Many of the Welsh tales are about fighting and wars and no country as small as Wales has so many castles.

One can hardly think of Wales without a harp.

When chimneys were first added to houses in Wales, and the style of house-building changed, from round to square, many old people found fault with the new fashion of letting the smoke out.

In the days when were no books, or writing, and folk tales were the only ones told, there was an old woman, who had a bad reputation.

Not far from the castle where King Powell had his court, there was a hillock called the Mount of Macbeth. It was the common belief that some strange adventure would befall anyone who should sit upon that mound.

One of the oldest of the Welsh fairy tales tells us about Pwyle, King of Fairyland and father of the numerous clan of the Powells.

There was a curious custom in the far olden times of Wales. At the banqueting hall, the king of the country would sit with his feet in the lap of a high officer.

One easily gets acquainted with the Welsh fairies, for nearly all the good ones are very fond of music.

In our time, every boy and girl knows about the nuts and blossoms, the twigs and the hedges, the roots and the leaf of the common hazel bush, and everybody has heard of the witch hazel.

In the ancient Cymric gatherings, the Druids, poets, prophets, seers, and singers all had part. The one most honored as the president of the meeting was crowned and garlanded.

Many are the places in Wales where the ground is lumpy and humpy with tumuli, or little artificial mounds. Among these the sheep graze, the donkeys bray, and the cows chew the cud.

Many a palace lies under the waves that wash Cymric land, for the sea has swallowed up more than one village, and even cities.

Ages ago, before the Cymry rowed in their coracles across the sea, there was a race of men already in the Land of Honey, as Great Britain was then called.

Long, long ago before the Cymry came into the beautiful land of Wales, there were dark-skinned people living in caves.

Morgan is one of the oldest names in Cymric land. It means one who lives near the sea.

In one of the many "Co-eds," or places with this name, in ancient and forest-covered Wales, there was a man who had one of the most beautiful mares in all the world.

In old days, it was believed that the seventh son, in a family of sons, was a conjurer by nature.

After the Cymric folk, that is, the people we call Welsh, had come up from Cornwall into their new land, they began to cut down the trees, to build towns, and to have fields and gardens.

There was a snug little cove in one of the Shetland Islands.

As black-eyed, black-haired Eva Sauvet was walking one day in Jersey she saw a lozenge-marked snake, whereupon she ran away frightened.

He was an old seaman, with weather-beaten face and black eyes, that had looked upon many lands and many sights.

Once upon a time there was a miller, who lived in Anglesey.

Ellen was a good girl, and beautiful to look upon.

In olden times fairies were sent to oppose the evil-doings of witches, and to destroy their power.

Robert Roberts was a carpenter who worked hard and well; but he could never keep his tongue still.

Many years ago there lived several wild tribes round the King of Persia's city, and the king's men were always annoying and harassing them, exacting yearly a heavy tribute.

It was somewhere about 1200, Prince Llewellyn had a castle at Aber, just abreast of us here; indeed, parts of the towers remain to this day.

There was a tall young woman whom the fairies used to visit, coming through the keyhole at night.

Tommy Pritchard was going to school one day, and on his way he thought he heard somebody singing on the other side of a stone wall by the road, so he climbed up and looked over, and there underneath a stone he saw a sixpence, so he took it.

Many years ago the Welsh mountains were full of fairies.

Old Kaddy was a baby-farmer, and one day she went to the woods to gather sticks for her fire, and whilst she was gathering the sticks she found a piece of gold, and took it home;

Old Gwilym Evans started off one fine morning to walk across the Eagle Hills to a distant town, bent upon buying some cheese.

Once upon a time an old blacksmith lived in an old forge at Craig-y-don, and he used to drink a great deal too much beer.

Once upon a time a lot of fairies lived in Mona.