OF CELTIC TRADITION HI LORD ARCH?. CAMPBELL LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN 01 EGO J ARGYLLSHIRE FOLK AND HERO TALES. anto Straps of Celtic Cralrttton. Series initiated and directed by LORD ARCHIBALD CAMPBELL. Demy 8vo, cloth. ARGYLLSHIRE SERIES. VOLUME I. CRAIGNISH TALES. Collected by the Rev. J. MACDOUGALL ; and Notes on the War Dress of the Celts by LORD ARCHIBALD CAMPBELL, xvi, 98 pages. 20 plates. 1889. 5.5. VOLUME II. FOLK AND HERO TALES. Collected, edited (in Gaelic), and translated by the Rev. D. MAC!NNES ; with a Study on the Development of the Ossianic Saga and copious Notes by ALFRED NUTT. xxiv, 497 pages. Portrait of Campbell of Islay, and Two Illustrations by E. GRISET. 1890. 15^. " The most important work on Highland Folk-lore and Tales since Campbell's world-renowned Popular Tales." Highland Monthly. " Never before has the development of the Ossianic Saga been so scientifically dealt with." HECTOR MACLEAN. "' Mr. Alfred Null's excursus and noles are lucid and scholarly. They add immensely lo the value of ihe book, and afford abundant evidence of their aulhor's extensive reading and sound erudition." Scots Observer. "The Gaelic texl is colloquial and eminenlly idiomalic. . . . Mr. Nutt deserves special mention and much credit for the painstaking and careful research evidenced by his notes to the tales." Oba-n Telegrafh. Set p. 8. THE GIANT KILLED KV AN ARROW. Frail ti spite t WAIFS AND STRAYS OF CELTIC TRADITION. ARGYLLSHIRE SERIES. No. III. FOLK AND HERO TALES. Collected, becomes " His mind rose so high". There is, however, one instance of close adherence to the original to which some may object. This is the literal rendering of tu or thu into thou, and not into you. It is, notwithstanding, justifiable on the ground of the difference between the usage in common conversation and the dialogues of the folk- and hero-tales. In the former, an inferior or equal in age and rank is addressed thu (thou), but a superior in these relations is honoured with sibJi (you). In the latter, however, this distinction is quite unknown, so that the very king's son is called thu, and that even by his own servant. If the difference which thus exists between the two usages ought to be preserved in the translation, then thu must be rendered thou, as it is in the following tales, and in those of the late Islay. The notes at the end of the volume were written by me while the tales were passing through the press. Mr. Alfred Nutt has contributed an Introduction in which certain questions suggested by the notes are dis- cussed by him. The publication of the volume is entirely due to Lord Archibald Campbell. Every Highlander knows his lordship's zeal for the preservation of Gaelic tales and traditions, and what he has already done in that direc- tion. Being anxious to assist him in his later efforts, I gathered the following tales for him, and I now take this opportunity of thanking him forgiving them a place in his series of Waifs and Strays. In bringing this short Introduction to a close, I must xii Introduction. also thank Mr. Nutt for his many useful suggestions. Nor may I forget Alexander Cameron, to whose kind- ness I am indebted for the tales, and whose patience I must have often sorely tried while I slowly and weari- somely wrote them down to his dictation. JAMES MACDOUGALL. INTRODUCTION. THE study of folk-lore has a twofold object corre- sponding to two different views of the facts connoted by the term folk-lore. We may regard these as being especially indicative of the genius and temperament of a race, especially indicative because they are furnished by that portion of the race which is in closest contact with nature, and is most removed from the influence of that uniform system of culture which tends to equalise the educated classes of all civilised people. Again, we may feel more interest in the facts themselves than in the people by whom they are furnished ; struck by their apparent evidence to a state of culture profoundly different from our own, \ve may essay to trace their growth, to determine their origin, and to lay bare the ideas of which they are the expression. As a rule, folk-lore students have aimed at this second object, perhaps as being more easily brought into line with the historical studies, the development of which has been such a marked feature of nineteenth-century science. As a natural consequence they have had to adopt the methods of research and criticism generally accepted among historical students, and have thereby laid them- selves open to the charge of pedantry and formalism from those who maintain that the study of folk-lore should be directed solely by sympathetic comprehension of the feelings of living men. The folk-lorist, to whom peasants or savages are of more interest than the superstitions by which their life is ruled or the legends by which it is cheered, is always ready to tax his brother student of the other school with securing, it may be, the bones and xiv Introduction. husks, but with missing the living power and charm of his subject. At a comparative early stage of the study the searcher after facts as facts came to see the importance of getting them in the most genuine form obtainable. This, too, has been set down to his innate pedantry. And yet a moment's reflection shows that, important as a rigorous and accurate method is to him, it is yet more important to the student who values folk-lore as the expression of what is most essential and intimate in the consciousness of a race. If by its means we can indeed diagnose the spiritual and intellectual temper of mankind before it has been transformed and levelled by modern culture, is it not absolutely necessary that the diagnosis should be based upon ascertained fact ? Yet, strange to say, men who profess the most enthusiastic sympathy for the " folk", are content to ground their enthusiasm upon material which has as much claim to be called folk-lore as the majority of circulating-library novels. Stranger still, this particular form of cant is always sure of outside countenance, and the writers are many to bewail as dreadful or shocking the desire for accurate knowledge of folk-lore, and the refusal to indulge in pretty but un- meaning generalities. It is time to recognise that folk-lore cannot be studied piecemeal, that any attempt at making its phenomena the basis of far-reaching ethnological or sociological hypotheses, or at utilising them for the purposes of the philosopher or the artist, must be preceded by exact knowledge of these phenomena, of their origin as far as it can be determined, of their meaning as far as it can be explained. True it is, we must never forget that they are the outcome of human thought and fancy, that we must not treat them as lifeless specimens, but must strive to keep in touch with the organism to which they owe their being. Introduction. xv As regards Celtic " folk-psychology", to use a con- venient German term, the existing materials are many, and I am far from denying that a useful as well as a most interesting work might be written by one who combined thorough knowledge of the Celt in past and present with equally thorough knowledge of compara- tive folk-lore, always provided the writer was fully con- scious of the necessarily provisional nature of the work. But I regard the other branch of folk-lore study as by far the more important and pressing. To accurately set forth the belief and practices of the Celtic-speaking peoples, to trace their evolution, whether of form or significance, to connect them with what we know of the historic and prehistoric past of the race, this is a task to tax the energy of many scholars, a task, too, which it will soon be too late to accomplish, as many of the traditional links necessary to enable us to reconstruct the chain of testimony will have vanished with the present holders. If I have gladly availed myself of the offer made to me by Lord Archibald Campbell, and by the editors of this series, and have become their fellow- worker in the preservation of these waifs and strays of Celtic tradition, it is in the belief and hope that I am thereby furthering the achievement of that task. To the student and lover of folk-lore, be his interest, his aims, what they may, volumes such as these, which present absolutely trustworthy material, are the first requisite. But, indeed, their interest is not confined to the folk-lorist. I venture to think that no lover of the speech and fancy of the Gael can afford to overlook these tales. I had occasion, in the second volume of this series, to dwell at some length upon the relations between the legendary literature of modern Gaeldom and that oldest stratum of legend which is preserved in the Irish MSS., and which may be dated back to a period ranging from xvi Introduction. the 8th to the 1 5th century. I purpose adding but little upon the subject. Rather am I tempted, in view of certain opinions expressed by Mr. MacDougall in his notes, to discuss the original significance of much of this body of legend, and the methods of interpretation which he has preconised. In several instances (e.g., Notes, page 270) Mr. Mac- Dougall applies the nature-myth theory to the Gaelic tales. Under the special form of the solar myth this system of interpretation was the dominant and ortho- dox one until a comparatively recent period. The great collections which form the basis of folk-lore re- search were animated by its spirit, as still is much of the doctrine which necessarily enters into these as into all historical investigations. It is worth while reviewing the fortunes of this theory, and examining the reasons of its present discredit. In his recent work on the Arthurian legend. Prof. Rhys pathetically laments this discredit : " The terms of the solar-myth theory are so convenient," he says, " and whatever may eventually happen to the theory, nothing has as yet been found exactly to take its place." This is quite true. The solar-myth theory was an organic hypothesis which explained a vast number of facts, if once its premises were admitted, and which fitted in with the dominant conceptions, in ethnology and pre- historic archaeology. It has, indeed, owed its fall rather to the fact that these conceptions have varied than to its inherent weakness, or to the reaction begot by the extravagance with which its claims were urged. But as the changes in our knowledge of the past history of mankind have mostly been effected without reference to the studies of mythology and folk-lore, their effect upon these studies has never been set forth clearly, and no homogeneous theory has taken the place of the one they dispossessed. The consequences are doctrinal anarchy Introduction. xvi in both departments of study, and party grouping of scholars according to insignificant side-issues rather than according to well-defined general principles. The modern study of folk-lore owes its origin to Jacob and William Grimm. Most valuable work, illus- trative as well as theoretical, had indeed been done by such Frenchmen as Fontenelle, Des Brosses, and Dupuis, who so largely anticipated the methods and results of the modern anthropological school. But these were men of the eighteenth century, and they lacked that sympathy with the folk-mind, that romantic enthusiasm which enabled the Grimms to divine, to interpret, and to reveal the treasures of folk-fancy. It was, indeed, this enthusiasm which endeared the new study to the men of the Romantic revival, and it was but natural that the methods which approved themselves to the Grimms should commend themselves to their generation and to that which followed. Briefly speaking, the Grimms may be said to have looked upon European folk-lore generally as the detritus of beliefs and imaginings common to all Aryan peoples, upon much of Teutonic folk-lore specially as the detri- tus of those beliefs and imaginings as they found expression in the Scandinavian mythological texts, which were held to be among the oldest and most authentic monuments of Teutonic myth and cult. In the fifty years which followed the first labours of the Grimms, the idea of the community of the Aryan peoples assumed definite shape ; it was regarded as beyond cavil that they had their origin in some district of Central Asia ; that they colonised Europe in successive swarms, the more westerly settlements representing the oldest strata of immigration ; and that in race, speech, religious belief and socia practice, the Sanskrit-speaking peoples of India, to whom we owe the Vedic poems, represented as early a stage in Aryan evolution as any we know of. b xviii Introduction. Naturally, the ideas revealed by an examination of these Vedic poems were used to interpret other monuments of Aryan mythic belief ; naturally, the Vedic creed was treated as a standard to which other Aryan creeds were referred. That much both of Vedic and of other early forms of Aryan religion was legitimately explained by the solar-myth theory, is, I think, undoubted, and although many results were fallacious, yet, on the whole, the theory approved itself as a valuable instrument of investigation. It will be seen that there was no necessary connection between the detritus theory of folk-lore and the solar interpretation of myths. But each was made to support the other, and a logical and coherent view of folk-lore was the result. The question of diffusion the crux of the study at present did not arise. The Aryans had once lived all together, and possessed a common fund of beliefs and practice ; the similarity in the folk-lore of the descendants of the primitive undivided Aryan race was but what might be expected. The interpretation valid for the myths in their pristine purity, was equally valid for them in their degenerated forms. The nursery- tale or jingle of to-day was the last echo of a god-myth or a priestly incantation, so that, to take an extreme instance, the four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie became representatives of the hours made vocal by the incoming dawn. But it soon became apparent that Aryan peoples (or, rather, those peoples assumed to be Aryans) had no monopoly of similarity in folk-lore, and as the special historical conditions which had been postulated in the case of the Aryans could obviously not have existed everywhere, the necessity was felt for a theory of wider scope. On the one hand, investigations into the beliefs and practices of existing savage races revealed a vast number of primitive ideas akin to those expressed in Introduction. xix European folk-lore, and led to the hypothesis that the latter, so far from being the detritus of the great organised systems of antiquity, rather represented the protoplasm out of which those systems were themselves formed. On the other hand, the partisans of the diffusion theory, according to which the various manifestations religious, social, artistic of man's activity assume shape among a definite race, at a definite centre from which they radiate, applied this theory, with great satisfaction to themselves, to various classes of folk-lore, in particular to tales, ballads, and other examples of what may be called folk- literature. Meanwhile grave doubt had been thrown upon the Asiatic origin of the Aryans, as well as upon the existence of a pan-Aryan culture, and it was urged that in any case the Vedic poems represented a late rather than an early stage of such culture, and that the method of myth-interpretation based upon them was not valid in the case of older and less complex systems. The extreme lengths to which the nature-myth theory had been pushed likewise begot a legitimate reaction, and it was further discredited by the fact that it had been made dependent upon philological equations, of which advancing knowledge demonstrated the unsound- ness in many cases. The " diffusionists" were at work here likewise. Hellenic myth was largely claimed as a loan from the older civilisations of the East ; Teutonic myth, at least as presented in the Scandinavian docu- ments, as an artificial admixture of original paganism with classic and Christian conceptions. Just as there was no logical connection between the nature-myth system and the detritus theory of folk-lore, yet they easily fell into their places as part of one whole, and yielded each other mutual support, so the assailing arguments and researches lent each other aid, though often based upon radically opposed principles. The coherent and shapely structure of 1815-70 had to be b 2 xx Introduction. levelled and the ground cleared of its ruins, and this work of demolition was carried on both by those whose only quarrel was with gargoyle and weathercock, and by those who condemned the building from the ground-plan upwards. The task of reconstruction has hardly begun, nor have friends or foes fully learnt to recognise each other again. I take it there is some truth in all these views of folk- lore, certainly far more than is supposed at present in the view which was still fashionable twenty years ago. Amongst the vast mass of facts roughly classed together under the one term folk-lore, some belong to the most primitive stage of man's intellectual and social con- sciousness, the stage in which men belonging to different races and inhabiting different portions of the globe are still living. In the essential manifestations of con- sciousness, these men show a kinship as marked as any that obtains among the folk-lore products of civilised races, and unless it be held that the doctrines conve- niently (whether correctly or not, I do not prejudge) termed animism i.e., the recognition of a life common to man, animals, and what we call inanimate life originated in a definite centre, and spread all over the world by transmission, I fail to see why the latter explanation should be postulated in the case of European folk-lore. Other items, again, of European folk-lore seem to me distinctly traceable to survivals of the ideas and practices embodied in the religious and social systems of antiquity, with this distinction, however, that the " folk", the uneducated classes in direct contact with nature, held these ideas in a much ruder and simpler form than that in which they have been preserved to us by sys- tematising thinkers or by creative artists, and that the existing folk-beliefs go back to the folk-beliefs of 2,000 years ago, rather than to the creeds and legends which have come down to us in literature. It is also, I think. Introduction. xxi self-evident that the folk-consciousness has been enriched by many and varied elements since the establishment of Christianity, and I am quite prepared to admit that many of these elements were introduced into Christendom from the Orient. I would, however, point out that all over Europe folk-conceptions and folk-practices are still, in many instances, not only different from, but strongly opposed to, the spirit and teachings of Christianity. That this latter, surely the most tremendous and pene- trating influence to which European civilisation has been subjected, has shown itself powerless against so many older conceptions, and has only been able to nominally oust others by accepting a compromise all in their favour, is a testimony, the weight of which cannot be over-esti- mated, to the stubborn persistency with which the folk has clung to its theory of life. One hypothesis, I confess, I cannot take seriously that which pictures the popular mind as a tabula rasa, and as deriving all its ideas and fancies from the higher culture of the race, and by some mysterious process transmuting them into the likeness of beliefs and practices held all over the world by races in a primitive stage of development. With regard to the nature-myth theory, without accepting the particular mode in which it was presented, e.g., by Sir George Cox, I cannot see why the "anthro- pological" folk-lorist should quarrel with it. If one thing seems proved, it is the existence of nature-myths among savage races. Why should the mythopceic tendency or faculty be supposed to have died out among the folk whose conditions of life and thought are so akin to those of the savage ? Nor do I see why the special favour accorded to certain types of story among the folk may not be accounted for by their mythical origin and pristine significance, by their having once formed part of the religious and philosophical equipment of the race. The fact of this special favour is beyond question, and is xx ii Introduction. surely more difficult to explain if the stories be denied all connection with primitive conceptions of the universe than if the connection be admitted. I know it will be said that stories which cannot possibly claim such an origin as is here indicated, are equally widespread. But these are stories of real life, stories which as a rule appeal to the sense of humour. The nature of their appeal is intelligible, their popularity needs no sanction ; but why the universal delight in stories which cannot be true, and which are everywhere untrue in the same kind of way ? The disfavour attaching to the nature-myth interpre- tation of early legends (whether related of gods or heroes) is, I think, unmerited. The particular form which it assumed in the first half of this century was faulty, but the principle itself is legitimate, and no one has a right to reject it on a priori grounds. But it is evident that to apply it successfully requires caution> and a most searching preliminary investigation into the history of the legend as far as it can be traced. Again, the principle may be true indirectly, but false directly. The tale of Troy divine might be, as some have claimed, the record of the sun's strife with the elements ; but if the tale were told in Scotland, or elsewhere, as a simple story concerning men and women, and lived on in tradi- tion, suffering changes in the course of time, it would be obviously illegitimate to attribute any mythological value to those changes. All that could justly be observed was that the tale found favour because it was cast in a traditional mould, because it conformed to the conventions of folk-fancy ; it could hardly be cited as exemplifying the mythical beliefs of Scotland. Mr. MacDougall interprets stories belonging to the Finn-cycle as nature-myths. The question at once arises, Has the cycle its roots in that dim past of the Gaelic race when the mythopceic impulse was vigorously Introduction. xxii creative instead of being the mere survival it is now? If so, and if other proof is forthcoming that the Gaels had a religion of the same kind as Greeks, Teutons, or Aryan Indians, a religion in which nature-myths certainly played some part, there is no inherent im- possibility in stories having lived on from that past unto our own time, and preserved with substantial fidelity the outlines of the primitive myths. But it should at once be noted that whatever theory be accepted concerning the origin of the Finn-cycle, it is certain that many of the stories belonging to it assumed a shape, probably not very different from that under which they are still current, in a period extending from the early nth to the 1 5th century, and that they were influenced by events which cannot be older than the Qth or loth century, i.e. by the struggle between the Irish and the invading Norsemen. When studying the Finn or Ossianic legend in the second volume of this series I emphasised this, the secondary historical element in its development. As for the primary historical element, I assumed, in common with all previous investigation, and in accord- ance with the apparent meaning of the earliest Irish records, that it was furnished by the life and deeds of a third-century Irishman, Finn son of Cumhal. At the same time I expressed the opinion that the historical elements in the cycle were of little importance in com- parison with the romantic ones. Since then the dis- tinguished German scholar, Professor H. Zimmer, to whom Celtic studies owe a deep debt of gratitude for his unwearied labours, and for the acuteness and ingenuity with which he has analysed the Irish records, has pro- pounded the theory that the historical Finn was no third-century Irishman but a ninth-century Ersified Norseman, and that the non-historical elements in the Finn-cycle are Norse rather than Celtic. I have sketched the outline of this theory in the Academy for Feb. 14 last. xxiv Introduction. I will here only say briefly that many of the philological and historical arguments upon which Professor Zimmer relies have been challenged by such ejninent Celtic scholars as Mr. Whitley Stokes, Professor Kuno Meyer, and M. d'Arbois de Jubainville. Be the new hypothesis well founded or not, it has comparatively little bearing upon the question whether it is allowable to interpret part of the Finn-cycle as nature-myths. The constitu- tive elements of an heroic saga may easily be much older than the personality of the chief hero, who simply succeeds to earlier attributes and adventures. Nor would the assumed Norse origin conflict with the pos- sible mythic nature of the tales which crystallised round Finn ; the ninth-century Norsemen were still heathens, and there is no reason to doubt the existence of many nature-myths in their heathenism. Thus before the nature-myth system of interpretation can be applied extensively to stories of the Finn-cycle, the date and primitive form of these stories must be determined as far as possible they must be examined to see if they belong originally to the cycle, or if they are recent additions their possible historic basis must be carefully discriminated. Finally, the results must be checked by what we know from other sources of Gaelic religion and social organisation. In the absence of such preliminary criticism no small degree of uncertainty must accompany every effort to interpret Gaelic legend. Yet every effort, if made with insight and sympathy, is of value as deepening our knowledge of, and quickening our interest in, the legends themselves. In his notes (p. 261) on the supernatural realm into which the heroes of Celtic saga penetrate in search of adventure, and from which they return laden with magic treasures, Mr. MacDougall touches upon and materially advances the comprehension of some very interesting questions. The whole series of early Gaelic conceptions Introduction. xxv concerning the Othenvorld has been studied by Pro- fessor Zimmer in his admirable discussion of the Brendan legend. His conclusions may be summarised as follows : The earliest Gaelic Elysium lies across the western main in the land of the setting sun : " fair is that land to all eternity beneath its snowfall of blossoms .... the gleaming walls are bright with many colours, the plains are vocal with joyous cries, mirth and song are at home on the plain, the silver-clouded one. No wailing there for judgment, nought but sweet song to be heard. No pain, no grief, no death, no discord. Such is the land." 1 " No death, no sin, no decay, but ever we feast, and need none to serve us, ever we love, and no strife ensues," says the fairy maiden who lures away Condla. 2 When one of the princes of Faery would win the mortal Etain to be his love, he thus pictures his land and its inhabitants : " A magic land, and full of song ; primrose is the hue of the hair, snow-white the fair bodies, joy in every eye, the colour of the foxglove in every cheek." 3 Such is the account preserved to us of the happy dwelling-place of the older Gaelic gods. But when Christianity prevailed there was bound to be a change in the conception ; the gods lived on, but, cast down from their Olympus, they retreated into the hollow hills, and to this very day are still believed in by the Irish peasant. The oldest texts we have, although they may date back to the seventh century, already confuse the earlier conception of the western ocean island with that of the fairy realm within the hills, but the former 1 From the Voyage of Bran Mac Febail, which Professor Zimmer thinks may be ascribed to the seventh century in the form under which it has come down to us. This and other translations are from renderings of Professor Zimmer's literal German version. 2 The Voyage of Condla Ruad is as old as that of Bran Mac Febail. 3 The Wooing of Etain belongs to the very oldest stratum of Irish legend. xxvi Introduction. lived on nevertheless, and is still potent in texts the com- position of which is probably not older than the twelfth or thirteenth centuries. I am by no means sure that Professor Zimmeris right I will not say in his exposition of the facts but in his interpretation of them ; by no means sure that the belief in Elysium, the Otherworld peopled by wiser, more powerful, and, on the whole, happier beings than men, as a land within the hollow hill is not as early as that which placed it at the westernmost verge of the ocean. Be this as it may, it is interesting to compare the growth of early Gaelic belief, as recovered by Professor Zimmer from texts which are pre-Christian in their essence, with the belief of the modern Gael after sixteen centuries of Christianity. That western paradise, which, according to the German scholar, is found degraded from its pristine state in texts which go back to the seventh century of our era, that western paradise is still, ac- cording to Mr. MacDougall, " the world of enchant- ment and wonder in the eyes of the living Highlander" (see notes, p. 262). It is still regarded as an island, " the green isle at the bounds of the uttermost world/' it is still a land of everlasting summer, of meadows ever green, of fruit-trees ever laden. Heroes journey to it, travel through it, return from it, in just the same way as did the warrior of pre-Christian Gaeldom. The escha- tology of Christianity, that feature of the new creed which more than any other was calculated to impress the rude and simple minds of the folk, has apparently been powerless to shake the delight with which the folk have listened to tales of the Otherworld, powerless to modify the essential nature of the conceptions concern- ing it. Mr. MacDougall goes on to note (p. 263) that the Otherworld is not figured as the abode of the dead ; that is placed within the hollow hill. Have we here the Introduction. xxvii mingling of two strains of belief due to two different races, the one launching its dead warriors to their resting- place upon the western sea, sending them to the gods who were pictured as dwelling in the green isle, the other burying its dead in great mounds, and associating with these all the ideas connected with the spirit-world ? Or did the pre-Christian inhabitants of these islands distinguish between the land of the supernatural beings to whom they paid worship, and that to which mankind at large went after death? Or is Professor Zimmer right, and is the hollow hill belief a secondary one originated by the disturbing influence which Christianity exercised upon the Gaelic conception of the super- natural? It may be, we can never answer these questions satisfactorily ; but if they are to be answered, note must be taken as well of the belief and fancy of the modern peasant as of the mediaeval poet or chronicler. Enough has been said, I trust, to exemplify not only the nature of the problem which the folk-lorist essays to solve, but also the special value of Gaelic testimony in his eyes. Apart from all minor and secondary points, there is but one issue involved in the study of folk-lore are the phenomena with which it deals, in the main, phe- nomena of growth or phenomena of decay are they remains of successive stages of culture through which tvery race and all members of the race have at one time or another passed, and in which the folk- masses have lived on ay, and are still living, to a great extent whereas the educated classes have long since grown out of them ; or are they the remains of definite systems of cult, custom, and art special to particular races, and transmitted from them to their neighbours, systems which we mostly possess at first hand, and in a form far more perfect than that recoverable from the distorted fragments preserved by the folk? Advocates of the second view hold, for instance, that all folk-tales come xxviii Introduction. from India, or all cosmogonies from Babylonia, or all municipal and manorial organisation from Rome ; that the Celt was incapable of conceiving the idea of blood- brotherhood, or the Norseman that of a future world of punishment and reward. The mind of every race was apparently a blank before it became fertilised by contact with other races, and every considerable manifestation of human thought and practice would seem to have sprung into existence fully grown, as Athene from Zeus' head. Celtic legend, Celtic custom, afford, perhaps, the best means obtainable for testing the worth of these rival theories. The field of investigation is not so large that it may not be surveyed with thoroughness, and the historical factors in the problem are comparatively simple. We can trace with approximate accuracy the story of Gaeldom, whether in Ireland or Scotland, from the fourth century onwards ; and the facts that the Gaels were largely isolated from the remainder of Europe by a more powerful and a hostile race ; that for most of this period all their energies were exhausted in the struggle for simple racial existence ; that, geographically and histori- cally, Gaeldom represents a backwater, so to speak, in the main stream of European life these facts have con- tributed to perpetuate with singular vividness the archaic ideas which underlie the civilisation of the past, the modes of expression which differentiate primitive from modern art. So much for the import of Celtic folk-lore (using the word in its widest sense) to the student of man's past. May I claim that it is of equal import to the present-day Briton ? However much it may be regretted in certain quarters, the Celt is an abiding element in the imperial life of the British race. Upon hearty sympathy, upon cordial co-operation between the Celtic, the Teutonic, and what other elements there may be in the fabric of our Introduction. xxix civilisation, depends more than upon aught else the continued existence, stability, and growth of that fabric. But whereas to know other races we must chiefly turn to the higher minds of the race, to the individual thinkers and artists, to know the Celt we must familiarise ourselves with a vast body of anonymous and traditional legend which has at all times faithfully reflected folk- beliefs and folk-aspirations, and which can be neither understood nor appreciated without constant reference to a conception of life and nature, the very existence of which is unknown to most men of the educated classes. It hardly needs to speak of the intrinsic beauty of Celtic legend, of its subtle and far-reaching influence upon our national literature and art. There are many of us who amongst the dust and press of modern life have heard the voice which Condla, son of the King of Ireland, heard two thousand years ago, the voice of the fairy maiden inviting them to the magic realm of never- ending summer, of strifeless love. Alas ! less fortunate than Prince Condla, we can sojourn there but for a while. But we have at least this consolation : we can bring back tidings of the fairness of that land, we can urge upon others to journey thither likewise, sure that in this we are serving the cause alike of science and of that fellow- sympathy which should knit together all the heirs of a common imperial tradition. ALFRED NUTT. TALES. I. HOW FINN KEPT HIS CHILDREN FOR THE BIG YOUNG HERO OF THE SHIP, AND HOW BRAN WAS FOUND. A DAY Finn and his men were in the Hunting-hill they killed a great number of deer ; and when they were wearied after the chase they sat down on a pleasant green knoll, at the back of the wind and at the face of the sun, where they could see everyone, and no one at all could see them. While they were sitting in that place Finn lifted his eyes towards the sea, and saw a ship making straight for the haven beneath the spot on which they were sitting. When the ship came to land, a Big Young Hero leaped out of her on the shore, seized her by the bows (breast), and drew her up, her own seven lengths, on (the) green grass, where the eldest son (Macan), of neither land-owner, nor (of holder) of large town-land dared mock or gibe at her. Then he ascended the hill- side, leaping over the hollows and slanting the knolls, till he reached the spot on which Finn and his men were sitting. He saluted Finn frankly, energetically, fluently ; and Finn saluted him with the equivalent of the same words. Finn then asked him whence did he come, or what was he wanting? He answered Finn that he had come through night-watching and tempest of sea where he was ; because he was losing his children, and it had been told him that there was not a man in the world who 13 2 The Big Young Hero of the Ship. could keep his children for him but him, Finn, King of the Feinne. And he said to Finn, " I lay on thee, as crosses and spells and seven fairy fetters of travelling and straying to be with me before thou shalt eat food, or drink a draught, or close an eye in sleep." Having said this, he turned away from them and descended the hillside the way he ascended it. When he reached the ship he placed his shoulder against her bow, and put her out. He then leaped into her, and departed in the direction he came until they lost sight of him. Finn was now under great heaviness of mind, because the vows had been laid on him, and he must fulfil them or travel onwards until he would die. He knew not whither he should go, or what he should do. But he left farewell with his men, and descended the hillside to the seaside. When he reached that he could not go farther on the way in which he saw the Big Young Hero depart. He therefore began to walk along the shore, but before he had gone very far forward, he saw a company of seven men coming to meet him. When he reached the men he asked the first of them what was he good at ? The man answered that he was a good Carpenter. Finn asked him how good was he at Carpentry ? The man said that, with three strokes of his axe, he could make a large, capacious, complete ship of the alder stock over yonder. " Thou art good enough," said Finn ; " thou mayest pass by." He then asked of the second man, what was he good at ? The man said that he was a good Tracker. " How good art thou ?" said Finn. " I can track the wild duck over the crests of the nine waves within nine days," said the man. " Thou art good enough," said Finn ; " thou mayest pass by." Then he said to the third man, " What art thou good at ?" The man replied that he was a good Gripper. The Big Young Hero of the Ship. 3 " How good art thou ?" " The hold I (once) get I will not let go until my two arms come from my shou'deis, or until my hold comes with me." " Thou art good enough ; thou mayest pass by." Then he said to the fourth man, " What art thou good at ?" He answered that he was a good Climber. " How good art thou ?" " I can climb on a filament of silk to the stars, although thou wert to tie it there." " Thou art good enough ; thou mayest pass by." He then said to the fifth man, " What art thou good at ?" He replied, that he was a good Thief. " How good art thou ?" " I can steal the egg from the heron while her two eyes are looking at me." "Thou art good enough ; thou mayest pass by." He asked of the sixth man, " What art thou good at ?" He answered, that he was a good Listener. " How good art thou ?" He said that he could hear what people were saying at the extremity of the Uttermost World (Domhan Tor}. " Thou art good enough ; thou mayest pass by." Then he said to the seventh man, "What art thou good at ?" He replied, that he was a good Marksman. " How good art thou ?" " I could hit an egg as far away in the sky as bowstring could send or bow could carry (an arrow)." " Thou art good enough ; thou mayest pass by." All this gave Finn great encouragement. He turned round and said to the Carpenter, " Prove thy skill." The Carpenter went where the stock was, and struck it with his axe thrice ; and as he had said, the Ship was ready. When Finn saw the Ship ready he ordered his men to put her out. They did that, and went on board of her. Finn now ordered the Tracker to go to the bow and prove himself. At the same time he told him that yesterday a Big Young Hero left yonder haven in his ship, and that he wanted to follow the Hero to the place B 2 4 The Big Young Hero of the Ship. in which he now was. Finn himself went to steer the Ship, ?nd they departed. The Tracker was telling him to keep her that way or to keep her this way. They sailed a long time forward without seeing land, but they kept on their course until the evening was approaching. In the gloaming they noticed that land was ahead of them, and they made straight for it. When they reached the shore they leaped to land, and drew up the Ship. Then they noticed a large fine house in the glen above the beach. They took their way up to the house ; and when they were nearing it they saw the Big Young Hero coming to meet them. He ran and placed his two arms about Finn's neck, and said, " Darling of all men in the world, hast thou come ?" " If I had been thy darling of all the men in the world, it is not as thou didst leave me that thou wouldst have left me," said Finn. " Oh, it was not without a way of coming I left thee," said the Big Young Hero. " Did I not send a company of seven men to meet thee ?" When they reached the house, the Big Young Hero told Finn and his men to go in. They accepted the invitation, and found abundance of meat and drink. After they had quenched their hunger and thirst, the Big Young Hero came in where they were, and said to Finn, " Six years from this night, my wife was in child-bed, and a child was born to me. As soon as the child came into the world, a large Hand came in at the chimney, and took the child with it in the cap (or hollow) of the hand. Three years from this night the same thing happened. And to-night she is going to be in child-bed again. It was told me that thou wert the only man in the world who could keep my children for me, and now I have courage since I have found thee." Finn and his men were tired and sleepy. Finn said to the men that they were to stretch themselves on the T/ie Big Young Hero of the Ship, 5 floor, and that he was going to keep watch. They- did as they were told, and he remained sitting beside the fire. At last sleep began to come on him ; but he had a bar"of iron in the fire, and as often as his eyes would begin to close with sleep, he would thrust the bar through the bone of his palm, and that was keeping him awake. About midnight the woman was delivered ; and as soon as the child came into the world the Hand came in at the chimney. Finn called on the Gripper to get up. The Gripper sprang quickly on his feet, and laid hold of the Hand. He gave a pull on the Hand, and took it in to the two eye-brows at the chimney. The Hand gave a pull on the Gripper, and took him out to the top of his two shoulders. The Gripper gave another pull on the Hand, and brought it in to the neck. The Hand gave a pull on the Gripper, and brought him out to the very middle. The Gripper gave a pull on the Hand, and took it in over the two armpits. The Hand gave a pull on the Gripper, and took him out to the smalls of his two feet. Then the Gripper gave a brave pull on the Hand, and it came out of the shoulder. And when it fell on the floor the pulling of seven geldings was in it. But the big Giant outside put in the other hand, and took the child with him in the cap of the hand. They were all very sorry that they lost the child. But Finn said, " We will not yield to this yet. I and my men will go away after the Hand before a sun shall rise on a dwelling to-morrow." At break of dawn, Finn and his men turned out, and reached the beach, where they had left the Ship. They launched the Ship, and leaped on board of her. The Tracker went to the bow, and Finn went to steer her. They departed, and now and again the Tracker would cry to Finn to keep her in that direction, or to 6 The Big Young Hero of the Ship. keep her in this direction. They sailed onward a long distance without seeing anything before them, except the great sea. At the going down of the sun, Finn noticed a black spot in the ocean ahead of them. He thought it too little for an island, and too large for a bird, but he made straight for it. In the darkening of the night they reached it ; and it was a rock, and a Castle thatched with eel-skins was on its top. They landed on the rock. They looked about the Castle, but they saw neither window nor door at which they could get in. At last they noticed that it was on the roof the door was. They did not now know how they could get up, because the thatch was so slippery. But the Climber cried, " Let me over, and I will not be long in climbing it." He sprang quickly towards the Castle, and in an instant was on its roof. He looked in at the door, and after taking particular notice of every- thing that he saw, he descended where the rest were waiting. Finn asked of him what did he see ? He said that he saw a Big Giant lying on a bed, a silk covering over him and a satin covering under him, and his hand stretched out and an infant asleep in the cap of the hand ; that he saw two boys on the floor playing with shinties of gold and a ball of silver ; and that there was a very large deer-hound bitch lying beside the fire, and two pups sucking her. Then said Finn, " I do not know how we shall get them out." The Thief answered and said, "If I get in I will not be long putting them out." The Climber said, " Come on my back, and I will take thee up to the door." The Thief did as he was told, and got into the Castle. Instantly he began to prove his skill. The first thing he put out was the child that was in the cap of the hand. He then put out the two boys who were playing on the THE GIANT ASI.EEI'. To face p. 6. The Big Young Hero of the Ship. 7 floor. He then stole the silk covering that was over the Giant, and the satin covering that was under him, and put them out. Then he put out the shinties of gold and the ball of silver. He then stole the two pups that were sucking the bitch beside the fire. These were the most valuable things which he saw inside. He left the Giant asleep, and turned out. They placed the things which the Thief stole in the Ship, and departed. They were but a short time sailing when the Listener stood up and said, " 'Tis I who am hearing him, 'tis I who am listening to him !" " What art thou hearing ? " said Finn. " He has just awakened," said the Listener, " and missed everything that was stolen from him. He is in great wrath, sending away the Bitch, and saying to her if she will not go that he will go himself. But it is the Bitch that is going." In a short time they looked behind them, and saw the Bitch coming swimming. She was cleaving the sea on each side of her in red sparks of fire. They were seized with fear, and said that they did not know what they should do. But Finn considered, and then told them to throw out one of the pups ; perhaps when she would see the pup drowning she would return with it. They threw out the pup, and, as Finn said, it happened : the Bitch returned with the pup. This left them at the time pleased. But shortly after that the Listener arose trembling, and said : " 'Tis I who am hearing him ; 'tis I who am listening to him!" " What art thou saying now?" said Finn. " He is again sending away the Bitch, and since she will not go he is coming himself." When they heard this their eye was always behind them. At last they saw him coming, and the great sea reached not beyond his haunches. They were seized with fear and great horror, for they knew not what they should do. But Finn thought of his knowledge-set of 8 The Big Young Hero of the Ship. teeth, and having put his finger under it, found out that the Giant was immortal, except in a mole which was in the hollow of his palm. The Marksman then stood up and said : " If I get one look of it I will have him." The Giant came walking forward through the sea to the side of the Ship. Then he lifted up his hand to seize the top of the mast, in order to sink the Ship. But when the Hand was on high the Marksman noticed the mole, and he let an arrow off in its direction. The arrow struck the Giant in the death-spot, and he fell dead on the sea. They were now very happy, for there was nothing more before them to make them afraid. They put about, and sailed back to the Castle. The Thief stole the pup again, and they took it with them along with the one they had. After that they returned to the place of the Big Young Hero. When they reached the haven they leaped on land, and drew up the Ship on dry ground. Then Finn went away with the family of the Big Young Hero and with everything which he and his men took out of the Castle to the fine house of the Big Young Hero. The Big Young Hero met him coming, and when he saw his children he went on his two knees to Finn, and said : " What now is thy reward ?" Finn answered and said, that he was asking nothing but his choice of the two pups which they took from the Castle. The Big Young Hero said that he would get that and a great deal more if he would ask it. But Finn wanted nothing except the pup. This pup was Bran, and his brother, that the Big Young Hero got, was the Grey Dog. The Big Young Hero took Finn and his men into his house, and made for them a great, joyous, merry feast, The Big Young Hero of the Ship, 9 which was kept up for a day and year, and if the last day was not the best, it was not the worst. That is how Finn kept his children for the Big Young Hero of the Ship, and how Bran was found. MAR GHLEIDH FIONN A CHUID CLOINNE DO DH' OGLACH MOR NA LUINGE, AGUS MAR FHUARAS BRAN. LA bha Fionn agus a chuid daoin' anns a' Bheinn-sheilg mharbh iad moran f hiadh ; agus dar bha iad sgith an deigh na faoghaide shuidh iad sios air tulach ait, uaine, air chul gaoith' agus air aodann greine, far am faiceadh iad gach aon 'us nach faiceadh aon idir iad. Am feadh 'bha iad 'n an suidhe 's an ionad sin thog Fionn a shuilean ris a' mhuir, agus chunnaic e long a' deanamh direach air a' chaladh fo 'n ait' anns an robh iad 'n an suidhe. An uair a thainig an long chum tire, leum bglach m6r a mach aist' air an traigh, agus rug e air bhroilleach oirre, agus tharruinn e i, a seachd fad fhein, an aird air feur gorm, far nach robh 'chridh' aig macan fear fearainn no baile mhoir a bhi ri buirt no fochaid oirre. An sin dhirich e 'mach am bruthach, a' leum thar nam bac agus a' fiaradh nan cnoc, gus an d' rainig e 'n t-aite 's an robh Fionn 'us a chuid daoine 'n an suidhe. Bheannaich e Fionn gu briosglach, brosglach, briathrach ; agus bheannaich Fionn e le comain nam briathra ceudna. An sin dh' fheoraich Fionn d'e Cia as a thainig e, no gu de 'bha e 'g iarraidh ? Fhreagair e Fionn gu 'n d' thainig e tromh fhair' oidhche agus anradh mara far an robh esan, a chionn gu 'n robh e 'call a chuid cloinne, agus gu 'n robh e air innseadh dha nach robh duin' air an t-saoghal a b' urrainn a chuid cloinne 'ghleidheadh dha ach esan, Fionn Righ na Feinne. Agus ro Oglach Mbr na Luinge. thubhairt e ri Fionn, " Tha mi 'cur mar chroisean 'us mar gheasan ort, 'us mar sheachd buaraichean sithide, siubhla, 's seachrain gu 'm bi thu leam-sa mu 'n ith thu biadh, no mu 'n 61 thu deoch, no mu 'n duin thu siiil 'an cadal." Air dha so a radh, thionndaidh e air falbh uapa, agus theirinn e 'm bruthach an rathad a dhirich se e. An uair a rainig e 'n long, chairich e 'ghualainn r' a toiseach, agus chuir e mach i. Leum e 's tigh innt' an sin, agus dh' fhalbh e 'n taobh a thainig e gus an do chaill iad sealladh air. Bha Fionn a nis fo sprochd m6r, a chionn gu 'n robh na boidean air an cur air, agus gu 'm feumadh e 'n coimhlionadh, air neo siubhal air aghaidh gus am faigheadh e bas. Cha robh fhios aige ceana 'ghabhadh e, no gu de" 'dheanadh e. Ach dh' fhag e beannachd aig a chuid daoine, agus theirinn e 'm bruthach gu ruig taobh na mara. An uair a rainig e sin cha b' urrainn e dol ni b 'fhaide air an t-slighe air am fac' e 'n t-G"glach M6r a' falbh. Air an aobhar sin thoisich e air imeachd ri taobh a' chladaich, ach mu ? n deachaidh e ro f had' air aghaidh chunnaic e seachdnar dhaoine 'tighinn 'n a choinneamh. An uair a rainig e na daoine dh' fhebraich e de 'n cheud fhear dhiubh, Gu de air an robh e math? Fhreagair an duine gu 'm bu Shaor math e. Dh' fhebraich Fionn d' e gu de cho math 's a bha e air saorsainneachd ? Thubhairt an duine gu 'n deanadh e long mhbr, luchdmhor, lionta le tri buillean d' a thuaigh de 'n stoc fhearn' ud thall. " Tha thu gle mhath," arsa Fionn ; "faodaidh tu gabhail seachad." Dh' fhebraich e 'n sin de 'n dara fear, Gu de air an robh esan math ? Thubhairt e gu 'n robh e 'n a Lorgaiche math. " Gu d cho math 's a tha thu ?" arsa Fionn. " Lorgaichidh mi 'n lach thar bharraibh nan naoi tonn 'an ceann nan naoi trath," ars' an duine. "Tha thu gle mhath," thubhairt Fionn; " faodaidh tu gabhail seachad." An sin thubhairt e ris an treas fear, " Gu de* air am bheil thusa math ?" Fhreagair e gu 'm bu Ghramaiche math e. " Gu de cho math 's a tha thu ?" " An greim a gheibh mi cha leig mi as gus am bi mo dha laimh as mo ghuailnibh, no gu 'm Oglach Mbr na Luinge. 1 1 bi mo ghreim agam." "Tha thu gle mhath; faodaidh tu dol seachad." An sin thubhairt e ris a cheathramh fear, " Gu de air am bheil thusa math ?" Fhreagair e gu 'm bu Streapaire math e. " Gu de cho math 's a tha thu ?" " Streapaidh mi air roinean sioda gus na rionnagan ged cheangladh tu 'n sin e." " Tha thu gle mhath ; faodaidh tu gabhail seachad." Thubhairt e 'n sin ris a' choigeamh fear, " Gu de air am bheil thusa math ?" Fhreagair e gu 'm bu Mheirleach math e. " Gu de cho math 's a tha thu ?" " Goididh mi 'n t-ubh bho 'n churr, 'us a da shuil a' coimhead orm." " Tha thu gle mhath ; faodaidh tu gabhail seachad." Dh' fheoraich e de 'n t-seathamh fear, " Gu d6 'air am bheil thusa math ?" Fhreagair e gu 'm bu Chlaisdeir math e. " Gu de cho math 's a tha thu ?" Thubhairt e gu 'n cluinneadh e gu de 'bha iad ag radh 'an iomall an Domhain Toir. " Tha thu gle mhath; faodaidh tu gabhail seachad." An sin thubhairt e ris an t-seachdamh fear, " Gu de air am bheil thusa math ?" Fhreagair e gu 'm bu Chuspair math e. " Gu de cho math 's a tha thu ?" " Fhad 's a chuireadh sreang i, agus a ghiulaineadh bogha i, chuimsichinn ubh anns anathar." "Tha thu gle mhath ; faodaidh tu gabhail seachad." Thug so uile misneach mhor do Fhionn. Thionndaidh e mu 'n cuairt, agus thubhairt e ris an t-Saor, "Dearbh do lamh." Ghabh an Saor far an robh 'n Stoc, agus bhuail e le thuaigh e tri uairean ; 'us mar thubhairt e bha 'n Long deas. Dar chunnaic Fionn an Long deas, thug e ordugh d' a dhaoin' air a cur a mach. Rinn iad sin, agus chaidh iad air bord innte. Dh' orduich Fionn an Lorgaiche 'dhol do 'n toiseach a nis, agus e g' a dhearbhadh fein. Aig a' cheart am dh' innis e dha gu 'n d' fhag bglach mor an caladh ud 'n a luing an de, agus gu ,'n robh 'dhith airsan an t-6glach a leantuinn do 'n aite 's an robh e nis. Chaidh Fionn fein a stiuradh na Luinge, agus dh' fhalbh iad. Bha 'n Lorgaiche 'g iarraidh air a cumail mar sud, n' a cumail mar so. Sheol iad air an aghaidh uine mhor gun fhearann fhaicinn, ach chum iad air an aghaidh gus an robh am feasgar a' tighinn. Ann an dorchadh nan trath, thug iad an 12 Oglach Mbr na Luinge. aire gu 'n robh fearann air thoiseach orra, agus rinn iad direach air. An uair a rainig iad un cladach leum iad gu tir, agus tharruinn iad an Long. An sin thug iad an aire do thigh mbr sgiamhach anns a' ghleann os ceann a' chladaich. Ghabh iad a suas a dh' ionn- saidhantighe; agus an uair abha iad a' dluthachadh ris chunnaic iad an t-Oglach Mbr a' tighinn 'n an coinneamh. Ruith c, agus chuir e 'dha laimh mu 'n cuairt air amhaich Fhinn, agus thubhairt e, " A ghraidh a dh' fhir an t-saoghail ! an d' thainig thu ?" " Na 'm bu mhi do ghradh a dh' fhir an t-saoghail, cha-n ann mar dh' fhag thu mi a dh' fhagadh tu mi," arsa Fionn. " Oh, cha b' ann gun dbigh air tighinn a dh' fhag mi thu," ars' an t-6glach Mor. " Nach do chuir mi seachdnar dhaoin a' d' choinneamh ?" An uair a rainig iad an tigh dh' iarr an t-6glach Mbr air Fionn agus air a dhaoine dol a 's tigh. Ghabh iad ris a' chuireadh, agus fhuair iad pailteas bithidh agus dibhe. An deigh dhoibh an acras agus an tart a chasg thainig an t-Oglach Mbr a 's tigh far an robh iad, agus thubhairt e ri Fionn, u Se bliadhna bho nochd bha mo bhean-sa'n a laidhe shiubhla, agus rugadh leanabh dhomh. Cho luath agus a thainig an leanabh air an t-saoghal, thainig Crbg Mhbr a 's tigh air an luidheir, agus thug i leatha 'n leanabh ann an currachd na Crbige. Tri bliadhna bho 'nochd thachair a leithid ceudna. Agus an nochd tha i dol a bhi 'n a laidhe- shiubhla 'rithist. Chaidh innseadh dhomh gu 'm bu tusa an aon duine air an t-saoghal a b' urrainn mo chuid cloinne a ghleidheadh dhomh, agus tha misneach agam a nis o'n fhuair mi thu." Bha Fionn agus a chuid daoine sgith agus cadalach. Thubh- airt Fionn ris na daoine gu 'n robh iadsan ri iad fein a shineadh air an urlar, agus gu 'n robh esan' dol a dheanamh faire. Rinn iad mar dh' iarradh orra, agus dh' fhuirich e fein 'n a shuidhe taobh an teine. Mu dheireadh thbisich an cadal air tighinn air, ach bha gat iaruinn aig' anns an teine, agus cho trie agus a thbisicheadh a shuilean air dunadh le cadal stopadh e 'n gat tromh chnaimh a dhearna, agus bha sin 'g a chumail 'n a fhaireachadh. Mu mheadhon oidhche chaidh an clara taobh Oglack Mbr na Luinge. 13 do' n mhnaoi, agus cho luath 's a thainig an leanabh air an t-saoghal, thainig a' Chrbg a 's tigh air an luidheir. Ghlaodh Fionn ris a' Ghramaiche 'bhi air a chois. Ghrad leum an Gramaiche air a chois, agus rug e air a' Chrbig. Thug e tarruinn air a' Chrbig, agus thug e 's tigh i gu maol an da shiil air an luidheir. Thug a' Chrbg tarruinn air a' Ghramaiche, agus thug i mach e gu maol na da ghualainn. Thug an Gramaiche tarruinn eil' air a' Chrbig, agus thug e 's tigh i gus an amhach. Thug a' Chrbg tarruinn air a Ghram- aiche, agus thug i 'mach e gus an teis-meadhon. Thug an Gramaiche tarruinn air a' Chrbig, agus thug e 's tigh i thar an da achlais. Thug a' Chrbg tarruinn air a' Ghramaiche, agus thug i mach e gu caol na da choise. An sin thug an Gramaiche treun tharruinn air a' Chrbig, agus thainig i as a' ghualainn. Agus an uair a thuit i air an urlar, bha tarruinn sheachd ghearran innte. Ach chuir am Famhair mbr a bha mach a' chrbg eile 's tigh, agus thug e leis an leanabh an currachd na crbige. Bha iad uile ro dhuilich gu 'n do chaill iad an leanabh. Ach thubhairt Fionn, " Cha gheill sinn da so fathast, Falbhaidh mise agus mo dhaoine 'n deigh na Crbige mu 'n eirich grian air bruth am maireach." Aig bristeadh na faire thionn' Fionn agus a chuid daoine mach, agus rainig iad an cladach far an d' fhag iad an Long. Chuir iad a mach an Long, agus leum iad air bbrd innte. Chaidh an Lorgaiche do 'n toiseach, agus Fionn g' a stiuradh. Dh' fhalbh iad, agus bha an Lorgaiche an drast agus a rithist a' glaodhaich ri Fionn a cumail mar sud no' cumail mar so. Shebl iad air an aghaidh astar fada gun ni 'fhaicinn rompa ach a' mhuir mhbr. Aig dol fodha na greine thug Fionn an aire do spot dubh anns a' chuan air thoiseach orra. Bu bheag leis mar eilean e, 's bu mhbr leis mar eun e, ach rinn e direach air. 'An dorchadh na h-oidhche rainig iad e ; agus b 'e sgeir a bh' ann, agus Caisteal tubhta le craicnibh easgann air a mul- lach. Chaidh iad air tir air an sgeir. Sheall iad timchioll a' Chaisteil, ach cha-n fhac' iad uinneag no dorus air am faigh- eadh iad a 's tigh. Mu dheireadh thug iad an aire gu 'm b' ann 14 Oglach Mbr na Luinge. air a mhullach a bha 'n dorus. Cha robh fhios aca 'nis ciamar a gheibheadh iad an aird, a chionn gu 'n robh an tubha cho sleamhainn. Ach ghlaodh an Streapaire, " Leigibh mise null, agus cha bhi mi fada 'g a dhireadh." Ghrad leum e 'dh' i6~nn- saidh a' Chaisteil, agus ann an tiota bha e air a mhullach. Sheall e 's tigh air an dorus, agus an deigh dha beachd sbnraicht' a ghabhail air gach ni a chunnaic e theirinn e far an robh each a' feitheamh. Dh' fhebraich Fionn d' e gu de 'chunnaic e. Thubhairt e gu 'm fac' e Famhair mbr 'n a laidhe air leabaidh, brat sioda thairis air agus brat srbil fodha, agus a' chrbg sinte mach agus naoidhean 'n a chadal 'an currachd na crbige ; gu 'm fac' e da ghiollan a' cluich air meadhon an iirlair le camain bir agus ball airgid ; agus gu 'n robh galla mhbr mhbr mhial-choin 'n a laidhe taobh an teine, agus da chuilean 'g a deoghal. An sin thubhairt Fionn, " Cha-n 'eil fhios cia mar a gheibh sinn a mach iad." Fhreagair am Meirleach agus thubhairt e, " Ma gheibh mise 's tigh, cha bhi mi fada 'g an cur a mach." Thubhairt an Streapaire, " Thig air mo mhuin-sa, agus bheir mise 'n aird gus an dorus thu." Rinn am Meirleach mar dh' iarradh air, agus fhuair e 's tigh do 'n Chaisteal. Ghrad thbisich e air a lamh a dhearbhadh. B' e 'cheud ni a chuir e mach an leanabh a bha 'n currachd na crbige. Chuir e mach an sin an da ghiollan a bha 'cluich air an urlar. Ghoid e 'n sin am brat siod' a bha thairis air an Fhamhair agus am brat srbla 'bha fodha; agus chuir e mach iad. Chuir e 'n sin a mach na camain bir, agus am ball airgid. Ghoid e 'n sin an da chuilean a bha 'deoghal na galla taobh an teine. B' iad sin na nithe bu luachmhoir a chunnaic e 's tigh. Dh' fhag e 'm Famhair 'n a chadal, agus thionn' e mach. Chuir iad na nithe 'ghoid am Meirleach anns an Luing, agus dh' fhalbh iad. Cha robh iad ach goirid a' sebladh an uair a dh' e"irich an Claisteir 'n a sheasamh, agus a thubhairt e, " Is mi 'tha 'g a chluinntinn, is mi 'tha 'g a eisdeachd !" " Gu de 'tha thu cluinntinn?" arsa Fionn. " Thae 'n deigh dusgaidh," thubhairt an Claisteir, " agus gach ni a ghoideadh uaith' iondrainn. Tha e, 'am feirg mhbir, a' cur air falbh na Galla, Oglach Mbr na Luinge. \ 5 agus ag radh rithe mur falbh ise gu 'm falbh e fein. Ach is i 'Ghalla 'tha falbh." An iiine ghoirid sheall iad as an deigh, agus chunniac iad a Ghalla 'tighinn air an t-snamh. Bha i a' sgoltadh na fairge air gach taobh dhi 'na sradagan dearga teine. Ghabh iad eagal, agus thubhairt iad nach robh fhios aca gu de 'dheanadh iad. Ach smaointich Fionn, agus dh' iarr e orra aon de na cuilein- ean a thilgeil a mach ; theagamh an uair a chitheadh i 'n cuilean 'g a bhathadh gu 'n tilleadh i leis. Thilg iad a mach an cuilean, agus mar thubhairt Fionn b' fhior. Thill i leis a' chuilean. Dh' fhag so iad toilicht 'aig an am. Ach goirid an deigh sin dh' eirich an Claisteir 'us e air chrith, agus thubhairt e, " Is mi 'tha 'g a chluinntinn, is mi 'tha 'g a e"isdeachd !" " Gu de 'tha thu 'g radh nis ?" thubhairt Fionn. " Tha e' cur air falbh na Galla rithist, agus o nach falbh ise tha e fein a' tighinn." Dar chual iad so bha 'n suil as an d&gh daonnan. Mu dheireadh chunnaic iad e a' tighinn, agus cha ruigeadh an fhairge mhbr seach a mhasan. Ghabh iad eagal agus uamhunn mhbr, agus cha robh fhios aca ciod a dheanadh iad. Ach chuimh- nich Fionn air a dheud-fios, agus air dha a mheur a chur fo dheud fhuair e mach nach robh bas air an Fhamhair ach 'an aon bhall-dbbhrain a bha 'n glaic a dhearna. Dh' eirich an Cuspair an sin, agus thubhairt e, " Ma gheibh mise aon seal- ladh dh' e bithidh e agam." Thainig am Famhair a' coiseachd air aghaidh troimh 'n mhuir gu ruig taobh na Luinge. An sin thog e 'n aird a chrbg a bhreith air mullach a' chroinn chum an Long a chur fodha. Ach an uair a bha a' chrbg gu h-ard, thug an Cuspair an aire do 'n bhall-dbbhrain, agus leig e saighead m' a thu- aiream. Bhuail an t-saighead am Famhair auns an aite-bais, agus thuit e marbh air an loch. Bha iad ro thoilichte 'nis, oir cha robh ni tuillidh rompa a bha 'cur eagail orra. Chuir iad mu 'n cuairt, agus shebl iad air an ais a dh' ionnsaidh a' Chaisteil. Ghoid am Meirleach a rithist an cuilean, agus thug iad leb e maille ris an fhear a bh' aca. An deigh sin thill iad a dh' ionnsaidh ait an Oglaich Mhbir. 1 6 Oglack Mbr na Luinge. An uair a rainig iad an caladh leum iad air tir agus tharruinn iad an Long a suas air talamh tioram. An sin dh ; fhalbh Fionn le teaghlach an Oglaich Mhbir agus leis gach ni a thug e fe*in agus a dhaoin' as a' Chaisteal gu tigh sgiamhach an Oglaich Mhbir. Choinnich an t-Oglach Mbr e 'tighinn agus an uair a chunnaic e a chuid cloinne chaidh e air a dha ghlun do Fhionn, agus thubhairt e, " Ciod a nis do dhuais ?" Fhreagair Fionn agus thubhairt e nach robh e 'g iarraidh ach a roghainn de 'n da chuilean a thug iad as a' Chaisteal. Thubhairt an t-Oglach Mbr gu 'm faigheadh e sin agus mbran tuillidh na 'n iarradh e iad. Ach cha robh ni tuillidh a dhith air Fionn ach an Cuilean. B' e 'n cuilean so Bran, agus b' e 'bhrathair a fhuair an t-Oglach Mbr an Cu Glas. Thug an t-Oglach Mbr Fionn agus a dhaoine 's tigh d' a thigh, agus rinn e dhoibh cuilm mhbr, ghreadhnach, aighearach a bha la 'us bliadhn' air chumail, agus mur b' e an latha mu dheireadh a b' fhearr cha b' e' bu mhiosa. Sin mar ghleidh Fionn a chuid cloinne do dh' Oglach Mbr na Luinge, agus mar fhuaras Bran. II. FINN'S JOURNEY TO LOCHLAN, AND HOW THE GREY DOG WAS FOUND AGAIN. A DAY Finn and his men were in the Hunting-hill, they killed a good number of deer ; and when they were making ready to go home, they saw a Big Lad coming to the place where they were. He went to meet Finn, and saluted him frankly, energetically, fluently ; and Finn saluted him with the equivalent of the same words. Finn asked him whence did he come, or what was he wanting ? He answered Finn and said, " I am a Lad who came from east and from west, seeking a master." Finn said to him, " I want a Lad, and if we agree I will engage thee. What is thy reward at the end of a day and year ?" " That is not much," said the Lad. " I only ask that at the end of the day and year thou wilt go with me by invitation to a feast and a night's entertainment to the palace of the King of Lochlan ; and thou must not take with thee a dog or a man, a calf or a child, a weapon or an adversary but thyself." To shorten the tale, Finn engaged the Lad, and he was a faithful servant to the end of the day and year. On the morning of the last day of his engagement the Big Lad asked of Finn whether he was satisfied with his service ? Finn said to him that he was perfectly satisfied. " Well," said the Lad, " I hope that I shall receive my reward, and that- thou wilt go with me as thou didst promise." " Thou shalt get thy reward, and I will go with thee," said Finn. Then Finn went where his men were, and told them C 1 8 Finns Journey to Lochlan. that that was the day on which he must go to fulfil his promise to the Lad, and that he did not know when he should return. " But," said Finn, " if I shall not be back within a day and year, let the man of you who will not be whetting his sword be bending his bow for the purpose of holding one great day on the Great Strand of Lochlan, revenging my death." When he had said this to his men, he left them farewell, and went in to his dwelling. His Fool was sitting beside the fire, and he said to him, " Poor man, art thou sorry that I am going away ?" The Fool answered weeping, and said that he was sorry because he was going in the way in which he was going, but that he would give him an advice if he would take it." " Yes, poor man," said Finn, " for often has the advice of the King been in the head of the Fool. What is thy advice ?" " It is," said the Fool, " that thou shalt take Bran's chain with thee in thy pocket ; and it is not a dog, and it is not a man, it is not a calf, and it is not a child, and it is not a weapon, and it is not an adversary to thee. But thou shalt take it at any rate." " Yes, poor man," said Finn, leaving him farewell and departing. He found the Big Lad waiting him at the door. The Lad said to him if he was ready that they would depart. Finn said that he was ready, and told the Lad to take the lead, because he knew the way better. The Big Lad went off, and Finn followed him. Though Finn was swift and speedy, he could not touch the Big Lad with a stick on the way. When the Big Lad would be going out of sight at one mountain-gap, Finn would be only coming in sight on the next mountain- ridge. And they kept in that position to each other until they reached the end" of their journey. They went in to the palace of the King of Lochlan, and Finn sat down weariedly, heavily, sadly. But, in- stead of a feast awaiting him, the chiefs and nobles of Finns Journey to Lochlan. 19 the King of Lochlan were sitting within putting their heads together to see what disgraceful death they would decree him. One would say we will hang him, another would say we will burn him, a third would say we will drown him. At last a man who was in the company stood up, and said that they would not put him to death in any of the ways that the rest mentioned. The men who first spoke turned towards him, and asked of him what way had he of putting Finn to death that was more disgraceful than any of the ways which they mentioned. He answered them and said: "We will go with him, and send him up to the Great Glen (Glen More) ; and he will not go far forward there when he shall be put to death by the Grey Dog. And you know, and I know, that there is not another death in the world more disgraceful in the estimation of the Feinne than that their earthly king should fall by a cur of a dog." When they heard the man's sentence, they all clapped their hands, and agreed with him in his sentence. Without delay they went with Finn up to the Glen where the Dog was staying. They did not go very far with him into the Glen when they heard the howl- ing of the Dog coming. They gave a look, and, when they saw him, they said that it was time for them to flee. They turned back quickly, and left Finn at the mercy of the Dog. Now staying and running away were all one to Finn. If he ran away he would be put to death, and if he stayed he would only be put to death ; and he would as soon fall by the Dog as fall by his enemies. And so he stayed. The Grey Dog was coming with his mouth open, and his tongue out on one side of his mouth. Every snort which he sent from his nostrils was scorching (everything) three miles before him and on each side C 2 2O Finns Joiirney to Lochlan. of him. Finn was being tormented by the heat of the Dog's breath, and he saw clearly that he could not stand it long. He now thought if there was any use in Bran's chain, that it was time to draw it (forth). He put his hand in his pocket, and when the Dog was in a near distance of him he took it out and shook it towards him. The Dog instantly stood, and began to wag his tail. He then came on where Finn was, and licked every sore which he had, from the top of his head to the sole of his foot, until he healed with his tongue what he burned with his breath. At last Finn clapped Bran's chain about the Grey Dog's neck, and descended through the Glen, having the Dog with him in a leash. An old man and an old woman, who used to feed the Grey Dog, were staying at the lower end of the Glen. The Old Woman happened to be at the door, and when she saw Finn coming with the Dog she sprang into the house, crying and beating her hands. The Old Man asked of her, What did she see or what did she feel ? She said that she saw a great thing, as tall and as handsome a man as she ever beheld, descending through the Glen, having the Grey Dog with him on a leash. "Though the people of Lochlan and of Ireland were assembled", said the Old Man, " among them all there would not be a man who could do that but Finn, King of the Fe"inne, and Bran's chain of gold with him." " Though it were that same", replied the Old Woman, " he is coming." " We shall soon know," said the Old Man, as he sprang out. He went forward to meet Finn, and in a few words they saluted each other. Finn told him, from beginning to end, the reason why he was yonder. Then the Old Man invited him to go into the house till he would throw off his weariness, and receive meat and drink. Finn went in. The Old Man told the Old Woman Finns Journey to Lochlan. 21 the tale which Finn told him. And when the Old Woman heard the story, it pleased her so well that she said to Finn he was perfectly welcome to stay in her house to the end of a day and year. Finn gladly accepted the invitation, and stayed there. At the end of a day and year the Old Woman went out, and stood on a knoll near the house. She was a while looking at everything she could see, and listening to every sound that she could hear. At last she gave a look down in the direction of the shore, and beheld an exceedingly great host standing on the Great Strand of Lochlan. She ran quickly into the house, beating her hands and crying Alas ! (her despoiling !) while her two eyes were as large as a corn-fan -ith fear The Old Man sprang to his feet, and .*< of her. What did she see? She said that she saw . thing the like of which she never saw before. " There is an innumer- able host on the Great Strand down there ; and in (the host) there is a squint-eyed, red-haired man (Oscar), and I do not think that his match in combat is this night beneath the stars." " Oh !" said Finn, as he sprang to his feet, " there thou hast the companies of my love ! Let me out to meet them !" Finn, with the Grey Dog, wen' down to f u Strand ; and when his men saw him coming % aale, they raised a great shout of rejoicing, vi "as heard in the four corners of Lochlan. Then they and their earthly King gave each other a friendly welcome. And if the welcome between them and Finn was friendly, not less friendly was the welcome between Bran and the Grey Dog ; for this was his brother that was taken with him from the Castle. Then they took vengeance on the men of Lochlan, because of the way they were going to treat Finn. 22 Tunis Fhinn do Lochlann. They began at one end of Lochlan, and they stopped riot till they went out at the other end. After they had subdued Lochlan, they returned home, and, when they reached the Hall of Finn, they made a great, joyful, merry feast, which was kept up for a day and a year. TURUS FHINN DO LOCHLANN, AGUS MAR FHUARAS A RITHIST AN CU GLAS. LA bha Fionn agus a chuid daoin' anns a' Bheinn-sheilg mharbh iad dbrlach math fhiadh ; agus dar bha iad a' deanamh deas a dhol dhachaidh chunnaic iad Gille Mbr a' tighinn far an robh iad. Chaidh e 'n coinneamh Fhinn, agus bheannaich e Fionn gu briosglach, brosglach, briathrach; agus bheannaich Fionn e le comain nam briathran ceudna. Dh' fheoraich Fionn d' e cia as a thainig e, no gu de 'bha e g iarraidh? Fhreagair e Fionn agus thubhairt e, " Is. Gille mi a thainig o 'n ear agus o 'n iar a dh' iarraidh Maistir." Thubh- airt Fionn ris, " Tha Gille 'dhith ormsa, agus ma chbrdas sinn cuiridh mi muinntireas ort. Gu d e do dhuais aig ceann la 'us bliadhna ?" " Cha mhbr sin," ars' an Gille. " Cha-n iarr mi ach gu 'n teid thusa, aig ceann an la agus na bliadhna, air chuireadh, air chuilm, agus air chuid oidhche cbmhladh riumsa gu pailis Righ Lochlainn ; agus cha-n fhaod thu cu no duine, laogh no leanabh, arm no eascar a thabhairt leatach thu fein." A chur an sgebil an giorrad chuir Fionn muinntireas air a' Ghille, agus bha e 'n a sheirbhiseach dileas gu ceann an la agus na bliadhna. Air madainn an la mu dheireadh d' a uine, dh' fhebraich an Gille Mbr de Fhionn an robh e toilichte le 'sheirbheis ? Thubhairt Fionn ris gu 'n robh Ian thoilichte. " Mata," thubh- airt an Gille, " tha mi 'n dbchas gu 'm faigh mise mo dhuais, Turns Fhinn do Lochlann. 23 agus gu 'm falbh thu learn mar gheall thu." "Gheibh thu do dhuais, agus theid mise leat," arsa Fionn. An sin chaidh Fionn far an robh a chuid daoine, agus dh' innis e dhoibh gu 'm b' e sin an latha air am feumadh esan falbh a choimhlionadh a gheallaidh do 'n Ghille, agus nach robh fhios aige c' uin' a thilleadh e. " Ach," arsa Fionn, "mar bi mis 'air m' ais fo cheann la agus bliadhna, am fear agaibh nach bi 'geurachadh a chlaidheimh bitheadh e 'lubadh a' bhogha air son aon latha mbr a bhi agaibh air an Traigh Mhbir 'an Lochlann a' dioladh mo bhais-sa." 'Nuair thubhairt e so r' a chuid daoine dh' fliag e beannachd aca, agus chaidh e 's tigh d' a bhruth. Bha 'n t-Amadan aige 'n a shuidhe taobh an teine, agus thubhairt e ris, "A dhuine bhochd, am bheil thu duilich mise 'bhi falbh ? " Fhreagair an t-Amadan 'us e 'caoineadh, agus thubhairt e gu 'n robh e duilich e 'bhi falbh anns an dbigh anns an robh e 'falbh, ach gu 'n tugadh esan comhairl' air na 'n gabhadh e i. " Gabhaidh, a dhuine bhochd," thubh- airt Fionn, " oir is minic a bha comhairl' an righ ann an ceann an amadain. Ciod i do chomhairle?" "Tha," thubh- airt an t-Amadan, "gu 'n ioir thu leat slabhraidh Bhrain 'ad phbca; agus cha chit 's cha dhuin' i, cha laogh 's cha leanabh i, agus cha-n arm 'us cha-n eascar dhuit-s' i. Ach bheir thu leat i co dhiu." " Bheir, a dhuine bhochd," thubhairt Fionn, " 'us e 'fagail beannachd aige 's a falbh." Fhuair e 'n Gille Mbr a' feitheamh air aig an dorus. Thubh- airt an Gille ris ma bha e deas gu 'm bitheadh iad a' falbh. Thubhairt Fionn gu 'n robh e deas, agus dh' iarr e air a' Ghille fhein an ceum toisich a ghabhail, a chionn gu 'm b' e a b' eblaich' air an t-slighe. Dh' fhalbh an Gille Mbr, agus lean Fionn e. Ged bha Fionn luath astarach, cha chuireadh e maide 'm pairt a' Ghille Mhbir air an rathad. Dar bhitheadh an Gille Mbr a' dol as an fhradharc air an aon bhealach cha bhitheadh Fionn ach a' tighinn 'am fradharc air an dara bearradh. Agus chum iad anns an t-suidheachadh sin d' a cheile gus an d' rainig iad ceann an turuis. Chaidh iad a 's tigh do phailis Righ Lochlainn, agus shuidh 24 Turns Fhinn do Lochlann. Fionn a sios gu sghh, trom, airsnealach. Ach 'an aite cuilm a' feitheamh air, bha maithean agus mbr uaislean Righ Lochlainn 'n an suidhe 's tigh a' cur an cinn ri 'cheile feuch gu de 'm bas tamailteach a bheireadh iad da. Theireadh fear crochaidh sinn e, theireadh fear eile loisgidh sinn e, theireadh an treas fear bathaidh sinn e. Mu dheireadh dh' eirich fear a bha 's a chuideachd 'n a sheasamh, agus thubhairt e, nach cuireadh iad gu bas e air aon 's am bith de na dbighean a dh' ainmicheadh le each. Thionndaidh na daoin' a labhair an toiseach ris, agus dh' fhebraich iad d' e gu de an dbigh a bh' aige san air Fionn a chur gu bas a bha ni 'bu tam- ailtiche na aon air bith de na dbighean a dh' ainmich iadsan. Fhreagair e iad agus thubhairt e riu, " Theid sinn leis, agus cuiridh sinn 'suas e do 'n Ghleann Mhbr, agus cha te"id e fad' air aghaidh an sin an uair a bhitheas e air a chur gu bas leis a' Chu Ghlas. Agus tha fhios agaibh-se, agus tha fhios agam- sa nach 'eil bas eil' air an t-saoghal a 's tamailtiche leis an Fheinn na 'n Righ saoghalt' a thuiteam le madadh coin." An uair a chual iad breith an duine bhuail iad am basan agus dh' aontaich iad leis 'n a bhreith. Dh' fhalbh iad gu 'n dail le Fionn a suas do 'n Ghleann far an robh an Cu Glas a' fuireachd. Cha deachaidh iad ro fhada leis anns a' Ghleann an uair a chual iad donnalaich a' choin a' tighinn. Thug iad suil, agus dar chunnaic iad e thubhairt iad ri 'cheile gu 'n robh an t-am aca-san a bhi 'teicheadh. Ghrad thill iad air an ais, agus dh' fhag iad Fionn fo mheachainn a' choin. 'Nis b' e 'n aon chuid do Fhionn fuireachd agus teicheadh. Na 'n teicheadh e bhitheadh e air a chur gu bas, agus na 'm fuiricheadh e cha bhitheadh e ach air a chur gu bas ; agus bha cho math leis tuiteam leis a' Chu agus tuiteam le naimhdean. Agus le sin dh' fhuirich e. Bha 'n Cu Glas a' tighinn le chraos fosgailte, agus a theanga 'mach air leth taobh a chraois. Bha gach smut a chuireadh e as a shrbin a' losgadh tri mile roimhe agus air gach taobh dh' e. Bha Fionn. 'g a' chrathadh le teas analach a' Choin, agus chunnaic e gu soilleir nach b' fhada 'b' urrainn e seasamh ris. Smaointich e 'n so ma bha feum 'an slabhraidh Bhrain Turns Fhinn do Lochlann. 25 gu 'n robh an t-am a bhi 'g a tarrainn. Chuir e a lamh 'n a phbca ; agus an uair a bha 'n Cu 'an dluth-astar da thug e 'mach i, agus chrath e ris i. Ghrad sheas an Cii, agus thbisich e air bogadh earbaill. Thainig e 'n sin air aghaidh far an robh Fionn, agus dh' imlich e gach creuchd a bh' air, o mhullach a chinn gu bonn a choise, gus an do leigheis e le theanga na loisg e le 'anail. Mu dheireadh sparr Fionn slabhraidh Bhrain mu amhaich a Choin Ghlais, agus theirinn e 's tigh an Gleann agus an Cu air lomhain aige. An iochdar a' Ghlinne bha seann bhodach agus seann chail- leach a' fuireachd a b' abhaist a bhi biadhadh a' Choin Ghlais. Bha 'Chailleach aig an dorus ; agus dar chunnaic i Fionn a' tighinn leis a' Chu leum i 's tigh a' glaodhaich agus a' bualadh a bas. Dh' fhebraich am Bodach dhi gu de" 'chunnaic i, no gu de 'dh' fhairich i ? Thubhairt i gu 'm fac' i ni mbr, duine cho mbr agus cho briadh' agus a chunnaic i riamh a' tearnadh a 's tigh an Gleann 'us an Cu Glas air lomhain aige. " Ged bhith- eadh sluagh Lochlainn agus Eirionn cruinn" ars' am Bodach "chabhitheadh duine 'n am measguil'ab'urrainnsinadheanamh ach Fionn, Righ na Feinne, agus slabhraidh bir Bhrain aige." "Ged b' e sin fein e," fhreagair a' Chailleach, " tha e a' tighinn." " Cha-n fhada gu uair fhios," ars' am Bodach 'us e 'leum a mach. Ghabh e air aghaidh 'an coinneamh Fhinn, agus ann am beagan bhriathar chuir iad failt' air a cheile. Dh' innis Fionn da, bho thoiseach gu deireadh, an t-aobhar mu 'n robh e 'n sud. An sin dh' iarr am Bodach air dol a 's tigh gus an leigeadh e dheth a sgios, agus gus am faigheadh e biadh agus deoch. Chaidh e 's tigh. Dh' innis am Bodach do 'n Chaillich an sgeul a dh' innis Fionn da. Agus an uair a chual a' Chailleach an sgeul chord e rithe cho math agus gu 'n d' thubhairt i ri Fionn gu 'm b' e a lan-bheatha fuireachd anns an tigh aice-se gu ceann latha 's bliadhna. Ghabh Fionn ris a' chuireadh gu toileach, agus dh' fhuirich e 'n sin. An ceann latha 's bliadhna chaidh a' Chailleach a mach, agus sheas i air cnoc laimh ris an tigh. Bha i greis a' sealltainn air gach ni a chitheadh i, agus ag eisdeach ris gach sian a chluinneadh i. Mu dheireadh thug i suil a sios ris a chladach, 26 Turus Fhinn do Lochlann. agus chunnaic i sluagh anabarrach mor 'nan seasamh air Traigh Mhbir Lochlainn. Ghrad ruith i 's tigh a' bualadh a has agus ag eigheach a creach, agus a da shuil cho mor ri guit leis an eagal. Leum am Bodach air a chois, agus dh' fhebraich e dhi gu d 'chunnaic i ? Thubhairt i gu 'm fac' i ni nach fac' i riamh roimh' a leithid. '' Tha sluagh gun aireamh air an Traigh Mhbir sin shios, agus tha aon fhear claon ruadh ann, agus cha-n eil mi smaoin- teachadh gu 'm bheil a cheile cbmhraig an nochd fo na rion- nagaibh." "Oh," thubhairt Fionn 'us e 'leum air a chois, "sin agad cuideachdan mo ghraidh ! Leig a mach mi 'n an coinneamh." Dh' fhalbh Fionn leis a' Chii Ghlas a sios a dh' ionnsaidh na Traghad ; agus an uair a chunnaic a chuid daoin' e 'tighinn beb slan g' an ionnsaidh, thog iad iolach mhbr ghairdeachais a chualas ann an ceithir chearnaibh Lochlainn. An sin chuir iad fein agus an Righ Saoghalta failte chairdeil air a cheile. Agus ma bha 'n fhailt eadar iadsan agus Fionn cairdeil cha bu lugha na sin a bha 'n fhailt eadar Bran agus an Cii Glas cair- deil, oir b' e so a bhrathair a thugadh maille ris as a' Chaisteal. An sin thug iad dioghailt air na Lochlannaich a chionn mar bha iadsan 'dol a dheanamh air Fionn. Thbisich iad ann an dara ceann Lochlainn, agus cha do stad iad gus an deachaidh iad a mach air a cheann eile. An deigh dhoibh Lochlann a chur fo chis thill iad dachaidh, agus an uair a rainig iad Talla Fhinn rinn iad cuilm mhbr, ghreadhnach, aighearach a bha la 'us bliadhn' air chumail. III. THE LAD OF THE SKIN COVERINGS. ON a certain day of old, Finn thought that he would go to hunt to the White Glen. He took with him as many of his men as were at hand at the time, and they went to the Glen. The hunt began, and when it was over no man who was present ever saw such a sight of dead deer. It was a custom with the Fein (Feinn), after they had gathered together the deer they killed, to sit down and take a rest. They would then divide the deer among them, each man taking with him a small or large burden as he was able. But on this day they killed many more than all that were at the hunt could take with them. While Finn was considering what he should do with the remainder, he gave a look, and saw a Big Lad coming over the side of the mountain, and making straight for the place in which they were assembled with so great speed that never before did they see a man so fast as he. " Some one is coming towards us here," said Finn, " and 'tis before him his business is, or else I am deceived." They all stood looking at the Big Lad who was coming, but he took not a long time till he was in their very midst. He saluted Finn frankly, energetically, fluently ; and Finn saluted him with the equivalent of the same words. Then Finn asked of him whence did he come, or whither was he going, or what was he wanting. He said that he was the Son of the Lady of Green Insh ( hints Uaine), and that he came from that as far as 28 The Lad of the Skin Coverings. this seeking a Master. Finn answered, "I have need of a servant, and I do not care although I engage thee if we agree about the reward." " That would not be my advice to thee," said Conan. "Conan, thou hadst better keep quiet, and mind thine own business ; and I will do my business," said the Big Lad. Every one present was wondering at the Big Lad's dress, for it consisted of skin coverings. Not less did they wonder at the appearance of his great strength of body. And they were somewhat afraid that he would disgrace them before he would part with them. Finn then asked of him what reward would he be asking to the end of a day and year ? The Big Lad said that he asked nothing but that there should be no apartness of meat or of drink between them at the table within, or on the plain without, or in any place in which they should take food to the end of the day and year. " Thou shalt get that," said Finn ; and they agreed. Then they began to lift the deer with them. One would take with him one, and another would take with him two, till all had their burdens except the Big Lad. But they left many more deer than they took with them. Finn then told the Big Lad to take with him a burden. The Big Lad began to pull the longest and the finest part of the heather that he could see, till he had a great heap beside him. Then he began to make a rope of the heather, and to place a deer on every deer's length that he would twine till he had every deer that was left in one burden. When the burden was ready he told the rest to lift it on his back. They came, and as many went about the burden as could surround it ; but though as many and as many more of the Fein would have been assembled as were present on that day they could not put wind between it and (the.) earth. When the Big Lad saw this he told them to stand out of his way. He then took The Lad of the Skin Coverings. 29 hold of the rope and put a turn of its end about his fist, he bent his back, put a balk on his foot, and threw the burden over his shoulder. Every one of the Fein looked at his neighbour, but spake not a word. When the Big Lad got the burden steady on his back he said, " I am but a stranger in this place ; let one of you therefore go before to direct me in the way." Every one looked at his neighbour to see who would go. At last Conan answered that he would go if the rest would carry his deer home. Finn said that his deer would be carried home if he would take the lead. Conan threw the deer off him, sprang before the Big Lad, and told him to follow him. Conan went away as fast as he could, and the Big Lad went away after him. There were two big nails on the two big toes of the Big Lad, and they went but a short distance when he left not a hair's-breadth of skin on the back of Conan between the top of his two shoulders and the back of his two feet with the two big nails which were on his feet. At last Conan began' to lose his distance, for he was growing weak with loss of blood ; and in a short time he was under the necessity of stop- ping and of sitting down where he was. When the Big Lad saw that Conan yielded he went past him, and stop he made not till he let his burden go at the dwelling of Finn. Then he sprang in, and put on a fire. He cooked food for every man who was at the hunt, and set the food of each man apart, except his own food and that of Finn. The Fein came home at last ; and when they went in they wondered greatly to see the food ready before them, but they made no remark. After the supper (was over) the Fein sent for Finn, and Conan spoke and said : " Did I not tell thee that we should get disgraced by the Lad whom thou didst engage ? His match in strength is not in the Fein. Thou 30 The Lad of the Skin Coverings. must put him out of our way until his time shall be out." " Well," said Finn, " I do not know what I can do with him unless I send him away to Lochlan to seek the four- sided cup, and he has there a day and a year's journey however well he may walk." They were all quite pleased with this, and told Finn to send him off as soon as he could. Finn answered and said : " Before a sun shall rise on a dwelling he will get his leave to travel on the journey." Without delay he sent for the Lad of the Skin Cover- ings, and said to him that he was sorry to ask him to go on this long journey, but that he hoped he would not refuse. The Big Lad asked him on what business was he sending him, or whither had he to go ? Finn said that he got word from Lochlan that he would get the four-sided cup if he would send a man for it " I sent them word to come and meet us with it, and that we would go and meet them. I am desirous that thou wilt go to seek it to-morrow, and I know that they will meet thee coming with it." " Well, Finn," said the Big Lad, " thou knowest and art assured that they shall not meet me with it, for numerous are the heroes who have shed their blood on the field beneath the spears of Lochlan for the sake of the four-sided cup which they have had since four-and-twenty years, and which thou hast not yet got. How now dost thou think, Finn, that I can take it out (of their hands) unassisted ? But since I promised to do what thou wouldst ask me, I will go seek it for thee." On the next morning, before a sun shone, the Big Lad was ready for the journey. Then he lifted his own skin-coverings on him, and strode away ; and the swift March wind which was before him he would overtake, and the swift March wind which was behind him would not keep (pace) with him. At that rate of travelling on- wards he did not slacken the speed of his chace till he The Lad of the Skin Coverings. 31 struck his palm against a (door) bar at the palace of the King of Lochlan that night. The palace of the King of Lochlan was kept by seven guards. The Big Lad knocked (at the gate of) the first guard, and the first guard asked him whence was he, or whither was he going ? He replied that he was a servant who had come from Finn, King of the Fein, on a message to the King of Lochlan. Word went to the King that such a man was at the door. The King asked if any man was with him. The Lad-in-waiting said that there was not. The King then gave orders to let him in. The (gate of the) first guard was opened for him, and he got in, and in like manner every (gate with a) guard until he got through the seven guards. He was taken into the place where the King was, and the King told him to sit down. The Big Lad sat, for he was tired after the journey which he had made. He gave a look through the room, and noticed as beautiful a cup as he ever saw standing on a table. He said to the King of Lochlan, " That is a beautiful vessel which thou hast there." The King said that it was that, and also a cup of virtues. The Big Lad asked what virtues did it possess ? The King answered that there was no fill that he would order to be in it which would not be in it immediately. The Big Lad, being thirsty after the journey which he had made, thought that its full of water on the table would be a good thing. Then he rose up, took hold of the cup, and drank all that was in it. He next turned his face to the door ; and if he asked for an opening in, he asked not for an opening out, for he leaped over the seven guards, having the cup with him. Then he lifted his own skin-coverings on him, and strode away on the path on which he came ; and the swift March wind which was before him he would over- take, but the swift March wind which was behind him 32 The Lad of the Skin Coverings. would not keep (pace) with him. At that rate of travelling onwards he did not slacken the speed of his chace till he struck his palm against a (door) bar at Finn's dwelling on that night. He went in, and handed the cup to Finn. " Thou wert not long away," said Finn. " Did I not tell thee before thou didst leave that they would meet thee com- ing with it ?" The Big Lad answered : " Thou knowest and art assured that they did not meet me coming with it But I reached Lochlan, and I got the cup in the King's palace, and I made the journey forward and back again." " Silence, babbler !" said Conan. " There are some in the Fein who can run on ben-side or on glen- strath as well as thou canst, and they could not do the journey in double the time in which thou sayest thou didst it. But come to cut a leap with me as far as the Green Lakelet at the foot of Ben Aidan, and I will know if thou hast made the journey." " O, Conan ! I am more needful of food and a little wink of sleep than of going to cut leaps with thee." " If thou wilt not go, we will not believe that thou hast made the journey," said Conan. The Big Lad rose and went with him ; and they reached the Green Lakelet. Conan asked the Big Lad to cut a leap across the Lakelet. " It is thou that brought me here, and I am tired," said the Big Lad ; "therefore cut the first leap thyself." Conan took a race and cut a leap, but sank to the balls of his two hips in the leafy marsh on the other side of the Lakelet. The Big Lad cut his leap without any race, and went over Conan's head on the hard ground on the other side of the Lakelet. He then leaped it back back- foremost, and forward front-foremost, before Conan got his haunches out of the bog. When Conan got his feet on the hard ground he said The Lad of the Skin Coverings. 33 that the roots gave way under his feet, and that he sank ! " But come and race with me to the top of Ben Aidan, and I will know if thou hast made the journey." " Conan, I am more needful of a little wink of sleep than of going to race with thee to the top of Ben Aidan." However, he went At a stride or two the Big Lad went past Conan, and gave not another look after him till he was on the top of the Ben. He then stretched himself on a green hillock and slept. He knew not how long he slept, but it was the panting of Conan climbing the Ben which wakened him. He sprang quickly to his feet, and said, " Did I make the journey now, Conan ?" " Come, wrestle with me, and I will know if thou hast made the journey," said Conan. They embraced each other. Conan told the Big Lad to put his turn. " Put thou thy turn first, Conan, for it is thou who wanted to begin." Conan tried to put his turn, but he did not move the Big Lad. The Big Lad then bent over Conan, and with his weight threw him, and bound his three smalls with his leather garter. The Big Lad now took it as an insult that the most contemptible man in the Fein was despising and bully- ing him ; and he gave a vow that he would not return to Finn any more. He went away, and left Conan bound on the top of the Ben. The night was coming, and Finn was wondering that the two men who went away were not returning. At last fear struck him that the Big Lad had killed Conan, and therefore he told his men that they must go seek them. Before the sun rose on the next morning he divided his men in companies, and sent a company to each corner of the Ben, and told them to travel on till they should all meet on the top of the Ben. About the evening of the day they met, and found Conan bound by his three smalls in one thong. D 34 The Lad of the Skin Coverings. Finn told one of his men to go over, and unbind Conan. Oscar went, and took a long time trying to do that, but for every knot which he would untie seven other knots would go on the thong. At last he said to Finn, " I cannot loose this thong !" Then Goll sprang over, thinking that he could do better. He began to untie the thong ; but, as happened to Oscar, it beat him. If it was not tighter when he ceased, it was not a bit looser. At last he lifted up his head in wrath, and said, " There is not a man in the Fein who can unbind Conan !" Finn now got afraid that Conan would be dead before they could get him released. But he remembered his knowledge set of teeth ; and having put his finger under it he discovered that there was not a man in the world who could unbind him but the Smith of the White Glen, or else the man who bound him. He then sent away Goll and Oscar to tell the Smith what befell Conan. They reached the Smith, and told him the business on which they were. The Smith told them to gather together every four-footed beast which was between the back of Ben Aidan and the top of the White Glen, and send them past the door of his smithy. " And," said he, " if I then come out in peace good is my peace, but if I come out in wrath evil is my wrath." Oscar and Goll then returned to Finn, and told him what the Smith said to them. Finn said that the hunt must be started. The hunt was started, and that was the Great Hunt of the White Glen. Since the first hunt was started never was there so great a number of four-footed beasts assembled as were (together) on that day. Then they sent them past the door of the smithy. The Smith came out and asked what was yonder ? They answered, " All the four-footed beasts between the top of Ben Aidan and the head of the White Glen, as he wanted." The Lad of the Skin Coverings. 35 The Smith said, " You have done well enough, but turn back every one of those creatures to the place from which you have taken them, and 1 will then go to unbind Conan." They did that, and the Smith went to the top of Ben Aidan, and released Conan. When Conan got released he was so ashamed on account of what befell him that he drew away down the Ben as fast as he could, and that he cast not a look behind him till he went out to the neck in the sea. Out of that, he would not come for Finn or for a man in the Fein. But the tide was rising at the time, and when the water began to enter his mouth he thought that it was better for him to go ashore, and return home after the rest. On a certain evening after that, when Finn and his men were coming home from the Hunting-ben they beheld a Lad coming to meet them. He took his way where Finn was, and said to him that he was sent from the Queen of Roy (RuaidJi) to Finn, King of the Fein, and that he was laying on him as crosses, and as spells, and as seven fairy fetters of travelling and straying, that he would neither stop nor take rest until he would reach the Queen of Roy's (RuaidJi) place. Having said this he turned towards them the back of his head, and departed ; and they had not a second look of him. The Fein looked at each other, for they thought that some evil was to happen to Finn, because no man was asked to go but himself. They said to him that they were sorry because he was going alone, and because they knew not when he would come, or where they would go to seek him. But Finn said to them that they were not to be anxious about his coming to the end of a day and year. Out of that standing he departed with his arms on him. He travelled onward far long and full long over bens, and glens, and heights, and a stop went not on his D 2 36 The Lad of the Skin Coverings. foot till he came in sight of Green Insh (Innis Uaine). There he beheld a man going to lift a burden of rushes on his back. When he saw the man throwing the burden over his shoulder he thought that he was the Lad of the Skin Coverings. He began to approach him under cover (make earth-hiding on him) till he got near him. Then he showed himself, and when the man who was there looked at him in the face he knew that he was the Lad of the Skin Coverings. He sprang with a hasty step where he was, seized him in his two arms, and said, " Darling of all men in the world ! is it thou ?" The Big Lad answered and said, " If I were thy darling of all the men in the world, the most insignificant man whom thou hadst in the Fein would not have been bully- ing me, and making me the subject of mocking witti- cisms." " Well," said Finn, " I was sorry enough, but I could not help it. I was afraid that the men would rise up against me, and become unruly ; I therefore left Conan in his opinion. But I knew thou didst make the journey, and we will be as good friends to each other as we ever were. Wilt thou go with me once more on this little journey ?" " Well," said the Big Lad, " I do not know. Look down in yonder hollow under us, and thou shalt see my mother on her knees cutting rushes, and a turn of her right breast over her left shoulder. If thou shalt get a hold of the end of the breast do not let it go till thou shalt get thy first request from her." Finn went away a while on his hands and feet, and another while dragging himself (along) on his belly, till he got within a distance to take a spring. Then he gave a spring, and got a hold of the end of the breast. The Lady of Green Insh cried who was there ? He replied, that Finn, King of the Fein, was there, asking his first boon of her. She said what boon would he ask that he would not get? He said," Let thy son go with me once more on this little journey." The Lady said, " If I had The Lad of the Skin Coverings. 37 known that it was that which thou wouldst ask, thou wouldst not have got it though thou shouldst take the breast from my chest, but since I promised it thou shalt get it. But I will have one promise from thee before thou goest, and that is that thou shalt take home to me himself and all that shall fall with him." " I hope that the matter will not end in that way, and that he will return home whole." " If he will, good shall not befall thee, Finn. However, be off on your journey." Then Finn and the Big Lad went away on their journey, ascending hills and descending hollows, travel- ling over bens and glens and knolls till the gloaming of night was coming on them. They were growing weary, and were wishing to reach some place where they would get permission to take rest. They were but a short time travelling after that, when they beheld an exceedingly fine place before them, with fine large houses built on large green fields. Finn said to the Big Lad, " Let us take courage, for we are not far from houses." Shortly after that they reached the place. Finn saw a man coming to meet them, and he knew that he was the very Lad who came with the message to him. He asked of him what need had he of him now ? The Lad answered and said that there were two big houses opposite him, one with door-posts of gold and doors of gold, and the other with door-posts of silver and doors of silver, that he was to take his choice of them to stay in, and that he would see when he would enter what he had to do there. The Lad having said this turned away from them, and left them where they were standing. Finn looked in the face of the Big Lad, and said to him, " Which one of these houses shall we take to stay in ?" The Big Lad said, " We will have the more honour- able one ; we will take the one with the doors of gold.'"' They took their way over to the door. The Big Lad 38 The Lad of the Skin Coverings. laid hold of the bar, and opened the door. Then they went in. When they looked there was a great sight before them, but the Big Lad thought nothing of it. There were eighteen score and eight Avasks (Amhaisg) standing on the floor. When they got Finn and the Big Lad inside the door they sprang towards it, and shut it ; and put on it eighteen score and eight bars, The Big Lad went and put on it one great bar, and so firmly did he put the bar on that every bar they put on fell off. Then the Avasks made eighteen score and eight laughs ; but the Big Lad made one great guffaw of a laugh and deafened all that they made. Then the Avasks said, "What is the cause of thy laugh, little man ?" The Big Lad said, " What is the cause of your own laughter, big men all ?" They said, " The cause of our laughter is that it is a pretty, clustering, yellow head of hair which thou hast on thee to be used as a football out on yonder strand to-morrow." " Well," said the Big Lad, " the cause of my laugh is that I will seize the man of you with the biggest head and smallest legs, and that I will brain all the rest of you with him." He then saw a man with a big head ; and having laid hold of him by the smalls of his two feet he began braining them in one end of the band and stopped not till he went out at the other end. When he was done he had only as much of the feet as he held in his fists. He and Finn put the dead bodies out, and made three heaps of them at the door. They shut the door then, and made food ready, for there was abundance of it in the house. After they had taken the food the Big Lad asked of Finn, "Whether wilt thou sleep or watch the door?" Finn answered, " Sleep thou, and I will watch the door." And so they did. But before the Big Lad slept Finn asked of him, " With what shall I waken thee if distress shall come upon me at the door ?" " Strike the pillar (or The Lad of the Skin Coverings. 39 block) of stone, which is behind the hearth, on me in the breast-bone, or else take with thy dirk the breadth of thy thumb from the top of my head." " Quite right," said Finn, " sleep on." Finn was watching the door, but for a long time he was feeling nothing coming. At break of dawn he noticed the conversation of ten hundred coming to the door. He lifted the block of stone, and struck the Big Lad with it in the chest. The Big Lad sprang quickly to his feet, and asked Finn what he felt ? " The con- versation of ten hundred is at the door," said Finn. " That is right yet," said the Big Lad, " let me out." The Big Lad went out to meet them. He began in one end of them, attacked them violently below and above them, and left none of them alive to tell the evil tale, but one man with one eye, one ear, one hand, and one foot, and he let him go. Then he and Finn collected the dead bodies, and put them in the three heaps with the rest. They afterwards went in, and waited till the next night came. After supper the Big Lad asked of Finn, " Whether wilt thou sleep or watch to-night ?" Finn said, " Sleep thou, and I will watch." The Big Lad went to sleep, and Finn was watching the door. A short time before sunrise, Finn heard the conversation of two thousand coming, or the Son of the King of Light alone. He sprang up, and with his dirk took the breadth of the face of his thumb from the top of the Big Lad's head. In- stantly the Big Lad sprang to his feet, and asked of Finn what did he feel ? Finn answered, " The conversation of two thousand, or the Son of the King of Light alone is at the door." " Oh, then, I dare say that thou must be as good as thy promise to my mother," said the Big Lad, " but let thou me out." Finn opened the door, the Big Lad went out, and it was the Son of the King of Light who was before him. 40 The Lad of the Skin Coverings. Then the two champions embraced each other, and wrestled from sunrise to sunset, but the one threw not the other, and the one spake not to the other during the whole time. They let each other go, and each one of them went his own way. Early next morning, before sun- rise, the Big Lad went out, and his companion met him. They wrestled from sunrise to sunset, but the one threw not the other, and the one spake not to the other. They let each other go, and each one of them went his own way. The third day the heroes met, and embraced each other. They fought all day long till twilight, and the two fell side by side cold and dead on the ground. Finn was dreadfully sorry for the Big Lad. But he remembered his promise to the Lad's mother, and said to himself that it must be fulfilled. He took out the silk covering which was over them where they slept, wrapped it about the two bodies, and took them with him on his back. He drew away with a hard step over bens and glens and hillocks, ascending hills and descending hollows, and stop or rest he made not till he reached the house of Green Insh (Innis Uaine). The mother of the Big Lad met him at the door, and said to him, " Hast thou come ?" Finn answered that he had come, but not as he would wish. She said to him, " Didst thou do as I told thee ?" Finn said, " Yes, but I am sorry indeed that I had to do it." She said, " Everything is right. Come in." Finn went in, and laid the burden on the floor. He unloosed the covering, and the two lads were locked in each other's arms as they fell. When the Lady of Green Insh saw the two lads she smiled and said, " Finn, my Darling, well is it for me that thou didst go on this journey." She then went over into a closet, and having lifted a flag which was on the floor, took out a little vessel of balsam which she had The Lad of ike Skin Coverings, 41 there. She then placed the two lads mouth to mouth, face to face, knee to knee, thumb to thumb, and rubbed the balsam to the soles of their feet, to the crowns of their heads, and to all parts of their skins which touched each other. The two lads stood up on the floor kissing one another. " Now, Finn," said she, " there thou hast my two sons. This one was stolen from me in his infancy, and I was without him till now. But since thou has done as I told thee, thou art welcome to stay here as long as thou desirest." They were so merry in the house of Green Insh that the time went past unknown to them. On a certain night the Lady of Green Insh said to Finn, " To-morrow there will be a day and a year since thou didst leave the Fein, and they have given up hope of thee. The man of them who is not whetting his sword is pointing his spear to-night for the purpose of going away to seek thee. Make ready to depart to-morrow, and I will let my son go with thee. For if thou shalt arrive alone they will give thee such a tumultuous welcome that they will smother and kill thee. But when you will arrive my son will enter before thee, and say to them, if they will promise him that they will rise up one after another to give thee a quiet, sensible welcome, that he will bring their earthly king home whole and sound to them." Finn agreed to this with all his heart, and he and the Big Lad went away on their journey homewards on the morning of the next day. They had a long distance to go, but they took not long accomplishing it. When they reached Finn's Hall (Talla) the Big Lad went in first, and what his mother said proved true. Every man was getting ready his sword and spear. The Big Lad asked of them what were they doing ? They told him that. Then the Big Lad said to them what 42 Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn. his mother told him to say. They willingly consented to do that. He then called on Finn to come in. Finn came, and one rose after another as they promised. They got their earthly king back once more. The Big Lad returned home, and if he has not died since he is alive still. GILLE NAN COCHLA-CRAICINN. LA araidh bho shean, smaointich Fionn gu 'n rachadh e 'sheilg do 'n Ghleann Gheal. Thug e leis a' mheud d' a dhaoin' agus a bha aig laimh 's an am, agus rainig iad an Gleann. Thbisich an fhaoghaid, agus dar bha i seachad cha-n fhaca duin' a bha lathair a leithid de shealladh air feidh mharbh riamh roimhe. Bha e 'n a chleachdainn aig an Fheinn, an deigh dhoibh na feidh a mharbh iad a thrusadh cbmhla, suidhe sios agus an anail a leigeil. Rinneadh iad an sin na feidh 'n a measg, gach aon a toirt leis eallach bheag no mhbr mar b' urrainn e. Ach air an latha so mharbh iad tuillidh mor na 'b' urrainn na bh' aig an t-seilg a thabhairt leb. Am feadh a bha Fionn a' smaointeachadh gu de 'dheanadh e ris a chbr, thug e suil, agus chunnaic e Gille Mor a' tighinn thar leacainn a' mhonaidh agus a' deanamh direach air an ait' anns an robh iad cruinn, le luathas cho mor agus nach fac' e riamh roimhe duine cho luath ris. "Tha cuid-eiginn a' tighinn oirnn an so," arsa Fionn, "agus is ann roimhe 'tha 'ghnothuch, air neb tha mi air mo mhealladh." Sheas iad uil' ag amharc air a' Ghille Mhbr a bha 'tighinn, ach cha b' fhada gus an robh e 'n an teis-meadhoin. Chuir e failt air Fionn gu briosglach, brosglach, briathrach ; agus chuir Fionn failt air le comain nam briathra ceudna. An sin dh' fhaighnichd Fionn d' e cia as a thainig e, no c' Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn. 43 ait' an robh e 'dol, no gu de 'bha e 'g iarraidh ? Thubhairt e gu 'm b' esan Mac Mna Innse Uaine, agus gu 'n d' thainig e bho sin gu ruig so, ag iarraidh Maistir. Fhreagair Fionn, " Tha Gille 'dhith orm-sa, agus tha mi coma ged chuireas mi muinntireas ort ma chordas sinn mu 'n duais." "Cha b' e sin mo chomhairle dhuit," arsa Conan. " Is fearr dhuit-sa, a Chonain, fuireachd samhach, agus an aire 'thabhairt air do ghnothuch fein ; agus ni mise mo ghnothuch fein," thubhairt an Gille Mbr. Bha gach duin' a lathair a' gabhail ioghnaidh de dh' eideadh a' Ghille Mhbir, oir b' e cochuill-chraicinn a bh' ann. Cha bu lugha 'n t-ionganntas a ghabh iad de choltas mbr-spionnaidh a bhodhaige. Agus bha sgath orra gu 'n cuireadh e tamailt orra mu 'n dealaicheadh e riutha. An sin dh' fhebraich Fionn d' e gu de 'n duais a bhitheadh e 'g iarraidh gu ceann la 's bliadhna. Thubhairt an Gille Mbr nach robh e 'g iarraidh ach nach bitheadh leth-oireachas bithidh no dibhe eatarra aig a' bhbrd a 's tigh, no air an raon a mach, no ann an ait' air bith anns an gabhadh iad biadh gu ceann la 's bhadhna. " Gheibh thu sin," thubhairt Fionn ; agus chord iad. An sin thbisich iad air togail leb nam fiadh. Bha fear a bheireadh aon leis, agus bha fear a bheireadh dithis leis gus an robh 'n eallchan ac' uile ach aig a' Ghille Mhbr. Ach dh' fhag iad mbran tuillidh fhiadh n' a thug iad leb. An sin dh' iarr Fionn air a' Ghille Mhbr eallach a thabhairt leis. Thbisich an Gille Mbr air spionadh a chuid a b' fhaide 's a bu mhin' a chitheadh e de 'n fhraoch gus an robh dun mbr aige laimh ris. An sin thbisich e air sioman a dheanamh de 'n fhraoch, agus air fiadh a chur air gach fad feidh a shniamhadh e gus an robh a h-uile fiadh a dh' fhagadh aig' anns an aon eallaich. An uair a bha 'n eallach deas dh' iarr e air each a togail air a mhuin. Thainig iad, agus chaidh uibhir agus a b' urrainn iathadh mu 'n cuairt do 'n eallaich m' a timchioll ; ach ged bhitheadh urad agus urad eile de 'n Fheinn cruinn agus a bh' ann air an la sin, cha chuireadh iad gaoth eadar i agus talamh. An uair a chunnaic an Gille Mbr so, dh' iarr e orra seasamh as an rathad air. Rug e 'n sin air an t-sioman agus chuir e car d' a cheann m' a dhbrn, lub e 'dhruim, chuir e bailc air a 44 Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn. chois, agus thilg e 'n eallach thar a ghualainn. Choimhead gach aon de 'n Fheinn air a cheile, ach cha d' thubhairt iad facal. An uair a fhuair an Gille Mbr an eallach socrach air a mhuin thubhairt e, "Cha-n 'eil annam-sa ach coigreach anns an aite so ; uime sin rachadh fear agaibh fhein air thoiseach a dheanamh an rathaid domh." Choimhead gach aon air a cheile feuch cb rachadh ann. Mu dheireadh fhreagair Conan gu 'n rachadh esan ann, na 'n giulaineadh each na feidh aige dhachaidh. Thubhairt Fionn gu 'n rachadh na feidh aig' a ghiulan dachaidh na 'n gabhadh esan an ceum toisich. Thilg Conan dheth na feidh, agus leum e air thoiseach air a' Ghille Mhor, agus dh' iarr e air esan a leantainn. Dh' fhalbh Conan cho luath agus a b' urrainn e, agus dh' fhalbh an Gille Mbr as a dheigh. Bha da ionga mhbr air da brdaig mhbir a' Ghille Mhbir, agus cha deachaidh iad ach goirid gus nach d' fhag e rioba craicinn air culaobh Chonain, eadar mullach an da shlinnein agus cul an da chois, leis an da ionga mhbir a bh' air a chasaibh. Mu dheireadh thbisich Conan air call astair, oir bha e fas lag le call fala ; agus an uine ghoirid b' eiginn da stad agus suidhe far an robh e. An uair a chunnaic an Gille Mbr gu 'n do gheill Conan chaidh e seachad air, agus stad cha d' rinn e gus an do leig e as an eallach aig bruth Fhinn. An sin leum e 's tigh agus chuir e air teine. Bhruich e biadh do gach duiri' a bh' aig an t-seilg, agus chuir e biadh gach duin' air leth ach a bhiadh fein agus biadh Fhinn. Thainig an Fhdinn dachaidh mu dheireadh, agus an uair a chaidh iad a 's tigh ghabh iad ioghnadh mbr am biadh fhaicinn deas rompa. Ach cha do ghabh iad dad orra. An deigh na suipeireach chuir an Fheinn fios air Fionn, agus labhair Conan agus thubhairt e, " Nach d' innis mise dhuit gu 'm faigheadh mid ar tamailteachadh leis a' Ghille air an do chuir thu muinntireas ? Cha-n 'eil a choimeas an neart anns an Fheinn. Feumaidh tu a chur as an rathad oirnne gus am bi 'n uin' aige mach." " Mata," thubhairt Fionn, " cha-n 'eil fhios agam-sa gu de 'ni mi ris mur cuir mi air falbh e do Lochlann a dh' iarraidh a' Chupain Cheathraraich, agus tha astar latha 's Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn. 45 bliadhn' aig' an sin air fheothas 'g an coisich e." Bha iad uile Ian thoilichte le so, agus thubhairt iad ris a chur air falbh cho luath 's a b' urrainn e. Fhreagair Fionn agus thubhairt e, " Mu 'n eirich grian air bruth gheibh e cead siubhal air an astar." Chuir e fios gun dail air Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn, agus thubhairt e ris gu 'n robh e duilich leis iarraidh air dol air an turus fhada so, ach gu 'n robh e 'n dbchas nach diultadh e falbh. Dh' fhebraich an Gille Mbr ciod an t-saothair air an robh e 'g a chur, no ceana bh' aige ri dol? Thubh- airt Fionn gu 'n d' fhuair e fios a Lochlann gu 'm faigh- eadh e 'n Cupan Ceathraraich na 'n cuireadh e duin' air a shon. "Chuir mise fios g' an ionnsaidh iad a thighinn 'n ar coinneamh leis, agus gu 'n rachadh sinne 'n an coin- neamh-san. Tha mi toileach gu 'm falbh thusa g' a iarraidh am maireach, agus tha fhios agam gu 'n tachair iad ort a' tighinn leis." " Mata, Fhinn," ars' an Gille Mbr, " tha fhios agus cinnt agad nach tachair iad ormjeis, oir is lionmhor laoch a dhbirt fliuil air an raon fo shleaghaibh Lochlainn air tailleabh a' Chupain Cheathraraich a th' aca bho cheann ceithir bliadhna fichead, agus nach d' fhuair thu fhathast. Cia mar a nis, a tha thu 'smaointeachadh, Fhinn, gu 'n tabhair mise mach leam fin e ? Ach o 'n gheall mi gu 'n deanainn an rud a dh' iarradh tu orm falbhaidh rni g' a shireadh dhuit." Mu 'n do shoillsich grian air an ath mhadainn bha 'n Gille Mor deas airson an astair. An sin thog e 'chochaill-chraicinn fe"in air agus shin e air falbh ; agus gaoth luath a' Mhairt a bh' air thoiseach air bheireadh e oirre, agus gaoth luath a' Mhairt a bh' air dheireadh air cha chumadh i ris. Aig an t-siubhal sin air aghaidh dha cha do leig e'n speid a fhaoghaid gus an do bhuail e 'bhas ri crann aig pailis Righ Lochlainn an oidhche sin. Bha pailis Righ Lochlainn air a gleidheadh le seachd geairrd. Bhuail an Gille Mbr aig a' cheud ghearrd, agus dh' fhebraich a' cheud ghearrd d' e Cia as a bha e, no ceana 'bha e dol? Fhreagair e gu 'm bu ghilF e a thainig o Fhionn, Righ na' Feinne, air ghnothuch gu Righ Lochlainn. Chaidh fios a dh' ionnsaidh an Righ gu 'n robh a' leithid do dhuin' aig an dorus. 46 Gille nan Cockla-Craicinn. Dh' fhebraich an Righ an robh duine leis ach e fein. Thubhairt an Gille-freasdail nach robh. An sin dh' iarr an Righ a leigeil a 's tigh. Chaidh a' cheud ghearrd fhosgladh dha agus fhuair e s' tigh, agus mar sin gach gearrd gus an d' fhuair e tromh na seachd geairrd. Chaidh a thabhairt a 's tigh do 'n aite far an robh an Righ, agus dh' iarr an Righ air suidh' a dheanamh. Rinn an Gille Mbr suidhe, oir bha e sgith an de"igh an astair a rinn e. Thug e suil air feadh an t-sebmair, agus thug e 'n aire do chupa cho briadh' agus a chunnaic e riamh 'n a sheasamh air bbrd. Thubhairt e ri Righ Lochlainn, " Is briadh' an soitheach a th' agad an sin." Thubhairt an Righ gu 'm b' e sin a bh' ann, agus cupa buadhach cuideachd. Dh' fhebraich an Gille Mbr gu de na buadhan a bh' air ? Fhreagair an Righ nach robh Ian a dh' brduicheadh e 'bhi ann nach bitheadh ann air ball. Smaointich an Gille Mbr agus e paiteach an deigh an astair a rinn e gu 'm bu mhath a Ian de dh' uisg' air a' bhbrd. An sin dh' dirich e >gus rug e air a' chupa, agus dh' bl e na bh' ann. Thug e 'n sin 'aghaidh air an dorus ; agus ma dh' iarr e fos- gladh a 's tigh cha d' iarr e fosgladh a mach, oir leurn e thar nan seachd geairrd agus an cup' aige leis. An sin thog e 'chochaill-chraicinn fein air, agus shin e as air an t-sligh' air an d' thainig e ; agus gaoth luath a' Mhairt a bh' air thoiseach air bheireadh e oirre, agus gaoth luath a' Mhairt a bh' air dheireadh air cha chumadh i ris. Air an t-siubhal sin air aghaidh dha cha do leig e speid a fhaoghaid gus an do bhuail e 'bhas ri crann aig bruth Fhinn air an oidhche sin. Chaidh e 's tigh agus shin e 'n cupa do Fhionn. " Cha robh thu fada," thubhairt Fionn. " Nach d' innis mise dhuit mu 'n d' fhalbh thu gu 'n tachradh iad ort a' tighinn leis ?" Fhreagair an Gille Mbr, " Tha fhios agus cinnt agad, Fhinn, nach do thachair iad orm a' tighinn leis. Ach rainig mise Lochlann, agus fhuair mi 'n cupa 'm pailis an Righ, agus rinn mi 'n t-astar air ais agus air aghaidh." " Uist ! a ghlagaire," thubhairt Conan 'us e 'freagairt. " Tha feadhainn anns an Fhe*inn a ruitheas cho math riut-sa air sliabh beinne no air srath glinne, agus cha deanadh iad an t-astar 'an dubladh na h-tiin' a tha thusa 'g radh anns an d' rinn thu e. Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn. 47 Ach thig a ghearradh leum cbmhla rium-sa gu ruig an Lochan Uain' aig bun Beinn Eudain, agus aithnichidh mis' an d' rinn thu 'n t-astar." " U ! 'Chonain, is feumaiche mis' air biadh agus lochdan cadail fhaotainn na falbh a ghearradh leum cbmhla riut-sa." " Mur teid thu ann cha chreid sinn gu 'n d' rinn thu 'n t-astar," arsa Conan. Dh' eirich an Gille Mbr agus dh' fhalbh e leis, agus rainig iad an Lochan Uaine. Dh' iarr Conan air a' Ghille Mhbr leum a ghearradh thar an Lochain. " Is tusa 'thug mise an so agus tha mise sgith," ars' an Gille Mbr ; " uime sin gearr fein a' cheud leum." Ghabh Conan roid, agus ghearr e leum, ach chaidh e fodha gu ruig ubhal na da chruachain anns a' bhoga duillich air taobh eile 'n Lochain. Ghearr an Gille Mbr a leum gun roid idir, agus chaidh e thar ceann Chonain air a' chruaidh air taobh eiP an Lochain. Leum e 'n sin air ais e 'n comhair a chuil agus air aghaidh an comhair a bhebil mu 'n d' fhuair Conan a leth deiridh as an dig. Dar fhuair Conan a chasan air a chruaidh thubhairt e gu 'n d' fhailnich am freumh fo 'bhuinn ; agus gu 'n deach e fodha ! " Ach falbh a chuir reis comhla rium-sa gu mullach Beinn Eudain, agus aithnichidh mise ma rinn thu 'n t-astar." "A Chonain, is feumaiche mis' air lochdan cadail na air dol a chur reis cbmhlajriut-sa gu mullach Beinn Eudain." Ach co dhiu dh' fhalbh e. Air sith no dha chaidh an Gille Mbr seachad air Conan, agus cha tug e siiil tuillidh as a dheigh gus an robh e air mullach na Beinne. Shin e 'n sin e fein air toman gorm, agus chaidil e. Cha robh fhios aige gu de cho fada 'sa chaidil e, ach b' e ainich Chonain a' direadh na Beinne 'dhuisg e. Ghrad leum e air a bhuinn agus thubhairt e, " An d' rinn mi 'n t- astar a nis, a Chonain ?" " Thig a ghleachd cbmhla riumsa, agus aithnichidh mis' an d' rinn thu an t-astar." Chaidh iad 'an dromannan a cheile. Dh' iarr Conan air a' Ghille Mhbr a char a chur. " Cuir thusa do char an toiseach, a Chonain ; oir is tu 'dh' iarr tbiseachadh." Dh' fheuch Conan a char a chur, ach cha d' thug e glidneachadh air a' Ghille Mhbr. An sin lub an Gille Mbr e fein thairis, agus le chudrom leag e Conan, agus cheangail e a thri caoil cbmhla le eill ioscaide. 48 Gille nan Cockla-Craicinn. An so ghabh an Gille Mbr e 'na thamailt gu 'n robh an aon duine 'bu leibidich' a bh' anns an Fheinn ri tair agus ri munganachd air, agus thug e bbid nach tilleadh e ri Fionn tuillidh. Dh' fhalbh e, agus dh' fhag e Conan ceangailt' air mullach na Beinne. Bha 'n oidhch' a' tighinn, agus bha Fionn a' gabhail ioghnaidh nach robh 'n dithis a dh' fhalbh a' tighinn. Mu dheireadh bhuail an t-eagal e gu 'n do mharbh an Gille Mbr Conan, agus uime sin thubhairt e r' a dhaoine gu 'm feumadh iad falbh g' an iarraidh. Mu 'n d' e"irich grian air an ath mhadainn rinn e 'dhaoine 'n am buidhnibh, agus chuir e buidheann do gach oisinn de 'n Bheinn, agus dh' iarr e orra siubhal gus an coinnicheadh iad uil' air mullach na Beinne. Mu fheasgar an latha choinnich iad a cheile, agus fhuair iad Conan cean- gailt' air a thri chaoil ann an aon eill. Dh' iarr Fionn air aon d' a dhaoine dol a null agus Conan fhuasgladh. Dh' fhalbh Oscar, agus thug e uine mhbr a' feuchainn ri sin a dheanamh, ach an aite gach snaim a dh' fhosgladh e rachadh seachd snaimean eil' air an eill. Mu dheireadh thubhairt e ri Fionn, " Cha-n urrainn mis' an iall so fhosgladh !" An sin leum Goll a null, agus e 'smaointeachadh gu 'n deanadh esan ni' b' fhearr. Thoisich e air fosgladh na h-eille, ach mar thachair do dh' Oscar dh' fhairslich i air. Mur robh i ni' bu teinne dar sguir e dh' i cha robh i dad ni 'bu laise. Mu dheireadh thog e a cheann le feirg agus thubhairt e, "Cha-n 'eil duine 's an Fheinn a 's urrainn Conan fhuasgladh." Ghabh Fionn a nis eagal gu 'm bitheadh Conan marbh mu 'm faigheadh iad fhuasgladh. Ach chuimhnich e air a dheud- fios, agus air dha a mheur a chur fodha fhuair e mach nach robh duin' air an t-saoghal a b' urrainn Conan fhuasgladh ach Gobhainn a' Ghlinne Ghil air neb am fear a cheangail e. An sin chuir e Goll agus Oscar air falbh a dh' innseadh do 'n Ghobhainn mar thachair do Chonan. Rainig iad an Gobhainn agus dh' innis iad da 'n t-saothair air an robh iad. Thubhairt an Gobhainn riu iad a chruin- neachadh a h-uile ceithir-chasach a bha eadar ciil Beinn Eudainn agus braigh a' Ghlinne Ghil, agus an cur seachad air dorus na ceardaich aige-san. " Agus" (ars' e) " mi thig mis' Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn. 49 an sin a mach le sith is math mo shith, ach ma thig mi mach le feirg is olc m' fhearg." An sin thill Oscar agus Goll air an ais a dh' ionnsaidh Fhinn, agus dh' innis iad da ciod a thubhairt an Gobhainn riu. Thubhairt Fionn gu 'm fe*umadh an fliaoghaid a bhi air a gluasad. Chaidh an fhaoghaid a ghluasad, agus b' i sin Faoghaid Mhor a' Ghlinne Ghil. O'n ghluaiseadh a' che"ud fhaoghaid cha robh riamh roimh' a leithid do bheathaichean ceithir-chasach cruinn agus a bh' ann air an la sin. An sin chuir iad seachad iad air dorus na ceardaich. Thainig an Gobhainn a mach agus dh' fheoraich e dhiu gu de 'bha sud ? Fhreagair iad gu 'n robh a h-uile ceithir-chasach eadar cul Beinn feudainn, agus braigh a' Ghlinne Ghil mar dh' iarr e. Thubhairt an Gobhainn, " Rinn sibh gle" mhath, ach tilleadh gach creutair dhiu sin air an ais do 'n ait' as an d' thug sibh iad, agus falbhaidh mis' an sin a dh' fhuasgladh Chonain." Rinn iad sin, agus dh' fhalbh an Gobhainn gu mullach Beinn udainn, agus dh' fhuasgail e Conan. An uair a fhuair Conan fuasgailte bha tamailt cho mor air airson mar dh' eirich dha, agus gu 'n do tharrainn e leis a' Bheinn cho luath agus a b' urrainn e, agus nach d' thug e suil as a dheigh gus an deachaidh e mach air an loch gu ruig an amhaich. As a sin cha d' thigeadh e airson Fhinn no airson duin' a bh' anns an Fheinn. Ach bha 'n Ian a' direadh aig an am, agus an uair a thbisich an t-uisg' air dol 'n a bhe"ul smaointich e gu 'm b' fhearr dha dol air tir, agus falbh dhachaidh an deigh chaich. Air feasgar araidh an deigh sin, an uair a bha Fionn agus a dhaoin' a' tighinn dachaidh as a' Bheinn-Sheilg chunnaic iad Gille 'tighinn 'n an coinneamh. Ghabh e far an robh Fionn, agus thubhairt e ris gu 'n robh esan air a chur o Bhanrigh na Ruaidh gu Fionn, Righ na Feinne, agus gu 'n robh e 'cur mar chroisean agus margheasan agus mar sheachd buaraichean sithde siubhle 's seacharain air nach stadadh e agus nach gabhadh e fois gus an ruigeadh e 'n t-ait' aig Ban righ na Ruaidh. Air dha so a radh thionndaigh e cul a chinn riu, agus dh' fhalbh e, agus cha robh an ath shealladh aca dh' e. Sheall an Fheinn air a cheile, oir smaointich iad gu 'n robh E 50 Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn. droch rud ri eirigh do Fhionn, a chionn nach d' iarradh air duine falbh ach air fein. Thubhairt iad ris gu 'n robh iad duilich gu 'n robh e falbh 'n a onar agus gun fhios aca c' uin' a thigeadh e no c' ait' an rachadh iad g' a iarraidh. Ach thubhairt Fionn riii gun iad a bhi 'n iomagain m' a thighinn gu ceann la agus bliadhna. As an t-seasamh sin dh' fhalbh e le chuid 'armachd air. Shiubhail e air aghaidh cian fhada agus Ian fhada thar bheann 'us ghleann 'us mhullaichean, agus stadcha deachaidh air a chois gus an d' thainig e 'm fradhare Innse Uaine. An sin chunnaic e duine agus e 'dol a thogail eallach luachrach air a mhuin. 'N uair 'chunnaic e 'n duin' a tilgeil na h-eallaich thar a ghualainn sma- ointich e gu 'm b' e Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn a bh' ann. Thbisich e air falach-talmhainn a dheanamh air gus an d' fhuair e dluth dha. An sin leig e ris e fein da, agus an uair a choimhead am fear a bh' ann air anns an aodann dh' aithnich e gu 'm b' e Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn a bh' aige. Ldum e le surdaig chabhaig far an robh e, agus rug e air eadar a dha laimh, agus thubhairt e, " A ghraidh a dh' fhir an t-saoghail ! an tu 'th' ann ?" Fhre- agair an Gille Mor agus thubhairt e, " Na 'm bu mhi do ghradh a dh' fhir an t-saoghail cha bhitheadh an aon duine cho leibid- each agus a bh' agad anns an Fhe"inn ri munganachd agus ri buirt mhagaidh orm." " Mata," thubhairt Fionn, " bha mise gle dhuilich, ach cha robh comas agam air. Bha eagal orm gu 'n e"ireadh na daoin' ann am aghaidh, agus gu 'n rachadh iad air aimhreith ; uime sin leig mi le Conan a bhi na bheachd fein. Ach bha fhios agam-sa gu 'n d' rinn thu 'n t-astar, agus bithidh sinn 'n ar cairdean d' a che"ile cho math 's a bha sinn roimhe. An teid thu air an turus bheag so fathast leam ?" " Mata," thubhairt an Gille Mar, " cha-n 'eil fhios agam-sa. Seall a sios anns a' ghlaic ud fodhainn, agus chi thu mo mhathair air a da ghlun a' buain luachrach agus car d' a cich dheis thar a gualainn chearr. Ma gheibh thu greim air ceann na ciche na leig as e gus am faigh thu 'cheud achain uaipe." Dh' fhalbh Fionn greis air a mhagan agus greis eile 'g a shlaodadh fein air a bhroinn gus an d' fhuair e 'n astar leum a thabhairt. An sin thug e leum, agus fhuair e greim air ceann na ciche. Ghlaodh Bean Innse Uaine cb bha 'n sin ? Fhreag- Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn. 51 air esan gu 'n robh Fionn, Righ na Feinne 'g iarraidh a' cheud achain oirre. Thubhairt ise gu de 'n achain a shireadh e nach faigheadh e. Thubhairt esan, " Leig le d' mhac dol air an aon turus bheag so fathast learn." Thubhairt a' Bhean, " Nan robh fhios agam-sa gu 'm b' e sin a bha thu 'g iarraidh cha-n fhaigheadh tu e ged bheireadh tu 'chioch o 'n bhroilleach agam, ach o 'n thubhairt mi e gheibh thu e. Ach bithidh aon ghealladh agam uait mu 'm falbh thu, agus is e sin gu 'n toir thu dhachaidh do m' ionnsaidh e fein agus na thuiteas cuide ris." " Tha mi 'n dbchas nach bi a 'chuis mar sin, agus gu 'n tig e dhachaidh slan." " Ma thig cha mhath a dh' eireas dhuit-sa, Fhinn. Ach cb dhiu bitheadh a falbh air ar turus." An sin dh' fhalbh Fionn agus an Gille Mbr air an turus, a' direadh chnoc 'us a' tearnadh ghlac, a' siubhal thar bheann 'us ghleann 'us thulaichean, gus an robh glbmain na h-oidhch' a tighinn orra. Bha iad a' fas sgith agus bha toil aca ait-eiginn a ruigheachd far am faigheadh iad fois a ghabhail. Cha robh iad ach goirid a' siubhal an deMgh sin 'n uair a chunnaic iad ait anabarrach briadh' air thoiseach orra le tighean mbra briadha air an togail air dailtean mbra gorma. Thubhairt Fionn ris a' Ghille Mhbr, "Gabhadh mid misneach, oir cha-n 'eil sinn fada bho thighean." Goirid an deigh sin rainig iad an t-ait e. Chunnaic Fionn duin' a' tighinn 'n an coinneamh, agus dh' aithnich e gu 'm b' e a' cheart Ghille 'thainig leis an fhios g' a ionnsaidh a bh' ann. Dh' fhebraich e dh' e gu de 'm feum a bh' aig' air a nis ? Fhreagair an Gille agus thubhairt e gu 'n robh da thigh mhbr m' a choinneamh, aon diu le ursannan bir agus dorsan bir air, agus an aon eile le ursannan airgid agus dorsan airgid air, gu 'n robh e ri 'roghainn diu a ghabhail gu fuireachd ann, agus an uair a rachadh e 's tigh gu 'm faiceadh e gu de 'bh' aige ri 'dheanamh ann. Air do 'n Ghille so a radh thionndaidh e air falbh uapa agus dh' fhag e iad far an robh iad 7 n an seasamh. Choimhead Fionn 'an aodann a' Ghille Mhbir, agus thubhairt e ris, " Cia am fear de na tighean so a ghabhas sinn gu fuir- eachd ann?" Thubhairt an Gille Mbr, "Bithidh am fear a 's urramaich' againn : gabhaidh sinn fear nan dorsan bir." E 2 52 Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn. Ghabh iad a null a dh' ionnsaidh an doruis. Rug an Gille Mbr air a' chrann, agus dh' fhosgail e 'n dorus. An sin chaidh iad a 's tigh. 'N uair a choimhead iad bha seallamh mbr air thoiseach orra, ach cha do smaointich an Gille Mbr dad d' e. Bha ochd agus ochd fichead deug amhasg 'n an seasamh air an urlar. 'N uair a fhuair iad Fionn agus an Gille Mbr air taobh a 7 s tigh an doruis leum iad, agus dhuin iad e ; agus chuir iad ochd agus ochd fichead deug crann air, Dh' fhalbh an Gille Mbr agus chuir e aon chrann mbr air, agus leis cho teann agus a chuir e 'n crann air thuit a h-uile crann a chuir iadsan air dheth. An sin rinn na h-Amhaisg ochd agus ochd fichead deug gaire, agus rinn an Gille Mbr aon ghlag mbr gaire, agus bhodhair e na rinn iadsan uile. An sin thubhairt na h-Amhaisg, " Gu de e fath do ghaire, 'fhir bhig ?" Dh' fhebraich an Gille Mbr, " Gu de e fath bhur gaire fin, a dhaoine mbra gu le"ir?" Thubhairfe iadsan, "Is e fath ar gaire -ne gur bbidheach an ceann gaganach buidh' a th' ort gu bhi 'n a bhall iomaineach air an traigh ud a mach am maireach." " Mata," thubhairt an Gille Mbr, " is e fath mo ghaire-sa gu 'm beir mi air an fhear a 's mb ceann agus a 's caoile casan agaibh, agus gu 'n spad mi each uile leis." An sin chunnaic e fear agus ceann mbr air, agus rug e air chaol da chois' air, agus thbisich e anns an dara ceann 'g an spadadh, agus cha do stad e gus an deachaidh e mach aig a' cheann eile dhiu. 'N uair 'bha e deas cha robh aig' ach na bha 'n a dha dhbrn de na casaibh. Chuir e fein agus Fionn a mach na cuirp agus rinn iad tri diiin diu aig an dorus. Dhuin iad a' sin an dorus, agus rinn iad deas biadh, oir bha pailteas dh' e 's tigh. An dei^'h dhoibh am biadh a ghabhail dh' fhebraich an Gille M or de Fhionn, " Cia dhiu a chaidleas tu no 'dh' fhaireas tu 'n dorus?" Fhreagair Fionn, "Caidil thusa agus fairidh mis' an dorus." Agus mar sin rinn iad. Ach mu 'n do chaidil an Gille Mbr dh' fhebraich Fionn d' e, " Ciod leis an duisg mi thu ma thig eiginn orm anns an dorus ?" " Buail an carragh cloiche 'tha cul an tein' orm ann an carraig an uchd, air neb thoir leud d' brdaig' a mullach mo chinn leis a' bhiod- aig." "Ro cheart," thubhairt Fionn, "caidil air d'aghaidh." Bha Fionn a' faireadh an doruis, ach re uin' fhada cha robh Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn. 53 e 'faireachadh dad a' tighinn. Mu bhristeadh na faire dh' fliairich e cbmhradh dheich ceud a' tighinn chum an doruis. Thog e 'n carragh cloiche, agus bhuail e 'n Gille Mbr leis anns an uchd. Ghrad leum an Gille Mor air a chois, agus dh' f hebraich e de Fhionn gu de a dh' fhairich e ? " Tha cbmhradh dheich ceud anns an dorus," thubhairt Fionn. " Tha sin ceart fathast," ars' an Gille Mor, " leig thusa 'mach mise." Chaidh an Gille Mor a mach 'n an coinneamh, thbisich e 's an dara ceann diu, thug e ruathar fbpa 's tharta, agus cha d' fhag e duin' a dh' innseadh an tuairisgeil beb dhiu ach aon fhear air leth-shuil, air leth chluais, air leth laimh 'us air leth chois, agus leig e 'shiubhal dha. An sin thrus e fein agus Fionn na cuirp, agus chuir iad anns na tri duin iad cbmhla ri each. An sin chaidh iad a 's tigh, agus dh' fheith iad gus an d' thainig an ath oidhche. An deigh na suipearach dh' fhebraich an Gille Mor de Fhionn, " Co ac' a chaidleas tu, n' a dh' fhaireas tu 'nochd ?" Thubhairt Fionn, " Caidil thusa agus fairidh mise." Chaidh an Gille Mor a chadal, agus bha Fionn a' faireadh an doruis. Tacan romh eiridh na greine dh' fhairich Fionn comhradh dha mhile 'tighinn, airneb Mac Righ an t-Soluis 'n a bnar. Leum e, agus thug e leud aghaidh ordaig' a mullach cinn a' Ghille Mhbir leis a' bhiodaig. Ghrad leum an Gille Mor air a bhuinn, agus dh' fheoraich e de Fhionn gu de a dh' fhairich e ? Fhreagair Fionn, " Tha cbmhradh dha mhile 's an dorus, airneb Mac Righ an t-Soluis 'n a Onar." "U! mata, tha mise creidsinn gu 'm feum thusa 'bhi cho math 's do gheall- adh do m' mhathair," ars' an Gille Mbr. " Ach leig thusa mach mise." Dh' fhosgail Fionn an dorus, chaidh an Giile Mbr a mach, agus b' e Mac Righ an t-Soluis a bha roimhe. An sin chaidh an da churaidh 'an dromannan a cheile, agus ghleachd iad o eirigh gu ruig laidhe greine, ach cha do leag an dara fear am fear eile, agus cha do labhair an dara fear ris an fhear eile re na h-uine. Leig iad as a che"ile, agus ghabh gach fear dhiu a rathad fein. Moch air an ath mhadainn, romh eirigh na greine, chaidh an Gille Mbr a mach, agus choinnich a chompanach e. Ghleac iad o eirigh gu laidhe greine, ach cha do leag an dara fear am fear eile, agus cha do labhair an 54 Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn. dara fear ris an fhear eile. Leig iad as a cheile, agus ghabh gach aon diu a rathad fein. An treas la choinnich na laoich, agus chaidh iad 'an dromannan a cheile. Ghleac iad re 'n la gu dorchadh nan trath, agus thuit an dithis taobh ri taobh fuar marbh air a bhlar. Bha Fionn fuathasach duilich airson a' Ghille Mhbir. Ach chuimhnich e air a ghealladh da mhathair agus thubhairt e ris fein gu 'm feuniadh e 'bhi air a choimh-ghealladh. Thug e rnach am brat siod' a bha thairis orra far an robh iad 'n an cadal, rol e mu 'n cuairt air an da chorp e, agus thug e leis air a mhuin iad. Tharrainn e le ceum cruaidh thar bheann 'us ghleann 'us thulaichean, a' direadh chnoc 'us a' tearnadh ghlac, agus stad no tamh cha d' rinn e gus an d' rainig e tigh Innse Uaine. Choinnich Mathair a' Ghille Mhbir e aig an dorus, agus thubhairt i ris, " An d' thainig thu ?" Fhreagair Fionn gu 'n d 1 thainig ach nach b' ann mar bu mhath leis. Thubhairt ise ris, " An d' rinn thu mar dh' iarr mis' ort ?" Thubhairt Fionn, " Rinn, ach is duilich leam gu 'n robh e agam r' a dheanamh." Thubhairt ise, " Tha na h-uile ni ceart. Thig a 's tigh." Chaidh Fionn a 's tigh, agus leig e 'n eallach air an urlar. Dh' fhuasgail e 'm brat, agus bha 'n da ghille mar thuit iad glaist' 'an lamhan a che'ile. An uair a chunnaic Bean Innse Uaine an da ghile rinn i feith-ghaire, agus thubhairt i, "A ghraidh Fhinn, is math dhomh-sa gu 'n deachaidh tu air an turus so." Dh' fhalbh i null do chuil, agus thog i leac a bh' air an urlar agus thug i mach soitheach beag iocshlaint a bh' aice 'n sin. Chuir i 'n da ghille beul ri be"ul, aghaidh ri aghaidh, glun ri glun, brdag ri ordaig, agus shuaith i 'n iocshlaint ri bonnaibh an cas, ri mullach an cinn, agus ri h-uile crioman a bha beanachd r' a cheile d' an craicionn. Dh' e'irich an da ghilP air an urlar a' pbgadh a cheile. " 'Nis, Fhinn," thubhairt i, " sin agad mo dha mhac-sa. Chaidh am fear so 'ghoid uam 'n a naoidhean, agus bha e 'g am dhith gus a so. Ach o 'n rinn thusa mar dh' iarr mis' ort, is e do bheatha fuireachd an so cho fad' agus a thogras thu." Bha iad cho sunntach' an tigh Innse Uaine, 'us gu 'n deachaidh an uine seachad gun fhios doibh. Air oidhch' Gille nan Cochla-Craicinn. 55 araidh thubhairt Bean Innse Uaine ri Fionn, " Bithidh la 's bliadhn' am maireach o 'n dh' fhag thusa 'n Fheinn, agus tha iad an deigh duil a thabhairt diot. Am fear aca nach' eil a' geurachadh a chlaidheimh tha e a rinneadh a shleagha 'nochd airson falbh g' ad iarraidh. Dean deas airson falbh am maireach, agus leigidh mise mo mhac leat. Oir ma ruigeas tu leat fhe"in, ni iad a' leithid de dh' othail riut 'us gu 'm much agus gu 'm marbh iad thu. Ach an uair a ruigeas sibh theid mo mhac-sa 's tigh air thoiseach ort, agus their e riutha ma gheallas iad dha- san gu 'n eirich fear an deigh fir aca a chur failte shocrach, chiallach ort, gu 'n d' thoir esan thu slan fallainn dhachaidh g' an ionnsaidh." Dh' aontaich Fionn ri so le uile chridhe, agus dh' fhalbh e fein agus an Gille Mbr air an turus dhachaidh air madainn an ath latha. Bha astar mbr aca ri 'dhol, ach cha robh iad fada 'g a dheanamh. An uair a rainig iad Talla Fhinn chaidh an Gille Mbr a 's tigh air thoiseach, agus mar thubhairt a mhathair b' fhior. Bha gach fear a' cur an brdugh a chlaidheimh agus a shleagha. Dh' fhebraich an Gille Mor dhiu gu de a bha iad a' deanamh ? Dh' innis iad sin da, 'am briathran goirid. An sin thubhairt an Gille Mor riu a' ni a dh' iarr a mhathair air a radh. Dh' aontaich iad gu toileach sin a dheanamh. Ghlaoth e' n sin air Fionn tighinn a 's tigh. Thainig Fionn, agus dh' e"irich fear an deigh fir mar gheall iad. Fhuair iad an Righ saoghalt' air ais aon uair eile. Thill an Gille Mbr dhachaidh, agus mar do chaochail e bho sin tha e be& fhathast. IV. HOW FINN WAS IN THE HOUSE OF BLAR-BUIE (YELLOW-FIELD), WITHOUT THE POWER OF RISING UP OR OF LYING DOWN. A DAY Finn and his men were in the Hunting-hill they had done a great deal of travelling before they fell in with the deer, but before the close of the day had arrived they killed a good number of them. They then sat down to rest themselves, and consult each other to see what direction they should take next day. While they were conversing, Finn gave a look down into the glen which was beneath them, and saw the appearance of a strong hero making straight towards them. He said, " The appearance of a stranger is coming towards us here." Conan replied, " If he is coming without business, he will not leave without business." But before they had much more conversa- tion about him the young hero was standing before them. He gave Finn the salutation of the day, and Finn saluted him courteously. Finn then asked of him whence he came, or what busi- ness had he yonder. He said, "I am a servant who has travelled far long and full long seeking a master, and I will not go further until you refuse me." " Well," said Finn, " I want a servant, and if we agree about the reward I do not care though I engage thee." "That would not be my advice to thee," said Conan. " I thought thou didst get enough of those wandering lads Finn in the House of Blar-Buie. 57 already." " Silence, rascal !" said the Lad ; " often has thy loquacity put thy head in trouble, and I am deceived if thou shalt not experience some trouble on account of the talk of this day." " Never mind," said Finn, " for thy appearance will answer for thee, at any rate. What is thy reward to the end of a day and year ?" " That you and your men will go on invitation with me to a feast and night's entertainment when my time will be out," said the Lad. When Finn heard that his men were to go with him he took courage that no evil thing could befall them being together ; and therefore he said to the Lad that he would get his reward. When the time had passed, Finn and his men were in a house of conference considering which of them should go after the Lad, for he had a very swift appearance. Finn said, " We will let Caoilte (Slender) after him, and I do not believe but that he will keep sight of him. Cuchulin will go after Caoilte, and we will follow them." And so they did. The Big Lad set off bare-headed, bare-footed, with- out strength for battle or for sane action, from gap to height, and from height to glen, and through glen to strath. Caoilte (Slender) went after him, and when the Big Lad would be going out of sight on the first gap Caoilte would be coming in sight on the next ridge. Cuchulin was in the same distance to Caoilte, and all the men to Cuchulin. They kept in that order till they reached Blar-buie (or Yellow-field). The Big Lad then stood till the last man of the Fein came on. Then he took his way over to a large, fine house, which stood opposite him. He opened the door of the house, and invited them to go in and be seated. Finn went in first, and his men followed him. All of them got seats against the walls except Conan. He was behind, and because all the seats were full before he arrived he had no choice but to drop down and stretch 58 Finn in the House of Blar-Buie. himself on the hearthstone. They were so tired after the journey which they had made that they were at first contented with the seats alone. But when they had a rest they began to grow impatient, because the feast was not coming. Finn at last told one of his men to go out and try if he could see any person coming with food to them. One or two attempted to rise from their seats, but could not. Their haunches stuck to the seats, the soles of their feet to the floor, and their backs to the walls. Each one of them then looked at his neighbour. Conan cried from the hearth-stone to which his back and hair were clinging, " Did I not tell thee in good time what would happen to thee with thy wandering lads ?" Finn spake not a word, because he was in great anxiety about the death-strait in which they were. But he remembered his knowledge set of teeth, and having put his finger under it, discovered that there was nothing that would release them from the place in which they were but the blood of the three sons of the King of Insh Tilly filtered through silver rings into cups of gold. He did not know who would get the blood for him, but he remembered that Lohary (Laoghaire), Son of the King of Hunts (Righ nan Sealg), and Oscar were that day absent from the company. He had the Wooden Crier (or whistle), which he never blew except when he happened to be in some death-strait or other. But when he would play on it, its sound would pass through the seven borders of the world, and to the extremity of the Uttermost World. And he knew that when Lohary and Oscar would hear the sound they would come from any quarter in which they would be. He blew the Wooden Crier (whistle) three times, and before the sun rose next day Oscar was crying outside the wall, " Art thou here, Finn ?" " Who is there ?" said Finn, inside the house. "Thou art changed indeed when thou wouldst not know my voice while there is only the Finn in the House of Blar-Buie. 59 breadth of a house wall between us. I, Oscar, am here, and Lohary is with me. What have we now to do ?" Finn told them the situation and peril in which they were, and that nothing could release them from it but the blood of the three Sons of the King of Insh Tilly filtered through rings of silver into cups of gold. " Where shall we watch for the purpose of rinding them ?" said Oscar. Finn said, "Thou shalt watch well the ford- mouth of the river over yonder, at the going down of the sun. But it is yet early in the day. See if you can find food for us, for we are hungry. But, Oscar, remem- ber to take thy Gaper (dart) with thee." Oscar and Lohary set their faces in the direction of the Big House which was over against them. When they arrived at the house the people residing there were making ready the dinner. Lohary said to Oscar, " Take thou the lead." Oscar took the lead, and was keeping his eye in every corner to see what he might behold. When he reached the cooking-place he looked in, and saw the appearance of a fierce hero lifting a quarter of a deer out of a caldron. He said to Lohary, " Follow me, and take the food with thee, and I will face the man." He went in, but no man was now to be seen. But a look he gave he saw a large buzzard with out- spread wings ready to pounce down on his head. He drew his Gaper, and darted it at the buzzard. He broke its wing off, and the buzzard itself fell on the floor, and he saw not another sight of it. He and Lohary now made the house their own, and took with them every bit of food of which they got hold. They reached the house where Finn and his men were. They made a hole on the wall of the house, and threw in piece after piece for every man till all the men who were there got something, but Conan. He lay on his back on the hearth-stone, having his hands and feet together with his back bound to the flag-stone, so that they could not 60 Finn in the Hoiise of Blar-Buie. give him a bit except what they let down through the roof of the house, and which he then seized with his mouth. In this way he got a morsel or two. Oscar then asked of Finn what had they to watch at the ford-mouth of the river besides the three Sons of the King of Insh Tilly. " A great host will accompany them," said Finn. "And how shall we know the three Sons of the King of Insh Tilly from any other three men of the host ?" " They will walk apart from the host on the right hand, and have on them green apparel." " We will know them now," said Oscar. Then Oscar and Lohary went away to find the rings and cups for filtering and holding the blood. After they had found them they went to watch at the ford- mouth. At the going down of the sun they heard a loud sound coming. Oscar looked in the direction whence he heard the sound, and saw a great host coming in sight. He now called on Lohary to be ready. Lohary said, " We will go ashore out of the water, and meet them on dry land." And so they did. When the great host came near they cried, "Who are the two tall, uncomely Lubbers who are standing there at mouth of ford and beginning of night? Whoever they are it is time for them to be getting afraid." Oscar cried, " A third of your fear be on yourselves, and a small third of it be on us." " You will then wait to your hurt," said the great host Then they went to meet each other, but Oscar and Lohary assailed them violently under them and over them till they left not a man of them alive to tell the tale. They turned back. Next morning they told Finn what befell them, but that they saw not the King's Sons. " Where shall we watch next night ?" said Oscar. " Watch well the ford-mouth of the river to-night yet," said Finn. " But meantime get us food, for we are Finn in the House of Blar-Buic. 6r hungry. And remember to take with thee thy three- edged blade and thy shield to-day." The two heroes reached the Big House. Oscar was more guarded this day, because he knew not what might meet him. When he got a look of the Cooking-house he saw inside a dreadfully big man, having four hands, lifting the flesh out of the caldron. He went in, but no man was now to be seen. He looked about the place, and saw a large eagle going to throw at him an egg which she held in her talon. He lifted his shield between him and the egg, but the blow sent him on one knee beside the caldron. He saw that he could not be ready with his blade before the eagle would be at him ; he therefore lifted the caldron of soup which was on the floor, and poured it on her head. She gave a terrible shriek and went through the wall, and he had not a second look of her. Then he and Lohary went away with the food, and succeeded in giving a share to every man as on the day before. But poor Conan's share was smaller. When the time came they went away to the ford- mouth, and advanced further on the other side of the river than they went on the previous night. Shortly after they arrived they saw a very large host coming towards them. When they came near they cried, "Who were the two tall, uncomely Lubbers who were standing yonder above the ford-mouth of the river in the even- ing ? Whoever they are, it is time for them to be getting afraid." " Two-thirds of your fear be on your- selves, and a little third of it be on us," said Oscar. Then they assailed them on each side until they went out on the opposite side, and left not a man of them alive to tell the tale. They turned back and told Finn that the King's children did not come that night yet. Finn told them that they were to get them food that day again. "But, 62 Finn in the House of Blar-Buie. Oscar, remember thy spear and shield, and if thy spear will taste the blood of the Winged Dragon of Sheil, the King of Insh Tilly shall be without a son to-night." They went away, and turned their faces towards the Big House. Oscar took the lead, as he was accustomed to do. He was keeping his eye pretty sharply before him to see who would be in the Cooking-house this day. When he got a look of it he beheld a handsome, strong man with two heads and four hands lifting the flesh out of the caldron. He said to himself that it was time for him to be ready. When he entered no man was to be seen ; but a large Winged Dragon, having two serpent heads on her, was standing on the floor. Oscar whispered to Lohary, " Make thou for the food, and I will make for the Dragon." He then lifted his shield and drew his spear, and with one thrust he sent the spear through one head, and a bit of it through the other head of the Dragon. The Dragon fought terribly, but she was at last growing weak with the loss of blood. Then Oscar drew back the spear for the purpose of thrusting it again into the monster, but as soon as the spear came out of her flesh she went out of his sight, and he had not the next sight of her. They got the food, and went away with it to their friends. When they arrived, Finn asked Oscar, " Did thy spear taste blood?" "A cubit length and hand- breadth of it drank greedily," said Oscar. Then they managed to give a share of the food to every man as on the previous days. But Conan's share was (still) smaller. As soon as the greying of the evening came, Finn said to Oscar, " Let thy rings and cups be with thee to-night." Then the two heroes went away to the ford-mouth of the river. This evening they advanced farther on the other side of the river than they had yet gone. They Finn in the House of Blar-Buie. 63 were but a short time waiting when they beheld an exceedingly great host coming towards them, and on the right hand the three Sons of the King of Insh Tilly wearing green garments. Oscar asked Lohary, "Whether wilt thou face the three Sons of the King of Insh Tilly or the great host ?" Lohary said, " I will face the three Sons of the King of Insh Tilly, and thou shalt face the great host." When they approached each other the great host cried, " Who were the two tall, uncomely Lubbers who were standing above the ford- mouth of the river in the evening ? Whoever they are it is time for them to flee to-night." " Three-thirds of your fear be on yourselves, and none at all of it on us," said Oscar. Then Oscar advanced to meet the great host, and Lohary faced the three Sons of the King. There was a hard fight between Oscar and the host ; but he prevailed over them at last, and left not a man of them alive. Then he went in haste where Lohary was. Lohary had the three Sons of the King on their two knees, and they had Lohary on one knee. When Oscar saw that Lohary had the upper hand, it was not on helping him he directed his attention, but on the blood, for it was pour- ing out rapidly on the meadow. He began to filter it through the silver rings into the cups of gold, but before all the cups were full the bodies grew so stiff that out of them more would not flow. The two heroes went away with what they had to the house in which Finn and his men were. When they reached it, Oscar cried that they had come, having the blood with them. "Well," said Finn, "rub it to every bit of you which may touch the house, from the top of your heads to the soles of your feet." They did that, and went in. They began to release the men by rubbing the blood to every bit of them which stuck to the seats, or the wall, or the floor. In that manner they released 64 Finn in the House of Dlar-Buie. every man in the house but Conan. For him they left only the stain which remained on the cups but that same sufficed to release every bit of him but the back of his head. The hair and skin stuck to the hearth-stone, and they had no alternative but to leave him bound as he was. Finn and his men then went home, very happy that they escaped the great peril in which they were. They had not gone very far when they looked behind them, and saw Conan coming. They at once stood where they were until he came forward. There he was without a fibre of hair, or a strip of skin between the top of his head and the back of his neck. For when he perceived that the rest had gone away and left him behind, he gave his head a great pull and left his skin and hair bound to the hearth-stone. From that day forth people called him " Bald Conan without hair". Finn and his men reached their home, and he gave word and oath that he would never again engage wandering lads. MAR BHA FIONN 'AN TIGH A' BHLAlR- BHUIDHE GUN CHOMAS lRIDH NO LU1DHE. LA bha Fionn agus a dhaoin' anns a' Bheinn-Sheilg rinn iad moran siubhail mu 'n d' amais iad air na f&dh, ach mu 'n d' thainig deireadh an la mharbh iad dbrlach math dhiu. Shuidh iad an sin a sios a chur seachad an sgios, agus a chur an comhairle r' a cheile feuch gu de 'n taobh a ghabhadh iad air an ath latha. Am feadh a bha iad a' comhradh, thug Fionn suil a sios an gleann a bha fopa, agus chunnaic e coltas laoich neartmhoir a' Fionn 'an Tigh a Bhlair-Bkiddhe. 65 deanamh direach orra. Thubhairt e, "Tha coltas coigrich a' tighinn oirnn an so." Fhreagair Conan, " Ma tha e 'tighinn gun ghnothuch, cha-n fhalbh e gun ghnothuch." Ach mu 'n d' fhuair iad mbran tuillidh cbmhraidh a dheanamh m' a thimchioll, bha 'n laoch bg 'n a sheasamh m' an coinneamh. Chuir e failt an latha air Fionn, agus chuir Fionn failt air gu h-aoidheil. An sin dh' fhebraich Fionn d' e, Cia as a bha e, no gu de 'n gnothuch a bh' aige 'n sud? Fhreagair e, "Is Gille mi a shiubhail cian fhada 's Ian fhada 'g iarraidh maistir, agus cha teid mi ni' s faide gus an diult thusa mi." " Mata," arsa Fionn, " tha Gilie 'dhith orm-sa, agus ma chbrdas sinn mu 'n duais tha mi coma ged chuireas mi muinntireas ort." " Cha b' e sin mo chomhairle dhuit," arsa Conan. "Shaoil mi gu 'n d' fhuair thu do lebir de na gillean fuadain sin cheana." " Cuist, a gharlaich !" ars' an Gille, " is minic a chuir do luathaire- theanga do cheann ann an dragh, agus tha mise air mo mhealladh mur fairich thu cuid di air taileas bruidhne 'n latha diugh." " Coma leat," arsa Fionn ; " oir ni do choltas an gnothuch dhuit co dhiu. Gu de e do dhuais gu ceann la 's bliadhna ?" " Gun teid thu fein agus a h-uile duin' a th' agad air chuireadh, air chuilm, agus air chuid oidhche cbmhla rium- sa 'n uair a bhitheas m' uine 'mach," ars' an Gille. An uair a chuala Fionn gu 'n robh a chuid daoine ri dol leis, ghabh e misneach nach b' urrainn droch rud eiridh dhoibh, 'us iad cbmhla; agus uime sin thubhairt e ris a' Ghillegu 'mfaigheadh e a dhuais. An uair a chaidh an dine seachad, bha Fionn agus a dhaorne 'n tigh comh-agail co aca 'rachadh as deigh a' Ghille, oir bha coltas ro astarach air. Thubhairt Fionn, "Leigidh sinn Caoilt' as a dheigh, agus cha chreid mise nach cum e sealladh air. Theid Cuchuilinn an deigh Chaoilte, agus leanaidh sinne iadsan." Agus mar sin rinn iad. Thionn an Gille Mbr air falbh 'us e ceann-ruisgte, cas- ruisgte, gun spionadh catha no ceille, o bhealach gu mullach, agus o mhullach gu gleann, agus o ghleann gu srath. Dh fhalbh Caoilt' as a dheigh, agus an uair a bhitheadh an Gille Mbr a' dol as an fhradharc air a' eheud bhealach bhitheadh F 66 Fionn 'an Tigh a Bhlair-Bhiddhe. Caoilte 'tighinn anns an fhradharc air an ath bhearradh. Bha Cuchuilinn mar sin do Chaoilte, agus na daoin' uile mar sin do Chuchuilinn. Chum iad anns an ordugh sin gus an d' rainig iad am Blar-buidhe. Sheas an Gille Mbr a' sin gus an d' thainig an duine mu dheireadh de 'n Fhe"inn air aghaidh. An sin ghabh e null gu tigh mbr briadha a bha m' a choinneamh. Dh' fhosgail e dorus an tighe, agus dh' iarr e orra 'gabhail a 's tigh agus suidhe 'dheanamh. Chaidh Fionn a 's tigh an toiseach, agus lean a chuid daoin' e. Fhuair iad uile aiteachan suidhe ri taobhan a'bhalla, ach Conan. Bha esan air dheireadh, agus a chionn gu 'n robh a' h-uile aite-suidhe Ian mu 'n d' rainig e, cha robh aige ach e fe'in a leigeil sios agus a shineadh air lic-an-teinntein. Bha iad cho sgith, an de"igh an astair a rinn iad, 'us gu 'n robh iad toilichte, 'n toiseach, leis na h-aiteachan suidhe amhain. Ach an uair a fhuair iad an anail, thoisich iad air fadal a ghabhail nach robh a' chuilm a' tighinn. Mu dheireadh, dh' iarr Fionn air aon d' a dhaoine dol a mach fe*uch am faiceadh e duin' air bith a' tighinn le biadh g' an ionnsaidh. Thug fear no dha oidheirp air eirigh bho 'n aiteachan suidhe, ach cha b' urrainn iad. Lean am masan ris na h-aitean-suidhe, buinn an cas ris an urlar, agus an dromannan ris na ballachan. Choimhead gach aon diii 'n sin air a' cheile. Ghlaodh Conan bharr lic-an-teinntein, agus a dhruim agus 'fhalt air leantainn rithe, " Nach d' innis raise trath mar dh' eireadh dhuit le d' ghillean fuadain?" Cha d' thubhairt Fionn guth, a chionn gu 'n robh e 'n iomagain mhbir mu 'n teinn-bais anns an robh iad. Ach chuimhnich e air a dheud-fios, agus chuir e a mheur fodha, agus fhuair e 'mach nach robh ni air bith a dh' fhuasgladh iad as an ait' anns an robh iad ach fuil triuir chloinne Righ Innse Tille air a sioladh tromh amalan airgid ann an cupachan oir. Cha robh fhios aige cb a gheibheadh an fhuil dha, ach chuimhnich e gu 'n robh Laoghaire, Mac Righ nan Sealg, agus Oscar a dhith air as a' chuideachd an la so. Bha 'n Gurra- fiodha aige, nach do sheid e riamh ach an uair a bhitheadh e 'n teinn bais air chor-eiginn. Ach an uair a sheinneadh e i rachadh a fuaim troimh sheachd iomaill an domhain, agus gu Fi onn 'an Tigh a Bhlair-Bhiiidhe. 67 iomall an Domhain Toir. Agus bha fhios aige, 'n uair a chluin- neadh Laoghaire agus Oscar an fhuaim, gu 'n tigeadh iad a cearn air bith anns am bitheadh iad. Sheid e 'n Gurra-fiodha tri uairean, agus mu 'n d' eirich grian air an ath mhadainn bha Oscar a' glaodhaich air taobh a mach a bhalla, "Am bheil thu so, Fhinn?" " Co 'tha sin?" thubhairt Fionn o 'n taobh a 's tigh, "Is e 'n da latha e 'nuair nach aithnicheadh tu mo ghuth-sa agus nach 'eil ach leud balla tighe eadarainn. Tha raise, Oscar, an so, agus Laoghaire cbmhla rium. Gu de a th' againn r' a dheanamh a nis ? " Dh' innis Fionn doibh an suidheachadh agus an cruaidh- chas anns an robh iad, agus nach robh ni air bith a dh' fhuasgladh iad as ach fuil tri Mic Righ Innse Tille air a sibladh ann an cupaichean bir troimh amalan airgid. " C' ait' am fair sinn airson am faotainn ? " thubhairt Oscar. Thubhairt Fionn, " Bheir thu aire mhath do bheul-atha na h-amhann 'ud thall inu dhol fodha greine. Ach cha-n 'eil e fathast ach trath anns an latha. Feuch am faigh sibh biadh dhuinn-ne, oir tha sinn air acras. Ach, Oscair, cuimhnich do Chraosnach a thabhairt leaf Thug Oscar agus Laoghaire an aghaidh air an Tigh Mhbr a bha thall m' an coinneamh. An uair a rainig iad an tigh, bha iad a : deasachadh na dinnearach. Thubhairt Laoghaire ri Oscar, " Gabh thusa 'n toiseach." Ghabh Oscar an toiseach, agus bha e cumail a shuil anns gach oisinn feuch gu de 'chitheadh e. An uair a rainig e aite na cbcaireachd thug e suil a 's tigh, agus chunnaic e coltas ceatharnaich fhiadhaich a' togail ceithreimh feidh a coire. Thubhairt e ri Laoghaire, " Lean mise, agus thoir leat am biadh, agus bheir mise *n aghaidh air an duine." Chaidh e 's tigh, ach cha robh duine nis ri fhaicinn. Ach suil g' an tug e, chunnaic e clamhan mbr le sgiathan sgaoilte deas gu leum a nuas air a cheann, Tharrainn e 'Chraosnach, agus thilg e air a' chlamhan i. Bhrist e sgiath dheth, agus thuit an clamhan fein air an urlar, agus cha-n fhac e an ath shealladh dh 'e. Rinn e fein agus Laoghaire an so an tigh dhoibh fhein, agus thug iad leb gach mir bithidh air an d' fhuair iad greim. Rainig iad an tigh anns an robh Fionn agus a dhaoine. F 2 68 Fionn 'an Tigh a Bhlair-Bhuidhe. Thug iad toll air balla 'n tighe, agus thilg iad a 's tigh pios an ddigh piosa do gach duine gus an d' fhuair a' h-uile duine 'bh' ann ni-e'iginn ach Conan. Bha esan air a dhruim air lic-an- teinntein, le lamhan agus le chasan maille r' a dhruim ceangailte ris an lie, air chor agus nach b' urrainn iad mir a thoirt da ach na leigeadh iad a sios tromh mhullach an tighe, agus a ghlacadh e fein an sin le 'bheul. Mar so fhuair e greim n' a dha. An sin dh' fhebraich Oscar de Fhionn gu de 'bha aca ri fhaireadh aig beul-ath na h-amhann a thuillidh air triuir Mhac High Innse Tille. "Bithidh sluagh mbr cbmhla riu," arsa Fionn. "Agus ciamar dh' aithnicheas sinn triuir Mhac Righ Innse Tille seach triuir air bith eile de 'n t-sluagh ? " " Bithidh iad a' coiseachd air leth air an t-sluagh air an laimh dheis, agus deiseachan uain' orra." " Aithnichidh sinn a nis iad," thubhairt Oscar. An sin dh' fhalbh Oscar agus Laoghaire a dh' fhaotainn nan amalann agus nan cupachan airson na fala a shioladh agus a ghleidheadh. An deigh dhoibh am faighinn dh' fhalbh iad leb a dh' fhaireadh a bhebil-atha. Aig dol fodha gre"ine dh' fhairich iad fuaim mhbr a' tighinn. Thug Oscar suil an rathad o 'n d' fhairich e 'n fhuaim, agus chunnaic e sluagh mbr a' tighinn anns an fhradharc. Ghlaodh e 'n so air Laoghaire bhi deas. Thubhairt Laoghaire, " Theid sinn air tir as an uisge, agus coinnichidh sinn iad air talamh tioram." Agus mar sin rinn iad. An uair a thainig an sluagh mbr dluth dhoibh ghlaodh iad, " Co iad an da Luidealach Mhbr mhi-sgiamhach a tha 'n sin 'n an seasamh aig beul atha 'us anmoich ? Co air bith iad tha 'n tarn ac' a bhi 'gabhail an eagail?" Ghlaodh Oscar riu, "Trian d' ar n' eagal oirbh fhe"in agus trian bheag dh' e oirnn- ne." " Feithidh sibh mata ri bhur n' aimhleas," ars' an sluagh mbr. An sin chaidh iad 'an coinneamh a cheile, ach thug Oscar agus Laoghaire ruathar fop' agus tharta gus nach d' fhag iad duine 'dh' innseadh an tuairisgeil beb dhiii. Thill iad air an ais. Air an ath mhadainn dh' innis iad do Fhionn mar dh' eirich dhoibh, ach nach fhac' iad Clann an Righ. "C'ait 'an dean sinn faire an ath oidhche?" thuirt Oscar. " Fair gu math beul-atha na amhann a' nochd fhathast," Fionn 'an Tigh a Bhlair-Bhuidhe. 69 arsa Fionn. " Ach faidh dhuinn biadh an drast, oir tha sinn air acras. Agus cuimhnich gu 'n toir thu leat do lann tri fhaobharach agus do sgiath an diugh." Rainig an da laoch an Tigh Mor. Bha Oscar ni 'b' fhaicil- iche 'n la so, a chionn nach robh fhios aige gu de 'thachradh air. 'N uair a fhuair e sealladh air tigh na cbcaireachd, chunnaic e duine fuathasach mor agus ceithir lamhan air a 's tigh, a' togail na febla as a' choire. Chaidh e 's tigh, ach cha robh duine 'nis ri fhaicinn. Thug e suil mu 'n cuairt air an ait', agus chunnaic e fir-eun mor a' dol a thilgeil air ubh a bh' aige 'n a spul. Thog e 'a sgiath eadar e agus an t-ubh, ach chuir am buile air a leth-ghlun e laimh ris a' choire. Chunnaic e nach b' urrainn e bhi deas le 'lann mu 'm bitheadh am fir-eun aige ; uime sin thog e 'n coir' eanraich a bh' air an urlar, agus thaom e air mullach a chinn e. Thug e sgriach fhuathasach as, agus chaidh e troimh 'n bhalla, agus cha robh 'n ath shealladh aige dh' e. An sin dh' fhalbh e fein agus Laoghaire leis a' bhiadh', agus fhuair iad roinn a thabhairt do gach duine mar air an latha roimhe. Ach bha roinn Chonain bhochd ni 'bu lugha. An uair a thainig an t-am dh' fhalbh iad a dh' ionnsaidh a' bheul-atha, agus chaidh iad ni 'b' fhaid' air an aghaidh, air taobh eile na h-amhann, no chaidh iad air an fheasgar roimhe. Goirid an deigh 'dhoibh ruigheachd, chunnaic iad sluagh ro mhor a' tighinn orra. An uair a thainig iad am fagus ghlaodh iad, " Co an da Luidealach mhor mhi-sgiamhach a bha 'n sud 'n an seasamh os ceann beul-atha na h-amhann anns an anmoch ? Co air bith iad tha n' t-am dhoibh a bhi 'gabhail an eagail.'' " Da thrian d' 'ur n' eagal a bhi oirbh fhein, ach trian bheag dh' e 'bhi oirnn," thuirt Oscar. An sin bhuail iad orra as gach taobh gus an deachaidh iad a mach air an taobh eile dhiu, agus nach d' fhag iad duin' a dh' innseadh an tuairisgeil beo dhiu. Thill iad air an ais, agus dh' innis iad do Fhionn nach d thainig Clann an Righ air an oidhche sin fathast. Thubhairt Fionn riu iad a dh' fhaotainn bithidh dhoibh-san an la sin a rithist. "Ach, Oscair, cuimhnich do shleagh agus do sgiath, agus ma bhlaiseas i fuil Beithir Sgiathach na Seile bithidh Righ Innse Tille 'nochd gun Mhac." 70 Fionn 'an Tigh a Bhlair-Bkuidhe. Dh' fhalbh iad, agus thug iad an aghaidh air an tigh mhor. Ghabh Oscar air thoiseach mar b' abhaist da. Bha e 'gleidh- eadh a shuil gu math biorach feuch co bhitheadh an tigh na cbcaireachd an la so. 'Nuair 'fhuair e sealladh air chunnaic e duin' eireachdail, calma, air an robh da cheann agus ceithir lamhan, a' togail na feola as a' choire. Thubhairt e ris fhein gu 'n robh an t-am aige-san a bhi deas. 'Nuair a chaidh e 's tigh cha robh duine ri' fhaicinn, ach bha Beithir Mhbr Sgiathach, agus da cheann nathrach oirre, 'n a seasamh air an urlar. Chagair Oscar ri Laoghaire, " Dean thus' air a' bhiadh, agus ni mis' air a' Bheithir." Thog e 'sgiath, agus tharrainn e a shleagh ; agus le aon sathadh chuir e 'n t-sleagh troimh aon cheann, agus pios di tromh 'n cheann eil' aig a' Bheithir. Ghleachd a' Bheithir gu fuathasach, ach mu dheireadh bha i a' lagachadh le call fala. An sin tharrainn Oscar an t-sleagh air a h-ais los a sathadh anns a' Bheist a rithist, ach cho luath agus a thainig an t-sleagh as a febil chaidh i as an fhradharc air, agus cha robh an ath shealladh aige dhi. Fhuair iad am biadh, agus dh' fhalbh iad lejs a dh' ionnsaidh an cairdean. An uair a rainig iad, dh' fhebraich Fionn de dh' Oscar, " An do bhlais do shleagh air fuil ?" " Fad laimh choille dhi agus dbrn dh' bl gu titheach," ars' Oscar. An sin fhuair iad roinn de 'n bhiadh a thabhairt do gach duine mar air na laithean roimhe. Ach bha cuid Chonain ni' bu lugha. Cho luath agus a thainig ciaradh an fheasgair, thubhairt Fionn ri Oscar, " Bitheadh d' amalan agus do chupajchean leat an nochd." An sin dh' fhalbh an da laoch gu beul-atha na h-amhann. Air an fheasgar so chaidh iad ni 'b' lhaid' air an aghaidh thar na h-aimhne na chaidh iad fathast. Cha robh iad ach goirid a' feitheamh an uair a chunnaic iad sluagh mor mor a' tighinn orra, agus triiiir Chloinne Righ Innse Tille air an laimh dheis, agus deiseachan uain' orra. Dh' fheoraich Oscar de Laoghaire, " Co dhiu a bheir thus' an aghaidh air tri Mic Righ Innse Tille, no air an t-Sluagh Mhbr ?" Thubhairt Laoghaire, " Bheir mise 'n aghaidh air tri Mic Righ Innse Tille, agus bheir thu fein an aghaidh air an t-Sluagh Mhbr." 'Nuair 'dhluthoich iad air a cheile ghlaodh an Sluagh Mor, " Co iad an da Luidealach Fionn 'an Tigh a Bhlair-Bhuidhe. 71 mhi-sgiamhach a bha 'n an seasamh os ceann beul-atha na h-amhann anns an anmoch ? Co air bith iad tha 'n t am dhoibh a bhi teicheadh an nochd." " Tri trian d' 'ur n' eagal a bhi oirbh fhein, agus gun dad idir d' e oirnn-ne," ars' Oscar. An sin chaidh Oscar an coinneamh an t-sluaigh mhbir, agus thug Laoghaire 'n aghaidh air triuir Mhac an Righ. Bha cruaidh chath eadar Oscar agus an Sluagh, ach bhuadhaich e orra mu dheireadh agus cha d' fhag e duine beo dhiu. An sin chaidh e le cabhaig far an robh Laoghaire. Bha triuir Mhac an Righ air an da ghlun aig Laoghaire, agus Laoghaire air a ieth-ghlun aca-san. An uair a 'chunnaic Oscar gu 'm b' aim aig Laoghaire 'bha 'n lamh an uachdair, cha b' ann air a chuideachadh a thug e ionnsaidh ach air an fhuil, oir bha i a' taomadh gu bras air an Ion. Thbisich e air a sioladh tromh na h-amalan airgid anns na cupaichean bir, ach mu 'n robh na cupaichean uile Ian dh' fhas na cuirp cho rag agus nach sileadh tuillidh asda. Dh' fhalbh an da laoch leis na bh' aca 'dh' ionnsaidh an tighe 's an robh Fionn agus a dhaoine. An uair a raimg iad e ghlaodh Oscar gu 'n robh iad air tighinn agus an fhuil aca. " Mata," thubhairt Fionn, " suathaibh i ris a h-uile mir dhibh a bheanas do 'n tigh, o mhullach 'ur cinn gu bonnaibh 'ur cas." Rinn iad sin, agus chaidh iad a 's tigh. Thoisich iad air na daoine fhuasgladh leis an fhuil a rubadh ris gach mir dhiu 'bha leantainn ris na h-aiteachan-suidhe, no ris a' bhalla, no ris an urlar. Dh' fhuasgail iad mar sin gach duin' a bha 's tigh ach Conan. Cha d' fhag iad air a shon-san ach am blath a dh' fhuirich air na cupaichean, ach dh' fhoghainn sin fein a dh' fhuasgladh gach mir dh' e, ach ciil a chinn. Lean am fait agus an craicionn ri lic-an-teinntein agus cha robh dbigh ac' ach fhagail ceangailte mar bha e. An sin dh' fhalbh Fionn agus a dhaoine dhachaidh ro thoilichte gu 'n d' fhuair iad as a ghabhadh mhbr anns an robh iad. Cha deachaidh iad ro fhada 'n uair a sheall iad 'n an deigh, agus a chunnaic iad Conan a' tighinn. Sheas iad gun dail far an robh iad gus an d' thainig e air aghaidh. Bha e 'n sin gun rbineag fuilt no ribe craicinn, eadar mullach a chinn agus cul amhaich. Oir an uair a dh' fhairich e gu 'n 72 Fionn 'an Tigh a Bklair-Bhuidhe. d' fhalbh each agus gu 'n d' fhag iad esan 'n an deigh, thug e slaodadh mbr air a cheann, agus dh' fhag e 'fhalt agus a chraicionn ceangailte ri lic-an-teinntein. O 'n la sin a mach b' e 'theireadh daoine ris, " Conan Maol gun fhalt." Rainig Fionn agus a dhaoine 'n dachaidh, agus thug e bbid agus briathar nach cuireadh e muinntireas air gillean fuadain tuillidh. V. THE SMITH'S ROCK IN THE ISLE OF SKYE. THERE was a report that the Fians (Fingalians) were asleep in this Rock, and that if anyone would enter it and blow the Wooden-Crier (Whistle), which lay beside Finn, three times, they would rise up alive and well as they formerly were. A Smith who lived in the island heard the report, and resolved that he would attempt to enter the Rock. He reached the place where it was ; and, having formed a good idea of the key-hole, he returned to the smithy, and made a key which fitted the hole. He then went back to the Rock, and. as soon as he turned the key in the hole, the door opened, and he saw a very great and wide place before him, and exceedingly big men lying on the floor. One man, bigger than the rest, was lying in their midst, having a large hollow baton of wood lying beside him. He thought that this was the Wooden-Crier (Whistle). But it was so large that he was afraid that he could not lift it, much less blow it. He stood for a time looking at it, but he at last said to himself that, as he came so far, he would try at any rate. He laid hold of the Wooden-Crier, and with difficulty raised its end up to his mouth. He blew it with all his might, and so loud was the sound it produced that he thought the Rock and all that was over it came down on the top of him. The huge unwieldy men who lay on the floor shook from the tops of their heads to the soles of their feet. 74 Creag a Ghobha 's an Eilean Sgitheanach. He gave another blast on the Wooden-Crier, and with one spring they turned on their elbows. Their fingers were like the prongs of wooden grapes, and their arms like beams of bog-oak. Their size and the terrible appearance they had put him in such fear that he threw the Wooden-Crier from him, and sprang out. They were then crying after him, " Worse have you left us than as you found us, worse have you left us than as you found us." But he looked not behind him until he got outside and shut the door. He then drew the key out of the hole, and threw it out into the lake which is near the Rock, and which is called to this day the Lake of the Smith's Rock. CREAG A' GHOBHA 'S AN EILEAN SGITHE- ANACH. BHA iomradh gu 'n robh na Fianntan 'n an cadal anns a' Chreig so, agus na 'n rachadh duine 's am bith a 's tigh innte, agus an Gurra-fiodha 'bha 'n a laidhe ri taobh Fhinn a sheideadh tri uairean, gu 'n eireadh iad a suas beo, slan mar bha iad roimhe. Chuala Gobha 'bha 's an eilean an t-iomradh, agus chuir e roimhe gu 'm feuchadh e ri dol a 's tigh do 'n Chreig. Rainig e 'n t-aite 's an robh i ; agus an deigh dha beachd math a ghabhail air toll na h-iuchrach, thill e do 'n cheardaich, agus rinn e iuchair a fhreagair do 'n toll. Chaidh e 'n sin air ais a dh' ionnsaidh na Creige, agus cho luath agus a chuir e car 's an iuchair anns an toll dh' fhosgail an dorus, agus chunnaic e aite ro mhbr agus ro fharsainn air thoiseach air, agus daoine anabarrach mbr 'n an laidhe air an urlar. Bha aon fhear 'bu mho na each 'n a laidhe 'n am meadhon, agus cleith mhbr de mhaide agus e fosgailte troimhe 'n a laidhe |aimh ris. Creag a Ghobha 's an Eilean Sgitheanach. 7 5 Smaointich e gu 'm b' e so an Gurra-fiodha. Ach bha e cho mbr agus gu 'n robh eagal air nach b' urrainn e a thogail, no idir a sheideadh. Sheas e 'g amharc air car uine, ach mu dheireadh thubhairt e ris fhein gu 'm feuchadh e co dhiu bho 'n thainig e cho fada. Rug e air a' Ghurra-fiodha, agus thog e air eiginn a cheann an aird r' a bheul. Sheid e le uile neart e ; agus, leis an fhuaim a rinn e, shaoil e gu 'n do thuit a' Chreag agus na bha os a ceann a nuas air a mhuin. Chrith na slaoid mhbra 'bh' air an urlar o mhullach an cinn gu bonnaibh an cas. Thug e 'n ath sheideag air a' Ghurra-fiodha, agus a dh' aon leum thionndaidh iad air an uilnibh. Bha 'm meoir mar mhebir gobhlaige, agus an gairdeinnean mar shailean daragan-daraich. Chuir am meud agus an coltas uamhasach a bh' orra a leithid do dh' eagal air 'us gu 'n do thilg e uaith' an Gurra-fiodha, agus gu 'n do leum e 'mach. Bha iad an sin a' glaodhaich as a dheigh. " Is miosa dh' fhag no mar fhuair, is miosa dh' fhag no mar fhuair." Ach cha d' thug esan suil 'n a dheigh gus an d' fhuair e mach, agus an do dhruit e 'n dorus. Shlaod e 'n sin an iuchair as an toll, agus thilg e 'mach i anns an lochan a tha laimh ris a' Chreig, agus ris an abrar gus an latha 'n diugh Lochan Chreag a' Ghobha. VI. THE BARE-STRIPPING HANGMAN. BEFORE now there was a King in Ireland who was twice married, and who had a son by each of his wives. The name of the first wife's son was Cormac, and the name of the second wife's son was Alastir (Alexander). His father was very proud of Cormac, and was always accustomed to take him with him to the Hunting-hill. The King had a Hen-wife, who, with a sad and sorrowful countenance, went, on a certain day, in to the place where the Queen was. The Queen asked what was troubling her ? " Great is that and not little, Queen of misery!" said the Hen-wife. "What does that mean ? " " That the King is so fond of Cormac, the son of the first wife, that he will leave the kingdom to him, and that your son will be penniless." " If that is the King's pleasure, it cannot be helped." "Oh! never- theless, the case need not so happen. If thou wilt give me what I shall ask of thee I will make thy son King." " What then is the reward which thou wilt ask for doing that?" l 'That is not much: as much meal as will thicken the little black jar and as much butter as will make it thin, the full of my two (outer) ear-holes of wool, and the breadth of one of my haunches of flesh." " How much meal will thicken the little black jar ? " " Four- teen chalders." " How much butter will make it thin? " " As much as thy seven cow-houses will produce to the end of seven years." " What now is the full of thy two ear-holes of wool? " " As much as thy seven The Bare- Stripping Hangman. 77 sheep-houses will produce in seven years." " And what now is the breadth of one of thy haunches of flesh?" " As much as thy seven ox-houses will produce to the end of seven years." " That is a great deal, woman." "Yes, but it is little in comparison with the third of Ireland." " It is," said the Queen, " and thou shalt get it. But what plan wilt thou take for making my son King? " " Cormac was yesterday complaining that he was not well. When the hunters will come home thou shalt say to the King that Cormac must stay at home to-morrow, and that Alastir must go in his stead to the Hunting-hill. I will make a drink for Cormac, and thou shalt give it to him after the rest have gone away, and he shall never again trouble thy son from being King." This pleased the Queen well, and she promised that she would do as the Hen-wife told her. The women were thinking that no one was hearing them while they were devising mischief ; but all the time Alastir was eavesdropping behind the door, and was very much displeased, because he and Cormac were as fond of each other as two brothers ever were. He considered what he should do, and resolved to tell the women's intention to Cormac as soon as he would come home. Cormac came home about evening. He was pretty tired, and was not feeling better than he was in the morning. Alastir went where he was, and told him everything that happened between his mother and the Hen-wife. Poor Cormac got afraid, and said to Alastir what should he do ? Alastir replied, " Have courage, and I will devise a scheme by which we shall get out of their way, and we shall not trouble them any more. To-morrow I shall go with my father to the Hunting-hill, but I shall not proceed far on the way when I shall say that I will return home because I do 78 The Bare- Stripping Hangman. not like going to the hill. Before I arrive my mother will go in with the drink to thee. Thou shalt take hold of the cup out of her hand, but for man or thing that thou hast ever seen, taste not out of it, and put it not near thy mouth. Thou shalt lift thy hand as if thou wert going to drink ; and then thou shalt spring out, holding it in thy hand. I will have the two fleetest horses in the stable waiting for thee, and we will go away." And so they did. Next day he went but a short distance with his father, when he refused to go farther, and returned home. He knew the time when Cormac would get the drink, and resolved that the horses should be ready as he promised. But scarcely had he them saddled, when Cormac came out in haste, having the cup with him in his hand. Alastir cried to him, " Leap into thy saddle quickly, and stick to what thou hast." He did that, and they both went off as fast as the horses' feet would carry them. They kept going for- ward without stop or rest until their horses were giving up. Then they dismounted and sat down in the place where they were. Alastir said to Cormac, " Show me the cup now." He took hold of the cup from his brother's hand, and having got a little stick, said, " We shall now see what stuff is in the cup." He dipped the stick in the stuff, and put a drop of it in an ear of each one of the horses. " What art thou doing in that manner ? " said Cormac. " Wait a little, and thou shalt see," said Alastir. In a short time the horses began to go round in a state of dizziness, and before long they fell cold and dead on the earth. " Think you, Cormac, what would have happened to you if you had drunk the potion ? " " What, but that I should have been dead now," said Cormac. While they were conversing four ravens came, and The Bare- Stripping Hangman. 79 settled on the carcases of the horses. They began to peck the eyes out of the horses, and when they ate the eyes they flew away in the air. But they went only a short distance, when they uttered piercing screams and fell dead on the earth. " What now is thy opinion of the drink, Cormac ? " " What, but if I had drunk of it that I would not have been here at present," said Cormac. Alastir rose up, and having taken the four ravens with him in a napkin, he and his brother went away again on their journey. Alastir was keeping a step in advance, because he had virtues about him by which he knew what was to meet them. They kept going for- ward till they came to a small town. Alastir went in to a Cooking-house in the town, and told the Cook to dress the ravens as well as he ever dressed birds, but not to put ringer or hand near his mouth till he had them dressed, and till he had washed his hands well, and very well. " What does that mean ?" said the Cook. " I never before dressed food which I might not taste." " Taste not and eat not a bit of these, otherwise thou shalt not get them at all." The Cook promised to do as he was told. After the Cook had dressed the ravens, and received payment for his labour, Alastir tied them in his napkin, and he and Cormac departed again on their journey. On the way, Alastir said, " There is a large wood before us in which are staying four-and-tvventy robbers who never allowed a man to pass them without killing him, and who will not let us pass if they can prevent us." "What shall we do ?" said Cormac. " Leave that to me," replied Alastir. When they were going through the wood they noticed a pretty little plain above the road on which they were walking, and the robbers lying on their backs basking 8o The Bare- Stripping Hangman. themselves in the sun at the upper end of the plain. They kept going forward, but when they were just passing beneath the place in which the robbers were, two of them cried, " Who are the two impertinent fellows who would dare pass by on this way without asking us ?" They all took their way down where the two strangers were, and said to them that they were going to strike their heads off them. " Oh, then/' said Alastir, " there is no help for it. We are tired and hungry, and if you would allow us to eat a bite of food before you would put us to death, we would be obliged to you." " If you have food, take it quickly," said the robbers. " We have food," said Alastir, " and you too will get some of it if you like." Then he opened the napkin, and divided the ravens into twenty-six pieces, a piece for every man in the company. " Now," said he, " you shall wait until you are all served, and you shall begin to eat together, for if some of you eat their own share first they will fight the rest for their share, and you will wound and kill each other." Hereupon the robbers made a loud, mocking laugh, but they said that they would do as they were told. When they were all served, Alastir lifted up his hand, and cried, " Eat now." They did so, and praised the food. But it was not long till one after another of them began to sit, and every one that sat fell asleep, and out of that sleep he was waking no more. At last they were all in the sleep of death. " Now," said Alastir, " that is over, and the way is clear before us as far as the Castle of the King of Riddles. Thou shalt travel as the King of Ireland, and I will travel as thy Servant. If thou art told to do anything thou shalt say that it is the Servant who does that in the country out of which thou hast come. When thou shalt reach the Castle of the King of Riddles thou must put a Riddle or solve a Riddle, and if thou The ]> arc-Stripping Hangman. 8 1 do not that thy head shall be placed on a stake in the wall, which is before the door. Many of our sort reached the Castle before us, and as they could not put a riddle or solve a riddle, their heads were placed on the stakes of the wall. There is one stake still empty, and thy head shall be placed on it if neither thou, nor I for thee, will put or solve a riddle to-night." They reached the Castle. The King of Riddles gave them a great welcome, for he thought that it was to ask his daughter they came, like those who preceded them. They were but a short time in when food was placed before them, but ere they began to take it the King of Riddles said, " King of Ireland, put a riddle or solve a riddle." The King of Ireland answered, and said, " It is the Servant who does that in the country from which I came." " Get thy Servant down, then," said the King of Riddles. The Servant came. " Ser- vant of the King of Ireland, put a riddle or solve a riddle," said Riddle King. The Servant answered, " One killed two, two killed four, four killed twenty- four, and two escaped." The King of Riddles thought, but he could not solve the riddle. At last he said to the Servant, "Go away just now, and thou shalt get the solution of the riddle to-morrow." After the dinner was over they spent the rest of the night telling in- teresting tales until bedtime came. Then the King of Riddles sent word for his daughter and her twelve maidens in attendance. He said to the maidens that whoever of them would find the solution of the riddle from the beginning from the Servant of the King of Ireland would get his son in marriage and half the kingdom. They said that they would try. He then turned to his daughter, and pro- mised her her choice of a sweetheart and half the kingdom, if she could find the solution of the riddle from the beginning. 82 The Bare-Stripping Hangman. The maidens were awhile considering in what manner they could find out the solution of the riddle. At last they agreed to put the Servant in the very coldest and worst room which was in the Castle, where there were holes on the walls, and the windows were broken, and wind and rain (were) coming in at them ; that they would put his Master in the best room which was in the house; and that they would say to the Servant that he would get as good a bed and room as his Master had if he would tell the solution of the riddle from the beginning. And they did so. The Servant was not very long in bed when he felt the door opening. He turned on his pillow, and beheld a young, comely maiden standing on the floor. He understood very well what was on her mind. The maiden said, "Is it sleep to thee, Servant of the King of Ireland ?" " It is not sleep to me ; for it is no sleeping quarters I have got, wind and cold under me, and wind and rain over me. Far will I carry the name of this house when I shall go away." " Thou shalt get as good a bed as thy Master has, if thou tell me the solution of the riddle from the beginning." But he did not tell her that, and he allowed her to go back to the rest without it. They then came one after another, but it befell them as it befell her. As soon as the last of them went out, the Servant went to his Master's room, and the Master went to the Servant's room. He was but a short time there when the King's daughter went in. She said, as the maidens before her said : " Is it sleep to thee, Servant of the King of Ireland ?" " It is not sleep to me ; for it is no sleeping quarters I have got, with wind and cold under me, and wind and rain above me. Far will I carry the name of this house when I shall go away." "Well, thou shalt get as good a bed as thy Master has if The Bare- Stripping Hangman. thou wilt tell me the solution of the riddle from the beginning." But he did not tell her that, and she went away. Next morning the King of Riddles asked the maidens if they had got the solution of the riddle ? They said that they had not. He then asked of his daughter if she got it, and she said that she had not. When they sat down at their breakfast the King of Riddles said : " King of Ireland, put a riddle or solve a riddle." "As I told thee last night, it is my Servant who is accustomed to put a riddle or answer a riddle for me." " Get thy servant down, then." The Servant came. " Servant of the King of Ireland, put a riddle or solve a riddle," said the King of Riddles. " I did not get the solution of the first riddle yet," said the Servant. " Thou insolent fellow, is it keeping up chat with me thou art ? Put a riddle or solve a riddle, otherwise thy head shall be struck off thee at breakfast time, and placed on a pale in the wall." " I will put a riddle, then," said the Servant. " Let me hear it," said the King of Riddles. [The Servant put a riddle which he composed on the things which befell himself and his Master on the night before. The King of Riddles solved that riddle, but the first one beat him. To shorten this part of the tale, the King of Riddles gave his daughter to the King of Ireland.] Alastir remained many days with them, passing the time hunting and fishing. On a certain day, while he was fishing on a rock near the sea, and thinking what he should do go away or stay with Cormac he heard a loud splash in the sea at the foot of the rock. Before he got time to look one way or another, a large Dog- Otter sprang out of the water, seized him by the two ankles, and went out with him on the sea. He saw not again a blink of earth or of sky until he was left above G 2 84 The Bare- Stripping Hangman. the reach of the tide in the very prettiest bay he ever saw, with smooth, white sand from the margin of the wave to the green grass. He was now in Lochlan. In a short time the Dog-Otter returned, having a fresh -water salmon with him in his mouth. He left the salmon at Alastir's feet, and said to him : " When thou art going on any long journey, or when any hardship is coming upon thee, take a bite of this fish beforehand. Here thou shalt make a bothy, and shalt stay in it till thou shalt see more than me, and till thou shalt get more than my advice." He put up the bothy that same night. He then boiled a piece of the salmon, and after eating it he felt stronger than he ever was. On the next morning he rose up, and went out before breakfast to the end of his bothy. He stood, and saw the Great White-buttocked Deer coming straight towards the place in which he was standing, and the White Red- eared Hound after him, chasing him keenly. When the Deer was nearing him, the Hound had hold after hold of the Deer ; and in going past, the Hound gave forth a bark, and sprang at the neck of the Deer, and left him dead at Alastir's feet. " Now," said the Hound to Alastir, " thou wert faithful to thy brother, and thou shalt receive thy reward. When thou art going on any long journey, or when any hardship is coming upon thee, thou shalt eat before- hand a bite of the fresh-water salmon, and a bite of this deer, and from anything which thou shalt (after- wards) see or hear no further injury shall befall thee. And before that will fail thee thou shalt be told what thou art to do." Then the White Red-eared Hound wished him good success, and departed. Alastir took the deer in to his bothy, and left it beside the salmon. He made ready his breakfast, and ate a piece of the salmon and a piece of the deer. He The Bare- Stripping Hangman. 85 then went out, and having given a look away from him, he saw coming a large-sized man having the appearance of a King, and twelve Champions with him. They came straight to the place in which he was. The King said to him : " How hadst thou the courage or the boldness of coming to kill my large White- buttocked deer ?" " Thy deer came of its own accord my way, I had need of food, and I killed thy deer," said Alastir. " Well," said the King, "since thou didst kill my deer, thou must fight with my Champions until thou shalt fall or until they shall." " I am alone, King," said Alastir, " you are many, along with that I am with- out a sword." " Thou shalt not be without a sword," said the King ; " thou shalt get my sword, and if thou take thy life out of peril with it, it shall be thine own." " I will try, at any rate," said Alastir. " But I ask of thee as a favour that thou wilt let me eat a bite of food before I shall begin." "Thou shalt get that," said the King, while he was reaching him his sword. He went into his bothy, and ate a bite of the fish and a bite of the deer. When he was done he thrust the King's sword into the carcass of the deer, and it went as easily through it as though it were water. " The suc- cess of this thrust be with each stroke," said Alastir. He felt that he himself was in great courage and in full strength, and turned out to the fight. The King said that he would get the advantage of the Fein man after man. One of the Champions was sent out opposite him. But they were not long at sword- play when the Champion of the King fell, heavily wounded, on the ground. Alastir shouted to the next man to come on. He came ; but in a short time he fell wounded on the ground like the first man. A like thing befell the third man. When the King saw his three Champions dropping blood and dying, he said to the Stranger, " Whatever 86 The Bare -Stripping Hangman. place is thy native country, thou art a Champion at any rate." Alastir then called to the rest to come on quickly if he had to go through them all. But the King put a stop to the contest. He turned to Alastir, and said to him, " Thou hast won thy sword with victory, and thou shalt get it. Go with me and I will make thee better off than thou art here." Then Alastir asked of him as a kindness to leave the bothy standing as it was, since he did not know but that he must return to it yet. He got his request, and went away with the King. On the way, the King was under a heavy stupor for the loss of his three Champions. But at last he said to himself, that the one he had found was as good as the three he had lost. They kept going forward through wood, over heath, and over moss, until they arrived at a fine large Castle the like of which Alastir never saw before. The King told him to go in along with him. The Champions took their own way, and Alastir entered with the King. Food and drink were put before Alastir, and the King told him to eat and drink. He replied that he would not eat a bite of his food, and that he would not drink a drop of his drink until he would tell him the reason why he brought him yonder. The King understood that he had a Champion, and said that he would tell him that. " I had four daughters. Three of them were taken from me by the Big Giant who is staying in the Black Corrie of Ben Breck (or the Speckled Mountain). He came at first at the time of the going down of the Sun, and took away the first of them in my own presence and in the presence of my Champions, and I saw her no more. I sent my Champions after him, and they followed him to his Castle. But when they reached it, as a sudden blast of east wind would strip bracken in winter, he swept the heads off them. Only one escaped The Bare -Stripping Hangman. 87 to tell me the tale of distress. At the end of seven years he came again, and as it happened at first it happened that time. At the end of another seven years he came, and took the third one with him. My Champions resolved that they would have revenge on him, and that they would bring my daughter home to me. They went away under full armour to watch the Castle of the Black Corrie of the Ben Breck. After they had watched it during three rounds of the Sun they got no opportunity of the Giant. At last they were growing heavy for want of sleep and weak for want of food, and therefore resolved that they would go to the Castle and see what was within. They found the way to the Den of the Giant, and saw that he was in a heavy sleep. They said to each other that that was the time for them to have revenge for the King's daughter, and to take the head off the Giant. They sprang towards him, and struck off his head with their swords. No sooner had they done that than a large golden eagle sprang down, and struck the first Champion on the face, and knocked him down. The golden eagle did the same thing on the next man. When the rest saw that, they fled. But scarcely had they got outside through the gate of the Castle than they saw the Giant coming after them, and his head on him as it was before. When they saw him, they stretched away, and those of them who escaped made no stay until they arrived here. But those of them that fell into his hands, he bared to the skin, and hanged up on hooks against the turrets of the Castle. Now, the fourth one of my daughters is about a day and year of the age of the rest when they were stolen from me. But to any one who will bring home to me the Black Brood-mare which is on the Ben, and on which a halter never went, belong my daughter and as far as the half of my kingdom." " Good is thine offer, King," said Alastir. " He is a The Bare- Stripping Hangman. sorry fellow that would not make his utmost endeavour to earn it." " I knew that thou wert a Champion," said the King, "and if thou wilt do it thou shalt get thy promised reward, and much more. On the morning of next day thou shalt reach my Stable, and wilt get thy choice of a bridle." On the next morning, Alastir reached the Stable, and found many men and Champions before him who were going to try and catch the Black Brood-mare, as he him- self was, for the sake of getting the King's daughter as a reward. The Stable was opened, and each one selected a bridle for himself. They then went away to the mountain to catch the Black Brood-mare. They were travelling through glens, over bens, and through hollows until they got a sight of her. Alastir tried to get before her, but as soon as she saw him she ascended the face of the Ben, sending water out of the stones, and fire out of the streams, fleeing from him. They followed after her until the darkening of night came on them, and then they turned home with- out her. When they reached the Castle they told the King how it befell them. He said to them that another day was coming, and that another sun was to go round, and that to the man who would bring home to him the Black Brood- mare at the end of a tether would belong his daughter, and as far as the half of his kingdom. When they heard this, every man and every Champion made ready to go to the Ben before sunrise on the following day. When the next morning came each one of them turned away in the full belief that it was with himself the victory would be when returning. They reached the Ben. Some of them were going on their bellies through hollows, some creeping along the beds of streams, others were peeping over ridges, and taking advantage of every gap to see if they could get a sight of the Black The Bare-Stripping Hangman. 89 Brood-mare. At last they saw her on the sunny side of the Glen-of-the-Sun (Gleann-na-greine}. Each man made ready as well as he could, to catch her. But no better befell them that day than on the day before, for she was sending water out of the stones and fire out of the streams fleeing before them. At the going down of the sun, they were further from her than they were in the morning. Then they returned home weariedly, sadly, hungrily. When they reached the Castle the King sent out his Gillie-in-attendance, to ask with whom the victory was. The Gillie brought word back to him that they had seen her, but that they got not within catching distance of her, or even within a stone-cast of her. Then the King sent word to them that the morrow was the third day of their trial, and that he would be as good as his promise to any one of them who would bring home to him at end of rein, the Black Brood-mare. When they heard this, each running Champion and each fighting Champion was under heavy anxiety, for they could not do more than they had already done. But they resolved that they would once more try to catch her. After the supper was over, Alastir, as he was going through the Castle, met the Sorceress {lorasglach-urlair) of the King. " Son of the King of Ireland," said she, " thou art wearied, sad, and under a heavy stupor." Alastir answered that he was. " Thou didst not take the advice of thy friends. To-night thou shalt go back to thine own bothy, and thou shalt take a bite of the fish and a bite of the deer. But before thou go away thou shalt turn back where the King is, and thou shalt say to him that to-morrow is the last day which you have for catching the Black Brood-mare, and that thou shalt not go after her unless thou shalt get thy choice of a bridle before thou wilt depart. He will then go with thee, and when you reach the Stable thou The Bare-Stripping Hangman. wilt see a door on thy right hand, and thou shalt tell him to open the door in order that thou shalt take thy choice of a bridle out of that place. He will open the door for thee, and thou see hanging from the wall an old bridle which was not in the head of horse or mare for twenty-seven years, and thou shalt take it with thee. When thou wilt reach the mountain thou shalt give the rest the slip (or turn about a bush), and go before the Black Brood-mare. As soon as thou wilt come in sight of her thou shalt shake the bridle towards her; and she will come with a neigh and put her head in the bridle. Thou shalt then leap on her back, and ride her home to the King." Alastir went away from the Sorceress as well pleased as he was since the day the Dog Otter left him ashore in the land of Lochlan. On the third day the Champions got ready, and went away to the Mountain to catch the Black Brood-mare. When they reached they took advantage of every cover till they thought that they were as near her as they could get. But Alastir gave them the slip, and left them. He did not stop until he got ahead of the Black Brood- mare. She was coming, bearing a terrible appearance, driving water out of the stones and fire out of the streams with the speed of her running. Then Alastir lifted up the bridle and shook it towards her. As soon as the Brood-mare heard the jingling of the bridle she stood, and made a hard neigh, which Mac-talla of the rocks (echo) answered four miles round. She laid down her two ears along the back of her head, she came at the gallop, and thrust her head into the bridle. Then Alastir leaped on her back, and rode her home to the King. When the other Champions saw the stranger riding away with the Black Brood-mare, all their snd and their sad (cheerfulness and hope) forsook them, and they returned home. The Bare-Stripping Hangman. 91 On this night the King came out to meet them. When he saw that it was the Stranger who had the victory he took his way over where he was, went on his two knees to do him honour, and said, " I thought that thou wert a Champion indeed, and thou hast proved it at last. Now, ask any cattle or person, jewel or value, which is in my kingdom, and thou shalt get it along with the reward which I promised for this deed." The King made a great feast on that night. But before the feast was over word came to the King from the Big Giant of the Black Castle in the Ben Breck (Speckled Mountain) that he would come for the fourth daughter at the end of a day and year from that night. This message put the King in ill humour and in anxiety. He turned to the Champions, and said to them that he was sorry because he could not fulfil what he had promised unless they themselves would find out the place in which the soul of the Bare-Stripping Hangman was hid, and kill him. " My Champions struck his head off already, but he put it on him again, and he was as alive as he ever was. He defied them, and said that in spite of them he would take all my daughters with him. Now, he is coming at the end of a day and year from this night, and to the man of you who will put him out of life shall belong my daughter and all my kingdom." All the Champions were under anxiety because they did not know how they could kill the Bare-Stripping Hangman. But when they separated, the Sorceress (lorasglacJi-iirlair] met Alastir, and said to him, " Son of the King of Ireland, I hope that thou hast received thy reward to-night." He told her everything that happened, and how the condition on which the King's daughter would be found was harder now than it was before. She was lying on the floor, and she rose up quickly in a sitting posture. She took hold of her hair in her hand, and 92 The Bare- Stripping Hangman. made a loud laugh, and said, "Son of the King of Ireland, success was always with thee and shall be with thee still if thou wilt take my advice." " If I can I will do anything that thou wilt ask of me, for I have found thee true thus far, and I have full confidence in thee now," said Alastir. " Well, said the Sorceress (lorasglach], " from the spot on which thou art standing thou shalt go away under full armour, and remember that thou shalt not part with the King's sword until thou get a better. Thou shalt go first to thy bothy and eat a bite of the deer and a bite of the fish. Thou shalt then come out to the door of thy bothy, and thou shalt set thy face towards the Rocky Path of the Yellow Mountain (Ben Buie), and thou shalt not look behind thee, and thou shalt not turn a step back for any diffi- culty or hardship which may meet thee until thou reach the Great Castle which is at the end of the Mountain Path. There thou shalt see a woman looking out at the high window of the Castle." The Sorceress now took a writing out of her bosom, and said, " When thou shalt see the woman thou shalt know her, and say to her that thou hast a writing for her. She will then come and open the door to thee, and tell thee what thou hast to do after that Thou mayest now set off on thy journey. The blessing of the King is in thy company, the blessing of his daughter is with thee, and thou hast my blessing. Now, whatsoever thing the woman will ask thee to say or to do, be sure that thou fulfil it." Alastir took courage, and went away straight to his bothy, and on the next morning, before sunrise, he de- parted on his journey through the Rocky Mountain Path of Ben Buie (Yellow Mountain). He kept going for- ward far long and full long until the Path grew so full of fissures and sharp-pointed rocks that he was under the The Bare -Stripping Hangman. 93 necessity of hanging on his belly to go over them. At last even the jagged rocks failed, and there was nothing before him but a great chasm between lofty precipices which were as deep under him as they were high over his head. He gave a look on each side of him, and saw the Path running in to the side of one of the precipices in so narrow a ledge that there was not the breadth of a footsole in it. Then he got afraid that he was astray, and he was going to return. But a large buzzard came flying across over his head, and cried to him, " Son of the King of Ireland, remember the advice of the Sorceress {lorasglach-urlair)." At once he remembered his promise to the Sorceress, and said to himself that he would go forward as long as the breath would be in him. He was then hanging from cliff to cliff and leaping from ledge to ledge, until the path began to grow better. At last he got on the smooth way. He then went as fast as he could go over the rocks, for the evening was coming and a sight of the Castle was not to be seen. The ascent was so steep that he could make no great speed. But he won the top at last. He said to himself that he would not take long now, and he ran as fast as he could down the hill-side. He was thinking that when he got to the foot of the brae every hardship would be over, but when he reached it they were, to all appear- ance, only beginning. Instead of the Castle, he saw a large Red Lake before him. He gave a look on each side of him to see if he could behold a way in which he could get over the Lake, but he saw only rocky precipices, and it was enough for a bird on the wing to go over them. He was in a dilemma (house of conference) whether he should return or go forward, when he heard the buzzard crying over his head, " Son of the King of Ireland, take neither fright nor apprehen- 94 The Bare- Stripping Hangman. sion in presence of any difficulty or hardship which will meet thee." When he heard this he took courage, and kept going forward on the Path into the Lake. At first he wondered that he was not sinking in the Lake, but in a short time he saw that the road on which he was walking was scarcely covered with water. He kept straight on the path until he arrived at the other side of the Lake. As soon as he got his feet on dry land he lifted up his head, and saw a beautiful green field before him, and a large Castle at the end of the field. Twilight had come, and therefore he hastened forward to the Castle. When he reached the Castle, he saw a woman looking out at one of the windows. He cried that he had a letter for her. She descended quickly, and opened the door to him. He handed her the letter. She caught it out of his hand, and told him to wait until she would see what was in it. As soon as she read the letter she bounded towards him and seized his hand in both her hands, and kissed it. She took him in, and asked of him what way did he come ? He said that he came through the Rocky Path of Ben Buie (Yellow Mountain). " If so," said she, " thou hast need of meat and of drink." She set meat and drink before him, and told him to be quick, because he had a great deal to do. As soon as he was done she took him in to the armoury, and told him to try whether he could lift the sword which was over against the wall. He tried that, but he could not put wind between it and the earth. She opened a press which was on a side of the house, and took out of it a little bottle of balsam. She drew a cup of gold, and put a little drop out of the little bottle into it, and said to him, " Drink of it." He did that. He again seized the sword, The Bare -Stripping Hangman. 95 and he could lift it with both hands. She gave him another little drop, and then he could lift the sword with one hand. She gave him the third drop, and no sooner did he drink it than he felt stronger than he ever was. He seized the sword, and he could work with it as lightly and airily as he could work with the King's sword. " Now," she said to him, " there is a big Giant having two heads on him, staying in this Castle, and he is coming home in a short time. Come with me, and I will set thee standing on the iidabac (or porch), where thou shalt get an opportunity of striking him when he stoops to come in under the lintel. Be sure that thou strike him well, and send the two heads off him : for if thou send but one head off him, he will take hold of that one, and kill thee with it, as he did many others before thee." He went away without delay, and stood on the porch (hdabac) as she told him. He was not long there when he saw the Giant coming with a fairy motion. When he reached the door he bent his heads, and gave a grunt. Alastir took the advantage of him, and struck him with all his might. With the stroke he threw one of the heads off him, and half of the other head. Then the Giant gave dreadful leaps and screams, but before he found time to turn round, Alastir struck the other half of the second head off him, and he fell a dead carcass on the earth. The woman came out, and said to him, " Well done, Son of the King of Ireland. Success is with thee, for my father's blessing is with thee." He then asked of her who she was. She replied that she was the oldest daughter the King of Ben Buie had. " Thou art going away," she said, " to seek the soul of the Bare-Stripping Hangman, in order that thou mayest 96 The Bare-Stripping Hangman. save my youngest sister from him. Come in and I will let thee away on thy journey before a sun will rise to- morrow." He went in, she washed his feet, and he went to bed. Before the red-cock (heath-cock) crowed, and before a sun rose on dwelling or on mountain, she was on foot, and had breakfast waiting him. After he had risen and got his breakfast, she took a letter out of her bosom, and handed it to him, saying, " Thou shalt keep this carefully until thou reach the Great Castle of the eight turrets, and thou shalt give it to the woman whom thou shalt see looking out at one of the roof windows of the Castle. She gave a pull on her own little bottle of balsam, and on her cup of gold, and gave him a drink. She then put him on the head of the way, she wished a blessing to accompany him, and said that she would remain yonder until he would return. He left the King's sword in the Castle, and went away with the sword of the Giant. The path on which he was walking was smoother than the one on which he travelled the day before. He got on well, but the distance was so long that the night began to come upon him before he came in sight of the Castle. About the greying of the evening he saw the turrets of the Castle far from him. He took courage and hardened his step, and though it was a long distance from him, he took not long to reach it. There were such high walls about the Castle that he was not seeing by what way he could get in. But he gave his head a lift, and saw a woman looking out at a window, and cried that he had a letter for her. She came down and opened a large iron door which was on the wall. After she had read the letter, she took hold of him by the hand and brought him in. The Bare-Stripping Hangman. 97 She then looked at the sword which he had, and asked him where did he find it? He told her that he got it from the woman who was in the Castle in which he was the night before. There was another large sword stand- ing beside the wall, and she told him to try if he could lift it. With difficulty he put wind between it and the earth. " None that came before thee did even that much," said the woman. She gave him a drink out of her little bottle of balsam in a cup of gold, and then he could play the sword with both hands. She gave him the next drink, and he could play the Giant's sword as nimbly as he could play the sword of the King. "Now," said she, " thou hast no time to lose. The Great Giant of the three heads, three humps, and three knobs is staying here, and he will come home in a moment. Come with me and I will put thee in a place where thou shalt get an opportunity of striking him." He went with her, and she set him standing on a bank which was on the opening side of the great iron door on the wall. Then she said, " When the Giant stoops to come under the lintel, be sure to strike him before he can get his heads lifted, and to send the three off him with the first stroke, for if he get time to rise he will take thee asunder in bits, as he did those that came before thee." The Giant came, and stooped beneath the lintel, but before he got through the door, Alastir struck him with all his might, and sent two of his heads off and half the third. The Giant gave a leap, and one of the humps struck the lintel and put it out (of its place). Then he fell, and before he got time to rise and give the next leap, Alastir struck him the second time, and sent the other half of the third head off him. With a great, melancholy groan the Giant fell a dead carcass on the ground. H 98 The Bare- Stripping Hangman. The woman came out then and said, " Well done, Son of the King of Ireland. The blessing of my father and of my sister is with thee, and thou shalt have my bless- ing now." Then he asked of her who she was ? She answered that she was the second daughter of the King of Ben Buie. " Thou art going away to seek the soul of the Bare-Stripping Hangman, in order that thou mayest save my youngest sister from him, and if thou come alive out of the next Castle which thou shalt reach, thou needst not be afraid of either thing or person that may meet thee any more, for everything shall succeed with thee to the end of thy journey. But thou hast no time to lose." She took him in, served him with meat and drink, and put him to bed. After he had got his breakfast next morning she gave him a drink out of her little bottle of balsam in a cup of gold. She then put her hand in her bosom, and took out of it a letter, and said to him, " Thou shalt give this to the woman whom thou shalt see standing in the door of the Castle to which thou shalt come." He now went away, having with him the great sword with which he struck the heads off the Giant. He got on smoothly until he arrived at the next Castle, a great shapeless mass of a place without window or turret on it. He saw the woman standing in the door, and cried to her that he had a letter for her. She seized the letter, and after she had read it, she laid hold of him by the hand, and took him in. She washed his hands and feet with a mixture of water and milk. She then looked at his sword, and said to him, where did he find yon blade? He replied that he found it in the Castle in which he was last night. " Since thou hast got thus far, thy sword will serve thee, and thou shalt not part with it as long as the breath is in thee till thou reach the end of thy journey. The Great Fiery Dragon The Bare-Stripping Hangman, 99 of the Seven Serpent Heads and of the Venomous Sting is staying in this Castle. She will come at sun- rise to-morrow, and thou must meet her outside, for if she get inside, neither thou nor I will be seen alive any more." She then sent him to sleep in a warm, comfortable bed. She herself remained awake, and when the time for him to rise came, she wakened him. She gave him his breakfast, and after his breakfast a drink out of her little bottle of balsam in her cup of gold. He then grasped his sword, and turned out. Scarcely had he got over the threshold of the door when he felt the Dragon coming. He made ready for her, and as soon as she came a hard contest began between them. He was defending himself from the heads, while she was wounding him with a large sting which she had in the end of her tail. They carried on the fight to the time of the going down of the sun. Then she said to him, " Thy bed is thine to-night yet, but meet me before sunrise to-morrow." The Dragon went her own way, and he returned in to the Castle. The woman washed his sores, put balsam to every wound which was on his body, and sent him to bed. When he awoke next morning he felt that he was as whole and sound as he ever was. After he had risen, and had got his breakfast and a drink of the balsam, he took with him his sword and went to meet the Dragon. They fought from morning to evening, he defending himself from the heads, and she wounding him with the sting of her tail. At going down of sun they stopped. She went her own way, and he returned to the Castle. The woman served him this night as she did on the night before. When he awoke on the third morning he was as whole of his sores as he ever was. After he had H 2 ioo The Bare- Stripping Hangman. got his breakfast and a drink of the balsam, he grasped his sword, and went to meet the Dragon. On this morning he heard her coming with horrible screaming. But he thought that since he stood the two days before, he would try her this day yet. The Monster came, and they went at each other. She was shoot- ing stings out of each mouth at him, and he was defending himself from her with his sword. About the greying of the evening he was growing weak, but if he was, he understood that she also was losing her strength. This gave him courage, and he closed boldly with her. At the going down of the sun she gave up, and stretched herself on the ground. " Now," said she, " thou hast vanquished me, but the advantage was with thee. At night thou wert getting thy sores washed and healed, and thou wert warm and comfortable at the fireside in my Castle. But if I had got half an hour's time of the warmth of the fire, thou hadst returned no more than those who came before thee." Alastir now drew his sword, and with seven strokes sent the seven heads off the Dragon. But at the seventh stroke she gave her tail a lift, and struck him in the side. He fell as if he were dead, and he neither saw nor felt anything further until he awoke about midnight. The woman was then washing and healing his sores. When she was done of that she put him to bed. On the next morning she went where he was, and asked of him how he felt. He answered that he felt strong (and) sound. " That is good," said she ; " the greater part of thy trials are now past." When he arose and got his breakfast, she said to him, " Thou hast killed the Great Giant of the Two Heads in the Castle at the end of the Rocky Path of Ben Buie, thou hast killed the Great Giant of the Three Heads, Three Humps, and Three Knobs in the Great Castle of The Bare- Stripping Hangman. 101 the Seven Turrets, and thou hast killed the Fiery Dragon of the Seven Serpent Heads and of the Venomous Sting in this Gloomy Castle. Only one of those who came before thee on the journey on which thou art going got thus far. He came over the Rocky Path of the Yellow Mountain (Ben Buie), and over the Path of the Red Lake almost drowned. He got through broken ground past the first two Castles, but he could not go past this Castle without going through it. The Fiery Dragon met him at the door, and killed him. But thou hast come on the right path, and success was with thee thus far. I will not keep thee longer, for thou hast many things yet to do. Thou hast got but a day and year for killing the Bare-Stripping Hangman, and if thou hast not thy work finished be- fore then, he will take away with him my fourth sister as he took us. I will go with thee, and put thee on the head of the way. Thou shalt neither stop nor rest until thou reach the Great Barn of the Seven Stoops (Crub*}, of the Seven Bends (Lud}, and of the Seven Couples. Thou shalt see under the Barn on the Yellow Knoll of the Sun, a really old Man cutting divot with a turf- spade. Thou shalt tell him the business on which thou art, and he will tell thee what thou must say and do after that. Thou shalt take advice from every one that will give it to thee faithfully. The blessing of the King is with thee, the blessing of the Sorceress is with thee, the blessing of Sunbeam, my sister, is with thee, the blessing of Light-of-Shade is with thee, and thou hast also my blessing. Be going on thy journey, and everything will be right when thou rcturnest." Then he went away. He was travelling onwards far long and full long. When he began to grow wearied he remembered his achievements and his victory. This lightened his mind, and he got on his way well. In IO2 The Bare-Stripping Hangman. the very midst of his thoughts he came in at the head of the very prettiest Glen he ever beheld. He said to himself, " It must be that I am not now far from the Great Barn of the Seven Couples." Before he let the word out of his mouth, he beheld the Barn a little before him, and the very prettiest Knoll that he ever saw, shining like gold in the sun, in the bottom of the Glen, and the very Man of the oldest appearance whom he ever beheld, cutting divot with a turf-spade on one side of the Knoll. He took his way where the Man was, and gave him the salutation of the day. The man answered him briskly and vigorously, much younger in his talk than he was in his appearance, and asked him where was he from ? "I came from the Castle of the King of Lochlan, through the Rocky Path of the Ben Buie, through the Castle at the end of the Path where I killed the Great Giant of the Two Heads, through the Great Castle of the Eight Turrets where I killed the Great Giant of the Three Heads, Three Humps, and Three Knobs, through the Gloomy Castle of the Fiery Dragon of the Seven Serpent Heads and of the Venomous Sting, and from that as far as this, to see if thou wouldst tell me where I can find the Soul of the Bare-Stripping Hangman ?" The Old Man gave him a look in the face, and said, " Let me see thy sword, Hero." Alastir drew his sword out of the scabbard, and handed it to him. The Old Man took hold of the sword between his two fingers, and put it between him and the light. He then handed it back and said, " Let me see thee flourishing thy sword, Hero." Alastir seized the sword, and gave a back sweep and a front sweep with it as lightly as though it were the deer- knife that would be in his fist. The Old Man bounded towards him and took him by the hand and said, " Hero, thou hast come the way thou hast men- tioned. I cannot tell thee where the Soul of the Bare- The Bare-Stripping Hangman. 103 Stripping Hangman is now, for it fled out of the place where it was four days ago. But it may be that my father will tell thee." " Oh. is thy father alive, or can I see him ?" " He is alive. Yonder he is carrying the divot on his back. Go where he is and ask him." Alastir reached the Man carrying the divot, and asked of him if he knew where the Soul of the Bare-Stripping Hangman was hidden. The Old Man answered, " No, it fled out of the place where it was three days ago. But it may be that my father will tell thee." " Oh, is thy father alive, or may I see him ?" " Oh, he is alive, and thou canst also see him. Yonder he is, over there casting the divot." Alastir reached the man who was casting the divot, and said to him, could he tell where the Soul of the Bare-Stripping Hangman was hidden ? He answered, " I cannot, for it fled out of the place where it was two days since. But it may be that my father will tell thee." " Oov, Oov, sir, can I see thy father, or is he able to speak to me, for he must be very old ?" " Oh, thou canst see him, and he can speak to thee. Yonder he is laying the divot." Alastir reached the man who was laying the divot, and asked of him, could he tell where the Soul of the Bare-Strip- ping Hangman was hidden ? He answered, " I cannot, for it fled out of the place where it was yesterday. But reach my father, and he will tell thee where thou canst find it." " What sort of man is thy father ? Can I see him, or can he speak to me ?" " Thou shalt see him, and he will speak to thee, and tell thee what thou hast to do after this." " But where shall I see him ?" " He is in a little bunch (sopari) of moss behind the crooked stick (inaide-crbni). But I myself must go with thee. When thou art speaking to him thou shalt take extreme care that thou go not within hands' length of him, for if he get a hold of a bit of thy body, he will bruise thee like a grain of barley under a quern-stone. IO4 The Bare-Stripping Hangman. Before you part he will ask a hold of thy hand, and if thou give it to him he will bruise it until it shall be as small as the pin of a black pudding. But here is a wedge of oak," handing him a stout piece off the head of a caber, "and thou shalt give it to him when he asks thy hand." They went in to the house where the Old Man was. The divot-layer took down a large armful of moss from behind the crooked stick (inaide-crbin), and laid it on the hearth-stone. " The little bunch (sopari) is great, sir," said the Son of the King of Ireland. " Greater than that is my father within it," said the divot-layer. He took his father out of the little bunch (bunchie), and placed him on the flag-stone. " What is thy need of me now, son," said the father. " It is a long time since thou didst seek me." The son answered, " There is a Young Champion here who is seeking to know where the Soul of the Bare-Stripping Hangman is hidden." " Son of King Cormac in Ireland, which way hast thou come thus far?" inquired the Man of the Little-bunch of Moss. Alastir told him every step he took from the day he left his father's house, and everything that befell him up to that day. " Truthfully thou hast told me everything, Son of the King of Ireland. Thy father has burnt the Hen-wife, and thy mother is under sorrow for thee. Her prayer and her blessing follow thee, the blessing of the Young King of Riddles follows thee, the blessing of the Young Queen of Riddles follows thee, the blessing of the King of Lochlan follows thee, the blessing and victory of the Sorceress follow thee, and my blessing will follow thee. Thou wert faithful to thy brother, and every man and beast that shall meet thee will be faithful to thee. And, brave Hero, give me a shake of thy hand, and I will tell thee where thou shalt find the Soul of the Bare-Stripping Hangman." The Old Man stretched out his hand, and Alastir stretched out the wedge of oak to The Bare-Stripping Hangman. 105 him. He seized the wedge, gave it a bruising and a shaking, and made pulp (cothati) of it. When he let it go he said, " Son of the King of Ireland, hard is thy hand, and it would need be thus far. Thou art tired, thirsty and hungry, thou art worthy of meat and drink, and thou shalt get both. After thy supper thon shalt go to bed, and at sunrise to-morrow thou shalt be ready for thy journey. Thou shalt keep going forward without turning, without stopping, without looking behind thee till thou reach the Thick-foliaged Grove of the Trees (Doire Dliith-dhuilleach nan CraobJi). Thou shalt see there the Swift-footed Hind of the Cliffs, near which neither dog nor man ever got. Thou shalt catch her, open her, and find a Salmon in her stomach. Thou shalt open the Salmon, and in its belly thou shalt find the Green Duck of the Smooth Feathers. In the belly of the Duck thou shalt find an Egg, and thou shalt catch the Egg and break it before it touch the ground. For if it touch the ground thou shalt never after that see king, or man, or men. But though thy hand is hard it will not break the Egg without my help." He felt beside him in the moss, and took out of it a little jar. He handed the jar to Alastir, and said, " There is ointment for thee. As soon as thou shalt reach the Thick-foliaged Grove of the Trees thou shalt pour the ointment on thy hands, and rub with them every bit of thy skin which happens to be naked, or which thou mayest think that the blood of Hind, or scale of Salmon, or feather of Duck, or shell of Egg will touch. Thou shalt accept hospitality from every man or beast that gives it thee without asking. And thou thyself shalt know what thou hast to do after that. Catch this ointment now, and take it with thee, and be ready for thy journey as I told thee." Alastir knew that it was not safe for him to stretch out his hand for the little jar. So he stretched out his sword, and said, " Put io6 The Bare-Stripping Hangman. the little jar on the point of my finger." The Old Man did that, and grasped the sword in his hand, and bruised it till it was as round as a bit of stick. Then he said, " Thou shalt accomplish thy task. Thou shalt then return on the way on which thou hast come. Thou shalt take the King of Lochlan's daughters out of the Castles in which they are, (and bring them) with thee. Thou shalt then take thy way to the Castle of the Speckled Mountain (Ben Breck), where thou shalt find the Great Giant stretched dead on the floor. Thou shalt cut off him the head and the feet as far as the knees, and shalt take them with thee to the Castle of the King of Lochlan. When thou shalt arrive at the Castle thou shalt put on a great fire, and when it is in the heat of its burning thou shalt throw them on the top of the fire. As soon as they shall get a singeing in the flame they shall become as handsome a young man as man ever saw. He is a brother of the King of Lochlan, who was stolen from his mother, when he was a child, by the Fiery Dragon. She was keeping him yonder under spells, doing every mischief he could on the King until thou didst come. Now, do as I told thee, and my blessing will accompany thee." On the next day Alastir went away on his journey. He kept going forward far long and full long. The evening was coming on him, the calm, still clouds of day were departing, and the dark, gloomy clouds of night were approaching, the little nestling, folding, yellow- tipped birds were taking to rest at the roots of the bushes, and in the tops of the tree tufts, and in the snuggest, pretty, sheltered little holms they could choose for themselves. At last he was growing tired, and weak with hunger. He gave a look before him, and whom did he see but the Dog of the Great Headland ? When they met each other, the kind Dog gave him a salutation The Bare-Stripping Hangman. 107 and welcome heartily. He asked of him whither was he going ? Alastir told him that he was going to seek the Soul of the Bare-Stripping Hangman. The Dog said to him, "The night is coming, and thou art weaned ; come with me, and I will give thee the best hospitality I can to-night." He went with the Dog willingly. They reached the Lair of the Dog, and that was the dry, comfortable place, with abundance of fire, venison of deer, and of hinds and roes. He got enough to eat, and a warm, comfortable bed, with the skins of stags under him, and the skins of hinds and roes over him. Next morning he got his breakfast of the same kind of food as he had at his supper. When he was going away the kind Dog said to him, " Any time a strong tooth that will not yield its hold, or a fast strong foot that will travel on the rocky top (creachann) of moun- tain, or run on the floor of glen, will do thee service, think of me, and I will be at thy side." He gave the kind Dog great thanks, and departed on his journey. He kept going forward far long and full long, until he was growing tired and evening was coming on. He gave a look before him, and whom did he see coming to meet him but the Brown Otter of the Stream of Guidance. When they met, the Otter gave him a cheery salutation, and asked of him where was he going? Alastir told him that. " The night is coming and thou art wearied ; come with me to-night, and thou shalt get the best hospitality I can give." He went with the Otter to his Cairn. That was the warm, comfortable place, with abundance of fire and enough of the fish of salmon and grilse. He got his supper well and very well, and as easy a bed as he ever slept on of the smooth bent of the fresh-water Lakes. Next morning he got his breakfast of the same sort as he had for his supper on the night before. When he was going away, the Otter said to io8 The Bare- Stripping Hangman. him, " Any time a strong tail to swim under water, or to stem each current and rapid, will be of service to thee, think of me, and I will be at thy side." Alastir gave thanks to the kindly Otter, and departed. He travelled on far long and full long, until he was growing tired and night was coming. He gave a look before him, and whom did he see squatting on a stone, but the Great Falcon of the Rock of Cliffs? When they met, the Falcon asked of him where was he going ? and Alastir told him the journey on which he was. "The night is coming, and thou art wearied and hungry," said the Falcon ; " thou hadst better stay with me to-night, and I will give thee the best hospitality I can." He went with the Falcon to his own sheltered cliff. That was the dry, comfortable place, where he got abundance of the flesh of every kind of birds, and a bed of feathers as easy as he ever lay on. Next morning, after he had got his breakfast, the Falcon said to him, " Any time a strong, supple wing which can travel through air or over mountain, will be of service to thee, think of me, and I will be at thy side." He did not go far forward, when he came in sight of the Thick-foliaged Grove of the Trees. He reached the Grove, and scarcely had he got in when the Swift-footed Hind of the Cliffs sprang out and ascended the moun- tain. He stretched away after her, but the faster he went the farther she would be from him. When he exhausted himself pursuing her, he thought of the Dog, and said, " Would not the Dog of the Great Headland be useful here now?" No sooner did the word go out of his mouth than the Dog was at his side. He told the Dog that he was exhausted following the Hind, and that he was then farther from her than he was when he began to pursue her. The Dog went after her, and he went after the Dog till they reached the side of the Green Lakelet. Then the The Bare-Stripping Hangman. 109 Dog caught the Hind, and left her at Alastir's feet. It was then that Alastir remembered the ointment. He poured it quickly on his hands, and rubbed it to every bit of his skin that the Hind's blood might touch. He then tackled the Hind, and opened her. But if he did open her it was not without a fight, for her hoofs were so sharp and her feet so strong that if it were not for the ointment she would take him asunder in bits. When he opened the stomach the Salmon leaped out of it into the Green Lakelet. He went after the Salmon round the Lakelet ; but when he would be at one bank, the Salmon would be under another bank. At last he remembered the Brown Otter of the Stream of Guidance, and on the spot he was at his side. He told the Otter that the Salmon was in the Lakelet, and that he could not get a hold of it. The Otter sprang out quickly into the water, and in a short time came back with the Salmon, and laid it at Alastir's feet. Alastir seized the Salmon, but as soon as he made a hole on its belly, the Duck of the Smooth Feather and Green Back sprang out, and flew to the other side of the Lakelet, and lay down there. He went after her ; but when he reached that side on which she was, she rose and went back to the side which he had left. When he saw that he could not catch her, he remembered the Great Falcon of the Rock of the Cliffs, and in an instant he was at his side. He told him how the Duck got away, and that he could not catch her. The Falcon sprang quickly after her, and in an instant came with her and left her at Alastir's feet. Alastir remembered that if the egg should touch the ground everything was lost. He therefore opened the Duck cautiously, and as soon as the Egg came in sight he seized it quickly in his hand, but the Egg gave a bounce out of his fist, and sprang the three heights of a man in the air. But before it struck the 1 10 The Bare- Stripping Hangman. earth, Alastir got a hold of it, and gave it a hard bruis- ing between his two hands and two knees, and crushed it in fragments. He had now finished everything which he had got to do. He therefore returned the way he came. He found the path as smooth and safe as it formerly was full of obstacles and dangers. In a short time he reached the Gloomy Castle of the Fiery Serpent. The woman met him at the door, and cried, " Darling of the Men of the World ! thou hast conquered, and thou shalt receive thy reward." She went away with him, and in a short time they reached the Great Castle of the Eight Turrets. Light-of-Shade met them at the door, and went away with them. Then they reached the Great Castle at the end of the Rocky Path, and found Sunbeam waiting them. She went away with them, and they reached the Castle of the Great Giant of Ben Breck, and found him stretched dead on the floor. Alastir seized his own Great Sword, and took the head and feet as far as the knees off him. He tied them up and took them with him. " Now," said Sunbeam, " to-night is the night in which the Great Giant was to come for my youngest sister, and my father is in heavy sorrow, because he is sure that thou hast been killed, since thou didst not return before now. He has all his men assembled to meet the Giant when he will arrive. But his sorrow will be turned to cheerfulness, and his sadness to laughter. When he comes to meet us, thou shalt tell him how it befell thee since the day in which thou didst depart to this night." When they were nearing the Castle, they saw a great host awaiting the coming of the Giant. The King and all in the Castle were sad and sorrowful for the maiden who was to be taken from them. But in the midst of their grief, the King gave a look out of the window, and The Bare -Stripping Hangman. 1 1 1 saw Alastir coming with three women in his company, and the head and feet of the Giant over his shoulder. He sprang out to meet him, seized him between his two arms, and kissed him. " Darling of the Men of the World ! I knew that victory would be with thee, and I will be as good as my promise to thee. But since thou hast brought home all my daughters, thou shalt get thy choice of them, from the oldest one to the youngest." " Well," said Alastir, " she whom I went to save from the Bare-Stripping Hangman is my choice." When each of the rest heard this she was sorry that he did not choose herself. But since he won the victory, and did so much for them, they all consented that he should get the one he chose. The King then asked Alastir what was he going to do with the head and feet of the Giant. " Before I eat food or take a drink thou shalt see that," said Alastir. He then got fuel, and made a large fire, and when the fire was in the heat of its burning, he threw the head and feet in the midst of the flame. As soon as the hair of the head was singed and the skin of the feet burnt, the very handsomest young man they ever beheld sprang out of the fire. " Oh, the son of my father and mother who was stolen in his childhood !" said the King, springing over and embracing him in his arms. When they saluted each other, they all went in to the Castle. The King resolved that Alastir and his daughter should be married that very night. But when Alastir heard this, he said, " King of Lochlan, thine offer is good enough. But I will not marry thy daughter, nor will I enter into possession of a bit of thy kingdom, until thou shalt send for the Young King of Riddles and the Young Queen of Riddles to the wedding." The King now fell into great anxiety, because he did not know in what direction he should send for them. In the midst of his thoughts he remembered the Sorceress. He went j 1 2 An Croc hair e Lom-Rusgach. where she was, and told her Alastir's request. Get thou everything else ready, and I will have them here before sunrise to-morrow," said the Sorceress. And what she said proved true. The first look the King gave next morning in the direction of the sea, he saw two coracles (curachs] coming to the shore. Out of one of them came Cormac and his wife, and out of the other came the Sorceress. Alastir sprang out to meet them, and that was the affectionate welcome they gave each other ! The King came to meet them, and he gave them a cordial saluta- tion. They went to the Castle, and the marriage was consummated. After the marriage was over, they made a great feast which lasted a day and year. At the end of that time Cormac and his wife returned to their own place, and Alastir and his wife went with them. Cormac remained in the Castle of the King of Riddles, but Alastir went back to his father's place. When his mother saw him she gave him a great welcome, and his father rejoiced greatly when he heard that Cormac was the Young King of Riddles. The King now made another great feast for Alastir and his wife and for all who were about him. And I got nothing but butter on a live coal, porridge in a basket, (and) paper shoes. They sent me (for water) to the stream, and they (the paper shoes) came to an end. AN CROCHAIRE LOM-RUSGACH. BHA Righ roimhe so 'an Eirinn a bha pbsda da uair, agus aig an robh mac ris gach t d' a mhnaibh. B' e ainm mac na ce'ud mhna Cormac, agus ainm mac na dara mna Alastair. Bha athair ro mhor mu Chormac, agus bhitheadh e daonnan 'g a thabhairt leis do 'n Bheinn-sheilg. An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. 1 1 3 Bha Cailleach-chearc aig an Righ, agus air la araid chaidh i 's tigh far an robh a' Bhan-righ, agus coltas tursach, brbnach oirre. Dh' fhebraich a' Bhan-righ dhi gu d 'bha cur oirre ? " Is mbr sin agus cha bheag, a Bhan-righ na truaighe ! " " Gu de* 's ciall d' a sin ?" " Gu 'm bheil an Righ cho gaolach air Cormac, mac na ce*ud mhna, agus gur ann aige 'dh' fhagas e 'n righeachd 'us gu 'm bi do mhac-sa falamh." " Cha-n 'eil comas air sin ma 's e toil an Righ e." " U, ged tha, cha ruig a' chuis leas a bhi mar sin. Ma bheir thu dhomhs' an rud a dh' iarras mi ort ni mi do mhac 'n a righ." " Gu de, mata, an duais a bhitheas tu 'g iarraidh airson sin a dheanamh ?" " Cha mhbr sin: na ni tiugh an crogan dubh demhin, agus na ni tana de dh' im e, Ian ailleagan mo dha chluais de chlbimh, agus leud mo dhara mais de fhebil." " Gu de" na ni tiugh an crogan dubh de mhin ?" " Ceithir salldraichean deug." " Gu d 'nis a ni tana de dh' im e ?" " Na bhitheas air do sheachd tighean cruidh gu ceann sheachd bliadhna." " Gu de" 'nis Ian ailleagan do dha chluais de chloimh ?" " Na bhitheas air do sheachd tighean chaorach gu ceann sheachd bliadhna." " Agus gu dd 'nis leud do dhara mais de fhebil ?" " Na bhitheas air do sheachd tighean dhamh gu ceann sheachd bliadhna." " Tha sin mor, a bhean." " Tha, ach is beag e seach trian de dh' Eirinn." " Is beag," thubhairt a' Bhan- righ, " agus gheibh thu e. Ach gu de 'n sebl a ghabhas tu air mo Mhac-sa 'dheanamh 'n a righ ?" " Bha Cormac a' gearan an de nach robh e gu rnath. 'Nuair a thig an luchd-seilg dhachaidh their thu ris an Righ gu 'm fdum Cormac fuireachd aig an tigh am maireach, agus do dh' Alastair dol do 'n Bheinn- sheilg 'n a aite. Ni mise deoch do Chormac, agus bheir thusa dha i an deigh do chach falbh, agus cha chuir e dragh tuillidh air do mhac-s' o bhi 'na righ." Chord so gu math ris a Bhan- righ, agus gheall i gu 'n deanamh i mar dh' iarr a' Chailleach- chearc oirre. Bha na mnathan a' smaointeachadh nach robh duine 'g an cluinntinn am feadh a bha iad a' dealbhadh an uilc, ach re na h-uine bha Alastair ri farchluais aig cul an doruis. Bha e ro dhiombach mu 'n ni a bha iad a' dol a dheanamh, a chionn gu 'n robh e fein agus Cormac cho gaolach air a cheile 's a bha da I ii4 An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. bhrathair riamh. Smaointich e gu de 'dheanadh e, agus chuir e roimhe beachd nam ban innseadh do Chormac cho luath agus a thigeadh e dhachaidh. Thainig Cormac dhachaidh mu fheasgar. Bha e gu math sgith, agus cha robh e 'g a fhaireachdainn fein n' a b' fhearr na bha e anns a' mhadainn. Chaidh Alastair far an robh e, agus dh' innis e dha gach ni a thachair eadar a mhathair agus a' Chailleach-chearc. Ghabh Cormac bochd an t-eagal, agus thubhairt e ri Alastair gu de 'dheanadh e ? Fhreagair Alastair, " Bitheadh misneach agad, agus ni mise doigh air am faigh sinn air falbh as an carabh, agus cha chuir sinn dragh tuillidh orra. Falbhaidh mise 'm maireach le m' athair do 'n Bheinn- sheilg, ach cha teid mi fad' air an t-slighe 'n uair a their mi ris gu 'n till mi dhachaidh a chionn nach tagh leam dol do 'n Bheinn. Mu 'n ruig mise, theid mo mhathair a 's tigh leis an deoch gu d' ionnsaidh. Beiridh tu air a' chorn as a laimh, ach air son ni no neach a chunnaic thu riamh na blais as, agus na cuir a choir do bhebil e. Togaidh tu do lamh mar gu 'm bitheadh tu dol a dh' 61, agus an sin leumaidh tu 'mach leis ann ad laimh. Bithidh an da each 'is luaith 'a th' anns an stabul agams' a' feitheamh ort, agus falbhaidh sinn." Agus mar sin rinn iad. Air an ath latha cha deachaidh Alastair ach goirid le athair an uair a dhiult e dol ni 'b' fhaide, agus a thill e dhachaidh. Bha fhios aig' air an am anns am faigheadh Cormac an deoch, agus chuir e roimhe gu 'm bitheadh na h-eich deas aige mar gheall e. Ach mu 'n gann a bha iad aige fo 'n diollaidibh, thainig Cormac a mach le cabhaig, agus an corn aige 'n a laimh. Ghlaodh Alastair ris, " Leum gu grad a' d' dhiollaid, agus lean ris na th' agad." Rinn e sin, agus dh' fhalbh iad le cheile cho luath 's a bheireadh casan nan each iad. Chum iad air an aghaidh gun stad gun tamh gus an robh na h-eich a' tabhairt thairis orra. An sin theirinn iad, agus shuidh iad sios anns an aite 's an robh iad. Thubhairt Alastair ri Cormac, " Leig fhaicinn domh an corn a nis ?" Rug e air a' chorn a laimh a bhrathar, fhuair e bioran, agus thubhairt c, " Chi sinn a nis gu d 'n stuth a th' An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. 115 anns a' chorn." Thum e 'm bioran anns an stuth, agus chuir e boinne dh' e 'an cluais gach aon de na h-eich. _"Gu d6 'tha thu deanamh mar sin ?" arsa Cormac. " Feith beagan, agus chi thu," thubhairt Alastair. An uine ghoirid thoisich na h-eich air dol mu 'n cuairt anns an tuainealaich, agus cha b' fhada gus an do thuit iad fuar marbh air an talamh. " Saoil, a Chormaic, na 'n d' 61 thu 'n deoch gu de 'thachradh dhuit?" ars' Alastair. " Gu de ach gu 'm bithinn marbh roimhe so," thubhairt Cormac. Am feadh a bha iad a' cbmhradh, thainig ceithir fithich, agus laidh iad air carcaisibh nan each. Thoisich iad air piocadh nan sul as na h-eich, agus an uair a dh' ith iad na suilean dh' itealaich iad air falbh anns an athar. Ach cha deachaidh iad ach goirid an uair a thug iad sgriachan goint' asda, agus a thuit iad marbh air an talamh. " Gu de do bharail a nis air an deoch, a Chormaic ?" thubhairt Alastair. " Gu de ach na 'n d' ol mi dhi, nach robh mi 'so an drasd'," arsa Cormac. Dh' cinch Alastair, agus thug e leis na ceithir fithich ann an neapacain, agus dh' fhalbh e fein agus a bhrathair a ris air an turus. Bha Alastair a' gleidheadh a' cheum thoisich, a chionn gu 'n robh buaidhean air leis an robh fhios aige gu de bha ri tachairt orra. Chum iad air an aghaidh gus an d' thainig iad gu baile beag. Chaidh Alastair a 's tigh do thigh-cocaireachd anns a' bhaile, agus dh' iarr e air a' Chocaire na fithich a ghreidheadh cho math 's a ghreidh e coin riamh, ach gun e chur meur no lamh a choir a bhebil gus am bitheadh iad greidht' aige, agus gus an glanadh e a lamhan gu math agus gu ro mhath. " Gu de is ciall d' a sin ?" thubhairt an Cocairc. " Cha do ghreidh mise biadh riamh roimhe nach fhaotainn a bhlasad." " Na blais agus na h-ith mir dhiu so, air neo cha-n fhaigh thu idir iad." Gheall an Cocaire gu 'n deanadh e mar dh' iarradh air. An deigh do 'n Chocaire na fithich a ghreidheadh, agus paidheadh fhaotainn airson a shaothair, cheangail Alastair iad 'n a neapaicin, agus dh' fhalbh e fein agus Cormac a ris air an turns. Air an rathad thubhairt Alastair, " Tha coille mhor romhainn anns am bheil ceithir robairean fichead a' fuireachd nach do leig duine riamh seachad orra gun a mharbhadh, agus T 2 n6 An Croc/mire Lom-Rusgach. nach leig sinne seachad ma 's urrainn iad ar bacadh." " Gu de ni sinn," thubhairt Cormac. " Fag sin agamsa," fhreagair Alastair. An uair a bha iad a' dol troimh 'n choille thug iad an aire do lianaig bhbidhich os ceann an rathaid air an robh iad ag iomachd, agus do na robairean 'g am blionadh fein ris a ghrein aig braigh na lianaige. Chum iad air an aghaidh, ach an uair a bha iad direach a' dol seachad fo 'n ait' anns an robh na robairean, ghlaodh dithis dhiu, " Co an da bheadagan bhalaich aig am bitheadh a chridhe dol seachad air an t-slighe so gun sinne fhebraich?" Ghabh iad uile 'nuas far an robh an d& choigreach, agus thubhairt iad riu gu 'n robh iad a' dol a chur nan ceann diu. " Oh ! mata," ars' Alastair, " cha-n 'eil comas air. Tha sinne sgith agus acrach, agus na 'n leigibh sibhleinn greim bithidh itheadh mu 'n cuireadh sibh gu bas sinn bhitheadh sinn 'n ar comain." " Ma tha biadh agaibh, gabhadh e gu h-ealamh," thubhairt na robairean. " Tha biadh againn," thubhairt Alastair, "agus gheibh sibhse cuid d' e ma thoilicheas sibh." An sin dh' fhosgail e a neapaicin, agus rinn e na fithich 'n an sia piosan fichead, pios airson gach fear a bh' anns a' chuideachd. " A nis," thubhairt e, " feithidh sibh gus am bi sibh uile riaraichte, agus tbisichidh sibh air itheadh cbmhla, oir ma dh' itheas cuid agaibh an earrann fein an toiseach leumaidh iad air each airson an earrann-san, agus millidh agus marbhaidh sibh a che'ile." A' so rinn na robairean gaire mbr fanaid, ach thubhairt iad gu 'n deanadh iad mar dh' iarradh orra. An uair a bha iad uile riaraichte thog Alastair a suas a lamh, agus ghlaodh e, " Itheadh a nis." Rinn iad sin, agus mhol iad am biadh. Ach cha b' fhada gus an do thbisich fear an deigh fir dhiu ri suidhe 'dheanamh, agus a h-uile fear a shuidheadh thuiteadh e 'n a chadal, agus as a' chadal sin cha robh e dusgadh tuillidh. Mu dheireadh bha iad uile 'n cadal a' bhais. " A nis," thubhairt Alastair, " tha sud seachad, agus tha 'n rathad reidh romhainn gu ruig Caisteal Righ Ceist. Falbhaidh tusa a' d' Righ Eirionn, agus falbhaidh mise 'am ghille agad. Ma dh' iarrar ort ni air bith a dheanamh their thu gur e 'n An Crochaire Lom-Riisgach. 117 gille 'bhitheas a' deanamh sin anns an duthaich as an d' thainig thusa. An uair a ruigeas tu Caisteal Righ Ceist, feumaidh tu Ceist a chur no Ceist fhuasgladh, agus mur dean thu sin theid do cheann a chur air stob anns a' gharadh a tha mu choinneamh an doruis. Rainig mbran d' ar seorsa-ne an Caisteal romhainn, agus a chionn nach b' urrainn iad ceist a chur no ceist fhuasgladh chaidh an cinn a chur air stuib a' gharaidh. Tha aon stob falamh ann fathast, agus theid do cheann -sa 'chur air mur cuir, no mar fuasgail thusa, no mis' air do shon, Ceist a nochd." Rainig iad an Caisteal. Chuir Righ Ceist faille mhor orra, oir shaoil e gu 'm b' ann a dh' iarraidh a nighinn a thainig iad, mar na feadhainn a thainig rompa. Cha robh iad ach goirid a 's tigh an uair a chaidh biadh a chur mu 'n coinneamh, ach mu 'n do thbisich iad air a ghabhail thubhairt Righ Ceist, " A Righ Eirionn, cuir ceist no fuasgail ceist." Fhreagair Righ Eirionn, agus thubhairt e, " Is e 'n gille 'bhitheas a deanamh sin anns an duthaich as an d' thainig mise." " Faigh a nuas do ghille, mata," arsa Righ Ceist. Thainig an gille. "'Ille Righ Eirionn, cuir ceist no fuasgail ceist," thubhairt Righ Ceist. Fhreagair an Gille, "Mharbh a h-aon a dha, mharbh a dha. ceithir, mharbh ceithir ceithir thar fhichead, agus tharr dithis as. 1 ' Smaointich Righ Ceist, ach cha b' urrainn e a' cheist fhuasgladh. Mu dheireadh thubhairt e ris a' Ghille, " Bi falbh an drasd, agus gheibh thu fuasgladh na ceist am maireach." An deigh na dinnearach chaith iad an cor de 'n oidhche 'g innseadh sgebil thaitneach gus an d' thainig am dol a laidhe. An sin chuir Righ Ceist fios air a nighinn agus air a da. mhaighdein coimhideachd dheug. Thubhairt e ris na maighd- eannan, co air bith aca a gheibheadh fuasgladh na ceist' o thus bho Ghille Righ Eirionn, gu 'm faigheadh i 'mhac-san r' a phbsadh agus leth na righeachd. Thubhairt iad gu 'm feuchaidh iad ris. Thionndaidh e 'n sin r' a nighinn, agus gheall e dhi a roghainn leannain, agus leth na righeachd na 'm faigheadh ise fuasgladh na ceist' o thus. Bha na maighdeannan greis a' mebrachadh gu de 'n dbigh air am faigheadh iad a mach fuasgladh na ceiste. Mu dheireadh chord iad an Gille 'chur anns an aon sebmar a b' fhuaire 's bu 1 1 8 An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. mhiosa 'bha 's a Chaisteal, far an robh tuill air na ballachan, agus a bha na h-uinneagan briste, agus gaoth 'us uisge 'tighinn a 's tigh orra ; gu 'n cuireadh iad a Mhaistir anns an t-sebmar a b' fhearr a bha 's tigh ; agus gu 'n abradh iad ris a' Ghille, gu 'm faigheadh e leaba agus sebmar cho math 's a bh' aig a' Mhaistir na 'n innseadh e fuasgladh na ceist o thus. Agus mar sin rinn iad. Cha robh 'n Gille ro fhada 'n a laidhe an uair a dh' fhairich e 'n dorus 'g a fhosgladh. Thionndaidh e air a chluasaig, agus chunnaic e maighdean 6g dhreachmhor 'n a seasamh air an urlar. Thuig e gu ro mhath gu de 'bh' air a h-aire. Thubhairt a' mhaighdean ris, " An cadal dhuit, 'Ille Righ Eirionn ?" " Cha chadal; oir cha-n fhardach chadail a fhuair mi, gaoth 'us fuachd fodhajn, agus gaoth 'us uisg' os mo cheann. Is fad' a bheir mi ainin an tighe so 'n uair a dh' fhalbhas mi." " Gheibh thu leaba cho math agus a th' aig do Mhaistir ma dh' innseas tu dhomhsa fuasgladh na ceist' o thus." Ach cha d' innis e sin di, agus leig e leatha falbh as eugmhais a dh' ionnsaidh chaich. Thainig iadsan an sin aon an deigh aoin, ach dh' eirich dhoibh mar dh' eirich dhise. Cho luath 's a chaidh an te' mu dheireadh dhiu a mach, dh' fhalbh an Gille do shebmar a Mhaistir, agus chaidh a Mhaistir do shebmar a' Ghille. Cha robh e ach goirid an sin an uair a thainig nighean an Righ a 's tigh. Thubhairt i mar thubhairt na maighdeannan roimpe, " An cadal dhuit, 'Ille Righ Eirionn ?" " Cha chadal ; oir cha-n fhardach chadail a fhuair mi, gaoth 'us fuachd fodham, agus gaoth 'us uisg' os mo cheann. Is fada 'bheir mi ainm an tighe so 'n uair a dh' fhalbhas mi." " Mata, gheibh thu leaba cho math 's a th' aig do Mhaistir ma dh' innseas tu dhomhsa fuasgladh na ceist' o thus." Ach cha d' innis e sin di, agus dh' fhalbh i. Air an ath mhadainn dh' fhebraich Righ Ceist de na maighd- eannan an d' fhuair iad fuasgladh na ceiste ? Thubhairt iad nach d' fhuair. Dh' fhebraich e 'n sin d' a nighinn an d' fhuair ise i ? Agus thubhairt i nach d' fhuair. An uair a shuidh iad sios aig am braiceas thubhairt Righ Ceist, " A Righ Eirionn, cuir ceist no fuasgail ceist." " Mar dh' innis mi dhuit an raoir is e mo Ghille 'bhitheas a' cur ceist An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. 1 19 no fuasgladh ceist air mo shon." " Faigh a nuas do Ghille, niata." Thainig an Gille. " 'Ille Righ Eirionn, cuir ceist no fuasgail ceist," arsa Righ Ceist. " Cha d' fhuair mi fuasgladh na ceud cheist fhathast," ars' an Gille. " A bheadagain bhalaich, an ann a' cumail bruidhne riumsa 'tha thu ? Cuir ceist no fuasgail ceist, airneo bithidh do cheann air a chur dhiot air a' cheud-lomaidh, agus air a chur air an stob anns a' gharadh." " Cuiridh mi ceist mata," ars' an Gille. " Cluinneam i, mata," fhreagair Righ Ceist. [Chuir an Gille ceist a rinn e air na nithibh a thachair dha fnein agus d' a Mhaistir air an oidhche roimhe. Dh' fhuasgail Righ Ceist a' cheist sin, ach dh' fhairslich a cheud te air. A ghiorrachadh a' chuid so de'n sgeul, thug Righ Ceist a nigheann do Righ Eirionn, agus chaidh am pbsadh gu 'n dail, agus banais mhbr a dheanamh air an son.] Dh' fhuirich] Alastair leb mbran laithean, a' cur seachad na h- uine ri seilg agus ri iasgach. Air la araid, agus e 'g iasgach air creig laimh ris a' mhuir, agus a' smaointeachadh gu de 'dheanadh e, falbh no fuireachd le Cormac, chual e plub mbr anns an loch aig bun na creige. Mu 'n d' fhuair e sealitainn a null no 'nail, leum Dobhar-chu Mbr as an uisge, rug e air dha chaol-cois- se air, agus dh' fhalbh e 'mach leis air a' mhuir. Cha-n fhac e tuillidh leus talaimh no athair gus an d' fhagadh e os ceann an lain anns an acn bb a bu bhbidhche a chunnaic e riamh le gainmheich mhin, gheal o bheul na tuinne gu feur gorm. Bha e 'nis ann an Lochlann. An uine ghoirid thill an Dobhar-chu air ais agus bradan fior- uisg' aige 'n a bheul. Dh' fhag e 'm bradan aig casan Alastair agus thubhairt e ris, " Turus fada 's am bith air am bi thu dol, no cruaidh-chas 's am bith a bitheas a' 'tighinn ort, gabh greim de 'n iasg so romh laimh. Ni thu bothan a' so agus fanaidh tu ann gus am faic thu tuillidh na mise, agus am faigh thu tuillidh na mo chomhairle-sa." Chuir e 'suas am bothan an oidhche sin fein. Bhruich e 'n sin pios de 'n bhradan, agus an deigh dha itheadh dh' e dh' fhairich e ni 'bu treise na bha e riamh. Air an ath mhadainn dh' eirich e, agus chaidh e 'mach romh cheud-lomaidh gu ceann a' bhothain. Sheas e, agus chunnaic I2O An Crochaire Lom-Ritsgach. e 'm Fiadh Mbr Ceir-gheal a' tighinn direach air an aite 's an robh e 'n a sheasamh, agus an Gaothar Geal, Cluas-dhearg a bha as a dhe"igh 'g a ruith gu dian. An uair a bha 'm Fiadh a' dluthachadh air, bha breth air bhreth aig a Ghaothar air an Fhiadh ; agus anns an dol seachad thug an Gaothar tathunn as, agus le"um e 'n amhaich an Fheldh, agus dh' fhag e marbh e aig casan Alastair. "Nis,"ars'an Gaothar ri Alastair, "bha thusa dileas do d' bhrathair, agus gheibh thu do dhuais. Turus fada 's am bith air am bi thu 'dol, no cruaidh-chas 's am bith a bhitheas a' tighinn ort, ithidh tu romh laimh greim de 'n bhradan fhior- uisge agus greim de 'n fhiadh so ; agus o aon ni a chi no 'chluinneas tu, cha n e'irich be"ud dhuit tuillidh. Agus mu 'n teirig sin duit gheibh thu fios gu de ni thu." An sin ghuidh an Gaothar Geal, Cluas-dhearg soirbheachadh math leis, agus dh' fhalbh e. Thug Alastair am fiadh a 's tigh d' a bhothan, agus dh' fhag e laimh ris a' bhradan e. Rinn e a bhraiceas, agus dh' ith e pios de 'n bhradan agus pios de 'n fhiadh. Chaidh e 'sin a mach, agus air dha suil a thabhairt uaithe, chunnaic e duine mbr a' tighinn 'us coltas righ air, agus da churaidh dheug cbmhla ris. Thainig iad direach a dh' ionnsaidh an aite 's an robh e. Thubhairt an Righ ris, " Ciamar a bha 'chridhe no 'dhanachd agad tighinn a mharbhadh an Fheidh Mhbir Cheirghil agamsa ?" " Thainig d' fhiadh leis fe"in ann am rathad, bha feum agam air biadh, agus mharbh mi e," ars' Alastair. " Mata," ars' an Righ, " o 'n mharbh thu 'm fiadh feumaidh tu cath ri m' chuid curaidhean-sa gus an tuit thusa no iadsan." "Tha mise 'm aonar, a Righ," ars' Alastair, " tha sibh-se 'n ur moran, cbmhla ri sin tha mi gun lann agam." " Cha bhi thu gun lann," thubhairt an Righ. " Gheibh thu mo lann-sa, agus ma bheir thu do bheatha as leis, is leat fhe"in e." " Feuchaidh mi co dhiu," thubhairt Alastair. " Ach tha mi 'g iarraidh mar fhabhar gu 'n leig thu leam greim bithidh itheadh mu 'n tbisich mi." " Gheibh thu sin," thubhairt an Righ, 'us e a sineadh a chlaidheimh dha. Chaidh Alastair a 's tigh d' a bhothan, agus dh' ith e greim An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. 1 2 1 de 'n iasg agus greim de 'n fhiadh. An uair a bha e re*idh shath e claidheamh an Righ ann an carcais an fheidh, agus chaidh e cho furasda troimhe agus ged' b' uisg' e. " Buaidh an t-sathaidh so a bhi leis gach buille," ars' Alastair. Dh' fhairich e gu 'n robh e fein ann am mbr-mhisnich agus an Ian neart, agus thionn e 'mach a dh' ionnsaidh a' chatha. Thubhairt an Righ ris gu 'm faigheadh e cothrom na Feinne, fear an deigh fir. Chaidh aon de na curaidhnean a chur a mach m' a choinneamh. Ach cha b' fhada 'bha iad ag iomairt lann an uair a thuit curaidh an Righ trbm-lebnt' air a' bhlar. Ghlaodh Alastair ris an ath fhear tighinn air aghaidh. Thainig e, ach an uine ghoirid thuit e lebnt' air a bhlar mar thuit a cheud fhear. Dh' eirich a leithid eile do 'n treas fhear. An uair a chunnaic an Righ a thriuir churaidh a' sileadh fala agus a' basachadh thubhairt e ris a' choigreach, " Ge b' e ait' a 's duthaich dhuit is curaidh thu co dhiu." Ghlaodh Alastair an sin ri each tighinn air an aghaidh gu grad ma bha aige-san ri dol trompa uile. Ach chuir an Righ stad air an iomairt. Thionndaidh e ri Alastair, agus thubhairt e ris, " Choisinn thu do chlaidheamh le buaidh, agus gheibh thu e. Falbh leamsa agus ni mis' thu ni 's fearr na tha thu 'n so." An sin dh' iarr Alastair air mar chaoimhneas am bothan fhagail 'n a sheasamh mar bha e gun fhios nach feumadh e tilleadh ann fathast. Fhuair e iarrtas, agus dh' fhalbh e leis an Righ. Air an rathad bha 'n Righ fo thrbm-cheal airson call a thri churaidhnean. Ach, mu dheireadh, thubhairt e ris fein gu 'n robh an t-aon a fhuair e cho math ris an triuir a chaill e. Chum iad air an aghaidh tromh choille, thar monaidh, agus thar mbintich gus an d' rainig iad Caisteal mbr, briadha nach fhac Alastair riamh roimhe a leithid. Dh' iarr an Righ air dol a 's tigh cbmhla ris. Ghabh na curaidhnean an rathad fein, agus chaidh Alastair a 's tigh leis an Righ. Chaidh biadh agus deoch a chur mu choinneamh Alastair, agus dh' iarr an Righ air bl agus itheadh. Fhreagair e nach itheadh e greim d' a bhiadh agus nach bladh e boinne d' a dheoch gus an innseadh e dha an t-aobhar airson an d' thug e 'n sud e. Dh' aithnich an Righ gu 'm b' e curaidh a bh' aige, agus thubhairt e gu 'n innseadh e sin da. 122 An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. " Bha ceathrar nighean agam. Chaidh triuir dhiu 'thabhairt uam le Famhair Mbr a tha 'fuireachd 'an Coire Dubh na Beinne Brice. Thainig e 'n toiseach an am dol fodha na greine, agus thug e leis a' cheud te dhiu 'am lathair fhein agus 'an lathair mo chuid churaidh, agus cha-n fhaca mi tuillidh i. Chuir mi mo churaidhnean 'n a dheigh, agus lean iad e a dh' ionnsaidh a' Chaisteil aige. Ach an uair a rainig iad e, mar sgathadh piorradh de ghaoith near rainneach anns a' gheamhradh chuir e na cinn diu, agus cha d' fhuair ach aon as a dh' innseadh sgebil a chruadail dhomh. An ceann sheachd bliadhna thainig e rithist, agus mar thachair air tus thachair air an uair sin. An ceann sheachd bliadhn' eile, thainig e agus thug e leis an treas te". Chuir mo chuid churaidhnean rompa gu 'm bitheadh dioghailt ac' air, agus gu 'n d' thugadh iad mo nighean dachaidh g' am ionnsaidh. Dh' fhalbh iad fo 'n Ian armachd a dh' fhaireadh Caisteal Coire Dubh na Beinne Brice. An deigh dhoibh fhaireadh re thri chuairt greine cha d' fhuair iad cothrom air an Fhamhair. Mu dheireadh bha iad a' fas trom a dhith cadail, agus lag a dhith bithidh ; agus chuir iad rompa gu 'n rachadh iad a dh' ionnsaidh a' Chaisteil agus gu 'm faiceadh iad de 'bha 's tigh. Fhuair iad a dh' ionnsaidh Uig an Fhamhair, agus chunnaic iad gu 'n robh e 'n trom chadal. Thubhairt iad r' a cheile gu 'm b' e sin an t-am dhoibh nighean an Righ a dhioghailt, agus an ceann a thabhairt de 'n Fhamhair. Leum iad g' a ionnsaidh, agus bhuail iad an ceann deth le 'n claidhibh. Cha bu luaith' a rinn iad sin na leum fir-eun mbr a nuas, agus a bhuail e 'cheud churaidh anns an aodann, agus a leag se e. Rinn e a ni ceudn' air an ath fhear. Agus an uair a chunnaic an corr sin theich iad. Ach mu 'n gann a fhuair iad a mach tromh gheat' a' Chaisteil chunnaic iad am Famhair a' tighinn 'n an deigh, agus a cheann air mar bha e roimhe. An uair a chunnaic iad e shm iad as, agus stad cha d' rinn na fhuair dhiu as gus an d' rainig iad so. Ach a chuid dhiu a thuit 'na lamhan, ruisg e gus an craicionn, agus chroch e suas air cromagaibh ri turaidibh a' Chaisteil. 'Nis tha cheathramh te do 'm nigheanaibh mar la 'us bliadhna do dh' aois chaich an uair a chaidh an goid uam. Ach aon 's am bith a bheir dhachaidh g' am ionnsaidhsa an Alaire Dhubh a An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. 123 tha anns a' Bheinn, agus air nach deachaidh taod riamh is leis mo nighean agus gu leth mo righeachd." "Is math do thairgse, a Righ," ars' Alastair. "Is mairg nach deanadh a dhichioll g' a cosnadh." " Dh' aithnich mi gu 'm bu churaidh thu," ars' an Righ ; " agus ma ni thu e gheibh thu do dhuais agus mbran tuillidh. Air madainn an ath latha ruigidh tu an stabul agamsa, agus gheibh thu do roghainn sreine." Rainig Alastair an Stabul air an ath mhadainn, agus fhuair e moran dhaoine agus churaidhnean air thoiseach air a bha 'dol a dh' fheuchainn an Alaire Dhubh a ghlacadh, mar bha e fein, airson nighean an Righ fhaotainn mar dhuais. Chaidh an Stabul fhosgladh, agus thagh gach aon srian air a shon fhein. Dh' fhalbh iad an sin do 'n Bheinn a bhreith air an Alaire Dhuibh. Bha iad a' siubhal troimh ghleanntaibh, thar bheanntaibh, agus tromh ghlacaibh gus an d' fhuair iad sealladh oirre. Dh' fheuch Alastair ri faotainn air thoiseach oirre; ach cho luath 's a chunnaic i e thog i ri aghaidh na Beinne, a' cur uisg' as na clachan agus tein' as na h-alltan, a' teicheadh roimhe. Lean iad as a deigh gus an d' thainig dorchadh na h-oidhch' orra, agus an sin thill iad dachaidh as a h-eugmhais. An uair a rainig iad an Caisteal dh' innis iad do 'n Righ mar dh' eirich dhoibh. Thubhairt e riu gu 'n robh la eile 'tighinn agus grian eile ri dol mu 'n cuairt, agus am fear a bheireadh dhachaidh an Alaire Dhubh air cheann taoid dhasan gu 'm bu leis a nighean agus gu ruig leth na righeachd. An uair a chual iad so, rinn gach duine agus gach curaidh deas airson falbh do 'n Bheinn romh eiridh greine air an ath la. An uair a thainig an ath mhadainn thionn gach aon diu air falbh 'an Ian bheachd gu 'm b' ann aige fein a bhitheadh a' bhuaidh a' tilleadh. Rainig iad a' Bheinn. Bha cuid dhiu 'dol air am broinn tromh thuill, cuid a' cruban tromh na h-uillt, cuid eile a' faireinneachd agus a' gabhail fath air gach bealach feuch am faigheadh iad sealladh air an Alaire Dhuibh. Mu dheireadh chunnaic iad i air taobh deisear Ghlinn-na-greine. Chaidh gach fear an brdugh cho math : s a b' urrainn e gu greim a dheanamh oirre. Ach cha d' eirich ni 'b' fhearr dhoibh air an la sin na air an la roimhe, oir bha i 'cur uisg' as na clachan 124 An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. agus teine as na h-alltaibh a' teicheadh rompa. Aig dol fodha na gre"ine bha iad ni 'b' fhaide uaipe na bha iad anns a' mhadainn. Thill iad an sin dachaidh gu sgith, airsnealach, acrach. An uair a rainig iad an Caisteal chuir an Righ a mach a' Ghille freasdail a dh' fheoraich co aige 'bha bhuaidh. Thug an Gille fios air ais g' a ionnsaidh gu 'm fac iad i, ach nach d' fhuair iad 'an astar glacaidh oirre, no eadhon an urchair cloiche 'n a dail. An sin chuir an Righ fios g' an ionnsaidh gu 'm b' e 'm maireach an treas la d' an deuchainn, agus do aon air bith aca 'bheireadh dhachaidh dha san an Alaire Dhubh air cheann taoid gu 'm bitheadh esan cho math 's a ghealladh. An uair a chual iad so, bha gach curaidh ruith agus gach curaidh streipe fo throm iomagainn, oir cha b' urrainn iad tuillidh a dheanamh na rinn iad cheana. Ach chuir iad rompa gu 'm feuchadh iad aon uair eile an Alaire Dhubh a ghlacadh. An digh do 'n t-suipeir a bhi seachad choinnich Alastair, 'us e 'dol tromh 'n Chaisteal, an lorasglach-urlair aig an Righ. "A Mhic Righ Eirionn," thubhairt i, " tha thu sgith, airsnealach, agus fo throm cheal." Fhreagair Alastair gu 'n robh. " Cha do ghabh thusa comhairle do chairdean. Theid thu 'nochd air d' ais gu d' bhothan fein, agus gabhaidh tu greim de 'n iasg agus greim de 'n fhiadh. Ach mu 'm falbh thu tillidh tu air d' ais far am bheil an Righ, agus their thu ris gur e 'm maireach an la mu dheireadh a th' agaibh airson an Alaire Dhubh a ghlacadh, agus nach teid thusa 'n a deigh mur faigh thu do roghainn sreine mu 'm falbh thu. Their e riut gu 'm faigh thu sin. Falbhaidh e 'n sin leat, agus dar ruigeas sibh an stabul chi thu dorus air do laimh dheis, agus their thu ris an dorus fhosgladh chum gu 'n tabhair thu do roghainn srein' as an aite sin. Fosglaidh e 'n dorus dhuit, agus chi thu crocht' air a' bhalla seann srian nach robh 'an ceann eich no capaill o cheann sheachd bliadhna fichead, agus bheir thu leat i. An uair a ruigeas tu a' Bheinn bheir thu car mu thbm do chach, agus gabhaidh tu air thoiseach air an Alaire Dhuibh. Cho luath 's a thig thu 'm fradharc dhi crathaidh tu an t-srian rithe, agus thig i le sitir, agus cuiridh i a ceann 's an t-srein. An Crochaire Lom-Ritsgach. 125 Leumaidh tu 'n sin air a druim, agus marcaichidh tu dhachaidh i dh' ionnsaidh an Righ." Dh' fhalbh Alastair o 'n lorasglaich cho toilichte 's a bha e bho 'n la a dh' fhag an Dobhar-chu e air tir 'am fearann Lochlainn. Air an treas la chuir na curaidhnean an brdugh, agus dh' fhalbh iad do 'n Bheinn a bhreith air an Alaire Dhuibh. An uair a rainig iad, bha iad a' gabhail fath air gach sgath gus an robh iad a' smaointeachadh gu 'n robh iad cho dluth oirre 's a b' urrainn iad faotainn. Ach thug Alastair car mu thorn dhoibh, agus dh' fhag e iad. Cha do stad e ach gus an d' fhuair e air thoiseach air an Alaire Dhuibh. Bha i 'tighinn, agus coltas uamhasach oirre, a' spoltadh uisg' as na clachaibh agus tein' as na h-alltaibh le luathas a ruith. An sin thog Alastair suas an t-srian, agus chrath e rithe i. Cho luath 's a chual an Alaire slinnrich na sreine sheas i, agus rinn i cruaidh shitir a fhreagair Mac-talla nan Creag ceithir mile mu 'n cuairt. Leag i da chluais a sios ri cul a cinn, thainig i 'n a cruaidh ruith, agus sparr i a ceann anns an t-sre"in. An sin leum Alastair air a druim, agus mharcaich e dhachaidh i 'dh' ionnsaidh an Righ. An uair a chunnaic na curaidhnean eile 'n coigreach a' marcachd air falbh leis an Alaire Dhuibh, thuit an sud agus an sad uile uapa, agus thill iad dachaidh. Air an oidhche so thainig an Righ a mach 'n an coinneamh. An uair a chunnaic e gu 'm b' e 'n Coigreach aig an robh a' bhuaidh ghabh e null far an robh e, chaidh e air a dha ghlun da, agus thubhairt e ris, " Bha mi a' smaointeachadh gu 'm bu churaidh thu a rireadh, agus dhearbh thu mu dheireadh e. 'Nis, ni no neach, seud no luach a th' anns an righeachd agam- sa iarr, agus gheibh thu e maille ris an duais a gheall mi airson a ghniomh so." Rinn an Righ cuilm mhbr air an oidhche sin. Ach mu 'n robh a' chuilm seachad thainig fios a dh' ionnsaidh an Righ o Fhamhair mor a' Chaisteil Dhuibh anns a' Bheinn Bhric gu 'n tigeadh e airson na ceathramh h-ighinn an ceann la agus bliadhn' o 'n oidhche sin. Chuir an teachdaireachd so an Righ fo mhi-ghean agus fo thr6m iomagainn. Thionndaidh e ris na curaidhnibh, agus thubhairt e riu gu 'n robh e duilich 126 An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. nach b' urrainn e an ni a gheall e a chpmh-ghealladh mur faigheadh iad fein a mach an t-ait' anns an robh anam a' Chrochaire Lom-rusgaich 'am falach, agus mur cuireadh iad as da. " Chuir na curaidhnean agamsa 'n ceann d' e cheana, ach chuir e air e rithist, agus bha e cho beb 's a bha e riamh. Dhulanaich e iad, agus thubhairt e gu 'n tugadh e leis mo nigheannan uile ge b' oil leb. A nis tha e 'tighinn an ceann la agus bliadhn' o nochd, agus am fear agaibhs' a chuireas as da is leis mo nighean agus mo righeachd uile." Bha na curaidhnean uile fo iomagainn a chionn nach robh fhios aca cia mar chuireadh iad as do 'n Chrochaire Lom- rusgach. Ach an uair a sgaoil iad o che"ile choinnich an lorasglach- urlair Alastair, agus thubhairt i ris, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, tha mi 'n dbchas gu 'n d' fhuair thu do dhuais a nochd." Dh' innis e dhi gach ni a thachair, agus mar bha 'n cumhnant air am faighteadh nighean an Righ ni 'bu duiliche nis na bha e roimhe. Bha i 'n a sineadh air an urlar, agus ghrad dh' e'irich i 'n a suidhe. Rug i air a fait 'n a laimh, agus rinn i glag mbr gaire, agus thubhairt i, "A Mhic Righ Eirionn, bha buaidh leat riamh, agus bithidh i leat fathast ma ghabhas tu mo chomhairle-sa." "Ni airbith," ars' Alastair, "a dh' iarras tu orm ni mise ma 's urrainn mi, oir fhuair mi fior thu gu ruig so agus tha Ian earbs' agam asad a nis." " Mata," thuirt an lorasglach, " as an ait anns am bheil thu a' d' sheasamh falbhaidh tu fo d' Ian armachd, agus cuimhnichidh tu nach dealaich thu ri claidheamh an Righ gus am faigh thu ni 's fearr. The*id thu 'n toiseach gu ruig do bhothan fein, agus ithidh tu greim de 'n fhiadh agus greim de 'n iasg. Thig thu 'n sin a mach gu dorus do bhothain, agus cuiridh tu d' aghaidh air Aisridh Chreagach na Beinne Buidhe, agus cha sheall thu as do dheigh, agus cha thill thu ceum air d' ais airson cais no cruadail a choinnicheas tu gus an ruig thu Caisteal Mbr a th' aig ceann na h-Aisridh. Chi thu 'sin boirionnach ag amharc a mach air uinneig aird a' Chaisteil." An so thug an lorasglach a mach sgriobhadh as a broilleach, agus thubhairt i, " An uair a chi thu 'm boirionnach aithnichidh tu i, agus their thu rithe gu 'm bheil sgriobhadh agad dhi. Thig i 'n sin, agus fosglaidh i 'n dorus dhuit, agus innsidh i gu de 'bhitheas agad r' a dheanamh An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. 127 an deigh sin. Faotaidh tu 'nis siubhal air do thurus. Tha beannachd an Righ a' d' chuideachd, tha beannachd a nighinn leat, agus tha mo bheannachd-s' agad. 'Nis ge b' e ni a dh' iarras am boirionnach ort a radh no 'dheanamh bi cinnteach gu 'n coimh-gheall thu e." Ghabh Alastair misneach, agus dh' fhalbh e direach a dh' ionnsaidh a bhothain, agus romh eiridh grein' air an ath mhadainn dh' imich e air a thurus troimh Aisridh Chreagach na Beinne Buidhe. Chum e air aghaidh cian fhada agus Ian fhada gus an d' fhas an Aisridh cho sgorach, bhiorach agus gu 'n robh e 'm feum crochadh air a bhroinn a dhol thairis oirre. Mu dheireadh theirig na sgoran fein, agus cha robh roimhe ach glomhas mor eadar stallan chreag a bha cho domhainn fodha 's a bha iad ard os a cheann. Thug e sealladh air gach taobh dh' e, agus chunnaic e 'n Aisridh a ruith a 's tigh ri taobh aon de na stallan 'n a bac cho caol, agus nach robh leud bonn cois' innte. An sin ghabh e 'n t-eagal gu 'n robh e air sheachran agus bha e 'dol a thilleadh. Ach thainig clamhan mor ag itealaich tarsainn os a cheann, agus ghlaodh e ris, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, cuimhnich comhairle na h-Iorasglach-urlair." Anns a' mhionaid chuiinhnich e 'ghealladh do 'n lorasglaich, agus thubhairt e ris fein gu 'n cumadh e air aghaidh cho fad 's a bhitheadh an deo ann. Bha e 'n sin a' crochadh o sgor gu sgor 'us a' leum o bhac gu bac gus an do thoisich an Aisridh air fas ni 'b' fhearr. Mu dheireadh fhuair e air an rathad reidh. Dh' fhalbh e 'n sin cho luath 's a b' urrainn e dol thar nan Creag, oir bha 'm feasgar a' tighinn, agus cha robh sealladh do 'n Chaisteal ri fhaicinn. Bha 'n uchdach cho cas agus nach b' urrainn e cabhag mhor a dheanamh. Ach mu dheireadh bhuanaich e 'm mullach. Thubhairt e ris fein nach bitheadh e fada tuillidh, agus ruith e cho luath 's a b' urrainn e leis a bhruthach. Bha e 'smaointeachadh an uair a gheibheadh e aig bun na h-uchdaich gu 'm bitheadh na h-uile cruadal seachad, ach an uair a rainig e sin cha robh iad a reir coltais ach a' tois- eachadh. An ait' a' Chaisteil 's ann a chunnaic e Loch mor dearg air thoiseach air. Thug e suil air gach taobh feuch am faiceadh e rathad air am faigheadh e thar an Loch, ach cha-n fhac e ach stallachan chreag, agus bu lebir do dh' eun air iteig 128 An Croc hair e Lorn- Rusgach. dol thairis orra. Bha e ann an tigh-comhagail co dhiii 'thilleadh e no rachadh e air aghaidh an uair a chual e 'n clamhan a' glaodhaich os a cheann, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, na gabh eagal no sgath romh chas no romh chruadail air bith a thachras ort." An uair a chual e so ghabh e misneach, agus chum e air aghaidh air an Aisridh a 's tigh do 'n Loch. An toiseach bha iongantas air nach robh e 'dol fodha 's an Loch, ach an irine ghoirid chunnaic e gu 'n robh an t-slighe air an robh e 'g imeachd air eiginn cbmhdaichte le uisge. Chum e dlreach air an t-slighe gus an d' rainig e taobh eil' an Loch. Cho luath 's a fhuair e 'chasan air talamh tioram thog e 'cheann, agus chunnaic e dail bhbidheach, ghorm air thoiseach air, agus Caisteal Mbr aig ceann na dalach. Bha dorchadh nan trath air tighinn, agus uime sin ghreas e air aghaidh a dh' ionnsaidh a' Chaisteil. An uair a rainig e 'n Caisteal chunnaic e boirionnach ag amharc a mach air aon de na h-uinneagaibh. Ghlaodh e gu 'n robh litir aige dhi. Ghrad theirinn i, agus dh' fhosgail i 'n dorus dha. Shin e dhi an litir. Rug i oirre as a laimh, agus dh' iarr i air feitheamh gus am faiceadh i gu de" 'bh' innte. Cho luath agus a le"ugh i 'n litir le"um i agus rug i air a laimh 'n a da laimh, agus phbg i i. Thug i 's tigh e, agus dh' fhebraich i dh' e gu de 'n rathad a thainig e? Thubhairt e gu 'n d' thainig e troimh Aisridh Chreagach na Beinne Buidhe. " Ma's ann," ars'i, "tha fe"um agad air biadh agus air deoch." Chuir i biadh agus deoch m' a choinneamh, agus dh' iarr i air a bhi ealamh a chionn gu 'n robh mbran aige r' a dheanamh. Cho luath 's a bha e deas thug i 's tigh e do shebmar nan arm, agus dh' iarr i air e dh' fheuchainn am b' urrainn e 'n claidheamh a bha thall ri taobh a' bhalla 'thogail. Dh' fheuch e ris, ach cha chuireadh e gaoth eadar e agus an talamh. Dh' fhosgail i preas a bha air taobh an tighe, agus thug i 'mach as botulan iocshlaint. Tharrainn i 'cuach bir, agus chuir i deuran innt' as a bhotulan, agus thubhairt i ris bl dh' e. Rinn e sin. Rug e ris air a' chlaidheamh, agus thogadh e le 'dha laimh e. Thug i dha deuran eile, agus an sin thogadh e 'n claidheamh le aon laimh. Thug i dha an treas deur, agus cha bu luaith' a dh' bl se e na dh' fhairich e ni 'bu neartmhoire na bha e riamh. Rug An Crochaire Lom-Rusgack. 129 e air a chlaidheamh, agus dh' oibricheadh e leis cho aotrom uallach agus a dh' oibricheadh e le claidheamh an Righ. " Nis," thubhairt i ris, " tha Famhair Mbr agus da cheann air, a' fuireachd anns a' Chaisteal so, agus tha e tighinn dachaidh an uine ghoirid. Thig thusa leamsa, agus cuiridh mi a' d' sheasamh thu air an Udabac, far am faigh thu cothrom air a bhualadh an uair a chromas e 'thighinn a 's tigh fo 'n ard- dorus. Bi cinnteach gu 'm buail thu gu math e, agus gu 'n cuir thu 'n da cheann d' e ; oir mur cuir thu dh' e ach aon beiridh e air an aon sin, agus cuiridh e as duit leis mar rinn e air mbran air thoiseach ort." Dh' fhalbh e gun dail, agus sheas e air an Udabac mar dh' iarr i air. Cha robh e fada 'n sin an uair a chunnaic e 'm Famhair a' tighinn agus siubhal sith aige. An uair a rainig e 'n dorus chrbm e 'chinn, agus thug e roc as. Ghabh Alastair an cothrom air, agus bhuail e le uile neart e. Leis a' bhuille thilg e fear de na cinn dh' e, agus leth a" chinn eile. An sin thug am Famhair le*umannan agus sgriachan fuathasach as, ach mu 'n d' fhuair e tionndadh chuir Alastair leth eile an dara cinn d' e, agus thuit e 'n a chlosaich mhairbh air an talamh. Thainig am boirionnach a mach, agus thubhairt i ris, " Is math a fhuaras thu, a Mhic Righ Eirionn. Tha soirbheachadh leat, oir tha beannachd m' athar a' d' chois." Dh' fhebraich e 'n sin dicb i? Fhreagair i gu 'm b' ise 'n nighean 'bu shine 'bh' aig Righ na Beinne Buidhe. " Tha thusa 'falbh," thubhairt i, " a dh' iarraidh anam a' Chrochaire Lom-rusgaich chum gu 'n tearainn thu mo phiuthar a 's bige bhuaith. Thig a 's tigh, agus leigidh mis' air falbh thu air do thurus mu 'n e"irich grian am maireach." Chaidh e 's tigh, ghlan i chasan, agus chaidh e laidhe. Mu 'n do ghoir an coileach-ruadh, agus mu 'n d' enrich grian air bruth no air beinn, bha i air a cois, agus a' bhraiceas aice 'feitheamh air. An deigh dha e"iridh agus a bhraiceas fhaotainn, thug i litir as a broilleach, agus shin i dha i, ag radh, " Gleidhidh tu so gu curamach gus an ruig thu Caisteal Mbr nan Ochd Turaitean, agus bheir thu i do 'n bhoirionnach a chi thu 'g amhnrc a mach air aon de dh' uinneagaibh mullaich a' Chaisteil." K 130 An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. Thug i tarrainn air a botulan iocshlaint fein, agus air a cuaich oir, agus thug i dha deoch. Chuir i 'n sin e air ceann na slighe, ghuidh i beannachd a bhi 'n a chuideachd, agus thubhairt i gu 'm fanadh ise 'n sud gus an tilleadh e. Dh' fhag e claidheamh an Righ anns a' Chaisteal, agus dh' fhalbh e le claidheamh an Fhamhair. Bha 'n t-slighe air an robh e 'g imeachd ni 'bu re'idhe na 'n te air an do shiubhail e 'n la roimhe. Fhuair e air aghaidh gu math, ach bha 'n t-astar cho fada 's gu 'n do thoisich an oidhch' air tighinn mu 'n d' thainig e 'n sealladh a' Chaisteil. Mu chiaradh an fheasgair chunnaic e turaitean a' Chaisteil fada bhuaithe. Ghabh e misneach agus chruadhaich e 'cheum, agus ged b' fhada bhuaithe cha b' fhada 'g a ruigheachd. Bha ballachan cho ard mu 'n cuairt do 'n Chaisteal 'us nach robh e faicinn gu de 'n doigh air am faigheadh e 's tigh. Ach thug e togail d' a cheann, agus chunnaic e boirionnach ag amharc a mach air uinneig, agus ghlaodh e gu 'n robh litir aige dhi. Thainig i 'nuas agus dh' fhosgail i dorus mor iaruinn a bh' air a' bhalla. An deigh dhi 'n litir a leughadh rug i air laimh air, agus thug i 's tigh e. Choimhead i 'n sin air a' chlaidheamh a bh' aige, agus dh' fhebraich i dh' e c'ait' an d' fhuair se e ? Dh' innis e dhi gu 'n d' fhuair o 'n bhoirionnach a bh' anns a' Chaisteal anns an robh e 'n oidhche roimhe sin. Bha claidheamh mor eile 'n a sheasamh ri taobh a' bhalla, agus thubhairt i ris e dh' fheuchainn am b' urrainn e 'thogail. Chuir e gaoth air eiginn eadar e agus talamh. "Cha d' rinn gin a thainig romhad an uibhir sin fein," ars' am boirionnach. Thug i dha deoch as a botulan iocshlainte fein ann an cuaich oir, agus an sin chluicheadh e 'n claidheamh le dha laimh. Thug i dha an ath dheoch, agus chluicheadh e claidheamh an Fhamhair cho fileanta 's a chluicheadh e claidheamh an Righ. " Nis," thubhairt i, " cha-n 'eil urn' agad ri chur seachad. Tha Famhair mor nan tri cheann, nan tri meall, agus nan tri chnap a' fuireachd a so, agus thig e dhachaidh a thiota. Fhalbh thusa leamsa, agus cuiridh mi thu 'n aite far am faigh thu cothrom air a bhualadh." Chaidh e leatha, agus chuir i e 'n a sheasamh air bac a bh' air taobh an fhosglaidh do 'n dorus An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. 131 mhbr iaruinn a bh' air a' bhalla. An sin thubhairt i, " 'N uair a chromas am Famhair a thighinn fo 'n ard-dorus bi cinnteach gu 'm buail thu e mu 'm faigh e 'chinn a thogail, agus gu 'n cuir thu dh' e 'n tri leis a' cheud bhuile, oir ma gheibh e eiridh bheir e as a' cheil'a' d' mhirean thu mar rinn e orra-san a thainig air thoiseach ort. " Thainig am Famhair, agus chrbm e fo 'n ard-dhorus, ach mu 'n d' fliuair e tromh 'n dorus bhuail Alastair e le uile neart, agus chuir e dithis de na cinn d' e, agus leth an treas fir. Thug am Famhair leum as, agus bhuail fear de na mill an t-ard-dhorus, agus chuir e mach e. An sin thuit e, agus mu 'n d' fhuair e eiridh, agus an ath leum a thabhairt bhuail Alastair e 'n dara h-uair, agus chuir e 'n leth eile de 'n treas ceann d' e. Le rbmhan mbr tiamhaidh thuit am Famhair 'n a chlosaich mhairbh air a' bhlar. Thainig am boirionnach a mach an sin, agus thubhairt i, " Is math a fhuaras thu, a Mhic Righ Eirionn. Tha beannachd m' athar agus mo pheathar a' d' chois, agus bithidh mo bhean- nachd-s' agad a nis." An sin dh' fhebraich e dhi co i ? Fhreagair i gu 'm b' ise dara nighean Righ na Beinne Buidhe. " Tha thusa 'falbh a dh' iarraidh anam a' Chrochaire Lom- rusgaich chum gu 'n tearuinn thu mo phiuthar a 's bige bhuaithe, agus ma thig thu beb as an ath Chaisteal a ruigeas tu cha ruig thu leas eagal a ghabhail roimh ni no neach a thachras ort tuillidh, oir soirbhichidh leat gu ceann do thuruis. Ach cha-n 'eil tim agad ri chall." Thug i 's tigh e, ghabh i aige gu math le biadh agus le deoch, agus chuir i laidhe e. An deigh dha 'bhraiceas fhaotainn air an ath mhadainn thug i dha deoch as a botulan iocshlaint 'n a cuaich bir. Chuir i 'sin a lamh 'n a broilleach, agus thug i mach as litir, agus thubhairt i ris, " Bheir thu so do 'n bhoirionnach a chi thu 'n a seasamh 'an dorus an ath Chaisteil gus an tig thu." An so dh' fhalbh e agus an claidheamh mbr aige leis an do chuir e na cinn de 'n Fhamhair. Fhuair e air aghaidh gu reidh gus an d' rainig e 'n ath Chaisteal, Usp Mhbr .de dh' aite gun uinneag, gun turait air. Chunnaic e 'm boirionnach 'n a seasamh 's an dorus, agus ghlaodh e rithe gu 'n robh litir aige K 2 132 An Crochaire Lom-Riisgach. dhi. Ghlac i 'n litir, agus an deigh dhi a leughadh rug i air laimh air, agus thug i 's tigh e. Ghlan i a lamhan agus a chasan le anaghlais uisge agus bhainne. Choimhead i 'n sin air a' chlaidheamh, agus thubh- airt i ris c' ait' an d' fhuair e 'n lann ud. Fhreagair e gu 'n d' fhuair anns a' Chaisteal arms an robh e 'n raoir. " O 'n fhuair thu gu ruig so ni do chlaidheamh an gnothuch dhuit, agus cha dealaich thu ris am fad 's a bhitheas an deb annad gus an ruig thu ceann do thuruis. Tha Beithir Mhbr Theinnteach nan Seachd Cinn Nathrach 's a Ghath-Nimhe 'fuireachd anns a' Chaisteal so. Thig i aig eiridh greine 'm maireach, agus feumaidh tu a coinneachadh a mach, oir ma gheibh i 's tigh cha-n fhaicear thusa no mise beb tuillidh." Chuir i 'n sin a laidh e ann an leaba bhlath, sheasgair. Dh' fhuirich i fein 'n a faireachadh, agus an uair a thainig an t-am dhasan eiridh dhuisg i e. Thug i dha a bhraiceas, agus an de'igh a bhraiceis deoch as a botulan iocshlaint 'n a cuaich bir. Ghlac e 'n sin a chlaidheamh, agus thionn e 'mach. Mu 'n gann a fhuair e thar stairsnich an doruis dh' fhairich e a' Bheithir a' tighinn. Rinn e deas air a son, agus cho luath 's a thainig i thbisich cbmhrag chruaidh eatorra. Bha esan 'g a dhion fein o na cinn, agus ise 'g a lot le gath mbr a bh' aice 'am barr a h-earbaill. Chum iad air a' chath gu am dol fodha na greine. An sin thubhairt i ris, " Is leat do leaba 'nochd fhathast, ach coinnich mise romh diridh greine 'm maireach." Chaidh a' Bheithir a rathad fein, agus thill esan a 's tigh do 'n Chaisteal. Ghlan am boirionnach a chreuchdan, chuir i iochslaint ris gach lot a bh' air a chorp, agus chuir i laidhe e. An uair a dhuisg e air an ath mhadainn dh' fhairich e gu 'n robh e cho slan fhallain agus a bha e riamh. An deigh dha eiridh, agus a bhraiceas agus deoch de 'n iocshlaint fhaotainn thog e leis a chla dheamh, agus chaidh e 'n coinneamh na Beathrach. Ghleachd iad o mhadainn gu feasgar, esan 'g a dhion fein o na cinn, agus ise 'g a lot le gath a h-earbaill. Aig dol fodha greine stad iad. Chaidh ise a rathad fein, agus thill esan do 'n Chaistea . Ghabh am boirionnach aig' air an oidhche so mar rinn i air An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. 133 an oidhche roimhe. An uair a dhuisg e air an treas madainn bha e cho slan o chreuchdan 's a bha e riamh. An deigh dha 'bhraiceas agus deoch de 'n iocshlaint fhaotainn ghlac e chlaidh- eamh, agus chaidh e 'n coinneamh na Beathrach. Air a mhadainn so chual e i 'tighinn agus sgriachail oillteil aice. Ach smaointich e bho 'n sheas e 'n da la roimhe, gu 'm feuchadh e i an latha so fathast. Thainig a' Bheist, agus chaidh iad 'n a cheile. Bha ise 'tilgeil ghath as gach bul air, agus bha esan 'g a dhion fein uapa le 'chlaidheamh. Mu chiaradh an fheasgair bha e 'fas lag, ach ma bha dh' aithnich e gu 'n robh ise cuideachd a' call a neart. Thug so misneach dha, agus dhluthaich e rithe gu cruaidh. Aig dol fodha greine thug i thairis, agus shin si i fein air a' bhlar. " Nis," thubhairt i, " rinn thu 'n gnothuch orm, ach bha 'n cothrom agad. Anns an oidhche bha thu faotainn do chreuchdan a ghlanadh agus a shlanachadh, agus bha thu gu blath seasgair ri taobh an teine anns a' Chaisteal agamsa. Ach na 'n d' fhuair mise leth uair a thim de bhlathas an teine cha do thill thusa ni 's mo na 'n fheadhainn a thainig air thoiseach ort." Tharrainn Alastair a chlaidheamh an so, agus le seachd buillibh chuir e na seachd cinn de 'n Bheithir. Ach air an t-seachdamh buille thug i togail air a h-earball, agus bhuail i anns an taobh e. Thuit e mar gu 'm bitheadh e marbh, agus cha-n fhac agus cha d' fhairich e dad tuillidh gus an do dhuisg e mu mheadhon oidhche. Bha 'm boirionnach a' sin a' glanadh agus a' slanachadh a chreuchdan. An uair a bha i deas de sin chuir i laidhe e. Air an ath mhadainn chaidh i far an robh e, agus dh' fheoraich i dh' e cia mar bha e 'g a fhaireachdainn fein ? Fhreagair e gu 'n robh gu laidir fallainn. " Is math sin," thubhairt i. " Tha chuid a 's mb a d' dheuchainnibh seachad a nis." An uair a dh' eirich e agus a fhuair e 'bhraiceas, thubhairt i ris, " Mharbh thu Famhair Mbr nan Da Cheann 'an Caisteal ceann Aisridh Chreagach na Beinne Buidhe, mharbh thu Famhair Mor nan Tri Cheann, nan Tri Meall, agus nan Tri Chnap 'an Caisteal Mbr nan Ochd Turaitean, agus mharbh thu Beithir Theinnteach nan Seachd Cinn Nathrach agus a' Ghath nimhe anns a' Chaisteal Udlaidh so. Cha d' fhuair ach 134 -An Croc hair e Lom-Rusgach. aon dhiubhsan a thainig romhad air an turus air am bheil thusa dol tighinn gu ruig so. Thainig esan thar Aisridh Chreagach na Beinne Buidhe, agus thar Aisridh an Loch Dheirg air iom-bathadh. Fhuair e tromh thalamh-toll seachad air a' cheud da Chaisteal, ach cha b' urrainn e dol seachad air a' Chaisteal so gun dol troimhe. Choinnich a' Bheithir Theinnteach e aig an dorus, agus chuir i as da. Ach thainig thus' air an t-slighe cheart, agus bha buaidh leat gu ruig so. Cha bhi mise 'g 'ad ghleidheadh ni 's faide, oir tha mbran agad r' a dheanamh fhathast. Cha d' fhuair thu ach latha 's bliadhna airson cur as do 'n Chrochaire Lom-rusgach, agus mar bi d' obair deas agad roimhe sin bheir e leis mo cheathramh piuthar mar thug e leis sinne. Falbhaidh mise leat, agus cuiridh mi air ceann na slighe thu. Cha stad agus cha tamh thu gus an ruig thu Sabhal Mbr nan Seachd Crub, nan Seachd Lub, agus nan Seachd Suidheachan. Chi thu fo 'n t-Sabhal air Cnoc Buidhe na Greine fior sheann duine a' gearradh sgroth le Lair-chaibe. Innsidh tu dha an t-saoir air am bheil thu, agus innsidh esan duitsa gu de a their agus a ni thu 'n a dheigh sin, Gabhaidh tu comhairle bho gach aon a bheir dhuit i gu dileas. Tha beannachd an Righ a' d' chois, tha beannachd na h-Iorasglaich a' d' chois, tha beannachd Gath-greine, mo phiuthar, a' d' chois, tha beannachd Soillse- dubhair a' d' chois, agus tha mo bheannachd-s' agad mar an ceudna. Bi siubhal air do thurus, agus dean mar dh' iarr mis' ort, agus bithidh gach ni ceart an uair a thilleas thu." An sin dh' fhalbh e. Bha e 'siubhul air aghaidh cian fhada agus Ian fhada. An uair a thbisich e air fas sgith chuimhnich e air euchd agus air a bhuaidh. Thug so aotrom- achadh air 'inntinn, agus fhuair e air aghaidh gu math air a shlighe. An teis-meadhoin a smaointean thainig e 's tigh air ceann an aon Ghlinne 'bu bhoidhche 'chunnaic e riamh. Thubhairt e ris fein, " Fumaidh nach 'eil mi fada bho Shabhal Mbr nan Seachd Suidheachan a nis." Mu 'n do leig e 'm facal as a bheul chunnaic e 'n Sabhal beagan air thoiseach air, agus an aon Chnoc 'bu bhoidhche a chunnaic e riamh a' soillseachadh mar or ri grein 'an iochdar a' Ghlinne, agus an An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. 135 aon duine 'bu shine coltas a chunnaic e riamh a' gearradh sgroth le lair-chaibe air leth taobh a' chnuic. Ghabh e far an robh an Duine, agus chuir e failt an la air. Fhreagair an Duin' e gu brosglach, sgairteil, fada ni 'b' bige 'na chainnt na bha e 'n a choltas, agus dh' fhebraich e dh' e cia as a thainig e? Fhreagair Alastair, "Thainig mi bho Chaisteal Righ Lochlainn, tromh Aisridh Chreagach na Beinne Buidhe, tromh Chaisteal ceann na h-Aisridh far an do mharbh mi Famhair Mbr nan Da Cheqfin, tromh Chaisteal Mbr nan Ochd Turaitean far an do mharbh mi Famhair Mbr nan Tri Cheann, nan Tri Meall, agus nan Tri Chnap, tromh Chaisteal Udlaidh na Beithir Theinntich nan Seachd Cinn Nathrach agus a' Ghath-nimhe, agus as a' sin gu ruig so feuch an innseadh tusa dhomh c' ait am faighinn anam a' Chrochaire Lorn rusgaich ?" Thug an Seann Duine suil air anns an aodann, agus thubhairt e, "Leig fhaicinn domh do chlaidheamh, a Laoich." Tharrainn Alastair a chlaidheamh as an truaill, agus shin e dha e. Rug an Seann Duin' air a' chlaidheamh eadar a dha mheur, agus chuir e eadar e agus leus e. Shin e 'n sin air ais e, agus thubhairt e, " Faiceam thu a' fleadhadh do chlaidheamh, a Laoich." Rug Alastair air a' chlaidheamh, agus thug e cuairt chuil agus cuairt bhebil leis cho aotrom, agus ged b' e sgian an fheidh a bhitheadh 'n a dhbrn. Leum an Seann Duine, agus rug e air laimh air, agus thubhairt e, " A Laoich, thainig thu an rathad a thubhairt thu. Cha-n urrainn mise innseadh dhuit c' ait' am bheil anam a' Chrochaire Lom- rusgaich a nis, oir theich e as an ait anns an robh e bho cheann cheithir laithean. Ach faodaidh gu 'n innis m' athair dhuit e." " Oh, am bheil d' athair beb, no 'n urrainn mise fhaicinn ?" " Tha e beb. Sud e 'giulan nan sgroth air a mhuin. Rach far am bheil e, agus febraich dh' e." Rainig Alastair Fear-ghiulan nan-sgroth, agus dh' fheoraich e dh' e, an robh fhios aige c' ait' an robh anam a' Chrochaire Lom-rusgaich 'am falach ? Fhreagair an Seann Duine, " Cha n' eil ; theich e as an ait' anns an robh e bho cheann tri laithean. Ach faodaidh gu 'n innis m' athair dhuit." " Oh, am bheil d' athair beb, no 'm faod mise fhaicinn ?" " Oh, tha e beo, agus is urrainn thu fhaicinn cuideachd. Sud e thall a' tilgeil 136 An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. nan sgroth. Rach agus feoraich dh' e." Rainig Alastair am fear a bha'tilgeil nan sgroth, agus thubhairt e ris am b' urrainn e inns- eadh c'ait an robh anam a ! Chrochaire Lom-rusgaich am falach ? Fhreagair e, " Cha-n urrainn, oir theich e as an ait' anns an robh e bho cheann da latha. Ach faodaidh gu 'n innis m' athair dhuit." " Ubh \ ubh ! a Dhuine, an urrainn mise d' athair fhaicinn no 'm bheil e 'n comas bruidhinn rium ? Oir feumaidh gu 'm bheil e ro shean." " U, is urrainn thu fhaicinn, agus is urrainn esan%bruidhinn riut. Sud e 'cur nan sgroth." Rainig Alastair am fear a bha 'cur nan sgroth, agus dh' fhebr- aich e dh' e am b' urrainn e innseadh c' ait' an robh anam a' Chrochaire Lom-rusgaich am falach? Fhreagair e cha-n urrainn, oir theich e as an ait anns an robh e 'n de". " Ach ruig m' athair, agus innsidh esan duit c' ait' am faigh thu e." " Gu de" 'n seorsa duine 'th' ann a' d' athair ? An urrainn mise fhaicinn, no 'n urrainn esan bruidhinn rium ?" " Chi thu e, agus bruidhnidh e riut, agus innsidh e dhuit gu de" 'th' agadsa r' a dheanamh 'n a dheigh so." "Ach c'ait 'am faic mi e?" " Tha e ann an sopan coinnich cul a' Mhaide-chriiim. Ach feumaidh mi fe"in dol leat. An uair a bhitheas tu 'bruidhinn ris, bheir thu ro-aire nach teid thu 'm fad laimh dha, oir ma gheibh e greim air mir de d' cholainn bruthaidh e thu mar spiligein eorna fo lie brathann. Mu 'n dealaich sibh iarraidh e do lamh ort, agus ma bheir thu dha i bruthaidh e i gus am bi i cho caol ri deilg maraige. Ach so dhuit geinn daraich (agus e 'sineadh dha durc de cheann cabair), agus bheir thu dha e 'n uair a dh' iarras e do lamh." Chaidh iad a 's tigh do 'n tigh far an robh an Seann Duine. Thug Fear-chur-nan-sgroth ultach mbr coinnich a nuas o chul a' mhaide-chruim, agus chuir e air lic-an-teinntein e. " Tha an Sopan Mor, a Dhuine," thubhairt Mac Righ Eirionn. " Is mo na sin m' athair 'n a bhroinn," arsa Fear-chur-nan-sgroth. Thug e mach athair as an t-sopan, agus chuir e air an lie e. " Gu de d' fhe"um orm a nis, a Mhic," ars' an t-athair. " Is fada bho nach d' iarr thu roimhe mi." Fhreagair am Mac, "Tha Curaidh 6g a' so a tha 'g ' iarraidh fios c' ait am bheil anam a' Chrochaire Lom-rusgaich am falach." " A Mhic Righ Cormaic an Eirinn, gu de 'n rathad a thainig thu gu ruig An Croc hair e Lom-Riisgach. 137 so ?" dh' fhebraich Fear-an-t-Sopain-Choinnich. Dh' innis Alastair dha gach ceum a thug e bho 'n latha 'dh' fhag e tigh athar, agus gach ni a thachair dha gus an la ud. " Is firin- neach a dh' innis thu dhomh, a Mhic Righ Eirionn. Loisg d' athair a' Chailleach-chearc, agus tha do mhathair fo bhron air do shon. Tha 'guidhe 's a beannachd a' d' dheigh, tha beannachd Righ 6g Ceist a' d' dheigh, tha beannachd Ban- righ Og Ceist a' d' dheigh, tha beannachd Righ Lochlainn a' d' dheigh, tha beannachd agus buaidh na h-Iorasglaich a' d' dhe'igh, agus bithidh mo bheannachd-s' a' d' dheigh. Bha thusa dileas do d' bhrathair, agus bithidh gach beathach agus gach duin' a choinnicheas thu dileas dhuitsa. Agus, a Threun- laoich, thoir dhomh crathadh de d' laimh, agus innsidh mise dhuit c' ait am faigh thu anam a' Chrochaire Lom-rusgaich." Shin an Seann Duine 'mach a lamh, agus shin Alastair an geinn daraich dha. Rug e air a' gheinn, thug e bruthadh agus crathadh air, agus rinn e cothan d' e. An uair a leig e as e thubhairt e, "A Mhic Righ Eirionn, is cruaidh do lamh, agus dh' fheumadh i gu ruig so. Tha thu sgith, air phathadh agus air acras, is airidh thu air biadh agus air deoch, agus gheibh thu sin. An deigh do shuipeir theid thu laidhe, agus aig eiridh greine 'm 'maireach bithidh tu deas airson du thuruis. Cumaidh tu air d' agaidh gun tilleadh, gun stad, gun sealltainn as do dheigh gus an ruig thu Doire Dluth- dhuilleach nan Craobh. Chi thu 'n sin Eilid Luath-chasach nan Stuchd nach d' fhuair cu no duine riamh 'n a coir. Beiridh tu oirre, fosglaidh tu i, agus gheibh thu bradan anns a mhaodal aice. Fosglaidh tu 'm bradan, agus ann am broiim a' bhradain gheibh thu Lach uaine na h-ite reidh. Ann am broinn an Lach gheibh thu Ubh, agus beiridh tu air an Ubh eadar do dha laimh, agus brisidh tu e mu 'm bean e do 'n bhlar. Oir ma bheanas e do 'n bhlar cha-n fhaic thu Righ, no duine no daoine gu brath as a dheigh sin. Ach ged tha do lamh cruaidh cha bhrist i 'n t-Ubh gun mo chuideachadh-sa." Dh' fheuch e laimh ris anns a' chbinnich, agus thug e mach crogan. Shin e 'n crogan do dh' Alastair, agus thubhairt e, " Sin agad ola. Cho luath 's a ruigeas tu Doire Dluth- dhuilleach nan Craobh doirtidh tu an ola air do lamhaibh, agus 138 An Croc hair e Lom-Rusgach, rubaidh tu leb a h-uile mir do d' chraicionn a bhitheas ruisgte, no ris an saoil thu gu 'm bean fuil Eilde, no lann Bradain, no ite Lach, no plaosg Uibhe. Gabhaidh tu aoidheachd o bheath- ach no bho 'dhuin' a bheir dhuit i gun iarraidh. Agus bithidh fios agad fein gu de" 'bhitheas agad r' a dheanarnh 'n a dheigh sin. Beir air an ola so 'nis, agus thoir leat i, agus bi deas airson do thuruis mar dh' iarr mis' ort." Bha fhios aig Alastair nach robh math dha a lamh a shineadh airson a' Chrogain. Le sin shin e a chlaidheamh, agus thubhairt e, " Cuir an Crogan air barr mo mhebir." Rinn an Seann Duine sin, agus rug e air a' chlaidheamh 'n a dhbrn, agus bhruth se e gus an robh e cho cruinn ri bioran maide. An sin thuhhairt e, " Ni thu 'n gnothuch. An uair a bhristeas tu an t-Ubh bithidh an Crochaire Lom-rusgach marbh. Tillidh tu 'n sin air d' ais an rathad a thainig thu. Bheir thu leat nigheannan Righ Lochlainn as na Caistealaibh anns am bheil iad. Gabh- aidh tu 'n sin gu Caisteal na Beinne Brice far am faigh thu 'm Famhair Mbr 'n a shineadh marbh air an urlar. Gearraidh tu dheth an ceann agus na casan gu ruig na gluinean, agus bheir thu leat iad gu Caisteal Righ Lochlainn. An uair a ruigeas tu an Caisteal cuiridh tu teine mbr air, agus an uair a bhitheas e an teas a ghabhalach tilgidh tu iad 'n druim an teine. Cho luath 's a gheibh iad dathadh anns an lasair fasaidh iad 'n an bganach cho dreachmhor agus a chunnaic duine riamh. Is brathair e do Righ Lochlainn a chaidh a ghoid o mhathair leis a' Bheithir Theinntich an uair a bha e 'n a leanabh. Bha i 'g a chumail an sud fo gheisibh a' deanamh gach cron a b' urrainn e air an Righ gus an d' thainig thusa. Nis, dean mar dh' iarr mis' ort, agus bithidh mo bheannachd-s' a' d' chois." Air an ath mhadainn dh' fhalbh Alastair air a thurus. Chum e air aghaidh cian fhada agus Ian fhada. Bha 'm feasgar a' tighinn air, nebil shiobhalta, shamhach an la a falbh, agus nebil dhubha, dhorcha na h-oidhche 'teachd, na h-ebin bheaga, bhuchallach, bhachlach, bharra-bhuidh a' gabhail mu thamh 'am bunaibh nam preas, agus 'am barraibh nan dos, agus anns na h-innseagaibh fasgach, bbidheach, a bu laghaiche a thaghadh iad dhoibh fein. Mu dheireadh bha e fas sgith, agus fann le An Croc hair e Lom-Rusgach. 139 acras. Thug e suil air thoiseach air, agus co 'chunnaic e ach Madadh-na-Macile Moire. An uair a choinnich iad a cheile chuir am Madadh coir failt agus furan air gu cridheil. Dh' fheoraich e dh' e cean' a bha e dol ? Dh' innis Alastair dha gu 'n robh e 'dol a dh' iarraidh anam a' Chrochaire Lom-rusgaich. Thubhairt am Madadh ris, " Tha 'n oidhch' a' tighinn, agus tha thu sgith ; thig cbmhla riumsa, agus bheir mi dhuit an aoidheachd a 's fearr a 's urrainn mi 'nochd." Dh' fhalbh e leis a' Mhadadh gu toileach. Raimg iad fail a' Mhadaidh, agus b' e sin an t-aite tioram, seasgair le pailteas teine, sithionn f hiadh, 'us eildean 'us earbaichean. Fhuair e gu lebir ri' itheadh, agus leaba bhlath shocrach le bein fhiadh fodha, agus bein eildean agus earbaichean thairis air. Air an ath mhadainn fhuair e 'bhraiceas de 'n cheart sebrsa bithidh a bh' aig' air a shuipeir. An uair a bha e falbh thubhairt am Madadh coir ris, " Uair air bith a ni fiacail laidir nach geill 'n a greim no cas luath lughmhor a shiublas creachann beinne no ruitheas air urlar glinne feum dhuit cuimhnich ormsa, agus bithidh mise ri d' thaobh." Thug e buidheachas mbr do 'n Mhadadh choir, agus dh' fhalbh e air a thurus. Chum e air aghaidh cian fhada agus Ian fhada gus an robh e fas sgith, agus dorchadh na n tratha' tighinn. Thug e suil air thoiseach air, agus cb 'chunnaic e 'tighinn 'n a choinneamh ach Dobhran Donn Shruth an liiil. An uair a choinnich iad chuir an Dobhran failte shunntach air, agus dh' fheoraich e dh' e c' ait' an robh e dol ? Dh' innis Alastair sin da, "Tha 'n oidhche 'tighinn, agus tha thu sgith ; thig leamsa 'nochd, agus gheibh thu 'n aoidheachd a 's fearr a 's urrainn mis' a thabhairt duit." Chaidh e leis an Dobhran a dh' ionnsaidh a' Chuirn aige. B' e sin an t-aite blath, seasgair le pailteas teine, agus gu lebir de dh' iasg bradain agus banaig. Fhuair e 'shuipeir gu math agus gu ro mhath, agus leaba cho socrach 'us air an do laidh e riamh de riasg reidh nan Lochan-uisge. Air an ath mhadainn fhuair e 'bhraiceas de 'n cheart seorsa a bh' aig' air a shuipeir an oidhche roimhe. An uair a bha e falbh thubhairt an Dobhran ris, " Uair air bith a ni earball laidir a shuamh fo 140 An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. 'n loch no 'chur gach sruth agus gach caisil feum dhuit, cuimh- nich orm-sa, agus bithidh mise ri d' thaobh." Thug Alastair buidheachas do 'n Ddbhran laghach, agus dh' fhalbh e. Shiubhail e air aghaidh cian fhada agus Ian fhada gus an robh e fas sgith, agus an oidhch' a' tighinn. Thug e sail air thoiseach air, agus cb 'chunnaic e 'n a ghurach air cloich ach Seabhag Mbr Chreag nan Sgeilp. An uair a choinnich iad dh' fhebraich an Seabhag dh' e c' ait' an robh e 'dol, agus dh' innis Alastair dha an turus air an robh e. " Tha 'n oidhch' a' tighinn, agus tha thu sgith agus acrach," ars' an Seabhag ; "is fearr dhuit fuireachd leamsa 'nochd, agus bheir mi dhuit an aoidheachd a 's fearr' a 's urrainn mi." Dh' fhalbh e leis an Seabhag g' a Sgeilp fhasgaich fe"in. B' e sin an t-aite tioram, seasgair far an d' fhuair e pailteas de shithinn gach sebrs' bun, agus leaba de dh' iteagaibh cho socrach agus air an do laidh e riamh. Air an ath mhadainn, an deigh dha 'bhraiceas fhaotainn, thubhairt an Seabhag ris, "Uair air bith a ni sgiath lughmhor, laidir a shiubhlas tromh athar no thar bheann agus thar loch feum dhuit cuimhnich ormsa, agus bithidh mise ri d' thaobh." Cha deachaidh e ro fhad' air aghaidh an uair a thainig e 'm fradharc Doire Dluth-dhuilleach nan Craobh. Rainig e 'n Doire, agus mu 'n gann a fhuair e 's tigh, leum Eilid Luath- chasach nan Stuchd a mach, agus thog i ris a' Bheinn. Shin e as a deigh, ach mar bu luaith' a dh' fhalbhadh esan b' ann a b' fhaide 'bhitheadh ise bhuaithe. An uair a chlaoidh se e fein 'g a leantainn chuimhnich e air a' Mhadadh agus thubhairt e, " Nach bu mhath Madadh na Maoile Moire 'so a nis ?" Cha luaith' a chaidh am facal as a bheul na bha 'm Madadh r' a thaobh. Dh' innis e do 'n Mhadadh gu 'n robh e air a chlaoidh- eadh as deigh na h-Eilde, agus gu 'n robh e ni 'b' fhaide uaipe 'n sin na bha e 'n uair a thbisich e air a leantainn. Dh' fhalbh am Madadh 'na deigh, agus dh' fhalbh esan an deigh a' Mhadaidh gus an d' rainig iad taobh an Lochain Uaine. An sin rug am Madadh air an Eilid, agus dh' fhag e i aig casaibh Alastair. B' ann a' sin a chuimhnich Alastair air an ola. Ghrad thaom e i air a lamhaibh, agus rub e i ris gach mir d' a chraicionn ris am faodadh fuil na h-Eilde beantainn. Chaidh e 'n sin an An Crochaire Loni-Rusgach. 141 carabh na h-Eilde, agus dh' fhosgail e i. Ach ma dh' fhosgail cha b' ann gun chath, oir bha crodhain cho biorach agus a casan cho laidir, agus mur bhi an ola gu 'n tug i as a cheile 'n a mhiribh e. An uaira dh' fhosgail e 'mhaodal leum am Bradan a mach aiste do 'n Lochan Uaine. Chaidh e 'n deigh a' Bhradain mu 'n cuairt air bruachaibh an Lochain, ach an uair a bhitheadh esan aig aon bhruaich bhith- eadh am Bradan fo bhruaich eile. Mu dheireadh chuimhnich e air Dobhran Bonn Shruth an liiil, agus air ball bha e ri 'thaobh. Dh' innis e do 'n Dobhran gu 'n robh 'm Bradan anns an Lochan, agus nach b' urrainn e greim fhaotainn air. Ghrad leum an Dobhran a mach do 'n uisge, agus an uine ghoirid thainig e air ais leis a' Bhradan, agus dh' fhag e aig casaibh Alastair e. Rug Alastair air a' Bhradan, ach cho luath 's a thug e toll air a bhroinn leum I, ach na h-ite reidh agus an druim uaine mach, agus dh' itealaich i gu taobh thall an Lochain, agus laidh i 'n sin. Dh' fhalbh e 'n a deigh, ach an uair a rainig e 'n taobh air an robh i dh' eirich i agus chaidh i air a h-ais gus an taobh a dh' fhag e. 'Nuair a chunnaic e nach b' urrainn e breith oirre chuimhnich e air Seabhag Mor Chreag nan Sgeilp, agus ann an tiota bha e ri 'thaobh. Dh' innis e dha mar fhuair an Lach as, agus nach b' urrainn esan breith oirre. Ghrad leum an Seabhag as deigh na Lach, agus ann an tiota thainig e leatha agus dh' fhag e i aig casaibh Alastair. Chuimhnich Alastair na'm beanadh an t-Ubh do 'n bhlargu 'n robh na h-uile ni caillte. Uime sin dh' fhosgail e 'n Lach gu faicilleach, agus cho luath 's a thainig an t-Ubh anns an t- sealladh ghrad rug e air 'n a laimh. Ach thug an t-Ubh breab as a dhorn, agus leum e tri airde duine anns an athar. Ach mu 'n do bhuail e 'n talamh fhuair Alastair greim air, agus thug e cruaidh bhruthadh air eadar a dha laimh agus a dha ghliin, agus chuir e 'n a bhruanaibh e. Bha gach ni a fhuair e ri 'dheanamh criochnaicht' aige nis. Thill e uime sin air ais an taobh a thainig e. Fhuair e 'n t- slighe cho reidh thearainte 's a bha i roimhe Ian chunnart agus chnap-starraidh. An uine ghoirid rainig e Caisteal Udlaidh na Beithir Theinntich. Choinnich am boirionnach e aig andorus, 142 An Croc hair e Lom-Rusgach. agus ghlaodh i, " A ghraidh a dh' fhir an t-Saoghail ! thug thu buaidh, agus gheibh thu do dhuais !" Dh' fhalbh i leis, agus an uine ghoirid rainig iad Caisteal Mbr nan Ochd Turaitean. Choinnich Soills' an Dubhair iad anns an dorus, agus dh' fhalbh i leo. Rainig iad an sin Caisteal Mbr ceann na h-Aisridh Chreagach, agus fhuair iad Gath-greine 'g am feitheamh. Dh' fhalbh i leo, agus rainig iad Caisteal Famhair Mbr na Beinne Brice, agus fhuair iad e 'n a shineadh marbh air an urlar. Rug Alastair air a chlaidheamh mhbr fhein, agus thug e 'n ceann agus na casan fo na gluinibh dheth. Cheangail e suas iad, agus thug e leis iad. " Nis," thubhairt Gath-gre"ine, " is e 'nochd an oidhche' anns an robh am Famhair Mbr ri tighinn airson mo pheathar a 's bige, agus tha m' athair 'an trbm bhrbn a chionn gu 'm bheil e cinnteach gu 'n deachaidh thusa 'mharbhadh o nach do thill thu roimhe so. Tha dhaoine uile cruinn aige 'thabhairt coinneamh do 'n Fhamhair an uair a ruigeas e. Ach thig a bhrbn gu gean, agus a thursadh gu gaire. An uair a thig e 'n ar coinneamh innsidh tu dha mar dh' eirich dhuit o 'n la anns an d' fhalbh thu gus an oidhche nochd." An uair a bha iad a' dluthachadh ris a' Chaisteal chunnaic iad feachd mbr a' feitheamh ri teachd an Fhamhair. Bha 'n Righ agus na bha 's a' Chaisteal gu tursach, brbnach airson na h-ighinn a bha gu bhi air a toirt uapa. Ach am meadhon a bhroin thug an Righ suil a mach air uinneig, agus chunnaic e Alastair a' tighinn le triuir bhoirionnach 'n a chuideachd, agus ceann 'us casan an Fhamhair aige thar a ghualain. Leum e mach 'n a choinneamh, agus rug e air eadar a dha laimh, agus phbg se e. " A ghraidh a dh' fhir an t-Saoghail ! bha fhios agam gu 'm bitheadh buaidh leat, agus bithidh mise cho math 'us mo ghealladh dhuitsa. Ach o 'n thug thu fein dachaidh mo chuid nighean uile gheibh thu do roghainn diu o 'n te 's sine gus an t 's bige." " Mata," thubhairt Alastair, " an te 'chaidh mise a thearnadh o 'n Chrochaire Lom-rusgach is i sin mo roghainn." An uair a chuala gach te do chach so bha iad ro dhubhach nach do roghnaich e iad fein. Ach o 'n thug e mach a bhuaidh, agus a rinn e na h-uibhir air an son dh' aontaich iad uile gu 'm faigheadh e 'n te a roghnaich e. An Crochaire Lom-Rusgach. 143 An sin dh' fhebraich an Righ do dh' Alastair gu de 'bha e 'dol a dheanamh ri ceann agus ri casan an Fhamhair. " Mu 'n ith mi biadh agus mu 'n 61 mi deoch chi thu sin," ars' Alastair. Fhuair e 'n sin connadh agus rinn e teine mbr, agus an uair a bha 'n teine 'an teas a ghabhalach thilg e 'n ceann agus na casan ann am meadhon na lasrach. Cho luath 's a dhathadh fait a' chinn, agus a loisgeadh craicionn nan cas leum an t-aon Oganach a bu dreachmhoir' a chunnaic iad riamh a mach as an teine. "O, mac mo mhathar agus m' athar a chaidh a ghoid 'n a leanabh !" ars' an Righ, agus e 'leum a null agus a' breith air eadar a dha laimh. An uair a dh' fhailtich iad a cheile chaidh iad uile 's tigh do 'n Chaisteal. Chuir an Righ roimhe gu 'm bitheadh Alastair agus a nighean air am pbsadh an oidhche sin fein. Ach an uair a chual Alastair so thubhairt e, " A Righ Lochlainn, tha do thairgse gle mhath. Ach cha phbs mise do nighean, agus cha chuir mi seilbh ann am mir de d' righeachd gus an cuir thu fios air Righ 6g Ceist agus air Ban-righ Og Ceist a dh' ionnsaidh na bainnse." Chaidh an Righ an iomagain mhbir, a chionn nach robh fios aige gu de 'n taobh a chuireadh e fios orra. Ann am meadhon a smaointean chuimhnich e air an lorasglach-urlair. Chaidh e far an robh i, agus dh' innis e dhi iarrtas Alastair. " Faigh thusa gach ni eile deas, agus bithidh iad agamsa 'n so romh eiridh greine 'm maireach," ars' an lorasglach. Agus mar thubhairt b' fhior. A cheud suil a thug an Righ ris a' mhuir air an ath mhadainn chunnaic e da churach a' tighinn gu traigh. A mach a te dhiu thainig Cormac agus a bhean, agus as an te eile thainig an lorasglach-urlair. Leum Alastair a mach nan coinneamh, agus b' i sin an fhailte chairdeil a chuir iad air a cheile ! Thainig an Righ nan coinneamh, agus chuir e failte chridheil orra. Chaidh iad a dh' ionnsaidh a' Chaisteil agus bha 'm posadh air a dheanamh. An deigh do 'n phbsadh a bhi seachad rinn iad cuilm mhor a mhair la agus bliadhna. An ceann na h-uine sin thill Cormac agus a bhean d' an aite fein, agus chaidh Alastair agus a bhean leb. Dh' fhuirich Cormac 'an Caisteal Righ Ceist, ach chaidh Alastair air ais gu ait' athar. An uair a chunnaic a mhathair e chuir i failte mhor air, agus rinn athair toileachadh mbr an -An C roc hair e Lom-Rusgach. uair a chual e gu 'n robh Cormac 'n a Righ 6g Ceist. Rinn an Righ an so cuilm mhbr eile do dh' Alastair agus d' a bhean, agus do na h-uile 'bha mu 'n cuairt air. Agus cha d' fhuair mise ach im air eileig, brochan 'an craidhleig, brogan paipeir. Chuir iad an allt mi, 's theirig iad. VII. A TALE OF THE SON OF THE KING OF IRELAND AND THE DAUGHTER OF THE KING OF THE RED CAP. THERE was before now a King in Ireland who was twice married, and who had a son by each one of his wives. The second wife was very bad to the son of the first wife, and very devoted to her own son. She made the King buy for her son a shinty of gold and a ball of silver. The son of the first wife had only a wooden shinty and a wooden ball, but with the shinty he had he would beat his brother. On a certain day he won many goals from his brother. His brother took this ill, and cast up to him that he had but a wooden shinty. He said, " I am preferred by my father, and as a sign of that he gave me a shinty of gold." This hurt the son of the first wife greatly. He went home, and reached the castle crying. His father came out to meet him, and said, "Poor fellow, what is the matter with thee ?" " My brother has cast up to me that he was preferred by you, and that you gave him a shinty of gold while I had but a shinty of wood." Well," said his father, " he shall not have that to cast up to thee any more ; I will give thee a shinty of gold and a ball of silver." The boy got the shinty and ball, and when his step- mother saw them with him she was greatly displeased, and told him that he was not to dare play with her son any more. He was now more wretched than he ever was, because he had not a creature that would play with him, but a deer-hound bitch which was in the castle. L 1 46 The Son of the King of Ireland and He and the deer-hound bitch grew so attached to each other that there was no separation between them day or night. A good time passed in that way, but on a certain day he went away from the castle, and reached the sea-side. He was travelling against the face of the wave, when he beheld a mermaid putting off her husk. She hid the husk in the cleft of a rock, and then she was as handsome a woman as he ever beheld. He kept his eye sharply on her to see what she was going to do. At last she leaped out in the loch and began to wash her- self. He now thought that he would steal her husk. He crawled on his knees and belly till he got a hold of the husk. He then went away, and hid himself in a place where he could see what the mermaid would do when she would miss it. She came in, and when she did not find her husk where she had put it, she gave a look all round, and went away to the place in which the Son of the King of Ireland was hiding. She said to him, " Son of the King of Ireland, give me my husk." " I will not ; thou shalt not get it without a condition." "What condition dost thou ask ?" " That thou leave thy husk off thee, and that thou marry me." " I will not do that, for another man has a promise of marriage from me. A long time shall elapse before he will come for me, but I am going to wait for him. But, Son of the King of Ireland, take my advice, and deserve my blessing. Give me my husk, and I will promise to be a faithful friend to thee after this. And in any strait or hardship which may come upon thee, and in which I can give thee help, I will give it. Thou hast many trials to go through of which thou hast no knowledge, but if thou take my advice and be faithful, thou shalt get out of every strait and every hardship which shall come upon The Daughter of the King of the Red Cap. 147 thee." When he heard this he gave her the husk. The Mermaid said, " My blessing be with thee now. Every day thou risest, come here to the sea-side, and if thou hast need of me thou shalt see me." He went home cheerfully. Next day he reached the sea-side, and was walking against the face of the wave, as he was doing on the day before, but saw nothing. Next day he came again, but saw nothing that time also. The third day he came, and kept his eye in every bend and bay and creek to see if he could behold the Mer- maid. But a look he gave at last, what did he see but three swans swimming. One of them was the White Swan of the Smooth Neck, whose brightness was like sunshine after a shower in a spring morning. He stood looking at her, and then gave his word and oath to himself that he would neither stop nor take rest on sea or on land till he should see a woman who was as handsome as the swan. The swans then swam away, and went out of sight in the ocean. Having turned round, he beheld the Mermaid in a bay beside him. " Son of the King of Ireland," said she, " thou hast fallen in love with the White Swan of the Smooth Neck. Go home, and tell thy father to get thee a boat ; thou shalt go away in her, and set thy course in the very direction which the Swans have taken. Having said this, she went under the water, and he got not a second look of her. He went home. He reached his father, and said to him that he was going away on a sea-voyage, and that he must get him a boat. " Thou shalt get that and a crew," said his father. " To-morrow go down to the shore, and a boat and crew shall be waiting there for thee. Gonachry (the Heart-wounder) is the name of the boat, and the crew shall be obedient to thee in everything which thou mayest ask them to do." L 2 148 The Son of the King of Ireland and He reached the shore, and the boat was waiting him as his father said. He went on board of her, and set her course in the very direction which the Swans took. They were a long time sailing on the ocean without seeing land. At last land came in sight, and they made straight for it. When they reached the shore the Son of the King of Ireland told the crew to take care of the boat, and that he would go ashore. He went ashore. He noticed a large, fine house far away from him at the lower end of a great wood, and made straight for it. This was the Castle of the Big Island of the Whales (or Sea-hogs). Before he arrived at the Castle he beheld an Old Man coming to meet him. When they came within speaking distance of each other, the Old Man said, "Son of the King of Ireland, thy business is diffi- cult for thee to get, but they are in existence and can be found. Thou shalt not be the worse of my advice and help, and thou shalt get them. Thou shalt stay with me to-night, and I will go with thee to-morrow." They reached the Castle and went in. The Old Man said, " Thou hast fallen in love with the White Swan of the Smooth Neck, the young daughter of the King of the Red Cap, who is staying in the Big Island of the Spirit of the Mist. Many champions came before thee to seek Sunshine, the Young Daughter of the King of the Red Cap, but they did not return, and no more shalt thou return unless thou be hardy and faithful, and take advice. Here is for thee a needle, and a bow and an arrow, and thou shalt keep the needle till thou shalt have need of it. To-morrow morning thou shalt go away with Gonachry, thy boat, and when thou gettest her under sail thou shalt put the needle in the point of the arrow, and shalt hold it straight up in the air, and shalt set thy course in the direc- tion in which it points when it falls in the boat. The Daughter of the King of the Red Cap. 1 49 And I will go with thee, for thou shalt not be the worse of my assistance before thou return. There is a brother of mine staying in the Beautiful Isle of the Shadow of the Stars, and we shall be in his house next night. He will tell thee what thou art to do after that, and will give thee something else which shall be useful to thee. But before I depart I must have it as a condition from thee that thou shalt put me on land here when thou returnest." " I promise that to thee," said the son of the King of Ireland. Next morning, when the Son of the King of Ireland and the Old Man reached the shore, they found Gonachry under sail waiting them. As soon as they went on board, the Son of the King of Ireland set the needle in the point of the arrow, let the arrow off straight up in the air, and set the ship's course in the direction in which the arrow pointed when it fell. They sailed onwards the day long. At the declining of the sun they beheld land ahead of them, and made straight for it. When they reached the shore the Old Man told the Son of the King of Ireland to go ashore and proceed to the Castle. He went ashore, and made for the Castle. As he was advancing, everything he saw was causing him great wonder. There was not a stone nor a rock that met him in \vhich he was not beholding his own image shining. At last he came in sight of the Castle, and saw the Old Man coming to meet him. When they met, the Old Man said, " Son of the King of Ireland, great is thy news if thou thyself knew of it. But they are in existence, and they can be found. Thou hast to go through many trials, but thou shalt get out of them all if thou be hardy and faithful, and take my advice. But come in, and thou shalt stay 150 The Son of the King of Ireland and with me to-night, and I will tell thee a thing which shall be useful to thee." He followed the Old Man into the Great Castle of the Island of the Shadow of the Stars. " Now," said the Old Man, " thou art on a journey which it is not easy for thee to accomplish. Thou hast vowed that thou wouldst not marry until thou shouldst see a woman as beautiful as the White Swan of the Smooth Neck. That is the Young Daughter of the King of the Red Cap, who is staying in the Big Isle of the Spirit of the Mist. A brother of mine is staying there, and we shall be with him next night, and he will tell thee what thou hast to do after that. When thou goest on board of Gonachry thou shalt put the thimble on the point of the arrow, and shalt let it go straight up in the air, and shalt set the course of the boat in the direction in which the thimble points when it falls. I will go with thee, for thou shalt not be the worse of my help. But before I go away I will have this condition from thee, that thou shalt put me ashore here when thou returnest." Early next morning they went on board of Gonachry. The Son of the King of Ireland put the thimble on the point of the arrow, let the arrow go off in the air, and set the ship's course in the direction in which the thimble was pointing when it fell. They sailed onward the day long on the ocean. At the declining of the sun they saw land before them, and made straight for it. When they reached the shore the first Old Man said to the Son of the King of Ireland, " Hast thou thy needle ?" He replied that he had. " Keep it carefully, for it is the first proof of thy trials." The second Old Man said, " Hast thou thy thimble ?" " Yes," said the Son of the King of Ireland. " Keep it carefully, for it is the second proof of thy trials. Thou shalt now go ashore, and keep straight onward until thou shalt reach a Big The Daughter of the King of the Red Cap. 151 Castle. If my brother meet thee before thou shalt be at the Castle, have good courage ; but if he do not meet thee, it will be a bad sign of thy prospering after that. We will stay here till thou returnest." The Son of the King of Ireland sprang ashore, and went away on his journey to the Castle. He knew that the Castle was in some place or other in the island, but he was not seeing it He was keeping his eye sharply before him to see if he could behold the Old Man coming. But instead of a Castle or a man he saw a little tuft of druidic mist before him. He did not go very far forward when the little tuft of magic mist spread, and hid both earth and sky from him. He now said to himself that it was all up with him, because he could not see the Castle, and no man in the Castle could see him through the mist. In that fear he stood where he was. In a short time there came off the sea a faint breath of wind which swept away the mist, and when the mist passed away he saw the Castle before him. He kept straight towards it, but not a man was to be seen in front of him. When he came under the shadow of the walls of the Castle he noticed an Old Man coming out at the door and advancing to meet him. The Old Man said, " Son of the King of Ireland, thou didst take fright, but do not lose thy courage. Thou hast yet to go through many trials before thou shalt get Sunshine. But come in, and I will tell thee something which shall be useful to thee." He went in. " Now," said the Old Man, " here are scissors for thee, and here are a bow and an arrow. To- morrow in the morning thou shalt stand on the Great Rock behind the Castle, and put thy scissors on the point of thine arrow, and thou shalt let it off straight up in the air. The way the scissors will be pointing when they fall, that is the way thou must set thy face. The three Swans which thou didst see are the three daughters of 152 The Son of the King of Ireland and the King of the Red Cap, who is staying far away in this island. He is keeping them under spells until a Champion such as thou art happens to come to seek them. He then lifts the spells off them, and they become three handsome maidens. Many heroes came for them before thee, but the trials which were laid on them were so hard that not one of them won one of the maidens. But since thou hast got thus far forward I will help thee in anything which I can do for thee. The three Swans are at this very hour swimming on the Tranquil Lakelet of the Great Garden of the Trees of the Golden Apples in the Green Isle at the extremity of the Utter- most World. When thou dost reach the Lakelet thou shalt creep towards them with thine arrow, put thy needle in its point, and aim it at the one on whom thine affection is placed. As soon as the needle touches her the three will fly away from the Lake, and will not stop until they reach the Big Castle of the King of the Red Cap, their father." Next morning he went out, and reached the top of the Great Rock behind the Castle. He put the scissors on the point of the arrow and let it off straight up in the air, and when it fell the scissors were pointing to the sea beneath the place in which he was standing. Then he went away in the direction in which the scissors pointed, until he arrived at the sea-side. But further than that he could not go. He now said to himself that he would return, and take with him Gonachry. But before he went away he gave a look, and saw the Mermaid at the margin of the wave before him. "Son of the King of Ireland," said she, "thou art thinking of returning and taking Gonachry with thee to the Green Isle, but she will not serve thy purpose. For as soon as thou wouldst go away with her a magic mist would rise off the island, which would send you so far astray that you would The Daughter of the King of the Red Cap. 153 never reach land. But the day thou gavest me my husk I promised to be a good friend to thee, and assist thee in the time of thy difficulty. And now I will help thee out of the strait in which thou art. Come and sit on my tail, and the magic mist of the Big Island of the Spirit of the Mist shall not put me astray until I land thee safely in the Green Isle at the extremity of the Uttermost World. But though I put thee there I shall not take thee thence. The Old Man, with whom thou wert last night, will go on board of Gonachry with the rest, and they will reach thee in the time of thy need. But, Son of the King of Ireland, see that thou lose not thy courage till they come." Then he sat on the tail of the Mermaid. She set her face to the ocean, and swam away with great speed. They did not proceed very far when he noticed a little tuft of mist rising off the Island. The mist was coming after them, and gaining fast on them. In a short time it overtook them, and covered themselves and the sea. And it was so thick that he could not see the Mermaid's head from her tail. Then she said, " Son of the King of Ireland, what would thou and thy Gonachry do now ? " " Oh, what but that I should lose my course, and that I would not know where I was going," said he. The mist now grew very thick and dark, and the Mermaid said to him, " What thing soever thou shalt happen to see or hear, see that thou move not thy head one way or another, and that thou answer not a word which may be said to thee until I speak. It is all one with me to go on the surface of the sea or under it. I am now going to put my head under water, and then the mist of the Island of the Mist shall not put me out of my course." Having said this, she took her head under the water, and went away with great speed. The Son of the King of Ireland was now seeing himself alone, and 1 54 The Son of the King of Ireland and fear struck him that he might fall off the tail of the Mermaid. But he remembered her advice, and did as she told him. They did not proceed very far when he heard a plunge beside him. He gave a side look over his shoulder, and thought that he saw a woman in the water. Then he saw a hand in the water, and heard a voice saying, " Son of the King of Ireland, give me thy hand, for I am drowning." At the time he forgot his promise, and was going to lay hold of her by the hand, when the Mermaid put her head above water, and cried to him, " Son of the King of Ireland, take care of thyself, and remember whither thou art going. Thou thyself art in far greater danger than yon lady. Sea or air is all one to her. See that thou be on thy guard lest she come on thee in another way." Having said this, she took her head under water again, and went away with surpassing speed, until the mist cleared off. She then took her head above water, and went away on the surface of the sea until they came in sight of land. As soon as the Son of the King of Ireland saw the land ahead of him his mind rose so greatly that he lost recollection of every fear and distress through which he had come. When they were nearing land, a gull came flying over his head, and said to him, " Son of the King of Ireland, here is a writing for thee; rise and catch it from me." But he remembered his promise, and did not answer her. " Son of the King of Ireland," said she again, " take the writing from me, and it will tell thee something of which thou hast no knowledge." But he remembered his promise the second time, and did not answer her. When they were near the shore, the loveli- ness of the land and beauty of the trees under fruit took his attention utterly off everything which he was told, and which he promised to do. In that state of bewilderment the gull descended the third The Daughter of the King of the Red Cap. 155 time, and said, " Son of the King of Ireland, take hold of this writing, for it is from thy stepmother, inviting thee to thy brother's wedding." As soon as he heard his brother's name being mentioned he gave himself a lift and stretched out his hand to catch the writing. He felt himself leaning over, and going to fall in the water. He knew that if he fell in the water he should be lost. But the Mermaid noticed what was going to happen, and cried to him again, " Son of the King of Ireland, wilt thou not remember thy promise?" But he had leaned over so far that it was in the water he would be were it not that he was so near shore, and that she threw him with a jerk of her tail on dry land. " Now," said she, " thou art on land. See that thou be faithful, and that thou forget not anything that I said to thee. Lose not thy courage, for Gonachry shall come to seek thee. Thou shalt go back with her to the Big Island of the Spirit of the Mist. When thou arrivest a-t that Island, the King of the Red Cap, with his three daughters, will meet thee on the shore, and he will say to thee, ' What art thou wanting, and what hast thou to give away? ' Thou shalt say to him that if he and his daughters come on board thou wilt show them what thou hast ; and the third Old Man will tell thee what thou shouldst do after that. Put thy bow and arrow in order, and travel onward to the Tran- quil Lakelet of the Great Garden of the Golden Apples, and see that thy aim be good. One other advice : see that thou forget not thy promise in any peril or diffi- culty in which thou happenest to be on sea or on land. My blessing be with thee. Thou hast no further need of me." He then went away to tb~ Lake. As he was advancing everything was growing more beautiful, until at last the loveliness of the tree? and the beauty of the land were 156 The Son of the King of Ireland and driving out of his thoughts the business which was before him. But he instantly remembered the advice of the Mermaid to be on his guard reaching the Lake. A look he gave before him he beheld the Lake, and the three Swans swimming on the surface. He instantly let himself down on his knees, and went away creeping on all fours, and keeping every tree and knoll which met him between him and them until he got in the distance of a bow-shot of them. He then placed the arrow across the bow, drew the string, and with as good an aim as he could take, let off the arrow. The arrow ran through the back plumage of the White Swan of the Smooth Neck, and, with a shriek of sudden pain, she sprang up in the air and flew away, while the other two followed her. He kept his eye in the direction they took until they had gone so far from him that he lost sight of them. He had then no alternative but to go away in the 'direction they had taken, and he travelled onward until he came to the sea-side. Further than that he could not go. He was walking backwards and forwards, keeping his eye in every nook, to see if he could behold the Mer- maid, till he recollected that she had said to him that he would see her no more. Then he gave a lifting on his eye towards the sea, and saw Gonachry coming. His courage rose, he went straight to meet her, and the first persons he saw on board of her were the three Old Brothers. As soon as Gonachry reached the shore, he went on board, and told the crew to put her about. They did that. He himself then sat at the helm, and set the ship's course as straight as he could in the direction the Swans took. He kept her going until he saw, far away, land coming in sight ; but if it was far from him he took not long in reaching it When they were near land, the third Old Man said, The Daughter of the King of the Red Cap. 157 " Son of the King of Ireland, as soon as we arrive at the shore we shall see the King of the Red Cap and his three daughters waiting us. The first thing he will ask thee is, ' What art thou seeking, or what hast thou to give away ?' Thou shalt take care that thou do not land, but thou shalt say to him that if he and his daughters come on board thou wilt show them some of the things which thou hast to give away. They will come on board, and thou shalt then hand the King the needle first, the thimble next, and the scissors last. Then he will hand them one after another to each in succession of his daughters, from the oldest to the youngest. And if thy favourite keep them, have good courage." They reached land, and found the King of the Red Cap and his three daughters waiting them as the Old Man told. The Son of the King of Ireland gave them a look, and when he saw the Young Daughter of the King of the Red Cap he said, " There is my favourite, for she is as handsome in my sight as the White Swan of the Smooth Neck." Then the King of the Red Cap cried, " Son of the King of Ireland, what art thou seeking, or what hast thou to give away ?" The Son of the King of Ireland said, " I am seeking and I will give away. If thou and thy daughters come on board, thou wilt see some of the things which I have for giving away." They came on board. The Son of the King of Ireland handed his needle to the King of the Red Cap. The King looked at it, and handed it to his Big Daughter. The Big Daughter gave it but little attention, and handed it to the Middle Daughter. The Middle Daughter gave it no more attention than the Big one, and handed it to the Young Daughter. This one took a great liking for it, and she left neither eye nor point unexamined. When the time came for hand- 158 The Son oj the King of Ireland and ing it back, she appeared as if she were sorry to part with it. The Son of the King of Ireland noticed this, and said to her that if she had any liking for the needle she might keep it. He now handed the thimble to the King, the King handed it to his Big Daughter, and the daughters handed it to each other until it was left with the Young Daughter, as the needle was. Then he handed the scissors to the King, and it remained, with the other things, in the possession of the Young Daughter. " Now," said the King of the Red Cap, " Son of the King of Ireland, thou didst fall in love with the White Swan of the Smooth Neck, and thou didst vow in Ire- land that thou wouldst neither stop nor take rest until thou shouldst see a woman as handsome in thy sight as the Swan. Thou hast seen her now, and that is Sun- shine, my Young Daughter, and she has chosen thee with thy needle, with thy thimble, and with thy scissors. But many a one came to seek her who neither returned nor got her, and thou shalt not get her until thou win her by harder trials than this yet. Come on land, and go away with me to my Castle, and if thou win her in every trial that I will lay on thee, thou shalt get her." The Son of the King of Ireland turned to his crew and said, " I do not know when I shall return, but have you Gonachry ready to go away. I will not return without having Sunshine with me." He then sprang on land, having the third Old Man with him. They kept on till they arrived at the Castle of the King of the Red Cap. The King took them in to a fine room, drew out a table on the middle of the floor, and got his dice (dlsneari). " Now," said he, " Son of the King of Ireland, thou shalt. come and play with me, and if thou win Sunshine from me thy first trial will be over, but if thou lose, thou The Daughter of the King of the Red Cap. 159 shalt lose thy life." The play began, and the Son of the King of Ireland won three times in succession from the King of the Red Cap. " Well," said the King of the Red Cap, " thou hast won with the game of dice, but thou shalt not get her for that yet Thou must stand another trial, and unless thou win three times in succession, thou shalt lose thy life over it." He then drew a curtain between the two sides of the room, and put his three daughters on one side of the curtain, while he himself remained with the Son of the King of Ireland on the other side. " Now," said he to the Son of the King of Ireland, " my daughters will thrust the needle through the curtain three times, and if thou catch it except when it happens to be with my Young Daughter, thou shalt lose thy life." But Sun- shine knew the trial beforehand, and whispered before- hand in the ear of the Son of the King of Ireland that it was the eye-end of the needle she would hold to him. The King of the Red Cap went in under the curtain, and gave the thimble to one of his daughters. He then returned out, and said to the Son of the King of Ireland, " Take hold of the needle." " I will not take hold of it from that one yet." The King went in a second time, and gave the scissors to another one. He then came out, and said to the Son of the King of Ireland, " Take hold of the needle." The Son of the King of Ireland again answered, " I will not take hold of it from that one yet." The King went in the third time, and gave the needle to his Young Daughter. He came out, and told the Son of the King of Ireland to take hold of it. The Son of the King of Ireland went over, and, when he saw the eye-end of the needle through the curtain, he took hold of it. " Thou hast won" (or hast done the business), said the King of the Red Cap, " and thou shalt get her." The marriage was consummated without delay ; and after it 160 The Son of the King of Ireland and was over, the King of the Red Cap said, " If thou attempt to run away out of the Island, thine own life and that of thy wife shall be forfeited." The Son of the King of Ireland passed a good time in the Island, but the crew were keeping Gonachry always ready for going away. On a certain night, after the King of the Red Cap had fallen asleep, Sunshine said to her husband, " Now is thy time and thy oppor- tunity, and if thou do not take advantage of them, thou shalt never get them again." " We will get ready and depart then," said he. They went away, and reached the shore. They went then on board of Gonachry. But as soon as the foot of Sunshine touched her, the King of the Red Cap cried in his bed, " Gonachry has gone away, and the Son of the King of Ireland has fled with my daughter. But his Big Daughter went in and said to him, " No, it is only the sound of the wind passing through the trees of the garden thou art hearing." As soon as Gonachry set sail he cried again, " Gonachry is off, and the Son of the King of Ireland has fled with my Young Daughter. But I will make him not go far until that shall be dear to him." He sprang out, and went after them. Sunshine per- ceived that he was coming, and said to her husband, " My father is coming, and if thou be not courageous he will sink the boat and drown us all, because his death is nowhere in the world but in a mole that he had in the very middle of the sole of his foot." They saw him coming swimming, and sending the sea in sparks of fire before him. The Son of the King of Ireland could not get an aim at the sole of his foot so long as he was after him. But when he was coming alongside of the boat, Sunshine sprang to her husband, and pulled the bow and arrow out of his hands. She then pointed the arrow to the sole of her father's foot, The Daughter of the King of the Red Cap. 1 6 1 and, when he was passing her, sent it into the mole. He turned himself over in the sea, and was dead. Sunshine then turned to her husband, and said, " Son of the King of Ireland, be faithful to me after this, for I have killed my father for thy sake." They kept sailing onwards to the Big Island of the Shadow of the Stars, and they landed the Second Old Man. As soon as his feet touched the shore he turned round and said, " Son of the King of Ireland, since thou wert as good as thy promise to me, thou shalt stay with me to-night." The Son of the King of Ireland went away with the Old Man, and they reached his Castle. That, indeed, was the splendid Big-House, the like of which he never saw. There was abundance of every kind of food and drink that was better than another to be found within, and the shadow of the stars was to be seen in it without. At supper the Old Man said, " Son of the King of Ireland, were it not for my brother and the virtue of his scissors thou hadst not found Sunshine." Next morning they left farewell with the Old Man, and went away with Gonachry. They kept sailing onwards until they arrived at the Big Island of the Whales. They landed the First Old Man, and as soon as his soles struck the shore he turned round and said, " Son of the King of Ireland, thou hast got Sunshine with thee, but were it not for my second brother and the virtue of his thimble thou hadst not found her. And were it not for myself and my needle thou hadst never found out the place in which she was. But this is my dearly beloved island. I have not got a full meal since I left it." Then he reached out his arm, and took down from a cleft of a rock a great fishing-rod, with line and hook, and with a bait (clib} on the hook. He gave a great cast with it out on the sea, and fished a whale, and ate it. He then took cast after cast, and before M 1 62 The Son of the King of Ireland and Gonachry went out of sight of the island he fished and ate seven whales ! The Son of the King of Ireland sailed back to the very haven in Ireland whence he departed. When he was landing, Sunshine said to him, " Thou art now going to thy father's house, where thy brother's wedding is to be held to-night. As soon as the greyhound bitch sees thee coming she will run to meet thee, but thou shalt take heed that she touch not a bit of thy face or of thy skin, for if she does thou shalt have no recol- lection of having ever seen me." " Sunshine," said he, " there is nothing in the world that can put thee out of my memory." " Remember, then, what I said to thee, and good success to thee." He went away, and when he was ncaring his father's Castle the greyhound bitch came to meet him, and before he got his arm lifted up, she sprang and struck him with her muzzle in the mouth. Immediately he forgot that he ever saw Sunshine. He struck into the company, and his father made a great stir on his account, and his stepmother showed him more kindness than she ever did. Sunshine said to Gonachry's crew, "Yon man has gone away, the greyhound bitch has kissed him, and he has forgotten that he ever saw me. He will not return here until I go after him and bring him back. But you will stay on board of Gonachry until I come." She then went on land, and reached the house of an old smith the king once had. She asked leave to stay in the house, but at first he refused her that, because he had not a suitable place for such a lady. She said that she herself would put the house in order if he would let her stay. He then told her to go in, and said if she would get his wife's permission that he would not be The Daughter of the King of the Red Cap. 1 6 3 against her. She went in, and when the Smith's wife saw the comeliness of the woman, she said that she might stay if she could make herself contented in such a place. She put the Smith's house in exceedingly fine order with furniture and everything else that was needful in a house. There was a large spring near the palace, and it was out of it the w r ater was drawn for the use of the King. Sunshine was in the habit of taking a walk every evening the way of the spring, in the hope that she might see her husband ; but she did not get a look of him. On a certain day she told the Smith to make a cock and a hen of gold for her. The Smith said that he had not enough of gold to make a cock and a hen with. She said to him that she would give him as much as would suffice. The Smith got the gold, and began to make the cock, but it beat him to make him. Then she asked the hammer from the Smith, and in a short time she had the cock ready, and made the hen afterwards. The Smith burnished them for her, and after that she took them in with her. Next night she went to the spring. After she had reached it the head butler of the King came for water to wash the King's feet. As soon as he bent over the spring he saw the shadow of Sunshine in the water. On the spot he fell in love with her, and nothing would do but that he should get her in marriage. She asked him who he was. He answered that he was the King's chief butler. She said that she would marry him on a certain condition. " What condition wouldst thou ask that thou wouldst not get ?" said he. " Well, the condition I will have from thee is that I get beforehand a hun- dred pieces of gold and a bottle of the King's wine, and that thou watch at my bedside till morning. If M 2 1 64 The Son of the King of Ireland and thou do that I will marry thee to-morrow." He promised her everything that she asked of him. He came that night to watch, and gave her a hundred pieces of gold and a bottle of wine. She said to him that it was a custom with her to have a while of play before going to bed. She then got the cock and the hen, and put them on the table. The cock sprang and pecked the hen. " Oh," said the hen, " that was not what thou owedst me, seeing that I held the eye-end of the needle to thee." The cock gave the hen another peck. " Oh," said the hen, " that was not thy due to me, seeing that I put thee on thy guard against the greyhound bitch." The sight pleased the butler greatly, for never before had he seen the like of it. After she had gone to bed she told the butler to give her a drink of the wine. He went over to the table that was on the other side of the room, and took hold of the bottle. He tried to lift it, but it would not come away with him. His hand stuck to the bottle, the bottle to the table, and the table to the floor, and in that position he was the night long. Next morning the woman said to him, " What wert thou doing there all night ? Is that the way thou art watching my bedside ? Thou hast broken the bargain, and forfeited the gold and me." " Oh," said the butler, *' the night was so frosty that my hand stuck to the bottle, the bottle to the table, and the table to the floor, and out of this I could not get. It is time for me to be at home, for if the King gets up before I arrive I shall lose my place." The woman called for the Smith, and he came. He took hold of the butler, and gave him a terrible pulling, but he would not come with him. The Smith's wife got hot water, and poured it about the legs of the table, and they loosened from the floor. She then poured the The Daughter of the King of the Red Cap. 165 water on the bottom of the bottle, and the bottle came away from the table, but, though she scalded the Cutler's hands, they would not come from the bottle. " Oh," cried the butler, " the time is up, and I must go. What shall I do ?" " Oh, go as thou art," said the woman. " Oh, if the King sees the bottle I will lose my place over it." " Thou must come to the Smithy then." He went with her to the Smithy. She made the Smith hold the butler's hands in the fire, and she herself went to blow the bellows. The butler soon cried to let him go, because he could stand the pain no longer. When the time was nearly up, the woman said, " I will try one other way with thee yet." She then took hold of the bottom of the bottle, and spilt the wine on his hands, and they came away from the bottle. " Well, since I have got off, I will not return any more," said the butler, and he went away. Next evening she met the head cook of the King at the spring, and promised to marry him if she would get one hundred pieces of gold and a pot of the King's broth, and if he would watch at her bedside till morning. He agreed to do all this, and everything happened to him as it happened to the butler, except that his hand stuck to the lid of the pot, the lid to the pot, and the pot to the floor. On the third evening she met the head coachman of the King, and agreed to marry him if he would give her a hundred pieces of gold and watch at her bedside till morning. He came to the Smith's house at night, At bed-time the woman placed the cock and the hen on the table. " Oh, how beautiful they are," said he. " Can they speak ?" " Yes," said the woman. Then the hen sprang and pecked the cock. " Oh," said the cock, " thou didst give the old Smith's situation under the King to another smith." " Is that right ?" said Sunshine to the coach- 1 66 The Son of the King of Ireland and man. " Yes," said he. " Well, thou shalt give it back to him before I marry thee." He said nothing to this. Then the cock sprang and pecked the hen. " Oh, that was not thy due to me, seeing that I held the eye-end of the needle towards thee," said the hen. After the woman had gone to bed, she said that she forgot to shut the door. " I'll shut it," said the coach- man. He rose and shut the door, but his hand stuck to the bar, the bar to the door, and the door to the hinges, and out of that he did not get the night long. Next morning she said to him what she said to the rest, and he answered as the rest did. The Smith and his wife came, and tried to draw him from the door, but they could not Then they tried to pull the door off the hinges, but that beat them. When the time had nearly run out, and he had got fully as much pain as the rest, the woman rubbed balsam to his hands, and let him go. Next night her husband was going to marry a lady of high rank. Every person about the Castle got an invitation to the wedding. When they met there was something wanting, and that was some person who would amuse the company with games. The butler said that there was a woman in the old Smith's house who could perform the most wonderful feats he ever saw. " Oh, yes, for I saw her," said the cook. " Oh, yes, and I also saw her," said the head coachman. " She has a cock and hen, and they can speak. They told me everything I ever did." *' Get her here," said the King. Sunshine came, but her husband did not know that he had ever seen her. She put the cock and hen on the table. The cock sprang, and pecked the hen. " Oh, that was not thy due to me, seeing that I held the eye-end of the needle towards thee," said the hen. The hen then sprang, and pecked the cock. " Oh, it The Daughter of the King of the Red Cap. 167 was not thy due to me, seeing that I won thee thrice with my needle, thimble, and scissors," said the cock. The cock again sprang, and pecked the hen. " Oh, it was not thy due to me, seeing that I killed my father on thy account," said the hen. The King's Son now began to cock his ears. The cock sprang, and pecked the hen the third time. " Don't, for I put thee on thy guard against the kiss of the greyhound bitch," said the hen. " Sunshine, my love of all the women in the world !" said the Son of the King, while he sprang towards her, put his arm about her neck, and kissed her. He then told the company that Sunshine was his wife, and the daughter of the King of the Red Cap. The bride got leave to depart, and they kept up the feast for a day and a year, and, if they have not left the Castle since, they are there still. SGEULACHD AIR MAC RIGH EIRIONN AGUS NIGHEAN RIGH A' CHURRAICHD RUAIDH. BHA Righ roimhe so 'an Eirinn a bha posda da uair, agus aig an robh mac ris gach te d' a mhnathaibh. Bha 'n dara bean ro dhona do mhac na ceud mhna, agus ro mhuirneach mu thimchioll a mic fein. Thug i air an Righ caman oir agus ball airgid a cheannach d' a mac-sa. Cha robh aig mac na ceud mhna ach caman fiodha agus ball fiodha, ach chuireadh e air a bhrathair leis a' chaman a bh' aige. Air la araidh chuir e mbran thaobhuill air a bhrathair. Ghabh a bhrathair so gu dona, agus thilg e air nach robh aigesan ach caman fiodha. Thubhairt e, " Is mise 's docha le m' athair, agus mar chomhar air sin thug 1 68 Sgeulachd air Mac Righ Eirionn agtis e dhomh caman bir." Rainig so mac na ceiid mhna gu mbr. Dh' fhalbh e dhachaidh, agus rainig e 'n Caisteal a' caoineadh. Thainig 'athair a mach 'n a choinneamh, agus thubhairt e ris, "A dhuine bhochd gu de* 'tha 'cur ort ? " " Thilg mo bhrathair orm gu 'm b' e 'bu docha leibhsa, agus gu 'n tug sibh dha caman bir, agus nach robh agamsa ach caman maide." " Mata," ars' athair, " cha bhi sin aige ri thilgeil ort tuillidh ; bheir mise dhuit caman bir agus ball airgid." Fhuair am balach an caman agus am ball, agus an uair a chunnaic a mhuime iad aige, ghabh i mithlachd mbr ; agus thubhairt i ris gun a chridhe 'bhi aige cluich le mac-sa tuillidh. Bha e 'nis ni 'bu bhrbnaiche na bha e riamh, a chionn nach robh creutair aige a rachadh a chluich leis, ach galla mhial- choin a bha 's a Chaisteal. Dh' fhas e fein agus a' ghalla mhial-choin cho muirneach m' a chdil' 'us nach robh deal- achadh eatarra a la no 'dh' oidhche. Chaidh uine mhath seachad mar sin, ach air aon la araidh dh' fhalbh e o 'n Chaisteal, agus rainig e taobh na mara. Bha e 'siubhal ri aghaidh na tuinne 'n uair a chunnaic e maighdean- mhara, agus i a' cur dhi a cochuill. Chuir i 'n cochull 'am falach 'an sgor creige, agus bha i 'n sin 'n a boirionnach cho briadha 's a chunnaic e riamh. Chum e 'shuil gu geur oirre feuch gu de 'bha i 'dol a dheanamh. Leum i mu dheireadh a mach air an loch, agus thbisich i air i fein a ghlanadh. An so smaointich e gu 'n goideadh e 'n cochull aice. Dh' ealaidh e air a ghlunaibh agus air a bhroinn gus an d' fhuair e greim air a' chochull. Dh' fhalbh e 'n sin, agus chaidh e 'm falach ann an aite far am faiceadh e gu de 'dhean- adh a' mhaighdean-mhara 'n uair a dh' ionndraineadh i e. Thill i 's tigh, agus an uair nach d' fhuair i 'n cochull far an do chuir i e, thug i suil ceithir thimchioll oirre, agus dh' fhalbh i direach a dh' ionnsaidh an ait anns an robh Mac Righ Eirionn 'am falach. Thubhairt i ris, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, thoir dhbmhsa mo chochull." " Cha tabhair ; cha-n fhaigh thu e gun chumhnant." " Gu de 'n cumhnant a tha thu 'g iarraidh ?" " Gu 'm fag thu dhiot do chochull, agus gu 'm pbs thu mise." " Cha dean mi sin, oir tha gealladh pbsaidh aig fear eiP orm Nighean Righ a Churraichd Ruaidh. 169 Bithidh iiine mhor mu 'n tig e air mo shon, ach tha mi 'dol a dh' fheitheamh ris. Ach, a Mhic Righ Eirionn, gabh mo chomhairle-sa, agus toill mo bheannachd. Thoir dhomh mo chochull, agus geallaidh mise gu 'm bi mi 'm bhan-charaid dhileas dhuit as a dheigh so. Agus cas no cruadal a thig ort, agus anns an urrainn mise cuideachadh a dheanamh dhuit ni mi e. Tha moran agad ri 'dhol troimhe air nach 'eil fhios agadsa, ach ma ghabhas tu comhairle agus ma bhitheas tu dileas gheibh thu as gach cas agus as gach cruadail a thig ort." An uair a chual e so thug e dhi an cochull. Thubhairt a' Mhaighdean-mhara, " Mo bheannachd agad a nis. A h-uile la a dh' eireas tu, thig thu so gu taobh na mara, agus ma bhitheas feum agad orm chi thu mis' ann." Dh' fhalbh e dhachaidh gu sunndach. Air an ath latha rainig e taobh na mara, agus bha e coiseachd ri aghaidh na tuinne mar bha e air an la roimhe, ach cha-n fhac e ni air bith. Air an dara la thainig e rithist, ach cha-n fhac e dad air an uair sin cuideachd. Air an treas la thainig e, agus chum e 'shuil anns gach luib, agus 6b, agus camus feuch am faiceadh e 'mhaigh- dean-mhara. Ach suil 'g an tug e mu dheireadh gu de 'chunnaic e ach tri ealachan air an t-shnamh. B' i te dhiu eala bhan a' mhuineil reidh, agus a soillse mar dhearrsadh greine air cul froise ann am madainn earraich. Sheas e 'coimhead oirre, agus thug e boid agus briathar ris fein an sin, nach stadadh e, agus nach gabhadh e fois air muir no air tir gus arn faiceadh e bean a bha cho briadha ris an eala. An sin shnamh na h-ealachan air falbh, agus chaidh iad as an t-shealladh anns a' chuan. Air tionndadh dha mu 'n cuairt chunnaic e a' Mhaighdean- mhara ann an 6b laimh ris. "A Mhic Righ Eirionn," thubhairt i, "ghabh thu gaol air Eala Bhan a' mhuineil reidh. Falbh dhachaidh, agus iarr air d' athair bata fhaotainn duit, agus falbhaidh tu innte, agus leagaidh tu do chursa 'cheart taobh a ghabh na h-ealachan." Air dhi so a radh chaidh i fodha anns an uisge, agus cha d' fhuair e 'n ath shealladh dhi. Chaidh e dhachaidh. Rainig e 'athair, agus thubhairt e ris gu 'n robh e 'falbh air turus cuain, agus gu ' m feumadh esan bata fhaotainn da. " Gheibh thu sin, agus sgioba," thubhairt 1 70 Sgenlachd air Mac Righ Eirionn agus athair. " Am maireach rach sios a dh' ionnsaidh a' chladaich, agus bithidh bat' agus Sgioba 'feitheamh ort ann. Is e Gona- chridh a's ainm do 'n bhata, agus bithidh an Sgioba umhal dhuit anns gach ni a dh' iarras tu orra 'dheanamh." Rainig e 'n cladach, agus bha 'm bata 'feitheamh. air mar thubhairt athair. Chaidh e air bbrd, agus leag e a cursa a' cheart taobh a ghabh na h-ealachan. Bha iad a' sebladh re uine mhbir air a' chuangun fhearann fhaicinn. Mu dheireadh thainig fearann 's an t-shealladh, agus rinn iad direach air. An uair a rainig iad an cladach dh' iarr Mac Righ Eirionn air an Sgioba an aire 'thabhairtdo 'n bhata, agus gu 'n rachadh esan air tir. Chaidh e air tir. Thug e 'n aire do thigh mbr, sgiamhach fada bhuaithe aig bun coille mhbir, agus rinn e direach air. B' e so Caisteal Eilean Mor nam Muca-mara. Mu 'n d' rainig e 'n Caisteal chunnaic e Seann duine 'tighinn 'n achoinneamh. An uair a thainig iad an astar bruidhinn d' a cheile thubhairt an Seann duine, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, tha do ghnothuch duilich dhuit fhaotainn, ach tha iad ann, agus gabhaidh iad faotainn. Cha mhisd thu mo chomhairle agus mo chuid- eachadh sa, agus gheibh thu iad. Fanaidh tu leamsa 'nochd, agus falbhaidh mise leat am maireach." Rainig iad an Caisteal agus chaidh iad a 's tigh. Thubhairt an Seann duine, " Ghabh thu gaol air Eala Bhan a' Mhuineil reidh, Nighean 6g Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh a tha fuireachd ann an Eilean Mbr Spiorad a Cheb. Thainig mbran chur- aidhnean air thoiseach ortsa 'dh' iarraidh Dearsadh-greine, Nighean 6g Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh, agus cha do thill iad, agus cha till thusa ni 's mb mur bi thu cruadalach, dileas, agus mur gabh thu comhairle. So dhuit snathad, agus bogha agus saighead, agus gleidhidh tu 'n t-snathad gus an tig feum agad oirre. Anns a' mhadainn am maireach falbhaidh tu le Gonachridh, do bhata, agus an uair a gheibh thu i fo siuil cuiridh tu 'n t-snathad ann am barr na saighde, agus cumaidh tu direach anns an athar i, agus an rathad a bhitheas an t- snathad ag amharc an uair a thuiteas i anns a' bhata leagaidh tu do chursa. Agus falbhaidh mise leat, oir cha mhisd thu mo chuideachadh mu 'n till thu. Tha brathair dhomhsa Nighean Rigk a Churraichd Ruaidk. 171 'fuireachd ann an Eilean Bbidheach Faileas nan Reul, agus bithidh sinn 'n a thigh-san an ath oidhche. Innsidh esan gu de 'ni thu as a' dheigh sin, agus bheir e dhuit ni eiginn eile 'bhitheas a chum d' fheum. Ach bithidh e mar chumhnant agam ort mu 'm falbh mi gu 'n cuir thu air tir mi 'n so 'n uair a thilleas tu." " Tha mi gealltainn sin duit," arsa Mac Righ Eirionn. Air an ath mhadainn an uair a rainig Mac Righ Eirionn agus an Seann duin' an cladach fhuair iad Gonachridh fo' siuil a' feitheamh orra. Cho luath 's a chaidh iad air bord chuir Mac Righ Eirionn an t-snathad 'am barr na saighde, leig e an t-saighead as direach anns an athar, agus an rathad a bha 'n t-snathad ag amharc an uair a thuit i leag e ciirsa na luinge. Shebl iad air an aghaidh fad' an la. Mu chromadh na greine chunnaic iad fearann air thoiseach orra, agus rinn iad direach air. An uair a rainig iad an cladach dh' iarr an Seann duine air Mac Righ Eirionn dol air tir agus falbh a dh' ionnsaidh a' Chaisteil. Chaidh e air tir, agus rinn e air a' Chaisteal. Mar bha e 'dol air aghaidh bha gach ni a chunnaic e 'cur ioghnaidh mhbir air. Cha robh clach no creag a thachradh air anns nach robh e 'faicinn 'fhaileas fhein a' deaisadh. Mu dheireadh thainig e 'm fradharc a' Chaisteil agus chunnaic e Seann duine 'tighinn 'n a choinneamh. An uair a thachair iad thubhairt an Seann duine, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, is mbr do naigheachd na 'n robh fhios agad fhein oirre. Ach tha iad ann, agus gabhaidh iad faotainn. Tha mbran chruadal agad ri dhol troimhe, ach gheibh thu asta gu leir ma bhitheas tu cruadalach, dileas, agus ma ghabhas tu mo chomhairle-sa. Ach thig a 's tigh, agus fanaidh tu maille riumsa 'nochd, agus innsidh mise dhuit rud a bhitheas a chum d' fheum." Lean e 'n Seann duine 's tigh do Chaisteal Mbr Eilean Faileas nan Reul. " Nis," ars' an Seann duine, "tha thu air turus nach 'eil furasta dhuit a dheanamh. Bhbidich thu nach pbsadh tu gus am faiceadh tu bean a bhitheadh cho bbidheach ri Eala Bhan a' Mhuineil Reidh. Is i sin Nighean Og Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh a tha fuireachd 'an Eilean Mbr Spiorad a' Cheb. Tha brathair dhomhsa 'fuireachd an sin, agus bithidh sinn aige 'n 1 72 Sgeulackd air Mac Rigk Eirionn agus ath oidhche, agus innsidh esan duit gu de 'bhitheas agad r' a dheanamh 'n a dheigh sin. An uair a theid thu air bbrd Gonachridhe cuiridh tu 'm meuran so air barr na saighde, agus leigidh tu as e direach anns an athar, agus an rathad a bhitheas am meuran a' coimhead an uair a thuiteas e leagaidh tu cursa a' bhata. Falbhaidh raise leat, oir cha mhisd' thu mo chuid- eachadh. Ach bithidh an cumhnant so agam ort mu 'm falbh mi, gu 'n cuir thu air tir mi 'n so 'n uair a thilleas tu." Moch air an ath mhadainn chaidh iad air bbrd Gonachridhe. Chuir Mac Righ Eirionn am meuran 'am barr na saighde, leig e 'n t-saighead as direach anns an athar, agus an rathad a bha 'm 'meuran a' coimhead an uair a thuit e leag e cursa na luinge. Shebl iad air an aghaidh fad an la air a' chuan. Aig cromadh na grdine chunnaic iad fearann air thoiseach orra, agus rinn iad direach air. An uair a rainig iad an cladach thubhairt a' cheud Sheann duine ri Mac Righ Eirionn, " Am bheil do shnathad agad ?" Fhreagair e gu 'n robh. " Gleidh gu cur- amach i, oir is i ceud dhearbhadh do dheuchainnean." Thubh- airt an dara Seann duine, " Am bheil do mheuran agad ?" "Tha," arsa Mac Righ Eirionn. " Gleidh gu curamach e, oir is e dara dearbhadh do dheuchainnean. Theid thu nis air tir, agus cumaidh tu direach air d' aghaidh gus an ruig thu caisteal mbr. Ma choinnicheas mo bhrathair thu mu 'm bi thu aig a' Chaisteal bitheadh deagh mhisneach agad, ach mur comnich is droch comhar e air do shoirbheachadh 'na dheigh sin. Fanaidh sinne 'n so gus an till thu." Leum Mac Righ Eirionn air tir, agus dh' fhalbh e air a thurus a dh' ionnsaidh a' Chaisteil. Bha fhios aige gu 'n robh an Caisteal an ait' eiginn 's an Eilean, ach cha robh e 'g a fhaicinn. Bha e' cumail a shula gu geur roimhe feuch am faiceadh e 'n duine 'tighinn. Ach an aite Caisteil no duine 's ann a chunnaic e badan do cheb druidheachd air thoiseach air. Cha deachaidh e ro fhad' air aghaidh 'n uair a sgaoil am badan ceo, agus a dh' fholuich e bhuaith' an da chuid talamh agus athar. Thubhairt e 'n so ris fein gu 'n robh e deas, a chionn nach b' urrainn e 'n Caisteal fhaicinn, agus nach b' urrainn duin' anns a' Chaisteal esan fhaicinn tromh 'n cheb. Anns an eagal sin sheas e far an robh e. 'An uine ghoirid thainig oiteag Nighean Righ a Churraichd Riiaidk. 173 fhann ghaoith bharr na mara a sguab air falbh an ceo, agus an uair a chaidh an ceo seachad chunnaic e 'n Caisteal air thois- each air. Chum e direach g' a ionnsaidh, ach cha robh duine ri fhaicinn roimhe. An uair a thainig e fo dhubhar bhallachan a' Chaisteil thug e 'n aire do Sheann duine 'tighinn a mach air an dorus, agus a' gabhail 'n a choinneamh. Thubhairt an Seann duine, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, ghabh thu 'n t-eagal, ach na caill do mhisneach. Tha moran agad ri dhol troimhe fhalhast, mu 'm faigh thu Dearsadh-greine. Ach thig a 's tigh, agus innsidh mise dhuit ni e'iginn a bhitheas a chum d 1 fheum." Chaidh e 's tigh. " Nis," ars' an Seann duine, " so dhuit siosar, agus so bogha agus saighead. Anns a' mhadainn am maireach seasaidh tu air a' Chreig Mhoir a tha cul a' Chaisteil, agus cuiridh tu 'n siosar' air barr do shaighde, agus leigidh tu as i direach anns an athar. An rathad a bhitheas an siosar a' coimhead an uair a thuiteas e sin an rathad a dh' fheumas tusa d' aghaidh a chur. Is iad na tri Ealachan a chunnaic thu tri nigheannan Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh a tha 'fuireachd fad' air falbh anns an Eilean so. Tha e 'g an gleidheadh fo gheasaibh gus an tig curaidh g' an iarraidh mar tha thusa. An sin togaidh e na geasan diu, agus bithidh iad 'n an tri bighean maiseach. Thainig iomad curaidh romhads' air an son, ach bha na deuchainnean a leagadh orra cho cruaidh a 's nach do bhuanaich aon aca te de na h-igheannaibh. Ach o 'n fhuair thusa air d' aghaidh cho fada ri so cuidichidh mise leat 'an aon ni 'is urrainn mi 'dheanamh air do shon. Tha na tri ealachan a' snamh an ceart uair so air Lochan Seamh Garaidh Mhoir Chraobh nan Ubhlan Oir 's an Eilean Uaine 'n iomall an Domhain Toir. An uair a ruigeas tu 'n Lochan eulaidhidh tu orra le d' shaighead, cuiridh tu do shnathad 'n a barr, agus cuimsichidh tu i air an t air am bheil do mhiann. Cho luath 's a bheanas an t-snathad dhi itealaichidh an tri air falbh o 'n Loch, agus cha stad iad gus an ruig iad Caisteal Mor Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh, an athair." Air an ath mhadainn chaidh e mach, agus rainig e mullach na Creige Moire 'bheir cul a' Chaisleil. Chuir e 'n siosar air barr na saighde, agus leig e as direach anns an athar i, agus 'n 1 74 Sge^llachd air Mac Rigk Eirionn agiis uair a thuit i bha 'n siosar a' coimhead air a' mhuir fo 'n aite s an robh e 'n a sheasamh. An sin dh' fhalbh e 'n rathad a bha 'n siosar a' coimhead gus an d' rainig e taobh na mara. Ach ni b' fhaide na sin cha b' urrainn e dol. Thubhairt e 'n so ris fein gu 'n tilleadh e, agus gu 'n tugadh e leis Gonach- ridh. Ach mu 'n d' ihalbh e thug e suil agus chunnaic e a' Mhaighdean-mhara 'n oir na tuinne air thoiseach air. " A Mhic Righ Eirionn," thubhairt i, " tha thu smaoint- eachadh air tilleadh agus Gonachridh a thabhairt leat do 'n Eilean Uaine, ach cha dean i 'n gnothuch dhuit. Oir cho luath 's a dh' fhalbhadh tu leatha dh' e"ireadh ceo druidheachd bharr an Eilein, agus chuireadh e cho fad' air seachran sibh 'us nach ruigeadh sibh fearann gu brath. Ach an la 'thug thu dhomh- sa mo chochull gheall mi 'bhi 'm bhan-charaid mhaith dhuit, agus cuideachadh leat 'an am do chruaidh-chais. Agus a nis ni mi fuasgladh ort as a' chas anns am bheil thu. Thig agus suidh air an earball agamsa, agus cha chuir ceo druidheachd Eilein Mhbir Spiorad a cheb mis' air seachran gus an cuir mi thu air tir gu sabhailt' anns an Eilean Uaine 'n iomall an Domhain Toir. Ach ged chuireas mi 'n sin thu cha toir mi as thu. Theid an Seann duine leis an robh thu 'n raoir air bord Gonachridhe cbmhla ri each, agus ruigidh iad thu 'n am d' fheuma. Ach, a Mhic Righ Eirionn, seall nach caill thu do mhisneach gus an tig iad." An sin shuidh e air earball na Maighdein-mhara. Chuir ise a h-aghaidh ris a chuan, agus shnamh i air falbh le luathas mbr. Cha deachaidh iad ro fhad' air an aghaidh 'n uair a thug esan an aire do bhadan ceb ag eiridh bharr an Eilein. Bha 'n ceo 'tighinn 'n an de"igh, agus a' buidhinn orra gu luath. An uine ghoirid rug e orra, agus chbmhdaich e iad fein agus a' mhuir. Agus bha e cho dbmhail 'us nach faiceadh e bho h-earball ceann na Maighdein-mhara. An sin thubhairt i, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, gu de 'dheanadh tu fe"in agus do Ghonachridh a nis ?" " Oh, gu de ach gu 'n caillinn mo chursa, agus nach bitheadh fios agam ceana 'bhithinn a' dol," ars' esan. Dh' fhas an ceb ro thiugh agus ro dhorcha 'nis, agus thubhairt a' Mhaighdean- mhara ris, " Ge b' e ni a chi no chluinneas tu feuch nach caraich thu do cheann a null no' nail, agus nach freagair thu Nighean Rig/i a Churraichd Ruaidh. 175 facal a theid a radh riut gus am bruidhinn mise. Is coingeis leamsa falbh air uachdar na mara no fo 'n mhuir. Tha mi 'nis dol a chur mo chinn fodha, agus an sin cha chuir ceo Eilein a' Cheo as mo chursa mi." Air dhi so a radh thug i a ceann fo 'n uisge, agus dh' fhalbh i le luathas mor. Bha Mac Righ Eirionn 'g a fhaicinn fein 'n a bnar a nis, agus bhuail eagal gu 'm faodadh e tuiteam bharr earbaill na Maighdein-mhara e. Ach chuimhnich e air a comh- airle, agus rinn e mar dh' iarr i air. Cha deachaidh iad ro fhad' air an aghaidh 'n uair a dh' fhairich e plub laimh ris. Thug e claon-shuil thar a ghualainn, agus bha leis gu 'm fac' e boirionnach anns an uisge. An sin chunnaic e lamh anns an uisge, agus chual e guth 'g radh, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, thoir dhomh do lamh, oir tha mi 'g am bhathadh." Dhl- chuimhnich e 's an am a ghealladh, agus bha e dol a bhreith air laimh oirre 'n uair a chuir a' Mhaighdean-mhara a ceann an uachdar, agus a ghlaodh i ris, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, thoir an an aire ort fein, agus cuimhnich cean' a tha thu 'dol. Tha thu fein 'an cunnart a 's mo gu mor na tha 'n te sin. Is coin- geis leatha muir no athar. Seall gu 'm bi thu air d' fhaicill nach tig i rathad eiP ort." Air dhi so a radh thug i 'ceann fodha ris, agus shiubhail i le luathas anabarrach gus an do ghlan an ceo air falbh. Thug i 'n sin a ceann an uachdar, agus dh' fhalbh i air aghaidh na mara gus an d' thainig iad an sealladh fearainn. Cho luath 's a chunnaic Mac Righ Eirionn am fearann air thoiseach air dh' eirich inntinn cho mor 'us gu 'n do chaill e cuimhn' air gach eagal agus amhghar tromh 'n d' thainig e. An uair a bha iad a' dluthachadh ri tir thainig faoileann ag itealaich os a cheann, agus thubhairt i ris, "A Mhic Righ Eirionn, so dhuit sgriobhadh : eirich agus beir air uam." Ach chuimhnich e 'ghealladh, agus cha do fhreagair e i. "A Mhic Righ Eirionn," ars' i rithist, " beir air an sgriobhadh uam, agus innsidh e dhuit rud air nach 'eil fhios agad." Ach chuimhnich e 'n dara h-uair air a ghealladh, agus cha do fhreagair e i. An uair a bha iad fagus do thir thug ailleachd an fhearainn air thoiseach orra, agus briadhad nan craobh fo 'm meas aire gu buileach o gach ni a dh' iarradh air agus a gheall e 'dheanamh. Anns an 176 Sgeulackd air Mac Righ Eirionn agus doille sin theirinn an fhaoileann an treas uair, agus thubhairt i, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, beir air an sgriobhadh so, oir is ann o d' mhuime 'tha e, 'g a d' chuireadh gu banais do bhrathar." Cho luath 'sa chual e ainm a bhrathar 'g a luaidh thug e eiridh air fein, agus shin e 'lamh a bhreith air an sgriobhadh. Dh' fhairich se e fein ag aomadh thairis, agus a' dol a thuiteam anns an uisge. Bha fhios aige na 'n tuiteadh e 's an uisge gu 'm bitheadh e caillte. Ach thug a' Mhaighdean-mhara 'n aire ciod a bha dol a thachairt, agus ghlaodh i ris a ris, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, nach cuimhnich thu do ghealladh ?" Ach dh' aom esan cho fada thairis 'us gu 'm b' ann 's an uisge 'bhitheadh e mur bhi gu 'n robh e cho dluth do thir, agus gu 'n do thilg i le aon bhreab d' a h earball air talamh tioram e. " Nis," thubhairt i, " tha thu air tir. Seall gu 'm bi thu dileas, agus nach dichuimhnich thu ni a thubhairt mise riut. Na caill do mhisneach, oir thig Gonachridh gu d' iarraidh. Theid thu air d' ais leatha gu Eilean Mbr Spiorad a' Cheb. 'Nuair a ruigeas tu 'n t-Eilean sin coinnichidh Righ a' Chur- raichd Ruaidh le thri nigheannaibh thu air a' chladach, agus their e riut gu de 'tha thu 'g iarraidh, no gu de" 'th' agad r' a thabhairt seachad. Their thu ris ma thig e fein agus a nigheannan air bbrd gu 'n leig thu fhaicinn doibh gu de 'th' agad. Thig iad, agus sinidh tu 'n t-snathad do 'n Righ, agus innsidh an treas Seann duine dhuit gu d 'ni thu 'n a dhelgh sin. Cuir do bhogha 's do shaighead 'an brdugh, agus siubhail romhad gu Lochan Seamh Garaidh Mhbir nan tlbhlan Oir, agus feuch gu 'm bi do chuimse math. Aon chomhairF eile : Air muir no air tir, 'an cruaidh-chas no 'n eiginn air bith 's am bi thu seall nach dichuimhnich thu do ghealladh 'am fad a's beb thu. Mo bheannachd leat. Cha-n eil feum tuillidh agad ormsa." Dh' falbh e 'n sin a dh' ionnsaidh an Lochain. Mar bha e dol air aghaidh bha gach ni a' fas ni 'bu bhriadha gus mu dheireadh an robh ailleachd nan craobh agus bbidhichead an fhearainn a' cur as aire 'n gnothuch a bha roimhe. Ach ghrad chuimhnich e comhairle na Maighdein-mhara 'bhi air 'fhaicill a' ruigsinn an Lochain. Suil g' an tug e air thoiseach air chunnaic e 'n Lochan agus na tri Ealachan a' snamh air Nighean Righ a Churraichd Ruaidh. 177 'uachdar. Ghrad leig e air a ghluinibh e fein, agus dh' fhalbh e a' magaran agus a' cumail gach craobh agus tolman a tbachradh air eadar e agus iadsan gus an d' fhuair e 'an astar urchair saighde dhoibh. Chuir e 'n sin a shaighead 'an crois, tharrainn e 'n taifeid, agus le cuimse cho math 's a b' urrainn e 'ghabhail leig e air falbh i. Ruith an t-saighead troimh iteach dhroma Eala Bhan a' Mhuineil Reidh, agus le sgriach ghointe leum i anns an athar, agus dh' itealaich i air falbh 's an dithis eile 'g a leantainn. Chum e a shuil an taobh a ghabh iad gus an deachaidh iad cho fad' air falbh bhuaith 's gu 'n do chaill e sealladh orra. Cha robh aige 'n sin ach falbh an taobh a ghabh iad, agus chum e air gus an d' rainig e taobh na mara. N' a b' fhaide na sin cha b' urrainn e dol. Bha e 'siubhal air ais agus air aghaidh, a' cumail a shul anns gach oisinn, feuch am faiceadh e a' Mhaighdean-mhara, ach gus an do chuimhnich e gu 'n d' thubhairt i ris nach faiceadh e ise tuillidh. An sin thug e togail air a shuil ris a' mhuir, agus chunnaic e Gonachridh a' tighinn. Dh' dirich a mhisneach, ghabh e direach 'n a coinneamh, agus b' iad na ceud fheadhainn a chunnaic e air bbrd oirre na tri Seann bhraithrean. Cho luath 's a rainig Gonachridh an cladach chaidh e air bbrd, agus dh' iarr e air an Sgioba 'cur mu 'n cuairt. Rinn iad sin. Shuidh e fein an sin aig an stiuir, agus leag e cursa na luinge cho direach 's a b' urrainn e 'n taobh a ghabh na h-ealachan. Chum e oirre gus am fac' e fearann fad' as a' tighinn 's an fhradharc', ach ma b' fhada bhuaith' e cha b' fhada 'ga ruigheachd. An uair a bha iad dluth do thir thubhairt an treas Seann duine, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, cho luath 's a ruigeas sinn an cladach chi sinn Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh agus a thri nigheannan a' feitheamh oirnn. Is e a' cheud ni a dh' fhebraicheas e dhiot ' gu de 'tha thu 'g iarraidh no gu de 'th' agad r' a thabhairt seachad ?' Bheir thu 'n aire nach teid thu air tir, ach their thu ris ma thig e fein agus a nigheannan air bbrd gu 'n leig thu fhaicinn doibh cuid de na nithibh a th' agad ri thabhairt seachad. Thig iad air bbrd, agus sinidh tu N 178 Sgeulachd air Mac Righ Eirionn agus 'n sin do 'n Righ an t-snathad an toiseach, am meuran a ris, agus an Siosar mu dheireadh. An sin sinidh esan iad aon an deigh aon do thd mu seach d' a nigheanaibh o 'n te a 's sine gus an te" 's bige. Agus ma ghleidheas do roghainn-s' iad bitheadh misneach mhath agad." Rainig iad tir, agus fhuair iad Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh agus a thri nigheannan a' feitheamh orra mar dh' innis an Seann duine. Thug Mac Righ Eirionn sail orra, agus an uair a chunnaic e Nighean 6g Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh thubhairt e, " Sin mo roghainn-sa, oir tha i cho briadha 'm shealladh ri Eala Bhan a' Mhuineil Re"idh." An sin ghlaodh Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh, "A Mhic Righ Eirionn, gu de" 'tha thu 'g iarraidh an so, no gu de 'th' agad r' a thabhairt seachad?" Fhreagair Mac Righ Eirionn, "Tha mi 'g iarraidh agus bheir mi seachad. Ma thig thu fein agus do nigheannan air bbrd chi sibh cuid de na nithibh a th' agam ri thabhairt seachad." Thanaig iad air bbrd. Shin Mac Righ Eirionn a shnathad do Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh. Dh' amhairc an Righ oirre, agus shin e i d' a Nighinn Mhbir. Cha do ghabh an Nighean Mhbr ach beag suim dhi, agus shin i do 'n Nighinn Mheadh- onaich i. Cha do ghabh an Nighean Mheadhonach tuillidh suim dhi na ghabh an te mhbr, agus shin i do 'n Nighinn Oig i. Ghabh an te" so tlachd mor dhi, agus cha d' fhag i crb no barr air nach do choimhead i. An uair a thainig an t-am dhi a sineadh air a h-ais bha i mar gu 'm bitheadh i duilich deal- achadh rithe. Thug Mac Righ Eirionn so fainear, agus thubhairt e rithe ma bha tlachd 's am bith aice do 'n t-snathaid gu 'm faodadh i a gleidheadh. Shin e 'n so am meuran do 'n Righ, shin an Righ e d' a Nighinn Mhbir, agus shin na h-igheannan e d' a cheile gus an d' fhagadh e aig an Nighinn Oig mar dh' fhagadh an t-snathad. An sin shin e 'n Siosar do 'n Righ, agus dh' fhuirich e cbmhla ris na rudan eile aig an Nighinn Oig. "Nis," arsa Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh, "a Mhic Righ Eirionn, ghabh thusa gaol air Eala Bhan a' Mhuineil Reidh, agus thug thu bbid 'an Eirinn nach stadadh tu agus nach gabhadh tu tamh gus am faiceadh tu boirionnach cho briadh' Nighean Righ a Chiwraichd Ruaidh. 179 ann ad shealladh ris an Eala. Chunnaic thu nis i, agus is i sin Dearsadh-greine, mo Nighean 6g-sa, agus roghnaich ise thu le d' shnathaid, le d' mheuran, agus le d' shiosar. Ach mu 'n d' thainig thusa thainig iomad aon 'g a h-iarraidh nach do thill agus nach d' fhuair i ; agus cha-n fhaigh thus' i gus an coisinn thu i le deuchainnean a 's cruaidhe na so fathast. Thig air tir, agus falbh leamsa 'dh' ionnsaidh mo Chaisteil, agus ma bhuidhneas tu i anns gach dduchainn a chuireas mis' ort gheibh thu i." Thionndaidh Mac Righ Eirionn r' a sgioba, agus thubhairt e riii, "Cha-n 'eil fhios agamsa c' uin' a thilleas mi, ach bitheadh Gonachridh agaibhsa deas a dh' fhalbh a la agus a dh' oidhche. Cha till mise gun Dearsadh-greine maille rium." Leum e 'n sin air tir, agus an treas Seann duine comhla ris. Chum iad air an aghaidh gus an d' rainig iad Caisteal Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh. Thug an Righ a 's tigh iad do shebmar briadha,tharrainne 'mach bbrd air meadhon an urlair, agus fhuair ea dhisnean. "Nis," ars' e, " a' Mhic Righ Eirionn, theid thu chluich comhla riumsa, agus ma chcisneas tu Dearsadh greine ormsa bithidh do cheud deuchainn seachad, ach ma chailleas tu caillidh tu do bheatha." Thoisich a' chluich, agus bhuidh- inn Mac Righ Eirionn tri uairean an deigh a cheile air Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh. " Mata," arsa.Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh, " choisinn thu i le cluich nan disne, ach cha-n fhaigh thu i le sin fathast. Feumaidh tu deuchainn eile a sheasamh, agus mur buidhinn thu tri uairean an deigh a cheile caillidh tu do bheatha ris." Tharrainn e 'n sin brat-sgail eadar da thaobh an t-seomair, agus chuir e a thriuir nigheannan airdara taobh a' bhrait agus dh' fhuirich e fein le Mac Righ Eirionn air an taobh eile. " Nis," thubhairt e ri Mac Righ Eirionn, " stobaidh mo nigheannan an t-snathad tromh 'n bhrata tri uairean, agus ma bheireas tus' oirre ach 'n uair a bhitheas i aig mo Nighinn Oig caillidh tu do bheatha." Ach bha fhios aig Dearsadh-greine romh laimh air an deuchainn, agus chagair i romh laimh 'an cluais Mhic Righ Eirionn gu 'm b' e cro na snathaid a chumadh ise ris. Chaidh Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh a 's tigh fo 'n bhrat, agus thug e am meuran do the d' a nigheanaibh. Thill e 'n sin a mach, agus N 2 1 80 Sgeulachd air Mac Righ Eirionn agus thubhairt e ri Mac Righ Eirionn, " Beir air an t-snathaid." Thubhairt Mac Righ Eirionn, " Cha bheir mi oirre uaipe sin fathast." Chaidh an Righ a 's tigh an dara h-uair, agus thug e 'n siosar do thd: eile. Thainig e 'n sin a mach, agus thubhairt e ri Mac Righ Eirionn, " Beir air an t-snathaid." Fhreagair Mac Righ Eirionn a ris, " Cha bheir mi oirre uaipe sin fathast." Chaidh an Righ a 's tigh an treas uair, agus thug e 'n t-snathad d' a Nighinn Gig. Thainig e mach, agus dh' iarr e air Mac Righ Eirionn breith oirre. Chaidh Mac Righ Eirionn a null, agus an uair a chunnaic e crb na snathaid tromh 'n bhrat rug e oirre. " Rinn thu 'n gnothuch," arsa Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh, " agus gheibh thu i." Chaidh am pbsadh a dheanamh gun dail, agus an deigh dha 'bhi seachad thubhairt Righ a Churraichd Ruaidh ri Mac Righ Eirionn, " Ma theannas tu ri teicheadh air falbh as an Eilein bithidh do bheatha fein agus beatha do mhnatha ris." Thug Mac Righ Eirionn iiine mhath 's an Eilean, ach bha 'n Sgioba daonnan a' gleidheadh Gonachridh deas airson falbh. Air oidhch' araidh an deigh do Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh tuiteam 'n a chadal thubhairt Dearsadh-greine r' a fear, " 'S e nis d' am agus do chothrom, agus mur gabh thu iad cha-n fhaigh thu iad gu brath tuillidh." " Togaidh sinn oirnn, agus falbhaidh sinn mata," ars' esan. Dh' fhalbh iad, agus rainig iad an cladach. Chaidh iad an sin air bbrd Gonachridh. Ach cho luath 's a bhean cas Dears- adh-greine dhi ghlaodh Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh 'n a leaba, " Dh' fhalbh Gonachridh, agus theich Mac Righ Eirionn le m' nighinn." Ach chaidh an Nighean Mhor a' s tigh, agus thubh- airt i ris, "Cha do theich; cha-n 'eil thu ach a' cluinntinn fuaim na gaoithe 'dol tromh chraobhan a' gharaidh." Cho luath 's a chuir Gonachridh mar sgaoil ghlaodh e rithist, " Tha Gonachridh air falbh, agus theich Mac Righ Eirionn le m' Nighinn 6ig. Ach bheir mis' air nach teid e fada gus am bi sin daor da." Le"um e mach, agus dh' fhalbh e as an deigh. Dh' aithnich Dearsadh-greine gu 'n robh e 'tighinn, agus thubhairt i r' a fear, " Tha m' athair a' tighinn, agus mur bi thu cruaidh cuiridh e Nighean Righ a Churraichd Ruaidk. 181 fodha 'm bata agus bathaidh e sinn uile, a chionn cha-n 'eil a bhas air an t-saoghal ach 'an aon bhall-dobhrain a th' air 'am bonn-dubh 1 na coise." Chunnaic iad e a' tighinn 'n an de"igh air an t-snamh, agus a' cur na mara 'n a sradan teine air thoiseach air. Cha b' urrainn Mac Righ Eirionn cuimse fhaotainn air bonn a choise cho fad 's a bha e 'n a dheigh. Ach an uair a bha e tighinn a nios ri taobh a' bhata leum Dearsadh-greine agus spion i 'm bogha agus an t-saighead a lamhan a fir. Chum i 'n sin an t-saighead ri bonn coise a h-athar, agus an uair a bha e dol seachad oirre chuir i anns a' bhall-dobhrain i. Chuir esan car dh' e anns a' mhuir, agus bha e marbh. Thionn Dearsadh-greine 'n sin r' a fear, agus thubhairt i ris, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, bi dileas dhomh as a dheigh so, oir mharbh mi m' athair air do shon." Chum iad air an aghaidh gu Eilean Mbr Faileas nan Reul, agus chuir iad air tir an dara Seann Duine. Cho luath 's a bhuail a chasan an cladach thionndaidh e agus thubhairt e, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, o 'n bha thu cho math 's do ghealladh dhbmhsa fanaidh tu air aoidheachd cbmhla riumsa 'nochd." Dh' fhalbh Mac Righ Eirionn leis an t-Seann Duine, agus rainig iad a Chaisteal. B' e sin an Tigh Mbr alainn nach fhac e riamh a leithid, Bha pailteas do gach biadh agus deoch a b' fhearr na cheile ri fhaotainn a 's tigh, agus bha faileas nan re"ul ri fhaicinn ann a mach. Aig an t-suipeir thubhairt an Seann Duine, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, mur bhi mo bhrathair agus buaidh a shiosair cha d' fhuair thu Dearsadh-greine." Air an ath mhadainn dh' fhag iad beannachd aig an t-Seann Duine, agus dh' fhalbh iad le Gonachridh. Chum iad air an aghaidh gus an d' rainig iad Eilean Mbr nam Muca-mara Chuir iad a' cheud Sheann Duine air tir, agus cho luath 's a bhuail a bhuinn an cladach thionndaidh e mu 'n cuairt, agus thubhairt e, " A Mhic Righ Eirionn, fhuair thu leat Dearsadh- greine, ach mur bhi mo dhara brathair agus buaidh a mheur- ain cha d' fhuair thu i. Agus mur bhi mi fein agus mo shnathad cha d' amais thu riamh air an aite 's an robh i. Ach so Eilean mo ghaoil agus Eilean mo ghraidh ! Cha d 1 fhuair mi 1 Seang a' bhuinn. i.e., the slender part of the sole. J. M'D. 1 82 Sgeulachd air Mac Righ Eirionn agus mo lebir o 'n dh' fhag mi e." An sin shin e a lamh, agus thug e nuas a sgeilp creige slat mhor iasgaich le driamlaich agus le dubhan, agus le cliob air an dubhan. Thug e aon siabadh mor leatha mach air an loch, agus dh' iasgaich e muc-mhara, agus dh' ith e i. Thug e 'n sin siabadh an deigh siabaidh, agus mu 'n deachaidh Gonachridh a fradharc an Eilein dh' iasg- aich agus dh' ith e seachd muca-mara ! Shebl Mac Righ !Eirionn air ais a dh' ionnsaidh a' cheart chalaidh 'an fiirinn o 'n d' fhalbh e. An uair a bha e 'dol air tir thuirt Dearsadh-greine ris, " Tha thu 'nis a dol do thigh d' athar far am bheil banais do bhrathar gu bhi air a gleidheadh an nochd. Cho luath 's a chi a' ghalla mhial-choin thu tighinn ruithidh i a' d' choinneamh, ach bheir thu 'n aire nach bean i do mhir a d' aodann no 'd' chraicionn, oir ma bheanas cha bhi cuimhn' agad gu 'm fac thu mise riamh." "A Dhearsadh- greine," thubhairt e, "cha-n 'eil ni air an t-saoghal a chuireas tus' as mo chuimhne-sa," " Cuimhnich mata ciod a thubhairt mi riut, agus soirbheachadh math dhuit." Dh' fhalbh e, agus an uair a bha e 'dluthachadh ri Caisteal athar thainig a' ghalla 'n a choinneamh, agus mu 'n d' fhuair e a lamh a thogail leum i, agus bhuail i e le 'gnos anns a' bheul. Air ball dhichuimhnich e gu 'm fac e Dearsadh-greine riamh. Bhuail e 's tigh do 'n chuideachd, agus rinn athair othail mhor ris, agus nochd a mhuime tuillidh caoimhneis d 'a na rinn i riamh roimhe. Thubhairt Dearsadh-greine ri Sgioba Gonachridh, " Dh' fhalbh am fear ud, phbg a' ghalla mhial-choin e, agus dhich- uimhnich e gu 'm fac e mise riamh. Cha till e 'n so gus an te'id mis' as a dheigh, agus an toir mi air ais e. Ach fanaidh sibhseair bord Gonachridh gus an tig mi." Dh' fhalbh i 'n sin air tir, agus rainig i tigh Seann ghobhainn a bh' aig an Righ. Dh' iarr i cead fuireachd 's an tigh, ach dhiult e sin d'i an toiseach, a chionn nach robh aite freagar- rach aige d' a leithid do bhean-uasail. Thubhairt i gu 'n cuireadh i fein an tigh 'an uidheam na 'n leigeadh esan fuireachd dh' i. Dh' iarr e oirre dol a 's tigh, agus thubhairt e na 'm faigheadh i cead a mhnatha nachbitheadh esan'n a h-aghaidh. Chaidh i 's tigh, agus an uair a chunuaic bean a' ghobhainn Nighcan Rigk a Churraichd Ruaidh. 183 ailleachd a' bhoirionnaich thuirt i gu 'm b' e a beatha fuireachd na 'n deanadh i i fein toilichte 'n a leithid do dh' aite. Chuir i tigh a' ghobhainn 'an uidheam anabarrach briadha le fuirneis agus leis gach ni a bha feumail ann an tigh. Bha tobar mbr laimh ris an luchairt, agus b' ann as a bha 'n t-uisg' air a tharrainn airson feum an Righ. Bha Dearsadh-greine gach feasgar a' gabhail sraid rathad an tobair 'an dbchas gu 'm faiceadh i a fear, ach cha d' fhuair i sealladh dh'e. Air la araid dh' iarr i air a' ghobhainn coileach bir agus cearc bir a dheanamh dhise. Thubhairt an gobhainn nach robh de dh' or aigesan na dheanadh coileach agus cearc. Thubhairt i ris gu 'n tugadh i fein da na dh' fhoghnadh. Fhuair an gobhainn an t-6r, agus thbisich e air a' choileach, ach dh' fhairslich air a dheanamh. An sin dh' iarr i 'an t- brd air, agus 'an uine ghoirid bha 'n coileach aice deas, agus an sin rinn i a' chearc. Liomh an gobhainn iad dhi, agus an deigh sin thug i leatha iad a 's tigh. An ath oidhche chaidh i a dh' ionnsaidh an tobair. An deigh dhi a ruigsinn thainig Ard-bhuidealair an Righ a dh' iarraidh uisg' a ghlanadh casan an Righ. An uair a chrom e os ceann an tobair chunnaic e faileas Dhearsadh-greine 's an uisge. Air ball ghabh e gaol oirre, agus cha deanadh ni air bith an gnothuch ach gu 'm faigheadh e i r' a pbsadh. Dh' fhebraich i dh' e cb e *Fhreagair e gu 'm b' esan Ard-bhuideal- air an Righ. Thubhairt i ris gu 'm pbsadh i e air chumhnantan. " Gu de na cumhnantan a dh' iarradh tu nach fhaigheadh tu ?" thubhairt esan. " Mata, 's iad na cumhnantan a bhitheas agam ort gu 'm faigh mi romh laimh ceud bonn bir agus searrag de dh' fhion an Righ, agus gu 'm fair thu taobh mo leapa gu madainn. Ma ni thu sin posaidh mi thu 'm maireach." Gheall e dhi gach ni a dh' iarr i air. Thainig e 'n oidhche sin a dh' fhaireadh, agus thug e dhi ceud bonn bir agus searrag fhiona. Thubhairt i ris gu 'n robh e 'n a chleachdainn aicese greis cluiche 'bhi aice mu 'n rachadh i 'laidhe. Fhuair i 'n sin an coileach agus a' chearc, agus chuir i air a' bhbrd iad. Leum an coileach agus thug e pioc as a' chirc. " Oh," thubhairt a' chearc, " cha b' e 1 84 Sgeulachd air Mac Righ Einonn agus do chomain, agus gu d' chum mi crb na snathaid riut." Thug an coileach pioc eil' as a' chirc. " Oh," thubhairt a' chearc, " cha b' e do chomain, 'us gu d' chuir mi air d' earalas thu romh 'n ghalla mhial-choin." Chord an sealladh ris a' bhuid- ealair gu mbr, oir cha-n fhac e riamh roimhe a leithid. An deigh dhi dol a laidhe thubhairt i ris a' bhuidealair deoch de 'n fhion a thabhairt di. Chaidh e null a dh' ionnsaidh buird a bh' aig taobh eile 'n t-sebmair, agus rug e air an t-searraig. Thug e ionnsaidh air a togail, ach cha tigeadh i leis. Lean a lamh ris an t-searraig, an t-searrag ris a' bhbrd agus am bbrd ris an urlar, 'us anns an t-suidheachadh sin bha e fad na h- oidhche. Air an ath mhadainn thubhairt am boirionnach ris, " Gu de 'bha thu 'deanamh an sin fad na h-oidhche ? An ann mar sin a tha thu a' faireadh taobh mo leapa-sa ? Bhrist thu na cumhnantan, agus chaill thu 'n t-br agus mise." " Oh," thubhairt am buidealair, "bha 'n oidhche cho rebta 'us gu d' lean mo lamh ris an t-searraig, an t-searrag ris a' bhbrd agus am bbrd ris an urlar, 'us as a so cha-n fhaighinn. Tha 'n t-am dhomh a bhi aig an tigh, oir ma dh' eireas an Righ mu 'n ruig mi caillidh mi m' aite." Ghlaodh am boirionnach air a ghobhainn agus thainig e. Rug e air a' bhuidealair agus thug e slaodadh fuathasach air, ach cha tigeadh e leis. Fhuair bean a ghobhainn uisge teth, agus dhbirt i mu chasan a' bhuird e, agus dh' fhuasgail iad o 'n urlar. Dhbirt i 'n sin an t-uisg' air rflas na searraige, agus thainig an t-searrag o 'n bhbrd, ach ged sgald i lamhan a bhuidealair, cha tigeadh iad o 'n t-searraig. " Oh," ghlaodh am buidealair, " tha 'n t-am a suas, agus feumaidh mi falbh. De ni mi?" " Oh, falbh mar th' agad," thubhairt am boirion- nach. " Oh, ma chi 'n Righ an t-searrag caillidh mi m' aite ris." " Feumaidh tu, mata, tighinn do 'n cheardaich." Dh' fhalbh e leatha. Thug i air a' ghobhainn lamhan a' bhuid- ealair a chumail 's an teine, agus chaidh i fein a sheideadh a' bhuilg. Cha b' fhada gus an do ghlaodh am buidealair a leigeil as, a chionn nach b' urrainn e' n cradh a sheasadh ri 'b 'fhaide. An uair a bha 'n uine fagus do bhi suas thubhairt i, " Feuchaidh mi aon dbigh eil' ort fhathast." Rug i 'n sin air mas na searraige, dhbirt i 'm fion m' a lamhan, agus thainig Nighean Righ a CImrraichd Ruaidh. 185 iad o 'n t-searraig. " Mata, bho 'n fhuair mis' as, cha till mi tuillidh," ars' am buidealair, agus dh' fhalbh e. Air an ath fheasgar choinnich i Ard-chbcair' an Righ aig an tobar, agus gheall i esan a phbsadh na 'm faigheadh i ceud bonn bir agus poit de bhrot an Righ, agus na 'm faireadh e taobh a leapa gu madainn. Dh' aontaich e ri so a dheanamh, agus thachair gach ni dhasan mar thachair do 'n bhuidealair ach gu d' lean a lamh ri brod na poite, am brod ris a phoit, agus a' phoit ris an urlar. Air an treas feasgar choinnich i Ard ghille-carbaid an Righ, agus dh' aontaich i esan a phbsadh na 'n tugadh e dhi ceud bonn bir, agus gu 'm faireadh e taobh a leapa gu madainn. Thainig e gu tigh a' ghobhainn 's an oidhche. Aig am dol a laidhe chuir am boirionnach an coileach agus a' chearc air a' bhbrd. " Oh, nach boidheach iad ? " ars ; esan. " Am bruidhinn iad ?" " Bruidhnidh," ars' ise. An sin leum a' chearc 'us thug i pioc as a' choileach. " Oh," ars' an coileach, " thug thu ait' an t-seann ghobhainn fo 'n Righ do ghobhainn eile." "Am bheil sin ceart," arsa Dearsadh-gre"ine ris a ghille-charbaid. " Tha," ars' esan. " Mata, bheir thu air ais dha e, mu 'm pbs mise thu." Cha d' thubhairt e dad ri so. An sin leum an coileach, agus phioc e 'chearc. " Oh, cha b' e do chomain, 'us gu d' chum mi crb na snathaid riut," ars' a' chearc. An deigh do 'n bhoirionnach dol a laidhe thubhairt i gu d' dhichuimhnich i' n dorus a dhimadh. " Druididh mis' e," thubhairt an gille-carbaid. Dh' eirich e, agus dhruid e 'n dorus, ach lean a lamh ris a' chrann, an crann ris an dorus, agus an dorus ris na ludiain, agus as a sin cha d' thuair e fad na h- oidhche. Air an ath mhadainn thuirt i ris mar thuirt i ri each, agus fhreagair esan mar fhreagair each. Thainig an gobhainn agus a bhean, agus dh' fheuch iad a tharrainn o 'n dorus, ach cha b' urrainn iad. Dh' fheuch iad an sin an dorus a tharrainn bharr nan ludlan, ach dh' fhairslich sin orra. An uair a bha 'n uine fagus do bhi mach, agus a fhuair e pailt uibhir craidh ri each, rub am boirionnach iocshlaint r' a lamhan, agus leig i as e. Air an ath oidhche bha a fear a' dol a phbsadh bean-uasal 1 86 Sgeulachd air Mac Righ Eirionn. ard-inbheach. Fhuair gach duine mu 'n Chaisteal cuireadh chum na bainnse. An uair a bha lad uile cruinn bha ni- eiginn d' an dith, agus b' e sin cuid-eiginn a bheireadh abhachd dhoibh le cleasaibh. Thubhairt am buidealair gu 'n robh boirionnach 'an tigh an t-Seann ghobhainn a dheanamh na cleasan a b' iongantaiche 'chunnaic esan riamh. " Oh tha, oir chunnaic mis' i," ars' an t-Ard-chbcaire. " Oh, chunnaic agus raise," ars' an t-Ard-ghille-carbaid. " Tha coileach agus cearc aice, agus bruidhnidh iad. Dh' innis iad dhomhsa gach ni a rinn mi riamh." " Faigheadh an so i," ars' an Righ. Thainig Dearsadh-greine, ach cha d' aithnich a fear gu 'm fac e riamh i. Chuir i 'n coileach agus a' chearc air a' bhbrd. Leum an coileach, agus phioc e a' chearc. " Oh, cha b' e do chomain e, 'us gu d' chum mi crb na snathaid riut," ars' a' chearc. Leum a' chearc an sin. agus phioc i 'n coileach. " Oh, cha b' e do chomain, 'us gu d' bhuidhinn mi tri uairean thu le m' shnathaid, le m' mheuran, agus le m' shiosar," ars' an coileach. Leum an coileach a ris, agus thug e pioc as a' chirc. " Oh, cha b' e do chomain, 'us gu d' mharbh mi m' athair air do shon," ars' a' chearc. Thbisich Mac an Righ a nis air a' chluasan a bhiorachadh. Le"um an coileach agus phioc e a' chearc an treas uair. " Na dean, oir chuir mi air d' earalas romh phbig na galla mhial-choin thu," ars' a' chearc. " A Dhearsadh-greine ! mo ghaol de mhnathan an t-saoghail ! " arsa Mac Righ Eirionn, 'us e leum far an robh i, a' cur a lamh an m' a muineal, agus 'g a pbgadh. Dh' innis e' n sin do 'n chuideachd gu 'm b' i Dearsadh-greln' a bhean, agus Nighean Righ a' Churraichd Ruaidh. Fhuair bean-na-bainnse cead a siubhail, agus chum iad a suas a' chuilm fad la 'us bliadhna ; agus mur d' fhag iad an Caisteal o sin tha iad ann fhathast. VIII. THE SON OF THE STRONG MAN OF THE WOOD, WHO WAS TWENTY-ONE YEARS ON HIS MOTHER'S BREAST. THERE was before now a big man whom people called the Strong Man of the Wood. This man's employment was always hunting deer and drawing home fuel for fire. On a certain day he went away to cut a large oak tree which he had seen the day before in the wood. When the tree was bending over, it fell on him, and bruised him dreadfully ; but the man was strong, and so succeeded in dragging himself out from under it. When he rose up on his feet, he took hold of the tree by its trunk and dragged it between root and top home with him. As soon as he threw it off his shoulder at the door he fell. His wife came out, and when she saw how he was, she helped him in and placed him sitting on the bed-side. He then drew a great sigh, and said that he got his death-hurt. His fist was closed, and when he opened it, there was an acorn in his hand. He looked at it, and then handed it to his wife. He said to her, " I am going to die, but thou shalt plant this acorn in the midden-stead before the door. Thou art going to have a son, and on the night when he comes into the world the seedling of the acorn shall be coming in sight through the ground. Thou shalt nourish him on thy knee, with the sap of thy breast and side, until he become so strong that he can take the tree, which shall grow 1 88 The Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. from the acorn, out of its base and roots." After he had said this to his wife he lay down and rose no more. When the time came, the woman had a son, and as soon as he was born she told the midwife to go out and look if there was a seedling from the acorn. The seedling of the acorn was after breaking well out of the ground. She took her son, and nourished him for seven years on her knee. Then she took him out to the tree, and said to him that he was to try whether he could take yon tree from its root. He attacked the tree, and gave it a terrible shaking and pulling, but it was so firmly rooted in the earth that he did not move it. When his mother saw that it beat him, she carried him with her into the house, and gave him seven years more of the breast. Then she took him out to the tree, and told him that he was to try whether he or the tree was stronger that day (to-day). He took hold of the trunk of the tree and pulled it dreadfully, but it had taken hold so strongly in the earth that he did not manage it. When his mother saw that it beat him the second time, she carried him in, and gave him other seven years of the breast. Then she took him out to the tree, and asked him to try which of them was stronger himself or the tree He gave terrible bounds over where it was, took hold of it with his two hands, shook it and made it shake, and with three or four pulls had it out of its foundation and roots. He then began at its top, broke and smashed it, until he made firewood of it, and left it in a heap at the door. His mother said, " Thou art long enough sucking the sap of my breast and side, and art thoroughly able to earn a livelihood for thyself in future. Come in, and I will bake for thee a bannock, thou shalt get it with my blessing, and then thou shalt go away to win a fortune for thyself." The Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. 1 89 He got the bannock, and departed. He travelled onwards to see whether he should happen to come on a place where he might get employment. At last he arrived at a fine large steading with more corn-stacks about it than he ever saw together. He thought that he might get work in that place, and took his way straight to the house. He knocked at the door, and wanted to see the master. The Master came, and asked of him what he wanted ? The Big Lad answered that he wanted work. " Thy appearance will do," said the Master. " I have enough of work, and I do not know why thou shouldst not get it. Canst thou thrash ? " " Yes," replied the Lad. " Thou art tired," said the Master. " Make thyself acquainted over the town to-night, and to-morrow early in the morning thou shalt begin thrashing." " Where shall I begin ? " " In the barn, for there is as much corn there as will keep two men thrashing for six weeks, let them work ever so well. When that is done there is behind the barn a large yard full of corn-stacks, and every straw of them is to be thrashed." The barn and the stack-yard were built on a brae above the house of the Landlord. When the Lad got his food he went up to the barn to see those who were thrashing there. He went in, and after having looked at them for a while, he took hold of the flail which one of them had, and said, " The flails you have are worthless. When I begin to-morrow you shall see the flail which I will have." He then went away to the wood to cut a flail for himself, and when it was ready its handle resembled the mast of a ship. At that time the rule was that the men-servants must work from star (setting) to star (rising). The Big Lad knew this ; he rose therefore early in the morning, and 1 90 The Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. commenced thrashing before the (morning) star had left the sky. He began thrashing the mow which was in the barn, laid at it in one end, and as he was advancing he was sending the roof out of the building. He kept on at that rate until there was not a straw unthrashed on the floor before breakfast time arrived. After he had got his breakfast he turned out again. He took his way to the stack-yard, carried with him a stack under each arm and one between his two hands, placed them in the barn, and thrashed them. He kept working away in that manner until there was not a stack in the yard unthrashed before dinner time had come. All the town was then white with straw, and the walls of the barn nearly full of grain. He went then where the Landlord was. The Land- lord met him on the way, wondering greatly what made the town full of straw. But he uttered not a syllable to the Big Lad. Then the Lad asked what would he go to do. " Thou shalt go thrash in the barn," said the Landlord. The Big Lad replied, " I have no thrash- ing which I can do." " What dost thou say ! There is as much thrashing in the barn as will keep two men at work for six weeks, let them work ever so well." " No. There is not a straw in the town in barn or stack-yard that is not already thrashed." The Landlord knew not what to say to this, but he told the Lad to go in and get his dinner, while he himself went to the barn to see whether the Lad told him the truth or not. He reached the barn, and when he saw the appear- ance which everything before him had, the roof sent out of the barn, the straw scattered through the town, and every stack in the yard thrashed, he was seized with great fear, and what caused him the greatest terror was the flail which the Big Lad had. He returned home trembling with fear, and took a The Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. 1 9 1 back road rather than meet the Big Lad when he came out from his meal. But the Big Lad noticed him, and took his way straight to meet him. He asked of him what would he go to do? The Land- lord knew not very well what answer he should give, but what he said was, " Since thou hast worked so well before dinner time, thou hadst better take a rest for this evening." Then the Big Lad said, "Thou hast seen my work now, and thou knowest what I can do. I must get more food for my dinner than I am getting." " How much must thou get ? " "A quarter of a chalder of meal in brose one day, and a quarter of a chalder of meal in bannocks with the carcass of a two-year-old stot another day." " Thou shalt get that," said the Landlord, trembling with fear. The Landlord, went in, and told the people of the house what food they had to make ready for the Big Lad every day in future. The Landlord and the wise men who were about him thought of the matter, and saw that the Big Lad would ruin the town in food unless they could find out a method of destroying him, or of sending him away. There was a truly old man in the town whom people called Big Angus of the Rocks (Echo), and one of the men said, "If Big Angus does not know what we should do with him, there is no other man in the place who can tell us." The Landlord sent for Big Angus. Angus came, and the Landlord told him every particular about the big giant who came on them how he- thrashed the corn, and the sort of flail with which he worked. " Alas ! " said Angus, " did he come at last ! I heard my grand- father talking of him when I was a little boy. He was as old as I am at this day while he was telling how it was said that this place would be ruined yet by a big giant, and I have no doubt at all but that it is he who 192 The Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. has come here." " Canst thou think of any method by which he can be destroyed ? " " The only method I can imagine is this : That thou shalt tell him to open a big well in the middle of the field over yonder, and go so deep that the water will meet him. It is a deep sandy bottom, and he must go a great depth before he can reach the spring. But when he will reach it, have every man who can handle a shovel about thee, and when he shall happen to stoop at the bottom of the hole, let every man be equal to two men driving the stuff in on the top of him. But if you see him stand up, let every man of you run away ; for if he will get his head raised he will be out in spite of you and kill you." The Landlord consented to do this. He sent for the Big Lad that same night. The Lad came, and the Landlord told him that the water was getting exceedingly scarce, and that he therefore wanted to open a well in the field over yonder. " Right enough," said the Lad. " Thou shalt begin it as thy first morn- ing work to-morrow," said the Landlord. When the daylight came the Big Lad began to open the well. The men also were early on the ground. They went away with the Landlord to watch the Big Lad, to see how he was getting on with the hole. When they got a sight of him, only the top of his head was above the ground, and a great heap of stuff was thrown out by him. They got afraid that they would be too late, but they were in good time at the hole. The Landlord stood at the mouth of the hole, and when the Lad stooped cried to the men to begin. They began to put the stuff in upon him as nimbly as they could ply a shovel. But they were not long at that work when the Big Lad stood up in the hole, shook his hand, and shouted, " Whish ! " The Landlord cried to his men to run away, and every man of them went off as fast as his feet could carry him. The Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. 193 But the Big Lad finished the hole before he had stopped. He then went up to the Landlord's house. When he was approaching the house he was wondering much that no man was to be seen about the town. He reached the door, and put his hand on the bar, but the door was so strongly shut on the inside that it would not open for him. He then laid his palm against the bar, and pushed it stronger than he wished. The bar broke, and the door opened. He went in, and found the Landlord crouching under the table and trembling. Then the Landlord came out on the floor, and asked of the Big Lad if he had got the hole finished ? The Lad said that he had. " But why," said he, " didst thou not send a man to keep away the rooks ? They nearly put out my eyes, scratching the sand for worms. But what shall I go to do now ? " " Oh, go and get thy dinner," said the Landlord. The Big Lad went as he was told. When the Landlord got out of his way he sent for the old man again, and said to him, " Yon plan will do no good. He made the hole more than thirty feet in depth, I had every man about the place round the hole, I watched the opportunity until he was stooping at the bottom, I called to the men to begin, every man began equal to two men pouring (spouting) stuff in on the top of him, but he stood up in the hole and shouted ' Whish ! ' Then we fled. " In a short time he came home after us. He went to the door, and though it was shut and barred, he sent it in before him with one push of his hand. He came in then, and forsooth said to me, why did I not send a man to keep away the rooks, because they had nearly put out his eyes scratching the sand in on the top of him while he was cleaning the bottom of the hole." "Oh, then," said Big Angus, "we will try another plan with him." " What plan is that ? " " Send him O 1 94 The Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. to plough the Crooked Ridge of the Field of the Dark Lake. Out of that never came man or beast that was ploughing there to the going down of the sun." " We will try that same plan with him," said the Landlord. He sent for the Big Lad, and said to him that he was to go next morning to plough in the Crooked Ridge of the Field of the Dark Lake. " Very right," said the Lad. " I will do that." Early in the morning he made ready for the plough- ing. He carried the plough with him on his shoulder, he had the two horses by the reins after him, and reached the Field of the Dark Lake. He thrust the plough in the end of the Crooked Ridge, and yoked the horses. There was a large tree in the middle of the Ridge, and he said to himself, " I will open the ground straight on the tree" (or in a line with the tree). Then he began to plough. He was getting on well during the day, but at the going down of the sun he heard a dreadful plunge in the Lake. He gave a look, and saw a big black uncouth object (Usp] moving in the water, but paid no attention to it, and kept ploughing away as he was doing before. As soon as the sun went out of sight the beast came to land, and went up the shore of the Lake to the farthest away end of the Crooked Ridge. He then put about, and walked towards the team of horses in the very furrow in which the Big Lad was ploughing with them. The Big Lad kept going forward with his horses, and they met the beast near the tree that was in the middle of the Ridge. The Big Lad cried to the beast that he was to keep back, otherwise he would see what would happen to him. But the beast gave no heed to him, but opened his mouth and swallowed one of the horses alive and whole. " That will do," said the Big Lad. " I will make thee put him out as quickly as thou didst The Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. 195 swallow him." He then let go the plough, and closed with the beast. They had terrible bouts of wrestling, but the Big Lad was above the beast at last. " Put out the horse now," said the Lad. But the beast did not heed him. " I will make thee put him out," said he again. He then took hold of the beast by the tail, dragged him to the tree, pulled the tree out of its root, and belaboured him with it until he had only as much of the top as he held in his hand. Then he said, "Wilt thou put out the horse now ?" The beast did not heed him yet. " Well," said the Lad, " I will make thee do the work of the one thou hast eaten, at any rate." The other horse had broken the traces and ran home. When he reached the house, and the Landlord saw the scared appearance he had, he said, " Oh, there is no doubt that the Big Lad and the other horse are dead now ! The Water- horse of the Dark Lake has put an end to him at last ! " But the Big Lad was about his own business. He tied the beast in the plough and began ploughing with it, and before he stopped there was not a furrow in the Crooked Ridge that he did not turn over. When he was done he went home, holding the Big Horse by the head. He reached the Landlord's door, and cried to him to come out. But no man answered, for everybody in the town fled, and went into hiding as soon as they saw him and the Horse coming. He then gave deafening blows to the door, and at last the Landlord came out, trembling with fear. The Big Lad asked him what would he do to-mor- row ? " Oh, thou shalt plough," said the Landlord, with a tremulous voice. " I have no ploughing I can do." " What dost thou say ? There is as much land in the Crooked Ridge as would keep a pair of horses ploughing for six weeks." " There is not. I O 2 196 The Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. ploughed every furrow before I stopped." "And didst thou notice anything which troubled thee while thou wert at work ?" " I noticed nothing but a nasty thing of an ugly beast that came out of the Lake, and ate one of my horses. I tried to make him put the horse out, but he would not heed me. I then put him in the plough, and ploughed every furrow of the Crooked Ridge with him, but he did not put the horse out yet." " And where is he ?" " He is here at the door." "Oh, let him go! let him go! let him away!" " I will not until I get the horse from him." He then turned to the beast, and laid him on his back. He drew his own big knife, split up the beast's belly with it, and took out the horse alive and whole. Then he said to the Landlord, " I do not know what to do with him unless I put him in the hole in the mid- dle of the field, and if there was no water in it before there will be then." He dragged the beast over to the field, threw him head foremost in the hole, put the stuff in on the top of him, and left him there. The Landlord sent again for Big Angus of the Rocks. Angus came, and said to the Landlord, " What news hast thou now ?" " I have only poor news. Yon attempt did no good. I sent him to plough the Crooked Ridge ; while he was ploughing, a fearful beast came out of the Lake, and ate one of the horses. He seized the beast, tied him to the plough, and before he stopped ploughed with him every furrow of the Ridge. He then took him home, holding him by the end of a halter, he threw him down at the door, and took the horse alive and whole out of his belly. Then he drew him by the tail after him, and threw him head foremost in the hole. And now I do not think that we need strive with him any longer. We may run away, and leave the place to himself." " We shall give him another trial yet." " What trial is that ?" " Say to him that the meal has The Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. 197 failed on thee, and that thou shalt not have a morsel of food for him until he himself returns from the Mill. Thou shalt send him away with a sled of corn to the Mill of Leckan (Muileann Leacain}. Thou shalt cause him to make haste, in order that he may work m the Mill all night, and I warrant thee that the Big Brownie (Umisg) of the Mill of Leckan will not let him home more than any other man. But if he will, and you see the Lad coming, all of you between small and great, young and old, may run away, for he cannot be destroyed, and he will ruin the place at any rate." The Landlord sent for the Big Lad, and said to him that the meal had failed, and that he would not have a morsel of food for him until he came with meal from the Mill. " Take with thee any one of the horses thou pleasest and the Big Sled, and fill it with sacks of corn, and thou shalt come home as soon as thou canst. Thou must work all night in the Mill in order that thou mayst be back early in the morning. " Very right," said the Big Lad ; " I will do that." He went away with the grain without any delay, and reached the Mill in the dusk. The Miller had ceased grinding, and the Mill was shut. He loosened the horse out of the sled, and let him go to pasture. He went then to the Miller's house, and cried to him at the door to get up, because he had come with a sled of grain, and must get it ground that night. " It matters not who thou art, or whence thou hast come, but there is not a man on the face of the earth for whom I would open the Mill any more this night." " Oh, thou must get up. I am in a hurry, and the grain must be ground to-night." " Hurry or no hurry, I never saw a man for whom I would go to the Mill to-night." "If thou do not go, give me the key, and I will go myself." "Well, if thou enter it, thou shalt not come 198 7^ he Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. out of it alive." " I have no fear at all ; give me the key." The Miller gave him the key, and he went away to the Mill. He carried the grain in, made a great fire of seeds and peats, placed a layer of corn on the kiln, hardened the corn, and put it in the hopper. He then set the Mill going, ground as much of the oats as he dried, riddled the meal, and at last began to knead bannocks, for he was very hungry. When they were kneaded he put them on the kiln to bake. While he was baking and turning them, he noticed an uncouth object (Usp} coming in sight in a corner of the kiln. He called on the Usp to keep back, but he heeded him not. He stretched out his paw, and took with him one of the bannocks. " Do not that again," said the Big Lad. But the Usp did not heed him. In a short time he again stretched out his paw, and took with him another bannock. " Do that once more, and I will make the bannocks dear to thee," said the Big Lad. The fellow in the corner paid little attention to the threat, and took with him the third bannock. " Well," said the Big Lad, " if thou give no heed of thine own free will thou shalt give heed against thy will. I will make thee put back what thou hast taken with thec." Then he gave a great heavy leap, ending in a fall, and was above the Brownie (?) (Urnisg). They went in each other's grips, and wrestled dreadfully. With a turn or two they threw down the kiln, they shattered the Mill, and people far and near heard the terrible deafening noise which was in the Mill. The Miller heard it in his bed, and it put him in such fear that he wrapped the bed-clothes about him, and crept down at the foot of the bed. His wife, shrieking, leapt over on the floor, and went on all-fours in under the bed. At last the Big Lad subdued the Brownie (?). The Brownie asked to let him go, but the Big Lad said he T/ie Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. 199 would not let him go in that way. " Thou shalt not get away until thou repair the Mill and put up the kiln with the bannocks on it as thou didst find them." Then he gave him further terrible bruisings. The Brownie cried, " Let me go, and I will do everything that thou biddest me." " I will not let thee go, but thou must do it while I have a hold of thee." Then the Brownie began to repair the Mill, and in a short enough time he put everything in its own place as it formerly was. " Let me go now, for everything is as I found it," said the Brownie. The Big Lad gave a look, and saw that the three bannocks were not on the kiln, and he said that everything was not as it was. " Where are the bannocks thou didst take with thee ?" He now gave the Brownie further dreadful blows and bruisings. The Brownie cried, " Let me go, and thou shalt find the bannocks in the fireplace." " I will not let thee go, but go thou and find them for me." The Brownie went, the Big Lad having a hold of him, and found the bannocks. " Put them now on the kiln where thou didst find them," said the Big Lad. The Brownie did that, and the Big Lad gave him the next bruisings. The Brownie cried to let him go, and that he would leave the Mill and never trouble it after that night. " Well, since thou hast promised that, I will let thee go," said the Big Lad, and he gave him a shove out through the door. The Brownie gave three horrible screams, and drew away. The Miller heard the screams, and his wife uttered a piercing cry in under the bed. When the Brownie went away the Big Lad began to eat the bannocks, and when he ate enough of them he dried and ground the remainder of the grain. He then riddled the meal, put it in the sacks, and put the sacks on the sled. He had now everything ready; and there- fore he locked the door of the Mill, and went home with the key. 2oo The Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. He reached the Miller's house, and shouted at the door, but no person answered him. He shouted again, and heard the Miller answering with a faint voice within. The Big Lad asked him to open the door, because he had come home with the key. "O!" said the Miller, " be off ! be off ! and take with thee the key along with the other things !" " It is I, let me in," said the Big Lad. But the Miller did not answer him at all, there- fore he pushed the door before him, and went in. " Here," said he, "is the key for thee, for I have ground the grain, and I am going home." When the Miller heard that the grain was ground he took his head out of the clothes, and looked at the man. " Oh, how art thou alive after being in the Mill all night ! " " Pooh ! thou mayest go to the Mill, and stay in it all night now ! I have made the thing that was in it run away, and it shall never more trouble thee or another man." " Oh, wife, art thou hearing yon ? " said the Miller. But his wife answered not a word. The Big Lad asked where she was. The Miller said that she fled, and hid herself under the bed when she heard the noise that was in the Mill. The Big Lad gave a look under the bed, and drew her out on the floor. But she was dead, for her heart went out of its casing (cochulf) with fear. The Big Lad left the Miller's house, and turned home. There was a brae above the Mill, and because the horse began to stop in the ascent he gave him a blow in the shoulder with the back of his hand. The blow was so heavy that the' shoulder broke, and that the horse fell on the road. He was very sorry for what happened, but there was no help for it. He loosed the horse out of the sled, threw him on the top of the sacks, and went to draw the sled. He set off cheerily with it until he reached the top of the brae. The Landlord had a watch on every road by which the Big Lad could come. At last one of the watchers The Son of the Strong Man of the Wood. 201 saw him afar off dragging the sled after him, and the horse on the top of the sacks. The man threw off his footgear, with every bit of clothing which would hinder his running, and stretched away as fast as he could until he reached the Landlord's house. The Landlord asked him whether he saw a sight of the Big Lad. " Did I see a sight of him ? 'Tis I who saw a sight of him ! He would not wait for the horse, but threw him on the top of the sacks, and he himself is drawing the sled after him with great speed." " Oh, then we may go away, for he will kill us all and will ruin the place at any rate." They drew away then, and left the place to him. In a short, time the Big Lad came home. He took the horse down off the top of the sled, and put the sacks in. He looked round, but not a man was to be seen about the town. He searched every hole and corner in which he could think that a man might be hidden, but found none. At last he understood that every person who was in the town had fled, and that they left it to himself. He then thought that he would go for his mother, and that he would take her to the fine place which he had. He went, and found her at the foot of the wood. He told her cf the great good luck he had, and that he came for her to go and stay with him. She told him that she was old, and that the distance was too long for her to walk it. " Well, mother, it shall not be so. Thou didst take a long time carrying me, and I will carry thee thus far now." He lifted his mother on his back, and did not let her go until he reached the place which he got for himself. They lived there in plenty and ease, and if they are alive they are there still. 2O2 Mac Ceatharnach na Coille. MAC CEATHARNACH NA COILLE 'BHA BLIADHN' THAR FHICHEAD AR CICH A MHlTHAR. BHA ann roimhe so duine foghainteach ris an abradh iad Ceatharnach na Coille. B' e obair an duine so daonnan sealgach nam fiadh, agus tarrainn connaidh dhachaidh gu teine. Air la araid dh' fhalbh e a ghearradh craobh mhor dharaich a chunnaic e 's a choille 'n la roimhe sin. An uair a bha 'chraobh ag aomadh thairis thuit i air, agus bhruth i e gu h-uamhasach. Ach bha 'n duine laidir, agus le sin fhuair se e fein a shlaodadh a mach uaipe. An uair a dh' eirich e 'n a sheasamh air a chasan rug e air bhun air a chraoibh, agus shlaod e i eadar bhun 'us bharr dhachaidh leis. Cho luath 's a thilg e i bharr a ghualainn aig an dorus thuit e. Thainig a bhean a mach agus dar chunnaic i mar bha e chuidich i 's tigh e, agus chuir i e 'n a shuidhe air taobh na leapa. Thug e osna mhbr as an sin, agus thubhairt e gu 'n d' fhuair esan acaid a bhais. Bha 'dhorn duinte, agus dar dh' fhosgail se e bha te de dhuircibh an daraich 'n a laimh. Choimhead e oirre, agus an sin shin e i d' a bhean. Thubhairt e rithe, " Tha mise 'dol a bhi marbh, ach cuiridh tu 'n duirc so 'an laraich an diiin mu choinneamh an doruis. Tha mac 'dol a bhi agad, agus an oidhch' a thig am mac chum an t-saoghailbithidh bachlag an duirc a' tighinn 'am fradharc tromh 'n talamh. Beathaichidh tu air do ghlun e le sugh do chleibh 'us do chliathaich gus am bi e cho laidir 's gu 'n toir e a' chraobh a chinneas as an duirc as a bun agus as a freumhaichean." An deigh dha so a radh r' a bhean laidh e sios 'us cha d' eirich e tuillidh. Au uair a thainig an t-am bha mac aig a bhoirionnach, agus cho luath 's a rugadh e dh' iarr i air a' bhean-ghluin dol a mach agus coimhead an robh bachlag air an duirc. Bha bachlag an duirc an deigh bristeadh am mach gu math as an talamh. Rug i air a mac, agus bheathaich i e fad sheachd Mac Ceatharnach na Coille. 203 bliadhn' air a glim. An sin thug i mach e a dh' ionnsaidh na craoibhe, agus thubhairt i ris e 'dh 'fheuchainn am b' urrainn e a' chraobh ud a thabhairt as a bun. Chaidh e 'n carabh na craoibhe, agus thug e crathadh agus spionadh uamhasach oirre, ach bha i air freumhachadh cho daingeann anns an talamh 's nach d' thug e glidneachadh oirre. An uair a chunnaic a mhathair gu 'n d' fhairslich i air, thog i 's tigh leatha e, agus thug i seachd bliadhn' eile ciche dha. An sin thug i mach e a dh' ionnsaidh na craoibhe, agus thubhairt i ris e 'dh 'fheuchainn co dhiu 'bu treis' e fein na 'chraobh an diugh. Rug e air bun na craoibhe, agus thug e slaodadh fuathasach oirre, ach bha i air gramachadh cho laidir anns an talamh 's nach d' rinn e 'n gnothuch oirre. An uair a chunnaic a mhathair gu 'n d' fhairslich i air an dara h-uair, thog i 's tigh e, agus thug i dha seachd bliadhn' eile ciche. An sin thug i mach e dh' ionnsaidh na craoibhe, agus dh' iarr i air e dh' fheuchainn co dhiu 'bu treis' e fein na chraobh. Thug e siirdagan uamhasach a null far an robh i, rug e oirre le dha laimh, chrith 'us chrath e i, agus le tri no ceithir a shlaodaidhnean bha i mach as a bun agus as a freumhaichean aige. Thbisich e 'n sin oirre as a barr, 'us bhrist 'us phronn e i gus an d' rinn e connadh teine dhi, agus an d' fhag e i 'n a dun aig an dorus. Thubhairt a mhathair, " Tha thu fada gu lebir a' deoghal sugh mo chleibh 'us mo chliathaich-sa, agus tha thu Ian chomasach air cothachadh air do shon fein tuillidh. Thig a 's tigh agus'deasaichidh mise bonnach dhuit, gheibh thu e le 'm bheannachadh, agus falbhaidh tu 'n sin a chothachadh fortain duit fein." Fhuair e 'm bonnach, agus dh' fhalbh e. Shiubhail e air aghaidh dh' fheuch an tigeadh e air aite far am faigheadh e cosnadh. Mu dheireadh rainig e aitreabh mhbr bhriadha le tuillidh mhulan timchioll oirre na chunnaic e riamh roimhe cbmhla. Smaointich e gu 'm faigheadh e obair 's an aite sin, agus ghabh e direach a dh' ionnsaidh an tighe. Bhuail e aig an dorus, agus dh' iarr e am maighstir fhaicinn. Thainig am maighstir, agus dh' fhebraich e dh' e gu de 'bha e 'g iarraidh? Fhreagair an Gille Mbr gu 'n robh e 'g iarraidh 204 Mac Ceatharnach na Coille. obair. " Ni do choltas an gnothuch," ars' am Maighstir. " Tha obair gu leoir agamsa, agus cha-n 'eil fhios agam carson nach faigheadh tu i. An dean thu bualadh ?" " Ni," fhreagair an Gille. " Tha thu sgith," ars' am Maistir. " Bi 'g ad dheanamh fein eolach air feagh a' bhaile 'nochd, agus tbisichidh tu air bualadh moch 's a mhadainn am maireach." " C' aite 'n toisich mi?" "Anns an t-sabhal, oir tha de dh' arbhar an sin na chumas dithis dhaoine 'bualadh gu ceann she seachdainnean air fheabhas 'g an oibrich iad. An uair a theirgeas sin tha iothlann mhbr cul an t-sabhail lau mhulan, agus tha 'h-uile srabh dhiu r' am bualadh." Bha 'n sabhal 's an iothlann air an togail air bruthach os ceann tighe 'n Uachdrain. An uair a fhuair an Gille a bhiadh chaidh e suas do 'n t-sabhal a dh' fhaicinn nam feadhnach a bha 'bualadh an sin. Chaidh e 's tigh, agus an deigh dha coimhead orra tacan a' bualadh rug e air a' bhuailtein a bh' aig fear dhiu, agus thubhairt e, "Cha-n fhiach na buailteinn- ean a th' agaibh. An uair a theid mis' 'an greim am maireach chi sibh am buailtein a bhitheas agam." Dh' fhalbh e 'n sin do 'n choille a ghearradh buailtein da fhein, agus an uair a bha 'm buailtein deas bu choimeas a lorg- shuiste ri crann luinge. 'San am sin bi 'n riaghailt gu 'm feumadh na gillean oibreach- adh o rionnaig gu rionnag. Bha fhios aig a' Ghille Mhbr air so ; uime sin dh' cinch e trath anns a' mhadainn, agus bha e 'n greim anns a' bhualadh mu 'n d' fhalbh an rionnag bharr nan speur. Thbisich e air bualadh na daise 'bh' anns an t-sabhal, ghabh e dhi anns an dara ceann, agus mar bha e 'dol air aghaidh bha e 'cur a' mhullaich as an tigh. Aig an dol sin chum e air gus nach robh sop air urlar gun bhualadh mu n' d' thai nig am braiceis. An deigh dha 'bhraiceas fhaotainn thionn e 'mach a rithist. Ghabh e do 'n iothlainn, thog e leis mulan anns gach achlais agus fear eadar a dha laimh, chuir e anns an t-sabhal iad agus bhuail e iad. Mar sin chum e air aghairt gus nach robh mulan anns an iothlainn gun bhualadh mu 'n d' thainig am dinnearach. Bha 'n sin arn baile uile geal le fodar, agus ballachan an t-sabhail beul ri bhi Ian sil. Mac Ceatharnach na Coille. 205 Dh' flialbh e 'n sin far an robh an t-Uachdran. Choinnich an t-Uachdran e air an rathad, agus e fo ioghnadh mbr gu de 'chuir am baile Ian fodair, ach cha do ghabh e diog air ris a' Ghille. An sin dh' fhebraich an Gille dh' e gu de 'rachadh e 'dheanamh. " Theid thu 'bhualadh 's an t-sabhal," ars' an t-Uachdran. Fhreagair an Gille. Mbr, " Cha-n' eil bualadh agam a ni mi." " Gu de 'tha thu 'g radh ! Tha de bhualadh anns an t-sabhal na chumas ri dithis dhaoine gu ceann she seachdainnean air fheabhas 'g an oibrich iad." " Cha-n' eil. Cha-n' eil sop 's a bhaile 'an sabhal no 'n iothlainn nach 'eil buailte cheana." Cha robh fhios aig an Uachdran gu de 'theireadh e ri so, ach dh' iarr e air a' Ghille doll a 's tigh agus a dhinneir fhaotainn, agus dh' fhalbh e fein do 'n t-sabhal feuch am faiceadh e 'n d' innis an Gille 'n fhirinn da no nach d'innis. Rainig e 'n sabhal, agus dar chunnaic e 'n coltas a bh' air a' h-uile rud air thoiseach air am mullach air achur as an t-sabhal, am fodar air a sgapadh air feadh a' bhaile, agus gach mulan 's an iothlainn buailte ghabh e eagal mbr, agus b' e 'n ni 'bu mho a chuir de dh' uamhas air am buailtein a bh' aig a' Ghille Mhbr. Thill e dhachaidh air chrith leis an eagal, agus ghabh e rathad cuil seach an Gille Mbr a choinneachadh dar thigeadh e 'mach o bhiadh. Ach thug an Gille Mbr an aire dha, agus ghabh e direach 'n a choinneamh? Dh' fheoraich e dh' e gu de 'rachadh e 'dheanamh ? Cha robh fhios aig an Uachdran gu ro mhath gu de 'n fhreagairt a bheireadh e seachad, ach is e thubhairt e, " O 'n dh' oibrich thu cho math romh am dinnearach is fearr dhuit d' anail a leigeil air an fheasgar so." An sin thubhairt an Gille Mbr, " Chunnaic thu m' obair a nis, agus tha fhios agad gu de 's urrainn mi 'dheanamh. Feumaidh mi tuillidh bithidh fhaotainn gu 'm dhinneir n' a tha mi 'faighinn." " Gu de na dh' fheumas tu fhaotainn ?" " Ceith- reamh salldair mine 'am brnaist an dara latha, agus ceithreamh salldair mine 'n a bhonnaich le carcais da-bhliadnach daimh an la eile." " Gheibh thu sin," ars' an t-Uachdran 'us e air chrith leis an eagal. Chaidh an t-Uachdran a 's tigh, agus dh' innis e do mhuinn- 206 Mac CeatJiarnach na Coille. tir an tighe am biadha hh' aca ri 'dheasachadh airsona' Ghille Mhbir gach la tuillidh. Smaointich an t-Uachdran agus na daoine glice 'bha timchioll air mu 'n chuis, agus chunnaic iad gu 'n sgriosadh an Gille Mbr am baile ann am biadh mur faigheadh iad dbigh air cur as da, no air a chur air falbh. Bha fior sheann duinne air a' bhaile ris an abradh iad Aonghas Mbr nan Creag, agus thubh- airt fear de na daoine, " Mur bheil fhios aig Aonghas Mbr gu de 'ni sinn ris cha-n 'eil duin' eile 's an aite's urrainn innseadh dhuinn." Chuir an t-Uachdran fios air Aonghas Mbr. Thainig Aonghas, agus dh' innis an t-Uachdran da a' h-uile car mu 'n fhamhair mhbr a thainig orra mar bhuail e 'n t-arbhar, agus an sebrsa buailtein leis an robh e 'g obair. " Ochbin !" ars' Aonghas, " an d' thainig e mu dheireadh ! Chuala mise mo sheanair a' bruidhinn air an uair a bha mi 'am ghiollan. Bha e cho scan 's a tha mise 'n diugh, 'us e 'g innseadh mar bhae air a radh gu 'n rachadh an t-aite so a sgrios fathast le famhair mbr, agus cha-n 'eil teagamh 's am bith agam nach e' tha 'n so an deigh tighinn." " An urrainn thu smaointeachadh air dbigh 's am bith air an gabhar cur as da ?" " 'S e 'n aon dbigh a 's urrainn mise smaointeachadh so gu 'n iarr thu air tobar mbr fhosgladh 'am meadhon na dalach ud thall, agus dol cho domhain 'us gu 'n tachair an t-uisg' air. Is e grunnd domhain gainmheich a th' ann, agus feumaidh e dol doimhne mhbir mu 'n ruig e 'mhathair-uisge. Ach dar ruigeas e i bitheadh gach duine 's urrainn breith air sluasaid agad mu d' thimchioll, agus dar bhitheas esan crbm 'an grunnd an tuill bitheadh gach duine 'n a dhithis a' sparradh a 's tigh an stuth air a mhuin. Ach ma chi sibh e 'g eiridh 'n a sheasamh teicheadh a' h-uile duin' agaibh, oir ma gheibh e 'cheann a thogail bithidh e 'mach ge b' oil leibh, 'us marbhaidh e sibh." Dh' aontaich an t-Uachdran ri so a dheanamh. Chuir e fios air a' Ghille Mhbr an oidhche sin fein. Thainis; an Gille, agus dh' innis an t-Uachdran da gu 'n robh an t-uisge fas anabarrach gann air, agus uime sin gun robh dhith air tobar fhosgladh 's an dail ud thall. "Gle cheart," ars' an Gille. "Tbis- ichidh tu air mar do che"ud obair mhadainn am maireach," thubhairt an t-Uachdran. Mac Ceatharnach na Coille. 207 An uair a thainig an la chaidh an Gille Mbr 'an greim a dh' fhosgladh an tobair. Bha na daoine mar an ceudna trath air a' ghrunnd. Dh' fhalbh iad leis an Uachdran a dh' fhaireinn- eachd air a' Ghille Mhbr feuch ciamar a bha e 'faotainn air aghaidh leis an toll. An uair a fhuair iad sealladh air cha robh an uachdar dh' e ach mullach a chinn, agus bha tbrr mbr de stuth air a thilgeil a mach aige. Ghabh iad an t-engal gu 'm bitheadh iad air dheireadh, ach bha iad an deagh am aig an toll. Sheas an t-Uachdran aig beul an tuill, agus dar chrbm an Gille ghlaodh e air na daoine 'bhi 'n greim. Thbisich iad air an stuth a chur a 's tigh air a rnhuin cho dian 's a b' urrainn iad sluasaid a chluich. Ach cha robh iad fad' aig an obair sin an uair a dh' eirich an Gille Mor 'n a sheasamh 'san toll, a chrath e 'lamb, agus a ghlaodh e, " Thuis !" Ghlaodh an t- Uachdran r' a dhaoine teicheadh, agus dh' fhalbh a 'h-uile duine dhiu cho luath 's a b' urrainn an casan an tabhairt as. Ach chriochnaich an Gille Mbr an toll mu 'n do sguir e. Ghabh e 'n sin a suas gu tigh an Uachdrain. An uair a bha e 'tighinn dluth do 'n tigh bha e 'gabhail iongantais mhbir nach robh duine ri fhaicinn timchioll a' bhaile. Rainig e 'n dorus mbr, agus chuir e a lamh air a' chrann, ach bha 'n dorus duinte cho laidir air an taobh a 's tigh 'us nach fosgladh e dha. Chuir e 'n sin a bhas ris a' chrann, agus dh' fhuc e n' a bu treis' e na bha thoil aige. Bhrist an crann, agus dh' fhosgail an dorus. Ghabh e 's tigh, agus fhuair e 'n t-Uachdran 'n a chruban fo 'n bhbrd 'us e air chrith. An sin thainig an t-Uachdran a mach air an urlar, agus dh' fhebraich e de 'n Ghille Mhbr an d' fhuair e deas an toll ? Thubhairt an Gille gu 'n d' fhuair. " Ach carson," ars' e, "nach do chuir thusa duine a chumail air falbh nan rbcais ? Theab iad na suilean a chur asam, a' sgriobadh na gainmhich airson nam biathainne. Ach gu de 'theid mi 'dheanamh anis?" "Oh, falbh 'us faigh do dhinneir," ars' an t-Uachdran. Dh' fhalbh an Gille Mbr mar dh' iarradh air. An uair a fhuair an t-Uachdran as a charabh e chuir e fios air an t-Searm duine 'rithist. Thainig an Seann duine, agus thubhairt an t-Uachdran ris, "Cha dean an dbigh ud math air bith. Rinn e 'n toll cbr 'us deich troidhean fichead air 208 Mac Ceatharnach na Coille. doimhneachd, bha 'h-uile duine timchioll an aite agam mu 'n cuairt air an toll, dh' fhair mi 'n cothrom gus an robh e crbm 'an grunnd an tuill, ghlaodh mi riu iad a bhi 'n an greim, thbisich gach duine 'n a dhithis air spiitadh an stuth a' s tigh air a mhuin, ach dh' eirich e 'n a sheasamh anns an toll, agus ghlaodh e ' Thuis !' An sin theich sinne. "An uine ghoirid thainig e dhachaidh 'n ar deigh. Ghabh e' dh' ionnsaidh an doruis, agus ged bha e duinte agus crannta, chuir e roimh' e le aon phucadh de 'laimh. Thainig e 's tigh, agus 's ann thubhairt e rium, carson nach do chuir mi duine 'chumail air falbh nan rbcais, a chionn gu d' theab iad na suilean a chur as a' sgriobadh na gainmhich a 's tigh air a mhuin am fad 's a bha e 'glanadh grunnd an tuill." " Oh, mata," ars' Aonghas Mbr, " feuchaidh sinn dbigh eile air." " Gu de 'n dbigh tha sin ?" " Cuir e a threabhadh Imire-crbm Dhail an Lochain Duibh. Cha d' thainig duine no beathach riamh as a' sin a bha treabhadh ann gu dol fodha grelne." " Feuchaidh sinn sin fein da," thubhairt an t-Uachdran. Chuir e fios air a' Ghille Mhbr, agus thubhairt e ris gu 'n robh e ri dol a threabhadh an dara mhaireach do dh' Imire- crbm Dhail an Lochain Duibh. " Ro cheart," ars' an Gille. " Ni mise sin." Moch 's a' mhadainn chuir e 'n brdugh air son an treabhaidh. Thog e 'n crann leis air a ghualainn, bha 'n da each air thaod aige as a dheigh, agus rainig e Dail an Lochain Duibh. Stob e 'n crann 'an ceann an Imire-chruim, agus chuir e 'n greim na h-eich. Bha craobh mhbr ann am meadhon an Imire, agus thubhairt" e ris fein, " Fosglaidh mi 'n talamh direach air a' chraoibh." An sin thbisich e air treabhadh. Bha e faotainn air aghaidh gu math fad an latha, ach mu chromadh na greine chual e plub fuathasach anns an Lochan. Thug e suil agus chunnaic e Usp mbr dubh a' gluasad anns an uisge, ach cha do ghabh e suim 's am bith dh' e, agus chum e air aghaidh a' treabhadh mar bha e roimhe. Cho luath 's a chaidh a' ghrian as an fhradharc thainig am beathach air tir, agus ghabh e suas cladach an Lochain a dh' ionnsaidh a' chinn a b' fhaid' air falbh de 'n Imire-chrbm. Chuir e 'n sin mu 'n cuairt, agus choisich e 'n coinneamh na seisrich anns a' cheart Mac Ceatharnach na Coille. 209 sgriob anns an robh an Gille Mbr a' treabhadh leb. Chum an Gille Mbr air aghaidh le chuid each, agus choinnich iad am beathach aig a' chraoibh a bha 'm meadhon an Imire. Ghlaodh an Gille Mor ris a' bheathach e dh' fhuireachd air ais, air neb gu 'm faiceadh e gu de" 'dh' eireadh dha. Ach cha d' thug am beathach feairt air, ach dh' fhosgail e 'bheul, agus shluig e fear de na h-eich beb slan. " Ni sin an gnothuch," thubhairt an Gille Mbr ris a bheathach. " Bheir mis' ort gu 'n cuir thu mach e cho ealamh 's a shluig thu e." Leig e as an crann, agus chaidh e 'n carabh a' bheathaich. Bha cuir uamhasach eatarra, ach mu dheireadh bha 'n Gille Mbr air muin a' bheath- aich. " Cuir a mach an t-each a nis," ars' an Gille, Ach cha d' thug am beathach feairt air. " Bheir mis' ort gu 'n cuir thu mach e," thubhairt e rithist. Rug e 'n sin air a' bheathach air earball, shlaod e dh' ionnsaidh na craoibh' e, spion e 'chraobh as a bun, agus dh' eirich e air leatha gus nach robh aige dhi ach na bha 'n a laimh d' a barr. An sin thubhairt e, "An cuir thu mach an t-each a nis ?" Cha d 3 thug am beathach feairt air fathast. " Mata," ars' an Gille, " bheir mis' ort gu 'n dean thu obair an fhir a dh' ith thu co dhiu." Bha 'n t-each eile 'n deigh na ceanglaichean a bhristeadh, agus teicheadh dhachaidh. An uair a rainig e 'n tigh agus a chunnaic an t-Uachdran an coltas fiamhach a bh' air, thubhairt e, " Oh, cha-n 'eil teagamh nach 'eil an Gille Mbr agus an t-each eile marbh a nis ! Chuir Each-uisg' an Lochain Duibh as da mu dheireadh !" Ach bha 'n Gille Mbr mu thimchioll a ghnothuich. Cheangail e 'm beathach anns a' chrann, agus thbisich e air treabhadh leis, agus mu 'n do sguir e cha robh sgriob anns an Imire- chrbm nach do thionndaidh e. An uair a bha e deas dh fhalbh e dhachaidh 'us an t-each mbr air cheann aige. Rainig e dorus an Uachdrain, agus ghlaodh e ris tighinn a mach. Ach cha do fhreagair duin' e, oir theich gach duine a bh' air a' bhaile, agus chaidh iad am falach cho luath 's a chunnaic iad e fein 'us an t-each a' tighinn. Thug e 'n sin bodhairneadh do 'n dorus, agus mu dheireadh thainig an t-Uachdran a mach 'us e air chrith leis an eagal. Dh' fheoraich an Gille Mbr dh' e gu de 'rachadh e 'dheanamh 2io Mac Ceatharnach na Coille. am maireach ? " Oh, theid thu 'threabhadh," ars' an t-Uachdran 'us a ghuth air chrith. " Cha-n 'eil treabhadh agam a ni mi." " Gu de tha thu 'g radh ? Tha de thalamh 's an Imire-chrbm na chumadh treabhadh ri paidhir each gu ceann she seachd- ainnean." " Cha-n' eil. Dhearg mise 'h-uile sgriob mu 'n do sguir mi." " 'S an d' fhairich thu ni air bith a chuir dragh ort am fad 's a bha thu 'g obair ?" " Cha d' fhairich mise dad ach trusdar de bheathach grand' a thainig as an Lochan, agus a dh' ith fear de na h-eich orm. Dh' fheuch mi 'thabhairt air an t-each a chur a mach, ach cha d' thugadh e feairt orm. Chuir mi 'n sin anns a' chrann e, agus threabh mi 'h-uile sgriob de 'n Imire-chrbm leis, ach cha do chuir e 'mach an t-each fathast." " 'Us c' ait am bheil e ?" " Tha 'n so aig an dorus." " O, leig as e ! leig as e ! leig air falbh e !" " Cha leig mi gus am faigh mi 'n t-each uaith." Thionndaidh e 'n sin ris a' bheathach, agus leag e air a dhruim e. Tharrainn e a chore mhbr fe'in, sgoilt e leatha brii a' bheathaich, agus thug e 'n t-each beb, slan a mach as. An sin thubhairt e ris an Uachdran, " Cha-n 'eil fhios agam gu de 'ni mi ris mur cuir mi anns an toll am meadhon na dalach e, agus mur robh uisg'ann roimhe bithidh e ann an sin." Shlaod e 'm beathach a null do 'n dail, thilg e 'n coinneamh a chinn anns an toll e, chuir e 'n stuth a 's tigh air a mhuin, agus dh' fhag e 'n sin e. Chuir an t-Uachdran fios a ris air Aonghas Mbr nan Creag. Thainig Aonghas, agus thubhairt e ris an Uachdran, " Gu de an naigheachd a th' agad a nis ?" " Cha-n 'eil ach naigheachd bhochd. Cha d' rinn an ionnsaidh ud math 's am bith. Chuir mi e a threabhadh an Imire-chruim. Am feadh a bha e treabhadh thainig beathach uamhasach a mach as an Loch, agus dh' ith e fear de na h-eich air. Rug e air a' bheathach, cheangail e ris a' chrann e, agus dhearg e 'h-uile sgriob de 'n Imire leis mu 'n do sguir e. Thug e 'n sin dachaidh e air cheann taoid, leag e aig an dorus e, agus thug e 'n t-each beb slan as a bhroinn. An sin shlaod e as a dheigh e air earball, agus thilg e 'n coinneamh a chinn anns an toll e. Agus a nis cha-n 'eil mise 'smaointeachadh gu 'n ruig sinn leas a bhi feuchainn ris ni 's faide. Faodaidh sinn teicheadh agus an Mac Ceatharnach na Coille. 211 t-ait' fhagail aige fein." " Bheir sinn aon de"uchainn eile dha fhathast." " Gu de i an deuchainn sin ?" " Abair ris gu 'n do theirig a' mhin ort, agus nach bi gearradh bithidh agad dha gus an tig e fein as a' mhuileann. Cuiridh tu air falbh e le earn sil do Mhuileann-Leacain. Cuiridh tu cabhag air a chum 'us gu 'n oibrich e anns a' Mhuileann fad na h-oidhche, agus theid mis' 'an urras duit nach leig Uruisg Mbr Mhuileann- Leacain esan dachaidh ni 's mo na fear air bith eile. Ach ma leigeas agus ma chi sibh e 'tighinn, faodaidh sibh uile eadar bheag 'us mhbr, shean 'us bg, teicheadh, oir cha ghabh e cur as da', agus sgriosaidh e an t-aite co dhiu." Chuir an t-Uachdran fios air a' Ghille Mhbr, agus thubhairt e ris gu 'n do theirig a' mhin air, agus nach bitheadh gearradh bithidh aige dha fein gus an tigeadh e as a' mhuileann le min. " Thoir leat aon 's am bith a thogras tu de na h-eich agus an Cam Mbr, agus lion e le pocaibh sil, agus bithidh tu dhachaidh cho luath 's is urrainn thu. Feumaidh tu oibreachadh fad na h-oidhch' anns a' mhuileann chum gu 'm bi thu aig an tigh trath am maireach." "Ro cheart," thubhairt an Gille Mbr. " Ni mise sin." Dh' fhalbh e gun dail leis an t-siol, agus rainig e am muileann 'am beul na h-oidhche. Bha am Muillear an deigh sgur a bhleith, agus am muileann duinte. Dh' fhuasgail e 'n t-each as a' charn, agus leig e chum ionaltraidh e. Dh' fhalbh e 'n sin gu tigh a' mhuilleir, agus ghlaodh e ris aig an dorus e dh' eiridh, a chionn gu 'n robh esan air tighinn le earn sil, agus gu 'm feumadh e 'n siol fhaotainn air a bhleith an oidhche sin. " Cha dean e muthadh cb thu, no cia as a thainig thu, ach cha-n 'eil duin' air uachdar na talmhainn d' am fosglainn-s' am muilleann tuillidh an nochd." " U, feumaidh tu eiridh ! Tha cabhag ormsa, agus is eiginn an siol a bhi bleithte 'n nochd." " Cabhag no gun chabhaig cha-n fhaca mise duine riamh airson an rachainn do 'n mhuileann an nochd." " Mur teid thus' ann, thoir dhomh fhein an iuchair, 'us theid mi ann." " Mata, ma theid thu ann cha tig thu as." " Cha-n 'eil eagal 's am bith orm ; thoir thusa dhomh an iuchair." Thug am Muillear dha an iuchair, agus dh' fhalbh e 'n mhuil- eann. Thog e 's tigh an siol, chuir e air teine mbr de chath P 2 212 Mac Ceatharnach na Coille. agus de mhbine, chuir e barr air an ath, chruadhaich e 'm barr, agus chuir e 's an treabhailt e. Leig e 'n sin am muileann air shiubhal, bhleith e na chruadhaich e de 'n choirce, chriathair e 'mhin, agus an sin thoisich e air deasachadh bhonnach, oir bha 'n t-acras mbr air. An uair a bha iad deasaichte chuir e air an ath iad 'g am bruich. Am feadh' bha e 'g am bruich 'us 'g an tionndadh thug e 'n aire do dh' Usp a' tighinn am fradharc 'an oisinn na h-atha. Ghlaodh e ris an Usp fuireachd air ais, ach cha d' thug e feairt air. Shin e 'spbg, agus thug e leis aon de na bonnaich. " Na dean sin tuillidh," ars' an Gille Mor. Ach cha d' thug an t- Usp feairt air. An iiine ghoirid shin e rithist a spbg, agus thug e leis bonnach eile. " Dean thusa sin aon uair eile, agus bheir mis' ort gu 'm bi na bonnaich daor dhuit," thubhairt an Gille Mor. Cha do ghabh am fear a bha 's an oisinn mbran suim de sud, agus thug e leis an treas bonnach. " Mata," ars' an Gille "Mor, "mur toir thu feairt 'ad dhebin bheir thu feairt ad aindebin. Bheir mis' ort gu 'n cuir thu air an ais na thug thu leat." An sin thug e aon dudarleum mbr, agus bha e air muin an Uruisg. Chaidh iad 'an greimibh a cheile, agus ghleac iad gu h-uamhasach. Le car no 'dha leag iad an ath, chuir iad am muileann as a cheile, agus chual iad am fad agus am fagus am bodhairneadh uamhasach a bha 's a' mhuileann. Chual am Muillear e 'n a leaba, agus chuir e a leithid de dh' eagal air 'us gu 'n do shuain e 'n t-aodach uime 's gu 'n do chrubain e 'n casaibh na leapa. Le"um a bhean 's a ghlaodhaich a null air an urlar, agus chaidh i air a magan a 's tigh fo 'n leaba. Mu dheireadh chiosnaich an Gille Mbr an t-Uruisg. Dh' iarr an t-Uruisg air a leigeil as, ach fhreagair e nach leigeadh mar sin. " Gus an cairich thu am Muileann, agus an cuir thu suas an ath 's na bonnaich oirre mar fhuair thu iad cha-n fhaigh thu as." An sin thug e bruilleadhnan uamhasach eile air. Ghlaodh an t-Uruisg, " Leig as mi, agus ni mi 'h-uile ni a tha thu 'g iarraidh orm." " Cha leig mi as thu, ach feumaidh tu 'dhcan- amh agus greim agam ort." An sin thoisich an t-Uruisg air caradh a' Mhuilinn, agus an iiine gle ghoirid chuir e gach ni 'na aite fein mar bha e roimhe. Mac Ceatharnach na Coille. 2 1 3 " Leig as a nis mi, oir tha 'h-uile ni mar fhuair mis' iad," ars' an t-Uruisg. Thug an Gille Mbr suil, agus chunnaic e nach robh na tri bonnaich air an ath, agus thubhairt e nach robh a h-uile ni mar bha iad. " C' ait' am bheil na bonnaich a thug thu leat?" Thug e 'n so builean, agus bruillidhnean fuathasach eil' air an Uruisg. Ghlaodh an t-Uruisg, " Leig as mi, agus gheibh thu na bonnaich 'an lag an teine." " Cha leig mi as thu, ach falbh thusa, agus faigh dhomh iad." Dh' fhalbh an t-Uruisg 'us greim aig a' Ghille Mhbr air, agus fhuair e na bonnaich. " Cuir a nis iad air an ath far an d' fhuair thu iad," ars' an Gille Mbr. Rinn an t-Uruisg sin, 'us thug an Gille Mbr na h-ath bhruillidh- nean air. Ghlaodh an t-Uruisg, a leigeadh as 'us gu 'm fagadh e am Muileann, 'us nach cuireadh e dragh air gu brath tuillidh an deigh na h-oidhche sin. " Mata, o 'n gheall thu sin leigidh mi as thu," ars' an Gille Mbr, agus thug e urchair da 'mach an dorus. Thug an t-Uruisg tri sgreuchan fuathasach as, agus tharainn e. Chual am Muillear na sgreuchan, agus thug a bhean glaodh goint' aiste 's tigh fo 'n leaba. Dar dh' fhalbh an t-Uruisg thbisich an Gille Mbr air itheadh nam bonnach, agus dar dh' ith e' lebir dhiu chruadhaich agus bhleith e 'n cor de 'n t-siol. Chriathair e 'n sin a' mhin, chuir e anns na pocaibh i, agus na pncanna anns a' charn. Bha gach ni deas age nis ; uime sin ghlais e dorus a' mhuilinn, agus dh' fhalbh e dhachaidh leis an iuchair. Rainig e tigh a' Mhuilleir, agus ghlaodh e aig an dorus, ach cha do fhreagair duin' e. Ghlaodh e 'rithist, agus chual e am Muillear a' freagairt a 's tigh le guth fann. Dh' iarr an Gille Mbr air an dorus fhosgladh, a chionn gu 'n robh esan air tighinn dachaidh leis an iuchair. " O !" thubhairt am Muillear, " bi falbh, bi falbh, 'us thoir leat an iuchair cbmhla ris a chbr." " Is mi fein a th' ann, leig a 's tigh mi," ars' an Gille Mbr. Ach cha do fhreagair am Muillear idir e ; uime sin phuc e 'n dorus roimhe, agus chaidh e 's tigh. " So," ars' esan, " an iuchair, oir bhleith mi 'n siol agus tha mi falbh dhachaidh." An uair a chual am Muillear gu 'n robh 'n siol air a bhleith, thug e 'mach a cheann as an aodach, agus choimhead e air an duine. " Oh, ciamar tha thu beb an deigh dhuit a bhi 's a' mhuileann fad na h-oidhche!" " Puth! faodaidh tusa dol do ! n mhuileann 214 Mac Ceatharnach na Coille. 'us fuireachd ann fad na h-oidhche nis. An rud a bh' ann chuir mis' air theicheadh, 'us cha chuir e dragh ortsa no air duin' eile gu brath tuillidh." " Oh, 'bhean, am bheil thu 'cluinntinn sud ?" ars' am Muillear. Ach cha d' fhreagair a' bhean facal. Dh' f heoraich an Gille Mor c' ait' an robh i ? Thubhairt am Muillear gu 'n do theich i agus gu 'n d' fholaich i fo 'n leaba, 'n uair a chual i 'n straighlich a bh' anns a' mhuil- eann. Thug an Gille Mor suil fo 'n leaba, 'us shlaod e mach i air an urlar. Ach bha i marbh, oir chaidh a cridhe as a' chochull leis an eagal. Dh' fhag an Gille Mor tigh a' Mhuilleir, agus thionn e dhachaidh. Bha bruthach os ceann a' mhuilinn, agus a chionn gu 'n do thbisich an t-each air stad 's an uchdaich thug e buille dha le cul a laimh anns an t-slineig. Bha 'm buille cho trbm 's gu 'n do bhrist e 'n t-slineig, agus gu 'n do thuit an t-each air an rathad. Bha e ro dhuilich mar thachair, ach cha robh comas air. Dh' fhuasgail e 'n t-each as a' charn, thilg e air mullach nam pocannan e, agus chaidh e fein a shlaodadh a' chuirn. Dh' fhalbh e 'n sin leis gu h-uallach gus an d' rainig e mullach a' bhruthaich. Bha freiceadan aig an Uachdran air a 'h-uile rathad air am b' urrainn an Gille Mor tighinn. Mu dheireadh chunnaic fear de 'n luchd-fair' e fad as a' slaodadh a' chuirn na dheigh, agus an t-each aig' air uachdar nam pocanna. Thilg an duine dheth a chais'eart maille ris gach ball a chuireadh moille air a ruith, agus shin e as cho luath 's a b' urrainn e gus an d' rainig e tigh an Uachdrain. Dh' fhebraich an t-Uachdran d' e am fac e sealladh air a' Ghille Mhor ? " Am faca mi sealladh air? Is mi a chunnaic an sealladh air ! Cha bhitheadh e 'feitheamh ris an each, ach thilg e air muin nam pocannan e, agus tha e fein a' slaodadh a' chuirn 'n a dheigh le luathas mor." " Oh mata faodaidh sinne falbh, oir marbhaidh e sinn uile, agus sgriosaidh e 'n t-aite co dhiu." Tharruinn iad an sin, agus dh' fhag iad an t-ait' aige f^in. An uine ghoirid thainig an Gille Mor dhachaidh. Thug e 'n t-each a nuas bharr mullach a' chuirn, 'us chuir e stigh na pocanna. Sheall e mu 'n cuairt, ach cha robh duine ri Mac Ceatharnach na Coille. 2 1 5 fhaicinn timchioll a' bhaile. Dh' fheuch e gach cuil 'us toll anns an saoileadh e gu 'm b' urrainn duine 'bhi 'm falach, ach cha d' fhuair e aon. Mu dheireadh thuig e gu 'n do theich a' h-uile duine a bh' air a' bhaile, agus gu 'n d' fhag iad e dha fhein. Smaointich e 'n sin gu 'n rachadh e airson a mhathar, 'us gu 'n d' thugadh e i do 'n aite bhriadha a bh' aige. Dh' fhalbh e, agus fhuair e i far an d' fhag e i 'am bun na coille. Dh' innis e dhi am fortan mbr a bh' air, agus gu 'n d' thainig e air a son a dhol a dh' fhuireachd leis. Thubhairt i ris gu 'n robh ise scan, agus gu 'n robh an t-astar tuillidh 's fada dhi r' a choiseachd. " Mata, a mhathair, cha-n ann mar sin a bhitheas. Thug thusa uine mhor 'g am ghiulan-sa, agus giulainidh mise thusa 'm fad so a nis." Thog e a mhathair leis air a mhuin, 'us cha do leig e as i gus an d' rainig e 'n t-ait' a fhuair e dha fhein. Bha iad an sin gu soghail, sois- neach, agus ma tha iad beo tha iad ann fathast. IX. THE FARMER OF LIDDESDALE. THERE was in Liddesdale (in Morven) a Farmer who suffered great loss within the space of one year. In the first place, his wife and children died, and shortly after their death the Ploughman left him. The hiring-markets were then over, and there was no way of getting another ploughman in place of the one that left. When Spring came his neighbours began ploughing ; but he had not a man to hold the plough, and he knew not what he should do. The time was passing, and he was therefore losing patience. At last he said to himself, in a fit of passion, that he would engage the first man that came his way, whoever he should be. Shortly after that a man came to the house. The Farmer met him at the door, and asked him whither was he going, or what was he seeking? He answered that he was a Ploughman, and that he wanted an engage- ment. " I want a ploughman, and if we agree about the wages, I will engage thee. What dost thou ask from this day to the day when the crop will be gathered in ?" " Only as much of the corn when it shall be dry as I can carry with me in one burden-withe." "Thou shalt get that," said the Farmer, and they agreed. Next morning the Farmer went out with the Plough- man, and showed him the fields which he had to plough. Before they returned, the Ploughman went to the wood, and having cut three stakes, came back with them, and placed one of them at the head of each one of the The Farmer of Liddesdale. 217 fields. After he had done that he said to the Farmer, " I will do the work now alone, and the ploughing need no longer give thee anxiety." Having said this, he went home and remained idle all that day. The next day came, but he remained idle as on the day before. After he had spent a good while in that manner, the Farmer said to him that it was time for him to begin work now, because the spring was passing away, and the neighbours had half their work finished. He replied, " Oh, our land is not ready yet." " How dost thou think that ?" " Oh, I know it by the stakes." If the delay of the Ploughman made the Farmer wonder, this answer made him wonder more. He re- solved that he would keep his eye on him, and see what he was doing. The Farmer rose early next morning, and saw the Ploughman going to the first field. When he reached the field, he pulled the stake at its end out of the ground, and put it to his nose. He shook his head and put the stake back in the ground. He then left the first field and went to the rest He tried the stakes, shook his head, and returned home. In the dusk he went out the second time to the fields, tried the stakes, shook his head, and after putting them again in the ground, went home. Next morning he went out to the fields the third time. When he reached the first stake he pulled it out of the ground and put it to his nose as he did on the foregoing days. But no sooner had he done that than he threw the stake from him, and stretched away for the houses with all his might. He got the horses, the withes, and the plough, and when he reached the end of the first field with them, he thrust the plough into the ground, and cried : " My horses and my leather-traces, and mettlesome lads, The earth is coming up !" 2 1 8 The Farmer of Liddesdale. He then began ploughing, kept at it all day at a terrible rate, and before the sun went down that night there was not a palm-breadth of the three fields which he had not ploughed, sowed, and harrowed. When the Farmer saw this he was exceedingly well pleased, for he had his work finished as soon as his neighbours. The Ploughman was quick and ready to do everything that he was told, and so he and the Farmer agreed well until the harvest came. But on a certain day when the reaping was over, the Farmer said to him that he thought the corn was dry enough for putting in. The Ploughman tried a sheaf or two, and answered that it was not dry yet. But shortly after that day he said that it was now ready. "If it is," said the Farmer, "we better begin putting it in." " We will not until I get my share out of it first," said the Ploughman. He then went off to the wood, and in a short time returned, having in his hand a withe scraped and twisted. He stretched the withe on the field, and began to put the corn in it. He continued putting sheaf after sheaf in the withe until he had taken almost all the sheaves that were on the field. The Farmer asked of him what he meant ? " Thou didst promise me as wages as much corn as I could carry with me in one burden-withe, and here I have it now," said the Ploughman, as he was shutting the withe. The Farmer saw that he would be ruined by the Ploughman, and therefore said : " Twas in the Mart I sowed, 'Twas in the Mart I baked, 'Twas in the Mart I harrowed. Thou who hast ordained the three Marts, Let not my share go in one burden-withe." Instantly the withe broke, and it made a loud report, Tuathanach Liodasdail. 219 which echo (inac-talla) answered from every rock far and near. Then the corn spread over the field, and the Ploughman went away in a white mist in the skies, and was seen no more. TUATHANACH LIODASDAIL. BHA Tuathanach 'an Liodasdail a dh' fhuluing call mbr 'an taobh a 's tigh de 'n aon bhliadhna. Anns a' cheud aite chaochail a bhean 'us a chlann, agus goirid an deigh am bais- san dh' fhag an Sgalag e. Bha na faidhrichean an sin air dol seachad, agus cha robh doigh air Sgalag eil' fhaotainn an ait' an fhir a dh' fhalbh. An uair a thainig an t-earrach chaidh na coimhearsnaich 'an greim anns an treabhadh, ach cha robh duin' aige san a ghleidheadh crann, agus cha robh fios aige gu de 'dheanadh e. Bha 'n uine 'dol seachad, agus le sin bha e 'call' fhoighidinn. Mu dheireadh thubhairt e ris fein ann an corruich gu 'n gabhadh e a' cheud duin' a thigeadh an rathad co air bith e. Goirid an deigh sin thainig duin' a dh' ionnsaidh an tighe. Choinnich an Tuathanach e aig an dorus, agus dh' fheoraich e dh' e cean' a bha e dol, no gu de 'bha e 'g iarraidh ? Fhreag- air e gu' m bu Sgalag e, agus gu 'n robh e 'g iarraidh muinnt- iris. "Tha Sgalag a dhith ormsa, agus ma chordas sinn mu 'n tuarasdal cuiridh mi muinntireas ort. Gu de 'bhitheas tu 'g iarraidh o 'n am so gus an la 's am bi 'm barr cruinn?" " Cha bhi ach na bheir mi leam 'an aon ghad-cuail de 'n choirce 'n uair a bhitheas e tioram." " Gheibh thu sin," thubhairt an Tuathanach, agus chord iad. Air an ath mhadainn chaidh an Tuathanach a mach leis an Sgalag, agus leig e fhaicinn da na dailtean a bh' aige ri 'threabhadh. Mu 'n do thill iad chaidh an Sgalag do 'n choille, agus air dha tri stuib a ghearradh thainig e air ais leo, agus chuir e aon diu an ceann gach aon de na dailtean. An deigh dha sin a dheanamh thubhairt e ris an Tuathanach, " Ni mi 220 Tuathanach LwdasdaiL fe*in an gnothuch a nis, agus cha ruig an treabhadh leas curam a chur ortsa tuillidh." Air dha so a radh chaidh e dhachaidh, agus dh' fhan e 'n a thamh fad an la sin. Thainig an ath la ach dh' fhuirich e diomhanach mar air an la roimhe. An deigh dha uine mhath a chaitheadh mar sin thubhairt an Tuathanach ris gu 'n robh an t-am aige tbiseachadh air an obair a nis a chionn gu 'n robh an t-earrach a 5 dol seachad, agus gu 'n robh leth na h-obair deant' aig na coimhearsnaich. Fhreagair e, " Oh, cha-n 'eil an talamh againne deas fathast." "Cia mar tha thu smaoint- eachadh sin ?" " Oh, tha mi 'g a aithneachadh air na stuib." Ma chuir da.il an Sgalag ioghnadh air an Tuathanach chuir an fhreagairt so tuillidh air. Chuir e roimhe gu 'n cumadh e suil air, agus gu 'm faiceadh e gu de 'bha e deanamh. Dh' eirich an Tuathanach moch air an ath mhadainn, agus chunnaic e 'n Sgalag a' falbh a dh' ionnsaidh na ce*ud dalach. Dar rainig e 'n dail, shlaod e 'n stob aig a ceann as an talamh, agus chuir e r' a shrbin e. Chrath e a cheann, agus chuir e 'n stob air ais anns an talamh. Dh' fhag e 'n sin a cheud dail, agus chaidh e 'dh' ionnsaidh chaich. Dh' fheuch e na stuib, chrath e 'cheann, agus phill e dhachaidh. Am beul na h-oidhche chaidh e mach an dara h-uair a dh' ionnsaidh nan dailtean, dh' fheuch e na stuib, chrath e 'cheann, agus an deigh dha an cur a ris anns an talamh chaidh e dhachaidh. Air an ath mhadainn chaidh e mach an treas uair chum nan dailtean. Dar rainig e 'cheud stob shlaod e as an talamh e agus chuir e r' a shrbin e mar rinn e air na laithean roimhe. Ach cha bu luaith' a rinn e sin na thilg e air falbh an stob, agus a shin e as le uile neart chum nan tighean. Fhuair e na h-eich, na goid, agus an crann, agus dar rainig e ceann na ceud dalach leb shath e 'n crann anns an talamh, agus ghlaodh e : " M' eich 'us m' dill, 'us mear-ghillean, Tha 'n talamh a' tighinn an aird." Thbisich e 'n sin ri treabhadh, chum e air fad an la le sgriob uamhasaich, agus mu 'n deachaidh a' ghrian fodha 'n oidhche sin cha robh leud boise de na tri dailtean nach robh treabhta, cuirte, cliatht' aige. An uair a chunnaic an Tuathanach so bha Tuathanach Llodasdail. 221 e anabarrach toilichte, oir bha 'n obair aige deas cho luath r' a choimhearsnaich. Bha 'n Sgalag ullamh, ealamh a dheanamh gach ni 'bha air iarraidh air, agus le sin chord e fein agus an Tuathanach gu math gus an d' thainig am fogharadh. Ach an uair a bha 'bhuain seachad, air la araidh thuirt an Tuathanach ris gu 'n robh e smaointeachadh gu 'n robh 'n t-arbhar tioram gu lebir airson a chur a 's tigh. Dh' fheuch an Sgalag sguab no dha, agus fhreagair e nach robh fathast. Ach goirid an deigh an la sin thuirt e gu 'n robh e deas a nis. " Ma tha," ars' an Tuathanach, " is fearr dhuinn tbiseachadh air a chur a 's tigh." " Cha thbisich ach gus am faigh mise mo chuid fein as an toiseach/' ars' an Sgalag. Dh' fhalbh e 'n sin do 'n choille, agus an uine ghoirid thill e le gad sgribte, sniamht' aige 'na laimh. Shin e 'n gad air an achadh, agus thbisich e air an arbhar a chur ann. Chum e air aghaidh a' cur sguaib an deigh sguaib anns a' ghad gus nach mbr nach robh na bh' air an achadh aige leis. Dh' fhebraich an Tuathanach dh' e gu de 'bha e 'ciallachadh ? " Gheall thu dhomh mar mo thuarasdal na bheirinn learn de 'n arbhar ann an aon ghad-cuail, agus so e agam a nis," ars' an Sgalag, agus e 'dunadh a' ghoid. Chunnaic an Tuathanach gu 'n bitheadh e air a sgrios leis an Sgalag, agus uime sin thubhairt e : " Is ann 'am Mart a chuir mi, Is ann 'am Mart a dh' fhuin mi, Is ann 'am Mart a chliath mi. Fhir a dh' orduich na tri Mairt, Na leig mo chuid-sa 'n aon ghad-cuaill." Air ball bhrist an gad, agus rinn e braigheadh mbr a fhreagair mac-talla bho gach creag am fad agus am fagus. An sin sgaoil an t-arbhar air an achadh. agus dh' fhalbh an Sgalag 'n a cheb ban anns na speuran, agus cha-n fhacas tuillidh e. X. A TALE ABOUT THE SON OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GREEN VESTURE, PERFORMING HEROIC DEEDS WHICH WERE FAMED ON EARTH SEVEN YEARS BEFORE HE WAS BORN. BEFORE now there lived a Landlord who had a fine place, and an abundance of cattle and poultry. In his time, landlords like him valued poultry so highly that they were in the habit of keeping about them a shrewd woman whom people called the Hen-wife. This Landlord also had a Hen-wife who was very shrewd, and who had a pretty young boy whom she called her son, and who called her his mother. The boy was growing up a fine lad, and gave promise of becoming a brave man. But far and near he got no other name than the Son of the Hen-wife ; yet that gave him not the least annoyance. The Hen-wife was well off under the Landlord, having a house, three cows, and everything else she needed. When the boy grew up a young lad he was accustomed to go away with the cows, and herd them all day. On a certain day he drove them further away than he was wont to do, to a place where the pasture was exceedingly good. As soon as the cattle took to the grass, he reached a pretty knoll where he would be in sight of them, and sat down. He passed a great part of the day there, taking delight in everything he saw. At last he beheld, ascending from the hollow under him to The Knight of the Green Vesture. 223 the place where he was sitting, a young maiden with the red of the rose on her cheek, and her golden hair hanging down in pretty ringlets over her two shoulders. She reached the place where he was sitting, and having given him the salutation of the day, said that he was lonely herding the three cows. He answered her readily, and said that he was not lonely now since she had come with him. Then she asked of him, would he sell her one of the cows? He told her that he must not, because his mother would scold him. " Oh no, if thou get her value for the cow." " And what wilt thou give me for her ? " "I will give thee a stone of virtues (charm-stone)." " What are the virtues that the stone possesses ?" " There is not a virtue that thou needest for thy system or for thy body which thou shalt not find as long as thou keep it, and there is not a place where thou biddest thyself and as many as thou likest be in which thou shalt not be in an instant." " Let me have a look of the stone." The maiden handed him the stone, and it was beautiful to look at. He took hold of it, and thought that he would test it before he gave the cow for it. He was thirsty at the time, and thought that he would like a drink from the spring of the Red-stone behind his mother's house. No sooner had the thought come into his mind than he was sitting beside the well. He took a drink, and returned in the same way in which he came. He then gave the cow for the stone, and was perfectly well satisfied with the exchange which he had made. Then the maiden of the rose-red cheeks went away with the cow that she bought, and he returned home with the other two cows in the dusk. When his mother saw that he had only two, she asked of him where the third was ? He told her that he sold her. She said to him, what did he get for her ? He answered that he got a stone for her. When his mother saw the stone, and 224 A Tale about the Son of the she could not understand its use, she flew into a rage, and scolded him dreadfully. He listened calmly to every word she said, and spake not a syllable against her. When her wrath had abated, she told him to put in the two cows in order that they should be milked. He did so, and that night the two had as much milk as the three had before then. In the morning, after he had got his breakfast and the cows had been milked, his mother told him to drive them to the place in which they were on the day before. He went away with them, and left them in the very same spot. As soon as they arrived the cattle took to the pasture, and he sat down on the same knoll on which he was on the past day. About the time when he first saw the Maiden he saw her this day again ascending the hollow beneath him. She reached the place where he was sitting, and asked of him, would he sell another of his cows? He said that he would not, because on the past night he got a frightful scolding from his mother on account of the one he had already sold. " Oh, if thou get her value for her, she will not scold thee." " What, then, wilt thou give me for her ?" I will give thee a healing jewel for her." " What sores will the jewel heal ?" " Any sores on thy flesh or on thy skin, any disease of the body or of the mind it will heal when thou dost rub it against thee." There was a wound on the lad's toe, and he asked the Maiden to show him the jewel. He got it, and as soon as he rubbed it against his toe it was healed. Then he gave her the cow, and was perfectly pleased with the exchange he had made. When the evening came, he went home with the re- maining cow. His mother met him coming, and asked of him what he got for the cow he had sold ? He said that he got a jewel for her. When she heard this, if she Knight of the Green Vesture. 225 flew into a rage the day before, she flew into a sevenfold worse rage this day. She calmed down at last, and told him to put in the remaining cow in order that she might be milked. He did that, and she had as much milk as the three had formerly. In the morning, after the cow had been milked, his mother told the Lad to drive her to the place in which she was on the preceding day. He went away with her, and when he reached the place he sat down, as he was wont to do, on the knoll. The Maiden came where he was, and asked of him whether he would sell the only cow he had ? " Oh, I dare not, for I got a terrible scolding on account of the last one I sold." " Oh, thou shalt not get a scolding if thou get her value fcr the cow." " And what then wilt thou give me for her ?" " I will give thee a little bird-net." " What sort of birds will the net catch, or how is it to be set ?" " Thou hast nothing to do but to spread it on the tops of the bushes, and leave it there all night ; and in the morning it shall be full of all kinds of birds thou hast ever seen or heard, and there shall be in it twelve birds the like of which thou hast never seen or heard." He gave the cow for the net. She went away with the cow, and he returned home with the net. When his mother saw that he came home without any cow at all with him, she could not utter a word, but she cast a woful look at him. He was very sorry that he displeased her so much, but he was sure that she would be satisfied when she saw the number of birds he would have in the net on the morrow. As soon as he got up next day he went to see the net, which he had set on the night before, and such a sight of birds he never saw till that moment. He went home with them, and when his mother saw what a number he had, she asked of him where he found them ? He said that he caught them in the net. " And wilt thou Q 226 A Tale about the Son of the get more with it?" " I will get this number every time that I set it." She was now better pleased, and they had never been so well off with the milk of the cows as they were with the flesh of the birds. The Lad grew up a comely man in appearance, and wise in his conduct. The Landlord took a liking to him, and made him a footman in his house. He did well in his situation, and every person about the house respected him. Now the Landlord had a daughter whom people called Berry-eye. She was exceedingly beautiful, and the Lad fell deeply in love with her. She also fell in love with him, but she would never acknowledge that she did, because he was only the Hen-wife's son. She would go out of his way, and hide herself in every bush lest he should see her. But he had the charm-stone, and with the help of the stone he would be found standing at her side wherever she happened to be. But she would then call on her father, and he had to go away lest he should be seen. This often happened, but on a certain day he bad that he should be with her in the house, and in an instant he was there. As soon as she saw him, she tried to call on her father, but before she had time to utter a word he sprang and embraced her in his arms, and said, "Would that thou and I were in the Green Isle at the Extremity of the Uttermost World, where thy father would not hear thy voice, and my mother would not say that I was her son !" Without knowing how, they were, in the twinkling of an eye, standing in each other's embraces in the Green Isle. They were there a good time living on the fruit of the trees. But on a certain day, while they were sitting together on a hillside and looking at the ocean before them, he laid down his head on her lap and slept. While he was sleeping she began to consider how they Knight of the Green Vesture. 227 could have come to that place, and in the end she sup- posed that he must have had magic or something possessing wonderful properties by which he had drawn them where they were. As soon as this occurred to her she searched his clothes to see if she could find anything in them to correspond with her suspicion ; and having opened his breast, there she found the stone and the jewel carefully hidden. She looked at them (and they were beautiful to behold) ; and she said to herself that it must have been with those things he drew them yonder. She then took her scissors and cut away the front of her clothes with them, and left it under his head. As soon as she got up, she said " Would that I were once more at my father's house," and before the words went out of her mouth she was in her father's house. When he awoke he looked round to see if he could behold her, but he beheld her not. He then looked on the ground and saw the front of her dress where she had left it under his head. He quickly put his hand on his breast and found it open, and the stones taken away. He now knew how the matter stood, and became sorrowful and downcast, and he would rather that he had never come to the place, for he had neither means nor plan of getting out of it. On a certain day he was wandering beside the shore, when he noticed a clump of trees near a wood which was before him. He reached the clump, and saw in it trees bearing fruit such as he had not seen since he came to the Island. On some of the trees were as beautiful apples as he ever saw, and on others were the ugliest. He was downcast and sick with grief and weariness, and he thought that he would eat one of the beautiful apples to see if he would be the better of it. But as soon as he ate it, his feet began to shake, and his flesh to melt off his bones. He thought that as death was Q 2 228 A Tale about the Son of the inevitably before him, and as he was in great pain, he would eat one of the ugly apples to see if it would hasten the approach of death. But as soon as he ate the ugly apple his flesh ceased to melt away, and his bones to shake, and before he had eaten another of them he was as whole and sound as he ever was. He now saw that if he lost a jewel he found a leech. He at once began to make creels, and when they were ready he filled them with the applet Then he put them in a safe place, in the hope that they might yet be of use to him. On a certain day he saw far out on the ocean a ship making straight for the Island. He put up signals to see if he could draw the attention of the crew towards him, and when she came within hearing distance he began to shout to them. They noticed him, and sent a boat ashore where he was. The boat's crew asked of him what sent him there, or how did he come thither? He answered that the vessel in which he sailed was lost, and that he alone got ashore on the Island. They then asked of him what was he doing on the vessel. He said that he was a physician. " Oh, how pleased we arc !" said they. " Our Captain is sick, and given up by the physician. Perhaps thou canst do something for him." He replied, " We shall see what can be done when we reach him." He put the creels in the boat, and when he reached the ship he left them in a safe place on board of her. He then took one or two of the apples with him in his pocket, and went into the place where the Captain was. He looked at him, and said if he would take what he gave him he would be healed. The Captain answered that he would take anything that would do him good. Then the Physician gave him a bit of one of the beautiful apples, and as soon as he ate it his flesh and skin began to melt away off him. When the crew Knight of the Green Vesture. 229 saw this, they were going to tie the Physician to the mast and scourge him to death with the end of a rope. But he begged them to give him another hour, and said that if he did not heal the Captain in that time they might then bind him and scourge him to death if they pleased. They told him that he should get the time he asked, and even till night. They went away then, and left him alone. He shut the door on them, and began to cure the Captain with the ugly apples, and ere the end of the hour was come he had him as strong and healthy as he was before he grew ill. When the crew saw this, they were very obedient to the Physician, and knew not what they could do to please him. The Captain asked of him what did he wish them to do for him ? He answered that he wanted nothing but that they should land him in the haven which he had first left. They at once put the ship about and made straight for the haven he named. And when they reached it, he took the baskets with him and went ashore. He left farewell with the Captain and his men, and made straight for the place whence he departed. He set up as a physician, and began to heal sick people. None of his old acquaintances knew him, but his name went far and near as a good physician who was healing people of every sickness and all sores which afflicted them. On a certain day word came to him from the Land- lord that he was to come in haste to visit his daughter, who was at that time very ill. He went away without delay, and reached the Landlord's house. He entered the room where the daughter was, and having examined her, said that she was suffering under a strange malady. "Thou hast committed theft," said he to her, "and until thou confess it thou canst not be healed." She answered that she was not aware of having ever committed theft. 230 A Tale about the Son of the He said that she must have taken from somebody something that was very valuable to him. Then she remembered the stones which she took from the Hen- wife's son in the Green Isle, and she told the Physician everything that happened between them. He asked of her where were the stones which she took from his breast? She said that they were on the window- ledge. Instantly he got the stones and put them in his pocket, saying, " Since thou hast told the truth thou canst be healed." Then he gave her some of the ugly apples, and before next night came she was well and healthy. The Physician pleased the Landlord so well that nothing in existence would satisfy him but that the former would marry Berry-eye, his daughter. The Physician agreed to take her, and the marriage-day was appointed. The Lad did not reveal himself to his mother yet, but on that night he went to her house, and told her that he was going to marry Berry-eye, with the full consent of her father. " But, mother," said he, " do not let on that I am your son until the marriage is over." She promised him that, and rejoiced greatly at his arrival. The wedding-day came at length, and among those preparing the feast none was busier than the Hen-wife. During the day Berry-eye came in, accompanied by her father and the Physician, and when she noticed that the old woman was first in everything, she went over where she was, and said to her pretty sharply, "Woman, I know not what business you have here. You had better go out for the present." The Hen-wife turned on her and said fiercely, " What dost thou say ? I know not where I should have business unless I have it here preparing for my son's wedding." Berry- eye gave a painful shriek, she sprang to her father and laid hold of his hand. When she recovered her breath, Knight of the Green Vesture. 231 she said to the Hen-wife, " Is he your son, woman ?" " Yes," said the Hen-wife. " Well, if he is, I will not marry him." Sadness now fell on all present, and espe- cially on the Lad. But ere another got an opportunity of speaking, the Hen-wife said, " He is not my son, but the Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture, performing heroic deeds which were famed on earth seven years before he was born, and who fell fighting in the play of swords against the Fierce Earl of the Wood-of-Masts (Coi//e-nan-Cranri) by a stroke in the back from the Eldest Son of the Fierce Earl, and I was Nurse with him at that time, and when he was slain, I fled with this Lad and I nursed him and brought him up, and now he is able to avenge his father's death, and to select his chosen sweetheart for wife." When the Lad heard what the Hen-wife said, he took courage and said to her, " Woman, if I am that, I will not marry her." " But may my thousand malisons rest on the women for their loquacity !" said the Landlord. The Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture had now his jewel and stone of virtues in his bosom, and he gave his word and oath that he would neither return nor stop for the sake of man or thing until he saw a fairer maiden than Berry-eye, and out of that standing he departed. He kept going forward, ascending bens and hills and hillocks, and going through holes and glens and hollows, until he reached an exceedingly fine place. He did not go to the Castle which was there, because he knew not what or who might be before him. But the night was coming, and therefore he went for shelter among the bushes which were behind the Castle. As soon as he reached them^he saw the fairest maiden he ever beheld coming towards him. Her eyes were like the heath-berry, and her bosom whiter than the snow of one night. She passed without noticing him, but he 232 A Tale about the Son of the got a sight of her which drove Berry-eye completely out of his memory. After she had gone out of sight he left the bushes and went away to see if he could meet any one who would tell him who she was. He did not go far when he beheld a very beautiful young damsel having a gold comb in the back of her head, driving cows into a byre. He ap- proached her, and inquired of her who the maiden was whom he saw walking through the bushes behind the castle ? She answered that she was Smooth-brow (?), daughter of the King of Torr Uaine (the Green Mound), and that she was under great anxiety for the last six weeks. " What is the cause of her anxiety ?" " Come into the byre, and I will tell thee that." He went in, and she gave him a drink of milk. Then she said that the cause of Smooth-brow's anxiety was a dream which she had seen almost a year before. " She thought that she was walking through the bushes behind the castle, when she beheld a brave hero coming towards her, his countenance as the sun, and his appear- ance like that of a lion. His curly hair was (black) as the raven, and whiter than milk was his bosom. Many are seeking the Maiden in marriage, and her father wishes her to marry a certain one of them. But she vowed that she would never marry until she beheld the countenance of the Hero she saw in her sleep. This did not please her father ; wherefore he gave her a day and year to select her choice of a sweetheart, and said to her that if she let that time pass without making any choice for herself, she must thereafter take his choice. The time has now run out except four days from to- morrow, and this is causing her so great anxiety that she takes a walk every evening through the bushes to see if she can meet the brave Hero whom she saw in her dream. To-day, in the morning, she almost yielded to her father, but before she actually yielded she thought Knight of the Green Vesture. 233 that she would go for advice to the Sorceress (lorasglack- itHair). She told the Sorceress her dream, and every- thing else from beginning to end. The Sorceress said to her, ' Do not lose courage, but run thy race to its end, for the Brave Hero's time has not yet come.' " Then the Stranger said to the Damsel, " Where can I get an opportunity of speaking to her ?" " To-morrow night watch well the place in which thou sawest her to- night." He stayed that night in a place which the Damsel provided for him, and next day kept out of everybody's way until evening, the time when he first saw the Maiden. He then went to the back of the Castle, and was there but a short time when he saw her coming. As soon as he got a sight of her he went towards her, and stretched out his arms to embrace her. She looked in his face, and, as if she had always known him, said, "Hast thou come at last?" She put her arms about his neck, and nestled her head in his bosom. Then she made known to him all her misery, and told him to go with her, and that she would find him a place in which he might stay that night. He went with her, and she put him in a secret chamber, where he was to stay until her time had run out. Next morning she was more cheerful than she was wont to be. The Sorceress noticed this, and asked her whether she was among the bushes last night? She replied that she was, and that she found the Brave Hero of her dream. " Run thy race to its end, that he may take thee with victory," said the Sorceress. Then the Maiden went to the room where the Young Hero was, and while they were conversing, he heard a loud noise through the house which made him wonder greatly. He asked her what the noise meant, and said that he must go and see what its cause was. She answered that word of the approach of a band of pursuers 234 A Tale about the Son of the had come to her father, and that a Red-haired, Squint- eyed Cook, who took in hand to turn them back, was making ready to go. "What does the band of pursuers seek ?" " They are from the Big Son of the Fierce Earl of the Wood of Masts (Coille-nan-crann\ and if my father has no man to repel them, I and half the kingdom are his." When the Young Hero heard the name of the Eldest Son of the Fierce Earl mentioned, he trembled on his feet, his eyes kindled in his head, he clenched his fists, and said that he must go and see how the arms became the Cook. " Thou shalt stay here, and show not thyself to thy father until I return." And having said that, he turned out, and took a back road after the Cook. The Cook had not gone far from the Castle when the Young Hero overtook him. He asked of him where was he going ? The Cook answered with great vigour that he was going to drive back a band of pursuers who were coming to the King of the Green Mound (Tbrr Uaine] from the Eldest Son of the Fierce Earl of the Wood of Masts (Coille-nan-crann), and that when he would drive the pursuers back, Smooth-brow and half the kingdom would be his. " Right enough," said the Young Hero ; " but wilt thou lend me thine arms to see how they suit me ?" " I will indeed ; it is I who will," replied the Cook. He put the arms off, and the Young Hero put them on, and it was he who had a right to them ! Then the Cook said, " How didst thou know that I was going away ?" " I heard the noise which the point of thy sword made against one of the pots when thou wast going out." "Oh, how pleased I am !" said the Cook. When they were nearing the place where the meeting was to be held, they saw the pursuers coming. Then the Young Hero said to the Cook, " Thou hadst better put these arms on before they come nearer." The Cook Knight of the Green Vesture. 235 gave a look, and when he saw the Eldest Son of the Fierce Earl and his men approaching, he said, " No, no. Leave them on thee, for they become thee better. Hide me in some place or other." There was a precipice near them, and a large cleft in the face of the rock, and the Young Hero thrust the Cook into the cleft, and said, " Stay thou there until I return." Then the Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture advanced to meet the Eldest Son of the Fierce Earl. They attacked each other, but with the third stroke of his sword the Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture swept the head off the Eldest Son of the Fierce Earl. He then assailed the men, and having killed them all, he lifted the head of the Earl's Son on the point of his sword, and returned carrying it over his shoulder. He reached the Cook, and told him to come out of the cleft. The Cook came as he was bidden. He looked first at the Young Hero, and then at the head, and said, " Thou hast a head !" " Yes," replied the Hero. " His eyes are open ! Will he meddle with me?" "I do not think he will at present." Then they went away together, and when they came near the Castle, the Brave Hero said to the Cook, " Thou hadst better put on these arms now, and take the head in to the King." The Cook put on the arms, and the Hero handed him the head in parting. " We are not going to part in that manner," said the Cook. " Thou shalt go with me to the cooking- place, that thou mayst get something I will give thee. W T hen I am King, thou shalt be my Cook." The Brave Hero went with him, and when they entered the cooking-place the Cook gave him a large bunch of white tow, and said, " Thou shalt keep this to wipe the per- spiration off thy face. When I was a Cook, the man who gave me a bunch of tow I esteemed a friend." " I also esteem him a friend," said the Brave Hero, and they parted. The Cook took his way with the head to the 236 A Tale about the Son of the King, and the Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture went to Smooth-brow. He found her where he had left her, but he told her nothing further than that the Cook drove back the pursuit. When the King saw the Cook having the head with him he was very well pleased, and said that he would be as good as his promise to him. But the Cook was in a great hurry to have the marriage completed without delay. The King told him to have patience until they had dined, and said that he would then do everything as he had promised. The table was covered, and they all sat down to dinner. But before it was past, word came from the Second (Middle) Son of the Fierce Earl to drive back the pursuit, otherwise that Smooth- brow (Caoin-shlios) and half the kingdom were his. The King now sent for his men, and asked who would go and drive back the pursuit? The Cook cried out, " Who should drive it back if not I ? I drove it back already, and I will drive it back again." " Right enough," said the King. " Do that, and I will be as good as my promise to thee." Next morning the Cook was making ready to depart, and when he was under full armour he gave a great stroke to the pot and went away. The Brave Hero heard the sound, and said to Smooth-brow that he must go and see what was yonder. " Thou nced'st not," said she ; " it is only the Cook going to repel another band of pursuers to-day." " I will go and see how the arms become him, but do thou not show thy face to thy father until I return." He then turned out after the Cook. This day he suffered him to advance a good distance before he overtook him. The Cook's step was getting slower, and his look was oftener behind him the longer the Hero was in coming. At length he saw him afar off, and stood until he overtook him. " Didst thou hear the Knight of the Green Vesture. 237 stroke I gave the pot to-day ?" said the Cook. " Yes, it was that which took me away," replied the Hero. When they were approaching the trysting-place the Cook said, "Thou wouldst do well to put on these arms, for they become thce better." The Hero put on the arms, and when they saw the men coming, the Cook cried, " There they are ! there they are ! hide me." There was a soft marsh a short distance off, and when they reached it, the Hero thrust the Cook feet foremost in the ground beneath a dripping bank overgrown with heather (beul-fhotJiragh- adJi}, and told him to stay there until he should return. Then the Hero met the Second (Middle) Son of the Fierce Earl, and with the second stroke of his sword threw his head off from the shoulders. He next at- tacked the men, and before he stopped left not a man of them alive. He then seized the head of the Fierce Earl's Second Son by the hair, and carried it with him on his shoulder. He reached the Cook, and called on him to come out from the bank under which he was. The Cook came, and said, " Thou hast a head to-day again! Oh, it grins ! Will it meddle with me?" "It will not at present," said the Hero, and they returned the way they came. When they were coming near the Castle, the Brave Hero told the Cook to put on the arms and take the head in to the King. He put on the arms, and when the Hero was going to part with him, he said, " We are not going to part in that manner. Thou shalt go with me to the cooking-place, that thou mayst get something that I will give thee." When they entered, the Cook gave him a dumpy spoon, and said, " Keep that until thou art Cook with me. When I was a Cook, I reckoned the man who gave me a dumpy spoon as a friend/' " I also reckon him a friend," said the Hero, and they parted. The Cook took his way in where the King was, and the Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture went where Smooth-brow was. 238 A Tale about the Son of the The King rejoiced greatly when he saw that the Cook drove back the pursuit the second time. He said that he would be as good as his promise to him. But nothing would satisfy the Cook but that the marriage should be consummated without any further delay. The King said to him, " Thou art tired after the hard fight thou hast fought, and we are hungry. We shall take dinner first, and after that I will be as good as my promise to thee." But before the dinner was over, word came from the Young Son of the Fierce Earl to go and drive back the pursuers, otherwise that Smooth-brow and half the kingdom would be his. The King was now seized with great alarm, and he sent once more for his men. He told them that notice of a pursuit came from the Young Son of the Fierce Earl, and said that he would be as good as his promise to the man who should turn it back. The Cook sprang up, and having stood before the King's face, said, " Who should turn it back if I would not? I turned it back twice already, and I will turn it back again." " Very right," said the King ; " I will do as I promised." When the Cook got his armour and his arms on, if he gave a stroke to the pots on the two preceding days, he gave them a seven times louder stroke this day. He then turned away, but the Hero was in no haste to follow him. He went off at last, but if he did go he was hiding himself until they were nearing the place of meeting. He then saw the Cook sitting down. He went forward with a lively step where he was. " Hast thou come at last ?" said the Cook ? " Yes," said the Hero. " It is I who was afraid that thou wouldst not come at all. Put on these arms, for verily they become thee better." " I daresay they will to-day," replied the Brave Hero. The arms were scarcely on him when they beheld the pursuers coming, and a very fierce looking Hero at their head. The Cook said, " Oh, hide me ! Put me Knight of the Green Vestiire. 239 out of their sight ! " Near them was a stagnant pond, and he thrust, the Cook down to the neck in the pond, and said, "If thou art anyway hard pressed take thy head under water, but if not, stay as thou art." The Heroes encountered each other, and with one stroke of his sword the Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture threw the sword out of the hand of the Fierce Earl's Young Son. He then took hold of him, and tied his three smalls in one withy band. He left him bound, and faced the men. He made a fierce attack on them, over and under them, and left not a man of them alive to tell the tale of woe. He then lifted the Earl's Son on his shoulder, and reached the Cook with him. The Cook came ashore, wet and dirty, and covered with the white moss of the marsh. He then went home after the Hero. As soon as they came in sight of the Castle, the Hero said to him, " Thou hadst better put on the arms now, and take this man in to the King." When he put the arms on he looked at the man, and when he saw him moving, he cried, " Oh, he is alive ! he will meddle with me!" "He is alive," said the Hero, " but he can do thee no harm at present. Take him, as he is, to the King." The Cook said, " The pursuit is all over now. Thou mayst be getting ready. When I get the King's daughter I will have thee as my Head- Cook." Then they parted. The Cook went in with the man to the King, and when the King saw the appearance of the man he praised the Cook for his heroism, and said to him, " I will fulfil my promise to thee. But loose the man, that he may be with us at dinner." The Cook went where the man was, and tried to un- bind him. But for every knot he would untie, seven knots would go on the withe. At length he said that he could not unbind the man. " Dear me !" (Oov, oov /) said the King, " who could not unbind the man he has 240 The Knight of the Green Vesture, bound ?" " It was not he who bound me," said the man. " He could not bind me, and he cannot unbind me. But he who bound me can unbind me." "Who is that?" said the King. " The Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture, performing heroic deeds which were famed on earth seven years before he was born, and who has fought against our men for the last three days, and who was sleeping in thy Castle at night it is he who bound me, and it is he who can unbind me." Word was sent for the Hero, and he came in. The King looked at him, and when he saw his heroic appear- ance he went on his knees before him. When he had stood up, he told him to unbind the man who was bound. The Hero caught the knot of the withe with one hand, and with it lifted the man from the earth. He then let go his hold, and instantly the withe-band sprang off the man. As soon as the man got on his feet he turned to the King, and said, " Were it not for the loquacity of the Hen-wife, and the advice of the Sorceress to Smooth- brow, there were not in the kingdom of Green Mound as many men as should turn back the pursuit of the Young Son of the Fierce Earl, or keep Smooth-brow from him. But he is worthier of her than I am." Then Smooth-brow came in, and said to her father, " To-day is the last day of the time thou gavest me to select my choice of a sweetheart. Here is my choice now, and fulfil to me thy promise." " With all my heart," said the King, " and all that I have thou shalt have with him." The Cook went back to his cooking, the marriage was consummated, and no one in the kingdom saw so comely a pair as Smooth-brow and the Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture. They made a feast and rejoicing, and if they have not ceased eating and drinking they are at it still. Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. 241 SGEUL AIR MAC FEAR AN EARRAIDH UAINE RI GAISGE, A BHA AINMEIL AIR THALAMH SEACHD BLIADHNA MU 'N D' RUGADH E. BHA arm roimhe so Uachdaran fearainn aig an robh aite briadha, agus pailteas spreidh agus eunlaith. 'Na am bha meas cho mbr aig uachdarain cosmhail ris air an eunlaith 'us gu 'n robh iad a' gleidheadh mu 'n timchioll boirionnach turail ris an abradh daoine Cailleach-chearc. Bha aig an Uachdaran so mar an ceudna Cailleach-chearc a bha ro thurail agus aig an robh balachan 6g bbidheach ris an abradh i a mac agus a theireadh rithe 'mhathair. Bha 'm balachan a' fas a suas 'n a ghille briadha 'us coltas air gu 'm bitheadh e 'n a dhuine foghainteach. Ach cha-n fhaigheadh e guth 'am fad agus 'am fagus ach Mac Cailleach- nan-cearc. Gidheadh cha robh sin a' cur smuairein 's am bith air. Bha 'Chailleach gu math dheth fo 'n Uachdaran le tigh agus tri mairt, agus gach ni eile a dh' fheumadh i. An uair a dh' fhas am balachan suas 'n a ghille bhitheadh e falbh leis na mairt agus 'g am buachaileachd fad an la. Air la araidh shaodaich e iad ni 'b fhaid' air falbh na b' abhaist da gu aite far an robh ionaltradh anabarrach math. Cho luath 's a thug an crodh a dh' ionnsaidh an fhebir rainig e tolman bbidheach far am bitheadh e 'n am fradharc, agus shuidh e sios air. Thug e roinn mhbr de 'n la 'n sin, a' gabhail toileachadh as a' h-uile ni a bha e 'faicinn. Mu dheireadh chunnaic e 'direadh na glaice 'bha fodha 'dh' ionnsaidh an aite 's an robh e 'n a shuidhe gruagach bg agus deirgead an rois 'n a gruaidh, 's a fait br-bhuidhe 'n a chamagan bbidheach a sios thar a d& ghualainn. Rainig i 'n t-aite far an robh e 'n a shuidhe, agus air dhi failt an la a chur air thubhairt i ris gu 'n robh e aonarach a' R 242 Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. buachaileachd nan tri mairt. Fhreagair e gu h-ealamh i, 'us thubhairt e nach robh e aonarach a nis 'us i fein air tighinn cbmhla ris. An sin dh' fhebraich i dhe an reiceadh e te" de 'n chrodh ? Thubhairt e rithe nach faodadh e, a chionn gu 'm bitheadh a mhathair a' trod ris. " U, cha bhi, ma gheibh thu a fiach air son a mhairt." " Agus gu de 'bheir thu dhomh oirre?" " Bheir clach bhuadhach." " Gu de na buadhan a th' air a' chloich ?" " Cha-n 'eil buadh a dh' fheumas tu airson do chuirp no airson do choluinn nach faigh thu cho fad 's a ghleidheas tu i, agus cha-n 'eil ait' anns an brduich thu thu fein agus na 's math leat a bhi, anns nach bi sibh air ball." " Leig faicinn domh de 'n chloich." Shin a' ghruagach dha a' chlach, agus bha i bbidheach ri amharc oirre. Rug e oirre, agus smaointich e gu 'n cuireadh e deuchainn oirre mu 'n tugadh e 'm mart air a son. Bha 'm pathadh air aig an am, agus smaointich e gu 'm bu mhath deoch a Fuaran-na-cloiche-deirge aig cul tigh' a mhathar. Cha bu luaith' a thainig an smaoint 'n a inntinn na bha e 'n a shuidhe taobh an tobair. Dh' 61 e deoch, agus thill e air ais air a' cheart dbigh air an d' thainig e. Thug e 'n sin am mart airson na cloiche, agus bha e Ian thoilichte leis a' mhalairt a rinn e. An sin dh' fhalbh Gruagach nan gruaidhean rbs-dhearg leis a' mhart a cheannaich i, agus thill esan dachaidh leis an da mhart eile 'm beul na h-oidhche. An uair a chunnaic a mhathair nach robh aige ach an dithis dh' fhebraich i dhe, C' ait' an robh an treas te" ? Dh' innis e dhi gu 'n do reic e i. Thubhairt i ris gu de" 'fhuair e air a son ? Thubhairt e gu 'n d' fhuair e clach oirre. Dar chunnaic a mhathair a' chlach, 'us nach b' urrainn i 'm feum a bh' innt' a thuigsinn chaidh i air boile, agus throd i ris gu fuathasach. Dh' e"isd e ris gach facal a thubhairt i guciuin, 'us cha d'thug e guth na h-aghaidh. An uair a thraoigh a feirg dh' iarr i air an da mhart a chur a 's tigh, 'us gu 'n rachadh am bleoghainn. Rinn e sin, agus bha uibhir bamne aig an dithis an oidhche sin 'us a bh' aig an triuir roimhe sin. Anns a' mhadainn an deigh dha 'bhraiceas fhaotainn agus an crodh a bhi air am bleoghainn, dh' iarr a mhathair air an saodachadh do 'n kite 's an robh iad an la roimhe. Dh' fhalbh Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. 243 e leb, agus dh' fhag e iad anns a cheart ionad. Cho luath 's a rainig iad thug an crodh a dh' ionnsaidh an ionaltraidh, agus shuidh esan air a' cheart tolman air an robh e 'n la a chaidh seachad. Mu 'n am a chunnaic e 'Ghruagach an toiseach chunnaic e i an la so Vis a' direadh na glaice 'bha fodha. Rainig i 'n t-aite far an robh e 'n a shuidhe, agus dh' fhebraich i dh' e an reiceadh e te eile de 'n chrodh ? Thubhairt e nach reiceadh, a chionn gu 'n d' fhuair e trod uamhasach o 'mhathair air an oidhche 'chaidh seachad airson na te a reic e cheana. " U, ma gheibh thu a fiach air a son cha bhi i trod riut." " Gu de, mata, 'bheir thu dhomh oirre ?" " Bheir mi dhuit leug slan- uchaidh oirre." "Gu de na creuchdan a ni i slan ?" "Creuchd air bith air d' fhebil no air do chraicionn, tinneas colainn no inntinn, leighisidh i 'n uair a shuathas tu riut i." Bha cre'uchd air brdaig cois' a' ghille, agus dh' iarr e air a' Ghruagach an le"ug a leigeil fhaicinn da. Fhuair e 'n leug, agus cho luath 's a shuaith e i r' a brdaig bha i leighiste. An sin thug e dhi am mart, agus bha e Ian thoilichte leis a' mhalairt a rinn e. An uair a thainig am feasgar chaidh e dhachaidh leis an aon mhart. Choinnich a mhathair e 'tighinn, agus dh' fheoraich i dh' e gu de 'fhuair e air a' mhart a reic e ? Thubhairt e gu 'n d' fhuair e Idug oirre. An uair a chual i so, ma ghabh i 'n cuthach air an la roimhe ghabh i seachd cuthaich an la so. Shiobhaltaich i mu dheireadh, agus dh' iarr i air an t-aon mhart a bh' ann a chur a 's tigh, 'us gu 'n rachadh a bleoghainn. Rinn e sin, agus bha uibhir aice de bhainne 's a bh' aig an tri roimhe. Anns a' mhaduinn, an deigh do 'n bhb 'bhi air a bleoghainn, dh' iarr a mhathair air a' ghille a saodachadh do 'n aite 's an robh i 'n de. Dh' fhalbh e leatha, agus an uair a rainig e 'n t-aite shuidh e sios mar b' abhaist da air an tolman, Thainig a' Ghruagach far an robh e, agus dh' fheoraich i dh' e an reiceadh e an t-aon mhart a bh' aige ? " Oh, cha-n fhaod mi, oir fhuair mi trod uamhasach airson na te* mu dheireadh a reic mi." " U ! cha-n fhaigh thu trod, ma gheibh thu 'fiach air a' mhart," " 'Us de, mata, a bheir thu dhomh oirre ?" " Bheir mi dhuit lionan eunaich oirre." " Gu de" na h-ebin R 2 244 Mac Fear an Earraidk Uaine. air am beir an lionan, no ciamar 'tha e ri 'chur ?" " Cha-n eil agad ach a sgaoileadh air bharraibh nam preas 'us fhagail an sin fad na h-oidhche, agus dar thig a' mhaduinn bithidh e Ian de gach seors' bun a chunnaic no 'chual thu riamh, agus bithidh da eun deug ann nach fac agus nach cual thu riamh an leithid." Thug e 'm mart airson an Tin. Dh' fhalbh ise leis a' mhart, agus thill esan dachaidh leis an lion. An uair a chunnaic a mhathair gu 'n d' thainig e dhachaidh gun mhart idir aige, cha b' urrainn i facal a radh, ach bha gruaim na dunaidh oirre ris. Bha esan ro dhuilich gu 'n do chuir e a leithid de mhi-thlachd oirre, ach bha misneach aige gu 'm bitheadh i toilichte 'n uair a chitheadh i na bhitheadh aige de coin anns an lion air an ath mhaduinn. Cho luath : s a dh' eirich e 'n ath-latha chaidh e a dh' fhaicinn an lin a chuir e air an oidhche roimhe, agus a leithid de shealladh air coin cha-n fhac e gu sin. Dh' fhalbh e dhachaidh leo, agus an uair a chunnaic a mhathair na bh' aige dhiii dh' fheoraich i dh' e, C' ait' an d' fhuair e iad ? Thubhairt e gu 'n do ghlac e iad anns an lion. " 'Us am faigh thu tuillidh leis ?" " Gheibh mi an uibhir so a' h-uii' uair a chuireas mi e." Bha i 'n so ni 'bu toilichte, 'us cha robh iad riamh cho mhath dheth air bainne nam mart 's a bha iad air sithinn nan eun. Dh' fhas an Gille suas 'n a dhuine dreachail 'n a choltas agus glic 'n a ghiulan. Ghabh an t-Uachdaran speis de, agus rinn e gille-buird dh' e 'n a thigh fe"in. Rinn e gu math 'n a aite, agus bha meas aig a' h-uile duine mu thimchioll an tighe air. 'Nis bha nighean aig an Uachdaran ris an abradh iad Dearc- shuil. Bha i anabarrach bbidheach, agus ghabh an Gille gaol mbr oirre. Ghabh ise mar an ceudna gaol airsan, ach cha-n aidicheadh i gu brath gu 'n do ghabh a chionn nach robh ann ach mac Cailleach-nan-cearc. Dh' fhalbhadh i as an rathad air, agus rachadh i 'm falach anns gach preas air eagal gu 'm faiceadh e i. Ach bha 'chlach-bhuadhach aige-san, agus le cuideachadh na cloiche bhitheadh e na sheasamh r' a taobh c' ait' air bith 's am bitheadh i. Ach ghlaodhadh ise 'n sin air a h-athair, agus dh' fhe'umadh esan falbh air eagal gu 'n rachadh 'fhaicinn. Thachair so gu minic, ach air la araidh dh' orduich e gu 'm bitheadh e leatha anns an tigh, agus air Mac Fear an Earraidk Uaine. 245 ball bha e ann. Cho luath 's a chunnaic i e thug i ionnsaidh air glaodhaich r' a h-athair, ach mu 'n d' fhuair i facal a radh leum e, agus rug e oirre eadar a dha laimh, agus thubhairt e rithe, " O, nach robh mi fein agus thu fein anns an Eilean Uaine an lomail an Domhain-Toir far nach cluinneadh d' athair do ghuth, agus nach abradh mo mhathair gu 'm bu mhise a mac !" Gun fhios cia mar, bha iad 'am priobadh na sula 'n an seasadh 'an glacaibh a cheile 's an Eilean Uaine. Bha iad uine mhath an sin a' tighinn beb air meas nan craobh. Ach air la araidh 'us iad 'n an suidhe cbmhla air taobh cnuic, agus ag amharc air a' chuan m' an coinneamh leig esan a cheann sios 'n a h-uchd agus chaidil e. Am feadh a bha e 'na chadal thbisich i air smaointeachadh cia mar a b' urrainn iad teachd do 'n ait' ud, agus bhreithnich i mu dheireadh gu 'm feumadh gu 'n robh aige druidheachd no ni- eiginn air an robh buaidhean iongantach leis an do thairainn e iad far an robh iad. Cho luath 's a thainig so fainear dhi, rannsaich i 'aodach, feuch am faigheadh i ni 's am bith annt' a fhreagradh d' a h-amharus ; agus air dhi a bhroilleach fhos- gladh fhuair i a chlach agus an leug air am falach ann gu curamach. Choimhead i orra, agus bha iad ro bhbidheach r' am faicinn, agus thubhairt i rithe fe'in gu 'm feumadh gu 'm b' ann leis na nithe sin a tharrainn e 'n sud iad. Ghabh i 'n sin a siosar, agus ghearr i beul a h-aodaich air falbh leis, agus dh' fhag i fo 'cheann e. Cho luath 's a fhuair i 'n a seasamh thubhairt i, " O, nach robh mis' aig tigh m' athar aon uair eile ;" agus mu 'n deachaidh na briathran as a beul bha i 'n tigh a h-athar. An uair a dhuisg esan choimhead e mu 'n cuairt feuch am faiceadh e i, ach cha-n fhac. Sheall e 'n sin air an lar, agus chunnaic e beul a h-aodaich far an d' fhag i fo 'cheann e. Ghrad chuir e a lamh air a bhroilleach, agus fhuair e fosgailt e agus na clachan air an toirt air falbh. Dh' aithnich e 'n so mar bha 'chuis, agus dh' fhas egu dubhach, trbm-inntinneach, agus b' fhearr leis nach d' thainig e riamh do 'n aite, oir cha robh dbigh no sebl aig air faotainn as. Air la araidh bha e siubhal ri taobh a' chladaich an uair a thug e 'n aire do dhoire 'm fagus do choille a bh' air thoiseach 246 Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. air. Rainig e 'n doire, agus chunnaic e ann craobhan air an robh measan nach fac e 'n leithid o ; n thainig e do 'n Eilean. Air cuid de na craobhan bha iibhlan cho briadha 's a chunnaic e riamh, agus air cuid eile dhiu na h-ubhlan 'bu ghraind' a chunnaic e riamh. Bha e fein gu trbm-inntinneach, tinn, le mulad 'us le sgios, agus smaointich e gu 'n itheadh e aon de na h-ubhlan briadha feuch am b' fheaird se e. Ach cho luath 's a dh' ith e 'n t-ubhal chaidh e air chrith air a chasaibh, agus thbisich fhebil air sruthadh bharr a chnamh. Smaointich e, a chionn gu 'n robh 'm bas roimhe cb dhiu agus gu 'n robh e 'n cradh mbr, gu 'n itheadh e aon de na h-ubhlaibh granda feuch an greasadh i 'm bas g' a ionnsaidh. Ach cho luath 's a dh' ith e 'n t-ubhal granda, stad fhebil a shruthadh, 'us a chnamhan a chrith, agus mu 'n robh aon eile dhiu itht' aige bha e cho slan fhallain 's a bha e riamh. Chunnaic e 'n so ma chaill e leug gu 'n d' fhuair e leigh. Thoisich e air ball air deanamh chliabh, agus an uair a bha iad reidh lion e iad leis na h-ubhlan. Chuir e 'n sin iad 'an aite tearainte 'an dbchas gu 'm bitheadh iad chum feum dha uair eiginn fathast. Air la araidh chunnaic e fada mach air a chuan long a' deanamh direach air an Eilean. Chuir e suas comharan feuch an tairneadh e aire 'n Sgioba g' a ionnsaidh, agus an uair a thainig i 'n astar cluinntinn thoisich e air glaodhaich riu. Thug iad an aire dha, agus chuir iad bata air tir far an robh e. Dh' fhebraich Sgiob' a' bhata dhe gu de 'chuir a' sud e, no cia mar thainig e ann ? Fhreagair e gu 'n deachaidh an Soitheach air an robh e a chall, agus gu 'n d' fhuair esan 'n a aonar gu tir air an Eilean. Dh' fhebraich iad an sin d' e gu de 'bha e a' deanamh air an t-Soitheach ? Thubhairt e gu 'n robh e 'n a Leigh oirre. "Oh nach sinn a tha toilichte/'ars'iadsan. "Tha 'n Sgiobair againn gu tinn, agus air a thabhairt a suas leis an Leigh. Theagamh gu 'n urrainn thusa ni-eiginn a dheanamh air a shon ?" Fhreagair e, " Chi sinn gu de 'ghabhas deanamh an uair a ruigeas sinn e." Chuir e na cleibh anns a' bhata, agus an uair a rainig e 'n long dh' fhag e iad an aite sabhailt air bbrd oirre. Thug e 'n sin aon no dha de na h-ubhlan leis 'n a phbca, agus chaidh e 's tigh do 'n aite far an robh an Sgiobair. Choimbvad Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. 247 e air, agus thubhairt e ris na 'n gabhadh e 'n rud a bheireadh esan da gu 'm bitheadh e air a leigheas. Fhreagair an Sgiobair gu 'n gabhadh e ni 's am bith a dheanadh feum dha. An sin thug an Leigh dha pios de aon de na h-iibhlan briadha, agus cho luath 's a dh' ith se e thbisich 'fhebil agus a chraicionn air sruthadh dheth. An uair a chunnaic an Sgioba so, bha iad a' dol a cheangal an Leigh ris a chrann, agus g' a sgiursadh gu bas le ceann buill. Ach ghuidh e orra uair eil' a thabhairt da, agus thubhairt e mur leighiseadh e 'n Sgiobair anns an tim sin gu 'm faodadh iad a cheangal agus a sgiursadh gu bas an sin na 'n toilicheadh iad. Thubhairt iad ris gu 'm faigheadh e 'n uin' a dh' iarr e, agus eadhon gu h-oidhche. Dh' fhalbh iad an sin, agus dh' fhag iad leis fein e. Dhuin esan an dorus orra, agus thbisich e air an Sgiobair a leigheas leis na h-ubhlan granda, agus mu 'n d' thainig ceann na h-uaire bha e cho laidir fhallain aige 's a bha e mu 'n d' fhas e gu tinn. An uair a chunnaic an Sgioba so bha iad ro umhal do 'n Leigh agus cha robh fhios aca gu de 'b' urrainn iad a dheanamh g' a thoileachadh. Dh' fhebraich an Sgiobair dh' e ciod a b' aill leis gu 'n deanamh iad air a shon ? Fhreagair e nach robh e 'g iarraidh ni orra, ach gu 'n cuireadh iad air tir e anns a' chaladh a dh' fhag e 'n toiseach. Air ball chuir iad nm 'n cuairt an long, agus rinn iad direach air a chaladh a dh' ainmich e. Agus dar rainig iad e thug esan leis na cleibh agus chaidh e air tir. Dh' fhag e beannachd aig an Sgiobair agus a dhaoine, agus rmn e direach air an ait' o 'n d' fhalbh e. Chuir e suas mar Leigh, agus thbisich e air daoine tinn a leigheas. Cha d' aithnich gin d' a sheann luchd-eolais e, ach chaidh ainm am fad agus am fagus mar Lighiche math a bha slanuchadh dhaoine bho gach tinneas agus creuchd a bha cur orra. Air la araidh thainig fios g' a ionnsaidh o Uachdaran an fhearainn gu 'n robh e ri tighinn le cabhaig a dh' fhaicinn a nighinn 'us i bhi ro thinn aig an am sin. Dh' fhalbh e gun dail, agus rainig e tigh an Uachdarain. Chaidh e 's tigh do 'n t-sebmar far an robh an nighean, agus air dha a ceasnachadh thubhairt e gu 'm b' e tinneas ionganntach a bh' oirre. 248 Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. " Rinn thu meirle," ars' e rithe, " agus gus an aidich thu i cha ghabh thu leigheas." Fhreagair i nach b' fhiosrach i gu 'n d' rinn i meirle riamh. Thubhairt esan gu 'm b' eiginn gu 'n d' thug i o chuid-eiginn ni-eiginn a bha ro luachmhor dha. An sin chuimhnich i air na clachan a thug i o Mhac Cailleach- nan-cearc anns an Eilean Uaine, agus dh' innis i do 'n Lighiche gach ni a thachair eatarra. Dh' fheoraich e dhi c' ait' an robh na clachan a thug i a 'bhroilleach ? Thubhairt i gu 'n robh iad air bac na h-uinneig. Ghrad fhuair e na clachan, agus chuir e iad 'n a phbc ag radh. " O 'n dh' innis thu 'n fhirinn gabhaidh tu leigheas." An sin thug e dhi cuid de na h-ubhlan granda, agus mu 'n d' thainig an ath oidhche bha i slan fallain. Chord an Lighiche cho math ris an Uachdaran 'us nach deanadh ni air bith an gnothuch leis ach gu 'm pbsadh e Dearc-shuil, a nighean. Dh' aontaich an Lighich* a gabhail, agus chaidh latha na bainnse chuir a mach. Cha do leig an Gille e fein ris d' a mhathair fathast, ach air an oidhche sin chaidh e 'dh' ionnsaidh an tighe aice, agus dh' innis e dhi gu 'n robh e 'dol a phbsadh Dearc-shuil le lan- thoil ah athar. " Ach, a bhean," ars' e, "na gabhaibh-s' oirbh gur mi bhur mac gus am bi am pbsadh seachad." Gheall i sin da, agus rinn i gairdeachas mbr r' a theachd. Thainig la na bainnse mu dheireadh, agus 'am measg luchd- ullachaidh na cuirme cha robh aon a bu trainge na Cailleach- nan-cearc. Air feadh an la thainig Dearc-shuil a' s tigh le h- athair, agus leis an Leigh, agus an uair a thug i 'n aire gu 'm be 'Chailleach a bha 'n toiseach gach gnothuich, chaidh i null far an robh i, agus thubhairt i rithe gu math sgaiteach, " A Bhean, cha-n 'eil fhios agam gu de 'n gnothuch a th' agaibh-s' an so." " Is fearr dhuibh-se dol a mach an drast." Thionndaidh a' Chailleach rithe, agus thubhairt i gu fiadhaich, " Gu de 'tha thu 'g radh? Cha-n 'eil fhios agam c' ait' am bitheadh gnothuch agam, mur bitheadh e agam an so a' deasachadh airson banais mo mhic !" Thug Dearc-shuil glaodh goint' aiste, leum i 'dh' ionnsaidh a h-athar, agus rug i air laimh air. Cho luath 's a fhuair i a h-anail thubhairt i ri Cailleach-nan-cearc, "An e bhur mac-s' a th' ann, a bhean?" " Is e," thubhairt a' Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. 249 Chailleach. " Mata, ma 's e cha phbs mis' e." An so thuit sprochd air gach duine 'bha lathair, agus gu sonraicht' air a' ghille. Ach mu 'n d' fhuair aon eile cothrom bruidhne thubhairt a' Chailleach, "Cha-n e mo mhac-se 'th' ann, ach Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine ri gaisge a bha ainmeil air thalamh seachd bliadhna mu 'n d' rugadh e, agus a thuit a' cath le iomairt lann ri larla Borb Choille-nan-crann le buile-cuil fo mhac mbr an larla Bhuirb, agus is mis' a bu bhan-altrum dha 's an uair sin, agus an deigh dha bhi air a mharbhadh theich mi leis a' ghille so, agus dh' altrum agus dh' araich mi e, agus a nis tha e comasach air bas athar a dhioladh agus a roghainn leannain a thaghadh mar mhnaoi !" An uair a chual an Gille ciod a thubhairt a' Chailleach-chearc, ghabh e misneach agus thubhairt e rithe, " Ma 's e sin a th' annam, a bhean, cha phbs mise ise." "Ach mo mhile mallachd air na rnnathan le 'n luathaire-theanga ! " ars' an t-Uachdaran. Bha nis a leug agus a chlach-bhuadhach fein aig Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine 'n a bhroilleach, agus thug e bbid agus briathar nach tilleadh e 'us nach stadadh e airson ni no neach ach gus am faiceadh e bigh 'bu mhaisiche na Dearc-shuil. Agus as an t-seasamh sin shiubhail e. Chum e air aghaidh a' direadh bheann 'us mheall 'us thulaichean, agus a dol troimh thuill, 'us ghlinn, 'us.ghlacaibh, gus an d' rainig e ait' anab- arrach briadha. Cha deachaidh e 'dh' ionnsaidh a' Chaisteil a bha 'n sin, a chionn nach robh fhios aige ciod no cb a dh' fhaodadh a bhi air thoiseach air. Ach bha 'n oidhch' a' tighinn, agus uime sin chaidh e 'ghabhail fasgaidh anns na pris a bha cul a' Chaisteil. Cho luath 's a rainig e iad chun- naic e 'n aon bigh 'bu mhaisich' a chunnaic e riamh a' tighinn 'n a choinneamh. Bha 'da shuil mar dhearcag-an-fhraoich, 'us a cneas ni 'bu ghile na sneachd na h-aon oidhche. Chaidh i seachad gun aire a thabhairt da, ach fhuair esan sealladh oirre-s' a chuir Dearc-shuil gu h-iomlan as a chuimhne. An deigh dhi dol as an t-sealladh dh' fhag e na pris agus dh' fhalbh e feuch an coinnicheadh e duine 's am bith a dh' innseadh dha cb i. Cha deachaidh' e fada dar chunnaic e Gruagach aluinn bg agus cir bir 'an cul a cinn a' cur cruidh a 's tigh do bhathaich. Rainig e i, agus dh' fhebraich e dhi cb 250 Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. i an bigh a chunnaic e dol tromh na pris cul a' Chaisteil ? Fhreagair i gu 'm bi sin Caoin-shlios, Nighean Righ an Tbirr Uaine, agus gu 'n robh i 'an iomagain mhbir o cheann sh seachdainnean. " Ciod e fath. a h-iomagain ?" " Thig a 's tigh do 'n bhathaich, agus innsidh mi sin duit." Chaidh e 's tigh, agus thug i dha deoch bhainne. An sin thubhairt i ris gu 'm b' e fath iomagain Chaoin-shlios aisling a chunnaic i o cheann beul ri bliadhna. Air leatha gu 'n robh i 'coiseachd tromh na pris cul a' Chaisteil an uair a chunnaic i treun-laoch bg a' tighinn 'n a coinneamh, a ghnuis mar a' ghrian, agus a choltas mar choltas lebmhain. Bha 'fhalt bachlach mar am fitheach, 'us bu ghile na 'n gruth a chneas. Tha mbran ag iarraidh na h-bigh r' a pbsadh, agus tha 'h-athair toileach gu 'm pbs i aon araidh dhiu. Ach thug i bbid nach pbsadh i 'm feasd gus am faiceadh i gnuis a' ghaisgich a chunnaic i 'n a cadal. Cha do chord so r' a h-athair ; uime sin thug e dhi la 's bliadhn' a thaghadh a roghainn leannain, agus thubhairt e rithe na 'n leigeadh i 'n uine sin seachad gun roghainn a dheanamh air a son fein gu 'm feumadh i a roghainn-san a ghabhail 'n a dheigh sin. Tha 'n uine nis air ruith a mach gu inbhe cheithir laithean o 'm maireach, agus tha so a' cur iomagain cho mbr oirre 'us gu 'm bheil i gach oidhch' a' gabhail sraid tromh na pris feuch an coinnich i 'n treun-laoch a chunnaic i 'n a h-aisling. An diugh 's a mhaduinn cha mhbr nach do gheill i d' a h-athair, ach mu 'n do gheill i smaointich i gu 'n rachadh i far an robh an lorasglach-urlair airson comhairle. Dh' innis i do 'n lorasglaich an aisling, agus gach ni eile o thoiseach gu deireadh. Thubhairt an lorasglach rithe, "Na caill do mhisneach, ach ruith do reis g' a ceann, oir cha d' thainig am an tre"un-laoich fathast." An sin thubhairt an Coigreach ris a Ghruagaich, "C'ait' am faigh mise bruidhinn rithe ?" " Thoir an aire mhath air an ath oidhche do 'n ait' anns am fac thu i 'nochd." Dh' fhuirich e an oidhche sin 'an ait' a fhuair a' Ghruagach dha, agus air an ath latha ghleidh e a rathad gach duine gus an d' thainig dorchadh nan trath, an t-am air am fac e 'n Oigh air tus. Chaidh e 'n sin gu cul a' Chaisteil, 'us cha robh e ach goirid gus am fac e i 'tighinn. An uair a fhuair e sealladh dhi chaidh Mac Fear an Earraidk Uaine. 251 e 'n a coinneamh, agus sgaoil e mach a dha laimh g' an cur mu 'n cuairt oirre. Thug ise siiil 'n a aodann, agus mar gu 'm b' aithne dhi riamh e ghlaodh i, " An d' thainig thu mu dheireadh?" Chuir i a da laimh mu 'n cuairt air 'amhaich agus neadaich i 'ceann 'n a bhroilleach. An sin dh' innis i dha a truaighe uile, agus thubhairt i ris falbh leatha-se 's gu 'm faigheadh i dha ait' anns am fuireachadh e 'n oidhche sin. Chaidh e leatha, 's chuir i e ann an sebmar uaigneach far an robh b ri fuireachd gus am bitheadh a h-uine-se mach. Air an ath mhaduinn bha ise ni 'bu shunndaiche na b' abhaist di. Thug an lorasglach an aire dha so, agus dh' fhebraich i dhi an robh i 's na pris an raoir ? Fhreagair i gu 'n robh, 'us gu 'n d' fhuair i tre"un-laoch ah-aislinge. " Ruith do re"is g' a ceann, 'us gu' m faigh e do ghlacadh le buaidh," ars' an lorasglach. An sin dh' fhalbh an bigh do 'n t-sebmar far an robh 'n laoch bg, agus am feadh 'bha iad a' cbmhradh chual esan air feadh an tighe straighlich a chuir mbran iongantais air. Dh' fheoraich dhi gu de" 'bu chiall do 'n straighlich ud, agus thubhairt e gu 'm feumadh e dol a dh' fhaicinn ciod a b' aobhar di. Fhreagair ise gu 'n d' thainig fios Tbir g' a h-athair, agus gu 'n robh Cbcaire Claon Ruadh a ghabh fo 's laimh an Tbir a thilleadh a' deanamh deas airson falbh. "Gu de tha 'n Tbir ag iarraidh ?" ars' esan. " Tha 'n Tbir o Mhac Mbr larla Bhuirb Choille-nan-Crann, 'us mur bi duin' aig m' athair a thilleas an Tbir is leis mise 's leth na righeachd." An uair a chual an laoch bg ainm Mhic Mhbir an larla Bhuirb air ainmeachadh chrith e air a chasan, las a dha shuil 'n a cheann, dhaingeinnich e 'dhuirn, agus thubhairt e gu 'm feumadh e dol a dh' fhaicinn cia mar 'bha na h-airm a' freagairt do 'n Chbcaire. " Fanaidh tusa 'n so, agus cha nochd thu d' aghaidh do d' athair gus an till mise." Agus air dha sin a radh thionn e mach, agus ghabh e rathad cuil an deigh a' Chbcaire. Cha deachaidh an Cbcaire fad air falbh o 'n Chaisteal an uair a rug an Laoch Og air. Dh' fhaighnich e dh' e, C' ait' an robh e dol ? Fhreagair an Cbcaire le spraic mhbir gu 'n robh e dol a thilleadh Tbir a bha 'tighinn gu Righ an Tbirr Uaine 252 Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. o Mhac Mbr larla Bhuirb Choille-nan-Crann, 'us dar thilleadh e 'n Tbir gu 'm bu leis Caoin-shlios agus leth na righeachd. " Gle cheart," ars' an Laoch 6g, " ach an toir thu dhomhsa na h-airm feuch cia mar thig iad domh ?" " Bheir gu dearbh ; is mi a bheir," fhreagair an Cbcaire. Chuir e dheth na h-airm, agus chuir an Laoch Og iad air, agus b' ann aige fein a bha 'n gnothuch riii. An sin thubhairt an Cbcaire, " Cia mar bha fhios agad gu 'n robh mise 'falbh ?" " Dh' fhairich mi 'n straighlich a rinn barr a' chlaidheimh agad air fear de na coireachan an uair a bha thu'dol amach." "Oh, nach mi tha toilicht," ars' an Cbcaire. An uair a bha iad a' dluthachadh ris an aite far an robh a' choinneamh ri bhi chunnaic iad an Tbir a' tighinn. An sin thuirt an Laoch Og ris a' Chbcaire, " Is fcarr dhuit na h- airm so a chur ort mu 'n tig iad ni 's faigse." Thug an Cbcaire suil, agus dar chunnaic e Mac Mbr an larla Bhuirb 's a dhaoine 'dluthachadh ris thubhairt e, " Cha chuir, cha chuir. Fag ort iad, oir is ann duit fein 'is fearr a thig iad. Cuir mis 'am falach an ait' air chor-eiginn." Bha stac creige dluth dhoibh, agus cos mbr an aodann na creige, agus sparr an Laoch Og an Cbcaire 's tigh 's a chbs, agus thubhairt e ris, " Fan an sin gus an till mise." An sin chaidh Mac Fear an Earraidh Uain' an coinneamh Mac Mbr an larla Bhuirb. Bhuail iad air a che"ile, ach leis an treas buile d' a chlaidheamh sgath Mac Fear an Earraidh Uain' an ceann deth Mhac Mbr an larla Bhuirb. An sin thug e 'n aghaidh air na daoine, agus air dha cur as doibh uile thog e ceann Mac an larla air barr a chlaidheamh, agus thill e air ais agus e aige thar a ghualainn. Rainig e 'n Cbcaire, agus ghlaodh e ris tighinn a mach as a' chbs. Thainig an Cbcaire mar dh' iarradh air. Sheall e 'n toiseach air an Laoch Og, agus an sin air a' cheann, agus thubhairt e, " Tha ceann agad." "Tha," fhreagair an Laoch. " Tha 'shuilean fosgailte : am bi e rium ?" " Cha chreid mi gu 'm bi an drast." Dh' fhalbh iad an sin cbmhla, agus an uair a thainig iad am fagus do 'n Chaisteal thubhairt an Treun Laoch ris a' Chbcaire, "Is fearr dhuit fein na h-airm so a chur ort a nis, agus an ceann a thabhairt a 's tigh a dh' ionnsaidh Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. 253 an Righ." Chuir an Cocair' air na h-airm, agus shin an Laoch an ceann da 's an dealachadh. " Cha-n 'eil sinn dol a dhealachadh mar sin," ars' an Cbcaire. " Theid thu leamsa gu aite na cbcaireachd, 'us gu 'm faigh thu ni-eiginn a bheir mise dhuit. An uair a bhitheas rnise 'm Righ is tus' a bhitheas 'ad Chocair' agam." Dh' fhalbh an Treun Laoch leis, agus dar chaidh iad a 's tigh do dh' aite na Cocaireachd shin an Cbcaire dha bad mbr de dh' ascairt ghil, agus thubhairt e, " Gleidhidh tu sin airson an fhalluis a shuadhadh bharr d' aodainn. An uair a bha mis' am Chocaire bu charaid leam am fear a bheireadh dhomh bad ascairt." " Is caraid learns' e cuideachd," ars' an Treun Laoch, agus dhealaich iad. Ghabh an Cocaire 'dh' ionnsaidh an Righ leis a' cheann, agus chaidh Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine gu Caoin-shlios. Fhuair e i far an d' fhag e i, ach cha d' innis e dhi ni 's am bith ni 'b' fhaide na gu 'n do thill an Cocaire 'n Tbir. An uair a chunnaic an Righ an Cocaire agus an ceann aige, bha e ro thoilichte, agus thubhairt e ris gu 'm bitheadh esan cho math r' a ghealladh dha. Ach bha 'n Cocair' ann an cabhaig mhoir airson gu 'm bitheadh am pbsadh air a dheanamh gun dail. Dh' iarr an Righ air foighidinn a bhi aige gus am faigheadh iad an dinneir, agus thubhairt e gu 'm bitheadh gach ni air a dheanamh an sin mar gheall esan. Chaidh am bbrd a chur 'an uidhim, agus shuidh iad uile sios aig an dinneir. Ach mu 'n robh i seachad thainig fios o Mhac Meadhonach an larla Bhuirb an Tbir a thilleadh air neb gu 'm bu leisan Caoin-shlios agus leth na righeachd. Chuir an Righ fios an so air a dhaoine, agus dh' fhebraich e dhiii, Co rachadh a thilleadh na Tbire? Ghlaodh an Cbcaire, "Co thilleadh i mur tillinn-s' i ? Thill mi chean'i, 'us tillidh mi rithist i." " Gle cheart," ars' an Righ. " Dean sin, agus bithidh mise cho math 's mo ghealladh dhuit." Air an ath mhaduinn bha 'n Cbcaire 'deanamh deas airson falbh, agus dar bha e fo Ian armachd thug e strailleadh mbr do 'n choire agus thionn e mach. Dh' fhairich an Tre"un Laoch an fhuaim, agus thubhairt e ri Caoin-shlios gu 'm feumadh e dol a dh' fhaicinn gu de bha 'n sud. " Cha ruig thu leas," ars' ise ; " cha-n 'eil ann ach an Cbcaire 'dol a thilleadh Tbir 254 Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. eile 'n diugh." "Theid mi 'choimhead cia mar tha na h-airm a' tighinn da, ach na seall thusa do ghnuis do d' athair gus an till mise." Thionn e 'n sin a mach an deigh a' Chbcaire. An la so leig e leis dol astar math air aghaidh mu 'n d' rug e air. Bha ce"um a' Chbcair' a fas ni 'bu nihoille, agus bha 'shuil ni 'bu trice 'n a dheigh mar a b' fhaide 'bha 'n Laoch gun tighinn. Mu dheireadh chunnaic e 'm fad as e, agus sheas e gus an d' rug e air. "An cual thu 'm buille 'thug mi air a' choire 'n diugh?" ars' an Cbcaire. "Chuala; b' e sin a thug air falbh mi," fhreagair an Laoch. An uair a bha iad a' dluthachadh ri ait' a' choinnimh thubhairt an Cocaire, " Is fearr dhuit fein na h-airm so a chur ort ; oir is ann duit 'is fearr a thig iad." Chuir an Laoch air na h-airm, agus an uair a chunnaic iad na daoine 'tighinn ghlaodh an Cocaire ris, " Sin iad, Sin iad ! Cuir mise 'm falach." Bha Ion bog goirid as, agus an uair a rainig iad e stob an Laoch an Cocaire 'n cbmhail a chas fo bheul-fhothraghadh, agus thubhairt e ris fuir- eachd an sin gus an tilleadh esan. An sin chaidh an Laoch an coinneamh Mac Meadhonach an larla Bhuirb, agus leis an dara buille d' a chlaidheamh thilg e 'n ceann deth o 'n ghualainn. Thug e rithist aghaidh air na daoine, agus cha d' fhag e aon beb dhiu mu 'n do sguir e. Rug e 'n sin air fhalt air ceann Mac Meadhonach an larla Bhuirb, agus thug e leis e air a ghualainn. Rainig e 'n Cocaire, agus ghlaodh e ris tighinn a mach o 'n bhruaich fo 'n robh e. Thainig an Cocaire, agus thubhairt e, " Tha ceann agad an diugh a rithist ! Oh tha draoin air ! am bi e rium ?" " Cha bhi 'n drast," ars' an Laoch, agus thill iad air an ais an rathad a thainig iad. An uai r a bha iad a' tighinn am fagus do 'n Chaisteal thubhairt an Treun-Laoch ris a' Chbcaire na h- airm a chur air, agus an ceann a thabhairt a 's tigh a dh' ionns- aidh an Righ. Chuir e air na h-airm, agus an uair a bha 'n Laoch a' dol a dhealachadh ris thubhairt e, " Cha-n 'eil sinn 'dol a dhealachadh mar sin. Theid thu leamsa gu aite na cbcaireachd 'us gu 'm faigh thu ni-eiginn a bheir mise dhuit." An uair a chaidh iad a 's tigh, thug an Cocaire dha cutag spaine, agus thubhairt e, " Gleidh sin gus am bi thu 'ad Choc- air' agamsa. An uair a bha mise 'm Chbcaire bu charaid Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. 255 leam am fear a bheireadh cutag spaine dhomh." " Is caraid, learns' ecuideachd,"ars' an Laoch, agus dhealaich iad. Ghabh an Cbcaire 's tigh leis a' cheann far an robh 'n Righ, agus chaidh Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine far an robh Caoin- shlios. Rinn an Righ gairdeachas mbr an uair a chunnaic e gu 'n do thill an Cocaire 'n Tbir an dara h-uair. Thubhairt e ris gu 'm bitheadh esan cho math 's a ghealladh dha. Ach cha 'n fhoghnadh ni air bith leis a' Chocaire ach gu 'm bitheadh am posadh air a dheanamh gun tuilidh dalach. Thubhairt an Righ ris, " Tha thu fein sgith an de"igh a chath chruaidh a chuir thu, agus tha sinne acrach. Gabhaidh sinn an dinneir an toiseach, agus an deigh sin bithidh mise cho math 's mo ghealladh dhuit." Ach mu 'n robh 'n dinneir seachad thainig fios o Mhac 6g an larla Bhuirb 'dol a thilleadh na Tbire, air neb gu 'm bu leisan Caoin-shlios agus leth na righeachd. Chaidh an Righ an so 'am fiamh mhbir, agus chuir e fios aon uair eiF air a dhaoine. Dh' innis e dhoibh gu 'n d' thainig fios Tbir o Mhac Og an larla Bhuirb, 'us thubhairt e gu 'm bitheadh esan cho math 's a ghealladh do 'n duin' a thilleadh i. Leum an Cocaire, agus sheas e suas ri broilleach an Righ, agus thubhairt e, " Co' thilleadh i mur tillinn-s' i ? Thill mi chean' i da uair, agus tillidh mi rithist i." " Ro cheart," ars' an Righ. " Ni mise mar gheall mi." An uair a fhuair an Cocaire 'n a airm 's na eideadh air an treas maduinn, ma thug e strailleadh air na coireachan an da la roimhe thug e strailleadh seachd uairean ni 'bu mho orra 'n la so. Thionn e 'n sin air falbh, ach cha robh cabhag 's am bith air an Laoch airson a leantainn. Dh' fhalbh e mu dheireadh, ach ma dh' fhalbh bha e 'g a fhalach fein gus an robh iad a' dluthachadh ri aite na coinnimh. Chunnaic e 'n sin an Cbcair' a' suidhe sios. Chaidh e air aghaidh le ceum sgairteil far an robh e. " An d' thainig thu mu dheireadh ?" ars' an Cocaire. "Thainig," ars' an Laoch. " 'S ann orms' a 'bha 'n t-eagal nach tigeadh tu idir. Cuir ort na h-airm so, oir gu dearbh is ann duit 'is fearr a thig iad." " Tha mi creidsinn gur h-ann an diugh," fhreagair an Treun Laoch. Cha robh na h-airm ach gann air an uair a chunnaic iad an Tbir a' tighinn agus Laoch 256 Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. ro bhorb air an ceann. Ghlaodh an Cbcaire, " O ! cuir mis, am falach ! Cuir as am fradharc mi !" Bha breun-lochan laimh riu, agus stob e 'n Cbcaire gu ruig an amhaich anns an lochan, agus thubhairt e ris, " Ma thig eiginn 's am bith ort thoir do cheann fodha, 'us mur tig fan mar th' agad." Chaidh na Laoich an coinneamh a cheile, 'us le aon bhuile d' a chlaidheamh thilg Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine 'n lann a laimh Mhic Gig an larla Bhuirb. Rug e 'n sin air fein, 'us cheangail e 'thri caoil ann an aon ghad. Dh' fhag e ceangailt e, 'us thug e aghaidh air na daoine. Thug e ruathar fbpa 's tharta, 'us cha d' fhag e beb dhiu fear a dh' innseadh sgeul na truaighe. Thog e 'n sin Mac an larla air a ghualainn, agus rainig e 'n Cbcaire leis. Thainig an Cbcair' air tir, fliuch, salach, agus cbmhdaichte le fionn-chbinnich na dige. Dh' fhalbh e 'n sin dachaidh an de"igh an Laoich. Cho luath sa thainig iad 'am fradharc a' Chaisteil thubhairt an Laoch ris, " Is fearr dhuit na h-airm a chur ort a nis, agus an duine so a thabhairt a 's tigh a dh' ionnsaidh an Righ." An uair a chuir e air na h-airm thug e suil air an duine, agus dar chunnaic se e 'carachadh ghlaodh e, " O tha e beb ! Bithidh e rium !" " Tha e beb," ars' an Laoch, "ach cha-n urrainn e dad a dheanamh ort an drast. Thoir thus' e mar tha e 'dh' ionnsaidh an Righ." Thubhairt an Cbcaire, " Tha 'n Tbir uile seachad a nis. Faodaidh tusa 'bhi deanamh deas. An uair a gheibh mise nighean an Righ bithidh tus' a' d' Ard-chbcair' agamsa." An sin dhealaich iad. Chaidh an Cbcaire 's tigh leis an duine 'dh' ionnsaidh an Righ, agus an uair a chunnaic an Righ coltas an duine mhol e 'n Cbcair' airson a ghaisge agus thubhairt e ris, " Coimhlionaidh mise mo ghealladh dhuit. Ach fuasgail an duine chum gu 'm bi e maille ruinn aig an dinneir." Chaidh an Cbcaire far an robh 'n duine, agus dh' fheuch e r' a fhuasgladh. Ach an aite gach snaim a dh' fhuasgladh e rachadh seachd snaimeannan eil' air a' ghad. Mu dheireadh thubhairt e nach b' urrainn e 'n duine fhuasgladh. " Ubh, Ubh !" ars' an Righ. " Co nach fuasgladh an duin' a chean- gail e?" "Cha-n esan," ars' an duin', "a cheangail mi. Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. 257 Cha b' urrainn e mo cheangal, agus cha-n urrainn e m' fhuasgladh. Ach am fear a cheangail mise fuasglaidh e mi." "Co e sin?" ars' an Righ. " Tha Mac Fear an Earraidh Uain' ri gaisge a bha ainmeil air thalamh seachd bliadhna mu 'n d' rugadh e, agus a bha cogadh ris na daoin' againne bho cheann thri laithean agus a bha cadal anns a' Chaisteal agadsa 's an oidhche. Is esan a cheangail mise, agus 's e 'is urrainn m' fhuasgladh." Chaidh fios air an Laoch, agus thainig e 's tigh. Sheall an Righ air, agus an uair a chunnaic e a threun-choltas chaidh e air a dha ghlun da. An uair a dh' e"irich e, dh' iarr e air an duine 'bha ceangailte fhuasgladh. Rug an Laoch air snaim a' ghoid le aon laimh, agus thog e 'n duine leis o 'n talamh. Leig e as d'a ghreim an sin, agus air ball leum an gad bharr an duine. Cho luath 's a fhuair an duin' air a chasan thionn- daidh e ris an Righ, agus thubhairt e, " Mur bhi luathaire theanga na Caillich-chearc, agus comhairle na h-Iorasglaich- urlair do Chaoin-shlios cha robh 'an Righeachd an Toirr Uaine na thilleadh air a h-ais Toir Mhic dig an larla Bhuirb, no chumadh Caoin-shlios uaithe. Ach is e fe*in a's airidh oirre na mise." An sin thainig Caoin-shlios a 's tigh, 'us thubhairt i r' a h- athair, " Is e 'n diugh an la mu dheireadh do 'n uine 'thug thu dhomh a thaghadh mo roghainn leannain. So a nis mo roghainn, agus coimhlion do ghealladh dhomh." u Le m' uile chrithe," ars' an Righ, " agus gach ni a th' agamsa bithidh agadsa cbmhla ris." Thill an Cbcaire 'dh' ionnsaidh a chbcaireachd, chaidh am pbsadh a dheanamh, agus cha-n fhaca neach a bha 's an Righeachd caraid a b' eireachdala na Caoin-shlios agus Mac Fear an Earraidh Uaine. Rinn iad cuirm agus greadhnachas, agus mur do sguir iad a dh' itheadh agus a dh' 61 tha iad ris fathast. NOTES. (AH the references to Machines are to the second volume of this series : " Folk and Hero Tales" collected, edited, and translated by the Rev. D. Maclnnes, with Notes by the Editor and Alfred Nutt. 1890.) TALE I. PAGE i. This tale, like all the other tales in the Volume, was taken from Alexander Cameron, whose name has been already mentioned. But it is known also to John Rankin, a man of eighty years of age, residing in Duror, and to Archibald McArthur, a Braes man living at Fort Augustus. It is one of three tales which are linked together by some incidents in the history of the Grey Dog. It tells how the Grey Dog was found by Finn in the Castle, and given to the Big Young Hero of the Ship. The second tale of the group Cameron has forgotten, and I have not met with any other person who knows it. Cameron just remembers that the tale told how the Big Young Hero, when alone at the seaside, was surprised by a Lochlan chief and his crew, and compelled to ransom his own life by giving the dog to his assailants. The Chief, on his return home to his own country, presented the dog to the King. But the animal having afterwards gone mad through grief for the loss of his first master, was allowed to run wild in the Great Glen of Lochlan. The third tale of the group, the second in this collection, tells how Finn went to Lochlan, and, with the help of Bran's chain, recovered the Grey Dog in the Great Glen already mentioned. J. McD. P. i. "At the back of the wind." This is said to be the position of Finn sitting on the sheltered side of the knoll. He is there quite unconscious of the wind while it blows behind the knoll or sweeps over his head, but no sooner does it begin to shake the branches of the trees or agitate the surface of the water in front of him, than he becomes aware of its presence. The place where it commences to produce these effects, he regards as the point whence it starts on its S 2 260 Notes. course. And as he is behind that point, he is also at the back of the wind which enters there on its race, and which after- wards speeds away from him. J. McD. P. i. Macan, the diminutive of Mac, is literally a little son. Here, however, it is, according to the reciter of the tale, the eldest son, while in his minority, of a person of consequence. Such a youth as this would be the very first to mock the Big Young Hero had he failed in his efforts to pull his boat beyond the reach of the tide, and had he left it to be tossed about by the surf. J. McD. P. i. Broilleach (breast) is the part of the gunwale of a boat between the stem and the shoulders. J. McD. P. i. Fail' oidhche is sometimes a night-watch, and at other times night-watching in the sense of remaining awake at night. As the object of the Young Hero is to impress on Finn, not how long he took in coming, but the trials through which he passed on the way, the word must be here translated night- watching. J. McD. P. 2. Sithide or sithde, is the genitive of slthid, a female fairy, siochair being the male. In other bespelling runs similar to that in the text, we have, instead of sithide, mnatha slthe, i.e., of a fairy woman. See Campbell's West Highland Tales, vol. ii, pp. 410 and 420; Maclnnes's Tales, p. 347, etc. But as both terms convey the same meaning, and either one of them preserves the alliteration and rhythm of the run well enough, it is hard to choose between them. J. McD. P. 2. Trath signifies a season of the day, as in trath-maidne (morning-tide), trath-mheadhon-lci (noontide), trath-feasgair (eventide). The word denotes also the season of the flow or ebb of the tide. It is taken here in the former sense ; and naoi trath is translated nine days because the phrase, as I take it, denotes nine recurrences of the same season of the day. It is true, however, that it might, with equal justice, have been translated nine tides, i.e., flowings and ebbings of the sea. In the Maclnnes similar tale (No. II) we have, instead of trath, seolmara, a word free of all ambiguity, and whose sole meaning is tide. J. McD. P. 3. Here the marvellous acuteness of the listener's sense of hearing is demonstrated by his being able to perceive the most distant sound. The same thing is done in other tales by Notes. 261 proving that the hero can detect near but inconceivably faint sounds. Heimdall, the porter of Asgard, for example, " had an ear so fine that he could hear the very grass grow in the meadows, and the wool on the back of the sheep." See Bohn's edition of Mallet's Northern Antiquities, p. 95. J. McD. P. 3. Domhan Tor. Domhan is now the universe, but in folk-tales it is simply the world. In this collection, however, mention is made of two distinct worlds, 1 Domhan and Domhan Tor. See House of Blar-buidhe, where it is said that Finn's Wooden-crower (Gura-fiodha) could be heard not only in the seven divisions of the World (Domhan}, but also at the extremity of the Domhan Tor. The former is simply the natural world, or rather as much of it as was known to the composers of these tales, and therefore only a part of the western seaboard of the Old World. The latter (Domhan Tor) is the world of enchantment and of all sorts of wonders, a world the story-tellers place far away beyond the western ocean. In some versions of Highland tales Domhan Tor becomes Domhan Toir, or the world of pursuit. It is so called, we are told, because it is the world men are still in pursuit of, i.e., the Undiscovered World. One step more and America is reached ; and the step has been taken by some. But the change of the word to Domhan Toir may have been made through ignorance by the successors of the old professional story-tellers. Tor having become obsolete, and its meaning having been forgotten, the former may have substituted for it the more familiar form, toir, and given the latter whatever currency it possesses. Whether this explanation be accepted or not, it must be admitted that tor is the form still generally used in this connection. Assuming tor to be the proper form of the word, what does it mean ? It is difficult to answer this question catego- rically. But as o and are interchangeable before r, as in corr which becomes curr in this very tale, tor may now be represented by tiir, a word generally used as an adverb, but sometimes also, though rarely, as an adjective. As an 1 In Northern mythology, also, a plurality of worlds appears. For example, Hela, the goddess of the Underworld, is said to have " the government of nine distinct worlds into which she distributes those who are sent to her", and Heimdall's trumpet u could be heard through all the worlds". (Mallet, pp. 96 and 95). J. McD. 262 Notes. adjective it has a privative meaning, and denotes that the object indicated by the word it qualifies is accompanied by no other object. Taken in this sense, Pomhan Tor is the world which has with it no other world in the far distant west, or, in other words, the sole world there. Hence it is commonly translated the Uttermost World. Beyond the remotest bounds of this mythical world is a still more wonderful mythical island, which is called "An t-Eilean Uaine an iomall an Dornhain Toir" , or the Green Island at the extremity of the Uttermost World. This, in popiilar opinion, is a floating, shifting island which lies beneath the waves of the sea, and which is therefore sometimes identified with Land Underwaves. Occasionally it rises to the surface, and has been seen (at least we are told so) in almost every latitude of the west coast, from Caps Wrath in Scotland to Cape Clear in Ireland. The i2th century Giraldus Cambrensis mentions an island which suddenly appeared off the west coast of Ireland, and Martin in his Description of the Western Isles, about 1665, mentions an island which was discovered thirty leagues south-west of Islay, and which was, according to his authorities, visited by an English captain. But the former was too substantial to be the airy isle of pure imagination, and the latter, though called the Green Isle by Martin, could scarcely have been the Green Isle of legendary lore. Had it been the latter, and had anything at all, even a bit of stone or handful of earth, been taken from the natural world and thrown upon it, the enchantment should have been instantly dissolved, and the island itself, like another Delos, should have been fastened down, then and there, to the bottom of the sea ! Somewhat different from the foregoing description of the Green Isle is what may be gathered concerning it from the folk and hero tales. True, that even in the latter it enjoys a perpetual summer, that its fields are ever green, and that its trees are always laden with fruit. But then its surface is diver- sified by mountain and valley, lake and stream ; and its coast is at least partly surrounded by a wall of rocks in whose lofty face the griffin (gribhinneacti) builds her nest and rears her offspring. Indeed, to the eye it bears the closest resemblance to the real world. Its surface presents the same outward appearance, and so also do its products and even its inha- bitants. But this resemblance is in appearance only. A closer examination proves that there is an essential difference between the two worlds, and that this difference is constituted by magic. All the products of the Green Isle possess magical properties, and its inhabitants are all adepts in the art of magic. For example, the water taken from its "mystic spring" restores to Notes. 263 life and health ; and its apples either cure, or kill, or transform those who eat them. See " Brown Bear" in vol. i, and " Conall Gulbain" in vol. iii of Campbell's West Highland Tales, "The Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture" in this collection, and the third version of the " Three Soldiers" in vol. i of W. H. Tales. The Green Isle is generally regarded as the Paradise of the early Gael, just as Avalon is that of the ancient Briton. It may be so, and no doubt it can be proved to be so from other Celtic tales. But in all Highland folk and hero tales known to me, it is the living, and not the dead, who visit it. They go to it and return from it under the influence of magic 1 \driiidh- eachd}, or spells 1 (geisean], or by means of charm-stones 1 (dachan buadhd), or by the assistance of some real creature like the eagle 2 (iolair), or fabulous creature like the griffin 3 (grlbh- inneacli). But when Finn and the Feinn, the principal actors in these tales, finally depart, they go, not to the Green Isle, but to some vast cavern in a rock, such as the Smith's Rock in Skye, or into a mound such as Tomnahurich near Inverness. There they rest in a profound enchanted sleep, until some one having the necessary strength and courage shall enter the cavern and sound Finn's whistle three times. See " The Smith's Rock" in this collection, and "The Man in the Tuft of Wool", by the late Rev. Dr. Maclachlan, in vol. ii of the History of the Highlands, edited by John S. Keltic. See also Leabhar na Feinne, p. 198, where Ossian is represented as having gone, not to Tir na h-Oige, but into a rock where ho stayed with his mother many centuries before he returned to the world. J. McD. P. 4. In the similar Maclnnes tale (No. II) the land is Lochlan, and the man in the boat is a king of that country. But here the land is distinct from Lochlan, and the Big Young Hero has Finn for his friend, and the Lochlan people for his foes. See the first of the foregoing notes. J. McD. P. 8. Here Bran's dam is the bitch found in the giant's castle. But in Campbell's W. H. Tales, vol. iii, p. 350, he is the son of Buidheag (Booyag), whose owner was Black Arcan, the 1 Cf. " Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture". " Brown Bear", in Campbell's W. H. Tales, and perhaps in the "Kingdom of the Green Mountains", No. V of the Maclnnes Tales. 3 In a tale known as Mac' an Tiiathanaich a thainig a Raineach (The Farmer's Son who came from Ranoch). 264 Notes. slayer of Cumhal. And in some Irish tales he is Finn's own cousin, being the son of Tuireann, the aunt of Finn. J. McD, TALE II. P. 17. This tale was told to me by Alexander Cameron, who, more than forty years ago, got it and Tales I, IV, VI, VII from Donald McPhie, who, at the time of relating the tales, was upwards of ninety years old. This tale is still pretty widely known. Among those who have frequently heard it recited may be mentioned Archibald and James Cameron, Duror. J. McD. Kennedy knew a tale somewhat similar to this. He gives an epitome of it in his "argument", quoted by J. F. Campbell, p. 153 of Leabhar na Feinne. Finn there appears to have been bespelled, as in Tale II of this collection, to go alone to Lochlan on a visit to the King. On arriving there, he found that the King's object in sending for him was, not to entertain him hospitably, but " to torment him a few days, and then kill him". When the Norsemen were going to lay hands on him, he drew his sword and killed eighty of them. His sword then broke, and he was made prisoner, and bound hand and foot by his enemies. After being subjected to great extremes of heat and cold, under the roast-drippings inside the house by day, and under the rain drops from the eaves outside the house by night, he was left to choose between death by the sword, and the risk of passing through a Glen in the kingdom, which was haunted by " evil spirits and wild beasts". He chose the latter, and went away, armed with nothing but his broken sword. He entered the Glen at one end, and after passing through "great dangers", arrived at the other. Here he saw a " wild dog" coming, with open mouth, towards him. At first he knew not what to do, but he remembered at last that his stepmother gave him a magic "belt" called Con-taod (Dog-bridle), telling him to take good care of it, and assuring him that he would find it useful some day. He took the belt out of his pocket and shook it before the Dog. The Dog immediately became tame, and approached him in a fawning manner. He then put the belt on the animal and led him away with him. This Dog, according to Kennedy's next "argument", was "Sceblainn", and Sceolainn was not, as in other tales, the sister, but the dam of Bran. Be that as it may, Finn travelled with the beast through the Glen until he arrived at the house of a Smith who lived Notes. 265 there, and who mended the hero's broken sword. Here, also, he fell in with Graine, a beautiful maiden who was kidnapped by the Smith. The latter he killed, and he and Graine returned to Ireland. J. McD. P. 17. Finn must not take with him to Lochlan "a dog or a man, a calf or a child, a weapon or an adversary but himself." A person who goes on a journey quite alone is said to go "without a dog or a man" (gun cM, gun duine). One who has neither means nor family to depend on for future support is said to have " neither calf nor child in the world" (gun laogh, gun leanabh anns an t-saoghal}. One who is "without weapon or adversary but himself" is one who can do his foe little harm. Finn, then, is to have no friendly companion with him on the journey to Lochlan, to make no provision for his support in that country, and to take with him no instrument or follower to hurt its king or its people. See also " Fair Gruagach" in Campbell's W. H. Tales, vol. ii, p. 411. J. McD. P. 1 8. Finn "could not touch the Big Lad with a stick." In other words, Finn, though a fast traveller, could not get near enough to touch with a stick in his outstretched hand the Big Lad who went before him. J. McD. P. 21. The "squint-eyed, red-haired man", according to the narrator of the tale, was Oscar, son of Ossian, and grand- son of Finn. Among the Clanna Baoisgne he stood next to Finn in point of heroism, and his only match in the Fein was Goll, the head of the Clanna Moirne. J. McD. TALE III. P. 27. Cameron got this tale from his grandfather, an old soldier who died in Ardnamurchan about forty-four years ago, and from Donald McPhie, whose name has already been mentioned. The tale is well known; I heard it told in my boyhood. Several versions of it were collected by Campbell, though none of them was ever published by him. See W. H. Tales, vol. iii, p. 147, footnote. A fragment of it appears in the " Bent Grey Lad" in the Maclnnes Tales (No. II). And I have no doubt there are some old men still in Argyleshire who can recite the tale, or who, in their earlier years, heard it told by others. For Irish similars, see Nutt's note on the " Bent Grey Lad" in the Maclnnes Tales ^ p. 443. J. McD. 1 66 Notes. P. 27. Gille nan Cochla-craidnn is put down as I heard it pronounced, but it should be Gille nan Cochulla-craidnn. A still better form would be Gille nan Cochnill-chraicinn. The Gaelic title is here translated " The Lad of the Skin-coverings", but in Campbell's W. H. Tales, " The Lad of the Skinny Husks". Skinny Husks, however, now signify skins which transform the persons encased in them into the same kind of animals as those to which they properly belong. But as the skins mentioned here were used simply as clothing, and as they seem to have had no transforming effect on the wearer, it is better to translate it, as in the text, " The Lad of the Skin- coverings." J. McD. P. 27. Green Insh. Innis (Insh or Inch) has a variety of meanings, but of these one of the most common is island. If this be the signification of the word here, it follows that Tnnis Uaine is the same as Eilean Uaine, and, therefore, also as the Green Isle at the Extremity of the Uttermost World, or the Celtic Hesperides. But if Finn could travel over " bens and glens and heights" from the time he left his own dwelling until he arrived at Green Insh, the latter can scarcely be regarded as an island. Insh, then, may signify a field in a hollow near water. J. McD. P. 28. The Big Lad's reward is virtually the same as that of the " Bent Grey Lad" at p. 35 of the Maclnnes Tales , and as that of the " Goodherd" in the "Slim Swarthy Lad" at p. 299 of vol. i of the W. H. Tales.}. McD. P. 28. Conan was a brother of Goll and of Garry, and therefore belonged to the Clann Moirne tribe. For his cha- racter, or rather one phase of it, see the Maclnnes Tales, p. 443. J. McD. P. 29. He " put a balk on his foot". A person going to lift a heavy burden places it first on some rest, such as a bank of earth, in order that he may afterwards raise it with greater ease on to his back. But the Big Lad made a rest of his bent left knee, to which he first drew his burden, and from which he then threw or swung it by a joint effort of hands and left shoulder over the latter. J. McD. P. 29. Here Conan is the Big Lad's guide, but in the Maclnnes Tales Finn himself is that of the " Bent Grey Lad". J. McD. Notes. 267 P. 30. The Cup, in this tale, is four-sided (ceathrarach\ and in the " Bent Grey Lad" quadrangular (ceithir-chearnach). It has, therefore, the same shape in both tales. Here it is a wishing-cup, for no sooner does the Big Lad think of a certain drink than the magical vessel is full to the brim. It is called a cup of virtues ; and it is no doubt the same as Finn's cup of healing. The Norsemen coveted it, and made frequent attempts to get it into their possession. One of these attempts is the subject of the poems on pages 59 and 60 of Leabhar na Feinne. A frightful-looking Hag, sent from Lochlan, forced her way into the sanctuary or place of safety (tearmunn) where it was kept, and, in spite of the strong guard over it, snatched it from its place and escaped. Finn, with two of his swiftest followers, pursued her from Bear (Beura) in the S.W. of Ire- land to Eassaroy (Easruadh), near Balk/shannon, in the north. Here he overtook her, transfixed her with his spear, and re- covered his lost cup. Another attempt, or another version of the foregoing one, forms the subject of a tale called the " Muileartach", con- tributed by the Rev. J. G. Campbell to the Scottish Celtic Review, to be reprinted in vol. iv of this series. There, Finn's cup, which is of clay, and not of gold, as in the generality of Gaelic tales, is called the "Cup of Victory" (Corn-Buadhach\ because it made the Feinn who drank from it always victorious. The Muileartach, a Hag who was nurse of Manus, King of Lochlan, came to Finn's dwelling and drove in the well-secured door with a kick of her foot. She then entered the house, went to the chest of jewels (ciste nan seud), and having snatched the Cup from it, departed. Oscar pursued and overtook her at the Hill of Howth. He seized her first by the foot and next by the grey hair which streamed out behind her. But she turned upon him, and with a touch of her left hand crushed as many of his bones as lay under her palm, adding as she did so, " If you have strength to go home, tell Finn that I have the Cup of Victory." She then resumed her journey, and when she arrived in Lochlan she handed the cup to Manus, her foster-son. Manus mustered his men immediately, and went to fight Finn. Both met at Dun Kincorry, where all the followers of Manus were slain, and the Cup of Victory was recovered. This latter stealing of Finn's Cup may be that which is pre- supposed in the Cup incident in the " Lad of the Skin Coverings". But if so, the two tales differ widely in their account of the manner in which it was afterwards recovered See further, Nutt's note at p. 444 of the Maclnnes Tales. J. McD. 268 Notes. P. 30. The travelling run. The first part of this run, which makes the hero outstrip the Swift March Wind, occurs fre- quently in Gaelic tales. See "Young King of Easaidh Ruadh", at p. 4 of vol. i, " Fair Gruagach", p. 415 of vol. ii, and "Conall Gulban", p. 207 of vol. iii of W. H. Tales ; see also the Rev. D. Campbell's tale in vol. i of this series. J. McD. P. 31. The palace of the King of Lochlan was defended by seven guards. The palace was surrounded by seven walls, one within the other; and a body of men were stationed as guards at the gate of every wall. Through each of these the Big Lad had passed before he arrived at the palace. J. McD. P. 32. Green Lakelet (Lochan Uaine). A small pond over- grown with grass is so called. It may also be added that a castle moat, either with stagnant water, or with water covered with grass, is called a Green Ditch (J)}g Uaine). The leafy marsh (boga duilicJi) is the soft-bottomed margin of the lake with the leaves of water-plants floating on the surface. J. McD. P. 33. Ben Aidan is the Hill of Howth. J. McD. P. 33. Leathern garter (eill ioscaide) is, literally, the leather thong of his hough. In other words, it is the long narrow strip of undressed leather which formed one of the Big Lad's garters. J. McD. P. 34. The Smith of the White Glen. Geal, translated here white, signifies also bright. For example, Geal-ach, the Gaelic for moon, is the bright or shining one. Hence Gobhainn a' Ghlinne Ghil may be rendered The Smith of the White Glen. Smiths, mythical or mythological, often appear in West High- land tales. There are, for instance, Lonn Mac Liomhain, the ugly, one-eyed Smith who forged the weapons of the leaders of the Feinn, and his brother, the Ocean Smith (Gobhainn nan Cuan), the husband of the Muileartach. (See the "Song of the Smithy", p. 65, and "A Mhuileartach", p. 67 of Leabhar na Fanned) These two were undoubtedly Norse. But the Smith of this tale, which is so highly mythological, was, in my opinion, the Celtic Vulcan. His smithy was in the glen, and the light from the flaming forge may be the imaginary cause of its being called the White Glen. J. McD. P. 34. The Great Hunt of the White Glen. Great as this hunt or drive was, it was surpassed by that of Caoilte. Finn Notes. 269 was the prisoner of Cormac Mac Art, the King of Ireland, and Caoilte went to deliver him. But Cormac refused to give him his liberty until Caoilte had accomplished the task of gathering together a pair of every animal in Ireland, and driving them before him to Tara. " Caoilte's Rabble" consisted not only, as here, of four-footed beasts, but also of birds and fishes, and even "two whales" ! See Dean of Lismore's Book, Ixii, 42, 43. J. McD. P. 36. Finn saw the Lady or Mistress of Green Insh cutting rushes down in a hollow beneath him, and a turn of her right breast over her left shoulder. The Son of the King of Lochlan saw, in a far-away island, " a big, big woman," who is similiarly described, and who was similarly employed (Maclnnes' Tales, p. 239). And Diarmaid beheld, in "Realm Underwaves", "a woman, as though she were crazed," engaged in the very same work. He asked her " what use she had for rushes?" She answered that the Daughter of King Underwaves was ill, and that a bed of rushes was what she found wholesomest (W. H. Tales, vol. iii, p. 413). I believe that the Lady of Green Insh down in the valley or Underwaves is Night, which brings sleep and rest, symbolised by the bed of rushes, to the sick and wearied. J. McD. P. 36. Finn's object, in taking hold of the Lady of Green Insh by the breast, was to bring himself into the relation of foster-son to her. After that she was bound, by one of the strongest ties, to grant him his boon. J. McD. P. 37. The golden doors, or silver doors, are, in my opinion, the openings of the western sky at sunset. J. McD. P. 38. Finn is the Sun, and the Yellow-haired Lad of the Skin Coverings is the golden Dawn or Twilight, overcast with fleecy clouds (breac-a-mhuiltein). J. McD. P. 38. Avasks is, in Gaelic, Amhaisg or Amhais. For a description of Avasks, see the footnote at 220 of vol. iii of the W. H. Tales. Campbell thinks that the Avasks may be the same as the Northern Baresarks. Here they represent the clouds of darkness, which threaten to extinguish both sun and twilight. J. McD. P. 39. Carraig an uchd, translated breastbone, is, literally, the rock of the chest. Here there is a hidden metaphor, the breastbone, under the thin layer of skin and flesh, being com- pared to a rock almost cropping out through the light soil. J. McD. 270 Notes. This tale is mythological from one end to the other, but the last part, the journey of Finn to the place of the Queen of Roy (Red), is clearly so. I believe that the Lady of Green Insh is Night, that her yellow-haired son, the Lad of the Skin Coverings, is the golden Dawn with its fleecy clouds (or breac-a- mhuiltein\ and that his brother, the Son of the King of Light, is Day or Daylight. Finn is the Sun, and as such the King of Light. His journey to the place of the Queen of Roy (Red) is the Sun's daily course from east to west. The latter is accom- panied on its way by the Dawn, which remains invisible until it comes forth in the evening as Twilight. Both then enter the golden or silver portals of the west. The struggle between the Dawn as Twilight and the clouds of darkness represented by the Avasks now begins, and terminates afterwards in favour of the former a result supposed to be rendered evident enough by "the heaps" or masses of clouds piled outside the portals of night, or just above the western horizon. Next morning the Sun wakens the Dawn. The latter goes forth, encounters the clouds of darkness at the threshold, and again comes off victorious. There it enters on a more pro- longed struggle with the advancing Day. This struggle begins before sunrise, and ends after sunset. From one point of view they part then for the night, but from another they both fall dead in each other's embraces, and are carried back by the setting Sun to their mother, Night. She restores them to life, but only to enter again on the same course, and to pass through the same experiences as they had on the preceding day. J. McD. TALE IV. P 56. Alexander Cameron got this version of a well-known tale from Donald McPhie, to whom he is indebted for the most of his lore. Another Alexander Cameron, who also belongs to Ardnamurchan, but who now resides in Lochaber, heard it recited by the same McPhie, to whom he was nearly related. J. McD. There are several versions of the tale still extant, the majority of them under different titles. In the Lay of Diarmad, the dying hero, in recalling his many rescues of Finn from extreme danger, places that from the Rowan-tree Dwelling (Bruighin Chaoruinti) first. Two prose versions of the tale, under this very title, are preserved in the Advocates' Library. One of them is in a MS. which was written in 1600, and which belonged to the McVurichs, the once famous bards of Notes. 2 7 1 Clanranald. The other is in the Dunstaffnage MS., which bears the date of 1603, and which was written by a local scribe named Ewen McPhail. See Leabhar na Feinne, pp. 86-8. A third version, entitled " Maghach Colgar", is in vol. ii of the W. H. Tales. A fourth, headed " Fionn le Feachd na Feinne air cul Bheinn Eidin a' sealg", was found by the late Mr. Donald McPherson of the Advocates' Library. And "Tigh a' Bhlair Bhuidhe" (The House of Yellow Field) in this collection may be reckoned the fifth. There is an English version in Dr. Joyce's old Celtic romances (p. 177 et seq.} made from three Irish MSS. of 1733, 1766, and 1841. J. McD. P. 57. Some incidents which are omitted in this version, but which are preserved in the fragment in Leabhar na Feinne, and summarised in a note appended to " Maghach Colgar", may be briefly told here. A King of Lochlan invaded Ireland with the intention of conquering the whole island. But he was met, and, with two of his sons, was slain in battle by Finn and the Feinne. His third son, Miodhach MacColgain, fell into the hands of Finn ; but his life was spared, and he then became King of Lochlan. He pretended to be so grateful and attached to his preserver that nothing would satisfy him but to live near the latter, and spend his revenue from the Kingdom of Lochlan in that of Ireland. His wishes were for a time gratified, but he was always distrusted by some of the Fdinn. At length, on the advice of Conan and Ossian, he was removed from Finn's neighbourhood, and sent to live on a distant island in the Shannon. Here he seems to have cherished a purpose of being revenged on Finn for the death of his father and brothers, and to have waited for an opportunity of accomplish- ing it. What appeared a good opportunity presented itself to him at last. Finn and his men went on a hunting expedition to Munster. During their stay there, and while they were seated on a knoll, they saw a tall young hero approaching. He was well armed, and wore on his head a helmet set all round with precious stones. When he arrived he said that he was a poet, and that he came to bind Finn by oath to accompany him to a certain dwelling in Ireland should Finn fail in solving a string of riddles which he propounded. Finn, however, solved the riddles ; and Conan recognising in the stranger Miodhach MacColgain, reproached him for his want of hospitality to his benefactor. Thereupon Miodhach in- vited all present to a feast prepared by him in a dwelling " on sea", i.e., on the island in the Shannon, but which was to be consumed in a dwelling " on land", i.e., on the opposite bank 272 Notes. of the river. And to make sure of their presence at the feast, he bespelled, or bound by oath, Finn straightway to accompany him to the latter. This was the Enchanted Dwelling of the Rowan-tree, or of Blar Buidhe. J. McD. P. 57. The Big Lad in the version in this collection is simply Miodhach, the son of Colgan. But neither here nor in " Maghach Colgar" of the W. H. Tales is a reason given as in the foregoing fragment for the King of Lochlan's hatred to Finn. J. McD. P. 57. The conference to determine the order of travelling to the House of Yellow Field is held in a " House of Conference", or " Tigh-Comhagail". The latter should be Tigh Comhagalamh. Agalamh, a discourse, is found in " Agallamh- na-Senorach", the " Discourse of the Ancients". J. McD. P. 57. Caoilte (Slender), first called Daorghlas andLuathas, was the son of Ronan, and a relative of Finn. He was the swiftest of foot in the Feinn. When at full speed his shoulders rose so high that he looked as if he had three heads, and then he would outstrip the swift March wind. See " Gruagach Ban" in vol. ii, and " Duan na Ceardaich" in vol. iii of W. H. Tales. An instance of his speed has been already given from the Dean of Lismore's Book. Another will be found in the " Song of the Smithy" in vol. iii of the W. H. Tates, Leabhar na Feinne, p. 65, etc. From his fairy sweet- heart (leannan slth} he received a strengthening belt which greatly increased his power of endurance, and a ring which made him always victorious (Leabhar na Feinne, p. 54). He was almost as heroic as he was swift-footed. Instances of his heroism are (i) his slaying of the enchanted boar, and (2) of the five-headed giant (Leabhar na Feinne, pp. 52-7). He was also one of the chief bards of the Feinn." J. McD. P. 57. Cuchulin, the third in the race to Lochlan, or rather to the banks of the Shannon, was the Hero of Ulster, as Finn was that of Leinster. He is supposed to have lived in the first century of the Christian era, and to have been con- temporary with Conaire Mac Eidersgeoil, King of Ireland, and Conchobar Mac Nessa, King of Ulster. Yet he is here alive in the third century, in the time of Finn and Cormac Mac Art. For further information about Cuchulin see the poems under his name from p. i to p. 1 9 of Leabhar na Feinne. J. McD. Notes. 273 P. 57. The House of Blar-buie, or Yellow-field. This house was called after the field on the banks of the Shannon on which it was, or was supposed to be erected. In the Frag- ment in Leabhar na Feinne Yellow-field is not the site of the house of that name, but the scene of the battle in which Miodhach's father and brothers fell. The house is there called the Rowan-tree Dwelling, because its walls consist of rows of wooden posts driven into the ground and interwoven with wattles of the rowan-tree. It was constructed by the three Kings of Insh Tilly, wicked magicians or Druids who were in alliance with Miodhach. It was enchanted, and formed to serve as a trap in which Finn and his men should be taken. J. McD. P. 57. Here Finn is the first to enter the enchanted dwelling, but in the Fragment Conan takes the lead. The description of the interior in the latter, reminds one of the interior of a house in the Arabian Nights. The walls are lined with boards of a great variety of colours, white, black, blue, green, and red. The seats and the floor are covered with gold-embroidered cloth of every hue. There are rich silk garments for the use of the guests. And finally the house is filled with a delicious perfume which cheers and invigorates all who inhale it. But no sooner do the Feinn take their seats than all this rude grandeur vanishes. Finn speaks first. He thinks it a wonder that the feast is not coming. Goll considers it a greater wonder that the sweet perfume has become a disgusting odour. Glas reckons it a greater wonder than that, that the many-coloured boards have disappeared, and left nothing but bare walls of wattle. Faolan holds it a still greater wonder that the Dwelling which had seven doors when they entered, has now only one. And Conan maintains that it is the greatest wonder of all that not a thread of the silk garments and embroidered cloth is left, and that he feels as if he were plastered with clay, and the clay as cold as the snow of one night. Finn now suspects that they are caught in a snare, and at the request of Goll puts his finger under his knowledge-set-of- teeth, and discovers the whole truth. Miodhach, who for fourteen years had been plotting evil against the Feinn, got the dwelling constructed ; and now he has with him in the island a strong hero of the Greeks called the King of the Great World, sixteen Kings of the "Fairadh", each of them surrounded by seven bands of men, and the thre> Kings of Insh Tilly who are over the sixteen Kings of the " Fairadh". This revelation disheartens the Feinn. But T 274 Notes. Finn tells them to face death with full courage, because they had got their allotted time in the world ; and he added that the " Ord Finn" would play, and serve them in place of music at the time of death. J. McD. P. 58. Finn's " knowledge-set-of-teeth". See how he ac- quired "the Knowledge of the two Worlds" in Leabhar na Feinne, p. 38, and W. H. Tales, vol. ii, p. 362. J. McD. P. 58. " The blood of the three sons of the King of Insh Tilly filtered through rings of silver into cups of gold" is the only thing that will release Finn and his men. In the Frag- ment it is the blood of the three Kings of Insh Tilly mixed together. But in "Maghach Colgar" it is the blood of the three Daughters of King Gil. In neither of the two last versions is there any mention of the rings and cups. J. McD. P. 58. Here the absent heroes are only two in number, and of these Oscar is the leader. But in " Maghach Colgar" three are absent, with Diarmad as their head, and in the Fragment of the "Rowan-tree Dwelling'' five are left under Ossian, Finn's oldest son. J. McD. P. 58. The Wooden-crier, or Gurra-fiodha. What was it? Here it is of wood, and is sounded by blowing into it. In the next short tale (p. 73) it is like a hollow baton or pole for carrying in the hand, and is sounded by blowing into one end of it. The inference from all this is that it must have been either a wooden whistle or trumpet. But that it was the former and not the latter is evident from its being called fldeag, i.e., whistle, in the tale of " Fear a' Gheadain Chlbimhe" (The Man in the Tuft of Wool). See p. 58 of vol. ii of A History of the Scottish Highlands, edited by J. S. Keltic. Its use was to sound the alarm when Finn's life was in extreme danger. J. McD. In " Maghach Colgar" the signal of ^danger is made by striking a blow with the hammer of Finn (Ord Fhinn) ; and the sound of the blow instantly travels all the way from Lochlan to Ireland. In the Fragment so often quoted already, an " Ord Fian" (Fian Hammer?) is also mentioned. But though this instrument did alarm the absent friends of Finn, yet it does not appear that it was set agoing for that purpose. On the contrary, its musical sounds seem to have been substituted for the dirge. Is this the Celtic hand-bell, such as that of Kilmichael Glassary, or of St. Fillan, tolling the death of the seemingly doomed heroes ? J. McD. Notes. 275 P. 59. " The ford-mouth of the river." Taking the Fragment as our guide, " the river" is the Shannon, and the " ford- mouth" is on the branch of the Shannon which separates the site of the Enchanted Dwelling from the island in which Miodhach (pronounced Miach) and his allies are waiting. J. McD. P. 59. The Gaper, or Craosnach, is a dart or javelin. Craos- nach is from craos, a wide mouth, and the dart is so called from the gaping wounds it makes. J. McD. P. 59. The "Big House" is on the island. The heroes reach it by crossing the ford. J. McD. P. 59. The "^erce hero" lifting the haunch of venison from the caldron is one of the three sons of the King of Insh Tilly. He and his two brothers, being Druids or Magicians, are easily identified by the transformations they undergo. J. McD. P. 60. The "great host" are no doubt a part of the "bands" following the sixteen Kings of the " Fairadh". J. McD. P. 6 1. On his second visit to the Big House, Oscar brings with him his three-edged blade (lann tr\ Jhaobharacti). The blade must have resembled a bayonet, for the point can scarcely be called an edge. J. McD. P. 61. Wherever "she" appears for eagle, read "he". J. McD. P. 62. Here Lohary, the Son of the King of the Hunts (Laoghaire Mac Righ nan Sealg), takes the place held in the Fragment by " Innsi Mac Suibhne t-Sealge", and in " Maghach Colgar" by " Innsridh Mac Righ nan Sealg". J. McD. P. 64. Here Conan acquired the nickname of Conan Maol, or Bald Conan, because he, in his effort to tear himself away from the enchanted hearth-stone, left behind him the skin and hair of the back of his head. But in the Maclnnes Tales he was surnamed Maol, because he was " crop-eared". J. McD. T 2 276 Notes. TALE V. P. 73. This legend Alexander Cameron got from his father, John Cameron, who died in Ardnamurchan upwards of forty years ago. It is identified with several places in the High- lands, and especially with Tom na h-lubhraich, near Inverness. See "The Man in the Tuft of Wool", by Dr. McLauchlan, in vol. ii of A History of the Highlands. J. McD. P. 74. " Wooden graips" are long-pronged graips or forks made of wood, and used in lifting sea-ware, bracken, etc. J. McD. P. 74. "Sailean dharagaibh daraich" are beams made of trunks of bog oak. J. McD. TALE VI. P. 76. Alexander Cameron told me this tale, Donald McPhie told it to him, and the other Alexander Cameron, mentioned in the Notes to Tale IV, heard it recited by McPhie. I heard, long ago, another version of the tale under the somewhat different title of ' Crochadair na Tairgne" (The Hangman of the Nail), but I forget it now. The Hangman of the Nail earned his distinction by hanging his prisoners on nails from the highest turret of his castle, and the Bare-Stripping Hangman earned his by stripping his victims naked before he suspended them on hooks in the same position. J. McD. This, I believe, is the first version of Tale VI, as a whole, that has yet appeared in print. It consists of two parts, the first ending and the second beginning at the marriage of Cormac with the Daughter of the King of Riddles. The former might be called the Tale of the King of Riddles, and the latter the Tale of the Bare-Stripping Hangman. The King of Riddles would then correspond in part with the " Knight of Riddles" of the W. H. Tales, and similar riddle tales in other languages ; and the Bare-Stripping Hangman would have its semi-similars in the " Herding of Cruachan" in the Maclnnes Tales, " The Young King of Easaidh Ruadh" in the W. H. Tales, and " Cathal o Chruachan agus Buachaille na Greigh" (Cathal from Cruachan and the Herd of the Stud), another version of the " Herding of Cruachan" in my possession. As Notes. 277 similars in other languages, " Koschei the Deathless" in Ralston's Russian Folk-tales, and " The Giant who had no Heart in his Body" in Dasent's Norse Tales, may be mentioned. See, further, Mr. Nutt's notes to the "Herding of Cruachan" in the Maclnnes Tales($. 455-57). Butlet itnotbesupposed that the tale really consists of two other tales, and that these can be actually separated from one another without doing violence to either of them. Had this been attempted, the second tale would be left without a beginning, allusions in the course of the narrative would become unintelligible, and the incidents at the close, so characteristic of Highland tales, must be struck out alto- gether, thus leaving the tale without any proper ending. True, " The Riddle" in Grimm's Tales ends with the marriage of the prince and princess. But the " Knight of Riddles" does not end at the marriage of the elder brother with the daughter of the Knight of Ridclss. The younger brother then returns home, and his elder brother becomes hero. As hero, the latter finds enough to do before he rids the borders of his kingdom of giants, and earns the honour of knighthood from his grim father-in-law. Nor are his trials then at an end. As Knight of the White Shield he meets his younger brother in single combat, and is overcome. The latter once more returns home, but is met on the way by his twelve sons, and forced to yield to the weakest of them. Here then, as in the " Bare- Stripping Hangman", several incidents follow the marriage, and " The Riddle" of other languages forms but one of the many incidents of the tale. J. McD. P. 76. The Henwife is here presented in her usual cha- racter of mischief-maker, and the stepmother is simply her tool. She does not appear in " The Knight of Riddles", and consequently the part she acts in this tale is omitted there. Her request is so put that it looks moderate enough. She wants only the full of the little black jar of meal and butter, etc. Her terms should then be accepted by the Queen, and not, as in the tale, after the extent of her demands are made known. These terms form a series of riddles, but their solution is omitted. A similar incident, however, occurs in " Conn Eda" in Folk and Fairy Tales of the Irish Peasantry (Camelot series), and the solution of the request made there may be virtually that of the first part of the request made here. The Henwife in " Conn Eda" requested that the cavity of her arms should be filled with wool, and that the hole she would bore with her distaff should be filled with red wheat. Her request was granted. She "thereupon stood in the door of her hut, and bending her arm into a circle with her side, directed the royal 278 Notes. attendants to thrust the wool into her house through her arm, until all the available space within was filled with wool. She then got on the roof of her brother's house, and having made a hole through it with her distaff, caused red wheat to be spilled through it until that was filled up to the roof with red wheat." J. McD. P. 76. A chalder is equal to 16 bolls. J. McD. P. 79. Here only four ravens are poisoned, but in "The Knight of Riddles" there are twelve. J. McD. P. 79. Alastir (or Art, as I believe he should be called) "had virtues (buaidhean) about him by which he knew what was to meet them". In other words, he had the second sight. But, according to my Sheanachy, although the mysterious power he possessed enabled him to foresee the danger before him, it did not show him how he was to get out of it. For this he must depend on his wits alone. J. McD. P. 80. The adventure with the robbers being over, the brothers resolve that Cormac shall travel as the Son of the King of Ireland, and Alastir as his page. But notwithstanding this arrangement, Alastir never ceases to be the real hero of the tale from its beginning to its close. J. McD. P. Si. For comments on Head-crowned Stakes, see Nutt's note at p. 403 of the Maclnnes Tales. J. McD. P. 83. The incidents at the Castle of the King of Riddles are substantially the same as at that of the Knight of Riddles. J. McD. P. 83. Alastir, seeing his brother Cormac married, and out of danger, does not return home like the younger brother in " The Knight of Riddles", but enters alone on a new series of adventures, in which heroism is of more help than wit. J. McD. P. 84. The Dog-Otter befriends Alastir for his faithfulness to his brother. His first act of friendship to the latter is to snatch him away over the sea to Lochlan, the country to which his own thoughts are turning, and the scene of his future triumphs. Similar services rendered by other creatures to man are mentioned in other tales. For example, the Mermaid carries the hero of the next story on her tail all the way to the Notes. 279 Green Isle, and the Fox, transformed into a ship, conveys Mac Iain Dirich to the several countries to which his quests lead him. The Otter's next act of friendship to Alastir is to fetch him the salmon, a bite of which imparts such wonderful strength. J. McD. P. 84. The White Red-eared Hound next befriends Alastir. The Otter brought him to the country where he is to receive the reward of his faithfulness, and now the hound brings him into contact with the man in whose service he is to earn his reward. This he does, as I think, in the following manner : The King of Lochlan and his twelve Champions are out hunting with the White Red-eared Hound. The Great White- buttocked Deer starts up before them. The Hound pursues, and purposely drives the deer to the hut, where he kills it, and leaves it at Alastir's feet. His object in this is two-fold : (i) to provide more of strengthening food for Alastir, and (2) to bring him, as already stated, in contact with the King. The White Red-eared Hound turns up pretty often in Highland tales. See, for instance, " The Lay of the Big Fool," at p. 160 of vol. iii of the W. H. Tales. It also appears in a tale in my pos- session, called " The Knight of the Bens, of the Glens, and of the Mountain Passes". J. McD. P. 86. Three of the King's daughters are stolen by the Great Giant of the Black Corrie of Ben Breck. Other instances of stolen children are common enough. See the first tale in this collection, " The King of Lochlin's Three Daughters" in vol. i of the W. H. Tales, " Coise Cein" at p. 265 of the Maclnnes Tales, etc. J. McD. P. 87. The Golden Eagle attacks the Champions in the Giant's Den, and compels them to flee. The soul seems to have fled for safety out of the Giant's body when the latter was attacked, and to have hidden itself first in the eagle. This, then, is not an instance of transformation, but of the passing of the soul from one body to another. Instances of both kinds are common enough in Highland tales. J. McD. P. 88. Black Brood-mare, or Alaire Dhiibh. Alaire derived from at, brood, signifies brood-mare. Another word allied to it is Falaire, which MacLeod and Dewar derive from fa/, sod. If their translation be correct, then Falaire means a horse at grass, as opposed to one at work. And as only brood- mares and saddle-horses answer that description, the word is applied only to them. See the dictionaries, where it is 280 Notes translated either by ambler or mare. Falaire is of frequent occurrence in Gaelic tales. For example, there is a Falaire Bhuidhe (Yellow Ambler) in " Maclain Direach", Falaire Dhonn (Brown Ambler) in " The Fair Gruagach", and Falaire Dhubh (Black Ambler) in " The Knight of the Red Shield", all in vol. ii of the W. H. Tales.}. McD. P. 88. The catching of the Black Brood-mare. This is one of three tasks imposed on Alastir in Lochlan. The first is the fight for his life against the twelve Champions of the King. The second is the catching of the Brood-mare for winning the King's Fourth Daughter. And the third is the quest for the soul of the Bare-stripping Hangman, with the object of preserv- ing the latter after she is won. J. McD. P. 88. In catching the Brood-mare three trials are allowed one on each of three successive days. On the first and second day, she flees so fast up the side of Ben Buie (Yellow Mountain) that she " sends water out of the stones, and fire out of the streams". However impossible these assertions may be, they help to heighten our idea of the Mare's speed. J. McD. P. 89. The Sorceress, or lorasgach-itrlair, is described as an old haggard-looking woman, who is careless of her person and of her dress, Her hair is dishevelled, and the skirt of her garment hangs down unequally. Hence an untidy person is still called in contempt " lorasglach". Her favourite posture is sitting on the floor. Hence another name she bears, Clarsach-firlair. According to. the version I first heard, she struck, before she gave forth her responses, the ground three times, as if she would thus summon to her help the Underworld power or powers from whom she received her inspiration. In " Tuairisgeul Mor", a tale contributed by the Rev. J. G. Campbell to the Scottish Celtic Review, the Eachrais-urlair, translated there " Trouble-the-house", appears. She is a great enchantress who, by a stroke of her magic beetle, transforms the King's three sons by his first wife into three wolves. But whether she is the same character as the Sorceress of this tale I cannot tell. J. McD. P. 89. The " friends", to whom the Sorceress alludes, are the Otter and the " White Red-eared Hound". J. McD. P. 90. With the old bridle Alastir catches the Black Mare. The Mare evidently possesses a wonderful degree of affection, and marvellous powers of recognition. She recognises the bridle Notes. 281 worn by her dam, and it may be by her grandam, and hastens to put her head where their heads once were. A like thing happens in Tale II. There the Grey Dog first identifies Bran's golden chain, then he approaches Finn with evident signs of affection, and at length suffers the latter to put the chain about his neck, and lead him away where he pleases. In Leabhar na Feinne^ however, the Wild Dog of the Glen is tamed and caught, not by Bran's golden chain, but by a Dog- bridle (con-taod] possessing magical properties. For similars see Rusty Bridle in " Widow's Son", " The Tether" in version 3, "The Rusty Bridle" in versions 6 and 7 of ditto, and The Bridle in " Daughter of the King of the Skies", all in vol. i, W. H. Tales, For "Bridle of Transformation" see Nutt's note at p. 462 of the Maclnnes Tales. J. McD. P. 93. The Rocky Path of Ben Buie. This is a narrow path running right over the top of the Yellow Mountain to its foot on the opposite side. Throughout its whole length it is hemmed in by lofty precipices, over which only a bird on the wing can pass. Its first or ascending half is the most difficult to travel. At its beginning this half is simply rocky, but higher up it is honey-combed with deep, transverse fissures ; and still higher up it comes to an abrupt termination, and leaves nothing before the traveller but a deep, yawning chasm. On one side, however, it leaves a remnant of itself, which forms a broken ledge of unequal breadth along the face of one of the enclos- ing precipices. Alastir crosses the fissures one after another in the same manner. His method is first to throw his body across the near side of a fissure, then to stretch his arms over the intervening gap to the farther side, and, when he gets a firm hold of the latter, to drag himself gradually on to it. His method of crossing the ledge is of course different. When the ledge is broad enough he walks on it, and when its gaps are narrow enough he springs over them ; but when it becomes too narrow or the gaps too wide, he must cross like any crags- man, by clinging with hands and feet to every projection in the face of the precipice. I think a similar path appears in the W. H. Fates, but I forget where. J. McD. P. 93. The buzzard is simply the Sorceress transformed. It is also the form assumed in Tale IV by the first of the three Druid Kings of Insh Tilly. J. McD. P. 94. The Red Lake. The space between the precipices seems to widen out in the descent, but the Path continues narrow, and passes like a causeway through the Red Lake. 282 Notes. This Path Alastir always keeps, and by so doing crosses the Lake in safety. J. McD. P. 94. The Yellow Mountain with its Rocky Path is part of an old myth. It is the vault of heaven, which is yellow or golden in the morning, and of the same colour again in the evening. The Rocky Path is that which the Sun takes in its daily course, and which is difficult to climb but easy to descend. And the Red Lake through which Alastir passes is the red evening sky. J. McD. P. 95. Udabac, translated porch, is really a semi-circular stone wall built before the outer door to shelter it from the wind and rain. A more primitive iidabac was formed by a cairn of stones placed on the more exposed side of the door. J. McD. P. 95. The Giant comes with a fairy motion i.e., with great speed, but without any perceptible effort. He moves his hands and feet so rapidly that they become invisible, and that he seems to glide through the air without touching the ground. J. McD. P. 96. The King of Ben Buie is the King of Lochlan. J. McD. P. 99. The Dragon, according to Cameron, was the cause of all the obstructions and difficulties in the Path over the Yellow Mountain. It was she who made the fissures, the chasm, and the Red Lake. It was she who placed the Giants in the first two Castles. And further on it will be seen that it was she also who kidnapped the King's younger brother and transformed him by her spells into the Bare-stripping Hangman. J. McD. P. 99. The Balsam, or Healing-ointment, is generally used externally for healing, but here it is used also internally for strengthening. J. McD. P. 1 01. The couples referred to here were different from those of the present day. A modern couple consists of two rafters having their upper ends joined together, and their lower ends drawn out like the legs of a compass and placed one opposite the other on the side-walls. But the lower ends of the rafters of a Great Barn Couple rested on upright posts which were built into the side-walls and whose bases stood on the floor. The rafters and posts were so joined together at their Notes. 28 points of meeting as to form curves, and not angles. The posts were the Stoops or Crfib, and the Curves, the Bends or Liib of the Couple. I should add that the upper ends of the rafters of this kind of couple stood about six inches apart, and that the rafters themselves were tied together in that position by a balk crossing them a few inches lower down. The space left between the ends of the rafters was for the admission of the ridge-pole, and the ridge-pole when admitted rested on the balk, which was called the hat ("Ad"}. There was a still more primitive couple, which consisted of two " cabers" of equal length and with equal bends at the point, corresponding with that in which the Stoops and Rafters of the foregoing couple met. The Barn is said to have had only as many Bends and Stoops as it had couples. How is this to be explained ? I can only guess. Perhaps the Barn was a "lean-to," with its roof supported by single "cabers" of the sort described above. J. McD. P. 102. The incident of the Old Men occurs in " The Man in the Tuft of Wool". See Scottish Highlands, vol. ii, p. 98. The incident, in one form or other, is often met with in Highland tales. See, further, Nutt's "Old, Older, and Oldest", at p. 460 of the Maclnnes Tales. J. McD. P. 102. The Hero is recognised by the sword he wears from the time he arrives with the King's sword at the first castle until he meets the first Old Man. J. McD. P. 103. The Crooked Stick, or Maide Crbm. No old man in the surrounding district could tell me what this meant, but a Lewis man explained it to me a few weeks ago. Assuming the hearth to be on the middle of the floor, the crooked stick has its ends resting on the corresponding spars of the two couples which are nearest the hearth. Its use there is to sup- port the crook. The old man in the bunch of moss was placed behind the crooked stick that is, resting on the same spars with it, but on the side of it furthest away from the door. Here the old man is wrapped in a bunch of moss, but in " The Man in the Tuft of Wool", as the title indicates, in a tuft of wool. In both these tales he rests behind the crooked stick ; but in " The Kingdom of the Green Mountains" of the Maclnnes Tales, he is rocked in a cradle. J. McD. P. 104. King Cormac was Cormac the Son of Art, the third century Ulster chief, and a contemporary of Finn and the Feinne. J. McD. 284 Notes. P. 105. The pulp, or cothan, meant here is such as is pro- duced by the friction of the oars against the rowlocks of a boat J. McD. P. 105. The jar of ointment. If this ointment be the same as the balsam or healing-ointment of other tales, here is a third use to which it is applied, viz., to render the body in- vulnerable. J. McD. P. 1 06. This "wayfaring run" occurs in a variety of forms in other tales. See "Conall" at p. 152, "Widow's Son" at p. 198, and "Fair Gruagach" at p. 412 of vol. ii of W. H. Tales. See also " Herding of Cruachan" at p. 105, and Nutt's note on the same at p. 457 of the Maclnnes Tales. J. McD. P. 107. The helping animals here are three in number the dog, otter, and falcon. In " Cathal o Chruachan", another tale in my possession, the number is, as in " The Herding of Cruachan", four. But the " Brown Wren of the Stream of Guidance" of the former takes the place of the Duck of the latter. Helping animals are of frequent occurrence in High- land tales. See Nutt's note at p. 457 of the Maclnnes Tales. J McD. P. 107. Creachan, or rocky region of a mountain. The mountain-side is divided into three regions. The lowest is the acclivity (bntdhacK). This region was, not so long ago, wooded. The next is the grassy region (fireacK) ; and the last, or highest, is the rocky region (creachan). J. McD. P. no. The first version of the tale I heard differed from this in several particulars. The Giant of the Nail of the former not only carried off the King's Youngest Daughter, but had her living with him in his Den in the Black Corrie of Ben Breck. Every morning he left his Den driving his flock of goats before him, while he spun flax on a distaff with one pair of hands, and played on an instrument called the Oruinn-Oruinn, supposed to be the shepherd's pipe, with another. He returned home in the evening, not only driving, spinning, and playing as in the morning, but also carrying a dead old woman for his own supper and a fresh-water salmon for that of the King's Daughter. His soul was hid, like that of the Bare-stripping Hangman, in an egg in a falcon in the Hind. The Hind, however, took refuge, not as here in a Wood, but in the Great Castle of threescore and ten doors in the Black Corrie of Ben Breck. The Giant was killed, not by crushing the egg Notes. 285 wherein his soul was hid, but by hitting him with it on a mole in his forehead. J. McD. P. 112. The coracle, or curach, requires not to be described. It turns up now and again in Gaelic tales. See " The Knight of the Red Shield" at p. 465 of vol. ii, W. H. Tales, " Conal" at p. 208 of vol. iii of ditto, and "The Kingdom of Big Men" at p. 185 of Scottish Celtic Review. J. McD. P. 112. This "tag", or "nonsense-ending", is only another version of that with which "The Swarthy Champion" con- cludes. See p. 300 of vol. i of the W. H. Tales. Dr. Douglas Hyde, at p. 176 of his Irish Folk-Tales, published by Nutt, says : " It is remarkable that there seems little trace of them (nonsense-endings) in Campbell. The only story in his volumes which ends with a piece of nonsense is 'The Slender Grey Champion'" (not "Kerne", as Dr. Douglas H)de makes it). This is scarcely correct. The fact is that there are five in vol. i alone of the W. H. Tales. "The Battle of the Birds", version 3, ends in these words : " If they have not died since then, they are alive, merry, and rich." " The Sea Maiden" ends almost in the same words. "The Girl and the Dead Man" has for its conclusion, "They returned home ; they left me sitting here, and if they were well, it is well ; and if they were not, let them be." "The King of Lochlin's Three Daughters" closes thus : " I left them dancing, and I know not but that they are cutting capers on the floor till the day of to-day." But the most extraordinary assertion of Dr. Hyde is at the close of the note : " Why the Highland tales have lost this distinctive feature I cannot even conjecture, but certain it is that this is so." Certain it is that it is not so. There are four in this collection alone, and I could add many others to the number. J. McD. TALE VII. P. 145. Cameron heard this tale in Ardnamurchan in his boyhood, but forgot it afterwards. He recovered it last year from James Campbell, a native of Gairloch, in Ross-shire, but now a shepherd in the Strath of Appin. John McFarlane, constable, Port-Appin, heard it from a Colonsay man in Jura nearly fifty years ago. The tale, therefore, is, or within living memory was, widely known along the coast of the AVest Highlands. And I am convinced that it can be traced back to the end of the last century at least. J. McD. 286 Notes. P. 145. The only other version of this tale known to me is " Black White Red" of vol. i of the W. H. Tales.}. McD. The subject of this tale is the Queen's jealousy of her stepson, with all its consequences. Her jealousy gives rise to a long train of incidents, of which the greater number are so linked together as to form an episode out of all pro- portion with the rest of the tale. The subject of the episode is the quest by the hero of the tale of the Swan-Maiden, who was the Young Daughter of the King of the Red Cap. Some incidents in this quest remind one of classical mythology, and especially of the Odyssey. I believe the resemblance between them is purely accidental. But whether this is so or not, the reader may rest assured that he has the tale as I got it, and that I am convinced it can be traced back to the end of the last century at least. J. McD. P. 146. The Mermaid divested of her husk or fish-skin becomes a handsome woman. Stories founded on similar incidents to this have been handed down by tradition. Perhaps the Mermaid marries her captor, is kindly treated by him, and bears him a family, but after all she is not happy. Some day, in her husband's absence, she searches the house, and finds her husk where he has hidden it. She at once betakes herself with it to the sea-side, puts it on, and returns to her native element. She may afterwards visit the bay beneath her old home to meet her children and to comb their hair, but never to stay even with them until her husk is once more seized, and finally destroyed. J. McD. The Mermaid occurs in the "Sea-Maiden" and its many versions in vol. i of the W. H. Tales. J. McD. P. 147. The Three Swan-Maidens. Similar Swan-Maidens appear in the third version of "The Three Soldiers", at p. 189 of vol. i of the W, H. Tales. See also Nutt's note at p. 436 of the Maclnnes 2 ales. J. McD. Another version of the Swan-Maiden quest occurs in a tale which I heard long ago, and which was called "Mac an Tuathanaich a Thainig a Raineach" (The Farmer's Son who came from Rannoch). The Farmer's Son was an only child, of whom his father and mother were very fond. They wished him to stay with them on the farm, and to succeed them after their death. But he found life too dull at home, and nothing would satisfy him but to go forth and seek his fortune in the world. Finding their efforts to dissuade him vain, they allowed him to have his own way at last. With the smaller half of a bannock and his mother's blessing, he set out on Notes. 287 his journey, and met on the way with several adventures, which I forget. At last, however, he arrived at an inn, where he resolved to stay for a time. He rose early next morning, and went to a lake in the neighbourhood to have a shot. When he was approaching the lake, he saw three white swans swimming on its calm surface. He crept towards them, and with some trouble got within proper range. But when he lifted his gun to his shoulder and was going to take aim, they became the three most beautiful maidens he had ever seen. He dropped his gun at once, and no sooner had he done so than they returned to their swan-form. He repeated the same actions again and again, but always with the same results. Won- dering at what he had seen, he returned for breakfast to the inn, and resolved to visit the lake at the same hour next morning. When morning came he returned to the lake, and found the swans, as he had left them, swimming on its surface. He prepared to fire, but as often as he lifted his gun they were maidens, and as often as he laid it down they became swans. He returned for breakfast to the inn, wondering more than ever at the sight he had seen. When breakfast was past, he thought over the matter, and made up his mind to go back to the lake in the evening. When evening came he went a third time to the lake. He approached it as cautiously as he could ; but, when he came in sight of it, the swans were nowhere to be seen. He thought they had flown ; but, on advancing nearer the lake and looking round its border, he saw three maidens bathing in the water, and their swan-skins lying on the beach. He crept towards the skins, and having got hold of them, refused to restore them unless the youngest of the three sisters for sisters they were agreed to marry him. She agreed at last, and then she and her sisters got back their swan-skins. Thereafter she ascended a green knoll above the lake, touched it with a white wand she held in her hand, and up sprang a fine castle, richly furnished, and stored with everything neces- sary for their comfort and happiness. Here, for a time, he remained contented. At last, however, a longing came over him to visit his parents, and back therefore to Rannoch he would go. When he was leaving, his wife told him that if he would mention her name or the castle in which they lived he would have neither wife nor castle before him when he returned. He promised that he would remember her warning, and departed. In due time he arrived at his father's house, and was not long there when 288 Notes. he broke his promise to his wife. No sooner had he done so than he remembered her warning, and got so anxious to know the worst that he set off that moment for home. But when he arrived at the lake there was neither wife nor castle to be seen, and the green knoll was as bare as it was the first day he beheld it. Then he gave word and oath that he would not give rest to his foot nor let a pool of water out of his shoes until he reached the place where his wife was. He went away, and travelled far long and full long until night was coming. Then he looked before him, and saw a light a long way off, but he took not long in reaching it. It came from a small bothy. He went in to the bothy, and found an old woman before him. She addressed him by his name, and told him that she was his wife's aunt, that his wife slept in her house last night and left it in the morning, and that she was then far away in the house of her second aunt. He took his supper and went to bed. Early in the morning he awoke, and found breakfast ready. After it was over the old woman gave him a pair of shoes that would bring him to the house of her second sister, and that would, when pointed in the right direction, travel back of their own accord. He went away, and reached the second sister's house in the evening. She also recognised him, and told him that his wife left in the morning, and was then at her third aunt's house. Next morning she gave him something (I forget what) which he rode to the third sister's house. She, like the other two sisters, knew him, and told him that his wife, who was in her house last night, was now far away over the ocean in the Green Isle at the Extremity of the Uttermost World. Next morning she told him to kill her dun polled cow, place the carcase on a knoll before the house, and allow her to sew him up in the hide. She told him further that the Griffin (Gribh- inneacJi) would come, and after devouring the carcase, carry him over the sea to the Green Isle. He did as he was told, and the Griffin carried him to a crevice in the face of a fearful pre- cipice overhanging the sea in that island. She left him there as food for her young, and flew away. He then cut his way out of the hide, and threw the young griffins over the rock into the sea. When the old griffin returned and found her nest harried, she drove her talons into his body and bore him away until she dropped him into the sea near the mouth of a stream. He swam with difficulty to the shore, and was found there by some women, who took pity on him and gave him food and shelter. They told him that they were washing for the King's Young Daughter, who was going to be married a second time, unless her first husband appeared before a certain day. The Notes. 289 day came, but not her husband. She then ordered all the men in the kingdom to pass the door of the palace, and at last recognised him in the wounded sailor who was staying with the washerwomen. J. McD. P. 147. The hero's vow neither to stop nor rest till he should see as handsome a woman as the White Swan of the Smooth Neck has many parallels in Gaelic tales. See " Black White Red" at p. 58, and " Baillie Lunnain" at p. 281 of vol. i, and " Conall Gulban" at p. 200 of vol. iii of the IV. H. Tales. See also " Deirdre" at p. 19 of Leabhar na Feinne. See further the "blood-drops incident" in "The Son of the King of Eirin" at p. 3, with Nutt's note at p. 431 of the Maclnnes Tales. J. McD. P. 147. Gonachry is no doubt of the same class of mythical ships as that of the Phaeacians in the Odyssey, and as Skid- bladnir, Frey's ship, in The Prose Edda. But it is not neces- sary to go so far away for similars; a good number are to be found in Gaelic tales. See the Ship of Alder in Tale I, and the Coracles of the Sorceress in Tale VI of this Collection. See also the " Birlinn" (Galley) at p. 58, and the ship built by the Uruisg at p. 237 of vol. i, " The Speckled Barge" at p. 437, and the Coracle at p. 469 of vol. ii, and the Steed to whom sea or land was all one at p. 13 of vol. iii of the W. H. Tales. See further the Ships at pp. 59 and 349 of the Maclnnes Tales, with Nutt's notes on the same, and the Ships at p. 189 of the Scottish Celtic Review. J. McD. P. 148. The hero in his quest passing from island to island may remind the reader of Ulysses ; but the three old brothers who inhabit these islands can scarcely be compared to the savage man-eating Laestrygones and Cyclopes of the Odyssey. They are rather a combination of the old men of Tale VI and the skilful companions of other tales. Men and women of enormous strength and stature, but less irascible and savage than the genuine race of giants, are occasionally met in Gaelic tales. J. McD. P. 148. Old man. See the old man in " Black White Red", p. 58 of vol. i of W. H. Tales.]. McD. P. 149. The ship's course is set in the direction in which the fallen arrow points. This mode of fix ng the ship's course reminds one of the method of fixing sides in a game of shinty by throwing up a shinty in the air, and marking the hand on which it falls, or the side of the field to which its club end U 290 Notes. points after it has fallen. But the former may carry us back to a time when divination by means of arrow-throwing was prac- tised by the Celts, as it certainly was by the Teutons, and by many Eastern nations of antiquity. J. McD. P. 149. The Beautiful Isle of the Shadow of the Stars. The idea of this island may have been caught from ob- serving a calm spot in the sea, or from a sheet of winter ice reflecting the stars as they shone in a cloudless sky by night. Or it may have been taken from actually wit- nessing icebergs, or from the description of others who had witnessed them in the Northern Sea. At any rate, monks of the early Celtic Church had traversed the Northern Sea and found the solitude they wanted in Iceland at a very early period. And it is most unlikely that others did not follow on their track and bring back accounts of what they had witnessed on sea and on land since they had left. J. McD. P. 153. The hero is carried to the Green Isle on the tail of the Mermaid. This incident resembles the story of Arion, who, on his return from Sicily, threw himself, to escape being murdered by the sailors, into the sea, and was then carried on the dolphin's back all the way to Tsenarus. J. McD. P. 1 54. The woman here acts the part of the Sirens in the Odyssey. The Great Garden of the Golden Apples resembles the Gar- den of the Hesperides. But similar gardens are common enongh in Gaelic tales. J. McD. P. 157. This is the first trial of the Son of the King of Ire- land. The second is winning at dice-playing with the King of the Red Cap. And the third is the identifying of the Giant's Young Daughter by means of the needle which she holds in her hand while she stands with her sisters behind the curtains. All the trials in " Black White Red" resemble the last. See p. 59 of vol. i, W. H. Tales.]. McD. P. 1 60. The hero is forbidden by the Giant to attempt to leave the island, but disobeys. He escapes with his wife to the seaside, and finds Gonachry drawn up on the beach. The crew launch her; and the sound made by her keel in passing over the gravel alarms the Giant in his bed. His Eldest Daughter makes him believe that it is only the sound of the wind passing through the trees of the garden. But when the ship sets sail he is so alarmed that he pursues her, and swims Notes. 291 not wades, like the Giant of Tale I after her, and overtakes her. As he is swimming past the stern he exposes the mole in the sole of his foot, under the instep (bonn 1 dubh na wise, or seang na coise}, and is killed by his Youngest Daughter, who shoots him in the vulnerable spot. The corresponding in- cident in " Black-White Red" differs from this in several par- ticulars. First the ship is a Blrlinn (Galley), which, like the boat in " Shortshanks", can go on land as well as on sea. The sound of her keel moving over the gravel is compared, not to the wind, but to a peal of thunder. The pursuing Giant, instead of swimming after the ship, throws a black clue into her, and then seating himself on the ground, begins to pull her back. But while he is thus engaged he exposes the mole to his daughter's view, and is shot. The escaping hero pursued by the Giant reminds us of Ulysses and the Cyclops. J. McD. See other instances of Giants being deceived by their daughters in "Battle of the Birds" at p. 32, " Widow's Son", p. 47, version 3 of "The Battle of the Birds", p. 50 of vol. i of the W. H. Tales.]. McD. P. 162. The first Old Man fishing has a parallel in the "Angling Giant" at p. 263 of the Maclnnes Tales. The hero warned against allowing the hound to kiss him. For other instances of the " kiss taboo", see " The Battle of the Birds" and its versions in vol. i of the IV. H. Tales. See also p. 25 of the Maclnnes Tales, with Nutt's note at p. 438. J. McD. For similars of the remaining incidents of this tale, see "The Son of the King of Eirin" in the Maclnnes Tales; "The Battle of the Birds" and its various versions, "The Hoodie", and " The Daughter of the King of the Skies", in vol. i of the W. H. Tales.]. McD. TALE VIII. P. 187. Cameron says that he got this tale from Donald McPhie, a native of Sunart, about thirty-two years ago. But he heard it since that time from William McPhie, a crofter in Lochaber, who is still living. J. McD. The nearest parallel to this tale is Grimm's tale of "The 1 Bonn dubh na coise is the very middle of the sole of the foot. Seang na coise is the slender part of the foot, and therefore the same as the foregoing. J. McD. U 2 292 Notes. Young Giant". The resemblance between them is only in their general outlines. In every other respect they differ widely. J. McD. P. 187. Ceatharnach is one fit to bear arms, a soldier, a kern. Such a man as this, when outlawed, and leading the life of a freebooter in the woods (coille\ is a Ceatharnach-coille, or " cateran". This, however, is not the same as Ceatharnach- na-coille. Ceatharnach, in the latter combination, is used in a non-military sense to denote a manly person or a person distinguished from his neighbours by his superior strength and courage. Ceatharnach-na-coille is, therefore, the Strong Man or Champion of the Wood. J. McD. P. 187. The Big Lad, in his birth, growth, and trials, is just the oak-tree personified. His father falls with the oak he has felled, and he himself is born as the seedling from the acorn is breaking through the ground. He is nursed for seven years, and is then taken out by his mother to try if he can pull the young oak from its roots. This is also about the time when the oak-wood undergoes its first thinning. He is nursed another seven years, and has then his second trial of strength against the oak-tree. This is again about the time when the oak-wood undergoes its second thinning. At the end of a third period of seven years the time when he arrives at maturity, and when the oak-wood undergoes the last thinning - he goes to the tree, pulls it out of its roots, and thus proves that of the two he is the stronger. Grimm's "Young Giant", at first a mere " thumbling", was fed six years by the Giant who stole him. Every second year his strength was similarly tested, and was not considered perfect until he "tore out of the ground the thickest oak-tree there was, as if it were merely a joke". Volsung was six years old before he was born. And the horse " Dapplegrim", of the Norse tales, was three years sucking twelve mares. On the other hand, the nursing of "Manus" lasted only a certain number of days, but in that time he killed all his nurses except the last, the fairy maiden , with the green kirtle. J. McD. P. 187. The acorn is planted in the middenstead. See also the "Sea-Maiden" and its versions in vol i of the W. H. Tales. J. McD. P. 1 88. The Big Lad is launched on the world with nothing but a bannock and his mother's blessing. He receives not even a weapon to defend him such as the Young Giant Notes. 293 wanted, and Lod, the Farmer's Son, got. On his way out he serves not with any person as the Young Giant served with the Smith. But when he reaches the farm with the large stack- yard he calls and engages with the owner. Here he accom- plishes three tasks, namely, the thrashing of the corn, the digging of the well, and the ploughing of the Crooked Rig with the Water-Horse. On the farm where he served the Yount Giant performed only one task, the fetching of the wood, but it bears no resemblance to any of the foregoing tasks. His ploughing feat which he accomplished before he left home may, however, be regarded as a sort of parallel to the third. J. McD. P. 189. The Big Lad's flail. ''Johnny's Flail", though apparently little, was almost equally effective. See p. 62 of vol. ii of the W. H. Tales.}. McD. The Big Lad's daily fare is a quarter of a chalder that is four bolls of oatmeal made into brose, or the same quantity of meal baked into bannocks and taken with the carcase of a two-year-old ox. The supernatural beings of these tales are often enormous gluttons. Mac-Vic-Allan's fairy wife consumed daily a whole cow to dinner. (See " MacPhie's Black Dog" in S. C. .Review.} Lod, the Farmer's Son's weekly allowance of meal, though moderate compared with that of the Big Lad, was four times that of an ordinary herd. (See the Maclnnes Tales, No. VII.) And Grimm's Young Giant ate as much victuals as would have satisfied his father and mother for eight days at the least, and then he devoured the contents of a large fish-kettle, which he reckoned only "a good bit". J. McD. P. 191. Angus Mbr, or Big Angus of the Rocks, is a familiar name for echo. Its proper name is Mactalla, the Son of the Rock. Angus advises the Landlord to send the Big Lad to open a deep well in the field, and when he stoops at the bottom, bury him alive with the earth shovelled over him. And the Bailiff in Grimm's tale, after consulting with his secretaries, decides to send the Young Giant to wash himself in the pond, and then "roll upon his head one of the mill- stones, so as to bury him for ever from the light of day." But the two plots are equally unsuccessful. J. McD. P. 193. The ploughing of the Crooked Rig. The thrashing of the corn being a voluntary act, this is really the second task laid by his Master on the Big Lad. He carries, on his shoulder, the old Highland wooden plough which, roughly speaking, was 294 Notes. shaped like a shinty with the end of the club shod with iron and reaches the field. He strikes the share into one end of the Rig, yokes his horses, and ploughs away unmolested by any creature until evening comes. Then, when the sun's disc touches the horizon (mu chromadhnagreine), he hears a plunge in the Dark Lake, and on looking in the direction of the sound, sees a great black Usp, or shapeless object, moving in the water. When the sun disappears beneath the horizon, the beast lands, walks up to the team, and swallows one of the horses alive and whole. An incident partly similar to this was known to the late Mr. Campbell of I slay. For at p. Ixxxvi of his Introduction to the W. H. Tales, he says, in his description of the Water-Horse, " He is harnessed to a plough, and drags the team and the plough into the loch, and tears the horses to bits." In the Maclnnes Tales there appears an " uncommon beast that would swallow a team of six horses, the plough, and the ploughman", but it is very doubtful whether this monster was a water-horse. The Big Lad, after vainly trying to force the Water-Horse, for such it was, to disgorge the horse he swallowed, harnesses him to the plough, and makes him turn over every furrow in the field before it is quite dark. This is no doubt a good day's work, but it is equalled, if not surpassed, in the next tale by the mysterious servant who ploughs, sows, and harrows all the fields on the farm in one day. Once his work is finished, the Big Lad leads the Water-Horse home, kills him, and buries him in the well he opened in the field, adding, as he does so : " If there was no water in it before, there will be now." This belief appears also in the Introduc- tion to the W. H. Tales, where it is said that if the Water- Horse "is killed, nothing remains but a pool of water." J. McD. What is the Water-Horse? And how is the foregoing belief to be explained? The Water-Horse is a mythical creature which is said to live in the freshwater lakes and pools of the winding glens and desert moors of the Highlands. He re- sembles a real horse in everything except his wild-looking eyes, his slimy skin, and his feet, which are sometimes webbed like those of an amphibian. Its colour, in the W. H. Tales, is grey or bay, but here it is dusky or black. He possesses a wonder- ful power of self-transformation. At one time he assumes a human form, at another that of a bird or beast. He preys on men, and hence he takes the shape that best suits his purpose of getting them into his power. Sometimes he appears as a stray horse, saddled and bridled, at the road-side, tempting the unwary traveller to mount him and ride him to the nearest stage. But no sooner does he get his dupe on his back, Notes. 295 and stuck fast to his slimy coat, than off he dashes with a " fiend-like yell" to his favourite pool or lake, where he devours his captive, and leaves no trace of him except the broken bones which the waves afterwards cast up on the strand. At other times he grazes, or pretends to graze, near the margin of the water it frequents ; and, by his seeming lameness, coaxes children who wander into his haunt to mount him, one after another, while he lengthens his back to receive them all. Then when he gets them into his power he gallops away with them into the water, disappears beneath its surface, and disposes of them as he is said to dispose of the unhappy wayfarer. Often the passer-by traces his course beneath the wave by the wake he leaves behind him, and sees his mane and back raised a few inches above the surface as he is about to plunge back to the bottom whence he came. And we have seen that when he is killed or buried, he vanishes, and leaves behind him nothing but a pool of water. See for further infor- mation the pages referred to in the Index to the W. If. Tales, and Grant Stewart's Water-Kelpies in his Highland Supersti- tions and Amusements. J. McD. The Water-Horse, I believe, is nothing else than the per- sonification of the sudden blast of wind or of whirlwind which sweeps over the surface of the lakes and pools of the winding glens and desert moors of the Highlands. The latter strikes the water suddenly, leaves behind it a ripple like the wake of a living creature swimming beneath the surface, and then, halting for a moment, raises, a few inches above the surface, a dark crest of little waves which bear a remote resemblance to the back and mane of such a creature. But here the Water- Horse is the whirlwind charged with the spindrift, which it raises and whirls into its folds as it sweeps over sea-loch and freshwater lake. When the whirlwind thus charged collapses in its after career over the land, and discharges the water it holds in suspense, it leaves behind it no trace of its former existence except, it may be, a pool of water in the place where it vanishes. The collapsed Whirlwind or Waterspout is the dead Water-Horse, and the pool left by the one is the same as that left by the other. The Water-Horse of Highland tales thus resembles Vikhor, the Whirlwind of the Russian folk- tales. " Vikhor, after soaring on high, struck the ground, and fell to pieces, becoming a fine yellow sand." See p. 227 of Ralston's Russian folk-Tales. See also the Brown Filly in Grimm's "Two Travellers", and the myth of Pegasus and Hippocrene. J. McD. P. 197. The third and heaviest task laid on the Big Lad is to grind a sled-load of corn in the haunted Mill of Lecan after night- 296 Notes. fall. There is, or was, a mill of this name, Muileann Leacainn, on the north side of Loch Fyne, but of course neither it nor any other mill of the same name is to be identified with that of this tale. The Miller, refusing to enter the mill after dark, the Big Lad goes alone, and does the work of the miller. As soon as he has a sufficient quantity of meal ground and sifted, he kneads it into bannocks, and places them on the kiln to bake. While he is waiting until they are hard enough, an Uruisg, from a dark corner of the kiln, stretches out his paw-like hand (spbg) three times, and each time carries off a bannock in spite of the Big Lad's threats. The Big Lad, unable to stand this any longer, takes, without rising first from his crouching posture (gurraban) before the kiln fire, a heavy spring ending in a fall \dudairleuni) on the Uruisg, and both get into grips. Then follow the wrestling, deafening blows (bodhairneachadJi), wrecking of the buildings, and other incidents, which end in the expulsion of the Uruisg from the mill, and his final depar- ture from the place, yelling with mingled feelings of grief and anger. J. McD. A similar task to the foregoing was laid by the Bailiff on Grimm's Young Giant, but the two differ widely in their details. J. McD. P. 1 98. The Uruisg was a supernatural being, having the ap- pearance of a man with long shaggy hair and beard. But Sir Walter Scott says that he had a figure between a goat and a man, or that of a Greek Satyr. The latter part of his name, 1/r-uisg, connects him with water, and tradition always places him in the neighbourhood of some stream or other. He lived, we are told, in gloomy caves in the rocky sides of deep ravines, high waterfalls, or wild mountain corries. Hence the word Uruisg enters so frequently into such place-names as Allt-nan-Uruisg- ean, Eas-nan- Uruisgean, and Coire-nan- Uruisgean. His haunts were dreaded, and shunned after nightfall. Sometimes he left his rocky den in the distant mountain-side or in the lonely glen, and followed the course of the stream, in whose sides he found shelter, until he reached the nearest mill, which he afterwards made either his permanent abode or the scene of his nightly visits. He was a useful friend, but a much dreaded enemy. Occasionally he attached himself to an individual or family who showed him kindness, and rendered them whatever service he could give. An instance of such attachment may be seen in the tale about a bbcan or bogle, who was really an Uruisg, at p. 91 of vol. ii of the W, H. Tales. Dr. Graham describes him as "a lubberly supernatural who could be gained Notes. 297 over by kind attention"; and, he adds, "it was believed that many Highland families had some of the order so tamed as to become attached to them." Here the Uruisg is identified with the undoubted Browny, who haunted old castles, and followed certain old families. The latter, however, is described as having been either a Fleasgach (Bachelor), or Gruagach (Long- haired Maiden), and sometimes also as having been handsome and beautiful. The genuine Uruisg was a being of super- natural strength, and hence it was thought that this one would vanquish and kill the Big Lad. Other instances of his strength may be seen in Tale VI, p. 91 of vol. ii, W. H. Tales. In later traditional stories he is simple and easily cheated, but in the older tales he possesses supernatural know- ledge and ingenuity. See in " The King of Lochlan's Three Daughters" the Uruisg who knew beforehand the quest of the Widow's Son, and who constructed a ship that would sail on sea and on land. He becomes attached to his place of abode, but still more to his friends. See his expulsion from the Mill as proof of the former assertion, and his voluntary exile from his haunts in the neighbourhood of Loch Traig to America, rather than part with his friend, Callum Mbr Macintosh, as evidence of the latter. J. McD. TALE IX. P. 216. Cameron heard this legend told, in his boyhood, by his grandfather, an old soldier, who died in Ardnamurchan many years ago. The legend is well known, and can be easily picked up anywhere in Upper Argyllshire. Among those who heard it may be mentioned Alexander McColl and John Livingston, Duror. J. McD. A somewhat similar tale is " Master and Man", in vol. iii, W. H. Tales.]. McD. This legend is put down here simply because it presents another instance of extraordinary ploughing. The Big Lad ploughed the Crooked Rig with the Water Horse in one evening ; and the mysterious ploughman in this story ploughed, and also sowed and harrowed, every field on his master's farm in one day. The farm is that of Liddlesdale, in Morven. J. McD. P. 216. The fanner, in an unguarded moment, invited even malevolent beings from the other world to offer him their services. Hence the visit he had from the Big Lad. It seems that evil- 298 Notes. disposed supernaturals of all kinds could do men no harm until the latter, by word or deed, put themselves in their power. J. McD. P. 216. The wages asked by the Big Lad was as much of the corn, when ripe, cut, and ready to be gathered in, as he could carry in one withy-band. The wages of the Young Lad, in "Master and Man", was, for the first year, as many grains of corn as he could catch in his mouth, while thrashing in the barn, and as much of the best land on the farm as would sow the grains thus caught ; for the second year the produce of the first year's sowing added to the grains caught in the barn, and as much of the best land as would sow the whole ; and so on, the wages increasing in the same ratio each succeeding year to the end of the seventh. See also the reward of the Hen-wife in the " Bare-stripping Hangman." The withy-band is similar to the Bent Grey Lad's cord and the heather rope of the Lad of the Skin Coverings. J. McD. P. 217. The Big Lad, by smelling the stakes, knew that the ground was now ready for the reception of the grain. And as it would not continue long in that condition, he hurried away to the farm-steading for his master's horses, plough, and withy- bands with which the horses were to be fastened to the plough. Perhaps the horses and the withy-bands should have been left at home, and the plough alone taken to the field. At any rate, no sooner had the Big Lad arrived there, and thrust the plough in the ground, than he called for his super- natural horses, traces of leather, and Mettlesome Lads, adding, as a reason for his haste, that the ground was coming up, or swelling. The call was obeyed, and the work done proved that the horses and the lads were of no ordinary sort ! J. McD. P. 218. When the harvest came, and the corn was cut and ready for gathering into the yard, the Big Lad would not suffer a sheaf to be lifted from the fields until he had his reward. But when the Farmer saw almost all the sheaves on the fields in the Big Lad's withy-band, he uttered the following prayer or counter charm : " 'Twas in the Mart I sowed, 'Twas in the Mart I baked, 'Twas in the Mart I reaped, Thou who hast ordained the three Marts, Let not my share into one burden-withy-band.'' Mart here means the fit time for doing any particular part of agricultural work. For example, the " Mart-cult^ is the fit Notes. 299 time of sowing. This began on the twelfth day of April and ended at Bealltainn, or Mayday (O. S.). No sowing should take place before the former day, or after the latter. The following old rule was strictly observed. " Olc no math mar thig an sion, cuir an siol 'san fhior Mhart" (" Let the weather come bad or good, sow the seed in the right Mart"). " Mart-fuine", or the fit time of baking, began on the twelfth day of August. It was so called because no part of the growing corn was cut, and the meal made from it baked into bread before that day arrived. " Mart-buana", or the fit time of reaping, began on the twelfth day of September. The Farmer having done everything in the appointed season, now appeals to Providence for help. The withy-band then bursts with a loud report, and the mysterious Lad from fairyland goes off in a white mist ! The "Fuath" (Bogle) of Ben Alnac, in Grant Stewart's Highland Superstitions and Amusements, is no sooner hit in the large mole in his breast by the unerring arrow of James Grey than he vanishes " like the smoke of a shot". And the " Gentleman" whom the Black Smith of the Socks ("Gobhainn Dubh nan See") persuades to enter a purse, and strikes thrice with his heavy sledge-hammer, escapes^ making so loud a report as he goes away that the Smith's wife thought the roof was blown off the smithy. J. McD. TALE X. P. 222. Cameron heard this tale first from his grandfather, and then from Donald McPhie and others in Ardnamurchan. The tale was also heard, though it is not now remembered, by John McFarlane, Constable, Post-Appin. J. McD. P. 222. The title of the tale is, literally, "The Son of the Owner of the Green Vesture, who was renowned on Earth for his Heroism seven years before he was Born." The name of the hero in the "Knight of the Red Shield" should, in my opinion, be the same as that of the hero of this tale. In the former, " Mac an Earraich Uaine ri Gauge" (" Son of Green Spring by Valour"), Earraich should be Earraidh, and Fear should be restored after Mac. The renown of the Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture preceded his appearance in the world by seven years. The coming of the Knight of the Red Shield to the fire-girt island was also "in the prophecies". And " the name of a hero was on Conall Gulban a hundred years before he was born". See " Knight of the Red Shield" at p. 444 of vol. ii, and " Conall Galban" at p. 222 of vol. iii, W. H. Tales.}. McD. 300 Notes. P. 222. The tale consists of two parts, the first embracing the time when the hero passed for the son of the Hen-wife, and the second when he appeared in his true character as the Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture. The former is mythological throughout, but the latter is a romantic story made up of ordinary, though greatly exaggerated, incidents. Similars of the first part are " The Three Soldiers" and its three variants in vol. i of the W. H. Tales. Similars of the second part are the rescue by the hero of the King's daughter from the three-headed sea-monster in the " Sea Maiden 1 ', and other like rescues in the variants of that tale in vol. i, W. H. Tales, and also the rescue of the King's daughter by Lod, the Farmer's Son, in the Maclnnes Tales. J. McD. P. 222. The Hen-wife's son leading the cows into good pasture, reminds of the hero in the "Sea Maiden", and "Lod, the Farmer's Son", in the tale of the same name, trespassing on the parks of the giants. He, however, meets with a very different reception from that which awaited either of the two latter. On arriving at the pasture he sat down on a green knoll or fairy hillock, and soon afterwards saw the Maiden of the golden ringlets (Gruagach] approaching him. She was a female fairy, but instead of taking forcible possession of the trespassing cattle as the giants had done, she bought them with valuable things which possessed magic properties. The first day she gave him a charm-stone (clach-bhuadach} by means of which he could instantly transport himself to any place he pleased. The charm-stone thus resembled the "whistle" in the "Three Soldiers", which its owner would no sooner play than he was in the midst of his regiment ; the " gifts" in " Yellow Kenneth", which would make anyone who had them get anything he wanted, and the Scotchman's " Knife", which he would no sooner open than he would be wherever he wished. The second day, the Maiden of the golden ringlets gave the lad a healing jewel (leug shlanaighearachcf) which could heal all the wounds of the body and all the sorrows of the mind. This jewel has no parallel in any of the " gifts" which were received by the Three Soldiers in the tale of that name and in its variants. The third day she gave him the little net, which, if set on the bushes in the evening, would next morning be full of every kind of known and of twelve kinds of unknown birds. With this corresponds the towel in the " Three Soldiers", the table-cover in " Yellow Kenneth", and even the Englishman's purse in the second variant. See also the table cloth in Manus, vol. iii, p. 355 of the W. H. Tales, and the same in " The Ship that went to America" at p. 167 of the Maclnnes Tales. J. McD. Notes. 30 E P. 226. The incident of the Hen-wife's son spiriting away Berry-eye to the Green Isle by means of the charm-stone is similar to that of John the Soldier transporting himself and the daughter of the King of Ireland on the towel to the " uttermost isle of the deep", and to that of the Irishman who, by the help of the Scotchman's knife, carried himself and another King's daughter to an "island which could hardly be seen in the far-off ocean". See the tale of the "Three Soldiers" and its variants, vol. ii, W. H. Tales. J. McD. P. 227. Berry-eye escapes from the Green Isle and returns home by means of the wishing charm-stones. The daughter of the King of Ireland does the same by the help of the wishing-towel, and the other King's daughter by that of the Scotchman's knife ("Three Soldiers" and its variants). There is a similar of the foregoing incident in Grimm's " Kingdom of the Golden Mountains". Like the female characters in the latter, the Queen in the former finds her opportunity when her husband is sleeping with his head on her lap. " Then she drew the ring off his finger, and carefully laid his head on the ground. Thereupon she took her child in her arms, and wished herself back in her kingdom. When, then, the King awoke, he found himself all alone, his wife and child all gone, and the ring from his finger too." J. McD. P. 227. The hero falls in with two kinds of apples in the Green Isle. One kind has a beautiful appearance, but as soon as he eats of it, causes the flesh to melt off his bones. The other is ugly, but possesses marvellous healing properties. Very different from all this were the effects of the apples in the tale of the "Three Soldiers". When John, the Soldier, ate one sort of them, he had on him a deer's head, and when he ate the other the deer's head fell off him. Similar to this were the effects of the apples in variant 3 of the latter tale. No sooner had the Irishman eaten of the red apples than his head was down and his heels up, from the weight of the deer's horns that grew on his head. " Then he bethought him that one of the grey apples would heal him, and he stretched himself out with' his head downwards, and kicked down one of the apples with his feet, and ate it, and the horns fell off him." But when Yellow Kenneth, in another variant of the same tale, "ate abhlan (apples) of one kind, a wood like thatch grew on his head, and there remained until he ate abhlan of another kind, when the wood vanished." J. McD. P. 228. The Apple incident on board of the vessel. The hero, now a physician, after making the sick captain worse with the 302 Notes. beautiful apples, cures him with the ugly ones, and is, out of gratitude, landed near the place which he had left. The cor- responding incident in the similar tale of the " Three Soldiers" differs considerably from this. There the sailors opened the pack of apples of John, the Soldier, and " ate the sort that would put deer's horns on them, and they began fighting until they were like to break the vessel." The Captain came on board, and blamed John for the change which had come over the men. "What wilt thou give me," said John, "if I leave them as they were before ?" The Captain, having taken him for a magician, or something worse, said " that he would give him the vessel and cargo at the first port they reached. John then gave the men the other sort, and the horns fell off them." This apple incident is omitted in variants i and 3 of the latter tale. J. McD. P. 230. The healing of Berry- eye. The Physician, after per- suading her to confess her theft and to restore the charm-stones, cures her with the ugly apples. He is rejected by her when she hears that he is the Hen-wife's son, but she is rejected by him when he finds out that he is the Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture. John, the Soldier, disguised as a poor ragged costermonger, sold to the King's daughter some apples, with which he " put a deer's head and horns on her". The King having offered a reward of a peck of gold and a peck of silver, with his daughter in marriage to anyone who would heal her, John went to the palace to cure her, and after some opposition was admitted. He took a book (no doubt a leabhar dearg na fiosachd, or red book of supernatural knowledge), and pre- tended to read there the private history of his patient. She believed him, and gave him the three magic articles which she had " wheedled from a poor soldier". On his first visit she gave him the whistle, which, when it was played, took him into the middle of his regiment ; and he gave her a bit of apple, and then one horn fell off her. On his second visit she gave him the purse which was always full, and he gave her another bit of apple, and the second horn fell off her. On his last visit she gave him the " towel of plenty", and he gave her a whole apple, and " when she ate it she was as she was before". Then she said to him, " Art thou going to marry me to-day ?" " No, nor to-morrow," he answered, and departed. In the third variant, the Irishman sailed in the ship "straight to the King's house. The lady looked out of a window. He sold her a red apple for a guinea. She ate it, the horns grew, and there were not alive those who could take her from that. They thought of saws, and sent for doctors; and he came." Notes. 303 The rest of the incident seems to have been the same as the last, only that the magic articles were different. There was a purse which was always full ; a knife which, once it was opened, would transport its owner wherever he wished ; and a horn, which its possessor no sooner blew in the small end than a thousand soldiers stood before him, and in the big end than they vanished. The corresponding incident in the first variant, " Yellow Kenneth", agrees with the foregoing, only that wood, and not horns, grew on the head of the King's daughter, and that the gifts which she wheedled from the hero were a cup always full, and a lamp of light, a " table-cover of plenty", and a rest-giving bed. J. McD. P. 231. The hero, now Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture, sets out on his quest of a fairer maiden than Berry- eye. He arrives at " Torr Uaine", Green Mound, or Green Castle. He is going to take shelter for the night in the shrubbery behind the castle, when he gets a glimpse of a fairer maiden than Berry-eye, passing through the bushes. Curiosity to know who she is leads him in the direction of the byre, where he sees the dairy-maid, a comely, young, long-haired damsel (gruagach] with "a gold comb in the back of her head". "Gruagach" indicates that the person, male or female, real or mythical, to whom the name is applied, is long-haired. For " comb", see under that word in the Index of the W. H. Tales,]. McD. P. 233. Sorceress (lorasglach-ilriair), see notes on Tale VII. J. McD. P. 234. The next three incidents have parallels in the Sea Maiden and its variants. The Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture corresponds to the herds, the Fierce Earl's three sons to the three-headed Sea-monster, giant, and dragon, and the Squint-eyed Red-haired Cook to the General, Red-haired Lad, and Red-haired Cook. (" Sea Maiden" and variants in vol. i of the W. H. Ta/es.) See also the similar incident in Lod, the Farmer's Son, in the Maclnnes Ta/es, and the note by Nutt on the Red-headed Cook at p. 474 of that volume. J. McD. P. 234. See also Knight of the Cairn, in the " Knight of the Red Shield", vol. ii, W. H. Tales. " The Knight of the Cairn put off his arms and array, and the Son of the Green Spring by Valour (?) went into his arms and array" before he landed on the fire-girt isle. J. McD. 304 Notes. P. 237. Beul-fhothraghadh is the grass or heath-covered edge of a peat-hag or bank over which the surface-water trickles. J. McD. P. 239. Breun-lochan is from breun, stagnant or fetid, and lochan, a lakelet. Fionn-chbinneach is the white, withered- looking moss which grows in marshy places on high moor- lands. J. McD. P. 239. Like Conan, the Young Son of the Fierce Earl has his three smalls bound in one withy-band. The three smalls were the ankles, knees, and wrists, and the four smalls were the ankles, knees, wrists, and neck. Instances of binding the latter were rare, but of binding the former, common enough. The Cook could no more undo the knot on the withy-band with which the Earl's son was bound, than the Red-headed Lad in the third variant of the "Sea Maiden" could untie the knots with which the giants' heads were bound together on a withy by the herd. In both tales this failure led to the dis- covery of the true hero. J. McD. INDEX. Acorn, 187, . 292 Alastir (Art), 76, n. 278 ; overhears the plot against his brother's life, 77 ; accompanies him in his flight, 78 ; incident of theravens, 79 ; poisons the robbers, 80 ; adventures at the Castle of the King of Riddles, 81-83 ; is car- ried off by an Otter to Lochlan, 84 ; receives strengthening food from the Otter and the Hound, 84 ; overcomes the King of Lochlan's Champions, 85-86 ; accompanies the King to his palace, 87 ; catches the Black Brood-mare by following the advice of the Sorceress, 90; sets out in quest of the B. S. Hang- man's soul, 92 ; crosses the Rocky Path of Ben Buie, 92-93 ; Red Lake, 93 ; reaches the Castle at the end of the Path, 94 ; hands the Sorceress's letter to the Woman, 94 ; strengthened with a draught of balsam, 94 ; kills the two-headed Giant, 95 ; next day, armed with the Giant's sword, reaches the Castle of the Eight Turrets, 96; kills the second Giant, 97 ; on the third day arrives at the Gloomy Castle and kills the Fiery Dra- gon, 100 ; sets off for the Big Barn of the Seven Couples, 101 ; meeting with the Old Men, 102- 104 ; receives from the Man in the Bunch of Moss ajar of oint- ment to make him invulnerable, 105 ; meets the Dog, 106 ; the Otter, 107 ; Falcon, 108 ; hunts the Hind, 109 ; helped by the Dog, Otter, and Falcon, 108 ; kills the Giant by crushing the egg, 1 10 ; returns with the three daughters of the King to the Black Corrie, no; takes with him the head and feet of the giant, in ; restores him to life, in; marries the Youngest Daughter, 112 Apples, ugly, heal, and beautiful, kill, 228, 229; n, 301 Arion, . 290 Arrow, its direction is that of the ship's course, 148, n. 289 Avasks, 38, . 269 " Balk on his foot", 29, n 266 Balsam, vessel of, restores the lads to life, 41 ; strengthens Alastir, 94, 97, 98, n. 282 ; heals his wounds, 99 ; makes him invul- nerable, 109, n. 284 Bare-stripping Hangman, 76, n. 276 ; steals the King's three daughters, 86; lives in the Black Corrie of Ben Breck, 74 ; trans- formed into an eagle, 87 ; puts on his head, 87 ; his life hid in the duck, etc., 1 10 ; is restored to life, 1 1 1 Barn of the Seven Couples, 101, . 282-283 Ben Aidan, 32, n. 268 Ben Breck, 86 87 Berry-eye, 226-230, . 301 Bespelling of Finn by the Big Young Hero, 2, n. 260 ; by a Messenger from the Queen of Roy, 35, n. 272 Beulfhothraghadh, n. 304 Brtun-lochan, n. 304 Big Angus of the Rocks is Echo, 191, n. 203; first plan to get rid of Big Lad, 192; second, plough- ing of Crooked Rig, 194; grind- ing in the Mill of Lecan, 197 Big Lad's daily fare, 189, n. 293 Binding of the three smalls, 239, n. 304 Blade, three-edged, 60, n. 275 Blar-buie House, 57, n. 273-274 X 306 Index. Blood of three sons of K. of Insh Tilly, the only thing to free the Fe"inn from their enchantment, 58, n. 274 Bran found in the Castle, 7-8, n. 263 ; his chain, 18-20, n. 264 Brood-mare, Black, is caught with the old bridle by Alastir, 90, n. 280 Brownie of the Mill of Lecan, 198, 199, n. 296-7 Butler incident, 163 Buzzard, the first son of the K. of Insh Tilly transformed, 59; the Sorceress transformed, 93 Caoilte (Slender), 57, n. 272 Carpenter, with three strokes of his axe, makes a ship of an alder stock, 2-3 Carraig-an-uchd, n. 269 Castle thatched with eel-skins, 6; of the King of Riddles, 81 ; of the Rocky Path, 94 ; of the Eight Turrets, 96 ; Gloomy Castle of the Fiery Dragon, 98 Ceatharnach, n. 292 Charms, 217-218 Charmstone, 223, n, 300 Climber can climb a silken thread to the stars, 3 ; climbs the Castle thatched with eel-skins, 6 Coachman incident, 165-166 Cock and hen of gold, speaking, 163-167, n. 291 Conan,28, n. 266 ; goes before the Big Lad, 29 ; his back skinned by the Big Lad's toe-nails, 29 ; insists on the latter being dis- missed, 29 ; challenges him to leap, 32 ; run, 33 ; and wrestle with him, 33 ; is bound by the B. L. with his garter, 33, n. 268 ; and unloosed by the Smith of the White Glen, 34 ; he dis- suades Finn from engaging the Lad from Blar-buie, 57 ; lays himself down on the hearth, 58 ; loses his hair in the effort to tear himself from it, 64, n. 275 Cook incident, 165 Coracle, 112, n. 285 Cormac, 76 ; saved by his bro- ther's help, 78 ; marries the daughter of the K. of Riddles, 83 ; goes to his brother's wed- ding in the coracle of the Sor- ceress, 112 Cows of Hen-wife, 222, n. 300 Crooked Ridge, 194, 195, 196, n. 293 Crooked Stick, 103 n, 283 Cuchullin, 57, n. 272 Cups of gold with rings of silver for filtering blood, 58, 72.274 Cup, Four-sided, of Finn, 30, n. 267 Deer-hound, bitch, black, 6; deer- hound, bitch, companion of the K. of Ireland's son, 146 Deer-hunting, i, 27, 56 Dice, or chess-playing, 158 Dinner, Big Lad's, 191, n. 293 Dog entertains Alastir, 107 ; catches the Hind, 109 ; n. on helping animals, 284 Dragon, Winged, of Shiel, third Son of the K. of Insh Tilly transformed, 63 Duck of the Smooth Feathers, 109 Eagle, Second Son of the K. of Insh Tilly transformed, 61 ; attacks the Champion in the Giant's Den, 87, n. 275 Egg in which Giant's Soul is hid, 105 Enchantment of Finn and the Feinn in the House of Blar- buie, 58 Fairy buys the Hen-wife's three cows, 223-5, n. 300 Farmer of Liddesdale, 216; losses of, 216; wants a ploughman and gets one, 217; engagement with the latter, 216 ; recovers his corn from the Mysterious Ploughman by means of a charm, 218 Fairy motion, 95, n. 282 Falcon of the Rock entertains Alastir, 108 ; helps him to catch the duck, 109 Index. 307 Fierce Earl, 231 ; his Eldest Son, 234; Second Son, 236; Youngest Son, 238-9 Finn bespelled to visit the Young Hero's place, 2 ; engages skil- ful companions, 2-3; steers the ship, 4 ; keeps awake by thrust- ing an iron bar through his palm, 5 ; goes in quest of stolen children, 6 ; recovers them in the Castle, 7 ; and finds Bran and the Grey Dog, 8. He binds himself to go alone with the Lad from Lochlan to that coun- try, 17; takes his Fool's ad- vice, 1 8 ; is sentenced to travel through the Great Glen haunted by the mad Grey Dog, 19; tames the Dog with Bran's chain, 20 ; and leads him back with him, 20. He is bespelled by a Lad to go alone to the Queen of Roy's place, takes the Lad of the Skin Coverings with him, promises the mother to bring her son, and whoever falls with him, back to her, 37 ; enters the house with the doors and posts of gold, 38 ; adventures there, 38-40; carries the two dead lads to Green Insh, 40 ; returns home, 41. He goes with his men to Blar-buie, 57 ; adven- tures there, 57-64. He sleeps with his Fe"inn in the Smith s Rock, 73 ; or Tomnahurich, n. 276 Fionn-choinneach, n. 304 Flail, Big Lad's, 189, n. 293 Flight of the K. of Ireland's Son with his Wife in Gonachry, 160, n. 290 Ford, scene of the encounter with the Son of the K. of Insh Tilly, 60, n. 275 Four-sided cup, 30 ; quest of, 30-2, n. 267 Gaper (dart), 59, n. 275 Garden, Great, of the Trees of the Golden Apples, 152, . 290 Giant of the Castle of the Rock, 6; Two-headed Giant, 95; Giant of the Three Heads, 97 ; Big Giant of the Black Corrie, 87 Goll, 34, n. 266 Gonachry, 147, n. 289 Green Insh, 28, n. 266, 361 Green Lakelet, 32, n. 268 Green Mound, 232-240 Grey Dog found in Castle, 7 ; given to a chief from Lochlan, 259 ; goes mad, 259 ; haunts the Great Glen, 19 ; scorches everything with his breath, 20 ; is tamed with Bran's chain, 20; his meeting with Bran, 21 Gripper, 2-3 ; pulls giant's hand out of the shoulder, 5 Gull, 154 Hand, Child-stealing, 4-5 ; pulls against Gripper, 5 ; is torn from the shoulder, 5 ; is the stolen infant's cradle, 6 ; has a fatal mole, 8 Hangman, Bare-stripping, 76, n. 276 ; other versions of tale, 276-277 Heads set on stakes, 81, n. 278 Hen-wife, 76, n. 277 ; her reward for poisoning Cormac, 77 ; is burnt, 104. Landlord's Hen- wife, 222 Hound, White, Red-eared, hunts the White-buttocked Hind for Alastir, 14 Houses with golden doors, and silver doors, 37, n. 269 Hunt of the White Glen, 34, n. 268 Husk of Mermaid, 146 Insh, Green, 27, n. 266 Island, Green, 3, n. 261, 153, 155 226, 228 Island, Beautiful, of the Shadow of the Stars, 149, n. 290 Island, Big, of the Spirit of the Mist, 153 Island, Big, of the Whales, 148, n. 226-7 Jewel, 224, n. 300 King of Insh Tilly's three sons, 3 o 8 Index, 58 ; their blood the only thing to release Finn and the Felnn, 58, n. 274 King Red Cap, 157-160, n. 290 Kiss-taboo, 162, n. 291 Knoll, shining like gold in the sun, 102 Knowledge-set-of-teeth of Finn, 8, 58, n. 274 Lad of the Skin Coverings, 27, n. 266 ; his engagement with Finn and reward, 28 ; his burden, 29 ; his quest after Finn's stolen cup, 30 ; his journey to and from Lochlan between one sun- rise and the next, 31 ; recovers the cup, 30 ; races, 32 ; leaps, 33 ; wrestles with Conan, and comes off victor, 34 ; leaves the latter bound on Ben Aidan, and returns home to Green Insh, 34 ; accompanies Finn to the Queen of Roy's place, 36 ; enters the house with the doors of gold, 37 ; brains Avasks, 38 ; how he is awakened, 39 ; kills a thousand, 39 ; falls with the son of the K. of L., 40 ; restored to life by his mother, 41 ; accompanies Finn home, 41 Lady of Green Insh, 36, n. 269 ; cutting rushes, 36, n. 269 ; grants his request to Finn, 37 ; restores the two ladsto life with the balsam, 41 Lakelet, tranquil, 155 Light-of-shade, no Listener, his acute hearing, 3, 7, n. 260 Lohary, 58, n. 275 Macan i, n. 260 Magic Mist, 151, 153 Maiden with the gold comb, 232 Man in the bunch of Moss, 104, n. 283 Marksman, 3 ; hits the giant in the mole in his hand, 8 Mart, or fit season for doing a thing, 218, n. 298 Mermaid bathing, 146, n. 286 ; gets back her husk, 146; pro- mises to help the King's Son, 147 ; sends him to his father for a boat, 147 ; carries him on her tail to the Green Isle, 153, n. 290 Mill of Lecan, 197, n. 295-6 Mole, fatal, in the hand of the Giant of the Castle, 8 ; in the forehead of the Hangman of the Nail, . 284 ; on the sole of King Red Cap's foot, 160, n. 291 Needle, thimble, and scissors, in- cidents of, 148, 150, 151, 158, 159, n, 290 Net for catching birds, 225, n. 300 Nonsense-ending, 112, n. 285 Oak-tree, two attempts to pull it out of the ground, vain, 188 ; third, successful, 188; personi- fied, n. 292 Odyssey, n. 289 Old Brothers, 148-161, n. 289 Old Men, 102-106, n. 283 Oscar, squint-eyed and red-haired, 21, n. 265 ; attempts in vain to release Conan, 34 ; releases Finn and the Feinn from the enchantment of the House of Blar-buie, 58 Otter carries Alastir to Lochlan, 84, n. 278 ; entertains him, 107 ; catches the salmon for him, 109 Phaeacians, 289 Physician, 230, 231 Ploughman of Liddesdale, 216; engagement, 2 1 6, n. 298; method of ascertaining when the land is readyforploughing,2i7; charm, 217; ploughs all the arable land on the farm in a day, 2 1 8, n. 297 ; makes a withe and puts almost all the corn in it, 218, n. 298; de- prived of his power by the Far- mer's charm, 218, n. 298 Porch, or Udabac, 95, n. 282 Queen of Roy, 35 Index. 309 Ravens poisoned, 79, n. 278; kill robbers, 80 ; riddles founded on, 8 1 Reward of the Lad from Lochlan, 17 ; of the Lad of the Skin- coverings, 28 ; of the Lad from Blar-buie, 57 Red-haired Cook, 234-240 Red Lake, 94, n. 281 Riddles, 81-83 Robbers, adventures with, 79 Rocky Path of the Yellow Moun- tain, 92-94, n. 281 Salmon fetched by the Otter for Alastir, 84, n. 278 Salmon in the Hind's stomach, 105 Shepherd's pipe, n. 284 Shinties of gold and ball of silver, 6, 146 Shortshanks in Dasent's Norse Tales, n. 291 Skidbladnir, n. 289 Skilled companions, seven, 2-3; carpenter, tracker, gripper, climber, thief, listener, marks- man Skin-covering, 82, n. 266 Smith, Old, of the King of Ire- land, 162 Smith of the White Glen releases Conan, 34, n. 268 Smooth-Brow, her dream, 232 ; meets the Knight's Son, 233; marries him, 240 Son of the King of Ireland perse- cuted by Stepmother, 145, n. 286 ; meets the Mermaid, 146, n. 286 ; vows to rest not till he sees as fair a woman as the Swan of the Smooth Neck, 147, n. 289; receives from his father the boat, Gonachry, 148; goes in quest of the Swan-Maiden ; arrives at the Big Island of the Whales, 1 48, n. 289 ; gets a needle from Old Man, 148, n. 289 ; who accompanies him on Gon- achry, 149 ; arrives next at the Beautiful Island of the Shadow of the Stars, 149, n. 290; gets a Thimble from second Old Bro- ther, 150; is accompanied by the latter, 1 50 ; arrives at the Big Island of the Spirit of the Mist, 151 ; receives from the third Old Brother a pair of scissors, 152; leaves Gonachry and Old Brothers behind and is carried on the Mermaid's tail to the Green Isle, 153, n. 290; ad- ventures on the voyage, 153-155, n. 290 ; is thrown by the Mer- maid on the Green Island, 155; arrives at the Tranquil Lakelet of the Garden of the Golden Apples, 155, n. 290 ; sees the three daughters of King Red Cap in Swan-form on the Lake, 156 ; scares them with his arrow, 156 ; returns to the shore, where he finds Gonachry wait- ing him, 157 ; sails with her back to King Red Cap's place on the Island of the Spirit of the Mist, 157 ; meets him and his three daughters in their natural form on the beach, 157; wins the King's Youngest Daughter in three trials (i) she keeps his gifts, 158, n. 290; (2) he wins at dice or chess play- ing, 158 ; and (3) identifies the Youngest Daughter by means of theneedle, 159; escapes with his wife, i6o,. 290-1 ; is pursued by King Red Cap, who is killed by his daughter, 161, n. 291 ; leaves the Big Brothers in their re- spective islands, 161 ; arrives in Ireland, 162 ; is kissed by the bitch and forgets his wife, Sunshine, 163 ; is going to marry another woman, 166 ; recognises his first wife in the woman at the Smith's house, etc., 167 Son of the King of Light, 39-41, n. 270 Son of the Knight of the Green Vesture as the Hen-wife's Son, 222; herds her three cows, 222; sells the first to a Fairy for a charm-stone, 223 ; the second for a jewel, 224; the third fora 310 Index. net, 225; is taken into the land- lord's service, 226; by means of the charm-stone wishes himself and Berry-eye in the Green Isle, 226, n. 301 ; is deserted by his wife, 227, n. 301 ; discovers the apples, 227, n. 301; is taken on board a passing vessel, 228 ; cures the Captain by means of the ugly ppples, 229, n. 301-2 ; is landed in the place he left, 229; gives out that he is a phy- sician, 229 ; cures Berry-eye, 230, n. 302; recovers the charm- stones, 230 ; is going to marry Berry-eye, 230 ; is betrayed by his stepmother, 230 ; rejected by Berry-eye, 23 1 , n. 302; his true origin revealed, 231 ; goes in quest of a fairer maiden than Berry-eye, 231, n. 303 ; sees Smooth -brow behind the Castle, 231; meets the dairy-maid, 232, n. 303 ; meets Smooth-brow, 232 ; follows the Red-haired Cook, who is going to repel the invasion of the Fierce Earl's Eldest Son, 234, n. 303; slays the latter, 235; follows the Cook the next day, and slays the Earl's Second Son, 236-237; follows the Cook the third day and binds the Earl's Youngest Son, 238-239; unbinds the latter, 240; marries Smooth-brow, 240 Son of the Strong Man of the Wood, born when oak-seedling appears above ground, 187, n. 292 ; nursed seven years, and then tries to pull the young oak out of its roots, 188, n. 292 ; second trial of strength after fourteen years of nursing, 188 ; third trial after twenty-one years of ditto, 188 ; gets a ban- nock and is then sent to win his fortune, 189, n. 292 ; engages as a farm-servant with a Land- lord, 189 ; accomplishes three tasks first, thrashing all the corn on the farm in a day, 190, . 293 ; second, digging a well, 192, n. 293; ploughing the Crooked Rig with the Water- horse, 195 ; grinding in the Mill of Lecan, 198 ; encounter with Brownie, 199 ; draws the sled with the horse and meal- sacks on it home to the Land- lord's house, 200 ; finds the farm deserted, 201 ; takes pos- session of it, 201 ; goes for his mother and brings her to the place he has got, 201 Sorceress meets Alastir, 91, n. 280; her advice to him, 92 ; in the form of a buzzard en- courages him to proceed on his journey, 93; brings Cormac and his Queen in a coracle to Lochlan, 112-233, n - 2 ^5 Stolen children, 214 Sunbeam, no Swan-Maidens, 147, n. 286 Swift-footed Hind, 105 Sword of the King, 85; of the two- headed Giant, 94; of the three- headed Giant, 97 Thick-foliaged Grove of the Trees, 105 Thief can steal the egg on which the heron is sitting, 3; steals the children, pups, coverings, shinties, and balls from the sleeping Giant's Castle Thrashing of all the corn in the barn and stackyard by Big Lad, 190, n. 293 T6m-na-h-Iubhraich, n. 276 Tracker, 2; piloting the ship, 4 Trials of the Son of the K. of Ireland, 157-9, n. 290 Uruisg, 296-7 Uttermost World, 3, n. 261-263, 58 Water-horse, 194, 195, 196, . 294-295 Wakening. Finn keeps awake by thrusting a red-hot iron bar through his palm, 5 ; the Big Lad is awakened by striking him with a rock on the chest, or by cutting the breadth of his Index. thumb from the top of his head, 39 Whale-fishing extraordinary, 161, n. 291 White Glen, 27 White Swan of the Smooth Neck, 147 ; Young Daughter of King Red Cap, 148 ; her name is Sunshine, 151; is transformed by her father into a Swan, 153; swimming on the Tranquil Lakelet in the Green Isle, 153; the spell broken by the arrow, 156; chooses the hero by ac- cepting his gifts, 157; tells him how to identify her, 159; es- capes with her husband, 160; kills her father, 161 ; accom- panies her husband to Ireland, 162; stays at the Smith's house, 163 ; makes a speaking cock and hen, 163; the butler, 163; cook, 165; coachman, 166; re- cognised by her husband, 167 Wooden crier or whistle, 58 ; far sounding, 58, n. 274; enormous size, 73; three blasts of it will awaken the Feinn, 57, n. 274 Withe of Mysterious Ploughman, 218 Wooden-graips or forks, 74, n. 276 Woman, syren -like, pretends she is drowning, 154, n. 190; appears as a gull with a message from the Queen, 155 " Writing" (letter) from Sorceress to first sister, 93; from latter to second,96; from second to third, 98 Young Giant in Grimm's Tales, n. 291 RUNS. Bespelling run, 2, n. 260, 35 Boat-beaching run, i, n. 260 Resting run, i, n. 259 Rejoicing run, 9, 22 Saluting run, I, 17, 27 Travelling run, 29, 30, 31 ; an- other, 1 06, n. 284 LONDON : WHITING AND CO., 30 AND 32, SARDINIA STKRET, W C. University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. / A 000671611 2