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<h1 class="padtop"><span class="smcap lrgfont">British Goblins:</span><br />
<br />
<span class="vsmlfont"><i>WELSH FOLK-LORE, FAIRY MYTHOLOGY,<br />
LEGENDS AND TRADITIONS.</i></span></h1>

<p class="center vsmlfont padtop">BY</p>

<p class="center"><span class="vlrgfont">WIRT SIKES,</span><br />
<span class="vsmlfont">UNITED STATES CONSUL FOR WALES.</span></p>

<p class="center padtop padbase">WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY T.&nbsp;H. THOMAS.</p>

<div class="centered">
<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Poetry extract">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">In olde dayes of the Kyng Arthour ...<br />
Al was this lond fulfilled of fayrie.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Chaucer.</span></td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>


<p class="center padtop">LONDON:<br />
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, &amp; RIVINGTON,<br />
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188 FLEET STREET.<br />
1880.</p>

<p class="center vsmlfont">[<i>All rights reserved.</i>]</p>



<p class="center padtop padbase"><span class="smlfont">LONDON:<br />
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS,</span><br />
<span class="vsmlfont">STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.</span></p>



<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg01.jpg" width="375" height="586"
alt="A couple look up at a woman on the hillside" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE OLD WOMAN OF THE MOUNTAIN.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p class="center padtop padbase">TO<br />
<br />
HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS,<br />
<br />
<span class="vlrgfont">ALBERT EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES,</span><br />
<br />
<span class="vsmlfont">THIS ACCOUNT OF</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smlfont">THE FAIRY MYTHOLOGY AND FOLK-LORE<br />
OF HIS PRINCIPALITY</span><br />
<br />
IS BY PERMISSION DEDICATED.<br />
</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pgvii" id="pgvii">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>vii]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="preface" id="preface"></a>PREFACE.</h2>


<p>In the ground it covers, while this volume deals
especially with Wales, and still more especially with
South Wales&mdash;where there appear to have been
human dwellers long before North Wales was
peopled&mdash;it also includes the border counties,
notably Monmouthshire, which, though severed
from Wales by Act of Parliament, is really
very Welsh in all that relates to the past. In
Monmouthshire is the decayed cathedral city of
Caerleon, where, according to tradition, Arthur was
crowned king in 508, and where he set up his most
dazzling court, as told in the &lsquo;Morte d&rsquo;Arthur.&rsquo;</p>

<p>In a certain sense Wales may be spoken of as the
cradle of fairy legend. It is not now disputed that
from the Welsh were borrowed many of the first
subjects of composition in the literature of all the
cultivated peoples of Europe.</p>

<p>The Arthur of British history and tradition stands
to Welshmen in much the same light that Alfred
the Great stands to Englishmen. Around this
historic or semi-historic Arthur have gathered a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pgviii" id="pgviii">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>viii]</a></span>
throng of shining legends of fabulous sort, with
which English readers are more or less familiar. An
even grander figure is the Arthur who existed in
Welsh mythology before the birth of the warrior-king.
The mythic Arthur, it is presumed, began
his shadowy life in pre-historic ages, and grew progressively
in mythologic story, absorbing at a certain
period the personality of the real Arthur, and becoming
the type of romantic chivalry. A similar
state of things is indicated with regard to the
enchanter Merlin; there was a mythic Merlin before
the real Merlin was born at Carmarthen.</p>

<p>With the rich mass of legendary lore to which
these figures belong, the present volume is not intended
to deal; nor do its pages treat, save in the
most casual and passing manner, of the lineage and
original significance of the lowly goblins which are
its theme. The questions here involved, and the
task of adequately treating them, belong to the
comparative mythologist and the critical historian,
rather than to the mere literary workman.</p>

<p class="address"><span class="smcap">United States Consulate, Cardiff</span>,<br />
<i>August, 1879</i>.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pgix" id="pgix">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>ix]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="contents" id="contents"></a>CONTENTS.</h2>


<p class="center smlpadt"><span class="lrgfont"><a href="#book1">BOOK I.</a></span><br />
THE REALM OF FAERIE.</p>

<div class="centered">
<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of contents for Book 1">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER I.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">&nbsp;</td>
    <td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Fairy Tales and the Ancient Mythology&mdash;The Compensations of
Science&mdash;Existing Belief in Fairies in Wales&mdash;The Faith of
Culture&mdash;The Credulity of Ignorance&mdash;The Old-Time Welsh
Fairyland&mdash;The Fairy King&mdash;The Legend of St. Collen and
Gwyn ap Nudd&mdash;The Green Meadows of the Sea&mdash;Fairies at
Market&mdash;The Land of Mystery</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap01">1</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER II.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Classification of Welsh Fairies&mdash;General Designation&mdash;Habits of
the Tylwyth Teg&mdash;Ellyllon, or Elves&mdash;Shakspeare&rsquo;s Use of
Welsh Folk-Lore&mdash;Rowli Pugh and the Ellyll&mdash;Household Story
Roots&mdash;The Ellylldan&mdash;The Pooka&mdash;Puck Valley, Breconshire&mdash;Where
Shakspeare got his Puck&mdash;Pwca&rsquo;r Trwyn&mdash;Usual
Form of the Pooka Story&mdash;Coblynau, or Mine Fairies&mdash;The
Knockers&mdash;Miners&rsquo; Superstitions&mdash;Basilisks and Fire Fiends&mdash;A
Fairy Coal-mine&mdash;The Dwarfs of Cae Caled&mdash;Counterparts
of the Coblynau&mdash;The Bwbach, or Household Fairy&mdash;Legend
of the Bwbach and the Preacher&mdash;Bogies and Hobgoblins&mdash;Carrying
Mortals through the Air&mdash;Counterparts and Originals</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap02">11</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER III.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Lake Fairies&mdash;The Gwragedd Annwn, or Dames of Elfin-Land&mdash;St.
Patrick and the Welshmen; a Legend of Crumlyn Lake&mdash;The
Elfin Cow of Llyn Barfog&mdash;Y Fuwch Laethwen Lefrith&mdash;The
Legend of the Meddygon Myddfai&mdash;The Wife of Supernatural
Race&mdash;The Three Blows; a Carmarthenshire Legend&mdash;Cheese
and the Didactic Purpose in Welsh Folk-Lore&mdash;The
Fairy Maiden&rsquo;s Papa&mdash;The Enchanted Isle in the Mountain
Lake&mdash;Legend of the Men of Ardudwy&mdash;Origin of Water
Fairies&mdash;Their prevalence in many Lands</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap03">34</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="pgx" id="pgx">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>x]</a></span>CHAPTER IV.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Mountain Fairies&mdash;The Gwyllion&mdash;The Old Woman of the Mountain&mdash;The
Black Mountain Gwyll&mdash;Exorcism by Knife&mdash;Occult
Intellectual Powers of Welsh Goats&mdash;The Legend of Cadwaladr&rsquo;s Goat</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap04">49</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER V.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Changelings&mdash;The Plentyn-newid&mdash;The Cruel Creed of Ignorance
regarding Changelings&mdash;Modes of Ridding the House of the
Fairy Child&mdash;The Legend of the Frugal Meal&mdash;Legend of the
Place of Strife&mdash;Dewi Dal and the Fairies&mdash;Prevention of Fairy
Kidnapping&mdash;Fairies caught in the Act by Mothers&mdash;Piety as
an Exorcism</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap05">56</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER VI.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Living with the Tylwyth Teg&mdash;The Tale of Elidurus&mdash;Shu&iuml; Rhys
and the Fairies&mdash;St. Dogmell&rsquo;s Parish, Pembrokeshire&mdash;Dancing
with the Ellyllon&mdash;The Legend of Rhys and Llewellyn&mdash;Death
from joining in the Fairy Reel&mdash;Legend of the Bush of
Heaven&mdash;The Forest of the Magic Yew&mdash;The Tale of Twm and
Iago&mdash;Taffy ap Sion, a Legend of Pencader&mdash;The Traditions
of Pant Shon Shenkin&mdash;Tudur of Llangollen; the Legend of
Nant yr Ellyllon&mdash;Polly Williams and the Trefethin Elves&mdash;The
Fairies of Frennifawr&mdash;Curiosity Tales&mdash;The Fiend Master&mdash;Iago
ap Dewi&mdash;The Original of Rip Van Winkle</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap06">65</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER VII.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Fairy Music&mdash;Birds of Enchantment&mdash;The Legend of Shon ap
Shenkin&mdash;Harp-Music in Welsh Fairy Tales&mdash;Legend of the
Magic Harp&mdash;Songs and Tunes of the Tylwyth Teg&mdash;The
Legend of Iolo ap Hugh&mdash;Mystic Origin of an old Welsh Air</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap07">91</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER VIII.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Fairy Rings&mdash;The Prophet Jones and his Works&mdash;The Mysterious
Language of the Tylwyth Teg&mdash;The Horse in Welsh Folk-Lore&mdash;Equestrian
Fairies&mdash;Fairy Cattle, Sheep, Swine, etc.&mdash;The
Flying Fairies of Bedwellty&mdash;The Fairy Sheepfold at Cae&rsquo;r Cefn</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap08">103</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER IX.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Piety as a Protection from the Seductions of the Tylwyth Teg&mdash;Various
Exorcisms&mdash;Cock-crowing&mdash;The Name of God&mdash;Fencing
off the Fairies&mdash;Old Betty Griffith and her Eithin Barricade&mdash;Means
of Getting Rid of the Tylwyth Teg&mdash;The Bwbach
of the Hendrefawr Farm&mdash;The Pwca&rsquo;r Trwyn&rsquo;s Flitting in a
Jug of Barm</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap09">112</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="pgxi" id="pgxi">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>xi]</a></span>CHAPTER X.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Fairy Money and Fairy Gifts in General&mdash;The Story of Gitto Bach,
or Little Griffith&mdash;The Penalty of Blabbing&mdash;Legends of the
Shepherds of Cwm Llan&mdash;The Money Value of Kindness&mdash;Ianto
Llewellyn and the Tylwyth Teg&mdash;The Legend of Hafod
Lwyddog&mdash;Lessons inculcated by these Superstitions</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap10">119</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER XI.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Origins of Welsh Fairies&mdash;The Realistic Theory&mdash;Legend of the
Baron&rsquo;s Gate&mdash;The Red Fairies&mdash;The Trwyn Fairy a Proscribed
Nobleman&mdash;The Theory of hiding Druids&mdash;Colour in Welsh
Fairy Attire&mdash;The Green Lady of Caerphilly&mdash;White the
favourite Welsh Hue&mdash;Legend of the Prolific Woman&mdash;The
Poetico-Religious Theory&mdash;The Creed of Science</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap11">127</a></td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>


<p class="center smlpadt"><span class="lrgfont"><a href="#book2">BOOK II.</a></span><br />
THE SPIRIT-WORLD.</p>

<div class="centered">
<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of contents for Book 2">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER I.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Modern Superstition regarding Ghosts&mdash;American &lsquo;Spiritualism&rsquo;&mdash;Welsh
Beliefs&mdash;Classification of Welsh Ghosts&mdash;Departed
Mortals&mdash;Haunted Houses&mdash;Lady Stradling&rsquo;s Ghost&mdash;The
Haunted Bridge&mdash;The Legend of Catrin Gwyn&mdash;Didactic
Purpose in Cambrian Apparitions&mdash;An Insulted Corpse&mdash;Duty-performing
Ghosts&mdash;Laws of the Spirit-World&mdash;Cadogan&rsquo;s Ghost</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap01">137</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER II.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Household Ghosts and Hidden Treasures&mdash;The Miser of St.
Donat&rsquo;s&mdash;Anne Dewy&rsquo;s Ghost&mdash;The Ghost on Horseback&mdash;Hidden
Objects of Small Value&mdash;Transportation through the
Air&mdash;From Breconshire to Philadelphia, Pa., in Thirty-Six
Hours&mdash;Sir David Llwyd, the Magician&mdash;The Levitation of
Walter Jones&mdash;Superstitions regarding Hares&mdash;The Legend
of Monacella&rsquo;s Lambs&mdash;Aerial Transportation in Modern
Spiritualism&mdash;Exorcising Household Ghosts&mdash;The Story of
Haunted Margaret</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap02">151</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER III.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Spectral Animals&mdash;The Chained Spirit&mdash;The Gwyllgi, or Dog of
Darkness&mdash;The Legend of Lisworney-Crossways&mdash;The Gwyllgi
of the Devil&rsquo;s Nags&mdash;The Dog of Pant y Madog&mdash;Terrors of
the Brute Creation at Phantoms&mdash;Apparitions of Natural
Objects&mdash;Phantom Ships and Phantom Islands</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap03">167</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="pgxii" id="pgxii">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>xii]</a></span>CHAPTER IV.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Grotesque Ghosts&mdash;The Phantom Horseman&mdash;Gigantic Spirits&mdash;The
Black Ghost of Ffynon yr Yspryd&mdash;Black Men in the
Mabinogion&mdash;Whirling Ghosts&mdash;Antic Spirits&mdash;The Tridoll
Valley Ghost&mdash;Resemblance to Modern Spiritualistic Performances&mdash;Household Fairies</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap04">174</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER V.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Familiar Spirits&mdash;The Famous Sprite of Trwyn Farm&mdash;Was it a
Fairy?&mdash;The Familiar Spirits of Magicians&mdash;Sir David Llwyd&rsquo;s
Demon&mdash;Familiar Spirits in Female Form&mdash;The Legend of the
Lady of the Wood&mdash;The Devil as a Familiar Spirit&mdash;His
Disguises in this Character&mdash;Summoning and Exorcising
Familiars&mdash;Jenkin the Pembrokeshire Schoolmaster&mdash;The
Terrible Tailor of Glanbran</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap05">187</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER VI.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">The Evil Spirit in his customary Form&mdash;The stupid Medieval
Devil in Wales&mdash;Sion Cent&mdash;The Devil outwitted&mdash;Pacts with
the Fiend and their Avoidance&mdash;Sion Dafydd&rsquo;s Foul Pipe&mdash;The
Devil&rsquo;s Bridge and its Legends&mdash;Similar Legends in other
Lands&mdash;The Devil&rsquo;s Pulpit near Tintern&mdash;Angelic Spirits&mdash;Welsh
Superstitions as to pronouncing the Name of the Evil
Spirit&mdash;The Bardic Tradition of the Creation&mdash;The Struggle
between Light and Darkness and its Symbolization</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap06">202</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER VII.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Cambrian Death-Portents&mdash;The Corpse-Bird&mdash;The Tan-Wedd&mdash;Listening
at the Church-Door&mdash;The Lledrith&mdash;The Gwrach
y Rhibyn&mdash;The Llandaff Gwrach&mdash;Ugliness of this Female
Apparition&mdash;The Black Maiden&mdash;The Cyhyraeth, or Crying
Spirit&mdash;Its Moans on Land and Sea&mdash;The St. Mellons Cyhyraeth&mdash;The
Groaning Spirit of Bedwellty</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap07">212</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER VIII.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">The Tolaeth Death Portent&mdash;Its various Forms&mdash;The Tolaeth
before Death&mdash;Ewythr Jenkin&rsquo;s Tolaeth&mdash;A modern Instance&mdash;The
Railway Victim&rsquo;s Warning&mdash;The Goblin Voice&mdash;The Voice
from the Cloud&mdash;Legend of the Lord and the Beggar&mdash;The
Goblin Funeral&mdash;The Horse&rsquo;s Skull&mdash;The Goblin Veil&mdash;The
Wraith of Llanllwch&mdash;Dogs of Hell&mdash;The Tale of Pwyll&mdash;Spiritual
Hunting Dogs&mdash;Origin of the Cwn Annwn</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap08">225</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="pgxiii" id="pgxiii">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>xiii]</a></span>CHAPTER IX.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">The Corpse Candle&mdash;Its Peculiarities&mdash;The Woman of Caerau&mdash;Grasping
a Corpse Candle&mdash;The Crwys Candle&mdash;Lights issuing
from the Mouth&mdash;Jesting with the Canwyll Corph&mdash;The Candle
at Pontfaen&mdash;The Three Candles at Golden Grove&mdash;Origin of
Death-Portents in Wales&mdash;Degree of Belief prevalent at the
Present Day&mdash;Origin of Spirits in General&mdash;The Supernatural&mdash;The
Question of a Future Life</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap09">238</a></td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>


<p class="center smlpadt"><span class="lrgfont"><a href="#book3">BOOK III.</a></span><br />
QUAINT OLD CUSTOMS.</p>

<div class="centered">
<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of contents for Book 3">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER I.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Serious Significance of seemingly Trivial Customs&mdash;Their Origins&mdash;Common
Superstitions&mdash;The Age we Live in&mdash;Days and
Seasons&mdash;New Year&rsquo;s Day&mdash;The Apple Gift&mdash;Lucky Acts on
New Year&rsquo;s Morning&mdash;The First Foot&mdash;Showmen&rsquo;s Superstitions&mdash;Levy
Dew Song&mdash;Happy New Year Carol&mdash;Twelfth
Night&mdash;The Mari Lwyd&mdash;The Penglog&mdash;The Cutty Wren&mdash;Tooling
and Sowling&mdash;St. Valentine&rsquo;s Day&mdash;St. Dewi&rsquo;s Day&mdash;The
Wearing of the Leek&mdash;The Traditional St. David&mdash;St.
Patrick&rsquo;s Day&mdash;St. Patrick a Welshman&mdash;Shrove Tuesday</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap01">250</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER II.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Sundry Lenten Customs&mdash;Mothering Sunday&mdash;Palm Sunday&mdash;Flowering
Sunday&mdash;Walking Barefoot to Church&mdash;Spiritual
Potency of Buns&mdash;Good Friday Superstitions&mdash;Making Christ&rsquo;s
Bed&mdash;Bad Odour of Friday&mdash;Unlucky Days&mdash;Holy Thursday&mdash;The
Eagle of Snowdon&mdash;New Clothing at Easter&mdash;Lifting&mdash;The
Crown of Porcelain&mdash;Stocsio&mdash;Ball-Playing in Churchyards&mdash;The
Tump of Lies&mdash;Dancing in Churchyards&mdash;Seeing
the Sun Dance&mdash;Calan Ebrill, or All Fools&rsquo; Day&mdash;May Day&mdash;The
Welsh Maypole&mdash;The Daughter of Lludd Llaw Ereint&mdash;Carrying
the Kings of Summer and Winter</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap02">266</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER III.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Midsummer Eve&mdash;The Druidic Ceremonies at Pontypridd&mdash;The
Snake Stone&mdash;Beltane Fires&mdash;Fourth of July Fires in America&mdash;St.
Ulric&rsquo;s Day&mdash;Carrying Cynog&mdash;Marketing on Tombstones&mdash;The
First Night of Winter&mdash;The Three Nights for
Spirits&mdash;The Tale of Thomas Williams the Preacher&mdash;All
Hallows Eve Festivities&mdash;Running through Fire&mdash;Quaint
Border Rhymes&mdash;The Puzzling Jug&mdash;Bobbing for Apples&mdash;The
Fiery Features of Guy Fawkes&rsquo; Day&mdash;St. Clement&rsquo;s Day&mdash;Stripping the Carpenter</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap03">277</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="pgxiv" id="pgxiv">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>xiv]</a></span>CHAPTER IV.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Nadolig, the Welsh Christmas&mdash;Bell-Ringing&mdash;Carols&mdash;Dancing
to the Music of the Waits&mdash;An Evening in Carmarthenshire&mdash;Shenkin
Harry, the Preacher, and the Jig Tune&mdash;Welsh
Morality&mdash;Eisteddfodau&mdash;Decorating Houses and Churches&mdash;The
Christmas Thrift-box&mdash;The Colliers&rsquo; Star&mdash;The Plygain&mdash;Pagan
Origin of Christmas Customs</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap04">286</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER V.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Courtship and Marriage&mdash;Planting Weeds and Rue on the Graves
of Old Bachelors&mdash;Special Significance of Flowers in connection
with Virginity&mdash;The Welsh Venus&mdash;Bundling, or Courting
Abed&mdash;Kissing Schools&mdash;Rhamanta&mdash;Lovers&rsquo; Superstitions&mdash;The
Maid&rsquo;s Trick&mdash;Dreaming on a Mutton Bone&mdash;Wheat and
Shovel&mdash;Garters in a Lovers&rsquo; Knot&mdash;Egg-Shell Cake&mdash;Sowing
Leeks&mdash;Twca and Sheath</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap05">298</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER VI.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Wedding Customs&mdash;The Bidding&mdash;Forms of Cymmhorth&mdash;The
Gwahoddwr&mdash;Horse-Weddings&mdash;Stealing a Bride&mdash;Obstructions
to the Bridal Party&mdash;The Gwyntyn&mdash;Chaining&mdash;Evergreen
Arches&mdash;Strewing Flowers&mdash;Throwing Rice and Shoes&mdash;Rosemary
in the Garden&mdash;Names after Marriage&mdash;The Coolstrin&mdash;The Ceffyl Pren</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap06">306</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER VII.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Death and Burial&mdash;The Gwylnos&mdash;Beer-drinking at Welsh
Funerals&mdash;Food and Drink over the Coffin&mdash;Sponge Cakes at
Modern Funerals&mdash;The Sin-eater&mdash;Welsh Denial that this
Custom ever existed&mdash;The Testimony concerning it&mdash;Superstitions
regarding Salt&mdash;Plate of Salt on Corpse&rsquo;s Breast&mdash;The
Scapegoat&mdash;The St. Tegla Cock and Hen&mdash;Welsh
Funeral Processions&mdash;Praying at Cross-roads&mdash;Superstition
regarding Criminals&rsquo; Graves&mdash;Hanging and Welsh Prejudice&mdash;The
Grassless Grave&mdash;Parson&rsquo;s Penny, or Offrwm&mdash;Old
Shoes to the Clerk&mdash;Arian y Rhaw, or Spade Money&mdash;Burials
without Coffin&mdash;The Sul Coffa&mdash;Planting and Strewing Graves with Flowers</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap07">321</a></td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pgxv" id="pgxv">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>xv]</a></span></p>

<p class="center smlpadt"><span class="lrgfont"><a href="#book4">BOOK IV.</a></span><br />
BELLS, WELLS, STONES, AND DRAGONS.</p>


<div class="centered">
<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of contents for Book 4">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER I.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Base of the Primeval Mythology&mdash;Bells and their Ghosts&mdash;The
Bell that committed Murder and was damned for it&mdash;The
Occult Powers of Bells&mdash;Their Work as Detectives, Doctors,
etc.&mdash;Legend of the Bell of Rhayader&mdash;St. Illtyd&rsquo;s Wonderful
Bell&mdash;The Golden Bell of Llandaff</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap01">338</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER II.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Mystic Wells&mdash;Their Good and Bad Dispositions&mdash;St. Winifred&rsquo;s
Well&mdash;The Legend of St. Winifred&mdash;Miracles&mdash;St. Tecla&rsquo;s Well&mdash;St.
Dwynwen&rsquo;s&mdash;Curing Love-sickness&mdash;St. Cynfran&rsquo;s&mdash;St.
Cynhafal&rsquo;s&mdash;Throwing Pins in Wells&mdash;Warts&mdash;Barry Island and
its Legends&mdash;Ffynon Gwynwy&mdash;Propitiatory Gifts to Wells&mdash;The
Dreadful Cursing Well of St. Elian&rsquo;s&mdash;Wells Flowing with
Milk&mdash;St. Illtyd&rsquo;s&mdash;Taff&rsquo;s Well&mdash;Sanford&rsquo;s Well&mdash;Origins of
Superstitions of this Class</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap02">345</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER III.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Personal Attributes of Legendary Welsh Stones&mdash;Stone Worship&mdash;Canna&rsquo;s
Stone Chair&mdash;Miraculous Removals of Stones&mdash;The
Walking Stone of Eitheinn&mdash;The Thigh Stone&mdash;The Talking
Stone in Pembrokeshire&mdash;The Expanding Stone&mdash;Magic Stones
in the &lsquo;Mabinogion&rsquo;&mdash;The Stone of Invisibility&mdash;The Stone of
Remembrance&mdash;Stone Thief-catchers&mdash;Stones of Healing&mdash;Stones
at Cross-roads&mdash;Memorials of King Arthur&mdash;Round
Tables, Carns, Pots, etc.&mdash;Arthur&rsquo;s Quoits&mdash;The Gigantic
Rock-tossers of Old&mdash;Mol Walbec and the Pebble in her Shoe&mdash;The
Giant of Trichrug&mdash;Giants and the Mythology of the
Heavens&mdash;The Legend of Rhitta Gawr</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap03">361</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER IV.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Early Inscribed Stones&mdash;The Stone Pillar of Banwan Bryddin,
near Neath&mdash;Catastrophe accompanying its Removal&mdash;The
Sagranus Stone and the White Lady&mdash;The Dancing Stones of
Stackpool&mdash;Human Beings changed to Stones&mdash;St. Ceyna and
the Serpents&mdash;The Devil&rsquo;s Stone at Llanarth&mdash;Rocking Stones
and their accompanying Superstitions&mdash;The Suspended Altar
of Loin-Garth&mdash;Cromlechs and their Fairy Legends&mdash;The
Fairies&rsquo; Castle at St. Nicholas, Glamorganshire&mdash;The Stone of
the Wolf Bitch&mdash;The Welsh Melusina&mdash;Parc-y-Bigwrn Cromlech&mdash;Connection
of these Stones with Ancient Druidism</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap04">373</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="pgxvi" id="pgxvi">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>xvi]</a></span>CHAPTER V.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdhang">Baleful Spirits of Storm&mdash;The Shower at the Magic Fountain&mdash;Obstacles
in the way of Treasure-Seekers&mdash;The Red Lady of
Paviland&mdash;The Fall of Coychurch Tower&mdash;Thunder and Lightning
evoked by Digging&mdash;The Treasure-Chest under Moel
Arthur in the Vale of Clwyd&mdash;Modern Credulity&mdash;The Cavern
of the Ravens&mdash;The Eagle-guarded Coffer of Castell Coch&mdash;Sleeping
Warriors as Treasure-Guarders&mdash;The Dragon which
St. Samson drove out of Wales&mdash;Dragons in the Mabinogion&mdash;Whence
came the Red Dragon of Wales?&mdash;The Original
Dragon of Mythology&mdash;Prototypes of the Welsh Caverns and
Treasure-Hills&mdash;The Goblins of Electricity</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap05">385</a></td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>


<div class="figcenter imgw2">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg02.jpg" width="200" height="253"
alt="Fairies" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg1" id="pg1">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>1]</a></span></p>

<p class="center padtop xlrgfont">BRITISH GOBLINS.</p>



<h2 class="padtop"><a name="book1" id="book1"></a><span class="lrgfont">BOOK I.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smlfont">THE REALM OF FAERIE.</span></h2>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At eve, the primrose path along,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The milkmaid shortens with a song<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Her solitary way;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She sees the fairies with their queen<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Trip hand-in-hand the circled green,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And hears them raise, at times unseen,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">The ear-enchanting lay.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Rev. John Logan</span>: <i>Ode to Spring</i>, 1780.</p>
</div>


<h3 class="padtop"><a name="bk1chap01" id="bk1chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Fairy Tales and the Ancient Mythology&mdash;The Compensations of
Science&mdash;Existing Belief in Fairies in Wales&mdash;The Faith of Culture&mdash;The
Credulity of Ignorance&mdash;The Old-Time Welsh Fairyland&mdash;The
Fairy King&mdash;The Legend of St. Collen and Gwyn ap Nudd&mdash;The
Green Meadows of the Sea&mdash;Fairies at Market&mdash;The Land
of Mystery.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>With regard to other divisions of the field of folk-lore,
the views of scholars differ, but in the realm
of faerie these differences are reconciled; it is agreed
that fairy tales are relics of the ancient mythology;
and the philosophers stroll hand in hand harmoniously.
This is as it should be, in a realm about
which cluster such delightful memories of the most
poetic period of life&mdash;childhood, before scepticism
has crept in as ignorance slinks out. The knowledge
which introduced scepticism is infinitely more
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg2" id="pg2">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>2]</a></span>
valuable than the faith it displaced; but, in spite
of that, there be few among us who have not felt
evanescent regrets for the displacement by the <i>foi
scientifique</i> of the old faith in fairies. There was
something so peculiarly fascinating in that old belief,
that &lsquo;once upon a time&rsquo; the world was less practical
in its facts than now, less commonplace and humdrum,
less subject to the inexorable laws of gravitation,
optics, and the like. What dramas it has
yielded! What poems, what dreams, what delights!</p>

<p>But since the knowledge of our maturer years
destroys all that, it is with a degree of satisfaction
we can turn to the consolations of the fairy mythology.
The beloved tales of old are &lsquo;not true&rsquo;&mdash;but
at least they are not mere idle nonsense, and
they have a good and sufficient reason for being in
the world; we may continue to respect them. The
wit who observed that the final cause of fairy
legends is &lsquo;to afford sport for people who ruthlessly
track them to their origin,&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> expressed a grave truth
in jocular form. Since one can no longer rest in
peace with one&rsquo;s ignorance, it is a comfort to the
lover of fairy legends to find that he need not sweep
them into the grate as so much rubbish; on the
contrary they become even more enchanting in the
crucible of science than they were in their old
character.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>
&lsquo;Saturday Review,&rsquo; October 20, 1877.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>Among the vulgar in Wales, the belief in fairies
is less nearly extinct than casual observers would be
likely to suppose. Even educated people who dwell
in Wales, and have dwelt there all their lives, cannot
always be classed as other than casual observers
in this field. There are some such residents who
have paid special attention to the subject, and have
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg3" id="pg3">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>3]</a></span>
formed an opinion as to the extent of prevalence of
popular credulity herein; but most Welsh people of
the educated class, I find, have no opinion, beyond
a vague surprise that the question should be raised
at all. So lately as the year 1858, a learned writer
in the &lsquo;Arch&aelig;ologia Cambrensis&rsquo; declared that &lsquo;the
traveller may now pass from one end of the Principality
to the other, without his being shocked or
amused, as the case may be, by any of the fairy
legends or popular tales which used to pass current
from father to son.&rsquo; But in the same periodical,
eighteen years later, I find Mr. John Walter
Lukis (President of the Cardiff Naturalists&rsquo; Society),
asserting with regard to the cromlechs, tumuli, and
ancient camps in Glamorganshire: &lsquo;There are
always fairy tales and ghost stories connected with
them; some, though <em>fully believed in</em> by the inhabitants
of those localities, are often of the most absurd
character; in fact, the more ridiculous they are, the
more they are believed in.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> My own observation
leads me to support the testimony of the last-named
witness. Educated Europeans generally conceive
that this sort of belief is extinct in their own land,
or, at least their own immediate section of that land.
They accredit such degree of belief as may remain,
in this enlightened age, to some remote part&mdash;to
the south, if they dwell in the north; to the north,
if they dwell in the south. But especially they
accredit it to a previous age: in Wales, to last
century, or the middle ages, or the days of King
Arthur. The rector of Merthyr, being an elderly
man, accredits it to his youth. &lsquo;I am old enough
to remember,&rsquo; he wrote me under date of January
30th, 1877, &lsquo;that these tales were thoroughly
believed in among country folk forty or fifty years
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg4" id="pg4">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>4]</a></span>
ago.&rsquo; People of superior culture have held this
kind of faith concerning fairy-lore, it seems to me,
in every age, except the more remote. Chaucer
held it, almost five centuries ago, and wrote:<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In olde dayes of the Kyng Arthour, ...<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Al was this lond fulfilled of fayrie; ...<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I speke of many hundrid yer ago;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But now can no man see non elves mo.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>Dryden held it, two hundred years later, and said
of the fairies:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I speak of ancient times, for now the swain<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Returning late may pass the woods in vain,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And never hope to see the nightly train.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>In all later days, other authors have written the
same sort of thing; it is not thus now, say they, but
it was recently thus. The truth, probably, is that
if you will but sink down to the level of common
life, of ignorant life, especially in rural neighbourhoods,
there you will find the same old beliefs
prevailing, in about the same degree to which they
have ever prevailed, within the past five hundred
years. To sink to this level successfully, one must
become a living unit in that life, as I have done in
Wales and elsewhere, from time to time. Then one
will hear the truth from, or at least the true sentiments
of, the class he seeks to know. The practice
of every generation in thus relegating fairy belief
to a date just previous to its own does not apply,
however, to superstitious beliefs in general; for,
concerning many such beliefs, their greater or less
prevalence at certain dates (as in the history of
witchcraft) is matter of well-ascertained fact. I confine
the argument, for the present, strictly to the
domain of faerie. In this domain, the prevalent belief
in Wales may be said to rest with the ignorant, to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg5" id="pg5">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>5]</a></span>
be strongest in rural and mining districts, to be
childlike and poetic, and to relate to anywhere
except the spot where the speaker dwells&mdash;as to
the next parish, to the next county, to the distant
mountains, or to the shadow-land of Gwerddonau
Llion, the green meadows of the sea.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>
&lsquo;Arch&aelig;ologia Cambrensis,&rsquo; 4th Se., vi., 174.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>
&lsquo;Wyf of Bathes Tale,&rsquo; &lsquo;Canterbury Tales.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>In Arthur&rsquo;s day and before that, the people of
South Wales regarded North Wales as pre-eminently
the land of faerie. In the popular
imagination, that distant country was the chosen
abode of giants, monsters, magicians, and all the
creatures of enchantment. Out of it came the
fairies, on their visits to the sunny land of the south.
The chief philosopher of that enchanted region was
a giant who sat on a mountain peak and watched
the stars. It had a wizard monarch called Gwydion,
who possessed the power of changing himself into
the strangest possible forms. The peasant who
dwelt on the shores of Dyfed (Demetia) saw in the
distance, beyond the blue waves of the ocean,
shadowy mountain summits piercing the clouds, and
guarding this mystic region in solemn majesty.
Thence rolled down upon him the storm-clouds
from the home of the tempest; thence streamed up
the winter sky the flaming banners of the Northern
lights; thence rose through the illimitable darkness
on high, the star-strewn pathway of the fairy king.
These details are current in the Mabinogion, those
brilliant stories of Welsh enchantment, so gracefully
done into English by Lady Charlotte Guest,<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> and it
is believed that all the Mabinogion in which these
details were found were written in Dyfed. This
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg6" id="pg6">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>6]</a></span>
was the region on the west, now covered by Pembroke,
Carmarthen, and Cardigan shires.</p>

<p>More recently than the time above indicated,
special traditions have located fairyland in the Vale
of Neath, in Glamorganshire. Especially does a
certain steep and rugged crag there, called Craig y
Ddinas, bear a distinctly awful reputation as a
stronghold of the fairy tribe.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> Its caves and
crevices have been their favourite haunt for many
centuries, and upon this rock was held the court of
the last fairies who have ever appeared in Wales.
Needless to say there are men still living who
remember the visits of the fairies to Craig y Ddinas,
although they aver the little folk are no longer seen
there. It is a common remark that the Methodists
drove them away; indeed, there are numberless
stories which show the fairies to have been animated,
when they were still numerous in Wales, by a
cordial antipathy for all dissenting preachers. In
this antipathy, it may be here observed, teetotallers
were included.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>
&lsquo;The Mabinogion, from the Welsh of the Llyfr Coch o Hergest.&rsquo;
Translated, with notes, by Lady Charlotte Guest. (New Edition,
London, 1877.)</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>
There are two hills in Glamorganshire called by this name, and
others elsewhere in Wales.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>The sovereign of the fairies, and their especial
guardian and protector, was one Gwyn ap Nudd.
He was also ruler over the goblin tribe in general.
His name often occurs in ancient Welsh poetry. An
old bard of the fourteenth century, who, led away
by the fairies, rode into a turf bog on a mountain
one dark night, called it the &lsquo;fish-pond of Gwyn ap
Nudd, a palace for goblins and their tribe.&rsquo; The association
of this legendary character with the goblin
fame of the Vale of Neath will appear, when it is mentioned
that Nudd in Welsh is pronounced simply
Neath, and not otherwise. As for the fairy queen,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg7" id="pg7">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>7]</a></span>
she does not seem to have any existence among
Cambrian goblins. It is nevertheless thought by
Cambrian etymologists, that Morgana is derived from
Mor Gwyn, the white maid; and the Welsh proper
name Morgan can hardly fail to be mentioned in this
connection, though it is not necessarily significant.</p>

<p>The legend of St. Collen, in which Gwyn ap Nudd
figures, represents him as king of Annwn (hell, or
the shadow land) as well as of the fairies.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> Collen
was passing a period of mortification as a hermit, in
a cell under a rock on a mountain. There he one day
overheard two men talking about Gwyn ap Nudd,
and giving him this twofold kingly character. Collen
cried out to the men to go away and hold their
tongues, instead of talking about devils. For this
Collen was rebuked, as the king of fairyland had an
objection to such language. The saint was summoned
to meet the king on the hill-top at noon, and
after repeated refusals, he finally went there; but he
carried a flask of holy water with him. &lsquo;And when
he came there he saw the fairest castle he had ever
beheld, and around it the best appointed troops, and
numbers of minstrels and every kind of music of
voice and string, and steeds with youths upon them,
the comeliest in the world, and maidens of elegant
aspect, sprightly, light of foot, of graceful apparel,
and in the bloom of youth; and every magnificence
becoming the court of a puissant sovereign. And
he beheld a courteous man on the top of the castle
who bade him enter, saying that the king was
waiting for him to come to meat. And Collen went
into the castle, and when he came there the king
was sitting in a golden chair. And he welcomed
Collen honourably, and desired him to eat, assuring
him that besides what he saw, he should have the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg8" id="pg8">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>8]</a></span>
most luxurious of every dainty and delicacy that the
mind could desire, and should be supplied with
every drink and liquor that the heart could wish;
and that there should be in readiness for him every
luxury of courtesy and service, of banquet and of
honourable entertainment, of rank and of presents,
and every respect and welcome due to a man of his
wisdom. &ldquo;I will not eat the leaves of the trees,&rdquo;
said Collen. &ldquo;Didst thou ever see men of better
equipment than these of red and blue?&rdquo; asked the
king. &ldquo;Their equipment is good enough,&rdquo; said
Collen, &ldquo;for such equipment as it is.&rdquo; &ldquo;What kind
of equipment is that?&rdquo; said the king. Then said
Collen, &ldquo;The red on the one part signifies burning,
and the blue on the other signifies coldness.&rdquo;
And with that Collen drew out his flask and threw
the holy water on their heads, whereupon they
vanished from his sight, so that there was neither
castle nor troops, nor men, nor maidens, nor music,
nor song, nor steeds, nor youths, nor banquet, nor
the appearance of anything whatever but the green
hillocks.&rsquo;</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>
&lsquo;Greal&rsquo; (8vo. London, 1805), p. 337.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>A third form of Welsh popular belief as to the
whereabouts of fairyland corresponds with the
Avalon of the Arthurian legends. The green
meadows of the sea, called in the triads Gwerddonau
Llion, are the</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">Green fairy islands, reposing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In sunlight and beauty on ocean&rsquo;s calm breast.<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>Many extraordinary superstitions survive with regard
to these islands. They were supposed to be
the abode of the souls of certain Druids, who, not
holy enough to enter the heaven of the Christians,
were still not wicked enough to be condemned to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg9" id="pg9">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>9]</a></span>
the tortures of annwn, and so were accorded a place
in this romantic sort of purgatorial paradise. In the
fifth century a voyage was made, by the British
king Gavran, in search of these enchanted islands;
with his family he sailed away into the unknown
waters, and was never heard of more. This voyage
is commemorated in the triads as one of the Three
Losses by Disappearance, the two others being
Merlin&rsquo;s and Madog&rsquo;s. Merlin sailed away in a
ship of glass; Madog sailed in search of America;
and neither returned, but both disappeared for ever.
In Pembrokeshire and southern Carmarthenshire
are to be found traces of this belief. There are
sailors on that romantic coast who still talk of the
green meadows of enchantment lying in the Irish
channel to the west of Pembrokeshire. Sometimes
they are visible to the eyes of mortals for a brief
space, when suddenly they vanish. There are
traditions of sailors who, in the early part of the
present century, actually went ashore on the fairy
islands&mdash;not knowing that they were such, until they
returned to their boats, when they were filled with
awe at seeing the islands disappear from their sight,
neither sinking in the sea, nor floating away upon
the waters, but simply vanishing suddenly. The
fairies inhabiting these islands are said to have
regularly attended the markets at Milford Haven
and Laugharne. They made their purchases without
speaking, laid down their money and departed,
always leaving the exact sum required, which they
seemed to know, without asking the price of anything.
Sometimes they were invisible, but they
were often seen, by sharp-eyed persons. There was
always one special butcher at Milford Haven upon
whom the fairies bestowed their patronage, instead
of distributing their favours indiscriminately. The
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg10" id="pg10">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>10]</a></span>
Milford Haven folk could see the green fairy islands
distinctly, lying out a short distance from land; and
the general belief was that they were densely peopled
with fairies. It was also said that the latter went to
and fro between the islands and the shore through
a subterranean gallery under the bottom of the sea.</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg03.jpg" width="375" height="259"
alt="Two fairies visit a market stall" />
</div>

<p class="caption">FAIRIES MARKETING AT LAUGHARNE.</p>

<p>That isolated cape which forms the county of
Pembroke was looked upon as a land of mystery by
the rest of Wales long after it had been settled by
the Flemings in 1113. A secret veil was supposed
to cover this sea-girt promontory; the inhabitants
talked in an unintelligible jargon that was neither
English, nor French, nor Welsh; and out of its misty
darkness came fables of wondrous sort, and accounts
of miracles marvellous beyond belief. Mythology
and Christianity spoke together from this strange
country, and one could not tell at which to be most
amazed, the pagan or the priest.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a>
Parry&rsquo;s &lsquo;Welsh Melodies.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg11" id="pg11">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>11]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk1chap02" id="bk1chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Classification of Welsh Fairies&mdash;General Designation&mdash;Habits of the
Tylwyth Teg&mdash;Ellyllon, or Elves&mdash;Shakspeare&rsquo;s Use of Welsh
Folk-Lore&mdash;Rowli Pugh and the Ellyll&mdash;Household Story Roots&mdash;The
Ellylldan&mdash;The Pooka&mdash;Puck Valley, Breconshire&mdash;Where
Shakspeare got his Puck&mdash;Pwca&rsquo;r Trwyn&mdash;Usual Form of
the Pooka Story&mdash;Coblynau, or Mine Fairies&mdash;The Knockers&mdash;Miners&rsquo;
Superstitions&mdash;Basilisks and Fire Fiends&mdash;A Fairy Coal-mine&mdash;The
Dwarfs of Cae Caled&mdash;Counterparts of the Coblynau&mdash;The
Bwbach, or Household Fairy&mdash;Legend of the Bwbach and
the Preacher&mdash;Bogies and Hobgoblins&mdash;Carrying Mortals through
the Air&mdash;Counterparts and Originals.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>Fairies being creatures of the imagination, it is not
possible to classify them by fixed and immutable
rules. In the exact sciences, there are laws which
never vary, or if they vary, their very eccentricity is
governed by precise rules. Even in the largest
sense, comparative mythology must demean itself
modestly in order to be tolerated in the severe
company of the sciences. In presenting his subjects,
therefore, the writer in this field can only govern
himself by the purpose of orderly arrangement. To
secure the maximum of system, for the sake of the
student who employs the work for reference and
comparison, with the minimum of dullness, for the
sake of the general reader, is perhaps the limit of
a reasonable ambition. Keightley<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> divides into
four classes the Scandinavian elements of popular
belief as to fairies, viz.: 1. The Elves; 2. The
Dwarfs, or Trolls; 3. The Nisses; and 4. The Necks,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg12" id="pg12">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>12]</a></span>
Mermen, and Mermaids. How entirely arbitrary
this division is, the student of Scandinavian folk-lore
at once perceives. Yet it is perhaps as satisfactory
as another. The fairies of Wales may be divided
into five classes, if analogy be not too sharply
insisted on. Thus we have, 1. The Ellyllon, or
elves; 2. The Coblynau, or mine fairies; 3. The
Bwbachod, or household fairies; 4. The Gwragedd
Annwn, or fairies of the lakes and streams; and
5. The Gwyllion, or mountain fairies.</p>

<p>The modern Welsh name for fairies is y Tylwyth
Teg, the fair folk or family. This is sometimes
lengthened into y Tylwyth Teg yn y Coed, the
fair family in the wood, or Tylwyth Teg y Mwn,
the fair folk of the mine. They are seen dancing
in moonlight nights on the velvety grass, clad in
airy and flowing robes of blue, green, white, or
scarlet&mdash;details as to colour not usually met, I think,
in accounts of fairies. They are spoken of as
bestowing blessings on those mortals whom they
select to be thus favoured; and again are called
Bendith y Mamau, or their mother&rsquo;s blessing, that
is to say, good little children whom it is a pleasure
to know. To name the fairies by a harsh epithet
is to invoke their anger; to speak of them in flattering
phrase is to propitiate their good offices. The
student of fairy mythology perceives in this propitiatory
mode of speech a fact of wide significance.
It can be traced in numberless lands, and back to
the beginning of human history, among the cloud-hung
peaks of Central Asia. The Greeks spoke
of the furies as the Eumenides, or gracious ones;
Highlanders mentioned by Sir Walter Scott uncover
to the gibbet and call it &lsquo;the kind gallows;&rsquo; the
Dayak will not name the small-pox, but calls it &lsquo;the
chief;&rsquo; the Laplander calls the bear &lsquo;the old man
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg13" id="pg13">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>13]</a></span>
with the fur coat;&rsquo; in Ammam the tiger is called
&lsquo;grandfather;&rsquo; and it is thought that the maxim,
&lsquo;Speak only good of the dead,&rsquo; came originally from
the notion of propitiating the ghost of the departed,<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a>
who, in laying off this mortal garb, had become
endowed with new powers of harming his late
acquaintance.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a>
&lsquo;Fairy Mythology&rsquo; (Bohn&rsquo;s Ed.), 78.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a>
John Fiske, &lsquo;Myths and Myth-makers,&rsquo; 223.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>The Ellyllon are the pigmy elves who haunt the
groves and valleys, and correspond pretty closely
with the English elves. The English name was
probably derived from the Welsh <i>el</i>, a spirit, <i>elf</i>, an
element; there is a whole brood of words of this
class in the Welsh language, expressing every
variety of flowing, gliding, spirituality, devilry,
angelhood, and goblinism. Ellyllon (the plural of
ellyll), is also doubtless allied with the Hebrew
Elilim, having with it an identity both of origin and
meaning.<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> The poet Davydd ab Gwilym, in a
humorous account of his troubles in a mist, in the
year 1340, says:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Yr ydoedd ym mhob gobant<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ellyllon mingeimion gant.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There was in every hollow<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A hundred wrymouthed elves.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>The hollows, or little dingles, are still the places
where the peasant, belated on his homeward way
from fair or market, looks for the ellyllon, but fails
to find them. Their food is specified in Welsh
folk-lore as fairy butter and fairy victuals, ymenyn
tylwyth teg and bwyd ellyllon; the latter the toadstool,
or poisonous mushroom, and the former a
butter-resembling substance found at great depths
in the crevices of limestone rocks, in sinking for
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg14" id="pg14">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>14]</a></span>
lead ore. Their gloves, menyg ellyllon, are the
bells of the digitalis, or fox-glove, the leaves of
which are well known to be a strong sedative.
Their queen&mdash;for though there is no fairy-queen in
the large sense that Gwyn ap Nudd is the fairy-king,
there is a queen of the elves&mdash;is none other than the
Shakspearean fairy spoken of by Mercutio, who
comes</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In shape no bigger than an agate-stone<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the forefinger of an alderman.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>Shakspeare&rsquo;s use of Welsh folk-lore, it should be
noted, was extensive and peculiarly faithful.
Keightley in his &lsquo;Fairy Mythology&rsquo; rates the bard
soundly for his inaccurate use of English fairy
superstitions; but the reproach will not apply as
regards Wales. From his Welsh informant Shakspeare
got Mab, which is simply the Cymric for a
little child, and the root of numberless words signifying
babyish, childish, love for children (mabgar),
kitten (mabgath), prattling (mabiaith), and the like,
most notable of all which in this connection is
mabinogi, the singular of Mabinogion, the romantic
tales of enchantment told to the young in by-gone
ages.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a>
Pughe&rsquo;s &lsquo;Welsh Dictionary.&rsquo; (Denbigh, 1866.)</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>
&lsquo;Romeo and Juliet,&rsquo; Act II., Sc. 4.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>In the Huntsman&rsquo;s Rest Inn at Peterstone-super-Ely,
near Cardiff, sat a group of humble folk one
afternoon, when I chanced to stop there to rest
myself by the chimney-side, after a long walk
through green lanes. The men were drinking
their tankards of ale and smoking their long clay
pipes; and they were talking about their dogs and
horses, the crops, the hard times, and the prospect
of bettering themselves by emigration to America.
On this latter theme I was able to make myself
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg15" id="pg15">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>15]</a></span>
interesting, and acquaintance was thereupon easily
established on a friendly footing. I led the conversation
into the domain of folk-lore; and this
book is richer in illustration on many a page, in consequence.
Among others, this tale was told:</p>

<p>On a certain farm in Glamorganshire lived Rowli
Pugh, who was known far and wide for his evil luck.
Nothing prospered that he turned his hand to; his
crops proved poor, though his neighbours&rsquo; might be
good; his roof leaked in spite of all his mending;
his walls remained damp when every one else&rsquo;s walls
were dry; and above all, his wife was so feeble she
could do no work. His fortunes at last seemed so
hard that he resolved to sell out and clear out, no
matter at what loss, and try to better himself in
another country&mdash;not by going to America, for there
was no America in those days. Well, and if there
was, the poor Welshman didn&rsquo;t know it. So as
Rowli was sitting on his wall one day, hard by his
cottage, musing over his sad lot, he was accosted by
a little man who asked him what was the matter.
Rowli looked around in surprise, but before he could
answer the ellyll said to him with a grin, &lsquo;There,
there, hold your tongue, I know more about you
than you ever dreamed of knowing. You&rsquo;re in
trouble, and you&rsquo;re going away. But you may stay,
now I&rsquo;ve spoken to you. Only bid your good wife
leave the candle burning when she goes to bed, and
say no more about it.&rsquo; With this the ellyll kicked
up his heels and disappeared. Of course the farmer
did as he was bid, and from that day he prospered.
Every night Catti Jones, his wife,<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> set the candle
out, swept the hearth, and went to bed; and
every night the fairies would come and do her
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg16" id="pg16">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>16]</a></span>
baking and brewing, her washing and mending,
sometimes even furnishing their own tools and
materials. The farmer was now always clean of
linen and whole of garb; he had good bread and
good beer; he felt like a new man, and worked
like one. Everything prospered with him now as
nothing had before. His crops were good, his barns
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg17" id="pg17">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>17]</a></span>
were tidy, his cattle were sleek, his pigs the fattest
in the parish. So things went on for three years.
One night Catti Jones took it into her head that she
must have a peep at the fair family who did her
work for her; and curiosity conquering prudence,
she arose while Rowli Pugh lay snoring, and peeped
through a crack in the door. There they were, a
jolly company of ellyllon, working away like mad,
and laughing and dancing as madly as they worked.
Catti was so amused that in spite of herself she fell
to laughing too; and at sound of her voice the
ellyllon scattered like mist before the wind, leaving
the room empty. They never came back any more;
but the farmer was now prosperous, and his bad luck
never returned to plague him.</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg04.jpg" width="375" height="554"
alt="Rowli talks to the fairy" />
</div>

<p class="caption">ROWLI AND THE ELLYLL.</p>

<p>The resemblance of this tale to many he has
encountered will at once be noted by the student of
comparative folk-lore. He will also observe that it
trenches on the domain of another class in my own
enumeration, viz., that of the Bwbach, or household
fairy. This is the stone over which one is constantly
stumbling in this field of scientific research. Mr.
Baring-Gould&rsquo;s idea that all household tales are
reducible to a primeval root (in the same or a
similar manner that we trace words to their roots),
though most ingeniously illustrated by him, is constantly
involved in trouble of the sort mentioned.
He encounters the obstacle which lies in the path
of all who walk this way. His roots sometimes get
inextricably gnarled and intertwisted with each
other. But some effort of this sort is imperative,
and we must do the best we can with our materials.
Stories of the class of Grimm&rsquo;s Witchelm&auml;nner
(Kinder und Hausm&auml;rchen) will be recalled
by the legend of Rowli Pugh as here told. The
German Hausm&auml;nner are elves of a domestic turn,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg18" id="pg18">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>18]</a></span>
sometimes mischievous and sometimes useful, but
usually looking for some material reward for their
labours. So with the English goblin named by
Milton in &lsquo;L&rsquo;Allegro,&rsquo; which drudges,</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To earn his cream-bowl duly set.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a>
Until recently, Welsh women retained their maiden names even
after marriage.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>The Ellylldan is a species of elf exactly corresponding
to the English Will-o&rsquo;-wisp, the Scandinavian
Lyktgubhe, and the Breton Sand Yan y Tad.
The Welsh word dan means fire; dan also means
a lure; the compound word suggests a luring elf-fire.
The Breton Sand Yan y Tad (St. John and
Father)<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> is a double ignis fatuus fairy, carrying
at its finger-ends five lights, which spin round like
a wheel. The negroes of the southern seaboard
states of America invest this goblin with an exaggeration
of the horrible peculiarly their own. They
call it Jack-muh-lantern, and describe it as a hideous
creature five feet in height, with goggle-eyes and
huge mouth, its body covered with long hair, and
which goes leaping and bounding through the air
like a gigantic grasshopper. This frightful apparition
is stronger than any man, and swifter than any
horse, and compels its victims to follow it into the
swamp, where it leaves them to die.</p>

<p>Like all goblins of this class, the Ellylldan was,
of course, seen dancing about in marshy grounds,
into which it led the belated wanderer; but, as a
distinguished resident in Wales has wittily said, the
poor elf &lsquo;is now starved to death, and his breath is
taken from him; his light is quenched for ever by
the improving farmer, who has drained the bog;
and, instead of the rank decaying vegetation of the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg19" id="pg19">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>19]</a></span>
autumn, where bitterns and snipes delighted to
secrete themselves, crops of corn and potatoes are
grown.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></p>

<p>A poetic account by a modern character, called
Iolo the Bard, is thus condensed: &lsquo;One night,
when the moon had gone down, as I was sitting on
a hill-top, the Ellylldan passed by. I followed it
into the valley. We crossed plashes of water where
the tops of bulrushes peeped above, and where the
lizards lay silently on the surface, looking at us with
an unmoved stare. The frogs sat croaking and
swelling their sides, but ceased as they raised a
melancholy eye at the Ellylldan. The wild fowl,
sleeping with their heads under their wings, made a
low cackle as we went by. A bittern awoke and
rose with a scream into the air. I felt the trail of
the eels and leeches peering about, as I waded
through the pools. On a slimy stone a toad sat
sucking poison from the night air. The Ellylldan
glowed bravely in the slumbering vapours. It rose
airily over the bushes that drooped in the ooze.
When I lingered or stopped, it waited for me, but
dwindled gradually away to a speck barely perceptible.
But as soon as I moved on again, it
would shoot up suddenly and glide before. A bat
came flying round and round us, flapping its wings
heavily. Screech-owls stared silently at us with
their broad eyes. Snails and worms crawled about.
The fine threads of a spider&rsquo;s web gleamed in the
light of the Ellylldan. Suddenly it shot away from
me, and in the distance joined a ring of its fellows,
who went dancing slowly round and round in a
goblin dance, which sent me off to sleep.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a>
Keightley, &lsquo;Fairy Mythology,&rsquo; 441.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a>
Hon. W.&nbsp;O. Stanley, M.P., in &lsquo;Notes and Queries.&rsquo;</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a>
&lsquo;The Vale of Glamorgan.&rsquo; (London, 1839.)</p>
</div>
</div>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg20" id="pg20">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>20]</a></span></p>

<h4>V.</h4>

<p>Pwca, or Pooka, is but another name for the Ellylldan,
as our Puck is another name for the Will-o&rsquo;-wisp;
but in both cases the shorter term has a more
poetic flavour and a wider latitude. The name
Puck was originally applied to the whole race of
English fairies, and there still be few of the realm
who enjoy a wider popularity than Puck, in spite of
his mischievous attributes. Part of this popularity
is due to the poets, especially to Shakspeare. I
have alluded to the bard&rsquo;s accurate knowledge of
Welsh folk-lore; the subject is really one of unique
interest, in view of the inaccuracy charged upon him
as to the English fairyland. There is a Welsh
tradition to the effect that Shakspeare received his
knowledge of the Cambrian fairies from his friend
Richard Price, son of Sir John Price, of the priory
of Brecon. It is even claimed that Cwm Pwca, or
Puck Valley, a part of the romantic glen of the
Clydach, in Breconshire, is the original scene of the
&lsquo;Midsummer Night&rsquo;s Dream&rsquo;&mdash;a fancy as light and
airy as Puck himself.<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> Anyhow, there Cwm Pwca
is, and in the sylvan days, before Frere and Powell&rsquo;s
ironworks were set up there, it is said to have been
as full of goblins as a Methodist&rsquo;s head is of piety.
And there are in Wales other places bearing like
names, where Pwca&rsquo;s pranks are well remembered
by old inhabitants. The range given to the popular
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg21" id="pg21">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>21]</a></span>
fancy in Wales is expressed with fidelity by
Shakspeare&rsquo;s words in the mouth of Puck:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I&rsquo;ll follow you, I&rsquo;ll lead you about a round,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sometime a horse I&rsquo;ll be, sometime a hound,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>The various stories I have encountered bear out
these details almost without an omission.</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1 smlpadb">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg05.png" width="375" height="480"
alt="A sketch of a pwca" />
</div>

<p>In his own proper character, however, Pwca has
a sufficiently grotesque elfish aspect. It is stated
that a Welsh peasant who was asked to give an
idea of the appearance of Pwca, drew the above
figure with a bit of coal.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg22" id="pg22">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>22]</a></span>
A servant girl who attended to the cattle on the
Trwyn farm, near Abergwyddon, used to take food
to &lsquo;Master Pwca,&rsquo; as she called the elf. A bowl
of fresh milk and a slice of white bread were the
component parts of the goblin&rsquo;s repast, and were
placed on a certain spot where he got them. One
night the girl, moved by the spirit of mischief, drank
the milk and ate most of the bread, leaving for
Master Pwca only water and crusts. Next morning
she found that the fastidious fairy had left the
food untouched. Not long after, as the girl was
passing the lonely spot, where she had hitherto left
Pwca his food, she was seized under the arm pits
by fleshly hands (which, however, she could not see),
and subjected to a castigation of a most mortifying
character. Simultaneously there fell upon her ear
in good set Welsh a warning not to repeat her
offence on peril of still worse treatment. This
story &lsquo;is thoroughly believed in there to this
day.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p>

<p>I visited the scene of the story, a farm near
Abergwyddon (now called Abercarne), and heard a
great deal more of the exploits of that particular
Pwca, to which I will refer again. The most singular
fact of the matter is that although at least a century
has elapsed, and some say several centuries, since
the exploits in question, you cannot find a Welsh
peasant in the parish but knows all about Pwca&rsquo;r
Trwyn.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a>
According to a letter written by the poet Campbell to Mrs.
Fletcher, in 1833, and published in her Autobiography, it was thought
Shakspeare went in person to see this magic valley. &lsquo;It is no later than
yesterday,&rsquo; wrote Campbell, &lsquo;that I discovered a probability&mdash;almost
near a certainty&mdash;that Shakspeare visited friends in the very town
(Brecon in Wales) where Mrs. Siddons was born, and that he there
found in a neighbouring glen, called &ldquo;The Valley of Fairy Puck,&rdquo; the
principal machinery of his &ldquo;Midsummer Night&rsquo;s Dream.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a>
&lsquo;Midsummer Night&rsquo;s Dream,&rsquo; Act III., Sc. 3.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a>
&lsquo;Arch&aelig;ologia Cambrensis,&rsquo; 4th Se., vi., 175. (1875.)</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>The most familiar form of the Pwca story is one
which I have encountered in several localities, varying
so little in its details that each account would
be interchangeable with another by the alteration of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg23" id="pg23">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>23]</a></span>
local names.
This form
presents a
peasant who
is returning
home from
his work, or from a fair, when he sees
a light travelling before him. Looking
closer he perceives that it is carried
by a dusky little figure, holding a lantern
or candle at arm&rsquo;s length over its head.
He follows it for several miles, and
suddenly finds himself on the brink of a
frightful precipice. From far down
below there rises to his ears the sound
of a foaming torrent. At the same
moment the little goblin with the lantern
springs across the chasm, alighting on
the opposite side; raises the light again
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg24" id="pg24">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>24]</a></span>
high over its head, utters a loud and malicious
laugh, blows out its candle and disappears up the
opposite hill, leaving the awestruck peasant to get
home as best he can.</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg06.jpg" width="375" height="600"
alt="A man encounters a pwca; coblynau at work" />
</div>

<p class="caption">(TOP) PWCA. (BOTTOM) COBLYNAU.</p>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>Under the general title of Coblynau I class the
fairies which haunt the mines, quarries and underground
regions of Wales, corresponding to the
cabalistic Gnomes. The word coblyn has the
double meaning of knocker or thumper and sprite
or fiend; and may it not be the original of goblin?
It is applied by Welsh miners to pigmy fairies which
dwell in the mines, and point out, by a peculiar
knocking or rapping, rich veins of ore. The faith
is extended, in some parts, so as to cover the indication
of subterranean treasures generally, in caves
and secret places of the mountains. The coblynau
are described as being about half a yard in height
and very ugly to look upon, but extremely good-natured,
and warm friends of the miner. Their
dress is a grotesque imitation of the miner&rsquo;s garb,
and they carry tiny hammers, picks and lamps.
They work busily, loading ore in buckets, flitting
about the shafts, turning tiny windlasses, and pounding
away like madmen, but really accomplishing
nothing whatever. They have been known to
throw stones at the miners, when enraged at being
lightly spoken of; but the stones are harmless.
Nevertheless, all miners of a proper spirit refrain
from provoking them, because their presence brings
good luck.</p>


<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>Miners are possibly no more superstitious than
other men of equal intelligence; I have heard some
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg25" id="pg25">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>25]</a></span>
of their number repel indignantly the idea that they
are superstitious at all; but this would simply be to
raise them above the level of our common humanity.
There is testimony enough, besides, to support my
own conclusions, which accredit a liberal share of
credulity to the mining class. The <i>Oswestry Advertiser</i>,
a short time ago, recorded the fact that, at
Cefn, &lsquo;a woman is employed as messenger at one
of the collieries, and as she commences her duty
early each morning she meets great numbers of
colliers going to their work. Some of them, we are
gravely assured, consider it a bad omen to meet a
woman first thing in the morning; and not having
succeeded in deterring her from her work by other
means, they waited upon the manager and declared
that they should remain at home unless the woman
was dismissed.&rsquo; This was in 1874. In June, 1878,
the <i>South Wales Daily News</i> recorded a superstition
of the quarrymen at Penrhyn, where some thousands
of men refused to work on Ascension Day. &lsquo;This
refusal did not arise out of any reverential feeling,
but from an old and widespread superstition, which
has lingered in that district for years, that if work
is continued on Ascension Day an accident will
certainly follow. A few years ago the agents
persuaded the men to break through the superstition,
and there were accidents each year&mdash;a not
unlikely occurrence, seeing the extent of works
carried on, and the dangerous nature of the occupation
of the men. This year, however, the men, one
and all, refused to work.&rsquo; These are examples
dealing with considerable numbers of the mining
class, and are quoted in this instance as being more
significant than individual cases would be. Of these
last I have encountered many. Yet I should be
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg26" id="pg26">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>26]</a></span>
sorry if any reader were to conclude from all this
that Welsh miners are not in the main intelligent,
church-going, newspaper-reading men. They are
so, I think, even beyond the common. Their superstitions,
therefore, like those of the rest of us, must
be judged as &lsquo;a thing apart,&rsquo; not to be reconciled
with intelligence and education, but co-existing with
them. Absolute freedom from superstition can
come only with a degree of scientific culture not
yet reached by mortal man.</p>

<p>It can hardly be cause for wonder that the miner
should be superstitious. His life is passed in a
dark and gloomy region, fathoms below the earth&rsquo;s
green surface, surrounded by walls on which dim
lamps shed a fitful light. It is not surprising that
imagination (and the Welsh imagination is peculiarly
vivid) should conjure up the faces and forms
of gnomes and coblynau, of phantoms and fairy
men. When they hear the mysterious thumping
which they know is not produced by any human
being, and when in examining the place where the
noise was heard they find there are really valuable
indications of ore, the sturdiest incredulity must
sometimes be shaken. Science points out that
the noise may be produced by the action of water
upon the loose stones in fissures and pot-holes of
the mountain limestone, and does actually suggest
the presence of metals.</p>

<p>In the days before a Priestley had caught and
bottled that demon which exists in the shape of
carbonic acid gas, when the miner was smitten dead
by an invisible foe in the deep bowels of the earth
it was natural his awestruck companions should
ascribe the mysterious blow to a supernatural
enemy. When the workman was assailed suddenly
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg27" id="pg27">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>27]</a></span>
by what we now call fire-damp, which hurled him
and his companions right and left upon the dark
rocks, scorching, burning, and killing, those who
survived were not likely to question the existence
of the mine fiend. Hence arose the superstition&mdash;now
probably quite extinct&mdash;of basilisks in the
mines, which destroyed with their terrible gaze.
When the explanation came, that the thing which
killed the miner was what he breathed, not what he
saw; and when chemistry took the fire-damp from
the domain of faerie, the basilisk and the fire fiend
had not a leg to stand on. The explanation of the
Knockers is more recent, and less palpable and
convincing.</p>


<h4>IX.</h4>

<p>The Coblynau are always given the form of dwarfs,
in the popular fancy; wherever seen or heard, they
are believed to have escaped from the mines or the
secret regions of the mountains. Their homes
are hidden from mortal vision. When encountered,
either in the mines or on the mountains, they have
strayed from their special abodes, which are as
spectral as themselves. There is at least one
account extant of their secret territory having been
revealed to mortal eyes. I find it in a quaint volume
(of which I shall have more to say), printed at
Newport, Monmouthshire, in 1813.<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> It relates that
one William Evans, of Hafodafel, while crossing
the Beacon Mountain very early in the morning,
passed a fairy coal mine, where fairies were busily
at work. Some were cutting the coal, some carrying
it to fill the sacks, some raising the loads upon the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg28" id="pg28">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>28]</a></span>
horses&rsquo; backs, and so on; but all in the completest
silence. He thought this &lsquo;a wonderful extra natural
thing,&rsquo; and was considerably impressed by it, for
well he knew that there really was no coal mine at
that place. He was a person of &lsquo;undoubted veracity,&rsquo;
and what is more, &lsquo;a great man in the world&mdash;above
telling an untruth.&rsquo;</p>

<p>That the Coblynau sometimes wandered far from
home, the same chronicler testifies; but on these
occasions they were taking a holiday. Egbert
Williams, &lsquo;a pious young gentleman of Denbighshire,
then at school,&rsquo; was one day playing in a field
called Cae Caled, in the parish of Bodfari, with
three girls, one of whom was his sister. Near the
stile beyond Lanelwyd House they saw a company
of fifteen or sixteen coblynau engaged in dancing
madly. They were in the middle of the field, about
seventy yards from the spectators, and they danced
something after the manner of Morris-dancers, but
with a wildness and swiftness in their motions. They
were clothed in red like British soldiers, and wore
red handkerchiefs spotted with yellow wound round
their heads. And a strange circumstance about
them was that although they were almost as big
as ordinary men, yet they had unmistakably the
appearance of dwarfs, and one could call them
nothing but dwarfs. Presently one of them left the
company and ran towards the group near the stile,
who were direfully scared thereby, and scrambled
in great fright to go over the stile. Barbara Jones
got over first, then her sister, and as Egbert
Williams was helping his sister over they saw the
coblyn close upon them, and barely got over when
his hairy hand was laid on the stile. He stood
leaning on it, gazing after them as they ran, with a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg29" id="pg29">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>29]</a></span>
grim copper-coloured countenance and a fierce look.
The young people ran to Lanelwyd House and called
the elders out, but though they hurried quickly to
the field the dwarfs had already disappeared.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a>
&lsquo;A Relation of Apparitions of Spirits in the County of Monmouth
and the Principality of Wales.&rsquo; By Rev. Edmund Jones of the
Tranch. (Newport, 1813.)</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>X.</h4>

<p>The counterparts of the Coblynau are found in
most mining countries. In Germany, the Wichtlein
(little Wights) are little old long-bearded men,
about three-quarters of an ell high, which haunt the
mines of the southern land. The Bohemians call
the Wichtlein by the name of Haus-schmiedlein,
little House-smiths, from their sometimes making
a noise as if labouring hard at the anvil. They are
not so popular as in Wales, however, as they predict
misfortune or death. They announce the doom of
a miner by knocking three times distinctly, and
when any lesser evil is about to befall him they are
heard digging, pounding, and imitating other kinds
of work. In Germany also the kobolds are rather
troublesome than otherwise, to the miners, taking
pleasure in frustrating their objects, and rendering
their toil unfruitful. Sometimes they are downright
malignant, especially if neglected or insulted,
but sometimes also they are indulgent to individuals
whom they take under their protection. &lsquo;When a
miner therefore hit upon a rich vein of ore, the
inference commonly was not that he possessed more
skill, industry, or even luck than his fellow-workmen,
but that the spirits of the mine had directed him to
the treasure.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p>

<p>The intimate connection between mine fairies and
the whole race of dwarfs is constantly met throughout
the fairy mythology; and the connection of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg30" id="pg30">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>30]</a></span>
the dwarfs with the mountains is equally universal.
&lsquo;God,&rsquo; says the preface to the Heldenbuch, &lsquo;gave
the dwarfs being, because the land and the mountains
were altogether waste and uncultivated, and there
was much store of silver and gold and precious
stones and pearls still in the mountains.&rsquo; From
the most ancient times, and in the oldest countries,
down to our own time and the new world of America,
the traditions are the same. The old Norse belief
which made the dwarfs the current machinery of
the northern Sagas is echoed in the Catskill Mountains
with the rolling of the thunder among the
crags where Hendrik Hudson&rsquo;s dwarfs are playing
ninepins.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a>
Scott, &lsquo;Demonology and Witchcraft,&rsquo; 121.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>XI.</h4>

<p>The Bwbach, or Boobach, is the good-natured
goblin which does good turns for the tidy Welsh
maid who wins its favour by a certain course of
behaviour recommended by long tradition. The
maid having swept the kitchen, makes a good
fire the last thing at night, and having put the
churn, filled with cream, on the whitened hearth,
with a basin of fresh cream for the Bwbach on the
hob, goes to bed to await the event. In the
morning she finds (if she is in luck) that the Bwbach
has emptied the basin of cream, and plied the
churn-dasher so well that the maid has but to give a
thump or two to bring the butter in a great lump.
Like the Ellyll which it so much resembles, the
Bwbach does not approve of dissenters and their
ways, and especially strong is its aversion to total
abstainers.</p>

<p>There was a Bwbach belonging to a certain
estate in Cardiganshire, which took great umbrage
at a Baptist preacher who was a guest in the house,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg31" id="pg31">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>31]</a></span>
and who was much fonder of prayers than of good
ale. Now the Bwbach had a weakness in favour of
people who sat around the hearth with their mugs
of cwrw da and their pipes, and it took to pestering
the preacher. One night it jerked the stool from
under the good man&rsquo;s elbows, as he knelt pouring
forth prayer, so that he fell down flat on his face.
Another time it interrupted the devotions by
jangling the fire-irons on the hearth; and it was
continually making the dogs fall a-howling during
prayers, or frightening the farm-boy by grinning
at him through the window, or throwing the maid
into fits. At last it had the audacity to attack
the preacher as he was crossing a field. The
minister told the story in this wise: &lsquo;I was reading
busily in my hymn-book as I walked on, when a
sudden fear came over me and my legs began
to tremble. A shadow crept upon me from behind,
and when I turned round&mdash;it was myself!&mdash;my
person, my dress, and even my hymn-book. I
looked in its face a moment, and then fell insensible
to the ground.&rsquo; And there, insensible still, they
found him. This encounter proved too much for
the good man, who considered it a warning to him
to leave those parts. He accordingly mounted
his horse next day and rode away. A boy of the
neighbourhood, whose veracity was, like that of all
boys, unimpeachable, afterwards said that he saw
the Bwbach jump up behind the preacher, on the
horse&rsquo;s back. And the horse went like lightning,
with eyes like balls of fire, and the preacher
looking back over his shoulder at the Bwbach,
that grinned from ear to ear.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg32" id="pg32">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>32]</a></span></p>

<h4>XII.</h4>

<p>The same confusion in outlines which exists
regarding our own Bogie and Hobgoblin gives the
Bwbach a double character, as a household fairy
and as a terrifying phantom. In both aspects it is
ludicrous, but in the latter it has dangerous practices.
To get into its clutches under certain circumstances
is no trifling matter, for it has the power of whisking
people off through the air. Its services are brought
into requisition for this purpose by troubled ghosts
who cannot sleep on account of hidden treasure
they want removed; and if they can succeed in
getting a mortal to help them in removing the
treasure, they employ the Bwbach to transport the
mortal through the air.</p>

<p>This ludicrous fairy is in France represented by
the gobelin. Mothers threaten children with him.
&lsquo;Le gobelin vous mangera, le gobelin vous emportera.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a>
In the English &lsquo;hobgoblin&rsquo; we have a
word apparently derived from the Welsh hob, to
hop, and coblyn, a goblin, which presents a hopping
goblin to the mind, and suggests the Pwca (with
which the Bwbach is also confused in the popular
fancy at times), but should mean in English simply
the goblin of the hob, or household fairy. In its
bugbear aspect, the Bwbach, like the English bogie,
is believed to be identical with the Slavonic &lsquo;bog,&rsquo;
and the &lsquo;baga&rsquo; of the Cuneiform Inscriptions, both
of which are names for the Supreme Being, according
to Professor Fiske. &lsquo;The ancestral form of
these epithets&rsquo; is found in &lsquo;the old Aryan &ldquo;Bhaga,&rdquo;
which reappears unchanged in the Sanskrit of the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg33" id="pg33">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>33]</a></span>
Vedas, and has left a memento of itself in the
surname of the Phrygian Zeus &ldquo;Bagaios.&rdquo; It seems
originally to have denoted either the unclouded sun,
or the sky of noonday illuminated by the solar rays....
Thus the same name which to the Vedic
poet, to the Persian of the time of Xerxes, and to
the modern Russian, suggests the supreme majesty
of deity, is in English associated with an ugly and
ludicrous fiend, closely akin to that grotesque
Northern Devil of whom Southey was unable to
think without laughing.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a>
P&egrave;re l&rsquo;Abb&eacute;, &lsquo;Etymologie,&rsquo; i., 262.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a>
Fiske, &lsquo;Myths and Myth-makers,&rsquo; 105.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg34" id="pg34">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>34]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk1chap03" id="bk1chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Lake Fairies&mdash;The Gwragedd Annwn, or Dames of Elfin-Land&mdash;St.
Patrick and the Welshmen; a Legend of Crumlyn Lake&mdash;The
Elfin Cow of Llyn Barfog&mdash;Y Fuwch Laethwen Lefrith&mdash;The
Legend of the Meddygon Myddfai&mdash;The Wife of Supernatural
Race&mdash;The Three Blows; a Carmarthenshire Legend&mdash;Cheese
and the Didactic Purpose in Welsh Folk-Lore&mdash;The Fairy Maiden&rsquo;s
Papa&mdash;The Enchanted Isle in the Mountain Lake&mdash;Legend of the
Men of Ardudwy&mdash;Origin of Water Fairies&mdash;Their prevalence in
many Lands.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>The Gwragedd Annwn (literally, wives of the lower
world, or hell) are the elfin dames who dwell under
the water. I find no resemblance in the Welsh
fairy to our familiar mermaid, beyond the watery
abode, and the sometimes winning ways. The
Gwragedd Annwn are not fishy of aspect, nor do
they dwell in the sea. Their haunt is the lakes
and rivers, but especially the wild and lonely lakes
upon the mountain heights. These romantic sheets
are surrounded with numberless superstitions, which
will be further treated of. In the realm of faerie
they serve as avenues of communication between
this world and the lower one of annwn, the shadowy
domain presided over by Gwyn ap Nudd, king of
the fairies. This sub-aqueous realm is peopled by
those children of mystery termed Plant Annwn, and
the belief is current among the inhabitants of the
Welsh mountains that the Gwragedd Annwn still
occasionally visit this upper world of ours.<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> The
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg35" id="pg35">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>35]</a></span>
only reference to Welsh mermaids I have either
read or heard is contained in Drayton&rsquo;s account of
the Battle of Agincourt. There it is mentioned,
among the armorial ensigns of the counties of
Wales:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">As Cardigan, the next to them that went,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Came with a mermaid sitting on a rock.<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a>
&lsquo;Arch&aelig;ologia Cambrensis,&rsquo; 2nd Se., iv., 253.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a>
There is in &lsquo;Cymru Fu&rsquo; a mermaid story, but its mermaid feature
is apparently a modern embellishment of a real incident, and without
value here.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>Crumlyn Lake, near the quaint village of Briton
Ferry, is one of the many in Wales which are a
resort of the elfin dames. It is also believed that a
large town lies swallowed up there, and that the
Gwragedd Annwn have turned the submerged walls
to use as the superstructure of their fairy palaces.
Some claim to have seen the towers of beautiful
castles lifting their battlements beneath the surface
of the dark waters, and fairy bells are at times heard
ringing from these towers. The way the elfin dames
first came to dwell there was this: A long, ay, a
very long time ago, St. Patrick came over from
Ireland on a visit to St. David of Wales, just to say
&lsquo;Sut yr y&rsquo;ch chwi?&rsquo; (How d&rsquo;ye do?); and as they were
strolling by this lake conversing on religious topics in
a friendly manner, some Welsh people who had ascertained
that it was St. Patrick, and being angry at
him for leaving Cambria for Erin, began to abuse
him in the Welsh language, his native tongue. Of
course such an insult could not go unpunished, and
St. Patrick caused his villifiers to be transformed
into fishes; but some of them being females, were
converted into fairies instead. It is also related
that the sun, on account of this insolence to so holy
a man, never shed its life-giving rays upon the dark
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg36" id="pg36">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>36]</a></span>
waters of this picturesque lake, except during one
week of the year. This legend and these magical
details are equally well accredited to various other
lakes, among them Llyn Barfog, near Aberdovey,
the town whose &lsquo;bells&rsquo; are celebrated in immortal
song.</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>Llyn Barfog is the scene of the famous elfin cow&rsquo;s
descent upon earth, from among the droves of the
Gwragedd Annwn. This is the legend of the origin
of the Welsh black cattle, as related to me in
Carmarthenshire: In times of old there was a
band of elfin ladies who used to haunt the neighbourhood
of Llyn Barfog, a lake among the hills just
back of Aberdovey. It was their habit to make
their appearance at dusk clad all in green, accompanied
by their milk-white hounds. Besides their
hounds, the green ladies of Llyn Barfog were peculiar
in the possession of droves of beautiful milk-white
kine, called Gwartheg y Llyn, or kine of the
lake. One day an old farmer, who lived near
Dyssyrnant, had the good luck to catch one of these
mystic cows, which had fallen in love with the cattle
of his herd. From that day the farmer&rsquo;s fortune
was made. Such calves, such milk, such butter and
cheese, as came from the milk-white cow never had
been seen in Wales before, nor ever will be seen
again. The fame of the Fuwch Gyfeiliorn (which
was what they called the cow) spread through the
country round. The farmer, who had been poor,
became rich; the owner of vast herds, like the
patriarchs of old. But one day he took it into his
silly noddle that the elfin cow was getting old, and
that he had better fatten her for the market. His
nefarious purpose thrived amazingly. Never, since
beef steaks were invented, was seen such a fat cow
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg37" id="pg37">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>37]</a></span>
as this cow grew to be. Killing day came, and the
neighbours arrived from all about to witness the
taking-off of this monstrously fat beast. The farmer
had already counted up the gains from the sale of
her, and the butcher had bared his red right arm.
The cow was tethered, regardless of her mournful
lowing and her pleading eyes; the butcher raised
his bludgeon and struck fair and hard between the
eyes&mdash;when lo! a shriek resounded through the air,
awakening the echoes of the hills, as the butcher&rsquo;s
bludgeon went through the goblin head of the elfin
cow, and knocked over nine adjoining men, while
the butcher himself went frantically whirling around
trying to catch hold of something permanent. Then
the astonished assemblage beheld a green lady
standing on a crag high up over the lake, and
crying with a loud voice:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Dere di felen Einion,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cyrn Cyfeiliorn&mdash;braith y Llyn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A&rsquo;r foel Dodin,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Codwch, dewch adre.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come yellow Anvil, stray horns,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Speckled one of the lake,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And of the hornless Dodin,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Arise, come home.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>Whereupon not only did the elfin cow arise and
go home, but all her progeny to the third and fourth
generations went home with her, disappearing in the
air over the hill tops and returning nevermore.
Only one cow remained of all the farmer&rsquo;s herds,
and she had turned from milky white to raven black.
Whereupon the farmer in despair drowned himself
in the lake of the green ladies, and the black cow
became the progenitor of the existing race of Welsh
black cattle.</p>

<p>This legend appears, in a slightly different form,
in the &lsquo;Iolo MSS.,&rsquo; as translated by Taliesin Williams,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg38" id="pg38">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>38]</a></span>
of Merthyr:<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> &lsquo;The milk-white milch cow gave
enough of milk to every one who desired it; and
however frequently milked, or by whatever number
of persons, she was never found deficient. All
persons who drank of her milk were healed of every
illness; from fools they became wise; and from
being wicked, became happy. This cow went round
the world; and wherever she appeared, she filled
with milk all the vessels that could be found, leaving
calves behind her for all the wise and happy. It
was from her that all the milch cows in the world
were obtained. After traversing through the island
of Britain, for the benefit and blessing of country and
kindred, she reached the Vale of Towy; where,
tempted by her fine appearance and superior condition,
the natives sought to kill and eat her; but just
as they were proceeding to effect their purpose, she
vanished from between their hands, and was never
seen again. A house still remains in the locality,
called Y Fuwch Laethwen Lefrith (The Milk-white
Milch Cow.)&rsquo;</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a>
Llandovery, published for the Welsh MSS. Society, 1848.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>The legend of the Meddygon Myddfai again introduces
the elfin cattle to our notice, but combines with
them another and a very interesting form of this
superstition, namely, that of the wife of supernatural
race. A further feature gives it its name, Meddygon
meaning physicians, and the legend professing to
give the origin of certain doctors who were renowned
in the thirteenth century. The legend relates that
a farmer in the parish of Myddfai, Carmarthenshire,
having bought some lambs in a neighbouring fair,
led them to graze near Llyn y Fan Fach, on the
Black Mountains. Whenever he visited these
lambs three beautiful damsels appeared to him from
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg39" id="pg39">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>39]</a></span>
the lake, on whose shores they often made excursions.
Sometimes he pursued and tried to catch
them, but always failed; the enchanting nymphs ran
before him and on reaching the lake taunted him in
these words:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Cras dy fara,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Anhawdd ein dala;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>which, if one must render it literally, means:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Bake your bread,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&rsquo;Twill be hard to catch us;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>but which, more poetically treated, might signify:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Mortal, who eatest baken bread,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Not for thee is the fairy&rsquo;s bed!<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>One day some moist bread from the lake came
floating ashore. The farmer seized it, and devoured
it with avidity. The following day, to his great
delight, he was successful in his chase, and caught
the nymphs on the shore. After talking a long time
with them, he mustered up the courage to propose
marriage to one of them. She consented to accept
him on condition that he would distinguish her from
her sisters the next day. This was a new and great
difficulty to the young farmer, for the damsels were
so similar in form and features, that he could
scarcely see any difference between them. He
noted, however, a trifling singularity in the strapping
of the chosen one&rsquo;s sandal, by which he recognized
her on the following day. As good as her word,
the gwraig immediately left the lake and went with
him to his farm. Before she quitted the lake she
summoned therefrom to attend her, seven cows, two
oxen, and one bull. She stipulated that she should
remain with the farmer only until such time as he
should strike her thrice without cause. For some
years they dwelt peaceably together, and she bore
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg40" id="pg40">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>40]</a></span>
him three sons, who were the celebrated Meddygon
Myddfai. One day, when preparing for a fair in the
neighbourhood, the farmer desired her to go to the
field for his horse. She said she would, but being
rather dilatory, he said to her humorously &lsquo;D&ocirc;s,
d&ocirc;s, d&ocirc;s,&rsquo; i.e., &lsquo;Go, go, go,&rsquo; and at the same time
slightly tapped her arm three times with his glove....
The blows were slight&mdash;but they were blows.
The terms of the marriage contract were broken,
and the dame departed, summoning with her her
seven cows, her two oxen, and the bull. The oxen
were at that moment ploughing in the field, but they
immediately obeyed her call and dragged the
plough after them to the lake. The furrow, from the
field in which they were ploughing to the margin of
the lake, is still to be seen&mdash;in several parts of that
country&mdash;at the present day. After her departure,
the gwraig annwn once met her three sons in the
valley now called Cwm Meddygon, and gave them a
magic box containing remedies of wonderful power,
through whose use they became celebrated. Their
names were Cadogan, Gruffydd and Einion, and the
farmer&rsquo;s name was Rhiwallon. Rhiwallon and his
sons, named as above, were physicians to Rhys
Gryg, Lord of Dynevor, and son of the last native
prince of Wales. They lived about 1230, and dying,
left behind them a compendium of their medical
practice. &lsquo;A copy of their works is in the Welsh
School Library in Gray&rsquo;s Inn Lane.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cambro-Briton,&rsquo; ii., 315.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>In a more polished and elaborate form this legend
omits the medical features altogether, but substitutes
a number of details so peculiarly Welsh that I cannot
refrain from presenting them. This version relates
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg41" id="pg41">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>41]</a></span>
that the enamoured farmer had heard of the lake
maiden, who rowed up and down the lake in a
golden boat, with a golden oar. Her hair was long
and yellow, and her face was pale and melancholy.
In his desire to see this wondrous beauty, the farmer
went on New Year&rsquo;s Eve to the edge of the lake,
and in silence awaited the coming of the first hour
of the new year. It came, and there in truth was
the maiden in her golden boat, rowing softly to and
fro. Fascinated, he stood for hours beholding her,
until the stars faded out of the sky, the moon sank
behind the rocks, and the cold gray dawn drew
nigh; and then the lovely gwraig began to vanish
from his sight. Wild with passion, and with the
thought of losing her for ever, he cried aloud to the
retreating vision, &lsquo;Stay! stay! Be my wife.&rsquo; But
the gwraig only uttered a faint cry, and was gone.
Night after night the young farmer haunted the
shores of the lake, but the gwraig returned no more.
He became negligent of his person; his once robust
form grew thin and wan; his face was a map of
melancholy and despair. He went one day to
consult a soothsayer who dwelt on the mountain,
and this grave personage advised him to besiege
the damsel&rsquo;s heart with gifts of bread and cheese.
This counsel commending itself strongly to his
Welsh way of thinking, the farmer set out upon an
assiduous course of casting his bread upon the
waters&mdash;accompanied by cheese. He began on
Midsummer eve by going to the lake and dropping
therein a large cheese and a loaf of bread. Night
after night he continued to throw in loaves and
cheeses, but nothing appeared in answer to his
sacrifices. His hopes were set, however, on the
approaching New Year&rsquo;s eve. The momentous
night arrived at last. Clad in his best array, and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg42" id="pg42">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>42]</a></span>
armed with seven white loaves and his biggest and
handsomest cheese, he set out once more for the
lake. There he waited till midnight, and then slowly
and solemnly dropped the seven loaves into the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg43" id="pg43">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>43]</a></span>
water, and with a sigh sent the cheese to keep them
company. His persistence was at length rewarded.
The magic skiff appeared; the fair gwraig guided it
to where he stood; stepped ashore, and accepted
him as her husband. The before-mentioned stipulation
was made as to the blows; and she brought
her dower of cattle. One day, after they had been
four years married, they were invited to a christening.
In the midst of the ceremony the gwraig burst into
tears. Her husband gave her an angry look, and
asked her why she thus made a fool of herself. She
replied, &lsquo;The poor babe is entering a world of sin
and sorrow; misery lies before it. Why should I
rejoice?&rsquo; He pushed her pettishly away. &lsquo;I warn
you, husband,&rsquo; said the gwraig; &lsquo;you have struck
me once.&rsquo; After a time they were bidden to the
funeral of the child they had seen christened. Now
the gwraig laughed, sang, and danced about. The
husband&rsquo;s wrath again arose, and again he asked her
why she thus made a fool of herself. She answered,
&lsquo;The dear babe has escaped the misery that was
before it, and gone to be good and happy for ever.
Why should I grieve?&rsquo; Again he pushed her from
him, and again she warned him; he had struck her
twice. Soon they were invited to a wedding; the
bride was young and fair, the groom a tottering,
toothless, decrepit old miser. In the midst of
the wedding feast the gwraig annwn burst into
tears, and to her husband&rsquo;s question why she
thus made a fool of herself she replied, &lsquo;Truth
is wedded to age for greed, and not for love&mdash;summer
and winter cannot agree&mdash;it is the diawl&rsquo;s
compact.&rsquo; The angry husband thrust her from him
for the third and last time. She looked at him
with tender love and reproach, and said, &lsquo;The three
blows are struck&mdash;husband, farewell!&rsquo; He never
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg44" id="pg44">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>44]</a></span>
saw her more, nor any of the flocks and herds she
had brought him for her dowry.</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg07.jpg" width="375" height="518"
alt="The young farmer kneels before the lake maiden" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE GWRAIG OF THE GOLDEN BOAT.</p>

<p>In its employment of the myth to preach a sermon,
and in its introduction of cheese, this version of the
legend is very Welsh indeed. The extent to which
cheese figures in Cambrian folk-lore is surprising;
cheese is encountered in every sort of fairy company;
you actually meet cheese in the Mabinogion, along
with the most romantic forms of beauty known in
story. And herein again is illustrated Shakspeare&rsquo;s
accurate knowledge of the Cambrian goblins.
&lsquo;Heaven defend me from that Welsh fairy!&rsquo; says
Falstaff, &lsquo;lest he transform me to a piece of cheese!&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a>
Bread is found figuring actively in the folk-lore of
every country, especially as a sacrifice to water-gods;
but cheese is, so far as I know, thus honoured
only in Cambria.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a>
&lsquo;Merry Wives of Windsor,&rsquo; Act V., Sc. 5.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>Once more this legend appears, this time with a
feature I have nowhere else encountered in fairy
land, to wit, the father of a fairy damsel. The son
of a farmer on Drws Coed farm was one foggy day
looking after his father&rsquo;s sheep, when crossing a
marshy meadow he beheld a little lady behind some
rising ground. She had yellow hair, blue eyes and
rosy cheeks. He approached her, and asked permission
to converse; whereupon she smiled sweetly
and said to him, &lsquo;Idol of my hopes, you have come
at last!&rsquo; They there and then began to &lsquo;keep
company,&rsquo; and met each other daily here and there
along the farm meadows. His intentions were
honourable; he desired her to marry him. He was
sometimes absent for days together, no one knew
where, and his friends whispered about that he had
been witched. Around the Turf Lake (Llyn y
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg45" id="pg45">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>45]</a></span>
Dywarchen) was a grove of trees, and under one of
these one day the fairy promised to be his. The
consent of her father was now necessary. One
moonlight night an appointment was made to meet
in this wood. The father and daughter did not
appear till the moon had disappeared behind the
hill. Then they both came. The fairy father immediately
gave his consent to the marriage, on
one condition, namely, that her future husband
should never hit her with iron. &lsquo;If ever thou dost
touch her flesh with iron she shall be no more thine,
but she shall return to her own.&rsquo; They were married&mdash;a
good-looking pair. Large sums of money were
brought by her, the night before the wedding, to
Drws Coed. The shepherd lad became wealthy,
had several handsome children, and they were very
happy. After some years, they were one day out
riding, when her horse sank in a deep mire, and by
the assistance of her husband, in her hurry to
remount, she was struck on her knee by the stirrup
of the saddle. Immediately voices were heard
singing on the brow of the hill, and she disappeared,
leaving all her children behind. She and her
mother devised a plan by which she could see her
beloved, but as she was not allowed to walk the
earth with man, they floated a large turf on the lake,
and on this turf she stood for hours at a time
holding converse with her husband. This continued
until his death.<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cymru Fu,&rsquo; 476.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>The didactic purpose again appears in the following
legend, which, varying but little in phraseology,
is current in the neighbourhood of a dozen different
mountain lakes: In other days, before the Cymry
had become reconciled to their Saxon foe, on every
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg46" id="pg46">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>46]</a></span>
New Year&rsquo;s morning a door was found open in a
rock hard by the lake. Those mortals who had
the curiosity and the resolution to enter this door
were conducted by a secret passage to a small
island in the middle of the lake. Here they found
a most enchanting garden, stored with the choicest
fruits and flowers, and inhabited by the Gwragedd
Annwn, whose beauty could be equalled only by the
courtesy and affability which they exhibited to those
who pleased them. They gathered fruit and flowers
for each of their guests, entertained them with the
most exquisite music, disclosed to them many secrets
of futurity, and invited them to stay as long as they
liked. &lsquo;But,&rsquo; said they, &lsquo;the island is secret, and
nothing of its produce must be carried away.&rsquo; The
warning being heeded, all went well. But one day
there appeared among the visitors a wicked Welshman,
who, thinking to derive some magical aid
therefrom, pocketed a flower with which he had
been presented, and was about to leave the garden
with his prize. But the theft boded him no good.
As soon as he had touched unhallowed ground the
flower vanished, and he lost his senses. However,
of this abuse of their hospitality the Gwragedd
Annwn took no notice at the time. They dismissed
their guests with their accustomed courtesy, and the
door was closed as usual. But their resentment
was bitter; for though the fairies of the lake and
their enchanted garden undoubtedly occupy the
spot to this day, the door which led to the island
has never been reopened.</p>


<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>In all these legends the student of comparative
folk-lore traces the ancient mythology, however
overlain with later details. The water-maidens of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg47" id="pg47">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>47]</a></span>
every land doubtless originally were the floating
clouds of the sky, or the mists of the mountain.
From this have come certain fair and fanciful creations
with which Indo-European folk-lore teems, the
most familiar of which are Undine, Melusina, Nausicaa,
and the classic Muse. In Wales, as in other
lands, the myth has many forms. The dispersion of
dark clouds from the mountains, by the beams of the
rising sun, or the morning breezes, is localized in the
legend of the Men of Ardudwy. These men make
a raid on the maidens of the Vale of Clwyd, and are
pursued and slaughtered by the latter&rsquo;s fathers and
brothers. The maidens thereupon cast themselves
headlong into the lake, which is thenceforth called
the Maidens&rsquo; Lake, or Llyn y Morwynion. In
another legend, the river mist over the Cynwal is
the spirit of a traitress who perished long ago in the
lake. She had conspired with the sea-born pirates
of the North (the ocean storms) to rob her Cambrian
lord of his domains. She was defeated by the aid
of a powerful enchanter (the sun), and fled up the
river to the lake, accompanied by her maidens, who
were drowned with her there.<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a>
&lsquo;Arch. Camb.,&rsquo; 4th Se., vii., 251.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IX.</h4>

<p>As the mermaid superstition is seemingly absent
in Wales, so there are no fairy tales of maidens who
lure mortals to their doom beneath the water, as the
Drac&aelig; did women and children, and as the Nymph
of the Lurley did marriageable young men. But it
is believed that there are several old Welsh families
who are the descendants of the Gwragedd Annwn, as
in the case of the Meddygon Myddfai. The familiar
Welsh name of Morgan is sometimes thought to
signify, &lsquo;Born of the Sea.&rsquo; Certainly m&ocirc;r in Welsh
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg48" id="pg48">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>48]</a></span>
means sea, and g&acirc;n a birth. It is curious, too, that
a mermaid is called in Basse Bretagne &lsquo;Mary
Morgan.&rsquo; But the class of stories in which a mortal
marries a water-maiden is large, and while the local
details smack of the soil, the general idea is so like
in lands far remote from each other as to indicate a
common origin in pre-historic times. In Wales,
where the mountain lakes are numerous, gloomy,
lonely, and yet lovely; where many of them, too,
show traces of having been inhabited in ancient
times by a race of lake-dwellers, whose pile-supported
villages vanished ages ago; and where
bread and cheese are as classic as beer and candles,
these particulars are localized in the legend. In the
Faro Islands, where the seal is a familiar yet ever-mysterious
object, with its human-like eyes, and
glossy skin, the wife of supernatural race is a
transformed seal. She comes ashore every ninth
night, sheds her skin, leaves it on the shore, and
dances with her fairy companions. A mortal steals
her sealskin dress, and when day breaks, and her
companions return to their abode in the sea, compels
her to remain and be his wife. Some day he offends
her; she recovers her skin and plunges into the sea.
In China, the superstition appears in a Lew-chewan
legend mentioned by Dr. Dennys,<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> which relates
how a fairy in the guise of a beautiful woman is
found bathing in a man&rsquo;s well. He persuades her
to marry him, and she remains with him for nine
years, at the end of which time, despite the affection
she has for their two children, she &lsquo;glides upwards
into a cloud&rsquo; and disappears.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a>
&lsquo;Folk-Lore of China,&rsquo; 99.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg49" id="pg49">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>49]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk1chap04" id="bk1chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Mountain Fairies&mdash;The Gwyllion&mdash;The Old Woman of the Mountain&mdash;The
Black Mountain Gwyll&mdash;Exorcism by Knife&mdash;Occult Intellectual
Powers of Welsh Goats&mdash;The Legend of Cadwaladr&rsquo;s
Goat.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>The Gwyllion are female fairies of frightful characteristics,
who haunt lonely roads in the Welsh
mountains, and lead night-wanderers astray. They
partake somewhat of the aspect of the Hecate of
Greek mythology, who rode on the storm, and was
a hag of horrid guise. The Welsh word gwyll is
variously used to signify gloom, shade, duskiness, a
hag, a witch, a fairy, and a goblin; but its special
application is to these mountain fairies of gloomy
and harmful habits, as distinct from the Ellyllon of
the forest glades and dingles, which are more often
beneficent. The Gwyllion take on a more distinct
individuality under another name&mdash;as the Ellyllon
do in mischievous Puck&mdash;and the Old Woman of
the Mountain typifies all her kind. She is very
carefully described by the Prophet Jones,<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> in the
guise in which she haunted Llanhiddel Mountain
in Monmouthshire. This was the semblance of a
poor old woman, with an oblong four-cornered hat,
ash-coloured clothes, her apron thrown across her
shoulder, with a pot or wooden can in her hand,
such as poor people carry to fetch milk with, always
going before the spectator, and sometimes crying
&lsquo;Wow up!&rsquo; This is an English form of a Welsh cry
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg50" id="pg50">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>50]</a></span>
of distress, &lsquo;Wwb!&rsquo; or &lsquo;Ww-bwb!&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> Those who
saw this apparition, whether by night or on a misty
day, would be sure to lose their way, though they
might be perfectly familiar with the road. Sometimes
they heard her cry, &lsquo;Wow up!&rsquo; when they
did not see her. Sometimes when they went out
by night, to fetch coal, water, etc., the dwellers near
that mountain would hear the cry very close to
them, and immediately after they would hear it
afar off, as if it were on the opposite mountain, in
the parish of Aberystruth. The popular tradition
in that district was that the Old Woman of the
Mountain was the spirit of one Juan White, who
lived time out of mind in those parts, and was
thought to be a witch; because the mountains were
not haunted in this manner until after Juan White&rsquo;s
death.<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> When people first lost their way, and saw
her before them, they used to hurry forward and try
to catch her, supposing her to be a flesh-and-blood
woman, who could set them right; but they never
could overtake her, and she on her part never
looked back; so that no man ever saw her face.
She has also been seen in the Black Mountain in
Breconshire. Robert Williams, of Langattock, Crickhowel,
&lsquo;a substantial man and of undoubted veracity,&rsquo;
tells this tale: As he was travelling one night over
part of the Black Mountain, he saw the Old
Woman, and at the same time found he had lost
his way. Not knowing her to be a spectre he
hallooed to her to stay for him, but receiving no
answer thought she was deaf. He then hastened
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg51" id="pg51">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>51]</a></span>
his steps, thinking to overtake her, but the faster he
ran the further he found himself behind her, at
which he wondered very much, not knowing the
reason of it. He presently found himself stumbling
in a marsh, at which discovery his vexation increased;
and then he heard the Old Woman laughing at him
with a weird, uncanny, crackling old laugh. This
set him to thinking she might be a gwyll; and
when he happened to draw out his knife for some
purpose, and the Old Woman vanished, then he was
sure of it; for Welsh ghosts and fairies are afraid
of a knife.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a>
See p. <a href="#pg104">104</a>.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a>
Pronounced Wooboob.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a>
&lsquo;Juan (Shu&iuml;) White is an old acquaintance of my boyhood,&rsquo; writes
to me a friend who was born some thirty years ago in Monmouthshire.
&lsquo;A ruined cottage on the Lasgarn hill near Pontypool was
understood by us boys to have been her house, and there she appeared
at 12 p.m., carrying her head under her arm.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>Another account relates that John ap John, of
Cwm Celyn, set out one morning before daybreak
to walk to Caerleon Fair. As he ascended Milfre
Mountain he heard a shouting behind him as if it
were on Bryn Mawr, which is a part of the Black
Mountain in Breconshire. Soon after he heard the
shouting on his left hand, at Bwlch y Llwyn, nearer
to him, whereupon he was seized with a great fright,
and began to suspect it was no human voice. He
had already been wondering, indeed, what any one
could be doing at that hour in the morning, shouting
on the mountain side. Still going on, he came
up higher on the mountain, when he heard the
shouting just before him, at Gilfach fields, to the
right&mdash;and now he was sure it was the Old Woman
of the Mountain, who purposed leading him astray.
Presently he heard behind him the noise of a coach,
and with it the special cry of the Old Woman of the
Mountain, viz., &lsquo;Wow up!&rsquo; Knowing very well
that no coach could go that way, and still hearing its
noise approaching nearer and nearer, he became
thoroughly terrified, and running out of the road
threw himself down upon the ground and buried his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg52" id="pg52">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>52]</a></span>
face in the heath, waiting for the phantom to pass.
When it was gone out of hearing, he arose; and
hearing the birds singing as the day began to break,
also seeing some sheep before him, his fear went
quite off. And this, says the Prophet Jones, was
&lsquo;no profane, immoral man,&rsquo; but &lsquo;an honest, peaceable,
knowing man, and a very comely person&rsquo; moreover.</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>The exorcism by knife appears to be a Welsh
notion; though there is an old superstition of wide
prevalence in Europe that to give to or receive
from a friend a knife or a pair of scissors cuts friendship.
I have even encountered this superstition in
America; once an editorial friend at Indianapolis
gave me a very handsome pocket-knife, which
he refused to part with except at the price of one
cent, lawful coin of the realm, asserting that we
should become enemies without this precaution. In
China, too, special charms are associated with
knives, and a knife which has slain a fellow-being is
an invaluable possession. In Wales, according to
Jones, the Gwyllion often came into the houses of
the people at Aberystruth, especially in stormy
weather, and the inmates made them welcome&mdash;not
through any love they bore them, but through fear
of the hurts the Gwyllion might inflict if offended&mdash;by
providing clean water for them, and taking
especial care that no knife, or other cutting tool,
should be in the corner near the fire, where the
fairies would go to sit. &lsquo;For want of which care
many were hurt by them.&rsquo; While it was desirable
to exorcise them when in the open air, it was not
deemed prudent to display an inhospitable spirit
towards any member of the fairy world. The cases
of successful exorcism by knife are many, and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg53" id="pg53">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>53]</a></span>
nothing in the realm of faerie is better authenticated.
There was Evan Thomas, who, travelling by night
over Bedwellty Mountain, towards the valley of
Ebwy Fawr, where his house and estate were,
saw the Gwyllion on each side of him, some of them
dancing around him in fantastic fashion. He also
heard the sound of a bugle-horn winding in the air,
and there seemed to be invisible hunters riding by.
He then began to be afraid, but recollected his
having heard that any person seeing Gwyllion may
drive them away by drawing out a knife. So he
drew out his knife, and the fairies vanished directly.
Now Evan Thomas was &lsquo;an old gentleman of such
strict veracity that he&rsquo; on one occasion &lsquo;did confess
a truth against himself,&rsquo; when he was &lsquo;like to suffer
loss&rsquo; thereby, and notwithstanding he &lsquo;was persuaded
by some not to do it, yet he would persist in
telling the truth, to his own hurt.&rsquo;</p>

<p>Should we find, in tracing these notions back to
their source, that they are connected with Arthur&rsquo;s
sword Excalibur? If so, there again we touch the
primeval world.</p>

<p>Jones says that the Old Woman of the Mountain
has, since about 1800, (at least in South Wales,)
been driven into close quarters by the light of the
Gospel&mdash;in fact, that she now haunts mines&mdash;or in
the preacher&rsquo;s formal words, &lsquo;the coal-pits and
holes of the earth.&rsquo;</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>Among the traditions of the origin of the Gwyllion
is one which associates them with goats. Goats are
in Wales held in peculiar esteem for their supposed
occult intellectual powers. They are believed to
be on very good terms with the Tylwyth Teg, and
possessed of more knowledge than their appearance
indicates. It is one of the peculiarities of the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg54" id="pg54">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>54]</a></span>
Tylwyth Teg that every Friday night they comb the
goats&rsquo; beards to make them decent for Sunday.
Their association with the Gwyllion is related in the
legend of Cadwaladr&rsquo;s goat: Cadwaladr owned a
very handsome goat, named Jenny, of which he
was extremely fond; and which seemed equally
fond of him; but one day, as if the very diawl
possessed her, she ran away into the hills, with
Cadwaladr tearing after her, half mad with anger
and affright. At last his Welsh blood got so hot,
as the goat eluded him again and again, that he
flung a stone at her, which knocked her over a precipice,
and she fell bleating to her doom. Cadwaladr
made his way to the foot of the crag; the goat was
dying, but not dead, and licked his hand&mdash;which so
affected the poor man that he burst into tears, and
sitting on the ground took the goat&rsquo;s head on his
arm. The moon rose, and still he sat there.
Presently he found that the goat had become transformed
to a beautiful young woman, whose brown
eyes, as her head lay on his arm, looked into his in
a very disturbing way. &lsquo;Ah, Cadwaladr,&rsquo; said she,
&lsquo;have I at last found you?&rsquo; Now Cadwaladr had a
wife at home, and was much discomfited by this
singular circumstance; but when the goat&mdash;yn awr
maiden&mdash;arose, and putting her black slipper on
the end of a moonbeam, held out her hand to him,
he put his hand in hers and went with her. As
for the hand, though it looked so fair, it felt just like
a hoof. They were soon on the top of the highest
mountain in Wales, and surrounded by a vapoury
company of goats with shadowy horns. These
raised a most unearthly bleating about his ears.
One, which seemed to be the king, had a voice that
sounded above the din as the castle bells of Carmarthen
used to do long ago above all the other
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg55" id="pg55">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>55]</a></span>
bells in the town. This one rushed at Cadwaladr
and butting him in the stomach sent him toppling
over a crag as he had sent his poor nannygoat.
When he came to himself, after his fall, the morning
sun was shining on him and the birds were singing
over his head. But he saw no more of either his
goat or the fairy she had turned into, from that
time to his death.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg56" id="pg56">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>56]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk1chap05" id="bk1chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Changelings&mdash;The Plentyn-newid&mdash;The Cruel Creed of Ignorance
regarding Changelings&mdash;Modes of Ridding the House of the Fairy
Child&mdash;The Legend of the Frugal Meal&mdash;Legend of the Place of
Strife&mdash;Dewi Dal and the Fairies&mdash;Prevention of Fairy Kidnapping&mdash;Fairies
caught in the Act by Mothers&mdash;Piety as an
Exorcism.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>The Tylwyth Teg have a fatal admiration for lovely
children. Hence the abundant folk-lore concerning
infants who have been stolen from their cradles, and
a plentyn-newid (change-child&mdash;the equivalent of
our changeling) left in its place by the Tylwyth
Teg. The plentyn-newid has the exact appearance
of the stolen infant, at first; but its aspect speedily
alters. It grows ugly of face, shrivelled of form,
ill-tempered, wailing, and generally frightful. It
bites and strikes, and becomes a terror to the poor
mother. Sometimes it is idiotic; but again it has
a supernatural cunning, not only impossible in a
mortal babe, but not even appertaining to the oldest
heads, on other than fairy shoulders. The veracious
Prophet Jones testifies to a case where he himself
saw the plentyn-newid&mdash;an idiot left in the stead
of a son of Edmund John William, of the Church
Valley, Monmouthshire. Says Jones: &lsquo;I saw him
myself. There was something diabolical in his
aspect,&rsquo; but especially in his motions. He &lsquo;made
very disagreeable screaming sounds,&rsquo; which used
to frighten strangers greatly, but otherwise he was
harmless. He was of a &lsquo;dark, tawny complexion.&rsquo;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg57" id="pg57">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>57]</a></span>
He lived longer than such children usually lived
in Wales in that day, (a not altogether pleasant
intimation regarding the hard lot to which such
children were subjected by their unwilling parents,)
reaching the age of ten or twelve years. But
the creed of ignorance everywhere as regards
changelings is a very cruel one, and reminds us of
the tests of the witchcraft trials. Under the
pretence of proving whether the objectionable baby
is a changeling or not, it is held on a shovel over
the fire, or it is bathed in a solution of the fox-glove,
which kills it; a case where this test was applied
is said to have actually occurred in Carnarvonshire
in 1857. That there is nothing specially Welsh
in this, needs not to be pointed out. Apart from
the fact that infanticide, like murder, is of no
country, similar practices as to changelings have
prevailed in most European lands, either to test
the child&rsquo;s uncanny quality, or, that being admitted,
to drive it away and thus compel the fairies to
restore the missing infant. In Denmark the mother
heats the oven, and places the changeling on the
peel, pretending to put it in; or whips it severely
with a rod; or throws it into the water. In Sweden
they employ similar methods. In Ireland the
hot shovel is used. With regard to a changeling
which Martin Luther tells of in his &lsquo;Colloquia
Mensalia,&rsquo; the great reformer declared to the
Prince of Anhalt, that if he were prince of that
country he would &lsquo;venture <i>homicidium</i> thereon,
and would throw it into the River Moldaw.&rsquo; He
admonished the people to pray devoutly to God
to take away the devil, which &lsquo;was done accordingly;
and the second year after the changeling died.&rsquo;
It is hardly probable that the child was very well
fed during the two years that this pious process
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg58" id="pg58">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>58]</a></span>
was going on. Its starved ravenous appetite
indeed is indicated in Luther&rsquo;s description: It
&lsquo;would eat as much as two threshers, would laugh
and be joyful when any evil happened in the house,
but would cry and be very sad when all went well.&rsquo;</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>A story, told in various forms in Wales, preserves
a tradition of an exceedingly frugal meal which was
employed as a means of banishing a plentyn-newid.
M. Villemarqu&eacute;, when in Glamorganshire, heard
this story, which he found to be precisely the same
as a Breton legend, in which the changeling utters a
rhymed triad as follows:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Gweliz vi ken guelet iar wenn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gweliz mez ken gwelet gwezen.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gweliz mez ha gweliz gwial,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gweliz derven e Koat Brezal,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Biskoaz na weliz kemend all.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>In the Glamorgan story the changeling was heard
muttering to himself in a cracked voice: &lsquo;I have
seen the acorn before I saw the oak: I have seen
the egg before I saw the white hen: I have never
seen the like of this.&rsquo; M. Villemarqu&eacute; found it
remarkable that these words form in Welsh a rhymed
triad nearly the same as in the Breton ballad, thus:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Gweliz mez ken gwelet derven,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gweliz vi ken gwelet iar wenn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Erioez ne wiliz evelhenn.<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>Whence he concluded that the story and the rhyme
are older than the seventh century, the epoch of the
separation of the Britons of Wales and Armorica.
And this is the story: A mother whose child had
been stolen, and a changeling left in its place, was
advised by the Virgin Mary to prepare a meal for
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg59" id="pg59">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>59]</a></span>
ten farm-servants in an egg-shell, which would make
the changeling speak. This she did, and the
changeling asked what she was about. She told
him. Whereupon he exclaimed, &lsquo;A meal for ten,
dear mother, in one egg-shell?&rsquo; Then he uttered
the exclamation given above, (&lsquo;I have seen the
acorn,&rsquo; etc.,) and the mother replied, &lsquo;You have
seen too many things, my son, you shall have a
beating.&rsquo; With this she fell to beating him, the
child fell to bawling, and the fairy came and took
him away, leaving the stolen child sleeping sweetly
in the cradle. It awoke and said, &lsquo;Ah, mother, I
have been a long time asleep!&rsquo;</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a>
Keightley, &lsquo;Fairy Mythology,&rsquo; 437.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>I have encountered this tale frequently among the
Welsh, and it always keeps in the main the likeness
of M. Villemarqu&eacute;&rsquo;s story. The following is a
nearly literal version as related in Radnorshire
(an adjoining county to Montgomeryshire), and
which, like most of these tales, is characterised by
the non-primitive tendency to give names of
localities: &lsquo;In the parish of Trefeglwys, near
Llanidloes, in the county of Montgomery, there
is a little shepherd&rsquo;s cot that is commonly called
the Place of Strife, on account of the extraordinary
strife that has been there. The inhabitants of the
cottage were a man and his wife, and they had born
to them twins, whom the woman nursed with great
care and tenderness. Some months after, indispensable
business called the wife to the house of
one of her nearest neighbours, yet notwithstanding
that she had not far to go, she did not like to leave
her children by themselves in their cradle, even
for a minute, as her house was solitary, and there
were many tales of goblins, or the Tylwyth Teg,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg60" id="pg60">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>60]</a></span>
haunting the neighbourhood. However, she went
and returned as soon as she could;&rsquo; but on her
way back she was &lsquo;not a little terrified at seeing,
though it was midday, some of the old elves of the
blue petticoat.&rsquo; She hastened home in great
apprehension; but all was as she had left it, so
that her mind was greatly relieved. &lsquo;But after
some time had passed by, the good people began
to wonder that the twins did not grow at all, but
still continued little dwarfs. The man would have
it that they were not his children; the woman said
they must be their children, and about this arose
the great strife between them that gave name to
the place. One evening when the woman was
very heavy of heart, she determined to go and
consult a conjuror, feeling assured that everything
was known to him.... Now there was to be a
harvest soon of the rye and oats, so the wise man
said to her, &ldquo;When you are preparing dinner for the
reapers, empty the shell of a hen&rsquo;s egg, and boil
the shell full of pottage, and take it out through
the door as if you meant it for a dinner to the
reapers, and then listen what the twins will say;
if you hear the children speaking things above the
understanding of children, return into the house,
take them and throw them into the waves of Llyn
Ebyr, which is very near to you; but if you don&rsquo;t
hear anything remarkable do them no injury.&rdquo; And
when the day of the reaping came, the woman did
as her adviser had recommended to her; and as
she went outside the door to listen she heard one
of the children say to the other:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Gwelais fesen cyn gweled derwen;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gwelais wy cyn gweled i&acirc;r;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Erioed ni welais ferwi bwyd i fedel<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mewn plisgyn wy i&acirc;r!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg61" id="pg61">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>61]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Acorns before oak I knew;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">An egg before a hen;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Never one hen&rsquo;s egg-shell stew<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Enough for harvest men!<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>&lsquo;On this the mother returned to her house and
took the two children and threw them into the Llyn;
and suddenly the goblins in their blue trousers came
to save their dwarfs, and the mother had her own
children back again; and thus the strife between
her and her husband ended.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cambrian Quarterly,&rsquo; ii., 86.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>This class of story is not always confined to the
case of the plentyn-newid, as I have said. It is
applied to the household fairy, when the latter, as in
the following instance, appears to have brought a
number of extremely noisy friends and acquaintances
to share his shelter. Dewi Dal was a farmer, whose
house was over-run with fairies, so that he could not
sleep of nights for the noise they made. Dewi
consulted a wise man of Taiar, who entrusted Dewi&rsquo;s
wife to do certain things, which she did carefully, as
follows: &lsquo;It was the commencement of oat harvest,
when Cae Mawr, or the big field, which it took
fifteen men to mow in a day, was ripe for the
harvesters. &ldquo;I will prepare food for the fifteen
men who are going to mow Cae Mawr to-morrow,&rdquo;
said Eurwallt, the wife, aloud. &ldquo;Yes, do,&rdquo; replied
Dewi, also aloud, so that the fairies might hear,
&ldquo;and see that the food is substantial and sufficient
for the hard work before them.&rdquo; Said Eurwallt,
&ldquo;The fifteen men shall have no reason to complain
upon that score. They shall be fed according to our
means.&rdquo; Then when evening was come Eurwallt
prepared food for the harvesters&rsquo; sustenance upon
the following day. Having procured a sparrow,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg62" id="pg62">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>62]</a></span>
she trussed it like a fowl, and roasted it by the
kitchen fire. She then placed some salt in a nut-shell,
and set the sparrow and the salt, with a small
piece of bread, upon the table, ready for the fifteen
men&rsquo;s support while mowing Cae Mawr. So when
the fairies beheld the scanty provision made for so
many men, they said &ldquo;Let us quickly depart from
this place, for alas! the means of our hosts are
exhausted. Who before this was ever so reduced
in circumstances as to serve up a sparrow for the
day&rsquo;s food of fifteen men?&rdquo; So they departed upon
that very night. And Dewi Dal and his family
lived, ever afterwards, in comfort and peace.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a>
Rev. T.&nbsp;R. Lloyd (Estyn), in &lsquo;The Principality.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>The Welsh fairies have several times been detected
in the act of carrying off a child; and in these cases,
if the mother has been sufficiently energetic in her
objections, they have been forced to abandon their
purpose. Dazzy Walter, the wife of Abel Walter,
of Ebwy Fawr, one night in her husband&rsquo;s absence
awoke in her bed and found her baby was not at her
side. In great fright she sought for it, and caught
it with her hand upon the boards above the bed,
which was as far as the fairies had succeeded in
carrying it. And Jennet Francis, of that same
valley of Ebwy Fawr, one night in bed felt her
infant son being taken from her arms; whereupon
she screamed and hung on, and, as she phrased it,
&lsquo;God and me were too hard for them.&rsquo; This son
subsequently grew up and became a famous preacher
of the gospel.</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg08.jpg" width="375" height="406"
alt="Jennet tries to pull her baby away from the fairies holding him" />
</div>

<p class="caption">JENNET FRANCIS STRUGGLES WITH THE
FAIRIES FOR HER BABY.</p>

<p>There are special exorcisms and preventive measures
to interfere with the fairies in their quest of
infants. The most significant of these, throughout
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg63" id="pg63">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>63]</a></span>
Cambria, is a general habit of piety. Any pious
exclamation has value as an exorcism; but it will
not serve as a preventive. To this end you must
put a knife in the child&rsquo;s cradle when you leave it
alone, or you must lay
a pair of tongs across
the cradle. But the
best preventive is baptism;
it is usually the
unbaptised infant that
is stolen. So in Friesland, Germany, it is considered
a protection against the fairies who deal in changelings,
to lay a Bible under the child&rsquo;s pillow. In
Thuringia it is deemed an infallible preventive to
hang the father&rsquo;s breeches against the wall. Anything
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg64" id="pg64">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>64]</a></span>
more trivial than this, as a matter for the consideration
of grave and scholarly men, one could hardly
imagine; but it is in precisely these trivial or seemingly
trivial details that the student of comparative
folk-lore finds his most extraordinary indices. Such
a superstition in isolation would suggest nothing; but
it is found again in Scotland,<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> and other countries,
including China, where &lsquo;a pair of the trousers of
the child&rsquo;s father are put on the frame of the bedstead
in such a way that the waist shall hang downward
or be lower than the legs. On the trousers
is stuck a piece of red paper, having four words
written upon it intimating that all unfavourable
influences are to go into the trousers instead of
afflicting the babe.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a>
Henderson, &lsquo;Notes on the Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties,&rsquo; 6.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a>
See Doolittle&rsquo;s &lsquo;Social Life of the Chinese.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg65" id="pg65">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>65]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk1chap06" id="bk1chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Living with the Tylwyth Teg&mdash;The Tale of Elidurus&mdash;Shu&iuml; Rhys and
the Fairies&mdash;St. Dogmell&rsquo;s Parish, Pembrokeshire&mdash;Dancing with
the Ellyllon&mdash;The Legend of Rhys and Llewellyn&mdash;Death from
joining in the Fairy Reel&mdash;Legend of the Bush of Heaven&mdash;The
Forest of the Magic Yew&mdash;The Tale of Twm and Iago&mdash;Taffy ap
Sion, a Legend of Pencader&mdash;The Traditions of Pant Shon Shenkin&mdash;Tudur
of Llangollen; the Legend of Nant yr Ellyllon&mdash;Polly
Williams and the Trefethin Elves&mdash;The Fairies of Frennifawr&mdash;Curiosity
Tales&mdash;The Fiend Master&mdash;Iago ap Dewi&mdash;The Original
of Rip van Winkle.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>Closely akin to the subject of changelings is that of
adults or well-grown children being led away to live
with the Tylwyth Teg. In this field the Welsh
traditions are innumerable, and deal not only with
the last century or two, but distinctly with the
middle ages. Famed among British goblins are
those fairies which are immortalised in the Tale of
Elidurus. This tale was written in Latin by Giraldus
Cambrensis (as he called himself, after the pedantic
fashion of his day), a Welshman, born at Pembroke
Castle, and a hearty admirer of everything Welsh,
himself included. He was beyond doubt a man of
genius, and of profound learning. In 1188 he made
a tour through Wales, in the interest of the crusade
then in contemplation, and afterwards wrote his
book&mdash;a fascinating picture of manners and customs
in Wales in the twelfth century.</p>

<p>The scene of the tale is that Vale of Neath, already
named as a famous centre of fairyland. Elidurus,
when a youth of twelve years, &lsquo;in order to avoid the
severity of his preceptor,&rsquo; ran away from school,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg66" id="pg66">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>66]</a></span>
&lsquo;and concealed himself under the hollow bank of a
river.&rsquo; After he had fasted in that situation for
two days, &lsquo;two little men of pigmy stature appeared
to him,&rsquo; and said, &lsquo;If you will go with us, we will
lead you into a country full of delights and sports.&rsquo;
Assenting, Elidurus rose up and &lsquo;followed his guides
through a path at first subterraneous and dark, into
a most beautiful country, but obscure and not illuminated
with the full light of the sun.&rsquo; All the days
in that country &lsquo;were cloudy, and the nights extremely
dark.&rsquo; The boy was brought before the
king of the strange little people, and introduced to
him in the presence of his Court. Having examined
Elidurus for a long time, the king delivered him to
his son, that prince being then a boy. The men of
this country, though of the smallest stature, were
very well proportioned, fair-complexioned, and wore
long hair. &lsquo;They had horses and greyhounds adapted
to their size. They neither ate flesh nor fish, but
lived on milk-diet, made up into messes with saffron.
As often as they returned from our hemisphere, they
reprobated our ambition, infidelities, and inconstancies;
and though they had no form of public worship,
were, it seems, strict lovers and reverers of truth.
The boy frequently returned to our hemisphere,
sometimes by the way he had gone, sometimes by
others; at first in company, and afterwards alone;
and made himself known only to his mother, to
whom he described what he had seen. Being desired
by her to bring her a present of gold, with which
that country abounded, he stole, whilst at play with
the king&rsquo;s son, a golden ball with which he used to
divert himself, and brought it in haste to his mother,
but not unpursued; for, as he entered the house of
his father, he stumbled at the threshold;&rsquo; the ball
fell, &lsquo;and two pigmies seizing it, departed, showing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg67" id="pg67">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>67]</a></span>
the boy every mark of contempt and derision. Notwithstanding
every attempt for the space of a year,
he never again could find the track to the subterraneous
passage.&rsquo; He had made himself acquainted
with the language of his late hosts, &lsquo;which was very
conformable to the Greek idiom. When they asked
for water, they said <i>Udor udorum</i>; when they want
salt, they say <i>Halgein udorum</i>.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a>
See Sir R.&nbsp;C. Hoare&rsquo;s Translation of Giraldus.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>Exactly similar to this medieval legend in spirit,
although differing widely in detail, is the modern
story of Shu&iuml; Rhys, told to me by a peasant in
Cardiganshire. Shu&iuml; was a beautiful girl of seventeen,
tall and fair, with a skin like ivory, hair black
and curling, and eyes of dark velvet. She was but
a poor farmer&rsquo;s daughter, notwithstanding her beauty,
and among her duties was that of driving up the
cows for the milking. Over this work she used to
loiter sadly, to pick flowers by the way, or chase
the butterflies, or amuse herself in any agreeable
manner that fortune offered. For her loitering she
was often chided; indeed, people said Shu&iuml;&rsquo;s mother
was far too sharp with the girl, and that it was for
no good the mother had so bitter a tongue. After
all the girl meant no harm, they said. But when
one night Shu&iuml; never came home till bed-time,
leaving the cows to care for themselves, dame Rhys
took the girl to task as she never had done before.
&lsquo;Ysgwaetheroedd, mami,&rsquo; said Shu&iuml;, &lsquo;I couldn&rsquo;t
help it; it was the Tylwyth Teg.&rsquo; The dame was
aghast at this, but she could not answer it&mdash;for well
she knew the Tylwyth Teg were often seen in the
woods of Cardigan. Shu&iuml; was at first shy about
talking of the fairies, but finally confessed they were
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg68" id="pg68">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>68]</a></span>
little men in green coats, who danced around her
and made music on their tiny harps; and they
talked to her in language too beautiful to be repeated;
indeed she couldn&rsquo;t understand the words,
though she knew well enough what the fairies
meant. Many a time after that Shu&iuml; was late;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg69" id="pg69">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>69]</a></span>
but now nobody chided her, for fear of offending
the fairies. At last one night Shu&iuml; did not come
home at all. In alarm the woods were searched;
there was no sign of her; and never was she seen
in Cardigan again. Her mother watched in the
fields on the Teir-nos Ysprydion, or three nights of
the year when goblins are sure to be abroad; but
Shu&iuml; never returned. Once indeed there came back
to the neighbourhood a wild rumour that Shu&iuml; Rhys
had been seen in a great city in a foreign land&mdash;Paris,
perhaps, or London, who knows? but this
tale was in no way injurious to the sad belief that
the fairies had carried her off; they might take her
to those well-known centres of idle and sinful
pleasure, as well as to any other place.</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg09.jpg" width="375" height="456"
alt="Shui is led along by a large group of fairies" />
</div>

<p class="caption">SHU&Iuml; RHYS AND THE TYLWYTH TEG.</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>An old man who died in St. Dogmell&rsquo;s parish,
Pembrokeshire, a short time since (viz., in 1860),
nearly a hundred years old, used to say that that
whole neighbourhood was considered &lsquo;fou.&rsquo; It was
a common experience for men to be led astray there
all night, and after marvellous adventures and untellable
trampings, which seemed as if they would
be endless, to find when day broke that they were
close to their own homes. In one case, a man who
was led astray chanced to have with him a number
of hoop-rods, and as he wandered about under the
influence of the deluding phantom, he was clever
enough to drop the rods one by one, so that next
day he might trace his journeyings. When daylight
came, and the search for the hoop-rods was
entered on, it was found they were scattered over
miles upon miles of country. Another time, a St.
Dogmell&rsquo;s fisherman was returning home from a
wedding at Moelgrove, and it being very dark, the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg70" id="pg70">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>70]</a></span>
fairies led him astray, but after a few hours he had
the good luck (which Sir John Franklin might
have envied him) to &lsquo;discover the North Pole,&rsquo; and
by this beacon he was able to steer his staggering
barque to the safe port of his own threshold. It
is even gravely stated that a severe and dignified
clerical person, no longer in the frisky time of life,
but advanced in years, was one night forced to join
in the magic dance of St. Dogmell&rsquo;s, and keep it
up till nearly daybreak. Specific details in this
instance are wanting; but it was no doubt the
Ellyllon who led all these folk astray, and put a cap
of oblivion on their heads, which prevented them
from ever telling their adventures clearly.</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>Dancing and music play a highly important part
in stories of this class. The Welsh fairies are most
often dancing together when seen. They seek to
entice mortals to dance with them, and when anyone
is drawn to do so, it is more than probable
he will not return to his friends for a long time.
Edmund William Rees, of Aberystruth, was thus
drawn away by the fairies, and came back at the
year&rsquo;s end, looking very bad. But he could not
give a very clear account of what he had been
about, only said he had been dancing. This was a
common thing in these cases. Either they were
not able to, or they dared not, talk about their experiences.</p>

<p>Two farm servants named Rhys and Llewellyn
were one evening at twilight returning home from
their work, when Rhys cried out that he heard the
fairy music. Llewellyn could hear nothing, but
Rhys said it was a tune to which he had danced a
hundred times, and would again, and at once. &lsquo;Go
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg71" id="pg71">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>71]</a></span>
on,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;and I&rsquo;ll soon catch you up again.&rsquo;
Llewellyn objected, but Rhys stopped to hear no
more; he bounded away and left Llewellyn to go
home alone, which he did, believing Rhys had
merely gone off on a spree, and would come home
drunk before morning. But the morning came, and
no Rhys. In vain search was made, still no Rhys.
Time passed on; days grew into months; and at
last suspicion fell on Llewellyn, that he had murdered
Rhys. He was put in prison. A farmer learned
in fairy-lore, suspecting how it was, proposed that
he and a company of neighbours should go with
poor Llewellyn to the spot where he had last seen
Rhys. Agreed. Arrived at the spot, &lsquo;Hush,&rsquo; cried
Llewellyn, &lsquo;I hear music! I hear the sweet music
of the harps!&rsquo; They all listened, but could hear
nothing. &lsquo;Put your foot on mine, David,&rsquo; says
Llewellyn to one of the company; his own foot
was on the outward edge of a fairy ring as he
spoke. David put his foot on Llewellyn&rsquo;s, and so
did they all, one after another; and then they heard
the sound of many harps, and saw within a circle
about twenty feet across, great numbers of little
people dancing round and round. And there was
Rhys, dancing away like a madman! As he came
whirling by, Llewellyn caught him by his smock-frock
and pulled him out of the circle. &lsquo;Where
are the horses? where are the horses?&rsquo; cried
Rhys in an excited manner. &lsquo;Horses, indeed!&rsquo;
sneered Llewellyn, in great disgust; &lsquo;wfft! go home.
Horses!&rsquo; But Rhys was for dancing longer, declaring
he had not been there five minutes. &lsquo;You&rsquo;ve
been there,&rsquo; says Llewellyn, &lsquo;long enough to come
near getting me hanged, anyhow.&rsquo; They got him
home finally, but he was never the same man
again, and soon after he died.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg72" id="pg72">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>72]</a></span></p>

<h4>V.</h4>

<p>In the great majority of these stories the hero
dies immediately after his release from the thraldom
of the fairies&mdash;in some cases with a suddenness and
a completeness of obliteration as appalling as
dramatic. The following story, well known in Carmarthenshire,
presents this detail with much force:
There was a certain farmer who, while going early
one morning to fetch his horses from the pasture,
heard harps playing. Looking carefully about for
the source of this music, he presently saw a company
of Tylwyth Teg footing it merrily in a corelw.
Resolving to join their dance and cultivate their
acquaintance, the farmer stepped into the fairy ring.
Never had man his resolution more thoroughly
carried out, for having once begun the reel he was
not allowed to finish it till years had elapsed. Even
then he might not have been released, had it not
chanced that a man one day passed by the lonely
spot, so close to the ring that he saw the farmer
dancing. &lsquo;Duw catto ni!&rsquo; cried the man, &lsquo;God
save us! but this is a merry one. Hai, holo! man,
what, in Heaven&rsquo;s name, makes you so lively?&rsquo;
This question, in which the name of Heaven was
uttered, broke the spell which rested on the farmer,
who spoke like one in a dream: &lsquo;O dyn!&rsquo; cried
he, &lsquo;what&rsquo;s become of the horses?&rsquo; Then he
stepped from the fairy circle and instantly crumbled
away and mingled his dust with the earth.</p>

<p>A similar tale is told in Carnarvon, but with the
fairy dance omitted and a pious character substituted,
which helps to indicate the antiquity of this class of
legend, by showing that it was one of the monkish
adoptions of an earlier story. Near Clynog, in Carnarvonshire,
there is a place called Llwyn y Nef,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg73" id="pg73">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>73]</a></span>
(the Bush of Heaven,) which thus received its name:
In Clynog lived a monk of most devout life, who
longed to be taken to heaven. One evening, whilst
walking without the monastery by the riverside, he
sat down under a green tree and fell into a deep
reverie, which ended in sleep; and he slept for
thousands of years. At last he heard a voice calling
unto him, &lsquo;Sleeper, awake and be up.&rsquo; He awoke.
All was strange to him except the old monastery,
which still looked down upon the river. He went
to the monastery, and was made much of. He
asked for a bed to rest himself on and got it. Next
morning when the brethren sought him, they found
nothing in the bed but a handful of ashes.<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a></p>

<p>So in the monkish tale of the five saints, who
sleep in the cave of Caio, reappears the legend of
Arthur&rsquo;s sleeping warriors under Craig-y-Ddinas.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cymru Fu,&rsquo; 188.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg10.jpg" width="375" height="238"
alt="Twm pulls Iago out of the fairy circle" />
</div>

<p class="caption">PLUCKED FROM THE FAIRY CIRCLE.</p>

<p>A tradition is current in Mathavarn, in the parish
of Llanwrin, and the Cantref of Cyfeillioc, concerning
a certain wood called Ffridd yr Ywen, (the
Forest of the Yew,) that it is so called on account of
a magical yew-tree which grows exactly in the
middle of the forest. Under that tree there is a
fairy circle called The Dancing Place of the Goblin.
There are several fairy circles in the Forest of the
Yew, but the one under the yew-tree in the middle
has this legend connected with it: Many years
ago, two farm-servants, whose names were Twm
and Iago, went out one day to work in the Forest
of the Yew. Early in the afternoon the country
became covered with so dense a mist that the
youths thought the sun was setting, and they
prepared to go home; but when they came to the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg74" id="pg74">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>74]</a></span>
yew-tree in the middle of the forest, suddenly they
found all light around them. They now thought it
too early to go home, and concluded to lie down
under the yew-tree and have a nap. By-and-by
Twm awoke, to find his companion gone. He was
much surprised at this, but concluded Iago had
gone to the village on an errand of which they had
been speaking before they fell asleep. So Twm
went home, and to all inquiries concerning Iago,
he answered, &lsquo;Gone to the cobbler&rsquo;s in the village.&rsquo;
But Iago was still absent next morning, and now
Twm was cross-questioned severely as to what had
become of his fellow-servant. Then he confessed
that they had fallen asleep under the yew where
the fairy circle was, and from that moment he had
seen nothing more of Iago. They searched the
whole forest over, and the whole country round, for
many days, and finally Twm went to a gwr cyfarwydd
(or conjuror), a common trade in those days,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg75" id="pg75">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>75]</a></span>
says the legend. The conjuror gave him this advice:
&lsquo;Go to the same place where you and the lad slept.
Go there exactly a year after the boy was lost. Let
it be on the same day of the year and at the same
time of the day; but take care that you do not step
inside the fairy ring. Stand on the border of the
green circle you saw there, and the boy will come
out with many of the goblins to dance. When you
see him so near to you that you may take hold of
him, snatch him out of the ring as quickly as you can.&rsquo;
These instructions were obeyed. Iago appeared,
dancing in the ring with the Tylwyth Teg, and was
promptly plucked forth. &lsquo;Duw! Duw!&rsquo; cried Tom,
&lsquo;how wan and pale you look! And don&rsquo;t you feel
hungry too?&rsquo; &lsquo;No,&rsquo; said the boy, &lsquo;and if I did,
have I not here in my wallet the remains of my
dinner that I had before I fell asleep?&rsquo; But when
he looked in his wallet, the food was not there.
&lsquo;Well, it must be time to go home,&rsquo; he said, with a
sigh; for he did not know that a year had passed
by. His look was like a skeleton, and as soon as
he had tasted food, he mouldered away.</p>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>Taffy ap Sion, the shoemaker&rsquo;s son, living near
Pencader, Carmarthenshire, was a lad who many
years ago entered the fairy circle on the mountain
hard by there, and having danced a few minutes,
as he supposed, chanced to step out. He was then
astonished to find that the scene which had been
so familiar was now quite strange to him. Here
were roads and houses he had never seen, and in
place of his father&rsquo;s humble cottage there now stood
a fine stone farm-house. About him were lovely
cultivated fields instead of the barren mountain he
was accustomed to. &lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; thought he, &lsquo;this is
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg76" id="pg76">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>76]</a></span>
some fairy trick to deceive my eyes. It is not ten
minutes since I stepped into that circle, and now
when I step out they have built my father a new
house! Well, I only hope it is real; anyhow, I&rsquo;ll
go and see.&rsquo; So he started off by a path he
knew instinctively, and suddenly struck against a
very solid hedge. He rubbed his eyes, felt the
hedge with his fingers, scratched his head, felt the
hedge again, ran a thorn into his fingers and cried
out, &lsquo;Wbwb! this is no fairy hedge anyhow, nor,
from the age of the thorns, was it grown in a few
minutes&rsquo; time.&rsquo; So he climbed over it and walked
on. &lsquo;Here was I born,&rsquo; said he, as he entered the
farmyard, staring wildly about him, &lsquo;and not a thing
here do I know!&rsquo; His mystification was complete
when there came bounding towards him a huge dog,
barking furiously. &lsquo;What dog is this? Get out,
you ugly brute! Don&rsquo;t you know I&rsquo;m master here?&mdash;at
least, when mother&rsquo;s from home, for father
don&rsquo;t count.&rsquo; But the dog only barked the harder.
&lsquo;Surely,&rsquo; muttered Taffy to himself, &lsquo;I have lost
my road and am wandering through some unknown
neighbourhood; but no, yonder is the Careg Hir!&rsquo;
and he stood staring at the well-known erect stone
thus called, which still stands on the mountain south
of Pencader, and is supposed to have been placed
there in ancient times to commemorate a victory.
As Taffy stood thus looking at the Long Stone, he
heard footsteps behind him, and turning, beheld the
occupant of the farm-house, who had come out to
see why his dog was barking. Poor Taffy was so
ragged and wan that the farmer&rsquo;s Welsh heart was
at once stirred to sympathy. &lsquo;Who are you, poor
man?&rsquo; he asked. To which Taffy answered, &lsquo;I
know who I was, but I do not know who I <em>am now</em>.
I was the son of a shoemaker who lived in this
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg77" id="pg77">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>77]</a></span>
place, this morning; for that rock, though it is
changed a little, I know too well.&rsquo; &lsquo;Poor fellow,&rsquo;
said the farmer, &lsquo;you have lost your senses. This
house was built by my great-grandfather, repaired by
my grandfather; and that part there, which seems
newly built, was done about three years ago at
my expense. You must be deranged, or have missed
the road; but come in and refresh yourself with
some victuals, and rest.&rsquo; Taffy was half persuaded
that he had overslept himself and lost his road, but
looking back he saw the rock before mentioned,
and exclaimed, &lsquo;It is but an hour since I was on
yonder rock robbing a hawk&rsquo;s nest.&rsquo; &lsquo;Where have
you been since?&rsquo; Taffy related his adventure.
&lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; quoth the farmer, &lsquo;I see how it is&mdash;you have
been with the fairies. Pray, who was your father?&rsquo;
&lsquo;Sion Evan y Crydd o Glanrhyd,&rsquo; was the answer.
&lsquo;I never heard of such a man,&rsquo; said the farmer,
shaking his head, &lsquo;nor of such a place as Glanrhyd,
either: but no matter, after you have taken a little
food we will step down to Catti Shon, at Pencader,
who will probably be able to tell us something.&rsquo;
With this he beckoned Taffy to follow him, and
walked on; but hearing behind him the sound of
footsteps growing weaker and weaker, he turned
round, when to his horror he beheld the poor fellow
crumble in an instant to about a thimbleful of black
ashes. The farmer, though much terrified at this
sight, preserved his calmness sufficiently to go at
once and see old Catti, the aged crone he had
referred to, who lived at Pencader, near by. He
found her crouching over a fire of faggots, trying to
warm her old bones. &lsquo;And how do you do the day,
Catti Shon?&rsquo; asked the farmer. &lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said old Catti,
&lsquo;I&rsquo;m wonderful well, farmer, considering how old I
am.&rsquo; &lsquo;Yes, yes, you&rsquo;re very old. Now, since you
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg78" id="pg78">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>78]</a></span>
are so old, let me ask you&mdash;do you remember anything
about Sion y Crydd o Glanrhyd? Was there
ever such a man, do you know?&rsquo; &lsquo;Sion Glanrhyd?
O! I have some faint recollection of hearing my
grandfather, old Evan Shenkin, Penferdir, relate that
Sion&rsquo;s son was lost one morning, and they never
heard of him afterwards, so that it was said he was
taken by the fairies. His father&rsquo;s cot stood somewhere
near your house.&rsquo; &lsquo;Were there many fairies
about at that time?&rsquo; asked the farmer. &lsquo;O yes;
they were often seen on yonder hill, and I was told
they were lately seen in Pant Shon Shenkin, eating
flummery out of egg-shells, which they had stolen
from a farm hard by.&rsquo; &lsquo;Dir anwyl fi!&rsquo; cried the
farmer; &lsquo;dear me! I recollect now&mdash;I saw them
myself!&rsquo;</p>

<p>Pant Shon<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> Shenkin, it must be here remarked,
was a famous place for the Carmarthenshire fairies.
The traditions thereabout respecting them are
numerous. Among the strangest is, that a woman
once actually caught a fairy on the mountain near
Pant Shon Shenkin, and that it remained long in
her custody, retaining still the same height and size,
but at last made its escape.</p>

<p>Another curious tradition relates that early one
Easter Monday, when the parishioners of Pencarreg
and Caio were met to play at football, they saw a
numerous company of Tylwyth Teg dancing. Being
so many in number, the young men were not
intimidated at all, but proceeded in a body towards
the puny tribe, who, perceiving them, removed to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg79" id="pg79">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>79]</a></span>
another place. The young men followed, whereupon
the little folks suddenly appeared dancing at the
first place. Seeing this, the men divided and
surrounded them, when they immediately became
invisible, and were never more seen there.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a>
Sion and Shon are the same word, just as are our Smith and
Smyth. Where there are so few personal names as in Wales, while
I would not myself change a single letter in order to render the
actors in a tale more distinct, it is perhaps as well to encourage
any eccentricities of spelling which we are so lucky as to find on the
spot.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>Ignorance of what transpired in the fairy circle
is not an invariable feature of legends like those we
have been observing. In the story of Tudur of
Llangollen, preserved by several old Welsh writers,
the hero&rsquo;s experiences are given with much liveliness
of detail. The scene of this tale is a hollow near
Llangollen, on the mountain side half-way up to the
ruins of Dinas Bran Castle, which hollow is to this
day called Nant yr Ellyllon. It obtained its name,
according to tradition, in this wise: A young man,
called Tudur ap Einion Gloff, used in old times to
pasture his master&rsquo;s sheep in that hollow. One summer&rsquo;s
night, when Tudur was preparing to return
to the lowlands with his woolly charge, there suddenly
appeared, perched upon a stone near him, &lsquo;a
little man in moss breeches with a fiddle under his
arm. He was the tiniest wee specimen of humanity
imaginable. His coat was made of birch leaves, and
he wore upon his head a helmet which consisted of
a gorse flower, while his feet were encased in pumps
made of beetle&rsquo;s wings. He ran his fingers over
his instrument, and the music made Tudur&rsquo;s hair
stand on end. &ldquo;Nos da&rsquo;ch&rsquo;, nos da&rsquo;ch&rsquo;,&rdquo; said the little
man, which means &ldquo;Good-night, good-night to you,&rdquo;
in English. &ldquo;Ac i chwithau,&rdquo; replied Tudur; which
again, in English, means &ldquo;The same to you.&rdquo; Then
continued the little man, &ldquo;You are fond of dancing,
Tudur; and if you but tarry awhile you shall behold
some of the best dancers in Wales, and I am the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg80" id="pg80">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>80]</a></span>
musician.&rdquo; Quoth Tudur, &ldquo;Then where is your
harp? A Welshman even cannot dance without a
harp.&rdquo; &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; said the little man, &ldquo;I can discourse
better dance music upon my fiddle.&rdquo; &ldquo;Is it a fiddle
you call that stringed wooden spoon in your hand?&rdquo;
asked Tudur, for he had never seen such an instrument
before. And now Tudur beheld through the
dusk hundreds of pretty little sprites converging
towards the spot where they stood, from all parts
of the mountain. Some were dressed in white, and
some in blue, and some in pink, and some carried
glow-worms in their hands for torches. And so
lightly did they tread that not a blade nor a flower
was crushed beneath their weight, and every one
made a curtsey or a bow to Tudur as they passed,
and Tudur doffed his cap and moved to them in
return. Presently the little minstrel drew his bow
across the strings of his instrument, and the music
produced was so enchanting that Tudur stood transfixed
to the spot.&rsquo; At the sound of the sweet melody,
the Tylwyth Teg ranged themselves in groups, and
began to dance. Now of all the dancing Tudur
had ever seen, none was to be compared to that
he saw at this moment going on. He could not
help keeping time with his hands and feet to the
merry music, but he dared not join in the dance, &lsquo;for
he thought within himself that to dance on a
mountain at night in strange company, to perhaps
the devil&rsquo;s fiddle, might not be the most direct route
to heaven.&rsquo; But at last he found there was no resisting
this bewitching strain, joined to the sight of
the capering Ellyllon. &lsquo;&ldquo;Now for it, then,&rdquo; screamed
Tudur, as he pitched his cap into the air under the
excitement of delight. &ldquo;Play away, old devil;
brimstone and water, if you like!&rdquo; No sooner were
the words uttered than everything underwent a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg81" id="pg81">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>81]</a></span>
change. The gorse-blossom cap vanished from the
minstrel&rsquo;s head, and a pair of goat&rsquo;s horns branched
out instead. His face turned as black as soot; a
long tail grew out of his leafy coat, while cloven
feet replaced the beetle-wing pumps. Tudur&rsquo;s heart
was heavy, but his heels were light. Horror was
in his bosom, but the impetus of motion was in his
feet. The fairies changed into a variety of forms.
Some became goats, and some became dogs, some
assumed the shape of foxes, and others that of cats.
It was the strangest crew that ever surrounded a
human being. The dance became at last so furious
that Tudur could not distinctly make out the forms
of the dancers. They reeled around him with such
rapidity that they almost resembled a wheel of fire.
Still Tudur danced on. He could not stop, the
devil&rsquo;s fiddle was too much for him, as the figure
with the goat&rsquo;s horns kept pouring it out with
unceasing vigour, and Tudur kept reeling around in
spite of himself. Next day Tudur&rsquo;s master ascended
the mountain in search of the lost shepherd and his
sheep. He found the sheep all right at the foot of
the Fron, but fancy his astonishment when, ascending
higher, he saw Tudur spinning like mad in the
middle of the basin now known as Nant yr Ellyllon.&rsquo;
Some pious words of the master broke the charm,
and restored Tudur to his home in Llangollen,
where he told his adventures with great gusto for
many years afterwards.<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a>
Rev. T.&nbsp;R. Lloyd (Estyn), in &lsquo;The Principality.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IX.</h4>

<p>Polly Williams, a good dame who was born in
Trefethin parish, and lived at the Ship Inn, at
Pontypool, Monmouthshire, was wont to relate that,
when a child, she danced with the Tylwyth Teg.
The first time was one day while coming home from
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg82" id="pg82">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>82]</a></span>
school. She saw the fairies dancing in a pleasant,
dry place, under a crab-tree, and, thinking they
were children like herself, went to them, when they
induced her to dance with them. She brought
them into an empty barn and they danced there
together. After that, during three or four years,
she often met and danced with them, when going to
or coming from school. She never could hear the
sound of their feet, and having come to know that
they were fairies, took off her ffollachau (clogs), so
that she, too, might make no noise, fearful that the
clattering of her clog-shodden feet was displeasing
to them. They were all dressed in blue and green
aprons, and, though they were so small, she could
see by their mature faces that they were no children.
Once when she came home barefoot, after dancing
with the fairies, she was chided for going to school
in that condition; but she held her tongue about the
fairies, for fear of trouble, and never told of them
till after she grew up. She gave over going with
them to dance, however, after three or four years,
and this displeased them. They tried to coax her
back to them, and, as she would not come, hurt her
by dislocating &lsquo;one of her walking members,&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a>
which, as a euphemism for legs, surpasses anything
charged against American prudery.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a>
Jones, &lsquo;Apparitions.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>X.</h4>

<p>Contrasting strongly with this matter-of-fact
account of a modern witness is the glowing description
of fairy life contained in the legend of the
Fairies of Frennifawr. About ten miles south of
Cardigan is the Pembrokeshire mountain called
Frennifawr, which is the scene of this tale: A
shepherd&rsquo;s lad was tending his sheep on the small
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg83" id="pg83">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>83]</a></span>
mountains called Frennifach one fine morning in
June. Looking to the top of Frennifawr to note
what way the fog hung&mdash;for if the fog on that
mountain hangs on the Pembrokeshire side, there
will be fair weather, if on the Cardigan side, storm&mdash;he
saw the Tylwyth Teg, in appearance like
tiny soldiers, dancing in a ring. He set out for
the scene of revelry, and soon drew near the ring
where, in a gay company of males and females, they
were footing it to the music of the harp. Never
had he seen such handsome people, nor any so
enchantingly cheerful. They beckoned him with
laughing faces to join them as they leaned backward
almost falling, whirling round and round with joined
hands. Those who were dancing never swerved from
the perfect circle; but some were clambering over the
old cromlech, and others chasing each other with surprising
swiftness and the greatest glee. Still others
rode about on small white horses of the most beautiful
form; these riders were little ladies, and their dresses
were indescribably elegant, surpassing the sun in
radiance, and varied in colour, some being of bright
whiteness, others the most vivid scarlet. The males
wore red tripled caps, and the ladies a light fantastic
headdress which waved in the wind. All this was
in silence, for the shepherd could not hear the harps,
though he saw them. But now he drew nearer to
the circle, and finally ventured to put his foot in the
magic ring. The instant he did this, his ears were
charmed with strains of the most melodious music
he had ever heard. Moved with the transports this
seductive harmony produced in him, he stepped
fully into the ring. He was no sooner in than he
found himself in a palace glittering with gold and
pearls. Every form of beauty surrounded him, and
every variety of pleasure was offered him. He was
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg84" id="pg84">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>84]</a></span>
made free to range whither he would, and his every
movement was waited on by young women of the
most matchless loveliness. And no tongue can tell
the joys of feasting that were his! Instead of the
tatws-a-llaeth (potatoes and buttermilk) to which
he had hitherto been accustomed, here were birds
and meats of every choice description, served on
plates of silver. Instead of home-brewed cwrw, the
only bacchic beverage he had ever tasted in real life,
here were red and yellow wines of wondrous
enjoyableness, brought in golden goblets richly
inlaid with gems. The waiters were the most
beautiful virgins, and everything was in abundance.
There was but one restriction on his freedom: he
must not drink, on any consideration, from a certain
well in the garden, in which swam fishes of every
colour, including the colour of gold. Each day new
joys were provided for his amusement, new scenes
of beauty were unfolded to him, new faces presented
themselves, more lovely if possible than those he
had before encountered. Everything was done to
charm him; but one day all his happiness fled in an
instant. Possessing every joy that mortal could
desire, he wanted the one thing forbidden&mdash;like Eve
in the garden, like Fatima in the castle; curiosity
undid him. He plunged his hand into the well:
the fishes all disappeared instantly. He put the
water to his mouth: a confused shriek ran through
the garden. He drank: the palace and all vanished
from his sight, and he stood shivering in the night
air, alone on the mountain, in the very place where
he had first entered the ring.<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a></p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg11.jpg" width="375" height="380"
alt="The shepherd drinks from the forbidden well" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE FATAL DRAUGHT.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cambrian Superstitions,&rsquo; 148. (This is a small collection of
Welsh stories printed at Tipton in 1831, and now rare; its author was
W. Howells, a lad of nineteen, and his work was drawn out by a small
prize offered by Archdeacon Beynon through a Carmarthen newspaper
in 1830. Its English requires rehandling, but its material is of value.)</p>
</div>
</div>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg85" id="pg85">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>85]</a></span></p>

<h4>XI.</h4>

<p>Comment on the resemblances borne by these
tales to the more famous legends of other lands, is
perhaps unnecessary; they will occur to every reader
who is at all familiar with the subject of folk-lore.
To those who are not, it is sufficient to say that these
resemblances exist, and afford still further testimony
to the common origin of such tales in a remote past.
The legend last given embodies the curiosity feature
which is familiar through the story of Bluebeard,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg86" id="pg86">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>86]</a></span>
but has its root in the story of Psyche. She was
forbidden to look upon her husband Eros, the god
of love; she disobeyed the injunction, and the
beautiful palace in which she had dwelt with
him vanished in an instant, leaving her alone in a
desolate spot. Ages older than the Psyche story,
however, is the legend embodying the original
Aryan myth. The drop of oil which falls upon the
shoulder of the sleeping prince and wakes him,
revealing Psyche&rsquo;s curiosity and destroying her happiness,
is paralleled among the Welsh by the magic
ointment in the legend of the Fiend Master. This
legend, it may be premised, is also familiar to both
France and Germany, where its details differ but
little from those here given: A respectable young
Welshwoman of the working class, who lived with
her parents, went one day to a hiring fair. Here she
&lsquo;was addressed by a very noble-looking gentleman
all in black, who asked her if she would be a nursemaid,
and undertake the management of his children.
She replied that she had no objection; when
he promised her immense wages, and said he would
take her home behind him, but that she must, before
they started, consent to be blindfolded. This done,
she mounted behind him on a coal-black steed, and
away they rode at a great rate. At length they
dismounted, when her new master took her by the
hand and led her on, still blindfolded, for a considerable
distance. The handkerchief was then
removed, when she beheld more grandeur than she
had ever seen before; a beautiful palace lighted up
by more lights than she could count, and a number
of little children as beautiful as angels; also many
noble-looking ladies and gentlemen. The children
her master put under her charge, and gave her a
box containing ointment, which she was to put on
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg87" id="pg87">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>87]</a></span>
their eyes. At the same time he gave her strict
orders always to wash her hands immediately after
using the ointment, and be particularly careful never
to let a bit of it touch her own eyes. These
injunctions she strictly followed, and was for some
time very happy; yet she sometimes thought it odd
that they should always live by candle-light; and
she wondered, too, that grand and beautiful as the
palace was, such fine ladies and gentlemen as were
there should never wish to leave it. But so it was;
no one ever went out but her master. One morning,
while putting the ointment on the eyes of the
children, her own eye itched, and forgetting the
orders of her master she touched one corner of it
with her finger which was covered with ointment.
Immediately, with the vision of that corner of her
eye, she saw herself surrounded by fearful flames;
the ladies and gentlemen looked like devils, and
the children appeared like the most hideous imps of
hell. Though with the other parts of her eyes she
beheld all grand and beautiful as before, she could
not help feeling much frightened at all this; but
having great presence of mind she let no one see
her alarm. However, she took the first opportunity
of asking her master&rsquo;s leave to go and see her
friends. He said he would take her, but she must
again consent to be blindfolded. Accordingly a
handkerchief was put over her eyes; she was again
mounted behind her master, and was soon put
down in the neighbourhood of her own house. It
will be believed that she remained quietly there, and
took good care not to return to her place; but
very many years afterwards, being at a fair, she
saw a man stealing something from a stall, and with
one corner of her eye beheld her old master pushing
his elbow. Unthinkingly she said, &ldquo;How are you
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg88" id="pg88">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>88]</a></span>
master? how are the children?&rdquo; He said, &ldquo;How
did you see me?&rdquo; She answered, &ldquo;With the corner
of my left eye.&rdquo; From that moment she was blind
of her left eye, and lived many years with only her
right.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> An older legend preserving this mythical
detail is the story of Taliesin. Gwion Bach&rsquo;s eyes
are opened by a drop from Caridwen&rsquo;s caldron
falling upon his finger, which he puts in his mouth.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a>
&lsquo;Camb. Sup.,&rsquo; 349.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>XII.</h4>

<p>A Carmarthenshire tradition names among those
who lived for a period among the Tylwyth Teg no
less a person than the translator into Welsh of
Bunyan&rsquo;s &lsquo;Pilgrim&rsquo;s Progress.&rsquo; He was called
Iago ap Dewi, and lived in the parish of Llanllawddog,
Carmarthenshire, in a cottage situated in
the wood of Llangwyly. He was absent from the
neighbourhood for a long period, and the universal
belief among the peasantry was that Iago &lsquo;got out
of bed one night to gaze on the starry sky, as he
was accustomed (astrology being one of his favourite
studies), and whilst thus occupied the fairies (who
were accustomed to resort in a neighbouring
wood), passing by, carried him away, and he
dwelt with them seven years. Upon his return
he was questioned by many as to where he had
been, but always avoided giving them a reply.&rsquo;</p>


<h4>XIII.</h4>

<p>The wide field of interest opened up in tales of
this class is a fascinating one to the students of
fairy mythology. The whole world seems to be
the scene of such tales, and collectors of folk-lore
in many lands have laid claim to the discovery of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg89" id="pg89">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>89]</a></span>
&lsquo;the original&rsquo; on which the story of Rip van Winkle
is based. It is an honour to American genius, to
which I cannot forbear a passing allusion, that of
all these legends, none has achieved so wide a fame
as that which Washington Irving has given to our
literature, and Joseph Jefferson to our stage. It
is more than probable that Irving drew his inspiration
from Grimm, and that the Catskills are
indebted to the Hartz Mountains of Germany for
their romantic fame. But the legends are endless
in which occur this unsuspected lapse of time
among supernatural beings, and the wandering back
to the old home to find all changed. In Greece,
it is Epimenides, the poet, who, while searching for
a lost sheep, wanders into a cave where he slumbers
forty-seven years. The Gaelic and Teutonic legends
are well known. But our wonder at the vitality
of this myth is greatest when we find it in both
China and Japan. In the Japanese account a
young man fishing in his boat on the ocean is
invited by the goddess of the sea to her home
beneath the waves. After three days he desires
to see his old mother and father. On parting she
gives him a golden casket and a key, but begs him
never to open it. At the village where he lived
he finds that all is changed, and he can get no trace
of his parents until an aged woman recollects having
heard of their names. He finds their graves a
hundred years old. Thinking that three days could
not have made such a change, and that he was
under a spell, he opens the casket. A white
vapour rises, and under its influence the young
man falls to the ground. His hair turns grey, his
form loses its youth, and in a few moments he
dies of old age. The Chinese legend relates how
two friends wandering amongst the ravines of their
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg90" id="pg90">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>90]</a></span>
native mountains in search of herbs for medicinal
purposes, come to a fairy bridge where two maidens
of more than earthly beauty are on guard. They
invite them to the fairy land which lies on the
other side of the bridge, and the invitation being
accepted, they become enamoured of the maidens,
and pass what to them seems a short though
blissful period of existence with the fairy folk. At
length they desire to revisit their earthly homes
and are allowed to return, when they find that
seven generations have lived and died during their
apparently short absence, they themselves having
become centenarians.<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> In China, as elsewhere, the
legend takes divers forms.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a>
Dennys, &lsquo;Folk-Lore of China,&rsquo; 98.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg91" id="pg91">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>91]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk1chap07" id="bk1chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Fairy Music&mdash;Birds of Enchantment&mdash;The Legend of Shon ap Shenkin&mdash;Harp-Music
in Welsh Fairy Tales&mdash;Legend of the Magic Harp&mdash;Songs
and Tunes of the Tylwyth Teg&mdash;The Legend of Iolo ap
Hugh&mdash;Mystic Origin of an old Welsh Air.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>In those rare cases where it is not dancing which
holds the victim of Tylwyth Teg in its fatal fascination,
the seducer is music. There is a class of
stories still common in Wales, in which is preserved
a wondrously beautiful survival of the primitive
mythology. In the vast middle ground between
our own commonplace times and the pre-historic
ages we encounter more than once the lovely legend
of the Birds of Rhiannon, which sang so sweetly that
the warrior knights stood listening entranced for
eighty years. This legend appears in the Mabinogi
of &lsquo;Branwen, daughter of Llyr,&rsquo; and, as we read it
there, is a medieval tale; but the medieval authors
of the Mabinogion as we know them were working
over old materials&mdash;telling again the old tales which
had come down through unnumbered centuries from
father to son by tradition. Cambrian poets of an
earlier age often allude to the birds of Rhiannon;
they are mentioned in the Triads. In the Mabinogi,
the period the warriors listened is seven years.
Seven men only had escaped from a certain battle
with the Irish, and they were bidden by their dying
chief to cut off his head and bear it to London and
bury it with the face towards France. Various were
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg92" id="pg92">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>92]</a></span>
the adventures they encountered while obeying this
injunction. At Harlech they stopped to rest, and
sat down to eat and drink. &lsquo;And there came three
birds, and began singing unto them a certain song,
and all the songs they had ever heard were
unpleasant compared thereto; and the birds seemed
to them to be at a great distance from them over
the sea, yet they appeared as distinct as if they
were close by; and at this repast they continued
seven years.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> This enchanting fancy reappears in
the local story of Shon ap Shenkin, which was
related to me by a farmer&rsquo;s wife near the reputed
scene of the legend. Pant Shon Shenkin has
already been mentioned as a famous centre for
Carmarthenshire fairies. The story of Taffy ap
Sion and this of Shon ap Shenkin were probably
one and the same at some period in their career,
although they are now distinct. Shon ap Shenkin
was a young man who lived hard by Pant Shon
Shenkin. As he was going afield early one fine
summer&rsquo;s morning he heard a little bird singing, in
a most enchanting strain, on a tree close by his path.
Allured by the melody he sat down under the tree
until the music ceased, when he arose and looked
about him. What was his surprise at observing
that the tree, which was green and full of life when
he sat down, was now withered and barkless!
Filled with astonishment he returned to the farm-house
which he had left, as he supposed, a few
minutes before; but it also was changed, grown
older, and covered with ivy. In the doorway stood
an old man whom he had never before seen; he at
once asked the old man what he wanted there.
&lsquo;What do I want here?&rsquo; ejaculated the old man,
reddening angrily; &lsquo;that&rsquo;s a pretty question! Who
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg93" id="pg93">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>93]</a></span>
are you that dare to insult me in my own house?&rsquo;
&lsquo;In your own house? How is this? where&rsquo;s my
father and mother, whom I left here a few minutes
since, whilst I have been listening to the charming
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg94" id="pg94">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>94]</a></span>
music under yon tree, which, when I rose, was
withered and leafless?&rsquo; &lsquo;Under the tree!&mdash;music!
what&rsquo;s your name?&rsquo; &lsquo;Shon ap Shenkin.&rsquo; &lsquo;Alas,
poor Shon, and is this indeed you!&rsquo; cried the old
man. &lsquo;I often heard my grandfather, your father,
speak of you, and long did he bewail your absence.
Fruitless inquiries were made for you; but old Catti
Maddock of Brechfa said you were under the power
of the fairies, and would not be released until the
last sap of that sycamore tree would be dried up.
Embrace me, my dear uncle, for you are my uncle&mdash;embrace
your nephew.&rsquo; With this the old man
extended his arms, but before the two men could
embrace, poor Shon ap Shenkin crumbled into dust
on the doorstep.</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg12.jpg" width="375" height="552"
alt="Shon's nephew moves to embrace his uncle" />
</div>

<p class="caption">SHON AP SHENKIN RETURNS HOME.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a>
Lady Charlotte Guest&rsquo;s &lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; 381.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>The harp is played by Welsh fairies to an extent
unknown in those parts of the world where the
harp is less popular among the people. When any
instrument is distinctly heard in fairy cymmoedd
it is usually the harp. Sometimes it is a fiddle,
but then on close examination it will be discovered
that it is a captured mortal who is playing it; the
Tylwyth Teg prefer the harp. They play the
bugle on specially grand occasions, and there is
a case or two on record where the drone of the
bagpipes was heard; but it is not doubted that the
player was some stray fairy from Scotland or elsewhere
over the border. On the top of Craig-y-Ddinas
thousands of white fairies dance to the
music of many harps. In the dingle called Cwm
Pergwm, in the Vale of Neath, the Tylwyth Teg
make music behind the waterfall, and when they
go off over the mountains the sounds of their harps
are heard dying away as they recede. The story
which presents the Cambrian equivalent of the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg95" id="pg95">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>95]</a></span>
Magic Flute substitutes a harp for the (to Welshmen)
less familiar instrument. As told to me this
story runs somewhat thus: A company of fairies
which frequented Cader Idris were in the habit of
going about from cottage to cottage in that part of
Wales, in pursuit of information concerning the
degree of benevolence possessed by the cottagers.
Those who gave these fairies an ungracious welcome
were subject to bad luck during the rest of
their lives, but those who were good to the little
folk became the recipients of their favour. Old
Morgan ap Rhys sat one night in his own chimney
corner making himself comfortable with his pipe
and his pint of cwrw da. The good ale having
melted his soul a trifle, he was in a more jolly mood
than was natural to him, when there came a little
rap at the door, which reached his ear dully through
the smoke of his pipe and the noise of his own
voice&mdash;for in his merriment Morgan was singing a
roystering song, though he could not sing any better
than a haw&mdash;which is Welsh for a donkey. But
Morgan did not take the trouble to get up at sound
of the rap; his manners were not the most refined;
he thought it was quite enough for a man on
hospitable purposes bent to bawl forth in ringing
Welsh, &lsquo;Gwaed dyn a&rsquo;i gilydd! Why don&rsquo;t you
come in when you&rsquo;ve got as far as the door?&rsquo; The
welcome was not very polite, but it was sufficient.
The door opened, and three travellers entered,
looking worn and weary. Now these were the
fairies from Cader Idris, disguised in this manner
for purposes of observation, and Morgan never
suspected they were other than they appeared.
&lsquo;Good sir,&rsquo; said one of the travellers, &lsquo;we are worn
and weary, but all we seek is a bite of food to put
in our wallet, and then we will go on our way.&rsquo;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg96" id="pg96">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>96]</a></span>
&lsquo;Waw, lads! is that all you want? Well, there,
look you, is the loaf and the cheese, and the knife
lies by them, and you may cut what you like, and
fill your bellies as well as your wallet, for never
shall it be said that Morgan ap Rhys denied bread
and cheese to a fellow creature.&rsquo; The travellers
proceeded to help themselves, while Morgan continued
to drink and smoke, and to sing after his
fashion, which was a very rough fashion indeed.
As they were about to go, the fairy travellers
turned to Morgan and said, &lsquo;Since you have been
so generous we will show that we are grateful. It
is in our power to grant you any one wish you may
have; therefore tell us what that wish may be.&rsquo;</p>

<p>&lsquo;Ho, ho!&rsquo; said Morgan, &lsquo;is that the case? Ah,
I see you are making sport of me. Wela, wela, the
wish of my heart is to have a harp that will play
under my fingers no matter how ill I strike it; a
harp that will play lively tunes, look you; no
melancholy music for me!&rsquo; He had hardly spoken,
when to his astonishment, there on the hearth
before him stood a splendid harp, and he was alone.
&lsquo;Waw!&rsquo; cried Morgan, &lsquo;they&rsquo;re gone already.&rsquo;
Then looking behind him he saw they had not
taken the bread and cheese they had cut off, after
all. &lsquo;&rsquo;Twas the fairies, perhaps,&rsquo; he muttered, but
sat serenely quaffing his beer, and staring at the
harp. There was a sound of footsteps behind him,
and his wife came in from out doors with some
friends. Morgan feeling very jolly, thought he
would raise a little laughter among them by displaying
his want of skill upon the harp. So he
commenced to play&mdash;oh, what a mad and capering
tune it was! &lsquo;Waw!&rsquo; said Morgan, &lsquo;but this is a
harp. Holo! what ails you all?&rsquo; For as fast as
he played his neighbours danced, every man,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg97" id="pg97">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>97]</a></span>
woman, and child of them all footing it like mad
creatures. Some of them bounded up against the
roof of the cottage till their heads cracked again;
others spun round and round, knocking over the
furniture; and, as Morgan went on thoughtlessly
playing, they began to pray to him to stop before
they should be jolted to pieces. But Morgan found
the scene too amusing to want to stop; besides, he
was enamoured of his own suddenly developed
skill as a musician; and he twanged the strings
and laughed till his sides ached and the tears rolled
down his cheeks, at the antics of his friends. Tired
out at last he stopped, and the dancers fell exhausted
on the floor, the chairs, the tables, declaring the
diawl himself was in the harp. &lsquo;I know a tune
worth two of that,&rsquo; quoth Morgan, picking up the
harp again; but at sight of this motion all the company
rushed from the house and escaped, leaving
Morgan rolling merrily in his chair. Whenever
Morgan got a little tipsy after that, he would get
the harp and set everybody round him to dancing;
and the consequence was he got a bad name, and
no one would go near him. But all their precautions
did not prevent the neighbours from being
caught now and then, when Morgan took his revenge
by making them dance till their legs were broken,
or some other damage was done them. Even
lame people and invalids were compelled to dance
whenever they heard the music of this diabolical
telyn. In short, Morgan so abused his fairy gift
that one night the good people came and took it
away from him, and he never saw it more. The
consequence was he became morose, and drank
himself to death&mdash;a warning to all who accept
from the fairies favours they do not deserve.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg98" id="pg98">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>98]</a></span></p>

<h4>III.</h4>

<p>The music of the Tylwyth Teg has been variously
described by people who claim to have heard it;
but as a rule with much vagueness, as of a sweet
intangible harmony, recalling the experience of
Caliban:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i10">The isle is full of noises;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Will hum about mine ears.<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>One Morgan Gwilym, who saw the fairies by
Cylepsta Waterfall, and heard their music dying
away, was only able to recall the last strain, which
he said sounded something like this:</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw3">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bgm01.png" width="500" height="76"
alt="Music notation, untitled" />
</div>

<p class="link">[<a href="music/bgm01harp.mid">Listen.</a>]</p>

<p>Edmund Daniel, of the Arail, &lsquo;an honest man
and a constant speaker of truth,&rsquo; told the Prophet
Jones that he often saw the fairies after sunset
crossing the Cefn Bach from the Valley of the
Church towards Hafodafel, leaping and striking in
the air, and making a serpentine path through the
air, in this form:</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1 smlpadb">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg13.png" width="375" height="22"
alt="Horizontal wavy line" />
</div>

<p>The fairies were seen and heard by many persons
in that neighbourhood, and sometimes by several
persons together. They appeared more often by
night than by day, and in the morning and evening
more often than about noon. Many heard their
music, and said of it that it was low and pleasant;
but that it had this peculiarity: no one could ever
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg99" id="pg99">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>99]</a></span>
learn the tune. In more favoured parts of the
Principality, the words of the song were distinctly
heard, and under the name of the &lsquo;C&acirc;n y Tylwyth
Teg&rsquo; are preserved as follows:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Dowch, dowch, gyfeillion m&acirc;n,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">O blith marwolion byd,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dowch, dowch, a dowch yn l&acirc;n.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Partowch partowch eich pibau c&acirc;n,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gan ddawnsio dowch i gyd,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mae yn hyfryd heno i hwn.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>One is reluctant to turn into bald English this
goblin song, which in its native Welsh is almost as
impressive as &lsquo;Fi Fo Fum.&rsquo; Let it suffice that the
song is an invitation to the little ones among the
dead of earth to come with music and dancing to
the delights of the night revel.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a>
&lsquo;Tempest,&rsquo; Act III., Sc. 2.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>In the legend of Iolo ap Hugh, than which no
story is more widely known in Wales, the fairy
origin of that famous tune &lsquo;Ffarwel Ned Pugh&rsquo; is
shown. It is a legend which suggests the Enchanted
Flute fancy in another form, the instrument here
being a fiddle, and the victim and player one under
fairy control. In its introduction of bread and
cheese and candles it smacks heartily of the soil.
In North Wales there is a famous cave which is
said to reach from its entrance on the hillside
&lsquo;under the Morda, the Ceiriog, and a thousand
other streams, under many a league of mountain,
marsh and moor, under the almost unfathomable wells
that, though now choked up, once supplied Sycharth,
the fortress of Glyndwrdwy, all the way to Chirk
Castle.&rsquo; Tradition said that whoever went within
five paces of its mouth would be drawn into it and
lost. That the peasants dwelling near it had a
thorough respect for this tradition, was proved by
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg100" id="pg100">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>100]</a></span>
the fact that all around the dangerous hole &lsquo;the
grass grew as thick and as rank as in the wilds of
America or some unapproached ledge of the Alps.&rsquo;
Both men and animals feared the spot: &lsquo;A fox, with
a pack of hounds in full cry at his tail,&rsquo; once turned
short round on approaching it, &lsquo;with his hair all
bristled and fretted like frostwork with terror,&rsquo; and
ran into the middle of the pack, &lsquo;as if anything
earthly&mdash;even an earthly death&mdash;was a relief to his
supernatural perturbations.&rsquo; And the dogs in
pursuit of this fox all declined to seize him, on
account of the phosphoric smell and gleam of his
coat. Moreover, &lsquo;Elias ap Evan, who happened
one fair night to stagger just upon the rim of the
forbidden space,&rsquo; was so frightened at what he saw
and heard that he arrived at home perfectly sober,
&lsquo;the only interval of sobriety, morning, noon, or
night, Elias had been afflicted with for upwards of
twenty years.&rsquo; Nor ever after that experience&mdash;concerning
which he was wont to shake his head
solemnly, as if he might tell wondrous tales an&rsquo; he
dared&mdash;could Elias get tipsy, drink he never so
faithfully to that end. As he himself expressed it,
&lsquo;His shadow walked steadily before him, that at one
time wheeled around him like a pointer over bog
and stone.&rsquo; One misty Hallow E&rsquo;en, Iolo ap Hugh,
the fiddler, determined to solve the mysteries of the
Ogof, or Cave, provided himself with &lsquo;an immense
quantity of bread and cheese and seven pounds of
candles,&rsquo; and ventured in. He never returned; but
long, long afterwards, at the twilight of another
Hallow E&rsquo;en, an old shepherd was passing that&mdash;as
he called it&mdash;&lsquo;Land-Maelstrom of Diaboly,&rsquo; when he
heard a faint burst of melody dancing up and down
the rocks above the cave. As he listened, the music
gradually &lsquo;moulded itself in something like a tune,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg101" id="pg101">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>101]</a></span>
though it was a tune the shepherd had never heard
before.&rsquo; And it sounded as if it were being played
by some jolting fiend, so rugged was its rhythm, so
repeated its discordant groans. Now there appeared
at the mouth of the Ogof a figure well-known to the
shepherd by remembrance. It was dimly visible;
but it was Iolo ap Hugh, one could see that at once.
He was capering madly to the music of his own
fiddle, with a lantern dangling at his breast.
&lsquo;Suddenly the moon shone full on the cave&rsquo;s yellow
mouth, and the shepherd saw poor Iolo for a single
moment&mdash;but it was distinctly and horribly. His
face was pale as marble, and his eyes stared fixedly
and deathfully, whilst his head dangled loose and
unjointed on his shoulders. His arms seemed to
keep his fiddlestick in motion without the least
sympathy from their master. The shepherd saw him
a moment on the verge of the cave, and then, still
capering and fiddling, vanish like a shadow from his
sight;&rsquo; but the old man was heard to say he seemed
as if he slipped into the cave in a manner quite
different from the step of a living and a willing man;
&lsquo;he was dragged inwards like the smoke up the
chimney, or the mist at sunrise.&rsquo; Years elapsed;
&lsquo;all hopes and sorrows connected with poor Iolo
had not only passed away, but were nearly forgotten;
the old shepherd had long lived in a parish
at a considerable distance amongst the hills. One
cold December Sunday evening he and his fellow-parishioners
were shivering in their seats as the
clerk was beginning to light the church, when a
strange burst of music, starting suddenly from
beneath the aisle, threw the whole congregation
into confusion, and then it passed faintly along to
the farther end of the church, and died gradually
away till at last it was impossible to distinguish it
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg102" id="pg102">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>102]</a></span>
from the wind that was careering and wailing
through almost every pillar of the old church.&rsquo; The
shepherd immediately recognised this to be the tune
Iolo had played at the mouth of the Ogof. The
parson of the parish&mdash;a connoisseur in music&mdash;took
it down from the old man&rsquo;s whistling; and to this
day, if you go to the cave on Hallow eve and put
your ear to the aperture, you may hear the tune
&lsquo;Ffarwel Ned Pugh&rsquo; as distinctly as you may hear
the waves roar in a sea-shell. &lsquo;And it is said that
in certain nights in leap-year a star stands opposite
the farther end of the cave, and enables you to
view all through it and to see Iolo and its other
inmates.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a></p>

<div class="figcenter imgw3">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bgm02.png" width="500" height="317"
alt="Music notation for Ffarwel Ned Pugh" />
</div>

<p class="link">[<a href="music/bgm02harp.mid">Listen.</a>]</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a>
&lsquo;Camb. Quarterly,&rsquo; i., 45.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg103" id="pg103">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>103]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk1chap08" id="bk1chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Fairy Rings&mdash;The Prophet Jones and his Works&mdash;The Mysterious
Language of the Tylwyth Teg&mdash;The Horse in Welsh Folk-Lore&mdash;Equestrian
Fairies&mdash;Fairy Cattle, Sheep, Swine, etc.&mdash;The Flying
Fairies of Bedwellty&mdash;The Fairy Sheepfold at Cae&rsquo;r Cefn.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>The circles in the grass of green fields, which
are commonly called fairy rings, are numerous in
Wales, and it is deemed just as well to keep out
of them, even in our day. The peasantry no
longer believe that the fairies can be seen dancing
there, nor that the cap of invisibility will fall on
the head of one who enters the circle; but they
do believe that the fairies, in a time not long
gone, made these circles with the tread of their
tripping feet, and that some misfortune will probably
befall any person intruding upon this forbidden
ground. An old man at Peterstone-super-Ely told
me he well remembered in his childhood being
warned by his mother to keep away from the fairy
rings. The counsel thus given him made so deep
an impression on his mind, that he had never in his
life entered one. He remarked further, in answer
to a question, that he had never walked under a
ladder, because it was unlucky to walk under a
ladder. This class of superstitions is a very large
one, and is encountered the world over; and the
fairy rings seem to fall into this class, so far as
present-day belief in Wales is concerned.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg104" id="pg104">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>104]</a></span></p>

<h4>II.</h4>

<p>Allusion has been made in the preceding pages to
the Prophet Jones, and as some account of this personage
is imperatively called for in a work treating
of Welsh folk-lore, I will give it here, before citing
his remarks respecting fairy circles. Edmund Jones,
&lsquo;of the Tranch,&rsquo; was a dissenting minister, noted in
Monmouthshire in the first years of the present century
for his fervent piety and his large credulity with
regard to fairies and all other goblins. He was
for many years pastor of the congregation of Protestant
Dissenters at the Ebenezer Chapel, near
Pontypool, and lived at a place called &lsquo;The Tranch,&rsquo;
near there. He wrote and published two books, one
an &lsquo;Account of the Parish of Aberystruth,&rsquo; printed
at Trevecca; the other a &lsquo;Relation of Apparitions
of Spirits in the County of Monmouth and the
Principality of Wales,&rsquo; printed at Newport; and they
have been referred to by most writers on folk-lore
who have attempted any account of Welsh superstitions
during the past half-century; but the books
are extremely rare, and writers who have quoted
from them have generally been content to do so at
second-hand. Keightley,<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> quoting from the &lsquo;Apparitions,&rsquo;
misprints the author&rsquo;s name &lsquo;Edward Jones
of the Tiarch,&rsquo; and accredits the publication to &lsquo;the
latter half of the eighteenth century,&rsquo; whereas it was
published in 1813. Keightley&rsquo;s quotations are taken
from Croker, who himself had never seen the book,
but heard of it through a Welsh friend. It is not in
the library of the British Museum, and I know of
but a few copies in Wales; the one I saw is at Swansea.
The author of these curious volumes was called
the Prophet Jones, because of his gift of prophecy&mdash;so
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg105" id="pg105">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>105]</a></span>
a Welshman in Monmouthshire told me. In my
informant&rsquo;s words, &lsquo;He was noted in his district for
foretelling things. He would, for instance, be asked
to preach at some anniversary, or quarterly meeting,
and he would answer, &ldquo;I cannot, on that day; the
rain will descend in torrents, and there will be no
congregation.&rdquo; He would give the last mite he
possessed to the needy, and tell his wife, &ldquo;God will
send a messenger with food and raiment at nine
o&rsquo;clock to-morrow.&rdquo; And so it would be.&rsquo; He was
a thorough-going believer in Welsh fairies, and full
of indignant scorn toward all who dared question
their reality. To him these phantoms were part and
parcel of the Christian faith, and those who disbelieved
in them were denounced as Sadducees and
infidels.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a>
&lsquo;Fairy Mythology,&rsquo; 412.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>With regard to the fairy rings, Jones held that the
Bible alludes to them, Matt. xii. 43: &lsquo;The fairies
dance in circles in dry places; and the Scripture saith
that the walk of evil spirits is in dry places.&rsquo; They
favour the oak-tree, and the female oak especially,
partly because of its more wide-spreading branches
and deeper shade, partly because of the &lsquo;superstitious
use made of it beyond other trees&rsquo; in the days of the
Druids. Formerly, it was dangerous to cut down a
female oak in a fair dry place. &lsquo;Some were said to
lose their lives by it, by a strange aching pain which
admitted of no remedy, as one of my ancestors did;
but now that men have more knowledge and faith,
this effect follows not.&rsquo; William Jenkins was for a
long time the schoolmaster at Trefethin church, in
Monmouthshire, and coming home late in the evening,
as he usually did, he often saw the fairies under
an oak within two or three fields from the church.
He saw them more often on Friday evenings than
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg106" id="pg106">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>106]</a></span>
any other. At one time he went to examine the
ground about this oak, and there he found the
reddish circle wherein the fairies danced, &lsquo;such as
have often been seen under the female oak, called
Brenhin-bren.&rsquo; They appeared more often to an
uneven number of persons, as one, three, five, &amp;c.;
and oftener to men than to women. Thomas
William Edmund, of Hafodafel, &lsquo;an honest pious
man, who often saw them,&rsquo; declared that they
appeared with one bigger than the rest going before
them in the company. They were also heard talking
together in a noisy, jabbering way; but no one
could distinguish the words. They seemed, however,
to be a very disputatious race; insomuch,
indeed, that there was a proverb in some parts of
Wales to this effect: &lsquo;Ni chytunant hwy mwy na
Bendith eu Mamau,&rsquo; (They will no more agree
than the fairies).</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>This observation respecting the mysterious language
used by fairies recalls again the medieval
story of Elidurus. The example of fairy words
there given by Giraldus is thought by the learned
rector of Llanarmon<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> to be &lsquo;a mixture of Irish and
Welsh. The letter U, with which each of the
words begins, is, probably, no more than the representative
of an indistinct sound like the E mute of
the French, and which those whose language and
manners are vulgar often prefix to words indifferently.
If, then, they be read dor dorum, and halgein
dorum, dor and halgein are nearly dwr (or, as it is
pronounced, door) and halen, the Welsh words for
water and salt respectively. Dorum therefore is
equivalent to &ldquo;give me,&rdquo; and the Irish expression for
&ldquo;give me&rdquo; is thorum; the Welsh dyro i mi. The
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg107" id="pg107">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>107]</a></span>
order of the words, however, is reversed. The order
should be thorum dor, and thorum halen in Irish,
and in Welsh dyro i mi ddwr, and dyro i mi halen,
but was, perhaps, reversed intentionally by the narrator,
to make his tale the more marvellous.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a>
Rev. Peter Roberts, &lsquo;Cambrian Popular Antiquities,&rsquo; 195. (1815.)</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a>
Supra, p. 67.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>The horse plays a very active part in Welsh fairy
tales. Not only does his skeleton serve for Mary
Lwyds<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> and the like, but his spirit flits. The
Welsh fairies seem very fond of going horseback.
An old woman in the Vale of Neath told Mrs.
Williams, who told Thomas Keightley, that she had
seen fairies to the number of hundreds, mounted
on little white horses, not bigger than dogs, and
riding four abreast. This was about dusk, and the
fairy equestrians passed quite close to her, in fact
less than a quarter of a mile away. Another old
woman asserted that her father had often seen the
fairies riding in the air on little white horses; but
he never saw them come to the ground. He heard
their music sounding in the air as they galloped by.
There is a tradition among the Glamorgan peasantry
of a fairy battle fought on the mountain between
Merthyr and Aberdare, in which the pigmy combatants
were on horseback. There appeared to be
two armies, one of which was mounted on milk-white
steeds, and the other on horses of jet-black.
They rode at each other with the utmost fury, and
their swords could be seen flashing in the air like
so many penknife blades. The army on the white
horses won the day, and drove the black-mounted
force from the field. The whole scene then disappeared
in a light mist.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a>
See <a href="#index">Index</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg108" id="pg108">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>108]</a></span></p>

<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>In the agricultural districts of Wales, the fairies
are accredited with a very complete variety of
useful animals; and Welsh folk-lore, both modern
and medieval, abounds with tales regarding cattle,
sheep, horses, poultry, goats, and other features of
rural life. Such are the marvellous mare of Teirnyon,
which foaled every first of May, but whose colt
was always spirited away, no man knew whither;
the Ychain Banog, or mighty oxen, which drew the
water-monster out of the enchanted lake, and by
their lowing split the rocks in twain; the lambs of
St. Melangell, which at first were hares, and ran
frightened under the fair saint&rsquo;s robes; the fairy
cattle which belong to the Gwraig Annwn; the
fairy sheep of Cefn Rhychdir, which rose up out of
the earth and vanished into the sky; even fairy
swine, which the haymakers of Bedwellty beheld
flying through the air. To some of these traditions
reference has already been made; others will be
mentioned again. Welsh mountain sheep will run
like stags, and bound from crag to crag like wild
goats; and as for Welsh swine, they are more
famed in Cambrian romantic story than almost any
other animal that could be named. Therefore the
tale told by Rev. Roger Rogers, of the parish of
Bedwellty, sounds much less absurd in Wales than
it might elsewhere. It relates to a very remarkable
and odd sight, seen by Lewis Thomas Jenkin&rsquo;s two
daughters, described as virtuous and good young
women, their father a substantial freeholder; and
seen not only by them but by the man-servant and
the maid-servant, and by two of the neighbours,
viz., Elizabeth David, and Edmund Roger. All
these six people were on a certain day making hay
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg109" id="pg109">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>109]</a></span>
in a field called Y Weirglodd Fawr Dafolog, when
they plainly beheld a company of fairies rise up out
of the earth in the shape of a flock of sheep; the
same being about a quarter of a mile distant, over a
hill, called Cefn Rhychdir; and soon the fairy flock
went out of sight, as if they vanished in the air.
Later in the day they all saw this company of fairies
again, but while to two of the haymakers the fairies
appeared as sheep, to others they appeared as
greyhounds, and to others as swine, and to others as
naked infants. Whereupon the Rev. Roger remarks:
&lsquo;The sons of infidelity are very unreasonable not to
believe the testimonies of so many witnesses.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a>
Jones, &lsquo;Apparitions,&rsquo; 24.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>The Welsh sheep, it is affirmed, are the only
beasts which will eat the grass that grows in the
fairy rings; all other creatures avoid it, but the
sheep eat it greedily&mdash;hence the superiority of
Welsh mutton over any mutton in the wide world.
The Prophet Jones tells of the sheepfold of the
fairies, which he himself saw&mdash;a circumstance to be
accorded due weight, the judicious reader will at
once perceive, because as a habit Mr. Jones was
not specially given to seeing goblins on his own
account. He believes in them with all his heart,
but it is usually a friend or acquaintance who has
seen them. In this instance, therefore, the exception
is to be noted sharply. He thus tells the tale:
&lsquo;If any think I am too credulous in these relations,
and speak of things of which I myself have had no
experience, I must let them know they are mistaken.
For when a very young boy, going with my aunt,
early in the morning, but after sun-rising, from
Hafodafel towards my father&rsquo;s house at Pen-y-Llwyn,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg110" id="pg110">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>110]</a></span>
at the end of the upper field of Cae&rsquo;r Cefn,
... I saw the likeness of a sheepfold, with the
door towards the south, ... and within the fold
a company of many people. Some sitting down,
and some going in, and coming out, bowing their
heads as they passed under the branch over the
door.... I well remember the resemblance
among them of a fair woman with a high-crown hat
and a red jacket, who made a better appearance
than the rest, and whom I think they seemed to
honour. I still have a pretty clear idea of her white
face and well-formed countenance. The men wore
white cravats.... I wondered at my aunt, going
before me, that she did not look towards them, and
we going so near them. As for me, I was loth to
speak until I passed them some way, and then told
my aunt what I had seen, at which she wondered,
and said I dreamed.... There was no fold in
that place. There is indeed the ruins of some
small edifice in that place, most likely a fold, but so
old that the stones are swallowed up, and almost
wholly crusted over with earth and grass.&rsquo;</p>

<p>This tale has long been deemed a poser by the
believers in Cambrian phantoms; but there is something
to be said on the side of doubt. Conceding
that the Reverend Edmund Jones, the dissenting
minister, was an honest gentleman who meant to
tell truth, it is still possible that Master Neddy
Jones, the lad, could draw a long bow like another
boy; and that having seen, possibly, some gypsy
group (or possibly nothing whatever) he embellished
his tale to excite wonderment, as boys do. Telling
a fictitious tale so often that one at last comes to
believe it oneself, is a well-known mental phenomenon.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg111" id="pg111">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>111]</a></span></p>

<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>The only other instance given by the Prophet
Jones as from the depths of his own personal
experience, is more vague in its particulars than the
preceding, and happened when he had presumably
grown to years of discretion. He was led astray, it
appears, by the Old Woman of the Mountain, on
Llanhiddel Bryn, near Pontypool&mdash;an eminence with
which he was perfectly well acquainted, and which
&lsquo;is no more than a mile and a half long and about
half a mile broad.&rsquo; But as a result of his going
astray, he came to a house where he had never been
before; and being deeply moved by his uncanny
experience, &lsquo;offered to go to prayer, which they
admitted.... I was then about twenty-three
years of age and had begun to preach the everlasting
gospel. They seemed to admire that a person
so young should be so warmly disposed; few young
men of my age being religious in this country then.
Much good came into this house and still continues
in it.... So the old hag got nothing by leading
me astray that time.&rsquo;</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg112" id="pg112">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>112]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk1chap09" id="bk1chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Piety as a Protection from the Seductions of the Tylwyth Teg&mdash;Various
Exorcisms&mdash;Cock-crowing&mdash;The Name of God&mdash;Fencing
off the Fairies&mdash;Old Betty Griffith and her Eithin Barricade&mdash;Means
of Getting Rid of the Tylwyth Teg&mdash;The Bwbach of the
Hendrefawr Farm&mdash;The Pwca&rsquo;r Trwyn&rsquo;s Flitting in a Jug of Barm.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>The extreme piety of his daily walk and conversation
may have been held as an explanation why the
Prophet Jones saw so few goblins himself, and consequently
why most of his stories of the fairies are
related as coming from other people. The value of a
general habit of piety, as a means of being rid of
fairies, has already been mentioned. The more
worldly exorcisms, such as the production of a black-handled
knife, or the turning one&rsquo;s coat wrongside out,
are passed over by the Prophet as trivial; but by the
student of comparative folk-lore, they are not deemed
unimportant. The last-mentioned exorcism, by the
way, is current among the Southern negroes of the
United States. The more spiritual exorcisms are
not less interesting than the others, however. First
among these is ranked the pronunciation of God&rsquo;s
name; but the crowing of a cock is respectfully mentioned,
in connection with the story of our Saviour.
Jones gives many accounts which terminate in the
manner of the following: Rees John Rosser, born at
Hendy, in the parish of Llanhiddel, &lsquo;a very religious
young man,&rsquo; went one morning very early to feed
the oxen in a barn called Ysgubor y Llan, and having
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg113" id="pg113">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>113]</a></span>
fed them lay himself upon the hay to rest. While
he lay there he heard the sound of music approaching,
and presently a large company of fairies came into
the barn. They wore striped clothes, some in gayer
colours than the others, but all very gay; and they
all danced to the music. He lay there as quiet as
he could, thinking they would not see him, but he
was espied by one of them, a woman, who brought
a striped cushion with four tassels, one at each
corner of it, and put it under his head. After some
time the cock crew at the house of Blaen y Cwm,
hard by, upon which they appeared as if they were
surprised and displeased; the cushion was hastily
whisked from under his head, and the fairies vanished.
&lsquo;The spirits of darkness do not like the crowing of
the cock, because it gives notice of the approach of
day, for they love darkness rather than light....
And it hath been several times observed that these
fairies cannot endure to hear the name of God.&rsquo;
A modern Welsh preacher (but one whose opinions
contrast most decidedly with those of Jones)
observes: &lsquo;The cock is wonderfully well versed in
the circumstances of the children of Adam; his
shrill voice at dawn of day is sufficient intimation to
every spirit, coblyn, wraith, elf, bwci, and apparition
to flee into their illusive country for their lives,
before the light of day will show them to be an
empty nothingness, and bring them to shame and
reproach.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> Shakspeare introduces this superstition
in Hamlet:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>Ber.</i>&nbsp; It was about to speak, when the cock crew.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>Hor.</i> And then it started like a guilty thing<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Upon a fearful summons.<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>But the opinion that spirits fly away at cock-crow
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg114" id="pg114">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>114]</a></span>
is of extreme antiquity. It is mentioned by the
Christian poet Prudentius (fourth century) as a
tradition of common belief.<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> As for the effect of
the name of God as an exorcism, we still encounter
this superstition, a living thing in our own day,
and in every land where modern &lsquo;spiritualism&rsquo; finds
believers. The mischief produced at &lsquo;spiritual
seances&rsquo; by &lsquo;bad spirits&rsquo; is well-known to those who
have paid any attention to this subject. The late
Mr. FitzHugh Ludlow once related to me, with
dramatic fervour, the result of his attempts to
exorcise a bad spirit which was in possession of a
female &lsquo;medium,&rsquo; by trying to make her pronounce
the name of Christ. She stumbled and stammered
over this test in a most embarrassing way, and finally
emerged from her trance with the holy name unspoken;
the bad spirit had fled. This was in New
York, in 1867. Like many others who assert their
unbelief in spiritualism, Mr. Ludlow was intensely
impressed by this phenomenon.</p>

<p>Students of comparative folk-lore class all such
manifestations under a common head, whether related
of fairies or spirit mediums. They trace their origin
to the same source whence come the notions of propitiating
the fairies by euphemistic names. The use
of such names as Jehovah, the Almighty, the Supreme
Being, etc., for the terrible and avenging God of the
Jewish theology, being originally an endeavour to
avoid pronouncing the name of God, it is easy to see
the connection with the exorcising power of that name
upon all evil spirits, such as fairies are usually held
to be. Here also, it is thought, is presented the
ultimate source of that horror of profane language
which prevails among the Puritanic peoples of
England and America. The name of the devil is
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg115" id="pg115">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>115]</a></span>
similarly provided with euphemisms, some of which&mdash;such
as the Old Boy&mdash;are not of a sort to offend
that personage&rsquo;s ears; and until recently the word
devil was deemed almost as offensive as the word
God, when profanely used.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a>
Rev. Robert Ellis, in &lsquo;Manion Hynafiaethol.&rsquo; (Treherbert, 1873.)</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a>
&lsquo;Hamlet,&rsquo; Act I., Sc. 1.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a>
Brand, &lsquo;Popular Antiquities,&rsquo; ii., 31.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>A popular protection from the encroachments of
fairies is the eithin, or prickly furze, common in
Wales. It is believed that the fairies cannot penetrate
a fence or hedge composed of this thorny
shrub. An account illustrating this, and otherwise
curious in its details, was given in 1871 by a
prominent resident of Anglesea:<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a> &lsquo;One day, some
thirty years ago, Mrs. Stanley went to one of the
old houses to see an old woman she often visited.
It was a wretched hovel; so unusually dark when
she opened the door, that she called to old Betty
Griffith, but getting no answer she entered the
room. A little tiny window of one pane of glass
at the further side of the room gave a feeble light.
A few cinders alight in the miserable grate also
gave a glimmer of light, which enabled her to see
where the bed used to be, in a recess. To her
surprise she saw it entirely shut out by a barricade
of thick gorse, so closely packed and piled up that
no bed was to be seen. Again she called Betty
Griffith; no response came. She looked round the
wretched room; the only symptom of life was a
plant of the Wandering Jew (<i>Saxifraga tricolor</i>),
so called by the poor people, and dearly loved to
grace their windows. It was planted in a broken
jar or teapot on the window, trailing its long tendrils
around, with here and there a new formed plant
seeming to derive sustenance from the air alone.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg116" id="pg116">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>116]</a></span>
As she stood, struck with the miserable poverty of
the human abode, a faint sigh came from behind
the gorse. She went close and said, &ldquo;Betty, where
are you?&rdquo; Betty instantly recognised her voice,
and ventured to turn herself round from the wall.
Mrs. Stanley then made a small opening in the
gorse barricade, which sadly pricked her fingers;
she saw Betty in her bed and asked her, &ldquo;Are you
not well? are you cold, that you are so closed up?&rdquo;
&ldquo;Cold! no. It is not cold, Mrs. Stanley; it is the
Tylwyth Teg; they never will leave me alone,
there they sit making faces at me, and trying to
come to me.&rdquo; &ldquo;Indeed! oh how I should like to
see them, Betty.&rdquo; &ldquo;Like to see them, is it? Oh,
don&rsquo;t say so.&rdquo; &ldquo;Oh but Betty, they must be so
pretty and good.&rdquo; &ldquo;Good? they are not good.&rdquo;
By this time the old woman got excited, and Mrs.
Stanley knew she should hear more from her about
the fairies, so she said, &ldquo;Well, I will go out; they
never will come if I am here.&rdquo; Old Betty replied
sharply, &ldquo;No, do not go. You must not leave me.
I will tell you all about them. Ah! they come and
plague me sadly. If I am up they will sit upon the
table; they turn my milk sour and spill my tea;
then they will not leave me at peace in my bed, but
come all round me and mock at me.&rdquo; &ldquo;But Betty,
tell me what is all this gorse for? It must have
been great trouble for you to make it all so close.&rdquo;
&ldquo;Is it not to keep them off? They cannot get
through this, it pricks them so bad, and then I get
some rest.&rdquo; So she replaced the gorse and left old
Betty Griffith happy in her device for getting rid of
the Tylwyth Teg.&rsquo;</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a>
Hon. W.&nbsp;O. Stanley, in &lsquo;Notes and Queries.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>A common means of getting rid of the fairies is
to change one&rsquo;s place of residence; the fair folk
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg117" id="pg117">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>117]</a></span>
will not abide in a house which passes into new
hands. A story is told of a Merionethshire farmer
who, being tormented beyond endurance by a
Bwbach of a mischievous turn, reluctantly resolved
to flit. But first consulting a wise woman at
Dolgelley, he was advised to make a pretended
flitting, which would have the same effect; he need
only give out that he was going to move over the
border into England, and then get together his cattle
and his household goods, and set out for a day&rsquo;s
drive around the Arenig. The fairy would surely
quit the house when the farmer should quit it, and
especially would it quit the premises of a born Cymro
who avowed his purpose of settling in the foreign
land of the Sais. So then he could come back to
his house by another route, and he would find the
obnoxious Bwbach gone. The farmer did as he
was told, and set out upon his journey, driving his
cattle and sheep before him, and leading the cart
upon which his furniture was piled, while his wife
and children trudged behind. When he reached
Rhyd-y-Fen, a ford so called from this legend,
they met a neighbour, who exclaimed, &lsquo;Holo, Dewi,
are you leaving us for good?&rsquo; Before the farmer
could answer there was a shrill cry from inside the
churn on the cart, &lsquo;Yes, yes, we are flitting from
Hendrefawr to Eingl-dud, where we&rsquo;ve got a new
home.&rsquo; It was the Bwbach that spoke. He was
flitting with the household goods, and the farmer&rsquo;s
little plan to be rid of him was a complete failure.
The good man sighed as he turned his horses about
and went back to Hendrefawr by the same road he
had come.</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>The famous Pwca of the Trwyn Farm, in
Mynyddyslwyn parish, came there from his first
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg118" id="pg118">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>118]</a></span>
abode, at Pantygasseg, in a jug of barm. One of the
farm-servants brought the jug to Pantygasseg, and as
she was being served with the barm in the jug, the
Pwca was heard to say, &lsquo;The Pwca is going
away now in this jug of barm, and he&rsquo;ll never come
back;&rsquo; and he was never heard at Pantygasseg again.
Another story tells that a servant let fall a ball of
yarn, over the ledge of the hill whose base is washed
by the two fishponds between Hafod-yr-Ynys and
Pontypool, and the Pwca said, &lsquo;I am going in this
ball, and I&rsquo;ll go to the Trwyn, and never come
back,&rsquo;&mdash;and directly the ball was seen to roll down
the hillside, and across the valley, ascending the
hill on the other side, and trundling along briskly
across the mountain top to its new abode.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg119" id="pg119">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>119]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk1chap10" id="bk1chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Fairy Money and Fairy Gifts in General&mdash;The Story of Gitto Bach,
or Little Griffith&mdash;The Penalty of Blabbing&mdash;Legends of the
Shepherds of Cwm Llan&mdash;The Money Value of Kindness&mdash;Ianto
Llewellyn and the Tylwyth Teg&mdash;The Legend of Hafod Lwyddog&mdash;Lessons
inculcated by these Superstitions.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>&lsquo;This is fairy gold, boy, and &rsquo;twill prove so,&rsquo; says
the old shepherd in &lsquo;Winter&rsquo;s Tale;&rsquo; sagely adding,
&lsquo;Up with it, keep it close; home, home, the next
way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still, requires
nothing but secrecy.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a> Here we have the traditional
belief of the Welsh peasantry in a nut-shell. Fairy
money is as good as any, so long as its source is
kept a profound secret; if the finder relate the particulars
of his good fortune, it will vanish. Sometimes&mdash;especially
in cases where the money has been
spent&mdash;the evil result of tattling consists in there
being no further favours of the sort. The same
law governs fairy gifts of all kinds. A Breconshire
legend tells of the generosity of the Tylwyth Teg in
presenting the peasantry with loaves of bread, which
turned to toadstools next morning; it was necessary
to eat the bread in darkness and silence to avoid
this transformation. The story of Gitto Bach, a
familiar one in Wales, is a picturesque example.
Gitto Bach (little Griffith), a good little farmer&rsquo;s boy
of Glamorganshire, used often to ramble to the top
of the mountain to look after his father&rsquo;s sheep.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg120" id="pg120">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>120]</a></span>
On his return he would show his brothers and sisters
pieces of remarkably white paper, like crown pieces,
with letters stamped upon them, which he said were
given to him by the little children with whom he
played on the mountain. One day he did not
return. For two years nothing was heard of him.
Meantime other children occasionally got like
crown-pieces of paper from the mountains. One
morning when Gitto&rsquo;s mother opened the door there
he sat&mdash;the truant!&mdash;dressed exactly as he was
when she saw him last, two years before. He had
a little bundle under his arm. &lsquo;Where in the world
have you been all this time?&rsquo; asked the mother,
&lsquo;Why, it&rsquo;s only yesterday I went away!&rsquo; quoth
Gitto. &lsquo;Look at the pretty clothes the children gave
me on the mountain, for dancing with them to the
music of their harps.&rsquo; With this he opened his
bundle, and showed a handsome dress; and behold,
it was only paper, like the fairy money.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a>
&lsquo;Winter&rsquo;s Tale,&rsquo; Act III., Sc. 3.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>But usually, throughout Wales, it is simply a discontinuance
of fairy favour which follows blabbing.
A legend is connected with a bridge in Anglesea, of
a lad who often saw the fairies there, and profited
by their generosity. Every morning, while going to
fetch his father&rsquo;s cows from pasture, he saw them,
and after they were gone he always found a groat
on a certain stone of Cymmunod Bridge. The boy&rsquo;s
having money so often about him excited his father&rsquo;s
suspicion, and one Sabbath day he cross-questioned
the lad as to the manner in which it was obtained.
Oh, the meddlesomeness of fathers! Of course the
poor boy confessed that it was through the medium
of the fairies, and of course, though he often went
after this to the field, he never found any money on
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg121" id="pg121">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>121]</a></span>
the bridge, nor saw the offended Tylwyth Teg again.
Through his divulging the secret their favour was
lost.</p>

<p>Jones tells a similar story of a young woman
named Anne William Francis, in the parish of
Bassalleg, who on going by night into a little grove of
wood near the house, heard pleasant music, and saw
a company of fairies dancing on the grass. She took
a pail of water there, thinking it would gratify them.
The next time she went there she had a shilling
given her, &lsquo;and so had for several nights after,
until she had twenty-one shillings.&rsquo; But her mother
happening to find the money, questioned her as to
where she got it, fearing she had stolen it. At first
the girl would not tell, but when her mother &lsquo;went
very severe on her,&rsquo; and threatened to beat her, she
confessed she got the money from the fairies. After
that they never gave her any more. The Prophet
adds: &lsquo;I have heard of other places where people
have had money from the fairies, sometimes silver
sixpences, but most commonly copper coin. As they
cannot make money, it certainly must be money lost
or concealed by persons.&rsquo; The Euhemerism of this is
hardly like the wonder-loving Jones.</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>In the legends of the two shepherds of Cwm Llan
and their experience with the fairies, the first deals
with the secrecy feature, while the second reproduces
the often-impressed lesson concerning the money
value of kindness. The first is as follows: One
evening a shepherd, who had been searching for his
sheep on the side of Nant y Bettws, after crossing
Bwlch Cwm Llan, espied a number of little people
singing and dancing, and some of the prettiest damsels
he ever set eyes on preparing a feast. He went to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg122" id="pg122">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>122]</a></span>
them and partook of the meal, and thought he had
never tasted anything to equal those dishes. When
it became dusk they pitched their tents, and the
shepherd had never seen before such beautiful things
as they had about them there. They provided him
with a soft feather-bed and sheets of the finest linen,
and he retired, feeling like a prince. But on the
morrow, lo and behold! his bed was but a bush of
bulrushes, and his pillow a tuft of moss. He however
found in his shoes some pieces of silver, and afterwards,
for a long time, he continued to find once a
week a piece of silver placed between two stones
near the spot where he had lain. One day he
divulged his secret to another, and the weekly coin
was never placed there again.</p>

<p>There was another shepherd near Cwm Llan, who
heard some strange noise in a crevice of a rock, and
turning to see what it was, found there a singular
creature who wept bitterly. He took it out and saw
it to be a fairy child, but whilst he was looking at it
compassionately, two middle-aged men came to him
and thanked him courteously for his kindness, and on
leaving him presented him with a staff as a token of
remembrance of the occasion. The following year
every sheep he possessed bore two ewe lambs. They
continued to thus breed for years to come; but one
very dark and stormy night, having stayed very late
in the village, in crossing the river that comes down
from Cwm Llan, there being a great flood sweeping
everything before it, he dropped his staff into the
river and saw it no more. On the morrow he found
that nearly all his sheep and lambs, like his staff, had
been swept away by the flood. His wealth had
departed from him in the same way as it came&mdash;with
the staff which he had received from the guardians
of the fairy child.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg123" id="pg123">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>123]</a></span></p>

<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>A Pembrokeshire Welshman told me this story as
a tradition well known in that part of Wales. Ianto
Llewellyn was a man who lived in the parish of
Llanfihangel, not more than fifty or eighty years
ago, and who had precious good reason to believe in
the fairies. He used to keep his fire of coal balls
burning all night long, out of pure kindness of heart,
in case the Tylwyth Teg should be cold. That
they came into his kitchen every night he was well
aware; he often heard them. One night when they
were there as usual, Ianto was lying wide awake and
heard them say, &lsquo;I wish we had some good bread
and cheese this cold night, but the poor man has
only a morsel left; and though it&rsquo;s true that would
be a good meal for us, it is but a mouthful to him,
and he might starve if we took it.&rsquo; At this Ianto
cried out at the top of his voice, &lsquo;Take anything I&rsquo;ve
got in my cupboard and welcome to you!&rsquo; Then he
turned over and went to sleep. The next morning,
when he descended into the kitchen, he looked in
his cupboard, to see if by good luck there might be
a bit of crust there. He had no sooner opened the
cupboard door than he cried out, &lsquo;O&rsquo;r anwyl! what&rsquo;s
this?&rsquo; for there stood the finest cheese he had ever
seen in his life, with two loaves of bread on top of
it. &lsquo;Lwc dda i ti!&rsquo; cried Ianto, waving his hand
toward the wood where he knew the fairies lived;
&lsquo;good luck to you! May you never be hungry or
penniless!&rsquo; And he had not got the words out of
his mouth when he saw&mdash;what do you think?&mdash;a
shilling on the hob! But that was the lucky shilling.
Every morning after this, when Ianto got up, there
was the shilling on the hob&mdash;another one, you mind,
for he&rsquo;d spent the first for beer and tobacco to go
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg124" id="pg124">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>124]</a></span>
with his bread and cheese. Well, after that, no man
in the parish was better supplied with money than
Ianto Llewellyn, though he never did a stroke of
work. He had enough to keep his wife in ease and
comfort, too, and he got the name of Lucky Ianto.
And lucky he might have been to the day of his death
but for the curiosity of woman. Betsi his wife was
determined to know where all this money came from,
and gave the poor man no peace. &lsquo;Wel, naw wfft!&rsquo;
she cried&mdash;which means in English, &lsquo;Nine shames
on you&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;to have a bad secret from your own dear
wife!&rsquo; &lsquo;But you know, Betsi, if I tell you I&rsquo;ll never
get any more money.&rsquo; &lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;then it&rsquo;s the
fairies!&rsquo; &lsquo;Drato!&rsquo; said he&mdash;and that means &lsquo;Bother
it all&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;yes&mdash;the fairies it is.&rsquo; With that he thrust
his hands down in his breeches pockets in a sullen
manner and left the house. He had had seven shillings
in his pockets up to that minute, and he went
feeling for them with his fingers, and found they were
gone. In place of them were some pieces of paper
fit only to light his pipe. And from that day the
fairies brought him no more money.</p>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>The lesson of generosity is taught with force and
simplicity in the legend of Hafod Lwyddog, and the
necessity for secrecy is quite abandoned. Again it
is a shepherd, who dwelt at Cwm Dyli, and who
went every summer to live in a cabin by the Green
Lake (Llyn Glas) along with his fold. One morning
on awaking from sleep he saw a good-looking damsel
dressing an infant close by his side. She had very
little in which to wrap the babe, so he threw her an
old shirt of his own, and bade her place it about the
child. She thanked him and departed. Every night
thereafter the shepherd found a piece of silver placed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg125" id="pg125">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>125]</a></span>
in an old clog in his cabin. Years and years this
good luck continued, and Meirig the shepherd became
immensely wealthy. He married a lovely girl, and
went to the Hafod Lwyddog to live. Whatever
he undertook prospered&mdash;hence the name Hafod
Lwyddog, for Lwydd means prosperity. The fairies
paid nightly visits to the Hafod. No witch or evil
sprite could harm this people, as Bendith y Mamau
was poured down upon the family, and all their
descendants.<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cymru Fu,&rsquo; 472.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>The thought will naturally occur that by fostering
belief in such tales as some of the foregoing, roguery
might make the superstition useful in silencing inquiry
as to ill-gotten gains. But on the other hand the
virtues of hospitality and generosity were no doubt
fostered by the same influences. If any one was
favoured by the fairies in this manner, the immediate
explanation was, that he had done a good turn to
them, generally without suspecting who they were.
The virtues of neatness, in young girls and servants,
were encouraged by the like notions; the belief
that a fairy will leave money only on a clean-kept
hob, could tend to nothing more directly. It was
also made a condition of pleasing the Tylwyth Teg
that the hearth should be carefully swept and the
pails left full of water. Then the fairies would come
at midnight, continue their revels till daybreak,
sing the well-known strain of &lsquo;Toriad y Dydd,&rsquo; or
&lsquo;The Dawn,&rsquo; leave a piece of money on the hob,
and disappear. Here is seen a precaution against
fire in the clean-swept hearth and the provision of
filled water-pails. That the promised reward did not
always arrive, was not evidence it would never arrive;
and so the virtue of perseverance was also fostered.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg126" id="pg126">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>126]</a></span>
Superstitions of this class are widely prevalent
among Aryan peoples. The &lsquo;Arabian Nights&rsquo; story
of the old rogue whose money turned to leaves will
be recalled. In Danish folk-lore, the fairy money
bestowed on the boors turns sometimes to pebbles,
and sometimes grows hot and burns their fingers,
so that they drop it, when it sinks into the earth.</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw3">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bgm03.png" width="500" height="156"
alt="Music notation for Toriad y Dydd" />
</div>

<p class="link">[<a href="music/bgm03harp.mid">Listen.</a>]</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg127" id="pg127">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>127]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk1chap11" id="bk1chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Origins of Welsh Fairies&mdash;The Realistic Theory&mdash;Legend of the
Baron&rsquo;s Gate&mdash;The Red Fairies&mdash;The Trwyn Fairy a Proscribed
Nobleman&mdash;The Theory of hiding Druids&mdash;Colour in Welsh
Fairy Attire&mdash;The Green Lady of Caerphilly&mdash;White the favourite
Welsh Hue&mdash;Legend of the Prolific Woman&mdash;The Poetico-Religious
Theory&mdash;The Creed of Science.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>Concerning the origin of the Tylwyth Teg, there
are two popular explanations, the one poetico-religious
in its character, the other practical and realistic.
Both are equally wide of the truth, the true origin of
fairies being found in the primeval mythology; but
as my purpose is to avoid enlarging in directions
generally familiar to the student, I have only to
present the local aspects of this, as of the other
features of the subject.</p>

<p>The realistic theory of the origin of the Tylwyth
Teg must be mentioned respectfully, because among
its advocates have been men of culture and good
sense. This theory presumes that the first fairies
were men and women of mortal flesh and blood,
and that the later superstitions are a mere echo of
tales which first were told of real beings. In quasi-support
of this theory, there is a well-authenticated
tradition of a race of beings who, in the middle of
the sixteenth century, inhabited the Wood of the
Great Dark Wood (Coed y Dugoed Mawr) in
Merionethshire, and who were called the Red
Fairies. They lived in dens in the ground, had
fiery red hair and long strong arms, and stole sheep
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg128" id="pg128">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>128]</a></span>
and cattle by night. There are cottages in Cemmaes
parish, near the Wood of the Great Dark Wood,
with scythes in the chimneys, which were put there
to keep these terrible beings out. One Christmas
eve a valiant knight named Baron Owen headed
a company of warriors who assailed the Red Fairies,
and found them flesh and blood. The Baron hung
a hundred of them; but spared the women, one of
whom begged hard for the life of her son. The
Baron refused her prayer, whereupon she opened
her breast and shrieked, &lsquo;This breast has nursed
other sons than he, who will yet wash their hands
in thy blood, Baron Owen!&rsquo; Not very long thereafter,
the Baron was waylaid at a certain spot by
the sons of the &lsquo;fairy&rsquo; woman, who washed their
hands in his warm and reeking blood, in fulfilment
of their mother&rsquo;s threat. And to this day that spot
goes by the name of Llidiart y Barwn (the Baron&rsquo;s
Gate); any peasant of the neighbourhood will tell
you the story, as one told it to me. There is of
course no better foundation for the fairy features of
it than the fancies of the ignorant mind, but the
legend itself is&mdash;very nearly in this shape&mdash;historical.
The beings in question were a band of outlaws, who
might naturally find it to their interest to foster
belief in their supernatural powers.</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>The so-called Pwca&rsquo;r Trwyn, which haunted the
farm-house in the parish of Mynyddyslwyn, is sometimes
cited as another case in which a fairy was
probably a being of flesh and blood; and if this be
true, it of course proves nothing but the adoption
of an ancient superstition by a proscribed Welsh
nobleman. There is a tradition that this fairy had
a name, and that this name was &lsquo;yr Arglwydd
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg129" id="pg129">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>129]</a></span>
Hywel,&rsquo; which is in English &lsquo;Lord Howell.&rsquo; And
it is argued that this Lord, in a contest with the
forces of the English king, was utterly worsted,
and driven into hiding; that his tenants at Pantygasseg
and the Trwyn Farm, loving their Lord,
helped to hide him, and to disseminate the belief
that he was a household fairy, or Bwbach. It is
related that he generally spoke from his own room
in this farm-house, in a gentle voice which &lsquo;came
down between the boards&rsquo; into the common room
beneath. One day the servants were comparing
their hands, as to size and whiteness, when the
fairy was heard to say, &lsquo;The Pwca&rsquo;s hand is the
fairest and smallest.&rsquo; The servants asked if the
fairy would show its hand, and immediately a plank
overhead was moved and a hand appeared, small,
fair and beautifully formed, with a large gold ring
on the little finger.</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>Curiously interesting is the hypothesis concerning
the realistic origin of the Tylwyth Teg, which was
put forth at the close of the last century by several
writers, among them the Rev. Peter Roberts, author
of the &lsquo;Collectanea Cambrica.&rsquo; This hypothesis
precisely accounts for the fairies anciently as being
the Druids, in hiding from their enemies, or if not
they, other persons who had such cause for living
concealed in subterraneous places, and venturing
forth only at night. &lsquo;Some conquered aborigines,&rsquo;
thought Dr. Guthrie; while Mr. Roberts fancied
that as the Irish had frequently landed hostilely
in Wales, &lsquo;it was very possible that some small
bodies of that nation left behind, or unable to return,
and fearing discovery, had hid themselves in caverns
during the day, and sent their children out at night,
fantastically dressed, for food and exercise, and thus
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg130" id="pg130">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>130]</a></span>
secured themselves.&rsquo; But there were objections to
this presumption, and the Druidical theory was the
favourite one. Says Mr. Roberts: &lsquo;The fairy
customs appeared evidently too systematic, and too
general, to be those of an accidental party reduced
to distress. They are those of a consistent and
regular policy instituted to prevent discovery, and
to inspire fear of their power, and a high opinion of
their beneficence. Accordingly tradition notes, that
to attempt to discover them was to incur certain
destruction. &ldquo;They are fairies,&rdquo; says Falstaff: &ldquo;he
that looks on them shall die.&rdquo; They were not to be
impeded in ingress or egress; a bowl of milk was to
be left for them at night on the hearth; and, in
return, they left a small present in money when
they departed, if the house was kept clean; if not,
they inflicted some punishment on the negligent,
which, as it was death to look on them, they were
obliged to suffer, and no doubt but many unlucky
tricks were played on such occasions. Their general
dress was green, that they might be the better concealed;
and, as their children might have betrayed
their haunts, they seem to have been suffered to go
out only in the night time, and to have been entertained
by dances on moonlight nights. These
dances, like those round the Maypole, have been
said to be performed round a tree; and on an
elevated spot, mostly a tumulus, beneath which was
probably their habitation, or its entrance. The
older persons, probably, mixed as much as they
dared with the world; and, if they happened to be
at any time recognised, the certainty of their vengeance
was their safety. If by any chance their
society was thinned, they appear to have stolen
children, and changed feeble for strong infants.
The stolen children, if beyond infancy, being brought
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg131" id="pg131">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>131]</a></span>
into their subterraneous dwellings, seem to have had
a soporific given them, and to have been carried to
a distant part of the country; and, being there
allowed to go out merely by night, mistook the
night for the day, and probably were not undeceived
until it could be done securely. The regularity and
generality of this system shows that there was a
body of people existing in the kingdom distinct from
its known inhabitants, and either confederated, or
obliged to live or meet mysteriously; and their
rites, particularly that of dancing round a tree,
probably an oak, as Herne&rsquo;s, etc., as well as their
character for truth and probity, refer them to a
Druidic origin. If this was the case, it is easy to
conceive, as indeed history shows, that, as the
Druids were persecuted by the Romans and Christians,
they used these means to preserve themselves
and their families, and whilst the country was thinly
peopled, and thickly wooded, did so successfully;
and, perhaps, to a much later period than is
imagined: till the increase of population made it
impossible. As the Druidical was one of the most
ancient religions, so it must have been one of the
first persecuted, and forced to form a regular plan of
security, which their dwelling in caves may have
suggested, and necessity improved.&rsquo;</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>It will be observed that one of the points in this
curious speculation rests on the green dress of the
fairies. I do not call attention to it with any Quixotic
purpose of disputing the conclusion it assists; it is
far more interesting as one feature of the general
subject of fairies&rsquo; attire. The Welsh fairies are
described with details as to colour in costume not
commonly met with in fairy tales, a fact to which I
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg132" id="pg132">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>132]</a></span>
have before alluded. In the legend of the Place of
Strife, the Tylwyth Teg encountered by the women
are called &lsquo;the old elves of the blue petticoat.&rsquo;
A connection with the blue of the sky has here
been suggested. It has also been pointed out
that the sacred Druidical dress was blue. The
blue petticoat fancy seems to be local to North
Wales. In Cardiganshire, the tradition respecting
an encampment called Moyddin, which the fairies
frequented, is that they were always in green
dresses, and were never seen there but in the
vernal month of May. There is a Glamorganshire
goblin called the Green Lady of Caerphilly,
the colour of whose dress is indicated by her title.
She haunts the ruin of Caerphilly Castle at night,
wearing a green robe, and has the power of turning
herself into ivy and mingling with the ivy
growing on the wall. A more ingenious mode of
getting rid of a goblin was perhaps never invented.
The fairies of Frennifawr, in Pembrokeshire, were
on the contrary gorgeous in scarlet, with red caps,
and feathers waving in the wind as they danced.
But others were in white, and this appears to be the
favourite hue of modern Welsh fairy costume, when
the Tylwyth Teg are in holiday garb. These various
details of colour are due to the fervour of the Welsh
fancy, of course, and perhaps their variety may in
part be ascribed to a keener sense of the fitness of
things among moderns than was current in earlier
times. White, to the Welsh, would naturally be
the favourite colour for a beautiful creature, dancing
in the moonlight on the velvet sward. The most
popular pet name for a Welsh lass is to-day exactly
what it has been for centuries, viz., Gwenny, the diminutive
of Gwenllian (Anglicised into Gwendoline)&mdash;a
name which means simply white linen; and the white
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg133" id="pg133">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>133]</a></span>
costume of the favourite fairies undoubtedly signifies
a dress of white linen. This fabric, common as it is
in our day, was in ancient times of inestimable value.
In the Mabinogion, linen is repeatedly particularised
in the gorgeous descriptions of fabled splendour in
princely castles&mdash;linen, silk, satin, velvet, gold-lace,
and jewels, are the constantly-recurring features of
sumptuous attire. In his account of the royal tribes
of Wales, Yorke mentions that linen was so rare in
the reign of Charles VII. of France (i.e., in the fifteenth
century) &lsquo;that her majesty the queen could
boast of only two shifts of that commodity.&rsquo; The
first cause of the fairies&rsquo; robes being white is evidently
to be discerned here; and in Wales the
ancient sentiment as to whiteness remains. The
Welsh peasantry, coarsely and darkly clad themselves,
would make white a purely holiday colour,
and devise some other hue for such commoner
fairies as the Bwbach and his sort:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The coarse and country fairy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That doth haunt the hearth and dairy.<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>So the Bwbach is usually brown, often hairy;
and the Coblynau are black or copper-coloured in
face as well as dress.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a>
Jonson, Masque of &lsquo;Oberon.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>A local legend of the origin of fairies in Anglesea
mingles the practical and the spiritual in this manner:
&lsquo;In our Saviour&rsquo;s time there lived a woman whose
fortune it was to be possessed of nearly a score of
children, ... and as she saw our blessed Lord
approach her dwelling, being ashamed of being so
prolific, and that He might not see them all, she
concealed about half of them closely, and after his
departure, when she went in search of them, to her
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg134" id="pg134">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>134]</a></span>
great surprise found they were all gone. They never
afterwards could be discovered, for it was supposed
that as a punishment from heaven for hiding what
God had given her, she was deprived of them; and
it is said these her offspring have generated the
race called fairies.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_62_62" id="Footnote_62_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a>
&lsquo;Camb. Sup.,&rsquo; 118.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>The common or popular theory, however, is in
Wales the poetico-religious one. This is, in a
word, the belief that the Tylwyth Teg are the souls
of dead mortals not bad enough for hell nor good
enough for heaven. They are doomed to live on
earth, to dwell in secret places, until the resurrection
day, when they will be admitted into paradise.
Meantime they must be either incessantly toiling or
incessantly playing, but their toil is fruitless and
their pleasure unsatisfying. A variation of this
general belief holds these souls to be the souls of
the ancient Druids, a fancy which is specially impressive,
as indicating the duration of their penance,
and reminds us of the Wandering Jew myth. It is
confined mainly to the Coblynau, or dwellers in
mines and caves. Another variation considers the
fairies bad spirits of still remoter origin&mdash;the same
in fact who were thrown over the battlements of
heaven along with Satan, but did not fall into hell&mdash;landed
on the earth instead, where they are permitted
to tarry till doomsday as above. A detail
of this theory is in explanation of the rare appearance
of fairies nowadays; they are refraining from
mischief in view of the near approach of the judgment,
with the hope of thus conciliating heaven.</p>

<p>The Prophet Jones, in explaining why the fairies
have been so active in Wales, expounds the poetico-religious
theory in masterly form. After stating that
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg135" id="pg135">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>135]</a></span>
some in Monmouthshire were so ignorant as to think
the fairies happy spirits, because they had music and
dancing among them, he proceeds to assert, in the
most emphatic terms, that the Tylwyth Teg are
nothing else, &lsquo;after all the talking about them,&rsquo; but
the disembodied spirits of men who lived and died
without the enjoyment of the means of grace and
salvation, as Pagans and others, and whose punishment
therefore is far less severe than that of those
who have enjoyed the means of salvation. &lsquo;But
some persons may desire to know why these fairies
have appeared in Wales more than in some other
countries? to which I answer, that I can give no
other reason but this, that having lost the light of
the true religion in the eighth and ninth centuries of
Christianity, and received Popery in its stead, it
became dark night upon them; and then these
spirits of darkness became more bold and intruding;
and the people, as I said before, in their great ignorance
seeing them like a company of children in dry
clean places, dancing and having music among them,
thought them to be some happy beings, ... and
made them welcome in their houses.... The Welsh
entered into familiarity with the fairies in the time
of Henry IV., and the evil then increased; the
severe laws of that prince enjoining, among other
things, that they were not to bring up their children
to learning, etc., by which a total darkness came upon
them; which cruel laws were occasioned by the
rebellion of Owen Glandwr, and the Welsh which
joined with him; foolishly thinking to shake off the
Saxon yoke before they had repented of their sins.&rsquo;</p>

<p>Whatever their locally accepted causes of being
may be, it is beyond any question that in the fairy
folk-lore of Wales, as of other lands, are to be found
the <i>d&eacute;bris</i> of ancient mythology&mdash;scintillant
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg136" id="pg136">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>136]</a></span>
fragments of those magic constellations which glow in
the darkness of primeval time, grand and majestic
as the vast Unknown out of which they were evolved
by barbaric fancy. Through the aid of modern
scientific research, &lsquo;those ages which the myths of
centuries have peopled with heroic shadows&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a> are
brought nearer to us, and the humble Welsh Tylwyth
Teg may reach back and shake hands with the
Olympian gods.</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg14.jpg" width="375" height="164"
alt="Fairies visit the Olympian Gods" />
</div>

<p class="caption">&ldquo;The humble &lsquo;Tylwyth Teg&rsquo; shake hands with the Olympian Gods&rdquo;</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_63_63" id="Footnote_63_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a>
Marquis of Bute, address before the Royal Arch&aelig;ological Institute,
Cardiff meeting.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg137" id="pg137">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>137]</a></span></p>

<h2 class="padtop"><a name="book2" id="book2"></a><span class="lrgfont">BOOK II.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smlfont">THE SPIRIT-WORLD.</span></h2>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Where the wan spectres walk eternal rounds.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<p class="center smcap">Pope.</p>
</div>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>Miranda.</i> What is&rsquo;t? a spirit?<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">It carries a brave form:&mdash;But &rsquo;tis a spirit.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span>: <i>Tempest</i>.</p>
</div>



<h3 class="padtop"><a name="bk2chap01" id="bk2chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Modern Superstition regarding Ghosts&mdash;American &lsquo;Spiritualism&rsquo;&mdash;Welsh
Beliefs&mdash;Classification of Welsh Ghosts&mdash;Departed Mortals&mdash;Haunted
Houses&mdash;Lady Stradling&rsquo;s Ghost&mdash;The Haunted
Bridge&mdash;The Legend of Catrin Gwyn&mdash;Didactic Purpose in
Cambrian Apparitions&mdash;An Insulted Corpse&mdash;Duty-performing
Ghosts&mdash;Laws of the Spirit-World&mdash;Cadogan&rsquo;s Ghost.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>In an age so given to mysticism as our own, it is
unnecessary to urge that the Welsh as a people are
not more superstitious regarding spirits than other
peoples. Belief in the visits to earth of disembodied
spirits is common to all lands. There are no doubt
differences in the degree of this belief, as there are
differences in matters of detail. Where or how
these spirits exist are questions much more difficult
to the average faith than why they exist. They
exist for the moral good of man; of this there
prevails no doubt. The rest belongs to the still
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg138" id="pg138">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>138]</a></span>
unsettled science of the Unknowable. That form
of mysticism called &lsquo;spiritualism&rsquo; by its disciples is
dignified to the thoughtful observer by being viewed
as a remnant of the primeval philosophy. When
we encounter, in wandering among the picturesque
ghosts of the Welsh spirit-world, last-century stories
displaying details exactly similar to those of modern
spiritualism, our interest is strongly aroused. The
student of folk-lore finds his materials in stories and
beliefs which appear to be of a widespread family,
rather than in stories and beliefs which are unique;
and the spirit of inquiry is constantly on the alert, in
following the details of a good old ghost story,
however fascinating it may be in a poetic sense.
The phantoms of the Welsh spirit-world are always
picturesque; they are often ghastly; sometimes
they are amusing to the point of risibility; but
besides, they are instructive to him whose purpose
in studying is, to know.</p>

<p>That this age is superstitious with regard to
ghosts, is not wonderful; all ages have been so; the
wonder is that this age should be so and yet be the
possessor of a scientific record so extraordinary as
its own. An age which has brought forth the
magnetic telegraph, steamships and railway engines,
sewing-machines, mowing-machines, gas-light, and
innumerable discoveries and inventions of marvellous
utility&mdash;not to allude to those of our own decade&mdash;should
have no other use for ghostology than a
scientific one. But it would be a work as idle as
that of the Coblynau themselves, to point out how
universal among the most civilised nations is the
superstition that spirits walk. The &lsquo;controls&rsquo; of the
modern spiritualistic seance have the world for their
audience. The United States, a land generally
deemed&mdash;at least by its inhabitants&mdash;to be the most
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg139" id="pg139">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>139]</a></span>
advanced in these directions of any on God&rsquo;s footstool,
gave birth to modern spiritualism. Its disciples
there compose a vast body of people, respectable
and worthy people in the main (as the victims
of superstition usually are), among whom are many
men of high intellectual ability. With the masses,
some degree of belief in the spirits is so nearly universal
that I need hardly qualify the adjective. In
a country where there is practically no such class as
that represented in Europe by the peasantry, the
rampancy of such a belief is a phenomenon deserving
close and curious study. The present work affords
no scope for this study, of course. But I may here
mention in further illustration of my immediate theme,
the constant appearance, in American communities,
of ghosts of the old-fashioned sort. Especially in the
New England states, which are notable for their enlightenment,
are ghost-stories still frequent&mdash;such as
that of the haunted school-house at Newburyport,
Mass., where a disembodied spirit related its own
murder; of the ghost of New Bedford, which struck
a visitor in the face, so that he yet bears the marks of
the blow; of the haunted house at Cambridge, in the
classic shadow of Harvard College. It is actually
on record in the last-named case, that the house fell
to decay on account of its ghastly reputation, as no
one would live in it; that a tenant who ventured
to occupy it in 1877 was disturbed by the spirit of
a murdered girl who said her mortal bones were
buried in his cellar; and that a party of men actually
dug all night in that cellar in search of those bones,
while the ghost waltzed in a chamber overhead.
The more common form of spirit peculiar to our
time appears constantly in various parts of the
country; it is continually turning up in the American
newspapers, rapping on walls, throwing stones,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg140" id="pg140">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>140]</a></span>
tipping over tables, etc. &lsquo;Mediums&rsquo; of every grade
of shrewdness and stupidity, and widely differing
degrees of education and ignorance, flourish abundantly.
Occasionally, where revelations of murder
have been made to a mortal by a spirit, the police
have taken the matter in hand. It is to be observed
as a commendable practice in such cases, that the
mortal is promptly arrested by the police if there has
really been a murder; and when the fact appears,
as it sometimes does, that the mortal had need of no
ghost to tell him what he knows, he is hanged.</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>The Welsh dearly love to discuss questions of a
spiritual and religious nature, and there are no
doubt many who look upon disbelief herein as something
approaching paganism. That one should
believe in God and a future life, and yet be utterly
incredulous as to the existence of a mundane spirit-world,
seems to such minds impossible. It is not
many years since the clergy taught a creed of this
sort. One must not only believe in a spiritual
existence, but must believe in that existence here
below&mdash;must believe that ghosts walked, and
meddled, and made disagreeable noises. Our friend
the Prophet Jones taught this creed with energy.
In his relation of apparitions in Monmouthshire, he
says: &lsquo;Enough is said in these relations to satisfy
any reasonable sober-minded person, and to confute
this ancient heresy, now much revived and spreading,
especially among the gentry, and persons much
estranged from God and spiritual things; and such
as will not be satisfied with things plainly proved
and well designed; are, in this respect, no better
than fools, and to be despised as such.... They are
chiefly women and men of weak and womanish
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg141" id="pg141">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>141]</a></span>
understandings, who speak against the accounts of
spirits and apparitions. In some women this comes
from a certain proud fineness, excessive delicacy,
and a superfine disposition which cannot bear to
be disturbed with what is strange and disagreeable
to a vain spirit.&rsquo; Nor does the Prophet hesitate to
apply the term &lsquo;Sadducees&rsquo; to all doubters of his
goblins. His warrant for this is found in Wesley
and Luther. That Luther saw apparitions, or
believed he did, is commonly known. Wesley&rsquo;s
beliefs in this direction, however, are of a nearer
century, and strike us more strangely; though it
must be said that the Prophet Jones, in our own
century, believed more than either of his eminent
prototypes. &lsquo;It is true,&rsquo; wrote Wesley, &lsquo;that the
English in general, and indeed most of the men in
Europe, have given up all accounts of witches and
apparitions as mere old wives&rsquo; fables. I am sorry
for it, and I willingly take this opportunity of
entering my solemn protest against this violent
compliment which so many that believe the Bible
pay to those who do <em>not</em> believe it.... They well
know, whether Christians know it or not, that the
giving up witchcraft is, in effect, giving up the Bible.
And they know, on the other hand, that if but one
account of the intercourse of men with separate
spirits be admitted, their whole castle in the air&mdash;deism,
atheism, materialism&mdash;falls to the ground.&rsquo;</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>The ghosts of Wales present many well-defined
features. It is even possible to classify them, after
a fashion. Of course, as with all descriptions of
phantoms, the vagueness inevitable in creatures of
the imagination is here; but the ghosts of Welsh
tradition are often so old, and have been handed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg142" id="pg142">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>142]</a></span>
down so cleanly through successive generations,
that in our day they have almost acquired definite
outlines, as in the case of images arising
from the perceptions. Always bearing in mind
the risk of being lost in the labyrinthine eccentricities
of popular fancy, compared to which the
Arsino&euml; of Herodotus was unperplexing, I venture
to classify the inhabitants of the Welsh spirit-world
thus: 1. Departed Mortals; 2. Goblin Animals;
3. Spectres of Natural Objects; 4. Grotesque
Ghosts; 5. Familiar Spirits; 6. Death Omens.</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>The ghosts of departed mortals are usually the
late personal acquaintances of the people who see
them. But sometimes they are strangers whom
nobody knows, and concerning whom everybody is
curious. Two such ghosts haunted the streets of
Ebbw Vale, in Glamorganshire, in January, 1877.
One was in the shape of an old woman, the other in
that of a girl child. Timid people kept indoors
after nightfall, and there were many who believed
thoroughly in the ghostly character of the mysterious
visitors. Efforts were made to catch them, but they
eluded capture. It was hinted by materialists that
they were thieves; by unbelievers in spiritualism
that they had perhaps escaped from a seance in
some adjoining town. These ghosts, however, are
not very interesting. A cultivated moderner can
have no satisfaction in forming the acquaintance of
a seance ghost; it is quite otherwise in the case of
a respectable old family goblin which has haunted
a friend&rsquo;s house in the most orthodox manner for
centuries. Such ghosts are numerous in Wales, and
quite faithfully believed in by selected individuals.
Indeed one of the highest claims to a dignified
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg143" id="pg143">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>143]</a></span>
antiquity that can be put in by a Welsh family
mansion, is the possession of a good old-fashioned
blood-curdling spectre&mdash;like that, for example, which
has haunted Duffryn House, a handsome stone
manse near Cardiff, for the past two hundred years
and more. This is the ghost of the doughty admiral
Sir Thomas Button, famed in his day as an Arctic
navigator. Since his death he has faithfully haunted
(so the local farm folk say) the cellar and the garden
of Duffryn House, where he lived, when he did live,
which was in the 17th century. He has never been
known to appear in hall or chamber of the mansion,
within the memory of man, but has been seen
hovering over the beer butt or tun in the cellar,
commemorated in his name, and walking in the
flower-garden of a fine windy night.</p>

<p>It is noteworthy that in Wales it is by no means
necessary that a house should be tenantless, mortally
speaking, merely because a ghost haunts it. The
dreary picture of desolation drawn by Hood, the
all-sufficient explanation of which was&mdash;</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">... the place is haunted!<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>would not recall the smug tidiness of Duffryn House,
whose clean-cut lawns and well-trimmed hedges are
fit surroundings of a mansion where luxurious
comfort reigns. A ghost which confines itself to
the cellar and the garden need disturb neither the
merrymaking nor the slumbers of the guests.</p>

<p>St. Donat&rsquo;s Castle is down on the southern coast
of Glamorganshire, in a primitive region not yet
profaned by railroads, nor likely to be perhaps for
many years to come. It is owned and inhabited
by a worthy gentleman whose ancestors for seven
centuries sleep in the graveyard under the old
castle wall. Its favourite ghost&mdash;for to confine this
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg144" id="pg144">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>144]</a></span>
or any other ancient Welsh castle to a single ghost
would be almost disrespectful&mdash;is that of Lady
Stradling, who was done away with by some of her
family in those wicked old times when families did not
always dwell in peace together. This ghost makes
a practice of appearing when any mishap is about
to befall a member of the house of Stradling&mdash;the
direct line of which is, however, extinct, a fact not
very well apprehended among the neighbouring
peasantry. She wears high-heeled shoes and a long
trailing gown of the finest silk. In this guise doth
she wander up and down the long majestic halls and
chambers, and, while she wanders, the castle hounds
refuse to rest, but with their howlings raise all the
dogs of the village under the hill.</p>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>Ghosts of this sort are vague and purposeless in
character, beyond a general blood-curdling office
which in all ghosts doth dwell. They haunt not
only castles and family mansions, but bridges, rocks,
and roads, objectless but frightful. The ghost of
Pont Cwnca Bach, near Yscanhir, in Carmarthenshire,
frightens people off the bridge into the rivulet.
Many belated peasants have had this dire experience
at the little bridge, afterwards wandering away in a
dazed condition, and finding themselves on recovering
at some distance from home, often in the middle
of a bog. In crossing this bridge people were seized
with &lsquo;a kind of <em>cold dread</em>,&rsquo; and felt &lsquo;a peculiar
sensation&rsquo; which they could not describe, but which
the poorest fancy can no doubt imagine. Another
purposeless spectre exists in the legend of Catrin
Gwyn, told in Cardiganshire. The ruin of a shepherd&rsquo;s
cottage, standing on a mountain waste near
the river Rheidol, is the haunt of this spectre.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg145" id="pg145">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>145]</a></span>
A peasant who was asked to escort a stranger up
the narrow defile of rocks by the ruin, in horror exclaimed,
&lsquo;Yn enw y daioni, peidiwch,&rsquo; (in the name
of heaven, sir, don&rsquo;t go!) &lsquo;or you&rsquo;ll meet White
Catti of the Grove Cave.&rsquo; &lsquo;And what&rsquo;s that?&rsquo;
&lsquo;An evil spirit, sir.&rsquo; And the superstitious peasant
would neither be laughed nor reasoned out of his
fears. Catrin was the bride of a young shepherd
living near Machynlleth in 1705. One day she
went to market with a party of other peasants, who
separated from her on the return way at a point two
miles from Gelli Gogo. She was never more seen
alive. A violent storm arose in the night, and next
day a scrap of her red cloak was found on the edge
of a frightful bog, in which she is believed to have
disappeared in the darkness and storm. The husband
went mad; their cottage fell to decay; and
to this day the shepherds declare that Catti&rsquo;s ghost
haunts the spot. It is most often seen, and in its
most terrific shape, during howling storms, when it
rides on the gale, shrieking as it goes.<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_64_64" id="Footnote_64_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a>
&lsquo;Camb. Quarterly,&rsquo; i., 452.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>Few Cambrian spirits are devoid of a didactic
purpose. Some teach reverence for the dead,&mdash;a
lesson in great request among the rising generation
in Wales and elsewhere. The church at Tregaron,
Cardiganshire, was being rebuilt in 1877, and certain
skulls were turned up by the diggers in making new
foundations. The boys of Tregaron amused themselves
playing ball with the skulls, picking out their
teeth, banging them against the wall to see if they
would break, and the like.<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a> They probably never
heard the story told by Mrs. Morgan of Newport
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg146" id="pg146">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>146]</a></span>
to the Prophet Jones: of some people who were
drinking at an inn there, &lsquo;two of them officers of
excise,&rsquo; when one of the men, to show his courage,
declared he was afraid of no ghosts, and dared go to
the charnel house and fetch a skull from that ghastly
place. This bold and dangerous thing he did, and
the men debated, over their beer, whether it was a
male or a female skull, and concluded it was a
woman&rsquo;s, &lsquo;though the grave nearly destroys the
difference between male and female before the
bones are turned to dust, and the difference then
quite destroyed and known only to God.&rsquo; After
a jolly hour over the skull, the bold one carried it
back and left it where he got it; but as he was
leaving the church, suddenly a tremendous blast
like a whirlwind seized him, and so mauled and
hauled him that his teeth chattered in his head and
his knees knocked together, and he ever after
swore that nothing should tempt him to such a deed
again. He was still more convinced that the ghost
of the original owner of the skull had been after him,
when he got home, and his wife told him that his
cane, which hung in the room, had been beating
against the wall in a dreadful manner.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_65_65" id="Footnote_65_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a>
&lsquo;Western Mail,&rsquo; Dec. 14, 1877.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>As a rule, the motive for the reappearance on
earth of a spirit lately tenanting a mortal body,
is found in some neglected duty. The spirit of a
suicide is morally certain to walk: a reason why
suicides are so unpopular as tenants of graveyards.
It is a brave man who will go to the grave of a
suicide and play &lsquo;Hob y deri dando&rsquo; on the ysturmant
(jew&rsquo;s-harp), without missing a note. Many
are the tales displaying the motive, on the ghost&rsquo;s
part, of a duty to perform&mdash;sometimes clearly defining
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg147" id="pg147">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>147]</a></span>
it, sometimes vaguely suggesting it, as in the story
of Noe. &lsquo;The evening was far gone when a
traveller of the name of Noe arrived at an inn in
Pembrokeshire, and called for refreshment. After
remaining some time he remarked that he must
proceed on his journey. &ldquo;Surely,&rdquo; said the astonished
landlord, &ldquo;you will not travel at night, for it is said
that a ghost haunts that road, crying out, The days
are long and the nights are cold to wait for Noe.&rdquo;
&ldquo;O, I am the man sought for,&rdquo; said he, and immediately
departed; but strange to say, neither Noe
nor the ghost was ever heard of afterwards.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a></p>

<p>The ghost of a weaver, which appeared to Walter
John Harry, had a very clear idea of the duty he
must perform: Walter John Harry was a Quaker,
a harmless, honest man, and by trade a farrier, who
lived in the romantic valley of Ebwy Fawr. The
house he lived in was haunted by the ghost of
Morgan Lewis, a weaver, who had died in that
house. One night, while lying awake in his bed,
with his wife sleeping by his side, Harry saw a
light slowly ascending the stairs, and being somewhat
afraid, though he was naturally a fearless man,
strove to awake his wife by pinching her, but could
not awake her. So there he lay in great fear, and
with starting eyes beheld the ghost of the weaver
come up the stairs, bearing a candle in its hand, and
wearing a white woollen cap on its head, with other
garments usual to the weaver when alive. The
ghost came near the farrier&rsquo;s bed, who then mustered
up courage to speak to it. &lsquo;Morgan Lewis,&rsquo; said
Harry, &lsquo;why dost thou walk this earth?&rsquo; The
ghost replied with great solemnity, that its reason
for so doing was that there were some &lsquo;bottoms of
wool&rsquo; hidden in the wall of this house, and until these
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg148" id="pg148">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>148]</a></span>
said bottoms were removed from the wall it could
not sleep. The ghost did not say this wool had
been stolen, but such was the inference. However,
the harmless farrier spoke severely to the ghost,
saying, &lsquo;I charge thee, Morgan Lewis, in the name
of God, that thou trouble my house no more.&rsquo;
Whereupon the ghost vanished, and the house
ceased thereafter to be haunted.</p>

<p>The motives animating ghosts are much the same
the world over, and these details have no greater
novelty than that of the local colouring. European
peoples are familiar with the duty-compelled ghost;
but it is odd to encounter the same spectre in China.
The most common form of Chinese ghost-story is
that wherein the ghost seeks to bring to justice the
murderer who shuffled off its mortal coil. The
ghosts of suicides are also especially obnoxious
there. The spectres which are animated by a sense
of duty are more frequently met than any others:
now they seek to serve virtue in distress, now they
aim to restore wrongfully-held treasure.<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_66_66" id="Footnote_66_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a>
&lsquo;Camb. Sup.,&rsquo; 31.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_67_67" id="Footnote_67_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a>
Dennys, &lsquo;Folk-Lore of China,&rsquo; 73.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>The laws governing the Welsh spirit-world are
clear and explicit. A ghost on duty bent has no
power of speech until first spoken to. Its persistency
in haunting is due to its eager desire to speak,
and tell its urgent errand, but the person haunted
must take his courage in both hands and put the
question to the issue. Having done so, he is booked
for the end of the business, be it what it may. The
mode of speech adopted must not vary, in addressing
a spirit; in the name of the Father, Son, or
Holy Ghost it must be addressed, and not otherwise.
Its business must be demanded; three times the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg149" id="pg149">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>149]</a></span>
question must be repeated, unless the ghost answer
earlier. When it answers, it speaks in a low and
hollow voice, stating its desire; and it must not be
interrupted while speaking, for to interrupt it is
dangerous in the extreme. At the close of its
remarks, questions are in order. They must be
promptly delivered, however, or the ghost will vanish.
They must bear on the business in hand: it is
offended if asked as to its state, or other idle questions
born of curiosity. Neglect to obey the ghost&rsquo;s
injunctions will lead to much annoyance, and eventually
to dire results. At first the spirit will appear
with a discontented visage, next with an angry one,
and finally with a countenance distorted with the
most ferocious rage. Obedience is the only method
of escape from its revenge. Such is a <i>resum&eacute;</i> of
the laws. The illustrations thereof are generally
consistent in their details.</p>

<p>The story of Cadogan&rsquo;s ghost is one of many in
kind. Thomas Cadogan was the owner of a large
estate in the parish of Llanvihangel Llantarnam,
and being a covetous man did wickedly remove
his landmarks in such a way as to absorb to himself
part of the land of a widow his neighbour. After
his death this injustice troubled him, and as a
certain woman was going home one night, at a stile
she passed over she met Cadogan&rsquo;s ghost. By a
strange forgetfulness, this woman for the moment
lost sight of the fact that Cadogan was now a ghost;
she had momentarily forgotten that Cadogan was
dead. &lsquo;Mr. Cadogan,&rsquo; said she, with ungrammatical
curiosity, &lsquo;what does you here this time o&rsquo; night?&rsquo;
To which the ghost answered, &lsquo;I was obliged to
come.&rsquo; It then explained the matter of the landmarks,
and begged the woman to request a certain
person (whom it mentioned) to remove them back
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg150" id="pg150">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>150]</a></span>
to their proper places; and then the ghost vanished.
At this unexpected termination of the interview,
the woman suddenly recollected Cadogan&rsquo;s death,
and fell into a state of extreme terror. She however
did as the ghost had bidden her, and Cadogan
walked no more.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg151" id="pg151">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>151]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk2chap02" id="bk2chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Household Ghosts and Hidden Treasures&mdash;The Miser of St. Donat&rsquo;s&mdash;Anne
Dewy&rsquo;s Ghost&mdash;The Ghost on Horseback&mdash;Hidden Objects
of Small Value&mdash;Transportation through the Air&mdash;From Breconshire
to Philadelphia, Pa., in Thirty-Six Hours&mdash;Sir David Llwyd,
the Magician&mdash;The Levitation of Walter Jones&mdash;Superstitions
regarding Hares&mdash;The Legend of Monacella&rsquo;s Lambs&mdash;Aerial
Transportation in Modern Spiritualism&mdash;Exorcising Household
Ghosts&mdash;The Story of Haunted Margaret.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>The majority of stories of this class turn on the
subject of hidden treasures. The popular belief is
that if a person die while any hoarded money&mdash;or
indeed metal of any kind, were it nothing more than
old iron&mdash;is still hidden secretly, the spirit of that
person cannot rest. Its perturbation can only be
relieved by finding a human hand to take the hidden
metal, and throw it down the stream of a river. To
throw it up the stream, will not do. The Ogmore
is the favourite river for this purpose in lower
Glamorganshire. The spirit selects a particular
person as the subject of its attentions, and haunts
that person till asked what it wants, when it prefers
its request. Some say it is only ill-gotten treasure
which creates this disturbance of the grave&rsquo;s repose.
A tailor&rsquo;s wife at Llantwit Major, who had been a
stout and jolly dame, was thus haunted until she was
worn to the semblance of a skeleton, &lsquo;for not
choosing to take a hoard honestly to the Ogmore.&rsquo;
But flesh and blood could not resist for ever, and so&mdash;this
is her story: &lsquo;I at last consented, for the sake
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg152" id="pg152">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>152]</a></span>
of quiet, to take the treasure to the river; and the
spirit wafted me through the air so high that I saw
below me the church loft, and all the houses, as if I
leaned out of a balloon. When I took the treasure
to throw it into the river, in my flurry I flung it up
stream instead of down: and on this the spirit,
with a savage look, tossed me into a whirlwind, and
however I got back to my home I know not.&rsquo; The
bell-ringers found her lying insensible in the church
lane, as they were going home from church late in
the evening.</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>There was an old curmudgeon of a money-hoarder
who lived in a cottage on the side of the cwm, or
dingle, at St. Donat&rsquo;s, not far from the Castle. His
housekeeper was an antique dame of quaint aspect.
He died, and the dame lived there alone; but she
began to grow so gaunt and grizzly that people
wondered at it, and the children ran frightened from
her. Some one finally got from her the confession
that she was haunted by the miser&rsquo;s ghost. To
relieve her of its presence the Methodists resolved to
hold a prayer-meeting in the haunted house. While
they were there singing and praying the old woman
suddenly jumped up and screamed, &lsquo;There he is!
there he is!&rsquo; The people grew silent. Then some
one said, &lsquo;Ask it what it wants.&rsquo; &lsquo;What do you
want?&rsquo; quavered the old woman. No one heard
the reply, except the dame, who presently said:
&lsquo;Where is it?&rsquo; Then the old woman, nodding and
staring as if obeying an invisible mandate, groped
her way to the chimney, thrust her gaunt arm up,
and drew down a bag of money. With this she
cried out, &lsquo;Let me go! let me go!&rsquo; which, no one
preventing her, she did, as quickly as a flash of light.
Some young men by the door followed her, and, it
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg153" id="pg153">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>153]</a></span>
being a bright moonlight night, beheld her whisk
over the stile without touching it, and so off up the
road towards the Ogmore. The people now resumed
their praying and singing. It was an hour before
the old woman got back, and then she was found to
be spattered with mud and bedraggled with wet, as
if she had been having a terrific time. She had
indeed, as she confessed, been to the Ogmore, and
thrown the bag of money down the stream; the
ghost had then taken off its hat, made a low bow,
and vanished, to trouble her no more.</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>A young man from Llywel parish, who was courting
a lass who lodged at the house of Thomas
Richard, in the vale of Towy, found himself haunted
as he went to and fro by the ghost of Anne Dewy,
a woman who had hanged herself. She would not
only meet him in the road, and frighten him, but
she would come to his bedside, and so scare him
that he fell ill. While he was ill his cousin came
to see him, and thinking his illness was due to his
being crossed in love, rallied him, saying, &lsquo;Wfft!
thou&rsquo;rt sick because thy cariad has refused thee.&rsquo;
But being gravely answered, and told of Anne
Dewy&rsquo;s ghost, this cousin advised the haunted man
to speak to her. &lsquo;Speak to her,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;or thou
wilt have no quiet. I will go with thee, and see
thou shalt have no harm.&rsquo; So they went out, and
called at Tafarn y Garreg, an inn not far off; but
the haunted man could not drink, and often looked
towards the door. &lsquo;What ails the man?&rsquo; asked the
tap-room loungers. He continued to be uneasy,
and finally went out, his cousin following him, and
then he saw the ghost again. &lsquo;Oh God, here she is!&rsquo;
he cried out, his teeth chattering and his eyes rolling.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg154" id="pg154">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>154]</a></span>
&lsquo;This is a sad thing,&rsquo; said his cousin: &lsquo;I know
not what to think of thee; but come, I will go with
thee, go where thou wilt.&rsquo; They returned to the
ale-house, and after a while the haunted man started
up, saying he was called, but when others offered to
go with him he said no, he must go alone. He did
go alone, and spoke to the ghost, who said, &lsquo;Fear
nothing; follow me.&rsquo; She led him to a spot behind
the house where she had lived when in the flesh,
and where she had hanged herself, and bade
him take from the wall a small bag. He did so.
The bag contained &lsquo;a great sum of money,&rsquo; in pieces
of gold; he guessed it might be 200<i>l.</i> or more. But
the ghost, greatly to his regret, bade him go and
cast it into the river. He obeyed, against his better
judgment. The next day, and for many a day thereafter,
people looked for that money where he had
thrown it in the river, but it never could be found.
The Rev. Thomas Lewis, a dissenting minister in
those parts, saw the place in the wall where the
money had been hid, in the haunted house, and
wondered how the young man could reach it, it
being so very high; but thought it likely he was
assisted by the ghost.</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>This same Rev. Thomas Lewis was well acquainted
with a man who was similarly employed by a perturbed
spirit, and was at the man&rsquo;s bedside when
he died. This ghost was in appearance a clergyman,
dressed in black clothes, with a white wig
on. As the man was looking out of an ale-house
window one night, he saw this ghost on horseback,
and went out to him. The ghost bowed and silently
offered him drink; but this was declined. Thereupon
the ghost lifted his hat, crooked his elbow, and
said in a hollow tone, &lsquo;Attoch chwi, syr,&rsquo;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg155" id="pg155">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>155]</a></span>
(towards you, sir). But others who were there could
see nothing and hear nothing. The ghost then said,
&lsquo;Go to Clifford Castle, in Radnorshire, take out
some money which lies hidden there, and throw it
into the river. Do this, I charge thee, or thou shalt
have no rest.&rsquo; Further and more explicit directions
were then given, and the unhappy man set out,
against his will, for Clifford Castle, which is the
castle in which was born Fair Rosamond, King
Henry II.&rsquo;s beautiful favourite. No one but himself
was allowed to enter the castle, although he was
permitted to have a friend&rsquo;s company to the ruined
gate thereof. It was dark when they came to the
castle, but he was guided to the place where the
money was, and ran with it and flung it into the
river. After that he was haunted no more.</p>

<p>An old house at Ty&rsquo;n-y-Twr, in Carnarvonshire,
was haunted by a ghost whose troubles were a
reversal of the rule. A new tenant, who took
possession of the house a few years ago, was so
bothered by this spectre that he resolved to question
it. He did so and got for answer the information
that if he would deposit a particular sum of
money in a specified place, his ghostship would cease
to walk. The man actually did this, and it acted
like magic. The money disappeared with promptitude,
and the ghost came there no more.</p>

<p>A man at Crumlyn, Monmouthshire, was haunted
by a ghost whose trouble related to a hidden object
of small value. Nevertheless the spectre was so
importunate that the man set out one night to
accompany it to the scene of perturbation. In due
time they came to a huge stone, which the ghost
bade its friend lift up, who replied that he had not
sufficient strength, it being a pretty large rock he
was thus requested to move. &lsquo;But try,&rsquo; said the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg156" id="pg156">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>156]</a></span>
ghost. So he tried, and lo! it was lifted as if it had
been a feather. He drew forth a pike, or mattock;
&lsquo;and the light,&rsquo; the man afterwards related, &lsquo;was as
great as if the sun shone; and in the snow there was
no impression of the feet of either of us.&rsquo; They
went to the river, and by the ghost&rsquo;s command the
man threw the pike over his head into the water,
standing with his back to the flood. The ghost
then conducted him home, and never troubled him
more. But for a long time after he was out of his
senses.</p>

<p>This was an illustration, according to the popular
belief, of the wickedness of hiding anything, however
trifling its value&mdash;a practice strongly condemned by
the Welsh peasantry.</p>

<p>There is a Glamorganshire story about a certain
young man who, returning late at night from
courting his sweetheart, felt tired, and sitting down
fell asleep. He had not slept long when he was
aroused by a strange noise, and looking up recognised
the ghost of his departed grandfather.
Enquiring the cause of the old gentleman&rsquo;s visit to
this scene of trials, he got this answer: &lsquo;Under the
corner of the thatch of your roof, look and you will
find a pair of silver spurs, surreptitiously obtained
by me when in the flesh, and hidden there. Throw
them into the river Taff, and I shall be at peace.&rsquo;
The young man obeyed these instructions, and
found the spurs accordingly; and although many
persons were present when he climbed to the
roof and fumbled under the thatch, and saw him in
the very act, not one among them could see the
spurs, which were to them invisible. They said,
however, that when the purloined spurs had been
thrown into the river, a bright flame was seen to
flash along the water.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg157" id="pg157">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>157]</a></span></p>

<h4>V.</h4>

<p>A large proportion of these stories of ghostly
perturbation concerning hidden treasure include a
further feature of great interest, relating to transportation
through the air. I have mentioned that
ghosts sometimes employ the services of the fairy
Boobach in thus carrying mortals from place to place.
The fairies of Wales are indeed frequently found to
be on the best of terms with the ghosts. Their
races have much in common, and so many of their
practices are alike that one is not always absolutely
sure whether he is dealing with a fairy or a spectre,
until some test-point crops up. However, in transporting
a mortal through the air, ghost and fairy
work together. The Boobach being set his task,
complaisantly gives the mortal the choice of being
transported above wind, amid wind, or below wind.
The value of knowing beforehand what to expect,
was never better illustrated than in this place. The
mortal who, with a natural reluctance to get into an
unpleasantly swift current, avoids travelling mid-wind,
misses a pleasant journey, for mid-wind is the
only agreeable mode of being borne by a Boobach.
Should you choose to go above wind, you are transported
so high that you skim the clouds and are in
danger of being frightened to death. But choosing
the below-wind course is even worse, for then you
are dragged through bush, through briar, in a way
to impress upon you the advice of Apollo to
Phaeton, and teach you the value of the golden
mean. <i>In medio tutissimus ibis.</i></p>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>In the parish of Ystradgynlais, in Breconshire,
Thomas Llewellyn, an innkeeper&rsquo;s son, was often
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg158" id="pg158">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>158]</a></span>
troubled by the spirit of a well-dressed woman, who
used to stand before him in narrow lanes, as if to bar
his passage, but he always got by her, though in
great alarm. One night he mustered up courage to
speak to her, and ask her what she wanted with him.
To which she replied, &lsquo;Be not afraid; I will not
hurt thee.&rsquo; Then she told him he must go to
&lsquo;Philadelphia in Pennsylvania,&rsquo; and take a box from
a house there, (which she described,) in which there
was a sum of 200<i>l.</i> But as he did not know how to
go to that far-off place, he said as much. &lsquo;Meet me
here next Friday night,&rsquo; said the phantom; &lsquo;meet
me, I charge thee.&rsquo; She then vanished. The young
man went home and told this story to his neighbours
and friends. They held a consultation with
the curate of the parish, who promptly appointed a
prayer-meeting for that Friday night, to which the
young man was bidden, and by which it was hoped
the purpose of the ghost to spirit him off to Philadelphia
might be circumvented. The meeting continued
until midnight, and when it broke up the
young man&rsquo;s friends stayed with him; but they had
no sooner got beyond the parson&rsquo;s stables than he
was taken from among them. His subsequent
adventures are thus related by himself: &lsquo;The apparition
carried me away to a river, and threw me into
it, chiding me for telling the people of our appointed
meeting and for not coming to meet her as she had
charged me; but bade me be not afraid, that she
would not hurt me, because she had not charged me
to be silent on the subject; nevertheless I had done
wrong to go to the parson&rsquo;s house. Now, said she,
we begin the journey. I was then lifted up and
carried away I know not how. When I came to the
place,&rsquo; (in Philadelphia,) &lsquo;I was taken into a house,
and conducted to a fine room. The spirit then bade
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg159" id="pg159">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>159]</a></span>
me lift up a board, which I did. I then saw the box,
and took it. Then the spirit said I must go three
miles and cast it into the black sea. We went, as I
thought, to a lake of clear water, where I was
commanded to throw the box into it; which when I
did there was such a noise as if all about was going
to pieces. From thence I was taken up and carried
to the place where I was first taken up. I then
asked her, Am I free now? She said I was; and
then she told me a secret, which she strictly charged
me to tell no person.&rsquo; Extensive and ingenious
guessing was indulged in by all Ystradgynlais, as to
what this secret might be; and one woman made
herself popular by remembering that there was a
certain Elizabeth Gething in other days who had
gone from this neighbourhood to Pennsylvania, and
the conclusion was eagerly arrived at, that this was
the woman whose phantom the young man saw, and
that the secret she told him was her name when
alive. They questioned him as to her appearance,
and he said she was largely made, very pale, her
looks severe, and her voice hollow, different from a
human voice. This was considered by the Ystradgynlaisians,
with many nods to each other, as a most
accurate description of what Elizabeth Gething would
probably be, after having shuffled off this mortal coil.
The time occupied in this mysterious transportation
and ghostly enterprise was three days and three
nights; that is, from Friday night to Monday night;
and when the voyager came home he could scarcely
speak.</p>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>Sir David Llwyd, the Welsh magician, was once
at Lanidloes town, in Montgomeryshire, and as he
was going home late at night, saw a boy there from
his neighbourhood. He asked the lad if he would
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg160" id="pg160">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>160]</a></span>
like to ride home behind him, and receiving an
affirmative reply, took the boy up behind on the
horse&rsquo;s back. They rode so swiftly that they were
home in no time, and the boy lost one of his garters
in the journey. The next day, seeing something
hanging in the ash-tree near the church, he climbed
up to learn what it was, and to his great surprise
found it was the garter he had lost. &lsquo;Which shows
they rode home in the air,&rsquo; observes the Prophet
Jones in telling the story. Mr. Jones has a number
of extraordinary narratives of this class&mdash;e.g., the
following, which I condense:</p>

<p>Henry Edmund, of Hafodafel, was one night
visiting Charles Hugh, the conjuror of Aberystruth,
and they walked together as far as Lanhiddel, where
Hugh tried to persuade his companion to stay all
night with him at a public house. Edmund refused,
and said he would go home. &lsquo;You had <em>better</em> stay,&rsquo;
said Hugh in a meaning tone. But Edmund went
out into the street, when he was seized by invisible
hands and borne through the air to Landovery, in
Carmarthenshire, a distance of fully fifty miles as
the crow flies. There he was set down at a public
house where he had before been, and talked with
people who knew him. He then went out into the
street, when he was seized again and borne back to
Lanhiddel, arriving there the next morning at daybreak.
The first man he met was the conjuror
Charles Hugh, who said, &lsquo;Did I not tell you you
had better stay with me?&rsquo;</p>


<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>The landlord of the inn at Langattock Crickhowel,
in Breconshire, was a man called Richard the Tailor.
He was more than suspected of resorting to the
company of fairies, and of practising infernal arts.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg161" id="pg161">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>161]</a></span>
One day a company of gentlemen were hunting in
that vicinity, when the hounds started a hare, which
ran so long and so hard that everybody was prostrated
with fatigue; and this hare disappeared from
view at the cellar window of the inn kept by Richard
the Tailor. The circumstance begat a suspicion
among the hunters that the hare which had so
bothered them was none other than Richard the
Tailor himself, and that his purpose in taking that
form had been to lead them a dance and bring them
to the door of his inn at an hour too late for them
to return home, thus compelling them to spend their
money there. They stayed, however, being very
tired. But they growled very hard at their landlord
and were perfectly free with their comments on his
base conduct. One of their party, having occasion
to go out-doors during the evening, did not come
back; his name was Walter Jones, and he was well
known in that part of the country. The company
became uneasy at his absence, and began to abuse
the landlord roundly, threatening to burn the house
if Walter Jones did not return. Notwithstanding
their threats, Walter Jones came not back all night.
Late the next morning he made his appearance,
looking like one who had been drawn through thorns
and briars, with his hair in disorder, and his whole
aspect terribly demoralised. His story was soon
told. He had no sooner got out-doors than invisible
hands had whisked him up, and whirled him along
rough ways until daybreak, when he found himself
near by the town of Newport, helping a man from
Risca to raise a load of coal upon his horse.
Suddenly he became insensible, and was whisked
back again to the inn where they now saw him.
The distance he traversed in going to and fro was
about forty miles. And Walter Jones, who had
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg162" id="pg162">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>162]</a></span>
hitherto been an ungodly man, mended his ways
from that time forth.</p>


<h4>IX.</h4>

<p>There are many points in all these traditional
stories which are suggestive of interesting comparisons,
and constantly remind us of the significance
of details which, at first sight, seem trivial. The
supposed adoption of the hare form by the tailor
recalls a host of mythological details. The hare
has been identified with the sun-god Michabo of the
American Indians, who sleeps through the winter
months, and symbolises the sleep of nature precisely
as in the fairy myth of the Sleeping Maiden, and
the Welsh legends of Sleeping Heroes. Among
the Hottentots, the hare figures as the servant of
the moon. In China, the hare is viewed as a
telluric genius in one province, and everywhere as
a divine animal. In Wales, one of the most
charming of the local legends relates how a hare
flying from the hounds took refuge under a fair saint&rsquo;s
robes, so that hares were ever after called Monacella&rsquo;s
Lambs in that parish. Up to a comparatively
recent time, no person in the parish would kill a
hare. When a hare was pursued by dogs, it was
firmly believed that if any one cried, &lsquo;God and St.
Monacella be with thee,&rsquo; it was sure to escape. The
legend is related by Pennant, in his tour through
Montgomeryshire: &lsquo;At about two miles distant
from Llangynog, I turned up a small valley to the
right, to pay my devotions to the shrine of St.
Monacella, or, as the Welsh style her, Melangell....
She was the daughter of an Irish monarch, who
had determined to marry her to a nobleman of his
court. The princess had vowed celibacy. She fled
from her father&rsquo;s dominions, and took refuge in this
place, where she lived fifteen years without seeing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg163" id="pg163">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>163]</a></span>
the face of man. Brochwel Yscythrog, prince of
Powys, being one day a hare-hunting, pursued his
game till he came to a great thicket; when he was
amazed to find a virgin of surprising beauty engaged
in deep devotion, with the hare he had been pursuing
under her robe, boldly facing the dogs, who
retired to a distance, howling, notwithstanding all
the efforts of the sportsmen to make them seize their
prey. When the huntsman blew his horn, it stuck
to his lips. Brochwel heard her story, and gave
to God and her a parcel of lands to be a sanctuary
to all who fled there. He desired her to found an
abbey on the spot. She did so, and died abbess of
it, in a good old age. She was buried in the neighbouring
church.... Her hard bed is shown in the
cleft of a neighbouring rock. Her tomb was in a
little chapel, or oratory, adjoining to the church
and now used as a vestry-room. This room is still
called cell y bedd, (cell of the grave).... The
legend is perpetuated by some rude wooden carvings
of the saint, with numbers of hares scuttling to her
for protection.&rsquo;</p>


<h4>X.</h4>

<p>It is interesting to observe, in connection with
the subject of transportation through the air, with
what vitality this superstition lingers in modern
spiritualism. The accounts of such transportation
are familiar to every reader of newspapers. That
Mr. Home was seen, by a learned English nobleman,
sailing through the moonlight seventy feet from
the ground, is on record; that Mrs. Guppy was
transported from Highbury Park to Lamb&rsquo;s Conduit
Street, in London, in a trance and a state of partial
<i>d&eacute;shabille</i>, is also on record; and that a well-known
American spiritualist was borne by invisible hands
from Chicago to Milwaukee and back, between
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg164" id="pg164">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>164]</a></span>
midnight and 4 <small>A.M.</small>, I have been assured by a number
of persons in Illinois who thoroughly believed it, or
said they did. But it certainly is not too much
to demand, that people who give credence to these
instances of aerial transportation should equally believe
in the good old ghost stories of the Welsh.
The same consistency calls for credulity as to the
demoniacal elevation of Simon Magus, and the
broomstick riding of the witches whose supernatural
levitation was credited by Lord Bacon and Sir
Matthew Hale, not to speak of Addison and
Wesley.</p>

<p>There is something peculiarly fascinating to the
gross denizens of earth in this notion of skimming
like a bird over house-tops. No dreams, save those
of love and dalliance, are so charming to the dreamer
as visions of flying; to find oneself floating along
over the tops of trees, over the streets where less
favoured mortals walk, to look down on them as
they stroll, is to feel an exquisite pleasure. The
mind of childhood and that of ignorance, alike
unable to discriminate between reality and illusion,
would naturally retain the impression of such a
dream with peculiar vividness. The superstition
has no doubt been fostered by this fact, although it,
like most superstitions, began its career in pre-historic
days. The same class of belief attaches to the
magical lore of widely separated lands, in all ages.
The magic carpet of the Arabian Nights finds its
parallel to-day in the enchanted mat of the Chinese
conjuror, which carries him from place to place, at a
height of twenty or thirty feet in the air. The
levitation involved is in Welsh story embodied in
the person of Sgilti Yscawndroed; when he was
sent on a message through the wood he went along
the tops of the trees; in his whole life, a blade of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg165" id="pg165">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>165]</a></span>
reed grass never bent beneath his feet, so light was
his tread.<a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_68_68" id="Footnote_68_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a>
Lady Charlotte Guest&rsquo;s &lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; 225.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>XI.</h4>

<p>It remains but to add, in connection with our
household ghosts, that the method of exorcising such
goblins in Wales is explicit. The objectionable
spectre must be conjured, in the name of Heaven, to
depart, and return no more. Not always is this
exorcism effective; the ghost may have a specific
purpose in hand, or it may be obstinate. The
strength of the exorcism is doubled by employing
the Latin language to deliver it; it receives its
utmost power, however, through the clergy; three
clergymen, it is thought, will exorcise any ghost that
walks. The exorcism is usually for a stated period;
seven years is the favourite time; one hundred years
the limit. There are many instances where a ghost
which had been laid a hundred years returned at the
end of the time to its old haunts. In all cases it is
necessary the ghost should agree to be exorcised;
no power can lay it if it be possessed of an evil
demon&mdash;a spirit within a spirit, as it were&mdash;which
stubbornly refuses to listen to argument. In such
cases the terrors of Heaven must be rigorously invoked;
but the result is only temporary. Properly
constituted family ghosts, however, will lend a reasonable
ear to entreaty, backed by prayer. There
are even cases on record where the ghost has been
the entreater, as in the story of Haunted Margaret.</p>

<p>Haunted Margaret, or Marget yr Yspryd, was a
servant-girl who lived in the parish of Panteg. She
had been seduced by a man who promised to marry
her, and a day was set for their wedding; but when
the day came, the man was not on hand, and Margaret
thereupon fell on her knees in the church and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg166" id="pg166">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>166]</a></span>
prayed Heaven that her seducer might have no rest
either in this world or in the world to come. In
due course the man died, and immediately his ghost
came to haunt Margaret Richard. People heard
her in the night saying to the ghost, &lsquo;What dost
thou want?&rsquo; or &lsquo;Be quiet, let me alone;&rsquo; and hence
it was that she came to be known in that parish by
the nickname of Marget yr Yspryd. One evening
when the haunted woman was at the house of Mrs.
Hercules Jenkins, at Trosdra, she began to be
uneasy, and as it grew late said, &lsquo;I must go now, or
else I shall be sure to meet him on the way home.&rsquo;
Mrs. Jenkins advised Margaret to speak to him;
&lsquo;and tell him thou dost forgive him,&rsquo; said the good
dame. Margaret went her way, and as she drew
near a stile at the end of a foot-bridge, she saw the
ghost at the stile waiting for her. When she came
up to it the ghost said, &lsquo;Do thou forgive me, and
God will forgive thee. Forgive me and I shall be
at rest, and never trouble thee any more.&rsquo; Margaret
then forgave him, and he shook hands with her in a
friendly way, and vanished.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg167" id="pg167">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>167]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk2chap03" id="bk2chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Spectral Animals&mdash;The Chained Spirit&mdash;The Gwyllgi, or Dog of Darkness&mdash;The
Legend of Lisworney-Crossways&mdash;The Gwyllgi of the
Devil&rsquo;s Nags&mdash;The Dog of Pant y Madog&mdash;Terrors of the Brute
Creation at Phantoms&mdash;Apparitions of Natural Objects&mdash;Phantom
Ships and Phantom Islands.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>Of spectral animals there is no great diversity in
Cambria, unless one should class under this head
sundry poetic creatures which more properly belong
to the domain of magic, or to fairyland. The spirits
of favourite animals which have died return occasionally
to visit their masters. Sometimes it is a horse,
which is seen on a dark night looking in at the
window, its eyes preternaturally large. More often
it is the ghost of a dog which revisits the glimpses
of the moon. Men sometimes become as fondly
attached to a dog as they could to any human being,
and, where the creed of piety is not too severe, the
possibility of a dog&rsquo;s surviving after death in a better
world is admitted. &lsquo;It is hard to look in that dog&rsquo;s
eyes and believe,&rsquo; said a Welshman to me, &lsquo;that he
has not a bit of a soul to be saved.&rsquo; The almost
human companionship of the dog for man is a
familiar fact. It is not strange, therefore, that the
dog should be the animal whose spirit, in popular
belief, shares the nature of man&rsquo;s after death.</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>Sometimes the spirit in animal form is the spirit
of a mortal, doomed to wear this shape for some
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg168" id="pg168">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>168]</a></span>
offence. This again trenches on the ground of
magic; but the ascription to the spirit-world is
distinct in modern instances. There was a Rev.
Mr. Hughes, a clergyman of the Church of England,
in the isle and county of Anglesea, who was esteemed
the most popular preacher thereabout in the last
century, and upon this account was envied by the
rest of the clergy, &lsquo;which occasioned his becoming
a field preacher for a time, though he was received
into the Church again.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a> As he was going one night
to preach, he came upon an artificial circle in the
ground, between Amlwch village and St. Elian
Church, where a spirit in the shape of a large greyhound
jumped against him and threw him from
his horse. This experience was repeated on a
second night. The third night he went on foot, and
warily; and now he saw that the spirit was chained.
He drew near, but keeping beyond the reach of
the chain, and questioned the spirit: &lsquo;Why troublest
thou those that pass by?&rsquo; The spirit replied that
its unrest was due to a silver groat it had hidden
under a stone when in the flesh, and which belonged
to the church of St. Elian. The clergyman being
told where the groat was, found it and paid it over
to the church, and the chained spirit was released.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_69_69" id="Footnote_69_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a>
Jones, &lsquo;Apparitions.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>In the Gwyllgi, or Dog of Darkness, is seen a
spirit of terrible form, well known to students of
folk-lore. This is a frightful apparition of a mastiff,
with a baleful breath and blazing red eyes which
shine like fire in the night. It is huge in size, and
reminds us of the &lsquo;shaggy mastiff larger than a
steed nine winters old,&rsquo; which guarded the sheep
before the castle of Yspaddaden Pencawr. &lsquo;All
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg169" id="pg169">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>169]</a></span>
the dead trees and bushes in the plain he burnt with
his breath down to the very ground.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_70_70" id="FNanchor_70_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> The lane
leading from Mousiad to Lisworney-Crossways, is
reported to have been haunted by a Gwyllgi of the
most terrible aspect. Mr. Jenkin, a worthy farmer
living near there, was one night returning home
from market on a young mare, when suddenly the
animal shied, reared, tumbled the farmer off, and
bolted for home. Old Anthony the farm-servant,
found her standing trembling by the barn-door,
and well knowing the lane she had come through
suspected she had seen the Gwyllgi. He and the
other servants of the farm all went down the road,
and there in the haunted lane they found the
farmer, on his back in the mud. Being questioned,
the farmer protested it was the Gwyllgi and nothing
less, that had made all this trouble, and his nerves
were so shaken by the shock that he had to be
supported on either side to get him home, slipping
and staggering in the mud in truly dreadful fashion
all the way. It is the usual experience of people
who meet the Gwyllgi that they are so overcome with
terror by its unearthly howl, or by the glare of its
fiery eyes, that they fall senseless. Old Anthony,
however, used to say that he had met the Gwyllgi
without this result. As he was coming home from
courting a young woman of his acquaintance (name
delicately withheld, as he did not marry her) late
one Sunday night&mdash;or it may have been Monday
morning&mdash;he encountered in the haunted lane two
large shining eyes, which drew nearer and nearer
to him. He was dimly able to discern, in connection
with the gleaming eyes, what seemed a
form of human shape above, but with the body and
limbs of a large spotted dog. He threw his hat
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg170" id="pg170">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>170]</a></span>
at the terrible eyes, and the hat went whisking right
through them, falling in the road beyond. However,
the spectre disappeared, and the brave Anthony
hurried home as fast as his shaking legs would
carry him.</p>

<p>As Mr. David Walter, of Pembrokeshire, &lsquo;a
religious man, and far from fear and superstition,&rsquo;
was travelling by himself through a field called the
Cot Moor, where there are two stones set up called
the Devil&rsquo;s Nags, which are said to be haunted, he
was suddenly seized and thrown over a hedge. He
went there another day, taking with him for protection
a strong fighting mastiff dog. When he had
come near the Devil&rsquo;s Nags there appeared in his
path the apparition of a dog more terrible than any
he had ever seen. In vain he tried to set his
mastiff on; the huge beast crouched frightened by
his master&rsquo;s feet and refused to attack the spectre.
Whereupon his master boldly stooped to pick up a
stone, thinking that would frighten the evil dog;
but suddenly a circle of fire surrounded it, which
lighting up the gloom, showed the white snip down
the dog&rsquo;s nose, and his grinning teeth, and white
tail. &lsquo;He then knew it was one of the infernal
dogs of hell.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_71_71" id="FNanchor_71_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a></p>

<p>Rebecca Adams was &lsquo;a woman who appeared to
be a true living experimental Christian, beyond
many,&rsquo; and she lived near Laugharne Castle, in Carmarthenshire.
One evening when she was going
to Laugharne town on some business, her mother
dissuaded her from going, telling her she would be
benighted, and might be terrified by some apparition
at Pant y Madog. This was a pit by the side
of the lane leading to Laugharne, which was never
known to be dry, and which was haunted, as many
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg171" id="pg171">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>171]</a></span>
had both seen and heard apparitions there. But
the bold Rebecca was not to be frighted at such
nonsense, and went her way. It was rather dark
when she was returning, and she had passed by
the haunted pit of Pant y Madog, and was congratulating
herself on having seen no ghost. Suddenly
she saw a great dog coming towards her.
When within about four or five yards of her it
stopped, squatted on its haunches, &lsquo;and set up
such a scream, so loud, so horrible, and so strong,
that she thought the earth moved under her.&rsquo; Then
she fell down in a swoon. When she revived it
was gone; and it was past midnight when she
got home, weak and exhausted.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_70_70" id="Footnote_70_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70_70"><span class="label">[70]</span></a>
&lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; 230.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_71_71" id="Footnote_71_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71_71"><span class="label">[71]</span></a>
Jones, &lsquo;Apparitions.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>Much stress is usually laid, in accounts of the
Gwyllgi, on the terror with which it inspires domestic
animals. This confidence in the ability of the brute
creation to detect the presence of a spirit, is a
common superstition everywhere. An American
journal lately gave an account of an apparition seen
in Indiana, whose ghostly character was considered
by the witnesses to be proven by the terror of
horses which saw it. They were drawing the
carriage in which drove the persons to whom the
ghost appeared, and they shied from the road at
sight of it, becoming unmanageable. The spectre
soon dissolved in thin air and vanished, when the
horses instantly became tractable. In Wales it is
thought that horses have peculiarly this &lsquo;gift&rsquo; of
seeing spectres. Carriage horses have been known
to display every sign of the utmost terror, when
the occupants of the carriage could see no cause
for fright; and in such cases a funeral is expected
to pass there before long, bearing to his grave some
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg172" id="pg172">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>172]</a></span>
person not dead at the time of the horses&rsquo; fright.
These phenomena are certainly extremely interesting,
and well calculated to &lsquo;bid us pause,&rsquo; though
not, perhaps, for the purpose of considering whether
a horse&rsquo;s eye can receive an image which the human
retina fails to accept. Much weight will not be
given to the fright of the lower animals, I fear, by
any thoughtful person who has witnessed the terror
of a horse at sight of a flapping shirt on a clothes-line,
or that hideous monster a railway engine.
Andrew Jackson Davis has a theory that we all
bear about us an atmosphere, pleasing or repulsive,
which can be detected by horses, dogs,
and spiritual &lsquo;mediums;&rsquo; this <i>aura</i>, being spiritual,
surrounds us without our will or wish, goes where
we go, but does not die when we die, and is the
means by which a bloodhound tracks a slave, or a
fond dog finds its master. Without denying the
possibility of this theory, I must record that in my
observation a dog has been found to smell his
master most successfully when that master was
most in need of a bath and a change of linen.
Also, that when the master leaves off his coat he
clearly leaves&mdash;if a dog&rsquo;s conduct be evidence&mdash;a
part of his <i>aura</i> with it. More worthy of serious
attention is August Comte&rsquo;s suggestion that dogs
and some other animals are perhaps capable of
forming fetichistic notions. That dogs accredit inanimate
objects with volition, to a certain extent, I
am quite convinced. The thing which constitutes
knowledge, in dogs as in human beings&mdash;that is to
say, thought, organised by experience&mdash;corrects this
tendency in animals as they grow older, precisely as
it corrects the false conclusions of children, though
never to the same extent. That a dog can think, I
suppose no well-informed person doubts in these days.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg173" id="pg173">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>173]</a></span></p>

<h4>V.</h4>

<p>The Gwyllgi finds its counterpart in the Mauthe
Doog of the Isle of Man and the Shock of the
Norfolk coast. It there comes up out of the sea
and travels about in the lanes at night. To meet it
is a sign of trouble and death. The Gwyllgi also is
confined to sea-coast parishes mainly, and although
not classed among death-omens, to look on it is
deemed dangerous. The hunting dogs, Cwn Annwn,
or dogs of hell, whose habitat is the sky overhead,
have also other attributes which distinguish them
clearly from the Gwyllgi. They are death-omens,
ancient of lineage and still encountered. The
Gwyllgi, while suggesting some interesting comparisons
with the old mythology, appears to have
lost vogue since smuggling ceased to be profitable.</p>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>Confined to the coast, too, are those stories of
phantom ships and phantom islands which, too
familiar to merit illustration here, have their origin
in the mirage. That they also touch the ancient
mythology is undoubted; but their source in the
mirage is probably true of the primeval belief as well
as of the medieval, and that of our time. The
Chinese also have the mirage, but not its scientific
explanation, and hence of course their belief in its
supernatural character is undisturbed.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg174" id="pg174">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>174]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk2chap04" id="bk2chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Grotesque Ghosts&mdash;The Phantom Horseman&mdash;Gigantic Spirits&mdash;The
Black Ghost of Ffynon yr Yspryd&mdash;Black Men in the Mabinogion&mdash;Whirling
Ghosts&mdash;Antic Spirits&mdash;The Tridoll Valley Ghost&mdash;Resemblance
to Modern Spiritualistic Performances&mdash;Household
Fairies.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>The grotesque ghosts of Welsh folk-lore are often
most diverting acquaintances. They are ghosts on
horseback, or with coloured faces, or of huge and
monstrous form; or they indulge in strange gymnastics,
in whirling, throwing stones, or whistling.
A phantom horseman, encountered by the Rev. John
Jones, of Holywell, in Flintshire, as described by
himself, is worthy of Heinrich Zschokke. This
Mr. Jones was a preacher of extraordinary power,
renowned and respected throughout Wales. He
was one day travelling alone on horseback from
Bala, in Merionethshire, to Machynlleth, Montgomeryshire,
and as he approached a forest which
lay in his way he was dogged by a murderous-looking
man carrying a sharp sickle. The minister
felt sure this man meditated an attack on his life,
from his conduct in running crouched along behind
hedges, and from his having met the man at the
village inn of Llanuwchllyn, where the minister exposed
his watch and purse. Presently he saw the
man conceal himself at a place where the hedge was
thick, and where a gate crossed the road; and feeling
sure that here he should be attacked, he stopped his
horse to reflect on the situation. No house was in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg175" id="pg175">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>175]</a></span>
sight, and the road was hidden by high hedges on
either side. Should he turn back? &lsquo;In despair,
rather than in a spirit of humble trust and confidence,&rsquo;
says the good man, &lsquo;I bowed my head,
and offered up a silent prayer. At this juncture my
horse, growing impatient of the delay, started off. I
clutched the reins, which I had let fall on his neck,
when, happening to turn my eyes, I saw, to my utter
astonishment, that I was no longer alone: there, by
my side, I beheld a horseman in a dark dress,
mounted on a white steed. In intense amazement
I gazed upon him. Where could he have come
from? He appeared as suddenly as if he had sprung
from the earth; he must have been riding behind
and have overtaken me, and yet I had not heard
the slightest sound. It was mysterious, inexplicable;
but joy overcame my feelings of wonder, and I began
at once to address my companion. I asked him if
he had seen any one, and then described to him
what had taken place, and how relieved I felt by
his sudden appearance. He made no reply, and on
looking at his face he seemed paying but slight
attention to my words, but continued intently gazing
in the direction of the gate, now about a quarter of a
mile ahead. I followed his gaze, and saw the reaper
emerge from his concealment and run across a field
to our left, resheathing his sickle as he hurried along.
He had evidently seen that I was no longer alone,
and had relinquished his intended attempt.&rsquo; Seeking
to converse with the mysterious horseman, the
minister found the phantom was speechless. In vain
he addressed it in both Welsh and English; not a
word did it utter, save that once the minister thought
it said &lsquo;Amen,&rsquo; to a pious remark. Suddenly it was
gone. &lsquo;The mysterious horseman was gone; he
was not to be seen; he had disappeared as
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg176" id="pg176">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>176]</a></span>
mysteriously as he had come. What could have become
of him? He could not have gone through the gate,
nor have made his horse leap the high hedges, which
on both sides shut in the road. Where was he? had
I been dreaming? was it an apparition&mdash;a spectre,
which had been riding by my side for the last ten
minutes? was it but a creature of my imagination?
I tried hard to convince myself that this was the
case; but why had the reaper resheathed his murderous-looking
sickle and fled? And then a feeling
of profound awe began to creep over my soul. I
remembered the singular way of his first appearance,
his long silence, and the single word to which he had
given utterance after I had mentioned the name of
the Lord; the single occasion on which I had done
so. What could I then believe but that ... in the
mysterious horseman I had a special interference of
Providence, by which I was delivered from a position
of extreme danger?&rsquo;</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>Of gigantic ghosts there are many examples
which are very grotesque indeed. Such was the
apparition which met Edward Frank, a young man
who lived in the parish of Llantarnam. As he was
coming home one night he heard something walking
towards him, but at first could see nothing. Suddenly
his way was barred by a tall dismal object which
stood in the path before him. It was the ghost of
a marvellous thin man, whose head was so high
above the observer&rsquo;s line of vision that he nearly
fell over backward in his efforts to gaze at it. His
knees knocked together and his heart sank. With
great difficulty he gasped forth, &lsquo;In the name of
God what is here? Turn out of my way or I will
strike thee!&rsquo; The giant ghost then disappeared,
and the frightened Edward, seeing a cow not far
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg177" id="pg177">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>177]</a></span>
off, went towards her to lean on her, which the cow
stood still and permitted him to do. The na&iuml;vet&eacute;
of this conclusion is convincing.</p>

<p>Equally prodigious was the spectre seen by
Thomas Miles Harry, of the parish of Aberystruth.
He was coming home by night from Abergavenny,
when his horse took fright at something which it
saw, but which its master could not see. Very
much terrified, the latter hastened to guide the
animal into an adjoining yard, and dismount; whereupon
he saw the apparition of a gigantic woman.
She was so prodigiously tall, according to the
account of the horrified Harry, that she was fully
half as high as the tall beech trees on the other
side of the road; and he hastened to hide from his
eyes the awful sight, by running into the house,
where they listened open-mouthed to his tale. Concerning
this Mr. Harry we are assured that he was
of an affable disposition, innocent and harmless,
and the grandfather of that eminent and famous
preacher of the Gospel, Thomas Lewis, of Llanharan,
in Glamorganshire.<a name="FNanchor_72_72" id="FNanchor_72_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a> The same narrator
relates that Anne, the daughter of Herbert Jenkins,
of the parish of Trefethin, &lsquo;a young woman well disposed
to what is good,&rsquo; was going one evening to
milk the cows by Rhiw-newith, when as she passed
through a wood she saw a horrible black man
standing by a holly tree. She had with her a dog,
which saw it also, and ran towards it to bark at it,
upon which it stretched out a long black tongue,
and the dog ran affrighted back to the young
woman, crawling and cringing about her feet for
fear. She was in great terror at all this, but had
the courage still to go on after the cows, which
had strayed into another field. She drove them
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg178" id="pg178">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>178]</a></span>
back to their own field, and in passing the holly-tree
avoided looking that way for fear of seeing
the black man again. However, after she had
got safely by she looked back, and saw the
monster once more, &lsquo;very big in the middle and
narrow at both ends,&rsquo; and as it walked away the
ground seemed to tremble under its heavy tread. It
went towards a spring in that field called Ffynon
yr Yspryd, (the Fountain of the Spirit,) where
ghosts had been seen before, and crossing over the
stile into the common way, it whistled so loud and
strong that the narrow valley echoed and re-echoed
with the prodigious sound. Then it vanished, much
to the young woman&rsquo;s relief.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_72_72" id="Footnote_72_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72_72"><span class="label">[72]</span></a>
Jones, &lsquo;Apparitions.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>That giants should appear in the Welsh spirit-land
will surprise no one, but the apparition of
black men is more unique. The Mabinogion, however,
are full of black men, usually giants, always
terrible to encounter. The black man whom Peredur
slew had but one eye, having lost the other in
fighting with the black serpent of the Carn. &lsquo;There
is a mound, which is called the Mound of Mourning;
and on the mound there is a carn, and in the carn
there is a serpent, and on the tail of the serpent
there is a stone, and the virtues of the stone are
such, that whosoever should hold it in one hand,
in the other he will have as much gold as he may
desire. And in fighting with this serpent was it
that I lost my eye.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_73_73" id="FNanchor_73_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> In the &lsquo;Lady of the Fountain&rsquo;
mabinogi the same character appears: &lsquo;a black
man ... not smaller in size than two of the men
of this world,&rsquo; and with &lsquo;one eye in the middle of
his forehead.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_74_74" id="FNanchor_74_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a> And there are other black men in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg179" id="pg179">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>179]</a></span>
other Mabinogion, indicating the extremely ancient
lineage of the spectre seen by Anne Jenkins at the
Fountain of the Spirit. Whatever Anglo-Saxon
scoffers may say of Welsh pedigrees of mere flesh
and blood, the antiquity of its spectral hordes may
not be disputed. The black giant of Sindbad the
Sailor and the monster woodward of Cynan alike
descend from the Polyphemus blinded by Odysseus.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_73_73" id="Footnote_73_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73_73"><span class="label">[73]</span></a>
&lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; 106.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_74_74" id="Footnote_74_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_74_74"><span class="label">[74]</span></a>
Ibid., 6.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>Another grotesque Welsh goblin goes whirling
through the world. Three examples are given by
the Prophet Jones. <i>First:</i> Lewis Thomas, the
father of the Rev. Thomas Lewis, was on his
return from a journey, and in passing through a
field near Bedwellty, saw this dreadful apparition,
to wit, the spectre of a man walking or whirling
along on its hands and feet; at sight of which
Lewis Thomas felt his hair to move on his head;
his heart panted and beat violently, &lsquo;his body
trembled, and he felt not his clothes about him,&rsquo;
<i>Second:</i> John Jenkins, a poor man, who lived near
Abertillery, hanged himself in a hay-loft. His
sister soon after came upon his dead body there
hanging, and screamed loudly. Jeremiah James,
who lived in Abertillery House, hearing the scream,
looked in that direction and saw the &lsquo;resemblance
of a man&rsquo; coming from the hay-loft &lsquo;and violently
turning upwards and downwards topsy turvy&rsquo; towards
the river, &lsquo;which was a dreadful sight to a
serious godly man.&rsquo; <i>Third:</i> Thomas Andrew, living
at a place called The Farm, in the parish of Lanhiddel,
coming home late at night saw a whirling
goblin on all fours by the side of a wall, which fell
to scraping the ground and wagging its head, &lsquo;looking
aside one way and the other,&rsquo; making at the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg180" id="pg180">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>180]</a></span>
same time a horrible mowing noise; at which
Thomas Andrew &lsquo;was terribly frightened.&rsquo;</p>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>The antics of these and similar inhabitants of the
Cambrian spirit-world at times outdo the most absurd
capers of modern spiritualism. At the house of a
certain farmer in the parish of Llanllechid, in Carnarvonshire,
there was great disturbance by a spirit
which threw stones into the house, and from one
room to another, which hit and hurt the people who
lived there. The stones were of various sizes, the
largest weighing twenty-seven pounds. Most of
them were river stones, from the stream which runs
hard by. Some clergymen came from Bangor and
read prayers in the house, to drive the spirit away,
but their faith was not strong enough, and stones
were thrown at them, so that they retired from the
contest. The family finally had to abandon the
house.</p>

<p>On the farm of Edward Roberts, in the parish of
Llangunllo, in Radnorshire, there was a spirit whose
antics were somewhat remarkable. As the servant-man
was threshing, the threshel was taken out of his
hand and thrown upon the hay-loft. At first he did
not mind this so much, but when the trick had been
repeated three or four times he became concerned
about it, and went into the house to tell of it. The
master of the house was away, but the wife and the
maid-servant laughed at the man, and merrily said
they would go to the barn to protect him. So they
went out there and sat, the one to knit and the other
to wind yarn. They were not there long before their
things were taken from their hands and tumbled
about the barn. On returning to the house, they
perceived the dishes on the shelves move to and fro,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg181" id="pg181">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>181]</a></span>
and some were thrown on to the stone floor and
broken. That night there was a terrible clattering
among the dishes, and next morning they could
scarcely tread without stepping on the wrecks of
crockery which lay about. This pleasant experience
was often repeated. Neighbours came to see. People
even came from far to satisfy their curiosity&mdash;some
from so far as Knighton; and one who came from
Knighton to read prayers for the exorcising of the
spirit, had the book taken out of his hand and
thrown upstairs. Stones were often cast at the
people, and once iron was projected from the chimney
at them. At last the spirit set the house on fire,
and nothing could quench it; the house was burnt
down: nothing but the walls and the two chimneys
stood, long after, to greet the eyes of people who
passed to and from Knighton market.</p>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>A spirit which haunted the house of William
Thomas, in Tridoll Valley, Glamorganshire, used to
hit the maid-servant on the side of her head, as it
were with a cushion, when she was coming down the
stairs. &lsquo;One time she brought a marment of water
into the house,&rsquo; and the water was thrown over her
person. Another time there came so great an
abundance of pilchards in the sea, that the people
could scarcely devour them, and the maid asked
leave of her master to go and fetch some of them.
&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said he, being a very just man, &lsquo;the pilchards
are sent for the use of poor people; we do not want
them.&rsquo; But the maid was very fond of pilchards,
and so she went without leave, and brought some to
the house. After giving a turn about the house, she
went to look for her fish, and found them thrown out
upon the dunghill. &lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said her master, &lsquo;did
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg182" id="pg182">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>182]</a></span>
not I tell thee not to go?&rsquo; Once a pot of meat was
on the fire, and when they took it off they found both
meat and broth gone, none knew where, and the pot
as empty as their own bellies. Sometimes the clasped
Bible would be thrown whisking by their heads;
and &lsquo;so it would do with the gads of the steller, and
once it struck one of them against the screen where
a person then sat, and the mark of it still to be seen
in the hard board.&rsquo; Once the china dishes were
thrown off the shelf, and not one broke. &lsquo;It was a
great business with this light-hating spirit to throw
an old lanthorn about the house without breaking it.&rsquo;
When the maid went a-milking to the barn, the barn-door
would be suddenly shut upon her as she was
milking the cow; then when she rose up the spirit
began to turn the door backwards and forwards with
an idle ringing noise. Once it tried to make trouble
between the mistress and the maid by strewing charcoal
ashes on the milk. When William Evans, a
neighbour, went there to pray, as he knelt by the
bedside, it struck the bed such a bang with a trencher
that it made a report like a gun, so that both the bed
and the room shook perceptibly. On another occasion,
it made a sudden loud noise, which made the
master think his house was falling down, and he
was prodigiously terrified; it never after that made
so loud a noise.</p>

<p>The Rev. R. Tibbet, a dissenting minister from
Montgomeryshire, was one night sleeping in the
house, with another person in the bed with him;
and they had a tussle with the Tridoll spirit for
possession of the bed-clothes. By praying and pulling
with equal energy, the parson beat the spirit,
and kept the bed-clothes. But the spirit, apparently
angered by this failure, struck the bed with the
cawnen (a vessel to hold grain) such a blow that
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg183" id="pg183">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>183]</a></span>
the bed was knocked out of its place. Then they
lit a light and the spirit left them alone. It was a
favourite diversion with this goblin to hover about
William Thomas when he was shaving, and occasionally
cuff him on the side of his head&mdash;the consequence
being that the persecuted farmer shaved
himself by fits and starts, in a very unsatisfactory
manner, and in a most uncomfortable state of mind.
For about two years it troubled the whole of that
family, during which period it had intervals of quiet
lasting for a fortnight or three weeks. Once it
endeavoured to hinder them from going to church,
by hiding the bunch of keys, on the Lord&rsquo;s day, so
that for all their searching they could not find them.
The good man of the house bade them not to yield
to the devil, and as they were loth to appear in their
old clothes at meeting, they were about to break
the locks; but first concluded to kneel in prayer,
and so did. After their prayers they found the
keys where they used to be, but where they could
not find them before. One night the spirit divided
the books among the members of the family, after
they had gone to bed. To the man of the house it
gave the Bible, to the woman of the house &lsquo;Allen&rsquo;s
Sure Guide,&rsquo; and upon the bed of the maid-servant
(whom it was specially fond of plaguing) it piled a lot
of English books, which language she did not understand.
The maid was heartily afraid of the spirit,
and used to fall on her knees and go to praying
with chattering teeth, at all hours of the day or
night; and prayer this spirit could not abide.
When the maid would go about in the night with a
candle, the light thereof would diminish, grow feeble
as if in dampness, and finally go out. The result
was the maid was generally excused from making
journeys into cellar or garret after dark, very much
to her satisfaction.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg184" id="pg184">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>184]</a></span>
Particularly did this frisky Tridoll spirit trouble
the maid-servant after she had gone to bed&mdash;in
winter hauling the bed-clothes off her; in summer
piling more on her. Now there was a young man,
a first cousin to William Thomas, who could not be
got to believe there was a spirit at his kinsman&rsquo;s
house, and said the family were only making tricks
with one another, &lsquo;and very strong he was, a hero
of an unbeliever, like many of his brethren in
infidelity.&rsquo; One night William Thomas and his wife
went to a neighbour&rsquo;s wake, and left the house in
charge of the doubting cousin, who searched the
place all over, and then went to bed there; and no
spirit came to disturb him. This made him stronger
than ever in his unbelief. But soon after he slept
there again, when they were all there, and before
going to bed he said aloud to the maid, &lsquo;If anything
comes to disturb thee, Ally, call upon me, as I lie
in the next room to you.&rsquo; During the night the
maid cried out that the spirit was pulling the clothes
off her bed, and the doubting cousin awoke, jumped
out of bed, and ran to catch the person he believed
to be playing tricks with the maid. But there was
no creature visible, although there rained upon his
doubting head a series of cuffs, and about his person
a fusillade of kicks, which thrust the unbelief quite
out of him, so that he doubted no more. The
departure of this spirit came about thus: William
Thomas being in bed with his wife, heard a voice
calling him. He awaked his wife, and rising on
his elbow said to the invisible spirit, &lsquo;In the name
of God what seekest thou in my house? Hast
thou anything to say to me?&rsquo; The spirit answered,
&lsquo;I have,&rsquo; and desired him to remove certain things
out of a place where they had been mislaid.
&lsquo;Satan,&rsquo; answered William Thomas, in a candid
manner, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll do nothing thou biddest me; I
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg185" id="pg185">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>185]</a></span>
command thee, in the name of God, to depart from my
house.&rsquo; And it obeyed.</p>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>This long and circumstantial account, which I
have gathered from different sources, but mainly
from the two books of the Prophet Jones, will
impress the general reader with its resemblance, in
many respects, to modern newspaper ghost stories.
The throwing about of dishes, books, keys, etc.;
its raps and touches of the person; its making of
loud noises by banging down metal objects; all
these antics are the tricks of contemporaneous
spiritualism. But this spectre is of a date when
our spiritualism was quite unknown. The same is
true of the spirit which threw stones, another
modern spiritualistic accomplishment.<a name="FNanchor_75_75" id="FNanchor_75_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a> The spiritualists
will argue from all this that their belief is
substantiated, not by any means that it is shaken.
The doubter will conclude that there were clever
tricksters in humble Welsh communities some time
before the American city of Rochester had produced
its &lsquo;mediums.&rsquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg186" id="pg186">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>186]</a></span>
The student of comparative folk-lore, in reading
these accounts, will be equally impressed with
their resemblance to phenomena noted in many
other lands. The conclusion is irresistible that we
here encounter but another form of the fairy which
goes in Wales by the name of the Bwbach, and in
England is called the Hobgoblin, in Denmark the
Nis, in Scotland the Brownie. Also, the resemblance
is strong in all stories of this class to certain
of the German Kobolds. In several of these
accounts of spirits in Wales appear the leading
particulars of the Kobold Hinzelmann, as condensed
by Grimm from Feldman&rsquo;s long narrative.<a name="FNanchor_76_76" id="FNanchor_76_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a> There
is also a close correspondence to certain ghost
stories found in China. In the story of Woo, from
the &lsquo;Che-wan-luk,&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_77_77" id="FNanchor_77_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a> appear details much like those
in Hinzelmann, and equally resembling Welsh
particulars, either in the stories given above, or
those which follow. But we are now drawn so near
to the division of Familiar Spirits that we may as
well enter it at once.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_75_75" id="Footnote_75_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor_75_75"><span class="label">[75]</span></a>
For the sake of comparison, I give the latest American case
which comes under my notice. The scene is Akron, a bustling town
in the State of Ohio; the time October, 1878. &lsquo;Mr. and Mrs. Michael
Metzler, middle-aged Germans, with their little daughter, ten years of
age, and Mrs. Knoss, Metzler&rsquo;s mother-in-law, recently moved to a
brick house in the suburbs known as Hell&rsquo;s Half Acre. The house is
a good, substantial building, situated in a somewhat open space, and
surrounded by a lonesome deserted air. A few days after they had
moved, they were disturbed by sharp rappings all over the house,
produced by small stones or pebbles thrown against the window panes.
Different members of the family were hit by these stones coming to
and going from the house. Other persons were hit by them, the
stones varying in size from a pea to a hen&rsquo;s egg. Mrs. Metzler said
that when she went after the cow in the evening, she could hear these
stones whistling around her head. Mr. and Mrs. Metzler, who are
devout Catholics, had Father Brown come to the house to exorcise
the spirits which were tormenting them. The reverend father, in the
midst of his exercises, was struck by a stone, and so dismayed thereby
that he went home in despair.&rsquo; (Newspaper account.)</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_76_76" id="Footnote_76_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor_76_76"><span class="label">[76]</span></a>
&lsquo;Deutsche Sagen,&rsquo; i. 103.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_77_77" id="Footnote_77_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor_77_77"><span class="label">[77]</span></a>
Dennys, &lsquo;Folk-Lore of China,&rsquo; 86.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg187" id="pg187">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>187]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk2chap05" id="bk2chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Familiar Spirits&mdash;The Famous Sprite of Trwyn Farm&mdash;Was it a
Fairy?&mdash;The Familiar Spirits of Magicians&mdash;Sir David Llwyd&rsquo;s
Demon&mdash;Familiar Spirits in Female Form&mdash;The Legend of the
Lady of the Wood&mdash;The Devil as a Familiar Spirit&mdash;His Disguises
in this Character&mdash;Summoning and Exorcising Familiars&mdash;Jenkin
the Pembrokeshire Schoolmaster&mdash;The Terrible Tailor of Glanbran.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>Innumerable are the Welsh stories of familiar
spirits. Sometimes these are spectres of the sort
whose antics we have just been observing. More
often they are confessedly demons, things of evil.
In numberless cases it is no less a personage than
the diawl himself who makes his appearance in the
guise of a familiar spirit. The familiar spirit which
takes up its abode in the household is, as we have
seen, a pranksome goblin. Its personal appearance&mdash;or
rather its invisibility&mdash;is the saving circumstance
which prevents it from being deemed a fairy.
The familiar spirit which haunted the house of Job
John Harry, at the Trwyn Farm, in the parish of
Mynyddyslwyn, was a stone-thrower, a stroker of
persons, etc., but could not be seen. It is famous
in Wales under the cognomen of Pwca&rsquo;r Trwyn,
and is referred to in my account of the Ellylldan.<a name="FNanchor_78_78" id="FNanchor_78_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a>
The tenants at present residing on the Trwyn
Farm are strangers who have recently invaded
the home of this ancestral spook, but I was able
to glean abundant information concerning it from
people thereabout. It made a home of Mr. Harry&rsquo;s
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg188" id="pg188">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>188]</a></span>
house some time in the last century, for a period
beginning some days before Christmas, and ending
with Easter Wednesday, on which day it departed.
During this time it spoke, and did many remarkable
things, but was always invisible. It began at
first to make its presence known by knocking at the
outer door in the night; but when persons went to
open the door there was no one there. This
continued for some time, much to the perplexity
of the door-openers. At last one night it spoke
to the one who opened the door, and the family
were in consequence much terrified. Some of the
neighbours, hearing these tales, came to watch with
the family; and Thomas Evans foolishly brought
a gun with him, &lsquo;to shoot the spirit,&rsquo; as he said.
But as Job John Harry was coming home that
night from a journey, the familiar spirit met him
in the lane and said, &lsquo;There is a man come to
your house to shoot me, but thou shalt see how
I will beat him.&rsquo; So Job went on to the house,
and immediately stones were thrown at the unbelieving
Thomas who had brought the gun, stones
from which he received severe blows. The company
tried to defend him from the stones, which
did strike and hurt him, and no other person; but
their efforts were in vain. The result was, that
Thomas Evans took his gun and ran home as fast
as his legs would carry him, and never again engaged
in an enterprise of that sort.</p>

<p>As this familiar spirit got better acquainted with
its quarters, it became more talkative, and used
often to speak from out of an oven by the hearth&rsquo;s
side. It also took to making music o&rsquo; nights with
Job&rsquo;s fiddle. One night as Job was going to bed,
the familiar spirit gave him a gentle stroke on the
toe. &lsquo;Thou art curious in smiting,&rsquo; said Job. &lsquo;I
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg189" id="pg189">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>189]</a></span>
can smite thee where I please,&rsquo; replied the spirit.
As time passed on the family became accustomed
to their ghostly visitor, and seeing it never did
them any harm, but on the contrary was a source
of recreation to them, they used to boldly speak
to it, and indulge in entertaining conversation.
One old man, a neighbour, more bold than wise,
hearing the spirit just by his side, but being unable
to see it, threatened to stick it with his knife.
&lsquo;Thou fool,&rsquo; quoth the spirit, &lsquo;how canst thou stick
what thou canst not see with thine eyes?&rsquo; When
questioned about its antecedents, the spirit said,
&lsquo;I came from Pwll y Gasseg&rsquo; (Mare&rsquo;s Pit, a place
in the adjacent mountain), &lsquo;and I knew ye all
before I came hither.&rsquo; The wife of Morris Roberts
desired one of the family to ask the spirit who it
was that killed William Reilly the Scotchman;
which being done, the spirit said, &lsquo;It was Blanch y
Byd who bade thee ask that question;&rsquo; and Blanch
y Byd (Worldly Blanche) was Morris Roberts&rsquo; wife
ever after called. On Easter Wednesday the spirit
departed, saying, &lsquo;Dos yn iach, Job,&rsquo; (fare thee
well, Job,) and Job asked the spirit, &lsquo;Where goest
thou?&rsquo; The reply was, &lsquo;Where God pleases.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_79_79" id="FNanchor_79_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a></p>

<p>There are other accounts of this Trwyn sprite
which credit it to a time long anterior to last
century; but all are consistent in this, that the
goblin is always invisible. The sole exception to
this rule is the legend about its having once shown a
white hand to some girls in the kitchen, thrusting it
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg190" id="pg190">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>190]</a></span>
through the floor of its room overhead for that purpose.
Now invisibility is a violation of fairy traditions,
while ghosts are very often invisible&mdash;these
rapping and stone-throwing ghosts, always. It might
be urged that this spirit was a Bwbach, if a fairy
at all, seeing that it kept pretty closely to the
house; but on the whole I choose to class it among
the inhabitants of the spirit-world; and really,
the student of folk-lore must classify his materials
distinctly in some understandable fashion, or go
daft.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_78_78" id="Footnote_78_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor_78_78"><span class="label">[78]</span></a>
Supra, p. 21.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_79_79" id="Footnote_79_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor_79_79"><span class="label">[79]</span></a>
Let me recommend the scene of this story to tourists. It is a
most romantic spot, on the top of a mountain, a glorious tramp from
Crumlyn, returning by another road to Abercarne. Wheels cannot go
there, though a sure-footed horse might bear one safely up. The
ancient farm-house is one of the quaintest in Wales, and must be
hundreds of years old; and its front porch looks out over a ravine
hardly less grand and lonely than a Californian gulch.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>The sort of familiar spirit employed by magicians
in the eighteenth and preceding centuries was distinctly
a demon. The spirit of this class which
was controlled by Sir David Llwyd is celebrated in
Wales. This Sir David was a famous dealer in
the black art, who lived in Cardiganshire. He was
a physician, and at one time a curate; but being
known to deal in the magic art, he was turned out
of the curacy, and obliged to live by practising
physic. It was thought he learned the magic art
in Oxford. &lsquo;It was this man&rsquo;s great wickedness,&rsquo;
says the Prophet Jones, &lsquo;to make use of a familiar
spirit.... The bishop did well in turning him out
of the sacred office, though he was no ill-tempered
man, for how unfit was such a man to read the
sacred Scripture! With what conscience could he
ask the sponsors in baptism to undertake for the
child to renounce the world, the flesh and the devil,
who himself was familiar with one of the spirits of
darkness?... Of this Sir David I have heard
much, but chiefly depend upon what was told to
me by the Rev. Mr. Thomas Lewis, the curate of
Landdw and Tolachdy, an excellent preacher of
the gospel; and not sufficiently esteemed by his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg191" id="pg191">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>191]</a></span>
people, (which likely will bring a judgment on them
in time to come.) Mr. Lewis knew the young
woman who had been Sir David&rsquo;s maid servant,
and the house where he lived.&rsquo; His familiar spirit
he kept locked up in a book. Once while he was
in Radnorshire, in going from one house to another
he accidentally left this book behind him, and sent
his boy back to fetch it. The boy, being of an
inquisitive turn of mind, opened the book&mdash;a thing
his master had expressly charged him not to do&mdash;and
the familiar spirit immediately demanded to be
set at work. The boy, though very much alarmed,
had the wit to answer, &lsquo;Tafl gerrig o&rsquo;r afon,&rsquo;
(throw stones out of the river,) which the spirit
immediately did, so that the air was for a time full
of flying stones, and the boy was fain to skip about
in a surprisingly active manner in order to dodge
the same. After a while, having thrown up a great
quantity of stones out of the river, (the Wye,) the
spirit again, with the pertinacity of its kind, asked
for something to do; whereupon the boy bade it
throw the stones back again, which it did. Sir
David having waited a long time for the boy to
return, began to suspect that things had gone
wrong, and so hastened back after him, and commanded
the familiar spirit again into his book.</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>Familiar spirits of this class are not always invisible;
and they can assume such forms as may
be necessary to serve their purposes. A favourite
shape with them is that of a young and lovely
woman. Comparisons are here suggested with the
water-maidens, and other like forms of this fancy;
but they need not be pursued. It is necessary for
the student of phantoms to constantly remind
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg192" id="pg192">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>192]</a></span>
himself of the omnipresent danger of being enticed too
far afield, unless he keep somewhat sternly to the
path he has marked out. How ancient is the notion
of a familiar spirit in female form, may be seen from
accounts which are given by Giraldus and other old
writers. Near Caerleon, (Monmouthshire,) in the
twelfth century, Giraldus tells us<a name="FNanchor_80_80" id="FNanchor_80_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a> there lived &lsquo;a
Welshman named Melerius, who by the following
means acquired the knowledge of future events and
the occult sciences: Having on a certain night met a
damsel whom he loved, in a pleasant and convenient
place, while he was indulging in her embraces, instead
of a beautiful girl he found in his arms a hairy,
rough and hideous creature, the sight of which
deprived him of his senses; and after remaining
many years in this condition he was restored to
health in the church of St. David&rsquo;s, through the
merits of its saints. But having always had an extraordinary
familiarity with unclean spirits, by seeing
them, knowing them, talking with them, and calling
each by his proper name, he was enabled through
their assistance to foretell future events; he was
indeed often deceived (as they are) with respect to
circumstances at a great distance; but was less mistaken
in affairs which were likely to happen soon, or
within the space of a year. They appeared to him
on foot, equipped as hunters, with horns suspended
from their necks, and truly as hunters not of animals
but of souls; he particularly met them near monasteries
and religious places; for where rebellion exists
there is the greatest need of armies and strength.
He knew when any one spoke falsely in his presence,
for he saw the devil as it were leaping and exulting
upon the tongue of the liar; and if he looked into a
book faultily or falsely written, although wholly
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg193" id="pg193">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>193]</a></span>
illiterate he would point out the place with his
finger. Being questioned how he could gain such
knowledge, he said he was directed by the demon&rsquo;s
finger to the place.&rsquo; In the same connection Giraldus
mentions a familiar spirit which haunted Lower
Gwent, &lsquo;a demon incubus, who from his love for a
certain young woman, and frequenting the place
where she lived, often conversed with men, and
frequently discovered hidden things and future
events.&rsquo;</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_80_80" id="Footnote_80_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor_80_80"><span class="label">[80]</span></a>
Sir R.&nbsp;C. Hoare&rsquo;s Trans., i. 105.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>The legend of the Lady of the Wood is contained
in the Iolo MSS., and is of considerable antiquity.
It is a most fascinating tale: Einion, the son of
Gwalchmai, &lsquo;was one fine summer morning walking
in the woods of Treveilir,&rsquo; when &lsquo;he beheld a
graceful slender lady of elegant growth, and delicate
feature, and her complexion surpassing every white
and red in the morning dawn and the mountain
snow, and every beautiful colour in the blossoms of
wood, field, and hill. And then he felt in his heart
an inconceivable commotion of affection, and he
approached her in a courteous manner, and she also
approached him in the same manner; and he saluted
her, and she returned his salutation; and by these
mutual salutations he perceived that his society was
not disagreeable to her. He then chanced to cast
his eye upon her foot, and he saw that she had hoofs
instead of feet, and he became exceedingly dissatisfied,&rsquo;
as well he might. But the lady gave him to
understand that he must pay no attention to this
trifling freak of nature. &lsquo;Thou must,&rsquo; she said,
&lsquo;follow me wheresoever I go, as long as I continue
in my beauty.&rsquo; The son of Gwalchmai thereupon
asked permission to go and say good-bye to his wife,
at least. This the lady agreed to; &lsquo;but,&rsquo; said she,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg194" id="pg194">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>194]</a></span>
&lsquo;I shall be with thee, invisible to all but thyself.&rsquo; &lsquo;So
he went, and the goblin went with him; and when
he saw Angharad, his wife, he saw her a hag like
one grown old, but he retained the recollection of
days past, and still felt extreme affection for her, but
he was not able to loose himself from the bond in
which he was. &ldquo;It is necessary for me,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;to
part for a time, I know not how long, from thee,
Angharad, and from thee, my son, Einion,&rdquo; and they
wept together, and broke a gold ring between them;
he kept one half and Angharad the other, and they
took their leave of each other, and he went with the
Lady of the Wood, and knew not where; for a
powerful illusion was upon him, and he saw not any
place, or person, or object under its true and proper
appearance, excepting the half of the ring alone.
And after being a long time, he knew not how long,
with the goblin, the Lady of the Wood, he looked
one morning as the sun was rising upon the half of
the ring, and he bethought him to place it in the
most precious place he could, and he resolved to put
it under his eyelid; and as he was endeavouring to
do so, he could see a man in white apparel, and
mounted on a snow-white horse, coming towards
him, and that person asked him what he did there;
and he told him that he was cherishing an afflicting
remembrance of his wife Angharad. &ldquo;Dost thou
desire to see her?&rdquo; said the man in white. &ldquo;I do,&rdquo;
said Einion, &ldquo;above all things, and all happiness of
the world.&rdquo; &ldquo;If so,&rdquo; said the man in white, &ldquo;get
upon this horse, behind me;&rdquo; and that Einion did,
and looking around he could not see any appearance
of the Lady of the Wood, the goblin, excepting the
track of hoofs of marvellous and monstrous size, as
if journeying towards the north. &ldquo;What delusion
art thou under?&rdquo; said the man in white. Then
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg195" id="pg195">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>195]</a></span>
Einion answered him and told everything how it
occurred &rsquo;twixt him and the goblin. &ldquo;Take this
white staff in thy hand,&rdquo; said the man in white, and
Einion took it. And the man in white told him to
desire whatever he wished for. The first thing he
desired was to see the Lady of the Wood, for he
was not yet completely delivered from the illusion.
And then she appeared to him in size a hideous and
monstrous witch, a thousand times more repulsive of
aspect than the most frightful things seen upon
earth. And Einion uttered a cry of terror; and the
man in white cast his cloak over Einion, and in less
than a twinkling Einion alighted as he wished on
the hill of Treveilir, by his own house, where he
knew scarcely any one, nor did any one know him.&rsquo;
The goblin meantime had gone to Einion&rsquo;s wife, in
the disguise of a richly apparelled knight, and made
love to her, pretending that her husband was dead.
&lsquo;And the illusion fell upon her; and seeing that she
should become a noble lady, higher than any in
Wales, she named a day for her marriage with him.
And there was a great preparation of every elegant
and sumptuous apparel, and of meats and drinks,
and of every honourable guest, and every excellence
of song and string, and every preparation of banquet
and festive entertainment.&rsquo; Now there was a beautiful
harp in Angharad&rsquo;s room, which the goblin
knight desired should be played on; &lsquo;and the harpers
present, the best in Wales, tried to put it in tune,
and were not able.&rsquo; But Einion presented himself
at the house, and offered to play on it. Angharad,
being under an illusion, &lsquo;saw him as an old, decrepit,
withered, grey-haired man, stooping with age,
and dressed in rags.&rsquo; Einion tuned the harp, &lsquo;and
played on it the air which Angharad loved. And
she marvelled exceedingly, and asked him who he
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg196" id="pg196">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>196]</a></span>
was. And he answered in song: ... &ldquo;Einion the
golden-hearted.&rdquo; ...</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">&ldquo;Where hast thou been!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;In Kent, in Gwent, in the wood, in Monmouth,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In Maenol, Gorwenydd;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And in the valley of Gwyn, the son of Nudd;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">See, the bright gold is the token.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>And he gave her the ring.</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Look not on the whitened hue of my hair,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Where once my aspect was spirited and bold;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now gray, without disguise, where once it was yellow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Never was Angharad out of my remembrance,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">But Einion was by thee forgotten.&rdquo;&rsquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>But Angharad &lsquo;could not bring him to her recollection.
Then said he to the guests:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;If I have lost her whom I loved, the fair one of polished mind,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The daughter of Ednyved Vychan,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have not lost (so get you out!)<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Either my bed, or my house, or my fire.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>&lsquo;And upon that he placed the white staff in
Angharad&rsquo;s hand, and instantly the goblin which
she had hitherto seen as a handsome and honourable
nobleman, appeared to her as a monster,
inconceivably hideous; and she fainted from fear,
and Einion supported her until she revived. And
when she opened her eyes, she saw there neither
the goblin, nor any of the guests, nor of the minstrels,
nor anything whatever except Einion, and her son,
and the harp, and the house in its domestic arrangement,
and the dinner on the table, casting its
savoury odour around. And they sat down to eat
... and exceeding great was their enjoyment.
And they saw the illusion which the demoniacal
goblin had cast over them.... And thus it ends.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_81_81" id="FNanchor_81_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_81_81" id="Footnote_81_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor_81_81"><span class="label">[81]</span></a>
Iolo MSS. 587, et seq.</p>
</div>
</div>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg197" id="pg197">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>197]</a></span></p>

<h4>V.</h4>

<p>There is hardly a goblin in the world more widely
known than this spectre of the forest. Her story
appears in the legends of very many lands, including
China. Its ancient Grecian prototype is found in
the Odyssey.<a name="FNanchor_82_82" id="FNanchor_82_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a></p>

<p>When it is the Diawl himself who appears in the
role of the familiar spirit, his majesty is usually in
some other form than that of a man, with hoofs,
horns, and tail. The orthodox form of Satan has
indeed been seen in many parts of Wales, but not
when doing duty as a familiar spirit. A Welsh poet
of the thirteenth century mentions this form:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And the horned devil,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With sharp hoofs<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On his heels.<a name="FNanchor_83_83" id="FNanchor_83_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>He is variously called cythraul, dera, diafol, all
euphemisms for devil, equivalent to our destroyer,
evil one, adversary&mdash;as well as plain diawl, devil.
In his character of a familiar spirit he assumes the
shape of a fiery ball, a donkey, a black calf, a round
bowl, a dog, a roaring flame, a bull, a goose, and
numberless others, including the imp that goes into
a book. In all this he bears out the character given
him in old mythology, where he grows big or little
at pleasure, and roars in a gale as Hermes, the wind-god,
howls as a dog, enters a walnut as in the
Norse Tale, or is confined in a bottle as the genie
of the &lsquo;Arabian Nights.&rsquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg198" id="pg198">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>198]</a></span>
To that eminent nonconformist preacher, Vavasor
Powell, the devil once appeared in shape like a
house. &lsquo;Satan ... appeared several times, and
in several wayes, to me: as once like a house, stood
directly in my way, with which sight I fell on my
face as dead.... Another time, being alone in my
chamber ... I perceived a strong cold wind to
blow ... it made the hair of my flesh to stand
up, and caused all my bones to shake; and on the
suddain, I heard one walk about me, tramping upon
the chamber floor, as if it had been some heavie big
man ... but it proved in the end to be no other
than ... Satan.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_84_84" id="FNanchor_84_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a></p>

<p>A black calf, which haunted a Pembrokeshire
brook early in the present century, was believed to
be the devil in familiar guise. It appeared at a
certain spot near the village of Narberth&mdash;a village
which has figured actively in mythic story since
the earliest ages of which there is any record.
One night two peasants caught the terrible calf
and took it home, locking it up safely in a stable
with some other cattle, but it had vanished when
morning came.</p>

<p>Henry Llewelyn, of Ystrad Defoc parish, Glamorganshire,
was beset by the devil in the shape of
a round bowl. He had been sent by his minister
(Methodist) to fetch from another parish a load of
religious books&mdash;Bibles, Testaments, Watts&rsquo; &lsquo;Psalms,
Hymns and Songs for Children&rsquo;&mdash;and was coming
home with the same, on horseback, by night, when
he saw a living thing, round like a bowl, moving
to and fro across the lane. The bold Llewelyn
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg199" id="pg199">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>199]</a></span>
having concluded it was the devil, resolved to
speak to it. &lsquo;What seekest thou, thou foul thing?&rsquo;
he demanded, adding, &lsquo;In the name of the Lord
Jesus go away!&rsquo; And to prove that it was the
adversary, at these words it vanished into the
ground, leaving a sulphurous smell behind.</p>

<p>To William Jones, a sabbath-breaker, of Risca
village, the devil appeared as an enormous mastiff
dog, which transformed itself into a great fire and
made a roaring noise like burning gorse. And to
two men at Merthyr Tydfil, in Glamorganshire,
the fiend appeared in the shape of a gosling.
These men were one night drinking together at
the Black Lion Inn, when one dared the other
to go to conjure. The challenge was accepted,
and they went, but conducted their emprise with
such drunken recklessness, that the devil put out
the eyes of one of them, so that he was blind the
rest of his days.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_82_82" id="Footnote_82_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor_82_82"><span class="label">[82]</span></a>
In his fascinating essay on the &lsquo;Folk-Lore of France,&rsquo; in the
&lsquo;Folk-Lore Record&rsquo; for 1878 (published by the Folk-Lore Society)
Mr. A. Lang says: &lsquo;So widespread is this superstition, that a friend
of mine declares he has met with it among the savages of New Caledonia,
and has known a native who actually died, as he himself said
he would, after meeting one of the fairy women of the wild wood.&rsquo;</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_83_83" id="Footnote_83_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor_83_83"><span class="label">[83]</span></a>
Gruffydd ab yr Ynad Coch.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_84_84" id="Footnote_84_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor_84_84"><span class="label">[84]</span></a>
&lsquo;The Life and Death of Mr. Vavasor Powell,&rsquo; p. 8. (A curious
seventeenth century book, no two existing copies of which appear to
be alike. I here cite from that in the library of the Marquis of Bute,
than which a more perfect copy is rarely met with.)</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>The mode of summoning and of exorcising
familiar spirits&mdash;in other words, of laying and
raising the devil&mdash;varies little the world over.
Even in China, the magic circle is entered and
incantations are muttered when the fiend is summoned;
and for the exorcism of devils there are
laws like our own&mdash;though since modern Christianity
has been introduced in China the most popular
exorcist is the Christian missionary.<a name="FNanchor_85_85" id="FNanchor_85_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a> In Wales,
the popular belief is compounded of about equal
parts of foul magic and fair Biblical text; magic
chiefly for summoning, the Book for exorcising.</p>

<p>John Jenkin, a schoolmaster in Pembrokeshire,
was a conjuror of renown in that part of Wales.
One of his scholars who had a curiosity to see the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg200" id="pg200">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>200]</a></span>
devil made bold to ask the master to assist him
to that entertainment. &lsquo;May see him,&rsquo; said the
master, &lsquo;if thou hast the courage for it. Still,&rsquo; he
added, &lsquo;I do not choose to call him till I have
employment for him.&rsquo; So the boy waited; and not
long after a man came to the master saying he had
lost some money, and wished to be told who had
stolen it. &lsquo;Now,&rsquo; the master said to the scholar,
&lsquo;I have some business for him.&rsquo; At night they
went into the wood together and drew a circle,
which they entered, and the schoolmaster called
one of the spirits of evil by its name. Presently
they saw a light in the sky, which shot like lightning
down to the circle, and turned round about it. The
conjuror asked it who had stolen the man&rsquo;s money;
the spirit did not know, and it disappeared. Then
the schoolmaster called another evil spirit by its
name; and presently they saw the resemblance of
a bull flying through the air towards them, so swiftly
and fiercely as if it would go through them; and it
also turned about the circle. But the conjuror
asked it in vain who had the stolen money. &lsquo;I
must call still another,&rsquo; said he. The schoolboy was
now almost dead with fear, and the conjuror considerately
waited till he was somewhat revived
before calling the third spirit. But when he did
call, there came out of the wood a spirit dressed
in white, and went about the circle. &lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said
the schoolmaster, &lsquo;we shall now hear something
from this.&rsquo; And sure enough &lsquo;this&rsquo; told the conjuror
(in a language the boy could not understand)
where the money was, and all about it. Then it
vanished in red fire; and that boy &lsquo;has never been
well since, the effect of the great fright still cleaving
to him.&rsquo;</p>

<p>Not far from Glanbran, in Carmarthenshire, lived
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg201" id="pg201">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>201]</a></span>
a tailor, who added to his trade as a breeches-mender
the loftier, if wickeder, employments of a
worker in magic. A certain Mr. Gwynne, living
at Glanbran, took it upon himself to ridicule this
terrible tailor, for the tailor was a little man, and
Mr. Gwynne was a burly six-footer, who feared
nobody. &lsquo;Thou have the courage to look upon
the devil!&rsquo; sneered Gwynne; &lsquo;canst thou show him
to me?&rsquo; &lsquo;That I can,&rsquo; said the tailor, his eyes
flashing angrily; &lsquo;but you are not able to look at
him.&rsquo; &lsquo;What!&rsquo; roared Gwynne, &lsquo;thou able to look
at him, and not I?&rsquo; &lsquo;Very well,&rsquo; quoth the tailor;
&lsquo;if you are able to look at him I will show him to
you.&rsquo; It was in the day time, but the tailor went
immediately into a little grove of wood in a field
hard by, and made a circle in the usual manner.
In a short time he returned to fetch the incredulous
Mr. Gwynne, saying, &lsquo;Come with me and you shall
see him.&rsquo; The two then crossed the field until
they came to the stile by the wood, when suddenly
the tailor cried, &lsquo;Look yonder! there it is!&rsquo; And
looking, Mr. Gwynne saw, in the circle the tailor
had drawn, &lsquo;one of the fallen angels, now become
a devil.&rsquo; It was so horrible a sight that the terrified
Mr. Gwynne was never after able to describe it;
but from that time forth he had a proper respect for
the tailor.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_85_85" id="Footnote_85_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor_85_85"><span class="label">[85]</span></a>
Dennys, &lsquo;Folk-Lore of China,&rsquo; 89.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg202" id="pg202">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>202]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk2chap06" id="bk2chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">The Evil Spirit in his customary Form&mdash;The stupid Medieval Devil
in Wales&mdash;Sion Cent&mdash;The Devil outwitted&mdash;Pacts with the Fiend
and their Avoidance&mdash;Sion Dafydd&rsquo;s Foul Pipe&mdash;The Devil&rsquo;s
Bridge and its Legends&mdash;Similar Legends in other Lands&mdash;The
Devil&rsquo;s Pulpit near Tintern&mdash;Angelic Spirits&mdash;Welsh Superstitions
as to pronouncing the Name of the Evil Spirit&mdash;The Bardic Tradition
of the Creation&mdash;The Struggle between Light and Darkness and its
Symbolization.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>The devil has often appeared in Wales in his customary
form, or with his distinctive marks covered
up by such clothing as mortals wear. There was
even a tailor in Cardiganshire who had the honour
of making a suit of clothes for his sulphuric majesty.
The medieval view of this malignant spirit&mdash;which
makes the devil out as dull and stupid as he is mendacious
and spiteful&mdash;still lingers in some parts.
Those formal pacts with the devil, the first traces of
which are found in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries,
have been made in great numbers in Wales;
and tales in which the devil is outwitted by a mortal
are still preserved with much distinctness in various
localities. That the myth of Polyphemus reappears
in all accounts of this sort, is pretty well agreed
among students of folk-lore. Hercules and Cacus,
Polyphemus and Odysseus, Peredur and the one-eyed
monster of the Mabinogion, Gambrinus and
der Teufel, Jack the Giant-Killer, Norse J&ouml;tuns and
Arabian genii tricked and bottled; all these are
deemed outgrowths of the same primeval idea, to
wit, the victory of the sun-god over the night-fiend;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg203" id="pg203">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>203]</a></span>
and the story of Sion Cent&rsquo;s compact with the diawl
is doubtless from the same root. Certain it is that
were not the devil at times gullible, he never would
have been so useful as a familiar spirit, never could
have been made so completely a slave to his mortal
masters. The Pope (Benedict IX.) who had seven
evil spirits in a sugar-bottle, merely subdivided the
arch-fiend in the same way the genii of the old
tales are subdivided&mdash;now existing as a dense and
visible form, again expanding to blot out the sky,
and again entering the narrow compass of a bottle
or a nut-shell; co-existing in a million places at the
same instant, yet having a single individuality.</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>Tradition relates that Sion Cent was a famous
necromancer in Monmouthshire, who outwitted the
devil, not once but many times. He lives in popular
legend simply as a worker in magic, but in reality
he was a worthy minister, the Rev. John Kent, who
flourished from 1420 to 1470, and wrote several
theological works in Latin. In his native Welsh he
confined himself to poetry, and Sion Cent was his
Cymric pseudonym. Like many learned men in
those days, he was accredited with magical powers
by the ignorant peasantry, and of his transactions
with the devil many stories were then invented
which still survive. One relates that he once served
as a farmer&rsquo;s boy, and was set to keep the crows
from the corn, but preferring to go to Grosmont
fair, he confined the crows in an old roofless barn
by a magic spell till the next day, when he returned.
His compact with the devil enabled him to build the
bridge over the Monnow, near Grosmont, which still
bears his name. The compact gave the devil the
man&rsquo;s soul, as all such compacts do&mdash;the stipulation
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg204" id="pg204">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>204]</a></span>
being that if his body were buried either in or out of
the church, his soul should be forfeit to the diawl.
But the shrewd Welshman gave orders that he should
be buried exactly under the chancel wall, so that he
should lie neither in the church nor out of it; and
the devil was made a fool of by this device. A
precisely similar tradition exists concerning an old
gentleman in Carmarthenshire.</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>A popular legend giving the origin of the jack-o&rsquo;-lantern
in Wales deals with the idea of a stupid
devil: A long time ago there lived on the hills of
Arfon an old man of the name of Sion Dafydd, who
used to converse much with one of the children of
the bottomless pit. One morning Sion was on his
way to Llanfair-Fechan, carrying a flail on his
shoulder, for he had corn there, when whom should
he meet but his old friend from the pit, with a bag
on his back, and in it two little devils like himself.
After conversing for some time they began to
quarrel, and presently were in the midst of a
terrible fight. Sion fell to basting the devils with
his flail, until the bag containing the two little ones
went all to pieces, and the two tumbling out, fled
for their lives to Rhiwgyfylchi, which village is considered
to this day a very wicked place from this fact.
Sion then went his way rejoicing, and did not for a
long time encounter his adversary. Eventually,
however, they met, and this time Sion had his gun
on his shoulder. &lsquo;What&rsquo;s that long thing you&rsquo;re
carrying?&rsquo; inquired the devil. &lsquo;That&rsquo;s my pipe,&rsquo;
said Sion. Then the devil asked, &lsquo;Shall I have a
whiff out of it?&rsquo; &lsquo;You shall,&rsquo; was Sion&rsquo;s reply, and
he placed the mouth of his gun in the devil&rsquo;s throat
and drew the trigger. Well; that was the loudest
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg205" id="pg205">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>205]</a></span>
report from a gun that was ever heard on this earth.
&lsquo;Ach!&mdash;tw!&mdash;tw!&rsquo; exclaimed the smoker, &lsquo;your
pipe is very foul,&rsquo; and he disappeared in a flame.
After a lapse of time, Sion met him again in the
guise of a gentleman, but the Welshman knew it
was the tempter. This time he made a bargain for
which he was ever afterwards sorry, i.e., he sold
himself to the devil for a sum down, but with the
understanding that whenever he could cling to
something the devil should not then control him.
One day when Sion was busily gardening, the evil
one snatched him away into the air without warning,
and Sion was about giving up all hopes of again
returning to earth, when he thought to himself,
&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll ask the devil one last favour.&rsquo; The stupid
devil listened. &lsquo;All I want is an apple,&rsquo; said Sion,
&lsquo;to moisten my lips a bit down below; let me go
to the top of my apple-tree, and I&rsquo;ll pick one.&rsquo; &lsquo;Is
that all?&rsquo; quoth the diawl, and consented. Of
course Sion laid hold of the apple-tree, and hung
on. The devil had to leave him there. But the
old reprobate was too wicked for heaven, and the
devil having failed to take him to the other place,
he was turned into a fairy, and is now the jack-o&rsquo;-lantern.<a name="FNanchor_86_86" id="FNanchor_86_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_86_86" id="Footnote_86_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor_86_86"><span class="label">[86]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cymru Fu,&rsquo; 355 et seq.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>Best known among the natural objects in various
parts of Wales which are connected with the devil
in popular lore, is the Devil&rsquo;s Bridge, in Cardiganshire.
Associated with this bridge are several
legends, which derive their greatest interest from
their intrinsic evidences of an antiquity in common
with the same legends in other lands. The guide-books
of the region, like guide-books everywhere, in
their effort to avoid being led into unwarranted
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg206" id="pg206">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>206]</a></span>
statement, usually indulge in playfully sarcastic references
to these ancient tales. They are much older,
however, than the bridge itself can possibly be. The
devil&rsquo;s activity in bridge-building is a myth more
ancient than the medieval devil of our acquaintance.
The building story of the Devil&rsquo;s Bridge in Cardiganshire
runs briefly thus: An old woman who had lost
her cow spied it on the other side of the ravine, and
was in great trouble about it, not knowing how to
get over where the animal was. The devil, taking
advantage of her distress, offered to throw a bridge
over the ravine, so that she might cross and get her
cow; but he stipulated that the first living creature
to cross the bridge should be his. The old woman
agreed; the bridge was built; and the devil waited
to see her cross. She drew a crust of bread from
her pocket, threw it over, and her little black dog
flew after it. &lsquo;The dog&rsquo;s yours, sir,&rsquo; said the dame;
and Satan was discomfited. In the story told of the
old bridge over the Main at Frankfort, a bridge-contractor
and his troubles are substituted for the
old woman and her cow; instead of a black dog
a live rooster appears, driven in front of him by
the contractor. The Welsh Satan seems to have
received his discomfiture good-naturedly enough; in
the German tale he tears the fowl to pieces in his
rage. In Switzerland, every reader knows the story
told of the devil&rsquo;s bridge in the St. Gothard pass.
A new bridge has taken the place, for public use, of
the old bridge on the road to Andermatt, and to the
dangers of the crumbling masonry are added superstitious
terrors concerning the devil&rsquo;s power to catch
any one crossing after dark. The old Welsh bridge
has been in like manner superseded by a modern
structure; but I think no superstition like the last
noted is found at Hafod.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg207" id="pg207">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>207]</a></span></p>

<h4>V.</h4>

<p>The English have a saying that the devil lives in
the middle of Wales. There is in every part of
Wales that I have seen a custom of whitening the
doorsteps with chalk, and it is said to have originated
in the belief that his Satanic majesty could not enter
a door thus protected. The devil of slovenliness
certainly would find difficulty in entering a Welsh
cottage if the tidiness of its doorstep is borne out
in the interior. But out-of-doors everywhere there
are signs of the devil&rsquo;s active habits. His flowers
grow on the river-banks; his toes are imprinted on
the rocks. Near Tintern Abbey there is a jutting
crag overhung by gloomy branches of the yew, called
the Devil&rsquo;s Pulpit. His eminence used in other
and wickeder days to preach atrocious morals, or
immorals, to the white-robed Cistercian monks of
the abbey, from this rocky pulpit. One day the
devil grew bold, and taking his tail under his arm in
an easy and <i>d&eacute;gag&eacute;e</i> manner, hobnobbed familiarly
with the monks, and finally proposed, just for a
lark, that he should preach them a nice red-hot
sermon from the rood-loft of the abbey. To this
the monks agreed, and the devil came to church in
high glee. But fancy his profane perturbation (I
had nearly written holy horror) when the treacherous
Cistercians proceeded to shower him with holy
water. The devil clapped his tail between his legs
and scampered off howling, and never stopped
till he got to Llandogo, where he leaped across the
river into England, leaving the prints of his talons
on a stone.</p>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>Where accounts of the devil&rsquo;s appearance are so
numerous, it is perhaps somewhat surprising so little
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg208" id="pg208">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>208]</a></span>
is heard of apparitions of angels. There are reasons
for this, however, which might be enlarged upon.
Tradition says that &lsquo;in former times&rsquo; there were
frequent visits of angels to Wales; and their rare
appearance in our days is ascribed to the completion
of revelation. One or two modern instances of
angelic visitation are given by the Prophet Jones.
There was David Thomas, who lived at a place
called the Pantau, between the towns of Carmarthen
and Laugharne; he was &lsquo;a gifted brother, who
sometimes preached,&rsquo; in the dissenting way. One
night, when he was at prayer alone in a room which
stood apart from his house, there was suddenly a
great light present, which made the light of the
candle no longer visible. And in that light appeared
a band of angels, like children, very beautiful in
bright clothing, singing in Welsh these words:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Pa hyd? Pa hyd? Dychwelwch feibion Adda!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pa hyd? Pa hyd yr erlidiwch y Cristnogion duwiol?<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How long? How long? Return ye sons of Adam!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How long? How long will ye persecute the godly Christians?<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>After a time they departed; reappeared; departed
again; the great light faded; and the light of Mr.
Thomas&rsquo;s candle was once more visible on his table.
There was also Rees David, a man of more than
common piety, who lived in Carmarthenshire, near
Whitlands. At the time of his death, it was testified
by &lsquo;several religious persons who were in the room,&rsquo;
that there was heard, by them and by the dying
man, the singing of angels. It drew nearer and
nearer as his death-struggle grew imminent, and
after his death they &lsquo;heard the pleasant incomparable
singing gradually depart, until it was out of
hearing.&rsquo;</p>

<p>That the dying do see something more, in the
last moment of expiring nature, than it is given to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg209" id="pg209">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>209]</a></span>
living eyes to see, is a cherished belief by numberless
Christian men and women, whom to suspect of
superstitious credulity were to grossly offend. This
belief is based on exclamations uttered by the dying,
while with fixed and staring eyes they appeared to
gaze intently at some object not visible to the bystanders.
But that the bystanders also saw, or
heard, voice or vision from the Unknown, is not often
pretended.</p>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>Reference has been made to the euphemisms in
use among all peoples to avoid pronouncing the
name of the devil. That many good folk still
consider the word devil, lightly spoken, a profane
utterance only second to a similar utterance of God&rsquo;s
name, is a curious survival of old superstitions. No
prohibition of this sort attaches to the words demon,
fiend, etc., nor to such euphemisms, common in both
Welsh and English, as the adversary, the evil one,
etc. It is an old custom in North Wales to spit at
the name of the devil, even when so innocently used
as in pronouncing the name of the Devil&rsquo;s Bridge.
The peasantry prefer to call the bridge &lsquo;Pont y Gwr
Drwg,&rsquo; the Bridge of the Wicked One; and spitting
and wiping off the tongue are deemed a necessary
precaution after saying devil, diafol, or diawl. The
phrase &lsquo;I hope to goodness,&rsquo; so common in Wales
and elsewhere, is clearly but another euphemism for
God; the goodness meant is the Divine beneficence.
&lsquo;Goodness&rsquo; sake&rsquo; is but a contraction of &lsquo;For God&rsquo;s
sake!&rsquo; The Hebrew tetragrammaton which was
invested with such terror, as representing the great
&lsquo;I am,&rsquo; finds an explanation, according to the ideas
of Welsh scholars, in the Bardic traditions. These
relate that, by the utterance of His Name, God
created this world; the Name being represented
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg210" id="pg210">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>210]</a></span>
by the symbol /|\, three lines which typify the
focusing of the rising sun&rsquo;s rays at the equinoxes
and solstices. The first ray is the Creator, the
second the Preserver, and the third the Destroyer;
the whole are God&rsquo;s Name. This name cannot be
uttered by a mortal; he has not the power; therefore
it remains for ever unuttered on earth. At the
creation the universe uttered it in joy at the new-born
world; &lsquo;the morning stars sang together.&rsquo; At
the last day it will be uttered again. Till then it
is kept a secret, lest it be degraded, as it has been
by the Hindus, who, from the three rays created
their three false gods, Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva.
Tradition relates that Einigan Gawr saw the Divine
Name appear, and inscribed it on three rods of
mountain ash. The people mistook the three rods
thus inscribed for God himself, and Einigan died
from grief at their error.<a name="FNanchor_87_87" id="FNanchor_87_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_87_87" id="Footnote_87_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor_87_87"><span class="label">[87]</span></a>
&lsquo;Dosparth Edeyrn Dafod Aur,&rsquo; 3.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>The devil with which we are acquainted is a
character unknown to Greek or Roman mythology;
this devil was a later invention; but his identity
with the genii, or jinns of the &lsquo;Arabian Nights,&rsquo; the
D&iuml;vs of Persian history, is clear enough. Ahriman,
the evil spirit, king of the realms of darkness and
of fire, was apparently the progenitor of Satan, as
Vritra was of Ahriman. Both these ancient arch-fiends
appeared as serpents in form, and were myths
representing the darkness, slain by the light, or the
sun-god, in the one case called Indra, in the other
Ormuzd. The medieval devil with horns and hoofs
does not appear in the records of Judaism. He is
an outgrowth of the moral principle of the Christian
era; and traced to his origins he is simply a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg211" id="pg211">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>211]</a></span>
personification of the adversary in the never-ending
struggle on earth between light and darkness.
That struggle is not, in nature, a moral one; but
it remains to-day, as it was in the beginning, the
best type we have of the battle between right and
wrong, and between truth and error. When God
said, &lsquo;Let there be light,&rsquo; the utterance became
the symbol and guide of virtue, of brave endeavour,
and of scientific research, until the end.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg212" id="pg212">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>212]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk2chap07" id="bk2chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Cambrian Death-Portents&mdash;The Corpse-Bird&mdash;The Tan-Wedd&mdash;Listening
at the Church-Door&mdash;The Lledrith&mdash;The Gwrach y Rhibyn&mdash;The
Llandaff Gwrach&mdash;Ugliness of this Female Apparition&mdash;The
Black Maiden&mdash;The Cyhyraeth, or Crying Spirit&mdash;Its Moans on
Land and Sea&mdash;The St. Mellons Cyhyraeth&mdash;The Groaning Spirit
of Bedwellty.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>There are death portents in every country, and in
endless variety; in Wales these portents assume
distinct and striking individualities, in great number
and with clearly defined attributes. The banshee,
according to Mr. Baring-Gould, has no corresponding
feature in Scandinavian, Teutonic, or classic
mythology, and belongs entirely to the Celts. The
Welsh have the banshee in its most blood-curdling
form under the name of the Gwrach y Rhibyn;
they have also the Cyhyraeth, which is never seen,
but is heard, moaning dolefully and dreadfully in
the night; the Tolaeth, also only heard, not groaning
but imitating some earthly sound, such as sawing,
singing, or the tramping of feet; the Cwn Annwn
and Cwn y Wybr, Dogs of Hell and Dogs of the
Sky; the Canwyll Corph, or Corpse Candle; the
Teulu, or Goblin Funeral, and many others&mdash;all of
them death-portents. These, as the more important
and striking, I will describe further; but there are
several others which must first be mentioned.</p>

<p>The Aderyn y Corph is a bird which chirps at the
door of the person who is about to die, and makes
a noise that sounds like the Welsh word for
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg213" id="pg213">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>213]</a></span>
&lsquo;Come! come!&rsquo; the summons to death.<a name="FNanchor_88_88" id="FNanchor_88_88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a> In ancient
tradition, it had no feathers nor wings, soaring without
support high in the heavens, and, when not
engaged upon some earthly message, dwelling in
the land of illusion and phantasy.<a name="FNanchor_89_89" id="FNanchor_89_89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a> This corpse-bird
may properly be associated with the superstition
regarding the screech-owl, whose cry near a sick-bed
inevitably portends death. The untimely crowing
of a cock also foretells the sudden demise of some
member of the family. In North Wales the cry
of the golden plover is a death-omen; these birds
are called, in this connection, the whistlers.<a name="FNanchor_90_90" id="FNanchor_90_90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a> The
same superstition prevails in Warwickshire, and the
sound is called the seven whistlers.</p>

<p>Thunder and lightning in mid-winter announce
the death of the great man of the parish. This
superstition is thought to be peculiar to Wales, or
to the wilder and more secluded parts of North
Wales.<a name="FNanchor_91_91" id="FNanchor_91_91"></a><a href="#Footnote_91_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a> Also deemed peculiar to Wales is the
Tan-wedd, a fiery apparition which falls on the
lands of a freeholder who is about to die. It is
described as appearing somewhat similar to falling
stars, but slower of motion. &lsquo;It lighteneth all the
air and ground where it passeth,&rsquo; says &lsquo;the honest
Welshman, Mr. Davis, in a letter to Mr. Baxter,&rsquo;
adding, &lsquo;lasteth three or four miles or more, for
aught is known, because no man seeth the rising
or beginning of it; and when it falls to the ground
it sparkleth and lighteth all about.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_92_92" id="FNanchor_92_92"></a><a href="#Footnote_92_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a> It also comes
as a duty-performing goblin, after a death, haunting
the graveyard, and calling attention to some special
grave by its conduct, as in the following account:
Walter Watkins, of the Neuadd, in a parish of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg214" id="pg214">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>214]</a></span>
Brecknockshire, was going one dark night towards
Taf Fechan Chapel, not far from his house, when
he saw a light near the chapel. It increased till
it was as big as a church tower, and decreased
again till it was as small as a star; then enlarged
again and decreased as before; and this it did
several times. He went to his house and fetched
his father and mother to see it, and they all saw it
plainly, much to their astonishment and wonder.
Some time after, as a neighbour was ploughing in
a field near the chapel, about where the mysterious
light had been seen, the plough struck against a large
flat stone. This the ploughman raised up, after a
deal of difficulty, and under it he found a stone chest,
in which was the jawbone of a man, and nought
else except an earthen jug. The bone was supposed
to be the remains of a man who had disappeared
long before, and whose wife had since married;
and on her being told of it, she fell ill and died.
The light, which had often been seen before by
various persons, was after this seen no more. It
was believed to be the spirit of the murdered man,
appearing as a light.</p>

<p>Listening at the church-door in the dark, to hear
shouted by a ghostly voice in the deserted edifice
the names of those who are shortly to be buried in
the adjoining churchyard, is a Hallow E&rsquo;en custom
in some parts of Wales. In other parts, the window
serves the same purpose. There are said to be still
extant, outside some village churches, steps which
were constructed in order to enable the superstitious
peasantry to climb to the window to listen. The
principle of &lsquo;expectant attention,&rsquo; so well known to
physiological science, would be likely in this case
to act with special force as a ghost-raiser. In an
ancient MS. by Llywelyn Sion, of Llangewydd,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg215" id="pg215">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>215]</a></span>
there is mention of a frightful monster called the
Fad Felen, which was seen through the key-hole
of Rhos church by Maelgwn Gwynedd, who &lsquo;died
in consequence.&rsquo; This monster was predicted in
a poem by Taliesin, as a &lsquo;strange creature&rsquo; which
should come from the sea marsh, with hair and
teeth and eyes like gold. The yellow fever plague,
which raged in Wales during some five years in the
sixth century, is the monster referred to in this
legend.</p>

<p>The Scotch wraith and Irish fetch have their
parallel in Wales in the Lledrith, or spectre of a
person seen before his death; it never speaks, and
vanishes if spoken to. It has been seen by miners
previous to a fatal accident in the mine. The story
is told of a miner who saw himself lying dead and
horribly maimed in a phantom tram-car, led by a
phantom horse, and surrounded by phantom miners.
As he watched this dreadful group of spectres they
passed on, looking neither to the right nor the
left, and faded away. The miner&rsquo;s dog was as
frightened as its master at the sight, and ran
howling into the darkness. Though deeming
himself doomed, the miner continued to work in
the pit; and as the days passed on, and no harm
came to him, he grew more cheerful, and was so
bold as to laugh at the superstition. The day he
did this, a stone fell from the roof and broke his
arm. As soon as he recovered he resumed work
in the pit; his death followed instantly. A stone
crushed him, and he was borne maimed and dead
in the tram along the road where his lledrith had
appeared, &lsquo;a mile below the play of sunshine and
wave of trees.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_93_93" id="FNanchor_93_93"></a><a href="#Footnote_93_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a></p>

<p>The Mallt y Nos, or night-fiend, is a death-omen
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg216" id="pg216">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>216]</a></span>
mentioned by Rev. D.&nbsp;R. Thomas in the &lsquo;Arch&aelig;ologia
Cambrensis&rsquo;; and Croker<a name="FNanchor_94_94" id="FNanchor_94_94"></a><a href="#Footnote_94_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a> gives as the Welsh
parallel of the Irish death-coach a spectre called
ceffyl heb un pen, or the headless horse. The
marw coel, or &lsquo;yellow spot before death,&rsquo; is another
death-omen which I have been able to trace no
further than the pages where I find it.<a name="FNanchor_95_95" id="FNanchor_95_95"></a><a href="#Footnote_95_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_88_88" id="Footnote_88_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor_88_88"><span class="label">[88]</span></a>
&lsquo;Dewch! dewch!&rsquo;</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_89_89" id="Footnote_89_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor_89_89"><span class="label">[89]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cymru Fu,&rsquo; 299.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_90_90" id="Footnote_90_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor_90_90"><span class="label">[90]</span></a>
&lsquo;Camb. Quarterly,&rsquo; iv., 487.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_91_91" id="Footnote_91_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor_91_91"><span class="label">[91]</span></a>
&lsquo;Arch. Camb.&rsquo; 4th Se., iii., 333.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_92_92" id="Footnote_92_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor_92_92"><span class="label">[92]</span></a>
Brand, &lsquo;Pop. Ant.&rsquo; iii., 127.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_93_93" id="Footnote_93_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor_93_93"><span class="label">[93]</span></a>
&lsquo;Tales and Sketches of Wales,&rsquo; in &lsquo;Weekly Mail.&rsquo;</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_94_94" id="Footnote_94_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor_94_94"><span class="label">[94]</span></a>
&lsquo;Fairy Legends of the South of Ireland,&rsquo; 341.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_95_95" id="Footnote_95_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor_95_95"><span class="label">[95]</span></a>
&lsquo;The Vale of Glamorgan.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>A frightful figure among Welsh apparitions is
the Gwrach y Rhibyn, whose crowning distinction is
its prodigious ugliness. The feminine pronoun is
generally used in speaking of this goblin, which
unlike the majority of its kind, is supposed to be
a female. A Welsh saying, regarding one of her
sex who is the reverse of lovely, is, &lsquo;Y mae mor
salw a Gwrach y Rhibyn,&rsquo; (She is as ugly as the
Gwrach y Rhibyn.) The spectre is a hideous being
with dishevelled hair, long black teeth, long, lank,
withered arms, leathern wings, and a cadaverous
appearance. In the stillness of night it comes and
flaps its wings against the window, uttering at the
same time a blood-curdling howl, and calling by
name on the person who is to die, in a lengthened
dying tone, as thus: &lsquo;Da-a-a-vy!&rsquo; &lsquo;De-i-i-o-o-o
ba-a-a-ch!&rsquo; The effect of its shriek or howl is indescribably
terrific, and its sight blasting to the
eyes of the beholder. It is always an omen of
death, though its warning cry is heard under varying
circumstances; sometimes it appears in the mist
on the mountain side, or at cross-roads, or by a piece
of water which it splashes with its hands. The
gender of apparitions is no doubt as a rule the
neuter, but the Gwrach y Rhibyn defies all rules
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg217" id="pg217">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>217]</a></span>
by being a female which at times sees fit to be
a male. In its female character it has a trick of
crying at intervals, in a most doleful tone, &lsquo;Oh!
oh! fy ngwr, fy ngwr!&rsquo; (my husband! my husband!)
But when it chooses to be a male, this
cry is changed to &lsquo;Fy ngwraig! fy ngwraig!&rsquo; (my
wife! my wife!) or &lsquo;Fy mlentyn, fy mlentyn bach!&rsquo;
(my child, my little child!) There is a frightful
story of a dissipated peasant who met this goblin
on the road one night, and thought it was a living
woman; he therefore made wicked and improper
overtures to it, with the result of having his soul
nearly frightened out of his body in the horror
of discovering his mistake. As he emphatically
exclaimed, &lsquo;Och, Dduw! it was the Gwrach y
Rhibyn, and not a woman at all.&rsquo;</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>The Gwrach y Rhibyn recently appeared, according
to an account given me by a person who claimed
to have seen it, at Llandaff. Surely, no more
probable site for the appearance of a spectre so
ancient of lineage could be found, than that ancient
cathedral city where some say was the earliest
Christian fane in Great Britain, and which was
certainly the seat of the earliest Christian bishopric.
My narrator was a respectable-looking man of the
peasant-farmer class, whom I met in one of my
walks near Cardiff, in the summer of 1878. &lsquo;It was
at Llandaff,&rsquo; he said to me, &lsquo;on the fourteenth of
last November, when I was on a visit to an old
friend, that I saw and heard the Gwrach y Rhibyn.
I was sleeping in my bed, and was woke at midnight
by a frightful screeching and a shaking of my
window. It was a loud and clear screech, and the
shaking of the window was very plain, but it seemed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg218" id="pg218">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>218]</a></span>
to go by like the wind. I was not so much
frightened, sir, as you may think; excited I was&mdash;that&rsquo;s
the word&mdash;excited; and I jumped out of bed
and rushed to the window and flung it open. Then
I saw the Gwrach y Rhibyn, saw her plainly, sir, a
horrible old woman with long red hair and a face
like chalk, and great teeth like tusks, looking back
over her shoulder at me as she went through the air
with a long black gown trailing along the ground
below her arms, for body I could make out none.
She gave another unearthly screech while I looked
at her; then I heard her flapping her wings against
the window of a house just below the one I was in,
and she vanished from my sight. But I kept on
staring into the darkness, and as I am a living man,
sir, I saw her go in at the door of the Cow and
Snuffers Inn, and return no more. I watched the
door of the inn a long time, but she did not come
out. The next day, it&rsquo;s the honest truth I&rsquo;m
telling you, they told me the man who kept the
Cow and Snuffers Inn was dead&mdash;had died in the
night. His name was Llewellyn, sir&mdash;you can ask
any one about him, at Llandaff&mdash;he had kept the
inn there for seventy years, and his family before
him for three hundred years, just at that very spot.
It&rsquo;s not these new families that the Gwrach y
Rhibyn ever troubles, sir, it&rsquo;s the old stock.&rsquo;</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>The close resemblance of this goblin to the Irish
banshee (or benshi) will be at once perceived. The
same superstition is found among other peoples of
Celtic origin. Sir Walter Scott mentions it among
the highlands of Scotland.<a name="FNanchor_96_96" id="FNanchor_96_96"></a><a href="#Footnote_96_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a> It is not traced among
other than Celtic peoples distinctly, but its association
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg219" id="pg219">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>219]</a></span>
with the primeval mythology is doubtless to be
found in the same direction with many other death-omens,
to wit, the path of the wind-god Hermes.</p>

<p>The frightful ugliness of the Gwrach y Rhibyn is
a consistent feature of the superstition, in both its
forms; it recalls the Black Maiden who came to
Caerleon and liberated Peredur:<a name="FNanchor_97_97" id="FNanchor_97_97"></a><a href="#Footnote_97_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a> &lsquo;Blacker were
her face and her two hands than the blackest iron
covered with pitch; and her hue was not more
frightful than her form. High cheeks had she, and
a face lengthened downwards, and a short nose with
distended nostrils. And one eye was of a piercing
mottled gray, and the other was as black as jet,
deep-sunk in her head. And her teeth were long
and yellow, more yellow were they than the flower
of the broom. And her stomach rose from the
breast-bone, higher than her chin. And her back
was in the shape of a crook, and her legs were large
and bony. And her figure was very thin and spare,
except her feet and legs, which were of huge size.&rsquo;
The Welsh word &lsquo;gwrach&rsquo; means a hag or witch,
and it has been fancied that there is a connection
between this word and the mythical Avagddu,<a name="FNanchor_98_98" id="FNanchor_98_98"></a><a href="#Footnote_98_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a>
whose wife the gwrach was.</p>

<p>The Gwrach y Rhibyn appears also as a river-spectre,
in Glamorganshire.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_96_96" id="Footnote_96_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor_96_96"><span class="label">[96]</span></a>
&lsquo;Demonology and Witchcraft,&rsquo; 351.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_97_97" id="Footnote_97_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor_97_97"><span class="label">[97]</span></a>
&lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; 114.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_98_98" id="Footnote_98_98"></a><a href="#FNanchor_98_98"><span class="label">[98]</span></a>
Avagddu means both hell and the devil, as our word Heaven
means both the Deity and his abode.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>A death-portent which is often confused with the
Gwrach y Rhibyn, yet which is rendered quite distinct
by its special attributes, is the Cyhyraeth.
This is a groaning spirit. It is never seen, but the
noise it makes is no less terrible to the ear than the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg220" id="pg220">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>220]</a></span>
appearance of its visible sister is to the eye. Among
groaning spirits it is considered to be the chief. The
Prophet Jones succinctly characterises it as &lsquo;a doleful,
dreadful noise in the night, before a burying.&rsquo;
David Prosser, of Llanybyther parish, &lsquo;a sober, sensible
man and careful to tell the truth,&rsquo; once heard
the Cyhyraeth in the early part of the night, his
wife and maid-servant being together in the house,
and also hearing it; and when it came opposite the
window, it &lsquo;pronounced these strange words, of no
signification that we know of,&rsquo; viz. &lsquo;<em>Woolach!
Woolach!</em>&rsquo; Some time afterward a funeral passed
that way. The judicious Joshua Coslet, who lived
by the river Towy in Carmarthenshire, testified
that the Cyhyraeth is often heard there, and that it
is &lsquo;a doleful, disagreeable sound heard before the
deaths of many, and most apt to be heard before
foul weather. The voice resembles the groaning of
sick persons who are to die; heard at first at a distance,
then comes nearer, and the last near at hand;
so that it is a threefold warning of death. It begins
strong, and louder than a sick man can make; the
second cry is lower, but not less doleful, but rather
more so; the third yet lower, and soft, like the
groaning of a sick man almost spent and dying.&rsquo; A
person &lsquo;well remembering the voice&rsquo; and coming to
the sick man&rsquo;s bed, &lsquo;shall hear his groans exactly
like&rsquo; those which he had before heard from the
Cyhyraeth. This crying spirit especially affected
the twelve parishes in the hundred of Inis Cenin,
which lie on the south-east side of the river Towy,
&lsquo;where some time past it groaned before the death
of every person who lived that side of the country.&rsquo;
It also sounded before the death of persons &lsquo;who
were born in these parishes, but died elsewhere.&rsquo;
Sometimes the voice is heard long before death, but
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg221" id="pg221">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>221]</a></span>
not longer than three quarters of a year. So common
was it in the district named, that among the
people there a familiar form of reproach to any one
making a disagreeable noise, or &lsquo;children crying or
groaning unreasonable,&rsquo; was to ejaculate, &lsquo;Oh &rsquo;r
Cyhyraeth!&rsquo; A reason why the Cyhyraeth was
more often heard in the hundred of Inis Cenin was
thought to be that Non, the mother of St. David,
lived in those parts, where a village is called after
her name, Llan-non, the church of Non.</p>

<p>On the southern sea-coast, in Glamorganshire,
the Cyhyraeth is sometimes heard by the people
in the villages on shore passing down the channel
with loud moans, while those dismal lights which
forebode a wreck are seen playing along the waves.
Watchers by the sea-shore have also heard its moan
far out on the ocean, gradually drawing nearer and
nearer, and then dying away; and when they
thought it gone it has suddenly shrieked close to
their startled ears, chilling their very marrows.
Then, long after, they would hear it, now faint, now
loud, going along the sands into the distant darkness.
One or more corpses were usually washed ashore
soon after. In the villages the Cyhyraeth is heard
passing through the empty streets and lanes by
night, groaning dismally, sometimes rattling the
window-shutters, or flinging open the door as it
flits by. When going along the country lanes it
will thus horrify the inmates of every house it
passes. Some old people say it is only heard
before the death of such as are of strayed mind,
or who have long been ill; but it always comes
when an epidemic is about to visit the neighbourhood.</p>

<p>A tradition of the Cyhyraeth is connected with
the parish churchyard at St. Mellons, a quaint
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg222" id="pg222">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>222]</a></span>
old-fashioned village within easy tramping distance of
Cardiff, but in Monmouthshire. It is of a boy who
was sent on an errand, and who heard the Cyhyraeth
crying in the churchyard, first in one place, then in
another, and finally in a third place, where it rested.
Some time after, a corpse was brought to that
churchyard to be buried, but some person came and
claimed the grave. They went to another place,
but that also was claimed. Then they went to
a third place, and there they were allowed to bury
their dead in peace. And this going about with the
corpse was &lsquo;just the same as the boy declared it.&rsquo;
Of course the boy could not know what was to
come to pass, &lsquo;but this crying spirit knew exactly
what would come to pass.&rsquo; I was also told by a
person at St. Mellons that a ghost had been seen
sitting upon the old stone cross which stands on the
hillside near the church.</p>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>Other groaning spirits are sometimes heard. A
girl named Mary Morgan, living near Crumlyn
Bridge, while standing on the bridge one evening
was seized with mortal terror on hearing a groaning
voice going up the river, uttering the words, &lsquo;O
Dduw, beth a wnaf fi?&rsquo; (O God, what shall I do?)
many times repeated, amid direful groans. The
conclusion of this narration is a hopeless mystery,
as Mary fainted away with her fright.</p>

<p>Much more satisfactory, as a ghost-story with a
moral, is the tale of the groaning spirit of Bedwellty.<a name="FNanchor_99_99" id="FNanchor_99_99"></a><a href="#Footnote_99_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a>
There was one night a wake at the house of
Meredith Thomas, over the body of his four-year-old
child, at which two profane men (named Thomas
Edward Morgan and Anthony Aaron) began playing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg223" id="pg223">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>223]</a></span>
at cards, and swearing most horribly. In the parish
of Bedwellty, the wakes&mdash;or watch-nights, as they
are more commonly called in Wales&mdash;were at that
time very profanely kept. &lsquo;Few besides the dissenters,&rsquo;
says Jones (who was himself a dissenter, it
must be remembered), &lsquo;had the sense and courage
to forbid&rsquo; this wickedness, but &lsquo;suffered it as a
custom, because the pretence was to divert the
relations of the dead, and lessen their sorrows.&rsquo;
While the aforementioned profane men were playing
cards and swearing, suddenly a dismal groaning
noise was heard at the window. At this the company
was much frightened, excepting the card-players,
who said &lsquo;Pw!&rsquo; and went on playing. But
to pacify the rest of the company they finally desisted,
and at once the groaning ceased. Soon after they
began playing again, when at once the groaning
set up in most lamentable tones, so that people
shuddered; but the profane men again said, &lsquo;Pw!
it is some fellow playing tricks to frighten us.&rsquo;
&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said William Harry Rees, a good man of the
Baptist persuasion, &lsquo;it is no human being there
groaning, but a spirit,&rsquo; and again he desired them
to give over. But though they were so bold with
their card-playing, these wicked men had not the
hardihood to venture out and see who it was
&lsquo;playing tricks,&rsquo; as they called it. However, one
of the company said, &lsquo;I will go, and take the dogs
with me, and see if there be any human being there.&rsquo;
The groaning still continued. This bold person
then &lsquo;took the prime staff, and began to call the
dogs to go with him;&rsquo; but the dogs could not be
induced to go out, being in great terror at the
groaning noise, and sought to hide themselves
under the stools, and about the people&rsquo;s feet. In
vain they beat the dogs, and kicked and scolded
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg224" id="pg224">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>224]</a></span>
them, out-door they would not go. This at last
convinced the profane men, and they left off playing,
for fear the devil should come among them.
For it was told in other places that people had
played cards till his sulphurous majesty appeared in
person.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_99_99" id="Footnote_99_99"></a><a href="#FNanchor_99_99"><span class="label">[99]</span></a>
Jones, &lsquo;Apparitions,&rsquo; 24.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg225" id="pg225">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>225]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk2chap08" id="bk2chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">The Tolaeth Death Portent&mdash;Its various Forms&mdash;The Tolaeth before
Death&mdash;Ewythr Jenkin&rsquo;s Tolaeth&mdash;A modern Instance&mdash;The Railway
Victim&rsquo;s Warning&mdash;The Goblin Voice&mdash;The Voice from the
Cloud&mdash;Legend of the Lord and the Beggar&mdash;The Goblin Funeral&mdash;The
Horse&rsquo;s Skull&mdash;The Goblin Veil&mdash;The Wraith of Llanllwch&mdash;Dogs
of Hell&mdash;The Tale of Pwyll&mdash;Spiritual Hunting Dogs&mdash;Origin
of the Cwn Annwn.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>The Tolaeth is an ominous sound, imitating some
earthly sound of one sort or another, and always
heard before either a funeral or some dreadful
catastrophe. Carpenters of a superstitious turn of
mind will tell you that they invariably hear the
Tolaeth when they are going to receive an order to
make a coffin; in this case the sound is that of the
sawing of wood, the hammering of nails, and the
turning of screws, such as are heard in the usual
process of making a coffin. This is called the
&lsquo;Tolaeth before the Coffin.&rsquo; The &lsquo;Tolaeth before
Death&rsquo; is a supernatural noise heard about the
house, such as a knocking, or the sound of footsteps
in the dead of night. Sometimes it is the sound of
a tolling bell, where no bell is; and the direction
in which the ear is held at the time points out the
place of the coming death. Formerly the veritable
church-bell in its steeple would foretell death, by
tolling thrice at the hour of midnight, unrung by
human hands. The bell of Blaenporth, Cardiganshire,
was noted for thus warning the neighbours.
The &lsquo;Tolaeth before the Burying&rsquo; is the sound of
the funeral procession passing by, unseen, but heard.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg226" id="pg226">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>226]</a></span>
The voices are heard singing the &lsquo;Old Hundredth,&rsquo;
which is the psalm tune usually sung by funeral
bands; the slow regular tramp of the feet is heard,
and the sobbing and groaning of the mourners.
The Tolaeth touches but one sense at a time. When
this funeral procession is heard it cannot be seen.
But it is a peculiarity of the Tolaeth that after it
has been heard by the ear, it sometimes makes itself
known to the eye also&mdash;but in silence. The funeral
procession will at first be heard, and then if the
hearer stoop forward and look along the ground,
it may perhaps be seen; the psalm-singers, two
abreast, with their hats off and their mouths open,
as in the act of singing; the coffin, borne on the
shoulders of four men who hold their hats by the
side of their heads; the mourners, the men with
long black hatbands streaming behind, the women
pale and sorrowful, with upheld handkerchiefs; and
the rest of the procession stretching away dimly
into shadow. Not a sound is heard, either of foot
or voice, although the singers&rsquo; mouths are open.
After the procession has passed, and the observer
has risen from his stooping posture, the Tolaeth
again breaks on the ear, the music, the tread of
feet, and the sobbing, as before. A real funeral is
sure to pass that way not long afterwards.</p>

<p>This form of the Tolaeth should not be confused
with the Teulu, or Goblin Funeral proper, which is
a death-warning occupying its own place.</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>John Clode, an honest labouring man living on
the coast of Glamorganshire, near the Sker Rocks,
had just gone to bed one night, when he and his
wife heard the door open, the tread of shuffling feet,
the moving about of chairs, and the grunting of men
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg227" id="pg227">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>227]</a></span>
as if setting down a load. This was all in the room
where they lay, it being the only room their cottage
afforded, except the one upstairs. &lsquo;John, John!&rsquo;
cried his wife in alarm, &lsquo;what is this?&rsquo; In vain
John rubbed his eyes and stared into the darkness.
Nothing could he see. Two days afterward their
only son was brought home drowned; and his
corpse being borne into the house upon a ladder,
there were the same noises of opening the door, the
shuffling of feet, the moving of chairs, the setting
down of the burden, that the Tolaeth had touched
their ears with. &lsquo;John, John!&rsquo; murmured poor Mrs.
Clode; &lsquo;this is exactly what I heard in the night.&rsquo;
&lsquo;Yes, wife,&rsquo; quoth John, &lsquo;it was the Tolaeth before
Death.&rsquo;</p>

<p>Before Ewythr Jenkin of Nash died, his daughter
Gwenllian heard the Tolaeth. She had taken her
old father&rsquo;s breeches from under his pillow to mend
them (for he was very careful always to fold and put
his breeches under his pillow, especially if there was
a sixpence in the pocket), and just as she was about
sitting down at the table on which she had thrown
them, there came a loud rap on the table, which
startled her very much. &lsquo;Oh, Jenny, what was
that?&rsquo; she asked of the servant girl; but Jenny
could only stare at her mistress, more frightened
than herself. Again did Gwenllian essay to sit
and take the breeches in hand, when there came
upon the table a double rap, much louder than the
first, a rap, in fact, that made all the chairs and
kettles ring. So then Gwenllian fainted away.</p>

<p>At a place called by its owner Llynwent, in
Radnorshire, at a certain time the man of the house
and his wife were gone from home. The rest of
the family were sitting at supper, when three of the
servants heard the sound of horses coming toward
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg228" id="pg228">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>228]</a></span>
the house, and cried out, &lsquo;There, they are coming!&rsquo;
thinking it was their master and mistress returning
home. But on going out to meet them, there was
nobody near. They re-entered the house, somewhat
uneasy in their minds at this strange thing,
and clustered about the fire, with many expressions
of wonderment. While they were so seated, &lsquo;Hark!&rsquo;
said one, and all listening intently, heard footsteps
passing by them and going up stairs, and voices of
people talking among themselves. Not long afterward
three of the family fell sick and died.</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>An instance of recent occurrence is given by a
local newspaper correspondent writing from the
scene of a Welsh railway accident in October, 1878.
It was at Pontypridd, famous the world over for
its graceful bridge, (now old and superannuated,)
and renowned in Druidic story as a seat of learning.
A victim of the railway accident was, a few days
before the collision, &lsquo;sitting with his wife at the
fireside, when he had an omen. The house was
still, and they were alone, only a little servant girl
being with them. Then, while so sitting and talking,
they both heard a heavy footstep ascending the
stairs, step by step, step by step, as that of one
carrying a burden. They looked at one another,
and the husband called, &ldquo;Run, Mary, upstairs;
some one has gone up.&rdquo; Mary did run, but there
was no one. She was told to look in every room,
and she did so, and it was put down as fancy.
When the news was borne to the poor wife on
Saturday night, she started up and said, &ldquo;There
now, that was the omen!&rdquo;&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_100_100" id="FNanchor_100_100"></a><a href="#Footnote_100_100" class="fnanchor">[100]</a> That his readers
may not by any perversity fail to understand him as
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg229" id="pg229">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>229]</a></span>
alluding to the Tolaeth before Death, our newspaper
correspondent states his creed: &lsquo;I believe in omens.
I knew a lady who heard distinctly three raps at
her door. Another lady was sitting with her near
it too. The door was an inner door. No servant
was in the house. The two ladies heard it, and
yet no human hand touched that door, and at the
time when the knock was heard a dear brother was
dying. I know of strange things of this sort. Of
voices crying the names of half-sleeping relatives
when the waves were washing some one dear away
to the mighty deep; but then the world laughs at
all this and the world goes on.&rsquo; The correspondent
is severe; there is nothing here to laugh at.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_100_100" id="Footnote_100_100"></a><a href="#FNanchor_100_100"><span class="label">[100]</span></a>
&lsquo;Western Mail,&rsquo; Oct. 23, 1878.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>The Tolaeth has one other form&mdash;that of a Voice
which speaks, in a simple and natural manner, but
very significant words. Thus Edward Lloyd, in
the parish of Llangurig, was lying very ill, when the
people that were with him in his chamber heard a
voice near them, but could see no one; nor could
they find any one anywhere about the house, to
whom the voice might belong. Soon afterwards
they heard it utter, so distinctly that it seemed to be
in the room where they were, these words, &lsquo;Y mae
nenbren y t&#375; yn craccio,&rsquo; (the upper beam of the
house cracketh.) Soon the Voice spoke again,
saying, &lsquo;Fe dor yn y man,&rsquo; (it will presently break.)
And once more it spoke: &lsquo;Dyna fe yn tori,&rsquo; (there
it breaks.) That moment the sick man gave up
the ghost.</p>

<p>John, the son of Watkin Elias Jones, of the parish
of Mynyddyslwyn, was one day ploughing in the
field, when the oxen rested, and he sent the lad
who drove the oxen, to fetch something which he
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg230" id="pg230">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>230]</a></span>
wanted; and while thus alone in the field, he saw
a cloud coming across the field to him. When the
cloud had come to that part of the field where he
was, it stopped, and shadowed the sun from him;
and out of the cloud came a Voice, which asked
him which of these three diseases he would choose
to die of&mdash;fever, dropsy, or consumption. Being
a man who could give a plain answer to a plain
question, he replied that he would rather die of
consumption. The lad now returning, he sent him
home with the oxen, and then, feeling inclined to
sleep, lay down and slept. When he awoke he was
ill, and fell by degrees into a consumption, of which
he died one year from the day of this warning. He
did not tell of this apparition, however, until within
six weeks of his death.</p>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>One of the most beautiful legends in the Iolo
MSS. gives an ancient tale of the Tolaeth which
may be thus condensed: A great and wealthy lord,
rich in land, houses and gold, enjoying all the
luxuries of life, heard a voice proclaim thrice distinctly:
&lsquo;The greatest and richest man of this
parish shall die to-night.&rsquo; At this he was sadly
troubled, for he knew that the greatest and richest
man of that parish could be no other than he; so
he sent for the physician, but made ready for death.
Great, however, was his joy when the night passed,
the day broke, and he was yet alive. At sunrise
the church bell was heard tolling, and the lord sent
in haste to know who was dead. Answer came
that it was an old blind beggar man, who had
asked, and been refused, alms at the great man&rsquo;s
gate. Then the lord knew the meaning of the
warning voice he had heard: that very great and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg231" id="pg231">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>231]</a></span>
very rich man had been the poor beggar&mdash;his
treasures and wealth in the kingdom of heaven.
He took the warning wisely to heart, endowed
religious houses, relieved all who were in poverty,
and when at last he was dying, the voices of angels
were heard to sing a hymn of welcome; and he
was buried, according to his desire, in the old
beggar&rsquo;s grave.<a name="FNanchor_101_101" id="FNanchor_101_101"></a><a href="#Footnote_101_101" class="fnanchor">[101]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_101_101" id="Footnote_101_101"></a><a href="#FNanchor_101_101"><span class="label">[101]</span></a>
Iolo MSS., 592.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>Of the Teulu, or Goblin Funeral, a death-portent
of wide prevalence in Wales, numberless stories
are told. This omen is sometimes a form of the
Tolaeth, but in itself constitutes an omen which is
simple and explicit. A funeral procession is seen
passing down the road, and at the same time it is
heard. It has no shadowy goblin aspect, but
appears to be a real funeral. Examination shows
its shadowy nature. Subsequently a real funeral
passes the same way, and is recognised as the fulfilment
of the omen. The goblin funeral precedes
the other sometimes by days, sometimes by weeks.
Rees Thomas, a carpenter of Carmarthenshire, passing
by night through Rhiw Edwst, near Capel
Ywen, heard a stir as of a procession of people
coming towards him, walking and speaking; and
when they were close to him he felt the touch of
an unseen hand upon his shoulder, and a voice
saying to him, &lsquo;Rhys bach, pa fodd yr y&rsquo;ch chwi?&rsquo;
(my dear Rees, how are you?) A month after,
passing that way again, he met a funeral in that
very place, and a woman of the company put her
hand upon his shoulder and spoke exactly the same
Welsh words to him that the invisible spirit had
spoken. Rev. Howel Prosser, many years ago
curate of Aberystruth, late one evening saw a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg232" id="pg232">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>232]</a></span>
funeral procession going down the church lane.
Supposing it to be the funeral of a man who had
recently died in the upper part of his parish, yet
wondering he had not been notified of the burial,
he put on his band in order to perform his office
over the dead, and hastened to meet the procession.
But when he came to it he saw that it was composed
of strangers, whom he had never seen before.
Nevertheless, he laid his hand on the bier, to help
carry the corpse, when instantly the whole vanished,
and he was alone; but in his hand he found the
skull of a dead horse. &lsquo;Mr. Prosser was my schoolmaster,
and a right honest man,&rsquo; says Edmund
Jones,<a name="FNanchor_102_102" id="FNanchor_102_102"></a><a href="#Footnote_102_102" class="fnanchor">[102]</a> who is responsible for this story, as well as
for the ensuing: Isaac William Thomas, who lived
not far from Hafodafel, once met a Goblin Funeral
coming down the mountain toward Llanhiddel church.
He stood in a field adjoining the highway, and
leaned against the stone wall. The funeral came
close to the other side of the wall, and as the bier
passed him he reached forth his hand and took off
the black veil which was over the bier. This he
carried to his home, where many people saw it.
&lsquo;It was made of some exceeding fine stuff, so that
when folded it was a very little substance, and very
light.&rsquo; That he escaped being hurt for this bold act
was long the marvel of the parish; but it was believed,
by their going aside to come so near him, that
the goblins were willing he should do as he did.</p>

<p>An old man who resided near Llanllwch church,
in Carmarthenshire, used to assert in the most
solemn manner that he had seen the Teulu going
to church again and again. On a certain evening
hearing one approaching, he peeped over a wall to
look at it. The persons composing the procession
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg233" id="pg233">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>233]</a></span>
were all acquaintances of his, with the exception of
one who stood apart from the rest, gazing mournfully
at them, and who appeared to be a stranger.
Soon afterwards there was a real burying, and the
old man, determined to see if there would be in the
scene any resemblance to his last Teulu, went to
the churchyard and waited. When the procession
arrived, all were there as he had seen them, except
the stranger. Looking about him curiously, the old
man was startled by the discovery that he was
himself the stranger! He was standing on the
identical spot where had stood the man he did not
recognise when he saw the Teulu. It was his own
ghost.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_102_102" id="Footnote_102_102"></a><a href="#FNanchor_102_102"><span class="label">[102]</span></a>
&lsquo;Account of the Parish of Aberystruth,&rsquo; 17.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>The death portent called Cwn Annwn, or Dogs
of Hell, is a pack of hounds which howl through
the air with a voice frightfully disproportionate to
their size, full of a wild sort of lamentation. There
is a tradition that one of them once fell on a tombstone,
but no one was able to secure it. A peculiarity
of these creatures is that the nearer they are
to a man the less loud their voice sounds, resembling
then the voice of small beagles, and the farther off
they are the louder is their cry. Sometimes a voice
like that of a great hound is heard sounding among
them&mdash;a deep hollow voice, as if it were the voice
of a monstrous bloodhound. Although terrible to
hear, and certain portents of death, they are in
themselves harmless. &lsquo;They have never been
known,&rsquo; says a most respectable authority,<a name="FNanchor_103_103" id="FNanchor_103_103"></a><a href="#Footnote_103_103" class="fnanchor">[103]</a> &lsquo;to
commit any mischief on the persons of either man
or woman, goat, sheep, or cow.&rsquo; Sometimes they
are called Cwn y Wybr, or Dogs of the Sky, but the
more sulphurous name is the favourite one. They
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg234" id="pg234">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>234]</a></span>
are also sometimes called Dogs of the Fairies.
Their origin in fairyland is traced to the famous
mabinogi of Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed; but in that
fascinating tale of enchantment their right to be
called Cwn Annwn is clearly set forth, for they are
there the hounds of a King of Annwn. There are
several translations of this mabinogi in existence,
and its popularity in South Wales is great, for the
villages, vales, and streams mentioned in it are
familiar to residents in Pembroke, Carmarthen, and
Cardigan shires. Pwyll, the Prince, was at Narberth,
where was his chief palace, when he went
one day to a wood in Glyn Cych. Here &lsquo;he
sounded his horn and began to enter upon the
chase, following his dogs and separating from his
companions. And as he was listening to the cry
of his pack, he could distinctly hear the cry of
another pack, different from that of his own, and
which was coming in an opposite direction. He
could also discern an opening in the woods towards
a level plain; and as his pack was entering the
skirt of the opening he perceived a stag before the
other pack, and about the middle of the glade the
pack in the rear coming up and throwing the stag
on the ground. Upon this he fixed his attention
on the colour of the pack, without recollecting to
look at the stag: and of all the hounds in the
world he had ever seen he never saw any like them
in colour. Their colour was a shining clear white,
with red ears; and the whiteness of the dogs and
the redness of their ears were equally conspicuous.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_104_104" id="FNanchor_104_104"></a><a href="#Footnote_104_104" class="fnanchor">[104]</a>
They were the hounds of Arawn, a crowned king
in the land of Annwn, the shadow-land of Hades.</p>

<p>The Cwn Annwn are sometimes held to be the
hell-hounds which hunt through the air the soul of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg235" id="pg235">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>235]</a></span>
the wicked man, the instant it quits the body&mdash;a
truly terrific idea to the vulgar mind. The Prophet
Jones has several accounts of them: Thomas
Phillips, of Trelech parish, heard them with the
voice of the great dog sounding among them, and
noticed that they followed a course that was never
followed by funerals, which surprised him very
much, as he had always heard that the Dogs of the
Sky invariably went the same way that the corpse
was to follow. Not long after a woman from an
adjoining parish died at Trelech, and being carried
to her own parish church to be buried, her corpse
did actually pass the same way in which the spirit
dogs had been heard to hunt. Thomas Andrew,
of the parish of Llanhiddel, heard them one night
as he was coming home. &lsquo;He heard them coming
towards him, though he saw them not.&rsquo; Their cry
grew fainter as they drew near him, passed him,
and louder again as they went from him. They
went down the steeps towards the river Ebwy.
And Thomas Andrew was &lsquo;a religious man, who
would not have told an untruth for fear or for
favour.&rsquo;</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_103_103" id="Footnote_103_103"></a><a href="#FNanchor_103_103"><span class="label">[103]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cambro-Briton,&rsquo; i., 350.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_104_104" id="Footnote_104_104"></a><a href="#FNanchor_104_104"><span class="label">[104]</span></a>
Dr. W. Owen Pughe&rsquo;s Trans., &lsquo;Camb.-Briton,&rsquo; ii., 271.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>No form of superstition has had a wider popularity
than this of spiritual hunting dogs, with which
was usually connected in olden time the wild huntsman,
a personage who has dropped quite out of
modern belief, at least in Wales. In France this
goblin was called Le Grand Veneur, and hunted
with his dogs in the forests of Fontainebleau; in
Germany it was Hackelberg, who sold himself to
the devil for permission to hunt till doomsday. In
Britain it was King Arthur who served as the
goblin huntsman. Peasants would hear the cry of
the hounds and the sounding of the horns, but the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg236" id="pg236">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>236]</a></span>
huntsman was invisible. When they called out after
him, however, the answer came back: &lsquo;We are
King Arthur and his kindred.&rsquo; Mr. Baring-Gould,<a name="FNanchor_105_105" id="FNanchor_105_105"></a><a href="#Footnote_105_105" class="fnanchor">[105]</a>
in giving an account of the myth of Odin, the Wild
Huntsman, who rides over the forests by night on a
white horse, with his legion of hell-hounds, seems to
ascribe the superstition to the imagination of a
belated woodcutter frightened by the wind in the
tree-tops. William Henderson<a name="FNanchor_106_106" id="FNanchor_106_106"></a><a href="#Footnote_106_106" class="fnanchor">[106]</a> presumes the belief
in the Wild Huntsman&rsquo;s pack, which prevails in the
North of England, to come from the strange
unearthly cries uttered by wild fowl on their passage
southward, and which sound like the yelping of
dogs. These natural phenomena have not served,
however, to keep the old belief alive in Wales.</p>

<p>That the Cwn Annwn are descendants of the
wish-hound of Hermes, hardly admits of doubt.
The same superstition prevails among all Aryan
peoples, with details differing but little. The souls
of the dying are carried away by the howling
winds, the dogs of Hermes, in the ancient mythology
as in surviving beliefs; on this follows the
custom of opening the windows at death, so that the
released soul may escape. In Devonshire they say
no soul can escape from the house in which its body
dies, unless all the locks and bolts are opened. In
China a hole is made in the roof for a like purpose.
The early Aryan conception of the wind as a howling
dog or wolf speeding over the house-tops caused
the inmates to tremble with fear, lest their souls
should be called to follow them. It must be constantly
borne in mind that all these creatures of
fancy were more or less interchangeable, and the
god Hermes was at times his own dog, which
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg237" id="pg237">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>237]</a></span>
escorted the soul to the river Styx. The winds
were now the maruts, or spirits of the breeze,
serving Indra, the sky-god; again they were the
great psychopomp himself. The peasant who to-day
tells you that dogs can see death enter the house
where a person is about to die, merely repeats the
idea of a primeval man whose ignorance of physical
science was complete.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_105_105" id="Footnote_105_105"></a><a href="#FNanchor_105_105"><span class="label">[105]</span></a>
&lsquo;Iceland, its Scenes and Sagas,&rsquo; 199-203.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_106_106" id="Footnote_106_106"></a><a href="#FNanchor_106_106"><span class="label">[106]</span></a>
&lsquo;Notes on Folk-Lore,&rsquo; 97.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg238" id="pg238">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>238]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk2chap09" id="bk2chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">The Corpse Candle&mdash;Its Peculiarities&mdash;The Woman of Caerau&mdash;Grasping
a Corpse Candle&mdash;The Crwys Candle&mdash;Lights issuing
from the Mouth&mdash;Jesting with the Canwyll Corph&mdash;The Candle at
Pontfaen&mdash;The Three Candles at Golden Grove&mdash;Origin of Death-Portents
in Wales&mdash;Degree of Belief prevalent at the Present Day&mdash;Origin
of Spirits in General&mdash;The Supernatural&mdash;The Question of
a Future Life.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>Perhaps the most picturesque of the several death-omens
popular in Wales is the Canwyll Corph, or
Corpse Candle. It is also, according to my observation,
the most extensively believed in at the present
day. Its details are varied and extremely
interesting. The idea of a goblin in the form of a
lighted tallow candle is ludicrous enough, at first
sight; and indeed I know several learned Welsh
gentlemen who venture to laugh at it; but the
superstition grows more and more grim and less
risible the better one becomes acquainted with it.
It is worth noting here that the canwyll, or candle,
is a more poetic thing among the Welsh&mdash;has a
higher literary place, so to speak&mdash;than among
English-speaking peoples. In the works of their
ancient poets the candle is mentioned in passages
where we should use the word light or lamp&mdash;as in
this verse, which is attributed to Aneurin (sixth
century):</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The best candle for man is prudence.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>The candle is the favourite figure for mental
guidance among the Welsh;<a name="FNanchor_107_107" id="FNanchor_107_107"></a><a href="#Footnote_107_107" class="fnanchor">[107]</a> there is no book in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg239" id="pg239">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>239]</a></span>
the Welsh language so popular as a certain work of
religious counsel by a former Vicar of Llandovery,
called &lsquo;The Candle of the Cymry.&rsquo; The Corpse
Candle is always and invariably a death-warning.
It sometimes appears as a stately flambeau, stalking
along unsupported, burning with a ghastly blue
flame. Sometimes it is a plain tallow &lsquo;dip&rsquo; in the
hand of a ghost, and when the ghost is seen distinctly
it is recognised as the ghost of some person
yet living, who will now soon die. This, it will be
noticed, is a variation upon the wraith, or Lledrith.
Sometimes the goblin is a light which issues from a
person&rsquo;s mouth or nostrils. According to the belief
of some sections, the size of the candle indicates the
age of the person who is about to die, being large
when it is a full-grown person whose death is foretold,
small when it is a child, still smaller when an
infant. Where two candles together are seen, one
of which is large and the other small, it is a mother
and child who are to die. When the flame is white,
the doomed person is a woman; when red, a man.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_107_107" id="Footnote_107_107"></a><a href="#FNanchor_107_107"><span class="label">[107]</span></a>
Stephens, &lsquo;Lit. of the Kymry,&rsquo; 287. (New Ed., 1876.)</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>Among the accounts of the Corpse Candle which
have come under my notice none are more interesting
than those given me by a good dame whom I
encountered at Caerau, near Cardiff. Caerau is a
little village of perhaps one hundred souls, crouched
at the foot of a steep hill on whose summit are the
ancient earthworks of a Roman camp. On this
summit also stands the parish church, distinctly
visible from Cardiff streets, so ponderous is its
square tower against the sky. To walk there is a
pleasant stroll from the late Marquis of Bute&rsquo;s statue
in the centre of the seaport town. I am thus particular
merely for emphasis of the fact that this
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg240" id="pg240">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>240]</a></span>
superstition is not confined to remote and out-of-the-way
districts. Caerau is rural, and its people are
all poor people, perhaps; but its church is barely
three miles from the heart of a busy seaport. In
this church I met the voluble Welshwoman who
gave me the accounts referred to. One was to this
effect: One night her sister was lying very ill at the
narrator&rsquo;s house, and she was alone with her children,
her husband being in the lunatic asylum at Cardiff.
She had just put the children to bed, and had set
her candle on the floor preparatory to going to bed
herself, when there came a &lsquo;swish&rsquo; along the floor,
like the rustling of grave-clothes, and the candle
was blown out. The room, however, to her surprise,
remained glowing with a feeble light as from a very
small taper, and looking behind her she beheld &lsquo;old
John Richards,&rsquo; who had been dead ten years. He
held a Corpse Candle in his hand, and he looked at
her in a chill and steadfast manner which caused the
blood to run cold in her veins. She turned and
woke her eldest boy, and said to him, &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t you
see old John Richards?&rsquo; The boy asked &lsquo;Where?&rsquo;
rubbing his eyes. She pointed out the ghost, and
the boy was so frightened at sight of it that he cried
out &lsquo;O wi! O Dduw! I wish I may die!&rsquo; The
ghost then disappeared, the Corpse Candle in its
hand; the candle on the floor burned again with a
clear light, and the next day the sick sister died.</p>

<p>Another account ran somewhat thus: The narrator&rsquo;s
mother-in-law was ill with a cancer of the
breast. &lsquo;Jenny fach,&rsquo; she said to the narrator one
night, &lsquo;sleep by me&mdash;I feel afraid.&rsquo; &lsquo;Hach!&rsquo; said
Jenny, thinking the old woman was foolishly nervous;
but she stayed. As she was lying in bed by the side
of her mother-in-law, she saw at the foot of the bed
the faint flame of a Corpse Candle, which shed no
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg241" id="pg241">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>241]</a></span>
light at all about the room; the place remained as
dark as it was before. She looked at it in a sort of
stupor for a short time, and then raised herself
slowly up in bed and reached out to see if she
could grasp the candle. Her fingers touched it,
but it immediately went out in a little shower of
pale sparkles that fell downward. At that moment
her mother-in-law uttered a groan, and expired.</p>

<p>&lsquo;Do you know Thomas Mathews, sir?&rsquo; she asked
me; &lsquo;he lives at Crwys now, but he used to live
here at Caerau.&rsquo; &lsquo;Crwys?&rsquo; I repeated, not at
once comprehending. &lsquo;Oh, you must know Crwys,
sir; it&rsquo;s just the other side of Cardiff, towards Newport.&rsquo;
&lsquo;Can you spell it for me?&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_108_108" id="FNanchor_108_108"></a><a href="#Footnote_108_108" class="fnanchor">[108]</a> The woman
blushed. &lsquo;&rsquo;Deed, sir,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;I ought to be a
scholar, but I&rsquo;ve had so much trouble with my old
man that I&rsquo;ve quite forgot my spellin&rsquo;.&rsquo; However,
the story of Thomas Mathews was to the effect
that he saw a Corpse Candle come out of his father&rsquo;s
mouth and go to his feet, and away a bit, then back
again to the mouth, which it did not exactly enter,
but blended as it were with the sick man&rsquo;s body.
I asked if the candle was tallow at any point
in its excursion, to which I was gravely answered
that it was the spirit of tallow. The man died
not long after, in the presence of my informant,
who described the incident with a dramatic force
and fervour peculiarly Celtic, concluding with the
remark: &lsquo;Well, well, there&rsquo;s only one way to come
into the world, but there&rsquo;s a many ways to go out
of it.&rsquo;</p>

<p>The light issuing from the mouth is a fancy frequently
encountered. In the &lsquo;Liber Landavensis&rsquo;
it is mentioned that one day as St. Samson was
celebrating the holy mysteries, St. Dubricius with
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg242" id="pg242">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>242]</a></span>
two monks saw a stream of fire to proceed glittering
from his mouth.<a name="FNanchor_109_109" id="FNanchor_109_109"></a><a href="#Footnote_109_109" class="fnanchor">[109]</a> In old woodcuts, the souls of the
dying are represented as issuing from the mouth in
the form of small human figures; and the Tyrolese
peasants still fancy the soul is seen coming out of
the mouth of a dying man like a little white cloud.<a name="FNanchor_110_110" id="FNanchor_110_110"></a><a href="#Footnote_110_110" class="fnanchor">[110]</a>
From the mouth of a patient in a London hospital
some time since the nurses observed issuing a pale
bluish flame, and soon after the man died. The
frightened nurses&mdash;not being acquainted with the
corpse-candle theory of such things&mdash;imagined the
torments of hell had already begun in the still
living body. A scientific explanation of the phenomenon
ascribed it to phosphuretted hydrogen, a
result of incipient decomposition.<a name="FNanchor_111_111" id="FNanchor_111_111"></a><a href="#Footnote_111_111" class="fnanchor">[111]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_108_108" id="Footnote_108_108"></a><a href="#FNanchor_108_108"><span class="label">[108]</span></a>
It is pronounced Croo-iss.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_109_109" id="Footnote_109_109"></a><a href="#FNanchor_109_109"><span class="label">[109]</span></a>
&lsquo;Liber Landavensis,&rsquo; 299.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_110_110" id="Footnote_110_110"></a><a href="#FNanchor_110_110"><span class="label">[110]</span></a>
Tylor, &lsquo;Primitive Culture,&rsquo; 391.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_111_111" id="Footnote_111_111"></a><a href="#FNanchor_111_111"><span class="label">[111]</span></a>
&lsquo;Transactions Cardiff Nat. Soc.,&rsquo; iv. 5.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>It is ill jesting with the Corpse Candle. Persons
who have endeavoured to stop it on its way have
come severely to grief thereby. Many have been
struck down where they stood, in punishment of
their audacity, as in the case of William John, a
blacksmith of Lanboydi. He was one night going
home on horseback, when he saw a Corpse Candle,
and his natural caution being at the moment somewhat
overcome by potables, he resolved to go out
of his way to obstruct its passage. As the candle
drew near he saw a corpse upon a bier, the corpse
of a woman he knew, and she held the candle
between her forefingers, and dreadfully grinned at
him. Then he was struck from his horse, and lay
in the road a long time insensible, and was ill for
weeks thereafter. Meantime, the woman whose
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg243" id="pg243">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>243]</a></span>
spectral corpse he had seen, died and was buried,
her funeral passing by that road.</p>

<p>A clergyman&rsquo;s son in Carmarthenshire, (subsequently
himself a preacher,) who in his younger
days was somewhat vicious, came home one night
late from a debauch, and found the doors locked.
Fearing to disturb the folk, and fearing also their
reproaches and chidings for his staying out so late,
(as many a young fellow has felt before and since,)
he went to the man-servant, who slept in an out-room,
as is sometimes the custom in Welsh rural
districts. He could not awake the man-servant,
but while standing over him, he saw a small light
issue from the servant&rsquo;s nostrils, which soon became
a Corpse Candle. He followed it out. It came
to a foot-bridge which crossed a rivulet. Here
the young man became inspired with the idea of
trying an experiment with the Corpse Candle. He
raised the end of the foot-bridge off the bank, and
watched to see what the ghostly light would do.
When it came to the rivulet it seemed to offer to
go over, but hesitated, as if loth to cross except
upon the bridge. So the young man put the bridge
back in its place, and stayed to see how the candle
would act. It came on the bridge, and as it passed
the young man it struck him, as with a handkerchief.
But though the blow was thus light and phantom-like,
it doubled the young man up and left him a
senseless heap on the ground, where he lay till
morning, when he recovered and went home. It
is needless to add that the servant died.</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>Morris Griffith was once schoolmaster in the
parish of Pontfaen, in Pembrokeshire, but subsequently
became a Baptist preacher of the Gospel.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg244" id="pg244">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>244]</a></span>
He tells this story: &lsquo;As I was coming from a place
called Tre-Davydd, and was come to the top of the
hill, I saw a great light down in the valley, which
I wondered at; for I could not imagine what it
meant. But it came to my mind that it was a light
before a burying, though I never could believe
before that there was such a thing. The light
which I saw then was a very red light, and it stood
still for about a quarter of an hour in the way which
went towards Llanferch-Llawddog church. I made
haste to the other side of the hill, that I might see
it farther; and from thence I saw it go along to
the churchyard, where it stood still for a little time
and entered into the church. I remained waiting
to see it come out, and it was not long before it
came out, and went to a certain part of the churchyard,
where it stood a little time, and then vanished
out of my sight. A few days afterwards, being in
school with the children about noon, I heard a great
noise overhead, as if the top of the house was
coming down. I ran out to see the garret, and
there was nothing amiss. A few days afterwards,
Mr. Higgon of Pontfaen&rsquo;s son died. When the
carpenter came to fetch the boards to make the
coffin, (which were in the garret,) he made exactly
such a stir, in handling the boards in the garret, as
was made before by some spirit, who foreknew the
death that was soon to come to pass. In carrying
the body to the grave, the burying stood where the
light had stood for about a quarter of an hour, because
there was some water crossing the way, and
the people could not go over it without wetting their
feet, therefore they were obliged to wait till those
that had boots helped them over. The child was
buried in that very spot of ground in the churchyard,
where I saw the light stop after it came out
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg245" id="pg245">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>245]</a></span>
of the church. This is what I can boldly testify,
having seen and heard what I relate&mdash;a thing which
before I could not believe.&rsquo;</p>

<p>Joshua Coslet, before mentioned in these pages,
suddenly met a Corpse Candle as he was going
through Heol Bwlch y Gwynt, (Windgap Lane) in
Llandilo Fawr parish. It was a small light when
near him, but increased as it went farther from him.
He could easily see that there was some dark
shadow passing along with the candle, and the
shadow of a man carried it, holding it &lsquo;between
his three forefingers over against his face.&rsquo; He
might perhaps have seen more, but he was afraid
to look too earnestly upon it. Not long after, a
burying passed through Heol Bwlch y Gwynt.
Another time he saw the likeness of a candle carried
in a skull. &lsquo;There is nothing unlikely or unreasonable
in either of these representations,&rsquo; says the
Prophet Jones, their historian.</p>

<p>A Carmarthenshire tradition relates that one day,
when the coach which runs between Llandilo and
Carmarthen was passing by Golden Grove, the
property of the Earl of Cawdor, three Corpse
Candles were observed on the surface of the water
gliding down the stream which runs near the road.
All the passengers saw them. A few days after,
some men were about crossing the river near there
in a coracle, when one of them expressed his fear at
venturing, as the river was flooded, and he remained
behind. Thus the fatal number crossed the river&mdash;three&mdash;three
Corpse Candles having foretold their
fate; and all were drowned.</p>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>Tradition ascribes the origin of all these death-portents
to the efforts of St. David. This saint
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg246" id="pg246">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>246]</a></span>
appears to have been a great and good man, and a
zealous Catholic, who, as a contemporary of the
historical Arthur, is far enough back in the dim past
to meet the views of romantic minds. And a
prelate who by his prayers and presence could
enable King Arthur to overthrow the Saxons in
battle, or who by his pious learning could single-handed
put down the Pelagian heresy in the
Cardiganshire synod, was surely strong enough to
invoke the Gwrach y Rhibyn, the Cyhyraeth, the
Corpse Candle, and all the dreadful brood. This
the legend relates he did by a special appeal to
Heaven. Observing that the people in general
were careless of the life to come, and could not be
brought to mind it, and make preparation for it, St.
David prayed that Heaven would give a sign of the
immortality of the soul, and of a life to come, by a
presage of death. Since that day, Wales, and particularly
that part of Wales included in the bishopric
of St. David, has had these phantoms. More materialistic
minds consider these portents to be a remainder
of those practices by which the persecuted
Druids performed their rites and long kept up their
religion in the land which Christianity had claimed:
a similar origin, in fact, is here found for goblin
omens as for fairies.</p>

<p>That these various portents are extensively
believed in at the present day there cannot be a
doubt; with regard to the most important of them, I
am able to testify with the fullest freedom; I have
heard regarding them story after story, from the lips
of narrators whose sincerity was expressed vividly in
face, tones, and behaviour. The excited eye, the
paling cheek, the bated breath, the sinking voice,
the intense and absorbed manner&mdash;familiar phenomena
in every circle where ghost stories are
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg247" id="pg247">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>247]</a></span>
told&mdash;evidenced the perfect sincerity, at least, of the
speakers.</p>

<p>It is unnecessary here to repeat, what I for my
own part never forget, nor, I trust, does the reader,
that Wales is no exception to the rest of the world
in its credulity. That it is more picturesque is true,
and it is also true that there is here an unusual
amount of legend which has not hitherto found its
way into books. Death-omens are common to all
lands; even in America, there are tales of the
banshee, imported from Ireland along with the sons
of that soil. In one recent case which came under
my notice the banshee belonged to a Cambridgeshire
Englishman. This was at Evansville, Indiana, and
the banshee had appeared before the deaths of five
members of a family, the last of whom was the
father. His name was Feast, and the circumstances
attending the banshee&rsquo;s visits were gravely described
in a local journal as a matter of news. Less distinguished
death-portents are common enough in the
United States. That the Cambrian portents are
so picturesque and clearly defined must be considered
strong testimony to the vivid imagination of the
Welsh. Figures born of the fancy, as distinguished
from creatures born of the flesh, prove their parentage
by the vagueness of their outlines. The outlines
of the Cyhyraeth and the Gwrach y Rhibyn sometimes
run into and mingle with each other, and so do
those of the Tolaeth and the Goblin Funeral; but
the wonder is they are such distinct entities as they
are.</p>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>To say that all the visible inhabitants of the
mundane spirit-world are creatures of the disordered
human liver, is perhaps a needless harshness
of statement. The question of a future life
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg248" id="pg248">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>248]</a></span>
is not involved in this subject, nor raised by the
best writers who are studying it; but, religious
belief quite apart, it remains to be proved that
spirits of a supernatural world have any share in
the affairs of a world governed by natural law.
A goblin which manifests itself to the human eye,
it seems to me, becomes natural, by bowing before
the natural laws which rule in optics. Yet believers
in ghosts find no difficulty in this direction;
the word &lsquo;supernatural&rsquo; covers a multitude of sins.
&lsquo;What is the supernatural?&rsquo; asks Disraeli, in
&lsquo;Lothair.&rsquo; &lsquo;Can there be anything more miraculous
than the existence of man and the world?
anything more literally supernatural than the origin
of things?&rsquo;</p>

<p>Surely, in this life, nothing! The student who
endeavours to govern his faith by the methods
of science asks no more of any ghost that ever
walked the earth, than that it will prove itself a
reality. Man loves the marvellous. The marvels
of science, however, do not melt away into thin
air on close examination. They thrive under the
severest tests, and grow more and more extraordinary
the more they are tried. The spectroscope
and the radiometer are more wonderful than
any &lsquo;supernatural&rsquo; thing yet heard of. Transportation
through the air in the arms of a spirit
is a clear impossibility; but it is less wonderful
than the every-day feats of electricity in our time,
the bare conception of which would have filled
Plato and Aristotle with awe.</p>

<p>The actual origin of the phantoms of the spirit-world
is to be found in the lawless and luxuriant
fancy of primeval man. The creatures of this
fancy have been perpetuated throughout all time,
unto our own day, by that passionate yearning in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg249" id="pg249">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>249]</a></span>
men for continued life and love, which is ineradicable
in our nature. Men will not, they can not,
accept the doubt which plunges an eternal future
into eternal darkness, and separates them for ever
from the creatures of their love. Hence, when
the remorseless fact of Death removes those
creatures, they look, with a longing which is indescribably
pathetic, into the Unknown where their
beloved have gone, and strive to see them in their
spirit-life.</p>

<p>On this verge the finite mind must pause; to
question that life is to add a terrible burden to
all human woe; it need not be questioned. But
to question the power of anything in that life to
manifest itself to man through natural law, is to do
what science has a right to do. &lsquo;The living know
that they shall die: but the dead know not any
thing ... neither have they any more a portion
for ever in any thing that is done under the sun.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_112_112" id="FNanchor_112_112"></a><a href="#Footnote_112_112" class="fnanchor">[112]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_112_112" id="Footnote_112_112"></a><a href="#FNanchor_112_112"><span class="label">[112]</span></a>
&lsquo;Eccles.&rsquo; ix., 5, 6.</p>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter imgw2 smlpadb">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg15.jpg" width="200" height="244"
alt="A sprig of lily of the valley" />
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg250" id="pg250">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>250]</a></span></p>

<h2 class="padtop"><a name="book3" id="book3"></a><span class="lrgfont">BOOK III.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smlfont">QUAINT OLD CUSTOMS.</span></h2>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Where in an agede cell with moss and iveye growne,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In which nor to this daye the sunn had ever showne,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their reverend British saint, in zealous ages paste,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To contemplation lived, and did so truly faste,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As he did onlie drink what chrystal [rivers] yields,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And fed upon the leakes he gather&rsquo;d in the fields:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In memory of whom, in the revolving year,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Welchman on that daye that sacred herb doth wear.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<p class="center"><i>MS. in Bodleian Library.</i><br /></p>
</div>



<h3 class="padtop"><a name="bk3chap01" id="bk3chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Serious Significance of seemingly Trivial Customs&mdash;Their Origins&mdash;Common
Superstitions&mdash;The Age we Live in&mdash;Days and Seasons&mdash;New
Year&rsquo;s Day&mdash;The Apple Gift&mdash;Lucky Acts on New Year&rsquo;s
Morning&mdash;The First Foot&mdash;Showmen&rsquo;s Superstitions&mdash;Levy Dew
Song&mdash;Happy New Year Carol&mdash;Twelfth Night&mdash;The Mari Lwyd&mdash;The
Penglog&mdash;The Cutty Wren&mdash;Tooling and Sowling&mdash;St.
Valentine&rsquo;s Day&mdash;St. Dewi&rsquo;s Day&mdash;The Wearing of the Leek&mdash;The
Traditional St. David&mdash;St. Patrick&rsquo;s Day&mdash;St. Patrick a
Welshman&mdash;Shrove Tuesday.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>Numberless customs in Wales which appear to
be meaningless, to people of average culture, are
in truth replete with meaning. However trivial
they may seem, they are very seldom the offspring
of mere fooling. The student of comparative folk-lore
is often able to trace their origin with surprising
distinctness, and to evolve from them a significance
before unsuspected. In many cases these quaint
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg251" id="pg251">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>251]</a></span>
old customs are traced to the primeval mythology.
Others are clearly seen to be of Druidical
origin. Many spring from the rites and observances
of the Roman Catholic Church in the early
days of Christianity on Welsh soil&mdash;where, as is
now generally conceded, the Gospel was first
preached in Great Britain. Some embody historical
traditions; and some are the outgrowth of
peculiar states of society in medieval times.
Directly or indirectly, they are all associated with
superstition, though in many instances they have
quite lost any superstitious character in our
day.</p>

<p>Modern society is agreed, with respect to many
curious old customs, to view them as the peculiar
possession of ignorance. It is very instructive to
note, in this connection, how blandly we accept
some of the most superstitious of these usages,
with tacit approval, and permit them to govern our
conduct. In every civilised community, in every
enlightened land on earth, there are many men and
women to whom this remark applies, who would
deem themselves shamefully insulted should you
doubt their intelligence and culture. Men and
women who &lsquo;smile superior&rsquo; at the idea of Luther
hurling inkstands at the devil, or at the Welsh
peasant who thinks a pig can see the wind, will
themselves avoid beginning a journey on a Friday,
view as ominous a rainy wedding-day, throw an old
slipper after a bride for luck, observe with interest
the portents of their nightly dreams, shun seeing
the new moon over the left shoulder, throw a pinch
of salt over the same member when the salt-cellar
is upset, tie a red string about the neck to cure
nose-bleed, and believe in the antics of the modern
spiritualistic &lsquo;control.&rsquo; Superstition, however, they
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg252" id="pg252">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>252]</a></span>
leave to the ignorant! The examples of every-day
fetichism here cited are familiar to us, not specially
among the Welsh, but among the English also, and
the people of the United States&mdash;who, I may again
observe, are no doubt as a people uncommonly free
from superstition, in comparison with the older
nations of the earth; but modesty is a very becoming
wear for us all, in examining into other
people&rsquo;s superstitions.</p>

<p>Aside from their scientific interest, there is a
charm about many of the quaint customs of the
Welsh, which speaks eloquently to most hearts.
They are the offspring of ignorance, true, but they
touch the &lsquo;good old times&rsquo; of the poet and the
romancer, when the conditions of life were less
harsh than now. So we love to think. As a matter
of scientific truth, this idea is itself, alas! but a
superstition. This world has probably never been
so fair a place to live in, life never so free from
harsh conditions, as now; and as time goes on,
there can be no doubt the improving process will
continue. The true halcyon days of man are to be
looked for in the future&mdash;not in the past; but with
that future we shall have no mortal part.</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>In treating of customs, no other classification is
needful than their arrangement in orderly sequence
in two divisions: first, those which pertain to certain
days and seasons; second, those relating to the
most conspicuous events in common human life,
courtship, marriage, and death.</p>

<p>Beginning with the year: there is in Glamorganshire
a New Year&rsquo;s Day custom of great antiquity
and large present observance, called the apple gift,
or New Year&rsquo;s gift. In every town and village you
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg253" id="pg253">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>253]</a></span>
will encounter children, on and about New Year&rsquo;s
Day, going from door to door of shops and houses,
bearing an apple or an orange curiously tricked out.
Three sticks in the form of a tripod are thrust into
it to serve as a rest; its sides are smeared with
flour or meal, and stuck over with oats or wheat,
or bits of broken lucifer matches to represent oats;
its top is covered with thyme or other sweet evergreen,
and a skewer is inserted in one side as a
handle to hold it by. In its perfection, this piece of
work is elaborate; but it is now often a decrepit
affair, in the larger towns, where the New Year is
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg254" id="pg254">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>254]</a></span>
welcomed (as at Cardiff) by a midnight chorus of
steam-whistles.</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg16.jpg" width="375" height="574"
alt="An apple decorated ready for the New Year" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE NEW YEAR&rsquo;S APPLE.</p>

<p>The Christian symbolism of this custom is supposed
to relate to the offering, by the Wise Men, of
gold, frankincense, and myrrh to the infant Jesus.
The older interpretation, however, takes the custom
back to the Druidic days, and makes it a form of
the solar myth. In the three supporting sticks of
the apple are seen the three rays of the sun, /|\,
the mystic Name of the Creator; the apple is the
round sun itself; the evergreens represent its perennial
life; and the grains of wheat, or oats, Avagddu&rsquo;s
spears. Avagddu is the evil principle of
darkness&mdash;hell, or the devil&mdash;with which the sun
fights throughout the winter for the world&rsquo;s life.</p>

<p>Thousands of children in Wales seek to win from
their elders a New Year&rsquo;s copper by exhibiting the
apple gift, or by singing in chorus their good wishes.
A popular verse on this occasion hopes the hearer
will be blessed with an abundance of money in his
pocket and of beer in his cellar, and draws attention
to the singers&rsquo; thin shoes and the bad character of
the walking. In many cases the juvenile population
parades the street all night, sometimes with noisy
fife bands, which follow the death knell, as it sounds
from the old church tower, with shrill peals of a
merrier if not more musical sort.</p>

<p>In Pembrokeshire, to rise early on New Year&rsquo;s
morning is considered luck-bringing. On that
morning also it is deemed wise to bring a fresh loaf
into the house, with the superstition that the succession
of loaves throughout the year will be influenced
by that incident. A rigid quarantine is also set up,
to see that no female visitor cross the threshold first
on New Year&rsquo;s morning; that a male visitor shall
be the first to do so is a lucky thing, and the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg255" id="pg255">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>255]</a></span>
reverse unlucky. A superstition resembling this
prevails to this day in America among showmen.
&lsquo;There&rsquo;s no showman on the road,&rsquo; said an
American manager of my acquaintance, &lsquo;who would
think of letting a lady be first to pass through the
doors when opening them for a performance.
There&rsquo;s a sort of feeling that it brings ill-luck.
Then there are cross-eyed people; many a veteran
ticket-seller loses all heart when one presents himself
at the ticket-window. A cross-eyed patron and
a bad house generally go together. A cross-eyed
performer would be a regular Jonah. With circuses
there is a superstition that a man with a yellow
clarionet brings bad luck.&rsquo; Another well-known
New York manager in a recent conversation
assured me that to open an umbrella in a new play
is deemed certain failure for the piece. An umbrella
may be carried closed with impunity, but it must
not be opened unless the author desire to court
failure. The Chinese have the Pembrokeshire
superstition exactly, as regards the first foot on
New Year&rsquo;s Day. They consider a woman peculiarly
unlucky as a first foot after the New Year
has begun, but a Buddhist priest is even more
unlucky than a woman, in this light.<a name="FNanchor_113_113" id="FNanchor_113_113"></a><a href="#Footnote_113_113" class="fnanchor">[113]</a></p>

<p>Another Pembrokeshire custom on New Year&rsquo;s
morning is quaint and interesting. As soon as it is
light, children of the peasantry hasten to provide a
small cup of pure spring water, just from the well,
and go about sprinkling the faces of those they
meet, with the aid of a sprig of evergreen. At the
same time they sing the following verses:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Here we bring new water from the well so clear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For to worship God with, this happy new year;<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg256" id="pg256">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>256]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Sing levy dew, sing levy dew, the water and the wine,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With seven bright gold wires, and bugles that do shine;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sing reign of fair maid, with gold upon her toe;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Open you the west door and turn the old year go;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sing reign of fair maid, with gold upon her chin;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Open you the east door and let the new year in!<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>This custom also is still observed extensively.
The words &lsquo;levy dew&rsquo; are deemed an English
version of Llef i Dduw, (a cry to God).</p>

<p>A Welsh song sung on New Year&rsquo;s Day, in
Glamorganshire, by boys in chorus, somewhat after
the Christmas carol fashion, is this:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Blwyddyn newydd dda i chwi,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gwyliau llawen i chwi,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Meistr a meistres bob un trwy&rsquo;r ty,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gwyliau llawen i chwi,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Codwch yn foreu, a rheswch y tan,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A cherddwch i&rsquo;r ffynon i ymofyn dwr glan.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A happy new year to you,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Merry be your holidays,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Master and mistress&mdash;every one in the house;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Arise in the morning; bestir the fire,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And go to the well to fetch fresh water.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_113_113" id="Footnote_113_113"></a><a href="#FNanchor_113_113"><span class="label">[113]</span></a>
Dennys, &lsquo;Folk-Lore of China,&rsquo; 31.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>Among Twelfth Night customs, none is more
celebrated than that called Mary Lwyd. It prevails
in various parts of Wales, notably in lower Glamorganshire.
The skeleton of a horse&rsquo;s head is procured
by the young men or boys of a village, and
adorned with &lsquo;favours&rsquo; of pink, blue, yellow, etc.
These are generally borrowed from the girls, as it
is not considered necessary the silken fillets and
rosettes should be new, and such finery costs money.
The bottoms of two black bottles are inserted in the
sockets of the skeleton head to serve as eyes, and a
substitute for ears is also contrived. On Twelfth
Night they carry this object about from house to
house, with shouts and songs, and a general cultivation
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg257" id="pg257">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>257]</a></span>
of noise and racket. Sometimes a duet is sung
in Welsh, outside a door, the singers begging to be
invited in; if the door be not opened they tap on it,
and there is frequently quite a series of <i>awen</i> sung,
the parties within denying the outsiders admission,
and the outsiders urging the same. At last the door
is opened, when in bounces the merry crowd, among
them the Mary Lwyd, borne by one personating a
horse, who is led by another personating the groom.
The horse chases the girls around the room, capering
and neighing, while the groom cries, &lsquo;So ho, my
boy&mdash;gently, poor fellow!&rsquo; and the girls, of course,
scream with merriment. A dance follows&mdash;a reel,
performed by three young men, tricked out with
ribbons. The company is then regaled with cakes
and ale, and the revellers depart, pausing outside the
door to sing a parting song of thanks and good
wishes to their entertainers.</p>

<p>The penglog (a skull, a noddle) is a similar
custom peculiar to Aberconwy (Conway) in Carnarvonshire.
In this case the horse&rsquo;s skull is an
attention particularly bestowed upon prudes.</p>

<p>Mary Lwyd may mean Pale Mary, or Wan Mary,
or Hoary Mary, but the presumption is that it means
in this case Blessed Mary, and that the custom is of
papal origin. There is, however, a tradition which
links the custom with enchantment, in connection
with a warlike princess, reputed to have flourished in
Gwent and Morganwg in the early ages, and who is
to be seen to this day, mounted on her steed, on a
rock in Rhymney Dingle.<a name="FNanchor_114_114" id="FNanchor_114_114"></a><a href="#Footnote_114_114" class="fnanchor">[114]</a></p>

<p>The cutty wren is a Pembrokeshire Twelfth Night
custom prevailing commonly during the last century,
but now nearly extinct. A wren was placed in a
little house of paper, with glass windows, and this
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg258" id="pg258">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>258]</a></span>
was hoisted on four poles, one at each corner. Four
men bore it about, singing a very long ballad, of
which one stanza will be enough:</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw3">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bgm04.png" width="500" height="422"
alt="Music notation for John the Red Nose" />
</div>

<p class="link">[<a href="music/bgm04harp.mid">Listen.</a>]</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O! where are you go-ing? says Mil-der to Mel-der,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">O! where are you go-ing? says the youn-ger to the el-der; <br /></span>
<span class="i0">O! I can-not tell, says Fes-tel to Fose;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We&rsquo;re go-ing to the woods, said John the Red Nose,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We&rsquo;re go-ing to the woods, said John the Red Nose!<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>The immediate purpose of this rite was to levy
contributions. Another such custom was called
&lsquo;tooling,&rsquo; and its purpose was beer. It consisted in
calling at the farm-houses and pretending to look for
one&rsquo;s tools behind the beer cask. &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve left my saw
behind your beer cask,&rsquo; a carpenter would say; &lsquo;my
whip,&rsquo; a carter; and received the tool by proxy, in the
shape of a cup of ale. The female portion of the
poorer sort, on the other hand, practised what was
called sowling, viz., asking for &lsquo;sowl,&rsquo; and receiving,
accordingly, any food eaten with bread, such as
cheese, fish, or meat. This custom is still maintained,
and &lsquo;sowling day&rsquo; fills many a poor woman&rsquo;s
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg259" id="pg259">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>259]</a></span>
bag. The phrase is supposed to be from the French
<i>so&ucirc;l</i>, signifying one&rsquo;s fill.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_114_114" id="Footnote_114_114"></a><a href="#FNanchor_114_114"><span class="label">[114]</span></a>
Vide W. Roberts&rsquo;s &lsquo;Crefydd yr Oesoedd Tywyll,&rsquo; 1.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>Connected with St. Valentine&rsquo;s Day, there is no
Welsh custom which demands notice here; but
it is perhaps worthy of mention that nowhere in
the world is the day more abundantly productive
of its orthodox crop&mdash;love-letters. The post-offices
in the Principality are simply deluged with these
missives on the eve and morning of St. Valentine&rsquo;s.
In Cardiff the postmaster thinks himself lucky if
he gets off with fifteen thousand letters in excess
of the ordinary mail. Nineteen extra sorters and
carriers were employed for this work on February
14th, 1878, and the regular force also was heavily
worked beyond its usual hours. The custom is
more Norman than Cambrian, I suppose; the word
Valentine comes from the Norman word for a
lover, and the saint is a mere accident in this
connection.</p>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>St. Dewi is to the Welsh what St. George is
to the English, St. Andrew to the Scotch, and
St. Patrick to the Irish. His day is celebrated
on the 1st of March throughout Wales, and indeed
throughout the world where Welshmen are. In
some American ports (perhaps all) the British consulate
displays its flag in honour of the day. In
Wales there are processions, grand dinners; places
of business are closed; the poor are banqueted;
speeches are made and songs are sung. The most
characteristic feature of the day is the wearing of
the leek. This feature is least conspicuous, it may
be noted, in those parts of Wales where the English
residents are fewest, and least of all in the ultra-Welsh
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg260" id="pg260">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>260]</a></span>
shires of Cardigan and Carmarthen, where
St. David is peculiarly honoured. The significance
of this fact no doubt lies in the absence of any
necessity for asserting a Cambrianism which there
are none to dispute. In the border towns, every
Welshman who desires to assert his national right
wears the leek in his hat or elsewhere on his
person; but in the shadow of St. David&rsquo;s College
at Lampeter, not a leek is seen on St. Dewi&rsquo;s Day.
In Glamorganshire may be found the order of
Knights of the Leek, who hold high festival on the
1st of every March, gathering in the Welsh bards
and men of letters.</p>

<p>Why is the leek worn? Practically, because the
wearer is a Welshman who honours tradition. But
the precise origin of the custom is involved in an
obscurity from which emerge several curious and
interesting traditions. The verses cited at the
opening of this Part refer to one of these; they
are quoted by Manby<a name="FNanchor_115_115" id="FNanchor_115_115"></a><a href="#Footnote_115_115" class="fnanchor">[115]</a> without other credit than
&lsquo;a very antient manuscript.&rsquo; Another tradition is
thus given in a pamphlet of 1642:<a name="FNanchor_116_116" id="FNanchor_116_116"></a><a href="#Footnote_116_116" class="fnanchor">[116]</a> &lsquo;S. David
when hee always went into the field in Martiall
exercise he carried a Leek with him, and once
being almost faint to death, he immediately remembred
himself of the Leek, and by that means
not only preserved his life but also became victorious:
hence is the Mythologie of the Leek derived.&rsquo;
The practice is traced by another writer<a name="FNanchor_117_117" id="FNanchor_117_117"></a><a href="#Footnote_117_117" class="fnanchor">[117]</a>
to &lsquo;the custom of Cymhortha, or the neighbourly
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg261" id="pg261">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>261]</a></span>
aid practised among farmers, which is of various
kinds. In some districts of South Wales all the
neighbours of a small farmer without means appoint
a day when they all attend to plough his land, and
the like; and at such a time it is a custom for each
individual to bring his portion of leeks, to be used
in making pottage for the whole company; and
they bring nothing else but the leeks in particular
for the occasion.&rsquo; Some find the true origin of the
custom in Druidical days, but their warrant is not
clear, nor how it came to be associated with the
1st of March in that case. The military origin
bears down the scale of testimony, and gives the
leek the glory of a Cambrian victory as its consecrator
to ornamental purposes. Whether this
victory was over the Saxon or the Gaul does not
exactly appear; some traditions say one, some the
other. The battle of Poictiers has been named;
also that of Cressy, where the Welsh archers did
good service with the English against a common
enemy; but an older tradition is to the effect that
the Saxon was the foe. The invaders had assumed
the dress of the Britons, that they might steal upon
them unsuspected; but St. David ordered the
Welshmen to stick leeks in their caps as a badge
of distinction. This he did merely because there
was a large field of leeks growing near the British
camp. The precaution gave the day to the favoured
of St. Dewi.</p>

<p>It cannot be denied that there have been found
Englishmen rude enough to ridicule this honourable
and ancient custom of the Welsh, though why they
should do so there is no good reason. The leek
is not fragrant, perhaps; but if an old custom must
smell sweet or be laughed at, there is work enough
for our risibles in every English parish. The
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg262" id="pg262">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>262]</a></span>
following is one of the foolish legends of the English
respecting the leek: &lsquo;The Welsh in olden days
were so infested by ourang outangs that they
could obtain no peace day or night, and not being
themselves able to extirpate them they invited
the English to assist, who came; but through
mistake killed several of the Welsh, so that in
order to distinguish them from the monkeys they
desired them to stick a leek in their hats.&rsquo; The
author of this ridiculous tale deserves the fate of
Pistol, whom Fluellen compelled to eat his leek,
skin and all.</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p><i>Flu.</i> I peseech you heartily, scurvy lowsy knave, at my desires,
and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek; because,
look you, you do not love it, nor your affections, and your appetites,
and your digestions, does not agree with it, I would desire you to
eat it.</p>

<p><i>Pist.</i> Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats.</p>

<p><i>Flu.</i> There is one goat for you. [<i>Strikes him.</i>] Will you be so
good, scald knave, as eat it?</p>

<p><i>Pist.</i> Base Trojan, thou shalt die.</p>

<p><i>Flu.</i> You say very true, scald knave, when Got&rsquo;s will is: I will
desire you to live in the meantime, and eat your victuals.... If you
can mock a leek you can eat a leek....</p>

<p><i>Pist.</i> Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see, I eat.</p>

<p><i>Flu.</i> Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, &rsquo;pray you,
throw none away; the skin is goot for your proken coxcomb. When
you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at them!
that is all.<a name="FNanchor_118_118" id="FNanchor_118_118"></a><a href="#Footnote_118_118" class="fnanchor">[118]</a></p>
</div>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_115_115" id="Footnote_115_115"></a><a href="#FNanchor_115_115"><span class="label">[115]</span></a>
&lsquo;Hist. and Ant. of the Parish of St. David,&rsquo; 54.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_116_116" id="Footnote_116_116"></a><a href="#FNanchor_116_116"><span class="label">[116]</span></a>
&lsquo;The Welchmen&rsquo;s Ivbilee to the honour of St. David, shewing the
manner of that solemn celebration which the Welchmen annually hold
in honour of St. David, describing likewise the trve and reall cause
why they wear that day a <em>Leek</em> on their Hats, with an excellent merry
Sonnet annexed unto it, composed by T. Morgan Gent. London.
Printed for I. Harrison.&rsquo;</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_117_117" id="Footnote_117_117"></a><a href="#FNanchor_117_117"><span class="label">[117]</span></a>
Owen, &lsquo;Camb. Biog.&rsquo; 86.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_118_118" id="Footnote_118_118"></a><a href="#FNanchor_118_118"><span class="label">[118]</span></a>
Shaks., &lsquo;K. Henry V.,&rsquo; Act V., Sc. 1.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>The traditional St. David is a brilliant figure in
Welsh story; with the historical character this work
has not to deal. The legendary account of him
represents a man of gigantic stature and fabulous
beauty, whose age at his death was 147 years. He
was a direct descendant of the sister of the Virgin
Mary, and his first miracles were performed while
he was yet unborn. In this condition he regulated
the diet of his virgin mother, and struck dumb a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg263" id="pg263">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>263]</a></span>
preacher who presumed to preach in her presence.
At the hour of his birth St. Dewi performed a
miracle; another when he was baptized; and he
was taught his lessons (at a place called The Old
Bush, in South Wales) by a pigeon with a golden
beak, which played about his lips. As he grew up,
his miraculous powers waxed stronger; and magicians
who opposed him were destroyed by fire which
he called from heaven to consume them. Thirsty,
a fountain rose in Glyn Hodnant at his call, and
from this fountain ran not water but good wine.
When he went about the country he was always
accompanied by an angel. On the banks of the
river Teify, a miserable woman wept over her son
who lay dead; she appealed to Dewi, who laid hold
of the boy&rsquo;s right hand and he arose from the dead
as if from a sleep. At Llandewi Brefi, in Cardiganshire,
as he was preaching on the surface of the flat
ground, the ground rose as a high mount under his
feet, so that the people all about could see him as
well as hear him. A labourer lifted his pickaxe to
strike a friend of Dewi&rsquo;s, which the saint seeing
from afar off, raised his hand and willed that the
labourer&rsquo;s hand should become stiff&mdash;which it did.
Another friend, going away to Ireland, forgot and
left behind him a little bell that Dewi had given
him; but Dewi sent the bell across the sea by an
angel, so that it arrived there next day without the
aid of human hands. And finally, having made up
his mind that he would die and go to heaven, he did
so&mdash;but quite of his own will&mdash;at his own request, so
to speak. Having asked that his soul might be
taken, an angel informed him it would be taken on
the first of March proximo. So David bade his
friends good-bye on the 28th of February, greatly
to their distress. &lsquo;Alas!&rsquo; they cried, &lsquo;the earth
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg264" id="pg264">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>264]</a></span>
will not swallow us! Alas! fire will not consume
us! Alas! the sea will not come over the land!
Alas! the mountains will not fall to cover us!&rsquo; On
Tuesday night, as the cocks were crowing, a host
of angels thronged the streets of the city, and filled
it with joy and mirth; and Dewi died. &lsquo;The angels
took his soul to the place where there is light
without end, and rest without labour, and joy without
sorrow, and plenty of all good things, and victory,
and brightness, and beauty.&rsquo; There Abel is with
the martyrs, Noah is with the sailors, Thomas is
with the Indians, Peter is with the apostles, Paul is
with the Greeks, other saints are with other suitable
persons, and David is with the kings.<a name="FNanchor_119_119" id="FNanchor_119_119"></a><a href="#Footnote_119_119" class="fnanchor">[119]</a></p>

<p>On the summit which rose under St. Dewi while
he stood on it and preached, now stands St. David&rsquo;s
church, at Llandewi Brefi. In the days of its glory&mdash;i.e.
during nearly the whole period of Roman
Catholic rule&mdash;it was renowned beyond all others in
Britain. To go twice to St. David&rsquo;s was deemed
equal to going once to Rome, and a superstitious
belief prevailed that every man must go to St.
David&rsquo;s once, either alive or dead. William the
Conqueror marched through Wales in hostile array
in 1080, but arriving at St. David&rsquo;s shrine laid aside
the warrior for the votary.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_119_119" id="Footnote_119_119"></a><a href="#FNanchor_119_119"><span class="label">[119]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cambro-British Saints,&rsquo; 402, etc.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>St. Patrick&rsquo;s Day is celebrated in Wales with
much enthusiasm. The Welsh believe that St.
Patrick was a Welshman. Born at Llandeilo Talybont,
in Glamorganshire, and educated at the famous
college of Llantwit Major, he held St. David&rsquo;s place
till the coming of Dewi was announced to him;
then he went into Ireland, to do missionary work,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg265" id="pg265">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>265]</a></span>
as it were. This is the monastic tale. Patrick was
comfortably settled in the valley of Rosina, and
intended to pass his life there, but an angel came to
him and said, &lsquo;Thou must leave this place to one
who is not yet born.&rsquo; Patrick was annoyed, even
angered, but obedient, and went off to Ireland,
where he became a great man.<a name="FNanchor_120_120" id="FNanchor_120_120"></a><a href="#Footnote_120_120" class="fnanchor">[120]</a> The story of the
Iolo MSS., however, presents the matter in a different
light: &lsquo;About <small>A.D.</small> 420 the Island of Britain
seemed to have neither ruler nor proprietor.&rsquo; The
Irish took advantage of this state of things to invade
and oppress Britain, robbing her of corn, cattle, &lsquo;and
every other moveable property that they could lay
their hands on.&rsquo; Among other things, they stole
away St. Patrick from the college at Llantwit Major,
&lsquo;whence that college became destitute of a principal
and teacher for more than forty years, and fell into
dilapidation&rsquo;&mdash;a condition it remains in at present,
by the way. &lsquo;Patrick never returned to Wales,
choosing rather to reside in Ireland; having ascertained
that the Irish were better people than the
Welsh, in those times.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_121_121" id="FNanchor_121_121"></a><a href="#Footnote_121_121" class="fnanchor">[121]</a> Still, it is not the native
Welsh who are as a rule the celebrators of St.
Patrick&rsquo;s Day in Wales.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_120_120" id="Footnote_120_120"></a><a href="#FNanchor_120_120"><span class="label">[120]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cambro-British Saints,&rsquo; 403.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_121_121" id="Footnote_121_121"></a><a href="#FNanchor_121_121"><span class="label">[121]</span></a>
Iolo MSS., 455.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>Shrove Tuesday was once characterised by a custom
called throwing at cocks, now obsolete. Hens
which had laid no eggs before that day were threshed
with a flail, as being good for nothing. The person
who hit the hen with the flail and killed her got her
for his reward.</p>

<p>The more reputable custom of cramming with
crammwythau (pancakes) still survives, and is undoubtedly
of extreme antiquity.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg266" id="pg266">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>266]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk3chap02" id="bk3chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Sundry Lenten Customs&mdash;Mothering Sunday&mdash;Palm Sunday&mdash;Flowering
Sunday&mdash;Walking Barefoot to Church&mdash;Spiritual Potency of
Buns&mdash;Good Friday Superstitions&mdash;Making Christ&rsquo;s Bed&mdash;Bad
Odour of Friday&mdash;Unlucky Days&mdash;Holy Thursday&mdash;The Eagle of
Snowdon&mdash;New Clothing at Easter&mdash;Lifting&mdash;The Crown of Porcelain&mdash;Stocsio&mdash;Ball-Playing
in Churchyards&mdash;The Tump of Lies&mdash;Dancing
in Churchyards&mdash;Seeing the Sun Dance&mdash;Calan Ebrill,
or All Fools&rsquo; Day&mdash;May Day&mdash;The Welsh Maypole&mdash;The Daughter
of Lludd Llaw Ereint&mdash;Carrying the Kings of Summer and Winter.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>Wearing mourning throughout Lent was formerly
common in Wales. In Monmouthshire, Mothering
Sunday&mdash;the visiting of parents on Mid-Lent Sunday&mdash;was
observed in the last century, but is nowhere
popular in Wales at present. Palm Sunday takes
precedence among the Welsh, and is very extensively
and enthusiastically observed. The day is
called Flowering Sunday, and its peculiar feature
is strewing the graves of the dead with flowers.
The custom reaches all classes, and all parts of the
Principality. In the large towns, as Cardiff, many
thousands of people gather at the graves. The
custom is associated with the strewing of palms
before Christ on his entry into Jerusalem, but was
observed by the British Druids in celebration of the
awakening life of the earth at this season.</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>In Pembrokeshire, it was customary up to the
close of the last century, to walk barefoot to church
on Good Friday, as had been done since times
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg267" id="pg267">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>267]</a></span>
prior to the Reformation. The old people and the
young joined in this custom, which they said was
done so as not to &lsquo;disturb the earth.&rsquo; All business
was suspended, and no horse nor cart was to be seen
in the town.</p>

<p>Hot-cross buns also figured in a peculiar manner
at this time. They were eaten in Tenby after the
return from church. After having tied up a certain
number in a bag, the folk hung them in the kitchen,
where they remained till the next Good Friday, for
use as medicine. It was believed that persons
labouring under any disease had only to eat a
portion of a bun to be cured. The buns so preserved
were used also as a panacea for all the
diseases of domestic animals. They were further
believed to be serviceable in frightening away
goblins of an evil sort.</p>

<p>That these buns are of Christian invention is the
popular belief, and indeed this notion is not altogether
exploded among the more intelligent classes.
Their connection with the cross of the Saviour is
possible by adoption&mdash;as the early Christians
adopted many pagan rites and customs&mdash;but that
they date back to pre-historic times there is
abundant testimony.</p>

<p>Innumerable are the superstitious customs and
beliefs associated with Good Friday. In Pembrokeshire
there was a custom called &lsquo;making Christ&rsquo;s
bed.&rsquo; A quantity of long reeds were gathered
from the river and woven into the shape of a man.
This effigy was then stretched on a wooden cross,
and laid in some retired field or garden, and left
there.</p>

<p>The birth of a child on that day is very unlucky&mdash;indeed
a birth on any Friday of the whole year is to
be deprecated as a most unfortunate circumstance.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg268" id="pg268">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>268]</a></span></p>

<h4>III.</h4>

<p>The bad odour in which Friday is everywhere
held is naturally associated, among Christians, with
the crucifixion; but this will not account for the
existence of a like superstition regarding Friday
among the Brahmins of India, nor for the prevalence
of other lucky and unlucky days among both
Aryan and Mongolian peoples. In the Middle Ages
Monday and Tuesday were unlucky days. A
Welshman who lived some time in Russia, tells
me Monday is deemed a very unlucky day there,
on which no business must be begun. In some
English districts Thursday is the unlucky day. In
Norway it is lucky, especially for marrying. In
South Wales, Friday is the fairies&rsquo; day, when they
have special command over the weather; and it is
their whim to make the weather on Friday differ
from that of the other days of the week. &lsquo;When
the rest of the week is fair, Friday is apt to be
rainy, or cloudy; and when the weather is foul,
Friday is apt to be more fair.&rsquo;</p>

<p>The superstitious prejudice of the quarrymen in
North Wales regarding Holy Thursday has been
cited. It is not a reverential feeling, but a purely
superstitious one, and has pervaded the district from
ancient times. It has been supposed that Thursday
was a sacred day among the Druids. There is a
vulgar tradition (mentioned by Giraldus), that
Snowdon mountains are frequented by an eagle,
which perches on a fatal stone on every Thursday
and whets her beak upon it, expecting a battle to
occur, upon which she may satiate her hunger with
the carcases of the slain; but the battle is ever
deferred, and the stone has become almost perforated
with the eagle&rsquo;s sharpening her beak upon
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg269" id="pg269">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>269]</a></span>
it. There may perhaps be a connection traced
between these superstitions and the lightning-god
Thor, whose day Thursday was.</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>Easter is marked by some striking customs. It
is deemed essential for one&rsquo;s well-being that some
new article of dress shall be donned at this time,
though it be nothing more than a new ribbon. This
is also a Hampshire superstition. A servant of
mine, born in Hampshire, used always to say, &lsquo;If
you don&rsquo;t have on something new Easter Sunday
the dogs will spit at you.&rsquo; This custom is
associated with Easter baptism, when a new life was
assumed by the baptized, clothed in righteousness
as a garment. A ceremony called &lsquo;lifting&rsquo; is
peculiar to North Wales on Easter Monday and
Tuesday. On the Monday bands of men go about
with a chair, and meeting a woman in the street
compel her to sit, and be lifted three times in the
air amidst their cheers: she is then invited to bestow
a small compliment on her entertainers. This performance
is kept up till twelve o&rsquo;clock, when it
ceases. On Easter Tuesday the women take their
turn, and go about in like manner lifting the men.
It has been conjectured that in this custom an
allusion to the resurrection is intended.</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg17.jpg" width="375" height="500"
alt="A group of women lift a man into the air" />
</div>

<p class="caption">LIFTING. (<i>From an old drawing.</i>)</p>

<p>A custom, the name of which is now lost, was
that the village belle should on Easter Eve and
Easter Tuesday carry on her head a piece of
chinaware of curious shape, made expressly for this
purpose, and useless for any other. It may be
described as a circular crown of porcelain, the
points whereof were cups and candles. The cups
were solid details of the crown: the candles were
stuck with clay upon the spaces between the cups.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg270" id="pg270">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>270]</a></span>
The cups were filled with a native beverage called
bragawd, and the candles were lighted. To drink
the liquor without burning yourself or the damsel
at the candle was the difficulty involved in this
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg271" id="pg271">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>271]</a></span>
performance. A stanza was sung by the young
woman&rsquo;s companions, the last line of which was,</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Rhag i&rsquo;r feinwen losgi ei thalcen.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">(Lest the maiden burn her forehead.<a name="FNanchor_122_122" id="FNanchor_122_122"></a><a href="#Footnote_122_122" class="fnanchor">[122]</a>)<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>Stocsio is an Easter Monday custom observed
from time immemorial in the town of Aberconwy,
and still practised there in 1835. On Easter
Sunday crowds of men and boys carrying wands
of gorse went to Pen Twthil, and there proclaimed
the laws and regulations of the following day.
They were to this effect: all men under sixty to
be up and out before 6 <small>A.M.</small>; all under forty, before
4 <small>A.M.</small>; all under twenty, to stay up all night.
Penalty for disobedience: the stocks. The crier
who delivered this proclamation was the man last
married in the town previous to Easter Sunday.
Other like rules were proclaimed, amid loud cheers.
Early next morning a party, headed by a fife and
drum, patrolled the town with a cart, in search of
delinquents. When one was discovered, he was
hauled from his bed and made to dress himself;
then put in the cart and dragged to the stocks.
His feet being secured therein, he was duly lectured
on the sin of laziness, and of breaking an ancient
law of the town by lying abed in violation thereof.
His right hand was then taken, and he was asked a
lot of absurd questions, such as &lsquo;Which do you like
best, the mistress or the maid?&rsquo; &lsquo;Which do you
prefer, ale or buttermilk?&rsquo; &lsquo;If the gate of a field
were open, would you go through it, or over the
stile?&rsquo; and the like. His answers being received
with derision, his hand was smeared with mud,
and he was then released amid cheers. &lsquo;This
sport, which would be impracticable in a larger and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg272" id="pg272">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>272]</a></span>
less intimate community, is continued with the
greatest good humour until eight; when the rest
of the day is spent in playing ball at the Castle.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_123_123" id="FNanchor_123_123"></a><a href="#Footnote_123_123" class="fnanchor">[123]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_122_122" id="Footnote_122_122"></a><a href="#FNanchor_122_122"><span class="label">[122]</span></a>
&lsquo;Arch. Camb.&rsquo; 4 Se., iii., 334.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_123_123" id="Footnote_123_123"></a><a href="#FNanchor_123_123"><span class="label">[123]</span></a>
&lsquo;Hist. and Ant. of Aberconwy,&rsquo; 108.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>Ball-playing against the walls of the church
between hours of service was a fashion of Easter
which is within recollection. It was also common
on the Sabbath day itself in many parishes, in the
days when dissent was unknown and parishioners
had long distances to traverse on a Sunday;
&lsquo;and that, too, with the sanction of the clergyman,
and even his personal superintendence. Old people
can remember such a state of things, when the
clergyman gave notice that the game must cease
by putting the ball into his pocket and marched his
young friends into church.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_124_124" id="FNanchor_124_124"></a><a href="#Footnote_124_124" class="fnanchor">[124]</a> Nowhere less than in a
custom like this would the ordinary observer look
for traditionary significance; yet there is no doubt
our Easter eggs are but another surviving form of
the same ancient rite. Before the Reformation
there was a Church of England custom of playing
ball <em>in</em> church at Easter, according to Dr. Fosbrooke,
the dean and clergy participating.</p>

<p>There were other sports and pastimes common
alike to Easter and to the Sabbath day, which are
full of curious interest. Some of them no doubt
arose out of the social exigencies of sparsely settled
neighbourhoods, which caused people to remain at
the church between services, instead of returning to
distant homes; but a Druidic origin seems necessary
to account for others. That the people should
between services gather near the church to talk
over the gossip of the day, is natural enough, and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg273" id="pg273">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>273]</a></span>
is a phenomenon which may still be witnessed in
remote parts of the United States. In St. Dogmell&rsquo;s
parish, Pembrokeshire, there is a tump which
bears the name of &lsquo;Cnwc y Celwydd,&rsquo; videlicet, the
Tump of Lies. Here were men and women
formerly in the habit of gathering together on the
Lord&rsquo;s day in great crowds, and entertaining each
other with the inventing and telling of the most
lying and wonderful yarns they could conjure up
with the aid of an imagination spurred to exercise
by rivalry and applause. The custom is discontinued;
but there is still hardly a neighbourhood in
Wales so rich in tales of fairies and other goblins.</p>

<p>The custom of dancing in churchyards was
common in many parts of the Principality in the
early part of this century. At Aberedwy, Malkin
saw a large yew tree in the churchyard under which
as many as sixty couples had been seen dancing at
once.<a name="FNanchor_125_125" id="FNanchor_125_125"></a><a href="#Footnote_125_125" class="fnanchor">[125]</a> The dancing was not in that part of the
yard consecrated to the dead, but on the north side
of the church, where it was not the custom to bury.
A tradition is preserved by Giraldus of a solemn
festival dance which took place in the churchyard at
St. Almedha&rsquo;s church, Breconshire, on that saint&rsquo;s
day. The dance was &lsquo;led round the churchyard
with a song,&rsquo; and succeeded by the dancers falling
down in a trance, followed by a sort of religious
frenzy. This is believed to have been a Druidical
rite, described on hearsay by Giraldus, and embellished
by him with those pious inventions not
uncommon in his day.</p>

<p>One of the customs of Easter, at a comparatively
recent period in Wales, was getting the children up
early in the morning to see the sun dance. This
exercise the sun was said to perform at rising on
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg274" id="pg274">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>274]</a></span>
Easter Day, in honour of the rising of our Lord.
The sun was sometimes aided in this performance
by a bowl of clear water, into which the youth must
look to see the orb dance, as it would be dangerous
to look directly on the sun while thus engaged.
The religious dance of the ancient Druids is
believed to exist in modern times in a round dance
wherein the figures imitate the motions of the sun
and moon. The ball-playing in church mentioned
above was also accompanied by dancing.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_124_124" id="Footnote_124_124"></a><a href="#FNanchor_124_124"><span class="label">[124]</span></a>
&lsquo;Arch. Camb.&rsquo; 4 Se., iii., 333.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_125_125" id="Footnote_125_125"></a><a href="#FNanchor_125_125"><span class="label">[125]</span></a>
Malkin&rsquo;s &lsquo;South Wales,&rsquo; 281.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>The first of April is in Welsh called Calan Ebrill,
and an April Fool a Ffwl Ebrill; the similarity of
English and Welsh words may be said to typify the
similarity of observance. The universality of this
observance among Aryan peoples would certainly
indicate an origin in a time preceding the dispersion
of the human family over the world. The Druids,
tradition says, celebrated the revival of Nature&rsquo;s
powers in a festival which culminated on the first
of April in the most hilarious foolery. The Roman
Saturnalia or feast of fools perpetuated the rite,
though the purpose of the Christian revelry may
quite possibly have been to ridicule the Druidic
ceremonies.</p>

<p>The festivities of May-day are in like manner
associated with the powers of Nature, whose vigour
and productiveness were symbolized by the Maypole
round which village lads and lasses danced. The
rites of love were variously celebrated at this time,
and some of these customs locally have long survived
the Maypole itself. The ordinance for the
destruction of Maypoles in England and Wales,
printed in 1644, declared them &lsquo;a heathenish vanity,
generally abused to superstition and wickedness,&rsquo;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg275" id="pg275">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>275]</a></span>
wherefore it was ordained that they should be
destroyed, and that no Maypole should thereafter
be &lsquo;set up, erected, or suffered to be within this
kingdom of England or dominion of Wales.&rsquo;</p>

<p>The Maypole in Wales was called Bedwen, because
it was always made of birch, bedw, a tree still
associated with the gentler emotions. To give a
lover a birchen branch, is for a maiden to accept
his addresses; to give him a collen, or hazel, the
reverse. Games of various sorts were played around
the bedwen. The fame of a village depended on
its not being stolen away, and parties were constantly
on the alert to steal the bedwen, a feat which,
when accomplished, was celebrated with peculiar
festivities. This rivalry for the possession of the
Maypole was probably typical of the ancient idea
that the first of May was the boundary day dividing
the confines of winter and summer, when a
fight took place between the powers of the air,
on the one hand striving to continue the reign of
winter, on the other to establish that of summer.
Here may be cited the Mabinogi of Kilhwch and
Olwen, where it speaks of the daughter of Lludd
Llaw Ereint. &lsquo;She was the most splendid maiden
in the three Islands of the Mighty, and in the three
Islands adjacent,&rsquo; and for her does Gwyn ap Nudd,
the fairy king, fight every first of May till the
day of doom.<a name="FNanchor_126_126" id="FNanchor_126_126"></a><a href="#Footnote_126_126" class="fnanchor">[126]</a> She was to have been the bride of
Gwythyr, the son of Greidawl, when Gwyn ap Nudd
carried her off by force. The bereaved bridegroom
followed, and there was a bloody struggle, in which
Gwyn was victorious, and which he signalized by
an act of frightful cruelty; he slew an old warrior,
took out his heart from his breast, and constrained
the warrior&rsquo;s son to eat the heart of his father.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg276" id="pg276">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>276]</a></span>
When Arthur heard of this he summoned Gwyn ap
Nudd before him, and deprived him of the fruits
of his victory. But he condemned the two combatants
to fight for the radiant maiden henceforth
for ever on every first of May till doomsday; the
victor on that day to possess the maiden.<a name="FNanchor_127_127" id="FNanchor_127_127"></a><a href="#Footnote_127_127" class="fnanchor">[127]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_126_126" id="Footnote_126_126"></a><a href="#FNanchor_126_126"><span class="label">[126]</span></a>
&lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; 229.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_127_127" id="Footnote_127_127"></a><a href="#FNanchor_127_127"><span class="label">[127]</span></a>
&lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; 251.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>In the remote and primitive parish of Defynog,
in Breconshire, until a few years since, a custom
survived of carrying the King of Summer and the
King of Winter. Two boys were chosen to serve
as the two kings, and were covered all over with a
dress of brigau bedw, (birchen boughs,) only their
faces remaining visible. A coin was tossed and the
boy chosen was the summer king; a crown of bright-hued
ribbons was put upon his head. Upon the other
boy&rsquo;s head was placed a crown of holly, to designate
the winter king. Then a procession was formed,
headed by two men with drawn swords to clear the
way. Four men supported the summer king upon
two poles, one under his knees and the other under
his arms; and four others bore the winter king in a
similar undignified posture. The procession passed
round the village and to the farm-houses near by,
collecting largess of coin or beer, winding up the
perambulation at the churchyard. Here the boys
were set free, and received a dole for their services,
the winter king getting less than the other.</p>

<p>Another May-day custom among the boys of
that parish, was to carry about a rod, from which
the bark had been partly peeled in a spiral form,
and upon the top of which was set either a cock or
a cross, the bearers waking the echoes of the village
with &lsquo;Yo ho! yo ho! yo ho!&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_128_128" id="FNanchor_128_128"></a><a href="#Footnote_128_128" class="fnanchor">[128]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_128_128" id="Footnote_128_128"></a><a href="#FNanchor_128_128"><span class="label">[128]</span></a>
&lsquo;Arch. Camb.,&rsquo; 2 Se., iv., 326.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg277" id="pg277">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>277]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk3chap03" id="bk3chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Midsummer Eve&mdash;The Druidic Ceremonies at Pontypridd&mdash;The Snake
Stone&mdash;Beltane Fires&mdash;Fourth of July Fires in America&mdash;St. Ulric&rsquo;s
Day&mdash;Carrying Cynog&mdash;Marketing on Tombstones&mdash;The First
Night of Winter&mdash;The Three Nights for Spirits&mdash;The Tale of
Thomas Williams the Preacher&mdash;All Hallows Eve Festivities&mdash;Running
through Fire&mdash;Quaint Border Rhymes&mdash;The Puzzling Jug&mdash;Bobbing
for Apples&mdash;The Fiery Features of Guy Fawkes&rsquo; Day&mdash;St.
Clement&rsquo;s Day&mdash;Stripping the Carpenter.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>Midsummer Eve, or St. John&rsquo;s Eve (June 23rd), is
one of the ancient Druidic festivals, still liberally
honoured in Wales. The custom of lighting bonfires
survives in some of the villages, and at Pontypridd
there are ceremonies of a solemn sort. Midsummer
Eve, in 1878, fell on a Sunday. Upon that day the
&lsquo;Druids and bards&rsquo; at Pontypridd held the usual
feast of the summer solstice in the face of the sun.
There is a breezy common on the top of a high hill
overlooking the town, where stand a logan stone
and a circle of upright stones constituting the
&lsquo;temple of the Druids.&rsquo; Here it is the custom of
the present-day adherents of that ancient religion,
beside which Christianity is an infant, to celebrate
their rites &lsquo;within the folds of the serpent,&rsquo; a circle
marked with the signs of the zodiac. The venerable
archdruid, Myfyr Morganwg, stands on the logan
stone, with a mistletoe sprig in his button-hole, and
prays to the god Kali, &lsquo;creator of sun, moon, stars,
and universe.&rsquo; Then the white-bearded old man
delivers a discourse, and new members are initiated
into the &lsquo;mysteries,&rsquo; Occasionally these new
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg278" id="pg278">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>278]</a></span>
members are Americans from over the sea, and they
include both sexes. Large crowds gather to witness
the impressive spectacle&mdash;a shadow of the ancient
rites when from Belenian heights flamed high the
sacrificial fires. It was a former belief that these
fires protected the lands within their light from the
machinations of sorcery, so that good crops would
follow, and that their ashes were valuable as a
medicinal charm.</p>

<p>The Snake-stone is another striking Welsh tradition,
associated with Midsummer eve. At this time
of the year there are certain convocations of snakes,
which, hissing sociably together among one another,
hiss forth a mystic bubble, which hardens into the
semblance of a glass ring. The finder of this ring
is a lucky man, for all his undertakings will prosper
while he retains it. These rings are called Gleiniau
Nadroedd in Welsh&mdash;snake-stones in English. They
are supposed to have been used by the ancient
Druids as charms. There is a Welsh saying,
respecting people who lay their heads together in
conversation, that the talkers are &lsquo;blowing the gem.&rsquo;</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>The traditions connected with the Beltane fires
are very interesting, but the subject has received so
much attention in published volumes that it need
not here be dwelt upon. The lad who in the United
States capers around a bonfire on the night of Independence
Day has not a suspicion that he is imitating
the rites of an antiquity the most remote;
that in burning a heap of barrels and boxes in a
public square the celebrators of the American Fourth
of July imitate the priests who thus worshipped the
sun-god Beal. The origins of our most familiar
customs are constantly being discovered in such
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg279" id="pg279">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>279]</a></span>
directions as this. On the face of the thing, nothing
could be more absurd as a mode of jollification, in a
little American town, with its wooden architecture,
on a hot night in the midst of summer, than building
a roaring fire to make the air still hotter and endanger
the surrounding houses. The reason for the
existence of such a custom must be sought in another
land and another time; had reflection governed the
matter, instead of tradition, the American anniversary
would have found some more fitting means of
celebration than Druidic fires and Chinese charms.
(For it may be mentioned further, in this connection,
that the fire-crackers of our urchins are quite as
superstitious in their original purpose as the bonfire
is. In China, even to this day, fire-crackers are
charms pure and simple, their office to drive away
evil spirits, their use as a means of jollification quite
unknown to their inventors.) A far more sensible
Midsummer rite, especially in a hot country, would
have been to adopt the custom of St. Ulric&rsquo;s day,
and eat fish. This saint&rsquo;s day falls on the fourth of
July, and Barnabe Googe&rsquo;s translation of Naogeorgius
has this couplet concerning it:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Wheresoeuer Huldryche hath his place, the people there brings in<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Both carpes and pykes, and mullets fat, his fauour here to win.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>The Welsh saint called Cynog was one of the
numberless children of that famous old patriarch
Brychan Brycheiniog, and had his memory honoured,
until a comparatively recent period, in the parish
of Defynog. Here, on this saint&rsquo;s feast Monday,
which fell in October, there was a custom called
&lsquo;carrying Cynog.&rsquo; Cynog was represented by a
man who was paid for his services with money, or
with a suit of clothes&mdash;sometimes a &lsquo;stranger&rsquo; from
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg280" id="pg280">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>280]</a></span>
an adjoining parish, but on the last recorded
occasion a drunken farmer of the neighbourhood.
He was clad in dilapidated garments, and borne
through the village; after which he was tumbled
headlong into the river amid the jeers of the crowd,
to scramble out as best he might. It was not a
very respectful way of commemorating a saint who
had been buried a thousand years or thereabouts;
but such as it was it died out early in the present
century. The ducking which ended the performance
has been supposed to be a puritan improvement
on what was before a religious ceremony, or
mystery. It is more than possibly a relic of the
Druidic sacrificial rites; in cases where a river ran
near, at the time of the Beltane fires, a sacrifice by
water was substituted for that of flame.</p>

<p>The feast of St. Cynog continued for a week.
On the Tuesday there was a singular marketing in
the churchyard; from all about the farmers brought
their tithe of cheese, and taking it to the churchyard,
laid it on the tombstones, where it was sold
for the parson&rsquo;s behoof.</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>All Hallows eve is by the Welsh called &lsquo;Nos Calan
Gauaf,&rsquo; meaning &lsquo;the first night of winter;&rsquo; sometimes,
&lsquo;Nos Cyn Gauaf,&rsquo; the &lsquo;night before winter.&rsquo;
It is one of the &lsquo;Teir Nos Ysprydnos,&rsquo; or &lsquo;three
nights for spirits,&rsquo; upon which ghosts walk, fairies
are abroad, mysterious influences are in the air,
strange sights are seen, and in short goblins of
every sort are to be with special freedom encountered.
They may be conjured to appear, by certain
enchantments, and to give their visitors glimpses
of the future, especially as regards the subject of
marrying. On this night it is customary for the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg281" id="pg281">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>281]</a></span>
young people, gathered in many a merry circle, to
seek by tricks and charms of various sort to become
acquainted with their future lovers and sweethearts.
Not that it is always necessary to employ such
aids, for on the Teir Nos Ysprydnos the phantoms
of future companions have been known to appear
unsummoned. There are many such stories as that
of Thomas Williams, the preacher, who slept in the
hills on a Nos Ysprydnos, and although he used no
charms nor tricks of any sort, he saw his future wife.
As he was just about putting out his light, having
jumped into bed, the door opened and the goblin
mother of the young woman he subsequently
married walked into the room, leading her daughter.
&lsquo;Here, Thomas,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;I am going, but I
leave you Mary.&rsquo; And when he came down home
out of the mountains he found that the old mother
had died in her bed at the very moment he saw her
goblin. To have done less than marry the girl, after
that, would have been to insult the good old lady&rsquo;s
ghost, and cast reflections on the reputation of All
Hallows eve.</p>

<p>The two other spirit-nights, it may here be
mentioned, are May-day eve and Midsummer eve;
which with All Hallows were three great festivals
of the ancient Druids, when they commemorated
the powers of Nature and love in the manner which
has been alluded to. I have two accounts of this
matter, however, and I know not which is the older
in tradition, as I have both from the mouths of the
people; but one account calls Christmas-night the
third spirit-night.</p>

<p>The festivities of All Hallows in Wales are in
the main like those of other Christian lands, in so
far as they consist of feasting and making merry.
Bonfires were kindled in many places until recently,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg282" id="pg282">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>282]</a></span>
and perhaps are still, in some parts, again in pursuance
of the Druidic rites, which the Christian
Church adopted and continued while changing their
significance. In Owen&rsquo;s account of the Bards
occurs a curious description of the autumnal fires
kindled in North Wales on the eve of the first of
November, and the attendant ceremonies. There
was running through the fire and smoke, and casting
of stones into the fire, &lsquo;all running off at the conclusion
to escape from the black short-tailed sow.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_129_129" id="FNanchor_129_129"></a><a href="#Footnote_129_129" class="fnanchor">[129]</a>
This custom of running through the fire is said to
survive in Ireland. It is no doubt related to the
ancient sacrificial rites. As testimonies to the kinship
of our race, all these customs possess a deep
interest, which is increased in this direction as they
lose in the charm of the unique.</p>

<p>On the Welsh Border there prevails a Hallow-e&rsquo;en
custom among the children of going about to
the houses singing the rhymes which follow:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">Wissel wassel, bread and possel,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Cwrw da, plas yma:<br /></span>
<span class="i4">An apple or a pear, a plum or a cherry,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Or any good thing to make us merry.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">Sol cakes, sol cakes,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Pray you, good missus, a sol cake;<br /></span>
<span class="i4">One for Peter, and two for Paul,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And three for the good man that made us all.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">The roads are very dirty,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">My shoes are very thin,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">I&rsquo;ve got a little pocket,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To put a penny in.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Up with the kettle and down with the pan,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Give us an answer and we&rsquo;ll be gan.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">(<i>A loud rap at the door.</i>)<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Spoken.</i> &nbsp; Please to give us a &rsquo;apenny.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>Some of these rhymes are heard in Glamorganshire
and elsewhere at Christmas and New Year&rsquo;s.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg283" id="pg283">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>283]</a></span>
The puzzling jug is a vessel in use in some quarters
as a means of increasing the hilarity of a Hallow-e&rsquo;en
party. It is a stone jug, &lsquo;out of which each
person is compelled to drink. From the brim, extending
about an inch below the surface, it has holes
fantastically arranged so as to appear like ornamental
work, and which are not perceived except by
the perspicacious; three projections, of the size and
shape of marbles, are around the brim, having a hole
of the size of a pea in each; these communicate
with the bottom of the jug through the handle, which
is hollow, and has a small hole at the top, which,
with two of the holes being stopped by the fingers,
and the mouth applied to the one nearest the handle,
enables one to suck the contents with ease; but this
trick is unknown to every one, and consequently a
stranger generally makes some mistake, perhaps
applying his mouth as he would to another jug, in
which case the contents (generally ale) issue through
the fissures on his person, to the no small diversion
of the spectators.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_130_130" id="FNanchor_130_130"></a><a href="#Footnote_130_130" class="fnanchor">[130]</a></p>

<p>Another merry custom of All Hallows was&mdash;and
is&mdash;twco am &rsquo;falau, bobbing for apples. A large
tub (crwc) is brought into the kitchen of a farm-house
and filled with water; a dozen apples are
thrown into it, and the rustic youths bob for them
with their mouths. To catch up two apples at a
single mouthful is a triumphant achievement. Again
the revellers will form a semicircle before the fire,
while there depends above their mouths from a hook
in the ceiling, a string with a stick attached. At
one end of the stick is an apple, at the other end a
candle. To snatch the apple with the lips, and yet
avoid the candle, is the aim of the competitors.
The stick is so hung that it turns easily on its axis,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg284" id="pg284">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>284]</a></span>
and the bobbers often find themselves catching the
candle in their hair while aiming at the apple. This
appears to be a relic of the ancient Welsh game of
quintain, or gwyntyn.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_129_129" id="Footnote_129_129"></a><a href="#FNanchor_129_129"><span class="label">[129]</span></a>
Brand, &lsquo;Pop. Ant.,&rsquo; i., 191.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_130_130" id="Footnote_130_130"></a><a href="#FNanchor_130_130"><span class="label">[130]</span></a>
&lsquo;Camb. Sup.,&rsquo; 174.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>November the Fifth, the anniversary of the Gunpowder
Plot, is much observed in Wales. &lsquo;God
grant,&rsquo; said Bishop Sanderson in one of his sermons,
&lsquo;that we nor ours ever live to see November the
Fifth forgotten, or the solemnity of it silenced.&rsquo; The
words are similar to those used by a great American,
of the early days of the Republic, with regard
to the 4th of July&mdash;God grant it might never be
forgotten. But the rites by which both days are
celebrated are as old as tradition, and much older
than history. As the Americans have given a historical
significance to bonfires and fireworks, so the
English before them did to sacrificing a puppet on
Guy Fawkes&rsquo; Day; and so again some Catholic
nations have made the rite a religious one, in the
hanging of Judas. All three customs are traced to
the same original&mdash;the ancient Druidic sacrifices
to the sun-god Beal or Moloch. It is noteworthy
that the Fifth of November and the Fourth of July&mdash;or
rather the fiery features of these days&mdash;are
alike voted a nuisance by respectable and steady-going
people in the countries to which they respectively
belong.</p>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>On St. Clement&rsquo;s Day (the 23rd of November) it
was customary in Pembrokeshire in the last century
to parade an effigy of a carpenter, which had been
hung to the church steeple the night before. Cutting
the effigy down from where it hung, the people
carried it about the village, repeating loudly some
doggerel verses which purported to be the last will
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg285" id="pg285">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>285]</a></span>
and testament of St. Clement, distributing to the
different carpenters in town the several articles of
dress worn by the effigy. After the image was
thus stripped of its garments, one by one, the padded
remains were thrown down and carefully kicked to
pieces by the crowd.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg286" id="pg286">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>286]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk3chap04" id="bk3chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Nadolig, the Welsh Christmas&mdash;Bell-Ringing&mdash;Carols&mdash;Dancing to
the Music of the Waits&mdash;An Evening in Carmarthenshire&mdash;Shenkin
Harry, the Preacher, and the Jig Tune&mdash;Welsh Morality&mdash;Eisteddfodau&mdash;Decorating
Houses and Churches&mdash;The Christmas Thrift-box&mdash;The
Colliers&rsquo; Star&mdash;The Plygain&mdash;Pagan Origin of Christmas
Customs.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>We come now to the most interesting holiday
season of the year, by reason of its almost universality
of observance among Christian peoples, and
the variety of customs peculiar to it. In the land
of Arthur and Merlin it is a season of such earnest
and widespread cordiality, such warm enthusiasm,
such hearty congratulations between man and man,
that I have been nowhere equally impressed with
the geniality and joyousness of the time. In some
Catholic countries one sees more merriment on the
day itself; indeed, the day itself is not especially
merry in Wales, at least in its out-door aspects. It
is the season rather than the day which is merry in
Wales. The festival is usually understood, throughout
Christendom, to include twelve days; the Welsh
people not only make much of the twelve days, but
they extend the peculiar festivities of the season far
beyond those limits. Christmas has fairly begun in
Wales a week or two before Christmas-day. The
waits are patrolling the streets of Cardiff as early as
December 5th, and Christmas festivals are held as
early as December 19th, at which Christmas-trees
are displayed, and their boughs denuded of the toys
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg287" id="pg287">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>287]</a></span>
and lollipops in which the juvenile heart delights.
After Christmas-day the festival continues I know
not just how long, but apparently for weeks.</p>

<p>The characteristic diversions of the Christmas
season are, in the main, alike in all Christian countries.
In Wales many well-known old customs are
retained which in some other parts of Great Britain
have disappeared, such as the mummers, the waits,
carols, bell-ringings, etc. Not only do the bell-ringers
of the several churches throughout the principality
do their handsomest on their own particular
bells, but there are grand gatherings, at special points,
of all the bell-ringers for leagues around, who vie
with each other in showing what feats they can perform,
how they can astonish you with their majors,
bob-majors, and triple bob-majors, on the brazen
clangers of the steeples. At Cowbridge, for instance,
on Christmas will come together the ringers from
Aberdare, Penarth, St. Fagan&rsquo;s, Llantrisant, Llanblethian,
and other places, thirty or forty in number,
and after they have rung till the air above the town
is black with flying clefs and quavers from the
steeples, they will all sit down to a jolly Christmas-dinner
at the Bear. The bands of waits, or &lsquo;pipers
of the watch,&rsquo; who wake the echoes of the early
morning with their carols, are heard in every Welsh
town and village. In some towns there are several
bands and much good-natured rivalry. The universal
love of music among the Welsh saves the
waits from degenerating into the woe-begone creatures
they are in some parts, where the custom has
that poor degree of life which can be kept in it by
shivering clusters of bawling beggars who cannot
sing. Regularly organised and trained choirs of
Welshmen perambulate the Cambrian country,
chanting carols at Christmas-tide, and bands of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg288" id="pg288">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>288]</a></span>
musicians play who, in many cases, would not discredit
the finest military orchestras. Carols are sung in
both Welsh and English; and, generally, the waits
are popular. If their music be not good, they are
not tolerated; irate gentlemen attack them savagely
and drive them off. Not exactly that boot-jacks
and empty bottles are thrown at them, but they are
excoriated in &lsquo;letters to the editor,&rsquo; in which strong
language is hurled at them as intolerable nuisances,
ambulatory disturbers of the night&rsquo;s quiet, and inflicters
of suffering upon the innocent. But such
cases are rare. The music is almost invariably
good, and the effect of the soft strains of melodiously-warbled
Welsh coming dreamily to one&rsquo;s
ears through the darkness and distance on a winter
morning is sweet and soothing to most ears. Sometimes
small boys will pipe their carols through the
key-holes. The songs vary greatly in character, but
usually the religious tone prevails, as in this case:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">As I sat on a sunny bank, a sunny bank, a sunny bank,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">All on a Christmas morning,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Three ships came sailing by, sailing by, sailing by.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Who do you think was in the ships?<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Who do you think was in the ships?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Christ and the Virgin Mary.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>Both English and Welsh words are sung. Sometimes
a group of young men and women will be seen
dancing about the waits to the measure of their
music, in the hours &lsquo;ayont the twal.&rsquo; In one aspect
the Welsh people may be spoken of as a people
whose lives are passed in the indulgence of their
love for music and dancing. The air of Wales seems
always full of music. In the Christmas season there
is an unending succession of concerts and of miscellaneous
entertainments of which music forms a part,
while you cannot enter an inn where a few are
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg289" id="pg289">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>289]</a></span>
gathered together, without the imminent probability
that one or more will break forth in song. By this
is not meant a general musical howl, such as is apt
to be evoked from a room full of men of any nationality
when somewhat under the influence of the rosy
god, but good set songs, with good Welsh or
English words to them, executed with respect for
their work by the vocalists, and listened to with a
like respect by the rest of the company. When an
Englishman is drunk he is belligerent; when a
Frenchman is drunk he is amorous; when an Italian
is drunk he is loquacious; when a Scotchman is
drunk he is argumentative; when a German is
drunk he is sleepy; when an American is drunk he
brags; and when a Welshman is drunk he sings.
Sometimes he dances; but he does not do himself
credit as a dancer under these circumstances; for
when I speak of dancing I do not refer to those
wooden paces and inflections which pass for dancing
in society, and which are little more than an amiable
pretext for bringing in contact human elements
which are slow to mix when planted in chairs
about a room: I refer to the individual dancing of
men who do not dance for the purpose of touching
women&rsquo;s hands, or indulging in small talk, but for
the purpose of dancing; and who apply themselves
seriously and skilfully to their work&mdash;to wit, the
scientific performance of a jig.</p>

<p>I chanced to pass one evening, in the Christmas-time,
at a country inn in a little Carmarthenshire
village remote from railways. Certain wanderings
through green lanes (and the lanes were still green,
although it was cold, mid-winter weather) had
brought me to the place at dusk, and, being weary,
I had resolved to rest there for the night. Some
local festivity of the season had taken place during
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg290" id="pg290">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>290]</a></span>
the day, which had drawn into the village an unusual
number of farmer-folk from the immediate neighbourhood.
After a simple dinner off a chop and a
half-pint of cwrw da, I strolled into what they called
the smoke-room, by way of distinguishing it from the
tap-room adjoining. It was a plain little apartment,
with high-backed wooden settles nearly up to the
ceiling, which gave an old-fashioned air of comfort
to the place. Two or three farmers were sitting
there drinking their beer and smoking their pipes,
and toasting their trouserless shins before the blazing
fire. Presently a Welsh harper with his harp entered
from out-doors, and, seating himself in a corner of
the room, began to tune his instrument. The room
quickly filled up with men and women, and though
no drinks but beer and &lsquo;pop&rsquo; were indulged in (save
that some of the women drank tea), Bacchus never
saw a more genial company. Some one sang an
English song with words like these:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thrice welcome, old Christmas, we greet thee again,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With laughter and innocent mirth in thy train;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let joy fill the heart, and shine on the brow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While we snatch a sweet kiss &rsquo;neath the mistletoe-bough&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i4">The mistletoe-bough,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">The mistletoe-bough,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We will snatch a sweet kiss &rsquo;neath the mistletoe-bough.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>The words are certainly modern, and as certainly
not of a high order of literary merit, but they are extremely
characteristic of life at this season in Wales,
where kissing under the mistletoe is a custom still
honoured by observance. There was dancing, too,
in this inn company&mdash;performed with stern and
determined purpose to excel, by individuals who
could do a jig, and wished to do it well. The
harper played a wild lilting tune; a serious individual
who looked like a school-teacher took off his
hat, bowed to the company, jumped into the middle
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg291" id="pg291">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>291]</a></span>
of the floor, and began to dance like a madman. It
was a strange sight. With a face whose grave
earnestness relaxed no whit, with firmly compressed
lips and knitted brow, the serious person shuffled
and double-shuffled, and swung and teetered, and
flailed the floor with his rattling soles, till the
perspiration poured in rivulets down his solemn
face. The company was greatly moved; enthusiastic
ejaculations in Welsh and English were heard;
shouts of approbation and encouragement arose;
and still the serious person danced and danced,
ending at last with a wonderful pigeon-wing, and
taking his seat exhausted, amid a tremendous roar
of applause.</p>

<p>Scenes like this are common throughout Wales
at the Christmas-time; and they contrast strangely
with the austerities of religious observance which
are everywhere proceeding. But there is not so
wide a chasm between the two as would exist in
some countries. The best church-members frequently
do not deem a little jollity of this sort a
hanging matter, and there are ministers who can do
a double-shuffle themselves if the worst comes to the
worst. A worthy pastor in Glamorganshire related
to me, with a suspicious degree of relish, a story
about two ministers who were once riding through
a certain village of Wales on horseback. One was
the Rev. Evan Harris, the other a celebrated old
preacher named Shenkin Harry. And, as they rode
on, Harris noticed his companion&rsquo;s legs twitching
curiously on his horse&rsquo;s sides. &lsquo;Why, what ails your
leg?&rsquo; he asked. &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t you hear the harp,&rsquo; was
the reply, &lsquo;in the public-house yonder? It makes
my old toes crazy for a jig.&rsquo; But the moral tone of
Wales is certainly better, on the whole, than that of
most countries&mdash;better even than that of Great
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg292" id="pg292">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>292]</a></span>
Britain generally, I should say. There is, I know,
a prevailing impression quite to the contrary; but it
is utterly absurd. It is an impression which has
grown, I imagine, out of English injustice to Welshmen
in former times, allied to English ignorance in
those times concerning this people. Until within
the last hundred years, English writers habitually
wrote of Wales with contempt and even scurrility.
But no one can live in Wales and not form the
opinion that the Welsh are, in truth, an exceptionally
moral people; and the nature of their public
entertainments throughout the Christmas-time enforces
this conclusion. Stendhal&rsquo;s declaration that,
in true Biblical countries, religion spoils one day out
of seven, destroys the seventh part of possible
happiness, would find strong illustration in Wales.
It is not my purpose to argue whether the illustration
would prove or disprove Stendhal&rsquo;s assertion,
though one might fairly ask whether religious people
are not, perhaps, as happy in going to church on
Sunday as irreligious people are in staying away.</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>Let it not be supposed that there is any lack of
amusement on Christmas-day for people who are
willing to be amused in a God-fearing manner.
Although you cannot go to the theatre or the circus,
you can have a wide liberty of choice among
oratorios, concerts, examinations, exhibitions, eisteddfodau,
and other odd diversions. Concerts especially
thrive. The halls in which they are held are
decorated with evergreens, and the familiar custom
is in Wales habitually and commonly associated with
the ancient Druids, who viewed the green twigs as
the symbols of perennial life. Thus a peculiar
poetic grace rests with a custom beautiful in itself,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg293" id="pg293">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>293]</a></span>
and capable in any land of being poetized by any
one poetically inclined. Many of those unique
gatherings called eisteddfodau are held in different
parts of the principality, when poetry, music, and
essays, in Welsh and in English, are put forth by
the strivers in these Olympian games of intellect and
culture, after the prizes which in Hellas would have
given them crowns of olive-leaves instead of gold-coins
of the realm. When Pindar and Sophocles
handed in poems, and Herodotus competed among
the essayists, and Phidias and Praxiteles among the
cutters of stone, there was no Christmas,&mdash;but it is
claimed there were eisteddfodau, here in Wales; ay,
and before that; for has not Herodotus spoken of
the British bards who held them?</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>In the family circle, the rules which regulate the
Sabbath in Wales&mdash;which are almost as repressive
as those of bonnie Scotland, where, by the way,
Christmas-day is scarcely observed at all&mdash;are relaxed,
and the aspect of the home is as bright as can be.
The rooms are elaborately decorated with flowers
and evergreens, holly and ivy, ferns and rare plants.
In Glamorganshire, and other of the southern
counties looking on the sea, roses and hawthorn-sprays
may be sometimes seen in full bloom out-of-doors
at Christmas. The decoration of churches
is also elaborate beyond anything I have elsewhere
seen. It is a sight to behold, the preparations for
and the work of decorating a vast pile of ecclesiastical
buildings like Llandaff Cathedral&mdash;the huge quantities
of evergreens and holly, flowers, cedars, etc.,
which are day by day accumulated by the ladies
who have the business in charge; and the slow,
continual growth of forms of grace&mdash;arches, crosses,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg294" id="pg294">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>294]</a></span>
wreaths, festoons; green coverings to font, altar,
pulpit, choir-stalls, pillars, reredos, and rood-screen;
panels faced with scarlet cloth bearing sacred
devices worked in evergreen; the very window-sills
glowing with banks of colour&mdash;until all the wide
spaces in chancel, nave, and transepts, are adorned.</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>Of common prevalence formerly, and still observed
in numerous parishes, is the custom called
the Plygain, or watching for the dawn. This consists
in proceeding to the church at three o&rsquo;clock on
Christmas morning, and uniting in a service which
is held by the light of small green candles made for
the purpose. Sometimes this ceremony is observed
at home, the people in a farm-house holding a jollification
on the Christmas eve, and sitting up all
night to greet the dawn. If the east wind blew on
the Christmas eve the circumstance was deemed
propitious in this connection. This wind was called
&lsquo;gwynt traed y meirw,&rsquo; (the wind blowing over the
feet of the corpses,) because it blew towards the
foot of the graves in the churchyards. It was also
believed that the dumb animals paid their tribute
of respect to this night; the bees would hum
loudly in their hives at midnight, and the cattle
in the cow-houses would bend their knees as in
adoration.<a name="FNanchor_131_131" id="FNanchor_131_131"></a><a href="#Footnote_131_131" class="fnanchor">[131]</a></p>

<p>A Christmas-eve custom among Welsh colliers
is to carry from house to house a board stuck over
with lighted candles, or to wheel a handbarrow
containing a bed of clay in which the candles are
stuck. This is called &lsquo;the Star,&rsquo; sometimes &lsquo;the
Star of Bethlehem,&rsquo; and when stopping before a
house the men kneel about it and sing a carol. A
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg295" id="pg295">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>295]</a></span>
like custom exists in Belgium, among children. The
purpose is to solicit a Rhodd Nadolig, or Christmas
gift.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_131_131" id="Footnote_131_131"></a><a href="#FNanchor_131_131"><span class="label">[131]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cymru Fu,&rsquo; 403.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>The British Boxing-day is well known, both as
to its customs and its origin. The Christmas-box,
or thrift-box, is still to be seen in barber shops in
Wales, fastened to the wall, or standing conveniently
under the looking-glass among the pots and brushes.
At one time the custom became such a nuisance
throughout Britain that an outcry was raised about
it. It got to that pass that the butcher and baker
would send their apprentices around among their
customers to levy contributions. The English
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, in 1837, sent
a circular to the different embassies requesting their
excellencies and charg&eacute;s d&rsquo;affaires to discontinue the
customary Christmas-boxes to the &lsquo;messengers of
the Foreign Department, domestic servants of
Viscount Palmerston, foreign postmen, etc.&rsquo; The
nuisance is hardly less prevalent now. The faithful
postman in Wales not only expects to be remembered
at Christmas, but he expects to be given a
precise sum, and if he does not get it he is capable
of asking for it. In one case, a postman accustomed
to receive five shillings at a certain office, on asking
for his &lsquo;box,&rsquo; was told the usual donor was absent
in London, whereupon he requested the clerk to
write up to him in London immediately on the subject.
These things strike a stranger as very singular,
among a people usually so self-respecting. Warnings
are from time to time issued on this subject by those
in authority, but the custom is likely to survive so
long as it is not ranked outright with beggary.
Like the Christmas-tree, it is a graceful thing
among the children, or among friends or household
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg296" id="pg296">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>296]</a></span>
servants, if spontaneous; but as a tax, it is an
odious perversion.<a name="FNanchor_132_132" id="FNanchor_132_132"></a><a href="#Footnote_132_132" class="fnanchor">[132]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_132_132" id="Footnote_132_132"></a><a href="#FNanchor_132_132"><span class="label">[132]</span></a>
Among those who last Christmas applied at my house for &lsquo;his box,
sir, if you please&rsquo; (as my maid put it), quite as a matter of course, were
the postman, the leader of the waits, the boy who brings the daily newspapers,
the bookseller&rsquo;s boy, the chimney-sweep, the dustman, the
grocer&rsquo;s man, etc., etc., no one of whom I had ever set eyes on. The
equal of this I never encountered, except in Paris, on the <i>jour de l&rsquo;an</i>.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>The pagan origin of most of our Christmas customs
is undoubted. Even the cheery Christmas-tree
is a symbol of heathen rites in times long antedating
Christ. The early Christian fathers, in
adopting the popular usages of their predecessors,
and bending them to the service of Christianity,
made wondrous little change in them, beyond the
substitution of new motives and names for the old
festivals peculiar to several seasons of the year.
The British Druids&rsquo; feast of Alban Arthur, celebrating
the new birth of the sun, occurred at our
Christmas time, and is still celebrated at Pontypridd,
Glamorganshire, every year. It begins on the
22nd of December, and lasts three days, during which
period the sun is supposed to fight with Avagddu,
the spirit of darkness, the great luminary having
descended into hell for that purpose. On the third
day he rose, and the bards struck their harps, rejoicing
that the sun had again been found. The
Pontypridd ceremonies are similar to those of Midsummer-day,
already mentioned. The Arch-Druid
presides in the folds of the serpent circle&mdash;when he
can get there, that is, for he is old, past eighty, and
the Druidic hill is apt to be slippery with snow and
ice at this time of the year. He prays to the pagan
god, and perhaps chants a poem in Welsh.<a name="FNanchor_133_133" id="FNanchor_133_133"></a><a href="#Footnote_133_133" class="fnanchor">[133]</a> The
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg297" id="pg297">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>297]</a></span>
Druidic fires of the winter solstice feast were continued
in customs like that which survived in Herefordshire
until recent years, when on old Christmas-eve
thirteen fires were lighted in a cornfield, twelve
of them being in a circle round a central one which
burned higher than the rest. The circle fires were
called the Twelve Apostles, and the central one
the Virgin Mary. In a shed near by was a cow
with a plum-cake between or upon her horns, into
whose face a pail of cider was dashed, with a
rhyming address, and the cow tossing her horns
from her unexpected baptism naturally threw the
plum-cake down. If it fell forward, good harvests
were predicted; if backward, the omen was evil.
A feast among the peasants followed. In the
Plygain in like manner survives the Druidic custom
of going to the sacred groves before dawn on this
morning, to greet the rising of the new-born sun
after his struggle with the evil principle.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_133_133" id="Footnote_133_133"></a><a href="#FNanchor_133_133"><span class="label">[133]</span></a>
I give a free translation of this effort as delivered on Sunday,
December 24th, 1876 (which proved a mild day), and which I find
reported in the &lsquo;Western Mail&rsquo; of the 26th as follows: &lsquo;The day
of the winter solstice has dawned upon us; little is the smile and
the halo of Hea. The depth of winter has been reached, but the muse
of Wales is budding still. Cold is the snow on the mountains;
naked are the trees, and the meadows are bare; but while nature is
withering the muse of Wales is budding. When the earth is decked
in mourning, and the birds are silent, the muse of Wales, with its harp,
is heard in the gorsedd of the holy hill. On the stone ark, within the
circle of the caldron of Ceridwen, are throned the sons of Awen;
though through their hair the frozen mist is wafted, their bosoms are
sympathetic and they rejoice. Peace, love, and truth, encircle our
throne; throne without a beginning and without ending, adorned with
uchelwydd (mistletoe), symbol of perennial life. The throne of the
British Bard&mdash;which remains a throne while other thrones decay into
dust around it: an everlasting throne! The great wheel of ages
revolves and brings around our festivities; repeating our joys it does
perpetually. Muse, awake; awake, ye harps; let not any part of the
year be forgotten wherein to crown usage (defod), morals (moes), and
virtue. The Saviour Hea is about to be born of the winter solstice.
He will rise higher still and higher shiningly, and we will have again a
new year. Haste hail, haste falling snow, hasten rough storms of
winter&mdash;hasten away that we may see the happy evidences of the new
year.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg298" id="pg298">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>298]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk3chap05" id="bk3chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Courtship and Marriage&mdash;Planting Weeds and Rue on the Graves of
Old Bachelors&mdash;Special Significance of Flowers in connection with
Virginity&mdash;The Welsh Venus&mdash;Bundling, or Courting Abed&mdash;Kissing
Schools&mdash;Rhamanta&mdash;Lovers&rsquo; Superstitions&mdash;The Maid&rsquo;s Trick&mdash;Dreaming
on a Mutton Bone&mdash;Wheat and Shovel&mdash;Garters in a
Lovers&rsquo; Knot&mdash;Egg-Shell Cake&mdash;Sowing Leeks&mdash;Twca and Sheath.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>Welsh courtship is a thorough-going business, early
entered upon by the boys and girls of the Principality;
and consequently most Welsh women marry
young. The ancient laws of Howell the Good (died
948) expressly provided that a woman should be
considered marriageable from fourteen upwards, and
should be entitled to maintenance from that age
until the end of her fortieth year; &lsquo;that is to say,
from fourteen to forty she ought to be considered in
her youth.&rsquo; By every sort of moral suasion it is
deemed right in Wales to encourage matrimony,
and no where are old bachelors viewed with less
forbearance. There used to be a custom&mdash;I know
not whether it be extinct now&mdash;of expressing the
popular disapprobation for celibacy by planting on
the graves of old bachelors that ill-scented plant, the
rue, and sometimes thistles, nettles, henbane, and
other unlovely weeds. The practice was even extended,
most illiberally and unjustly, to the graves
of old maids, who certainly needed no such insult
added to their injury. Probably the custom was
never very general, but grew out of similar&mdash;but
other-meaning&mdash;customs which are still prevalent,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg299" id="pg299">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>299]</a></span>
and which are very beautiful. I refer to the planting
of graves with significant flowers in token of the
virtues of the dead. Thus where the red rose is
planted on a grave, its tenant is indicated as having
been in life a person of peculiar benevolence of
character. The flower specially planted on the
grave of a young virgin is the white rose. There
is also an old custom, at the funeral of a young
unmarried person, of strewing the way to the grave
with evergreens and sweet-scented flowers, and the
common saying in connection therewith is that the
dead one is going to his or her marriage-bed. Sad extremely,
and touchingly beautiful, are these customs;
but wherever such exist, there are sure to be ill-conditioned
persons who will vent spiteful feelings by
similar means. Hence the occasional affront to the remains
of antiquated single folk, who had been perhaps
of a temperament which rendered them unpopular.</p>

<p>The Welsh being generally of an affectionate disposition,
courtship, as I have said, is a thorough-going
business. To any but a people of the strongest
moral and religious tendencies, some of their customs
would prove dangerous in the extreme; but no
people so link love and religion. More of their
courting is done while going home from church than
at any other time whatever; and the Welsh Venus
is a holy saint, and not at all a wicked Pagan character
like her classic prototype. &lsquo;Holy Dwynwen,
goddess of love, daughter of Brychan,&rsquo; had a church
dedicated to her in Anglesea in 590; and for ages
her shrine was resorted to by desponding swains
and lovesick maidens. Her name&mdash;<i>Dwyn</i>, to carry
off, and <i>wen</i>, white&mdash;signifies the bearer off of the
palm of fairness; and, ruling the court of love while
living, when dead</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A thousand bleeding hearts her power invoked.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg300" id="pg300">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>300]</a></span>
Throughout the poetry of the Cymric bards you
constantly see the severest moral precepts, and the
purest pictures of virtuous felicity, mingling in singularly
perfect fusion with the most amorous strains.
Among the &lsquo;Choice Things&rsquo; of Geraint, the famous
Blue Bard, were:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A song of ardent love for the lip of a fair maid;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A softly sweet glance of the eye, and love without wantonness;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A secluded walking-place to caress one that is fair and slender;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To reside by the margin of a brook in a tranquil dell of dry soil;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A house small and warm, fronting the bright sunshine.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>With these, versifications of all the virtues and
moralities. &lsquo;In the whole range of Kymric poetry,&rsquo;
says the learned Thomas Stephens,<a name="FNanchor_134_134" id="FNanchor_134_134"></a><a href="#Footnote_134_134" class="fnanchor">[134]</a> &lsquo;there is not, I
venture to assert, a line of impiety.&rsquo;</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_134_134" id="Footnote_134_134"></a><a href="#FNanchor_134_134"><span class="label">[134]</span></a>
Vide &lsquo;Lit. of the Kymry.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>The Welsh custom of Bundling, or courting abed,
needs no description. The Welsh words sopen and
sypio mean a bundle and to bundle, and they mean
a squeezed-up mass, and to squeeze together; but
there is a further meaning, equivalent to our word
baggage, as applied to a strumpet.<a name="FNanchor_135_135" id="FNanchor_135_135"></a><a href="#Footnote_135_135" class="fnanchor">[135]</a> The custom of
bundling is still practised in certain rural neighbourhoods
of Wales. To discuss its moral character is
not my province in these pages; but I may properly
record the fact that its practice is not confined to the
irreligious classes. It is also pertinent here to recall
the circumstance that among these people anciently,
courtship was guarded by the sternest laws, so that any
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg301" id="pg301">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>301]</a></span>
other issue to courtship than marriage was practically
impossible. If a maiden forgot her duty to herself,
her parents, and her training, when the evil result
became known she was to be thrown over a
precipice; the young man who had abused the
parents&rsquo; confidence was also to be destroyed.
Murder itself was punished less severely. Customs
of promiscuous sleeping arose in the earliest times,
out of the necessities of existence in those primitive
days, when a whole household lay down together on
a common bed of rushes strewn on the floor of the
room. In cold weather they lay close together for
greater warmth, with their usual clothing on.
C&aelig;sar&rsquo;s misconception that the ancient Britons were
polyandrous polygamists evidently had here its
source.</p>

<p>It is only by breathing the very atmosphere of an
existence whose primitive influences we may thus
ourselves feel, that we can get a just conception of
the underlying forces which govern a custom like
this. Of course it is sternly condemned by every
advanced moralist, even in the neighbourhoods
where it prevails. An instance came to my knowledge
but a short time ago, (in 1877,) where the
vicar of a certain parish (Mydrim, Carmarthenshire)
exercised himself with great zeal to secure its
abolition. Unfortunately, in this instance, the good
man was not content with abolishing bundling, he
wanted to abolish more innocent forms of courting;
and worst of all, he turned his ethical batteries
chiefly upon the lads and lasses of the dissenting
congregation. Of course, it was not the vicar&rsquo;s
fault that the bundlers were among the meeting-house
worshippers, and not among the established
church-goers, but nevertheless it injured the impartiality
of his championship in the estimation of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg302" id="pg302">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>302]</a></span>
&lsquo;the Methodys.&rsquo; I am not sure the bundling might
not have ceased, in deference to his opinions, notwithstanding,
if he had not, in the excess of his zeal,
complained of the young men for seeing the girls
home after meeting, and casually stretching the
walk beyond what was necessary. Such intermeddling
as this taxed the patience of the courting
community to its extreme limit, and it assumed a
rebellious front. The vicar, quite undaunted, pursued
the war with vigour; he smote the enemy hip
and thigh. He returned to the charge with the
assertion that these young people had &lsquo;schools for
the art of kissing,&rsquo; a metaphorical expression, I suppose;
and that they indulged in flirtation. This was
really too much. Bundling might or might not be
an exclusively dissenting practice, but the most unreasonable
of vicars must know that kissing and
flirtation were as universal as the parish itself; and
so there was scoffing and flouting of the vicar, and,
as rebounds are proverbially extreme, I fear there
is now more bundling in Mydrim than ever.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_135_135" id="Footnote_135_135"></a><a href="#FNanchor_135_135"><span class="label">[135]</span></a>
The Rev. Dr. Thomas, late President of Pontypool College, whose
acquaintance with Welsh customs is very extensive, (and to whose
erudition I have been frequently indebted during the progress of these
pages through the press,) tells me he never heard the word sopen or
sypio, synonymous with bundling, used for the old custom, but only
&lsquo;caru yn y gwelu,&rsquo; (courting abed.)</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>The customs of Rhamanta, or romantic divination,
by which lovers and sweethearts seek to pierce the
future, are many and curious, in all parts of Wales.
Besides such familiar forms of this widely popular
practice as sleeping on a bit of wedding-cake, etc.,
several unique examples may be mentioned. One
known as the Maid&rsquo;s Trick is thus performed; and
none must attempt it but true maids, or they will
get themselves into trouble with the fairies: On
Christmas eve, or on one of the Three Spirit Nights,
after the old folks are abed, the curious maiden puts
a good stock of coal on the fire, lays a clean cloth
on the table, and spreads thereon such store of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg303" id="pg303">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>303]</a></span>
eatables and drinkables as her larder will afford.
Toasted cheese is considered an appropriate luxury
for this occasion. Having prepared the feast, the
maiden then takes off all her clothing, piece by
piece, standing before the fire the while, and her last
and closest garment she washes in a pail of clear
spring water, on the hearth, and spreads it to dry
across a chair-back turned to the fire. She then
goes off to bed, and listens for her future husband,
whose apparition is confidently expected to come
and eat the supper. In case she hears him, she is
allowed to peep into the room, should there be a
convenient crack or key-hole for that purpose; and
it is said there be unhappy maids who have believed
themselves doomed to marry a monster, from
having seen through a cranny the horrible spectacle
of a black-furred creature with fiery eyes, its tail
lashing its sides, its whiskers dripping gravy,
gorging itself with the supper. But if her lover
come, she will be his bride that same year.</p>

<p>In Pembrokeshire a shoulder of mutton, with
nine holes bored in the blade bone, is put under the
pillow to dream on. At the same time the shoes of
the experimenting damsel are placed at the foot of
the bed in the shape of a letter T, and an incantation
is said over them, in which it is trusted by the damsel
that she may see her lover in his every-day clothes.</p>

<p>In Glamorganshire a form of rhamanta still exists
which is common in many lands. A shovel being
placed against the fire, on it a boy and a girl put
each a grain of wheat, side by side. Presently these
edge towards each other; they bob and curtsey,
or seem to, as they hop about. They swell and grow
hot, and finally pop off the shovel. If both grains
go off together, it is a sign the young pair will jump
together into matrimony; but if they take different
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg304" id="pg304">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>304]</a></span>
directions, or go off at different times, the omen is
unhappy. In Glamorganshire also this is done:
A man gets possession of a girl&rsquo;s garters, and
weaves them into a true lover&rsquo;s knot, saying over
them some words of hope and love in Welsh. This
he puts under his shirt, next his heart, till he goes to
bed, when he places it under the bolster. If the
test be successful the vision of his future wife appears
to him in the night.</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>A curious rhamanta among farm-women is thus
described by a learned Welsh writer:<a name="FNanchor_136_136" id="FNanchor_136_136"></a><a href="#Footnote_136_136" class="fnanchor">[136]</a> The maiden
would get hold of a pullet&rsquo;s first egg, cut it through
the middle, fill one half-shell with wheaten flour
and the other with salt, and make a cake out of the
egg, the flour, and the salt. One half of this she
would eat; the other half was put in the foot of her
left stocking under her pillow that night; and after
offering up a suitable prayer, she would go to sleep.
What with her romantic thoughts, and her thirst
after eating this salty cake, it was not perhaps surprising
that the future husband should be seen, in a
vision of the night, to come to the bedside bearing
a vessel of water or other beverage for the thirsty
maid. Another custom was to go into the garden
at midnight, in the season when &lsquo;black seed&rsquo; was
sown, and sow leeks, with two garden rakes. One
rake was left on the ground while the young woman
worked away with the other, humming to herself
the while,</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Y sawl sydd i gydfydio,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Doed i gydgribinio!<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>Or in English:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He that would a life partner be,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let him also rake with me.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg305" id="pg305">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>305]</a></span>
There was a certain young Welshwoman who,
about eighty years ago, performed this rhamanta,
when who should come into the garden but her
master! The lass ran to the house in great fright,
and asked her mistress, &lsquo;Why have you sent
master out into the garden to me?&rsquo; &lsquo;Wel, wel,&rsquo;
replied the good dame, in much heaviness of heart,
&lsquo;make much of my little children!&rsquo; The mistress
died shortly after, and the husband eventually married
the servant.</p>

<p>The sterner sex have a form of rhamanta in
which the knife plays a part. This is to enter the
churchyard at midnight, carrying a twca, which is a
sort of knife made out of an old razor, with a handle
of sheep or goat-horn, and encircle the church edifice
seven times, holding the twca at arm&rsquo;s length, and
saying, &lsquo;Dyma&rsquo;r twca, p&rsquo;le mae&rsquo;r wain?&rsquo; (Here&rsquo;s
the twca&mdash;where&rsquo;s the sheath?)</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_136_136" id="Footnote_136_136"></a><a href="#FNanchor_136_136"><span class="label">[136]</span></a>
Cynddelw, &lsquo;Manion Hynafiaethol,&rsquo; 53.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg306" id="pg306">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>306]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk3chap06" id="bk3chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Wedding Customs&mdash;The Bidding&mdash;Forms of Cymmhorth&mdash;The
Gwahoddwr&mdash;Horse-Weddings&mdash;Stealing a Bride&mdash;Obstructions
to the Bridal Party&mdash;The Gwyntyn&mdash;Chaining&mdash;Evergreen Arches&mdash;Strewing
Flowers&mdash;Throwing Rice and Shoes&mdash;Rosemary in
the Garden&mdash;Names after Marriage&mdash;The Coolstrin&mdash;The Ceffyl
Pren.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>Wales retains several ancient customs in connection
with weddings, which are elsewhere extinct.
No one who has ever paid any attention to Wales and
its ways can have failed to hear of that most
celebrated rite the Bidding, which is, however, one
of several picturesque survivals less well known to
the outer world. The Bidding wedding must be
spoken of as an existing custom, although it be confined
to rural neighbourhoods in South Wales, and to
obscure and humble folk. Those who strive to prove
that all such customs are obsolete everywhere&mdash;a
thankless and even ungraceful task, it seems to me&mdash;will
not admit that the Bidding has been known since
1870. I have evidence, however, that in Pembroke,
Cardigan, and Carmarthen shires, the custom did not
cease on the date named, and there is every probability
that it prevails to-day. Nothing could be of
smaller importance, it is true, than the precise date
on which a given custom recently ceased, since any
one may revive it next year who chooses to do so.</p>

<p>The Bidding is an invitation sent by a couple who
are about to be married, soliciting the presence and
donations of the neighbours on their behalf. The
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg307" id="pg307">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>307]</a></span>
presents may be either sums of money or necessaries.
Gifts of bread, butter, cheese, tea, sugar, and the
like, are common, and sometimes articles of farming
stock and household furniture. All gifts of money
are recognized by a sort of promissory note, i.e., by
setting down the name and residence of the donor,
with the amount given; and when a like occasion
arises on the part of the giver, the debt is religiously
paid. The obligation is an absolute one, and its
legality has actually been recognized by the Court
of Great Sessions at Cardiff. The gift is even
claimable under other circumstances than the donor&rsquo;s
getting married. Another sort of contribution is
the eatables and drinkables which are set before the
guests; these are only repayable when required on
a like occasion.</p>

<p>The method of bidding the guests was until lately
through a personage called the gwahoddwr (inviter
or bidder) who tramped about the country some days
beforehand, proclaiming the particulars to everybody
he met. He usually recited a doggerel set of
rhymes before and after the special invitation&mdash;a
composition of his own, or understood to be such,
for rhyme-making was a part of the talent of a
popular bidder. Frequently no little humour was
displayed in the bidding song. But since the printing
press became the cheap and ready servant of the
humblest classes, the occupation of the bidder has
gradually fallen to decay; a printed circular serves
in his place. At the shop of a printer in Carmarthen
I procured a copy of the following bidding circular,
which may be a real document, or a fictitious one:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="center smcap">Carmarthenshire, July 4th, 1862.</p>

<p>As we intend to enter the Matrimonial State, on Wednesday, the
30th of July instant, we purpose to make a <span class="smcap">Bidding</span> on the occasion,
the same day, at the Young Man&rsquo;s Father&rsquo;s House, called <span class="smcap">Ty&rsquo;r Bwci</span>,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg308" id="pg308">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>308]</a></span>
in the Parish of Llanfair ar y Bryn, when and where the favour of
your good and agreeable company is respectfully solicited, and whatever
donation you may be pleased to confer on us then will be thankfully
received, warmly acknowledged, and cheerfully repaid whenever
called for on a similar occasion.</p>

<p class="sig">By your most obedient Servants,<br />
<span class="smcap">Owen Gwyn</span>,<br />
<span class="smcap">Elen Morgan</span>.
</p>

<p>The Young Man, his Father and Mother (Llewelyn and Margaret
Gwyn, of Ty&rsquo;r Bwci), his Brother (Evan Gwyn, Maes y Blodau), his
Sisters (Gwladys and Hannah), and his Aunt (Mary Bowen, Llwyn y
Fedwen, Llannon), desire that all gifts of the above nature due to them
be returned to the Young Man on the above day, and will be thankful
for all additional favours granted.</p>

<p>The Young Woman, her Father (Rhys Morgan, Castell y Moch),
and her Brothers and Sister (Howel, Gruffydd, and Gwenll&iuml;an
Morgan), desire that all gifts of the above nature due to them be
returned to the Young Woman on the above day, and will be thankful
for all additional favours conferred on her.</p>

<p>The Young Man&rsquo;s company will meet in the Morning at Ty&rsquo;r Bwci;
and the Young Woman&rsquo;s at Pant y Clacwydd, near the Village of
Llansadwrn.</p>
</div>

<p>The Bidding is sometimes held on the day of the
wedding, and sometimes on the day and night before
it; the custom varies in different districts, as all
these customs do. When the latter is the case, the
night is an occasion of great merrymaking, with much
consumption of cwrw da, and dancing to the music
of the harp, for poor indeed would be the Welsh
community that could not muster up a harper. This
festival is called Nos Blaen, or preceding night, and
is a further source of income to the couple, from the
sale of cakes and cwrw. &lsquo;Base is the slave who
pays&rsquo; is a phrase emphatically reversed at a Welsh
wedding.</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg18.jpg" width="375" height="502"
alt="The gwahoddwr, holding his staff, begins his address" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE OLD-TIME GWAHODDWR.</p>

<p>The Bidding is but one form of a feature of Welsh
life which extensively prevails, known by the term
Cymmhorth. The Bidding is a Priodas Cymmhorth;
the Cyfarfod Cymmhorth, or Assistance Meeting, is
much the same thing, minus the wedding feature.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg309" id="pg309">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>309]</a></span>
The customs of the latter festival are, however, often
of a sort distinctly tending toward matrimonial
results as an eventuality. A number of farmer girls
of the humbler sort will gather at a stated time
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg310" id="pg310">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>310]</a></span>
and place to give a day&rsquo;s work to one needing assistance,
and after a day spent in such toil as may be
required, the festival winds up with jollity in the
evening. The day is signalized on the part of those
youths of the neighbourhood who are interested in
the girls, by tokens of that interest in the shape of
gifts. The lass who receives a gift accompanied by
a twig of birch is thereby assured of her lover&rsquo;s
constancy. To her whom the young man would
inform of his change of heart, a sprig of hazel
is given. An earlier feature of this ceremony was
the Merry Andrew, who presented the gifts in the
name of the lover. This personage was disguised
fantastically, and would lead the young woman he
selected into another room, where he would deliver
the gift and whisper the giver&rsquo;s name.</p>

<p>The antiquity of the Bidding as a local custom is
undoubted. The old-time gwahoddwr was a person
of much importance, skilled in pedigrees and family
traditions, and himself of good family. A chieftain
would assume the character in behalf of his vassal,
and hostile clans respected his person as he went
about from castle to castle, from hall to hall. He
bore a garlanded staff as the emblem of his office,
and on entering a dwelling would strike his staff
upon the floor to command the attention of the group
before him, and then begin his address.</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>The Horse-Wedding is of more ancient origin
than the Bidding, and is still a living custom in some
parts of Wales, especially Carmarthenshire and
western Glamorganshire. It was in other days
common throughout South Wales, and was scolded
about by old Malkin (generally very cordial in his
praise of Welsh customs) in these spicy terms: &lsquo;Ill
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg311" id="pg311">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>311]</a></span>
may it befal the traveller, who has the misfortune of
meeting a Welsh wedding on the road. He would
be inclined to suppose that he had fallen in with a
company of lunatics, escaped from their confinement.
It is the custom of the whole party who are invited,
both men and women, to ride full speed to the
church porch, and the person who arrives there first
has some privilege or distinction at the marriage
feast. To this important object all inferior considerations
give way; whether the safety of his majesty&rsquo;s
subjects, who are not going to be married, or their
own, incessantly endangered by boisterous, unskilful
and contentious jockeyship.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_137_137" id="FNanchor_137_137"></a><a href="#Footnote_137_137" class="fnanchor">[137]</a> Glamorganshire is
here spoken of. The custom varies somewhat in
different localities, but it preserves the main feature,
to force the bride away from her friends, who then
gallop after her to church, arriving <i>toujours trop tard</i>,
of course, like the carabineers in &lsquo;Les Brigands.&rsquo;</p>

<p>There have been cases, however, when the bride
was caught by a member of the pursuing party, and
borne away&mdash;an incident which occurred in the
knowledge of an acquaintance, who related it to me.
As may readily be inferred, the bride in this case
was not unwilling to be caught; in fact she was
averse to marrying the man who was taking her to
church, and who was her parent&rsquo;s choice, not her own.
The lover who had her heart caught up with her by
dint of good hard riding, and whisked her on his
horse within sight of the church-door, to the intense
astonishment of the bridegroom, who gazed at them
open-mouthed as they galloped away. He thought
at first it was a joke, but as the lovers disappeared
in the distance the truth dawned upon him: a Welsh
custom had served something like its original purpose.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg312" id="pg312">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>312]</a></span>
But usually, the whole performance is a vehicle for
fun of the most good-natured and innocent sort. It
begins by the arrival of the neighbours on horseback
at the residence of the expectant bridegroom. An
eye-witness to a certain wedding gathering in Glamorganshire
a few years ago states that the horsemen
exceeded one hundred in number. From among
them a deputation was chosen to go (still on horseback)
to the bride&rsquo;s residence to make formal demand
for her. Her door was barred inside, and the
demand was made in rhyme, and replied to in the
same form from within. It often happens that a
brisk contest of wits signalizes this proceeding, for if
the voice of any one within is recognized by one of
those outside, his personal peculiarities are made the
subject of satirical verses. A voice inside being
recognized as that of a man who was charged with
sheep-stealing, this rhyme was promptly shouted at
him:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Gwrando, leidr hoyw&rsquo;r ddafad,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ai ti sydd yma heddyw&rsquo;n geidwad?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ai dyna y rheswm cloi y drysau,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rhag dwyn y wreigan liw dydd goleu?<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>(Ah, sheep-stealer, art thou a guardian of the fair one? If the
doors were not locked thou wouldst steal the bride in broad daylight.)</p>
</div>

<p>The doors are opened in the end, of course, and after
refreshments the wedding party gallops off to church.
The bride is stolen away and borne off to a distance
on her captor&rsquo;s horse, but only in sport; her captor
brings her back to the church, where she is quietly
married to the proper person. Sometimes the precaution
is taken of celebrating the marriage privately
at an early hour, and the racing takes place afterward.</p>

<p>Obstructions are raised by the bride&rsquo;s friends,
to prevent the bridegroom&rsquo;s party from coming to
her house, and these difficulties must be overcome
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg313" id="pg313">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>313]</a></span>
ere the bride can be approached. Sometimes a mock
battle on the road is a feature of the racing to church.
The obstructions placed in the road in former days
included the Gwyntyn, a sort of game of skill which
seems to have been used by most nations in Europe,
called in English the quintain. It was an upright
post, upon which a cross-piece turned freely, at one
end of which hung a sand-bag, the other end presenting
a flat side. At this the rider tilted with his
lance, his aim being to pass without being hit in the
rear by the sand-bag. Other obstructions in use are
ropes of straw and the like.</p>

<p>There is a Welsh custom called Chaining, which
probably arose out of the horse-wedding, and still
prevails. In the village of Sketty, Glamorganshire,
in August, 1877, I saw a chaining, on the occasion of
a marriage between an old lady of eighty and a man
of fifty. The affair had made so much talk, owing to
the age of the bride, that the whole village was in
the streets. While the wedding ceremony was in
progress, a chain was stretched across the street,
forming a barrier which the wedding party could not
pass till the chainers were &lsquo;tipped.&rsquo; The driver of the
carriage containing the newly wedded pair was an
Englishman, and ignorant of the custom, at which he
was naturally indignant. His angry efforts to drive
through the barrier made great sport for the
Welshmen.</p>

<p>The origin of the Welsh horse-wedding may be
traced to the Romans, if no further back, and may
thus be connected with the rape of the Sabines.
That the Romans had an exactly similar custom is
attested by Apuleius, and it is said to have been
established by Romulus in memory of the Sabine
virgins. It is not improbable that the Romans may
have left the custom behind them when they quitted
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg314" id="pg314">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>314]</a></span>
this territory in the fifth century, after nearly three
hundred years&rsquo; rule.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_137_137" id="Footnote_137_137"></a><a href="#FNanchor_137_137"><span class="label">[137]</span></a>
Malkin&rsquo;s &lsquo;South Wales,&rsquo; 67.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>Among the wealthier classes of Wales, certain
joyous and genial wedding customs prevail, such as
are common in most parts of the British isles, but
which do not reappear in the new world across the
Atlantic,&mdash;a fact by which American life is a heavy
loser, in my opinion. When the Rector of Merthyr&rsquo;s
daughter (to use the form of speech common) was
married, a few months since, the tenants of the estate
erected arches of evergreens over the roads, and
adorned their houses with garlands, and for two or
three days the estate was a scene of festivity, ending
with the distribution of meat to the poor of the
parish. Such festivities and such decorations are common
on the estates of the country gentry not only,
but in the towns as well. At Tenby, when the High
Sheriff&rsquo;s son was married to the Rector of Tenby&rsquo;s
daughter, in 1877, garlands of flowers were hung
across the High Street, bearing pleasant mottoes,
while flags and banners fluttered from house-tops in
all directions. Children strewed flowers in the bride&rsquo;s
path as she came out of church, while the bells in
the steeple chimed a merry peal, and a park of
miniature artillery boomed from the pier-head. This
custom of children strewing flowers in the path of
the new-made bride is common; so also is that of
throwing showers of rice after the wedded pair, by
way of expressing good wishes&mdash;a pleasanter thing
to be thrown under these circumstances than the old
shoes of tradition. However, since fashion has
taken up the custom of rice-throwing and shoe-throwing,
the shoes have become satin slippers.</p>

<p>As far back as the 16th century, throwing an
old shoe after any one going on an important errand
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg315" id="pg315">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>315]</a></span>
was deemed lucky in Wales. It is thought that in
the case of a bride, the custom is derived from the
old Jewish law of exchange, when a shoe was given
in token that the parents for ever surrendered all
dominion over their daughter. But a precisely
similar custom prevails in China, where it is usual
for the bride to present her husband with a pair of
shoes, by way of signifying that for the future she
places herself under his control. &lsquo;These are carefully
preserved in the family and are never given away,
like other worn-out articles, it being deemed, that to
part with them portends an early separation between
husband and wife.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_138_138" id="FNanchor_138_138"></a><a href="#Footnote_138_138" class="fnanchor">[138]</a> The custom of rice-throwing is
also Chinese, the rice being viewed as a sign of
abundance. In Sicily, as in some parts of England,
wheat is thrown on the bride&rsquo;s head; in Russia, a
handful of hops; in the north of England a plateful
of shortcake;<a name="FNanchor_139_139" id="FNanchor_139_139"></a><a href="#Footnote_139_139" class="fnanchor">[139]</a> in Yorkshire, bits of the bride-cake.
All these customs, while popularly done &lsquo;for luck,&rsquo;
are apparently symbolical of the obedience and the
fruitfulness of the newly-wedded wife. And as in
Scandinavia the bride tries to get her husband to
pick up her handkerchief as an omen of his obeying
instead of compelling obedience, so in China the
bride tries to sit on a part of her husband&rsquo;s dress.
The vulgar story and adage, &lsquo;Bandbox now, bandbox
always,&rsquo; expresses the superstition succinctly.</p>

<p>There is a saying current on the Welsh border,
that when rosemary flourishes in the garden of a
married pair, the lady &lsquo;rules the roast,&rsquo; as the
phrase is&mdash;though if there is anything a woman
should rule, one would think the &lsquo;roast&rsquo; is that
thing. &lsquo;That be rosemary, sir,&rsquo; said an old gardener
in Herefordshire, pointing to where the plant grew;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg316" id="pg316">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>316]</a></span>
&lsquo;they say it grows but where the missus is master,
and it do grow here like wildfire.&rsquo; The idea of
feminine obedience to masculine will, merely because
it is masculine, is in itself looked upon as a superstition
by all cultivated people in these days, I
suppose. Sex aside, if the truth were known, it
would be found that the stronger is the ruler, in all
lands, under all customs, be the outward show of
the ruling more or less; and it is not always where
the public sees it most clearly, or fancies it does,
that the rule of the dame is sternest. The strength
here employed is not virile strength; there is nothing
necessarily masculine about it. The severest
mistress of her lord I ever knew was a feeble little
woman with hands like a baby&rsquo;s, and a face of wax,
with no more will-power apparently than a week-old
kitten, but whose lightest whim lay on her lord
like iron, and was obeyed as faithfully as if it were
backed by a cat-o&rsquo;-nine-tails and a six-shooter.</p>

<p>To return for a moment to our Welsh wedding
customs among the wealthier classes. When the
couple return from their bridal tour, the fun often
begins all over again. Thus at Lampeter, on the
edge of Cardiganshire, last September, when Mr.
and Mrs. Jones of Glandennis (Jones of Glandennis,
Roberts of the Dingle, Williams of Pwlldu,&mdash;such
cognomens take the place in Wales of the distinctive
names which separate Englishmen one from another,
and from Jones of Nevada),&mdash;when Jones of
Glandennis brought home his bride, the whole
neighbourhood was agog to greet them. Thousands
of people gathered in a field near the station,
and passed their time in athletic sports till the train
arrived, when they woke the echoes with their cheers.
The Joneses entered their carriage, the horses were
unharnessed, and a long procession of tenantry,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg317" id="pg317">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>317]</a></span>
headed by a brass band, dragged the carriage all the
way to Glandennis, two miles off, some bearing
torches by the side of the carriage. Arches of
evergreens were everywhere; and when they got to
the house, nothing would do but Mrs. Jones must
appear at a window and make a little speech of
thanks to the crowd; which she did accordingly&mdash;a
thing in itself shocking to superstitious ideas
of chivalry, but in strictest accord with the true
chivalric spirit toward woman. Then fireworks
blazed up the sky, and bonfires were lighted on
the tops of all the adjoining hills. Lampeter town
was illuminated, and nobody went to bed till the
small hours.</p>

<p>After marriage, Welshwomen still in some cases
retain their maiden names, a custom formerly
universal among them. The wife of John Thomas,
though the mother of a houseful of children, may be
habitually known among her neighbours as Betty
Williams. In other cases, she not only assumes her
husband&rsquo;s name, but the name of his calling as well;
if he is Dick Shon the tailor, she is simply Mrs. Dick
Shon the tailor.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_138_138" id="Footnote_138_138"></a><a href="#FNanchor_138_138"><span class="label">[138]</span></a>
Dennys, &lsquo;Folk-Lore of China,&rsquo; 18.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_139_139" id="Footnote_139_139"></a><a href="#FNanchor_139_139"><span class="label">[139]</span></a>
Henderson, &lsquo;Notes on Folk-Lore,&rsquo; 22.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>A custom called the Coolstrin is now apparently
obsolete, unless in occasional rural communities
remote from railroads. It resembles the old custom
once known in certain parts of England, called the
skimitry or skimmington, in which a man whose
wife had struck him was forced to ride behind a
woman, with his face to the horse&rsquo;s tail, while a band
of pans and cow-horns made music for them. The
Welsh custom is, however, more elaborate, and more
comical, while it is less severe on the man. A
husband who is suspected of having a termagant
wife, is made the subject of espionage. If it be found
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg318" id="pg318">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>318]</a></span>
that he drinks his mug of ale standing, with his eye
twinkling toward the door, the circumstance is considered
most suspicious. Efforts are accordingly
made to induce the henpecked man to stay and be
merry, and if he can be made drunk a great point is
gained, as then a squad of volunteers take him
inside his own door and critically observe his reception.
A moral point involved appears to be that a
henpecked husband is a disgrace to manhood in
general; and the purpose of the coolstrin is to reform
it altogether. However, although it may even be
proved that a woman is in the habit of cuffing her
husband, the case does not come under the jurisdiction
of the coolstrin court until she has &lsquo;drawn
blood on him.&rsquo; Then the court is convened. It
is composed, no doubt, of any rakehelly youngsters,
married or single, who are ripe for sport. One of
them is chosen for judge; a special point is that he
must be a married man who is not afraid of his wife;
and he is invested with robe and gown, that is to
say, the collar-bone of a horse is set on his head,
around the crown of a slouch hat, and a bed-quilt is
made fast to his shoulders. He marches through
the streets, with a youth behind him bearing his
bed-quilt train, and mounts a chosen wall for a judge&rsquo;s
bench. Officers with long white wands range
themselves solemnly on either side of him; men are
chosen as advocates; and a posse of rustics with
pitchforks keeps order. The court is opened by a
crier who calls on all good men who as yet wear
their own clos,<a name="FNanchor_140_140" id="FNanchor_140_140"></a><a href="#Footnote_140_140" class="fnanchor">[140]</a> to attend the court. The case is
argued by the advocates; witnesses are examined
to prove, first, that the man is henpecked, second,
that his wife has struck him and drawn blood with
the blow. In one case it was proved that the wife
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg319" id="pg319">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>319]</a></span>
had knocked her beery lord down, and that his nose,
striking a stool, had bled. The wife&rsquo;s advocate
nearly gravelled the judge, by holding that blood
drawn by a stool could not be said to have been
drawn by the woman. The judge got over this by
deciding that if the woman had taken the stool by
one of its three legs, and hit the man, drawing blood,
the blood would be clearly chargeable to her. &lsquo;And
where is the difference,&rsquo; asked he, triumphantly,
&lsquo;between knocking the stool against him, and
knocking him against the stool?&rsquo; The woman was
found guilty. &lsquo;For,&rsquo; said the prosecuting attorney
indignantly, &lsquo;if a man shan&rsquo;t drink a blue of beer
with a neighbour or so, to what won&rsquo;t it come?&rsquo;
Her condemnation followed; to be ridden on the
Ceffyl Pren. A derisive procession was formed, and
two fellows were rigged up to personate the husband
and wife. The male bore a broom, and the female
brandished a ladle, and the two were paraded
through the town. A band of &lsquo;musicians&rsquo; marched
before them, beating frying-pans with marrow bones,
banging gridirons and kettles with pokers, tongs
and shovels, and two playing on a fife and drum.
These were followed by two standard bearers, one
bearing a petticoat on top of a pole, the other a
pair of breeches in the same manner. Other orts and
ends of rabble made up the procession, which with
antic and grimace marched about the village and
neighbourhood. The orgie ended by the planting
in front of the culprit&rsquo;s house of the pole and
petticoat, and the pelting of it with addled eggs,
stones, and mud, till it fell to the ground. The
noble bifurcated emblem of manhood, the clos, was
then elevated proudly aloft, and the woman&rsquo;s
punishment was deemed complete.</p>

<p>This is the story of a rural village in Glamorganshire.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg320" id="pg320">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>320]</a></span>
The custom was known in other counties,
and varied in its details. In Breconshire, the
virago was punished through the ceffyl pren merely
by the moral influence of parading it before her
cottage. Quarrelsome wives were said to stand in
great and constant dread of its possible appearance
before their doors. In Cardiganshire, on the contrary,
the custom termed the coolstrin is <i>vice vers&acirc;</i>,
and it is only husbands who ill-use their wives who
are amenable to its discipline.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_140_140" id="Footnote_140_140"></a><a href="#FNanchor_140_140"><span class="label">[140]</span></a>
Breeches.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg321" id="pg321">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>321]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk3chap07" id="bk3chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Death and Burial&mdash;The Gwylnos&mdash;Beer-drinking at Welsh Funerals&mdash;Food
and Drink over the Coffin&mdash;Sponge Cakes at Modern
Funerals&mdash;The Sin-eater&mdash;Welsh Denial that this Custom ever
existed&mdash;The Testimony concerning it&mdash;Superstitions regarding
Salt&mdash;Plate of Salt on Corpse&rsquo;s Breast&mdash;The Scapegoat&mdash;The
St. Tegla Cock and Hen&mdash;Welsh Funeral Processions&mdash;Praying
at Cross-roads&mdash;Superstition regarding Criminals&rsquo; Graves&mdash;Hanging
and Welsh Prejudice&mdash;The Grassless Grave&mdash;Parson&rsquo;s Penny,
or Offrwm&mdash;Old Shoes to the Clerk&mdash;Arian y Rhaw, or Spade
Money&mdash;Burials without Coffin&mdash;The Sul Coffa&mdash;Planting and
Strewing Graves with Flowers.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>With the growth of modern refinement the people
of every land have become constantly more decorous
in their grief. The effort of the primitive and
untutored mind to utter its sorrow in loud and wild
lamentations, and of friends and neighbours to divert
the mind of the sufferer from his bereavement, gave
rise to many funeral customs of which we still find
traces in Wales. Pennant, while travelling in North
Wales, noted, with regard to one Thomas Myddleton,
a fact which he held &lsquo;to prove that the custom of the
Irish howl, or Scotch Coranich, was in use among
us (the Welsh); for we are told he was buried &ldquo;cum
magno dolore et clamore cognatorum et propinquorum
omnium.&rdquo;&rsquo; No such custom now exists; but
there is a very impressive rite, of a corresponding
character, but religious, called the Gwylnos. It is a
meeting held in the room where the corpse is lying,
on the night before the funeral. The Irish cry,
&lsquo;Why did ye die?&rsquo; is replaced by pious appeals to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg322" id="pg322">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>322]</a></span>
Heaven, in which great and strong emotion is expressed,
the deceased referred to in stirring sentences,
and his death made a theme for warnings on the
brevity of earth-life and the importance of the future
life of the soul.</p>

<p>On the day of the funeral, however, the customs
are not always in keeping with modern notions of
the praiseworthy. Indulgence in beer-drinking at
funerals is still a Welsh practice, and its antiquity is
indicated by a proverb: &lsquo;Claddu y marw, ac at y
cwrw&rsquo;&mdash;(To bury the dead, and to the beer.)<a name="FNanchor_141_141" id="FNanchor_141_141"></a><a href="#Footnote_141_141" class="fnanchor">[141]</a> The
collection of Welsh writings called &lsquo;Cymru Fu&rsquo;
refers to the custom thus, (to translate:) &lsquo;Before the
funeral procession started for the church, the nearest
friends and relatives would congregate around the
corpse to wail and weep their loss; while the rest of
the company would be in an adjoining room drinking
warm beer (cwrw brwd) and smoking their pipes;
and the women in still another room drinking tea
together.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_142_142" id="FNanchor_142_142"></a><a href="#Footnote_142_142" class="fnanchor">[142]</a> The writer here speaks of the custom in
the past tense, but apparently rather as a literary
fashion than to indicate a fact; at any rate, the custom
is not extinct. Occasionally it leads to appearances
in the police-court on the part of injudicious
mourners.<a name="FNanchor_143_143" id="FNanchor_143_143"></a><a href="#Footnote_143_143" class="fnanchor">[143]</a> After taking the coffin out of the house
and placing it on a bier near the door, it was formerly
customary for one of the relatives of the deceased to
distribute bread and cheese to the poor, taking care
to hand it to each one over the coffin. These poor
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg323" id="pg323">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>323]</a></span>
people were usually those who had, in expectation
of this gift, been busily engaged in gathering flowers
and herbs with which to grace the coffin. Sometimes
this dole was supplemented by the gift of a loaf
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg324" id="pg324">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>324]</a></span>
of bread or a cheese with a piece of money placed
inside it. After that a cup of drink was presented,
and the receiver was required to drink a little of it
immediately.<a name="FNanchor_144_144" id="FNanchor_144_144"></a><a href="#Footnote_144_144" class="fnanchor">[144]</a> Alluding to this subject the Rev.
E.&nbsp;L. Barnwell<a name="FNanchor_145_145" id="FNanchor_145_145"></a><a href="#Footnote_145_145" class="fnanchor">[145]</a> says: &lsquo;Although this custom is no
longer in fashion, yet it is to some extent represented
by the practice, especially in funerals of a higher
class, to hand to those who are invited to attend the
funeral, oblong sponge cakes sealed up in paper,
which each one puts into his or her pocket, but the
providing and distribution of these cakes are now
often part of the undertaker&rsquo;s duty.&rsquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg19.jpg" width="375" height="496"
alt="Food and drink is passed to the poor over a coffin" />
</div>

<p class="caption">GIVING FOOD OVER THE COFFIN. (<i>From an old drawing.</i>)</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_141_141" id="Footnote_141_141"></a><a href="#FNanchor_141_141"><span class="label">[141]</span></a>
So the Spanish say, &lsquo;The dead to the bier, the living to good
cheer.&rsquo;</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_142_142" id="Footnote_142_142"></a><a href="#FNanchor_142_142"><span class="label">[142]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cymru Fu,&rsquo; 91.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_143_143" id="Footnote_143_143"></a><a href="#FNanchor_143_143"><span class="label">[143]</span></a>
&lsquo;Two Llancaiach men named Servis and Humphrey were arrested
for fighting. They had <em>been to a funeral</em>, had done the customary
honours by the remains of the departed brother or sister who had
suffered, died, and was &ldquo;chested,&rdquo; and then, after drowning their grief
in the &ldquo;cwrw,&rdquo; finished up in the police-court with a <i>finale</i> involving
the payment of 5<i>s.</i> and costs, and 8<i>s.</i> 8<i>d.</i> damage, or in default twenty-one
days&rsquo; hard labour.&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;Western Mail,&rsquo; Jan. 31, 1877.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_144_144" id="Footnote_144_144"></a><a href="#FNanchor_144_144"><span class="label">[144]</span></a>
Pennant, quoted by Roberts, &lsquo;Camb. Pop. Ant.,&rsquo; 175.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_145_145" id="Footnote_145_145"></a><a href="#FNanchor_145_145"><span class="label">[145]</span></a>
&lsquo;Arch. Camb.&rsquo; 4th Se., iii., 332.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>What connection there may be between these
customs and the strange and striking rite of the Sin-eater,
is a question worthy of careful consideration.
It has been the habit of writers with family ties in
Wales, whether calling themselves Welshmen or
Englishmen, to associate these and like customs
with the well-known character for hospitality which
the Cymry have for ages maintained. Thus Malkin
writes: &lsquo;The hospitality of the country is not less
remarkable on melancholy than on joyful occasions.
The invitations to a funeral are very general and
extensive; and the refreshments are not light, and
taken standing, but substantial and prolonged.
Any deficiency in the supply of ale would be as
severely censured on this occasion, as at a festival.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_146_146" id="FNanchor_146_146"></a><a href="#Footnote_146_146" class="fnanchor">[146]</a>
Some have thought that the bread-eating and beer-drinking
are survivals of the sin-eating custom
described by Aubrey, and repeated from him by
others. But well-informed Welshmen have denied
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg325" id="pg325">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>325]</a></span>
that any such custom as that of the Sin-eater ever
existed in Wales at any time, or in the border shires;
and it must not be asserted that they are wrong
unless we have convincing proof to support the
assertion. The existing evidence in support of the
belief that there were once Sin-eaters in Wales I have
carefully collated and (excluding hearsay and second-hand
accounts), it is here produced. The first
reference to the Sin-eater anywhere to be found is in
the Lansdowne MSS. in the British Museum, in the
handwriting of John Aubrey, the author. It runs
thus: &lsquo;In the county of Hereford was an old custom
at funerals to hire poor people, who were to take
upon them the sins of the party deceased. One of
them (he was a long, lean, ugly, lamentable poor
rascal), I remember, lived in a cottage on Rosse
highway. The manner was that when the corpse
was brought out of the house, and laid on the bier, a
loaf of bread was brought out, and delivered to the
Sin-eater, over the corpse, as also a mazard bowl of
maple, full of beer (which he was to drink up), and
sixpence in money, in consideration whereof he took
upon him, <i>ipso facto</i>, all the sins of the defunct, and
freed him or her from walking after they were dead.&rsquo;
Aubrey adds, &lsquo;and this custom though rarely used in
our days, yet by some people was observed in the
strictest time of the Presbyterian Government; as
at Dynder (<i>nolens volens</i> the parson of the parish),
the kindred of a woman, deceased there, had this
ceremony punctually performed, according to her
will: and also, the like was done at the city of
Hereford, in those times, where a woman kept many
years before her death a mazard bowl for the Sin-eater;
and the like in other places in this country;
as also in Brecon, e.g., at Llangors, where Mr.
Gwin, the minister, about 1640, could not hinder the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg326" id="pg326">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>326]</a></span>
performance of this custom. I believe,&rsquo; says Aubrey,
&lsquo;this custom was heretofore used all over Wales.&rsquo; He
states further, &lsquo;<small>A.D.</small> 1686: This custom is used to
this day in North Wales.&rsquo; Upon this, Bishop White
Kennet made this comment: &lsquo;It seems a remainder
of this custom which lately obtained at Amersden,
in the county of Oxford; where, at the burial of
every corpse, one cake and one flaggon of ale, just
after the interment, were brought to the minister in
the church porch.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_147_147" id="FNanchor_147_147"></a><a href="#Footnote_147_147" class="fnanchor">[147]</a></p>

<p>No other writer of Aubrey&rsquo;s time, either English
or Welsh, appears to have made any reference to
the Sin-eater in Wales; and equal silence prevails
throughout the writings of all previous centuries.
Since Aubrey, many references to it have been made,
but never, so far as I can discover, by any writer in
the Welsh language&mdash;a singular omission if there
ever was such a custom, for concerning every other
superstitious practice commonly ascribed to Wales
the Welsh have written freely.</p>

<p>In August, 1852, the Cambrian Arch&aelig;ological
Association held its sixth annual meeting at Ludlow,
under the Presidency of Hon. R.&nbsp;H. Clive, M.P. At
this meeting Mr. Matthew Moggridge, of Swansea,
made some observations on the custom of the Sin-eater,
when he added details not contained in
Aubrey&rsquo;s account given above. He said: &lsquo;When a
person died, his friends sent for the Sin-eater of the
district, who on his arrival placed a plate of salt on
the breast of the defunct, and upon the salt a piece
of bread. He then muttered an incantation over
the bread, which he finally ate, thereby eating up all
the sins of the deceased. This done he received his
fee of 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> and vanished as quickly as possible
from the general gaze; for, as it was believed that
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg327" id="pg327">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>327]</a></span>
he really appropriated to his own use and behoof the
sins of all those over whom he performed the above
ceremony, he was utterly detested in the neighbourhood&mdash;regarded
as a mere Pariah&mdash;as one irredeemably
lost.&rsquo; The speaker then mentioned the parish of
Llandebie where the above practice &lsquo;was said to have
prevailed to a recent period.&rsquo; He spoke of the survival
of the plate and salt custom near Swansea, and
indeed generally, within twenty years, (i.e. since
1830) and added: &lsquo;In a parish near Chepstow it
was usual to make the figure of a cross on the salt,
and cutting an apple or an orange into quarters, to
put one piece at each termination of the lines.&rsquo; Mr.
Allen, of Pembrokeshire, testified that the plate and
salt were known in that county, where also a lighted
candle was stuck in the salt; the popular notion was
that it kept away the evil spirit. Mr. E.&nbsp;A. Freeman,
(the historian) asked if Sin-eater was the term used
in the district where the custom prevailed, and Mr.
Moggridge said it was.</p>

<p>Such is the testimony. I venture no opinion
upon it further than may be conveyed in the
remark that I cannot find any direct corroboration
of it, as regards the Sin-eater, and I have searched
diligently for it. The subject has engaged my
attention from the first moment I set foot on
Cambrian soil, and I have not only seen no reference
to it in Welsh writings, but I have never met any
unlettered Welshman who had ever heard of it.
All this proves nothing, perhaps; but it weighs
something.<a name="FNanchor_148_148" id="FNanchor_148_148"></a><a href="#Footnote_148_148" class="fnanchor">[148]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_146_146" id="Footnote_146_146"></a><a href="#FNanchor_146_146"><span class="label">[146]</span></a>
&lsquo;South Wales,&rsquo; 68.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_147_147" id="Footnote_147_147"></a><a href="#FNanchor_147_147"><span class="label">[147]</span></a>
Vide Hone&rsquo;s &lsquo;Year Book,&rsquo; 1832, p. 858.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_148_148" id="Footnote_148_148"></a><a href="#FNanchor_148_148"><span class="label">[148]</span></a>
Mr. Eugene Schuyler&rsquo;s mention of a corresponding character in
Turkistan is interesting: &lsquo;One poor old man, however, I noticed, who
seemed constantly engaged in prayer. On calling attention to him
I was told that he was an iskatchi, a person who gets his living by
taking on himself the sins of the dead, and thenceforth devoting himself
to prayer for their souls. He corresponds to the Sin-eater of the
Welsh border.&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;Turkistan,&rsquo; ii., 28.</p>
</div>
</div>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg328" id="pg328">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>328]</a></span></p>

<h4>III.</h4>

<p>Of superstitions regarding salt, there are many
in Wales. I have even encountered the special
custom of placing a plate of salt on the breast of
the corpse. In the case of an old woman from
Cardiganshire, who was buried at Cardiff, and who
was thus decked by her relatives, I was told the
purpose of the plate of salt was to &lsquo;prevent swelling.&rsquo;
There is an Irish custom of placing a plate of snuff
on the body of a corpse; hence the saying, addressed
to an enemy, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll get a pinch off your belly yet.&rsquo;
The Irish also employ the plate of salt in the same
manner. In view of the universal prevalence of
superstitions regarding salt, too much weight should
not be placed on this detail, in connection with the
accounts of the Sin-eater. Such superstitions are of
extreme antiquity, and they still survive even among
the most cultivated classes. Salt falling toward a
person was of old considered a most unlucky omen,
the evil of which could only be averted by throwing
a little of the fallen salt over the shoulder. My
own wife observes this heathen rite to this day,
and so, I fancy, do most men&rsquo;s wives&mdash;jocularly,
no doubt, but with a sort of feeling that &lsquo;if there
<em>is</em> anything in it,&rsquo; &amp;c. Salt was the ancient symbol
of friendship, being deemed incorruptible. In the
Isle of Man no important business was ventured
on without salt in the pocket; marrying, moving,
even the receiving of alms, must be sanctified by
an exchange of salt between the parties. An
influential legend is noted among the Manx inhabitants,
of the dissolution of an enchanted palace on
that island, through the spilling of salt on the
ground. In Da Vinci&rsquo;s picture of the Lord&rsquo;s Supper,
Judas Iscariot is represented as overturning the salt&mdash;an
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg329" id="pg329">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>329]</a></span>
omen of the coming betrayal of Christ by
that personage. In Russia, should a friend pass
you the salt without smiling, a quarrel will follow.
The Scotch put salt in a cow&rsquo;s first milk after
calving. Even the Chinese throw salt into water
from which a person has been rescued from drowning.
All these practices point either to lustration or
propitiation.</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>It has been suggested that the custom of the
Sin-eater is in imitation of the Biblical scapegoat.
&lsquo;And Aaron shall lay both his hands upon the head
of the live goat, and confess over him all the
iniquities of the children of Israel, and all their
transgressions in all their sins, putting them upon
the head of the goat, and shall send him away by
the hand of a fit man into the wilderness. And
the goat shall bear upon him all their iniquities unto
a land not inhabited: and he shall let go the goat
in the wilderness.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_149_149" id="FNanchor_149_149"></a><a href="#Footnote_149_149" class="fnanchor">[149]</a> This brings up the subject of
charms and magic, and is illustrated in Wales, if not
by the Sin-eater, by the cock and hen of St. Tegla&rsquo;s
Well. This well is about half-way between Wrexham
and Ruthin, in the parish of Llandegla, and has
been considered efficacious in curing epilepsy. One
of the common names of that complaint in Welsh
is Clwyf y Tegla, (Tegla&rsquo;s disease). Relief is
obtained by bathing in the well, and performing a
superstitious ceremony in this manner: The patient
repairs to the well after sunset, and washes himself
in it; then, having made an offering by throwing
into the water fourpence, he walks round it three
times, and thrice recites the Lord&rsquo;s Prayer. If of
the male sex, he offers a cock; if a woman, a hen.
The bird is carried in a basket, first round the well,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg330" id="pg330">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>330]</a></span>
then round the church, and the rite of repeating the
Pater Noster again performed. After all this, he
enters the church, creeps under the altar, and making
the Bible his pillow and the communion cloth his
coverlet, remains there until the break of day.
In the morning, having made a further offering of
sixpence, he leaves the cock (or hen, as the case
may be) and departs. &lsquo;Should the bird die, it is
supposed that the disease has been transferred to it,
and the man or woman consequently cured.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_150_150" id="FNanchor_150_150"></a><a href="#Footnote_150_150" class="fnanchor">[150]</a> The
custom is associated with the ancient Druids as well
as with the Jews, and its resemblance to the scapegoat
is suggestive.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_149_149" id="Footnote_149_149"></a><a href="#FNanchor_149_149"><span class="label">[149]</span></a>
Levit. xvi., 21, 22.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_150_150" id="Footnote_150_150"></a><a href="#FNanchor_150_150"><span class="label">[150]</span></a>
Ab Ithel, &lsquo;Arch. Camb.&rsquo; 1st Se., i., 184.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>The funeral procession, in rural districts where
hearses are unknown, wends its way graveward on
foot, with the corpse borne by the nearest relatives
of the deceased, a custom probably introduced in
Wales during their residence here by the Romans.
The coffin of Metellus, the conqueror of Macedon,
was borne by his four sons. The coffins of Roman
citizens held in high esteem by the Republic, were
borne by justices and senators, while those of the
enemies of the people were borne by slaves and
hired servants. As the Welsh procession winds its
way along the green lanes, psalms and hymns are
sung continually, except on coming to cross-roads.
Here the bier is set down, and all kneel and repeat
the Lord&rsquo;s Prayer. The origin of this custom, as
given by the Welsh, is to be found in the former
practice of burying criminals at cross-roads. It
was believed that the spirits of these criminals did
not go far away from the place where their bodies
lay, and the repeating of the Lord&rsquo;s Prayer was
supposed to destroy and do away with any evil
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg331" id="pg331">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>331]</a></span>
influence these spirits might have on the soul of the
dear departed.<a name="FNanchor_151_151" id="FNanchor_151_151"></a><a href="#Footnote_151_151" class="fnanchor">[151]</a></p>

<p>The Welsh retain much of the superstitious
feeling regarding the graves of criminals and suicides.
There is indeed a strong prejudice against hanging,
on account of the troublesome spirits thus let loose.
The well-known leniency of a &lsquo;Cardigan jury&rsquo; may
be connected with this prejudice, though it is usually
associated with a patriotic feeling. &lsquo;What! would
you have hur hang hur own countryman?&rsquo; is the
famous response of a Cardigan juror, who was asked
why he and his brethren acquitted a murderer.
The tale may be only a legend; the fact it illustrates
is patent. It is related that in a dispute between
two Cardigan farmers, some fifty years ago, one of
them killed the other. The jury, believing the
killing was unintentional, acquitted the homicide;
but &lsquo;whether the man was guilty or not, his neighbours
and the people who lived in the district, and
who knew the spot where the farmer was killed,
threw a stone upon it whenever they passed, probably
to show their abhorrence of the deed that had been
perpetrated in that place. By this means a large
heap of stones, which was allowed to remain for
many years, arose.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_152_152" id="FNanchor_152_152"></a><a href="#Footnote_152_152" class="fnanchor">[152]</a> They were then removed to
repair the turnpike. This custom is apparently
Jewish. Hangings are almost unknown in Wales,
whether from the extra morality of the people, or
the prejudice above noted.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_151_151" id="Footnote_151_151"></a><a href="#FNanchor_151_151"><span class="label">[151]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cymru Fu,&rsquo; 92.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_152_152" id="Footnote_152_152"></a><a href="#FNanchor_152_152"><span class="label">[152]</span></a>
&lsquo;Bye-gones,&rsquo; March 22, 1876.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>The legend of the Grassless Grave is a well-known
Montgomeryshire tale, concerning a certain spot of
earth in the graveyard of Montgomery Castle, upon
which the verdure is less luxuriant than in other
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg332" id="pg332">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>332]</a></span>
portions of the yard. One dark November night,
many years ago, a man named John Newton, who
had been at Welshpool fair, set out for home. Soon
after, he was brought back to Welshpool in the
custody of two men, who charged him with highway
robbery, a crime then punishable with death. He
was tried, and executed, in spite of his protestations;
and in his last speech, admitting he had committed
a former crime, but protesting he was innocent of
this, he said: &lsquo;I have offered a prayer to Heaven,
and believe it has been heard and accepted. And
in meek dependence on a merciful God, whom I
have offended, but who, through the atonement of
His blessed Son, has, I trust, pardoned my offence,
I venture to assert that as I am innocent of the
crime for which I suffer, the grass, for one generation
at least, will not cover my grave.&rsquo; For
thirty years thereafter, the grave was grassless; a
bare spot in the shape of a coffin marked, amidst
the surrounding luxuriance, the place where lay the
penitent criminal, unjustly executed. Then a
sacrilegious hand planted the spot with turf; but it
withered as if blasted by lightning; and the grave
is still grassless&mdash;certainly an unnecessary extension
of the time set by the defunct for its testimony to
his innocence.</p>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>A curious surviving custom at Welsh funerals is
the Offrwm, or parson&rsquo;s penny. After having read
the burial service in the church, the parson stands
behind a table while a psalm is being sung, and to
him go the mourners, one and all, and deposit a
piece of money on the table. The parson counts it,
states the amount, and pockets it. If the mourner
depositing his offrwm be wealthy, he will give
perhaps a guinea; if a farmer or tradesman, his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg333" id="pg333">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>333]</a></span>
gift will be a crown; and if poor, he will lay down
his sixpence. &lsquo;Each one that intended making an
offering of silver, would go up to the altar in his
turn, and after each one had contributed there would
be a respite, after which those who gave copper as
their offering went forward and did likewise; but
no coppers were offered at any respectable funeral.
These offerings often reached the sum of ten and
even twenty pounds in the year.&rsquo; Thus the Welsh
work, &lsquo;Cymru Fu,&rsquo; speaking as usual in the past
tense; but the custom is a present-day one. The
Welsh believe that this custom was originally
intended to compensate the clergyman for praying
for the soul of the departed. It has now ceased
to mean anything more than a tribute of respect
to the deceased, or a token of esteem towards the
officiating clergyman.</p>

<p>In the parish of Defynog, Breconshire, there was
a custom (up to 1843, when it seems to have ceased
through the angry action of a lawless widower,) of
giving to the parish clerk the best pair of shoes and
stockings left behind by the defunct.<a name="FNanchor_153_153" id="FNanchor_153_153"></a><a href="#Footnote_153_153" class="fnanchor">[153]</a></p>

<p>A still more curious form of the offrwm, which
also survives in many rural neighbourhoods, is called
the Arian y Rhaw, or spade money. At the grave,
the gravedigger rubs the soil off his spade, extends
it for donations, and receives a piece of silver from
each one in turn, which he also pockets. In
Merionethshire the money is received at the grave
in a bowl, instead of on the spade, and the gift is
simply called the offrwm. &lsquo;I well recollect, when
a lad,&rsquo; says an entertaining correspondent,<a name="FNanchor_154_154" id="FNanchor_154_154"></a><a href="#Footnote_154_154" class="fnanchor">[154]</a> &lsquo;at
Llanrhaiadr-yn-Mochnant, seeing the clerk or sexton
cleaning his spade with the palm of his hand, and
blowing the remaining dust, so that the instrument
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg334" id="pg334">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>334]</a></span>
of his calling should be clean and presentable, and
then, with due and clerk-like gravity, presenting
his polished spade, first to the &ldquo;cyfneseifiaid&rdquo; (next-of-kin),
and then to the mourners one by one,
giving all an opportunity of showing their respect
to the dead, by giving the clerk the accustomed
offrwm. At times the old clerk, &ldquo;yr hen glochydd,&rdquo;
when collecting the offrwm, rather than go around
the grave to the people, to the no small annoyance
of the friends, would reach his spade over the grave.
At the particular time referred to, the clerk, having
nearly had all the offrwm, saw that facetious wag
and practical joker, Mr. B., extending his offering
towards him from the opposite side of the grave.
The clerk, as was his wont, extended the spade
over the grave towards the offered gift. The
opportunity for fun was not to be lost, and whilst
placing his offrwm on the spade, Mr. B. pressed
on one corner, and the spade turned in the hands
of the unwitting clerk, emptying the whole offering
into the grave, to the no small surprise of the clerk,
who never forgot the lesson, and the great amusement
of the standers-by.&rsquo; It is noted in this connection
that the sexton&rsquo;s spade &lsquo;was a terror to
the superstitious, for if the gravedigger would but
shake his spade at anyone, it was a matter of but
short time ere the sexton would be called upon to
dig the grave of that person who had come under
the evil influence of the spade. &ldquo;Has the sexton
shook his spade at you?&rdquo; was a question often put
to a person in bad health.&rsquo;</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_153_153" id="Footnote_153_153"></a><a href="#FNanchor_153_153"><span class="label">[153]</span></a>
&lsquo;Arch. Camb.,&rsquo; 2nd Se., iv., 326.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_154_154" id="Footnote_154_154"></a><a href="#FNanchor_154_154"><span class="label">[154]</span></a>
&lsquo;Bye-gones,&rsquo; Oct. 17, 1877.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>Until a recent date, burials without a coffin were
common in some parts of Wales. Old people in
Montgomeryshire not many years ago, could
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg335" id="pg335">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>335]</a></span>
remember such burials, in what was called the cadach
deupen, or cloth with two heads. Old Richard
Griffith, of Trefeglwys, who died many years ago,
recollected a burial in this fashion there, when the
cloth gave way and was rent; whereupon the clergyman
prohibited any further burials in that churchyard
without a coffin. That was the last burial of
the kind which took place in Montgomeryshire.<a name="FNanchor_155_155" id="FNanchor_155_155"></a><a href="#Footnote_155_155" class="fnanchor">[155]</a></p>

<p>In the middle ages there was a Welsh custom of
burying the dead in the garment of a monk, as a
protection against evil spirits. This was popular
among the wealthy, and was a goodly source of
priestly revenue.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_155_155" id="Footnote_155_155"></a><a href="#FNanchor_155_155"><span class="label">[155]</span></a>
&lsquo;Bye-gones,&rsquo; Nov. 22, 1876.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IX.</h4>

<p>Sul Coffa is an old Welsh custom of honouring
the dead on the Sunday following the funeral, and
for several succeeding Sundays, until the violence
of grief has abated. In the Journal of Thomas
Dinelly, Esquire, an Englishman who travelled
through Wales and Ireland in the reign of
Charles II.,<a name="FNanchor_156_156" id="FNanchor_156_156"></a><a href="#Footnote_156_156" class="fnanchor">[156]</a> this passage occurs, after description
of the wake, the keening, etc.: &lsquo;This done y<sup>e</sup> Irish
bury their dead, and if it be in or neer y<sup>e</sup> burying
place of that family, the servants and followers hugg
kiss howle and weep over the skulls that are there
digg&rsquo;d up and once a week for a quarter of an year
after come two or three and pay more noyse at the
place.&rsquo; The similarity in spirit between this and
the Welsh Sul Coffa is as striking as the difference
in practice. The Welsh walk quietly and gravely
to the solemn mound beneath which rest the remains
of the loved, and there kneeling in silence
for five or ten minutes, pray or appear to pray.</p>

<p>The Sul Coffa of Ivan the Harper is a well-known
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg336" id="pg336">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>336]</a></span>
anecdote. Ivan the Harper was a noted
character in his day, who desired that his coffa
should be thus: &lsquo;I should like,&rsquo; said he, on his
death-bed, &lsquo;to have my coffa; but not in the old
style. Instead of the old custom ask Williams of
Merllyn and Richard the Harper to attend the
church at Llanfwrog, and give these, my disciples,
my two harps, and after the service is over, let them
walk to my grave; let Williams sit at the head and
Richard at the feet, of my grave, and let them
play seven Welsh airs, beginning with Dafydd y
Garreg Wen,&rsquo; (David of the White Stone) &lsquo;and
ending with, Toriad y Dydd,&rsquo; (the Dawn.) &lsquo;The
former is in a flat key, like death, and the latter is
as sober as the day of judgment.&rsquo; This request was
religiously obeyed by the mourners on the ensuing
Sul Coffa.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_156_156" id="Footnote_156_156"></a><a href="#FNanchor_156_156"><span class="label">[156]</span></a>
Quoted in the Proceedings of the Kilkenny Arch. Soc., 1858.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>X.</h4>

<p>Reference has been made, in the chapter on
courtship and marriage, to the Welsh practice of
planting graves with flowers. There are graves in
Glamorganshire which have been kept blooming
with flowers for nearly a century without interruption,
through the loving care of descendants of the
departed. By a most graceful custom which also
prevailed until recently, each mourner at a funeral
carried in his hand a sprig of rosemary, which he
threw into the grave. The Pagan practice of
throwing a sprig of cypress into the grave has been
thought to symbolize the annihilation of the body,
as these sprigs would not grow if set in the earth:
whereas the rosemary was to signify the resurrection
or up-springing of the body from the grave. The
existing custom of throwing flowers and immortelles
into the grave is derivable from the ancient practice.
But the Welsh carry the association of graves and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg337" id="pg337">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>337]</a></span>
floral life to the most lavish extreme, as has already
been pointed out. Shakspeare has alluded to this
in &lsquo;Cymbeline,&rsquo; the scene of which tragedy is principally
in Pembrokeshire, at and about Milford
Haven:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i7"><i>Arv.</i> With fairest flowers,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I&rsquo;ll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The flower, that&rsquo;s like thy face, pale primrose; nor<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The azur&rsquo;d harebell, like thy veins; no, nor<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Outsweeten&rsquo;d not thy breath.<a name="FNanchor_157_157" id="FNanchor_157_157"></a><a href="#Footnote_157_157" class="fnanchor">[157]</a><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter imgw3">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bgm05.png" width="500" height="155"
alt="Music notation for Dafydd y Garreg Wen" />
</div>

<p class="link">[<a href="music/bgm05harp.mid">Listen.</a>]<br />
<br />
[<a href="music/bgm05harplong.mid">Listen to a longer version.</a>]</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_157_157" id="Footnote_157_157"></a><a href="#FNanchor_157_157"><span class="label">[157]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cymbeline,&rsquo; Act IV., Sc. 2.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg338" id="pg338">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>338]</a></span></p>

<h2 class="padtop"><a name="book4" id="book4"></a><span class="lrgfont">BOOK IV.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smlfont">BELLS, WELLS, STONES, AND DRAGONS.</span></h2>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Gorgons, and hydras, and chimeras dire.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Milton</span>: <i>Paradise Lost</i>.</p>
</div>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then up there raise ane wee wee man<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Franethe the moss-gray stane;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His face was wan like the collifloure,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">For he nouthir had blude nor bane.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Hogg</span>: <i>The Witch of Fife</i>.</p>
</div>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i9">... where he stood,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of auncient time there was a springing well,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From which fast trickled forth a silver flood,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Full of great vertues, and for med&rsquo;cine good: ...<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For unto life the dead it could restore.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Spenser</span>: <i>Faerie Queene</i>.</p>
</div>



<h3 class="padtop"><a name="bk4chap01" id="bk4chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Base of the Primeval Mythology&mdash;Bells and their Ghosts&mdash;The Bell
that committed Murder and was damned for it&mdash;The Occult Powers
of Bells&mdash;Their Work as Detectives, Doctors, etc.&mdash;Legend of the
Bell of Rhayader&mdash;St. Illtyd&rsquo;s Wonderful Bell&mdash;The Golden Bell of
Llandaff.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>The human mind in its infancy turns instinctively
to fetichism. The mind of primeval man resembled
that of a child. Children have to learn by experience
that the fire which burns them is not instigated
by malice.<a name="FNanchor_158_158" id="FNanchor_158_158"></a><a href="#Footnote_158_158" class="fnanchor">[158]</a> In his primitive condition, man
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg339" id="pg339">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>339]</a></span>
personified everything in nature. Animate and inanimate
objects were alike endowed with feelings,
passions, emotions, moral qualities. On this basis
rests the primeval mythology.</p>

<p>The numerous superstitions associated with bells,
wells and stones in Wales, excite constant inquiries
as regards their origin in fetichism, in paganism,
in solar worship, or in church observances. That
bells, especially, should suggest the supernatural to
the vulgar mind is not strange. The occult powers
of bells have place in the popular belief of many
lands. The Flemish child who wonders how the
voices got into the bells is paralleled by the Welsh
lad who hears the bells of Aberdovey talking in
metrical words to a musical chime. The ghosts of
bells are believed to haunt the earth in many parts
of Wales. Allusion has been made to those castle
bells which are heard ringing from the submerged
towers in Crumlyn lake. Like fancies are associated
with many Welsh lakes. In Langorse Pool,
Breconshire, an ancient city is said to lie buried,
from whose cathedral bells on a calm day may be
heard a faint and muffled chime, pealing solemnly
far down in the sepial depths. A legend of Trefethin
relates that in the church of St. Cadoc, at
that place, was a bell of wondrous powers, a gift
from Llewellyn ap Iorwerth, Lord of Caerleon. A
little child who had climbed to the belfry was struck
by the bell and killed, not through the wickedness
of the bell itself, but through a spell which had
been put upon the unfortunate instrument by an
evil spirit. But though innocent of murderous
intent, the wretched bell became forfeit to the
demons on account of its fatal deed. They seized
it and bore it down through the earth to the shadow-realm
of annwn. And ever since that day, when a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg340" id="pg340">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>340]</a></span>
child is accidentally slain at Trefethin, the bell of
St. Cadoc is heard tolling mournfully underneath
the ground where it disappeared ages ago.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_158_158" id="Footnote_158_158"></a><a href="#FNanchor_158_158"><span class="label">[158]</span></a>
A Mississippi negro-boy who was brought by a friend of mine from
his southern home to a northern city, and who had never seen snow,
found the ground one morning covered with what he supposed to be
salt, and going out to get some, returned complaining that it &lsquo;bit his
fingers.&rsquo;</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>There was anciently a belief that the sound of
brass would break enchantment, as well as cause
it; and it is presumed that the original purpose of
the common custom of tolling the bell for the dead
was to drive away evil spirits. Originally, the bell
was tolled not for the dead, but for the dying; it
was believed that evil spirits were hovering about
the sick chamber, waiting to pounce on the soul as
soon as it should get free from the body; and the
bell was tolled for the purpose of driving them
away. Later, the bell was not tolled till death had
occurred, and this form of the custom survives here,
as in many lands. Before the Reformation there
was kept in all Welsh churches a handbell, which
was taken by the sexton to the house where a
funeral was to be held, and rung at the head of the
procession. When the voices of the singers were
silent at the end of a psalm, the bell would take up
the burden of complaint in measured and mournful
tones, and ring till another psalm was begun. It
was at this period deemed sacred. The custom
survived long after the Reformation in many places,
as at Caerleon, the little Monmouthshire village
which was a bustling Roman city when London
was a hamlet. The bell&mdash;called the bangu&mdash;was
still preserved in the parish of Llanfair Duffryn
Clwyd half-a-dozen years ago. I believe the custom
of ringing a handbell before the corpse on its
way through the streets is still observed at Oxford,
when a university man is buried. The town marshal
is the bellman for this office. The custom is
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg341" id="pg341">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>341]</a></span>
associated with the same superstitious belief which
is seen in the &lsquo;passing bell,&rsquo; the notes of pure bronze
freeing the soul from the power of evil spirits.</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>The Welsh were formerly strong in the belief that
bells could perform miracles, detect thieves, heal the
sick, and the like. In many instances they were
possessed of locomotive powers, and would transport
themselves from place to place when they had occasion,
according to their own sweet will, and without
human intervention. It is even recorded that certain
handbells required to be tied with the double
cord of an exorcism and a piece of twine, or they
would get up and walk off in the night.</p>

<p>Bells which presaged storms, as well as other
disasters, have been believed to exist in many parts
of Wales. In Pembrokeshire the unexpected tolling
of a church bell in the night is held to be the sure
precursor of a calamity&mdash;a belief which may be
paralleled in London, where there are still people
who believe such tolling on the part of the great
bell of St. Paul&rsquo;s portends disaster to the royal
family. In the Cromwellian wars, the sacrilegious
followers of the stern old castle-hater carried off a
great bell from St. David&rsquo;s, Pembrokeshire. They
managed to get it on shipboard, but in passing
through Ramsey Sound the vessel was wrecked&mdash;a
direct result, the superstitious said, of profanely
treating the bell. Ever since that time, Pembroke
people have been able to hear this sunken bell ring
from its watery grave when a storm is rising.</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>The legend of the Bell of Rhayader perpetuates
a class of story which reappears in other parts of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg342" id="pg342">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>342]</a></span>
Great Britain. It was in the twelfth century that a
certain contumacious knight was imprisoned in the
castle of Rhayader. His wife, being devoted to
him, and a good Catholic, besought the aid of the
monks to get him out. They were equal to the
occasion, at least in so far as to provide for her service
a magical bell, which possessed the power of
liberating from confinement any prisoner who should
set it up on the wall and ring it. The wife succeeded
in getting the bell secretly into her husband&rsquo;s possession,
and he set it up on the wall and rang it.
But although he had gathered his belongings together
and was fully prepared to go, the doors of
his prison refused to open. The castellan mocked
at the magical bell, and kept the knight in durance
vile. So therefore (for of course the story could not
be allowed to end here) the castle was struck by
lightning, and both it and the town were burned in
one night&mdash;excepting only the wall upon which
the magic bell was hanging. Nothing remains of
the castle walls in this day.</p>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>The bell of St. Illtyd was greatly venerated in
the middle ages. A legend concerning this wonderful
bell relates that a certain king had stolen it
from the church, and borne it into England, tied
about the neck of one of his horses. For this deed
the king was destroyed, but repenting before his
death, ordered the bell to be restored to its place in
Wales. Without waiting to be driven, the horse
with the bell about his neck set out for Wales, followed
by a whole drove of horses, drawn by the
melodious sound of the bell. Wonderful to tell, the
horse was able to cross the river Severn and come
into Wales, the great collection of horses following.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg343" id="pg343">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>343]</a></span>
&lsquo;Then hastening along the shore, and over the
mountains, and through the woods, he came to the
road which went towards Glamorgan, all the horses
hearing, and following the sweet sound.&rsquo; When
they came to the banks of the river Taff, a clergyman
heard the sound of the bell, and went out to
meet the horse, and they together carried the bell
to the gate of St. Illtyd&rsquo;s church. There the horse
bent down and loosed his precious burden from his
neck, &lsquo;and it fell on a stone, from which fall a part
of it was broken, which is to be seen until the present
day, in memory of the eminent miracle.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_159_159" id="FNanchor_159_159"></a><a href="#Footnote_159_159" class="fnanchor">[159]</a></p>

<p>Some thirty years ago a bell was discovered at
Llantwit Major, in Glamorganshire, which was
thought to be the identical bell of this saint. The
village named was the scene of his exploits, many
of which were miraculous to the point of Arabian
Nights marvelousness. The discovered bell was
inscribed &lsquo;Sancte Iltute, ora pro nobis,&rsquo; and stood
upon the gable of the quaint old town-hall. But
though the bell was unmistakably ancient, it bore
intrinsic evidence of having been cast long after the
saint&rsquo;s death, when his name had become venerated.
He was one of King Arthur&rsquo;s soldiers, who afterwards
renounced the world, and founded several
churches in Glamorganshire.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_159_159" id="Footnote_159_159"></a><a href="#FNanchor_159_159"><span class="label">[159]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cambro-British Saints,&rsquo; 492.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>Among the many legends of Llandaff which still
linger familiarly on the lips of the people is that of
the bell of St. Oudoceus, second bishop of that see.
In the ancient &lsquo;Book of Llandaff,&rsquo; where are preserved
the records of that cathedral from the earliest
days of Christianity on this island, the legend is thus
related: &lsquo;St. Oudoceus, being thirsty after undergoing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg344" id="pg344">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>344]</a></span>
labour, and more accustomed to drink water
than any other liquor, came to a fountain in the vale
of Llandaff, not far from the church, that he might
drink, where he found women washing butter, after
the manner of the country; and sending to them
his messengers and disciples, they requested that
they would accommodate them with a vessel, that
their pastor might drink therefrom; who, ironically,
as mischievous girls, said, &ldquo;We have no cup besides
that which we hold in our hands, namely, the butter.&rdquo;
And the man of blessed memory taking it, formed
one in the shape of a small bell, and he raised his
hand so that he might drink therefrom, and he
drank. And it remained in that form, that is, a
golden one, so that it appeared to those who beheld
it to consist altogether of the purest gold, which, by
divine power, is from that day reverently preserved
in the church of Llandaff in memory of the holy
man, and it is said that by touching it health is given
to the diseased.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_160_160" id="FNanchor_160_160"></a><a href="#Footnote_160_160" class="fnanchor">[160]</a></p>

<div class="figcenter imgw3">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bgm06.png" width="500" height="177"
alt="Music notation for Clychau Aberdyfi (The Bells of Aberdovey)" />
</div>

<p class="link">[<a href="music/bgm06harp.mid">Listen.</a>]</p>



<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_160_160" id="Footnote_160_160"></a><a href="#FNanchor_160_160"><span class="label">[160]</span></a>
&lsquo;Liber Landavensis,&rsquo; 378.</p>
</div>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg345" id="pg345">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>345]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk4chap02" id="bk4chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Mystic Wells&mdash;Their Good and Bad Dispositions&mdash;St. Winifred&rsquo;s Well&mdash;The
Legend of St. Winifred&mdash;Miracles&mdash;St. Tecla&rsquo;s Well&mdash;St.
Dwynwen&rsquo;s&mdash;Curing Love-sickness&mdash;St. Cynfran&rsquo;s&mdash;St. Cynhafal&rsquo;s&mdash;Throwing
Pins in Wells&mdash;Warts&mdash;Barry Island and its Legends&mdash;Ffynon
Gwynwy&mdash;Propitiatory Gifts to Wells&mdash;The Dreadful
Cursing Well of St. Elian&rsquo;s&mdash;Wells Flowing with Milk&mdash;St. Illtyd&rsquo;s&mdash;Taff&rsquo;s
Well&mdash;Sanford&rsquo;s Well&mdash;Origins of Superstitions of this Class.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>The waters of mystery which flow at Lourdes, in
France, are paralleled in numberless Welsh parishes.
In every corner of Cambria may be found wells
which possess definite attributes, malicious or beneficent,
which they are popularly supposed to actively
exert toward mankind. In almost every instance,
the name of the tutelary saint to whom the well is
consecrated is known to the peasantry, and generally
they can tell you something about him, or her.
Unnumbered centuries have elapsed since the saint
lived; nay, generation upon generation has perished
since any complete knowledge of his life or character
existed, save in mouldering manuscripts left by
monks, themselves long turned to dust; yet the
tradition of the saint as regards the well is there, a
living thing beside its waters. However lightly
some forms of superstition may at times be treated
by the vulgar, they are seldom capable of irreverent
remark concerning the well. In many cases this
respect amounts to awe.</p>

<p>These wells are of varying power and disposition.
Some are healing wells; others are cursing wells;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg346" id="pg346">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>346]</a></span>
still others combine the power alike to curse and to
cure. Some are sovereign in their influence over
all the diseases from which men suffer, mental and
moral as well as physical; others can cure but one
disease, or one specific class of diseases; and others
remedy all the misfortunes of the race, make the
poor rich, the unhappy happy, and the unlucky
lucky. That these various reputations arose in some
wells from medicinal qualities found by experience
to dwell in the waters, is clear at a glance; but in
many cases the character of the patron saint gives
character to the well. In parishes dedicated to the
Virgin Mary there will almost inevitably be found a
Ffynon Mair, (Well of Mary,) the waters of which
are supposed to be purer than the waters of other
wells. Sometimes the people will take the trouble
to go a long distance for water from the Ffynon
Mair, though a good well may be nearer, in whose
water chemical analysis can find no difference. Formerly,
and indeed until within a few years past, no
water would do for baptizing but that fetched from
the Ffynon Mair, though it were a mile or more
from the church. That the water flowed southward
was in some cases held to be a secret of its virtue.
In other instances, wells which opened and flowed
eastward were thought to afford the purest water.</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>Most renowned and most frequented of Welsh
wells is St. Winifred&rsquo;s, at Holywell. By the testimony
of tradition it has been flowing for eleven
hundred and eighty years, or since the year 700, and
during all this time has been constantly visited by
throngs of invalids; and that it will continue to be
so frequented for a thousand years to come is not
doubted, apparently, by the members of the Holywell
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg347" id="pg347">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>347]</a></span>
Local Board, who have just taken a lease of
the well from the Duke of Westminster for 999
years more, at an annual rental of &pound;1. The town
of Holywell probably owes not only name but existence
to this well. Its miraculous powers are extensively
believed in by the Welsh, and by people
from all parts of Great Britain and the United
States; but Drayton&rsquo;s assertion that no dog could
be drowned in its waters, on account of their beneficent
disposition, is not an article of the existing
faith. The most prodigious fact in connection with
this wonderful fountain, when its legendary origin is
contemplated, is its size, its abounding life, the great
volume of its waters. A well which discharges
twenty-one tons of water per minute, which feeds
an artificial lake and runs a mill, and has cured unnumbered
thousands of human beings of their ills
for hundreds of years, is surely one of the wonders
of the world, to which even mystic legend can only
add one marvel more.</p>

<p>The legend of St. Winifred, or Gwenfrewi, as
she is called in Welsh, was related by the British
monk Elerius in the year 660, or by Robert of
Salop in 1190, and is in the Cotton MSS. in the
British Museum. It is there written in characters considered
to be of the middle of the eleventh century.
Winifred was the daughter of a valiant soldier in
North Wales; from her youth she loved a heavenly
spouse, and refused transitory men. One day Caradoc,
a descendant of royal stock, came to her house
fatigued from hunting wild beasts, and asked Winifred
for drink. But seeing the beauty of the nymph
he forgot his thirst in his admiration, and at once
besought her to treat him with the familiarity of a
sweetheart. Winifred refused, asserting that she
was engaged to be married to another. Caradoc
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg348" id="pg348">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>348]</a></span>
became furious at this, and said, &lsquo;Leave off this
foolish, frivolous, and trifling mode of speaking, and
consent to my wish.&rsquo; Then he asked her to be his
wife. Finding he would not be denied, Winifred
had recourse to a stratagem to escape from him:
she pretended to comply, but asked leave to first
make a becoming toilet. Caradoc agreed, on condition
that she should make it quickly. The girl
went through her chamber with swift feet into the
valley, and was escaping, when Caradoc perceived
the trick, and mounting his horse spurred after her.
He overtook her at the very door of the monastery
to which she was fleeing; before she could place
her foot within the threshold he struck off her head
at one blow. St. Beino coming quickly to the door
saw bloody Caradoc standing with his stained sword
in his hand, and immediately cursed him as he stood,
so that the bloody man melted in his sight like wax
before a fire. Beino then took the virgin&rsquo;s head
(which had been thrown inside the door by the blow
which severed it) and fitted it on the neck of the
corpse. Winifred thereupon revived, with no further
harm than a small line on her neck. But the floor
upon which her bloody head had fallen, cracked
open, and a fountain sprang up like a torrent at the
spot. &lsquo;And the stones appear bloody at present
as they did at first, and the moss smells as frankincense,
and it cures divers diseases.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_161_161" id="FNanchor_161_161"></a><a href="#Footnote_161_161" class="fnanchor">[161]</a> Thus far the
monastic legend. Some say that Caradoc&rsquo;s descendants
were doomed to bark like dogs.</p>

<p>Among the miracles related of Winifred&rsquo;s well
by her monkish biographer is one characterized as
&lsquo;stupendous,&rsquo; concerning three bright stones which
were seen in the middle of the ebullition of the
fountain, ascending and descending, &lsquo;up and down
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg349" id="pg349">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>349]</a></span>
by turns, after the manner of stones projected by
a shooter.&rsquo; They so continued to dance for many
years, but one day an unlucky woman was seized
with a desire to play with the stones. So she took
hold of one; whereat they all vanished, and the
woman died. This miracle was supplemented by
that of a man who was rebuked for theft at the
fountain; and on his denying his guilt, the goat
which he had stolen and eaten became his accuser
by uttering an audible bleating from his belly. But
the miracles of Winifred&rsquo;s well are for the most part
records of wonderful cures from disease and deformity.
Withered and useless limbs were made
whole and useful; the dumb bathed in the water,
came out, and asked for their clothes; the blind
washed and received their sight; lunatics &lsquo;troubled
by unclean spirits&rsquo; were brought to the well in
chains, &lsquo;tearing with their teeth and speaking vain
things,&rsquo; but returned homeward in full possession of
their reason. Fevers, paralysis, epilepsy, stone,
gout, cancers, piles&mdash;these are but a few of the
diseases cured by the marvellous well, on the testimony
of the ancient chronicler of the Cotton MSS.
&lsquo;Nor is it to be hidden in the silence of Lethean
oblivion that after the expulsion of the Franks from
all North Wales&rsquo; the fountain flowed with a milky
liquor for the space of three days. A priest bottled
some of it, and it &lsquo;was carried about and drunk in
all directions,&rsquo; curing diseases in the same manner
as the well itself.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_161_161" id="Footnote_161_161"></a><a href="#FNanchor_161_161"><span class="label">[161]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cambro-British Saints,&rsquo; 519.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>Only second in fame to Winifred&rsquo;s, among the
Welsh themselves, is St. Tecla&rsquo;s well, or Ffynon
Tegla, in Denbighshire. It springs out of a bog
called Gwern Degla, about two hundred yards from
the parish church of Llandegla. Some account of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg350" id="pg350">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>350]</a></span>
the peculiar superstitious ceremony connected with
this well has already been given, in the chapter
treating of the sin-eater. It is there suggested that
the cock to which the fits are transferred by the
patient at the well is a substitute for the scapegoat
of the Jews. The parish clerk of Llandegla in
1855 said that an old man of his acquaintance
&lsquo;remembered quite well seeing the birds staggering
about from the effects of the fits&rsquo; which had been
transferred to them.</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>Of great celebrity in other days was St. Dwynwen&rsquo;s
well, in the parish of Llandwyn, Anglesea.
This saint being patron saint of lovers, her well
possessed the property of curing love-sickness. It
was visited by great numbers, of both sexes, in the
fourteenth century, when the popular faith in its
waters seems to have been at its strongest. It is
still frequented by young women of that part of the
country when suffering from the woes inflicted by
Dan Cupid. That the well itself has been for many
years covered over with sand does not prevent the
faithful from displaying their devotion; they seek
their cure from &lsquo;the water next to the well.&rsquo; Ffynon
Dwynwen, or Fountain of Venus, was also a name
given to the sea, according to the Iolo MSS.; and
in the legend of Seithenhin the Drunkard, in the
&lsquo;Black Book of Carmarthen,&rsquo; this stanza occurs:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Accursed be the damsel,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who, after the wailing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let loose the Fountain of Venus, the raging deep.<a name="FNanchor_162_162" id="FNanchor_162_162"></a><a href="#Footnote_162_162" class="fnanchor">[162]</a><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg351" id="pg351">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>351]</a></span>
The story of Aphrodite, born from the foam of the
sea, need only be alluded to here.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_162_162" id="Footnote_162_162"></a><a href="#FNanchor_162_162"><span class="label">[162]</span></a>
&lsquo;Black Book of Carmarthen,&rsquo; xxxviii. (An ancient MS. in the
Hengwrt collection, which belonged of old to the priory of Black Canons
at Carmarthen, and at the dissolution of the religious houses in
Wales, when their libraries were dispersed, was given by the treasurer
of St. David&rsquo;s Church to Sir John Price, one of Henry VIII.&rsquo;s
commissioners.)</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>Several wells appear to have been devoted to the
cure of the lower animals&rsquo; diseases. Such was the
well of Cynfran, where this ejaculation was made
use of: &lsquo;Rhad Duw a Chynfran lwydd ar y da!&rsquo;&mdash;(the
grace of God and the blessed Cynfran on the
cattle.) This Cynfran was one of the many sons
of the patriarch Brychan, and his well is near
Abergeleu. Pennant speaks also of a well near
Abergeleu, which he calls St. George&rsquo;s well, and
says that there the British Mars had his offering
of horses; &lsquo;for the rich were wont to offer one, to
secure his blessing on all the rest. He was the
tutelar saint of those animals.&rsquo;</p>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>St. Cynhafal&rsquo;s well, on a hillside in Llangynhafal
parish, Denbighshire, is one of those curing wells in
which pins are thrown. Its specialty is warts. To
exorcise your wart you stick a pin in it and then
throw the pin into this well; the wart soon vanishes.
The wart is a form of human trouble which appears
to have been at all times and in all countries a
special subject of charms, both in connection with
wells and with pins. Where a well of the requisite
virtue is not conveniently near, the favourite form
of charm for wart-curing is in connection with the
wasting away of some selected object. Having
first been pricked into the wart, the pin is then
thrust into the selected object&mdash;in Gloucestershire
it is a snail&mdash;and then the object is buried or impaled
on a blackthorn in a hedge, and as it perishes
the wart will disappear. The scapegoat principle
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg352" id="pg352">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>352]</a></span>
of the sin-eater also appears in connection with
charming away warts, as where a &lsquo;vagrom man&rsquo;
counts your warts, marks their number in his hat,
and goes away, taking the warts with him into the
next county&mdash;for a trifling consideration.<a name="FNanchor_163_163" id="FNanchor_163_163"></a><a href="#Footnote_163_163" class="fnanchor">[163]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_163_163" id="Footnote_163_163"></a><a href="#FNanchor_163_163"><span class="label">[163]</span></a>
A popular belief among boys in some parts of the United States is
that warts can be rubbed off upon a toad impaled with a sharp stick;
as the toad dies the warts will go. <i>Per contra</i>, this cruel faith is offset
by a theory that toads if ill-treated can spit upon their aggressors&rsquo;
hands and thus cause warts.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>On Barry Island, near Cardiff, is the famous well
of St. Barruc, or Barri, which was still frequented
by the credulous up to May, 1879, at which time
the island was closed against visitors by its owner,
Lord Windsor, and converted into a rabbit warren.
Tradition directs that on Holy Thursday he who
is troubled with any disease of the eyes shall go
to this well, and having thoroughly washed his eyes
in its water, shall drop a pin in it. The innkeeper
there formerly found great numbers of pins&mdash;a pint,
in one instance&mdash;when cleaning out the well. It
had long been utterly neglected by the sole resident
of the island, whose house was a long distance from
the well, at a point nearer the main land; but pins
were still discovered there from time to time. There
was in old days a chapel on this island; no vestige
of it remains. Tradition says that St. Barruc was
buried there, and the now barren and deserted islet
appears to have been anciently a popular place
among the saints. St. Cadoc had one of his residences
there.<a name="FNanchor_164_164" id="FNanchor_164_164"></a><a href="#Footnote_164_164" class="fnanchor">[164]</a> He was one day sitting on a hill-top
in that island when he saw the two saints Barruc
and Gwalches drawing near in a boat, and as he
looked the boat was overturned by the wind. Both
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg353" id="pg353">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>353]</a></span>
saints were drowned, and Cadoc&rsquo;s manual book,
which they had in the boat with them, was lost in
the sea. But when Cadoc proceeded to order his
dinner, a salmon was brought to him which being
cut open was found to have the missing manual
book in its belly in an unimpaired condition. Concerning
another saint whose name was Barri, a
wonderful story is told that one day being on a visit
to St. David he borrowed the latter&rsquo;s horse and
rode across the sea from Pembrokeshire to the Irish
coast. Many have supposed this Barri to be the
same person as Barruc, but they were two men.</p>

<p>This romantic island was anciently celebrated for
certain ghastly noises which were heard in it&mdash;sounds
resembling the clanking of chains, hammering
of iron, and blowing of bellows&mdash;and which were
supposed to be made by the fiends whom Merlin
had set to work to frame the wall of brass to surround
Carmarthen. So the noises and eruptions
of Etna and Stromboli were in ancient times
ascribed to Typhon or Vulcan. But in the case
of Barry I have been unable, by any assistance from
imagination, to detect these mystic sounds in our
day. Camden, in his &lsquo;Britannica,&rsquo; makes a like
remark, but says the tradition was universally prevalent.
The judicious Malkin, however, thinks it
requires but a moderate stretch of fancy to create
this cyclopean imagery, when the sea at high tides
is often in possession of cavities under the very feet
of the stranger, and its voice is at once modified and
magnified by confinement and repercussion.<a name="FNanchor_165_165" id="FNanchor_165_165"></a><a href="#Footnote_165_165" class="fnanchor">[165]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_164_164" id="Footnote_164_164"></a><a href="#FNanchor_164_164"><span class="label">[164]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cambro-British Saints,&rsquo; 336.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_165_165" id="Footnote_165_165"></a><a href="#FNanchor_165_165"><span class="label">[165]</span></a>
Malkin&rsquo;s &lsquo;South Wales,&rsquo; 132.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>Another well whose specialty is warts is a small
spring called Ffynon Gwynwy, near Llangelynin
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg354" id="pg354">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>354]</a></span>
church, Carnarvonshire. The pins used here must
be crooked in order to be efficacious. It is said
that fifty years ago the bottom of this little well was
covered with pins; and that everybody was careful
not to touch them, fearing that the warts deposited
with the pins would grow upon their own hands
if they did so.<a name="FNanchor_166_166" id="FNanchor_166_166"></a><a href="#Footnote_166_166" class="fnanchor">[166]</a> At present the well is overgrown
with weeds, like that on Barry Island.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_166_166" id="Footnote_166_166"></a><a href="#FNanchor_166_166"><span class="label">[166]</span></a>
&lsquo;Arch. Camb.,&rsquo; 3rd Se., xiii., 61.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IX.</h4>

<p>The use of pins for purposes of enchantment is
one of the most curious features of popular superstition.
Trivial as it appears to superficial observation,
it can be associated with a vast number of
mystic rites and ceremonials, and with times the
most ancient. There is no doubt that before the
invention of pins in this country small pieces of
money were thrown into the well instead; indeed
it was asserted by a writer in the &lsquo;Arch&aelig;ologia
Cambrensis&rsquo; in 1856 that money was still thrown
into St. Tecla&rsquo;s well, by persons desirous of recovering
from fits. That the same practice prevailed
among the Romans is shown by Pliny, who
speaks of the sacred spring of the Clitumnus, so
pure and clear that you may count the pieces of
money that have been thrown into it, and the
shining pebbles at the bottom. And in connection
with the Welsh well of St. Elian there was formerly
a box into which the sick dropped money as
they nowadays drop a pin into that well. This box
was called cyff-elian, and was in the form of a trunk
studded with nails, with an aperture in the top
through which the money was dropped. It is said
to have got so full of coins that the parishioners
opened it, and with the contents purchased three
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg355" id="pg355">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>355]</a></span>
farms. The presentation of pins to the well, though
now a meaningless rite on the part of those who
practice it, was originally intended as a propitiatory
offering to the evil spirit of the well. In some
instances the heathen faith is virtually restored, and
the well endowed with supernatural powers irrespective
of the dedication of its waters to a Christian
saint. Indeed in the majority of cases where these
wells are now resorted to by the peasantry for any
other than curative purposes, the fetichistic impulse
is much more conspicuous than any influence associated
with religious teaching.</p>


<h4>X.</h4>

<p>St. Elian&rsquo;s is accounted the most dreadful well
in Wales. It is in the parish of Llanelian, Denbighshire.
It is at the head of the cursing wells,
of which there are but few in the Principality, and
holds still a strong influence over the ignorant mind.
The popular belief is that you can &lsquo;put&rsquo; your enemy
&lsquo;into&rsquo; this well, i.e., render him subject to its evil
influence, so that he will pine away and perhaps die
unless the curse be removed. The degree and
nature of the curse can be modified as the &lsquo;offerer&rsquo;
desires, so that the obnoxious person will suffer
aches and pains in his body, or troubles in his
pocket&mdash;the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
The minister of the well appears to be some heartless
wretch residing in the neighbourhood, whose
services are enlisted for a small fee. The name of
the person to be &lsquo;put into&rsquo; the well is registered
in a book kept by the wretch aforesaid, and a pin
is cast into the well in his name, together with a
pebble inscribed with its initials. The person so
cursed soon hears of it, and the fact preys on his
mind; he imagines for himself every conceivable ill,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg356" id="pg356">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>356]</a></span>
and if gifted with a lively faith soon finds himself reduced
to a condition where he cannot rest till he has
secured the removal of the curse. This is effected
by a reversal of the above ceremonies&mdash;erasing the
name, taking out the pebble, and otherwise appeasing
the spirit of the well. It is asserted that
death has in many instances resulted from the curse
of this wickedly malicious well.<a name="FNanchor_167_167" id="FNanchor_167_167"></a><a href="#Footnote_167_167" class="fnanchor">[167]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_167_167" id="Footnote_167_167"></a><a href="#FNanchor_167_167"><span class="label">[167]</span></a>
&lsquo;Camb. Pop. Ant.,&rsquo; 247. See also &lsquo;Arch. Camb.,&rsquo; 1st Se., i. 46.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>XI.</h4>

<p>Occasionally the cursing powers of a well were
synonymous with curing powers. Thus a well
much resorted to near Penrhos, was able to curse a
cancer, i.e., cure it. The sufferer washed in the water,
uttering curses upon the disease, and also dropping
pins around the well. This well has been drained
by the unsympathizing farmer on whose land it was,
on account of the serious damage done to his crops
by trespassers.</p>


<h4>XII.</h4>

<p>Wells from which milk has flowed have been
known in several places. That Winifred&rsquo;s well
indulged in this eccentricity on one occasion has
been noted. The well of St. Illtyd is celebrated
for the like performance. This well is in Glamorganshire,
in the land called Gower, near Swansea.
It was about the nativity of John the Baptist,
on the fifth day of the week, in a year not specified,
but certainly very remote, that for three hours
there flowed from this well a copious stream
of milk instead of water. That it was really milk
we are not left in any possible doubt, for &lsquo;many
who were present testified that while they were
looking at the milky stream carefully and with
astonishment, they also saw among the gravel
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg357" id="pg357">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>357]</a></span>
curds lying about in every direction, and all around
the edge of the well a certain fatty substance floating
about, such as is collected from milk, so that butter
can be made from it.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_168_168" id="FNanchor_168_168"></a><a href="#Footnote_168_168" class="fnanchor">[168]</a></p>

<p>The origin of this well is a pleasing miracle, and
recalls the story of Canute; but while Canute&rsquo;s
effort to command the sea was a failure in the
eleventh century, that of St. Illtyd five hundred
years earlier was a brilliant success. It appears
that the saint was very pleasantly established on
an estate consisting of a field surrounded on all
sides by plains, with an intermediate grove, but was
much afflicted by the frequent overflowings of the
sea upon his land. In vain he built and rebuilt a
very large embankment of mud mixed with stones,
the rushing waves burst through again and again.
At last the saint&rsquo;s patience was worn out, and he
said, &lsquo;I will not live here any longer; I much wished
it, but troubled with this marine molestation, it is
not in my power. It destroys my buildings, it flows
to the oratory which we built with great labour.&rsquo;
However, the place was so convenient he was loth
to leave it, and he prayed for assistance. On the
night before his intended departure an angel came
to him and bade him remain, and gave him instructions
for driving back the sea. Early in the morning
Illtyd went to the fluctuating sea and drove it back;
it receded before him &lsquo;as if it were a sensible animal,&rsquo;
and left the shore dry. Then Illtyd struck the
shore with his staff, &lsquo;and thereupon flowed a very
clear fountain, which is also beneficial for curing
diseases, and which continues to flow without a
falling off; and what is more wonderful, although it
is near the sea, the water emitted is pure.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_169_169" id="FNanchor_169_169"></a><a href="#Footnote_169_169" class="fnanchor">[169]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_168_168" id="Footnote_168_168"></a><a href="#FNanchor_168_168"><span class="label">[168]</span></a>
&lsquo;Arch. Camb.,&rsquo; 1st Se., iii., 264.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_169_169" id="Footnote_169_169"></a><a href="#FNanchor_169_169"><span class="label">[169]</span></a>
&lsquo;Cambro-British Saints,&rsquo; 478.</p>
</div>
</div>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg358" id="pg358">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>358]</a></span></p>

<h4>XIII.</h4>

<p>Some of the Welsh mystic wells are so situated
that they are at times overflowed by the waters of
the sea, or of a river. Taff&rsquo;s Well, in Glamorganshire,
a pleasant walk from Cardiff, is situated practically
in the bed of the river Taff. One must wade
through running water to reach it, except in the
summer season, when the water in the river is very
low. A rude hut of sheet iron has been built over
it. This well is still noted for its merits in healing
rheumatism and kindred ailments. The usual stories
are told of miraculous cures. A primitive custom of
the place is that when men are bathing at this well
they shall hang a pair of trousers outside the hut;
women, in their turn, must hang out a petticoat or
bonnet.</p>

<p>At Newton Nottage, Glamorganshire, a holy well
called Sanford&rsquo;s is so situated that the water is
regulated in the well by the ocean tides. From
time immemorial wondrous tales have been told of
this well, how it ebbs and flows daily in direct
contrariety to the tidal ebb and flow. The bottom
of the well is below high-water mark on the beach,
where it has an outlet into the sea. At very low
tides in the summer, when the supply of water in
the well is scanty, it becomes dry for an hour or
two after low water. When the ocean tide rises,
the sea-water banks up and drives back the fresh
water, and the well fills again and its water rises.
The villagers are accustomed to let the well-water
rise through what they call the &lsquo;nostrils of the well,&rsquo;
and become settled a little before they draw it. Of
course this phenomenon has been regarded as something
supernatural by the ignorant for ages, and
upon the actual visible phenomena have been built
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg359" id="pg359">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>359]</a></span>
a number of magical details of a superstitious character.</p>


<h4>XIV.</h4>

<p>The wide prevalence of some form of water-worship
among Aryan peoples is a fact of great
significance. Superstitions in connection with British
wells are generally traceable to a Druidic origin.
The worship of natural objects in which the British
Druids indulged, particularly as regards rivers
and fountains, probably had a connection with
traditions of the flood. When the early Christian
preachers and teachers encountered such superstitions
among the people, they carefully avoided
giving unnecessary offence by scoffing at them; on
the contrary they preferred to adopt them, and to
hallow them by giving them Christian meanings.
They utilized the old Druidic circles as places of
worship, chose young priests from among the educated
Druids, and consecrated to their own saints
the mystic wells and fountains. In this manner
were continued practices the most ancient. As
time passed on, other wells were similarly sanctified,
as the new religion spread and parish churches were
built. Disease and wickedness being intimately
associated in the popular mind&mdash;epileptics and like
sufferers being held to be possessed of devils, and
even such vulgar ills as warts and wens being
considered direct results of some evil deed, suffered
or performed&mdash;so the waters of Christian baptism
which cleansed from sin, cleansed also from disease.
Ultimately the virtue of the waters came to be
among the vulgar a thing apart from the rite of
baptism; the good was looked upon as dwelling in
the waters themselves, and the Christian rite as not
necessarily an element in the work of regeneration.
The reader who will recall what has been said in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg360" id="pg360">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>360]</a></span>
the chapter on changelings, in the first part of this
volume, will perceive a survival of the ancient creed
herein, in the notion that baptism is a preventive of
fairy babe-thievery. Remembering that the changeling
notion is in reality nothing but a fanciful way
of accounting for the emaciation, ugliness, idiocy,
bad temper&mdash;in a word, the illness&mdash;of the child, it
will be seen that the rite of baptism, by curing the
first manifestations of evil in the child&rsquo;s system,
was the orthodox means of preventing the fairies
from working their bad will on the poor innocent.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg361" id="pg361">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>361]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk4chap03" id="bk4chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Personal Attributes of Legendary Welsh Stones&mdash;Stone Worship&mdash;Canna&rsquo;s
Stone Chair&mdash;Miraculous Removals of Stones&mdash;The Walking
Stone of Eitheinn&mdash;The Thigh Stone&mdash;The Talking Stone in
Pembrokeshire&mdash;The Expanding Stone&mdash;Magic Stones in the
&lsquo;Mabinogion&rsquo;&mdash;The Stone of Invisibility&mdash;The Stone of Remembrance&mdash;Stone
Thief-catchers&mdash;Stones of Healing&mdash;Stones at Cross-roads&mdash;Memorials
of King Arthur&mdash;Round Tables, Carns, Pots,
etc.&mdash;Arthur&rsquo;s Quoits&mdash;The Gigantic Rock-tossers of Old&mdash;Mol
Walbec and the Pebble in her Shoe&mdash;The Giant of Trichrug&mdash;Giants
and the Mythology of the Heavens&mdash;The Legend of Rhitta
Gawr.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>In the traditions concerning Welsh stones, abundant
personal attributes are accorded them, such as in
nature belong only to animals. They were endowed
with volition and with voice; they could travel from
place to place without mortal aid; they would move
uneasily when disturbed by human contact; they
expanded and contracted at will; they clung to
people who touched them with profane or guilty
purpose; they possessed divers qualities which made
them valuable to their possessors, such as the power
of rendering them invisible, or of filling their pockets
with gold. In pursuing the various accounts of these
stones in Welsh folk-lore we find ourselves now in
fairyland, now in the domains of mother church,
now listening to legends of enchantment, now to
tales of saintly virtue, now giving ear to a magician,
now to a monk. Stone-worship, of which the existing
superstitions are remains, was so prevalent under
the Saxon monarchy, that it was forbidden by law in
the reign of Edgar the Peaceable, (ninth century,)
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg362" id="pg362">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>362]</a></span>
and when Canute came, in the following century, he
also found it advisable to issue such a law. That
this pagan worship was practised from a time of
which there is now no record, is not questioned;
and the perpetuation of certain features of this worship
by the early Christians was in spite of the laws
promulgated for its suppression by a Christian king.
In this manner the monks were enabled to draw to
themselves the peasantry in whose breasts the ancient
superstition was strong, and who willingly substituted
the new story for the old, so long as the
underlying belief was not rudely uprooted.</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>Among the existing stones in Wales with which
the ancient ideas of occult power are connected, one
in Carmarthenshire is probably unique of its kind.
It is called Canna&rsquo;s Stone, and lies in a field adjoining
the old church of Llangan, now remote from the
population whose ancestors worshipped in it. The
church was founded by an Armorican lady of rank
named Canna, who was sainted. The stone in question
forms a sort of chair, and was used in connection
with a magic well called Ffynon Canna, which is
now, like the church, deserted and wretched. Patients
suffering from ague, in order to profit by its healing
power, must sit in the chair of Canna&rsquo;s stone, after
drinking of the water. If they could manage to
sleep while in the chair, the effect of the water was
supposed to be made sure. The process was continued
for some days, sometimes for two or three
weeks.</p>

<p>In the middle of this parish there is a field called
Parc y Fonwent, or the churchyard-field, where,
according to local tradition, the church was to have
been originally built; but the stones brought to the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg363" id="pg363">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>363]</a></span>
spot during the day were at night removed by invisible
hands to the site of the present church. Watchers
in the dark heard the goblins engaged in this work,
and pronouncing in clear and correct Welsh these
words, &lsquo;Llangan, dyma&rsquo;r fan,&rsquo; which mean, &lsquo;Llangan,
here is the spot.&rsquo;</p>

<p>Similar miraculous removals of stones are reported
and believed in other parts of Wales. Sometimes
visible goblins achieve the work; sometimes the
stones themselves possess the power of locomotion.
The old British historian Nennius<a name="FNanchor_170_170" id="FNanchor_170_170"></a><a href="#Footnote_170_170" class="fnanchor">[170]</a> speaks of a stone,
one of the wonders of the Isle of Anglesea, which
walks during the night in the valley of Eitheinn.
Being once thrown into the whirlpool Cerevus, which
is in the middle of the sea called Menai, it was on
the morrow found on the side of the aforesaid valley.
Also in Builth is a heap of stones, upon which is
one stone bearing the impress of a dog&rsquo;s foot. This
was the famous dog of King Arthur, named Cabal,
which left its footprint on this stone when it hunted
the swine Troynt. Arthur himself gathered this
heap of stones, with the magic stone upon it, and
called it Carn Cabal; and people who take away
this stone in their hands for the space of a day and
a night cannot retain it, for it returns itself to the
heap. The Anglesea stone is also mentioned by
Giraldus, through whom it achieved celebrity under
the name of Maen Morddwyd, or the Thigh Stone&mdash;&lsquo;a
stone resembling a human thigh, which possesses
this innate virtue, that whatever distance it
may be carried it returns of its own accord the following
night. Hugh, Earl of Chester, in the reign
of King Henry I., having by force occupied this
island and the adjacent country, heard of the miraculous
power of this stone, and for the purpose of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg364" id="pg364">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>364]</a></span>
trial ordered it to be fastened with strong iron chains
to one of a larger size and to be thrown into the sea;
on the following morning, however, according to
custom, it was found in its original position, on which
account the Earl issued a public edict that no one
from that time should presume to move the stone
from its place. A countryman also, to try the powers
of this stone, fastened it to his thigh, which immediately
became putrid, and the stone returned to its
original situation.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_171_171" id="FNanchor_171_171"></a><a href="#Footnote_171_171" class="fnanchor">[171]</a> This stone ultimately lost its
virtues, however, for it was stolen in the last
century and never came back.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_170_170" id="Footnote_170_170"></a><a href="#FNanchor_170_170"><span class="label">[170]</span></a>
Harleian MSS., 3859.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_171_171" id="Footnote_171_171"></a><a href="#FNanchor_171_171"><span class="label">[171]</span></a>
Sir R.&nbsp;C. Hoare&rsquo;s Giraldus, &lsquo;Itin. Camb.,&rsquo; ii., 104.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>The Talking Stone Llechlafar, or stone of loquacity,
served as a bridge over the river Alyn,
bounding the churchyard of St. David&rsquo;s in Pembrokeshire,
on the northern side. It was a marble
slab worn smooth by the tread of many feet, and
was ten feet long, six feet broad, and one foot thick.
Ancient tradition relates that one day &lsquo;when a corpse
was being carried over it for interment the stone
broke forth into speech, and by the effort cracked
in the middle, which fissure is still visible; and on
account of this barbarous and ancient superstition
the corpses are no longer brought over it.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_172_172" id="FNanchor_172_172"></a><a href="#Footnote_172_172" class="fnanchor">[172]</a></p>

<p>In this same parish of St. David&rsquo;s, there was a
flight of steps leading down to the sea, among which
were a certain few which uttered a miraculous sound,
like the ringing of a bell. The story goes that in
ancient times a band of pirates landed there and
robbed the chapel. The bell they took away to
sea with them, but as it was heavy they rested it
several times on their way, and ever since that day
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg365" id="pg365">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>365]</a></span>
the stones it rested upon have uttered these mysterious
sounds when struck.</p>

<p>Also in this parish is the renowned Expanding
Stone, an excavation in the rock of St. Gowan&rsquo;s
chapel, which has the magic property of adapting
itself to the size of the person who gets into it,
growing smaller for a small man and larger for a
large one. Among its many virtues was that if
a person got into it and made a wish, and did not
change his mind while turning about, the wish
would come true. The original fable relates that
this hollow stone was once solid; that a saint
closely pursued by Pagan persecutors sought shelter
of the rock, which thereupon opened and received
him, concealing him till the danger was over and
then obligingly letting him out.</p>

<p>This stone may probably be considered as the
monkish parallel for the magic stones which confer
on their possessor invisibility, as we find them in the
romances of enchantment. In the &lsquo;Mabinogion&rsquo;
such stones are frequently mentioned, usually in the
favourite form of a gem set within a ring. &lsquo;Take
this ring,&rsquo; says the damsel with yellow curling hair,<a name="FNanchor_173_173" id="FNanchor_173_173"></a><a href="#Footnote_173_173" class="fnanchor">[173]</a>
&lsquo;and put it on thy finger, with the stone inside thy
hand; and close thy hand upon the stone. And as
long as thou concealest it, it will conceal thee.&rsquo; But
when it is found, as we find in following these clues
further, that this Stone of Invisibility was one of
the Thirteen Rarities of Kingly Regalia of the
Island of Britain; that it was formerly kept at
Caerleon, in Monmouthshire, the city whence St.
David journeyed into Pembrokeshire; and that it
is mentioned in the Triads thus: &lsquo;The Stone of the
Ring of Luned, which liberated Owen the son of
Urien from between the portcullis and the wall;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg366" id="pg366">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>366]</a></span>
whoever concealed that stone the stone or bezel
would conceal him,&rsquo; the strong probability appears
that we are dealing with one and the same myth
in the tale of magic and in the monkish legend.
Traced back to a period more remote than that
with which these Welsh stories ostensibly deal, we
should find their prototype in the ring of Gyges.</p>

<p>The Stone of Remembrance is another stone mentioned
in the &lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; also a jewel, endowed
with valuable properties which it imparts not merely
to its wearer, but to any one who looks upon it.
&lsquo;Rhonabwy,&rsquo; says Iddawc to the enchanted dreamer
on the yellow calf-skin, &lsquo;dost thou see the ring with
a stone set in it, that is upon the Emperor&rsquo;s hand?&rsquo;
&lsquo;I see it,&rsquo; he answered. &lsquo;It is one of the properties
of that stone to enable thee to remember that thou
seest here to-night, and hadst thou not seen the
stone, thou wouldst never have been able to remember
aught thereof.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_174_174" id="FNanchor_174_174"></a><a href="#Footnote_174_174" class="fnanchor">[174]</a> Still another stone of rare
good qualities is that which Peredur gave to Etlym,
in reward for his attendance,<a name="FNanchor_175_175" id="FNanchor_175_175"></a><a href="#Footnote_175_175" class="fnanchor">[175]</a> the stone which was
on the tail of a serpent, and whose virtues were such
that whosoever should hold it in one hand, in the
other he would have as much gold as he might
desire. Peredur having vanquished the serpent and
possessed himself of the stone, immediately gave it
away, in that spirit of lavish free-handedness which
so commonly characterizes the heroes of chivalric
British romance.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_172_172" id="Footnote_172_172"></a><a href="#FNanchor_172_172"><span class="label">[172]</span></a>
Ibid., ii., 8.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_173_173" id="Footnote_173_173"></a><a href="#FNanchor_173_173"><span class="label">[173]</span></a>
Lady Charlotte Guest&rsquo;s &lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; 13.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_174_174" id="Footnote_174_174"></a><a href="#FNanchor_174_174"><span class="label">[174]</span></a>
Lady Charlotte Guest&rsquo;s &lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; 303.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_175_175" id="Footnote_175_175"></a><a href="#FNanchor_175_175"><span class="label">[175]</span></a>
Ibid., 111.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>In the church of St. David&rsquo;s of Llanfaes, according
to Giraldus, was preserved among the relics
a stone which caught a thieving boy in the act of
robbing a pigeon&rsquo;s nest, and held him fast for three
days and nights. Only by assiduous and long-continued
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg367" id="pg367">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>367]</a></span>
prayer were the unhappy boy&rsquo;s parents able
to get him loose from the terrible stone, and the
marks of his five fingers remained ever after impressed
upon it, so that all might see them. There
was a stone of similar proclivities in the valley of
Mowddwy, which did good service for the church.
A certain St. Tydecho, a relation of King Arthur,
who slept on a blue rock in this valley, was persecuted
by Maelgwn Gwynedd. One day this wicked
knight came with a pack of white dogs to hunt in
that neighbourhood, and sat down upon the saint&rsquo;s
blue stone. When he endeavoured to get up he
found himself fastened to his seat so that he could
not stir, in a manner absurdly suggestive of French
farces; and he was obliged to make up matters with
the saint. He ceased to persecute the good man,
and to make amends for the past gave him the
privilege of sanctuary for a hundred ages.<a name="FNanchor_176_176" id="FNanchor_176_176"></a><a href="#Footnote_176_176" class="fnanchor">[176]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_176_176" id="Footnote_176_176"></a><a href="#FNanchor_176_176"><span class="label">[176]</span></a>
&lsquo;Celtic Remains,&rsquo; 420. (Printed for the Cambrian Arch. Soc.,
London, 1878.)</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>As for Stones of Healing, with qualities resembling
those abiding in certain wells, they appear in many
shapes. Now it is a maenhir, against which the
afflicted peasant must rub himself; now it is a pebble
which he must carry in his pocket. The inevitable
wart reappears in this connection; the stone which
cures the wart is found by the roadside, wrapped in
a bit of paper, and dropped on a cross-road; to him
who picks it up the wart is transferred. Children in
Pembrokeshire will not at the present day pick up a
small parcel on a cross-road, suspecting the presence
of the wart-bearing stone. In Carmarthen are still
to be found traces of a belief in the Alluring Stone,
whose virtue is that it will cure hydrophobia. It is
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg368" id="pg368">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>368]</a></span>
represented as a soft white stone, about the size
of a man&rsquo;s head, originally found on a farm called
Dysgwylfa, about twelve miles from Carmarthen town.
Grains were scraped from the stone with a knife,
and administered to the person who had been bitten
by a rabid dog; and a peculiarity of the stone was
that though generation after generation had scraped
it, nevertheless it did not diminish in size. A woman
who ate of this miraculous stone, after having been
bitten by a suspicious cur, testified that it caused &lsquo;a
boiling in her blood.&rsquo; The stone was said to have
fallen from the sky in the first instance.</p>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>Stones standing at cross-roads are seldom without
some superstitious legend. A peasant pointed out
to me, on a mountain-top near Crumlyn, Monmouthshire,
a cross-roads stone, beneath which, he asserted,
a witch sleeps by day, coming forth at night.
&lsquo;Least they was say so,&rsquo; he explained, with a nervous
look about him, &lsquo;but there you! <em>I</em> was never
see anything, an&rsquo; I was pass by there many nights&mdash;yes,
indeed, often.&rsquo; The man&rsquo;s eagerness to testify
against the truth of the tradition was one of the
most impressive illustrations possible of lingering
superstitious awe in this connection.</p>

<p>A famous Welsh witch, who used to sleep under
a stone at Llanberis, in North Wales, was called
Canrig Bwt, and her favourite dish at dinner was
children&rsquo;s brains. A certain criminal who had received
a death-sentence was given the alternative of
attacking this frightful creature, his life to be spared
should he succeed in destroying her. Arming himself
with a sharp sword, the doomed man got upon
the stone and called on Canrig to come out. &lsquo;Wait
till I have finished eating the brains in this sweet
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg369" id="pg369">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>369]</a></span>
little skull,&rsquo; was her horrible answer. However, forth
she came presently, when the valiant man cut off
her head at a blow. To this day they scare children
thereabout with the name of Canrig Bwt.</p>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>In every part of Wales one encounters the ancient
memorials of King Arthur&mdash;sometimes to be dimly
connected with the historical character, but more
often with the mythical figure&mdash;each with its legend,
or its bundle of legends, poetic, patriotic, or superstitious.
Arthur&rsquo;s Round Table at Caerleon, Monmouthshire,
is as well known to every boy in the
neighbourhood as any inn or shop of the village.
It is a grass-grown Roman amphitheatre, whence
alabaster statues of Adrian&rsquo;s day have been disinterred.
There is also an Arthur&rsquo;s Round Table
in Denbighshire, a flat-topped hill thus called, and in
Anglesea another, near the village of Llanfihangel.
Arthur&rsquo;s Seat, Arthur&rsquo;s Bed, Arthur&rsquo;s Castle, Arthur&rsquo;s
Stone, Arthur&rsquo;s Hill, Arthur&rsquo;s Quoit, Arthur&rsquo;s
Board, Arthur&rsquo;s Carn, Arthur&rsquo;s Pot&mdash;these are but
a few of the well-known cromlechs, rocking-stones,
or natural objects to be found in various neighbourhoods.
They are often in duplicates, under these
names, but they never bear such titles by other
authority than traditions reaching back into the
dark ages. Some of the stories and superstitions
which attach to them are striking, and of the most
fascinating interest to the student of folk-lore;
others are merely grotesque, as in the case of
Arthur&rsquo;s Pot. This is under a cromlech at Dolwillim,
on the banks of the Tawe, and in the stream
itself when the water is high; it is a circular hole of
considerable depth, accurately bored in the stone by
the action of the water. This hole is called Arthur&rsquo;s
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg370" id="pg370">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>370]</a></span>
Pot, and according to local belief was made by
Merlin for the hero king to cook his dinner in.
Arthur&rsquo;s Quoits are found in many parts of the
country. A large rock in the bed of the Sawdde
river, on the Llangadock side of Mynydd Du, (the
Black Mountain,) is one of these quoits. The story
is that the king one day flung it from the summit of
Pen Arthur, a mile away. There is another large
rock beside it, which was similarly flung down by a
lady of Arthur&rsquo;s acquaintance, whose gigantic proportions
may be guessed from the fact that this
boulder was a pebble in her shoe, which annoyed
her.</p>


<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>Upon this hint there opens out before the inquirer
a wealth of incident and illustration, in connection
with gigantic Britons of old time who hurled huge
rocks about as pebbles. There is the story of the
giant Idris, who dwelt upon Cader Idris, and who
found no less a number than three troublesome
pebbles in his shoe as he was out walking one day,
and who tossed them down where they lie on the
road from Dolgelley to Machynlleth, three bulky
crags. There are several legends about Mol
Walbec&rsquo;s pebbles in Breconshire. This lusty dame
has a full score of shadowy castles on sundry heights
in that part of Wales; and she is said to have built
the castle of Hay in one night. In performing this
work she carried the stones in her apron; one of
these&mdash;a pebble about a foot thick and nine feet
long&mdash;fell into her shoe. At first she did not notice
it, but by-and-by it began to annoy her, and she
plucked it out and threw it into Llowes churchyard,
three miles away, where it now lies. In many parts of
Wales where lie rude heaps of stones, the peasantry
say they were carried there by a witch in her apron.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg371" id="pg371">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>371]</a></span>
The gigantic creatures whose dimensions are indicated
by these stones reappear continually in Welsh
folk-lore. Arthur is merely the greatest among
them; all were of prodigious proportions. Hu
Gadarn, Cadwaladr, Rhitta Gawr, Brutus, Idris, are
all members of the shadowy race whose &lsquo;quoits&rsquo;
and &lsquo;pebbles&rsquo; are scattered about Wales. The
remains at Stonehenge have been from time immemorial
called by the Cymry the C&ocirc;r Gawr, Circle or
Dance of Giants. How the Carmarthen enchanter,
Merlin, transported these stones hither from Killara
mountain in Ireland by his magic art, everybody
knows. It is only necessary that a stone should be
of a size to make the idea of removing it an apparently
hopeless one&mdash;that Merlin or some other
magician brought it there by enchantment, or that
Arthur or some other giant tossed it there with his
mighty arm, is a matter of course.<a name="FNanchor_177_177" id="FNanchor_177_177"></a><a href="#Footnote_177_177" class="fnanchor">[177]</a> The giant of
Trichrug, (a fairy haunt in Cardiganshire,) appears
to have been the champion pebble-tosser of Wales,
if local legend may be trusted. Having invited the
neighbouring giants to try their strength with him in
throwing stones, he won the victory by tossing a
huge rock across the sea into Ireland. His grave
is traditionally reported to be on that mountain, and
to possess the same properties as the Expanding
Stone, for it fits any person who lies down in it, be
he tall or short. It has the further virtue of imparting
extraordinary strength to any one lying in
it; but if he gets into it with arms upon his person
they will be taken from him and he will never see
them more.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_177_177" id="Footnote_177_177"></a><a href="#FNanchor_177_177"><span class="label">[177]</span></a>
It is noteworthy that most of the great stones of these legends
appear to have really been transported to the place where they are now
found, being often of a different rock than that of the immediate
locality. To what extent the legends express the first vague inductions
of early geological observers, is a question not without interest.</p>
</div>
</div>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg372" id="pg372">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>372]</a></span></p>

<h4>IX.</h4>

<p>The gigantic stone-tossers of Wales associate
themselves without effort with the mythology of the
heavens. One of their chiefest, Idris, was indeed
noted as an astrologer, and is celebrated as such in
the Triads:</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Idris Gawr, or the Giant Idris;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gwydion, or the Diviner by Trees;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gwyn, the Son of Nudd, the Generous;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So great was their knowledge of the stars, that they could foretell whatever might be desired to be known until the day of doom.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>And among Welsh legends none is more familiar
than that of Rhitta Gawr, wherein the stars are
familiarly spoken of as cows and sheep, and the
firmament as their pasture.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg373" id="pg373">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>373]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk4chap04" id="bk4chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Early Inscribed Stones&mdash;The Stone Pillar of Banwan Bryddin, near
Neath&mdash;Catastrophe accompanying its Removal&mdash;The Sagranus
Stone and the White Lady&mdash;The Dancing Stones of Stackpool&mdash;Human
Beings changed to Stones&mdash;St. Ceyna and the Serpents&mdash;The
Devil&rsquo;s Stone at Llanarth&mdash;Rocking Stones and their accompanying
Superstitions&mdash;The Suspended Altar of Loin-Garth&mdash;Cromlechs
and their Fairy Legends&mdash;The Fairies&rsquo; Castle at St. Nicholas,
Glamorganshire&mdash;The Stone of the Wolf Bitch&mdash;The Welsh Melusina&mdash;Parc-y-Bigwrn
Cromlech&mdash;Connection of these Stones with
Ancient Druidism.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>Paleographic students are more or less familiar
with about seventy early inscribed stones in Wales.
The value of these monuments, as corroborative
evidence of historical facts, in connection with waning
popular traditions, is well understood. Superstitious
prejudice is particularly active in connection with
stones of this kind. The peasantry view them
askance, and will destroy them if not restrained, as
they usually are, by fear of evil results to themselves.
Antiquaries have often reason to thank superstition
for the existence in our day of these ancient monuments.
But there is a sort of progressive movement
towards enlightenment which carries the Welsh farmer
from the fearsome to the destructive stage, in this
connection. That dangerous thing, a little knowledge,
sometimes leads its imbiber beyond the reach
of all fear of the guardian fairy or demon of the
stone, yet leaves him still so superstitious regarding
it that he believes its influence to be baleful,
and its destruction a sort of duty. It was the
common opinion of the peasantry of the parish in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg374" id="pg374">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>374]</a></span>
which it stood, that whoever happened to read the
inscription on the Maen Llythyrog, an early inscribed
stone on the top of a mountain near Margam Abbey,
in Glamorganshire, would die soon after. In many
instances the stones are believed to be transformed
human beings, doomed to this guise for some sin,
usually an act of sacrilege. Beliefs of this character
would naturally be potent in influencing popular
feeling against the stones. But on the other hand,
however desirable might be their extinction, there
would be perils involved, which one would rather his
neighbour than himself should encounter. Various
awful consequences, but especially the most terrific
storms and disturbances of the earth, followed any
meddling with them.</p>

<p>At Banwan Bryddin, a few miles from Neath, a
stone pillar inscribed &lsquo;<span class="smcap">Marci caritini filii bericii</span>,&rsquo;
long stood on a tumulus which by the peasants was
considered a fairy ring. The late Lady Mackworth
caused this stone to be removed to a grotto she was
constructing on her grounds, and which she was
ornamenting with all the curious stones she could
collect. An old man who was an under-gardener
on her estate, and who abounded with tales of
goblins, declaring he had often had intercourse with
these strange people, told the Rev. Mr. Williams of
Tir-y-Cwm, that he had always known this act of
sacrilege would not go unpunished by the guardians
of the stone. He had more than once seen these
sprites dancing of an evening in the rings of Banwan
Bryddin, where the &lsquo;wonder stone&rsquo; stood, but never
since the day the stone was removed had any mortal
seen them. Upon the stone, he said, were written
mysterious words in the fairy language, which no
one had ever been able to comprehend, not even
Lady Mackworth herself. When her ladyship
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg375" id="pg375">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>375]</a></span>
removed the stone to Gnoll Gardens the fairies were
very much annoyed; and the grotto, which cost
Lady Mackworth thousands of pounds to build, was
no sooner finished than one night, Duw&rsquo;n catwo ni!
there was such thunder and lightning as never was
heard or seen in Glamorganshire before; and next
morning the grotto was gone! The hill had fallen
over it and hidden it for ever. &lsquo;Iss indeed,&rsquo; said
the old man, &lsquo;and woe will fall on the Cymro or the
Saeson that will dare to clear the earth away. I
myself, and others who was there, was hear the
fairies laughing loud that night, after the storm has
cleared away.&rsquo;</p>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>The Sagranus Stone at St. Dogmell&rsquo;s, Pembrokeshire,
was formerly used as a bridge over a brook
not far from where it at present stands&mdash;luckily
with its inscribed face downwards, so that the sculpture
remained unharmed while generations were
tramping over it. During its use as a bridge it
bore the reputation of being haunted by a white
lady, who was constantly seen gliding over it at the
witching hour of midnight. No man or woman
could be induced to touch the strange stone after
dark, and its supernatural reputation no doubt
helped materially in its preservation unharmed till
the present time. It is considered on paleographic
grounds to be of the fourth century.</p>

<p>In Pembrokeshire also are found the famous
Dancing Stones of Stackpool. These are three
upright stones standing about a mile from each
other, the first at Stackpool Warren, the second
further to the west, on a stone tumulus in a field
known as Horestone Park, and the third still further
westward. One of many traditions concerning them
is to the effect that on a certain day they meet
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg376" id="pg376">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>376]</a></span>
and come down to Sais&rsquo;s Ford to dance, and after
their revel is over return home and resume their
places.</p>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>There is a curious legend regarding three stones
which once stood on the top of Moelfre Hill, in Carnarvonshire,
but which were long ago rolled to the
bottom of the hill by &lsquo;some idle-headed youths&rsquo;
who dug them up. They were each about four feet
high, standing as the corners of a triangle; one was
red as blood, another white, and the third a pale
blue. The tradition says that three women, about
the time when Christianity first began to be known
in Britain, went up Moelfre Hill on a Sabbath morning
to winnow their corn. They had spread their
winnowing sheet upon the ground and begun their
work, when some of their neighbours came to them
and reprehended them for working on the Lord&rsquo;s
day. But the women, having a greater eye to their
worldly profit than to the observance of the fourth
commandment, made light of their neighbours&rsquo;
words, and went on working. Thereupon they were
instantly transformed into three pillars of stone, each
stone of the same colour as the dress of the woman
in whose place it stood, one red, one white, and the
third bluish.</p>

<p>Legends of the turning to stone of human beings
occur in connection with many of the meini hirion
(long stones). Near Llandyfrydog, Anglesea, there
is a maenhir of peculiar shape. From one point of
view it looks not unlike the figure of a humpbacked
man, and it is called &lsquo;Carreg y Lleidr,&rsquo; or the
Robber&rsquo;s Stone. The tradition connected with it is
that a man who had stolen the church Bible, and
was carrying it away on his shoulder, was turned
into this stone, and must stand here till the last
trump sets him free.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg377" id="pg377">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>377]</a></span>
At Rolldritch (Rhwyldrech?) there is or was a
circle of stones, concerning which tradition held that
they were the human victims of a witch who, for
some offence, transformed them to this shape. In
connection with this circle is preserved another form
of superstitious belief very often encountered,
namely, that the number of stones in the circle cannot
be correctly counted by a mortal.<a name="FNanchor_178_178" id="FNanchor_178_178"></a><a href="#Footnote_178_178" class="fnanchor">[178]</a></p>

<p>It is noteworthy that the only creature which
shares with man the grim fate of being turned to
stone, in Welsh legends, is the serpent. The monkish
account of St. Ceyna, one of the daughters of
Prince Brychan, of Breconshire, relates that having
consecrated her virginity to the Lord by a perpetual
vow, she resolved to seek some desert place where
she could give herself wholly up to meditation. So
she journeyed beyond the river Severn, &lsquo;and there
meeting a woody place, she made her request to the
prince of that country that she might be permitted
to serve God in that solitude. His answer was that
he was very willing to grant her request, but that the
place did so swarm with serpents that neither man
nor beast could inhabit it. But she replied that her
firm trust was in the name and assistance of Almighty
God to drive all that poisonous brood out of that
region. Hereupon the place was granted to the
holy virgin, who, prostrating herself before God,
obtained of him to change the serpents and vipers
into stones. And to this day the stones in that
region do resemble the windings of serpents, through
all the fields and villages, as if they had been framed
by the hand of the sculptor.&rsquo; The scene of this
legend is mentioned by Camden as being at a place
near Bristol, called Keynsham, &lsquo;where abundance
of that fossil called by the naturalists Cornu Ammonis
is dug up.&rsquo;</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_178_178" id="Footnote_178_178"></a><a href="#FNanchor_178_178"><span class="label">[178]</span></a>
Roberts, &lsquo;Camb. Pop. Ant.,&rsquo; 220.</p>
</div>
</div>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg378" id="pg378">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>378]</a></span></p>

<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>Our old friend the devil is once more to the fore
when we encounter the inscribed stone of the twelfth
century, which stands in the churchyard of Llanarth,
near Aberaeron, in Cardiganshire. A cross covers
this stone, with four circular holes at the junction of
the arms. The current tradition of the place regarding
it is that one stormy night, there was such a
tremendous noise heard in the belfry that the whole
village was thrown into consternation. It was
finally concluded that nobody but the diawl could
be the cause of this, and therefore the people fetched
his reverence from the vicarage to go and request
the intruder to depart. The vicar went up into the
belfry, with bell, book, and candle, along the narrow
winding stone staircase, and, as was anticipated,
there among the bells he saw the devil in person.
The good man began the usual &lsquo;Conjurate in nomine,&rsquo;
etc., when the fiend sprang up and mounted
upon the leads of the tower. The vicar was not to
be balked, however, and boldly followed up the
remainder of the staircase and got also out upon the
leads. The devil finding himself hard pressed, had
nothing for it but to jump over the battlements of
the tower. He came down plump among the gravestones
below, and falling upon one, made with his
hands and knees the four holes now visible on the
stone in question, which among the country people
still bears the name of the Devil&rsquo;s Stone.</p>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>The logan stones in various parts of Wales,
which vibrate mysteriously under the touch of a
child&rsquo;s finger, and rock violently at a push from a
man&rsquo;s stronger hand, are also considered by the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg379" id="pg379">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>379]</a></span>
superstitious a favourite resort of the fairies and the
diawl. The holy aerolite to which unnumbered
multitudes bow down at Mecca is indeed no stranger
thing than the rocking-stone on Pontypridd&rsquo;s sky-perched
common. Among the marvellous stones
in Nennius is one concerning a certain altar in Loin-Garth,
in Gower, &lsquo;suspended by the power of God,&rsquo;
which he says a legend tells us was brought thither
in a ship along with the dead body of some holy
man who desired to be buried near St. Illtyd&rsquo;s
grave, and to remain unknown by name, lest he
should become an object of too reverent regard; for
Illtyd dwelt in a cave there, the mouth of which
faced the sea in those days; and having received
this charge, he buried the corpse, and built a church
over it, enclosing the wonderful altar, which testified
by more than one astounding miracle the Divine
power which sustained it. This is thought to be a
myth relating to some Welsh rocking-stone no longer
known. The temptation to throw down stones of
this character has often been too much for the
destruction-loving vulgarian, both in Wales and in
other parts of the British islands; but the offenders
have seldom been the local peasantry, who believe
that the guardians of the stone&mdash;the fairies or the
diawl, as the case may be&mdash;will heavily avenge
its overthrow on the overthrowers.</p>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<div class="figcenter imgw1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg20.jpg" width="375" height="263"
alt="The shepherd watches fairies dance and play around the stones" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE FAIRY FROLIC AT THE CROMLECH.</p>

<p>Venerable in their hoary antiquity stand those
monuments of a long-vanished humanity, the cromlechs
which are so numerous in Wales, sharing with
the logan and the inscribed stone the peasant&rsquo;s superstitious
interest. Even more than the others, these
solemn rocks are surrounded with legends of enchantment.
They figure in many fairy-tales like that of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg380" id="pg380">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>380]</a></span>
the shepherd of Frennifawr, who stood watching
their mad revelry about the old cromlech, where
they were dancing, making music on the harp, and
chasing their companions in hilarious sort. That
the fairies protect the cromlechs with special care,
as they also do the logans and others, is a belief the
Welsh peasant shares with the superstitious in many
lands. There is a remarkable cromlech near the
hamlet of St. Nicholas, Glamorganshire, on the
estate of the family whose house has the honour of
being haunted by the ghost of an admiral. This
cromlech is called, by children in that neighbourhood,
&lsquo;Castle Correg.&rsquo; A Cardiff gentleman who
asked some children who were playing round the
cromlech, what they termed it, was struck by the
name, which recalled to him the Breton fairies thus
designated.<a name="FNanchor_179_179" id="FNanchor_179_179"></a><a href="#Footnote_179_179" class="fnanchor">[179]</a> The korreds and korregs of Brittany
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg381" id="pg381">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>381]</a></span>
closely resemble the Welsh fairies in numberless
details. The korreds are supposed to live in the
cromlechs, of which they are believed to have been
the builders. They dance around them at night,
and woe betide the unhappy peasant who joins them
in their roundels.<a name="FNanchor_180_180" id="FNanchor_180_180"></a><a href="#Footnote_180_180" class="fnanchor">[180]</a> Like beliefs attach to cromlechs
in the Haute Auvergne, and other parts of France.
A cromlech at Pirols, said to have been built by a
f&eacute;e, is composed of seven massive stones, the
largest being twelve feet long by eight and a half
feet wide. The f&eacute;e carried these stones hither from
a great distance, and set them up; and the largest
and heaviest one she carried on the top of her
spindle, and so little was she incommoded by it that
she continued to spin all the way.<a name="FNanchor_181_181" id="FNanchor_181_181"></a><a href="#Footnote_181_181" class="fnanchor">[181]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_179_179" id="Footnote_179_179"></a><a href="#FNanchor_179_179"><span class="label">[179]</span></a>
Mr. J.&nbsp;W. Lukis, in an address before the Cardiff Nat. Soc. in
July, 1874.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_180_180" id="Footnote_180_180"></a><a href="#FNanchor_180_180"><span class="label">[180]</span></a>
Keightley, &lsquo;Fairy Mythology,&rsquo; 432.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_181_181" id="Footnote_181_181"></a><a href="#FNanchor_181_181"><span class="label">[181]</span></a>
Cambry, &lsquo;Monuments Celtiques,&rsquo; 232.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>Among the Welsh peasantry the cromlechs are
called by a variety of names, one interesting group
giving in Cardiganshire &lsquo;the Stone of the Bitch,&rsquo; in
Glamorganshire &lsquo;the Stone of the Greyhound Bitch,&rsquo;
in Carmarthenshire and in Monmouthshire &lsquo;the
Kennel of the Greyhound Bitch,&rsquo; and in some other
parts of Wales &lsquo;the Stone of the Wolf Bitch.&rsquo;
These names refer to no fact of modern experience;
they are legendary. The Cambrian form of the
story of Melusina is before us here, with differing
details. The wolf-bitch of the Welsh legend was a
princess who for her sins was transformed to that
shape, and thus long remained. Her name was
Gast Rhymhi, and she had two cubs while a wolf-bitch,
with which she dwelt in a cave. After long
suffering in this wretched guise, she and her cubs
were restored to their human form &lsquo;for Arthur,&rsquo; who
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg382" id="pg382">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>382]</a></span>
sought her out. The unfortunate Melusina, it will
be remembered, was never entirely robbed of her
human form.</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&lsquo;Ange par la figure, et serpent par le reste,&rsquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>she was condemned by the lovely fay Pressina to
become a serpent from the waist downwards, on
every Saturday, till she should meet a man who
would marry her under certain specified conditions.
The monkish touch is on the Welsh legend, in the
medieval form in which we have it in the Mabinogi
of &lsquo;Kilhwch and Olwen.&rsquo; The princess is transformed
into a wolf-bitch &lsquo;for her sins,&rsquo; and when
restored, although it is for Arthur, &lsquo;God did change&rsquo;
her to a woman again.<a name="FNanchor_182_182" id="FNanchor_182_182"></a><a href="#Footnote_182_182" class="fnanchor">[182]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_182_182" id="Footnote_182_182"></a><a href="#FNanchor_182_182"><span class="label">[182]</span></a>
&lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; 259.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>In a field called Parc-y-Bigwrn, near Llanboidy,
Carmarthenshire, are the remains of a cromlech
destroyed many years ago, concerning which an old
man named John Jones related a superstitious tale.
It was to the effect that there were ten men engaged
in the work of throwing it down, and that when
they were touching the stone they became filled
with awe; and moreover, as the stone was being
drawn away by six horses the road was suddenly
rent asunder in a supernatural manner. This is a
frequent phenomenon supposed by the Welsh peasantry
to accompany the attempt to move a cromlech.
Another common catastrophe is the breaking
down of the waggon&mdash;not from the weight of the
stone, but through the displeasure of its goblin
guardians. Sometimes this awful labour is accompanied
by fierce storms of hail and wind, or violent
thunder and lightning; sometimes by mysterious
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg383" id="pg383">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>383]</a></span>
noises, or swarms of bees which are supposed to be
fairies in disguise.</p>


<h4>IX.</h4>

<p>A very great number of fanciful legends might be
related in connection with stones of striking shape,
or upon which there are peculiar marks and figures;
but enough of this store of folk-lore has been given
to serve present ends. If more were detailed, there
would in all cases be found a family resemblance to
the legends which have been presented, and which
lead us now into the enchanted country where
Arthur reigns, now wandering among the monkish
records of church and abbey, now to the company
of the dwarfs and giants of fairyland. That the
British Druids regarded many of these stones with
idolatrous reverence, is most probable. Some of
them, as the cromlechs and logans, they no doubt
employed in their mystic rites, as being symbols of
the dimly descried Power they worshipped. Of their
extreme antiquity there is no question. The rocking-stones
may be considered natural objects, though
they were perhaps assisted to their remarkable poise
by human hands. The cromlechs were originally
sepulchral chambers, unquestionably, but they are
so old that neither history nor tradition gives any
aid in assigning the date of their erection. Opinions
that they were once pulpits of sun-worship, or
Druidic altars of sacrifice, are not unwarranted,
perhaps, though necessarily conjectural. The evidence
that the inscribed stones are simply funeral
monuments, is extensive and conclusive. Originally
erected in honour of some great chief or warrior,
they were venerated by the people, and became
shrines about which the latter gathered in a spirit of
devotion. With the lapse of ages, the warrior was
forgotten; even the language in which he was
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg384" id="pg384">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>384]</a></span>
commemorated decayed, and the marks on the stones
became to the peasantry meaningless hieroglyphics,
to which was given a mysterious and awful significance;
and so for unnumbered centuries the tombstone
remained an object of superstitious fear and
veneration.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg385" id="pg385">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>385]</a></span></p>

<h3><a name="bk4chap05" id="bk4chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hang">Baleful Spirits of Storm&mdash;The Shower at the Magic Fountain&mdash;Obstacles
in the way of Treasure-Seekers&mdash;The Red Lady of Paviland&mdash;The
Fall of Coychurch Tower&mdash;Thunder and Lightning evoked
by Digging&mdash;The Treasure-Chest under Moel Arthur in the Vale of
Clwyd&mdash;Modern Credulity&mdash;The Cavern of the Ravens&mdash;The Eagle-guarded
Coffer of Castell Coch&mdash;Sleeping Warriors as Treasure-Guarders&mdash;The
Dragon which St. Samson drove out of Wales&mdash;Dragons
in the Mabinogion&mdash;Whence came the Red Dragon of
Wales?&mdash;The Original Dragon of Mythology&mdash;Prototypes of the
Welsh Caverns and Treasure-Hills&mdash;The Goblins of Electricity.</p>
</div>


<h4>I.</h4>

<p>In the prominent part played by storm&mdash;torrents of
rain, blinding lightning, deafening thunder&mdash;in
legends of disturbed cromlechs, and other awful
stones, is involved the ancient belief that these
elements were themselves baleful spirits, which
could be evoked by certain acts. They were in
the service of fiends and fairies, and came at their
bidding to avenge the intrusion of venturesome
mortals, daring to meddle with sacred things. This
fascinating superstition is preserved in numberless
Welsh legends relating to hidden treasures, buried
under cromlechs or rocky mounds, or in caverns.
In the &lsquo;Mabinogion&rsquo; it appears in the enchanted
barrier to the Castle of the Lady of the Fountain.
Under a certain tall tree in the midst of a wide
valley there was a fountain, &lsquo;and by the side of the
fountain a marble slab, and on the marble slab a
silver bowl, attached by a chain of silver, so that it
may not be carried away. Take the bowl and
throw a bowlful of water on the slab,&rsquo; says the black
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg386" id="pg386">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>386]</a></span>
giant of the wood to Sir Kai, &lsquo;and thou wilt hear a
mighty peal of thunder, so that thou wilt think that
heaven and earth are trembling with its fury. With
the thunder there will come a shower so severe
that it will be scarce possible for thee to endure it
and live. And the shower will be of hailstones;
and after the shower the weather will become fair,
but every leaf that was upon the tree will have been
carried away by the shower.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_183_183" id="FNanchor_183_183"></a><a href="#Footnote_183_183" class="fnanchor">[183]</a> Of course the knight
dares this awful obstacle, throws the bowlful of
water upon the slab, receives the terrible storm
upon his shield, and fights the knight who owned
the fountain, on his coming forth. Sir Kai is
worsted, and returns home to Arthur&rsquo;s court;
whereupon Sir Owain takes up the contest. He
sallies forth, evokes the storm, encounters the black
knight, slays him, and becomes master of all that
was his&mdash;his castle, his lands, his wife, and all his
treasures.</p>

<p>The peasant of to-day who sets out in quest of
hidden treasures evokes the avenging storm in like
manner. Sometimes the treasure is in the ground,
under a cromlech or a carn; he digs, and the thunder
shakes the air, the lightnings flash, torrents descend,
and he is frustrated in his search. Again, the
treasure is in a cavern, guarded by a dragon, which
belches forth fire upon him and scorches his eyeballs.
Welsh folk-lore is full of legends of this
character; and the curious way in which science
and religion sometimes get mixed up with these
superstitions is most suggestive&mdash;as in the cases of
the falling of Coychurch tower, and the Red Lady
of Paviland. The latter is the name given a skeleton
found by Dr. Buckland in his exploration of the
Paviland caves, the bones of which were stained
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg387" id="pg387">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>387]</a></span>
by red oxide of iron. The vulgar belief is that the
Red Lady was entombed in the cave by a storm
while seeking treasure there&mdash;a legend the truth of
which no one can dispute with authority, since the
bones are certainly of a period contemporary with
the Roman rule in this island. Coins of Constantine
were found in the same earth, cemented with fragments
of charcoal and bone ornaments. In the
case of Coychurch tower, it undoubtedly fell because
it was undermined by a contractor who had the job
of removing certain defunct forefathers from their
graves near its base. Some eighteen hundred skulls
were taken from the ground and carted off to a hole
on the east side of the church. But the country
folk pooh-pooh the idea that the tower fell for any
reason other than sheer indignation and horror at
the disturbance of this hallowed ground by utilitarian
pickaxe and spade. They call your attention to the
fact that not only did the venerable tower come
crashing down, after having stood for centuries erect,
but that in falling it struck to the earth St. Crallo&rsquo;s
cross&mdash;an upright stone in the churchyard as venerable
as itself&mdash;breaking it all to pieces.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_183_183" id="Footnote_183_183"></a><a href="#FNanchor_183_183"><span class="label">[183]</span></a>
&lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; 8.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>II.</h4>

<p>A hollow in the road near Caerau, in Cardiganshire,
&lsquo;rings when any wheeled vehicle goes over
it.&rsquo; Early in this century, two men having been
led to believe that there were treasures hidden
there (for a fairy in the semblance of a gipsy had
appeared and thrown out hints on the fascinating
subject from time to time), made up their minds to
dig for it. They dug accordingly until they came,
by their solemn statement, to the oaken frame of a
subterranean doorway; and feeling sure now, that
they had serious work before them, prepared for
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg388" id="pg388">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>388]</a></span>
the same by going to dinner. They had no sooner
gone than a terrible storm arose; the rain fell in
torrents, the thunder pealed and the lightning
flashed. When they went back to their work, the
hole they had digged was closed up; and nothing
would convince them that this was done by any
other than a supernatural agency. Moreover, but
a little above the place where they were, there
had been no rain at all.<a name="FNanchor_184_184" id="FNanchor_184_184"></a><a href="#Footnote_184_184" class="fnanchor">[184]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_184_184" id="Footnote_184_184"></a><a href="#FNanchor_184_184"><span class="label">[184]</span></a>
&lsquo;Arch. Camb.&rsquo; 3rd Se., ix., 306.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>III.</h4>

<p>There is a current belief among the peasants
about Moel Arthur&mdash;a mountain overlooking the
Vale of Clwyd&mdash;that treasure, concealed in an iron
chest with a ring-handle to it, lies buried there.
The place of concealment is often illuminated at
night by a supernatural light. Several people thereabouts
are known to have seen the light, and there
are even men who will tell you that bold adventurers
have so far succeeded as to grasp the handle of the
iron chest, when an outburst of wild tempest wrested
it from their hold and struck them senseless. Local
tradition points out the place as the residence of an
ancient prince, and as a spot charmed against the
spade of the antiquary. &lsquo;Whoever digs there,&rsquo; said
an old woman in Welsh to some men going home
from their work on this spot, after a drenching wet
day, &lsquo;is always driven away by thunder and lightning
and storm; you have been served like everybody
else who has made the attempt.&rsquo;</p>


<h4>IV.</h4>

<p>So prevalent are superstitions of this class even
in the present day that cases get into the newspapers
now and then. The &lsquo;Herald Cymraeg&rsquo; of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg389" id="pg389">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>389]</a></span>
September 25, 1874, gave an account of some excavations
made at Pant-y-Saer cromlech, Anglesea,
by the instigation of John Jones of Llandudno, &lsquo;a
brother of Isaac Jones, the present tenant of Pant-y-Saer,&rsquo;
at the time on a visit to the latter. The
immediately exciting cause of the digging was a
dream in which the dreamer was told that there
was a pot of treasure buried within the cromlech&rsquo;s
precincts. The result was the revelation of a large
number of human bones, among them five lower
jaws with the teeth sound; but no crochan aur
(pitcher of gold) turned up, and the digging was
abandoned in disgust. Is it credible that between
this account and the following yawns the gulf of
seven hundred years? Thus Giraldus: In the province
of Kemeys, one of the seven cantrefs of
Pembrokeshire, &lsquo;during the reign of King Henry I.,
a rich man who had a residence on the northern
side of the Preseleu mountains was warned for three
successive nights by dreams that if he put his hand
under a stone which hung over the spring of a
neighbouring well called the Fountain of St. Bernacus,
he should find there a golden chain; obeying
the admonition, on the third day he received from a
viper a deadly wound in his finger; but as it appears
that many treasures have been discovered through
dreams, it seems to me probable that some ought
and some ought not to be believed.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_185_185" id="FNanchor_185_185"></a><a href="#Footnote_185_185" class="fnanchor">[185]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_185_185" id="Footnote_185_185"></a><a href="#FNanchor_185_185"><span class="label">[185]</span></a>
Sir R.&nbsp;C. Hoare&rsquo;s Giraldus, &lsquo;Itin. Camb.&rsquo; ii., 37.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>V.</h4>

<p>In a certain cavern in Glamorganshire, called the
Ogof Cigfrain, or Cavern of the Ravens, is said to
be a chest of gold, watched over by two birds of
gloomy plumage, in a darkness so profound that
nothing can be seen but the fire of their sleepless
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg390" id="pg390">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>390]</a></span>
eyes. To go there with the purpose of disturbing
them is to bring on a heaving and rolling of the
ground, accompanied by thunder and lightning. A
swaggering drover from Brecknockshire, though
warned by a &lsquo;dark woman&rsquo; that he had better not
try it, sneered that &lsquo;a couple of ravens were a fine
matter to be afraid of indeed!&rsquo; and ventured into
the cavern, with a long rope about his waist, and a
lantern in his hand. Some men who accompanied
him (seeing that he was bent on this rash and dangerous
emprise,) held the coil of rope, and paid it
out as he went further and further in. The result
was prompt and simple: the sky cracked with loud
bursts of thunder and flashes of lightning, and the
drover roared with affright and rushed out of the
dark cavern with his hair on end. No coaxing
ever prevailed on him to reveal the terrible sights
he had seen; when questioned he would only
repeat in Welsh the advice of &lsquo;Punch&rsquo; to those
about to marry, viz., &lsquo;Peidiwch!&rsquo;</p>


<h4>VI.</h4>

<p>In the legend of Castell Coch, instead of a raven
it is a pair of huge eagles which watch the treasure.
Castell Coch is an easy and pleasant two hours&rsquo; walk
from Cardiff Castle, with which it is vulgarly believed
to be connected by a subterranean passage. A short
time ago&mdash;well, to be precise, a hundred years ago,
but that is no time at all in the history of Castell
Coch, which was a crumbling ruin then as it is now<a name="FNanchor_186_186" id="FNanchor_186_186"></a><a href="#Footnote_186_186" class="fnanchor">[186]</a>&mdash;in
or about the year 1780, a reduced lady was
allowed to fit up three or four rooms in the ruin as
a residence, and to live there with two old servants
of her house. One night this lady was awakened
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg391" id="pg391">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>391]</a></span>
from her sleep to receive the visit of a venerable
ghost in a full dress-suit of an earlier century, who
distressed her by his troubled countenance and
vexed her by his eccentric behaviour, for when she
spoke to him from the depths of her nightcap he at
once got through the wall. He came on subsequent
nights so often, and frightened the servants so much
by the noise he made&mdash;in getting through the wall,
of course&mdash;that the lady gave up her strange abode,
and was glad to pay house rent ever after in other
parts. This old ghost was in the flesh proprietor
of the castle, it appears, and during the civil wars
buried an iron chest full of gold in the subterranean
passage&mdash;which is still there, guarded by two large
eagles. A party of gentlemen who somewhere about
1800 attempted to explore the passage saw the
eagles, and were attacked by the birds of freedom
so fiercely that they retreated in disorder. Subsequently
they returned with pistols and shot the
eagles, which resented this trifling impertinence by
tearing the treasure-seekers in a shocking manner.
After having recovered from their wounds, the
determined Welshmen renewed the attack&mdash;this
time with silver bullets, which they had got blessed
by a good-natured priest. The bullets rattled
harmlessly on the feathers of the terrible birds;
the ground shook under foot; rain descended in
torrents; with their great wings the eagles beat out
the gold-hunters&rsquo; torches, and they barely escaped
with their lives.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_186_186" id="Footnote_186_186"></a><a href="#FNanchor_186_186"><span class="label">[186]</span></a>
It is at present being entirely restored and made habitable by its
owner, Lord Bute.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VII.</h4>

<p>The shadowy Horror which keeps vigil over these
hidden treasures is now a dragon, again a raven or
an eagle, again a worm. In the account of the
treasure-seeker of Nantyglyn, it is a winged creature
of unknown nature, a &lsquo;mysterious incubus,&rsquo; which
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg392" id="pg392">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>392]</a></span>
broods over the chest in the cave. The terrible
Crocodile of the Lake, which was drawn from its
watery hiding-place by the Ychain Banog, or Prominent
Oxen of Hu Gadarn, is also sometimes called
a dragon (draig) in those local accounts which survive
in the folk-lore of several different districts.
It infested the region round about the lake where
it lay concealed, and the mighty oxen so strained
themselves in the labour of drawing it forth that
one of them died and the other rent the mountain
in twain with his bellowing. Various legends of
Sleeping Warriors appear in Welsh folk-lore, in
which the dragon is displaced by a shadowy army
of slumbering heroes, lying about in a circle, with
their swords and shields by their sides, guarding
great heaps of gold and silver. Now they are Owen
Lawgoch and his men, who lie in their enchanted
sleep in a cavern on the northern side of Mynydd
Mawr, in Carmarthenshire; again they are Arthur
and his warriors, asleep in a secret ogof under
Craig-y-Ddinas, waiting for a day when the Briton
and the Saxon shall go to war, when the noise of
the struggle will awaken them, and they will reconquer
the island, reduce London to dust, and
re-establish their king at Caerleon, in Monmouthshire.</p>

<p>Dragon or demon, raven or serpent, eagle or
sleeping warriors, the guardian of the underground
vaults in Wales where treasures lie is a personification
of the baleful influences which reside in caverns,
graves, and subterraneous regions generally. It is
something more than this, when traced back to its
source in the primeval mythology; the dragon
which watched the golden apples of Hesperides, and
the Payshtha-more, or great worm, which in Ireland
guards the riches of O&rsquo;Rourke, is the same
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg393" id="pg393">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>393]</a></span>
malarious creature which St. Samson drove out of Wales.
According to the monkish legend, this pestiferous
beast was of vast size, and by its deadly breath had
destroyed two districts. It lay hid in a cave, near
the river. Thither went St. Samson, accompanied
only by a boy, and tied a linen girdle about the creature&rsquo;s
neck, and drew it out and threw it headlong
from a certain high eminence into the sea.<a name="FNanchor_187_187" id="FNanchor_187_187"></a><a href="#Footnote_187_187" class="fnanchor">[187]</a> This
dreadful dragon became mild and gentle when addressed
by the saint; did not lift up its terrible
wings, nor gnash its teeth, nor put out its tongue to
emit its fiery breath, but suffered itself to be led to
the sea and hurled therein.<a name="FNanchor_188_188" id="FNanchor_188_188"></a><a href="#Footnote_188_188" class="fnanchor">[188]</a> In the &lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo;
the dragon which fights in Lludd&rsquo;s dominion is mentioned
as a plague, whose shriek sounded on every
May eve over every hearth in Britain; and it &lsquo;went
through people&rsquo;s hearts, and so scared them, that the
men lost their hue and their strength, and the women
their children, and the young men and maidens lost
their senses.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_189_189" id="FNanchor_189_189"></a><a href="#Footnote_189_189" class="fnanchor">[189]</a> &lsquo;Whence came the <em>red</em> dragon of
Cadwaladr?&rsquo; asks the learned Thomas Stephens.<a name="FNanchor_190_190" id="FNanchor_190_190"></a><a href="#Footnote_190_190" class="fnanchor">[190]</a>
&lsquo;Why was the Welsh dragon in the fables of Merddin,
Nennius, and Geoffrey, described as <em>red</em>, while the
Saxon dragon was <em>white</em>?&rsquo; The question may remain
long unanswered, for the reason that there is
no answer outside the domain of fancy, and therefore
no reason which could in our day be accepted
as reasonable.<a name="FNanchor_191_191" id="FNanchor_191_191"></a><a href="#Footnote_191_191" class="fnanchor">[191]</a> The Welsh word &lsquo;dragon&rsquo; means
equally a dragon and a leader in war. Red was the
most honourable colour of military garments among
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg394" id="pg394">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>394]</a></span>
the British in Arthur&rsquo;s day; and Arthur wore a
dragon on his helmet, according to tradition.</p>

<div class="cpoem">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">His haughty helmet, horrid all with gold,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Both glorious brightness and great terror bred,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For all the crest a dragon did enfold<br /></span>
<span class="i1">With greedy paws.<a name="FNanchor_192_192" id="FNanchor_192_192"></a><a href="#Footnote_192_192" class="fnanchor">[192]</a><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>But the original dragon was an embodiment of
mythological ideas as old as mankind, and older
than any written record. The mysterious beast of
the boy Taliesin&rsquo;s song, in the marvellous legend of
Gwion Bach, is a dragon worthy to be classed with
the gigantic conceptions of the primeval imagination,
which sought by these prodigious figures to explain
all the phenomena of nature. &lsquo;A noxious creature
from the rampart of Satanas,&rsquo; sings Taliesin; with
jaws as wide as mountains; in the hair of its two
paws there is the load of nine hundred waggons, and
in the nape of its neck three springs arise, through
which sea-roughs swim.<a name="FNanchor_193_193" id="FNanchor_193_193"></a><a href="#Footnote_193_193" class="fnanchor">[193]</a></p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_187_187" id="Footnote_187_187"></a><a href="#FNanchor_187_187"><span class="label">[187]</span></a>
&lsquo;Liber Landavensis,&rsquo; 301.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_188_188" id="Footnote_188_188"></a><a href="#FNanchor_188_188"><span class="label">[188]</span></a>
Ibid., 347.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_189_189" id="Footnote_189_189"></a><a href="#FNanchor_189_189"><span class="label">[189]</span></a>
&lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; 461.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_190_190" id="Footnote_190_190"></a><a href="#FNanchor_190_190"><span class="label">[190]</span></a>
&lsquo;Literature of the Kymry,&rsquo; 25.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_191_191" id="Footnote_191_191"></a><a href="#FNanchor_191_191"><span class="label">[191]</span></a>
Mr. Conway, in his erudite chapter on the Basilisk, appears to
think that the red colour of the Welsh dragon, in the legend of Merlin
and Vortigern, determines its moral character; that it illustrates the
evil principle in the struggle between right and wrong, or light and
darkness, as black does in the Persian legends of fighting serpents.&mdash;&lsquo;Demonology
and Devil-Lore,&rsquo; p. 369. (London, Chatto and Windus,
1879.)</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_192_192" id="Footnote_192_192"></a><a href="#FNanchor_192_192"><span class="label">[192]</span></a>
Spenser, &lsquo;Faerie Queene.&rsquo;</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_193_193" id="Footnote_193_193"></a><a href="#FNanchor_193_193"><span class="label">[193]</span></a>
&lsquo;Mabinogion,&rsquo; 484.</p>
</div>
</div>


<h4>VIII.</h4>

<p>For the prototype of the dragon-haunted caves
and treasure-hills of Wales, we must look to the
lightning caverns of old Aryan fable, into which no
man might gaze and live, and which were in fact
the attempted explanation of thunderstorms, when
the clouds appeared torn asunder by the lightning.</p>

<p>Scholars have noted the impressive fact that the
ancient Aryan people had the same name for cloud
and mountain; in the Old Norse, &lsquo;klakkr&rsquo; means
both cloud and rock, and indeed the English word
cloud has been identified with the Anglo-Saxon
&lsquo;cl&ucirc;d,&rsquo; rock.<a name="FNanchor_194_194" id="FNanchor_194_194"></a><a href="#Footnote_194_194" class="fnanchor">[194]</a> Equally significant here is the fact that
in the Welsh language &lsquo;draig&rsquo; means both lightning
and dragon.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg395" id="pg395">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>395]</a></span>
Primeval man, ignorant that the cloud was in
any way different in structure from the solid
mountains whose peaks it emulated in appearance,
started back aghast and trembling when with
crashing thunders the celestial rocks opened, displaying
for an instant the glowing cavern whose
splendour haunted his dreams. From this phenomenon,
whose goblins modern science has tamed
and taught to run errands along a wire, came a
host of glittering legends, the shining hammer of
Thor, the lightning spear of Odin, the enchanted
arrow of Prince Ahmed, and the forked trident of
Poseidon, as well as the fire-darting dragons of
our modern folk-lore.</p>

<div class="footnotes">
<p class="center">FOOTNOTE:</p>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_194_194" id="Footnote_194_194"></a><a href="#FNanchor_194_194"><span class="label">[194]</span></a>
Max M&uuml;ller, &lsquo;Rig-Veda,&rsquo; i. 44. And see Mr. Baring-Gould&rsquo;s
&lsquo;Curious Myths of the Middle Ages,&rsquo; etc.</p>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter imgw2 smlpadb">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/lib/exe/fetch.php/etext:w:wirt-sikes-british-goblins-bg21.jpg" width="200" height="106"
alt="Thistle decoration" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg396" id="pg396"><!-- blank page --></a></span></p>


<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg397" id="pg397">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>397]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="index" id="index"></a>INDEX</h2>

<p class="center">
<a href="#A">A</a> <a href="#B">B</a> <a href="#C">C</a>
<a href="#D">D</a> <a href="#E">E</a> <a href="#F">F</a>
<a href="#G">G</a> <a href="#H">H</a> <a href="#I">I</a>
<a href="#J">J</a> <a href="#K">K</a> <a href="#L">L</a>
<a href="#M">M</a> <a href="#N">N</a> <a href="#O">O</a>
<a href="#P">P</a> <a href="#Q">Q</a> <a href="#R">R</a>
<a href="#S">S</a> <a href="#T">T</a> <a href="#U">U</a>
<a href="#V">V</a> <a href="#W">W</a> <a href="#Y">Y</a>
</p>



<p class="index"><a name="A" id="A"></a>A.</p>

<p>Aberdovey, the Bells of, <a href="#pg339">339</a>, <a href="#pg344">344</a></p>

<p>Aderyn y Corph, the, <a href="#pg212">212</a></p>

<p>All Fools&rsquo; Day, <a href="#pg274">274</a></p>

<p>All Hallows, <a href="#pg280">280</a></p>

<p>Alluring Stone, the, <a href="#pg367">367</a></p>

<p>American Ghost Stories, <a href="#pg139">139</a>, <a href="#pg185">185</a></p>

<p>Angels, Apparitions of, <a href="#pg208">208</a></p>

<p>Animals&rsquo; Terrors at Goblins, <a href="#pg171">171</a></p>

<p>Annwn, the World of Shadows, <a href="#pg7">7</a>, <a href="#pg34">34</a></p>

<p>Antic Spirits, <a href="#pg180">180</a></p>

<p>Aphrodite, the Welsh, <a href="#pg350">350</a></p>

<p>Apple Gift, the, <a href="#pg253">253</a></p>

<p>Arian y Rhaw, <a href="#pg333">333</a></p>

<p>Arthur, the Mythic and the Historic, <a href="#pgvii">vii</a>.</p>

<p>Arthur&rsquo;s Dog, <a href="#pg363">363</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>Pot, <a href="#pg369">369</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>Quoits, <a href="#pg370">370</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>Round Table, <a href="#pg369">369</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>Seat, Bed, Castle, Stone, etc., <a href="#pg369">369</a></p>

<p>Ascension Day, Curious Superstition concerning, <a href="#pg25">25</a></p>

<p>Aura, the Human, its Perception by Dogs, <a href="#pg172">172</a></p>

<p>Avagddu, <a href="#pg219">219</a></p>

<p>Avalon, <a href="#pg8">8</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="B" id="B"></a>B.</p>

<p>Ball-playing in Churchyards, <a href="#pg272">272</a></p>

<p>Bangu, the, <a href="#pg340">340</a></p>

<p>Banshee, the, <a href="#pg212">212</a><br />
<span class="sp2"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp3"> &rdquo; </span>in America, <a href="#pg247">247</a></p>

<p>Banwan Bryddin, the Stone of, <a href="#pg374">374</a></p>

<p>Barnwell, Rev. E.&nbsp;L., cited, <a href="#pg324">324</a></p>

<p>Baron&rsquo;s Gate, Legend of the, <a href="#pg127">127</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg398" id="pg398">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>398]</a></span>
Barry Island, Mysterious Noises on, <a href="#pg353">353</a></p>

<p>Basilisks in Mines, <a href="#pg27">27</a></p>

<p>Beer-drinking at Funerals, <a href="#pg322">322</a></p>

<p>Bells, Superstitions concerning, <a href="#pg339">339</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>of Aberdovey, <a href="#pg339">339</a>, <a href="#pg344">344</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>St. Cadoc, <a href="#pg339">339</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Rhayader, Legend of the, <a href="#pg341">341</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>St. Illtyd, <a href="#pg342">342</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>St. Oudoceus, <a href="#pg343">343</a></p>

<p>Beltane Fires, <a href="#pg278">278</a></p>

<p>Bendith y Mamau, <a href="#pg12">12</a></p>

<p>Betty Griffith and the Fairies, <a href="#pg115">115</a></p>

<p>Birds of Rhiannon, the, <a href="#pg91">91</a></p>

<p>Blabbing, Penalty of, <a href="#pg119">119</a></p>

<p>Black Book of Carmarthen, the, <a href="#pg350">350</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>Maiden of Caerleon, the, <a href="#pg219">219</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>Man of Ffynon yr Yspryd, <a href="#pg178">178</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>Men in the Mabinogion, <a href="#pg178">178</a></p>

<p>Blue Petticoat, Old Elves of the, <a href="#pg132">132</a></p>

<p>Bogie, the, <a href="#pg32">32</a></p>

<p>Boxing-day, <a href="#pg295">295</a></p>

<p>Branwen, Daughter of Llyr, <a href="#pg91">91</a></p>

<p>Bread and Cheese in Fairy Mythology, <a href="#pg44">44</a></p>

<p>Brownie, the, <a href="#pg186">186</a></p>

<p>Bundling, or Courting Abed, <a href="#pg300">300</a></p>

<p>Buns, <a href="#pg267">267</a></p>

<p>Burial Customs, <a href="#pg321">321</a></p>

<p>Bush of Heaven, Legend of the, <a href="#pg73">73</a></p>

<p>Bute, the Marquis of, cited, <a href="#pg136">136</a></p>

<p>Bwbach, the, <a href="#pg30">30</a><br />
<span class="sp2"> &rdquo; </span>and the Preacher, the, <a href="#pg30">30</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="C" id="C"></a>C.</p>

<p>Cadogan&rsquo;s Ghost, <a href="#pg149">149</a></p>

<p>Cadwaladr&rsquo;s Goat, the Legend of, <a href="#pg54">54</a></p>

<p>Cae Caled, the Dwarfs of, <a href="#pg28">28</a></p>

<p>Cae Mawr, the Mowing of, <a href="#pg61">61</a></p>

<p>Caerau, the Woman of, <a href="#pg239">239</a></p>

<p>Caerphilly, the Green Lady of, <a href="#pg132">132</a></p>

<p>Calan Ebrill, <a href="#pg274">274</a></p>

<p>C&acirc;n y Tylwyth Teg, the, <a href="#pg99">99</a></p>

<p>Canna&rsquo;s Stone, <a href="#pg362">362</a></p>

<p>Canrig Bwt, the Legend of, <a href="#pg368">368</a></p>

<p>Canwyll Corph, the, <a href="#pg238">238</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg399" id="pg399">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>399]</a></span>
Caradoc the Bloody, <a href="#pg348">348</a></p>

<p>Caridwen&rsquo;s Caldron, <a href="#pg88">88</a></p>

<p>Carols, <a href="#pg288">288</a></p>

<p>Carrying the Kings, <a href="#pg276">276</a><br />
<span class="sp6"> &rdquo; </span>Cynog, <a href="#pg279">279</a><br />
<span class="sp6"> &rdquo; </span>Mortals through the Air, <a href="#pg157">157</a>, <a href="#pg163">163</a></p>

<p>Castell Coch, the Eagles of, <a href="#pg390">390</a><br />
<span class="sp7"> &rdquo; </span>Correg, <a href="#pg380">380</a></p>

<p>Catrin Gwyn, the Legend of, <a href="#pg144">144</a></p>

<p>Catti Shon, the Witch of Pencader, <a href="#pg77">77</a></p>

<p>Cavern of Ravens, the, <a href="#pg389">389</a></p>

<p>Ceffyl Pren, the, <a href="#pg319">319</a></p>

<p>Chained Spirit, the, <a href="#pg168">168</a></p>

<p>Chaining at Weddings, <a href="#pg313">313</a></p>

<p>Changelings, <a href="#pg56">56</a></p>

<p>Cheese in Welsh Fairy Tales, <a href="#pg44">44</a></p>

<p>Christmas Observances, <a href="#pg286">286</a></p>

<p>Classification of Fairies, <a href="#pg11">11</a><br />
<span class="sp8"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Ghosts, <a href="#pg141">141</a><br />
<span class="sp8"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Customs, <a href="#pg252">252</a></p>

<p>Coblynau, <a href="#pg24">24</a></p>

<p>Cock-crow, Fairy Dislike of, <a href="#pg112">112</a><br />
<span class="sp9"> &rdquo; </span>a Death Omen when Untimely, <a href="#pg213">213</a></p>

<p>Colliers&rsquo; Star, the, <a href="#pg294">294</a></p>

<p>Colour in Fairy Costume, <a href="#pg131">131</a></p>

<p>Compacts with the Diawl, <a href="#pg202">202</a></p>

<p>Conway, Mr., cited, <a href="#pg393">393</a></p>

<p>Coolstrin, the, <a href="#pg317">317</a></p>

<p>Corpse, an Insulted, <a href="#pg146">146</a><br />
<span class="sp6"> &rdquo; </span>Bird, the, <a href="#pg212">212</a><br />
<span class="sp6"> &rdquo; </span>Candle, the, <a href="#pg238">238</a></p>

<p>Courting Abed, <a href="#pg300">300</a></p>

<p>Courtship and Marriage, <a href="#pg298">298</a></p>

<p>Craig y Ddinas, a Fairy Haunt, <a href="#pg6">6</a></p>

<p>Criminals&rsquo; Graves, Superstitions concerning, <a href="#pg331">331</a></p>

<p>Crocodile of the Lake, the, <a href="#pg392">392</a></p>

<p>Cromlechs, Superstitions concerning, <a href="#pg379">379</a><br />
<span class="sp10"> &rdquo; </span>Legendary Names of, <a href="#pg381">381</a></p>

<p>Cross-roads, Stones at, <a href="#pg368">368</a></p>

<p>Crown of Porcelain, the, <a href="#pg269">269</a></p>

<p>Crumlyn Lake, Legend of, <a href="#pg35">35</a></p>

<p>Curiosity Tales, <a href="#pg86">86</a></p>

<p>Cursing Wells, <a href="#pg355">355</a></p>

<p>Customs, Superstitious and Traditional, <a href="#pg250">250</a></p>

<p>Cutty Wren, the, <a href="#pg257">257</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg400" id="pg400">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>400]</a></span>
Cwm Llan, the Shepherds of, <a href="#pg121">121</a></p>

<p>Cwm Pwca, Breconshire, <a href="#pg20">20</a></p>

<p>Cwn Annwn, <a href="#pg233">233</a></p>

<p>Cwn y Wybr, <a href="#pg233">233</a></p>

<p>Cyhyraeth, the, <a href="#pg219">219</a><br />
<span class="sp11"> &rdquo; </span>of St. Mellons, the, <a href="#pg221">221</a><br />
<span class="sp11"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>the Sea-coast, the, <a href="#pg221">221</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="D" id="D"></a>D.</p>

<p>Dancing Stones of Stackpool, the, <a href="#pg375">375</a></p>

<p>Dancing in Churchyards, <a href="#pg273">273</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>with Fairies, <a href="#pg70">70</a></p>

<p>Death Portents, <a href="#pg212">212</a></p>

<p>Devil, when Invented, <a href="#pg210">210</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>as a Familiar Spirit, <a href="#pg197">197</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>exorcising the, <a href="#pg199">199</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>in his Customary Form, <a href="#pg202">202</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>measured for a Suit of Clothes, <a href="#pg202">202</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>his Stupidity, <a href="#pg202">202</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>as a Bridge-builder, <a href="#pg206">206</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>at Tintern Abbey, <a href="#pg207">207</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>and the Foul Pipe, a Legend, <a href="#pg204">204</a></p>

<p>Devil&rsquo;s Bridge, Legends of the, <a href="#pg205">205</a><br />
<span class="sp7"> &rdquo; </span>Nags, the, <a href="#pg170">170</a><br />
<span class="sp7"> &rdquo; </span>Pulpit, the, <a href="#pg207">207</a><br />
<span class="sp7"> &rdquo; </span>Stone at Llanarth, the, <a href="#pg378">378</a></p>

<p>Dewi Dal and the Fairies, <a href="#pg61">61</a></p>

<p>Didactic Purpose in Welsh Fairy Tales, <a href="#pg44">44</a><br />
<span class="sp2"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp2"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>Spirits, <a href="#pg145">145</a></p>

<p>Dissenters, Fairy Antipathy to, <a href="#pg6">6</a></p>

<p>Divination, <a href="#pg302">302</a></p>

<p>Dog of Darkness, the, <a href="#pg168">168</a></p>

<p>Dogs of the Fairies, <a href="#pg234">234</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Hell, <a href="#pg233">233</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>the Sky, <a href="#pg233">233</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>Fetichistic Notions of, <a href="#pg172">172</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>Ghosts of, <a href="#pg167">167</a></p>

<p>Drac&aelig;, <a href="#pg47">47</a></p>

<p>Dragons, <a href="#pg391">391</a></p>

<p>Dreams of Flying, <a href="#pg164">164</a></p>

<p>Druidic Fires, <a href="#pg278">278</a></p>

<p>Druids, Fairies Hiding, <a href="#pg129">129</a></p>

<p>Duffryn House, the Ghost of, <a href="#pg143">143</a></p>

<p>Duty-compelled Ghosts, <a href="#pg146">146</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg401" id="pg401">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>401]</a></span>
Dwarfs, <a href="#pg27">27</a></p>

<p>Dwynwen, the Welsh Venus, <a href="#pg299">299</a>, <a href="#pg350">350</a></p>

<p>Dyfed, the Ancient, <a href="#pg5">5</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="E" id="E"></a>E.</p>

<p>Early Inscribed Stones, Superstitions concerning, <a href="#pg373">373</a></p>

<p>Easter Customs, <a href="#pg269">269</a></p>

<p>Egg-shell Pottage, Story of the, <a href="#pg60">60</a></p>

<p>Eisteddfodau, <a href="#pg293">293</a></p>

<p>Eithin Hedges, a Protection against Fairies, <a href="#pg115">115</a></p>

<p>Elf Queen, the, <a href="#pg14">14</a></p>

<p>Elfin Dames, <a href="#pg34">34</a><br />
<span class="sp3"> &rdquo; </span>Cow, the, <a href="#pg36">36</a></p>

<p>Elidurus, the Tale of, <a href="#pg65">65</a></p>

<p>Ellylldan, the, <a href="#pg18">18</a></p>

<p>Ellyllon, <a href="#pg12">12</a></p>

<p>Elves, <a href="#pg13">13</a></p>

<p>Enchanted Harp, the, <a href="#pg94">94</a></p>

<p>Epimenides, <a href="#pg89">89</a></p>

<p>Equestrian Fairies, <a href="#pg107">107</a><br />
<span class="sp12"> &rdquo; </span>Ghosts, <a href="#pg174">174</a></p>

<p>Eumenides, <a href="#pg12">12</a></p>

<p>Euphemisms, <a href="#pg12">12</a>, <a href="#pg114">114</a>, <a href="#pg209">209</a></p>

<p>Excalibur, <a href="#pg53">53</a></p>

<p>Exorcism of Changelings, <a href="#pg57">57</a><br />
<span class="sp13"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Devils, <a href="#pg199">199</a><br />
<span class="sp13"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Fairies, <a href="#pg112">112</a>, <a href="#pg116">116</a><br />
<span class="sp13"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Ghosts, <a href="#pg165">165</a><br />
<span class="sp13"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Child-stealing Elves, <a href="#pg62">62</a></p>

<p>Expanding Stone, the, <a href="#pg365">365</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="F" id="F"></a>F.</p>

<p>Fair Folk, <a href="#pg12">12</a></p>

<p>Fairies, existing belief in, <a href="#pg2">2</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>King of the, <a href="#pg6">6</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>Welsh names of, <a href="#pg12">12</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>at Market, <a href="#pg9">9</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>of the Mines, <a href="#pg24">24</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>of the Lakes, <a href="#pg34">34</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>of the Mountains, <a href="#pg49">49</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>Dancing with, <a href="#pg70">70</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>of Frennifawr, Legend of the, <a href="#pg82">82</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>on Horseback, <a href="#pg107">107</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>the Red, <a href="#pg127">127</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>hiding Druids, <a href="#pg129">129</a><br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg402" id="pg402">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>402]</a></span>
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>why in Wales, <a href="#pg132">132</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>their Origin, <a href="#pg127">127</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>Bad Spirits, <a href="#pg134">134</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>on familiar terms with Ghosts, <a href="#pg157">157</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>of the Cromlechs, <a href="#pg380">380</a></p>

<p>Fairy Land, <a href="#pg5">5</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Queen, <a href="#pg14">14</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Islands, <a href="#pg8">8</a>, <a href="#pg45">45</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Food, <a href="#pg13">13</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Gloves, <a href="#pg13">13</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Coal-mining, <a href="#pg27">27</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Father, the, <a href="#pg45">45</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>a, captured by a Welshwoman, <a href="#pg78">78</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Song, <a href="#pg99">99</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Rings, <a href="#pg103">103</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Conversations, <a href="#pg106">106</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Battle, a, <a href="#pg107">107</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Animals, <a href="#pg108">108</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Sheepfold, the, <a href="#pg109">109</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Gifts, <a href="#pg119">119</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Tales, d&eacute;bris of Ancient Mythology, <a href="#pg135">135</a></p>

<p>Falling of Coychurch Tower, <a href="#pg386">386</a></p>

<p>Familiar Spirits, <a href="#pg187">187</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>in Female Form, <a href="#pg191">191</a></p>

<p>Family Ghosts, <a href="#pg142">142</a></p>

<p>Fatal Draught, the, <a href="#pg83">83</a></p>

<p>Fetches, <a href="#pg215">215</a></p>

<p>Fetichism, <a href="#pg338">338</a></p>

<p>Fetichistic Notions of Lower Animals, <a href="#pg171">171</a></p>

<p>Ffarwel Ned Pugh, <a href="#pg99">99</a></p>

<p>Ffynon yr Yspryd, <a href="#pg178">178</a></p>

<p>Ffynon Canna, <a href="#pg362">362</a></p>

<p>Fiend Master, Legend of the, <a href="#pg86">86</a></p>

<p>Fire-damp Goblins, <a href="#pg27">27</a></p>

<p>Fires, Mysterious, <a href="#pg213">213</a></p>

<p>First Foot on New Year&rsquo;s Day, <a href="#pg254">254</a></p>

<p>First Night of Winter, <a href="#pg280">280</a></p>

<p>Flowering Sunday, <a href="#pg266">266</a></p>

<p>Food at Funerals, <a href="#pg322">322</a></p>

<p>Forest of the Yew, Legend of the, <a href="#pg73">73</a></p>

<p>Foul Pipe, Story of the, <a href="#pg204">204</a></p>

<p>Fountain of Venus, the, <a href="#pg350">350</a></p>

<p>Fountains Flowing with Milk, <a href="#pg356">356</a></p>

<p>Fourth of July, <a href="#pg278">278</a></p>

<p>Frennifawr, the Fairies of, <a href="#pg82">82</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg403" id="pg403">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>403]</a></span>
Friday, its Bad Reputation, <a href="#pg268">268</a></p>

<p>Frugal Meal, Legend of the, <a href="#pg58">58</a></p>

<p>Funeral Customs, <a href="#pg321">321</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>the Goblin, <a href="#pg231">231</a></p>

<p>Future Life, the Question of a, <a href="#pg247">247</a></p>

<p>Fuwch Gyfeiliorn, the, <a href="#pg36">36</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="G" id="G"></a>G.</p>

<p>Gallery under the Sea, <a href="#pg10">10</a></p>

<p>Gast Rhymhi, the Legend of, <a href="#pg381">381</a></p>

<p>Ghosts, Existing Belief in, <a href="#pg137">137</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>in America, <a href="#pg139">139</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>Classification of, <a href="#pg141">141</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>with a Duty to Perform, <a href="#pg146">146</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>of Ebbw Vale, <a href="#pg142">142</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>on Horseback, <a href="#pg154">154</a>, <a href="#pg174">174</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>Exorcising, <a href="#pg165">165</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>of Animals, <a href="#pg167">167</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>Grotesque, <a href="#pg174">174</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>Gigantic, <a href="#pg176">176</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>their Origin, <a href="#pg247">247</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>of Bells, <a href="#pg339">339</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>Stories of&mdash;<br />
<span class="in1">The Weaver&rsquo;s Ghost, <a href="#pg147">147</a></span><br />
<span class="in1">Cadogan&rsquo;s Ghost, <a href="#pg149">149</a></span><br />
<span class="in1">The Ghost of Ystradgynlais, <a href="#pg157">157</a></span><br />
<span class="in1">The Admiral&rsquo;s Ghost, <a href="#pg143">143</a></span><br />
<span class="in1">The Miser&rsquo;s Ghost, <a href="#pg152">152</a></span><br />
<span class="in1">The Ghost of St. Donat&rsquo;s, <a href="#pg143">143</a></span><br />
<span class="in1">The Pont Cwnca Bach Ghost, <a href="#pg144">144</a></span><br />
<span class="in1">The Ghost of Noe, <a href="#pg147">147</a></span><br />
<span class="in1">Anne Dewy&rsquo;s Ghost, <a href="#pg153">153</a></span><br />
<span class="in1">The Clifford Castle Ghost, <a href="#pg155">155</a></span><br />
<span class="in1">The Ghost of Ty&rsquo;n-y-Twr, <a href="#pg155">155</a></span><br />
<span class="in1">The Ghost of the Silver Spurs, <a href="#pg156">156</a></span><br />
<span class="in1">The Tridoll Valley Sprite, <a href="#pg181">181</a></span><br />
<span class="in1">The Mynyddyslwyn Sprite, <a href="#pg187">187</a></span></p>

<p>Giants, <a href="#pg370">370</a></p>

<p>Giants&rsquo; Dance, the, <a href="#pg371">371</a></p>

<p>Gigantic Ghosts, <a href="#pg176">176</a></p>

<p>Giraldus Cambrensis, <a href="#pg65">65</a></p>

<p>Gitto Bach, the Legend of, <a href="#pg119">119</a></p>

<p>Gnomes, <a href="#pg24">24</a></p>

<p>Goats, Strange Beliefs concerning, <a href="#pg53">53</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg404" id="pg404">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>404]</a></span>
Gobelin, the French, <a href="#pg32">32</a></p>

<p>Goblin Animals, <a href="#pg167">167</a><br />
<span class="sp7"> &rdquo; </span>Funerals, <a href="#pg231">231</a></p>

<p>God&rsquo;s Name as an Exorcism, <a href="#pg112">112</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp7"> &rdquo; </span>in the Bardic Traditions, <a href="#pg209">209</a></p>

<p>Good Friday Customs, <a href="#pg266">266</a></p>

<p>Good Old Times, the, <a href="#pg252">252</a></p>

<p>Grassless Grave, Legend of the, <a href="#pg331">331</a></p>

<p>Green Lady of Caerphilly, the, <a href="#pg132">132</a><br />
<span class="sp16"> &rdquo; </span>Meadows of the Sea, <a href="#pg8">8</a></p>

<p>Groaning Spirits, <a href="#pg222">222</a></p>

<p>Grotesque Ghosts, <a href="#pg174">174</a></p>

<p>Guest, Lady Charlotte, <a href="#pg5">5</a></p>

<p>Guy Fawkes Day Customs, <a href="#pg284">284</a></p>

<p>Gwahoddwr, the, <a href="#pg307">307</a></p>

<p>Gwenfrewi, Legend of, <a href="#pg347">347</a></p>

<p>Gwerddonau Llion, <a href="#pg8">8</a></p>

<p>Gwion Bach (Taliesin), <a href="#pg88">88</a>, <a href="#pg394">394</a></p>

<p>Gwrach y Rhibyn, the, <a href="#pg216">216</a></p>

<p>Gwragedd Annwn, the, <a href="#pg34">34</a></p>

<p>Gwraig of the Golden Boat, the, <a href="#pg41">41</a></p>

<p>Gwydion, the Wizard Monarch, <a href="#pg5">5</a></p>

<p>Gwyllgi, the, <a href="#pg168">168</a></p>

<p>Gwyllion, <a href="#pg49">49</a></p>

<p>Gwyn ap Nudd, <a href="#pg6">6</a>, <a href="#pg372">372</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="H" id="H"></a>H.</p>

<p>Hafod Lwyddog, Legend of, <a href="#pg124">124</a></p>

<p>Hallow E&rsquo;en Customs, <a href="#pg280">280</a></p>

<p>Hares, Mythological Details, <a href="#pg162">162</a></p>

<p>Harp Music among Welsh Fairies, <a href="#pg94">94</a></p>

<p>Haunted Bridge, the, <a href="#pg144">144</a><br />
<span class="sp6"> &rdquo; </span>Castles and Houses, <a href="#pg143">143</a><br />
<span class="sp6"> &rdquo; </span>Margaret, <a href="#pg165">165</a></p>

<p>Headless Horse, the, <a href="#pg216">216</a></p>

<p>Hecate, <a href="#pg49">49</a></p>

<p>Hermes, <a href="#pg236">236</a></p>

<p>Hidden Treasures and Perturbed Ghosts, <a href="#pg151">151</a><br />
<span class="sp6"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp2"> &rdquo; </span>Dragon-Guarded, <a href="#pg386">386</a></p>

<p>Hobgoblin, <a href="#pg32">32</a></p>

<p>Holy Thursday, Superstition concerning, <a href="#pg25">25</a>, <a href="#pg268">268</a></p>

<p>Horse-Weddings, <a href="#pg310">310</a></p>

<p>Hot-cross Buns, <a href="#pg267">267</a></p>

<p>Household Fairy, the, <a href="#pg31">31</a></p>

<p>Howell Dda, <a href="#pg298">298</a></p>


<p class="index"><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg405" id="pg405">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>405]</a></span>
<a name="I" id="I"></a>I.</p>

<p>Iago ap Dewi&rsquo;s Seven Years&rsquo; Absence, <a href="#pg88">88</a></p>

<p>Ianto Llewellyn and the Fairies, <a href="#pg123">123</a></p>

<p>Idris the Giant, <a href="#pg370">370</a></p>

<p>Incubus, <a href="#pg193">193</a></p>

<p>Inscribed Stones, Superstitious Dread of, <a href="#pg373">373</a></p>

<p>Iolo ap Hugh, the Legend of, <a href="#pg99">99</a></p>

<p>Islands, the Enchanted, <a href="#pg8">8</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="J" id="J"></a>J.</p>

<p>Jack-muh-Lantern, <a href="#pg18">18</a></p>

<p>Jennet Francis and the Fairy Child-Stealers, <a href="#pg62">62</a></p>

<p>John the Red Nose, <a href="#pg258">258</a></p>

<p>Jones, the Prophet, <a href="#pg104">104</a></p>

<p>Juan White, the Spirit of, <a href="#pg50">50</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="K" id="K"></a>K.</p>

<p>Knife, Exorcism by the, <a href="#pg52">52</a></p>

<p>Knockers in Mines, <a href="#pg24">24</a></p>

<p>Kobolds, <a href="#pg29">29</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="L" id="L"></a>L.</p>

<p>Lady of the Fountain, <a href="#pg178">178</a>, <a href="#pg385">385</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Wood, Legend of the, <a href="#pg193">193</a></p>

<p>Lake Fairies, <a href="#pg34">34</a></p>

<p>Lang, A., cited, <a href="#pg197">197</a></p>

<p>Language of the Fairies, <a href="#pg106">106</a></p>

<p>Lapse of Time under Enchantment, <a href="#pg89">89</a></p>

<p>Laws of the Welsh Spirit-World, <a href="#pg148">148</a></p>

<p>Leek, Wearing of the, <a href="#pg260">260</a></p>

<p>Lenten Customs, <a href="#pg266">266</a></p>

<p>Levitation of Mortals, <a href="#pg157">157</a>, <a href="#pg163">163</a></p>

<p>Levy Dew, <a href="#pg255">255</a></p>

<p>Lies, the Tump of, <a href="#pg273">273</a></p>

<p>Lifting at Easter, <a href="#pg269">269</a></p>

<p>Lightning Caverns, <a href="#pg394">394</a></p>

<p>Linen, its Ancient Value, <a href="#pg133">133</a></p>

<p>Listening at the Church Door, <a href="#pg214">214</a></p>

<p>Lisworney-Crossways, the Legend of, <a href="#pg169">169</a></p>

<p>Living with Fairies, <a href="#pg65">65</a></p>

<p>Llandaff Gwrach y Rhibyn, the, <a href="#pg217">217</a></p>

<p>Llechlafar Stone, <a href="#pg364">364</a></p>

<p>Lledrith, the, <a href="#pg215">215</a></p>

<p>Llwyd the Magician, <a href="#pg159">159</a>, <a href="#pg190">190</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg406" id="pg406">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>406]</a></span>
Llwyn y Nef, the Bush of Heaven, <a href="#pg72">72</a></p>

<p>Llyn Barfog, the Fairy Maiden of, <a href="#pg36">36</a><br />
<span class="sp3"> &rdquo; </span>y Dywarchen, the Lady of, <a href="#pg44">44</a><br />
<span class="sp3"> &rdquo; </span>y Fan Fach, the Sirens of, <a href="#pg38">38</a><br />
<span class="sp3"> &rdquo; </span>Glas, the Shepherd of, <a href="#pg124">124</a><br />
<span class="sp3"> &rdquo; </span>y Morwynion, the Maidens&rsquo; Lake, <a href="#pg47">47</a></p>

<p>Logan Stones, Superstitions concerning, <a href="#pg378">378</a></p>

<p>Lord and Beggar, Legend of the, <a href="#pg230">230</a></p>

<p>Love Charms, <a href="#pg302">302</a></p>

<p>Lucky Days, <a href="#pg268">268</a></p>

<p>Lukis, J.&nbsp;W., cited, <a href="#pg3">3</a>, <a href="#pg380">380</a></p>

<p>Luther and the Changeling, <a href="#pg57">57</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="M" id="M"></a>M.</p>

<p>Mab, <a href="#pg14">14</a></p>

<p>Mabinogion, the, <a href="#pg5">5</a>, <a href="#pg14">14</a>, <a href="#pg91">91</a></p>

<p>Magic Carpet, <a href="#pg164">164</a><br />
<span class="sp7"> &rdquo; </span>Harp, <a href="#pg95">95</a></p>

<p>Maidens&rsquo; Lake, the, <a href="#pg47">47</a></p>

<p>Maid&rsquo;s Trick, the, <a href="#pg302">302</a></p>

<p>Making Christ&rsquo;s Bed, <a href="#pg267">267</a></p>

<p>Mallt y Nos, the, <a href="#pg215">215</a></p>

<p>Marget yr Yspryd, <a href="#pg165">165</a></p>

<p>Mari Lwyd, the, <a href="#pg256">256</a></p>

<p>Marketing on Tombstones, <a href="#pg280">280</a></p>

<p>Marriage Customs, <a href="#pg306">306</a></p>

<p>May-day Customs, <a href="#pg274">274</a></p>

<p>Meddygon Myddfai, Legend of the, <a href="#pg38">38</a></p>

<p>Melerius, the Legend of, <a href="#pg192">192</a></p>

<p>Melusina, the Welsh, <a href="#pg381">381</a></p>

<p>Memorials of Arthur, <a href="#pg369">369</a></p>

<p>Men of Ardudwy, the Legend of the, <a href="#pg47">47</a></p>

<p>Merlin the Enchanter, as a Stone Remover, <a href="#pg371">371</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp11"> &rdquo; </span>and the Red Dragon, <a href="#pg393">393</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span>an Early Myth, <a href="#pgviii">viii</a>.</p>

<p>Mermaids, <a href="#pg35">35</a>, <a href="#pg47">47</a></p>

<p>Merthyr, the Rector of, cited, <a href="#pg3">3</a></p>

<p>Methodists, Banishers of Fairies, <a href="#pg6">6</a></p>

<p>Mid-Lent Sunday, <a href="#pg266">266</a></p>

<p>Midsummer Eve, <a href="#pg277">277</a></p>

<p>Milford Haven, the Fairies at, <a href="#pg9">9</a></p>

<p>Milk from Fountains, <a href="#pg356">356</a></p>

<p>Milk-white Milch Cow, Legend of the, <a href="#pg37">37</a></p>

<p>Mine Goblins, <a href="#pg24">24</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg407" id="pg407">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>407]</a></span>
Miner&rsquo;s Wraith, the, <a href="#pg215">215</a></p>

<p>Mirage, <a href="#pg173">173</a></p>

<p>Moel Arthur, the Treasure-Chest of, <a href="#pg388">388</a></p>

<p>Moelfre Hill, the Women of, <a href="#pg376">376</a></p>

<p>Mol Walbec the Giantess, <a href="#pg370">370</a></p>

<p>Monacella&rsquo;s Lambs, <a href="#pg162">162</a></p>

<p>Money thrown in Wells, <a href="#pg354">354</a></p>

<p>Morgan, Born of the Sea, <a href="#pg47">47</a></p>

<p>Morgana, <a href="#pg7">7</a></p>

<p>Mothering Sunday, <a href="#pg266">266</a></p>

<p>Mountain Ash, the Three Rods of, <a href="#pg210">210</a><br />
<span class="sp13"> &rdquo; </span>the Old Woman of the, <a href="#pg49">49</a></p>

<p>Mourning in Lent, <a href="#pg266">266</a></p>

<p>Music in Welsh Fairy Tales, <a href="#pg91">91</a>, <a href="#pg98">98</a></p>

<p>Myfyr Morganwg, <a href="#pg277">277</a></p>

<p>Mystic Wells, <a href="#pg345">345</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="N" id="N"></a>N.</p>

<p>Nadolig, <a href="#pg286">286</a></p>

<p>Names of Welsh Fairies, <a href="#pg12">12</a></p>

<p>Nant yr Ellyllon, <a href="#pg79">79</a></p>

<p>Narberth in Mythic Story, <a href="#pg198">198</a>, <a href="#pg234">234</a></p>

<p>New Year&rsquo;s Day Customs, <a href="#pg252">252</a></p>

<p>Night Fiend, the, <a href="#pg215">215</a></p>

<p>Nights for Spirits, the Three, <a href="#pg280">280</a></p>

<p>Nis, the, <a href="#pg186">186</a></p>

<p>Noises, Mysterious, on Barry Island, <a href="#pg353">353</a></p>

<p>North Wales, Fairyland in, <a href="#pg5">5</a></p>

<p>Nos Calan Gauaf, <a href="#pg280">280</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="O" id="O"></a>O.</p>

<p>Oaks, Superstitions concerning, <a href="#pg105">105</a></p>

<p>Odin&rsquo;s Spear, <a href="#pg395">395</a></p>

<p>Offrwm, the, <a href="#pg332">332</a></p>

<p>Old Woman of the Mountain, <a href="#pg49">49</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Torrent, <a href="#pg216">216</a></p>

<p>Origins of Fairies, <a href="#pg127">127</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>the Devil, <a href="#pg210">210</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Death Omens, <a href="#pg245">245</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Customs, <a href="#pg251">251</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Spirits, <a href="#pg247">247</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Mystic Well Superstitions, <a href="#pg359">359</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Superstitions regarding Stones, <a href="#pg383">383</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Dragons, <a href="#pg395">395</a></p>

<p>Owen Lawgoch and his Enchanted Men, <a href="#pg392">392</a></p>

<p>Owl&rsquo;s Screech a Death Omen, <a href="#pg213">213</a></p>


<p class="index"><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg408" id="pg408">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>408]</a></span>
<a name="P" id="P"></a>P.</p>

<p>Palm Sunday Customs, <a href="#pg266">266</a></p>

<p>Pant Shon Shenkin, the Legend of, <a href="#pg75">75</a></p>

<p>Pant-y-Madoc, the Gwyllgi of, <a href="#pg170">170</a></p>

<p>Pant-y-Saer, the Treasure-Hunter of, <a href="#pg389">389</a></p>

<p>Parc-y-Bigwrn, the Cromlech of, <a href="#pg382">382</a></p>

<p>Parson&rsquo;s Penny, <a href="#pg332">332</a></p>

<p>Pebble-Tossers, Gigantic, <a href="#pg370">370</a></p>

<p>Pembrokeshire a Land of Mystery, <a href="#pg10">10</a></p>

<p>Peredur, the Legend of, <a href="#pg202">202</a>, <a href="#pg366">366</a></p>

<p>Phantom Horseman, the, <a href="#pg174">174</a><br />
<span class="sp2"> &rdquo; </span>Ships and Islands, <a href="#pg173">173</a></p>

<p>Pigmies, <a href="#pg24">24</a></p>

<p>Pins in Enchantment, <a href="#pg354">354</a></p>

<p>Place of Strife, the Legend of the, <a href="#pg59">59</a></p>

<p>Plant Annwn, <a href="#pg34">34</a></p>

<p>Planting Weeds on Graves, <a href="#pg298">298</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>Flowers on Graves, <a href="#pg299">299</a>, <a href="#pg336">336</a></p>

<p>Plentyn-newid, the, <a href="#pg56">56</a></p>

<p>Plygain, the, <a href="#pg294">294</a></p>

<p>Poetico-Religious Theory of Fairies&rsquo; Origin, <a href="#pg134">134</a></p>

<p>Polly Williams and the Fairies, <a href="#pg81">81</a></p>

<p>Polyphemus, the Welsh, <a href="#pg179">179</a>, <a href="#pg202">202</a></p>

<p>Pontypridd, Druidic Ceremonies at, <a href="#pg277">277</a></p>

<p>Preacher and Bwbach, the, <a href="#pg30">30</a></p>

<p>Prolific Woman, Legend of the, <a href="#pg133">133</a></p>

<p>Pronunciation of Welsh Words, <a href="#preface">Preface</a></p>

<p>Propitiation of Goblins, <a href="#pg12">12</a>, <a href="#pg114">114</a></p>

<p>Psyche, <a href="#pg86">86</a></p>

<p>Puck, the Welsh, <a href="#pg20">20</a></p>

<p>Puzzling Jug, the, <a href="#pg283">283</a></p>

<p>Pwca&rsquo;r Trwyn, Account of, <a href="#pg187">187</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp16"> &rdquo; </span>chastises a Servant Girl, <a href="#pg22">22</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp16"> &rdquo; </span>travels in a Jug, <a href="#pg118">118</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp16"> &rdquo; </span>a Proscribed Noble, <a href="#pg128">128</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp16"> &rdquo; </span>was it a Fairy, <a href="#pg190">190</a></p>

<p>Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed, <a href="#pg234">234</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="Q" id="Q"></a>Q.</p>

<p>Quintain, the, <a href="#pg284">284</a>, <a href="#pg313">313</a></p>

<p>Quoits, Arthur&rsquo;s, <a href="#pg370">370</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="R" id="R"></a>R.</p>

<p>Ravens, Cave of the, <a href="#pg389">389</a></p>

<p>Realistic Theory of Fairies&rsquo; Origin, <a href="#pg129">129</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg409" id="pg409">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>409]</a></span>
Red Book of Hergest (Llyfr Coch), <a href="#pg5">5</a><br />
<span class="sp3"> &rdquo; </span>Fairies, the, <a href="#pg127">127</a><br />
<span class="sp3"> &rdquo; </span>Lady of Paviland, the, <a href="#pg386">386</a></p>

<p>Rhamanta, <a href="#pg302">302</a></p>

<p>Rhitta Gawr, the Giant, <a href="#pg372">372</a></p>

<p>Rhys and Llewellyn, the Story of, <a href="#pg70">70</a></p>

<p>Rice at Weddings, <a href="#pg314">314</a></p>

<p>Richard the Tailor, <a href="#pg160">160</a></p>

<p>Rip Van Winkle, the Original of, <a href="#pg89">89</a></p>

<p>Robber&rsquo;s Stone, the, <a href="#pg376">376</a></p>

<p>Rocking Stone, Superstitions concerning, <a href="#pg378">378</a></p>

<p>Rowli Pugh and the Ellyll, <a href="#pg15">15</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="S" id="S"></a>S.</p>

<p>Sabbath-breakers Turned to Stone, <a href="#pg376">376</a></p>

<p>Sacred Wells, <a href="#pg345">345</a></p>

<p>Sagranus Stone, the, <a href="#pg375">375</a></p>

<p>Sailors&rsquo; Superstitions, <a href="#pg9">9</a></p>

<p>St. Barruc&rsquo;s Well, <a href="#pg352">352</a></p>

<p>St. Ceyna, the Legend of, <a href="#pg377">377</a></p>

<p>St. Clement&rsquo;s Day, <a href="#pg284">284</a></p>

<p>St. Collen, the Legend of, <a href="#pg7">7</a></p>

<p>St. Cynfran&rsquo;s Well, <a href="#pg351">351</a></p>

<p>St. Cynhafal&rsquo;s Well, <a href="#pg351">351</a></p>

<p>St. David the Introducer of Death Portents into Wales, <a href="#pg245">245</a><br />
<span class="sp13"> &rdquo; </span>his Day, <a href="#pg259">259</a><br />
<span class="sp13"> &rdquo; </span>his Legendary Character, <a href="#pg260">260</a></p>

<p>St. Dogmell&rsquo;s Parish, <a href="#pg69">69</a>, <a href="#pg273">273</a></p>

<p>St. Dwynwen&rsquo;s Well, <a href="#pg350">350</a></p>

<p>St. Elian&rsquo;s Well, <a href="#pg355">355</a></p>

<p>St. George&rsquo;s Well, <a href="#pg351">351</a></p>

<p>St. Gwenfrewi, the Legend of, <a href="#pg347">347</a></p>

<p>St. Gwynwy&rsquo;s Well, <a href="#pg353">353</a></p>

<p>St. Illtyd&rsquo;s Well, <a href="#pg357">357</a></p>

<p>St. John&rsquo;s Eve, <a href="#pg277">277</a></p>

<p>St. Mary&rsquo;s Well, <a href="#pg346">346</a></p>

<p>St. Melangell&rsquo;s Lambs, <a href="#pg162">162</a></p>

<p>St. Patrick and the Elfin Dames, <a href="#pg35">35</a><br />
<span class="sp11"> &rdquo; </span>a Welshman, <a href="#pg264">264</a><br />
<span class="sp11"> &rdquo; </span>his Day, <a href="#pg264">264</a></p>

<p>St. Samson and the Dragon, <a href="#pg392">392</a></p>

<p>St. Tegla&rsquo;s Well, <a href="#pg329">329</a>, <a href="#pg349">349</a></p>

<p>St. Tydecho&rsquo;s Blue Stone, <a href="#pg367">367</a></p>

<p>St. Ulric&rsquo;s Day, <a href="#pg279">279</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg410" id="pg410">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>410]</a></span>
St. Valentine&rsquo;s Day, <a href="#pg259">259</a></p>

<p>St. Winifred&rsquo;s Well, <a href="#pg346">346</a></p>

<p>Salt at Funerals, <a href="#pg328">328</a></p>

<p>Sanford&rsquo;s Well, <a href="#pg358">358</a></p>

<p>Scapegoat, the, <a href="#pg329">329</a></p>

<p>Science, the Marvels of, <a href="#pg248">248</a></p>

<p>Seeing the Sun Dance, <a href="#pg273">273</a></p>

<p>Serpents Turned to Stones, <a href="#pg377">377</a></p>

<p>Seven Whistlers, the, <a href="#pg213">213</a></p>

<p>Sgilti Yscawndroed, the Lightfooted, <a href="#pg164">164</a></p>

<p>Shakspeare, his use of Welsh Folk-Lore, <a href="#pg14">14</a>, <a href="#pg44">44</a><br />
<span class="sp9"> &rdquo; </span>his Visit to Wales, <a href="#pg20">20</a></p>

<p>Shepherds of Cwm Llan, the Legends of the, <a href="#pg121">121</a></p>

<p>Shoe-throwing, <a href="#pg314">314</a></p>

<p>Shon ap Shenkin, the Story of, <a href="#pg92">92</a></p>

<p>Showmen&rsquo;s Superstitions, <a href="#pg255">255</a></p>

<p>Shrove Tuesday, <a href="#pg265">265</a></p>

<p>Shu&iuml; Rees and the Fairies, <a href="#pg67">67</a></p>

<p>Sin-eater, the, <a href="#pg324">324</a></p>

<p>Sion Cent the Magician, <a href="#pg203">203</a></p>

<p>Skulls, <a href="#pg145">145</a></p>

<p>Sleeping Saints, the, <a href="#pg73">73</a><br />
<span class="sp6"> &rdquo; </span>Heroes, Legends of, <a href="#pg162">162</a>, <a href="#pg392">392</a></p>

<p>Snake Stone, the, <a href="#pg278">278</a></p>

<p>Soul, its Future Destiny, <a href="#pg249">249</a></p>

<p>Souls of Dogs, <a href="#pg167">167</a></p>

<p>Sowling, <a href="#pg258">258</a></p>

<p>Spade Money, <a href="#pg333">333</a></p>

<p>Spectral Animals, <a href="#pg167">167</a></p>

<p>Spirit Fountain, the, <a href="#pg178">178</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Life, the Question of a, <a href="#pg249">249</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>Nights, the Three, <a href="#pg280">280</a><br />
<span class="sp15"> &rdquo; </span>World, Laws Governing the Welsh, <a href="#pg148">148</a></p>

<p>Spirits&rsquo; Antics, <a href="#pg180">180</a></p>

<p>Spiritual Hunting Dogs, <a href="#pg235">235</a></p>

<p>Spiritualism, <a href="#pg139">139</a></p>

<p>Spitting at the Name of the Devil, <a href="#pg209">209</a></p>

<p>Stanley, Hon. W.&nbsp;O., cited, <a href="#pg19">19</a>, <a href="#pg115">115</a></p>

<p>Stone-throwing Spirits, <a href="#pg180">180</a>, <a href="#pg185">185</a></p>

<p>Stone-tossing Giants, <a href="#pg370">370</a></p>

<p>Stone-worship, <a href="#pg361">361</a></p>

<p>Stone of Invisibility, the, <a href="#pg365">365</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Remembrance, the, <a href="#pg366">366</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp5"> &rdquo; </span>Golden Gifts, the, <a href="#pg366">366</a></p>

<p>Stones, Curious Superstitions concerning, <a href="#pg361">361</a><br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg411" id="pg411">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>411]</a></span>
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>at Cross-roads, <a href="#pg368">368</a><br />
<span class="sp1"> &rdquo; </span>of Healing, <a href="#pg367">367</a></p>

<p>Storms, Baleful Spirits of, <a href="#pg385">385</a></p>

<p>Stripping the Carpenter, <a href="#pg284">284</a></p>

<p>Suicides, Superstitions concerning, <a href="#pg146">146</a>, <a href="#pg331">331</a></p>

<p>Sul Coffa, <a href="#pg335">335</a></p>

<p>Summoning Spirits, <a href="#pg199">199</a></p>

<p>Supernatural, What is the, <a href="#pg248">248</a></p>

<p>Superstition, its Degree of Prevalence, <a href="#pg138">138</a>, <a href="#pg251">251</a><br />
<span class="sp9"> &rdquo; </span>in the United States, <a href="#pg139">139</a>, <a href="#pg252">252</a></p>

<p>Sweethearts&rsquo; Charms, <a href="#pg302">302</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="T" id="T"></a>T.</p>

<p>Taff&rsquo;s Well, <a href="#pg358">358</a></p>

<p>Taffy ap Sion, the Shoemaker&rsquo;s Son, Legend of, <a href="#pg75">75</a></p>

<p>Tailor Magician of Glanbran, the, <a href="#pg200">200</a></p>

<p>Taliesin, the Tale of, <a href="#pg88">88</a><br />
<span class="sp6"> &rdquo; </span>his Dragon, <a href="#pg394">394</a></p>

<p>Talking Stone, the, <a href="#pg364">364</a></p>

<p>Tan-wedd, the, <a href="#pg213">213</a></p>

<p>Teetotallers, Fairy Antipathy to, <a href="#pg6">6</a></p>

<p>Teir-nos Ysprydnos, <a href="#pg280">280</a></p>

<p>Terrors of the Brute, Creation at Apparitions, <a href="#pg171">171</a></p>

<p>Teulu, the, <a href="#pg231">231</a></p>

<p>Thief-catching Stone, the, <a href="#pg366">366</a></p>

<p>Thigh Stone, the, <a href="#pg363">363</a></p>

<p>Thomas, Rev. Dr., cited, <a href="#pg300">300</a></p>

<p>Thor&rsquo;s Hammer, <a href="#pg395">395</a></p>

<p>Three Blows, the Story of the, <a href="#pg40">40</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>Losses by Disappearance, the, <a href="#pg9">9</a><br />
<span class="sp4"> &rdquo; </span>Nights for Spirits, the, <a href="#pg280">280</a></p>

<p>Throwing at Cocks, <a href="#pg265">265</a></p>

<p>Thunder and Lightning as a Death Omen, <a href="#pg213">213</a></p>

<p>Toads and Warts, <a href="#pg352">352</a></p>

<p>Tolaeth, the, <a href="#pg225">225</a></p>

<p>Tolling the Bell, <a href="#pg340">340</a></p>

<p>Tooling, <a href="#pg258">258</a></p>

<p>Toriad y Dydd, <a href="#pg125">125</a></p>

<p>Transformation of Human Beings to Animals, <a href="#pg167">167</a>, <a href="#pg381">381</a><br />
<span class="sp8"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp9"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp2"> &rdquo; </span>Stone, <a href="#pg374">374</a>, <a href="#pg376">376</a></p>

<p>Transportation through the Air, <a href="#pg157">157</a>, <a href="#pg163">163</a></p>

<p>Trichrug, the Giant of, <a href="#pg371">371</a></p>

<p>Tricking the Diawl, <a href="#pg203">203</a></p>

<p>Tridoll Valley Ghost, the, <a href="#pg181">181</a></p>

<p>Tudur of Llangollen, the Story of, <a href="#pg79">79</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg412" id="pg412">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>412]</a></span>
Tump of Lies, the, <a href="#pg273">273</a></p>

<p>Twelfth Night Customs, <a href="#pg256">256</a></p>

<p>Tylwyth Teg, the, <a href="#pg12">12</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="U" id="U"></a>U.</p>

<p>Unknowable, the, <a href="#pg138">138</a></p>

<p>Unlucky Days, <a href="#pg268">268</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="V" id="V"></a>V.</p>

<p>Vale of Neath, the, its Goblin Fame, <a href="#pg6">6</a></p>

<p>Vavasor Powell and the Devil, <a href="#pg198">198</a></p>

<p>Veil, the Goblin, <a href="#pg232">232</a></p>

<p>Venus, the Welsh, <a href="#pg299">299</a><br />
<span class="sp14"> &rdquo; </span><span class="sp12"> &rdquo; </span>her Well, <a href="#pg350">350</a></p>

<p>Villemarqu&eacute; cited, <a href="#pg58">58</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="W" id="W"></a>W.</p>

<p>Walking Barefoot to Church, <a href="#pg266">266</a></p>

<p>Walking-stones, <a href="#pg363">363</a></p>

<p>Warts, <a href="#pg351">351</a>, <a href="#pg367">367</a></p>

<p>Water Maidens, <a href="#pg47">47</a><br />
<span class="sp16"> &rdquo; </span>Worship, <a href="#pg359">359</a></p>

<p>Wedding Customs, <a href="#pg306">306</a></p>

<p>Wells, Mystic, <a href="#pg345">345</a></p>

<p>Wesley&rsquo;s Belief in Apparitions, <a href="#pg141">141</a></p>

<p>Whistlers, the, <a href="#pg213">213</a></p>

<p>Whistling Goblin, the, <a href="#pg178">178</a></p>

<p>White as a Fairy Colour, <a href="#pg132">132</a><br />
<span class="sp16"> &rdquo; </span>Catti of the Grove Cave, <a href="#pg144">144</a></p>

<p>Whitening Doorsteps to Keep off the Devil, <a href="#pg207">207</a></p>

<p>Wife of Supernatural Race, <a href="#pg38">38</a></p>

<p>Wild Huntsman, <a href="#pg235">235</a></p>

<p>Will-o&rsquo;-Wisp, <a href="#pg20">20</a></p>

<p>Witches Sleeping under Stones, <a href="#pg368">368</a></p>

<p>Wonder Stone of Banwan Bryddin, the, <a href="#pg374">374</a></p>

<p>Wraiths, <a href="#pg215">215</a></p>


<p class="index"><a name="Y" id="Y"></a>Y.</p>

<p>Ychain Banog, the, <a href="#pg108">108</a>, <a href="#pg392">392</a></p>

<p>Yellow Spot before Death, the, <a href="#pg216">216</a></p>


<p class="center padtop padbase vsmlfont">LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET<br />
AND CHARING CROSS.</p>


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