At Nefyn, in Lleyn [85], I had some stories about the Tylwyth Teg from

Lowri Hughes, the widow of John Hughes, who lives in a cottage at Pen

Isa'r Dref, and is over seventy-four years of age. An aunt of hers,

who knew a great many tales, had died about six years before my visit,

at the advanced age of ninety-six. She used to relate to Lowri how the

Tylwyth were in the habit of visiting Singrug, a house now in ruins

on the land of Pen Isa'r Dref, and how they had a habit of borrowing

a padell and gradell for baking: they paid for the loan of them by

giving their owners a loaf. Her grandmother, who died not long ago

at a very advanced age, remembered a time when she was milking in a

corner of the land of Carn Bodüan, and how a little dog came to her

and received a blow from her that sent it rolling away. Presently,

she added, the dog reappeared with a lame man playing on a fiddle;

but she gave them no milk. If she had done so, there was no knowing,

she said, how much money she might have got. But, as it was, such

singing and dancing were indulged in by the Tylwyth around the lame

fiddler that she ran away as fast as her feet could carry her. Lowri's

husband had also seen the Tylwyth at the break of day, near Madrun

Mill, where they seem to have been holding a sort of conversazione;

but presently one of them observed that he had heard the voice of the

hen's husband, and off they went instantly then. The fairies were in

the habit also of dancing and singing on the headland across which lie

the old earthworks called Dinllaen. When they had played and enjoyed

themselves enough, they used to lift a certain bit of sod and descend

to their own land. My informant had also heard the midwife story,

and she was aware that the fairies changed people's children; in

fact, she mentioned to me a farm house not far off where there was a

daughter of this origin then, not to mention that she knew all about

Elis Bach. Another woman whom I met near Porth Dinllaen said, that the

Dinllaen fairies were only seen when the weather was a little misty.

At Nefyn, Mr. John Williams (Alaw Lleyn) got from his mother the

tale of the midwife. It stated that the latter lost the sight of her

right eye at Nefyn Fair, owing to the fairy she there recognized,

pricking her eye with a green rush. During my visit to Aberdaron,

my wife and I went to the top of Mynyd Anelog, and on the way up

we passed a cottage, where a very illiterate woman told us that the

Tylwyth Teg formerly frequented the mountain when there was mist on

it; that they changed people's children if they were left alone on the

ground; and that the way to get the right child back was to leave the

fairy urchin without being touched or fed. She also said that, after

baking, people left the gradell for the fairies to do their baking:

they would then leave a cake behind them as pay. As for the fairies

just now, they have been exorcised (wedi'ffrymu) for some length of

time. Mrs. Williams, of Pwll Defaid, told me that the rock opposite,

called Clip y Gylfinir, on Bodwydog mountain, a part of Mynyd y Rhiw,

was the resort of the Tylwyth Teg, and that they revelled there

when it was covered with mist; she added that a neighbouring farm,

called Bodermud Isa', was well known at one time as a place where

the fairies came to do their baking. But the most remarkable tale I

had in the neighbourhood of Aberdaron was from Evan Williams, a smith

who lives at Yr Ard Las, on Rhos Hirwaen. If I remember rightly, he

is a native of Llaniestin, and what he told me relates to a farmer's

wife who lived at the Nant, in that parish. Now this old lady was

frequently visited by a fairy who used to borrow padell a gradell from

her. These she used to get, and she returned them with a loaf borne

on her head in acknowledgement. But one day she came to ask for the

loan of her troell bach, or wheel for spinning flax. When handing her

this, the farmer's wife wished to know her name, as she came so often,

but she refused to tell her. However, she was watched at her spinning,

and overheard singing to the whir of the wheel:--

Bychan a wyda' hi Little did she know

Mai Sìli go Dwt That Silly go Dwt

Yw f'enw i. Is my name.

This explains to some extent the sìli ffrit sung by a Corwrion fairy

when she came out of the lake to spin: see p. 64 above. At first I

had in vain tried to make out the meaning of that bit of legend; but

since then I have also found the Llaniestin rhyme a little varied

at Llanberis: it was picked up there, I do not exactly know how,

by my little girls this summer. The words as they have them run thus:--

Bychan a wyda' hi

Mai Trwtyn-Tratyn

Yw f'enw i.

Here, instead of Sìli go Dwt or Sìli ffrit, the name is Trwtyn-Tratyn,

and these doggerels at once remind one of the tale of Rumpelstiltzchen;

but it is clear that we have as yet only the merest fragments of the

whole, though I have been thus far unable to get any more. So one

cannot quite say how far it resembled the tale of Rumpelstiltzchen:

there is certainly one difference, which is at once patent, namely,

that while the German Rumpelstiltzchen was a male fairy, our Welsh Sìli

ffrit or Sìli go Dwt is of the other sex. Probably, in the Llaniestin

tale, the borrowing for baking had nothing to do with the spinning,

for all fairies in Lleyn borrow a padell and a gradell, while they

do not usually appear to spin. Then may we suppose that the spinning

was in this instance done for the farmer's wife on conditions which

she was able to evade by discovering the fairy helper's name? At

any rate one expects a story representing the farmer's wife laid

under obligation by the fairy, and not the reverse. I shall have an

opportunity of returning to this kind of tale in chapter x.

The smith told me another short tale, about a farmer who lived not long

ago at Deunant, close to Aberdaron. The latter used, as is the wont

of country people, to go out a few steps in front of his house every

night to ---- before going to bed; but once on a time, while he was

standing there, a stranger stood by him and spoke to him, saying that

he had no idea how he and his family were annoyed by him. The farmer

asked how that could be, to which the stranger replied that his house

was just below where they stood, and if he would only stand on his

foot he would see that what he said was true. The farmer complying,

put his foot on the other's foot, and then he could clearly see that

all the slops from his house went down the chimney of the other's

house, which stood far below in a street he had never seen before. The

fairy then advised him to have his door in the other side of his house,

and that if he did so his cattle would never suffer from the clwy' byr

[86]. The result was that the farmer obeyed, and had his door walled

up and another made in the other side of the house: ever after he was

a most prosperous man, and nobody was so successful as he in rearing

stock in all that part of the country. To place the whole thing beyond

the possibility of doubt, Evan Williams assured me that he had often

seen the farmer's house with the front door in the back. I mention this

strange story in order to compare it, in the matter of standing on the

fairy's foot, with that of standing with one's foot just inside a fairy

ring. Compare also standing on a particular sod in Dyfed in order to

behold the delectable realm of Rhys Dwfn's Children: see p. 158 above.

VII.

Soon afterwards I went to the neighbourhood of Aber Soch and Llanengan,

where I was lucky enough to find Professor Owen of St. David's College,

Lampeter, since appointed Bishop of St. David's, on a visit to his

native place. He took me round to those of the inhabitants who were

thought most likely to have tales to tell; but I found nothing about

the fairies except the usual story of their borrowing padell a gradell,

and of their changing children. However, one version I heard of the

process of recovering the stolen child differs from all others known

to me: it was given us by Margaret Edwards, of Pentre Bach, whose

age was then eighty-seven. It was to the effect that the mother,

who had been given a fairy infant, was to place it on the floor,

and that all those present in the house should throw a piece of iron

at it. This she thought was done with the view of convincing the

Tylwyth Teg of the intention to kill the changeling, and in order to

induce them to bring the right child back. The plan was, we are told,

always successful, and it illustrates, to my thinking, the supposed

efficacy of iron against the fairies.

On the way to Aber Soch I passed by an old-fashioned house which

has all the appearance of having once been a place of considerable

importance; and on being told that its name is Castellmarch, I began

thinking of March ab Meirchion mentioned in the Triads. He, I had long

been convinced, ought to be the Welsh reflex of Labhraidh Lorc, or the

Irish king with horse's ears; and the corresponding Greek character

of Midas with ass's ears is so well known that I need not dwell on

it. So I undertook to question various people in the neighbourhood

about the meaning of the name of Castellmarch. Most of them analysed

it into Castell y March, the 'Castle of the Steed,' and explained

that the knight of the shire or some other respectable obscurity kept

his horses there. This treatment of the word is not very decidedly

countenanced by the pronunciation, which makes the name into one word

strongly accented on the middle syllable. It was further related to me

how Castellmarch was once upon a time inhabited by a very wicked and

cruel man, one of whose servants, after being very unkindly treated

by him, ran away and went on board a man-of-war. Some time afterwards

the man-of-war happened to be in Cardigan Bay, and the runaway servant

persuaded the captain of the vessel to come and anchor in the Tudwal

Roads. Furthermore he induced him to shell his old master's mansion;

and the story is regarded as proved by the old bullets now and then

found at Castellmarch. It has since been suggested to me that the

bullets are evidence of an attack on the place during the Civil War,

which is not improbable. But having got so far as to find that there

was a wicked, cruel man associated with Castellmarch, I thought I

should at once hear the item of tradition which I was fishing for;

but not so: it was not to be wormed out in a hurry. However, after

tiring a very old blacksmith, whose memory was far gone, with my

questions, and after he had in his turn tired me with answers of the

kind I have already described, I ventured to put it to him at last

whether he had never heard some very silly tale about the lord of

Castellmarch, to the effect that he was not quite like other men. He

at once admitted that he had heard it said that he had horse's ears,

but that he would never have thought of repeating such nonsense to

me. This is not a bad instance of the difficulty which one has in

eliciting this sort of tradition from the people. It is true that, as

far as regards Castellmarch, nothing, as it happens, would have been

lost if I had failed at Aber Soch, for I got the same information later

at Sarn Fyllteyrn; not to mention that after coming back to my books,

and once more turning over the leaves of the Brython, I was delighted

to find the tale there. It occurs at p. 431 of the volume for 1860. It

is given with several other interesting bits of antiquity, and at the

end the editor has put 'Edward Llwyd, 1693'; so I suppose the whole

comes from letters emanating from the great Lhwyd, for so, or rather

Lhuyd, he preferred to write his name. It is to the following effect:--

One of Arthur's warriors, whose name was March (or Parch) Amheirchion

[87], was lord of Castellmarch in Lleyn. This man had horse's ears

(resembling Midas), and lest anybody should know it, he used to kill

every man he sought to shave his beard, for fear lest he should not

be able to keep the secret; and on the spot where he was wont to

bury the bodies there grew reeds, one of which somebody cut to make

a pipe. The pipe would give no other sound than 'March Amheirchion

has horse's ears.' When the warrior heard this, he would probably

have killed the innocent man on that account, if he had not himself

failed to make the pipe produce any other sound. But after hearing

where the reed had grown, he made no further effort to conceal either

the murders or his ears. This story of Edward Llwyd's clearly goes

back to a time when some kind of a pipe was the favourite musical

instrument in North Wales, and not the harp.

VIII.

Some time ago I was favoured with a short but interesting tale

by Mr. Evan Lloyd Jones, of Dinorwig, near Llanberis. Mr. Lloyd

Jones, I may here mention, published not long ago, in Llais y Wlad

(Bangor, North Wales), and in the Drych (Utica, United States of

North America), a series of articles entitled Llen y Werin yn Sir

Gaernarfon, or the Folklore of Carnarvonshire. I happened to see

it at a friend's house, and I found at once that the writer was

passionately fond of antiquities, and in the habit of making use

of the frequent opportunities he has in the Dinorwig quarries for

gathering information as to what used to be believed by the people of

Arfon and Anglesey. The tale about to be given relates to a lake called

Marchlyn Mawr, or the Great Horse-lake, for there are two lakes called

Marchlyn: they lie near one another, between the Fronllwyd, in the

parish of Llandegai, and the Elidyr, in the parishes of Llandeiniolen

and Llanberis. Mr. Lloyd Jones shall tell his tale in his own words:--

Amgylchynir y Marchlyn Mawr gan greigiau erchyll yr olwg arnynt;

a dywed tradodiad darfod i un o feibion y Rhiwen [88] unwaith tra yn

cynorthwyo dafad oed wedi syrthio i'r creigiau i dod odiyno, darganfod

ogof anferth: aeth i fewn idi a gwelod ei bod yn llawn o drysorau ac

arfau gwerthfawr; ond gan ei bod yn dechreu tywyllu, a dringo i fynu yn

orchwyl anhawd hyd yn nod yn ngoleu'r dyd, aeth adref y noswaith honno,

a boreu drannoeth ar lasiad y dyd cychwynnod eilwaith i'r ogof, ac heb

lawer o drafferth daeth o hyd idi: aeth i fewn, a dechreuod edrych o'i

amgylch ar y trysorau oed yno:--Ar ganol yr ogof yr oed bwrd enfawr

o aur pur, ac ar y bwrd goron o aur a pherlau: deallod yn y fan mai

coron a thrysorau Arthur oedynt--nesaod at y bwrd, a phan oed yn estyn

ei law i gymeryd gafael yn y goron dychrynwyd ef gan drwst erchyll,

trwst megys mil o daranau yn ymrwygo uwch ei ben ac aeth yr holl le

can dywylled a'r afagdu. Ceisiod ymbalfalu odiyno gynted ag y gallai;

pan lwydod i gyrraed i ganol y creigiau taflod ei olwg ar y llyn,

yr hwn oed wedi ei gynhyrfu drwydo a'i donnau brigwynion yn cael eu

lluchio trwy daned ysgythrog y creigiau hyd y man yr oed efe yn sefyll

arno; ond tra yr oed yn parhau i syllu ar ganol y llyn gwelai gwrwgl

a thair o'r benywod prydferthaf y disgynod llygad unrhyw dyn arnynt

erioed yndo yn cael ei rwyfo yn brysur tuag at enau yr ogof. Ond

och! yr oed golwg ofnadwy yr hwn oed yn rhwyfo yn digon i beri iasau

o fraw trwy y dyn cryfaf. Gallod y llanc rywfod dianc adref ond ni

fu iechyd yn ei gyfansodiad ar ol hynny, a bydai hyd yn nod crybwyll

enw y Marchlyn yn ei glywedigaeth yn digon i'w yrru yn wallgof.

'The Marchlyn Mawr is surrounded by rocks terrible to look at, and

tradition relates how one of the sons of the farmer of Rhiwen, once

on a time, when helping a sheep that had fallen among the rocks to

get away, discovered a tremendous cave there; he entered, and saw

that it was full of treasures and arms of great value; but, as it

was beginning to grow dark, and as clambering back was a difficult

matter even in the light of day, he went home that evening, and next

morning with the grey dawn he set out again for the cave, when he

found it without much trouble. He entered, and began to look about

him at the treasures that were there. In the centre of the cave stood

a huge table of pure gold, and on the table lay a crown of gold and

pearls. He understood at once that they were the crown and treasures

of Arthur. He approached the table, and as he stretched forth his

hand to take hold of the crown he was frightened by an awful noise,

the noise, as it were, of a thousand thunders bursting over his head,

and the whole place became as dark as Tartarus. He tried to grope

and feel his way out as fast as he could. When he had succeeded in

reaching to the middle of the rocks, he cast his eye on the lake,

which had been stirred all through, while its white-crested waves

dashed through the jagged teeth of the rocks up to the spot on which

he stood. But as he continued looking at the middle of the lake he

beheld a coracle containing three women, the fairest that the eye of

man ever fell on. They were being quickly rowed to the mouth of the

cave; but the dread aspect of him who rowed was enough to send thrills

of horror through the strongest of men. The youth was able somehow to

escape home, but no health remained in his constitution after that,

and even the mere mention of the Marchlyn in his hearing used to be

enough to make him insane.'

Mr. Lloyd Jones appends to the tale a note to the following

effect:--There is a small eminence on the shore of the Marchlyn

Mawr, in the parish of Llandegai, called Bryn Cwrwgl, or the 'Hill

of the Coracle'; and Ogof y Marchlyn, or the 'Marchlyn Cave,' is a

name familiar enough to everybody in these neighbourhoods. There

were some--unless he ought to say that there still are some--who

believed that there was abundance of treasure in the cave. Several

young men from the quarries, both of the Cae and of Dinorwig, have

been in the midst of the Marchlyn rocks, searching for the cave,

and they succeeded in making their way into a cave. They came away,

however, without the treasures. One old man, Robert Edwards (Iorwerth

Sardis), used to tell him that he and several others had brought

ropes from the quarry to go into the cave, but that they found no

treasure. So far, I have given the substance of Mr. Jones' words,

to which I would add the following statement, which I have from a

native of Dinorwig:--About seventy years ago, when the gentry were

robbing the poor of these districts of their houses and of the lands

which the latter had enclosed out of the commons, an old woman called

Siân William of the Garned was obliged to flee from her house with

her baby--the latter was known later in life as the Rev. Robert Ellis,

of Ysgoldy--in her arms. It was in one of the Marchlyn caves that she

found refuge for a day and night. Another kind of tale connected with

the Marchlyn Mawr is recorded in the Powys-land Club's Collections,

Hist. and Arch., vol. xv. p. 137, by the Rev. Elias Owen, to the effect

that 'a man who was fishing in the lake found himself enveloped in the

clouds that had descended from the hills to the water. A sudden gust

of wind cleared a road through the mist that hung over the lake, and

revealed to his sight a man busily engaged in thatching a stack. The

man, or rather the fairy, stood on a ladder. The stack and ladder

rested on the surface of the lake.'

IX.

Mr. E. S. Roberts, of Llandysilio School, near Llangollen (p. 138),

has sent me more bits of legends about the fairies. He heard the

following from Mr. Thomas Parry, of Tan y Coed Farm, who had heard

it from his father, the late Evan Parry, and the latter from Thomas

Morris, of Eglwyseg, who related it to him more than once:--Thomas

Morris happened to be returning home from Llangollen very late on one

Saturday night in the middle of the summer, and by the time he reached

near home the day had dawned, when he saw a number of the Tylwyth

Teg with a dog walking about hither and thither on the declivity of

the Eglwyseg Rocks, which hung threateningly overhead. When he had

looked at them for some minutes, he directed his steps towards them;

but as they saw him approaching they hid themselves, as he thought,

behind a large stone. On reaching the spot, he found under the stone

a hole by which they had made their way into their subterranean

home. So ends the tale as related to Mr. Roberts. It is remarkable

as representing the fairies looking rather like poachers; but there

are not wanting others which speak of their possessing horses and

greyhounds, as all gentlemen were supposed to.

One of Mr. Roberts' tales is in point: he had it from Mr. Hugh

Francis [89], of Holyhead House, Ruthin, and the latter heard it

from Robert Roberts, of Amlwch, who has now been dead about thirty

years:--About 105 years ago there lived in the parish of Llandyfrydog,

near Llannerch y Med, in Anglesey, a man named Ifan Gruffyd, whose cow

happened to disappear one day. Ifan Gruffyd was greatly distressed,

and he and his daughter walked up and down the whole neighbourhood

in search of her. As they were coming back in the evening from their

unsuccessful quest, they crossed the field called after the Dyfrydog

thief, Cae Lleidr Dyfrydog, where they saw a great number of little

men on ponies quickly galloping in a ring. They both drew nigh to

look on; but Ifan Gruffyd's daughter, in her eagerness to behold the

little knights more closely, got unawares within the circle in which

their ponies galloped, and did not return to her father. The latter

now forgot all about the loss of the cow, and spent some hours in

searching for his daughter; but at last he had to go home without her,

in the deepest sadness. A few days afterwards he went to Mynadwyn to

consult John Roberts, who was a magician of no mean reputation. That

'wise man' told Ifan Gruffyd to be no longer sad, since he could get

his daughter back at the very hour of the night of the anniversary of

the time when he lost her. He would, in fact, then see her riding round

in the company of the Tylwyth Teg whom he had seen on that memorable

night. The father was to go there accompanied by four stalwart men,

who were to aid him in the rescue of his daughter. He was to tie a

strong rope round his waist, and by means of this his friends were to

pull him out of the circle when he entered to seize his daughter. He

went to the spot, and in due time he beheld his daughter riding round

in great state. In he rushed and snatched her, and, thanks to his

friends, he got her out of the fairy ring before the little men had

time to think of it. The first thing Ifan's daughter asked him was,

if he had found the cow, for she had not the slightest reckoning of

the time she had spent with the fairies.

Whilst I am about it, I may as well go through Mr. Roberts'

contributions. The next is also a tale related to him by Mr. Hugh

Francis, and, like the last, it comes from Anglesey. Mr. Francis'

great-grandfather was called Robert Francis, and he had a mill at

Aberffraw about 100 years ago; and the substance of the following tale

was often repeated in the hearing of Mr. Roberts' informant by his

father and his grandfather:--In winter Robert Francis used to remain

very late at work drying corn in his kiln. As it was needful to keep

a steady fire going, he used to go backwards and forwards from the

house, looking after it not unfrequently until it was two o'clock

in the morning. Once on a time he happened to leave a cauldron full

of water on the floor of the kiln, and great was his astonishment on

returning to find two little people washing themselves in the water. He

abstained from entering to disturb them, and went back to the house to

tell his wife of it. 'Oh,' said she, 'they are fairies.' He presently

went back to the kiln and found that they were gone. He fancied they

were man and wife. However, they had left the place very clean, and

to crown all, he found a sum of money left by them to pay him, as he

supposed, for the water and the use of the kiln. The ensuing night many

more fairies came to the kiln, for the visitors of the previous night

had brought their children with them; and the miller found them busy

bathing them and looking very comfortable in the warm room where they

were. The pay that night was also more considerable than the night

before, as the visitors were more numerous. After this the miller

never failed to leave a vessel full of water in the kiln every night,

and the fairies availed themselves of it for years, until, in fact,

they took offence at the miller telling the neighbours of the presents

of money which had been left him in the kiln. Thenceforth no fairies

were known to frequent the kiln belonging to the Aberffraw mill.

The last tale communicated to me by Mr. Roberts is the following,

which he elicited from Margaret Davies, his housekeeper, by reading

to her some of the fairy legends published in the Cymmrodor a short

while ago--probably the Corwrion series, one of which bears great

resemblance to hers. Mrs. Davies, who is sixty-one years of age, says

that when her parents, Edward and Ann Williams, lived at Rhoslydan,

near Bryneglwys, in Yale, some seventy-five years ago, the servant

man happened one day in the spring to be ploughing in a field near

the house. As he was turning his team back at one end of the field,

he heard some one calling out from the other end, Y mae eisieu hoelen

yn y pìl, or 'The peel wants a nail'; for pìl is the English peel,

a name given to a sort of shovel provided with a long handle for

placing loaves in an oven, and for getting them out again. When at

length the ploughman had reached the end of the field whence he guessed

the call to have proceeded, he there saw a small peel, together with

a hammer and a nail, under the hedge. He saw that the peel required

a nail to keep it together, and as everything necessary for mending

it were there ready to hand, he did as it had been suggested. Then

he followed at the plough-tail until he came round again to the same

place, and there he this time saw a cake placed for him on the spot

where he had previously found the peel and the other things, which

had now disappeared. When the servant related this to his master, he

told him at once that it was one of the Tylwyth Teg of that locality

that had called out to him. With this should be compared the story

of the man who mended a fairy's plough vice: see p. 64 above.

X.

Early this year I had occasion to visit the well-known Hengwrt Library

at Peniarth, and during my stay there Mr. Wynne very kindly took

me to see such of the Llanegryn people as were most likely to have

somewhat to say about the fairies. Many of the inhabitants had heard

of them, but they had no long tales about them. One man, however,

told me of a William Pritchard, of Pentre Bach, near Llwyngwryl,

who died at sixty, over eighty years ago, and of a Rhys Williams, the

clerk of Llangelynin, how they were going home late at night from a

cock-fight at Llanegryn, and how they came across the fairies singing

and dancing on a plot of ground known as Gwastad Meirionyd, 'the Plain

of Merioneth,' on the way from Llwyngwryl to Llanegryn. It consists,

I am told by Mr. Robert Roberts of Llanegryn, of no more than some

twenty square yards, outside which one has a good view of Cardigan

Bay and the heights of Merioneth and Carnarvonshire, while from the

Gwastad itself neither sea nor mountain is visible. On this spot,

then, the belated cockfighters were surrounded by the fairies. They

swore at the fairies and took to their heels, but they were pursued

as far as Clawd Du. Also I was told that Elen Egryn, the authoress,

some sixty years ago, of some poetry called Telyn Egryn, had also seen

fairies in her youth, when she used to go up the hills to look after

her father's sheep. This happened near a little brook, from which she

could see the sea when the sun was in the act of sinking in it; then

many fairies would come out dancing and singing, and also crossing

and re-crossing the little brook. It was on the side of Rhiwfelen,

and she thought the little folks came out of the brook somewhere. She

had been scolded for talking about the fairies, but she firmly believed

in them to the end of her life. This was told me by Mr. W. Williams,

the tailor, who is about sixty years of age; and also by Mr. Rowlands,

the ex-bailiff of Peniarth, who is about seventy-five. I was moreover

much interested to discover at Llanegryn a scrap of kelpie story,

which runs as follows, concerning Llyn Gwernen, situated close to

the old road between Dolgelley and Llanegryn:--

As a man from the village of Llanegryn was returning in the dusk of

the evening across the mountain from Dolgelley, he heard, when hard

by Llyn Gwernen, a voice crying out from the water:--

Daeth yr awr ond ni daeth y dyn!

The hour is come but the man is not!

As the villager went on his way a little distance, what should meet

him but a man of insane appearance, and with nothing on but his

shirt. As he saw the man making full pelt for the waters of the lake,

he rushed at him to prevent him from proceeding any further. But as

to the sequel there is some doubt: one version makes the villager

conduct the man back about a mile from the lake to a farm house

called Dyffrydan, which was on the former's way home. Others seem to

think that the man in his shirt rushed irresistibly into the lake,

and this I have no doubt comes nearer the end of the story in its

original form. Lately I have heard a part of a similar story about

Llyn Cynnwch, which has already been mentioned, p. 135, above. My

informant is Miss Lucy Griffith, of Glynmalden, near Dolgelley,

a lady deeply interested in Welsh folklore and Welsh antiquities

generally. She obtained her information from a Dolgelley ostler,

formerly engaged at the Ship Hotel, to the effect that on Gwyl Galan,

'the eve of New Year's Day,' a person is seen walking backwards and

forwards on the strand of Cynnwch Lake, crying out:--

Mae'r awr wedi dyfod a'r dyn heb dyfod!

The hour is come while the man is not!

The ostler stated also that lights are to be seen on Cader Idris

on the eve of New Year's Day, whatever that statement may mean. The

two lake stories seem to suggest that the Lake Spirit was entitled

to a victim once a year, whether the sacrifice was regarded as the

result of accident or design. By way of comparison, one may mention

the notion, not yet extinct, that certain rivers in various parts

of the kingdom regularly claim so many victims: for some instances

at random see an article by Mr. J. M. Mackinlay, on Traces of River

Worship in Scottish Folklore, a paper published in the Proceedings

of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 1895-6, pp. 69-76. Take

for example the following rhyme:--

Blood-thirsty Dee

Each year needs three;

But bonny Don

She needs none.

Or this:--

Tweed said to Till

'What gars ye rin sae still?'

Till said to Tweed

'Though ye rin wi' speed

An' I rin slaw,

Yet whar ye droon ae man

I droon twa.'

XI.

In the neighbourhood of Ystrad Meurig, between the Teifi and the

Ystwyth basins, almost everybody can relate tales about the fairies,

but not much that is out of the ordinary run of such stories

elsewhere. Among others, Isaac Davies, the smith living at Ystrad

Meurig, had heard a great deal about fairies, and he said that there

were rings belonging to them in certain fields at Tan y Graig and

at Llanafan. Where the rings were, there the fairies danced until

the ground became red and bare of grass. The fairies were, according

to him, all women, and they dressed like foreigners, in short cotton

dresses reaching only to the knee-joint. This description is somewhat

peculiar, as the idea prevalent in the country around is, that the

fairy ladies had very long trains, and that they were very elegantly

dressed; so that it is a common saying there, that girls who dress

in a better or more showy fashion than ordinary look like Tylwyth

Teg, and the smith confessed he had often heard that said. Similarly

Howells, pp. 113, 121-2, finds the dresses of the fairies dancing

on the Freni, in the north-east of Pembrokeshire, represented as

indescribably elegant and varying in colour; and those who, in the

month of May, used to frequent the prehistoric encampment of Moedin

[90] or Moydin--from which a whole cantred takes its name in Central

Cardiganshire--as fond of appearing in green; while blue petticoats

are said, he says, to have prevailed in the fairy dances in North Wales

[91].

Another showed me a spot on the other side of the Teifi, where the

Tylwyth Teg had a favourite spot for dancing; and at the neighbouring

village of Swyd Ffynnon, another meadow was pointed out as their resort

on the farm of Dôl Bydyë. According to one account I had there, the

fairies dressed themselves in very long clothes, and when they danced

they took hold of one another's enormous trains. Besides the usual

tales concerning men enticed into the ring and retained in Faery for a

year and a day, and concerning the fairies' dread of pren cerdingen or

mountain ash, I had the midwife tale in two or three forms, differing

more or less from the versions current in North Wales. For the most

complete of them I am indebted to one of the young men studying at

the Grammar School, Mr. D. Lledrodian Davies. It used to be related

by an old woman who died some thirty years ago at the advanced age of

about 100. She was Pàli, mother of old Rachel Evans, who died seven or

eight years ago, when she was about eighty. The latter was a curious

character, who sometimes sang maswed, or rhymes of doubtful propriety,

and used to take the children of the village to see fairy rings. She

also used to see the Tylwyth, and had many tales to tell of them. But

her mother, Pàli, had actually been called to attend at the confinement

of one of them. The beginning of the tale is not very explicit; but,

anyhow, Pàli one evening found herself face to face with the fairy

lady she was to attend upon. She appeared to be the wife of one of

the princes of the country. She was held in great esteem, and lived

in a very grand palace. Everything there had been arranged in the

most beautiful and charming fashion. The wife was in her bed with

nothing about her but white, and she fared sumptuously. In due time,

when the baby had been born, the midwife had all the care connected

with dressing it and serving its mother. Pàli could see or hear nobody

in the whole place but the mother and the baby. She had no idea who

attended on them, or who prepared all the things they required, for

it was all done noiselessly and secretly. The mother was a charming

person, of an excellent temper and easy to manage. Morning and evening,

as she finished washing the baby, Pàli had a certain ointment given

her to rub the baby with. She was charged not to touch it but with

her hand, and especially not to put any near her eyes. This was

carried out for some time, but one day, as she was dressing the baby,

her eyes happened to itch, and she rubbed them with her hand. Then

at once she saw a great many wonders she had not before perceived;

and the whole place assumed a new aspect to her. She said nothing,

and in the course of the day she saw a great deal more. Among other

things, she observed small men and small women going in and out,

following a variety of occupations. But their movements were as light

as the morning breeze. To move about was no trouble to them, and they

brought things into the room with the greatest quickness. They prepared

dainty food for the confined lady with the utmost order and skill,

and the air of kindness and affection with which they served her

was truly remarkable. In the evening, as she was dressing the baby,

the midwife said to the lady, 'You have had a great many visitors

to-day.' To this she replied, 'How do you know that? Have you been

putting the ointment to your eyes?' Thereupon she jumped out of bed,

and blew into her eyes, saying, 'Now you will see no more.' She never

afterwards could see the fairies, however much she tried, nor was

the ointment entrusted to her after that day. According, however,

to another version which I heard, she was told, on being found out,

not to apply the ointment to her eyes any more. She promised she

would not; but the narrator thought she broke that promise, as she

continued to see the fairies as long as she lived.

Mr. D. Ll. Davies has also a version like the North Wales ones. He

obtained it from a woman of seventy-eight at Bronnant, near

Aberystwyth, who had heard it from one of her ancestors. According to

her, the midwife went to the fair called Ffair Rhos, which was held

between Ystrad Meurig and Pont Rhyd Fendigaid [92]. There she saw a

great many of the Tylwyth very busily engaged, and among others the

lady she had been attending upon. That being so, she walked up to

her and saluted her. The fairy lady angrily asked how she saw her,

and spat in her face, which had the result of putting an end for ever

to her power of seeing her or anybody of her race.

The same aged woman at Bronnant has communicated to Mr. D. Ll. Davies

another tale which differs from all those of the same kind that I

happen to know of. On a certain day in spring the farmer living at ----

(Mr. Davies does not remember the name of the farm) lost his calves;

and the servant man and the servant girl went out to look for them,

but as they were both crossing a marshy flat, the man suddenly missed

the girl. He looked for her, and as he could not see her he concluded

that she was playing a trick on him. However, after much shouting and

searching about the place, he began to think that she must have found

her way home, so he turned back and asked if the girl had come in,

when he found to his surprise that nobody had seen her come back. The

news of her being lost caused great excitement in the country around,

since many suspected that he had for some reason put an end to her

life: some accounted for it in this way, and some in another. But as

nothing could be found out about her, the servant man was taken into

custody on the charge of having murdered her. He protested with all

his heart, and no evidence could be produced that he had killed the

girl. Now, as some had an idea that she had gone to the fairies, it

was resolved to send to 'the wise man' (Y dyn hysbys). This was done,

and he found out that the missing girl was with the fairies: the trial

was delayed, and he gave the servant man directions of the usual kind

as to how to get her out. She was watched at the end of the period of

twelve months and a day coming round in the dance in the fairy ring

at the place where she was lost, and she was successfully drawn out

of the ring; but the servant man had to be there in the same clothes

as he had on when she left him. As soon as she was released and saw

the servant she asked about the calves. On the way home she told her

master, the servant man, and the others, that she would stay with them

until her master should strike her with iron, but they went their way

home in great joy at having found her. One day, however, when her

master was about to start from home, and whilst he was getting the

horse and cart ready, he asked the girl to assist him, which she did

willingly; but as he was bridling the horse, the bit touched the girl

and she disappeared instantly, and was never seen from that day forth.

I cannot explain this story, unless we regard it as made up of pieces

of two different stories which had originally nothing to do with

one another; consistency, however, is not to be expected in such

matters. Mr. D. Ll. Davies has kindly given me two more tales like

the first part of the one I have last summarized, also one in which

the missing person, a little boy sent by his mother to fetch some barm

for her, comes home of himself after being away a year or more playing

with the Tylwyth Teg, whom he found to be very nice, pleasant people;

they had been exceedingly kind to him, and they even allowed him to

take the bottle with the barm home at the last. This was somewhere

between Swyd Ffynnon and Carmarthen.

Mr. D. Ll. Davies finds, what I have not found anywhere else,

that it was a common idea among the old people in Cardiganshire,

that once you came across one of the fairies you could not easily be

rid of him; since the fairies were little beings of a very devoted

nature. Once a man had become friendly with one of them, the latter

would be present with him almost everywhere he went, until it became

a burden to him. However, popular belief did not adopt this item of

faith without another to neutralize it if necessary: so if one was

determined to get rid of the fairy companion, one had in the last

resort only to throw a piece of rusty iron at him to be quit of him

for ever. Nothing was a greater insult to the fairies. But though they

were not difficult to make friends of, they never forgave those who

offended them: forgiveness was not an element in their nature. The

general account my informant gives of the outward appearance of the

fairies as he finds them in the popular belief, is that they were

a small handsome race, and that their women dressed gorgeously in

white, while the men were content with garments of a dark grey colour,

usually including knee-breeches. As might be expected, the descriptions

differ very much in different neighbourhoods, and even in different

tales from the same neighbourhood: this will surprise no one. It was

in the night they came out, generally near water, to sing and dance,

and also to steal whatever took their fancy; for thieving was always

natural to them; but no one ever complained of it, as it was supposed

to bring good luck.

XII.

Mr. Richard L. Davies, teacher of the Board School at Ystalyfera, in

the Tawë Valley, has been kind enough to write out for me a budget of

ideas about the Cwm Tawë Fairies, as retailed to him by a native who

took great delight in the traditions of his neighbourhood, John Davies

(Shôn o'r Bont), who was a storekeeper at Ystalyfera. He died an old

man about three years ago. I give his stories as transmitted to me by

Mr. Davies, but the reader will find them a little hazy now and then,

as when the fairies are made into ordinary conjurer's devils:--

Rhywbeth rhyfed yw yr hen Gastell yna (gan olygu Craig Ynys Geinon):

yr wyf yn cofio yr amser pan y bydai yn dychryn gan bobl fyned yn

agos ato--yn enwedig y nos: yr oed yn dra pheryglus rhag i dyn gael

ei gymeryd at Bendith eu Mamau. Fe dywedir fod wmred o'r rheiny yna,

er na wn i pa le y maent yn cadw. 'R oed yr hen bobl yn arferol o

dweyd fod pwll yn rhywle bron canol y Castell, tua llathen o led,

ac yn bump neu chwech llath o dyfnder, a charreg tua thair tynnell o

bwysau ar ei wyneb e', a bod fford dan y daear gandynt o'r pwll hynny

bob cam i ogof Tan yr Ogof, bron blaen y Cwm (yn agos i balas Adelina

Patti, sef Castell Craig y Nos), mai yno y maent yn treulio eu hamser

yn y dyd, ac yn dyfod lawr yma i chwareu eu pranciau yn y nos.

Mae gandynt, mede nhw, ysgol aur, o un neu dwy ar hugain o ffyn; ar

hyd honno y maent yn tramwy i fyny ac i lawr. Mae gandynt air bach,

a dim ond i'r blaenaf ar yr ysgol dywedyd y gair hynny, mae y garreg

yn codi o honi ei hunan; a gair arall, ond i'r olaf wrth fyned i lawr

ei dywedyd, mae yn cauad ar eu hol.

Dywedir i was un o'r ffermyd cyfagos wrth chwilio am wningod yn y

graig, dygwyd dyweyd y gair pan ar bwys y garreg, idi agor, ac ido

yntau fyned i lawr yr ysgol, ond am na wydai y gair i gauad ar ei ol,

fe adnabu y Tylwyth wrth y draught yn diffod y canwyllau fod rhywbeth o

le, daethant am ei draws, cymerasant ef atynt, a bu gyda hwynt yn byw

ac yn bod am saith mlyned; ymhen y saith mlyned fe diangod a llon'd

ei het o guineas gando.

Yr oed efe erbyn hyn wedi dysgu y dau air, ac yn gwybod llawer am eu

cwtches nhw. Fe dywedod hwn y cwbl wrth ffarmwr o'r gymdogaeth, fe

aeth hwnnw drachefn i lawr, ac yr oed rhai yn dyweyd ido dyfod a thri

llon'd cawnen halen o guineas, hanner guineas, a darnau saith-a-chwech,

odiyno yr un diwrnod. Ond fe aeth yn rhy drachwantus, ac fel llawer

un trachwantus o'i flaen, bu ei bechod yn angeu ido.

Canys fe aeth i lawr y bedwared waith yngwyll y nos, ond fe daeth y

Tylwyth am ei ben, ac ni welwyd byth o hono. Dywedir fod ei bedwar

cwarter e' yn hongian mewn ystafell o dan y Castell, ond pwy fu yno

i'w gwel'd nhw, wn i dim.

Mae yn wir ei wala i'r ffarmwr crybwylledig fyned ar goll, ac na

chlybuwyd byth am dano, ac mor wir a hynny i'w dylwyth dyfod yn abl

iawn, bron ar unwaith yr amser hynny. A chi wydoch gystal a finnau,

eu bod nhw yn dywedyd fod ffyrd tandaearol gandynt i ogofau Ystrad

Fellte, yn agos i Benderyn. A dyna y Garn Goch ar y Drum (Onllwyn yn

awr) maent yn dweyd fod canoed o dynelli o aur yn stôr gandynt yno;

a chi glywsoch am y stori am un o'r Gethings yn myned yno i glodio yn

y Garn, ac ido gael ei drawsffurfio gan y Tylwyth i olwyn o dân, ac ido

fethu cael llonyd gandynt, hyd nes ido eu danfon i wneyd rhaff o sand!

Fe fu gynt hen fenyw yn byw mewn ty bychan gerllaw i Ynys Geinon,

ac yr oed hi yn gallu rheibo, mede nhw, ac yr oed sôn ei bod yn

treulio saith diwrnod, saith awr, a saith mynyd gyda y Tylwyth Teg

bob blwydyn yn Ogof y Castell. Yr oed y gred yn lled gyffredinol

ei bod hi yn cael hyn a hyn o aur am bob plentyn a allai hi ladrata

idynt hwy, a dodi un o'i hen grithod hwy yn ei le: 'doed hwnnw byth

yn cynydu. Y fford y bydai hi yn gwneyd oed myned i'r ty dan yr esgus

o ofyn cardod, a hen glogyn llwyd-du mawr ar ei chefn, ac o dan hwn,

un o blant Bendith y Mamau; a bob amser os bydai plentyn bach gwraig

y ty yn y cawell, hi gymerai y swyd o siglo y cawell, a dim ond i'r

fam droi ei chefn am fynyd neu dwy, hi daflai y lledrith i'r cawell,

ai ymaith a'r plentyn yn gyntaf byth y gallai hi. Fe fu plentyn gan dyn

o'r gym'dogaeth yn lingran am flynydau heb gynydu dim, a barn pawb oed

mai wedi cael ei newid gan yr hen wraig yr oed; fe aeth tad y plentyn

i fygwth y gwr hysbys arni: fe daeth yr hen wraig yno am saith niwrnod

i esgus bado y bachgen bach mewn dwfr oer, a'r seithfed bore cyn ei

bod yn oleu, hi a gas genad i fyned ag ef dan rhyw bistyll, mede hi,

ond medai'r cym'dogion, myned ag ef i newid a wnaeth. Ond, beth bynag,

fe wellod y plentyn fel cyw yr wyd o hynny i maes. Ond gorfu i fam e'

wneyd cystal a llw wrth yr hen wraig, y gwnai ei dwco mewn dwfr oer

bob bore dros gwarter blwydyn, ac yn mhen y chwarter hynny 'doed dim

brafach plentyn yn y Cwm.

'That is a wonderful thing, that old castle there, he would say,

pointing to the Ynys Geinon Rock. I remember a time when people would

be terrified to go near it, especially at night. There was considerable

danger that one might be taken to Bendith eu Mamau. It is said that

there are a great many of them there, though I know not where they

abide. The old folks used to say that there was a pit somewhere about

the middle of the Castle, about a yard wide and some five or six yards

deep, with a stone about three tons in weight over the mouth of it,

and that they had a passage underground from that pit all the way

to the cave of Tan yr Ogof, near the top of the Cwm, that is, near

Adelina Patti's residence at Craig y Nos Castle: there, it was said,

they spent their time during the day, while they came down here to

play their tricks at night. They have, they say, a gold ladder of

one or two and twenty rungs, and it is along that they pass up and

down. They have a little word; and it suffices if the foremost on

the ladder merely utters that word, for the stone to rise of itself;

while there is another word, which it suffices the hindmost in going

down to utter so that the stone shuts behind him. It is said that a

servant from one of the neighbouring farms, when looking for rabbits

in the rock, happened to say the word as he stood near the stone,

that it opened for him, and that he went down the ladder; but that

because he was ignorant of the word to make it shut behind him,

the fairies discovered by the draught putting out their candles that

there was something wrong. So they found him out and took him with

them. He remained living with them for seven years, but at the end

of the seven years he escaped with his hat full of guineas. He had by

this time learnt the two words, and got to know a good deal about the

hiding places of their treasures. He told everything to a farmer in

the neighbourhood, so the latter likewise went down, and some used to

say that he brought thence thrice the fill of a salt-chest of guineas,

half-guineas, and seven-and-sixpenny pieces in one day. But he got too

greedy, and like many a greedy one before him his crime proved his

death; for he went down the fourth time in the dusk of the evening,

when the fairies came upon him, and he was never seen any more. It

is said that his four quarters hang in a room under the Castle;

but who has been there to see them I know not. It is true enough

that the above-mentioned farmer got lost, and that nothing was heard

respecting him; and it is equally true that his family became very

well to do almost at once at that time. You know as well as I do that

they say, that the fairies have underground passages to the caves of

Ystradfellte, near Penderyn. There is the Garn Goch also on the Drum

(now called Onllwyn); they say there are hundreds of tons of gold

accumulated by them there, and you have heard the story about one of

the Gethings going thither to dig in the Garn, and how he [sic] was

transformed by the fairies into a wheel of fire, and that he could

get no quiet from them until he sent them to manufacture a rope of

sand!'--A more intelligible version of this story has been given at

pp. 19-20 above.

'There was formerly an old woman living in a small house near Ynys

Geinon; and she had the power of bewitching, people used to say:

there was a rumour that she spent seven days, seven hours, and seven

minutes with the fairies every year in the cave at the Castle. It

was a pretty general belief that she got such and such a quantity of

gold for every child she could steal for them, and that she put one

of those old urchins of theirs in its place: the latter never grew

at all. The way she used to do it was to enter people's houses with

the excuse of asking for alms, having a large dark-grey old cloak on

her back, and the cloak concealed one of the children of Bendith eu

Mamau. Whenever she found the little child of the good woman of the

house in its cradle, she would take upon herself to rock the cradle,

so that if the mother only turned her back for a minute or two, she

would throw the sham child into the cradle and hurry away as fast

as she could with the baby. A man in the neighbourhood had a child

lingering for years without growing at all, and it was the opinion of

all that it had been changed by the old woman. The father at length

threatened to call in the aid of "the wise man," when the old woman

came there for seven days, pretending that it was in order to bathe the

little boy in cold water; and on the seventh day she got permission

to take him, before it was light, under a certain spout of water: so

she said, but the neighbours said it was to change him. However that

was, the boy from that time forth got on as fast as a gosling. But

the mother had all but to take an oath to the old woman, that she

would duck him in cold water every morning for three months, and by

the end of that time there was no finer infant in the Cwm.'

Mr. Davies has given me some account also of the annual pilgrimage

to the Fan mountains to see the Lake Lady: these are his words on

the subject--they recall pp. 15-16 above:--

'It has been the yearly custom (for generations, as far as I can find)

for young as well as many people further advanced in years to make a

general excursion in carts, gambos, and all kinds of vehicles, to Llyn

y Fan, in order to see the water nymph (who appeared on one day only,

viz. the first Sunday in August). This nymph was said to have the

lower part of her body resembling that of a dolphin, while the upper

part was that of a beautiful lady: this anomalous form appeared on

the first Sunday in August (if the lake should be without a ripple)

and combed her tresses on the reflecting surface of the lake. The

yearly peregrination to the abode of the Fan deity is still kept up in

this valley--Cwmtawë; but not to the extent that it used to formerly.'

XIII.

Mr. Craigfryn Hughes has sent me another tale about the fairies: it

has to do with the parish of Llanfabon, near the eastern border of

Glamorganshire. Many traditions cluster round the church of Llanfabon,

beginning with its supposed building by Saint Mabon, but which of the

Mabons of Welsh legend he was, is not very certain. Not very far is

a place called Pant y Dawns, or the Dance Hollow, in allusion to the

visits paid to the spot by Bendith y Mamau, as the fairies are there

called. In the same neighbourhood stand also the ruins of Castell

y Nos, or the Castle of the Night [93], which tradition represents

as uninhabitable because it had been built of stones from Llanfabon

Church, and on account of the ghosts that used to haunt it. However,

one small portion of it was usually tenanted formerly by a 'wise man'

or by a witch. In fact, the whole country round Llanfabon Church

teemed with fairies, ghosts, and all kinds of uncanny creatures:--

Mewn amaethdy ag syd yn aros yn y plwyf a elwir y Berth Gron,

trigiannai gwedw ieuanc a'i phlentyn bychan. Yr oed wedi colli ei gwr,

a'i hunig gysur yn ei hamdifadrwyd a'i hunigrwyd oed Gruff, ei mab. Yr

oed ef yr amser hwn odeutu tair blwyd oed, ac yn blentyn braf ar ei

oedran. Yr oed y plwyf, ar y pryd, yn orlawn o 'Fendith y Mamau'; ac,

ar amser llawn lloer, bydent yn cadw dynion yn effro a'u cerdoriaeth

hyd doriad gwawr. Rhai hynod ar gyfrif eu hagrwch oed 'Bendith'

Llanfabon, ac yr un mor hynod ar gyfrif eu castiau. Lladrata plant

o'r cawellau yn absenoldeb eu mamau, a denu dynion trwy eu swyno

a cherdoriaeth i ryw gors afiach a diffaith, a ymdangosai yn gryn

difyrrwch idynt. Nid rhyfed fod y mamau beunyd ar eu gwyliadwriaeth

rhag ofn colli eu plant. Yr oed y wedw o dan sylw yn hynod ofalus am

ei mab, gymaint nes tynnu rhai o'r cymydogion i dywedyd wrthi ei bod

yn rhy orofalus, ac y bydai i ryw anlwc ordiwes ei mab. Ond ni thalai

unrhyw sylw i'w dywediadau. Ymdangosai fod ei holl hyfrydwch a'i chysur

ynghyd a'i gobeithion yn cydgyfarfod yn ei mab. Mod bynnag, un diwrnod,

clywod ryw lais cwynfannus yn codi o gymydogaeth y beudy; a rhag bod

rhywbeth wedi digwyd i un o'r gwartheg rhedod yn orwyllt tuag yno,

gan adael y drws heb ei gau, a'i mab bychan yn y ty. Ond pwy a fedr

desgrifio ei gofid ar ei gwaith yn dyfod i'r ty wrth weled eisiau ei

mab? Chwiliod bob man am dano, ond yn aflwydiannus. Odeutu machlud

haul, wele lencyn bychan yn gwneuthur ei ymdangosiad o'i blaen, ac

yn dywedyd, yn groyw, 'Mam!' Edrychod y fam yn fanwl arno, a dywedod

o'r diwed, 'Nid fy mhlentyn i wyt ti!' 'Ië, yn sicr,' atebai y bychan.

Nid ymdangosai y fam yn fodlon, na'i bod yn credu mai ei phlentyn hi

ydoed. Yr oed rhywbeth yn sisial yn barhaus wrthi mai nid ei mab hi

ydoed. Ond beth bynnag, bu gyda hi am flwydyn gyfan, ac nid ymdangosai

ei fod yn cynydu dim, tra yr oed Gruff, ei mab hi, yn blentyn cynydfawr

iawn. Yr oed gwr bychan yn myned yn fwy hagr bob dyd hefyd. O'r diwed

penderfynod fyned at y 'dyn hysbys,' er cael rhyw wybodaeth a goleuni

ar y mater. Yr oed yn digwyd bod ar y pryd yn trigfannu yn Nghastell y

Nos, wr ag oed yn hynod ar gyfrif ei ymwybydiaeth drwyadl o 'gyfrinion

y fall.' Ar ol idi osod ei hachos ger ei fron, ac yntau ei holi,

sylwod, 'Crimbil ydyw, ac y mae dy blentyn di gyd a'r hen Fendith

yn rhywle; ond i ti dilyn fy nghyfarwydiadau i yn ffydlon a manwl,

fe adferir dy blentyn i ti yn fuan. Yn awr, odeutu canol dyd y foru,

tor wy yn y canol, a thafl un hanner ymaith odiwrthyt, a chadw y

llall yn dy law, a dechreu gymysg ei gynwysiad yn ol a blaen. Cofia

fod y gwr bychan gerllaw yn gwneuthur sylw o'r hyn ag a fydi yn ei

wneuthur. Ond cofia di a pheidio galw ei sylw--rhaid ennill ei sylw

at y weithred heb ei alw: ac odid fawr na ofynna i ti beth fydi yn

ei wneuthur. A dywed wrtho mai cymysg pastai'r fedel yr wyt. A rho

wybod i mi beth fyd ei ateb.'

Dychwelod y wraig, a thrannoeth dilynod gyfarwydyd y 'dyn cynnil'

i'r llythyren. Yr oed y gwr bychan yn sefyll yn ei hymyl, ac yn

sylwi arni yn fanwl. Ym mhen ychydig, gofynnod, 'Mam, beth 'i ch'i

'neuthur?' 'Cymysg pastai'r fedel, machgen i.' 'O felly. Mi glywais

gan fy nhad, fe glywod hwnnw gan ei dad, a hwnnw gan ei dad yntau, fod

mesen cyn derwen, a derwen mewn dâr [94]; ond ni chlywais i na gweled

neb yn un man yn cymysg pastai'r fedel mewn masgal wy iar.' Sylwod y

wraig ei fod yn edrych yn hynod o sarug arni pan yn siarad, ac yr oed

hynny yn ychwanegu at ei hagrwch, nes ei wneuthur yn wrthun i'r pen.

Y prydnawn hwnnw aeth y wraig at y 'dyn cynnil' er ei hysbysu o'r hyn

a lefarwyd gan y còr. 'O,' ebai hwnnw, 'un o'r hen frid ydyw!' 'Yn awr,

byd y llawn lloer nesaf ym mhen pedwar diwrnod; mae yn rhaid i ti fyned

i ben y pedair heol syd yn cydgyfarfod wrth ben Rhyd y Gloch; am deudeg

o'r gloch y nos y byd y lleuad yn llawn. Cofia gudio dy hun mewn man

ag y cei lawn olwg ar bennau y croesffyrd, ac os gweli rywbeth a bair

i ti gynhyrfu, cofia fod yn llonyd, ac ymatal rhag rhodi ffrwyn i'th

deimladau, neu fe distrywir y cynllun, ac ni chei dy fab yn ol byth.'

Nis gwydai y fam anffodus beth oed i'w deall wrth ystori ryfed y

'dyn cynnil.' Yr oed mewn cymaint o dywyllwch ag erioed. O'r diwed

daeth yr amser i ben; ac ar yr awr apwyntiedig yr oed yn ymgudio yn

ofalus tu cefn i lwyn mawr yn ymyl, o ba le y caffai olwg ar bob peth o

gylch. Bu am hir amser yno yn gwylio heb dim i'w glywed na'i weled--dim

ond distawrwyd dwfn a phrudglwyfus yr hanner nos yn teyrnasu. O'r diwed

clywai sain cerdoriaeth yn dynesu ati o hirbell. Nês, nês yr oed y sain

felusber yn dyfod o hyd; a gwrandawai hithai gyda dydordeb arni. Cyn

hir yr oed yn ei hymyl, a deallod mai gorymdaith o 'Fendith y Mamau'

oedynt yn myned i rywle. Yr oedynt yn gannoed mewn rhif. Tua chanol

yr orymdaith canfydod olygfa ag a drywanod ei chalon, ac a berod i'w

gwaed sefyll yn ei rhedwelïau. Yn cerded rhwng pedwar o'r 'Bendith'

yr oed ei phlentyn bychan anwyl ei hun. Bu bron a llwyr anghofio

ei hun, a llamu tuag ato er ei gipio ymaith odiarnynt trwy drais os

gallai. Ond pan ar neidio allan o'i hymgudfan i'r diben hwnnw medyliod

am gynghor y 'dyn cynnil,' sef y bydai i unrhyw gynhyrfiad o'i heido

distrywio y cwbl, ac na bydai idi gael ei phlentyn yn ol byth.

Ar ol i'r orymdaith dirwyn i'r pen, ac i sain eu cerdoriaeth distewi

yn y pellder, daeth allan o'i hymgudfan, gan gyfeirio ei chamrau tua

'i chartref. Os oed yn hiraethol o'r blaen ar ol ei mab, yr oed yn

llawer mwy erbyn hyn; a'i hadgasrwyd at y còr bychan oed yn hawlio

ei fod yn fab idi wedi cynydu yn fawr iawn, waith yr oed yn sicr yn

awr yn ei medwl mai un o'r hen frid ydoed. Nis gwydai pa fod i'w odef

am fynud yn hwy yn yr un ty a hi, chwaithach godef ido alw 'mam' arni

hi. Ond beth bynnag, cafod digon o ras ataliol i ymdwyn yn wedaid at y

gwr bychan hagr oed gyda hi yn y ty. Drannoeth aeth ar ei hunion at y

'dyn cynnil' i adrod yr hyn yr oed wedi bod yn llygad dyst o hono y

noson gynt, ac i ofyn am gyfarwydyd pellach. Yr oedd y 'gwr cynnil'

yn ei disgwyl, ac ar ei gwaith yn dyfod i'r ty adnabydod wrthi ei

bod wedi gweled rhywbeth oed wedi ei chyffroi. Adrodod wrtho yr hyn

ag oed wedi ei ganfod ar ben y croesffyrd; ac wedi ido glywed hynny,

agorod lyfr mawr ag oed gando, ac wedi hir syllu arno hysbysod hi

'fod yn angenrheidiol idi cyn cael ei phlentyn yn ol gael iâr du heb

un plufyn gwyn nac o un lliw arall arni, a'i llad; ac ar ol ei lladd,

ei gosod o flaen tan coed, pluf a chwbl, er ei phobi. Mor gynted ag

y buasai yn ei gosod o flaen y tan, idi gau pob twll a mynedfa yn

yr adeilad ond un, a pheidio a dal sylw manwl ar ol y 'crimbil,' hyd

nes bydai y iâr yn digon, a'r pluf i syrthio ymaith oddiarni bob un,

ac yna i edrych ym mha le yr oed ef.

Er mor rhyfed oed cyfarwydyd y 'gwr,' penderfynod ei gynnyg;

a thrannoeth aeth i chwilio ym mhlith y ieir oed yno am un o'r

desgrifiad angenrheidiol; ond er ei siomedigaeth method a chael yr

un. Aeth o'r naill ffermdy i'r llall i chwilio, ond ymdangosai ffawd

fel yn gwgu arni--waith method a chael yr un. Pan ym mron digaloni

gan ei haflwydiant daeth ar draws un mewn amaethdy yng nghwr y plwyf a

phrynod hi yn dioedi. Ar ol dychwelyd adref gosodod y tan mewn trefn,

a lladod yr iâr, gan ei gosod o flaen y tan disglaer a losgai ar yr

alch. Pan yn edrych arni yn pobi, anghofiod y 'crimbil' yn hollol,

ac yr oed wedi syrthio i rywfath o brudlewyg, pryd y synnwyd hi gan

sain cerdoriaeth y tu allan i'r ty, yn debyg i'r hyn a glywod ychydig

nosweithiau cyn hynny ar ben y croesffyrd. Yr oed y pluf erbyn hyn wedi

syrthio ymaith odiar y iâr, ac erbyn edrych yr oed y 'crimbil' wedi

diflannu. Edrychai y fam yn wyllt o'i deutu, ac er ei llawenyd clywai

lais ei mab colledig yn galw arni y tu allan. Rhedod i'w gyfarfod,

gan ei gofleidio yn wresog; a phan ofynod ym mha le yr oed wedi bod

cyhyd, nid oed gando gyfrif yn y byd i'w rodi ond mai yn gwrando ar

ganu hyfryd yr oed wedi bod. Yr oed yn deneu a threuliedig iawn ei

wed pan adferwyd ef. Dyna ystori 'Y Plentyn Colledig.'

'At a farm house still remaining in the parish of Llanfabon, which

is called the Berth Gron, there lived once upon a time a young widow

and her infant child. After losing her husband her only comfort in

her bereavement and solitary state was young Griff, her son. He was

about three years old and a fine child for his age. The parish was

then crammed full of Bendith y Mamau, and when the moon was bright

and full they were wont to keep people awake with their music till

the break of day. The fairies of Llanfabon were remarkable on account

of their ugliness, and they were equally remarkable on account of the

tricks they played. Stealing children from their cradles during the

absence of their mothers, and luring men by means of their music into

some pestilential and desolate bog, were things that seemed to afford

them considerable amusement. It was no wonder then that mothers used

to be daily on the watch lest they should lose their children. The

widow alluded to was remarkably careful about her son, so much so,

that it made some of the neighbours say that she was too anxious about

him and that some misfortune would overtake her child. But she paid no

attention to their words, as all her joy, her comfort, and her hopes

appeared to meet together in her child. However, one day she heard a

moaning voice ascending from near the cow-house, and lest anything had

happened to the cattle, she ran there in a fright, leaving the door

of the house open and her little son in the cradle. Who can describe

her grief on her coming in and seeing that her son was missing? She

searched everywhere for him, but it was in vain. About sunset, behold

a little lad made his appearance before her and said to her quite

distinctly, "Mother." She looked minutely at him, and said at last,

"Thou art not my child." "I am truly," said the little one. But the

mother did not seem satisfied about it, nor did she believe it was

her child. Something whispered to her constantly, as it were, that

it was not her son. However, he remained with her a whole year, but

he did not seem to grow at all, whereas Griff, her son, was a very

growing child. Besides, the little fellow was getting uglier every

day. At last she resolved to go to the "wise man," in order to have

information and light on the matter. There happened then to be living

at Castell y Nos, "Castle of the Night," a man who was remarkable for

his thorough acquaintance with the secrets of the evil one. When she

had laid her business before him and he had examined her, he addressed

the following remark to her: "It is a crimbil [95], and thy own child

is with those old Bendith somewhere or other: if thou wilt follow

my directions faithfully and minutely thy child will be restored to

thee soon. Now, about noon to-morrow cut an egg through the middle;

throw the one half away from thee, but keep the other in thy hand, and

proceed to mix it backwards and forwards. See that the little fellow

be present paying attention to what thou art doing, but take care not

to call his attention to it--his attention must be drawn to it without

calling to him--and very probably he will ask what thou wouldst be

doing. Thou art to say that it is mixing a pasty for the reapers that

thou art. Let me know what he will then say." The woman returned,

and on the next day she followed the cunning man's [96] advice to

the letter: the little fellow stood by her and watched her minutely;

presently he asked, "Mother, what are you doing?" "Mixing a pasty for

the reapers, my boy." "Oh, that is it. I heard from my father--he had

heard it from his father and that one from his father--that an acorn

was before the oak, and that the oak was in the earth; but I have

neither heard nor seen anybody mixing the pasty for the reapers in an

egg-shell." The woman observed that he looked very cross as he spoke,

and that it so added to his ugliness that it made him highly repulsive.

'That afternoon the woman went to the cunning man in order to inform

him of what the dwarf had said. "Oh," said he, "he is of that old

breed; now the next full moon will be in four days--thou must go where

the four roads meet above Rhyd y Gloch [97], at twelve o'clock the

night the moon is full. Take care to hide thyself at a spot where

thou canst see the ends of the cross-roads; and shouldst thou see

anything that would excite thee take care to be still and to restrain

thyself from giving way to thy feelings, otherwise the scheme will

be frustrated and thou wilt never have thy son back." The unfortunate

mother knew not what to make of the strange story of the cunning man;

she was in the dark as much as ever. At last the time came, and by the

appointed hour she had concealed herself carefully behind a large bush

close by, whence she could see everything around. She remained there

a long time watching; but nothing was to be seen or heard, while the

profound and melancholy silence of midnight dominated over all. At

last she began to hear the sound of music approaching from afar;

nearer and nearer the sweet sound continued to come, and she listened

to it with rapt attention. Ere long it was close at hand, and she

perceived that it was a procession of Bendith y Mamau going somewhere

or other. They were hundreds in point of number, and about the middle

of the procession she beheld a sight that pierced her heart and made

the blood stop in her veins--walking between four of the Bendith she

saw her own dear little child. She nearly forgot herself altogether,

and was on the point of springing into the midst of them violently to

snatch him from them if she could; but when she was on the point of

leaping out of her hiding place for that purpose, she thought of the

warning of the cunning man, that any disturbance on her part would

frustrate all, so that she would never get her child back. When the

procession had wound itself past, and the sound of the music had died

away in the distance, she issued from her concealment and directed

her steps homewards. Full of longing as she was for her son before,

she was much more so now; and her disgust at the little dwarf who

claimed to be her son had very considerably grown, for she was now

certain in her mind that he was one of the old breed. She knew not

how to endure him for a moment longer under the same roof with her,

much less his addressing her as "mother." However, she had enough

restraining grace to behave becomingly towards the ugly little fellow

that was with her in the house. On the morrow she went without delay

to the "wise man" to relate what she had witnessed the previous night,

and to seek further advice. The cunning man expected her, and as she

entered he perceived by her looks that she had seen something that had

disturbed her. She told him what she had beheld at the cross-roads,

and when he had heard it he opened a big book which he had; then, after

he had long pored over it, he told her, that before she could get her

child back, it was necessary for her to find a black hen without a

single white feather, or one of any other colour than black: this she

was to place to bake before a wood [98] fire with its feathers and all

intact. Moreover, as soon as she placed it before the fire, she was to

close every hole and passage in the walls except one, and not to look

very intently after the crimbil until the hen was done enough and the

feathers had fallen off it every one: then she might look where he was.

'Strange as the advice of the wise man sounded, she resolved to try

it; so she went the next day to search among the hens for one of the

requisite description; but to her disappointment she failed to find

one. She then walked from one farm house to another in her search;

but fortune appeared to scowl at her, as she seemed to fail in her

object. When, however, she was nearly disheartened, she came across

the kind of hen she wanted at a farm at the end of the parish. She

bought it, and after returning home she arranged the fire and killed

the hen, which she placed in front of the bright fire burning on

the hearth. Whilst watching the hen baking she altogether forgot the

crimbil; and she fell into a sort of swoon, when she was astonished

by the sound of music outside the house, similar to the music she had

heard a few nights before at the cross-roads. The feathers had by this

time fallen off the hen, and when she came to look for the crimbil

he had disappeared. The mother cast wild looks about the house, and

to her joy she heard the voice of her lost son calling to her from

outside. She ran to meet him, and embraced him fervently. But when

she asked him where he had been so long, he had no account in the

world to give but that he had been listening to pleasant music. He

was very thin and worn in appearance when he was restored. Such is

the story of the Lost Child.'

Let me remark as to the urchin's exclamation concerning the cooking

done in the egg-shell, that Mr. Hughes, as the result of further

inquiry, has given me what he considers a more correct version;

but it is no less inconsequent, as will be seen:--

Mi glywais gan fy nhad ac yntau gan ei dad, a hwnnw gan ei

dad yntau,

Fod mesen cyn derwen a'i phlannu mwn dár:

Ni chlywais yn unman am gymysg y bastai yn masgal wy iâr.

I heard from my father and he from his father, and that one from

his father,

That the acorn exists before the oak and the planting of it in

the ground:

Never anywhere have I heard of mixing the pasty in the shell of

a hen's egg.

In Dewi Glan Ffrydlas' story from the Ogwen Valley, in Carnarvonshire,

p. 62 above, it is not the cooking of a pasty but the brewing of beer

in an egg-shell. However what is most remarkable is that the egg-shell

is similarly used in stories from other lands. Mr. Hartland cites one

from Mecklenburg and another from Scandinavia. He also mentions stories

in which the imp measures his own age by the number of forests which

he has seen growing successively on the same soil, the formula being

of the following kind: 'I have seen the Forest of Ardennes burnt seven

times,' 'Seven times have I seen the wood fall in Lessö Forest,' or

'I am so old, I was already in the world before the Kamschtschen Wood

(in Lithuania) was planted, wherein great trees grew, and that is

now laid waste again [99].' From these and the like instances it is

clear that the Welsh versions here in question are partially blurred,

as the fairy child's words should have been to the effect that he

was old enough to remember the oak when it was yet but an acorn;

and an instance of this explicit kind is given by Howells--it comes

from Llandrygarn in Anglesey--see p. 139, where his words run thus:

'I can remember yon oak an acorn, but I never saw in my life people

brewing in an egg-shell before.' I may add that I have been recently

fortunate enough to obtain from Mr. Llywarch Reynolds another kind

of estimate of the fairy urchin's age. He writes that his mother

remembers a very old Merthyr woman who used to tell the story of the

egg-shell cookery, but in words differing from all the other versions

known to him, thus:--

Wy'n hén y dyd hedy,

Ag yn byw cyn 'y ngeni:

Eriôd ni welas i ferwi

Bwyd i'r fedal mwn cwcwll [100] wy iâr.

I call myself old this day,

And living before my birth:

Never have I seen food boiled

For the reapers in an egg-shell.

As to the urchin's statement that he was old and had lived before, it

is part of a creed of which we may have something to say in a later

chapter. At this point let it suffice to call attention to the same

idea in the Book of Taliessin, poem ix:--

Hynaf uyd dyn pan anher

A ieu ieu pop amser.

A man is wont to be oldest when born,

And younger and younger all the time.

XIV.

Before closing this chapter, I wish to touch on the question of the

language of the fairies, though fairy tales hardly ever raise it,

as they usually assume the fairies to speak the same language as the

mortals around them. There is, however, one well-known exception,

namely, the story of Eliodorus, already mentioned, p. 117, as recorded

by Giraldus Cambrensis, who relates how Eliodorus, preferring at the

age of twelve to play the truant to undergoing a frequent beating

by his teacher, fasted two days in hiding in the hollow of a river

bank, and how he was then accosted by two little men who induced

him to follow them to a land of sports and other delights. There he

remained long enough to be able, years later, to give his diocesan,

the second Menevian bishop named David [101], a comprehensive account

of the people and realm of Faery. After Eliodorus had for some time

visited and revisited that land of twilight, his mother desired him

to bring her some of the gold of the fairies. So one day he tried to

bring away the gold ball with which the fairy king's son used to play;

but he was not only unsuccessful, but subjected to indignities also,

and prevented from evermore finding his way back to fairyland. So he

had to go again to school and to the studies which he so detested;

but in the course of time he learned enough to become a priest;

and when, stricken in years, he used to be entreated by Bishop

David to relate this part of his early history, he never could be

got to unfold his tale without shedding tears. Among other things

which he said of the fairies' mode of living, he stated that they

ate neither flesh nor fish, but lived for the most part on various

kinds of milk food cooked after the fashion of stirabout, flavoured

as it were with saffron [102]. But one of the most curious portions

of Eliodorus' yarn was that relating to the language of the fairies;

for he pretended to have learnt it and to have found it to resemble his

own Britannica Lingua, 'Brythoneg, or Welsh.' In the words instanced

Giraldus perceived a similarity to Greek [103], which he accounted for

by means of the fabulous origin of the Welsh from the Trojans and the

supposed sojourn made in Greece by those erring Trojans on their way

to Britain. Giraldus displays quite a pretty interest in comparative

philology, and talks glibly of the Lingua Britannica; but one never

feels certain that he knew very much more about it than the author

of the Germania, the first to refer to it under that name. Tacitus,

however, had the excuse that he lived at a distance and some eleven

centuries before the advent of Gerald the Welshman.

Giraldus' words prove, on close examination, to be of no help to us

on the question of language; but on the other hand I have but recently

begun looking out for stories bearing on it. It is my impression that

such are not plentiful; but I proceed to subjoin an abstract of a

phantom funeral tale in point from Ystên Sioned (Aberystwyth, 1882),

pp. 8-16. Ystên Sioned, I ought to explain, consists of a number of

stories collected and edited in Welsh by the Rev. Chancellor Silvan

Evans, though he has not attached his name to it:--The harvest of 1816

was one of the wettest ever known in Wales, and a man and his wife who

lived on a small farm in one of the largest parishes in the Hundred

of Moedin (see p. 245 above) in the Demetian part of Cardiganshire

went out in the evening of a day which had been comparatively dry

to make some reaped corn into sheaves, as it had long been down. It

was a beautiful night, with the harvest moon shining brightly, and

the field in which they worked had the parish road passing along

one of its sides, without a hedge or a ditch to separate it from the

corn. When they had been busily at work binding sheaves for half an

hour or more, they happened to hear the hum of voices, as if of a

crowd of people coming along the road leading into the field. They

stopped a moment, and looking in the direction whence the sounds

came, they saw in the light of the moon a number of people coming

into sight and advancing in their direction. They bent then again to

their work without thinking much about what they had seen and heard;

for they fancied it was some belated people making for the village,

which was about a mile off. But the hum and confused sounds went on

increasing, and when the two binders looked up again, they beheld a

large crowd of people almost opposite and not far from them. As they

continued looking on they beheld quite clearly a coffin on a bier

carried on the shoulders of men, who were relieved by others in turns,

as usual in funeral processions in the country. 'Here is a funeral,'

said the binders to one another, forgetting for the moment that it was

not usual for funerals to be seen at night. They continued looking

on till the crowd was right opposite them, and some of them did not

keep to the road, but walked over the corn alongside of the bulk

of the procession. The two binders heard the talk and whispering,

the noise and hum as if of so many real men and women passing by,

but they did not understand a word that was said: not a syllable

could they comprehend, not a face could they recognize. They

kept looking at the procession till it went out of sight on the

way leading towards the parish church. They saw no more of them,

and now they began to feel uneasy and went home leaving the corn

alone as it was; but further on the funeral was met by a tailor at a

point in the road where it was narrow and bounded by a fence (clawd)

on either side. The procession filled the road from hedge to hedge,

and the tailor tried to force his way through it, but such was the

pressure of the throng that he was obliged to get out of their way by

crossing the hedge. He also failed to understand a word of the talk

which he heard. In about three weeks after this sham funeral [104],

there came a real one down that way from the upper end of the parish.

Such, in brief, is the story so charmingly told by Silvan Evans,

which he got from the mouths of the farmer and his wife, whom he

considered highly honest and truthful persons, as well as comparatively

free from superstition. The last time they talked to him about the

incident they were very advanced in years, and both died within a

few weeks of one another early in the year 1852. Their remains,

he adds, lie in the churchyard towards which they had seen the

toeli slowly making its way. For toeli is the phonetic spelling in

Ystên Sioned of the word which is teulu in North Cardiganshire and

in North Wales, for Old Welsh toulu. The word now means 'family,'

though literally it should mean 'house-army' or 'house-troops,'

and it is practically a synonym for tylwyth, 'family or household,'

literally 'house-tribe.' Now the toeli or toulu is such an important

institution in Demetian Cardiganshire and some parts of Dyfed proper,

that the word has been confined to the phantom, and for the word

family in its ordinary significations one has there to have recourse

to the non-dialect form teulu [105]. In North Cardiganshire and North

Wales the toeli is called simply a cladedigaeth, 'burial,' or anglad,

'funeral'; in the latter also cynhebrwng is a funeral. I may add that

when I was a child in the neighbourhood of Ponterwyd, on the upper

course of the Rheidol, hardly a year used to pass without somebody

or other meeting a phantom funeral. Sometimes one got entangled in

the procession, and ran the risk of being carried off one's feet by

the throng. There is, however, one serious difference between our

phantom funerals and the Demetian toeli, namely, that we recognize

our neighbours' ghosts as making up the processions, and we have no

trouble in understanding their talk. At this point a question of some

difficulty presents itself as to the toeli, namely, what family does it

mean?--is it the family and friends of the departed on his way to the

grave, or does it mean the family in the sense of Tylwyth Teg, 'Fair

Family,' as applied to the fairies? I am inclined to the latter view,

but I prefer thinking that the distinction itself does not penetrate

very deeply, seeing that a certain species of the Tylwyth Teg, or

fairies, may, in point of origin, be regarded as deceased friends and

ancestors of the tylwyth, in the ordinary sense of the word. In fact

all this kind of rehearsal of events seems to have been once looked

at as friendly to the men and women whom it concerned. This will be

seen, for instance, in the Demetian account of the canwyll gorff, or

corpse candle, as granted through the intercession of St. David to the

people of his special care, as a means of warning each to get ready

in time for his death; that is to say, to prevent death finding him

unprepared. It is hard to guess why it was assumed that the canwyll

gorff was unknown in other parts of Wales. One or two instances in

point occur in Owen's Welsh Folklore, pp. 298-301; and I have myself

heard of them being seen in Anglesey, while they were quite well known

to members of Mrs. Rhys' mother's family, who lived in the parish

of Waen Fawr, in the neighbourhood of Carnarvon. Nor does it appear

that phantom funerals were at all confined to South Wales. Proof to

the contrary is supplied to some extent in Owen's Folklore, p. 301;

but there is no doubt that in recent times the belief in them, as

well as in the canwyll gorff, has been more general and more vivid

in South Wales than in North Wales, especially Gwyned.

I have not been fortunate enough to come across anything systematic

or comprehensive on the origin and meaning of ghostly rehearsals

like the Welsh phantom funeral or coffin making. But the subject

is an interesting one which deserves the attention of our leading

folklore philosophers, as does also the cognate one of second sight,

by which it is widely overlapped.

Quite recently--at the end of 1899 in fact--I received three brief

stories, for which I am indebted to the further kindness of Alaw Lleyn

(p. 228), who lives at Bynhadlog near Edern in Lleyn, and two out of

the three touch on the question of language. But as the three belong

to one and the same district, I give the substance of all in English

as follows:--

(1) There were at a small harbour belonging to Nefyn some houses in

which several families formerly lived; the houses are there still,

but nobody lives in them now. There was one family there to which

a little girl belonged: they used to lose her for hours every day;

so her mother was very angry with her for being so much away. 'I must

know,' said she, 'where you go for your play.' The girl answered that

it was to Pin y Wig, 'The Wig Point,' which meant a place to the west

of the Nefyn headland: it was there, she said, she played with many

children. 'Whose children?' asked the mother. 'I don't know,' she

replied; 'they are very nice children, much nicer than I am.' 'I must

know whose children they are,' was the reply; and one day the mother

went with her little girl to see the children: it was a distance of

about a quarter of a mile to Pin y Wig, and after climbing the slope

and walking a little along the top they came in sight of the Pin. It

is from this Pin that the people of Pen yr Allt got water, and it

is from there they get it still. Now after coming near the Pin the

little girl raised her hands with joy at the sight of the children. 'O

mother,' said she, 'their father is with them to-day: he is not with

them always, it is only sometimes that he is.' The mother asked the

child where she saw them. 'There they are, mother, running down to

the Pin, with their father sitting down.' 'I see nobody, my child,'

was the reply, and great fear came upon the mother: she took hold of

the child's hand in terror, and it came to her mind at once that they

were the Tylwyth Teg. Never afterwards was the little girl allowed to

go to Pin y Wig: the mother had heard that the Tylwyth Teg exchanged

people's children.

Such is the first story, and it is only remarkable, perhaps, for its

allusion to the father of the fairy children.

(2) There used to be at Edern an old woman who occupied a small

farm called Glan y Gors: the same family lives there still. One day

this old woman had gone to a fair at Criccieth, whence she returned

through Pwllheli. As she was getting above Gors Geirch, which was then

a turbary and a pretty considerable bog, a noise reached her ears:

she stopped and heard the sound of much talking. By-and-by she beheld

a great crowd of men and women coming to meet her. She became afraid

and stepped across the fence to let them go by. There she remained

a while listening to their chatter, and when she thought that they

had gone far enough she returned to the road and began to resume

her way home. But before she had gone many steps she heard the same

sort of noise again, and saw again the same sort of crowd coming;

so she recrossed the fence in great fear, saying to herself, 'Here

I shall be all night!' She remained there till they also had gone,

and she wondered what they could be, and whether they were people who

had been to visit Plas Madrun--afterwards, on inquiry, she found that

no such people had been there that day. Now the old woman was near

enough to the passers-by to hear them talking (clebran) and chattering

(bregliach), but not a word could she understand of what they uttered:

it was not Welsh and she did not think that it was English--it is,

however, not supposed that she knew English. She related further that

the last crowd shouted all together to the other crowd in advance of

them Wi, and that the latter replied Wi Wei or something like that.

This account Alaw Lleyn has got, he says, from a great-granddaughter

of the old woman, and she heard it all from her father, Bard Llechog,

who always had faith in the fairies, and believed that they will

come again to be seen of men and women. For he thought that they had

their periods, a belief which I have come across elsewhere, and more

especially in Carnarvonshire [106]. Now what are we to make of such a

story? I recollect reading somewhere of a phantom wedding in Scotland,

but in Wales we seem to have nothing more closely resembling this

than a phantom funeral. Nevertheless what the old woman of Glan y Gors

thought she saw looks by no means unlike a Welsh wedding marching on

foot, especially when, as I have seen done, one party tried--seemingly

in good earnest--to escape the other and to take the bride away from

it. Moreover, that the figures making up the two crowds in her story

are to be regarded as fairies is rendered probable by the next story,

which describes the phantoms therein expressly as little men and

little women.

(3) The small farm of Perth y Celyn in Edern used to be held by an

old man named Griffith Griffiths. In his best days he stood six foot,

and he has left behind him a double reputation for bodily strength

and great piety. My informant can well remember him walking to chapel

with the aid of his two sticks. The story goes that one day, when

he was in his prime, he set out from Perth y Celyn at two in the

morning to walk to Carnarvon to pay his rent: there was no talk in

those days of a carriage for anybody. After passing through Nefyn and

Pistyll, he came in due time to Bwlch Trwyn Swncwl [107]: he writes

this name also Bwlch Drws Wncwl, with the suggestion that it ought to

be Bwlch Drws Encil, and that the place must have been of importance

in the wars of the ancient Kymry. The high-road, he goes on to say,

runs through the Bwlch, and as Griffith was entering this gap what

should he hear but a great deal of talking. He stopped and listened,

when to his surprise he saw coming towards him, devoid of all fear,

a crowd of little men and little women. They talked aloud, but he could

not understand a single word they said: he thought that it was neither

Welsh nor English. They passed by him on the road, but he moved aside

to the ditch lest they should knock against him; but no feeling of fear

came upon him. The old man believed them to have been the Tylwyth Teg.

In the story of the Moedin funeral the language of the toeli was

not intelligible to the farmer and his wife, or to the tailor, and

here in two stories from Lleyn we have it clearly stated that it was

neither Welsh nor, probably, English. Since the fairies are always

represented as old-fashioned in their ways, it is quite possible

that they were once regarded as talking a more ancient language of

the country. Which was it? An early version of these legends might

perhaps have supplied the answer, and told us that it was Gwydelig

or Goidelic, if not an earlier idiom, to wit that of the Aborigines

before they learnt Goidelic from the Celts of the first wave of Aryan

invasion, whether it was in the region of the Eifl or in the Demetian

half of Keredigion. As to the former it is worthy of note that when

Griffith had reached Bwlch Trwyn Swncwl he was in the outskirts of

the Eifl Mountains, on one of whose heights, not very far off, is

the extensive prehistoric fortress of Tre'r Ceiri, or the Town of the

Keiri, a vocable which may be provisionally rendered by 'giants.' In

any case it dissociates that stronghold from the Brythonic people of

Wales. We shall find, however, that a Goidel, or Pict, buried in a

cairn on Snowdon, is known as Rhita Gawr, 'Rhita the Giant'; and it is

possible that in the Keiri of Tre'r Ceiri we have no other race than

that of mixed Goidels and Picts whom the encroaching Brythons found

in possession of the west of our island. Nay, one may say that this

is rendered probable by the use made of the word ceiri in medieval

Welsh: thus in some poetry composed by a certain Dafyd Offeiriad,

and copied by Thomas Williams of Trefriw, we have a line alluding to

Britain in the words:--

Coron ynys y Ceûri [108].

The Crown of the Giants' Island.

Here Ynys y Ceûri inevitably recalls the fact that Britain is called

Ynys y Kedyrn, or Island of the Mighty, in the Mabinogion, and also,

in effect, in the story of Kulhwch and Olwen. But such stories as

these, which enabled Geoffrey to say, i. 16, when he introduced his

banal brood of Trojans, that up to that time Britain had only been

inhabited by a few giants, are the legends, as will be pointed out

later, of the Brythonicized Goidels of Wales. So one may infer that

their ancestors had given this country the name of the Island of the

Mighty, unless it should prove more accurate to suppose them to have

somehow derived the term from the Aborigines.

This last surmise is countenanced by the fact that in the Kulhwch

story, the British Isles as a group are called Islands of the

Mighty. The words are Teir ynys y kedyrn ae their rac ynys; that is,

the Three Islands of the Mighty and their Three outpost Islands. That

is not all, for in the same story the designation is varied thus:

Teir ynys prydein ae their rac ynys [109], or Prydain's Three Islands

and Prydain's Three outpost Islands; and the substantial antiquity of

the designation 'the Islands of Prydain,' is proved by its virtual

identity with that used by ancient Greek authors like Ptolemy, who

calls both Britain and Ireland a nêsos Pretanikê, where Pretanic and

Prydain are closely related words. Now our Prydain had in medieval

Welsh the two forms Prydein and Prydyn. But some time or other there

set in a tendency to desynonymize them, so as to make Ynys Prydein,

'the Picts' Island,' mean Great Britain, and Prydyn mean the Pictland

of the North. But just as Cymry meant the plural Welshmen and the

singular Wales, so Prydyn meant Picts [110] and the country of the

Picts. Now the plural Prydyn has its etymological Goidelic equivalent

in the vocable Cruithni, which is well known to have meant the Picts

or the descendants of the Picti of Roman historians. Further, this

last name cannot be severed from that of the Pictones [111] in Gaul,

and it is usually supposed to have referred to their habit of tattooing

themselves. At all events this agrees with the apparent meaning of the

names Prydyn and Cruithni, from pryd and cruth, the words in Welsh and

Irish respectively for form or shape, the designation being supposed

to refer to the forms or pictures of various animals punctured on the

skins of the Picts. So much as to the practical identity of the terms

Prydyn, Cruithni, and the Greeks' Pretanic; but how could Cedyrn and

Prydein correspond in the terms Ynys y Kedyrn and Ynys Prydein? This

one is enabled to understand by means of ceûri or ceiri as a middle

term. Now cadarn means strong or valiant, and makes the plural cedyrn;

but there is another Welsh word cadr [112] which has also the meaning

of valiant or powerful, and may have yielded some such a medieval form

as ceidyr in the plural. Now this cadr is proved by its cognates [113]

not to have always had the meaning of valiant or strong: its original

signification was more nearly 'fine, beautiful, or beautified.' Thus

what seems to have happened is, that cadarn, 'strong, powerful,

mighty,' influenced the meaning of cadr, 'beautiful,' and eventually

usurped its place in the name of the island, which from being Ynys

y Ceidyr became Ynys y Cedyrn. But the former meant the 'Island of

the fine or beautiful men,' which was closely enough the meaning

also of the words Prydain, Cruithni, and Picts, as names of a people

who delighted to beautify their persons by tattooing their skins and

making themselves distingué in that savage fashion. That is not all,

for on examination it turns out that the word ceiri, which has been

treated up to this point as meaning giants, is but a double, so to

say, of the word cadr in the plural, both as to etymology and original

meaning of beautiful. It is a word in constant use in Carnarvonshire,

where it is ironically applied to pretentious men fond of showing

themselves off, especially in the matter of clothes. 'D ydi nhw

'n geiri! 'Aren't they swells!' Dyna i ch'i gawr! 'There's a fine

fellow for you!' and so also with the feminine cawres. Of course the

cawr of standard Welsh is familiar enough in the sense of giant to

Carnarvonshire people, so the meaning can be best ascertained in the

case of the plural ceiri, which they hardly ever meet with in print;

and, so far as I have been able to ascertain, by ceiri they mean--in an

ironical sense it is true--fine fellows, with reference not to great

stature or strength but to their get-up. Thus one arrives at the true

interpretation of the name Tre'r Ceiri as the Town of the Prydyn or

Cruithni; that is to say, the Town of the Picts or the Aborigines, who

showed themselves off decorated with pictures. So far also from Ynys

y Ceiri being an echo of Ynys y Cedyrn, it turns out to be really the

more original of the two. Such names, when they are closely examined,

are apt to prove old beyond all hastily formed expectation.

CHAPTER IV

MANX FOLKLORE

Be it remembrid that one Manaman Mack Clere, a paynim, was the first

inhabitour of the ysle of Man, who by his Necromancy kept the same,

that when he was assaylid or invaded he wold rayse such mystes by land

and sea that no man might well fynde owte the ysland, and he would make

one of his men seeme to be in nombre a hundred.--The Landsdowne MSS.

The following paper exhausts no part of the subject: it simply

embodies the substance of my notes of conversations which I have

had with Manx men and Manx women, whose names, together with such

other particulars as I could get, are in my possession. I have mostly

avoided reading up the subject in printed books; but those who wish to

see it exhaustively treated may be directed to Mr. Arthur W. Moore's

book on The Folklore of the Isle of Man, to which may now be added

Mr. C. Roeder's Contributions to the Folklore of the Isle of Man in

the Lioar Manninagh for 1897, pp. 129-91.

For the student of folklore the Isle of Man is very fairly stocked

with inhabitants of the imaginary order. She has her fairies and her

giants, her mermen and brownies, her kelpies and water-bulls.

The water-bull or tarroo ushtey, as he is called in Manx, is a creature

about which I have not been able to learn much, but he is described

as a sort of bull disporting himself about the pools and swamps. For

instance, I was told at the village of Andreas, in the flat country

forming the northern end of the island, and known as the Ayre, that

there used to be a tarroo ushtey between Andreas and the sea to the

west: it was before the ground had been drained as it is now. And an

octogenarian captain at Peel related to me how he had once when a boy

heard a tarroo ushtey: the bellowings of the brute made the ground

tremble, but otherwise the captain was unable to give me any very

intelligible description. This bull is by no means of the same breed as

the bull that comes out of the lakes of Wales to mix with the farmers'

cattle, for there the result used to be great fertility among the

stock, and an overflow of milk and dairy produce, but in the Isle of

Man the tarroo ushtey only begets monsters and strangely formed beasts.

The kelpie, or, rather, what I take to be a kelpie, was called by my

informants a glashtyn; and Kelly, in his Manx Dictionary, describes

the object meant as 'a goblin, an imaginary animal which rises out of

the water.' One or two of my informants confused the glashtyn with

the Manx brownie. On the other hand, one of them was very definite

in his belief that it had nothing human about it, but was a sort of

grey colt, frequenting the banks of lakes at night, and never seen

except at night.

Mermen and mermaids disport themselves on the coasts of Man, but

I have to confess that I have made no careful inquiry into what is

related about them; and my information about the giants of the island

is equally scanty. To confess the truth, I do not recollect hearing

of more than one giant, but that was a giant: I have seen the marks

of his huge hands impressed on the top of two massive monoliths. They

stand in a field at Balla Keeill Pherick, on the way down from the

Sloc to Colby. I was told there were originally five of these stones

standing in a circle, all of them marked in the same way by the same

giant as he hurled them down there from where he stood, miles away on

the top of the mountain called Cronk yn Irree Laa. Here I may mention

that the Manx word for a giant is foawr, in which a vowel-flanked

m has been spirited away, as shown by the modern Irish spelling,

fomhor. This, in the plural in old Irish, appears as the name of

the Fomori, so well known in Irish legend, which, however, does

not always represent them as giants, but rather as monsters. I have

been in the habit of explaining the word as meaning submarini; but no

more are they invariably connected with the sea. So another etymology

recommends itself, namely, one which comes from Dr. Whitley Stokes,

and makes the mor in fomori to be of the same origin as the mare in

the English nightmare, French cauchemar, German mahr, 'an elf,' and

cognate words. I may mention that with the Fomori of mythic origin have

doubtless been confounded and identified certain invaders of Ireland,

especially the Dumnonians from the country between Galloway and the

mouth of the Clyde, some of whom may be inferred to have coasted

the north of Ireland and landed in the west, for example in Erris,

the north-west of Mayo, called after them Irrus (or Erris) Domnann.

The Manx brownie is called the fenodyree, and he is described as a

hairy and apparently clumsy fellow, who would, for instance, thrash

a whole barnful of corn in a single night for the people to whom he

felt well disposed; and once on a time he undertook to bring down for

the farmer his wethers from Snaefell. When the fenodyree had safely

put them in an outhouse, he said that he had some trouble with the

little ram, as it had run three times round Snaefell that morning. The

farmer did not quite understand him, but on going to look at the

sheep, he found, to his infinite surprise, that the little ram was

no other than a hare, which, poor creature, was dying of fright and

fatigue. I need scarcely point out the similarity between this and

the story of Peredur, who, as a boy, drove home two hinds with his

mother's goats from the forest: he owned to having had some trouble

with the goats that had so long run wild as to have lost their horns,

a circumstance which had greatly impressed him [114]. To return to the

fenodyree, I am not sure that there were more than one in Man--I have

never heard him spoken of in the plural; but two localities at least

are assigned to him, namely, a farm called Ballachrink, in Colby,

in the south, and a farm called Lanjaghan, in the parish of Conchan,

near Douglas. Much the same stories, however, appear to be current

about him in the two places, and one of the most curious of them is

that which relates how he left. The farmer so valued the services

of the fenodyree, that one day he took it into his head to provide

clothing for him. The fenodyree examined each article carefully,

and expressed his idea of it, and specified the kind of disease it

was calculated to produce. In a word, he found that the clothes would

make head and foot sick, and he departed in disgust, saying to the

farmer, 'Though this place is thine, the great glen of Rushen is

not.' Glen Rushen is one of the most retired glens in the island,

and it drains down through Glen Meay to the coast, some miles to

the south of Peel. It is to Glen Rushen, then, that the fenodyree

is supposed to be gone; but on visiting that valley in 1890 [115] in

quest of Manx-speaking peasants, I could find nobody there who knew

anything of him. I suspect that the spread of the English language

even there has forced him to leave the island altogether. Lastly,

with regard to the term fenodyree, I may mention that it is the word

used in the Manx Bible of 1819 for satyr in Isaiah xxxiv. 14 [116],

where we read in the English Bible as follows: 'The wild beasts of

the desert shall also meet with the wild beasts of the island, and

the satyr shall cry to his fellow.' In the Vulgate the latter clause

reads: et pilosus clamabit alter ad alterum. The term fenodyree has

been explained by Cregeen in his Manx Dictionary to mean one who

has hair for stockings or hose. That answers to the description of

the hairy satyr, and seems fairly well to satisfy the phonetics of

the case, the words from which he derives the compound being fynney

[117], 'hair,' and oashyr, 'a stocking'; but as oashyr seems to come

from the old Norse hosur, the plural of hosa, 'hose or stocking,'

the term fenodyree cannot date before the coming of the Norsemen;

and I am inclined to think the idea more Teutonic than Celtic. At any

rate I need not point out to the English reader the counterparts of

this hairy satyr in the hobgoblin 'Lob lie by the Fire,' and Milton's

'Lubber Fiend,' whom he describes as one that

Basks at the fire his hairy strength,

And crop-full out of doors he flings,

Ere the first cock his matin rings.

Lastly, I may mention that Mr. Roeder has a great deal to say about

the fenodyree under the name of glashtyn; for it is difficult to

draw any hard and fast line between the glashtyn and the fenodyree,

or even the water-bull, so much alike do they seem to have been

regarded. Mr. Roeder's items of folklore concerning the glashtyns

(see the Lioar Manninagh, iii. 139) show that there were male and

female glashtyns, and that the former were believed to have been too

fond of the women at Ballachrink, until one evening some of the men,

dressed as women, arranged to receive some youthful glashtyns. Whether

the fenodyree is of Norse origin or not, the glashtyn is decidedly

Celtic, as will be further shown in chapter vii. Here it will suffice

to mention one or two related words which are recorded in Highland

Gaelic, namely, glaistig, 'a she-goblin which assumes the form of

a goat,' and glaisrig, 'a female fairy or a goblin, half human,

half beast.'

The fairies claim our attention next, and as the only other fairies

tolerably well known to me are those of Wales, I can only compare or

contrast the Manx fairies with the Welsh ones. They are called in Manx,

sleih beggey, or little people, and ferrishyn, from the English word

fairies, as it would seem. Like the Welsh fairies, they kidnap babies;

and I have heard it related how a woman in Dalby had a struggle with

the fairies over her baby, which they were trying to drag out of the

bed from her. Like Welsh fairies, also, they take possession of the

hearth after the farmer and his family are gone to bed. A man in Dalby

used to find them making a big fire in his kitchen: he would hear

the crackling and burning of the fire when nobody else could have

been there except the fairies and their friends. I said 'friends,'

for they sometimes take a man with them, and allow him to eat with

them at the expense of others. Thus, some men from the northern-most

parish, Kirk Bride, went once on a time to Port Erin, in the south,

to buy a supply of fish for the winter, and with them went a Kirk

Michael man who had the reputation of being a persona grata to the

fairies. Now one of the Port Erin men asked a man from the north who

the Michael man might be: he was curious to know his name, as he had

seen him once before, and on that occasion the Michael man was with

the fairies at his house--the Port Erin man's house--helping himself

to bread and cheese in company with the rest. As the fairies were

regaling themselves in this instance on ordinary bread and cheese

at a living Manxman's expense, the story may perhaps be regarded as

not inconsistent with one mentioned by Cumming [118] to the following

effect:--A man attracted one night as he was crossing the mountains,

by fairy music, entered a fairy hall where a banquet was going on. He

noticed among them several faces which he seemed to know, but no act

of mutual recognition took place till he had some drink offered him,

when one of those whom he seemed to know warned him not to taste of

the drink if he had any wish to make his way home again. If he partook

of it he would become like one of them. So he found an opportunity for

spilling it on the ground and securing the cup; whereupon the hall and

all its inmates instantaneously vanished. On this I may remark that

it appears to have been a widely spread belief, that no one who had

partaken of the food for spirits would be allowed to return to his

former life, and some instances will be found mentioned by Professor

Tylor in his Primitive Culture, ii. 50-2.

Like the Welsh fairies, the Manx ones take men away with them and

detain them for years. Thus a Kirk Andreas man was absent from his

people for four years, which he spent with the fairies. He could not

tell how he returned, but it seemed as if, having been unconscious,

he woke up at last in this world. The other world, however, in which

he was for the four years was not far away, as he could see what his

brothers and the rest of the family were doing every day, although

they could not see him. To prove this, he mentioned to them how they

were occupied on such and such a day, and, among other things, how

they took their corn on a particular day to Ramsey. He reminded them

also of their having heard a sudden sharp crack as they were passing

by a thorn bush he named, and how they were so startled that one of

them would have run back home. He asked them if they remembered that,

and they said they did, only too well. He then explained to them the

meaning of the noise, namely, that one of the fairies with whom he

had been galloping the whole time was about to let fly an arrow at

his brothers, but that as he was going to do this, he (the missing

brother) raised a plate and intercepted the arrow: that was the sharp

noise they had heard. Such was the account he had to give of his

sojourn in Faery. This representation of the world of the fairies,

as contained within the ordinary world of mortals, is very remarkable;

but it is not a new idea, as we seem to detect it in the Irish story

of the abduction of Conla Rúad [119]: the fairy who comes to fetch

him tells him that the folk of Tethra, whom she represents, behold

him every day as he takes part in the assemblies of his country and

sits among his friends. The commoner way of putting it is simply to

represent the fairies as invisible to mortals at will; and one kind

of Welsh story relates how the mortal midwife accidentally touches

her eyes, while dressing a fairy baby, with an ointment which makes

the fairy world visible to her: see pp. 63, 213, above.

Like Welsh fairies, the Manx ones had, as the reader will have seen,

horses to ride; they had also dogs, just as the Welsh ones had. This

I learn from another story, to the effect that a fisherman, taking a

fresh fish home, was pursued by a pack of fairy dogs, so that it was

only with great trouble he reached his own door. Then he picked up

a stone and threw it at the dogs, which at once disappeared; but he

did not escape, as he was shot by the fairies, and so hurt that he lay

ill for fully six months from that day. He would have been left alone

by the fairies, I was told, if he had only taken care to put a pinch

of salt in the fish's mouth before setting out, for the Manx fairies

cannot stand salt or baptism. So children that have been baptized are,

as in Wales, less liable to be kidnapped by these elves than those

that have not. I scarcely need add that a twig of cuirn [120] or rowan

is also as effective against fairies in Man as it is in Wales. Manx

fairies seem to have been musical, like their kinsmen elsewhere; for

I have heard of an Orrisdale man crossing the neighbouring mountains

at night and hearing fairy music, which took his fancy so much that

he listened, and tried to remember it. He had, however, to return,

it is said, three times to the place before he could carry it away

complete in his mind, which he succeeded in doing at last just as the

day was breaking and the musicians disappearing. This air, I am told,

is now known by the name of the Bollan Bane, or White Wort. As to

certain Welsh airs similarly supposed to have been derived from the

fairies, see pages 201-2 above.

So far I have pointed out next to nothing but similarities between

Manx fairies and Welsh ones, and I find very little indicative of a

difference. First, with regard to salt, I am unable to say anything

in this direction, as I do not happen to know how Welsh fairies

regard salt: it is not improbable that they eschew salt as well as

baptism, especially as the Church of Rome has long associated salt

with baptism. There is, however, one point, at least, of difference

between the fairies of Man and of Wales: the latter are, so far as I

can call to mind, never supposed to discharge arrows at men or women,

or to handle a bow [121] at all, whereas Manx fairies are always

ready to shoot. May we, therefore, provisionally regard this trait

of the Manx fairies as derived from a Teutonic source? At any rate

English and Scotch elves were supposed to shoot, and I am indebted

to the kindness of my colleague, Professor Napier, for calling my

attention to the Leechdoms of Early England [122] for cases in point.

Now that most of the imaginary inhabitants of Man and its coasts have

been rapidly passed in review before the reader, I may say something

of others whom I regard as semi-imaginary--real human beings to whom

impossible attributes are ascribed: I mean chiefly the witches, or,

as they are sometimes called in Manx English, butches [123]. That

term I take to be a variant of the English word witch, produced

under the influence of the verb bewitch, which was reduced in Manx

English to a form butch, especially if one bear in mind the Cumbrian

and Scottish pronunciation of these words, as wutch and bewutch. Now

witches shift their form, and I have heard of one old witch changing

herself into a pigeon; but that I am bound to regard as exceptional,

the regular form into which Manx witches pass at their pleasure being

that of the hare, and such a swift and thick skinned hare that no

greyhound, except a black one without a single white hair, can catch

it, and no shot, except a silver coin, penetrate its body. Both these

peculiarities are also well known in Wales. I notice a difference,

however, between Wales and Man with regard to the hare witches:

in Wales only the women can become hares, and this property runs,

so far as I know, in certain families. I have known many such, and my

own nurse belonged to one of them, so that my mother was reckoned to

be rather reckless in entrusting me to y Gota, or 'the Cutty One,' as

she might run away at any moment, leaving her charge to take care of

itself. But I have never heard of any man or boy of any such family

turning himself into a hare, whereas in the Isle of Man the hare

witches may belong, if I may say so, to either sex. I am not sure,

however, that a man who turns himself into a hare would be called a

wizard or witch; and I recollect hearing in the neighbourhood of Ramsey

of a man nicknamed the gaaue mwaagh, that is to say, 'the hare smith,'

the reason being that this particular smith now and then assumed the

form of a hare. I am not quite sure that gaaue mwaagh is the name of

a class, though I rather infer that it is. If so, it must be regarded

as a survival of the magic skill associated with smiths in ancient

Ireland, as evidenced, for instance, in St. Patrick's Hymn in the

eleventh or twelfth century manuscript at Trinity College, Dublin,

known as the Liber Hymnorum, in which we have a prayer--

Fri brichta ban ocus goband ocus druad.

Against the spells of women, of smiths and magicians [124].

The persons who had the power of turning themselves into hares were

believed to be abroad and very active, together with the whole demon

world, on the eve of May-day of the Old Style. And a middle-aged

man from the parish of Andreas related to me how he came three or

four times across a woman reputed to be a witch, carrying on her

evil practices at the junction of cross-roads, or the meeting of

three boundaries. This happened once very early on Old May morning,

and afterwards he met her several times as he was returning home from

visiting his sweetheart. He warned the witch that if he found her again

he would kick her: that is what he tells me. Well, after a while he

did surprise her again at work at four cross-roads, somewhere near

Lezayre. She had a circle, he said, as large as that made by horses

in threshing, swept clean around her. He kicked her and took away her

besom, which he hid till the middle of the day. Then he made the farm

boys fetch some dry gorse, and he put the witch's besom on the top of

it. Thereupon fire was set to the gorse, and, wonderful to relate,

the besom, as it burned, crackled and made reports like guns going

off. In fact, the noise could be heard at Andreas Church--that is

to say, miles away. The besom had on it 'seventeen sorts of knots,'

he stated, and the woman herself ought to have been burned: in fact,

he added that she did not long survive her besom. The man who related

this to me is hale and strong, living now in the parish of Michael,

and not in that of Andreas, where he was born.

There is a tradition at St. John's, which is overlooked by the mountain

called Slieau Whallian, that witches used at one time to be punished

by being set to roll down the steep side of the mountain in spiked

barrels; but, short of putting them to death, there were various ways

of rendering the machinations of witches innocuous, or of undoing the

mischief done by them; for the charmers supply various means of meeting

them triumphantly, and in case an animal is the victim, the burning of

it always proves an effective means of bringing the offender to book:

I shall have occasion to return to this under another heading. There

is a belief that if you can draw blood, however little, from a witch,

or one who has the evil eye, he loses his power of harming you;

and I have been told that formerly this belief was sometimes acted

upon. Thus, on leaving church, for instance, the man who fancied

himself in danger from another would sidle up to him or walk by his

side, and inflict on him a slight scratch, or some other trivial wound,

which elicited blood; but this must have been a course always attended

with more or less danger.

The persons able to undo the witches' work, and remove the malignant

influence of the evil eye, are known in Manx English as charmers,

and something must now be said of them. They have various ways of

proceeding to their work. A lady of about thirty-five, living at Peel,

related to me how, when she was a child suffering from a swelling

in the neck, she had it charmed away by an old woman. This charmer

brought with her no less than nine pieces of iron, consisting of

bits of old pokers, old nails, and other odds and ends of the same

metal, making in all nine pieces. After invoking the Father, the Son,

and the Holy Ghost, she began to rub the girl's neck with the old

irons; nor was she satisfied with that, for she rubbed the doors,

the walls, and the furniture likewise, with the metal. The result, I

was assured, was highly satisfactory, as she has never been troubled

with a swelling in the throat since that day. Sometimes a passage

from the Bible is made use of in charming, as, for instance, in the

case of bleeding. One of the verses then pronounced is Ezekiel xvi. 6,

which runs thus:--'And when I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in

thine own blood, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live;

yea, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live.' This was

told me by a Laxey man, who is over seventy years of age. The methods

of charming away warts are various. A woman from the neighbourhood

of St. John's explained to me how a charmer told her to get rid of

the warts on her hands. She was to take a string and make a knot on

it for every wart she had, and then tie the string round her hand,

or fingers--I forget which; and I think my informant, on her part,

forgot to tell me a vital part of the formula, namely, that the string

was to be destroyed. But however that may be, she assured me that the

warts disappeared, and have never returned since. A lady at Andreas has

a still simpler method of getting rid of warts. She rubs a snail on the

warts, and then places the snail on one of the points of a blackthorn,

and, in fact, leaves the snail to die, transfixed by the thorn; and

as the snail dies the warts disappear. She has done this in the case

of her niece with complete success, so far as the wart was concerned;

but she had forgotten to notice whether the snail had also succumbed.

The lady who in this case applied the remedy cannot be in any sense

called a charmer, however much one may insist on calling what she

did a charm. In fact, the term charmer tends to be associated with a

particular class of charm involving the use of herbs. Thus there used

to be at one time a famous charmer living near Kirk Michael, to whom

the fishermen were in the habit of resorting, and my informant told

me that he had been deputed more than once by his fellow fishermen to

go to him in consequence of their lack of success in the fishing. The

charmer gave him a packet of herbs, cut small, with directions that

they should be boiled, and the water mixed with some spirits--rum,

I think--and partly drunk in the boat by the captain and the crew,

and partly sprinkled over the boat and everything in it. The charmer

clearly defined his position in the matter to my informant. 'I cannot,'

he said, 'put the fish in your nets for you; but if there is any

mischief in the way of your luck, I can remove that for you.' The

fishermen themselves had, however, more exaggerated notions of the

charmer's functions, for once on a time my informant spent on drink

for his boon companions the money which he was to give the charmer,

and then he collected herbs himself--it did not much matter what

herbs--and took them to his captain, who, with the crew, went through

the proper ritual, and made a most successful haul that night. In

fact, the only source of discontent was the charmer's not having

distributed the fish over two nights, instead of endangering their

nets by an excessive haul all in one night. They regarded him as able

to do almost anything he liked in the matter.

A lady at Andreas gave me an account of a celebrated charmer who

lived between there and the coast. He worked on her husband's farm,

but used to be frequently called away to be consulted. He usually cut

up wormwood for the people who came to him, and if there was none to

be had, he did not scruple to rob the garden of any small sprouts

it contained of cabbage or the like. He would chop them small,

and give directions about boiling them and drinking the water. He

usually charged any one leaving him to speak to nobody on the way,

lest he break the charm, and this mysteriousness was evidently an

important element in his profession. But he was, nevertheless, a

thriftless fellow, and when he went to Peel, and sent the crier round

to announce his arrival, and received a good deal of money from the

fishermen, he seldom so conducted himself as to bring much of his

earnings home. He died miserably some seven or eight years ago at

Ramsey, and left a widow in great poverty. As to the present day,

the daughter of a charmer now dead is married to a man living in a

village on the southern side of the island, and she appears to have

inherited her father's reputation for charming, as the fishermen from

all parts are said to flock to her for luck. Incidentally, I have

heard in the south more than once of her being consulted in cases of

sudden and dangerous illness, even after the best medical advice has

been obtained: in fact, she seems to have a considerable practice.

In answer to my question, how the charmer who died at Ramsey used

to give the sailors luck in the fishing, my informant at Andreas

could not say, except that he gave them herbs as already described,

and she thought also that he sold them wisps to place under their

pillows. I gather that the charms were chiefly directed to the removal

of supposed impediments to success in the fishing, rather than to any

act of a more positive nature. So far as I have been able to ascertain,

charming is hereditary, and they say that it descends from father

to daughter, and then from daughter to son, and so on--a remarkable

kind of descent, on which I should be glad to learn the opinion of

anthropologists. One of the best Manx scholars in the island related

to me how some fishermen once insisted on his doing the charmer for

them because of his being of such and such a family, and how he made

fools of them. It is my impression that the charming families are

comparatively few in number, and this looks as if they descended from

the family physicians or druids of one or two chieftains in ancient

times. It is very likely a question which could be cleared up by a

local man familiar with the island and all that tradition has to say

on the subject of Manx pedigrees.