The Sleeping Warriors
A Welshman walking over London Bridge, with a neat hazel staff in his hand, was accosted by an Englishman, who asked him whence he came.

"I am from my own country," answered the Welshman, in a churlish tone.

"Do not take it amiss, my friend," said the Englishman; "if you will only answer my questions, and take my advice, it will be of greater benefit to you than you imagine. That stick in your hand grew on a spot under which are hid vast treasures of gold and silver; and if you remember the place, and can conduct me to it, I will put you in possession of those treasures."

The Welshman soon understood that the stranger was what he called a cunning man, or conjurer, and for some time hesitated, not willing to go with him among devils, from whom this magician must have derived his knowledge; but he was at length persuaded to accompany him into Wales; and going to Craig-y-Dinas, the Welshman pointed out the spot whence he had cut the stick. It was from the stock or root of a large old hazel: this they dug up, and under it found a broad flat stone. This was found to close up the entrance into a very large cavern, down into which they both went. In the middle of the passage hung a bell, and the conjurer earnestly cautioned the Welshman not not touch it. They reached the lower part of the cave, which was very wide, and there saw many thousands of warriors lying down fast asleep in a large circle, their heads outwards, every one clad in bright armour, with their swords, shields, and other weapons lying by them, ready to be laid hold on in an instant, whenever the bell should ring and awake them. All the arms were so highly polished and bright, that they illumined the cavern, as with the light of ten thousand flames of fire. They saw amongst the warriors one greatly distinguished from the rest by his arms, shield, battle-axe, and a crown of gold set with the most precious stones, lying by his side.

In the midst of this circle of warriors they saw two very large heaps, one of gold, the other of silver. The magician told the Welshman that he might take as much as he could carry away of either the one or the other, but that he was not to take from both the heaps. The Welshman loaded himself with gold: the conjurer took none, saying that he did not want it, that gold was of no use but to those who wanted knowledge, and that his contempt of gold had enabled him to acquire that superior knowledge and wisdom which he possessed. In their way out he cautioned the Welshman again not to touch the bell, but if unfortunately he should do so, it might be of the most fatal consequence to him as one or more of the warriors would awake, lift up his head, and ask if it was day. 

"Should this happen," said the cunning man, "you must, without hesitation, answer No, sleep thou on; on hearing which he will again lay down his head and sleep."

In their way up, however, the Welshman, overloaded with gold, was not able to pass the bell without touching it -- it rang -- one of the warriors raised up his head, and asked, "Is it day?"

"No," answered the Welshman promptly, "it is not, sleep thou on;" so they got out of the cave, laid down the stone over its entrance, and replaced the hazel tree.

The cunning man, before he parted from his companion, advised him to be economical in the use of his treasure; observing that he had, with prudence, enough for life: but that if by unforeseen accidents he should be again reduced to poverty, he might repair to the cave for more; repeating the caution, not to touch the bell if possible, but if he should, to give the proper answer, that it was not day, as promptly as possible. He also told him that the distinguished person they had seen was Arthur, and the others his warriors; and they lay there asleep with their arms ready at hand for the dawn of that day when the Black Eagle and the Golden Eagle should go to war, the loud clamor of which would make the earth tremble so much, that the bell would ring loudly, and the warriors awake, take up their arms, and destroy all the enemies of the Cymry, who afterwards should repossess the Island of Britain, re-establish their own king and government at Caerlleon, and be governed with justice, and blessed with peace so long as the world endures.

The time came when the Welshman's treasure was all spent: he went to the cave, and as before over-loaded himself. In his way out he touched the bell: it rang: a warrior lifted up his head, asking if it was day, but the Welshman, who had covetously overloaded himself, being quite out of breath with labouring under his burden, and withal struck with terror, was not able to give the necessary answer; whereupon some of the warriors got up, took the gold away from him and beat him dreadfully. They afterwards threw him out, and drew the stone after them over the mouth of the cave. The Welshman never recovered the effects of that beating, but remained almost a cripple as long as he lived, and very poor. He often returned with some of his friends to Craig-y-Dinas; but they could never afterwards find the spot, though they dug over, seemingly, every inch of the hill.
 
 

Binnorie
Once upon a time there were two king's daughters who lived in a bower near the bonny mill dams of Binnorie. And Sir William came wooing the eldest and won her love, and plighted troth with glove and with ring. But after a time he looked upon the youngest, with her cherry cheeks and golden hair, and his love went out to her until he cared no longer for the eldest one. So she hated her sister for taking away Sir William's love, and day by day her hate grew and grew and she plotted and she planned how to get rid of her. 

So one fine morning, fair and clear, she said to her sister, "Let us go and see our father's boats come in at the bonny mill stream of Binnorie." So they went there hand in hand. And when they came to the river's bank the youngest got upon a stone to watch for the beaching of the boats. And her sister, coming behind her, caught her round the waist and dashed her into the rushing mill stream of Binnorie. 

"Oh sister, sister, reach me your hand!" she cried, as she floated away, "and you shall have half of all I've got or shall get." 

"No, sister, I'll reach you no hand of mine, for I am the heir to all your land. Shame on me if I touch her hand that has come 'twixt me and my own heart's love." 

"Oh sister, oh sister, then reach me your glove!" she cried, as she floated further away, "and you shall have your William again." 

"Sink on," cried the cruel princess, "no hand or glove of mine you'll touch. Sweet William will be all mine when you are sunk beneath the bonny mill stream of Binnorie." And she turned and went home to the king's castle. 

And the princess floated down the mill stream, sometimes swimming and sometimes sinking, until she came near the mill. Now the miller's daughter was cooking that day, and needed water for her cooking. And as she went to draw it from the stream, she saw something floating towards the mill dam, and she called out, "Father! father! draw your dam. There's something white -- a merrymaid or a milk white swan -- coming down the stream." So the miller hastened to the dam and stopped the heavy cruel mill wheels. And then they took out the princess and laid her on the bank. 

Fair and beautiful she looked as she lay there. In her golden hair were pearls and precious stones; you could not see her waist for her golden girdle, and the golden fringe of her white dress came down over her lily feet. But she was drowned, drowned! 

And as she lay there in her beauty a famous harper passed by the mill dam of Binnorie, and saw her sweet pale face. And though he traveled on far away he never forgot that face, and after many days he came back to the bonny mill stream of Binnorie. But then all he could find of her where they had put her to rest were her bones and her golden hair. So he made a harp out of her breast bone and her hair, and traveled on up the hill from the mill dam of Binnorie, until he came to the castle of the king her father. 

That night they were all gathered in the castle hall to hear the great harper: king and queen, their daughter and son, Sir William, and all their court. And first the harper sang to his old harp, making them joy and be glad, or sorrow and weep just as he liked. But while he sang he put the harp he had made that day on a stone in the hall. And presently it began to sing by itself, low and clear, and the harper stopped and all were hushed. 

And this was what the harp sung: 

Oh yonder sits my father, the king,
Binnorie, oh Binnorie;
And yonder sits my mother, the queen;
By the bony mill dams o' Binnorie.

 And yonder stands my brother Hugh,
Binnorie, oh Binnorie;
And by him, my William, false and true;
By the bonny mill dams o' Binnorie.

And there sits my sister who drownèd me
By the bonny mill dams o' Binnorie.

Cap o' Rushes
Well, there was once a very rich gentleman, and he'd three darters [daughters]. And he thought to see how fond they was of him. So he says to the first, "How much do you love me, my dear?" 

"Why," says she, "as I love my life." 
"That's good," says he. So he says to the second, "How much do you love me, my dear?" 
"Why," says she, "better nor all the world." 
"That's good," says he. 
So he says to the third, "How much do you love me, my dear?"
"Why," she says, "I love you as fresh meat loves salt," says she. 
Well, he were that angry. "You don't love me at all," says he, "and in my house you stay no more." So he drove her out there and then, and shut the door in her face. 

Well, she went away, on and on, till she came to a fen. And there she gathered a lot of rushes, and made them into a cloak kind o', with a hood to cover her from head to foot, and to hide her fine clothes. And then she went on and on till she came to a great house. 

"Do you want a maid?" says she. 
"No, we don't," says they. 
"I hain't nowhere to go," says she, "and I'd ask no wages, and do any sort o' work," says she. 
"Well," says they, "if you like to wash the pots and scrape the saucepans, you may stay," says they. 

So she stayed there, and washed the pots and scraped the saucepans, and did all the dirty work. And because she gave no name, they called her Cap o' Rushes. 

Well, one day there was to be a great dance a little way off, and the servants was let go and look at the grand people. Cap o' Rushes said she was too tired to go, so she stayed at home. 

But when they was gone, she offed with her cap o' rushes, and cleaned herself, and went to the dance. And no one there was so finely dressed as her. 

Well, who should be there but her master's son, and what should he do but fall in love with her, the minute he set eyes on her. He wouldn't dance with anyone else. 

But before the dance were done, Cap o' Rushes she stepped off, and away she went home. And when the other maids was back, she was framin' [pretending] to be asleep with her cap o' rushes on. 

Well, next morning, they says to her, "You did miss a sight, Cap o' Rushes!" 
"What was that?" says she. 
"Why the beautifullest lady you ever see, dressed right gay and ga'. The young master, he never took his eyes off of her." 
"Well, I should ha' liked to have seen her," says Cap o' Rushes. 
"Well, there's to be another dance this evening, and perhaps she'll be there." 

But come the evening, Cap o' Rushes said she was too tired to go with them. Howsumdever, when they was gone, she offed with her cap o' rushes, and cleaned herself, and away she went to the dance. 

The master's son had been reckoning on seeing her, and he danced with no one else, and never took his eyes off of her. 

But before the dance was over, she slipped off, and home she went, and when the maids came back, she framed to be asleep with her cap o' rushes on. 

Next day they says to her again, "Well, Cap o' Rushes, you should ha' been there to see the lady. There she was again, gay an' ga', and the young master he never took his eyes off of her." 

Well there," says she, "I should ha' liked to ha' seen her." 
"Well," says they, "there's a dance again this evening, and you must go with us, for she's sure to be there." 

Well, come the evening, Cap o' Rushes said she was too tired to go, and do what they would, she stayed at home. But when they was gone, she offed with her cap o' rushes, and cleaned herself, and away she went to the dance. 

The master's son was rarely glad when he saw her. He danced with none but her, and never took his eyes off her. When she wouldn't tell him her name, nor where she came from, he gave her a ring, and told her if he didn't see her again he should die. 

Well, afore the dance was over, off she slipped, and home she went, and when the maids came home she was framing to be asleep with her cap o' rushes on. 

Well, next day they says to her, "There, Cap o' Rushes, you didn't come last night, and now you won't see the lady, for there's no more dances." 
Well, I should ha' rarely liked to ha' seen her," says she. 

The master's son he tried every way to find out where the lady was gone, but go where he might, and ask whom he might, he never heard nothing about her. And he got worse and worse for the love of her till he had to keep his bed. 

"Make some gruel for the young master," they says to the cook. "He's dying for love of the lady." 
The cook she set about making it, when Cap o' Rushes came in. 
"What are you a' doin' on?" says she. 
"I'm going to make some gruel for the young master," says the cook, "for he's dying for love of the lady." 
"Let me make it," says Cap o' Rushes. 

Well, the cook wouldn't at first, but at last she said "yes," and Cap o' Rushes made the gruel. And when she had made it, she slipped the ring into it on the sly, before the cook took it upstairs. 

The young man, he drank it, and saw the ring at the bottom. 
"Send for the cook," says he. So up she comes. 
"Who made this here gruel?" says he. 
"I did," says the cook, for she were frightened, and he looked at her. 
"No, you didn't," says he. "Say who did it, and you shan't be harmed." 
"Well, then, 'twas Cap o' Rushes," says she. 

So Cap o' Rushes came. 

"Did you make the gruel?" says he." 
"Yes, I did," says she. 
"Where did you get this ring?" says she. 
"From him as gave it me," says she. 
"Who are you then?" says the young man. 
"I'll show you," says she. And she offed with her cap o' rushes, and there she was in her beautiful clothes. 

Well, the master's son he got well very soon, and they was to be married in a little time. It was to be a very grand wedding, and everyone was asked, far and near. And Cap o' Rushes' father was asked. But she never told nobody who she was. 

But afore the wedding she went to the cook, and say she, "I want you to dress every dish without a mite o' salt." 
"That will be rarely nasty," says the cook. 
"That don't signify," says she. 
"Very well," says the cook. 

Well, the wedding day came, and they was married. And after they was married, all the company sat down to their vittles. 

When they began to eat the meat, that was so tasteless they couldn't eat it. But Cap o' Rushes father, he tried first one dish and then another, and then he burst out crying. 
"What's the matter?" said the master's son to him. 

"Oh!" says he, "I had a daughter. And I asked her how much she loved me. And she said, 'As much as fresh meat loves salt.' And I turned her from my door, for I thought she didn't love me. And now I see she loved me best of all. And she may be dead for aught I know." 

"No, father, here she is," says Cap o' Rushes. 
And she goes up to him and puts her arms round him. And so they was happy ever after. 
 
 

Sugar and Salt
Once upon a time there was a father who had two daughters. Calling them to him one day he said to them, "What is the sweetest thing in the world?" 

"Sugar," said the elder daughter. 
"Salt," said the younger. 

The father was angry at this last answer. But his daughter stuck to it, and so her father said to her, "I won't keep a daughter in my house who believes that salt is the sweetest thing in the world. You must leave me and seek another home." 

So the younger daughter left her father's house and wandered here and there, suffering much hunger and cold, until t last she was befriended by the fairies. As she walked through a wood one day listening to the songs of the birds, a prince came hunting for deer, and when he saw her he fell in love with her at once. She agreed to marry him, and a great banquet was prepared at the prince's house. To this banquet the bride's father was bidden; but he did not know that the bride was his own daughter. 

Now, at the wish of the bride, all the dishes were prepared without salt. So when the guests began to eat they found that the food was tasteless. At last one of them said, "There is no salt in the meat!" 

And then all the guests said, "There is no salt in the meat!" 

And the bride's father spoke the loudest of all. "Truly, salt is the sweetest thing in the world," he said, "though, for saying so, I sent my own daughter away from my house, and shall never see her face again." 

Then the bride made herself known to her father, and fell on his neck and kissed him. 
 
 

The Parrot
There was once a grocer who had a beautiful parrot with green feathers, and it hung in a cage at his shop door. It was a very shrewd, sensible bird, and very observing. But it was a female, and as such could not hold its tongue, but proclaimed aloud all that it knew, announcing to everyone who entered the shop the little circumstances which had fallen under its observation.

One day the parrot observed its master sanding the sugar. Presently in came a woman and asked for some brown sugar. "Sand in the sugar! Sand in the sugar!" vociferated the bird, and the customer pocketed her money and rushed out of the shop.

The indignant grocer rushed to the cage and shook it well. "You abominable bird, if you tell tales again, I will wring your neck!" And again he shook the cage till the poor creature was all ruffled, and a cloud of its feathers was flying about the shop.

Next day it saw its master mixing cocoa powder with brick dust. Presently in came a customer for cocoa powder. "Brick dust in the cocoa!" cried the parrot, eagerly and repeatedly, till the astonished customer believed it, and went away without his cocoa. A repetition of the shaking of the cage ensued, with a warning that such another instance of tale-telling should certainly be punished with death. The parrot made internal resolutions never to speak again.

Presently, however, it observed its master making shop butter of lard colored with a little turmeric. In came a lady and asked for butter.

"Nice fresh butter, ma'am, fresh from the dairy," said the shopman.
"Lard in the butter! Lard in the butter!" said the parrot.

"You scoundrel, you!" exclaimed the shopman, rushing at the cage. Opening it, drawing forth the luckless bird, and wringing its neck, he cast it into the ash pit. But Polly was not quite dead, and after lying quiet for a few minutes, she lifted up her head and saw a dead cat in the pit.

"Halloo!" called the parrot. "What is the matter with you, Tom?"
No answer, for the vital spark of heavenly flame had quitted the mortal frame of the poor cat.
"Dead!" sighed the parrot. "Poor Tom! He too must have been afflicted with the love of truth. Ah me!"

She sat up and tried her wings. "They are sound. Great is truth in my own country, but in this dingy England it is at a discount, and lies are at a premium."

Then spreading her wings, Polly flew away. But whether she ever reached her own land, where truth was regarded with veneration, I have not heard. No, she flew twice round the world in search of it, and could not find it. I wonder whether she has found it now!
 
 

The Ungrateful Sons
They have a tradition at Winterton that there was formerly one Mr. Lacy, that lived there and was a very rich man, who, being grown very aged, gave all that he had away unto his three sons, upon condition that one should keep him one week, and another another.

But it happened within a little while that they were all weary of him, after that they had got what they had, and regarded him no more than a dog.

The old man perceiving how he was slighted, went to an attorney to see if his skill could not afford him any help in his troubles. The attorney told him that no law in the land could help him nor yield him any comfort, but there was one thing only which would certainly do, which, if he would perform, he would reveal to him. At this the poor old man was exceeding glad, and desired him for God's sake to reveal the same, for he was almost pined and starved to death, and he would willingly do it rather than live as he did.

"Well," says the lawyer, "you have been a great friend of mine in my need, and I will now be one to you in your need. I will lend you a strongbox with a strong lock on it, in which shall be contained 1000 pounds. You shall on such a day pretend to have fetched it out of a closet, where it shall be supposed that you had hidden it, and carry it into one of your son's houses, and make it your business every week, while you are sojourning with such or such a son, to be always counting of the money, and rattling it about, and you shall see that, for love of it, they'll soon love you again, and make very much of you, and maintain you joyfully, willingly, and plentifully, unto your dying day."

The old man, having thanked the lawyer for this good advice and kind proffer, received within a few days the aforesaid box full of money, and having so managed it as above, his graceless sons soon fell in love with him again, and made mighty much of him, and perceiving that their love to him continued steadfast and firm, he one day took it out of the house and carried it to the lawyer, thanking him exceedingly for the loan thereof. But when he got to his sons he made them believe that he had hidden it again, and that he would give it to him of them whom he loved best when he died. This made them all so observant of him that he lived the rest of his days in great peace, plenty, and happiness amongst them, and died full of years. 

But a while before he died, he unbraided them for their former ingratitude, told them the whole history of the box, and forgave them.
 
 

Master of all Masters
A girl once went to the fair to hire herself for servant. At last a funny-looking old gentleman engaged her and took her home to his house. When she got there he told her that he had something to teach her, for that in his house he had his own names for things. 

He said to her, "What will you call me?" 
"Master or mister, or whatever you please, sir," says she. 
He said, "You must call me master of all masters. And what would you call this?" pointing to his bed. 
"Bed or couch, or whatever you please, sir." 
"No, that's my barnacle. And what do you call these?" said he, pointing to his pantaloons. 
"Breeches or trousers, or whatever you please, sir." 
"You must call them squibs and crackers. And what would you call her?" pointing to the cat. 
"Cat or kit, or whatever you please, sir." 

"You must call her white-faced simminy. And this now," showing the fire, "what would you call this?"
"Fire or flame, or whatever you please, sir." 
"You must call it hot cockalorum, and what this?" he went on, pointing to the water. 
"Water or wet, or whatever you please, sir." 
"No, pondalorum is its name. And what do you call all this?" asked he as he pointed to the house. 
"House or cottage, or whatever you please, sir." 
"You must call it high topper mountain." 

That very night the servant woke her master up in a fright and said, "Master of all masters, get out of your barnacle and put on your squibs and crackers. For white-faced simminy has got a spark of hot cockalorum on its tail, and unless you get some pondalorum, high topper mountain will be all on hot cockalorum." 

That's all.