‘Fairies!’ said Peter, ’fairies! how came you, young man, to know anything about the fair family?’

‘I am an Englishman,’ said I, ’and of course know something about fairies; England was once a famous place for them.’

‘Was once, I grant you,’ said Peter, ’but is so no longer.  I have travelled for years about England, and never heard them mentioned before; the belief in them has died away, and even their name seems to be forgotten.  If you had said you were a Welshman, I should not have been surprised.  The Welsh have much to say of the Tylwyth Teg, or fair family, and many believe in them.’

‘And do you believe in them?’ said I.

’I scarcely know what to say.  Wise and good men have been of opinion that they are nothing but devils, who, under the form of pretty and amiable spirits, would fain allure poor human beings; I see nothing irrational in the supposition.’

‘Do you believe in devils, then?’

‘Do I believe in devils, young man?’ said Peter, and his frame was shaken as if by convulsions.  ’If I do not believe in devils, why am I here at the present moment?’

‘You know best,’ said I; ’but I don’t believe that fairies are devils, and I don’t wish to hear them insulted.  What learned men have said they are devils?’

’Many have said it, young man, and, amongst others, Master Ellis Wyn, in that wonderful book of his, the Bardd Cwsg.’

‘The Bardd Cwsg,’ said I; ’what kind of book is that?  I have never heard of that book before.’

’Heard of it before; I suppose not; how should you have heard of it before?  By the bye, can you read?’

‘Very tolerably,’ said I; ’so there are fairies in this book.  What do you call it—­the Bardd Cwsg?’

’Yes, the Bardd Cwsg.  You pronounce Welsh very fairly; have you ever been in Wales?’

‘Never,’ said I.

’Not been in Wales; then, of course, you don’t understand Welsh; but we were talking of the Bardd Cwsg—­yes, there are fairies in the Bardd Cwsg,—­the author of it, Master Ellis Wyn, was carried away in his sleep by them over mountains and valleys, rivers and great waters, incurring mighty perils at their hands, till he was rescued from them by an angel of the Most High, who subsequently showed him many wonderful things.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ said I, ‘but what were those wonderful things?’

‘I see, young man,’ said Peter, smiling, ’that you are not without curiosity; but I can easily pardon any one for being curious about the wonders contained in the book of Master Ellis Wyn.  The angel showed him the course of this world, its pomps and vanities, its cruelty and its pride, its crimes and deceits.  On another occasion, the angel showed him Death in his nether palace, surrounded by his grisly ministers, and by those who are continually falling victims to his power.  And, on a third occasion, the state of the condemned in their place of everlasting torment.’