ng the same for all; each was to meet him at the same hour beneath a
mighty oak which stood in the midst of a forest glade. Some time before
the appointed hour he went, and climbing up the oak, hid himself amidst
the dense foliage of its boughs. When the hour arrived he observed all
the nymphs tripping to the place of appointment; all came, to the number
of twenty-four--not one stayed away. For some time they remained beneath
the oak staring at each other. At length an explanation ensued, and it
appeared that they had all come to meet Ab Gwilym.

"'Oh, the treacherous monster!' cried they with one accord; 'only let him
show himself and we will tear him to pieces.'

"'Will you?' said Ab Gwilym from the oak; 'here I am; let her who has
been most wanton with me make the first attack upon me!'

"The females remained for some time speechless; all of a sudden, however,
their anger kindled, not against the bard, but against each other. From
harsh and taunting words they soon came to actions: hair was torn off,
faces were scratched, blood flowed from cheek and nose. Whilst the
tumult was at its fiercest Ab Gwilym slipped away."

The writer merely repeats this story, and he repeats it as concisely as
possible, in order to have an opportunity of saying that he does not
believe one particle of it. If he believed it, he would forthwith burn
the most cherished volume of the small collection of books from which he
derives delight and recreation, namely, that which contains the songs of
Ab Gwilym, for he would have nothing in his possession belonging to such
a heartless scoundrel as Ab Gwilym must have been had he got up the scene
above described. Any common man who would expose to each other and the
world a number of hapless, trusting females who had favoured him with
their affections, and from the top of a tree would feast his eyes upon
their agonies of shame and rage, would deserve to be--emasculated. Had
Ab Gwilym been so dead to every feeling of gratitude and honour as to
play the part which the story makes him play, he would have deserved not
only to be emasculated, but to be scourged with harp-strings in every
market-town in Wales, and to be dismissed from the service of the Muse.
But the writer repeats that he does not believe one tittle of the story,
though Ab Gwilym's biographer, the learned and celebrated William Owen,
not only seems to believe it, but rather chuckles over it. It is the
opinion of the writer tha