In the cliffs at the west end of Lleyn is a wishing-well called Ffynnon Fair, or St. Mary's Well; where, to obtain your wish, you have to descend the steps to the well and walk up again to the top with your mouth full of the water. Viewing the position of the well from the sea, I should be disposed to think that the realisation of one's wish at that price could not be regarded as altogether cheap.

The gudeman of Siggie Taft had been at Ori with his oil teind and when returning home in the humin riding on a grey mare and leading a red staig he had to pass Stakkaberg, a feat which in those days required both nerve and hardihood. But Siggie Taft possessed both in a remarkable degree for it was said of him that he neither feared man nor deil in light or mirk.

As he rode slowly along he heard a voice saying "Du 'at rides de grey and rins de red tell Tona Tivla 'at Fona Fivla is faan i' de Velyna Vatyna." On coming to his house, as he passed the byre door, he called out the strange words he had heard and was surprised to see an "uncan" woman jump up from the side of his cow and in her hurry she left a pan of curious workmanship standing in the bizzi (stall in a byre). As the woman disappeared through the byre lum she explained "O care an' dol, dat's my bairn 'ats faan i' de kirnin watter."

The milk pan thus secured was kept in the house of Taft for generations and always brought luck. But it had to be sained every night and left hanging in de ringalodi [crock and links for suspending a pot over the fire]. One night this duty was neglected and in the morning the pan had disappeared. After this the Trows seemed to have taken a spite at the people of Siggie Taft.

Noted down from the narration of William Laurenson, Aith, Fetlar, by E.S. Reid Tate.

Nether Swell. -- Within a stone's throw from the north-west angle of the church, on the summit of the rising ground, in the allotments, stood, within the memory of the writer of this paper, a familiar, yet most venerable monolith. It was known as the Whistlestone (so called, perhaps, from this, the Wheat Hill, as the one beyond was the Oat Hill). This stone was the last, most probably, of a cist. Many stones were found at its base.

A witticism, amongst the villagers, was this:- "When the Whistlestone hears Stow clock (a mile off) strike twelve, it goes down to Lady-well (at the Hill's foot) to drink." Alas, poor Whistlestone!

Farmer Illes, one of the olden time, one day picked up two of a perfect set of teeth, in plowing by the stone, but so harried was he by the weirdy teeth, that he replaced them speedily where he found them.

But a later occupier did what the good folk of the village declared could not be done - for "All the King's horses and all the King's men" could not cast down nor carry away Whistlestone - but it was carried away - yet rescued from the roads or profane use. In the vicarage-paddock the pre-historic block now finds asylum.

[Here are] two unhewn blocks of white quartz, almost certainly placed by artifice, with a small natural outcropping boulder midway between them, to which the local tradition points as marking the site where Owen Glyndwr "held parley, and made his covenant." The boulders are on the north-western slope of Plynlumon, 100 yards above the right bank of the river Hyddgen [..] Each stone is 2 feet high, and shows no trace of tooling. They are 60 feet apart and are aligned exactly north and south. Though not placed in an elevated position, they can be seen from afar, and show up conspicuously in the sunlight.

On an eminence bordering with Garvock, called Kinchet, or, more properly, King's Seat hill, there is a large heap of stones, where, according to tradition, a king used in ancient times to sit in judgment.

Among other complaints here preferred to him, many were lodged against Melville of Allardice, at that time sheriff of the county, for his oppression. The royal judge, either wearied with the complainers, or enraged at the offender, exclaimed, "I wish that sheriff were sodden and supped in brose!" Such was the savage barbarity of the times, that the barons, who were little accustomed to the formalities of a trial, laid hold on these words, and put them literally in execution.

The place where the deed was perpetrated, a the bottom of the hills, on the side next Garvock, is not unlike the cavity of a kiln for drying corn, and still retains the name of the Sheriff's kettle.

On the summit of the nearest hill to the sea, except one, bordering with the parish of Cyrus, and commanding an extensive prospect, stands a rough stone, in the circumference of a stony circle, commonly called the Cloach stone. It is more than a foot thick, measure 8 feet along the ground, and rises nearly 6 above its surface, in an inclined direction towards the north.

As there is no place in the neighbourhood, except one at the South corner of the parish, close by the shore, where stones of the same quality are found, it appears to have been brought from thence, not without considerable difficulty, the intervening space being a pretty steep ascent of more than a mile. It would seem therefore to have been erected for some useful purpose, perhaps with a view to perpetuate some memorable event.

Tradition says, a battle was fought near this place, and the number of flint heads of arrows, found on the side of the hill where it stands, affords some reason to credit this report. Between this and the coast, a great quantity of human bones has been dug up, in the course of improving the land, for nearly the space of a mile along the rising ground above Johnshaven. The bottom and sides of the graves, containing these bones, were all lined with rough stones.

In the parish of Dores, and about three miles from Loch ness, are vestiges of a fort called Castel-Dunreachan, or Castal-Dun-richuan, i.e. Castle of the King of the Ocean*, a name perhaps imposed when the king of Norway was master of the sea. To the eastward of that fort, are several cairns, one of which, called Ashi's hill, is fabled to be the spot where Fingal killed Ashi, son of the Norwegian monarch.

It was first designed to build the church [for Fordoun] on the top of the Knock-hill, about a mile or more north-east of the village - a most inconvenient, and the reverse of a central situation; and there the work was actually commenced. As usual, whatever was erected during the day by the masons was destroyed at night by some supernatural beings, who took this method of testifying their aversion to the undertaking. After some time, when both builders and destroyers had perhaps become weary of their respective labours, a supernatural voice was heard to cry,-

Gang farther doun
To Fordoun's toun.

The hint was taken; and in order to determine the proper site of the church, a mason was desired to throw his hammer at random. The hammer judiciously alighted on the beautiful mound where Paldy's chapel was already pitched, and there the work was carried into effect without farther interruption.

On the steep side of Great Finn, an insulated rock that is split and rent into parts rises like the ruins of a castle from out the thick underwood with which the hill is covered: this shapeless mass is called Hob's House, and tradition states, that it was inhabited by a being of a gigantic stature, who was possessed of great and mysterious powers, and who was known by the name of Hob. This extraordinary personage never appeared by day; but when the inhabitants were asleep in their beds, he traversed the vales, entered their houses, thrashed their corn, and in one single night did the work of ten day-labourers, unseen and unheard, for which service he was recompensed with a bowl of cream, that was duly placed upon the hearth, to be quaffed on the completion of the task he had voluntarily imposed upon himself. This is a tradition by no means confined to the neighbourhood of Monsal-Dale; a similar one prevails in many parts of the kingdom, and particularly in the northern districts...

In speaking of the rebel laird of Blelack, it may be added that the fairies abode in the Seely Howe, a hollow in the Carne Hillock, upon that property; and, before leaving for the wars of the '45, the laird, determined to dislodge them from his lands, employed for that purpose a reputed magician, named John Farquharson, tacksman in Parks. The fairies, however, refused to obey his spell until he should assign them some other place of abode, which he did by sending them to the Hill of Fare, near Banchory! But, disliking their new quarters very much, the superstitious aver that the fairies pronounced this imprecation upon Gordon:--

"Dool, dool to Blelack,
And dool to Blelack's heir,
For drivin' us from the Seely Howe
To the cauld hill o' Fare!"

The malediction of the fairies against Farquharson was still more eldritch:--

"While corn and girs grows to the air,
John Farquharson and his seed shall thrive nae mair!"

It is added that Farquharson, whose circumstances went to the bad from the day he dislodged the fairies, left his native country and was never again heard of. Matters also went ill with the Gordons. The rebel laird died without lawful issue, when the estate passed to Charles Rose, a sister's son...

At a meeting of the Society of Manchester Scientific Students, Sept. 27, 1882, the members visited Hayfield. On leaving Hayfield railway station the party proceeded to the edge of Leygate Moor. From thence they reached the Old Oak wood near the lower house. A short walk from here is the Downfall. Near here is the Mermaid's Pool, of which the natives have a tradition that a beautiful woman lives in the side of the Scout; that she comes to bathe every day in the Mermaid's Well, and that the man who has the good luck to behold her bathing will become immortal and never die. The old people of Hayfield, moreover, tell a long story of a man who, sometime in the last century, went from Hayfield over the Scout, and was lucky enough to meet this mountain nymph, by whom he was conducted to a cavern hard by. Tradition adds that she was pleased with this humble mortal, and that he lingered there some time, when she conferred on him the precious gift of immortality.

There died one hundred and fifteen years ago a Mr. Alexander Hogg of London, merchant, leaving among other benefactions to his native parish of Durris, Kincardineshire, ten shillings a year to the herds around the hill of Cairnshee (Fairies' Cairn) for the purpose of making a Midsummer bonfire, in remembrance of the fact that he as a boy herded cattle there. A further sum was left to provide barrels of ale, cheese, and bread for those who assemble to witness the celebration. This curious observance is duly followed every year, and forms one of the attractions of the district. As many as half a dozen musicians resort to the hill, and dancing is kept up till midnight or longer.

Can it be doubted that Mr. Hogg thus gave new life to an old custom which had been known to his boyhood? [*] Let us note some particulars that go to prove its connection with prehistoric times.

The fire must be lit on the twenty-fourth of June just as the last limb of the sun disappears beneath the horizon.
The height on which the fire is lit is the highest eminence in the district from which the beholders come, and thus the sun would be seen at the last possible moment.
The herds must, according to the conditions of the will, collect the fuel themselves, each bringing as many bundles as possible so that a large fire may result. As there are ten lads on the surrounding farms.. the pile is often of considerable dimensions.

The young men are in the habit of pushing each other through the smoke and flames. This may arise from a belief that the person so "passed" would be charmed against disease during the coming year. Some would see in the action an indication of early human sacrifice. [**] I have been at many 'herds' fires' (about ten I think) and have invariably seen it done. It is possible, however, that in this instance it is nothing but a display of animal spirits. But in any case I think there is enough evidence to show that the rite is a relic of pagan times...

Often sickness among a herd followed the removal of a stone. Near Auchleven in Premnay, once stood a stone circle now destroyed. The farmer, who moved the stones, soon after lost many of his cattle and was ruined.

On Caynham Camp, is the site of an ancient Castle, noticed by Leland, who says of it, "Kainsham, or Kensham Castle, clene down, stood within two miles of Ludloe, on a hill top." "It belonged," says Camden,"to the Mortimers, and the Church to Wigmore Abbey." Two fields on the east side are yet called the Castle fields; and immediately below is another in which a deep and wide entrenchment occupies the principal part. Tradition says that this latter was a depository for horses and military stores during the siege of Ludlow Castle, by Cromwell.

On top of the hill, is a bank covered with trees and underwood, and encircling an open space, consisting of six or seven acres. Around this there is a walk, with benches, opposite to which are openings, commanding most delightful prospects, not only of the local beauties of the neighbourhood of Ludlow, but of Malvern Hill, the Black Mountains in Brecknockshire, and other distant objects.

So sacred are these stones that, "it is generally averred hereabouts," writes Aubrey, "that pieces of them putt into their Wells, doe drive away the Toades, with which their wells are much infested, and this course they use still. It is also averred that no Magpye, Toade, or Snake was ever seen here."

While speaking of English stories, I may relate one told to myself and my friend, Mr. J. J. Foster, at Cearne in Dorsetshire. We were questioning a labourer as to the giant figure cut in the turf at that place. He assured us that it was supposed to be the representation of a Danish giant who led an invasion of this coast, and lay on the side of the hill to sleep; while asleep the peasantry tied him down to the ground and cut off his head, and the outline in the turf represents the place where the giant lay. Upon being asked how long ago this was supposed to be, the answer was, "About a hundred years."

There was a vast treasure hidden on Castle Rach, and it was guarded by devils; but the men of Corfe were both valiant and poor and they determined to dig it up. They went to the priest and he promised to come with them, bringing some salt and holy water. The church bells were rung to drive away the devils and the digging began. It was highly successful. So vast a treasure did their spades uncover that one man swore in sheer surprise. At once the chest sank out of sight, the devils came back and every man, including the priest, died within a year.