{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_60782/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_60782","id":"gutenberg_60782","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60782","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Celts -- Ireland -- Folklore","Tales -- Ireland"],"text":"Beside the Fire.\n\n\nWORKS BY DR. HYDE.\n\n=LEABHAR SGEULAIGHTEACHTA.= Folk Stories in Irish, with Notes by Dr.\nHyde, LL.D. Crown 8vo, viiii. 261 pp. wrapper, 5s.\n\n\nWORKS BY ALFRED NUTT.\n\n=CELTIC AND MEDI\u00c6VAL ROMANCE.= 1899. 6d. net.\n\n=OSSIAN AND THE OSSIANIC LITERATURE.= 1900. 6d. net.\n\n=THE FAIRY MYTHOLOGY OF SHAKESPEARE.= 1900. 6d. net.\n\n=CUCHULAINN, THE IRISH ACHILLES.= 1900. 6d. net.\n\n=THE LEGENDS OF THE HOLY GRAIL.= 1902. 6d. net.\n\n=WAIFS AND STRAYS OF CELTIC TRADITION.= Series initiated and directed by\nLord ARCHIBALD CAMPBELL. Demy 8vo, cloth.\n\n    Vol. II. Folk and Hero Tales. Collected, edited (in Gaelic),\n    and translated by the Rev. D. MAC INNES; with a Study on the\n    Development of the Ossianic Saga, and copious Notes by ALFRED\n    NUTT. xxiv. 497 pages. Portrait of Campbell of Islay, and Two\n    Illustrations by E. GRISET. 1890. 15s.\n\n    _Highland Monthly_\u2014\u201cThe most important work on Highland\n    Folk-lore and Tales since Campbell\u2019s world-renowned Popular\n    Tales.\u201d\n\n    HECTOR MACLEAN\u2014\u201cNever before has the development of the\n    Ossianic Saga been so scientifically dealt with.\u201d\n\n    _Scots Observer_\u2014\u201cMr. Alfred Nutt\u2019s excursus and notes are\n    lucid and scholarly. They add immensely to the value of the\n    book, and afford abundant evidence of their author\u2019s extensive\n    reading and sound erudition.\u201d\n\n    _Oban Telegraph_\u2014\u201cThe Gaelic text is colloquial and eminently\n    idiomatic.... Mr. Nutt deserves especial mention and much\n    credit for the painstaking and careful research evidenced by\n    his notes to the tales.\u201d\n\n    _Westmoreland Gazette_\u2014\u201cWe cannot refrain from placing on\n    record our appreciation for the remarkable mastery of the\n    subject which Mr. Alfred Nutt has brought to the execution of\n    his task.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                             BESIDE THE FIRE\n\n                             A COLLECTION OF\n                       IRISH GAELIC FOLK STORIES.\n\n                   _EDITED, TRANSLATED, AND ANNOTATED_\n\n                                   BY\n                     DOUGLAS HYDE, LL.D., M.R.I.A.,\n\n                        (ANCHRAOIBH\u00cdN AOIBHINN.)\n\n        MEMBER OF THE COUNCIL OF THE GAELIC UNION; MEMBER OF THE\n                        PAN-CELTIC SOCIETY, ETC.\n\n                         _WITH ADDITIONAL NOTES_\n\n                                   BY\n                              ALFRED NUTT.\n\n    T\u00e1 siad mar \u010be\u00f3 air dtea\u010bt na h-oid\u010be\n    Bheir\u1e6bear as le gal beag gaoi\u1e6be.\u2014SEAN DAN.\n\n    \u201cThey are like a mist on the coming of night\n    That is scattered away by a light breath of wind.\u201d\u2014OLD POEM.\n\n                                 LONDON:\n                      DAVID NUTT, 57-59 LONG ACRE.\n                                  1910.\n\n                               PRINTED BY\n                       JAMES DUFFY AND CO., LTD.,\n                    AT 61 AND 62 GREAT STRAND STREET,\n                          AND 70 JERVIS STREET,\n                                 DUBLIN.\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATION.\n\n\nTo the memory of those truly cultured and unselfish men, the poet-scribes\nand hedge-schoolmasters of the last century and the beginning of this\u2014men\nwho may well be called the last of the Milesians\u2014I dedicate this effort\nto preserve even a scrap of that native lore which in their day they\nloved so passionately, and for the preservation of which they worked so\nnobly, but in vain.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n    PREFACE: Previous collections of Irish folk-lore; ignorance of\n        the language on the part of collectors. Relation between Irish\n        and Scotch Gaelic tales; the Irish bardic tales; the runs in\n        Irish and Scotch. Date of Irish versions. Two classes of Irish\n        stories; native myths. Narrators of the stories. Discouragement\n        of Irish by schoolmasters, clergy, and politicians. Proper mode\n        of collecting. System of translation accepted.          PAGE, ix-l.\n\n    POSTSCRIPT (by Alfred Nutt): Dr. Hyde\u2019s theories discussed;\n        folk-lore and romance; necessity for romance to conform to\n        convention; characteristics of folk-fancy; classification of\n        the products of folk-fancy; myth, saga, M\u00e4rchen and ballad;\n        romance and folk-lore among the Gael; folk-conception of the\n        Universe                                            Page, li-lviii.\n\n    TALES.\n\n       I. The Tailor and the Three Beasts                             2-14\n\n      II. Bran                                                       14-18\n\n     III. The King of Ireland\u2019s Son                                  18-46\n\n      IV. The Alp-Luachra                                            46-72\n\n       V. Paudyeen O\u2019Kelly and the Weasel                            72-90\n\n      VI. Leeam O\u2019Rooney\u2019s Burial                                   90-103\n\n     VII. Guleesh na Guss Dhu                                      104-128\n\n    VIII. The Well of D\u2019Yerree-in-Dowan                            129-141\n\n      IX. The Court of Crinnawn                                    142-148\n\n       X. Neil O\u2019Carree                                            148-153\n\n      XI. Trunk-without-Head                                       154-161\n\n     XII. The Hags of the Long Teeth                               161-166\n\n    XIII. William of the Tree                                      167-169\n\n     XIV. The Old Crow and the Young Crow                              169\n\n      XV. Riddles                                                  170-172\n\n    Where the Stories came from                                    173-174\n\n    Notes                                                          175-195\n\n    Notes on the Irish Text                                        197-200\n\n    Index of Incidents                                             201-203\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIrish and Scotch Gaelic folk-stories are, as a living form of literature,\nby this time pretty nearly a thing of the past. They have been trampled\nin the common ruin under the feet of the Zeitgeist, happily not before\na large harvest has been reaped in Scotland, but, unfortunately, before\nanything worth mentioning has been done in Ireland to gather in the\ncrop which grew luxuriantly a few years ago. Until quite recently there\nexisted in our midst millions of men and women who, when their day\u2019s work\nwas over, sought and found mental recreation in a domain to which few\nindeed of us who read books are permitted to enter. Man, all the world\nover, when he is tired of the actualities of life, seeks to unbend his\nmind with the creations of fancy. We who can read betake ourselves to\nour favourite novelist, and as we peruse his fictions, we can almost see\nour author erasing this, heightening that, and laying on such-and-such a\ntouch for effect. His book is the product of his individual brain, and\nsome of us or of our contemporaries have been present at its genesis.\n\nBut no one can tell us with certainty of the genesis of the folk-tale, no\none has been consciously present at its inception, and no one has marked\nits growth. It is in many ways a mystery, part of the flotsam and jetsam\nof the ages, still beating feebly against the shore of the nineteenth\ncentury, swallowed up at last in England by the waves of materialism and\ncivilization combined; but still surviving unengulfed on the western\ncoasts of Ireland, where I gathered together some bundles of it, of which\nthe present volume is one.\n\nThe folk-lore of Ireland, like its folk-songs and native literature,\nremains practically unexploited and ungathered. Attempts have been made\nfrom time to time during the present century to collect Irish folk-lore,\nbut these attempts, though interesting from a literary point of view, are\nnot always successes from a scientific one. Crofton Croker\u2019s delightful\nbook, \u201cFairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland,\u201d first\npublished anonymously in 1825, led the way. All the other books which\nhave been published on the subject have but followed in the footsteps\nof his; but all have not had the merit of his light style, his pleasant\nparallels from classic and foreign literature, and his delightful\nannotations, which touch, after a fascinating manner peculiarly his own,\nupon all that is of interest in his text. I have written the word \u201ctext,\u201d\nbut that word conveys the idea of an original to be annotated upon; and\nCrofton Croker is, alas! too often his own original. There lies his weak\npoint, and there, too, is the defect of all who have followed him. The\nform in which the stories are told is, of course, Croker\u2019s own; but no\none who knows anything of fairy lore will suppose, that his manipulation\nof the originals is confined to the form merely. The fact is that he\nlearned the ground-work of his tales from conversations with the Southern\npeasantry, whom he knew well, and then elaborated this over the midnight\noil with great skill and delicacy of touch, in order to give a saleable\nbook, thus spiced, to the English public.\n\nSetting aside the novelists Carleton and Lover, who only published some\nincidental and largely-manipulated Irish stories, the next person to\ncollect Irish folk-lore in a volume was Patrick Kennedy, a native of the\nCounty Wexford, who published \u201cLegendary Fictions of the Irish Celts,\u201d\nand in 1870 a good book, entitled, \u201cThe Fireside Stories of Ireland,\u201d\nwhich he had himself heard in Wexford when a boy. Many of the stories\nwhich he gives appear to be the detritus of genuine Gaelic folk-stories,\nfiltered through an English idiom and much impaired and stunted in the\nprocess. He appears, however, not to have adulterated them very much. Two\nof the best stories in the book, \u201cJack, the Cunning Thief,\u201d and \u201cShawn\nan Omadawn,\u201d I heard myself in the adjoining county Wicklow, and the\nversions of them that I heard did not differ very widely from Kennedy\u2019s.\nIt is interesting to note that these counties, close to the Pale as they\nare, and under English influence for so long, nevertheless seem to have\npreserved a considerable share of the old Gaelic folk-tales in English\ndress, while in Leitrim, Longford, Meath, and those counties where Irish\ndied out only a generation or two ago, there has been made as clean a\nsweep of folk-lore and Gaelic traditions as the most uncompromising \u201cWest\nBriton\u201d could desire. The reason why some of the folk-stories survive in\nthe eastern counties is probably because the Irish language was there\nexchanged for English at a time when, for want of education and printed\nbooks, folk-stories (the only mental recreation of the people) _had_ to\ntransfer themselves rightly or wrongly into English. When this first\ntook place I cannot tell, but I have heard from old people in Waterford,\nthat when some of their fathers or grandfathers marched north to join\nthe Wexford Irish in \u201998, they were astonished to find English nearly\nuniversally used amongst them. Kennedy says of his stories: \u201cI have\nendeavoured to present them in a form suitable for the perusal of both\nsexes and of all ages\u201d; and \u201csuch as they are, they may be received by\nour readers as obtained from local sources.\u201d Unfortunately, the sources\nare not given by him any more than by Croker, and we cannot be sure how\nmuch belongs to Kennedy the bookseller, and how much to the Wexford\npeasant.\n\nAfter this come Lady Wilde\u2019s volumes;\u2014her \u201cAncient Legends,\u201d and her\nrecently published \u201cAncient Cures, Charms, and Usages,\u201d in both of which\nbooks she gives us a large amount of narrative matter in a folk-lore\ndress; but, like her predecessors, she disdains to quote an authority,\nand scorns to give us the least inkling as to where such-and-such a\nlegend, or cure, or superstition comes from, from whom it was obtained,\nwho were her informants, whether peasant or other, in what parishes or\ncounties the superstition or legend obtains, and all the other collateral\ninformation which the modern folk-lorist is sure to expect. Her entire\nignorance of Irish, through the medium of which alone such tales and\nsuperstitions can properly, if at all, be collected, is apparent every\ntime she introduces an Irish word. She astonishes us Irish speakers\nwith such striking observations as this\u2014\u201cPeasants in Ireland wishing\nyou good luck, say in Irish, \u2018The blessing of Bel and the blessing of\nSamhain be with you,\u2019 that is, of the sun and of the moon.\u201d[1] It would\nbe interesting to know the locality where so curious a Pagan custom is\nstill practised, for I confess that though I have spoken Irish in every\ncounty where it is still spoken, I have never been, nor do I expect to\nbe, so saluted. Lady Wilde\u2019s volumes, are, nevertheless, a wonderful\nand copious record of folk-lore and folk customs, which must lay\nIrishmen under one more debt of gratitude to the gifted compiler. It is\nunfortunate, however, that these volumes are hardly as valuable as they\nare interesting, and for the usual reason\u2014that we do not know what is\nLady Wilde\u2019s and what is not.\n\nAlmost contemporaneously with Lady Wilde\u2019s last book there appeared this\nyear yet another important work, a collection of Irish folk-tales taken\nfrom the Gaelic speakers of the south and north-west, by an American\ngentleman, Mr. Jeremiah Curtin. He has collected some twenty tales, which\nare told very well, and with much less cooking and flavouring than his\npredecessors employed. Mr. Curtin tells us that he has taken his tales\nfrom the old Gaelic-speaking men; but he must have done so through the\nawkward medium of an interpreter, for his ignorance of the commonest\nIrish words is as startling as Lady Wilde\u2019s.[2] He follows Lady Wilde in\nthis, too, that he keeps us in profound ignorance of his authorities. He\nmentions not one name, and except that he speaks in a general way of old\nGaelic speakers in nooks where the language is still spoken, he leaves\nus in complete darkness as to where and from whom, and how he collected\nthese stories. In this he does not do himself justice, for, from my own\nknowledge of Irish folk-lore, such as it is, I can easily recognize that\nMr. Curtin has approached the fountain-head more nearly than any other.\nUnfortunately, like his predecessors, he has a literary style of his own,\nfor which, to say the least of it, there is no counterpart in the Gaelic\nfrom which he has translated.[3]\n\nWe have as yet had no folk-lorist in Ireland who could compare for a\nmoment with such a man as Iain Campbell, of Islay, in investigative\npowers, thoroughness of treatment, and acquaintance with the people,\ncombined with a powerful national sentiment, and, above all, a knowledge\nof Gaelic. It is on this last rock that all our workers-up of Irish\nfolk-lore split. In most circles in Ireland it is a disgrace to be known\nto talk Irish; and in the capital, if one makes use of an Irish word to\nexpress one\u2019s meaning, as one sometimes does of a French or German word,\none would be looked upon as positively outside the pale of decency; hence\nwe need not be surprised at the ignorance of Gaelic Ireland displayed by\nlitt\u00e9rateurs who write for the English public, and foist upon us modes of\nspeech which we have not got, and idioms which they never learned from us.\n\nThis being the case, the chief interest in too many of our folk-tale\nwriters lies in their individual treatment of the skeletons of the\nvarious Gaelic stories obtained through English mediums, and it is not\ndevoid of interest to watch the various garbs in which the sophisticated\nminds of the ladies and gentlemen who trifled in such matters, clothed\nthe dry bones. But when the skeletons were thus padded round and clad,\nalthough built upon folk-lore, they were no longer folk-lore themselves,\nfor folk-lore can only find a fitting garment in the language that comes\nfrom the mouths of those whose minds are so primitive that they retain\nwith pleasure those tales which the more sophisticated invariably forget.\nFor this reason folk-lore is presented in an uncertain and unsuitable\nmedium, whenever the contents of the stories are divorced from their\noriginal expression in language. Seeing how Irish writers have managed\nit hitherto, it is hardly to be wondered at that the writer of the\narticle on folk-lore in the \u201cEncyclopedia Britanica,\u201d though he gives\nthe names of some fifty authorities on the subject, has not mentioned a\nsingle Irish collection. In the present book, as well as in my Leabhar\nSgeuluigheachta, I have attempted\u2014if nothing else\u2014to be a little more\naccurate than my predecessors, and to give the _exact language_ of my\ninformants, together with their names and various localities\u2014information\nwhich must always be the very first requisite of any work upon which a\nfuture scientist may rely when he proceeds to draw honey (is it always\nhoney?) from the flowers which we collectors have culled for him.\n\nIt is difficult to say whether there still exist in Ireland many stories\nof the sort given in this volume. That is a question which cannot be\nanswered without further investigation. In any other country the great\nbody of Gaelic folk-lore in the four provinces would have been collected\nlong ago, but the \u201cHiberni incuriosi suorum\u201d appear at the present day\nto care little for anything that is Gaelic; and so their folk-lore has\nremained practically uncollected.\n\nAnyone who reads this volume as a representative one of Irish folk-tales\nmight, at first sight, imagine that there is a broad difference between\nthe Gaelic tales of the Highlands and those of Ireland, because very few\nof the stories given here have parallels in the volumes of Campbell and\nMacInnes. I have, however, particularly chosen the tales in the present\nvolume on account of their dissimilarity to any published Highland\ntales, for, as a general rule, the main body of tales in Ireland and\nScotland bear a very near relation to each other. Most of Mr. Curtin\u2019s\nstories, for instance, have Scotch Gaelic parallels. It would be only\nnatural, however, that many stories should exist in Ireland which are\nnow forgotten in Scotland, or which possibly were never carried there\nby that section of the Irish which colonized it; and some of the most\nmodern\u2014especially of the kind whose genesis I have called conscious\u2014must\nhave arisen amongst the Irish since then, while on the other hand some\nof the Scotch stories may have been bequeathed to the Gaelic language\nby those races who were displaced by the Milesian Conquest in the fifth\ncentury.\n\nMany of the incidents of the Highland stories have parallels in Irish\nMSS., even incidents of which I have met no trace in the folk-lore of\nthe people. This is curious, because these Irish MSS. used to circulate\nwidely, and be constantly read at the firesides of the peasantry, while\nthere is no trace of MSS. being in use historical times amongst the\nHighland cabins. Of such stories as were most popular, a very imperfect\nlist of about forty is given in Mr. Standish O\u2019Grady\u2019s excellent preface\nto the third volume of the Ossianic Society\u2019s publications. After reading\nmost of these in MSS. of various dates, and comparing them with such\nfolk-lore as I had collected orally, I was surprised to find how few\npoints of contact existed between the two. The men who committed stories\nto paper seem to have chiefly confined themselves to the inventions\nof the bards or professional story-tellers\u2014often founded, however, on\nfolk-lore incidents\u2014while the taste of the people was more conservative,\nand willingly forgot the bardic inventions to perpetuate their old Aryan\ntraditions, of which this volume gives some specimens. The discrepancy\nin style and contents between the MS. stories and those of the people\nleads me to believe that the stories in the MSS. are not so much old\nAryan folk-tales written down by scholars as the inventions of individual\nbrains, consciously inventing, as modern novelists do. This theory,\nhowever, must be somewhat modified before it can be applied, for, as I\nhave said, there are incidents in Scotch Gaelic folk-tales which resemble\nthose of some of the MS. stories rather nearly. Let us glance at a single\ninstance\u2014one only out of many\u2014where Highland tradition preserves a trait\nwhich, were it not for such preservation, would assuredly be ascribed to\nthe imaginative brain of an inventive Irish writer.\n\nThe extraordinary creature of which Campbell found traces in the\nHighlands, the F\u00e1chan, of which he has drawn a whimsical engraving,[4]\nis met with in an Irish MS. called Iollann Arm-dearg. Old MacPhie,\nCampbell\u2019s informant, called him the \u201cDesert creature of Glen Eite, the\nson of Colin,\u201d and described him as having \u201cone hand out of his chest,\none leg out of his haunch, and one eye out of the front of his face;\u201d and\nagain, \u201cugly was the make of the F\u00e1chan, there was one hand out of the\nridge of his chest, and one tuft out of the top of his head, and it were\neasier to take a mountain from the root than to bend that tuft.\u201d This\none-legged, one-handed, one-eyed creature, unknown, as Campbell remarks,\nto German or Norse mythology, is thus described in the Irish manuscript:\n\u201cAnd he (Iollann) was not long at this, until he saw the devilish\nmisformed element, and the fierce and horrible spectre, and the gloomy\ndisgusting enemy, and the morose unlovely churl (moga); and this is how\nhe was: he held a very thick iron flail-club in his skinny hand, and\ntwenty chains out of it, and fifty apples on each chain of them, and a\nvenomous spell on each great apple of them, and a girdle of the skins of\ndeer and roebuck around the thing that was his body, and one eye in the\nforehead of his black-faced countenance, and one bare, hard, very hairy\nhand coming out of his chest, and one veiny, thick-soled leg supporting\nhim and a close, firm, dark blue mantle of twisted hard-thick feathers,\nprotecting his body, and surely he was more like unto devil than to man.\u201d\nThis creature inhabited a desert, as the Highlander said, and were it\nnot for this corroborating Scotch tradition, I should not have hesitated\nto put down the whole incident as the whimsical invention of some Irish\nwriter, the more so as I had never heard any accounts of this wonderful\ncreature in local tradition. This discovery of his counterpart in the\nHighlands puts a new complexion on the matter. Is the Highland spectre\nderived from the Irish manuscript story, or does the writer of the\nIrish story only embody in his tale a piece of folk-lore common at one\ntime to all branches of the Gaelic race, and now all but extinct. This\nlast supposition is certainly the true one, for it is borne out by the\nfact that the Irish writer ascribes no name to this monster, while the\nHighlander calls him a F\u00e1chan,[5] a word, as far as I know, not to be\nfound elsewhere.\n\nBut we have further ground for pausing before we ascribe the Irish\nmanuscript story to the invention of some single bard or writer. If\nwe read it closely we shall see that it is largely the embodiment of\nother folk-tales. Many of the incidents of which it is composed can be\nparalleled from Scotch Gaelic sources, and one of the most remarkable,\nthat of the prince becoming a journeyman fuller, I have found in a\nConnacht folk-tale. This diffusion of incidents in various tales\ncollected all over the Gaelic-speaking world, would point to the fact\nthat the story, as far as many of the incidents go, is not the invention\nof the writer, but is genuine folk-lore thrown by him into a new form,\nwith, perhaps, added incidents of his own, and a brand new dress.\n\nBut now in tracing this typical story, we come across another remarkable\nfact\u2014the fresh start the story took on its being thus recast and made up\nnew. Once the order and progress of the incidents were thus stereotyped,\nas it were, the tale seems to have taken a new lease of its life, and\ngone forth to conquer; for while it continued to be constantly copied\nin Irish manuscripts, thus proving its popularity as a written tale,\nit continued to be recited verbally in Scotland in something like the\nsame bardic and inflated language made use of by the Irish writer,\nand with pretty nearly the same sequence of incidents, the three\nadventurers, whose Irish names are Ur, Artuir, and Iollann, having\nbecome transmogrified into Ur, Athairt, and Iullar, in the mouth of the\nHighland reciter. I think it highly improbable, however, that at the time\nof this story being composed\u2014largely out of folk-tale incidents\u2014it was\nalso committed to paper. I think it much more likely that the story was\ncommitted to writing by some Irish scribe, only after it had gained so\ngreat a vogue as to spread through both Ireland and Scotland. This would\naccount for the fact that all the existing MSS. of this story, and of\nmany others like it, are, as far as I am aware, comparatively modern.[6]\nAnother argument in favour of this supposition, that bardic tales were\nonly committed to writing when they had become popular, may be drawn from\nthe fact that both in Ireland and the Highlands we find in many folk-lore\nstories traces of bardic compositions easily known by their poetical,\nalliterative, and inflated language, of which no MSS. are found in either\ncountry. It may, of course, be said, that the MSS. have perished; and\nwe know how grotesquely indifferent the modern Irish are about their\nliterary and antiquarian remains; yet, had they ever existed, I cannot\nhelp thinking that some trace of them, or allusion to them, would be\nfound in our surviving literature.\n\nThere is also the greatest discrepancy in the poetical passages which\noccur in the Highland oral version and the Irish manuscript version of\nsuch tales as in incident are nearly identical. Now, if the story had\nbeen propagated from a manuscript written out once for all, and then\ncopied, I feel pretty sure that the resemblance between the alliterative\npassages in the two would be much closer. The dissimilarity between them\nseems to show that the incidents and not the language were the things to\nbe remembered, and that every wandering bard who picked up a new story\nfrom a colleague, stereotyped the incidents in his mind, but uttered them\nwhenever he recited the story, in his own language; and whenever he came\nto the description of a storm at sea, or a battle, or anything else which\nthe original poet had seen fit to describe poetically, he did so too, but\nnot in the same way or the same language, for to remember the language\nof his predecessor on these occasions, from merely hearing it, would be\nwell-nigh impossible. It is likely, then, that each bard or story-teller\nobserved the places where the poetical runs should come in, but trusted\nto his own cultivated eloquence for supplying them. It will be well to\ngive an example or two from this tale of Iollann. Here is the sea-run, as\ngiven in the Highland oral version, after the three warriors embark in\ntheir vessel:\u2014\n\n  \u201cThey gave her prow to sea and her stern to shore,\n  They hoisted the speckled flapping bare-topped sails,\n  Up against the tall tough splintering masts,\n  And they had a pleasant breeze as they might chose themselves,\n  Would bring heather from the hill, leaf from grove, willow from its\n    roots,\n  Would put thatch of the houses in furrows of the ridges,\n  The day that neither the son nor the father could do it,\n  That same was neither little nor much for them,\n  But using it and taking it as it might come.\n  The sea plunging and surging,\n  The red sea the blue sea lashing,\n  And striking hither and thither about her planks,\n  The whorled dun whelk that was down on the floor of the ocean,\n  Would give a _snag_ on her gunwale and a crack on her floor,\n  She would cut a slender oaten straw with the excellence of her going.\u201d\n\nIt will be observed how different the corresponding run in the Irish\nmanuscript is, when thrown into verse, for the language in both versions\nis only measured prose:\u2014\n\n  \u201cThen they gave an eager very quick courageous high-spirited flood-leap\n  To meet and to face the sea and the great ocean.\n  And great was the horror....\n  Then there arose before them a fierceness in the sea,\n  And they replied patiently stoutly strongly and vigorously,\n  To the roar of the green sided high-strong waves,\n  Till they made a high quick very-furious rowing\n  Till the deep-margined dreadful blue-bordered sea\n  Arose in broad-sloping fierce-frothing plains\n  And in rushing murmuring flood-quick ever-deep platforms.\n  And in gloomy horrible swift great valleys\n  Of very terrible green sea, and the beating and the pounding\n  Of the strong dangerous waves smiting against the decks\n  And against the sides of that full-great full-tight bark.\u201d\n\nIt may, however, be objected that the sea-runs are so common and so\nnumerous, that one might easily usurp the place of another, and that\nthis alone is no proof that the various story-tellers or professional\nbards, contented themselves with remembering the incidents of a story,\nbut either extemporised their own runs after what flourish their nature\nwould, or else had a stock of these, of their own composing, always\nready at hand. Let us look, then, at another story of which Campbell has\npreserved the Highland version, while I have a good Irish MS. of the\nsame, written by some northern scribe, in 1762. This story, \u201cThe Slender\nGrey Kerne,\u201d or \u201cSlim Swarthy Champion,\u201d as Campbell translates it, is\nfull of alliterative runs, which the Highland reciter has retained\nin their proper places, but couched in different language, while he\nintroduces a run of his own which the Irish has not got, in describing\nthe swift movement of the kerne. Every time the kerne is asked where he\ncomes from, the Highlander makes him say\u2014\n\n  \u201cI came from hurry-skurry,\n  From the land of endless spring,[7]\n  From the loved swanny glen,\n  A night in Islay and a night in Man,\n  A night on cold watching cairns\n  On the face of a mountain.\n  In the Scotch king\u2019s town was I born,\n  A soiled sorry champion am I\n  Though I happened upon this town.\u201d\n\nIn the Irish MS. the kerne always says\u2014\n\n  \u201cIn Dun Monaidh, in the town of the king of Scotland,\n  I slept last night,\n  But I be a day in Islay and a day in Cantire,\n  A day in Man and a day in Rathlin,\n  A day in Fionncharn of the watch\n  Upon Slieve Fuaid.\n  A little miserable traveller I,\n  And in Aileach of the kings was I born.\n  And that,\u201d said he, \u201cis my story.\u201d\n\nAgain, whenever the kerne plays his harp the Highlander says:\u2014\n\n  \u201cHe could play tunes and _oirts_ and _orgain_,\n  Trampling things, tightening strings,\n  Warriors, heroes, and ghosts on their feet,\n  Ghosts and souls and sickness and fever,\n  That would set in sound lasting sleep\n  The whole great world,\n  With the sweetness of the calming[8] tunes\n  That the champion would play.\u201d\n\nThe Irish run is as follows:\u2014\n\n  \u201cThe kerne played music and tunes and instruments of song,\n  Wounded men and women with babes,\n  And slashed heroes and mangled warriors,\n  And all the wounded and all the sick,\n  And the bitterly-wounded of the great world,\n  They would sleep with the voice of the music,\n  Ever efficacious, ever sweet, which the kerne played.\u201d\n\nAgain, when the kerne approaches anyone, his gait is thus described\nhalf-rythmically by the Scotch narrator:\u2014\u201cA young chap was seen coming\ntowards them, his two shoulders through his old coat, his two ears\nthrough his old hat, his two squat kickering tatter-y shoes full of cold\nroadway-ish water, three feet of his sword sideways in the side of his\nhaunch after the scabbard was ended.\u201d\n\nThe Irish writer makes him come thus:\u2014\u201cAnd he beheld the slender grey\nkerne approaching him straight, and half his sword bared behind his\nhaunch, and old shoes full of water sousing about him, and the top of his\nears out through his old mantle, and a short butt-burned javelin of holly\nin his hand.\u201d\n\nThese few specimens, which could be largely multiplied, may be\nsufficient for our purpose, as they show that wherever a run occurs in\nthe Irish the same occurs in the Gaelic, but couched in quite different\nlanguage, though preserving a general similarity of meaning. This can\nonly be accounted for on the supposition already made, that when a\nprofessional bard had invented a successful story it was not there and\nthen committed to paper, but circulated _viv\u00e2 voce_, until it became the\nproperty of every story-teller, and was made part of the stock-in-trade\nof professional _fil\u00e8s_, who neither remembered nor cared to remember the\nwords in which the story was first told, but only the incidents of which\nit was composed, and who (as their professional training enabled them to\ndo) invented or extemporised glowing alliterative runs for themselves at\nevery point of the story where, according to the inventor of it, a run\nshould be.\n\nIt may be interesting to note that this particular story cannot\u2014at\nleast in the form in which we find it disseminated both in Ireland and\nScotland\u2014be older than the year 1362, in which year O\u2019Connor Sligo\nmarched into Munster and carried off great spoil, for in both the Scotch\nand Irish versions the kerne is made to accompany that chieftain, and\nto disappear in disgust because O\u2019Connor forgot to offer him the first\ndrink. This story then, and it is probably typical of a great many\nothers, had its rise in its present shape\u2014for, of course, the germ of\nit may be much older\u2014on Irish ground, not earlier than the end of the\nfourteenth or the beginning of the fifteenth century, and was carried by\nsome Irish bard or professional story-teller to the Gaeldom of Scotland,\nwhere it is told to this day without any great variations, but in a form\nvery much stunted and shortened. As to the Irish copy, I imagine that it\nwas not written down for a couple of centuries later, and only after it\nhad become a stock piece all over the Scotch and Irish Gaeldom; that then\nsome scribe got hold of a story-teller (one of those professionals who,\naccording to the Book of Leinster, were obliged to know seven times fifty\nstories), and stereotyped in writing the current Irish variation of the\ntale, just as Campbell, two, three, or four centuries afterwards, did\nwith the Scotch Gaelic version.\n\nIt may, of course, be alleged that the bombastic and inflated language\nof many of the MS. stories is due not to the oral reciter, but to the\nscribe, who, in his pride of learning, thought to himself, _nihil quod\ntango non orno_; but though it is possible that some scribes threw\nin extraneous embellishments, I think the story-teller was the chief\ntransgressor. Here, for instance, is a verbally collected specimen from\na Connemara story, which contains all the marks of the MS. stories,\nand yet it is almost certain that it has been transmitted purely _viv\u00e2\nvoce_:\u2014\u201cThey journeyed to the harbour where there was a vessel waiting\nto take them across the sea. They struck into her, and hung up the great\nblowing, bellying, equal-long, equal-straight sails, to the tops of the\nmasts, so that they would not leave a rope without straining, or an oar\nwithout breaking, plowing the seething, surging sea; great whales making\nfairy music and service for them, two-thirds going beneath the wave to\nthe one-third going on the top, sending the smooth sand down below and\nthe rough sand up above, and the eels in grips with one another, until\nthey grated on port and harbour in the Eastern world.\u201d This description\nis probably nothing to the glowing language which a professional\nstory-teller, with a trained ear, enormous vocabulary, and complete\ncommand of the language, would have employed a couple of hundred years\nago. When such popular traces of the inflated style even still exist, it\nis against all evidence to accredit the invention and propagation of it\nto the scribes alone.\n\nThe relationship between Ireland and the Scottish Gaeldom, was of the\nclosest kind, and there must have been something like an identity of\nliterature, nor was there any break in the continuity of these friendly\nrelations until the plantation of Ulster cut off the high road between\nthe two Gaelic families. Even during the fifteenth and sixteenth\ncenturies it is probable that no sooner did a bardic composition win\nfame in Ireland than it was carried over to try its fortune in Scotland\ntoo, just as an English dramatic company will come over from London to\nDublin. A story which throws great light on the dispersion of heroic\ntales amongst the Gaelic-speaking peoples, is Conall Gulban, the longest\nof all Campbell\u2019s tales. On comparing the Highland version with an Irish\nMS., by Father Manus O\u2019Donnell, made in 1708, and another made about the\nbeginning of this century, by Michael O\u2019Longan, of Carricknavar, I was\nsurprised to find incident following incident with wonderful regularity\nin both versions. Luckily we have proximate data for fixing the date of\nthis renowned story, a story that, according to Campbell, is \u201cvery widely\nspread in Scotland, from Beaulay on the east, to Barra on the west, and\nDunoon and Paisley in the south.\u201d Both the Irish and Gaelic stories\nrelate the exploits of the fifth century chieftain, Conall Gulban, the\nson of Niall of the Nine Hostages, and his wars with (amongst others)\nthe Turks. The Irish story begins with an account of Niall holding his\ncourt, when a herald from the Emperor of Constantinople comes forward\nand summons him to join the army of the emperor, and assist in putting\ndown Christianity, and making the nations of Europe embrace the Turkish\nfaith. We may fairly surmise that this romance took its rise in the\nshock given to Europe by the fall of Constantinople and the career of\nMahomet the Great. This would throw back its date to the latter end of\nthe fifteenth century at the earliest; but one might almost suppose that\nConstantinople had been long enough held by the Turks at the time the\nromance was invented to make the inventor suppose that it had always\nbelonged to them, even in the time of Niall of the Nine Hostages.[9] We\nknow that romances of this kind continued to be invented at a much later\ndate, but I fancy none of these ever penetrated to Scotland. One of the\nmost popular of romantic tales with the scribes of the last century and\nthe first half of this, was \u201cThe Adventures of Torolbh MacStairn,\u201d and\nagain, the \u201cAdventures of Torolbh MacStairn\u2019s Three Sons,\u201d which most of\nthe MSS. ascribe to Michael Coiminn, who lived at the beginning of the\neighteenth century,[10] and whose romance was certainly not propagated by\nprofessional story-tellers, as I have tried to prove was the case with\nthe earlier romances, but by means of numerous manuscript copies; and it\nis also certain that Coiminn did not relate this tale as the old bards\ndid, but wrote it down as modern novelists do their stories. But this\ndoes not invalidate my surmise, or prove that Conall Gulban, and forty\nor fifty of the same kind, had their origin in a written manuscript;\nit only proves that in the eighteenth century the old order was giving\nplace to the new, and that the professional bards and story-tellers were\nnow a thing of the past, they having fallen with the Gaelic nobility\nwho were their patrons. It would be exceedingly interesting to know\nwhether any traces of these modern stories that had their rise in written\nmanuscripts, are to be found amongst the peasantry as folk-lore. I,\ncertainly, have found no remnant of any such; but this proves nothing.\nIf Ireland had a few individual workers scattered over the provinces we\nwould know more on the subject; but, unfortunately, we have hardly any\nsuch people, and what is worse, the present current of political thought,\nand the tone of our Irish educational establishments are not likely\nto produce them. Until something has been done by us to collect Irish\nfolk-lore in as thorough a manner as Highland tales have already been\ncollected, no deductions can be made with certainty upon the subject of\nthe relationship between Highland and Irish folk-tales, and the relation\nof both to the Irish MSS.\n\nIrish folk-stories may roughly be divided into two classes, those which I\nbelieve never had any _conscious_ genesis inside the shores of Ireland,\nand those which had. These last we have just been examining. Most of\nthe _longer_ tales about the Fenians, and all those stories which have\nlong inflated passages full of alliterative words and poetic epithets,\nbelong to this class. Under the other head of stories that were never\nconsciously invented on Irish ground, we may place all such simple\nstories as bear a trace of nature myths, and those which appear to belong\nto our old Aryan heritage, from the fact of their having parallels\namongst other Aryan-speaking races, such as the story of the man who\nwanted to learn to shake with fear, stories of animals and talking\nbirds, of giants and wizards, and others whose directness and simplicity\nshow them to have had an unconscious and popular origin, though some\nof these may, of course, have arisen on Irish soil. To this second\nclass belong also that numerous body of traditions rather than tales,\nof conversational anecdotes rather than set stories, about appearances\nof fairies, or \u201cgood people,\u201d or Tuatha De Danann, as they are also\ncalled; of pookas, leprechauns, ghosts, apparitions, water-horses, &c.\nThese creations of folk-fancy seldom appear, as far as I have observed,\nin the folk-tale proper, or at least they only appear as adjuncts, for\nin almost all cases the interest of these regular tales centres round a\nhuman hero. Stories about leprechauns, fairies, &c., are very brief, and\ngenerally have local names and scenery attached to them, and are told\nconversationally as any other occurrence might be told, whereas there is\na certain solemnity about the repetition of a folk-tale proper.\n\nAfter spending so much time over the very latest folk-tales, the detritus\nof bardic stories, it will be well to cast a glance at some of the most\nancient, such as bear their pre-historic origin upon their face. Some of\nthese point, beyond all doubt, to rude efforts on the part of primitive\nman to realize to himself the phenomena of nature, by personifying them,\nand attaching to them explanatory fables. Let us take a specimen from a\nstory I found in Mayo, not given in this volume\u2014\u201cThe Boy who was long on\nhis Mother.\u201d[11] In this story, which in Von Hahn\u2019s classification would\ncome under the heading of \u201cthe strong man his adventures,\u201d the hero is\na veritable Hercules, whom the king tries to put to death by making him\nperform impossible tasks, amongst other things, by sending him down to\nhell to drive up the spirits with his club. He is desired by the king to\ndrain a lake full of water. The lake is very steep on one side like a\nreservoir. The hero makes a hole at this side, applies his mouth to it,\nand sucks down the water of the lake, with boats, fishes, and everything\nelse it contained, leaving the lake \u010bo\u1e41 tirm le bois do l\u00e1i\u1e41e, \u201cas dry\nas the palm of your hand.\u201d Even a sceptic will be likely to confess that\nthis tale (which has otherwise no meaning) is the remains of a (probably\nAryan) sun-myth, and personifies the action of the warm sun in drying up\na lake and making it a marsh, killing the fishes, and leaving the boats\nstranded. But this story, like many others, is suggestive of more than\nthis, since it would supply an argument for those who, like Professor\nRhys, see in Hercules a sun-god. The descent of our hero into hell, and\nhis frightening the spirits with his club, the impossible tasks which the\nking gives him to perform in the hopes of slaying him, and his successful\naccomplishment of them, seem to identify him with the classic Hercules.\nBut the Irish tradition preserves the incident of drying the lake, which\nmust have been the work of a sun-god, the very thing that Hercules\u2014but\non much slighter grounds\u2014is supposed to have been.[12] If this story is\nnot the remains of a nature myth, it is perfectly unintelligible, for no\nrational person could hope to impose upon even a child by saying that a\nman drank up a lake, ships, and all; and yet this story has been with\nstrange conservatism repeated from father to son for probably thousands\nof years, and must have taken its rise at a time when our ancestors were\nin much the same rude and mindless condition as the Australian blacks or\nthe Indians of California are to-day.\n\nAgain, in another story we hear of a boat that sails equally swiftly\nover land and sea, and goes straight to its mark. It is so large that if\nall the men in the world were to enter it there would remain place for\nsix hundred more; while it is so small that it folds up into the hand of\nthe person who has it. But ships do not sail on land, nor grow large and\nsmall, nor go straight to their mark; consequently, it is plain that we\nhave here another nature myth, vastly old, invented by pre-historic man,\nfor these ships can be nothing but the clouds which sail over land and\nsea, are large enough to hold the largest armies, and small enough to\nfold into the hand, and which go straight to their mark. The meaning of\nthis has been forgotten for countless ages, but the story has survived.\n\nAgain, in another tale which I found, called \u201cThe Bird of Sweet\nMusic,\u201d[13] a man follows a sweet singing bird into a cave under the\nground, and finds a country where he wanders for a year and a day, and a\nwoman who befriends him while there, and enables him to bring back the\nbird, which turns out to be a human being. At the end of the tale the\nnarrator mentions quite casually that it was his mother whom he met down\nthere. But this touch shows that the land where he wandered was the\nCeltic Hades, the country of the dead beneath the ground, and seems to\nstamp the tale at once as at least pre-Christian.\n\nEven in such an unpretending-looking story as \u201cThe King of Ireland\u2019s\nSon\u201d (the third in this volume), there are elements which must be vastly\nold. In a short Czech story, \u201cGeorge with the Goat,\u201d we find some of\nthe prince\u2019s companions figuring, only slightly metamorphosed. We have\nthe man with one foot over his shoulder, who jumps a hundred miles when\nhe puts it down; while the gun-man of the Irish story who performs two\nparts\u2014that of seeing and shooting\u2014is replaced in the Bohemian tale by two\ndifferent men, one of whom has such sight that he must keep a bandage\nover his eyes, for if he removed it he could see a hundred miles, and the\nother has, instead of a gun, a bottle with his thumb stuck into it for\na stopper, because if he took it out it would squirt a hundred miles.\nGeorge hires one after the other, just as the prince does in the Irish\nstory. George goes to try to win the king\u2019s daughter, as the Irish prince\ndoes, and, amongst other things, is desired to bring a goblet of water\nfrom a well a hundred miles off in a minute. \u201cSo,\u201d says the story,[14]\n\u201cGeorge said to the man who had the foot on his shoulder, \u2018You said that\nif you took the foot down you could jump a hundred miles.\u2019 He replied:\n\u2018I\u2019ll easily do that.\u2019 He took the foot down, jumped, and was there; but\nafter this there was only a very little time to spare, and by this he\nought to have been back. So George said to the second, \u2018You said that if\nyou removed the bandage from your eyes you could see a hundred miles;\npeep, and see what is going on.\u2019 \u2018Ah, sir, goodness gracious! he\u2019s fallen\nasleep.\u2019 \u2018That will be a bad job,\u2019 said George; \u2018the time will be up.\nYou third man, you said if you pulled your thumb out you could squirt\na hundred miles. Be quick, and squirt thither, that he may get up; and\nyou, look whether he is moving, or what.\u2019 \u2018Oh, sir, he\u2019s getting up now;\nhe\u2019s knocking the dust off; he\u2019s drawing the water.\u2019 He then gave a jump,\nand was there exactly in time.\u201d Now, this Bohemian story seems also to\nbear traces of a nature myth; for, as Mr. Wratislaw has remarked: \u201cthe\nman who jumps a hundred miles appears to be the rainbow, the man with\nbandaged eyes the lightning, and the man with the bottle the cloud.\u201d\nThe Irish story, while in every other way superior to the Bohemian, has\nquite obscured this point; and were it not for the striking Sclavonic\nparallel, people might be found to assert that the story was of recent\norigin. This discovery of the Czech tale, however, throws it at once\nthree thousand years back; for the similarity of the Irish and Bohemian\nstory can hardly be accounted for, except on the supposition, that both\nSlavs and Celts carried it from the original home of the Aryan race, in\npre-historic times, or at least from some place where the two races were\nin contiguity with one another, and that it, too\u2014little as it appears so\nnow\u2014was at one time in all probability a nature myth.\n\nSuch myth stories as these ought to be preserved, since they are about\nthe last visible link connecting civilized with pre-historic man; for,\nof all the traces that man in his earliest period has left behind him,\nthere is nothing except a few drilled stones or flint arrow-heads\nthat approaches the antiquity of these tales, as told to-day by a\nhalf-starving peasant in a smoky Connacht cabin.\n\nIt is time to say a word about the narrators of these stories. The\npeople who can recite them are, as far as my researches have gone, to\nbe found only amongst the oldest, most neglected, and poorest of the\nIrish-speaking population. English-speaking people either do not know\nthem at all, or else tell them in so bald and condensed a form as to\nbe useless. Almost all the men from whom I used to hear stories in the\nCounty Roscommon are dead. Ten or fifteen years ago I used to hear a\ngreat many stories, but I did not understand their value. Now when I go\nback for them I cannot find them. They have died out, and will never\nagain be heard on the hillsides, where they probably existed for a\ncouple of thousand years; they will never be repeated there again, to\nuse the Irish phrase, while grass grows or water runs. Several of these\nstories I got from an old man, one Shawn Cunningham, on the border of\nthe County Roscommon, where it joins Mayo. He never spoke more than a\nfew words of English till he was fifteen years old. He was taught by a\nhedge schoolmaster from the South of Ireland out of Irish MSS. As far\nas I could make out from him the teaching seemed to consist in making\nhim learn Irish poems by heart. His next schoolmaster, however, tied a\npiece of stick round his neck, and when he came to school in the morning\nthe schoolmaster used to inspect the piece of wood and pretend that it\ntold him how often he had spoken Irish when at home. In some cases the\nschoolmasters made the parents put a notch in the stick every time the\nchild failed to speak English. He was beaten then, and always beaten\nwhenever he was heard speaking a word of Irish, even though at this time\nhe could hardly speak a word of English. His son and daughter now speak\nIrish, though not fluently, his grandchildren do not even understand it.\nHe had at one time, as he expressed it, \u201cthe full of a sack of stories,\u201d\nbut he had forgotten them. His grandchildren stood by his knee while\nhe told me one or two, but it was evident they did not understand a\nword. His son and daughter laughed at them as nonsense. Even in Achill\nwhere, if anywhere, one ought to find folk-stories in their purity, a\nfine-looking dark man of about forty-five, who told me a number of them,\nand could repeat Ossian\u2019s poems, assured me that now-a-days when he went\ninto a house in the evening and the old people got him to recite, the\nboys would go out; \u201cthey wouldn\u2019t understand me,\u201d said he, \u201cand when they\nwouldn\u2019t, they\u2019d sooner be listening to g\u00e9imnea\u010b na mb\u00f3,\u201d \u201cthe lowing\nof the cows.\u201d This, too, in an island where many people cannot speak\nEnglish. I do not know whether the Achill schoolmasters make use of the\nnotch of wood to-day, but it is hardly wanted now. It is curious that\nthis was the device universally employed all over Connacht and Munster\nto kill the language. This took place under the eye of O\u2019Connell and the\nParliamentarians, and, of course, under the eye and with the sanction of\nthe Catholic priesthood and prelates, some of whom, according to Father\nKeegan, of St. Louis, distinguished themselves by driving the Irish\nteachers out of their dioceses and burning their books. At the present\nday, such is the irony of fate, if a stranger talks Irish he runs a good\nchance of being looked upon as an enemy, this because some attempts were\nmade to proselytize \u201cnatives\u201d by circulating Irish bibles, and sending\nsome Irish scripture-readers amongst them. Surely nothing so exquisitely\nludicrous ever took place outside of this island of anomalies, as that a\nstranger who tries to speak Irish in Ireland runs the serious risk of\nbeing looked upon as a proselytizing Englishman. As matters are still\nprogressing gaily in this direction, let nobody be surprised if a pure\nAryan language which, at the time of the famine, in \u201947, was spoken by at\nleast four million souls (more than the whole population of Switzerland),\nbecomes in a few years as extinct as Cornish. Of course, there is not a\nshadow of necessity, either social or economical, for this. All the world\nknows that bi-linguists are superior to men who know only one language,\nyet in Ireland everyone pretends to believe the contrary. A few words\nfrom the influential leaders of the race when next they visit Achill, for\ninstance, would help to keep Irish alive there in _s\u00e6cula s\u00e6culorum_, and\nwith the Irish language, the old Aryan folk-lore, the Ossianic poems,\nnumberless ballads, folk-songs, and proverbs, and a thousand and one\nother interesting things that survive when Irish is spoken, and die when\nit dies. But, from a complexity of causes which I am afraid to explain,\nthe men who for the last sixty years have had the ear of the Irish race\nhave persistently shown the cold shoulder to everything that was Irish\nand racial, and while protesting, or pretending to protest, against West\nBritonism, have helped, more than anyone else, by their example, to\nassimilate us to England and the English, thus running counter to the\nentire voice of modern Europe, which is in favour of extracting the best\nfrom the various races of men who inhabit it, by helping them to develop\nthemselves on national and racial lines. The people are not the better\nfor it either, for one would fancy it required little culture to see that\nthe man who reads Irish MSS., and repeats Ossianic poetry, is a higher\nand more interesting type than the man whose mental training is confined\nto spelling through an article in _United Ireland_.[15]\n\nI may mention here that it is not as easy a thing as might be imagined\nto collect Irish stories. One hears that tales are to be had from such\nand such a man, generally, alas! a very old one. With difficulty one\nmanages to find him out, only to discover, probably, that he has some\nwork on hand. If it happens to be harvest time it is nearly useless going\nto him at all, unless one is prepared to sit up with him all night, for\nhis mind is sure to be so distraught with harvest operations that he can\ntell you nothing. If it is winter time, however, and you fortunately find\nhim unoccupied, nevertheless it requires some management to get him to\ntell his stories. Half a glass of _ishka-baha_, a pipe of tobacco, and a\nstory of one\u2019s own are the best things to begin with. If, however, you\nstart to take down the story _verbatim_ with pencil and paper, as an\nunwary collector might do, you destroy all, or your shanachie becomes\nirritable. He will not wait for you to write down your sentence, and if\nyou call out, \u201cStop, stop, wait till I get this down,\u201d he will forget\nwhat he was going to tell you, and you will not get a third of his story,\nthough you may think you have it all. What you must generally do is to\nsit quietly smoking your pipe, without the slightest interruption, not\neven when he comes to words and phrases which you do not understand.\nHe must be allowed his own way to the end, and then after judiciously\npraising him and discussing the story, you remark, as if the thought had\nsuddenly struck you, \u201cbu\u1e0b \u1e41ai\u1e6b liom sin a \u1e03ei\u1e6b agam air \u1e57\u00e1ipeur,\u201d \u201cI\u2019d\nlike to have that on paper.\u201d Then you can get it from him easily enough,\nand when he leaves out whole incidents, as he is sure to do, you who have\njust heard the story can put him right, and so get it from him nearly in\nits entirety. Still it is not always easy to write down these stories,\nfor they are full of old or corrupted words, which neither you nor your\nnarrator understand, and if you press him too much over the meaning of\nthese he gets confused and irritable.\n\nThe present volume consists of about half the stories in the _Leabhar\nSgeuluigheachta_, translated into English, together with some half\ndozen other stories given in the original together with a close English\ntranslation. It is not very easy to make a good translation from Irish\ninto English, for there are no two Aryan languages more opposed to each\nother in spirit and idiom. Still, the English spoken by three-fourths of\nthe people of Ireland is largely influenced by Gaelic idioms, for most of\nthose expressions which surprise Englishmen are really translations from\nthat Irish which was the language of the speaker\u2019s father, grandfather,\nor great-grandfather\u2014according to the part of the country you may be\nin\u2014and there have perpetuated themselves, even in districts where you\nwill scarce find a trace of an Irish word. There are, however, also\nhundreds of Gaelic idioms not reproduced in the English spoken by the\npeople, and it is difficult to render these fitly. Campbell of Islay has\nrun into rather an extreme in his translations, for in order to make\nthem picturesque, he has rendered his Gaelic originals something too\nliterally. Thus, he invariably translates _bhain se an ceann deth_, by\n\u201che reaped the head off him,\u201d a form of speech which, I notice, a modern\nIrish poet and M.P. has adopted from him; but bain, though it certainly\nmeans \u201creap\u201d amongst other things, is the word used for taking off a hat\nas well as a head. Again, he always translates _thu_ by \u201cthou,\u201d which\ngives his stories a strange antique air, which is partly artificial, for\nthe Gaelic \u201cthou\u201d corresponds to the English \u201cyou,\u201d the second person\nplural not being used except in speaking of more than one. In this way,\nCampbell has given his excellent and thoroughly reliable translations\na scarcely legitimate colouring, which I have tried to avoid. For this\nreason, I have not always translated the Irish idioms quite literally,\nthough I have used much unidiomatic English, but only of the kind used\nall over Ireland, the kind the people themselves use. I do not translate,\nfor instance, the Irish for \u201che died,\u201d by \u201che got death,\u201d for this,\nthough the literal translation, is not adopted into Hibernian English;\nbut I do translate the Irish _ghnidheadh se sin_ by \u201che used to do that,\u201d\nwhich is the ordinary Anglo-Irish attempt at making\u2014what they have not\ngot in English\u2014a consuetudinal tense. I have scarcely used the pluperfect\nat all. No such tense exists in Irish, and the people who speak English\ndo not seem to feel the want of it, and make no hesitation in saying,\n\u201cI\u2019d speak sooner if I knew that,\u201d where they mean, \u201cif I had known that\nI would have spoken sooner.\u201d I do not translate (as Campbell would), \u201cit\nrose with me to do it,\u201d but \u201cI succeeded in doing it,\u201d for the first,\nthough the literal translation of the Irish idiom, has not been adopted\ninto English; but I do translate \u201che did it and he drunk,\u201d instead\nof, \u201che did it while he was drunk;\u201d for the first phrase (the literal\ntranslation of the Irish) is universally used throughout English-speaking\nIreland. Where, as sometimes happens, the English language contains no\nexact equivalent for an Irish expression, I have rendered the original as\nwell as I could, as one generally does render for linguistic purposes,\nfrom one language into another.\n\nIn conclusion, it only remains for me to thank Mr. Alfred Nutt for\nenriching this book as he has done, and for bearing with the dilatoriness\nof the Irish printers, who find so much difficulty in setting Irish type,\nthat many good Irishmen have of late come round to the idea of printing\nour language in Roman characters; and to express my gratitude to Father\nEugene O\u2019Growney for the unwearying kindness with which he read and\ncorrected my Irish proofs, and for the manifold aid which he has afforded\nme on this and other occasions.\n\n\n\n\nPOSTSCRIPT BY ALFRED NUTT.\n\n\nI had hoped to accompany these tales with as full a commentary as\nthat which I have affixed to the Argyllshire _M\u00e4rchen_, collected and\ntranslated by the Rev. D. MacInnes. Considerations of business and health\nprevent me from carrying out this intention, and I have only been able to\nnotice a passage here and there in the Tales; but I have gladly availed\nmyself of my friend, Dr. Hyde\u2019s permission, to touch upon a few points in\nhis Introduction.\n\nOf special interest are Dr. Hyde\u2019s remarks upon the relations which\nobtain between the modern folk-tale current among the Gaelic-speaking\npopulations of Ireland and Scotland, and the Irish mythic, heroic and\nromantic literature preserved in MSS., which range in date from the\neleventh century to the present day.\n\nIn Ireland, more than elsewhere, the line of demarcation between the\ntale whose genesis is conscious, and that of which the reverse is true,\nis hard to draw, and students will, for a long while to come, differ\nconcerning points of detail. I may thus be permitted to disagree at times\nwith Dr. Hyde, although, as a rule, I am heartily at one with him.\n\nDr. Hyde distinguishes between an older stratum of folk-tale (the\n\u201cold Aryan traditions,\u201d of p. xix.) and the newer stratum of \u201cbardic\ninventions.\u201d He also establishes a yet younger class than these latter,\nthe romances of the professional story-tellers of the eighteenth century,\nwho \u201cwrote them down as modern novelists do their stories.\u201d Of these\nlast he remarks (p. xxxiv.), that he has found no remnant of them among\nthe peasantry of to-day; a valuable bit of evidence, although of course,\nsubject to the inconclusiveness of all merely negative testimony. To\nrevert to the second class, he looks upon the tales comprised in it\nas being rather the inventions of individual brains than as old Aryan\nfolk-tales (p. xx.) It must at once be conceded, that a great number of\nthe tales and ballads current in the Gaelic-speaking lands undoubtedly\nreceived the form under which they are now current, somewhere between the\ntwelfth and the sixteenth centuries; that the authors of that form were\nequally undoubtedly the professional bards and story-tellers attached\nto the court of every Gaelic chieftain; and that the method of their\ntransmission was oral, it being the custom of the story-tellers both\nto teach their tales to pupils, and to travel about from district to\ndistrict.\n\nThe style of these stories and ballads enables us to date them with\nsufficient precision. Dr. Hyde also notes historical allusions, such\nas the reference to O\u2019Connor Sligo, in the story of the \u201cSlim Swarthy\nChampion,\u201d or to the Turks in the story of \u201cConall Gulban.\u201d I cannot\nbut think, however, that it is straining the evidence to assert that\nthe one story was invented after 1362, or the other after the fall of\nConstantinople. The fact that \u201cBony\u201d appears in some versions of the\ncommon English mumming play does not show that it originated in this\ncentury, merely that these particular versions have passed through\nthe minds of nineteenth century peasants; and in like manner the\nConnaught fourteenth century chieftain may easily have taken the place\nof an earlier personage, the Turks in \u201cConall Gulban,\u201d of an earlier\nwizard-giant race. If I cannot go as far as Dr. Hyde in this sense,\nI must equally demur to the assumption (p. xl.), that community of\nincident between an Irish and a Bohemian tale necessarily establishes\nthe pre-historic antiquity of the incident. I believe that a great many\nfolk-tales, as well as much else of folk-lore, has been developed _in\nsitu_, rather than imported from the outside; but I, by no means, deny\nimportation in principle, and I recognise that its agency has been\nclearly demonstrated in not a few cases.\n\nThe main interest of Irish folk-literature (if the expression be allowed)\ncentres in the bardic stories. I think that Dr. Hyde lays too much stress\nupon such external secondary matters as the names of heroes, or allusions\nto historical events; and, indeed, he himself, in the case of Murachaidh\nMacBrian, states what I believe to be the correct theory, namely, that\nthe Irish bardic story, from which he derives the Scotch Gaelic one, is,\nas far as many of its incidents go, not the invention of the writer, but\ngenuine folk-lore thrown by him into a new form (p. xxii.)\n\nHad we all the materials necessary for forming a judgment, such is,\nI believe, the conclusion that would in every case be reached. But I\nfurthermore hold it likely that in many cases the recast story gradually\nreverted to a primitive folk-type in the course of passing down from the\ncourt story-teller to the humbler peasant reciters, that it sloughed\noff the embellishments of the _ollamhs_, and reintroduced the older,\nwilder conceptions with which the folk remained in fuller sympathy than\nthe more cultured bard. Compare, for instance, as I compared ten years\nago, \u201cMaghach Colgar,\u201d in Campbell\u2019s version (No. 36), with the \u201cFairy\nPalace of the Quicken Trees.\u201d The one tale has all the incidents in\nthe wildest and most fantastic form possible; in the other they are\nrationalised to the utmost possible extent and made to appear like a\npiece of genuine history. I do not think that if this later version was\n_invented_ right out by a thirteenth or fourteenth century _ollamh_, it\ncould have given rise to the former one. Either \u201cMaghach Colgar\u201d descends\nfrom the folk-tale which served as the basis of the Irish story, or, what\nis more likely, the folk, whilst appreciating and preserving the new\narrangement of certain well-known incidents, retained the earlier form\nof the incidents themselves, as being more consonant with the totality\nof its conceptions, both moral and \u00e6sthetic. This I hold to be the vital\nlesson the folk-lorist may learn from considering the relations of Gaelic\nfolk-tale and Gaelic romance (using the latter term in the sense of story\nwith a conscious genesis): that romance, to live and propagate itself\namong the folk, must follow certain rules, satisfy certain conceptions of\nlife, conform to certain conventions. The Irish bards and story-tellers\nhad little difficulty, I take it, in doing this; they had not outgrown\nthe creed of their countrymen, they were in substantial touch with\nthe intellectual and artistic laws that govern their subject-matter.\nRe-arrange, rationalise somewhat, deck out with the questionable\nadornment of their scanty and ill-digested book-learning\u2014to this extent,\nbut to this extent only, I believe, reached their influence upon the mass\nof folk-conceptions and presentments which they inherited from their\nfathers, and which, with these modifications and additions, they handed\non to their children.\n\nBut romance must not only conform to the conventions, it must also fit in\nwith the _ensemble_ of conditions, material, mental and spiritual, which\nconstitute the culture (taking this much-abused word in its widest sense)\nof a race. An example will make this clear.\n\nOf all modern, consciously-invented fairy tales I know but one which\nconforms fully to the folk-tale convention\u2014\u201cThe Shaving of Shagpat.\u201d It\nfollows the formula as closely and accurately as the best of Grimm\u2019s\nor of Campbell\u2019s tales. To divine the nature of a convention, and to\nuse its capabilities to the utmost, is a special mark of genius, and in\nthis, as in other instances, whatever else be absent from Mr. Meredith\u2019s\nwork, genius is indubitably present. But I do not think that \u201cThe Shaving\nof Shagpat\u201d could ever be acclimatised as a folk-tale in this country.\nScenery, conduct of story, characterisation of personages, are all too\ndistinctively Oriental. But let an Eastern admirer of Mr. Meredith\ntranslate his work into Arabic or Hindi, and let the book fall into the\nhands of a Cairene or Delhi story-teller (if such still exist), I can\nwell imagine that, with judicious cuts, it should win praise for its\nreciter in market-place or bazaar. Did this happen, it would surely be\ndue to the fact that the story is strictly constructed upon traditional\nlines, rather than to the brilliant invention and fancy displayed on\nevery page. Strip from it the wit and philosophy of the author, and\nthere remains a fairy tale to charm the East; but it would need to be\nreduced to a skeleton, and reclothed with new flesh before it could charm\nthe folk of the West.\n\nTo bring home yet more clearly to our minds this necessity for romance to\nconform to convention, let us ask ourselves, what would have happened if\none of the Irish story-tellers who perambulated the Western Isles as late\nas the seventeenth century, had carried with him a volume of Hakluyt or\nPurchas, or, supposing one to have lingered enough, Defoe or Gil Blas?\nWould he have been welcomed when he substituted the new fare for the old\ntales of \u201cFinn and the Fians?\u201d and even if welcomed, would he have gained\ncurrency for it? Would the seed thus planted have thriven, or would it\nnot rather, fallen upon rocky places, have withered away?\n\nIt may, however, be objected that the real difference lies not so much\nin the subject-matter as in the mode of transmission; and the objection\nmay seem to derive some force from what Dr. Hyde notes concerning the\nprevalence of folk-tales in Wicklow, and the nearer Pale generally, as\ncontrasted with Leitrim, Longford, and Meath (p. xii.). It is difficult\nto over-estimate the interest and importance of this fact, and there\ncan hardly be a doubt that Dr. Hyde has explained it correctly. It may,\nthen, be urged that so long as oral transmission lasts the folk-tale\nflourishes; and only when the printed work ousts the story-teller is it\nthat the folk-tale dies out. But this reasoning will not hold water. It\nis absurd to contend that the story-teller had none but a certain class\nof materials at his disposal till lately. He had the whole realm of\nintellect and fancy to draw upon; but he, and still more his hearers,\nknew only one district of that realm; and had it been possible for him\nto step outside its limits his hearers could not have followed him. I\ngrant folk fancy has shared the fortunes of humanity together with every\nother manifestation of man\u2019s activity, but always within strictly defined\nlimits, to transgress which has always been to forfeit the favour of the\nfolk.\n\nWhat, then, are the characteristic marks of folk-fancy? The question is\nof special interest in connection with Gaelic folk-lore. The latter is\nrich in transitional forms, the study of which reveal more clearly than\nis otherwise possible the nature and workings of the folk-mind.\n\nThe products of folk-fancy (putting aside such examples of folk-wisdom\nand folk-wit as proverbs, saws, jests, etc.), may be roughly divided\namong two great classes:\n\nFirstly, stories of a quasi-historical or anecdotic nature, accepted as\nactual fact (of course with varying degrees of credence) by narrator\nand hearer. Stories of this kind are very largely concerned with beings\n(supernatural, as we should call them) differing from man, and with\ntheir relations to and dealings with man. Not infrequently, however,\nthe actors in the stories are wholly human, or human and animal. Gaelic\nfolk-lore is rich in such stories, owing to the extraordinary tenacity of\nthe fairy belief. We can hardly doubt that the Gael, like all other races\nwhich have passed through a certain stage of culture, had at one time an\norganised hierarchy of divine beings. But we have to piece together the\nGaelic god-saga out of bare names, mere hints, and stories which have\nevidently suffered vital change. In the earliest stratum of Gaelic mythic\nnarrative we find beings who at some former time had occupied divine\nrank, but whose relations to man are substantially, as therein presented,\nthe same as those of the modern fairy to the modern peasant. The chiefs\nof the Tuatha de Danann hanker after earthly maidens; the divine damsels\nlong for and summon to themselves earthly heroes. Though undying, very\nstrong, and very wise, they may be overpowered or outwitted by the mortal\nhero. As if conscious of some source of weakness we cannot detect, they\nare anxious, in their internecine struggles, to secure the aid of the\nsons of men. Small wonder that this belief, which we can follow for at\nleast 1,200 years, should furnish so many elements to the folk-fancy of\nthe Gael.\n\nIn stories of the second class the action is relegated to a remote\npast\u2014once upon a time\u2014or to a distant undefined region, and the narrative\nis not necessarily accepted as a record of actual fact. Stories of this\nclass, whether in prose or verse, may again be subdivided into\u2014humorous,\noptimistic, tragic; and with regard to the third sub-division, it should\nbe noted that the stories comprised in it are generally told as having\nbeen true once, though not in the immediate tangible sense of stories in\nthe first class.\n\nThese different narrative groups share certain characteristics, though in\nvarying proportions.\n\nFirstly, the fondness for and adherence to a comparatively small number\nof set formulas. This is obviously less marked in stories of the first\nclass, which, as being in the mind of the folk a record of what has\nactually happened, partake of the diversity of actual life. And yet the\nmost striking similarities occur; such an anecdote, for instance, as that\nwhich tells how a supernatural changeling is baffled by a brewery of\negg-shells being found from Japan to Brittany.\n\nSecondly, on the moral side, the unquestioning acceptance of fatalism,\nthough not in the sense which the Moslem or the Calvinist would attach\nto the word. The event is bound to be of a certain nature, provided\na certain mode of attaining it be chosen. This comes out well in the\nlarge group of stories which tell how a supernatural being helps a\nmortal to perform certain tasks, as a rule, with some ulterior benefit\nto itself in view. The most disheartening carelessness and stupidity on\nthe part of the man cannot alter the result; the skill and courage of\nthe supernatural helper are powerless without the mortal co-operation.\nIn what I have termed the tragic stories, this fatalism puts on a moral\nform, and gives rise to the conception of Nemesis.\n\nThirdly, on the mental side, animism is prevalent, _i.e._, the acceptance\nof a life common to, not alone man and animals, but all manifestations\nof force. In so far as a distinction is made between the life of man and\nthat of nature at large, it is in favour of the latter, to which more\npotent energy is ascribed.\n\nJust as stories of the first class are less characterised by adherence\nto formula, so stories of the humorous group are less characterised by\nfatalism and animism. This is inevitable, as such stories are, as a rule,\nconcerned solely with the relations of man to his fellows.\n\nThe most fascinating and perplexing problems are those connected with\nthe groups I have termed optimistic and tragic. To the former belong the\nalmost entirety of such nursery tales as are not humorous in character.\n\u201cThey were married and lived happily ever afterwards;\u201d such is the almost\ninvariable end formula. The hero wins the princess, and the villain is\npunished.\n\nThis feature the nursery tale shares with the god-saga; Zeus confounds\nthe Titans, Apollo slays the Python, Lug overcomes Balor, Indra\nvanquishes Vritra. There are two apparent exceptions to this rule. The\nTeutonic god myth is tragic; the Anses are ever under the shadow of the\nfinal conflict. This has been explained by the influence of Christian\nideas; but although this influence must be unreservedly admitted in\ncertain details of the passing of the gods, yet the fact that the Iranian\ngod-saga is likewise undecided, instead of having a frankly optimistic\nending, makes me doubt whether the drawn battle between the powers\nof good and ill be not a genuine and necessary part of the Teutonic\nmythology. As is well known, Rydberg has established some striking points\nof contact between the mythic ideas of Scandinavia and those of Iran.\n\nIn striking contradiction to this moral, optimistic tendency are the\ngreat heroic sagas. One and all well-nigh are profoundly tragic. The doom\nof Troy the great, the passing of Arthur, the slaughter of the Nibelungs,\nthe death of Sohrab at his father\u2019s hands, Roncevalles, Gabhra, the\nfratricidal conflict of Cuchullain and Ferdiad, the woes of the house\nof Atreus; such are but a few examples of the prevailing tone of the\nhero-tales. Achilles and Siegfried and Cuchullain are slain in the flower\nof their youth and prowess. Of them, at least, the saying is true, that\nwhom the gods love die young. Why is it not equally true of the prince\nhero of the fairy tale? Is it that the hero-tale associated in the minds\nof hearers and reciters with men who had actually lived and fought,\nbrought down to earth, so to say, out of the mysterious wonderland in\nwhich god and fairy and old time kings have their being, becomes thereby\nliable to the necessities of death and decay inherent in all human\nthings? Some scholars have a ready answer for this and similar questions.\nThe heroic epos assumed its shape once for all among one special race,\nand was then passed on to the other races who remained faithful to the\nmain lines whilst altering details. If this explanation were true, it\nwould still leave unsolved the problem, why the heroic epos, which for\nits fashioners and hearers was at once a record of the actual and an\nexemplar of the ideal, should, among men differing in blood and culture,\nfollow one model, and that a tragic one. Granting that Greek and Teuton\nand Celt did borrow the tales which they themselves conceived to be very\nblood and bone of their race, what force compelled them all to borrow one\nspecial conception of life and fate?\n\nSuch exceptions as there are to the tragic nature of the heroic saga\nare apparent rather than real. The Odyssey ends happily, like an\nold-fashioned novel, but F\u00e9n\u00e9lon long ago recognised in the Odyssey\u2014\u201cun\namas de contes de vieille.\u201d\n\nPerseus again has the luck of a fairy-tale prince, but then the story of\nhis fortunes is obviously a fairy-tale, with named instead of anonymous\npersonages.\n\nWhilst the fairy-tale is akin in tone to the god saga, the ballad recalls\nthe heroic epos. The vast majority of ballads are tragic. Sir Patrick\nSpens must drown, and Glasgerion\u2019s leman be cheated by the churl; Clerk\nSaunders comes from the other world, like Helge to Sigrun; Douglas dreams\nhis dreary dream, \u201cI saw a dead man win a fight, and that dead man was\nI.\u201d The themes of the ballad are the most dire and deadly of human\npassions; love scorned or betrayed, hate, and revenge. Very seldom, too,\ndo the plots of ballad and m\u00e4rchen cross or overlap. Where this does\nhappen it will, as a rule, be found that both are common descendants of\nsome great saga.\n\nWe find such an instance in the Fenian saga, episodes of which have lived\non in the Gaelic folk memory in the double form of prose and poetry.\nBut it should be noted that the poetry accentuates the tragic side\u2014the\nbattle of Gabhra, the death of Diarmaid\u2014whilst the prose takes rather\nsome episode of Finn\u2019s youth or manhood, and presents it as a rounded and\ncomplete whole, the issue of which is fortunate.\n\nThe relations of myth and epos to folk-lore may thus be likened to that\nof trees to the soil from which they spring, and which they enrich\nand fertilize by the decay of their leaves and branches which mingle\nindistinguishably with the original soil. Of this soil, again, rude\nbricks may be made, and a house built; let the house fall into ruins, and\nthe bricks crumble into dust, it will be hard to discriminate that dust\nfrom the parent earth. But raise a house of iron or stone, and, however\nruined, its fragments can always be recognised. In the case of the Irish\nbardic literature the analogy is, I believe, with soil and tree, rather\nthan with soil and edifice.\n\nReverting once more to the characteristics of folk-fancy, let us note\nthat they appear equally in folk-practice and folk-belief. The tough\nconservatism of the folk-mind has struck all observers: its adherence to\nimmemorial formulas; its fatalistic acceptance of the mysteries of nature\nand heredity, coupled with its faith in the efficacy of sympathetic\nmagic; its elaborate system of custom and ritual based upon the idea that\nbetween men and the remainder of the universe there is no difference of\nkind.\n\nA conception of the Cosmos is thus arrived at which, more than any\nreligious creed, fulfils the test of catholicity; literally, and in the\nfullest significance of the words, it has been held _semper, ubique et\nab omnibus_. And of this conception of the universe, more universal than\nany that has as yet swayed the minds of man, it is possible that men\nnow living may see the last flickering remains; it is well-nigh certain\nthat our grandchildren will live in a world out of which it has utterly\nvanished.\n\nFor the folk-lorist the Gospel saying is thus more pregnant with meaning\nthan for any other student of man\u2019s history\u2014\u201cthe night cometh wherein no\nman may work.\u201d Surely, many Irishmen will take to heart the example of\nDr. Hyde, and will go forth to glean what may yet be found of as fair\nand bounteous a harvest of myth and romance as ever flourished among any\nrace.\n\n\n\n\nLE h-AIS NA TEINEA\u1e0c.\n\n\n\n\nAN TAILIUR AGUS NA TRI \u1e02EI\u1e6aIGEA\u010a.\n\n\n\u1e02\u00ed t\u00e1ili\u00far aon uair a\u1e41am i nGailli\u1e41, agus \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 ag fuai\u0121e\u00e1l eudai\u0121.\n\u010aonnairc se dreancuid ag \u00e9iri\u0121e ama\u010b as an euda\u010b agus \u010bai\u1e6b se an tsn\u00e1\u1e6bad\nl\u00e9i\u1e6be agus \u1e41ar\u1e03 s\u00e9 an dreancuid. Du\u1e03airt se ann sin \u201cNa\u010b bre\u00e1\u0121 an\ngaisgi\u1e0bea\u010b mise nuair a \u1e03\u00ed m\u00e9 abalta air an dreancuid sin do \u1e41ar\u1e03a\u1e0b!\u201d\n\nDu\u1e03airt s\u00e9 ann sin go gcai\u1e6bfea\u1e0b s\u00e9 dul go B\u2019l\u2019aclia\u1e6b go c\u00fairt an r\u00ed\u0121, go\n\u1e03feicfea\u1e0b s\u00e9 an dtiucfa\u1e0b leis a deuna\u1e41. \u1e02\u00ed an \u010b\u00fairt sin \u2019g\u00e1 \u1e0beuna\u1e41 le\nfada, a\u010bt an m\u00e9ad d\u00ed do gn\u00ed\u1e6bi\u1e0be ann san l\u00e1 do leagai\u1e0be ann san oi\u1e0b\u010be \u00e9,\nagus n\u00edor \u1e1feud duine air bi\u1e6b a \u010bur suas mar \u0121eall air sin. \u2019S iad tri\n\u1e1f\u00e1\u1e6ba\u010b a \u1e6bigea\u1e0b \u2019san oi\u1e0b\u010be a \u1e03idea\u1e0b \u2019g\u00e1 leaga\u1e0b. D\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 an t\u00e1ili\u00far an l\u00e1\nair na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b agus do \u1e6bug se leis an uirlis, an sp\u00e1d agus an tsluasad.\n\nN\u00edor \u1e03fada \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 gur casa\u1e0b capall b\u00e1n d\u00f3, agus \u010buir se for\u00e1n air.\n\u201cGo mbeannui\u0121 Dia \u1e0buit,\u201d ar san capall, \u201cc\u00e1 \u1e03fuil tu dul?\u201d \u201cT\u00e1 m\u00e9 dul\ngo B\u2019l\u2019aclia\u1e6b,\u201d ar san t\u00e1ili\u00far, \u201cle deuna\u1e41 c\u00fairte an r\u00ed\u0121, go \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121 m\u00e9\nbean-uasal, m\u00e1 \u1e6big liom a deuna\u1e41,\u201d mar do \u0121eall an r\u00ed\u0121 go dti\u00fa\u1e03fa\u1e0b s\u00e9\na in\u0121ean f\u00e9in agus a l\u00e1n airgid l\u00e9i\u1e6be don t\u00e9 sin a \u1e6biucfa\u1e0b leis an\n\u010b\u00fairt sin do \u010bur suas. \u201cAn ndeunf\u00e1 poll dam?\u201d ar san sean-\u0121earr\u00e1n b\u00e1n,\n\u201cra\u010bainn i \u1e03fola\u010b ann nuair at\u00e1 na daoine mo \u1e6ba\u1e03airt \u010bum an \u1e41uilinn agus\n\u010bum an a\u1e6ba i rio\u010bt na\u010b \u1e03feidfi\u1e0b siad m\u00e9, \u00f3ir t\u00e1 m\u00e9 cr\u00e1i\u1e0bte aca, ag deuna\u1e41\noibre \u1e0b\u00f3i\u1e03.\u201d \u201cDeunfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 sin go dei\u1e41in,\u201d ar san t\u00e1ili\u00far, \u201cagus f\u00e1ilte.\u201d\n\u1e6aug s\u00e9 an sp\u00e1d leis agus an tsluasad, agus rinne s\u00e9 poll, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9\nleis an g-capall b\u00e1n dul s\u00edos ann, go \u1e03feicfea\u1e0b s\u00e9 an \u1e03f\u00f3irfea\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u1e0b\u00f3.\n\u010auai\u1e0b an capall b\u00e1n s\u00edos ann san bpoll, a\u010bt nuair d\u2019\u1e1feu\u010b s\u00e9 do \u1e6bea\u010bt suas\nar\u00eds as, n\u00edor \u1e1feud s\u00e9.\n\n\u201cDeun \u00e1it dam anois,\u201d ar san capall b\u00e1n, \u201ca \u1e6biucfas m\u00e9 an\u00edos as an bpoll\nso nuair a \u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0beas ocaras orm.\u201d \u201cN\u00ed \u1e0beunfad,\u201d ar san t\u00e1ili\u00far, \u201cfan ann\nsin go dtigi\u1e0b m\u00e9 air m\u2019ais, agus t\u00f3gfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 an\u00edos \u1e6bu.\u201d\n\nD\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 an t\u00e1ili\u00far an l\u00e1 air na m\u00e1ra\u010b, agus casa\u1e0b \u1e0b\u00f3 an sionna\u010b, \u201cGo\nmbeannui\u0121 Dia \u1e0buit,\u201d ar san sionna\u010b. \u201cGo mbeannui\u0121 Dia \u2019gus Muire \u1e0buit.\u201d\n\u201cC\u00e1 \u1e03fuil tu dul?\u201d \u201cT\u00e1 m\u00e9 dul go B\u2019l\u2019aclia\u1e6b go \u1e03feu\u010bai\u1e0b m\u00e9 an dtiucfai\u1e0b\nliom c\u00fairt \u1e0beuna\u1e41 do\u2019n r\u00ed\u0121.\u201d \u201cAn ndeunf\u00e1 \u00e1it dam, a ra\u010bfainn i \u1e03fola\u010b\ninnti,\u201d ar san sionna\u010b, \u201ct\u00e1 an \u010buid eile de na sionnai\u0121i\u1e03 do m\u2019 \u1e03uala\u1e0b\nagus n\u00ed leigeann siad dam aon ni\u1e0b i\u1e6be \u2019nna g-cuidea\u010bta.\u201d \u201cDeunfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 sin\nduit,\u201d ar san t\u00e1ili\u00far. \u1e6aug s\u00e9 leis a \u1e6bua\u0121 agus a \u1e61\u00e1\u1e03 agus \u1e03ain se slata,\ngo ndearnai\u0121 s\u00e9, mar \u1e0beurf\u00e1, clia\u1e03 d\u00f3, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis an tsionna\u010b\ndul s\u00edos ann, go \u1e03feicfea\u1e0b se an \u1e03f\u00f3irfea\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u1e0b\u00f3. \u010auaid an sionna\u010b ann,\nagus nuair fuair an t\u00e1ili\u00far \u1e61\u00edos \u00e9, leag s\u00e9 a \u1e6b\u00f3in air an bpoll a \u1e03\u00ed ann.\nNuair a \u1e03\u00ed an sionna\u010b s\u00e1sta faoi \u1e0beirea\u1e0b go rai\u1e03 \u00e1it \u1e0beas aige d\u2019iarr s\u00e9\nair an t\u00e1ili\u00far a leigean ama\u010b, agus d\u2019\u1e1freagair an t\u00e1ili\u00far na\u010b leigfea\u1e0b,\n\u201cFan ann sin go dtigi\u1e0b mise air m\u2019ais,\u201d ar s\u00e9.\n\nD\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 an t\u00e1ili\u00far an l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b, agus n\u00ed fada \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 si\u00fa\u1e03al gur\ncasa\u1e0b madr\u2019-alla \u1e0b\u00f3, agus \u010buir an m\u00e1dr\u2019-alla for\u00e1n air, agus d\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 s\u00e9\n\u1e0b\u00e9 c\u00e1 rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 ag triall. \u201cT\u00e1 me dul go B\u2019l\u2019aclia\u1e6b go ndeunfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 c\u00fairt\ndo\u2019n r\u00ed\u0121 m\u00e1 \u1e6big liom sin \u1e0beuna\u1e41,\u201d ar san t\u00e1ili\u00far. \u201cD\u00e1 ndeunf\u00e1 ceu\u010bt dam,\u201d\nar san madr\u2019-alla, \u201c\u1e03ei\u1e0bea\u1e0b mise agus na madr\u2019-alla eile ag trea\u1e03a\u1e0b agus\nag forsa\u1e0b, go mbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b greim againn le n-i\u1e6be ann san \u1e03f\u00f3\u0121\u1e41ar.\u201d \u201cDeunfai\u1e0b\nm\u00e9 sin duit,\u201d ar san t\u00e1ili\u00far. \u1e6aug s\u00e9 leis a \u1e6bua\u0121 \u2019s a \u1e61\u00e1\u1e03, agus rinne s\u00e9\nceu\u010bt. Nuair \u1e03\u00ed an ceu\u010bt deunta \u010buir s\u00e9 poll ann san mb\u00e9am (sail) agus\ndu\u1e03airt se leis an madr\u2019-alla dul astea\u010b faoi an g-ceu\u010bt go b\u1e1feicfea\u1e0b s\u00e9\nan rai\u1e03 trea\u1e03a\u010b mai\u1e6b ann. \u010auir s\u00e9 a earball astea\u010b ann san bpoll a rinne\ns\u00e9, agus \u010buir s\u00e9 \u201cpeg\u201d ann-sin ann, agus n\u00edor \u1e6b\u00e1inig leis an madr\u2019-alla\na earball \u1e6barraing ama\u010b as ar\u00eds. \u201cSgaoil m\u00e9 anois,\u201d ar ran madr\u2019-alla,\n\u201cagus deas\u00f3\u010bamaoid f\u00e9in agus trea\u1e03famaoid.\u201d Du\u1e03airt an t\u00e1ili\u00far na\u010b\nsgaoilfea\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u00e9 no go dtiucfa\u1e0b s\u00e9 f\u00e9in air ais. D\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g s\u00e9 ann sin \u00e9 agus\n\u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 go B\u2019l\u2019aclia\u1e6b.\n\nNuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 go B\u2019l\u2019aclia\u1e6b \u010buir s\u00e9 p\u00e1ipeur ama\u010b an m\u00e9ad lu\u010bd\u2019 c\u00e9irde\ndo \u1e03\u00ed ag t\u00f3g\u1e03\u00e1il na c\u00fairte do tea\u010bt \u010buige-sean, agus go n-\u00edocfa\u1e0b seisean\niad\u2014\u2014agus n\u00ed \u1e03\u00ed\u1e0bea\u1e0b daoine ag f\u00e1\u0121ail \u2019san am sin a\u010bt p\u00ed\u0121in \u2019san l\u00e1. Do\n\u010bruinni\u0121 a l\u00e1n lu\u010bd c\u00e9irde an l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b, agus \u1e6bosai\u0121 siad ag obair\nd\u00f3. \u1e02\u00ed siad ag dul a \u1e03aile an\u1e0biai\u0121 an la\u00e9 nuair du\u1e03airt an taili\u00far le\u00f3\n\u201can \u010blo\u010b \u1e41\u00f3r sin do \u010bur suas air \u1e03\u00e1rr na h-oibre a \u1e03\u00ed deunta aige.\u201d Nuair\nd\u2019 \u00e1rdui\u0121ea\u1e0b suas an \u010blo\u010b \u1e41\u00f3r sin, \u010buir an taili\u00far sli\u0121e \u00e9igin f\u00fai\u1e6bi go\nleagfa\u1e0b s\u00e9 anuas \u00ed nuair a \u1e6biucfa\u1e0b an fa\u1e6ba\u010b \u010bo\u1e41 fada l\u00e9i\u1e6be. D\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 an\nlu\u010bd oibre a \u1e03aile ann sin, agus \u010buai\u1e0b an taili\u00far i \u1e03fola\u010b air \u010b\u00fal na\ncloi\u010be m\u00f3ire. Nuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig dor\u010badas na h-oi\u1e0b\u010be \u010bonnairc s\u00e9 na tr\u00ed fa\u1e6bai\u0121\nag tea\u010bt, agus \u1e6bosui\u0121 siad ag leaga\u1e0b na c\u00fairte no go dt\u00e1inig siad \u010bo\u1e41\nfada leis an \u00e1it a rai\u1e03 an t\u00e1ili\u00far \u1e61uas, agus \u1e03uail fear aca buille d\u2019\u00e1\nord air an \u00e1it a rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 \u00ed \u1e03fola\u010b. Leag an taili\u00far an \u010blo\u010b anuas air,\nagus, \u1e6buit s\u00ed air, agus \u1e41ar\u1e03 s\u00ed \u00e9. D\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 siad a \u1e03aile ann sin, agus\nd\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g siad an m\u00e9ad a \u1e03\u00ed ann gan leagan, \u00f3 \u1e03\u00ed fear aca f\u00e9in mar\u1e03.\n\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig an lu\u010bt c\u00e9irde ar\u00eds, an l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b, agus \u1e03\u00ed siad ag obair go\ndt\u00ed an oi\u1e0b\u010be, agus nuair a \u1e03\u00ed siad dul a\u1e03aile du\u1e03airt an taili\u00far le\u00f3 an\n\u010blo\u010b \u1e41\u00f3r do \u010bur suas air \u1e03\u00e1rr na h-oibre mar \u1e03\u00ed r\u00ed an oi\u1e0b\u010be roi\u1e41e sin.\nRinne siad sin d\u00f3, agus d\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 siad a\u1e03aile, agus cuai\u1e0b an taili\u00far i\n\u1e03fola\u010b, mar \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 an tra\u1e6bn\u00f3na roi\u1e41e sin. Nuair \u1e03\u00ed na daoine uile im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be\n\u2019nna suai\u1e41neas, \u1e6b\u00e1inig an d\u00e1 \u1e1fa\u1e6ba\u010b, agus \u1e03\u00ed siad ag leagan an \u1e41\u00e9id a \u1e03\u00ed\nrompa; agus nuair \u1e6bosui\u0121 siad, \u010buir siad d\u00e1 \u0121lao\u1e0b asta. \u1e02\u00ed an taili\u00far\nair si\u00fa\u1e03al agus \u00e9 ag obair no gur leag s\u00e9 anuas an \u010blo\u010b \u1e41\u00f3r gur \u1e6buit\ns\u00ed air \u010bloigionn an \u1e1fa\u1e6bai\u0121 a \u1e03\u00ed f\u00fai\u1e6bi agus \u1e41ar\u1e03 s\u00ed \u00e9. N\u00ed rai\u1e03 ann sin\na\u010bt an t-aon \u1e1fa\u1e6ba\u010b a\u1e41\u00e1in ann, agus n\u00ed \u1e6b\u00e1inig seisean go rai\u1e03 an \u010b\u00fairt\ncr\u00edo\u010bnui\u0121\u1e6be.\n\n\u010auai\u1e0b an t\u00e1ili\u00far \u010bum an ri\u0121 ann sin, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis, a \u1e03ean agus a\n\u010buid airgid do \u1e6ba\u1e03airt d\u00f3, mar do \u1e03\u00ed an \u010b\u00fairt d\u00e9anta aige, a\u010bt du\u1e03airt\nan r\u00ed\u0121 leis na\u010b dti\u00fa\u1e03ra\u1e0b s\u00e9 aon \u1e03ean d\u00f3, no go mar\u1e03fa\u1e0b s\u00e9 an fa\u1e6ba\u010b eile,\nagus na\u010b dti\u00fa\u1e03ra\u1e0b s\u00e9 dada\u1e41 d\u00f3 anois no go mar\u1e03fa\u1e0b s\u00e9 an fear deireanna\u010b.\nDu\u1e03airt an t\u00e1ili\u00far ann sin go mar\u1e03fa\u1e0b s\u00e9 an fa\u1e6ba\u010b eile \u1e0b\u00f3, agus f\u00e1ilte,\nna\u010b rai\u1e03 aon \u1e41aille air bi\u1e6b air sin.\n\nD\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 an t\u00e1ili\u00far ann sin, go dt\u00e1inig s\u00e9 \u010bum na h-\u00e1ite a rai\u1e03 an fa\u1e6ba\u010b\neile, agus d\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 ar \u1e6beastuig bua\u010baill uai\u1e0b. Du\u1e03airt an fa\u1e6ba\u010b gur\n\u1e6beastui\u0121, d\u00e1 \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121a\u1e0b s\u00e9 bua\u010baill a \u1e0beunfa\u1e0b an rud a deunfa\u1e0b s\u00e9 f\u00e9in. \u201cRud\nair bi\u1e6b a \u1e0beunfas tusa, deunfai\u1e0b mise \u00e9,\u201d ar san taili\u00far.\n\n\u010auaid siad \u010bum a ndin\u00e9ir ann sin, agus nuair \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 i\u1e6bte aca du\u1e03airt an\nfa\u1e6ba\u010b leis an t\u00e1ili\u00far an dtiucfa\u1e0b leis an oiread an\u1e03rui\u1e6b \u00f3l agus \u00e9 f\u00e9in,\nan\u00edos as a \u1e1fiuca\u1e0b. \u201cTiucfai\u1e0b,\u201d ar san taili\u00far, \u201ca\u010bt go dti\u00fa\u1e03rai\u1e0b tu uair\ndam sul a \u1e6bos\u00f3\u010bamaoid air.\u201d \u201c\u1e02\u00e9arfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 sin duit,\u201d ar san fa\u1e6bac. \u010auai\u1e0b\nan taili\u00far ama\u010b ann sin, agus fuair se croicionn caora\u010b agus d\u2019\u1e1fuai\u0121\ns\u00e9 suas \u00e9, go ndearnai\u0121 s\u00e9 m\u00e1la \u1e0b\u00e9 agus \u1e0beasui\u0121 s\u00e9 \u1e61\u00edos faoi na \u010b\u00f3ta\n\u00e9. T\u00e1inig s\u00e9 astea\u010b ann sin, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis an \u1e03fa\u1e6ba\u010b gal\u00fan de\u2019n\nan\u1e03rui\u1e6b \u00f3l i dtosa\u010b. D\u2019\u00f3l an fa\u1e6ba\u010b sin an\u00edos as a \u1e1fiu\u010ba\u1e0b.\n\n\u201cDeunfai\u1e0b mise sin,\u201d ar san t\u00e1ili\u00far. \u1e02\u00ed s\u00e9 air si\u00fa\u1e03al gur \u1e0b\u00f3irt s\u00e9\nastea\u010b san g-croicionn \u00e9, agus \u1e61aoil an fa\u1e6ba\u010b go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 \u00f3lta aige. D\u2019\u00f3l\nan fa\u1e6ba\u010b gal\u00fan eile ann sin, agus leig an t\u00e1ili\u00far gal\u00fan eile s\u00edos \u2019san\ng-croicionn, a\u010bt \u1e61aoil an fa\u1e6ba\u010b, go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 \u2019g\u00e1 \u00f3l. \u201cD\u00e9anfai\u1e0b mise rud\nanois na\u010b dtiucfai\u1e0b leat-sa \u1e0beuna\u1e41,\u201d ar san t\u00e1ili\u00far. \u201cN\u00ed \u1e0b\u00e9anf\u00e1,\u201d ar san\nfa\u1e6ba\u010b, \u201ccreud \u00e9 sin do \u1e0b\u00e9anf\u00e1?\u201d\n\n\u201cPoll do \u1e0beuna\u1e41, agus an t-an\u1e03rui\u1e6b do leigean ama\u010b ar\u00eds,\u201d ar san t\u00e1ili\u00far.\n\u201cD\u00e9an \u1e6bu f\u00e9in i dtosa\u010b \u00e9,\u201d ar san fa\u1e6ba\u010b. \u1e6aug an t\u00e1ili\u00far \u201cprad\u201d de\u2019n sg\u00edn,\nagus leig s\u00e9 ama\u010b an t-an\u1e03rui\u1e6b as an g-croicionn. \u201cD\u00e9an, \u1e6busa, sin,\u201d ar\ns\u00e9 leis an \u1e03fa\u1e6ba\u010b. \u201cD\u00e9anfad,\u201d ar san fa\u1e6ba\u010b ag ta\u1e03airt prad de\u2019n sg\u00edn \u2019nna\n\u1e03uilg f\u00e9in gur \u1e41ar\u1e03 s\u00e9 \u00e9 f\u00e9in. Sin \u00e9 an \u010baoi a \u1e41ar\u1e03 s\u00e9 an tr\u00edo\u1e41a\u1e0b fa\u1e6ba\u010b.\n\n\u010auai\u1e0b s\u00e9 do\u2019n r\u00ed\u0121 ann sin, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis, an \u1e03ean agus a \u010buid\nairgid do \u010bur ama\u010b \u010buige, agus go leagfa\u1e0b se an \u010b\u00fairt muna \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121a\u1e0b s\u00e9 an\n\u1e03ean. B\u00ed fait\u010bios orra ann sin go leagfa\u1e0b s\u00e9 an \u010b\u00fairt ar\u00eds, agus cuir\nsiad an \u1e03ean ama\u010b \u010buige.\n\nNuair \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 l\u00e1 im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be, \u00e9 f\u00e9in agus a \u1e03ean, \u0121lac siad ai\u1e6brea\u010bas agus\nlean siad \u00e9, go mbainfea\u1e0b siad an \u1e03ean d\u00e9 ar\u00eds. B\u00ed an \u1e41uinntir do \u1e03\u00ed\n\u2019nna \u1e0biai\u0121 \u2019g\u00e1 leana\u1e41aint no go dt\u00e1inig siad suas do\u2019n \u00e1it a rai\u1e03 an\nmadr\u2019-alla, agus du\u1e03airt an madr\u2019-alla le\u00f3. \u201c\u1e02\u00ed an t\u00e1ili\u00far agus a \u1e03ean\nann so and\u00e9, \u010bonnairc mise iad ag dul \u1e6bart, agus m\u00e1 sgaoileann si\u1e03 mise\nanois t\u00e1 m\u00e9 n\u00edos luai\u1e6be \u2019n\u00e1 si\u1e03-se, agus leanfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 iad go mb\u00e9arfai\u1e0b m\u00e9\norra.\u201d Nuair \u010bualai\u1e0b siad sin sgaoil siad ama\u010b an madr\u2019alla.\n\nD\u2019im\u1e6big an madr\u2019-alla agus muinntir \u1e02\u2019l\u2019aclia\u1e6b, agus \u1e03\u00ed siad d\u00e1\nleana\u1e41aint go dt\u00e1inig siad d\u2019on \u00e1it a rai\u1e03 an sionna\u010b, agus \u010buir an\nsionna\u010b for\u00e1n orra, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 le\u00f3, \u201c\u1e03\u00ed an t\u00e1ili\u00far agus a \u1e03ean ann\nso air maidin andi\u00fa, agus m\u00e1 sgaoilfi\u1e0b si\u1e03 ama\u010b m\u00e9 t\u00e1 m\u00e9 n\u00edos luai\u1e6be \u2019n\u00e1\nsi\u1e03 agus leanfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 iad agus b\u00e9arfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 orra.\u201d Sgaoil siad ama\u010b an\nsionna\u010b ann sin.\n\nD\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 an madr\u2019-alla agus an sionna\u010b, agus arm \u1e02\u2019l\u2019aclia\u1e6b ann sin, ag\nfeu\u010baint an nga\u1e03a\u1e0b siad an t\u00e1ili\u00far, agus t\u00e1inig siad do\u2019n \u00e1it a rai\u1e03\nan sean-\u0121earr\u00e1n b\u00e1n, agus du\u1e03airt an sean-\u0121earr\u00e1n b\u00e1n le\u00f3, go raib an\nt\u00e1ili\u00far, agus a \u1e03ean ann sin air maidin, \u201cagus sgaoiligi\u1e0be ama\u010b m\u00e9,\u201d ar\ns\u00e9, \u201ct\u00e1 m\u00e9 n\u00edos luaite n\u00e1 si\u1e03-se agus b\u00e9arfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 orra.\u201d Sgaoil siad\nama\u010b an sean \u0121earr\u00e1n b\u00e1n, agus lean an sean-\u0121earr\u00e1n b\u00e1n, an sionna\u010b,\nan madr\u2019-alla, agus arm \u1e02\u2019l\u2019aclia\u1e6b an t\u00e1ili\u00far \u2019s a \u1e03ean, i g-cuidea\u010bt\na \u010b\u00e9ile, agus n\u00edor \u1e03fada go dt\u00e1inig siad suas leis an t\u00e1ili\u00far, agus\n\u010bonnairc siad \u00e9 f\u00e9in \u2019s a \u1e03ean ama\u010b rompa.\n\nNuair \u010bonnairc an t\u00e1ili\u00far iad ag t\u00ed\u0121ea\u010bt \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 f\u00e9in \u2019s a \u1e03ean ama\u010b as\nan g-c\u00f3iste, agus \u1e61ui\u1e0b s\u00e9 s\u00edos air an tala\u1e41.\n\nNuair \u010bonnairc an sean-\u0121earr\u00e1n b\u00e1n an t\u00e1ili\u00far ag sui\u1e0be s\u00edos du\u1e03airt s\u00e9,\n\u201cSin \u00e9 an cuma a \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 nuair rinne s\u00e9 an poll da\u1e41sa, n\u00e1r \u1e1feud m\u00e9 tea\u010bt\nama\u010b as, nuair \u010buai\u1e0b m\u00e9 astea\u010b ann; n\u00ed ra\u010bfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 n\u00edos foigse \u1e0b\u00f3.\u201d\n\n\u201cN\u00ed h-ea\u1e0b,\u201d ar san sionna\u010b, \u201ca\u010bt is mar sin, do \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 nuair \u1e03\u00ed se d\u00e9ana\u1e41\nan ruid da\u1e41-sa, agus n\u00ed ra\u010bfai\u1e0b mise n\u00edos foigse \u1e0b\u00f3.\u201d\n\n\u201cN\u00ed h-ea\u1e0b!\u201d ar san madr\u2019-alla, \u201ca\u010bt is mar sin do \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 nuair \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9\nd\u00e9ana\u1e41 an \u010beu\u010bta \u2019nna rai\u1e03 mise ga\u1e03\u1e6ba. Ni ra\u010bfai\u1e0b mise n\u00edos foigse \u1e0b\u00f3.\u201d\n\nD\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 siad uile uai\u1e0b ann sin, agus d\u2019\u1e1fill siad. \u1e6a\u00e1inig an t\u00e1ili\u00far agus\na \u1e03ean a \u1e03aile go Gailli\u1e41. \u1e6aug siad dam stocai\u1e0b p\u00e1ip\u00e9ir agus br\u00f3ga bainne\nra\u1e41air\u2014\u010baill m\u00e9 iad \u00f3 \u1e61oin. Fuair siad-san an t-\u00e1\u1e6b agus mise an lo\u010b\u00e1n,\nb\u00e1i\u1e6bea\u1e0b iad-san agus \u1e6b\u00e1inig mise.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TAILOR AND THE THREE BEASTS.\n\n\nThere was once a tailor in Galway, and he was sewing cloth. He saw a flea\nspringing up out of the cloth, and he threw his needle at it and killed\nit. Then he said: \u201cAm I not a fine hero when I was able to kill that\nflea?\u201d\n\nThen he said that he must go to Blackleea (Dublin), to the king\u2019s court,\nto see would he be able to build it. That court was a\u2019building for a long\ntime; but as much of it as would be made during the day used to be thrown\ndown again during the night, and for that reason nobody could build it\nup. It was three giants who used to come in the night and throw it. The\nday on the morrow the tailor went off, and brought with him his tools,\nthe spade and the shovel.\n\nHe had not gone far till he met a white horse, and he saluted him.\n\n\u201cGod save you,\u201d said the horse. \u201cWhere are you going?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am going to Dublin,\u201d said the tailor, \u201cto build a court for the king,\nand to get a lady for a wife, if I am able to do it;\u201d for the king had\npromised that he would give his own daughter, and a lot of money with\nher, to whoever would be able to build up his court.\n\n\u201cWould you make me a hole,\u201d said the old white garraun (horse), \u201cwhere I\ncould go a\u2019hiding whenever the people are for bringing me to the mill or\nthe kiln, so that they won\u2019t see me, for they have me perished doing work\nfor them?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll do that, indeed,\u201d said the tailor, \u201cand welcome.\u201d\n\nHe brought the spade and shovel, and he made a hole, and he said to the\nold white horse to go down into it till he would see if it would fit him.\nThe white horse went down into the hole, but when he tried to come up\nagain he was not able.\n\n\u201cMake a place for me now,\u201d said the white horse, \u201cby which I\u2019ll come up\nout of the hole here, whenever I\u2019ll be hungry.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will not,\u201d said the tailor; \u201cremain where you are until I come back,\nand I\u2019ll lift you up.\u201d\n\nThe tailor went forward next day, and the fox met him.\n\n\u201cGod save you,\u201d said the fox.\n\n\u201cGod and Mary save you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to Dublin, to try will I be able to make a court for the king.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould you make a place for me where I\u2019d go hiding?\u201d said the fox. \u201cThe\nrest of the foxes do be beating me, and they don\u2019t allow me to eat\nanything along with them.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll do that for you,\u201d said the tailor.\n\nHe took with him his axe and his saw, and he cut rods, until he made, as\nyou would say, a thing like a cleeve (creel), and he desired the fox to\nget into it till he would see whether it would fit him. The fox went into\nit, and when the tailor got him down, he clapped his thigh on the hole\nthat the fox got in by. When the fox was satisfied at last that he had\na nice place of it within, he asked the tailor to let him out, and the\ntailor answered that he would not.\n\n\u201cWait there until I come back again,\u201d says he.\n\nThe tailor went forward the next day, and he had not walked very far\nuntil he met a modder-alla (lion?) and the lion greeted him, and asked\nhim where was he going.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to Dublin till I make a court for the king, if I\u2019m able to\nmake it,\u201d said the tailor.\n\n\u201cIf you were to make a plough for me,\u201d said the lion, \u201cI and the other\nlions could be ploughing and harrowing until we\u2019d have a bit to eat in\nthe harvest.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll do that for you,\u201d said the tailor.\n\nHe brought his axe and his saw, and he made a plough. When the plough was\nmade, he put a hole in the beam of it, and he said to the lion to go in\nunder the plough till he\u2019d see was he any good of a ploughman. He placed\nthe tail in the hole he had made for it, and then clapped in a peg, and\nthe lion was not able to draw out his tail again.\n\n\u201cLoose me out now,\u201d said the lion, \u201cand we\u2019ll fix ourselves and go\nploughing.\u201d\n\nThe tailor said he would not loose him out until he came back himself. He\nleft him there then, and he came to Dublin.\n\nWhen he came to Dublin he put forth a paper, desiring all the tradesmen\nthat were raising the court to come to him, and that he would pay them;\nand at that time workmen used only to be getting one penny in the day.\nA number of tradesmen gathered the next day, and they began working for\nhim. They were going home again after their day, when the tailor said to\nthem \u201cto put up that great stone upon the top of the work that they had\ndone.\u201d When the great stone was raised up, the tailor put some sort of\ncontrivance under it, that he might be able to throw it down as soon as\nthe giant would come as far as it. The work people went home then, and\nthe tailor went in hiding behind the big stone.\n\nWhen the darkness of the night was come he saw the three giants arriving,\nand they began throwing down the court until they came as far as the\nplace where the tailor was in hiding up above, and a man of them struck a\nblow of his sledge on the place where he was. The tailor threw down the\nstone, and it fell on him and killed him. They went home then, and left\nall of the court that was remaining without throwing it down, since a man\nof themselves was dead.\n\nThe tradespeople came again the next day, and they were working until\nnight, and as they were going home the tailor told them to put up the big\nstone on the top of the work, as it had been the night before. They did\nthat for him, went home, and the tailor went in hiding the same as he did\nthe evening before.\n\nWhen the people had all gone to rest, the two giants came, and they were\nthrowing down all that was before them, and as soon as they began they\nput two shouts out of them. The tailor was going on man\u0153uvring until he\nthrew down the great stone, and it fell upon the skull of the giant that\nwas under him, and it killed him. There was only the one giant left in it\nthen, and he never came again until the court was finished.\n\nThen when the work was over he went to the king and told him to give him\nhis wife and his money, as he had the court finished, and the king said\nhe would not give him any wife, until he would kill the other giant, for\nhe said that it was not by his strength he killed the two giants before\nthat, and that he would give him nothing now until he killed the other\none for him. Then the tailor said that he would kill the other giant for\nhim, and welcome; that there was no delay at all about that.\n\nThe tailor went then, till he came to the place where the other giant\nwas, and asked did he want a servant-boy. The giant said he did want one,\nif he could get one who would do everything that he would do himself.\n\n\u201cAnything that you will do, I will do it,\u201d said the tailor.\n\nThey went to their dinner then, and when they had it eaten, the giant\nasked the tailor \u201cwould it come with him to swallow as much broth as\nhimself, up out of its boiling.\u201d The tailor said: \u201cIt will come with me\nto do that, but that you must give me an hour before we begin on it.\u201d The\ntailor went out then, and he got a sheepskin, and he sewed it up till he\nmade a bag of it, and he slipped it down under his coat. He came in then\nand said to the giant to drink a gallon of the broth himself first. The\ngiant drank that, up out of its boiling. \u201cI\u2019ll do that,\u201d said the tailor.\nHe was going on until he had it all poured into the skin, and the giant\nthought he had it drunk. The giant drank another gallon then, and the\ntailor let another gallon down into the skin, but the giant thought he\nwas drinking it.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll do a thing now that it won\u2019t come with you to do,\u201d said the tailor.\n\n\u201cYou will not,\u201d said the giant. \u201cWhat is it you would do?\u201d\n\n\u201cMake a hole and let out the broth again,\u201d said the tailor.\n\n\u201cDo it yourself first,\u201d said the giant.\n\nThe tailor gave a prod of the knife, and he let the broth out of the skin.\n\n\u201cDo that you,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cI will,\u201d said the giant, giving such a prod of the knife into his own\nstomach, that he killed himself. That is the way he killed the third\ngiant.\n\nHe went to the king then, and desired him to send him out his wife and\nhis money, for that he would throw down the court again, unless he should\nget the wife. They were afraid then that he would throw down the court,\nand they sent the wife out to him.\n\nWhen the tailor was a day gone, himself and his wife, they repented and\nfollowed him to take his wife off him again. The people who were after\nhim were following him till they came to the place where the lion was,\nand the lion said to them: \u201cThe tailor and his wife were here yesterday.\nI saw them going by, and if ye loose me now, I am swifter than ye, and I\nwill follow them till I overtake them.\u201d When they heard that they loosed\nout the lion.\n\nThe lion and the people of Dublin went on, and they were pursuing him,\nuntil they came to the place where the fox was, and the fox greeted them,\nand said: \u201cThe tailor and his wife were here this morning, and if ye will\nloose me out, I am swifter than ye, and I will follow them, and overtake\nthem.\u201d They loosed out the fox then.\n\nThe lion and the fox and the army of Dublin went on then, trying would\nthey catch the tailor, and they were going till they came to the place\nwhere the old white garraun was, and the old white garraun said to them\nthat the tailor and his wife were there in the morning, and \u201cloose me\nout,\u201d said he; \u201cI am swifter than ye, and I\u2019ll overtake them.\u201d They\nloosed out the old white garraun then, and the old white garraun, the\nfox, the lion, and the army of Dublin pursued the tailor and his wife\ntogether, and it was not long till they came up with him, and saw himself\nand the wife out before them.\n\nWhen the tailor saw them coming he got out of the coach with his wife,\nand he sat down on the ground.\n\nWhen the old white garraun saw the tailor sitting down on the ground, he\nsaid: \u201cThat\u2019s the position he had when he made the hole for me, that I\ncouldn\u2019t come up out of, when I went down into it. I\u2019ll go no nearer to\nhim.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo!\u201d said the fox, \u201cbut that\u2019s the way he was when he was making the\nthing for me, and I\u2019ll go no nearer to him.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo!\u201d says the lion, \u201cbut that\u2019s the very way he had, when he was making\nthe plough that I was caught in. I\u2019ll go no nearer to him.\u201d\n\nThey all went from him then and returned. The tailor and his wife came\nhome to Galway. They gave me paper stockings and shoes of thick milk.\nI lost them since. They got the ford, and I the flash;[16] they were\ndrowned, and I came safe.\n\n\n\n\nBRAN.\n\n\n\u1e02\u00ed c\u00fa bre\u00e1\u0121 ag Fionn. Sin Bran. \u010aualai\u1e0b tu caint air \u1e02ran. Se\u00f3 an da\u1e6b a\n\u1e03\u00ed air.\n\n  Cosa bui\u1e0be a \u1e03\u00ed air \u1e02ran\n  D\u00e1 \u1e6baoi\u1e03 du\u1e03a agus t\u00e1rr geal,\n  Druim uaine air \u1e0ba\u1e6b na seilge\n  D\u00e1 \u010bluais cruinne c\u00f3i\u1e41-\u1e0bearga.\n\n\u1e02\u00e9arfa\u1e0b Bran air na Ga\u00e9\u1e6bi\u1e03-fi\u00e1\u1e0bna \u1e03\u00ed s\u00ed \u010bo\u1e41 lua\u1e6b sin. Nuair \u1e03\u00ed s\u00ed \u2019nna\ncoile\u00e1n d\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 imreas no tsoid \u00e9igin ameasg na g-con a \u1e03\u00ed ag an \u1e03F\u00e9in,\nagus\n\n  Tr\u00ed fi\u010be cu agus fi\u010be coile\u00e1n\n  \u1e40ar\u1e03 Bran agus \u00ed \u2019nna coile\u00e1n,\n  D\u00e1 \u0121\u00e9-fia\u1e0b\u00e1in, agus an oirea\u1e0b le\u00f3 uile.\n\nS\u00e9 Fionn f\u00e9in a \u1e41ar\u1e03 Bran. \u010auai\u1e0b siad ama\u010b ag fia\u1e0ba\u010b agus r\u00ednnea\u1e0b eilit\nde \u1e41\u00e1\u1e6bair \u1e1einn. \u1e02\u00ed Bran d\u00e1 t\u00f3rui\u0121ea\u010bt.\n\n  \u201cEilit \u1e03ao\u1e6b f\u00e1g air slia\u1e03,\u201d\n\nar Fionn. \u201cA \u1e41ic \u00f3ig,\u201d ar sise, \u201cC\u00e1 ra\u010bfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 as?\u201d\n\n  M\u00e1 \u1e6b\u00e9i\u1e0bim ann san \u1e03fairrge s\u00edos\n  Coi\u1e0b\u010be ni \u1e1fillfinn air m\u2019ais,\n  S m\u00e1 \u1e6b\u00e9i\u1e0bim ann san aer suas\n  N\u00ed \u1e03eurfai\u1e0b mo lua\u1e6bas air \u1e02ran.\n\n\u201cGa\u1e03 ama\u010b eidir mo \u1e0b\u00e1 \u010bois,\u201d ar Fionn. \u010auai\u1e0b sise ama\u010b eidir a \u1e0b\u00e1 \u010bois,\nagus lean Bran \u00ed, agus air nga\u1e03ail ama\u010b d\u00ed, d\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1isg Fionn a \u1e0b\u00e1 \u0121l\u00fain\nuirri agus \u1e41ar\u1e03 s\u00e9 \u00ed.\n\n\u1e02\u00ed in\u0121ean ag Bran. Cu du\u1e03 a \u1e03\u00ed ann san g-coile\u00e1n sin, agus \u1e6b\u00f3g na Fianna\n\u00ed, agus du\u1e03airt siad leis an mnaoi a \u1e03\u00ed ta\u1e03airt aire do\u2019n \u010boile\u00e1n, bainne\nb\u00f3 gan aon \u1e03all do \u1e6ba\u1e03airt do\u2019n \u010boile\u00e1n, agus ga\u010b aon de\u00f3r do \u1e6ba\u1e03airt d\u00f3,\nagus gan aon \u1e03raon \u010bong\u1e03ail uai\u1e0b. N\u00ed \u1e0bearnai\u1e0b an \u1e03ean sin, a\u010bt \u010bong\u1e03ui\u0121\ncuid de\u2019n \u1e03ainne gan a \u1e6ba\u1e03airt uile do\u2019n \u010boile\u00e1n. An \u010beud l\u00e1 do sgaoil na\nFianna an cu \u00f3g ama\u010b \u1e03\u00ed gleann l\u00e1n de \u0121\u00e9a\u1e0bai\u1e03 fia\u1e0b\u00e1ine agus d\u2019 euna\u010bai\u1e03\neile, agus nuair sgaoilea\u1e0b an c\u00fa du\u1e03 \u2019nna measg, do \u0121a\u1e03 s\u00ed iad uile a\u010bt\nf\u00edor-\u1e03eag\u00e1n aca a \u010buai\u1e0b ama\u010b air \u1e03earna a \u1e03\u00ed ann. Agus a\u010bt gur \u010bong\u1e03ui\u0121\nan \u1e03ean cuid de\u2019n \u1e03ainne uai\u1e6bi do \u1e41ar\u1e03fa\u1e0b s\u00ed iad uile.\n\n\u1e02\u00ed fear de na Fiannai\u1e03 \u2019nna \u1e0ball, agus nuair leigea\u1e0b an cu ama\u010b\nd\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 s\u00e9 de na daoini\u1e03 a \u1e03\u00ed anaice leis, cia an \u010baoi a rinne an c\u00fa\n\u00f3g. Du\u1e03airt siad-san leis gur \u1e41ar\u1e03 an cu \u00f3g an meud g\u00e9 fia\u1e0b\u00e1in agus eun a\n\u1e03i ann san ngleann, a\u010bt beag\u00e1n aca a \u010buai\u1e0b ama\u010b air \u1e03earna, agus go rai\u1e03\ns\u00ed tea\u010bt a \u1e03aile anois. \u201cD\u00e1 \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121a\u1e0b s\u00ed an bainne uile a \u1e6b\u00e1inig de\u2019n \u1e03o gan\naon \u1e03all,\u201d ar san dall, \u201cni leigfea\u1e0b s\u00ed d\u2019eun air bi\u1e6b im\u1e6bea\u010bt uai\u1e0bi,\u201d\nagus d\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 s\u00e9, ann sin, cad \u00e9 an \u010baoi a rai\u1e03 s\u00ed t\u00ed\u0121ea\u010bt a \u1e03aile. \u201cT\u00e1\ns\u00ed tea\u010bt anois,\u201d ar siad, \u201cagus, sg\u00e1il\u2019 lasta as a muineul agus i air\nbuile.\u201d\n\n\u201cTa\u1e03air m\u2019impi\u1e0be \u1e0bam anois,\u201d ar san dall, \u201cagus cuir m\u00e9 \u2019mo \u1e61ui\u1e0be ann san\ng-c\u00e1\u1e6baoir agus cuir gual ann mo l\u00e1i\u1e41, \u00f3ir muna mar\u1e03aim \u00ed anois mar\u1e03fai\u1e0b\ns\u00ed muid (sinn) uile.\u201d \u1e6a\u00e1inig an c\u00fa, agus \u010bai\u1e6b s\u00e9 an gual l\u00e9i\u1e6be agus \u1e41ar\u1e03\ns\u00e9 \u00ed, agus \u00e9 dall.\n\nA\u010bt d\u00e1 \u1e03f\u00e1ga\u1e0b an coile\u00e1n sin an bainne uile do \u1e6biucfa\u1e0b s\u00ed agus lui\u1e0bfea\u1e0b\ns\u00ed s\u00edos go socair, mar lui\u1e0bea\u1e0b Bran.\n\n\n\n\nBRAN.\n\n\nFinn had a splendid hound. That was Bran. You have heard talk of Bran.\nThis is the colour was on him:\n\n  Yellow feet that were on Bran,\n  Two black sides, and belly white,\n  Grayish back of hunting colour,\n  Two ears, red, round, small, and bright.\n\nBran would overtake the wild-geese, she was that swift. There arose some\nquarrel or fighting between the hounds that the Fenians had, when she was\nonly a puppy, and\n\n  Three score hounds and twenty puppies\n  Bran did kill, and she a puppy,\n  Two wild-geese, as much as they all.\n\nIt was Finn himself who killed Bran. They went out hunting, and there\nwas made a fawn of Finn\u2019s mother. (_Who made a fawn of her? Oh, how do I\nknow? It was with some of their pishtrogues._) Bran was pursuing her.\n\n  \u201cSilly fawn leave on mountain,\u201d\n\nsaid Finn. \u201cOh, young son,\u201d said she, \u201chow shall I escape?\u2014\n\n  \u201cIf I go in the sea beneath\n  I never shall come back again,\n  And if I go in the air above\n  My swiftness is no match for Bran.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo out between my two legs,\u201d said Finn.\n\nShe went between his two legs, and Bran followed her; and as Bran went\nout under him, Finn squeezed his two knees on her and killed her.\n\nBran had a daughter. That pup was a black hound, and the Fenians reared\nit; and they told the woman who had a charge of the pup to give it the\nmilk of a cow without a single spot, and to give it every single drop,\nand not to keep back one tint[17] from her. The woman did not do that,\nbut kept a portion of the milk without giving it to the pup.\n\nThe first day that the Fenians loosed out the young hound, there was a\nglen full of wild-geese and other birds; and when the black hound was\nloosed amongst them, she caught them all except a very few that went\nout on a gap that was in it. (_And how could she catch the wild-geese?\nWouldn\u2019t they fly away in the air? She caught them, then. That\u2019s how I\nheard it._) And only that the woman kept back some of the milk from her,\nshe would have killed them all.\n\nThere was a man of the Fenians, a blind man, and when the pup was let\nout, he asked the people near him how did the young hound do. They told\nhim that the young hound killed all the wild-geese and birds that were\nin the glen, but a few that went out on a gap. \u201cIf she had to get all\nthe milk that came from the cow without spot,\u201d says the blind man, \u201cshe\nwouldn\u2019t let a bird at all go from her.\u201d And he asked then \u201chow was the\nhound coming home?\u201d \u201cShe\u2019s coming now,\u201d said they, \u201cand a fiery cloud out\nof her neck,\u201d (_How out of her neck? Because she was going so quick._)\n\u201cand she coming madly.\u201d\n\n\u201cGrant me my request now,\u201d said the blind man. \u201cPut me sitting in the\nchair, and put a coal[18](?) in my hand; for unless I kill her she\u2019ll\nkill us.\u201d\n\nThe hound came, and he threw the coal at her and killed her, and he blind.\n\nBut if that pup had to get all the milk, she\u2019d come and she\u2019d lie down\nquietly, the same as Bran used to lie ever.\n\n\n\n\nMAC RI\u0120 \u00c9IREANN.\n\n\n\u1e02\u00ed mac r\u00ed\u0121 i n-\u00c9irinn, fad \u00f3 \u1e61oin, agus \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 ama\u010b agus \u1e6bug s\u00e9 a \u0121unna\n\u2019s a \u1e41ada\u1e0b leis. \u1e02\u00ed snea\u010bta amui\u0121. \u1e40ar\u1e03 s\u00e9 fia\u010b du\u1e03. \u1e6auit an fia\u010b du\u1e03 air\nan tsnea\u010bta. N\u00ed \u1e1facai\u1e0b s\u00e9 aon rud bu\u1e0b \u0121ile \u2019n\u00e1 an snea\u010bta, n\u00e1 bu\u1e0b \u1e0bui\u1e03e\n\u2019n\u00e1 cloigionn an \u1e1fiai\u010b \u1e0bui\u1e03, n\u00e1 bu\u1e0b \u1e0beirge \u2019n\u00e1 a \u010buid fola \u1e03\u00ed \u2019g\u00e1 d\u00f3rta\u1e0b\nama\u010b.\n\n\u010auir s\u00e9 faoi geasai\u1e03 agus deim\u00fa\u0121 (_sic_) na blia\u1e0bna na\u010b n-\u00edosa\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u1e0b\u00e1\n\u1e03ia\u1e0b i n-aon \u1e03ord, n\u00e1 \u1e0b\u00e1 oi\u1e0b\u010be do \u010bo\u1e0bla\u1e0b ann aon tea\u010b, go \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121a\u1e0b s\u00e9 bean\na rai\u1e03 a cloigionn \u010bo\u1e41 du\u1e03 leis an \u1e03fia\u010b du\u1e03, agus a croicionn \u010bo\u1e41 geal\nleis an tsnea\u010bta, agus a \u1e0b\u00e1 \u0121ruai\u1e0b \u010bo\u1e41 dearg le fuil.\n\nNi rai\u1e03 aon \u1e03ean ann san do\u1e41an mar sin, a\u010bt aon \u1e03ean a\u1e41\u00e1in a \u1e03\u00ed ann san\ndo\u1e41an \u1e61oir.\n\nL\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b \u0121a\u1e03 s\u00e9 ama\u010b, agus n\u00ed rai\u1e03 airgiod fairsing, a\u010bt \u1e6bug s\u00e9\nleis fi\u010be p\u00fanta. N\u00ed fada \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 gur casa\u1e0b socraoid d\u00f3, agus du\u1e03airt\ns\u00e9 go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 \u010bo\u1e41 mai\u1e6b \u1e0b\u00f3 tr\u00ed \u010boisc\u00e9im \u1e0bul leis an g-corp\u00e1n. N\u00ed rai\u1e03 na\ntr\u00ed \u010boisc\u00e9im si\u00fa\u1e03alta aige go dt\u00e1inig fear agus leag s\u00e9 a reasta air an\ng-corp air \u010b\u00faig \u1e57\u00fanta. \u1e02\u00ed dl\u00ed\u0121ea\u1e0b i n-Eirinn an t-am sin, duinea ir bi\u1e6b a\nrai\u1e03 fia\u010ba aige air \u1e1fear eile, na\u010b dtiucfa\u1e0b le muinntir an \u1e1fir sin a \u010bur,\nd\u00e1 mbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b s\u00e9 mar\u1e03, gan na fia\u010ba d\u2019\u00edoc, no gan cead \u00f3\u2019n duine a rai\u1e03\nna fia\u010ba sin aige air an \u1e03fear mar\u1e03. Nuair \u010bonnairc Mac R\u00ed\u0121 \u00c9ireann mic\nagus in\u0121eana an duine \u1e41air\u1e03 ag caoinea\u1e0b, agus iad gan an t-airgiod aca le\nta\u1e03airt do \u2019n \u1e1fear, du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis fein, \u201cis m\u00f3r an \u1e6brua\u0121 \u00e9 na\u010b \u1e03fuil\nan t-airgiod ag na daoini\u1e03 bo\u010bta.\u201d agus \u010buir s\u00e9 a l\u00e1\u1e41 ann a \u1e57\u00f3ca agus\nd\u2019\u00edoc s\u00e9 f\u00e9in na c\u00faig \u1e57\u00fanta, air son an \u010buirp. Du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 go ra\u010bfa\u1e0b s\u00e9\n\u010bum an teampoill ann sin, go \u1e03feicfea\u1e0b s\u00e9 cur\u1e6ba \u00e9. \u1e6a\u00e1inig fear eile ann\nsin, agus leag s\u00e9 a reasta air an g-corp air son c\u00faig \u1e57\u00fanta eile. \u201cMar\n\u1e6bug m\u00e9 na ceud \u010b\u00faig \u1e57\u00fanta,\u201d ar Mac R\u00ed\u0121 \u00c9ireann leis f\u00e9in, \u201ct\u00e1 s\u00e9 \u010bo\u1e41 mai\u1e6b\n\u1e0bam c\u00faig \u1e57\u00fanta eile \u1e6ba\u1e03airt anois, agus an fear bo\u010bt do leigean dul \u2019san\nuai\u0121.\u201d D\u2019\u00edoc s\u00e9 na c\u00faig \u1e57\u00fanta eile. N\u00ed rai\u1e03 aige ann sin a\u010bt dei\u010b bp\u00fanta.\n\nN\u00edor \u1e03fada \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 gur casa\u1e0b fear gearr glas d\u00f3 agus d\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 s\u00e9 \u1e0b\u00e9 c\u00e1\nrai\u1e03 s\u00e9 dul. Du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 dul ag iarrai\u1e0b mn\u00e1 \u2019san do\u1e41an \u1e61oir.\nD\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 an fear gearr glas d\u00e9, an rai\u1e03 bua\u010baill teast\u00e1l uai\u1e0b, agus\ndu\u1e03airt s\u00e9 go rai\u1e03, agus cad \u00e9 an \u1e57\u00e1i\u1e0be \u1e03ei\u1e0bea\u1e0b s\u00e9 ag iarrai\u1e0b. Du\u1e03airt\nseisean \u201can \u010beud \u1e57\u00f3g air a \u1e41naoi, d\u00e1 \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121a\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u00ed.\u201d Du\u1e03airt Mac R\u00ed\u0121\n\u00c9ireann go g-cai\u1e6bfea\u1e0b s\u00e9 sin \u1e1f\u00e1\u0121ail.\n\nN\u00edor \u1e03fada \u010buai\u1e0b siad gur casa\u1e0b fear eile \u1e0b\u00f3i\u1e03 agus a \u0121unna ann a l\u00e1i\u1e41,\nagus \u00e9 ag \u201clei\u1e03l\u00e9ara\u010bt\u201d air an londu\u1e03 a \u1e03\u00ed \u1e6ball \u2019san do\u1e41an \u1e61oir, go\nmbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b s\u00e9 aige le n-a\u0121ai\u1e0b a \u1e0bin\u00e9ir. Du\u1e03airt an fear gearr glas le Mac\nR\u00ed\u0121 \u00c9ireann g\u00f3 rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 \u010bo\u1e41 mai\u1e6b \u1e0b\u00f3 an fear sin \u0121laca\u1e0b air aimsir, da\nra\u010bfa\u1e0b s\u00e9 air aimsir leis. D\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 Mac R\u00ed\u0121 Eireann an dtiucfa\u1e0b s\u00e9 air\naimsir leis.\n\n\u201cRa\u010bfad,\u201d ar san fear, \u201cm\u00e1 \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121\u2019 m\u00e9 mo \u1e6buarastal.\u201d\n\n\u201cAgus cad \u00e9 an tuarastal \u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0beas tu \u2019g iarrai\u1e0b?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u00c1it t\u00ed\u0121e agus gar\u1e0ba.\u201d\n\n\u201cGeo\u1e03ai\u1e0b tu sin uaim, m\u00e1 \u00e9iri\u0121eann mo \u1e6buras liom.\u201d\n\nD\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 Mac R\u00ed\u0121 Eireann leis an \u1e03fear glas agus leis an ngunnaire, agus\nn\u00ed fada \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00edad gur casa\u1e0b fear d\u00f3i\u1e03, agus a \u010bluas leag\u1e6ba air an tala\u1e41,\nagus \u00e9 ag \u00e9istea\u010bt leis an \u1e03feur ag f\u00e1s.\n\n\u201cT\u00e1 s\u00e9 \u010bo\u1e41 mai\u1e6b \u1e0buit an fear sin \u0121laca\u1e0b air aimsir,\u201d ar san fear gearr\nglas.\n\nD\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 Mac R\u00ed\u0121 Eireann de \u2019n \u1e1fear an dtiucfa\u1e0b s\u00e9 leis air aimsir.\n\n\u201cTiucfad m\u00e1 \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121 m\u00e9 \u00e1it ti\u0121e agus gar\u1e0ba.\u201d\n\n\u201cGeo\u1e03ai\u1e0b tu sin uaim m\u00e1 \u00e9iri\u0121eann an rud at\u00e1 ann mo \u010beann liom.\u201d\n\n\u010auai\u1e0b Mac Ri\u0121 Eireann, an fear gearr glas, an gunnaire, agus an\ncluasaire, agus n\u00ed fada \u010buai\u1e0b siad gur casa\u1e0b fear eile \u1e0b\u00f3i\u1e03 agus a\nlea\u1e6b-\u010bos air a \u0121ualainn, agus \u00e9 ag cong\u1e03\u00e1il p\u00e1irce geirr\u1e1fia\u1e0b gan aon\n\u0121eirr\u1e1fia\u1e0b leigean astea\u010b n\u00e1 ama\u010b. \u1e02\u00ed iongantas air \u1e40ac R\u00ed\u0121 Eireann agus\nd\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 s\u00e9 cad \u00e9 an \u010biall a rai\u1e03 a lea\u1e6b-\u010bos air a \u0121ualainn mar sin.\n\n\u201cO,\u201d ar seisean, \u201cd\u00e1 mbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b mo \u1e0b\u00e1 \u010bois agam air an talam \u1e03ei\u1e0binn \u010bo\u1e41\nlua\u1e6b sin go ra\u010bfainn as a\u1e41arc.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn dtiucfai\u1e0b tu air aimsir liom,\u201d ar san Mac Ri\u0121.\n\n\u201cTiucfad, m\u00e1 \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121\u2019 m\u00e9 \u00e1it ti\u0121e agus gar\u1e0ba.\u201d\n\n\u201cGeo\u1e03ai\u1e0b tu sin uaim,\u201d ar Mac R\u00ed\u0121 \u00c9ireann, \u201cm\u00e1 \u00e9iri\u0121eann an rud at\u00e1 ann\nmo \u010beann, liom.\u201d\n\n\u010auai\u1e0b Mac Ri\u0121 Eireann, an fear gearr glas, an gunnaire, an cluasaire,\nagus an coisire air a\u0121ai\u1e0b, agus n\u00edor \u1e03fada go dt\u00e1ncadar go fear agus \u00e9 ag\ncur muilinn gaoi\u1e6be \u1e6bart le na lea\u1e6b\u1e57oll\u00e1ire, agus a \u1e41eur leag\u1e6ba aige air a\n\u1e61r\u00f3n ag druidim na poll\u00e1ire eile.\n\n\u201cCad \u010buige \u1e03fuil do \u1e41eur agad air do \u1e61r\u00f3n?\u201d ar Mac R\u00ed\u0121 Eireann leis.\n\n\u201cO,\u201d ar seisean, \u201cd\u00e1 s\u00e9idfinn as mo \u1e0b\u00e1 \u1e57oll\u00e1ire do sguabfainn an muileann\nama\u010b as sin suas \u2019san aer.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn dtiucfai\u1e0b tu air aimsir?\u201d\n\n\u201cTiucfad, m\u00e1 \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121\u2019 m\u00e9 \u00e1it ti\u0121e agus gar\u1e0ba.\u201d\n\n\u201cGeo\u1e03ai\u1e0b tu sin, m\u00e1 \u00e9iri\u0121eann an rud at\u00e1 ann mo \u010beann liom.\u201d\n\n\u010auai\u1e0b Mac Ri\u0121 Eireann, an fear gearr glas, an gunnaire, an cluasaire, an\ncoisire, agus an s\u00e9idire go dt\u00e1ncadar go fear a \u1e03\u00ed \u2019nna \u1e61ui\u1e0be air \u1e6baoi\u1e03\nan \u1e03o\u1e6bair, agus \u00e9 ag brisea\u1e0b clo\u010b le na lea\u1e6b-\u1e6b\u00f3in agus n\u00ed rai\u1e03 cas\u00far n\u00e1\ndada\u1e41 aige. D\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 an Mac R\u00ed\u0121 \u1e0b\u00e9, cad \u010buige a rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 ag brisea\u1e0b na\ng-clo\u010b le na lea\u1e6b-\u1e6b\u00f3in.\n\n\u201cO,\u201d ar seisean, \u201cd\u00e1 mbualfainn leis an t\u00f3in \u1e0b\u00fabalta iad \u1e0beunfainn p\u00fa\u0121dar\nd\u00edo\u1e03.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn dtiucfai\u1e0b tu air aimsir liom?\u201d\n\n\u201cTuicfad, m\u00e1 \u1e03fa\u0121\u2019 m\u00e9 \u00e1it t\u00ed\u0121e agus gar\u1e0ba.\u201d\n\nD\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 siad uile ann sin, Mac R\u00ed\u0121 Eireann, an fear gearr glas, an\ngunnaire, an cluasaire, an coisire, an s\u00e9idire, agus fear briste na\ng-clo\u010b le taoi\u1e03 a \u1e6b\u00f3na agus \u1e03eurfa\u1e0b siad air an ngaoi\u1e6b \u1e40\u00e1rta a \u1e03\u00ed rompa\nagus an \u0121ao\u1e6b \u1e40\u00e1rta a \u1e03\u00ed \u2019nna n-diai\u0121 n\u00ed \u1e03\u00e9urfa\u1e0b s\u00ed orra-san go dt\u00e1inig\ntra\u1e6bn\u00f3na agus deirea\u1e0b an la\u00e9.\n\n\u1e0cearc Mac R\u00ed\u0121 \u00c9ireann uai\u1e0b agus n\u00ed \u1e1facai\u1e0b s\u00e9 aon tea\u010b a mbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b s\u00e9 ann\nan oi\u1e0b\u010be sin. \u1e0cearc an fear gearr glas uai\u1e0b agus \u010bonnairc s\u00e9 tea\u010b na\u010b\nrai\u1e03 bonn cleite ama\u010b air, n\u00e1 b\u00e1rr cleite astea\u010b air, a\u010bt aon \u010bleite\na\u1e41\u00e1in a \u1e03\u00ed ag cong\u1e03\u00e1il d\u00eddinn agus fasgai\u1e0b air. Du\u1e03airt mac r\u00ed\u0121 \u00c9ireann\nna\u010b rai\u1e03 \u1e1fios aige c\u00e1 \u010bai\u1e6bfea\u1e0b siad an oi\u1e0b\u010be sin, agus du\u1e03airt an fear\ngearr glas go mbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b siad i d\u1e6bea\u010b an \u1e1fa\u1e6bai\u0121 \u1e6ball an oi\u1e0b\u010be sin.\n\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig siad \u010bum an ti\u0121e, agus \u1e6barraing an fear gearr glas an cuaille\nc\u00f3\u1e41raic agus n\u00edor \u1e1f\u00e1g s\u00e9 lean\u1e03 i mnaoi searra\u010b i g-capall, pig\u00edn i muic,\nn\u00e1 broc i ngleann n\u00e1r iompui\u0121 s\u00e9 \u1e6bart tr\u00ed uaire iad le m\u00e9ad an torain do\n\u1e03ain s\u00e9 as an g-cuaille c\u00f3\u1e41raic. \u1e6a\u00e1inig an fa\u1e6ba\u010b ama\u010b agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9\n\u201cmo\u1e6bui\u0121im bola\u1e0b an \u00c9ireannai\u0121 \u1e03inn \u1e03reugai\u0121 faoi m\u2019\u1e1f\u00f3id\u00edn d\u00fa\u1e6bai\u0121.\u201d\n\n\u201cN\u00ed \u00c9ireanna\u010b binn breuga\u010b mise,\u201d ar san fear gearr glas, \u201ca\u010bt t\u00e1 mo\n\u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir amui\u0121 ann sin ag ceann an \u1e03\u00f3\u1e6bair agus m\u00e1 \u1e6bagann s\u00e9 bainfi\u1e0b\ns\u00e9 an ceann d\u00edot.\u201d \u1e02\u00ed an fear gearr glas ag meudu\u0121a\u1e0b, agus ag meudu\u0121a\u1e0b\ngo rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 faoi \u1e0beirea\u1e0b \u010bo\u1e41 m\u00f3r leis an g-caisle\u00e1n. \u1e02\u00ed fait\u010bios air an\n\u1e03fa\u1e6ba\u010b agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9, \u201c\u1e02fuil do \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir \u010bo\u1e41 m\u00f3r leat f\u00e9in?\u201d\n\n\u201cT\u00e1,\u201d ar san fear gearr glas, \u201cagus n\u00edos m\u00f3.\u201d\n\n\u201cCuir i \u1e03fola\u010b m\u00e9 go maidin go n-im\u1e6bi\u0121eann do \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir,\u201d ar san fa\u1e6ba\u010b.\n\n\u010auir s\u00e9 an fa\u1e6ba\u010b faoi \u0121las, ann sin, agus \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u010bum a \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir.\n\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig mac r\u00ed\u0121 \u00c9ireann, an fear gearr glas, an gunnaire, an cluasaire, an\ns\u00e9idire, an coisire, agus fear briste na g-clo\u010b le taoi\u1e03 a \u1e6b\u00f3na, astea\u010b\n\u2019san g-caisle\u00e1n, agus \u010bai\u1e6b siad an oi\u1e0b\u010be sin, trian d\u00ed le fiannai\u0121ea\u010bt\nagus trian le sgeului\u0121ea\u010bt, agus trian le soirm (_sic_) s\u00e1i\u1e41 suain agus\nf\u00edor-\u010bodalta.\n\nNuair d\u2019 \u00e9iri\u0121 an l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b \u1e6bug s\u00e9 leis a \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir agus an\ngunnaire, agus an cluasaire, agus an coisire, agus an s\u00e9idire, agus\nfear briste na g-clo\u010b le taoi\u1e03 a \u1e6b\u00f3na, agus d\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g s\u00e9 amui\u0121 ag ceann an\n\u1e03\u00f3\u1e6bair iad, agus \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 f\u00e9in air ais agus \u1e03ain s\u00e9 an glas de \u2019n \u1e1fa\u1e6ba\u010b.\nDu\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis an \u1e03fa\u1e6ba\u010b gur \u010buir a \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir air ais \u00e9 i g-coinne an\n\u1e03irr\u00e9id \u1e0bui\u1e03 a \u1e03\u00ed faoi \u010bol\u1e03a a leabui\u1e0b. Du\u1e03airt an fa\u1e6ba\u010b go dtiu\u1e03ra\u1e0b s\u00e9\nhata \u1e0b\u00f3 n\u00e1r \u010bai\u1e6b s\u00e9 f\u00e9in aria\u1e41, a\u010bt go rai\u1e03 n\u00e1ire air, an sean-\u1e03irreud do\n\u1e6ba\u1e03airt d\u00f3. Du\u1e03airt an fear gearr glas muna dtiu\u1e03ra\u1e0b s\u00e9 an birreud d\u00f3 go\ndtiucfa\u1e0b a \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir air ais, agus go mbainfea\u1e0b s\u00e9 an ceann d\u00e9.\n\n\u201cIs fearr dam a \u1e6ba\u1e03airt duit,\u201d ar san fa\u1e6ba\u010b, \u201cagus uair air bi\u1e6b a\n\u010buirfeas tu air do \u010beann \u00e9, feicfi\u1e0b tu uile \u1e0buine agus ni \u1e1feicfi\u1e0b duine\nair bi\u1e6b \u1e6bu.\u201d \u1e6aug s\u00e9 \u1e0b\u00f3 an birreud ann sin, agus \u010buai\u1e0b an fear gearr glas\nagus \u1e6bug s\u00e9 do \u1e41a\u010b r\u00ed\u0121 \u00c9ireann \u00e9.\n\n\u1e02\u00ed siad ag im\u1e6bea\u010bt ann sin. Do \u1e03\u00e9arfa\u1e0b siad air an ngaoi\u1e6b \u1e40\u00e1rta do \u1e03\u00ed\nr\u00f3mpa, agus an \u0121ao\u1e6b \u1e40\u00e1rta do \u1e03\u00ed \u2019nna ndiai\u0121 n\u00ed \u1e03\u00e9arfa\u1e0b s\u00ed orra-san, ag\ndul do\u2019n do\u1e41an \u1e61oir. Nuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig tra\u1e6bn\u00f3na agus deirea\u1e0b an lae \u1e0bearc mac\nr\u00ed\u0121 Eireann uai\u1e0b agus n\u00ed \u1e1facai\u1e0b s\u00e9 aon \u00e1it a mbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b s\u00e9 ann an oi\u1e0b\u010be\nsin. \u1e0cearc an fear gearr glas uai\u1e0b, agus \u010bonnairc s\u00e9 caisle\u00e1n, agus\ndu\u1e03airt s\u00e9, \u201can fa\u1e6ba\u010b at\u00e1 ann san g-caisle\u00e1n sin, is dear\u1e03r\u00e1\u1e6bair do\u2019n\n\u1e1fa\u1e6ba\u010b a ra\u1e03amar ar\u00e9ir aige, agus b\u00e9i\u1e0bm\u00edd ann san g-caisle\u00e1n sin ano\u010bt.\u201d\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig siad, agus d\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g s\u00e9 mac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann agus a \u1e41uinntir ag ceann\nan \u1e03\u00f3\u1e6bair agus \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u010bum an \u010baisle\u00e1in, agus \u1e6barraing s\u00e9 an cuaille\nc\u00f3\u1e41raic, agus n\u00edor \u1e1f\u00e1g s\u00e9 lean\u1e03 i mnaoi n\u00e1 searra\u010b i g-capall n\u00e1 pig\u00edn i\nmuic n\u00e1 broc i ngleann, i \u1e03foigse sea\u010bt m\u00edle \u1e0b\u00f3, n\u00e1r \u1e03ain s\u00e9 tr\u00ed iomp\u00f3\u1e0b\nasta leis an m\u00e9ad torain a \u1e6bug s\u00e9 as an g-cuaille c\u00f3\u1e41raic.\n\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig an fa\u1e6ba\u010b ama\u010b, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9, \u201cMo\u1e6bui\u0121im bola\u1e0b an \u00c9ireannai\u0121 \u1e03inn\n\u1e03reugai\u0121 faoi m\u2019\u1e1f\u00f3id\u00edn d\u00fa\u1e6bai\u0121.\u201d\n\n\u201cN\u00ed Eireanna\u010b binn breuga\u010b mise,\u201d ar san fear gearr glas, \u201ca\u010bt t\u00e1 mo\n\u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir amui\u0121 ann sin ag ceann an \u1e03\u00f3\u1e6bair, agus m\u00e1 \u1e6bagann s\u00e9 bainfi\u1e0b s\u00e9\nan ceann d\u00edot.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs m\u00f3r l\u00edom \u1e0be \u0121reim \u1e6bu, agus is beag liom de \u1e0b\u00e1 \u0121reim \u1e6bu,\u201d ar san fa\u1e6ba\u010b.\n\n\u201cN\u00ed \u1e03fui\u0121fi\u1e0b tu m\u00e9 de \u0121reim air bi\u1e6b,\u201d ar san fear gearr glas, agus \u1e6boisi\u0121\ns\u00e9 ag meudu\u0121a\u1e0b go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 \u010bo\u1e41 m\u00f3r leis an g-caisle\u00e1n.\n\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig fait\u010bios air an \u1e03fa\u1e6ba\u010b agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9, \u201c\u1e03fuil do \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir \u010bo\u1e41\nm\u00f3r leat-sa?\u201d\n\n\u201cT\u00e1 agus n\u00edos m\u00f3,\u201d ar san fear beag glas.\n\n\u201cCuir i \u1e03fola\u010b m\u00e9 go maidin go n-im\u1e6bi\u0121eann do \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir,\u201d ar san fa\u1e6ba\u010b,\n\u201cagus rud air bi\u1e6b at\u00e1 tu ag iarrai\u1e0b cai\u1e6bfi\u1e0b tu a \u1e1f\u00e1\u0121ail.\u201d\n\n\u1e6aug s\u00e9 an fa\u1e6ba\u010b leis, agus \u010bai\u1e6b s\u00e9 faoi \u1e03eul da\u1e03ai\u010b \u00e9. \u010auai\u1e0b se ama\u010b agus\n\u1e6bug s\u00e9 astea\u010b mac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann, an gunnaire, an cluasaire, an s\u00e9idire, an\ncoisire, agus fear briste na g-clo\u010b le taoi\u1e03 a \u1e6b\u00f3na, agus \u010bai\u1e6b siad an\noi\u1e0b\u010be ann sin, trian le fiannui\u0121ea\u010bt trian le sgeulai\u0121ea\u010bt agus trian le\nsoirm s\u00e1i\u1e41 suain agus f\u00edor-\u010bodalta, go dti an \u1e41aidin.\n\nAir maidin, l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b, \u1e6bug an fear gearr glas mac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann agus\na \u1e41uinntir ama\u010b as an g-caisle\u00e1n agus d\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g s\u00e9 ag ceann an \u1e03\u00f3\u1e6bair iad,\nagus \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 f\u00e9in air ais agus d\u2019iarr s\u00e9 na sean-slip\u00e9arai\u1e0b a \u1e03i faoi\n\u010bol\u1e03a an leabui\u1e0b, air an \u1e03fa\u1e6ba\u010b. Du\u1e03airt an fa\u1e6ba\u010b go dti\u00fa\u1e03ra\u1e0b s\u00e9 p\u00e9ire\n\u1e03\u00fatais \u010bo\u1e41 mai\u1e6b agus \u010bai\u1e6b s\u00e9 aria\u1e41 d\u2019a \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir, agus cad \u00e9 an mai\u1e6b a\n\u1e03\u00ed ann sna sean-slip\u00e9arai\u1e03! Du\u1e03airt an fear gearr glas muna \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121a\u1e0b s\u00e9 na\nslipeurai\u1e0b go ra\u010bfa\u1e0b s\u00e9 i g-coinne a \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir, leis an ceann do \u1e03aint\nd\u00e9. Du\u1e03airt an fa\u1e6ba\u010b ann sin go dti\u00fa\u1e03ra\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u1e0b\u00f3 iad, agus \u1e6bug. \u201cAm air\nbi\u1e6b,\u201d ar seisean, \u201ca \u010buirfeas tu na slipeurai\u1e0b sin ort, agus \u2019hai\u0121 \u00f3i\u1e03ir\u2019\ndo r\u00e1\u1e0b, \u00e1it air bi\u1e6b a \u1e03fuil s\u00fail agad do \u1e0bul ann, b\u00e9i\u1e0b tu innti.\u201d\n\nD\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 mac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann agus an fear gearr glas, agus an gunnaire, agus\nan cluasaire, agus an coisire, agus an s\u00e9idire, agus fear briste na\ng-clo\u010b le taoi\u1e03 a \u1e6b\u00f3na, go dt\u00e1inig tra\u1e6bn\u00f3na agus deirea\u1e0b an la\u00e9; agus go\nrai\u1e03 an capall ag dul faoi sg\u00e1\u1e6b na cop\u00f3ige agus n\u00ed fanfa\u1e0b an \u010bop\u00f3g leis.\nD\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 mac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann de\u2019n \u1e1fear gearr glas ann sin, c\u00e1 \u1e03ei\u1e0bea\u1e0b siad\nan oi\u1e0b\u010be sin, agus du\u1e03airt an fear gearr glas go mbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b siad i dtea\u010b\ndear\u1e03r\u00e1\u1e6bar an \u1e1fa\u1e6bai\u0121 ag a rai\u1e03 siad areir. \u1e0cearc mac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann uai\u1e0b\nagus ni \u1e1facai\u1e0b s\u00e9 dada\u1e41. \u1e0cearc an fear gearr glas uai\u1e0b agus \u010bonnairc s\u00e9\ncaisle\u00e1n m\u00f3r. D\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g\u1e03ai\u0121 s\u00e9 mac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann agus a \u1e41uinntir ann sin agus\n\u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u010bum an \u010baisle\u00e1in leis f\u00e9in, agus \u1e6barraing s\u00e9 an cuaille c\u00f3\u1e41raic,\nagus n\u00edor \u1e1f\u00e1g\u1e03ai\u0121 s\u00e9 lean\u1e03 i mnaoi, searra\u010b i l\u00e1ir, pig\u00edn i muic, na broc\ni ngleann, n\u00e1r \u1e6bionntui\u0121 s\u00e9 \u1e6bart tr\u00ed uaire leis an m\u00e9ad torain a \u1e03ain s\u00e9\nas an g-cuaille c\u00f3\u1e41raic. \u1e6a\u00e1inig an fa\u1e6ba\u010b ama\u010b agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9, \u201cmo\u1e6bui\u0121im\nbola\u1e0b an \u00c9ireannai\u0121 \u1e03inn \u1e03reugai\u0121 faoi m\u2019\u1e1f\u00f3id\u00edn d\u00fa\u1e6bai\u0121.\u201d\n\n\u201cN\u00ed \u00c9ireanna\u010b binn breuga\u010b mise,\u201d ar san fear gearr glas, \u201ca\u010bt t\u00e1 mo\n\u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir \u2019nna \u1e61easa\u1e41 ann sin, ag ceann an \u1e03\u00f3\u1e6bair, agus m\u00e1 \u1e6bagann s\u00e9\nbainfi\u1e0b s\u00e9 an ceann d\u00edot.\u201d\n\nAgus leis sin \u1e6bosui\u0121 an fear gearr glas ag m\u00e9adu\u0121a\u1e0b go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 \u010bo\u1e41 m\u00f3r\nleis an g-caisle\u00e1n faoi \u1e0beirea\u1e0b.\n\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig fait\u010bios air an \u1e03fa\u1e6ba\u010b, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9, \u201c\u1e03fuil do \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir \u010bo\u1e41\nm\u00f3r leat f\u00e9in?\u201d\n\n\u201cT\u00e1,\u201d ar san fear gearr glas, \u201cagus n\u00edos m\u00f3.\u201d\n\n\u201cO cuir m\u00e9 a \u1e03fola\u010b, cuir me i \u1e03fola\u010b,\u201d ar san fa\u1e6ba\u010b, \u201cgo n-\u00edm\u1e6bi\u0121eann do\n\u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir, agus rud air bi\u1e6b a \u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0beas tu ag iarrai\u1e0b cai\u1e6bfi\u1e0b tu a \u1e1f\u00e1\u0121ail.\u201d\n\n\u1e6aug s\u00e9 an fa\u1e6ba\u010b leis agus \u010buir s\u00e9 faoi \u1e03eul da\u1e03ai\u010b \u00e9, agus glas air.\n\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig s\u00e9 air ais agus \u1e6bug s\u00e9 mac r\u00ed\u0121 \u00c9ireann, an gunnaire, an cluasaire,\nan coisire, an s\u00e9idire, agus fear briste na g-clo\u010b le taoi\u1e03 a \u1e6b\u00f3na astea\u010b\nleis, agus \u010bai\u1e6b siad an oi\u1e0b\u010be sin go r\u00faga\u010b, trian d\u00ed le fiannui\u0121ea\u010bt,\nagus trian d\u00ed le sgeului\u0121ea\u010bt, agus trian d\u00ed le soirm s\u00e1i\u1e41 suain agus\nf\u00edor \u010bodalta.\n\nAir maidin, l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b, \u1e6bug s\u00e9 mac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann agus a \u1e41uinntir ama\u010b\nagus d\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g\u1e03ui\u0121 s\u00e9 ag ceann an \u1e03\u00f3\u1e6bair iad agus \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 f\u00e9in air ais,\nagus leig s\u00e9 ama\u010b an fa\u1e6ba\u010b, agus du\u1e03airt se leis an \u1e03fa\u1e6ba\u010b an cloi\u1e0bea\u1e41\nmeirgea\u010b a \u1e03\u00ed faoi \u010bol\u1e03a a leabui\u1e0b do \u1e6ba\u1e03airt d\u00f3. Du\u1e03airt an fa\u1e6ba\u010b\nna\u010b dti\u00fa\u1e03ra\u1e0b s\u00e9 an sean-\u010bloi\u1e0bea\u1e41 sin d\u2019 aon duine, a\u010bt go dti\u00fa\u1e03ra\u1e0b s\u00e9\n\u1e0b\u00f3 cloi\u1e0bea\u1e41 na tr\u00ed fao\u1e03ar, n\u00e1r \u1e1f\u00e1g fui\u0121eal buille \u2019nna \u1e0biai\u0121, agus d\u00e1\n\u1e03f\u00e1g-fa\u1e0b s\u00e9 go dtiu\u1e03ra\u1e0b s\u00e9 leis an dara \u1e03uille \u00e9.\n\n\u201cN\u00ed \u0121lacfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 sin,\u201d ar san fear gearr glas, \u201ccai\u1e6bfi\u1e0b m\u00e9 an cloi\u1e0bea\u1e41\nmeirgea\u010b \u1e1f\u00e1\u0121ail, agus muna \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121\u2019 m\u00e9 \u00e9 ra\u010bfai\u1e0b me i g-coinne mo \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir\nagus bainfi\u1e0b s\u00e9 an ceann d\u00edot.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs fearr dam a \u1e6ba\u1e03airt duit,\u201d ar san fa\u1e6ba\u010b, \u201cagus cia b\u00e9 \u00e1it a \u1e03ualfeas\ntu buille leis an g-cloi\u1e0bea\u1e41 sin ra\u010bfai\u1e0b s\u00e9 go dt\u00ed an gainea\u1e41 d\u00e1 mbu\u1e0b\niarann a \u1e03\u00ed roi\u1e41e.\u201d \u1e6aug s\u00e9 an cloi\u1e0bea\u1e41 meirgea\u010b d\u00f3 ann sin.\n\nCuai\u1e0b mac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann agus an fear gearr glas, agus an gunnaire, agus an\ncluasaire, agus an coisire, agus an s\u00e9idire, agus fear briste na g-clo\u010b\nle taoi\u1e03 a \u1e6b\u00f3na ann sin, go dt\u00e1inig tra\u1e6bn\u00f3na agus deirea\u1e0b an la\u00e9, go rai\u1e03\nan capall ag dul faoi sg\u00e1\u1e6b na cop\u00f3ige agus n\u00ed \u1e1fanfa\u1e0b an \u010bop\u00f3g leis. N\u00ed\n\u1e03\u00e9arfa\u1e0b an \u0121ao\u1e6b \u1e40\u00e1rta a \u1e03\u00ed rompa orra agus an \u0121ao\u1e6b \u1e40\u00e1rta a \u1e03\u00ed \u2019nna ndiai\u0121\nn\u00ed rug s\u00ed orra-san, agus \u1e03\u00ed siad an oi\u1e0b\u010be sin ann san do\u1e41an \u1e61oir, an \u00e1it\na rai\u1e03 an \u1e03ean-uasal.\n\nD\u2019 \u1e1fiafrui\u0121 an \u1e03ean de \u1e41ac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann creud do \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 ag iarrai\u1e0b agus\ndu\u1e03airt seisean go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 ag iarrai\u1e0b \u00edf\u00e9in mar \u1e41naoi. \u201cCai\u1e6bfi\u1e0b tu\nm\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1\u0121ail,\u201d ar sise, \u201cm\u00e1 \u1e1fuasglann tu mo \u0121easa \u1e0b\u00edom.\u201d\n\nFuair s\u00e9 a l\u00f3ist\u00edn le na \u010buid bua\u010baill ann san g-caisle\u00e1n an oi\u1e0b\u010be sin,\nagus ann san oi\u1e0b\u010be t\u00e1inig sise agus du\u1e03airt leis, \u201cse\u00f3 sios\u00far agad, agus\nmuna \u1e03fuil an sios\u00far sin agad air maidin am\u00e1ra\u010b bainfi\u0121ear an ceann d\u00edot.\u201d\n\n\u010auir s\u00ed bior\u00e1n-suain faoi na \u010beann, agus \u1e6buit s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b, agus \u010bo\u1e41\nlua\u1e6b a\u2019s \u1e6buit s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b rug s\u00ed an sios\u00far uai\u1e0b agus d\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g\u1e03ui\u0121 s\u00ed \u00e9.\n\u1e6aug s\u00ed an sios\u00far do\u2019n r\u00ed\u0121 ni\u1e41e, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00ed leis an r\u00ed\u0121, an sios\u00far\ndo \u1e03ei\u1e6b aige air maidin d\u00ed. D\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 s\u00ed ann sin. Nuair \u1e03\u00ed s\u00ed im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be \u1e6buit\nan r\u00ed\u0121 ni\u1e41e \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b agus nuair a \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b \u1e6b\u00e1inig an fear\ngearr glas agus na sean-slip\u00e9arai\u1e0b air, agus an birreud air a \u010beann, agus\nan cloi\u1e0bea\u1e41 meirgea\u010b ann a l\u00e1i\u1e41, agus cia b\u00e9 \u00e1it a d\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g\u1e03ui\u0121 an r\u00ed\u0121 an\nsios\u00far fuair seisean \u00e9. \u1e6aug s\u00e9 do \u1e41ac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann \u00e9, agus nuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig\nsise air maidin d\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 s\u00ed, \u201ca \u1e41ic r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann \u1e03fuil an sios\u00far agad?\u201d\n\n\u201cT\u00e1,\u201d ar seisean.\n\n\u1e02\u00ed tri f\u00ed\u010be cloigionn na ndaoine a \u1e6b\u00e1inig \u2019g\u00e1 h-\u00edarrai\u1e0b air sp\u00edci\u1e03\n\u1e6bim\u010bioll an \u010baisle\u00e1in agus \u1e61aoil s\u00ed go mbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b a \u010bloigionn air sp\u00edce\naici i g-cuidea\u010bt le\u00f3.\n\nAn oi\u1e0b\u010be, an l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b, \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00ed agus \u1e6bug s\u00ed c\u00edar d\u00f3, agus du\u1e03airt\ns\u00ed leis muna mbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b an \u010b\u00edar aige air maidin nuair a \u1e6biucfa\u1e0b s\u00ed go\nmbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b an ceann bainte \u1e0b\u00e9. \u010auir s\u00ed bior\u00e1n-suain faoi na \u010beann agus \u1e6buit\ns\u00e9 \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b mar \u1e6buit s\u00e9 an oi\u1e0b\u010be roi\u1e41e, agus \u0121oid sise an \u010b\u00edar l\u00e9i\u1e6be.\n\u1e6aug s\u00ed an \u010b\u00edar do\u2019n r\u00ed\u0121 ni\u1e41e agus du\u1e03airt s\u00ed leis gan an \u010biar do \u010baillea\u1e0b\nmar \u010baill s\u00e9 an sios\u00far. \u1e6a\u00e1inig an fear gearr glas agus na sean-sl\u00e9iparai\u1e0b\nair a \u010bosai\u1e03, an sean-\u1e03irreud air a \u010beann agus an cloi\u1e0bea\u1e41 meirgea\u010b ann a\nl\u00e1i\u1e41, agus n\u00ed \u1e1facai\u1e0b an r\u00ed\u0121 \u00e9 go dt\u00e1inig se tao\u1e03 \u1e61iar d\u00e9 agus \u1e6bug s\u00e9 an\n\u010b\u00edar leis uai\u1e0b.\n\nNuair \u1e6b\u00e1ini\u0121 an \u1e41aidin, \u1e0b\u00faisi\u0121 mac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann agus \u1e6bosui\u0121 s\u00e9 ag caoinea\u1e0b\nna ciaire a \u1e03\u00ed im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be uai\u1e0b. \u201cN\u00e1 bac leis sin,\u201d ar san fear gearr glas,\n\u201ct\u00e1 s\u00e9 agam-sa.\u201d Nuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig sise \u1e6bug s\u00e9 an \u010b\u00edar d\u00ed, agus \u1e03\u00ed iongantas\nuirri.\n\nT\u00e1inig s\u00ed an tr\u00edo\u1e41a\u1e0b oi\u1e0b\u010be, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00ed le mac ri\u0121 Eireann an ceann\ndo c\u00edara\u1e0b leis an g-c\u00edair sin do \u1e03ei\u1e6b aige \u1e0b\u00ed, air maidin am\u00e1ra\u010b. \u201cNois,\u201d\nar sise, \u201cn\u00ed rai\u1e03 bao\u0121al ort go dt\u00ed ano\u010bt, agus m\u00e1 \u010bailleann tu an t-am\nso i, t\u00e1 do \u010bloigionn im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be.\u201d\n\n\u1e02\u00ed an bior\u00e1n-suain faoi na \u010beann, agus \u1e6buit s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b. \u1e6a\u00e1inig sise\nagus \u0121oid s\u00ed an \u010b\u00edar uai\u1e0b. \u1e6aug s\u00ed do\u2019n r\u00ed\u0121 ni\u1e41e \u00ed, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00ed leis\nn\u00e1r \u1e1feud an \u010b\u00edar im\u1e6bea\u010bt uai\u1e0b no go mbainfi\u1e0be an ceann d\u00e9. \u1e6aug an ri\u0121\nni\u1e41e an \u010biar leis, agus \u010buir s\u00e9 astea\u010b \u00ed i g-carraig cloi\u010be, agus tr\u00ed\nfi\u010be glas uirri, agus \u1e61ui\u1e0b an r\u00ed\u0121 taoi\u1e03 amui\u0121 de na glasai\u1e03 uile ag doras\nna carraige, \u2019g\u00e1 faire. \u1e6a\u00e1inig an fear gearr glas, agus na slipeurai\u1e0b\nagus an birreud air, agus an cloi\u1e0bea\u1e41 meirgea\u010b ann a l\u00e1i\u1e41, agus \u1e03uail s\u00e9\nbuille air an g-carraig cloi\u010be agus d\u2019\u1e1fosgail suas \u00ed, agus \u1e03uail s\u00e9 an\ndara \u1e03uille air an r\u00ed\u0121 ni\u1e41e, agus \u1e03ain s\u00e9 an ceann d\u00e9. \u1e6aug s\u00e9 leis an\n\u010biar \u010buig (do) mac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann ann sin, agus fuair s\u00e9 \u00e9 ann a \u1e0b\u00faisea\u010bt,\nagus \u00e9 ag caoinea\u1e0b na ciaire. \u201cS\u00fad \u00ed do \u010b\u00edar duit,\u201d ar seisean, \u201ctiucfai\u1e0b\nsise air ball, agus fiafr\u00f3\u010bai\u1e0b s\u00ed \u1e0b\u00edot an \u1e03fuil an \u010b\u00edar agad, agus\nabair l\u00e9i\u1e6be go \u1e03fuil, agus an ceann do c\u00edara\u1e0b l\u00e9i\u1e6be, agus cai\u1e6b \u010buici an\ncloigionn.\u201d\n\nNuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig sise ag fiafrui\u0121 an rai\u1e03 an \u010biar aige, du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 go rai\u1e03,\nagus an ceann do c\u00edara\u1e0b l\u00e9i\u1e6be, agus \u010bai\u1e6b s\u00e9 ceann an r\u00ed\u0121 ni\u1e41e \u010buici.\n\nNuair \u010bonnairc s\u00ed an cloigionn \u1e03\u00ed fearg \u1e41\u00f3r uirri, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00ed\nleis na\u010b \u1e03fui\u0121fea\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u00ed le p\u00f3sa\u1e0b go \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121a\u1e0b s\u00e9 coisire a \u1e61i\u00fa\u1e03alfa\u1e0b le\nna coisire f\u00e9in i g-coinne tr\u00ed \u1e03uideul na h-\u00edo\u010b\u1e61l\u00e1inte as tobar an\ndo\u1e41ain \u1e61oir, agus d\u00e1 mbu\u1e0b luai\u1e6be a \u1e6b\u00e1inig a coisire f\u00e9in \u2019n\u00e1 an coisire\naige-sean, go rai\u1e03 a \u010beann im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be.\n\nFuair s\u00ed sean-\u010baillea\u010b (\u1e03uitse \u00e9igin) agus \u1e6bug s\u00ed tr\u00ed buideula \u1e0b\u00ed.\nDu\u1e03airt an fear gearr glas tr\u00ed \u1e03uideula do \u1e6ba\u1e03airt do\u2019n \u1e1fear a \u1e03\u00ed ag\ncong\u1e03\u00e1il p\u00e1irce na ngeirr\u1e1fia\u1e0b, agus tuga\u1e0b \u1e0b\u00f3 iad. D\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 an \u010baillea\u010b\nagus an fear, agus tr\u00ed buid\u00e9ala ag ga\u010b aon aca, agus \u1e03\u00ed coisire mic r\u00ed\u0121\n\u00c9ireann ag t\u00ed\u0121ea\u010bt lea\u1e6b-\u1e03ealai\u0121 air ais, sul a \u1e03\u00ed an \u010baillea\u010b im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be\nlea\u1e6b-\u1e03ealai\u0121 ag dul ann. \u201cSui\u1e0b s\u00edos,\u201d ar san \u010baillea\u010b leis an g-coisire,\n\u201cagus leig do sg\u00ed\u1e6b, t\u00e1 an \u1e03eirt aca p\u00f3sta anois, agus n\u00e1 b\u00ed brisea\u1e0b do\n\u010broi\u1e0be ag ri\u1e6b.\u201d \u1e6aug s\u00ed l\u00e9i\u1e6be cloigionn capaill agus \u010buir s\u00ed faoi na \u010beann\n\u00e9, agus bior\u00e1n-suain ann, agus nuair leag s\u00e9 a \u010beann air, \u1e6buit s\u00e9 \u2019nna\n\u010bodla\u1e0b.\n\n\u1e0c\u00f3irt sise an t-uisge a \u1e03\u00ed aige ama\u010b, agus d\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 s\u00ed.\n\nB\u2019\u1e1fada leis an \u1e03fear gearr glas go rai\u1e03 siad ag t\u00ed\u0121ea\u010bt, agus du\u1e03airt\ns\u00e9 leis an g-cluasaire, \u201cleag do \u010bluas air an tala\u1e41, agus feu\u010b an \u1e03fuil\nsiad ag tea\u010bt.\u201d \u201cCluinim,\u201d ar seiseann, \u201can \u010baillea\u010b ag tea\u010bt, agus t\u00e1 an\ncoisire \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b, agus \u00e9 ag srannfartui\u0121.\u201d\n\n\u201cDearc uait,\u201d ar san fear gearr glas leis an ngunnaire \u201cgo \u1e03feicfi\u1e0b tu ca\n\u1e03fuil an coisire.\u201d\n\nDu\u1e03airt an gunnaire go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 ann a lei\u1e6bid sin d\u2019\u00e1it, agus cloigionn\ncapaill faoi na \u010beann, agus \u00e9 \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b.\n\n\u201cCuir do \u0121unna le do \u1e61\u00fail,\u201d ar san fear garr glas, \u201cagus cuir an\ncloigionn \u00f3 na \u010beann.\u201d\n\n\u010auir s\u00e9 an gunna le na \u1e61\u00fail agus sguaib s\u00e9 an \u010bloigionn \u00f3 na \u010beann.\n\u1e0c\u00faisi\u0121 an coisire, agus fuair s\u00e9 na buideula a \u1e03\u00ed aige fola\u1e41, agus\n\u1e03\u2019\u00e9igin d\u00f3 fillea\u1e0b \u010bum an tobair ar\u00eds.\n\n\u1e02\u00ed an \u010baillea\u010b ag tea\u010bt ann sin agus n\u00ed rai\u1e03 an coisire le feice\u00e1l\n(feicsint). Ar san fear gearr glas ann sin, leis an \u1e03fear a \u1e03\u00ed ag cur an\n\u1e41uilinn-gaoi\u1e6be \u1e6bart le na \u1e57oll\u00e1ire, \u201c\u00e9iri\u0121 suas agus feu\u010b an g-cuirfe\u00e1\nan \u010baillea\u010b air a h-ais.\u201d \u010auir s\u00e9 a \u1e41eur air a \u1e61r\u00f3n agus nuair \u1e03\u00ed an\n\u010baillea\u010b ag tea\u010bt \u010buir s\u00e9 s\u00e9ide\u00f3g gaoi\u1e6be f\u00fai\u1e6bi a sguaib air a h-ais \u00ed.\n\u1e02\u00ed s\u00ed tea\u010bt ar\u00eds agus rinne s\u00e9 an rud ceudna l\u00e9i\u1e6be. Ga\u010b am a \u1e03\u00ed\u1e0bea\u1e0b\nsise ag tea\u010bt a \u1e03fogas d\u00f3i\u1e03 do \u1e03\u00ed\u1e0bea\u1e0b seisean d\u00e1 cur air a h-ais ar\u00eds\nleis an ngaoi\u1e6b do \u1e61\u00e9idea\u1e0b s\u00e9 as a \u1e57oll\u00e1ire. Air deirea\u1e0b \u1e61\u00e9id se leis an\nd\u00e1 \u1e57oll\u00e1ire agus sguaib s\u00e9 an \u010baillea\u010b \u010bum an do\u1e41ain \u1e61oir ar\u00eds. \u1e6a\u00e1inig\ncoisire mic r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann ann sin, agus \u1e03\u00ed an l\u00e1 sin gn\u00f3\u1e6bui\u0121\u1e6be.\n\n\u1e02\u00ed fearg \u1e41\u00f3r air an mnaoi nuair \u010bonnairc s\u00ed na\u010b dt\u00e1inig a coisire f\u00e9in\nair ais i dtosa\u010b, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00ed le mac ri\u0121 Eireann, \u201cn\u00ed \u1e03fui\u0121fi\u1e0b\ntu mise anois no go si\u00f9\u1e03ailfi\u1e0b tu tr\u00ed \u1e41\u00edle gan \u1e03r\u00f3ig gan stoca, air\n\u1e61n\u00e1\u1e6baidi\u1e03 cruai\u1e0be.\u201d\n\n\u1e02\u00ed b\u00f3\u1e6bar aici tr\u00ed \u1e41\u00edle air fad, agus sn\u00e1\u1e6baide geura cruai\u1e0be crai\u1e6bte air,\n\u010bo\u1e41 tiu\u0121 leis an \u1e03feur. Ar san fear gearr glas le fear-briste na g-clo\u010b\nle na lea\u1e6b-\u1e6b\u00f3in, \u201ct\u00e9i\u1e0b agus maol iad sin.\u201d \u010auai\u1e0b an fear sin orra le na\nlea\u1e6b-\u1e6b\u00f3in agus rinne s\u00e9 stumpai\u1e0b \u1e0b\u00edo\u1e03. Du\u1e03airt an fear gearr glas leis\ndul orra le na \u1e6b\u00f3in \u1e0b\u00fabalta. \u010auai\u1e0b s\u00e9 orra ann sin le na \u1e6b\u00f3in \u1e0b\u00fabalta,\nagus rinne s\u00e9 p\u00fa\u0121dar agus praisea\u010b d\u00edo\u1e03. \u1e6a\u00e1inig mac r\u00ed\u0121 \u00c9ireann agus\n\u1e61i\u00fa\u1e03ail s\u00e9 na tr\u00ed \u1e41\u00edle, agus \u1e03\u00ed a \u1e03ean gn\u00f3\u1e6bui\u0121\u1e6be aige.\n\nP\u00f3sa\u1e0b an \u1e03eirt ann sin, agus \u1e03\u00ed an \u010b\u00e9ud \u1e57\u00f3g le f\u00e1\u0121ail ag an \u1e03fear gearr\nglas. Rug an fear gearr glas an \u1e03ean leis f\u00e9in astea\u010b i seomra, agus\n\u1e6bosui\u0121 s\u00e9 uirri. \u1e02\u00ed s\u00ed l\u00e1n \u1e0be nai\u1e6brea\u010bai\u1e03 ni\u1e41e, agus \u1e03ei\u1e0bea\u1e0b mac r\u00ed\u0121\n\u00c9ireann mar\u1e03 aca, nuair a ra\u010bfa\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b, a\u010bt gur \u1e57iuc an fear\ngearr glas aisti iad.\n\n\u1e6aainig s\u00e9 go mac r\u00ed\u0121 Eireann ann sin, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis, \u201cTig leat\ndul le do \u1e41naoi anois. Is mise an fear a \u1e03\u00ed ann san g-c\u00f3\u1e41ra an l\u00e1 sin,\na d\u2019\u00edoc tu na dei\u010b bp\u00fanta air a \u1e61on, agus an \u1e41uinntir se\u00f3 a \u1e03\u00ed leat is\nseir\u1e03\u00eds\u00ed\u0121e iad do \u010buir Dia \u010bugad-sa.\u201d\n\nD\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 an fear gearr glas agus a \u1e41uinntir ann sin agus n\u00ed \u1e1facai\u1e0b mac r\u00ed\u0121\n\u00c9ireann ar\u00eds \u00e9. Rug s\u00e9 a \u1e03ean a\u1e03aile leis, agus \u010bai\u1e6b siad bea\u1e6ba \u1e61ona le\n\u010b\u00e9ile.\n\n\n\n\nTHE KING OF IRELAND\u2019S SON.\n\n\nThere was a king\u2019s son in Ireland long ago, and he went out and took with\nhim his gun and his dog. There was snow out. He killed a raven. The raven\nfell on the snow. He never saw anything whiter than the snow, or blacker\nthan the raven\u2019s skull, or redder than its share of blood,[19] that was\na\u2019pouring out.\n\nHe put himself under _gassa_[20] and obligations of the year, that he\nwould not eat two meals at one table, or sleep two nights in one house,\nuntil he should find a woman whose hair was as black as the raven\u2019s head,\nand her skin as white as the snow, and her two cheeks as red as the blood.\n\nThere was no woman in the world like that; but one woman only, and she\nwas in the eastern world.\n\nThe day on the morrow he set out, and money was not plenty, but he took\nwith him twenty pounds. It was not far he went until he met a funeral,\nand he said that it was as good for him to go three steps with the\ncorpse. He had not the three steps walked until there came a man and left\nhis writ down on the corpse for five pounds. There was a law in Ireland\nat that time that any man who had a debt upon another person (_i.e._, to\nwhom another person owed a debt) that person\u2019s people could not bury him,\nshould he be dead, without paying his debts, or without the leave of the\nperson to whom the dead man owed the debts. When the king of Ireland\u2019s\nson saw the sons and daughters of the dead crying, and they without money\nto give the man, he said to himself: \u201cIt\u2019s a great pity that these poor\npeople have not the money,\u201d and he put his hand in his pocket and paid\nthe five pounds himself for the corpse. After that, he said he would go\nas far as the church to see it buried. Then there came another man, and\nleft his writ on the body for five pounds more. \u201cAs I gave the first\nfive pounds,\u201d said the king of Erin\u2019s son to himself, \u201cit\u2019s as good for\nme to give the other five, and to let the poor man go to the grave.\u201d He\npaid the other five pounds. He had only ten pounds then.\n\nNot far did he go until he met a short green man, and he asked him where\nwas he going. He said that he was going looking for a woman in the\neastern world. The short green man asked him did he want a boy (servant),\nand he said he did, and [asked] what would be the wages he would be\nlooking for? He said: \u201cThe first kiss of his wife if he should get her.\u201d\nThe king of Ireland\u2019s son said that he must get that.\n\nNot far did they go until they met another man and his gun in his hand,\nand he a\u2019levelling it at the blackbird that was in the eastern world,\nthat he might have it for his dinner. The short green man said to him\nthat it was as good for him to take that man into his service if he would\ngo on service with him. The son of the king of Ireland asked him if he\nwould come on service with him.\n\n\u201cI will,\u201d said the man, \u201cif I get my wages.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what is the wages you\u2019ll be looking for?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe place of a house and garden.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll get that if my journey succeeds with me.\u201d\n\nThe king of Ireland\u2019s son went forward with the short green man and the\ngunner, and it was not far they went until a man met them, and his ear\nleft to the ground, and he listening to the grass growing.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s as good for you to take that man into your service,\u201d said the short\ngreen man.\n\nThe king\u2019s son asked the man whether he would come with him on service.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll come if I get the place of a house and garden.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will get that from me if the thing I have in my head succeeds with\nme.\u201d\n\nThe son of the king of Ireland, the short green man, the gunman, and the\nearman, went forward, and it was not far they went until they met another\nman, and his one foot on his shoulder, and he keeping a field of hares,\nwithout letting one hare in or out of the field. There was wonder on the\nking\u2019s son, and he asked him \u201cWhat was the sense of his having one foot\non his shoulder like that.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d says he, \u201cif I had my two feet on the ground I should be so swift\nthat I would go out of sight.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you come on service with me?\u201d said the king\u2019s son.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll come if I get the place of a house and garden.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll get that if the thing I have in my head succeeds with me.\u201d\n\nThe son of the king of Ireland, the short green man, the gunman, the\nearman, and the footman, went forward, and it was not far they went till\nthey came to a man and he turning round a wind-mill with one nostril, and\nhis finger left on his nose shutting the other nostril.\n\n\u201cWhy have you your finger on your nose?\u201d said the king of Ireland\u2019s son.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d says he, \u201cif I were to blow with the two nostrils I would sweep the\nmill altogether out of that up into the air.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you come on hire with me?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will if I get the place of a house and garden.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll get that if the thing I have in my head succeeds with me.\u201d\n\nThe son of the king of Ireland, the short green man, the gunman, the\nearman, the footman, and the blowman went forward until they came to a\nman who was sitting on the side of the road and he a\u2019breaking stones with\none thigh, and he had no hammer or anything else. The king\u2019s son asked\nhim why it was he was breaking stones with his half (_i.e._, one) thigh.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d says he, \u201cif I were to strike them with the double thigh I\u2019d make\npowder of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you hire with me?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will if I get the place of a house and garden.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll get that if the thing I have in my head succeeds with me.\u201d\n\nThen they all went forward together\u2014the son of the king of Ireland, the\nshort green man, the gunman, the earman, the footman, the blowman, and\nthe man that broke stones with the side of his thigh, and they would\novertake the March wind that was before them, and the March wind that was\nbehind them would not overtake them, until the evening came and the end\nof the day.\n\nThe king of Ireland\u2019s son looked from him, and he did not see any house\nin which he might be that night. The short green man looked from him, and\nhe saw a house, and there was not the top of a quill outside of it, nor\nthe bottom of a quill inside of it, but only one quill alone, which was\nkeeping shelter and protection on it. The king\u2019s son said that he did not\nknow where he should pass that night, and the short green man said that\nthey would be in the house of the giant over there that night.\n\nThey came to the house, and the short green man drew the _coolaya-coric_\n(pole of combat), and he did not leave child with woman, foal with mare,\npigeen with pig, or badger in glen, that he did not turn over three times\nwith the quantity of sound he knocked out of the _coolaya-coric_. The\ngiant came out, and he said: \u201cI feel the smell of the melodious lying\nIrishman under (_i.e._, in) my little sod of country.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m no melodious lying Irishman,\u201d said the short green man; \u201cbut my\nmaster is out there at the head of the avenue, and if he comes he will\nwhip the head off you.\u201d The short green man was growing big, growing big,\nuntil at last he looked as big as the castle. There came fear on the\ngiant, and he said: \u201cIs your master as big as you?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is,\u201d says the short green man, \u201cand bigger.\u201d\n\n\u201cPut me in hiding till morning, until your master goes,\u201d said the giant.\n\nThen he put the giant under lock and key, and went out to the king\u2019s\nson. Then the king of Ireland\u2019s son, the gunman, the earman, the\nfootman, the blowman, and the man who broke stones with the side of his\nthigh, came into the castle, and they spent that night, a third of it\na\u2019story-telling, a third of it with Fenian tales, and a third of it in\nmild enjoyment(?) of slumber and of true sleep.\n\nWhen the day on the morrow arose, the short green man brought with him\nhis master, the gunman, the earman, the footman, the blowman, and the man\nwho broke stones with the side of his thigh, and he left them outside at\nthe head of the avenue, and he came back himself and took the lock off\nthe giant. He told the giant that his master sent him back for the black\ncap that was under the head of his bed. The giant said that he would give\nhim a hat that he never wore himself, but that he was ashamed to give him\nthe old cap. The short green man said that unless he gave him the cap his\nmaster would come back and strike the head off him.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s best for me to give it to you,\u201d said the giant; \u201cand any time at\nall you will put it on your head you will see everybody and nobody will\nsee you.\u201d He gave him the cap then, and the short green man came and gave\nit to the king of Ireland\u2019s son.\n\nThey were a\u2019going then. They would overtake the March wind that was\nbefore them, and the March wind that was behind them would not overtake\nthem, going to the eastern world. When evening and the end of the day\ncame, the king of Ireland\u2019s son looked from him, and he did not see any\nhouse in which he might be that night. The short green man looked from\nhim, and he saw a castle, and he said: \u201cThe giant that is in that castle\nis the brother of the giant with whom we were last night, and we shall be\nin this castle to-night.\u201d They came to the castle, and he left the king\u2019s\nson and his people at the head of the avenue, and he went to the door\nand pulled the _coolaya-coric_, and he did not leave child with woman,\nfoal with mare, pigeen with pig, or badger in glen, within seven miles of\nhim, that he did not knock three turns out of them with all the sound he\nknocked out of the _coolaya-coric_.\n\nThe giant came out, and he said, \u201cI feel the smell of a melodious lying\nIrishman under my sod of country.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo melodious lying Irishman am I,\u201d says the short green man; \u201cbut my\nmaster is outside at the head of the avenue, and if he comes he will whip\nthe head off you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think you large of one mouthful, and I think you small of two\nmouthfuls,\u201d said the giant.\n\n\u201cYou won\u2019t get me of a mouthful at all,\u201d said the short green man, and he\nbegan swelling until he was as big as the castle. There came fear on the\ngiant, and he said:\n\n\u201cIs your master as big as you?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is, and bigger.\u201d\n\n\u201cHide me,\u201d said the giant, \u201ctill morning, until your master goes, and\nanything you will be wanting you must get it.\u201d\n\nHe brought the giant with him, and he put him under the mouth of a\n_douac_ (great vessel of some sort). He went out and brought in the son\nof the king of Ireland, the gunman, the earman, the footman, the blowman,\nand the man who broke stones with the side of his thigh, and they spent\nthat night, one-third of it telling Fenian stories, one-third telling\ntales, and one-third in the mild enjoyment of slumber and of true sleep\nuntil morning.\n\nIn the morning, the day on the morrow, the short green man brought the\nking\u2019s son and his people out of the castle, and left them at the head\nof the avenue, and he went back himself and asked the giant for the old\nslippers that were left under the head of his bed.\n\nThe giant said that he would give his master a pair of boots as good as\never he wore; and what good was there in the old slippers?\n\nThe short green man said that unless he got the slippers he would go for\nhis master to whip the head off him.\n\nThen the giant said that he would give them to him, and he gave them.\n\n\u201cAny time,\u201d said he, \u201cthat you will put those slippers on you, and say\n\u2018high-over!\u2019 any place you have a mind to go to, you will be in it.\u201d\n\nThe son of the king of Ireland, the short green man, the gunman, the\nearman, the footman, the blowman, and the man who broke stones with the\nside of his thigh, went forward until evening came, and the end of the\nday, until the horse would be going under the shade of the docking,\nand the docking would not wait for him. The king\u2019s son asked the short\ngreen man where should they be that night, and the short green man said\nthat they would be in the house of the brother of the giant with whom\nthey spent the night before. The king\u2019s son looked from him and he saw\nnothing. The short green man looked from him and he saw a great castle.\nHe left the king\u2019s son and his people there, and he went to the castle\nby himself, and he drew the _coolaya-coric_, and he did not leave child\nwith woman, foal with mare, pigeen with pig, or badger in glen, but he\nturned them over three times with all the sound he struck out of the\n_coolaya-coric_. The giant came out, and he said: \u201cI feel the smell of a\nmelodious lying Irishman under my sod of country.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo melodious lying Irishman am I,\u201d said the short green man; \u201cbut my\nmaster is standing at the head of the avenue, and if he comes he shall\nstrike the head off you.\u201d\n\nAnd with that the short green man began swelling until he was the size of\nthe castle at last. There came fear on the giant, and he said: \u201cIs your\nmaster as big as yourself?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is,\u201d said the short green man, \u201cand bigger.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! put me in hiding; put me in hiding,\u201d said the giant, \u201cuntil your\nmaster goes; and anything you will be asking you must get it.\u201d\n\nHe took the giant with him, and he put him under the mouth of a _douac_,\nand a lock on him. He came back, and he brought the king of Ireland\u2019s\nson, the gunman, the earman, the footman, the blowman, and the man who\nbroke stones with the side of his thigh, into the castle with him, and\nthey spent that night merrily\u2014a third of it with Fenian tales, a third\nof it with telling stories, and a third of it with the mild enjoyment of\nslumber and of true sleep.\n\nIn the morning, the day on the morrow, he brought the son of the king of\nIreland out, and his people with him, and left them at the head of the\navenue, and he came back himself and loosed out the giant, and said to\nhim, that he must give him the rusty sword that was under the corner of\nhis bed. The giant said that he would not give that old sword to anyone,\nbut that he would give him the sword of the three edges that never left\nthe leavings of a blow behind it, or if it did, it would take it with the\nsecond blow.\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t have that,\u201d said the short green man, \u201cI must get the rusty\nsword; and if I don\u2019t get that, I must go for my master, and he shall\nstrike the head off you.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is better for me to give it to you,\u201d said the giant, \u201cand whatever\nplace you will strike a blow with that sword, it will go to the sand\n(_i.e._, cut to the earth) though it were iron were before it.\u201d Then he\ngave him the rusty sword.\n\nThe son of the king of Ireland, the gunman, the earman, the footman, the\nblowman, and the man who broke stones with the side of his thigh, went\nforward after that, until evening came, and the end of the day, until the\nhorse was going under the shade of the docking, and the docking would\nnot wait for him. The March wind that was behind them would not overtake\nthem, and they would overtake the wind of March that was before them, and\nthey were that night (arrived) in the eastern world, where was the lady.\n\nThe lady asked the king of Ireland\u2019s son what it was he wanted, and he\nsaid that he was looking for herself as wife.\n\n\u201cYou must get me,\u201d said she, \u201cif you loose my geasa[21] off me.\u201d\n\nHe got lodging with all his servants in the castle that evening, and in\nthe night she came and said to him, \u201cHere is a scissors for you, and\nunless you have that scissors for me to-morrow morning, the head will be\nstruck off you.\u201d\n\nShe placed a pin of slumber under his head, and he fell into his sleep,\nand as soon as he did, she came and took the scissors from him and left\nhim there. She gave the scissors to the King of Poison,[22] and she\ndesired the king to have the scissors for her in the morning. Then she\nwent away. When she was gone the King of Poison fell into his sleep; and\nwhen he was in his sleep the short green man came, and the old slippers\non him, and the cap on his head, and the rusty sword in his hand, and\nwherever it was the king had left the scissors out of his hand, he found\nit. He gave it to the king of Ireland\u2019s son, and when she (the lady) came\nin the morning, she asked; \u201cSon of the king of Ireland, have you the\nscissors?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have,\u201d said he.\n\nThere were three scores of skulls of the people that went to look for her\nset on spikes round about the castle, and she thought that she would have\nhis head on a spike along with them.\n\nOn the night of the next day she came and gave him a comb, and said to\nhim unless he had that comb for her next morning when she would come,\nthat the head should be struck off him. She placed a pin of slumber under\nhis head, and he fell into his sleep as he fell the night before, and she\nstole the comb with her. She gave the comb to the King of Poison, and\nsaid to him not to lose the comb as he lost the scissors. The short green\nman came with the old slippers on his feet, the old cap on his head, and\nthe rusty sword in his hand; and the king did not see him until he came\nbehind him and took away the comb with him.\n\nWhen the king of Ireland\u2019s son rose up the next morning he began crying\nfor the comb, which was gone from him. \u201cDon\u2019t mind that,\u201d said the short\ngreen man: \u201cI have it.\u201d When she came he gave her the comb, and there was\nwonder on her.\n\nShe came the third night, and said to the son of the king of Ireland to\nhave for her the head of him who was combed with that comb, on the morrow\nmorning. \u201cNow,\u201d said she, \u201cthere was no fear of you until this night; but\nif you lose it this time, your head is gone.\u201d\n\nThe pin of slumber was under his head, and he fell into his sleep. She\ncame and stole the comb from him. She gave it to the King of Poison,\nand she said to him that he could not lose it unless the head should be\nstruck off himself. The King of Poison took the comb with him, and he put\nit into a rock of stone and three score of locks on it, and the king sat\ndown himself outside of the locks all, at the door of the rock, guarding\nit. The short green man came, and the slippers and the cap on him, and\nthe rusty sword in his hand, and he struck a stroke on the stone rock and\nhe opened it up, and he struck the second stroke on the King of Poison,\nand he struck the head off him. He brought back with him then the comb\nto the king\u2019s son, and he found him awake, and weeping after the comb.\n\u201cThere is your comb for you,\u201d said he; \u201cshe will come this now,[23] and\nshe will ask you have you the comb, and tell her that you have, and the\nhead that was combed with it, and throw her the skull.\u201d\n\nWhen she came asking if he had the comb, he said he had, and the head\nthat was combed with it, and he threw her the head of the King of Poison.\n\nWhen she saw the head there was great anger on her, and she told him he\nnever would get her to marry until he got a footman (runner) to travel\nwith her runner for three bottles of the healing-balm out of the well of\nthe western world; and if her own runner should come back more quickly\nthan his runner, she said his head was gone.\n\nShe got an old hag\u2014some witch\u2014and she gave her three bottles. The short\ngreen man bade them give three bottles to the man who was keeping the\nfield of hares, and they were given to him. The hag and the man started,\nand three bottles with each of them; and the runner of the king\u2019s son was\ncoming back half way on the road home, while the hag had only gone half\nway to the well. \u201cSit down,\u201d said the hag to the foot-runner, when they\nmet, \u201cand take your rest, for the pair of them are married now, and don\u2019t\nbe breaking your heart running.\u201d She brought over a horse\u2019s head and a\nslumber-pin in it, and laid it under his head, and when he laid down his\nhead on it he fell asleep. She spilt out the water he had and she went.\n\nThe short green man thought it long until they were coming, and he said\nto the earman, \u201cLay your ear to the ground and try are they coming.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hear the hag a\u2019coming,\u201d said he; \u201cbut the footman is in his sleep, and\nI hear him a\u2019snoring.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook from you,\u201d said the short green man to the gunman, \u201ctill you see\nwhere the foot-runner is.\u201d\n\nThe gunman looked, and he said that the footman was in such and such a\nplace, and a horse\u2019s skull under his head, and he in his sleeping.\n\n\u201cLay your gun to your eye,\u201d said the short green man, \u201cand put the skull\naway from under his head.\u201d\n\nHe put the gun to his eye and he swept the skull from under his head. The\nfootman woke up, and he found that the bottles which he had were empty,\nand it was necessary for him to return to the well again.\n\nThe hag was coming then, and the foot-runner was not to be seen. Says\nthe short green man to the man who was sending round the windmill with\nhis nostril: \u201cRise up and try would you put back that hag.\u201d He put his\nfinger to his nose, and when the hag was coming he put a blast of wind\nunder her that swept her back again. She was coming again, and he did the\nsame thing to her. Every time she used to be coming near them he would be\nsending her back with the wind he would blow out of his nostril. At last\nhe blew with the two nostrils and swept the hag back to the western world\nagain. Then the foot-runner of the king of Ireland\u2019s son came, and that\nday was won.\n\nThere was great anger on the woman when she saw that her own foot-runner\ndid not arrive first, and she said to the king\u2019s son: \u201cYou won\u2019t get me\nnow till you have walked three miles, without shoes or stockings, on\nsteel needles.\u201d She had a road three miles long, and sharp needles of\nsteel shaken on it as thick as the grass, and their points up. Said the\nshort green man to the man who broke stones with the side of his thigh:\n\u201cGo and blunt those.\u201d That man went on them with one thigh, and he made\nstumps of them. He went on them with the double thigh, and he made powder\nand _prashuch_ of them. The king of Ireland\u2019s son came and walked the\nthree miles, and then he had his wife gained.\n\nThe couple were married then, and the short green man was to have the\nfirst kiss. The short green man took the wife with him into a chamber,\nand he began on her. She was full up of serpents, and the king\u2019s son\nwould have been killed with them when he went to sleep, but that the\nshort green man picked them out of her.\n\nHe came then to the son of the king of Ireland, and he told him: \u201cYou can\ngo with your wife now. I am the man who was in the coffin that day, for\nwhom you paid the ten pounds; and these people who are with you, they are\nservants whom God has sent to you.\u201d\n\nThe short green man and his people went away then, and the king of\nIreland\u2019s son never saw them again. He brought his wife home with him,\nand they spent a happy life with one another.\n\n\n\n\nAN ALP-LUACHRA.\n\n\nBhi scol\u00f3g \u1e61ai\u1e0b\u1e03ir a g-Conna\u010btai\u1e03 aon uair a\u1e41\u00e1in, agus \u1e03\u00ed maoin go\nle\u00f3r aige, agus bean \u1e41ai\u1e6b agus muir\u00ed\u0121in \u1e03re\u00e1\u0121 agus n\u00ed rai\u1e03 dada\u1e41 ag\ncur buai\u1e0brea\u1e0b n\u00e1 triobl\u00f3ide air, agus \u1e0beurf\u00e1 f\u00e9in go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u1e1fear\ncomp\u00f3rta\u1e41ail s\u00e1sta, agus go rai\u1e03 an t-\u00e1\u1e0b air, \u010bo\u1e41 mai\u1e6b agus air \u1e0buine\nair bi\u1e6b a \u1e03\u00ed be\u00f3. Bh\u00ed s\u00e9 mar sin gan \u1e03r\u00f3n gan \u1e03uai\u1e0brea\u1e0b air fea\u1e0b m\u00f3r\u00e1in\nblia\u1e0bain i sl\u00e1inte \u1e41ai\u1e6b agus gan tinneas n\u00e1 aic\u00edd air f\u00e9in n\u00e1 air a\n\u010bloinn, no go dt\u00e1inig l\u00e1 bre\u00e1\u0121 annsan \u1e03f\u00f3\u0121\u1e41ar, a rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 dearca\u1e0b air a\n\u010buid daoine ag deuna\u1e41 f\u00e9ir annsan mo\u00edn\u1e1feur a \u1e03\u00ed a n-aice le na \u1e6bea\u010b f\u00e9in,\nagus mar \u1e03\u00ed an l\u00e1 ro \u1e6bei\u1e6b d\u2019\u00f3l s\u00e9 deo\u010b bl\u00e1\u1e6bai\u010be agus \u1e61\u00edn s\u00e9 \u00e9 f\u00e9in siar\nair an \u1e03feur \u00far bainte, agus mar \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 s\u00e1rui\u0121\u1e6be le teas an la\u00e9 agus leis\nan obair a \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 ag deuna\u1e41, do \u1e6buit s\u00e9 gan \u1e41oill \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b, agus d\u2019\u1e1fan\ns\u00e9 mar sin air fea\u1e0b tri no cei\u1e6bre uair no go rai\u1e03 an feur uile crap\u1e6ba\nagus go rai\u1e03 a \u1e0baoine oibre im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be as an bp\u00e1irc.\n\nNuair \u1e0b\u00faisi\u0121 s\u00e9 ann sin, \u1e61ui\u1e0b s\u00e9 suas air a \u1e6b\u00f3in, agus n\u00ed rai\u1e03 \u1e1fios aige\ncia an \u00e1it a rai\u1e03 s\u00e9, no gur \u010bui\u1e41ni\u0121 s\u00e9 faoi \u1e0beire gur annsan \u1e03p\u00e1irc air\n\u010b\u00fal a \u1e6b\u00edge f\u00e9in do \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 \u2019nna lui\u1e0be. D\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 s\u00e9 ann sin agus \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 air\nais \u010bum a \u1e6bi\u0121e f\u00e9in, agus air n-im\u1e6bea\u010bt d\u00f3, \u1e41o\u1e6bai\u0121 s\u00e9 mar \u1e57ian no mar\n\u0121reim ann a \u1e03oilg. N\u00edor \u010buir s\u00e9 suim ann, a\u010bt \u1e61ui\u1e0b s\u00e9 s\u00edos ag an teine\nagus \u1e6bosui\u0121 s\u00e9 \u2019g\u00e1 \u1e6b\u00e9i\u0121ea\u1e0b f\u00e9in.\n\n\u201cC\u00e1 rai\u1e03 tu?\u201d ars an in\u0121ean leis.\n\n\u201cBh\u00ed m\u00e9 mo \u010bodla\u1e0b,\u201d ar seisean, \u201cair an \u1e03feur \u00far ann sa\u2019 bp\u00e1irc \u2019nna rai\u1e03\nsiad ag deuna\u1e41 an \u1e1f\u00e9ir.\u201d\n\n\u201cCreud a \u1e03ain duit,\u201d ar sise, \u201cn\u00ed \u1e1f\u00e9u\u010bann tu go mai\u1e6b.\u201d\n\n\u201cMuire! maisea\u1e0b! ni\u2019l \u1e1fios agam,\u201d ar seisean, \u201ca\u010bt t\u00e1 fait\u010bios orm go\n\u1e03fuil rud \u00e9igin orm, is aistea\u010b a \u1e41o\u1e6bai\u0121im me f\u00e9in, n\u00ed rai\u1e03 m\u00e9 mar sin\naria\u1e41 roi\u1e41e se\u00f3, a\u010bt b\u00e9i\u1e0b m\u00e9 n\u00edos fearr nuair a \u1e03fui\u0121fi\u1e0b m\u00e9 codla\u1e0b mai\u1e6b.\u201d\n\nChuai\u1e0b s\u00e9 d\u2019\u00e1 leabui\u1e0b agus lui\u1e0b s\u00e9 s\u00edos agus \u1e6buit s\u00e9 ann a \u010bodla\u1e0b, agus\nn\u00edor \u1e0b\u00faisi\u0121 s\u00e9 go rai\u1e03 an \u0121rian \u00e1rd. D\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 s\u00e9 ann sin agus du\u1e03airt a\n\u1e03ean leis, \u201cCreud do \u1e03\u00ed ort nuair rinn\u2019 tu codla\u1e0b \u010bo\u1e41 fada sin?\u201d\n\n\u201cN\u00edl \u1e1fios agam,\u201d ar seisean.\n\nChuai\u1e0b s\u00e9 annsan g-cisteana\u010b, n\u2019\u00e1it a \u1e03\u00ed a in\u0121ean ag deuna\u1e41 c\u00e1ca le\nh-a\u0121ai\u1e0b an \u1e03re\u00e1c-fast (bia\u1e0b na maidne), agus du\u1e03airt sise leis, \u201cCia an\n\u010baoi \u1e03fuil tu andi\u00fa, \u1e03fuil aon \u1e03isea\u010b ort a a\u1e6bair?\u201d\n\n\u201cFuair m\u00e9 codla\u1e0b mai\u1e6b,\u201d ar seisean, \u201ca\u010bt n\u00ed\u2019l m\u00e9 blas n\u00edos fearr \u2019n\u00e1 \u1e03\u00ed\nm\u00e9 ar\u00e9ir, agus go dei\u1e41in d\u00e1 g-creidfe\u00e1 m\u00e9, saoilim go \u1e03fuil rud \u00e9igin\nasti\u0121 ionnam, ag ri\u1e6b anonn \u2019s anall ann mo \u1e03oilg o \u1e6baoi\u1e03 go taoi\u1e03.\u201d\n\n\u201cAra n\u00ed f\u00e9idir,\u201d ar s an in\u0121ean, \u201cis slai\u0121de\u00e1n a fuair tu ad\u2019 lui\u0121e\namui\u0121 an\u00e9 air an \u1e03feur \u00far, agus muna \u1e03fuil tu n\u00edos fearr annsan tra\u1e6bn\u00f3na\ncuirfim\u00edd fios air an do\u010bt\u00fair.\u201d\n\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig an tra\u1e6bn\u00f3na, a\u010bt \u1e03\u00ed an duine bo\u010bt annsan gcaoi \u010beudna, agus\nb\u2019\u00e9igin d\u00f3i\u1e03 fios \u010bur air an do\u010bt\u00fair. Bh\u00ed s\u00e9 ag r\u00e1\u1e0b go rai\u1e03 pian air,\nagus na\u010b rai\u1e03 \u1e1fios aige go ceart cad \u00e9 an \u00e1it ann a rai\u1e03 an \u1e57ian, agus\nnuair na\u010b rai\u1e03 an do\u010bt\u00fair tea\u010bt go lua\u1e6b \u1e03\u00ed sgannru\u0121a\u1e0b m\u00f3r air. Bh\u00ed\nmuinntir an ti\u0121e ag deuna\u1e41 uile \u1e61\u00f3irt d\u2019\u1e1feud siad \u1e0beuna\u1e41 le meisnea\u010b a\n\u010bur ann.\n\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig an do\u010bt\u00fair faoi \u1e0beire, agus d\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 s\u00e9 \u1e0b\u00e9 creud do \u1e03\u00ed air, agus\ndu\u1e03airt seisean ar\u00eds go rai\u1e03 rud \u00e9igin mar \u00e9in\u00edn ag l\u00e9imni\u0121 ann a \u1e03olg.\nNo\u010btui\u0121 an do\u010bt\u00fair \u00e9 agus rinne s\u00e9 \u1e03rea\u1e6bnu\u0121a\u1e0b mai\u1e6b air, a\u010bt n\u00ed \u1e1facai\u1e0b s\u00e9\ndada\u1e41 a \u1e03\u00ed as an m-beala\u010b leis. Chuir s\u00e9 a \u010bluas le na \u1e6baoi\u1e03 agus le na\n\u1e0bruim, a\u010bt n\u00edor \u010bualai\u1e0b s\u00e9 rud air bi\u1e6b ci\u1e0b g\u00f3 rai\u1e03 an duine bo\u010bt \u00e9 f\u00e9in\nag r\u00e1\u1e0b\u2014\u201cAnois! Nois! na\u010b g-cluinn tu \u00e9? Nois! na\u010b \u1e03fuil tu \u2019g \u00e9istea\u010bt\nleis, ag l\u00e9imni\u0121?\u201d A\u010bt n\u00edor \u1e6bug an do\u010bt\u00fair rud a\u00edr bi\u1e6b faoi deara, agus\n\u1e61aoil s\u00e9 faoi \u1e0beire go rai\u1e03 an fear as a \u010b\u00e9ill, agus na\u010b rai\u1e03 dada\u1e41 air.\n\nDu\u1e03airt s\u00e9 le mnaoi an ti\u0121e nuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 ama\u010b, na\u010b rai\u1e03 aon rud\nair a fear, a\u010bt gur \u010breid s\u00e9 f\u00e9in go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 tinn, agus go g-cuirfea\u1e0b\ns\u00e9 druganna \u010buige an l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b a \u1e03\u00e9arfa\u1e0b codla\u1e0b mai\u1e6b \u1e0b\u00f3, agus a\n\u1e61o\u010br\u00f3\u010ba\u1e0b teas a \u010buirp. Rinne s\u00e9 sin, agus \u1e61luig an duine bo\u010bt na druganna\nuile agus fuair s\u00e9 codla\u1e0b m\u00f3r ar\u00eds a\u010bt nuair \u1e0b\u00faisi\u0121 s\u00e9 air maidin \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9\nn\u00edos measa \u2019n\u00e1 \u2019ria\u1e41, a\u010bt du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 n\u00e1r \u010bualai\u1e0b s\u00e9 an rud ag l\u00e9imni\u0121\ntao\u1e03 asti\u0121 \u1e0b\u00e9 anois.\n\nChuir siad fios air an do\u010bt\u00fair ar\u00eds, agus \u1e6b\u00e1inig se a\u010bt n\u00edor \u1e1feud s\u00e9 rud\nair bi\u1e6b \u1e0beuna\u1e41. D\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g s\u00e9 druganna eile leis an \u1e03fear, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 go\ndtiucfa\u1e0b s\u00e9 ar\u00eds i g-ceann sea\u010bt\u1e41uine eile le na \u1e1feicsint. N\u00ed \u1e03fuair an\nduine bo\u010bt f\u00f3iri\u0121\u00edn air bi\u1e6b as ar \u1e1f\u00e1g an do\u010bt\u00fair leis, agus nuair d\u00e1inig\nan do\u010bt\u00fair ar\u00eds fuair s\u00e9 \u00e9 n\u00edos measa na roi\u1e41e sin; a\u010bt n\u00edor \u1e1feud s\u00e9 aon\nrud \u1e0b\u00e9ana\u1e41 agus n\u00ed rai\u1e03 \u1e1fios air bi\u1e6b aige cad \u00e9\u2019n cine\u00e1l tinnis do \u1e03\u00ed\nair. \u201cN\u00ed \u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0b m\u00e9 ag glaca\u1e0b d\u2019airgid uait feasta,\u201d ar seisean, le mnaoi an\nt\u00ed\u0121e, \u201cmar na\u010b dtig liom rud air bi\u1e6b \u1e0b\u00e9ana\u1e41 annsan g-c\u00fais se\u00f3; agus mar\nna\u010b dtuigim creud at\u00e1 air, n\u00ed leigfi\u1e0b m\u00e9 orm \u00e9 do \u1e6buigsint. Tiucfai\u1e0b m\u00e9\nle na \u1e1feicsint \u00f3 am go h-am a\u010bt n\u00ed \u0121lacfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 aon airgio\u1e0b uait.\u201d\n\nIs air \u00e9igin d\u2019\u1e1feud an \u1e03ean an \u1e1fearg do \u1e03\u00ed uirri do \u010bong\u1e41\u00e1il astea\u010b.\nNuair \u1e03\u00ed an do\u010bt\u00fair im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be \u010bruinni\u0121 s\u00ed muinntir an ti\u0121e le \u010b\u00e9ile agus\n\u0121lac siad c\u00f3\u1e41airle, \u201cAn do\u010bt\u00fair brada\u010b sin,\u201d ar sise, \u201cn\u00ed fi\u00fa trai\u1e6bn\u00edn\n\u00e9. \u1e02fuil \u1e1fios agui\u1e03 creud du\u1e03airt s\u00e9? na\u010b nglacfa\u1e0b s\u00e9 aon airgiod uainn\nfeasta, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 na\u010b rai\u1e03 e\u00f3las air \u1e03i\u1e6b aige air dada\u1e41. \u2019Suf\u2019 air!\nan bi\u1e6bea\u1e41na\u010b! n\u00ed \u1e6biucfai\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u1e6bar an tairsea\u010b s\u00f3 go br\u00e1\u1e6b. Ra\u010bfamaoid go\ndt\u00ed an do\u010bt\u00fair eile, m\u00e1 t\u00e1 s\u00e9 n\u00edos faide uainn, f\u00e9in, is cuma liom sin,\ncai\u1e6bfim\u00edd a \u1e1f\u00e1\u0121ail.\u201d Bh\u00ed uile \u1e0buine a \u1e03\u00ed annsa tea\u010b air aon \u1e1focal l\u00e9i\u1e6be,\nagus \u010buir siad fios air an do\u010btuir eile, agus nuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 n\u00ed rai\u1e03\naon e\u00f3las do \u1e03\u2019 \u1e1fearr aige-sean \u2019n\u00e1 do \u1e03\u00ed ag an g-ceud-\u1e0bo\u010bt\u00fair a\u010bt a\u1e41\u00e1in\ngo rai\u1e03 e\u00f3las go le\u00f3r aige air a n-airgiod do \u0121laca\u1e0b. \u1e6a\u00e1inig s\u00e9 leis\nan duine tinn d\u2019\u1e1feicsint, go minic, agus ga\u010b am a \u1e6b\u00e1inig se do \u1e03\u00ed ainm\neile aige n\u00edos faide \u2019na a \u010b\u00e9ile air a \u1e6binneas, ainmnea\u010ba (anmanna) n\u00e1r\n\u1e6buig s\u00e9 f\u00e9in, n\u00e1 duine air bi\u1e6b eile, a\u010bt \u1e03\u00ed siad aige le sgannru\u0121a\u1e0b na\nn-daoine.\n\nD\u2019\u1e1fan siad mar sin air fea\u1e0b \u1e0b\u00e1 \u1e41\u00ed, gan \u1e1fios ag duine air \u1e03i\u1e6b creud do \u1e03\u00ed\nair an \u1e03fear \u1e03o\u010bt, agus nuair na\u010b rai\u1e03 an do\u010bt\u00fair sin ag d\u00e9ana\u1e41 mai\u1e6b air\nbi\u1e6b \u1e0b\u00f3, fuair siad do\u010bt\u00fair eile, agus ann sin do\u010bt\u00fair eile, no go sai\u1e03\nuile \u1e0bo\u010bt\u00fair a \u1e03\u00ed annsa\u2019 g-conda\u00e9 aca, saoi \u1e0beire, agus \u010baill siad a l\u00e1n\nairgid le\u00f3, agus b\u2019\u00e9igin d\u00f3i\u1e03 cuid d\u2019\u00e1 n-ealla\u010b \u1e0b\u00edol le h-airgiod \u1e1f\u00e1\u0121ail\nle na n-\u00edoc.\n\nBh\u00ed siad mar sin le lei\u1e6b-\u1e03lia\u1e0bain ag cong\u1e41\u00e1il do\u010btuir leis, agus na\ndo\u010bt\u00fairi\u1e0b ag ta\u1e03airt druganna \u1e0b\u00f3, agus an duine bo\u010bt a \u1e03\u00ed ra\u1e41ar bea\u1e6bai\u0121\u1e6be\nroi\u1e41e sin, ag \u00e9iri\u0121e lom agus tana, go na\u010b rai\u1e03 unsa fe\u00f3la air, a\u010bt an\ncroicion agus na cn\u00e1\u1e41a a\u1e41\u00e1in.\n\nBh\u00ed s\u00e9 faoi \u1e0beire \u010bo\u1e41 dona sin gur air \u00e9igin d\u2019\u1e1feud s\u00e9 si\u00fa\u1e03al, agus\nd\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 a \u0121oile uai\u1e0b, agus bu\u1e0b \u1e41\u00f3r an \u1e6brioblo\u00edd leis, greim ar\u00e1in \u1e03uig,\nno deo\u010b bainne \u00fair do \u1e61luga\u1e0b agus \u1e03\u00ed uile \u1e0buine ag r\u00e1\u1e0b go m-b\u2019\u1e1fearr d\u00f3\nb\u00e1s \u1e1f\u00e1\u0121ail, agus bu\u1e0b \u1e03eag an t-iongna\u1e0b sin, mar na\u010b rai\u1e03 ann a\u010bt mar\n\u1e03ei\u1e0bea\u1e0b sg\u00e1ile i mbuideul.\n\nAon l\u00e1 a\u1e41\u00e1in, nuair \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u1e61ui\u1e0be air \u010b\u00e1\u1e6baoir ag doras an ti\u0121e, \u2019g\u00e1\n\u0121rianu\u0121a\u1e0b f\u00e9in ann san teas, agus muinntir an ti\u0121e uile im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be ama\u010b,\nagus gan duine ann a\u010bt \u00e9 f\u00e9in, \u1e6b\u00e1inig seanduine bo\u010bt a \u1e03\u00ed ag iarrai\u1e0b\nd\u00e9irce o \u00e1it go h-\u00e1it suas \u010bum an dorais, agus d\u2019ai\u1e6bni\u0121 s\u00e9 fear an ti\u0121e\n\u2019nna \u1e61ui\u1e0be annsa\u2019 g-c\u00e1\u1e6baoir, a\u010bt \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 \u010bo\u1e41 h-a\u1e6brui\u0121\u1e6be sin agus \u010bo\u1e41 cai\u1e6bte\nsin gur air \u00e9igin d\u2019ai\u1e6bne\u00f3\u010ba\u1e0b duine \u00e9. \u201cT\u00e1 m\u00e9 ann s\u00f3 ar\u00eds ag iarrai\u1e0b\nd\u00e9irce ann ainm D\u00e9,\u201d ars an fear bo\u010bt, \u201ca\u010bt gl\u00f3ir do \u1e0cia a \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir\ncreud do \u1e03ain duit n\u00ed tusa an fear c\u00e9udna a \u010bonnairc m\u00e9 lei\u1e6b-\u1e03lia\u1e0bain \u00f3\n\u1e61oin nuair \u1e03\u00ed m\u00e9 ann s\u00f3, go \u1e03f\u00f3iri\u0121 Dia ort.\u201d\n\n\u201cAra a Sheumais,\u201d ar san fear tinn, \u201cis mise na\u010b \u1e03feudfa\u1e0b innsint duit\ncreud do \u1e03ain dam, a\u010bt t\u00e1 \u1e1fios agam air aon rud, na\u010b m\u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0b m\u00e9 \u1e03fad air an\nt-sao\u0121al so.\u201d\n\n\u201cA\u010bt t\u00e1 br\u00f3n orm d\u2019\u1e1feicsint mar t\u00e1 tu,\u201d ar san d\u00e9ircea\u010b, \u201cna\u010b dtig leat\ninnsint dam cia an \u010baoi ar \u1e6bosui\u0121 s\u00e9 leat? creud a du\u1e03airt na do\u010bt\u00fairi\u1e0b?\u201d\n\n\u201cNa do\u010bt\u00fairi\u1e0b!\u201d ar san fear tinn, \u201cmo \u1e41alla\u010bt orra! n\u00ed\u2019l \u1e1fios air dada\u1e41\naca, act n\u00ed \u010b\u00f3ir dam \u1e03ei\u1e6b ag eascuine agus mise \u010bo\u1e41 fogas sin dom\u2019 \u1e03as,\n\u2019s\u00faf\u2019 orra, ni\u2019l e\u00f3las air bi\u1e6b aca.\u201d\n\n\u201cB\u2019\u00e9idir,\u201d ar san d\u00e9ircea\u010b, \u201cgo \u1e03feudfainn f\u00e9in bisea\u010b \u1e6ba\u1e03airt duit, d\u00e1\nn-inne\u00f3s\u00e1 \u1e0bam creud at\u00e1 ort. Deir siad go mb\u00ed\u1e0bim e\u00f3la\u010b air aic\u00eddi\u1e03, agus\nair na lui\u1e03eannai\u1e03 at\u00e1 mai\u1e6b le na lei\u0121eas.\u201d\n\nRinne an fear tinn g\u00e1ire. \u201cN\u00ed\u2019l fear-lei\u0121is ann sa\u2019 g-conda\u00e9,\u201d ar s\u00e9,\n\u201cna\u010b rai\u1e03 ann s\u00f3 liom; na\u010b \u1e03fuil lea\u1e6b an eallai\u0121 a \u1e03\u00ed agam air an \u1e03feilm\nd\u00edolta le na n-\u00edoc! a\u010bt n\u00ed \u1e03fuair m\u00e9 f\u00f3iri\u0121in d\u00e1 la\u0121ad \u00f3 \u1e0buine air bi\u1e6b\naca, a\u010bt inne\u00f3sai\u1e0b m\u00e9 \u1e0buit-se mar d\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 s\u00e9 \u1e0bam air dt\u00fas.\u201d Agus ann sin\n\u1e6bug s\u00e9 c\u00fantas d\u00f3 air uile \u1e57ian a \u1e41o\u1e6bui\u0121 s\u00e9, agus air uile rud a d\u2019ordui\u0121\nna do\u010bt\u00fairi\u1e0b.\n\nD\u2019\u00e9ist an d\u00e9ircea\u010b leis go c\u00farama\u010b, agus nuair \u010br\u00edo\u010bnui\u0121 s\u00e9 an sgeul\nuile, d\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 s\u00e9 \u1e0b\u00e9, \u201ccad \u00e9 an s\u00f3rt p\u00e1irce \u00ed air ar \u1e6buit tu do \u010bodla\u1e0b?\u201d\n\n\u201cIs m\u00f3in\u1e1feur a \u1e03\u00ed ann,\u201d ar san duine tinn, \u201ca\u010bt \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 go d\u00edrea\u010b bainte,\nann san am sin.\u201d\n\n\u201cRai\u1e03 s\u00e9 fliu\u010b,\u201d ars an d\u00e9ircea\u010b.\n\n\u201cN\u00ed rai\u1e03,\u201d ar seisean.\n\n\u201cRai\u1e03 sro\u1e6b\u00e1n uisge no caise a\u2019 ri\u1e6b \u1e6br\u00edd?\u201d ars an d\u00e9ircea\u010b.\n\n\u201cBhi,\u201d ar seisean.\n\n\u201cAn dtig liom an \u1e57\u00e1irc \u1e1feicsint?\u201d\n\n\u201cTig go dei\u1e41in, agus taisb\u00e9unfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 \u1e0buit anois \u00e9.\u201d\n\nD\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 s\u00e9 as a \u010b\u00e1\u1e6baoir agus \u010bo\u1e41 dona agus \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9, str\u00e1\u010bail s\u00e9 \u00e9 f\u00e9in\nair a\u0121ai\u1e0b, no go dt\u00e1inig s\u00e9 \u010bum na h-\u00e1ite ann ar lui\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b an\ntra\u1e6bn\u00f3na sin. Bhrea\u1e6bnui\u0121 fear-na-d\u00e9irce air an \u00e1it, tamall fada, agus ann\nsin \u010brom s\u00e9 air an \u1e03feur agus \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 anonn \u2019s anall agus a \u010borp l\u00fab\u1e6ba\nagus a \u010beann crom\u1e6ba ag smeur\u1e6ba\u010bt ann sna lui\u1e03eannai\u1e03, agus ameasg an\nlui\u1e03earnai\u0121 do \u1e03\u00ed ag f\u00e1s go tiu\u0121 ann.\n\nD\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 s\u00e9 faoi \u1e0beire, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9, \u201cTa s\u00e9 mar \u1e61aoil m\u00e9,\u201d agus \u010brom\ns\u00e9 \u00e9 f\u00e9in s\u00edos ar\u00eds, agus \u1e6bosui\u0121 ag cuartu\u0121a\u1e0b mar roi\u1e41e sin. \u1e6a\u00f3g s\u00e9 a\n\u010beann an dara uair, agus \u1e03\u00ed lui\u1e03 \u1e03eag \u0121las ann a l\u00e1i\u1e41. \u201cAn \u1e03feiceann tu\nsin,\u201d ar s\u00e9, \u201c\u00e1it air bi\u1e6b ann \u00c9ir\u00ednn a \u1e03f\u00e1sann an lui\u1e03 se\u00f3 ann, b\u00edonn\nalp-lua\u010bra anaice leis, agus \u1e61luig tu alp-lua\u010bra.\u201d\n\n\u201cCad \u00e9 an \u010baoi \u1e03fuil \u1e1fios agad sin?\u201d ars an duine tinn, \u201cd\u00e1 mbu\u1e0b mar sin\ndo \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9, is d\u00f3i\u0121 go n-inne\u00f3sa\u1e0b na do\u010bt\u00fairi\u1e0b \u1e0bam \u00e9 roi\u1e41e seo.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo dtugai\u1e0b Dia ciall duit, na bac leis na do\u010bt\u00fairi\u1e03,\u201d ars an d\u00e9ircea\u010b,\n\u201cni\u2019l ionnta a\u010bt eallta amad\u00e1n. A deirim leat ar\u00eds, agus creid mise, gur\nalp-lua\u010bra a \u1e61luig tu; na\u010b du\u1e03airt tu f\u00e9in gur \u1e41o\u1e6bui\u0121 tu rud \u00e9igin ag\nl\u00e9imni\u0121 ann do \u1e03olg an \u010b\u00e9ad l\u00e1 \u2019r\u00e9is \u1e6bu \u1e03ei\u1e6b tinn. B\u2019\u00e9 sin an alp-lua\u010bra,\nagus mar do \u1e03\u00ed an \u00e1it sin ann do \u1e03olg strainseura\u010b leis i dtosa\u010b, \u1e03\u00ed\ns\u00e9 m\u00ed-\u1e61uai\u1e41nea\u010b innti, ag dul anonn \u2019s anall, a\u010bt nuair \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 c\u00fapla l\u00e1\ninnti, \u1e61ocrui\u0121 s\u00e9 \u00e9 f\u00e9in, agus fuair s\u00e9 an \u00e1it comp\u00f3rta\u1e41ail agus sin \u00e9 an\nt-\u00e1\u1e0b\u1e03ar f\u00e1 \u1e03fuil tu ag cong\u1e41\u00e1il \u010bo\u1e41 tana sin; mar uile \u0121reim d\u2019\u00e1 \u1e03fuil tu\nag i\u1e6be b\u00edonn an alp-lua\u010bra sin ag f\u00e1\u0121ail an \u1e41ai\u1e6b as. Agus du\u1e03airt tu f\u00e9in\nliom go rai\u1e03 do lea\u1e6b-\u1e6bao\u1e03 a\u1e6bta, is \u00ed sin an tao\u1e03 \u2019n \u00e1it a \u1e03fuil an rud\ngr\u00e1nna \u2019nna \u010b\u00f3\u1e41nui\u1e0be.\u201d\n\nN\u00edor \u010breid an fear \u00e9, a dtosa\u010b, a\u010bt lean an d\u00e9ircea\u010b d\u00e1 \u010b\u00f3\u1e41r\u00e1\u1e0b leis, ag\ncru\u1e6bu\u0121a\u1e0b \u1e0b\u00f3, gur b\u2019 \u00e9 an \u1e1f\u00edrinne a \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 ag ra\u1e0b, agus nuair \u1e6b\u00e1ini\u0121 a \u1e03ean\nagus a in\u0121ean air ais ar\u00eds do\u2019n tea\u010b, la\u1e03air s\u00e9 le\u00f3-san an \u010baoi \u010beudna\nagus \u1e03\u00ed siad r\u00e9i\u1e0b go le\u00f3r le na \u010breidea\u1e41aint.\n\nN\u00edor \u010breid an duine tinn, \u00e9 f\u00e9in, \u00e9, a\u010bt \u1e03\u00ed siad uile ag la\u1e03airt leis, go\n\u1e03fuair siad buai\u1e0b air, fao\u00ed \u1e0beire; agus \u1e6bug s\u00e9 cead d\u00f3i\u1e03 tr\u00ed do\u010bt\u00fairi\u1e0be\ndo \u0121lao\u1e0ba\u010b astea\u010b le \u010b\u00e9ile, go n-inne\u00f3sa\u1e0b se an sgeul nua\u1e0b so \u1e0b\u00f3i\u1e03.\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig an tri\u00far le \u010b\u00e9ile, agus nuair d\u2019\u00e9ist siad leis an m\u00e9ad a \u1e03\u00ed an\nd\u00e9ircea\u010b ag r\u00e1d, agus le c\u00f3\u1e41r\u00e1\u1e0b na mban, rinne siad g\u00e1ire agus du\u1e03airt\nsiad na\u010b rai\u1e03 ionnta a\u010bt amad\u00e1in uile go l\u00e9ir, agus gurb\u2019\u00e9 rud eile ama\u010b\n\u2019s ama\u010b a \u1e03\u00ed air \u1e1fear-an-ti\u0121e, agus ga\u010b ainm a \u1e03\u00ed aca air a \u1e6binneas an\nt-am so, \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 d\u00e1 uair, \u2019s tr\u00ed huaire n\u00edos faide \u2019n\u00e1 roi\u1e41e sin. D\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g\nsiad buid\u00e9ul no c\u00fapla buideul le n-\u00f3l ag an \u1e03fear bo\u010bt, agus d\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 siad\nle\u00f3, ag maga\u1e0b faoi an rud a du\u1e03airt na mn\u00e1 gur \u1e61luig s\u00e9 an alp-lua\u010bra.\n\nDu\u1e03airt an d\u00e9ircea\u010b nuair \u1e03\u00ed siad im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be. \u201cN\u00ed\u2019l iongantas air bi\u1e6b orm\nna\u010b \u1e03fuil tu f\u00e1\u0121ail beisi\u0121 m\u00e1\u2019s amad\u00e1in mar iad sin at\u00e1 leat. N\u00ed\u2019l aon\ndo\u010bt\u00fair n\u00e1 fear-lei\u0121is i n-\u00c9irinn anois a \u1e0b\u00e9anfas aon \u1e41ai\u1e6b \u1e0buit-se a\u010bt\naon \u1e1fear a\u1e41\u00e1in, agus is s\u00e9 sin Mac Diarmada, Prionnsa Ch\u00fal-Ui-\u1e02finn air\n\u1e03rua\u010b lo\u010ba-Ui-\u0120ea\u1e0bra an do\u010bt\u00fair is fearr i g-Conna\u010btai\u1e03 n\u00e1 \u2019sna c\u00faig\nc\u00faigi\u1e03.\u201d \u201cC\u00e1 \u1e03fuil lo\u010b-Ui-\u0120ea\u1e0bra?\u201d ars an duine tinn. \u201cSh\u00edos i g-conda\u00e9\nShlig\u00ed\u0121; is lo\u010b m\u00f3r \u00e9, agus t\u00e1 an Prionnsa \u2019nna \u010b\u00f3\u1e41nui\u1e0be air a \u1e03rua\u010b,\u201d\nar s\u00e9, \u201cagus m\u00e1 \u0121lacann tu mo \u010b\u00f3\u1e41airle-se ra\u010bfai\u1e0b tu ann, mar \u2019s \u00e9 an\n\u010baoi \u1e0beireanna\u010b at\u00e1 agad, agus bu\u1e0b \u010b\u00f3ir duit-se, a \u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istreas,\u201d ar s\u00e9 ag\ntiont\u00f3\u1e0b le mnaoi an ti\u0121e, \u201cdo \u010bur ia\u010b (d\u2019\u1e1fia\u010bai\u1e03) air, dul ann, m\u00e1\u2019s mai\u1e6b\nleat d\u2019\u1e1fear a \u1e03ei\u1e6b be\u00f3.\u201d\n\n\u201cMaisea\u1e0b,\u201d ars an \u1e03ean, \u201c\u1e0beunfainn rud air bi\u1e6b a \u1e61l\u00e1n\u00f3\u010ba\u1e0b \u00e9.\u201d\n\n\u201cMar sin, cuir go dti Prionnsa Ch\u00fail-Ui-\u1e02finn \u00e9,\u201d ar seisean.\n\n\u201cDheunfainn f\u00e9in rud air bi\u1e6b le mo \u1e61l\u00e1nu\u0121a\u1e0b,\u201d ars an fear tinn, \u201cmar t\u00e1\u2019s\nagam na\u010b \u1e03fuil a \u1e03fad agam le mar\u1e6bain air an t-sao\u0121al so, muna ndeuntar\nrud \u00e9igin dam a \u1e03\u00e9arfas congna\u1e41 agus f\u00f3ir\u00ed\u0121in dam.\u201d\n\n\u201cMar sin, t\u00e9i\u1e0b go dt\u00ed an Prionnsa,\u201d ar san d\u00e9ircea\u010b.\n\n\u201cRud air bi\u1e6b a \u1e41easann tu go ndeunfai\u1e0b s\u00e9 mai\u1e6b \u1e0buit bu\u1e0b \u010b\u00f3ir \u1e0buit a\n\u1e0b\u00e9ana\u1e41, a a\u1e6bair,\u201d ars an in\u0121ean.\n\n\u201cN\u00ed\u2019l dada\u1e41 le d\u00e9ana\u1e41 mai\u1e6b \u1e0b\u00f3 a\u010bt dul go dt\u00ed an Prionnsa,\u201d ars an\nd\u00e9ircea\u010b.\n\nIs mar sin \u1e03\u00ed siad ag \u00e1rg\u00faint agus ag cui\u1e03lint go dt\u00ed an oi\u1e0b\u010be, agus\nfuair an d\u00e9ircea\u010b leabui\u1e0b tui\u0121e annsa\u2019 sgiob\u00f3l agus \u1e6bosui\u0121 s\u00e9 ag \u00e1rg\u00faint\nar\u00eds air maidin go mbu\u1e0b \u010b\u00f3ir dul go dt\u00ed an Prionnsa, agus \u1e03\u00ed an \u1e03ean\nagus an in\u0121ean air aon \u1e1focal leis, agus fuair siad buai\u1e0b air an \u1e03fear\ntinn, faoi \u1e0beire; agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 go ra\u010bfa\u1e0b s\u00e9, agus du\u1e03airt an in\u0121ean go\nra\u010bfa\u1e0b sise leis, le ta\u1e03airt aire \u1e0b\u00f3, agus du\u1e03airt an d\u00e9ircea\u010b go ra\u010bfa\u1e0b\nseisean le\u00f3-san le taisb\u00e9ant an \u1e03o\u1e6bair d\u00f3i\u1e03. \u201cAgus b\u00e9i\u1e0b mise,\u201d ars an\n\u1e03ean, \u201cair \u1e57onc an \u1e03\u00e1is le h-imni\u1e0be ag fana\u1e41aint li\u1e03, go dtiucfai\u1e0b si\u1e03\nair ais.\u201d\n\nD\u2019\u00fa\u0121mui\u0121 siad an capall agus \u010buir siad faoi an gcairt \u00e9, agus \u0121lac siad\nl\u00f3n sea\u010bt\u1e41uine le\u00f3, ar\u00e1n agus bag\u00fan agus ui\u1e03ea\u010ba, agus d\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 siad le\u00f3.\nN\u00edor \u1e1feud siad dul r\u00f3 \u1e1fada an \u010beud l\u00e1, mar \u1e03\u00ed an fear tinn \u010bo\u1e41 lag sin\nn\u00e1r \u1e1feud s\u00e9 an cra\u1e6ba\u1e0b a \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 f\u00e1\u0121ail annsa\u2019 g-cairt \u1e61easa\u1e41, a\u010bt \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9\nn\u00edos fearr an dara l\u00e1, agus d\u2019\u1e1fan siad uile i dtea\u010b feilm\u00e9ara air taoi\u1e03\nan \u1e03\u00f3\u1e6bair an oi\u1e0b\u010be sin agus \u010buai\u1e0b siad air a\u0121ai\u1e0b ar\u00eds air maidin, agus an\ntro\u1e41a\u1e0b l\u00e1 annsan tra\u1e6bn\u00f3na \u1e6b\u00e1inig siad go h-\u00e1it-\u010b\u00f3\u1e41nui\u1e0be an Phrionnsa. Bh\u00ed\ntea\u010b deas aige air \u1e03rua\u010b an lo\u010ba, le c\u00fa\u1e41da\u010b tui\u0121e air, ameasg na g-crann.\n\nD\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g siad an capall agus an cairt i mbaile beag a \u1e03\u00ed anaice le h\u00e1it an\nPhrionnsa, agus \u1e61i\u00fa\u1e03ail siad uile le \u010b\u00e9ile go d-t\u00e1inig siad \u010bum an ti\u0121e.\nChuai\u1e0b siad astea\u010b \u2019san g-cisteana\u010b agus d\u2019\u1e1f\u00eda\u1e1frui\u0121 siad, \u201car \u1e1feud siad\nan Prionnsa d\u2019\u1e1feicsint.\u201d Du\u1e03airt an sear\u1e03f\u00f3\u0121anta go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 ag i\u1e6be a\n\u1e03\u00e9ile a\u010bt go dtiucfa\u1e0b s\u00e9, b\u2019\u00e9idir, nuair \u1e03ei\u1e0bea\u1e0b s\u00e9 r\u00e9i\u1e0b.\n\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig an Prionnsa f\u00e9in astea\u010b air an m\u00f3imid sin agus d\u2019\u1e1fia\u1e1frui\u0121 s\u00e9 \u1e0b\u00edo\u1e03\ncreud do \u1e03\u00ed siad ag iarrai\u1e0b. D\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 an fear tinn agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis\ngur ag iarrai\u1e0b con\u0121na\u1e41 \u00f3 na on\u00f3ir do \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9, agus d\u2019innis s\u00e9 an sgeul\nuile d\u00f3. \u201c\u2019Nois an dtig le d\u2019on\u00f3ir aon \u1e1f\u00f3iri\u0121\u00edn \u1e6ba\u1e03airt dam?\u201d ar s\u00e9,\nnuair \u010br\u00edo\u010bnui\u0121 s\u00e9 a sg\u00e9ul.\n\n\u201cT\u00e1 s\u00fail agam go dtig liom,\u201d ar san Prionnsa, \u201cair \u1e41\u00f3\u1e0b air bi\u1e6b d\u00e9anfai\u1e0b\nm\u00e9 mo \u1e0b\u00ed\u1e6b\u010bioll air do \u1e61on, mar \u1e6b\u00e1inig tu \u010bo\u1e41 fada sin le m\u2019\u1e1feicsint-se.\nB\u2019olc an ceart dam gan mo \u1e0b\u00ed\u1e6b\u010bioll \u1e0beuna\u1e41. Tar suas annsa bp\u00e1rl\u00fais.\nIs f\u00edor an rud a du\u1e03airt an sean duine at\u00e1 ann sin leat. Shluig tu\nalp-lua\u010bra, no rud \u00e9igin eile. Tar suas \u2019sa\u2019 bp\u00e1rl\u00fais liom.\u201d\n\n\u1e6aug s\u00e9 suas leis \u00e9, agus is \u00e9 an b\u00e9ile a \u1e03\u00ed aige an l\u00e1 sin giota m\u00f3r de\n\u1e41airt\u1e1fe\u00f3il \u1e61aillte. Ghearr s\u00e9 greim m\u00f3r agus \u010buir s\u00e9 air \u1e57l\u00e1ta \u00e9, agus\n\u1e6bug s\u00e9 do\u2019n duine bo\u010bt le n-\u00ed\u1e6be \u00e9.\n\n\u201c\u00d3r\u00f3! Cr\u00e9ad at\u00e1 d\u2019 on\u00f3ir ag d\u00e9ana\u1e41 ann sin anois,\u201d ars an duine bo\u010bt,\n\u201cn\u00edor \u1e61luig m\u00e9 oiread agus toirt ui\u1e03e d\u2019\u1e1fe\u00f3il air bi\u1e6b le r\u00e1i\u1e6b\u010be, ni\u2019l aon\n\u0121oile agam, n\u00ed \u1e6big liom dada\u1e41 i\u1e6be.\u201d\n\n\u201cB\u00ed do \u1e6bost a \u1e0buine,\u201d ars an Prionnsa, \u201ci\u1e6b \u00e9 sin nuair a deirim leat \u00e9.\u201d\n\nD\u2019i\u1e6b an fear bo\u010bt an oiread agus d\u2019\u1e1feud s\u00e9, a\u010bt nuair leig s\u00e9 an sgian\nagus an \u0121a\u1e03l\u00f3g as a l\u00e1i\u1e41 \u010buir an Prionnsa ia\u010b (d\u2019\u1e1fia\u010bai\u1e03) air iad do\n\u1e6b\u00f3g\u1e03\u00e1il ar\u00eds, agus do \u1e6bosu\u0121a\u1e0b as an nua\u1e0b. \u010aong\u1e03ui\u0121 s\u00e9 ann sin \u00e9 ag i\u1e6be,\ngo rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 r\u00e9i\u1e0b le pleusga\u1e0b, agus n\u00edor \u1e1feud s\u00e9 faoi \u1e0beire aon \u0121reim eile\n\u1e61luga\u1e0b d\u00e1 \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121a\u1e0b se ceud p\u00fanta.\n\nNuair \u010bonnairc an Prionnsa na\u010b dtiucfa\u1e0b leis tuillea\u1e0b do \u1e61luga\u1e0b, \u1e6bug\ns\u00e9 ama\u010b as an tea\u010b \u00e9, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis an in\u0121in agus leis an\nt-sean-d\u00e9ircea\u010b iad do leana\u1e41aint, agus rug s\u00e9 an fear leis, ama\u010b go\nm\u00f3in\u1e1f\u00e9ur bre\u00e1\u0121 glas do \u1e03\u00ed os coinne an ti\u0121e, agus sr\u00f3\u1e6b\u00e1n beag uisge ag\nri\u1e6b tr\u00edd an m\u00f3in\u1e1feur.\n\n\u1e6aug s\u00e9 go brua\u010b an t-sro\u1e6b\u00e1in \u00e9, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis, lui\u1e0be s\u00edos air a\n\u1e03olg agus a \u010beann \u010bong\u1e03\u00e1il os cionn an uisge, agus a \u1e03eul d\u2019\u1e1fosgailt\n\u010bo\u1e41 m\u00f3r agus d\u2019\u1e1feudfa\u1e0b s\u00e9, agus a \u010bong\u1e03\u00e1il, beag-na\u010b, ag baint leis an\nuisge, \u201cagus fan ann sin go ci\u00fain agus na corrui\u0121, air d\u2019anam,\u201d ar s\u00e9,\n\u201cgo \u1e03feicfi\u1e0b tu creud \u00e9ire\u00f3\u010bas duit.\u201d\n\nGheall an fear bo\u010bt go mbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b s\u00e9 socair, agus \u1e61\u00edn s\u00e9 a \u010borp air an\n\u1e03feur, agus \u010bong\u1e03ui\u0121 s\u00e9 a \u1e03eul fosgailte os cionn an t-sro\u1e6b\u00e1in uisge,\nagus d\u2019\u1e1fan s\u00e9 ann sin gan corru\u0121a\u1e0b.\n\nChuai\u1e0b an Prionnsa tim\u010bioll c\u00faig slata air ais, air a \u010b\u00fal, agus \u1e6barraing\ns\u00e9 an in\u0121ean agus an sean-\u1e1fear leis, agus is \u00e9 an focal deireanna\u010b a\ndu\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis an \u1e03fear tinn, \u201cb\u00ed cinnte\u201d ar s\u00e9, \u201cagus air d\u2019anam na\ncuir cor asad, cia b\u00e9 air bi\u1e6b rud \u00e9ire\u00f3\u010bas duit.\u201d\n\nNi rai\u1e03 an duine bo\u010bt cea\u1e6bra\u1e41a\u1e0b uaire \u2019nna lui\u1e0be mar sin nuair \u1e6bosui\u0121 rud\n\u00e9igin ag corru\u0121a\u1e0b tao\u1e03 asti\u0121 \u1e0b\u00e9 agus \u1e41o\u1e6bai\u0121 s\u00e9 rud \u00e9igin ag tea\u010bt suas\nann a sgorna\u010b, agus ag dul air ais ar\u00eds. \u1e6a\u00e1inig s\u00e9 suas, agus \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9\nair ais tr\u00ed no cei\u1e6bre uaire an\u1e0biai\u0121 a \u010b\u00e9ile. \u1e6a\u00e1inig s\u00e9 faoi \u1e0beire go dt\u00ed\na \u1e03eul, agus \u1e61eas s\u00e9 air \u1e03\u00e1rr a \u1e6beanga a\u010bt sgannrui\u0121 s\u00e9 agus \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 air\nais ar\u00eds, a\u010bt i gceann tamaill \u1e03ig \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 suas an dara uair, agus \u1e61eas\ns\u00e9 air \u1e03\u00e1rr a \u1e6beanga, agus l\u00e9im s\u00e9 s\u00edos faoi \u1e0beire annsan uisge Bhi an\nPrionnsa ag brea\u1e6bnu\u0121a\u1e0b go geur air, agus \u0121lao\u1e0b s\u00e9 ama\u010b, \u201cna corrui\u0121 f\u00f3s,\u201d\nmar \u1e03\u00ed an fear dul ag \u00e9iri\u0121e.\n\nB\u2019\u00e9igin do\u2019n duine bo\u010bt a \u1e03eul \u1e1fosgailt ar\u00eds agus d\u2019\u1e1fan s\u00e9 an \u010baoi\n\u010beudna, agus n\u00ed rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 m\u00f3imid ann, no go dt\u00e1inig an dara rud suas ann a\nsgorna\u010b an \u010baoi \u010beu\u1e0bna, agus \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 air ais ar\u00eds c\u00fapla uair, a\u1e41ail a\u2019s\nmar \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 sgannrui\u0121\u1e6be, a\u010bt faoi \u1e0beire \u1e6b\u00e1inig seisean mar an \u010beud-\u010beann\nsuas go dti an beul agus \u1e61eas s\u00e9 air \u1e03\u00e1rr a \u1e6beanga, agus faoi \u1e0beire nuair\n\u1e41o\u1e6bui\u0121 s\u00e9 bola\u1e0b an uisge faoi, l\u00e9im s\u00e9 s\u00edos annsan tsro\u1e6b\u00e1n.\n\nChogair an Prionnsa, agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 \u201cNois t\u00e1 \u2019n tart ag tea\u010bt orra,\nd\u2019oibri\u0121 an salann a \u1e03\u00ed \u2019sa\u2019 mairt\u1e1fe\u00f3il \u00edad; nois tiucfai\u1e0b siad ama\u010b.\u201d\nAgus sul do \u1e03\u00ed an focal as a \u1e03eul \u1e6buit an tr\u00edo\u1e41a\u1e0b ceann le \u201cplap\u201d annsan\nuisge, agus m\u00f3mid \u2019nna \u1e0biai\u0121 sin, l\u00e9im ceann eile s\u00edos ann, agus ann\nsin ceann eile, no gur \u010b\u00f3\u1e41airi\u0121 siad, c\u00fai\u0121, s\u00e9, sea\u010bt, o\u010bt, naoi, dei\u010b\ng-cinn, aon \u010beann deug, d\u00e1 \u010beann deug.\n\n\u201cSin duis\u00edn aca anois,\u201d ar san Prionnsa, \u201cSin \u00e9 an t-\u00e1l, n\u00edor \u1e6b\u00e1inig an\nt-sean-\u1e41\u00e1\u1e6bair f\u00f3s.\u201d\n\nBh\u00ed an fear \u1e03o\u010bt dul \u2019g e\u00edri\u0121e ar\u00eds, a\u010bt \u0121lao\u1e0b an Prionnsa air. \u201cFan mar\na \u1e03fuil tu, n\u00edor \u1e6b\u00e1inig an \u1e41\u00e1\u1e6bair.\u201d\n\nD\u2019\u1e1fan s\u00e9 mar do \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9, a\u010bt n\u00edor \u1e6b\u00e1inig aon \u010beann eile ama\u010b, agus d\u2019\u1e1fan s\u00e9\nn\u00edos m\u00f3 n\u00e1 cea\u1e6bra\u1e41a\u1e0b uaire. Bh\u00ed an Prionnsa f\u00e9in ag \u00e9irige m\u00ed-\u1e61uaimnea\u010b,\nair eagla na\u010b g-corr\u00f3\u010ba\u1e0b an sean-Alt-plua\u010bra \u010bor air bi\u1e6b. Bh\u00ed an duine\nbo\u010bt \u010bo\u1e41 s\u00e1rui\u0121\u1e6be sin agus \u010bo\u1e41 lag sin go m\u2019 b\u2019\u1e1fearr leis \u00e9iri\u0121e \u2019n\u00e1\nfana\u1e41aint mar a rai\u1e03 s\u00e9, agus ann ain\u1e0be\u00f3in ga\u010b ruid a du\u1e03airt an Prionnsa\n\u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 ag seasa\u1e41 suas, nuair rug an Prionnsa air a lea\u1e6b-\u010bois agus an\nd\u00e9ircea\u010b air an g-cois eile, agus do \u010bong\u1e03ui\u0121 siad s\u00edos \u00e9 gan \u1e03ui\u1e0bea\u010bas\nd\u00f3.\n\nD\u2019\u1e1fan siad cea\u1e6bra\u1e41a\u1e0b uaire eile, gan \u1e1focal do r\u00e1\u1e0b, agus i g-ceann an ama\nsin \u1e41o\u1e6bui\u0121 an duine bo\u010bt rud \u00e9igin ag corru\u0121a\u1e0b ar\u00eds ann a \u1e6baoi\u1e03, a\u010bt\nsea\u010bt n-uaire n\u00edos measa \u2019na roi\u1e41e se\u00f3, agus is air \u00e9igin d\u2019\u1e1feud s\u00e9 \u00e9\nf\u00e9in do \u010bong\u1e03\u00e1il o sgreada\u010b. Bh\u00ed an rud sin ag corru\u0121a\u1e0b le tamall mai\u1e6b\nann, agus \u1e61aoil s\u00e9 go rai\u1e03 a \u010borp reub\u1e6ba an tao\u1e03 ast\u00ed\u0121 leis. Ann sin\n\u1e6bosui\u0121 an rud ag tea\u010bt suas, agus \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 go dt\u00ed a \u1e03eul agus cuai\u1e0b s\u00e9\nair ais ar\u00eds. \u1e6a\u00e1inig s\u00e9 faoi \u1e0beire \u010bo\u1e41 fada sin gur \u010buir an duine bo\u010bt a\n\u1e0b\u00e1 \u1e41eur ann a \u1e03eul agus \u1e61aoil s\u00e9 greim \u1e1f\u00e1\u0121ail uirri. A\u010bt m\u00e1\u2019s obann \u010buir\ns\u00e9 a \u1e41eura \u2019stea\u010b is luai\u1e6be \u2019n\u00e1 sin \u010buai\u1e0b an tsean alt-plua\u010bra air ais.\n\n\u201c\u2019\u00d3r! a \u1e03i\u1e6bea\u1e41nai\u0121!\u201d ar san Prionnsa, \u201ccad \u010buige rinn\u2019 tu sin? Na\u010b\ndu\u1e03airt m\u00e9 leat gan cor do \u010bur asad. M\u00e1 \u1e6big s\u00e9 suas ar\u00eds fan go\nsocair.\u201d B\u2019 \u00e9igin d\u00f3i\u1e03 fana\u1e41aint le lea\u1e6b-uair mar do \u1e03\u00ed sean-\u1e41\u00e1\u1e6bair na\nn-alp-lua\u010bra sgannrui\u0121\u1e6be, agus \u1e03\u00ed fait\u010bios urri \u1e6bea\u010bt ama\u010b. A\u010bt \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00ed\nsuas ar\u00eds, faoi \u1e0beire; b\u2019\u00e9idir go rai\u1e03 an iomarcui\u1e0b tart\u2019 urri agus n\u00edor\n\u1e1feud s\u00ed bola\u1e0b an uisge a \u1e03\u00ed ag cur ca\u1e6bui\u0121\u1e6be uirri \u1e61easa\u1e41, no b\u2019\u00e9idir go\nrai\u1e03 s\u00ed uaignea\u010b \u2019r \u00e9is a clainne d\u2019im\u1e6bea\u010bt uai\u1e6bi. Air \u1e41\u00f3\u1e0b air bi\u1e6b \u1e6b\u00e1inig\ns\u00ed ama\u010b go b\u00e1rr \u00e1 \u1e03\u00e9il agus \u1e61eas s\u00ed air a \u1e6beanga \u010bo\u1e41 fad agus \u1e03ei\u1e6be\u00e1 ag\nc\u00f3\u1e41airea\u1e41 cei\u1e6bre fi\u010bi\u1e0b, agus ann sin l\u00e9im s\u00ed mar do l\u00e9im a h-\u00e1l roimpi,\nastea\u010b \u2019san uisge, agus bu\u1e0b \u1e6bruime toran a tuitim\u2019 sea\u010bt n-uaire, \u2019n\u00e1 an\nplap a rinne a clann.\n\nBh\u00ed an Prionnsa agus an \u1e03eirt eile ag brea\u1e6bnu\u0121a\u1e0b air sin, go h-ioml\u00e1n,\nagus bu\u1e0b \u1e03eag na\u010b rai\u1e03 fait\u010bios orra, a n-an\u00e1l do \u1e6barraing, air eagla go\nsgannr\u00f3\u010ba\u1e0b siad an bei\u1e6bi\u1e0bea\u010b gr\u00e1nna. \u010ao\u1e41 lua\u1e6b agus l\u00e9im s\u00ed astea\u010b \u2019san\nuisge \u1e6barraing siad an fear air ais, agus \u010buir siad air a \u1e0b\u00e1 \u010bois ar\u00eds \u00e9.\n\nBh\u00ed se tr\u00ed huaire gan \u1e1focal do la\u1e03airt, a\u010bt an \u010beud \u1e1focal a du\u1e03airt s\u00e9,\nbu\u1e0b h-\u00e9 \u201cis duine nua\u1e0b m\u00e9.\u201d\n\n\u010aong\u1e03ui\u0121 an Prionnsa ann a \u1e6bea\u010b f\u00e9in le coic\u00ed\u1e0beas \u00e9, agus \u1e6bug se aire \u1e41\u00f3r\nagus bea\u1e6bu\u0121a\u1e0b mai\u1e6b \u1e0b\u00f3. Leig s\u00e9 \u1e0b\u00f3 im\u1e6bea\u010bt ann sin, agus an in\u0121ean agus an\nd\u00e9ircea\u010b leis, agus \u1e0bi\u00faltui\u0121 s\u00e9 oiread agus p\u00ed\u0121in do \u0121laca\u1e0b ua\u1e6ba.\n\n\u201cB\u2019\u1e1fearr liom \u2019n\u00e1 dei\u010b bp\u00fanta air mo l\u00e1i\u1e41 f\u00e9in,\u201d ar s\u00e9, \u201cgur \u1e6bionntui\u0121\nmo lei\u0121eas ama\u010b \u010bo\u1e41 mai\u1e6b sin; n\u00e1r leigfi\u1e0b. Dia go nglacfainn pi\u0121in no\nlei\u1e6b-\u1e57i\u2019n uait. Chaill tu go le\u00f3r le do\u010bt\u00fairi\u1e03 \u010beana.\u201d\n\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig siad a \u1e03aile go s\u00e1\u1e03\u00e1lta, agus d\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 s\u00e9 sl\u00e1n ar\u00eds agus ra\u1e41ar. Bh\u00ed\ns\u00e9 \u010bo\u1e41 bui\u1e0bea\u010b de\u2019n deircea\u010b bo\u010bt gur \u010bong\u1e03ui\u0121 s\u00e9 ann a \u1e6bea\u010b f\u00e9in go dt\u00ed\na \u1e03\u00e1s \u00e9. Agus \u010bo\u1e41 fad a\u2019s \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 f\u00e9in be\u00f3 n\u00edor lui\u1e0b s\u00e9 s\u00edos air an \u1e03feur\nglas ar\u00eds. Agus, rud eile; d\u00e1 mbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b tinneas no easl\u00e1inte air, n\u00ed h-iad\nna do\u010bt\u00fairi\u1e0b a \u0121lao\u1e0ba\u1e0b s\u00e9 astea\u010b.\n\nB\u00fa\u1e0b \u1e03eag an t-iongna\u1e0b sin!\n\n\n\n\nTHE ALP-LUACHRA.\n\n\nThere was once a wealthy farmer in Connacht, and he had plenty of\nsubstance and a fine family, and there was nothing putting grief\nnor trouble on him, and you would say yourself that it\u2019s he was the\ncomfortable, satisfied man, and that the luck was on him as well as on\ne\u2019er a man alive. He was that way, without mishap or misfortune, for\nmany years, in good health and without sickness or sorrow on himself or\nhis children, until there came a fine day in the harvest, when he was\nlooking at his men making hay in the meadow that was near his own house,\nand as the day was very hot he drank a drink of buttermilk, and stretched\nhimself back on the fresh cut hay, and as he was tired with the heat\nof the day and the work that he was doing, he soon fell asleep, and he\nremained that way for three or four hours, until the hay was all gathered\nin and his workpeople gone away out of the field.\n\nWhen he awoke then, he sat up, and he did not know at first where he was,\ntill he remembered at last that it was in the field at the back of his\nown house he was lying. He rose up then and returned to his house, and\nhe felt like a pain or a stitch in his side. He made nothing of it, sat\ndown at the fire and began warming himself.\n\n\u201cWhere were you?\u201d says the daughter to him.\n\n\u201cI was asleep a while,\u201d says he, \u201con the fresh grass in the field where\nthey were making hay.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat happened to you, then?\u201d says she, \u201cfor you don\u2019t look well.\u201d\n\n\u201cMuirya,[24] musha, then,\u201d says he, \u201cI don\u2019t know; but it\u2019s queer the\nfeeling I have. I never was like it before; but I\u2019ll be better when I get\na good sleep.\u201d\n\nHe went to his bed, lay down, and fell asleep, and never awoke until the\nsun was high. He rose up then and his wife said to him: \u201cWhat was on you\nthat you slept that long?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d says he.\n\nHe went down to the fire where the daughter was making a cake for the\nbreakfast, and she said to him:\n\n\u201cHow are you to-day, father; are you anything better?\u201d\n\n\u201cI got a good sleep,\u201d said he, \u201cbut I\u2019m not a taste better than I was\nlast night; and indeed, if you\u2019d believe me, I think there\u2019s something\ninside of me running back and forwards.\u201d\n\n\u201cArrah, that can\u2019t be,\u201d says the daughter, \u201cbut it\u2019s a cold you got and\nyou lying out on the fresh grass; and if you\u2019re not better in the evening\nwe\u2019ll send for the doctor.\u201d\n\nHe was saying then that there was a pain on him, but that he did not\nknow rightly what place the pain was in. He was in the same way in the\nevening, and they had to send for the doctor, and when the doctor was not\ncoming quickly there was great fright on him. The people of the house\nwere doing all they could to put courage in him.\n\nThe doctor came at last, and he asked what was on him, and he said again\nthat there was something like a _birdeen_ leaping in his stomach. The\ndoctor stripped him and examined him well, but saw nothing out of the\nway with him. He put his ear to his side and to his back, but he heard\nnothing, though the poor man himself was calling out: \u201cNow! now! don\u2019t\nyou hear it? Now, aren\u2019t you listening to it jumping?\u201d But the doctor\ncould perceive nothing at all, and he thought at last that the man was\nout of his senses, and that there was nothing the matter with him.\n\nHe said to the woman of the house when he came out, that there was\nnothing on her husband, but that he believed himself to be sick, and that\nhe would send her medicine the next day for him, that would give him a\ngood sleep and settle the heat of his body. He did that, and the poor\nman swallowed all the medicines and got another great sleep, but when he\nawoke in the morning he was worse than ever, but he said he did not hear\nthe thing jumping inside him any longer.\n\nThey sent for the doctor again, and he came; but he was able to do\nnothing. He left other medicines with them, and said he would come again\nat the end of a week to see him. The poor man got no relief from all that\nthe doctor left with him, and when he came again he found him to be worse\nthan before; but he was not able to do anything, and he did not know\nwhat sort of sickness was on him. \u201cI won\u2019t be taking your money from you\nany more,\u201d says he to the woman of the house, \u201cbecause I can do nothing\nin this case, and as I don\u2019t understand what\u2019s on him, I won\u2019t let on[25]\nto be understanding it. I\u2019ll come to see him from time to time, but I\u2019ll\ntake no money from you.\u201d\n\nThe woman of the house could hardly keep in her anger. Scarcely ever was\nthe doctor gone till she gathered the people of the house round her and\nthey took counsel. \u201cThat doctor _braduch_,\u201d says she, \u201che\u2019s not worth a\n_traneen_; do you know what he said\u2014that he wouldn\u2019t take any money from\nme any more, and he said himself he knew nothing about anything; _suf_ on\nhim, the _behoonuch_, he\u2019ll cross this threshold no more; we\u2019ll go to the\nother doctor; if he\u2019s farther from us, itself, I don\u2019t mind that, we must\nget him.\u201d Everybody in the house was on one word with her, and they sent\nfor the other doctor; but when he came he had no better knowledge than\nthe first one had, only that he had knowledge enough to take their money.\nHe came often to see the sick man, and every time he would come he would\nhave every name longer than another to give his sickness; names he did\nnot understand himself, nor no one else, but he had them to frighten the\npeople.\n\nThey remained that way for two months, without anyone knowing what was on\nthe poor man; and when that doctor was doing him no good they got another\ndoctor, and then another doctor, until there was not a doctor in the\ncounty, at last, that they had not got, and they lost a power of money\nover them, and they had to sell a portion of their cattle to get money to\npay them.\n\nThey were that way for half a year, keeping doctors with him, and the\ndoctors giving him medicines, and the poor man that was stout and\nwell-fed before, getting bare and thin, until at last there was not an\nounce of flesh on him, but the skin and the bones only.\n\nHe was so bad at last that it was scarcely he was able to walk. His\nappetite went from him, and it was a great trouble to him to swallow\na piece of soft bread or to drink a sup of new milk, and everyone was\nsaying that he was better to die, and that was no wonder, for there was\nnot in him but like a shadow in a bottle.\n\nOne day that he was sitting on a chair in the door of the house, sunning\nhimself in the heat, and the people of the house all gone out but\nhimself, there came up to the door a poor old man that used to be asking\nalms from place to place, and he recognised the man of the house sitting\nin the chair, but he was so changed and so worn that it was hardly he\nknew him. \u201cI\u2019m here again, asking alms in the name of God,\u201d said the poor\nman; \u201cbut, glory be to God, master, what happened to you, for you\u2019re not\nthe same man I saw when I was here half a year ago; may God relieve you!\u201d\n\n\u201cArrah, Shamus,\u201d said the sick man, \u201cit\u2019s I that can\u2019t tell you what\nhappened to me; but I know one thing, that I won\u2019t be long in this world.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I\u2019m grieved to see you how you are,\u201d said the beggarman. \u201cTell me\nhow it began with you, and what the doctors say.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe doctors, is it?\u201d says the sick man, \u201cmy curse on them; but I\noughtn\u2019t to be cursing and I so near the grave; _suf_ on them, they know\nnothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps,\u201d says the beggarman, \u201cI could find you a relief myself, if you\nwere to tell me what\u2019s on you. They say that I be knowledgable about\ndiseases and the herbs to cure them.\u201d\n\nThe sick man smiled, and he said: \u201cThere isn\u2019t a medicine man in the\ncounty that I hadn\u2019t in this house with me, and isn\u2019t half the cattle\nI had on the farm sold to pay them. I never got a relief no matter\nhow small, from a man of them; but I\u2019ll tell you how it happened to\nme first.\u201d Then he gave him an account of everything he felt and of\neverything the doctors had ordered.\n\nThe beggarman listened to him carefully, and when he had finished all his\nstory, he asked him: \u201cWhat sort of field was it you fell asleep in?\u201d\n\n\u201cA meadow that was in it that time,\u201d says the sick man; \u201cbut it was just\nafter being cut.\u201d\n\n\u201cWas it wet,\u201d says the beggarman.\n\n\u201cIt was not,\u201d says he.\n\n\u201cWas there a little stream or a brook of water running through it?\u201d said\nthe beggarman.\n\n\u201cThere was,\u201d says he.\n\n\u201cCan I see the field?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou can, indeed, and I\u2019ll show it to you.\u201d\n\nHe rose off his chair, and as bad as he was, he pulled himself along\nuntil he came to the place where he lay down to sleep that evening.\nThe beggarman examined the place for a long time, and then he stooped\ndown over the grass and went backwards and forwards with his body bent,\nand his head down, groping among the herbs and weeds that were growing\nthickly in it.\n\nHe rose at last and said: \u201cIt is as I thought,\u201d and he stooped himself\ndown again and began searching as before. He raised his head a second\ntime, and he had a little green herb in his hand. \u201cDo you see this?\u201d\nsaid he. \u201cAny place in Ireland that this herb grows, there be\u2019s an\nalt-pluachra near it, and you have swallowed an alt-pluachra.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you know that?\u201d said the sick man. \u201cIf that was so, sure the\ndoctors would tell it to me before now.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe doctors!\u201d said the beggarman. \u201cAh! God give you sense, sure they\u2019re\nonly a flock of _omadawns_. I tell you again, and believe me, that it\u2019s\nan alt-pluachra you swallowed. Didn\u2019t you say yourself that you felt\nsomething leaping in your stomach the first day after you being sick?\nThat was the alt-pluachra; and as the place he was in was strange to him\nat first, he was uneasy in it, moving backwards and forwards, but when he\nwas a couple of days there, he settled himself, and he found the place\ncomfortable, and that\u2019s the reason you\u2019re keeping so thin, for every bit\nyou\u2019re eating the alt-pluachra is getting the good out of it, and you\nsaid yourself that one side of you was swelled; that\u2019s the place where\nthe nasty thing is living.\u201d\n\nThe sick man would not believe him at first, but the beggarman kept on\ntalking and proving on him that it was the truth he was saying, and when\nhis wife and daughter came back again to the house, the beggarman told\nthem the same things, and they were ready enough to believe him.\n\nThe sick man put no faith in it himself, but they were all talking\nto him about it until they prevailed on him at last to call in three\ndoctors together until he should tell them this new story. The three came\ntogether, and when they heard all the _boccuch_ (beggarman) was saying,\nand all the talk of the women, it is what they laughed, and said they\nwere fools altogether, and that it was something else entirely that was\nthe matter with the man of the house, and every name they had on his\nsickness this time was twice\u2014three times\u2014as long as ever before. They\nleft the poor man a bottle or two to drink, and they went away, and they\nhumbugging the women for saying that he had swallowed an alt-pluachra.\n\nThe boccuch said when they were gone away: \u201cI don\u2019t wonder at all that\nyou\u2019re not getting better, if it\u2019s fools like those you have with you.\nThere\u2019s not a doctor or a medicine-man in Ireland now that\u2019ll do you any\ngood, but only one man, and that\u2019s Mac Dermott the Prince of Coolavin,\non the brink of Lough Gara, the best doctor in Connacht or the five\nprovinces.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere is Lough Gara?\u201d said the poor man.\n\n\u201cDown in the County Sligo,\u201d says he; \u201cit\u2019s a big lake, and the prince is\nliving on the brink of it; and if you\u2019ll take my advice you\u2019ll go there,\nfor it\u2019s the last hope you have; and you, Mistress,\u201d said he, turning to\nthe woman of the house, \u201cought to make him go, if you wish your man to be\nalive.\u201d\n\n\u201cMusha!\u201d says the woman, \u201cI\u2019d do anything that would cure him.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf so, send him to the Prince of Coolavin,\u201d says he.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d do anything at all to cure myself,\u201d says the sick man, \u201cfor I know I\nhaven\u2019t long to live on this world if I don\u2019t get some relief, or without\nsomething to be done for me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen go to the Prince of Coolavin,\u201d says the beggarman.\n\n\u201cAnything that you think would do yourself good, you ought to do it,\nfather,\u201d says the daughter.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s nothing will do him good but to go to the Prince of Coolavin,\u201d\nsaid the beggarman.\n\nSo they were arguing and striving until the night came, and the beggarman\ngot a bed of straw in the barn, and he began arguing again in the morning\nthat he ought to go to the prince, and the wife and daughter were on one\nword with him; and they prevailed at last on the sick man, and he said\nthat he would go, and the daughter said that she would go with him to\ntake care of him, and the boccuch said that he would go with them to show\nthem the road; \u201cand I\u2019ll be on the pinch of death, for ye, with anxiety,\u201d\nsaid the wife, \u201cuntil ye come back again.\u201d\n\nThey harnessed the horse, and they put him under the cart, and they took\na week\u2019s provision with them\u2014bread, and bacon, and eggs, and they went\noff. They could not go very far the first day, for the sick man was so\nweak, that he was not able to bear the shaking he was getting in the\ncart; but he was better the second day, and they all passed the night in\na farmer\u2019s house on the side of the road, and they went on again in the\nmorning; but on the third day, in the evening, they came to the dwelling\nof the prince. He had a nice house, on the brink of the lake, with a\nstraw roof, in among the trees.\n\nThey left the horse and the cart in a little village near the prince\u2019s\nplace, and they all walked together, until they came to the house.\nThey went into the kitchen, and asked, \u201cCouldn\u2019t they see the prince?\u201d\nThe servant said that he was eating his meal, but that he would come,\nperhaps, when he was ready.\n\nThe prince himself came in at that moment, and asked what it was they\nwanted. The sick man rose up and told him, that it was looking for\nassistance from his honour he was, and he told him his whole story. \u201cAnd\nnow can your honour help me?\u201d he said, when he had finished it.\n\n\u201cI hope I can,\u201d said the prince; \u201canyhow, I\u2019ll do my best for you, as you\ncame so far to see me. I\u2019d have a bad right not to do my best. Come up\ninto the parlour with me. The thing that old man told you is true. You\nswallowed an alt-pluachra, or something else. Come up to the parlour with\nme.\u201d\n\nHe brought him up to the parlour with him, and it happened that the meal\nhe had that day was a big piece of salted beef. He cut a large slice off\nit, and put it on a plate, and gave it to the poor man to eat.\n\n\u201cOro! what is your honour doing there?\u201d says the poor man; \u201cI didn\u2019t\nswallow as much as the size of an egg of meat this quarter,[26] and I\ncan\u2019t eat anything.\u201d\n\n\u201cBe silent, man,\u201d says the prince; \u201ceat that, when I tell you.\u201d\n\nThe poor man eat as much as he was able, but when he left the knife and\nfork out of his hand, the prince made him take them up again, and begin\nout of the new (over again). He kept him there eating until he was ready\nto burst, and at last he was not able to swallow another bit, if he were\nto get a hundred pounds.\n\nWhen the prince saw that he would not be able to swallow any more, he\nbrought him out of the house, and he said to the daughter and the old\nbeggarman to follow them, and he brought the man out with him to a fine\ngreen meadow that was forenent[27] the house, and a little stream of\nwater running through it.\n\nHe brought him to the brink of the stream, and told him to lie down on\nhis stomach over the stream, and to hold his face over the water, to open\nhis mouth as wide as he could, and to keep it nearly touching the water,\nand \u201cwait there quiet and easy,\u201d says he; \u201cand for your life don\u2019t stir,\ntill you see what will happen to you.\u201d\n\nThe poor man promised that he would be quiet, and he stretched his body\non the grass, and held his mouth open, over the stream of water, and\nremained there without stirring.\n\nThe prince went backwards, about five yards, and drew the daughter and\nthe old man with him, and the last word he said to the sick man was: \u201cBe\ncertain, and for your life, don\u2019t put a stir out of you, whatever thing\nat all happens to you.\u201d\n\nThe sick man was not lying like that more than a quarter of an hour, when\nsomething began moving inside of him, and he felt something coming up\nin his throat, and going back again. It came up and went back three or\nfour times after other. At last it came to the mouth, stood on the tip of\nhis tongue, but frightened, and ran back again. However, at the end of a\nlittle space, it rose up a second time, and stood on his tongue, and at\nlast jumped down into the water. The prince was observing him closely,\nand just as the man was going to rise, he called out: \u201cDon\u2019t stir yet.\u201d\n\nThe poor man had to open his mouth again, and he waited the same way as\nbefore; and he was not there a minute until the second one came up the\nsame way as the last, and went back and came up two or three times, as if\nit got frightened; but at last, it also, like the first one, came up to\nthe mouth, stood on the tongue, and when it felt the smell of the water\nbelow it, leaped down into the little stream.\n\nThe prince said in a whisper: \u201cNow the thirst\u2019s coming on them; the\nsalt that was in the beef is working them; now they\u2019ll come out.\u201d And\nbefore the word had left his mouth, the third one fell, with a plop, into\nthe water; and a moment after that, another one jumped down, and then\nanother, until he counted five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven,\ntwelve.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a dozen of them now,\u201d said the prince; \u201cthat\u2019s the clutch; the\nold mother didn\u2019t come yet.\u201d\n\nThe poor sick man was getting up again, but the prince called to him:\n\u201cStay as you are; the mother didn\u2019t come up.\u201d\n\nHe remained as he was, but no other one came out, though he stayed there\nmore than a quarter of an hour. The prince himself was getting uneasy\nfor fear the old alt-pluachra might not stir at all. The poor man was\nso tired and so weak that he wished to get up; and, in spite of all the\nprince told him, he was trying to stand on his feet, when the prince\ncaught him by one leg, and the boccuch by the other, and they held him\ndown in spite of him.\n\nThey remained another quarter of an hour without speaking a word, or\nmaking a sound, and at the end of that time the poor man felt something\nstirring again in his side, but seven times worse than before; and it\u2019s\nscarcely he could keep himself from screeching. That thing kept moving\nfor a good while, and he thought the side was being torn out of himself\nwith it. Then it began coming up, and it reached the mouth, and went back\nagain. At last it came up so far that the poor man put the two fingers to\nhis mouth and thought to catch hold of it. But if he put in his fingers\nquick, the old alt-pluachra went back quicker.\n\n\u201cOh, you _behoonach_!\u201d cried the prince, \u201cwhat made you do that? Didn\u2019t\nI tell you not to let a stir out of you? Remain quiet if she comes up\nagain.\u201d\n\nThey had to remain there for half an hour, because the old mother of the\nalt-pluachras was scared, and she was afraid to come out. But she came\nup at last, perhaps, because there was too much thirst on her to let her\nstand the smell of the water that was tempting her, or perhaps she was\nlonesome after her children going from her. Anyhow, she came up to his\nmouth, and stood there while you would be counting about four score; and\nwhen she saw nothing, and nothing frightened her, she gave a jump down\ninto the water, like her clutch before her; and the plop of her into the\nwater was seven times heavier than theirs.\n\nThe prince and the other two had been watching the whole, and they\nscarcely dared to breathe, for fear of startling the horrid beast. As\nsoon as ever she jumped down into the water, they pulled back the man,\nand put him standing again on his two feet.\n\nHe was for three hours before he could speak a word; but the first thing\nhe said was: \u201cI\u2019m a new man.\u201d\n\nThe prince kept him in his own house for a fortnight, and gave him great\ncare and good feeding. He allowed him to go then, and the daughter and\nthe boccuch with him; and he refused to take as much as a penny from them.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m better pleased than ten pounds on my own hand,\u201d said he, \u201cthat my\ncure turned out so well; and I\u2019d be long sorry to take a farthing from\nyou; you lost plenty with doctors before.\u201d\n\nThey came home safely, and he became healthy and fat. He was so thankful\nto the poor boccuch that he kept him in his own house till his death. As\nlong as he was alive he never lay down on green grass again; and another\nthing, if there was any sickness or ill-health on him, it isn\u2019t the\ndoctors he used to call in to him.\n\nThat was small wonder!\n\n\n\n\nP\u00c1ID\u00cdN O\u2019CEALLAI\u0120 AGUS AN EAS\u00d3\u0120.\n\n\nA \u1e03fad \u00f3 \u1e61oin \u1e03\u00ed fear d\u2019ar\u2019 \u1e03\u2019ainm P\u00e1id\u00edn O\u2019Ceallai\u0121 \u2019nna \u010b\u00f3\u1e41nui\u1e0be i ngar\ndo \u1e6auaim i gconda\u00e9 na Gailli\u1e41e. Aon \u1e41aidin a\u1e41\u00e1in d\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 s\u00e9 go mo\u010b agus\nn\u00ed rai\u1e03 \u1e1fios aige cia an t-am a \u1e03i s\u00e9, mar \u1e03\u00ed solas bre\u00e1\u0121 \u00f3\u2019n ngealai\u0121.\n\u1e02\u00ed d\u00fail aige le dul go h-aona\u010b \u010a\u00e1\u1e6bair-na-mart le storc asail do \u1e0b\u00edol.\n\nN\u00ed rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 n\u00edos m\u00f3 \u2019na tr\u00ed \u1e41\u00edle air an mb\u00f3\u1e6bar go dt\u00e1inig dor\u010badas m\u00f3r\nair, agus \u1e6bosui\u0121 ci\u1e6b trom ag tuitim. \u010aonnairc s\u00e9 tea\u010b m\u00f3r ameasg crann\ntim\u010bioll c\u00faig \u010beud slat \u00f3\u2019n mb\u00f3\u1e6bar agus du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis f\u00e9in, \u201cra\u010bfai\u1e0b m\u00e9\n\u010bum an t\u00ed\u0121e sin, go dt\u00e9i\u1e0b an ci\u1e6b \u1e6bart.\u201d Nuair \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u010bum an t\u00ed\u0121e, \u1e03\u00ed\nan doras fosgailte, agus astea\u010b leis. \u010aonnairc s\u00e9 seomra m\u00f3r air \u1e6baoi\u1e03 a\nl\u00e1i\u1e41e \u010bl\u00e9, agus teine \u1e03re\u00e1\u0121 \u2019san ngr\u00e1ta. \u1e60ui\u1e0b s\u00e9 s\u00edos air stol le cois\nan \u1e03alla, agus n\u00edor \u1e03fada gur \u1e6bosui\u0121 s\u00e9 ag tuitim \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b, nuair\n\u010bonnairc s\u00e9 eas\u00f3g \u1e41\u00f3r ag tea\u010bt \u010bum na teinea\u1e0b agus leag si gini\u1e0b air leic\nan tea\u0121lai\u0121 agus d\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121. N\u00edor \u1e03fada go dt\u00e1inig s\u00ed air ais le gini\u1e0b eile\nagus leag air leic an tea\u0121lai\u0121 \u00e9, agus d\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121. \u1e02\u00ed s\u00ed ag im\u1e6bea\u010bt agus ag\ntea\u010bt go rai\u1e03 c\u00e1rn\u00e1n m\u00f3r gini\u1e0b air an tea\u0121la\u010b. A\u010bt faoi \u1e0beirea\u1e0b nuair\nd\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 s\u00ed d\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 P\u00e1id\u00edn, agus \u010buir s\u00e9 an m\u00e9ad \u00f3ir a \u1e03\u00ed cruinni\u0121\u1e6be aici\nann a \u1e57\u00f3ca, agus ama\u010b leis.\n\nN\u00ed rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 a \u1e03-fad im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be gur \u010bualai\u1e0b s\u00e9 an eas\u00f3g ag tea\u010bt \u2019nna \u1e0biai\u0121\nagus \u00ed ag sgreadaoil \u010bo\u1e41 h-\u00e1rd le p\u00edobai\u1e03. \u010auai\u1e0b s\u00ed roi\u1e41 P\u00e1id\u00edn air an\nmb\u00f3\u1e6bar agus \u00ed ag lubarnui\u0121 anonn \u2019s anall agus ag iarrai\u1e0b greim sgornai\u0121\nd\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1\u0121ail air. \u1e02\u00ed maide mai\u1e6b dara\u010b ag P\u00e1id\u00edn agus \u010bong\u1e03ui\u0121 s\u00e9 \u00ed uai\u1e0b go\ndt\u00e1inig beirt \u1e1fear suas. \u1e02\u00ed mada\u1e0b mai\u1e6b ag fear aca, agus ruaig s\u00e9 astea\u010b\ni bpoll \u2019san mballa \u00ed.\n\nCuai\u1e0b P\u00e1id\u00edn \u010bum an aonai\u0121, agus ann \u00e1it \u00e9 \u1e03ei\u1e6b t\u00ed\u0121ea\u010bt a \u1e03aile leis an\nairgiod a fuair s\u00e9 air a \u1e61ean-asal, mar \u1e61aoil s\u00e9 air maidin go mbei\u1e0bea\u1e0b\ns\u00e9 ag deana\u1e41, \u010beannui\u0121 s\u00e9 capall le cuid de\u2019n airgiod a \u1e03ain s\u00e9 de\u2019n\neas\u00f3ig, agus \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 a \u1e03aile agus \u00e9 ag marcui\u0121ea\u010bt. Nuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 \u010bo\u1e41\nfada leis an \u00e1it ar \u010buir an mada\u1e0b an eas\u00f3g ann san bpoll, \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00ed ama\u010b\nroi\u1e41e, \u1e6bug l\u00e9im suas, agus fuair greim sgornai\u0121 air an g-capall. \u1e6aosui\u0121\nan capall ag ri\u1e6b, agus n\u00edor \u1e1feud P\u00e1id\u00edn a \u010beapa\u1e0b, no go dtug s\u00e9 l\u00e9im\nastea\u010b i g-clais \u1e41\u00f3ir a \u1e03\u00ed l\u00edonta d\u2019uisge agus de \u1e41\u00fala\u010b. \u1e02\u00ed s\u00e9 \u2019g\u00e1 \u1e03\u00e1\u1e6ba\u1e0b\nagus \u2019g\u00e1 \u1e6ba\u010bta\u1e0b go lua\u1e6b, go dt\u00e1inig fir suas a \u1e03\u00ed tea\u010bt as Gailli\u1e41 agus\n\u1e0b\u00ed\u1e03ir siad an eas\u00f3g.\n\n\u1e6aug P\u00e1id\u00edn an capall a \u1e03aile leis, agus \u010buir s\u00e9 astea\u010b i dtea\u010b na mb\u00f3 \u00e9,\nagus \u1e6buit s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b.\n\nAir maidin, l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b, d\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 P\u00e1id\u00edn go mo\u010b, agus \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 ama\u010b\nle uisge agus f\u00e9ar \u1e6ba\u1e03airt do\u2019n capall. Nuair \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 ama\u010b \u010bonnairc s\u00e9\nan eas\u00f3g ag tea\u010bt ama\u010b as tea\u010b na mb\u00f3, agus \u00ed folui\u0121\u1e6be le fuil. \u201cMo\n\u1e61ea\u010bt m\u00edle malla\u010bt ort,\u201d ar P\u00e1id\u00edn, \u201ct\u00e1 fait\u010bios orm go \u1e03fuil ana\u010bain\nd\u00e9anta agad.\u201d Cuai\u1e0b s\u00e9 astea\u010b, agus fuair s\u00e9 an capall, p\u00e9ire b\u00f3-bainne,\nagus d\u00e1 lao\u0121 mar\u1e03 \u1e6a\u00e1inig s\u00e9 ama\u010b agus \u010buir s\u00e9 mada\u1e0b a \u1e03\u00ed aige an\u1e0biai\u0121 na\nh-eas\u00f3ige. Fuair an mada\u1e0b greim uirri agus fuair sise greim air an mada\u1e0b.\nBu\u1e0b mada\u1e0b mai\u1e6b \u00e9, a\u010bt b\u2019\u00e9igin d\u00f3 a \u0121reim sgaoilea\u1e0b sul \u1e6b\u00e1inig P\u00e1id\u00edn\nsuas; a\u010bt \u010bong\u1e03ui\u0121 s\u00e9 a \u1e61\u00fail uirri go \u1e03facai\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u00ed ag dul astea\u010b i mbo\u1e6b\u00e1n\nbeag a \u1e03\u00ed air \u1e03rua\u010b lo\u010ba. \u1e6a\u00e1inig P\u00e1id\u00edn ag ri\u1e6b, agus nuair \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 ag an\nmbo\u1e6b\u00e1in\u00edn beag \u1e6bug s\u00e9 cra\u1e6ba\u1e0b do\u2019n \u1e41ada\u1e0b agus \u010buir s\u00e9 fearg air, agus \u010buir\ns\u00e9 astea\u010b roi\u1e41e \u00e9. Nuair \u010buai\u1e0b an mada\u1e0b astea\u010b \u1e6bosui\u0121 s\u00e9 ag ta\u1e6bfant.\n\u010auai\u1e0b P\u00e1id\u00edn astea\u010b agus \u010bonnairc s\u00e9 sean-\u010baillea\u010b ann san g-coirn\u00e9ul.\nD\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 s\u00e9 \u1e0b\u00ed an \u1e03facai\u1e0b s\u00ed eas\u00f3g ag tea\u010bt astea\u010b.\n\n\u201cN\u00ed \u1e1facai\u1e0b m\u00e9,\u201d ar san \u010baillea\u010b, \u201ct\u00e1 m\u00e9 bre\u00f3i\u1e0bte le galar milltea\u010b agus\nmuna dt\u00e9i\u1e0b tu ama\u010b go tapa glacfai\u1e0b tu uaim \u00e9.\u201d\n\nCo\u1e41 fad agus \u1e03\u00ed P\u00e1id\u00edn agus an \u010baillea\u010b, ag caint, \u1e03\u00ed an mada\u1e0b ag teanna\u1e0b\nastea\u010b, no go dtug s\u00e9 l\u00e9im suas faoi \u1e0beirea\u1e0b, agus rug s\u00e9 greim sgornai\u0121\nair an g-cailli\u0121.\n\nSgrea\u1e0b sise, agus du\u1e03airt, \u201ct\u00f3g d\u00edom do \u1e41ada\u1e0b a P\u00e1id\u00edn Ui \u010aeallai\u0121, agus\ndeunfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 fear sai\u1e0b\u1e03ir d\u00edot.\u201d\n\nChuir P\u00e1id\u00edn ia\u010b (d\u2019\u1e1fia\u010bai\u1e03) air an mada\u1e0b a \u0121reim sgaoilea\u1e0b, agus du\u1e03airt\ns\u00e9, \u201cInnis dam cia \u1e6bu, no cad f\u00e1\u1e6b ar \u1e41ar\u1e03 tu mo \u010bapall agus mo \u1e03a?\u201d\n\n\u201cAgus cad f\u00e1\u1e6b dtug tusa leat an t-\u00f3r a rai\u1e03 m\u00e9 c\u00faig \u010beud \u1e03lia\u1e0bain \u2019g\u00e1\n\u010bruinniu\u0121a\u1e0b ameasg cnoc agus gleann an do\u1e41ain.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u1e60aoil m\u00e9 gur eas\u00f3g a \u1e03\u00ed ionnad,\u201d ar P\u00e1id\u00edn, \u201cno ni \u1e03ainfinn le do \u010buid\n\u00f3ir; agus ni\u1e0b eile, m\u00e1 t\u00e1 tu c\u00faig \u010beud blia\u1e0bain air an tsao\u0121al so t\u00e1 s\u00e9 i\nn-am duit im\u1e6bea\u010bt \u010bum suai\u1e41nis.\u201d\n\n\u201cRinne m\u00e9 coir \u1e41\u00f3r i m\u2019\u00f3ige, agus t\u00e1im le \u1e03ei\u1e6b sgaoilte \u00f3m\u2019 \u1e1fulaing m\u00e1\n\u1e6big leat fi\u010be p\u00fanta \u00edoc air son ceud agus tr\u00ed fi\u010bid aifrionn dam.\u201d\n\n\u201cC\u00e1 \u1e03fuil an t-airgiod?\u201d ar P\u00e1id\u00edn.\n\n\u201c\u00c9iri\u0121 agus r\u00f3\u1e41ar faoi sgei\u010b at\u00e1 os cionn tobair \u1e03ig i g-coirneul na\np\u00e1irce sin amui\u0121, agus geo\u1e03ai\u1e0b tu pota l\u00edonta d\u2019\u00f3r. \u00cdoc an fi\u010be p\u00fanta air\nson na n-aifrionn agus \u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0b an \u010buid eile agad f\u00e9in. Nuair a \u1e03ainfeas tu\nan leac de\u2019n \u1e57ota feicfi\u1e0b tu mada\u1e0b m\u00f3r du\u1e03 ag tea\u010bt ama\u010b, a\u010bt n\u00e1 b\u00edo\u1e0b aon\n\u1e1fait\u010bios ort; is mac da\u1e41sa \u00e9. Nuair a \u0121eo\u1e03as tu an t-\u00f3r, ceannui\u0121 an tea\u010b\nann a \u1e03facai\u1e0b tu mise i dtosa\u010b, geo\u1e03ai\u1e0b tu saor \u00e9, mar t\u00e1 s\u00e9 faoi \u010b\u00e1il go\n\u1e03fuil tai\u1e0b\u1e03se ann. B\u00e9i\u1e0b mo \u1e41ac-sa \u1e61\u00edos ann san tsoil\u00e9ar, n\u00ed \u1e0b\u00e9anfai\u1e0b s\u00e9\naon do\u010bar duit, a\u010bt b\u00e9i\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u010baraid mai\u1e6b \u1e0buit. B\u00e9i\u1e0b mise mar\u1e03 m\u00ed \u00f3\u2019n\nl\u00e1 so, agus nuair \u0121eo\u1e03as tu mar\u1e03 m\u00e9 cuir splanc faoi an mbo\u1e6b\u00e1n agus d\u00f3i\u0121\n\u00e9. N\u00e1 h-innis d\u2019aon nea\u010b be\u00f3 aon n\u00ed\u1e0b air bi\u1e6b de m\u2019\u1e6baoi\u1e03-se, agus b\u00e9i\u1e0b an\nt-\u00e1\u1e0b ort.\u201d\n\n\u201cCad \u00e9 an t-ainm at\u00e1 ort?\u201d ar P\u00e1id\u00edn.\n\n\u201cM\u00e1ire ni Ciar\u1e03\u00e1in,\u201d ar san \u010baillea\u010b.\n\n\u010auai\u1e0b P\u00e1id\u00edn a \u1e03aile agus nuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig dor\u010badas na h-oi\u1e0b\u010be \u1e6bug s\u00e9 l\u00e1i\u1e0be\nleis agus \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u010bum na sgei\u010be a \u1e03\u00ed i g-coirneul na p\u00e1irce agus \u1e6bosui\u0121\ns\u00e9 ag r\u00f3\u1e41ar. N\u00edor \u1e03fada go \u1e03fuair s\u00e9 an pota agus nuair \u1e03ain s\u00e9 an leac\nd\u00e9 l\u00e9im an mada\u1e0b m\u00f3r du\u1e03 ama\u010b, agus as go br\u00e1\u1e6b leis, agus mada\u1e0b \u1e56\u00e1idin\n\u2019nn a \u1e0biai\u0121.\n\n\u1e6aug P\u00e1id\u00edn an t-\u00f3r a \u1e03aile agus \u010buir s\u00e9 i \u1e03fola\u010b i dtea\u010b na mb\u00f3 \u00e9.\nTim\u010bioll m\u00ed \u2019nna \u1e0biai\u0121 sin, \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 go h-aona\u010b i nGailli\u1e41 agus \u010beannui\u0121\ns\u00e9 p\u00e9ire b\u00f3, capall agus duis\u00edn caora. N\u00ed rai\u1e03 \u1e1fios ag na c\u00f3\u1e41arsannai\u1e03\ncia an \u00e1it a \u1e03fuair s\u00e9 an t-airgiod. Du\u1e03airt cuid aca go rai\u1e03 roinn aige\nleis na daoni\u1e03 mai\u1e6be.\n\nAon l\u00e1 a\u1e41\u00e1in \u0121leus P\u00e1id\u00edn \u00e9 f\u00e9in agus \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u010bum an duine-uasail ar\nleis an tea\u010b m\u00f3r, agus d\u2019 iarr air, an tea\u010b agus an tala\u1e41 do \u1e03\u00ed \u2019nna\n\u1e6bimcioll, do \u1e0b\u00edol leis.\n\n\u201cTig leat an tea\u010b \u1e03ei\u1e6b agad gan \u010b\u00edos, a\u010bt ta tai\u1e0b\u1e03se ann, agus n\u00edor \u1e41ai\u1e6b\nliom \u1e6bu dul do \u010b\u00f3\u1e41nui\u1e0be ann, gan a innsint, a\u010bt n\u00ed sgarfainn leis an\ntala\u1e41 gan ceud p\u00fanta n\u00edos m\u00f3 \u2019n\u00e1 t\u00e1 agad-sa le tairgsint dam.\u201d\n\n\u201cB\u2019\u00e9idir go \u1e03fuil an oiread agam-sa \u2019s at\u00e1 agad f\u00e9in,\u201d ar P\u00e1id\u00edn, \u201cb\u00e9i\u1e0b\nm\u00e9 ann so am\u00e1ra\u010b leis an airgiod m\u00e1 t\u00e1 tusa r\u00e9i\u1e0b le seil\u1e03 do \u1e6ba\u1e03airt dam.\u201d\n\n\u201cB\u00e9i\u1e0b m\u00e9 r\u00e9i\u1e0b,\u201d ar san duine-uasal.\n\n\u010auai\u1e0b P\u00e1id\u00edn a\u1e03aile agus d\u2019innis d\u2019\u00e1 \u1e41naoi go rai\u1e03 tea\u010b m\u00f3r agus ga\u1e03\u00e1ltas\ntal\u1e41an ceannui\u0121\u1e6be aige.\n\n\u201cCia an \u00e1it a \u1e03fuair tu an t-airgiod?\u201d ar san \u1e03ean.\n\n\u201cNa\u010b cuma \u1e0buit?\u201d ar P\u00e1id\u00edn.\n\nL\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b, \u010buai\u1e0b P\u00e1id\u00edn \u010bum an duine-uasail, \u1e6bug ceud p\u00fanta \u1e0b\u00f3,\nagus fuair seil\u1e03 an ti\u0121e agus an tal\u1e41an, agus d\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g an duine-uasal an\ntrusc\u00e1n aige astea\u010b leis an marga\u1e0b.\n\nD\u2019\u1e1fan P\u00e1id\u00edn ann san tea\u010b an oi\u1e0b\u010be sin, agus nuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig an dor\u010badas\n\u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 s\u00edos ann san tsoil\u00e9ar, agus \u010bonnairc s\u00e9 fear beag le na \u1e0b\u00e1 \u010bois\nsgar\u1e6ba air \u1e03\u00e1irille.\n\n\u201c\u2019Ni\u1e0b Dia \u1e0buit, a \u1e0buine \u010b\u00f3ir,\u201d ar san fear beag.\n\n\u201cGo mbu\u1e0b h-\u00e9 \u1e0buit,\u201d ar P\u00e1id\u00edn.\n\n\u201cN\u00e1 b\u00edo\u1e0b aon \u1e1fait\u010bios ort r\u00f3\u1e41am-sa,\u201d ar san fear beag, \u201cb\u00e9id m\u00e9 mo\n\u010baraid mai\u1e6b \u1e0buit-se m\u00e1 t\u00e1 tu ionn\u00e1n run do \u010bong\u1e03\u00e1il.\u201d\n\n\u201cT\u00e1im go dei\u1e41in. \u010aong\u1e03ui\u0121 m\u00e9 r\u00fan do \u1e41\u00e1tar, agus cong\u1e03\u00f3\u010bai\u1e0b m\u00e9 do r\u00fan-sa\nmar an g-ceudna.\u201d\n\n\u201cB\u2019\u00e9idir go \u1e03fuil tart ort,\u201d ar san fear \u1e03eag.\n\n\u201cN\u00ed\u2019l m\u00e9 saor ua\u00ed\u1e0b,\u201d air P\u00e1id\u00edn.\n\n\u010auir an fear beag l\u00e1\u1e41 ann a \u1e03rolla\u010b, agus \u1e6barraing s\u00e9 corn \u00f3ir ama\u010b, agus\n\u1e6bug do P\u00e1id\u00edn \u00e9, agus du\u1e03airt leis, \u201ctarraing f\u00edon as an mb\u00e1irille sin\nf\u00fam.\u201d\n\n\u1e6aarraing P\u00e1id\u00edn l\u00e1n coirn agus \u1e61ea\u010baid do\u2019n \u1e1fear beag \u00e9. \u201c\u00d3l, \u1e6bu f\u00e9in, i\ndtosa\u010b,\u201d ar seisean. D\u2019\u00f3l P\u00e1id\u00edn, \u1e6barraing corn eile agus \u1e6bug d\u00f3n \u1e1fear\nbeag \u00e9, agus d\u2019\u00f3l s\u00e9 \u00e9.\n\n\u201cL\u00edon suas agus \u00f3l ar\u00eds,\u201d ar san fear beag, \u201cis mian liom-sa \u1e03ei\u1e6b go\ns\u00faga\u010b ano\u010bt.\u201d\n\n\u1e02\u00ed an \u1e03eirt ag \u00f3l g\u00f3 ra\u1e03adar lea\u1e6b air meisge. Ann sin \u1e6bug an fear beag\nl\u00e9im anuas air an url\u00e1r, agus du\u1e03airt le P\u00e1id\u00edn, \u201cna\u010b \u1e03fuil d\u00fail agad i\ng-ce\u00f3l?\u201d\n\n\u201cT\u00e1 go dei\u1e41in,\u201d ar P\u00e1id\u00edn, \u201cagus is mai\u1e6b an da\u1e41s\u00f3ir m\u00e9.\u201d\n\n\u201cT\u00f3g suas an leac \u1e41\u00f3r at\u00e1 \u2019san g-coirneul \u00fad, agus geo\u1e03ai\u1e0b tu mo \u1e57\u00edobai\u1e0b\nf\u00fai\u1e6bi.\u201d\n\n\u1e6a\u00f3g P\u00e1id\u00edn an leac, fuair na p\u00edobai\u1e0b, agus \u1e6bug do \u2019n \u1e1fear beag iad.\nD\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1isg s\u00e9 na p\u00edobai\u1e0b air, agus \u1e6bosui\u0121 s\u00e9 ag seinm ce\u00f3il \u1e03inn. \u1e6aosui\u0121\nP\u00e1id\u00edn ag da\u1e41sa go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 tuirsea\u010b. Ann sin b\u00ed deo\u010b eile aca, agus\ndu\u1e03airt an fear beag:\n\n\u201cDeun mar du\u1e03airt mo \u1e41\u00e1\u1e6bair leat, agus taisb\u00e9anfai\u1e0b mise sai\u1e0b\u1e03reas\nm\u00f3r duit. Tig leat do \u1e03ean \u1e6ba\u1e03airt ann so, a\u010bt n\u00e1 h-innis d\u00ed go \u1e03fuil\nmise ann, agus n\u00ed \u1e1feicfi\u1e0b f\u00ed m\u00e9. Am air bi\u1e6b a \u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0beas lionn n\u00f3 f\u00edon ag\nteast\u00e1il uait tar ann so agus tarraing \u00e9. Sl\u00e1n leat anois, agus t\u00e9i\u1e0b ann\ndo \u010bodla\u1e0b, agus tar \u010bugam-sa an oi\u1e0b\u010be am\u00e1ra\u010b.\u201d\n\nCuai\u1e0b P\u00e1id\u00edn \u2019nna leabui\u1e0b, agus n\u00edor \u1e03fada go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b.\n\nAir maidin, l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b, \u010buai\u1e0b P\u00e1id\u00edn a \u1e03aile agus \u1e6bug a \u1e03ean agus a\n\u010blann go dt\u00ed an tea\u010b m\u00f3r, agus \u1e03\u00edodar go sona. An oi\u1e0b\u010be sin \u010buai\u1e0b P\u00e1id\u00edn\ns\u00edos ann san tsoil\u00e9ar. \u010auir an fear beag f\u00e1ilte roi\u1e41e, agus d\u2019iarr air\n\u201crai\u1e03 fonn da\u1e41sa air?\u201d\n\n\u201cN\u00ed\u2019l go \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121\u2019 m\u00e9 deo\u010b,\u201d ar P\u00e1id\u00edn.\n\n\u201c\u00d3l do \u1e61ai\u1e6b,\u201d ar san fear beag, \u201cn\u00ed \u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0b an \u1e03\u00e1irille sin fola\u1e41 fad do\n\u1e03ea\u1e6ba.\u201d\n\nD\u2019\u00f3l P\u00e1id\u00edn l\u00e1n an \u010boirn agus \u1e6bug deo\u010b do \u2019n \u1e1fear \u1e03eag; ann sin du\u1e03airt\nan fear beag leis:\n\n\u201cT\u00e1im ag dul go D\u00fan-na-s\u00ed\u1e0b ano\u010bt, le ce\u00f3l do \u1e61einm do na daoini\u1e03 mai\u1e6be,\nagus m\u00e1 \u1e6bagann tu liom feicfi\u1e0b tu greann bre\u00e1\u0121. \u1e02\u00e9arfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 capall duit\nna\u010b \u1e03facai\u1e0b tu a lei\u1e6beid asia\u1e41 roi\u1e41e.\u201d\n\n\u201cRa\u010bfad agus f\u00e1ilte,\u201d ar P\u00e1id\u00edn, \u201ca\u010bt cia an leis-sgeul a \u1e0beunfas m\u00e9 le\nmo \u1e41naoi?\u201d\n\n\u201cT\u00e9i\u1e0b do \u010bodla\u1e0b l\u00e9i\u1e6be, agus \u1e03\u00e9arfai\u1e0b mise ama\u010b \u00f3 n-a taoi\u1e03 \u1e6bu, a gan \u1e1fios\nd\u00ed, agus \u1e03\u00e9arfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 air ais \u1e6bu an \u010baoi \u010beudna,\u201d ar san fear beag.\n\n\u201cT\u00e1im \u00fa\u1e41al,\u201d ar P\u00e1id\u00edn, \u201cb\u00e9i\u1e0b deo\u010b eile agam sul a dt\u00e9i\u1e0b m\u00e9 as do l\u00e1\u1e6bair.\u201d\n\nD\u2019\u00f3l s\u00e9 deo\u010b andiai\u0121 d\u00ed\u0121e, go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 lea\u1e6b air meisge agus \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u2019nn a\nleabui\u1e0b ann sin le na \u1e41naoi.\n\nNuair \u1e0b\u00faisi\u0121 s\u00e9 fuair s\u00e9 \u00e9 f\u00e9in ag marcui\u0121ea\u010bt air sguaib i ngar do\n\u1e0c\u00fan-na-s\u00ed\u1e0b, agus an fear beag ag marcui\u0121ea\u010bt air sguaib eile le na \u1e6baoi\u1e03.\nNuair t\u00e1inig siad \u010bo\u1e41 fada le cnoc glas an D\u00fain, la\u1e03air an fear beag\nc\u00fapla focal n\u00e1r \u1e6buig P\u00e1id\u00edn; d\u2019\u1e1fosgail an cnoc glas, agus \u010buai\u1e0b P\u00e1id\u00edn\nastea\u010b i seomra bre\u00e1\u0121.\n\nN\u00ed \u1e1facai\u1e0b P\u00e1id\u00edn aon \u010bruinniu\u0121a\u1e0b aria\u1e41 mar \u1e03\u00ed ann san d\u00fan. \u1e02\u00ed an \u00e1it\nl\u00edonta de \u1e0baoini\u1e03 beaga, \u1e03\u00ed fir agus mn\u00e1 ann, sean agus \u00f3g. Chuireadar\nuile f\u00e1ilte roi\u1e41 D\u00f3\u1e41nal agus roi\u1e41 P\u00e1id\u00edn O Ceallai\u0121. B\u2019\u00e9 D\u00f3\u1e41nal ainm an\n\u1e57\u00edo\u1e03aire \u1e03ig. \u1e6a\u00e1inig r\u00ed\u0121 agus bainr\u00edo\u0121an na s\u00ed\u1e0b \u2019nna l\u00e1\u1e6bair agus du\u1e03airt\nsiad:\n\n\u201cT\u00e1maoid uile ag dul go Cnoc Ma\u1e6ba ano\u010bt, air cuairt go h-\u00e1rd-ri\u0121 agus go\nbainr\u00edo\u0121ain \u00e1r ndaoine.\u201d\n\nD\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 an t-ioml\u00e1n aca, agus \u010buai\u1e0b siad ama\u010b. \u1e02\u00ed capaill r\u00e9i\u1e0b ag ga\u010b aon\naca, agus an C\u00f3iste Bo\u1e0bar le h-a\u0121ai\u1e0b an r\u00ed\u0121 agus an bainr\u00edo\u0121na. \u010auadar\nastea\u010b \u2019san g-c\u00f3iste. L\u00e9im ga\u010b duine air a \u010bapall f\u00e9in, agus b\u00ed cinnte\nna\u010b rai\u1e03 P\u00e1id\u00edn air deirea\u1e0b. \u010auai\u1e0b an p\u00edobaire ama\u010b rompa, agus \u1e6bosui\u0121 ag\nseinm ce\u00f3il d\u00f3i\u1e03, agus as go br\u00e1\u1e6b le\u00f3. N\u00edor \u1e03fada go dt\u00e1ngadar go Cnoc\nMa\u1e6ba. D\u2019\u1e1fosgail an cnoc agus \u010buai\u1e0b an slua\u0121 s\u00ed\u1e0b astea\u010b.\n\n\u1e02\u00ed Fin\u1e03eara agus Nuala ann sin, \u00e1rd-r\u00ed\u0121 agus bainr\u00edo\u0121an \u1e60luai\u0121-s\u00ed\u1e0b\n\u010aonna\u010bt, agus m\u00edlte de \u1e0baoini\u1e03 beaga. \u1e6a\u00e1inig Fin\u1e03eara a l\u00e1\u1e6bair agus\ndu\u1e03airt:\n\n\u201cT\u00e1maoid dul b\u00e1ire \u1e03uala\u1e0b ann a\u0121ai\u1e0b sluai\u0121-s\u00ed\u1e0b \u1e40\u00fa\u1e41an ano\u010bt, agus muna\nmbuailfim\u00edd iad t\u00e1 \u00e1r g-cl\u00fa im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be go de\u00f3. T\u00e1 an b\u00e1ire le \u1e03ei\u1e6b buailte\nair \u1e40\u00e1i\u0121-T\u00fara faoi \u1e61lia\u1e03 Belgad\u00e1in.\u201d\n\n\u201cT\u00e1maoid uile r\u00e9i\u1e0b,\u201d ar slua\u0121-si\u1e0b \u010aonna\u010bt, \u201cagus n\u00ed\u2019l a\u1e41ras againn na\u010b\nmbuailfim\u00edd iad.\u201d\n\n\u201cAma\u010b li\u1e03 uile,\u201d ar san t-\u00e1rd-r\u00ed\u0121, \u201cb\u00e9i\u1e0b fir \u010anuic N\u00e9ifin air an tala\u1e41\nr\u00f3mainn.\u201d\n\nD\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121eadar uile ama\u010b, agus D\u00f3\u1e41nal beag agus d\u00e1 \u2019r \u1e0beug p\u00edobaire eile\nr\u00f3mpa ag seinm ce\u00f3il \u1e03inn. Nuair \u1e6b\u00e1ngadar go M\u00e1\u0121-T\u00fara \u1e03\u00ed slua\u0121-s\u00ed\u1e0b \u1e40\u00fa\u1e41an\nagus si\u1e0b\u1e1fir \u010anuic N\u00e9ifin rompa. Anois, is \u00e9igin do\u2019n tslua\u0121-s\u00ed\u1e0b beirt\n\u1e1fear be\u00f3 do \u1e03ei\u1e6b i l\u00e1\u1e6bair nuair a \u1e03\u00edonn siad ag troid no ag buala\u1e0b b\u00e1ire,\nagus sin \u00e9 an f\u00e1\u1e6b rug \u1e0c\u00f3\u1e41nal beag P\u00e1id\u00edn O Ceallai\u0121 leis. \u1e02\u00ed fear dar ab\nainm an Stangaire Bui\u1e0be \u00f3 Innis i g-conda\u00e9 an Chl\u00e1ir le slua\u0121-s\u00ed\u1e0b \u1e40\u00fa\u1e41an.\n\nN\u00edor \u1e03fada gur \u0121lac an d\u00e1 \u1e61lua\u0121 tao\u1e03a, cai\u1e6bea\u1e0b suas an lia\u1e6br\u00f3id agus\n\u1e6bosui\u0121 an greann n\u00e1 r\u00edri\u1e03.\n\n\u1e02\u00ed siad ag buala\u1e0b b\u00e1ire agus na p\u00edobairi\u1e0be ag seinm ce\u00f3il, go \u1e03facai\u1e0b\nP\u00e1id\u00edn O Ceallai\u0121 slua\u0121 \u1e40\u00fa\u1e41an ag f\u00e1\u0121ail na l\u00e1i\u1e41e l\u00e1idre, agus \u1e6bosui\u0121\ns\u00e9 ag cuidea\u010btain le slua\u0121-si\u1e0b \u010aonna\u010bt. \u1e6a\u00e1inig an Stangaire i l\u00e1\u1e6bair\nagus d\u2019ionnsui\u0121 s\u00e9 P\u00e1id\u00edn O Ceallai\u0121, a\u010bt n\u00edor \u1e03fada gur \u010buir P\u00e1id\u00edn an\nStangaire Bui\u1e0be air a \u1e6bar-an-\u00e1irde. \u00d3 \u1e03uala\u1e0b-b\u00e1ire, \u1e6bosui\u0121 an d\u00e1 \u1e61lua\u0121\nag troid, a\u010bt n\u00edor \u1e03fada gur \u1e03uail slua\u0121 \u010aonna\u010bt an slua\u0121 eile. Ann sin\nrinne slua\u0121 \u1e40\u00fa\u1e41an priompoll\u00e1in d\u00edo\u1e03 f\u00e9in, agus \u1e6bosui\u0121 siad ag i\u1e6be uile\nn\u00ed\u1e0b glas d\u2019\u00e1 dt\u00e1inig siad suas leis. \u1e02\u00edodar ag sgrios na t\u00edre rompa, go\ndtangadar \u010bo\u1e41 fada le Conga, nuair d\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 na m\u00edlte colam as \u1e56oll-m\u00f3r\nagus \u1e61luig siad na priompoll\u00e1in. N\u00ed\u2019l aon ainm air an bpoll go dt\u00ed an l\u00e1\nso a\u010bt Poll-na-gcolam.\n\nNuair \u0121n\u00f3\u1e6bui\u0121 slua\u0121 \u010aonna\u010bt an ca\u1e6b, \u1e6b\u00e1ngadar air ais go Cnoc Ma\u1e6ba,\nlu\u1e6b\u0121\u00e1irea\u010b go le\u00f3r, agus \u1e6bug an r\u00ed\u0121 Fin\u1e03eara spor\u00e1n \u00f3ir do \u1e56\u00e1id\u00edn O\nCeallai\u0121, agus \u1e6bug an p\u00edobaire beag a \u1e03aile \u00e9, agus \u010buir s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b\nle na \u1e41naoi \u00e9.\n\n\u010auai\u1e0b m\u00ed \u1e6bart ann sin, agus n\u00ed \u1e6b\u00e1rla aon ni\u1e0b do b\u2019\u1e1fi\u00fa a innsint; a\u010bt aon\noi\u1e0b\u010be a\u1e41\u00e1in \u010buai\u1e0b P\u00e1id\u00edn s\u00edos \u2019san tsoil\u00e9ar agus du\u1e03airt an fear beag\nleis, \u201cT\u00e1 mo \u1e41\u00e1\u1e6bair mar\u1e03, agus d\u00f3\u0121 an bo\u1e6b\u00e1n os a cionn.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs f\u00edor duit,\u201d ar P\u00e1id\u00edn, \u201cdu\u1e03airt s\u00ed na\u010b rai\u1e03 s\u00ed le \u1e03ei\u1e6b air an\nt-sao\u0121al so a\u010bt m\u00ed, agus t\u00e1 an \u1e41\u00ed suas and\u00e9.\u201d\n\nAir maidin, an l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b, \u010buai\u1e0b P\u00e1id\u00edn cum an \u1e03o\u1e6b\u00e1in agus fuair s\u00e9\nan \u010baillea\u010b mar\u1e03. Chuirs\u00e9 splanc faoi an mbo\u1e6b\u00e1n agus \u1e0b\u00f3i\u0121 s\u00e9 \u00e9 \u1e6a\u00e1inig s\u00e9\na \u1e03aile ann sin, agus d\u2019innis s\u00e9 do\u2019n \u1e1fear beag go rai\u1e03 an bo\u1e6b\u00e1n d\u00f3i\u0121te.\n\u1e6aug an fear beag spor\u00e1n d\u00f3 agus du\u1e03airt, \u201cN\u00ed \u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0b an spor\u00e1n sin fola\u1e41 \u010bo\u1e41\n\u1e1fad agus \u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0beas tu be\u00f3. Sl\u00e1n leat anois. N\u00ed \u1e1feicfi\u1e0b tu m\u00e9 n\u00edos m\u00f3, a\u010bt\nb\u00edo\u1e0b cui\u1e41ne gr\u00e1\u1e0ba\u010b agad air an eas\u00f3ig. B\u2019ise tosa\u010b agus pr\u00edo\u1e41-\u00e1\u1e0b\u1e03ar do\n\u1e61ai\u1e0b\u1e03ris.\u201d\n\n\u1e40air P\u00e1id\u00edn agus a \u1e03ean blia\u1e0banta an\u1e0biai\u0121 se\u00f3, ann san tea\u010b m\u00f3r, agus\nnuair fuair s\u00e9 bas d\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g s\u00e9 sai\u1e0b\u1e03reas m\u00f3r \u2019nna \u1e0b\u00edai\u0121, agus muiri\u0121\u00edn \u1e41\u00f3r\nle na \u010ba\u1e6ba\u1e0b.\n\nSin \u010bugai\u1e03 mo sgeul anois \u00f3 \u1e6b\u00fas go deire, mar \u010bualai\u1e0b mise \u00f3 mo \u1e41\u00e1\u1e6bair\n\u1e41\u00f3ir \u00e9.\n\n\n\n\nPAUDYEEN O\u2019KELLY AND THE WEASEL.\n\nA long time ago there was once a man of the name of Paudyeen O\u2019Kelly,\nliving near Tuam, in the county Galway. He rose up one morning early, and\nhe did not know what time of day it was, for there was fine light coming\nfrom the moon. He wanted to go to the fair of Cauher-na-mart to sell a\n_sturk_ of an ass that he had.\n\nHe had not gone more than three miles of the road when a great darkness\ncame on, and a shower began falling. He saw a large house among trees\nabout five hundred yards in from the road, and he said to himself that he\nwould go to that house till the shower would be over. When he got to the\nhouse he found the door open before him, and in with him. He saw a large\nroom to his left, and a fine fire in the grate. He sat down on a stool\nthat was beside the wall, and began falling asleep, when he saw a big\nweasel coming to the fire with something yellow in its mouth, which it\ndropped on the hearth-stone, and then it went away. She soon came back\nagain with the same thing in her mouth, and he saw that it was a guinea\nshe had. She dropped it on the hearth-stone, and went away again. She was\ncoming and going, until there was a great heap of guineas on the hearth.\nBut at last, when he got her gone, Paudyeen rose up, thrust all the gold\nshe had gathered into his pockets, and out with him.\n\nHe was not gone far till he heard the weasel coming after him, and she\nscreeching as loud as a bag-pipes. She went before Paudyeen and got on\nthe road, and she was twisting herself back and forwards, and trying to\nget a hold of his throat. Paudyeen had a good oak stick, and he kept her\nfrom him, until two men came up who were going to the same fair, and one\nof them had a good dog, and it routed the weasel into a hole in the wall.\n\nPaudyeen went to the fair, and instead of coming home with the money\nhe got for his old ass, as he thought would be the way with him in the\nmorning, he went and bought a horse with some of the money he took from\nthe weasel, and he came home and he riding. When he came to the place\nwhere the dog had routed the weasel into the hole in the wall, she came\nout before him, gave a leap up and caught the horse by the throat. The\nhorse made off, and Paudyeen could not stop him, till at last he gave a\nleap into a big drain that was full up of water and black mud, and he was\ndrowning and choking as fast as he could, until men who were coming from\nGalway came up and banished the weasel.\n\nPaudyeen brought the horse home with him, and put him into the cows\u2019 byre\nand fell asleep.\n\nNext morning, the day on the morrow, Paudyeen rose up early and went out\nto give his horse hay and oats. When he got to the door he saw the weasel\ncoming out of the byre and she covered with blood. \u201cMy seven thousand\ncurses on you,\u201d said Paudyeen, \u201cbut I\u2019m afraid you\u2019ve harm done.\u201d He\nwent in and found the horse, a pair of milch cows, and two calves dead.\nHe came out and set a dog he had after the weasel. The dog got a hold of\nher, and she got a hold of the dog. The dog was a good one, but he was\nforced to loose his hold of her before Paudyeen could come up. He kept\nhis eye on her, however, all through, until he saw her creeping into a\nlittle hovel that was on the brink of a lake. Paudyeen came running, and\nwhen he got to the little hut he gave the dog a shake to rouse him up and\nput anger on him, and then he sent him in before himself. When the dog\nwent in he began barking. Paudyeen went in after him, and saw an old hag\n(cailleach) in the corner. He asked her if she saw a weasel coming in\nthere.\n\n\u201cI did not,\u201d said she; \u201cI\u2019m all destroyed with a plague of sickness, and\nif you don\u2019t go out quick you\u2019ll catch it from me.\u201d\n\nWhile Paudyeen and the hag were talking, the dog kept moving in all the\ntime, till at last he gave a leap up and caught the hag by the throat.\nShe screeched, and said:\n\n\u201cPaddy Kelly, take off your dog, and I\u2019ll make you a rich man.\u201d\n\nPaudyeen made the dog loose his hold, and said: \u201cTell me who are you, or\nwhy did you kill my horse and my cows?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why did you bring away my gold that I was for five hundred years\ngathering throughout the hills and hollows of the world?\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought you were a weasel,\u201d said Paudyeen, \u201cor I wouldn\u2019t touch your\ngold; and another thing,\u201d says he, \u201cif you\u2019re for five hundred years in\nthis world, it\u2019s time for you to go to rest now.\u201d\n\n\u201cI committed a great crime in my youth,\u201d said the hag, \u201cand now I am to\nbe released from my sufferings if you can pay twenty pounds for a hundred\nand three score masses for me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere\u2019s the money?\u201d says Paudyeen.\n\n\u201cGo and dig under a bush that\u2019s over a little well in the corner of that\nfield there without, and you\u2019ll get a pot filled with gold. Pay the\ntwenty pounds for the masses, and yourself shall have the rest. When\nyou\u2019ll lift the flag off the pot, you\u2019ll see a big black dog coming out;\nbut don\u2019t be afraid before him; he is a son of mine. When you get the\ngold, buy the house in which you saw me at first. You\u2019ll get it cheap,\nfor it has the name of there being a ghost in it. My son will be down in\nthe cellar. He\u2019ll do you no harm, but he\u2019ll be a good friend to you. I\nshall be dead a month from this day, and when you get me dead put a coal\nunder this little hut and burn it. Don\u2019t tell a living soul anything\nabout me\u2014and the luck will be on you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is your name?\u201d said Paudyeen.\n\n\u201cMaurya nee Keerwaun\u201d (Mary Kerwan), said the hag.\n\nPaudyeen went home, and when the darkness of the night came on he took\nwith him a loy,[28] and went to the bush that was in the corner of the\nfield, and began digging. It was not long till he found the pot, and when\nhe took the flag off it a big black dog leaped out, and off and away with\nhim, and Paudyeen\u2019s dog after him.\n\nPaudyeen brought home the gold, and hid it in the cow-house. About a\nmonth after that he went to the fair of Galway, and bought a pair of\ncows, a horse, and a dozen sheep. The neighbours did not know where he\nwas getting all the money; they said that he had a share with the good\npeople.\n\nOne day Paudyeen dressed himself, and went to the gentleman who owned the\nlarge house where he first saw the weasel, and asked to buy the house of\nhim, and the land that was round about.\n\n\u201cYou can have the house without paying any rent at all; but there is\na ghost in it, and I wouldn\u2019t like you to go to live in it without my\ntelling you, but I couldn\u2019t part with the land without getting a hundred\npounds more than you have to offer me.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps I have as much as you have yourself,\u201d said Paudyeen. \u201cI\u2019ll be\nhere to-morrow with the money, if you\u2019re ready to give me possession.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll be ready,\u201d said the gentleman.\n\nPaudyeen went home and told his wife that he had bought a large house and\na holding of land.\n\n\u201cWhere did you get the money?\u201d says the wife.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t it all one to you where I got it?\u201d says Paudyeen.\n\nThe day on the morrow Paudyeen went to the gentleman, gave him the money,\nand got possession of the house and land; and the gentleman left him the\nfurniture and everything that was in the house, in with the bargain.\n\nPaudyeen remained in the house that night, and when darkness came he went\ndown to the cellar, and he saw a little man with his two legs spread on a\nbarrel.\n\n\u201cGod save you, honest man,\u201d says he to Paudyeen.\n\n\u201cThe same to you,\u201d says Paudyeen.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be afraid of me at all,\u201d says the little man. \u201cI\u2019ll be a friend to\nyou, if you are able to keep a secret.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am able, indeed; I kept your mother\u2019s secret, and I\u2019ll keep yours as\nwell.\u201d\n\n\u201cMay-be you\u2019re thirsty?\u201d says the little man.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not free from it,\u201d said Paudyeen.\n\nThe little man put a hand in his bosom and drew out a gold goblet. He\ngave it to Paudyeen, and said: \u201cDraw wine out of that barrel under me.\u201d\n\nPaudyeen drew the full up of the goblet, and handed it to the little man.\n\u201cDrink yourself first,\u201d says he. Paudyeen drank, drew another goblet, and\nhanded it to the little man, and he drank it.\n\n\u201cFill up and drink again,\u201d said the little man. \u201cI have a mind to be\nmerry to-night.\u201d\n\nThe pair of them sat there drinking until they were half drunk. Then the\nlittle man gave a leap down to the floor, and said to Paudyeen:\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you like music?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do, surely,\u201d says Paudyeen, \u201cand I\u2019m a good dancer, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cLift up the big flag over there in the corner, and you\u2019ll get my pipes\nunder it.\u201d\n\nPaudyeen lifted the flag, got the pipes, and gave them to the little man.\nHe squeezed the pipes on him, and began playing melodious music. Paudyeen\nbegan dancing till he was tired. Then they had another drink, and the\nlittle man said:\n\n\u201cDo as my mother told you, and I\u2019ll show you great riches. You can bring\nyour wife in here, but don\u2019t tell her that I\u2019m there, and she won\u2019t see\nme. Any time at all that ale or wine are wanting, come here and draw.\nFarewell now; go to sleep, and come again to me to-morrow night.\u201d\n\nPaudyeen went to bed, and it wasn\u2019t long till he fell asleep.\n\nOn the morning of the day of the morrow, Paudyeen went home, and brought\nhis wife and children to the big house, and they were comfortable. That\nnight Paudyeen went down to the cellar; the little man welcomed him and\nasked him did he wish to dance?\n\n\u201cNot till I get a drink,\u201d said Paudyeen.\n\n\u201cDrink your \u2019nough,\u201d said the little man; \u201cthat barrel will never be\nempty as long as you live.\u201d\n\nPaudyeen drank the full of the goblet, and gave a drink to the little\nman. Then the little man said to him:\n\n\u201cI am going to Doon-na-shee (the fortress of the fairies) to-night, to\nplay music for the good people, and if you come with me you\u2019ll see fine\nfun. I\u2019ll give you a horse that you never saw the like of him before.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll go with you, and welcome,\u201d said Paudyeen; \u201cbut what excuse will I\nmake to my wife?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll bring you away from her side without her knowing it, when you are\nboth asleep together, and I\u2019ll bring you back to her the same way,\u201d said\nthe little man.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m obedient,\u201d says Paudyeen; \u201cwe\u2019ll have another drink before I leave\nyou.\u201d\n\nHe drank drink after drink, till he was half drunk, and he went to bed\nwith his wife.\n\nWhen he awoke he found himself riding on a besom near Doon-na-shee, and\nthe little man riding on another besom by his side. When they came as\nfar as the green hill of the Doon, the little man said a couple of words\nthat Paudyeen did not understand. The green hill opened, and the pair\nwent into a fine chamber.\n\nPaudyeen never saw before a gathering like that which was in the Doon.\nThe whole place was full up of little people, men and women, young and\nold. They all welcomed little Donal\u2014that was the name of the piper\u2014and\nPaudyeen O\u2019Kelly. The king and queen of the fairies came up to them, and\nsaid:\n\n\u201cWe are all going on a visit to-night to Cnoc Matha, to the high king and\nqueen of our people.\u201d\n\nThey all rose up then and went out. There were horses ready for each one\nof them and the _coash-t\u2019ya bower_ for the king and the queen. The king\nand queen got into the coach, each man leaped on his own horse, and be\ncertain that Paudyeen was not behind. The piper went out before them and\nbegan playing them music, and then off and away with them. It was not\nlong till they came to Cnoc Matha. The hill opened and the king of the\nfairy host passed in.\n\nFinvara and Nuala were there, the arch-king and queen of the fairy host\nof Connacht, and thousands of little persons. Finvara came up and said:\n\n\u201cWe are going to play a hurling match to-night against the fairy host of\nMunster, and unless we beat them our fame is gone for ever. The match is\nto be fought out on Moytura, under Slieve Belgadaun.\u201d\n\nThe Connacht host cried out: \u201cWe are all ready, and we have no doubt but\nwe\u2019ll beat them.\u201d\n\n\u201cOut with ye all,\u201d cried the high king; \u201cthe men of the hill of Nephin\nwill be on the ground before us.\u201d\n\nThey all went out, and little Donal and twelve pipers more before them,\nplaying melodious music. When they came to Moytura, the fairy host of\nMunster and the fairy men of the hill of Nephin were there before them.\nNow, it is necessary for the fairy host to have two live men beside them\nwhen they are fighting or at a hurling-match, and that was the reason\nthat little Donal took Paddy O\u2019Kelly with him. There was a man they\ncalled the \u201c_Yellow Stongirya_,\u201d with the fairy host of Munster, from\nEnnis, in the County Clare.\n\nIt was not long till the two hosts took sides; the ball was thrown up\nbetween them, and the fun began in earnest. They were hurling away, and\nthe pipers playing music, until Paudyeen O\u2019Kelly saw the host of Munster\ngetting the strong hand, and he began helping the fairy host of Connacht.\nThe _Stongirya_ came up and he made at Paudyeen O\u2019Kelly, but Paudyeen\nturned him head over heels. From hurling the two hosts began at fighting,\nbut it was not long until the host of Connacht beat the other host. Then\nthe host of Munster made flying beetles of themselves, and they began\neating every green thing that they came up to. They were destroying the\ncountry before them until they came as far as Cong. Then there rose up\nthousands of doves out of the hole, and they swallowed down the beetles.\nThat hole has no other name until this day but Pull-na-gullam, the dove\u2019s\nhole.\n\nWhen the fairy host of Connacht won their battle, they came back to Cnoc\nMatha joyous enough, and the king Finvara gave Paudyeen O\u2019Kelly a purse\nof gold, and the little piper brought him home, and put him into bed\nbeside his wife, and left him sleeping there.\n\nA month went by after that without anything worth mentioning, until one\nnight Paudyeen went down to the cellar, and the little man said to him:\n\u201cMy mother is dead; burn the house over her.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is true for you,\u201d said Paudyeen. \u201cShe told me that she hadn\u2019t but a\nmonth to be on the world, and the month was up yesterday.\u201d\n\nOn the morning of the next day Paudyeen went to the hut and he found the\nhag dead. He put a coal under the hut and burned it. He came home and\ntold the little man that the hut was burnt. The little man gave him a\npurse and said to him; \u201cThis purse will never be empty as long as you are\nalive. Now, you will never see me more; but have a loving remembrance of\nthe weasel. She was the beginning and the prime cause of your riches.\u201d\nThen he went away and Paudyeen never saw him again.\n\nPaudyeen O\u2019Kelly and his wife lived for years after this in the large\nhouse, and when he died he left great wealth behind him, and a large\nfamily to spend it.\n\nThere now is the story for you, from the first word to the last, as I\nheard it from my grandmother.\n\n\n\n\nUILLIAM O RUANAI\u0120.\n\n\nAnn san aimsir i n-all\u00f3d \u1e03\u00ed fear ann dar ab ainm Uilliam O Ruanai\u0121, \u2019nna\n\u010b\u00f3\u1e41nui\u1e0be i ngar do \u010al\u00e1r-Gailli\u1e41. B\u00ed s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u1e1feilm\u00e9ar. \u00c1on l\u00e1 a\u1e41ain \u1e6b\u00e1inig\nan ti\u0121earna-tal\u1e41an \u010buige agus du\u1e03airt, \u201cT\u00e1 c\u00edos tri blia\u1e0bain agam ort,\nagus muna mb\u00e9i\u1e0b s\u00e9 agad dam faoi \u010beann sea\u010bt\u1e41aine cai\u1e6bfi\u1e0b m\u00e9 ama\u010b air\n\u1e6baoi\u1e03 an \u1e03\u00f3\u1e6bair \u1e6bu.\u201d\n\n\u201cT\u00e1im le dul go Gailli\u1e41 am\u00e1ra\u010b le h-uala\u010b crui\u1e6bnea\u010bta do \u1e0b\u00edol, agus nuair\na \u0121eo\u1e03as m\u00e9 a lua\u010b \u00edocfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 \u1e6bu,\u201d ar Liam.\n\nAir maidin, l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b, \u010buir s\u00e9 uala\u010b crui\u1e6bnea\u010bta air an g-cairt\nagus \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 dul go Gailli\u1e41 leis. Nuair \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 tim\u010bioll m\u00edle go lei\u1e6b\nim\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be o\u2019n tea\u010b, \u1e6b\u00e1inig duine-uasal \u010buige agus d\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 s\u00e9 d\u00e9 \u201cAn\ncrui\u1e6bnea\u010bt at\u00e1 agad air an g-cairt?\u201d\n\n\u201cSea\u1e0b,\u201d ar Liam, \u201ct\u00e1 m\u00e9 dul \u2019g\u00e1 \u1e0b\u00edol le mo \u010b\u00edos d\u2019\u00edoc.\u201d\n\n\u201cCia \u1e41\u00e9ad at\u00e1 ann?\u201d ar san duine uasal.\n\n\u201cT\u00e1 tonna cneasta ann,\u201d ar Liam.\n\n\u201cCeann\u00f3\u010bai\u1e0b m\u00e9 uait \u00e9,\u201d ar san duine uasal, \u201cagus \u1e03\u00e9arfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 an lua\u010b is\nm\u00f3 \u2019sa\u2019 masga\u1e0b \u1e0buit. Nuair a ra\u010bfas tu \u010bo\u1e41 fad leis an mb\u00f3\u1e6bair\u00edn c\u00e1rta\u010b\nat\u00e1 air do l\u00e1i\u1e41 \u010bl\u00e9, cas astea\u010b agus \u1e03\u00ed ag im\u1e6bea\u010bt go dtagai\u1e0b tu go tea\u010b\nm\u00f3r at\u00e1 i ngleann, agus \u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0b mise ann sin r\u00f3\u1e41ad le d\u2019 airgiod do \u1e6ba\u1e03airt\nduit.\u201d\n\nNuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig Liam \u010bo\u1e41 fada leis an mb\u00f3\u1e6bair\u00edn \u010bas s\u00e9 astea\u010b, agus \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 ag\nim\u1e6bea\u010bt go dt\u00e1inig s\u00e9 \u010bo\u1e41 fada le tea\u010b m\u00f3r. \u1e02\u00ed iongantas air Liam nuair\n\u010bonnairc s\u00e9 an tea\u010b m\u00f3r, mar ruga\u1e0b agus t\u00f3ga\u1e0b ann san g-c\u00f3\u1e41arsana\u010bt \u00e9,\nagus n\u00ed \u1e1facai\u1e0b s\u00e9 an tea\u010b m\u00f3r aria\u1e41 roi\u1e41e, c\u00ed\u1e0b go rai\u1e03 e\u00f3las aige air\nuile \u1e6bea\u010b i \u1e03foi\u0121sea\u010bt c\u00faig \u1e41\u00edle \u1e0b\u00f3.\n\nNuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig Liam i ngar do sgiob\u00f3l a \u1e03\u00ed anaice leis an tea\u010b m\u00f3r \u1e6b\u00e1inig\nbua\u010baill beag ama\u010b agus du\u1e03airt, \u201cc\u00e9ad m\u00edle f\u00e1ilte r\u00f3\u1e41ad a Liaim Ui\nRuanai\u0121,\u201d \u010buir sac air a \u1e0bruim agus \u1e6bug astea\u010b \u00e9. \u1e6a\u00e1inig bua\u010baill beag\neile ama\u010b, \u010buir f\u00e1ilte roi\u1e41 Liam, \u010buir sac air a \u1e0bruim, agus d\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121\nastea\u010b leis. \u1e02\u00ed bua\u010bailli\u1e0be ag tea\u010bt, ag cur f\u00e1ilte roi\u1e41 Liam, agus ag\nta\u1e03airt sac le\u00f3, go rai\u1e03 an tonna crui\u1e6bnea\u010bta im\u1e6bi\u0121\u1e6be. Ann sin \u1e6b\u00e1inig\nioml\u00e1n na mbua\u010baill i l\u00e1\u1e6bair agus du\u1e03airt Liam le\u00f3. \u201cT\u00e1 e\u00f3las agai\u1e03 uile\norm-sa agus n\u00ed\u2019l e\u00f3las agam-sa orrai\u1e03se.\u201d Ann sin du\u1e03radar leis, \u201ct\u00e9i\u1e0b\nastea\u010b, agus i\u1e6b do \u1e0b\u00ednn\u00e9ar, t\u00e1 an m\u00e1i\u0121istir ag fana\u1e41aint leat.\u201d\n\n\u010auai\u1e0b Liam astea\u010b agus \u1e61ui\u1e0b s\u00e9 s\u00edos ag an mbord. N\u00edor i\u1e6b s\u00e9 an dara greim\ngo dt\u00e1inig trom-\u010bodla\u1e0b air agus \u1e6buit s\u00e9 faoi an mbord. Ann sin rinne\nan draoi\u1e0b-ead\u00f3ir fear-br\u00e9ige cos\u1e41\u00fail le Liam, agus \u010buir a \u1e03aile \u010bum mn\u00e1\nLiaim \u00e9, leis an g-capall, agus leis an g-cairt. Nuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 go tea\u010b\nLiaim \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 suas ann san t-seomra, lui\u1e0b air leabui\u1e0b, agus fuair b\u00e1s.\n\nN\u00edor \u1e03fada go ndeacai\u1e0b an \u0121\u00e1ir ama\u010b go rai\u1e03 Liam O Ruanai\u0121 mar\u1e03. \u010auir\nan \u1e03ean uisge s\u00edos agus nuair \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 tei\u1e6b ni\u0121 s\u00ed an corp agus \u010buir os\ncionn cl\u00e1ir \u00e9. \u1e6a\u00e1inig na c\u00f3\u1e41arsanna agus \u010baoineadar go \u1e03r\u00f3na\u010b os cionn\nan \u010buirp, agus \u1e03\u00ed trua\u0121 \u1e41\u00f3r ann do\u2019n \u1e41naoi \u1e03oi\u010bt a\u010bt n\u00ed rai\u1e03 m\u00f3r\u00e1n br\u00f3in\nuirri f\u00e9in, mar \u1e03\u00ed Liam aosta agus \u00ed f\u00e9in \u00f3g. An l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b cuirea\u1e0b\nan corp agus n\u00ed rai\u1e03 aon \u010bui\u1e41ne n\u00edos m\u00f3 air Liam.\n\n\u1e02\u00ed bua\u010baill-aimsire ag mnaoi Liaim agus du\u1e03airt s\u00ed leis, \u201cbu\u1e0b \u010b\u00f3ir duit\nm\u00e9 \u1e57\u00f3sa\u1e0b, agus \u00e1it Liaim \u0121laca\u1e0b.\u201d\n\n\u201cT\u00e1 s\u00e9 r\u00f3 lua\u1e6b f\u00f3s, an\u1e0biai\u0121 b\u00e1s do \u1e03ei\u1e6b ann san tea\u010b,\u201d ar san bua\u010baill,\n\u201cfan go mb\u00e9i\u1e0b Liam cur\u1e6ba sea\u010bt\u1e41ain.\u201d\n\nNuair \u1e03\u00ed Liam sea\u010bt l\u00e1 agus sea\u010bt n-oi\u1e0b\u010be \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b \u1e6b\u00e1inig bua\u010baill\nbeag agus \u1e0b\u00faisi\u0121 \u00e9. Ann sin du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis, \u201ct\u00e1ir sea\u010bt\u1e41ain do \u010bodla\u1e0b.\n\u010auireamar do \u010bapall agus do \u010bairt a\u1e03aile. Se\u00f3 \u1e0buit do \u010buid airgid, agus\nim\u1e6bi\u0121.\u201d\n\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig Liam a \u1e03aile, agus mar \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 mall \u2019san oi\u1e0b\u010be n\u00ed \u1e1facai\u1e0b aon duine\n\u00e9. Air maidin an la\u00e9 sin \u010buai\u1e0b bean Liaim agus an bua\u010baill-aimsire \u010bum an\nt-sagairt agus d\u2019iarr siad air iad do \u1e57\u00f3sa\u1e0b.\n\n\u201c\u1e02fuil an t-airgiod-p\u00f3sta agai\u1e03?\u201d ar san sagart.\n\n\u201cN\u00ed\u2019l,\u201d ar san \u1e03ean, \u201ca\u010bt t\u00e1 storc muice agam \u2019sa\u2019 mbaile, agus tig leat\n\u00ed \u1e03ei\u1e6b agad i n-\u00e1it airgid.\u201d\n\n\u1e56\u00f3s an sagart iad, agus du\u1e03airt, \u201ccuirfead fios air an muic am\u00e1ra\u010b.\u201d\n\nNuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig Liam go dt\u00ed a \u1e0boras f\u00e9in, \u1e03uail s\u00e9 buille air. \u1e02\u00ed an \u1e03ean\nagus an bua\u010baill-aimsire ag dul \u010bum a leabui\u1e0b, agus d\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 siad, \u201ccia\nt\u00e1 ann sin?\u201d\n\n\u201cMise,\u201d ar Liam, \u201cfosgail an doras dam.\u201d\n\nNuair \u010bualadar an gu\u1e6b \u1e03\u00ed \u1e1fios aca gur \u2019b\u00e9 Liam do \u1e03\u00ed ann, agus du\u1e03airt\na \u1e03ean, \u201cn\u00ed \u1e6big liom do leigean astea\u010b, agus is m\u00f3r an n\u00e1ire \u1e0buit \u1e03ei\u1e6b\ntea\u010bt air ais an\u1e0biai\u0121 \u1e6bu \u1e03ei\u1e6b sea\u010bt l\u00e1 san uai\u0121.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn air mire at\u00e1 tu?\u201d ar Liam.\n\n\u201cN\u00ed\u2019lim air mire,\u201d ar san \u1e03ean, \u201c\u2019t\u00e1 \u1e1fios ag an uile \u1e0buine \u2019sa\u2019 bpar\u00e1iste\ngo \u1e03fuair tu b\u00e1s agus gur \u010buir m\u00e9 go geana\u1e41ail \u1e6bu. T\u00e9i\u1e0b air ais go\nd\u2019uai\u0121, agus b\u00e9i\u1e0b aifrionn l\u00e9i\u0121te agam air son d\u2019anma \u1e03oi\u010bt am\u00e1ra\u010b.\u201d\n\n\u201cFan go dtagai\u1e0b solas an la\u00e9,\u201d ar Liam, \u201cagus b\u00e9arfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 lua\u010b do \u1e41agai\u1e0b\n\u1e0buit.\u201d\n\nAnn sin \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u2019san st\u00e1bla, \u2019n \u00e1it a rai\u1e03 a \u010bapall agus a \u1e41uc, \u1e61\u00edn s\u00e9\nann san tui\u0121e, agus \u1e6buit s\u00e9 \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b.\n\nAir maidin, l\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b, du\u1e03airt an sagart le bua\u010baill beag a \u1e03\u00ed\naige, \u201ct\u00e9i\u1e0b go tea\u010b Liaim Ui Ruanai\u0121 agus \u1e03\u00e9arfai\u1e0b an \u1e03ean a \u1e57\u00f3s m\u00e9 and\u00e9\nmuc duit le ta\u1e03airt a \u1e03aile leat.\u201d\n\n\u1e6a\u00e1inig an bua\u010baill go doras an t\u00ed\u0121e agus \u1e6bosui\u0121 \u2019g\u00e1 \u1e03uala\u1e0b le maide a \u1e03\u00ed\naige. \u1e02\u00ed fait\u010bios air an mnaoi an doras \u1e1fosgailt, a\u010bt d\u2019\u1e1fiafrui\u0121 s\u00ed, \u201ccia\nt\u00e1 ann sin?\u201d\n\n\u201cMise,\u201d ar san bua\u010baill, \u201c\u010buir an sagart m\u00e9 le muc d\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1\u0121\u00e1il uait.\u201d\n\n\u201cT\u00e1 s\u00ed amui\u0121 \u2019san st\u00e1bla,\u201d ar san \u1e03ean.\n\n\u010auai\u1e0b an bua\u010baill astea\u010b \u2019san st\u00e1bla agus \u1e6bosui\u0121 ag tiom\u00e1int na mui\u010be\nama\u010b, nuair d\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 Liam agus du\u1e03airt, \u201cc\u00e1 \u1e03fuil tu ag dul le mo \u1e41uic?\u201d\n\nNuair \u010bonnairc an bua\u010baill Liam, as go br\u00e1\u1e6b leis, agus n\u00edor stop go\nndeacai\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u010bum an tsagairt agus a \u010broi\u1e0be ag tea\u010bt ama\u010b air a \u1e03eul le\nfait\u010bios.\n\n\u201cCad t\u00e1 ort?\u201d ar san sagart.\n\nD\u2019innis an bua\u010baill d\u00f3 go rai\u1e03 Liam O Ruanai\u0121 ann san st\u00e1bla, agus na\u010b\nleigfea\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u1e0b\u00f3 an \u1e41u\u010b \u1e6ba\u1e03airt leis.\n\n\u201cB\u00ed do \u1e6bost, a \u1e03reugad\u00f3ir,\u201d ar ran sagart, \u201ct\u00e1 Liam O\u2019Ruanai\u0121 mar\u1e03 agus\nann san uai\u0121 le sea\u010bt\u1e41ain.\u201d\n\n\u201cD\u00e1 mbei\u1e0b\u2019 s\u00e9 mar\u1e03 sea\u010bt mblia\u1e0bna connairc mise ann san st\u00e1bla \u00e9 \u1e0b\u00e1\n\u1e41\u00f3imid \u00f3 \u1e61oin, agus muna g-creideann tu, tar, \u1e6bu f\u00e9in, agus feicfi\u1e0b tu \u00e9.\u201d\n\nAnn sin \u1e6b\u00e1inig an sagart agus an bua\u010baill le \u010b\u00e9ile go doras an st\u00e1bla,\nagus du\u1e03airt an sagart, \u201ct\u00e9i\u1e0b astea\u010b agus cuir an \u1e41uc sin ama\u010b \u010bugam.\u201d\n\n\u201cN\u00ed ra\u010bfainn astea\u010b air son an \u1e41\u00e9id is fi\u00fa \u1e6bu,\u201d ar san bua\u010baill.\n\n\u010auai\u1e0b an sagart astea\u010b ann sin agus \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 ag tiom\u00e1int na muice ama\u010b,\nnuair d\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 Liam suas as an tui\u0121e agus du\u1e03airt, \u201cc\u00e1 \u1e03fuil tu dul le mo\n\u1e41uic, a a\u1e6bair \u1e56\u00e1draig?\u201d\n\nNuair a \u010bonnairc an sagart Liam ag \u00e9iri\u0121e, as go br\u00e1\u1e6b leis, ag r\u00e1\u1e0b: \u201ci\nn-ainm D\u00e9 ordui\u0121im air ais go dt\u00ed an uai\u0121 \u1e6bu a Uilliaim Ui Ruanai\u0121.\u201d\n\n\u1e6aosui\u0121 Liam ag ri\u1e6b an\u1e0biai\u0121 an tsagairt, agus ag r\u00e1\u1e0b. \u201cA a\u1e6bair \u1e56\u00e1draig\n\u1e03fuil tu air mire? fan agus la\u1e03air Liom.\u201d\n\nN\u00edor \u1e1fan an sagart a\u010bt \u010buai\u1e0b a \u1e03aile \u010bo\u1e41 lua\u1e6b agus d\u2019\u1e1feud a \u010bosa a\niom\u010bar, agus nuair \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 astea\u010b \u1e0b\u00fan s\u00e9 an doras. \u1e02\u00ed Liam ag buala\u1e0b\nan dorais go rai\u1e03 s\u00e9 s\u00e1rui\u0121\u1e6be, a\u010bt n\u00ed leigfea\u1e0b an sagart astea\u010b \u00e9. Faoi\n\u1e0beirea\u1e0b \u010buir s\u00e9 a \u010beann ama\u010b air \u1e1fuinne\u00f3ig a \u1e03\u00ed air \u1e03\u00e1rr an t\u00ed\u0121e agus\ndu\u1e03airt, \u201cA Uilliam Ui Ruanai\u0121 t\u00e9i\u1e0b air ais \u010bum d\u2019uai\u0121e.\u201d\n\n\u201cT\u00e1 tu air mire a a\u1e6bair \u1e56\u00e1draig, n\u00ed\u2019l m\u00e9 mar\u1e03, agus n\u00ed rai\u1e03 m\u00e9 ann aon\nuai\u0121 aria\u1e41 \u00f3 d\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g me bronn mo \u1e41\u00e1\u1e6bar,\u201d ar Liam.\n\n\u201c\u010aonnairc mise mar\u1e03 \u1e6bu,\u201d ar san sagart, \u201cfuair tu b\u00e1s obann agus \u1e03\u00ed m\u00e9\ni l\u00e1\u1e6bair nuair cuirea\u1e0b \u1e6bu \u2019san uai\u0121, agus rinne m\u00e9 seanm\u00f3ir \u1e03re\u00e1\u0121 os do\n\u010bionn.\u201d\n\n\u201cDia\u1e03al uaim, go \u1e03fuil tu air mire \u010bo\u1e41 cinnte a\u2019s at\u00e1 mise be\u00f3,\u201d ar Liam.\n\n\u201cIm\u1e6bi\u0121 as m\u2019a\u1e41arc anois agus l\u00e9i\u0121fi\u1e0b m\u00e9 aifrionn duit am\u00e1ra\u010b,\u201d ar san\nsagart.\n\n\u010auai\u1e0b Liam a \u1e03aile agus \u1e03uail s\u00e9 a \u1e0boras f\u00e9in a\u010bt n\u00ed leigfea\u1e0b an \u1e03ean\nastea\u010b \u00e9. Ann sin du\u1e03airt s\u00e9 leis f\u00e9in, \u201cra\u010bfad agus \u00edocfad mo \u010b\u00edos.\u201d\nUile \u1e0buine a \u010bonnairc Liam air a \u1e03eala\u010b go tea\u010b an ti\u0121earna \u1e03\u00ed siad ag\nri\u1e6b uai\u1e0b, mar \u1e61aoileadar go \u1e03fuair s\u00e9 b\u00e1s. Nuair \u010bualai\u1e0b an ti\u0121earna\ntal\u1e41an go rai\u1e03 Liam O Ruanai\u0121 ag tea\u010bt \u1e0b\u00fan s\u00e9 na doirse, agus n\u00ed leigfea\u1e0b\ns\u00e9 astea\u010b \u00e9. \u1e6aosui\u0121 Liam ag \u1e03uala\u1e0b an dorais \u1e41\u00f3ir gur \u1e61aoil an ti\u0121earna\ngo mbrisfea\u1e0b s\u00e9 astea\u010b \u00e9. \u1e6a\u00e1inig an ti\u0121earna go fuinne\u00f3ig a \u1e03\u00ed air \u1e03\u00e1rr\nan t\u00ed\u0121e, agus d\u1e1fiafrui\u0121, \u201ccad t\u00e1 tu ag iarrai\u1e0b?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u1e6a\u00e1inig m\u00e9 le mo \u010b\u00edos \u00edoc, mar \u1e1fear cneasta,\u201d ar Liam.\n\n\u201cT\u00e9i\u1e0b air ais go dt\u00ed d\u2019uai\u0121, agus \u1e03\u00e9arfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 mai\u1e6bea\u1e41nas duit,\u201d ar san\nTi\u0121earna.\n\n\u201cN\u00ed \u1e1f\u00e1gfai\u1e0b m\u00e9 se\u00f3, go \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121\u2019 m\u00e9 sgr\u00ed\u1e03inn uait go \u1e03fuil m\u00e9 \u00edoc\u1e6ba suas\nglan, go dt\u00ed an \u1e02ealtaine se\u00f3 \u010bugainn.\u201d\n\n\u1e6aug an Ti\u0121earna an sgr\u00ed\u1e03inn d\u00f3, agus \u1e6b\u00e1inig s\u00e9 a\u1e03aile. \u1e02uail s\u00e9 an doras,\na\u010bt n\u00ed leigfea\u00f3 an \u1e03ean astea\u010b \u00e9, ag r\u00e1\u1e0b leis go rai\u1e03 Liam O Ruanai\u0121 mar\u1e03\nagus cur\u1e6ba, agus na\u010b rai\u1e03 ann san \u1e03fear ag an doras a\u010bt feallt\u00f3ir.\n\n\u201cN\u00ed feallt\u00f3ir m\u00e9,\u201d ar Liam, \u201ct\u00e1 m\u00e9 an\u1e0biai\u0121 c\u00edos tr\u00ed \u1e03lia\u1e0bain d\u2019\u00edoc le mo\n\u1e41\u00e1i\u0121istir, agus \u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0b seil\u1e03 mo \u1e6bi\u0121e f\u00e9in agam, no \u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0b \u1e1fios agam cad f\u00e1\u1e6b.\u201d\n\n\u010auai\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u010bum an sgiob\u00f3il, agus fuair s\u00e9 barra m\u00f3r iarainn agus n\u00edor \u1e03fada\ngur \u1e03ris s\u00e9 astea\u010b an doras. \u1e02\u00ed fait\u010bios m\u00f3r air an mnaoi agus air an\n\u1e03fear nua\u1e0b-\u1e57\u00f3sta. \u1e60aoileadar go ra\u1e03adar i n-am an eiseiri\u0121e, agus go rai\u1e03\ndeire an do\u1e41ain ag tea\u010bt.\n\n\u201cCad \u010buige ar \u1e61aoil tu go rai\u1e03 mise mar\u1e03?\u201d ar Liam.\n\n\u201cNa\u010b \u1e03fuil \u1e1fios ag uile \u1e0buine ann san \u1e03par\u00e1iste go \u1e03fuil tu mar\u1e03,\u201d ar san\n\u1e03ean.\n\n\u201cDo \u010borp \u00f3\u2019n dia\u1e03al,\u201d ar Liam, \u201ct\u00e1 tu ag maga\u1e0b fada go le\u00f3r liom. F\u00e1\u0121 \u1e0bam\nni\u1e0b le n-i\u1e6be.\u201d\n\n\u1e02\u00ed eagla \u1e41\u00f3r air an mnaoi \u1e03oi\u010bt agus \u0121leus s\u00ed bia\u1e0b \u1e0b\u00f3, agus nuair\n\u010bonnairc s\u00ed \u00e9 ag i\u1e6be agus ag \u00f3l du\u1e03airt s\u00ed, \u201ct\u00e1 m\u00edor\u1e03\u00fail ann.\u201d\n\nAnn sin d\u2019innis Liam a sgeul d\u00ed, o \u1e03onn go b\u00e1rr, agus nuair d\u2019innis\ns\u00e9 ga\u010b ni\u1e0b, du\u1e03airt s\u00e9, \u201cra\u010bfad \u010bum na n-uai\u0121e am\u00e1ra\u010b go \u1e03feicfead an\nbi\u1e6bea\u1e41na\u010b do \u010buir si\u1e03-se i m\u2019\u00e1it-s\u00e9.\u201d\n\nL\u00e1 air na \u1e41\u00e1ra\u010b \u1e6bug Liam dream daoine leis, agus \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9 \u010bum na roilige,\nagus d\u2019\u1e1fosgail siad an uai\u0121, agus \u1e03\u00edodar dul an \u010b\u00f3\u1e41ra d\u2019\u1e1fosgailt, agus\nnuair a \u1e03\u00ed siad \u2019g\u00e1 t\u00f3g\u1e03\u00e1il suas l\u00e9im mada\u1e0b m\u00f3r du\u1e03 ama\u010b, agus as go \u1e03r\u00e1\u1e6b\nleis, agus Liam agus na fir eile \u2019nna \u1e0biai\u0121. \u1e02\u00edodar \u2019g\u00e1 leana\u1e41aint go\n\u1e03facadar \u00e9 ag dul astea\u010b ann san tea\u010b a rai\u1e03 Liam \u2019nna \u010bodla\u1e0b ann. Ann\nsin d\u2019\u1e1fosgail an tala\u1e41 agus \u010buai\u1e0b an tea\u010b s\u00edos, agus n\u00ed \u1e1facai\u1e0b aon duine\n\u00e9 \u00f3 \u1e61oin, a\u010bt t\u00e1 an poll m\u00f3r le feicsint go dt\u00ed an l\u00e1 so.\n\nNuair d\u2019im\u1e6bi\u0121 Liam agus na fir \u00f3ga a\u1e03aile d\u2019innis s\u00edad ga\u010b ni\u1e0b do \u1e61agart\nna par\u00e1iste, agus sgaoil s\u00e9 an p\u00f3sa\u1e0b a \u1e03\u00ed eidir bean Liaim agus an\nbua\u010baill-aimsire.\n\nDo \u1e41air Liam blia\u1e0banta \u2019nna \u1e0biai\u0121 se\u00f3, agus d\u2019\u1e1f\u00e1g s\u00e9 sai\u1e0b\u1e03reas m\u00f3r \u2019nna\n\u1e0biai\u0121, agus t\u00e1 cui\u1e41ne air i g-Cl\u00e1r-Gailli\u1e41 f\u00f3s, agus \u1e03\u00e9i\u1e0b go de\u00f3, m\u00e1\n\u1e6b\u00e9i\u1e0beann an sgeul so \u00f3 na sean-daoini\u1e03 \u010bum na ndaoine \u00f3g.\n\n\n\n\nLEEAM O\u2019ROONEY\u2019S BURIAL.\n\n\nIn the olden time there was once a man named William O\u2019Rooney, living\nnear Clare-Galway. He was a farmer. One day the landlord came to him and\nsaid: \u201cI have three years\u2019 rent on you, and unless you have it for me\nwithin a week I\u2019ll throw you out on the side of the road.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to Galway with a load of wheat to-morrow,\u201d said Leeam\n(William), \u201cand when I get the price of it I\u2019ll pay you.\u201d\n\nNext morning he put a load of wheat on the cart, and was going to Galway\nwith it. When he was gone a couple of miles from the house a gentleman\nmet him and asked him: \u201cIs it wheat you\u2019ve got on the cart?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is,\u201d says Leeam; \u201cI\u2019m going to sell it to pay my rent.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow much is there in it?\u201d said the gentleman.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a ton, honest, in it,\u201d said Leeam.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll buy it from you,\u201d said the gentleman, \u201cand I\u2019ll give you the\nbiggest price that\u2019s going in the market. When you\u2019ll go as far as the\ncart _boreen_ (little road) that\u2019s on your left hand, turn down, and be\ngoing till you come to a big house in the valley. I\u2019ll be before you\nthere to give you your money.\u201d\n\nWhen Leeam came to the _boreen_ he turned in, and was going until he came\nas far as the big house. Leeam wondered when he came as far as the big\nhouse, for he was born and raised (_i.e._, reared) in the neighbourhood,\nand yet he had never seen the big house before, though he thought he knew\nevery house within five miles of him.\n\nWhen Leeam came near the barn that was close to the big house, a little\nlad came out and said: \u201cA hundred thousand welcomes to you, William\nO\u2019Rooney,\u201d put a sack on his back and went in with it. Another little lad\ncame out and welcomed Leeam, put a sack on his back, and went in with it.\nLads were coming welcoming Leeam, and putting the sacks on their backs\nand carrying them in, until the ton of wheat was all gone. Then the whole\nof the lads came round him, and Leeam said; \u201cYe all know me, and I don\u2019t\nknow ye!\u201d Then they said to him: \u201cGo in and eat your dinner; the master\u2019s\nwaiting for you.\u201d\n\nLeeam went in and sat down at table; but he had not the second mouthful\ntaken till a heavy sleep came on him, and he fell down under the table.\nThen the enchanter made a false man like William, and sent him home\nto William\u2019s wife with the horse and cart. When the false man came to\nLeeam\u2019s house, he went into the room, lay down on the bed and died.\n\nIt was not long till the cry went out that Leeam O\u2019Rooney was dead. The\nwife put down water, and when it was hot she washed the body and put\nit over the board (_i.e._, laid it out). The neighbours came, and they\nkeened sorrowfully over the body, and there was great pity for the poor\nwife, but there was not much grief on herself, for Leeam was old and she\nwas young. The day on the morrow the body was buried, and there was no\nmore remembrance of Leeam.\n\nLeeam\u2019s wife had a servant boy, and she said to him: \u201cYou ought to marry\nme, and to take Leeam\u2019s place.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s too early yet, after there being a death in the house,\u201d said the\nboy; \u201cwait till Leeam is a week buried.\u201d\n\nWhen Leeam was seven days and seven nights asleep, a little boy came to\nhim and awoke him, and said: \u201cYou\u2019ve been asleep for a week; but we sent\nyour horse and cart home. Here\u2019s your money, and go.\u201d\n\nLeeam came home, and as it was late at night nobody saw him. On the\nmorning of that same day Leeam\u2019s wife and the servant lad went to the\npriest and asked him to marry them.\n\n\u201cHave you the marriage money?\u201d said the priest.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said the wife; \u201cbut I have a _sturk_ of a pig at home, and you can\nhave her in place of money.\u201d\n\nThe priest married them, and said: \u201cI\u2019ll send for the pig to-morrow.\u201d\n\nWhen Leeam came to his own door, he struck a blow on it. The wife and the\nservant boy were going to bed, and they asked: \u201cWho\u2019s there?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s I,\u201d said Leeam; \u201copen the door for me.\u201d\n\nWhen they heard the voice, they knew that it was Leeam who was in it, and\nthe wife said: \u201cI can\u2019t let you in, and it\u2019s a great shame, you to be\ncoming back again, after being seven days in your grave.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it mad you are?\u201d said Leeam.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not mad,\u201d said the wife; \u201cdoesn\u2019t every person in the parish know\nthat you are dead, and that I buried you decently. Go back to your grave,\nand I\u2019ll have a mass read for your poor soul to-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cWait till daylight comes,\u201d said Leeam, \u201cand I\u2019ll give you the price of\nyour joking!\u201d\n\nThen he went into the stable, where his horse and the pig were, stretched\nhimself in the straw, and fell asleep.\n\nEarly on the morning of the next day, the priest said to a little lad\nthat he had: \u201cGet up, and go to Leeam O\u2019Rooney\u2019s house, and the woman\nthat I married yesterday will give you a pig to bring home with you.\u201d\n\nThe boy came to the door of the house, and began knocking at it with a\nstick. The wife was afraid to open the door, but she asked: \u201cWho\u2019s there?\u201d\n\n\u201cI,\u201d said the boy; \u201cthe priest sent me to get a pig from you.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe\u2019s out in the stable,\u201d said the wife; \u201cyou can get her for yourself,\nand drive her back with you.\u201d\n\nThe lad went into the stable, and began driving out the pig, when Leeam\nrose up and said: \u201cWhere are you going with my pig?\u201d\n\nWhen the boy saw Leeam he never stopped to look again, but out with\nhim as hard as he could, and he never stopped till he came back to the\npriest, and his heart coming out of his mouth with terror.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s on you?\u201d says the priest.\n\nThe lad told him that Leeam O\u2019Rooney was in the stable, and would not let\nhim drive out the pig.\n\n\u201cHold your tongue, you liar!\u201d said the priest; \u201cLeeam O\u2019Rooney\u2019s dead and\nin the grave this week.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf he was in the grave this seven years, I saw him in the stable two\nmoments ago; and if you don\u2019t believe me, come yourself, and you\u2019ll see\nhim.\u201d\n\nThe priest and the boy then went together to the door of the stable, and\nthe priest said: \u201cGo in and turn me out that pig.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t go in for all ever you\u2019re worth,\u201d said the boy.\n\nThe priest went in, and began driving out the pig, when Leeam rose up out\nof the straw and said: \u201cWhere are you going with my pig, Father Patrick?\u201d\n\nWhen the priest saw Leeam, off and away with him, and he crying out: \u201cIn\nthe name of God, I order you back to your grave, William O\u2019Rooney.\u201d\n\nLeeam began running after the priest, and saying, \u201cFather Patrick, Father\nPatrick, are you mad? Wait and speak to me.\u201d\n\nThe priest would not wait for him, but made off home as fast as his feet\ncould carry him, and when he got into the house, he shut the door. Leeam\nwas knocking at the door till he was tired, but the priest would not let\nhim in. At last, he put his head out of a window in the top of the house,\nand said: \u201cWilliam O\u2019Rooney, go back to your grave.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re mad, Father Patrick! I\u2019m not dead, and never was in a grave since\nI was born,\u201d said Leeam.\n\n\u201cI saw you dead,\u201d said the priest; \u201cyou died suddenly, and I was present\nwhen you were put into the grave, and made a fine sermon over you.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe devil from me, but, as sure as I\u2019m alive, you\u2019re mad!\u201d said Leeam.\n\n\u201cGo out of my sight now,\u201d said the priest, \u201cand I\u2019ll read a mass for you,\nto-morrow.\u201d\n\nLeeam went home then, and knocked at his own door, but his wife would\nnot let him in. Then he said to himself: \u201cI may as well go and pay my\nrent now.\u201d On his way to the landlord\u2019s house every one who saw Leeam\nwas running before him, for they thought he was dead. When the landlord\nheard that Leeam O\u2019Rooney was coming, he shut the doors and would not let\nhim in. Leeam began knocking at the hall-door till the lord thought he\u2019d\nbreak it in. He came to a window in the top of the house, put out his\nhead, and asked: \u201cWhat are you wanting?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m come to pay my rent like an honest man,\u201d said Leeam.\n\n\u201cGo back to your grave, and I\u2019ll forgive you your rent,\u201d said the lord.\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t leave this,\u201d said Leeam, \u201ctill I get a writing from you that I\u2019m\npaid up clean till next May.\u201d\n\nThe lord gave him the writing, and he came home and knocked at his own\ndoor, but the wife would not let him in. She said that Leeam O\u2019Rooney was\ndead and buried, and that the man at the door was only a deceiver.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m no deceiver,\u201d said William; \u201cI\u2019m after paying my master three years\u2019\nrent, and I\u2019ll have possession of my own house, or else I\u2019ll know why.\u201d\n\nHe went to the barn and got a big bar of iron, and it wasn\u2019t long till\nhe broke in the door. There was great fear on the wife, and the newly\nmarried husband. They thought they were in the time of the General\nResurrection, and that the end of the world was coming.\n\n\u201cWhy did you think I was dead?\u201d said Leeam.\n\n\u201cDoesn\u2019t everybody in the parish know you\u2019re dead?\u201d said the wife.\n\n\u201cYour body from the devil,\u201d said Leeam, \u201cyou\u2019re humbugging me long\nenough, and get me something to eat.\u201d\n\nThe poor woman was greatly afraid, and she dressed him some meat, and\nwhen she saw him eating and drinking, she said: \u201cIt\u2019s a miracle.\u201d\n\nThen Leeam told her his story from first to last, and she told him each\nthing that happened, and then he said: \u201cI\u2019ll go to the grave to-morrow,\ntill I see the _behoonuch_ ye buried in my place.\u201d\n\nThe day on the morrow Leeam brought a lot of men with him to the\nchurchyard, and they dug open the grave, and were lifting up the coffin,\nwhen a big black dog jumped out of it, and made off, and Leeam and the\nmen after it. They were following it till they saw it going into the\nhouse in which Leeam had been asleep, and then the ground opened, and the\nhouse went down, and nobody ever saw it from that out; but the big hole\nis to be seen till this day.\n\nWhen Leeam and the men went home, they told everything to the priest of\nthe parish, and he dissolved the marriage that was between Leeam\u2019s wife\nand the servant boy.\n\nLeeam lived for years after that, and he left great wealth behind him,\nand they remember him in Clare-Galway still, and will remember him if\nthis story goes down from the old people to the young.\n\n\n\n\nGULEESH NA GUSS DHU.\n\n\nThere was once a boy in the County Mayo, and he never washed a foot from\nthe day he was born. Guleesh was his name; but as nobody could ever\nprevail on him to wash his feet, they used to call him Guleesh na guss\ndhu, or Guleesh Black-foot. It\u2019s often the father said to him: \u201cGet up,\nyou _strone-sha_ (lubber), and wash yourself,\u201d but the devil a foot\nwould he get up, and the devil a foot would he wash. There was no use\nin talking to him. Every one used to be humbugging him on account of\nhis dirty feet, but he paid them no heed nor attention. You might say\nanything at all to him, but in spite of it all he would have his own way\nafterwards.\n\nOne night the whole family were gathered in by the fire, telling stories\nand making fun for themselves, and he amongst them. The father said to\nhim: \u201cGuleesh, you are one and twenty years old to-night, and I believe\nyou never washed a foot from the day you were born till to-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou lie,\u201d said Guleesh, \u201cdidn\u2019t I go a\u2019swimming on May day last? and I\ncouldn\u2019t keep my feet out of the water.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, they were as dirty as ever they were when you came to the shore,\u201d\nsaid the father.\n\n\u201cThey were that, surely,\u201d said Guleesh.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the thing I\u2019m saying,\u201d says the father, \u201cthat it wasn\u2019t in you to\nwash your feet ever.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I never will wash them till the day of my death,\u201d said Guleesh.\n\n\u201cYou miserable _behoonugh_! you clown! you tinker! you good-for-nothing\nlubber! what kind of answer is that?\u201d says the father; and with that\nhe drew the hand and struck him a hard fist on the jaw. \u201cBe off with\nyourself,\u201d says he, \u201cI can\u2019t stand you any longer.\u201d\n\nGuleesh got up and put a hand to his jaw, where he got the fist. \u201cOnly\nthat it\u2019s yourself that\u2019s in it, who gave me that blow,\u201d said he,\n\u201canother blow you\u2019d never strike till the day of your death.\u201d He went out\nof the house then and great anger on him.\n\nThere was the finest _lis_, or rath, in Ireland, a little way off from\nthe gable of the house, and he was often in the habit of seating himself\non the fine grass bank that was running round it. He stood, and he half\nleaning against the gable of the house, and looking up into the sky, and\nwatching the beautiful white moon over his head. After him to be standing\nthat way for a couple of hours, he said to himself: \u201cMy bitter grief that\nI am not gone away out of this place altogether. I\u2019d sooner be any place\nin the world than here. Och, it\u2019s well for you, white moon,\u201d says he,\n\u201cthat\u2019s turning round, turning round, as you please yourself, and no man\ncan put you back. I wish I was the same as you.\u201d\n\nHardly was the word out of his mouth when he heard a great noise\ncoming like the sound of many people running together, and talking,\nand laughing, and making sport, and the sound went by him like a whirl\nof wind, and he was listening to it going into the rath. \u201cMusha, by my\nsoul,\u201d says he, \u201cbut ye\u2019re merry enough, and I\u2019ll follow ye.\u201d\n\nWhat was in it but the fairy host, though he did not know at first that\nit was they who were in it, but he followed them into the rath. It\u2019s\nthere he heard _the fulparnee, and the folpornee, the rap-lay-hoota,\nand the roolya-boolya_.[29] that they had there, and every man of them\ncrying out as loud as he could: \u201cMy horse, and bridle, and saddle! My\nhorse, and bridle, and saddle!\u201d\n\n\u201cBy my hand,\u201d said Guleesh, \u201cmy boy, that\u2019s not bad. I\u2019ll imitate ye,\u201d\nand he cried out as well as they: \u201cMy horse, and bridle, and saddle! My\nhorse, and bridle, and saddle!\u201d And on the moment there was a fine horse\nwith a bridle of gold, and a saddle of silver, standing before him. He\nleaped up on it, and the moment he was on its back he saw clearly that\nthe rath was full of horses, and of little people going riding on them.\n\nSaid a man of them to him: \u201cAre you coming with us to-night, Guleesh?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am, surely,\u201d said Guleesh.\n\n\u201cIf you are, come along,\u201d said the little man, and out with them\naltogether, riding like the wind, faster than the fastest horse ever you\nsaw a\u2019hunting, and faster than the fox and the hounds at his tail.\n\nThe cold winter\u2019s wind that was before them, they overtook her, and the\ncold winter\u2019s wind that was behind them, she did not overtake them. And\nstop nor stay of that full race, did they make none, until they came to\nthe brink of the sea.\n\nThen every one of them said: \u201cHie over cap! Hie over cap!\u201d and that\nmoment they were up in the air, and before Guleesh had time to remember\nwhere he was, they were down on dry land again, and were going like the\nwind. At last they stood, and a man of them said to Guleesh: \u201cGuleesh, do\nyou know where you are now?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot a know,\u201d says Guleesh.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re in Rome, Guleesh,\u201d said he; \u201cbut we\u2019re going further than\nthat. The daughter of the king of France is to be married to-night, the\nhandsomest woman that the sun ever saw, and we must do our best to bring\nher with us, if we\u2019re only able to carry her off; and you must come\nwith us that we may be able to put the young girl up behind you on the\nhorse, when we\u2019ll be bringing her away, for it\u2019s not lawful for us to put\nher sitting behind ourselves. But you\u2019re flesh and blood, and she can\ntake a good grip of you, so that she won\u2019t fall off the horse. Are you\nsatisfied, Guleesh, and will you do what we\u2019re telling you?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t I be satisfied?\u201d said Guleesh. \u201cI\u2019m satisfied, surely, and\nanything that ye will tell me to do I\u2019ll do it without doubt; but where\nare we now?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re in Rome now, Guleesh,\u201d said the sheehogue (fairy).\n\n\u201cIn Rome, is it?\u201d said Guleesh. \u201cIndeed, and no lie, I\u2019m glad of that.\nThe parish priest that we had he was broken (suspended) and lost his\nparish some time ago; I must go to the Pope till I get a bull from him\nthat will put him back in his own place again.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Guleesh,\u201d said the sheehogue, \u201cyou can\u2019t do that. You won\u2019t be let\ninto the palace; and, anyhow, we can\u2019t wait for you, for we\u2019re in a\nhurry.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs much as a foot, I won\u2019t go with ye,\u201d says Guleesh, \u201ctill I go to the\nPope; but ye can go forward without me, if ye wish. I won\u2019t stir till I\ngo and get the pardon of my parish priest.\u201d\n\n\u201cGuleesh, is it out of your senses you are? You can\u2019t go; and there\u2019s\nyour answer for you now. I tell you, you can\u2019t go.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t ye go on, and to leave me here after ye,\u201d said Guleesh, \u201cand when\nye come back can\u2019t ye hoist the girl up behind me?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut we want you at the palace of the king of France,\u201d said the\nsheehogue, \u201cand you must come with us now.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe devil a foot,\u201d said Guleesh, \u201ctill I get the priest\u2019s pardon; the\nhonestest and the pleasantest man that\u2019s in Ireland.\u201d\n\nAnother sheehogue spoke then, and said:\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be so hard on Guleesh. The boy\u2019s a kind boy, and he has a good\nheart; and as he doesn\u2019t wish to come without the Pope\u2019s bull, we must do\nour best to get it for him. He and I will go in to the Pope, and ye can\nwait here.\u201d\n\n\u201cA thousand thanks to you,\u201d said Guleesh. \u201cI\u2019m ready to go with you; for\nthis priest, he was the sportingest and the pleasantest man in the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have too much talk, Guleesh,\u201d said the sheehogue, \u201cbut come along\nnow. Get off your horse and take my hand.\u201d\n\nGuleesh dismounted, and took his hand; and then the little man said a\ncouple of words he did not understand, and before he knew where he was he\nfound himself in the room with the Pope.\n\nThe Pope was sitting up late that night reading a book that he liked. He\nwas sitting on a big soft chair, and his two feet on the chimney-board.\nThere was a fine fire in the grate, and a little table standing at his\nelbow, and a drop of ishka-baha (eau-de-vie) and sugar on the little\ntable_een_; and he never felt till Guleesh came up behind him.\n\n\u201cNow Guleesh,\u201d said the sheehogue, \u201ctell him that unless he gives you\nthe bull you\u2019ll set the room on fire; and if he refuses it to you, I\u2019ll\nspurt fire round about out of my mouth, till he thinks the place is\nreally in a blaze, and I\u2019ll go bail he\u2019ll be ready enough then to give\nyou the pardon.\u201d\n\nGuleesh went up to him and put his hand on his shoulder. The Pope turned\nround, and when he saw Guleesh standing behind him he frightened up.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be afraid,\u201d said Guleesh, \u201cwe have a parish priest at home, and\nsome thief told your honour a lie about him, and he was broken; but he\u2019s\nthe decentest man ever your honour saw, and there\u2019s not a man, woman, or\nchild in Ballynatoothach but\u2019s in love with him.\u201d\n\n\u201cHold your tongue, you _bodach_,\u201d said the Pope. \u201cWhere are you from, or\nwhat brought you here? Haven\u2019t I a lock on the door?\u201d\n\n\u201cI came in on the keyhole,\u201d says Guleesh, \u201cand I\u2019d be very much obliged\nto your honour if you\u2019d do what I\u2019m asking.\u201d\n\nThe Pope cried out: \u201cWhere are all my people? Where are my servants?\nShamus! Shawn! I\u2019m killed; I\u2019m robbed.\u201d\n\nGuleesh put his back to the door, the way he could not get out, and he\nwas afraid to go near Guleesh, so he had no help for it, but had to\nlisten to Guleesh\u2019s story; and Guleesh could not tell it to him shortly\nand plainly, for he was slow and coarse in his speaking, and that angered\nthe Pope; and when Guleesh finished his story, he vowed that he never\nwould give the priest his pardon; and he threatened Guleesh himself that\nhe would put him to death for his shamelessness in coming in upon him in\nthe night; and he began again crying out for his servants. Whether the\nservants heard him or no, there was a lock on the inside of the door, so\nthat they could not come in to him.\n\n\u201cUnless you give me a bull under your hand and seal, and the priest\u2019s\npardon in it,\u201d said Guleesh; \u201cI\u2019ll burn your house with fire.\u201d\n\nThe sheehogue, whom the Pope did not see, began to cast fire and flame\nout of his mouth, and the Pope thought that the room was all in a blaze.\nHe cried out: \u201cOh, eternal destruction! I\u2019ll give you the pardon; I\u2019ll\ngive you anything at all, only stop your fire, and don\u2019t burn me in my\nown house.\u201d\n\nThe sheehogue stopped the fire, and the Pope had to sit down and write a\nfull pardon for the priest, and give him back his old place again, and\nwhen he had it ready written, he put his name under it on the paper, and\nput it into Guleesh\u2019s hand.\n\n\u201cThank your honour,\u201d said Guleesh; \u201cI never will come here again to you,\nand _bannacht lath_ (good-bye).\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not,\u201d said the Pope; \u201cif you do I\u2019ll be ready before you, and you\nwon\u2019t go from me so easily again. You will be shut up in a prison, and\nyou won\u2019t get out for ever.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be afraid, I won\u2019t come again,\u201d said Guleesh. And before he could\nsay any more the sheehogue spoke a couple of words, and caught Guleesh\u2019s\nhand again, and out with them. Guleesh found himself amongst the other\nsheehogues, and his horse waiting for him.\n\n\u201cNow, Guleesh,\u201d said they, \u201cit\u2019s greatly you stopped us, and we in such\na hurry; but come on now, and don\u2019t think of playing such a trick again,\nfor we won\u2019t wait for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m satisfied,\u201d said Guleesh, \u201cand I\u2019m thankful to ye; but tell me where\nare we going.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re going to the palace of the king of France,\u201d said they; \u201cand if we\ncan at all, we\u2019re to carry off his daughter with us.\u201d\n\nEvery man of them then said, \u201cRise up, horse;\u201d and the horses began\nleaping, and running, and prancing. The cold wind of winter that was\nbefore them they overtook her, and the cold wind of winter that was\nbehind them, she did not overtake them, and they never stopped of that\nrace, till they came as far as the palace of the king of France.\n\nThey got off their horses there, and a man of them said a word that\nGuleesh did not understand, and on the moment they were lifted up, and\nGuleesh found himself and his companions in the palace. There was a great\nfeast going on there, and there was not a nobleman or a gentleman in\nthe kingdom but was gathered there, dressed in silk and satin, and gold\nand silver, and the night was as bright as the day with all the lamps\nand candles that were lit, and Guleesh had to shut his two eyes at the\nbrightness. When he opened them again and looked from him, he thought\nhe never saw anything as fine as all he saw there. There were a hundred\ntables spread out, and their full of meat and drink on each table of\nthem, flesh-meat, and cakes and sweetmeats, and wine and ale, and every\ndrink that ever a man saw. The musicians were at the two ends of the\nhall, and they playing the sweetest music that ever a man\u2019s ear heard,\nand there were young women and fine youths in the middle of the hall,\ndancing and turning, and going round so quickly and so lightly, that it\nput a _soorawn_ in Guleesh\u2019s head to be looking at them. There were more\nthere playing tricks, and more making fun and laughing, for such a feast\nas there was that day had not been in France for twenty years, because\nthe old king had no children alive but only the one daughter, and she was\nto be married to the son of another king that night. Three days the feast\nwas going on, and the third night she was to be married, and that was the\nnight that Guleesh and the sheehogues came, hoping if they could, to\ncarry off with them the king\u2019s young daughter.\n\nGuleesh and his companions were standing together at the head of the\nhall, where there was a fine altar dressed up, and two bishops behind it\nwaiting to marry the girl, as soon as the right time should come. Nobody\ncould see the sheehogues, for they said a word as they came in, that made\nthem all invisible, as if they had not been in it at all.\n\n\u201cTell me which of them is the king\u2019s daughter,\u201d said Guleesh, when he was\nbecoming a little used to the noise and the light.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you see her there from you?\u201d said the little man that he was\ntalking to.\n\nGuleesh looked where the little man was pointing with his finger, and\nthere he saw the loveliest woman that was, he thought, upon the ridge of\nthe world. The rose and the lily were fighting together in her face, and\none could not tell which of them got the victory. Her arms and hands were\nlike the lime, her mouth as red as a strawberry, when it is ripe, her\nfoot was as small and as light as another one\u2019s hand, her form was smooth\nand slender, and her hair was falling down from her head in buckles of\ngold. Her garments and dress were woven with gold and silver, and the\nbright stone that was in the ring on her hand was as shining as the sun.\n\nGuleesh was nearly blinded with all the loveliness and beauty that was in\nher; but when he looked again, he saw that she was crying, and that there\nwas the trace of tears in her eyes. \u201cIt can\u2019t be,\u201d said Guleesh, \u201cthat\nthere\u2019s grief on her, when everybody round her is so full of sport and\nmerriment.\u201d\n\n\u201cMusha, then, she is grieved,\u201d said the little man; \u201cfor it\u2019s against\nher own will she\u2019s marrying, and she has no love for the husband she is\nto marry. The king was going to give her to him three years ago, when\nshe was only fifteen, but she said she was too young, and requested him\nto leave her as she was yet. The king gave her a year\u2019s grace, and when\nthat year was up he gave her another year\u2019s grace, and then another; but\na week or a day he would not give her longer, and she is eighteen years\nold to-night, and it\u2019s time for her to marry; but, indeed,\u201d says he, and\nhe crooked his mouth in an ugly way; \u201cindeed, it\u2019s no king\u2019s son she\u2019ll\nmarry, if I can help it.\u201d\n\nGuleesh pitied the handsome young lady greatly when he heard that, and\nhe was heart-broken to think that it would be necessary for her to marry\na man she did not like, or what was worse, to take a nasty Sheehogue\nfor a husband. However, he did not say a word, though he could not help\ngiving many a curse to the ill-luck that was laid out for himself, and he\nhelping the people that were to snatch her away from her home and from\nher father.\n\nHe began thinking, then, what it was he ought to do to save her, but\nhe could think of nothing. \u201cOh, if I could only give her some help and\nrelief,\u201d said he, \u201cI wouldn\u2019t care whether I were alive or dead; but I\nsee nothing that I can do for her.\u201d\n\nHe was looking on when the king\u2019s son came up to her and asked her for\na kiss, but she turned her head away from him. Guleesh had double pity\nfor her then, when he saw the lad taking her by the soft white hand, and\ndrawing her out to dance. They went round in the dance near where Guleesh\nwas, and he could plainly see that there were tears in her eyes.\n\nWhen the dancing was over, the old king, her father, and her mother, the\nqueen, came up and said that this was the right time to marry her, that\nthe bishop was ready and the couch prepared, and it was time to put the\nwedding-ring on her and give her to her husband.\n\nThe old king put a laugh out of him: \u201cUpon my honour,\u201d he said, \u201cthe\nnight is nearly spent, but my son will make a night for himself. I\u2019ll go\nbail he won\u2019t rise early to-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cMusha, and maybe he would,\u201d said the Sheehogue in Guleesh\u2019s ear, \u201cor not\ngo to bed, perhaps, at all. Ha, ha, ha!\u201d\n\nGuleesh gave him no answer, for his two eyes were going out on his head\nwatching to see what they would do then.\n\nThe king took the youth by the hand, and the queen took her daughter,\nand they went up together to the altar, with the lords and great people\nfollowing them.\n\nWhen they came near the altar, and were no more than about four yards\nfrom it, the little sheehogue stretched out his foot before the girl,\nand she fell. Before she was able to rise again he threw something that\nwas in his hand upon her, said a couple of words, and upon the moment\nthe maiden was gone from amongst them. Nobody could see her, for that\nword made her invisible. The little man_een_ seized her and raised her up\nbehind Guleesh, and the king nor no one else saw them, but out with them\nthrough the hall till they came to the door.\n\nOro! dear Mary! it\u2019s there the pity was, and the trouble, and the crying,\nand the wonder, and the searching, and the _rookawn_, when that lady\ndisappeared from their eyes, and without their seeing what did it. Out\non the door of the palace with them, without being stopped or hindered,\nfor nobody saw them, and, \u201cMy horse, my bridle, and saddle!\u201d says every\nman of them. \u201cMy horse, my bridle, and saddle!\u201d says Guleesh; and on the\nmoment the horse was standing ready caparisoned before him. \u201cNow, jump\nup, Guleesh,\u201d said the little man, \u201cand put the lady behind you, and we\nwill be going; the morning is not far off from us now.\u201d\n\nGuleesh raised her up on the horse\u2019s back, and leaped up himself before\nher, and, \u201cRise horse,\u201d said he; and his horse, and the other horses with\nhim, went in a full race until they came to the sea.\n\n\u201cHighover, cap!\u201d said every man of them.\n\n\u201cHighover, cap!\u201d said Guleesh; and on the moment the horse rose under\nhim, and cut a leap in the clouds, and came down in Erin.\n\nThey did not stop there, but went of a race to the place where was\nGuleesh\u2019s house and the rath. And when they came as far as that, Guleesh\nturned and caught the young girl in his two arms, and leaped off the\nhorse.\n\n\u201cI call and cross you to myself, in the name of God!\u201d said he; and on the\nspot, before the word was out of his mouth, the horse fell down, and what\nwas in it but the beam of a plough, of which they had made a horse; and\nevery other horse they had, it was that way they made it. Some of them\nwere riding on an old besom, and some on a broken stick, and more on a\n_bohalawn_ (rag weed), or a hemlock-stalk.\n\nThe good people called out together when they heard what Guleesh said:\n\n\u201cOh, Guleesh, you clown, you thief, that no good may happen you, why did\nyou play that trick on us?\u201d\n\nBut they had no power at all to carry off the girl, after Guleesh had\nconsecrated her to himself.\n\n\u201cOh, Guleesh, isn\u2019t that a nice turn you did us, and we so kind to you?\nWhat good have we now out of our journey to Rome and to France? Never\nmind yet, you clown, but you\u2019ll pay us another time for this. Believe us\nyou\u2019ll repent it.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019ll have no good to get out of the young girl,\u201d said the little man\nthat was talking to him in the palace before that, and as he said the\nword he moved over to her and struck her a slap on the side of the head.\n\u201cNow,\u201d says he, \u201cshe\u2019ll be without talk any more; now, Guleesh, what good\nwill she be to you when she\u2019ll be dumb? It\u2019s time for us to go\u2014but you\u2019ll\nremember us, Guleesh na Guss Dhu!\u201d\n\nWhen he said that he stretched out his two hands, and before Guleesh was\nable to give an answer, he and the rest of them were gone into the rath\nout of his sight, and he saw them no more.\n\nHe turned to the young woman and said to her: \u201cThanks be to God, they\u2019re\ngone. Would you not sooner stay with me than with them?\u201d She gave him no\nanswer. \u201cThere\u2019s trouble and grief on her yet,\u201d said Guleesh in his own\nmind, and he spoke to her again: \u201cI am afraid that you must spend this\nnight in my father\u2019s house, lady, and if there is anything that I can do\nfor you, tell me, and I\u2019ll be your servant.\u201d\n\nThe beautiful girl remained silent, but there were tears in her eyes, and\nher face was white and red after each other.\n\n\u201cLady,\u201d said Guleesh, \u201ctell me what you would like me to do now. I never\nbelonged at all to that lot of sheehogues who carried you away with them.\nI am the son of an honest farmer, and I went with them without knowing\nit. If I\u2019ll be able to send you back to your father I\u2019ll do it, and I\npray you make any use of me now that you may wish.\u201d\n\nHe looked into her face, and he saw the mouth moving as if she was going\nto speak, but there came no word from it.\n\n\u201cIt cannot be,\u201d said Guleesh, \u201cthat you are dumb. Did I not hear you\nspeaking to the king\u2019s son in the palace to-night? Or has that devil made\nyou really dumb, when he struck his nasty hand on your jaw?\u201d\n\nThe girl raised her white smooth hand, and laid her finger on her tongue,\nto show him that she had lost her voice and power of speech, and the\ntears ran out of her two eyes like streams, and Guleesh\u2019s own eyes were\nnot dry, for as rough as he was on the outside he had a soft heart, and\ncould not stand the sight of the young girl, and she in that unhappy\nplight.\n\nHe began thinking with himself what he ought to do, and he did not like\nto bring her home with himself to his father\u2019s house, for he knew well\nthat they would not believe him, that he had been in France and brought\nback with him the king of France\u2019s daughter, and he was afraid they might\nmake a mock of the young lady or insult her.\n\nAs he was doubting what he ought to do, and hesitating, he chanced to put\nhis hand in his pocket, and he found a paper in it. He pulled it up, and\nthe moment he looked at it he remembered it was the Pope\u2019s bull. \u201cGlory\nbe to God,\u201d said he, \u201cI know now what I\u2019ll do; I\u2019ll bring her to the\npriest\u2019s house, and as soon as he sees the pardon I have here, he won\u2019t\nrefuse me to keep the lady and care her.\u201d He turned to the lady again and\ntold her that he was loath to take her to his father\u2019s house, but that\nthere was an excellent priest very friendly to himself, who would take\ngood care of her, if she wished to remain in his house; but that if there\nwas any other place she would rather go, he said he would bring her to\nit.\n\nShe bent her head, to show him she was obliged, and gave him to\nunderstand that she was ready to follow him any place he was going. \u201cWe\nwill go to the priest\u2019s house, then,\u201d said he; \u201che is under an obligation\nto me, and will do anything I ask him.\u201d\n\nThey went together accordingly to the priest\u2019s house, and the sun was\njust rising when they came to the door. Guleesh beat it hard, and as\nearly as it was the priest was up, and opened the door himself. He\nwondered when he saw Guleesh and the girl, for he was certain that it was\ncoming wanting to be married they were.\n\n\u201cGuleesh na Guss Dhu, isn\u2019t it the nice boy you are that you can\u2019t wait\ntill ten o\u2019clock or till twelve, but that you must be coming to me at\nthis hour, looking for marriage, you and your _girshuch_. You ought to\nknow that I\u2019m broken, and that I can\u2019t marry you, or at all events, can\u2019t\nmarry you lawfully. But ubbubboo!\u201d said he, suddenly, as he looked again\nat the young girl, \u201cin the name of God, who have you here? Who is she, or\nhow did you get her?\u201d\n\n\u201cFather,\u201d said Guleesh, \u201cyou can marry me, or anybody else, any more, if\nyou wish; but it\u2019s not looking for marriage I came to you now, but to ask\nyou, if you please, to give a lodging in your house to this young lady.\u201d\nAnd with that he drew out the Pope\u2019s bull, and gave it to the priest to\nread.\n\nThe priest took it, and read it, and looked sharply at the writing and\nseal, and he had no doubt but it was a right bull, from the hand of the\nPope.\n\n\u201cWhere did you get this?\u201d said he to Guleesh, and the hand he held the\npaper in, was trembling with wonder and joy.\n\n\u201cOh, musha!\u201d said Guleesh, airily enough, \u201cI got it last night in Rome;\nI remained a couple of hours in the city there, when I was on my way to\nbring this young lady, daughter of the king of France, back with me.\u201d\n\nThe priest looked at him as though he had ten heads on him; but without\nputting any other question to him, he desired him to come in, himself and\nthe maiden, and when they came in, he shut the door, brought them into\nthe parlour, and put them sitting.\n\n\u201cNow, Guleesh,\u201d said he, \u201ctell me truly where did you get this bull, and\nwho is this young lady, and whether you\u2019re out of your senses really, or\nare only making a joke of me?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not telling a word of lie, nor making a joke of you,\u201d said Guleesh;\n\u201cbut it was from the Pope himself I got the paper, and it was from the\npalace of the king of France I carried off this lady, and she is the\ndaughter of the king of France.\u201d\n\nHe began his story then, and told the whole to the priest, and the priest\nwas so much surprised that he could not help calling out at times, or\nclapping his hands together.\n\nWhen Guleesh said from what he saw he thought the girl was not satisfied\nwith the marriage that was going to take place in the palace before he\nand the sheehogues broke it up, there came a red blush into the girl\u2019s\ncheek, and he was more certain than ever that she had sooner be as she\nwas\u2014badly as she was\u2014than be the married wife of the man she hated. When\nGuleesh said that he would be very thankful to the priest if he would\nkeep her in his own house, the kind man said he would do that as long as\nGuleesh pleased, but that he did not know what they ought to do with her,\nbecause they had no means of sending her back to her father again.\n\nGuleesh answered that he was uneasy about the same thing, and that he saw\nnothing to do but to keep quiet until they should find some opportunity\nof doing something better. They made it up then between themselves that\nthe priest should let on that it was his brother\u2019s daughter he had, who\nwas come on a visit to him from another county, and that he should tell\neverybody that she was dumb, and do his best to keep everyone away from\nher. They told the young girl what it was they intended to do, and she\nshowed by her eyes that she was obliged to them.\n\nGuleesh went home then, and when his people asked him where he was, he\nsaid that he was asleep at the foot of the ditch, and passed the night\nthere.\n\nThere was great wonderment on the neighbours when the honest priest\nshowed them the Pope\u2019s bull, and got his old place again, and everyone\nwas rejoiced, for, indeed, there was no fault at all in that honest man,\nexcept that now and again he would have too much liking for a drop of\nthe bottle; but no one could say that he ever saw him in a way that he\ncould not utter \u201chere\u2019s to your health,\u201d as well as ever a man in the\nkingdom. But if they wondered to see the priest back again in his old\nplace, much more did they wonder at the girl who came so suddenly to his\nhouse without anyone knowing where she was from, or what business she\nhad there. Some of the people said that everything was not as it ought\nto be, and others that it was not possible that the Pope gave back his\nplace to the priest after taking it from him before, on account of the\ncomplaints about his drinking. And there were more of them, too, who said\nthat Guleesh na Guss Dhu was not like the same man that was in it before,\nand that it was a great story (_i.e._, a thing to wonder at) how he was\ndrawing every day to the priest\u2019s house, and that the priest had a wish\nand a respect for him, a thing they could not clear up at all.\n\nThat was true for them, indeed, for it was seldom the day went by but\nGuleesh would go to the priest\u2019s house, and have a talk with him, and as\noften as he would come he used to hope to find the young lady well again,\nand with leave to speak; but, alas! she remained dumb and silent, without\nrelief or cure. Since she had no other means of talking she carried on\na sort of conversation between herself and himself, by moving her hand\nand fingers, winking her eyes, opening and shutting her mouth, laughing\nor smiling, and a thousand other signs, so that it was not long until\nthey understood each other very well. Guleesh was always thinking how\nhe should send her back to her father; but there was no one to go with\nher, and he himself did not know what road to go, for he had never been\nout of his own country before the night he brought her away with him.\nNor had the priest any better knowledge than he; but when Guleesh asked\nhim, he wrote three or four letters to the king of France, and gave them\nto buyers and sellers of wares, who used to be going from place to place\nacross the sea; but they all went astray, and never one came to the\nking\u2019s hand.\n\nThis was the way they were for many months, and Guleesh was falling\ndeeper and deeper in love with her every day, and it was plain to himself\nand the priest that she liked him. The boy feared greatly at last, lest\nthe king should really hear where his daughter was, and take her back\nfrom himself, and he besought the priest to write no more, but to leave\nthe matter to God.\n\nSo they passed the time for a year, until there came a day when Guleesh\nwas lying by himself on the grass, on the last day of the last month\nin autumn (_i.e._ October), and he thinking over again in his own mind\nof everything that happened to him from the day that he went with the\nsheehogues across the sea. He remembered then, suddenly, that it was one\nNovember night that he was standing at the gable of the house, when the\nwhirlwind came, and the sheehogues in it, and he said to himself: \u201cWe\nhave November night again to-day, and I\u2019ll stand in the same place I was\nlast year, until I see will the good people come again. Perhaps I might\nsee or hear something that would be useful to me, and might bring back\nher talk again to Mary\u201d\u2014that was the name himself and the priest called\nthe king\u2019s daughter, for neither of them knew her right name. He told his\nintention to the priest, and the priest gave him his blessing.\n\nGuleesh accordingly went to the old rath when the night was darkening,\nand he stood with his bent elbow leaning on a gray old flag, waiting\ntill the middle of the night should come. The moon rose slowly, and it\nwas like a knob of fire behind him; and there was a white fog which was\nraised up over the fields of grass and all damp places, through the\ncoolness of the night after a great heat in the day. The night was calm\nas is a lake when there is not a breath of wind to move a wave on it, and\nthere was no sound to be heard but the _cronawn_ (hum) of the insects\nthat would go by from time to time, or the hoarse sudden scream of the\nwild-geese, as they passed from lake to lake, half a mile up in the air\nover his head; or the sharp whistle of the fadogues and flibeens (golden\nand green plover), rising and lying, lying and rising, as they do on a\ncalm night. There were a thousand thousand bright stars shining over his\nhead, and there was a little frost out, which left the grass under his\nfoot white and crisp.\n\nHe stood there for an hour, for two hours, for three hours, and the frost\nincreased greatly, so that he heard the breaking of the _traneens_ under\nhis foot as often as he moved. He was thinking, in his own mind, at last,\nthat the sheehogues would not come that night, and that it was as good\nfor him to return back again, when he heard a sound far away from him,\ncoming towards him, and he recognised what it was at the first moment.\nThe sound increased, and at first it was like the beating of waves on a\nstony shore, and then it was like the falling of a great waterfall, and\nat last it was like a loud storm in the tops of the trees, and then the\nwhirlwind burst into the rath of one rout, and the sheehogues were in it.\n\nIt all went by him so suddenly that he lost his breath with it, but he\ncame to himself on the spot, and put an ear on himself, listening to what\nthey would say.\n\nScarcely had they gathered into the rath till they all began shouting,\nand screaming, and talking amongst themselves; and then each one of them\ncried out: \u201cMy horse, and bridle, and saddle! My horse, and bridle,\nand saddle!\u201d and Guleesh took courage, and called out as loudly as any\nof them: \u201cMy horse, and bridle, and saddle! My horse, and bridle, and\nsaddle!\u201d But before the word was well out of his mouth, another man cried\nout: \u201cOra! Guleesh, my boy, are you here with us again? How are you\ncoming on with your woman? There\u2019s no use in your calling for your horse\nto-night. I\u2019ll go bail you won\u2019t play on us again. It was a good trick\nyou played on us last year!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was,\u201d said another man, \u201che won\u2019t do it again.\u201d\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t he a prime lad, the same lad! to take a woman with him that never\nsaid as much to him as, \u2018how do you do?\u2019 since this time last year!\u201d says\nthe third man.\n\n\u201cPerhaps he likes to be looking at her,\u201d said another voice.\n\n\u201cAnd if the _omadawn_ only knew that there\u2019s an herb growing up by his\nown door, and to boil it and give it to her and she\u2019d be well,\u201d said\nanother voice.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s true for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is an omadawn.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t bother your head with him, we\u2019ll be going.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll leave the _bodach_ as he is.\u201d\n\nAnd with that they rose up into the air, and out with them of one\n_roolya-boolya_ the way they came; and they left poor Guleesh standing\nwhere they found him, and the two eyes going out of his head, looking\nafter them, and wondering.\n\nHe did not stand long till he returned back, and he thinking in his own\nmind on all he saw and heard, and wondering whether there was really\nan herb at his own door that would bring back the talk to the king\u2019s\ndaughter. \u201cIt can\u2019t be,\u201d says he to himself, \u201cthat they would tell it\nto me, if there was any virtue in it; but perhaps the sheehogue didn\u2019t\nobserve himself when he let the word slip out of his mouth. I\u2019ll search\nwell as soon as the sun rises, whether there\u2019s any plant growing beside\nthe house except thistles and dockings.\u201d\n\nHe went home, and as tired as he was he did not sleep a wink until the\nsun rose on the morrow. He got up then, and it was the first thing he did\nto go out and search well through the grass round about the house, trying\ncould he get any herb that he did not recognize. And, indeed, he was not\nlong searching till he observed a large strange herb that was growing up\njust by the gable of the house.\n\nHe went over to it, and observed it closely, and saw that there were\nseven little branches coming out of the stalk, and seven leaves growing\non every branch_een_ of them, and that there was a white sap in the\nleaves. \u201cIt\u2019s very wonderful,\u201d said he to himself, \u201cthat I never noticed\nthis herb before. If there\u2019s any virtue in an herb at all, it ought to be\nin such a strange one as this.\u201d\n\nHe drew out his knife, cut the plant, and carried it into his own house;\nstripped the leaves off it and cut up the stalk; and there came a thick,\nwhite juice out of it, as there comes out of the sow-thistle when it is\nbruised, except that the juice was more like oil.\n\nHe put it in a little pot and a little water in it, and laid it on the\nfire until the water was boiling, and then he took a cup, filled it half\nup with the juice, and put it to his own mouth. It came into his head\nthen that perhaps it was poison that was in it, and that the good people\nwere only tempting him that he might kill himself with that trick, or put\nthe girl to death without meaning it. He put down the cup again, raised\na couple of drops on the top of his finger, and put it to his mouth. It\nwas not bitter, and, indeed, had a sweet, agreeable taste. He grew bolder\nthen, and drank the full of a thimble of it, and then as much again, and\nhe never stopped till he had half the cup drunk. He fell asleep after\nthat, and did not wake till it was night, and there was great hunger and\ngreat thirst on him.\n\nHe had to wait, then, till the day rose; but he determined, as soon as he\nshould wake in the morning, that he would go to the king\u2019s daughter and\ngive her a drink of the juice of the herb.\n\nAs soon as he got up in the morning, he went over to the priest\u2019s house\nwith the drink in his hand, and he never felt himself so bold and\nvaliant, and spirited and light, as he was that day, and he was quite\ncertain that it was the drink he drank which made him so hearty.\n\nWhen he came to the house, he found the priest and the young lady within,\nand they were wondering greatly why he had not visited them for two days.\n\nHe told them all his news, and said that he was certain that there was\ngreat power in that herb, and that it would do the lady no hurt, for he\ntried it himself and got good from it, and then he made her taste it, for\nhe vowed and swore that there was no harm in it.\n\nGuleesh handed her the cup, and she drank half of it, and then fell back\non her bed and a heavy sleep came on her, and she never woke out of that\nsleep till the day on the morrow.\n\nGuleesh and the priest sat up the entire night with her, waiting till she\nshould awake, and they between hope and unhope, between expectation of\nsaving her and fear of hurting her.\n\nShe awoke at last when the sun had gone half its way through the heavens.\nShe rubbed her eyes and looked like a person who did not know where she\nwas. She was like one astonished when she saw Guleesh and the priest in\nthe same room with her, and she sat up doing her best to collect her\nthoughts.\n\nThe two men were in great anxiety waiting to see would she speak, or\nwould she not speak, and when they remained silent for a couple of\nminutes, the priest said to her: \u201cDid you sleep well, Mary?\u201d\n\nAnd she answered him: \u201cI slept, thank you.\u201d\n\nNo sooner did Guleesh hear her talking than he put a shout of joy out of\nhim, and ran over to her and fell on his two knees, and said: \u201cA thousand\nthanks to God, who has given you back the talk; lady of my heart, speak\nagain to me.\u201d\n\nThe lady answered him that she understood it was he who boiled that\ndrink for her, and gave it to her; that she was obliged to him from her\nheart for all the kindness he showed her since the day she first came to\nIreland, and that he might be certain that she would never forget it.\n\nGuleesh was ready to die with satisfaction and delight. Then they brought\nher food, and she eat with a good appetite, and was merry and joyous, and\nnever left off talking with the priest while she was eating.\n\nAfter that Guleesh went home to his house, and stretched himself on the\nbed and fell asleep again, for the force of the herb was not all spent,\nand he passed another day and a night sleeping. When he woke up he went\nback to the priest\u2019s house, and found that the young lady was in the same\nstate, and that she was asleep almost since the time that he left the\nhouse.\n\nHe went into her chamber with the priest, and they remained watching\nbeside her till she awoke the second time, and she had her talk as well\nas ever, and Guleesh was greatly rejoiced. The priest put food on the\ntable again, and they eat together, and Guleesh used after that to come\nto the house from day to day, and the friendship that was between him and\nthe king\u2019s daughter increased, because she had no one to speak to except\nGuleesh and the priest, and she liked Guleesh best.\n\nHe had to tell her the way he was standing by the rath when the good\npeople came, and how he went in to the Pope, and how the sheehogue blew\nfire out of his mouth, and every other thing that he did till the time\nthe good people whipt her off with themselves; and when it would be all\ntold he would have to begin it again out of the new, and she never was\ntired listening to him.\n\nWhen they had been that way for another half year, she said that she\ncould wait no longer without going back to her father and mother; that\nshe was certain that they were greatly grieved for her; and that it was\na shame for her to leave them in grief, when it was in her power to go\nas far as them. The priest did all he could to keep her with them for\nanother while, but without effect, and Guleesh spoke every sweet word\nthat came into his head, trying to get the victory over her, and to\ncoax her and make her stay as she was, but it was no good for him. She\ndetermined that she would go, and no man alive would make her change her\nintention.\n\nShe had not much money, but only two rings that were on her hand, when\nthe sheehogue carried her away, and a gold pin that was in her hair, and\ngolden buckles that were on her little shoes.\n\nThe priest took and sold them and gave her the money, and she said that\nshe was ready to go.\n\nShe left her blessing and farewell with the priest and Guleesh, and\ndeparted. She was not long gone till there came such grief and melancholy\nover Guleesh that he knew he would not be long alive unless he were near\nher, and he followed her.\n\n    (The next 42 pages in the Leabhar Sgeuluigheachta are taken\n    up with the adventures of Guleesh and the princess, on their\n    way to the court of France. But this portion of the story is\n    partly taken from other tales, and part is too much altered and\n    amplified in the writing of it, so that I do not give it here,\n    as not being genuine folk-lore, which the story, except for a\n    very little embellishment, has been up to this point. The whole\n    ends as follows, with the restoration of the princess and her\n    marriage with Guleesh.)\n\nIt was well, and it was not ill. They married one another, and that was\nthe fine wedding they had, and if I were to be there then, I would not be\nhere now; but I heard it from a birdeen that there was neither cark nor\ncare, sickness nor sorrow, mishap nor misfortune on them till the hour of\ntheir death, and that it may be the same with me, and with us all!\n\n\n\n\nTHE WELL OF D\u2019YERREE-IN-DOWAN.\n\n\nA long time ago\u2014before St. Patrick\u2019s time\u2014there was an old king in\nConnacht, and he had three sons. The king had a sore foot for many years,\nand he could get no cure. One day he sent for the Dall Glic (wise blind\nman) which he had, and said to him:\n\n\u201cI\u2019m giving you wages this twenty years, and you can\u2019t tell me what will\ncure my foot.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou never asked me that question before,\u201d said the Dall Glic; \u201cbut I\ntell you now that there is nothing in the world to cure you but a bottle\nof water from the Well of D\u2019yerree-in-Dowan\u201d (_i.e._, end of the world).\n\nIn the morning, the day on the morrow, the king called his three sons,\nand he said to them:\n\n\u201cMy foot will never be better until I get a bottle of water from the Well\nof D\u2019yerree-in-Dowan, and whichever of you will bring me that, he has my\nkingdom to get.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe will go in pursuit of it to-morrow,\u201d says the three. The names of the\nthree were Art, Nart (_i.e._, strength), and Cart[30] (_i.e._, right).\n\nOn the morning of the day on the morrow, the king gave to each one of\nthem a purse of gold, and they went on their way. When they came as far\nas the cross-roads, Art said:\n\n\u201cEach one of us ought to go a road for himself, and if one of us is back\nbefore a year and a day, let him wait till the other two come; or else\nlet him set up a stone as a sign that he has come back safe.\u201d\n\nThey parted from one another after that, and Art and Nart went to an inn\nand began drinking; but Cart went on by himself. He walked all that day\nwithout knowing where he was going. As the darkness of the night came\non he was entering a great wood, and he was going forwards in the wood,\nuntil he came to a large house. He went in and looked round him, but he\nsaw nobody, except a large white cat sitting beside the fire. When the\ncat saw him she rose up and went into another room. He was tired and sat\nbeside the fire. It was not long till the door of the chamber opened, and\nthere came out an old hag.\n\n\u201cOne hundred thousand welcomes before you, son of the king of Connacht,\u201d\nsays the hag.\n\n\u201cHow did you know me?\u201d says the king\u2019s son.\n\n\u201cOh, many\u2019s the good day I spent in your father\u2019s castle in Bwee-sounee,\nand I know you since you were born,\u201d said the hag.\n\nThen she prepared him a fine supper, and gave it to him. When he had\neaten and drunk enough, she said to him:\n\n\u201cYou made a long journey to-day; come with me until I show you a bed.\u201d\nThen she brought him to a fine chamber, showed him a bed, and the king\u2019s\nson fell asleep. He did not awake until the sun was coming in on the\nwindows the next morning.\n\nThen he rose up, dressed himself, and was going out, when the hag asked\nhim where he was going.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said the king\u2019s son. \u201cI left home to find out the Well of\nD\u2019yerree-in-Dowan.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m after walking a good many places,\u201d said the hag, \u201cbut I never heard\ntalk of the Well of D\u2019yerree-in-Dowan before.\u201d\n\nThe king\u2019s son went out, and he was travelling till he came to a\ncross-roads between two woods. He did not know which road to take. He saw\na seat under the trunk of a great tree. When he went up to it he found\nit written: \u201cThis is the seat of travellers.\u201d\n\nThe king\u2019s son sat down, and after a minute he saw the most lovely woman\nin the world coming towards him, and she dressed in red silk, and she\nsaid to him:\n\n\u201cI often heard that it is better to go forward than back.\u201d\n\nThen she went out of his sight as though the ground should swallow her.\n\nThe king\u2019s son rose up and went forward. He walked that day till the\ndarkness of the night was coming on, and he did not know where to get\nlodgings. He saw a light in a wood, and he drew towards it. The light was\nin a little house. There was not as much as the end of a feather jutting\nup on the outside nor jutting down on the inside, but only one single\nfeather that was keeping up the house. He knocked at the door, and an old\nhag opened it.\n\n\u201cGod save all here,\u201d says the king\u2019s son.\n\n\u201cA hundred welcomes before you, son of the king of the castle of\nBwee-sounee,\u201d said the hag.\n\n\u201cHow do you know me?\u201d said the king\u2019s son.\n\n\u201cIt was my sister nursed you,\u201d said the hag, \u201cand sit down till I get\nyour supper ready.\u201d\n\nWhen he ate and drank his enough, she put him to sleep till morning. When\nhe rose up in the morning, he prayed to God to direct him on the road of\nhis luck.\n\n\u201cHow far will you go to-day?\u201d said the hag.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said the king\u2019s son. \u201cI\u2019m in search of the Well of\nD\u2019yerree-in-Dowan.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m three hundred years here,\u201d said the hag, \u201cand I never heard of such\na place before; but I have a sister older than myself, and, perhaps, she\nmay know of it. Here is a ball of silver for you, and when you will go\nout upon the road throw it up before you, and follow it till you come to\nthe house of my sister.\u201d\n\nWhen he went out on the road he threw down the ball, and he was following\nit until the sun was going under the shadow of the hills. Then he went\ninto a wood, and came to the door of a little house. When he struck the\ndoor, a hag opened it and said:\n\n\u201cA hundred thousand welcomes before you, son of the king of the castle of\nBwee-sounee, who were at my sister\u2019s house last night. You made a long\njourney to-day. Sit down; I have a supper ready for you.\u201d\n\nWhen the king\u2019s son ate and drank his enough, the hag put him to sleep,\nand he did not wake up till the morning. Then the hag asked:\n\n\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t rightly know,\u201d said the king\u2019s son. \u201cI left home to find out the\nWell of D\u2019yerree-in-Dowan.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am over five hundred years of age,\u201d said the hag, \u201cand I never heard\ntalk of that place before; but I have a brother, and if there is any such\nplace in the world, he\u2019ll know of it. He is living seven hundred miles\nfrom here.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a long journey,\u201d said the king\u2019s son.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll be there to-night,\u201d said the hag.\n\nThen she gave him a little garraun (nag, gelding) about the size of a\ngoat.\n\n\u201cThat little beast won\u2019t be able to carry me,\u201d said the king\u2019s son.\n\n\u201cWait till you go riding on it,\u201d said the hag.\n\nThe king\u2019s son got on the garraun, and out for ever with him as fast as\nlightning.\n\nWhen the sun was going under, that evening, he came to a little house in\na wood. The king\u2019s son got off the garraun, went in, and it was not long\ntill an old grey man came out, and said:\n\n\u201cA hundred thousand welcomes to you, son of the king of the castle of\nBwee-sounee. You\u2019re in search of the Well of D\u2019yerree-in-Dowan.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am, indeed,\u201d said the king\u2019s son.\n\n\u201cMany\u2019s the good man went that way before you; but not a man of them came\nback alive,\u201d said the old man; \u201chowever, I\u2019ll do my best for you. Stop\nhere to-night, and we\u2019ll have sport to-morrow.\u201d\n\nThen he dressed a supper and gave it to the king\u2019s son, and when he ate\nand drank, the old man put him to sleep.\n\nIn the morning of the day on the morrow, the old man said:\n\n\u201cI found out where the Well of D\u2019yerree-in-Dowan is; but it is difficult\nto go as far as it. We must find out if there\u2019s any good in you with the\ntight loop (bow?).\u201d\n\nThen he brought the king\u2019s son out into the wood, gave him the loop, and\nput a mark on a tree two score yards from him, and told him to strike it.\nHe drew the loop and struck the mark.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll do the business,\u201d said the old man.\n\nThey then went in, and spent the day telling stories till the darkness of\nthe night was come.\n\nWhen the darkness of the night was come, the old man gave him a loop\n(bow?) and a sheaf of sharp stings (darts), and said:\n\n\u201cCome with me now.\u201d\n\nThey were going until they came to a great river. Then the old man said:\n\n\u201cGo on my back, and I\u2019ll swim across the river with you; but if you see a\ngreat bird coming, kill him, or we shall be lost.\u201d\n\nThen the king\u2019s son got on the old man\u2019s back, and the old man began\nswimming. When they were in the middle of the river the king\u2019s son saw\na great eagle coming, and his gob (beak) open. The king\u2019s son drew the\nloop and wounded the eagle.\n\n\u201cDid you strike him?\u201d said the old man.\n\n\u201cI struck him,\u201d said the king\u2019s son; \u201cbut here he comes again.\u201d\n\nHe drew the loop the second time and the eagle fell dead.\n\nWhen they came to the land, the old man said:\n\n\u201cWe are on the island of the Well of D\u2019yerree-in-Dowan. The queen is\nasleep, and she will not waken for a day and a year. She never goes to\nsleep but once in seven years. There is a lion and a monster (uillph\u00e9ist)\nwatching at the gate of the well, but they go to sleep at the same time\nwith the queen, and you will have no difficulty in going to the well.\nHere are two bottles for you; fill one of them for yourself, and the\nother for me, and it will make a young man of me.\u201d\n\nThe king\u2019s son went off, and when he came as far as the castle he saw the\nlion and the monster sleeping on each side of the gate. Then he saw a\ngreat wheel throwing up water out of the well, and he went and filled the\ntwo bottles, and he was coming back when he saw a shining light in the\ncastle. He looked in through the window and saw a great table. There was\na loaf of bread, with a knife, a bottle, and a glass on it. He filled the\nglass, but he did not diminish the bottle. He observed that there was a\nwriting on the bottle and on the loaf; and he read on the bottle: \u201cWater\nFor the World,\u201d and on the loaf: \u201cBread For the World.\u201d He cut a piece\noff the loaf, but it only grew bigger.\n\n\u201cMy grief! that we haven\u2019t that loaf and that bottle at home,\u201d said the\nking\u2019s son, \u201cand there\u2019d be neither hunger nor thirst on the poor people.\u201d\n\nThen he went into a great chamber, and he saw the queen and eleven\nwaiting-maids asleep, and a sword of light hung above the head of the\nqueen. It was it that was giving light to the whole castle.\n\nWhen he saw the queen, he said to himself: \u201cIt\u2019s a pity to leave that\npretty mouth without kissing it.\u201d He kissed the queen, and she never\nawoke; and after that he did the same to the eleven maidens. Then he got\nthe sword, the bottle, and the loaf, and came to the old man, but he\nnever told him that he had those things.\n\n\u201cHow did you get on?\u201d said the old man.\n\n\u201cI got the thing I was in search of,\u201d said the king\u2019s son.\n\n\u201cDid you see any marvel since you left me?\u201d said the old man.\n\nThe king\u2019s son told him that he had seen a wonderful loaf, bottle, and\nsword.\n\n\u201cYou did not touch them?\u201d said the old man; \u201cshun them, for they would\nbring trouble on you. Come on my back now till I bring you across the\nriver.\u201d\n\nWhen they went to the house of the old man, he put water out of the\nbottle on himself, and made a young man of himself. Then he said to the\nking\u2019s son:\n\n\u201cMy sisters and myself are now free from enchantment, and they are young\nwomen again.\u201d\n\nThe king\u2019s son remained there until most part of the year and day were\ngone. Then he began the journey home; but, my grief, he had not the\nlittle nag with him. He walked the first day until the darkness of the\nnight was coming on. He saw a large house. He went to the door, struck\nit, and the man of the house came out to him.\n\n\u201cCan you give me lodgings?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cI can,\u201d said the man of the house, \u201conly I have no light to light you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have a light myself,\u201d said the king\u2019s son.\n\nHe went in then, drew the sword, and gave a fine light to them all, and\nto everybody that was in the island. They then gave him a good supper,\nand he went to sleep. When he was going away in the morning, the man of\nthe house asked him for the honour of God, to leave the sword with them.\n\n\u201cSince you asked for it in the honour of God, you must have it,\u201d said the\nking\u2019s son.\n\nHe walked the second day till the darkness was coming. He went to another\ngreat house, beat the door, and it was not long till the woman of the\nhouse came to him, and he asked lodgings of her. The man of the house\ncame and said:\n\n\u201cI can give you that; but I have not a drop of water to dress food for\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have plenty of water myself,\u201d said the king\u2019s son.\n\nHe went in, drew out the bottle, and there was not a vessel in the house\nhe did not fill, and still the bottle was full. Then a supper was dressed\nfor him, and when he ate and drank his enough, he went to sleep. In the\nmorning, when he was going, the woman asked of him, in the honour of God,\nto leave them the bottle.\n\n\u201cSince it has chanced that you ask it for the honour of God,\u201d said the\nking\u2019s son, \u201cI cannot refuse you, for my mother put me under _gassa_\n(mystic obligations), before she died, never, if I could, to refuse\nanything that a person would ask of me for the honour of God.\u201d\n\nThen he left the bottle to them.\n\nHe walked the third day until darkness was coming, and he reached a great\nhouse on the side of the road. He struck the door; the man of the house\ncame out, and he asked lodgings of him.\n\n\u201cI can give you that, and welcome,\u201d said the man; \u201cbut I\u2019m grieved that\nI have not a morsel of bread for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have plenty of bread myself,\u201d said the king\u2019s son.\n\nHe went in, got a knife, and began cutting the loaf, until the table\nwas filled with pieces of bread, and yet the loaf was as big as it was\nwhen he began. Then they prepared a supper for him, and when he ate his\nenough, he went to sleep. When he was departing in the morning, they\nasked of him, for the honour of God, to leave the loaf with them, and he\nleft it with them.\n\nThe three things were now gone from him.\n\nHe walked the fourth day until he came to a great river, and he had no\nway to get across it. He went upon his knees, and asked of God to send\nhim help. After half a minute, he saw the beautiful woman he saw the day\nhe left the house of the first hag. When she came near him, she said:\n\u201cSon of the king of the castle of Bwee-sounnee, has it succeeded with\nyou?\u201d\n\n\u201cI got the thing I went in search of,\u201d said the king\u2019s son; \u201cbut I do not\nknow how I shall pass over this river.\u201d\n\nShe drew out a thimble and said: \u201cBad is the day I would see your\nfather\u2019s son without a boat.\u201d\n\nThen she threw the thimble into the river, and made a splendid boat of it.\n\n\u201cGet into that boat now,\u201d said she; \u201cand when you will come to the\nother side, there will be a steed before you to bring you as far as the\ncross-road, where you left your brothers.\u201d\n\nThe king\u2019s son stepped into the boat, and it was not long until he was\nat the other side, and there he found a white steed before him. He went\nriding on it, and it went off as swiftly as the wind. At about twelve\no\u2019clock on that day, he was at the cross-roads. The king\u2019s son looked\nround him, and he did not see his brothers, nor any stone set up, and he\nsaid to himself, \u201cperhaps they are at the inn.\u201d He went there, and found\nArt and Nart, and they two-thirds drunk.\n\nThey asked him how he went on since he left them.\n\n\u201cI have found out the Well of D\u2019yerree-in-Dowan, and I have the bottle of\nwater,\u201d said Cart.\n\nNart and Art were filled with jealousy, and they said one to the other:\n\u201cIt\u2019s a great shame that the youngest son should have the kingdom.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll kill him, and bring the bottle of water to my father,\u201d said\nNart; \u201cand we\u2019ll say that it was ourselves who went to the Well of\nD\u2019yerree-in-Dowan.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not with you there,\u201d said Art; \u201cbut we\u2019ll set him drunk, and we\u2019ll\ntake the bottle of (from) him. My father will believe me and you, before\nhe\u2019ll believe our brother, because he has an idea that there\u2019s nothing in\nhim but a half _omadawn_.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d he said to Cart, \u201csince it has happened that we have come home\nsafe and sound we\u2019ll have a drink before we go home.\u201d\n\nThey called for a quart of whiskey, and they made Cart drink the most of\nit, and he fell drunk. Then they took the bottle of water from him, went\nhome themselves, and gave it to the king. He put a drop of the water on\nhis foot, and it made him as well as ever he was.\n\nThen they told him that they had great trouble to get the bottle of\nwater; that they had to fight giants, and to go through great dangers.\n\n\u201cDid ye see Cart on your road?\u201d said the king.\n\n\u201cHe never went farther than the inn, since he left us,\u201d said they; \u201cand\nhe\u2019s in it now, blind drunk.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere never was any good in him,\u201d said the king; \u201cbut I cannot leave him\nthere.\u201d\n\nThen he sent six men to the inn, and they carried Cart home. When he\ncame to himself, the king made him into a servant to do all the dirty\njobs about the castle.\n\nWhen a year and a day had gone by, the queen of the Well of\nD\u2019yerree-in-Dowan and her waiting-maidens woke up and the queen found a\nyoung son by her side, and the eleven maidens the same.\n\nThere was great anger on the queen, and she sent for the lion and the\nmonster, and asked them what was become of the eagle that she left in\ncharge of the castle.\n\n\u201cHe must be dead, or he\u2019d be here now, when you woke up,\u201d said they.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m destroyed, myself, and the waiting-maidens ruined,\u201d said the queen;\n\u201cand I never will stop till I find out the father of my son.\u201d\n\nThen she got ready her enchanted coach, and two fawns under it. She was\ngoing till she came to the first house where the king\u2019s son got lodging,\nand she asked was there any stranger there lately. The man of the house\nsaid there was.\n\n\u201cYes!\u201d said the queen, \u201cand he left the sword of light behind him; it is\nmine, and if you do not give it to me quickly I will throw your house\nupside down.\u201d\n\nThey gave her the sword, and she went on till she came to the second\nhouse, in which he had got lodging, and she asked was there any stranger\nthere lately. They said that there was. \u201cYes,\u201d said she, \u201cand he left a\nbottle after him. Give it to me quickly, or I\u2019ll throw the house on ye.\u201d\n\nThey gave her the bottle, and she went till she came to the third house,\nand she asked was there any stranger there lately. They said there was.\n\n\u201cYes!\u201d said she, \u201cand he left the loaf of lasting bread after him. That\nbelongs to me, and if ye don\u2019t give it to me quickly I will kill ye all.\u201d\n\nShe got the loaf, and she was going, and never stopped till she came\nto the castle of Bwee-Sounee. She pulled the _cooalya-coric_, pole of\ncombat, and the king came out.\n\n\u201cHave you any son?\u201d said the queen.\n\n\u201cI have,\u201d said the king.\n\n\u201cSend him out here till I see him,\u201d said she.\n\nThe king sent out Art, and she asked him: \u201cWere you at the Well of\nD\u2019yerree-in-Dowan?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was,\u201d said Art.\n\n\u201cAnd are you the father of my son?\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cI believe I am,\u201d said Art.\n\n\u201cI will know that soon,\u201d said she.\n\nThen she drew two hairs out of her head, flung them against the wall, and\nthey were made into a ladder that went up to the top of the castle. Then\nshe said to Art: \u201cIf you were at the Well of D\u2019yerree-in-Dowan, you can\ngo up to the top of that ladder.\u201d\n\nArt went up half way, then he fell, and his thigh was broken.\n\n\u201cYou were never at the Well of D\u2019yerree-in-Dowan,\u201d said the queen.\n\nThen she asked the king: \u201cHave you any other son?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have,\u201d said the king.\n\n\u201cBring him out,\u201d said the queen.\n\nNart came out, and she asked him: \u201cWere you ever at the Well of\nD\u2019yerree-in-Dowan?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was,\u201d said Nart.\n\n\u201cIf you were, go up to the top of that ladder,\u201d said the queen.\n\nHe began going up, but he had not gone far till he fell and broke his\nfoot.\n\n\u201cYou were not at the Well of D\u2019yerree-in-Dowan,\u201d said the queen.\n\nThen she asked the king if he had any other son, and the king said he\nhad. \u201cBut,\u201d said he, \u201cit\u2019s a half fool he is, that never left home.\u201d\n\n\u201cBring him here,\u201d said the queen.\n\nWhen Cart came, she asked him: \u201cWere you at the Well of\nD\u2019yerree-in-Dowan?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was,\u201d said Cart, \u201cand I saw you there.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo up to the top of that ladder,\u201d said the queen.\n\nCart went up like a cat, and when he came down she said: \u201cYou are the man\nwho was at the Well of D\u2019yerree-in-Dowan, and you are the father of my\nson.\u201d\n\nThen Cart told the trick his brothers played on him, and the queen was\ngoing to slay them, until Cart asked pardon for them. Then the king said\nthat Cart must get the kingdom.\n\nThen the father dressed him out and put a chain of gold beneath his neck,\nand he got into the coach along with the queen, and they departed to the\nWell of D\u2019yerree-in-Dowan.\n\nThe waiting-maidens gave a great welcome to the king\u2019s son, and they all\nof them came to him, each one asking him to marry herself.\n\nHe remained there for one-and-twenty years, until the queen died, and\nthen he brought back with him his twelve sons, and came home to Galway.\nEach of them married a wife, and it is from them that the twelve tribes\nof Galway are descended.\n\n\n\n\nTHE COURT OF CRINNAWN.\n\n\nA long time ago there came a lot of gentlemen to a river which is between\nthe County Mee-\u00f2h (Mayo) and Roscommon, and they chose out a nice place\nfor themselves on the brink of a river, and set up a court on it. Nobody\nat all in the little villages round about knew from what place these\ngentlemen came. MacDonnell was the name that was on them. The neighbours\nwere for a long time without making friendship with them, until there\ncame a great plague, and the people were getting death in their hundreds.\n\nOne day there was the only son of a poor widow dying from the destructive\nplague, and she had not a drop of milk to wet his tongue. She went to the\ncourt, and they asked her what she was looking for. She told them that\nthe one son she had was dying of the plague and that she had not a drop\nof milk to wet his tongue.\n\n\u201cHard is your case,\u201d says a lady that was in the court to her. \u201cI will\ngive you milk and healing, and your son will be as well at the end of an\nhour as ever he was.\u201d Then she gave her a tin can, and said: \u201cGo home\nnow, this can will never be empty as long as you or your son is alive,\nif you keep the secret without telling anybody that you got it here.\nWhen you will go home put a morsel of the Mary\u2019s shamrock (four-leaved\nshamrock?) in the milk and give it to your son.\u201d\n\nThe widow went home. She put a bit of four-leaved shamrock in the milk,\nand gave it to her son to drink, and he rose up at the end of an hour as\nwell as ever he was. Then the woman went through the villages round about\nwith the can, and there was no one at all to whom she gave a drink that\nwas not healed at the end of an hour.\n\nIt was not long till the fame of Maurya nee Keerachawn (Mary Kerrigan),\nthat was the name of the widow, went through the country, and it was not\nlong till she had the full of the bag of gold and silver.\n\nOne day Mary went to a _pattern_ at Cultya Bronks, drank too much, fell\non drunkenness, and let out the secret.\n\nThere came the heavy sleep of drunkenness on her, and when she awoke the\ncan was gone. There was so much grief on her that she drowned herself in\na place called Pull Bawn (the White Hole), within a mile of Cultya Bronks.\n\nEverybody thought now that they had the can of healing to get at the\nCourt of Crinnawn if they would go there. In the morning, the day on the\nmorrow, there went plenty of people to the court, and they found every\none who was in it dead. The shout went out, and the hundreds of people\ngathered together, but no man could go in, for the court was filled with\nsmoke; and lightning and thunder coming out of it.\n\nThey sent a message for the priest, who was in Ballaghadereen, but he\nsaid: \u201cIt is not in my parish, and I won\u2019t have anything to do with it.\u201d\nThat night the people saw a great light in the court, and there was very\ngreat fear on them. The day on the morrow they sent word to the priest of\nLisahull, but he would not come, as the place was not in his parish. Word\nwas sent to the priest of Kilmovee, then, but he had the same excuse.\n\nThere were a lot of poor friars in Cultya Mawn, and when they heard the\nstory they went to the court without a person with them but themselves.\n\nWhen they went in they began saying prayers, but they saw no corpse.\nAfter a time the smoke went, the lightning and thunder ceased, a door\nopened, and there came out a great man. The friars noticed that he had\nonly one eye, and that it was in his forehead.\n\n\u201cIn the name of God, who are you?\u201d said a man of the friars.\n\n\u201cI am Crinnawn, son of Belore, of the Evil Eye. Let there be no fear on\nye, I shall do ye no damage, for ye are courageous, good men. The people\nwho were here are gone to eternal rest, body and soul. I know that ye\nare poor, and that there are plenty of poor people round about ye. Here\nare two purses for ye, one of them for yourselves, and the other one to\ndivide upon the poor; and when all that will be spent, do ye come again.\nNot of this world am I, but I shall do no damage to anyone unless he does\nit to me first, and do ye keep from me.\u201d\n\nThen he gave them two purses, and said: \u201cGo now on your good work.\u201d The\nfriars went home; they gathered the poor people and they divided the\nmoney on them. The people questioned them as to what it was they saw in\nthe court. \u201cIt is a secret each thing we saw in the court, and it is our\nadvice to ye not to go near the court, and no harm will come upon ye.\u201d\n\nThe priests were covetous when they heard that the friars got plenty of\nmoney in the court, and the three of them went there with the hope that\nthey would get some as the friars got it.\n\nWhen they went in they began crying aloud: \u201cIs there any person here?\nis there any person here?\u201d Crinnawn came out of a chamber and asked:\n\u201cWhat are ye looking for?\u201d \u201cWe came to make friendship with you,\u201d said\nthe priests. \u201cI thought that priests were not given to telling lies,\u201d\nsaid Crinnawn; \u201cye came with a hope that ye would get money as the poor\nfriars got. Ye were afraid to come when the people sent for ye, and now\nye will not get a keenogue (mite?) from me, for ye are not worth it.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you know that we have power to banish you out of this place,\u201d said\nthe priests, \u201cand we will make use of that power unless you will be more\ncivil than you are.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t care for your power,\u201d said Crinnawn, \u201cI have more power myself\nthan all the priests that are in Ireland.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a lie you\u2019re speaking,\u201d said the priests.\n\n\u201cYe will see a small share of my power to-night,\u201d said Crinnawn; \u201cI will\nnot leave a wattle over your heads that I will not sweep into yonder\nriver, and I could kill ye with the sight of my eye, if I chose. Ye will\nfind the roofs of your houses in the river to-morrow morning. Now put no\nother questions on me, and threaten me no more, or it will be worse for\nye.\u201d\n\nThere came fear on the priests, and they went home; but they did not\nbelieve that their houses would be without a roof before morning.\n\nAbout midnight, that night, there came a blast of wind under the roof of\nthe houses of the priests, and it swept them into the river forenent the\ncourt. There was not a bone of the priests but was shaken with terror,\nand they had to get shelter in the houses of the neighbours till morning.\n\nIn the morning, the day on the morrow, the priests came to the river\nopposite the court, and they saw the roofs that were on all their houses\nswimming in the water. They sent for the friars, and asked them to go\nto Crinnawn and proclaim a peace, and say to him that they would put no\nmore trouble on him. The friars went to the court, and Crinnawn welcomed\nthem, and asked them what they were seeking. \u201cWe come from the priests\nto proclaim a peace on you, they will trouble you no more.\u201d \u201cThat is well\nfor them,\u201d said Crinnawn, \u201ccome with me now until ye see me putting back\nthe roofs of the houses.\u201d They went with him as far as the river, and\nthen he blew a blast out of each nostril. The roofs of the houses rose up\nas well as they were when they were first put on. There was wonder on the\npriests, and they said: \u201cThe power of enchantment is not yet dead, nor\nbanished out of the country yet.\u201d From that day out neither priest nor\nanyone else would go near the Court of Crinnawn.\n\nA year after the death of Mary Kerrigan, there was a pattern in Cultya\nBronks. There were plenty of young men gathered in it, and amongst them\nwas Paudyeen, the son of Mary Kerrigan. They drank whiskey till they\nwere in madness. When they were going home, Paudyeen O\u2019Kerrigan said:\n\u201cThere is money in plenty in the court up there, and if ye have courage\nwe can get it.\u201d As the drink was in them, twelve of them said: \u201cWe have\ncourage, and we will go to the court.\u201d When they came to the door,\nPaudyeen O\u2019Kerrigan said: \u201cOpen the door, or we will break it.\u201d Crinnawn\ncame out and said: \u201cUnless ye go home I will put a month\u2019s sleep on ye.\u201d\nThey thought to get a hold of Crinnawn, but he put a blast of wind out of\nhis two nostrils that swept the young men to a _lis_ (old circular rath)\ncalled Lisdrumneal, and put a heavy sleep on them, and a big cloud over\nthem, and there is no name on the place from that out, but Lis-trum-nail\n(the fort of the heavy cloud).\n\nOn the morning, the day on the morrow, the young men were not to be found\neither backwards or forwards, and there was great grief amongst the\npeople. That day went by without any account from the young men. People\nsaid that it was Crinnawn that killed them, for some saw them going to\nthe court. The fathers and mothers of the young men went to the friars,\nand prayed them to go to Crinnawn and to find out from him where the\nyoung men were, dead or alive.\n\nThey went to Crinnawn, and Crinnawn told them the trick the young men\nthought to do on him, and the thing he did with them. \u201cIf it be your\nwill, bestow forgiveness on them this time,\u201d said the friars; \u201cthey were\nmad with whiskey, and they won\u2019t be guilty again.\u201d \u201cOn account of ye to\nask it of me, I will loose them this time; but if they come again, I will\nput a sleep of seven years on them. Come with me now till you see them.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s bad walkers, we are,\u201d said the friars, \u201cwe would be a long time\ngoing to the place where they are.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe won\u2019t be two minutes going to it,\u201d said Crinnawn, \u201cand ye will be\nback at home in the same time.\u201d\n\nThen he brought them out, and put a blast of wind out of his mouth, and\nswept them to Lisdrumneal, and he himself was there as soon as they.\n\nThey saw the twelve young men asleep under a cloud in the _lis_, and\nthere was great wonder on them. \u201cNow,\u201d said Crinnawn, \u201cI will send them\nhome.\u201d He blew upon them, and they rose up like birds in the air, and it\nwas not long until each one of them was at home, and the friars as well,\nand you may be certain that they did not go to the Court of Crinnawn any\nmore.\n\nCrinnawn was living in the court years after that. One day the friars\nwent on a visit to him, but he was not to be found. People say that the\nfriars got great riches after Crinnawn. At the end of a period of time\nthe roof fell off the court, as everyone was afraid to go and live in\nit. During many years after that, people would go round about a mile,\nbefore they would go near the old court. There is only a portion of the\nwalls to be found now; but there is no name on the old court from that\nday till this day, but Coort a Chrinnawn (Crinnawn\u2019s Court).\n\n\n\n\nNEIL O\u2019CARREE.\n\n\nThere was no nicety about him. He said to his wife that he would go to\nthe forge to get a doctoring instrument. He went to the forge the next\nday. \u201cWhere are you going to to-day?\u201d said the smith. \u201cI am going till\nyou make me an instrument for doctoring.\u201d \u201cWhat is the instrument I shall\nmake you?\u201d \u201cMake a _crumskeen_ and a _galskeen_\u201d (crooked knife and white\nknife?). The smith made that for him. He came home.\n\nWhen the day came\u2014the day on the morrow\u2014Neil O\u2019Carree rose up. He made\nready to be going as a doctor. He went. He was walking away. A red lad\nmet him on the side of the high road. He saluted Neil O\u2019Carree; Neil\nsaluted him. \u201cWhere are you going?\u201d says the red man. \u201cI am going till I\nbe my (_i.e._, a) doctor.\u201c \u201dIt\u2019s a good trade,\u201d says the red man, \u201c\u2019twere\nbest for you to hire me.\u201d \u201cWhat\u2019s the wages you\u2019ll be looking for?\u201d says\nNeil. \u201cHalf of what we shall earn till we shall be back again on this\nground.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll give you that,\u201d says Neil. The couple walked on.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a king\u2019s daughter,\u201d says the red man, \u201cwith the (_i.e._, near\nto) death; we will go as far as her, till we see will we heal her.\u201d They\nwent as far as the gate. The porter came to them. He asked them where\nwere they going. They said that it was coming to look at the king\u2019s\ndaughter they were, to see would they do her good. The king desired to\nlet them in. They went in.\n\nThey went to the place where the girl was lying. The red man went and\ntook hold of her pulse. He said that if his master should get the price\nof his labour he would heal her. The king said that he would give his\nmaster whatever he should award himself. He said, \u201cif he had the room to\nhimself and his master, that it would be better.\u201d The king said he should\nhave it.\n\nHe desired to bring down to him a skillet (little pot) of water. He put\nthe skillet on the fire. He asked Neil O\u2019Carree: \u201cWhere is the doctoring\ninstrument?\u201d \u201cHere they are,\u201d says Neil, \u201ca crumskeen and a galskeen.\u201d\n\nHe put the crumskeen on the neck of the girl. He took the head off her.\nHe drew a green herb out of his pocket. He rubbed it to the neck. There\ndid not come one drop of blood. He threw the head into the skillet. He\nknocked a boil out of it. He seized hold on the two ears. He took it out\nof the skillet. He struck it down on the neck. The head stuck as well\nas ever it was. \u201cHow do you feel yourself now?\u201d \u201cI am as well as ever I\nwas,\u201d said the king\u2019s daughter.\n\nThe big man shouted. The king came down. There was great joy on him.\nHe would not let them go away for three days. When they were going he\nbrought down a bag of money. He poured it out on the table. He asked\nof Neil O\u2019Carree had he enough there. Neil said he had, and more than\nenough, that they would take but the half. The king desired them not to\nspare the money.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s the daughter of another king waiting for us to go and look at\nher.\u201d They bade farewell to the king and they went there.\n\nThey went looking at her. They went to the place where she was lying,\nlooking at her in her bed, and it was the same way this one was healed.\nThe king was grateful, and he said he did not mind how much money Neil\nshould take of him. He gave him three hundred pounds of money. They went\nthen, drawing on home. \u201cThere\u2019s a king\u2019s son in such and such a place,\u201d\nsaid the red man, \u201cbut we won\u2019t go to him, we will go home with what we\nhave.\u201d\n\nThey were drawing on home. The king (had) bestowed half a score of\nheifers on them, to bring home with them. They were walking away. When\nthey were in the place where Neil O\u2019Carree hired the red man, \u201cI think,\u201d\nsays the red man, \u201cthat this is the place I met you the first time.\u201d \u201cI\nthink it is,\u201d says Neil O\u2019Carree. \u201cMusha, how shall we divide the money?\u201d\n\u201cTwo halves,\u201d says the red man, \u201cthat\u2019s the bargain was in it.\u201d \u201cI think\nit a great deal to give you a half,\u201d says Neil O\u2019Carree, \u201ca third is big\nenough for you; I have a crumskeen and a galskeen (says Neil) and you\nhave nothing.\u201d \u201cI won\u2019t take anything,\u201d said the red man, \u201cunless I get\nthe half.\u201d They fell out about the money. The red man went and he left\nhim.\n\nNeil O\u2019Carree was drawing home, riding on his beast. He was driving his\nshare of cattle. The day came hot. The cattle went capering backwards\nand forwards. Neil O\u2019Carree was controlling them. When he would have one\nor two caught the rest would be off when he used to come back. He tied\nhis garrawn (gelding) to a bit of a tree. He was a-catching the cattle.\nAt the last they were all off and away. He did not know where they went.\nHe returned back to the place where he left his garrawn and his money.\nNeither the garrawn nor the money were to be got. He did not know then\nwhat he should do. He thought he would go to the house of the king whose\nson was ill.\n\nHe went along, drawing towards the house of the king. He went looking on\nthe lad in the place where he was lying. He took a hold of his pulse.\nHe said he thought he would heal him. \u201cIf you heal him,\u201d said the king,\n\u201cI will give you three hundred pounds.\u201d \u201cIf I were to get the room to\nmyself, for a little,\u201d says he. The king said that he should get that.\nHe called down for a skillet of water. He put the skillet on the fire.\nHe drew his crumskeen. He went to take the head off him as he saw the\nred man a-doing. He was a-sawing at the head, and it did not come with\nhim to cut it off the neck. The blood was coming. He took the head off\nhim at last. He threw it into the skillet. He knocked a boil out of it.\nWhen he considered the head to be boiled enough he made an attempt on\nthe skillet. He got a hold of the two ears. The head fell in _gliggar_\n(a gurgling mass?), and the two ears came with him. The blood was coming\ngreatly. It was going down, and out of the door of the room. When the\nking saw it going down he knew that his son was dead. He desired to open\nthe door. Neil O\u2019Carree would not open the door. They broke the door. The\nman was dead. The floor was full of blood. They seized Neil O\u2019Carree.\nHe was to hang the next day. They gathered a guard till they should\ncarry him to the place where he was to hang. They went the next day with\nhim. They were walking away, drawing towards the tree where he should\nbe hanged. They stopped his screaming. They see a man stripped making a\nrunning race. When they saw him there was a fog of water round him with\nall he was running. When he came as far as them (he cried), \u201cwhat are\nye doing to my master?\u201d \u201cIf this man is your master, deny him, or you\u2019ll\nget the same treatment.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s I that it\u2019s right should suffer; it\u2019s I\nwho made the delay. He sent me for medicine, and I did not come in time,\nloose my master, perhaps he would heal the king\u2019s son yet.\u201d\n\nThey loosed him. They came to the king\u2019s house. The red man went to the\nplace where the dead man was. He began gathering the bones that were in\nthe skillet. He gathered them all but only the two ears.\n\n\u201cWhat did you do with the ears?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said Neil O\u2019Carree, \u201cI was so much frightened.\u201d\n\nThe red man got the ears. He put them all together. He drew a green herb\nout of his pocket. He rubbed it round on the head. The skin grew on it,\nand the hair, as well as ever it was. He put the head in the skillet\nthen. He knocked a boil out of it. He put the head back on the neck as\nwell as ever it was. The king\u2019s son rose up in the bed.\n\n\u201cHow are you now?\u201d says the red man.\n\n\u201cI am well,\u201d says the king\u2019s son, \u201cbut that I\u2019m weak.\u201d\n\nThe red man shouted again for the king. There was great joy on the king\nwhen he saw his son alive. They spent that night pleasantly.\n\nThe next day when they were going away, the king counted out three\nhundred pounds. He gave it to Neil O\u2019Carree. He said to Neil that if he\nhad not enough he would give him more. Neil O\u2019Carree said he had enough,\nand that he would not take a penny more. He bade farewell and left his\nblessing, and struck out, drawing towards home.\n\nWhen they saw that they were come to the place where they fell out with\none another, \u201cI think,\u201d says the red man, \u201cthat this is the place where\nwe differed before.\u201d \u201cIt is, exactly,\u201d said Neil O\u2019Carree. They sat down\nand they divided the money. He gave a half to the red man, and he kept\nanother half himself. The red man bade him farewell, and he went. He\nwas walking away for a while. He returned back. \u201cI am here back again,\u201d\nsaid the red man, \u201cI took another thought, to leave all your share of\nmoney with yourself. You yourself were open-handed. Do you mind the day\nyou were going by past the churchyard. There were four inside in the\nchurchyard, and a body with them in a coffin. There were a pair of them\nseeking to bury the body. There were debts on the body (_i.e._, it owed\ndebts). The two men who had the debts on it (_i.e._, to whom it owed the\ndebts), they were not satisfied for the body to be buried. They were\narguing. You were listening to them. You went in. You asked how much they\nhad on the body (_i.e._, how were they owed by the body). The two men\nsaid that they had a pound on the body, and that they were not willing\nthe body to be buried, until the people who were carrying it would\npromise to pay a portion of the debts. You said, \u2018I have ten shillings,\nand I\u2019ll give it to ye, and let the body be buried.\u2019 You gave the ten\nshillings, and the corpse was buried. It\u2019s I who was in the coffin that\nday. When I saw you going a-doctoring, I knew that you would not do the\nbusiness. When I saw you in a hobble, I came to you to save you. I bestow\nthe money on you all entirely. You shall not see me until the last day,\ngo home now. Don\u2019t do a single day\u2019s doctoring as long as you\u2019ll be\nalive. It\u2019s short you\u2019ll walk until you get your share of cattle and your\ngarrawn.\u201d\n\nNeil went, drawing towards home. Not far did he walk till his share of\ncattle and his nag met him. He went home and the whole with him. There is\nnot a single day since that himself and his wife are not thriving on it.\n\nI got the ford, they the stepping stones. They were drowned, and I came\nsafe.\n\n\n\n\nTRUNK-WITHOUT-HEAD.\n\n\nLong ago there was a widow woman living in the County Galway, and two\nsons with her, whose names were Dermod and Donal. Dermod was the eldest\nson, and he was the master over the house. They were large farmers, and\nthey got a summons from the landlord to come and pay him a year\u2019s rent.\nThey had not much money in the house, and Dermod said to Donal, \u201cbring\na load of oats to Galway, and sell it.\u201d Donal got ready a load, put two\nhorses under the cart, and went to Galway. He sold the oats, and got a\ngood price for it. When he was coming home, he stopped at the half-way\nhouse, as was his custom, to have a drink himself, and to give a drink\nand oats to the horses.\n\nWhen he went in to get a drink for himself, he saw two boys playing\ncards. He looked at them for a while, and one of them said: \u201cWill you\nhave a game?\u201d Donal began playing, and he did not stop till he lost every\npenny of the price of the oats. \u201cWhat will I do now?\u201d says Donal to\nhimself, \u201cDermod will kill me. Anyhow, I\u2019ll go home and tell the truth.\u201d\n\nWhen he came home, Dermod asked him: \u201cDid you sell the oats?\u201d \u201cI\nsold, and got a good price for it,\u201d says Donal. \u201cGive me the money,\u201d\nsays Dermod. \u201cI haven\u2019t it,\u201d says Donal; \u201cI lost every penny of it\nplaying cards at the house half-way.\u201d \u201cMy curse, and the curse of the\nfour-and-twenty men on you,\u201d says Dermod. He went and told the mother\nthe trick Donal did. \u201cGive him his pardon this time,\u201d says the mother,\n\u201cand he won\u2019t do it again.\u201d \u201cYou must sell another load to-morrow,\u201d says\nDermod, \u201cand if you lose the price, don\u2019t come here.\u201d\n\nOn the morning, the day on the morrow, Donal put another load on the\ncart, and he went to Galway. He sold the oats, and got a good price\nfor it. When he was coming home, and near the half-way house, he said\nto himself: \u201cI will shut my eyes till I go past that house, for fear\nthere should be a temptation on me to go in.\u201d He shut his eyes; but when\nthe horses came as far as the inn, they stood, and would not go a step\nfurther, for it was their custom to get oats and water in that place\nevery time they would be coming out of Galway. He opened his eyes, gave\noats and water to the horses, and went in himself to put a coal in his\npipe.\n\nWhen he went in he saw the boys playing cards. They asked him to play,\nand (said) that perhaps he might gain all that he lost the day before.\nAs there is a temptation on the cards, Donal began playing, and he did\nnot stop until he lost every penny of all that he had. \u201cThere is no good\nin my going home now,\u201d says Donal; \u201cI\u2019ll stake the horses and the cart\nagainst all I lost.\u201d He played again, and he lost the horses and the\ncart. Then he did not know what he should do, but he thought and said:\n\u201cUnless I go home, my poor mother will be anxious. I will go home and\ntell the truth to her. They can but banish me.\u201d\n\nWhen he came home, Dermod asked him: \u201cDid you sell the oats? or where are\nthe horses and the cart?\u201d \u201cI lost the whole playing cards, and I would\nnot come back except to leave ye my blessing before I go.\u201d \u201cThat you may\nnot ever come back, or a penny of your price,\u201d said Dermod, \u201cand I don\u2019t\nwant your blessing.\u201d\n\nHe left his blessing with his mother then, and he went travelling,\nlooking for service. When the darkness of the night was coming, there was\nthirst and hunger on him. He saw a poor man coming to him, and a bag on\nhis back. He recognised Donal, and said: \u201cDonal, what brought you here,\nor where are you going?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know you,\u201d said Donal.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s many\u2019s the good night I spent in your father\u2019s house, may God have\nmercy upon him,\u201d said the poor man; \u201cperhaps there\u2019s hunger on you, and\nthat you would not be against eating something out of my bag?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a friend that would give it to me,\u201d says Donal. Then the poor man\ngave him beef and bread, and when he ate his enough, the poor man asked\nhim: \u201cWhere are you going to-night?\u201d\n\n\u201cMusha, then, I don\u2019t know,\u201d says Donal.\n\n\u201cThere is a gentleman in the big house up there, and he gives lodging to\nanyone who comes to him after the darkness of night, and I\u2019m going to\nhim,\u201d says the poor man.\n\n\u201cPerhaps I would get lodgings with you,\u201d says Donal. \u201cI have no doubt of\nit,\u201d says the poor man.\n\nThe pair went to the big house, and the poor man knocked at the door, and\nthe servant opened it. \u201cI want to see the master of this house,\u201d says\nDonal.\n\nThe servant went, and the master came. \u201cI am looking for a night\u2019s\nlodging,\u201d said Donal.\n\n\u201cI will give ye that, if ye wait. Go up to the castle there above, and I\nwill be after ye, and if ye wait in it till morning, each man of ye will\nget five score ten-penny pieces, and ye will have plenty to eat and drink\nas well; and a good bed to sleep on.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s a good offer,\u201d said they; \u201cwe will go there.\u201d\n\nThe pair came to the castle, went into a room, and put down a fire. It\nwas not long till the gentleman came, bringing beef, mutton, and other\nthings to them. \u201cCome with me now till I show ye the cellar, there\u2019s\nplenty of wine and ale in it, and ye can draw your enough.\u201d When he\nshowed them the cellar, he went out, and he put a lock on the door behind\nhim.\n\nThen Donal said to the poor man: \u201cPut the things to eat on the table, and\nI\u2019ll go for the ale.\u201d Then he got a light, and a cruiskeen (jug), and\nwent down into the cellar. The first barrel he came to he stooped down\nto draw out of it, when a voice said: \u201cStop, that barrel is mine.\u201d Donal\nlooked up, and he saw a little man without a head, with his two legs\nspread straddle-wise on a barrel.\n\n\u201cIf it is yours,\u201d says Donal, \u201cI\u2019ll go to another.\u201d He went to another;\nbut when he stooped down to draw, Trunk-without-head said: \u201cThat barrel\nis mine.\u201d \u201cThey\u2019re not all yours,\u201d says Donal, \u201cI\u2019ll go to another\none.\u201d He went to another one; but when he began drawing out of it,\nTrunk-without-head said: \u201cThat\u2019s mine.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t care,\u201d said Donal, \u201cI\u2019ll\nfill my cruiskeen.\u201d He did that, and came up to the poor man; but he did\nnot tell him that he saw Trunk-without-head. Then they began eating and\ndrinking till the jug was empty. Then said Donal: \u201cIt\u2019s your turn to go\ndown and fill the jug.\u201d The poor man got the candle and the cruiskeen,\nand went down into the cellar. He began drawing out of a barrel, when\nhe heard a voice saying: \u201cThat barrel is mine.\u201d He looked up, and when\nhe saw Trunk-without-head, he let cruiskeen and candle fall, and off\nand away with him to Donal. \u201cOh! it\u2019s little but I\u2019m dead,\u201d says the\npoor man; \u201cI saw a man without a head, and his two legs spread out on\nthe barrel, and he said it was his.\u201d \u201cHe would not do you any harm,\u201d\nsaid Donal, \u201che was there when I went down; get up and bring me the jug\nand the candle.\u201d \u201cOh, I wouldn\u2019t go down again if I were to get Ireland\nwithout a division,\u201d says the poor man. Donal went down, and he brought\nup the jug filled. \u201cDid you see Trunk-without-head?\u201d says the poor man.\n\u201cI did,\u201d says Donal; \u201cbut he did not do me any harm.\u201d\n\nThey were drinking till they were half drunk, then said Donal: \u201cIt\u2019s time\nfor us to be going to sleep, what place would you like best, the outside\nof the bed, or next the wall?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll go next the wall,\u201d said the poor man. They went to bed leaving the\ncandle lit.\n\nThey were not long in bed till they saw three men coming in, and a\nbladder (football) with them. They began beating _bayrees_ (playing at\nball) on the floor; but there were two of them against one. Donal said to\nthe poor man: \u201cIt is not right for two to be against one,\u201d and with that\nhe leaped out and began helping the weak side, and he without a thread on\nhim. Then they began laughing, and walked out.\n\nDonal went to bed again, and he was not long there till there came in a\npiper playing sweet music. \u201cRise up,\u201d says Donal, \u201cuntil we have a dance;\nit\u2019s a great pity to let good music go to loss.\u201d \u201cFor your life, don\u2019t\nstir,\u201d says the poor man.\n\nDonal gave a leap out of the bed, and he fell to dancing till he was\ntired. Then the piper began laughing, and walked out.\n\nDonal went to bed again; but he was not long there till there walked in\ntwo men, carrying a coffin. They left it down on the floor, and they\nwalked out. \u201cI don\u2019t know who\u2019s in the coffin, or whether it\u2019s for us\nit\u2019s meant,\u201d said Donal; \u201cI\u2019ll go till I see.\u201d He gave a leap out, raised\nthe board of the coffin, and found a dead man in it. \u201cBy my conscience,\nit\u2019s the cold place you have,\u201d says Donal; \u201cif you were able to rise\nup, and sit at the fire, you would be better.\u201d The dead man rose up and\nwarmed himself. Then said Donal, \u201cthe bed is wide enough for three.\u201d\nDonal went in the middle, the poor man next the wall, and the dead man on\nthe outside. It was not long until the dead man began bruising Donal, and\nDonal bruising in on the poor man, until he was all as one as dead, and\nhe had to give a leap out through the window, and to leave Donal and the\ndead man there. The dead man was crushing Donal then until he nearly put\nhim out through the wall.\n\n\u201cDestruction on you,\u201d said Donal, then; \u201cit\u2019s you\u2019re the ungrateful man;\nI let you out of the coffin; I gave you a heat at the fire, and a share\nof my bed; and now you won\u2019t keep quiet; but I\u2019ll put you out of the\nbed.\u201d Then the dead man spoke, and said: \u201cYou are a valiant man, and it\nstood you upon[31] to be so, or you would be dead.\u201d \u201cWho would kill me?\u201d\nsaid Donal. \u201cI,\u201d says the dead man; \u201cthere never came any one here this\ntwenty years back, that I did not kill. Do you know the man who paid you\nfor remaining here?\u201d \u201cHe was a gentleman,\u201d said Donal. \u201cHe is my son,\u201d\nsaid the dead man, \u201cand he thinks that you will be dead in the morning;\nbut come with me now.\u201d\n\nThe dead man took him down into the cellar, and showed him a great flag.\n\u201cLift that flag. There are three pots under it, and they filled with\ngold. It is on account of the gold they killed me; but they did not get\nthe gold. Let yourself have a pot, and a pot for my son, and the other\none\u2014divide it on the poor people.\u201d Then he opened a door in the wall, and\ndrew out a paper, and said to Donal: \u201cGive this to my son, and tell him\nthat it was the butler who killed me, for my share of gold. I can get no\nrest until he\u2019ll be hanged; and if there is a witness wanting I will come\nbehind you in the court without a head on me, so that everybody can see\nme. When he will be hanged, you will marry my son\u2019s daughter, and come to\nlive in this castle. Let you have no fear about me, for I shall have gone\nto eternal rest. Farewell now.\u201d\n\nDonal went to sleep, and he did not awake till the gentleman came in the\nmorning, and he asked him did he sleep well, or where did the old man\nwhom he left with him go? \u201cI will tell you that another time; I have\na long story to tell you first.\u201d \u201cCome to my house with me,\u201d says the\ngentleman.\n\nWhen they were going to the house, whom should they see coming out of the\nbushes, but the poor man without a thread on him, more than the night\nhe was born, and he shaking with the cold. The gentleman got him his\nclothes, gave him his wages, and off for ever with him.\n\nDonal went to the gentleman\u2019s house, and when he ate and drank his\nenough, he said: \u201cI have a story to tell you.\u201d Then he told him\neverything that happened to him the night before, until he came as far\nas the part about the gold. \u201cCome with me till I see the gold,\u201d said the\ngentleman. He went to the castle, he lifted the flag, and when he saw the\ngold, he said: \u201cI know now that the story is true.\u201d\n\nWhen he got the entire information from Donal, he got a warrant against\nthe butler; but concealed the crime it was for. When the butler was\nbrought before the judge, Donal was there, and gave witness. Then the\njudge read out of his papers, and said: \u201cI cannot find this man guilty\nwithout more evidence.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am here,\u201d said Trunk-without-head, coming behind Donal. When the\nbutler saw him, he said to the judge: \u201cGo no farther, I am guilty; I\nkilled the man, and his head is under the hearth-stone in his own room.\u201d\nThen the judge gave order to hang the butler, and Trunk-without-head went\naway.\n\nThe day on the morrow, Donal was married to the gentleman\u2019s daughter, and\ngot a great fortune with her, and went to live in the castle.\n\nA short time after this, he got ready his coach and went on a visit to\nhis mother.\n\nWhen Dermod saw the coach coming, he did not know who the great man was\nwho was in it. The mother came out and ran to him, saying: \u201cAre you not\nmy own Donal, the love of my heart you are? I was praying for you since\nyou went.\u201d Then Dermod asked pardon of him, and got it. Then Donal gave\nhim a purse of gold, saying at the same time: \u201cThere\u2019s the price of the\ntwo loads of oats, of the horses, and of the cart.\u201d Then he said to his\nmother: \u201cYou ought to come home with me. I have a fine castle without\nanybody in it but my wife and the servants.\u201d \u201cI will go with you,\u201d said\nthe mother; \u201cand I will remain with you till I die.\u201d\n\nDonal took his mother home, and they spent a prosperous life together in\nthe castle.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HAGS OF THE LONG TEETH.\n\n\nLong ago, in the old time, there came a party of gentlemen from Dublin to\nLoch Glynn a-hunting and a-fishing. They put up in the priest\u2019s house, as\nthere was no inn in the little village.\n\nThe first day they went a-hunting, they went into the Wood of Driminuch,\nand it was not long till they routed a hare. They fired many a ball\nafter him, but they could not bring him down. They followed him till they\nsaw him going into a little house in the wood.\n\nWhen they came to the door, they saw a great black dog, and he would not\nlet them in.\n\n\u201cPut a ball through the beggar,\u201d said a man of them. He let fly a ball,\nbut the dog caught it in his mouth, chewed it, and flung it on the\nground. They fired another ball, and another, but the dog did the same\nthing with them. Then he began barking as loud as he could, and it was\nnot long till there came out a hag, and every tooth in her head as long\nas the tongs. \u201cWhat are you doing to my pup?\u201d says the hag.\n\n\u201cA hare went into your house, and this dog won\u2019t let us in after him,\u201d\nsays a man of the hunters.\n\n\u201cLie down, pup,\u201d said the hag. Then she said: \u201cYe can come in if ye\nwish.\u201d The hunters were afraid to go in, but a man of them asked: \u201cIs\nthere any person in the house with you?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere are six sisters,\u201d said the old woman. \u201cWe should like to see\nthem,\u201d said the hunters. No sooner had he said the word than the six old\nwomen came out, and each of them with teeth as long as the other. Such a\nsight the hunters had never seen before.\n\nThey went through the wood then, and they saw seven vultures on one tree,\nand they screeching. The hunters began cracking balls after them, but if\nthey were in it ever since they would never bring down one of them.\n\nThere came a gray old man to them and said: \u201cThose are the hags of the\nlong tooth that are living in the little house over there. Do ye not know\nthat they are under enchantment? They are there these hundreds of years,\nand they have a dog that never lets in anyone to the little house. They\nhave a castle under the lake, and it is often the people saw them making\nseven swans of themselves, and going into the lake.\u201d\n\nWhen the hunters came home that evening they told everything they heard\nand saw to the priest, but he did not believe the story.\n\nOn the day on the morrow, the priest went with the hunters, and when they\ncame near the little house they saw the big black dog at the door. The\npriest put his conveniencies for blessing under his neck, and drew out\na book and began reading prayers. The big dog began barking loudly. The\nhags came out, and when they saw the priest they let a screech out of\nthem that was heard in every part of Ireland. When the priest was a while\nreading, the hags made vultures of themselves and flew up into a big tree\nthat was over the house.\n\nThe priest began pressing in on the dog until he was within a couple of\nfeet of him.\n\nThe dog gave a leap up, struck the priest with its four feet, and put him\nhead over heels.\n\nWhen the hunters took him up he was deaf and dumb, and the dog did not\nmove from the door.\n\nThey brought the priest home and sent for the bishop. When he came\nand heard the story there was great grief on him. The people gathered\ntogether and asked of him to banish the hags of enchantment out of the\nwood. There was fright and shame on him, and he did not know what he\nwould do, but he said to them: \u201cI have no means of banishing them till I\ngo home, but I will come at the end of a month and banish them.\u201d\n\nThe priest was too badly hurt to say anything. The big black dog was\nfather of the hags, and his name was Dermod O\u2019Muloony. His own son killed\nhim, because he found him with his wife the day after their marriage, and\nkilled the sisters for fear they should tell on him.\n\nOne night the bishop was in his chamber asleep, when one of the hags of\nthe long tooth opened the door and came in. When the bishop wakened up he\nsaw the hag standing by the side of his bed. He was so much afraid he was\nnot able to speak a word until the hag spoke and said to him: \u201cLet there\nbe no fear on you; I did not come to do you harm, but to give you advice.\nYou promised the people of Loch Glynn that you would come to banish the\nhags of the long tooth out of the wood of Driminuch. If you come you will\nnever go back alive.\u201d\n\nHis talk came to the bishop, and he said: \u201cI cannot break my word.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe have only a year and a day to be in the wood,\u201d said the hag, \u201cand you\ncan put off the people until then.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy are ye in the woods as ye are?\u201d says the bishop.\n\n\u201cOur brother killed us,\u201d said the hag, \u201cand when we went before the\narch-judge, there was judgment passed on us, we to be as we are two\nhundred years. We have a castle under the lake, and be in it every night.\nWe are suffering for the crime our father did.\u201d Then she told him the\ncrime the father did.\n\n\u201cHard is your case,\u201d said the bishop, \u201cbut we must put up with the will\nof the arch-judge, and I shall not trouble ye.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will get an account, when we are gone from the wood,\u201d said the hag.\nThen she went from him.\n\nIn the morning, the day on the morrow, the bishop came to Loch Glynn. He\nsent out notice and gathered the people. Then he said to them: \u201cIt is\nthe will of the arch-king that the power of enchantment be not banished\nfor another year and a day, and ye must keep out of the wood until then.\nIt is a great wonder to me that ye never saw the hags of enchantment till\nthe hunters came from Dublin.\u2014It\u2019s a pity they did not remain at home.\u201d\n\nAbout a week after that the priest was one day by himself in his chamber\nalone. The day was very fine and the window was open. The robin of the\nred breast came in and a little herb in its mouth. The priest stretched\nout his hand, and she laid the herb down on it. \u201cPerhaps it was God sent\nme this herb,\u201d said the priest to himself, and he ate it. He had not\neaten it one moment till he was as well as ever he was, and he said:\n\u201cA thousand thanks to Him who has power stronger than the power of\nenchantment.\u201d\n\nThen said the robin: \u201cDo you remember the robin of the broken foot you\nhad, two years this last winter.\u201d\n\n\u201cI remember her, indeed,\u201d said the priest, \u201cbut she went from me when the\nsummer came.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am the same robin, and but for the good you did me I would not be\nalive now, and you would be deaf and dumb throughout your life. Take my\nadvice now, and do not go near the hags of the long tooth any more, and\ndo not tell to any person living that I gave you the herb.\u201d Then she flew\nfrom him.\n\nWhen the house-keeper came she wondered to find that he had both his talk\nand his hearing. He sent word to the bishop and he came to Loch Glynn.\nHe asked the priest how it was that he got better so suddenly. \u201cIt is a\nsecret,\u201d said the priest, \u201cbut a certain friend gave me a little herb and\nit cured me.\u201d\n\nNothing else happened worth telling, till the year was gone. One night\nafter that the bishop was in his chamber when the door opened, and the\nhag of the long tooth walked in, and said: \u201cI come to give you notice\nthat we will be leaving the wood a week from to-day. I have one thing to\nask of you if you will do it for me.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf it is in my power, and it not to be against the faith,\u201d said the\nbishop.\n\n\u201cA week from to-day,\u201d said the hag, \u201cthere will be seven vultures dead at\nthe door of our house in the wood. Give orders to bury them in the quarry\nthat is between the wood and Ballyglas; that is all I am asking of you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall do that if I am alive,\u201d said the bishop. Then she left him, and\nhe was not sorry she to go from him.\n\nA week after that day, the bishop came to Loch Glynn, and the day after\nhe took men with him and went to the hags\u2019 house in the wood of Driminuch.\n\nThe big black dog was at the door, and when he saw the bishop he began\nrunning and never stopped until he went into the lake.\n\nHe saw the seven vultures dead at the door, and he said to the men: \u201cTake\nthem with you and follow me.\u201d\n\nThey took up the vultures and followed him to the brink of the quarry.\nThen he said to them: \u201cThrow them into the quarry: There is an end to the\nhags of the enchantment.\u201d\n\nAs soon as the men threw them down to the bottom of the quarry, there\nrose from it seven swans as white as snow, and flew out of their sight.\nIt was the opinion of the bishop and of every person who heard the story\nthat it was up to heaven they flew, and that the big black dog went to\nthe castle under the lake.\n\nAt any rate, nobody saw the hags of the long tooth or the big black dog\nfrom that out, any more.\n\n\n\n\nWILLIAM OF THE TREE.\n\n\nIn the time long ago there was a king in Erin. He was married to a\nbeautiful queen, and they had but one only daughter. The queen was struck\nwith sickness, and she knew that she would not be long alive. She put the\nking under _gassa_ (mystical injunctions) that he should not marry again\nuntil the grass should be a foot high over her tomb. The daughter was\ncunning, and she used to go out every night with a scissors, and she used\nto cut the grass down to the ground.\n\nThe king had a great desire to have another wife, and he did not know\nwhy the grass was not growing over the grave of the queen. He said to\nhimself: \u201cThere is somebody deceiving me.\u201d\n\nThat night he went to the churchyard, and he saw the daughter cutting\nthe grass that was on the grave. There came great anger on him then, and\nhe said: \u201cI will marry the first woman I see, let she be old or young.\u201d\nWhen he went out on the road he saw an old hag. He brought her home and\nmarried her, as he would not break his word.\n\nAfter marrying her, the daughter of the king was under bitter misery at\n(the hands of) the hag, and the hag put her under an oath not to tell\nanything at all to the king, and not to tell to any person anything she\nshould see being done, except only to three who were never baptised.\n\nThe next morning on the morrow, the king went out a hunting, and when he\nwas gone, the hag killed a fine hound the king had. When the king came\nhome he asked the old hag \u201cwho killed my hound?\u201d\n\n\u201cYour daughter killed it,\u201d says the old woman.\n\n\u201cWhy did you kill my hound?\u201d said the king.\n\n\u201cI did not kill your hound,\u201d says the daughter, \u201cand I cannot tell you\nwho killed him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will make you tell me,\u201d says the king.\n\nHe took the daughter with him to a great wood, and he hanged her on a\ntree, and then he cut off the two hands and the two feet off her, and\nleft her in a state of death. When he was going out of the wood there\nwent a thorn into his foot, and the daughter said: \u201cThat you may never\nget better until I have hands and feet to cure you.\u201d\n\nThe king went home, and there grew a tree out of his foot, and it was\nnecessary for him to open the window, to let the top of the tree out.\n\nThere was a gentleman going by near the wood, and he heard the king\u2019s\ndaughter a-screeching. He went to the tree, and when he saw the state she\nwas in, he took pity on her, brought her home, and when she got better,\nmarried her.\n\nAt the end of three quarters (of a year), the king\u2019s daughter had three\nsons at one birth, and when they were born, Granya \u00d6i came and put hands\nand feet on the king\u2019s daughter, and told her, \u201cDon\u2019t let your children\nbe baptised until they are able to walk. There is a tree growing out of\nyour father\u2019s foot; it was cut often, but it grows again, and it is with\nyou lies his healing. You are under an oath not to tell the things you\nsaw your stepmother doing to anyone but to three who were never baptised,\nand God has sent you those three. When they will be a year old bring them\nto your father\u2019s house, and tell your story before your three sons, and\nrub your hand on the stump of the tree, and your father will be as well\nas he was the first day.\u201d\n\nThere was great wonderment on the gentleman when he saw hands and feet on\nthe king\u2019s daughter. She told him then every word that Granya Oi said to\nher.\n\nWhen the children were a year old, the mother took them with her, and\nwent to the king\u2019s house.\n\nThere were doctors from every place in Erin attending on the king, but\nthey were not able to do him any good.\n\nWhen the daughter came in, the king did not recognise her. She sat down,\nand the three sons round her, and she told her story to them from top to\nbottom, and the king was listening to her telling it. Then she left her\nhand on the sole of the king\u2019s foot and the tree fell off it.\n\nThe day on the morrow he hanged the old hag, and he gave his estate to\nhis daughter and to the gentleman.\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD CROW & THE YOUNG CROW.\n\n\nThere was an old crow teaching a young crow one day, and he said to him,\n\u201cNow my son,\u201d says he, \u201clisten to the advice I\u2019m going to give you. If\nyou see a person coming near you and stooping, mind yourself, and be on\nyour keeping; he\u2019s stooping for a stone to throw at you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut tell me,\u201d says the young crow, \u201cwhat should I do if he had a stone\nalready down in his pocket?\u201d\n\n\u201cMusha, go \u2019long out of that,\u201d says the old crow, \u201cyou\u2019ve learned\nenough; the devil another learning I\u2019m able to give you.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRIDDLES.\n\n\n  A great great house it is,\n  A golden candlestick it is,\n  Guess it rightly,\n  Let it not go by thee.\n\nHeaven.\n\n\n  There\u2019s a garden that I ken,\n  Full of little gentlemen,\n  Little caps of blue they wear,\n  And green ribbons very fair.\n\nFlax.\n\n\n  I went up the boreen, I went down the boreen,\n  I brought the boreen with myself on my back.\n\nA Ladder.\n\n\n  He comes to ye amidst the brine\n  The butterfly of the sun,\n  The man of the coat so blue and fine,\n  With red thread his shirt is done.\n\nLobster.\n\n\n  I threw it up as white as snow,\n  Like gold on a flag it fell below.\n\nEgg.\n\n\n  I ran and I got,\n  I sat and I searched,\n  If could get it I would not bring it with me,\n  And as I got it not I brought it.\n\nThorn in the foot.\n\n\n  You see it come in on the shoulders of men,\n  Like a thread of the silk it will leave us again.\n\nSmoke.\n\n\n  He comes through the _lis_[32] to me over the sward,\n  The man of the foot that is narrow and hard,\n  I would he were running the opposite way,\n  For o\u2019er all that are living \u2019tis he who bears sway.\n\nThe Death.\n\n\n  In the garden\u2019s a castle with hundreds within,\n  Yet though stripped to my shirt I would never fit in.\n\nAnt-hill.\n\n\n  From house to house he goes,\n  A messenger small and slight,\n  And whether it rains or snows,\n  He sleeps outside in the night.\n\nBoreen.\n\n\n  Two feet on the ground,\n  And three feet overhead,\n  And the head of the living\n  In the mouth of the dead.\n\nGirl with (three-legged) pot on her head.\n\n\n  On the top of the tree\n  See the little man red,\n  A stone in his belly,\n  A cap on his head.\n\nHaw.\n\n\n  There\u2019s a poor man at rest,\n  With a stick beneath his breast,\n  And he breaking his heart a-crying.\n\nLintel on a wet day.\n\n\n  As white as flour and it is not flour,\n  As green as grass and it is not grass,\n  As red as blood and it is not blood,\n  As black as ink and it is not ink.\n\nBlackberry, from bud to fruit.\n\n\n  A bottomless barrel,\n  It\u2019s shaped like a hive,\n  It is filled full of flesh,\n  And the flesh is alive.\n\nTailor\u2019s thimble.\n\n\n\n\nWHERE THE STORIES CAME FROM.\n\n\nThe first three stories, namely, \u201cThe Tailor and the Three Beasts,\u201d\n\u201cBran,\u201d and \u201cThe King of Ireland\u2019s Son,\u201d I took down verbatim, without\nthe alteration or addition of more than a word or two, from Se\u00e1\u0121an O\nCuinnea\u0121\u00e1in (John Cunningham), who lives in the village of Baile-an-\u1e57uil\n(Ballinphuil), in the county of Roscommon, some half mile from Mayo. He\nis between seventy and eighty years old, and is, I think, illiterate.\n\nThe story of \u201cThe Alp-luachra\u201d is written down from notes made at the\ntime I first heard the story. It was told me by Seamus o h-Airt (James\nHart), a game-keeper, in the barony of Frenchpark, between sixty and\nseventy years old, and illiterate. The notes were not full ones, and I\nhad to eke them out in writing down the story, the reciter, one of the\nbest I ever met, having unfortunately died in the interval.\n\nThe stories of \u201cPaudyeen O\u2019Kelly,\u201d and of \u201cLeeam O\u2019Rooney\u2019s Burial,\u201d I\ngot from Mr. Lynch Blake, near Ballinrobe, county Mayo, who took the\ntrouble of writing them down for me in nearly phonetic Irish, for which\nI beg to return him my best thanks. I do not think that these particular\nstories underwent any additions at his hands while writing them down. I\ndo not know from whom he heard the first, and cannot now find out, as he\nhas left the locality. The second he told me he got from a man, eighty\nyears old, named William Grady, who lived near Clare-Galway, but who for\nthe last few years has been \u201ccarrying a bag.\u201d\n\nThe long story of \u201cGuleesh na Guss dhu,\u201d was told by the same Shamus\nO\u2019Hart, from whom I got the \u201cAlp-luachra,\u201d but, as in the case of the\n\u201cAlp-luachra\u201d story, I had only taken notes of it, and not written down\nthe whole as it fell from his lips. I have only met one other man since,\nMartin Brennan, in the barony of Frenchpark, Roscommon, who knew the\nsame story, and he told it to me\u2014but in an abridged form\u2014incident for\nincident up to the point where my translation leaves off.\n\nThere is a great deal more in the Irish version in the Lea\u1e03ar\nSgeului\u0121ea\u010bta, which I did not translate, not having been able to get\nit from Brennan, and having doctored it too much myself to give it as\ngenuine folk-lore.\n\nThe rest of the stories in this volume are literally translated from my\nLea\u1e03ar Sgeului\u0121ea\u010bta. Neil O\u2019Carree was taken down phonetically, by Mr.\nLarminie, from the recitation of a South Donegal peasant.\n\nThe Hags of the Long Teeth come from Ballinrobe, as also William of the\nTree, the Court of Crinnawn, and the Well of D\u2019Yerree-in-Dowan. See pages\n239-240 of the L. S.\n\n\n\n\nNOTES.\n\n[_Notes in brackets signed A.N., by Alfred Nutt. The references to\nArg. Tales are to \u201cWaifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition; Argyllshire\nSeries II.; Folk and Hero Tales from Argyllshire\u201d collected, edited, and\ntranslated by the Rev. D. MacInnes, with Notes by the editor and Alfred\nNutt. London, 1889._]\n\n\n\u201cTHE TAILOR AND THE THREE BEASTS.\u201d\n\nPage 1. In another variant of this tale, which I got from one Martin\nBrennan\u2014more usually pronounced Brannan; in Irish, O\u2019Braon\u00e1in\u2014in\nRoscommon, the thing which the tailor kills is a swallow, which flew past\nhim. He flung his needle at the bird, and it went through its eye and\nkilled it. This success excites the tailor to further deeds of prowess.\nIn this variant occurred also the widely-spread incident of the tailor\u2019s\ntricking the giant by pretending to squeeze water out of a stone.\n\nPage 2. Garraun (gearr\u00e1n), is a common Anglicised Irish word in many\nparts of Ireland. It means properly a gelding or hack-horse; but in\nDonegal, strangely enough, it means a horse, and coppul cap\u00e1ll, the\nordinary word for a horse elsewhere, means there a mare. The old English\nseem to have borrowed this word capal from the Irish, _cf._ Percy\u2019s\nversion of \u201cRobin Hood and Guy of Gisborne,\u201d where the latter is thus\nrepresented\u2014\n\n  \u201cA sword and a dagger he wore by his side,\n    Of manye a man the bane;\n  And he was clad in his capull hyde,\n    Topp and tayle and mayne.\u201d\n\nPage 7, line 4. The modder-alla (madra-allta, wild dog), is properly a\nwolf, not a lion; but the reciter explained it thus, \u201cmadar alla, sin\nle\u00f3 \u1e41an,\u201d \u201cmodder \u00e1lla, that\u2019s a l\u2019yone,\u201d _i.e._, \u201ca lion,\u201d which I have\naccordingly translated it.\n\nPage 9, line 18. The giant\u2019s shouting at night, or at dawn of day, is a\ncommon incident in these tales. In the story of \u201cThe Speckled Bull,\u201d not\nhere given, there are three giants who each utter a shout every morning,\n\u201cthat the whole country hears them.\u201d The Irish for giant, in all these\nstories, is fa\u1e6ba\u010b (pronounced fahuch), while the Scotch Gaelic word is\n_famhair_, a word which we have not got, but which is evidently the same\nas the Fomhor, or sea pirate of Irish mythical history, in whom Professor\nRhys sees a kind of water god. The only place in Campbell\u2019s four volumes\nin which the word _fathach_ occurs is in the \u201cLay of the Great Omadawn,\u201d\nwhich is a distinctly Irish piece, and of which MacLean remarks, \u201csome of\nthe phraseology is considered Irish.\u201d\n\nPage 11. This incident appears to be a version of that in \u201cJack the\nGiant-Killer.\u201d It seems quite impossible to say whether it was always\ntold in Ireland, or whether it may not have been borrowed from some\nEnglish source. If it does come from an English source it is probably the\nonly thing in these stories that does.\n\nPage 13, line 6. \u201cTo take his wife off (pronounced _ov_) him again.\u201d The\npreposition \u201cfrom\u201d is not often used with take, etc., in Connacht English.\n\nPage 15, line 12. These nonsense-endings are very common in Irish stories\nIt is remarkable that there seems little trace of them in Campbell. The\nonly story in his volumes which ends with a piece of nonsense is the\n\u201cSlender Grey Kerne,\u201d and it, as I tried to show in my Preface, is Irish.\nIt ends thus: \u201cI parted with them, and they gave me butter on a coal,\nand kail brose in a creel, and paper shoes, and they sent me away with\na cannon-ball on a highroad of glass, till they left me sitting here.\u201d\nWhy such endings seem to be stereotyped with some stories, and not used\nat all with others, I cannot guess. It seems to be the same amongst\nSlavonic M\u00e4rchen, of which perhaps one in twenty has a nonsense-ending;\nbut the proportion is much larger in Ireland. Why the Highland tales, so\nexcellent in themselves, and so closely related to the Irish ones, have\nlost this distinctive feature I cannot even conjecture, but certain it is\nthat this is so.\n\n[The incident of the king\u2019s court being destroyed at night is in the\nfourteenth-fifteenth century _Agallamh na Senorach_, where it is Finn who\nguards Tara against the wizard enemies.\n\nI know nothing like the way in which the hero deals with the animals\nhe meets, and cannot help thinking that the narrator forgot or mistold\nhis story. Folk-tales are, as a rule, perfectly logical and sensible if\ntheir conditions be once accepted; but here the conduct of the hero is\ninexplicable, or at all events unexplained.\u2014A.N.]\n\n\nBRAN\u2019S COLOUR.\n\nPage 15. This stanza on Bran\u2019s colour is given by O\u2019Flaherty, in 1808,\nin the \u201cGaelic Miscellany.\u201d The first two lines correspond with those of\nmy shanachie, and the last two correspond _in sound_, if not in sense.\nO\u2019Flaherty gave them thus\u2014\n\n  \u201cSpeckled back over the loins,\n  Two ears scarlet, equal-red.\u201d\n\nHow the change came about is obvious. The old Irish suai\u1e6bne, \u201cspeckled,\u201d\nis not understood now in Connacht; so the word uai\u1e6bne, \u201cgreen,\u201d which\nexactly rhymes with it, took its place. Though uai\u1e6bne generally means\ngreenish, it evidently did not do so to the mind of my reciter, for,\npointing to a mangy-looking cub of nondescript greyish colour in a corner\nof his cabin, he said, sin uai\u1e6bne, \u201cthat\u2019s the colour oonya.\u201d The words\nos cionn na leirge, \u201cover the loins,\u201d have, for the same reason\u2014namely,\nthat learg, \u201ca loin,\u201d is obselete now\u2014been changed to words of the same\nsound. air\u1e0ba\u1e6b na seilge, \u201cof the colour of hunting,\u201d _i.e._, the colour\nof the deer hunted. This, too, the reciter explained briefly by saying,\nseilg sin fia\u1e0b, \u201chunting, that\u2019s a deer.\u201d From the vivid colouring of\nBran it would appear that she could have borne no resemblance whatever\nto the modern so-called Irish wolf-hound, and that she must in all\nprobability have been short-haired, and not shaggy like them. Most of the\nFenian poems contain words not in general use. I remember an old woman\nreciting me two lines of one of these old poems, and having to explain\nin current Irish the meaning of no less than five words in the two lines\nwhich were\n\n  Ai\u1e6bris dam agus n\u00e1 can go\n  Cionnas rinnea\u1e0b le\u00f3 an trealg,\n\nwhich she thus explained conversationally, innis dam agus n\u00e1 deun breug,\ncia an \u010baoi a ndearna\u1e0b siad an fia\u1e0ba\u010b.\n\nPage 17, line 9. Pistrogue, or pishogue, is a common Anglo-Irish word\nfor a charm or spell. Archbishop MacHale derived it from two words, fios\nsi\u1e6be\u00f3g, \u201cknowledge of fairies,\u201d which seems hardly probable.\n\nPage 19. \u201cA fiery cloud out of her neck.\u201d Thus, in Dr. Atkinson\u2019s P\u00e1is\nPartoloin, from the \u201cLeabhar Breac,\u201d the devil appears in the form of an\nEthiopian, and according to the Irish translator, ticed lassar borb ar a\nbragait ocus as a shr\u00f3in amal lassair shuirun tened. \u201cThere used to come\na fierce flame out of his _neck_ and nose, like the flame of a furnace of\nfire.\u201d\n\nPage 19. According to another version of this story, the blind man was\nOssian (whose name is in Ireland usually pronounced Essheen or Ussheen)\nhimself, and he got Bran\u2019s pups hung up by their teeth to the skin of a\nnewly-killed horse, and all the pups let go their hold except this black\none, which clung to the skin and hung out of it. Then Ossian ordered the\nothers to be drowned and kept this. In this other version, the coal which\nhe throws at the infuriated pup was tua\u0121 no rud ic\u00e9int, \u201ca hatchet or\nsomething.\u201d There must be some confusion in this story, since Ossian was\nnot blind during Bran\u2019s lifetime, nor during the sway of the Fenians.\nThe whole thing appears to be a bad version of Campbell\u2019s story, No.\nXXXI., Vol. II., p. 103. The story may, however, have some relation to\nthe incident in that marvellous tale called \u201cThe Fort of the little Red\nYeoha\u201d (Brui\u0121ion Eo\u010bai\u1e0b \u1e03ig \u1e0beirg), in which we are told how Conan looked\nout of the fort, go \u1e03facai\u1e0b s\u00e9 aon \u00f3gla\u010b ag tea\u010bt \u010buige, agus cu \u0121earr\n\u1e0bu\u1e03 air sla\u1e03ra iarainn aige, \u2019na l\u00e1i\u1e41, agus is ionga na\u010b loir\u0121ea\u1e0b si an\nbruio\u0121ion re ga\u010b caor teine d\u2019\u00e1 g-cuirfea\u1e0b si \u1e6bar a craos agus \u1e6bar a\nc\u00fa\u1e03an-\u1e03eul ama\u010b, _i.e._, \u201che saw one youth coming to him, and he having a\nshort black hound on an iron chain in his hand, and it is a wonder that\nit would not burn the fort with every ball of fire it would shoot out of\nits gullet, and out of its foam-mouth.\u201d This hound is eventually killed\nby Bran, but only after Conan had taken off \u201cthe shoe of refined silver\nthat was on Bran\u2019s right paw\u201d (An \u1e03r\u00f3g airgid Ai\u1e6b-leig\u1e6bhe to \u1e03\u00ed air croi\u1e03\n\u1e0beis Brain). Bran figures largely in Fenian literature.\n\n[I believe this is the only place in which Finn\u2019s _mother_ is described\nas a fawn, though in the prose sequel to the \u201cLay of the Black Dog\u201d\n(Leab. na Feinne, p. 91) it is stated that Bran, by glamour of the\nLochlanners, is made to slay the Fenian women and children in the seeming\nof deer. That Finn enjoyed the favours of a princess bespelled as a fawn\nis well known; also that Oisin\u2019s mother was a fawn (see the reference in\nArg. Tales, p. 470). The narrator may have jumbled these stories together\nin his memory.\n\nThe slaying of Bran\u2019s pup seems a variant of Oisin\u2019s \u201cBlackbird Hunt\u201d\n(_cf._ Kennedy, Fictions, 240), whilst the story, as a whole, seems to\nbe mixed up with that of the \u201cFight of Bran with the Black Dog,\u201dof which\nthere is a version translated by the Rev. D. Mac Innes\u2014\u201cWaifs and Strays\nof Celtic Tradition,\u201d Vol. I., p. 7, _et seq._\n\nIt would seem from our text that the Black Dog was Bran\u2019s child, so that\nthe fight is an animal variant of the father and son combat, as found in\nthe Cuchullain saga. A good version of \u201cFinn\u2019s Visit to Lochlann\u201d (to be\nprinted in Vol. III. of \u201cWaifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition\u201d) tells how\nFinn took with him Bran\u2019s leash; and how the Lochlanners sentenced him\nto be exposed in a desolate valley, where he was attacked by a savage\ndog whom he tamed by showing the leash. Vol. XII. of Campbell\u2019s \u201cMSS. of\nGaelic Stories\u201d contains a poem entitled, \u201cBran\u2019s Colour.\u201d This should be\ncompared with our text.\u2014A.N.]\n\n\nTHE KING OF IRELAND\u2019S SON.\n\nPage 19. The king of Ireland\u2019s son. This title should properly be, \u201cThe\nson of a king in Ireland\u201d (Mac ri\u0121 i n-Eirinn). As this name for the\nprince is rather cumbrous, I took advantage of having once heard him\ncalled the king of Ireland\u2019s son (Mac ri\u0121 Eireann), and have so given\nit here. In another longer and more humorous version of this story,\nwhich I heard from Shamus O\u2019Hart, but which I did not take down in\nwriting, the short green man is the \u201cThin black man\u201d (fear caol du\u1e03); the\ngunman is guinn\u00e9ar, not gunnaire; the ear-man is cluas-le-h-\u00e9istea\u010bt;\n(ear for hearing), not cluasaire; and the blowman is not S\u00e9idire, but\npoll\u00e1ire-s\u00e9idte (blowing nostril). This difference is the more curious,\nconsidering that the men lived only a couple of miles apart, and their\nfamilies had lived in the same place for generations.\n\nPage 27. This description of a house thatched with feathers is very\ncommon in Irish stories. On the present occasion the house is thatched\nwith one single feather, so smooth that there was no projecting point or\nquill either above or below the feather-roof. For another instance, see\nthe \u201cWell of D\u2019yerree in Dowan,\u201d page 131. In a poem from \u201cThe Dialogue\nof the Sages,\u201d the lady Cred\u00e9\u2019s house is described thus:\u2014\n\n  \u201cOf its sunny chamber the corner stones\n  Are all of silver and precious gold,\n  In faultless stripes its thatch is spread\n  Of wings of brown and crimson red.\n  Its portico is covered, too,\n  With wings of birds both yellow and blue.\u201d\n\n        See O\u2019Curry\u2019s \u201cMan. Materials,\u201d p. 310.\n\nPage 27. \u201cHe drew the cooalya-coric,\u201d _coolaya_ in the text, is a\nmisprint. The cooalya-coric means \u201cpole of combat.\u201d How it was \u201cdrawn\u201d we\nhave no means of knowing. It was probably a pole meant to be drawn back\nand let fall upon some sounding substance. The word tarraing, \u201cdraw,\u201d\nhas, however, in local, if not in literary use, the sense of drawing back\none\u2019s arm to make a blow. A peasant will say, \u201che drew the blow at me,\u201d\nor \u201che drew the stick,\u201d in English; or \u201c\u1e6barraing s\u00e9 an buille,\u201d in Irish,\nby which he means, he made the blow and struck with the stick. This may\nbe the case in the phrase \u201cdrawing the cooalya-coric,\u201d which occurs so\noften in Irish stories, and it may only mean, \u201che struck a blow with the\npole of combat,\u201d either against something resonant, or against the door\nof the castle. I have come across at least one allusion to it in the\nFenian literature. In the story, called Macao\u1e41 m\u00f3r mac ri\u0121 na h-Earp\u00e1ine\n(the great man, the king of Spain\u2019s son), the great man and Oscar fight\nall day, and when evening comes Oscar grows faint and asks for a truce,\nand then takes Finn Mac Cool aside privately and desires him to try to\nkeep the great man awake all night, while he himself sleeps; because he\nfeels that if the great man, who had been already three days and nights\nwithout rest, were to get some sleep on this night, he himself would\nnot be a match for him next morning. This is scarcely agreeable to the\ncharacter of Oscar, but the wiles which Finn employs to make the great\nman relate to him his whole history, and so keep him from sleeping,\nare very much in keeping with the shrewdness which all these stories\nattribute to the Fenian king. The great man remains awake all night,\nsorely against his will, telling Finn his extraordinary adventures; and\nwhenever he tries to stop, Finn incites him to begin again, and at last\ntells him not to be afraid, because the Fenians never ask combat of any\nman until he ask it of them first. At last, as the great man finished\nhis adventures do \u1e03\u00ed an l\u00e1 ag \u00e9iri\u0121e agus do \u0121a\u1e03ar Osgar agus do \u1e03uail\nan cuaille c\u00f3\u1e41paic. Do \u010buala an fear m\u00f3r sin agus a du\u1e03airt, \u201cA Finn \u1e40ic\nC\u00fa\u1e41ail,\u201d ar s\u00e9, \u201cd\u2019\u1e1feallair orm,\u201d etc. _i.e._, the day was rising, and\nOscar goes and struck (the word is not \u201cdrew\u201d here) the pole of combat.\nThe great man heard that, and he said, \u201cOh, Finn Mac Cool, you have\ndeceived me,\u201d etc. Considering that they were all inside of Finn\u2019s palace\nat Allan (co. Kildare) at this time, Oscar could hardly have struck the\ndoor. It is more probable that the pole of combat stood outside the\nhouse, and it seems to have been a regular institution. In Campbell\u2019s\ntale of \u201cThe Rider of Grianag,\u201d there is mention made of a _slabhraidh\ncomhrac_, \u201cChain of combat,\u201d which answers the same purpose as the pole,\nonly not so conveniently, since the hero has to give it several hauls\nbefore he can \u201ctake a turn out of it.\u201d We find allusion to the same thing\nin the tale of Iollan arm Dearg. Illan, the hero, comes to a castle in\na solitude, and surprises a woman going to the well, and she points out\nto him the chain, and says, \u201cGa\u010b uair \u010broi\u1e6bfeas tu an sla\u1e03ra sin ar an\nmbile, do \u0121eo\u1e03ai\u1e0b tu ceud cura\u1e0b ca\u1e6b-arma\u010b, agus ni iarrfaid ort a\u010bt an\nc\u00f3\u1e41rac is \u00e1il leat, mar at\u00e1 diar no tri\u00far no cea\u1e6brar, no ceud,\u201d _i.e._,\n\u201cevery time that you will shake yon chain (suspended) out of the tree,\nyou will get (call forth) a hundred champions battle-armed, and they will\nonly ask of thee the combat thou likest thyself, that is (combat with)\ntwo, or three, or four, or a hundred.\u201d Chains are continually mentioned\nin Irish stories. In the \u201cLittle Fort of Allan,\u201d a Fenian story, we read,\nAnn sin d\u2019\u00e9iri\u0121 bollsgaire go bio\u1e6b-urla\u1e41 agus do \u010broi\u1e6b sla\u1e03ra \u00e9istea\u010bta\nna brui\u0121ne, agus d\u2019\u00e9isteadar uile go foirtinea\u010b, _i.e._, \u201cthen there\narose a herald with active readiness, and they shook the fort\u2019s chain of\nlistening, and they all listened attentively;\u201d and in the tale of \u201cIllan,\nthe Red-armed,\u201d there are three chains in the palace, one of gold, one of\nsilver, and one of findrinny (a kind of metal, perhaps bronze), which are\nshaken to seat the people at the banquet, and to secure their silence;\nbut whoever spake after the gold chain had been shaken did it on pain of\nhis head.\n\n[In the story of Cuchullain\u2019s youthful feats it is related that, on his\nfirst expedition, he came to the court of the three Mac Nechtain, and,\naccording to O\u2019Curry\u2019s Summary (\u201cManners and Customs,\u201d II., p. 366),\n\u201csounded a challenge.\u201d The mode of this sounding is thus described by\nProf. Zimmer, in his excellent summary of the _Tain bo Cualgne_ (Zeit,\nf. vgl., Sprachforschung, 1887, p. 448): \u201cOn the lawn before the court\nstood a stone pillar, around which was a closed chain (or ring), upon\nwhich was written in Ogham, that every knight who passed thereby was\nbound, upon his knightly honour, to issue a challenge. Cuchullain took\nthe stone pillar and threw it into a brook hard by.\u201d This is the nearest\nanalogue I have been able to find to our passage in the old Irish\nliterature (the _Tain_, it should be mentioned, goes back in its present\nform certainly to the tenth, and, probably, to the seventh century). As\nmany of the Fenian romances assumed a fresh and quasi-definite shape in\nthe twelfth-fourteenth centuries, it is natural to turn for a parallel to\nthe medi\u00e6val romances of chivalry. In a twelfth century French romance,\nthe Conte de Graal, which is in some way connected with the body of\nGaelic M\u00e4rchen (whether the connection be, as I think, due to the fact\nthat the French poet worked up lays derived from Celtic sources, or,\nas Professor Zimmer thinks, that the French romances are the origin of\nmuch in current Gaelic folk-tales), when Perceval comes to the Castle of\nMaidens and enters therein, he finds a table of brass, and hanging from\nit by a chain of silver, a steel hammer. With this he strikes three\nblows on the table, and forces the inmates to come to him. Had they not\ndone so the castle would have fallen into ruins. Other parallels from\nthe same romances are less close; thus, when Perceval came to the castle\nof his enemy, Partinal, he defies him by throwing down his shield, which\nhangs up on a tree outside the castle (v. 44,400, _et seq._). It is well\nknown that the recognised method of challenging in tournaments was for\nthe challenger to touch his adversary\u2019s shield with the lance. This may\npossibly be the origin of the \u201cshield-clashing\u201d challenge which occurs\nseveral times in Conall Gulban; or, on the other hand, the medi\u00e6val\npractice may be a knightly transformation of an earlier custom. In the\nthirteenth century prose Perceval le Gallois, when the hero comes to the\nTurning Castle and finds the door shut, he strikes such a blow with his\nsword that it enters three inches deep into a marble pillar (Potvin\u2019s\nedition, p. 196). These medi\u00e6val instances do not seem sufficient to\nexplain the incident in our text, and I incline to think that our tale\nhas preserved a genuine trait of old Irish knightly life. In Kennedy\u2019s\n\u201cJack the Master, and Jack the Servant\u201d (Fictions, p. 32), the hero takes\nhold of a \u201cclub that hangs by the door \u201dand uses it as a knocker.\u2014A.N.]\n\nPage 29. They spent the night, &c. This brief run resembles very much\na passage in the story of Iollan Arm-dearg, which runs, do rinneadar\ntri treana de \u2019n oi\u1e0b\u010be, an \u010beud trian re h-\u00f3l agus re h-imirt, an dara\ntrian re ce\u00f3l agus re h-oirfide agus re h-eala\u1e0ban, agus an treas trian\nre suan agus re s\u00e1\u1e41-\u010bodla\u1e0b, agus do rugadar as an oi\u1e0b\u010be sin _i.e._, they\nmade three-thirds of the night; the first third with drink and play, the\nsecond third with music and melody and (feats of) science, and the third\nthird with slumber and gentle sleep, and they passed away that night.\n\nPage 33, line 28. This allusion to the horse and the docking is very\nobscure and curious. The old fellow actually blushed at the absurdity of\nthe passage, yet he went through with it, though apparently unwillingly.\nHe could throw no light upon it, except to excuse himself by saying that\n\u201cthat was how he heard it ever.\u201d\n\nPage 37, line 4. The sword of _three_ edges is curious; the third edge\nwould seem to mean a rounded point, for it can hardly mean triangular\nlike a bayonet. The sword that \u201cnever leaves the leavings of a blow\nbehind it,\u201d is common in Irish literature. In that affecting story of\nDeirdre, Naoise requests to have his head struck off with such a sword,\none that Mananan son of Lir, had long before given to himself.\n\nPage 47. The groundwork or motivating of this story is known to all\nEuropean children, through Hans Andersen\u2019s tale of the \u201cTravelling\nCompanion.\u201d\n\n[I have studied some of the features of this type of stories Arg. Tales,\npp. 443-452.\u2014A.N.]\n\n\nTHE ALP-LUACHRA.\n\nPage 49. This legend of the alp-luachra is widely disseminated, and\nI have found traces of it in all parts of Ireland. The alp-luachra\nis really a newt, not a lizard, as is generally supposed. He is the\nlissotriton punctatus of naturalists, and is the only species of newt\nknown in Ireland. The male has an orange belly, red-tipped tail, and\nolive back. It is in most parts of Ireland a rare reptile enough, and\nhence probably the superstitious fear with which it is regarded, on\nthe principle of _omne ignotum pro terribli_. This reptile goes under\na variety of names in the various counties. In speaking English the\npeasantry when they do not use the Irish name, call him a \u201cmankeeper,\u201d a\nword which has probably some reference to the superstition related in our\nstory. He is also called in some counties a \u201cdarklooker,\u201d a word which is\nprobably, a corruption of an Irish name for him which I have heard the\nKildare people use, dochi-luachair (da\u010bui\u1e0b lua\u010bra), a word not found in\nthe dictionaries. In Waterford, again, he is called arc-luachra, and the\nIrish MSS. call him arc-luachra (earc-lua\u010bra). The alt-pluachra of the\ntext is a mis-pronunciation of the proper name, alp-luachra. In the Arran\nIslands they have another name, ail-\u010bua\u010b. I have frequently heard of\npeople swallowing one while asleep. The symptoms, they say, are that the\nperson swells enormously, and is afflicted with a thirst which makes him\ndrink canfuls and pails of water or buttermilk, or anything else he can\nlay his hand on. In the south of Ireland it is believed that if something\nsavoury is cooked on a pan, and the person\u2019s head held over it, the\nmankeeper will come out. A story very like the one here given is related\nin Waterford, but of a dar daol, or _daraga dheel_, as he is there\ncalled, a venomous insect, which has even more legends attached to him\nthan the alp-luachra. In this county, too, they say that if you turn the\nalp-luachra over on its back, and lick it, it will cure burns. Keating,\nthe Irish historian and theologian, alludes quaintly to this reptile in\nhis Tri Bior\u0121aoi\u1e6be an Bh\u00e1ir, so finely edited in the original the other\nday by Dr. Atkinson. \u201cSince,\u201d says Keating, \u201cprosperity or worldly\nstore is the weapon of the adversary (the devil), what a man ought to\ndo is to spend it in killing the adversary, that is, by bestowing it\non God\u2019s poor. The thing which we read in Lactantius agrees with this,\nthat if an airc-luachra were to inflict a wound on anyone, what he ought\nto do is to shake a pinchful of the ashes of the airc-luachra upon the\nwound, and he will be cured thereby; and so, if worldly prosperity wounds\nthe conscience, what you ought to do is to put a poultice of the same\nprosperity to cure the wound which the covetousness by which you have\namassed it has made in your conscience, by distributing upon the poor of\nGod all that remains over your own necessity.\u201d The practice which the\nfourth-century Latin alludes to, is in Ireland to-day transferred to the\ndar-daol, or goevius olens of the naturalists, which is always burnt as\nsoon as found. I have often heard people say:\u2014\u201cKill a keerhogue (clock or\nlittle beetle); burn a dar-dael.\u201d\n\nPage 59. Boccuch (baca\u010b), literally a lame man, is, or rather was, the\nname of a very common class of beggars about the beginning of this\ncentury. Many of these men were wealthy enough, and some used to go about\nwith horses to collect the \u201calms\u201d which the people unwillingly gave them.\nFrom all accounts they appear to have been regular black-mailers, and to\nhave extorted charity partly through inspiring physical and partly moral\nterror, for the satire, at least of some of them, was as much dreaded as\ntheir cudgels. Here is a curious specimen of their truculence from a song\ncalled the Bacach Buidhe, now nearly forgotten:\u2014\n\n  Is bacach m\u00e9 t\u00e1 air aon chois, si\u00fabhalfaidh m\u00e9 go sp\u00e9ifea\u1e41ail,\n  Ceann\u00f3chaidh m\u00e9 br\u00e9idin i g-Cill-Cainnigh do\u2019n bhraois,\n  Cuirfead c\u00f3ta c\u00f3rui\u0121the gleusta, a\u2019s b\u00facla buidhe air m\u2019aon chois,\n  A\u2019s nach maith mo shlighe bidh a\u2019s eudaigh o chaill mo chosa si\u00fabhal!\n  Ni\u2019l bacach n\u00e1 fear-m\u00e1la o \u1e60ligeach go Cinn-tr\u00e1ile\n  Agus \u00f3 Bheul-an-\u00e1tha go Baile-buidhe na Midhe,\n  Nach bhfuil agam faoi \u00e1rd-ch\u00edos, agus cr\u00f3in anaghaidh na r\u00e1ithe,\n  No mine\u00f3chainn a g-cn\u00e1mha le bata glas daraigh.\n\n_i.e._,\n\n  I am a boccugh who goes on one foot, I will travel airily,\n  I will buy frize in Kilkenny for the breeches(?)\n  I will put a well-ordered prepared coat and yellow buckles on my one\n    foot,\n  And isn\u2019t it good, my way of getting food and clothes since my feet\n    lost their walk.\n  There is no boccuch or bagman from Sligo to Kinsale\n  And from Ballina to Ballybwee (Athboy) in Meath,\n  That I have not under high rent to me\u2014a crown every quarter from them\u2014\n  Or I\u2019d pound their bones small with a green oak stick.\n\nThe memory of these formidable guests is nearly vanished, and the\nboccuch in our story is only a feeble old beggarman. I fancy this tale\nof evicting the alt-pluachra family from their human abode is fathered\nupon a good many people as well as upon the father of the present\nMacDermot. [Is the peasant belief in the Alp-Luachra the originating idea\nof the well-known Irish Rabelaisian 14th century tale \u201cThe Vision of\nMcConglinny?\u201d\u2014A.N.]\n\n\nTHE WEASEL.\n\nPage 73. The weasel, like the cat, is an animal that has many legends\nand superstitions attaching to it. I remember hearing from an old\nshanachie, now unfortunately dead, a long and extraordinary story about\nthe place called Chapelizod, a few miles from Dublin, which he said was\nS\u00e9ipeul-eas\u00f3g, the \u201cweasel\u2019s chapel,\u201d in Irish, but which is usually\nsupposed to have received its name from the Princess Iseult of Arthurian\nromance. The story was the account of how the place came by this name.\nHow he, who was a Connachtman, and never left his native county except\nto reap the harvest in England, came by this story I do not know; but I\nimagine it must have been told him by some one in the neighbourhood, in\nwhose house he spent the night, whilst walking across the island on his\nway to Dublin or Drogheda harbour. The weasel is a comical little animal,\nand one might very well think it was animated with a spirit. I have been\nassured by an old man, and one whom I have always found fairly veracious,\nthat when watching for ducks beside a river one evening a kite swooped\ndown and seized a weasel, with which it rose up again into the air. His\nbrother fired, and the kite came down, the weasel still in its claws, and\nunhurt. The little animal then came up, and stood in front of the two men\nwhere they sat, and nodded and bowed his head to them about twenty times\nover; \u201cit was,\u201d said the old man, \u201cthanking us he was.\u201d The weasel is a\ndesperate fighter, and always makes for the throat. What, however, in\nIreland is called a weazel, is really a stoat, just as what is called a\ncrow in Ireland is really a rook, and what is called a crane is really a\nheron.\n\nC\u00e1uher-na-mart, to which Paudyeen (diminutive of Paddy) was bound, means\nthe \u201ccity of the beeves,\u201d but is now called in English Westport, one of\nthe largest towns in Mayo. It was _apropos_ of its long and desolate\nstreets of ruined stores, with nothing in them, that some one remarked\nhe saw Ireland\u2019s characteristics there in a nutshell\u2014\u201can itch after\ngreatness and nothingness;\u201d a remark which was applicable enough to the\nsquireocracy and bourgeoisie of the last century.\n\nPage 79. The \u201cbig black dog\u201d seems a favourite shape for the evil spirit\nto take. He appears three times in this volume.\n\nPage 81. The little man, with his legs astride the barrel, appears to be\nakin to the south of Ireland spirit, the clooricaun, a being who is not\nknown, at least by this name, in the north or west of the island. See\nCrofton Croker\u2019s \u201cHaunted Cellar.\u201d\n\nPage 87. \u201cThe green hill opened,\u201d etc. The fairies are still called\nTuatha de Danann by the older peasantry, and all the early Irish\nliterature agrees that the home of the Tuatha was in the hills, after the\nMilesians had taken to themselves the plains. Thus in the story of the\n\u201cPiper and the Pooka,\u201d in the Leabhar Sgeulaigheachta, not translated\nhere, a door opens in the hill of Croagh Patrick, and the pair walk in\nand find women dancing inside. D\u00f3nal, the name of the little piper, is\nnow Anglicised into Daniel, except in one or two Irish families which\nretain the old form still. The _coash-t\u2019ya bower_, in which the fairy\nconsorts ride, means literally \u201cthe deaf coach,\u201d perhaps from the\nrumbling sound it is supposed to make, and the banshee is sometimes\nsupposed to ride in it. It is an omen of ill to those who meet it. It\nseems rather out of place amongst the fairy population, being, as it\nis, a gloomy harbinger of death, which will pass even through a crowded\ntown. Cnoc Matha, better Magha, the hill of the plain, is near the town\nof Tuam, in Galway. Finvara is the well-known king of the fairy host of\nConnacht. In Lady Wilde\u2019s \u201cEthna, the Bride,\u201d Finvara is said to have\ncarried off a beautiful girl into his hill, whom her lover recovers with\nthe greatest difficulty. When he gets her back at last, she lies on her\nbed for a year and a day as if dead. At the end of that time he hears\nvoices saying that he may recover her by unloosing her girdle, burning\nit, and burying in the earth the enchanted pin that fastened it. This\nwas, probably, the slumber-pin which we have met so often in the \u201cKing of\nIreland\u2019s Son.\u201d Nuala, the name of the fairy queen, was a common female\nname amongst us until the last hundred years or so. The sister of the\nlast O\u2019Donnell, for whom Mac an Bhaird wrote his exquisite elegy, so well\ntranslated by Mangan\u2014\n\n  \u201cOh, woman of the piercing wail,\n  That mournest o\u2019er yon mound of clay\u201d\u2014\n\nwas Nuala. I do not think it is ever used now as a Christian name at all,\nhaving shared the unworthy fate of many beautiful Gaelic names of women\ncommon a hundred years ago, such as M\u00e8ve, Una, Sheelah, Moreen, etc.\n\nSlieve Belgadaun occurs also in another story which I heard, called the\nBird of Enchantment, in which a fairy desires some one to bring a sword\nof light \u201cfrom the King of the Firbolg, at the foot of Slieve Belgadaun.\u201d\nNephin is a high hill near Crossmolina, in North Mayo.\n\nPage 89. Stongirya (stangaire), a word not given in dictionaries, means,\nI think, \u201ca mean fellow.\u201d The dove\u2019s hole, near the village of Cong, in\nthe west of the county Mayo, is a deep cavity in the ground, and when a\nstone is thrown down into it you hear it rumbling and crashing from side\nto side of the rocky wall, as it descends, until the sound becomes too\nfaint to hear. It is the very place to be connected with the marvellous.\n\n\nLEEAM O\u2019ROONEY\u2019S BURIAL.\n\nPage 95. Might not Spenser have come across some Irish legend of an\nimitation man made by enchantment, which gave him the idea of Archimago\u2019s\nimitation of Una:\n\n  \u201cWho all this time, with charms and hidden artes,\n    Had made a lady of that other spright,\n  And framed of liquid ayre her tender partes,\n    So lively and so like in all men\u2019s sight\n    That weaker sence it could have ravished quite,\u201d etc.\n\nI never remember meeting this easy _deus ex machin\u00e2_ for bringing about a\ncomplication before.\n\nPage 101. Leeam imprecates \u201cthe devil from me,\u201d thus skilfully turning a\ncurse into a blessing, as the Irish peasantry invariably do, even when in\na passion. _H\u2019onnam one d\u2019youl_\u2014\u201cmy soul _from_ the devil\u201d is an ordinary\nexclamation expressive of irritation or wonderment.\n\n\nGULLEESH.\n\nPage 104. When I first heard this story I thought that the name of the\nhero was Goill\u00eds, the pronunciation of which in English letters would be\nGul-yeesh; but I have since heard the name pronounced more distinctly,\nand am sure that it is Giollaois, g\u2019yulleesh, which is a corruption\nof the name Giolla-\u00edosa, a not uncommon Christian name amongst the\nseventeenth century Gaels. I was, however, almost certain that the man\n(now dead) from whom I first got this story, pronounced the word as\nGulyeesh, anent which my friend Mr. Thomas Flannery furnished me at the\ntime with the following interesting note:\u2014N\u00ed cos\u1e41\u00fail gur Giolla-\u00edosa at\u00e1\n\u2019san ainm Goill\u00eds, n\u00edr \u1e03\u2019 \u1e1feidir \u201cGiolla-\u00edosa\u201d do \u1e0bul i n \u201cGoillis.\u201d\nSaoilim gur b\u2019ionann Goill\u00eds agus Goill-\u0121\u00e9is no Gaill-\u0121\u00e9is, agus is\nionann \u201cg\u00e9is\u201d agus \u201ceala.\u201d Is cui\u1e41ne liom \u201cMuir\u0121\u00e9is\u201d \u2019sna h-\u201cAnnalalai\u1e03,\u201d\nagus is iom\u1e0ba ainm duine \u1e6bigeas o anmannai\u1e03 eun \u010bo\u1e41 mai\u1e6b le \u00f3 anmannai\u1e03\nbea\u1e6ba\u010b, mar ata bran, fia\u010b, lon, loinin, sea\u1e03ac, \u204ac. \u2019S\u00e9 Goill\u00eds na g-cor\ndu\u1e03 f\u00f3s. Na\u010b ai\u1e6bne \u1e0buit gur leas-ainm an eala \u201ccos-du\u1e03\u201d i m\u00f3r\u00e1n d\u2019\u00e1iti\u1e03\ni n-Eirinn. T\u00e1 nei\u1e6be eile \u2019san sceul sin do \u1e03eir orm a \u1e41eas gur de na\nsgeultai\u1e03 a \u1e03aineas le h-ealai\u1e03 no g\u00e9isi\u1e03 \u00e9. Na\u010b aistea\u010b an ni go dtug\nbain\u1e57rionnsa tai\u1e6bnea\u1e41 do \u1e03ua\u010baill cos-du\u1e03 cos-sala\u010b leiscea\u1e41uil mar \u00e9?\nNa\u010b ait an ni\u1e0b f\u00f3s na\u010b dtug\u1e6bar an leas-ainm d\u00f3 ar\u00eds, tar \u00e9is beag\u00e1in\nfocal air dt\u00fas \u00f3 sin ama\u010b go deirea\u1e0b. Dearmad\u1e6bar an leas-ainm agus an\nf\u00e1\u1e6b f\u00e1 \u1e03fuair s\u00e9 \u00e9. _i.e._, \u201cIt is not likely that the name Goillis is\nGiolla-iosa; the one could not be changed into the other. I think that\nGoillis is the same as Goill-gh\u00e9is, or Gaill-gh\u00e9is (_i.e._, foreign\nswan). G\u00e9is means swan. I remember a name Muirgheis (sea swan) in the\nAnnals; and there is many a man\u2019s name that comes from the names of birds\nas well as from the names of animals, such as Bran (raven), Fiach (scald\ncrow), Lon and Loinin (blackbird), Seabhac (falcon), etc. Moreover, he\nis Goillis _of the black feet_. Do you not know that the black-foot is\na name for the swan in many parts of Ireland. There are other things in\nthis story which make me believe that it is of those tales which treat of\nswans or g\u00e9ises. Is it not a strange thing that the princess should take\na liking to a dirty-footed, black-footed, lazy boy like him? Is it not\ncurious also that the nickname of black-foot is not given to him, after\na few words at the beginning, from that out to the end? The nickname is\nforgotten, and the cause for which he got it.\u201d\n\nThis is certainly curious, as Mr. Flannery observes, and is probably due\nto the story being imperfectly remembered by the shanachie. In order to\nmotivate the black feet at all, Guleesh should be made to say that he\nwould never wash his feet till he made a princess fall in love with him,\nor something of that nature. This was probably the case originally, but\nthese stories must be all greatly impaired during the last half century,\nsince people ceased to take an interest in things Irish.\n\nThere are two stories in Lady Wilde\u2019s book that somewhat resemble this.\n\u201cThe Midnight Ride,\u201d a short story of four pages, in which the hero\nfrightens the Pope by pretending to set his palace on fire; but the\nstory ends thus, as do many of Crofton Croker\u2019s\u2014\u201cAnd from that hour to\nthis his wife believed that he dreamt the whole story as he lay under\nthe hayrick on his way home from a carouse with the boys.\u201d I take this,\nhowever, to be the sarcastic nineteenth century touch of an over-refined\ncollector, for in all my experience I never knew a shanachie attribute\nthe adventures of his hero to a dream. The other tale is called the\n\u201cStolen Bride,\u201d and is a story about the \u201ckern of Querin,\u201d who saves a\nbride from the fairies on November Eve, but she will neither speak nor\ntaste food. That day year he hears the fairies say that the way to cure\nher is to make her eat food off her father\u2019s table-cloth. She does this,\nand is cured. The trick which Gulleesh plays upon the Pope reminds us\nof the fifteenth century story of Dr. Faustus and his dealings with his\nHoliness.\n\n[Cf. also the story of Michael Scott\u2019s journey to Rome, \u201cWaifs and Strays\nof Celtic Tradition,\u201d Vol. I., p. 46. The disrespectful way in which the\nPope is spoken of in these tales does not seem due to Protestantism, as\nis the case with the Faustus story, although, as I have pointed out,\nthere are some curious points of contact between Michael Scott and\nFaustus. Guleesh seems to be an early Nationalist who thought more of his\nvillage and friend than of the head of his religion.\u2014A.N.]\n\nThe description of the wedding is something like that in Crofton Croker\u2019s\n\u201cMaster and Man,\u201d only the scene in that story is laid at home.\n\nThe story of Gulleesh appears to be a very rare one. I have never been\nable to find a trace of it outside the locality (near where the counties\nof Sligo, Mayo, and Roscommon meet) in which I first heard it.\n\n[It thus seems to be a very late working-up of certain old incidents with\nadditions of new and incongruous ones.\u2014A.N.]\n\nPage 112. \u201cThe rose and the lily were fighting together in her face.\u201d\nThis is a very common expression of the Irish bards. In one of Carolan\u2019s\nunpublished poems he says of Bridget Cruise, with whom he was in love in\nhis youth:\u2014\u201cIn her countenance there is the lily, the whitest and the\nbrightest\u2014a combat of the world\u2014madly wrestling with the rose. Behold the\nconflict of the pair; the goal\u2014the rose will not lose it of her will;\nvictory\u2014the lily cannot gain it; oh, God! is it not a hard struggle!\u201d etc.\n\nPage 115. \u201cI call and cross (or consecrate) you to myself,\u201d says\nGulleesh. This is a phrase in constant use with Irish speakers, and\nproceeds from an underlying idea that certain phenomena are caused by\nfairy agency. If a child falls, if a cow kicks when being milked, if an\nanimal is restless, I have often heard a woman cry, goirim a\u2019s castraicim\n\u1e6bu, \u201cI call and cross you,\u201d often abbreviated into goirim, goirim,\nmerely, _i.e._, \u201cI call, I call.\u201d\n\n\nTHE WELL OF D\u2019YERREE-IN-DOWAN.\n\nPage 129. There are two other versions of this story, one a rather\nevaporated one, filtered through English, told by Kennedy, in which the\nDall Glic is a wise old hermit; and another, and much better one, by\nCurtin. The Dall Glic, wise blind man, figures in several stories which I\nhave got, as the king\u2019s counsellor. I do not remember ever meeting him in\nour literature. Bwee-sownee, the name of the king\u2019s castle, is, I think,\na place in Mayo, and probably would be better written Bui\u1e0be-\u1e6ba\u1e41nai\u0121.\n\nPage 131. This beautiful lady in red silk, who thus appears to the\nprince, and who comes again to him at the end of the story, is a curious\ncreation of folk fancy. She may personify good fortune. There is nothing\nabout her in the two parallel stories from Curtin and Kennedy.\n\nPage 133. This \u201ctight-loop\u201d (l\u00fab teann) can hardly be a bow, since the\nordinary word for that is _b\u00f3gha_; but it may, perhaps, be a name for a\ncross-bow.\n\nPage 136. The story is thus invested with a moral, for it is the prince\u2019s\npiety in giving what was asked of him in the honour of God which enabled\nthe queen to find him out, and eventually marry him.\n\nPage 137. In the story of Caillea\u010b na fiacaile fada, in my Leabhar\nSgeuluigheachta, not translated in this book, an old hag makes a boat out\nof a thimble, which she throws into the water, as the handsome lady does\nhere.\n\nPage 141. This incident of the ladder is not in Curtin\u2019s story, which\nmakes the brothers mount the queen\u2019s horse and get thrown. There is a\nvery curious account of a similar ladder in the story of the \u201cSlender\nGrey Kerne,\u201d of which I possess a good MS., made by a northern scribe in\n1763. The passage is of interest, because it represents a trick something\nalmost identical with which I have heard Colonel Olcott, the celebrated\nAmerican theosophist lecturer, say he saw Indian jugglers frequently\nperforming. Colonel Olcott, who came over to examine Irish fairy lore\nin the light of theosophic science, was of opinion that these men could\nbring a person under their power so as to make him imagine that he saw\nwhatever the juggler wished him to see. He especially mentioned this\nincident of making people see a man going up a ladder. The MS., of which\nI may as well give the original, runs thus:\u2014\n\nIar sin \u1e6bug an cei\u1e6bearna\u010b m\u00e1la ama\u010b \u00f3 na asgoill, agus \u1e6bug ceirtle \u1e61\u00edoda\nama\u010b as a \u1e41\u00e1la, agus do \u1e6beilg suas i \u1e03fri\u1e6bing na fiormamuinte \u00ed, agas do\nrinne dr\u00e9mire \u1e0b\u00ed, agus \u1e6bug gearr\u1e1fia\u1e0b ama\u010b ar\u00eds agus do leig suas annsa\ndr\u00e9imire \u00e9. \u1e6aug ga\u1e0bar cluais-dearg ama\u010b ar\u00eds agus do leig suas an\u1e0biai\u0121 an\n\u0121earr\u1e1fia\u1e0b \u00e9. Tug cu faitea\u010b foluaimnea\u010b ama\u010b agus do leig suas an\u1e0biai\u0121 an\n\u0121earr\u1e1fia\u1e0b agus an \u0121a\u1e0bair \u00ed, agus a du\u1e03airt, is \u1e03ao(\u0121)la\u010b liom, air s\u00e9, go\nn-\u00edosfai\u1e0b an ga\u1e0bar agus an c\u00fa an gearr\u1e1fia\u1e0b, agus ni m\u00f3r liom anacal do\n\u010bur air an gearr\u1e1fia\u1e0b. \u1e6aug ann sin \u00f3g\u00e1na\u010b deas a n-eidea\u1e0b r\u00f3 \u1e41ai\u1e6b ama\u010b as\nan m\u00e1la agus do leig suas an\u1e0biai\u0121 an \u0121earrfia\u1e0b agus an \u0121a\u1e0bair agus na con\n\u00e9. \u1e6aug cail\u00edn \u00e1luind a n-\u00e9idead r\u00f3 \u1e0beas ama\u010b as an m\u00e1la agus do leig suas\nan\u1e0biai\u0121 an \u0121earr\u1e1fai\u1e0b an \u0121a\u1e0bair an \u00f3g\u00e1nai\u0121 agus na con \u00ed.\n\nIs dona do \u00e9iri\u0121 \u1e0ba\u1e41 anois, ar an Cei\u1e6bearna\u010b \u00f3ir at\u00e1 an t-\u00f3gana\u010b aig\ndul ag p\u00f3ga\u1e0b mo \u1e41n\u00e1 agus an c\u00fa aig creim an \u0121earr\u1e1fia\u1e0b. Do \u1e6barraing an\nCei\u1e6bearna\u010b an dr\u00e9imire anuas, agus do fuair an t-\u00f3g\u00e1na\u010b fairre(?) an\nmnaoi agus an cu aig creim an \u0121earr\u1e1fia\u1e0b a\u1e41uil a du\u1e03airt, i.e., after that\nthe kerne took out a bag from under his arm-pit and he brought out a\nball of silk from the bag, and he threw it up into the expanse(?) of the\nfirmament, and it became a ladder; and again he took out a hare and let\nit up the ladder. Again he took out a red-eared hound and let it up after\nthe hare. Again he took out a timid frisking dog, and he let her up after\nthe hare and the hound, and said, \u201cI am afraid,\u201d said he, \u201cthe hound and\nthe dog will eat the hare, and I think I ought to send some relief to the\nhare.\u201d Then he took out of the bag a handsome youth in excellent apparel,\nand he let him up after the hare and the hound and the dog. He took out\nof the bag a lovely girl in beautiful attire, and he let her up after the\nhare, the hound, the youth, and the dog.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s badly it happened to me now,\u201d says the kerne, \u201cfor the youth is\ngoing kissing my woman, and the dog gnawing the hare.\u201d The kerne drew\ndown the ladder again and he found the youth \u201cgoing along with the woman,\nand the dog gnawing the hare,\u201d as he said.\n\nThe English \u201cJack and the Beanstalk\u201d is about the best-known ladder story.\n\nPage 141. This story was not invented to explain the existence of the\ntwelve tribes of Galway, as the absence of any allusion to them in all\nthe parallel versions proves; but the application of it to them is\nevidently the brilliant afterthought of some Galwegian shanachie.\n\n\nTHE COURT OF CRINNAWN.\n\nPage 142. The court of Crinnawn is an old ruin on the river Lung, which\ndivides the counties of Roscommon and Mayo, about a couple of miles from\nthe town of Ballaghadereen. I believe, despite the story, that it was\nbuilt by one of the Dillon family, and not so long ago either. There is\nan Irish prophecy extant in these parts about the various great houses\nin Roscommon. Clonalis, the seat of the O\u2019Connor Donn\u2014or Don, as they\nperversely insist on spelling it; Dungar, the seat of the De Freynes;\nLoughlinn, of the Dillons, etc.; and amongst other verses, there is one\nwhich prophecies that \u201cno roof shall rise on Crinnawn,\u201d which the people\nsay was fulfilled, the place having never been inhabited or even roofed.\nIn the face of this, how the story of Crinnawn, son of Belore, sprang\ninto being is to me quite incomprehensible, and I confess I have been\nunable to discover any trace of this particular story on the Roscommon\nside of the river, nor do I know from what source the shanachie, Mr.\nLynch Blake, from whom I got it, become possessed of it. Balor of the\nevil eye, who figures in the tale of \u201cThe Children of Tuireann,\u201d was not\nIrish at all, but a \u201cFomorian.\u201d The _pattern_, accompanied with such\nfunest results for Mary Kerrigan, is a festival held in honour of the\n_patron_ saint. These patterns were common in many places half a century\nago, and were great scenes of revelry and amusement, and often, too,\nof hard fighting. But these have been of late years stamped out, like\neverything else distinctively Irish and lively.\n\n[This story is a curious mixture of common peasant belief about haunted\nraths and houses, with mythical matter probably derived from books. Balor\nappears in the well-known tale of MacKineely, taken down by O\u2019Donovan,\nin 1855, from Shane O\u2019Dugan of Tory Island (Annals. I. 18, and cf. Rhys,\nHibbert Lect., p. 314), but I doubt whether in either case the appearance\nof the name testifies to a genuine folk-belief in this mythological\npersonage, one of the principal representatives of the powers of darkness\nin the Irish god-saga.\u2014A.N.]\n\n\nNEIL O\u2019CARREE.\n\nPage 148. The abrupt beginning of this story is no less curious than\nthe short, jerky sentences in which it is continued. Mr. Larminie, who\ntook down this story phonetically, and word for word, from a native of\nGlencolumkille, in Donegal, informed me that all the other stories of\nthe same narrator were characterized by the same extraordinary style.\nI certainly have met nothing like it among any of my shanachies. The\n_crumskeen_ and _galskeen_ which Neil orders the smith to make for\nhim, are instruments of which I never met or heard mention elsewhere.\nAccording to their etymology they appear to mean \u201cstooping-knife\u201d and\n\u201cbright-knife,\u201d and were, probably, at one time, well-known names of\nIrish surgical instruments, of which no trace exists, unless it be in\nsome of the mouldering and dust-covered medical MSS. from which Irish\npractitioners at one time drew their knowledge. The name of the hero,\nif written phonetically, would be more like Nee-al O Corrwy than Neil O\nCarree, but it is always difficult to convey Gaelic sounds in English\nletters. When Neil takes up the head out of the skillet (a good old\nShaksperian word, by-the-by, old French, _escuellette_, in use all\nover Ireland, and adopted into Gaelic), it falls in a _gliggar_ or\n_gluggar_. This Gaelic word is onomatopeic, and largely in vogue with the\nEnglish-speaking population. Anything rattling or gurgling, like water in\nan india-rubber ball, makes a _gligger_; hence, an egg that is no longer\nfresh is called a glugger, because it makes a noise when shaken. I came\nupon this word the other day, raised proudly aloft from its provincial\nobscurity, in O\u2019Donovan Rossa\u2019s paper, the _United Irishman_, every\ncopy of which is headed with this weighty _spruch_, indicative of his\npolitical faith:\n\n\u201cAs soon will a goose sitting upon a glugger hatch goslings, as an\nIrishman, sitting in an English Parliament, will hatch an Irish\nParliament.\u201d\n\nThis story is motivated like \u201cThe King of Ireland\u2019s Son.\u201d It is one of\nthe many tales based upon an act of compassion shown to the dead.\n\n\nTRUNK-WITHOUT-HEAD.\n\nPage 157. This description of the decapitated ghost sitting astride the\nbeer-barrel, reminds one of Crofton Croker\u2019s \u201cClooricaun,\u201d and of the\nhag\u2019s son in the story of \u201cPaudyeen O\u2019Kelly and the Weasel.\u201d In Scotch\nHighland tradition, there is a \u201ctrunk-without-head,\u201d who infested a\ncertain ford, and killed people who attempted to pass that way; he is not\nthe subject, however, of any regular story.\n\nIn a variant of this tale the hero\u2019s name is Labhras (Laurence) and the\ncastle where the ghost appeared is called Baile-an-bhroin (Ballinvrone).\nIt is also mentioned, that when the ghost appeared in court, he came\nin streaming with blood, as he was the day he was killed, and that the\nbutler, on seeing him, fainted.\n\nIt is Donal\u2019s courage which saves him from the ghost, just as happens\nin another story which I got, and which is a close Gaelic parallel to\nGrimm\u2019s \u201cMan who went out to learn to shake with fear.\u201d The ghost whom\nthe hero lays explains that he had been for thirty years waiting to meet\nsome one who would not be afraid of him. There is an evident moral in\nthis.\n\n\nTHE HAGS OF THE LONG TEETH.\n\nPage 162. Long teeth are a favourite adjunct to horrible personalities\nin folk-fancy. There is in my \u201cLeabhar Sgeuluigheachta,\u201d another story\nof a hag of the long tooth; and in a story I got in Connacht, called the\n\u201cSpeckled Bull,\u201d there is a giant whose teeth are long enough to make a\nwalking-staff for him, and who invites the hero to come to him \u201cuntil I\ndraw you under my long, cold teeth.\u201d\n\nLoughlinn is a little village a few miles to the north-west of Castlerea,\nin the county Roscommon, not far from Mayo; and Drimnagh wood is a thick\nplantation close by. Ballyglas is the adjoining townland. There are two\nof the same name, upper and lower, and I do not know to which the story\nrefers.\n\n[In this very curious tale a family tradition seems to have got mixed up\nwith the common belief about haunted raths and houses. It is not quite\nclear why the daughters should be bespelled for their father\u2019s sin. This\nconception could not easily be paralleled, I believe, from folk-belief in\nother parts of Ireland. I rather take it that in the original form of the\nstory the sisters helped, or, at all events, countenanced their father,\nor, perhaps, were punished because they countenanced the brother\u2019s\nparricide. The discomfiture of the priest is curious.\u2014A.N.]\n\n\nWILLIAM OF THE TREE.\n\nPage 168. I have no idea who this Granya-\u00d6i was. Her appearance in\nthis story is very mysterious, for I have never met any trace of her\nelsewhere. The name appears to mean Granya the Virgin.\n\n[Our story belongs to the group\u2014the calumniated and exposed daughter\nor daughter-in-law. But in a German tale, belonging to the forbidden\nchamber series (Grimm\u2019s, No. 3, Marienkind), the Virgin Mary becomes\ngodmother to a child, whom she takes with her into heaven, forbidding\nher merely to open one particular door. The child does this, but denies\nit thrice. To punish her the Virgin banishes her from heaven into a\nthorny wood. Once, as she is sitting, clothed in her long hair solely,\na king passes, sees her, loves and weds her, in spite of her being\ndumb. When she bears her first child, the Virgin appears, and promises\nto give her back her speech if she will confess her fault; she refuses,\nwhereupon the Virgin carries off the child. This happens thrice, and the\nqueen, accused of devouring her children, is condemned to be burnt. She\nrepents, the flames are extinguished, and the Virgin appears with the\nthree children, whom she restores to the mother. Can there have been any\nsimilar form of the forbidden chamber current in Ireland, and can there\nhave been substitution of Grainne, Finn\u2019s wife, for the Virgin Mary, or,\n_vice versa_, can the latter have taken the place of an older heathen\ngoddess?\u2014A.N.]\n\nPage 169. See Campbell\u2019s \u201cTales of the Western Highlands,\u201d vol. III.,\npage 120, for a fable almost identical with this of the two crows.\n\n\n\n\nNOTES ON THE IRISH TEXT.\n\n\nPage 2, line 5, abalta air a \u1e0beuna\u1e41 = able to do it, a word borrowed\nfrom English. There is a great diversity of words used in the various\nprovinces for \u201cable to,\u201d as abalta air (Mid Connacht); innea\u1e41uil \u010bum\n(Waterford); ion\u00e1nn or i nd\u00e1n, with infinitive (West Galway); \u2019nini\u1e03 with\ninfinitive (Donegal).\n\nPage 4, line 18, ni leigeann siad dam = they don\u2019t allow me. Dam is\npronounced in Mid Connacht _dumm_, but da\u1e41-sa is pronounced _doo-sa_.\nDr. Atkinson has clearly shown, in his fine edition of Keating\u2019s \u201cThree\nShafts of Death,\u201d that the \u201cenclitic\u201d form of the present tense, ending\nin (e)ann, should only be used in the singular. This was stringently\nobserved a couple of hundred years ago, but now the rule seems to be no\nlonger in force. One reason why the form of the present tense, which\nends in (e)ann, has been substituted for the old present tense, in\nother words, why people say buaileann s\u00e9, \u201che strikes,\u201d instead of the\ncorrect buaili\u1e0b s\u00e9, is, I think, though Dr. Atkinson has not mentioned\nit, obvious to an Irish speaker. The change probably began at the same\ntime that the f in the future of regular verbs became quiescent, as it\nis now, I may say, all over Ireland. Anyone who uses the form buaili\u1e0b\ns\u00e9 would now be understood to say, \u201che will strike,\u201d not \u201che strikes,\u201d\nfor buailfi\u1e0b s\u00e9, \u201che will strike,\u201d is now pronounced, in Connacht, at\nleast, and I think elsewhere, buaili\u1e0b s\u00e9. Some plain differentiation\nbetween the forms of the tenses was wanted, and this is probably the\nreason why the enclitic form in (e)ann has usurped the place of the old\nindependent present, and is now used as an independent present itself.\nLine 30, madra or mada\u1e0b alla = a wolf. Cuir for\u00e1n air = salute him\u2014a word\ncommon in Connacht and the Scotch Highlands, but not understood in the\nSouth. Line 34. \u1e02ei\u1e0bea\u1e0b s\u00e9 = he would be, is pronounced in Connacht as a\nmonosyllable, like \u1e03ei\u1e6b (_veh_ or _vugh_).\n\nPage 6, line 8, earball, is pronounced _rubbal_ not _arball_, in\nConnacht. Ni and n\u00edor are both used before \u1e6b\u00e1inig at the present day.\n\nPage 8, line 18. Go mar\u1e03fa\u1e0b s\u00e9 = that he would kill; another and\ncommoner form is, go mar\u00f3\u010ba\u1e0b s\u00e9, from mar\u1e03ui\u0121, the \u1e03 being quiescent in\nconversation. Line 31, a\u1e03rui\u1e6b = broth, pronounced an\u1e6brui\u1e6b (_anhree_), the\n\u1e03 having the sound of an _h_ only.\n\nPage 12, line 27. An \u010buma irai\u1e03s\u00f3 is more used, and is better. Sin \u00e9 an\n\u010buma a \u1e03\u00ed s\u00e9 = \u201cThat\u2019s the way he was.\u201d It will be observed that this\na before the past tense of a verb is only, as Dr. Atkinson remarks, a\ncorruption of do, which is the sign of the past tense. The do is hardly\never used now, except as contracted into d\u2019 before a vowel, and this is\na misfortune, because there is nothing more feeble or more tending to\ndisintegrate the language than the constant use of this colourless vowel\na. In these folk stories, however, I have kept the language as I found\nit. This a has already made much havoc in Scotch Gaelic, inserting itself\ninto places where it means nothing. Thus, they say _tha\u2019s again air a\nsin: Dinner a b fhearr na sin, etc._ Even the preposition de has with\nsome people degenerated into this a, thus ta s\u00e9 a \u1e0bi\u1e6b orm, \u201cI want it,\u201d\nfor de \u1e0bi\u1e6b.\n\nPage 14, line 9. For air read uirri. Line 12. seilg means hunting, but\nthe reciter said, seilg, sin fia\u1e0b, \u201cShellig, that\u2019s a deer,\u201d and thought\nthat Bran\u2019s back was the same colour as a deer\u2019s. Uaine, which usually\nmeans green, he explained by turning to a mangy-looking cur of a dull\nnondescript colour, and saying ta an mada\u1e0b sin uaine.\n\nPage 16, line 30. Bearna and teanga, and some other substantives of\nthe same kind are losing, or have lost, their inflections throughout\nConnacht. Line 31. ti\u0121ea\u010bt is used just as frequently and in the same\nbreath as tea\u010bt, without any difference of meaning. It is also spelt\ntui\u1e0bea\u010bt, but in Mid-Connacht the t is slender, that is ti\u0121ea\u010bt has the\nsound of _t\u2019yee-ught_, not _tee-ught_.\n\nDr. Atkinson has shown that it is incorrect to decline teanga as an _-n_\nstem: correct genitive is teanga\u1e0b. Rearta: see rasta in O\u2019Reilly. Used in\nArran thus: N\u00ed\u2019l s\u00e9 in rasta duit = you cannot venture to.\n\nPage 18, line 15. Gual means a coal; it must be here a corruption of some\nother word. Muid is frequently used for sinn, \u201cwe,\u201d both in Nom. and Acc.\nall over Connacht, but especially in the West.\n\nPage 20, line 3. Deimu\u0121 (d\u2019yemmo\u0361o). This word puzzled me for a long time\nuntil I met this verse in a song of Carolan\u2019s\n\n  N\u00edor \u1e6buill s\u00e9 diomu\u0121a\u1e0b aon duine.\n\nanother MS. of which reads d\u00edombuai\u1e0b, _i.e._, defeat, from di privitive,\nand buai\u1e0b \u201cvictory.\u201d Deimu\u0121 or diomu\u0121 must be a slightly corrupt\npronunciation of d\u00edombuai\u1e0b, and the meaning is, that the king\u2019s son put\nhimself under a wish that he might suffer defeat during the year, if he\nate more than two meals at one table, etc. Line 15. reasta = a \u201cwrit,\u201d a\nword not in the dictionaries\u2014perhaps, from the English, \u201carrest.\u201d C\u00faig\n\u1e57\u00fanta. The numerals tri cei\u1e6bre c\u00faig and s\u00e9 seem in Connacht to aspirate\nas often as not, and _always_ when the noun which follows them is in the\nsingular, which it very often is. Mr. Charles Bushe, B.L., tells me he\nhas tested this rule over and over again in West Mayo, and has found it\ninvariable.\n\nPage 22, line 2. c\u00e1 = where, pronounced always c\u00e9 (_kay_) in Central\nConnacht. Line 17. m\u00e1 \u1e03f\u00e1\u0121\u2019 m\u00e9 = If I get. In Mid-Connacht, m\u00e1 eclipses\nf\u00e1\u0121, as ni eclipses fuair.\n\nPage 26, line 18. I dtea\u010b an \u1e1fa\u1e6bai\u0121 = In the giant\u2019s house. Ti\u0121, the\nproper Dative of tea\u010b, is not much used now. Line 20. cuaille c\u00f3\u1e41raic =\nthe pole of battle.\n\nPage 28, line 9. Trian d\u00ed le Fiannui\u0121ea\u010bt = one-third of it telling\nstories about the Fenians. Line 10. This phrase soirm s\u00e1i\u1e41 suain occurs\nin a poem I heard from a man in the island of Achill\u2014\n\n  \u201c\u2019S\u00ed is binne meura ag seinm air teudai\u1e03,\n      Do \u010buirfea\u1e0b na ceudta \u2019nna g-codla\u1e0b,\n  Le soirm s\u00e1i\u1e41 suain, a\u2019s na\u010b m\u00f3r \u00e9 an t-\u00e9u\u010bt,\n      Gan aon \u1e1fear i n-Eirinn do \u1e0bul i n-eug\n        Le gr\u00e1\u1e0b d\u2019\u00e1 grua\u1e0b.\u201d\n\nI have never met this word soirm elsewhere, but it may be another form\nof soir\u1e03e, \u201cgentleness.\u201d Line 18. Col\u1e03a, a couch, pronounced colua\n(_cullooa_): here it means the head of the bed. Air col\u1e03a means, on the\noutside of the bed, when two sleep in it. Leabui\u1e0b, or leabai\u1e0b, \u201ca bed,\u201d\nis uninflected; but leaba, gen. leap\u1e6ban, is another common form.\n\nPage 30, line 30. Da\u1e03a\u010b, \u201ca great vessel or vat;\u201d used also, like\nsoi\u1e6bea\u010b, for ship. The correct genitive is d\u00e1i\u1e03\u010be, but my reciter seemed\nnot to inflect it at all.\n\nPage 32, line 14. Hai\u0121-\u00f3i\u1e03ir\u2014this is only the English word, \u201cHie-over.\u201d\nLine 21. Cop\u00f3g = a docking, a kind of a weed.\n\nPage 36, line 2. Cloi\u1e0bea\u1e41 na tr\u00ed fao\u1e03ar, \u201cthe sword of three edges.\u201d In\nthe last century both tri and the fao\u1e03ar would have been eclipsed. Cf.\nthe song, \u201cGo r\u00e9i\u1e0b, a \u1e03ean na dtr\u00ed mbo.\u201d\n\nPage 40, line 33. \u00cdoc\u1e61l\u00e1inte = balsam. Line 25. \u1e02uitse, the English word\n\u201cwitch.\u201d The Scotch Gaels have also the word bhuitseachas = witchery.\nGaelic organs of speech find it hard to pronounce the English _tch_, and\nmake two syllables of it\u2014_it-sha_.\n\nPage 42, line 21. Srannfartai\u0121 = snoring.\n\nPage 44, line 3, for sr\u00f3n read \u1e61r\u00f3in. Line 16. Cruai\u1e0be = steel, as\nopposed to iron.\n\nPage 46, line 21. Crap = to put hay together, or gather up crops.\n\nPage 48, line 1. Greim = a stitch, sudden pain.\n\nPage 52, line 15. \u201cS\u00faf!\u201d a common expression of disgust in central\nConnacht, both in Irish and in English. Line 18. Uile \u1e0buine. This word\nuile is pronounced _hulla_ in central Connacht, and it probably gets this\n_h_ sound from the final \u010b of ga\u010b, which used to be always put before it.\nFather Eugene O\u2019Growney tells me that the guttural sound of this \u010b is\nstill heard before uile in the Western islands, and would prefer to write\nthe word \u2019\u010b uile. When uile follows the noun, as na daoine uile, \u201call\nthe people,\u201d it has the sound of _ellik_ or _ellig_, probably from the\noriginal phrase being uile go l\u00e9ir, contracted into uileg, or even, as in\nWest Galway, into \u2019lig.\n\nPage 54, line 9. Goile = \u201cappetite,\u201d properly \u201cstomach.\u201d Line 30. An\n\u1e6briobl\u00f3id = the trouble, but better written an triobl\u00f3id, since feminine\nnouns, whose first letter is d or t, are seldom aspirated after the\narticle. There is even a tendency to omit the aspiration from adjectives\nbeginning with the letters d and t. Compare the celebrated song of Bean\ndu\u1e03 an \u0121leanna, not Bean \u1e0bu\u1e03.\n\nPage 56, line 4. Aic\u00edd = a disease. Line 24. D\u2019\u1e1feice\u00e1l and d\u2019innsea\u010bt\nare usual Connacht infinitives of feic and innis. Line 21. Caise = a\nstream. Line 26. Str\u00e1cailt = dragging along. Line 32. Lui\u1e03earna\u010b, often\npronounced like _leffernugh_ = weeds.\n\nPage 60, line 8. T\u00e1 beiseac or bisea\u010b orm = \u201cI am better;\u201d t\u00e1 s\u00e9 f\u00e1\u0121ail\nbeisi\u0121, more rightly, bisi\u0121 = He\u2019s getting better. Line 22. Maisea\u1e0b,\npronounced _musha_, not _mosha_, as spelt, or often even _mush_ in\nCentral Connacht. Line 28. Mar\u1e6bain, infinitive of mair, to live. Cui\u1e03lint\n= striving, running a race with.\n\nPage 64, line 4. Tig liom = \u201cit comes with me,\u201d \u201cI can.\u201d This is a phrase\nin constant use in Connacht, but scarcely even known in parts of Munster.\nLine 15. Oiread agus toirt ui\u1e03e = as much as the size of an egg. Line 23.\nAs an nua\u1e0b = de novo, over again.\n\nPage 66, line 2. Ag baint leis an uisge = touching the water.\n\nPage 66, line 15. Mo\u1e6bui\u0121 = \u201cto feel.\u201d It is pronounced in central\nConnacht like maoi\u1e6bi\u0121 (mweehee), and is often used for \u201cto hear;\u201d \u1e41aoi\u1e6bi\u0121\nm\u00e9 sin roi\u1e41e seo = I heard that before. Line 20. Sgannrui\u0121 is either\nactive or passive; it means colloquially either to frighten or to become\nfrightened.\n\nPage 68, line 12. Fan mar a \u1e03fuil tu = wait _where_ you are, fan mar t\u00e1\ntu = remain _as_ you are. Line 17. \u010aor air bi\u1e6b, short for air \u010bor air\nbi\u1e6b, means \u201cat all.\u201d In Munster they say air aon \u010bor.\n\nPage 70, line 3. cad \u010buige = \u201cwhy;\u201d this is the usual word in Connacht,\noften contracted to tuige.\n\nPage 72, line 13. C\u00e1\u1e6bair-na-mart = Westport.\n\nPage 74, line 7. Lubarnui\u0121, a word not in the dictionaries; it means, I\nthink, \u201cgambolling.\u201d Line 20. Ceapa\u1e0b = seize, control. Line 22. M\u00fala\u010b =\nblack mud.\n\nPage 76, line 2. Ana\u010bain = \u201cdamage,\u201d \u201charm.\u201d There are a great many\nsynonyms for this word still in use in Connacht, such as dam\u00e1iste,\ndolai\u1e0b, ur\u010b\u00f3id, do\u010bar, etc. Line 16. Bre\u00f3i\u1e0bte = \u201cdestroyed.\u201d\n\nPage 78, line 3. Coir, a crime; is pronounced like _quirrh_. L\u00e1i\u1e0be = a\nloy, or narrow spade.\n\nPage 80, line 5. Ar \u1e03 leis an tea\u010b m\u00f3r = \u201cwho owned the big house.\u201d A\nrai\u1e03 an tea\u010b m\u00f3r aige = who had in his possession the big house. Line\n21. Trusc\u00e1n ti\u0121e = house furniture. Line 26. \u2019Ni\u1e0b Dia \u1e0buit, short for\ngo mbeannui\u0121 Dia \u1e0buit. Line 27. Go mbu\u1e0b h-\u00e9\u1e0buit = \u201cthe same to you,\u201d\nliterally, \u201cthat it may be to you,\u201d the constant response to a salutation\nin Connacht.\n\nPage 84, line 22. A gan \u1e1fios d\u00ed = \u201cwithout her knowing it,\u201d pronounced\nlike _a gunyis dee_. I do not see what the force of this a is, but it is\nalways used, and I have met it in MSS. of some antiquity.\n\nPage 86, line 33. D\u00e1\u2019r \u1e0b\u00e9ug, pronounced d\u00e1 r\u00e9ug, short for d\u00e1 \u1e1fear d\u00e9ag,\n\u201ctwelve men.\u201d Stangaire = a mean fellow.\n\nPage 92, line 10. B\u00f3\u1e6bair\u00edn c\u00e1rta\u010b = a cart road.\n\nPage 94, line 22. T\u00e1ir = t\u00e1 tu, an uncommon form in Connacht now-a-days.\n\nPage 66, line 13. Go dtagai\u1e0b another and very common form of go dtigi\u1e0b.\n\nPage 98, line 22. N\u00edor \u1e1fan an sagart a\u010bt \u010buai\u1e0b a \u1e03aile, _i.e._, \u010buai\u1e0b s\u00e9\na\u1e03aile; the pronoun s\u00e9 is, as the reader must have noticed, constantly\nleft out in these stories, where it would be used in colloquial\nconversation.\n\nPage 100, line 27. Seil\u1e03 and seilg; are the ordinary forms of seal\u1e03 and\nsealg in Connacht.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\n[1] Had Lady Wilde known Irish she might have quoted from a popular\nballad composed on Patrick Sarsfield, and not yet forgotten:\u2014\n\n  A P\u00e1druig S\u00e1irs\u00e9ul is duine le Dia thu\n  \u2019S beannuighthe an talamh ar si\u00fadhail tu riamh air,\n  Go mbeannuigh an ghealach gheal \u2019s an ghrian duit,\n  O thug tu an l\u00e1 as l\u00e1imh Righ\u2019liaim leat.\n                                            Och och\u00f3n.\n\n\u2014_i.e._,\n\n  Patrick Sarsfield, a man with God you are,\n  Blessed the country that you walk upon,\n  Blessing of sun and shining moon on you,\n  Since from William you took the day with you.\n                                            Och, och hone.\n\nThis would have made her point just as well. Unfortunately, Lady Wilde is\nalways equally extraordinary or unhappy in her informants where Irish is\nconcerned. Thus, she informs us that _bo-banna_ (meant for _bo-bainne_,\na milch cow) is a \u201cwhite cow\u201d; that tobar-na-bo (the cow\u2019s well) is \u201cthe\nwell of the white cow\u201d; that Banshee comes from _van_ \u201cthe woman\u201d\u2014(_bean_\nmeans \u201ca woman\u201d); that Leith Brogan\u2014_i.e._, leprechaun\u2014is \u201cthe artificer\nof the brogue,\u201d while it really means the half or one-shoe, or, according\nto Stokes, is merely a corruption of locharpan; that tobar-na-dara\n(probably the \u201coak-well\u201d) is the \u201cwell of tears,\u201d etc. Unfortunately, in\nIreland it is no disgrace, but really seems rather a recommendation, to\nbe ignorant of Irish, even when writing on Ireland.\n\n[2] Thus he over and over again speaks of a slumber-pin as _bar an\nsuan_, evidently mistaking the _an_ of _bioran_, \u201ca pin,\u201d for _an_\nthe definite article. So he has _slat an draoiachta_ for _slaitin_,\nor _stat\u00e1n draoigheachta_. He says _innis caol_ (narrow island) means\n\u201clight island,\u201d and that _gil an og_ means \u201cwater of youth!\u201d &c.; but,\nstrangest of all, he talks in one of his stories of killing and boiling a\nstork, though his social researches on Irish soil might have taught him\nthat that bird was not a Hibernian fowl. He evidently mistakes the very\ncommon word _sturc_, a bullock, or large animal, or, possibly, _torc_,\n\u201ca wild boar,\u201d for the bird stork. His interpreter probably led him\nastray in the best good faith, for _sturck_ is just as common a word with\nEnglish-speaking people as with Gaelic speakers, though it is not to be\nfound in our wretched dictionaries.\n\n[3] Thus: \u201cKill Arthur went and killed Ri Fohin and all his people and\nbeasts\u2014didn\u2019t leave one alive;\u201d or, \u201cBut that instant it disappeared\u2014went\naway of itself;\u201d or, \u201cIt won all the time\u2014wasn\u2019t playing fair,\u201d etc., etc.\n\n[4] Campbell\u2019s \u201cPopular Tales of the West Highlands.\u201d Vol. iv. p. 327.\n\n[5] Father O\u2019Growney has suggested to me that this may be a diminutive\nof the Irish word _fathach_, \u201ca giant.\u201d In Scotch Gaelic a giant is\nalways called \u201cfamhair,\u201d which must be the same word as the _fomhor_ or\nsea-pirate of mythical Irish history.\n\n[6] The manuscript in which I first read this story is a typical one\nof a class very numerous all over the country, until O\u2019Connell and the\nParliamentarians, with the aid of the Catholic prelates, gained the ear\nand the leadership of the nation, and by their more than indifference to\nthings Gaelic put an end to all that was really Irish, and taught the\npeople to speak English, to look to London, and to read newspapers. This\nparticular MS. was written by one Seorsa MacEineircineadh, whoever he\nwas, and it is black with dirt, reeking with turf smoke, and worn away at\nthe corners by repeated reading. Besides this story it contains a number\nof others, such as \u201cThe Rearing of Cuchulain,\u201d \u201cThe Death of Conlaoch,\u201d\n\u201cThe King of Spain\u2019s Son,\u201d etc., with many Ossianic and elegiac poems.\nThe people used to gather in at night to hear these read, and, I am sure,\nnobody who understands the contents of these MSS., and the beautiful\nalliterative language of the poems, will be likely to agree with the\nopinion freely expressed by most of our representative men, that it is\nbetter for the people to read newspapers than study anything so useless.\n\n[7] Campbell has mistranslated this. I think it means \u201cfrom the bottom of\nthe well of the deluge.\u201d\n\n[8] Campbell misunderstood this also, as he sometimes does when the word\nis Irish. _Siogiadh_ means \u201cfairy.\u201d\n\n[9] In a third MS., however, which I have, made by a modern Clare\nscribe, Domhnall Mac Consaidin, I find \u201cthe Emperor Constantine,\u201d not\nthe \u201cEmperor of Constantinople,\u201d written. O\u2019Curry in his \u201cManuscript\nMaterials,\u201d p. 319, ascribes \u201cConall Gulban,\u201d with some other stories,\nto a date prior to the year 1000; but the fighting with the Turks (which\nmotivates the whole story, and which cannot be the addition of an\nignorant Irish scribe, since it is also found in the Highland traditional\nversion), shows that its date, in its present form, at least, is much\nlater. There is no mention of Constantinople in the Scotch Gaelic\nversion, and hence it is possible\u2014though, I think, hardly probable\u2014that\nthe story had its origin in the Crusades.\n\n[10] I find the date, 1749, attributed to it in a voluminous MS. of some\n600 closely written pages, bound in sheepskin, made by Laurence Foran of\nWaterford, in 1812, given me by Mr. W. Doherty, C.E.\n\n[11] An bua\u010baill do b\u00ed a \u1e03fad air a \u1e41\u00e1\u1e6bair.\n\n[12] Prof. Rhys identifies Cuchulain with Hercules; and makes them\nboth sun-gods. There is nothing in our story however, which points to\nCuchulain, and still less to the Celtic Hercules described by Lucian.\n\n[13] An t-\u00e9un ce\u00f3l-\u1e03inn.\n\n[14] Wratislaw\u2019s Folk-Tales from Slavonic Sources.\n\n[15] It appears, unfortunately, that all classes of our Irish politicians\nalike agree in their treatment of the language in which all the past of\ntheir race\u2014until a hundred years ago\u2014is enshrined. The inaction of the\nParliamentarians, though perhaps dimly intelligible, appears, to me at\nleast, both short-sighted and contradictory, for they are attempting to\ncreate a nationality with one hand and with the other destroying, or\nallowing to be destroyed, the very thing that would best differentiate\nand define that nationality. It is a making of bricks without straw. But\nthe non-Parliamentarian Nationalists, in Ireland at least, appear to be\nthoroughly in harmony with them on this point. It is strange to find the\nman who most commands the respect and admiration of that party advising\nthe young men of Gaelic Cork, in a printed and widely-circulated lecture\nentitled: \u201cWhat Irishmen should know,\u201d to this effect:\u2014\u201cI begin by a sort\nof negative advice. You all know that much has been written in the Irish\nlanguage. This is of great importance, especially in connection with our\nearly history, hence must ever form an important study for scholars. But\nyou are, most of you, not destined to be scholars, and so I should simply\nadvise you\u2014especially such of you as do not already know Irish\u2014to leave\nall this alone, or rather to be content with what you can easily find\nin a translated shape in the columns of Hardiman, Miss Brooke, Mangan,\nand Sigerson.\u201d So that the man whose most earnest aspiration in life is\nIreland a nation, begins by advising the youth of Ireland _not_ to study\nthe language of their fathers, and to read the gorgeous Gaelic poetry in\nsuch pitiful translations as Hardiman and Miss Brooke have given of a few\npieces. The result of this teaching is as might be expected. A well-known\nsecond-hand book-seller in Dublin assured me recently that as many as\n200 Irish MSS. had passed through his hand within the last few years.\nDealers had purchased them throughout the country in Cavan, Monaghan, and\nmany other counties for a few pence, and sold them to him, and he had\ndispersed them again to the four winds of heaven, especially to America,\nAustralia, and New Zealand. Many of these must have contained matter\nnot to be found elsewhere. All are now practically lost, and nobody in\nIreland either knows or cares. In America, however, of all countries in\nthe world, they appreciate the situation better, and the fifth resolution\npassed at the last great Chicago Congress was one about the Irish\nlanguage.\n\n[16] Flash, in Irish, _loch\u00e1n_, _i.e._, little lake, or pool of water.\nMost story-tellers say, not, \u201cI got the _loch\u00e1n_,\u201d but the \u201c_cloch\u00e1n_,\u201d\nor stepping-stones.\n\n[17] Tint, means a drop, or small portion of liquid, amongst English\nspeaking persons in Connacht and most other parts of Ireland.\n\n[18] Gual.\n\n[19] This is an idiom in constant use in Gaelic and Irish; but to\ntranslate it every time it occurs would be tedious. In Gaelic we say, my\nshare of money, land, etc., for my money, my land.\n\n[20] In Irish, _geasa_\u2014mystic obligations.\n\n[21] Geasa, pronounced _gassa_, means \u201cenchantment\u201d in this place.\n\n[22] Or \u201cthe King of N\u2019yiv.\u201d\n\n[23] An ordinary Connacht expression, like the Scotch \u201cthe noo.\u201d\n\n[24] \u201cOh, Mary,\u201d or \u201cby Mary,\u201d an expression like the French \u201cdame!\u201d\n\n[25] To \u201clet on\u201d is universally used in Connacht, and most parts of\nIreland for to \u201cpretend.\u201d It is a translation of the Irish idiom.\n\n[26] _i.e._, this quarter of a year.\n\n[27] forenent, or forenenst = over against.\n\n[28] Narrow spade used all over Connacht.\n\n[29] Untranslatable onomatop\u00e6ic words expressive of noises.\n\n[30] These names are not exactly pronounced as written. To pronounce them\nproperly say _yart_ first, and then _yart_ with an _n_ and a _c_ before\nit, _n\u2019yart_ and _c\u2019yart_.\n\n[31] That means \u201cIt was well for yourself it was so.\u201d This old\nElizabethan idiom is of frequent occurrence in Connacht English, having\nwith many other Elizabethanisms, either filtered its way across the\nisland from the Pale, or else been picked up by the people from the\nEnglish peasantry with whom they have to associate when they go over to\nEngland to reap the harvest.\n\n[32] Rath or fort or circular moat.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX OF INCIDENTS.\n\n[I use the word \u201cincident\u201d as equivalent to the German _sagzug_, _i.e._,\nas connoting not only the separate parts of an action, but also its\npictorial features.\u2014A.N.]\n\n\n    Ball, guiding, of silver, 132.\n\n    Belore of the Evil Eye, 144.\n\n    Besom riding, 85.\n\n    Blast of wind from giant\u2019s nostrils, 146.\n\n    Blind wise man, 129.\n\n    Blood drops incident, 19.\n\n    Boat out of thimble, 137.\n\n    Bones gathered up and revivified, 152.\n\n    Bran, colour and swiftness of, 15.\n      death of, 17.\n\n    Bran\u2019s daughter, 17;\n      catches wild geese, 17-19;\n      killed, 19.\n\n    Broth-swallowing match, 11.\n\n    Brother, of welcoming hags, 132.\n      helps hero across stream, 133;\n      restored to youth by hero, 135.\n\n\n    Cap of darkness, 29.\n\n    Cat, white, 130. (= old hag?)\n\n    Coach, enchanted, with two fawns, 139.\n\n    Cross-roads, separation at, 129.\n\n    Curse of the 24 men, 154.\n\n\n    Damsel, encouraging, in red silk, 131.\n      gives hero thimble as boat, 137.\n\n    Daughter prevents father re-marrying after first wife\u2019s death, by\n      cutting grass on mother\u2019s grave, 167.\n\n    Dead man haunting house, 158.\n\n    Destruction of king\u2019s court by night, 3.\n\n    Doctoring instrument, 148.\n\n    Dog, black, catches bullets in mouth, 162;\n      strikes exorcising priest dumb, 163;\n      father of hags, 163.\n\n    Dog, big black, son of weasel hag, 79.\n\n    Dumbness caused by fairy blow, 116.\n\n\n    Eagle guarding stream, 133.\n      slain by hero, 134.\n\n    Elder brothers fail, 140.\n\n    Enchanter helps mortal, 93.\n      passes him off as dead, 95.\n\n\n    Fairest maid, description of, 112.\n\n    Fairies baffled by cross, 115.\n\n    Fairies carry off princess, 107, _et seq._\n      require a mortal\u2019s help, 89, 107.\n      meet annually on November night, 122.\n\n    Fairies turn into flying beetles, 89.\n\n    Fairy help to mortal withdrawn, 142.\n\n    Fairy dwelling filled with smoke and lightning, 143;\n      hill opens, 87.\n\n    Fairy horses unspelled, 115.\n      host, noise of, 105;\n      takes horse, 106.\n      king and queen, 87.\n      hurling match, 87.\n\n    Fairy spits fire, and frightens Pope, 110.\n\n    Father, cruel, cuts hands and feet off daughter, 168.\n      punished, and healed by daughter, 169.\n\n    Fearless hero, 156, _et seq._,\n      sleeps with corpse, 158.\n\n    Feather supporting house, 131.\n\n    Finn\u2019s mother a fawn, 17.\n\n    Flea killed by valiant tailor, 2.\n\n    Football players in haunted house, 158.\n\n    Fox, hiding-place for, 5.\n\n\n    Geasa run, 21.\n\n    Ghost denouncing murderer, 159.\n\n    Ghost laying by fortune distributing, 159.\n\n    Giants, two, crushed by stone, 9, _et seq._\n\n    Giant outwitted by lying reports, 29.\n\n    Giant slits himself up, 11.\n\n    Goblin, headless, in cellar, 81, 157.\n      drinks and plays music with hero, 83;\n      bagpipes for fairies, 85.\n\n    Grateful dead, 21, 23, 153.\n      beggar, 156;\n      robin, 165.\n\n    Guarding monsters, 134.\n\n\n    Hags, enchanted, turn vultures, 163.\n      condemned for father\u2019s crime, 164.\n      turned into swans at end of enchantment period, 166.\n\n    Hag turned into weasel, 79.\n      welcoming, sister to hero\u2019s nurse, 131.\n\n    Hair turns into ladder, 140.\n\n    Hare magic, 162.\n\n    Haunted house, 81.\n\n    Healing well, 129.\n\n    Helping servant, 148.\n      saves ungrateful master, 157.\n\n    Herb for blood-stopping, 149.\n\n    Herb of healing, 165.\n\n    Hero, grown rich, visits home, 161.\n      joins fairy host, 106.\n\n    Heroine and attendant maidens made pregnant in their sleep, 135.\n      seeks father of children, 139.\n      recovers magic gifts abandoned by hero, 139, _et seq._\n      tests false claimants, 140.\n      full up of serpents banished by first embraces, 45.\n      under spells, 37.\n\n    Horse, swift as lightning, 132.\n      talking, 2.\n      hiding-place for, 3.\n\n    Husband, not to re-marry till grass be foot high on dead wife\u2019s\n      grave, 167.\n\n\n    Incurable sore foot, 129.\n\n    Inexhaustible milk-can (fairy gift), 142.\n      water and bread, 134.\n      purse, 91.\n\n\n    Kiss, first, from heroine, claimed by helping servant, 45.\n\n\n    Lion, ploughing, 7;\n      guarding, 134.\n\n\n    Magic gifts abandoned by hero, 139.\n\n    Mary\u2019s shamrock (? four-leaved), 142.\n\n    Murderer revealed by ghost, 160.\n\n    Mutilated (hands and feet) heroine married, 168;\n      restored after birth of triplets, 168.\n\n\n    Night entertainment run, 29.\n\n    Nonsense ending, 15, 128.\n\n    November night for fairy gatherings, 122.\n\n\n    One-eyed supernatural being, 144.\n\n\n    Pin of slumber, 39, 43.\n\n    Piper in haunted house, 158.\n\n    Poison, King of, 39.\n\n    Pole of combat, 27, _et seq._\n      of combat run, 27.\n\n    Pope compelled to reinstate priest, 110.\n\n    Priest refuses to exorcise, 143;\n      exorcises bewitched hags, 163.\n\n    Princess, ill to death, cured by taking head off her, 149.\n      promised to task performer, 2.\n      released from fairies, 115.\n\n    Purse that empties not, 91.\n\n    Purses bestowed by supernatural being, 91, 144.\n\n\n    Quest for healing water, 129.\n\n\n    Recognition of hero by heroine, 141.\n\n    Robin grateful, brings herb of healing, 165.\n\n\n    Safety token (stone), 129.\n\n    Servant\u2019s wage, 23.\n\n    Silence bespelling removed, 168.\n\n    Skilful companions, gunner, listener, runner, blower, stone-breaker,\n      23-27.\n\n    Sleep, magic, 147;\n      of enchanted queen over in seven years, 134.\n\n    Slumber pin in horse\u2019s head, 43.\n\n    Smelling giant, 27.\n\n    Speech restored by herb, 125.\n\n    Spikes crowned with skulls, 39.\n\n    Step-mother (hag) accuses step-daughter, 168.\n\n    Stone-breaker crushes sharp stones, 45.\n\n    Swift runner and hag race, 43.\n\n    Swiftness, slippers, 33.\n\n    Sword that leaves leavings of no blow behind it, 37.\n\n    Sword of light, 135.\n\n\n    Tailor, valiant, 2.\n\n    Taboo on telling about fairy gifts, 142.\n      broken and punished by loss, 143.\n\n    Threefold entertaining by hags, 130.\n\n    Three sons start for healing water, 129.\n\n    Travellers\u2019 seat in wood, 131.\n\n\n    Unwashed feet of hero, 104.\n\n\n    Wages, half of what is earned, 148.\n\n    Wages of help servant refused, 150.\n\n    Weasel brings money, 73;\n      attacks despoiler, 75;\n      kills cow, 77;\n      turns into hag, 77.\n\n    Well of healing balm, 41.\n      of healing water, 129.\n\n    Workmen\u2019s wages, 7.\n\n    Witch released by Masses, 79.\n\n    Witch\u2019s hut to be burnt after death, 79.\n\n\n    Youngest son succeeds, 138;\n      envied by elder brothers, 138, _et seq._;\n      made a scullion, 139.\n\n    Youth, restoration to, 135.","title":"Beside the Fire: A collection of Irish Gaelic folk stories","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":81066}