In another beautiful version of the story which is given by Sikes in his "British Goblins," it is said that an enamoured farmer had heard of the lake maiden, who rowed up and down the lake in a golden boat, with a golden oar. Her hair was long and yellow, and her face was pale and melancholy. In his desire to see this wondrous beauty, the farmer went on New Year's Eve to the edge of the lake and in silence, awaited the coming of the first hour of the new year. It came, and there in truth was the maiden in her golden boat, rowing softly to and fro. Fascinated, he stood for hours beholding her, until the stars faded out of the sky, the moon sank behind the rocks, and the cold gray dawn drew nigh; and then the maiden began to vanish from his sight. Wild with passion, he cried aloud to the retreating vision, "Stay! Stay! Be my wife." But the maiden only uttered a faint cry, and was gone. Night after night the young farmer haunted the shores of the lake, but the maiden returned no more. He became negligent of his person; his once robust form grew thin and wan; his face was a map of melancholy and despair. He went one day to consult a soothsayer who dwelt on the mountain, and this grave personage advised him to besiege the damsel's heart with gifts of bread and cheese. This counsel commending itself strongly to his Welsh way of thinking, the former set out upon an assiduous course of casting his bread upon the waters--accompanied by cheese. He began on Mid-summer Eve by going to the lake and dropping therein a large cheese and a loaf of bread. Night after night he continued to throw in loaves and cheeses, but nothing appeared in answer to his sacrifices. His hopes were set, however, on the approaching New Year's Eve. The momentous night arrived at last. Clad in his best array, and armed with seven white loaves and his biggest and handsomest cheese, he set out once more for the lake. Then he waited till mid-night, and then slowly and solemnly dropped the seven loaves into the water, and with a sigh sent the cheese to keep them company. His persistence was at length rewarded. The Lake Lady came in her skiff to where he was, and gracefully stepped ashore. The story then proceeds as in the other versions. It was once a custom for people to go up to the lake on the first Sunday in August, when its water was supposed to be boiling; and Bishop Edwards, of St. Asaph, informed Professor Sir J. Rhys, that "an old woman from Myddfai, who is now, that is to say in January, 1881, about eighty years of age, tells me that she remembers thousands and thousands of people visiting the Lake of Little Fan on the first Sunday or Monday in August, and when she was young she often heard old men declare that at that time a commotion took place in the lake, and that its waters boiled, which was taken to herald the approach of the Lake Lady and her oxen."--Celtic Folk Lore--page 15. A STUDENT WHO HAD FAILED TO PASS HIS EXAMINATIONS TAUGHT BY THE FAIRIES.