'In the north-west corner of the parish of Bedgelert there is a

place which used to be called by the old inhabitants the Land of the

Fairies, and it reaches from Cwm Hafod Ruffyd along the slope of the

mountain of Drws y Coed as far as Llyn y Dywarchen. The old people

of former times used to find much pleasure and amusement in this

district in listening every moonlight night to the charming music of

the fair family, and in looking at their dancing and their mirthful

sports. Once on a time, a long while ago, there lived at upper Drws

y Coed a youth, who was joyous and active, brave and determined of

heart. This young man amused himself every night by looking on and

listening to them. One night they had come to a field near the house,

near the shore of Llyn y Dywarchen, to pass a merry night. He went,

as usual, to look at them, when his glances at once fell on one of

the ladies, who possessed such beauty as he had never seen in a human

being. Her appearance was like that of alabaster; her voice was as

agreeable as the nightingale's, and as unruffled as the zephyr in a

flower-garden at the noon of a long summer's day; and her gait was

pretty and aristocratic; her feet moved in the dance as lightly on

the grass as the rays of the sun had a few hours before on the lake

hard by. He fell in love with her over head and ears, and in the

strength of that passion--for what is stronger than love!--he rushed,

when the bustle was at its height, into the midst of the fair crowd,

and snatched the graceful damsel in his arms, and ran instantly with

her to the house. When the fair family saw the violence used by a

mortal, they broke up the dance and ran after her towards the house;

but, when they arrived, the door had been bolted with iron, wherefore

they could not get near her or touch her in any way; and the damsel

had been placed securely in a chamber. The youth, having her now under

his roof, as is the saying, endeavoured, with all his talent, to win

her affection and to induce her to wed. But at first she would on no

account hear of it; on seeing his persistence, however, and on finding

that he would not let her go to return to her people, she consented

to be his servant if he could find out her name; but she would not be

married to him. As he thought that was not impossible, he half agreed

to the condition; but, after bothering his head with all the names

known in that neighbourhood, he found himself no nearer his point,

though he was not willing to give up the search hurriedly. One night,

as he was going home from Carnarvon market, he saw a number of the

fair folks in a turbary not far from his path. They seemed to him

to be engaged in an important deliberation, and it struck him that

they were planning how to recover their abducted sister. He thought,

moreover, that if he could secretly get within hearing, he might

possibly find her name out. On looking carefully around, he saw that

a ditch ran through the turbary and passed near the spot where they

stood. So he made his way round to the ditch, and crept, on all fours,

along it until he was within hearing of the family. After listening

a little, he found that their deliberation was as to the fate of the

lady he had carried away, and he heard one of them crying, piteously,

"O Penelop, O Penelop, my sister, why didst thou run away with a

mortal!" "Penelop," said the young man to himself, "that must be the

name of my beloved: that is enough." At once he began to creep back

quietly, and he returned home safely without having been seen by

the fairies. When he got into the house, he called out to the girl,

saying, "Penelop, my beloved one, come here!" and she came forward

and asked, in astonishment, "O mortal, who has betrayed my name

to thee?" Then, lifting up her tiny folded hands, she exclaimed,

"Alas, my fate, my fate!" But she grew contented with her fate,

and took to her work in earnest. Everything in the house and on the

farm prospered under her charge. There was no better or cleanlier

housewife in the neighbourhood around, or one that was more provident

than she. The young man, however, was not satisfied that she should be

a servant to him, and, after he had long and persistently sought it,

she consented to be married, on the one condition, that, if ever he

should touch her with iron, she would be free to leave him and return

to her family. He agreed to that condition, since he believed that

such a thing would never happen at his hands. So they were married,

and lived several years happily and comfortably together. Two children

were born to them, a boy and a girl, the picture of their mother and

the idols of their father. But one morning, when the husband wanted

to go to the fair at Carnarvon, he went out to catch a filly that was

grazing in the field by the house; but for the life of him he could

not catch her, and he called to his wife to come to assist him. She

came without delay, and they managed to drive the filly to a secure

corner, as they thought; but, as the man approached to catch her,

she rushed past him. In his excitement, he threw the bridle after her;

but, who should be running in the direction of it, but his wife! The

iron bit struck her on the cheek, and she vanished out of sight on the

spot. Her husband never saw her any more; but one cold frosty night, a

long time after this event, he was awakened from his sleep by somebody

rubbing the glass of his window, and, after he had given a response,

he recognized the gentle and tender voice of his wife saying to him:--

Lest my son should find it cold,

Place on him his father's coat;

Lest the fair one find it cold,

Place on her my petticoat.

It is said that the descendants of this family still continue in

these neighbourhoods, and that they are easy to be recognized by their

light and fair complexion. A similar story is related of the son of

the farmer of Braich y Dinas, in Llanfihangel y Pennant, and it used

to be said that most of the inhabitants of that neighbourhood were

formerly of a light complexion. I have often heard old people saying,

that it was only necessary, within their memory, to point out in

the fair at Penmorfa any one as being of the breed of the Tylwyth,

to cause plenty of fighting that day at least.'

The reader may compare with this tale the following, for which I have

to thank Mr. Samuel Rhys Williams, whose words I give, followed by

a translation:--

Yr oed gwr ieuanc o gymydogaeth Drws y Coed yn dychwelyd adref o

Bedgelert ar noswaith loergan lleuad; pan ar gyfer Llyn y Gader

gwelai nifer o'r bonedigesau a elwir y Tylwyth Teg yn myned trwy eu

chwareuon nosawl. Swynwyd y llanc yn y fan gan brydferthwch y rhianod

hyn, ac yn neillduol un o honynt. Collod y llywodraeth arno ei hunan

i'r fath radau fel y penderfynod neidio i'r cylch a dwyn yn ysbail

ido yr hon oed wedi myned a'i galon mor llwyr. Cyflawnod ei fwriad

a dygod y fonediges gydag ef adref. Bu yn wraig ido, a ganwyd plant

idynt. Yn damweiniol, tra yn cyflawni rhyw orchwyl, digwydod ido ei

tharo a haiarn ac ar amrantiad diflannod ei anwylyd o'i olwg ac nis

gwelod hi mwyach, ond darfod idi dyfod at ffenestr ei ystafell wely

un noswaith ar ol hyn a'i annog i fod yn dirion wrth y plant a'i bod

hi yn aros gerllaw y ty yn Llyny Dywarchen. Y mae y tradodiad hefyd

yn ein hysbysu darfod i'r gwr hwn symud i fyw o Drws y Coed i Ystrad

Betws Garmon.

'A young man, from the neighbourhood of Drws y Coed, was returning

home one bright moonlight night, from Bedgelert; when he came opposite

the lake called Llyn y Gader, he saw a number of the ladies known as

the Tylwyth Teg going through their nightly frolics. The youth was

charmed at once by the beauty of these ladies, and especially by one

of them. He so far lost his control over himself, that he resolved to

leap into the circle and carry away as his spoil the one who had so

completely robbed him of his heart. He accomplished his intention, and

carried the lady home with him. She became his wife, and children were

born to them. Accidentally, while at some work or other, it happened

to him to strike her with iron, and, in the twinkling of an eye, his

beloved one disappeared from his sight. He saw her no more, except that

she came to his bedroom window one night afterwards, and told him to

be tender to the children, and that she was staying, near the house,

in the lake called Llyn y Dywarchen. The tradition also informs us that

this man moved from Drws y Coed to live at Ystrad near Bettws Garmon.'

The name Llyn y Dywarchen, I may add, means the Lake of the Sod or

Turf: it is the one with the floating island, described thus by

Giraldus, ii. 9 (p. 135):--Alter enim insulam habet erraticam,

vi ventorum impellentium ad oppositas plerumque lacus partes

errabundam. Hic armenta pascentia nonnunquam pastores ad longinquas

subito partes translata mirantur. 'For one of the two lakes holds a

wandering island, which strays mostly with the force of the winds

impelling it to the opposite parts of the lake. Sometimes cattle

grazing on it are, to the surprise of the shepherds, suddenly carried

across to the more distant parts.' Sheep are known to get on the

floating islet, and it is still believed to float them away from

the shore. Mr. S. Rhys Williams, it will be noticed, has given the

substance of the legend rather than the story itself. I now proceed

to translate the same tale as given in Welsh in Cymru Fu (pp. 474-7

of the edition published by Messrs. Hughes and Son, Wrexham), in

a very different dress--it is from Glasynys' pen, and, as might be

expected, decked out with all the literary adornments in which he

delighted. The language he used was his own, but there is no reason

to think that he invented any of the incidents:--'The farmer of Drws

y Coed's son was one misty day engaged as a shepherd on the side of

the mountain, a little below Cwm Marchnad, and, as he crossed a rushy

flat, he saw a wonderfully handsome little woman standing under a

clump of rushes. Her yellow and curly hair hung down in ringed locks,

and her eyes were as blue as the clear sky, while her forehead was as

white as the wavy face of a snowdrift that has nestled on the side of

Snowdon only a single night. Her two plump cheeks were each like a red

rose, and her pretty-lipped mouth might make an angel eager to kiss

her. The youth approached her, filled with love for her, and, with

delicacy and affection, asked her if he might converse with her. She

smiled kindly, and reaching out her hand, said to him, "Idol of my

hopes, thou hast come at last!" They began to associate secretly,

and to meet one another daily here and there on the moors around

the banks of Llyn y Gader; at last, their love had waxed so strong

that the young man could not be at peace either day or night, as he

was always thinking of Bella or humming to himself a verse of poetry

about her charms. The yellow-haired youth was now and then lost for

a long while, and nobody could divine his history. His acquaintances

believed that he had been fascinated: at last the secret was found

out. There were about Llyn y Dywarchen shady and concealing copses:

it was there he was wont to go, and the she-elf would always be there

awaiting him, and it was therefore that the place where they used to

meet got to be called Llwyn y Forwyn, the Maiden's Grove. After fondly

loving for a long time, it was resolved to wed; but it was needful

to get the leave of the damsel's father. One moonlight night it was

agreed to meet in the wood, and the appointment was duly kept by the

young man, but there was no sign of the subterranean folks coming,

until the moon disappeared behind the Garn. Then the two arrived,

and the old man at once proceeded to say to the suitor: "Thou shalt

have my daughter on the condition that thou do not strike her with

iron. If thou ever touch her with iron, she will no longer be thine,

but shall return to her own." The man consented readily, and great

was his joy. They were betrothed, and seldom was a handsomer pair

seen at the altar. It was rumoured that a vast sum of money as dowry

had arrived with the pretty lady at Drws y Coed on the evening of her

nuptials. Soon after, the mountain shepherd of Cwm Marchnad passed

for a very rich and influential man. In the course of time they

had children, and no happier people ever lived together than their

parents. Everything went on regularly and prosperously for a number

of years: they became exceedingly wealthy, but the sweet is not to

be had without the bitter. One day they both went out on horseback,

and they happened to go near Llyn y Gader, when the wife's horse got

into a bog and sank to his belly. After the husband had got Bella off

his back, he succeeded with much trouble in getting the horse out, and

then he let him go. Then he lifted her on the back of his own, but,

unfortunately, in trying quickly to place her foot in the stirrup,

the iron part of the same slipped, and struck her--or, rather,

it touched her at the knee-joint. Before they had made good half

their way home, several of the diminutive Tylwyth began to appear

to them, and the sound of sweet singing was heard on the side of the

hill. Before the husband reached Drws y Coed his wife had left him,

and it is supposed that she fled to Llwyn y Forwyn, and thence to the

world below to Faery. She left her dear little ones to the care of

her beloved, and no more came near them. Some say, however, that she

sometimes contrived to see her beloved one in the following manner. As

the law of her country did not permit her to frequent the earth with

an earthly being, she and her mother invented a way of avoiding the

one thing and of securing the other. A great piece of sod was set

to float on the surface of the lake, and on that she used to be for

long hours, freely conversing in tenderness with her consort on shore;

by means of that plan they managed to live together until he breathed

his last. Their descendants owned Drws y Coed for many generations, and

they intermarried and mixed with the people of the district. Moreover,

many a fierce fight took place in later times at the Gwyl-fabsant at

Dolbenmaen or at Penmorfa, because the men of Eifionyd had a habit

of annoying the people of Pennant by calling them Bellisians.'

In a note, Glasynys remarks that this tale is located in many

districts without much variation, except in the names of the places;

this, however, could not apply to the latter part, which suits Llyn

y Dywarchen alone. With this account of the fairy wife frequenting a

lake island to converse with her husband on shore, compare the Irish

story of the Children of Lir, who, though transformed into swans,

were allowed to retain their power of reasoning and speaking, so that

they used to converse from the surface of the water with their friends

on the dry land: see Joyce's Old Celtic Romances, pp. x, 1-36. Now

I return to another tale which was sent me by Mr. William Jones:

unless I am mistaken it has not hitherto been published; so I give

the Welsh together with a free translation of it:--

Yr oed ystori am fab Braich y Dinas a adrodai y diwedar hybarch

Elis Owen o Gefn y Meusyd yn lled debyg i chwedl mab yr Ystrad gan

Glasynys, sef ido hudo un o ferched y Tylwyth Teg i lawr o Foel

Hebog, a'i chipio i mewn i'r ty drwy orthrech; ac wedi hynny efe

a'i perswadiod i ymbriodi ag ef ar yr un telerau ag y gwnaeth mab yr

Ystrad. Ond clywais hen fonediges o'r enw Mrs. Roberts, un o ferched

yr Isallt, oed lawer hyn na Mr. Owen, yn ei hadrod yn wahanol. Yr oed

yr hen wreigan hon yn credu yn nilysrwyd y chwedl, oblegid yr oed hi

'yn cofio rhai o'r teulu, waeth be' deudo neb.' Dirwynnai ei hedau yn

debyg i hyn:--Yn yr amser gynt--ond o ran hynny pan oed hi yn ferch

ifanc--yr oed llawer iawn o Dylwyth Teg yn trigo mewn rhyw ogofau yn y

Foel o Gwm Ystradllyn hyd i flaen y Pennant. Yr oed y Tylwyth hwn yn

llawer iawn hardach na dim a welid mewn un rhan arall o'r wlad. Yr

oedynt o ran maint yn fwy o lawer na'r rhai cyffredin, yn lan eu

pryd tu hwnt i bawb, eu gwallt yn oleu fel llin, eu llygaid yn loyw

leision. Yr oedynt yn ymdangos mewn rhyw le neu gilyd yn chwareu,

canu ac ymdifyru bob nos deg a goleu; a bydai swn eu canu yn denu

y llanciau a'r merched ifainc i fyned i'w gweled; ac os bydent yn

digwyd bod o bryd goleu hwy a ymgomient a hwynt, ond ni adawent i

un person o liw tywyll dod yn agos atynt, eithr cilient ymaith o

fford y cyfryw un. Yrwan yr oed mab Braich y Dinas yn llanc hard,

heini, bywiog ac o bryd glan, goleu a serchiadol. Yr oed hwn yn hoff

iawn o edrych ar y Tylwyth, a bydai yn cael ymgom a rhai o honynt yn

aml, ond yn bennaf ag un o'r merched oed yn rhagori arnynt oll mewn

glendid a synwyr; ac o fynych gyfarfod syrthiod y dau mewn cariad

a'u gilyd, eithr ni fynai hi ymbriodi ag ef, ond adawod fyned i'w

wasanaeth, a chydunod i'w gyfarfod yn Mhant--nid wyf yn cofio yr enw

i gyd--drannoeth, oblegid nid oed wiw idi geisio myned gydag ef yn

ngwyd y lleill. Felly drannoeth aeth i fynu i'r Foel, a chyfarfydod

y rhian ef yn ol ei hadewid, ag aeth gydag ef adref, ac ymgymerod a'r

swyd o laethwraig, a buan y dechreuod popeth lwydo o dan ei llaw: yr

oed yr ymenyn a'r caws yn cynhydu beunyd. Hir a thaer y bu'r llanc

yn ceisio gandi briodi. A hi a adawod, os medrai ef gael allan ei

henw. Ni wydai Mrs. Roberts drwy ba ystryw y llwydod i gael hwnnw,

ond hynny a fu, a daeth ef i'r ty un noswaith a galwod ar 'Sibi,'

a phan glywod hi ei henw, hi a aeth i lewygfa; ond pan daeth ati ei

hun, hi a ymfodlonod i briodi ar yr amod nad oed ef i gyffwrd a hi

a haiarn ac nad oed bollt haiarn i fod ar y drws na chlo ychwaith,

a hynny a fu: priodwyd hwynt, a buont fyw yn gysurus am lawer o

flynydoed, a ganwyd idynt amryw blant. Y diwed a fu fel hyn: yr oed

ef wedi myned un diwrnod i dori baich o frwyn at doi, a tharawod

y cryman yn y baich i fyned adref; fel yr oed yn nesu at y gadlas,

rhedod Sibi i'w gyfarfod, a thaflod ynteu y baich brwyn yn direidus

tu ag ati, a rhag ido dyfod ar ei thraws ceisiod ei atal a'i llaw,

yr hon a gyffyrdod a'r cryman; a hi a diflannod o'r golwg yn y fan

yn nghysgod y baich brwyn: ni welwyd ac ni chlywyd dim odiwrthi mwyach.

'There was a story respecting the son of the farmer of Braich y Dinas,

which used to be told by the late respected Mr. Ellis Owen, of Cefn

y Meusyd, somewhat in the same way as that about the Ystrad youth,

as told by Glasynys; that is to say, the young man enticed one of the

damsels of the fair family to come down from Moel Hebog, and then

he carried her by force into the house, and afterwards persuaded

her to become his wife on the same conditions as the heir of Ystrad

did. But I have heard an old lady called Mrs. Roberts, who had been

brought up at Isallt, and who was older than Mr. Owen, relating it

differently. This old woman believed in the truth of the story, as

"she remembered some of the family, whatever anybody may say." She

used to spin her yarn somewhat as follows:--In old times--but, for

the matter of that, when she was a young woman--there were a great

many of the fair family living in certain caves in the Foel from Cwm

Strállyn [36] down to the upper part of Pennant. This Tylwyth was

much handsomer than any seen in any other part of the country. In

point of stature they were much bigger than the ordinary ones, fair

of complexion beyond everybody, with hair that was as light as flax,

and eyes that were of a clear blue colour. They showed themselves

in one spot or another, engaged in playing, singing, and jollity

every light night. The sound of their singing used to draw the lads

and the young women to look at them; and, should they be of clear

complexion, the fairies would chat with them; but they would let

no person of a dark hue come near them: they moved away from such a

one. Now the young man of Braich y Dinas was a handsome, vigorous,

and lively stripling of fair, clear, and attractive complexion. He

was very fond of looking at the fair family, and had a chat with some

of them often, but chiefly with one of the damsels, who surpassed all

the rest in beauty and good sense. The result of frequently meeting

was that they fell in love with one another, but she would not marry

him. She promised, however, to go to service to him, and agreed to

meet him at Pant y--I have forgotten the rest of the name--the day

after, as it would not do for her to go with him while the others

happened to be looking on. So he went up the next day to the Foel,

and the damsel met him according to her promise, and went with him

home, where she took to the duties of a dairymaid. Soon everything

began to prosper under her hand; the butter and the cheese were daily

growing in quantity. Long and importunately did the youth try to get

her to marry him. She promised to do so provided he could find out

her name. Mrs. Roberts did not know by what manoeuvre he succeeded

in discovering it, but it was done, and he came into the house one

night and called to "Sibi," and when she heard her name she fainted

away. When, however, she recovered her consciousness, she consented

to marry on the condition that he was not to touch her with iron,

and that there was not to be a bolt of iron on the door, or a lock

either. It was agreed, and they were married; they lived together

comfortably many years, and had children born to them. The end came

thus: he had gone one day to cut a bundle of rushes for thatching,

and planted the reaping-hook in the bundle to go home. As he drew

towards the haggard, Sibi ran out to meet him, and he wantonly threw

the bundle of rushes towards her, when she, to prevent its hitting her,

tried to stop it with her hand, which touched the reaping-hook. She

vanished on the spot out of sight behind the bundle of rushes, and

nothing more was seen or heard of her.'

Mr. Ellis Owen, alluded to above, was a highly respected gentleman,

well known in North Wales for his literary and antiquarian tastes. He

was born in 1789 at Cefn y Meusyd near Tremadoc, where he continued

to live till the day of his death, which was January 27, 1868. His

literary remains, preceded by a short biography, were published in

1877 by Mr. Robert Isaac Jones of Tremadoc; but it contains no fairy

tales so far as I have been able to find.

A tale which partially reminds one of that given by Dewi Glan

Ffrydlas respecting the Corwrion midwife, referred to at p. 63 above,

was published by Mr. W. Jones in the fourth volume of the Brython,

p. 251: freely rendered into English, it runs thus:--

'Once on a time, when a midwife from Nanhwynan had newly got to the

Hafodyd Brithion to pursue her calling, a gentleman came to the door

on a fine grey steed and bade her come with him at once. Such was the

authority with which he spoke, that the poor midwife durst not refuse

to go, however much it was her duty to stay where she was. So she

mounted behind him, and off they went, like the flight of a swallow,

through Cwmllan, over the Bwlch, down Nant yr Aran, and over the

Gader to Cwm Hafod Ruffyd, before the poor woman had time even to say

Oh! When they reached there, she saw before her a magnificent mansion,

splendidly lit up with such lamps as she had never seen before. They

entered the court, and a crowd of servants in expensive liveries came

to meet them, and she was at once led through the great hall into a

bed-chamber, the like of which she had never seen. There the mistress

of the house, to whom she had been fetched, was awaiting her. The

midwife got through her duties successfully, and stayed there until

the lady had completely recovered, nor had she spent any part of her

life so merrily, for there nought but festivity went on day and night:

dancing, singing, and endless rejoicing reigned there. But merry

as it was, she found that she must go, and the nobleman gave her a

large purse, with the order not to open it until she had got into her

own house. Then he bade one of his servants escort her the same way

that she had come. When she reached home she opened the purse, and,

to her great joy, it was full of money: she lived happily on those

earnings to the end of her life.'

With this ending of the story one should contrast Dewi Glan Ffrydlas'

tale to which I have already alluded; and I may here refer to

Mr. Sikes' British Goblins, pp. 86-8, for a tale differing from both

Dewi's and Jones', in that the fairies are there made to appear as

devils to the nurse, who had accidentally used a certain ointment which

she was not to place near her own eyes. Instead of being rewarded

for her services she was only too glad to be deposited anyhow near

her home. 'But,' as the story goes on to relate, 'very many years

afterwards, being at a fair, she saw a man stealing something from a

stall, and, with one corner of her eye, beheld her old master pushing

the man's elbow. Unthinkingly she said, "How are you, master? how

are the children?" He said, "How did you see me?" She answered,

"With the corner of my left eye." From that moment she was blind of

her left eye, and lived many years with only her right.' Such is the

end of this tale given by Mr. Sikes.

'But the fair family did not,' Mr. William Jones goes on to say,

'always give mortals the means of good living: sometimes they made no

little fun of them. Once on a time the Drws y Coed man was going home

from Bedgelert Fair, rather merry than sad, along the old road over

the Gader, when he saw, on coming near the top of the Gader, a fine,

handsome house near the road, in which there was a rare merrymaking. He

knew perfectly well that there was no such a building anywhere on his

way, and it made him think that he had lost his way and gone astray;

so he resolved to turn into the house to ask for lodgings, which were

given him. At once, when he entered, he took it to be a nuptial feast

(neithior) by reason of the jollity, the singing, and the dancing. The

house was full of young men, young women, and children, all merry,

and exerting themselves to the utmost. The company began to disappear

one by one, and he asked if he might go to bed, whereupon he was led

to a splendid chamber, where there was a bed of the softest down

with snow-white clothes on it. He stripped at once, went into it,

and slept quietly enough till the morning. The first thing to come

to his mind when he lay half asleep, half awake, was the jollity of

the night before, and the fact of his sleeping in a splendid chamber

in the strange house. He opened his eyes to survey his bedroom, but

it was too wide: he was sleeping on the bare swamp, with a clump of

rushes as his pillow, and the blue sky as his coverlet.'

Mr. Jones mentions that, within his memory, there were still people

in his neighbourhood who believed that the fairies stole unbaptized

children and placed their own in their stead: he gives the following

story about the farmer's wife of Dyffryn Mymbyr, near Capel Curig,

and her infant:--

Yr oed y wraig hon wedi rhodi genedigaeth i blentyn iach a heinif

yn nechreu y cynheuaf ryw haf blin a thymhestlog: ac o herwyd fod y

tydyn getyn o fford odiwrth lan na chapel, a'r hin mor hynod o lawiog,

esgeuluswyd bedydio y plentyn yn yr amser arferol, sef cyn ei fod yn

wyth niwrnod oed. Ryw diwrnod teg yn nghanol y cynheuaf blin aeth y

wraig allan i'r maes gyda'r rhelyw o'r teulu i geisio achub y cynheuaf,

a gadawod y baban yn cysgu yn ei gryd o dan ofal ei nain, yr hon oed

hen a methiantus, ac yn analluog i fyned lawer o gwmpas. Syrthiod yr

hen wreigan i gysgu, a thra yr oed hi felly, daeth y Tylwyth i fewn,

a chymerasant y baban o'r cryd, a dodasant un arall yn ei le. Yn mhen

ennyd dechreuod hwn erain a chwyno nes deffro y nain, ac aeth at y

cryd, lle y gwelod gleiriach hen eidil crebachlyd yn ymstwyrian yn

flin. 'O'r wchw!' ebai hi, 'y mae yr hen Dylwyth wedi bod yma;' ac yn

dioed chwythod yn y corn i alw y fam, yr hon a daeth yno yn diatreg;

a phan glywod y crio yn y cryd, rhedod ato, a chodod y bychan i fynu

heb sylwi arno, a hi a'i cofleidiod, a'i suod ac a'i swcrod at ei

bronnau, ond nid oed dim yn tycio, parhau i nadu yn didor yr oed nes

bron a hollti ei chalon; ac ni wydai pa beth i wneud i'w distewi. O'r

diwed hi a edrychod arno, a gwelod nad oed yn debyg i'w mhebyn hi,

ac aeth yn loes i'w chalon: edrychod arno drachefn, ond po fwyaf yr

edrychai arno, hyllaf yn y byd oed hi yn ei weled; anfonod am ei gwr

o'r cae, a gyrrod ef i ymholi am wr cyfarwyd yn rhywle er mwyn cael ei

gynghor; ac ar ol hir holi dywedod rhywun wrtho fod person Trawsfynyd

yn gyfarwyd yn nghyfrinion yr ysprydion; ac efe a aeth ato, ac archod

hwnnw ido gymeryd rhaw a'i gorchudio a halen, a thori llun croes yn

yr halen; yna ei chymeryd i'r ystafell lle yr oed mab y Tylwyth, ac

ar ol agor y ffenestr, ei rhodi ar y tan hyd nes y llosgai yr halen;

a hwy a wnaethant felly, a phan aeth yr halen yn eiriasboeth fe aeth

yr erthyl croes ymaith yn anweledig idynt hwy, ac ar drothwy y drws

hwy a gawsant y baban arall yn iach a dianaf.

'This woman had given birth to a healthy and vigorous child at the

beginning of the harvest, one wretched and inclement summer. As the

homestead was a considerable distance from church or chapel, and the

weather so very rainy, it was neglected to baptize the child at the

usual [37] time, that is to say, before it was eight days old. One

fine day, in the middle of this wretched harvest, the mother went

to the field with the rest of the family to try to save the harvest,

and left her baby sleeping in its cradle in its grandmother's charge,

who was so aged and decrepit as to be unable to go much about. The

old woman fell asleep, and, while she was in that state, the Tylwyth

Teg came in and took away the baby, placing another in its stead. Very

shortly the latter began to whine and groan, so that the grandmother

awoke: she went to the cradle, where she saw a slender, wizened old

man moving restlessly and peevishly about. "Alas! alas!" said she,

"the old Tylwyth have been here"; and she at once blew in the horn

to call the mother home, who came without delay. As she heard the

crying in the cradle, she ran towards it, and lifted the little one

without looking at him; she hugged him, put him to her breast, and

sang lullaby to him, but nothing was of any avail, as he continued,

without stopping, to scream enough to break her heart; and she knew

not what to do to calm him. At last she looked at him: she saw that

he was not like her dear little boy, and her heart was pierced with

agony. She looked at him again, and the more she examined him the

uglier he seemed to her. She sent for her husband home from the

field, and told him to search for a skilled man somewhere or other;

and, after a long search, he was told by somebody that the parson

of Trawsfynyd was skilled in the secrets of the spirits; so he went

to him. The latter bade him take a shovel and cover it with salt,

and make the figure of the cross in the salt; then to take it to

the chamber where the fairy child was, and, after taking care to

open the window, to place the shovel on the fire until the salt

was burnt. This was done, and when the salt had got white hot, the

peevish abortion went away, seen of no one, and they found the other

baby whole and unscathed at the doorstep.' Fire was also made use of

in Scotland in order to detect a changeling and force him to quit: see

the British Association's Report, 1896, p. 650, where Mr. Gomme refers

to Mr. Gregor's Folk-lore of the North-east of Scotland, pp. 8-9.

In answer to a question of mine with regard to gossamer, which is

called in North Wales edafed gwawn, 'gwawn yarn,' Mr. Jones told me

in a letter, dated April, 1881, that it used to be called Rhaffau'r

Tylwyth Teg, that is to say, the Ropes of the Fair Family, which

were associated with the diminutive, mischievous, and wanton kind

of fairies who dwelt in marshy and rushy places, or among the fern

and the heather. It used to be said that, if a man should lie down

and fall asleep in any such a spot, the fairies would come and bind

him with their ropes so that he could not move, and that they would

then cover him with a sheet made of their ropes, which would make

him invisible. This was illustrated by him by the following tale he

had heard from his mother:--

Clywais fy mam yn adrod chwedl am fab y Ffrid, yr hwn wrth dychwelyd

adref o ffair Bedgelert yn rhywle odeutu Pen Cae'r Gors a welod beth

afrifed o'r Tylwyth Bach yn neidio a phrancio ar bennau y grug. Efe

a eistedod i lawr i edrych arnynt, a daeth hun drosto; ymollyngod i

lawr a chysgod yn drwm. A phan oed felly, ymosodod yr holl lu arno

a rhwymasant ef mor dyn fel na allasai symud; yna hwy a'i cudiasant

ef a'r tuded gwawn fel na allai neb ei weled os digwydai ido lefain

am help. Yr oed ei deulu yn ei disgwyl adref yn gynnar y nos honno,

ac wrth ei weled yn oedi yn hwyr, aethant yn anesmwyth am dano ac

aethpwyd i'w gyfarfod, eithr ni welent dim odiwrtho, ac aed gan

belled a'r pentref, lle en hyspyswyd ei fod wedi myned tuag adref

yn gynnar gyda gwr Hafod Ruffyd. Felly aed tua'r Hafod i edrych a

oed yno; ond dywedod gwr yr Hafod eu bod wedi ymwahanu ar Bont Glan

y Gors, pawb tua'i fan ei hun. Yna chwiliwyd yn fanwl bob ochr i'r

fford odiyno i'r Ffrid heb weled dim odiwrtho. Buwyd yn chwilio yr

holl ardal drwy y dyd drannoeth ond yn ofer. Fod bynnag odeutu yr

un amser nos drannoeth daeth y Tylwyth ac a'i rhydhasant, ac yn fuan

efe a deffrôd wedi cysgu o hono drwy y nos a'r dyd blaenorol. Ar ol

ido deffro ni wydai amcan daear yn mha le yr oed, a chrwydro y bu hyd

ochrau y Gader a'r Gors Fawr hyd nes y canod y ceiliog, pryd yr adnabu

yn mha le yr oed, sef o fewn llai na chwarter milltir i'w gartref.

'I have heard my mother relating a tale about the son of the farmer

of the Ffrid, who, while on his way home from Bedgelert Fair, saw,

somewhere near Pen Cae'r Gors, an endless number of the diminutive

family leaping and capering on the heather tops. He sat him down

to look at them, and sleep came over him; he let himself down on the

ground, and slept heavily. When he was so, the whole host attacked him,

and they bound him so tightly that he could not have stirred; then

they covered him with the gossamer sheet, so that nobody could see him

in case he called for help. His people expected him home early that

evening, and, as they found him delaying till late, they got uneasy

about him. They went to meet him, but no trace of him was seen, and

they went as far as the village, where they were informed that he had

started home in good time with the farmer of Hafod Ruffyd. So they

went to the Hafod to see if he was there; but the farmer told them

that they had parted on Glan y Gors Bridge to go to their respective

homes. A minute search was then made on both sides of the road from

there to the Ffrid, but without finding any trace of him. They kept

searching the whole neighbourhood during the whole of the next day,

but in vain. However, about the same time the following night the

Tylwyth came and liberated him, and he shortly woke up, after sleeping

through the previous night and day. When he woke he had no idea where

on earth he was; so he wandered about on the slopes of the Gader and

near the Gors Fawr until the cock crew, when he found where he was,

namely, less than a quarter of a mile from his home.'

The late Mr. Owen, of Cefn Meusyd, has already been alluded to. I

have not been able to get at much of the folklore with which he was

familiar, but, in reply to some questions of mine, Mr. Robert Isaac

Jones of Tremadoc, his biographer, and the publisher of the Brython,

so long as it existed, has kindly ransacked his memory. He writes to

me in Welsh to the following effect:--

'I will tell you what I heard from Mr. Owen and my mother when I

was a lad, about fifty-seven years ago. The former used to say that

the people of Pennant in Eifionyd had a nickname, to wit, that of

Belsiaid y Pennant, "the Bellisians of the Pennant"; that, when he was

a boy, if anybody called out Belsiaid y Pennant at the Penmorfa Fair,

every man jack of them would come out, and fighting always ensued. The

antiquary used to explain it thus. Some two or three hundred years ago,

Sir Robert of the Nant, one of Sir Richard Bulkeley's ancestors, had a

son and heir who was extravagant and wild. He married a gipsy, and they

had children born to them; but, as the family regarded this marriage

as a disgrace to their ancient stem, it is said that the father, the

next time the vagabonds came round, gave a large sum of money to the

father of the girl for taking her away with him. This having been done,

the rumour was spread abroad that it was one of the fairies the youth

had married, and that she had gone with him to catch a pony, when he

threw the bridle at the beast to prevent it passing, and the iron

of the bridle touched the wife; then that she at once disappeared,

as the fairies always do so when touched with iron. However, the two

children were put out to nurse, and the one of them, who was a girl,

was brought up at Plas y Pennant, and her name was Pelisha [38]; her

descendants remain to this day in the Nant, and are called Bellis,

who are believed there, to this day, to be derived from the Tylwyth

Teg. Nothing offends them more than to be reminded of this.'

Mr. R. I. Jones goes on to relate another tale as follows:--

Dywedir fod lle a elwir yr Hafod Rugog mewn cwm anial yn y mynyd lle

y bydai y Tylwyth Teg yn arferol a mynychu; ac y bydent yn trwblio'r

hen wraig am fenthyg rhywbeth neu gilyd. Dywedod hithau, 'Cewch os

caniatewch dau beth cyntaf--i'r peth cyntaf y cyffyrdaf ag ef wrth y

drws dorri, a'r peth cyntaf y rhof fy llaw arno yn y ty estyn hanner

llath.' Yr oed carreg afael, fel ei gelwir, yn y mur wrth y drws ar

ei fford, ac yr oed gandi defnyd syrcyn gwlanen yn rhy fyr o hanner

llath. Ond yn anffodus wrth dod a'i chawellad mawn i'r ty bu agos idi

a syrthio: rhoes ei llaw ar ben ei chlun i ymarbed a thorod honno,

a chan faint y boen cyffyrdod yny ty a'i thrwyn yr hwn a estynnod

hanner llath.

'It is said that there was a place called Hafod Rugog in a wild

hollow among the mountains, where the fair family were in the habit of

resorting, and that they used to trouble the old woman of Hafod for

the loan of one thing and another. So she said, one day, "You shall

have the loan if you will grant me two first things--that the first

thing I touch at the door break, and that the first thing I put my

hand on in the house be lengthened half a yard." There was a grip

stone (carreg afael), as it is called, in the wall near the door,

which was in her way, and she had in the house a piece of flannel

for a jerkin which was half a yard too short. But, unfortunately,

as she came, with her kreel full of turf on her back, to the house,

she nearly fell down: she put her hand, in order to save herself,

to her knee-joint, which then broke; and, owing to the pain, when she

had got into the house, she touched her nose with her hand, when her

nose grew half a yard longer.'

Mr. Jones went on to notice how the old folks used to believe that the

fairies were wont to appear in the marshes near Cwellyn Lake, not far

from Rhyd-Du, to sing and dance, and that it was considered dangerous

to approach them on those occasions lest one should be fascinated. As

to the above-mentioned flannel and stone a folklorist asks me, why

the old woman did not definitely mention them and say exactly what

she wanted. The question is worth asking: I cannot answer it, but I

mention it in the hope that somebody else will.

II.

Early in the year 1899 [39] I had a small group of stories communicated

to me by the Rev. W. Evans Jones, rector of Dolbenmaen, who tells me

that the neighbourhood of the Garn abounds in fairy tales. The scene

of one of these is located near the source of Afon fach Blaen y Cae,

a tributary of the Dwyfach. 'There a shepherd while looking after

his flock came across a ring of rushes which he accidentally kicked,

as the little people were coming out to dance. They detained him,

and he married one of their number. He was told that he would live

happily with them as long as he would not touch any instrument of

iron. For years nothing happened to mar the peace and happiness of

the family. One day, however, he unknowingly touched iron, with the

consequence that both the wife and the children disappeared.' This

differs remarkably from stories such as have been already mentioned

at pp. 32, 35; but until it is countenanced by stories from other

sources, I can only treat it as a blurred version of a story of the

more usual type, such as the next one which Mr. Evans Jones has sent

me as follows:--

'A son of the farmer of Blaen Pennant married a fairy and they

lived together happily for years, until one day he took a bridle

to catch a horse, which proved to be rather an obstreperous animal,

and in trying to prevent the horse passing, he threw the bridle at

him, which, however, missed the animal and hit the wife so that the

bit touched her, and she at once disappeared. The tradition goes,

that their descendants are to this day living in the Pennant Valley;

and if there is any unpleasantness between them and their neighbours

they are taunted with being of the Tylwyth Teg family.' These are,

I presume, the people nicknamed Belsiaid, to which reference has

already been made.

The next story is about an old woman from Garn Dolbenmaen who was

crossing y Graig Goch, 'the Red Rock,' 'when suddenly she came across a

fairy sitting down with a very large number of gold coins by her. The

old woman ventured to remark how wealthy she was: the fairy replied,

Wele dacw, "Lo there!" and immediately disappeared.' This looks as

if it ought to be a part of a longer story which Mr. Evans Jones has

not heard.

The last bit of folklore which he has communicated is equally short,

but of a rarer description: 'A fairy was in the habit of attending

a certain family in the Pennant Valley every evening to put the

children to bed; and as the fairy was poorly clad, the mistress of

the house gave her a gown, which was found in the morning torn into

shreds.' The displeasure of the fairy at being offered the gown is

paralleled by that of the fenodyree or the Manx brownie, described in

chapter iv. As for the kind of service here ascribed to the Pennant

fairy, I know nothing exactly parallel.

III.

The next four stories are to be found in Cymru Fu at pp. 175-9, whence

I have taken the liberty of translating them into English. They were

contributed by Glasynys, whose name has already occurred so often in

connexion with these Welsh legends, that the reader ought to know more

about him; but I have been disappointed in my attempt to get a short

account of his life to insert here. All I can say is, that I made

his acquaintance in 1865 in Anglesey: at that time he had a curacy

near Holyhead, and he was in the prime of life. He impressed me as an

enthusiast for Welsh antiquities: he was born and bred, I believe,

in the neighbourhood of Snowdon, and his death took place about ten

years ago. It would be a convenience to the student of Welsh folklore

to have a brief biography of Glasynys, but as yet nothing of the kind

seems to have been written.

(1) 'When the people of the Gors Goch one evening had just gone to bed,

they heard a great row and disturbance around the house. One could

not comprehend at all what it was that made a noise at that time

of night. Both the husband and the wife had waked up, quite unable

to make out what it might be. The children also woke, but no one

could utter a word: their tongues had all stuck to the roof of their

mouths. The husband, however, at last managed to move, and to ask,

"Who is there? What do you want?" Then he was answered from without by

a small silvery voice, "It is room we want to dress our children." The

door was opened: a dozen small beings came in, and began to search

for an earthen pitcher with water; there they remained for some hours,

washing and titivating themselves. As the day was breaking, they went

away, leaving behind them a fine present for the kindness they had

received. Often afterwards did the Gors Goch folks have the company

of this family. But once there happened to be there a fine plump and

pretty baby in his cradle. The fair family came, and, as the baby

had not been baptized, they took the liberty of changing him for one

of their own. They left behind in his stead an abominable creature

that would do nothing but cry and scream every day of the week. The

mother was nearly breaking her heart on account of the misfortune,

and greatly afraid of telling anybody about it. But everybody got to

see that there was something wrong at the Gors Goch, which was proved

before long by the mother dying of longing for her child. The other

children died broken-hearted after their mother, and the husband was

left alone with the little elf without any one to comfort them. But

shortly after, one began to resort again to the hearth of the Gors

Goch to dress children, and the gift, which had formerly been silver

money, became henceforth pure gold. In the course of a few years the

elf became the heir of a large farm in North Wales, and that is why

the old people used to say, "Shoe the elf with gold and he will grow"

(Fe daw gwidon yn fawr ond ei bedoli ag aur). That is the legend of

the Gors Goch.'

(2) 'Once when William Ellis, of the Gilwern, was fishing on the bank

of Cwm Silin Lake on a dark misty day, he had seen no living Christian

from the time when he left Nantlle. But as he was in a happy mood,

throwing his line, he beheld over against him in a clump of rushes a

large crowd of people, or things in the shape of people about a foot

in stature: they were engaged in leaping and dancing. He looked on

for hours, and he never heard, as he said, such music in his life

before. But William went too near them, when they threw a kind of

dust into his eyes, and, while he was wiping it away, the little

family took the opportunity of betaking themselves somewhere out of

his sight, so that he neither saw nor heard anything more of them.'

(3) 'There is a similar story respecting a place called Llyn y

Ffynhonnau. There was no end of jollity there, of dancing, harping, and

fiddling, with the servant man of Gelli Ffrydau and his two dogs in the

midst of the crowd, leaping and capering as nimbly as anybody else. At

it they were for three days and three nights, without stopping; and

had it not been for a skilled man, who lived not far off, and came to

know how things were going on, the poor fellow would, without doubt,

have danced himself to death. But he was rescued that time.'

(4) The fourth story is one, of which he says, that he heard it from

his mother; but he has elaborated it in his usual fashion, and the

proper names are undoubtedly his own:--'Once on a time, a shepherd

boy had gone up the mountain. That day, like many a day before and

after, was exceedingly misty. Now, though he was well acquainted

with the place, he lost his way, and walked backwards and forwards

for many a long hour. At last he got into a low rushy spot, where he

saw before him many circular rings. He at once recalled the place,

and began to fear the worst. He had heard, many hundreds of times,

of the bitter experiences, in those rings, of many a shepherd who had

happened to chance on the dancing place or the circles of the fair

family. He hastened away as fast as ever he could, lest he should be

ruined like the rest; but, though he exerted himself to the point of

perspiring and losing his breath, there he was, and there he continued

to be, a long time. At last he was met by an old fat little man, with

merry blue eyes, who asked him what he was doing. He answered that

he was trying to find his way home. "Oh," said he, "come after me,

and do not utter a word until I bid thee." This he did, following him

on and on until they came to an oval stone; and the old fat little

man lifted it, after tapping the middle of it three times with his

walking-stick. There was there a narrow path with stairs visible here

and there; and a sort of whitish light, inclining to grey and blue,

was to be seen radiating from the stones. "Follow me fearlessly,"

said the fat man; "no harm will be done thee." So on the poor youth

went, as reluctantly as a dog to be hanged. But presently a fine,

wooded, fertile country spread itself out before them, with well

arranged mansions dotting it all over, while every kind of apparent

magnificence met the eye and seemed to smile in the landscape; the

bright waters of the rivers meandered in twisted streams, and the

hills were covered with the luxuriant verdure of their grassy growth,

and the mountains with a glossy fleece of smooth pasture. By the time

they had reached the stout gentleman's mansion, the young man's senses

had been bewildered by the sweet cadence of the music which the birds

poured forth from the groves: then there was gold dazzling his eyes,

and silver flashing on his sight. He saw there all kinds of musical

instruments and all sorts of things for playing; but he could discern

no inhabitant in the whole place; and, when he sat down to eat, the

dishes on the table came to their places of themselves, and disappeared

when one had done with them. This puzzled him beyond measure; moreover,

he heard people talking together around him, but for the life of him

he could see no one but his old friend. At length the fat man said

to him: "Thou canst now talk as much as it may please thee;" but,

when he attempted to move his tongue, it would no more stir than if it

had been a lump of ice, which greatly frightened him. At this point,

a fine old lady, with health and benevolence beaming in her face, came

to them and slightly smiled at the shepherd: the mother was followed

by her three daughters, who were remarkably beautiful. They gazed with

somewhat playful looks at him, and at length began to talk to him;

but his tongue would not wag. Then one of the girls came to him, and,

playing with his yellow and curly locks, gave him a smart kiss on his

ruddy lips. This loosened the string that bound his tongue, and he

began to talk freely and eloquently. There he was, under the charm of

that kiss, in the bliss of happiness; and there he remained a year and

a day without knowing that he had passed more than a day among them;

for he had got into a country where there was no reckoning of time. But

by-and-by he began to feel somewhat of a longing to visit his old home,

and asked the stout man if he might go. "Stay a little yet," said he,

"and thou shalt go for awhile." That passed: he stayed on, but Olwen,

for that was the name of the damsel that had kissed him, was very

unwilling that he should depart. She looked sad every time he talked

of going away; nor was he himself without feeling a sort of a cold

thrill passing through him at the thought of leaving her. On condition,

however, of returning, he obtained leave to go, provided with plenty

of gold and silver, of trinkets and gems. When he reached home, nobody

knew who he was: it had been the belief that he had been killed by

another shepherd, who found it necessary to betake himself hastily far

away to America, lest he should be hanged without delay. But here is

Einion Lâs at home, and everybody wonders especially to see that the

shepherd had got to look like a wealthy man: his manners, his dress,

his language, and the treasure he had with him, all conspired to give

him the air of a gentleman. He went back one Thursday night, the first

of the moon of that month, as suddenly as he had left the first time,

and nobody knew whither. There was great joy in the country below when

Einion returned thither, and nobody was more rejoiced at it than Olwen

his beloved. The two were right impatient to get married; but it was

necessary to do that quietly, for the family below hated nothing more

than fuss and noise; so, in a sort of a half-secret fashion, they

were wedded. Einion was very desirous to go once more among his own

people, accompanied, to be sure, by his wife. After he had been long

entreating the old man for leave, they set out on two white ponies,

that were, in fact, more like snow than anything else in point of

colour. So he arrived with his consort in his old home, and it was

the opinion of all that Einion's wife was the handsomest person they

had anywhere seen. Whilst at home, a son was born to them, to whom

they gave the name of Taliessin. Einion was now in the enjoyment

of high repute, and his wife received due respect. Their wealth was

immense, and soon they acquired a large estate; but it was not long

till people began to inquire after the pedigree of Einion's wife: the

country was of opinion that it was not the right thing to be without

a pedigree. Einion was questioned about it, but without giving any

satisfactory answer, and one came to the conclusion that she was one

of the fair family (Tylwyth Teg). "Certainly," replied Einion, "there

can be no doubt that she comes from a very fair family; for she has

two sisters who are as fair as she, and, if you saw them together,

you would admit that name to be a most fitting one." This, then,

is the reason why the remarkable family in the Land of Enchantment

and Glamour (Hud a Lledrith) is called the fair family.'

The two next tales of Glasynys' appear in Cymru Fu, at pp. 478-9;

the first of them is to be compared with one already related (pp. 99,

100), while the other is unlike anything that I can now recall:--

(5) 'Cwmllan was the principal resort of the fair family, and the

shepherds of Hafod Llan used to see them daily in the ages of faith

gone by. Once, on a misty afternoon, one of them had been searching

for sheep towards Nant y Bettws. When he had crossed Bwlch Cwmllan,

and was hastening laboriously down, he saw an endless number of little

folks singing and dancing in a lively and light-footed fashion, while

the handsomest girls he had ever seen anywhere were at it preparing

a banquet. He went to them and had a share of their dainties, and it

seemed to him that he had never in his life tasted anything approaching

their dishes. When the twilight came, they spread their tents, and

the man never before saw such beauty and ingenuity. They gave him

a soft bed of yielding down, with sheets of the finest linen, and

he went to rest as proud as if he had been a prince. But, alas! next

morning, after all the jollity and sham splendour, the poor man, when

he opened his eyes, found that his bed was but a bush of bulrushes,

and his pillow a clump of moss. Nevertheless, he found silver money

in his shoes, and afterwards he continued for a long time to find,

every week, a piece of coined money between two stones near the spot

where he had slept. One day, however, he told a friend of his the

secret respecting the money, and he never found any more.'

(6) 'Another of these shepherds was one day urging his dog at the

sheep in Cwmllan, when he heard a kind of low noise in the cleft

of a rock. He turned to look, when he found there some kind of a

creature weeping plenteously. He approached, and drew out a wee lass;

very shortly afterwards two middle-aged men came to him to thank him

for his kindness, and, when about to part, one of them gave him a

walking-stick, as a souvenir of his good deed. The year after this,

every sheep in his possession had two ewe-lambs; and so his sheep

continued to breed for some years. But he had stayed one evening in

the village until it was rather late, and there hardly ever was a

more tempestuous night than that: the wind howled, and the clouds

shed their contents in sheets of rain, while the darkness was such

that next to nothing could be seen. As he was crossing the river that

comes down from Cwmllan, where its flood was sweeping all before it

in a terrible current, he somehow let go the walking-stick from his

hand; and when one went next morning up the Cwm, it was found that

nearly all the sheep had been swept away by the flood, and that the

farmer's wealth had gone almost as it came--with the walking-stick.'

The shorter versions given by Glasynys are probably more nearly given

as he heard them, than the longer ones, which may be suspected of

having been a good deal spun out by him; but there is probably very

little in any of them of his own invention, though the question whence

he got his materials in each instance may be difficult to answer. In

one this is quite clear, though he does not state it, namely the

story of the sojourn of Elfod the Shepherd in Fairyland, as given

in Cymru Fu, p. 477: it is no other than a second or third-hand

reproduction of that recorded by Giraldus concerning a certain

Eliodorus, a twelfth-century cleric in the diocese of St. David's

[40]. But the longest tale published by Glasynys is the one about

a mermaid: see Cymru Fu, pp. 434-44. Where he got this from I have

not been able to find out, but it has probably been pieced together

from various sources. I feel sure that some of the materials at least

were Welsh, besides the characters known to Welsh mythology as Nefyd

Naf Neifion, Gwyn ab Nud, Gwydion ab Dôn, Dylan, and Ceridwen, who

have been recklessly introduced into it. He locates it, apparently,

somewhere on the coast of Carnarvonshire, the chief scene being

called Ogof Deio or David's Cave, which so far as I know is not an

actual name, but one suggested by 'David Jones' locker' as sailors'

slang for the sea. In hopes that somebody will communicate to me any

bits of this tale that happen to be still current on the Welsh coast,

I give an abstract of it here:--

'Once upon a time, a poor fisherman made the acquaintance of a mermaid

in a cave on the sea-coast; at first she screeched wildly, but, when

she got a little calmer, she told him to go off out of the way of

her brother, and to return betimes the day after. In getting away,

he was tossed into the sea, and tossed out on the land with a rope,

which had got wound about his waist; and on pulling at this he got

ashore a coffer full of treasure, which he spent the night in carrying

home. He was somewhat late in revisiting the cave the next day, and

saw no mermaid come there to meet him according to her promise. But

the following night he was roused out of his sleep by a visit from her

at his home, when she told him to come in time next day. On his way

thither, he learnt from some fishermen that they had been labouring in

vain during the night, as a great big mermaid had opened their nets

in order to pick the best fish, while she let the rest escape. When

he reached the cave he found the mermaid there combing her hair:

she surprised him by telling him that she had come to live among the

inhabitants of the land, though she was, according to her own account,

a king's daughter. She was no longer stark naked, but dressed like a

lady: in one hand she held a diadem of pure gold, and in the other a

cap of wonderful workmanship, the former of which she placed on her

head, while she handed the latter to Ifan Morgan, with the order that

he should keep it. Then she related to him how she had noticed him

when he was a ruddy boy, out fishing in his father's white boat, and

heard him sing a song which made her love him, and how she had tried

to repeat this song at her father's court, where everybody wanted

to get it. Many a time, she said, she had been anxiously listening

if she might hear it again, but all in vain. So she had obtained

permission from her family to come with her treasures and see if he

would not teach it her; but she soon saw that she would not succeed

without appearing in the form in which she now was. After saying

that her name was Nefyn, daughter of Nefyd Naf Neifion, and niece

to Gwyn son of Nud, and Gwydion son of Dôn, she calmed his feelings

on the subject of the humble cottage in which he lived. Presently he

asked her to be his wife, and she consented on the condition that he

should always keep the cap she had given him out of her sight and

teach her the song. They were married and lived happily together,

and had children born them five times, a son and a daughter each time;

they frequently went to the cave, and no one knew what treasures they

had there; but once on a time they went out in a boat pleasuring, as

was their wont, with six or seven of the children accompanying them,

and when they were far from the land a great storm arose; besides

the usual accompaniments of a storm at sea, most unearthly screeches

and noises were heard, which frightened the children and made their

mother look uncomfortable; but presently she bent her head over the

side of the boat, and whispered something they did not catch: to their

surprise the sea was instantly calm. They got home comfortably, but

the elder children were puzzled greatly by their mother's influence

over the sea, and it was not long after this till they so teased

some ill-natured old women, that the latter told them all about the

uncanny origin of their mother. The eldest boy was vexed at this,

and remembered how his mother had spoken to somebody near the boat

at sea, and that he was never allowed to go with his parents to

Ogof Deio. He recalled, also, his mother's account of the strange

countries she had seen. Once there came also to Ifan Morgan's home,

which was now a mansion, a visitor whom the children were not even

allowed to see; and one night, when the young moon had sunk behind

the western horizon, Ifan and his wife went quietly out of the house,

telling a servant that they would not return for three weeks or a

month: this was overheard by the eldest son. So he followed them very

quietly until he saw them on the strand, where he beheld his mother

casting a sort of leather mantle round herself and his father, and

both of them threw themselves into the hollow of a billow that came

to fetch them. The son went home, broke his heart, and died in nine

days at finding out that his mother was a mermaid; and, on seeing her

brother dead, his twin sister went and threw herself into the sea;

but, instead of being drowned, she was taken up on his steed by a

fine looking knight, who then galloped away over the waves as if they

had been dry and level land. The servants were in doubt what to do,

now that Nefyd Morgan was dead and Eilonwy had thrown herself into

the sea; but Tegid, the second son, who feared nothing, said that

Nefyd's body should be taken to the strand, as somebody was likely to

come to fetch it for burial among his mother's family. At midnight a

knight arrived, who said the funeral was to be at three that morning,

and told them that their brother would come back to them, as Gwydion

ab Dôn was going to give him a heart that no weight could break,

that Eilonwy was soon to be wedded to one of the finest and bravest

of the knights of Gwerdonau Llion, and that their parents were with

Gwyn ab Nud in the Gwaelodion. The body was accordingly taken to the

beach, and, as soon as the wave touched it, out of his coffin leaped

Nefyd like a porpoise. He was seen then to walk away arm in arm with

Gwydion ab Dôn to a ship that was in waiting, and most enchanting

music was heard by those on shore; but soon the ship sailed away,

hardly touching the tops of the billows. After a year and a day had

elapsed Ifan Morgan, the father, came home, looking much better and

more gentlemanly than he had ever done before; he had never spoken of

Nefyn, his wife, until Tegid one day asked him what about his mother;

she had gone, he said, in search of Eilonwy, who had run away from her

husband in Gwerdonau Llion, with Glanfryd ab Gloywfraint. She would

be back soon, he thought, and describe to them all the wonders they

had seen. Ifan Morgan went to bed that night, and was found dead in

it in the morning; it was thought that his death had been caused by

a Black Knight, who had been seen haunting the place at midnight for

some time, and always disappearing, when pursued, into a well that

bubbled forth in a dark recess near at hand. The day of Ifan Morgan's

funeral, Nefyn, his wife, returned, and bewailed him with many tears;

she was never more seen on the dry land. Tegid had now the charge of

the family, and he conducted himself in all things as behoved a man

and a gentleman of high principles and great generosity. He was very

wealthy, but often grieved by the thought of his father's murder. One

day, when he and two of his brothers were out in a boat fishing in the

neighbouring bay, they were driven by the wind to the most wonderful

spot they had ever seen. The sea there was as smooth as glass, and

as bright as the clearest light, while beneath it, and not far from

them, they saw a most splendid country with fertile fields and dales

covered with pastures, with flowery hedges, groves clad in their green

foliage, and forests gently waving their leafy luxuriance, with rivers

lazily contemplating their own tortuous courses, and with mansions

here and there of the most beautiful and ingenious description; and

presently they saw that the inhabitants amused themselves with all

kinds of merriment and frolicking, and that here and there they had

music and engaged themselves in the most energetic dancing; in fact,

the rippling waves seemed to have absorbed their fill of the music,

so that the faint echo of it, as gently given forth by the waves,

never ceased to charm their ears until they reached the shore. That

night the three brothers had the same dream, namely that the Black

Knight who had throttled their father was in hiding in a cave on the

coast: so they made for the cave in the morning, but the Black Knight

fled from them and galloped off on the waves as if he had been riding

for amusement over a meadow. That day their sisters, on returning home

from school, had to cross a piece of sea, when a tempest arose and sunk

the vessel, drowning all on board, and the brothers ascribed this to

the Black Knight. About this time there was great consternation among

the fishermen on account of a sea-serpent that twined itself about

the rocks near the caves, and nothing would do but that Tegid and his

brothers should go forth to kill it; but when one day they came near

the spot frequented by it, they heard a deep voice saying to them,

"Do not kill your sister," so they wondered greatly and suddenly went

home. But that night Tegid returned there alone, and called his sister

by her name, and after waiting a long while she crept towards him in

the shape of a sea-serpent, and said that she must remain some time in

that form on account of her having run away with one who was not her

husband; she went on to say that she had seen their sisters walking

with their mother, and their father would soon be in the cave. But all

of a sudden there came the Black Knight, who unsheathed a sword that

looked like a flame of fire, and began to cut the sea-serpent into a

thousand bits, which united, however, as fast as he cut it, and became

as whole as before. The end was that the monster twisted itself in

a coil round his throat and bit him terribly in his breast. At this

point a White Knight comes and runs him through with his spear, so

that he fell instantly, while the White Knight went off hurriedly

with the sea-serpent in a coil round his neck. Tegid ran away for

his life, but not before a monster more terrible than anything he

had ever seen had begun to attack him. It haunted him in all kinds of

ways: sometimes it would be like a sea, but Tegid was able to swim:

sometimes it would be a mountain of ice, but Tegid was able to climb

it: and sometimes it was like a furnace of intense fire, but the heat

had no effect on him. But it appeared mostly as a combination of the

beast of prey and the venomous reptile. Suddenly, however, a young

man appeared, taking hold of Tegid's arm and encouraging him, when

the monster fled away screeching, and a host of knights in splendid

array and on proudly prancing horses came to him: among them he found

his brothers, and he went with them to his mother's country. He was

especially welcome there, and he found all happy and present save

his father only, whom he thought of fetching from the world above,

having in fact got leave to do so from his grandfather. His mother

and his brothers went with him to search for his father's body, and

with him came Gwydion ab Dôn and Gwyn ab Nud, but he would not be

wakened. So Tegid, who loved his father greatly, asked leave to remain

on his father's grave, where he remains to this day. His mother is

wont to come there to soothe him, and his brothers send him gifts,

while he sends his gifts to Nefyd Naf Neifion, his grandfather;

it is also said that his twin-sister, Ceridwen, has long since come

to live near him, to make the glad gladder and the pretty prettier,

and to maintain her dignity and honour in peace and tranquillity.'

The latter part of this tale, the mention of Ceridwen, invoked by

the bards as the genius presiding over their profession, and of

Tegid remaining on his father's grave, is evidently a reference

to Llyn Tegid, or Bala Lake, and to the legend of Taliessin in the

so-called Hanes or history of Taliessin, published at the end of the

third volume of Lady Charlotte Guest's Mabinogion. So the story has

undoubtedly been pieced together, but not all invented, as is proved

by the reference to the curious cap which the husband was to keep

out of the sight of his mermaid wife. In Irish legends this cap has

particular importance attached to it, of which Glasynys cannot have

been aware, for he knew of no use to make of it. The teaching of

the song to the wife is not mentioned after the marriage; and the

introduction of it at all is remarkable: at any rate I have never

noticed anything parallel to it in other tales. The incident of the

tempest, when the mermaid spoke to somebody by the side of the boat,

reminds one of Undine during the trip on the Danube. It is, perhaps,

useless to go into details till one has ascertained how much of the

story has been based on genuine Welsh folklore. But, while I am on

this point, I venture to append here an Irish tale, which will serve

to explain the meaning of the mermaid's cap, as necessary to her

comfort in the water world. I am indebted for it to the kindness of

Dr. Norman Moore, of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, who tells me, in a

letter dated March 7, 1882, that he and the Miss Raynells of Killynon

heard it from an old woman named Mrs. Dolan, who lived on the property

of the late Mr. Cooke of Cookesborough, in Westmeath. The following

was her tale:--'There was a man named Mahon had a farm on the edge of

Loch Owel. He noticed that his corn was trampled, and he sat up all

night to watch it. He saw horses, colts and fillies rather, come up

out of the lake and trample it. He chased them, and they fled into the

lake. The next night he saw them again, and among them a beautiful girl

with a cap of salmon skin on her head, and it shone in the moonlight;

and he caught her and embraced her, and carried her off to his house

and married her, and she was a very good housewife, as all those

lake people are, and kept his house beautifully; and one day in the

harvest, when the men were in the fields, she went into the house,

and there she looked on the hurdle for some lard to make colcannon

[41] for the men, and she saw her old cap of fish skin, and she put

it on her head and ran straight down into the lake and was never seen

any more, and Mahon he was terribly grieved, and he died soon after

of a decline. She had had three children, and I often saw them in

the Mullingar market. They were farmers, too, on Loch Owel.'

IV.

Let me now return to the fresh-water fairies of Snowdon and give

a reference to Pennant's Tours in Wales: in the edition published

at Carnarvon in 1883 we are told, ii. 326, how Mr. Pennant learned

'that, in fairy days, those diminutive gentry kept their revels' on the

margins of the Snowdon lake, called Llyn Coch. There is no legend now

extant, so far as I can ascertain, about the Llyn Coch fairies. So

I proceed to append a legend differing considerably from all the

foregoing: I owe it to the kindness of my friend Mr. Howell Thomas,

of the Local Government Board. It was written out by Mr. G. B. Gattie,

and I take the liberty of prefixing to it his letter to Mr. Thomas,

dated Walham Grove, London, S.W., April 27, 1882. The letter runs

as follows:--

'I had quite forgotten the enclosed, which I had jotted down during

my recent illness, and ought to have sent you long ago. Of course, the

wording is very rough, as no care has been taken on that point. It is

interesting, as being another version of a very pretty old legend which

my mother used to repeat. She was descended from a very old north Welsh

family; indeed, I believe my esteemed grandfather went so far as to

trace his descent from the great patriot, Owen Glendower himself! My

mother delighted not only in the ancient folklore legends and fairy

tales of the Principality, with which she was perfectly familiar,

but especially in the lovely national melodies, all of which she

knew by heart; and, being highly accomplished, would never tire of

playing or singing them. You will see the legend is, in the main,

much as related by Professor Rhys, though differing somewhat in the

singular terms of the marriage contract. The scene of the legend,

as related by my late mother, was, of course, a lake, the Welsh name

of which I have, unfortunately, forgotten, but it was somewhere,

I think, near Llanberis, and the hero a stalwart young farmer.'

The legend itself reads as follows:--

'One hot day, the farmer, riding by the lake, took his horse into the

water to drink, and, whilst looking straight down over his horse's

ears into the smooth surface, he became aware of a most lovely face,

just beneath the tide, looking up archly at him. Quite bewildered,

he earnestly beckoned, and by degrees the head and shoulders which

belonged to the face emerged from the water. Overcome with emotion,

and nearly maddened by the blaze of beauty so suddenly put before

him, he leaped from his horse and rushed wildly into the lake to try

to clasp the lovely vision to his heart. As this was a clear case

of "love at first sight," the poor young man was not, of course,

answerable for his actions. But the vision had vanished beneath the

waves, to instantly reappear, however, a yard or two off, with the most

provoking of smiles, and holding out her beautiful white hands towards

her admirer, but slipping off into deep water the moment he approached.

'For many days the young farmer frequented the lake, but without

again seeing the beautiful Naiad, until one day he sat down by the

margin hoping that she would appear, and yet dreading her appearance,

for this latter to him simply meant loss of all peace. Yet he rushed

on his fate, like the love-sick shepherd in the old Italian romance,

who watched the sleeping beauty, yet dreaded her awakening:--Io

perderò la pace, quando si sveglierà!

'The young man had brought the remains of his frugal dinner with

him, and was quietly munching, by way of dessert, an apple of rare

and delicious quality, from a tree which grew upon a neighbouring

estate. Suddenly the lady appeared in all her rare beauty almost

close to him, and begged him to "throw" her one of his apples. This

was altogether too much, and he replied by holding out the tempting

morsel, exhibiting its beautiful red and green sides, saying that,

if she really wanted it, she must fetch it herself. Upon this she

came up quite close, and, as she took the apple from his left hand,

he dexterously seized tight hold of her with his right, and held

her fast. She, however, nothing daunted, bawled lustily, at the top

of her voice, for help, and made such an outrageous noise, that at

length a most respectable looking old gentleman appeared suddenly

out of the midst of the lake. He had a superb white beard, and was

simply and classically attired merely in a single wreath of beautiful

water-lilies wound round his loins, which was possibly his summer

costume, the weather being hot. He politely requested to know what was

the matter, and what the young farmer wanted with his daughter. The

case was thereupon explained, but not without the usual amount of

nervous trepidation which usually happens to love-sick swains when

called into the awful presence of "Papa" to "explain their intentions!"

'After a long parley the lady, at length, agreed to become the young

man's wife on two conditions, which he was to solemnly promise to

keep. These conditions were that he was never to strike her with

steel or clay (earth), conditions to which the young man very readily

assented. As these were primitive days, when people were happy and

honest, there were no lawyers to encumber the Holy Estate with lengthy

settlements, and to fill their own pockets with heavy fees; matters

were therefore soon settled, and the lady married to the young farmer

on the spot by the very respectable old lake deity, her papa.

'The story goes on to say that the union was followed by two sons and

two daughters. The eldest son became a great physician, and all his

descendants after him were celebrated for their great proficiency

in the noble healing art. The second son was a mighty craftsman

in all works appertaining to the manufacture and use of iron and

metals. Indeed it has been hinted that, his little corracle of bull's

hide having become old and unsafe, he conceived the brilliant idea of

making one of thin iron. This he actually accomplished, and, to the

intense amazement of the wondering populace, he constantly used it

for fishing, or other purposes, on the lake, where he paddled about in

perfect security. This important fact ought to be more generally known,

as it gives him a fair claim to the introduction of iron ship-building,

pace the shades of Beaufort and Brunel.

'Of the two daughters, one is said to have invented the small

ten-stringed harp, and the other the spinning-wheel. Thus were

introduced the arts of medicine, manufactures, music, and woollen work.

'As the old ballad says, applying the quotation to the father and

mother:--

They lived for more than forty year

Right long and happilie!

'One day it happened that the wife expressed a great wish for some

of those same delicious apples of which she was so fond, and of

which their neighbour often sent them a supply. Off went the farmer,

like a good husband that he was, and brought back, not only some

apples, but a beautiful young sapling, seven or eight feet high,

bearing the same apple, as a present from their friend. This they

at once proceeded to set, he digging and she holding; but the hole

not being quite deep enough he again set to work, with increased

energy, with his spade, and stooping very low threw out the last

shovelful over his shoulder--alas! without looking--full into the

breast of his wife. She dropped the sapling and solemnly warned him

that one of the two conditions of their marriage contract had been

broken. Accident was pleaded, but in vain; there was the unfortunate

fact--he had struck her with clay! Looking upon the sapling as the

cause of this great trouble he determined to return it forthwith to

his kind neighbour. Taking a bridle in his hand he proceeded to the

field to catch his horse, his wife kindly helping him. They both

ran up, one on each side, and, as the unruly steed showed no signs

of stopping, the husband attempted to throw the bridle over his

head. Not having visited Mexico in his travels, and thereby learned

the use of the lasso, he missed his horse's head and--misfortune

of misfortunes--struck his wife in the face with the iron bit, thus

breaking the second condition. He had struck her with steel. She no

sooner received the blow than--like Esau--she "cried with a great

and exceeding bitter cry," and bidding her husband a last farewell,

fled down the hill with lightning speed, dashed into the lake, and

disappeared beneath the smooth and glassy waters! Thus, it may be

said that, if an apple--indirectly--occasioned the beginning of her

married life, so an apple brought about its sad termination.'

Such is Mr. Gattie's tale, and to him probably is to be traced its

literary trimming; but even when it is stripped of that accessory,

it leaves us with difficulties of somewhat the same order as those

attaching to some of the stories which have passed through the hands

of Glasynys. However, the substance of it seems to be genuine, and

to prove that there has been a Northwalian tradition which traced the

medical art to a lake lady like the Egeria of the Physicians of Mydfai.

V.

Allusion has already been made to the afanc story, and it is convenient

to give it before proceeding any further. The Cambrian Journal for

1859, pp. 142-6, gives it in a letter of Edward Llwyd's dated 1693,

and contributed to that periodical by the late Canon Robert Williams,

of Rhyd y Croesau, who copied it from the original letter in his

possession [42], and here follows a translation into English of the

part of it which concerns Llyn yr Afanc [43], a pool on the river

Conwy, above Bettws y Coed and opposite Capel Garmon:--

'I suppose it very probable that you have heard speak of Llyn yr Afanc,

"the Afanc's Pool," and that I therefore need not trouble to inform

you where it stands. I think, also, that you know, if one may trust

what the country people say, that it was a girl that enticed the

afanc to come out of his abode, namely the pool, so as to be bound

with iron chains, whilst he slumbered with his head on her knees,

and with the grip of one hand on her breast. When he woke from his

nap and perceived what had been done to him, he got up suddenly

and hurried to his old refuge, taking with him in his claw the

breast of his sweetheart. It was then seen that it was well the

chain was long enough to be fastened to oxen that pulled him out of

the pool. Thereupon a considerable dispute arose among some of the

people, each asserting that he had taken a great weight on himself and

pulled far harder than anybody else. "No," said another, "it was I,"

&c. And whilst they were wrangling in this way, the report goes that

the afanc answered them, and silenced their discontent by saying--

Oni bae y dai ag a dyn

Ni dactha'r afanc byth o'r llyn.

Had it not been for the oxen pulling,

The afanc had never left the pool.

'You must understand that some take the afanc to be a corporeal

demon; but I am sufficiently satisfied that there is an animal of the

same name, which is called in English a bever, seeing that the term

ceillie'r afanc signifies bever stones. I know not what kind of oxen

those in question were, but it is related that they were twins; nor

do I know why they were called Ychain Mannog or Ychain Bannog. But

peradventure they were called Ychain Bannog in reference to their

having had many a fattening, or fattening on fattening (having been

for many a year fattened). Yet the word bannog is not a good, suitable

word to signify fattened, as bannog is nought else than what has been

made exceeding thick by beating [or fulling], as one says of a thick

blanket made of coarse yarn (y gwrthban tew-bannog), the thick bannog

[44] blanket. Whilst I was dawdling behind talking about this, the oxen

had proceeded very far, and I did not find their footmarks as they came

through portions of the parish of Dolyd-Elan (Luedog) until I reached

a pass called ever since Bwlch Rhiw'r Ychen, "the Pass of the Slope

of the Oxen," between the upper parts of Dolydelan and the upper part

of Nanhwynen. In coming over this pass one of the oxen dropped one

of its eyes on an open spot, which for that reason is called Gwaun

Lygad Ych, "the Moor of the Ox's Eye." The place where the eye fell

has become a pool, which is by this time known as Pwll Llygad Ych,

"the Pool of the Ox's Eye," which is at no time dry, though no water

rises in it or flows into it except when rain falls; nor is there any

flowing out of it during dry weather. It is always of the same depth;

that is, it reaches about one's knee-joint, according to those who

have paid attention to that for a considerable number of years. There

is a harp melody, which not all musicians know: it is known as the

Ychain Mannog air, and it has a piteous effect on the ear, being as

plaintive as were the groanings of these Ychain under the weight of

the afanc, especially when one of the pair lost an eye. They pulled

him up to Llyn Cwm Ffynnon Las, "the Lake of the Dingle of the Green

Well," to which he was consigned, for the reason, peradventure, that

some believed that there were in that lake uncanny things already in

store. In fact, it was but fitting that he should be permitted to

go to his kind. But whether there were uncanny things in it before

or not, many think that there is nothing good in it now, as you will

understand from what follows. There is much talk of Llyn Cwm Ffynnon

Las besides the fact that it is always free from ice, except in one

corner where the peat water of clear pools comes into it, and that it

has also a variety of dismal hues. The cause of this is, as I suppose,

to be sought in the various hues of the rocks surrounding it; and the

fact that a whirlwind makes its water mixed, which is enough to give

any lake a disagreeable colour. Nothing swims on it without danger,

and I am not sure that it would be very safe for a bird to fly across

it or not. Throw a rag into its water and it will go to the bottom,

and I have with my own ears heard a man saying that he saw a goat

taking to this lake in order to avoid being caught, and that as soon

as the animal went into the water, it turned round and round, as if

it had been a top, until it was drowned.... Some mention that, as

some great man was hunting in the Snowdon district (Eryri), a stag,

to avoid the hounds when they were pressing on him, and as is the

habit of stags to defend themselves, made his escape into this lake:

the hunters had hardly time to turn round before they saw the stag's

antlers (mwnglws) coming to the surface, but nothing more have they

ever seen.... A young woman has been seen to come out of this lake

to wash clothes, and when she had done she folded the clothes, and

taking them under her arm went back into the lake. One man, whose

brother is still alive and well, beheld in a canoe, on this same lake

still, an angler with a red cap on his head; but the man died within

a few days, having not been in his right mind during that time. Most

people regard this as the real truth, and, as for myself, I cannot

refuse to believe that such a vision might not cause a man to become

so bewildered as to force on a disease ending with his death....'

The name Llyn Cwm Ffynnon Las would have led one to suppose that

the pool meant is the one given in the ordnance maps as Llyn y

Cwm Ffynnon, and situated in the mountains between Pen y Gwryd and

the upper valley of Llanberis; but from the writer on the parish of

Bedgelert in the Brython for 1861, pp. 371-2, it appears that this is

not so, and that the tarn meant was in the upper reach of Cwm Dyli,

and was known as Llyn y Ffynnon Las, 'Lake of the Green Well,' about

which he has a good deal to say in the same strain as that of Llwyd in

the letter already cited. Among other things he remarks that it is a

very deep tarn, and that its bottom has been ascertained to be lower

than the surface of Llyn Llydaw, which lies 300 feet lower. And as

to the afanc, he remarks that the inhabitants of Nant Conwy and the

lower portions of the parish of Dolwydelan, having frequent troubles

and losses inflicted on them by a huge monster in the river Conwy,

near Bettws y Coed, tried to kill it but in vain, as no harpoon, no

arrow or spear made any impression whatsoever on the brute's hide;

so it was resolved to drag it away as in the Llwyd story. I learn from

Mr. Pierce (Elis o'r Nant), of Dolwydelan, that the lake is variously

known as Llyn (Cwm) Ffynnon Las, and Llyn Glas or Glaslyn: this last

is the form which I find in the maps. It is to be noticed that the

Nant Conwy people, by dragging the afanc there, got him beyond their

own watershed, so that he could no more cause floods in the Conwy.

Here, as promised at p. 74, I append Lewis Glyn Cothi's words as to

the afanc in Llyn Syfadon. The bard is dilating in the poem, where

they occur, on his affection for his friend Llywelyn ab Gwilym ab

Thomas Vaughan, of Bryn Hafod in the Vale of Towy, and averring that

it would be as hard to induce him to quit his friend's hospitable home,

as it was to get the afanc away from the Lake of Syfadon, as follows:--

Yr avanc er ei ovyn

Wyv yn llech ar vin y llyn;

O dòn Llyn Syfadon vo

Ni thynwyd ban aeth yno:

Ni'm tyn mèn nag ychain gwaith,

Odiyma hedyw ymaith. [45]

The afanc am I, who, sought for, bides

In hiding on the edge of the lake;

Out of the waters of Syfadon Mere

Was he not drawn, once he got there.

So with me: nor wain nor oxen wont to toil

Me to-day will draw from here forth.

From this passage it would seem that the Syfadon story contemplated

the afanc being taken away from the lake in a cart or waggon drawn by

oxen; but whether driven by Hu, or by whom, one is not told. However,

the story must have represented the undertaking as a failure, and

the afanc as remaining in his lake: had it been otherwise it would

be hard to see the point of the comparison.

VI.

The parish of Llanfachreth and its traditions have been the subject

of some contributions to the first volume of the Taliesin published

at Ruthin in 1859-60, pp. 132-7, by a writer who calls himself

Cofiadur. It was Glasynys, I believe, for the style seems to be his:

he pretends to copy from an old manuscript of Hugh Bifan's--both the

manuscript and its owner were fictions of Glasynys' as I am told. These

jottings contain two or three items about the fairies which seem to

be genuine:--

'The bottom of Llyn Cynnwch, on the Nannau estate, is level with the

hearth-stone of the house of Dôl y Clochyd. Its depth was found out

owing to the sweetheart of one of Siwsi's girls having lost his way

to her from Nannau, where he was a servant. The poor man had fallen

into the lake, and gone down and down, when he found it becoming

clearer the lower he got, until at last he alighted on a level spot

where everybody and everything looked much as he had observed on

the dry land. When he had reached the bottom of the lake, a short

fat old gentleman came to him and asked his business, when he told

him how it happened that he had come. He met with great welcome,

and he stayed there a month without knowing that he had been there

three days, and when he was going to leave, he was led out to his

beloved by the inhabitants of the lake bottom. He asserted that the

whole way was level except in one place, where they descended about

a fathom into the ground; but, he added, it was necessary to ascend

about as much to reach the hearth-stone of Dôl y Clochyd. The most

wonderful thing, however, was that the stone lifted itself as he came

up from the subterranean road towards it. It was thus the sweetheart

arrived there one evening, when the girl was by the fire weeping for

him. Siwsi had been out some days before, and she knew all about it

though she said nothing to anybody. This, then, was the way in which

the depth of Llyn Cynnwch came to be known.'

Then he has a few sentences about an old house called

Ceimarch:--'Ceimarch was an old mansion of considerable repute,

and in old times it was considered next to Nannau in point of

importance in the whole district. There was a deep ditch round it,

which was always kept full of water, with the view of keeping off

vagabonds and thieves, as well as other lawless folks, that they

might not take the inmates by surprise. But, in distant ages, this

place was very noted for the frequent visits paid it by the fair

family. They used to come to the ditch to wash themselves, and to

cross the water in boats made of the bark of the rowan-tree [46],

or else birch, and they came into the house to pay their rent for

trampling the ground around the place. They always placed a piece

of money under a pitcher, and the result was that the family living

there became remarkably rich. But somehow, after the lapse of many

years, the owner of the place offended them, by showing disrespect

for their diminutive family: soon the world began to go against him,

and it was not long before he got low in life. Everything turned

against him, and in times past everybody believed that he incurred

all this because he had earned the displeasure of the fair family.'

In the Brython for the year 1862, p. 456, in the course of an essay

on the history of the Lordship of Mawdwy in Merioneth, considered the

best in a competition at an Eistedfod held at Dinas Mawdwy, August

2, 1855, Glasynys gives the following bit about the fairies of that

neighbourhood:--'The side of Aran Fawdwy is a great place for the fair

family: they are ever at it playing their games on the hillsides about

this spot. It is said that they are numberless likewise about Bwlch y

Groes. Once a boy crossed over near the approach of night, one summer

eve, from the Gadfa to Mawdwy, and on his return he saw near Aber

Rhiwlech a swarm of the little family dancing away full pelt. The boy

began to run, with two of the maidens in pursuit of him, entreating

him to stay; but Robin, for that was his name, kept running, and the

two elves failed altogether to catch him, otherwise he would have been

taken a prisoner of love. There are plenty of their dancing-rings to

be seen on the hillsides between Aber Rhiwlech and Bwlch y Groes.'

Here I would introduce two other Merionethshire tales, which I have

received from Mr. E. S. Roberts, master of the Llandysilio School,

near Llangollen. He has learnt them from one Abel Evans, who lives

at present in the parish of Llandysilio: he is a native of the parish

of Llandrillo on the slopes of the Berwyn, and of a glen in the same,

known as Cwm Pennant, so called from its being drained by the Pennant

on its way to join the Dee. Now Cwm Pennant was the resort of fairies,

or of a certain family of them, and the occurrence, related in the

following tale, must have taken place no less than seventy years ago:

it was well known to the late Mrs. Ellen Edwards of Llandrillo:--

Ryw diwrnod aeth dau gyfaill i hela dwfrgwn ar hyd lannau afon Pennant,

a thra yn cyfeirio eu camrau tuagat yr afon gwelsant ryw greadur

bychan lliwgoch yn rhedeg yn gyflym iawn ar draws un o'r dolyd yn

nghyfeiriad yr afon. Ymaeth a nhw ar ei ol. Gwelsant ei fod wedi myned

oditan wraid coeden yn ochr yr afon i ymgudio. Yr oed y dau dyn yn

medwl mae dwfrgi ydoed, ond ar yr un pryd yn methu a deall paham yr

ymdanghosai i'w llygaid yn lliwgoch. Yr oedynt yn dymuno ei dal yn

fyw, ac ymaith yr aeth un o honynt i ffarmdy gerllaw i ofyn am sach,

yr hon a gafwyd, er mwyn rhoi y creadur yndi. Yr oed yno dau dwll

o tan wraid y pren, a thra daliai un y sach yn agored ar un twll

yr oed y llall yn hwthio ffon i'r twll arall, ac yn y man aeth y

creadur i'r sach. Yr oed y dau dyn yn medwl eu bod wedi dal dwfrgi,

yr hyn a ystyrient yn orchest nid bychan. Cychwynasant gartref yn

llawen ond cyn eu myned hyd lled cae, llefarod lletywr y sach mewn

ton drist gan dywedyd--'Y mae fy mam yn galw am danaf, O, mae fy mam

yn galw am danaf,' yr hyn a rodod fraw mawr i'r dau heliwr, ac yn

y man taflasant y sach i lawr, a mawr oed eu rhyfedod a'u dychryn

pan welsant dyn bach mewn gwisg goch yn rhedeg o'r sach tuagat yr

afon. Fe a diflannod o'i golwg yn mysg y drysni ar fin yr afon. Yr

oed y dau wedi eu brawychu yn dirfawr ac yn teimlo mae doethach oed

myned gartref yn hytrach nag ymyrraeth yn mhellach a'r Tylwyth Teg.

'One day, two friends went to hunt otters on the banks of the

Pennant, and when they were directing their steps towards the river,

they beheld some small creature of a red colour running fast across

the meadows in the direction of the river. Off they ran after it,

and saw that it went beneath the roots of a tree on the brink of

the river to hide itself. The two men thought it was an otter, but,

at the same time, they could not understand why it seemed to them

to be of a red colour. They wished to take it alive, and off one of

them went to a farm house that was not far away to ask for a sack,

which he got, to put the creature into it. Now there were two holes

under the roots of the tree, and while one held the sack with its mouth

open over one of them, the other pushed his stick into the other hole,

and presently the creature went into the sack. The two men thought they

had caught an otter, which they looked upon as no small feat. They set

out for home, but before they had proceeded the width of one field,

the inmate of the sack spoke to them in a sad voice, and said, "My

mother is calling for me; oh, my mother is calling for me!" This gave

the two hunters a great fright, so that they at once threw down the

sack; and great was their surprise to see a little man in a red dress

running out of the sack towards the river. He disappeared from their

sight in the bushes by the river. The two men were greatly terrified,

and felt that it was more prudent to go home than meddle any further

with the fair family.' So far as I know, this story stands alone in

Welsh folklore; but it has an exact parallel in Lancashire [47].

The other story, which I now reproduce, was obtained by Mr. Roberts

from the same Abel Evans. He learnt it from Mrs. Ellen Edwards, and

it refers to a point in her lifetime, which Abel Evans fixes at ninety

years ago. Mr. Roberts has not succeeded in recovering the name of the

cottager of whom it speaks; but he lived on the side of the Berwyn,

above Cwm Pennant, where till lately a cottage used to stand, near

which the fairies had one of their resorts:--

Yr oed perchen y bwthyn wedi amaethu rhyw ran fychan o'r mynyd ger llaw

y ty er mwyn plannu pytatws yndo. Felly y gwnaeth. Mewn coeden yn agos

i'r fan canfydod nyth bran. Fe fedyliod mae doeth fuasai ido dryllio y

nyth cyn amlhau o'r brain. Fe a esgynnod y goeden ac a drylliod y nyth,

ac wedi disgyn i lawr canfydod gylch glas (fairy ring) odiamgylch y

pren, ac ar y cylch fe welod hanner coron er ei fawr lawenyd. Wrth

fyned heibio yr un fan y boreu canlynol fe gafod hanner coron yn

yr un man ag y cafod y dyd o'r blaen. Hynna fu am amryw dydiau. Un

diwrnod dywedod wrth gyfaill am ei hap da a dangosod y fan a'r lle

y cawsai yr hanner coron bob boreu. Wel y boreu canlynol nid oed yno

na hanner coron na dim arall ido, oherwyd yr oed wedi torri rheolau

y Tylwythion trwy wneud eu haelioni yn hysbys. Y mae y Tylwythion

o'r farn na dylai y llaw aswy wybod yr hyn a wna y llaw dehau.

'The occupier of the cottage had tilled a small portion of the

mountain side near his home in order to plant potatoes, which he

did. He observed that there was a rook's nest on a tree which was

not far from this spot, and it struck him that it would be prudent

to break the nest before the rooks multiplied. So he climbed the tree

and broke the nest, and, after coming down, he noticed a green circle

(a fairy ring) round the tree, and on this circle he espied, to his

great joy, half a crown. As he went by the same spot the following

morning, he found another half a crown in the same place as before. So

it happened for several days; but one day he told a friend of his

good luck, and showed him the spot where he found half a crown every

morning. Now the next morning there was for him neither half a crown

nor anything else, because he had broken the rule of the fair folks

by making their liberality known, they being of opinion that the left

hand should not know what the right hand does.'

So runs this short tale, which the old lady, Mrs. Edwards, and the

people of the neighbourhood explained as an instance of the gratitude

of the fairies to a man who had rendered them a service, which in this

case was supposed to have consisted in ridding them of the rooks,

that disturbed their merry-makings in the green ring beneath the

branches of the tree.

VII.

It would be unpardonable to pass away from Merioneth without alluding

to the stray cow of Llyn Barfog. The story appears in Welsh in

the Brython for 1860, pp. 183-4, but the contributor, who closely

imitates Glasynys' style, says that he got his materials from a paper

by the late Mr. Pughe of Aberdovey, by which he seems to have meant

an article contributed by the latter to the Archæologia Cambrensis,

and published in the volume for 1853, pp. 201-5. Mr. Pughe dwells in

that article a good deal on the scenery of the corner of Merioneth

in the rear of Aberdovey; but the chief thing in his paper is the

legend connected with Llyn Barfog, which he renders into English

as the Bearded Lake [48]. It is described as a mountain lake in a

secluded spot in the upland country behind Aberdovey; but I shall

let Mr. Pughe speak for himself:--

'The lovers of Cambrian lore are aware that the Triads in their record

of the deluge affirm that it was occasioned by a mystic Afanc y Llyn,

crocodile [49] of the lake, breaking the banks of Llyn Llion, the

lake of waters; and the recurrence of that catastrophe was prevented

only by Hu Gadarn, the bold man of power, dragging away the afanc

by aid of his Ychain Banawg, or large horned oxen. Many a lakelet

in our land has put forward its claim to the location of Llyn Llion;

amongst the rest, this lake. Be that as it may, King Arthur and his

war-horse have the credit amongst the mountaineers here of ridding

them of the monster, in place of Hu the Mighty, in proof of which is

shown an impression on a neighbouring rock bearing a resemblance to

those made by the shoe or hoof of a horse, as having been left there by

his charger when our British Hercules was engaged in this redoubtable

act of prowess, and this impression has been given the name of Carn

March Arthur, the hoof of Arthur's horse, which it retains to this

day. It is believed to be very perilous to let the waters out of

the lake, and recently an aged inhabitant of the district informed

the writer that she recollected this being done during a period of

long drought, in order to procure motive power for Llyn Pair Mill,

and that long-continued heavy rains followed. No wonder our bold but

superstitious progenitors, awe-struck by the solitude of the spot--the

dark sepial tint of its waters, unrelieved by the flitting apparition

of a single fish, and seldom visited by the tenants of the air--should

have established it as a canon in their creed of terror that the lake

formed one of the many communications between this outward world of

ours and the inner or lower one of Annwn--the unknown world [50]--the

dominion of Gwyn ap Nud, the mythic king of the fabled realm, peopled

by those children of mystery, Plant Annwn; and the belief is still

current amongst the inhabitants of our mountains in the occasional

visitations of the Gwraged Annwn, or dames of Elfin land, to this upper

world of ours. A shrewd old hill farmer (Thomas Abergraes by name),

well skilled in the folk-lore of the district, informed me that, in

years gone by, though when, exactly, he was too young to remember,

those dames were wont to make their appearance, arrayed in green, in

the neighbourhood of Llyn Barfog, chiefly at eventide, accompanied by

their kine and hounds, and that on quiet summer nights in particular,

these ban-hounds were often to be heard in full cry pursuing their

prey--the souls of doomed men dying without baptism and penance--along

the upland township of Cefnrhosucha. Many a farmer had a sight of

their comely milk-white kine; many a swain had his soul turned to

romance and poesy by a sudden vision of themselves in the guise of

damsels arrayed in green, and radiant in beauty and grace; and many a

sportsman had his path crossed by their white hounds of supernatural

fleetness and comeliness, the Cwn Annwn; but never had any one been

favoured with more than a passing view of either, till an old farmer

residing at Dyssyrnant, in the adjoining valley of Dyffryn Gwyn,

became at last the lucky captor of one of their milk-white kine. The

acquaintance which the Gwartheg y Llyn, the kine of the lake, had

formed with the farmer's cattle, like the loves of the angels for

the daughters of men, became the means of capture; and the farmer

was thereby enabled to add the mystic cow to his own herd, an event

in all cases believed to be most conducive to the worldly prosperity

of him who should make so fortunate an acquisition. Never was there

such a cow, never such calves, never such milk and butter, or cheese,

and the fame of the Fuwch Gyfeiliorn, the stray cow, was soon spread

abroad through that central part of Wales known as the district of

Rhwng y dwy Afon, from the banks of the Mawdach to those of the Dofwy

[51]--from Aberdiswnwy [52] to Abercorris. The farmer, from a small

beginning, rapidly became, like Job, a man of substance, possessed of

thriving herds of cattle--a very patriarch among the mountains. But,

alas! wanting Job's restraining grace, his wealth made him proud, his

pride made him forget his obligation to the Elfin cow, and fearing

she might soon become too old to be profitable, he fattened her for

the butcher, and then even she did not fail to distinguish herself,

for a more monstrously fat beast was never seen. At last the day of

slaughter came--an eventful day in the annals of a mountain farm--the

killing of a fat cow, and such a monster of obesity! No wonder all

the neighbours were gathered together to see the sight. The old farmer

looked upon the preparations in self-pleased importance--the butcher

felt he was about no common feat of his craft, and, baring his arms,

he struck the blow--not now fatal, for before even a hair had been

injured, his arm was paralysed--the knife dropped from his hand, and

the whole company was electrified by a piercing cry that awakened

echo in a dozen hills, and made the welkin ring again; and lo and

behold! the whole assemblage saw a female figure clad in green, with

uplifted arms, standing on one of the craigs overhanging Llyn Barfog,

and heard her calling with a voice loud as thunder:--

Dere di velen Einion,

Cyrn Cyveiliorn--braith y Llyn,

A'r voel Dodin,

Codwch, dewch adre.

Come yellow Anvil, stray horns,

Speckled one of the lake,

And of the hornless Dodin,

Arise, come home [53].

And no sooner were these words of power uttered than the original lake

cow and all her progeny, to the third and fourth generations, were

in full flight towards the heights of Llyn Barfog, as if pursued by

the evil one. Self-interest quickly roused the farmer, who followed in

pursuit, till breathless and panting he gained an eminence overlooking

the lake, but with no better success than to behold the green attired

dame leisurely descending mid-lake, accompanied by the fugitive cows

and their calves formed in a circle around her, they tossing their

tails, she waving her hands in scorn as much as to say, "You may

catch us, my friend, if you can," as they disappeared beneath the

dark waters of the lake, leaving only the yellow water-lily to mark

the spot where they vanished, and to perpetuate the memory of this

strange event. Meanwhile the farmer looked with rueful countenance upon

the spot where the Elfin herd disappeared, and had ample leisure to

deplore the effects of his greediness, as with them also departed the

prosperity which had hitherto attended him, and he became impoverished

to a degree below his original circumstances; and, in his altered

circumstances, few felt pity for one who in the noontide flow of

prosperity had shown himself so far forgetful of favours received,

as to purpose slaying his benefactor.'

Mr. Pughe did a very good thing in saving this legend from oblivion,

but it would be very interesting to know how much of it is still

current among the inhabitants of the retired district around Llyn

Barfog, and how the story would look when stripped of the florid

language in which Mr. Pughe thought proper to clothe it. Lastly,

let me add a reference to the Iolo Manuscripts, pp. 85, 475, where

a short story is given concerning a certain Milkwhite Sweet-milk Cow

(y Fuwch Laethwen Lefrith) whose milk was so abundant and possessed

of such virtues as almost to rival the Holy Grail. Like the Holy

Grail also this cow wandered everywhere spreading plenty, until she

chanced to come to the Vale of Towy, where the foolish inhabitants

wished to kill and eat her: the result was that she vanished in their

hands and has never since been heard of.

VIII.

Here I wish to add some further stories connected with Merionethshire

which have come under my notice lately. I give them chiefly on the

authority of Mr. Owen M. Edwards of Lincoln College, who is a native of

Llanuwchllyn, and still spends a considerable part of his time there;

and partly on that of Hywel's essay on the folklore of the county,

which was awarded the prize at the National Eistedfod of 1898 [54]. A

story current at Llanuwchllyn, concerning a midwife who attends on a

fairy mother, resembles the others of the same group: for one of them

see p. 63 above. In the former, however, one misses the ointment,

and finds instead of it that the midwife was not to touch her eyes

with the water with which she washed the fairy baby. But as might be

expected one of her eyes happened to itch, and she touched it with

her fingers straight from the water. It appears that thenceforth

she was able to see the fairies with that eye; at any rate she

is represented some time afterwards recognizing the father of the

fairy baby at a fair at Bala, and inquiring of him kindly about his

family. The fairy asked with which eye she saw him, and when he had

ascertained this, he at once blinded it, so that she never could see

with it afterwards. Hywel also has it that the Tylwyth Teg formerly

used to frequent the markets at Bala, and that they used to swell

the noise in the market-place without anybody being able to see them:

this was a sign that prices were going to rise.

The shepherds of Ardudwy are familiar, according to Hywel, with a

variant of the story in which a man married a fairy on condition

that he did not touch her with iron. They lived on the Moelfre and

dwelt happily together for years, until one fine summer day, when

the husband was engaged in shearing his sheep, he put the gwelle,

'shears,' in his wife's hand: she then instantly disappeared. The

earlier portions of this story are unknown to me, but they are not

hard to guess.

Concerning Llyn Irdyn, between the western slopes of the Llawllech,

Hywel has a story the like of which I am not acquainted with: walking

near that lake you shun the shore and keep to the grass in order to

avoid the fairies, for if you take hold of the grass no fairy can

touch you, or dare under any circumstances injure a blade of grass.

Lastly, Hywel speaks of several caves containing treasure, as for

instance a telyn aur, or golden harp, hidden away in a cave beneath

Castell Carn Dochan in the parish of Llanuwchllyn. Lewis Morris,

in his Celtic Remains, p. 100, calls it Castell Corndochen, and

describes it as seated on the top of a steep rock at the bottom of

a deep valley: it appears to have consisted of a wall surrounding

three turrets, and the mortar seems composed of cockle-shells: see

also the Archæologia Cambrensis for 1850, p. 204. Hywel speaks also

of a cave beneath Castell Dinas Brân, near Llangollen, as containing

much treasure, which will only be disclosed to a boy followed by a

white dog with llygaid arian, 'silver eyes,' explained to mean light

eyes: every such dog is said to see the wind. So runs this story,

but it requires more exegesis than I can supply. One may compare it

at a distance with Myrdin's arrangement that the treasure buried by

him at Dinas Emrys should only be found by a youth with yellow hair

and blue eyes, and with the belief that the cave treasures of the

Snowdon district belong to the Gwydyl or Goidels, and that Goidels

will eventually find them: see chapter viii.

The next three stories are from Mr. Owen Edwards' Cymru for 1897,

pp. 188-9, where he has published them from a collection made for a

literary competition or local Eistedfod by his friend J. H. Roberts,

who died in early manhood. The first is a blurred version of the

story of the Lake Lady and her dowry of cattle, but enough of the

story remains to show that, had we got it in its original form,

it would be found to differ somewhat on several points from all the

other versions extant. I summarize the Welsh as follows:--In ages gone

by, as the shepherd of Hafod y Garreg was looking after his sheep on

the shores of the Arennig Lake, he came across a young calf, plump,

sleek, and strong, in the rushes. He could not guess whence the beast

could have come, as no cattle were allowed to approach the lake at

that time of the year. He took it home, however, and it was reared

until it was a bull, remarkable for his fine appearance. In time

his offspring were the only cattle on the farm, and never before had

there been such beasts at Hafod y Garreg. They were the wonder and

admiration of the whole country. But one summer afternoon in June,

the shepherd saw a little fat old man playing on a pipe, and then he

heard him call the cows by their names--

Mulican, Molican, Malen, Mair,

Dowch adre'r awrhon ar fy ngair.

Mulican, Molican, Malen and Mair,

Come now home at my word.

He then beheld the whole herd running to the little man and going

into the lake. Nothing more was heard of them, and it was everybody's

opinion that they were the Tylwyth Teg's cattle.

The next is a quasi fairy tale, the outcome of which recalls the

adventure of the farmer of Drws y Coed on his return from Bedgelert

Fair, p. 99 above. It is told of a young harpist who was making his

way across country from his home at Yspyty Ifan to the neighbourhood

of Bala, that while crossing the mountain he happened in the mist

to lose his road and fall into the Gors Fawr, 'the big bog.' There

he wallowed for hours, quite unable to extricate himself in spite

of all his efforts. But when he was going to give up in despair,

he beheld close to him, reaching him her hand, a little woman who

was wondrous fair beyond all his conception of beauty, and with her

help he got out of the Gors. The damsel gave him a jolly sweet kiss

that flashed electricity through his whole nature: he was at once over

head and ears in love. She led him to the hut of her father and mother:

there he had every welcome, and he spent the night singing and dancing

with Olwen, for that was her name. Now, though the harpist was a mere

stripling, he thought of wedding at once--he was never before in such

a heaven of delight. But next morning he was waked, not by a kiss

from Olwen, but by the Plas Drain shepherd's dog licking his lips:

he found himself sleeping against the wall of a sheepfold (corlan),

with his harp in a clump of rushes at his feet, without any trace to

be found of the family with whom he had spent such a happy night.

The next story recalls Glasynys' Einion Las, as given at pp. 111-5

above: its peculiarity is the part played by the well introduced. The

scene was a turbary near the river called Afon Mynach, so named from

Cwm Tir Mynach, behind the hills immediately north of Bala:--Ages

ago, as a number of people were cutting turf in a place which was

then moorland, and which is now enclosed ground forming part of a

farm called Nant Hir, one of them happened to wash his face in a

well belonging to the fairies. At dinner-time in the middle of the

day they sat down in a circle, while the youth who had washed his

face went to fetch the food, but suddenly both he and the box of

food were lost. They knew not what to do, they suspected that it was

the doing of the fairies; but the wise man (gwr hyspys) came to the

neighbourhood and told them, that, if they would only go to the spot on

the night of full moon in June, they would behold him dancing with the

fairies. They did as they were told, and found the moor covered with

thousands of little agile creatures who sang and danced with all their

might, and they saw the missing man among them. They rushed at him,

and with a great deal of trouble they got him out. But oftentimes was

Einion missed again, until at the time of full moon in another June he

returned home with a wondrously fair wife, whose history or pedigree

no one knew. Everybody believed her to be one of the Tylwyth Teg.

IX.

There is a kind of fairy tale of which I think I have hitherto not

given the reader a specimen: a good instance is given in the third

volume of the Brython, at p. 459, by a contributor who calls himself

Idnerth ab Gwgan, who, I learn from the Rev. Chancellor Silvan Evans,

the editor, was no other than the Rev. Benjamin Williams, best known

to Welsh antiquaries by his bardic name of Gwynionyd. The preface

to the tale is also interesting, so I am tempted to render the whole

into English, as follows:--

'The fair family were wonderful creatures in the imaginary world:

they encamped, they walked, and they capered a great deal in former

ages in our country, according to what we learn from some of our old

people. It may be supposed that they were very little folks like the

children of Rhys Dwfn; for the old people used to imagine that they

were wont to visit their hearths in great numbers in ages gone by. The

girls at the farm houses used to make the hearths clean after supper,

and to place a cauldron full of water near the fire; and so they

thought that the fair family came there to play at night, bringing

sweethearts for the young women, and leaving pieces of money on the

hob for them in the morning. Sometimes they might be seen as splendid

hosts exercising themselves on our hills. They were very fond of the

mountains of Dyfed; travellers between Lampeter and Cardigan used to

see them on the hill of Llanwenog, but by the time they had reached

there the fairies would be far away on the hills of Llandyssul, and

when one had reached the place where one expected to see the family

together in tidy array, they would be seen very busily engaged on the

tops of Crug y Balog; when one went there they would be on Blaen Pant

ar Fi, moving on and on to Bryn Bwa, and, finally, to some place or

other in the lower part of Dyfed. Like the soldiers of our earthly

world, they were possessed of terribly fascinating music; and in

the autumnal season they had their rings, still named from them,

in which they sang and danced. The young man of Llech y Derwyd [55]

was his father's only son, as well as heir to the farm; so he was

very dear to his father and his mother, indeed he was the light of

their eyes. Now, the head servant and the son were bosom friends:

they were like brothers together, or rather twin brothers. As the

son and the servant were such friends, the farmer's wife used to get

exactly the same kind of clothes prepared for the servant as for her

son. The two fell in love with two handsome young women of very good

reputation in the neighbourhood. The two couples were soon joined in

honest wedlock, and great was the merry-making on the occasion. The

servant had a suitable place to live in on the farm of Llech y Derwyd;

but about half a year after the son's marriage, he and his friend went

out for sport, when the servant withdrew to a wild and retired corner

to look for game. He returned presently for his friend, but when he

got there he could not see him anywhere: he kept looking around for

some time for him, shouting and whistling, but there was no sign of his

friend. By-and-by, he went home to Llech y Derwyd expecting to see him,

but no one knew anything about him. Great was the sorrow of his family

through the night; and next day the anxiety was still greater. They

went to see the place where his friend had seen him last: it was hard

to tell whether his mother or his wife wept the more bitterly; but

the father was a little better, though he also looked as if he were

half mad with grief. The spot was examined, and, to their surprise,

they saw a fairy ring close by, and the servant recollected that

he had heard the sound of very fascinating music somewhere or other

about the time in question. It was at once agreed that the man had

been unfortunate enough to have got into the ring of the Tylwyth,

and to have been carried away by them, nobody knew whither. Weeks and

months passed away, and a son was born to the heir of Llech y Derwyd,

but the young father was not there to see his child, which the old

people thought very hard. However, the little one grew up the very

picture of his father, and great was his influence over his grandfather

and grandmother; in fact he was everything to them. He grew up to be a

man, and he married a good-looking girl in that neighbourhood; but her

family did not enjoy the reputation of being kind-hearted people. The

old folks died, and their daughter-in-law also. One windy afternoon

in the month of October, the family of Llech y Derwyd beheld a tall

thin old man, with his beard and hair white as snow, coming towards

the house, and they thought he was a Jew. The servant maids stared

at him, and their mistress laughed at the "old Jew," at the same time

that she lifted the children up one after another to see him. He came

to the door and entered boldly enough, asking about his parents. The

mistress answered him in an unusually surly and contemptuous tone,

wondering why the "drunken old Jew had come there," because it was

thought he had been drinking, and that he would otherwise not have

spoken so. The old man cast wondering and anxious looks around on

everything in the house, feeling as he did greatly surprised; but it

was the little children about the floor that drew his attention most:

his looks were full of disappointment and sorrow. He related the

whole of his account, saying that he had been out the day before and

that he was now returning. The mistress of the house told him that

she had heard a tale about her husband's father, that he had been

lost years before her birth while out sporting, whilst her father

maintained that it was not true, but that he had been killed. She

became angry, and quite lost her temper at seeing "the old Jew"

not going away. The old man was roused, saying that he was the owner

of the house, and that he must have his rights. He then went out to

see his possessions, and presently went to the house of the servant,

where, to his surprise, things had greatly changed; after conversing

with an aged man, who sat by the fire, the one began to scrutinize

the other more and more. The aged man by the fire told him what had

been the fate of his old friend, the heir of Llech y Derwyd. They

talked deliberately of the events of their youth, but it all seemed

like a dream; in short, the old man in the corner concluded that his

visitor was his old friend, the heir of Llech y Derwyd, returning

from the land of the Tylwyth Teg after spending half a hundred years

there. The other old man, with the snow-white beard, believed in his

history, and much did they talk together and question one another for

many hours. The old man by the fire said that the master of Llech y

Derwyd was away from home that day, and he induced his aged visitor

to eat some food, but, to the horror of all, the eater fell down dead

on the spot [56]. There is no record that an inquest was held over

him, but the tale relates that the cause of it was, that he ate food

after having been so long in the world of the fair family. His old

friend insisted on seeing him buried by the side of his ancestors;

but the rudeness of the mistress of Llech y Derwyd to her father-in-law

brought a curse on the family that clung to it to distant generations,

and until the place had been sold nine times.'

A tale like this is to be found related of Idwal of Nantclwyd, in

Cymru Fu, p. 85. I said 'a tale like this,' but, on reconsidering

the matter, I should think it is the very same tale passed through

the hands of Glasynys or some one of his imitators. Another of this

kind will be found in the Brython, ii. 170, and several similar

ones also in Wirt Sikes' book, pp. 65-90, either given at length,

or merely referred to. There is one kind of variant which deserves

special notice, as making the music to which the sojourner in Faery

listens for scores of years to be that of a bird singing on a tree. A

story of the sort is located by Howells, in his Cambrian Superstitions,

pp. 127-8, at Pant Shon Shencin, near Pencader, in Cardiganshire. This

latter kind of story leads easily up to another development, namely,

to substituting for the bird's warble the song and felicity of heaven,

and for the simple shepherd a pious monk. In this form it is located at

a place called Llwyn y Nef, or 'Heaven's Grove,' near Celynnog Fawr,

in Carnarvonshire. It is given by Glasynys in Cymru Fu, pp. 183-4,

where it was copied from the Brython, iii. 111, in which he had

previously published it. Several versions of it in rhyme came down

from the eighteenth century, and Silvan Evans has brought together

twenty-six stanzas in point in St. David's College Magazine for 1881,

pp. 191-200, where he has put into a few paragraphs all that is known

about the song of the Hen Wr o'r Coed, or the Old Man of the Wood,

in his usually clear and lucid style.

A tale from the other end of the tract of country once occupied

by a sprinkling, perhaps, of Celts among a population of Picts,

makes the man, and not the fairies, supply the music. I owe it to

the kindness of the Rev. Andrew Clark, Fellow of Lincoln College,

Oxford, who heard it from the late sexton of the parish of Dollar,

in the county of Clackmannan. The sexton died some twelve years ago,

aged seventy: he had learnt the tale from his father. The following

are Mr. Clark's words:--

'Glendevon is a parish and village in the Ochils in County Perth,

about five miles from Dollar as you come up Glen Queich and down by

Gloomhill. Glen Queich is a narrowish glen between two grassy hills--at

the top of the glen is a round hill of no great height, but very neat

shape, the grass of which is always short and trim, and the ferns on

the shoulder of a very marked green. This, as you come up the glen,

seems entirely to block the way. It is called the "Maiden Castle." Only

when you come quite close do you see the path winding round the foot

of it. A little further on is a fine spring bordered with flat stones,

in the middle of a neat, turfy spot, called the "Maiden's Well." This

road, till the new toll-road was made on the other side of the hills,

was the thoroughfare between Dollar and Glendevon.'

The following is the legend, as told by the 'Bethrel':--'A piper,

carrying his pipes, was coming from Glendevon to Dollar in the grey

of the evening. He crossed the Garchel (a little stream running into

the Queich burn), and looked at the "Maiden Castle," and saw only the

grey hillside and heard only the wind soughing through the bent. He had

got beyond it when he heard a burst of lively music: he turned round,

and instead of the dark knoll saw a great castle, with lights blazing

from the windows, and heard the noise of dancing issuing from the open

door. He went back incautiously, and a procession issuing forth at that

moment, he was caught and taken into a great hall ablaze with lights,

and people dancing on the floor. He had to pipe to them for a day or

two, but he got anxious, because he knew his people would be wondering

why he did not come back in the morning as he had promised. The fairies

seemed to sympathize with his anxiety, and promised to let him go

if he played a favourite tune of his, which they seemed fond of,

to their satisfaction. He played his very best, the dance went fast

and furious, and at its close he was greeted with loud applause. On

his release he found himself alone, in the grey of the evening, beside

the dark hillock, and no sound was heard save the purr of the burn and

the soughing of the wind through the bent. Instead of completing his

journey to Dollar, he walked hastily back to Glendevon to relieve his

folk's anxiety. He entered his father's house and found no kent face

there. On his protesting that he had gone only a day or two before,

and waxing loud in his bewildered talk, a grey old man was roused from

a doze behind the fire; and told how he had heard when a boy from

his father that a piper had gone away to Dollar on a quiet evening,

and had never been heard or seen since, nor any trace of him found. He

had been in the "castle" for a hundred years.'