaron, it was truly gratifying to his feelings, and flattering to his pride, to hear persons of the rank of the present company express their regret that he was to leave them the next morning.

The following day was the one appointed for Twm’s departure to London, and he arose with a sorrowful heart, (for he was thinking of the lady of his dream,) to make a preparation for his departure. The baronet having presented him with a sum of money for his expenses, insisted on his leaving behind him, with Lady Devereaux, whatever cash he possessed, till his return; while the lady herself, playfully promising to be a faithful banker, threw on his neck a heavy golden chain, as her present. Twm had often seen her wear it; and fervently kissing the splendid article, returned it to her keeping till his return.

If anything could add to his satisfaction, it was to experience the attention of his two fast friends, Rhys and the Squire, who even at this early hour had hastened to bid him farewell. Right glad was he of the opportunity of sending some cash to his mother, and to remit what he had borrowed from his friend, Cadwgan. In the yard, he had to receive the good wishes and parting civilities of every man and maidservant in the establishment, particularly of the huntsman and the whippers-in, with whom he had become an amazing favourite.

It had been concerted that his best mode of travelling incog. would be on a mean horse, with a pack-saddle, and disguised as a lowly country lad. Thus mounted and accoutred, behold him at length disappearing through the yard-gate of Ystrad Feen; the cash and papers entrusted to his care having been studiously concealed about his person. Although but ill-contented with his homely harness, he found his mountain pony, like his race in general, far better than his looks promised; so that he rode on with a heart full of glee, proud of the honours which he had gained, and glowing with bright anticipations of the future.

Through his native principality, his journey was interesting enough, so we need not note the scenes, which, however charming in their rural beauty and romantic wildness to Twm, would lose most of their attraction in mere description. He jogged on steadily and perseveringly till he had left Bristol behind, and he had even passed through Bath and Chippenham before a single adventure occurred worthy of record.

Riding late one evening, between the last-named town and Marlborough, he found it necessary to put up at a small public-house on the road-side, distinguished by the sign of the “Hop-pole,” the obscurity of which he considered favourable to his safety.

Having fed his beast and eaten his supper, he went immediately to bed; and, with a view of preserving his treasure in the best manner, slept without divesting himself of his clothes. He had slept some hours, and day was just breaking, when he was aroused by the trampling of a horse, and the gruff voice of a traveller whom he heard alight and enter the house.

A strong impulse of curiosity determined him to rise from his bed; and, as the large treble-bedded room which he occupied was over the parlour, to which the guest was introduced, he listened, to learn whether anything portended danger to himself. He found, to his surprise and dismay, that he was the subject of conversation between the landlady and her guest, whom he discovered to be no other than the very character of which he stood most particularly in peril—a highwayman.

He had heard himself described to him by the landlady, as an uncouth booby of a countryman from the Welsh mountains, miserably mounted on a piece of animated carrion, for which the crows cawed as it limped along; and what booty was to be expected from such a beggar inquired she?

“You are wrong, mistress, you are quite wrong,” cried the stranger; “from your account I expect much from him. I have robbed more than one such, dressed like a scarecrow, while making for London, and bearing with him the twelvemonth’s rent of half-a-dozen of his neighbours to pay the landlord in town. I shall be at this fellow as soon as he quits your roof; I have no doubt but what he is a prize, and if he is, you of course come in for shares.”

Having learnt thus much, Twm, in some trepidation, retired to his bed, and began to consider how he should contrive, in order to preserve the property in his possession. He rose again, thinking to escape through the window, but found it too small to admit his egress, and therefore gave up the idea.

As he looked out through the miserable casement, busily plotting to hatch a scheme of deliverance, he could perceive no favourable object to aid his purpose except a large pool on the road-side, in which he thought of dropping his cash if he could reach it, and do the act unobserved, so that he might recover it at his leisure.

As nothing better offered, he determined to adopt his plan immediately; and therefore, after making a studied clattering in putting on his shoes, he went down stairs, and called for a jug of beer and toast for his breakfast. The freebooter did not show himself, but the landlady and her daughter, who seemed to be in the habit of sitting up all night to receive and entertain such guests, scrutinized our hero very closely.

The worthy hostess asked him some apparently careless questions respecting his business in travelling the country, to which he replied he was trying to overtake a brother pigman, who was driving their joint charge to London.

While at breakfast, Twm’s brain showed him another project for securing his valuables, which he considered an improvement upon the pond scheme. To give a more clownish character to his manners, the night before, he had carried the old pack-saddle up stairs, brought it down in the morning, and while at breakfast sat on it before the fire, instead of a stool.

It occurred to him that this peculiarity of his would have been attributed to other motives, and that, no doubt, the honest inmates of the place thought that he would not have exhibited such care for his pack-saddle if it were not worth more than it looked. He was ultimately convinced that they had decided that all his treasure was contained therein.

Indeed, it was not a bad idea, for he could then sit on it all day and make a pillow of it by night. He determined to encourage their suspicions; accordingly, bursting a hole in the fore end of it, he called the landlady to receive her reckoning, and in her presence, pushing his fist into the straw cushion of the pack-saddle, he drew out several pieces of gold, and asked her if she could give him change; but she answered in the negative, on which he again thrust his hand into the pack-saddle, and brought out more gold and silver intermixed; and with the latter settled his bill, and went to the stable for his horse.

Securing all his money about his person, he mounted his Rosinante. Having cut away the girths from the pack-saddle, he bade the landlady farewell, and rode with all his might towards the pool, which was about a quarter of a mile forward on the road. He soon heard the highwayman brushing forward in his rear, with many oaths calling on him to stop, a summons that increased our hero’s speed, till, being opposite the pond, his pursuer overtook him.

Twm rode to the edge of the water, and threw the pack-saddle, with all his strength, towards the centre of the pool; but in bustling to regain a steady seat as he made towards the road, he fell headlong from his horse. The free-booter cursed him for a Welsh fool, and with a thundering voice ordered him to hold his horse, or he would blow his brains out, (brandishing his pistol all the while,) that he might go into the water to recover the booty.

Twm appeared to be frightened out of his senses, and trembled with very visible terror as he approached to do the robber’s bidding; but no sooner had the highwayman reached the centre of the pool, and began groping about for the object of his search, than Twm, with one spring, mounted his fine tall horse, and rode away with all his might.So far all went well; but, to Twm’s unspeakable horror, the knight of the road, finding himself thus tricked, placed his fingers in his mouth and gave a loud whistle, on which his horse immediately stopped quite still.

Twm, in real terror, as he was within pistol-shot, roared “murder!” with all his might; when the horse, to his great amazement, took his exclamation of terror for a counter order, and again started into a gallop. The freebooter repeated his whistle, and again the horse stood still as a mile-stone: Twm reiterated “murder!” with all the power of his lungs; and the well-taught horse instantly resumed his gallop.

Thus the highwayman’s whistle and Twm’s roaring of “murder!” had an alternate effect on the noble animal, till at length, our hero got completely out of hearing of the baffled robber. As he rode on triumphantly, he sang the old Welsh pennill or stanza—[203]

“No cheat is it to cheat the cheater
No treason to betray the traitor:
Nor is it theft, but just deceiving,
To thieve from him who lives by thieving.”

As he rode into Marlborough, in the highest spirit, one of the church chimes was playing “See the conquering hero comes!” which appeared to him to be a singularly appropriate greeting, and which he accepted as a personal tribute to his ingenious trickery upon the highwayman, whom, Twm secretly hoped, had not yet got out the old pack-saddle from the pool.

How Twm laughed when he pictured to himself the rage and dismay of the villain when he discovered its contents! That was a thought to chuckle over and enjoy. It would extort many a boisterous “ho, ho, ho!” from old Squire Prothero, when he should have the pleasure of giving him the story.He received great commendation at the inn where he stayed for the night, when he related his adventure; and many of the inhabitants were loud in their congratulations to the young Welshman, who had so cleverly outwitted the English highwayman.