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 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924029889510 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE 
 
Folk Tales and Fairy Lore 
 
 IN GAELIC AND ENGLISH 
 COLLECTED FROM ORAL TRADITION 
 
 BY 
 
 Rev. JAMES MACDOUGALL 
 
 Sometime Minister of Duror 
 Author of " Craignish Tales," and " Folk and Hero Tales " 
 
 EDITED 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
 
 BY 
 
 Rev. GEORGE CALDER, B.D. 
 
 Minister of Strathfillan 
 
 Author of "The Irish ^neid" 
 Honorary Member of the Caledonian Medical Society 
 
 EDINBURGH: JOHN GRANT 
 
 31 GEORGE IV. BRIDGE 
 
 IQIO 
 
TO 
 
 THE CALEDONIAN MEDICAL SOCIETY, 
 
 DISTINGUISHED ALIKE 
 
 FOR PROFESSIONAL SKILL 
 
 AND 
 
 FOR HEREDITARY INTEREST IN THE HIGHLANDS, 
 
 THIS VOLUME OF HIGHLAND TRADITIONS 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 I HAVE pleasure in acknowledging my indebtedness to Mrs. 
 MacDougall for her whole-hearted interest in the progress of the 
 work from first to last, for transcribmg the English Text, and for 
 approving numerous minor changes in expression, which I had 
 suggested, and thus relieving me from the sole responsibility of 
 making those changes. It is but right to say, however, that as the 
 work advanced through the press, I felt impelled to make the 
 alterations in the text, and especially in the translation, much 
 more thorough-going than I had at first contemplated. 
 
 In the Gaelic text I have endeavoured to simplify the spelling, 
 and therefore excluded such MS. forms as daramh (dara), 'san 
 t-seallamh ('san t-sealladh), a' deanadh (deanamh), o'n taice so 
 (tac) p. 1 68, romh (roimh), sid (sud). Fhalbh (p. 32) remains as 
 probably the correct form of thallaibh. The final vowel of fem. a 
 stems has been printed in full, as also of the verbal perfects 
 cuala, faca; and, latterly, whenever possible, the substitution of 
 commas for letters, or words, has been avoided. Traces of the 
 fem. a stem accusative sing, have been retained, e.g., cuir umad 
 cirb de mo bhreacan, p. 214; as also an old accusative pi. mas. o 
 stem used as nom. chuir na feara e61as, p. 16 ; while other traces 
 of the accusative mas. o stems are gus an cuala e an aon ghuth, p. 
 138; and ach an aon, p. 86. 
 
 Some combinations have been retained, which, though not 
 strictly grammatical, are universally in use, such as — a' trusadh a 
 cuid, p. 270; ag cur bacadh, p. 298; le riin tilleadh, p. 302; gun 
 tuilleadh dail, p. 8; bharr a' bhiiird-obair, p. 150; do 'n bhean 
 bhochd, p. 100. 
 
 The common spelling has been adhered to in words like 
 kiridh, cha'n, sithe in preference to the more correct airigh, cha 
 n-, sidhe ; and the accent has been retained on the two short 
 unaccented words d out of, am time, as in MS. 
 
 Tacain, for a while, is uniformly so written in MS., cf Stokes' 
 Goid.' 149 b. 
 
A trace of the original neuter gender of benn is preserved, 
 e.£., aig sail Beinne Bhric, p. 242, where the MS. has Beinn-a- 
 Bhric. 
 
 Entirely new matter added by the Editor is enclosed in square 
 brackets. 
 
 Unfortunately, the first three formes, up to p. 48, were printed 
 off prematurely; and therefore, while regretting numerous printers 
 errors (the gravest of which is heared, p. 15), I entreat readers to 
 keep in view the following corrigenda : — 
 
 Read — tearuinte, p. 6, 44. 
 
 is i a' sineadh. p. 12. 
 
 de'n airgiod ghill, p. 20. 
 
 gealltainn, p. 20. 
 
 fo'n stairsnich, p. 22. 
 
 cho fada is a, p. 22. 
 
 na faidhreach, p. 22. 
 
 is a bha e, p. 26. 
 
 cha, gu'n, tugadh, p. 30, 36. 
 
 bhdidich, p. 40. 
 
 dhirich, p. 42. 
 
 bha e a' dol, p. 44. 
 
 comharraichte, p. 182. 
 
 In conclusion, I beg to express my warmest thanks to friends 
 and correspondents who have taken an interest in the work, 
 among others to Mr. Henry Whyte, "Fionn," who looked over the 
 sheets as they were passing through the press; to Mr. Duncan 
 M 'Isaac, who carefully read proofs of the whole book; and 
 especially to Rev. C. M. Robertson, who, in addition to reading 
 the proofs, has given me the benefit of his opinion on points of 
 difficulty in the text, and has suggested several corrections. 
 Though unable to adopt every suggestion that has been made, or 
 to agree with everything in the book itself, I have had much 
 pleasure in the work of editing it, and part with it in the hope that 
 it will prove no unworthy monument to the literary memory of a 
 highly cultured and worthy man. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 From the days of Dr. Johnson and Mr. Boswell, who speaks of 
 Mr. Donald Macqueen as " a very learned minister in the Isle of 
 Sky whom both Dr. Johnston and I have mentioned with regard," 
 the lamp of learning has burnt steadily, if sometimes obscurely, 
 among the Highland clergy. The Church of Scotland sees to it 
 that ministers shall possess the modicum demanded by her 
 standards. But here and there ministers of studious habits, not 
 content with the ordinary elements of education, strike out in new 
 directions. Too seldom has their attention been turned to Gaelic, 
 of which the duties of their office demand an accurate knowledge 
 and a fluent use. A whole world of poetry, tradition, superstition, 
 anecdote, proverb, and clever repartee is familiar to the rank and 
 file of the Highland clergy within the sphere of their labour and 
 recreation, but this knowledge has been turned to literary account 
 by only a few. 
 
 Mr. James MacDougall was one of those who during a long 
 life consistently maintained the best traditions of his class. A 
 native of Craignish, where he was born in 1833, he engaged in 
 tutorial work and teaching before entering college. Following the 
 usual curriculum, he was at length ordained, and became a 
 missionary, preaching in remote glens of the West Highlands till 
 he was presented to the Parish of Duror. The Royal Seal, bearing 
 date 1 2th July, 187 1, now lies before me, together with a note of 
 charges for the same, amounting to £,<) 6s. iid. In 1900 he was 
 married to a daughter of Mr. Cuthbert Cowan, Ayr — a union 
 which added much to his own happiness and to the prosperity of 
 the Parish. He died at Duror Manse 4th September, 1906. 
 
 Mr. MacDougall possessed great literary taste, which he culti- 
 vated, and from an early period composed original poems in 
 Gaelic and in English. His chief interest, apart from his life 
 work, lay in books and what was destined to find a place in them. 
 The Editor well remembers meeting him in the year 1893 on 
 
board a Loch Linnhe steamer going Oban-wards. The conversa- 
 tion turned on the subject of Fairy Lore, and Mr. MacDougall 
 needed no great persuasion to recite some of his fairy stories, 
 little thinking that while he was the collector, and, in a sense, the 
 author of them, his hearer would become their sponsor. The 
 appearance of his library gave one the impression that he had a 
 love for his books. They were neither so numerous as to lie 
 unread, nor so few as to indicate limited culture, and merely 
 parochial interests. Mostly of value, they were handled accord- 
 ingly. Here and there are marginal notes that always show 
 penetration The roads and lanes and hillocks of Duror, in 
 common with other country places, had their own tales and 
 suggestive names, the origin of which he was fond of investigating. 
 His derivations are reasoned, and in pleasing contrast to the 
 vagaries of popular etymology. His well known interest in all 
 local matters led to his being consulted by the Scottish Boulder 
 Committee, and to some correspondence with the convener, Mr. 
 David Milne Home, LL.D. 
 
 A delightful host and companion, he drew his friends from 
 almost every walk in life. Some of them came from far. To 
 mention but one — the brilliant and ever-to-be-lamented Professor 
 Strachan, whose genius and enthusiasm have done so much for 
 Celtic studies, found himself from time to time enjoying the 
 hospitality of Duror Manse. And the Rev. D. Macfarlane, then 
 minister of the neighbouring Parish of Glencoe, writes — "One 
 could not forget the exuberant welcome at Duror when we came 
 to make a Ceilidh, and the insistence which made the afternoon 
 call a three days' visit." But whether they came from far or near, 
 all that knew him owned the charm of his conversation, which 
 arose in part from his manifest friendUness and courtesy, and in 
 part from his keen observation and experience of life, ranging 
 from the quiet of Duror to the excitement of foreign travel, from 
 geological problems to the Welsh Revival (which he studied on 
 the spot), from Gaelic Tales (and even riddles) to the translation 
 of the Hymnal, to which he also put his hand, and executed some 
 versions with credit. Besides his tales in Waifs and Strays of 
 
Celtic Tradition, vols. I. and III., and another tale, " The Urisk 
 of the Corrie of Howlings," Zeitschrift fiir Celtische Fhilologie, i. 
 328, he has left no printed matter save a pamphlet on the Clan 
 MacDougall, and some translations of Hymns. Of his MSS., 
 the chief contents are now before the public. But a number of 
 tales and poems, some of which the Editor had prepared for the 
 press, are withheld in order to keep the present volume to a 
 reasonable size. 
 
 This brief survey of an attractive and memorable life may 
 fitly close in the words of Rev. D. Macfarlane, now minister of 
 Kingussie, between whom and the minister of Duror there existed 
 a strong bond of sympathy and friendship: — "Mr. MacDougall's 
 instincts were those of the scholar and the gentleman, with a 
 healthy love of out-door life as represented in rod and gun and 
 dog. These were always to be found in pleasant confusion in his 
 study. Not a sporting parson, but a parson who found in sport 
 a real contribution to healthy-mindedness. Nor was he an 
 ecclesiastic, though a diligent and watchful pastor, knowing his 
 people with an intimacy that included their material prospects by 
 land and sea, as well as their domestic and spiritual welfare. To 
 walk through his Parish with him was to be instructed in all the 
 social life of the people by merely listening to his friendly 
 inquiries of old and young. His taste for Celtic studies and 
 Folklore was of course inexplicable to the country people, 
 especially so in a minister; yet he persevered because these 
 studies were an intellectual stimulus to him, and because he was 
 proud of these remnants of Celtic thought and fancy, and felt 
 they should be preserved. 
 
 Others can appraise his work, but for me there remains the 
 pleasant recollection of many evenings spent in Duror Manse, 
 when folklore, legend, and story were dramatically re-told. A 
 new tale, or the different rendering of an old one, or even an 
 uncommon word, would be welcomed by him with almost boyish 
 delight; for his oft-repeated regret was that he had not more 
 methodically committed to writing the treasures of Celtic lore he 
 had early come in contact with. 
 
He was ever a helpful neighbour, a good friend, a stimulating 
 companion, and the pattern of a robust and healthy religious life. 
 Absorbed as he was in pursuits and studies off the main line of 
 ministerial activity, he never suffered them to interfere with the 
 claims of his profession. He was always the minister. His lot 
 was cast in a secluded glen, while his ability and talents would 
 have fitted him for much more important charges; but he 
 cheerfully accepted the position, and faithfully did his day's 
 work. To those who knew and loved him, Duror will never be 
 the same since his vigorous and genial personality has passed for 
 ever from it." 
 
 G. C. 
 
 Manse of Strathfillan, 
 
 June, igto. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 FOLK TALES. 
 
 The Knight of the Bens and Glens and Passes, - - - 2 
 
 The Swarthy Smith of the Socks, - - - - - 16 
 
 The Tailor and the Kilnure Animated Corpse, - - - 34 
 
 Big Black John, son of the King of Sorcha, - - - 40 
 
 V Cathal O' Cruachan and the Herd of the Stud, - - - 56 
 
 Donald of the Burthens, ------- 68 
 
 y Black-haired John of Lewis, 74 
 
 The Ben Vehir Dragons, ------- 96 
 
 FAIRY STORIES. 
 
 I.— THE SOCIAL FAIRIES. 
 
 Torr-a-Bhuilg, - - - 100 
 
 Taladh na Mn^-Sithe, 104 
 
 Fairy Song, 108 
 
 Widowed Father's Lullaby to his Motherless Infant, - -112 
 
 Glengarry Fairy, - - - - - - - - 116 
 
 Two Fairy Arrow Stories, - - - - - - - 120 
 
 The Fairies of Corrie Chaorachain, 126 
 
 The Rannoch Farmer's Son and the Fairies, - - - 128 
 
 Angus Mor of Tomnahuirich and the Fairies, - - - 132 
 
 The Red-haired Tailor of Rannoch and the Fairy, - - 142 
 
 The Kintalen Changeling, 148 
 
 The Fairy of Corrie Osben, .-.--- 154 
 
 The Girl who emptied the Inexhaustible Meal Chest, - - 158 
 
The Two Neighbours and their Hogmanay Whisky, - - 162 
 
 How the First Castle was built on Stirling Rock, - - 168 
 
 The Black Lad MacCrimmon and the Banshee, - - - 174 
 MacCrimmon's Silver Chanter and the Kiss he got from the 
 
 King's Hand, - - 180 
 
 The MacGlashens of Creaganich and the Second Sight, - 182 
 
 The Little Men of Mulinfenachan in Duthil, - - - 186 
 
 The Fairies of Craig Tulloch, • - - - - - 190 
 
 The Fairies Wrangling, ------- 1^2 
 
 The Sunart Woman protected from the Fairies by the Sword 
 
 MacGillony, - - - - - ■ - - 196 
 
 The First Maclntyre of Glenoe's Fairy Sweetheart, - - 198 
 
 Yellow-haired Murdoch of the Deer, 202 
 
 The Hunchback of the Willow Brake, - - - - 204 
 
 II.— SOLITARIES. 
 
 The Caointeach, a Banshee Story, 214 
 
 The Balieveolin Glasrig and Selvach MacKelvie, - - 216 
 
 The Glen-Faochan Maiden, - 222 
 
 Gilchrist, the Tailor, and the Glen Geal Hag, - - - 226 
 
 The Strath Dearn Hunter and the Witch, - - - - 230 
 First Adventures of Donald Maclain with the Glastig of Ben 
 
 Breck, .-.------ 234 
 
 Second Adventure of Donald Maclain with the Glastig of 
 
 Ben Breck, .--.-.-- 236 
 
 The Croon of the Glastig of Ben Breck, - - - - 240 
 
 The Onich Brothers and the Glastig of Ben Breck, - - 242 
 
 The Hunter and the Glastig of Ben Breck, - - - 248 
 
 MacLachlan and the Glastig, ------ 250 
 
 Donald Mor Og and the Glastig of Buinach, - - - 254 
 
 The Four Hunters and the Four Glastigs, - - - - 258 
 
The Strontian Smith and the Glastig, - - - - 262 
 
 The Glastig or Maid of Glenduror, 266 
 
 The Fairy Queen in the Form of a Frog, - - - . 270 
 
 The Dun Cow of Mac Brandy's Thicket, - - - - 280 
 
 The Maidens, 284 
 
 The Goat of the Red Passage, - - - - - - 288 
 
 The Wild Calf, 290 
 
 III.— WATER SPRITES. 
 
 The Urisg of Sgur-a-Chaorainn, ----- 294 
 
 The Urisg of Eas Buidhe, - - - - - - - 298 
 
 Big Alastair and the Urisg, 302 
 
 The Water Horse of Poll na Craobhan, - - - - 308 
 
 Notes, 321 
 
FOLK TALKS 
 
 AND 
 
 FAIRY LORE. 
 
RIDIRE NAM BEANN 'S NAN GLEANN 'S NAM 
 BEALACH. 
 
 Bha ann roimhe so ridire beairteach ris an abradh 
 daoine Ridire nam Beann 's nan Gleann 's nam Bealach. 
 Mu choinneamh Caisteal an Ridire so bha tulach 
 b6idheach uaine o 'm faiceadh e, 'n uair a sheasadh e 
 air a mhullach, gach b6 is each agus ceithir-chasach 
 a bh' aige. 
 
 Air latha grianach br^agh chaidh e suas air an 
 tulach so agus an uair a sheall e m'a thimchioli, cha 
 robh beathach beo a bhuineadh dha ri fhaicinn. Sheas 
 e tacain far an robh e, a' smuainteachadh ciod a th^inig 
 riu, no c'^it' an rachadh e g'an sireadh. Am meadhon 
 a smuainteachadh thug e siiil sios gu bun an tulaich, 
 agus ciod a chunnaic e 'na sheasamh an sin ach an 
 Gadhar Cluas-dhearg B^n. 
 
 " Gu 6.6 fcith do sprochd an diugh, a Ridire nan 
 Gleann 's nam Beann 's nam Bealach?" ars an 
 Gadhar Cluas-dhearg Bkn. " Is m6r sin 's cha 
 bheag," fhreagair an Ridire. " Tha gach beathach 
 a bh' agam 's an t-saoghal air chall, 's gun fhios agam 
 c'^it' an deachaidh iad." 
 
 "Ma bheir thu dhomh-sa t6 de d' nigheanaibh r' a 
 p6sadh, bheir mise air ais iad uile dhuit ann an tiota," 
 ars an Gadhar Cluas-dhearg Bkn. Thubhairt an 
 Ridire gu 'n tugadh, na'm bitheadh i f^in toileach a 
 ghabhail ; agus dh' fhalbh iad le ch^ile dh' ionnsaidh 
 a' Chaisteil. 
 
 Cho luath 's a chaidh iad a stigh, chuir an Ridire 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE GLENS AND BENS 
 AND PASSES. 
 
 There was erewhile a rich knight whom people 
 called the Knight of the Glens and Bens and Passes. 
 Opposite this knight's castle was a pretty green knoll, 
 and when he was standing on the top of it he could 
 see every cow and horse and four-footed beast he had. 
 
 On a fine sunny day he ascended this knoll and 
 looked around, but not a living creature belonging to 
 him was to be seen. He stood for a while where 
 he was, thinking what had become of them, or where 
 he should go in search of them. In the midst of his 
 cogitation he cast a glance down to the foot of the 
 knoll, and what did he behold standing there but the 
 White Red-eared Hound. 
 
 " What is the cause of thy sadness to-day, Knight 
 of the Glens, Bens, and Passes," said the White Red- 
 eared Hound. " Great is that, and not little," replied 
 the knight, " every beast I had in the world is lost, 
 and I know not where they have gone." " If thou 
 wilt give me one of thy daughters in marriage, I will 
 bring them all back to thee in an instant," said the 
 White Red-eared Hound. The knight said he would, 
 if she herself were willing to have him, and they went 
 together to the castle. As soon as they entered, the 
 knight sent for his eldest daughter, and, when she came, 
 he spake to her in gentle, coaxing words to see if she 
 would marry the White Red-eared Hound. She marry 
 the spotted dog ! She would do nothing of the kind for 
 
4 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 fios air a nighean bu shine, agus, 'n uair a thkinig i, 
 labhair e rithe 'm briathraibh brlodalach ciiiin, feuch 
 am p6sadh i 'n Gadhar Cluas-dhearg Bkn. An ise 
 •ph6sadh an cii bread Cha deanadh i leithid air-son 
 an t-saoghail. Agus gun fhacal tuilleadh a rkdh, dh' 
 fhalbh i mach fo dhiomb m6r gu'n do chuireadh 
 tairgse cho tkmailteach m' a coinneamh. 
 
 Chuir e fios 'na d^idh-sa air an t6 mheadhonaich. 
 Ach cho luath 's a th^inig i stigh agus a chual* i 'n 
 gnothach a bh' aige rithe, thionndaidh i air a s^ii agus 
 shedl i mach gun uibhir agus freagradh a thoirt da. 
 An sin th^inig an t^ b' 6ige stigh, agus an uair a 
 chual' i 'n t-aobhar mu 'n do chuireadh fios oirre, 
 thuthairt i r' a h-athair: " P6saidh mise e air 
 chumhnant gu 'n toir e bhur cuid f^in air ais dhuibh- 
 se." 
 
 Gun d^il na b' fhaide ghairmeadh daoine dh' 
 ionnsaidh na bainnse agus air an oidhche sin f^in 
 ph6sadh nighean bg an Ridire ris a' Ghadhar Chluas- 
 dhearg Bhkn. 
 
 Moch an ath latha chaidh an Ridire mach gu mallach 
 an tulaich uaine mu choinneamh a' Chaisteil, agus air 
 dha sealltainn m' a thimchioU, chunnaic e gach beathach 
 a bhuineadh dha ag ionaltradh far am fac' e mu dheir- 
 eadh iad. Phill e stigh le gkirdeachas agus co a choinn- 
 ich e 'san dorus ach an aon duine b' eireachdail a 
 chunnaic e riamh. B' e so Gadhar Cluas-dhearg B^n 
 na h-oidhche roimhe, air fhuasgladh o na geisibh fo 'n 
 robh e, agus air aiseag g' a chruth nkdurra f^in, a 
 chionn gu'n do ph6s nighean bg an Ridire e le 'toil f^in. 
 Chaidh iad a stigh le ch^ile, agus an uair a chunnaic dk 
 nighean eile an Ridire an duine br^agh a bh' aig 
 am piuthar, bha iad duilich nach do ph6s iad f6in e. 
 
 Dh' fhuirich an duine 6g agus a bhean beagan l^ith- 
 ean na b' fhaide maille ris an Ridire, agus an sin dh' 
 fhalbh iad dh' ionnsaidh an ^it' aige-san, Caisteal m6r, 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 5 
 
 the world! and without saying another word she went 
 out in great displeasure that so insulting an offer had 
 been put before her. 
 
 After her he sent for the middle one. But as soon 
 as she came in and heard his business with her, she 
 turned on her heel and sailed out without giving him 
 as much as an answer. Then came the youngest, and, 
 when she heard the reason why she was sent for, she 
 said to her father: "I will marry him on condition 
 he will bring your own property back to you." 
 
 Without further delay people were invited to the 
 wedding, and on that same night the knight's young 
 daughter was married to the White Red-eared Hound. 
 
 Early next day the knight went out to the top of 
 the green knoll opposite the castle, and, on looking 
 round, he beheld every beast that belonged to him 
 pasturing where he had last seen them. He returned 
 in joy, and whom did he meet at the door but the very 
 handsomest man he had ever seen. This was the 
 White Red-eared Hound of the night before, freed 
 from the spells under which he lay, and restored to 
 his own natural form, because the knight's young 
 daughter had married him of her own free will. 
 They went in together, and, when the two other 
 daughters of the knight saw the good-looking husband 
 their sister had, they were sorry that they themselves 
 had not married him. 
 
 The bridegroom and his wife stayed a few days 
 longer with the knight, and then they went to his place, 
 a fine large castle, where they were as comfortable and 
 happy as the day was long. But, at the end of a day 
 and a year, she made ready to go to her father's house, 
 where she was intending to remain until she was 
 delivered. Before she left him, her husband told her 
 not to tell anyone beneath the sun what his name was; 
 for if she did, she would never see him again. She 
 
6 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 br^agh, far an robh iad cho sona, s61asach 's a bha 'n 
 latha fada. Ach aig ceann latha 's bliadhna rinn ise 
 deas air-son dol gu tigh a h-athar far an robh i 'cur 
 roimpe fuireachd gus am bitheadh i air a h-asaid. Mu 
 'n d' fhalbh i, thubhairt an duine aice rithe gun i dh' 
 innseadh do neach fo 'n ghr6in c' ainm a bh' air-san; 
 oir, na 'n innseadh, nach faiceadh i tuilleadh e. Gheall 
 i nach innseadh, agus thug i 'n rathad oirre. 
 
 Rkinig i tigh a h-athar gu tearuinnte, agus cha robh 
 i ach goirid an sin 'n uair a dh' asaideadh i. 
 
 Tri oidhchean an deidh a h-asaid thiinig ce61 slth' 
 mu thimchioll an tighe, leis an do chuireadh an luchd- 
 faire 'nan cadal, agus an sin thkinig cr6g mh6r a stigh 
 fo 'n ird-dorus, a sgriob leatha 'n leanabh, agus a dh' 
 fh^g aran agus searrag fhion' an ceann na leapa. 
 
 An uair a bha 'n t-am dhi pilleadh dhachaidh am 
 fagus, rinn a peathraichean oirre-se uibhir 's a b' 
 urrainn iad, feuch an innseadh i dhaibh ainm an duine 
 aice. Ach chuimhnich i air a gealladh, agus cha d' 
 innis i e. An sin th^inig an duine f^in, agus thug e 
 leis i 'na charbad. 
 
 An ceann 1^ 's bliadhna eile th^inig i rithist gu tigh a 
 h-athar gu bhi air a h-asaid, agus thachair gach ni dhi 
 mar air a' cheud uair. f 
 
 Th^inig i 'n treas uair gu tigh a h-athar. Ach mu 
 'n d' fh^g i 'tigh f6in thug an duine aice 6rdugh teann 
 dhi gun i dh' innseadh 'ainm-san do dhuine beo. Gheall 
 i nach innseadh : ach bhagair a peathraichean gu'n 
 loisgeadh iad i na 'n cleitheadh i orra-san e na b' 
 fhaide, agus chuir iad i 'na leithid a dh' eagal 's gu 'n 
 d' aidich i mu dheireadh gu 'm b' e Samhradh-ri-dealt 
 a bh' air. Air an treas oidhche an d^idh a h-asaid 
 thainig an ce61 mu thimchioll an tighe, agus am feadh 
 'bha 'n luchd-faire 'nan cadal, thug a' chr6g leatha 'n 
 leanabh. Ach air an uair so cha d' fh^g i aon chuid 
 aran no fion ; agus cha d' thainig an duine, mar b' 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 7 
 
 promised that she would not, and went on her way. 
 
 She reached her father's house in safety, and was 
 not long there until she was delivered. 
 
 Three nights after that event fairy music came about 
 the house, by means of which the watchers were put 
 asleep, and then there came in under the lintel a big 
 hand which swept away the child, and left bread and 
 a bottle of wine at the head of the bed. 
 
 When the time for her to return home was at hand 
 her sisters did all they could to see if she would tell 
 them her husband's name. But she remembered her 
 promise and told it not. Then her husband himself 
 came and took her away in his chariot. 
 
 At the end of another year and day she came again 
 to her father's house to be delivered, and everything 
 happened to her as on the first occasion. 
 
 She came the third time to her father's house. But 
 before she left her own home her husband gave her 
 strict orders not to tell his name to a living being. 
 She promised that she would not; but her sisters, 
 threatening to burn her if she hid it from them any 
 longer, put her in such a fright that she at last con- 
 fessed Summer-under-dew was what he was called. 
 On the third night after the child was born, fairy music 
 c^me about the house, and, while the watchers were 
 asleep, the hand took away the child. But this time 
 it left neither bread nor wine, and the husband came 
 not, as he was wont, to take her home. By this she 
 knew that she had done wrong in giving her husband's 
 name to her sisters. 
 
 As soon as she could move she set out towards 
 home; but, when she reached it, she found no living 
 creature about the castle. She saw how matters stood. 
 
8 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 ^bhaist da, g' a tabhairt dachaidh. Le so dh' aithnich 
 i gu 'n d' rinn i 'n eucoir ainm an duine aice innseadh 
 d'a peathraichean. 
 
 Cho luath 's a b' urrainn i gluasad thog i oirre 
 dhachaidh. Ach an uair a r^inig i, cha d' fhuair i 
 creutair mu thimchioll a' Chaisteil. Thuig i mar bha, 
 agus gun tuilleadh d^il dh' fhalbh i an deidh an duine 
 aice air a' cheart rathad a ghabh e. Shiubhail i air 
 a h-aghaidh fad an latha, gus an robh dubhadh air a 
 bonnaibh agus tolladh air a br6gan, na h-e6in bheaga, 
 bhuchallach, bhachlach, bh^rra-bhuidh' a' gabhail mu 
 thkmh am bun nam preas agus am bkrr nan dos, agus 
 easagan lughach, laghach a' taghadh aite mar a b' fhearr 
 a dh' fhaodadh iad dhoibh f^in, ged nach robh ise, 
 nighean Ridire nam Beann 's nan Gleann 's nam 
 Bealach. An sin thug i suil roimpe, agus chunnaic i 
 tigh beag soluis fad' uaipe; ach ma b' fhada bhuaipe 
 e, cha b' fhada dhi-se 'ga ruigheachd. 
 
 Bha 'n dorus fosgailte agus gealbhan math air 
 meadhon an urlair. Chaidh i stigh, agus thubhairt 
 bean-an-tighe, 's i 'na suidhe aig ceann shuas an teine: 
 " Thig a nlos, a bhean bhochd. Is e do bheatha 
 fuireachd an so an nochd. Bha 'n duine agad an so 
 an raoir, e f^in 's a thriuir chloinne. Sin agad ubhal 
 a dh' ihhg e agam-sa air do shon." Ghabh i aig a' 
 bhan-choigreach gu math agus gu ro mhath. Chuir i 
 uisge teth air a casan agus leaba bhog fo 'leisean ; agus, 
 anns a' mhaduinn, an uair a chuir i i air ceann na 
 slighe, agus a bha i 'fkgail beannachd aice, shin i dhi 
 siosar, agus thubhairt i: "Sin agad siosar, agus an 
 uair a ghe^rras tu a' cheud bheum leis, leigidh tu as e, 
 agus 'na dh^idh sin gekrraidh e leis f^in an t-aodach 
 anns a' chumadh a's ciill leat a thoirt da." 
 
 Thionn' i air falbh, agus shiubhail i air a h-aghaidh 
 fad an Ik gus an robh dubhadh air a bonnaibh agus 
 tolladh air a brogan, na h-e6in bheaga, bhuchallach, 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 9 
 
 and, without further delay, she went after her husband 
 in the very way he took. She travelled onwards all 
 day long, until there was blackening on the soles of 
 her feet and holing on her shoes; the little nestling, 
 rolled-up, yellow-topped birds were taking to rest at 
 the foot of the bushes and in the tops of the trees, and 
 the pretty, nimble squirrels were choosing as best they 
 could a place for themselves, though she, the daughter 
 of the Knight of the Bens and Glens and Passes, was 
 not. Then she cast a glance before her, and saw far 
 from her a little house with a light; but, if it was far 
 from her, she took not long to reach it. 
 
 The door was open, and a good fire in the middle of 
 the floor. She went in, and the mistress of the house, 
 who was sitting beyond the fire, said: "Come up, 
 poor woman, thou art welcome to stay here to-night. 
 Thy husband was here last night, he and his three chil- 
 dren. There is an apple which he left with me for thee." 
 She treated the stranger well, and very well. She put 
 warm water on her feet and a soft bed under her side, 
 and in the morning, when she set her on the head of 
 the way and was bidding her good-bye, she handed 
 her scissors and said: "There are scissors for thee, 
 and, when thou wilt make the first cut with them, thou 
 shalt let them go, and after that they will of themselves 
 cut the cloth in the shape thou wishest to give it." 
 
 She turned away and travelled onwards all day long 
 till there was blackening on the soles of her feet and 
 holing on her shoes; the little nestling, rolled-up, 
 yellow - topped birds were taking to rest at the foot 
 of the bushes and in the tops of the trees, and the 
 pretty, nimble squirrels were choosing as best they 
 might a place for themselves, though she, the daughter 
 
lO FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 bhachlach, bh^rra-bhuidhe a' gabhail mu thkmh am 
 b-un nam preas agus am b^rr nan dos, agus na h-easagan 
 fughach, laghach a' taghadh ^ite mar a b' fhearr a dh' 
 fhaodadh iad dhoibh f^in, ged nach robh ise, nighean 
 Ridire nam Beann 's nan Gleann 's nam Bealach. Aig 
 beul na h-oidhche thug i siiil roimpe, agus chunnaic i 
 tigh beag soluis fada bhuaipe, ach ma b' fhada bhuaipe, 
 cha b' fhada dhi-se 'ga ruigheachd. 
 
 Bha 'n dorus fosgailte, agus teine math air 
 meadhon an iirlair. Chaidh i stigh, agus thubhairt 
 bean-an-tighe, 's i 'na suidhe aig ceann shuas an teine; 
 " Thig a nios, a bhean bhochd. Is e do bheatha an so 
 an nochd. Bha 'n duine agad ann an raoir, e f^in 
 agus a thrifiir chloinne." Fhuair i gabhail aice gu 
 math le bean-an-tighe. Chuir i uisge teth air a 
 casaibh, agus leaba bhog fo 'leisibh; agus an uair a 
 bha i falbh 's a' mhaduinn, shin i dhi meuran, agus 
 thubhairt i: " Sin agad meuran; agus cho luath 's a 
 chuireas tu aon ghreim leis, leigidh tu as e, agus 
 oibrichidh e leis fein tuilleadh." 
 
 Thionn' i air falbh, agus chum i air a turus le ceum 
 math, gus am fac' i uair-eigin air feadh an 1^ an duine 
 aice agus a chlann air thoiseach oirre. An sin 
 chruadhaich i a ceum, agus shin i as 'nan d^idh le 
 'h-uile neart. Sheall esan 'na dh6idh, agus an uair 
 a chunnaic e i a' tighinn, luathaich e fein agus na bha 
 maille ris an ceum ; ach ged luathaich, bha ise a' buidh- 
 inn orra. Cha robh fios aige ciamar a bheireadh e e 
 f^in as oirre, gus am fac' e cekrdach air thoiseach air. 
 Rinn e direach air a' chekrdaich, agus anns an dol 
 seachad dh' iarr e air na goibhnean moille 'chur air 
 a' bhoireannach a bha 'tighinn 'na dh^idh. Fhreagair 
 iad gu'n deanadh iad sin; agus an uair a rMnig ise 
 iad, rug iad oirre, agus chuir iad cearcall cho teann 
 m' a meadhon 's gu 'm b' ann air ^iginn a b' urrainn 
 i ceum a thabhairt. Ach air a shon sin, cho luath 's 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. II 
 
 of the Knight of the Glens and Bens and Passes, was 
 not. In the dusk she gave a glance before her, and 
 saw far from her a little house with a light; but, if it 
 was far from her, she took not long to reach it. 
 
 The door was open, and a good fire on the middle of 
 the floor. She went in, and the mistress of the house, 
 who was sitting beyond the fire, said: " Come up, poor 
 woman, thou art welcome here to-night. Thy husband 
 was here last night, himself and his three children." 
 She got well cared for by the mistress of the house. 
 She put warm water on her feet and a soft bed under 
 her side, and when she was leaving in the morning 
 handed her a thimble and said: "There is a thimble 
 for thee, and, as soon as thou hast made one stitch 
 with it, thou shalt let it go, and it will work afterwards 
 alone." 
 
 She turned away and kept on her journey at a good 
 pace until she saw sometime during the day her 
 husband and his children before her. Then she 
 hardened her pace and stretched away after him with 
 all her might. He looked behind him, and, when he 
 saw her coming, he and those with him hastened their 
 steps; but, though they did, she was gradually gaining 
 upon them. He knew not how he would take himself 
 off from her until he beheld a smithy ahead of him. 
 He made straight for the smithy, and, in passing, told 
 the smiths to put an impediment on the woman who 
 was coming after him. They replied that they would 
 do that, and when she reached them they seized her 
 and put so tight a hoop about her middle that it was 
 with difficulty she could take one step. Notwith- 
 standing, as soon as she got out of their hands she 
 went away again as well as she could until she came 
 to a steep ascent in her path. Ascending this brae 
 
12 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 a fhuair i as, dh' fhalbh i rithist, mar a b' fhearr a 
 dh' fhaodadh i, gus an d' rainig i uchdan cas 'na 
 slighe. A' direadh an uchdain so le sp^irn chruaidh, 
 sgain an cearcall, agus thubhairt i: " Ged sgkin mo 
 chrios, cha do sgkin mo chridhe." Dh' fhalbh i 'n 
 sin le deann, agus chum i air siubhal gus an robh 
 dubhadh air a bonnaibh agus tolladh air a br6gan, na 
 h-e6in bheaga, bhuchallach, bhachlach, bharra-bhuidhe 
 a' gabhail mu th^mh am bun nam preas agus am 
 b^rr nan dos, agus na h-easagan lughach, laghach a' 
 taghadh an aite 'b' fhearr a dh' fhaodadh iad dhoibh 
 fein, ged nach robh ise, nighean Ridire nan Gleann 
 's nam Beann 's nam Bealach. Chunnaic i mu dheir- 
 eadh tigh beag soluis fada bhuaipe; ach ma b' fhada 
 bhuaipe, cha b' fhada dhi-se 'ga ruigheachd. 
 
 Chaidh i stigh, agus thubhairt bean-an-tighe rithe: 
 " O, an d' thainig thu, nighean an Ridire? 'S e do 
 bheatha 'n so an nochd. Bha 'n duine agad an so 
 an raoir, e f6in agus a chlann, agus dh' fhalbh iad 
 moch 's a' mhaduinn." Fhuair i gabhail aice gu math 
 le bean-an^tighe. Chuir i uisge teth air a casaibh, 
 agus leaba bhog fo 'leisibh. Agus an uair a bha i 
 'falbh anns a' mhaduinn thubhairt i, 's i sineadh sn^th- 
 aid dhi : "Sin agad sn^thad, agus an uair a nl thu 
 aon ghreim leatha, leigidh tu as i agus fuaighidh i 'n 
 sin leatha f^in. 
 
 Dh' fhalbh i aon uair eile air a turns, agus chum 
 i air aghaidh gus an d' thainig i air coltas ^ite duin'- 
 uasail. Chunnaic i tigh beag roimpe, agus rinn i 
 direach air. Ciod a bha 'n so ach tigh cailleach-chearc 
 an duin'-uasail. Chaidh i stigh, agus fhuair i cead 
 fuireachd. 
 
 Cha robh i ach goirid an sin an uair a thug i fa-near 
 gu 'n robh gluasad m6r am measg muinntir a' bhaile. 
 Dh' fhe6raich i de chailleach - nan - cearc ciod a b' 
 aobhar do'n ghluasad; agus dh' innis a' chailleach dhi 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. I3 
 
 with a hard struggle, the hoop burst, and then she 
 said: "Though my girdle has burst, my heart has 
 not," She then went off with a rush, and kept travel- 
 ling until there was blackening on the soles of her 
 feet and holing on her shoes; the little nestling, 
 rolled-up, yellow-topped birds were taking to rest at 
 the foot of the bushes and in the top of the trees, and 
 the nimble, pretty squirrels, were choosing the best 
 place they could for themselves, though she, the 
 daughter of the Knight of the Glens and Bens and 
 Passes, was not. At last she saw far away from her 
 a little house with a light in it; but, if it was far from 
 her, she took no long time to reach it. 
 
 She went in, and the mistress of the house said to 
 her: "Oh, hast thou come, daughter of the knight? 
 Thou art welcome here to-night. Thy husband was 
 here last night, himself and his children, and they went 
 away early in the morning." She got well treated by 
 the mistress of the house, who put warm water on her 
 feet and a soft bed under her side, and when she was 
 leaving in the morning she said, as she handed her 
 a needle: "There is a needle, and, after thou hast 
 made one stitch with it, thou shalt let it go, and it will 
 then sew alone." 
 
 She went away once more on her journey, and kept 
 going forward till she came to what appeared to be a 
 gentleman's place. She saw a little house before her, 
 and made straight for it. What was this but the house 
 of the gentleman's hen-wife. She went in, and got 
 leave to stay. 
 
 She was not long there when she noticed that there 
 was a great stir among the people of the town. She 
 enquired of the hen-wife what was the cause of the 
 
14 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 gu 'n robh am fear, leis an robh an t-aite, 'tighinn 
 dachaidh, agus a' dol a phosadh an oidhche sin. 
 Smuainich i car tiota, ach ciod air bith umhail a chuir 
 i, ghl^idh i a beachd dhi f^in. Fhuair i 'n siosar, am 
 meuran, agus an t-sn^thad, agus chuir i air shiubhal 
 iad. An iiine ghoirid cha robh duine mu thimchioll 
 an aite nach d'thiinig a dh' fhaicinn nan rudan 
 iongantach a bh'aig a' bhean an tigh cailleach-naii- 
 cearc. 
 
 Am measg chkich th^inig a' charaid ur-ph6sda agus 
 an uair a chunnaic a' bhean 6g an acfhuinn fhuaghail 
 a' falbh leo fein, cha deanadh ni feum leatha, ach am 
 faotainn dhi f6in. 
 
 Faodar an c6rr innseadh am beagan bhriathar. 
 Fhuair a' bhean 6g an acfhuinn fhuaghail air chumh- 
 nant gu 'n leigeadh i leis a' bhan-choigreach faire 
 'dheanamh tri oidhchean an deidh a ch^ile an seomar 
 an duine aice. Ach thug i 'n aire deoch fh^gail aige 
 a chuir e 'n cadal cho trom 's nach cual' e smid a 
 thubhairt a' bhan-choigreach ris fad da oidhche. Air 
 an treas oidhche air do 'n ghiolla 'bu shine aithneach- 
 adh roimh laimh, gu 'm bi 'mhathair a bh' anns a' 
 bhan-choigreach, dh6irt e 'n deoch-chadail, agus lion 
 e 'n cupan le stuth eile. Dh' fhuirich 'athair 'na fhair- 
 eachadh, agus chual' e 'bhan-choigreach ag rkdh: "A 
 Shamhraidh-ri-dealt, nach truagh leat mi, 's gu'n d' 
 shiubhail mi 'n saoghal ad' dh^idh?" Air ball dh' 
 aithnich e co a bh' aige. Chaidh banais mh6r, fhial- 
 aidh, aighearach a dheanamh ; agus fhuair a' bhean 6g, 
 a bha, cead fuireachd le 'siosar, a meuran, agus a 
 sncithaid, an tigh cailleach-nan-cearc. 
 
 Agus an uair a bha 'bhanais seachad, chuir iad mise 
 dhachaidh le br6gan beaga paipeir air cabhsair 
 ghloineachan. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 15 
 
 Stir, and the hen-wife told her that the man who owned 
 the place was coming home and going to marry that 
 night. She considered for a moment, but whatever 
 she suspected she kept her opinion to herself. She 
 got the scissors, the thimble, and the needle, and set 
 them going. In a short time there was not a person 
 about the place who did not come to see the curious 
 things the woman in the hen-wife's house had. 
 
 Among the rest came the newly-married couple, and, 
 when the bride saw the sewing implements going of 
 their own accord, nothing would please her but to 
 get them for herself. The remainder of the tale may 
 be told in a few words. The bride got the sewing 
 implements on condition that she would suffer the 
 strange woman to watch three nights in succession in 
 her husband's room. But she took good care to leave 
 him a drink which put him in so sound a sleep that 
 he heard not a syllable the strange woman said for 
 two nights. But the third night the eldest boy, having 
 understood beforehand that the strange woman was his 
 mother, spilt the sleeping draught and filled the cup 
 with other stuff. His father remained awake this 
 night and beared the strange woman saying: " Summer- 
 under-dew, dost thou not pity me ? and that I have 
 travelled the world after thee." At once he knew 
 whom he had. Next day a great, bountiful, merry 
 wedding was made, and the erst bride got leave to 
 stay with her scissors, thimble, and needle in the hen- 
 wife's house; and when the wedding was over they sent 
 me home with little paper shoes on a causeway of pieces 
 of glass. 
 
GOBHAINN DUBH NAN SOC. 
 
 Chuir Gobhainn Dubh nan Soc a stigh 'iJine ag 
 ionnsachadh na goibhneachd; ach aig ceann na h-Qine, 
 cha b' urrainn e ni a bhuineadh do dh' obair goibhne 
 'dheanamh, ach suic chrann-kraidh. 
 
 Dh' fhosgail e ce^rdach beagan mhiltean a mach 
 o Dhuneideann, agus th6isich e air deanamh shoe. 
 Anns an ^m sin bha faidhir a' seasamh uair 's a' mhios 
 anns a' bhaile, agus cho trie 's a thigeadh i 
 mu 'n cuairt, rachadh an Gobhainn Dubh dh' a 
 h-ionnsaidh le 'sheann each ban fein agus cairt 
 l^n shoe. Agus an d^idh dha na suic a reic, 
 philleadh e dachaidh 'na shuain ehadail anns a' chairt, 
 a' fagail an t-seann eich bhkin gu bhi deanamh an 
 rathaid mar a b' fhearr a dh' fhaodadh e. 
 
 Air latha araid faidhreach chaidh e mar bu ghnkth 
 leis do 'n tigh-osda; agus co a thachair air an sin ach 
 Gobhainn-an-Rlgh. Chuir na feara e61as air a ch6ile, 
 agus shuidh iad slos ag 61 gus an deachaidh an deoch 
 'nan cinn. 
 
 An sin th6isich a' bhoilich, agus cha'n aidicheadh 
 an dara fear nach b' e fein gobhainn a b' fhearr na 'm 
 fear eile. A chur stad air a' chonnsachadh, dh' ^irich 
 Gobhainn-an-Righ, agus thubhairt e ris a' Ghobhainn 
 Dubh: " Cuiridh mise tri cheud marg an geall gu 'n 
 dean mi roimh 'n ath fhaidhir rud-eigin nach dean rud 
 air bith a ni thusa roimh 'n ^m sin a mach." Dh'eirich 
 an Gobhainn Dubh, agus fhreagair e: "Cuiridh mise 
 
THE SWARTHY SMITH OF THE SOCKS. 
 
 The Swarthy Smith of the Socks had served his 
 time learning smith-craft, but at its close he could not 
 make anything connected with smith-work but socks 
 for ploughs. 
 
 He opened a smithy a few miles out of Edinburgh, 
 and began sock-making. At that time a fair was held 
 once a month in the city, and as often as it would come 
 round the Swarthy Smith used to go to it with his old 
 white horse and a cart full of socks. And after sell- 
 ing the socks he would return home, sound asleep in 
 his cart, leaving the old white horse to find his way as 
 best he could. 
 
 On a certain market day he went as usual to the 
 Inn, and who met him there but the King's 
 Smith. The worthies soon made one another's 
 acquaintance, and they sat down drinking till the 
 liquor went to their heads. 
 
 Presently they began to boast, and neither of them 
 would admit that he was not a better smith than the 
 other. To put an end to the wrangle, the King's 
 Smith stood up, and said to the Swarthy Smith: " I'll 
 bet three hundred merks that before next fair I'll make 
 something that nothing you can make within the same 
 time will surpass." The Swarthy Smith then stood 
 up and answered: " I'll lay another three hundred that 
 
 C 
 
1 8 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 tri cheud eile, nach dean thu ni d'a leithid; ach gu 
 'n dean mise rud a tWid air thoiseach air an rud a ni 
 thusa." 
 
 Dhealaich na laoich, a' gealltainn a cWile a 
 choinneachadh an ath fhaidhir, leis na rudan a dhean- 
 adh iad. 
 
 Aig deireadh an Ik phill an Gobhainn Dubh dhach- 
 aidh 's a' chairt, mar b' kbhaist dha. Air an ath 
 mhaduinn thionn' e mach do 'n chekrdaich agus 
 th6isich e air tuilleadh shoe a dheanamh. Chum e 
 orra \k an d^idh 1^ gus an d' th^inig an 1^ roimh 'n ath 
 fhaidhir. Air feasgar an Ih sin, th^inig duin'-uasal 
 a stigh do 'n che^rdaich, agus thubhairt e ris a' 
 Ghobhainn Dubh: "Am bheil guth idir agad air an 
 rud sin a dheanamh leis am buidhinn thu 'n geall air 
 Gobhainn-an-Righ ? Mur t6isich thu gu h-ealamh, bi 
 cinnteach gu 'n caill thu." Fhreagair an Gobhainn 
 Dubh: " Cha'n 'eil fhios agam ciod a tha thu 'ciallach- 
 adh ! Cha'n fhiosrach mi gu 'n do chuir mi geall air 
 bith ri Gobhainn-an-Rlgh." " Chuir thu sin," ars an 
 duin'-uasal: " Bha mi f^in 'san ^isdeachd, agus chuala 
 mo chluasan f6in thu 'cur tri cheud marg ris." 
 
 " Ma-t^, caillidh mi; oir cha d' ionnsaich mi riamh 
 ni saoghalta a dheanamh ach suic," ars an Gobhainn 
 Dubh. " Cum a suas do mhisneach," ars an duin'- 
 uasal. " Ma bheir thu dhomh-sa leth na bhuiidhneas 
 tu, nl mise dhuit rud a choisneas an geall." 
 
 " Bheir mi dhuit sin le m' uile chridhe," ars an 
 Gobhainn Dubh. 
 
 Gun tuilleadh dkil chaidh an duin'-uasal an greim. 
 Rinn e 'n toiseach cnap math bocsa. An d^idh sin 
 chuir e plos m6r iaruinn air an teallach, agus an iiine 
 ghoirid thug e mach e 'na mhialchu. Agus an uair 
 a bha gach ni deas, chuir e 'm mialchu anns a' bhocsa, 
 agus dhruid e 'm brod air. 
 
 "A nis," ars an duin'-uasal, agus e 'tionndadh ris 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORK. I9 
 
 you can do nothing of the kind, but that I'll make some- 
 thing to surpass the thing you will make." The 
 heroes parted, promising to meet at next fair, having 
 with them the thing they were to make. 
 
 At the close of the day the Swarthy Smith returned 
 home in the cart as usual. Next morning he turned 
 out to the smithy, and began to make more socks. 
 He kept at them day after day until the day before 
 the market arrived. In the evening a gentleman came 
 to the smithy and said to the Swarthy Smith: " Have 
 you no word at all of making something with which 
 you are going to win the bet from the King's Smith? 
 If you do not begin quickly, be sure you will lose." 
 The Swarthy Smith replied: "I do not know what 
 you mean ; I am not aware that I laid any bet with the 
 King's Smith." "You did," said the gentleman; " I 
 was within hearing, and mine own ears heard you lay 
 three hundred merks against him." " Well, then, 
 I will lose, for I never learned to make anything in 
 the world with the exception of socks," said the Swarthy 
 Smith. " Keep up your courage," said the gentle- 
 man, " if you will give me half of what you win 
 I'll make something for you which will win the bet." 
 " I will give you that with all my heart," said the 
 Swarthy Smith. 
 
 Without further delay the gentleman set to work. 
 First he made a good lump of a box. After that he 
 placed a large piece of iron in the forge, and in a 
 short time drew it out a deer-hound. And when 
 everything was finished, he put the deer-hound into 
 the box, and closed the lid over him. 
 
 " Now," said the gentleman, turning to the smith, 
 " when you go away to-morrow with the socks, you 
 
20 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 a' Ghobhainn Dubh, " an uair a dh' fhalbhas tu am 
 m^ireach leis na suic, bheir thu leat am bosca so; 
 agus an uair a ruigeas tu an fhaidhir bithidh 
 Gobhainn-an-Righ romhad, agus thig e ad' choinn- 
 eamh. Ma dh' iarras e ort do bhocsa fhosgladh, agus 
 an rud a th' ann a leigeil fhaicinn da, their thu ris 
 gur ann da-san is coir sin a dheanamh an toiseach, a 
 chionn gu 'm b' e a chuir an geall an toiseach. An 
 sin fosglaidh e a bhocsa, agus leumaidh fiadh mach 
 as. Cho luath 's a chi thu am fiadh, bi cinnteach 
 gu 'm fosgail thu do bhocsa fein, agus gu 'n leig thu 
 mach an cfi; agus tha mise air mo mhealladh mur 
 coisinn e 'n geall dhuit." An sin dh' ihkg an duin'- 
 uasal feasgar math aig a' Ghobhainn Dubh, agus dh' 
 fhalbh e. 
 
 Air maduinn an ath latha dh' fhalbh an Gobhainn 
 Dubh le 'shuic agus le 'bhocsa anns a' chairt. R^inig 
 e 'n fhaidhir ann an deagh ^m, agus choinnich 
 Gobhainn-an-Righ e le bocsa fo 'achlais. An sin 
 thachair gach ni eatorra mar bha dull aig an duin'- 
 uasal. Mu dheireadh dh' fhosgail Gobhainn-an-Rlgh 
 a bhocsa, agus leum fiadh br^agh mach as, agus air 
 falbh ghabh e 'na dheannaibh. An sin dh' fhosgail 
 an Gobhainn Dubh a bhocsa ii'in, agus leum mialchu 
 gasda a mach, agus shin e an d^idh an fh^idh, agus 
 stad cha d' rinn e gus an do ghlac e 'm fiadh, agus 
 an d' fh^g e aig casan a' Ghobhainn Duibh e. " M* 
 fhianuis ort f^in, a nis," ghlaodh an Gobhainn Dubh 
 ri Gobhainn-an-Righ, " gu 'n do chaill thu do gheall." 
 "Chain mi an geall so, gu dearbh; ach theagamh 
 gu'm buidhinn mi an ath aon," fhreagair Gobhainn-an- 
 Rlgh, agus e a' sineadh do 'n Ghobhainn Dubh gach 
 peighinne do 'n airgiod gill. 
 
 Chaidh iad an sin do 'n tigh-6sda agus cha robh iad 
 fad' ann gus an do chuir iad leithid eile a' ghill mu 
 dheireadh. 'Na dheidh sin dhealaich iad, a' gealltain a 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 21 
 
 will take this box with you, and when you arrive at 
 the fair, the King's Smith will be there before you, 
 and will come to meet you. If he then asks you to 
 open your box and show him what is in it, you will tell 
 him that he ought to open his first, because it was he 
 who first laid the bet. Then he will open his box, and 
 a stag will spring out. As soon as you see the stag, 
 open your box and let out the dog; and I am mistaken 
 if he do not win for you the bet." Then the gentleman 
 bade good evening to the Swarthy Smith and de- 
 parted. 
 
 Next morning the Swarthy Smith went away with 
 his socks and his box in the cart. He reached the 
 fair in good time, and there met the King's Smith 
 with a box under his arm. Then everything passed 
 between them as the gentleman had expected. At 
 length the King's Smith opened his box and a fine 
 stag sprang out, and away he went at full speed. 
 The Swarthy Smith then opened his box, and a hand- 
 some deer-hound sprang out and stretched away after 
 the stag and stopped not until he caught the stag and 
 left it at the Swarthy Smith's feet. 
 
 " Now, I call you to witness," said the Swarthy 
 Smith to the King's Smith, " that you have lost your 
 bet." " I have lost this one, indeed; but perhaps 
 I may win the next," replied the King's Smith, while 
 he handed the other every penny of the money 
 wagered. 
 
 Then they went to the Inn, and were not long 
 there until they laid another such wager as the last. 
 After that they parted, promising to meet at the next 
 fair, having the machines they would make with 
 them. Then the Swarthy Smith went into the cart, 
 and the white horse took him home. 
 
2 2 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 ch^ile choinneachadh aig an ath fhaidhir, agus na 
 h-innil a dheanadh iad aca maille riu. An sin chaidh 
 an Gobhainn Dubh 's a' chairt, agus thug an t-each 
 b^n dachaidh e. 
 
 Air an ath mhaduinn b' e 'cheud ni a rinn e dol do 
 'n che^rdaich agus an tri cheud marg fhalach ann an 
 toll a rinn e fo 'n stairsneach. Cha robh guth aige air 
 a' gheall, ach chum e air suic a dheanamh gus an 
 d' th^inig am feasgar mu dheireadh roimh 'n fhaidhir. 
 
 Goirid mu 'n d' thkinig ^m sguir, co a thionn' a stigh 
 do 'n che^rdaich ach an duin'-uasal a rinn am mialchu. 
 Chuir e failt' air a' Ghobhainn Dubh, agus dh' 
 fhe6raich e dheth an d' rinn e fhathast an t-inneal sin 
 leis an robh e 'dol a bhuidhinn an ath ghill o 
 Ghobhainn-an-Righ. Ach cha robh cuimhne aig a 
 Ghobhainn Dubh, aon chuid gu'n do chuir e geall, 
 no ciod uime 'bha e. " Ma-t^," ars an duin'-uasal 
 " ma gheallas tu dhomh-sa leth na bhuidhneas tu, 
 agus nach tSid thu tuilleadh do 'n tigh-6sda, ni mise 
 dhuit inneal leis an toir thu mach an geall." 
 " Geallaidh mi sin, agus comh-gheallaidh mi e cuid- 
 eachd cho fad 's a dh' fhaodas mi," fhreagair an 
 Gobhainn Dubh. 
 
 An sin chaidh an duin'-uasal an greim. Rinn 
 e 'n toiseach tocsa. 'Na dh^idh sin rinn e 
 b^isd-dubh mh6r Ikidir mar a rinn e 'm mialchu. 
 Agus an uair a bha i deas, chuir e i anns a' bhocsa, 
 agus dhruid, agus ghlais e 'm brod oirre. "A nis," 
 ars e ris a' Ghobhainn Dubh, " bheir thu leat am bocsa 
 so dh' ionnsaidh na fhaidhreach, agus cha 'n fhosgail 
 thu e gus am fosgail Gobhainn-an-Righ 'fhear fein 
 an toiseach. Buidhnidh thu 'n geall an uair so 
 fhathast. Ach feuch nach t6id thu do 'n tigh-osda, 
 agus nach cuir thu geall eile, air eagal gu 'n caill thu 
 na bhuidhinn thu. An ceann beagan Ih tadhailidh 
 mise rithist anns a* che^rdaich, agus bheir thu dhomh 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 23 
 
 The first thing he did next morning was to go to 
 the smithy and hide the three hundred merks in a hole 
 he dug under the door-step. He had no word of the 
 bet, but he continued making socks until the last even- 
 ing before the fair. 
 
 Shortly before the time to stop work came, who 
 turned into the smithy but the gentleman who made 
 the deer-hound. He greeted the Swarthy Smith, and 
 asked him whether he had yet made that machine 
 with which he was going to win the next bet from the 
 King's Smith. But the Swarthy Smith remembered 
 neither that he laid a bet, nor what it was about. 
 " Well," said the gentleman, " if you promise me half 
 of what you win, and that you will go no more to the 
 Inn, I will make you a machine with which you will 
 carry off the bet." " I promise that, and also will 
 fulfil my promise as far as I can," replied the Swarthy 
 Smith. 
 
 Then the gentleman set to work. He made first a 
 box, and then a large strong otter in the same way 
 as he had made the deer-hound. And when it was 
 ready he put it in the box, and shut and locked the 
 lid over it. "Now," said he to the Swarthy Smith, 
 "you will take this box with you to the fair, and you 
 will not open it until the King's Smith will first open 
 his. You will win the bet this time yet. But see 
 that you go not to the Inn, and that you lay not another 
 bet for fear you lose all you have won. In a few 
 days I will call again at the smithy, and you will give 
 me half the money you will win." The smith said he 
 would do as he was told, and they parted. 
 
 Next day the Swarthy Smith went away with the 
 box to the fair. When he arrived he met the King's 
 
24 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 leth an airgid a choisneas thu." Gheall an Gubhainn 
 Dubh gu 'n deanadh e mar dh' iarradh air, agus 
 dhealaich iad. 
 
 Air an ath latha dh' fhalbh an Gobhainn Dubh leis 
 a' bhocsa chum na faidhreach. An uair a rMnig e, 
 choinnich e Gobhainn-an-Righ ; ach dhiCilt e 'bhocsa 
 'fhosgladh an toiseach. An sin chaidh Gobhainn-an- 
 Righ gu taoth an uisge, agus cho luath 's a dh' 
 fhosgail e 'bhocsa, leum bradan a mach as do 'n uisge, 
 agus shn^mh e air falbh uapa. An sin dh' fhosgail 
 an Gobhainn Dubh a bhocsa iiin, agus leum a' bh^ist- 
 dubh a mach an d^idh a' bhradain, agus an iiine 
 ghoirid rug i air, agus phill i leis 'na beul, agus dh' 
 fh^g i e aig casaibh a maighstir." 
 
 " M' fhianuis ort f6in," ars an Gobhainn Dubh, 
 " gu 'n do chain thu do gheall." " Chaill mi, gun 
 teagamh, " fhreagair Gobhainn-an-Righ, "agus, ma 
 thig thu leam do 'n tigh-6sda, paidhidh mi dhuit a 
 h-uile peighinn deth." " Cha t^id mi; oir chuir mi 
 romham nach cuirinn geall tuilleadh," ars an Gobhainn 
 Dubh. " Uile-cheart," arsa Gobhainn-an-Rlgh ; agus 
 phaidh e *m fear eile air ball. 
 
 An ceann beagan liithean co bhuail a stigh do 'n 
 che&rdaich ach an duin'-uasal. Dh' fheith e greis an 
 duil gu'm paidheadh an Gobhainn Dubh dha na 
 choisinn e gun iarraidh ; ach ged dh' fheitheadh e gu 
 1^ 'bhrath' cha tigeadh an Gobhainn Dubh air ni d'a 
 leithid. Mu dheireadh thubhairt e ris: " Thainig mi 
 air-son mo dhuais': is fhearr dhuit a thabhairt domh, 
 agus mo leigell air falbh." Ach duals no buidheachas 
 cha tugadh an Gobhainn Dubh dha. An uair a 
 chunnaic e so, thug e 'n rathad air ; ach mu 'n d' fhalbh 
 e dh' fh^g e rud-eigin anns a' chekrdaich. 
 
 Beagan Ikithean 'na dheidh sin thainig duin'-uasal 
 eile air muin eich a dh' ionnsaidh na cekrdaich, 's an 
 t-each aige ro chriibach a chion chriiidhean. Air dha 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 25 
 
 Smith, but on being asked refused to open his box 
 first. Then the King's Smith went to the water side 
 and as soon as he opened his box a salmon leapt out 
 into the water, and away he swam. Then the Swarthy 
 Smith opened his own, and the otter sprang out after 
 the salmon, and in a short time seized the salmon 
 and returned with it in his mouth and left it at his 
 master's feet. " I call you to witness," said the 
 Swarthy Smith, " that you have lost your bet." " I 
 have undoubtedly," replied the King's Smith, " and if 
 you come with me to the Inn I'll pay you every penny 
 of it." " No, I will not, for I have resolved that I 
 will not lay a bet again," said the Swarthy Smith. 
 "All right, ' said the King's Smith, and he paid the 
 other smith on the spot. 
 
 At the end of a few days who entered the smithy 
 but the gentleman. He waited a while, expecting that 
 the Swarthy Smith would pay unasked what he had 
 earned, but though he should wait to the crack of 
 doom the Swarthy Smith would not allude to anything 
 of the kind. At last he said to him: " I have come 
 for my reward; you had better give it me and let me 
 go." But reward or thanks the Swarthy Smith would 
 not give. When he saw this he went away, but before 
 going he left something in the smithy. 
 
 A few days after this another gentleman came on 
 horseback to the smithy, and his horse very lame for 
 want of shoes. After greeting the smith he said: " I 
 wish you would shoe my horse, for he is so much in 
 need that he cannot go a step." " Is it I ! " said the 
 Swarthy Smith. " I never made an article of smith- 
 work except socks for ploughs." The gentleman re- 
 plied: "Many a thing a man could make if he had 
 
26 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 failte an latha 'chur air a' ghobhainn, thubhairt e: " B' 
 fhearr learn gu 'n cuireadh tu cruidhean air an each 
 agam, oir tha e cho deireasach 's nach 'eil 
 comas ceum aige." " An e mise? ',' ars an Gobhainn 
 Dubh, " cha d' rinn mise ball riamh de dh' otair 
 goibhneachd ach suic chrann-treabhaidh." Fhreagair 
 an duin'-uasal: "Is iomadh rud a dheanadh duine 
 na'm bitheadh de mhisnich aige gu 'm feuchadh e ris. 
 Feuch thusa, agus cuidichidh mi fh6in leat." " Seadh, 
 seadh, ma-ta! nl mise cho math *s is urrainn mi," 
 fhreagair an Gobhainn Dubh. 
 
 Chaidh an duin'-uasal a mach, agus ghe^rr e 
 ceithir chasan an eich dheth o na glijinean. Thug e 
 stigh iad, agus chkraich e iad 'san teine. Chaidh e 
 fein air Ikimh a' bhuilg, agus bha 'n Gobhainn a* 
 cumail an teine duinte mu na casan. An deidh dhaibh 
 a bhi tacain maith 'san teine, ghlaodh e ris a' Ghobh- 
 ainn Dubh: "Mach leis an teas." Rug an Gobhainn 
 air an teanchair, agus shlaod e mach a' cheud chas a 
 dh' ionnsaidh an innein. Ghlac e 'n sin an t-6rd- 
 liimh, agus leum an duin'-uasal a dh' ionnsaidh an 
 uird-mh6ir, agus le beagan bhuillean chruidh iad a' 
 chas cho glan 's a rinn gobhainn riamh. An uair a 
 bha iad r^idh dhith, ghabh iad na casan eile, agus 
 chruidh iad te mu seach dhiubh air an doigh cheudna. 
 An sin ghlaodh an duin'-uasal ris a' Ghobhainn Dubh: 
 " Bi mach leis an dh. chois thoisich, agus buail iad 
 'nan ^ite f^in air an each." Rinn an Gobhainn Dubh 
 sin, agus rinn an duin'-uasal f6in an ni ceudna air an 
 d^ chois dheiridh. 
 
 Ann an tiota dh' ^irich an t-each cho slhn 's bha e 
 riamh, agus criiidhte, deas, air-son an rathaid. An sin 
 leum an duin'-uasal 'san dlollaid, agus dh' fhalbh e. 
 
 Cho luath 's a dh' fhalbh an duin'-uasal, chaidh an 
 Gobhainn Dubh a stigh do 'n tigh, agus thubhairt e 
 r' a mhnaoi: "Cha bhi mi na 's fhaide 'paidheadh 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 27 
 
 courage enough to try. Try you, and I will assist 
 you." " Very well, then, I will do as well as I 
 can." 
 
 The gentleman went out and cut the horse's four 
 feet off below the knees. He took them in to the smith 
 and laid them in the fire. He himself went to the 
 bellows-handle, and the smith was keeping the fire 
 banked up about the feet. After they were a good 
 while in the fire he cried to the Swarthy Smith: " Out 
 with the heatl" The smith took hold of the tongs, 
 and with them pulled the first foot out of the fire 
 on to the anvil. He then seized the hand hammer 
 and the gentleman took the sledge hammer, and with a 
 few strokes they shod the foot as neatly as ever smith 
 did. When they were done with it they took the 
 other feet and shod them one by one in the same 
 manner. Then the gentleman cried again to the 
 Swarthy Smith; "Get you out with the two fore feet 
 and strike them in their place on the horse." The 
 Swarthy Smith did that, and the gentleman himself 
 did the same with the two hind feet. In an instant 
 the horse stood up as sound as ever he was, shod and 
 ready for the road. Then the gentleman sprang into 
 the saddle and departed. 
 
 As soon as the gentleman went away the smith 
 entered the house, and said to his wife: " I'll no longer 
 pay wages to rascally smiths, for I can now shoe with- 
 out them. Come out and help me to shoe the white 
 horse, because I have to go with him to the town soon." 
 When he had finished what he had to say, he went to 
 the stable, and cut the white horse's feet off, and then 
 he took them to the smithy, and put them in the fire. 
 He sent his wife to blow the hellows, while he kept 
 
28 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 tuarasdail do shlaoightearan ghoibhnean; oir th6id 
 agam fh^in a nis air cruidheadh as an eugmhais. 
 Tiugainn a mach, agus cuidich leam an t-each hkn a 
 chriiidheadh, oir tha agam ri dol leis do 'n bhaile an 
 Cline ghoirid." An uair a chriochnaich e na bh'aige 
 ri r^dh, dh' fhalbh e do 'n stkbull, agus ghekrr e casan 
 an eich bhkin dheth, agus an sin thug e stigh do 'n 
 cheardaich iad, agus ch^raich e iad anns an teine. 
 Chuir e a bhean a sh^ideadh a' bhuilg, agus chaidh e 
 f^in a chumail guail air na casan. An uair a shaoil 
 e gu'n robh iad deas, shlaod e t^ dhiiibh mach a dh' 
 ionnsaidh an innein, agus bhuail e buille oirre leis an 
 6rd. Ach bha 'chas 'na cnaimh guailte suas g' a leth, 
 agus uime sin chuir am buille i 'na sgealban air feadh 
 na ceardaich. Bha 'n c6rr de na casan air a' cheart 
 chor, agus le sin cha robh aig a' Ghobhainn Dubh ach 
 an t-each bkn, bochd a chur a cr^dh gun dkil, agus a 
 chlosach a chur fo 'n talamh cho s^mhach 's a b' 
 urrainn e. 
 
 Uine mhath an d^idh do 'n dara duin'-uasal falbh, 
 th^inig an treas duin'-uasal do 'n cheardaich, agus dk 
 chailleach maille ris. Thubhairt e ris a' Ghobhainn 
 Dubh: "An dean thu dhomh-sa nighean bg de 'n d^ 
 chaillich so, agus bheir mi dhuit duais mhath air-son 
 do shaothrach?" Fhreagair an Gobhainn Dubh: 
 "An e mise? Cha d' rinn mise riamh ach suic," 
 " An toir thu dhomh fh^in, ma-t^, tacan de 'n cheard- 
 aich, agus de d' chuideachd? ars an duin'-uasal. 
 " Gheibh thu sin," fhreagair an Gobhainn Dubh. 
 "So, ma-t^I bi 'n greim. Is iomadh ni a dheanadh 
 fear, na 'm bitheadh aige de mhisneach gu 'm feuch- 
 adh e ris." Chuir iad na cailleachan anns an teine, 
 agus chaidh an duin'-uasal a sheideadh a' bhuilg, agus 
 an Gobhainn Dubh a chumail guail air an teine. An 
 uair a thug iad garadh math do na cailleachan, 
 tharraing iad a mach iad a dh' ionnsaidh an innein; 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 29 
 
 coals over the feet. When he thought they were ready 
 he drew one out to the anvil, and struck it with the 
 hammer. But the foot up to its middle was nothing 
 but charred bone, and therefore the stroke sent it fly- 
 ing in splinters over the smithy. The rest of the feet 
 were in the same condition, and so the smith had no 
 alternative but to put the poor white horse out of pain 
 at once, and lay his carcass under ground as quietly 
 as possible. 
 
 A good while after the second gentleman departed, 
 a third gentleman came to the smithy with two old 
 women in his company. He said to the Swarthy 
 Smith: "Will you make for me a young maiden of 
 these old women, and I will give you a good reward 
 for your labour?" The Swarthy Smith answered: 
 " Is it I ? I never made anything but socks." " Will 
 you then give me a while of the smithy and of your 
 assistance?" said the gentleman. "Yes, you will get 
 that." " Come, then, begin work. Many a thing 
 a man could do if he had courage enough to try." 
 They put the old women in the fire, and the gentleman 
 went to blow the bellows, and the Swarthy Smith to 
 keep coals on the fire. When they had given the 
 old women a good heating they drew them out to the 
 anvil, and then the gentleman began to strike with 
 the sledge hammer and the smith with the hand hammer, 
 and with one welding heat they made the very hand- 
 somest maiden man ever beheld. When they had 
 done, the gentleman gave the Swarthy Smith a good 
 reward, and departed with the young maiden in his 
 company. 
 
 As soon as he parted with them, the Swarthy Smith 
 made his way to the house, and said to his wife: 
 
30 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 agus an sin th6isich an duin'-uasal air bualadh leis 
 an 6rd-mh6r, agus an Gobhainn Dubh leis an drd- 
 Ikimh, agus le aon gharadh tathaidh rinn iad an aon 
 nighean bu bhr^agh 'chunnaic duine riamh. An uair 
 a t'ha iad deas, thug an duin'-uasal duals mhath do 'n 
 Ghobhainn Dubh, agus dh' fhalbh e, agus an nighean 
 6g aige 'na chuideachd. 
 
 Cho luath 's a dhealaich e riu, ghabh an Gobhainn 
 Dubh a stigh do 'n tigh, agus thubhairt e r' a mhnaoi : 
 " Nach 'eil naigheachd agam dhuit? Tha mi 'n d^idh 
 nighean 6g cho br^agh 's a chunnaic thu riamh a 
 dheanamh de dhk shean chaillich. Falbh agus nl sinn 
 te eile de d' mh^thair fh^in agus de m' mh^thair-sa, 
 agus an sin bithidh againn ni nach robh againn gus 
 an so, nighean leinn fh^in." Thubhairt a bhean: 
 " Thoir an aire nach e leithid eile ri goibhneachd an 
 eich bh^in a bhitheas agad." 
 
 " Cha'n eagal da sin," ars an Gobhainn Dubh, agus 
 chaidh e 'n greim. 
 
 Dh' fheuch e gach ni a dheanamh mar chunnaic e 
 an duin'-uasal a' deanamh ; ach, mur b' e leithid eile 
 ri goibhneachd an eich bhkin a bh' aige mu dheireadh, 
 b' e ni-eigin a sheachd miosa. 
 
 Chaidh uine seachad, agus an sin co 'thadhail anns 
 a' che^rdaich ach an ceud dhuin'-uasal. An d^idh 
 dha f^ilte chur air a' Ghobhainn Dubh, thubhairt e 
 ris: " Am bheil saod idir ort leth an airgid a choisinn 
 mi dhuit a thoirt domh, mar gheall thu?" Cha robh 
 sin air a' Ghobhainn Dubh : cha d' thugadh e uibhir 
 agus buidheachas. An sin th6isich an duin'-uasal air 
 f^s cho m6r 's gu 'n robh an Gobhainn Dubh an 
 cunnart a bhi air a leudachadh eadar e agus oisinn an 
 teallaich. An uair a chunnaic an Gobhainn Dubh an 
 cunnart mdr 'san robh e, thug e mach as a ph6ca 
 sporan leathraich a bha druidte le iallan, agus an 
 sin thubhairt e ris an duin'-uasal: "Tha mi 'faicinn 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 3 1 
 
 " Have I not news for you ? I have just made as hand- 
 some a young maiden as you ever saw of two old wives. 
 Come and we will make another of your mother and 
 mine, and then we shall have what we never had before, 
 a daughter of our own." But his wife said: "Take 
 care that you will not have the smithing of the white 
 horse over again." "There is no fear of that," said 
 he; and he set to work. He tried to do everything 
 as he saw the gentleman do, but if the result was not 
 the smithing of the white horse over again, it was 
 something seven times worse. 
 
 Time passed, and then who called in at the smithy 
 but the first gentleman. After saluting the Swarthy 
 Smith, he said: " Are you at all disposed to give me, 
 as you promised, half of the money I earned for you ? " 
 No, the smith was not. He would not as much as 
 thank the gentleman. Then the gentleman began to 
 grow so big that the smith was in danger of being 
 flattened between him and the side of the forge. 
 When the Swarthy Smith saw the danger he was in, he 
 took from his pocket a purse which was fastened with 
 thongs, and then he said: " I see that you can make 
 yourself big enough, but if you will now make your- 
 self so small that you can enter this purse, I will 
 give you all the money I owe you." In an instant 
 the gentleman began to grow smaller and smaller 
 until at last he was so small that he leaped, a little 
 black mote, into the purse. As soon as the smith 
 saw this, he drew the thongs and tied them hard and 
 fast about the mouth. He then laid the purse on the 
 anvil and gave it three strokes of the sledge hammer 
 as hard as he could. The purse burst with so loud 
 a report that the smith's wife thought the smithy and 
 
32 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 gu 'n t^id agad air thu f^in a dheanamh m6r gu 
 le6ir; ach, ma ni thu nis cho beag thu f6in 's gu 'n 
 t^id thu 'san sporan so, bheir mi dhuit na th' agad 
 orm a dh' airgiod." Ann an tiota th6isich an duin'- 
 uasal air f^s na bu lugha agus na bu lugha gus an robh 
 e mu dheireadh cho beag 's gu 'n do leum e 'na 
 dhuradan crlon, dubh a stigh do 'n sporan. Cho luath 
 *s a chunnaic an Gobhainn Dubh so, tharraing e na 
 h-iallan, agus cheangail e iad gu teann cruaidh mu 
 'n bheul. Leag e 'n sin an sporan air an innein agus 
 bhuail e tri buillean de 'n 6rd-mh6r cho math 's a 
 b' urrainn e. Sg^in an sporan agus rinn e braigheadh 
 cho m6r 's gu 'n do shaoil bean a' Ghobhainn gu 'n 
 do sh^ideadh a' che&rdach agus na bh' innte anns na 
 speuran hrd. Ruith i mach le uamhas, agus dh' 
 fhedraich i gu d^ thachair. Fhreagair an duine aice: 
 " Fhalbh ! ma thug esan an car asam-sa mu 'n each 
 hhkn agus mu na cailleachan, thug mise 'n car as-san 
 le 'bheatha thoirt dheth." 
 
 Lean e air na suic a dheanamh, agus air dol le6, 
 uair 's a' mhlos, chum na faidhreach; ach, dh' fhis e 
 'na dhuine glic, agus uair air bith a thigeadh ^iginn 
 airgid air, bheireadh e beagan as an ionmhas a dh' 
 fhalaich e fo stairsneach na ce^rdaich. 
 
FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE. 
 
 33 
 
 all that it contained were blown into the skies. She 
 ran out in terror and asked what had happened. 
 " Never mind, if he cheated me over the white horse 
 and the old wives, I have cheated him of his life." 
 
 He continued to make socks and to go with them 
 once a month to the fair; but he became a wise man, 
 and, any time he had need of money, he would take 
 a little from the hoard he had hidden under the 
 threshold of the smithy. 
 
 D 
 
[AN TAILLEAR AGUS TAIBHSE 
 CHILL-AN-IUBHAIR.] 
 
 O cheann fhada bha mdran a' creidsinn gu 'n robh 
 cuid de na seann chladhanna le laraichean sheann 
 eaglaisean annta air an tathaich le taibhsibh agus le 
 b6cain gun aireamh. An d^idh tuiteam na h-oidhche, 
 bu tearc iad le 'm b'kill dol seachad air aon dhiubh, gu 
 s6nraichte ma bha e fad air falbh o ionaid-chomhnaidh 
 nam beo, agus bu teirce na sin iad aig an robh de 
 an-dknachd gu 'n rachadh iad a stigh do'n kite mhi- 
 chneasda re uair shkmhach a' mheadhoin-oidhche. 
 Gidheadh thairgeadh corr fhear neo-sgathach an 
 dearbhadh so a thoirt seachad air a mhisnich. A 
 dheanamh an dearbhaidh cinnteach, bha claigeann 
 duine air fhagail am froigean taobh a stigh do liraich 
 na seann eaglaise, agus cho luath 's a bhuaileadh dk 
 uair dheug a dh' oidhche, rachadh e stigh do'n Ikraich 
 'na aonar, agus bheireadh e air ais leis an claigeann 
 do dh' elite far an robh a chompanaich a' feitheamh 
 r'a theachd. 
 
 Bha, uair-eigin, Tkillear a ch6mhnaidh air baile 
 Fhionnchuirn \kimh ri taobh deas Loch Obha; agus 
 air dha aicheadh gu'n robh taibhsean idir ann, thug 
 a choimhearsnaich dtibhlan da a dhearbhadh dhoibh 
 gu'n robh e n da-rlreadh le dol mu mharbh mheadhon- 
 oidhche do chladh Chill-an-iubhair, agus an claigeann 
 a bha 'n uinneig na seann eaglais' a tha 'tabhairt 'ainme 
 do 'n kite, a thoirt air ais leis. 
 
THE TAILOR AND THE KILNURE ANIMATED 
 CORPSE. 
 
 Long ago, many people believed that burying places 
 with the ruins of an ancient church standing within 
 them were frequented by ghosts and bogles innumer- 
 able. After nightfall few people cared to pass one 
 of these abodes of the dead, especially if it stood far 
 away from the dwellings of the living, and fewer still 
 had the foolhardiness to enter the uncanny place 
 during the silent hour of midnight. And yet some 
 bold fellow now and again would offer to furnish this 
 infallible proof of his daring! To make the proof 
 certain a human skull was left in a crevice inside the 
 old, ruined church, and, as soon as twelve o'clock at 
 night strucK, he would enter the church alone and 
 bring back the skull to a place where his companions 
 awaited his coming. 
 
 A tailor once, living on the farm of Fincharn, near 
 the south end of Loch Awe, having denied the 
 existence of ghosts, was challenged by his neighbours 
 to prove his sincerity by going at the dead hour of 
 midnight to the burying place of Kilnure and bringing 
 back with him the skull lying in the window of the 
 old church that gives its name to the place. The tailor 
 replied that he would give them a stronger proof even 
 than that, by sewing a pair of trews in the church 
 between bed-time and cock-crow that very night. 
 
36 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Fhreagair an Tkillear gu'n d'thugadh e dhoibh 
 dearbhadh 'bu Ikidire eadhon na sin le paidhir- 
 thriubhais 'fhuaigheal anns an eaglais eadar km dhol 
 a laidhe agus gairm-choileach air an oidhche sin fein. 
 Ghabh iad e air 'fhacal; agus cho luath 's a thkinig 
 deich uairean a dh' oidhche, chaidh e stigh do'n 
 eaglais, shuidh e air lic-lighe a bha 'na laighe air 
 ceithir puist, agus an deidh dha coinneal laiste a chur 
 l^imh ris, th6isich e air 'obair chianail, fhadalaich. 
 Chaidh a' cheud uair seachad skmhach gu le6ir, am 
 feadh bha e 'fuaigheal, agus a' cumail suas a mhisnich 
 a' seinn agus a' feadlaich nam port 'bu shunndaiche a 
 b' urrainn e a chuimhneachadh. Chaidh an dk uair 
 dheug mar an ceudna seachad, gidheadh cha'n fhaca 's 
 cha chual' e ni air bith a chuir an sgath bu lugha air. 
 
 Ach uair-eigin an d(^idh sin chual' e fuaim a' teachd 
 o lic-lighe a bha eadar e 's an dorus; agus air dha 
 fiar-shiiil a thoirt 'na rathad bha leis gu 'm fac' e 'n 
 talamh fuipe 'g eirigh 's a' tuiteam. Chuir an seall- 
 adh air tus ioghnadh air, ach an iiine ghoirid 
 smuaintich e gu 'm b' e 'n ni a b' aobhar dha so solus 
 neo-shocrach na coinnle 's an dorchadas. Le sin, an 
 deidh dha crathadh a thoirt air a ghuailnibh, 
 thionndaidh e rithist r'a obair, agus chum e air 
 fuaigheal agus air seinn cho sunndach 's a bha e 
 riamh. 
 
 Goirid an d6idh sin thubhairt guth fr6mhaidh, a 
 thkinig a mach o'n chloich cheudna: " Sud a' chr6g 
 mh6r liath, 's i gun bhiadh, a Th^illeir." Ach 
 fhreagair an T^illear: "Chi mi sin, agus fuaighidh 
 mi so"; agus th6isich e air seinn agus air fuaigheal, 
 mar bha e roimhe. 
 
 An ceann tacain eile thubhairt an guth fromhaidh 
 ceudna le fuaim na b'^irde. " Sud an ceann m6r, 
 liath, is e gun bhiadh, a Thkilleir." Ach fhreagair 
 an Tkillear a rithist: "Chi mi sin, agus fuaighidh mi 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 37 
 
 They took him at his word, and, as soon as ten o'clock 
 came, the tailor entered the old church, seated him- 
 self on a flat grave-stone resting on four pillars, and, 
 after placing a lighted candle beside him, he began 
 his dreary, tedious task. The first hour passed quietly 
 enough while he was sewing away and keeping up his 
 heart singing and whistling the cheeriest airs he could 
 think of. Twelve o'clock also passed, and yet he 
 neither saw nor heard anything to alarm him in the 
 least. 
 
 But sometime after twelve he heard a noise coming 
 from a gravestone which was between him and the 
 door, and, on casting a side -look in its direction, 
 he thought he saw the earth heave under it. 
 The sight at first made him wonder, but he 
 soon came to the conclusion that it was caused 
 by the unsteady light of the candle in the dark. 
 So, with a hitch and a shrug, he returned to his work 
 and sewed and sang away as cheerily as ever. 
 
 Soon after this a hollow voice, coming from under 
 the same stone, said: "See the great, mouldy hand, 
 and it so hungry looking, tailor." But the tailor 
 replied: " I see that, and I will sew this," and then he 
 sang and sewed away as before. 
 
 After another while the same hollow voice said, in 
 a louder tone: "See the great, mouldy skull, and it 
 so hungry looking, tailor." But the tailor again 
 answered: " I see that, and I will sew this," and he 
 sewed faster and sang louder than ever. 
 
 A third time the voice spake, and said in a 
 louder and more unearthly tone: "See the great, 
 mouldy shoulder, and it so hungry looking, tailor." 
 But the tailor replied as usual: "I see that, and I 
 will sew this," and he plied the needle quicker and 
 lengthend his stitches. 
 
38 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 so"; agus dh' fhuaigh e na bu luaithe, agus sheinn 
 e na b' ^irde na rinn e riamh. 
 
 An treas uair labhair an guth agus thubhairt e le 
 fuaim a b' airde agus a bu neo-shaoghalta na rinn e 
 fhathast: " Sud an slinnein m6r, Hath, 's e gun 
 bhiadh, a Th^illeir." Ach fhreagair an TMllear mar 
 bu ghnath leis: " Chi mi sin, agus fuaighidh mi so," 
 agus chluich e 'n t-snathad na bu luaithe, agus 
 tharraing e na greimeannan na b' fhaide. 
 
 Chaidh an obair so air a h-aghaidh fad uine, an 
 duine marbh a' leigeadh ris an ath uair a shl^isde, 
 agus, mu dheireadh, a choise. An sin thubhairt e le 
 guth uamhasach: "Sud a' chas mh6r, Hath, 's i gun 
 bhiadh, a Thkilleir." Aon uair eile fhreagair an 
 T^illear gu misneachail: "Chi mi sin, agus fuaighidh 
 mi so." Ach bha fios aige gu 'n d'thMnig an t-km 
 dha teicheadh. Le sin chriochnaich e 'obair le dithis 
 no tri de ghreimeannan fada, agus snaim chruaidh 
 air an ceann, sh^id e as a' choinneal, agus leum e mach 
 an dorus, an duine marbh 'ga leantuinn agus a' 
 bualadh buille, a thairneadh air-san, air peirceall an 
 doruis far an d' fh^gadh fad iomadh latha aile a 
 liimh agus a mheoir. 
 
 Gu fortanach thdisich a nis coilich Fhionnchuirn 
 air glaodhaich, agus an sin thuit am marbh air ais d'a 
 uaigh, agus phill an T^illear dhachaidh gu caithream- 
 ach. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 39 
 
 This went on for some time, the dead man showing 
 next his haunch and finally his foot. Then he said 
 in a fearful voice: "See the great, mouldy foot, and 
 it so hungry looking, tailor." Once more the tailor 
 bravely answered: "I see that, and I will sew this." 
 But he knew that the time for him to fly had come. 
 So, with two or three long stitches and a hard knot 
 at the end, he finished his task, blew out the candle, 
 and ran out at the door, the dead man following him, 
 and striking a blow aimed at him against one of the 
 jambs, which long bore the impression of a hand and 
 fingers. 
 
 Fortunately the cocks of Fincharn now began to 
 crow, the dead man returned to his grave, and the 
 tailor went home triumphant. 
 
IAIN DUBH MOR MAC RICH NA SORCHA. 
 
 Bha ann roimhe so Righ na Gr^ige a chaidh le 'thriiiir 
 mhac, Uthar, Art, agus Uilionn, do 'n bheinn-sheilge. 
 An uair a r^inig iad a' bheinn, shuidh lad sios air 
 tolman b6idheach uaine air chul gaoithe 's ri aodann 
 gr^ine, far am faiceadh iad gach duine, 's nach 
 faiceadh duine iad. Thubhairt am mac 'bu shine, 's 
 e 'na shuidhe air Ikimh dheis 'athar, agus a 6hk 
 bhr^thair air a l^imh chli: " Dh' fheumadh an duine 
 sin a bhi gl^ mhath air a shon f^in a thigeadh a nis 
 agus a bhuaileadh buille air m' athair, agus a bheir- 
 eadh fiacail a dorus a bheoil. Fhreagair am mac a b' 
 6ige: " Cha chuala sinn riamh iomradh air duine 
 'dheanadh sin ach Iain Dubh M6r mac Righ na Sorcha. 
 Cha bu luaith' a chaidh am facal as a bheul na thkinig 
 Iain Dubh M6r mar sheabhag na seilge bho 'n 
 chreachann agus bhuail e 'n Righ anns a' t'heul, agus 
 thug e leis fiacail a chuir e a dorus a bhe6il. 
 
 An sin dh' eirich triiiir Mhac an Righ, agus bhdidich 
 iad nach leigeadh iad poll & br6g no lub & osan gus 
 am faigheadh iad fiacail an athar. Shin iad :us 
 dachaidh, agus chuir iad soitheach an 6rdugh, agus 
 shuidhich iad a cijrsa an taobh a shaoil iad anns an 
 robh diJthaich Iain Duibh Mh6ir suidhichte, agus:— 
 
BIG BLACK JOHN, SON OF THE KING OF 
 SORCHA. 
 
 There was before now a King of Greece who went 
 with his three sons, Uther, Arthur, and Ulin to the 
 hunting hill. When they reached the ben they sat 
 down on a pretty little green knoll, behind the wind 
 and before the sun, where they would see every man, 
 and no man would see them. The eldest son, as he 
 was sitting on his father's right hand, and his two 
 brothers on the left, said: "That man who would 
 come and strike a blow at my father, and take a tooth 
 out of the door of his mouth, would need to be well 
 able to defend himself." The youngest son answered: 
 " We never heard mention of any man who would 
 do that unless Big Black John, son of the King of 
 Sorcha." No sooner had the word gone out of his 
 mouth than Big Black John came like the hunting 
 falcon from the rocky summit, struck the king on the 
 mouth, and took with him a tooth he sent out of the 
 door of his mouth. 
 
 Then the king's three sons stood up and vowed that 
 they would not let mire out of brogue or water out 
 of hose until they would find their father's tooth. 
 Home they stretched, got a vessel ready, and set her 
 course in the direction where they thought Big Black 
 John's country was situated, and— 
 
42 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Bu bhoidheach an sealladh an soitheach. 
 Mar eun air bharraibh nan tonn, 
 A' sgaoileadh o cheile na saile 
 Le guailnibh liomharra lorn; 
 A croinn chaola deagh-shnaithte 
 Cho direach ri saighead nach cam, 
 A' lubadh fo h-aodach br^id-gheal. 
 Mar sh^ideadh an osag nach gann. 
 
 An deidh dhoibh a bhi se61adh fad mh6ran Ikithean, 
 dhlrich Uilionn bg an crann, feuch am faiceadh e 
 fearann air bith anns an t-sealladh. An uair a fhuair 
 e suas cho fad' 's a b' urrainn e dol, ghlaodh each ris, 
 an robh e 'faicinn dad idir. Fhreagair e gu 'n robh. 
 " Gu d^ 'tha thu 'faicinn?" ars iadsan. "Is beag e 
 ma's eilean e, agus is mor e ma's eun e," thubhairt 
 esan, agus theirinn e. An ceann greis mhaith chaidh 
 e suas a ris, ach cha b' urrainn e 'radh fathast ach mar 
 thubhairt e cheana, gu 'm bu bheag an ni 'bha e 
 'faicinn na 'm b' eilean e, ach gu m' bu mh6r e, 
 na'm b' eun e. An ceann iiine m6ire dhirich e 'n treas 
 uair, ach mu'n d' r^inig e barr a' chroinn, ghlaodh e 
 mach: " Is e fearann a th' ann," agus rinn iad direach 
 air. 
 
 Cho luath 's a rainig iad an cladach, chaidh iad air 
 tir, agus dh' imich iad air an aghaidh feuch ciod a 
 thachradh orra. Cha deachaidh iad ro fhada gus an 
 d' th^inig iad gu beul creige m6ire, far am fac' iad, 
 'na sheasamh leis fein, bodachan beag, seacta, seargta; 
 agus laimh ris, cliabh le taod fada 'n ceangal ris. Dh' 
 fhe6raich iad deth co e, agus ciod a bha e 'deanamh 
 an sud? Fhreagair e gu 'm b' esan Portair Iain 
 Duibh Mh6ir, Mac Righ na Sorcha; agus nach b' 
 urrainn duine air bith dol a dh' ionnsaidh a' Chaisteil, 
 mur rachadh e sios leis a' chreig anns a' chliabh. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 43 
 
 [The vessel was a beauteous sight. 
 Like bird upon the billows' height. 
 The salt sea cleaving wide asunder. 
 With Smoothly-polished, bare prows under; 
 Her masts, well hewn, and slim and narrow. 
 As straight and faultless as an arrow. 
 Bending beneath the white sails' show. 
 What time the freshening breeze would blow.] 
 
 After they had sailed for many days, young Ulin 
 ascended the mast to see if he could espy any land in 
 sight. When he got as high as he could go, the 
 rest cried to him if he saw anything at all. He said 
 that he did. "What dost thou see?" said they. 
 " Little it is if an island, and big it is if a bird," 
 replied he, and then descended. At the end of a good 
 spell he went up again ; but as yet he could only say, 
 as he had done already, that what he saw was little if 
 an island, but big if a bird. After a long while he 
 ascended the mast the third time, but, before he reached 
 the top, he cried aloud, "It is land," and they made 
 straight for it. 
 
 As soon as they reached the shore they landed, and 
 travelled onwards to see what should occur to them. 
 They had not gone very far when they came to the 
 edge of a precipice, where they saw standing a little, 
 shrivelled, withered, old manikin, and near him a 
 creel with a long rope tied to it. They enquired of 
 him who he was and what he was doing yonder. He 
 replied that he was the gate-keeper of Big Black John, 
 son of the King of Sorcha, and that no man could go 
 to his castle unless he went down the precipice in the 
 creel. The eldest brother went over to the 
 edge of the precipice and looked down ; but, when he 
 saw the depth beneath, he was so filled with horror that 
 he would not take all he ever saw and descend. Then 
 
44 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Chaidh am br^lhair 'bu shine null gu beul na creige, 
 agus dh' amhairc e sios, ach an uair a chunnaic e 'n 
 doimhneachd a bha fuidhe, dh' oilltich e cho m6r is 
 nach gabhadh e na chunnaic e riamh agus tekrnadh. 
 An sin chaidh an dara brathair a null gu beul na 
 creige; ach an uair a dh' amhairc e thairis oirre, ghlac 
 a leithid de dh' uamhunn esan mar an ceudna 's nach 
 gabhadh e 'n saoghal mu 'n iadh a' ghrian is dol 
 sios anns a' chliabh. Mu dheireadh leum Uilionn 6g 
 flathail, do nach b' aithne geilt no giorag, a stigh do 
 'n chliabh; agus an uair a bha e dol thar beul na 
 creige, ghlaodh e r' a bhrathraibh: " Tillibh dhach- 
 aidh leis an luing, agus ma bhitheas mise be6, ruigidh 
 mi sibh luath no mall. 
 
 R^inig e bun na creige gu tekruinte, agus b' ann 
 an sin a bha 'n t-^ite br^agh, le Caisteal mor, 
 cuairtichte le balla ^rd, goirid as. 
 
 Rinn e air a' Chaisteal, agus co a choinnich e air 
 an rathad ach a bhean fein, a ghoideadh uaidh le Iain 
 Dubh M6r bliadhna roimh 'n km sin, agus a bha aige 
 anns a' Chaisteal; ach cha robh fhios aige gus an sin 
 CO a ghoid i, no c'ait' a thugadh i. Chuir e ioghnadh 
 m6r air tachairt oirre anns an ait' ud, ach cha bu lugha 
 an t-ioghnadh a chuir e oirre-se 'tachairt ris-san ann. 
 
 Phill i leis dh' ionnsaidh a' Chaisteil, agus an d6idh 
 dhi gabhail aige gu math le biadh agus le deoch, dh' 
 innis i dha gu 'n robh Iain Dubh Mor agus a 
 cheathrar ghaisgeach anns a' bheinn-sheilg', agus 
 gu'n tigeadh iad dhachaidh 'san fheasgar. " Ach," 
 ars i, " druididh sinn na geatachan rompa, agus ged 
 tha iad cho foghainteach, cha'n urrainn iad teachd 
 a stigh gun taing dhuinn." 
 
 Th^inig am feasgar agus Iain Dubh M6r 's a 
 ghaisgich leis. An uair a fhuair e na geatachan 
 druidte air thoiseach air, ghlaodh e ris a' bhoirionnach 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 45 
 
 the second brother went over to the edge of the 
 precipice, but, when he looked over, such dread seized 
 him that he would not take the world about which the 
 sun revolves to go down in the creel. At length 
 noble young Ulin, who was a stranger to fear or 
 panic, went into the creel, and, when going over the 
 edge of the rock, he cried to his brothers: "Return 
 home with the ship, and, if I live, I will reach you 
 soon or late." 
 
 He arrived at the foot of the rock safely, and it was 
 there that the fine place was, with a big castle sur- 
 rounded by a high rampart at a short distance from 
 him. He made for the castle, and whom did he meet 
 on the way but his own wife, who was stolen from 
 him by Big Black John a year before that time, and 
 whom he had with him in the castle; but he knew not 
 till then who stole her, or where she had been taken. 
 He wondered greatly to meet her in that place, but not 
 less did she wonder to meet him there. 
 
 She returned with him to the castle, and, after she 
 had tended him well with meat and drink, she 
 told him that Big Black John and his four warriors 
 were in the hunting ben, and that they would come 
 home in the evening. "But," said she, "we will 
 shut the gates before them, and, though they are 
 mighty, they cannot enter in spite of us." 
 
 The evening came, and Big Black John and his 
 companions with him. When he found the gates 
 closed before him, he called on the woman to open 
 them for him. But he got not as much as an answer. 
 He cried a second and a third time, but, though he 
 did, it was in vain. At last he understood that young 
 Ulin had come, and that he was in the castle. With 
 
46 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 am fosgladh dha: ach cha d' fhuair e uibhir agus 
 freagradh. Ghlaodh e 'n data agus an treas uair; 
 ach ma ghlaodh, b' ann an diomhain. Mu dheireadh 
 thuig e gu'n d' thainig Uilionn 6g, agus gu 'n robh 
 e stigh anns a' Chaisteal. Le sin ghlaodh e ris: 
 " G^ill no c6mhrag." " Geill no c6mhrag," ars 
 Uilionn 6g, " cha'n fhaigh thu 'n nochd, ach cuir 
 air do shon fein g\6 mhoch am m^ireach." 
 
 Le eirigh na greine air an ath latha dhirich Uilionn 
 6g air a' bhalla, agus ghlaodh e: "Am faigh mi 
 cothrom na Feinne?" Fhreagair Iain Dubh M6r: 
 " Gheibh thu comhrag aon fhir, no c6mhrag dithis, 
 no triuir fhear, mar is ^ill leat," Cha d' eisd Uilionn 
 dg ri tuilleadh cainnt, ach leum e thar a' bhalla, agus 
 ghlaodh e gu 'n gabhadh e c6mhrag ri aon fhear. 
 Fhuair e sin, agus chaidh e i6in agus Gaisgeach na 
 Sg^ithe-deirge an caraibh a ch^ile. Ghleac iad gu 
 cruaidh fad an Ik; ach mar bha 'm feasgar a' dliithach- 
 adh, bha Uilionn 6g a' f^s sgith agus fann ; ach an 
 uair a chuimhnich e gu 'n robh e fad' o 'chkirdean agus 
 dlijth d'a naimhdean, ghlac e misneach, thug e aon 
 bheum fuilteach, agus chuir e 'n ceann de Ghaisgeach 
 na Sg^ithe-deirge. 
 
 Leum e 'n sin thar balla a' Chaisteil ach mu 'n gann 
 a Lha e stigh, r^inig dubhlan Iain Duibh Mh6ir e: 
 " G^ill no comhrag." Fhreagair e mar air an oidhche 
 roimhe. " G6ill no c6mhrag cha'n fhaigh thu uam-sa 
 'n nochd, ach cuir air do shon f^in gl^ mhoch am 
 m^ireach, agus gheibh thu sin." 
 
 Moch air an ath latha dhirich Uilionn bg balla 
 'Chaisteil, agus dh' iarr e rithist cothrom na Feinne. 
 Fhuair e sin, agus chaidh e fein agus Gaisgeach na 
 Sg^ithe-uaine an d^il a ch^ile. Bha e 'burdhinn air 
 a' Ghaisgeach an toiseach an 1^, ach mu chromadh 
 na greine s an ^ird-an-iar dh' fhairich se e fein 'f^s 
 sgith agus fann. Ach an uair a smuaintich e gu 'n 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 47 
 
 that he cried to him: " Surrender or combat." " Sur- 
 render or combat," said young Ulin, " thou shalt not 
 get to-night; but prepare to defend thyself early 
 enough to-morrow." 
 
 With the rising of the sun next day young Ulin 
 ascended the rampart and cried: " Shall I get the fair- 
 play of the Feinn ? " Big Black John replied: " Thou 
 shalt get a combat with one man, or a combat with 
 two or three men, as it liketh thee." Young Ulin 
 listened not to more talk, but sprang over the rampart 
 and cried: " I'll take a combat against one man." 
 He got that, and he and the champion of the Red 
 Shield closed with one another. They fought hard 
 the day long; but, as evening was nearing, young 
 Ulin was growing faint and wearied. But, when he 
 remembered that he was far from his friends and near 
 to his foes, he took courage, dealt a bloody blow, and 
 struck the head off the champion of the Red Shield. 
 
 Then he sprang over the castle rampart; but, before 
 he was barely in, there reached him Big Black John's 
 defiance — "Surrender or combat." He replied as he 
 had done on the night before: "Surrender or combat 
 thou shalt not get from me to-night, but make ready 
 to defend thyself early enough to-morrow morning." 
 
 Early next morning young Ulin ascended the 
 rampart of the castle, and again asked the fair play 
 of the F^inn. He got that, and he and the champion 
 of the Green Shield encountered one another. He was 
 getting the better of the champion in the beginning of 
 the day, but, about the going down of the sun in the 
 west, he felt himself growing wearied and faint. But, 
 when he thought that he was far from his friends and 
 near to his foes, he roused himself, and with one bloody 
 
48 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 robh e fad' o'chairdean agtis dliith d'a naimhdean, 
 thug e brosglachadh air fein, agus le aon bheum 
 fuilteach thilg e 'n ceann de 'n Ghaisgeach. Leum e 
 'n sin a stigh thar a' bhalla, ach chuir Iain Dubh 
 M6r diabhlan 'na dh^idh mar air an oidhche roimhe. 
 
 Air an ath Iktha agus air an Ik 'na dh^idh thachair 
 gach ni mar air a' cheud d^ Ik, agus chuir e na cinn 
 bh^rr Gaisgeach na Sgeithe-gile agus Gaisgeach na 
 Sg^ithe-duibhe. 
 
 Bha nis na Gaisgich uile marbh, agus air an ath 
 mhaduinn bha Iain Dubh M6r fein aige ri choinneach- 
 adh. Leum e stigh thar a' bhalla, agus air an oidhche 
 sin ghabh a bhean aige cho math 's a b'urrainn i. 
 Air an ath mhaduinn leum e mach mar b' kbhaist da, 
 agus tharruinn e f^in agus Iain Dubh M6r an d^il a 
 ch^ile. Chomhraig iad air tiis le 'n loinn, ach uair- 
 eigin air feadh an Ik th^inig iad cho dluth air a ch6ile 
 's gu 'n deachaidh iad an spairn chruaidh ghleac. 
 Dheanadh iad bogain A bhogain agus creagain i 
 chreagain, far am bu bhuige e 'dol fodha gu ruig an 
 suilean, agus far am bu chruaidhe e gu ruig an 
 gliiinean, agus far am bu mheadhonaiche e gu ruig 
 ceann reamhar na sl^isde. Mu chromadh na gr^ine 
 chuir Uilionn 6g Iain Dubh fodha, agus thilg e 'n 
 ceann dheth. 
 
 An uair a chunnaic a bhean so, ruith i dh' 
 ionnsaidh a' gheata agus dh' fhosgail i e, air chor 's 
 nach do ruig a fear leas am balla leum air an oidhche 
 sin. Dh' fhuirich iad le ch6ile anns a' Chaisteal gus 
 an do leithiseadh creuchdan Uilinn 6ig. An sin rinn 
 iad deas air-son pilltinn dachaidh, agus thug iad le6 
 gach 6r agus airgiod a bh' anns a' Chaisteal. Thug 
 iad le6 mar an ceudna each agus mialchu agus 
 seabhag-sheilge Iain Duibh Mh6ir; agus, ni 'bu 
 phriseile le6 na gach ni eile, fiacail Righ na Gr^ige. 
 Bha 'n t-astar fada, agus ghabh iad fline mhath air 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 49 
 
 Stroke he struck the champion's head off. He then 
 sprang over the rampart, but Big Black John sent a 
 defiance after him as on the preceding night. 
 
 On the next day and the day following, everything 
 happened as on the first two days, and he struck the 
 heads off the champion of the White Shield and the 
 champion of the Black Shield. 
 
 The champions were all dead now, and next morning 
 he had to meet Big Black John himself. He sprang 
 in over the rampart, and that night his wife treated 
 him as well as she could. 
 
 Next morning he sprang out as usual, and he and 
 Big Black John drew near each other. They fought 
 first with their swords, but sometimes during the day 
 they came so close to one another that they went into 
 a hard wrestling bout. They would make quagmires 
 of quagmires and knolls of knolls; where it was softest 
 sinking to the eyes, and where it was hardest to the 
 knees, and where it was most intermediate to the thick 
 end of the thigh. At the going down of the sun young 
 Ulin put Big Black John under him, and struck off 
 his head. 
 
 When his wife saw this she ran to the gate and 
 opened it, so that her husband required not to leap 
 over the rampart that night. 
 
 They stayed together in the castle until young Ulin's 
 wounds were healed. Then they made ready to return 
 home, and they took with them all the gold and silver 
 in the castle. They also took with them Big Black 
 John's horse, and hound, and hunting falcon, and (what 
 they reckoned more precious than all other things) the 
 tooth of the King of Greece. The distance was long, 
 and they took a long time on the way. At length they 
 
 E 
 
50 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 an t-slighe. Mu dheireadh th^inig iad an sealladh 
 ^ite Rlgh na Gr^ige. Ach an ^ite dol dh' ionnsaidh 
 a' Chaisteil, chaidh iad gu tigh a' mhuilleir, far an 
 do chuir iad rompa fuireachd gus am faiceadh iad 
 ciamar a bha gnothaichean a' dol mu thimchioll an 
 ^ite. Cha do ghabh iad orra co iad, ni m6 dh' aithnich 
 am muillear iad, ged b' e^lach orra e roimhe sin. 
 
 An uair a th^inig an oidhche, agus a bha iad a' 
 c6mhradh ri ch^ile taobh an teine, thubhairt am 
 muillear ri Uilionn 6g: " Tha each agad cho br^agh 
 's a chunnaic mi riamh. Bu ch6ir dhuit dol leis am 
 mkireach gu r6is nan each aig Caisteal an Rlgh." 
 "Cha t^id mis' ann," ars Uilionn 6g, "ach faodaidh 
 thusa an t-each a thoirt leat, agus dol ann, ma 
 thoilicheas tu." Cha robh dhith air a' mhuillear ach 
 an tairgse, agus ghabh e ris le 'uile chridhe. 
 
 Air an ath latha dh' fhalbh am muillear leis an each 
 dh' ionnsaidh na r^is. R^inig e 'n Caisteal ann an 
 km. Chaidh na h-eich a tharraing suas aig ceann 
 a' bhl^ir-r6is, agus an t-6rdugh falbh a thoirt seachad. 
 Le slnteig no dh^ shaighdich each a' mhuilleir a mach 
 roimh ch^ch uile, agus dh' ihhg e iad na b' fhaide 'na 
 dh6idh leis gach ceum a thug e gus an d* r^inig e 'n 
 ceann-uidhe. Bha e 'n sin astar m6r air thoiseach air 
 a' mharcaiche 'bu dliiithe dha, agus fhuair e 'n duais. 
 
 Thill e dhachaidh 'san fheasgar le moit mh6ir air, a 
 chionn gu 'n do bhuidhinn e 'n r6is. Dh' innis e do 
 Uilionn 6g gach gaisge a rinn e leis an each, agus 
 an sin thubhairt e: "Tha r^is-chon ri bhi aig a' 
 Chaisteal am mkireach. Tha tri daimh fhiadh ri 'n 
 leigeil as roimh na con, agus an cii 's luaithe, agus 
 is m6 a mharbhas, is e a gheibh an duais. Bu chdir 
 dhuit dol ann leis a' chi!! agad." "Cha t^id mis' 
 ann," ars Uilionn 6g, "ach thoir leat an c6, agus 
 rach f6in ann leis." Cha robh tuilleadh dhith air a' 
 mhuillear, agus an uair a thkinig an t-^m, dh' fhalbh 
 e leis a' chii air ^ill. R^inig e'n t-&ite. Chaidh na 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 5 1 
 
 came in sight of the place of the King of Greece. 
 But, instead of going to the castle, they went to the 
 miller's house, where they purposed staying until they 
 would see how things were going on about the place. 
 They did not let on who they were, and the miller 
 did not recognise them, well acquainted with them 
 though he was before then. 
 
 When night came, and they were talking together 
 beside the fire, the miller said to young Ulin: " Thou 
 hast as handsome a horse as I ever saw. To-morrow 
 thou shouldst go with him to the horse-race at the 
 king's castle." " I will not go," said young Ulin, 
 " but thou mayest take him with thee, and go, if thou 
 pleasest." The miller wanted nothing but the offer, 
 and he accepted it with all his heart. 
 
 Next day the miller went to the race with the horse. 
 He reached the castle in good time. The horses 
 were drawn up at the end of the racing field, and 
 the order to start was given. With a stride or two the 
 miller's horse shot out ahead of all others, and left 
 them further behind him with every step he took, 
 until he reached the winning-post. He was then a long 
 distance before the rider next to him, and he got the 
 prize. 
 
 The miller returned home in the evening, full of pride 
 because he had won the race. He told young Ulin 
 all the brave things he had done with the horse, and 
 then he said : "A dog race is to be held at the castle 
 to-morrow. Three stags are to be let go before the 
 dogs, and the dog that is fastest and that kills most 
 will get the prize. Thou shouldst go with thy dog." 
 "I'll not go," said young Ulin; "but take thou the 
 dog and go with him." The miller wanted nothing 
 more, and when the time came he went away with the 
 
52 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 f6idh a leigeil as, agus na coin 'nan d^idh. Ach mi| 
 'n deachaidh iad ro fhada mharbh cii a' mhuilleir 6k 
 fhiadh, agus an c£> a b' fhaigse dha aon fhiadh. 
 
 An uair a bha 'n r^is seachad, th^inig an Righ far 
 an robh am muillear, agus dh' fhe6raich e dheth c'kit' 
 an d' fhuair e 'n t-each, agus an cii a bh' aige. 
 Fhreagair e gu 'n d' fhuair e coingheall dhiubh o 
 dhuine 'th^inig a dh' ionnsaidh a thighe, agus a fhuair 
 cead fuireachd ann ; agus gu 'n robh seabhag-sheilg' 
 aige cho br^agh 's a chunnaic duine riamh. " Falbh 
 dhachaidh, agus innis dha gu 'm bi r^is-sheabhag an 
 so am m^ireach," ars an Righ, "agus bi cinnteach 
 gu 'n toir thu leat e f^in agus a sheabhag chum na 
 r6is." 
 
 Dh' fhalbh am muillear dhachaidh, agus dh' innis 
 e do 'n choigreach mar chaidh dha aig an r6is, agus 
 am fios a chuir an Righ leis. 
 
 Air an ath mhaduinn dh' fhalbh Uilionn 6g agus 
 am muillear leis an t-seabhaig, agus r^inig iad an 
 Caisteal an ^m. Chaidh s^ calmain a leigeil as, agus 
 na seabhagan as an d^idh. Ach mu 'n deachaidh iad ro 
 fhada, spad seabhag Uilinn 6ig an t-s^. 
 
 An sin chaidh an Righ far an robh an coigreach 
 aig an robh i, agus nach d' aithnich duine 'ikthair, 
 agus thubhairt e ris: " An reic thu 'n t-each, 's an cii, 
 agus an t-seabhag a th' agad, agus bheir mi dhuit pris 
 mhath orra?" Fhreagair an coigreach nach reiceadh; 
 ach gu 'n tugadh e dha rud beag eile a bh' aige, gun 
 dad idir. Thug e 'n sin an fhiacail a mach as a 
 ph6c', agus shin e i do 'n Righ, ag rkdh: " Feuch 
 ciamar a fhreagras sin duibh." 
 
 Air ball dh' aithnich an Righ a mhac, agus rinn e 
 g^irdeachas m6r r' a fhaicinn slkn, fallain. Mhol e 
 'n sin e air-son na h-oibre a rinn e air a sg^th-san. 
 " Rinn mi obair a tha cheart cho math ri sin. Thug 
 mi dhachaidh mo bhean, a ghoideadh uam, bliadhna 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 53 
 
 dog on a leash. He reached the place. The deer 
 were let go, and the dogs after them. But before they 
 had gone very far the miller's dog killed two deer, and 
 the dog next him one. When the race was over the 
 king came where the miller was and inquired of him 
 where he had found the horse and the dog he had. 
 He replied that he got the loan of them from a man who 
 had come to his house and got permission to stay; and 
 that he had as fine a hunting falcon as any man ever 
 saw. " Go home and tell him that a falcon race will 
 be held here to-morrow," said the king, " and be sure 
 that thou wilt take with thee himself and his falcon 
 to the race." 
 
 The miller went home, and told the stranger how it 
 fared with him at the race, and the message the king 
 had sent. 
 
 Next morning young Ulin and the miller went away 
 with the falcon, and in due time reached the castle. 
 Six pigeons were let off, and the falcons after them. 
 But, before the pigeons had gone far, young Ulin's 
 falcon killed the six. 
 
 Then the king went where stood the stranger whose 
 it was and whom no one present knew, and said to 
 him: " Wilt thou sell thy horse, dog, and falcon? and 
 I will give thee a handsome price for them." The 
 stranger replied that he would not, but that he had 
 another small thing that he would give him for 
 nothing. He then took the tooth out of his pocket 
 and handed it to the king, saying: " See how that will 
 suit you." 
 
 Immediately the king knew his son, and rejoiced 
 greatly to see him safe and sound. He then praised 
 him for the service he had done him. " I have done 
 
54 FOLK TALES AND FAIRV LORE. 
 
 mu 'n d' fhalbh mi o 'n tigh." " Ma thug," ars an 
 Righ, " thoir an so i gun dkil, chum 's gu 'm fate 
 mi i." Chuireadh fios oirre gu tigh a' mhuilleir, agus 
 an uair a thkinig i, rinn an Righ gJiirdeachas m6r r' a 
 faicinn a ris. Ghabh ise an fhiacail, agus chuir i i 
 anns a' cheart kite anns an robh i, an dorus a bhe6il. 
 An sin rinneadh cuirm mh6r dhaibh-san uile 'bh' aig 
 na r^isean, agus an uair a bha 'chuirm seachad, dh' 
 fhalbh mise dhachaidh. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 55 
 
 as good a service as that. I have taken home my wife 
 who was stolen from me a year before I left home." 
 " If so, bring her here without delay, that I may see 
 her." She was sent for to the miller's house, and 
 when she arrived the king rejoiced greatly to see her 
 again. She took the tooth and placed it where it 
 first was, in the door of his mouth. Then a great feast 
 was made for all who were at the races, and when the 
 feast was over I went home. 
 
CATHAL O' CRUACHAN AGUS BUACHAILLE 
 NA GREIGHE. 
 
 Bha Cathal O' Cruachan agus Buachaille na Greighe 
 ann uair-eigin roimhe so. 
 
 Thachair iad air a ch6ile, agus chuir iad geall air- 
 son camanachd. Bha a' chamanachd ri seasamh tri 
 l^ithean, agus aig ceann na tJm sin bha an t-each a b' 
 fhearr 's a' ghreigh aig Cathal ri 'fhaighinn na 'm 
 buidhneadh e, agus a' bhean aige r* a tabhairt do 
 Bhuachaille na Greighe na 'n cailleadh e. 
 
 Choinnich iad air a' cheud 1^, agus bhuidhinn Cathal 
 O' Cruachan. Choinnich iad a rls an dara Ik, agus 
 chain Cathal O' Cruachan, agus bhuidhinn Buachaille 
 na Greighe. Air an treas Ik chaidh iad ris a' chluich 
 aon uair eile, agus chuir iad an Ik g\6 theth, ach 
 bhuidhinn Cathal, agus chaill am Buachaille. 
 
 An sin thubhairt Buachaille na Greighe ri Cathal: 
 " Tachair orm-sa am mkireach aig a' leithid so de dh' 
 kite, agus gheibh thu na h-eich a chur seachad ort." 
 
 Mu 'n d' fhalbh Cathal 's a' mhaduinn, thubhairt 
 a bhean ris: " Cuimhnich nach gabh thu gin de na 
 h-eich gus an tig loth pheallagach, odhar, a bhitheas 
 air dheireadh orra uile." 
 
 Choinnich iad, agus chuir Buachaille na Greighe na 
 h-eich seachad air a bheulaibh ; ach cha do ghabh e 
 h-aon diubh, gus an d' thkinig an loth pheallagach, 
 odhar, a bha air dheireadh. An sin thubhairt e: 
 "Is e so mo roghainn de na h-eich," agus an uair 
 
CATHAL O'CRUACHAN AND THE HERD OF 
 THE STUD. 
 
 Some time before now lived Cathal O'Cruachan and 
 the Herd of the Stud. 
 
 They met each other and laid a bet for shinnying. 
 The shinnying was to last three days, and, at the end 
 of that time, Cathal was to receive the best horse in the 
 stud if he should win, and to give his wife to the Herd 
 of the Stud if he should lose. 
 
 They met on the first day, and Cathal O'Cruachan 
 won. They met again on the second day, and Cathal 
 O'Cruachan lost, and the Herd of the Stud won. On 
 the third day they went at the game once more, and 
 contested the day pretty hotly; but Cathal won, and 
 the Herd lost. 
 
 The Herd then said to Cathal: " Meet me to-morrow 
 at such a place, and thou shalt get the horses sent past 
 thee." 
 
 Before Cathal left in the morning, his wife said to 
 him: *' Remember that thou shalt not take any of the 
 horses until there shall come a dun, shaggy filly, that 
 shall be the last of all." 
 
 They met, and the Herd of the Stud sent the horses 
 past in front of Cathal ; but Cathal took none of them 
 till the dun, shaggy filly, that was last, came. Then 
 he said: " This is my choice of the horses;" and, when 
 
58 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. ^ 
 
 a rug e oirre, dh' fhalbh e dhachaidh, Ikn-thoilichte 
 leatha. Ach mo thruaigh 16ir! cha b' fhada a mheal 
 e a sh61as. An uair a r^inig e dhachaidh, dh' innis iad 
 da gu 'n dp ghoid Famhair a bhean an uair a bha e 
 air falbh. Bh6idich e nach rachadh poll h 'bhr6ig 
 no lub a 'osan gus am faigheadh e a bhean, air-neo 
 gus an cailleadh e a bheatha 'san oidhirp. 
 
 An camhanaich na maidne thog e air, agus bha e 
 falbh, gus an robh dubhadh air a bhonnaibh, agus 
 tolladh air a bhr6gan, na h-e6in bheaga, bhuchallach, 
 bhachlach, bh^rra-bhuidhe a' gabhail mu thkmh am 
 bun nam preas 's am barr nan dos, na h-easagan 
 lughach, laghach, mar a b' fhearr a thaghadh iad f^in 
 d'a ch6ile; ach ged bha iad-san cha robh Cathal O' 
 Cruachan. Chunnaic e tigh beag soluis fada uaith, 
 ach ged b' fhada uaith e, cha b' fhada 'ga ruighinn e. 
 
 Ciod an tigh a bha aige an so ach tigh Madadh na 
 Maoile M6ire. Thubhairt am Madadh cdir: "A 
 Chathail O'Cruachain, a dhuine bhochd, chaidh do 
 bhean bhoidheach seachad an so an raoir aig an 
 Fhamhair Mh6r air a ghualainn. 
 
 Fhuair e gabhail aige gu math leis a' Mhadadh 
 ch6ir, na 'n deanadh sitheann fhiadh agus earb, fe6il 
 chaorach agus mhult, gu le6ir de bhoicionn ghabhar 
 fodha agus de chraicionn chaorach thairis air sin. 
 Chaidil e cho socrach 's a rinn e riamh. 'N uair a dh' 
 eirich e 's a' mhaduinn, fhuair e deagh ghabhail aige 
 leis a' Mhadadh agus 'n uair a bha e 'gabhail beann- 
 achd leis, thubhairt e ris: " Ma thig c^s no 6iginn ort 
 am feasd, anns an dean luathas chas feum dhuit, 
 cuimhnich orm-sa, agus bithidh mi ri d' thaobh." 
 
 Bha e a' falbh gus an robh dubhadh air a bhonnaibh 
 agus tolladh air a bhr6gan, na h-e6in bheaga, 
 bhuchallach, bhachlach, bharra-bhuidhe a' gabhail 
 mu th^mh am bun nam preas 's am bkrr nan dos; na 
 h-easagan lughach, laghach, mar a b' fhearr a 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 59 
 
 he laid hold of her, he went away home, thoroughly 
 pleased with her. 
 
 But, alas ! (my utter woe !) he did not long enjoy 
 his happiness. When he reached home, they told 
 him that a giant stole his wife while he was away. 
 He vowed that mire would not go out of his shoe, 
 or water out of his hose, till he should find his wife, 
 or till he should lose his life in the attempt. 
 
 In the dawn of the morning he set off, and he was 
 travelling till there was blackening on his soles, and 
 holing on his shoes, the little nestling, folding, yellow- 
 tipped birds were taking to rest at the foot of the 
 bushes, and in the tops of the trees; the little, nimble, 
 pretty squirrels were choosing, as best they could, 
 crevices for each other; but though they were, Cathal 
 O'Cruachan was not. He saw a little house with a 
 light in it, a long way from him, but though it was a 
 long way from him, he was not a long time in reach- 
 ing it. 
 
 What house had he here but that of the Dog of the 
 Great Mull? The kind Dog said: "Cathal O'Cru- 
 achan, poor man, thy pretty wife went past here last 
 night with the Big Giant, she being on his shoulder." 
 
 Cathal got well treated by the kind dog, if the 
 venison of red deer and roes, the flesh of sheep and 
 wethers, abundance of goat-skin under him, and sheep- 
 skin over him, would suffice. He slept as comfort- 
 ably as he ever did. When he got up in the morning 
 he was well treated by the Dog, and when he was 
 taking farewell with him he said to him: "If hard- 
 ship or necessity shall ever come on thee, in which 
 swiftness of foot will be of use to thee, think of me, 
 and I will be at thy side." 
 
bo FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 thaghadh iad f^in d'a ch^ile; ach ged bha iad-san^ cha 
 robh Cathal O' Cruachan. 
 
 Chunnaic e tigh beag soluis fad' uaith, ach ged b' 
 fhada uaith cha b' fhada 'ga ruighinn e. 
 
 Chaidh e stigh, agus gu de bha an so ach tigh Seabhag 
 Chreag na Sgeilpe. Thubhairt an t-Seabhag ris: " A 
 dhuine bhochd, chaidh do bhean bhrfeagh seachad an 
 so an raoir aig an Fhamhair Mh6r air a ghualainn." 
 Fhuair e gabhail aige gu math le Seabhag Chreag na 
 Sgeilpe na 'n deanadh e6in ruadha, 's t^rmachain, 
 liath-chearcan, is gach se6rsa eun a b' annasaiche na 
 ch^ile sin. Chuir an t-Seabhag a laighe e, air diin 
 iteag a th^inig thairis air. 
 
 " Caidil thusa gu socair, a Chathail O' Cruachain; 
 is fear-faire furachail Seabhag Chreag na Sgeilpe," 
 ars i. 
 
 Chaidil e gu socrach, agus 'n uair a dh' ^irich e 
 's a' mhaduinn, fhuair e gabhail aige gu math, leis an 
 t-Seabhaig. 'N uair a bha e a' falbh, thubhairt i ris: 
 "Ma thig c^s no 6iginn ort am feasd anns an dean 
 d^ sg^ith luath, Ihidir, feum dhuit, cuimhnich orm-sa, 
 agus bithidh mise ri d' thaobh. 
 
 Thog e an sin air, agus bha e a' falbh gus an robh 
 dubhadh air a bhonnaibh, agus tolladh air a bhrogan, 
 na h-e6in bheaga, bhuchallach, bhachlach, bhJirra- 
 bhuidhe a' gabhail mu th^mh am bun nam preas 's 
 am barr nan dos; na h-easagan lughach, laghach, mar 
 a b' fhearr a thaghadh iad f^in d'a rheile; ach ged bha 
 iad-san, cha robh Cathal O' Cruachan. Chunnaic e 
 tigh beag .soluis fad' uaith, ach ged b' fhad' uaith 
 e, cha b' fhada 'ga ruighinn e. 
 
 Chaidh e stigh, agus gu de bha so ach tigh 
 Dreathan - donn Sruth an t - Siubhail. Fhuair e a 
 shuipeir o an Dreathan de phronnaig arain agus 
 chaise. Chuir e laighe e ann an diin c6innich, a bha 
 cho socrach aige ri leabadh iteag na Seabhaige. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 6l 
 
 He was travelling until there was blackening on 
 his soles and holing on his shoes; the little nestling, 
 folding, yellow-tipped birds, taking to rest at the root 
 of the bushes, and in the tops of the trees; the little, 
 nimble, pretty squirrels, as best they could, choosing 
 sheltering places for each other, but though they were, 
 Cathal O'Cruachan was not. 
 
 He saw a little house with a light in it a long way 
 from him, but though it was a long way from him, he 
 was not a long time in reaching it. 
 
 He went in, and what was this but the house of the 
 Falcon of the Rock of the Ledge. The Falcon said to 
 him: "Poor man, thy beautiful wife went past here 
 last night on the shoulder of the Big Giant." He got 
 well treated by the Falcon of the Rock of the Ledge, if 
 grouse and ptarmigan, greyhens and every sort of 
 birds that was rarer than another, would do that. 
 The Falcon put him to bed in a heap of feathers 
 which came over him. " Sleep peacefully, Cathal 
 O'Cruachan, a vigilant watcher is the Falcon of the 
 Rock of the Ledge." 
 
 He slept peacefully; and when he rose in the morning, 
 he got well treated by the Falcon. When he was going 
 away she said: " If hardship or distress shall ever come 
 upon thee, in which two swift strong wings will be of 
 use to thee, think of me, and I will be at thy side." 
 
 He then set off, and he was travelling until there 
 was blackening on his soles, and holing on his shoes; 
 the little nestling, folding, yellow-tipped birds were 
 taking to rest at the foot of the bushes and in the 
 tops of the trees; the little, nimble, pretty squirrels 
 as best they could chose resting places for each other, 
 but if they were, Cathal O'Cruachan was not. He 
 saw a little house with a light in it a long way from 
 him; but though it was a long way from him, he was 
 not a long time in reaching it. 
 
 He went in, and what was this but the house of the 
 
62 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Air an 1^ maireach 'n uair a bha e 'gabhail beann- 
 achd leis, thubhairt e ris: " Ma thig cks no ^iginn ort 
 ri d' thlm, anns an dean mise feum dhuit, cuimhnich 
 orm-sa, agus bithidh mise ri d' thaobh." 
 
 Air feasgar an Ik sin rainig e tigh an Fhamhair. 
 'N uair chunnaic a bhean e, thubhairt i ris: 
 " Feumaidh tu dol am falach, oir marbhaidh am 
 Famhair thu, cho luath 's a thTg e." Chuir i an sin 
 am falach e cho math 's a dh' fhaodadh i. 
 
 'N uair a thainig am Famhair as a' Bheinn-sheilge, 
 agus a chaidh e stigh, thubhairt e: "I! Ho! 
 Hothagaich ! tha mi a' faireachdainn f^ile arrabhalaich 
 an so an nochd." " Cha'n 'eil ann ach eun a thug an 
 cat a stigh 's a tha mise a' r6stadh." 
 
 'N uair a chaidh am Famhair a laighe, th6isich a' 
 bhean ri ikdh ris: " Cha ghabh thu marbhadh leis cho 
 Ikidh 's a tha thu." " Cha ghabh mi marbhadh le 
 leum orm f^in aghaidh ri aghaidh," ars am Famhair. 
 " Ach am faca thu an stoc a tha mach mu choinneamh 
 an doruis ? Tha caora am broinn an stuic, agus tha 
 eun am broinn na caorach, agus tha ubh am broinn an 
 e6in : agus co fhad' 's a bhitheas an t-ubh slkn, tha 
 mo bheatha-sa t^aruinte. 
 
 Dh' eirich am Famhair 's a' mhaduinn, agus thog e 
 air do 'n Bheinn-sheilge. Cha bu luaithe a chaidh e 
 as an t-sealladh thar gualainn na beinne na bha Cathal 
 a mach leis an tuaigh. 'N uair a sgoilt e 'n stoc, leum 
 caor' air falbh as le luathas m6r. Sheall e as a d6idh, 
 agus chunnaic e nach robh ann ach faoineachd dha 
 dol 'ga ruith. An sin thubhairt e ris f^in: " Nach bu 
 mhath an so Madadh na Maoile M6ire," agus mu 'n 
 gann bha am facal a mach a 'bheul, bha 'm Madadh 
 am broilleach na caorach. Thkinig e leatha, agus dh' 
 fh^g e i eadar a chasan. Dh' fhosgail Cathal an sin 
 a' chaora, ach cha bu luaithe a rinn e sin na leum eun 
 a mach aisde, agus a sgiath e air falbh. Thubhairt e 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 63 
 
 Brown Wren of the Stream of Flowing. He got from 
 the Wren his supper of crumbs of bread and cheese. 
 He put him to bed in a heap of moss, which he found 
 as comfortable as the feather bed of the Falcon. 
 
 On the morrow when he was taking farewell with 
 him, he said: " If hardship or distress come upon thee 
 in thy time, in which I can do thee good, think of me, 
 and I will be at thy side." 
 
 On the evening of that day he reached the Giant's 
 house. When his wife saw him, she said: "Thou 
 must hide thyself, for the Giant will kill thee as soon 
 as he will come." She then hid him as well as she 
 might. 
 
 When the Giant came from the Hunting-hill and 
 went in, he said: "E! Ho! Hoagich ! I feel the 
 smell of a traitor here to-night." "It is only a bird 
 which the cat brought in, and which I am roasting," 
 said the woman. 
 
 When the Giant went to bed, the woman began to 
 say to him: " Thou canst not be killed, as thou art so 
 strong." " I can not be killed by attacking me face to 
 face," said the Giant. " But hast thou seen the stock 
 outside opposite the door? There is a sheep in the 
 centre of the stock, and there is a bird in the belly of 
 the sheep, and there is an egg in the belly of the bird; 
 and as long as the egg remains whole my life shall be 
 safe." 
 
 The Giant rose in the morning and set off to the 
 Hunting-hill. No sooner did he go out of sight over 
 the shoulder of the ben than Cathal was out with the 
 axe. When he split the stock, a sheep sprang away 
 with great speed. He looked after her, and saw that 
 it was but folly for him to go and chase her. Then 
 he said to himself: " How useful the Dog of the Great 
 Mull would be here!" and almost before the expres- 
 sion was out of his mouth, the Dog was in the breast 
 
64 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 an sin ris f^in: " Nach bu mhath an so Seabhag 
 Chreag na Sgeilpe. 
 
 Mu 'n gann bha 'm facal a mach as a bheul, thkinig 
 an t-Seabhag ch6ir, agus thug i air ais an Caiman 
 itiarbh, agus dh' fhkg i aig a chasan e. Cha bu luaithe 
 a dh' fhosgail Cathal an t-eun na thuit ubh a mach 
 as, agus rol e stigh do chkrn m6r chlach a bha dliith 
 do 'n ^ite. 
 
 Ghlaodh an sin a* bhean ris: "A Chathail O' 
 Cruachain, greas ort: tha am Famhair an d^idh tighinn 
 thar faobhar na beinne a' gabhail gach sligh* a's 
 giorra na ch^ile." An sin thubhairt Cathal: "Nach 
 bu mhath an so Dreathan-donn Sruth an t-Siubhail," 
 agus mu 'n gann a thubhairt e 'm facal, sud an 
 Dreathan a stigh do 'n chkrn, agus a mach th^inig e, 
 is an t-ubh aige 'na ghob. Cha mh6r nach robh am 
 Famhair aig an Dreathan cho luath ri Cathal O' 
 Cruachan. Ach shin an Dreathan an t-ubh do 
 Chathal, chuir e fo bhr6ig e, agus bhrist e e. Cha 
 luaithe a bhrist Cathal an t-ubh na thuit am Famhair 
 marbh an taobh a stigh do leth-cheud ceum dha. 
 
 Dh' fhuirich Cathal O' Cruachan agus a bhean an 
 oidhche sin an tigh an Fhamhair. Air an ath latha 
 thug iad le6 gach 6r is airgiod a bh' ann. Thug iad 
 le6, mar an ceudna, Dreathan-donn Sruth an t-Siubhail, 
 Seabhag Chreag na Sgeilpe, agus Madadh na 
 Maoile Mciire. Agus an uair a rkinig iad an dachaidh 
 f^in, rinn iad cuiim mh6r, thiachdmhor dhoibh f6in, 
 d' an coimhearsnaich, is d' an Cciirdean. 
 
 'N uair a theirig a' chuilm, thubhairt am Madadh: 
 " Feumaidh sinne 'bhi falbh." 
 
 Ach thubhairt Cathal: "Cha bhi." "Feumaidh 
 mise falbh co dhiiibh," deir am Madadh, " oir bithidh 
 mo thigh air a robadh aig sionnaich, aig fe^culiain, is 
 aig taghain." Thubhairt an t-Seabhag: "Feumaidh 
 mise falbh cuideachd, oir bithidh mo dhachaidh air 
 
FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE. 65 
 
 of the sheep. He came with her, and left her between his 
 feet. Cathal then opened the sheep, and no sooner 
 had he done so than a bird sprang out of her, and 
 flew away. Then said he to himself: "How useful 
 would be here the Falcon of the Rock of the Ledge ! ' ' 
 Almost before the word was out of his mouth the 
 kind Falcon came, and brought back the dove dead, 
 and left it at his feet. No sooner did Cathal open 
 the bird than an egg fell out of it, and rolled into a 
 cairn, which was near the place. 
 
 The wife then cried: " O! Cathal O'Cruachan! make 
 haste, the Giant is after coming over the edge of the 
 ben, taking each way that is shorter than another." 
 Then said Cathal: "How useful would be here the 
 Brown Wren of the Stream of Flowing!" and almost 
 before he had uttered the words, there was the Wren 
 within the cairn, and out he came with the egg in 
 his bill. The Giant was almost as soon as Cathal 
 near the Wren ; but the Wren reached the egg to 
 Cathal, who put it under his shoe, and broke it. No 
 sooner had he broken the egg than the Giant fell dead 
 within fifty paces of him. 
 
 Cathal O'Cruachan and his wife stayed that night in 
 the Giant's house. The next day they took all the 
 gold and silver they found there. They also took 
 with them the Brown Wren of the Stream of Flowing, 
 the Falcon of the Rock of the Ledge, and the Dog 
 of the Great Mull. And when they reached their own 
 home, they made a great liberal feast for themselves, 
 their neighbours, and their friends. 
 
 When the feast came to an end, the Dog said: " We 
 must be going." But Cathal said: "You will not be 
 going." " I must go, at anyrate, " said the Dog. 
 "My house will be robbed by foxes, pole -cats, and 
 martins." The Falcon said: " I also must go, for my 
 
 F 
 
66 FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE. 
 
 a robadh aig feannagan, 's aig fithich." Agus 
 thubhairt an Dreathann: " Bithidh mise 'falbh an 
 cuideachd mo chkirdean, o 'n tha iadsan Ikidir agus 
 mise lag. Bithidh lad 'nan cuideachd dhomh air an 
 t-slighe." Thubhairt an t-Seabhag ris: " Leum an 
 ^ird cM mo dh^ sg^ithe, agus cha bhean eun eile dhuit, 
 gus an ruig thu dhachaidh." 
 
 Ghabh an sin Cathal O' Cruachan an cead c^irdeil 
 r' a ch^irdean. Dhealaich mise riu aig an dorus, agus 
 thug mi dhachaidh orm. 
 
FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE. 6^ 
 
 house will be robbed by hooded crows and ravens." 
 " I will be going in the company of my friends," 
 said the Wren, " since they are strong and I weak. 
 They will be company for me on the way." The Fal- 
 con said to the Wren: "Spring up between my 
 two wings, and no other bird will touch thee, till thou 
 shalt reach home." 
 
 Cathal O'Cruachan then took leave of his friends. 
 I parted with them at the door, and betook myself 
 home. 
 
DOMHNULL NAN CUAL. 
 
 Bha DomhnuU 'na fhear-giiilain connaidh gu tigh 
 duin'-uasail kraidh a bha 'san tlr, agus is ann air an 
 aobhar sin a thugadh Domhnull nan Cual air mar 
 ainm. 
 
 Bha Domhnull a' saothrachadh gu dichiollach gach 
 latba, ach an d6idh sin uile cha robh fois aige 'na 
 inntinn, ann an aon fhocal cha robh e riaraichte le 
 'staid. 
 
 Air 1^ kraidh, is e air a rathad gu tigh an duin'- 
 uasail, ro sgith leis an eallaich-chonnaidh a bh' air a 
 mhuin, choinnich duin'-uasal 6g e a thubhairt ris: 
 " Tha thusa, a Dhomhnuill ch6ir, 'gad shkrachadh. 
 Nach 'eil thu 'f^s sgith de ghiiilan a' chonnaidh?" 
 "Tha, gu dearbh, gl^ sgith; agus bhithinn coma ged 
 gheibhinn atharrachadh seirbhise," deir Domhnull. 
 An sin thubhairt an duin'-uasal bg ris: "A Dhomh- 
 nuill, is mise am Bks; agus ma ghabhas tu seirbhis 
 agam, ni mi lighiche dhiot, ach air chumhnant gu 'm 
 faigh mi thu a' cheud uair a bheir thu 'n car asam." 
 Ghabh Domhnull ris a' chumhnant, oir b' fhearr leis 
 rud air bith na bhi ag gifllan connaidh. 
 
 Thubhairt am Bks an sin ris: " 'N uair theid thu dh' 
 fhaicinn duine thinn, ma chi thu am Bks 'na sheasamh 
 aig a cheann, cha ghabh thu gnothuch ris, oir cha bhi 
 e beo; ach ma bhitheas e 'na sheasamh aig a chasan, 
 gabhaidh tu e os Ikimh, oir bithidh e be6. 
 
 Bha Domhnull a' deanamh mar dh' iarradh air, agus 
 
[DONALD OF THE BURTHENS. 
 
 Donald was a fire-wood carrier to the house of a 
 certain nobleman who lived in the country, and it is 
 for that reason he was called Donald of the Burthens. 
 
 Donald was labouring diligently every day, but after 
 all his mind was not at rest — in one word, he was not 
 satisfied with his condition. 
 
 On a certain day, as he was on his way to the noble- 
 man's house, very weary with the burden of wood that 
 was on his back, a young gentleman met him, who said 
 to him: "Worthy Donald, you are wearing yourself 
 out. Are you not growing weary of the fire-wood 
 carrying?" "Yes! indeed! weary enough; and I 
 should not care though I should get a change of occu- 
 pation," said Donald. Then said the young gentle- 
 man to him: " Donald, I am Death; and if you take 
 service with me I'll make a Doctor of you, but on 
 condition that I get you the first time that you cheat 
 me." Donald accepted the condition, for he would 
 rather anything than continue carrying firewood. 
 
 Then Death said to him: "When you'll go to see 
 a sick man, if you see Death standing at his head, 
 you'll take nothing to do with him, for he'll not live; 
 but if He be standing at his feet, you will take him in 
 hand, for he will live." 
 
 Donald was doing as was requested of him, and 
 
70 FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE, 
 
 bha gach ni a' soirbheachadh leis. Gach duine a 
 theireadh e bhi theachd be6, bhitheadh e be6; agus 
 gach neach a theireadh e bhitheadh marbh, bhitheadh 
 e marbh. 
 
 Dh' ihks an Rlgh an sin ro bhochd. Chaidh fios a 
 chur air Domhnull, agus thainig e chum a' Chaistei!. 
 Ach 'n uair chaidh e stigh gu taobh leabadh an Rlgh, 
 chunnaic e 'n g6sganach ud 'na sheasamh aig a cheann, 
 agus cha ghabhadh e gnothach ris. Mu dheireadh 
 cho-eignich iad e gu rud-eigin a dheanamh air a shon. 
 Dh'iarr e 'n sin an Righ a thionndadh 'san leabadh gus 
 am bitheadh a cheann far an robh 'chasan, agus a 
 chasan far an robh 'cheann. Cha luaithe a chaidh so 
 a dheanamh na th6isich an Righ ri ihs na b' fhearr. 
 Chunnaic e 'n so am Bks ag ^alaidh slos gu ceann an 
 Righ, agus dh' iarr e 'n Righ a thionndadh air ais 
 d'a ^ite ris. Chaidh a' chluich so air adhart car 
 tacain gus mu dheireadh an do ghabh am Bks a' leithid 
 de chorruich 's gu'n d' fhalbh e mach 'na dheann. 
 
 'N uair dh' ihks an Righ gu math, thog Domhnull 
 air, ach cha deachaidh e fad' o'n Chaisteal 'n uair 
 choinnich am Bks e. " Tha thu agam, a nis," deir 
 am B^s, " oir bhrist thu 'n cumhnant. Thug thu 'n 
 car asam." 
 
 " Tha sin mar sin, gun teagamh," thubhairt Domh- 
 null, "ach an leig thu leam gus an abair mi m' 
 tirnaigh ? " Cheadaich am B^s dha a iarrtas. Thionn- 
 daidh an sin Domhnull ris, agus thubhairt e: " Cha'n 
 abair mi idir i." Dh'fh^g an so am Bks e ann am 
 m6r-chorruich, a' b6ideachadh gu 'm bitheadh e suas 
 ris fhathast air-son a chuir. 
 
 Bha Domhnull air a f h^gail dha fh^in a nis ; cha robh 
 am B^s a' cur dragha air bith air. Bha gach ni a' 
 soirbheachadh leis, agus bha e 'f^s fo mh6r-mheas 
 'san duthaich. Air 1^ ^raidh, agus Domhnull ag 
 
FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE. 7 1 
 
 everything was prospering with him. Every man he 
 said would live, lived; and every person he said would 
 die, died. 
 
 Then the King grew very poorly. Word was sent to 
 Donald, and he came to the Castle. But when he 
 went within to the King's bedside, he saw that spectre 
 standing at his head, and would take nothing to do 
 with him. In the end they prevailed upon him to do 
 something for him. He then asked that the King 
 should be turned in the bed, till his head should be 
 where his feet were, and his feet where his head was. 
 No sooner was this done than the King began to grow 
 better. Donald now saw Death creeping down to the 
 King's head, and he asked that the King should be 
 turned back to his place again. This game went on 
 for some time, till in the end Death got into such a 
 passion that he went away as fast as he could. 
 
 When the King grew well, Donald took his de- 
 parture, but he had not gone far from the Castle when 
 Death met him. " I have you now," said Death, 
 " for you have broken the condition. You have cheated 
 me. 
 
 "That is so, without a doubt," said Donald; "but 
 will you allow me respite till I say my prayers ? " 
 Death granted his request. Donald then turned to 
 him and said: " I'll never say them at all." Death now 
 left him in a great rage, vowing that he would be up- 
 sides with him yet for his trickery. 
 
 Donald was now left to himself; Death was not 
 causing him any trouble. Everything continued prosper- 
 ing with him, and he was growing to great esteem in 
 the country. On a certain day, as Donald was walk- 
 
72 FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE. 
 
 imeachd an rathaid 'na aonar, choinnich buidheann 
 bheag de chloinn na sgoil' e, agus iad, a r^ir coltais, 
 ro bhr6nach. Bha Domhnull bl^th-chridheach, agus 
 le sin chaidh e null, agus dh' fhiosraich e dhiubh 
 cion-f^th an trioblaide. Fhreagair iad: " Cha'n urrainn 
 sinn ar n-£irnaigh a rkdh, agus peanasaichidh ar 
 Maighstir sinn." Cha b' urrainn do Dhomhnull so a 
 sheasamh. Shuidh e taobh an rathaid leis a' chr6ilein 
 timchioll air, agus theagaisg e 'n Cirnaigh dhoibh. 
 
 Cha luaithe a dh' fhalbh a' chlann na thainig am 
 Bks, agus thubhairt e ri Domhnull: " Tha thu agam 
 a nis, CO dhiubh!" An sin fhreagair Domhnull: "Is 
 iongantach an duine thu : cha'n 'eil kit' anns nach bi 
 thu: tha iad ag innseadh dhomh-sa, ged rachadh do 
 chur ann am botul, gu 'n tigeadh tu as, agus gu 'm 
 marbhadh tu." " Tha sin fJor," deir am B^s. "Cha'n 
 'eil mi 'gad chreidsinn, ach tha botul agam-sa, agus 
 feuch an t^id thu ann." Chaidh am B^s 's a' bhotul, 
 agus bhuail Domhnull an core ann gu teann, ag rMh 
 aig a' cheart km: " Fan thusa an sin." Dh' fhalbh e 
 leis a' bhotul, agus thilg e mach air loch e, agus bha 
 e saor aon uair eile. 
 
 An ceann iiine, gun bhi fada, thkinig am botul gu 
 tlr far an deachaidh a bhristeadh. Fhuair am Bks an 
 sin mu sgaoil, is cha do stad e gus an do chuir e 
 crloch air Domhnull. 
 
FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE. 73 
 
 ing on the road alone, a small troop of school children 
 met him. They were apparently very downcast. 
 Donald was warm-hearted, and on this account he went 
 over and asked them the cause of their trouble. They 
 answered: " We cannot say our prayer, and our Master 
 will punish us." Donald could not stand this. He 
 took a seat at the side of the road, with the small 
 group around him, and taught them their prayer. 
 
 No sooner had the children gone than Death came, 
 and said to Donald: " I have you now, at all events." 
 Then said Donald: "You are a wonderful fellow; 
 there's no place where you are not; they tell me that, 
 though you were put in a bottle, you would come out 
 and kill?" "That is true," said Death. "I don't 
 believe you; but I have a bottle here — try whether 
 you'll go in." Death w6nt into the bottle, and Donald 
 knocked the cork in tight, remarking at the same time: 
 " Stop you there." He went away with the bottle, 
 and threw it out on a loch, and he was once more free. 
 
 After a time not long delayed, the bottle came to land 
 where it was broken. Death then got at large, and 
 never halted till he had put an end to Donald.] 
 
IAIN DUBH LEODHASACH, SEOLADAIR. 
 
 B' E mac iasgair a bh' ann an Iain Dubh. An uair a bha 
 e 'na bhalachan beag, bhkthadh 'athair, agus an cI6idh 
 sin thogadh e le brkthair 'athar. Bha e a' fuireachd 
 goirid as do'n Acarsaid Mhoir an Le6dhas, far am b' 
 libhaist da bhi 'g iasgach, agus a' faicinn nan soithich- 
 ean a bha 'tadhal na h-Acarsaid. Ghabh e mar so 
 sp^is mh6r do'n mhuir, agus mu dheireadh cha'n 
 fhoghnadh ce^ird air bith leis, ach a bhi 'na she61adair. 
 
 Air feasgar araidh chunnaic e long bhr^agh a' 
 tighinn fo lin-aodaich a stigh do'n chala, agus bha leis 
 nach fac' e riamh roimhe sealladh 'bu bh6idhche. 
 Leum e stigh 'na bhkt'-iasgaich beag fein agus mu'n 
 d' rainig acair na luinge an grunnd, bha e air b6rd 
 oirre. Dh'fheith e gus an robh a h-aodach paisgte, 
 agus an sin dhirich e aon de na croinn, agus thoisich 
 e air ruith a mach 's a stigh air na slataibh agus air 
 streap air na ruip, mar chunnaic e na se61adairean a' 
 deanamh. Thug an Sgiobair fa-near cho d^na, tap- 
 aidh 's a bha e, agus cho luath 's a theirinn e as a' 
 chrann ; agus dh'fhe6raich e dheth am bu mhath leis a 
 bhi 'na she61adair ? Fhreagair Iain Dubh nach robh ni 
 air bith air an t-saoghal a b' fhearr leis. 
 
 " Falbh dhachaidh, ma-tk," ars an Sgiobair, "agus 
 faigh read d' athar, agus thigibh le ch^ile 'n so am 
 mki reach, agus ma ch6rdas sibh fein agus mise, leigidh 
 mise leat falbh c6mhla rium-sa, agus an t-se61adaireachd 
 ionnsachadh. Thubhairt Iain Dubh nach robh 'athair 
 
BLACK -HAIRED JOHN OF LEWIS, SAILOR. 
 
 A fisher's son was Black-haired John. When he was a 
 Httle boy his father was drowned, and after that he 
 was brought up by his uncle. He lived a short dis- 
 tance from the Great Anchorage (now Stornoway), in 
 Lewis. There he used to fish, and see the vessels 
 that frequented the Anchorage. He thus took a great 
 liking for the sea, and at length no trade would please 
 him but to be a sailor. 
 
 On a certain evening he saw a fine ship coming into 
 the haven under full sail, and it seemed to him that 
 never before had he seen a more beautiful sight. He 
 sprang into his own little fishing boat, and before the 
 ship's anchor reached the bottom, he was on board of her. 
 He waited until her sails had been furled, and then 
 he ascended one of the masts, and began to run out 
 and in on the yards, and to climb the ropes as 
 he saw the sailors do. The Captain noticed how bold 
 and active he was, and as soon as he descended from 
 the mast, he asked him whether he would like to be a 
 sailor? Black John answered that there was nothing 
 in the world he would like better. 
 
 "Go home, then," said the Captain, "and get thy 
 father's leave, and to-morrow come ye here together; 
 and if ye and I agree, I will let thee go away with 
 me and learn sailoring." Black John said that his 
 
76 FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE. 
 
 be6, ach gu'n iarradh e cead brathair 'athar. Dh' 
 fhoghainn sin leis an Sgiobair, agus dh'fhalbh Iain 
 Dubh dhachaidh le cabhaig mh6ir. 
 
 Moch air an ath latha thill e air ais 'na ruith 's 'na 
 leum, agus mu'n gann a fhuair e air bord, thubhairt 
 e le gairdeachas gu'n d' fhuair e Ikn-chead o bhrathair 
 'athar falbh leis an luing. " Agus an d' thubhairt e 
 diog riut mu mhuinntireas a ghabhail ? " ars an 
 Sgiobair. " O, thubhairt," fhreagair Iain Dubh, 
 " tha mi ri mi f^in a cheangal ris an luing fad ch6ig 
 bliadhna, chum gu'n ionnsaich mi an t-seoladaireachd 
 gu ceart." " Agus gu d6 a thubhairt e riut mu 
 thuarasdal?" "Thubhairt gu'n robh mi ri bonn-a-s^ 
 fhaotainn aig ceann a' cheud mhlosa agus da bhonn-a-sfe 
 aig ceann an dara miosa, a' diiblachadh mar sin duals 
 gach mlosa gu deireadh nan coig bliadhna." 
 
 Rinn an Sgiobair glag mor gkire air tuarasdal Iain 
 Duibh, agus gun smuainteachadh roimh IMmh air ciod 
 a bha e 'do! a dheanamh, thubhairt e: " Gheibh thu 
 sin, a laochain "; agus chaidh Iain a cheangal ris an 
 luing le bann-c^irde. 
 
 Air an ath latha she61 an long a mach as an 
 Acarsaid, agus chaidh i air turus-cuain do dhuthaieh 
 fad' air falbh. R^inig i an t-kite gus an robh i ri dol, 
 agus dh'fhuirich i fada thairis, ach aig ceann cheithir 
 bliadhna phill i air a h-ais do Shasunn, agus ann an 
 toiseach na c6igeamh bliadhna de mhuinntireas Iain 
 Duibh, r^inig i 'm baile-puirt d'am buineadh i. 
 
 Th^inig a sealbhadairean air b6rd oirre, agus an 
 d^idh dhoibh an Sgiobair fh^ilteachadh, th6isich iad 
 air amharc mu thimchioll na luinge. 
 
 Bha Iain Dubh air f^s 'na ghille gasda agus 'na 
 she6Iadair taghta. Ach fathast cha d'fhuair e peighinn 
 a thuarasdail, na b' fhaide na tasdan no dh^ a nis 's a 
 rithist an uair a bhitheadh e 'dol air tir leis na seoladair- 
 
FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE. 77 
 
 father was not living, but that he would ask his uncle 
 for leave to go. That satisfied the Captain, and John 
 went home in great haste. 
 
 Early next day he returned, running and leaping, 
 and scarcely had he got on board when he said with 
 joy that he had got his uncle's full permission to go 
 with the ship. " And did he say nothing to thee about 
 taking an engagement? " said the Captain. " O yes," 
 answered John, " I am to bind myself to the ship for five 
 years that I may learn seamanship aright." " And 
 what did he say to thee about wages?" "He said 
 that I was to get a half-penny at the end of the first 
 month, two half-pennies at the end of the second 
 month, and so doubling the wages of each succeeding 
 month to the close of the five years." 
 
 The Captain laughed aloud at Black John's wages, 
 and without thinking beforehand of what he was about 
 to do, he said: "Thou shaft get that, my little hero," 
 and John was then bound to the ship by a deed of 
 indenture. 
 
 On the following day the ship sailed out of the 
 Anchorage, and went on a long voyage to a far away 
 country. She reached the seaport to which she was 
 bound, and stayed a long time abroad, but at the end 
 of four years she returned to England; and in the 
 beginning of the fifth year of Black John's engage- 
 ment, she arrived at the seaport to which she be- 
 longed. 
 
 Her owners came on board, and after welcoming the 
 Captain they began to look over the ship. 
 
 Black John had grown into a fine lad and an excel- 
 lent sailor. But he had not yet got a penny of his 
 
78 FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE. 
 
 ean eile anns na bailtibh-puirt 'san robh iad a' tadhal. 
 Ni m6 a smuaintich an Sgiobair air an t-suim gus an 
 tigeadh tuarasdal a' ghille a dheanamh suas, gus an 
 d' th^inig na sealbhadairean air b6rd. An sin dh' 
 fhe6raich aon diubh: " C'^it' an d'fhuair e 'm balach 
 seoladair a bh' aige an sud?" Fhreagair e gu'n 
 d'fhuair e ann an Eilean Le6dhais e. " Is gu d6 'n 
 uine a tha e agad? " " Tha c6rr is ceithir bliadhna." 
 " Agus gu d^ 'n duais a tiia thu a' toirt da? Cha'n 
 'eil teagamh nach 'eil thu 'toirt da duaise maithe; oir 
 is e se61adair cho tapaidh 's a chunnaic sinn riamh." 
 
 Rinn an Sgiobair f^ith-ghaire agus thubhairt e: 
 *' Ma-t&, cha d'thug mise duais air bith dha fhathast. 
 Ach dh'iarr e fein gu'm bitheadh ceangal ch6ig 
 bliadhna air a chur air, agus gu'm faigheadh e mar 
 dhuais bonn-a-s^ aig ceann a' cheud mhlosa, dk bhonn- 
 a-s^ aig ceann an dara miosa, agus 'diibladh mar 
 sin duais gach miosa a leanadh gu deireadh nan c6ig 
 bliadhna. Agus an ni a dh'iarr e, gheall mise dha am 
 fala-dh^, agus cha b' ann le run a ph^idheadh a r^ir 
 'iarrtais. 
 
 " An do smaoinich thu roimh l^imh air ciod a bha 
 thu 'dol a dheanamh ? Gheall thu do'n ghille tuill- 
 eadh na 's fhiach an long agus na choisinn i o'n cheud 
 1^ a chaidh i air skile." 
 
 Air t£is cha do chreid an Sgiobair so, ach an uair 
 a chunnaic e gu'n robh e fior, ghabh e nkire agus 
 aimheal m6r. Mu dheireadh thubhairt e: 
 
 "Is gu d6 n\ sinn? " Fhreagair na sealbhadairean: 
 " Cha'n 'eil ach aon ni is urrainn thu a dheanamh. 
 Falbhaidh tu air an ath thurus-cuain gun dail, agus 
 bheir thu deagh aire gu'n cum thu astar math bho 
 fhearann air an latha mu dheireadh de mhuinntireas a' 
 ghille. Bheir sinne dhuit na th' againn a dh'airgiod 
 ann an tri pocaibh, agus their thu ris aig d^ uair dheug 
 
FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE. 79 
 
 wages further than a shilling or two now and again when 
 he happened to go ashore with the other sailors at the 
 ports where they called. Nor did the Captain think of 
 reckoning the sum to which the lad's wages would 
 amount, until the owners came on board. Then one of 
 them asked where did he get the sailor boy he had 
 yonder? The Captain answered that he got him in the 
 Island of Lewis. " And how long hast thou had him ? " 
 " I have had him more than four years." " And what 
 wages art thou giving him ? No doubt thou art giving 
 him a good wage, for he is as clever a sailor as we have 
 ever seen?" The Captain smiled and said: "Well, 
 I have given him no wages yet, but he himself asked that 
 he should be bound for five years, and that he should 
 receive for wages a half - penny at the end of the 
 first month, two half-pennies at the end of the second 
 month, and so doubling the wage of each successive 
 month to the end of the five years. And what he 
 asked I promised him in a joke, and not with the in- 
 tention of paying him according to his request." 
 " Didst thou think beforehand of what thou wert going 
 to do? Thou hast promised the lad more than the 
 ship is worth, and more than she has earned since the 
 first day she was launched." At first the Captain did 
 not believe this; but when he saw it was true, he was 
 struck with great shame and regret. At length he 
 said : ' ' What shall we do ? " The owners answered : 
 " There is only one thing thou canst do. Thou shalt 
 go away on the next voyage without delay, and thou 
 shalt take good care to keep a good distance from 
 land on the last day of the lad's engagement. We 
 will give thee in three bags all the money we possess. 
 
8o FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE. 
 
 air an la mu dheireadh d'a uine gu'm bheil a thuarasdal 
 agad anns na pocaibh, agus gu'm faigh e iad, ma 
 dh' fh^gas e 'n long leo an sin; ach mur fag, gu'm 
 paidh thu e 'na dh^idh sin, mar thoilicheas tu f^in." 
 
 Thubhairt an Sgiobair, duilich 's mar bha sin leis 
 a dheanamh, gu'm feuchadh e r'a dheanamh. 
 
 Cho luath 's a fhuair an Sgiobair gach ni deas, 
 dh'fhalbh e air an ath thurus-fairge. Rkinig e 'n t-Mte 
 gus an robh e ri dol gu t^aruinte, agus an d^idh dha 
 'n luchd a liubhairt, phill e air an t-slighe air an 
 d'thainig e. Ruith uine Iain Duibh a mach mu'n 
 d'th^inig an long an sealladh fearainn, agus air an 1^ 
 mu dheireadh d'a iiine thairg an Sgiobair dha a 
 thuarasdal air chumhnant gu'm fkgadh e 'n long air 
 ball. " Uile cheart," ars Iain. " Ma gheibh mi mo 
 dhuais, f^gaidh mi 'n long air a' mhionaid so. Ach 
 an toir thu dhomh d^ uair de'n t-saor, a dheanamh 
 ritha air mo shon?" "Gheibh thu sin, agus fiodh 
 cuideachd," ars an Sgiobair; oir bha e duilich dealach- 
 adh ri Iain, agus toileach a chuideachadh. 
 
 An uair a bha 'n r^th deas, chaidh e leigeil slos thar 
 taobh na luinge. Fhuair Iain mar a dhuais aon phoca 
 l^n oir, poca eile l^n airgid, agus treas poca l^n copair. 
 Chuir e iad gun fhosgladh air an rkth maille ri poca 
 bhriosgaid, agus searrag dhighe, agus phfic e 'n rkth 
 air falbh o thaobh na luinge. Thog an sgioba iolach 
 tri uairean 'san dealachadh, agus an sin dh'fhalbh an 
 long air a slighe. 
 
 Bha i 'dol na b' fhaide bhuaith gach mionaid, 's 
 an oidhche 'tighinn. Mu dheireadh th^inig an oidhche, 
 agus thug an dorchadas as a shealladh i. An sin 
 thiisich Iain bochd air iks trom-inntinneach, is gun 
 fhios aige ciod a thachradh dha, mu'n tigeadh an ath 
 latha. Mu dheireadh smaointich e gu'm feuchadh e gu 
 d6 'n stuth a bh' anns an t-searrag. Thug e sritbag 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 8 1 
 
 On the last day of his time at twelve o'clock, say to 
 him that thou hast his wages in the bags, and that he 
 will get them if he will then leave the ship with them; 
 but if he will not, then after that thou shalt pay him 
 as thou pleasest." The Captain said that, hard as it 
 was for him to do that, he would try to do it. 
 
 As soon as the Captain got everything ready, he 
 departed on the next sea voyage. He reached the 
 place whither he was bound in safety, and having de- 
 livered his cargo, returned the way he came. Black 
 John's time ran out before the ship had come in sight 
 of land, and on the last day of his time the 
 Captain offered him his wages on condition 
 that he would leave the ship at once. " All 
 right," said John. " If I get my wages I will leave 
 the ship this moment, but wilt thou give me two hours 
 of the carpenter's time to make a raft for me ? " " Thou 
 shalt get that, and wood too," said the Captain; for 
 he was sorry to part with John, and willing to help 
 him. 
 
 When the raft was ready it was lowered over the 
 ship's side. John received as his wages one bag full 
 of gold, another of silver, and a third of copper. He 
 placed them unopened on the raft with a bag of 
 biscuits and a bottle of drink, and he pushed the 
 raft away from the side of the ship. The crew raised 
 a shout three times at parting, and then the ship went 
 off on her way. 
 
 Every minute she was going further away and night 
 was coming. At length nightfall, and the darkness took 
 her out of his sight. Then poor John began to grow 
 dejected, not knowing what would happen before the 
 
 G 
 
82 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 aiste, agus dh'fhairich e gu'n d'thug sin eutromachadh 
 air 'inntinn. Mu mheadhon-oidhche thug an cadal 
 thairis e, agus cha do dhiiisg e ach gus an robh an 
 latha 'bristeadh. Bha 'n sin fathan b6idheach gaoithe 
 ag iomain an r^tha roimhe. Chuir Iain seachad tri 
 oidhchean agus tri l^ithean air an ikth. Ach air feasgar 
 an treas 1^ chunnaic e fearann roimhe agus ann an 
 dorchadh na h-oidhche bhuail an r^th air a' chladach 
 anns an aon phort bu bh6idhche 'chunnaic e riamh bho 
 oir tuinne gu bun coille. 
 
 Leum Iain .Se61adair air tir, toilichte gu'n d'fhuair 
 e, aon uair eile, lend a bhuinn a dh' fhearann fodha. 
 Thug e leis na pocanna gu br^igh a' chladaich, far an 
 d'fholaich e iad anns a" ghainmhich. Shlaod e 'n sin 
 an r^th suas gu oir na coille; oir thubhairt e ris liin: 
 " Cha'n 'eil fios nach dean e feum do dhuine eile 
 fhathast." 
 
 Bhuail e 'n sin a stigh do'n choille, feuch an tachradh 
 e air tigh anns am faigheadh e fuireachd. Ach ged 
 shiubhail e fad na h-oidhche, cha'n fhac' e tigh no 
 treabhair. Mu bheul an latha thug e suil roimhe, agus 
 chunnaic e goirid as smiiid ag ^irigh aig bun stalla m6r 
 creige. Rinn e direach air, agus gu d6 bha 'n sin ach 
 turasgal m6r dubh de thigh coltach ri seann mhuileann. 
 Bha e a' toirt thairis le sgios agus le cadal, agus le sin 
 bhuail e stigh gun chead iarraidh no fhaotainn. 
 
 Bha boireannach dreachmhor 'na suidhe taobh an 
 teine roimhe; agus an uair a thug i 'n aire dha, chaidh 
 i 'm fiamh m6r, oir cha robh i cleachdte ri luchd-siubhail 
 fhaicinn a' tighinn an rathad. Ach an Ciine ghoirid 
 ghlac i de mhisnich gu'n d'fheoraich i dheth co as a 
 thkinig e ? Fhreagair e gu'm bu she61adair bochd e, 
 a shn^mh gu tir A long a chaidh fuidhe fad' a mach air 
 a' mhuir. Thug i da biadh agus deoch, agus ghuidh 
 i air cabhag a dheanamh, agus a bhi mach as an tigh 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 83 
 
 next day dawned. At last he thought he would see 
 what stuff was in the bottle. He took a toothful from 
 it, and felt that that had lightened his mind. About 
 midnight sleep overpowered him and he did not 
 awake till day was breaking. There was then a 
 nice breeze of wind driving the raft before it. John 
 passed three nights and three days on the raft. But on 
 the evening of the third day he beheld land ahead of 
 him, and in the darkening of the night the raft struck 
 the shore in a bay, from margin of wave to border of 
 wood, the very prettiest he had ever seen. 
 
 John the Sailor sprang ashore, glad that he had once 
 more got the breadth of his soles of land under him. 
 He took the bags with him to the top of the beach, 
 where he hid them in the sand. He then drew the 
 raft up to the border of the wood, for he said to him- 
 self: " There is no saying but that it may yet be useful 
 to another man." 
 
 He then struck into the wood to see if he could fall 
 in with a house wKere Jie might stay. But, though 
 he travelled the night long, he saw neither house nor 
 hald. About daybreak he gave a glance ahead of him, 
 and saw a short distance off smoke ascending from the 
 foot of a high precipice. He made straight for it, and 
 what was there but a big black clumsy building like an 
 old mill. He was ready to drop with fatigue and 
 sleep, and so he walked in without leave asked or 
 obtained. 
 
 A handsome woman sat at the fireside before him; 
 and when she noticed him, she was much alarmed, 
 for she was not accustomed to see travellers coming the 
 way. In a short time, however, she gathered courage 
 
84 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 cho luath 's a b' urrainn e. Dh' fhe6raich e dhith 
 c'arson; agus fhreagair ise gu'n robh seachd robairean 
 a' fuireachd anns an tigh; agus na'n tigeadh 
 iad mu'm ikgadh e, nach leigeadh iad as beo e. 
 Dh'fhe6raich e 'n sin c'uin a thigeadh iad? Fhreagair 
 ise gu'n robh diiil aice riu gach mionaid. "Thigeadh 
 iad, ma.-tk," ars Iain Se61adair. " O'n fhuair mise 
 stigh, cha t^id mi mach, gus am faigh mi lochdan 
 cadail." "Ma-tk," ars am boireannach, "dean thusa 
 do roghainn f^in, ach tha eagal orm-sa gu'm bi 
 aithreachas ort, nach do ghabh thu mo chomhairle- 
 sa." " Bitheadh sin mar sin, no gun bhith; ach innis 
 thusa diiomh-sa 'n drasda c'kit' am faigh mi mi f^in a 
 shineadh agus greis fhoise a ghabhail." 
 
 Rinn am boireannach sin, agus ann an tiota bha e 'n 
 sua in chadail. 
 
 Cha robh fhios aige gu de co fhada 's a chaidil e, ach 
 b' i bruidhinn ard nan robairean a dhijisg e. Chual' e 
 iad a' feoraich c'kit' an robh e? Dh'innis am boireann- 
 ach sin daibh, agus gun dkil mionaide, chaidh iad far 
 an robh e, agus dh'fhe6raich iad dheth gu de chuir an 
 sud e? Dh'innis e dhaibh an t-aobhar mar dh'innis 
 e do'n bhoireannach. " Ma-tk," ars aon aca, "is 
 robairean a tha annainne, agus cha'n 'eil sinn a' leigeil 
 le duine, a thig an rathad so, dol as beo." " Ha! ha! " 
 ghlaodh Iain Dubh, " nach mi 'tha toihchte gu'n do 
 thachair braithrean ceirde dhomh fhein orm. B' i 'n 
 robaireachd mo chekird am dhuthaich f^in, gus am b' 
 eiginn domh teicheadh agus a' mhutr a thoirt orm. 
 Ma ghabhas sibh-se leibh mi, geallaidh mi gu'm bi mi 
 cho dileas ri aon air bith anns a' chuideachd." 
 
 " Ni do choltas an gnothuch," ars aon aca, "agus 
 tha do sheanachas a' dearbhadh gu'm bheil thu 
 misneachail. Bheir sinn cothrom dhuit a dhearbhadh 
 gu d6 's urrainn thu 'dheanamh. Gheibh thu 'n Ik 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 85 
 
 enough to ask him whence he came. He replied that 
 he was a poor sailor who had swam ashore from a ship 
 which sank far out at sea. She gave him food and drink, 
 and begged of him to make haste and be gone from 
 the house as quick as he could. He asked the reason, 
 and she replied that seven robbers stayed in the house; 
 and if they arrived before he left, they would not let 
 him go with his life. He then asked when they would 
 come. She answered that she expected them every 
 minute. " Let them come, then," said John the Sailor. 
 "Since I got in, I will not go out until I get a little 
 wink of sleep." "Well," said the woman, "do as 
 thou pleasest; but I fear thou shalt repent of not taking 
 my advice." " Be that as it may, but in the meantime 
 tell me where I can stretch myself and take a 
 while of rest." The woman did that, and at once he 
 was sound aslee|). 
 
 He knew not how long he slept, but it was 
 the loud talk of the robbers that awoke him. 
 He heard them ask where he was. The woman 
 told them that, and without a moment's delay 
 they came where he was, and asked him what 
 brought him there? He told them the reason, as he 
 had told it to the woman. "Well," said one of 
 them, " we are robbers, and we suffer no man who 
 comes this way to escape alive." "Ha, ha!" said 
 Black John, " how pleased I am that I have met with 
 fellow-craftsmen of my own. Robbing was my trade 
 in my native country till I was forced to flee, and be- 
 take myself to the sea. If you take me with you, I 
 wjll promise to be as true as any one in the band." 
 
 "Thy appearance will do," said one of them, "and 
 
86 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 m^ireach a ghabhail foise, ach 'na dh^idh sin gabhaidh 
 gach aon againn a rathad f^in, agus am fear a bheir 
 dhachaidh an tuilleadh creiche fad tri oidhchean, bithidh 
 e 'na cheannard air c^ch, agus cha bhi ni aige r'a 
 dheanamh, ach curam a ghabhail de'n tigh, am feadh 
 'bhios a chompanaich air falbh." Ch6rd so gu math 
 ri Iain, agus dh' fhuirich e aig an tigh gus an d'thkinig 
 ceud 1^ na deuchainne. 
 
 An sin dh' fhalbh e agus ghabh e mar rinn gach aon 
 de'n bhuidheann, a rathad f^in. An uair a thkinig an 
 oidhche, phill e dhachaidh leis a' phocan chopair, a 
 dh' fhalaich e laimh ris an tr^igh, agus cha robh aig 
 aon de 'n chuideachd uibhir ris. Dh'fhalbh e 'n ath 
 latha, agus phill e 'san oidhche leis a' phocan airgid, 
 agus ma rinn e na b' fhearr na 'chompanaich a' cheud 
 Ik, rinn e seachd feabhas riu an \k sin. Air an treas 
 la dh'fhalbh e air-son an uair mu dheireadh, agus thug 
 e dhachaidh am pocan 6ir. Dh6irt e na bh' ann air 
 an firlar, agus dh' fhe6raich e an d' rinn aon air bith 
 aca na b' fhearr? Fhreagair lad uile nach d'rinn, agus 
 a chionn gu'n robh esan cho math ri 'ghealladh riu-san, 
 gu'm bitheadh iad-san cho math ri 'n gealladh ris-san, 
 agus rinn iad e 'na cheannard thairis orra uile. 
 
 Air an ath latha dh'fhalbh na robairean a shireadh 
 am fortain, ach dh'fhuirich Iain aig an tigh. Cho 
 luath 's a fhuair e leis f^in, smuaintich e air an tigh 
 a rannsachadh. Thug e nuas pasg m6r iuchraichean, 
 a chunnaic e crochte air tarrainn anns a' bhalla, agus 
 dh'fhosgail e le6 gach se6mar 'san tigh ach an aon. 
 Bha iuchair an aoin sin falaichte aig a' bhoireannach, 
 agus dhiult i an toiseach dealachadh rithe. Ach air do 
 Iain innseadh dhi gu'm b' esan a nis an ceannard, 
 agus gu'm feumadh i bhi umhal da, thug i suas an 
 iuchair. 
 
 An sin dh'fhosgail e dorus an t-seomair uaignich, 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 87 
 
 thy language proves thee to be courageous.. We will 
 give thee an opportunity to prove what thou canst do. 
 Thou shalt get to-morrow to rest ; but after that every 
 one of us will take his own way, and he who brings 
 home most spoil for three nights will be chief over the 
 rest, and will have nothing to do but to take care of 
 the house while his companions are away." This 
 pleased John well, and he stayed at home till the first 
 day of trial came. 
 
 Then he went off and took his own way, as did every 
 one of the band. When night came he returned home 
 with the little bag of copper which he had hidden near 
 the shore; and none of the company had as much. 
 He started off next day, and returned at night with 
 the little bag of silver; and if he had done better than 
 his comrades the first night, he did seven times better 
 that day. On the third day he went out for the last 
 time, and brought home the little bag of gold. He 
 poured out all it contained on the floor, and asked 
 if any of them had done better. They all answered 
 that they had not; and as he was as good as his pro- 
 mise to them, they would be as good as their promise 
 to him, and they made him chief over them all. 
 
 Next day the robbers went away to seek their fortune, 
 while John stayed at home. As soon as he found him- 
 self alone he bethought him that he would search the 
 house. He took down a big bunch of keys he saw hang- 
 ing on a nail in the wall, and with them he opened every 
 room in the house save one. The key of that one the 
 woman had hidden, and she at first refused to part 
 with it. However, when John told her that he was 
 now chief, and that she must be obedient to him, she 
 gave up the key. 
 
88 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 agus chunnaic e roimhe sealladh a chuir d^isinn air. 
 Bha bean-uasal, cho b6idheach, dreachmhor 's air an 
 do dhearc siiil riamh, an crochadh air fhalt ri croman 
 am mullach an t-se6mair, agus bkrr a h-6rdag a' beant- 
 ainn air 6iginn do'n Clrlar. Leum e d'a h-ionnsaidh, 
 dh' fhuasgail e a fait, agus leig e slos i, a i^ir coltais 
 marbh. Bha i greis ann an neul, ach an uair a th&inig 
 i as, dh'innis e dhi ciamar a th&inig esan do'n kit' ud, 
 agus an sin dh'innis ise dha-san mar thugadh ise ann. 
 B' i nighean Rlgh na Spainte. Chaidh dithis de na 
 robairean a ghlacadh aig Caisteal an Rlgh, agfus a 
 chionn gu'n do chuireadh gu hhs iad le 'h-athair, 
 bh6idich c^ch nach gabhadh iad fois gus an deanadh 
 iad dioghaltas air. B' e 'n dloghaltas a rinn iad ise 
 'ghlacadh, an uair a bha i ag gabhail srkide mu 
 thimchioll a' Chaisteil, a toirt leo do'n kite f^in, agus 
 a pianadh le 'fkgail crochta, mar fhuair Iain Dubh i. 
 
 A dheanamh a' chuid so de'n sgeul goirid, theich iad 
 o thigh nan robairean, a' toirt leo uibhir 's a b' urrainn 
 daibh a ghiiilan a dh' 6r agus de nithe luachmhor, 
 maille ri 16n air-son na slighe. Ghabh iad gach rathad 
 a b* uaigniche na ch^ile, gus an d' thiinig oidhche. 
 Chunnaic iad an sin bothan-kiridhe air thoiseach orra, 
 agus rinn iad dJreach air. Cha robh iad fada 'ga 
 ruigheachd. Chaidh iad a stigh, agus ged fhuair iad 
 falamh e, bha e, a r^ir coltais, goirid roimhe sin air 
 kiteachadh. Coma co dhiiibh, chuir iad rompa an 
 oidhche a chaitheamh ann, mar a b' fhearr a 
 dh'fhaodadh iad. Greis an d^idh dhoibh dol a stigh, 
 chual' iad borbhan coltach ri bruidhinn daoine aig 
 taobh mach an doruis. Shaoil iad an toiseach gu'm b' 
 iad na robairean a bh' ann, agus gu'n robh iad a' 
 cagarsaich ri ch6ile a muigh. Ach cha b' fhada gus 
 an do thuig iad nach d' thkinig na guthanna caola, fanna 
 a bha iad a' cluinntinn, aon chuid o na robairean, no 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 89 
 
 Then he opened the door of the secret chamber, 
 and saw before him a sight which made him shudder. 
 A lady, as beautiful and as handsome as eye ever 
 beheld, was hanging by her hair from a crook in the 
 ceiling of the room, and the points of her toes were 
 scarcely touching the floor. He sprang to where she 
 was, unloosed her hair, and laid her down on the floor, 
 seemingly dead. She was for a while in a swoon ; 
 but when she came out of it, he told her how he had 
 come to that place, and then she told him the way 
 she had been brought there. She was the daughter 
 of the King of Spain. Two of the robbers were 
 caught at the King's Castle, and because they were 
 put to death by her father, the rest vowed that they 
 would not rest till they were revenged upon him. The 
 revenge they took was to seize her when she was 
 taking a walk about the Castle, and carry her away to 
 their own place, and torture her by leaving her hanging 
 in the manner Black John had found her. 
 
 To shorten this part of the tale, they fled from the 
 house of the robbers, taking with them as much as 
 they could carry of gold and precious things, with 
 food for the journey. They took the most unfre- 
 quented paths, until night came. They then beheld a 
 shieling bothy before them, and made straight for it. 
 They were not long in reaching it. They 
 went in, and though they found it empty, it 
 had seemingily been occupied shortly before. No 
 matter, they resolved to pass the night there as well 
 as they could. Some time after they entered they 
 heard a murmur like the conversation of men outside 
 the door. At first they thought it was the robbers, 
 
go FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 bho chreutairean saoghalta air bith. Mu dheireadh leutn 
 Iain Dubh air a chasaibh ag radh gu'm biodh fios aige- 
 san, an tiota, ciod no co bhuaith a thainig iad. Le 
 sin dh'fhosgail e 'n dorus, ach dkna 's mar bha e, thug 
 an sealladh, a chunnaic e roimhe, clisgeadh air. Bha 
 tri colainnean 'nan seasarnh m'a choinneamh, Ife'n cinn 
 aca eadar an Ikmhan. "A dhaoine c6ire," ars Iain, 
 " gu d6 tha sibh ag iarraidh ? " " Is sinn," fhreagair 
 iad, " athair agus d^ mhac a mharbhadh anns a' 
 bhothan so le robairean agus a thiodhlacadh air cill an 
 tighe ; ach a chionn nach deachaidh gach ceann a chur 
 maille r'a cholainn f^in, cha'n 'eil sinne 'faotainn foise. 
 Ma chuireas tusa ar cinn far am bu choir dhaibh a bhi, 
 theagamh gu'n dean sinne uibhir ri sin air do shon-sa 
 fathast." Fhreagair Iain gu'n deanadh esan mar dh'iarr 
 iad air, na'n leigeadh iad fhaicinn da far an robh 
 na cinn, agus c'ait' am b' aill leo an cur. Chaidh iad 
 leis agus rinn e gach ni mar sheol iad dha, agus an 
 uair a bha gach ni seachad, chaidh iad as an t-sealladh. 
 
 An ath latha dh'fhag Iain Dubh agus nighean an 
 Righ am bothari, agus cha do stad iad, gus an d' riinig 
 iad am baile-puirt a b' fhaigse dhoibh. Ph6s iad an 
 sin, agus chuir iad suas tigh-6sda leis an or a thug 
 iad a tigh nan robairean. Bha iad gu sona, sojrbheach 
 an sin, gus an d'th^inig long-chogaidh a stigh cjlo'" 
 acarsaid. Air bord na luinge so bha ard - cheannard 
 cabhlach na Sp^inte, a' sireadh nighean an RJgh chum 
 gu'n coisneadh e i f^in agus leth na rioghachd; oir b' 
 e sin an duais a gheall an Righ do'n cheannard air 
 muir no air tir a gheibheadh i, agus a bheireadh 
 dhachaidh i gu tfearuinte. 
 
 Thainig an ceannard air tlr le fear eile de na 
 h-oifigich, agus de gach iite, c'^it' an do thadhail iad 
 ach an tigh Iain Duibh. Cha robh iad fada stigh 'n 
 iiair a chuir iad e61as air Iain agus air a mhnaoi. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. gl 
 
 and that they were whispering to one another without. 
 Soon, however, they understood that the small weak 
 voices they were hearing came neither from the robbers 
 nor from any earthly creatures. At length Black John 
 sprang to his feet, saying that he would know presently 
 from what, or from whom, the noises came. So he 
 opened the door, but bold as he was, the sight before 
 him startled him. Three human bodies, holding 
 their heads between their hands stood before him. 
 "Honest men," said John, "what do you want?" 
 " We," replied they, " are a father and two sons who 
 were murdered by robbers in this bothy, and buried 
 behind the house; but, as every head was not placed 
 with its own body, we find no rest. If thou wilt 
 place our heads where they ought to be, perhaps we 
 may yet do as much for thee." John replied that he 
 would do as they asked him, if they would show him 
 where the heads were, and where they would like them 
 placed. They went with him, and he did everything 
 as they directed him: and when all was over, they 
 went out of sight. 
 
 Next day Black John and the King's daughter left 
 the bothy, and they stopped not until they reached 
 the nearest seaport. They married there, and set 
 up an Inn with the gold they took from the house of 
 the robbers. They were prosperous and happy there, till 
 a war-ship came into the harbour. On board of this 
 ship was the chief commander of the Spanish fleet, 
 seeking the King's daughter, that he might win 
 herself and half the kingdom ; for this was 
 the reward the King had promised to the commander 
 on sea or on land who should find her, and bring 
 her home in safety. 
 
g2 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Dh'aithnich iad gu'm b' i nighean an Righ } ach cha 
 do ghabh iad sin orra. Mu'n d'fhalbh iad, thug iad 
 cuireadh ckirdeil dhi f^in agus d'a fear gu dol a mach 
 agus an long fhaicinn an ath latha. Ghabh iad le 
 ch^ile ris a' chuireadh gu toileach ; ach, an uair a fhuair 
 an ceannard iad air b6rd, chuir e suas na siiil, agus 
 chum e air aghaidh, gus an robh e astar m6r a mach 
 o fhearann. An sin dh'fhag e Iain Dubh bochd am 
 hkta. beag gun ramh gun sheol, agus dh'fhalbh e. 
 
 Is beag nach robh c^s Iain *s a' bh^ta cho cruaidh 
 's a bha e air an rath. Chuir e 'n c6rr de 'n \h seachad 
 gu br6nach ; ach, aig teachd na h-oidhche, chunnaic 
 e sealladh a thug ciil-eiginn de mhisnich dha, oir bha 
 'm b^ta 'cumail a toisich 'san aon kird, agus falbh 
 math oirre. An sin chunnaic e botul dighe laidir an 
 toiseach a' bhkta, agus an d^idh dha deoch a thoirt as, 
 thuit e 'na chadal. Cho luath 's a dhCiisg e 'n dara 
 m^ireach, sheall e gach rathad, ach cha robh fearann 
 air bith an amharc. Ach bha 'm bata a' falbh le sgriob 
 laidir agus ag cumail a cinn 'san ^ird an robh i an 
 oidhche roimhe. Thug so tuilleadh misnich dha, 
 gidheadh dh'fhairich e 'n latha fada gu leoir. Aig 
 tighinn na h-oidhche thug e deoch eile as a' bhotul, 
 agus chaidil e air. Air an treas \k sheall e roimhe, 
 agus chunnaic e fearann fad' as, agus am hkta. 'deanamh 
 direach air. Bha 'm ball-toisich a mach roimpe, agus 
 tarruing chruaidh air; agus, ni a b' iongantaiche, lunn 
 laidir air thoiseach air ceann a mach a' bhuill. Ach 
 ciod no CO a bha 'tobhadh a' bhkta, cha b' urrainn 
 da 'bhreithneachadh no 'thuigsinn. 
 
 Mu dheireadh r^inig i 'n cladach agus chaidh triiiir 
 dhaoine a mach as an uisge roimpe, a' tarruing an 
 r6pa-thoisich gus an d'fh^g iad i os ceann a' gharbh 
 mhuir-lkin. B' iad sin an triiiir dhaoine d'an do chuir 
 e 'n cinn agus an colainnean c6mhla, aig cill a' 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE, 93 
 
 The commander came ashore with another officer, and 
 of all places where did they call but at Black John's 
 house? They were not long within when they formed 
 an acquaintance with John and his wife. They re- 
 cognised that she was the King's daughter, but they 
 did not make that known. Before leaving they gave 
 herself and her husband a friendly invitation to go out 
 next day and see the ship. They both heartily ac- 
 cepted the invitation ; but when the commander got 
 them on board he set sail, and kept on his way, 
 until he was a great distance from land. There he left 
 poor Black John in a small boat without oar or sail, 
 and went away. 
 
 John's predicament in the little boat was nearly as 
 trying as it had been on the raft. He passed the rest 
 of the day in dejection ; but on tRe approach of night he 
 saw a sight which gave him some little heartening, for 
 the boat was keeping her bow pointing steadily in one 
 direction with a good way on her. Then he noticed a 
 bottle of strong drink in the forepart of the 
 boat, and after taking a draught from it he 
 fell asleep. As soon as he awoke next day, 
 he looked every way but no land was in sight. Still 
 the boat was making good way and holding her head 
 in the same direction as on the night before. This gave 
 him more courage; yet he felt the day long enough. At 
 the approach of night he took another drink from the 
 bottle, and fell asleep over it. On the third morning he 
 looked ahead, and saw land far off, and the boat making 
 straight for it. The painter was out ahead, and a 
 hard pull on it; and what was still more wonderful, a 
 strong wake before the furthest out end of the rope. 
 But what, or who, was towing the boat, he could 
 neither conceive nor understand. 
 
 At last she reached the shore, and three men went 
 
94 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 bhothain-^iridhe. Agus cho luath 's a chunnaic iad 
 cas Iain air tlr, chaidh iad as an t-sealladh. 
 
 Faodar an c6rr de'n sgeul innseadh am beagan 
 bhriathar. Cha ph6sadh nighean an Righ an ceannard 
 a fhuair i, gus am bitheadh gach saighdear agus 
 se61adair 'san rioghachd air an cur seachad fo uinneig 
 a se6mair an Caisteal a h-athar. An d6idh dol troimh 
 iomadh cruaidh-chks, rainig Iain an Caisteal air 
 deireadh air ckch uile. Bha e direach ann an ^m. 
 Dh'aithnich nighean an Righ e. Ph6sadh iad a ris; 
 agus ma tha iad be6, tha iad sona. 
 
FOLK TAtES AND FAIRY LORE. 95 
 
 out of the sea before her, pulling her with the painter 
 till they left her beyond the reach of the highest tide. 
 These were the three men whose heads and trunks he 
 had placed together behind the shieling bothy. As soon 
 as they saw John's foot on land, they vanished out of 
 sight. 
 
 The rest of the tale may be told in a few words. 
 The King's daughter would not marry the commander 
 who found her until every soldier and sailor in the 
 kingdom was made to pass by under her window in 
 her father's Castle. After going through many hard- 
 ships, John reached the Castle last of all. He was just 
 in time. The King's daughter knew him. They 
 were again married, and if they are still living they 
 are happy. 
 
[BEITHRICHEAN BEINN BHEITHIR.] 
 
 B' E ceud ainm an t-sl^ibhe laimh ris am bheil luchd- 
 turuis do Ghleann Comhann air an cur air tir, Beinn 
 Ghuilbin, ach a nis 's e theirear ris Beinn Bheithir. 
 Fhuair e an t-ainm so o bheithir a bha o cheann fada 
 a' gabhail fasgaidh 's a' Choire Liath, lag m6r, a tha 
 'n aodann an t-sleibhe, agus is beag nach 'eil direach 
 OS ceann ceidhe Bhaile-chaolais. Bha 'bheithir so, a 
 reir coltais, 'na culaidh-eagail do'n diithaich uile mu 
 'n cuairt. O bheul a' Choire bha sealladh aice air a' 
 cheum a bha a' dol timchioll bun na beinne, agus na'n 
 tugadh am fear-turuis aineolach ionnsaidh air imeachd 
 seachad oirre, leumadh i sios agus reubadh i 'na 
 mhirean e. 
 
 Cha robh duine aig an robh a chridhe ionnsaidh a 
 thabhairt oirre, no aon a b' urrainn innseadh ciamar a 
 dh'fhaodadh cur as di, gus an d' th^inig Teirlach 
 Sgiobair an rathad. Dh' acraich e 'n soitheach aige 
 astar math a mach o'n ^ite 'sam bheil an ceidhe nis 
 suidhichte; agus eadar an soitheach agus an cladach 
 rinn e drochaid de bharaillean falamh, ceangailte r'a 
 ch^ile le ropaibh, agus Ikn de sp^icean iaruinn. An 
 uair a bha 'n drochaid crlochnaichte, las e teine m6r 
 air b6rd an t-soithich, agus chuir e piosan feola air na 
 h-eibhlibh. Cho luath 's a r^inig fMleadh na feola 
 loisgte 'n Coire, theirinn a' bheithir 'na leumannan a dh' 
 ionnsaidh a' chladaich, agus as a sin dh'fheuch i ri 
 rathad a dheanamh air na baraillean a mach chum an 
 
THE BEN VEHIR DRAGONS. 
 
 The mountain at whose base tourists to Glencoe are 
 landed was first called Ben Gulbin, but it is now known 
 as Ben Vehir. It got this name from a dragon which, 
 long ago, took shelter in Corrie Lia, a great hollow in 
 the face of the mountain, and almost right above Balla- 
 chulish Pier. This dragon was apparently a terror 
 to the surrounding district. From the lip of the corrie 
 she overlooked the path round the foot of the mountain, 
 and, if the unsuspecting traveller attempted to pass by 
 her, she would leap down and tear him to pieces. 
 
 No one dared attack her, nor could anyone tell how 
 she might be destroyed until Charles, the Skipper, came 
 the way. He anchored his vessel a good distance 
 out from the site of the present pier, and between the 
 vessel and the shore formed a bridge of empty barrels, 
 lashed together with ropes, and bristling with iron 
 spikes. When the bridge was finished, he kindled a 
 large fire on board the vessel, and placed pieces of 
 flesh on the burning embers. As soon as the savour 
 of the burning flesh reached the corrfe, the 
 dragon descended by a succession of leaps to the shore, 
 and thence tried to make her way out on the barrels 
 to the vessel. But the spikes entered her body, and 
 tore her up so badly that she was nearly dead before 
 she reached the outer end of the bridge. Meantime 
 
 H 
 
98 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 t-soithich. Ach chaidh na sp6icean 'na corp, agus 
 reub iad i cho dona 's nach m6r nach robh i marbh 
 mu'n d'rkinig i ceann a mach na drochaide. Aig a' 
 cheart ^m bha 'n soitheach air a tharruing air falbh 
 o'n drochaid gus an robh bealach m6r eadar i f^in agus 
 am baraille mu dheireadh. Thar a' bhealaich so cha robh 
 de neart air a fhkgail aig a' bheithir gu'm b'urrainn 
 i leum thairis air gu ruig clkr-uachdair an t-soithich, 
 agus do bhrlgh nach b'urrainn i pilleadh an rathad a 
 thkinig i, fhuair i hks d'a le6n far an robh i aig ceann 
 na drochaide. 
 
 Dh'fhairich an sluagh a bha a ch6mhnuidh am fagus 
 do'n bheinn a nis aig sith. Ach ma dh'fhairich, bu 
 bheag a bha fios aca mu 'n chunnart Cir anns an robh 
 iad. B'e aobhar a' chunnairt so cuilean a dh'fhkg an 
 t-seann bheithir 'na d^idh anns a' Choire Liath. R6 
 ijine dh'fh^s an cuilean 'na l^n-bheithir, aig an robh 
 cuain bheithrichean 6ga, falaichte ann am mulan- 
 coirce aig bun na beinne. An uair a dh'fhairich an 
 tuathanach iad 'na mhulan, chuir e teine ris, an diiil 
 gu'n cuireadh e mar so as do na creutairean cunnartach 
 a bh'ann. Bha 'n sgreadail air a giillan leis a' ghaoith 
 suas taobh na beinne, agus cho luath 's a rkinig i am 
 m&thair, slos leum i g'an cuideachadh. Ach bha i 
 fada gun an ruigsinn, agus a dh'aindeoin gach ni a 
 rinn i, loisgeadh iad gu b^s. An uair a chunnaic i so, 
 shin i i f6in air lie l^imh ris a' chladach, agus chum i 
 air an leac a bhualadh le 'h-earball gus an do mharbh 
 si i f^in. 
 
 Is e theirear ris an lie fathast Leac-na-Beithreach, agus 
 is ann oirre a tha Tigh Beinn Bheithir a nis a' 
 seasamh. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 99 
 
 the vessel was moved from the bridge, until a wide 
 interval was left between it and the last barrel. Over 
 this interval the dragon had not sufificient strength left 
 to leap to the deck of the vessel, and, as she could not 
 return the way she came, she died of her wounds 
 where she was, at the end of the bridge. 
 
 The people who lived in the neighbourhood of the 
 mountain felt now at peace. But, if they did, little 
 did they know of the new danger which threatened 
 them. The cause of this danger was a whelp 
 which the old dragon left behind her in Corrie 
 Lia. In course of time the whelp became a full-grown 
 dragon which had a brood of young dragons hidden 
 away in a corn stack at the foot of the mountain. 
 When the farmer discovered them in his stack, he 
 at once set fire to it, hoping thus to destroy the 
 dangerous vermin it contained. Their shrieking 
 was, with the wind, borne up the mountain-side, and, 
 as soon as it reached their mother, down she rushed 
 to their assistance. But she was long in reaching 
 them, and in spite of all her efforts they were burnt to 
 death. When she saw this, she stretched herself on 
 a flat rock near the shore, and continued to lash the 
 rock with her tail until she killed herself. 
 
 The rock is ^till known as the Dragon Rock, and on 
 it Ben Vehir House now stands. 
 
SGEOIL MU SHITHICHEAN, DAOINE - SITHE. 
 
 SITH-BHRUTHAICH, NO DAOINE BEAGA. 
 
 NO DAOINE MATHA. 
 
 Torr-a-Bhuilg. 
 
 O CHEANN fhada thuit do bhean bhochd tadhal ann an 
 tigh l^imh ri Torr-a-bhuilg. Cha robh 'san km duine 
 stigh ach bean-an-tighe agus coltas leinibh bhig. Bha 
 'n leanabh 'ga aoirneagaich f6in air ar iirlar, agus an 
 aon sgriach as a cheann a latha 's a dh'oidhche. 
 
 Dh'fhe6raich a' bhean bhochd gu d^ 'n gille a bh' 
 aice an sin air an urlar. Fhreagair bean-an-tighe 
 nach robh fhios aice. " Ma-t^," ars a' bhean bhochd, 
 " tha fhios agam-sa gu math gu d6 th'ann, agus ma 
 ghabhas tu mo chomhairle-sa, gheibh thu cuidhte 's e; 
 ach mur gabh, gheibh thu do leoir dheth. Thuirt bean- 
 an-tighe gu'n gabhadh i 'comhairle, agus an sin 
 dh'innis a' bhean bhochd di ciod a dheanadh i ris. 
 
 An d^idh do 'n bhean-bhochd falbh, chaidh bean-an- 
 tighe mach agus thug i stigh basgaid uibhean a chuir 
 i 'nan cuairt air an iirlar. Am feadh bha i ri sin, bha 
 'n gille air an iirlar, a' coimhead oirre gu dCir; agus 
 mu dheireadh thuirt e rithe gu colgarra: " Gu d^ tha 
 thu 'deanamh mar sin?" "Tha coire-togalach," 
 ars ise. "Coire-togalach! Tha mi c6rr agus tri 
 cheud bliadhna, agus gus a so cha'n fhaca mi a leithid 
 sin de choire-togalach." 
 
TALES ABOUT FAIRIES, FAIRY-MEN, FAIRY- 
 
 KNOLLERS, LITTLE MEN, OR GOOD 
 
 PEOPLE. 
 
 Torr-a-Bhuilg. 
 
 Long ago a poor woman happened to call in a house 
 near Torr-a-Bliuilg. At the time there was no one in 
 the house but the housewife and what appeared to be 
 a little child. The child kept tumbling about on the 
 floor and screaming incessantly day and night. 
 
 The poor woman asked what lad she had there on the 
 floor. The housewife answered that she did not know. 
 " Well," said the poor woman, " I know well what 
 he is, and if you take my advice you will get rid of 
 him; but, if not, you will get enough of him." The 
 housewife said that she would take her advice, and 
 the poor woman then told her what she was to do to 
 him. 
 
 After the poor woman left, the housewife went out 
 and brought in a basket of eggs, which she placed 
 in a circle on the floor. While she was thus engaged, 
 the lad kept looking sullenly at her, and said at length, 
 roughly: "What are you doing in that manner?" 
 " I am making a brewing caldron," was the 
 reply. " A brewing caldron? I am more than three 
 hundred years old and I never yet saw a brewing 
 caldron like that!" 
 
I02 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Cha robh teagamh na b'fhaide aig bean-an-tighe nach 
 b' e sithiche a bha 'san leanabh; ach chaidh i mu 
 thimchioll a gnothuich car tacain, mar bha i roimhe. An 
 sin sheall i mach air an uinneig, agus an uine ghoirid 
 chuir i coltas fiamhta oirre i6in, agus th6isich i air leutn 
 air a h-ais, mar gu'm bitheadh i 'faicinn rud-eigin 
 uamhasach. Ghlfeidh an g^rlaoch air an firlar sCiil fhiar 
 oirre greis, agus an sin dh'fhe6raich e dhith gu d6 bha 
 i 'faicinn. " Tha," ars ise, " Torr-a-bhuilg r' a theine." 
 Cha d' fheith e far an robh e na b' fhaide, ach leum 
 e mach air an dorus ag radh: " M' Ciird, is m' innean, 
 's mo bholg; " agus cha'n fhacas tuilleadh e. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 103 
 
 The housewife had no longer any doubt of the child 
 heing a fairy, but she went about her business for a 
 while in her usual way. Then she looked out at the 
 window and assumed a scared look and began to start 
 back as if she beheld something dreadful. The 
 squaller on the floor, looking askance at her for a 
 while, at last asked what it was she beheld. " I see," 
 said she, " Torr-a-Bhuilg on fire." He waited where 
 he was no longer, but sprung out at the door, saying: 
 " My hammers and my anvil and my bellows," and 
 after that he was never seen again. 
 
TALADH NA MNATHA SITHE. 
 
 Leaspagan beag odhar thu, 
 
 Beiridh b6 an nuallain; 
 
 Nuallan na b6 Muilich thu, 
 
 M' anam agus m' aighear thu! 
 
 Cha 'n ann d shiol Chuinn thu, 
 
 Slol a's docha leinn thu — 
 
 Slol Le6id nan long 's nan liiireach o L6chlann: 
 
 Do dhiithchas f6in duit. 
 
 Fire ! faire ! cha tu laogh 
 
 Na seann bhi crJonaidh; 
 
 Fire ! faire I cha tu minnean 
 
 'Rug a' mhiseach. 
 
 Fire! faire! ged nach tu sud, 
 
 Fire! faire! 's tu mo laogh-sa. 
 
 Firein, firein, obh ! obh ! 
 
 Na cluinneam do bhr6n, 
 
 Gun toll air do bhr6ig; 
 
 Gu 'n do bhioraich do shr6n 
 
 Cho glas ris na ne6il. 
 
 Firein, firein, a bh' ann, 
 
 Ghabh mo bhuinneag ort an t-^m, 
 
 'Nuair a bha sneachd air a' chrann, 
 
 'Nuair a bha do mhuime dall, 
 
 'S 'n uair a bha 'n cuileann gun cheann. 
 
THE FOSTERING FAIRY'S LULLABY. 
 
 Swarthy little Leaspagan, 
 
 Calve will the lowing cow: 
 
 Lowing 'tis of Mull cow, 
 
 My life and my gladness. 
 
 Thou art not the seed of Conn; 
 
 Thou art seed of better born : [Lochlin, 
 
 Seed of Leod of warships and maiicoats from 
 
 Such thy kindred. 
 
 Feeri-farri ! no calf thou 
 
 Of the old withered cow ; 
 
 Feeri-farri ! no kid, I wot. 
 
 Of yearling goat. 
 
 Feeri-farri ! such thou art not, 
 
 Feeri-farri ! thou'rt my own calf. 
 
 Hush ! hush ! little man, 
 Sure thou hast no woes, 
 No hole in thy shoe; 
 Why pinched then that nose, 
 Grey as cloud in the blue? 
 Hero wert thou that hour. 
 Struck with wand of power, 
 When the snow was on the tree, 
 When thy nurse couldn't see, 
 And the holly had never a flower. 
 
106 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Hug O ! gu h-aireach 
 Bha mnathan a' bhaile, 
 Hug O! gu h-aireach 
 Gu snigheach, galach, 
 Ag caoidh an leinibh, 
 A' falbh na coille, 
 'S an ciochan geala 
 Ag call a' bhainne. 
 
 M' ulaidh agus m' aoibhneas, 
 
 'S e do ghoid a rinn mi 
 
 Air a' mheadhon-oidhche, 
 
 Gun choinneil no gun choinnleir, 
 
 Gun solus no gun soillse. 
 
 Tha thu agam o 'n uraidh, 
 
 'S gur tu m' ulaidh. 
 Bidh tu 'm bliadhna gu h-Clr uallach 
 Air mo ghualainn feadh a' bhaile, 
 'S tu mo leanabh mileiseach, m&ileasach. 
 
 Glag fo ICiirich! 
 
 'S tu ceann-feadhna 
 
 Nan each sn^gach. 
 
 'S tu mo leanabh 
 
 Ruiteach, reamhar ; 
 
 Mo shult is m* fhiughair, 
 
 Mo luachair bhog, 
 
 Am bi m' aighear. 
 'S truagh nach fhaicinn fhein do bhuaile 
 Gu h-ird hid air leacainn sl^ibhe 
 C6ta caol, coilearach, uaine, 
 Mu do ghualainn agus l^ine. 
 'S truagh nach fhaicinn fh^in do sheisreach, 
 Fir 'na d^idh 'cur an t-sll; 
 'S Mac-Comhnuill le 'chrann-treabhaidh 
 'S a charbad ann cuide ribh. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. I07 
 
 Ho! ho! a-searching 
 
 Went wives from the steading. 
 
 Ho! ho! a-searching; 
 
 Like rain tears shedding, 
 
 The lost child wailing, 
 
 The wild wood trailing. 
 
 From white breasts falling, 
 
 The milk drops white. 
 
 My joy ! my treasure bright ! 
 
 I stole thee one midnight: 
 
 Without candle, candlestick, 
 
 Light of heaven, light of earth. 
 
 Stole I thee from thy place of birth. 
 
 A year now I've had thee, 
 
 Treasure to glad me. 
 
 This year thou'lt be boldly riding 
 
 On my shoulders 'bout the steading: 
 
 Thou art my darling, warlike, mailclad. 
 
 Laughing ! art thou ? 
 
 Thou art chief o'er 
 
 Fleet steeds bounding; 
 
 Thou'rt my darling. 
 
 Sturdy, red-cheeked ; 
 
 My hope art thou. 
 
 Soft rush, thou art 
 
 My life and gladness. 
 Would that I might see thy fold now 
 High, high on lofty hillside, 
 Mantle green about thy shoulders. 
 Fine-wrought, collared, and a mail-shirt. 
 Would that I might see thy team now, 
 Heroes after, sowing seed, 
 And MacConnel with his beam-plough 
 And his chariot, lending aid. 
 
ORAN SITIIE. 
 
 Mo leanabh mingileiseach maingileiseach, 
 Bualadh nan each, glac nan liiireach, 
 Nan each crilidheach 's nan each snagach, 
 Mo leanabh beag. 
 
 'S truagh nach faicinn f^in do bhuaile, 
 Gu h-krd, krd, air uachdar sl^ibhe, 
 C6ta caol, caiteanach, uaine 
 Mu d' dhk ghualainn ghil, is l^ine, 
 
 Mo leanabh beag. 
 
 'S truagh nach faicinn fein do sheisreach, 
 Fir 'ga freasdal 'n am an fheasgair, 
 Mna Comhnuill a' tighinn dachaidh, 
 
 'Sna Catanaich a' cur sil. 
 
 O mhlle bhog, O mhlle bhog, 
 
 Mo bhru a rug, mo chloch a shluig, 
 
 'S mo ghlun a thog. 
 
 'Se mo leanabh, m'ultach iubhair, 
 Sultmhor reamhar, mo luachair bhog, 
 M' fhe6il, is m' uidhean am bhruidhinn, 
 Bha thu fo mo chrios an uiridh, lus an toraidh. 
 Bidh tu 'm bliadhna gu geal guanach 
 Air mo ghualainn f€adh a' bhaile, 
 
 Mo leanabh beag. 
 
FAIRY SONG. 
 
 [My child, smooth-shining, my own one pale. 
 Smiting the horses with hand of mail, 
 The horses shod, and the horses fleeting, 
 My little sweeting. 
 
 'Tis sad that I could not see thy fold. 
 High, high up on the slope of the wold, 
 A garment slender, napped, o' the green, 
 Round thy fair shoulders, and a smock's sheen, 
 My little child. 
 
 'Tis sad that I could not see thy team, 
 And the men tend it, at evening beam. 
 The women of Conall homeward going. 
 
 And the Catanaich sowing. 
 
 O thousandfold soft, O thousandfold blest. 
 Whom my womb bore, who sucked at my breast, 
 And my knees who pressed. 
 
 O 'tis my child, my armful of yew, 
 Lusty and fat, my soft rush true, 
 My hope in my talk, my own flesh and blood, 
 Last year 'neath my girdle, a fruit in the bud, 
 Thou wilt be this year, fair and neat, 
 On my shoulder through the township street. 
 My little child. 
 
no FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 O bheirinn o bh6, na cluinneam do ledn, 
 
 O bheirinn o bh6, gu'm bioraich do shr6n, 
 
 O bheirinn o bh6, gu'n liath thu air ch6ir. 
 
 O bheirinn o bh6 gu'n teirig do 16, 
 
 O bheirinn o bhinn thu. 
 
 Cha'n ann a Chlann Choinnich thu, 
 
 O bheirinn o bhinn thu, 
 
 Cha'n ann a Chlann Chuinn thu, 
 
 O bheirinn o bhinn thu, 
 
 Siol is docha linn thu — 
 
 Slol nan Le6dach nan lann 's nan Itiireach, 
 
 B'e L6chlainn duthchas do shinnsire. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. HI 
 
 O I'd snatch thee from cow, let me not hear thy 
 
 woes, 
 O I'd snatch thee from cow, and sharp be thy nose. 
 O I'd snatch thee from cow, in due course grow 
 
 thou grey, 
 I'd snatch thee from cow, far off be thy day. 
 
 O I'd snatch thee from doom, 
 
 McKenzie thou'rt none. 
 
 O I'd snatch thee from doom, 
 
 Thou art not of Clan Conn. 
 
 O I'd snatch thee from doom, 
 
 Dearer seed thou, our own, 
 The seed of Clan Leod of the mail and the brand, 
 It was the Northland was thy sires' land.] 
 
A' BHEAN-CHOMUINN. 
 
 Gu'n dh'fhalbh mo bhean-chomuinn, 
 
 Cha tig mo bhean-ghaoil, 
 Gu'n dh'fhalbh mo bhean-chomuinn, 
 
 Bean thogail nan laogh. 
 
 Thig blath air a' ghiubhas, 
 
 Agus ubhlan air g^ig, 
 Cinnidh gucag air luachair, 
 
 'S cha ghluais mo bhean i6in. 
 
 Thig na gobhra do'n mhainnir, 
 Beiridh aighean duinn laoigh, 
 
 Ach cha tig mo bhean dachaidh 
 A clachan nan craobh. 
 
 Thig M^rt oirnn, thig foghar, 
 Thig todhar, thig buar, 
 
 Ach cha tog mo bhean luinneag 
 Ri bleoghann no buan. 
 
 Cha dirich mi tulach, 
 Cha shiubhail mi frith, 
 
 Cha'n fhaigh mi lochd cadail 
 'S mo thasgaidh 's a' chill. 
 
THE WIDOWED FATHER'S LULLABY TO 
 HIS MOTHERLESS INFANT. 
 
 My wife shall come never, 
 
 My own, my late bride, 
 My wife shall come never 
 
 To rest by my side. 
 
 The pine-tree shall blossom, 
 
 And leafage forth break, 
 The rush bud shoot upwards— 
 
 My wife shall not wake. 
 
 Though goats to the pen come, 
 
 And heifers should calve, 
 Ne'er home shall my wife come 
 
 From yonder church-yard. 
 
 Come spring-time, come harvest, 
 
 Come tathing, come fold. 
 At milking, or reaping. 
 
 My wife lilts no more. 
 
 The mountains I climb not, 
 
 The forest ne'er roam. 
 By sleep I'm forsaken. 
 
 My treasure is gone. 
 
114 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Tha m' aodach air tolladh, 
 Tha 'n olann gun sniomh, 
 
 Agus deadh bhean mo thighe 
 'Na laighe fo dhlon. 
 
 Tha mo chrodh gun an leigeil, 
 Tha 'n t-eadradh aig c^ch, 
 
 Tha mo leanabh gun bheadradh, 
 'Na shuidh' air a' bhlkr. 
 
 Tha m'fh^rdach-sa creachta, 
 'S lom mo leac is gur fuar, 
 
 Tha m' ionmhas 's mo bheartas 
 Fo na leacan 'na suain. 
 
 Uist! a chagarain ghr^dhaich, 
 Caidil skmhach, a luaidh; 
 
 Cha tog caoineadh do mh^thair, 
 Dean hh hh a nis, 'uain. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. Il5 
 
 My clothes are unmended, 
 
 My wool is unspun, 
 For my own good housewife 
 
 Has left it undone. 
 
 My cows are unmilked, 
 
 Though noontide is o'er, 
 My babe is unfondled 
 
 And left on the floor. 
 
 My dwelling is harried, 
 
 My hearth bare and cold, 
 My treasure and riches 
 
 Is laid in the mould. 
 
 Hush ! hush ! little darling. 
 
 Sleep soundly, my man, 
 No crying wakes mother, 
 
 Ba Ba now, my lamb. 
 
SITHICHE GHLINNE-GARADH. 
 
 Bha bantrach an Gleann-garadh aig an robh leanabh 
 gille. Chaidh i mach latha do'n tobar air-son uisge, 
 agus an uair a bha i 'pilleadh chum an tighe, chuala 
 i 'n leanabh, a dh' ihkg i 'na chadal gu skmhach anns 
 a' chreathall, a' sgreadail mar gu'm bitheadh e 'n 
 crMh mor. Ghreas i stigh, agus thug i dha deoch 
 cho luath 's a b' urrainn i. Chum sin s^mhach e 
 tiota, ach bhrist e mach a rithist cho dona 's a bha e 
 roimhe. Thug i deoch eile dha, agus am feadh bha 
 e aig a broilleach, sheall i air, agus chunnaic i gu'n 
 robh da fhiacail, gach aon diubh c6rr agus 6irleach air 
 fad 'na bheul, agus gu'n robh 'aodann cho scan, 
 seargta ri aon aodann a chunnaic i riamh. 
 
 Thubhairt i rithe fh^in : " Tha mi deas a nis, ach 
 fuirichidh mi skmhach feuch am faic mi ciod a thig 
 as a so." 
 
 Air an 1^ mkireach thog i 'n gille leatha 'na h-asgailt, 
 chuir i tonnag thairis air, agus dh' fhalbh i mar gu'm 
 bitheadh i 'dol do'n ath bhaile leis. Bha allt m6r 'na 
 slighe, agus an uair a bha i 'dol thar beul-ktha an 
 uillt, chuir sud a cheann a mach, agus thubhairt e: 
 " Is iomadh buaile mh6r a chunnaic mise air d^ thaobh 
 an uillt so." Cha d'fheith a' bhean ri tuilleadh d'a 
 eachdraidh a chluinntinn, ach thilg i e ann an linne 
 dhomhain a bha fo 'n kth far an robh e greis a' cur 
 charan dheth agus 'ga c&ineadh agus ag rkdh na'n 
 robh fhios aige roimh Ikimh gu'm b'e sud an cleas a 
 
THE GLENGARRY FAIRY. 
 
 There once lived in Glengarry a widow with a young 
 child who was a boy. One day she went to the well 
 for water; and when she was returning to the 
 house, she heard the child, whom she had left 
 sleeping quietly in the cradle, screaming as if he were 
 in great pain. She hastened in, and gave him a drink 
 as quickly as she could. This quieted him for a 
 little while, but he soon broke out again as badly as 
 ever. She gave him another drink; and while he was 
 at her breast she looked at him and saw that he had 
 two teeth in his mouth, each more than an inch long, 
 and that his face was as old and withered as any face 
 she had ever seen. 
 
 She said to herself: " Now I am undone, but I will 
 keep quiet until I see what will come of this." 
 
 Next day she lifted the lad in her arms, put a shawl 
 about him, and went away as though she was going to the 
 next farm with him. A big burn ran across her path, and 
 wh'en she was going over the ford, the creature put his 
 head out of the shawl and said: "Many a big fold 
 have I seen on the banks of this stream ! " The woman 
 did not wait to hear more of his history, but threw 
 him into a deep pool below the ford, where he 
 lay for a while, tumbling about and reviling her, and 
 saying if he had known beforehand the trick she was 
 
Il8 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 bha i a' dol a chluich air, gu 'n d' fheuch esan cleas eile 
 dhi. An sin dh'fhairich i fuaim mar fhuaim sgaoth 
 eun a' sgiathadh m'a timchioll, ach cha'n fhaca i ni 
 air bith, gus an do sheall i aig a casaibh agus gu d€ 
 bha an sin ach a leanabh f^in agus gun mhlr air 
 cnkimh dheth na 's m6 na air a* chlobha. Thug i 
 leatha dhachaidh e, agus dh' fhks e uidh air n-uidh na 
 b' fhearr, gus an robh e mu dheireadh cho fallain ri 
 leanabh air bith eile. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. U9 
 
 going to play him, he would have shown her another. 
 She then heard a sound like that of a flock of birds 
 flying about her, but saw nothing until she looked at 
 her feet, and there beheld her own child with his bones 
 as bare as the tongs. She took him home with her, 
 and he got gradually better, and was at last as healthy 
 as any other child. 
 
[DA SGEUL MU SHAIGHDEAN SITHE.] 
 
 Fhuaradh an d^ sgeul a leanas o sheann duine a 
 Chloinn An-16igh a bha ceithir fichead agus a cilig 
 bliadhna dh' aois aig km innsidh. Thubhairt e gu 'n 
 robh a shinn-seanair 'na thuathanach beag air an 
 Droman anns an linn a chaidh seachad. Coltach ri 
 tuath eile an ^ma sin bha badan chaorach aige 'g 
 ionaltradh air a' mhonadh anns an Ik. Ach an uair 
 a thigeadh an oidhche b' ^bhaist da an iomain a stigh 
 do chr6-nan-caorach an ceann a' bh^thaiche de 'n 
 tigh. 
 
 Oidhche bha an sin thuit gu'n deachaidh a mhac, 
 is e 'na ghille 6g, dh' ionnsuidh an doruis mh6ir, a 
 dh' fhaicinn ciod an coltas a bha air an speur mu'n 
 rachadh e a laighe. Sheas e tacain eadar dk bhi an 
 doruis ag amharc m'a thimchioll, agus an sin chuala 
 e fuaim a' dol seachad le deann coltach ri srann sgaoth 
 eun air an sgiathaibh. Aig a' cheart km dh' fhairich 
 e ni-eigin a' tuiteam air a chulaibh ann an cr6-nan- 
 caorach. Phill e gun dkil tiota stigh, agus fhuair e 
 am mult hkn marbh anns a' chr6. 
 
 Chaidh am mult fhionnadh, ach cha'n fhacas air a 
 charcais le6n no bruthadh air bith a b' urrainn a bhi 
 'na aobhar a bh^is. 
 
 Cha robh diog tuilleadh air a rkdh mu hhks a' 
 mhuilt bh^in gus an d'thkinig t^illear an kite do thigh 
 an tuathanaich a dheanamh aodaich. Air a' cheud 
 oidhche 'n d^idh dha tighinn, thubhairt e ri mac an 
 
[TWO FAIRY ARROW STORIES.] 
 
 The two following tales were got from an old man of 
 the Clan Livingston, who was fourscore and five years 
 of age at the time of relating them. 
 
 He said that his great grandfather was a small farmer 
 on the farm of Droman in the last century (the i8th). 
 Like the other farmers of that period, he had a small 
 flock of sheep pasturing on the hill in the day time. 
 But when night came he used to drive them into the 
 sheep-pen in the byre-end of the house. 
 
 One night, his son, who was then a young lad, 
 happened to go to the outer door to see what appear- 
 ance the sky presented, before he should go to bed. 
 He stood for a time between the two posts of the door, 
 looking about him, when he heard, passing him with a 
 rush, a sound like the whizzing of a flock of birds on 
 the wing. At the same time he felt something falling 
 behind him in the sheep - pen. Without a moment's 
 delay he returned into the house, and found the white- 
 faced wether dead in the pen. 
 
 The wether was skinned; but on his carcase no 
 wound or bruise, which could be the cause of death, 
 was seen. 
 
 Not another syllable was said about the death of the 
 white-faced wether, until the tailor of the district came 
 to the farmer's house to make clothes. The first night 
 
122 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 tuathanaich: "Am bheil cuimhne agad air hhs a' 
 mhuilt bh^in ? " Fhreagair mac an tuathanaich gu'n 
 robh. " Ma-t^," ars an tkillear, " is mise 'mharbh 
 e, agus is tusa 'dh' fhaodas a bhi 'm chomain air-son 
 sin a dheanamh," " Ad chomain air-son a' mhuilt 
 bhain a mharbhadh ? Ciamar sin? " " C6 a b' fhearr 
 leat a bhi air a mharbhadhj thu fein no 'm mult hkn? " 
 " Am mult ban, gun teagamh. Ach innis dhomh, 
 guidheam ort, ciod a tha thu a' ciallachadh." Rinn 
 an t^illear sin ann am beagan bhriathar. 
 
 Thubhairt e gu 'n robh esan fo chumhachd 
 shithichean Shithein-na-Caillich, agus gu'm bitheadh 
 iad 'ga thabhairt le6 air turuis fhada troimh 'n athar 
 anns an oidhche. Cha b' urrainn iad coire a dheanamh 
 air aon duine ach tre dhuine eile, agus le sin, bhitheadh 
 iad 'ga thabhairt-san leo, agus bheireadh iad air na 
 saighdeah sithe a thilgeil air an neach d' an robh iad 
 an droch run. " Bha iad," ar se, "an droch riin 
 duit-se, agus an uair a chuala thu sinn a' dol seachad 
 le srann air an Droman, dh' iarr iad diom-sa saighead 
 shlthe a ghlacadh agus a thilgeil ort. B' ^iginn domh 
 an ni a dh' iarr iad orm a dheanamh, ach an ^ite 
 cuimseachadh ort-sa, rinn mi air a' mhult bhkn. Gu 
 fortanach dhomh-sa cha'n fhac' iad co a thuit, oir mu'n 
 d' rkinig an t-saighead am mult, bha sinn astar m6r 
 seach an Droman air an turns gu cruinneachadh m6r 
 a bh' aig na slthichean anns a' Chnoc 's a' 
 Mhorbhairne. Theagamh nach 'eil thu ag creidsinn 
 mo sge6il, ach bheir mi dhuit dearbhadh cinnteach gur 
 i 'n fhirinn a th' agam. Seall ann an cr6-nan-caorach, 
 agus gheibh thu an t-saighead ann fhathast." 
 
 Sheall mac an tuathanaich, agus fhuair e, mar 
 thubhairt an tkillear, an t-saighead 'na laighe fo Cirlar 
 a' chr6. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 1 23 
 
 after his arrival, he said to the farmer's son: " Do you 
 remember the white -faced wether's death?" The 
 farmer's son answered that he did. " Well," said the 
 tailor, " it was I who killed him, and it is you who 
 may be thankful to me for doing so." "Thankful to 
 you for killing the white-faced wether! How is that? " 
 "^ Which would you prefer being killed, yourself or 
 the white-faced wether?" "The white-faced wether, 
 undoubtedly. But tell me, I pray you, what you 
 mean." The tailor did that in a few words. 
 
 He said he was under the influence of the fairies of 
 the Carlin Fairy-Knoll, and that they took him with 
 them on long journeys through the air in the night- 
 time. They could not hurt any human being except 
 by means of another; and for that reason they used 
 to take him with them, and make him throw the fairy 
 arrows at the person to whom they bore ill-will. " They 
 had a grudge," said he, " at you, and when you heard 
 us pass Droman with a rushing sound, they told me 
 to take a fairy arrow and cast it at you. I was com- 
 pelled to do what they told me; but instead of aiming 
 at you, I aimed at the white-faced wether. Fortunately 
 for me they saw not who fell; for before the arrow 
 reached the wether, we were a great distance away 
 from Droman on our way to a great meeting which 
 the fairies held at Knock in Morven. Perhaps you do 
 not believe my story, but I will give you a sure proof 
 that I am telling the truth. Look in the sheep-pen 
 and you will find the arrow there still." 
 
 The farmer's son looked, and, as the tailor said, 
 found the arrow lying beneath the litter on the floor 
 
124 FOLK TALES AND FAIRV LORE. 
 
 Mharbhadh an t-saighead shithe gun le6n faicsinn- 
 each air bith fhagail 'na d^idh. 
 
 Bha fear - innsidh an sgeoil mu dheireadh ri 
 buachailleachd, is e 'na bhalach, laimh ri baile Shrath- 
 Abhann anns an taobh deas. Air latha soilleir 
 Samhraidh thuit da *bhi 'na shuidhe air bruaich 
 mh6inteich, agus an crodh ag ionaltradh gu samhach 
 m'a choinneamh. A chur seachad na h-fline th6isich 
 e air dial a ghe^rradh anns an ailean uaine eadar a 
 dhk chas. Am meadhon na h-oibre so bha leis gu'n 
 cual' e 'n toiseach srannail anns an athar, agus tiota 
 'na dh^idh sin dearrasan eadar a chasan. Thionnd- 
 aidh e 'shCiil gu grad an taobh a thainig an dearrasan, 
 agus ciod a chunnaic e 'n sin, ach saighead shithie 
 skidhte ann an teis-meadhon an dial. Bha i dearg- 
 theth an toiseach, ach an uine ghoirid bhath uisge fuar 
 na m6inteich i. Chuir e 'na phoca i an sin, agus an 
 uair a bha 'mhuinntireas a mach thug e leis dhachaidh 
 do'n Ghkidhealtachd i, agus leig e fhaicinn d'a athair i. 
 "A laochain," ars 'athair, " b'e do charaid a thilg i, 
 air-neo cha bhitheadh tusa an so an diugh." 
 
 An sin dh' innis 'athair dha an sgeul roimhe so, 
 agus mar chuimsich an taillear air a' mhult hhhn an 
 ^ite a choimhearsnaich a bha 'na sheasamh 'san dorus. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 1 25 
 
 of the pen. The fairy arrow would kill without leaving 
 behind it any visible wound. 
 
 The relater of the last story was herding in his boy- 
 hood near to the town of Strathavon in the South 
 country. On a clear summer day he happened to be 
 sitting on a mossy bank, and the cattle quietly pastur- 
 ing in front of him. To pass the time he began to 
 cut a dial in the green sward between his feet. In the 
 midst of this work he thought he heard first a humming 
 in the air, and an instant after that, a whizzing between 
 his feet. He turned his eye quickly in the direction 
 whence the whizzing had come, and what did he behold 
 but a fairy-arrow stuck in the very middle of the dial. 
 It was at first red-hot, but in a short time the cold moss 
 water quenched it. He then put it in his pocket, and 
 when his engagement was out, he took it home with 
 him to Gaeldom, and showed it to his father. " My 
 dear boy," said his father, "it was thy friend who 
 threw it, otherwise thou wouldst not have been here 
 this day." Then his father told him the tale preceding 
 this, and how the tailor aimed at the white wether 
 instead of his neighbour, who was standing in the 
 door. 
 
SITHICHEAN CHOIRE-CHAORACHAIN. 
 
 O CHIONN iomad bliadhna bha Domhnull Posda a' 
 giiilan nan litrichean eadar Baile-chaolais agus an 
 Gearasdan. Bha cuid de 'n rathad a bh' aige r'a 
 iomachd gu math uaigneach agus iiigeil, agus bha 
 'n t-ainm aige bhi \kn shlthichean agus bh6cain eile. 
 
 Air oidhche Shamhna bha Domhnull, an d^idh dha 
 'ghnothuch fhaotainn seachad, a' pilleadh air ais do 
 Choire-Chaorachain far an robh e 'fuireachd. Greis 
 mhath mu'n d' r^inig e 'n tigh, gu de chunnaic e roimhe 
 ach d^ shlthiche dheug, a' dannsadh agus a' leum a 
 null agus a nail thar an rathaid. Cho luath 's a thug 
 iad an aire dha 'tighinn, ghlaodh fear caol, ruadh 
 dhiubh: " Bheir sinn leinn Domhnull Posda." Ach 
 bha fear eile dhiubh, gille gasda, a fhreagair: " Cha 
 tabhair sinn leinn Domhnull Posda, oir 's e Posda 
 bochd a' bhaile againn fh^in a th' ann." An sin 
 thuit dha sealltainn suas am bruthach os a cheann, 
 agus ciod a chunnaic e air an ailean ghorm air a' 
 mhullach, ach buidheann mh6r shithichean, ag cuibh- 
 leadh agus a' dannsadh mar na fir-chlise. Chunnaic a' 
 bhuidheann a bh' air an rathad mh6r iad cuideachd, 
 agus ghrad ghlaodh fear aca: " Bithidh sinn a' falbh 
 as a so," agus ann am priobadh na sula, bha iad air 
 mullach a' bhruthaich leis a' bhuidheann eile. 
 
 Cha d'fheith Domhnull a dh'fhaicinn crloch na 
 cluiche, ach chum e air a cheum, agus fhuair e 
 dhachaidh gu t^aruinte. An d^idh na h-oidhche sin 
 cha'n fhaca e iad tuilleadh : ach bhitheadh e, air 
 oidhchean ^raidh de'n bhliadhna, ag cluinntinn 
 monmhur am bruidhne 'san kite 'sam faca e iad 
 roimhe. 
 
THE FAIRIES OF CORRIE CHAORACHAIN. 
 
 Many years ago Donald Post carried letters between 
 Ballachulish and Fort-William. A part of the road 
 he had to travel was pretty lonely and uncanny, and 
 it had the name of being full of fairies and other bogles. 
 
 On a Hallow-e'en, Donald, after getting his business 
 over, was returning to Corrie Chaorachain where he 
 was staying. A good while before he reached the 
 house, what did he see before him but a dozen fairies 
 dancing and leaping hither and thither across the 
 road. As soon as they noticed him coming, one of 
 them, a slender, red-haired fairy, cried: " We will take 
 Donald Post with us." But another, a fine fellow, 
 replied: " We will not take Donald Post with us, for 
 he is the poor post of our own farm." Donald then 
 happened to look up the hill above him, and what did 
 he behold on the green plain on the summit but a large 
 troop of fairies wheeling and dancing like the merry- 
 dancers. The troop on the high road also noticed 
 them, and instantly one of them cried: " Let us leave 
 this," and in the twinkling of an eye they were on the 
 summit of the hill with the other troop. 
 
 Donald did not wait to see the end of the merry- 
 making, but kept on his way and got home in safety. 
 After that night he never saw the fairies; but on cer- 
 tain evenings of the year he used to hear the murmur 
 of their voices in the place where he had once beheld 
 them. 
 
MAC AN TUATHANAICH AGUS NA 
 SITHICHEAN. 
 
 Bha mac tuathanaich an Raineach a thuit ann an 
 euslaint, agus a bhitheadh a' dol do'n mhonadh, 
 mochthrath agus trath-feasgair, feuch am faigheadh e 
 na b' fhearr. 
 
 An uair a th&inig an samhradh, agus a chaidh an 
 crodh chum na h-kiridhe, dh' fhalbh e 'nan d^idh, agus 
 dh' fhuirich e 'nan cois gus an do phill iad dhachaidh 
 chum an t-sratha an toiseach an fhogharaidh. 
 
 Air latha ce6thar, ciuin dh'fhalbh e g'an trusadh 
 dh' ionnsaidh na buaile-bleoghainn, ach chaidh e air 
 iomrall 's a' che6, agus bha e uine mhaith 'gan sireadh 
 mu'n d'th^inig e orra. Fhuair e iad mu dheireadh ag 
 ionahradh ann an coire m6r, br^agh le feur gorm 
 brighmhor suas gu ruig an siiilean. Bha 'n 1^ 
 cedbanach, blath agus feur a' brijchdadh a nios gu 
 bras as an talamh ; agus, a thaobh gu 'n robh e sgith 
 leis an teas, agus le siubhal a' mhonaidh, shuidh e 
 sios air tolman uaine a ghabhail analach. 
 
 Cha robh e ach goirid an sin gus an cual' e guth, 
 a' tighinn o bhun gach bileag fhe6ir aig a chasan, 
 agus ag r^dh: " Cuid dhomh-sa dheth, cuid dhomh-sa 
 dheth." Dh' ^isd e 'n sin tacain, agus a nis bha 'n 
 guth ceudna a' tighinn o bhun gach bileag fhe6ir a 
 bh' anns a' choire. Sheall e feuch am faiceadh e co 
 uaith a th^inig na guthannan ; ach cha robh duine, 
 beag no mor, ri fhaicinn. Dh' ^isd e rithist, agus an 
 
THE RANNOCH FARMER'S SON AND THE 
 FAIRIES. 
 
 There once lived in Rannoch a farmer's son, who fell 
 into ill health, and who used to go to the hill, morning 
 and evening, to see if he would get better. 
 
 When summer came, and the cattle were driven to 
 the hill pasture, he followed, and remained in charge 
 of them until they returned home to the strath in the 
 beginning of harvest. 
 
 On a calm, misty day he went away to gather them 
 to the milking fold, but strayed in the mist, and was 
 a good long time seeking them before he happened to 
 come upon them. He found them at last grazing in 
 a fine large corrie with green juicy grass up to their 
 eyes. The day was warm, and a misty, drizzling rain 
 falling, and the grass was springing up rapidly from 
 the ground. As he was tired with the heat and 
 travelling on the hill, he sat down on a green 
 hillock to take a rest. 
 
 He was not long there when he heard a voice coming 
 from the root of every blade of grass at his feet, and 
 saying: "Some of it to me, some of it to me!" He 
 then listened a while, and now the same voice came 
 from the root of every blade of grass in the corrie. 
 He looked to see if he could find out from whom the 
 voices came, but no man, small or tall, was visible. 
 
 K 
 
130 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 uair a chuala e a' ghair cheudna an treas uair, thuig 
 e gu'm b' ann o na slthichean a thainig e; agus 
 ghlaodh e cho ard riu fh^in: "Agus cuid dhomh-sa 
 dheth cuideachd." Air ball sguir a' ghair, agus an 
 sin dh'iomain e 'n crodh chum na buaile. 
 
 Bha na banaraichean 'gam feitheamh, agus ioghnadh 
 orra gu d^ a ghl^idh iad cho fada. Thoisich iad air 
 am bleoghainn; ach mu'n d'fhuair iad an leth seachad, 
 cha robh soitheach air a' bhuaile nach robh ag cur 
 thairis le bainne. Cha b' urrainn iad a thuigsinn 
 ciamar a dh' fhas am bainne cho pailt ann an uine cho 
 goirid; mu dheireadh, th6isich iad air an t-sid a 
 mholadh agus a radh gu 'm b' i a b' aobhar do'n 
 phailteas. 
 
 Dh' eisd mac an tuathanaich gu foidhidneach ris 
 gach ni a chuala e, ach thubhairt e ris f^in nach robh 
 am bainne cho pailt anns na h-uile baile 's a bha air 
 a' bhaile aca-san an latha sin, agus nach bitheadh e 
 cho pailt an sud cuideachd, na'n do leig esan leis na 
 Slthichean, an uair a bha iad 'ga tharruing g'an 
 ionnsaidh anns a' choire. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. I3I 
 
 He listened again, and when he heard the same din 
 the third time he understood that it came from the 
 fairies, and so he cried as loud as themselves: "And 
 some of it for me also!" Immediately the din of 
 voices ceased, and then he drove the cattle to the fold. 
 
 The milk - maids were awaiting their coming, and 
 wondering what had kept them so long. They began to 
 milk, but before they had gone over the half, every 
 vessel in the fold was overflowing with milk. They 
 could not comprehend how the milk became so abun- 
 dant in so short a time; at length they began to praise 
 the weather and say it was the cause of the abundance. 
 
 The farmer's son listened patiently to all that he 
 heard; but he said to himself that the milk was not 
 so plentiful on every farm as it was on theirs that day, 
 and that it would not be so plentiful on theirs either, 
 had he left the fairies alone when they were drawing 
 it to themselves in the corrie. 
 
AONGHAS MOR THOM NA H-IUBHRAICH 
 AGUS NA SITHICHEAN. 
 
 Bha Aonghas Mor 'na chiobair air baile Ikimh ri Tom 
 na h-Iubhraich an Inbhir Nis. Air feasgar 
 ce6banach fliuch, agus e a' tilleadh o chuartachadh a' 
 mhonaidh, bha leis gu'n cuala e, a' tighinn a mach 
 a creig Ikimh ris a' cheum air an robh e ag imeachd, 
 guth coltach ri guth nighinn oig a bha e r'a p6sadh 
 air an oidhche sin fein. Sheas e agus dh'6isd e, an 
 diiil gu'n cluinneadh e an guth ceudna rithist. 
 Chuala e an guth ach cha'n fhaca e coltas 
 na h-inghine, no ^ite an aodann na creige anns 
 am b' urrainn di bhi am folach. A' smuainteachadh 
 an sin gu'm b' e guth mhic-talla a chuala e, chum e 
 air a cheum gus an deachaidh e timchioll sron na 
 creige. Bha tolman boidheach, uaine roimhe, agus 
 cho luath is a thainig e 'na shealladh, chunnaic e an 
 dorus fosgailte agus solus a' tighinn a mach mar solus 
 an Ik an soillearachd, agus chuala e an ce61 bu bhinne 
 a thig no a thkinig, agus farum dannsaidh a 
 stigh. Dh' ^alaidh e dh' ionnsaidh an doruis, 
 stob e a bhiodag anns an ursainn, agus thug e caol- 
 shuil a stigh do'n t-Sithean. B' ann an sin a bha an 
 sealladh. Fir agus mnathan sithe 'nan cr6ilein air 
 meadhon an urlair ag cuibhleadh is a' dannsadh le mire- 
 chuthaich. Ach cha robh mir de'n nighinn r'a fhaicinn. 
 Sheas e far an robh e gus an d' thkinig bean-shithe a 
 mach, agus an deachaidh i dh' ionnsaidh uillt a bha 
 
ANGUS MOR OF TOMNAHURICH AND THE 
 FAIRIES. 
 
 Angus M6r was a shepherd on a farm near Tomna- 
 hurich, in Inverness. On a wet, misty evening, as he 
 was returning from compassing the hill, he thought he 
 heard, coming out of a rock beside the path on which he 
 was travelling, a voice like that of a young maiden whom 
 he was going to marry that very night. He stood and 
 listened, expecting to hear the same voice again. He 
 heard the voice, but saw no appearance of the woman, 
 or of a place in the face of the rock, where she could 
 be in hiding. Thinking, then, it was echo's voice he 
 had heard, he held on his way until he went round 
 a point of the rock. Before him was a pretty green 
 knoll ; and as soon as he came in sight of it, he beheld 
 the door open, and issuing thence a light like the light 
 of day in brightness, and he heard the sweetest music 
 that has been or will be, and the sound of dancing 
 within. He crept towards the door, thrust his dirk into 
 the side post, and peeped into the Fairy Knoll. It 
 was there that the sight was. Fairy men and women, 
 in a circle in the middle of the floor, wheeling and 
 dancing with mad energy. But not a bit of the maiden 
 was to be seen/ He stood where he was, until a fairy 
 came forth, and went to a brook, a short distance off. 
 When she was returning he went to meet her, and 
 
134 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 goirid as. Agus an uair a bha i a' tilleadh chaidh e 
 'na coinneamh, agus sheas e anns an t-slighe roimpe. 
 " Leig seachad mi, Aonghais Mh6ir," ars ise. " Cha 
 leig," fhreagair Aonghas, " gus an innis thu dhomh 
 c6 i am boirionnach a chuala mi ag 6igheach mu'n 
 d'thainig mi an sealladh an t-Sithein." " Cha'n innis 
 mi sin duit; cha'n fhaod mi," ars ise. " Mur innis, 
 cha'n fhaigh thu seachad," ars esan. "Mur faigh ad 
 dheoin, gheibh ad aindeoin," ars ise, agus 
 shaighdich i seachad air, mar an dealanach. Bha aig 
 Aonghas 'na Ikimh cromag le bior iaruinn anns an 
 dara ceann dith, agus thilg e a' chromag an deidh na 
 mnk-sithe agus bhuail e i am bac nan easgaid. Thiiit 
 i air an lar, agus mu'n d'fhuair i eirigh, bha i aige 
 'na ghkirdeanan, agus a' chromag tarsuinn roimpe. 
 
 "Innis dhomh, a nis," ars esan, " c6 i am 
 boirionnach a bha ag glaodhaich anns an t-Sithean 
 mu'n d'thainig mise 'na shealladh." " Aonghais 
 Mh6ir," ars ise, "ma dh' innseas tusa diomhaireachd 
 na Ban-righ againne air Drochaid an Easain Duibh 
 seachduin o'n nochd, is leat fein do bhean agus do 
 mhac." 
 
 Chuir na briathran so ioghnadh mor air Aonghas, 
 ach leig e as a' bhean-shithe, agus dh' fhalbh e dhach- 
 aidh, agus phos e an deidh dha ruigheachd. 
 
 Air feasgar eile, is e a' pilleadh dhachaidh as a' 
 mhonadh, rainig e a' chreag o'n cuala e an guth an 
 oidhche roimhe. Sheas e aig a ceann, agus dh' 6isd 
 e car tamuill, ach cha chuala e diog. Chaidh e an 
 sin air a aghaidh gus an d'thkinig e an sealladh an 
 t-Slthein. Dh' amhairc e rathad an doruis, agus 
 chunnaic e solus a' dealradh a mach troimhe, ach cha 
 chuala e fuaim ciiiil no dannsaidh a stigh. Uime sin 
 thionndaidh e air falbh, ach mu'n deachaidh e ro fhada 
 air a shlighe, chunnaic e a' bhean-shithe a' tilleadh 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 1^5 
 
 Stood in the path before her. " Let me pass, Angus 
 M6r," said she. "No," repHed Angus, "until thou 
 tell me who the woman was whom I heard calling before 
 I came in sight of the Fairy Knoll?" "I'll not tell 
 thee that; I may not," said she. "If thou do not, 
 thou shalt not get leave to pass," said he. " If not 
 with thy good will, I will in spite of thee," said she; 
 and she shot past him like lightning. Angus held in 
 his hand a crook with an iron spike in one end of it, 
 and he threw the crook after the fairy, and struck her in 
 the houghs. She fell to the ground, and before she 
 had time to get up, he had hold of her between his 
 arms, and the crook laid across her breast. 
 
 " Tell me now," said he, "what woman was calling 
 in the Fairy Knoll before I came in sight of it?" 
 " Angus Mor," said she, " if thou canst tell the secret 
 of our Queen on the Bridge of Easan Dubh a week from 
 to-night, thy wife and son will be thine." 
 
 Angus wondered greatly at these words, but he 
 allowed the fairy to go, and he went home, and 
 married after his arrival. 
 
 Another evening, as he was returning from the hill, 
 he reached the rock from which he last heard the voice. 
 He stood still at the end of it, and listened for a while, 
 but not a syllable did he hear. He then went forward, 
 until he came in sight of the Fairy Knoll. On looking 
 the way of the door, he beheld a light shining inside, 
 but he heard not a sound of music or dancing, so tie 
 turned away; but before he had gone far on his way, 
 he saw the fairy returning from the brook, and in 
 passing she called to him as she had done the first 
 night: "Angus M6r, thy wife and son are thine, if 
 
136 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 o'n allt, agus anns an dol seachad ghlaodh i ris mar 
 air a' cheud oidhche: " Aonghais Mh6ir, is leat f^n 
 do bhean agus do mhac, ma dh' innseas tu 
 diomhaireachd na Ban-righ againne air Drochaid an 
 Easain Duibh air feasgar Di-haoine so a' tighinn." 
 
 Chuir an rabhadh a fhuair e mar so an dara h-uair 
 ciil-eiginn de dh' iomagain air Aonghas, gu s6nraichte 
 a chionn nach robh fios aige ciod a dh' fhaodadh 
 tighinn as. 
 
 Rainig e an tigh, agus choinnich a bhean e anns an 
 dorus. Thug i fa-near gu'n robh ni-eigin ag cur 
 dragha air a inntinn, agus le sin dh'fhe6raich i dheth 
 an t-aobhar. Dh' innis e dhi gach ni a chunnaic agus 
 a chuala e aig an t-Sithean. 
 
 "Aonghais, a ghaoil nam fear," ars a bhean, " na 
 cuireadh ni dheth sin iomagain ort. Fhuair thu mise 
 mu'n do ruith a' bhliadhna mach, agus le sin na 
 cuireadh mise curam tuilleadh ort." 
 
 "A bhean, cha'n 'eil mi 'gad thuigsinn," ars 
 Aonghas. An sin thubhairt i: 
 
 " Mu thuaiream bliadhna roimhe so thkinig laigse 
 orm, agus mi a' dol seachad air an t-Sithean. Shuidh 
 mi sJos, agus an uine ghoirid thuit mi am chadal. An 
 uair a dhuisg mi, bha mi anns an aon kite bu bhr^agha 
 a chunnaic mi riamh agus air mo chuartachadh le fir 
 agus le mnathan ag cur ri dannsadh. Dh' fheuch mi 
 ri dol a mach, ach ge b' e taobh a ghabhainn, bhitheadh 
 na sithichean — oir b' iad a bh' ann — romham. Mu 
 dheireadh thubhairt fear aca a bha a r^ir coltais 'na 
 cheannard air ckch : ' Ainnir dhonn nam mlogshuil, 
 gheibh thu mach, ma gheallas tu gii'm bi thu ad 
 mhnaoi agam-sa, mur faigh thu do roghainn grkidh r'a 
 ph6sadh mu 'n tig bliadhna o'n nochd.' Bha mi cho 
 toileach faotainn as is gu'n d'thug mi dha mo 
 ghealladh. Ach, Aonghais, bu tusa mo roghainn a 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 1 37 
 
 thou canst tell the secret of our Queen on the Bridge 
 of Easan Dubh on the evening of next Friday." 
 
 The warning, which he thus got the second lime, 
 caused Angus some anxiety, especially as he knew not 
 what might be the outcome. 
 
 He reached the house, and his wife met him at the 
 door. She noticed that something was troubling his 
 mind, so she asked him the cause, and he told her 
 everything he had seen and heard at the Fairy Knoll. 
 
 "Angus, dearest of men," said his wife, "let none 
 of these things make thee anxious. We have married 
 before the year has run out, so do not let me cause thee 
 anxiety any longer." " Wife, I do not understand 
 thee," said Angus. Then she said: "About a year 
 ago a faintness came over me as I was passing the 
 Fairy Knoll. I sat down on the Knoll, and, in 
 a short time, fell asleep. When I awoke I was in the 
 finest place I ever beheld, and surrounded by men and 
 women busy dancing. I tried to go out, but whichever 
 way I took, the fairies — for it was they — would be 
 before me. At last one of them, who seemed to be 
 chief over the rest, said: ' Brown-haired maiden of the 
 laughing eyes, thou wilt get out if thou promise to be 
 my wife, unless thou get thy chosen love in marriage 
 before the end of the year from this night.' I was so 
 eager to get away that I gave him my promise. But, 
 Angus, thou wert my choice of the men of the Uni- 
 verse; and since I have got thee before the time ran 
 out, I am free from the promise L gave him." 
 
 On Friday evening Angus M6r was once more re- 
 turning from the hill, and when he arrived at the 
 Bridge of Easan Dubh, he remembered it was there he 
 
138 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 dh'fhir an domhain ; agus o'n fhuair mi thu mu'n do 
 ruith an iiine mach, tha mi nis saor o'n ghealladh a 
 thug mi dha." 
 
 Air feasgar Di-haoine blia Aonghas Mor a' tilleadh 
 as a' mhonadh aon uair eile, agus an uair a rkinig e 
 Drochaid an Easain Duibh, chuimhnich e gu'm b' ann 
 an sin a bha aige ri diomhaireachd Ban-righ nan 
 Sithichean innseadh. SJieas e car tacain air muUach 
 na Drochaide, ach cha robh e fada an sin gus an cuala 
 e an aon ghuth bu bhinne a dh' eisd e riamh ris anns 
 an allt fuidlie. Thug e caol-shuil thar barran na 
 Drochaide, agus c6 a chunnaic e ag glanadh agus a' 
 fucadh aodaich air cloich anns an uisge ach a' Bhan- 
 righ, agus b'e so an t-6r^n a bha i a' seinn : — 
 
 Sdist. 
 
 Thoirionn O R6 Thiiraibh Thoro, 
 Thoirionn O is na Thfiraibh Otho, 
 Thoirionn O R6 Thiiraibh Thor6. 
 
 'S aithne diiomh 'Bheinn Mhor am Muile, 
 'S aithne dhomh mullach Sguirr Eige, 
 'S aithne dhomh 'n cat a bha 'n Ulbha, 
 Agus 'earball ris an teine. 
 
 II. 
 
 Tha ce61 an talla mo ghrkidh, 
 'S tha or an talamh MhicAidh; 
 Ach tha oran an Inbhir Nis 
 Air nach fhaighear fios gu br^th. 
 
 An uair a chrlochnaich i an t-6ran, ghiaodh Aonghas 
 Mer o mhullach na Drochaide: " Ge b' oil leat, a 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 139 
 
 was to tell the secret of the Queen of the Fairies. He 
 stood a while on the top of the Bridge, but he was 
 not long there when he heard in the brook under him 
 the very sweetest voice he ever listened to. He gave 
 a peep over the parapet of the Bridge, and whom did he 
 see cleaning and rubbing clothes on a stone in the 
 water, but the Queen, and this was the song she was 
 singing: — 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Horin O R6 Hooriv Hor6, 
 Horin O is na Hooriv oh6, 
 Horin O R6 Hooriv Horo. 
 
 I. 
 
 1 know Ben More in Mull, 
 I know the top of Scuir Eigg, 
 I know the cat that was in Ulva 
 With its tail turned to the fire. 
 
 II. 
 
 There is music in the hall of my dear, 
 There is gold in the land of Mackay; 
 But there is a song in Inverness 
 Which shall never be known. 
 
 When she ended the song. Big Angus cried from 
 the top of the Bridge: " In spite of thee, woman, thou 
 art wrong. I have now every word of thy song, and 
 thy secret with it." At these words the Queen started, 
 and uttered a scream. She then lifted up her head. 
 
140 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 bhean, tha thu cearr. Tha h-uile facal ad 6ran agam- 
 sa nis, agus do dhlomhaireachd maille ris." 
 
 Chlisg a' Bhan-righ leis na briathraibh so, agus 
 thug i sgreuch eagail aiste. Thog i an sin suas a 
 ceann, agus an uair a chunnaic i Aonghas air an 
 Drochaid, thubhairt i: " Rinn thu an gnothach orm. 
 Is leat f^in do bhean agus do mhac a nis." Agus an 
 d^idh dhi so a r^dh, chaidh i as an t-sealladh, agus 
 cha'n fhaca e tuilleadh i. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 14I 
 
 and when she beheld Angus on the Bridge, she said: 
 "Thou hast foiled me. Thy wife and son are now 
 thine own." After saying this she went out of sight, 
 and he saw her no more. 
 
TAILLEAR RUADH RAINEACH AGUS AN 
 SITHBHREACH. 
 
 Bha 'n Tkillear Ruadh a chomhnuidh an Raineach. 
 Coltach ris a' chorr d'a sheorsa, bhiodh e a' dol o 
 thigh gu tigh a dheanamh aodaich de 'n chl6 
 a bhitheadh mnathan grunndail a' deanamh d' 
 am fir agus d'am mic anns na h-^maibh a chaidh 
 seachad. 
 
 Uair-eigin, is e a' tarruing dluth do thigh far an 
 robh obair beagan Ikithean aige ri dheanamh, thainig 
 am feasgar air, agus chunnaic e, ann an doillearachd 
 an anmoich, aon coltach ri leanabh fior bheag, a' ruith 
 air thoiseach air, agus ag gl^idheadh as an t-sealladh 
 air chul gach pris agus gach cnuic ri taobh an rathaid. 
 Chruadhaich e a cheum an duil gu'm beireadh e air an 
 duineachan iongantach a bha roimhe, ach an aite a 
 bhi a' buidhinn, b' ann a bha e ag call leis gach ceum 
 a bheireadh e. Cho luath 's a thug e so fa-near, 
 thoisich e air ruith le a uile neart; ach a dh' aindeoin 
 a bhoicinn cha b' urrainn e an t-astar eatorra a 
 ghiorrachadh. Mu dheireadh chaill e a fhoidhidinn 
 cho buileach is gu'n do thilg e an siosar m6r air an 
 duineachan sgiobalta a bha an toiseach air, agus bhuail 
 e anns na h-easgaidean e. Thuit an sithbhreach (oir 
 b' e sin a bha ann) air a aghaidh, agus mu'n d'fhuair 
 e eirigh bha e an gt\irdeanaibh an Tailleir, agus an 
 siosar tarsuinn air a bhroilleach. 
 
 " Innis domh-sa c'kite am bheil thu a' dol, mo ghille 
 
THE RED-HAIRED TAILOR OF RANNOCH 
 AND THE FAIRY. 
 
 The red-haired tailor lived in Rannoch. Like the rest 
 of his kind, he went from house to house to make 
 clothes of the cloth which thrifty wives manufactured 
 for their husbands and sons in by-gone times. 
 
 Once as he was approaching a house, where he had 
 a few days' work to do, evening came on, and he saw, 
 in the dimness of the twilight, one like a very little 
 child, running before him and keeping out of sight 
 behind every bush and every hillock at the road-side. 
 The tailor hardened his step, hoping to overtake the 
 curious manikin before him, but instead of gaining, 
 he was losing ground at every step he took. As soon 
 as he noticed this, he began to run with all his might; 
 but in spite of his skin, he could not shorten the 
 distance between them. At length he lost patience so 
 completely that he threw his big shears at the nimble 
 little man ahead, and struck him with them in the knee 
 joints. The fairy, for such he was, fell on his face, 
 and before he had time to rise up, was in the tailor's 
 arms, and the shears on his breast. " Tell me where 
 thou art going, my good lad," said the tailor. " I 
 am on my way from the Big Fairy Knoll, to the house 
 ahead of thee, to get a while of the breast of the wife," 
 replied the little imp. This was the very house to 
 
144 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 mhaith," ars an T^illear. " Tha mi air mo rathad o'n 
 t-SJthean Mh6r gus an tigh air thoiseach ort, a 
 dh' fhaotainn tacain de bhainne-clche bean-an-tighe," 
 fhreagair an garlaoch crion. B'e so a' cheart tigh 
 gus an robh an Tkillear a' dol. " Agus gu 6.6 nl thu 
 ri leanabh na mnatha fein," ars e an sin. "UI 
 cuiridh mi mach e do mo mhuinntir air uinneig-chiiil 
 an tiglie agus bheir iad-san le6 e do'n ^ite againne," 
 fhreagair am fear eile. " Agus an cuir iad dachaidh 
 e an uair a gheibh thusa do le6ir de bhainne-clche a 
 mh^thar?" "U! cha chuir, cha chuir tullleadh." 
 " Ni sin an gnothuch, " ars an Tkillear, agus leig e 
 as a phriosanach. 
 
 Cho luath is a fhuair e comas a choise, shin e as 
 dh' ionnsaidh an tighe, agus bha e stigh mu'n d' rkinig 
 an Taillear. Bha an tigh aige dha f^in, oir bha fear- 
 an^tighe agus a bhean anns a' bhathaich a' leigeil a' 
 chruidh, agus gun duine stigh ach an leanabh anns a' 
 chreathall. Thog e an leanabh 'na ghkirdeanaibh, agus 
 shin e mach e air an uinneig-chdil, mar shaoil 
 e, do na sithbhrich eile. Ach bha an Taillear 
 rompa, agus ghabh e gu samhach an leanabh 
 'na ghairdeanaibh, agus dh'fhalbh e leis gu tigh 
 peathar dha a bha goirid as, agus dh' fhag e air a 
 cijram e. 
 
 An uair a thill e, fhuair e a' bhean air thoiseach air, 
 agus an t^charan anns a' chreathall, an impis sgkinidh 
 ag caoineadh. Thog a' bhean e, thug i dha deoch, 
 agus an sin chuir i air ais e anns a' chreathall. Cha 
 robh e fada an sin an uair a thoisich e air glaodhaich 
 is air caoineadh a ris. Thog i e, agus thug i dha 
 deoch eile. Ach a reir coltais cha'n fhoghnadh ni leis 
 ach a bhi air a fhagail an c6mhnuidh air a' bhroilleach. 
 Chaidh a' chluich so air a h-aghaidh fad beagan Ikithean 
 eile. Ach air do fhoidhidinn an Tkilleir ruith a mach. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 1 45 
 
 which the tailor was going. " And what wilt thou do 
 with the woman's own child?" said he then. "Oh, 
 I will put him out at the back window to my people, 
 and they will take him with them to our place," 
 answered the other. "And will they send him home 
 when thou hast had enough of his mother's breast?" 
 "Oh, no; never!" "That will do," said the tailor, 
 and he let his prisoner go. 
 
 As soon as he got his liberty, he stretched away to 
 the house, and was within before the tailor arrived. 
 He had the house to himself, for the goodman and his 
 wife were in the byre milking the cows, and no one 
 within but the child in the cradle. He lifted the child 
 in his arms, and handed it out at the back window to 
 the other fairies, as he thought; but the tailor was before 
 them, and took the child quietly in his arms, and then 
 went away with it to the house of his sister, who lived 
 a short distance off, and left it in her charge. 
 
 When he returned he found the wife before him, and 
 the changeling in the cradle, ready to burst with crying. 
 The wife took him up, and gave him a drink, and then 
 put him back in the cradle again. He was not long 
 there till he began to scream and cry once more. She 
 took him up, and gave him another drink. But to all 
 appearance nothing would please him but to be left 
 always on the breast. This game went on for a few 
 days more. But when the patience of the tailor ran 
 out, he sprang at last from the work-table, took in a 
 creelful of peats, and put a big fire on the hearth. 
 When the fire was in the heat of its burning, he sprang 
 over to the cradle, took with him the changeling, and 
 before any one in the house could interpose, he threw 
 
 L 
 
146 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 leum e mu dheireadh bh^rr a bhCiird-obair, thug e stigh 
 l^n cl^ibh de mh6ine, agus chuir e teine mdr air an 
 teallach. An uair a bha an teine an teas a ghabhalach, 
 leum e null do'n chreathall, thog e leis an tikcharan, 
 agus mu'm b' urrainn duine a bha stigh dol 'san 
 eadraiginn, thilg e an teis-meadhon na lasrach e. Ach 
 leum an slaightear crlon a mach troimh an luidhear, 
 agus o mhullach an tighe ghlaodh e gu caithreamach 
 ris a' mhnaoi: " Fhuair mi sud de shCigh do chl^ibh, ge 
 b' oil leat," agus thug e an rathad air. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 14/ 
 
 him in the very middle of the flames. But the little 
 knave leaped out through the chimney, and from the 
 house-top cried in triumph to the wife: " I have got 
 so much of the sap of thy breast in spite of thee," and 
 he departed. 
 
TACHARAN CEANN AN T-SAILEIN. 
 
 Bha bean a chomhnuidh an Ceann an t-Siilein aig an 
 robh leanabh-mic air nach robh aon chuid f^ no snuadh 
 mar air leanabaibh eile d' a aois. O mhaduinn gu 
 feasgar cha rachadh stad mionaide air, ach ag 
 caoineadh; agus dh' itheadh e fada tuilleadh bldh na 
 bha n^durra d'a leithid. 
 
 Is e am fogharadh a bha ann, agus cha robh duine 
 air a' bhaile a b' urrainn corran a tharruing nach robh 
 mach air an achadh bhuana ach m^thair an leinibh. 
 Bhitheadh ise cuideachd a mach, mur bhiodh eagal gu'n 
 sgaineadh an sgreuchan mosach a chridhe ag caoineadh 
 na'm f^gadh i e air ciiram neach air bith eile. 
 
 Thuit 'san ^m gu 'n robh tkillear a' deanamh aodaich 
 anns an tigh. Bha an tkillear 'na dhuine geur, 
 furachail agus cha robh e ach ro ghoirid a stigh gus 
 an do chuir e droch umhail air a' ghille a bha anns a' 
 chreathall. " Faodaidh tusa," ars e ris a' mhnaoi, 
 " dol thun na buana, agus gabhaidh mise cfiram de 'n 
 ph^isd." 
 
 Dh'fhalbh a' bhean. Ach, mu'n gann a thug i a 
 casan thar na stairsnich, th6isich an cranndas a dh'fh^g 
 i 'na d^idh air sgreadail agus air caoineadh gu cruaidh 
 agus gu goirt. Dh' ^isd an t^illear ris tacain maith, 
 agus a shiiil air, gus an robh e cinnteach nach robh 
 ann ach t^charan. Chaill e nis a fhoidhidinn ris, agus 
 ghlaodh e le guth geur, crosda: "Stad, 'ille, de 'n 
 
THE KINTALEN CHANGELING. 
 
 There was living in Kintalen a woman who had a 
 male-child with neither the growth nor the bloom of 
 other children of his age. From morning to evening 
 he would not cease one minute from crying, and he 
 would eat far more food than was natural for the like 
 of him. 
 
 It was harvest, and there was not a person on the 
 farm who could draw a sickle but was out on the 
 reaping field, except the mother of the child. She, too, 
 would have been out were it not for fear that the nasty 
 screaming thing would break his heart crying, if she 
 should leave him in charge of any other person. 
 
 It happened that there was at the time a tailor in the 
 house, making clothes. The tailor was a shrewd, ob- 
 servant man, and he was but a short time within until 
 he became suspicious of the lad in the cradle. " You," 
 said he to the woman, " may go to the reaping, and 
 I will take cafe of the child." 
 
 The woman went away. But she had barely taken 
 her feet over the threshold when the withered object 
 she had left behind began shrieking and crying loudly 
 and sorely. The tailor listened to him a good while, 
 keeping his eye on him, till he was sure that he was 
 nothing but a changeling. He now lost patience with 
 him, and cried in a sharp, angry voice: "Stop that 
 music, lad, or I'll put thee on the fire." The crying 
 ceased for a while, but afterwards it began a second 
 
150 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 che61 sin; air-neo cuiridh mi air an teine thu." Sguir 
 an caoineadh tacain ach an d6idh sin thoisich e an dara 
 h-uair. *' An ann fhathast, a phlobaire an aon 
 phuirt? " ars an t^illear. " Cluinneam an ce61 sin agad 
 tuilleadh agus marbhaidh mi thu leis a' bhiodaig." 
 An uair a chunnaic an sithiche a' ghruaim a bha air an 
 tkillear, agus a' bhiodag 'na laimh, ghabh e a leithid 
 de eagal is gu'n d'fhuirich e iiine mhath s^mhach. 
 Bha an t^illear 'na dhuine sunndach; agus a chur dheth 
 an fhadail, th6isich e air port a channtaireachd. Am 
 meadhon a' chiCiil, thog an siochaire grannda burrall 
 ard; ach ma thog, cha d' fhuair e dol air aghaidh le a 
 cheileir ach gl^ ghoirid. Leum an tkillear bhirr a 
 bhilird-obair, chaidh e le a bhiodaig 'na l^imh a null 
 dh' ionnsaidh na creithle, agus thubhairt e ris an 
 t-sithiche: " Tha gu le6ir againn de 'n che61 ud. 
 Glac a' phiob-mhor cheart agus thoir dhuinn aon 
 phort math oirre, air-neo cuiridh mi a' bhiodag annad." 
 Dh' ^irich an sithiche suas 'na shuidhe anns a' 
 chreathall, rug e air a' phiob a bha aige an kite-eigin 
 m' a thimchioll, agus chuir e suas an aon che6I bu 
 bhinne a chuala an t&illear riamh. Chuala na 
 buanaichean e air an achadh, agus air ball leig iad a 
 sios an corrain, agus sheas iad ag 6isdeachd ris a' che61 
 shithe. Mu dheireadh dh' fhkg iad an t-achadh, agus 
 ruith iad an rathad a thiinig an ceol. Ach mu'n 
 d' rainig iad an tigh, sguir am port; agus cha robh 
 fhios aca c6 a chluich e, no cia as a th^inig e. 
 
 An uair a phill na buanaichean dachaidh anns an 
 fheasgar, agus a fhuair an tkillear bean-an-tighe leatha 
 fh^in, dh' innis e dhi gach ni a thachair am feadb a bha 
 i aig a' bhuain, agus nach robh anns an leanabh aice 
 ach t^charan. Dh'iarr e oirre an sin dol leis gu taobh 
 Aird-Sheile de 'n chamus, agus a thilgeil a mach air 
 an Loch. Rinn i mar dh'iarradh oirre, agus cho luath 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 151 
 
 time. " Art thou at it again, piper of the one tune? " 
 said the tailor. " Let me hear that music any more 
 from thee, and I will kill thee with the dirk." When 
 the fairy beheld the frown on the tailor's countenance 
 and the dirk in his hand, he took such a fright that 
 he kept quiet a good while. The tailor was a cheerful 
 man, and to keep from wearying he began to hum a 
 tune. In the middle of the music the ugly elf raised 
 a loud howl. But, if he did, he was not allowed to 
 go on with his warble but a very short time. The 
 tailor leaped off his work-table, went, dirk in hand, over 
 to the cradle, and said to the fairy: " We have enough 
 of that music, take the right great bagpipes and give 
 us one good tune on them, or else I'll put the dirk in 
 thee." The fairy sat up in the cradle, took the pipes 
 which he had somewhere about him, and struck up the 
 sweetest music the tailor had ever heard. The reapers 
 heard it on the field, and instantly dropped their sickles 
 and stood listening to the fairy music. At length they 
 left the field, and ran in the direction whence the music 
 came. But before they reached the house the tune had 
 ceased; and they knew not who played it or whence 
 it came. 
 
 When the reapers returned home in the evening, and 
 the tailor got the mistress of the house alone, he told 
 her everything that happened while she was at the 
 reaping, and that her child was nothing but a change- 
 ling. He then told her to go with him to the Ardsheal 
 side of the bay, and to throw him out in the Loch. 
 She did as was told her, and as soon as the nasty little 
 elf touched the water he became a big grey-haired old 
 man, and swam to the other side of the bay. When 
 he got his foot on dry land, he cried to her that if he 
 
152 I'OLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 is a bhean an siochaire crion^ mosach do'n uisge, 
 thionndaidh e 'na sheann duine m6r, liath. Shnamh 
 e an sin gu taobh eile a' chamuis. An uair a fhuair 
 e a chas air tir, ghlaodh e rithe, na'n robh fhios aige- 
 san roimh Ikimh ciod a bha i a' dol a dhCanamh, gu'n 
 tugadh esan oirre nach smaointicheadh i air a leithid a 
 dheanamh gu br^th tuilleadh. 
 
 Thill ise dhachaidh, agus fhuair i a leanabh f^in slkn, 
 fallain aig an dorus roimpe. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 1 53 
 
 I 
 
 had known beforehand what she was going to do he 
 woulfl have made her never think of doing such a thing 
 again. 
 
 She returned home and found her own child at the 
 door before her, hale and sound. 
 
SITHICHE CHOIRE OSBAINN AGUS AN 
 TAILLEAR. 
 
 Bha bean ciobair an Coire Osbainn aig an robh leanabh 
 a dh' fhas ro chrosda agus duilich a bhanaltrachadh. 
 Cha robh fios aice fein no aig a fear ciod a bha air an 
 leanabh, no ciod a dheanadh iad ris, gus an d'thkinig 
 an Tkillear a dheanamh aodaich de dh' eige chl6tha air 
 iir-thighinn as a' mhuileann luaidh. Air an ath latha 
 an d^idh dha tighinn, chaidh bean a' chlobair do'n 
 aite-mh6ine, agus dh' fh^g i an leanabh air a chiiram 
 gus an tilleadh i. Goirid an d^idh dhi falbh, gu d^ 
 a chuala an T^illear air a chiilaibh ach ce61 binn na 
 pioba m6ire. Sheall e an rathad as an d'th^inig an 
 ce61, agus co a chunnaic e 'na shuidhe anns an 
 leabadh, ach seann duine beag, liath, le feadan 
 connlaich 'na bheul, agus e ag cur ri port a chluich 
 ris am bheil na rainn a leanas air an seinn : 
 
 Uist Oireannainn! Uist Oireannainnl 
 
 Uist Oireannainn ! Uist O thi ! 
 'S fhada tha a' chaile gun tighinn 
 
 'S gu'm faigheadh an Cannan cioch. 
 Uist Oireannainn, etc. 
 
 Chum e air a' phort so a sheinn gus an cuala e am 
 boirionnach a' tighinn. An sin sguir an ce6!, agus 
 bha e 'na leanabh beag a rithist. 
 
 Cha d'innis an Thillear do'n mhnaoi ni de na 
 
THE FAIRY OF CORRIE OSBEN AND THE 
 TAILOR. 
 
 In Corrie Osben lived a shepherd's wife, whose child 
 grew very peevish and difficult to nurse. Neither she 
 nor her huslSand knew what was the matter with the 
 child, or what was to be done with him, until the tailor 
 came to make clothes of a web of home-made cloth 
 newly come from the walking-mill. Next day after his 
 arrival, the shepherd's wife went to the peat-moss, and 
 left the child under his care till she should return. 
 Shortly after she went away, what did the tailor hear 
 behind him but the sweet music of the bag-pipes. He 
 looked the way whence the music came, and whom did 
 he see sitting in the bed but a little old grey-headed 
 man with a pipe of straw in his mouth, busy playing 
 a tune, to which the following verses are sung: — 
 
 Hush! Oranan, Hush! Oranan, 
 Hush I Oranan, Hush ! Ohe^ ! 
 
 Long is the lassie of coming 
 To give the Cannan a wee. 
 Hush! Oranan, etc. 
 
 He kept playing this tune until he heard the woman 
 coming; then the music ceased, and he was again a 
 little child. 
 
 The tailor told the woman nothing of what he had 
 
156 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 chunnaic is a chuala e am fad is a bha i air falbh. Air 
 an ath latha an d^idh dhi dol do'n aite-mh6ine, ghabh 
 e ubh, thug e am biadh as, lion e am plaosg le uisge, 
 agus chuir e taobh an teine e. Bha ioghnadh cho m6r 
 air a' bhodachan de'n ni a chunnaic e is gu'n do 
 thionndaidh e nail is gu'n d'thubhairt e: " Gu dd a 
 tha thu a' dol a dheanamh le sin, a Th^illeir? " " Tha 
 mi a' dol a theasachadh uisge a bhogadh bracha," 
 ars an Taillear. " Ma-t^ tha mi corr agus ceud 
 bliadhna dh' aois, agus gu so cha'n fhaca mi ballan- 
 uibhe a' dol a theasachadh uisge a bhogadh bracha," 
 ars an duine beag, is e a' tionndadh a mill agus a' 
 toiseachadh a rithist air cluich air an fheadan 
 chonnlaich. Chum e ag cluich puirt an 1^ roimhe gus 
 an cuala e a' bhean a' tighinn, agus an sin bha e aon 
 uair eile 'na leanabh beag. 
 
 Air an treas 1^ dh' innis an Tkillear do 'n 
 mhnaoi ciod air an robh e 'na fhianuis, agus a bharail 
 nach robh anns an leanabh ach sithiche. " Agus ciod 
 a ni mise ris?" dh' fheoraich a' bhean. " Thoir leat 
 e, " ars an Taillear, "gus an t-eas 's a' choimhears- 
 nachd, agus tilg a sJos e thar na bruaich do 'n uisge." 
 Rinn a' bhean mar dh' iarradh oirre. Ach cha bu 
 luaithe a bhean an leanabh do'n uisge na dh' fh^ e 
 'na dhuineachan beag, liath. Dh' ^irich e an sin 
 air a chasan ann an corruich mh6ir, agus streap e suas 
 ri taobh cas an easa, a' bagradh dioghaltais air a' 
 mhnaoi, na'm beireadh e oirre. Ach chuir ise 'sna 
 buinn cho luath is a b' urrainn i, agus cha d' amhairc 
 i 'na d^idh gus an do ikimg i an tigh, far an d'fhuair 
 i a leanabh f^in air a fhJigail aig an dorus roimpe. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 1 57 
 
 seen and heard while she was absent. Next day, when 
 she went a second time to the peat-moss, he took an 
 egg, emptied the shell of its contents, filled it with 
 water, and placed it near the fire. The little old 
 mannie's curiosity was so much excited by what he 
 saw that he turned round and said: "What are you 
 going to do with that, tailor?" " I am going to heat 
 water to steep malt in," said the tailor. " Well, I am 
 more than a hundred years old, and never till now did 
 I see an eggshell used to heat water for steeping malt 
 in," said the little man, as he turned away 
 and began again to play on his straw-pipe. He kept 
 playing the tune of the day before until he heard the 
 woman coming, and then he once more became a little 
 child. 
 
 On the third day, the tailor told the woman what he 
 had witnessed, and his opinion that the child was 
 nothing but a fairy. "And what am I to do 
 with him? " asked the woman. " Take him," said the 
 tailor, " to the neighouring ravine, and throw him over 
 the bank into the water below." The woman did as 
 she was told, but no sooner had the child touched the 
 water than he became a little grey manikin. He then 
 rose to his feet in a great rage, and scrambled up the 
 steep side of the ravine, threatening the woman with 
 vengeance if he overtook her. But she took to 
 her heels as fast as she could, and never looked behind 
 her until she arrived at the house, where she found 
 her own child laid at the door before her. 
 
[AN NIGHEAN A DH' FHALMHAICH 
 GISTE-MHINE DO-THRAOGHADH 
 NAN SITHICHEAN.] 
 
 Chaidh nighean 6g uair-eigin roimhe so a shaodachadh 
 cruidh a h-athar do'n mhonadh. Bha Slthean roimpe 
 anns an t-slighe a ghabh i, agus an d6idh dhi dghinn 
 'na shealladh, thachair oirre buidheann shithichean le 
 aon na b' iirde na an c6rr air an ceann. Rug am 
 fear so oirre, agus le cuideachadh chkich thug e leis 
 i do'n t-Shhean. 
 
 Cho luath is a fhuair e stigh i, chuir e mar cheangal 
 oirre na bha de mhin anns a' chiste-mhine a dheasach- 
 adh 'na aran mu'm faigheadh i a duais, agus cead 
 falbh dhachaidh. 
 
 Cha robh a' chiste ach beag agus le sin shaoil an 
 nighean bhochd nach bitheadh i ach goirid 'ga 
 falmhachadh. Ach anns an d6chas so bha i gu m6r air 
 a mealladh. Oir ged a thoisich i air deasachadh, agus 
 a chum i aige le a h-uile neart Ik an deidh 1^, bha a 
 h-obair a r^ir coltais an diomhain. Mar dh' 
 fhalamhaicheadh ise a' chiste, llonadh a' chiste ris. 
 Chunnaic i mu dheireadh nach tigeadh crioch air a 
 h-obair, agus uime sin, air a daorsa, am feasd. Lion 
 an smuaint so i le mulad cho m6r is gu'n do bhrist i 
 mach ann an caoineadh. 
 
 Bha seann bhean anns an t-Slthean a thugadh air 
 falbh 'na h-&ige leis na sithichibh, agus a bha cho fada 
 ann agus gu'n do chaill i d6chas air faotainn as. 
 Chunnaic a' bhean so staid na h-inghine, agus an uair 
 
THE GIRL WHO EMPTIED THE INEXHAUST- 
 IBLE MEAL CHEST OF THE FAIRIES. 
 
 Once upon a time a young maiden went to drive her 
 father's cattle to the hill. A Fairy Knoll lay before 
 her in the path she took; and after she came in sight 
 of it, she met a band of fairies, with one taller than 
 the rest at their head. This one seized her, 
 and with the help of the others, took her away with 
 him to the Fairy Knoll. 
 
 As soon as he had got her within the Knoll, he put her 
 under an obligation to bake into bread all the meal in the 
 meal-chest, before she would receive her wages and 
 permission to go home. 
 
 The chest was but small, and so the poor maiden 
 imagined that she would not take a long time in empty- 
 ing it. But in this she was greatly deceived. For 
 though she began to bake, and kept at it with all her 
 strength day after day, her labour was to all appear- 
 ance in vain. As she would empty the chest it would 
 fill again. At length she saw that her task, and, there- 
 fore, her captivity, would never come to an end. This 
 thought so grieved her that she burst out a-crying. 
 
 In the Fairy Knoll was an old woman who had been 
 carried ofT by the fairies in her youth, and who had 
 been so long there that she had lost all hope of ever 
 getting out. This woman beheld the plight of the 
 
l6o FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 a chuimhnich i air a truaighe f^in, an uair a bha i an 
 toiseach anns a' cheart ch^s, ghabh i truas m6r dhith, 
 agus dh' innis i dhi ciamar a dh' fhalmhaicheadh i a' 
 chiste. " Gach uair a tha thusa a' sgur a dheasachadh, 
 tha thu a' deanamh arain de'n fhallaid mu dheireadh," 
 ars ise. " Ach an d^idh so cuir thusa an fhallaid 
 air a h-ais anns a' chiste, agus chi thu gu'n teirig na 
 tha innte de mhin ann an iiine ghoirid." 
 
 Rinn an nighean mar she61 an t-seann bhean i, 
 agus th^inig crioch air a' mhin mar thubhairt i. An 
 uair a chunnaic an nighean a' chiste falamh, chaidh 
 i le g^irdeachas far an robh ceannard nan slthichean, 
 agus dh' iarr i air a leigeil air falbh, a chionn gu'n 
 do chriochnaich i an obair a fhuair i r'a deanamh. 
 Ach cha do chreid e i gus an do sheall e anns a' chiste 
 agus am faca e gu'n robh i falamh. An sin thug e a 
 duais do'n nighean, agus leig e cead a coise dhi. Agus 
 mar bha i a' dol a mach an dorus, thubhairt e: "Mo 
 bheannachd ort-sa, ach mo mhallachd air do bheul 
 ionnsachaidh." 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. l6l 
 
 maiden, and on calling to mind her own misery when 
 she was first in the same strait, she took great pity 
 upon her, and told her how she would empty the chest. 
 " Every time you cease baking, you are making bread 
 of the remaining sprinkling of meal," she said. " But, 
 after this, do you put the sprinkling of meal back into 
 the chest, and you will see that it will be emptied of all 
 the meal it contains in a short time." 
 
 The maiden did as the old woman directed her, and 
 the meal came to an end, as she had said. When the 
 girl saw the chest empty, she went joyfully to the chief 
 of the fairies, and asked him to let her go away, 
 because she had finished the task laid upon her. But 
 he did not believe her, till he looked into the 
 meal-chest, and saw that it was empty. Then he gave 
 the maiden her wages and leave to depart. And as 
 she was going out, he said: "My blessing on thee, 
 but my curse on thy teaching mouth." 
 
 M 
 
[AN DA CHOIMHEARSNACH AGUS AN 
 UISGE-BEATHA CALLUINNE.] 
 
 Chaidh del choimhearsnach a dh' iarraidh uisge-beatha 
 na Calluinne do thigh-osda a bha goirid as. An d^idh 
 dhoibh an t-uisge-beatha fhaotainn, phill iad leis ann 
 am pigeachaibh air an dromanaibh, agus cuid deth, 
 gun teagamh, fo an criosaibh. Air an rathad chunnaic 
 iad solus dealrach rompa, agus goirid an d^idh sin, 
 chuala iad ce61 binn agus iolach ghkirdeachais mh6ir 
 a' tighinn o'n kite 'san robh iad a' faicinn an t-soluis. 
 Bha fios aca gu'n robh Slthean 'san ^ite sin; agus an 
 uair a rainig iad e, bha an dorus fosgailte, agus na 
 sithichean ag cur ri dannsadh. 
 
 Sh^th an dara fear a bhiodag an taobh an doruis, 
 agus sheas e f^in agus a' cheud fhear air taobh a mach 
 na biodaige. Ach ma sheas, cha d' fhuirich acn 
 diubh fada ann. Thog an ce61 a inntinn cho ni6r is 
 gu'n do leum e stigh, ag glaodhaich " suas e," agus 
 gu'n do th6isich e leis a' phige air a dhruim air 
 dannsadh leis na sithichibh. An d^idh dha a bhi greis 
 air an urlar, ghlaodh a chompanach a bha mach ris 
 tighinn, air-neo nach bitheadh iad dhachaidh an ^m 
 air-son na Calluinne. "Thud! tha gu le6ir a dh'fiine 
 againn," fhreagair e. "Cha do dhanns mi aon 
 ruithil fhathast." An sin th^inig cuid de na 
 sithichibh dh' ionnsaidh an doruis, agus dh' fheuch iad 
 iompaidh a chur air an fhear, a bha mach, del a stigh 
 le a chompanach; ach dh'fhan e far an robh e. An 
 
THE TWO NEIGHBOURS AND THEIR 
 HOGMANAY WHISKY. 
 
 Two neighbours went for their Hogmanay whisky to 
 an inn, which was not far off. After they had 
 got the whisky, they returned with it in jars on their 
 backs, and some of it, no doubt, under their belts. 
 On the way they saw a brilliant light before them, 
 and shortly after that they heard sweet music and a 
 shout of great rejoicing coming from the place where 
 they saw the light. They knew that a Fairy Knoll 
 was there; and when they reached it, the door was 
 open, and the fairies plying the dance. 
 
 One of the men thrust his dirk into the side post of 
 the door, and he and his companion stood on the out- 
 ward side of the dirk. But if they did, one of them 
 did not remain there long. The music so excited him 
 that he sprang into the Knoll, shouting, " Up with 
 it," and he began, with the jar on his back, to 
 dance with the fairies. After he was a while on the 
 floor, his companion outside called to him to come, 
 otherwise they would not be home in time for 
 Hogmanay. "Tuts! we have plenty of time," said 
 he; "I have not yet danced one reel." Then some 
 of the fairies came to the door and tried to persuade 
 the man outside to enter with his companion; but he 
 remained where he was. After a good while, he again 
 
164 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 ceann tiine maithe, ghlaodb e rithis r'a chompanach, 
 a bha stigh, teachd a mach agus falbh dhachaidh leis. 
 Ach ma ghlaodh, b'ann an diomhain. Cha d'fhuair 
 e ach leithid eile na ceud fhreagairt. 
 
 Chunnaic e nis nach robh math dha a bhi a' feitheamh 
 na b'fhaide. Uime sin tharraing e a bhiodag a taobh 
 an doruis, dhruid an Sithean, agus dh'fhalbh e 
 dhachaidh. 
 
 An uair a rainig e an tigh, bha gach duine a' fe6raich 
 c'^ite an d'fhkg e a chompanach. Dh'innis e dhoibh 
 gach ni a thachair, agus mar dh'fhag e a chompanach 
 a' dannsadh anns an uSithean. Ach cha robh aon aca 
 a thug creideas d'a sgeul. An kite sin is ann a 
 thubhairt iad gu'n do mharbh e a choimhearsnach 
 agus gu'n d'rinn e suas an sgeul a dh'innis e a 
 thionndadh an amharuis dheth fh6in. B' ann an 
 diomhain a bh6idich e gu'n robh e neo-chiontach. 
 Chuir iad an Ikimh e, agus thug iad a mach binn hkis 
 'na aghaidh. Ghuidh e an sin orra dkil Ik agus 
 bliadhna a thoirt da chum e f^in a ghlanadh 'n 
 amharus fo an robh e. Fhuair e sin. 
 
 An uair a thkinig an ath Challuinn mu'n cuairt, 
 chaidh e rathad an t-Slthein, anns an d'fhkg e a 
 choimhearsnach. Bha an Sithean fosgailte, agus a 
 choimhearsnach ag cur ri dannsadh leis na sithichibh, 
 mar dh'fhkg se e. Shkth e a' bhiodag ann an ursainn 
 an doruis, agus ghlaodh e r 'a chompanach, a bha a' 
 dannsadh, is am pige fhathast air a dhruim, gu'n robh 
 an t-km dha nis tighinn a mach. " Ciod a tha thu 
 ag rkdh ? Cha do chriochnaich mi a' cheud ruithil 
 fhathast." " Am bheil fhios agad cia fhad a tha 
 thu air an iirlar?" " Cha'n 'eil os ceann dk no tri 
 de mhionaidibh." "Tha thu an so Ik agus bliadhna. 
 Tha do chkirdean an dull gu'm bheil thu marbh, agus 
 ri mise a chur gu bks am mkireach mur toir mi dhach- 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 165 
 
 called to his companion who was within to come out, 
 and go home with him. But if he called, it was in 
 vain. He received only another answer similar to the 
 first. 
 
 He now saw that he had better not stay any longer. 
 So he drew his dirk out of the door-post, the Fairy 
 Knoll closed, and he went away home. 
 
 When he arrived at the house, every one asked him 
 where he had left his companion. He told them every- 
 thing that had happened, and how he had left his com- 
 panion dancing in the Fairy Knoll. But there was not 
 one of them that credited the story. Instead of that 
 they maintained that he had killed his neighbour, and 
 that he had invented the story he told to turn away 
 suspicion from himself. In vain did he protest his 
 innocence. They put him in custody and pronounced 
 sentence of death upon him. He then earnestly be- 
 sought them to give him a year and a day's respite to 
 clear himself of the suspicion under which he lay. 
 That he obtained. 
 
 When the next Hogmanay came round, he went the 
 way of the Fairy Knoll in which he had left his 
 companion. The Fairy Knoll was open, and his 
 companion plying the dance with the fairies, as he 
 had left him. He thrust the dirk into the door post, 
 and called to his companion, who was dancing with the 
 jar still on his back, that it was now high time for him 
 to come out. "What do you say? I have not yet 
 finished the first reel?" "Do you know how long 
 you are on the floor? " " Not more than two or three 
 minutes." "You are here a day and a year! Your 
 friends are thinking that you are dead, and intend to 
 
l66 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 aidh thu beo slkn an nochd." " Stad gus an cuir mi 
 crloch air an ruithil so, agus falbhaidh mi leat an sin." 
 Thug e an so ionnsaidh air pilleadh a stigh, 
 ach rug a chompanach air giikirdean air, agus spion 
 e mach e. Tharruing e an sin a' bhiodag d taobh an 
 doruis, agus ghrad dhruid an dorus orra le cMile. 
 Thill iad dhachaidh, agus an uair a rkinig iad, agus 
 a thug a' cheud f hear am pige bhkrr a dhroma, bha 
 an t-aodach fuidhe caithte gu ruig an craicionn. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 167 
 
 put me to death to-morrow unless I bring you home 
 alive and well to-night." " Stay until I finish this 
 reel, and I will go with you then." He now attempted 
 to return within, but his companion laid hold of him 
 by the arm and pulled him out. His companion then 
 drew the dirk out of the door-post, and forthwith the 
 door closed against them both. They returned home; 
 and when they had arrived, and the first man had taken 
 the jar off his back, the clothes under it were worn 
 through to the skin. 
 
[MAR A THOGADH A' CHEUD CHAISTEAL 
 AIR CARRAIG SHRUIBHLEADH.] 
 
 Laimh ri Sruibhleadh bha uair-eigin a' fuireachd seann 
 duin'-uasal a, ghabh 'na cheann Caisteal a thogail air 
 Carraig Shruibhleadh. Roghnaich e larach air fior 
 mhullach na Cairge, agus tharruing e mach dealbh an 
 togail a b' ^ill leis a chur suas oirre. Ach an uair a 
 bha an dealbh criochnaichte, chunnaic e nach robh de 
 dh' airgiod aige na thogadh an Caisteal. Ach a dh' 
 aindeoin so, cha b' urrainn e ciil a chur ri d6chas a 
 fhaicinn suas uair no uair-eigin mu'm faigheadh e am 
 b^. Maduinn agus feasgar chiteadh e ag coiseachd 
 mu'n cuairt air an liraich a roghnaich e, agus 
 chluinnteadh e ag gearan ris f^in nach robh aige de 
 st6ras na bheireadh dha comas air a riin a ghiiilan a 
 mach. 
 
 Mu dheireadh thall th^inig duineachan beag far an 
 robh e, is e ag gabhail a chuairt fheasgair ghn^thaichte 
 air bharr mullaich na Cairge, agus thubhairt e: " Ciod 
 a bheir tBu dhomh-sa, ma thogas mise an Caisteal air 
 do shon ? " " Cha'n 'eil ni saoghalta agam-sa, a 
 thairgeas mi dhuit, mur gabh thu an t-aodach 'sam 
 bheil mi am sheasamh," fhreagair an duin'-uasal. 
 "Am falbh thu learn bliadhna o 'n tac so, ma chuireas 
 mi suas e roimhe sin ? " ars an Coigreach. 
 
 " Cha gheall mi sin duit," ars an seann duine. 
 " Ach cha ruig thu leas falbh leam, ma gheibh thu 
 mach m* ainm, mu'n ruith a' bhliadhna mach," ars an 
 Coigreach. 
 
HOW THE FIRST CASTLE WAS BUILT ON 
 STIRLING ROCK. 
 
 Near Stirling there once lived an old gentleman, who 
 took it in his head to build a Castle on Stirling Rock. 
 He chose a site on the very top of the Rock, and drew 
 out a plan of the building he wished to put up on it. 
 But when the plan was finished, he found that he had 
 not money enough to build the Castle. Notwithstand- 
 ing this, he could not abandon the hope of seeing it 
 completed some time or other before he died. Morning 
 and evening he would be seen walking about the site 
 he had chosen, and heard lamenting to himself that he 
 had not the means to enable him to carry out his idea. 
 
 At long last, a little manikin came to him as he 
 was making his usual evening round on the summit of 
 the Rock, and said: " What will you give me if I build 
 the Castle for you?" "I have nothing in the world 
 to offer you unless you take the clothes in which I 
 stand," replied the gentleman. " Will you go with 
 me a year hence, if I put it up for you before then ? " 
 again asked the Stranger. " No, I'll not promise you 
 that," said the old man. " You need not go with me, 
 if you can find out my name before the year runs out," 
 added the Stranger. 
 
170 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Air a' bhonn sin dh' aontaich an duin'-uasal, oir 
 smuaintich e gu'm bitheadh e 'na ni iongantach mur 
 faigheadh e mach ainm an duineachain bhig an taobh 
 a stigh de'n uine a luathsaicheadh dha. Chaidh e 
 dhachaidh, an oidhche sin, an sunnd na b' fhearr na 
 b' abhaist da; agus an uair a phill e air ais an ath 
 mhaduinn, chunnaic e le gkirdeachas an st^idh air a 
 leagadh. Oidhche an d^idh oidhche, bha an 
 duineachan beag ag cur ris an togail; ach air oidhche 
 mu dheireadh an rkithe, cha robh e ri fhaicinn mu'n 
 Chaisteal, is cha robh ni air bith air a chur ris an 
 togail. 
 
 An uair a bha a' bhhadhna a' tarruing dlfith d'a 
 ceann, bha an togail fagus air a bhi crlochnaichte. 
 Bha nis an seann duin'-uasal a' f^s ro iomagaineach ; 
 oir cha d'fhuair e fathast a mach ainm a' Choigrich. 
 Dh' fheuch e a ris agus a ris air ciod e a 
 bhreithneachadh ; ach a dh' aindeoin gach oidhirp a 
 thug e, rinn e an diomhain. Mu dheireadh chaidh e 
 far an robh duine glic anns a' choimhearsnachd, agus 
 dh'iarr e air a chuideachadh. Thubhairt an seann 
 duine: " Is e sithiche a tha anns a' Choigreach. Air 
 latha mu dheireadh an rkithe lean e do'n ^ite d'an t^id 
 e, agus seas ag eisdeachd a muigh, agus is docha gu'n 
 cluinn thu a ainm o bheul cuid no cuid-eigin a stigh." 
 
 Phill an duin'-uasal dhachaidh, agus an uair a 
 th^inig an t-^m, rinn e gach ni a dh' iarr an duine glic 
 air. Air feasgar mu dheireadh an rkithe lean e an 
 sithiche gus am faca se e a' dol a stigh do'n t^Sithean, 
 agus an cuala e guth a stigh, ag rhdh: " An d'th^inig 
 thu, a Th6mais Sheochd?" Cho luath is a chuala e 
 so, dh' fhalbh e, Ihn chinnteach gu'n d'fhuair e mach 
 diomhaireachd an t-sithiche. Ach ghl^idh e an diomh- 
 aireachd dha f^in gus an d'thJiinig feasgar mu 
 dheireadh na bliadhna. An sin chaidh e dh'ionnsaidh 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 17I 
 
 On that footing the gentleman agreed, for he thought 
 it would be a strange thing if he could not discover the 
 little manikin's name within the time allowed him. 
 He went home that night in better cheer than was 
 usual for him, and when he returned next morning, he 
 was delighted to see the foundation laid. Night after 
 night the little manikin was adding to the building; 
 but on quarter night he was not to be seen about the 
 Castle, and nothing was added to the building. 
 
 When the year was drawing towards its close, the 
 building was nearly completed. The old gentleman 
 was now getting very anxious j for he had not yet 
 discovered the Stranger's name. He tried again and 
 again to guess what it might be; but in spite of every 
 effort he made, he acted to no purpose. At last he 
 went to a wise man in the neighbourhood, and asked 
 his assistance. The old man said: "The Stranger is 
 a fairy. On the last night of the quarter follow him 
 to the place where he goes, and stand listening outside, 
 and you will likely hear his name pronounced by some- 
 body or other within." 
 
 The gentleman returned home, and when the 
 proper time arrived he did everything the wise man 
 had advised him. On quarter night he followed the 
 fairy until he saw him enter the Fairy Knoll, and heard 
 a voice inside saying: " Have you come, Thomas son 
 of Jock?" As soon as he heard this, he went away, 
 quite satisfied that he had discovered the fairy's secret. 
 But he kept it to himself until the last evening of the 
 year arrived. Then he went to the Rock, where the 
 fairy was waiting for him. The fairy said: "I have 
 finished my work, and you must now go away with 
 me." "No, I will not go with you yet," answered 
 
172 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 na Cairge, far an robh an sithiche a' feitheamh air 
 a shon. Thubhairt an sithiche: " Chrlochnaich mise 
 m' obair, agus feumaidh tusa nis falbh leam." " Cha'n 
 fheum; cha'n fhalbh mi leat fathast," fhreagair an 
 duin'-uasal. " Feumaidh tu, mur innis thu dhomh-sa 
 ciod is ainm dhomh," ars an sithiche. " Nach tu 
 T6mas Sheochd?" ars an duin'-uasal. 
 
 Fhreagair an sithiche: 
 
 " Ma 's mise T6mas Sheochd, 
 
 Is mi a dhealbh an t-olc; 
 
 Tha thusa 'sin, a Shrutha-Shliabh, 
 
 Is tha mise gun d' fhiach an nochd." 
 
 Agus air falbh ghabh e 'na lasair theine troimh bhalla 
 a' Chaisteil, a fagail 'na dh^idh tuill nach urrainn clach, 
 no crann, no ni air bith fo'n ghr^in a dhruideadh, ach 
 buachar each. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 1 73 
 
 the gentleman. " You must, if you cannot tell me my 
 name," said the fairy. "Are you not Thomas, son 
 of Jock?" enquired the gentleman. 
 
 The fairy replied: 
 
 " If I am Thomas, son of Jock, 
 'Tis I devised the wicked plot. 
 Thou standest. River Mount, in sight, 
 And for thee nought have I to-night." 
 
 And away he flew through the Castle wall in a flame 
 of fire, leaving behind him a hole which neither stone, 
 nor wood, nor anything under the sun but horse dung 
 can close. 
 
{AN GILLE DUBH MACRUIMEIN AGUS A' 
 BHEAN-SHITHE.] 
 
 Tha e coltach gu'n robh na sithichean 'nan luchd-ciiiil 
 barraichte, agus gu'm b' i a' phiob an roghainn de 
 gach inneal-ciCiil. Is minic a chuala fear-gabhail-an- 
 rathaid a fuaim a' tighinn a mach as an t-Sithean a 
 thuit a bhi 'na shlighe, agus a dh'fhairich e a ce61 binn 
 'ga theumadh gu bhi a' bualadh a stigh agus a chas 
 a thogail leis na sithichibh anns an dannsadh. 
 
 An ealdhain so a bha aca, tha e air a rkdh gu'n do 
 theagaisg iad do chuid a dhaoine air an do ghabh iad 
 sp^is, agus a tha fhathast air chuimhne ann am beul- 
 aithris. 'Nam measg sin bha an Gille Dubh 
 MacRuimein. 
 
 Gu ^m a' Ghille Dhuibh cha robh Clann Mhic 
 Ruimein na b'fhearr na piobairean matha eile anns a' 
 Gh^idhealtachd. B' esan a' cheud aon diubh a dh' 
 eirich OS ceann chaich uile ann an ainmealachd, agus 
 ris an abradh gu coitchionn Righ nam Piobairean. 
 
 B'e an t-aon a b' oige de thri mic, agus air am bu 
 lugha meas aig a athair. An uair a bheireadh a athair 
 a nuas o chul a' mhaide chruim a' phiob mh6r ris an 
 abradh e a' Chachlaidh Dhubh, agus a chluicheadh e 
 fein a' cheud phort oirre, shineadh e i d'a mhac a bu 
 shine, agus an uair a bhitheadh a mhac bu shine reidh 
 dhith shineadh e i do 'n dara mac; ach an uair a 
 bhitheadh an dara mac reidh dhith, cha'n fhaigheadh 
 an Gille Dubh a dh'urram uibhir agus s^id a chur 'na 
 m^la. Bha e mar an ceudna air a chumail fodha le 
 
THE BLACK LAD MACCRIMMON AND THE 
 BANSHEE. 
 
 It appears that the fairies were excellent musicians, 
 and that their choice of all musical instruments was 
 the bag-pipes. Often did the wayfarer hear its sound 
 coming from the Fairy Knoll, which happened to be 
 in his path, and often did he feel its sweet music tempt- 
 ing him to walk in, and lift his foot in the dance with 
 the fairies. 
 
 This art which they possessed they are said to have 
 taught to some men for whom they took a liking, and 
 who are still remembered in tradition. Among these 
 was the Black Lad Mac Crimmon. 
 
 Up to the Black Lad's time, the Mac Crimmons were 
 not better than other good pipers in the High- 
 lands. He was the first of them who rose above all 
 the rest in fame, and who was commonly called " The 
 King of Pipers." 
 
 He was the youngest of three sons, and the least 
 thought of by his father. When his father would take 
 down from the back of the crooked stick the great bag- 
 pipes, which he called the Black Gate, and he himself 
 would play the first tune on it, he would hand it to his 
 eldest son, and when his eldest son had done with it, 
 he would hand it to the second son ; but when the 
 second son had done with it, the Black Lad would not 
 
176 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 c^ch, agus air a fhagail gu bhi a' deanamh gach oibre 
 a bu trkilleile na cheile. 
 
 Air 1^ sdnraichte chaidh a athair agus a dhk bhrkthair 
 dh'ionnsaidh na feille, agus dh' ihkg iad esan aig an 
 tigh leis fhein. An d^idh dhoibh falbh, fhuair e am 
 feadan, agus th6isich e air cluich air, Agus am 
 meadhon na cluiche, c6 thainig air ach a' Bhean-Shlthe 
 as an Dfin. 
 
 " Tha thu trang ag iomairt ciuil, 'Ille," ars i. 
 Fhreagair e gu'n robh. " C6 aca a b'fhearr leat, 
 ealdhain gun rath, no rath gun ealdhain?" ars i an 
 sin. Thubhairt e gu'm b' fhearr leis ealdhain gun 
 rath. Spion i roineag as a ceann, agus dh'iarr i air 
 a cur mu thimchioll ribheid an fheadain. An uair a 
 rinn e sin, thubhairt i ris: " Cuir a nis do mhe6ir air 
 tuill an fheadain, agus cuiridh mise mo mhe6ir air do 
 mhe6ir-se." Cho luath is a bha sin deanta, thubhairt 
 i: " An uair a thogas mise meur, togaidh tusa am meur 
 a bhitheas fuidhe. Smaointich a nis air port 'sam 
 bith a thoilicheas tu, agus cluich leam-sa e, mar dh'iarr 
 mi ort." Rinn e sin, agus chluich e am port gu fileanta. 
 An uair a chriochnaich e am port, thubhairt i: "A 
 nis is tu Righ nam Piobairean. Cha robh do leithid 
 romhad, agus cha bhi do leithid as do dh^idh." 
 Dh'fhkg i an sin latha math aige, agus dh' fhalbh i. 
 
 Cho luath is a dh' fhalbh i, thug e nuas a' Chachlaidh 
 Dhubh, agus th6isich e air cluich oirre. Cha robh 
 port air an smaointicheadh e nach d'fheuch e, agus 
 nach b' urrainn e a chluich gu furasda. Mu'n do 
 sguir e, thill a athair agus a bhr^ithrean o'n fh^ill. Agus 
 an uair a dhluthaich iad air an tigh, chuala iad an 
 ce61, agus sheas iad a dh' ^isdeachd. " C6 air bith a 
 tha ag cluich, is ann air a' Chachlaidh Dhuibh," ars 
 an t-athair r'a mhic. Chaidh iad air an aghaidh, ach 
 sguir an ce61 mu'n d' rkinig iad an tigh. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 177 
 
 get the honour of blowing so much as one blast into 
 the bag. He was also kept down by the rest, and left 
 to do every piece of work that was more slavish than 
 another. 
 
 On a certain day, his father and his two brothers 
 went to the fair, and left him alone at home. After 
 they had gone, he got hold of the chanter, and began 
 to play upon it. And in the midst of the playing, who 
 should come upon him but the Banshee from the Castle. 
 
 "Thou art busy discoursing music, Lad," said she. 
 He answered that he was. " Which wouldst thou pre- 
 fer, skill without success, or success without skill ?" said 
 she then. He answered that he would rather have skill 
 without success. She pulled a hair from her head, and 
 asked him to put it round the reed of the chanter. When 
 he had done that, she said to him: "Place now thy 
 fingers on the holes of the chanter, and I will lay my 
 fingers on thy fingers." As soon as that was done, 
 she said: "When I shall lift my finger, lift thou the 
 finger which happens to be under it. Think now of 
 any tune thou pleasest, and play it with me in the way 
 I have told thee." He did so, and played the tune 
 skilfully. When he had finished the tune, she said: 
 " Now thou art the King of Pipers. Thine equal was 
 not before thee, and thine equal shall not be after thee." 
 She then bade him good day, and departed. 
 
 As soon as she had gone, he took down the Black 
 Gate and began playing on it. There was not a tune 
 he could think of which he did not try and which he 
 could not play with ease. Before he ceased his father and 
 brothers had returned from the fair. And when they 
 approached the house, they heard the music, and stood 
 to listen. " Whoever is playing, it is on the Black 
 Gate," said the father to his sons. They went on, but 
 the music ceased before they reached the house. 
 
 N 
 
178 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Chaidh iad a stigh, ach cha do ghabh aon aca air 
 gu'n cuala e an ce61, gus an d'thainig an oidhche. 
 An sin thug an seann duine a nuas a' phlob mhdr, 
 agus an d^idh dha f^in agus d'a dhk mhac port mu 
 seach a chur oirre, dh' iarr e air a' Ghille Dhubh a 
 thacan f^in a ghabhail dhith. "An e mise?" ars e. 
 " Cha 'n airidh mise air an onair sin. Is le6ir dhomh- 
 sa a bhi am thrkill agaibh uile." " Glac a' phlob, 
 agus cha'n iarrar ort obair thr^illeil a dheanamh 
 tuilleadh," thubhairt a athair. 
 
 Rug e air a' phiob mu dheireadh, agus chuir e suas 
 an aon cheol bu ghrinne a chuala duine a bha stigh 
 riamh. " Dh' fh^g an ce61 sinn," ars an t-athair ris 
 na mic eile. " Cha tig aon againn an uisge na stifiire 
 do'n Ghille Dhubh." B' fhlor mar thubhairt e, oir 
 cha robh leithid a' Ghille Dhuibh ann r'a linn no 'na 
 dh^idh. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 179 
 
 They went in, but none of them let on that they had 
 heard the music till night came. Then the old man 
 took down the great bag-pipes, and after he himself 
 and his two eldest sons had played tune about, he asked 
 the Black Lad to take his own spell of it. " Is it I ? " 
 said he, " I am not worthy of that honour. It is 
 enough for me to be a slave to you all." " Take the 
 bag-pipes, and thou shalt no longer be asked to do 
 slavish work," said his father. He took the pipes at 
 last, and struck up the finest music any one in the house 
 had ever heard. "The music has left us," said the 
 father to the other sons. " None of us will come in the 
 wake of the Black Lad." He spake truly, for the like 
 of the Black Lad never lived, either in his own time, 
 or since. 
 
MAC RUIMEIN IS A FHEADAN AIRGID. 
 
 [Fhuair Mac Ruimein feadan airgid bho Bhean- 
 shithe Uaimh an Oir air chumhnant gu'n tigeadh e 
 maille rithe do'n Uaimh aig ceann 1^ is bliadhna. Is 
 e so am port a chluich e, is e a' dol a steach do'n 
 Uaimh : — ] 
 
 Cha tig mise ! Cha till mise 1 
 Mu'n tig mis' k Uaimh an Oir 
 
 Bidh na minn bheaga 
 
 'Nan gabhair chreagach, 
 'S a' chlann laga 'nam fir-kir. 
 
 Is cianail mise, 
 
 'Triall fo gheasaibh ; 
 Bidh mi 'm feasd an Uaimh an Oir. 
 
 A' PHOG A FHUAIR E O LAIMH AN RIGH. 
 
 [Rinneadh na rainn so le Mac Ruimein, an uair a 
 chluich e an l^thair an Righ, agus air do'n Righ 
 iarraidh air a dhuais innseadh, dh'iarr e cead air l^mh 
 an Rlgh a ph6gadh.] 
 
 Fhuair mi pog, gu'n d'fhuair mi p6g, 
 Fhuair mi pog, o Ikimh an Righ. 
 Cha d' chuir s6id' an craiceann caorach 
 A fhuair an fhkilte ud, ach mi fh^in. 
 
MACCRIMMON'S SILVER CHANTER. 
 
 MacCrimmon got a silver chanter from the Banshee 
 of the Cave of Gold on condition that he would go with 
 her to the Cave at the end of a day and a year. The 
 following is the tune played by him as he entered the 
 Cave : — 
 
 [I shall come never! Return I'll never! 
 Ere I come from the Cave of Gold, 
 
 The kidling flocks 
 
 Will be goats of the rocks, 
 And the children weak be warriors bold. 
 
 I am in woe, 
 
 Under spells to go; 
 I'll be for aye in the Cave of Gold.] 
 
 THE KISS HE GOT FROM THE KING'S HAND. 
 
 These lines were composed by MacCrimmon who, on 
 being requested by the King to name his reward for 
 playing before him, asked liberty to kiss the King's 
 hand. 
 
 [A kiss I got, a kiss I got, 
 From the King's hand a kiss I got ! 
 No blasts of breath in sheepskin blown 
 That got yon greeting. 'Tis mine own.] 
 
CLANN MHICGLAISEIN AGUS AN DA 
 SHEALLADH. 
 
 A reir beul-aithris bha sealladh an d^ shaoghail 
 aig Cloinn MhicGlaisein Chreaganaich an Liostn6r. 
 Fhuair aon aca an comas so air an d6igh a leanas: — 
 
 An uair a bha a ph^rantan a' dol leis air-son baistidh 
 do dh' Eaglais na Sglreachd, shuidh iad, fad beagan 
 mhionaid a ghabhail foise air cnoc, l^imh ri Allt 
 Aogain, ^ite aig an robh ainm a biii 'na ionad-tathaich 
 s6nraichte aig na sithichean. Am feadh a bha iad ag 
 cur seachad an sglos, leag iad sios \kimh riu an ieanabh, 
 paisgte ann am breacan, agus e 'na shuain chadail. 
 Agus an uair a dh'fhalbh iad a rls, dhl-chuimhnich 
 an te, ris an d'earbadh e, a thabhairt leatha. Cho 
 luath is a chaidh a ionndrainn, phill iad air an ais, agus 
 fhuair iad e 'na shuain chadail far an d'fhkgadh e. 
 Clia robh atharrachadh air bith ri fhaicinn 'na choltas; 
 gidheadh bha na sithichean maille ris, agus dh'fh^g 
 iad aige sealladh an da shaoghail. 
 
 Ruith an comas a fhuair e an sin sios uaith-san 
 dh'ionnsaidh a shliochd re iomad gineil. Tha aon 
 diubh a bha ann an toiseach an linn so fathast air 
 chuimhne mar thaibhsear comharaichte. So aon de 
 mh6ran sge6il a bha aon uair air an innseadh m'a 
 thimchioll : — 
 
 Bha br^thair-cdle aige a chaill a cheud bhean 'na 
 laighe-shifibhladh, agus a dhiCilt fad iiine 'na dh^idh 
 sin comhfhurtachd a ghabhail. Air feasgar-eigin, is e 
 
THE MACGLASHENS OF CREAGANICH AND 
 THE SECOND SIGHT. 
 
 ActX)RDiNG to tradition the MacGlashens of Creaganich, 
 in Lismore, had the vision of the two worlds. This gift 
 one of them acquired in the following way: — 
 
 When his parents were going with him for baptism 
 to the Parish Church, they sat down to rest for a few 
 minutes on a knoll at Allt Aogain, a place always re- 
 puted to be a favourite resort of the fairies. While 
 they were putting past their weariness they laid the 
 child down beside them, wrapped in a plaid, and fast 
 asleep. And when they went away again, the woman 
 who had charge of him forgot to take him with her. 
 As soon as he was missed they returned back and found 
 him asleep where he had been left. There was no 
 change to be seen in his appearance, nevertheless the 
 fairies had visited him and bestowed on him the vision 
 of the two worlds. 
 
 This power, which he then obtained, passed down 
 from him to his descendants for many generations. 
 One of them, who lived in the beginning of this (19th) 
 century, is still remembered as a remarkable seer. 
 Here is one of many stories once told about him : — 
 
 His brother-in-law, having lost his first wife in child- 
 bed, was, for some time after, inconsolable. One 
 evening, as he was returning home in MacGlashen's 
 
184 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 a' pilleadh dhachaidh an cuideachd MhicGlaisein, agus 
 ag caoidh na bha uaith, thubhairt MacGlaisein ris: 
 ' ' Cha ruig thu leas a bhi ag caoidh mar sin air-son do 
 mhnatha ; ma thoilicheas tu, bheir mise air a h-ais dhuit 
 i gun mh6ran d^lach." Ach ghrlos fear a* bhr6in air 
 gun sin a dheanamh. " Ma-t^," ars MacGlaisein, 
 "sin i, a' leum romhainn o chnocan gu cnocan 'na 
 h-eun glas; agus mur leig thu leamsa a tabhairt air a 
 h-ais dhuit mu 'n tig crioch na bliadhna, cha'n fhaic 
 thu tuilleadh i ; oir tha i leis na sithichean, agus tha 
 iadsan a'dol air imrich an Ciine ghoirid, agus aon uair 
 is gu'm falbh iad, cha'n urrainn mise a tabhairt air a 
 h-ais gu brath." 
 
 Sguir a' bhantrach a chaoidh air-son a mhnatha; 
 agus mu'n d'th^inig crioch air a' bhliadhna, phds e 
 t^ eile. Air oidhche na bainnse, thubhairt Mac- 
 Glaisein, is e a bhi an l^thair, r'a chompanach: " Seall 
 thar mo ghualainn, agus chl thu a' cheud bhean a' 
 seasamh eadar an dara t6 agus a fear." Ach dhi&lt a 
 chompanach an cuireadh. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 185 
 
 company, and lamenting his loss, the latter said: " You 
 need not be lamenting like that for your wife; if you 
 like, I will bring her back to you without much delay." 
 But the widower adjured him not to do that. " Well," 
 added MacGlashen, " there she is, in the form of a grey 
 bird, hopping from knoll to knoll before us ; and if you 
 do not allow me to bring her back to you before the end 
 of the year, you will never see her again ; for she is 
 with the fairies, and they are going to flit soon, and 
 once they depart I can never bring her back." 
 
 The widower ceased to mourn for his wife, and before 
 the end of the year had come he married another. On 
 the night of the wedding, MacGlashen, who was pre- 
 sent, said to his companion: " Look over my shoulder 
 and you will see the first wife standing between the 
 second one and her husband." But his companion de- 
 clined the invitation. 
 
DAOINE BEAGA MHUILINN-FEUNACHAN AN 
 DAOGHALL. 
 
 Uair-eigin roimhe so bha a ch6mhnuidh am Muilionn- 
 Feunachan an Daoghall, muillear, a bha cho Ikidir is 
 gu'n d' fhuair e, mar fhar-ainm, Calum L^idir. Ach 
 ged bha Calum Ikidir, cha robh duine 'san sglreachd 
 a bha cho m6r air a chlaoidh leis an dubh leisg ris. 
 Bha leisg Chaluim air a cumail a suas le daoine beaga, 
 nach faca duine, agus nach cuala ach ro bheagan. 
 
 An uair a bhitheadh an t-uisge gann, agus an sioL 
 r'a bhleith, chuireadh Calum, mu'n rachadh e laighe, 
 Ian an t-soithich cairteil de mhin-e6rna anns an 
 treabhailt; agus air feadh na h-oidhche bhitheadh am 
 muileann air a fhaicinn laiste suas, an roth a' dol mu 'n 
 cuairt as eugmhais uisge, caithreim gh^irdeachais a 
 stigh ; agus anns a' mhaduinn bhitheadh gach slol 's a' 
 mhuileann air a fhaotainn bleithte, a' mhin am pocaibh, 
 agus gach ni air a fh^gail gu cruinneil, 6rdail. Na'm 
 bitheadh duine air bith cho dkna is gu'n rachadh e 
 do'n mhuileann am feadh a bhitheadh na daoine beaga 
 aig obair, bheireadh cuid-eigin neo-fhaicsinneach breab 
 dha anns a' chulaibh, le neart cho m6r is gu'n tuiteadh 
 e gu iar; agus, an uair a dh' eireadh e, le sron bhriste, 
 is a' sileadh fala, bhitheadh am muileann an dorchadas, 
 agus gach ni s^mhach. 
 
 An uair a bhitheadh feum air connlaich air-son na 
 spr^idhe, bhitheadh meadar m6r c^bhruich air a fh^gail 
 air an firlar bhualaidh 'san oidhche, agus anns a' 
 
THE LITTLE MEN OF MULINFENACHAN IN 
 DUTHIL. 
 
 Once upon a time there lived at Mulinfenachan in 
 Duthil a miller who was so strong that he was called 
 Strong Malcolm. But though Malcolm was strong, no 
 man in the parish was so afflicted as he with the black 
 laziness. Malcolm's laziness was encouraged by 
 " little men," whom nobody ever saw, and very few ever 
 heard. 
 
 When water was scarce, and corn had to be ground, 
 Malcolm, before going to bed, would place a lippy of 
 barley meal in the hopper; and during the night the 
 mill would be seen lighted up, the wheel turning with- 
 out water, the noise of shouting and laughter inside; 
 and in the morning all the corn in the mill would be 
 found ground, the meal in bags, and everything left 
 tidy and in order. If any man was so bold as to enter 
 the mill while the little men were at work, some unseen 
 power would kick him in the rear with such force that 
 he would fall to the ground; and when he would rise, 
 with a broken and bleeding nose, the mill would be in 
 darkness and all would be silent. 
 
 When straw was wanted for the cattle, a large basin 
 of sowens was left on the thrashing-floor at night, and 
 in the morning all the corn was found thrashed, the 
 straw in bundles, and the grain winnowed and ready 
 for the mill. 
 
1 88 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 mhaduinn bhitheadh an siol uile air a fhaotainn buailte, 
 a' chonnlach 'na boiteinean, agus an grJin gr6idhte, 
 agus deas air-son a' mhuilinn. 
 
 Air oidhche iraidh a bha na daoine beaga trang 's a' 
 mhuileann, chunnacas ^th Thulaich Ghriobainn r'a 
 theine; agus chualas na daoine beaga ag glaodhaich: 
 " Bithidh pailteas mine againn a nis, agus ckbhruich 
 cuideachd; oir tha hth Thulaich Ghriobainn r'a theine; 
 agus o so suas feumaidh Calum Lkidir oibreachadh air 
 a shon f^in, no bksachadh leis an acras." Dh' fhalbh 
 iad an sin, agus cha do thill iad tuilleadh. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 189 
 
 One night, as the little men were busy in the 
 mill, the kiln of Tullochgriban was seen to be on fire, 
 and the little men were heard to exclaim: "We will 
 have plenty of meal now, and sowens too, for Tulloch- 
 griban kiln is on fire, and Strong Malcolm must hence- 
 forth work for himself, or starve." The little men then 
 went away and never more returned. 
 
SITHICHEAN CHREAG - THULAICH. 
 
 Bha duine o thaobh Loch Obha latha a' siubhal monadh 
 a' Bhaile mhoir, baile a bha goirid as o'n ^ite 'san 
 robh e ag gabhail comhnuidh. Bha an latha grianach, 
 boidheach; agus an uair a r^inig e Creag - thulaich, 
 shuidh e sios air a mullach, a ghabhail seallaidh air an 
 duthaich m'a thimchioll. Cha robh e fada an sin, gus 
 an d' thkinig da shithiche g'a ionnsaidh, agus corruich 
 mh6r orra, a chionn gu'n robh e 'na shuidhe far an 
 d'fhuair iad e. Bha fear dhiubh air-son a thilgeil thar 
 na creige gun d^il ; ach bha am fear eile air-son a leigeil 
 as an uair sin. Chonnsaich iad mu'n chilis so car 
 tacain, ach b' e deireadh na cluiche, gu 'n do leig iad 
 as e, air chumhnant nach suidheadh e 'san kite 'san d' 
 fhuaradh e tuilleadh. 
 
 Uair-eigin 'na dh^idh sin, thuit do 'n duine a bhi 
 rathad na creige rithist, agus a dhearbhadh co dhiiibh 
 bha e 'na chadal no 'na fhaireachadh, an uair a bha leis 
 gu 'm faca e an dk shithiche, shuidh e sios anns a' 
 cheart kite 'san robh e a' cheud uair. Ann am priobadh 
 na siila thainig tri sithichean far an robh e, agus iad 
 ann an corruich uamhasaich. Rug iad air, agus thug 
 iad dha droch chrathadh agus bhruthadh; agus an sin 
 leig iad as e, a' bagradh dioghaltais bu mhiosa air, na 'm 
 faigheadh iad 'san kite cheudna e rithist. 
 
THE FAIRIES OF CRAIG TULLOCH. 
 
 A Loch Awe man was one day travelling over the hill 
 of Balliemore, a farm situated at a short distance from 
 the place where he lived. The day was sunny and 
 beautiful, and when he reached Craigtulloch, he sat 
 down on the summit to take a view of the surrounding 
 district. He had not been long there until two fairies 
 came to him in great wrath, because he was sitting 
 where they found him. One of them wanted to throw 
 him over the rock without delay, but the other wished 
 to let him off that time. They wrangled over this 
 matter for a while, but the end of the play was that they 
 let him off, on condition that he would never again sit 
 where he had been found. 
 
 Some time after, the man happened to be in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the rock again, and to prove whether he 
 had been awake or asleep when he thought he saw the 
 two fairies, he sat down in the self-same place where he 
 had been the first time. In the twinkling of an eye three 
 fairies came to him in a terrible passion. They laid 
 hold of him and gave him a bad shaking and bruising, 
 and then they allowed him to go, threatening him with 
 worse punishment should they ever find him in the 
 same place again. 
 
NA SITHICHEAN AG CONNSACHADH. 
 
 Bha cuid a dhaoine o shean ag creidsinn gu'm bitheadh 
 na sithichean air uairibh ag cruinneachadh as gach 
 cekrn de 'n dCithaich mu'n cuairt gu coinneamh a 
 ghl^idhadh an ^ite kraidh, mar bha an Cnoc anns a' 
 Mhorbhairne; agus gu'n gabhadh aon bhuidheann 
 diubh taobh muinntir a' bhaile air an robh an Sithean 
 aca suidhichte an aghaidh buidhne o bhaile no kite air 
 bith eile. 
 
 Thkinig uair buidheann a Muile a ghl^idheadh 
 coinneimh ri buidheann eile as a' Mhoirbhairne ; ach, air 
 an uair sin, thachair iad air a ch^ile Ikimh ri abhainn 
 Achachiirn, an kite an ionaid ghnkthaichte 's a' Chnoc. 
 Cha robh iad fada comhla gus am faca iad duine, ris 
 an abradh Iain Og, a' tighinn an rathad. Cho luath 
 is a thug a' bhuidheann Mhuileach an aire dha, 
 ghlaodh iad: " Bheir sinn leinn Iain Og." Ach a 
 chionn gu'm b'ann o'n aon bhaile a bha e f6in agus a' 
 bhuidheann Mhorbhairneach, fhreagair na Morbhairn- 
 eich: " Cha tabhair sibh leibh Iain Og." Ghlaodh na 
 Muilich a rithist an guth krd: " Bheir sinn leinn Iain 
 Og," ach ma ghlaodh, fhreagair na Morbhairneich an 
 guth cho krd r' an guth f^in : " Cha toir sibh leibh Iain 
 Og." Chum an dk bhuidheann mar so ag connsach- 
 adh r' a ch^ile Ciine mhath, agus mar b' fhaide a lean 
 iad, b' ann bu dlfiithe iad air a ch^ile, agus a b' kirde 
 is a bu chroisde a bha an guth a' dol. 
 
 Cha robh na Morbhairneich cho Honmhor r' an 
 
THE FAIRIES WRANGLING. 
 
 Some people of old believed that the fairies gathered 
 now and again from every corner of the surrounding 
 district to hold a meeting in an appointed place, such 
 as Knock in Morven, and that one troop of them would 
 side with the people of the farm, where their Fairy 
 Knoll was situated, against a troop from any other farm 
 or district. 
 
 Once a troop came from Mull to keep tryst with 
 another troop from Morven, but on that occasion they 
 met near the river of Acharn, instead of the usual place 
 in Knock. They were not long together until they 
 beheld a man, whom the neighbours called Young 
 John, coming their way. As soon as the Mull troop 
 noticed him, they cried: " We will take Young John 
 with us." But as he and the Morven troop were from 
 the same farm, the latter replied : ' ' You shall not take 
 Young John with you." The Mull troop cried again, 
 in a loud voice: " We will take Young John with us; " 
 but, if they did, the Morven troop replied in as loud a 
 voice as their own: "You shall not take Young John 
 with you." Both troops kept wrangling thus together 
 for a good while, and the longer they continued the 
 nearer they approached each other and the higher and 
 the angrier their voices became. 
 
 The Morven troop were not so numerous as their 
 neighbours from over the sound, but, if not so numer- 
 
 f 
 
1 94 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 coimhearsnaich o thaobh eile a' chaoil; ach, mur robh, 
 bha iad pailte cho seolta. An uair a chunnaic iad gu 'm 
 b' e na buillean a bhitheadh ann mu dheireadh, na'n 
 cumadh iad suas an conas na b' fhaide, ghlaodh iad: 
 "Is fhearr a bhi sunndach na a bhi sanntach; th^id 
 sinn gu taobh Achachkirn is dannsaidh sinn." Ach 
 cha robh na Muilich toileach an cothrom a fhuair 
 iad a leigeadh seachad ; agus le sin f hreagair iad : " Is 
 fhearr a bhi cinnteach na a bhi caillteach ; cha t6id sinn 
 gu taobh Achachkirn a dhannsadh." Chonnsaich iad 
 mu'n chfiis so greis eile, aon taobh ag rkdh gu'n 
 rachadh, agus an taobh eile ag rkdh nach rachadh iad 
 gu Achachkirn a dhannsadh. Ach mu dheireadh thall, 
 b' i comhairle na sithe a bhuadhaich ; chaidh iad le ch6ile 
 gu taobh Achachkirn, agus, mu'n do sguir an danns- 
 adh, fhuair Iain Og seachad. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 1 95 
 
 ous, they were fully as knowing. When they saw that 
 the dispute would end in blows if they kept up the 
 wrangle any longer, they cried: " Better is being merry 
 than being greedy; we shall go to Acharn side and 
 dance." But the Mull troop were not willing to let 
 pass the opportunity they had got, and hence they 
 answered: " Better is to make sure than to lose; we 
 shall not go to Acharn side to dance." They disputed 
 over this point another while, one side maintaining that 
 they would and the other that they would not go to 
 Acharn to dance. At long last, however, the counsel 
 of peace prevailed; they went to Acharn, and before 
 the dance ceased Young John got past. 
 
[A' BHEAN SHUAINEARTACH AIR A DIONADH 
 
 O NA SITHICHEAN LEIS A' CHLAIDHEAMH 
 
 MAC GILL'ONFHAIDH.] 
 
 Bha iasgair l^imh ri Loch Suaineart an Airdnamurchan 
 a dh' ihkg a bhean leatha f^in anns an tigh am feadh 
 a bha e ag cur nan lion anns an Loch, agus 'gam f^gail 
 an sin fad na h-oidhche. Am fad is a bha e air falbh, 
 th^inig d^ choigreach — aon difibh ro mh6r, agus an 
 t-aon eile ro bheag — dh' ionnsaidh dorus an ^ite far an 
 robh a bhean 'na laighe 'san leabadh. Bha fosgladh 
 eadar mullach an doruis agus an t-krd-dorus, troimh 
 an do chuir am fear mor a stigh a cheann, agus am 
 faca e a' bhean anns an leabadh. Sheas e tacain ag 
 amharc oirre gun ionnsaidh a thoirt air dol a stigh, 
 gus an do phiic am fear beag e cho cruaidh is gu'n do 
 gh6ill an dorus, agus an do sp^rradh a stigh e do 'n 
 iite-laighe gu ruig meadhon an firlair; ach na b' fhaide 
 na sin cha b' urrainn an duine beag a chur. Sheas e 
 far an robh e, gus an cuala e farum chas fhir-an-tighe 
 a' dlCithachadh. An sin dh' fhalbh e f^in agus a 
 chompanach ; agus mar bha iad a' f^gail an tighe, 
 chualadh aon diubh ag r^dh: " Car-son nach d' thug 
 thu leat am boirionnach ? " Agus am fear eile a' 
 freagairt: " Bha Mac Gill'onfhaidh 'na laighe eadar 
 mi agus i." B'e so seann chlaidheamh a bha falaichte 
 fo 'n aodach Ikimh ris a' bheinge, agus a fhuair an 
 t-ainm so, aon chuid o 'n cheud duine aig an robh e, 
 no o'n ghobhainn a rinn e. 
 
THE SUNART WOMAN PROTECTED FROM 
 
 THE FAIRIES BY THE SWORD 
 
 MACGILLONY. 
 
 There lived a fisherman near Loch Sunart, in 
 Ardnamurchan, who left his wife alone in the house, 
 while he was setting the nets in the Loch and leaving 
 them there for the night. In his absence two strangers, 
 one of them very tall and the other very short, ap- 
 proached the door of the apartment where his wife lay 
 in bed. There was an opening between the top of the 
 door and the lintel, through which the tall stranger 
 thrust his head, and saw the woman in bed. He stood 
 a while gazing at her without making any attempt to 
 enter, until the little man pushed him forward so hard 
 that the door gave way and he was forced into the 
 sleeping place as far as the middle of the floor, but 
 further than that the little man could not put him. 
 He stood where he was until he heard the approaching 
 sound of the husband's footsteps. Then he and his 
 companion went away, and as they were leaving the 
 house, one of them was heard saying: " Why did you 
 not take the woman with you ? " and the other answer- 
 ing: " MacGillony lay between me and her." 
 
 This was an old sword which was hidden under the 
 bedding near the front of the bed, which had got this 
 name either from its first owner or after the smith who 
 made it. 
 
[CEUD MHAC AN T-SAOIR GHLINNE 
 NODHA AGUS A LEANNAN SITHE.] 
 
 Bha aig ceud Mhac an t-Saoir Ghlinne Nodha 
 leannan sithe a bha a' tathaich ghleann agus 
 choireachan uaigneach Chruachan Beann. Bu ghnkth 
 leis a chomhairle a chur ris a' bhean shithe so an uair 
 a thuiteadh dha a bhi an c^s air bith, agus nach robh 
 fios aige cia mar a gheibheadh e as. 
 
 Thachair so uair a bha a bhrcithair bu shine a' del 
 a chumail uaith a ch6rach f6in de stochd Inbhir Abha. 
 Bha an d^ bhr^thair a chdmhnuidh le ch^ile, agus ag 
 cordadh math gu le6ir, gus an do ph6s am fear a bu 
 shine dhiubh. Ach aon uair is gu'n do thachair sin, 
 cha robh sith na b' fhaide aig an fhear a b' 6ige air 
 a' bhaile. Mu dheireadh dh' 6rdaich a bhrathair air 
 an t-^ite fhkgail, agus falbh leis na bhuineadh dha do 
 Ghleann Nodha, agus fuireachd an sin. " Agus gu d6 
 a bhuineas dhomh ? " dh' fhe6raich am brkthair 6g. 
 " Am mart b^n agus na leanas i," fhreagair am fear 
 eile. Shaoil am br^thair 6g gu'n robh e ag ciallachadh 
 a' mhairt bhkin agus a falbhairean a mhkin, agus uime 
 sin, gu'n robh e a' dol a chumail uaith a chorach f^in 
 de 'n stochd. Cha robh fhios aige fdin ciod a dheanadh 
 e 'san t-suidheachadh 'san robh e, ach smuaintich e 
 ]gu'n gabhadh e comhairle na mnatha sithe. 
 
 Dhirich e Cruachan, agus fhuair e i an aon de na 
 h-iftibh 'sam b' kbhaist dhi tachairt air. Dh' innis e 
 dhi ciod a thubhairt a bhrkhair, agus an sin dh' iarr 
 
THE FIRST MACINTYRE OF GLENOE'S FAIRY 
 SWEETHEART. 
 
 The first Maclntyre of Glenoe had a fairy sweetheart 
 who haunted the glens and soUtary corries of Ben 
 Cruachan. He used to consult the fairy woman when 
 he happened to be in any strait and knew not how to 
 get out of it. 
 
 This happened once when his elder brother was going 
 to withhold from him his just share of the stock of 
 Inverawe. The two brothers lived together, and 
 agreed well enough, until the elder of them married. 
 But once that took place the younger had no longer 
 any peace on the farm. At length his brother ordered 
 him to leave the place, and go to Glenoe with all that 
 belonged to him, and stay there. " And what belongs 
 to me?" asked the young brother. "The white cow 
 and as many as will follow her," answered the other. 
 The younger brother thought that he meant the white 
 cow and her followers only, and that he was, therefore, 
 going to withhold from him his just share of the stock. 
 He knew not of himself what he should do in the circum- 
 stances in which he was, but he thought he would take 
 the fairy's advice. 
 
 He ascended Cruachan, and found her in one of the 
 places where he used to meet her. He told her what 
 his brother had said, and then asked her to help him 
 
300 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 e oirre a chuideachadh le a comhairle. " Rach air t'ais 
 gu tigh do bhrkthar agus fuirich an sin an nochd. 
 Mu'n tig an latha, bithidh cur sneachda ann, agus 
 c6mhdaichear an talamh leis. Anns a' mhaduinn gabh 
 sguab arbhair agus gairm am mart bkn as do dh^idh. 
 Thoir ort an sin do Ghleann Nodha leatha f^in agus 
 leis na leanas i, agus fuirich ann." 
 
 Thill Mac an t-Saoir do dh' Inbhir Abha, agus rinn 
 e gach ni mar dh' iarr a' bhean shlthe air. Dh' ^irich 
 e moch an ath latha, thug e sguab choirce as an t-sabhul, 
 agus dh' fhalbh e do Ghleann Nodha leis a' mhart 
 bh^n agus an leth a bu mhotha de bhuaile Inbhir Abha 
 'na dh^idh. Riinig e an Gleann, far an do thog e 
 tigh, agus goirid 'na dh^idh sin ph6s e. 
 
 Uine mhath an d^idh dha p6sadh, bha a bhean 'na 
 laighe-shifibhladh, agus a beatha an cunnart m6r. Cha 
 robh fios aige ciod a dheanadh feum dhi, no c6 dh' 
 ionnsaidh an rachadh e air-son cuideachaidh. Mu 
 dheireadh smuaintich e air a' bhean shlthe, agus air 
 dol far an robh ise. Ach cha bu luaithe a thkinig an 
 smuaint so 'na cheann na chuimhnich e gu 'n robh i 
 ro eudmhor, agus gu'm faodadh i comhairle a thoirt 
 seachad dha a dheanadh coire an ^ite maith d'a mhnaoi. 
 Chuir an smuain so dragh air t6 tamuill. Ach mu 
 dheireadh thubhairt e ris f6in gu'n gl^idheadh e 
 tinneas a mhnatha uaigneach, agus gu'n abradh e gu'm 
 b' i an Ikir ghlas a bha an cunnart. 
 
 R^inig e a' bhean shlthe, agus dh' fhe6raich e dhith 
 ciod a bheireadh freasdaladh do'n l^ir. Fhreagair i: 
 " Gabh c6ig cathraichean de 'n bhruth-chorc, agus cuir 
 iad fo ghliin cH na l^rach, agus an itine ghoirid bithidh 
 i cho math is a bha i riamh. 
 
 Phill Mac an t-Saoir dhachaidh, agus chuir e bruth- 
 chorc fo ghli!in ell a mhnatha, agus ann an tiota fhuair 
 f fuasgladh. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 20I 
 
 with her advice. " Go back to thy brother's house and 
 stay there to-night. Before day comes there will be a 
 fall of snow, and the ground will be covered by it. In 
 the morning take a sheaf of corn and call the white 
 cow after thee. Betake thyself then to Glenoe, with 
 herself and all that will follow her, and stay there." 
 
 Maclntyre returned to Inverawe and did everything 
 as the fairy had told him. He rose early next day, took 
 a sheaf of oats from the barn, and departed for 
 Glenoe with the white cow and the bigger half of the 
 Inverawe herd after her. He reached the Glen, where 
 he built a house, and shortly after that he married. 
 
 A good while after he married, his wife was confined 
 and her life in great danger. He knew not what would do 
 her good, or to whom he should go for help. At last 
 he thought of the fairy, and of going to her. But no 
 sooner did this thought come into his head than he 
 remembered that she was very jealous and that she 
 might give him advice which would do harm instead 
 of good to his wife. This thought troubled him for 
 a time. But at last he said to himself that he would 
 keep his wife's illness secret, and that he would say 
 it was the grey mare which was in danger. 
 
 He reached the fairy and enquired of her if she knew 
 what would relieve the mare. She replied: " Take five 
 tufts of stool-bent and put them under the left knee of 
 the mare, and in a short time she will be as well as 
 she ever was." 
 
 Maclntyre returned home and placed the stool - bent 
 under the left knee of his wife, and presently she 
 found relief. 
 
MURCHADH BUIDHE NAM FIADH. 
 
 B' E Diurach a bh' ann am Murchadh Buidhe nam 
 Fiadh. Bha e, mar tha a ainm a' leigeil ris, 'na 
 shealgair fhiadh ro iomraideach 'na km fein. De gach 
 beinn anns an Eilean b' i Beinn an Oir a roghainn ^ite 
 seilge, agus lean e air a tathaich, gus an robh e 'na 
 fhlor sheann duine liath. 
 
 B' ann do na sithichean a bhuineadh na i6idh, agus 
 bha iad diombach de Mhurchadh Buidhe a chionn gu 'n 
 robh e cho trom air na daimh. 
 
 Latha bha e a' siubhal na beinne, chunnaic e damh 
 br^agh, air an d' 6alaidh e, gus an robh e an dluthas 
 saighead a thilgeadh air. Ach an uair a chaog e a 
 shiiil a ghabhail cuimse, thionndaidh an damh 'na 
 dhuine, agus thubhairt e: "Tha thusa an sin, a 
 Mhurchaidh Bhuidhe nam Fiadh, is tu air fcis liath ad 
 shuidhe air sliabh Beinn an Oir." Fhreagair 
 Murchadh: " Ma tha mise air f^s liath air sliabh Beinn 
 an Oir, is fhurasda do Dhia mo dheanamh 6g." 
 
 Air dha so a r^dh, phill neart na h-6ige ris a rithist, 
 agus bha e be6 iomadh bliadhna an d^idh sin. 
 
YELLOW-HAIRED MURDOCH OF THE DEER, 
 
 Yellow Murdoch of the Deer was a Jura man. As 
 his name implies, he was a famous hunter in his time. 
 Of all the mountains in the Island, Ben-an-Or was his 
 favourite hunting ground, and he continued to frequent 
 it, until he was a very old grey-headed man. 
 
 The deer belonged to the fairies, and they were dis- 
 pleased with Yellow Murdoch because he was so 
 destructive to the stags. 
 
 One day as he was ranging the mountain he saw a 
 fine stag, which he stalked, until he was near enough 
 to shoot him with an arrow. But when he had shut his 
 eye to take aim, the stag changed into a man, 
 and said: "There you are, Yellow Murdoch of the 
 Deer, grown grey sitting on the side of Ben-an-Or." 
 Murdoch replied: "If I have grown grey, sitting on 
 the side of Ben-an-Or, it is an easy thing for God to 
 make me young again." Having said this, the strength 
 of youth returned to him once more, and he lived for 
 many years after. 
 
CROITEAN AN DOIRE SHEILICH. 
 
 Cha robh an Croitean ach de6irean bochd a bha 'na 
 chilis thruais do dhaoine iochdmhor, agus 'na bhall 
 gkire aig luchd na g6raiche agus na h-amaideachd. 
 Bha e air dhroch cumadh o'n Ik anns an d' rugadh e, 
 le a ghldinean lag a' liibadh foidhe, agus le pait mh6ir 
 eadar a dh^ ghualainn. An uair a r^inig e inbhe 
 balachain, bha e na bu duaichnidh agus neo- 
 chumachdala na bha e eadhon 'na leanabh. Cha robh 
 uair a rachadh e mach air dorus nach bitheadh grkisg 
 chloinne 'ga leantainn ag g^ireachdainn agus a* magadh 
 air. Rinn an droch dhlol e cho fiata choimheach is gu'n 
 do sheachainn e an cuideachd, agus gu'n do chaith e a 
 Cline \k an d^idh Ih leis f^in anns an Doire Sheilich a 
 bha goirid as o thigh a mh^thar. Thug na coimhears- 
 naich fa-near far am bu gnJith leis dol, agus thug iad 
 mar fhrith-ainm air, Croitean an Doire Sheilich. 
 
 Air feasgar ^raidh an d6idh dha m6ran fanaide 
 fhulang o chloinn a' bhaile air an robh e a' fuireachd, 
 theich e le cridhe goirt agus a' sileadh nan deur do *n 
 Doire Sheilich air son dlona. Mu 'n deachaidh e ro fhada 
 air aghaidh 'san Doire, choinnicheadh e leis an aon 
 leanaban a bu bh6idhche a chunnaic e riamh. Cha b' 
 urrainn e rithist IJin-chunntas a thoirt air coltas na ban- 
 slthiche, oir b' e sin a bha innte, ni m6 bha cuimhne 
 aige air a sgeadachadh na b' fhaide na gu 'n robh ton nag 
 uaine m' a guailnibh agus crioslaichte m'a meadhon le 
 crios 6ir agus gu 'n robh air a ceann boineid uaine le 
 dos iteag airgid a' dannsadh 'na mullach. 
 
THE HUNCHBACK OF THE WILLOW BRAKE. 
 
 Little Hunchback was but a poor, melancholy crea- 
 ture, an object of pity to the compassionate, and a 
 laughing-stock to the thoughtless and foolish. He was 
 deformed from the day of his birth, with his weak knees 
 that bent under him, and a large lump between his 
 shoulders. When he reached boyhood, he was uglier 
 and more deformed than he had been even in his child- 
 hood. He never went out of doors but a crowd of 
 naughty children followed, laughing at him and mock- 
 ing him. Their cruel conduct made him so shy and 
 unsociable that he avoided their company, and he passed 
 his time day after day alone in the Willow Brake, which 
 stood at a short distance from his mother's house. His 
 neighbours noticed where he was accustomed to go, 
 and nicknamed him the Hunchback of the Willow 
 Brake. 
 
 On a certain evening, after suffering much ridicule 
 from the children of the town where he lived, he fled 
 with a sore heart and weeping eyes to the Willow Brake 
 for shelter. He had not gone far into the wood, when 
 he was met by the very prettiest little babe he 
 had ever seen. The babe was a fairy woman, 
 but he could not afterwards give a full description of 
 her appearance, nor had he any recollection of her 
 attire, beyond this, that about her shoulders was a green 
 mantle, which was bound with a golden girdle about 
 her waist, and that on her head was a green cap, with 
 a tuft of silver feathers waving from its crown. 
 
2o6 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 " C'kite am bheil thu a' dol?" ars a' bhean shlthe. 
 
 " Tha mi a' dol a chur seachad an fheasgair anns an 
 Doire Sheilich, " fhreagair Croitean. 
 
 " Nach 'eil companach idir agad leis an t6id thu a 
 chleasachd?" thubhairt i an sin. " Cha'n 'eil: cha 
 dean aon air bith cuideachd rium, o'n nach 'eil mi 
 coltach ri cloinn eile," thubhairt Croitean. 
 
 Mu dheireadh dh' fhe6raich i dheth c' ainm a bha 
 air, agus dh' innis e dhi gu 'n robh Croitean. 
 "Croitean!" ghlaodh i. "Is fhada o'n bha fiughair 
 againn ri tachairt ort. Is mise Mire-gath-gr^ine, agus 
 is e m' aoibhneas a bhi a' deanamh an t-saoghail 
 aighearach. Tiugainn leamsa, tha fiughair aig mo 
 chuideachd riut, cuir seachad an oidhche cuide ruinne, 
 agus anns a' mhaduinn cha bhi ^is no earras ort." 
 
 Dh' fhalbh e leatha gu togarrach gus an d'rkinig iad 
 c£il an t-Sithein Mhoir. " D{iin do shiiilean, agus their 
 dhomhsa do Ikmh," ars a' bhean shithe ris. Rinn e 
 mar dh' iarr i air, agus ann an tiota bha iad anns an 
 aon fh^rdaich a b' kille a chunnaic e riamh. Shlaod i 
 suas troimh an chuideachd e, a' seinn gu h-eutrom: 
 
 Gu r^idh gu 16ir ! 
 
 Gath - gr^ine air tilleadh, 
 Croitean 's i f6in, 
 
 Le cheile air tighinn. 
 
 "Sonas is kgh air Mire-gath-gr6ine," labhair maighdean 
 cheutach a b' kille air a sgeadachadh na ckch, agus air 
 an robh air a ceann crian 6ir Ikn usgraichean. 
 
 " Ciod is ^ill leatha sinn a dheanamh ri Croitean 
 bochd?" 
 " Sonas 'thoirt da an ^ite crkidh, 
 
 Ealdain \kn ratha, toil duine mhaith. 
 
 Is bidh Mire-gath-gr^ine gu h-aobhinn aighearach." 
 Agus air falbh dhanns i gun sCiil tuilleadh a thoirt air 
 Croitean. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 207 
 
 " Where are you going? " said the fairy. 
 
 " I am going to pass the evening in the Willow 
 Brake," replied Hunchback. 
 
 " Have you no companion at all with whom you can 
 play?" said she then. 
 
 " No; none will keep company with me, since I am 
 not like other children," said Hunchback. 
 
 At last she asked his name, and he told her it was 
 Hunchback. 
 
 "Hunchback!" she exclaimed. "It is long since 
 we expected to meet you. I am Play of Sunbeam, and 
 my joy is making the world merry. Come with me, 
 my people are expecting you, and pass the night with 
 us, and in the morning you will have neither disability 
 nor defect." 
 
 He went cheerfully with her, until they arrived at the 
 back of the Big Fairy Knoll. " Shut your eyes, and 
 give me your hand," said the fairy. He did as she 
 told him, and presently they were in the very 
 grandest mansion he had ever seen. She dragged him 
 up through the midst of the company, singing merrily : 
 " Silence, all ye ! 
 
 Sunbeam's back hither. 
 Hunchback and she 
 Have come together." 
 
 " Success and happiness attend Play of Sunbeam! " 
 said a handsome maiden, who was more finely dressed 
 than the rest, and who wore on her head a gold crown 
 full of jewels. 
 
 " What does she wish us to do for poor Hunchback ?" 
 " For pain to give him lustihead, 
 
 And, good man's wish, a thriving trade. 
 
 And Play of Sunbeam will be merry and glad." 
 And then away she went dancing, and without casting 
 another look on Hunchback. 
 
2q8 folk tales and fairy lore. 
 
 " Cuin a tha Mire-gath-gr^ine air atharrachadh ? " ars 
 a' Bhan-rlgh, *' agus a r^ir a h-iarrtuis bitheadh e." 
 
 Ghlac na sithichean eile e, agus an uair a shaoil leis 
 gu'n robh e air a shlaodadh as a ch^ile eatorra, leig iad 
 as da, agus bha e cho deas, direach is bu chdir dha bhi. 
 An sin chuala e an ce6I a bu mhilse ris an d' 6isd 
 e riamh, Hon s61as a chridhe, agus th6isich e air 
 dannsadh c6mhla ris na daoine beaga a bha air an 5rlar, 
 agus stad cha d' rinn e gus an do thuit e as a sheasamh 
 leis an sglos. Cha robh e ach goirid 'na laighe air an 
 flrlar gus an d' thainig cI6-chadal air, agus an d' 
 fhairich e na slthichean 'ga ghifilan air falbh troimh an 
 athar, agus an ce61 ciuin tiamhaidh'a' dol na b' fhaide 
 bhuaith. 
 
 Mu dheireadh dhuisg e, agus air dha sealltainn m'a 
 thimchioll, b' ann 'san Doire Sheilich fhuair se e f6in 
 'na laighe. Dh' ^irich e, agus phill e dhachaidh. Bha 
 e air falbh latha is bliadhna, agus anns an Ciine sin, 
 thainig atharrachadh cho mor air is gu'm b' ann air 
 eiginn a dh' aithnich a mhathair f^in e. Rinn i 
 gkirdeachas ris, agus an d^idh sin fhuair i e 'na 
 chuideachadh m6r dhi, oir bha l^mh aige nis air gach 
 ealdhain. 
 
 Am measg na h-6igridh a bhitheadh a' fanaid air, 
 bha giullan air an robh am frith-ainm Saigean. Bha 
 Saigean 'na chreutair crion, granda, le Ikmhan agus 
 casan coltach ri sp^gan cr^igein-gh^raidh, agus pait 
 mh6r ag ^irigh suas eadar a dh^ ghualainn. An uair 
 a chunnaic e mar thill Croitean, cho direach ri 
 luaichirean, agus cho uallach ri buachaille nan laogh, 
 rinn e suas c^irdeachas ris, agus cha do stad e gus an 
 d' innis e dha gach ni a thachair o'n fheasgar a chaidh 
 e do 'n Doire Sheilich, gus an do phill e air ais a ris. 
 Ach leag e b6id air Saigean gun e a dh' innseadh sin 
 do dhuine be6, a chionn gu 'n robh e f6in fo ghealladh 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 209 
 
 "When is Play of Sunbeam otherwise?" said the 
 Queen, " and according to her request let it be." 
 
 The other fairies seized him, and when he thought 
 that they had pulled him to pieces among them they 
 let him go, and he was as straight and active as he 
 behoved to be. Then he heard the sweetest music he 
 had ever listened to, and joy filled his heart, and he 
 began to dance with the little people that were on the 
 floor, and stopped not until he fell, unable to stand 
 with fatigue. He had not lain but a short time on the 
 floor, till sleep crept over him, and he felt the fairies 
 carrying him away through the air, and the soft, sad 
 music receding further and further from him. 
 
 At length he awoke, and on looking round, he found 
 himself lying in the Willow Brake. He rose, and re- 
 turned home. He had been away a year and a day; 
 and in that time so great a change had come over him 
 that it was with difficulty that his own mother knew 
 him. She rejoiced at his coming, and after that found 
 him a great help, for now he had a hand for every 
 trade. 
 
 Among the youngsters who used to mock at him was 
 a bay that bore the nickname of Punchy. Punchy was 
 a little ugly creature, with hands and feet like the paws 
 of a frog, and a big hump between his shoulders. When 
 he saw how Hunchback had returned, as straight as a 
 rush and as gay as a calf-herd, he made friends with 
 him, and rested not until Hunchback had told him 
 everything that had happened, from the evening he 
 went to the Willow Brake, till he came back again. 
 He laid a vow, however, on Punchy, not to tell it to a 
 living being, because he himself was under a promise 
 
 P 
 
2IO FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 aig na sithichean a ghl^idheadh uaigneach. Gheall 
 Saigean gu 'n deanadh e mar dh' iarradh air. 
 
 Air an fheasgar sin f^in chaidh Saigean do 'n Doire 
 Sheilich an diiil gu 'n coinnicheadh e aon de na 
 sithichean a leighiseadh e mar leighiseadh Croitean, ach 
 cha'n fhaca e gin. Feasgar an d^idli feasgair lean e 
 air dol do 'n ^ite cheudna, gus, mu dheireadh, am faca 
 e aig bun pris cuilinn duineachan beag 'na shuidhe agus 
 ag amharc le fiamh ghkire fanaidich 'na ghniiis. 
 
 " An tusa Mire-gath-gr^ine ? " arsa Saigean. 
 
 " Cha mhi," fhreagair an duineachan, "ach is mi 
 Coma-co-dhiubh. Ciod do ghnothach-sa ri Mire-gath- 
 gr^ine? " 
 
 " O gu 'n toir i dhiom a' phait so mar thug i a' chroit 
 hhkTT Chroitein," thubhairt Saigean. " An toir thu 
 mi do 'n ^ite far am bheil i? " 
 
 " Nl mi s'.ii," arsa Coma - co - dhiiibh, "ach gheibh 
 thu cead tighinn as mar as ^ill leat f6in," 
 
 " Tha mi coma cia mar gheibh mi as, ma gheibh mi 
 ann, agus ma bheirear dhiom a' phait mhosach so." 
 
 Rinn an duineachan beag glag m6r g^ire, agus an 
 sin dh' fhalbh e le Saigean do 'n t-Sithean Mh6r, agus 
 thug e stigh e, mar thugadh Croitean. 
 
 " C6 e so air teachd d' ar n-ionnsaidh gun chuireadh 
 gun iarraidh? " ars a' Bhan-righ, agus i ag amharc gu 
 cruaidh air Saigean. 
 
 " Tha crkigean d' an ainm Saigean, a chuir Croitean 
 air sgriob an fhortain, an duil gu 'n toirtear dheth a 
 phait," fhreagair Coma-co-dhiijbh. 
 
 "An do bhrist Croitean a bh6id is a ghealladh nach 
 innseadh e do dhuine air bith d'a dhe6in mar dh' 6irich 
 dha an so? " arsa a' Bhan-righ, agus i a' tionndadh le 
 corruich 'na gniiis ri Saigean. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 211 
 
 to the fairies to keep it secret. Punchy promised to do 
 as was requested of him. 
 
 On that very evening Punchy went to the Willow 
 Brake, expecting to meet one of the fairies who would 
 heal him as Hunchback was healed: but he saw none. 
 Evening after evening he continued going to the same 
 place, until at last he saw a small manikin, sitting at 
 the root of a holly bush, and gazing with a mocking 
 smile on his countenance. 
 
 " Are you Play of Sunbeam? " said Punchy. 
 
 " I am not, but I am Never-mind-who, " replied the 
 manikin: "What is your business with Play of Sun- 
 beam?" 
 
 " O, that she will take this hump off me, as she took 
 the hunch off Hunchback," said Punchy. " Will you 
 take me to the place where she dwells ?' ' 
 
 "I will do that," said Never-mind-who, "but you 
 will get leave to come out of it as you like." 
 
 " I do not care how I get out, if I get in, and if this 
 ugly hump is taken off me." 
 
 The little manikin gave a loud laugh, and then went 
 away with Punchy to the Big Fairy Knoll, and took 
 him in, as Hunchback was taken. 
 
 " Who is this come to us without invitation or tryst?" 
 cried the Queen, looking sternly at Punchy. 
 
 " It is a toad named Punchy whom Hunchback has 
 sent on a chance journey, in the hope that his hump 
 will be taken off him," replied Never-mind-who. 
 
 " Did Hunchback break his vow and his promise, that 
 never of his own accord would he tell any one how it 
 fared with him here? " said the Queen, turning towards 
 Punchy with wrath in her countenance. 
 
212 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 " Cha do bhrist; oir cha d' innis e dhomh aon ni gus 
 an do ghuidh is gu 'n do ghrios mise air an toiseach," 
 fhreagair Saigean. 
 
 "A bheadagain mhi-mhodhail ! gheibh thusa do 
 thoillteanas, " ars ise, agus air ball ghlaodh i ris na 
 sithichean eile: " Spkrraibh a' phait air a' chroit, agus 
 bheir an aon sac dhachaidh iad." 
 
 "A' phait air a' chroit! a' phait air a' chroit!" 
 sgreuch na sithichean uile, agus ghramaich iad an 
 Saigean air a l^mhan agus air a chasan, agus thilg iad 
 a sios is a suas, a null is a nail e, gus an do chaill e a 
 aithne gu h-iomlan. 
 
 An uair a thkinig e g'a dh'ionnsaidh f^in, b' ann 
 'san Doire Sheilich a bha e, a' phait a dh^ mheud is a 
 bha i roimhe, agus a chnkmhan cho sgith, briiite is 
 gu 'm b' ann air 6iginn a b' urrainn e carachadh. 
 Fhuair e air a chasan le m6ran stri, agus an sin shnkig 
 e dhachaidh; ach gu latha a bh^is cha d' innis e do 
 dhuine ach do Chroitean, mar thachair dha 'san 
 t-Sithean Mh6ir. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 213 
 
 "No," replied Punchy, "for he told me nothing 
 until I first prayed and entreated him." 
 
 "You impudent fellow," said she, "you will get 
 your deserts," and immediately she cried to the other 
 fairies : 
 
 " Throw the hunch on the hump, and the one load 
 will take them home." 
 
 " The hunch on the hump, the hunch on the hump," 
 screamed all the fairies; and then they laid hold of 
 Punchy by his hands and his feet, and tossed him up 
 and down, to this side and that, till he lost all con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 When he came to himself, he lay in the Willow 
 Brake, the hump twice its former size, and his bones 
 so tired and bruised that he could scarcely move. With 
 a great effort he got to his feet, and then crept home; 
 but to the day of his death he told no one except Hunch- 
 back what happened to him in the Big Fairy Knoll. 
 
A' CHAOINTEACH. 
 
 Sgeul mu bhean-shithe. 
 
 Is e Bean-Shithe a bha anns a' Chaointich. Bha i a' 
 leantainn Chlann Mhic Aoidh agus fhineachan eile 'san 
 Roinn Ilich. An uair a bhitheadh hks a' dol a thach- 
 airt an aon de na fineachan sin, thigeadh i dh' ionnsaidh 
 tigh an duine thinn le tomaig uaine m'a guailnibh, 
 agus bheireadh i seachad rabhadh d'a theaghlach le 
 caoidhearan bronach a thogail taobh a mach an doruis. 
 Cho luath is a chluinneadh cairdean an duine thinn a 
 guth, chailleadh iad d6chas r'a dhol am feobhas. 
 Chuala iad a' Chaointeach a' tuireadh, agus bu le6ir 
 an dearbhadh sin le6 gu'n robh a chrioch aig I^imh. 
 
 Ach sguir a' Chaointeach a thabhairt sanais seachad 
 do mhuinntir na Ranna. Chualadh i mu dheireadh aig 
 tigh 'san ^ite sin o cheann iomadh bliadhna. 
 
 Bha 'san ^m duine tinn air a leabadh hkis agus a 
 chairdean a' feitheamh air. B'e an geamhradh a bha 
 ann, agus bha an oidhche fliuch, fuar, le uisge agus le 
 gaoith. Sheas i muigh aig dorus an fhuaraidh de'n 
 tigh; agus thog i an sin caoidhearan muladach. Chuala 
 an teaghlach a caoidh; agus ghabh aon aca a leithid 
 de thruas di, is gu'n deachaidh e mach air dorus an 
 fhasgaidh, agus gu'n d'ihkg e aice seann bhreacan air 
 ^ile suidhe, a bha aig taobh an doruis. Phill e stigh 
 an sin, agus ghlaodh e rithe: " Thig, a bhean bhochd, 
 air taobh an fhasgaidh; agus cuir umad cirb de mo 
 bhreacan." Air ball sguir an tuireadh; agus o sin gu 
 so cha chualadh agus cha'n fhacadh a' Chaointeach 'san 
 Roinn. 
 
THE CAOINTEACH. 
 
 A Banshee Story. 
 
 The Caointeach was a Banshee. She followed the Clan 
 MacKay and other clans in the Rhinns of Islay. When 
 a death was going to happen in one of these clans, she 
 would co...e to the sick man's house with a green shawl 
 about her shoulders, and give his family warning by 
 raising a sad wail outside the door. As soon as the 
 sick man's friends heard her voice, they lost all hope 
 of his getting better. They had heard the Caointeach 
 lamenting, and that was proof enough to them that his 
 end was at hand. 
 
 The Caomteach has ceased to give warning to the 
 people of the Rhinns. She was last heard at a house 
 in that district many years ago. 
 
 A sick man was then on his death-bed, and his friends 
 attending him. It was winter, and the night was wet 
 and cold, with rain and wind. She stood at the wind- 
 ward door of the house; and there she raised a low, 
 melancholy wail. The family heard her mourning; 
 and one of them so pitied her that he went out at the 
 leeward door, and left her an old plaid on a seat at the 
 side of the door. He then returned within, and cried 
 to her: " Come to the sheltered side, poor woman; and 
 cover yourself with a piece of my plaid." In an in- 
 stant the lamenting ceased; and from that time to this 
 the Caointeach has not been seen or heard in the 
 Rhinns. 
 
GLAISRIG BHAILE BHEOLAIN AGUS SEALBH- 
 ACH MAC SHEALBHAICH. 
 
 Bha Maighdean, no Gruagach, a' leatitainn teaghlach 
 Bhaile Bheolain an Liosm6r. Bha a' mhaighdean so 
 ag gabhail curaim mh6ir de'n teaglach, agus de gach ni 
 a bhuineadh dhoibh. Ach b' i an fheudail a culaidh 
 chiiraim os ceann gach ni eile. Anns a' mhaduinn 
 shaodaicheadh i iad a mach do'n mhachair, agus an 
 uair a thigeadh am feasgar, dh'iomaineadh i dhachaidh 
 iad a rls. Bhitheadh i mar an ceudna "gan leantainn 
 'nan siCibhal anns an aite-ionaltraidh fad an 1^; agus 
 ged nach robh i f^in r'a faicinn, bha a guth gu minic 
 r'a chluinntinn 'gan tionndadh o bhruaich na creige, 
 no 'gan ruagadh as na dailthean colrce. Agus b' i an 
 aon duais a bha i ag iarraidh air-son a seirbhise l^n 
 meadair de mh^ag fuar air a fhkgail dhi 'san oidhche 
 an uinneig a' bh^thaich. Ach am feadh bha i ag 
 gabhail curaim shonraichte de theaghlach agus de 
 spr^idh Fhir-a'-bhaile, bha i mar an ceudna ag amharc 
 an d^idh gach teaghlaich agus duine a bha air an 
 fhearann. Air uairean leanadh i iad gu tlr-mor, agus 
 chuidicheadh i iad, an uair a chitheadh i iad am feum 
 a cuideachaidh. 
 
 Ghabh Sealbhach Mac Shealbhaich, duine foghainnt- 
 each, neo-sgkthach, a bha a ch6mhnuidh am Fracarsaig, 
 a bhkta, agus chaidh e leatha thar na Linne 
 Morbhairnich do Ghleann Sannda air-son connaidh. 
 An d^idh dha foghnadh de fhiodh a gheirradh agus a 
 
THE BALIEVEOLAN GLASRIG AND SELVACH 
 MAC KELVIE. 
 
 A MAIDEN or Gruagach followed the family of 
 Balieveolan in Lismore. This maiden took great in- 
 terest in the family, and in everything belonging to 
 them. But the cattle were the special objects of her 
 care. In the morning she led them forth to the fields, 
 and when evening came she drove them home again. 
 She also followed them in their wanderings over the 
 pasture ground during the day; and though she herself 
 remained invisible, her voice was often to be heard as 
 she turned them from the edge of the precipice, or chased 
 them out of the corn fields, and the only reward she 
 asked for her services was a pail-ful of cold whey, left 
 for her at night in the byre window. But while she 
 made the Laird's family and his cattle the special objects 
 of her care, she also took an interest in all the families 
 and individuals on the lands. Sometimes she followed 
 the latter to the mainland, and helped them when she 
 saw them in need of her help. 
 
 Selvach Mac Kelvie, a strong and fearless man, 
 who lived at Frackersaig, took his boat, and crossed 
 the Sound of Morven to Glensanda for fuel. After 
 cutting down a sufficient quantity of wood and putting 
 
2l8 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 chur anns a' bhkta, phut e i o'n chladach, agus bha 
 e f6in a' dol a leum innte, an uair a chuala e air a 
 chulaibh cailleach bhochd ag iarraidh air a tabhairt a 
 null gu taobh eile na Linne. Ud! Ud! tha fhios gu'n 
 deanadh e sin do bhean bhochd; agus air ball leum a' 
 chailleach air b6rd cho iollagach ri nighinn oig. Shuidh 
 i an sin air t6 de na totaibh, agus dh' iarr i air r^mh a 
 shineadh dhi. Cha deanadh e sin: dh' iomaireadh e 
 am b^ta leis f^in. Ach lean i cho fada air an rcimh a 
 dh' iarraidh is gu'n d'thug e dhi e mu dheireadh. Cho 
 luath is a fhuair i e 'na l^mhan, ghlaodh i: " Buille air, 
 a Shealbhaich." Ach ma dhfilanaich ise esan, dhulan- 
 aich esan ise, ag rkdh: " Buille eile oirre, a chailleach." 
 Agus an sin dh' iomair iad le ch^ile gu cruaidh, agus 
 chuir iad am b^ta 'na still air a slighe. Mar a b' fhaide 
 a bha a' chailleach ag iomram, b' ann a bu Ikidire a bha 
 i a' f^s. Air an Ikimh eile bha Sealbhach a' dol na 
 bu laige agus na bu laige leis gach buille a bheireadh 
 e. An uair a chunnaic i so, ghlaodh i le guth na bu 
 daine na air tiis: "Buille air, a Shealbhaich." Sglth 
 is mar bha Sealbhach bochd, bhrosnaich an dara diilan 
 so e cho m6r is gu'n do fhreagair e le guth cho ^rd 
 agus cho d^na r' a guth f^in : " Buille eile air a rithist, 
 a sheann chailleach," agus an sin chuir e cho fada 
 thuige e f^in is gu'n robh e an iiine ghoirid an impis 
 tuiteam a sios claoidhte air urlar a' bhata. Ach chuidich 
 nkire, gu 'm faigheadh cailleach an Ikimh-an-uachdair 
 air, e a chumail air f^in beagan na b' fhaide, agus an 
 sin fhuair e fuasgladh ; oir an d^idh do'n bhkta an 
 t-aiseag a dheanamh an Ciine anabarrach goirid, rkinig 
 i an t^aruinteachd Camus Fhracarsaig. 
 
 An uair a fhuair Sealbhach am fiodh a mach thubh- 
 airt e gu'n rachadh e do'n tigh a b' fhaigse air-son 
 cuid-eigin a tharruingeadh leis am bkta suas air a' 
 chladach. "Cha ruig thu leas," ars a' chailleach, 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 219 
 
 it in the boat, he shoved the boat off the shore, and 
 was going to spring on board, when he heard behind 
 him a poor old woman asking him to ferry her over to 
 the other side of the Sound. Yes ! yes ! to be sure he 
 would do that for a poor woman ; and at once she sprang^ 
 on board as lightly as a young girl. She seated her- 
 self on one of the thwarts, and asked him to hand her 
 one of the oars. No, he would not do that: he would 
 pull the boat himself. But she pressed him so much 
 that he at last gave her the oar. As soon as she got 
 it in her hands, she cried: " A stroke on it, Selvach." 
 But if she challenged him, he challenged her, saying: 
 " Another stroke on her, old woman." And then they 
 both pulled hard, and sent the boat flying on her way. 
 The longer the old woman rowed, the stronger she 
 became. On the other hand, Selvach grew weaker and 
 weaker with every stroke he made. When she noticed 
 this, she cried, in a bolder voice than at first: " A stroke 
 on it, Selvach." Wearied though poor Selvach was, 
 this second challenge so roused him that he replied, in 
 as loud and defiant a voice as her own: "Another 
 stroke on it once again, you old crone," and then he 
 exerted himself so much that he was soon almost ready 
 to sink down exhausted on the floor of the boat. But 
 the disgrace that an old wife should get the upper hand 
 of him helped him to hold his own a little longer, and 
 then relief came ; for the boat, after an exceedingly short 
 passage, arrived in safety at Frackersaig Bay. 
 
 When Selvach got the wood out, he said that h& 
 would go to the nearest house for somebody to help 
 him to haul the boat up on the beach. "You need 
 not," said the old woman, " if you pull your own side,. 
 
220 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 " ma tharruingeas tusa do thaobh f6in, tarruingidh mise 
 an taobh eile." Fhuair e cheana a leithid de dhearbh- 
 adh air a neart is nach do smuaintich e air teagamh a 
 chur ann a nis. Le sin rug iad le cWile air a' bhata, 
 agus le aon sgriob fhada tharruing iad i o oir an uisge 
 suas air an fheur ghorm. An sin chaidh a' chailleach 
 as an t-sealladh ; agus dh'aithnich Sealbhach gu'm b' 
 i Maighdean Bhaile Bhe61ain a bha innte. 
 
 Greis an d^idh sin air do bhanaraich fir m^ag goileach 
 fh^gail 'san oidhche am meadar na Maighdinn, dh' 
 fh^g i an t-^ite le grkin, agus cha'n fhacas i o sin anns 
 a' choimhearsnachd. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 221 
 
 I will pull the Other." He had already sufficient proof 
 Of her strength not to think of calling it in question 
 now. So they both laid hold of the boat, and with 
 one long pull drew her up from the water edge to the 
 green grass. The old woman then vanished; and 
 Selvach understood that she was the Balieveolan 
 Maiden. 
 
 Sometime after that, because a new dairy-maid had 
 left boiling - hot whey one evening in the Maiden's 
 pail, she left the place in disgust, and since then 
 has never been seen in the neighbourhood. 
 
MAIGHDEAN GHLINN - FAOCHAIN. 
 
 Bu Mhaighdean Nic Gille Mhlcheil a bha a' leantainn 
 Caimbeulaich Ghlinn - Faochain, Ikimh ris an Oban 
 Latharnach. Bha i ag amharc as d6idh seirbhisich an 
 tighe, agus 'gan smachdachadh na'n dearmadadh iad 
 an obair a dheanamh, no na'n deanadh iad i gu neo- 
 sgoinneil. 
 
 Uair-eigin a fhuair searbhanta, is i air iir-thighinn, 
 'earail o Fhear Ghlinn-Faochain an t-uisge thabhairt a 
 stigh roimh an dorchadh, air eagal gu'm bitheadh Nic 
 Gille Mhicheil diombach dhith thubhairt i: " Ma thig i 
 tarsuinn ormsa, cuiridh mi car 'na h-amhaich dhi." 
 Ged nach robh a' Mhaighdean r'a faicinn, bha i an 
 l^thair 'san am, agus chuala i ciod a bhagair an 
 t-searbhanta a dheanamh oirre. Goirid an d^idh sin, air 
 <io'n t-searbhanta dol do'n tobar, thill i stigh le a ceann 
 air a thionndadh null r'a ciil, gus an robh a h-aghaidh 
 ag amharc thar a gualainn deise. An uair a dh' 
 fhe6raicheadli dhith an t-aobhar, is e na b' urrainn i a 
 r^dh, gu'n d'fhuair i o \kimh 'san dorcha Sgleog 'san 
 lethcheann chll a chuir a' gheoic ud oirre. 
 
 Cho luath is a chuala Gleann - Faochain ciod a 
 rinneadh oirre, thug e mach i air Ikimh, agus choisich 
 ■e leatha timchioll an tighe, a labhairt ris a' Mhaighdinn 
 'san dorcha, agus ag rkdh rithe: " a Nic Gille Mhicheil, 
 a thruaghain, nach cuir thu, air mo bhuidheachas f^in, 
 ceaun na searbhanta mar bha e roimhe?" An ceann 
 tacain fhuair an t-searbhanta sgleog eile, air an uair so 
 
THE GLEN-FAOCHAN MAIDEN. 
 
 Nic GiLMicHAEL was a Maiden who followed the Camp- 
 bells of Glen-Faochan, near Oban. She looked after 
 the household servants, and punished them if they 
 neglected to do their work, or did it in a slovenly 
 manner. 
 
 Once a newly-arrived servant, on being warned by 
 the Laird to take in the water before dark, lest Nic 
 Gilmichael should be displeased with her, said: " If 
 she comes across me, I'll twist her neck for her." The 
 Maiden, though unseen, was then present, and heard 
 what the servant threatened to do to her. Shortly after 
 that, the servant, having gone to the well, came back 
 to the house with her head turned round, until her face 
 overlooked her right shoulder. Being asked the cause, 
 she could only say that she got on the left cheek a slap 
 from a hand in the dark, which threw her head into its 
 new position. 
 
 As soon as the Laird heard what had been done to 
 her, he led her out by the hand and walked with her 
 round the house, addressing the Maiden in the dark, 
 and saying to her: "Nic Gilmichael, poor body, will 
 you not, to oblige me, put the servant's head as it was 
 before? " After a while the servant got another slap. 
 
224 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 'san lethcheann dheas. Chuir am buille a ceann air ais 
 teann air mar bha e an toiseach. Dh'fhuirich e an sin 
 'na shuidheachadh mu dheireadh, mar rabhadh do 
 dhaoine eile an aghaidh dioghaltas a bhagradh air Nic 
 Gille Mhlcheil. 
 
 An uair a chaidh oighreachd Ghlinn-Faochain a reic, 
 ciiualas i fad na h-oidhche ag osnaich is ag caoineadh 
 am measg nan craobh a bha timchioll an tighe. Ach 
 an d^idii sin cha chualas is cha'n fhacas i, aon chuid 
 mu'n tigh, no an kite air bith eile 's a' Ghleann. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 225 
 
 this time on the right cheek. The blow put her head 
 back nearly to its first position. There it remained in 
 its final position as a warning to others not to threaten 
 vengeance on Nic Gilmichael. 
 
 When the estate of Glen-Faochan was sold, she was 
 heard all night sobbing and crying among the trees 
 about the house. But after that she was neither seen 
 nor heard at the house, or anywhere else in the Glen. 
 
GILLECRIOSD TAILLEAR, AGUS A' 
 CHAILLEACH. 
 
 B' Apunnach Gillecriosd t^illear. Bhitheadh e a' dol 
 o thigh gu tigh a' deanamh aodaich ; agus an uair a 
 theirigeadh obair air 'san Apuinn rachadh e thar na 
 Linne do Cheann - ghearrloch agus do'n Mhorbhairne 
 air-son tuillidh. 
 
 Uair a bha e f^in is a ghille a' dol thar a' mhonaidh 
 eadar an da aite sin, thuit an oidhche orra aig dol-a-stigh 
 a' Ghlinne Ghil. Cha deachaidh iad air an aghaidh 
 ach goirid anas a' Ghleann an uair a chunnaic iad solus 
 rompa, agus rinn iad direach air. R^inig iad am 
 bothan-^iridhe, as an d'th^inig an solus, agus rinn a' 
 bhanarach agus am buachaille, a bha an cois a' chruidh, 
 am beatha. Bha iad le cheile sgith agus fliuch, agus 
 le sin ghabh iad gu toileach ris a' chuireadh a thugadh 
 dhoibh. Chaidh iad a stigh, agus shuidh iad sios ri 
 taobh teine m6r fhalaisge, a bha air meadhon an 
 urlair. 
 
 Roimh km dhol-a-laighe, thkinig Cailleach mh6r, 
 fhiadhaich a dh'ionnsaidh an doruis, agus dh'iarr i cead 
 dol a stigh, agus i Min a thiormachadh. Mar bha am 
 mi-fhortan 'san dkn, thubhairt Gillecriosd rithe tighinn 
 air a h-aghaidh, agus suidhe cdmhla riu mu'n teine. 
 Cha d'fheith i an ath chuireadh, ach th^inig i, agus 
 shuidh i aig an teine, agus thbisich i ri i fein a 
 thiormachadh. An ceann tacain dh'fhks i neo-shocrach, 
 a' tionndadh taoibh an d^idh taoibh ris an teine; agus 
 mar bha i a' tiormachadh, bha i ag at agus ag at, agus 
 a' fks dkna agus ladarna 'na cainnt. Thuit do 
 
GILCHRIST, THE TAILOR, AND THE HAG. 
 
 Gilchrist, the tailor, was an Appin man. He used to 
 go from house to house making clothes; and when em- 
 ployment failed him in Appin, he would cross Loch 
 Linnhe to Kingairloch and Morven for more work. 
 
 Once he and his man were crossing the moor between 
 these two places, when night overtook them at the en- 
 trance of the White Glen. They had only proceeded 
 a short distance in the Glen, when they saw a light 
 before them, and they made straight for it. They 
 reached the Shelling bothy whence the light came, and 
 the milkmaid and the herd, who were attending the 
 cattle, made them welcome. They were both wearied and 
 wet, and, therefore, they readily accepted the invitation 
 which was given them. They went in, and sat down 
 before a large fire of burnt heather^ which was on the 
 middle of the floor. 
 
 Before bed time a tall, wild-looking hag came to the 
 door, and asked leave to enter and dry herself. As ill 
 luck would have it, Gilchrist told her to come forward 
 and sit with them round the fire. She waited not for 
 a second invitation, but came and sat at the fire, and 
 began to dry herself. In a while she became restless, 
 turning one side after another to the fire; and as she 
 dried, she swelled and swelled, and grew bold and rude 
 in her talk. Gilchrist happened to draw his snuff-horn 
 
228 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Ghillecriosd an adharc shnaoisein aige a tharruing as a 
 phoca, agus snaoisean a ghabhail. Thug ise so fa-near> 
 agus dh'iarr i air an adharc a shineadh dhise. Fhreagair 
 e nach robh e riamh 'na chleachdadh aige a tabhairt 
 d'a leithidse; ach na'n toilicheadh i, gu'n tugadh e dhi 
 deannag air bkrr na biodaig. Chuir e an sin beagan 
 air ceann a mach na biodaig, agus shin e null dhi e. 
 Ach mar sin cha ghabhadh i e; agus a chionn nach 
 faigheadh i e mar bha i ag iarraidh, chaidh i ann am 
 feirg mh6ir agus ann an droch cainnt. 
 
 Dh' ^irich a' bhanarach agus am buachaille agus gille 
 an t^illeir, agus chaidh iad taobh eile a' chailbhe, a 
 bha a' roinn a' bhothain 'na dhk cheirn. 
 
 Dh'^irich a' Chailleach an sin, agus am badaibh an 
 tkilleir bhitheadh i. Ach thug e dhi sathadh no dithis 
 leis a' bhiodaig, a thug oirre tilleadh r'a h-^ite suidhe 
 aig taobh an teine. 
 
 An ceann tacain dh' ^irich i an dara uair, agus chaidh 
 i, mar shaoil esan, a mach. Ach cha robh i fada air 
 falbh gus an cuala e, an ceann eile a' bhothain, r6cail 
 grocaich mar aig duine 'ga thachdadh. Ghreas e sios, 
 agus CO a bha roimhe ach a' Chailleach, agus i ag cur 
 ri tachdadh na banaraich. Thug e stobadh eile de'n 
 bhiodaig dhi, agus dh'iomain e roimhe i do'n cheann 
 'san robh an teine. Las a' Chailleach nis le corruich 
 mh6ir, agus b' ann air ^iginn a b' urrainn e a cumail 
 dheth. Sheas i m'a choinneamh a' feitheamh cothruim 
 air a ghlacadh ; agus cha do sguir i stri ris gus an robh 
 bristeadh an latha am fagus. An sin chaidh i mach, 
 agus ghlaodh i ^irde a cinn air Gormla Mh6ir o'n 
 Mhaigh an Lochabar, agus air Nighean Fhir Leirg na 
 h-Uinnsinn an Cnapadal. Ach gu fortanach do 
 Ghillecriosd t^illear, ghoir an coileach dubh air 
 bruach os a ceann, agus b' ^iginn di an rathad a 
 ghabhail. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 229 
 
 from his pocket, and take a pinch of snuff. She noticed 
 this, and asked him to hand her the horn. He replied 
 that he was never in the habit of giving his horn to 
 the like of her; but that, if she wished, he would give 
 her a pinch on the point of his dirk. He then placed 
 a little on the outward end of his dirk, and reached it 
 across to her. But she would not take it in that way; 
 and as she would not get it the way she was asking, 
 she flew into a great passion and abusive language. 
 
 The milkmaid, the herd boy, and the tailor's man 
 lose up, and went to the other side of the partition, 
 which divided the bothy into two apartments. 
 
 The hag then rose, and at the tailor she would be. 
 But he gave her a stab or two with his dirk, which 
 made her return to her seat beside the fire. 
 
 After a while she got up the second time, and went, 
 as the tailor thought, out of the bothy. She was not, 
 however, long gone until he heard in the other end of 
 the bothy a gurgling sound like that of a person being 
 choked. He hastened down, and who was before him 
 but the hag busy choking the milkmaid. He gave her 
 another thrust with the dirk, and drove her before him 
 to the end where the fire was. She now blazed into a 
 great passion, and it was with difficulty he was able to 
 keep her off. She stood opposite him waiting an op- 
 portunity of seizing him; and she ceased not to strive 
 with him till daybreak was at hand. Then she went 
 out, and cried as loud as she could to Gormla Mhor of 
 Moy, in Lochaber, and to the daughter of the Laird of 
 Ashfield, in Knapdale. But luckily for Gilchrist, the 
 tailor, the black cock now crew on the brae above her, 
 and she had to take the road. 
 
[SEALGAIR SHRATH EIRINN IS A' 
 CHAILLEACH.] 
 
 Bha sealgair ainmeil a ch6mhnuidh an Srath Eirinn air 
 taobh deas Loch Nis anns na Ikithibh a dh'fhalbh. An 
 uair a thiinig km na seilge, chaidh e le a dh^ chu do'n 
 Chr6-Chlach an ceann shuas a' Glinne; agus an deidh 
 dha an Ik a chur seachad a' leantuinn an fh6idh, thog 
 e air gu bothan - kiridhe a chaitheamh na h - oidhche. 
 R^inig e am bothan 'san fheasgar, las e teine, agus 
 chuir e ^ird air an t-suipeir. An d^idh dh^ an t-suipeir 
 a ghabhail agus tuilleadh connaidh a chur air an teine, 
 thilg se e f6in air dun luachrach an oisinn a' bhothain. 
 Lean a dhk chi!i e, agus laigh iad air a chCilaibh. 
 
 An uine ghoirid thkinig cearc a stigh, agus leig i aon 
 taobh foipe air lie an teinntein, agus chum i an taobh 
 eile ris an teine. Cha robh i fada 'san t-suidheachadh 
 sin an uair a th6isich i ri at agus ri at. An ceann tacain 
 dh' ^irich i, agus thionndaidh i an taobh a bha foipe 
 ris an teine; agus ma dh' at i roimhe, dh' at i nis a 
 sheachd uibhir. Mu dheireadh dh'fh^ i 'na boirionn- 
 ach, agus sheas i suas air an urlar mu choinneamh an 
 t-sealgair. Cho luath is a thug na coin an aire dhi, dh' 
 ^irich gart orra, agus leum iad a null air an urlar gu 
 bhi aice. " Caisg do choin, " ars a' chailleach. 
 " Cha'n urrainn mi," fhreagair an sealgair. Spion i 
 riobag as a fait, agus an uair a bha i a' slneadh na 
 riobaige dha, thubhairt i: " Ceangail le sin iad." 
 Ghabh esan air na coin a cheangal leis an riobaig, ach 
 an aite na riobaige chuir e orra aon d'a ghartain f6in. 
 
THE STRATH DEARN HUNTER AND THE 
 
 WITCH. 
 
 In days gone by, a famous hunter dwelt in Strath Dearn, 
 on the south side of Loch Ness. When the time of 
 hunting arrived, he went with his two dogs to Cro- 
 Clach, in the upper end of the Glen ; and, after he had 
 passed the day pursuing the deer, he betook himself 
 to a shieling bothy to spend the night. He reached 
 the bothy in the evening; and, after kindling a fire, 
 prepared supper. When he had taken supper and 
 placed more fuel on the fire, he threw himself on a 
 heap of rushes in a corner of the bothy. His two dogs 
 followed him, and laid themselves down at his back. 
 
 In a short time a hen entered and rested herself on 
 one side on the hearth, while she kept the other side to 
 the fire. She was not long in that position when she 
 began to swell and to swell. In a while she rose, and 
 turned the side under her to the fire; and if she swelled 
 before, she now swelled seven times more. At last she 
 became a woman, and stood up on the floor before the 
 hunter. 
 
 As soon as the dogs noticed her they assumed an 
 angry look, and sprang over on the floor to be at her. 
 " Keep back thy dogs," said the carlin. " I cannot," 
 answered the hunter. She pulled a hair from her head, 
 and when she was reaching the hair to him, she said: 
 " Tie them with that." He pretended that he was tying 
 the dogs with the hair, but he put one of his own 
 garters on them instead. 
 
232 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Cho luath is a shaoil a' chailleach gu'n robh na coin 
 ceangailte, leum i null do'n oisinn, agus shksnaich i 
 anns an t-sealgair. Leum na coin an sin gu bhi an 
 greim innte-se. " Teannaich, a riobag! " ars ise an so. 
 " Lasaich, a ghartain ! " fhreagair esan. Mu dheireadh 
 fhuair na coin fa sgaoil, agus sh^snaich iad anns a' 
 chailleach. An so leig i as an sealgair, agus chaidh 
 i an comhair a ctiil a mach an dorus. 
 
 Lean na coin i, gus an do chuir iad i ri leathad 
 bruaich a bha mu choinneamh an doruis. An uair a 
 r^inig iad a bhun, thoisich stri chruaidh eadar iad f^in 
 agus ise, a mhair uine fhada. Ach thkinig crioch air 
 a' chath mu dheireadh. Thill na coin r'am maighstir 
 air an loireadh agus air am beubanachadh gu m6r. 
 Agus dh' fhalbh a' chailleach ag r^dh: " Na 'n robh 
 tosg a' choin 6ig anns an t-seann chti, no tur an t-seann 
 choin anns a' chii 6g, cha d' fhuair mise as orra." 
 
 Air an ath latha chaidh an sealgair dhachaidh; agus 
 an uair a rkinig e an tigh, choinnich a bhean e a' dol 
 an cabhaig gu tigh ban-choimhearsnaich a bha an 
 crkdh mor agus a r6ir coltais air beul hkis. Thug e 
 oirre itilleadh dhachaidh; agus an d^idh dha greim 
 bldh fhaotainn, chaidh e f^in gu tigh na mnatha tinne. 
 An uair a chuala i gu 'n robh e a' tighinn, ghlaodh i 
 riusan a bha stigh leatha, an dorus a dhruideadh agus 
 a chrannadh. Rinn iad mar dh' iarr i orra. Ach cho 
 luath is a thkinig an sealgair dlfith gu le6ir, chuir e an 
 dorus roimhe, agus chaidh e stigh. Chaidh e dlreach 
 dh' ionnsaidh na leapa, agus thilg e an t-aodach slos 
 bh^rr uchd na mnatha. Bha sealladh d^istinneach air 
 a leigeil ris da nis: bha dk. chlch na mnatha air an 
 reubadh as an kite. Thuig e an t-aobhar. B' ise a 
 choinnich e f^in agus a choin 's a' bhothan-kiridhe air 
 an oidhche chaidh seachad; agus uime sin, tharruing 
 e a chlaidheamh, agus chuir e gu bks i mar bhuitsich. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 233 
 
 As soon as the carlin thought that the dogs were tied, 
 she sprang over to the corner, and laid hold of the 
 hunter. The dogs then sprang to seize her: " Tighten 
 hair," she now said. "Slacken garter," he replied. 
 At last the dogs got loose, and fastened on the hag. 
 She now let the hunter go, and went back-foremost out 
 at the door. 
 
 The dogs followed her until they drove her down the 
 slope of a brae which was before the door. When they 
 arrived at its foot, there began between them and her 
 a hard fight which lasted a long time. But the fight 
 came to an end at last. The dogs returned to their 
 master, much bemired and mangled, and the carlin 
 went away, saying: " If the young dog's tusk had been 
 in the old dog's mouth, or the old dog's sense in the 
 young dog's head, I would not have escaped from 
 them." 
 
 Next day the hunter went home; and when he ar- 
 rived at the house, he met his wife going in a hurry 
 to the house of a neighbour, who was in great pain, 
 and, to all appearance, at the point of death. He pre- 
 vailed on her to return home; and after taking a bite 
 of food, he himself went to the sick woman's house. 
 When she heard that he was coming, she cried to those 
 with her in the house to shut and bar the door. They 
 did as she told them. But as soon as the hunter came 
 near enough, he drove the door in before him, and 
 entered. He went straight to the bed and threw the 
 clothes down off the woman's breast. A horrible sight 
 was now revealed to him : the breasts of the woman 
 were torn from their places. He understood the cause. 
 She it was who last night met him and his dogs in the 
 shieling bothy; and so he drew his sword and put her 
 to death as a witch. 
 
SGEOIL MU GHLAISTIGEAN. 
 
 Bha Domhnull Maclain 'na kireach aig tuath Achadh- 
 an-todhair an Lochabar. An uair a thkinig an 
 samhradh, chaidh e le spr^idh a' bhaile chum kuidh 
 na Beinne Brice air taobh tuath an Uisge Dhuibh. 
 
 Air ik iraidh, is e 'na shuidhe air an 16n an cois 
 na Beinne, agus an crodh 'nan laighe m'a thimchioll, 
 chuala e guth caol ann fad as ; agus ghrad dh' amhairc 
 e an taobh o 'n d'th^inig e. Ciod a chunnaic e an sin, 
 a' tighinn le luathas m6r, agus a' deanamh dlreach air 
 an aite 'san robh e 'na shuidhe, ach Glaistig. Gun dkil 
 tiota tharruing e as a rathad, agus dh' fheuch e ri falach 
 a dheanamh air f^in ann an torn roideagaich. Ach ma 
 dh' fheuch, cha b' ann gun fhaireachadh dhise. 
 Thionndaidh i an taobh a ghabh e, agus ann am 
 priobadh ina ,sula bha i 'na seasamh r'a thaobh- 
 Th6isich i an sin ri leum a null is a nail thar a chuirp, 
 a' bualadh a basan, agus ag r^dh nam briathar a 
 leanas : — 
 
 Am faic sibh am bramachan roidein 
 
 'Na laighe am measg nam bo? 
 
 Bhuaileadh e buille eadar dk bhuille 
 
 Is buille eadar dk dh6rn, 
 
 'San Ion eadar dk dhoire 
 
 'San doire eadar dk Ion ? 
 An uair a dh' ihks i sglth de'n obair sin, dh'fhalbh 
 i le cruinn-leum uallach a' seinn na luinneig so : 
 Is mire mi na'm flor-eun m6r 
 Is mire mi na'm flor-eun 6g , 
 Is mire mi na laogh dk bh6. 
 Is mire mi na meann an cr6; 
 
TALES ABOUT GLASTIGS. 
 
 Donald MacIan was cow-herd with the tenantry of 
 Achantore in Lochaber. When summer came round, 
 he went with the cattle on the farm to the summer pas- 
 tures of Ben Breck, on the north side of the Blackwater. 
 One day, as he sat on the meadow at the foot of the 
 Ben, and the cattle were lying round about him, he heard 
 a small voice far away; and immediately he looked in 
 the direction whence it came. What did he behold, com- 
 ing with great speed and making straight for the place 
 where he was sitting, but a Glastig? Without a 
 moment's delay, he drew out of her way and tried to 
 hide himself in a bush of bog-myrtle. But if he did, 
 it was not without being observed by her. She turned 
 the way he went, and, in the twinkling of an eye, was 
 standing by his side. She then began to leap forward 
 and back again over his body, clapping her hands, and 
 repeating the following words: — 
 
 " Do you see the wee colt of the sweet ga:le 
 Lying in the midst of the kine? 
 A stroke he would strike between two strokes. 
 And a stroke between two blows, 
 In the meadow between two groves. 
 In the grove between two meadows." 
 When she grew tired of that work, she went away 
 with a light, playful spring, singing the following lilt: — 
 " Friskier am I than the great eagle. 
 Friskier am I than the young eagle. 
 Friskier am I than the calf of two cows. 
 Friskier am I than a kid in a fold; " 
 
236 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 agus a' siubhal le leithid de luathas is nach b' urrainn 
 Domhnull buachaille bochd, is e leth-mharbh leis an 
 eagal, a casan fhaicinn ag imeachd air an talamh. 
 Chum i air aig an ruith so ag cromadh agus a' spionadh 
 bad feoir le a fiaclan as an talamh gus an deachaidh i 
 as an t-sealladh, 
 
 Chaidh an Domhnull Mac Iain ceudna samhradh eile 
 do'n Bheinn Bhric le crodh Achadh-an-todhair. Rkinig 
 e am bothan-airidhe aig Ruighe na Cloiche laimh ri 
 Uisge Chiarainn mu thr^th feasgair. Air an 
 rathad thrus e ultach connaidh, agus thug e leis e do'n 
 bhothan. Chuir e an connadh an ordugh air lie an 
 teinntein, ghlac e an asuin-theine, agus an d^idh dha 
 teine bhualadh, th6isich e air a' chonnadh a lasadh. 
 
 Am meadhon na h-oibre so, bha leis gu'n cuala e 
 glaodh coimheach, air tus fad air falbh, agus goirid an 
 d^idh sin, moran na b' fhaigse. Mu dheireadh chuala 
 e an guth ceudna air taobh muigh an tighe ag radh : 
 
 "Heich: H6! Thall ! 
 
 An d' fhalbh am fear so thall fhathast." 
 
 Mu 'n gann a thionndaidh e a shfiil an rathad a 
 thkinig an guth, dh' fhosgall an dorus agus sheas 
 Glaistig m'a choinneamh anns an fhosgladh. Ghlaodh 
 i mach: "A Dhomhnuill Mhiclain, bha mi air an 
 Uiriallaich an uair a chuir thu a' cheud srad 'san spong, 
 agus an Coire na Snaige an uair a ghabh an sop teine, 
 agus tha mi an so a nis an uair a tha an connadh a' 
 t6iseachadh air gabhail." " Is math a choisich thu, a 
 bheathaich bhochd," arsa Domhnull Maclain. 
 
 Thug i an so ionnsaidh air tighinn a stigh ; ach ma 
 thug, thug Deargan, cu a' bhuachaille, ionnsaidh oirre- 
 se. " Caisg Deargan, a Dhomhnuill Mhiclain," ars i. 
 Ghabh Domhnull Maclain air an cu a chasg, ach nach 
 b' urrainn e. " Ceangail do chu, a Dhomhnuill Mhic- 
 lain," ars i an sin. " Cha'n 'eil rud agam leis an 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 237 
 
 and going with such speed that poor Donald, the herd, 
 who was half dead with fear, could not see her feet 
 moving on the ground. She kept on at this rate, stoop- 
 ing and pulling with her teeth tufts of grass from the 
 earth, until she went out of sight. 
 
 The same Donald Maclan went with the Achantore 
 cattle to Ben Breck another summer. He reached the 
 shelling bothy at Ruighe - na - cloiche, beside Ciaran 
 Water, about evening. On the way he gathered an 
 armful of fuel and took it with him to the bothy. He 
 set the fuel in order on the hearth-stone, seized the fire 
 implements, and, after striking fire, began to kindle the 
 fuel. 
 
 In the midst of this work he thought he heard a 
 strange cry, far off at first, and soon after much nearer. 
 At length he heard the same voice outside the house, 
 saying : 
 
 "Heigh! Ho! Hal! 
 
 Has this man over the way left yet? " 
 
 Scarcely had he turned his eye the way the voice 
 came, when the door opened, and a Glastig stood before 
 him in the opening. She cried aloud: "Donald 
 Maclan, I was on the Uralich when you put the first 
 spark in the tinder, and in the Woodpecker's Corrie 
 when the wisp took fire; and here I am now as the fuel 
 is beginning to kindle." " Thou hast walked well, poor 
 creature," said Donald Maclan. 
 
 She now attempted to come in ; but if she did, Dergan, 
 the herd's dog, attacked her. " Stop Dergan, Donald 
 Maclan," said she. Donald Maclan pretended to stop 
 the dog, but that he could not. " Tie thy dog, Donald 
 Maclan," said she then. " I have nothing to tie him 
 
238 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 ceangail mi e," fhreagair am buachaille. Splon i 
 r6ineag Hath as a ceann, agus shin i dha i, ag rkdh: 
 " Ceangail le so e." Ghabh am buachaille air an ni 
 a dh' iarradh air a dheanamh, ach chuir e a ghartan 
 f^in air a' chix an kite r6ineag na Glaistige. 
 
 Cho luath is a shaoil ise gu'n robh an cii ceangailte, 
 leum i am bad a' bhuachaille; ach ma leum, thug 
 Deargan leum 'na bad-sa. Ghlaodh i an sin, " Tachd 
 is teannaich, a r6ineag. Tachd is teannaich, a r6ineag." 
 Ach thilg am buachaille an r6ineag air an teine, agus 
 chnac agus chnac i gus an do leum i mach air mullach 
 a' bhothain. Cha bu luaithe bha sin seachad na fhuair 
 an cii as, agus a chaidh e an sks anns a' Ghlaistig. 
 Ghlaodh i kirde a cinn : "Their dhiom do chfi a 
 Dhomhnuill Mhiclain, agus cha chuir mi tuilleadh 
 dragha ort.' Rinn am buachaille mar dh' iarr i air, 
 agus an sin thubhairt i ris: " Rach do'n Bheinn Bhric 
 moch am mkireach, a Dhomhnuill Mhiclain, agus 
 gheibh thu an t-Agh Bkn a tha thu a' sealg o cheann 
 iomadh Ik, ach nach d' fhuair thu fhathast." An 
 d^idh dhi so a rkdh, thug i an dorus oirre. 
 
 Moch air an ath Ik thug am buachaille leis a bhogha 
 is a shaighdean, agus chaidh e do'n Bheinn Bhric. An 
 uair a rkinig e a' Bheinn, chunnaic e a' Ghlaistig a' 
 tighinn 'na choinneamh le greigh fhiadh roimpe, agus 
 an t-Agh Bkn air an ceann. Ghabh e cuimse air an 
 Agh, agus leig e as an t-saighead. Ach mu'n d'fhkg 
 an t-saighead glaic an iubhair, chuala e a' Ghlaistig 
 ag glaodhaich le guth nimheil: " Skth 'na ghoile, a 
 shaighead! Skth 'na ghoile! " Shkth an t-saighead an 
 goile an Aighe Bhkin, agus fhuair Domhnull Maclain 
 e dhachaidh leis, mar ghealladh dha. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 239 
 
 ■with," answered the herd. She pulled a grey hair out 
 of her head, and handed it to him, saying: "Tie him 
 with that." The herd pretended to do what he was 
 told, but put his own garter on the dog instead of the 
 Glastig's hair. 
 
 As soon as she thought that the dog was tied, she 
 flew at the herd; but if she did, Dergan flew at her. 
 She then cried: "Tighten and choke, hair! Tighten 
 and choke, hair! " But the herd threw the hair in the 
 fire, and it crackled and crackled until it flew out 
 through the roof of the bothy. No sooner was that over 
 than the dog got loose, and fastened on the Glastig. 
 She cried at the pitch of her voice : ' ' Take the dog off 
 me, Donald Maclan, and I will give thee no more 
 trouble." The herd did as she told him, and then she 
 said to him: "Go to Ben Breck early to-morrow, 
 Donald Maclan, and thou wilt find the White Hind 
 which thou hast been hunting for many a day, but 
 which thou hast not yet caught." After she had said 
 this, she made for the door. 
 
 Early next day the herd took with him his bow and 
 arrows and went to Ben Breck. When he reached the 
 Ben, he saw the Glastig coming to meet him, with a 
 herd of deer before her, and the White Hind at their 
 head. He took aim at the Hind, and let go the arrow. 
 But before the arrow left the bend of the yew, he heard 
 the Glastig crying, in a spiteful tone: "Stick in the 
 stomach, arrow. Stick in the stomach." The arrow 
 did stick in the White Hind's stomach, and Donald 
 Maclan got it home with him, as was promised him. 
 
CRONAN GLAISTIG NA BEINNE BRICE. 
 
 Is e so an Cronan a bhitheadh Glaistig na Beinne Brice 
 a' seinn d'a h-6ildean am feadh a bhiodh i 'gan iomain 
 roimpe air an t-sliabh : — 
 
 Cailleach Beinne Brie, hor6 ! 
 Brie hor6 ! Brie horo ! 
 Cailleach Beinne Brie, horo: 
 Cailleach mh6r an fhuarain ^ird 
 Cha leiginn mo bhuidheann fhiadh 
 Bhuidheann fhiadh, bhuidheann fhiadh, 
 Cha leiginn mo bhuidheann fhiadh 
 A dh' iarraidh shlige duibh' a 'n traigh. 
 Gu 'm b' annsa leo biolair fhuar, 
 Biolair fhuar, biolair fhuar, 
 Gu'm b' annsa leo biolair fhuar, 
 A bhiodh an cois an fhuarain aird. 
 
THE CROON OF THE GLAISTIG OF 
 BEN BRECK. 
 
 This is the Croon which the Glastig of Ben Breck used 
 to sing to her hinds while she was driving them before 
 her on the mountain side : — 
 
 Lady of Ben Breck, Horo ! 
 
 Breck, horo ! Breck, horo ! 
 
 Lady of Ben Breck, horo! 
 
 Lady of the fountain high. 
 
 I ne'er would let my troop of deer, 
 
 Troop of deer, troop of deer; 
 
 I ne'er would let my troop of deer, 
 
 A-gathering shellfish to the tide. 
 
 Better liked they cooling cress, 
 
 Cooling cress, cooling cress; 
 
 Better liked they cooling cress, 
 
 That grows beside the fountain high. 
 
 R 
 
[AN DA BHRATHAIR A BHA AN ODHANAICH 
 AGUS GLAISTIG NA BEINNE BRICE.] 
 
 Bha uair-eigin an Odhanaich d^ bhr^thair a bha 
 anabarrach d^idheil air seilg agus air iasgach. An am 
 an t-samhraidh agus an fhogharaidh b' kbhaist dhaibh 
 dol do'n Mhonadii Dhubh, agus t6 na h-Ciine a bhith- 
 eadh iad an sin, ghabhadh iad fasgadh ann am bothan- 
 ^ridhe 
 
 Lagan Odhar a' Chkthair 
 
 Aig s^il Beinne Bhric. 
 
 An so bhitheadh a' Ghlaistig a' tadhal orra gus an 
 d'fhcis i i6in agus iadsan cho edlach air a ch^ile is ged 
 robh iad 'nan coimhearsnaich riamh. Ach cha robh 
 tlachd air bith aig na sealgairibh 'na cuideachd, oir bha 
 i cho draghail is gu'm b' 6iginn daibh a bhi a ghn^th 
 air an earalas 'na h-aghaidh. 
 
 Bha fear de na brkithribh, air an robh mar ainm 
 Gilleasbuig, foidhidneach rithe; ach cha robh am fear 
 eile ris an abradh iad Raonull. Cha robh Gilleasbuig 
 toilichte d'a bhr^thair air-son a ghifilain ; oir bha eagal 
 air gu'm brosnaicheadh e an trusdar caillich gu 
 dloghaltas a dheanamh orra. Le sin, an uair a chasadh 
 a bhr^thair oirre le a bhiodaig, agus a ghlaodhadh i: 
 " Caisg Raonull, a Lasbaig," theireadh Lasbaig 
 le spraic: " Nach leig thu leis a' bheathaich 
 bhochd." An sin thionndaidheadh i air f^in, oir cha b* 
 urrainn di fuireachd skmhach tiota, agus dh' iarradh 
 i air gradan, le riin a ghlacadh air l^imh an uair a 
 bhitheadh e a' slneadh dhi a' ghradain, agus a thoirt 
 
THE ONICH BROTHERS AND THE GLAISTIG 
 OF BEN BRECK. 
 
 There once lived in Onich two brothers who were ex- 
 ceedingly fond of hunting and fishing. In summer 
 time and harvest, they used to go to the Black Mount, 
 and while they stayed there, they took shelter in the 
 shieling-bothy of 
 
 The Dun Valley of the Moss 
 At the heel of Ben Breck. 
 
 Here the Glastig used to visit them, until she and 
 they grew as well acquainted with each other as though 
 they had been always neighbours. But the hunters 
 had no pleasure in her company, for she was so trouble- 
 some that they were obliged to be always on their guard 
 against her. 
 
 One of the brothers, named Gillesbick, was patient 
 with her; but the other, whose name was Ronald, was 
 not. Gillesbick was displeased with his brother for his 
 conduct, because he was afraid of provoking the nasty 
 hag to be revenged on them. So, when his brother 
 would turn against her with his dirk, and she would 
 cry: "Stop Ronald, Lasbick," Lasbick would angrily 
 say: " Won't you let the poor creature alone? " Then 
 she would turn on himself, for she could not keep a 
 moment quiet, and ask of him for snuff, with the in- 
 tention of seizing his hand when reaching it to her, 
 
244 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 air falbh leatha. Ach chuireadh esan an gradan air 
 b^rr na biodaige, agus chumadh e rithe e air an d6igh 
 sin. An sin lubadh i a gkirdean, agus thionndaidheadh i 
 ceann a h-uillne ris, agus theireadh i : "Cuir air a so e, a 
 Lasbaig! " Ach bha fios aig Lasbaig gu'm b' e aobhar 
 an iarrtais so greim fhaotainn an toiseach air cois na 
 biodaige, agus a ris air f^in. Chuireadh so e air a 
 fhaicill roimpe, air chor is gu'n robh e 'ga gl^idheadh 
 dheth le bhw na biodaige. 
 
 Air la sonraichte chuir i le a conas a leithid de fheirg 
 air Raonull is gu'n do leig e leis an abhag dol an sks 
 innte. Ghlaodh Gilleasbuig ris an cu a chasg agus e 
 leigeil leatha. Thug Raonull cluas bhodhar dha so; 
 agus an ^ite na h-abhaige a chasg, is ann a stuig e 
 innte an cu glas mar an ceudna. Las so suas a corraich 
 gu mor. Thug i aon sijil ghruamach fhiar air, agus 
 thubhairt i ris mu 'n d' fhalbh i: " Theagamh gu'n dlol 
 mise so fhathast ortsa, a fhleasgaich." 
 
 An deidh dhi falbh, thubhairt Gilleasbuig r' a 
 bhrkthair: " Is olc a rinn thu. Tha eagal orm gu'n 
 dean an aigeannach ud cron oirnn fhathast." Ach 
 fhreagair a bhrkthair nach b' eagal daibh cho fhada is 
 a bhitheadh an cii glas agus an abhag aca. 
 
 An ath oidhche, mu ^m dol a laighe, chuala iad guth 
 caol an toiseach mar gu'm bitheadh e fada as, agus goirid 
 an deidh sin, mar gu'm bitheadh e na bu teinne dhaibh. 
 Bha an guth a' tighinn, agus a' tighinn le luathas mor. 
 Mu dheireadh, ghlaodh Gilleasbuig ri Raonull: "Is i 
 a' Ghlaistig a tha ann ! Glac do bhiodag gu h-ealamh, 
 agus bi deas air a son, an uair a thig i." Tharruing 
 Raonull a bhiodag, agus leum an cu glas a suas r' a 
 thaobh, agus gart uamhasach air. Stuig e an sin an 
 cu agus an abhag, agus air ball ghabh iad a mach le 
 deann an c6mhdhail na Glaistige. 
 
 Dh' fhan an dk bhrkthair a stigh anns a' bhothan 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 245 
 
 and of carrying him off with her. But he would put 
 the snuff on the point of the dirk, and present it to her 
 in that way. Then she would bend her arm, and turn 
 the point of her elbow towards him, and say: " Put it 
 on this, Lasbick." But Lasbick knew that the object 
 of this request was to get a hold, first of the handle of 
 the dirk, and then of himself. This put him on his 
 guard against her, so that he kept her off with the point 
 of the dirk. 
 
 On a certain day she, by her teasing, put Ronald 
 in such a passion that he suffered the terrier 
 to attack her. Gillesbick cried to him to stop the dog 
 and let her alone. Ronald turned a deaf ear to this; 
 and instead of stopping the terrier he incited the grey 
 hound also to attack her. This greatly kindled her 
 wrath. She gave him one stern look askance, and 
 before going off said: " Perhaps I'll pay thee back for 
 this yet, my lad." 
 
 After she had gone, Gillesbick said to his brother: 
 " 111 hast thou done. I fear that virago will do us 
 harm yet." But his brother replied that there was no 
 fear of them as long as they would have the grey hound 
 and the terrier. 
 
 Next night at bed time they heard a small voice, at 
 first as if it were far away, and shortly afterwards as 
 if it were nearer them. The voice was coming nearer 
 and nearer, and that with great speed. At length 
 Gillesbick cried to Ronald: "It is the Glastig! Take 
 hold of thy dirk quickly, and be ready for her when she 
 arrives." Ronald drew his dirk; and the grey hound, 
 with an angry look, sprang up at his side. He then 
 urged the dog and the terrier on, and they at once 
 made their way out with a rush to meet the Glastig. 
 
 The two brothers stayed in the bothy listening to 
 
245 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 ag ^isdeachd ciod a thachradh. Cha robh iad ach 
 goirid a' feitheamh gus an cuala iad a' ghairm ghallain 
 a th6isich a mach. Lean a' chaithream so uine fhada 
 mu'n dorus, ach uidh air n-uidh chaidh i na b' fhaide 
 air falbh o'n tigh. Mu dheireadh aig tionndadh na 
 h-oidhche gu \k, sguir an cath agus thill na coin air 
 an ais do 'n bhothan. 
 
 Thkinig an cij m6r an toiseach gun air ach bad an 
 sud agus an so de fhionnadh; agus goirid 'na dh^idh 
 th^inig an abhag cho lom ri cearc air a h-ur spionadh. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 247 
 
 hear what should happen.. They had not been long 
 waiting until they heard the loud barking which began 
 outside. This noise continued long about the door, but 
 gradually it went further away from the house. At last 
 when night began to turn to day, the fight ceased and 
 the dogs returned to the bothy. 
 
 The big dog came first with only a tuft of hair here 
 and there on his body; and shortly after him came the 
 terrier as bare as a newly plucked hen. 
 
AN SEALGAIR AGUS GLAISTIG NA BEINNE 
 
 BRICE. 
 
 Bha sealgair latha a' tilleadh o'n Bheinn Bhric, agus 
 an uair a rMnig e bun na beinne, bha leis gu'n cuala e 
 fuaim coltach ri cnacail dk chloiche 'gam bualadh ri 
 ch6ile, no ri greadhnaich adhaircean an daimh, an uair 
 a bhitheas e 'gan tachas ri creig. Chum e air a cheum 
 gus an d'thkinig e an sealladh cloiche m6ire, a bha 
 'na laighe ri taobh an rathaid, agus an sin chunnaic 
 e coltas boirionnaich 'na gurrach aig bun na cloiche, le 
 tonnaig uaine m'a guailnibh, agus 'na l^mhan dk 
 lurgainn fhdidh, a bha i a' bualadh gun sgur r'a ch^ile. 
 Ged thuig e gu'm bi a' Ghlaistig a bha innte, ghabh 
 e de dh^nachd a r^dh rithe : ' ' Gu d6 a tha thu a' 
 deanamh an sin, a bhean bhochd? " Ach b' e an aon 
 fhreagairt a fhuair e: "O 'n loisgeadh a' choille, o'n 
 loisgeadh a' choille; " agus chum i air a' cheileir so cho 
 fhada is a bha e an astar cluinntinn dhi. 
 
THE HUNTER AND THE GLASTIG OF 
 BEN BRECK. 
 
 A Hunter was one day returning from Ben Breck, and 
 when he arrived at the foot of the mountain, he thought 
 he heard a sound like the cracking of two stones 
 striking together, or the rattling of a stag's horns when 
 he rubs them against a rock. He held on his way, until 
 he came in sight of a large stone that lay beside the 
 path, and then he saw, crouching at the foot of the 
 stone, the semblance of a woman, with a green shawl 
 about her shoulders, and in her hands a pair of deer- 
 shanks, which she kept striking against one another 
 without ceasing. Though he understood that she was 
 the Glastig, he made bold enough to say to her: " What 
 are you doing there, poor woman? " But the only re- 
 ply he got was: " Since the wood was burnt, since the 
 wood was burnt," and she kept repeating this refrain 
 as long as he was within hearing distance of her. 
 
MAC LACHAINN AGUS A' GHLAISTIG. 
 
 Bha a' cheud aon de Chloinn Lachainn Airdnamurchan 
 ag gabhail c6mhnuidh an Gleann na h-Iubhraich. 
 'Na ghreigh each bha l^ir bhr^agh, ghlas; agus bha e 
 toileach a' cheud searrach a bhitheadh aice a ghl^idh- 
 eadh. Ach bha fios air so aig a' Ghlaistig a bhitheadh 
 a' tathaich nan sgairneach ri taobh easa no still a bha 
 's a' choimhearsnachd; agus a chionn gun robh fuath 
 aice dha mar choigreach 'san ^ite, chuir i roimpe nach 
 faigheadh e a thoil leis. 
 
 Cho luath is a rugadh an searrach, ghabh i e agus 
 sp^rr i e ann an toll os ceann sruthain a bha fo 'n 
 talamh, agus anns an do bh^thadh e. Air an Ik 'na 
 dh^idh sin fhuair Mac Lachainn an searrach marbh 'san 
 toll, ach shaoil leis gu'm b' e f6in a thuit ann leis a' 
 mhi-fhortan. An ath bhliadhna thachair an ni ceudna, 
 oir fhuaradh an dara searrach marbh anns a' cheart toll 
 agus anns a' cheart sruthan a bha fodha. Bha a 
 amharus a nis air a thogail, agus le sin chuir e roimhe 
 gu'm faireadh e an Ikir air an ath shamhradh aig km 
 breith an t-searraich. 
 
 An uair a thkinig an t-km, chaidh e latha do'n 
 mhonadh a dh' fhaicinn na Ikrach; ach bha a' Ghlaistig 
 an sin roimhe agus ag cur ris an treas searrach a 
 phiicadh troimh an toll do'n t-sruthan a bha fodha. 
 B'aithne dha gu math ciamar a dhlonadh se e fein o 
 chumhachd nan sithichean, agus uime sin ghlac e a' 
 Ghlaistig 'na ghkirdeanan, agus le strl mh6r chuir e 
 fodha i mu dheireadh. 
 
MACLACHLAN AND THE GLASTIG. 
 
 The first of the MacLachlans of Ardnamurchan lived 
 in Glenahurich. In his herd of horses he had a fine 
 grey mare, whose first foal he wished to keep. But the 
 Glastig frequenting the rocky sides of a neighbouring 
 ravine or waterfall knew this; and because she hated 
 him as an intruder in the place, she resolved to disap- 
 point him. 
 
 As soon as the foal was born, she took it and thrust 
 it into a hole opening over an underground stream, in 
 which it was drowned. On the following day 
 MacLachlan found the foal dead in the hole, but thought 
 that it had fallen in accidentally. Next year the same 
 thing happened, the second foal being found dead in 
 the same hole, and in the same underground stream. 
 His suspicion was now aroused, and so he resolved to 
 watch the mare next summer at foaling time. 
 
 When the season arrived, he went one day to the hill 
 to see the mare; but the Glastig was there before him, 
 and was busy pushing the third foal through the hole 
 into the stream underneath. He knew well how to de- 
 fend himself from fairy influence; and, therefore, he 
 seized the Glastig in his arms, and with a great effort 
 succeeded at last in throwing her down. 
 
252 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 " Tha do hhks air do mhuin, a Chailleach," ars e, 
 is e 'na sheasamli thairte. 
 
 " Is leam ih€m mo ^irig," fhreagair ise. " Gu d6 
 an 6irig a bheir thu dhomh? " ars esan. " Sealladh an 
 dk shaoghail dhuit f^in, agus soirbheachadh dhuit f^in 
 agus do d' shliochd ad dh6idh." Air na cumhnantan 
 sin leig e as i. 
 
 Uair-eigin 'na dh6idh sin bha e am Brkigh Lochabar, 
 agus thug e leis a shlat, agus chaidh e dh' iasgach air 
 abhainn Spithein. Air a' cheud siab chuir e'n dubhan 
 an sks ann an iasg br^agh a thug e air tir air bruaich 
 na h-aibhne. Air dha bhi acrach, las e teine ri taobh 
 na h-aibhne, agus chuir e an t-iasg air. 
 
 Goirid an d^idh sin thuit gu'n do leag e a mheur air 
 bolgan a dh' eirich air taobh uachdair an €isg. Loisg 
 an teas a mheur cho dona is gu'n do chuir e 'na bheul 
 e 'ga fhionnarachadh. Cha bu luaithe a rinn e sin na 
 fhuair e sealladh an dk shaoghail, no am briathraibh 
 eile, an dara sealladh. Bha a' cheud chuid de ghealladh 
 na Glaistige air a coimhlionadh an sin, agus tha e air 
 a rkdh gu'n do choimhlionadh a' chuid eile 'na dh^idh 
 sin. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 253 
 
 "Your death is over you, Carlin," said he, as he 
 stood over her. " My ransom is mine own," she re- 
 plied. "What ranson wilt thou give me?" said he. 
 
 "The vision of the two worlds to thyself and pros- 
 perity to thee and to thy descendants after thee." On 
 these terms he let her go. 
 
 Some time after, being in the Braes of Lochaber, he 
 took his rod, and went to the river Spean to fish. With 
 the first cast he hooked a fine fish, which he landed on 
 the river bank. Being hungry, he kindled a fire at the 
 river side, and placed the fish upon it. 
 
 Soon afterwards he happened to press with his finger 
 a blister which rose on the upperside of the fish. The 
 heat burnt his finger so badly that he put it into his 
 mouth to cool. No sooner had he done this than he 
 obtained the vision of the two worlds, or, in other 
 words, the second sight. The first part of the Glastig's 
 promise was then fulfilled, and it is said that the other 
 part was fulfilled afterwards. 
 
[DOMHNULL MOR OG AGUS GLAISTIG NA 
 BUIDHEINNICH.] 
 
 Tha an sgeul a leanas air innseadh an so a chionn gu'm 
 bheil e, mar tha an dara sgeul, a' nochdadh gur treud 
 fhiadh a bha ann an treud na Glaistige. 
 
 Bha Domhnull M6r Og Camaron a ch6mhnuidh am 
 Braigh Lochabar ann an ceud leth an linn a chaidh 
 seachad. Bha e 'na dhuine comharraichte air iomadh 
 doigh. Anns a' cheud kite bha an dk shealladh aige. 
 Mar dh' 6irich do'n Phortair Cham, chunnaic e roimh 
 Ikimh cuin agus c'kite an robh Cailein Caimbeul Ghlinn 
 lubhair gu bhi air a mharbhadh ; agus a r6ir beul- 
 aithris, bha e cho cinnteach gu'n tachradh gach ni mar 
 chunnaic e, is gu'n d' thkinig e a h-uile ceum o'n 
 Bhrkigh gu coille Odhanaich far an d' fheith e gus 
 an cuala e fuaim na h-urchair a loisgeadh air taobh eile 
 a' chaolais le Ailein Breac. 
 
 Bha Domhnull mar an ceudna ainmeil mar shealgair 
 fhiadh. Cha robh a leithid r'a fhaotainn an Lochabar r'a 
 linn, agus is coltach gu'n robh an dara sealladh feumail 
 dha mar shealgair. Air Ik kraidh, am feadh a bha e 
 a' sealltainn suas o iochdar a' Ghlinne ri mullach na 
 Buidheinnich, thubhairt e ri coimhearsnach, a bha 'na 
 sheasamh Ikimh ris: "Is mise a tha a' faicinn an 
 t-seallaidh ! Cuir thusa do chas air mo chois-sa, agus 
 chi thu e cuideachd." Rinn a choimhearsnach mar dh' 
 
BIG YOUNG DONALD AND THE GLASTIG OF 
 BUINACH. 
 
 The following tale is told here, because it shows, like 
 the second tale (p. 236), that the Glastig's herd was a 
 herd of deer. 
 
 Big Young Donald Cameron resided in the Braes of 
 Lochaber in the first half of the past century (i8th). 
 He was a remarkable man in many ways. In the first 
 place he had the second sight. Like the One-eyed 
 Ferryman, he foresaw when and where Colin Campbell, 
 Glenure, was to be killed; and, according to tradition, 
 he was so confident of everything happening as he fore- 
 saw, that he came every step from the Braes to the wood 
 of Onich, where he waited until he heard the report of 
 the shot fired on the other side of the narrows by Allan 
 Breck. 
 
 Donald was also a famous deer - hunter. His 
 equal was not to be found in Lochaber in his time ; and 
 it appears that the second-sight was useful to him as 
 a hunter. 
 
 On a certain day, while he was looking up from the 
 bottom of the Glen to the top of the Yellow Mountain, 
 he said to a neighbour who was standing near him : 
 " 'Tis I who behold the sight! Place your foot on 
 mine, and you will see it too." His neighbour did as 
 
256 FOLIC TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 iarradh air, agus chunnaic e nis ni nach faca e gus a 
 sin, an aon sealladh bu bhr^agha a chunnaic e riamh air 
 f^idh. 
 
 Bha Domhnull a ghn^th a' leantainn nam fiadh, agus 
 b' i a roghainn thar gach beinne-seilge a' Bhuidheinn- 
 each. 
 
 Air maduinn chiuin mu bhristeadh an la, bha e 'na 
 shuidhe air aisridh nam fiadh 's a' bheinn le a ghunna 
 caol nach do dhiult riamh air a ghliin, agus a' feitheamh 
 gus an teirneadh " a' ghreigh uallach " o mhullach na 
 beinne a dh' 61 an dighe-maidne as na fuarain ghlana 
 a bhai a' bristeadh a mach o thaobh an t-sl^ibhe fuidhe. 
 Mu dheireadh chunnaic e iad a' tighinn a mach as a' 
 che6 a bha a' falach a' chreachainn os a cheann, agus 
 Glaistig mhor 'gan iomain roimpe. Ghrad thug i an 
 aire do'n t-sealgair, agus mu 'n d'thainig a' chuid a 
 bha air thoiseach do na f^idh an dlijthas urchair, 
 ghlaodh i ris: " Tha thu tuilleadh is trom air na 
 h-aighean agam-sa, a Dhomhnuill Mhoir. Cha'n fhaod 
 thu a bhi cho trom orra is a tha thu." 
 
 Bha Domhnull M6r deas-chainnteach, agus, le sin 
 chuir 6 seachad i leis an fhreagairt uliamh so: " Cha 
 do mharbh mi riamh agh far am faighinn damh." Leig 
 e na h-aighean seachad air, agus a' Ghlaistig 'nan 
 deidh, agus cha do chuir i tuilleadh dragha air. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 257 
 
 he was told, and he now beheld, what he saw not till 
 then, the finest view of deer he had ever witnessed. 
 
 Donald was always pursuing the deer, and of all bens 
 his choice for hunting was the Yellow Mountain. 
 
 On a calm morning, at break of day, he was sitting 
 on a deer-pass on the ben, with his slender-barrelled 
 gun that never missed fire on his knee, and waiting 
 until the light-moving herd should descend from the 
 summit of the mountain to drink their morning 
 draught out of the clear springs which gushed forth 
 from the side of the slope beneath. At length he saw 
 them coming out of the mist which hid the rocky sum- 
 mit above him, and a tall Glastig driving them before 
 her. She at once noticed the hunter, and before the 
 foremost deer came within shooting distance she cried 
 to him : " Thou art too heavy on my hinds, Big Donald. 
 Thou must not be so heavy on them as thou art." Big 
 Donald was ready-witted, and so he put her off with 
 this apt answer: " I never killed a hind where I could 
 find a stag." He allowed the hinds to pass with the 
 Glastig behind them, and she gave him no further 
 trouble. 
 
[AN CEATHRAR SHEALGAIR IS AN 
 CEATHRAR GHLAISTIG.] 
 
 Chaidh ceathrar shealgair a sheilg do Bhriigh Lochabar 
 ann an aon de na linntibh a chaidh seachad. An d^idh 
 do sheilg an 1^ a bhi thairis, thug iad orra gu bothan- 
 iliridhe a chaitheadh na h-oidhche. R^inig iad am 
 bothan am beul an anmoich, agus an d^idh teine a lasadh 
 agus an suipeir a ghabhail, shuidh iad mu'n teallach, 
 agus th6isich iad ri c6mhradh. Dh' fhairich iad iad 
 fh^in ro chomhfhurtachail, agus thubhairt triCiir dhiubh 
 ann am fala-dh^ nach robh ni da 'n dith a nis ach an 
 leannain chum an deanamh cho sona ris an righ. " 'N 
 Ni Maith eadar mise agus sin," thubhairt an ceathramh 
 sealgair. 
 
 Sguir an c6mhradh an sin, agus tharruing an triCiir 
 shealgair air falbh do dh' oisinn a' bhothain, ach dh' 
 fhuirich an ceathramh fear far an robh e. 
 
 Goirid an d^idh sin thiinig ceathrar bhan a stigh do 'n 
 bhothan, an cruth agus an coltas leannan nan sealgair. 
 Chaidh triiiir dhiubh a null agus shuidh iad l^imh ris 
 an triuir shealgair 'san oisinn ; ach sheas a' cheathramh 
 h-aon mu choinneamh an t-sealgair a bha aig an teine. 
 
 An uair a chunnaic an sealgair, a bha aig an teine, so, 
 tharruing e a bhiodag as an truaill, agus chuir e i 
 tarsuinn air a ghlfiin. An sin thug e mach dk thruimb 
 as a ph6ca, agus thdisich e air cluich orra. Thug a' 
 bhean a bha m'a choinneamh an aire dha so, agus 
 thubhairt i: 
 
 " Is math an ce61 a tha 'san truimb 
 Mur bhi am pong a tha 'na d^idh : — 
 Is math le fear d' an cuid i bhi 
 •Na ghob an kite t^." 
 
THE FOUR HUNTERS AND THE FOUR 
 GLASTIGS. 
 
 In one of the past centuries four hunters went a-hunting 
 to the Braes of Lochaber. After the day's sport was 
 over, they betook themselves to a summer-pasture bothy 
 to pass the night. They reached the bothy in the dark; 
 and after kindling a fire and taking supper, they sat 
 down about the hearth and began to converse. They 
 felt very comfortable; and three of them said, in fun, 
 that they wanted nothing now but the presence of their 
 sweethearts to make them as happy as the king. 
 " Goodness between me and that (wish)," said the 
 fourth hunter. 
 
 The conversation then ceased, and the three hunters 
 withdrew to a corner of the bothy, but the fourth stayed 
 where he was. 
 
 Shortly after that four women entered the bothy, 
 having the form and appearance of the sweethearts of 
 the hunters. Three of them went over, and sat beside 
 the three hunters in the corner; but the fourth stood 
 before the hunter who was seated at the fire. 
 
 When the hunter sitting at the fire noticed this, he 
 drew his dirk from the scabbard, and laid it across his 
 knees. Then he took two trumps out of his pocket, and 
 began to play on them. The woman standing before 
 him noticed this and said: — 
 
 " Good is the music of the trump, 
 Saving the one note in its train. 
 Its owner likes it in his mouth 
 In preference to any maid." 
 
26o FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Ach cha do ghabh an sealgair air gu 'n cuala e i, ach 
 chum e ag cluich air na truimb, mar bha e roimhe. An 
 sin th6isich i air tighinn na bu dliiithe agus air breith 
 air le a crdig; ach chum e dheth i cho math is a 
 dh'fhaodadh e le a bhiodaig. An uair a dh'fhairslich 
 oirre greim fhaotainn air mar so, dh'fheuch i se61 eile 
 air. " Thoir dhomh gradan," ars i. Rinn an sealgair 
 gradan, agus shin e dhi e air b^rr na biodaige. An 
 uair a chunnaic i so, chum i ris ceann a h-uillne, agus 
 thubhairt i: " Cuir an so e." Ach thuig an sealgair 
 gu'm b' e aobhar a d^antais cothrom fhaotainn air greim 
 a dheanamh air an l^imh 'san robh a bhiodag, agus 
 uime sin bha e air a fhaicill. Cho luath is a dh'fhairich 
 e i a' dol a shineadh a mach a gkirdean air feadh a bha 
 esan a' ruigsinn di a' ghradain, chum e rithe barr na 
 biodaige agus thug e dhi skthadh no dhk leatha. 
 Dh'fhoghainn sin leatha. Chaidh i air a h-ais chum 
 taobh eile an teine, agus sheas i an sin ag cumail conais 
 ris. 
 
 Mu dheireadh chuala e glaodh coilich mar gu'm 
 bitheadh e air mullach monaidh. " Sud," ars an t^ a 
 bha air taobh eile an teine, " coileach dubh a' MhMrt: 
 is mithich a bhi falbh." Gun tuilleadh a radh thug i 
 an dorus oirre, agus ghrad leum a triuir bhan-chompan- 
 ach 'na d^idh. 
 
 Cho luath is a th^inig an latha, chaidh an ceathramh 
 sealgair a null do'n oisinn, agus fhuair e a thriuir 
 chompanach fuar, marbh, le am muineil gekrrta, agus 
 gach srad fala sfiighte as an cuislean. Cha robh 
 teagamh aige nis nach bu Ghlaistigean a bha 'sna 
 mnathan. B' iad an triuir bh^istean a rinn sud, agus 
 dheanadh an ceathramh t^ a leithid eile air-san, mur bhi 
 air-son nam briathran agus nam meadhon eile a 
 ghnJithaich e. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 26 1 
 
 The hunter, however, did not acknowledge that he heard 
 her, but continued playing on the trumps as before. 
 
 Then she began to come nearer, and tried to lay hold 
 of him with her hand; but he kept her off as well as 
 he could with his dirk. When she failed in getting 
 hold of him in this way, she tried another. " Give me 
 a pinch of snuff," said she. The hunter prepared the 
 snuff, and reached it to her on the point of his dirk. 
 When she saw this, she turned towards him the point of 
 her elbow, and said: " Put it here." The hunter un- 
 derstood that the reason for her action was to get an 
 opportunity of seizing the hand in which the dirk was 
 held, and so he was on his guard. As soon as he noticed 
 her going to stretch out her arm while he was reaching 
 her the snuff, he kept the point of his dirk towards her, 
 and gave her one or two prods with it. That was 
 enough. She went back to the other side of the fire, 
 and stood there, irritating him. 
 
 At length he heard the crowing of a cock as if on a hill 
 top. " Yonder," said the woman on the other side of 
 the fire, "is the black cock of March; it is time to 
 depart." She said no more, but made for the door, 
 and her three companions sprang out after her. As 
 soon as daylight appeared, the fourth hunter went over 
 to the corner, and found his three comrades cold and 
 dead, with their throats cut, and every drop of blood 
 sucked out of their veins. He had now no doubt that 
 the women were Glastigs. The three wretches it was 
 who did the deed, and the fourth would have done the 
 very same to him had it not been for the words and 
 other means he had used. 
 
[GOBHAINN SRON AN T-SITHEIN AGUS A' 
 GHLAISTIG.) 
 
 Bha gobhainn de Chloinn a' Phearsain a ch6mhnuidh an 
 Sr6n an t-Slthein an aon de na linntibh a chaidh 
 seachad. Bha e 'na chleachduinn aige a' chekrdach a 
 r^it^eachadh agus gach iarunn agus ball acfhuinn a chur 
 seachad mu'm falbhadh e dhachaidh 'san oidhche. Ach 
 an uair a philleadh e air ais air an ath mhaduinn agus 
 a dh' fhosgladh e dorus na ce^rdaich, gheibheadh e a 
 h-uile ni air an toirt as an kite 'san d'fhkg e iad, agus 
 air an sgapadh air feadh an urlair. Cha b' urrainn e 
 a thuigsinn ciod a b' aobhar do'n aimhreit so, agus 
 uime sin chuir e roimhe fuireachd oidhche anns a' 
 chekrdaich feuch am faigheadh e mach e. 
 
 Sheas e ann an oisinn aig ciil an doruis, agus an 
 t-6rd m6r aige eadar a dhk Ikimh, a' feitheamh ciod a 
 thachaireadh. Dh' fheith e ijine mhath gun ni 
 fhaireachadh ; ach mu dheireadh thainig Glaistig mh6r 
 a stigh 'na still air an dorus, agus gun dki\ tiota 
 th6isich i, le mire chuthaich, air gach iarunn agus gach 
 ball acfhuinn air am faigheadh i a Ikmh, a thilgeadh 
 a null is a nail air feadh an tighe. 
 
 Bha aon 'na cuideachd air an robh coltas leinibh bhig. 
 Thug an t-aon so an aire do 'n ghobhainn 'na sheasamh 
 aig cul an doruis, agus air ball thubhairt e: " Tha an 
 Tamhasg 's a' chiiil, a chailleach ! Tha an Tamhasg 
 's a' chuil." Fhreagair i gun uibhir agus stad air a 
 ceum no suil a thoirt an taobh a bha an gobhainn : 
 " Cha'n 'eil ann ach Logais Beag! Cha'n 'eil ann ach 
 Logais Beag! " 
 
THE STRONTIAN SMITH AND THE GLASTIG. 
 
 There was in one of the past centuries a smith of the 
 Clan Pherson dwelling at Strontian. He was accus- 
 tomed to put the smithy in order, and lay aside all the 
 iron bars and tools before he would go home at night. 
 But when he would return next morning, and open the 
 door of the smithy, he would find everything taken out 
 of the place where he had left it, and scattered all over 
 the floor. He could not understand the cause of this 
 confusion, and he resolved to stay a night in the smithy 
 to see if he could find it out. 
 
 He stood in a corner at the back of the door with 
 the sledge-hammer between his hands, awaiting what 
 should happen. He stayed a good while without 
 noticing anything; at length a big Glastig came rush- 
 ing in at the door, and, without a moment's delay, 
 began, in mad frolic, to pitch hither and thither, over 
 the house, all the iron bars and tools on which she 
 could lay hand. 
 
 In her company was one having the appearance of 
 a little child. This one, noticing the smith standing 
 behind the door, instantly said: "The Ghost is in the 
 corner, Carlin ! the Ghost is in the corner." Without 
 waiting a moment, or casting one look in the smith's 
 direction, she answered: "It is only Little Shambler. 
 It is only Little Shambler." 
 
264 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Mu dheireadh fhuair an gobhainn cothrom oirre 'san 
 dol seachad, agus bhuail e an t-6rd m6r oirre le a uile 
 neart. Tharruing e an sin an t-6rd a thoirt di ath 
 bhuille, ach ghlaodh i ris e chumail air a l^imh, agus 
 nach cuireadh i dragh tuilleadh air. Rinn e mar 
 dii'iarr i, agus clio luath is a fhuair i as, thubhairt i ris 
 gu 'm bitheadh gach aon d'a shiiochd, a rachadh a 
 thoirt a stigh air a fheusaig troimh dhorus na cekrdaich, 
 'na I^n-ghobhainn o'n uair sin. 
 
 Mar thubhairt b' fhlor. Cha robh aon d'a shiiochd 
 nach d'fhuair a chekird air an d6igh fhurasda so, agus 
 bha an dream 'nan goibhnibh ainmeil 'san kite r^ iom- 
 adh linn. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 265 
 
 At length the smith, having got a good opportunity 
 as she was passing him, struck her with the big 
 hammer with all his might. He drew it again to strike 
 her another blow, but she cried to him to stay his 
 hand, and that she would not trouble him any more. 
 He did as she wished; and as soon as she got out of 
 danger, she told him that everyone of his descendants, 
 taken by the beard in through the door of the smithy, 
 would henceforth be a perfect smith. 
 
 It happened as she had said. There was none of his 
 descendants who did not acquire his trade in this easy 
 way, and the race were famous smiths in the district for 
 many generations after. 
 
[GLAISTIG NO MAIGHDEAN GHLINN DUROR.] 
 
 Bha Glaistig an Gleann Dijror ris an abradh iad a' 
 Mhaighdean. Bu bhoirionnach saoghalta a bha innte 
 an toiseach. Bho cheann dA no tri cheud bliadhna bha 
 i 'na banaraich eadar Gleann Duror agus Gleann a* 
 Chaolais, agus tha a h-ainm agus a sloinneadh, agus 
 eadhon am baile 'san d'^raicheadh i, fhathast air 
 chuimhne. 
 
 Thugadh air falbh i as a laighe-shiubhladh leis na 
 sithichean, agus cha do thill i tuilleadh. Ach a r6ir 
 beul-aithris, thionndaidheadh i 'na ban shithe no 'na 
 Glaistig, a ghabh fasgadh ann an easaibh agus ann an 
 cdsaibh nan creag eadar an d^ Ghleann. Bha i gu 
 sonraichte a' tathaich Eas nam M^irleach air taobh 
 deas Beinn Bheithir agus bu trie a chunnacas an sin 
 i le luchd-gabhail-an-rathaid. 
 
 Is coltach gu'n do lean rithe 'na Glaistig an sp^is a 
 bha aice roimhe do chrodh agus do gach se6rsa spr^idhe. 
 Gu minic bha i r'a faicinn am meadhon a' chruidh mar 
 gu 'm bitheadh i 'gan cunntas, agus roimh fhaidhrich- 
 ean, agus aig km atharrachadh tuath, mar gu'm 
 bitheadh i ag cur air leth a' chuid de'n stochd a bha 
 falbh, no ag gabhail seilbhe anns a' chuid a bha air 
 tighinn. Ma bha aon de 'n tuath a b' fhearr leatha na 
 c^ch, bha i ro churamach m'a spr^idh-san; agus aig 
 km dol air imrich, chuireadh i gach bacadh eadar e agus 
 an togail bhkrr an fhearainn. A r6ir beul-aithris 
 thachair so an uair mu dheireadh o cheann deich 
 
THE GLASTIG OR MAID OF GLEN DUROR. 
 
 There was a Glastig in Glen Duror, whom people 
 called the " Maiden." She was an earthly woman at 
 first. Two or three hundred years ago she was a dairy- 
 maid between Glen Duror and Glen-a-Chulish ; and her 
 name and surname, and even the farm where she was 
 reared, are still remembered. 
 
 She was taken away out of child-bed by the fairies, 
 and she returned no more. But according to tradition 
 she was changed into a Banshee, or Glastig, who 
 took shelter in the ravines and clefts of the rocks 
 between the two Glens. She frequented, in particular, 
 the Robbers' Ravine on the south side of Ben Vehir, 
 and there she was often seen by the passers by. 
 
 It appears that the liking she formerly had for cows 
 and all kinds of cattle stuck to her as a Glastig. Often 
 she was to be seen in the midst of the cattle, as if she 
 were engaged in counting them; and before markets, 
 and at the time of changing tenants, as if she were 
 separating the out-going part of the stock, or taking 
 possession of the part newly come in. If she happened 
 to have a greater liking for one of the tenants than for 
 the rest, she was very careful of his cattle; and at the 
 time of flitting, she would place every obstacle between 
 him and the lifting of them off the ground. Accord- 
 ing to tradition, this happened for the last time about 
 
268 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 bliadhna fichead. Co dhiubh, o sin gu so cha'n fhacas 
 is cha chualas a' Ghlaistig. Theagamh gu'n do 
 ruaigeadh as a' Ghleann i le sgreadail fhideag nam 
 Mtaichean smuide a' dol slos is suas an Linne Sheilich, 
 no le urchairean luchd-buidhinn cloiche na Creige- 
 Eiteige aig bun Eas nan Con. Co dhiiibh, dh'fhalbh 
 i, agus cha'n 'eil duine 'ga h-ionndrainn. 
 
 Is iomadh sgeul a bha air innseadh m'a timchioll, 
 agus is iomadh meadar math bainne a chaitheadh oirre 
 le banaraichean air ^iridhean a' Ghlinne. Oir an 
 oidhche a dh' fhkgadh iad am meadar \kn bainne aice, 
 gheibheadh iad gach ni ceart an dara mhkireach; ach 
 an oidhche nach f^gadh, bhitheadh na laoigh air an 
 leigeil a mach as a' chr6, agus an crodh air an deoghal 
 air an ath mhaduinn. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 269 
 
 thirty years ago. At any rate, from that day to this, 
 the Glastig has been neither seen nor heard. Perhaps 
 she was chased out of the Glen by the screaming of 
 the whistles of steamers passing up and down 
 Loch Linnhe, or by the blasts fired by the quarriers 
 of the Quartz-Rock at the foot of the Dogs' Ravine. 
 At any rate she has departed, and no one misses her. 
 
 Many a tale was told about her, and many a pail of 
 milk was spent on her by the dairymaids at the shiel- 
 ings of the Glen. For the night they left the pail full 
 of milk for her, they would find everything right next 
 day ; but the night they neglected to do this, the calves 
 would be let out of the fold, and the cows would be 
 sucked dry next morning. 
 
BANRIGH NAN SITHICHEAN AN RIOCHD 
 MUILE-MHAG. 
 
 Bha uair eigin a' fuireachd, aig ceann Loch Raonasa 
 an Arainn, bean tuathanaich a bhitheadh a' deanamh 
 ^ite mna-gluin d'a ban-choimhearsnaich. Air latha 
 b6idheach fogharaidh thuit dhi f^in agus do mhnaoi eile 
 a bhi mach air an achadh ag ge^rradh coirce. Roimh 
 fheasgar leum muile - mh^g mh6r, bhuidhe gu 
 h-6igineach d rathad a corrain ; agus, an uair a chunnaic 
 i an creutair truagh 'ga slaodadh f6in A cunnairt, thubh- 
 airt i: " Tha thusa an sin, a luideag bhochd; b' 
 fhekirrde thu mise mu d' thimchioll an iiine ghoirid." 
 " O ! am beathach mosach," ars a' bhean eile : " ma thig 
 i an rathad agamsa, cuiridh mi bkrr mo chorrain 
 troimpe." " Cha chuir, cha chuir," arsa bean an 
 tuathanaich; " cha'n 'eil an creutair bochd ach a' 
 mkgaran mu 'n cuairt a' trusadh a cuid mar tha sinn 
 f^in." Agus leigeadh air falbh a' mhuile-mhkg le a 
 beatha. 
 
 An ceann beagan liithean thainig gille an cabhaig a' 
 marcachd air each glas gu tigh an tuathanaich, agus 
 bhuail e buille air an dorus leis an t-slait a bha 'na 
 Ikimh. Chaidh an tuathanach a mach, agus thubhairt 
 an gille ris gu'n d'th^inig e air-son na mnS a dh' 
 fheitheamh a bhan-mhaighstir, is i am feum a 
 cuideachaidh. Dh'iarr an tuathanach air dol a stigh 
 agus biadh a ghabhail, am fad is a bhitheadh a bhean 
 a' deanamh deas air-son an turuis. Fhreagair e gu'n 
 
THE FAIRY QUEEN IN THE FORM OF A 
 FROG. 
 
 At the head of Loch Ransa, in Arran, there once lived 
 a farmer's wife who used to act as midwife to her 
 neighbours. On a fine day in harvest she and another 
 woman happened to be out in the field cutting oats. 
 Before evening a large yellow frog leaped with difficulty 
 out of the way of her sickle, and when she saw the poor 
 creature dragging itself out of danger, she said: 
 "There your are, poor clumsy thing; you would be 
 the better of my help soon." "Ol the nasty beast," 
 said the other woman, " if she comes my way, I'll put 
 the point of my sickle through her." "No! No!" 
 said the farmer's wife, " the poor creature is only 
 crawling about gathering her portion like ourselves," 
 and the frog was let away with her life. 
 
 In a few days a lad, riding on a grey horse, came 
 in haste to the farmer's house, and struck a blow on 
 the door with the switch that was in his hand. The 
 farmer went out, and the lad said to him that he had 
 come for the wife to attend his mistress, who needed 
 her assistance. The farmer told him to go in and take 
 food, while his wife was making ready for the journey. 
 He replied that he was in haste, and that he would wait 
 
272 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 robh e an cabhaig, ach gu'm feitheadh e far an robh 
 e gus am bitheadh i deas. An so thainig a' bhean a 
 mach, agus thubhairt i nach rachadh i ceum leis mur 
 tigeadh e stigh, agus an gabhadh e greim bidh. Ach 
 chuir e 'na cuimhne ciod a thubhairt i r'a bhan- 
 mhaighstir an uair a thachair i oirre ann an riochd 
 muile-mh^g air an achadh bhuana; agus an sin thubh- 
 airt e nach faodadh i dol A cois a facail. Chunnaic i 
 gu'n robh i an sks leis an ni thubhairt i, agus gu 'm 
 feumadh i falbh leis. Ach mu'n d' fhalbh i, gheall an 
 gille gu'n tugadh e dhachaidh gu s^bhailt i an ceann 
 beagan l^ithean. 
 
 Chuir an tuathanach a bhean air ciil a' ghille; agus 
 cho luath is a fhuair i 'na suidhe an sin, air falbh 'na 
 dheannaibh ghabh an t-each glas a suas ri aodann a' 
 bhruthaich. Ann an iiine gle ghoirid rainig e am 
 mullach, agus an sin thionndaidh e a aghaidh ri glomhas 
 m6r a bha eadar am bruthach a dhirich e agus aon eile 
 a bha m'a choinneamh. An uair a thug bean an tuathan- 
 aich so fa-near, ghlaodh i ris a' ghille: " Ciod is ciall 
 duit? Am bheil thu an diiil gu'n leum an t-each an 
 glomhas sin." Ach mu 'n robh na briathran as a beul 
 chaidh an t-each thairis air mar eun air iteig. " Is 
 math a fhuaradh thu, a phiseag ghlas!" ars an gille 
 ris an steud a bha fodha. Chuir na briathran so iogh- 
 nadh air bean an tuathanaich ; ach, ma chuir, bu mhoide 
 a h-ioghnadh an uair a dh' amhairc i, agus a chunnaic 
 i nach robh anns an steud a mharcaich i f6in agus an 
 gille, ach cat glas. 
 
 "A nis," ars an gille ri bean an tuathanaich, " tha 
 thu a' dol do Shithean, a tha goirid as a so, a 
 dh'fheitheamh air Ban-righ nan Sithichean ; agus, mu'n 
 t^id thu na 's fhaide, innsidh mi dhuit ciod is c6ir dhuit 
 a dheanamh, an uair a ruigeas tu e. Na bitheadh eagal 
 ort mo chomhairle-sa a ghabhail, oir cha'n e sithiche 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 273 
 
 where he was, until she would be ready. The woman 
 now came out, and said that she would not go a step 
 with him unless he would come in and take a morsel of 
 food. Then he reminded her of what she had said to 
 his mistress when she met her in the form of a frog 
 on the reaping field, and then he said that she dared 
 not go back from her word. She saw that she had put 
 herself in his power by what she had said, and that 
 she must go with him. Before she departed, however, 
 the lad promised to bring her home safely in a few 
 days. 
 
 The farmer placed his wife behind the lad, and as 
 soon as she had got seated there, away went the grey 
 horse at full gallop up the face of the hill. In a very 
 short time he reached the summit, and then he turned 
 his face towards a great chasm which lay between the 
 hill he had ascended and another opposite. When the 
 farmer's wife noticed this, she cried to the lad: " What 
 do you mean ? Do you expect the horse to leap that 
 chasm? " But before the words were out of her mouth 
 the horse went over it like a bird on the wing. " Well 
 done, grey kitten! " said the lad to the steed that was 
 under him. These words made the farmer's wife 
 wonder; but, if so, her wonder was the greater when 
 she looked and saw that the steed which she herself 
 and the lad rode was but a grey cat. 
 
 " Now," said the lad to the farmer's wife, "you are 
 going to a Fairy Knoll, which is a short distance from 
 this, to attend the Queen of the Fairies; and before 
 you proceed further, I shall tell you what you ought 
 to do when you reach it. Be not afraid to take my 
 advice, for I am not a fairy at all, but a human being. 
 
 T 
 
274 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 a tha annam-sa idir, ach duine saoghalta. Tha mi fo 
 gheasaibh aig na slthichean fad bliadhna thar fhichead ; 
 agus tha bliadhna eile agam ri chur a stigh fhathast, 
 mu'm bi mi saor, agus comas agam pilleadh air m' ais 
 ri mo dhaoine i6in a rithist. Chum gu 'm bi agad-sa 
 cuideachd comas pilleadh dhachaidh aig ceann do iiine 
 f^in, thoir fa-near ciod a their agus a ni thu, fhad is 
 a bhitheas tu 'san t-Slthean. Cha bhi nithean an sin 
 mar dh' amhairceas iad; ach, dean thusa mar dh' iarras 
 mise ort, agus chl thu iad mar tha iad; agus cha bhi 
 thu tuilleadh an cunnart a bhi air do mhealladh led. 
 Ma-t^, gheibh thu tri se6rsachan siabuinn, aon aca 
 geal, aon eile dhiubh buidhe, agus an treas aon dearg. 
 An uair a gheibh thu leat i6in, suath an siabunn geal 
 OS ceann do shula deise, agus bheir e air falbh an sgle6 
 dhith, agus an sin chi thu nithean gu ceart. Ach thoir 
 aire mhath nach bean thu ri do shuil no ri do mhala 
 le aon de 'n da she6rsa eile. Sin agad mo cheud 
 chomhairle; agus so t6 eile, agus bi cinnteach nach 
 dearmad thu i. An uair a bhitheas do iiine mach, thig 
 mise air do shon ; agus an sin cruinnichidh na sithichean 
 mu do thimchioll, agus tairgidh gach aon diubh ni-eigin 
 r'a thabhairt leat mar ghean-math. Faodaidh tu rud 
 air bith a bheir iad dhuit a ghabhail, ach or is airgiod; 
 agus innsidh mise dhuit a rithist ciod is c6ir dhuit a 
 dheanamh riu. Ach tha sinn a nis an sealladh an 
 t-Sithein, agus feuch nach tig thu thairis air ni air bith 
 a thubhairt mise riut." 
 
 Bha dorus an t-Sithein fosgailte rompa, agus solus 
 s^imh a' de^rrsadh a mach troimhe. Chaidh bean an 
 tuathanaich a stigh, agus b' ann an sin a bha an t-kite 
 br^agh. Bha na ballachan agus am mullach loinnireach 
 le 6r agus airgiod; agus air an urlar bha bord fada, 
 uidheamaichte, agus saor do na h-uile a thigeadh. Bha 
 an sin cuideachd mh6r a dh' fhir agus a mhnathan 6ga 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 275 
 
 I lie under spells by the fairies for twenty-one years, 
 and I have another year yet to put in before I shall be 
 free and have power to return back to my own people 
 again. That you also may have power to return home 
 at the end of your time, take heed what you say and 
 do as long as you are in the Fairy Knoll. Things 
 there will not be as they will appear; but do you as 
 I tell you, and you will see them as they are; and you 
 will no longer be in danger of being deceived by them. 
 Well, you will get three kinds of soap, one white, 
 another yellow, and the third red. When you find 
 yourself alone, rub the white soap over your right eye, 
 and it will remove thence the glamour, and then you 
 will see things aright. But take good heed that you 
 do not touch your eye, or your brow, with either of 
 the other kinds. That is my first advice; and here is 
 the other, and be sure that you do not neglect it. When 
 your time is out, I will come for you, and then the 
 fairies will gather about you, and each one of them 
 will offer something to take with you as a gift. You 
 may take anything they will give you, except gold or 
 silver; and I will tell you again what you ought to do 
 with them. But we are now in sight of the Fairy 
 Knoll, and see that you will not come over anything 
 I have said to you." 
 
 The door of the Fairy Knoll stood open before them, 
 and a mild light was shining through the doorway. 
 The farmer's wife entered, and it was there that the 
 grand place was. The walls and the ceiling were 
 glistening with gold and silver; and on the floor stood 
 a long table, covered with abundance, and free to all 
 comers. A great company was there, of young men 
 
2/6 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 sgeadaichte an aodach uaine, agus a thug b^rr air na 
 chunnaic i riamh ann am maise. Chuir iad uile ikilte 
 oirre, agus thug aon aca stigh i do she6mar na 
 Ban-righ. 
 
 Rinn a' Bhan-riigh g^irdeachas rithe, agus thubhairt 
 i gu'n robh earbsa aice innte, o'n \k a ghabh i truas 
 dith air an achadh bhuana, Dh' fhuirich bean an 
 tuathanaich greis 'san t-Sithean. Air 1^ ^raidh, an uair 
 a bha i leatha f6in, ghabh i an siabunn geal, agus 
 shuaith i e os ceann a sula, agus an sin ghrad 
 dh'atharraicheadh gach ni m'a timchioll. Thionndadh 
 an t-kite br^agh 'na tholl ruadh gainmhich, agus na 
 daoine m6ra eireachdail a bha ann, 'nan seann 
 chreutairean beaga, duaichnidh. Cha do ghabh i oirre 
 ciod a rinn no chunnaic i, ach o sin bu latha gach 
 mionaid leatha gus an d' fhuair i as. Mu dheireadh 
 th^inig an gille an cabhaig, agus ghlaodh e rithe a bhi 
 deas falbh leis-san, a chionn gu'n d' th^inig an t-^m 
 anns am feumadh esan a ghealladh a choimhHonadh d'a 
 fear. 
 
 Cho luath is a chuala na sithichean so, chruinnich 
 iad mu'n cuairt oirre, agus thairg gach aon aca dhi 
 ni-eigin mar ghean-math. Ghabh i gach ni a fhuair i, 
 ach airgiod agus 6r, mar dh' iarradh oirre; agus chaidh 
 i mach. An sin dh' fhalbh i 'na suidhe air cul a' ghille 
 air an steud ghlas. Ach ghabh an gille rathad fir a 
 thug iad troimh phreasan dhreas agus dhroighinn. 
 Cho luath is a r^inig iad a' cheud phreas, ghlaodh an 
 gille rithe aon de thiodhlacan nan sithichean a thilgeil 
 ann. Rinn i sin, agus ghrad-spr^adh e le fuaim cho 
 cruaidh ri urchair gunna, agus chuir e am preas 'na 
 lasair theine. An sin thilg i air falbh na bha aice, aon 
 an d^idh aoin ; agus mar thachair do'n cheud aon, 
 thachair do'n ch6rr. " A nis," ars an gille, " na'n do 
 gl^idh thu na rudan ud gus an deachaidh thu dhachaidh, 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 277 
 
 and women, arrayed in green garments, and surpassing 
 all she had ever seen in comeliness. They all welcomed 
 her, and one of them took her into the Queen's 
 chamber. 
 
 The Queen rejoiced to see her, and said that 
 she had confidence in her, since the day she 
 pitied her on the reaping field. The farmer's 
 wife stayed a while in the Fairy Knoll. One 
 day when she was alone, she took the white soap and 
 rubbed it over her eye, and then everything around ber 
 was suddenly changed. The grand place was turned 
 into a pit of red gravel, and the tall, handsome people 
 that were in it into old creatures, small and ill-favoured. 
 She never made known what she did or saw, but from 
 that time she felt every minute as long as a day till she 
 got out of it. At last the lad came in haste, and called 
 on her to be ready to depart with him, because the 
 time had arrived when he must fulfil his promise to 
 her husband. 
 
 As soon as the fairies heard this, they gathered 
 around her, and everyone of them offered her some- 
 thing as a token of goodwill. She took every thing 
 she got, except gold and silver, as she had been told; 
 and she went forth. Then she took her departure, 
 sitting behind the lad on the grey steed. But the lad 
 took a new road, which led them through bushes of 
 briars and thorns. As soon as they reached the first 
 bush, the lad called to her to throw therein one of the 
 fairies' gifts. She did so; and next moment it exploded 
 with a report as loud as a gun-shot, and turned the 
 bush into a flame of fire. She then threw away all the 
 gifts she had, one after another, and as had happened 
 to the first one it happened to the rest. " Now," said 
 the lad, " had you kept those things until you went 
 
278 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 chuireadh iad an tigh ri theine, agus loisgeadh iad thu 
 f^in is na bhitheadh ann." R^inig iad tigh an tuathan- 
 aich an tfearuinteachd, dh' fhhg an gille beannachd aig 
 a' mhnaoi, agus an sin dh' fhalbh e air an steud ghlas 
 an taobh a ghabh e an toiseach. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE, 279 
 
 home, they would have set the house on fire, and burnt 
 you yourself, and all that was in it." They reached 
 the farmer's house in safety, the lad bade farewell to 
 the farmer's wife, and then departed on the grey steed 
 in the direction he had taken at first. 
 
BO MHAOL ODHAR 
 DHOIRE - MHIC - BHRANNDAIDH. 
 
 Anns an linn a chaidh seachad, bha fear a Chloinn 
 Choinnich 'na aon de thuath Odhanaich an iochdar 
 Lochabar. 'Na km thuit gu'n do th6isich crodh a' 
 bhaile air faotainn a mach 'san oidhche as a' bhuaile 
 thodhair agus air dol do'n dail choirce far an d' rinn 
 iad m6ran dolaidh. Cha robh fhios ciamar a bha a' 
 bhuaile air a bristeadh sios, agus rathad air a dheanamh 
 troimpe oidhche an d^idh oidhche. Bha aon ni a mhkin 
 cinnteach, agus b'e sin nach d'rinn na coimhearsnaich 
 no an crodh i6in an obair chronail so riamh. Mu 
 dheireadh smaointich MacCoinnich gu'n robh Ikmh aig 
 na sithichibh anns a' ghnothach; agus le sin chuir e 
 fios air a bhr^thair, am Portair Cam, tighinn agus faire 
 a dheanamh maille ris fad aon oidhche air a' bhuaile 
 thodhair, dh' fheuch an robh no nach robh e ceart 'na 
 bharail. 
 
 Thkinig am Portair Cam, agus cho luath is a th^inig 
 am feasgar, chaidh iad le ch^ile dh' ionnsaidh an 
 achaidh thodhair. An uair a r^inig iad an t-achadh, 
 chuir iad an crodh a stigh do'n bhuaile, agus ghabh 
 iad aice cho math is a b' urrainn iad. An sin shuidh 
 iad sios an ^ite am fagus di, far an d' fheith iad dh' 
 fheuch ciod a thachradh. 
 
 An d^idh do chuid mhath de 'n oidhche dol seachad, 
 chuala iad air led na cabair 'gam bristeadh air an taobh 
 a b' fhaide air falbh de 'n bhuaile. Ghrad dh'^irich 
 am Portair Cam, agus ghabh e cuairt an taobh o'n 
 d'th^inig an fhuaim. Cha deachaidh e ach goirid gus. 
 
THE DUN COW 
 OF MACBRANDY'S THICKET. 
 
 In the past century, a man of the Clan Kenzie was one 
 of the tenants of Onich, in Nether Lochaber. 
 
 In his time it happened that the cattle on the farm 
 began to get out of the tathing-fold at night, and to 
 go into the corn field, where they did much damage. 
 No one knew how the fold was broken down, and a 
 way made through it night after night. One thing 
 only was certain, and that was that neither the neigh- 
 bours nor the cattle themselves ever did this mischiev- 
 ous work. At last MacKenzie suspected that the fairies 
 had a hand in the matter; and for that reason he sent 
 word to his brother, the One-eyed Ferryman, to come 
 and watch the tathing-fold with him during one night, 
 to see whether or not he was right in his conjecture. 
 
 The One - eyed Ferryman arrived, and as soon as 
 night came, they went together to the tathing- field. 
 When they reached the field, they put the cattle inside 
 the fold, and secured it as well as they could. Then 
 they sat down in a place near it, where they waited to 
 see what would happen. 
 
 After a good part of the night had passed, they 
 thought they heard the stakes being broken on the 
 furthest off side of the fold. The One-eyed Ferryman 
 rose up immediately, and took a turn in the direction 
 from which the sound came. He had gone but a short 
 
232 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 am faca e, oir bha an dh shealladh aige, mart maol odhar 
 a' tilgeil nan cabar as an aite le a ceann, agus an sin 
 a' dol a stigh do 'n bhuaile far an do chuir i mart an 
 d^idh mairt air an cois, agus as an d' iomain i iad uile 
 troimh 'n bhealach a rinn i chum na dail choirce. 
 
 Lean am Portair a' bh6 mhaol odhar gus an d' rkinig 
 i Sithean Doire-Mhic-Bhranndaidh. 
 
 Dh' fhosgail an Sithean roimpe, agus chaidh i stigh. 
 Ghreas am Portair 'na d^idh gu ruig an dorus, agu5 
 chum a ghl^idheadh fosgailte, shkth e a bhiodag ann 
 an aon de na h-ursnaibh. 
 
 Fhuair e nis Ikn-shealladh air taobh a stigh an 
 t-Slthein. Bha an Sithean air a lasadh suas le solus 
 dealrach, agus bha teine m6r le coire iaruinn an 
 crochadh os a cheann air meadhon an iirlair; agus mu'n 
 cuairt do'n teine bha croilean de sheann daoinibh m6ra 
 Hatha 'nan laighe air an uilnibh. 
 
 Th^inig an tuathanach a nis gu dorus an t-Sithein; 
 ach ma thkinig, cha'n fhaca e ni air bith gus an do chuir 
 e a chas air chois a' Phortair Chaim. Ach cho luath 
 is a rinn e sin, dh' fhosgail an Sithean, agus chunnaic 
 e gach ni a bha an taobh a stigh dheth. Chuir an 
 sealladh iongantach m'a choinneamh a leithid de 
 dh' eagail air is gu 'n do ghuidh e air a' Phortair an 
 t-kite neo-chneasda fhagail gun d^il. Cha d' thug am 
 Portair umhail air bith dha. An ^ite sin is ann a 
 ghlaodh e le guth krd ris na sJthichibh : " Na'n cuireadh 
 a' bh6 mhaol odhar aca dragh tuilleadh air buaile 
 Odhanaich, gu'n tugadh e gach ni 'san t-Sithean as, 
 agus gu'n tilgeadh e mach iad air Rudha na h-Oitire." 
 Air dha so a r^dh tharruing e a bhiodag as an ursainn, 
 agus air ball dhruid an dorus air f^in agus air a 
 bhrkthair. Phill iad 'na dh^idh sin dachaidh; agus o'n 
 oidhche sin cha'ti fhacas tuilleadh b6 mhaol odhar 
 Doire-Mhic-Bhranndaidh ann am buaile Odhanaich. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 283; 
 
 distance when he beheld (for he had the second sight) 
 a dun polled cow throwing with her head the stakes 
 out of their place, and then going into the fold where' 
 she put cow after cow on their feet, and whence she 
 afterwards drove them all through the gap she had 
 made into the corn field. 
 
 The Ferryman followed the dun polled cow until she 
 arrived at the Fairy Knoll of Derry MacBrandy. 
 
 The Fairy Knoll opened up before her, and she 
 entered. The Ferryman hastened after her as far as 
 the door, and to keep it open, drove his dirk into one 
 of the jambs. 
 
 He now got a full view of the inside of the Fairy 
 Knoll. It was lighted up with a brilliant light, and 
 on the middle of the floor was a large fire with an iron 
 caldron hanging over it; and around the fire was a 
 circle of big old grey-haired men resting on their 
 elbows. 
 
 The farmer now came to the door of the Fairy Knoll ; 
 but, if so, he saw nothing until he placed his foot on 
 that of the One-eyed Ferryman. But as soon as he 
 did that, the Fairy Knoll opened, and he saw every- 
 thing that was within it. The wonderful sight before 
 him put him in so great fear that he besought the 
 Ferryman to leave the uncanny place without delay- 
 The Ferryman paid him ho attention whatever. In- 
 stead of that, he called in a loud voice to the fairies, 
 saying: " If their dun polled cow should ever again 
 trouble Onich fold, he would take out everything in 
 the Knoll and throw it out on Rudha na h-Oitire." 
 Having said this he drew his dirk out of the jamb, and 
 straightway the door shut against him and his brother. 
 
 After that they returned home; and from that night 
 the dun cow of Derry MacBrandy has never been seen 
 in an Onich fold. 
 
NA GRUAGAICHEAN. 
 
 Bha uair-eigin a' fuireachd an Callairt duin'-uasal a 
 bha 'na shealgair fhiadh ro ainmeil. Bha cii glas aige 
 nach robh a leithid ri fhaotainn 'san km an Lochabar; 
 ach, bha e, coltach r' a mhaighstir, a' fks sean, agus 
 ag call a luathais. 
 
 Air Ik kraid 'san fhogharadh dhirich an duin'-uasal 
 le a sheann chu glas f^in monadh Cheann Loch M6r 
 a leantainn nam fiadh. Rkinig e na coireachan a b' 
 abhaist dhoibh a bhi a' tathaich ; ach, ged chunnaic e 
 greigh an d^idh greighe dhiubh, agus a lean e iad fad 
 an la, cha d'fhuair e an astar saighead a thilgeil orra, 
 no an cu a leigeil riu. Mu dheireadh aig cromadh na 
 gr^ine 'san kird-an-iar, thkinig e air Ikn-damh br^agh 
 leis f^in, agus leig e an cfi air falbh 'na dh6idh. Shin 
 an cu as le a uile neart, agus an toiseadh bha e a' 
 buidhinn air an damh ; ach cho luath is a leag an damh 
 a chabair air a ghuailnibh, agus a thog e a chuinneinean 
 'san athar, th6isich an cii a' tuiteam air dheireadh, agus 
 an uine ghoirid chaill e sealladh air gu h-iomlan. 
 
 Shuidh an duin'-uasal sios, gu sgith, aimhealach air 
 cnocan uaine an gleann domhain eadar dk shliabh krd. 
 Cha robh e fada an sin gus an do sheas dk ghruagaich 
 a b' kille cumadh agus dreach m'a choinneamh, agus 
 cii br^agh aig te dhiubh air ^ill. Labhair an t^ eile an 
 toiseach, agus thubhairt i: " Tha thu sglth, a shealgair 
 nam fiadh, agus fo aimheal a chionn gu'n do leig an 
 seann chii as an damh m6r." "Tha mi sglth, gu 
 
THE MAIDENS. 
 
 There once lived in Callart a gentleman who was a 
 very famous deer - hunter. He had a greyhound the 
 equal of which was not then to be found in Lochaber; 
 but, like his master, he was growing old and losing 
 his speed. 
 
 One day in autumn the gentleman, followed by his 
 old greyhound, ascended the hill above Kinloch More 
 to chase the deer. He reached the corries they used 
 to frequent; but though he saw herd after herd of them 
 and followed them all day long, he never got near 
 enough to shoot an arrow, or to slip the dog after them. 
 At length, when the sun was going down in the west, 
 he came upon a fine full-grown stag all by himself, and 
 he slipped the dog in pursuit of him. The dog 
 stretched away with all his might, and at first was gain- 
 ing on the stag; but as soon as the stag laid his antlers 
 down over his shoulders, and lifted his nostrils in the 
 air, the dog began to fall behind, and soon lost sight 
 of him altogether. 
 
 Wearied and vexed, the gentleman sat down on a 
 green hillock in a deep glen between two lofty moun- 
 tains. He was not long there when two maidens of 
 fairest form and mien stood before him, one of them 
 holding a noble dog in a leash. The other was the 
 first to speak, and she said: "You are tired, hunter 
 of the deer," said she, "and vexed because the old 
 dog has allowed the big stag to escape." " I am tired, 
 
a86 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 dearbh, agus duilich gu 'n deachaidh latha a' choin 
 ghlais seachad," fhreagair an sealgair. " Tog do 
 mhisneach, agus thoir leat an cu so," ars an dara 
 ^ruagach, "agus cha'n 'eil creutair ceithir-chasach air 
 aghaidh na talmhainn, o'n mhaighich bhig gus an Ikn- 
 <lamh cr6iceach, air nach beir e, agus nach tabhair e 
 gu d' ionnsaidh." " C ainm a tha air?" dh' fhe6r- 
 ^ich an sealgair. Fhreagair i gu 'n robh Brodum. 
 Rug e air an 6ill as a l^imh, agus thug e buidheachas 
 dhi air-son a' choin. Dh' ihkg e an sin beannachd 
 aice f^in agus aig a ban-chompanach, agus dh' fhalbh 
 •e dhachaidh. 
 
 Cho luath is a dh eirich e an ath latha, thug e mach 
 leis gach duine a bha 'san tigh, agus air dha a aghaidh 
 a thionndadh ris an dk shliabh, eadar am faca e na 
 gruagaichean, thubhairt e: " Am faic sibh an d^ shliabh 
 Old a tha m' ur coinneamh ? A so a mach cuimhnichibh 
 gur e a their sibh riu na Gruagaichean;" agus is e 
 sin a theirear riu gus an latha an diugh. 
 
 Lean an cu ris an duin'-uasal fhad is a bu bheo dha. 
 Cha deachaidh iall riamh air cii a b' fhearr. Cha robh 
 ni a rachadh iarraidh air nach deanadh e, no creutair 
 ris an rachadh e a leigeil nach beireadh e air. Agus 
 cha robh duine be6 a leanadh e, no fhreagaireadh e, 
 £Lch a mhaighstir. 
 
 An uair a chaochail a mhaighstir, chaill e a mhis- 
 neach. Lean e an tiodhlacadh gu ruig eas a tha eadar 
 Callairt agus an ath bhaile ; ach stad e an sin, agus 
 theirinn e do'n eas, far am facas e a' dol a stigh do 
 dh' uaimh, as nach do thill e tuilleadh. Tha a ainm 
 air a chumail air chuimhne ann an ainmean an dh kite 
 sin ; oir is e a theirear riu fhathast Eas Bhroduim agus 
 Uaimh Bhroduim. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 287 
 
 indeed, and grieved that the grey dog's best days have 
 passed," answered the hunter. "Courage, and take 
 this dog with you," said the second maiden, "and 
 there is not a four-footed creature on the face of the 
 earth, from the little hare to the full-grown antlered 
 stag, but he will catch, and bring to you." " What 
 is his name?" asked the hunter. She replied that it 
 was Brodum. He took the leash out of her hand, and 
 thanked her for the dog. He then bade farewell to 
 herself and her companion, and went away home. 
 
 As soon as he rose the next day, he brought every 
 one in the house out with him, and after turning his 
 face towards the two mountains between which he had 
 seen the maidens, he said: "Do you see yonder two 
 mountains opposite you ? From henceforth remember 
 that you are to call them the Maidens," and that is 
 what they are called to the present day. 
 
 The dog followed the gentleman as long as he lived. 
 Never was a leather strap placed on a better dog. 
 Whatever he was asked to do he did, and no creature 
 he was sent after but he caught. And there was no 
 man living he would follow, or answer, save his master. 
 
 When his master died, he lost heart. He followed 
 the funeral as far as the ravine between Callart and 
 the next farm ; but he stopped there, and descended the 
 ravine, where he was seen entering a cave, out of which 
 he never returned. His name is preserved in the 
 names of these two places; for they are still called 
 Brodum's Ravine and Brodum's Cave. 
 
GOBHAR NA CADHA RUAIDHE. 
 
 Anns na l^ithibh a chaidh seachad is gann a bha baile 
 's a' Gh^idhealtachd gun bhadan ghobhar. B' kbhaist 
 do 'n tuath an iomain gu srath, agus an cur a stigh 
 do chr6 nan gabhar 'san fheasgar gu bhi an sin air 
 an leigeil. 
 
 Air feasgar ^raidh bha tuath Odhanaich ag cur nan 
 gobhar gu baile an uair a thug iad fa-near coltas de 
 ghobhair mhoir ghlais am measg an tr^id. Lean i so 
 c^ch math gu le6ir gus am faca i iad air an iomain a 
 stigh do 'n chro. An sin bhrist i mach asda, agus thug 
 i a h-aghaidh ris a' mhonadh. Chaidh na coin 'na 
 d^idh, agus thug iad di an droch bheubachadh mu'n 
 do bhuidhinn i a' Chadha Ruadh. Ach an uair a rMnig 
 i a' Chadha, thill i air an lodhainn, agus an ijine gl^ 
 ghoirid chuir i dhachaidh iad 'san sgalartaich. An sin 
 sheas i air mullach na Cadha agus thubhairt i : 
 " B' e sin an cath cruaidh, 
 A' Chadha Ruadh a thoirt a mach." 
 An d^idh dhi so a rkdh dh'fhalbh i; agus o sin gu so 
 cha'n fhacas i an Odhanaich. 
 
THE GOAT OF THE RED PASSAGE. 
 
 In bygone days there was scarcely a farm in the 
 Highlands without a small flock of goats. The tenantry 
 used to drive them to the low ground, and put them in 
 the goat-fold in the evening, there to be milked. 
 
 On a certain evening the tenantry of Onich were 
 driving their goats farmwards when they noticed what 
 appeared to be a large grey goat in the midst of the 
 flock. She followed the rest quite well, until she saw 
 them driven into the fold. Then she broke away from 
 them, and set her face to the hill. The dogs went after 
 her, and gave her a bad worrying before she won the 
 Red Passage. But when she had reached the Passage, 
 she turned on the pack, and in a very short time sent 
 them yelling homewards. Then she stood at the top 
 of the Passage, and said: 
 
 " That was a hard bout, 
 The Red Passage to make out." 
 After saying this she departed; and from that day to 
 the present she has not been seen in Onich. 
 
 U 
 
AN LAOGH-ALLA. 
 
 Bha an Laogh-alla a' leantainn nam b^thaichean bu 
 shine 's a' Ghaidhealtachd. A r^ir fear-rao-sge6il, cha'n 
 fhacas riamh e; agus air an aobhar sin cha b' urrainn 
 e a rkdh c6 ris a bha e coltach. Ach ged a bha e a 
 ghn^th a' fuireachd as an t-sealladh, rinn se e f^in 
 aithnichte ann an rathaidibh eile. Air uairibh bha e air 
 a chluinntinn mu mharbh mheadhon-oidhche ag geumn- 
 aich anns a' bh^haich; a bha daonnan togta aig aon 
 cheann de 'n tigh chdmhnuidh. Bha fios aig an 
 tuathanach a chuala an sin a ghuth gu'n d'thainig 
 cothrom 'na charaibh, agus gu'm bu ch6ir dha 
 f^th a ghabhail air. Le sin dh'^ireadh e as a leabadh, 
 rachadh e gun 16chran, gun choinneil, do'n bh^thaich, 
 agus dh' iarradh e an creutair sithe anns an dorchadas. 
 Na'n robh de shealbh air gu'm beanadh e dha, 
 ghlacadh e le a gh^irdeanaibh e mu'n cuairt a chuirp, 
 agus o'n uair sin dh'fhksadh e 'na dhuine sona mu 
 thimchioll feudalach. Is e sin ri rkdh gu'n soirbhich- 
 eadh leis mar fhear togail agus gl^idhidh spr^idhe; agus 
 a thaobh gu'n robh saoibhreas a' Ghkidheil 'sna 
 l^ithibh a chaidh seachad ag comh-sheasamh am m6r- 
 chuid ann an spr^idh, tha e ag ciallachadh mar an 
 ceudna gu'n cinneadh e 'na dhuine beartach agus 
 soirbheach. 
 
 Chualadh an Laogh-alla an uair mu dheireadh mu 
 thuaiream deich agus tri fichead bliadhna roimhe so 
 ann an Achadh an Di!iin an Liosm6r. B'e am b^thaich 
 
THE WILD -CALF. 
 
 The Wild-calf haunted the oldest byres in the High- 
 lands. According to my informant, it was never seen ; 
 and for that reason he could not say what it was like. 
 But though it always remained invisible, it made its 
 presence known in other ways. Sometimes it was heard 
 at dead mid-night lowing in the byre, which was always 
 built at one end of the dwelling-house. The farmer 
 who then heard its voice knew that an opportunity had 
 come within his reach, and that he ought to take ad- 
 vantage of it. So he quietly got out of bed, went with- 
 out lamp or candle to the byre, and groped in the dark 
 for the weird creature. If he had the good fortune of 
 touching it, he immediately embraced it with his arms 
 round its body, and from that moment he became a 
 lucky man about cattle. That is to say, he became a 
 successful rearer and manager of cattle; and as the 
 wealth of the Highlander of bygone days consisted 
 mainly in cattle, it meant also that he turned out a 
 rich and thriving man. 
 
 The Wild-calf was last heard in Achanduin, in Lis- 
 more, somewhere about seventy years ago. The byre 
 
292 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 anns an cualadh e an treas bkthaich a bu shine 'san 
 Eilean, agus b'e an t-^m 'san cualadh e, mar dh' 
 fhaodadh dfiil a bhi againn, marbh mheadhon-oidhche. 
 Air do 'n tuathanach a bhi air a dhusgadh le a gheum- 
 naich, dh' ^irich e a chlisge as a leabadh. Ach air dha 
 bhi fo eagai dol 'na dh^il anns an dorchadas, las e 
 coinneil, rug e air a' choinneil 'na Ikimh, agus an sin 
 ghlac e de mhisnich gu'n deachaidh e do 'n bh^thaich 
 leis f^in. Ach dh' iarr e an laogh an dlomhain, a 
 chionn gu'n do bhrist e aon de na cumhnantan air an 
 do rinn se e f^in aithnichte. Le sin chaill e a chothrom, 
 agus cha d' fhuair e air-son a shaothrach ach cur- 
 iomchoire a mhn^. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE 293 
 
 in which it was heard was the third oldest in the Island; 
 and the time of hearing it was, as we might have ex- 
 pected, the dead hour of midnight. The farmer, 
 awakened by its lowing, rose immediately out of bed. 
 But fearing to come in contact with it in the dark, he 
 lighted a candle, took the candle in his hand, and then 
 mustered sufficient courage to enter the byre alone. His 
 search, however, proved useless, for he had violated 
 one of the conditions on which it made itself felt. So 
 he lost his opportunity, and got nothing for his trouble 
 but his wife's reproaches. 
 
URUISG SGURR-A'-CHAORAINN. 
 
 Bha Uruisg a' fuireachd roimhe so ann an creig chas 
 aig bun Sgiirr-a'-Chaorainn an Lochabar. Bha an 
 t-Uruisg so, a r6ir coltais, ro dhraghail do bhuachaille 
 Bhlkr-a'-chaorainn an uair a thuiteadh dha a bhi a' dol 
 rathad na Sgurra. Cha robh feasgar a rachadh e 
 seachad oirre, nach cuireadh an t-Uruisg a cheann a 
 mach air toll an aodann na creige, agus nach glaodhadh 
 e 'na dh^idh : 
 
 " Bodach mac bhodaich 'ic bhodaich! Tha sin de 
 bhodaich a triuir: is bodach thu fh^in, agus is bodach 
 d' athair, agus 'na bhodach bithidh do mhac, agus 
 bithidh mac an fhir sin 'na bhodach, agus bithidh sibh 
 uile 'nur bodaich, ioc air an achd." 
 
 An uair a dh' fhkg am buachaille so B14r-a'- 
 chaorainn, thkinig fear eile 'na ^ite ris an abradh a 
 luchd-e61ais Domhnull M6r. Cha robh Domhnull ach 
 goirid air a' bhaile gus an robh e cho m6r air a 
 shkrachadh leis an Uruisg is a bha am buachaille a 
 dh' fhalbh. Cha robh feasgar a thilleadh e o'n mhon- 
 adh seach a' chreag nach glaodhadh e 'na dh^idh: 
 " Dhomhnuill Mh6ir, cha toigh leam thu." Bha an 
 fh^ilte so fada o bhi taitneach le Domhnull c6ir, ach 
 ghlfeidh e a bheachd dha fh6in cho fada is a b' urrainn 
 e. Mu dheireadh bha a fhoidhidinn cho glan air a 
 claoidheadh le slor-sgallais an Uruisg is nach b' urrainn 
 e cumail air f^in na b' fhaide. 
 
 Air feasgar ^raidh, is e a' tilleadh gu fuar, ocrach 
 
THE URISK OF SGURR-A-CHAORAINN. 
 
 An Urisk once lived in a steep rock at the foot of 
 Sgurr-a-Chaorainn in Lochaber. This Urisk was, it 
 appears, very troublesome to the herd of Blar - a - 
 Chaorainn, when he happened to go the way of Sgurr. 
 Not an evening he passed it but the Urisk put his head 
 out of a hole in the face of the rock and bawled after 
 him: 
 
 " Carl, son of carl, son of carl. There you have of 
 carls three: — a carl are you, and a carl is your father, 
 and your son will be a carl, and his son will be a carl, 
 and you all will be carls, like it or not." 
 
 When this herd left Blar-a-Chaorainn, there came 
 in his place another whom his acquaintances called 
 Donald M6r. Donald was but a short time on the 
 farm, until he was as much annoyed by the Urisk as 
 the herd that had left. Not an evening did he return 
 from the hill past the rock but the Urisk bawled after 
 him: " Donald M6r, I do not like you." This saluta- 
 tion was far from being pleasing to honest Donald, 
 but he kept his opinion to himself as long as he could. 
 At length his patience was so completely worn out by 
 the Urisk's continual jeering that he could not contain 
 himself any longer. 
 
 One evening, when returning, cold and hungry, from 
 
296 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 as a* mhonadh, agus an t-Uruisg ag glaodhaich 'na 
 dh^idh, mar b' kbhaist: " Dhomhnuill Mh6ir, cha toigh 
 learn thu," thionndaidh e air a shkil ann am feirg, agus 
 ghlaodh e cho krd is a rinn an t-Uruisg fh^in: " Cha'n 
 'eil sin ach comain duit." Sguir an t-Uruisg d'a 
 sgallais; agus o sin gu so, cha chualadh a ghuth le 
 duine air bith eile. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. igy 
 
 the hill, and the Urisk bawling after him as usual : 
 " Donald M6r, I do not like you," Donald turned on 
 his heel in wrath, and bawled as loud as the Urisk 
 himself: "That is but the return you owe me." The 
 Urisk ceased his jeering; and from that time to this 
 his voice has not been heard by any other person. 
 
URUISG AN EASA BHUIDHE. 
 
 Ann an Gleann-M^ilidh an Lochabar, tha eas fiigeil ris 
 an abrar an t-Eas Buidhe. Anns an eas so bha e air 
 a r^dh gu 'n robh na h-Uruisgean ag gabhail fasgaidh; 
 agus b' ann Ikimh ris a bha bothain-kiridhe cuid 
 de thuath a' ghlinne suidhlchte. 
 
 Bha aon de na h-Uruisgean, 
 
 " Uruisg an Eas'-Bhuidhe 
 •Na shuidhe 'n Gleann-M^ilidh." 
 ro dhraghail do th6 de na banaraichean a bha anns na 
 bothain-kraidhe Ikimh ris an eas. Cha robh latha nach 
 tigeadh e stigh do 'n bhothan far an robh i; agus nach 
 cuireadh e seachad an uine 'na shuidhe mu'n teine, a' 
 fe6raich cheisdean dhith, agus ag cur bacadh oirre 'na 
 h-obair. Dh' ihks i sglth dheth, ach cha robh fhios 
 aice cia mar a ghr^inicheadh i e gun chorruich nan 
 Uruisgean eile a thionndadh 'na h-aghaidh. Mu 
 dheireadh chlaoidheadh a foidhidinn cho buileach leis 
 is gu'n do chuir i roimpe a bhi cuidhte is e, ciod air bith 
 a thachradh. 
 
 Air latha kraid a bha e 'na ghurrach mu'n teine mar 
 b' ^bhaist, dh' fhe6raich e am measg a cheisdean, 
 c' ainm a bha oirre. Fhreagair i gu'n robh: "Mi 
 fh6in is Mi fh6in. " Is iongantach an t-ainm sin," ars 
 esan. "Coma co dhiilibh, is e sin a tha orm." 
 
 Bha poit mh^ig air an teine, agus an uair a chaidh i 
 g'a toirt dheth, bha esan 'san rathad oirre, mar bu 
 ghnith leis. Bhrosnaich so i cho m6r is gu 'n do leig 
 
THE URISK OF EAS BUIDHE. 
 
 In Glen Mallie, in Lochaber, there is an eerie ravine 
 called Eas Buidhe. In this ravine it was said that the 
 Urisks took refuge; and near it were the summer pas- 
 ture bothies of some of the farmers in the Glen. 
 
 One of the Urisks, 
 
 " The Urisk of Eas Buidhe, 
 Sitting in Glen Maillie," 
 
 was very troublesome to one of the dairymaids staying 
 in the bothies near the ravine. Not a day passed but 
 he came to the bothy where she lived ; and he spent the 
 time sitting at the fire, asking questions, and obstruct- 
 ing her in her work. She grew tired of him, but she 
 knew not how to rout him without turning the wrath 
 of the other Urisks against her. At last her patience 
 with him was so completely worn out that she resolved 
 to get rid of him, happen what might. 
 
 One day as he was crouching about the fire as usual, 
 he asked, among his questions, what her name was. 
 She replied that it was: " Myself and Myself." " That 
 is a curious name," said he. "Never mind, that is 
 what I am called." 
 
 A pot full of whey hung over the fire, and 
 when she went to take it off, he was in her 
 way, as usual. This so provoked her that she inten- 
 
30O FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 i d'a de6in le taom de'n mh^ag ghoileach tuiteam m'a 
 chasan, agus a sgaldadh. Leum e gu grad o a ^ite- 
 suidhe, agus ruith e mach a' burralaich agus ag glaodh- 
 aich gu'n do loisgeadh e. Cho luath is a chuala na 
 h-Uruisgean eile so, ruith iad a nios as an eas 'na 
 choinneamh, agus dh'fhe6raich iad c6 a loisg e. 
 Fhreagair e gu 'n do loisg, " Mi fWin is Mi fMin." 
 " O, ma's tu fh6in a loisg thu, cha'n 'eil comas air; 
 ach, na'm b' e aon air bith eile a rinn e, loisgeamaid 
 e fh^in agus na tha 'sna bothain-iiraidhe leis. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 30I 
 
 tionally allowed a wave of the boiling whey to fall on 
 his feet, and scald him. He sprang up quickly from 
 his seat, and ran out, howling and crying that he was 
 burnt. As soon as the other Urisks heard this, they 
 ran up from the ravine to meet him, and asked who 
 burnt him. He answered that it was " Myself and 
 Myself." "Oh, if you have burnt yourself, it cannot 
 be helped; but if anyone else had done it, we would 
 have burnt him and all that is in the bothies along with 
 him." 
 
ALASTAIR MOR AGUS AN T-URUISG. 
 
 Bha Alastair M6r 'na iasgair-slaite cho math agus cho 
 tograch is a bha anns an ^ite d' am buineadh e. Cho 
 luath is a chitheadh e coltas deagh fhroise a' tighinn, 
 ghrad-thilgeadh e a shlat thar a ghualainn, agus air 
 falbh 'na throtan ghabhadh e dh' ionnsaidh na h-aibhne. 
 
 Air feasgar blkth samhraidh, agus ce6ban math uisge 
 ann, thug e an abhainn air, mar bu ghn^th leis; agus 
 an d^idh dha an t-slat a chur an 6rdugh, thilg e mach 
 leatha an acfhuinn. Cho luath is a bhean an dubhan 
 do 'n uisge, thdisich an aon ghabhail air an iasg a b' 
 fhekrr a chunnaic e riamh. Bha e a' slaodadh nam 
 breac a stigh cho tiugh an d^idh a ch^ile is nach robh 
 fiine aige feitheamh ri'n cur aon chuid air gad no air 
 sreing. Ach thilg e iad air an fheur ghlas air bruaich 
 na h-aibhne le rhn tilleadh air an son an uair a bhith- 
 eadh an t-iasgach seachad. Bha a aire cho m6r air an 
 obair a bha aige is gu'n d'thkinig an oidhche air gun 
 fhios da. 
 
 Thug e an sin sijil 'na dh6idh, agus c6 a chunnaic 
 e ag iasgach r'a thaobh ach Uruisg m6r is e a' toirt a 
 stigh breac air a' bhreac ris, agus 'gan tilgeadh c6mhla 
 r' a chuid t^isg-san air an fheur. Cha robh comas air, 
 no feum aon diog a r^dh. Ach chuin e f^in agus a 
 chompanach air an iasgach, gus an deachaidh a' chuid 
 a b' fhe^rr de 'n oidhche thairis. 
 
 An sin ghlaodh an t-Uruisg: "Is mithich stad, 
 Alastair Mh6ir, agus an t-iasg a roinn." "Ud! Ud!" 
 
BIG ALASTAIR AND THE URUISG. 
 
 Big Alastair was as good and as keen a rod-fisher as 
 there was in his native place. As soon as he would 
 see the appearance of a good shower coming, he would 
 instantly throw his rod over his shoulder, and he would 
 hie away at a trotting pace to the river. 
 
 On a warm summer evening, with a good drizzling 
 rain falling accompanied with mist, he, as his custom 
 was, betook himself to the river; and after getting his 
 rod in order, he therewith cast out the tackle. As soon 
 as the hook touched the water, the fish began to take 
 better than he had ever seen them take before. He 
 was hauling the trout in so thickly, one after another, 
 that he had no time to wait to put them on either withy 
 or string. He just threw them on the green grass on 
 the bank of the river, with the intention of returning 
 for them when the fishing was over. His attention was 
 so much on his work that night came upon him without 
 his observing it. He then gave a look behind him, 
 and whom did he see, fishing at his side, but a great 
 Uruisg, who was taking in trout for trout with him, 
 and throwing them with his own catch of fish upon the 
 grass. There was no help for it, and no use in saying 
 a syllable. But he and his companion kept on at the 
 fishing until the best part of the night was overpast. 
 
 Then the Uruisg cried: "It is time to stop, Big 
 Alastair, and divide the fish." "No! No!" said Big 
 
304 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 ars Alastair M6r, " cha mhithich idir, agus an t-iasg 
 ag gabhail cho math." Gun tuilleadh a r^dh thill an 
 t-Uruisg gu doicheallach ris an iasgach. An ceann 
 iiine maithe 'na dh^idh sin ghlaodh e rithis: " Stad a 
 nis, 'Alastair Mh6ir, agus roinneamaid an t-iasg." 
 " Dean foidhidinn bheag fhathast," ars Alastair, "agus 
 nach faca mi riamh roimhe, a leithid de ghabhail air 
 an iasg." Rinn an t-Uruisg mar dh' iarradh air, ach 
 cha b' ann gu toileach ; oir bha an latha a' tighinn, 
 agus iasgach eile r'a dheanamh mu'n tigeadh e. Uime 
 sin, an uine ghoirid, ghlaodh e an treas uair air Alastair 
 stad. Thuig Alastair o fhuaim guth na b6iste nach 
 robh feum 'sam bith tuilleadh d^l iarraidh. 
 
 Le sin thionndaidh e ris, agus thubhairt e: "Co 
 dhiubh a thrusas tusa an t-iasg, no roinneas tu iad?" 
 Fhreagair an t-Uruisg: " Trusaidh mise iad, agus 
 roinneadh tusa iad." " Cha 'n 'eil fios agamsa ciamar 
 a roinneas mi iad," ars Alastair. " Hii ! cha'n 'eil sin 
 duilich. Sgiolam shios, is sgiolam shuas; sgiolara 
 thall, is sgiolam a bhos; agus an sgiolam mh6r mu 
 dheireadh dhomh fh6in." 
 
 Cha do ch6rd an roinn so ach dona ri Alastair M6r, 
 oir thuig e gu'm b' esan an sgiolam mh6r a b' ^ill leis 
 an Uruisg fhaotainn air a earrainn mu'n tigeadh an 
 latha. Ach ciod a bha e r'a dheanamh chum an 
 trusdar a mhealladh ? Bha an latha a' tighinn, agus 
 na'n cumadh e an obair neo-chrlochnaichte gus an 
 tigeadh e, bhitheadh e t^aruinte. 
 
 Th6isich e air an iasg a roinn ach a reir coltais cha 
 robh cabhag air an obair sin a chriochnachadh. Mur 
 sleamhnaicheadh an t-iasg as a l^mhan, rachadh an 
 cunntas am mearachd air, no thachradh driod-fhortan 
 eigin eile a chuireadh bacadh air. Bha an t-Uruisg ag 
 call a fhoidhidinn, agus cha robh tubaist a thigeadh 
 air Alastair nach robh ag cur teine r' a chorruich. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 305 
 
 Alastair, " it is not at all time, while the fish are taking 
 so well." Without saying more the Uruisg returned 
 sulkily to the fishing. A good while after that, he cried 
 again: "Stop now. Big Alastair, and let us divide the 
 fish." "Have patience a little longer," said Alastair, 
 "considering that I never before saw the fish in such 
 a taking humour." The Uruisg did as he was asked, 
 but it was not willingly; for the day was approaching, 
 and another fishing to accomplish before it would 
 arrive. So, in a short while, he cried the third time 
 to Alastair to stop. Alastair knew, from the tone of 
 the monster's voice that there was no use whatever in 
 asking a longer delay. 
 
 Whereupon he turned towards him and said: 
 " Whether wilt thou gather the fish, or divide them? " 
 The Uruisg answered: "I shall gather them, and do 
 thou divide them." " I do not know how to divide 
 them," said Alastair. "Pooh! that is not difficult. 
 A spratlum down, and a spratlum up ; a spratlum 
 there, and a spratlum here ; and the last big sprat- 
 lum for me." 
 
 This division pleased Big Alastair very indifferently, 
 for he understood that he himself was the big spratlum 
 which the Uruisg wished to have as his share of the 
 fish before the day should come. But what was he to 
 do to disappoint the nasty fellow? The day was ap- 
 proaching, and if he could keep the work unfinished 
 until it came, he would be safe. 
 
 He began to divide the fish, but to all appearance he 
 was in no hurry to finish that task. When the fish 
 would not slip out of his hands, he would make a mis- 
 take in the counting, or some other mishap would occur 
 to delay him. The Uruisg was losing his patience, 
 and no mischance would befall Alastair which did not 
 inflame his wrath. 
 
 V 
 
306 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Chrathadh e a cheann is a ghuaillean, phostadh e an 
 talamh le a chasan, agus le guth leth-chrosda, leth- 
 ghearanach ghlaodhadh e: " Nach toir thu an aire, 
 Alastair Mh6ir! nach toir thu an aire, Alastair Mh6ir!" 
 Ach leigeadh Alastair le a earail dol a stigh air an aon 
 chluais agus a mach air a' chluais eile. 
 
 Mu dheireadh dhuisg an coileach ruadh, agus thug 
 e fuasgladh dha as a' chks anns an robh e. Ghoir e 
 air torn os ceann na h-aibhne, agus air ball chaidh an 
 t-Uruisg as an t-sealladh. 
 
 Thog Alastair leis an t-iasg, agus thill e dhachaidh. 
 Ach o'n 1^ sin gu 1^ a' bhais cha deachaidh e dh' iasgach 
 bhreac air an abhainn an d^idh do 'n oidhche tuiteam. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 307 
 
 He would shake his head and shoulders, stamp 
 on the ground with his feet, and in a voice 
 half angry, half plaintive, cry out: "Won't thou 
 take care. Big Alastair? Won't thou take care, 
 Big Alastair?" But Alastair would suffer his remon- 
 strance to go in at one ear and out at the other. 
 
 At length the red cock awoke, and relieved him from 
 the strait he was in. He crowed on a knoll above the 
 river, and straightway the Uruisg went out of sight. 
 
 Alastair took with him the fish, and returned home. 
 But from that day to the day of his death he did not 
 go to fish trout on the river after nightfall. 
 
EACH-UISGE PHOLL NAN CRAOBHAN. 
 
 Anns na laithibh a dh' fhalbh bha Poll nan Craobhan, 
 linne air abhuinn Spe, an Cromba, air a thathaich le 
 each-uisge, a bha 'na aobhar eagail do 'n duthaich mu'n 
 cuairt air. Air uairibh araid, bha e ri fhaicinn ag 
 itheadh leis a' chrodh aig bruaich na h-aibhne ; agus an 
 sin b'e, a reir coltais, an t-aon each bu bhoidhche a 
 chunnaic duine riamh. Bha a chraicionn cho dubh 
 shliom ri sgiath an fhithich. Air a cheann bha srian 
 loinnireach, agus air a dhruim diollaid le stiorapan 
 airgid. Ach an uair a rachadh fear bu dkna na cheile 
 tuilleadh is dluth air, chuireadh aon sealladh d'a shuil 
 ciiolgach gris troimhe a fhreumhaicheadh e ris an 
 talamh, air chor is nach robh comas aige l^mh no cas 
 a ghluasad. Na'n di-chuimhnicheadh an duine, leis 
 an eagal, e fein a chroiseadh, an sin iharruingeadh an 
 t-each dubh bu bhoidhche dealbh, na bu dluithe agus 
 na bu dluithe dha, agus dh'atharraicheadh sealladh 
 fiadhaich a shula gu sealladh ciuin an fheidh. An uair 
 a thigeadh e nios ris an duine, dheanadh e sodal ris, a' 
 suathadh a chinn shliom r'a bhroilleach. 
 
 An uine ghoirid dh' fhagadh an t-eagal an duine, 
 agus leumadh e 'san diollaid; agus an sin cho luath ri 
 saighead o'n bhogha, leumadh an t-each a mach do 
 Pholl nan Craobhan. Cha bhitheadh an duine ri 
 fhaicinn tuilleadh, agus cha bhitheadh an t-each dubh 
 ri fhaicinn fad latha is bliadhna. 
 
 Laimh ri abhuinn Spe bha chomhnuidh duine d' am 
 b' ainm Iain Beag. B' i\bhaist do dh'Iain Beag a' 
 
THE WATER-HORSE OF POLL NAN 
 CRAOBHAN. 
 
 In bygone days, Poll nan Craobhan, a pool on the river 
 Spey, in Cromdale, was haunted by a water-horse which 
 was the terror of the surrounding country. At certain 
 seasons he was to be seen feeding with the cattle on the 
 bank of the river; and then he seemed to be the most 
 beautiful horse that man ever beheld. His coat was as 
 black and glossy as the raven's wing. On his head 
 was a glittering bridle, and on his back a saddle with 
 stirrups of silver. But when any man, bolder than his 
 fellows, approached too near him, one glance of the 
 horse's fiery eye sent a thrill of tenor through him 
 that rooted him to the earth, so that he could not move 
 hand or foot. If, in his fear, the man then forgot to 
 cross himself, the black horse of the most beautiful 
 shape would draw nearer and nearer him, and the fierce 
 glance of his eye would change to the mild look of the 
 deer. When he would come up to the man, he would 
 fawn on him by rubbing his shining head against his 
 breast. 
 
 Soon the man's fear would vanish, and he would 
 spring into the saddle; and then, quick as an arrow 
 from the bow, the black horse would plunge into Poll 
 nan Craobhan. The man was to be seen no more, and 
 the black horse was not to be seen for a year and a day. 
 
 Near the river Spey lived a man named Little John. 
 Little John usually spent a great part of the year in the 
 
3IO FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 chuid mh6r de 'n bhliadhna a chaitheadh 's a' 
 Bhl^r Bhuidhe a' deanamh m6na, agus air an aobhar 
 sin theireadii iad ris am fad is am farsuingeachd na 
 sglreachd, Iain Beag a' Bhl^ir-Bhuidhe. Ged bha Iain 
 Beag, mar tha a ainm ag innseadh, ro bheag am pearsa, 
 bha e cho neo-sg^thach, d^na ri aon de na Fiantaibh 
 f6in. Bha a smuaintean fad an 1^, agus a bhruadair 
 r^ na h-oidhche, mu each-uisge Pholl nan Craobhan; 
 agus b'iomadh innleachd gun rath a dhealbh e a chur 
 as do 'n each. 
 
 Mu dheireadh thall smaointich e gu'n rachadh e agus 
 gu'n cuireadh e a chomhairle ri cailleach dhubh Allnaig; 
 agus cha robh e fada a' f^gail Beinn Chromba 'na 
 dWidh. An uair a rkinig e bothan na cailliche duibhe, 
 bhuail e aig an dorus, agus air ball th^inig an fhreagairt 
 a mach: " Thig a stigh, Iain Bhig a' Bhlkir Bhuidhe, 
 is ann domhsa is aithne ciod a tha thu ag iarraidh; 
 agus c6 aig am bheil fios nach cuir thusa agus mise 
 teadhair air each dubh Pholl nan Craobhan fhathast. 
 
 An d^idh do dh' Iain Beag a le6ir cabhruich agus 
 bainne mills fhaotainn, ghabh a' chailleach dhubh a 
 clach fhiosachd, agus dh'amhairc i innte uine fhada. 
 Mu dheireadh thog i suas a ceann, agus thubhairt i: 
 ■' Nis, Iain Bhig, tha fhios agam gu math nach gealtair 
 a tha annad, agus gu'n ceannsaich thu each-uisge Pholl 
 nan Craobhan." " Cha'n 'eil fhios agam air sin," ars 
 Iain Beag. " Cum a suas do mhisneach, agus cha'n 
 eagal duit ! Ach so an ni a dh' fheumas tu a dheanamh : 
 Bithidh an t-each ag itheadh 'san 16n air feasgar 
 Bealltuinne. An uair a th6isicheas a' ghrian air 
 t^arnadh o a h-^irde 'san speur, marbhaidh tu an damh 
 ballach. Cuiridh tu an sin an craicionn umad f^in, 
 agus falbhaidh tu air do l^mhaibh agus air do chasaibh, 
 cosmhuil ri damh. Roimh laighe na gr^ine, iomaineadh 
 cuid-eigin thu f^in agus an crodh gu taobh Pholl nan 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 3II 
 
 Yellow Moss making peats, and on that account he 
 was known over the length and breadth of the parish 
 as Little John of the Yellow Moss. Though Little 
 John, as his name indicates, was very small in person, 
 he was as bold and fearless as one of the very F6inn. 
 His thoughts all day and his dreams by night were of 
 the water horse in Poll nan Craobhan; and many were 
 the fruitless plans he formed for the destruction of the 
 horse. 
 
 At long last, he thought he would go and consult the 
 black wife of Alnaic; and he was not long in leaving 
 Cromdale Hill behind him. When he arrived at the 
 hut of the black wife, he knocked at the door, and the 
 answer came out at once: " Come in, Little John of the 
 Yellow Moss; it is I who am aware what you want; 
 and who knows but you and I may yet put a tether on 
 the black horse of Poll nan Craobhan." 
 
 When John had got enough sowens and sweet milk, 
 the black wife took her divining stone, and looked into 
 it for a long time. At last she lifted up her head, and 
 said: " Now, Little John, I know well that you are no 
 coward, and that you will subdue the water horse of 
 Poll nan Craobhan." " I do not know about that," 
 said Little John. " Keep up your heart, and there is 
 no fear of you ! But this is what you must do : The 
 horse will be feeding on the meadow on Beltane-eve. 
 When the sun begins to descend from his highest point 
 in the sky, you will kill the speckled ox. You will then 
 put the skin about yourself, and go on your hands and 
 feet, like an ox. Before the setting of the sun let some- 
 one drive yourself and the cows to the side of Poll nan 
 
312 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 Craobhan. Cho luath is a laigheas a' ghrian, thig an 
 t-each dubh a nios as an uisge, agus t6isichidh e air 
 itheadh leis a' chrodh. A chionn gu'n amhairc thusa 
 coltach ris an damh, bithidh an t-each air a chur as a 
 umhail. Ach ma dh' fhairicheas, no ma nochdas tu an 
 t-eagal is lugiia, is diomhain a bhitheas aig do bhean 
 suil ri d' ath philleadh. Rach air d' athais na's dlilithe 
 agus na's dliiithe do 'n abhainn, gus am faigh thu 
 eadar an t-each agus an t-uisge; agus an sin is ann 
 agad f^in a bhitheas a' choire, mur faigh thu an Ikmh 
 an uachdair air. Cha'n 'eil 'san t-sr^in aon chuid 
 sparrag no smeachan; agus, uime sin, an uair a gheibh 
 thu dliith gu leoir, bheir thu leum a dh' ionnsaidh na 
 sr^ine, agus splonaidh tu dheth i. An sin bithidh an 
 t-each dubh fo do smachd, agus ni e ni air bith is toil 
 leat, cho fad is a chumas tu an t-srian uaith. Bi 
 ciiramach mu 'n t-srein, air neo is ann duitse is miosa 
 e. Nis, Iain Bhig, gabh do rathad." 
 
 Chaidh Iain Beag dhachaidh, agus dh' fheith e gus 
 an d' th^inig an latha roimh fheasgar Bealltuinne mu'n 
 cuairt. Cho luath is a chaidh a' ghrian seach a 
 h-airde 'san speur, mharbh e an damh ballach. Chuir 
 a' bhean an craicionn uime air dhoigh cho se61ta is gu'n 
 do ghabh an crodh f^in e air-son an daimh a chaidh a 
 mharbhadh. Roimh laighe na gr^ine dh' iomiiin i an 
 crodh a dh' ionnsaidh bruaich na h-aibhne, agus lean 
 esan iad mar a b' fhearr a dh' fhaodadh e. An uair 
 a chaidh a' ghrian fuidhe, thkinig an t-each dubh a nios 
 air a shocair as an linne, agus th6isich e air itheadh 
 am measg a' chruidh. Ars Iain Beag ris f^in: "A 
 nis, a mhic m' athar fh^in, na bitheadh eagal ort, " agus 
 ag gabhail air a bhi creimeadh an fhe6ir, mar bha e 
 a' dol air aghaidh, fhuair e mu dheireadh eadar an 
 t-each agus an t-uisge. An sin le cruaidh leum fhuair 
 e greim air an t-sr^in loinnirich, spion e bh^rr an eich 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 313 
 
 Craobhan. As soon as the sun sets, the black horse 
 will come up out of the water, and begin feeding with 
 the cattle. As you will look like an ox, the horse will 
 be thrown off his guard. But if you feel or show the least 
 fear, your vtiie will look for your return in vain. Draw 
 nearer and nearer the river at your leisure, until you 
 get between the horse and the water; and then it will 
 be your own fault if you get not the better of him. The 
 bridle has neither bit nor chin-strap ; and, therefore, when 
 you get near enough, you will make a spring at the 
 bridle, and pull it off. The black horse is then under 
 your control, and will do whatever you wish, so long 
 as you keep the bridle from him. Be careful of the 
 bridle, or it will be the worse for you. Now, Little 
 John, go your way." 
 
 Little John went home, and waited till the day before 
 Beltane-eve came round. As soon as the sun had 
 crossed his highest point in the sky, he killed the 
 speckled ox. His wife put the skin upon him in such 
 a clever way that the very cows mistook him for the 
 ox that had been killed. Before sunset she drove the 
 cows to the bank of the river, and he followed as best 
 he could. When the sun went down, the black horse 
 came slowly up out of the pool, and began feeding 
 among the cattle. Said Little John to himself: " Now, 
 son of my own father, be not afraid," and pretending 
 to be nibbling the grass as he went, he at last got be- 
 tween the horse and the water. Then with a great 
 spring he got hold of the glittering bridle, pulled it off 
 
314 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 i, agus rug e air a bhad-mullaich air. " Ha! Hal a 
 fhleasgaich, tha thu agam, a nis," ars e. Fhreagair 
 an t-each: "Tha mi agad a nis, gu dearbh, Iain Bhig 
 a' Bhl^ir Bhuidhe; ach ma nochdas tu dhomhsa an 
 caoimhneas a tha thu leigeil ris do na beathaichean eile 
 a tha agad, ni mi seirbhis dhlleas duit a 1^ agus a 
 dh' oidhche, gus an toir thu air ais dhomh mo shrian 
 agus mo dhlollaid i6in le Ikimh maighdinn; agus an 
 sin cha chuir mi dragh tuilleadh air an diithaich." 
 
 "Chi sinn mu'n chuis sin," ars Iain Beag. 
 
 Bu mh6r eagal mn^ Iain Bhig an uair a chunnaic i 
 am beathach uamhasach air iomain a stigh do 'n 
 stkbull; ach dh' innis Iain Beag dhi gu 'n deanadh 
 each-uisge Pholl nan Craobhan am fortan fhathast. 
 
 Dh'fhalaich Iain Beag an t-srian agus an dlollaid an 
 ^ite uaigneach os ceann leabadh na ce^rna. Cha robh 
 duine bu mh6 as f^in na esan ; oir cha robh an ruith 
 Sp6 each a dh'fhaodadh a choimeas ris an each dhubh 
 dhreachmhor aige. Cha robh rathad air bith tuilleadh 
 is garbh ri a shiubhal, no eallach air bith tuilleadh is 
 trom ri a giulan, no fodar air bith tuilleadh is Ikidir ri 
 a itheadh leis. Le a ch^rn mor f^in dh' fhalmhaicheadh 
 Iain Beag a nis am Bl^r Buidhe de 'n mh6ine na bu 
 luaithe na chuireadh muinntir a' Chlachain a suas i 'na 
 cruaich. 
 
 Bha e a' f^s beairteach, agus bha m6ran a' tighinn 
 am fad agus am farsuinneachd a cheannach an eich 
 dhuibh ; ach bha iad air am f^gail a philleadh dhachaidh 
 as a eugmhais. 
 
 Chaidh gnothuichean air an aghaidh mar so le Iain 
 Beag fad grkinnein bhliadhnachan gu ruig latha a 
 chaidh e f^in agus a bhean gu faidhir an Clachan 
 Chromba, agus an d'fh^g iad Sine Bh^n, an nighean, 
 a dh' amharc as d^idh an tighe. B' kbhaist do Shine 
 Bhkin an t-each dubh a bhiathadh le a Ikimh fh^in, 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 315 
 
 the horse, and caught him by the forelock. " Ha, ha! 
 my lad, I have you now," said he. The horse answered: 
 " You have me now, indeed, Little John of the Yellow 
 Moss; but if you will show me the same kindness as 
 you show to your other animals, I will serve you faith- 
 fully day and night, until you give me back my own 
 bridle and saddle by the hand of a maiden; and then 
 I will trouble the country no more." 
 
 "We will see about that," said Little John. 
 
 Great was the terror of Little John's wife when she 
 saw the awful beast being led to the stable; but Little 
 John assured her that the water-horse of Poll nan 
 Craobhan would yet make their fortune. 
 
 Little John hid the bridle and the saddle in a secret 
 corner above the kitchen bed. No man was so proud 
 as he; for no horse in the course of the Spey could be 
 compared with his beautiful black horse. No road was 
 too rough for him to tread, no load too heavy to carry, 
 no fodder too coarse to eat. With his great sled-cart 
 Little John could now empty the Yellow Moss of peats 
 quicker than the men of the Clachan could build them 
 into stacks. 
 
 He was getting rich, and many came from far and 
 near to buy the black horse ; but they were left to return 
 home without him. 
 
 Things went on in this way with Little John for some 
 years, until one day he and his wife went to a fair at 
 the Clachan of Cromdale, and left their daughter 
 Sheena Vane to look after the house. Sheena Vane 
 used to feed the black horse with her own hand, and 
 
3l6 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 agus a mharcachd a dh'ionnsaidh an uisge; ach air an 
 latha dhuTah, dhona ud, thuit dhi amas air an t-srein 
 agus air an diollaid far an robh iad falaichte. 
 
 Smaointich i gu 'm b' ann an sin a fhuair i an cothrom 
 air aon r6is fhada, mhath fhaotainn air druim an eich 
 dhuibh; agus air falbh ghabh i leis an t-sr6in agus leis 
 an diollaid do 'n stkbull. An uair a chunnaic an 
 t-each a uidheam fein, shitrich e rithe le gairdeachas 
 mor. An iiine ghoirid chuireadh e fo uidheam ; ach 
 cha bu luaithe bha Sine Bhkn 'na suidhe 'san diollaid 
 na dh' fhalbh e le luathas na gaoithe, cha b' ann do 
 Pholl nan Craobhan, ach do Lochan a bha Ikimh ri 
 Clachan Chromba. An uair a bha iad a' dol troimh Ath 
 Chroisg, choinnicheadh iad le Iain Beag agus le 
 a mhnaoi, agus ghlaodh an t-each dubh riu 'san dol 
 seachad: " Fhuair mi nis mo shrian agus mo dhiollaid 
 o laimh maighdinn, agus cha chuir mi dragh air duine 
 tuilleadh." 
 
 Chunnacas an t-each agus an nighean a' dol fodha 
 an comhail an cinn anns an aite bu doimhne de 'n 
 Lochan, far an robh moran a' saoilsinn gu 'n robh e 
 gun iochdar. B'e sin an sealladh mu dheireadh a 
 fhuaradh de Shine Bhkin agus de each-uisge Poll nan 
 Craobhan, ach cha b' ann an sin a chualadh an 
 t-iomradh mu dheireadh mu Shine, mar chithear a nis. 
 
 Bha e air a thoirt fa-near nach robh a' chuid de 'n 
 Lochan anns an deach an t-each-uisge fodha le Sine 
 Bh^in, a' reothadh, ciod air bith cho tiugh is a bhith- 
 eadh an eigh air an uisge m' a thimchioll. Anns na 
 h-oidhchean fuar geamhraidh, an uair a bhitheadh a' 
 ghaoth a' s^ideadh gu cruaidh, agus a' sguabadh an 
 t-sneachd 'na mhill thiugha o Bheinn Chromba, 
 bhitheadh an glaodh tiamhaidh, br6nach: "Is mise 
 tha fuar, is mise tha fuar," air a chluinntinn os ceann 
 fuaim na doininn, a' tighinn o'n Lochan, agus ag cur 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 317 
 
 ride him to water; but on this black, evil day she hap- 
 pened to light upon the bridle and saddle, where they lay 
 concealed. 
 
 She thought to herself that now was her chance of 
 having a good long ride on the black horse's back ; 
 and away she went with the bridle and saddle to the 
 stable. When the horse saw his own furniture, he 
 neighed at it with great delight. In a short time he 
 was in harness; but no sooner was Sheena Vane seated 
 on the saddle than away he went with the swiftness of 
 the wind, not to Poll nan Craobhan, but to a Lochan 
 near the Clachan of Cromdale. As they were going 
 through Achroisk they were met by Little John and 
 his wife, and the black horse cried out in passing: " I 
 have now got my bridle and saddle from the hands of 
 a maiden, and I will trouble no man any more." 
 
 The horse and the maiden were seen to plunge head- 
 long into the deepest part of the Lochan, where many 
 believed it had no bottom. That was the last that was 
 seen of Sheena Vane and the water-horse of Poll nan 
 Craobhan, but not the last that was heard of Sheena, 
 as will presently be seen. 
 
 It was observed that the part of the Lochan in which 
 the black horse disappeared with Sheena Vane never 
 froze over, however thick the ice might be on the sur- 
 rounding water. In the cold winter nights, when the 
 wind blew strong, and swept the snow in blinding 
 clouds from Cromdale Hill, an eerie, piteous cry of : 
 " I am cold, I am cold," was heard above the noise 
 of the storm, coming from the Lochan and sending a 
 
3l8 FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 
 
 gaoir fhuar troimh chridheachan na dream a chuala e. 
 Bliadhna an d^idh bliadhna bha an guth muladach 
 ceudna air a chluinntinn, gus an d'th^inig gobhainn a 
 Gleann Braon, agus an do thuinich e 's a' Chlachan. 
 Bha an gobhainn so air a theagasg le cailleach dhubh 
 Allnaig, cionnus a labhradh e ri tannaisg; agus cho 
 luath is a chuala e an glaodh br6nach, thubhairt e 
 gu'm faiceadh esan an athghoirid ciod a bha an tannasg 
 ag iarraidh. 
 
 Chaidh e mach a dh' ionnsaidh an Lochain, agus 
 ghnkthaich e na briathran a dh' fhoghluim e o'n 
 chaillich dhuibh; agus dh' innis an tannasg dha nach 
 b' urrainn e fois fhaotainn gus an leughadh an sagairt 
 seachd aifrinn do dh'anam Shine Bh^ine. Bha an 
 aifrionn air a leughadh; agus 'na dh^idh sin cha 
 chualadh an glaodh tiamhaidh: "Is mise tha fuar, is 
 raise tha fuar." Is e theirear ris an Lochan gus an 
 latha an diugh Bog-an-Loirein ; agus ris an ^ite, 'san 
 robh Iain Beag a' BhlMr Bhuidhe ag gabhail 
 c6mhnuidh, Dail-a'-chapuill. 
 
FOLK TALES AND FAIRY LORE. 319 
 
 cold chill through the hearts of those that heard it. 
 Year after year the same mournful cry was heard, until 
 a smith from Glen Braon came and settled in the 
 Clachan. This smith had been taught by the black 
 wife of Alnaic how to speak to ghosts; and when he 
 first heard the piteous cry, he said that he would soon 
 see what the ghost was wanting. 
 
 He went out to the Lochan, and used the words he 
 had learned from the black wife of Alnaic; and the 
 ghost told him that it could find no rest until the priest 
 had said seven masses for the soul of Sheena Vane. 
 The mass was said, and the eerie cry of: "I am cold, 
 I am cold," was not heard thereafter. The Lochan is 
 called to this day Bog-an-Lqirein ; and the place where 
 Little John of the Yellow Moss lived, Dalchapple 
 (Horsefield). 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Page 3— "The white Red-eared Hound" occurs also in Folk and Hero Tales, 
 iii. p. 84. 
 
 Compare also the following passages : — 
 
 "The physicians declared that nothing could cure him but the flesh of a 
 perfectly white cow with red ears." — Book of Fermoy^ p. 36, where there is a note 
 with further instances. 
 
 "Morgan awoke on the morrow and saw the fifty white red-eared kine," — 
 Voyage of Bran, i., 75, 3. 
 
 Before sunrise yesterday at Knightlowe, Warwickshire, the ancient cere- 
 mony was enacted of collecting "wroth silver," payable to the Duke ot 
 Buccleuch, To the assembly round the wayside cross, beneath Scottish firs, the 
 steward read the charter specifying a fine of twenty shillings for every penny not 
 fortlicoming, or forfeiture of a white bull with red nose and ears. — Scotsman, 12th 
 November, 1909. 
 
 R. T. Simpson, a local antiquarian, says that only once was the fine enforced 
 during the last century, a white bull having been demanded by the steward of the 
 late Lord John Scott, the then Lord of the Hundred, in a case where the money 
 either was not paid at all or was not paid before sunrise. The beast was, however, 
 rejected, as it did not fully answer the description. He goes on to say that the 
 breed at Cadzow Castle does so, and in a lesser degree, those at Kilmory House, 
 Argyllshire, and at Chillingham, Northumberlannd. — A Curious War-wickshire 
 Custom, Collection of "Wroth Silver," Rugby, 1884. 
 
 Page 8 — "Blackening on the soles of her feet," &c A "run" found on p. 
 58, and also in Spiorad na h-Aoise (Gaelic Fairy Tales, 1907), a tale which has 
 many features in common with Cathal G'Cruachan, as the last has with The Weaver^ 
 Son and the Giant of the White Hill, Curtins' Myths and Folk Lore, p. 64. 
 
 Page 13 — The Henwife is the mischief-maker. — Waifs and Strays, iii. 277. 
 
 Page 15 — The tale concludes with a " tag "or " nonsense ending," so p. 55, 
 67 95, &c. — See Waifs and Strains, iii, 285. 
 
 Page 16 — The skill and supernatural power of smiths is early in evidence — 
 "Very sharp is Goibniu's science." 
 
 — Thesaurus Palaohibernicus , ii. 348. 
 
 This is a story of the Gael. When the battle of Moytura was being fought, 
 Goibniu the Smith was in the forge making the weapons for the Tuatha De 
 Danann and Luchtine the Carpenter was making the shafts for the spears, and 
 Credne the Brazier was making rivets for the same spears. Dicvnt autem Scoti that 
 
3Z1 aOTZS—cimtimed. 
 
 Goibniu the Smith faciehat hastas by three actions, and the last action was the 
 finish. Then Luchtine made the shafts by three cuts, and the last cut was the 
 finish. 5ic et Creidne Jaciehat the rivets. Goibniu used to hurl the spear-heads irom 
 the tongs, and they used to stick in the jamb. Luchtine used to cast the shafts 
 after them, and it was enough to fix them in. Creidne used to hurl the rivets 
 from the teeth ol the tongs, and it was enough to fix them in. Now, while 
 Goibniu was at this thing a crime is charged against his wife. It appeared to 
 him then that the story hurt him, and he grew jealous thereat. This is what he 
 does. There was a pole in his hand when the story was told him, and about it 
 the furnace of clay is made ; and he sang spells over that pole, and to every man 
 who came to him he gave a blow of that pole. Then, if the man escaped, a lump 
 full of gory liquid and matter was raised upon him, and the man burned like fire. 
 Cormac's Glossary, p. 32, Tr. 113. 
 
 St, Patrick prays to be protected against spells of women, smiths and wizards. 
 — Hymn 48. 
 
 Page 31 — " The purse burst." This tale and incident are referred to in 
 Waifs and Strays^ iii. 299. 
 
 Page 34. — As to tailors and their information, see CampbiWs Language, Poetry, 
 and Ddusic of the Highland Clans, p. 6. 
 
 Page 37. — Chi mi sin, agus fuaighidh mi so, &c. 
 A West Ross-shire variant to this expression runs — 
 
 Cluinneam sin ach fuaghaim so, 
 
 Chi mi sin agus fuaghaim so. 
 
 Page 40— Sorcha is •'Morvirn, Ardnamurchan, or both together." Rdiquix 
 
 Celtics, i. 332, note, but Mr. MacDougall also agreed with Dr. Hyde that the name 
 did not refer to any real country on the map (Waifs and Strays, ii. 456), but to the 
 mjthical land of light. Cf.. The Book of the Dean of Lismore, p. 14, 16 (text), and 
 notes, p. 21 (tr.), 141; Smith's Sean Dana, -p. 174, 5. The name occurs in Old 
 Celtic Romances, 262, fol. , as does Ur, Uthar, p. 89. 
 
 This tale is manifestly that version ot " The Knight of the Red Shield," 
 referred to in W, H, Tales, ii. 470. 
 
 Page 42 — Portair Iain Duibh. 
 
 iVlaitm, writing of lona. Description of the Western Islands, p. 263, says "there 
 was a tribe here called Clan Vic n-Oster [the modern osdair] from Ostiarii, for they 
 are feaid to have been Porters." 
 
 The Portair iiom whom the Clann a' Phortair MacNaughtons in Glenlyon 
 derive their designation was a ferryman (a common meaning of portair) on the 
 Lyon, 
 
'SOT'ES—continueJ. JZJ 
 
 The Portair Cam, the one-eyed ferryman, was a man sui geneih, and so 
 energetic in his movements that he became proverbial — 
 Coslach ris a" Phortair Cham, 
 Cha luaithe thall na bhos e. 
 Like the One-eyed Ferryman, 
 No sooner on that side than on this. 
 
 Page 56 — Mr. MacDougall has a note bearing on this tale in fVar/i and 
 StraySj iii. 276. 
 
 Page 57 — " Cathal was to give his wife to the Herd of the Stud if he should 
 lose." Cf. 'Twere my advice to thee if thou sliouldst win of the Gruagach 
 carsalach donn, to get the cropped rough-skinned maid that is behind the door tor 
 the worth of thy gaming." — Wat Highland Tales, i. 2. 
 
 Midir, King of Faery, won back his fairy wife, Etain, by chess. — Voyage of 
 Bran^ ii, 52. Afetrical Dindskenchas, i'l. S^. 
 
 Loth pheallagach odhar (W.H. Tales, \. 13), may refer to "peallaidh, a 
 mysterious being with long untidy hair, haunting streams." — Celtic Jlemew, v. 51. 
 Presenting himself before the unsuspecting traveller in the servile appearance of a 
 scabbed colt, the ghost will in this guise place himself in the traveller's way, as if 
 to graze by the roadside. — Steivart^s Highland Superstitions, p. 13. 
 
 Page 58 — Madadh is probably the wolf. — J. M'D. 
 
 Page 72 — A parallel to the bottle incident occurs in Revut Celtique, iv. 187. 
 
 Page 91 — "Three human bodies, holding their lieads between their hands, 
 stood before him," See the tale of Coluinn gun cheann, W.H. Tales, ii. 101. 
 The phrase was almost proverbial — 
 
 'S e 'n trup Ghallta g'an robh 'chall sin, 
 Bha colainn gun cheann air cuid diubh. 
 
 D. Macintyre, p. 14. 
 
 Ar is colann cen chend duine cen anmcharait — Felire, p. xlvi., cxxix., ed. 
 .Stokes. Cf. CimpbeWs JVitchcraJt and Second Sight, p. 191. 
 
 Page 100 — For reference to several Irish an'i other versions of this tale, see 
 Revue Celtique, iv. 185. 
 
 Page 104 — Taladh na mnatha sithe. The translation was made for Mr. 
 MacDougall by Mr. Malcolm MacLucas. 
 
 Page 108 — "The women of Conall." Conall is represented as the Celtic 
 Cupid, and the guardian deity of childliood. — Celt. Rei:, v. 64. 
 
 The cateinich, white-crested waves, are so styled. The reference, however, 
 is to the "hairy" aborigines (cf. gruagach, molach, &c. ), who in the main gave 
 rise to the belier in brownies and certain classes of the daoine sithe. Cf. The 
 "shag-boy" in The Testimony of Tradition, p. 107. — See also Celt. Rev. vi. 172. 
 The meaning is that the child would reach the age of love-making, and the fairy 
 folk would work for him and be his friends. 
 
3*4 NOTES— continueJ. 
 
 Page III — "MacKenzie thou'rt none." For some notices of the confusion 
 between MacKenzie and MacLeod, see Maclan's Costumes of the Claris, p. 290. 
 Keltie's Histon/ of the Highland Clans, ii. 191, 479. For Clann Conn, see Skene's 
 Highlanders, p. 188, 
 
 " Lochlannach na lann " occurs in Caithreim Ceallachain Caisil, § 63, 
 
 Page III — A' bhean-chomuinn. A similar version, without translation, 
 will he found in A' Choisir-Chiiil, p. 58. 
 
 Page 120— Eadar da bhl an dorus. Ct. Bricriu's Feast, p. 153 (Irish Texts, 
 Society, vol. ii.). 
 
 Fairies visit and flit on New- Year's Eve. " When they want beef or mutton 
 
 . with elf arrows they bring down their game," Keightly, p. 165, Cf. 
 
 JV.H. Tales, ii. 83, where it is said the arrow "was slender like a straw for 
 
 thickness," and MacGregor's Highland Superstitions, p. 15. " Thesd arrows are of 
 
 stone, like a yellow flint, and shaped like a barbed arrow-head." — Stewart, p. 89. 
 
 " This elf-arrow or elf-bolt was believed to be thrown by the fairies at cattle 
 and men, and whoever had one in his possession was believed to be safe from fairy 
 attacks. Water in which it was dipped restored to health those who were struck 
 with sudden illness." — Fergusson's Scottish Social Sketches, p. 85. 
 
 Page 128 — " He heard a voice coming from the root of every blade." Cf. 
 Curtin's Xaletaf the Fairies, p. 29. 
 
 Witches were believed to carry off' cows' milk by pretending to milk the 
 hair tether. — See Jamieson's Scottish Dictionanj, sub voc. Milk the Tether. 
 
 Page 139 — A good description of the view from the top of Scuir Eigg will be 
 found in Leyden's Journal of a Tour in the Highlands and Western Islands of Scotland 
 in l80O,p. 158. 
 
 Page 158 — "The inexhaustible meal chest." Cf. the Dagdae's Caldron — 
 No company ever went from it unthankful. — Voyage of Bran, ii. 173. 
 
 Page 160. — " My curse on tliy teaching mouth." Probably the translation 
 should run as Mr. Robertson suggests — " My curse on the mouth that taught 
 thee." This view is strengthened by the similar phrase — "Beannachd dhuitse 's 
 moUachd do d'oidionnsachaidh." — W.H. Tales, i. 12. 
 
 " Well," said the Gruagach, " that is your son. I can't blame you for having 
 him ; but I blame your instructor for the information he gave you, and I give him 
 my curse." — Curtin's Myths, &C., p. 145. 
 
 Page 162. — "The two neighbours and their Hogmanay whisky, or the man 
 who danced a year and a day with tlie fairies," is a shortened version of the 
 extremely diverting tale given by Stewart, p. 62, and followed by Keightly, p. 
 386. It is much abbreviated in Vf.H. Tales, ii. 74. 
 
 Page 168 — The tale is a superior version of Kallundborg Church Keightly's 
 
 Fairy Mythology, p. I16, II7, note. 
 
 As to divulging the fairy's name. — Ct. Inge of Rantum, Keightly 232. 
 
HOTES—contlnuiJ. Jlj 
 
 Page 172— "AShrutha-Shliabh" is an attempt to derive the name of Stirling 
 which in the Gaelic of to-day is Sruileadh, Sruibhleadh, or Sriobhladh, the last 
 corresponding to the old Scottish form Strivling, or Strivelin. But the name ot 
 Snowdon, Snowden, or Snowdun was also applied to Stirling, and is probably 
 derived from Snuad, river, and dun, enclosure, fort, or hill, and thus corresponds in 
 meaning to the word in the text. 
 
 Page 174 — "The fairies were excellent musicians." Ct. "To the minstrel we 
 listened then — his melody admitted not of indiflerence — it lacked but little that 
 the swelling music, well sustained, had lulled us all to sleep." — Silvn Gadelica, ii. 
 116. Cf. The wonderful musical gifts of the Stromkarl, "the trees dance, and 
 waterfalls stop at his music." — Keightly, p. 152. 
 
 Page 176. — The phrase translated "skill without success," occurs W.B. Talis, 
 ii. 98, mistakenly translated "speechless art, or artless speech; also in Campbell's 
 Superstitions, p. 161, "ingenuity without advantage." Another version of the 
 MacCrimmon legend will be found in Campbell's Superititions, p. 139. 
 
 Page iSo^The Kiss ot the King's Hand. A pibroch so named will be 
 found in Thomason's Ceil Mor, p. 156. There is also in existence a pibroch 
 called Uaimh an Oir, though probably referring to a diiTerent incident. As 
 MacCrimmon entered the cave he encountered a wolf and played — 
 Is truagh tha mi gun tri laimh 
 Da lamh 's a' phlob is lamh 's a' chlaidheamh. 
 
 See J. A. MacCulloch's The Misty Jsle ofSkve, p. 242. 
 
 Page 186. — Duthil. Mr. MacDougall had decided on writing Daoghall, the 
 correct Gaelic. 
 
 Page 192.- — Fairies meet periodically to fight. — Silva Gadelica, ii. 224; Voyage 
 0/ Bran, ii, 21 5. 
 
 Page 196 — The sword MacGillony. The Highlander had fanciful names 
 tor his weapons. Duncan Maclntyre applied them freely to guns and halbert as 
 well. For names of swords, cf. W.H, Tales, iii. 402, verse 19, and note. 
 
 A drawn sword was a special protection from the fairies. " He caused set 
 furth the said James Glen, his alone betwixt nyne and ten in ane winter night, and 
 bade draw ane compas about the said James with ane drawn sword, and that the 
 said Stein went out his alone into the yaird to hold affe the fairye from the said 
 James." — Stirling Pres. Records, quoted in Stcial Sketches, p. 78. 
 
 A piece of cold iron or ,^teel put into the bed of a lady ' ' uneasy in her circum- 
 stances," will protect mother and ofTspring from being "fayed." — Stewart's 
 Highland Superstitions, p. 9 1. 
 
 Page 199. — "Fairy sweetheart" or this and other parts ot these tales, cf. 
 Keltie's The Scottish Highlands, i. 305, 7. 
 
jzS NOTES — continuai. 
 
 Page 10 z. — Very different from the foregoing (says Mr. MacDougall) was 
 the version current in Craignish in my boyhood. Murdoch of the golden locks 
 was a famous deer-hunter, who continued to follow his favourite occupation of 
 pursuing the deer until he became a blind old man. Being then no longer able to 
 provide for himself, he was led, by his unnatural son, to Ben-an-Or, his former 
 hunting-ground, and left there to perish of cold and hunger. He sat down alone 
 on the mountain side, and as he meditated on his helpless condition, his thoughts 
 were directed to a Higher Source for deliverance, and he gave them expression in 
 the following verses : — 
 
 " Is raise Murchadh Buidhe nam Fiadh, 
 A dh' fhagadh air sliabh Bheinn an Oir 
 Is ged tha mi aosda, liath, 
 [s fhurasda do Dhia mo dheanamh 6g." 
 
 [ I am Yellow Murdoch of the Deer, 
 Left on the slope of Ben-an-Or ; 
 And albeit I am old and sere, 
 God can make me young once more. ] 
 
 The legend adds that as the result of his pious trust in a Higher Power, he 
 recovered his sight, and regained sufficient strength to enable him to return home 
 without any human assistance. 
 
 Page 204. — " The Hunchback of the Willow Brake," cf "The Legend 01 
 Knockgrafton" in Joseph Jacob's More Celtic Fairy Tales^ p. 154. 
 
 Page 214. — The Caointeach (or Caoineag, Celt, Rev., v, 50), resembles the 
 Banshee who expressed themselves in the golgaire, or wail. * ' They gave forth 
 their lament on going from him, so that they moved the persons who were in the 
 Lioj exceedingly. It is from the lament cry of the women of the Side that t.ie 
 musicians of Ireland have retained it." Tain So Fraich, 149, and note. O'Curry, 
 On the JUann.f iii. 383. 
 
 MacLachlan, Celtic Gleanings, p. 76, speaking or the Mackays ol the Rhinns 
 in Islay, says — " This tribe crossed at a late period to Ireland and became 
 Magees." MacD. in his MS. calls them the Clan Magee. 
 
 Page 216 — "Gruagach, a female spectre of the class of Brownies, to which the 
 Highland dairymaids made frequent libations of milk, frisked and gambolled about 
 the cattle pens and folds, armed only with a pliable reed, with which she switched 
 all who annoyed her by uttering obscene language, or by neglecting to leave for 
 her a share of the dairy produce." — MacGregor's Highland Superstitions, p. 33. 
 
 Gruagach, now a common word for "girl," means "hairy," a fact which 
 emerges as well known in the Speyside synonym Meg Mholach, haiiy Meg 
 Stewart, p. 98). Gruagach, wizard-champion, is masculine in Old Celtic Romances, 
 p. 148; The Laughing Gruagach, Curtin's Myths, S^c.,-p. 114; The Fisherman's 
 
NOTES— continuej. 317 
 
 Son and the Gruagach of the Tricks, p. 139; and in IVaifi and Strains, ii. 97. All 
 these partake of a common character with the Brownie-clod, so called from a habit 
 he had of flinging clods at passers-by. — Keightly, p. 395. 
 
 The phonetic Gaelic of Keightly, p. 384, thus corrected, 
 Fhuair Brtinaidh cot' is currac, 
 'S cha dean Briinaidh obair tuilleadh, 
 might, mutatis mutandis, apply to several of our tales. 
 See Campbell's Superstitions ^ Index. 
 
 Page ii8. — '■ Shelling bothy" life, for an excellent account hereof, by Dr. 
 Carmichael, see Skene's Celtic Scotland, iii. 385. 
 
 Page 230. — "The Strath Dearn hunter," similar details will be found in 
 Stewart's Highland Superstitions, p. 132. 
 
 Page 234 — Glaistig occupied a middle position between the fairies and man- 
 kind. She was not a fairy woman, but one of human race who had a fairy nature 
 given her.— Campbell's Superstitions, p. 157. 
 
 See the whole essay, where some of the tales ot our text are mentioned, — The 
 Glaistig at Glenduror, p. 162; Selvach MacKelvie, p. 174; and the Onich 
 Brothers, p. 181. 
 
 Page 240 — Another (and superior) version of the Croon of Ben Breck is 
 found in W.H. Tales, ii. 369. 
 
 A translation by John Campbell Shairp of a version resembling Mr. 
 MacDougall's appears in Xyra Celtica, p. 277. 
 
 Page 253. — " He went to the river Spean to fish." 
 
 "Over Connla's Well grew nine beautiful mystical hazel trees, which annually 
 sent forth their blossoms and fruits simultaneously. The nuts were of the richest 
 crimson colour, and teemed with the knowledge of all that was refined in litera- 
 ture, poetry and art. No sooner, however, were the beautiful nuts produced on 
 the trees than they always dropped into the well, raising by their fall a succession 
 of shining red bubbles. Now, during this time the water was always full of 
 salmon, and no sooner did the bubbles appear than these salmon darted to the 
 surface and ate the nuts, after which they made their way to the river (Shannon). 
 The eating of the nuts produced brilliant crimson spots on the bellies of these 
 salmon ; and to catch and eat these salmon became an object of more than 
 gastronomic interest among those who were anxious to become distinguished in 
 the arts and in literature without being at the pains and delay of long study ; for 
 the fish was supposed to have become filled with the knowledge which was con- 
 tained in the nuts, which, it was believed, would be transferred to those who had 
 the good fortune to catch and eat them. Such a salmon was on that account 
 called the Ed Feasa, or Salmon of Knowledge ; and it is to such a salmon that we 
 sometimes meet a reference among our old poets, where, when speaking of objects 
 
Jig t^OTES— continued. 
 
 which they pretend to be above description, they say, "unless they had eaten of 
 the salmon of knowledge, they could not do it justice." — O'Curry On the Mann., 
 ii. 143. So Cormac, Tr. sub Caill Crinmon, p. 35. Cf. "The Song of Finn 
 Mac Cool, composed after his eating of the salmon of knowledge." — Lyra Celtica, 
 p. 4, note p. 375. 
 
 Page 258 — Thit story, or one similar in its main features, luggested to Scott 
 his first original ballad, Glenjinlas. 
 
 Page 160 —"The black cock of March." Curtin, Tales of the Fairiei, p. 115, 
 says — A cock hatched in March from a cock and hen hatched in March. 
 
 MacD. has this note — Is e sin coileach-tighe, dubh 'san dath, agus a thugadh 
 a mach am mios a' Mhairt. Cha 'n 'eil coileach eile a ghlaodhas cho fior. 
 Goiridh e 's a* mhionaid a thionndaidheas an oidhcbe gu la, 
 
 Coileach dubh a' Mhairt 
 Coileach is fire 'tha. 
 
 That is, a domestic cock, hatched in March, and black in colour. No other 
 cock crows so true. He crows at the very moment when night turns to day. 
 The black cock or March, 
 The truest in existence. 
 Campbell's Superstitions, \t. 88, says — "A black cock bom fsicj in the busy 
 time of the year," probably seed time. 
 See Faclair GaidUig^ sub Mart. 
 
 Page 294 — C.M.R. would read iochd air nachd, and refers to ichd-air-neachd, 
 at all events. — O'Reilly's Irish Dictionary, p. 300. 
 
 Page 298 — Mi fh^in is mi fh^in. Cf. W.H. Tales, ii. 206. 
 
 Page 308. — The Lowland form of the name "Poll na Craobhan " occurs in 
 an old rhyme at one time popular on Avonside and Speyside : — 
 And sit weel, Janetie, 
 
 And ride weel, Davie, 
 And your first stop will be 
 The bottom of Pot Cravie. 
 
 Page 310 — The Alnaic is a rugged stream that flows into the Avon at 
 Delnabo, near Tomintoul. 
 
 Archibald Sinclair, Printer, 47 Waterloo Street, Glasgow