Faerie Tales

...wee folk, good folk, people of peace...whatever you want to call them. The Irish consider it very bad luck to call them anything but the good people...or the good folk. If you've a mind to make your head spin...go here to read about faeries and faerie forts and mounds.



My ALL TIME favorite poster of an oil painting is this one by Edward Robert Hughes,

Midsummer Eve, 1908

There is soooo much info on faeries and their kind...it would take me weeks to do justice to it. But I wanted to post this pic and I wanted to give a few of my favorite tidbits about faeries. First, me mum wanted to make sure I spelled it correctly...which I have. ;0]

There are faeries, brownies, pixies, leprechauns of course, water spirits and mer-folk and banshee's too. There's clurichaun who are cousins to leprechauns and Far darrigs. You see...so much. You could make a lifetime hobby of learnin' all about the good folk. I'm not fond of leprechauns because of their mischievousness. But that's likely from American media. You all remember or maybe I should say...have you heard of the bruhahha about a famous writer and the little girls who said they saw faeries? It's an English story rather than Irish but....

Here's one:

The Farie’s Dancing-Place
William Carleton
Lanty M’Clusky had married a wife, and, of course, it was necessary to have a house in which to keep her. Now, Lanty had taken a bit of a farm, about six acres; but as there was no house on it, he resolved to build one; and that it might be as comfortable as possible, he selected for the site of it one of those beautiful green circles that are supposed to be the play-ground of the fairies. Lanty was armed against this; but as he was a headstrong man, and not much given to fear, he said he would not change such a pleasant situation for his house to oblige all the fairies in Europe. He accordingly proceeded with the building, which he finished off very neatly; and , as it is usual on these occasions to give one’s neighbours and friends a house-warming, so, in compliance with this good and pleasant old custom, Lanty having brought home the wife in the course of the day, got a fiddler and a lot of whiskey, and gave those who had come to see him a dance in the evening. This was all very well, and the fun and hilarity were proceeding briskly, when a noise was heard after night had set in, like a crushing and straining of ribs and rafters on the top of the house. The folks assembled all listened, and, without doubt, there was nothing heard but crushing, heaving, and pushing, and groaning, and panting, as if a thousand little men were engaged in pulling down the roof. Come, said a voice which spoke in a tone of command, work hard; you know we must have Lanty’s house down before midnight. This was an unwelcome piece of intelligence to Lanty, who, finding that his enemies were such as he could not cope with, walked out, and addressed them as follows; Gintlemen, I humbly ax yer pardon for buildin’ on any place belongin’ to you; but if you’ll have the civilitude to let me alone this night, I’ll begin to pull down and remove the house tomorrow morning. This was followed by a noise like the clapping of a thousand tiny little hands, and a shout of Bravo, Lanty! Build half-way between the two White-thorns above the boreen; and after another hearty little shout of exultation, there was a brisk rushing noise, and they were heard no more. The story, however, does not end here; for Lanty when digging the foundation of his new house, found the full of a kam of gold (metal vessel=Kam); so that in leaving the fairies their play-ground, he became a richer man than ever he otherwise would have been, had he never come in contact with them at all.

The Brewery of Egg-shells
T. Crofton Croker
Mrs. Sullivan fancied that her youngest child had been exchanged by fairies theft, and certainly appearances warranted such a conclusion; for in one night her healthy, blue-eyed boy had become shrivelled up into almost nothing, and never ceased squalling and crying. This naturally made poor Mrs. Sullivan very unhappy; and all the neighbours, by way of comforting her, said that her own child was, beyond any kind of doubt, with the good people, and that one of themselves was put in his place. Mrs. Sullivan of course could not disbelieve what every one told her, but she did not wish to hurt the thing; for although its face was so withered , and its body wasted away to a mere skeleton, it had still a strong resemblance to her own boy. She, therefore, could not find it in her heart to roast it alive on the griddle, or to burn its nose off with the red-hot tongs, or to throw it out in the snow on the road-side, notwithstanding these, and several like proceedings, were strongly recommended to her for the recovery of her child. One day who should Mrs. Sullivan meet but a cunning woman well known about the country by the name of Ellen Leah (or Grey Ellen). She had the gift, however, she got it, of telling where the dead were, and what was good for the rest of their souls; and could charm away warts and woens, and do a great many wonderful things of the same nature. You'’re in grief this morning, Mrs. Sullivan, were the first words of Ellen Leah to her. You many say that, Ellen, said Mrs. Sullivan, and good cause I have to be in Grief, for there was my own fine child whipped off from me out of his cradle, without as much as by your leave or ask your pardon, and an ugly dony bit of a shirvelled-up fairy put in his place; no wonder, then, that you see me in grief, Ellen. Small blame to you, Mrs. Sullivan, said Ellen Leah, but are you sure t’is a fairy? Sure! Echoed Mrs. Sullivan sure enough I am to my sorrow, and can I doubt my own two eyes? Every mother’s soul must feel for me! Will you take an old woman’s advice? Said Ellen Leah, fixing her wild and mysterious gaze upon the unhappy mother; and, after a pause, she added, but maybe you’ll call it foolish? Can you get me back my child, my own child, Ellen? Said Mrs. Sullivan with great energy. If you do as I bid you, returned Ellen Leah, you’ll know. Mrs. Sullivan was silent in expectation, and Elen continued. Put down the big pot full of water on the fire, and make it boil like mad; then get a dozen new-laid eggs, break them, and keep the shells, but throw away the rest; when that is done, put the shells in the pot of boiling water, and you will soon know whether it is your own boy or a fairy. If you find that it is a fairy in the cradle, take the red-hot poker and cram it down his ugly throat, and you will not have much truble with him after that. I promise you. Home went Mrs. Sullivan, and did as Ellen Leah desired. She put the pot on the fire, and plenty of turf under it, and set the water boiling at such a rate, that if ever water was red-hot, it surely was. The child was lying, for a wonder, quite easy and quiet in the cradle, every now and then cocking his eye, that would twinkle as keen as a star in a frosty night, over at the great fire, and the big pot upon it; and he looked on with great attention at Mrs. Sulivan breaking the eggs and putting down the egg-shells to boil. At last he asked, with the voice of a very old man. What are you doing mammy? Mrs. Sullivan’s heart, as she said herself, was up in her mouth ready to choke her, at hearing the child speak. But she contrived to put the poker in the fire, and to answer, without making any wonder at the words, I’m brewing, a vick (my son). And what are you brewing, mammy/ said the little imp, whose supernatural gift of speech now proved beyond question that he was a fairy substitute. I wish the poker was red, thought Mrs. Sullivan; but it was a large one and took a long time heating; so she determined to keep him in talk until the poker was in a proper state to thrust down his throat, and therefore repeated the question. Is it what I’m brewing, a vick, said she, you want to know? Yes, mammy: What are you brewing returned the fairy Egg-shells, a vick, said Mrs. Sullivan. Oh! Shrieked the imp, staring up in the cradle, and clapping his hands together, I’m fifteen hundred years in the world and I never saw a brewery of egg-shells before! The poker was by this time quite red, and Mrs. Sullivan seizing it, ran furiously towards the cradle; but somehow or other her foot slipped and she fell flat on the floor, and the poker flew out of her hand to the other end of the house. However, she got up without much loss of time and went to the cradle, intending to pitch the wicked thing that was in it into the pot of boiling water, when there she saw her own child in a sweet sleep, one of his soft round arms rested upon the pillow-his features were as placid as if their repose had never been disturbed, save the rosy mouth, which moved with a gentle and regular breathing.

♥Pam