Among the given subjects for a Cowydd, or Poem, was “Govid,” or Affliction, for which it turned out that there was but one who had written on it, and, to Twm’s unutterable surprise, he heard his own poem of that title recited, and more than all, a prize awarded to it by the umpires. Lady Devereux, who had attached her name to this effusion, was called upon to receive the meed of her talents. That lady, who sat by her father, as one of the audience, now rose with dignity, and said with some emotion, that the poem so highly honored; was not of her composition, but had been sent to her by its author, a person of taste and ingenuity, whom she was bound ever to esteem; as to his valour and courtesy she had once been indebted for the preservation of her life. Then naming Mr. Thomas Jones, as the author, she pointed him out; and, amid loud and long applause, a handsome silver medal was placed round his neck. But why should we prolong, by intermediate detail, the ultimatum so easily inticipated by the reader? Our hero won also the miniature silver harp, and the gold cup at the races; the admiration of the ladies at the ball, and withal, the wonder and esteem of the Breconians. But alas! the buoyancy of spirits, and exultation of heart, which owed their evanescent existence to these distinctions, was soon doomed to give way to feelings of contrasting severity. Now, while in the zenith of his glory, confidently anticipating, as the final crown of his happiness, the willing hand of his mistress, a note for him arrived at the inn, from the fair widow, that threw him into absolute despair—she told him in plain terms, that unless he could outwit her, all his hopes of her hand would be utterly in vain. This intimation he could understand only as a formal _permit_ to wear the willow as soon as he pleased; that she was otherwise engaged, and had altogether done with him. Meeting Miss Meredith in the walks soon afterwards, he sought an explanation with much earnestness, but she only burst out into laughter at his “serious sad face,” as she called it, and made her escape from his importunities. This confirmed the worst construction which he had put on her conduct, and the “vile caprice and inconsistency of woman,” became the subjects of his bitterest railing. Hearing that her company had preceded her in the way home, next evening, and that she was about to follow them alone, he resolved to way-lay, and put her under contribution, at any rate; which he conceived would be one way, at least, of outwitting her, and perhaps the right one.