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.