Welsh Journals

one foot forward they take in the morfa they sink two back, but they see the hare all the time till they get near Marry Gorse's cottage again when it disappears, and there at the door is old Marry, sitting very calm at her spinning wheel and spin- ning so pretty and nice. But she is laughing as the ffermwr is passing, and he is going home looking very tired and sour. One night after, ffermwr was walking near the river looking for poachers, when he sees a lot 01 witches sailing about up and down the river in eggshells catching fish, salmons and trouts; and he sees Marry Gorse there, and he calls out "Oh, its you, is it? I'll tell of you and what you are doing." "Do, when you remember," shouts she, and he never did remember, until he was on his death-bed-for Marry Gorse she had cast a spell over him-and it was too late then, for Marry herself had been dead for years and years. -0h, a funny old 'oomans is a dewines Sometimes she would make friends, bad friends, mind you, of some animals, or birds, owls and ravens p'raps, or moles and kyats. Oh, very evil were those kyats. Of course there is kyats and kyats, those dreadful black, one-eyed ones, a dewines liked, were very different from Nain's Pushi Bach or your own old Tibs. Of course, all kyats will steal, it is their nature. Nain is saying "Adneu cyhyryn gan gath" ("Do not let your cat be near your tit-bit"). But it is not nature for people to steal, it is wickedness, and always makes trouble. Young people shouldn't take what isn't theirs by rights. Now, there was once a young boy, name of Efan, who, one morning, was very hot and thirsty. In October it was, and he was passing the garden of an old 'oomans, "gwraig hyspys" she was, where there were some beautiful apples on the trees, beautiful little red apples they were, looking like plums. "How cool, and sweet they look," says he, "and nem o' goodness, how thirsty I am "Well, dear me," he thinks, "she wouldn't be grudging or missing one or one two to poor With no high pomp or martial roll of drums, With nought of pageantry the New Year comes, But soberly, as one who sees not yet The distant goal for which the course is set. And oft-so hard life's facts to reconcile- Doubting we ask ourselves, Was it worth while? Ah yes! well nigh a million crosses tell The world is not yet lost and they who fell thirsty boy, and indeed I must have them So he jumps the garden wall, and soon he is eatmg very fast, and then stuffing his pockets and his clothes, and his hat with them, and then he is going home, but not before the dewines had seen him, for she had been watching all the time from behind a gooseberry bush, and she is saying Apples one and apples two, In your stummick you will rue, And till the others you return Your teeth will ache Your flesh will burn. And very awful you will feel For God has said Thou shalt not steal." And sure enough, the poor boy was taken very ill with the toothache and the collect, and he was lying groaning on his bed for days and days, and his Mam was not knowing what to do with him, until at last he says "Oh, Mam, Mam, but I think it is the apples under my bed that are making me so ill "Apples under your bed bachgen? Under your waistcoat you mean "No, no, Mam bach," he groans, 'tis the little red apples of the old dewines that are rolling about under my bed, what I took from her, and I am thinking she is wanting them back, if you will be taking them to her, and paying her for what I ate oh, p'raps 'bout two dozen-I shall get peace." "Dir anwyl!" says his Mam, making a grab under the bed, "whatefer made you do such foolish thing for, and why not tell me before? You shouldn't be taking from that old dewines at all." And off she goes to the old dewines with the little red apples in a baskit, and some money ass well. When the old dewines gets them all back, and ceiniog (pennies) for those missing, she is saying Little apples round and red Got from under Efan'g bed With them comes away the pain, Jump up Efan! well again. And when his Mam goes home, there is Efan working in the garden, well and strong, and sing- ing as happy as blackbird. (To be continued). LEST WE FORGET. Still call to us to tend the sacred flame Kindled on Flander's fields in Honour's name. So, linking hands with Time, we surely see That e'er the reaping further toil must be. And through the coming year may we reach out T(. higher service, scorning ev'ry doubt, Until beyond this aftermath of pain The world in righteous peace shall live again. G. M. HUDSON.