ELVES, PIXIES, AND WITCHES.

THERE is a small blue lake at the foot of some of the Welsh mountains which the ancient inhabitants, descended from the old Druidical school, suppose to be the abode of the fairies. Those old Britons, driven out from their English homes by the invading Romans, and seeking shelter and safety among the Welsh and Cornish fastnesses, held many superstitions fancies. They saw tokens and charms in all nature, and believed as truly in good and bad spirits, in mischievous sprites and pixies, in witches and wizards, and the machinations of the Evil One, as they did in their law-giving Druids, their vates, and their legend-singing bards. Nature was their book of the unknown, behind whose unturned pages lurked things beyond their simple comprehension. A brave and fearless nation to foes that they could face openly, yet were they the veriest cowards before the slightest and most harmless thing in nature that they, in their ignorance, failed to account for. Thus, their pixies and their sprites visited many houses; and in nearly every lane and hedgerow had their haunts, and under many of the wide-spreading trees did they dance their midnight dance and hold their fairy revels. They visited the milk­pails and upset their contents, and they turned the cream, and prevented its churning into butter. They rode the horses left in the fields at night until they half killed them, and they used for these mad rides the hairs pulled from the unfortunate animals' necks or tails, twisted into stirrups to rest their tiny feet in. They led astray those people whom they found abroad after nightfall; and the only remedy to secure safety from their pranks was to turn some article of clothing upon the body. They stole or changed children who had been left in their cradles, and they invariably appeared dressed in rags.

      But these were pixies of the mischievous order; there were others — the good and industrious — who worked at the looms all night and did the washing for any family which they happened to take a fancy to, or they busied themselves by thrashing the corn in the barns; but one and all of this hard-working sort were ragged and dirty; and the mortals to whom they rendered such valuable assistance, upon finding out to whom they were indebted, in gratitude supplied them with gay new clothes; and the pixies in seeming delight donned these garments, and departed, singing as they went —

Now the pixies' work is done, We take our Clothes and off we run.

And off they did run indeed, for their kind offices for ever afterwards ceased.

      So much for the pranks of the pixies. The witches were quite another kind of thing; and if offended, would cast an "evil eye" upon the cattle or the family of the offending one. In that case the- cattle died, and the family became sick, and sometimes died also. Thus, to guard against the evil that one witch worked, another was propitiated, and gave a counter-charm, that alleviated, or entirely removed the ills worked by her sister-witch. Some witches assumed the forms of dogs, hares, and cats, as in the well-known legend of Pendle Forest, in consequence of which tale as told by the Robinsons, eighteen persons were tried at Lancaster, and seventeen of these unfortunate creatures were found guilty of witchcraft, and six out of that number forfeited their lives upon the scaffold.

      "The Lancashire Witches," still a standing toast of the county, given with brimming glasses, leads some of us to forget for a time the bonnie girls to whom the term applies in these our days, and to allow our thoughts to wander far back into the past, when, in place of the mills and factories, the land was covered with giant trees, gorse, and bracken, and the deer and other wild animals roved at will in their picturesquely beautiful domain, wherein the foot of man seldom trod. And musing of those bygone days when Pendle was one of the largest forests of our isle, we forget the handsome lasses of the county, and muse on the legend of the forest wherein the Irwell first finds its source.

      Do you, my readers, know how the tales of the wood-cutters were credited by a superstitious nation — how, in a violent storm in Pendle Forest, Robinson said that he saw by the flashing of the lightning the terrible witch of the forest perched upon a high crag, and that he felt her cat rubbing itself against his legs, and that the cat expressed itself in good English, and informed him that the witch would meet him at Malkin Tower? Then the legend proceeds to tell that young Robinson went into the forest the night before his father's journey, and that he saw two beautiful greyhounds, with collars of gold about their necks; and while he admired the dogs, a hare came upon the scene, and he, seeing so good an opportunity for a hunt, tried to urge on the dogs, and even struck them to compel them to do his bidding; but in spite of all his endeavours, the dogs remained passive; and while he looked in wonder at them, one was suddenly transformed into the witch of the forest, and the other into a little boy. Young Robinson went on to state that the witch forced him to remain where he was, and even offered him money to keep silence; but her money he refused; and then immediately the little boy was transformed into a white horse, and young Robinson was placed in front of the witch upon its back, and it galloped off to a place in the forest known as the spot where "the witches' Sabbath" was celebrated. At this place, about fifty witches were assembled; and a young woman presented Robinson with a steak set upon a golden dish; but he was unable to eat it on account of the taste, which was quite disgusting. Subsequently he found himself in a barn, where there were six witches, who were engaged' pulling ropes suspended from the ceiling, by which the choicest and richest articles of food descended. Then a great caldron was procured, and the witches performed and used various incantations around it; during which ceremony Robinson managed to escape; and was pursued by the whole troop of witches.

      The tale runs, that after his adventure, young Robinson became ill, and raved for a whole week about witches; whereupon, the tale of his adventures getting wind, eighteen poor women were tried for the offence of witchcraft. One of the unfortunate creatures was so much frightened, that she imagined she was actually a witch, and is said to have made certain confessions before her death relative to her dealings with the Evil One.

      Still, though all our island teemed with the tales of the supernatural, the most credited and renowned tales of elves, pixies, sprites, witches, and the like appear to have had their origin along the western parts of our island, and more particularly in Wales. Some historians, however; ascribe our great poet Shakspeare's ideas concerning fairy elves to have originated in the Isle of Wight, where many tales of these little creatures' doings were current at the time of his supposed visit to that garden of England. But it is not to be wondered at that the Welsh should hold many superstitious fancies. Ancient Britons as they were, they believed implicitly in the Druidical egg inclosed in gold hung about the necks of their priests. Pliny tells us that this egg was the distinguishing badge of the Druids, that it was of the size of an apple, that its shell was a cartilaginous incrustation full of little cavities like those upon the arms of the polypus. The origin is said to have been derived from serpents, a number of whom entwined themselves together, and whose hissing sent up the egg into the air, where it was caught ere falling to the ground. The person who caught the substance used a clean white linen cloth for the purpose, and was mounted upon a very fleet horse; and having secured his prize, he galloped off at headlong speed, pursued by the angry serpents, which stayed not their chase until they reached running water. If the egg was genuine, it was incased in gold, and would then swim against the stream. The power of the egg was considered miraculous, and those who wore it were insured against almost every known evil. The belief in it was certainly sincere, for the great Druidical temples of Avebury, Stonehenge, and of Carnac in Brittany, together with many others, were dedicated to the worship of the sun and the serpent.

      But the tales that were the most pleasant were those concerning the pranks or kindly actions of the little people, and it is to these that the following legend relates. The tale that we now have to do with is, of course, only a fairy tale relating to a family of good pixies who dwelt beyond a Welsh lake under the shadow of lofty hills — Avernus, as the Mabinogi, or fables of the Welsh, call these little sprites. Well! on the first day of May, many, many years ago, after the poor Britons had been compelled to give up the hills and valleys, the woodlands and meadow-land, the rivers and streams, of dear old England, and hurry for shelter to the more secure fastnesses of Wales, away from their Roman invaders, there was a door in the rocks that opened close down to the water. This door gave access to the fairy domain; and if any curious mortal wished to penetrate the secrets of this abode of the little folks, he must cross the water on this first clay of May, and enter the door, where he would find a fairy page in attendance, who evinced his readiness to conduct the visitor to the favourite haunt of the fairy queen and her court. Following the page, the visitor observed winding passages spread out in every direction from a common centre. These were carpeted with the softest mosses, some of a bright emerald green colour, others of a rich brown and yellowish tint. The feet of the visitor sank with noiseless tread upon this velvet-like carpet, which was softer and thicker than the richest velvet­pile of our day. Traversing one of those passages, the fairy page paused, and tapped with a small wand upon what looked to the visitor to be a massive wall of flinty rock. Once he tapped, and paused to listen; then again he gave his summons, and waited for the same length of time; then again he repeated his knocking. At this, his third summons, the rock opened in the shape of a door, which swung open upon invisible hinges; and the page immediately stepped forward into the enchanted precincts, and beckoned to his guest to follow him, which the mortal immediately did, when the door was closed behind him. Thus they found themselves in a beautiful passage or corridor, the roof of which was covered with magnificent stalactites of all shapes and sizes, that glittered and sparkled with all the hues of a rainbow, and seemed to emit sparks and flashes of light as they were passed. As the visitor followed his guide through this winding passage, he caught glimpses of numberless other passages diverging from it. Each and all were decorated with flashing stalactites of quaint and artistic forms. The floors of some were strewn with fine sparkling sand; while others were paved with polished black, white, or speckled marbles, or shining spar. Diverging at length into one of these, the visitor stood in awestruck admiration at the wonders displayed before him; for there, in wild profuse confusion, lay bright violet amethysts scattered promiscuously over beds of emeralds, looking like enormous violets blossoming amongst a wealth of bright green leaves. Farther on were sapphires, again amongst masses of emeralds, their pale-blue colour representing the pretty modest little pimpernel.

      Turning to the other side, the visitor beheld corresponding beds of gems, with masses of emeralds for the foundation; but with flowers represented by the ruby and garnet, in place of geranium and other stars of earth of a scarlet or pinkish hue. Still further on the diamond flashed out its light like so many glow-worms half-hidden amongst the grass and leaves; while further still, the yellowish tints of the amber clearly showed itself like vast beds of marigolds, or the yellow cup-flowers that children call orange and lemon. Then the fairy flower-garden ended, and the sea-garden commenced; bright-red, yellow, brown, or green seaweeds making themselves conspicuous, studded with sprays of red, pink, and white coral Then further on pearls of all sizes, sorts, and shapes hung in bushes and sea-trees, looking like the snowball bushes of our gardens. Amongst all this fairy scene rose trickling, sparkling fountains; and behind the boughs of the sea-plants peeped grottos and caves formed of pearl and bright-coloured shells.

      At length a rippling lake appeared in view, with a fairy skiff moored thereon, in waiting for the visitor. Entering this frail little craft, it was pushed out from shore into the dancing waves of the lake, over which it skimmed lightly, until its keel grated upon the shining sands of an island. On this island was the home and castle of the Tylwyth Teg or Fair Family; and on the shore, for the purpose of welcoming a mortal visitor, stood the fairy queen with all the members of her court. The beautiful little lady with all her train advanced to welcome the stranger, who was struck with such marvellous beauty, which was so far beyond mortal conception. The visitor in amazement landed, and the queen with all her courteous subjects commenced to show him all the beauties of their fairy domain. They first led him through wonderful gardens, where grew the finest and rarest of flowers, some of which they plucked and presented to him. The wonderful perfume of some of these odorous flowers almost intoxicated the visitor; observing which, the fairy company hastened to lead him away from their flower to their fruit gardens, where he regaled himself with the sweetest and most luscious fruits imaginable. Subsequent to this the little people entertained him with exquisite music and foretold things that would happen in the future.

      This mortal was allowed to he:lp himself to anything he saw, but was warned that evil would befall him if he ventured to carry any of the enchanted things away. And thus it once happened that one of the visitors of the Tylwyth Teg secreted one of the fairy flowers to carry away with him. The fairies, who knew all about it, let him depart, showing him every courtesy until they closed their doors after him. When he reached mortal ground the flower had disappeared, and he had lost his senses. Never after this disobedience to their commands did the Fair Family open their grounds to mortals. Soft sweet music is occasionally heard proceeding from the enchanted spot in sweet summer mornings, when the birds are twittering and calling to each other to awake; or on some dewy night when the stars are brightly twinkling in the sky, waiting to welcome their queen — the Silver Moon — but the Fair Family themselves never appear.

      It is said that the inhabitants of that part of the country tried to do away with the fairies and their enchanted home, thinking no good came of harbouring such uncanny folk. But of the truth of this I cannot say, and let us indulge in the romantic hope that the little people are still enjoying their lives among their fruit and flower and gem gardens.