FAR out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could sound it, and many church steeples, piled one upon another, would not reach from the ground beneath to the surface of the water above. There dwell the Sea King and his subjects.

We must not imagine that there is nothing at the bottom of the sea but bare yellow sand. No, indeed, for on this sand grow the strangest flowers and plants, the leaves and stems of which are so pliant that the slightest agitation of the water causes them to stir as if they had life. Fishes, both large and small, glide between the branches as birds fly among the trees here upon land.

In the deepest spot of all stands the castle of the Sea King. Its walls are built of coral, and the long Gothic windows are of the clearest amber. The roof is formed of shells that open and close as the water flows over them. Their appearance is very beautiful, for in each lies a glittering pearl which would be fit for the diadem of a queen.

The Sea King had been a widower for many years, and his aged mother kept house for him. She was a very sensible woman, but exceedingly proud of her high birth, and on that account wore twelve oysters on her tail, while others of high rank were only allowed to wear six.

She was, however, deserving of very great praise, especially for her care of the little sea princesses, her six granddaughters. They were beautiful children, but the youngest was the prettiest of them all. Her skin was as clear and delicate as a rose leaf, and her eyes as blue as the deepest sea; but, like all the others, she had no feet and her body ended in a fish's tail. All day long they played in the great halls of the castle or among the living flowers that grew out of the walls. The large amber windows were open, and the fish swam in, just as the swallows fly into our houses when we open the windows; only the fishes swam up to the princesses, ate out of their hands, and allowed themselves to be stroked.

Outside the castle there was a beautiful garden, in which grew bright-red and dark-blue flowers, and blossoms like flames of fire; the fruit glittered like gold, and the leaves and stems waved to and fro continually. The earth itself was the finest sand, but blue as the flame of burning sulphur. Over everything lay a peculiar blue radiance, as if the blue sky were everywhere, above and below, instead of the dark depths of the sea. In calm weather the sun could be seen, looking like a reddish-purple flower with light streaming from the calyx.

Each of the young princesses had a little plot of ground in the garden, where she might dig and plant as she pleased. One arranged her flower bed in the form of a whale; another preferred to make hers like the figure of a little mermaid; while the youngest child made hers round, like the sun, and in it grew flowers as red as his rays at sunset.

She was a strange child, quiet and thoughtful. While her sisters showed delight at the wonderful things which they obtained from the wrecks of vessels, she cared only for her pretty flowers, red like the sun, and a beautiful marble statue. It was the representation of a handsome boy, carved out of pure white stone, which had fallen to the bottom of the sea from a wreck.

She planted by the statue a rose-colored weeping willow. It grew rapidly and soon hung its fresh branches over the statue, almost down to the blue sands. The shadows had the color of violet and waved to and fro like the branches, so that it seemed as if the crown of the tree and the root were at play, trying to kiss each other.

Nothing gave her so much pleasure as to hear about the world above the sea. She made her old grandmother tell her all she knew of the ships and of the towns, the people and the animals. To her it seemed most wonderful and beautiful to hear that the flowers of the land had fragrance, while those below the sea had none; that the trees of the forest were green; and that the fishes among the trees could sing so sweetly that it was a pleasure to listen to them. Her grandmother called the birds fishes, or the little mermaid would not have understood what was meant, for she had never seen birds.

"When you have reached your fifteenth year," said the grandmother, "you will have permission to rise up out of the sea and sit on the rocks in the moonlight, while the great ships go sailing by. Then you will see both forests and towns."

In the following year, one of the sisters would be fifteen, but as each was a year younger than the other, the youngest would have to wait five years before her turn came to rise up from the bottom of the ocean to see the earth as we do. However, each promised to tell the others what she saw on her first visit and what she thought was most beautiful. Their grandmother could not tell them enough-there were so many things about which they wanted to know.

None of them longed so much for her turn to come as the youngest-she who had the longest time to wait and who was so quiet and thoughtful. Many nights she stood by the open window, looking up through the dark blue water and watching the fish as they splashed about with their fins and tails. She could see the moon and stars shining faintly, but through the water they looked larger than they do to our eyes. When something like a black cloud passed between her and them, she knew that it was either a whale swimming over her head, or a ship full of human beings who never imagined that a pretty little mermaid was standing beneath them, holding out her white hands towards the keel of their ship.

At length the eldest was fifteen and was allowed to rise to the surface of the ocean.

When she returned she had hundreds of things to talk about. But the finest thing, she said, was to lie on a sand bank in the quiet moonlit sea, near the shore, gazing at the lights of the near-by town, that twinkled like hundreds of stars, and listening to the sounds of music, the noise of carriages, the voices of human beings, and the merry pealing of the bells in the church steeples. Because she could not go near all these wonderful things, she longed for them all the more.

Oh, how eagerly did the youngest sister listen to all these descriptions! And afterwards, when she stood at the open window looking up through the dark-blue water, she thought of the great city, with all its bustle and noise, and even fancied she could hear the sound of the church bells down in the depths of the sea.

In another year the second sister received permission to rise to the surface of the water and to swim about where she pleased. She rose just as the sun was setting, and this, she said, was the most beautiful sight of all. The whole sky looked like gold, and violet and rose-colored clouds, which she could not describe, drifted across it. And more swiftly than the clouds, flew a large flock of wild swans toward the setting sun, like a long white veil across the sea. She also swam towards the sun, but it sank into the waves, and the rosy tints faded from the clouds and from the sea.

The third sister's turn followed, and she was the boldest of them all, for she swam up a broad river that emptied into the sea. On the banks she saw green hills covered with beautiful vines, and palaces and castles peeping out from amid the proud trees of the forest. She heard birds singing and felt the rays of the sun so strongly that she was obliged often to dive under the water to cool her burning face. In a narrow creek she found a large group of little human children, almost naked, sporting about in the water. She wanted to play with them, but they fled in a great fright; and then a little black animal-it was a dog, but she did not know it, for she had never seen one before-came to the water and barked at her so furiously that she became frightened and rushed back to the open sea. But she said she should never forget the beautiful forest, the green hills, and the pretty children who could swim in the water although they had no tails.

The fourth sister was more timid. She remained in the midst of the sea, but said it was quite as beautiful there as nearer the land. She could see many miles around her, and the sky above looked like a bell of glass. She had seen the ships, but at such a great distance that they looked like sea gulls. The dolphins sported in the waves, and the great whales spouted water from their nostrils till it seemed as if a hundred fountains were playing in every direction.

The fifth sister's birthday occurred in the winter, so when her turn came she saw what the others had not seen the first time they went up. The sea looked quite green, and large icebergs were floating about, each like a pearl, she said, but larger and loftier than the churches built by men. They were of the most singular shapes and glittered like diamonds. She had seated herself on one of the largest and let the wind play with her long hair. She noticed that all the ships sailed past very rapidly, steering as far away as they could, as if they were afraid of the iceberg. Towards evening, as the sun went down, dark clouds covered the sky, the thunder rolled, and the flashes of lightning glowed red on the icebergs as they were tossed about by the heaving sea. On all the ships the sails were reefed with fear and trembling, while she sat on the floating iceberg, calmly watching the lightning as it darted its forked flashes into the sea.

Each of the sisters, when first she had permission to rise to the surface, was delighted with the new and beautiful sights. Now that they were grown-up girls and could go when they pleased, they had become quite indifferent about it. They soon wished themselves back again, and after a month had passed they said it was much more beautiful down below and pleasanter to be at home.

Yet often, in the evening hours, the five sisters would twine their arms about each other and rise to the surface together. Their voices were more charming than that of any human being, and before the approach of a storm, when they feared that a ship might be lost, they swam before the vessel, singing enchanting songs of the delights to be found in the depths of the sea and begging the voyagers not to fear if they sank to the bottom. But the sailors could not understand the song and thought it was the sighing of the storm. These things were never beautiful to them, for if the ship sank, the men were drowned and their dead bodies alone reached the palace of the Sea King.

When the sisters rose, arm in arm, through the water, their youngest sister would stand quite alone, looking after them, ready to cry-only, since mermaids have no tears, she suffered more acutely.

"Oh, were I but fifteen years old!" said she. "I know that I shall love the world up there, and all the people who live in it."

At last she reached her fifteenth year.

"Well, now you are grown up," said the old dowager, her grandmother. "Come, and let me adorn you like your sisters." And she placed in her hair a wreath of white lilies, of which every flower leaf was half a pearl. Then the old lady ordered eight great oysters to attach themselves to the tail of the princess to show her high rank.

"But they hurt me so," said the little mermaid.

"Yes, I know; pride must suffer pain," replied the old lady.

Oh, how gladly she would have shaken off all this grandeur and laid aside the heavy wreath! The red flowers in her own garden would have suited her much better. But she could not change herself, so she said farewell and rose as lightly as a bubble to the surface of the water.

The sun had just set when she raised her head above the waves. The clouds were tinted with crimson and gold, and through the glimmering twilight beamed the evening star in all its beauty. The sea was calm, and the air mild and fresh. A large ship with three masts lay becalmed on the water; only one sail was set, for not a breeze stirred, and the sailors sat idle on deck or amidst the rigging. There was music and song on board, and as darkness came on, a hundred colored lanterns were lighted, as if the flags of all nations waved in the air.

The little mermaid swam close to the cabin windows, and now and then, as the waves lifted her up, she could look in through glass window-panes and see a number of gayly dressed people.

Among them, and the most beautiful of all, was a young prince with large, black eyes. He was sixteen years of age, and his birthday was being celebrated with great display. The sailors were dancing on deck, and when the prince came out of the cabin, more than a hundred rockets rose in the air, making it as bright as day. The little mermaid was so startled that she dived under water, and when she again stretched out her head, it looked as if all the stars of heaven were falling around her.

She had never seen such fireworks before. Great suns spurted fire about, splendid fireflies flew into the blue air, and everything was reflected in the clear, calm sea beneath. The ship itself was so brightly illuminated that all the people, and even the smallest rope, could be distinctly seen. How handsome the young prince looked, as he pressed the hands of all his guests and smiled at them, while the music resounded through the clear night air!

It was very late, yet the little mermaid could not take her eyes from the ship or from the beautiful prince. The colored lanterns had been extinguished, no more rockets rose in the air, and the cannon had ceased firing; but the sea became restless, and a moaning, grumbling sound could be heard beneath the waves. Still the little mermaid remained by the cabin window, rocking up and down on the water, so that she could look within. After a while the sails were quickly set, and the ship went on her way. But soon the waves rose higher, heavy clouds darkened the sky, and lightning appeared in the distance. A dreadful storm was approaching. Once more the sails were furled, and the great ship pursued her flying course over the raging sea. The waves rose mountain high, as if they would overtop the mast, but the ship dived like a swan between them, then rose again on their lofty, foaming crests. To the little mermaid this was pleasant sport; but not so to the sailors. At length the ship groaned and creaked; the thick planks gave way under the lashing of the sea, as the waves broke over the deck; the mainmast snapped asunder like a reed, and as the ship lay over on her side, the water rushed in.

The little mermaid now perceived that the crew were in danger; even she was obliged to be careful, to avoid the beams and planks of the wreck which lay scattered on the water. At one moment it was pitch dark so that she could not see a single object, but when a flash of lightning came it revealed the whole scene; she could see every one who had been on board except the prince. When the ship parted, she had seen him sink into the deep waves, and she was glad, for she thought he would now be with her. Then she remembered that human beings could not live in the water, so that when he got down to her father's palace he would certainly be quite dead.

No, he must not die! So she swam about among the beams and planks which strewed the surface of the sea, forgetting that they could crush her to pieces. Diving deep under the dark waters, rising and falling with the waves, she at length managed to reach the young prince, who was fast losing the power to swim in that stormy sea. His limbs were failing him, his beautiful eyes were closed, and he would have died had not the little mermaid come to his assistance. She held his head above the water and let the waves carry them where they would.

In the morning the storm had ceased, but of the ship not a single fragment could be seen. The sun came up red and shining out of the water, and its beams brought back the hue of health to the prince's cheeks, but his eyes remained closed. The mermaid kissed his high, smooth forehead and stroked back his wet hair. He seemed to her like the marble statue in her little garden, so she kissed him again and wished that he might live.

Presently they came in sight of land, and she saw lofty blue mountains on which the white snow rested as if a flock of swans were lying upon them. Beautiful green forests were near the shore, and close by stood a large building, whether a church or a convent she could not tell. Orange and citron trees grew in the garden, and before the door stood lofty palms. The sea here formed a little bay, in which the water lay quiet and still, but very deep. She swam with the handsome prince to the beach, which was covered with fine white sand, and there she laid him in the warm sunshine, taking care to raise his head higher than his body. Then bells sounded in the large white building, and some young girls came into the garden. The little mermaid swam out farther from the shore and hid herself among some high rocks that rose out of the water. Covering her head and neck with the foam of the sea, she watched there to see what would become of the poor prince.

It was not long before she saw a young girl approach the spot where the prince lay. She seemed frightened at first, but only for a moment; then she brought a number of people, and the mermaid saw that the prince came to life again and smiled upon those who stood about him. But to her he sent no smile; he knew not that she had saved him. This made her very sorrowful, and when he was led away into the great building, she dived down into the water and returned to her father's castle.

She had always been silent and thoughtful, and now she was more so than ever. Her sisters asked her what she had seen during her first visit to the surface of the water, but she could tell them nothing. Many an evening and morning did she rise to the place where she had left the prince. She saw the fruits in the garden ripen and watched them gathered; she watched the snow on the mountain tops melt away; but never did she see the prince, and therefore she always returned home more sorrowful than before.

It was her only comfort to sit in her own little garden and fling her arm around the beautiful marble statue, which was like the prince. She gave up tending her flowers, and they grew in wild confusion over the paths, twining their long leaves and stems round the branches of the trees so that the whole place became dark and gloomy.

At length she could bear it no longer and told one of her sisters all about it. Then the others heard the secret, and very soon it became known to several mermaids, one of whom had an intimate friend who happened to know about the prince. She had also seen the festival on board ship, and she told them where the prince came from and where his palace stood.

"Come, little sister," said the other princesses. Then they entwined their arms and rose together to the surface of the water, near the spot where they knew the prince's palace stood. It was built of bright-yellow, shining stone and had long flights of marble steps, one of which reached quite down to the sea. Splendid gilded cupolas rose over the roof, and between the pillars that surrounded the whole building stood lifelike statues of marble. Through the clear crystal of the lofty windows could be seen noble rooms, with costly silk curtains and hangings of tapestry and walls covered with beautiful paintings. In the center of the largest salon a fountain threw its sparkling jets high up into the glass cupola of the ceiling, through which the sun shone in upon the water and upon the beautiful plants that grew in the basin of the fountain.

Now that the little mermaid knew where the prince lived, she spent many an evening and many a night on the water near the palace. She would swim much nearer the shore than any of the others had ventured, and once she went up the narrow channel under the marble balcony, which threw a broad shadow on the water. Here she sat and watched the young prince, who thought himself alone in the bright moonlight.

She often saw him evenings, sailing in a beautiful boat on which music sounded and flags waved. She peeped out from among the green rushes, and if the wind caught her long silvery-white veil, those who saw it believed it to be a swan, spreading out its wings.

Many a night, too, when the fishermen set their nets by the light of their torches, she heard them relate many good things about the young prince. And this made her glad that she had saved his life when he was tossed about half dead on the waves. She remembered how his head had rested on her bosom and how heartily she had kissed him, but he knew nothing of all this and could not even dream of her.

She grew more and more to like human beings and wished more and more to be able to wander about with those whose world seemed to be so much larger than her own. They could fly over the sea in ships and mount the high hills which were far above the clouds; and the lands they possessed, their woods and their fields, stretched far away beyond the reach of her sight. There was so much that she wished to know! but her sisters were unable to answer all her questions. She then went to her old grandmother, who knew all about the upper world, which she rightly called "the lands above the sea."

"If human beings are not drowned," asked the little mermaid, "can they live forever? Do they never die, as we do here in the sea?"

"Yes," replied the old lady, "they must also die, and their term of life is even shorter than ours. We sometimes live for three hundred years, but when we cease to exist here, we become only foam on the surface of the water and have not even a grave among those we love. We have not immortal souls, we shall never live again; like the green seaweed when once it has been cut off, we can never flourish more. Human beings, on the contrary, have souls which live forever, even after the body has been turned to dust. They rise up through the clear, pure air, beyond the glittering stars. As we rise out of the water and behold all the land of the earth, so do they rise to unknown and glorious regions which we shall never see."

"Why have not we immortal souls?" asked the little mermaid, mournfully. "I would gladly give all the hundreds of years that I have to live, to be a human being only for one day and to have the hope of knowing the happiness of that glorious world above the stars."

"You must not think that," said the old woman. "We believe that we are much happier and much better off than human beings."

"So I shall die," said the little mermaid, "and as the foam of the sea I shall be driven about, never again to hear the music of the waves or to see the pretty flowers or the red sun? Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?"

"No," said the old woman; "unless a man should love you so much that you were more to him than his father or his mother, and if all his thoughts and all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placed his right hand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here and hereafter-then his soul would glide into your body, and you would obtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. He would give to you a soul and retain his own as well; but this can never happen. Your fish's tail, which among us is considered so beautiful, on earth is thought to be quite ugly. They do not know any better, and they think it necessary, in order to be handsome, to have two stout props, which they call legs."

Then the little mermaid sighed and looked sorrowfully at her fish's tail. "Let us be happy," said the old lady, "and dart and spring about during the three hundred years that we have to live, which is really quite long enough. After that we can rest ourselves all the better. This evening we are going to have a court ball."

It was one of those splendid sights which we can never see on earth. The walls and the ceiling of the large ballroom were of thick but transparent crystal. Many hundreds of colossal shells,-some of a deep red, others of a grass green,-with blue fire in them, stood in rows on each side. These lighted up the whole salon, and shone through the walls so that the sea was also illuminated. Innumerable fishes, great and small, swam past the crystal walls; on some of them the scales glowed with a purple brilliance, and on others shone like silver and gold. Through the halls flowed a broad stream, and in it danced the mermen and the mermaids to the music of their own sweet singing.

No one on earth has such lovely voices as they, but the little mermaid sang more sweetly than all. The whole court applauded her with hands and tails, and for a moment her heart felt quite gay, for she knew she had the sweetest voice either on earth or in the sea. But soon she thought again of the world above her; she could not forget the charming prince, nor her sorrow that she had not an immortal soul like his. She crept away silently out of her father's palace, and while everything within was gladness and song, she sat in her own little garden, sorrowful and alone. Then she heard the bugle sounding through the water and thought: "He is certainly sailing above, he in whom my wishes center and in whose hands I should like to place the happiness of my life. I will venture all for him and to win an immortal soul. While my sisters are dancing in my father's palace I will go to the sea witch, of whom I have always been so much afraid; she can give me counsel and help."

Then the little mermaid went out from her garden and took the road to the foaming whirlpools, behind which the sorceress lived. She had never been that way before. Neither flowers nor grass grew there; nothing but bare, gray, sandy ground stretched out to the whirlpool, where the water, like foaming mill wheels, seized everything that came within its reach and cast it into the fathomless deep. Through the midst of these crushing whirlpools the little mermaid was obliged to pass before she could reach the dominions of the sea witch. Then, for a long distance, the road lay across a stretch of warm, bubbling mire, called by the witch her turf moor.

Beyond this was the witch's house, which stood in the center of a strange forest, where all the trees and flowers were polypi, half animals and half plants. They looked like serpents with a hundred heads, growing out of the ground. The branches were long, slimy arms, with fingers like flexible worms, moving limb after limb from the root to the top. All that could be reached in the sea they seized upon and held fast, so that it never escaped from their clutches.

The little mermaid was so alarmed at what she saw that she stood still and her heart beat with fear. She came very near turning back, but she thought of the prince and of the human soul for which she longed, and her courage returned. She fastened her long, flowing hair round her head, so that the polypi should not lay hold of it. She crossed her hands on her bosom, and then darted forward as a fish shoots through the water, between the supple arms and fingers of the ugly polypi, which were stretched out on each side of her. She saw that they all held in their grasp something they had seized with their numerous little arms, which were as strong as iron bands. Tightly grasped in their clinging arms were white skeletons of human beings who had perished at sea and had sunk down into the deep waters; skeletons of land animals; and oars, rudders, and chests, of ships. There was even a little mermaid whom they had caught and strangled, and this seemed the most shocking of all to the little princess.

She now came to a space of marshy ground in the wood, where large, fat water snakes were rolling in the mire and showing their ugly, drab-colored bodies. In the midst of this spot stood a house, built of the bones of shipwrecked human beings. There sat the sea witch, allowing a toad to eat from her mouth just as people sometimes feed a canary with pieces of sugar. She called the ugly water snakes her little chickens and allowed them to crawl all over her bosom.

"I know what you want," said the sea witch. "It is very stupid of you, but you shall have your way, though it will bring you to sorrow, my pretty princess. You want to get rid of your fish's tail and to have two supports instead, like human beings on earth, so that the young prince may fall in love with you and so that you may have an immortal soul." And then the witch laughed so loud and so disgustingly that the toad and the snakes fell to the ground and lay there wriggling.

"You are but just in time," said the witch, "for after sunrise to-morrow I should not be able to help you till the end of another year. I will prepare a draft for you, with which you must swim to land to-morrow before sunrise; seat yourself there and drink it. Your tail will then disappear, and shrink up into what men call legs.

"You will feel great pain, as if a sword were passing through you. But all who see you will say that you are the prettiest little human being they ever saw. You will still have the same floating gracefulness of movement, and no dancer will ever tread so lightly. Every step you take, however, will be as if you were treading upon sharp knives and as if the blood must flow. If you will bear all this, I will help you."

"Yes, I will," said the little princess in a trembling voice, as she thought of the prince and the immortal soul.

"But think again," said the witch, "for when once your shape has become like a human being, you can no more be a mermaid. You will never return through the water to your sisters or to your father's palace again. And if you do not win the love of the prince, so that he is willing to forget his father and mother for your sake and to love you with his whole soul and allow the priest to join your hands that you may be man and wife, then you will never have an immortal soul. The first morning after he marries another, your heart will break and you will become foam on the crest of the waves."

"I will do it," said the little mermaid, and she became pale as death.

"But I must be paid, also," said the witch, "and it is not a trifle that I ask. You have the sweetest voice of any who dwell here in the depths of the sea, and you believe that you will be able to charm the prince with it. But this voice you must give to me. The best thing you possess will I have as the price of my costly draft, which must be mixed with my own blood so that it may be as sharp as a two-edged sword."

"But if you take away my voice," said the little mermaid, "what is left for me?"

"Your beautiful form, your graceful walk, and your expressive eyes. Surely with these you can enchain a man's heart. Well, have you lost your courage? Put out your little tongue, that I may cut it off as my payment; then you shall have the powerful draft."

"It shall be," said the little mermaid.

Then the witch placed her caldron on the fire, to prepare the magic draft.

"Cleanliness is a good thing," said she, scouring the vessel with snakes which she had tied together in a large knot. Then she pricked herself in the breast and let the black blood drop into the caldron. The steam that rose twisted itself into such horrible shapes that no one could look at them without fear. Every moment the witch threw a new ingredient into the vessel, and when it began to boil, the sound was like the weeping of a crocodile. When at last the magic draft was ready, it looked like the clearest water.

"There it is for you," said the witch. Then she cut off the mermaid's tongue, so that she would never again speak or sing. "If the polypi should seize you as you return through the wood," said the witch, "throw over them a few drops of the potion, and their fingers will be torn into a thousand pieces." But the little mermaid had no occasion to do this, for the polypi sprang back in terror when they caught sight of the glittering draft, which shone in her hand like a twinkling star.

So she passed quickly through the wood and the marsh and between the rushing whirlpools. She saw that in her father's palace the torches in the ballroom were extinguished and that all within were asleep. But she did not venture to go in to them, for now that she was dumb and going to leave them forever she felt as if her heart would break. She stole into the garden, took a flower from the flower bed of each of her sisters, kissed her hand towards the palace a thousand times, and then rose up through the dark-blue waters.

The sun had not risen when she came in sight of the prince's palace and approached the beautiful marble steps, but the moon shone clear and bright. Then the little mermaid drank the magic draft, and it seemed as if a two-edged sword went through her delicate body. She fell into a swoon and lay like one dead. When the sun rose and shone over the sea, she recovered and felt a sharp pain, but before her stood the handsome young prince.

He fixed his coal-black eyes upon her so earnestly that she cast down her own and then became aware that her fish's tail was gone and that she had as pretty a pair of white legs and tiny feet as any little maiden could have. But she had no clothes, so she wrapped herself in her long, thick hair. The prince asked her who she was and whence she came. She looked at him mildly and sorrowfully with her deep blue eyes, but could not speak. He took her by the hand and led her to the palace.

Every step she took was as the witch had said it would be; she felt as if she were treading upon the points of needles or sharp knives. She bore it willingly, however, and moved at the prince's side as lightly as a bubble, so that he and all who saw her wondered at her graceful, swaying movements. She was very soon arrayed in costly robes of silk and muslin and was the most beautiful creature in the palace; but she was dumb and could neither speak nor sing.

Beautiful female slaves, dressed in silk and gold, stepped forward and sang before the prince and his royal parents. One sang better than all the others, and the prince clapped his hands and smiled at her. This was a great sorrow to the little mermaid, for she knew how much more sweetly she herself once could sing, and she thought, "Oh, if he could only know that I have given away my voice forever, to be with him!"

The slaves next performed some pretty fairy-like dances, to the sound of beautiful music. Then the little mermaid raised her lovely white arms, stood on the tips of her toes, glided over the floor, and danced as no one yet had been able to dance. At each moment her beauty was more revealed, and her expressive eyes appealed more directly to the heart than the songs of the slaves. Every one was enchanted, especially the prince, who called her his little foundling. She danced again quite readily, to please him, though each time her foot touched the floor it seemed as if she trod on sharp knives.

The prince said she should remain with him always, and she was given permission to sleep at his door, on a velvet cushion. He had a page's dress made for her, that she might accompany him on horseback. They rode together through the sweet-scented woods, where the green boughs touched their shoulders, and the little birds sang among the fresh leaves. She climbed with him to the tops of high mountains, and although her tender feet bled so that even her steps were marked, she only smiled, and followed him till they could see the clouds beneath them like a flock of birds flying to distant lands. While at the prince's palace, and when all the household were asleep, she would go and sit on the broad marble steps, for it eased her burning feet to bathe them in the cold sea water. It was then that she thought of all those below in the deep.

Once during the night her sisters came up arm in arm, singing sorrowfully as they floated on the water. She beckoned to them, and they recognized her and told her how she had grieved them; after that, they came to the same place every night. Once she saw in the distance her old grandmother, who had not been to the surface of the sea for many years, and the old Sea King, her father, with his crown on his head. They stretched out their hands towards her, but did not venture so near the land as her sisters had.

As the days passed she loved the prince more dearly, and he loved her as one would love a little child. The thought never came to him to make her his wife. Yet unless he married her, she could not receive an immortal soul, and on the morning after his marriage with another, she would dissolve into the foam of the sea.

"Do you not love me the best of them all?" the eyes of the little mermaid seemed to say when he took her in his arms and kissed her fair forehead.

"Yes, you are dear to me," said the prince, "for you have the best heart and you are the most devoted to me. You are like a young maiden whom I once saw, but whom I shall never meet again. I was in a ship that was wrecked, and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple where several young maidens performed the service. The youngest of them found me on the shore and saved my life. I saw her but twice, and she is the only one in the world whom I could love. But you are like her, and you have almost driven her image from my mind. She belongs to the holy temple, and good fortune has sent you to me in her stead. We will never part.

"Ah, he knows not that it was I who saved his life," thought the little mermaid. "I carried him over the sea to the wood where the temple stands; I sat beneath the foam and watched till the human beings came to help him. I saw the pretty maiden that he loves better than he loves me." The mermaid sighed deeply, but she could not weep. "He says the maiden belongs to the holy temple, therefore she will never return to the world-they will meet no more. I am by his side and see him every day. I will take care of him, and love him, and give up my life for his sake."

Very soon it was said that the prince was to marry and that the beautiful daughter of a neighboring king would be his wife, for a fine ship was being fitted out. Although the prince gave out that he intended merely to pay a visit to the king, it was generally supposed that he went to court the princess. A great company were to go with him. The little mermaid smiled and shook her head. She knew the prince's thoughts better than any of the others.

"I must travel," he had said to her; "I must see this beautiful princess. My parents desire it, but they will not oblige me to bring her home as my bride. I cannot love her, because she is not like the beautiful maiden in the temple, whom you resemble. If I were forced to choose a bride, I would choose you, my dumb foundling, with those expressive eyes." Then he kissed her rosy mouth, played with her long, waving hair, and laid his head on her heart, while she dreamed of human happiness and an immortal soul.

"You are not afraid of the sea, my dumb child, are you?" he said, as they stood on the deck of the noble ship which was to carry them to the country of the neighboring king. Then he told her of storm and of calm, of strange fishes in the deep beneath them, and of what the divers had seen there. She smiled at his descriptions, for she knew better than any one what wonders were at the bottom of the sea.

In the moonlight night, when all on board were asleep except the man at the helm, she sat on deck, gazing down through the clear water. She thought she could distinguish her father's castle, and upon it her aged grandmother, with the silver crown on her head, looking through the rushing tide at the keel of the vessel. Then her sisters came up on the waves and gazed at her mournfully, wringing their white hands. She beckoned to them, and smiled, and wanted to tell them how happy and well off she was. But the cabin boy approached, and when her sisters dived down, he thought what he saw was only the foam of the sea.

The next morning the ship sailed into the harbor of a beautiful town belonging to the king whom the prince was going to visit. The church bells were ringing, and from the high towers sounded a flourish of trumpets. Soldiers, with flying colors and glittering bayonets, lined the roads through which they passed. Every day was a festival, balls and entertainments following one another. But the princess had not yet appeared. People said that she had been brought up and educated in a religious house, where she was learning every royal virtue.

At last she came. Then the little mermaid, who was anxious to see whether she was really beautiful, was obliged to admit that she had never seen a more perfect vision of beauty. Her skin was delicately fair, and beneath her long, dark eyelashes her laughing blue eyes shone with truth and purity.

"It was you," said the prince, "who saved my life when I lay as if dead on the beach," and he folded his blushing bride in his arms.

"Oh, I am too happy!" said he to the little mermaid; "my fondest hopes are now fulfilled. You will rejoice at my happiness, for your devotion to me is great and sincere."

The little mermaid kissed his hand and felt as if her heart were already broken. His wedding morning would bring death to her, and she would change into the foam of the sea.

All the church bells rang, and the heralds rode through the town proclaiming the betrothal. Perfumed oil was burned in costly silver lamps on every altar. The priests waved the censers, while the bride and the bridegroom joined their hands and received the blessing of the bishop. The little mermaid, dressed in silk and gold, held up the bride's train; but her ears heard nothing of the festive music, and her eyes saw not the holy ceremony. She thought of the night of death which was coming to her, and of all she had lost in the world.

On the same evening the bride and bridegroom went on board the ship. Cannons were roaring, flags waving, and in the center of the ship a costly tent of purple and gold had been erected. It contained elegant sleeping couches for the bridal pair during the night. The ship, under a favorable wind, with swelling sails, glided away smoothly and lightly over the calm sea.

When it grew dark, a number of colored lamps were lighted and the sailors danced merrily on the deck. The little mermaid could not help thinking of her first rising out of the sea, when she had seen similar joyful festivities, so she too joined in the dance, poised herself in the air as a swallow when he pursues his prey, and all present cheered her wonderingly. She had never danced so gracefully before. Her tender feet felt as if cut with sharp knives, but she cared not for the pain; a sharper pang had pierced her heart.

She knew this was the last evening she should ever see the prince for whom she had forsaken her kindred and her home. She had given up her beautiful voice and suffered unheard-of pain daily for him, while he knew nothing of it. This was the last evening that she should breathe the same air with him or gaze on the starry sky and the deep sea. An eternal night, without a thought or a dream, awaited her. She had no soul, and now could never win one.

All was joy and gaiety on the ship until long after midnight. She smiled and danced with the rest, while the thought of death was in her heart. The prince kissed his beautiful bride and she played with his raven hair till they went arm in arm to rest in the sumptuous tent. Then all became still on board the ship, and only the pilot, who stood at the helm, was awake. The little mermaid leaned her white arms on the edge of the vessel and looked towards the east for the first blush of morning-for that first ray of the dawn which was to be her death. She saw her sisters rising out of the flood. They were as pale as she, but their beautiful hair no longer waved in the wind; it had been cut off.

"We have given our hair to the witch," said they, "to obtain help for you, that you may not die to-night. She has given us a knife; see, it is very sharp. Before the sun rises you must plunge it into the heart of the prince. When the warm blood falls upon your feet they will grow together again into a fish's tail, and you will once more be a mermaid and can return to us to live out your three hundred years before you are changed into the salt sea foam. Haste, then; either he or you must die before sunrise. Our old grandmother mourns so for you that her white hair is falling, as ours fell under the witch's scissors. Kill the prince, and come back. Hasten! Do you not see the first red streaks in the sky? In a few minutes the sun will rise, and you must die."

Then they sighed deeply and mournfully, and sank beneath the waves.

The little mermaid drew back the crimson curtain of the tent and beheld the fair bride, whose head was resting on the prince's breast. She bent down and kissed his noble brow, then looked at the sky, on which the rosy dawn grew brighter and brighter. She glanced at the sharp knife and again fixed her eyes on the prince, who whispered the name of his bride in his dreams.

She was in his thoughts, and the knife trembled in the hand of the little mermaid-but she flung it far from her into the waves. The water turned red where it fell, and the drops that spurted up looked like blood. She cast one more lingering, half-fainting glance at the prince, then threw herself from the ship into the sea and felt her body dissolving into foam.

The sun rose above the waves, and his warm rays fell on the cold foam of the little mermaid, who did not feel as if she were dying. She saw the bright sun, and hundreds of transparent, beautiful creatures floating around her-she could see through them the white sails of the ships and the red clouds in the sky. Their speech was melodious, but could not be heard by mortal ears-just as their bodies could not be seen by mortal eyes. The little mermaid perceived that she had a body like theirs and that she continued to rise higher and higher out of the foam. "Where am I?" asked she, and her voice sounded ethereal, like the voices of those who were with her. No earthly music could imitate it.

"Among the daughters of the air," answered one of them. "A mermaid has not an immortal soul, nor can she obtain one unless she wins the love of a human being. On the will of another hangs her eternal destiny. But the daughters of the air, although they do not possess an immortal soul, can, by their good deeds, procure one for themselves. We fly to warm countries and cool the sultry air that destroys mankind with the pestilence. We carry the perfume of the flowers to spread health and restoration.

"After we have striven for three hundred years to do all the good in our power, we receive an immortal soul and take part in the happiness of mankind. You, poor little mermaid, have tried with your whole heart to do as we are doing. You have suffered and endured, and raised yourself to the spirit world by your good deeds, and now, by striving for three hundred years in the same way, you may obtain an immortal soul."

The little mermaid lifted her glorified eyes toward the sun and, for the first time, felt them filling with tears.

On the ship in which she had left the prince there were life and noise, and she saw him and his beautiful bride searching for her. Sorrowfully they gazed at the pearly foam, as if they knew she had thrown herself into the waves. Unseen she kissed the forehead of the bride and fanned the prince, and then mounted with the other children of the air to a rosy cloud that floated above.

"After three hundred years, thus shall we float into the kingdom of heaven," said she. "And we may even get there sooner," whispered one of her companions. "Unseen we can enter the houses of men where there are children, and for every day on which we find a good child that is the joy of his parents and deserves their love, our time of probation is shortened. The child does not know, when we fly through the room, that we smile with joy at his good conduct-for we can count one year less of our three hundred years. But when we see a naughty or a wicked child we shed tears of sorrow, and for every tear a day is added to our time of trial."

AA Abook dealing with Superstitions and popular beliefs would be incomplete without assigning a prominent place to the Fairies, or “Tylwyth Teg,” as they are called in Welsh. It is true that in Wales, as in other places, the Fairies have become things of the past; but even in the present day many old people, and perhaps others, still believe that such beings did once exist, and that the reason why they are not now to be seen is that they have been exorcised.

Many of the Welsh Fairy Tales date from remote antiquity and are, in common with like legends of other countries, relics of the ancient mythology, in which the natural and the supernatural are blended together.

ORIGIN OF FAIRIES.

Concerning the imaginary origin of the Fairies, it was once a belief in Wales that they were the souls of the virtuous Druids, who not having been Christians, could not enter into heaven, but were too good to be cast into hell!

Another curious belief was that in our Saviour’s time there lived a woman whose fortune it was to be possessed of near a score of children, and as she saw our Blessed Lord approach her dwelling, being ashamed of being so prolific, and that He might not see them all, she concealed about half of them closely, and, after His departure, when she went in search of them, to her surprise she found they were gone. They never afterwards could be discovered, for it was supposed that as a punishment from heaven, for hiding what God had given her, she was deprived of them; and, it is said, these, her offspring, have generated the race of beings called the Fairies.

As to the realistic origin of the Fairies, according to the theories of the learned, they were either the ancient Aborigines, living in seclusion so as to hide themselves from their more powerful conquerors, or the persecuted Druids living in subterraneous places, venturing forth only at night. Whether ancient Aborigines hiding from their conquerors or the Druids who were persecuted by both Romans and Christians the Rev. P. Roberts, author of “Collectana Cambrica,” observes that they used these means to preserve themselves and their families, and whilst the country was thinly peopled, and thickly wooded did so successfully, and perhaps to a much later period than is imagined.

There are dwelling at the present day on the river-banks of the Congo, in Africa, tribes of dwarfs, whose existence, until Sir Harry Johnston’s recent discovery had been regarded as a myth; though they must have lived there from time immemorial.

They exist in caves, and in their ways recall the fairies. “Undoubtedly,” says Sir Harry, “to my thinking, most fairy myths arose from the contemplation of the mysterious habits of dwarf troglodite races lingering on still in the crannies, caverns, forests and mountains of Europe, after the invasion of neolithic man.”

FAIRY NAMES.

The Fairies are spoken of as people, or folk, not as myths or goblins, and yet as spirits they are immortal, and able to make themselves invisible.

The most general name given them in Wales is “Y Tylwyth Teg,” (the Fair Family, or Folk); but they are known sometimes as “Bendith y Mamau” (the Mothers’ Blessing); and the term “gwragedd Annwn,” (dames of the lower regions), is often applied to the Fairy Ladies who dwelt in lakes or under lakes. Sometimes such terms as “Plant Annwn,” (children of the lower regions); Ellyll an elf; Bwbach etc., were applied to them, but such appellations have never been in common use. They were also known as “Plant Rhys Ddwfn” in some parts of the Vale of Teivy, more especially in the neighbourhood of Cardigan. But the general term Tylwyth Teg, is known everywhere.

FAIRY DRESS, DWELLING, ETC.

The Fairies were small handsome creatures in human form; very kind to, and often showered benefits on those who treated them kindly, but most revengeful towards those who dared to treat them badly. They were dressed in green, and very often in white, and some of their maidens were so beautiful, that young men sometimes would fall over head and ears in love with them, especially whilst watching them dancing on a moonlight night; for the old belief was concerning the Fairies, that on moonlight nights they were wont to join hands, and form into circles, and dance and sing with might and main until the cock crew, then they would vanish.

The circles in the grass of green fields are still called “Cylchau y Tylwyth Teg” (Fairy Rings). These circles were numerous in Wales when I was a boy; and it was believed by many about forty years ago, if not later that some misfortune would befall any person entering these circles, for I well remember being warned to keep away from them. At the present time, however, I do not know of any person who is afraid of entering them; so it seems that the superstition respecting the Fairy Rings has entirely died out during the last generation.

As to their dwellings, the Fairies were “things under the earth,” for they were generally supposed to dwell in the lower regions, especially beneath lakes, where their country towns and castles were situated; and the people on the coasts of Pembrokeshire imagined that they inhabited certain enchanted green isles of the sea.

The green meadows of the sea, called in the old Welsh Triads Gwerddonau Llion, are the:

A British King in ancient times, whose name was Garvan is said to have sailed away in search of these islands, and never returned. Garvan’s voyage is commemorated in the Triads as one of the “Three Losses by Disappearance.” Southey after citing Dr. W. O. Pughe’s article in the “Cambrian Biography,” goes on as follows:-

“Of these Islands, or Green Spots of the Floods, there are some singular superstitions. They are the abode of the Tylwyth Teg, or the fair family, the souls of the virtuous Druids, who not having been Christians, cannot enter the Christian Heaven, but enjoy this heaven of their own. They, however, discover a love of mischief, neither becoming happy spirits, nor consistent with their original character; for they love to visit the earth, and seizing a man, inquire whether he will travel above wind, mid-wind, or below wind; above wind is a giddy and terrible passage, below wind is through bush and brake, the middle is a safe course. But the spell of security is, to catch hold of the grass. In their better moods they come over and carry the Welsh in their boats. He who visits these islands imagines on his return that he has been absent only a few hours, when, in truth, whole centuries have past away. If you take a turf from St. David’s Churchyard, and stand upon it on the sea shore, you behold these Islands. A man once who thus obtained sight of them, immediately put to sea to find them; but his search was in vain. He returned, looked at them again from the enchanted turf, again set sail, and failed again. The third time he took the turf into his vessel, and stood upon it till he reached them.” Wirt Sikes, in his “British Goblins,” page 8, says that there are sailors on the romantic coasts of Pembrokeshire, and southern Carmarthenshire who still talk of the green meadows of enchantment, which are visible sometimes to the eyes of mortals, but only for a brief space, and they suddenly vanish. He also adds that there are traditions of sailors who, in the early part of the 19th century, actually went ashore on the fairy islands-not knowing that they were such, until they returned to their boats, when they were filled with awe at seeing the islands disappear from their sight, neither sinking in the sea, nor floating away upon the waters, but simply vanishing suddenly. In the account I have just given, a turf from St. David’s Churchyard to stand upon enabled one to behold the enchanted lands of the Fairies; but according to traditions in other parts of the country, it seems that a certain spot in Cemmes was the requisite platform, to see these mythical beings who were known in some parts as Plant Rhys Ddwfn (Children of Rhys the Deep).

In the Brython, Vol. I., page 130, Gwynionydd says as follows:-

“There is a tale current in Dyfed, that there is, or rather that there has been a country between Cemmes, the Northern Hundred of Pembrokeshire, and Aberdaron in Lleyn. The chief patriarch of the inhabitants was Rhys Ddwfn, and his descendants used to be called after him the Children of Rhys Ddwfn.

“They were, it is said, a handsome race enough, but remarkably small in size. It is stated that certain herbs of a strange nature grew in their land, so that they were able to keep their country from being seen by even the most sharp-sighted invaders.

“There is no account that these remarkable herbs grew in any other part of the world, excepting on a small spot, a square yard in area in a certain part of Cemmes. If it chanced that a man stood alone on it, he beheld the whole of the territory of Plant Rhys Ddwfn; but the moment he moved he would lose sight of it altogether, and it would have been nearly vain to look for his footprints.”

FAIRIES MARRYING MORTALS.

In some of the stories about Fairies, we find Fairy Ladies marrying mortals, but always conditionally, and in the end the husband does some prohibited thing which breaks the marriage contract, and his Fairy wife vanishes away. The most beautiful Fairy Legend of this kind is undoubtedly the

LADY OF LLYN Y VAN VACH IN CARMARTHENSHIRE.

Several versions have appeared from time to time of this story, but the most complete one is the one which appeared in Mr. Rees, of Tonn, in his interesting introduction to “The Physicians of Myddvai,” published by the Welsh Manuscript Society, at Llandovery, in 1861; and this is also the version which was reproduced by Principal Sir J. Rhys, of Oxford, in his great work on Celtic Folk-lore.

About five years ago, I came across several old persons in the parish of Myddvai, who could repeat portions of the story, but nothing new, so I give the version of Mr. Rees of Tonn, which is as follows:-

“When the eventful struggle made by the Princes of South Wales to preserve the independency of their country was drawing to its close in the twelfth century, there lived at Blaensawdde, near Llandeusant, Carmarthenshire, a widowed woman, the relict of a farmer who had fallen in those disastrous troubles. The widow had an only son to bring up, but Providence smiled upon her, and despite her forlorn condition, her live stock had so increased in course of time, that she could not well depasture them upon her farm, so she sent a portion of her cattle to graze on the adjoining Black Mountain, and their most favourite place was near the small lake called Llyn y Fan Fach, on the north-western side of the Carmarthenshire Fans.

The son grew up to manhood, and was generally sent by his mother to look after the cattle on the mountain. One day, in his peregrinations along the margin of the lake, to his great astonishment, he beheld sitting on the unruffled surface of the water, a lady, one of the most beautiful creatures that mortal eyes ever beheld, her hair flowed gracefully in ringlets over her shoulders, the tresses of which she arranged with a comb, whilst the glassy surface of her watery couch served for the purpose of a mirror, reflecting back her own image. Suddenly she beheld the young man standing on the brink of the lake, with his eyes riveted on her, and unconsciously offering to herself the provision of barley bread and cheese with which he had been provided when he left his home.

“Bewildered by a feeling of love and admiration for the object before him, he continued to hold out his hand towards the lady, who imperceptibly glided near to him, but gently refused the offer of his provisions. He attempted to touch her, but she eluded his grasp, saying:-

and immediately dived under the water and disappeared, leaving the love-stricken youth to return home, a prey to disappointment and regret that he had been unable to make further acquaintance with one, in comparison with whom the whole of the fair maidens of Llanddeusant and Myddfai whom he had ever seen were as nothing.

“On his return home, the young man communicated to his mother the extraordinary vision he had beheld. She advised him to take some unbaked dough or “toes” the next time in his pocket, as there must have been some spell connected with the hard-baked bread, or “Bara cras,” which prevented his catching the lady.

“Next morning, before the sun had gilded with its rays the peaks of the Fans, the young man was at the lake, not for the purpose of looking after his mother’s cattle, but seeking for the same enchanting vision he had witnessed the day before; but all in vain did he anxiously strain his eyeballs and glance over the surface of the lake, as only the ripples occasioned by a stiff breeze met his view, and a cloud hung heavily on the summits of the Fan, which imparted an additional gloom to his already distracted mind.

Hours passed on, the wind was hushed, and the clouds which had enveloped the mountain had vanished into thin air before the powerful beams of the sun, when the youth was startled by seeing some of his mother’s cattle on the precipitous side of the acclivity, nearly on the opposite side of the lake. His duty impelled him to attempt to rescue them from their perilous position, for which purpose he was hastening away, when to his inexpressible delight, the object of his search again appeared to him as before, and seemed much more beautiful than when he first beheld her. His hand was again held out to her, full of unbaked bread, which he offered with an urgent proffer of his heart also, and vows of eternal attachment. All of which were refused by her saying:-

I will not have thee.)

But the smiles that played upon her features as the lady vanished beneath the waters raised within the young man a hope that forbade him to despair by her refusal of him, and the recollection of which cheered him on his way home. His aged parent was made acquainted with his ill-success, and she suggested that his bread should next time be but slightly baked, as most likely to please the mysterious being of whom he had become enamoured.

“Impelled by an irresistible feeling, the youth left his mother’s house early next morning, and with rapid steps he passed over the mountain. He was soon near the margin of the lake, and with all the impatience of an ardent lover did he wait with a feverish anxiety for the reappearance of the mysterious lady.

“The sheep and goats browsed on the precipitous sides of the Fan; the cattle strayed amongst the rocks and large stones, some of which were occasionally loosened from their beds and suddenly rolled down into the lake; rain and sunshine alike came and passed away; but all were unheeded by the youth, so wrapped up was he in looking for the appearance of the lady.

“The freshness of the early morning had disappeared before the sultry rays of the noon-day sun, which in its turn was fast verging towards the west as the evening was dying away and making room for the shades of night, and hope had well nigh abated of beholding once more the Lady of the Lake. The young man cast a sad and last farewell look over the water, and to his astonishment, beheld several cows walking along its surface. The sight of these animals caused hope to revive that they would be followed by another object far more pleasing; nor was he disappointed, for the maiden reappeared, and to his enraptured sight, even lovelier than ever. She approached the land, and he rushed to meet her in the water. A smile encouraged him to seize her hand; neither did she refuse the moderately baked bread he offered her; and after some persuasion she consented to become his bride, on condition that they should only live together until she received from him three blows without a cause,

and if he ever should happen to strike her three such blows she would leave him for ever. To such conditions he readily consented and would have consented to any other stipulation, had it been proposed, as he was only intent on then securing such a lovely creature for his wife.

“Thus the Lady of the Lake engaged to become the young man’s wife, and having loosened her hand for a moment she darted away and dived into the lake. His chagrin and grief were such that he determined to cast himself headlong into the deepest water, so as to end his life in the element that had contained in its unfathomed depths the only one for whom he cared to live on earth. As he was on the point of committing this rash act, there emerged out of the lake two most beautiful ladies, accompanied by a hoary-headed man of noble mien and extraordinary stature, but having otherwise all the force and strength of youth. This man addressed the almost bewildered youth in accents calculated to soothe his troubled mind, saying that as he proposed to marry one of his daughters, he consented to the union, provided the young man could distinguish which of the two ladies before him was the object of his affections. This was no easy task, as the maidens were such perfect counterparts of each other that it seemed quite impossible for him to choose his bride, and if perchance he fixed upon the wrong one all would be for ever lost.

“Whilst the young man narrowly scanned the two ladies, he could not perceive the least difference betwixt the two, and was almost giving up the task in despair, when one of them thrust her foot a slight degree forward. The motion, simple as it was, did not escape the observation of the youth, and he discovered a trifling variation in the mode with which their sandals were tied. This at once put an end to the dilemma, for he, who had on previous occasions been so taken up with the general appearance of the Lady of the Lake, had also noticed the beauty of her feet and ankles, and on now recognising the peculiarity of her shoe-tie he boldly took hold of her hand.

“‘Thou hast chosen rightly,’ said her father, ‘be to her a kind and faithful husband, and I will give her, as a dowry, as many sheep, cattle, goats, and horses as she can count of each without heaving or drawing in her breath. But remember, that if you prove unkind to her at any time, and strike her three times without a cause, she shall return to me, and shall bring all her stock back with her.’”

Such was the verbal marriage settlement, to which the young man gladly assented, and his bride was desired to count the number of sheep she was to have.

She immediately adopted the mode of counting by fives, thus:-one, two, three, four, five-one, two, three, four, five; and as many times as possible in rapid succession, till her breath was exhausted. The same procession of reckoning had to determine the number of goat, cattle, and horses respectively; and in an instant the full number of each came out of the lake when called upon by the father.

“The young couple were then married, by what ceremony was not stated, and afterwards went to reside at a farm called Esgair Llaethy, somewhat more than a mile from the Village of Myddfai, where they lived in prosperity and happiness for several years, and became the parents of three sons, who were beautiful children.

“Once upon a time there was a christening to take place in the neighbourhood, to which the parents were specially invited. When the day arrived the wife appeared very reluctant to attend the christening, alleging that the distance was too great for her to walk. Her husband told her to fetch one of the horses which were grazing in an adjoining field. ‘I will,’ said she, ‘if you will bring me my gloves which I left in our house.’ He went to the house and returned with the gloves, and finding that she had not gone for the horse jocularly slapped her shoulder with one of them, saying, ‘go! go!’ (dos, dos), when she reminded him of the understanding upon which she consented to marry him:-That he was not to strike her without a cause; and warned him to be more cautious for the future.

“On another occasion, when they were together at a wedding in the midst of the mirth and hilarity of the assembled guests, who had gathered together from all the surrounding country, she burst into tears and sobbed most piteously. Her husband touched her on her shoulder and inquired the cause of her weeping: she said, ‘Now people are entering into trouble, and your troubles are likely to commence, as you have the second time stricken me without a cause.’

“Years passed on, and their children had grown up, and were particularly clever young men. In the midst of so many worldly blessings at home, the husband almost forgot that there remained only one causeless blow to be given to destroy the whole of his prosperity. Still he was watchful lest any trivial occurrence should take place which his wife must regard as a breach of their marriage contract. She told him, as her affection for him was unabated, to be careful that he would not, through some inadvertence, give the last and only blow, which, by an unalterable destiny over which she had no control, would separate them for ever.

“It, however, so happened that one day they were together at a funeral, where, in the midst of the mourning and grief at the house of the deceased, she appeared in the highest and gayest spirits, and indulged in immoderate fits of laughter, which so shocked her husband that he touched her, saying: ‘Hush! hush! don’t laugh.’ She said that she laughed ‘because people when they die go out of trouble,’ and rising up she went out of the house, saying, ‘The last blow has been struck, our marriage contract is broken, and at an end! Farewell!’ Then she started off towards Esgair Llaethdy, where she called her cattle and other stock together, each by name. The cattle she called thus:-

They all immediately obeyed the summons of their mistress. The ‘little black calf,’ although it had been slaughtered, became alive again, and walked off with the rest of the stock at the command of the lady. This happened in the spring of the year, and there were from four oxen ploughing in one of the fields; to these she cried:-

Away the whole of the live stock went with the Lady across Myddfai Mountain, towards the lake from whence they came, a distance of above six miles, where they disappeared beneath its waters, leaving no trace behind except a well-marked furrow, which was made by the plough the oxen drew after them into the lake, and which remains to this day as a testimony to the truth of this story.

“What became of the affrighted ploughman-whether he was left on the field when the oxen set off, or whether he followed them to the lake, has not been handed down to tradition; neither has the fate of the disconsolate and half-ruined husband been kept in remembrance. But of the sons it is stated that they often wandered about the lake and its vicinity, hoping that their mother might be permitted to visit the face of the earth once more, as they had been apprised of her mysterious origin, her first appearance to their father, and the untoward circumstances which so unhappily deprived them of her maternal care.

“In one of their rambles, at a place near Dol Howel, at the Mountain Gate, still called ‘Llidiad y Meddygon,’ (The Physician’s Gate), the mother appeared suddenly, and accosted her eldest son, whose name was Rhiwallon, and told him that his mission on earth was to be a benefactor to mankind by relieving them from pain and misery, through healing all manner of their diseases; for which purpose she furnished him with a bag full of medical prescriptions and instructions for the preservation of health. That by strict attention thereto he and his family would become for many generations the most skilful physicians in the country. Then, promising to meet him when her counsel was most needed, she vanished. But on several occasions she met her sons near the banks of the lake, and once she even accompanied them on their return home as far as a place still called ‘Pant-y-Meddygon,’ (The dingle of the Physicians) where she pointed out to them the various plants and herbs which grew in the dingle, and revealed to them their medicinal qualities or virtues; and the knowledge she imparted to them, together with their unrivalled skill, soon caused them to attain such celebrity that none ever possessed before them. And in order that their knowledge should not be lost, they wisely committed the same to writing for the benefit of mankind throughout all ages.

And so ends the story of the Physicians of Myddfai, which had been handed down from one generation to another, thus:-

The Physicians of Myddfai were Rhiwallon and his sons, Cadwgan, Gruffydd and Einion, who became Physicians to Rhys Gryg, Lord of Llandovery and Dynefor Castles, who lived in the early part of the thirteenth century. Rhys “gave them rank, lands, and privileges at Myddfai for their maintenance in the practice of their art and science, and the healing and benefit of those who should seek their help.”

The fame of the celebrated Physicians was soon established over the whole country, and continued for centuries among their descendants; and the celebrated Welsh Poet Dafydd ap Gwilym, who flourished in the fourteenth century, says in one of his poems when alluding to these physicians:-

Mr. Rees says that “of the above lands bestowed upon the Meddygon, there are two farms in the Myddfai parish still called “Llwyn Ifan Feddyg,” the Grove of Evan, the Physician, and “Llwyn Meredydd Feddyg” (the Grove of Meredydd the Physician). Esgair Llaethdy, mentioned in the foregoing legend, was formerly in the possession of the above descendants, and so was Ty-newydd, near Myddfai, which was purchased by Mr. Holford, of Cilgwyn, from the Rev. Charles Lloyd, vicar of Llandefalle, Breconshire, who married a daughter of one of the Meddygon, and had the living of Llandefalle from a Mr. Vaughan, who presented him to the same out of gratitude, because Mr. Lloyd, wife’s father had cured him of a disease in the eye. As Mr. Lloyd succeeded to the above living in 1748, and died in 1800, it is probable that that skilful oculist was John Jones, who is mentioned in the following inscription on a tombstone at present fixed against the west end of Myddfai

HERE

Lieth the body of Mr. David Jones, of Mothvey, Surgeon,

who was an honest, charitable and skilful man, He died September 14th, Anno Dom. 1719, aged 61.

JOHN JONES, SURGEON,

Eldest son of the said David Jones, departed this life the 25th of November, 1739, in the 4th year of his Age, and also lyes interred hereunder.

These appear to have been the last of the Physicians who practised at Myddfai. The above John Jones resided for some time at Llandovery, and was a very eminent surgeon. One of his descendants, named John Lewis, lived at Cwmbran, Myddfai, at which place his great-grandson, Mr. John Jones, now resides.

“Dr. Morgan Owen, Bishop of Llandaff, who died at Glasallt, parish of Myddfai, in 1645, was a descendant of the Meddygon, and an inheritor of much of their landed property in that parish, the bulk of which he bequeathed to his nephew, Morgan Owen, who died in 1667, and was succeeded by his son Henry Owen; and at the decease of the last of whose descendants, Roberts Lewis, Esqr., the estates became, through the will of one of the family, the property of the late D. A. S. Davies, Esqr., M.P., for Carmarthenshire.

“Bishop Owen bequeathed to another nephew, Morgan ap Rees, son of Rees ap John, a descendant of the Meddygon, the farm of Rhyblid, and some other property.

“Amongst other families who claim descent from the Physicians were the Bowens of Cwmydw, Myddfai, and Jones of Dollgarreg and Penrhock, in the same parish; the latter of whom are represented by Charles Bishop, of Dollgarreg, Esqr., Clerk of the Peace for Carmarthenshire, and Thomas Bishop, of Brecon, Esqr.

“Rees Williams, of Myddfai, is recorded as one of the Meddygon. His great grandson was the late Rice Williams, M.D., of Aberystwyth, who died May l6th, 1842, aged 85, and appears to have been the last, although not the least eminent of the Physicians descended from the mysterious Lady of Llyn y Fan.”

Sir John Rhys mentions of another Dr. Williams also a descendant of the Lady of Llyn y Fan, who was living at Aberystwyth in 1881.

It seems that there are several families in different parts of Wales who are said to have fairy blood coursing through their veins; and the noble Lady Bulkeley, who lived in North Wales, three or four generations was supposed to be descended from a Fairy lady who married a mortal.

There is also a tradition that after the disappearance of the lady the disconsolate husband and his friends set to work to drain the lake in order to get at her, if possible; but as they were making a cutting into the bank a huge monster emerged from the water and threatened to drown the town of Brecon for disturbing him, saying:-

There are extant several versions of the Myddfai Legend. In the “Cambro Briton” Vol. II., pages 313-315, we have a version in which it is stated that the farmer used to go near the lake and see some lambs he had bought at a fair, and that wherever he so went three most beautiful maidens appeared to him from the lake. But whenever he tried to catch them they ran away into the lake, saying:-

But one day a piece of moist bread came floating ashore, which he ate, and the next day he had a chat with the maidens. After a little conversation he proposed marriage to one of them, to which she consented, provided he could distinguish her from her sisters the day after. Then the story goes on very similar to Mr. Rees’ version which I have already given in full.

In another beautiful version of the story which is given by Sikes in his “British Goblins,” it is said that an enamoured farmer had heard of the lake maiden, who rowed up and down the lake in a golden boat, with a golden oar. Her hair was long and yellow, and her face was pale and melancholy. In his desire to see this wondrous beauty, the farmer went on New Year’s Eve to the edge of the lake and in silence, awaited the coming of the first hour of the new year. It came, and there in truth was the maiden in her golden boat, rowing softly to and fro. Fascinated, he stood for hours beholding her, until the stars faded out of the sky, the moon sank behind the rocks, and the cold gray dawn drew nigh; and then the maiden began to vanish from his sight. Wild with passion, he cried aloud to the retreating vision, “Stay! Stay! Be my wife.” But the maiden only uttered a faint cry, and was gone. Night after night the young farmer haunted the shores of the lake, but the maiden returned no more. He became negligent of his person; his once robust form grew thin and wan; his face was a map of melancholy and despair. He went one day to consult a soothsayer who dwelt on the mountain, and this grave personage advised him to besiege the damsel’s heart with gifts of bread and cheese. This counsel commending itself strongly to his Welsh way of thinking, the former set out upon an assiduous course of casting his bread upon the waters-accompanied by cheese. He began on Mid-summer Eve by going to the lake and dropping therein a large cheese and a loaf of bread. Night after night he continued to throw in loaves and cheeses, but nothing appeared in answer to his sacrifices. His hopes were set, however, on the approaching New Year’s Eve. The momentous night arrived at last. Clad in his best array, and armed with seven white loaves and his biggest and handsomest cheese, he set out once more for the lake. Then he waited till mid-night, and then slowly and solemnly dropped the seven loaves into the water, and with a sigh sent the cheese to keep them company. His persistence was at length rewarded. The Lake Lady came in her skiff to where he was, and gracefully stepped ashore. The story then proceeds as in the other versions.

It was once a custom for people to go up to the lake on the first Sunday in August, when its water was supposed to be boiling; and Bishop Edwards, of St. Asaph, informed Professor Sir J. Rhys, that “an old woman from Myddfai, who is now, that is to say in January, 1881, about eighty years of age, tells me that she remembers thousands and thousands of people visiting the Lake of Little Fan on the first Sunday or Monday in August, and when she was young she often heard old men declare that at that time a commotion took place in the lake, and that its waters boiled, which was taken to herald the approach of the Lake Lady and her oxen.”-Celtic Folk Lore-page 15.

A STUDENT WHO HAD FAILED TO PASS HIS EXAMINATIONS TAUGHT BY THE FAIRIES.

Mr. John Jones, of Pontrhydfendigaid, an old man of over 95 years of age, related to me the following story about seven years ago:-

In the 18th century there was a certain clergyman in North Cardiganshire, who was supposed to have been educated by the Fairies.

When he was a boy, his parents were very ambitious to see their son a clergyman, but, unfortunately, the lad either neglected his studies, or was a regular “blockhead,” and always failed to pass his college examinations, to the great regret and disappointment of his father and mother. One day, however, when the boy was roaming about the country (near the banks of the river Rheidol, as far as Mr. Jones could remember the story), he suddenly met three boys, or rather three little men who were not bigger than boys, who took him into some cave and led him along a subterranean passage into the land of the Fairies. The Fairies proved very kind to him, and when they heard his story, they undertook to help him to learn his lessons, so that in course of time he acquired a considerable knowledge of the classics. After spending a certain number of years very happily in Fairy Land, the young man returned to the world of mortals, and to the great joy of his parents passed his examinations now without the least difficulty, and in due time was ordained by the bishop, and became a vicar of a parish north of Aberystwyth, either Llanfihangel, Llancynfelin, or Eglwysfach.

This tale seems to be a version of the Story of Elidorus, which Giraldus Cambrensis heard in the neighbourhood of Swansea during his “Itinerary through Wales,” with Archbishop Baldwin in the year 1188, which is as follows:-

“A short time before our days, a circumstance worthy of note occurred in these parts, which Elidorus, a priest, most strenuously affirmed had befallen himself. When a youth of twelve years, and learning his letters, since, as Solomon says, “The root of learning is bitter, although the fruit is sweet,” in order to avoid the discipline and frequent stripes inflicted on him by his perceptor, he ran away, and concealed himself under the hollow bank of a river. After fasting in that situation for two days, two little men of pigmy stature appeared to him, saying, ‘If you come with us, we will lead you into a country full of delights and sports.’ “Assenting, and rising up, he followed his guides through a path, at first subterraneous and dark, into a most beautiful country, adorned with rivers and meadows, woods and plains, but obscure, and not illuminated with the full light of the sun.” All the days were cloudy, and the nights extremely dark, on account of the absence of the moon and stars. The boy was brought before the King, and introduced to him in the presence of the court; who, having examined him for a long time, delivered him to his son, who was then a, boy. “These men were of the smallest stature, but very well proportioned in their make; they were all of a fair complexion, with luxuriant hair falling over their shoulders like that of women. “They had horses and greyhounds adapted to their size. “They neither ate flesh nor fish, but lived on milk diet, made up into messes with saffron. “They never took an oath, for they detested nothing so much as lies. “As often as they returned from our upper hemisphere, they reprobated our ambition, infidelities, and inconstances; they had no form of public worship, being strict lovers and reverers, as it seemed, of truth. “The boy frequently returned to our hemisphere, sometimes by the way he had first gone, sometimes by another; at first in company with other persons, and afterwards alone, and made himself known only to his mother, declaring to her the manners, nature and state of that people. “Being desired by her to bring a present of gold, with which that region abounded, he stole, while at play with the King’s son, the golden ball with which he used to divert himself, and brought it to his mother in great haste; and when he reached the door of his father’s house, but not unpursued, and was entering it in a great hurry, his foot stumbled on the threshold, and falling down into the room where his mother was sitting, the two pigmies seized the ball which had dropped from his hand, and departed, showing the boy every mark of contempt and derision. “On recovering from his fall, confounded with shame, and execrating the evil counsel of his mother, he returned by the usual track to the subterraneous road, but found no appearance of any passage, though he searched for it on the banks of the river for nearly the space of a year. “But since those calamities are often alleviated by time, which reason cannot mitigate, and length of time alone blunts the edge of our afflictions, and puts an end to many evils, the youth having been brought back by his friends and mother, and restored to his right way of thinking, and to his learning, in process of time attained the rank of priesthood. “Whenever David II., bishop of St. David’s, talked to him in his advanced state of life concerning this event, he could never relate the particulars without shedding tears. “He had made himself acquainted with the language of that nation, the words of which, in his younger days he used to recite, which, as the bishop often had informed me, were very conformable to the Greek idiom. “When they asked for water, they said ‘ydor ydorum,’ which meant bring water, for ‘ydor’ in their language, as well as in Greek, signifies water, from whence vessels for water are caller ‘udriai’; and ‘Dur’ (dwr) also, in the British language (Welsh) signifies water.

“When they wanted salt they said, ‘Halgein ydorum,’ bring salt: salt is called ‘al’ in Greek, and ‘halen’ in British, for that language, from the length of time which the Britons (then called Trojans, and afterwards Britons, from Brito, their leader), remained in Greece after the destruction of Troy, became in many instances, similar to the Greek… “If a scrupulous inquirer asks my opinion of the relation here inserted, I answer with Augustine, ‘that the Divine miracles are to be admired, not discussed.’ “Nor do I, by denial, place bounds to the Divine Power, nor, by assent, insolently extend what cannot be extended. “But I always call to mind the saying of St. Jerome: ‘You will find,’ says he, ‘Many things incredible and improbable, which nevertheless are true; for nature cannot in any respect prevail against the Lord of nature.’ “These things, therefore, and similar contingencies, I should place, according to the opinion of Augustine, among those particulars which are neither to be affirmed, nor too positively denied.” The above account is of the greatest interest, as it was written 700 years ago, and it also gives the opinion of one who lived in those days, of “these things, and similar contingencies.” It is possible that many of the Fairy Tales throughout the Kingdom, if not throughout the whole of Europe, have been founded on the story of Elidorus, the priest.

THE SHEPHERD BOY AND THE FAIRIES OF FRENIFAWR.

The following story appeared in the “Cambrian Superstitions,” by W. Howells, a little book published at Tipton in 1831:-

A stripling, of twelve or more years of age, was tending his father’s sheep on a small mountain called Frenifach, it was a fine morning in June, and he had just driven the sheep to their pasture for the day, when he looked at the top of Frenifawr to observe which way the morning fog declined, that he might judge the weather.

If the fog on Frenifawr (a high mountain in Pembrokeshire, 10 miles from Cardigan) declines to the Pembrokeshire side, the peasants prognosticated fair, if on the Cardiganshire side foul weather.

To his surprise the boy saw what seemed a party of soldiers sedulously engaged in some urgent affair; knowing there could not possibly be soldiers there so early, he with some alarm, looked more minutely, and perceived they were too diminutive for men; yet, thinking his eyesight had deceived him, he went to a more elevated situation, and discovered that they were the “Tylwyth Teg” (Fairies) dancing. He had often heard of them and had seen their rings in the neighbourhood, but not till then had the pleasure of seeing them; he once thought of running home to acquaint his parents, but judging they would be gone before he returned, and he be charged with a falsehood, he resolved to go up to them, for he had been informed that the fairies were very harmless, and would only injure those who attempted to discover their habitation, so by degrees he arrived within a short distance of the ring, where he remained some time observing their motions. They were of both sexes, and he described them as being the most handsome people he had ever seen, they also appeared enchantingly cheerful, as if inviting him to enter and join the dance.

They did not all dance, but those who did, never deviated from the circle; some ran after one another with surprising swiftness, and others (females), rode on small white horses of the most beautiful form. Their dresses, although indescribably elegant, and surpassing the sun in radiance, varied in colour, some being white, others scarlet, and the males wore a red triplet cap, but the females some light head-dress, which waved fantastically with the slightest breeze. He had not remained long ere they made signs for him to enter, and he gradually drew nearer till at length he ventured to place one foot in the circle, which he had no sooner done than his ears were charmed with the most melodious music, which moved him in the transport of the moment, to enter altogether; he was no sooner in than he found himself in a most elegant palace, glittering with gold and pearls; here he enjoyed every variety of pleasure, and had the liberty to range whatever he pleased, accompanied by kind attendants beautiful as the howries; and instead of “Tatws a llaeth,” buttermilk, or fresh boiled flummery, here were the choicest viands and the purest wine in abundance, brought in golden goblets inlaid with gems, sometimes by invisible agency, and at other times by the most beautiful virgins. He had only one restriction, and that was not to drink, upon any consideration (or it was told him it would be fatal to his happiness), from a certain well in the middle of the garden, which contained golden fishes and others of various colours. New objects daily attracts his attention, and new faces presented themselves to his view, surpassing, if possible those he had seen before; new pastimes were continually invented to charm him, but one day his hopes were blasted, and all his happiness fled in an instant. Possessing that innate curiosity nearly common to all, he, like our first parents transgressed, and plunged his hand into the well, when the fishes instantly disappeared, and, putting the water to his mouth, he heard a confused shriek run through the garden: in an instant after, the palace and all vanished away, and to his horror, he found himself in the very place where he first entered the ring, and the scenes around, with the same sheep grazing, were just as he had left them. He could scarcely believe himself, and hoped again, that he was in the magnificent fairy castle; he looked around, but the scene was too well known; his senses soon returned to their proper action, and his memory proved that, although he thought he had been absent so many years, he had been so only so many minutes.

This tale bears a strange contrast as regards the time the boy thought he was away, to most of our fairy tales which represent those who had the pleasure of being with fairies as imagining they had been dancing only a few minutes, when they had been away for years.

FAIRY MUSIC AND DANCING.

The Rev. Z. M. Davies, Vicar of Llanfihangel Genau’r Glyn, told me that he once heard an old man in the Vale of Aeron saying that when he was out late one night, he heard the Fairies singing, and that their music was so delightful that he listened to them for hours; and we find from many of the Fairy Tales that one of their chief occupation in their nightly revels was singing and dancing, and that they often succeeded in inducing men through the allurements of music to join their ranks.

The beautiful old Welsh Air, “Toriad y Dydd” (Dawn of Day) is supposed to have been composed by the Fairies, and which they chanted just as the pale light in the east announced the approach of returning day.

The following “Can y Tylwyth Teg,” or the Fairies’ song, was well-known once in Wales, and these mythical beings were believed to chant it whilst dancing merrily on summer nights.

MR. EDWARD JONES, PENCWM, LLANRHYSTID, AND THE FAIRIES.

Mr. Edward Jones, Pencwm, who only died about 8 years ago, was coming home from Lampeter one moonlight night, and when he came to the top of Trichrug hill, he saw the Fairies dancing in a field close to the road. When he was within a certain distance of them he felt as if his feet were almost lifted up from the ground, and his body so light that he could almost stand in the air.

My informant, Mr. D. Morgan, Carpenter, Llanrhystid, added that Mr. Jones was an intelligent and educated man, who had travelled, and was far from being superstitious.

A FARM SERVANT NEAR TREGARON, WHO SPENT A YEAR AND A DAY WITH THE FAIRIES.

The following story appeared in “Cymru” for May, 1893, a Welsh Magazine, edited by Owen M. Edwards, M.A. It was written in Welsh by the late eminent Folk-Lorist, Mr. D. Lledrod Davies, and I translate it:-

The farm-house called “Allt Ddu,” is situated about half-way between Pont Rhyd Fendigaid and Tregaron.

It is said that two servant men went out of the house one evening in search for the cattle, which had gone astray. One of the men proceeded in one direction and the other in another way, so as to be more sure of finding the animals.

But after wandering about for hours, one of the two servants came home, but whether he found the cattle or not it is not stated. However, he reached home safely; but the other man, his fellow-servant, came not, and after anxiously expecting him till a late hour of night, he began to feel very uneasy concerning his safety, fearing that the lad had accidentally fallen into some of the pits of the Gors Goch. Next morning came, but the servant came not home; and in vain did they long to hear the sound of his footsteps approaching the house as before.

Then inquiries were made about him, and people went to try and find him, but all in vain. Days past and even weeks without hearing anything about him, till at last his relations began to suspect that his fellow servant had murdered him during the night they were out looking for the cattle. So the servant was summoned before a Court of Justice, and accused of having murdered his fellow-servant on a certain night; but the young man, pleaded not guilty in a most decided manner, and as no witness could be found against him, the case was dismissed; but many people were still very suspicious of him, and the loss of his fellow servant continued to be a black spot on his character. However, it was decided at last to go to the “dyn hysbys,” (a wise man, or a conjurer)-a man of great repute in former days,-to consult with him, and to set the case before him exactly as it had happened. After going and explaining everything to the conjurer concerning the lost servant, he informed them that the young man was still alive.

He then told them to go to a certain place at the same time of night, one year and a day from the time the man was lost, and that they should then and there see him. One year and a day at last passed away, and at that hour the family, and especially the servant, traced their steps to the particular spot pointed out by the conjuror, and there, to their great surprise, whom should they see within the Fairy Circle, dancing as merrily as any, but the lost servant. And now, according to the directions which had been given by the conjurer, the other servant took hold of the collar of the coat of the one who was dancing, and dragged him out of the circle, saying to him-“Where hast thou been lad?” But the lad’s first words were, “Did you find the cattle?” for he thought that he had been with the Fairies only for a few minutes.

Then he explained how he entered the Fairy Circle, and how he was seized by them, but found their company so delightful that he thought he had been with them only for a few minutes.

THE SERVANT GIRL WHO WAS LOST IN THE FAIRY CIRCLE.

The following is another of the tales recorded in “Ystraeon y Gwyll,” by the late D. Lledrod Davies:-

“There lived in an old farm house on the banks of the Teivy, a respectable family, and in order to carry on the work of the farm successfully, they kept men servants and maid servants.

One afternoon, a servant-man and a servant girl went out to look for the cows, but as they were both crossing a marshy flat, the man suddenly missed the girl, and after much shouting and searching, no sound of her voice could be heard replying. He then took home the cows, and informed the family of the mysterious disappearance of the servant maid which took place so suddenly. As the Fairies were suspected, it was resolved to go to the dyn hysbys (wise man).

To him they went, and he informed them that the girl was with the Fairies, and that they could get her back from them, by being careful to go to a certain spot at the proper time at the end of a year and a day. They did as they were directed by the “wise man,” and to their great surprise, found the maid among the fairies dancing and singing with them, and seemed as happy as a fish in the water. Then they successfully drew her out of the ring, and they took her home safely. The master had been told by the “Wise Man” that the girl was not to be touched by iron, or she would disappear at once after getting her out of the ring.

One day, however, when her master was about to start from home, and whilst he was getting the horse and cart ready, he asked the girl to assist him, which she did willingly; but as he was bridling the horse, the bit touched the girl and she disappeared instantly, and was never seen from that day forth.

THE LITTLE SERVANT BOY AND THE BARM.

The following story was related to me by Mrs. Davies, Bryneithyn, in the neighbourhood of Ystrad Meurig, where the tale is well-known:-

An old woman known as Nancy of Pen Gwndwn, kept a little boy servant, whom she sent one evening to the neighbouring village with a bottle to get some barm for her, and as he had to pass through a field which was frequented by the Fairies, he was told by the old woman to keep away from their circles or rings. The boy reached the village, got the barm, and in due time proceeded on his homeward journey, but did not reach home. Search was made for him in all directions, and people were able to trace his steps as far as the Fairies’ field, but no further, so it was evident that the Fairies had seized him. At the end of a year and a day, however, to the great surprise of everybody, the boy came home, entered the house, with the bottle of barm in hand, and handed it to the old woman as if nothing unusual had happened. The boy was greatly surprised when he was told that he had been away for twelve months and a day. Then he related how he fell in with the Fairies, whom he found such nice little men, and whose society was so agreeable that he lingered among them, as he thought, for a few minutes.

A CARMARTHENSHIRE MAIDEN WHO GOT INTO A FAIRY RING.

In the parish of Cynwil Elvet, there is a farmhouse called Fos Anna, a place which was known to the writer of this book once when a boy:-

A servant girl at this farm once went rather late in the evening to look for the cows, and, unfortunately, got into the Fairy ring, and although she had been a long period without food she did not feel hungry.

IAGO AP DEWI AMONG THE FAIRIES SEVEN YEARS.

A Carmarthenshire tradition names among those who lived for a period among the Fairies no less a person than the translator into Welsh of Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress.”

“He was called Iago ap Dewi, and lived in the parish of Llanllawddog, in a cottage situated in the wood of Llangwyly. He was absent from the neighbourhood for a long period, and the universal belief among the peasantry was that Iago got out of bed one night to gaze on the starry sky, as he was accustomed (astrology being one of his favourite studies), and whilst thus occupied the Fairies, passing by, carried him away, and he dwelt with them seven years. Upon his return, he was questioned by many as to where he had been, but always avoiding giving them a reply.”

A district famous for Fairies long ago was the parish of Llanedi in Carmarthenshire, and Mr. Williams, says in his “Llen Gwerin Sir Gaerfyrddin,” that an intelligent old man in that parish, named John Rees, gave him the following story of

A MAN WHO WAS FOUND AMONG THE FAIRIES AT CAE CEFN PANTYDWR.

This story which is similar to some of the tales I have already given as located in other parts is as follows:-

A certain man of Llanedi, on one occasion long ago, went away to another neighbourhood, leading by the “penwast” (collar) a very wild and unmanageable horse; and in order to be sure not to lose his hold of the animal, the man tied the end of the collar round the middle. So both man and horse went together and got lost. After much searching the horse was found without the collar, but nothing was heard of the man. After giving up searching for him as hopeless, they at last consulted a “Dyn Hysbys,” (a conjuror or a wise man). The wise man directed them to go on a certain night into a field known as Cae Cefn Pantydwr, about forty yards from the road where the Fairies could be seen dancing, and the lost man among them, with the “penwast” still around his waist, which would enable them to know him; and the way to get him out of the Fairy Ring was to watch him coming round in the dance, and take hold of the collar when an opportunity offered itself, and drag the man out boldly. They did so, and the man was rescued. Ever since then people dreaded going to that field after dark, especially children.

In some parts of Carmarthenshire, Fairy Rings are known as “Rings y Gwr Drwg” (the rings of the Old Gentleman), suggesting that the Fairies had some connection with the evil one.

SON OF LLECH Y DERWYDD AND THE FAIRIES.

The writer of the following tale was the late Rev. Benjamin Williams (Gwynionydd), an eminent antiquarian, Folk-Lorist, and a bard, and it is to be found in Welsh in Y Brython, vol. III., page 460. It is evident that the scene of the story was West or Mid-Wales. Mr. Williams heard the tale from old people who believed in the truth of it:-

“Yr oedd mab Llech y Derwydd yn unig blentyn ei rieni, ac hefyd yn etifedd y tyddyn. Yr oedd felly yn anwyl, ie, yn ddau lygad ei dad a’i fam.

“Yr oedd y pen gwas a mab y ty yn gyfeillion mynwesol iawn, fel dau frawd, ie, fel gyfeilliaid. Gan fod y mab a’r gwas y fath gyfeillion, byddai gwraig y ty bob amser yn darpar dillad i’r gwas yr un peth yn hollol ag i’r mab. Cwympodd y ddau gyfaill mewn serch a dwy ddynes ieuainc, brydferth, ac uchel eu parch yn yr ardal, a mawr oedd y boddineb yn Llech y Derwydd; ac yn fuan ymunodd y ddau bar mewn glan briodas, a mawr fu y rhialtwch ar yr amser. Cafodd y gwas le cyfleus i fyw ar dir Llech y Derwydd. Yn mhen tua haner blwyddyn ar ol priodi o’r mab, aeth ei gyfaill ac yntau allan i hela; enciliodd y deiliad i ryw gilfach lawn o anialwch, i edrych am helwriaeth; a dychwelodd yn y man at ei gyfaill, ond erbyn dyfod yno, nid oedd modd gweled y mab yn un man. Parhaodd i edrych o gwmpas am dro gan waeddi a chwibanu, ond dim un arwydd am ei gyfaill. Yn mhen tro aeth adref i Llech y Derwydd, gan ddysgwyl ei weled yno; ond ni wyddai neb ddim am dano. Mawr oedd y gofid yn y teulu drwy y nos; ac erbyn dranoeth yr oedd eu pryder yn llawer mwy. Aethpwyd i weled y fan lle y gwelodd ei gyfaill ef olaf. Wylai ei fam a’i wraig am y gwaethaf. Yr oedd y tad dipyn yn well na’i wraig a’i fam, ond edrychai yntau fel yn haner gwallgof. Edrychwyd ar y fan olaf y gwelodd y deiliad ef, ac er eu mawr syndod a’u gofid, canfyddasent gylch y Tylwyth Teg gerllaw y fan, a chofiodd y deiliad yn y man iddo glywed swn peroriaeth hudoliaethus iawn rywle ar y pryd. Penderfynwyd ar unwaith iddo fod mor anffodus a myned i gylch y Tylwyth, a chael ei gludo ymaith na wyddid i ba le.

“Aeth wythnosau a misoedd gofidus heibio, a ganwyd mab i fab Llech y Derwydd; ond nid oedd y tad ieuanc yno i gael gweled ei blentyn, ac yr oedd hyny yn ofidus iawn gan yr hen bobl. Beth bynag, daeth y dyn bach i fyny yr un ddelw a’i dad, fel pe buasai wedi ei arlunio; a mawr ydoedd yng ngolwg ei daid a’i nain. Efe oedd pobpeth yno. Tyfodd i oedran gwr, a phriododd a merch landeg yn y gymydogaeth; ond nid oedd gair da i’r tylwyth eu bod yn bobl hawddgar.

“Bu farw yr hen bobl, a bu farw y ferch-yng-nghyfraith hefyd. Ar ryw brydnawn gwyntog, ym mis Hydref, gwelai teulu Llech y Derwydd henafgwr tal, teneu, a’i farf a’i wallt fel yr eira, yr hwn a dybient ydoedd Iddew, yn dynesu yn araf araf at y ty. Hylldremiai y morwynion drwy y ffenestr, a chwarddai y feistress am ben yr ‘hen Iddew,’ gan godi y plant un ar ol y llall i’w weled yn dyfod. Daeth at y drws, a daeth i mewn hefyd yn lled eofn, gan ofyn am ei rieni. Atebai y wraig ef yn daeog, a choeglyd anghyffredin, gan ddywedyd, ‘Beth oedd yr hen Iddew meddw yn dyfod yno,’ oblegid tybient ei fod wedi yfed, onid e ni fuasai yn siarad felly. Edrychai yr hen wr yn syn a phryderus iawn ar bob peth yn y ty, gan synu llawer; ond ar y plant bychain ar hyd y llawr y sylwai fwyaf. Edrychai yn llawn siomedigaeth a gofid. Dywedodd yr hanes i gyd, iddo fod allan yn hela ddoe, a’i fod yn awr yn dychwelyd. Dywedodd y wraig iddi glywed chwedl am dad ei gwr flynyddau cyn ei geni, ei fod wedi myned ar goll wrth hela; ond fod ei thad yn dywedyd wrthi nad gwir hyny, mai ei ladd a gafodd. Aeth y wraig yn anystywallt, ac yn llwyr o’i chof eisiau fod yr hen ‘Iddew’ yn myned allan. Cyffrodd yr hen wr, a dywedai mai efe ydoedd perchen y ty, ac y byddai raid iddo gael ei hawl. Aeth allan i weled ei feddianau, ac yn fuan i dy y deiliad. Er ei syndod, yr oedd pethau wedi newid yn fawr yno. Ar ol ymddiddan am dro a hen wr oedranus wrth y tan, edrychai y naill fwy fwy ar y llall. Dywedai yr hen wr beth fu tynged ei ben gyfaill, mab Llech y Derwydd. Siaradent yn bwyllog am bethau mebyd, ond yr oedd y cyfan fel breuddwyd. Beth bynag, penderfynodd yr hen wr yn y cornel mai ei hen gyfaill, mab Llech y Derwydd, oedd yr ymwelydd, wedi dychwelyd o wlad y Tylwyth Teg, ar ol bod yno haner can’ mlynedd. Credodd yr hen wr a’r farf wen ei dynged, a mawr y siarad a’r holi fu gan y naill y llall am oriau lawer.

“Dywedai fod gwr Llech y Derwydd y diwrnod hwnw oddi cartref. Cafwyd gan yr hen ymwelydd fwyta bwyd; ond er mawr fraw, syrthiodd y bwytawr yn farw yn y fan. Nid oes hanes fod trengholiad wedi bod ar y corff; ond dywedai y chwedl mae yr achos oedd, iddo fwyta bwyd ar ol bod yn myd y Tylwyth Teg cyhyd. Mynodd ei hen gyfaill weled ei gladdu yn ochr ei deidiau. Bu melldith fyth, hyd y silcyn ach, yn Llech y Derwydd, o blegid sarugrwydd y wraig i’w thad-yng-nghyfraith, nes gwerthu y lle naw gwaith.”

The above tale translated into English reads as follows:-

“The son of Llech y Derwydd was the only child of his parents, and also the heir to the farm. He was, therefore, very dear to his father and mother, yea, he was as the very light of their eyes. The son and the head servant man were more than bosom friends, they were like two brothers, or rather twins. As the son and the servant were such close friends, the farmer’s wife was in the habit of clothing them exactly alike. The two friends fell in love with two young handsome women who were highly respected in the neighbourhood. This event gave the old people great satisfaction, and ere long the two couples were joined in holy wedlock, and great was the merry-making on the occasion. The servant man obtained a convenient place to live in on the grounds of Llech y Derwydd.

“About six months after the marriage of the son, he and the servant man went out to hunt. The servant penetrated to a ravine filled with brushwood to look for game, and presently returned to his friend, but by the time he came back the son was nowhere to be seen. He continued awhile looking about for his absent friend, shouting and whistling to attract his attention, but there was no answer to his calls. By and by he went home to Llech y Derwydd, expecting to find him there, but no one knew anything about him. Great was the grief of the family throughout the night, but it was even greater next day. They went to inspect the place where the son had last been seen. His mother and his wife wept bitterly, but the father had greater control over himself, still he appeared as half mad. They inspected the place where the servant man had last seen his friend, and, to their great surprise and sorrow, observed a Fairy ring close by the spot, and the servant recollected that he had heard seductive music somewhere about the time that he parted with his friend.

“They came to the conclusion at once that the man had been so unfortunate as to enter the Fairy ring, and they conjectured that he had been transported no one knew where. Weary weeks and months passed away, and a son was born to the absent man.

“The little one grew up the very image of his father, and very precious was he to his grandfather and grandmother. In fact, he was everything to them. He grew up to man’s estate and married a pretty girl in the neighbourhood, but her people had not the reputation of being kind-hearted. The old folks died, and also their daughter-in-law.

“One windy afternoon in the month of October, the family of Llech y Derwydd saw a tall thin old man with beard and hair as white as snow, who they thought was a Jew approaching slowly, very slowly, towards the house. The servant girls stared mockingly through the window at him, and their mistress laughed unfeelingly at the ‘old Jew,’ and lifted the children up, one after the other, to get a sight of him as he neared the house.

“He came to the door, and entered the house boldly enough, and inquired after his parents. The mistress answered him in a surly and unusually contemptuous manner and wished to know ‘What the drunken old Jew wanted there,’ for they thought he must have been drinking or he would never have spoken in the way he did. The old man looked at everything in the house with surprise and bewilderment, but the little children about the floor took his attention more than anything else. His looks betrayed sorrow and deep disappointment. He related his whole history, that yesterday he had gone out to hunt, and that now he had returned. The mistress told him that she had heard a story about her husband’s father, which occurred before she was born, that he had been lost whilst hunting, but that her father had told her that the story was not true, but that he had been killed. The woman became uneasy and angry that the old ‘Jew’ did not depart. The old man was roused, and said that the house was his, and that he would have his rights. He went to inspect his possessions, and shortly afterwards directed his steps to the servant’s house. To his surprise he saw that things were greatly changed. After conversing awhile with an aged man who sat by the fire, they carefully looked each other in the face, and the old man by the fire related the sad history of his lost friend, the son of Llech y Derwydd.

“They conversed together deliberately on the events of their youth, but all seemed like a dream. However, the old man in the corner came to the conclusion that his visitor was his old friend, the son of Llech y Derwydd, returned from the land of the Fairies, after spending there fifty years.

“The old man with the white beard believed the story related by his friend, and long was the talk and many were the questions which the one gave to the other. The visitor was informed that the master of Llech y Derwydd was from home that day, and he was persuaded to eat some food; but to the horror of all, when he had done so, he instantly fell down dead. We are not informed that an inquest was held over the body; but the tale relates that the cause of the man’s sudden death was that he ate food after having been so long in the land of the Fairies. His old friend insisted on the dead man being buried with his ancestors. The rudeness of the mistress of Llech y Derwydd to her father-in-law brought a curse upon the place and family, ‘hyd y silcyn ach,’ and her offence was not expiated until the farm had been sold nine times.”

TAFFY AP SION OF PENCADER AMONG THE FAIRIES.

The following Fairy Legend appeared in “British Goblins,” page 75:-

Taffy ap Sion, the shoemaker’s son, living near Pencader, Carmarthenshire, was a lad who many years ago entered the Fairy circle on the mountain hard by there, and having danced a few minutes as he supposed, chanced to step out. He was then astonished to find that the scene which had been so familiar was now quite strange to him. Here were roads and houses he had never seen, and in place of his father’s humble cottage there now stood a fine stone farmhouse. About him were lovely cultivated fields instead of the barren mountain he was accustomed to.

‘Ah,’ thought he, ‘this is some Fairy trick to deceive my eyes. It is not ten minutes since I stepped into that circle, and now when I step out they have built my father a new house! Well, I only hope it is real; anyhow, I’ll go and see.’ So he started off by a path he knew instinctively, and suddenly struck against a very solid hedge. He rubbed his eyes, felt the hedge with his fingers, scratched his head, felt the hedge again, ran a thorn into his fingers and cried out, ‘Wbwb’ this is no Fairy hedge anyhow, nor, from the age of the thorns, was it grown in a few minutes’ time! So he climbed over it and walked on. ‘Here was I born,’ said he, as he entered the farmyard, staring wildly about him, ‘and not a thing here do I know!’ His mystification was complete, when there came bounding towards him a huge dog, barking furiously. ‘What dog is this? Get out you ugly brute! Don’t you know I’m master here?-at least, when mother’s from home, for father don’t count.’ But the dog only barked the harder. ‘Surely,’ muttered Taffy to himself, ‘I have lost my road and am wandering through some unknown neighbourhood; but no, yonder is the Careg Hir!’ and he stood staring at the well-known erect stone thus called, which still stands on the mountain south of Pencader, and is supposed to have been placed there in ancient times to commemorate a victory. As Taffy stood thus, looking at the long stone, he heard footsteps behind him, and turning, beheld the occupant of the farmhouse, who had come out to see why his dog was barking.

Poor Taffy was so ragged and wan that the farmer’s Welsh heart was at once stirred to sympathy. ‘Who are you, poor man?’ he asked, to which Taffy answered, ‘I know who I was, but I do not know who I am now. I was the son of a shoemaker who lived in this place, this morning; for that rock, though it is changed a little, I know too well.’ ‘Poor fellow,’ said the farmer, ‘You have lost your senses. This house was built by my great-grandfather, repaired by my grandfather; and that part there, which seems newly built, was done about three years ago at my expense. You must be deranged, or you have missed the road; but come in and refresh yourself with some victuals, and rest.’ Taffy was half persuaded that he had overslept himself and lost his road, but looking back he saw the rock before mentioned, and exclaimed, ‘It is but an hour since I was on yonder rock robbing a hawk’s nest.’ ‘Where have you been since?’ Taffy related his adventure. ‘Ah,’ quoth the farmer, ‘I see how it is-you have been with the Fairies. Pray who was your father?’ ‘Sion Evan y Crydd o Glanrhyd,’ was the answer. ‘I never heard of such a man,’ said the farmer, shaking his head, ‘nor of such a place as Glanrhyd, either; but no matter, after you have taken a little food we will step down to Catti Shon, at Pencader, who will probably be able to tell something.’ With this he beckoned Taffy to follow him, and walked on; but hearing behind him the sound of footsteps growing weaker and weaker, he turned round, when to his horror he beheld the poor fellow crumble in an instant to about a thimbleful of black ashes. The farmer, though much terrified at this sight, preserved his calmness sufficiently to go at once and see old Catti, the aged crone he had referred to, who lived at Pencader, near by. He found her crouching over a fire of faggots, trying to warm her old bones. ‘And how do you do the day, Catti Shon?’ asked the farmer. ‘Ah,’ said old Catti, ‘I’m wonderful well, farmer, considering how old I am.’ ‘Yes, yes, you are very old. Now, since you are so old, let me ask you-do you remember anything about Sion y Crydd o Glanrhyd? Was there ever such a man, do you know?’ ‘Sion Glanrhyd? O! I have a faint recollection of hearing my grandfather, old Evan Shenkin, Penferdir, relate that Sion’s son was lost one morning, and they never heard of him afterwards, so that it was said he was taken by the Fairies. His father’s cottage stood somewhere near your house.’ ‘Were there many Fairies about at that time?’ asked the farmer. ‘O, yes; they were often seen on yonder hill, and I was told they were lately seen in Pant Shon Shenkin, eating flummery out of egg-shells, which they had stolen from a farm hard by.’ ‘Dir anwyl fi!’ cried the farmer; ‘dear me! I recollect now-I saw them myself.’

SHON AP SHENKIN SEDUCED BY FAIRY MUSIC.

Another story very similar to the one I have just given is the legend of Shon ap Shenkin, which was related to Mr. Sikes by a farmer’s wife near the reputed scene of the tale, that is the locality of Pant Shon Shenkin, the famous centre of Carmarthenshire Fairies:-

“Shon ap Shenkin was a young man who lived hard by Pant Shon Shenkin. As he was going afield early one fine summer’s morning he heard a little bird singing, in a most enchanting strain, on a tree close by his path. Allured by the melody, he sat down under the tree until the music ceased, when he arose and looked about him. What was his surprise at observing that the tree, which was green and full of life when he sat down, was now withered and barkless! Filled with astonishment he returned to the farmhouse which he had left, as he supposed, a few minutes before; but it also was changed, grown older, and covered with ivy. In the doorway stood an old man whom he had never before seen; he at once asked the old man what he wanted there. ‘What do I want here?’ ejaculated the old man, reddening angrily; ‘that’s a pretty question! Who are you that dare to insult me in my own house?’ ‘In your own house? How is this? where’s my father and mother, whom I left here a few minutes since, whilst I have been listening to the charming music under yon tree, which, when I rose, was withered and leafless’ ‘Under the tree!-music!’ ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Shon ap Shenkin.’ ‘Alas, poor Shon, and this is indeed you!’ cried the old man. ‘I often heard my grandfather, your father, speak of you, and long did he bewail your absence. Fruitless inquiries were made for you; but old Catti Maddock of Brechfa said you were under the power of the Fairies, and would not be released until the last sap of that sycamore tree would be dried. Embrace me, my dear uncle, for you are my uncle… embrace your nephew.’ With this the old man extended his arms, but before the two men could embrace, poor Shon ap Shenkin crumbled into dust on the door-step.”

It is very interesting to compare this story of Shon ap Shenkin, under the power of the Fairies, listening to the birds of enchantment, with the warriors at Harlech listening to the Birds of Rhiannon, in the Mabinogi of Branwen, daughter of Llyr.

Bran Fendigaid, a Welsh King in ancient times, had a palace at Harlech, and had a sister named Bronwen, or White Breast, whom Matholwch the King of Ireland married on account of her wonderful beauty. After a while, however, the foster brothers of Matholwch began to treat Bronwen very cruelly till at last she found means to send a message to her brother Bran, in Wales; and this she did by writing a letter of her woes, which she bound to a bird’s wing which she had reared. The bird reached Bronwen’s brother, Bran, who, when he read the letter sailed for Ireland immediately, and during a fearful warfare in that country he was poisoned with a dart in his foot. His men had been bidden by their dying chief to cut off his head and bear it to London and bury it with the face towards France. They did as they were bidden by Bran previous to his death, and various were the adventures they encountered while obeying this injunction. At Harlech they stopped to rest, and sat down to eat and drink.

While there, they heard three birds singing a sweet song, “at a great distance over the sea,” though it seemed to them as though they were quite near. These were the birds of Rhiannon. Their notes were so sweet that warriors were known to have remained spell-bound for 80 years listening to them. The birds sang so sweetly that the men rested for seven years, which appeared but a day. Then they pursued their way to Gwales in Pembrokeshire, and there remained for four score years, during which the head of Bran was uncorrupted. At last they went to London and buried it there.

The old Welsh poets often allude to the birds of Rhiannon, and they are also mentioned in the Triads; and the same enchanting fancy reappears in the local story of Shon ap Shenkin, which I just gave.

Mr. Ernest Rhys in the present day sings:-

In the region of myth and romance Rhiannon, the songs of whose birds were so enchanting, was the daughter of Heveydd Hen, who by her magic arts foiled her powerful suitor, Gwawl ap Clud, and secured as her consort the man of her choice, Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed. In Welsh Mythology several members of the kingly families are represented as playing the role of magicians.

It may be added that it is interesting to compare both the story of Shion ap Shenkin, and that of the birds of Rhiannon, with Longfellow’s “Golden Legend,” originally written in the thirteenth century by Jacobus de Voragine, in which Monk Felix is represented as listening to the singing of a snow-white bird for a hundred years, which period passed as a single hour.

In the stories I have already given those who fell into the hands of the Fairies were rescued or returned from them after a certain period of time; but I have heard some stories in which the victim never returned. A woman at Pontshan, Llandyssul, in Cardiganshire, related to me a story of a servant girl in that neighbourhood who was captured by the Fairies and never returned home again. A few months ago another tale of this kind was related to me at Llanrhystyd:

A LLANRHYSTYD MAID LOST AMONG THE FAIRIES.

Mr David Morgan, Carpenter, Llanrhystyd, informed me that some years ago the maid servant of Pencareg Farm in the neighbourhood, went out one evening to bring home the cattle which were grazing some distance away from the house. A boy employed to look after the cattle in the day-time known as “bugail bach,” saw the Fairies dragging the maid into their circle or ring, where she joined them in their dances. Search was made for her everywhere, but she was never seen again.

SHUI RHYS AND THE FAIRIES.

“Shui was a beautiful girl of seventeen, tall and fair, with a skin like ivory, hair black and curling, and eyes of dark velvet. She was but a poor farmer’s daughter, notwithstanding her beauty, and among her duties was that of driving up the cows for the milking. Over this work she used to loiter sadly, to pick flowers by the way, or chase the butterflies, or amuse herself in any agreeable manner that fortune offered. For her loitering she was often chided, indeed, people said Shui’s mother was far too sharp with the girl, and that it was for no good the mother had so bitter a tongue. After all the girl meant no harm, they said. But when one night Shui never came home till bed-time, leaving the cows to care for themselves, dame Rhys took the girl to task as she never had done before. ‘Ysgwaetheroedd, Mami,’ said Shui, ‘I could not help it; it was the Tylwyth Teg,’ (the Fairies). The dame was aghast at this, but she could not answer it-for well she knew the Tylwyth Teg were often seen in the woods of Cardigan. Shui was at first shy about talking of the Fairies, but finally confessed they were little men in green coats, who danced around her and made music on their little harps; and they talked to her in language too beautiful to be repeated; indeed she couldn’t understand the words, though she knew well enough what the Fairies meant. Many a time after that Shui was late; but now nobody chided her, for fear of offending the Fairies. At last one night Shui did not come home at all. In alarm the woods were searched; there was no sign of her; and never was she seen in Cardigan again. Her mother watched in the fields on the Tair-nos ysprydion or three nights of the year when goblins are sure to be abroad; but Shui never returned. Once indeed there came to the neighbourhood a wild rumour that Shui Rhys had been seen in a great city in a foreign land-Paris, perhaps, or London, who knows? but this tale was in no way injurious to the sad belief that the Fairies had carried her off; they might take her to those well-known centres of idle and sinful pleasure, as well as to any other place.”1

FAIRIES COMING INTO THE BEDROOM OF A HOUSE NEAR ABERYSTWYTH.

One Robert Burton, in his “History of the Principality of Wales,” published 215 years ago, says:-“John Lewes, Esq., a Justice of Peace at Glankerrig, near Aberystwyth, in this county, in the year 1656, by several letters to Mr. B. A., late worthy divine deceased, gives an account of several strange apparitions in Carmarthenshire, Pembrokeshire, and this county (Cardiganshire), about that time, confirmed by divers persons of good quality and reputation the substance of whereof are as followeth. A man and his family being all in bed, he being awake about midnight, perceived by a light entering the little room where he lay, and about a dozen in the shapes of men, and two or three women with small children in their arms following, they seemed to dance, and the chamber appeared much wider and lighter than formerly. They seemed to eat bread and cheese all about a kind of a tick upon the ground, they offered him some, and would smile upon him, he heard no voice, but calling once upon God to bless him, he heard a whispering voice in Welsh bidding him hold his peace. They continued there about four hours, all which time he endeavoured to wake his wife but could not. Afterwards they went into another room, and having danced awhile departed. He then arose, and though the room was very small, yet he could neither find the door, nor the way to bed again until crying out his wife and family awoke.

“He living within two miles of Justice Lewes, he sent for him, being a poor honest husbandman and of good report, and made him believe he would put him to his oath about the truth of this Relation, who was very ready to take it.”

A SERVANT OF PERTHRHYS, LLANDDEINIOL, AND THE WHITE FAIRIES.

A very old man named John Jones, who lives at Llanddeiniol, about six miles from Aberystwyth, informed me that many years ago, when he was a young man, or a lad of 18, he was engaged as a servant at a farm called Perthrhys, in that neighbourhood. One evening after supper he went to the tailor who was making him a suit of clothes; but as the clothes were not quite ready he had to wait till a late hour before returning home, but it was a delightful moonlight night. As he proceeded along a lonely path across a certain moor known as Rhosrhydd, and happened to look back he was suddenly surprised by seeing two young men or boys as he thought, coming after him. At first he thought they were some boys trying to frighten him; but after they had followed him for a short distance till they came within about 30 or 40 yards of him, they turned out from the path, and began to jump and to dance, going round and round as if they followed a ring or a circle just as we hear of the fairies. They were perfectly white, and very nimble, and the old man informed me that there was something supernatural both in their appearance and movements; and that he is convinced to this day that they could not have been human beings. When he arrived home at the farm, and related his adventure, every one in the house was of the opinion that the strange beings he had seen were the Fairies.

NANCY TYNLLAIN AND HER SON SEEING FAIRIES ON HORSES.

A man named Timothy in the parish of Llanarth, Cardiganshire, told me that an old woman known as Nancy Tynllain and her son, Shenkin Phillips, had seen the Tylwyth Teg (fairies) on one occasion. Nancy died over sixty years ago. She and her son one day left home rather early in the morning, as they were going to Cynon’s Fair, and had some distance to go. As they proceeded on their horses in the direction of Wilgarn, they saw the Fairies, mounted on small horses, galloping round and round as in a circle round about a certain hillock, and Nancy took particular notice that one of the Fairy women had a red cloak on. As the old woman and her son were looking on, watching the movements of the Fairies, Nancy remarked, “That Fairy woman over there rides very much like myself.” This was at early dawn.

ELIAS, FORCH Y CWM AND THE FAIRIES.

Elias, Forch y Cwm, who was a servant man in the same neighbourhood, was one day ploughing on the field, but when he happened to look about he perceived the Fairies on Bank-Cwmpridd, and coming towards him. The man ran home in terror from the field, and this was in broad daylight.

The late Mr. T. Compton Davies, Aberayron, an eminent Folk-Lorist, related to me the following two stories, and informed me that he had already written them in Welsh for “Cymru,” in which excellent periodical they appeared, September, 1892, page 117.

THE CARDIGANSHIRE PAINTER AND MUSICIAN, WHO PLAYED HIS FLUTE TO THE FAIRY LADIES AND NEARLY SECURED ONE OF THEM AS A WIFE.

About the year 1860, a builder from Aberayron, in Cardiganshire, was erecting a Vicarage at Nantcwnlle, about nine miles from Aberayron, not far from Llangeitho. There was a certain man there employed as a painter, whose name was John Davies, a harmless and superstitious character, who once had been an exciseman, afterwards a carpenter, and at last became a painter, though he did not shine in either of the two trades. He was however, a brilliant musician, and belonged to a musical family. He was acquainted with the works of Handel, Mozart, Haydn, and Beethoven, whilst one of his favourites was the song of the Witches in “Macbeth,” He also always carried his flute in his pocket. Whilst this Nantcwnlle Vicarage was in course of construction, John was sent one day on a message to Aberayron. He went there in due time, and in the afternoon left the town and started on his return journey, having the choice of two roads-either returning through the Vale of Aeron, or across the hill-country of Cilcennin, The latter was a very lonely route, but he chose it as it was about two miles shorter. So John hurried on his journey so as to reach his destination before night. When he came to the little village of Cilcennin, he had a good mind to enter the public house known as the “Commercial,” to see his old friend Llywelyn, when he remembered that it was getting late and that he had to pass by the ghosts of the moors and the Fairy circles on the top of the mountain. After walking on again about a mile, he arrived at another public house, known as “Rhiwlas Arms.” He was now within three miles to the end of his journey, and it occurred to him that it would be a splendid thing to have one pint of beer to give him strength and courage to meet the ghosts. So in he went into the Public House, where he met with many old friends, and drank more than one pint. After taking out his flute from his pocket, John obliged the merry company with many of the old Welsh airs, such as “Ar Hyd y Nos,” “Glan Meddwdod Mwyn,” “Llwyn on,” etc. It was 8 o’clock p.m., and in the middle of October. John started from the house, boasting to those who were present that he was not afraid, but poor fellow, as soon as he went out into the darkness and the stillness of the night, his heart began to beat very fast. Nevertheless, he walked forward from the cross-road towards Hendraws, and turned to a road which led direct to Nantcwnlle. For a considerable distance, there was no hedge except on one side of the road, and nothing but a vast open moor on the other side. John knew that he was to pass a small cottage called Ty-clottas, and expected every moment to see the light of the old woman who lived there, who was known as Peggi Ty-clottas. Unfortunately, John had somehow or other wandered away from the road into the bog; but seeing light before him, he went on confidently. He followed the light for some distance, but did not come to any house, and he noticed that the light was travelling and giving a little jump now and again.

At the early dawn next morning, old Peggi Ty-clottas, when she was half awake, heard some strange music, more strange than she had ever heard before. At first she thought it was the “toili” (phantom funeral), which had come to warn her of her approaching death; for to believe in the “toili” was part of Peggi’s confession of faith. But when she listened attentively, Peggi found out that the music was not a dead march, but rather something light and merry. So it could not have been the “toili.” Afterwards she thought it was the warbling of some bird. Peggi had heard the lark many a time at the break of day singing songs of praises to the Creator. She had also heard the lapwing and other birds, breaking on the loneliness of her solitary home; but never had she heard a bird like this one singing, singing continually without a pause. At last she got up from her bed and went out into the moor in order to see what was there. To her great surprise, she saw a man sitting on a heap, and blowing into some instrument, who took no notice of Peggi. Peggi went quite close to the man and asked him in a loud voice, “What do you want here?” Then the man stirred up and ceased to blow, and with an angry look, said,-“Ah you,-you have spoiled everything; it nearly came to a bargain.” It proved that the man whom Peggi came upon was John Davies, the painter, who had been playing his flute to the Fairies, and had almost made a bargain with them to marry a Fairy lady, when old Peggi came to spoil everything.

When Mr. T. Compton Davies, heard about John among the Fairies he went to him and begged him to tell him all about it; and he did so. According to John’s own account of his night adventure it was something as follows:-When he got lost in the bog, he followed the light, till presently, he came to a Fairy ring, where a large number of little Fairy ladies danced in it, and to his great surprise, one of them took his arm, so that John also began to dance. And after a while, the Queen of the Fairies herself came on to him, and asked him, “Where do you come from?” John replied, “From the world of mortals,” and added that he was a painter. Then she said to him, that they had no need of a painter in the world of Fairies, as there was nothing getting old there. John found the Fairies all ladies, or at least he did not mention any men. They were very beautiful, but small, and wearing short white dresses coming down to the knees only. When he took out from his pocket his flute and entertained them by playing some Irish, Scotch, and English airs, the Queen informed him that they (the Fairies) were of Welsh descent. Then John played some Welsh airs from Owen Alaw to the great delight of the Fairy ladies, and they had a merry time of it. John soon became a great favourite, and asked for something to drink, but found they were “teetotals.” Then he fell in love with one of the Fairy ladies, and asked the Queen for the hand of the maiden, and informed her that he had a horse named Bob, as well as a cart of his own making. The Queen in reply said that they were not accustomed to mix with mortals, but as he had proved himself such a musician, she gave her consent under the conditions that he and the little lady should come once a month on the full moon night to the top of Mount Trichrug to visit the Fairies. Then the Queen took hold of a pot full of gold which she intended giving John as a dowry, but, unfortunately, at the very last moment, when he was just going to take hold of it, old Peggi TyClottas came to shout and to spoil the whole thing; for as soon as the Fairy ladies saw old Peggi, they all vanished through some steps into the underground regions and John never saw them again. But he continued to believe as long as he lived that he had been with the Fairies.

TWO MEN WHO SAW THE FAIRIES IN CARMARTHENSHIRE DANCING IN BROAD DAYLIGHT.

Mr. Compton Davies, also informed me that there were two men in his neighbourhood who had seen the Fairies about 45 years ago, and he directed me to go and see them so as to hear everything from their own lips. One of them, David Evans, Red Lion, lives at Aberayron, and the other Evan Lewis is a farmer near Mydroilyn, in the parish of Llanarth. I went to see both of them, and they gave me a full account of what they had seen which was something as follows:-

In August, 1862, David Evans and Evan Lewis, went from the Coast of Cardiganshire with their waggons all the way to Brecon for some timber for ship-building, which was going on at New Quay. On their return journey, through Carmarthenshire, they stopped for a short time at a place called Cwmdwr on the road leading from Llanwrda to Lampeter. It was about 2 o’clock in the afternoon, and the two men and their horses and waggons were standing opposite a farm known as Maestwynog, where the reapers were busy at work in a wheat-field close by. As they were looking in the direction of a hillside not far off, David Evans saw about fifty small wheat stacks (sopynau bychain), as he at first thought. On second sight, however, he noticed that they were moving about, he took them for reapers. They were all dressed exactly alike, and walked fast one after another up the hillside footpath. David Evans now called the attention of his companion Evan Lewis, whom he asked who the men could have been; but before he had time to make any further remarks, the first of those who were climbing up along the winding footpath had reached a small level spot on the top of the hill. The others quickly followed him, and each one in coming to the top, gave a jump to dance, and they formed a circle. After dancing for a short time, one of the dancers turned in into the middle of the circle, followed by the others, one by one till they appeared like a gimblet screw. Then they disappeared into the ground. After awhile one of them reappeared again, and looked about him in every direction as a rat, and the others followed him one by one and did the same. Then they danced for some time as before, and vanished into the ground as they had done the first time. The two men, David Evans and Evan Lewis were watching them from a distance of about 400 yards and were more than astonished to see men, as they thought, acting in such a strange and curious manner on the hill. They continued looking for some time but the dancers did not appear again. At last the two men proceeded on their journey till they came to an old man working on the road whom they asked whether he knew anything about the men they had seen dancing in a circle on the hill behind Maestwynog. The old man replied that he had not the least idea, but had heard his grandfather say that the Tylwyth Teg (Fairies) used to dance in his time, at which explanation our two friends smiled.

In the above account we see that the hill near Maestwynog was a special haunt of the Fairies, even in modern days. There are certain spots here and there all over Wales, pointed out by old people to this day, as having been frequented in former times by the Fairies to dance and to sing. An old man named James Jones, Golden Lion, Llanarth, informed me that when a boy he heard from the lips of old men, many a tale of Fairies seen on Bank-rhydeiniol; and that they were mounted on horses, riding and playing; and the late Rev. J. Davies, Moria, mentions that there were traditions of them appearing on Bannau Duon in the same parish. In the northern part of Cardiganshire, the people of Talybont showed me a spot a few miles to the east of that village, where these supernatural beings appeared long ago, more especially to dance. The neighbourhood of Aberporth, in the southern part of the same county, was also a favourite spot according to an old woman in the village. Pant Shon Shenkin in the neighbourhood of Pencader was a famous place for Carmarthenshire Fairies, of which district we have already given the reader more than one story.

Gwynionydd in the Brython for 1860, remarks that in former times the Fairies were fond of the mountains of Dyfed, and that travellers in Cardiganshire, between Lampeter and the town of Cardigan often saw them on Llanwenog hill; but after arriving on that spot they would be seen far away on the mountains of Llandyssul, and expecting to find them there, they would be seen somewhere else, both deluding and eluding the traveller.

THE FAIRIES OF CWM MABWS, SEEN DRIVING IN THEIR CARRIAGES.

In the interesting small valley of Cwm Mabws, near Llanrhystyd, nine miles from Aberystwyth, there is a rocky spot known as Craig Rhydderch. Even within the memory of some who are still alive, the caves of Craig Rhydderch were the favourite haunts of the Fairies, where these mysterious beings were thought to dwell, or at least pass through to the underground regions. The Fairies of this part were, it was supposed, some kind of spirits or supernatural beings, and were often seen in the Valley of Mabws going about in their phantom carriages and horses. About fifty years ago when Fairies were still to be seen in this neighbourhood, the eldest son of Penlan farm, and some of the men servants one evening just before dark, took their horses down to the little river which runs through the bottom of the valley in order to give the animals water, as there was no water near the farm-house which stood on high ground. As they were on their way to the river they heard some noise on the road quite near them, and the farmer’s son said to the servants, “It is the noise of the Fairies on their journey, and they are coming from the direction of Craig Rhydderch; let us stand one side of the road to make room for them to pass.” And sure enough, just as he spoke, a number of Fairies appeared on the scene and passed by as if they were on a journey. They were little men with little horses and carriages, but my informant could not tell me the colour of their dresses nor the colour of their horses.

After taking their horses to the water and turning them into a field, the men went home to Penlan; and as soon as they entered the house and related what they had seen, another son of the farm had just arrived home from Aberystwyth with a horse and cart, and he also had seen the Fairies, just as he was turning to the road which led up the hill.

The above story was related to me by Mr. David Morgan, Carpenter, Llanrhystyd, who vouches for the truth of the account as he was well acquainted with the persons who saw the Fairies, and one of them was a friend of his.

FAIRIES AND FOOTBALLERS.

There is a curious tradition that early one Easter Monday, when the parishioners of Pencarreg and Caio were met to play at football, they saw a numerous company of Fairies dancing. Being so many in number, the young men were not intimidated at all, but proceeded in a body towards the puny tribe, who perceiving them, removed to another place. The young men followed, whereupon the little folk suddenly disappeared dancing at the first place. Seeing this, the men divided and surrounded them, when they immediately became invisible, and were never more seen there. This was in Carmarthenshire.

Other places frequented by Fairies were Moyddin, between Lampeter and Llanarth, in Troed yr Aur, in Cardiganshire.

FAIRIES MARKETING.

It was formerly believed in some parts of West Wales, especially by the people dwelling near the sea coast, that the Fairies visited markets and fairs, and that their presence made business very brisk. I have already referred to the “Gwerddonau Llion,” or the enchanted “Isles of the Sea,” inhabited by Fairy Tribes. These Fairies, it was believed, went to and fro between the islands and shore, through a subterranean gallery under the bottom of the sea, and regularly attended the markets at Milford Haven, in Pembrokeshire and Laugharne in Carmarthenshire. (“British Goblins,” page 10.) They made their purchases without speaking, laid down their money and departed, always leaving the exact sum required, which they seemed to know, without asking the price of anything. Sometimes they were invisible, but they were often seen by sharp-eyed persons. There was one special butcher at Milford Haven upon whom the Fairies bestowed their patronage, instead of distributing their favours indiscriminately.

According to Gwynionydd in the “Brython,” for 1858, page 110, these Fairies also came to market to Cardigan, and it was thought they raised the prices of things terribly whenever they came there. In that part of the country they were known as “Plant Rhys Ddwfn.” No one saw them coming there or going away, only seen there in the market. When prices in the market happened to be high, and the corn all sold, however, much there might have been there in the morning, the poor used to say to one another on the way home, “Oh! They were there to-day,” meaning “Plant Rhys Ddwfn,” or the Fairies. These Fairies were liked by the farmers who had corn to sell, but disliked by the poor labourers who had to buy corn and give higher price for it. Gwynionydd also says that: “A certain Gruffydd Ap Einon was wont to sell them more corn than anybody else, and that he was a great friend of theirs. He was honoured by them beyond all his contemporaries by being led on a visit to their home. As they were great traders, like the Phœnicians of old, they had treasures from all countries under the sun. Gruffydd, after feasting his eyes to satiety on their wonders was led back by them loaded with presents. But before taking leave of them, he asked them how they succeeded in keeping themselves safe from invaders, as one of their number might become unfaithful, and go beyond the virtue of the herbs that formed their safety. “Oh!” replied the little old man of shrewd looks, “Just as Ireland has been blessed with a soil on which venomous reptiles cannot live, so with our land; no traitor can live here. Look at the sand on the seashore; perfect unity prevails there, and so among us.” Rhys, the father of our race, bade us even to the most distant descendant to honour our parents and ancestors; love our own wives without looking at those of our neighbours, and do our best for our children and grandchildren. And he said that if we did so, no one of us would prove unfaithful to another, or become what you call a traitor. The latter is a wholly imaginary character among us; strange pictures are drawn of him with his feet like those of an ass, with a nest of snakes in his bosom, with a head like the Devil’s, with hands somewhat like a man’s while one of them holds a large knife and the family dead around him Good-bye!” When Gruffydd looked about him he lost sight of the country of Plant Rhys, and found himself near his home. He became very wealthy after this, and continued to be a great friend of Plant Rhys as long as he lived. After Gruffydd’s death they came to the market again, but such was the greed of the farmers, like Gruffydd before them, for riches, and so unreasonable were the prices they asked for their corn, that the Rhysians took offence and came no more to Cardigan to market. The old people used to think that they now went to Fishguard market, as very strange people were wont to be seen there.”

FAIRY CHANGELINGS.

Mr. B. Davies in the II. Vol. of the “Brython,” page 182, gives the following tale of a Fairy Changeling in the neighbourhood of Newcastle Emlyn, in the Vale of Teifi, and on the borders of Carmarthenshire and Cardiganshire:-

“One calm hot day, when the sun of heaven was brilliantly shining, and the hay in the dales was being busily made by lads and lasses, and by grown-up people of both sexes, a woman in the neighbourhood of Emlyn placed her one-year-old infant in the “gader” or chair, as the cradle is called in these parts, and out she went to the field for a while, intending to return when her neighbour, an old woman overtaken by the decrepitude of eighty summers, should call to her that her Darling was crying. It was not long before she heard the old woman calling to her; she ran hurriedly, and as soon as she set foot on the kitchen floor, she took her little one in her arms as usual, saying to him, “O my little one! thy mother’s delight art thou! I would not take the world for thee, etc.” But to her surprise, he had a very old look about him, and the more the tender-hearted mother gazed at his face, the stranger it seemed to her, so that at last she placed him in the cradle and told her sorrow to her relatives and acquaintances. And after this one and the other had given his opinion, it was agreed at last that it was one of Rhys Ddwfn’s children that was in the cradle, and not her dearly loved baby. In this distress there was nothing to do but to fetch a wizard, or wise man, as fast as the fastest horse could gallop. He said, when he saw the child that he had seen his like before, and that it would be a hard job to get rid of him, though not such a very hard job this time. The shovel was made red hot in the fire by one of the Cefnarth (Cenarth) boys, and held before the child’s face; and in an instant the short little old man took to his heels, and neither he nor his like was seen afterwards from Abercuch to Aberbargod at any rate. The mother found her darling unscathed the next moment. I remember also hearing that the strange child was as old as the grandfather of the one that had been lost.”-“Celtic Folk-Lore” by Sir J. Rhys.

There are many such stories in different parts of Wales and Scotland, and in both countries Fairies were believed to have a fatal admiration for lovely children, and credited with stealing them, especially unbaptized infants.

A Welsh poet thus sings:-

Another popular mode of treatment resorted to in order to reclaim children from the Fairies, and to get rid of ugly changelings was as follows:-The mother was to carry the changeling to a river, and when at the brink, the wizard who accompanied her was to cry out:-

Then the mother was to throw the changeling into the river, and then returning home, where she would find her own child safe and sound.

It was believed that the Fairies were particularly busy in exchanging children on St. John’s Eve.

HOW TO DETECT CHANGELINGS.

One way of finding out whether children were Changelings or not was to listen to them speaking. If suspected children were heard speaking things above the understanding of children, it was considered a proof that they were changelings. This was a wide-spread belief in Wales.

Fairies did not always come to steal children, however, for they were believed in some places to enter the houses at night to dance and sing until the morning, and leave on the hearth-stone a piece of money as a reward behind them, should they find the house clean; but should it be dirty, they came to punish the servant girl. The good Fairies known as “Bendith y Mamau,” were supposed to rock the infant’s cradle and sweep and clean the house whilst the tired mother slept. And one way of securing their good luck was to leave a little milk for them upon the kitchen table at night.

FAIRY MONEY.

An old man named Evan Morris, Goginan, informed me that a farmer in the Vale of Rheidol one day found a sixpence on the top of a gate-post. On the next day he found a shilling there, and on the day after two shillings, the sum was doubled every day till the man was beginning to get rich. At last, however, the farmer told his family or his friends about his good luck, and after this he got no more money, as the Fairies were offended that he did not keep the thing secret.

FAIRY MOTHERS AND HUMAN MIDWIVES.

The following story is to be found in Welsh in an interesting little book entitled “Ystraeon y Gwyll,” by the late Mr. D. Lledrod Davies; and in English by Sir John Rhys in his great work “Celtic Folk-Lore”:-The locality of the tale is Swyddffynon, near Ystrad Meurig, in Cardiganshire.

“It used to be related by an old woman who died some thirty years ago at the advanced age of about 100. She was Pali, mother of old Rachel Evans, who died seven or eight years ago, when she was about eighty. The latter was a curious character, who sometimes sang “Maswedd,” or rhymes of doubtful propriety, and used to take the children of the village to see fairy rings. She also used to see the “Tylwyth” (Fairies), and had many tales to tell of them. But her mother, Pali, had actually been called to attend at the confinement of one of them. The beginning of the tale is not very explicit; but, anyhow, Pali one evening found herself face to face with the Fairy lady she was to attend upon. She appeared to be the wife of one of the princes of the country. She was held in great esteem, and lived in a very grand palace. Everything there had been arranged in the most beautiful and charming fashion. The wife was in her bed with nothing about her but white, and she fared sumptuously. In due time, when the baby had been born, the midwife had all the care connected with dressing it and serving its mother. Pali could see or hear nobody in the whole place, but the mother and the baby. She had no idea who attended on them, or who prepared all the things they required, for it was all done noiselessly and secretly. The mother was a charming person, of an excellent temper and easy to manage. Morning and evening, as she finished washing the baby, Pali had a certain ointment given her to rub the baby with. She was charged not to touch it, but with her hand, and especially not to put any near her eyes. This was carried out for some time, but one day, as she was dressing the baby, her eyes happened to itch, and she rubbed them with her hand. Then at once she saw a great many wonders she had not before perceived; and the whole place assumed a new aspect to her. She said nothing, and in the course of the day she saw a great deal more. Among other things, she observed small men and small women going in and out following a variety of occupations. But their movements were as light as the morning breezes. To move about was no trouble to them, and they brought things into the room with the greatest quickness. They prepared dainty food for the confined lady with the utmost order and skill, and the air of kindness and affection with which they served her was truly remarkable. In the evening, as she was dressing the baby, the midwife said to the lady, “You have had a great many visitors to-day.” To this she replied, “How do you know that? Have you been putting this ointment to your eyes?” Thereupon she jumped out of bed, and blew into her eyes, saying, “Now you will see no more.” She never afterwards could see the fairies, however much she tried, nor was the ointment entrusted to her after that day.”

There is a version of this story located in the neighbourhood of Llanuwchllyn, Merionethshire, and indeed in several other parts of Wales.

FAIRIES PLAYING TRICKS WITH THE OVEN.

Miss Evelyn Lewes, Tyglyn Aeron, in the “Carmarthenshire Antiquities” says, “Should the dough not rise properly, but present a stringy appearance, the Cardiganshire housewife announces that “Mae bara yn robin,” and forthwith orders the sacrifice of an old slipper, presumably to propitiate the fairy folk who are inclined to play tricks with the oven… A native of Montgomeryshire tells me that in her youth no loaf at her home was ever placed in the oven unless a cross had been previously signed upon it.”

FAIRY GLOVES.

Mrs. A. Crawley-Boevey, of Birchgrove, Crosswood, a lady who is greatly interested in Folk-Lore, informed me that it is believed in Gloucestershire that the Fairies live in Fox Gloves. I have not so far discovered this belief in Wales, but Fox Glove is called in some part of the Principality Menyg y Tylwyth Teg (Fairy Gloves). Also Menyg Ellyllon (Elves Gloves).

FAIRY KNOCKERS.

Knockers were supposed to be a species of Fairies which haunted the mines, and underground regions, and whose province it was to indicate by knocks and other sounds, the presence of rich veins of ore. That miners in former times did really believe in the existence of such beings is quite evident from the following two letters written by Lewis Morris (great grandfather of Sir Lewis Morris the poet) in October 14th, 1754, and December 4th, 1754. They appeared in Bingley’s North Wales, Vol. II., pages 269-272:

“People who know very little of arts or sciences, or the powers of nature (which, in other words are the powers of the author of nature), will laugh at us Cardiganshire miners, who maintain the existence of “Knockers” in mines, a kind of good-natured impalpable people not to be seen, but heard, and who seem to us to work in the mines; that is to say, they are the types or forerunners of working in mines, as dreams are of some accidents, which happen to us. The barometer falls before rain, or storms. If we do not know the construction of it, we should call it a kind of dream that foretells rain; but we know it is natural, and produced by natural means, comprehended by us. Now, how are we sure, or anybody sure, but that our dreams are produced by the same natural means? There is some faint resemblance of this in the sense of hearing; the bird is killed before we hear the report of the gun. However, this is, I must speak well of the “Knockers,” for they have actually stood my good-friends, whether they are aerial beings called spirits, or whether they are a people made of matter, not to be felt by our gross bodies, as air and fire and the like. “Before the discovery of the “Esgair y Mwyn” mine, these little people, as we call them here, worked hard there day and night; and there are honest, sober people, who have heard them, and some persons who have no notion of them or of mines either; but after the discovery of the great ore they were heard no more. When I began to work at Llwyn Llwyd, they worked so fresh there for a considerable time that they frightened some young workmen out of the work. This was when we were driving levels, and before we had got any ore; but when we came to the ore, they then gave over, and I heard no more talk of them. Our old miners are no more concerned at hearing them “blasting,” boring holes, landing “deads,” etc., than if they were some of their own people; and a single miner will stay in the work, in the dead of night, without any man near him, and never think of any fear of any harm they will do him. The miners have a notion that the “knockers” are of their own tribe and profession, and are a harmless people who mean well. Three or four miners together shall hear them sometimes, but if the miners stop to take notice of them, the “knockers” will also stop; but, let the miners go on at their work, suppose it is “boring,” the “knockers” will at the same time go on as brisk as can be in landing, “blasting.” or beating down the “loose,” and they are always heard a little distance from them before they come to the ore.

“These are odd assertions, but they are certainly facts, though we cannot, and do not pretend to account for them. We have now very good ore at “Llwyn Llwyd,” where the “knockers” were heard to work, but we have now yielded the place, and are no more heard. Let who will laugh, we have the greatest reason to rejoice, and thank the “knockers,” or rather God, who sends us these notices.”

The second letter is as follows:-

“I have no time to answer your objection against ‘knockers’; I have a large treatise collected on that head, and what Mr. Derham says is nothing to the purpose. If sounds of voices, whispers, blasts, working, or pumping, can be carried on a mile underground, they should always be heard in the same place, and under the same advantages, and not once in a month, a year, or two years. Just before the discovery of ore last week, three men together in our work at “Llwyn Llwyd” were ear-witnesses of “knockers,” pumping, driving a wheelbarrow, etc.; but there is no pump in the work, nor any mine within less than a mile of it, in which there are pumps constantly going. If they were these pumps that they heard, why were they never heard but that once in the space of a year? And why are they not now heard? But the pumps make so little noise that they cannot be heard in the other end of “Esgair y Mwyn” mine when they are at work. We have a dumb and deaf tailor in the neighbourhood who has a particular language of his own by signs, and by practice I can understand him and make him understand me pretty well, and I am sure I could make him learn to write, and be understood by letters very soon, for he can distinguish men already by the letters of their names. Now letters are marks to convey ideas, just after the same manner as the motion of fingers, hands, eyes, etc. If this man had really seen ore in the bottom of a sink of water in a mine and wanted to tell me how to come at it, he would take two sticks like a pump, and would make the motions of a pumper at the very sink where he knew the ore was, and would make the motions of driving a wheelbarrow. And what I should infer from thence would be that I ought to take out the water and sink or drive in the place, and wheel the stuff out. By parity of reasoning, the language of “knockers,” by imitating the sound of pumping, wheeling, etc., signifies that we should take out the water and drive there. This is the opinion of all old miners, who pretend to understand the language of the “knockers.” Our agent and manager, upon the strength of this notice, goes on and expect great things. You, and everybody that is not convinced of the being of “knockers,” will laugh at these things, for they sound like dreams; so does every dark science. Can you make any illiterate man believe that it is possible to know the distance of two places by looking at them? Human knowledge is but of small extent, its bounds are within our view, we see nothing beyond these; the great universal creation contains powers, etc., that we cannot so much as guess at. May there not exist beings, and vast powers infinitely smaller than the particles of air, to whom air is as hard a body as the diamond is to us? Why not? There is neither great nor small, but by comparison. Our “knockers” are some of these powers, the guardians of mines.

“You remember the story in Selden’s Table-Talk of Sir Robert Cotton and others disputing about Moses’s shoe. Lady Cotton came in and asked, ‘Gentlemen, are you sure it is a shoe?’ So the first thing is to convince mankind that there is a set of creatures, a degree or so finer than we are, to whom we have given the name of “knockers” from the sounds we hear in our mines. This is to be done by a collection of their actions well attested, and that is what I have begun to do, and then let everyone judge for himself.”

We do not hear of “Knockers” in Cardiganshire now; in Cornwall, however, it is said that they still haunt the mines, and sometimes, with a sound of knocking and singing, they guide a lucky miner to find good ore. The “Knockers” were, it was once thought, “the Souls of the Jews who crucified our Saviour.” At least it seems that that was the belief in Cornwall. Perhaps it would be of interest to add that there were Cornishmen among the miners of Cardiganshire when Mr. Lewis Morris wrote the two letters I have just given.

A STORY OF PONT EINION (EINION BRIDGE) TREGARON.

Mr. John Jones, Pontrhydfendigaid, who is now about 95 years of age, related to me the following tale seven years ago:-

Long ago, when much of the land where now stand the farms of Ystrad-Caron, Penylan, and Penybont, was a Common, a gentleman named Einion, and his wife, came from Abergwaun (Fishguard) and settled in the neighbourhood of Tregaron. Einion inclosed much of the land on the banks of the river Teivy in that part, and built a fine mansion which he called Ystrad-Caron, and soon became a most influential man in the neighbourhood, especially as he was well-to-do, and had generously constructed at his own expense, a bridge over the river for the convenience of the poor people of Tregaron and the surrounding districts. He also loved above everything his wife, and his harp, and was considered one of the best players on that instrument in Wales; but, unfortunately, as time went on, he failed to derive any pleasure from his surroundings and soon became subject to “melancholia,” imagining that the place was haunted by some evil genius.

At last, he was persuaded by his medical adviser to seek a change of scenery by going to stay for a while in Pembrokeshire, his native place. Soon after his arrival at Fishguard, he took a short sea voyage from that port, but after some adventures, he and others of his fellow passengers were taken prisoners by a French Man of War.

After spending many years of his lifetime inside the strong walls of a French prison, he at last succeeded to escape, and soon found his way once more to the neighbourhood of Tregaron in Cardiganshire; but to his great astonishment, as he neared his own house, Ystrad-Caron, after so many years’ absence, he heard some music and dancing.

Clothed in rags he knocked at the back door, and pretended to be a tramp. One of the maid servants took compassion on the “poor old tramp,” and allowed him to come in and warm himself near the kitchen fire.

“We are very busy here to-day,” said she to him, “our mistress who has been a widow for many years is about to get married again, and the bride and bridegroom and a party of invited guests are now in the parlour, but, unfortunately, not one of those present is able to tune the harp, a fine old instrument which belonged to the lady’s first husband who went away from home and got drowned at sea many years ago.” “Please ask them to allow me to tune the harp,” said Einion to the maid. The girl then went to inform her mistress that there was an old man in the kitchen who could tune the harp for them.

Einion now entered the parlour, and to the astonishment of the bride and bridegroom and the guests, soon tuned the harp; and as soon as he began to play an old favourite tune of his:

The lady of the house recognised him at once as her husband.

Then turning to the young bridegroom to whom she was engaged to be married, addressed him thus:-“You may go now, as my husband has come home to me once more.”

A short time after my visit to Mr. J. Jones, Pontrhydfendigaid, I went to Tregaron, where I found out from Mr. Jenkin Lloyd (formerly of Pant), and others, that the story of Pont Einion (Einion Bridge) was well-known in the neighbourhood, but that Einion during the many years he was away from home, was not in prison but among the Fairies.

It seems probable that the above story is a modern local version of a tale which is to be found in the Iolo MSS. entitled:-“Einion Ap Gwalchmai and the Lady of the Greenwood,” which I introduce here for comparison:-

Einion, the son of Gwalchmai, the son of Meilir, of Treveilir in Anglesey, married Angharad, the daughter of Ednyved Vychan.

As he was one fine summer morning walking in the woods of Treveilir, he beheld a graceful slender lady of elegant growth, and delicate features; and her complexion surpassing every white and red in the morning dawn, and the mountain snow, and every beautiful colour in the blossoms of wood, field and hill. He felt in his heart an inconceivable commotion of affection, and he approached her in a courteous manner, and she also approached him in the same manner; and he saluted her, and she returned his salutation; and by these mutual salutations he perceived that his society was not disagreeable to her. He then chanced to cast his eye upon her foot, and he saw that she had hoofs instead of feet, and he became exceedingly dissatisfied. But she told him that his dissatisfaction was all in vain. “Thou must” said she, “follow me wheresoever I go, as long as I continue in my beauty, for this is the consequence of our mutual affection.”

Then he requested of her permission to go to his house to take leave of, and to say farewell to his wife, Angharad, and his son Einion. “I” said she, “shall be with thee, invisible to all but to thyself; go visit thy wife and thy son.”

So he went, and the Goblin; and when he saw Angharad his wife, he saw her a hag-like one grown old, but he retained the recollection of days past, and still felt extreme affection for her, but he was not able to loose himself from the bond in which he was. “It is necessary for me” said he, “to part for a time, I know not how long from thee Angharad, and from thee my son Einion,” and they wept together, and broke a gold ring between them; he kept one half, and Angharad the other; and they took their leave of each other, and he went with the Lady of the Wood, and he knew not where; for a powerful illusion was upon him, and saw not any place, a person, or object under its true and proper appearance, excepting the half of the ring alone. And after being a long time, he knew not how long, with the Goblin, the Lady of the Wood, he looked one morning as the sun was rising upon the half of the ring, and he bethought him to place it in the most precious place he could and resolved to put it under his eyelid; and as he was endeavouring to do so, he could see a man in white apparel, and mounted on a snow-white horse, coming towards him, and that person asked him what he did there; and he told him that he was cherishing an afflicting remembrance of his wife Angharad. “Dos’t thou desire to see her,” said the man in white, “get up on this horse behind me”; and that Einion did, and looking around he could not see any appearance of the Lady of the Wood, the Goblin; excepting the track of hoofs of marvellous and monstrous size, as if journeying towards the north. “What delusion art thou under?” said the man in white. Then Einion answered him and told everything, how it occurred betwixt him and the Goblin. “Take this white staff in thy hand,” said the man in white; and Einion took it. And the man in white told him to desire whatever he wished for. The first thing he desired was to see the Lady of the Wood, for he was not yet completely delivered from the illusion. And she appeared to him in size a hideous and monstrous witch, a thousand times more repulsive of aspect than the most frightful things seen upon earth. And Einion uttered a cry from terror; and the man in white cast his cloak over Einion, and in less than a twinkling Einion alighted as he wished on the hill of Treveilir, by his own house, where he knew scarcely anyone, nor did anyone know him. After the Goblin had left Einion, the son of Gwalchmai, she went to Treveilir in the form of an honourable and powerful nobleman elegantly and sumptuously appareled, and possessed of an incalculable amount of gold and silver, and also in the prime of life, that is thirty years of age. And he placed a letter in Angharad’s hand in which it was stated that Einion had died in Norway more than nine years before, and he then exhibited his gold and wealth to Angharad; and she, having in the course of time lost much of her regret, listened to his affectionate address. And the illusion fell upon her, and seeing that she should become a noble lady higher than any in Wales, she named a day for her marriage with him. And there was a great preparation of every elegant and sumptuous kind of apparel, and of meats and drinks, and of every honourable guest, and every excellence of song and string, and every preparation of banquet and festive entertainment. And when the honourable saw a particularly beautiful harp in Angharad’s room, he wished to have it played on; and the harpers present, the best in Wales, tried to put it in tune, but were not able. And when everything was made ready for to proceed to Church to be married, Einion came into the house and Angharad saw him as an old decrepit, withered, gray-haired man, stooping with age, and dressed in rags, and she asked him if he would turn the spit whilst the meat was roasting. “I will,” said he and went about the work with the white staff in his hand after the manner of a man carrying a pilgrim’s staff. And after dinner had been prepared, all the minstrels failing to put the harp in tune for Angharad, Einion got up and took it in his hand, and tuned it, and played on it the air which Angharad loved. And she marvelled exceedingly, and asked him who he was. And he answered in song and stanza thus:

And upon that he placed the white staff in Angharad’s hand, and instantly the Goblin which she had hitherto seen as a handsome and honourable nobleman, appeared to her as a monster, inconceivably hideous; and fainted from fear, and Einion supported her until she revived. And when she opened her eyes, she saw there neither the Goblin, nor any of the guests, or of the minstrels, nor anything whatever except Einion, and her son and the harp, and the house in its domestic arrangement, and the dinner on the table, casting its savoury odour around. And they sat down to eat; Einion and Angharad and Einion their son; and exceeding great was the enjoyment. And they saw the illusion which the demoniacal Goblin had cast over them. And by this perchance may be seen that love of female beauty and gentleness is the greatest fascination of man; the love of honours with their vanities and riches, is the greatest fascination of woman. No man will forget his wife, unless he sets his heart on the beauty of another; nor woman her husband, unless she sets her heart on the riches and honour of lordly vaingloriousness and the pomp of pride. And thus it ends.”

Ednyved Vychan, whose name is mentioned in the beginning of the above story as Einion’s father-in-law, was Lord of Brynffenigl in Denbighshire, and flourished seven hundred years ago. He was a most powerful chieftain, and from him descended in the male line Henry VII. King of England, an ancestor to nearly all if not all the present monarchs of Europe.

MERMAIDS.

It seems probable that the tradition of Mermaids is of the same origin as that of fairies.

In Campbell’s Superstitions of the Scottish Highlands, it is stated that a man in North Harris, caught a mermaid on a rock, and to procure her release, she granted him his three wishes. He became a skilful herb-doctor, who could cure the King’s evil and other diseases ordinarily incurable. This reminds us of the Fairy Lady of Llyn y Fanfach in Carmarthenshire, revealing to her sons the medical qualities of certain herbs and plants, thus enabling them to become eminent doctors.

In the Welsh tales the mermaid is described as half woman and half fish: above the waist a lovely woman, but below the waist like a fish. There are several mermaid stories on the west coast of Wales, or perhaps, different versions of the same tale.

It was believed that vengeance overtook those who showed cruelty to these beings, and there is a tradition still extant in Carmarthenshire, that a man who killed one of them in the neighbourhood of Pembrey, or Kidwelly, brought a curse upon himself, his family and his descendants until the ninth generation.

In times gone by, it seems that Cardiganshire with a sea-coast of about fifty miles, was noted for its mermaids; and according to Dryton, at the Battle of Agincourt, the county had “a mermaid sitting on a rock,” as armorial bearings.

THE MERMAID AND THE FISHERMEN.

Mr. Lewis, Henbant, an old man who lives in the neighbourhood of Llanarth, Cardiganshire, told me the following tale five years ago, though I am indebted for some particulars to the Rev. D. Lewis, Vicar of Llansantffread:-In times gone by a mermaid was often seen on a rock known as Careg Ina, near New Quay. One day this sea creature became entangled in the nets of some fishermen who were out fishing some considerable distance from the land. She entreated the men to disentangle her, and allow her to return to the water. Her request was granted, and in gratitude the mermaid warned them of a coming storm, and advised them to make for the shore without delay. This they did hurriedly, and as they were nearing the land a terrific storm came on suddenly, and it was with difficulty that they managed to land safely. Other fishermen in another boat on the very same day, not having the advantage of being warned by the mermaid, were caught by the storm and met with a watery grave.

I have also discovered a version of this story at Aberporth, a seaside village some distance to the South of New Quay.

It was formerly believed that there were mermen as well as mermaids, though I have no Welsh tale of a merman.

THE FISHERMEN OF LLANDUDOCH AND THE MERMAID.

The following tale appeared in Welsh fifty years ago in “Y Brython,” Vol. I. page 73; and the writer was the late eminent Welshman Gwynionydd, father of the present Vicar of Lledrod:-

“On a fine afternoon in September in the beginning of the last century, a fisherman named Pergrin proceeded to a recess in the rock near Pen Cemmes, (Pembrokeshire), and found there a mermaid doing her hair, and he took the water lady prisoner to his boat. We cannot imagine why the lady had not been more on her guard to avoid such a calamity; but if sea maidens are anything like land maidens, they often forget their duties when engaged in dealing with the oil of Maccassar, and making themselves ready to meet the young men. We know not what language is used by sea maidens… but this one this time at any rate, talked, it is said, very good Welsh; for when she was in despair in Pergrin’s custody weeping copiously, and with her tresses all dishevelled, she called out “Pergrin, if thou wilt let me go, I will give three shouts in the time of thy greatest need.” So, in wonder and fear he let her go to walk the streets of the deep and visit her sweethearts there. Days and weeks passed without Pergrin seeing her after this; but one hot afternoon, when the sea was pretty calm, and the fishermen had no thought of danger, behold his old acquaintance showing her head and locks, and shouting out in a loud voice: “Pergrin! Pergrin! Pergrin! take up thy nets! take up thy nets! take up thy nets!” Pergrin and his companion instantly obeyed the message, and drew their nets in with great haste. In they went, passed the bar, and by the time they had reached the Pwll Cam, the most terrible storm had overspread the sea, while he and his companion were safe on land. Twice nine others had gone out with them, but they were all drowned, without having the chance of obeying the warning of the water lady.

A version of the above story is to be found also in Carnarvonshire, North Wales.

A MERMAID SEEN NEAR ABERYSTWYTH.

The following tale appeared in the interesting Welsh Magazine “Seren Gomer,” for June, 1823:-

“Yn mis Gorphenaf, 1826, ffarmwr o blwyf Llanuwchaiarn, yn nghylch tair milltir o Aberystwyth, ty anedd yr hwn sydd o fewn i 300 llath o lan y mor, a aeth i wared i’r creigiau, pan yr oedd yr haul yn cyfodi ac yn pelydru yn hyfryd ar y mor, a gwelai fenyw (fel y tybiai) yn ymolchi yn y mor, o fewn i dafliad carreg ato; ar y cyntaf efe o wylder a aeth yn ei ol, ond ar adfyfyriad meddyliodd na fuasai un fenyw yn myned allan mor bell i’r mor, gan ei fod yr amser hwnw yn llifo; ac hefyd yr oedd yn sicr fod y dwfr yn chwe’ troedfedd o ddyfnder yn y fan y gwelodd hi yn sefyll. Wedi meddwl felly, efe a syrthiodd ar ei wyneb, ac a ymlusgodd yn mlaen i fin y dibyn o ba le y cafodd olwg gyflawn arni dros fwy na haner awr. Wedi edrych digon arni ei hun, efe a ymlusgodd yn ei ol, ac a redodd i alw ei deulu i weled yr olygfa ryfeddol hon; wedi dywedid wrthynt yr hyn a welsai, efe a’u cyfarwyddodd o’r drws pa fan i fyned, ac ymlusgo i ymyl y graig fel y gwnaethai efe. Aeth rhai o honynt heb ond haner gwisgo, canys yr oedd yn foreu, a hwythau ond newydd gyfodi; ac wedi dyfod i’r fan, gwelsant hi dros o gylch deng mynyd, tra bu y ffarmwr yn galw ei wraig a’i blentyn ieuangaf. Pan ddaeth y wraig yn mlaen, ni syrthiodd hi i lawr, fel y gwnaethau y rhai eraill, ond cerddodd yn mlaen yn ngolwg y creadur; eithr cyn gynted ag y gwelodd y For-Forwyn hi, soddodd i’r dwfr, a nofiodd ymaith, nes oedd o gylch yr un pollder oddiwrth y tir ag y gwelsid hi ar y cyntaf; a’r holl deulu, y gwr, y wraig, a’r plant, y gweision, a’r morwynion, y rhai oeddynt oll yn ddeuddeg o rifedi, a redasant ar hyd y lan dros fwy na haner milltir, ac yn agos yr holl amser hwnw gwelent hi yn y mor, a rhai gweithiau yr oedd ei phen a’i hysgwyddau oll y tu uchaf i’r dwfr. Yr oedd carreg fawr, dros lathen o uchder yn y mor, ar ba un y safai pan welwyd hi gyntaf. Yr oedd yn sefyll allan o’r dwfr o’i chanol i fynu, a’r holl deulu a dystient ei bod yn gymwys yr un fath o ran dull a maintioli a dynes ieuanc o gylch deunaw oed. Yr oedd ei gwallt yn o fyr, ac o liw tywyll; ei gwyneb yn dra thlws; ci gwddf a’i breichiau fel arferol; ei bronau yn rhesymol, a’i chroen yn wynach nag eiddo un person a welsant erioed o’r blaen. Plygai yn fynych, fel pe buasai yn cymeryd dwfr i fynu ac yna yn dala ei llaw o flaen ei hwyneb dros oddeutu haner mynyd. Pan blygai ei hun felly, gwelid rhyw beth du, fel pe buasai cynffon fer, yn troi i fyny y tu ol iddi. Gwnaethai ryw swn yn fynych tebyg i disian, yr hwn a barai i’r graig i adseinio. Y ffarmwr, yr hwn a gafodd gyfleusdra i edrych arni dros gymaint o amser, a ddywedai na welodd ef ond ychydig iawn o wragedd mor hardd-deg yr olwg a’r For-Forwyn hon. Y mae yr holl deulu, yr ieuengaf o ba rai sydd yn un ar ddeg oed, yn awr yn fyw, a chawsom yr hanes hwn, air yn ngair, fel ei rhoddir yma, oddiwrthynt hwy eu hunain o fewn y mis diweddaf.”

I have translated the above tale as literally as possible, almost word for word, and in English it reads as follows:-

In the month of July, 1826, a farmer from the parish of Llanuwchaiarn, about three miles from Aberystwyth, whose house is within 300 feet of the seashore, descended the rock, when the sun was shining beautifully upon the sea, and he saw a woman (as he thought) washing herself in the sea within a stone’s throw of him. At first, he modestly turned back; but after a moment’s reflection thought that a woman would not go so far out into the sea, as it was flooded at the time, and he was certain that the water was six feet deep in the spot where he saw her standing. After considering the matter, he threw himself down on his face and crept on to the edge of the precipice from which place he had a good view of her for more than half-an-hour. After scrutinizing her himself, he crept back to call his family to see this wonderful sight. After telling them what he had seen, he directed them from the door where to go and to creep near the rock as he had done. Some of them went when they were only half dressed, for it was early in the morning, and they had only just got up from bed. Arriving at the spot, they looked at her for about ten minutes, as the farmer was calling his wife and the younger child. When the wife came on, she did not throw herself down as the others had done, but walked on within sight of the creature; but as soon as the mermaid saw her, she dived into the water, and swam away till she was about the same distance from them as she was when she was first seen. The whole family, husband, wife, children, menservants and maid-servants, altogether twelve in number, ran along the shore for more than half-a-mile, and during most of that time, they saw her in the sea, and sometimes her head and shoulders were upwards out of the water. There was a large stone, more than a yard in height, in the sea, on which she stood when she was first seen. She was standing out of the water from her waist up, and the whole family declared that she was exactly the same as a young woman of about 18 years of age, both in shape and stature. Her hair was short, and of a dark colour; her face rather handsome, her neck and arms were like those of any ordinary woman, her breast blameless and her skin whiter than that of any person they had ever seen before. Her face was towards the shore. She bent herself down frequently, as if taking up water, and then holding her hand before her face for about half-a-minute. When she was thus bending herself, there was to be seen some black thing as if there was a tail turning up behind her. She often made some noise like sneezing, which caused the rock to echo. The farmer who had first seen her, and had had the opportunity of looking at her for some time, said that he had never seen but very few women so handsome in appearance as this mermaid.

All the family, the youngest of whom is now eleven years old, are now alive, and we obtained this account, word for word, as it is given here, from them themselves within the last month.

A powerful king had, among many other treasures, a wonderful tree in his garden, which bore every year beautiful golden apples. But the King was never able to enjoy his treasure, for he might watch and guard them as he liked, as soon as they began to get ripe they were always stolen. At last, in despair, he sent for his three sons, and said to the two eldest, ‘Get yourselves ready for a journey. Take gold and silver with you, and a large retinue of servants, as beseems two noble princes, and go through the world till you find out who it is that steals my golden apples, and, if possible, bring the thief to me that I may punish him as he deserves.’ His sons were delighted at this proposal, for they had long wished to see something of the world, so they got ready for their journey with all haste, bade their father farewell, and left the town.

The youngest Prince was much disappointed that he too was not sent out on his travels; but his father wouldn’t hear of his going, for he had always been looked upon as the stupid one of the family, and the King was afraid of something happening to him. But the Prince begged and implored so long, that at last his father consented to let him go, and furnished him with gold and silver as he had done his brothers. But he gave him the most wretched horse in his stable, because the foolish youth hadn’t asked for a better. So he too set out on his journey to secure the thief, amid the jeers and laughter of the whole court and town.

His path led him first through a wood, and he hadn’t gone very far when he met a lean-looking wolf who stood still as he approached. The Prince asked him if he were hungry, and when the wolf said he was, he got down from his horse and said, ‘If you are really as you say and look, you may take my horse and eat it.’

The wolf didn’t wait to have the offer repeated, but set to work, and soon made an end of the poor beast. When the Prince saw how different the wolf looked when he had finished his meal, he said to him, ‘Now, my friend, since you have eaten up my horse, and I have such a long way to go, that, with the best will in the world, I couldn’t manage it on foot, the least you can do for me is to act as my horse and to take me on your back.’

‘Most certainly,’ said the wolf, and, letting the Prince mount him, he trotted gaily through the wood. After they had gone a little way he turned round and asked his rider where he wanted to go to, and the Prince proceeded to tell him the whole story of the golden apples that had been stolen out of the King’s garden, and how his other two brothers had set forth with many followers to find the thief. When he had finished his story, the wolf, who was in reality no wolf but a mighty magician, said he thought he could tell him who the thief was, and could help him to secure him. ‘There lives,’ he said, ‘in a neighbouring country, a mighty emperor who has a beautiful golden bird in a cage, and this is the creature who steals the golden apples, but it flies so fast that it is impossible to catch it at its theft. You must slip into the Emperor’s palace by night and steal the bird with the cage; but be very careful not to touch the walls as you go out.’

The following night the Prince stole into the Emperor’s palace, and found the bird in its cage as the wolf had told him he would. He took hold of it carefully, but in spite of all his caution he touched the wall in trying to pass by some sleeping watchmen. They awoke at once, and, seizing him, beat him and put him into chains. Next day he was led before the Emperor, who at once condemned him to death and to be thrown into a dark dungeon till the day of his execution arrived.

The wolf, who, of course, knew by his magic arts all that had happened to the Prince, turned himself at once into a mighty monarch with a large train of followers, and proceeded to the Court of the Emperor, where he was received with every show of honour. The Emperor and he conversed on many subjects, and, among other things, the stranger asked his host if he had many slaves. The Emperor told him he had more than he knew what to do with, and that a new one had been captured that very night for trying to steal his magic bird, but that as he had already more than enough to feed and support, he was going to have this last captive hanged next morning.

‘He must have been a most daring thief,’ said the King, ‘to try and steal the magic bird, for depend upon it the creature must have been well guarded. I would really like to see this bold rascal.’ ‘By all means,’ said the Emperor; and he himself led his guest down to the dungeon where the unfortunate Prince was kept prisoner. When the Emperor stepped out of the cell with the King, the latter turned to him and said, ‘Most mighty Emperor, I have been much disappointed. I had thought to find a powerful robber, and instead of that I have seen the most miserable creature I can imagine. Hanging is far too good for him. If I had to sentence him I should make him perform some very difficult task, under pain of death. If he did it so much the better for you, and if he didn’t, matters would just be as they are now and he could still be hanged.’ ‘Your counsel,’ said the Emperor, ‘is excellent, and, as it happens, I’ve got the very thing for him to do. My nearest neighbour, who is also a mighty Emperor, possesses a golden horse which he guards most carefully. The prisoner shall be told to steal this horse and bring it to me.’

The Prince was then let out of his dungeon, and told his life would be spared if he succeeded in bringing the golden horse to the Emperor. He did not feel very elated at this announcement, for he did not know how in the world he was to set about the task, and he started on his way weeping bitterly, and wondering what had made him leave his father’s house and kingdom. But before he had gone far his friend the wolf stood before him and said, ‘Dear Prince, why are you so cast down? It is true you didn’t succeed in catching the bird; but don’t let that discourage you, for this time you will be all the more careful, and will doubtless catch the horse.’ With these and like words the wolf comforted the Prince, and warned him specially not to touch the wall or let the horse touch it as he led it out, or he would fail in the same way as he had done with the bird.

After a somewhat lengthy journey the Prince and the wolf came to the kingdom ruled over by the Emperor who possessed the golden horse. One evening late they reached the capital, and the wolf advised the Prince to set to work at once, before their presence in the city had aroused the watchfulness of the guards. They slipped unnoticed into the Emperor’s stables and into the very place where there were the most guards, for there the wolf rightly surmised they would find the horse. When they came to a certain inner door the wolf told the Prince to remain outside, while he went in. In a short time he returned and said, ‘My dear Prince, the horse is most securely watched, but I have bewitched all the guards, and if you will only be careful not to touch the wall yourself, or let the horse touch it as you go out, there is no danger and the game is yours. The Prince, who had made up his mind to be more than cautious this time, went cheerfully to work. He found all the guards fast asleep, and, slipping into the horse’s stall, he seized it by the bridle and led it out; but, unfortunately, before they had got quite clear of the stables a gadfly stung the horse and caused it to switch its tail, whereby it touched the wall. In a moment all the guards awoke, seized the Prince and beat him mercilessly with their horse-whips, after which they bound him with chains, and flung him into a dungeon. Next morning they brought him before the Emperor, who treated him exactly as the King with the golden bird had done, and commanded him to be beheaded on the following day.

When the wolf-magician saw that the Prince had failed this time too, he transformed himself again into a mighty king, and proceeded with an even more gorgeous retinue than the first time to the Court of the Emperor. He was courteously received and entertained, and once more after dinner he led the conversation on to the subject of slaves, and in the course of it again requested to be allowed to see the bold robber who had dared to break into the Emperor’s stable to steal his most valuable possession. The Emperor consented, and all happened exactly as it had done at the court of the Emperor with the golden bird; the prisoner’s life was to be spared only on condition that within three days he should obtain possession of the golden mermaid, whom hitherto no mortal had ever approached.

Very depressed by his dangerous and difficult task, the Prince left his gloomy prison; but, to his great joy, he met his friend the wolf before he had gone many miles on his journey. The cunning creature pretended he knew nothing of what had happened to the Prince, and asked him how he had fared with the horse. The Prince told him all about his misadventure, and the condition on which the Emperor had promised to spare his life. Then the wolf reminded him that he had twice got him out of prison, and that if he would only trust in him, and do exactly as he told him, he would certainly succeed in this last undertaking. Thereupon they bent their steps towards the sea, which stretched out before them, as far as their eyes could see, all the waves dancing and glittering in the bright sunshine. ‘Now,’ continued the wolf, ‘I am going to turn myself into a boat full of the most beautiful silken merchandise, and you must jump boldly into the boat, and steer with my tail in your hand right out into the open sea. You will soon come upon the golden mermaid. Whatever you do, don’t follow her if she calls you, but on the contrary say to her, “The buyer comes to the seller, not the seller to the buyer.” After which you must steer towards the land, and she will follow you, for she won’t be able to resist the beautiful wares you have on board your ship.’

The Prince promised faithfully to do all he had been told, whereupon the wolf changed himself into a ship full of most exquisite silks, of every shade and colour imaginable. The astonished Prince stepped into the boat, and, holding the wolf’s tail in his hand, he steered boldly out into the open sea, where the sun was gilding the blue waves with its golden rays. Soon he saw the golden mermaid swimming near the ship, beckoning and calling to him to follow her; but, mindful of the wolf’s warning, he told her in a loud voice that if she wished to buy anything she must come to him. With these words he turned his magic ship round and steered back towards the land. The mermaid called out to him to stand still, but he refused to listen to her and never paused till he reached the sand of the shore. Here he stopped and waited for the mermaid, who had swum after him. When she drew near the boat he saw that she was far more beautiful than any mortal he had ever beheld. She swam round the ship for some time, and then swung herself gracefully on board, in order to examine the beautiful silken stuffs more closely. Then the Prince seized her in his arms, and kissing her tenderly on the cheeks and lips, he told her she was his for ever; at the same moment the boat turned into a wolf again, which so terrified the mermaid that she clung to the Prince for protection.

So the golden mermaid was successfully caught, and she soon felt quite happy in her new life when she saw she had nothing to fear either from the Prince or the wolf-she rode on the back of the latter, and the Prince rode behind her. When they reached the country ruled over by the Emperor with the golden horse, the Prince jumped down, and, helping the mermaid to alight, he led her before the Emperor. At the sight of the beautiful mermaid and of the grim wolf, who stuck close to the Prince this time, the guards all made respectful obeisance, and soon the three stood before his Imperial Majesty. When the Emperor heard from the Prince how he had gained possession of his fair prize, he at once recognized that he had been helped by some magic art, and on the spot gave up all claim to the beautiful mermaid. ‘Dear youth,’ he said, ‘forgive me for my shameful conduct to you, and, as a sign that you pardon me, accept the golden horse as a present. I acknowledge your power to be greater even than I can understand, for you have succeeded in gaining possession of the golden mermaid, whom hitherto no mortal has ever been able to approach.’ Then they all sat down to a huge feast, and the Prince had to relate his adventures all over again, to the wonder and astonishment of the whole company.

But the Prince was wearying now to return to his own kingdom, so as soon as the feast was over he took farewell of the Emperor, and set out on his homeward way. He lifted the mermaid on to the golden horse, and swung himself up behind her-and so they rode on merrily, with the wolf trotting behind, till they came to the country of the Emperor with the golden bird. The renown of the Prince and his adventure had gone before him, and the Emperor sat on his throne awaiting the arrival of the Prince and his companions. When the three rode into the courtyard of the palace, they were surprised and delighted to find everything festively illuminated and decorated for their reception. When the Prince and the golden mermaid, with the wolf behind them, mounted the steps of the palace, the Emperor came forward to meet them, and led them to the throne room. At the same moment a servant appeared with the golden bird in its golden cage, and the Emperor begged the Prince to accept it with his love, and to forgive him the indignity he had suffered at his hands. Then the Emperor bent low before the beautiful mermaid, and, offering her his arm, he led her into dinner, closely followed by the Prince and her friend the wolf; the latter seating himself at table, not the least embarrassed that no one had invited him to do so.

As soon as the sumptuous meal was over, the Prince and his mermaid took leave of the Emperor, and, seating themselves on the golden horse, continued their homeward journey. On the way the wolf turned to the Prince and said, ‘Dear friends, I must now bid you farewell, but I leave you under such happy circumstances that I cannot feel our parting to be a sad one.’ The Prince was very unhappy when he heard these words, and begged the wolf to stay with them always; but this the good creature refused to do, though he thanked the Prince kindly for his invitation, and called out as he disappeared into the thicket, ‘Should any evil befall you, dear Prince, at any time, you may rely on my friendship and gratitude.’ These were the wolf’s parting words, and the Prince could not restrain his tears when he saw his friend vanishing in the distance; but one glance at his beloved mermaid soon cheered him up again, and they continued on their journey merrily.

The news of his son’s adventures had already reached his father’s Court, and everyone was more than astonished at the success of the once despised Prince. His elder brothers, who had in vain gone in pursuit of the thief of the golden apples, were furious over their younger brother’s good fortune, and plotted and planned how they were to kill him. They hid themselves in the wood through which the Prince had to pass on his way to the palace, and there fell on him, and, having beaten him to death, they carried off the golden horse and the golden bird. But nothing they could do would persuade the golden mermaid to go with them or move from the spot, for ever since she had left the sea, she had so attached herself to her Prince that she asked nothing else than to live or die with him.

For many weeks the poor mermaid sat and watched over the dead body of her lover, weeping salt tears over his loss, when suddenly one day their old friend the wolf appeared and said, ‘Cover the Prince’s body with all the leaves and flowers you can find in the wood.’ The maiden did as he told her, and then the wolf breathed over the flowery grave, and, lo and behold! the Prince lay there sleeping as peacefully as a child. ‘Now you may wake him if you like,’ said the wolf, and the mermaid bent over him and gently kissed the wounds his brothers had made on his forehead, and the Prince awoke, and you may imagine how delighted he was to find his beautiful mermaid beside him, though he felt a little depressed when he thought of the loss of the golden bird and the golden horse. After a time the wolf, who had likewise fallen on the Prince’s neck, advised them to continue their journey, and once more the Prince and his lovely bride mounted on the faithful beast’s back.

The King’s joy was great when he embraced his youngest son, for he had long since despaired of his return. He received the wolf and the beautiful golden mermaid most cordially too, and the Prince was made to tell his adventures all over from the beginning. The poor old father grew very sad when he heard of the shameful conduct of his elder sons, and had them called before him. They turned as white as death when they saw their brother, whom they thought they had murdered, standing beside them alive and well, and so startled were they that when the King asked them why they had behaved so wickedly to their brother they could think of no lie, but confessed at once that they had slain the young Prince in order to obtain possession of the golden horse and the golden bird. Their father’s wrath knew no bounds, and he ordered them both to be banished, but he could not do enough to honour his youngest son, and his marriage with the beautiful mermaid was celebrated with much pomp and magnificence. When the festivities were over, the wolf bade them all farewell, and returned once more to his life in the woods, much to the regret of the old King and the young Prince and his bride.

And so ended the adventures of the Prince with his friend the wolf.

Grimm.

In a village there once lived a smith called Basmus, who was in a very poor way. He was still a young man, and a strong handsome fellow to boot, but he had many little children and there was little to be earned by his trade. He was, however, a diligent and hard-working man, and when he had no work in the smithy he was out at sea fishing, or gathering wreckage on the shore.

It happened one time that he had gone out to fish in good weather, all alone in a little boat, but he did not come home that day, nor the following one, so that all believed he had perished out at sea. On the third day, however, Basmus came to shore again and had his boat full of fish, so big and fat that no one had ever seen their like. There was nothing the matter with him, and he complained neither of hunger or thirst. He had got into a fog, he said, and could not find land again. What he did not tell, however, was where he had been all the time; that only came out six years later, when people got to know that he had been caught by a mermaid out on the deep sea, and had been her guest during the three days that he was missing. From that time forth he went out no more to fish; nor, indeed, did he require to do so, for whenever he went down to the shore it never failed that some wreckage was washed up, and in it all kinds of valuable things. In those days everyone took what they found and got leave to keep it, so that the smith grew more prosperous day by day.

When seven years had passed since the smith went out to sea, it happened one morning, as he stood in the smithy, mending a plough, that a handsome young lad came in to him and said, ‘Good-day, father; my mother the mermaid sends her greetings, and says that she has had me for six years now, and you can keep me for as long.’

He was a strange enough boy to be six years old, for he looked as if he were eighteen, and was even bigger and stronger than lads commonly are at that age.

‘Will you have a bite of bread?’ said the smith.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Hans, for that was his name.

The smith then told his wife to cut a piece of bread for him. She did so, and the boy swallowed it at one mouthful and went out again to the smithy to his father.

‘Have you got all you can eat?’ said the smith.

‘No,’ said Hans, ‘that was just a little bit.’

The smith went into the house and took a whole loaf, which he cut into two slices and put butter and cheese between them, and this he gave to Hans. In a while the boy came out to the smithy again.

‘Well, have you got as much as you can eat?’ said the smith.

‘No, not nearly,’ said Hans; ‘I must try to find a better place than this, for I can see that I shall never get my fill here.’

Hans wished to set off at once, as soon as his father would make a staff for him of such a kind as he wanted.

‘It must be of iron,’ said he, ‘and one that can hold out.’

The smith brought him an iron rod as thick as an ordinary staff, but Hans took it and twisted it round his finger, so that wouldn’t do. Then the smith came dragging one as thick as a waggon-pole, but Hans bent it over his knee and broke it like a straw. The smith then had to collect all the iron he had, and Hans held it while his father forged for him a staff, which was heavier than the anvil. When Hans had got this he said, ‘Many thanks, father; now I have got my inheritance.’ With this he set off into the country, and the smith was very pleased to be rid of that son, before he ate him out of house and home.

Hans first arrived at a large estate, and it so happened that the squire himself was standing outside the farmyard.

‘Where are you going?’ said the squire.

‘I am looking for a place,’ said Hans, ‘where they have need of strong fellows, and can give them plenty to eat.’

‘Well,’ said the squire, ‘I generally have twenty-four men at this time of the year, but I have only twelve just now, so I can easily take you on.’

‘Very well,’ said Hans, ‘I shall easily do twelve men’s work, but then I must also have as much to eat as the twelve would.’

All this was agreed to, and the squire took Hans into the kitchen, and told the servant girls that the new man was to have as much food as the other twelve. It was arranged that he should have a pot to himself, and he could then use the ladle to take his food with.

It was in the evening that Hans arrived there, so he did nothing more that day than eat his supper-a big pot of buck-wheat porridge, which he cleaned to the bottom and was then so far satisfied that he said he could sleep on that, so he went off to bed. He slept both well and long, and all the rest were up and at their work while he was still sleeping soundly. The squire was also on foot, for he was curious to see how the new man would behave who was both to eat and work for twelve.

But as yet there was no Hans to be seen, and the sun was already high in the heavens, so the squire himself went and called on him.

‘Get up, Hans,’ he cried; ‘you are sleeping too long.’

Hans woke up and rubbed his eyes. ‘Yes, that’s true,’ he said, ‘I must get up and have my breakfast.’

So he rose and dressed himself, and went into the kitchen, where he got his pot of porridge; he swallowed all of this, and then asked what work he was to have.

He was to thresh that day, said the squire; the other twelve men were already busy at it. There were twelve threshing-floors, and the twelve men were at work on six of them-two on each. Hans must thresh by himself all that was lying upon the other six floors. He went out to the barn and got hold of a flail. Then he looked to see how the others did it and did the same, but at hte first stroke he smashed the flail in pieces. There were several flails hanging there, and Hans took the one after the other, but they all went the same way, every one flying in splinters at the first stroke. He then looked round for something else to work with, and found a pair of strong beams lying near. Next he caught sight of a horse-hide nailed up on the barn-door. With the beams he made a flail, using the skin to tie them together. The one beam he used as a handle, and the other to strike with, and now that was all right. But the barn was too low, there was no room to swing the flail, and the floors were too small. Hans, however, found a remedy for this-he simply lifted the whole roof off the barn, and set it down in the field beside. He then emptied down all the corn that he could lay his hands on and threshed away. He went through one lot after another, and it was ll the same to him what he got hold of, so before midday he had threshed all the squire’s grain, his rye and wheat and barley and oats, all mixed through each other. When he was finished with this, he lifted the roof up on the barn again, like setting a lid on a box, and went in and told the squire that the job was done.

The squire opened his eyes at this announcement; and came out to see if it was really true. It was true, sure enough, but he was scarcely delighted with the mixed grain that he got from all his crops. However, when he saw the flail that Hans had used, and learned how he had made room for himself to swing it, he was so afraid of the strong fellow, that he dared not say anything, except that it was a good thing he had got it threshed; but it had still to be cleaned.

‘What does that mean?’ asked Hans.

It was explained to him that the corn and the chaff had to be separated; as yet both were lying in one heap, right up to the roof. Hans began to take up a little and sift it in his hands, but he soon saw that this would never do. He soon thought of a plan, however; he opened both barn-doors, and then lay down at one end and blew, so that all the chaff flew out and lay like a sand-bank at the other end of the barn, and the grain was as clean as it could be. Then he reported to the squire that that job also was done. The squire said that that was well; there was nothing more for him to do that day. Off went Hans to the kitchen, and got as much as he could eat; then he went and took a midday nap which lasted till supper-time.

Meanwhile the squire was quite miserable, and made his moan to his wife, saying that she must help him to find some means to getting rid of this strong fellow, for he durst not give him his leave. She sent for the steward, and it was arranged that next day all the men should go to the forest for fire-wood, and that they should make a bargain among them, that the one who came home last with his load should be hanged. They thought they could easily manage that it would be Hans who would lose his life, for the others would be early on the road, while Hans would certainly oversleep himself. In the evening, therefore, the men sat and talked together, saying that next morning they must set out early to the forest, and as they had a hard day’s work and a long journey before them, they would, for their amusement, make a compact, that whichever of them came home last with his load should lose his life on the gallows. So Hans had no objections to make.

Long before the sun was up next morning, all the twelve men were on foot. They took all the best horses and carts, and drove off to the forest. Hans, however, lay and slept on, and the squire said, ‘Just let him lie.’

At last, Hans thought it was time to have his breakfast, so he got up and put on his clothes. He took plenty of time to his breakfast, and then went out to get his horse and cart ready. The