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.'

'But this was all in his sleep,' said I, 'was it not?'

'Yes,' said Peter, 'in his sleep; and on that account the book is called
_Gweledigaethau y Bardd Cwsg_, or, _Visions of the Sleeping Bard_.'

'I do not care for wonders which occur in sleep,' said I. 'I prefer real
one