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Folk Tales and Fairy Lore 




Sometime Minister of Duror 
Author of " Craignish Tales," and " Folk and Hero Tales " 




Minister of Strathfillan 

Author of "The Irish iEneid " 

Honorary Member of the Caledonian Medical Society 














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 fern, 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 
fern, a stem accusative sing, have been retained, e.g., cuir umad 
cirb de mo bhreacan, p. 214; as also an old accusative pi. mas. a 
stem used as nom. chuir na feara eòlas, p. 16 ; while other traces 
of the accusative mas. 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 run tilleadh, p. 302; gun 
tuilleadh dàil, p. 8; bhàrr a' bhùird-obair, p. 150; do 'n bhean 
bhochd. p. 100. 

The common spelling has been adhered to in words like 
àiridh, cha'n, sithe in preference to the more correct àirigh, cha 
n-, sidhe; and the accent has been retained on the two short 
unaccented words a 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.g., aig sail Beinne Bhric, p. 242, where the MS. has Beinn-a- 

Entirely new matter added by the Editor is enclosed in square 

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 — tèaruinte, 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. 
bhoidich, 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. 


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 ofifice demand an accurate knowledge 
and a fluent use. A whole world of poetry, tradition, superstition, 
anecdote, proverb, and clever repartee is famihar 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 
sugt;estive 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 friendliness 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 IVatfs 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 
fidy 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." 

Manse of Strathfillan, 
June, igio. 



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 

Cathal O' Cruachan and the Herd of the Stud, - - - 56 

Donald of the Burthens, ------- 68 

Black-haired John of Lewis, 74 

The Ben Vehir Dragons, 96 



Torr-a-Bhuilg, 100 

Tàladh na Mnà-Sìthe, 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 TuUoch, -. 190 

The Fairies Wrangling, 192 

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 


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 


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 




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 
bòidheach uaine o 'm faiceadh e, 'n uair a sheasadh e 
air a mhullach, gach bo is each agus ceithir-chasach 
a bh' aige. 

Air latha grianach brèagh chaidh e suas air an 
tulach so agus an uair a sheall e m'a thimchioll, cha 
robh beathach beò a bhuineadh dha ri fhaicinn. Sheas 
e tacain far an robh e, a' smuainteachadh ciod a thàinig 
riu, no c'àit' an rachadh e g'an sireadh. Am meadhon 
a smuainteachadh thug e sùil sìos gu bun an tulaich, 
agus ciod a chunnaic e 'na sheasamh an sin ach an 
Gadhar Cluas-dhearg Ban. 

" Gu dè fàth do sprochd an diugh, a Ridire nan 
Gleann 's nam Beann 's nam Bealach?" ars an 
Gadhar Cluas-dhearg Ban. " Is mor sin 's cha 
bheag," threagair an Ridire. " Tha gach beathach 
a bh' agam 's an t-saoghal air chall, 's gun fhios agam 
c'àit' an deachaidh iad." 

" Ma bheir thu dhomh-sa tè de d' nigheanaibh r' a 
pòsadh, bheir mise air ais iad uile dhuit ann an tiota," 
ars an Gadhar Cluas-dhearg Ban. Thubhairt an 
Ridire gu 'n tugadh, na'm bitheadh i fein toileach a 
ghabhail; agus dh' fhalbh iad le cheile dh' ionnsaidh 
a' Chaisteil. 

Cho luath 's a chaidh iad a stigh, chuir an Ridire 


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 


fios air a nighean bu shine, agus, 'n uair a thàinig i, 
labhair e rithe 'm briathraibh briodalach ciiiin, feuch 
am pòsadh i 'n Gadhar Cluas-dhearg Ban. An ise 
'phòsadh an cù breac 1 Cha deanadh i leithid air-son 
an t-saoghail. Agus gun fhacal tuilleadh a ràdh, dh' 
fhalbh i mach fo dhiomb mòr gu'n do chuireadh 
tairgse cho tàmailteach m' a coinneamh. 

Chuir e fios 'na dèidh-sa air an tè mheadhonaich. 
Ach cho luath 's a thàinig i stigh agus a chual' i 'n 
gnothach a bh' aige rithe, thionndaidh i air a sail agus 
sheòl i mach gun uibhir agus freagradh a thoirt da. 
An sin thàinig an te b' òige stigh, agus an uair a 
chual' i 'n t-aobhar mu 'n do chuireadh fios oirre, 
thuLhairt i r' a h-athair: " Pòsaidh mise e air 
chumhnant gu 'n toir e bhur cuid fèin air ais dhuibh- 

Gun dail na b' fhaide ghairmeadh daoine dh' 
ionnsaidh na bainnse agus air an oidhche sin fèin 
phòsadh nighean òg an Ridire ris a' Ghadhar Chluas- 
dhearg Bhàn. 

Moch an ath latha chaidh an Ridire mach gu mallach 
an tulaich uaine mu choinneamh a' Chaisteil, agus air 
dha sealltainn m' a thimchioll, chunnaic e gach beathach 
a bhuineadh dha ag ionaltradh far am fac' e mu dheir- 
eadh iad. Phill e stigh le gairdeachas agus co a choinn- 
ich e 'san dorus ach an aon duine b' eireachdail a 
chunnaic e riamh. B' e so Gadhar Cluas-dhearg Ban 
na h-oidhche roimhe, air fhuasgladh o na geisibh fo *n 
robh e, agus air aiseag g' a chruth nadurra fèin, a 
chionn gu'n do phòs nighean òg an Ridire e le 'toil fein. 
Chaidh iad a stigh le cheile, agus an uair a chunnaic da 
nighean eile an Ridire an duine brèagh a bh' aig 
am piuthar, bha iad duilich nach do phòs iad fein e. 

Dh' fhuirich an duine òg agus a bhean beagan làith- 
ean na b' fhaide maille ris an Ridire, agus an sin dh' 
fhalbh iad dh' ionnsaidh an ait' aige-san, Caisteal mòr, 


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 w'ent 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 


brèagh, far an robh iad cho sona, sòlasach '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 ghrein 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. 

Ràinig 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 thàinig ceòl sìth' 
mu thìmchioll an tighe, leis an do chuireadh an luchd- 
faire 'nan cadal, agus an sin thàinig cròg mhòr a stigh 
fo 'n ard-dorus, a sgriob leatha 'n leanabh, agus a dh' 
fhàg aran agus searrag fhion' an ceann na leapa. 

An uair a bha 'n t-àm 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 thàinig an duine fein, agus thug e 
leis i 'na charbad. 

An ceann la 's bliadhna eile thàinig i rithist gu tigh a 
h-athar gu bhi air a h-asaid, agus thachair gach ni dhi 
mar air a' cheud uair. 

Thàinig i 'n treas uair gu tigh a h-athar. Ach mu 
'n d' fhàg i 'tigh fein thug an duine aice òrdugh teann 
dhi gun i dh' innseadh 'ainm-san do dhuine beò. 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 deidh a h-asaid 
thainig an ceol mu thimchioll an tighe, agus am feadh 
'bha 'n luchd-faire 'nan cadal, thug a' chròg leatha 'n 
leanabh. Ach air an uair so cha d' fhàg i aon chuid 
aran no fion ; agus cha d' thainig an duine, mar b' 


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 
came 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. 


àbhaist 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 ràinig i, cha d' fhuair i 
creutair mu thimchioll a' Chaisteil. Thuig i mar bha, 
agus gun tuilleadh dàil dh' fhalbh i an dèidh 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 brògan, na h-eòin bheaga, 
bhuchallach, bhachlach, bhàrra-bhuidh' a' gabhail mu 
thàmh am bun nam preas agus am bàrr nan dos, agus 
easagan lughach, laghach a' taghadh àite mar a b' fhearr 
a dh' fhaodadh iad dhoibh fein, ged nach robh ise, 
nighean Ridire nam Beann 's nan Gleann 's nam 
Bealach. An sin thug i sùil 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 ijrlair. 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 
fuireachd an so an nochd. Bha 'n duine agad an so 
an raoir, e fein 's a thriùir chloinne. Sin agad ubhal 
a dh' fhàg 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 'fàgail beannachd aice, shin i dhi 
siosar, agus thubhairt i: "Sin agad siosar, agus an 
uair a gheàrras tu a' cheud bheum leis, leigidh tu as e, 
agus 'na dheidh sin gearraidh e leis fein an t-aodach 
anns a' chumadh a's aill leat a thoirt da." 

Thionn' i air falbh, agus shiubhail i air a h-aghaidh 
fad an la gus an robh dubhadh air a bonnaibh agus 
tolladh air a brògan, na h-eòin bheaga, bhuchallach. 


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 w-as 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 


bhachlach, bhàrra-bhuidhe a' gabhail mu thàmh am 
tun nam preas agus am barr nan dos, agus na h-easagan 
lughach, laghach a* taghadh àite mar a b' fhearr a dh' 
fhaodadh iad dhoibh fèin, ged nach robh ise, nighean 
Ridire nam Beann 's nan Gleann 's nam Bealach. Aig 
beul na h-oidhche thug i sùil 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 ùrlair. 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 fèin 
agus a thriùir chloinne." Fhuair i gabhail aice gu 
math le bean-an-tighe. Chuir i uisge teth air a 
casaibh, agus leaba bhog fo 'feisibh; 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 
rhuireas tu aon ghreim leis, leigidh tu as e, agus 
oibrichidh e leis fein tuilleadh." 

Thionn' i air falbh, agus chum i air a turns le ceum 
math, gus am fac' i uair-eigin air feadh an la an duine 
aice agus a chlann air thoiseach oirre. An sin 
chruadhaich i a ceum, agus shin i as 'nan deidh le 
'h-uile neart. Sheall esan 'na dheidh, 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 
fein as oirre, gus am fac' e ceàrdach air thoiseach air. 
Rinn e direach air a' cheàrdaich, agus anns an dol 
seachad dh' iarr e air na goibhnean moille 'chur air 
a' bhoireannach a bha 'tighinn 'na dheidh. Fhreagair 
iad gu'n deanadh iad sin; agus an uair a ràinig ise 
iad, rug iad oirre, agus chuir iad cearcall cho teann 
m' a meadhon 's gu 'm b' ann air eiginn a b' urrainn 
i ceum a thabhairt. Ach air a shon sin, cho luath 's 


of the Knight of the Glens and Bens and Pusses, 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 

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 w^as 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 w^hen she reached them they seized her 
and put so tight a hoop about her middle that it was 
with diflficulty 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 


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 spàirn chruaidh, 
sgàin an cearcall, agus thubhairt i: " Ged sgain mo 
chrios, cha do sgain mo chridhe," Dh' fhalbh i 'n 
sin le deann, agus chum i air siubhal gus an robh 
dubhadh air a honnaibh agus tolladh air a brògan, na 
h-eòin bheaga, bhuchallach, bhachlach, bharra-bhuidhe 
a' gabhail mu thàmh am bun nam preas agus am 
bàrr nan dos, agus na h-easagan lughach, laghach a' 
taghadh an àite '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' thàinig thu, nighean an Ridire? 'S e do 
bheatha 'n so an nochd. Bha 'n duine agad an so 
an raoir, e fein 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 snath- 
aid dhi : "Sin agad snàthad, agus an uair a ni thu 
aon ghreim leatha, leigidh tu as i agus fuaighidh i 'n 
sin leatha fein. 

Dh' fhalbh i aon uair eile air a turus, agus chum 
i air aghaidh gus an d' thàinig i air coltas àite 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 

Cha robh i ach goirid an sin an uair a thug i fa-near 
gu 'n robh gluasad mòr am measg muinntir a' bhaile. 
Dh' fheòraich i de chailleach - nan - cearc ciod a b' 
aobhar do'n ghluasad; agus dh' innis a' chailleach dhi 


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- 
hng 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 


gu "n robh am fear, leis an robh an t-aite, 'tighinn 
dachaidh, agus a' dol a phòsadh an oidhche sin. 
Smuainich i car tiota, ach ciod air bith umhail a chuir 
i, ghlèidh i a beachd dhi fein. Fhuair i 'n siosar, am 
meuran, agus an t-snathad, agus chuir i air shiubhal 
lad. An ùine ghoirid cha robh duine mu thimchioll 
an àite nach d'thainig a dh' fhaicinn nan rudan 
iongantach a bh'aig a' bhean an tigh cailkach-nan- 

Am measg chàich thàinig a' chàraid ùr-phòsda agus 
an uair a chunnaic a' bhean òg an acfhuinn fhuaghail 
a' falbh leò fein, cha deanadh ni feum leatha, ach am 
faotainn dhi fein. 

Faodar an còrr innseadh am beagan bhriathar. 
Fhuair a' bhean òg an acfhuinn fhuaghail air chumh- 
nant gu 'n leigeadh i leis a' bhan-choigreach faire 
'dheanamh tri oidhchean an deidh a cheile an seòmar 
an duine aice. Ach thug i 'n aire deoch fhàgail 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 làimh, gu 'm bi 'mhathair a bh' anns a' 
bhan-choigreach, dhòirt e 'n deoch-chadail, agus lion 
e 'n cupan le stuth eile. Dh' fhuirich 'athair 'na fhair- 
eachadh, agus chual' e 'bhan-choigreach ag ràdh : " A 
Shamhraidh-ri-dealt, nach truagh leat mi, 's gu'n d' 
shiubhail mi 'n saoghal ad' dheidh ? " Air ball dh' 
aithnich e co a bh' aige. Chaidh banais mhor, fhial- 
aidh, aighearach a dheanamh ; agus fhuair a' bhean òg, 
a bha, cead fuireachd le 'siosar, a meuran, agus a 
snathaid, an tigh cailleach-nan-cearc. 

Agus an uair a bha 'bhanais seachad, chuir iad mise 
dhachaidh le brògan beaga paipeir air cabhsair 


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. 


Chuir Gobhainn Dubh nan Soc a stigh 'ùine ag 
ionnsachadh na goibhneachd; ach aig ceann na h-ùine, 
cha b' urrainn e ni a bhuineadh do dh' obair goibhne 
'dheanamh, ach suic chrann-araidh. 

Dh' fhosgail e ceàrdach beagan mhiltean a mach 
o Dhùnèideann, agus thòisich e air deanamh shoe. 
Anns an am 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 
Ian shoe. Agus an dèidh dha na suic a reic, 
philleadh e dachaidh 'na shuain chadail anns a' chairt, 
a' fagail an t-seann eich bhàin gu bhi deanamh an 
rathaid mar a b' fhearr a dh' fhaodadh e. 

Air latha àraid faidhreach chaidh e mar bu ghnàth 
leis do 'n tigh-òsda; agus co a thachair air an sin ach 
Gobhainn-an-Righ. Chuir na feara eòlas air a chèile, 
agus shuidh iad sios ag òl gus an deachaidh an deoch 
'nan cinn. 

An sin thòisich a' bhòilich, 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' èirich 
Gobhainn-an-Rìgh, 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 am sin a mach." Dh'eirich 
an Gobhainn Dubh, agus fhreagair e: " Cuiridh mise 


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 



tri cheud eile, nach dean thu ni d'a leithid; ach gu 
'n dean mise rud a theid air thoiseach air an rud a ni 

Dhealaich na laoich, a' gealltainn a chèile a 
choinneachadh an ath fhaidhir, leis na rudan a dhean- 
adh iad. 

Aig deireadh an la phill an Gobhainn Dubh dhach- 
aidh 's a' chairt, mar b' àbhaist dha. Air an ath 
mhaduinn thionn' e mach do 'n cheàrdaich agus 
thòisich e air tuilleadh shoe a dheanamh. Chum e 
orra la an deidh la gus an d' thàinig an la roimh 'n ath 
fhaidhir. Air feasgar an la sin, thàinig duin'-uasal 
a stigh do 'n cheàrdaich, 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 tòisich 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-Righ." " Chuir thu sin," ars an 
duin'-uasal: " Bha mi fein 'san èisdeachd, agus chuala 
mo chluasan fein thu 'cur tri cheud marg ris." 

" Ma-tà, 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 bhuidhneas 
tu, ni mise dhuit rud a choisneas an geall." 

" Bheir mi dhuit sin le m' uile chridhe," ars an 
Gobhainn Dubh. 

Gun tuilleadh dàil chaidh an duin'-uasal an greim. 
Rinn e 'n toiseach cnap math bocsa. An deidh sin 
chuir e pios mòr iaruinn air an teallach, agus an ùine 
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 


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 b'efore 
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 


a' Ghobhainn Dubh, " an uair a dh' fhalbhas tu am 
màireach 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 cù ; agus tha mise air mo mhealladh mur 
coisinn e 'n geall dhuit." An sin dh' fhag 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. Ràinig 
e 'n fhaidhir ann an deagh am, agus choinnich 
Gobhainn-an-Righ e le bocsa fo 'achlais. An sin 
thachair gach ni eatorra mar bha dùil aig an duin'- 
uasal. Mu dheireadh dh' fhosgail Gobhainn-an-Righ 
a bhocsa, agus leum fiadh brèagh mach as, agus air 
falbh ghabh e 'na dheannaibh. An sin dh' fhosgail 
an Gobhainn Dubh a bhocsa fein, agus leum mialchu 
gasda a mach, agus shin e an deidh an fheidh, agus 
stad cha d' rinn e gus an do ghlac e 'm fiadh, agus 
an d' fhag e aig casan a' Ghobhainn Duibh e. " M* 
fhianuis ort fein, a nis," ghlaodh an Gobhainn Dubh 
ri Gobhainn-an-Righ, " gu 'n do chaill thu do gheall." 
" Chaill mi an geall so, gu dearbh ; ach theagamh 
gu'm buidhinn mi an ath aon," fhreagair Gobhainn-an- 
Righ, agus e a' sineadh do 'n Ghobhainn Dubh gach 
peighinne do 'n airgiod gill. 

Chaidh iad an sin do 'n tigh-òsda 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 


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- 

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 Iving'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 line 
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, 1 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 

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. 


chèile 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 
ban dachaidh e. 

Air an ath mhaduinn b' e 'cheud ni a rinn e dol do 
'n cheàrdaich 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' thàinig am feasgar mu dheireadh roimh 'n fhaidhir. 

Goirid mu 'n d' thàinig am sguir, co a thionn' a stigh 
do 'n cheàrdaich ach an duin'-uasal a rinn am mialchu. 
Chuir e fàilt' air a' Ghobhainn Dubh, agus dh' 
fheòraich 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-tà," ars an duin'-uasal 
" ma gheallas tu dhomh-sa leth na bhuidhneas tu, 
agus nach teid thu tuilleadh do 'n tigh-òsda, 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 tx^csa. 'Na dhèidh sin rinn e 
beisd-dubh mhòr làidir 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 teid thu do 'n tigh-òsda, 
agus nach cuir thu geall eile, air eagal gu 'n caill thu 
na bhuidhinn thu. An ceann beagan la tadhailidh 
mise rithist anns a' cheàrdaìch, agus bheir thu dhomh 


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 

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 


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 ràinig e, 
choinnich e Gobhainn-an-Righ ; ach dhiùlt e 'bhocsa 
'fhosgladh an toiseach. An sin chaidh Gobhainn-an- 
Righ gu taobh an uisge, agus cho luath 's a dh' 
fhosgail e 'bhocsa, leum bradan a mach as do 'n uisge, 
agus shnàmh e air falbh uapa. An sin dh' fhosgail 
an Gobhainn Dubh a bhocsa fein, agus leum a* bhèist- 
dubh a mach an deidh a' bhradain, agus an ùine 
ghoirid rug i air, agus phill i leis 'na beul, agus dh' 
fhàg i e aig casaibh a maighstir." 

" M' fhianuis ort fein," 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-òsda, paidhidh mi dhuit a 
h-uile peighinn deth." '* Cha teid 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 làithean co bhuail a stigh do 'n 
cheàrdaich ach an duin'-uasal. Dh' fheith e greis an 
dùil gu'm paidheadh an Gobhainn Dubh dha na 
choisinn e gun iarraidh ; ach ged dh' fheitheadh e gu 
la 'bhràth' cha tigeadh an Gobhainn Dubh air ni d'a 
leithid. Mu dheireadh thubhairt e ris: " Thàinig mi 
air-son mo dhuais' : is fhearr dhuit a thabhairt domh, 
agus mo leigell air falbh." Ach duais 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' fhàg e rud-eigin anns a' cheardaich. 

Beagan làithean 'na dheidh sin thàinig duin'-uasal 
eile air muin eich a dh' ionnsaidh na ceàrdaich, 's an 
t-each aige ro chrùbach a chion chrijidhean. Air dha 


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 tet." *' 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 


fàilte an latha 'chur air a' ghobhainn, thubhairt e: " B' 
fhearr learn gu 'n cuireadh tu crùidhean air an each 
agam, oir tha e cho deireasach 's nacli 'eil 
comas ceum aige." " An e mise? " ars an Gobhainn 
Dubh, " cha d' rinn mise ball riamh de dh' obair 
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 fhein leat." " Seadh, 
seadh, ma-tà! nì mise cho math 's is urrainn mi," 
fhreagair an Gobhainn Dubh. 

Chaidh an duin'-uasal a mach, agus gheàrr e 
ceithir chasan an eich dheth o na glùinean. Thug e 
stigh iad, agus charaich e iad 'san teine. Chaidh e 
fèin air laimh a' bhuilg, agus bha 'n Gobhainn a' 
cumail an teine dùinte 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-òrd- 
làimh, agus leum an duin'-uasal a dh' ionnsaidh an 
uird-mhoir, agus le beagan bhuillean rhriiidh iad a* 
chas cho glan 's a rinn gobhainn riamh. An uair a 
bha iad reidh dhith, ghabh iad na casan eile, agus 
chrùidh iad te mu seach dhiùbh air an dòigh cheudna. 
An sin ghlaodh an duin'-uasal ris a' Ghobhainn Dubh: 
" Bi mach leis an da chois thoisich, agus buail iad 
'nan àite fèin air an each." Rinn an Gobhainn Dubh 
sin, agus rinn an duin'-uasal fein an ni ceudna air an 
da chois dheiridh. 

Ann an tiota dh' èirich an t-each cho slàn 's bha e 
riamh, agus crùidhte, deas, air-son an rathaid. An sin 
leum an duin'-uasal 'san diollaid, 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 mbnaoi: "Cha bhi mi na 's fhaide 'paidheadh 


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 heat!" 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 bellows, while he kept 


tuarasdail do shlaoightearan ghoibhnean ; oir theid 
agam fhein a nis air crùidheadh as an eugmhais. 
Tiugainn a mach, agus cuidich leam an t-each ban a 
chrùidheadh, oir tha agam ri doi leis do 'n bhaile an 
ùine ghoirid." An uair a chriochnaich e na bh'aige 
ri ràdh, dh' fhalbh e do 'n stàbull, agus gheàrr e casan 
an eich bhàin dheth, agus an sin tiiug e stigh do 'n 
cheàrdaich iad, agus chàraich e iad anns an teine. 
Chuir e a bhean a sheideadh a' bhuilg, agus chaidh e 
fein a chumail guail air na casan. An uair a shaoil 
e gu'n robh iad deas, shlaod e te dhiijbh mach a dh' 
ionnsaidh an innein, agus bhuail e buille oirre leis an 
òrd. Ach bha 'chas 'na cnaimh guaihe suas g' a leth, 
agus uime sin chuir am buille i 'na sgealban air feadh 
na ceardaich. Bha 'n còrr de na casan air a' cheart 
chor, agus le sin cha robh aig a' Ghobhainn Dubh ach 
an t-each ban, bochd a chur a cràdh gun dàil, agus a 
chlosach a chur fo 'n talamh cho sàmhach 's a b' 
urrainn e. 

Uine mhath an dèidh do 'n dara duin'-uasal falbh, 
thàinig an treas duin'-uasal do 'n cheàrdaich, agus da 
chailleach maille ris. Thubhairt e ris a' Ghobhainn 
Dubh: "An dean thu dhomh-sa nighean òg de 'n da 
chaillich so, agus bheir mi dhuit duals mhath air-son 
do shaothrach?" Fhreagair an Gobhainn Dubh: 
"An e mise? Cha d' rinn mise riamh ach suic." 
" An toir thu dhomh fhein, ma-tà, tacan de 'n cheàrd- 
aich, agus de d' chuideachd? ars an duin'-uasal. 
"Gheibh thu sin," fhreagair an Gobhainn Dubh. 
"So, ma-tà! 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; 


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 
< 'd 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 

As soon as he parted with them, the Swarthy Smith 
made his way to the house, and said to his wife: 


agus an sin thòisich an duin'-iiasal air bualadh leis 
an òrd-mhòr, agus an Gobhainn Dubh leis an òrd- 
làimh, agus le aon gharadh tathaidh rinn iad an aon 
nighean bu bhrèagh 'chunnaic duine riamh. An uair 
a tha iad deas, thug an duin'-uasal duais mhath do 'n 
Ghobhainn Dubh, agus dh' fhalbh e, agus an nighean 
òg 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 òg cho brèagh 's a chunnaic thu riamh a 
dheanamh de dhà shean chaillich. Falbh agus ni sinn 
te eile de d' mhàthair fhèin agus de m' mhathair-sa, 
agus an sin bithidh againn ni nach robh againn gus 
an so, nighean leinn fhein," Thubhairt a bhean : 
" Thoir an aire nach e leithid eile ri goibhneachd an 
eich bhàin 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 bhain a bh' aige mu dheireadh, 
b' e ni-eigin a sheachd miosa. 

Chaidh ùine seachad, agus an sin co 'thadhail anns 
a' cheàrdaich ach an ceud dhuin'-uasal. An deidh 
dha fàilte 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 thòisich an duin'-uasal air 
fas cho mor '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 mor 'san robh e, thug e mach as a phòca 
sporan leathraich a bha druidte le iallan. agus an 
sin thubhairt e ris an duin'-uasal: "Tha mi 'faicinn 


" 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 
vSmith, 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. 
\V^hen 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 


gu 'n tèid agad air thu fein a dheanamh mòr gu 
leòir; ach, ma ni thu nis cho beag thu fein 's gu 'n 
tèid thu 'san sporan so, bheir mi dhuit na th' agad 
orm a dh' airgiod." Ann an tiota thòisich an duin'- 
uasal air fas na bu lugha agus na bu lugha gus an robh 
e mu dheireadh cho beag 's gu 'n do leum e 'na 
dhùradan crìon, 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 òrd-mhòr cho math 's a 
b' urrainn e. Sgàin an sporan agus rinn e braigheadh 
cho mòr 's gu 'n do shaoil bean a' Ghobhainn gu 'n 
do sheideadh a' cheàrdach agus na bh' innte anns na 
speuran àrd. Ruith i mach le uamhas, agus dh' 
fheòraich i gu de thachair. Fhreagair an duine aice: 
" Fhalbh ! ma thug esan an car asam-sa mu 'n each 
bhàn agus mu na cailleachan, thug mise 'n car as-san 
le 'bheatha thoirt dheth." 

Lean e air na suic a dheanamh, agus air dol leò, 
uair 's a' mhlos, chum na faidhreach; ach, dh' fhàs e 
'na dhuine glic, agus uair air bith a thigeadh èiginn 
airgid air, bheireadh e beagan as an ionmhas a dh' 
fhalaich e fo stairsneach na ceardaich. 


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. 


O cheann fhada bha mòran a' creidsinn gu 'n robh 
cuid de na seann chladhanna le làraichean sheann 
eaglaisean annta air an tathaich le taibhsibh agus le 
bòcain gun aireamh. An deidh tuiteam na h-oidhche, 
bu tearc iad le 'm b'aill dol seachad air aon dhiubh, gu 
sònraichte ma bha e fad air falbh o ionaid-chòmhnaidh 
nam beò, agus bu teirce na sin iad aig an robh de 
an-dànachd gu 'n rachadh iad a stigh do'n àite mhi- 
chneasda re uair shàmhach a' mheadhoin-oidhche. 
Gidheadh thairgeadh còrr fhear neo-sgàthach an 
dearbhadh so a thoirt seachad air a mhisnich. A 
dheanamh an dearbhaidh cinnteach, bha ciaigeann 
duine air fhagail am fròigean taobh a stigh do làraich 
na seann eaglaise, agus cho luath 's a bhuaileadh da 
uair dheug a dh' oidhche, rachadh e stigh do'n làraich 
'na aonar, agus bheireadh e air ais leis an ciaigeann 
do dh' àite far an robh a chompanaich a' feitheamh 
r'a theachd. 

Bha, uair-eigin, Tàillear a chòmhnaidh air baile 
Fhionnchuirn làimh ri taobh deas Loch Obha; agus 
air dha aicheadh gu'n robh taibhsean idir ann, thug 
a choimhearsnaich dubhlan da a dhearbhadh dhoibh 
gu'n robh e n da-rireadh le dol mu mharbh mheadhon- 
oidhche do chladh Chill-an-iubhair, agus an ciaigeann 
a bha 'n uinneig na seann eaglais' a tha 'tabhairt 'ainme 
do 'n àite, a thoirt air ais leis. 


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 tw^elve o'clock at 
night strucK, he w-ould 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. 


Fhreagair an Taillear gu'n d'thugadh e dhoibh 
dearbhadh 'bu làidire eadhon na sin le paidhir- 
thriubhais 'fhuaigheal anns an eaglais eadar am dhol 
a laidhe agus gairm-choileach air an oidhche sin fein. 
Ghabh iad e air 'fhacal; agus cho luath 's a thàinig 
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 
làimh ris, thòisich e air 'obair chianail, fhadalaich. 
Chaidh a' cheud uair seachad sàmhach gu leòir, 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 da uair 
dheug mar an ceudna seachad, gidheadh cha'n fhaca 's 
cha chual' e ni air bith a chuir an sgàth bu lugha air. 

Ach uair-eigin an deidh sin chual' e fuaim a' teachd 
o lic-lighe a bha eadar e 's an dorus; agus air dha 
fiar-shùil a thoirt 'na rathad bha leis gu 'm fac' e 'n 
talamh fuipe 'g eirigh 's a* tuiteam. Chuir an seall- 
adh air tijs ioghnadh air, ach an liine 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 

Goirid an deidh sin thubhairt guth fròmhaidh, a 
thainig a mach o'n chloich cheudna: " Sud a' chròg 
mhòr liath, 's i gun bhiadh, a ThàiUeir." Ach 
fhreagair an Taillear: "Chi mi sin, agus fuaighidh 
mi so"; agus thòisich e air seinn agus air fuaigheal, 
mar bha e roimhe. 

An ceann tacain eile thubhairt an guth fròmhaidh 
ceudna le fuaim na b'àirde. " Sud an ceann mor, 
liath, is e gun bhiadh, a Thailleir." Ach fhreagair 
an Taillear a rithist: "Chi mi sin, agus fuaighidh mi 


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 

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. 

:ì8 folk tales and fairy lore. 

so"; agus dh' fhuaigh e na bu luaithe, agus sheinn 
e na b' àirde na rinn e riamh. 

An treas uair labhair an guth agus thubhairt e le 
f uaim a b' àirde agus a bu neo-shaoghalta na rinn e 
fhathast: " Sud an slinnein mor, liath, 's e gun 
bhiadh, a Thailleir." Ach fhreagair an Tàillear mar 
bu ghnàth leis: "Chi mi sin, agus fuaighidh mi so," 
agus chluich e 'n t-snàthad na bu luaithe, agus 
tharraing e na greimeannan na b' fhaide. 

Chaidh an obair so air a h-aghaidh fad ùine, an 
duine marbh a' leigeadh ris an ath uair a shleisde, 
agus, mu dheireadh, a choise. An sin thubhairt e le 
guth uamhasach : "Sud a' chas mhòr, liath, 's i gun 
bhiadh, a Thailleir." Aon uair eile fhreagair an 
Tàillear gu misneachail : "Chi mi sin, agus fuaighidh 
mi so." Ach bha fios aige gu 'n d'thàinig an t-àm 
dha teicheadh. Le sin chriochnaich e 'obair le dithis 
no tri de ghreimeannan fada, agus snaim chruaidh 
air an ceann, sheid 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* fhàgadh fad iomadh latha aile a 
làimh agus a mheòir. 

Gu fortanach thòisich a nis coilich Fhionnchuirn 
air glaodhaich, agus an sin thuit am marbh air ais d'a 
uaigh, agus phill an Tàillear dhachaidh gu caithream- 


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 1 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 

Fortunately the cocks of Fincharn now began to 
crow, the dead man returned to his grave, and the 
tailor went home triumphant. 


Bha ann roimhe so Righ na Greige a chaidh le 'thriùir 
mhac, Uthar, Art, agus Uilionn, do 'n bheinn-sheilge. 
An uair a ràinig iad a' bheinn, shuidh iad sios air 
tolman bòidheach uaine air chiil gaoithe 's ri aodann 
greine, far am faiceadh iad gach duine, *s nach 
faiceadh duine iad. Thubhairt am mac 'bu shine, 's 
e 'na shuidhe air làimh dheis 'athar, agus a dhà 
bhràthair air a làimh chlì : " Dh' fheumadh an duine 
sin a bhi gle mhath air a shon fein a thigeadh a nis 
agus a bhuaileadh buille air m' athair, agus a bheir- 
eadh fiacail a dorus a bheòil. Fhreagair am mac a b' 
òige: "Cha chuala sinn riamh iomradh air duine 
'dheanadh sin ach Iain Dubh Mor mac Righ na Sorcha. 
Cha bu luaith' a chaidh am facal as a bheul na thàinig 
Iain Dubh Mor mar sheabhag na seilge bho 'n 
chreachann agus bhuail e 'n Righ anns a' fcheul, agus 
thug e leis fiacail a chuir e à dorus a bheòil. 

An sin dh' eirich triiiir Mhac an Righ, agus bhòidich 
iad nach leigeadh iad poll a bròg no lub à osan gus 
am faigheadh iad fiacail an athar. Shin iad as 
dachaidh, agus chuir iad soitheach an òrdugh, agus 
shuidhich iad a cùrsa an taobh a shaoil iad aims an 
robh dùthaich Iain Duibh Mhoir suidhichte, agus: — 


There was before now a King of Greece who went 
with his three sons, Uther, Arthur, and Ulin to the 
hunting liill. 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 — 


Bu bhòidheach An sealladh an soitheach. 
Mar euu air bhàrraibh nan tonn, 
A' sgaoileadli o cheile na sàile 
Le guailnibh liomharra lom ; 
A croinn chaola deagh-shnaithte 
Cho direach ri saighead nach cam, 
A' Hibadh fo h-aodach brèid-gheal. 
Mar sheideadh an osag nach gann. 

An deidh dhoibh a bhi seòladh fad mhoran làithean, 
dhìrich Uilionn òg 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 dè 'tha thu 'faicinn?" ars iadsan. "Is beag e 
ma's eilean e, agiis 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 'ràdh fathast ach mar 
thubhairt e cheana, gu 'm bu bheag an ni *bha e 
'faicinn na 'm b' eilean e, ach gu m' bu mhòr e, 
na'm b' eun e. An ceann ùine moire dhirich e 'n treas 
uair, ach mu'n d' ràinig e bàrr a' chroinn, ghlaodh e 
mach: " Is e fearann a th' ann," agus rinn iad direach 

Cho luath 's a ràinig iad an cladach, chaidh iad air 
tir, agus dh' imich iad air an aghaidh feuch clod a 
thachradh orra, Cha deachaidh iad ro fhada gus an 
d' thàinig iad gu beul creige moire, far am fac* iad, 
'na sheasamh leis fein, bodachan beag, seacta, seargta; 
agus laimh ris, cliabh le taod fada 'n ceangal ris. Dh' 
fheòraich iad deth co e, agus ciod a bha e 'deanamh 
an sud ? Fhreagair e gu 'm b' esan Portair Iain 
Duibh Mhoir, 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. 


[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 w-as 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 


Chaidh am brathair '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 mor is 
nach gabhadh e na chunnaic e riamh agus tearnadh. 
An sin chaidh an dara bràthair 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 òg 
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 bhràthraibh: " Tillibh dhach- 
aidh leis an luing, agus ma bhitheas mise beò. ruigidh 
mi sibh luath no mall. 

Ràinig e bun na creige gu teàruinte, agus b' ann 
an sin a bha 'n t-àite brèagh, le Caisteal mor, 
cuairtichte le balla àrd, 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 Mor bliadhna roimh 'n am sin, agus a bha aige 
anns a' Chaisteal ; ach cha robh fhios aige gus an sin 
CO a ghoid i, no c'àit' a thugadh i. Chuir e ioghnadh 
mor 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 dèidh 
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." 

Thàinig am feasgar agus Iain Dubh Mor 's a 
ghaisgich leis. An uair a fhuair e na geatachan 
druidte air thoiseach air, ghlaodh e ris a' bhoirionnach 


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, 
lie 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 


am fosgladh dha : ach cha d' fhuair e uibhir agus 
freagradh. Ghlaodh e 'n dara agus an treas uair; 
ach ma ghlaodh, b' ann an diomhain. Mu dheireadh 
thuig e gu'n d' thàinig Uilionn òg, agus gu 'n robh 
e stigh anns a' Chaisteal. Le sin ghlaodh e ris: 
" Geill no còmhrag." " Gèill no còmhrag," ars 
Uilionn òg, " cha'n fhaigh thu 'n nochd, ach cuir 
air do shon fein gle mhoch am màireach." 

Le eirigh na greine air an ath latha dhirich Uilionn 
òg air a' bhalla, agus ghlaodh e: "Am faigh mi 
cothrom na Feinne?" Fhreagair Iain Dubh Mòr: 
" Gheibh thu còmhrag aon fhir, no còmhrag dithis, 
no triùir fhear, mar is aill leat." Cha d' eisd Uilionn 
òg ri tuilleadh cainnt, ach leum e thar a' bhalla, agus 
ghlaodh e gu 'n gabhadh e còmhrag ri aon fhear. 
Fhuair e sin, agus chaidh e fèin agus Gaisgeach na 
Sgeithe-deirge an caraibh a chèile. Ghleac iad gu 
cruaidh fad an la; ach mar bha 'm feasgar a' dlùthach- 
adh, bha Uilionn òg a' fas sgith agus fann ; ach an 
uair a chuimhnich e gu 'n robh e fad' o 'chairdean agus 
dlCith d'a naimhdean, ghlac e misneach, thug e aon 
bheum fuilteach, agus chuir e 'n ceann de Ghaisgeach 
na Sgeithe-deirge. 

Leum e "n sin thar balla a' Chaisteil ach mu 'n gann 
a bha e stigh, ràinig dùbhlan Iain Duibh Mhòir e: 
" Geill no còmhrag." Fhreagair e mar air an oidhche 
roimhe. " Geill no còmhrag cha'n fhaigh thu uam-sa 
'n nochd, ach cuir air do shon fein gle mhocii am 
màireach, agus gheibh thu sin." 

Moch air an ath latha dhirich Uilionn òg balla 
'Chaisteil, agus dh' iarr e rithist cothrom na Feinne. 
Fhuair e sin, agus chaidh e fein agus Gaisgeach na 
Sgeithe-uaine an dàil a cheile. Bha e 'buidhinn air 
a' Ghaisgeach an toiseach an la, ach mu chromadh 
na grèine s an àird-an-iar dh' fhairich se e fein 'fas 
sgith agus fann. Ach an uair a smuaintich e gu *n 


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 1 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 P'einn. 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 


robh e fad' o'chairdean agus dlùth 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 
Mòr dùbhlan 'na dhèidh mar air an oidhche roimhe. 

Air an atli làtha agus air an la 'na dheidh tliachair 
gach ni mar air a' cheud da la, agus chuir e na cinn 
bhàrr Gaisgeach na Sgeithe-gile agus Gaisgeach na 

Bha nis na Gaisgich uile marbh, agus air an ath 
mhaduinn bha Iain Dubh Mor 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' abhaist da, 
agus tharruinn e fein agus Iain Dubh Mor an dàil a 
chèile. Chòmhraig iad air tùs le 'n loinn, ach uair- 
eigin air feadh an la thàinig iad cho dlùth air a chèile 
's gu 'n deachaidh iad an spairn chruaidh ghleac. 
Dheanadh iad bogain a bhogain agus creagain à 
chreagain, far am bu bhuige e 'dol fodha gu ruig an 
sùilean, agus far am bu chruaidhe e gu ruig an 
glùinean, agus far am bu mheadhonaiche e gu ruig 
ceann reamhar na slèisde. Mu chromadh na grèine 
chuir Uilionn òg 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 cheile anns a' Chaisteal gus 
an do leithiseadh creuchdan Uilinn òig. An sin rinn 
iad deas air-son pilltinn dachaidh, agus thug iad leò 
gach or agus airgiod a bh' anns a' Chaisteal. Thug 
iad leò mar an ceudna each agus mialchu agus 
seabhag-sheilge Iain Duibh Mhoir; agus, ni 'bu 
phrlseile leò na gach ni eile, fiacail Righ na Grèige. 
Bha 'n t-astar fada, agus ghabh iad Ciine mhath air 


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 


an t-slighe. Mu dheireadh thàinig iad an sealladh 
àite Rìgh na Grèige. Ach an àite 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 
àite. Cha do ghabh iad orra co iad, ni mo dh' aithnich 
am muillear iad, ged b' eòlach orra e roimhe sin. 

An uair a thàinig an oidhche, agus a bha iad a' 
còmhradh ri cheile taobh an teine, thuthairt am 
muillear ri Uilionn òg: " Tha each agad cho brèagh 
's a chunnaic mi riamh. Bu choir dhuit dol leis am 
màireach gu reis nan each aig Caisteal an Righ." 
*' Cha tèid mis' ann," ars Uilionn òg, "ach faodaidli 
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 reis. Ràinig e 'n Caisteal ann an 
am. Chaidh na h-eich a tharraing suas aig ceann 
a* bhlàir-rèis, agus an t-òrdugh falbh a thoirt seachad. 
Le sinteig no dhà shaighdich each a' mhuilleir a mach 
roimh chàch uile, agus dh' fhàg e iad na b' fhaide 'na 
dheidh leis gach ceum a thug e gus an d' ràinig e 'n 
ceann-uidhe. Bha e 'n sin astar mòr air thoiseach air 
a' mharcaiche 'bu dlùithe dha, agus fhuair e 'n duais. 

Thill e dhachaidh 'san fheasgar le moit mhòir air, a 
chionn gu 'n do bhuidhinn e 'n reis. Dh' innis e do 
Uilionn òg gach gaisge a rinn e leis an each, agus 
an sin thubhairt e: "Tha rèis-chon ri bhi aig a' 
Chaisteal am màireach. Tha tri daimh fhiadh ri 'n 
leigeil as roimh na con, agus an cù 's luaithe, ;igus 
is mo a mharbhas, is e a gheibh an duais. Bu choir 
dhuit dol ann leis a' chù agad." " Cha tèid mis' 
ann," ars Uilionn òg, " ach thoir leat an ci!i, agus 
rach fèin ann leis." Cha robh tuilleadh dhlth air a' 
mhuillear, agus an uair a thàinig an t-am, dh' fhalbh 
€ leis a' chù air èill. Ràinig e'n t-àite. Chaidh na 


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 

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 


fèidh a leigeil as, agus na coin 'nan dèidh. Acli mu 
'n deachaidh iad ro fhada mharbh cù a' mhuilleir da 
fhiadh, agus an cù a b' fhaigse dha aon fhiadh. 

An uair a bha 'n rèis seachad, thàinig an Righ far 
an robh am muillear, agus dh' fheòraich e dheth c'àit' 
an d' fhuair e 'n t-each, agus an cù a bh' aige. 
Fhreagair e gu 'n d' fhuair e coingheall dhiubh o 
dhuine 'thàinig a dh' ionnsaidh a thighe, agus a fhuair 
cead fuireachd ann ; agus gu 'n robh seabhag-sheilg' 
aige cho brèagh 's a chunnaic duine riamh. " Falbh 
dhachaidh, agus innis dha gu 'm bi rèis-sheabhag an 
so am màireach," ars an Righ, "agus bi cinnteach 
gu 'n toir thu leat e fèin agus a sheabhag chum na 

Dh' fhalbh am muillear dhachaidh, agus dh' innis 
e do 'n choigreach mar chaidh dha aig an reis, agus 
am fios a chuir an Righ leis. 

Air an ath mhaduinn dh' fhalbh Uilionn òg agus 
am muillear leis an t-seabhaig, agus ràinig iad an 
Caisteal an am. Chaidh sè calmain a leigeil as, agus 
na seabhagan as an deidh. Ach mu 'n deachaidh iad ro 
fhada, spad seabhag Uilinn òig an t-sè. 

An sin chaidh an Righ far an robh an coigreach 
aig an robh i, agus nach d' aithnich duine 'làthair, 
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 
phòc', agus shin e i do 'n Righ, ag ràdh : " Feuch 
ciamar a fhreagras sin duibh." 

Air ball dh' aithnich an Righ a mhac, agus rinn e 
gàirdeachas mòr r' a fhaicinn slàn, fallain. Mho! e 
'n sin e air-son na h-oibre a rinn e air a sgàth-san. 
" Rinn mi obair a tha cheart cho math ri sin. Thug 
mi dhachaidh mo bhean, a ghoideadh uam, bliadhna 


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 LJlin 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 


mu 'n d' fhalbh mi o 'n tigh." " Ma thug," ars an 
Rlgh, " thoir an so i gun dàil, chum 's gu 'm faic 
mi i." Chuireadh fios oirre gu tigh a' mhuilleir, agus 
an uair a thàinig i, rinn an Righ gàirdeachas mòr r' a 
faicinn a ris. Ghabh ise an fhiacail, agus chuir i i 
anns a' cheart àite anns an robh i, an dorus a bheòil. 
An sin rinneadh cuirm mhor dhaibh-san uile 'bh' aig 
na reisean, agus an uair a bha 'chuirm seachad, dh' 
fhalbh mise dhachaidh. 


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. 


Bha Cathal O' Cruachan agus Buachaille na Greighe 
ann uair-eigin roimhe so. 

Thachair iad air a cheile, agus chuir iad geall air- 
son camanachd. Bha a' chamanachd ri seasamh tri 
làithean, agus aig ceann na tim 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 la, agus bhuidhinn Cathal 
O' Cruachan. Choinnich iad a ris an dara la, agus 
chain Cathal O' Cruachan, agus bhuidhinn Buachaille 
na Greighe. Air an treas la chaidh iad ris a' chluich 
aon uair eile, agus chuir iad an la glè theth, ach 
bhuidhinn Cathal, agus chaill am Buachaille. 

An sin thubhairt Buachaille na Greighe ri Cathal: 
" Tachair orm-sa am màireach aig a' leithid so de dh' 
àite, 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' thàinig an loth pheallagach, 
odhar, a bha air dheireadh. An sin thubhairt e: 
"Is e so mo roghainn de na h-eich," agus an uair 


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 

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 


a rug e oirre, dh' fhalbh e dhachaidh, làn-thoilichte 
leatha. Ach mo thruaigh lèir ! cha b' fhada a mheal 
e a shòlas. An uair a rainig e dhachaidh, dh' innis iad 
da gu 'n do ghoid Famhair a bhean an uair a bha e 
air falbh. Bhoidich e nach rachadh poll à 'bhròig 
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 
lalbh, gus an robh dubhadh air a bhonnaibh, agus 
tolladh air a bhrògan, na h-eòin bheaga, bhuchallach, 
bhachlach, bhàrra-bhuidhe a' gabhail mu thàmh am 
bun nam preas 's am barr nan dos, na h-easagan 
lughach, laghach, mar a b' fhearr a thaghadh iad fein 
d'a chèile; ach gcd 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 Moire. Thubhairt am Madadh coir: "A 
Chathail O'Cruachain, a dhuine bhochd, chaidh do 
bhean bhòidheach seachad an so an raoir aig an 
Fhamhair Mhor air a ghualainn. 

Fhuair e gabhail aige gu math leis a' Mhadadh 
choir, na 'n deanadh sitheann fhiadh agus earb, feòil 
chaorach agus mhult, gu leòir de bhoicionn ghabhar 
fodha agus de chraicionn chaorach thairis air sin. 
Chaidil e cho socrach 's a rinn e riamh. 'N uair a dh' 
èirich 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 càs no èiginn 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 bhrògan, na h-eòin bheaga, 
bhuchallach, bhachlach, bhàrra-bhuidhe a' gabhail 
mu thàmh am bun nam preas 's am barr nan dos; na 
h-easagan lughach, laghach, mar a b' fhearr a 


he laid hold of her, he went away home, thoroughly 
pleased with her. 

But, alas ! (my utter woe !) he did ni>t 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 oi 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." 


thaghadh iad fein d'a cheile; 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 
(hreag na Sgeilpe. Thubhairt an t-Seabhag ris: " A 
dhuine bhochd, chaidh do bhean bhrèagh seachad an 
so an raoir aig an Fhamhair Mhor air a ghualainn." 
Fhuair e gabhail aige gu math le Seabhag Chreag na 
Sgeilpe na 'n deanadh eòin ruadha, 's tàrmachain, 
liath-chearcan, is gach seòrsa eun a b' annasaiche na 
chèile sin. Chuir an t-Seabhag a laighe e, air dim 
iteag a thainig thairis air. 

" Caidil thusa gu socair, a Chathail O' Cruacliain; 
is fear-faire furachail Seabhag Chreag na Sgeilpe," 
ars i. 

Chaidil e gu socrach, agus 'n uair a dh' eirich 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 cas no èiginn ort am feasd anns an dean 
da sgèith luath, làidir, 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 bhrògan, 
na h-eòin bheaga, bhuchallach, bhachlach, bhàrra- 
bhuidhe a' gabhail mu thamh am bun nam preas 's 
am barr nan dos; na h-easagan lughach, lagliach, mar 
a b' fhearr a thaghadh iad fein d'a chèile; 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 dun còinnich, a bha 
cho socrach aige ri leabadh iteag na Seabhaige. 


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 housL 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 


Air an la màireach 'n uair a bha e 'gabhail beann- 
achd leis, thubhairt e ris: " Ala thig cas no eiginn ort 
ri d' thim, anns an dean mise feum dhuit, cuimhnich 
orm-sa, agus bithidh mise ri d' thaobh." 

Air feasgar an la sin ràinig 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 thig e." Chuir i an sin 
am falach e cho math 's a dh' fhaodadh i. 

'N uair a thàinig am Famhair as a' Bheinn-sheilge, 
agus a chaidh e stigh, thubhairt e: "I! Ho! 
Hothagaich ! tha mi a' faireachdainn fàile arrabhalaich 
an so an nochd." " Cha'n 'eil ann ach eun a thug an 
cat a stigh 's a tha mise a' ròstadh." 

'N uair a chaidh am Famhair a laighe, thòisich a' 
bhean ri ràdh ris: " Cha ghabh thu marbhadh leis cho 
làidir 's a tha thu." "Cha ghabh mi marbhadh le 
leum orm fèin 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 
eòin: agus co fhad' 's a bhitheas an t-ubh slàn, tha 
mo bheatha-sa tèaruinte. 

Dh' èirich 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 mor. Sheall e as a dèidh, 
agus chunnaic e nach robh ann ach faoineachd dha 
dol 'ga ruith. An sin thubhairt e ris fèin: " Nach bu 
mhath an so Madadh na Maoile Moire," agus mu 'n 
gann bha am facal a mach a 'bheul, bha 'm Madadh 
am broilleach na caorach. Thàinig e leatha, agus dh' 
fhàg 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 


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. W^hen his wife saw him, she said: "Thou 
must hide thyself, for the Giant will kill thee as soon 
as he w'ill come." She then hid him as well as she 

When the Giant came from the Hunting-hill and 
went in, he said: "E! Ho! Hoagich ! 1 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." " 1 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 

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 


an sin ris fein : " Nach bu mhath an so Seabhag 
Chreag na Sgeilpe. 

Mu 'n gann bha 'm facal a mach as a bheul, thàinig 
an t-Seabhag choir, agus thug i air ais an Caiman 
marbh, agus dh' fhàg 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 chàrn mòr chlach a bha dlùth 
do 'n àite. 

Ghlaodh an sin a' bhean ris: "A Chathail O' 
Cruachain, greas ort: tha am Famhair an dèidh tighinn 
thar faobhar na beinne a' gabhail gach sligh' a's 
giorra na cheile." 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 chàrn, agus a mach thàinig e, 
is an t-ubh aige 'na ghob. Cha mhor 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 bhròig 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 leò gach or is airgiod a bh' ann. Thug iad 
leò, mar an ceudna, Dreathan-donn Sruth an t-Siubhail, 
Seabhag Chreag na Sgeilpe, agus Madadh na 
Maoile Moire. Agus an uair a ràinig iad an dachaidh 
fein, rinn iad cuilm mhor, thlachdmhor dhoibh fein, 
d' an coimhearsnaich, is d' an cairdean. 

'N uair a theirig a' chuilm, thubhairt am Madadh: 
" Feumaidh sinne 'bhi falbh." 

Ach thubhairt Cathal: "Cha bhi." "Feumaidh 
mise falbh co dhiùbh," deir am Madadh, " oir bithidh 
mo thigh air a robadh aig sionnaich, aig feòcullain, is 
aig taghain." Thubhairt an t-Seabhag: " Feumaidh 
mise falbh cuideachd, oir bithidh mo dhachaidh air 


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 



a robadh aig feannagan, 's aig fithich." Agus 
thubhairt an Dreathann : " Bithidh mise 'faibh an 
cuideachd mo chàirdean, o 'n tha iadsan làidir agus 
mise lag. Bithidh iad 'nan cuideachd dhomh air an 
t-slighe." Thubhairt an t-Seabhag ris: " Leum an 
àird CÙI mo dhà sgèithe, agus cha bhean eun eile dhuit, 
gus an ruig thu dhachaidh." 

Ghabh an sin Cathal O' Cruachan an cead càirdeil 
r' a chàirdean. Dhealaich mise riu aig an dorus, agus 
thug mi dhachaidh orm. 


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 


Bha Domhnull 'na fhear-giùlain connaidh gu tigh 
duin'-uasail àraidh a bha 'san tir, agus is ann air an 
aobhar sin a thugadh Domhnull nan Cual air mar 

Bha Domhnull a' saothrachadh gu dichiollach gach 
latha, ach an deidh sin uile cha robh fois aige 'na 
inntinn, ann an aon fhocal cha robh e riaraichte le 

Air la àraidh, is e air a rathad gu tigh an duin'- 
uasail, ro sgith leis an eallaich-chonnaidh a bh' air a 
mhuin, choinnich duin'-uasal òg e a thubhairt ris: 
" Tha thusa, a Dhomhnuill choir, 'gad shàrachadh. 
Nach 'eil thu 'fas sgith de ghiùlan a' chonnaidh?" 
"Tha, gu dearbh, gle sgith; agus bhithinn coma ged 
gheibhinn atharrachadh seirbhise," deir Domhnull. 
An sin thubhairt an duin'-uasal òg ris: " A Dhomh- 
nuill, is mise am Bàs; 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 giijlan connaidh. 

Thubhairt am Bàs an sin ris: " 'N uair theid thu dh' 
fhaicinn duine thinn, ma chi thu am Bàs 'na sheasamh 
aig a cheann, cha ghabh thu gnothuch ris, oir cha bhi 
e beò; ach ma bhitheas e 'na sheasamh aig a chasan, 
gabhaidh tu e os laimh, oir bithidh e beò. 

Bha Domhnull a' deanamh mar dh' iarradh air, agus 


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 


bha gach ni a' soirbheachadh leis. Gach duine a 
theireadh e bhi theachd beò, bhitheadh e beò; agus 
gach neach a theireadh e bhitheadh marbh, bhitheadh 
e marbh. 

Dh' fhàs an Righ an sin ro bhochd. Chaidh fios a 
chur air Domhnull, agus thàinig e chum a' Chaisteil. 
Ach 'n uair chaidh e stigh gu taobh leabadh an Righ, 
chunnaic e 'n gòsganach 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 thòisich an Righ ri fas na b' fhearr. 
Chunnaic e 'n so am Bàs ag èalaidh sìos gu ceann an 
Righ, agus dh' iarr e 'n Righ a thionndadh air ais 
d'a àite ris. Chaidh a' chluich so air adhart car 
tacain gus mu dheireadh an do ghabh am Bàs a' leithid 
de chorruich 's gu'n d' fhalbh e mach 'na dheann. 

'N uair dh' fhàs an Righ gu math, thog Domhnull 
air, ach cha deachaidh e fad' o'n Chaisteal 'n uair 
choinnich am Bàs e. " Tha thu agam, a nis," deir 
am Has, " 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' 
ùrnaigh ? " Cheadaich am Bas dha a iarrtas. Thionn- 
daidh an sin Domhnull ris, agus thubhairt e: " Cha'n 
abair mi idir i." Dh'fhàg an so am Bas e ann am 
mòr-chorruich, a' bòideachadh gu 'm bitheadh e suas 
ris fhathast air-son a chuir. 

Bha Domhnull air a fhàgail dha fhein a nis; cha robh 
am Bas a' cur dragha air bith air. Bha gach ni a' 
soirbheachadh leis, agus bha e 'fas fo mhor-mheas 
'san dijthaich. Air la araidh, agus Domhnull ag 


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 

"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 w^ith him, and he was growing to great esteem in 
the country. On a certain day, as Donald was walk- 


imeachd an rathaid 'na aonar, choinnich buidheann 
bheag de chloinn na sgoil' e, agus iad, a reir coltais, 
ro bhrònach. Bha Domhnull blàth-chridheach, agus 
le sin chaidh e null, agus dh' fhiosraich e dhiubh 
cion-fàth an trioblaide. Fhreagair iad: " Cha'n urrainn 
sinn ar n-iirnaigh a ràdh, agus peanasaichidh ar 
Maighstir sinn." Cha b' urrainn do Dhomhnull so a 
sheasamh. Shuidii e taobh an rathaid leis a' chròilein 
timchioll air, agus theagaisg e 'n iirnaigh dhoibh. 

Cha luaithe a dh' fhalbh a' chlann na thàinig am 
Bàs, agus thubhairt e ri Domhnull: " Tha thu agam 
a nis, CO dhiubh! " An sin fhreagair Domhnull: " Is 
iongantach an duine thu: cha'n 'eil ait' 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 fior," deir am Has. " Cha'n 
'eil mi 'gad chreidsinn, ach tha botul agam-sa, agus 
feuch an teid thu ann." Chaidh am Bàs 's a' bhotul, 
agus bhuail Domhnull an core ann gu teann, ag ràdh 
aig a' cheart am: " 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 ùine, gun bhi fada, thàinig am botul gu 
tir far an deachaidh a bhristeadh. Fhuair am Bàs an 
sin mu sgaoil, is cha do stad e gus an do rhuir e 
crioch air Domhnull. 


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 went 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.] 


B' E mac iasgair a bh' ann an Iain Dubh. An uair a bha 
e 'na bhalachan beag, bhàthadh 'athair, agus an deidh 
sin thogadh e le bràthair 'athar. Bha e a' fuireachd 
goirid as do'n Acarsaid Mhoir an Leodhas, far am b' 
àbhaist da blii 'g iasgach, agus a' faicinn nan soithich- 
ean a bha 'tadhal na h-Acarsaid. Ghabh e mar so 
speis mhor do'n mhuir, agus mu dheireadh cha'n 
fhoghnadh ceàird air bith leis, ach a bhi 'na sheòladair. 

Air feasgar àraidh chunnaic e long bhrèagh a* 
tighinn fo làn-aodaich a stigh do'n chala, agus bha leis 
nach fac' e riamh roimhe sealladh 'bu bhòidhche. 
Leum e stigh 'na bhàt'-iasgaich beag fein agus mu'n 
d' ràinig acair na luinge an grunnd, bha e air bòrd 
oirre. Dh'fheith e gus an robh a h-aodach paisgte, 
agus an sin dhirich e aon de na croinn, agus thòisich 
e air ruith a mach 's a stigh air na slataibh agus air 
streap air na ruip, mar chunnaic e na seòladairean a' 
deanamh. Thug an Sgiobair fa-near cho dàna, tap- 
aidh 's a bha e, agus cho luath 's a theirinn e as a' 
chrann; agus dh'fheòraich e dheth am bu mhath leis a 
bhi 'na sheòladair? Fhreagair Iain Dubh nach robh ni 
air bith air an t-saoghal a b' fhearr leis. 

" Falbh dhachaidh, ma-tà, " ars an Sgiobair, "agus 
faigh cead d' athar, agus thigibh le cheile 'n so am 
màireach, agus ma chòrdas sibh fein agus mise, leigidh 
mise leat falbh còmhla rium-sa, agus an t-seòladaireachd 
ionnsachadh. Thubhairt Iain Dubh nach robh 'athair 


A fisher's son was Black-haired John. When he was a 
little 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 


beò, ach gu'n iarradh e cead bràthair 'athar. Dh' 
fhoghainn sin leis an Sgiobair, agus dh'fhalbh Iain 
Dubh dhachaidh le cabhaig mhòir. 

Moch air an ath latha thill e air ais 'na ruith 's 'na 
leum, agus mu'n gann a fhuair e air bòrd, thubhairt 
e le gàirdeachas gu'n d' fhuair e làn-chead o bhràthair 
'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 fein a cheangal ris an luing fad rhoig 
bliadhna, chum gu'n ionnsaich mi an t-seòladaireachd 
gu ceart." " Agus gu de a thubhairt e riut mu 
thuarasdal ? ' "Thubhairt gu'n robh mi ri bonn-a-sè 
fhaotainn aig ceann a' cheud mhiosa agus da bhonn-a-sè 
aig ceann an dara miosa, a' diiblachadh mar sin duals 
gach miosa gu deireadh nan coig bliadhna." 

Rinn an Sgiobair glag mor gàire air tuarasdal Iain 
Duibh, agus gun smuainteachadh roimh làimh air ciod 
a bha e 'dol a dheanamh, thubhairt e: " Gheibh thu 
sin, a laochain "; agus chaidh Iain a cheangal ris an 
luing le bann-cèirde. 

Air an ath latha sheòl an long a mach as an 
Acarsaid, agus chaidh i air turus-cuain do dhùthaich 
fad' air falbh. Ràinig i an t-àite 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 coigeamh bliadhna de mhuinntireas Iain 
Duibh, ràinig i 'm baile-puirt d'am buineadh i. 

Thàinig a sealbhadairean air bòrd oirre, agus an 
dèidh dhoibh an Sgiobair fhàilteachadh, thòisich iad 
air amharc mu thimchioll na luinge. 

Bha Iain Dubh air fas 'na ghille gasda agus 'na 
sheòladair taghta. Ach fathast cha d'fhuair e peighinn 
a thuarasdail, na b' fhaide na tasdan no dha a nis 's a 
rithist an uair a bhitheadh e 'dol air tir leis na seòladair- 


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 shalt get that, my little hero," 
and John was then bound to the ship by a deed of 

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- 

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 


ean eile anns na bailtibh-puirt 'san robh iad a' tadhal. 
Ni mo a smuaintich an Sgiobair air an t-suim gus an 
tigeadh tuarasdal a' ghille a dheanamh suas, gus an 
d' thàinig na sealbhadairean air bòrd. An sin dh' 
fheòraich aon diubh : " C'àit' an d'fhuair e 'm balach 
seòladair a bh' aige an sud?" Fhreagair e gu'n 
d'fhuair e ann an Eilean Leodhais e. " Is gu de 'n 
ùine a tha e agad? " " Tha còrr is ceithir bliadhna." 
" Agus gu de 'n duais a tha thu a' toirt da? Cha'n 
'eil teagamh nach 'eil thu 'toirt da duaise maithe; oir 
is e seòladair cho tapaidh 's a chunnaic sinn riamh." 

Rinn an Sgiobair fèith-ghàire agus thubhairt e: 
'* Ma-tà, cha d'thug mise duais air bith dha fhathast. 
Ach dh'iarr e fein gu'm bitheadh ceangal chòig 
bliadhna air a chur air, agus gu'm faigheadh e mar 
dhuais bonn-a-sè aig ceann a' cheud mhiosa, da bhonn- 
a-sè aig ceann an dara miosa, agus 'dùbladh mar 
sin duais gach miosa a leanadh gu deireadh nan coig 
bliadhna. Agus an ni a dh'iarr e, gheall mise dha am 
fala-dhà, agus cha b' ann le rijn a phaidheadh a rèir 

" An do smaoinich thu roimh laimh 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 
la a chaidh i air saile." 

Air tùs cha do chreid an Sgiobair so, ach an uair 
a chunnaic e gu'n robh e fior, ghabh e nàire -agus 
aimheal mor. Mu dheireadh thubhairt e: 

"Is gu de ni 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 da uair dheug 


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. 


air an la mu dheireadh d'a ùine gu'm bheil a thuarasdal 
agad anns na pocaibh, agus gu'm faigh e iad, ma 
dh' fhàgas e 'n long leò an sin; ach mur fag, gu'm 
pàidh thu e *na dheidh sin, mar thoilicheas tu fèin." 

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. Ràinig e 'n t-àite 
gus an robh e ri dol gu tèaruinte, agus an dèidh dha 
'n luchd a liubhairt, phill e air an t-slighe air an 
d'thàinig e. Ruith ùine Iain Duibh a mach mu'n 
d'thàinig an long an sealladh fearainn, agus air an la 
mu dheireadh d'a ùine thairg an Sgiobair dha a 
thuarasdal air chumhnant gu'm fàgadh e 'n long air 
ball. " Uile cheart," ars Iain. " Ma gheibh mi mo 
dhuais, fàgaidh mi 'n long air a' mhionaid so. Ach 
an toir thu dhomh da uair de'n t-saor, a dheanamh 
ràtha 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 rath deas, chaidh e leigeil sios thar 
taobh na luinge. Fhuair Iain mar a dhuais aon phoca 
Ian oir, poca eile Ian airgid, agus treas poca Ian copair. 
Chuir e iad gun fhosgladh air an rath maille ri poca 
bhriosgaid, agus searrag dhighe, agus phi!ic e 'n rath 
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 thainig an oidhche, 
agus thug an dorchadas as a shealladh i. An sin 
thòisich Iain bochd air fas 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 
de 'n stuth a bh* anns an t-searrag. Thug e sriibag 


Oh 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 

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 night fell, and the darkness took 
her out of his sight. Then poor John began to grow 
dejected, not knowing what would happen before the 



aiste, agus dh'fhairich e gu'n d'thug sin eutromachadh 
air 'inntinn. Mu mheadhon-oidhche thug an cadal 
thairis e, agus cha do dhùisg e ach gus an robh an 
latha 'bristeadh. Bha 'n sin fathan bòidheach gaoithe 
ag iomain an ràtha roimhe. Chuir lain seachad tri 
oidhchean agus tri làithean air an rath. Ach air feasgar 
an treas la chunnaic e fearann roimhe agus ann an 
dorchadh na h-oidhche bhuail an rath air a' chladach 
anns an aon phort bu bhòidhche 'chunnaic e riamh bho 
oir tuinne gu bun coille. 

Leum Iain Seòladair air tir, toilichte gu'n d'fhuair 
e, aon uair eile, leud a bhuinn a dh' fhearann fodha. 
Thug e leis na pocanna gu bràigh a' chladaich, far an 
d'fholaich e iad anns a' ghainmhich. Shlaod e 'n sin 
an rath suas gu oir na coille; oir thubhairt e ris fèin : 
" Cha'n 'eil fios nach dean e feum do dhuine eile 

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 sùil roimhe, agus 
chunnaic e goirid as smùid ag èirigh aig bun stalla mòr 
creige. Rinn e direach air, agus gu de bha 'n sin ach 
turasgal mor 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 mor, oir cha robh i cleachdte ri luchd-siubhail 
fhaicinn a' tighinn an rathad. Ach an iiine ghoirid 
ghlac i de mhisnich gu'n d'fheòraich i dheth co as a 
thàinig e? Fhreagair e gu'm bu sheòladair bochd e, 
a shnàmh gu tlr 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 


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 where he might stay. But, though 
he travelled the night long, he saw neither house nor 
bald. 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 

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 


cho luath 's a b' urrainn e. Dh' fheòraich e dhith 
c'arson ; agus fhreagair ise gu'n robh seachd robairean 
a' fuireachd anns an tigh ; agus na'n tigeadh 
iad mu'm fàgadh e, nach leigeadh iad as beò e. 
Dh'fheòraich e 'n sin c'uin a thigeadh iad? Fhreagair 
ise gu'n robh dùil aice riu gach mionaid. " Thigeadh 
iad, ma-tà,'' ars Iain Seòladair. " O'n fhuair mise 
stigh, cha teid mi mach, gus am faigh mi lochdan 
cadail." " Ma-tà," ars am boireannach, " dean thusa 
do roghainn feiri, 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 dhomh-sa 'n drasda c'àit' am faigh mi mi fèin a 
shineadh agus greis fhoise a ghabhail." 

Rinn am boireannach sin, agus ann an tiota bha e 'n 
suain chadail. 

Cha robh fhios aige gu de co fhada 's a chaidii e, ach 
b' i bruidhinn ard nan robairean a dhiiisg e. Chual' e 
iad a' feòraich c'àit' an robh e? Dh'innis am boireann- 
ach sin daibh, agus gun dàil mionaide, chaidh iad far 
an robh e, agus dh'fheòraich iad dheth gu de chuir an 
sud e? Dh'innis e dhaibh an t-aobhar mar dh'innis 
e do'n bhoireannach. " Ma-ta," ars aon aca. " is 
robairean a tha annainne, agus cha'n 'eil sinn a' leigeil 
le-duine, a thig an rathad so, dol as beò." " Ha! ha ! " 
ghlaodh Iain Dubh, " nach mi 'tha toilichte gu'n do 
thachair bràithrean ceirde dhomh fhein orm. B' i 'n 
robaireachd mo cheaird am dhijthaich fein, gus am b' 
eiginn domh teicheadh agus a' mhuir a thoirt orm. 
Ma ghabhas sibh-se leibh mi, geallaidh mi gu'm bi mi 
cho dileas ri aon air bith anns a' chuideachd." 

" NÌ 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 de 's urrainn thu 'dheanamh. Gheibh thu 'n la 


enough to ask him whence he came. He repUed 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 asleep. 

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 
will promise to be as true as any one in the band." 

" Thy appearance will do," said one of them, " and 


màireach a ghabhail foise, ach 'na dheidh sin gabhaidh 
gach aon againn a rathad fein, agus am fear a bheir 
dhachaidh an tuilleadh creiche fad tri oidhchean, bithidh 
e 'na cheannard air each, agus cha bhi ni aige r'a 
dheanamh, ach cùram a ghabhail de'n tigh, am feadh 
'bhios a chompanaich air falbh." Chord so gu math 
ri lain, agus dh' fhuirich e aig an tigh gus an d'thainig 
ceud la na deuchainne. 

An sin dh' fhalbh e agus ghabh e mar rinn gach aon 
de'n bhuidheann, a rathad ft'in. An uair a thàinig an 
oidhche, phill e dhachaidh leis a' phocan chopair, a 
dh'fhalaich e làimh ris an traigh, 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 
la, rinn e seachd feabhas riu an la sin. Air an treas 
la dh'fhalbh e air-son an uair mu dheireadh, agus thug 
e dhachaidh am pocan òir. Dhòirt e na bh' ann air 
an ijrlar, agus dh' fheòraich e an d' rinn aon air bith 
aca na b' fhearr? Fhreagair iad 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 fein, smuaintich e air an tigh 
a rannsachadh. Thug e nuas pasg mòr iuchraichean, 
a chimnaic e crochte air tarrainn anns a' bhalla, agus 
dh'fhosgail e leò gach seòmar 'san tigh ach an aon. 
Bha iuchair an aoin sin falaichte aig a' bhoireannach, 
agus dhiùlt i an toisearh dealachadh rithe. Ach air do 
Iain innseadh dhi gu'm b' esan a nis an ceannard, 
agus gu'm feumadh i bhi i!imhal da, thug i suas an 

An sin dh'fhosgail e dorus an t-seomair uaignich, 


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 everv 
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. 


agus chunnaic e roimhe sealladh a chuir dèisinn air. 
Bha bean-uasal, cho bòidheach, dreachmhor 's air an 
do dhearc sùil riamh, an crochadh air fhalt ri croman 
am mullach an t-seòmair, agus bàrr a h-òrdag a' beant- 
ainn air eiginn do'n ùrlar. Leum e d'a h-ionnsaidh, 
dh' fhuasgail e a fait, agus leig e sios i, a rèir coltais 
marbh. Bha i greis ann an neul, ach an uair a thàinig 
i as, dh'innis e dhi ciamar a thàinig esan do'n ait' ud, 
agus an sin dh'innis ise dha-san mar thugadh ise ann. 
B' i nighean Righ na Spainte. Chaidh dithis de na 
robairean a ghlacadh aig Caisteal an Righ, agus a 
chionn gu'n do chuireadh gu bàs iad le 'h-athair, 
bhòidich each nach gabhadh iad fois gus an deanadh 
iad dioghaltas air. B' e 'n dioghaltas a rinn iad ise 
'ghlacadh, an uair a bha i ag gabhail sràide mu 
thimchioll a' Chaisteil, a toirt leò do'n àite fèin, agus 
a pianadh le 'fàgail crochta, mar fhuair Iain Dubh i. 

A dheanamh a' chuid so de'n sgeul goirid, theich iad 
o thigh nan robairean, a' toirt leò uibhir 's a b' urrainn 
daibh a ghiùlan a dh' or agus de nithe luachmhor, 
maille ri Ion air-son na slighe. Ghabh iad gach rathad 
a b' uaigniche na cheile, gus an d' thàinig oidhche. 
Chunnaic iad an sin bothan-àiridhe air thoiseach orra, 
agus rinn iad direach air. Cha robh iad fada 'ga 
ruigheachd. Chaidh iad a stigh, agus ged fhuair iad 
falamh e, bha e, a reir coltais, goirid roimhe sin air 
àiteachadh. Coma co dhiùbh, chuir iad rompa an 
oidhche a chaitheamh ann, mar a b' fhearr a 
dh'fhaodadh iad. Greis an dèidh 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 cheile a muigh. Ach cha b' fhada gus 
an do thuig iad nach d' thàinig na guthanna caola, fanna 
a bha iad a' cluinntinn, aon chuid o na robairean, no 


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 seemingly 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. 


bho chreiitairean saoghalta air bith. Mu dheireadh leum 
Jain Dubh air a chasaibh ag radh gu'm biodh fios aige- 
san, an tiota, ciod no co bhuaith a thàinig iad. I.e 
sin dh'fhosgail e 'n dorus, ach dàna 's mar bha e, thug 
an sealladh, a chunnaic e roimhe, clisgeadh air. Bha 
tri colainnean 'nan seasamh m'a choinneamh, le'n cinn 
aca eadar an làmhan. " A dhaoine còire," ars Iain, 
" gu de tha sibh ag iarraidh ? " " Is sinn," fhreagair 
iad, " athair agus da mhac a mharbhadh anns a' 
bhothan so le robairean agus a thiodhlacadh air cùl an 
tighe; ach a chionn nach deachaidh gach ceann a chur 
maille r'a cholainn fein, 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' àill leò an cur. Chaidh iad 
leis agus rinn e gach ni mar sheòl 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 bothan, agus cha do stad iad, gus an d' ràinig 
iad am baile-puirt a b' fhaigse dhoibh. Phòs iad an 
sin, agus chuir iad suas tigh-òsda leis an or a thug 
iad a tigh nan robairean. Bha iad gu sona, soirbheach 
an sin, gus an d'thàinig long-chogaidh a stigh do'n 
acarsaid. Air bòrd na luinge so bha ard - cheannard 
cabhlach na Spainte, a' sireadh nighean an Righ chum 
gu'n coisneadh e i fein 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 tèaruinte. 

Thàinig an ceannard air tir le fear eile de na 
h-oifigich. agus de gach àite, c'àit' an do thadhail iad 
ach an tigh Iain Duibh. Cha robh ind fada stigh *n 
nair a chuir iad eòlas air Iain agus air a mhnaoi. 


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 w^ould 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. 


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 càirdeil dhi fein agus d'a fear gu dol a mach 
agus an long fhaicinn an ath latha. Giiabh iad le 
cheile ris a' chuireadh gu toileach ; ach, an uair a fhuair 
an ceannard iad air bòrd, chuir e suas na siùil, agus 
chum e air aghaidh, gus an robh e astar mor a mach 
o fhearann. An sin dh'fhag e Iain Dubh bochd am 
bàta beag gun ràmh gun sheòl, agus dh'fhalbh e. 

Is beag nach robh càs Iain 's a' bhàta cho cruaidh 
's a bha e air an rath. Chuir e 'n còrr de 'n la seachad 
gu brònach ; ach, aig teachd na h-oidhche, chunnaic 
e sealladh a thug càil-eiginn de mhisnich dha, oir bha 
'm bàta 'cumail a toisich 'san aon aird, agus falbh 
math oirre. An sin chunnaic e botul dighe làidir an 
toiseach a' bhàta, agus an dèidh dha deoch a thoirt as, 
thuit e 'na chadal. Cho luath 's a dhùisg e 'n dara 
maireach, sheall e gach rathad, ach cha robh fearann 
air bith an amharc. Ach bha 'm bata a' falbh le sgriob 
làidir agus ag cumail a cinn 'san aird an robh i an 
oidhche roimhe. Thug so tuilleadh misnich dha, 
gidheadh dh'fhairich e 'n latha fada gu leòir. Aig 
tighinn na h-oidhche thug e deoch eile as a' bhotul, 
agus chaidil e air. Air an treas la sheall e roimhe, 
agus chunnaic e fearann fad' as, agus am bata 'deanamh 
direach air. Bha 'm ball-toisich a mach roimpe, agus 
tarruing chruaidh air; agus, ni a b' iongantaiche, lunn 
làidir air thoiseach air ceann a mach a' bhuill. Ach 
ciod no CO a bha 'tobhadh a' bhata, cha b' urrainn 
da 'bhreithneachadh no 'thuigsinn. 

Mu dheireadh ràinig i 'n cladach agus chaidh triùir 
dhaoine a mach as an uisge roimpe, a' tarruing an 
ròpa-thoisich gus an d'fhag iad i os ceann a' gharbh 
mhuir-làin. B' iad sin an triùir dhaoine d'an do chuir 
e 'n cinn agus an colainnean còmhla, aig cù! a' 


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 acquaintimce 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 tHe 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 w^onderful, a 
strong wake before the furthest out end of the rope. 
But w^hat, or who, was towing the boat, he could 
neither conceive nor understand. 

At last she reached the shore, and three men went 


bhothain-àiridhe. Agus cho luath 's a chunnaic iad 
cas Iain air tir, chaidh iad as an t-sealladh. 

Faodar an còrr de'n sgeul innseadh am beagan 
bhriathar. Cha phòsadh nighean an Righ an ceannard 
a fhuair i, gus am bitheadh gach saighdear agus 
seòladair 'san rioghachd air an cur seachad fo uinneig 
a seòmair an Caisteal a h-athar. An deidh dol troimh 
iomadh cruaidh-chas, ràinig Iain an Caisteal air 
deireadh air each uile. Bha e direach ann an am. 
Dh'aithnich nighean an Righ e. Phòsadh iad a ris; 
agus ma tha iad beò, tha iad sona. 


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 

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. 


B' E ceud ainm an t-sleibhe làimh ris am bheil luctid- 
turuis do Ghleann Comhann air an cur air tir, Bcinn 
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 mòr, a tha 
'n aodann an t-sleibhe, agus is beag nach 'eil direach 
OS ceann ceidhe Bhaile-chaolais. Bha 'bheithir so, a 
rèir coltais, 'na culaidh-eagail do'n dùthaich uile mu 
'n cuairt. O bheiil a' Choire bha sealladh aice air a' 
cheiim 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' thàinig Teàrlach 
Sgiobair an rathad. Dh' acraich e 'n soitheach aige 
astar math a mach o'n aite 'sam bheil an ceidhe nis 
suidhichte; agus eadar an soitheach agus an cladach 
rinn e drochaid de bharaillean falamh, ceangailte r'a 
chèile le ròpaibh, agus Ian de speicean iaruinn. An 
uair a bha 'n drochaid criochnaichte, las e teine mòr 
air bòrd an t-soithich, agus chuir e piosan feòla air na 
h-èibhlibh. Cho luath 's a ràinig fàileadh na feòla 
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 mountain at whose base tourist9 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 corrie, 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 



t-soithich. Ach chaidh na speicean 'na corp, agus 
reub iad i cho dona 's nach mòr nach robh i marbh 
mu'n d'ràinig i ceann a mach na drochaide. Aig a' 
cheart am bha 'n soitheach air a tharruing air falbh 
o'n drochaid gus an robh bealach mòr eadar i fèin agus 
am baraille mii dheireadh. Thar a' bhealaich so cha robh 
de neart air a fhàgail aig a' bheithir gu'm b'urrainn 
i leum thairis air gu ruig clàr-uachdair an t-soithich, 
agus do bhrigh nach b'urrainn i pilleadh an rathad a 
thàinig i, fhuair i bàs d'a leòn far an robh i aig ceann 
na drochaide. 

Dh'fhairich an sluagh a bha a chòmhnuidh am fagus 
do'n bheinn a nis aig sith. Ach ma dh'fhairich, bu 
bheag a bha fios aca mu 'n chunnart ùr anns an robh 
iad. B'-e aobhar a' chunnairt so cuilean a dh'fhàg an 
t-seann bheithir 'na deidh anns a' Choire Liath. Re 
iiine dh'fhas an cuilean 'na làn-bheithir, aig an robh 
cuain bheithrichean òga, falaichte ann am mulan- 
coirce aig bun na beinne. An uair a dh'fhairich an 
tuathanach iad 'na mhulan, chuir e teine ris, an dùil 
gu'n cuireadh e mar so as do na creutairean cunnartach 
a bh'ann. Bha 'n sgreadail air a giùlan leis a' ghaoith 
suas taobh na beinne, agus cho luath 's a ràinig i am 
màthair, sìos leum i g'an cuideachadh. Ach bha i 
fada gun an ruigsinn, agus a dh'aindeoin gach ni a 
rinn i, loisgeadh iad gu bas. An uair a chunnaic i so, 
shin i i fèin air lie làimh ris a' chladach, agus chum i 
air an leac a bhualadh le 'h-earball gus an do mharbh 
si i fèin. 

Is e theirear ris an lie fathast Leac-na-Beithreach, agus 
is ann oirre a tha Tigh Beinn Bheithir a nis a' 


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 suflficient 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 still known as the Dragon Rock, and on 
it Ben Vehir House now stands. 





O CHEANN fhada thuit do bhean bhochd tadhal ann an 
tigh làimh ri Torr-a-bhuilg. Cha robh 'san am duine 
stigh ach bean-an-tighe agus coltas leinibh bhig. Bha 
'n leanabh 'ga aoirneagaich fein air ar ùrlar, agus an 
aon sgriach as a cheann a latha 's a dh'oidhche. 

Dh'fheòraich a' bhean bhochd gu dè 'n gille a bh' 
aice an sin air an ùrlar. Fhreagair bean-an-tighe 
nach robh fhios aice. " Ma-tà," ars a' bhean bhochd, 
" tha fhios agam-sa gu math gu dè th'ann, agus ma 
ghabhas tu mo chomhairle-sa, gheibh thu cuidhte 's e; 
ach mur gabh, gheibh thu do leòir 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 dèidh do 'n bhean-bhochd falbh, chaidh bean-an- 
tighe mach agus thug i stigh basgaid uibhean a chuir 
i 'nan cuairt air an ùrlar. Am feadh bha i ri sin, bha 
'n gille air an urlar, a' coimhead oirre gu dùr; agus 
mu dheireadh thuirt e rithe gu colgarra: " Gu dè tha 
thu 'deanamh mar sin?" "Tha coire-togalach." 
ars ise. "Coire-togalach! Tha mi còrr agus tri 
cheud bliadhna, agus gus a so cha'n fhaca mi a leithid 
sin de choire-togalach." 





Long ago a poor woman happened to call in a house 
near Torr-a-Bhuilg. 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 

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!" 


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 ùine ghoirid 
chuir i coltas fiamhta oirre fein, agus thòisich i air leum 
air a h-ais, mar gu'm bitheadh i 'faicinn rud-eigin 
uamhasach. Ghlèidh an gàrlaocli air an ùrlar si^iil fhiar 
oirre greis, agus an sin dh'fheòraich e dhith gu dè 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' ijird, is m' innean, 
's mo bholg; " agus cha'n fhacas tuilleadh e. 


The housewife had no longer any doubt of the child 
h'eing a fairy, but she went about her business for a 
whi'e in her usual way. Then she looked out at the 
vindow 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. 


Leaspagan beag odhar thu, 

Beiridh bo an nuallain ; 

Nuallan na bo Muilich thu, 

M' anam agus m' aighear thu! 

Cha 'n ann à shlol Chuinn thu, 

Siol a's docha leinn thu — 

Slol Leòid nan long 's nan lùireach o Lòchlann 

Do dhùthchas fèin duit. 

Fire ! faire ! cha tu laogh 

Na seann bhà crionaidh; 

Fire! faire! 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 bhròn, 

Gun toll air do bhròig; 

Gu 'n do bhioraich do shròn 

Cho glas ris na neòil. 

Firein, firein, a bh' ann, 

Ghabh mo bhuinneag ort an t-àm, 

'Nuair a bha sneachd air a' chrann, 

'Nuair a bha do mhuime dall, 

'S 'n uair a bha 'n cuileann gun cheann. 


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 mailcoats 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, 
W^hen the snow was on the tree. 
When thy nurse couldn't see, 
And the holly had never a flower. 


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-ùr uallach 
Air mo ghualainn feadh a' bhaile, 
'S tu mo leanabh mileiseach, màileasach. 

Glag fo liiirich! 

'S tu ceann-feadhna 

Nan each snàgach. 

'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-àrd àrd air leacainn slèibhe 
Còta caol, coilearach, uaine, 
Mu do ghualainn agus lèine. 
'S truagh nach fhaicinn fhèin do sheisreach, 
Fir 'na dèidh 'cur an t-sil; 
*S Mac-Comhnuill le 'chrann-treabhaidh 
'S a charbad ann cuide ribh. 


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. 


Mo leanabh mingileiseach maingileiseach, 
Bualadh nan each, glac nan lùireach, 
Nan each crùidheach 's nan each snagach, 
Mo leanabh beag. 

'S truagh nach faicinn fein do bhuaile, 
Gu h-àrd, àrd, air uachdar sleibhe, 
Còta caol, caiteanach, uaine 
Mu d' dhà ghualainn ghil, is leine, 

Mo leanabh beag. 

'S truagh nach faicinn tVin do sheisreach, 
Fir 'ga freasdal 'n am an fheasgair, 
Mna Comhnuill a' tighinn dachaidh, 

'Sna Catanaich a' cur sil. 

O mhile bhog, O mhile bhog, 

Mo bhrù a rug, mo chioch a shluig, 

\S mo ghlùn a thog. 

'Se mo leanabh, m'ultach iubhair, 
Sultmhor reamhar, mo luachair bhog, 
M' fheòil, 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 feadh a' bhaile, 

Mo leanabh beasf. 


[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. 


O bheirinn o bho, na cluinneam do leùn, 

O bheirinn o bho, gu'm bioraich do shròn, 

O bheirinn o bho, gu'n Hath thu air choir. 

O bheirinn o bho gu'n teirig do lò. 

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 Hnn thu — 

Siol nan Leòdach nan lann 's nan lùireach, 

B'e Lòchlainn dijthchas do shinnsire. 


O I'd snatch thee from cow, let me not hear thy 

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. 

Old 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.] 


Gu'n dh'fhalbh mo bhean-chomuinn, 

Cha tig mo bhean-ghaoil, 
Gu'n dh'fhalbh mo bhean-chomuinn, 

Bean thogail nan laogh. 

Thig blàth air a' ghiubhas, 

Agus ùbhlan air gèig, 
Cinnidh gucag air luachair, 

'S cha ghluais mo bhean fein. 

Thig na gobhra do'n mhainnir, 
Beiridh aighean duinn laoigh, 

Ach cha tig mo bhean dachaidh 
A clachan nan craobh. 

Thig Mart 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. 


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. 


Tha m' aodach air tolladh, 
Tha 'n olann gun sniomh, 

Agus deadh bhean mo thighe 
'Na laighe fo dhion. 

Tha mo chrodh gun an leigeil, 
Tha 'n t-eadradh aig each, 

Tha mo leanabh gun bheadradh, 
'Na shuidh' air a' bhlar. 

Tha m'fhàrdach-sa creachta, 
'S lom mo leac is gur fuar, 

Tha m' ionmhas 's mo bheartas 
Fo na leacan 'na suain. 

Uist! a chagarain ghràdhaich, 
Caidil sàmhach, a luaidh ; 

Cha tog caoineadh do mhàthair, 
Dean bà bà a nis, 'uain. 


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. 


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' fhàg i 'na chadal gu sàmhach anns 
a' chreathall, a' sgreadail mar gu'm bitheadh e 'n 
cràdh mòr. Ghreas i stigh, agus thug i dha deoch 
cho luath 's a b' urrainn i. Chum sin sàmhach 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 còrr agus òirleach air 
fad 'na bheul, agus gu'n robh 'aodann cho sean, 
seargta ri aon aodann a chunnaic i riamh. 

Thubhairt i rithe fhein : " Tha mi deas a nis, ach 
fuirichidh mi samhach feuch am faic mi ciod a thig 
as a so." 

Air an la màireach 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 mor 'na 
slighe, agus an uair a bha i 'dol thar beul-àtha an 
uillt, chuir sud a cheann a mach, agus thubhairt e: 
" Is iomadh buaile mhor a chunnaic mise air da thaobh 
an uillt so." Cha d'fheith a' bhean ri tuilleadh d'a 
eachdraidh a chluinntinn, ach thilg i e ann an linne 
dhomham a bha fo 'n ath far an robh e greis a' cur 
charan dheth agus 'ga càineadh agus ag ràdh na'n 
robh fhios aige roimh laimh gu'm b'e sud an cleas a 


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 
when 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 


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 de 
bha an sin ach a leanabh fein agus gun mhir air 
cnàimh dheth na 's mo na air a' chlobha. Thug i 
leatha dhachaidh e, agus dh' fhàs e uidh air n-uidh na 
b' fhearr, gus an robh e mu dheireadh cho fallain ri 
leanabh air bith eile. 


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. 


Fhuaradh an da sgeul a leanas o sheann duine a 
Chloinn An-lèigh a bha ceithir fichead agus a cùig 
bliadhna dh' aois aig am 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 àma sin bha badan chaorach aige 'g 
ionaltradh air a' mhonadh anns an la. Ach an uair 
a thigeadh an oidhche b' àbhaist da an iomain a stigh 
do chrò-nan-caorach an ceann a' bhàthaiche de 'n 

Oidhche bha an sin thuit gu'n deachaidh a mhac, 
is e 'na ghille òg, dh* ionnsuidh an doruis mhòir, a 
dh' fhaicinn ciod an coltas a bha air an speur mu'n 
rachadh e a laighe. Sheas e tacain eadar da 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 am dh' fhairich 
e ni-eigin a* tuiteam air a chùlaibh ann an crò-nan- 
caorach. Phill e gun dàil tiota stigh, agus fhuair e 
am mult ban marbh anns a' chrò. 

Chaidh am mult fhionnadh, ach cha'n fhacas air a 
charcais leòn no bruthadh air bith a b' urrainn a bhi 
*na aobhar a bhàis. 

Cha robh diog tuilleadh air a ràdh mu bhàs a' 
mhuilt bhàin gus an d'thàinig tàillear an àite do thigh 
an tuathanaich a dheanamh aodaich. Aìr a' cheud 
oidhche 'n dèidh dha tighinn, thubhairt e ri mac an 


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. W^ithout 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 


tuathanaich : "Am bheil cuimhne agad air bàs a' 
mhuilt bhain ? " Fhreagair mac an tuathanaich gu'n 
robh. " Ma-ta," ars an tàillear, " 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? " " Co a b' fhearr 
leat a bhi air a mharbhadh, thu fein no 'm mult ban ? " 
" Am mult ban, gun teagamh. Ach innis dhomh, 
guidheam ort, ciod a tha thu a' ciallachadh." Rinn 
an tàillear sin ann am beagan bhriathar. 

Thubhairt e gu 'n robh esan fo chumhachd 
shithichean Shithein-na-Caillich, agus gu'm bitheadh 
iad 'ga thabhairt leò 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 leò, agus bheireadh iad air na 
saighdean sithe a thilgeil air an neach d' an robh iad 
an droch run. " Bha iad," ar se, "an droch run 
duit-se, agus an uair a chuala thu sinn a' dol seachad 
le srann air an Droman, dh' iarr iad diom-sa saighead 
shithe a ghlacadh agus a thilgeil ort. B' eiginn domh 
an ni a dh' iarr iad orm a dheanamh, ach an aite 
cuimseachadh ort-sa, rinn mi air a' mhult bhàn. Gu 
fortanach dhomh-sa cha'n fhac' iad co a thuit, oir mu'n 
d' rainig an t-saighead am mult, bha sinn astar mòr 
seach an Droman air an turns gu cruinneachadh mòr 
a bh' aig na sithichean anns a' Chnoc 's a' 
Mhorbhairne. Theagamh nach 'eil thu ag creidsinn 
mo sgeòil, ach bheir mi dhuit dearbhadh cinnteach gur 
i 'n fhirinn a th' agam. Seall ann an crò-nan-caorach, 
agus gheibh thu an t-saighead ann fhathast." 

Sheall mac an tuathanaich, agus fhuair e, mar 
thubhairt an tàillear, an t-saighead 'na laighe fo tirlar 
a' chrò. 


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, 1 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 


Mharbhadh an t-saighead shithe gun leòn faicsinn- 
each air bith fhàgail 'na dèidh. 

Bha fear-innsidh an sgeòil 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 
mhòinteich, agus an crodh ag ionaltradh gu sàmhach 
m'a choinneamh. A chur seachad na h-ùine thòisich 
e air dial a ghearradh anns an àilean uaine eadar a 
dhà chas. Am meadhon na h-oibre so bha leis gu'n 
dial' e 'n toiseach srannail anns an athar, agus tiota 
'na dhèidh sin dearrasan eadar a chasan. Thionnd- 
aidh e 'shiiil gu grad an taobh a thàinig an dearrasan, 
agus ciod a chunnair e 'n sin, ach saighead shithe 
sàidhte ann an teis-meadhon an dial. Bha i dearg- 
theth an toiseach, ach an ùine ghoirid bhath uisge fuar 
na mòinteich i. Chuir e 'na phòca i an sin, agus an 
uair a bha 'mhuinntireas a niach thug e leis dhachaidh 
do'n Ghàidhealtachd 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 tàillear air a' mhult bhan an 
àite a choimhearsnaich a bha 'na sheasamh 'san dorus. 


of the pen. The fairy arrow would kill without loaving 
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 ! is neighbour, who was standing in the 


O CHIONN iomad bliadhna bha Domhnull Posda a' 
giùlan nan litrichean eadar Baile-chaolais agus an 
Gearasdan. Bha cuid de 'n rathad a bh' aige r'a 
iomachd gu math uaigneach agus ùigeil, agus bha 
'n t-ainm aige bhi Ian shithichean agus bhòcain eile. 

Air oidhche Shamhna bha Domhnull, an deidh dha 
'ghnothuch fhaotainn seachad, a' pilleadh air ais do 
Choire-Chaorachain far an robh e 'fuireachd. Greis 
mhath mu'n d' rainig e 'n tigh, gu de chunnaic e roimhe 
ach da shithiche 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 fhein 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 mhor shithichean, ag cuibh- 
leadh agus a' dannsadh mar na fir-chlise. Chunnaic a' 
bhuidheann a bh' air an rathad mhor iad cuideachd, 
agus ghrad ghlaodh fear aca: " Bithidh sinn a' falbh 
as a so," agus ann am priobadh na sùla, bha iad air 
mullach a' bhruthaich leis a' bhuidheann eile. 

Cha d'fheith Domhnull a dh'fhaicinn cnoch na 
cluiche, ach chum e air a cheum, agus fhuair e 
dhachaidh gu tèaruinte. An deidh na h-oidhche sin 
cha'n fhaca e iad tuilleadh : ach bhitheadh e, air 
oidhchean àraidh de'n bhliadhna, ag cluinntinn 
monmhur am bruidhne 'san àite 'sam faca e iad 


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 


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 iiair a thàinig an samhradh, agus a chaidh an 
crodh chum na h-airidhe, dh' fhalbh e 'nan deidh, agus 
dh' fhuirich e 'nan cois gus an do phill iad dhachaidh 
chum an t-sratha an toiseach an fhogharaidh. 

Air latha ceòthar, ciùin dh'fhalbh e g'an trusadh 
dh' ionnsaidh na buaile-bleoghainn, ach chaidh e air 
iomrall 's a' cheò, agus bha e ùine mhaith 'gan sireadh 
mu'n d'thàinig e orra. Fhuair e iad mu dheireadh ag 
ionaltradh ann an coire mor, brèagh le feur gorm 
brighmhor suas gu ruig an sùilean. Bha 'n la 
ceòbanach, blàth agus feur a' brùchdadh 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 fheòir aig a chasan, 
agus ag ràdh : " Cuid dhomh-sa dheth, cuid dhomh-sa 
dheth." Dh' eisd e 'n sin tacain, agus a nis bha 'n 
guth ceudna a' tighinn o bhun gach bileag fheòir a 
bh' anns a' choire. Sheall e feuch am faiceadh e co 
uaith a thàinig na guthannan ; ach cha robh duine, 
beag no mor, ri fhaicinn. Dh' eisd e rithist. agus an 


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. 



uair a chuala e a' ghàir cheudna an treas uair, thuig 
e gu'm b' ann o na sithichean a thàinig e; agus 
ghlaodh e cho àrd riu fhein: "Agus cuid dhomh-sa 
dheth cuideachd." Air ball sguir a' ghàir, agus an 
sin dh'iomain e 'n crodh chum na buaile. 

Bha na banaraichean 'gam feitheamh, agus ioghnadh 
orra gu de a ghlèidh iad cho fada. Thòisich 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 iiine cho 
goirid; mu dheireadh, thòisich iad air an t-sld a 
mholadh agus a radh gu 'm b' i a b' aobhar do'n 

Dh' eisd mac an tuathanaich gu foidhidneach ris 
gach ni a chuala e, ach thubhairt e ris fein 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 
sithichean, an uair a bha iad 'ga tharruing g'an 
ionnsaidh anns a' choire. 


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. 


Bha Aonghas Mor 'na chiobair air baile làimh ri Tom 
na h-Iùbhraich an Inbhir Nis. Air feasgar 
ceòbanach fliuch, agus e a' tilleadh o chuartachadh a' 
mhonaidh, bha leis gu'n cuala e, a' tighinn a mach 
a creig laimh ris a' cheum air an robh e ag imeachd, 
guth coltach ri guth nighinn òig a bha e r'a pòsadh 
air an oidhche sin fèin. Sheas e agus dh'eisd 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 àite 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 sròn na 
creige. Bha tolman bòidheach, 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 la an soillearachd, agus chuala e an ceòl bu bhinne 
a thig no a thainig, agus farum dannsaidh a 
stigh. Dh' èalaidh e dh' ionnsaidh an doruis, 
stob e a bhiodag anns an ursainn, agus thug e caol- 
shiiil a stigh do'n t-Sithean. B' ann an sin a bha an 
sealladh. Fir agus mnathan sithe 'nan cròilein air 
meadhon an ùrlair 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' thainig bean-shithe a 
mach, agus an deachaidh i dh' ionnsaidh uillt a bha 


Angi'S MÒR was a shepherd on a farm near Tomna- 
'lurich, 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 


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 Mhòir," ars ise. " Cha 
leig," fhreagair Aonghas, " gus an innis thu dhomh 
CO i am boirionnach a chuala mi ag èigheach mu'n 
d'thàinig mi an sealladh an t-Slthein." " Cha'n innis 
mi sin duit; cha'n fhaod mi," ars ise. " Mur innis, 
cha'n fhaigh thu seachad," ars esan. "Mur faigh ad 
dheòin, gheibh ad aindeoin," ars ise, agus 
shaighdich i seachad air, mar an dealanach. Bha aig 
Aonghas 'na làimh cromag le bior iaruinn anns an 
dara ceann dith, agus thilg e a' chromag an dèidh na 
mnà-sìthe agus bhuail e i am bac nan easgaid. Thuit 
i air an làr, agus mu'n d'fhuair i eirigh, bha i aige 
'na ghàirdeanan, agus a' chromag tarsuinn roimpe. 

"Innis dhomh, a nis," ars esan, " cò i am 
boirionnach a bha ag glaodhaich anns an t-Sithean 
mu'n d'thàinig mise 'na shealladh." " Aonghais 
Mhòir," 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 

Chuir na briathran so ioghnadh mor air Aonghas, 
ach leig e as a' bhean-shithe, agus dh' fhalbh e dhach- 
aidh, agus phòs 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' eisd 
e car tamuill, ach cha chuala e diog. Chaidh e an 
sin air a aghaidh gus an d'thàinig e an sealladh an 
t-Sithein. Dh' amhairc e rathad an doruis, agus 
chunnaic e solus a' dealradh a mach troimhe, ach cha 
chuala e fuaim ciùil 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 


Stood in the path before her. '* Let me pass, Angus 
Mòr," said she. "No," replied 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 Mòr," 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 he 
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 Mòr, thy wife and son are thine, if 


o'n allt, agus anns an dol seachad ghlaodh i ris mar 
air a' cheud oidhche: '* Aonghais Mhòir, is leat fèin 
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 
cail-eiginn de dh' iomagain air Aonghas, gu sònraichte 
a chionn nach robh fios aige ciod a dh' fhaodadh 
tighinn as. 

Ràinig 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'fheòraich 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 coram tuilleadh ort." 

" A bhean, cha'n 'eil mi 'gad thuigsinn," ars 
Aonghas. An sin thubhairt i : 

" Mu thuaiream bliadhna roimhe so thàinig laigse 
orm, agus mi a' dol seachad air an t-Sithean. Shuidh 
mi SÌOS, agus an ùine ghoirid thuit mi am chadal. An 
uair a dhùisg mi, bha mi anns an aon àite bu bhrèagha 
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 reir coltais 'na 
cheannard air each: * Ainnir dhonn nam mloij.shuil, 
gheibh thu mach, ma gheallas tu gu'm bi thu ad 
mhnaoi agam-sa, mur faigh thu do roghainn gràidh r'a 
phòsadh 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 ttisa mo roghainn a 



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 time, 
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 h'^r 
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 1 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 I gave him." 

On Friday evening Angus Mòr was once more re- 
turning from the hill, and when he arrived at the 
Bridge of Easan Dubh, he remembered it was there he 


dh'fhir an domhain ; agus o'n fhuair mi thu mu'n do 
ruith an ùine mach, tha mi nis saor o'n ghealladh a 
thug mi dha." 

Air feasgar Di-haoine bha Aonghas Mòr a' tilleadh 
as a' mhonadh aon uair eile, agus an uair a ràinig e 
Drochaid an Easain Duibh, chuimhnich e gu'm b' ana 
an sin a bha aige ri diomhaireachd Ban-righ nan 
Sithichean innseadh. Sheas e car tacain air mullach 
na Drochaide, ach cha robh e fada an sin gus an cuala 
e an aon ghuth bu bhinne a dh' èisd e riamh ris anns 
an allt fuidhe. Thug e caol-shùil thar barran na 
Drochaide, agus cò a chunnaic e ag glanadh agus a' 
fiicadh aodaich air cloich anns an uisge ach a' Bhan- 
righ, agus b'e so an t-òran a bha i a' seinn : — 


Thoirionn O Ro Thuraibh Thorò, 
Thoirionn O is na Thiiraibh Othò, 
Thoirionn O Ro Thiiraibh Thorò. 

S aithne dhomh 'Bheinn Mhor am Muile. 
'S aithne dhomh mullach Sguirr Eige, 
'S aithne dhomh 'n cat a bha 'n Ulbha, 
Agus 'earball ris an teinc, 


Tha ceòl an talla mo ghràidh, 
'S tha or an talamh MhicAidh ; 
Ach tha òran an Inbhir Nis 
Air nach fhaighear fios gu bràth. 

An uair a chrlochnaich i an t-òran, ghlaodh Aonghas 
Mor o mhullach na Drochaide: " Ge b' oil leat, a 


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 


Horin O Ro Hooriv Horo, 
Horin O is na Hooriv oho, 
Horin O R6 Hooriv Horo. 


1 know Ben More in Mull, 
I know the top of Scuir Kigg, 
I know the cat that was in Ulv. 
With its tail turned to tlie fire. 

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, 


bhean, tha thu cearr. Tha h-uile facal ad òran agam- 
sa nis, agus do dhiomhaireachd 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 fein do bhean agus do mhac a nis." Agus an 
dèidh dhi so a ràdh, chaidh i as an t-sealladh, agus 
cha'n fhaca e tuilleadh i. 


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. 


Bha 'n Tàillear Ruadh a chòmhnuidh an Raineach. 
Coltach ris a' chòrr d'a sheòrsa, bhiodh e a' dol o 
thigh gu tigh a dheanamh aodaich de 'n chlò 
a bhitheadh mnathan grunndail a' deanamh d* 
am fir agus d'am mic anns na h-àmaibh a chaidh 

Uair-eigin, is e a' tarruing dlùth do thigh far an 
robh obair beagan laithean aige ri dheanamh, thàinig 
am feasgar air, agus chunnaic e, ann an doillearachd 
an anmoich, aon cohach ri leanabh fior bheag, a' ruith 
air thoiseach air, agus ag glèidheadh as an t-sealladh 
air chill gach pris agus gach cnuic ri taobh an rathaid. 
Chruadhaich e a cheum an diiil 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, 
thòisich 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 mor 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 gàirdeanaibh an Tàilleir, agus an 
siosar tarsuinn air a bhroilleach. 

" Innis domh-sa c'àite am bheil thu a' dol, mo ghille 


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 


mhaith,'' ars an Tàillear. " Tha mi air mo rathad o'n 
t-Sithean Mhor gus an tigh air thoiseach ort, a 
dh' fhaotainn tacain de bhainne-ciche bean-an-tighe," 
fhreagair an gàrlaoch crìon. B'e so a' cheart tigh 
gus an robh an Tàillear a' dol. " Agus gu de nl thu 
ri leanabh na mnatha fein," ars e an sin. "U! 
cuiridh mi mach e do mo mhuinntir air uinneig-chCiil 
an tighe agus bheir iad-san leò e do'n àite againne," 
fhreagair am fear eile. " Agus an cuir iad dachaidh 
e an uair a gheibh thusa do leòir de bhainne-clche a 
mhathar?" "U! cha chuir, cha chuir tuilleadh." 
" NÌ sin an gnothuch," ars an Tàillear, 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 stigli mu'n d' ràinig 
an Taillear. Bha an tigh aige dha fein, oir bha fear- 
an-tighe agus a bhean anns a' bhàthaich a' leigeil a' 
chruidh, agus gun duine stigh ach an leanabh anns a' 
chreathall. Thog e an leanabh 'na ghàirdeanaibh, agus 
shin e mach e air an uinneig-chùil, mar shaoil 
e, do na sithbhrich eile. Ach bha an Taillear 
rompa, agus ghabh e gu sàmhach an leanabh 
'na ghairdeanaibh, agus dh'fhalbh e leis gu tigh 
peathar dha a bha goirid as, agus dh' fhàg e air a 
cùram e. 

An uair a thill e, fhuair e a' bhean air thoiseach air, 
agus an tàcharan anns a' chreathall, an impis sgainidh 
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 thòisich 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 còmhnuidh air a' bhroilleach. 
Chaidh a' chluich so air a h-aghaidh fad beagan làithean 
eile. Ach air do fhoidhidinn an Tailleir ruith a mach, 


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 



leum e mu dheireadh bhàrr a bhùird-obair, thug e stigh 
Ian clèibh de mhòine, agus chuir e teine mòr air an 
teallach. An uair a bha an teine an teas a ghabhalach, 
leum e null do'n chreathall, thog e leis an tàcharan, 
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 c gu caithreamach 
ris a' mhnaoi : " Fhiiair mi sud de shijgh do chlèibh, ge 
b' oil leat, " agus thug e an rathad air. 


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. 


Bha bean a chòmhnuidh an Ceann an t-Sàilein aig an 
robh leanabh-mic air nach robh aon chuid fas 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 bidh na 
bha nàdurra 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 màthair an leinibh. 
Bhitheadh ise cuideachd a mach, mur bhiodh eagal gu'n 
sgàineadh an sgreuchan mosach a chridhe ag caoineadh 
na'm fàgadh i e air cùram neach air bith eile. 

Thuit 'san am gu 'n robh taillear a' deanamh aodaich 
anns an tigh. Bha an taillear '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 ciiram de 'n 

Dh'fhaibh a' bhean. Ach, mu'n gann a thug i a 
casan thar na stairsnich, thòisich an cranndas a dh'fhàg 
i 'na deidh air sgreadail agus air caoineadh gu cruaidh 
agus gu goirt. Dh' eisd an taillear ris tacain maith, 
agus a shiiil air, gus an robh e cinnteach nach robh 
ann ach tàcharan. Chaill e nis a fhoidhidinn ris, agus 
ghlaodh e le guth geur, crosda: "Stad, 'ille, de 'n 


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 care 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 


cheòl sin; air-neo cuiridh mi air an teine thu." Sguir 
an caoineadh tacain ach an dèidh sin thòisich e an dara 
h-uair. " An ann fhathast, a phiobaire an aon 
phuirt? " ars an tàiUear. " Cluinneam an ceòl sin agad 
tuilleadh agus marbhaidh mi thu leis a' bhiodaig." 
An uair a chunnaic an sithiche a' ghruaim a bha air an 
tàillear, agus a' bhiodag 'na làimh, ghabh e a leithid 
de eagal is gu'n d'fhuirich e ùine mhath sàmhach. 
!)ha an tàillear 'na dhuine sunndach; agus a chur dheth 
.sn fhadail, thòisich e air port a channtaireachd. Am 
nieadhon a' chiùii, thog an siochaire grannda burrall 
àrd; ach ma thog, cha d' fhuair e dol air aghaidh le a 
cheileir ach glè ghoirid. Leum an tàillear bhàrr a 
bhùird-obair, chaidh e le a bhiodaig 'na làimh a null 
dh' ionnsaidh na creithle, agus thubhairt e ris an 
i-sithiche: " Tha gu leòir againn de 'n cheòl ud. 
Glac a' phìob-mhòr cheart agus thoir dhuinn aon 
phort math oirre, air-neo cuiridh mi a' bhiodag annad." 
Dh' eirich an sithiche suas 'na shuidhe anns a' 
rhreathall, rug e air a' phlob a bha aige an àite-eigin 
m' a thimchioll, agus chuir e suas an aon cheòl bu 
bhinne a chuala an tàillear riamh. Chuala na 
buanaichean e air an achadh, agus air ball leig iad a 
sios an corrain, agus sheas iad ag èisdeachd ris a' cheòl 
shìthe. Mu dheireadh dh' fhag iad an t-achadh, agus 
ruith iad an rathad a thainig an ceòl. Ach mu'n 
d' ràinig iad an tigh, sguir am port; agus cha robh 
fhios aca cò a chluich e, no cia as a thainig e. 

An uair a phill na buanaichean dachaidh anns an 
fheasgar, agus a fhuair an tàillear bean-an-tighe leatha 
fhèin, dh' innis e dhi gach ni a thachair am feadh a bha 
i aig a' bhuain, agus nach robh anns an leanabh aice 
ach tàcharan. 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 


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 


is a bhean an sìochaìre crìon, mosach do'n uisge, 
thionndaidh e 'na sheann duine mòr, Hath. Shnàmli 
e an sin gu taobh eile a' chamuis. An uair a fhuair 
e a chas air tir, ghlaodh e rithe, na'n robh fliios aige- 
san roimh làimh ciod a bha i a' dol a dheanamh, gu'n 
tugadh esan oirre nach smaointicheadh i air a leithid a 
dheanamh gu brath tuilleadh. 

Thill ise dhachaidh, agus fhuair i a leanabh fein slàn, 
fallain aig an dorus roimpe. 


had known beforehand what she was going to do he 
would have made her never think of doing such a thing 

She returned home and found her own child at the 
door before her, hale and sound. 


Bha bean dobair an Coire Osbainn aig an robh leanabh 
a dh' fhàs ro chrosda agus duilich a bhanaltrachadh. 
Cha robh fios aice fèin no aig a fear ciod a bha air an 
leanabh, no ciod a dheanadh lad ris, gus an d'thàinig 
an Tàillear a dheanamh aodaich de dh* eige chlòtha air 
ùr-thighinn as a' mhuileann luaidh. Air an ath latha 
an dèidh dha tighinn, chaidh bean a' chlobair do'n 
àite-mhòine, agus dh' fhàg i an leanabh air a churam 
gus an tilleadh i. Goirid an dèidh dhi falbh, gu de 
a chuala an Tàillear air a chijlaibh ach ceòl binn na 
pioba moire. Sheall e an rathad as an d'thàinig an 
ceòl, agus CO a chunnaic e 'na shuidhe anns an 
leabadh, ach seann duine beag, Hath, 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 Oireannainn I 

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 ceòi, agtis 
bha e 'na leanabh beag a rithist. 

Cha d'innis an Tàillear do'n mhnaoi ni de na 


In Corrie Osben lived a shepherd's wife, whose child 
grew very peevish and difficult to nurse. Neither she 
nor her husband 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, Plush ! Oranan, 
Hush! Oranan, Hush! Oheè! 

Long is the lassie of coming 
To give the Can nan 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 


chunnaic is a chuala e am fad is a bha i air falbh. Air 
an ath latha an deidh dhi dol do'n àite-mhòine, ghabh 
e ubh, thug e am biadh as, lion e am plaosg le uisge, 
agus chuir e taobh an teine e. Bha ioghnadh cho mòr 
air a' bhodachan de'n ni a chunnaic e is gu'n do 
thionndaidh e nail is gu'n d'thubhairt e: " Gu dè a 
tha thu a' dol a dheanamh le sin, a Thàilleir? " " Tha 
mi a' dol a theasachadh uisge a bhogadh bracha," 
ars an Tàillear. " Ma-tà tha mi còrr 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 null agus a' 
tòiseachadh a rithist air cluich air an fheadan 
chonnlaich. Chum e ag cluich puirt an la roimhe gus 
an cuala e a' bhean a' tighinn, agus an sin bha e aon 
uair eile 'na leanabh beag. 

Air an treas la dh' innis an Taillear 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' fheòraich a' bhean. " Thoir leat 
e," ars an Taillear, " gus an t-eas 's a' choimhears- 
nachd, agus tilg a sios 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' fhàs e 
'na dhuineachan beag, Hath. Dh' eirich e an sin 
air a chasan ann an corruich mhoir, 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 deidh gus an do ràinig i an tigh, far an d'fhuair 
i a leanabh fein air a fhàgail aig an dorus roimpe. 


seen and heard while she was absent. Next day. wh(.'n 
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 

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. 


Chaidh nighean òg uair-eigin roimhe so a shaodachadh 
cruidh a h-athar do'n mhonadh. Bha Sithean roimpe 
anns an t-slighe a ghabh i, agus an dèidh dhi tighinn 
'na shealladh, thachair oirre buidheann shlthichean le 
aon na b' àirde na an còrr air an ceann. Rug am 
fear so oirre, agus le cuideachadh chàich thug e leis 
i do'n t-Sithean. 

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 dòchas so bha i gu mòr air 
a mealladh. Oir ged a thòisich i air deasachadh, agus 
a chum i aige le a h-uile neart la an dèidh là, bha a 
h-obair a reir coltais an diomhain. Mar dh' 
fhalamhaicheadh ise a' chiste, lionadh 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 mòr is gu'n do bhrist i 
mach ann an caoineadh. 

Bha seann bhean anns an t-Slthean a thugadh air 
falbh 'na h-oige leis na sithichibh, agus a bha cho fada 
ann agus gu'n do chaill i dòchas air faotainn as. 
Chunnaic a' bhean so staid na h-inghine, agus an uair 


On'ck 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 n>et 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 off 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 


a chuimhnich i air a truaighe fein, an uair a bha i an 
toiseach anns a' cheart chas, ghabh i truas mòr 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 deidh so cuir tliusa 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 sheòl an t-seann bhean i, 
agus thainig crioch air a' mhin mar thubhairt i. An 
uair a chunnaic an nighean a' chiste falamh, chaidh 
i le gàirdeachas far an robh ceannard nan sithichean, 
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 


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." 



Chaidh da choimhearsnach a dh' iarraidh uisge-beatha 
na Calluinne do thigh-òsda a bha goirid as. An dèìdh 
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 dèidh sin, 
chuala iad ceòl binn agus iolach ghàirdeachais mhòir 
a' tighinn o'n àite 'san robh iad a' faicinn an t-soluis. 
Bha fios aca gu'n robh Sithean 'san àite sin; agus an 
uair a rainig iad e, bha an dorus fosgailte, agus na 
sithichean ag cur ri dannsadh. 

Shàth an dara fear a bhiodag an taobh an doruis, 
agus sheas e fèin agus a' cheud fhear air taobh a mach 
na biodaige. Ach ma sheas, cha d' fhuirich aon 
diubh fada ann. Thog an ceòl a inntinn cho mor is 
gu'n do leum e stigh, ag glaodhaich " suas e," agus 
gu'n do thòisich e leis a' phige air a dhruim air 
dannsadh leis na sithichibh. An dèidh dha a bhi greis 
air an ùrlar, ghlaodh a chompanach a bha mach ris 
tighinn, air-neo nach bitheadh iad dhachaidh an am 
air-son na Calluinne. "Thud! tha gu leòir a dh'uine 
againn," fhreagair e. '* Cha do dhanns mi aon 
ruithil fhathast." An sin thàinig cuid de na 
sithichibh dh' ionnsaidh an doruis, agus dh' fheuch iad 
iompaidh a chur air an fhear, a bha mach, dol a stigh 
le a chompanach ; ach dh'fhan e far an robh e. An 


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 brilHant 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 


ceann ùine maithe, ghlaodh 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 

An uair a ràinig e an tigh, bha gach duine a' feòraich 
c'àite an d'fhàg e a chompanach. Dh'innis e dhoibh 
gach ni a thachair, agus mar dh'fhàg e a chompanach 
a' dannsadh anns an t-Sithean. Ach cha robh aon aca 
a thug creideas d'a sgeul. An aite 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 fhein. B' ann an 
diomhain a bhoidich e gu'n robh e neo-chiontach. 
Chuir iad an làimh e, agus thug iad a mach binn bàis 
'na aghaidh. Ghuidh e an sin orra dàil là agus 
bliadhna a thoirt da chum e fein a ghlanadh o 'n 
amharus fo an robh e. Fhuair e sin. 

An uair a thàinig an ath Challuinn mu'n cuairt, 
chaidh e rathad an t-Sithein, anns an d'fhàg e a 
choimhearsnach. Bha an Sithean fosgailte, agus a 
choimhearsnach ag cur ri dannsadh leis na sithichibh, 
mar dh'fhàg se e. Shàth 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-àm dha nis tighinn a mach. " Ciod a tha thu 
ag ràdh ? Cha do chriochnaich mi a' cheud ruithil 
fhathast." " Am bheil fhios agad cia fhad a tha 
thu air an ijrlar?" " Cha'n 'eil os ceann da no tri 
de mhionaidibh." "Tha thu an so la agus bliadhna. 
Tha do chàirdean an dùil gu'm bheil thu marbh, agus 
ri mise a chur gu bàs am màireach mur toir mi dhach- 


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 

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 


aidh thu beò slàn an nochd." " Stad gus an cuir mi 
crioch air an ruithil so, agus falbhaidh mi leat an sin." 
Thug e an so ionnsaidh air pilleadh a stigh, 
ach rug a chompanach air ghairdean air, agus splon 
e mach e. Tharruing e an sin a' bhiodag a taobh an 
doruis, agus ghrad dhruid an dorus orra le chèile. 
Thill iad dhachaidh, agus an uair a ràinig iad, agus 
a thug a' cheud fhear am pige bhàrr a dhroma, bha 
an t-aodach fuidhe caithte gu ruig an craicionn. 


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. 


Laimh ri Sruibhleadh bha uair-eigin a' fuireachd seann 
duin'-uasal a ghabh 'na cheann Caisteal a thogail air 
Carraig Shruibhleadh. Roghnaich e làrach air fior 
mhullach na Cairge, agus tharruing e mach dealbh an 
togail a b' àill 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 cùl a chur ri dòchas a 
fhaicinn suas uair no uair-eigin mu'm faigheadh e am 
bàs. Maduinn agus feasgar chiteadh e ag coiseachd 
mu'n cuairt air an làraich a roghnaich e, agus 
chluinnteadh e ag gearan ris fèin nach robh aige de 
stòras na bheireadh dha comas air a run a ghifilan a 

Mu dheireadh thall thàinig duineachan beag far an 
robh e, is e ag gabhail a chuairt fheasgair ghnàthaichte 
air bhàrr mullaich na Cairge, agus thubhairt e: " Ciod 
a bheir thu 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 leam 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 


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. 


Air a' bhonn sin dli' 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 ùine 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 gàirdeachas an steidh air a 
leagadh. Oidhche an deidh oidhche, bha an 
duineachan beag ag cur ris an togail; ach air oidhche 
mu dheireadh an ràithe, cha robh e ri fhaicinn mu'n 
Chaisteal, is cha robh ni air bith air a chur ris an 

An uair a bha a' bhhadhna a' tarruing dlùth d'a 
ceann, bha an togail fagus air a bhi criochnaichte. 
Bha nis an seann duin'-uasal a' fas 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 ràithe lean e do'n àite d'an teid 
e, agus seas ag eisdeachd a muigh, agus is dòcha gu'n 
cluinn thu a ainm o bheul cuid no cuid-eigin a stigh." 

Phill an duin'-uasal dhachaidh, agus an uair a 
thàinig an t-àm, rinn e gach ni a dh' iarr an duine glic 
air. Air feasgar mu dheireadh an ràithe 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 ràdh : " An d'thàinig 
thu, a Thomais Sheochd ? " Cho luath is a chuala e 
so, dh' fhalbh e, Ian chinnteach gu'n d'fhuair e mach 
diomhaireachd an t-sithiche. Ach ghlèidh e an diomh- 
aireachd dha fein gus an d'thàinig feasgar mu 
dheireadh na bliadhna. An sin chaidh e dh'ionnsaidh 


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; 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 


na Cairge, far an robh an sithiche a' feitheamh air 
a shon. Thubhairt an sithiche: " Chriochnaich mise 
m' obair, agus feumaidh tusa nis falbh learn." " 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 
Tòmas Sheochd?" ars an duin'-uasal. 

Fhreagair an sithiche: 

" Ma 's mise Tomas 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 dheidh tuill nach urrainn clach, 
no crann, no ni air bith fo'n ghrein a dhruideadh, ach 
buachar each. 


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. 


Tha e coltach gu'n robh na sithichean 'nan luchd-ciùil 
barraichte, agus gu'm b' i a' phiob an roghainn de 
gach inneal-ciùil. 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 ceòl 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 ràdh gu'n do 
theagaisg iad do chuid a dhaoine air an do ghabh iad 
speis, agus a tha fhathast air chuimhne ann am beul- 
aithris. 'Nam measg sin bha an Gille Dubh 

Gu am a' Ghille Dhuibh cha robh Clann Mhic 
Ruimein na b'fhearr na piobairean matha eile anns a' 
Ghàidheahachd. B' esan a' cheud aon diubh a dh' 
^irich OS ceann chàich uile ann an ainmealachd, agus 
ris an abradh gu coitchionn Righ nam Piobairean. 

B'e an t-aon a b' òige de thri mic, agus air am bu 
lugha meas aig a athair. An uair a bheireadh a athair 
a nuas o chùl a' mhaide chruim a' phiob mhor 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 sèid a chur 'na 
mala. Bha e mar an ceudna air a chumail fodha le 


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. 

L'p 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 Avas 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 


each, agus air a fhagail gu bhi a' deanamh gach oibre 
a bu tràilleile na cheile. 

Air la sònraichte chaidh a athair agus a dhà bhràthair 
dh'ionnsaidh na feille, agus dh' fhàg iad esan aig an 
tigh leis fhein. An deidh dhoibh falbh, fhuair e am 
feadan, agus thòisich e air cluich air. Agus am 
meadhon na cluiche, cò thainig air ach a' Bhean-Shithe 
as an Dun. 

" Tha thu trang ag iomairt ciùil, 'lUe," ars i. 
Fhreagair e gu'n robh. " Co aca a b'fhearr leat, 
ealdhain gun rath, no rath gun ealdhain ? " ars i an 
sin. Thubhairt e gu'm b' ftiearr leis ealdhain gun 
rath. Spion i ròineag 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 mheòir air 
tuill an fheadain, agus cuiridh mise mo mheòir air do 
mheòir-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 dhèidh." 
Dh'fhàg i an sin latha math aige, agus dh' fhalbh i. 

Cho luath is a dh' fhalbh i, thug e nuas a' Chachlaidh 
Dhubh, agus thòisich 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 bhràithrean o'n fheill. Agus 
an uair a dhlùthaich iad air an tigh, chuala iad an 
ceòl, agus sheas iad a dh' eisdeachd. " Co 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 ceòl mu'n d' ràinig iad an tigh. 


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 

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 wàth 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. 



Chaidh iad a stigh, ach cha do ghabh aon aca air 
gu'n cuala e an ceòl, gus an d'thainig an oidhche. 
An sin thug an seann duine a nuas a' phiob mhòr, 
agus an deidh dha fein agus d'a dhà mhac port mu 
seach a chur oirre, dh' iarr e air a' Ghille Dhubh a 
thacan fein a ghabhail dhith. "An e mise?" ars e. 
" Cha 'n airidh mise air an onair sin. Is leòir dhomh- 
sa a bhi am thraill agaibh uile." " Glac a' phlob, 
agus cha'n iarrar ort obair thrailleil a dheanamh 
tuilleadh," thubhairt a athair. 

Rug e air a' phiob mu dheireadh, agus chuir e suas 
an aon cheòl bu ghrinne a chuala duine a bha stigh 
riamh. " Dh' fhag an ceòl sinn," ars an t-athair ris 
na mic eile. " Cha tig aon againn an uisge na stiuire 
do'n Ghille Dhubh." B' fhior mar thubhairt e, oir 
cha robh leithid a' Ghille Dhuibh ann r'a linn no 'na 


They went in, but none of them let on that they had 
heard the music till night came. Then the old man 
took clown 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. 


[Fhuair Mac Ruimein feadan airgid bho Bhean- 
shithe Uaimh an Oir air chumhnant gu'n tigeadh e 
maille rithe do'n Uaimh aig ceann la is bliadhna. Is 
e so am port a chluicli e, is e a' dol a steach do'n 
Uaimh : — ] 

Cha tig mise ! Cha till mise ! 
Mu'n tig mis' a Uaimh an Oir 

Bidh na minn bheaga 

'Nan gabhair chreagach, 
'S a' chlann laga 'nam fir-air. 

Is cianail mise, 

'Triall fo gheasaibh ; 
Bidh mi 'm feasd an Uaimh an Oir. 


[Rinneadh na rainn so le Mac Ruimein, an uair a 
chluich e an lathair an Righ, agus air do'n R)gh 
iarraidh air a dhuais innseadh, dh'iarr e cead air làmh 
an Righ a phògadh.] 

Fhuair mi pòg, gu'n d'fhuair mi pòg, 
Fhuair mi pòg, o làimh an Righ. 
Cha d' chuir sèid' an craiceann caorach 
A fhuair an fhàilte ud, ach mi fhèin. 


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.] 


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 

[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.] 


A reir beul-aithris bha sealladh an da shaoghail 
aig Cloinn MhicGlaisein Chreaganaich an Liosmòr. 
Fhuair aon aca an comas so air an dòigh a leanas:— 

An uair a bha a phàrantan a' dol leis air-son baistidh 
do dh' Eaglais na Sgireachd, shuidh iad, fad beagan 
mhionaid a ghabhail foise air cnoc, làimh ri Allt 
Aogain, àite aig an robh ainm a bhi 'na ionad-tatliaich 
sònraichte aig na sithichean. Am feadh a bha iad ag 
cur seachad an sgios, leag iad sios laimh riu an leanabh, 
paisgte ann am breacan, agus e 'na shuain chadail. 
i\gus an uair a dh'fhalbh iad a ris, dhi-chuimhnich 
an te, ris an d'earbadh c, 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'fhagadh e. 
CTia robh atharrachadh air bith ri fhaicinn 'na choltas; 
gidheadh bha na sithichean maille ris, agus dh'fhàg 
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 
mhòran sgeòil a bha aon uair air an innseadh m'a 
thimchioll : — 

Bha bràthair-cèile aige a chaill a cheud bhean 'na 
laighe-shiùbhladh, agus a dhiiilt fad ijine 'na dheidh 
sin comhfhurtachd a ghabhail. Air feasgar-eigin, is e 


According 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 


a' pilleadh dhachaidh an cuideachd MhicGIaisein, 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 mhòran dàlach." Ach ghrìos fear a' bliròin air 
gun sin a dheanamh. " Ma-tà," 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 ùine ghoirid, agus aon uair 
is gu'm falbh iad, cha'n urrainn mise a tabhairt air a 
h-ais gu bràth." 

Sguir a' bhantrach a chaoidh air-son a mhnatha; 
agus mu'n d'thàinig crioch air a' bhliadhna, phòs e 
te eile. Air oidhche na bainnse, thubhairt Mac- 
Glaisein, is e a bhi an làthair, r'a chompanach : " Seall 
thar mo ghualainn, agus chi thu a' cheud bhean a' 
seasamh eadar an dara te agus a fear." Ach dhiùlt a 
chompanach an cuireadh. 


company, and lamenting his loss, the latter said: " You 
need not be lamenting like that for your wife; if you 
like, 1 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. 


Uair-eigin roimhe so bha a chòmhnuidh am Muilionn- 
Feunachan an Daoghall, muillear, a bha cho làidir is 
gu'n d' fhuair e, mar fhar-ainm, Calum Laidir. Ach 
ged bha Calum laidir, cha robh duine 'san sgireachd 
a bha cho mor air a chlaoidh leis an dubh leisg ris. 
Hha 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-eòrna 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 ghairdeachais a 
stigh ; agus anns a' mhaduinn bhitheadh gach siol 's a' 
mhuileann air a fhaotainn bleithte, a' mhin am pocaibh, 
agus gach ni air a fhàgail gu cruinneil, òrdail. Na'm 
bitheadh duine air bith cho dana 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' chùlaibh, le neart cho mor is gu'n tuiteadh 
e gu làr; agus, an uair a dh' eireadh e, le sròn bhriste, 
is a' sileadh fala, bhitheadh am muileann an dorchadas, 
agus gach ni samhach. 

An uair a bhitheadh feum air connlaich air-son na 
spreidhe, bhitheadh meadar mor càbhruich air a fhàgail 
air an ùrlar bhualaidh 'san oidhche, agus anns a* 


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 

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 ri::e, 
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. 


mhaduinn bhitheadh an siol uile air a fhaotainn buailte, 
a' chonnlach 'na boiteinean, agus an gran grèidhte, 
agus deas air-son a' mhuilinn. 

Air oidhche araidh a bha na daoine beaga trang 's a' 
mhuileann, chunnacas àth Thulaich Ghriobainn r'a 
theine; agus chualas na daoine beaga ag glaodhaich : 
'* Bithidh pailteas mine againn a nis, agus càbhruich 
cuideachd; oir tha àth Thulaich Ghriobainn r'a theine; 
agus o so suas feumaidh Calum Laidir oibreachadh air 
a shon fèin, no bàsachadh leis an acras." Dh' fhalbh 
iad an sin, agus cha do thill iad tuilleadh. 


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. 


Bha duine o thaobh Loch Obha latha a' siubhal monadh 
a' Bhaile mhoir, baile a bha goirid as o'n àite 'san 
robh e ag gabhail còmhnuidh. Bha an latha grianach, 
bòidheach ; agus an uair a ràinig e Creag - thulaich, 
shuidh e sios air a mullach, a ghabhail seallaidh air an 
dùthaich m'a thimchioll. Cha robh e fada an sin, gus 
an d' thàinig dà shìthiche g'a ionnsaidh, agus corruich 
mhor 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 dàil ; ach bha am fear eile air-son a leigeil 
as an uair sin. Chonnsaich iad mu'n chùis so car 
tacain, ach b' e deireadh na cluiche, gu 'n do leig iad 
as e, air chumhnant nach suidheadh e 'san àite 'san d' 
fhuaradh e tuilleadh. 

Uair-eigin 'na dheidh sin, thuit do n duine a bhi 
rathad na creige rithist, agus a dhearbhadh co dhiubh 
bha e 'na chadal no 'na fhaireachadh, an uair a bha leis 
gu 'm faca e an da shithiche, shuidh e sios anns a' 
cheart àite 'san robh e a' cheud uair. Ann am priobadh 
na sùla thàinig tri sìthichean far an robh e, agus iad 
ann an corruich uamhasaich. Rug iad air, agus thug 
iad dha droch chrathadh agus bhrùthadh ; agus an sin 
leig iad as e, a' bagradh dioghaltais bu mhiosa air, na 'm 
faigheadh iad 'san àite cheudna e rithist. 


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 ofif 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. 


Bha cuid a dhaoine o shean ag creidsinn gu'm bitheadh 
na sithichean air uairibh ag cruinneachadh as gach 
ceàrn de 'n dùthaich mu'n cuairt gu coinneamh a 
ghlèidhadh an àite àraidh, 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 àite air 
bith eile. 

Thàinig uair buidheann a Muile a ghlèidheadh 
coinneimh ri buidheann eile as a' Mhoirbhairne; ach, air 
an uair sin, thachair iad air a cheile làimh ri abhainn 
Achachairn, an àite an ionaid ghnàthaichte 's a' Chnoc. 
Cha robh iad fada còmhla 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 fein agus a' 
bhuidheann Mhorbhairneach, fhreagair na Morbhairn- 
eich : "Cha tabhair sibh leibh Iain Og." Ghlaodh na 
Muilich a rithist an guth àrd: " Bheir sinn leinn Iain 
Og, " ach ma ghlaodh, fhreagair na Morbhairneich an 
guth cho àrd r' an guth fein: " Cha toir sibh leibh Iain 
Og." Chum an da bhuidheann mar so ag connsach- 
adh r' a cheile ùine mhath, agus mar b' fhaide a lean 
iad, b' ann bu dliiithe iad air a cheile, agus a b' àirde 
is a bu chroisde a bha an guth a' dol. 

Cha robh na Morbhairneich cho lionmhor r' an 


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- 



coimhearsnaich o thaobh eile a' chaoil ; ach, mur robh, 
bha iad pailte cho seòlta. 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 ; theid 
sinn gu taobh Achachàirn is dannsaidh sinn." Ach 
cha robh na Muilich toileach an cothrom a fhuair 
iad a leigeadh seachad; agus le sin fhreagair iad: " Is 
fhearr a bhi cinnteach na a bhi caillteach ; cha teid sinn 
gu taobh Achachàirn a dhannsadh." Chonnsaich iad 
mu'n chiais so greis eile, aon taobh ag ràdh gu'n 
rachadh, agus an taobh eile ag ràdh nach rachadh iad 
gu Achachàirn a dhannsadh. Ach mu dheireadh thall, 
b' i comhairle na sithe a bhuadhaich ; chaidh iad le cheile 
gu taobh Achachàirn, agus, mu'n do sguir an danns- 
adh, fhuair Iain Og seachad. 


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. 




Bha iasgair làimh ri Loch Suaineart an Airdnamurchan 
a dh' fhàg a bhean leatha fèin anns an tigh am feadh 
a bha e ag cur nan lion anns an Loch, agus 'gam fàgail 
an sin fad na h-oidhche. Am fad is a bha e air falbh, 
thàinig da choigreach — aon diùbh ro mhòr, agus an 
t-aon eile ro bheag — dh' ionnsaidh dorus an àite far an 
robh a bhean 'na laighe 'san leabadh. Bha fosgladh 
eadar mullach an doruis agus an t-àrd-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 phùc am fear beag e cho cruaidh is gu'n do 
gheill an dorus, agus an do spàrradh a stigh e do 'n 
àite-laighe gu ruig meadhon an ùrlair; 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' dliithachadh. An sin dh' fhalbh e fèin agus a 
chompanach ; agus mar bha iad a' fàgail an tighe, 
chualadh aon diubh ag ràdh : "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 làimh 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. 




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. 


Bha aig ceud Mhac an t-Saoir Ghlinne Nodha 
leannan sithe a bha a' tathaich ghleann agus 
choireachan uaigneach Chruachan Beann. Bu ghnàth 
leis a chomhairle a chur ris a' bhean shithe so an uair 
a thuiteadh dha a bhi an càs air bith, agus nach robh 
fios aige cia mar a gheibheadh e as. 

Thachair so uair a bha a bhràthair bu shine a' dol 
a chumail uaith a chòrach fèin de stochd Inbhir Abha. 
Bha an da bhrathair a chòmhnuidh le cheile, agus ag 
còrdadh math gu leòir, gus an do phòs 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' òige air 
a' bhaile. Mu dheireadh dh' òrdaich a bhrathair air 
an t-àite fhàgail, agus falbh leis na bhuineadh dha do 
Ghleann Nodha, agus fuireachd an sin. " Agus gu de 
a bhuineas dhomh?" dh' fheòraich am bràthair òg. 
" Am mart ban agus na leanas i," fhreagair am fear 
eile. Shaoil am bràthair òg gu'n robh e ag ciallachadh 
a' mhairt bhàin agus a falbhairean a mhàin, agus uime 
sin, gu'n robh e a' dol a chumail uaith a chòrach fèin 
de 'n stochd. Cha robh fhios aige fein 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-àitibh 'sam b' àbhaist dhi tachairt air. Dh* innis e 
dhi ciod a thubhairt a bhrathair, agus an sin dh' iarr 


The first Maclntyre of Glenoe had a fairy sweetheart 
who haunted the glens and soHtary corries of Ben 
Cruachan. He used to consuh 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 
In vera we. 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," ansjwered 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 


e oirre a chuideachadh le a comhairle. " Rach air t'ats 
gu tigh do bhràthar agus fuirich an sin an nochd. 
Mu'n tig an latha, bithidh cur sneachda ann, agus 
còmhdaichear an talamh leis. Anns a' mhaduinn gabh 
sguab arbhair agus gairm am mart ban as do dhèidh. 
Thoir ort an sin do Ghleann Nodha leatha fèin 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' èirich 
e moch an ath latha, thug e sguab choirce as an t-sabhul, 
agus dh' fhalbh e do Ghleann Nodha leis a' mhart 
bhàn agus an leth a bu mhotha de bhuaile Inbhir Abha 
'na dheidh. Ràinig e an Gleann, far an do thog e 
tigh, agus goirid 'na dheidh sin phòs e. 

Uine mhath an deidh dha pòsadh, bha a bhean 'na 
laighe-shiùbhladh, agus a beatha an cunnart mòr. Cha 
robh fios aige ciod a dheanadh feum dhi, no cò dh' 
ionnsaidh an rachadh e air-son cuideachaidh. Mu 
dheireadh smuaintich e air a' bhean shithe, agus air 
dol far an robh ise. Ach cha bu luaithe a thàinig 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 àite maith d'a mhnaoi. 
Chuir an smuain so dragh air re tamuill. Ach mu 
dheireadh thubhairt e ris fèin gu'n glèidheadh e 
tinneas a mhnatha uaigneach, agus gu'n abradh e gu'm 
b' i an lair ghlas a bha an cunnart. 

Ràinig e a' bhean shithe, agus dh' fheòraich e dhith 
ciod a bheireadh freasdaladh do'n lair. Fhreagair i: 
" Gabh còig cathraichean de 'n bhruth-chorc, agus cuir 
iad fo ghliin cH na làrach, agus an iiine ghoirid bithidh 
i cho math is a bha i riamh. 

Phill Mac an t-Saoir dhachaidh, agus chuir e bruth- 
chorc fo ghliin cH a mhnatha, agus ann an tiota fhuair 
i fuasgladh. 


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. 


B' E Diùrach a bh' ann am Murchadh Buidhe nam 
Fiadh. Bha e, mar tha a ainm a' leigeil ris, 'na 
shealgair fhiadh ro iomraideach 'na am fein. De gach 
beinn anns an Eilean b' i Beinn an Oir a roghainn àite 
seilge, agus lean e air a tathaich, gus an robh e 'na 
fhior sheann duine liath. 

B' ann do na sithichean a bhuineadh na feidh, 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 
brèagh, air an d' èalaidh e, gus an robh e an dlùthas 
saighead a thilgeadh air. Ach an uair a chaog e a 
shùil a ghabhail cuimse, thionndaidh an damh 'na 
dhuine, agus thubhairt e: "Tha thusa an sin, a 
Mhurchaidh Bhuidhe nam Fiadh, is tu air fas liath ad 
shuidhe air sliabh Beinn an Oir." Fhreagair 
Murchadh: *' Ma tha mise air fas liath air sliabh Beinn 
an Oir, is fhurasda do Dhia mo dheanamh òg." 

Air dha so a ràdh, phill neart na h-òige ris a rithist, 
agus bha e beò iomadh bliadhna an deidh sin. 


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. 


Cha robh an Croitean ach deòirean bochd a bha na 
chilis thruais do dhaoine iochdmhor, agus 'na bhall 
gàire aig luchd na gòraiche agus na h-amaideachd. 
Bha e air dhroch cumadh o'n la anns an d' rugadh e, 
le a ghlùinean lag a' lùbadh foidhe, agus le pait mhòir 
eadar a dhà ghualainn. An uair a ràinig 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 gràisg 
chloinne 'ga leantainn ag gàireachdainn 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 
ùine là an dèidh là leis fèin anns an Doire Sheilich a 
bha goirid as o thigh a mhàthar. Thug na coimhears- 
naich fa-near far am bu gnath leis del, agus thug iad 
mar fhrith-ainm air, Croitean an Doire Sheilich. 

Air feasgar àraidh an dèidh dha mòran 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 diona. Mu 'n deachaidh e ro fhada 
air aghaidh 'san Doire, choinnicheadh e leis an aon 
leanaban a bu bhòidhche a chunnaic e riamh. Cha b' 
urrainn e rithist làn-chunntas a thoirt air coltas na ban- 
sithiche, oir b' e sin a bha innte, ni mo bha cuimhne 
aige air a sgeadachadh na b' fhaide na gu 'n robh tonnag 
uaine m' a guailnibh agus crioslaichte m'a meadhon le 
crios oir agus gu 'n robh air a ceann boineid uaine le 
dos iteag airgid a' dannsadh 'na mullach. 


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 

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. 


" C'àìte am bheil thu a' dol ? " ars a' bhean shithe. 

" Tha mi a' dol a chur seachad an fheasgair anns an 
Doire Sheilich," fhreagair Croitean. 

" Nach 'eil companach idir agad leis an tèid 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' fheòraich 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-greine. 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 èis no earras ort." 

Dh' fhalbh e leatha gu togarrach gus an d'ràinig iad 
CÙ1 an t-Sithein Mhoir. " Dijin do shiiilean, agus thoir 
dhomhsa do làmh," ars a' bhean shithe ris. Rinn e 
mar dh' iarr i air, agus ann an tiota bha iad anns an 
aon fhàrdaich a b' àille a chunnaic e riamh. Shlaod i 
suas troimh an chuideachd e, a' seinn gu h-eutrom : 

Gu rèidh gu leir ! 

Gath - greine air tilleadh, 
Croitean 's i fein, 

Le cheile air tighinn. 

"Sonas is àgh air Mire-gath-greine," labhair maighdean 
cheutach a b' àille air a sgeadachadh na each, agus air 
an robh air a ceann crijn òir làn usgraichean. 

" Ciod is aill leatha sinn a dheanamh ri Croitean 
bochd? " 
" Sonas 'thoirt da an àite cràidh, 

Ealdain làn ratha, toil duine mhaith. 

Is bidh Mire-gath-greine gu h-aobhinn aighearach." 
Agus air falbh dhanns i gun sùil tuilleadh a thoirt air 


" 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!" 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. 


" Cuin a tha Mire-gath-grèine air atharrachadh ? " ars 
a' Bhan-righ, " agus a rèir a h-iarrtuis bitheadh e." 

Ghlac na slthichean eile e, agus an uair a shaoil leis 
gu'n robh e air a shlaodadh as a chèile eatorra, leig iad 
as da, agus bha e cho deas, direach is bu choir dha bhi. 
An sin chuala e an ceòl a bu mhilse ris an d' èisd 
e riamh, lion solas a chridhe, agus thòisich e air 
dannsadh còmhla ris na daoine beaga a bha air an ùrlar, 
agus stad cha d' rinn e gus an do thuit e as a sheasamh 
leis an sgios. Cha robh e ach goirid 'na laighe air an 
ùrlar gus an d' thàinig clò-chadal air, agus an d' 
fhairich e na sithichean 'ga ghiùlan air falbh troimh an 
athar, agus an ceòl ciùin tiamhaidh a' dol na b' fhaide 

Mu dheireadh dhùisg e, agus air dha sealltainn m'a 
thimchioll, b' ann 'san Doire Sheilich fhuair se e fèin 
'na laighe. Dh' eirich e, agus phill e dhachaidh. Bha 
e air falbh latha is bliadhna, agus anns an liine sin, 
thainig atharrachadh cho mor air is gu'm b' ann air 
eiginn a dh' aithnich a mhàthair fèin e. Rinn i 
gàirdeachas ris, agus an dèidh sin fhuair i e 'na 
chuideachadh mor dhi, oir bha làmh aige nis air gach 

Am measg na h-òigridh a bhitheadh a' fanaid air, 
bha giullan air an robh am frith-ainm Saigean. Bha 
Saigean 'na chreutair crion, granda, le làmhan agus 
casan coltach ri spàgan cràigein-ghàraidh, agus pait 
mhòr ag eirigh suas eadar a dha ghualainn. An uair 
a chunnaic e mar thill Croitean, cho direach ri 
luaichirean, agus cho uallach ri buachaille nan laogh, 
rinn e suas càirdeachas 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 bòid air Saigean gun e a dh' innseadh sin 
do dhuine beò, a chionn gu 'n robh e fèin fo ghealladh 


"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 

Among the youngsters who used to mock at him was 
a boy 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 



aig na sithichean a ghlèidheadh uaigneach. Gheall 
Saigean gu 'n deanadh e mar dh' iarradh air. 

Air an fheasgar sin fein chaidh Saigean do 'n Doire 
Shieilich an dùil gu 'n coinnicheadh e aon de na 
sithichean a leighiseadh e mar leighiseadh Croitean, ach 
cha'n fhaca e gin. Feasgar an dèidh feasgair lean e 
air dol do 'n àite cheudna, gus, mu dheireadh, am faca 
e aig bun pris cuilinn duineachan beag 'na shuidhe agus 
ag amharc le fiamh ghàire fanaidich 'na ghnùis. 

" An tusa Mire-gath-grèine? " arsa Saigean. 

" Cha mhi," fhreagair an duineachan, "ach is mi 
Coma-co-dhiùbh. Ciod do ghnothach-sa ri Mire-gath- 
grèine? " 

" O gu 'n toir i dhiom a' phait so mar thug i a' chroit 
bhàrr Chroitein," thubhairt Saigean. " An toir thu 
mi do 'n àite far am bheil i? " 

" NÌ mi s".i," arsa Coma - co - dhiijbh, "ach gheibh 
thu cead tighinn as mar as àill leat fein." 

" 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 mor gaire, agus an 
sin dh' fhalbh e le Saigean do 'n t-Sithean Mhòr, agus 
thug e stigh e, mar thugadh Croitean. 

" Co 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 cràigean d' an ainm Saigean, a chuir Croitean 
air sgriob an fhortain, an diiil gu 'n toirtear dheth a 
phait," fhreagair Coma-co-dhiùbh. 

"An do bhrist Croitean a bhòid is a ghealladh nach 
innseadh e do dhuine air bith d'a dheòin mar dh' eirich 
dha an so? " arsa a' Bhan-righ, agus i a' tionndadh le 
corruich 'na gnùis ri Saigean. 


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- 
beaiii? " 

" 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. 


" 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 : " Spàrraibh 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 làmhan 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 thàinig e g'a dh'ionnsaidh fein, b' ann 
'san Doire Sheilich a bha e, a' phait a dhà mheud is a 
bha i roimhe, agus a chnamhan cho sgith, brùite is 
gu 'm b' ann air eiginn a b' urrainn e carachadh. 
Fhuair e air a chasan le moran stri, agus an sin shnàig 
e dhachaidh; ach gu latha a bhàis cha d' innis e do 
dhuine ach do Chroitean, mar thachair dha 'san 
t-Sithean Mhòir. 


"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- 

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. 


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 bàs 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 brònach a thogail taobh a mach an doruis. 
Cho luath is a chluinneadh càirdean an duine thinn a 
guth, chailleadh iad dòchas r'a dhol am feobhas. 
Ciiuala iad a' Chaointeach a' tuireadh, agus bu leòir 
an dearbhadh sin leò gu'n robh a chrioch aig làimh. 

Ach sguir a' Chaointeach a thabhairt sanais seachad 
do mhuinntir na Ranna. Chualadh i mu dheireadh aig 
tigh 'san àite sin o cheann iomadh bliadhna. 

Bha 'san am duine tinn air a leabadh bàis agus a 
chàirdean 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'fhàg e aice seann bhreacan air 
àite suidhe, a bha aig taobh an doruis. Phiil 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 


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 J 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 Caointeach 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 


Bha Maighdean, no Gruagach, a' leantainn teaghlach 
Bhaile Bheòlain an Liosmor. Bha a' mhaighdean so 
ag gabhail cùraim mhòir de'n teaglach, agus de gach ni 
a bhuineadh dhoibh. Ach b' i an fheudail a culaidh 
chùraim 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 ris. Bhitheadh i mar an ceudna *gan leantainn 
'nan siùbhal anns an àite-ionaltraidh fad an la; agus 
ged nach robh i fèin r'a faicinn, bha a guth gu minic 
r'a chluinntinn 'gan tionndadh o bhruaich na creige, 
no 'gan ruagadh as na dailthean coirce. Agus b' i an 
aon duais a bha i ag iarraidh air-son a seirbhise Ian 
meadair de mhèag fuar air a fhàgail dhi 'san oidhche 
an uinneig a' bhàthaich. Ach am feadh bha i ag 
gabhail cijraim shònraichte de theaghlach agus de 
sprèidh Fhir-a'-bhaile, bha i mar an ceudna ag amharc 
an dèidh gach teaghlaich agus duine a bha air an 
fhearann. Air uairean leanadh i iad gu tir-mor, agus 
chuidicheadh i iad, an uair a chitheadh i iad am feum 
a cuideachaidh. 

Ghabh Sealbhach Mac Shealbhaich, duine foghainnt- 
each, neo-sgàthach, a bha a chòmhnuìdh am Fracarsaig, 
a bhàta, agus chaidh e leatha thar na Linne 
Morbhairnich do Ghleann Sannda air-son connaidh. 
An dèidh dha foghnadh de fhiodh a gheàrradh agus a 


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 w-as 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 


chur anns a' bhàta, phut e i o'n chladach, agus bha 
e fein a' dol a leum innte, an uair a chuala e air a 
chùlaibh 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 bòrd cho iollagach ri nighinn òig. Shuidh 
i an sin air tè de na totaibh, agus dh' iarr i air ràmh a 
shineadh dhi. Cha deanadh e sin: dh' iomaireadh e 
am bàta leis fein. Ach lean i cho fada air an ràmh a 
dh' iarraidh is gu'n d'thug e dhi e mu dheireadh. Cho 
luath is a fhuair i e 'na làmhan, ghlaodh i: " Buille air, 
a Shealbhaich." Ach ma dhùlanaich ise esan, dhùlan- 
aich esan ise, ag ràdh : " Buille eile oirre, a chailleach." 
Agus an sin dh' iomair iad le cheile gu cruaidh, agus 
chuir iad am bàta 'na still air a slighe. Mar a b' fhaide 
a bha a' chailleach ag iomram, b' ann a bu làidire a bha 
i a' fas. Air an làimh 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 
dàine na air tùs: " Buille air, a Shealbhaich." Sgith 
is mar bha Sealbhach bochd, bhrosnaich an dara dùlan 
so e cho mòr is gu'n do fhreagair e le guth cho àrd 
agus cho dàna r' a guth fein: " Buille eile air a rithist, 
a sheann chailleach," agus an sin chuir e cho fada 
thuige e fein is gu'n robh e an ùine ghoirid an impis 
tuiteam a sios claoidhte air ùrlar a' bhàta. Ach chuidich 
nàire, gu 'm faigheadh cailleach an làimh-an-uachdair 
air, e a chumail air fein beagan na b' fhaide, agus an 
sin fhuair e fuasgladh ; oir an dèidh do'n bhàta an 
t-aiseag a dheanamh an i'line anabarrach goirid, ràinig 
i an tèaruinteachd 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 bàta suas air a' 
chladach. "Cha ruig thu leas," ars a' chailleach, 


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 r 
" 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 he 
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^ 


" ma tharruingeas tusa do thaobh fèin, 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 cheile air a' bhàta, 
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 Bheòlain a bha innte. 

Greis an dèidh sin air do bhanaraich iir mèag goileach 
fhàgail 'san oidhche am meadar na Maighdinn, dh' 
fhàg i an t-àite le grain, agus cha'n fhacas i o sin anns 
a' choimhearsnachd. 


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 

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. 


Bu Mhaighdean Nic Gille Mhicheil a bha a' leantainn 
Caimbeulaich Ghlinn - Faochain, làimh ris an Oban 
Latharnach. Bha i ag amharc as dèidh seirbhisich an 
tighe, agus 'gan smachdachadh na'n dearmadadh iad 
an obair a dheanamh, no na'n deanadh iad i gu neo- 

Uair-eigin a fhuair searbhanta, is i air ùr-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 
làthair 'san am, agus chuala i ciod a bhagair an 
t-searbhanta a dheanamh oirre. Goirid an dèidh sin, air 
do'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' 
fheòraicheadh dhith an t-aobhar, is e na b' urrainn i a 
ràdh, gu'n d'fhuair i o làimh 'san dorcha sgleog 'san 
lethcheann chli a chuir a' gheoic ud oirre. 

Cho luath is a chuala Glean n - Faochain ciod a 
rinneadh oirre, thug e mach i air làimh, agus choisich 
e leatha timchioll an tighe, a labhairt ris a' Mhaighdinn 
'san dorcha, agus ag ràdh rithe: " a Nic Gille Mhicheil, 
a thruaghain, nach cuir thu, air mo bhuidheachas fein, 
ceann na searbhanta mar bha e roimhe? " An ceann 
tacain fhuair an t-searbhanta sgleog eile, air an uair so 


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 

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, 


'san lethcheann dheas. Chuir am buille a ceann air ais 
teann air mar bha e an toiseach. Dh'fiiuirich e an sin 
'na shuidheachadh mu dheireadh, mar rabhadh do 
dhaoine eile an aghaidh dioghaltas a bhagradh air Nic 
Gille Mhicheil. 

An uair a chaidh oighreachd Ghlinn-Faochain a reic, 
chualas i fad na h-oidhche ag osnaich is ag caoineadh 
am measg nan craobh a bha timchioll an tighe. Ach 
an deidh sin cha chualas is cha'n fhacas i, aon chuid 
mu'n tigh, no an àite air bith eile 's a' Ghleann. 


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. 


B' Apunnach Gillecriosd tàillear. Bhitheadh e a" dol 
o thigh gu tigh a' deanamh aodaich; agus an uair a 
theiiigeadh obair air 'san Apuinn rachadh e thar na 
Linne do Cheann - ghearrloch agus do'n Mhorbhairne 
air-son tuillidh. 

Uair a bha e fèin is a ghille a' dol thar a' mhonaidh 
eadar an da àite sin, thuit an oidhche orra aig dol-a-stigh 
a' Ghlinne Ghil. Cha deachaidh iad air an aghaidh 
ach goirid anns a' Ghleann an uair a chunnaic iad solus 
rompa, agus rinn iad direach air. Ràinig iad am 
bothan-àiridhe, as an d'thàinig an solus, agus rinn a' 
bhanarach agus am buachaille, a bha an cois a' chruidh, 
am beatha. Bha iad le chèile sgìlh 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 mor fhalaisge, a bha air meadhon an 

Roimh am dhol-a-laighe, thàinig Cailleach mhor, 
fhiadhaich a dh'ionnsaidh an doruis, agus dh'iarr i cead 
dol a stigh, agus i fein a thiormachadh. Mar bha am 
mi-fhortan 'san dan, thubhairt Gillecriosd rithe tighinn 
air a h-aghaidh, agus suidhe còmhla riu mu'n teine. 
Cha d'fheith i an ath chuireadh, ach thàinig i, agus 
shuidh i aig an teine, agus thòisich i ri i fein a 
thiormachadh. An ceann tacain dh'fhàs i neo-shocrach, 
a' tionndadh taoibh an deidh taoibh ris an teine; agus 
mar bha i a' tiormachadh, bha i ag at agus ag at, agus 
a' fas dàna agus ladarna 'na cainnt. Thuit do 


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 lire 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 snufT-horn 


Ghillecriosd an adharc shnaoisein aige a tharruing as a 
phòca, 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 bàrr 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 mhoir agus ann an droch cainnt. 

Dh' eirich a' bhanarach agus am buachaille agus gille 
an tàilleir, agus chaidh iad taobh eile a' chailbhe, a 
bha a' roinn a' bhothain 'na dha chearn. 

Dh'èirich a' Chailleach an sin, agus am badaibh an 
tàilleir bhitheadh i. Ach thug e dhi sàthadh no dithis 
leis a' bhiodaig, a thug oirre tilleadh r'a h-àite suidhe 
aig taobh an teine. 

An ceann tacain dh' eirich 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, ròcail 
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 
mhoir, agus b' ann air èiginn 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 àirde a cinn air Gormla Mhoir o'n 
Mhaigh an Lochabar, agus air Nighean Fhir Leirg na 
h-Uinnsinn an Cnapadal. Ach gu fortanach do 
Ghillecriosd tàillear, ghoir an coileach dubh air 
bruach os a ceann, agus b' èiginn di an rathad a 


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. 


Bha sealgair ainmeil a chòmhnuidh an Srath Eirinn air 
taobh deas Loch Nis anns na làithibh a dh'fhalbh. An 
uair a thàinig am na seilge, chaidh e le a dhà chù do'n 
Chrò-Chlach an ceann shuas a' Glinne; agus an deidh 
dha an la a chur seachad a' leantuinn an fhèidh, thog 
e air gu bothan - àiridhe a chaitheamh na h - oidhche. 
Ràinig e am bothan 'san fheasgar, las e teine, agus 
chuir e àird air an t-suipeir. An deidh dha an t-suipeir 
a ghabhail agus tuilleadh connaidh a chur air an teine, 
thilg se e fein air dijn luachrach an oisinn a' bhothain. 
Lean a dha chii e, agus laigh iad air a chiilaibh. 

An ùine ghoirid thàinig cearc a stigh, agus leig i aon 
taobh foipe air He an teinntein, agus chum i an taobh 
eile ris an teine. Cha robh i fada 'san t-suidheachadh 
sin an uair a thòisich i ri at agus ri at. An ceann tacain 
dh* èirich 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'fhàs i 'na boirionn- 
ach, agus sheas i suas air an ùrlar mu choinneamh an 
t-sealgair. Cho luath is a thug na coin an aire dhi, dh' 
eirich gart orra, agus leum iad a null air an ùrlar 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 àite na riobaige chuir e orra aon d'a ghartain fein. 


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 Crò- 
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 

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. 


Cho luath is a shaoil a' chailleach gu'n robh na coin 
ceangailte, leum i null do'n oisinn, agus shàsnaich i 
anns an t-sealgair. Leum na coin an sin gu bhi an 
greim innte-se. ** Teannaich, a riobag I " ars ise an so. 
" Lasaich, a ghartain ! " fhreagair esan. Mu dheireadh 
fhuair na coin fa sgaoil, agus shàsnaich iad anns a' 
chailleach. An so leig i as an sealgair, agus chaidh 
i an comhair a ciiil a mach an dorus. 

Lean na coin i, gus an do chuir iad i ri leathad 
bruaich a bha mu choinneamh an doruis. An iiair a 
ràinig iad a bhun, thòisich strl chruaidh eadar iad fèin 
agus ise, a mhair ùine fhada. Ach thàinig crìoch air 
a' chath mu dheireadh. Thill na coin r'am maighstir 
air an loireadh agus air am beubanachadh gu mòr. 
Agus dh' fhalbh a' chailleach ag ràdh : " Na 'n robh 
tosg a' choin òig anns an t-seann chù, no tiir an t-seann 
choin anns a' chù òg, cha d' fhuair mise as orra." 

Air an ath latha chaidh an sealgair dhachaidh; agus 
an uair a ràinig e an tigh, choinnich a bhean e a' del 
an cabhaig gu tigh ban-choimhearsnaich a bha an 
cràdh mòr agus a reir coltais air beul bàis. Thug e 
oirre itilleadh dhachaidh ; agus an dèidh dha greim 
bidh fhaotainn, chaidh e fein 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 thàinig an sealgair dKith gu leòir, chuir e an 
dorus roimhe, agus chaidh e stigh. Chaidh e direach 
dh' ionnsaidh na leapa, agus thilg e an t-aodach sics 
bhàrr uchd na mnatha. Bha sealladh deistinneach air 
a leigeil ris da nis: bha da chlch na mnatha air an 
reubadh as an àite. Thuig e an t-aobhar. B' ise a 
choinnich e fein agus a choin 's a' bhothan-àiridhe air 
an oidhche chaidh seachad; agus uime sin, tharruing 
e a chlaidheamh, agus chuir e gu bàs i mar bhuitsich. 


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 

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. 


Bha Domhnull Maclain 'na àireach aig tuath Achadh- 
an-todhair an Lochabar. An uair a thàinig an 
samhradh, chaidh e le spreidh a' bhaile chum àiridh 
na Beinne Brice air taobh tuath an Uisge Dhuibh. 

Air la àraidh, is e 'na shuidhe air an Ion 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'thàinig e. Ciod a chunnaic e an sin, 
a' tighinn le luathas mor, agus a' deanamh direach air 
an aite 'san robh e 'na shuidhe, ach Glaistig. Gun dàil 
tiota tharruing e as a rathad, agus dh' fheuch e ri falach 
a dheanamh air fein 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 .na siila bha i 'na seasamh r'a thaobh. 
Thòisich i an sin ri leum a null is a nail thar a chuirp, 
a' bualadh a basan, agus ag ràdh nam briathar a 
leanas : — 

Am faic sibh am bramachan roidein 

'Na laighe am measg nam bo? 

Bhuaileadh e buille eadar da bhuille 

Is buille eadar da dhòrn, 

'San Ion eadar da dhoire 

'San doire eadar da Ion ? 
An uair a dh' fhàs i sglth de'n obair sin, dh'fhalbh 
i le cruinn-leum uallach a' seinn na luinneig so: 
Is mire mi na'm fior-eun mor 
Is mire mi na'm fior-eun òg , 
Is mire mi na laogh da bhò, 
Is mire mi na meann an crò; 


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 gale 
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; *' 


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 feòir 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. Ràinig 
e am bothan-àiridhe aig Ruighe na Cloiche làimh ri 
Uisge Chiarainn mu thràth feasgair. Air an 
rathad thrus e ultach connaidh, agus thug e leis e do'n 
bhothan. Chuir e an connadh an òrdugh air lie an 
teinntein, ghlac e an asuin-theine, agus an deidh dha 
teine bhualadh, thòisich e air a' chonnadh a lasadh. 

Am meadhon na h-oibre so, bha leis gu'n cuala e 
glaodh coimheach, air tùs fad air falbh, agus goirid an 
deidh sin, moran na b' fhaigse. Mu dheireadh chuala 
e an guth ceudna air taobh muigh an tighe ag radh: 

"Heich: Ho! Thall ! 

An d' fhalbh am fear so thall fhathast." 

Mu 'n gann a thionndaidh e a shùil an rathad a 
thàinig 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' 
tòiseachadh 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, cij a' bhuachaille, ionnsaidh oirre- 
se. " Caisg Deargan, a Dhomhnuill Mhiclain," ars i. 
Ghabh Domhnull Maclain air an cii a chasg, ach nach 
b' urrainn e. " Ceangail do chij, a Dhomhnuill Mhic- 
lain," ars i an sin. " Cha'n 'eil rud agam leis an 


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 

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 


ceangail mi e," fhreagair am buachaille. Spion i 
ròineag liath as a ceann, agus shin i dha i, ag ràdh : 
*' Ceangail le so e." Ghabh am buachaille air an ni 
a dh' iarradh air a dheanamh, ach chuir e a ghartan 
fèin air a' chij an àite ròineag na Glaistige. 

Cho luath is a shaoil ise gu'n robh an cù ceangailte, 
leum i am bad a' bhuachaille; ach ma leum, thug 
Deargan leum 'na bad-sa. Ghlaodh i an sin. " Tachd 
is teannaich, a ròineag. Tachd is teannaich, a ròineag." 
Ach thilg am buachaille an ròineag 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 CÙ as, agus a chaidh e an sàs anns a' Ghlaistig. 
Ghlaodh i àirde a cinn : " Thoir dhiom do chii 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 màireach, a Dhomhnuill Mhiclain, agus 
gheibh thu an t-Agh Ban a tha thu a' sealg o cheann 
iomadh la, ach nach d' fhuair thu fhathast." An 
dèidh dhi so a ràdh, thug i an dorus oirre. 

Moch air an ath la thug am buachaille leis a bhogha 
is a shaighdean, agus chaidh e do'n Bheinn Bhric. An 
uair a ràinig e a' Bheinn, chunnaic e a' Ghlaistig a' 
tighinn 'na choinneamh le greigh fhiadh roimpe, agus 
an t-Agh Ban air an ceann. Ghabh e cuimse air an 
Agh, agus leig e as an t-saighead. Ach mu'n d'fhàg 
an t-saighead glaic an iubhair, chuala e a' Ghlaistig 
ag glaodhaich le guth nimheil : " Sàth 'na ghoile, a 
shaighead ! Sàth 'na ghoile! " Shàth an t-saighead an 
goile an Aighe Bhàin, agus fhuair Domhnull Maclain 
€ dhachaidh leis, mar ghealladh dha. 


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 Glast'g. 
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. 


Is e so an Crònan a bhitheadh Glaistig na Beinne Brice 
a' seinn d'a h-èildean am feadh a bhiodh i 'gan iomain 
roimpe air an t-sliabh : — 

Cailleach Beinne Bric, horo ! 
Brie horo ! Bric horo ! 
Cailleach Beinne Bric, horo: 
Cailleach mhòr an fhuarain àird 
Cha leiginn mo bhuidheann fhiadh 
Bhuidheann fhiadh, bhuidheann fhiadh, 
Cha leiginn mo bhuidheann fhiadh 
A dh' iarraidh shlige duibh' a 'n tràigh, 
Gu 'm b' annsa leò biolair fhuar, 
Biolair fhuar, biolair fhuar, 
Gu'm b' annsa leò biolair fhuar, 
A bhiodh an cois an fhuarain aird. 


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. 


Bha uair-eigin an Odhanaich da bhràthair a bha 
anabarrach deidheil air seilg agus air iasgach. An am 
an t-samhraidh agus an fhogharaidh b' àbhaist dhaibh 
dol do'n Mhonadh Dhubh, agus re na h-ijine a bhith- 
eadh iad an sin» ghabhadh iad fasgadh ann am bothan- 

Lagan Odhar a' Chàthair 

Aig sail Beinne Bhric. 
An so bhitheadh a' Ghlaistig a' tadhal orra gus an 
d'fhàs i fein agus iadsan cho eòlach air a cheile is ged 
robh iad 'nan coimhearsnaich riamh. Ach cha robh 
tlachd air bith aig na sealgairibh 'na cuideachd, oir bha 
i ciio draghail is gu'm b' eiginn daibh a bhi a ghnàth 
air an earalas 'na h-aghaidh. 

Bha fear de na bràithribh, 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 bhràthair air-son a ghiùlain ; oir bha eagal 
air gu'm brosnaicheadh e an trusdar caillich gu 
dioghaltas a dheanamh orra. Le sin, an uair a chasadh 
a bhràthair 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 fein, oir cha b' 
urrainn di fuireachd sàmhach tiota, agus dh' iarradh 
i air gradan, le run a ghlacadh air làimh an uair a 
bhitheadh e a' sineadh dhi a' ghradain, agus a thoirt 


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. 


air falbh leatha. Ach chuireadh esan an gradan air 
bàrr na biodaige, agus chumadh e rithe e air an dòigh 
sin. An sin lùbadh i a gàirdean, agus thionndaidheadh t 
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 fein. Chuireadh so e air a 
fhaicill roimpe, air chor is gu'n robh e 'ga glèidheadh 
dheth le bàrr na biodaige. 

Air la sònraichte chuir i le a conas a leithid de fheirg 
air Raonull is gu'n do leig e leis an abhag dol an sàs 
innte. Ghlaodh Gilleasbuig ris an cù a chasg agus e 
leigeil leatha. Thug Raonull cluas bhodhar dha so; 
agus an àite na h-abhaige a chasg, is ann a stuig e 
innte an cij glas mar an ceudna. Las so suas a corraich 
gu mòr. Thug i aon siiil ghruamach fhiar air, agus 
thubhairt i ris mu 'n d' fhalbh i: " Theagamh gu'n diol 
mise so fhathast ortsa, a fhleasgaich." 

An deidh dhi falbh, thubhairt Gilleasbuig r' a 
bhràthair: " Is olc a rinn thu. Tha eagal orm gu'n 
dean an aigeannach ud cron oirnn fhathast." Ach 
fhreagair a bhràthair nach b' eagal daibh cho fhada is 
a bhitheadh an cù glas agus an abhag aca. 

An ath oidhche, mu am 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 cij glas a suas r' a 
thaobh, agus gart uamhasach air. Stuig e an sin an 
CIJ agus an abhag, agus air ball ghabh iad a mach le 
deann an còmhdhail na Glaistige. 

Dh' fhan an da bhràthair a stigh anns a' bhothan 


and of carrying him off with her. But he would put 
the snufif 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 


ag eisdeachd ciod a thachradh. Cha robh iad ach 
goirid a' feitheamh gus an cuala iad a* ghairm ghallain 
a thòisich a mach. Lean a' chaithream so ùine 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 la, sguir an cath agus thill na coin air 
an ais do 'n bhothan. 

Thainig an cii mòr an toiseach gun air ach bad an 
sud agus an so de fhionnadh; agus goirid 'na dhèidh 
thainig an abhag cho lorn ri cearc air a h-ùr spìonadh. 


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. 


Bha sealgair latha a' tilleadh o'n Bheinn Bhric, agus 
an uair a ràinig e bun na beinne, bha leis gu'n cuala e 
fuaim coltach ri cnacail da chloiche 'gam bualadh ri 
chèile, no ri greadhnaich adhaircean an daimh, an uair 
a bhitheas e 'gan tachas ri creig. Chum e air a cheum 
gus an d'thàinig e an sealladh cloiche moire, 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 lamhan da 
lurgainn fheidh, a bha i a' bualadh gun sgur r'a cheile. 
Ged thuig e gu'm bi a' Ghlaistig a bha innte, ghabh 
e de dhànachd a ràdh rithe: " Gu de 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. 


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 Hke 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. 


Bha a' cheud aon de Chloinn Lachainn Airdnamurchan 
ag gabhail còmhnuidh an Gleann na h-Iubhraich. 
'Na ghreigh each bha lair bhrèagh, ghlas; agus bha e 
toileach a' cheud searrach a bhitheadh aice a ghlèidh- 
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 gu n robh fuath 
aice dha mar choigreach 'san àite, chuir i roimpe nach 
faigheadh e a thoil leis. 

Cho luath is a rugadh an searrach, ghabh i e agus 
spàrr i e ann an toll os ceann sruthain a bha fo 'n 
talamh, agus anns an do bhàthadh e. Air an la 'na 
dheidh sin fhuair Mac Lachainn an searrach marbh 'san 
toll, ach shaoil leis gu'm b' e fein 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 lair air an ath shamhradh aig am 
breith an t-searraich. 

An uair a thàinig an t-àm, chaidh e latha do'n 
mhonadh a dh' fhaicinn na làrach; 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 dhionadh se e fein o 
chumhachd nan sithichean, agus uime sin ghlac e a* 
Ghlaistig 'na ghàirdeanan, agus le strl mhor chuir e 
fodha i mu dheireadh. 


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. 


" Tha do bhàs air do mhuin, a Chailleach," ars e, 
is e 'na sheasamh thairte. 

" Is learn fhein mo èirig," fhreagair ise. " Gu dè 
an èirig a bheir thu dhomh ? " ars esan. " Sealladh an 
da shaoghail dhuit fein, agus soirbheachadh dhuit fèin 
agus do d' shliochd ad dhèidh." Air na cumhnantan 
sin leig e as i. 

Uair-eigin 'na dheidh sin bha e am Bràigh Lochabar, 
agus thug e leis a shlat, agus chaidh e dh' iasgach air 
abhainn Spithein. Air a' chieud siab chuir e'n dubhan 
an sàs ann an iasg brèagh 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 deidh sin thuit gu'n do leag e a mheur "air 
bolgan a dh' eirich air taobh uachdair an èisg. 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 da 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 ràdh gu'n do choimhlionadh a' chuid eile 'na dheidh 


" 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. 


Tha an sgeul a leanas air innseadh an so a chionn gu'm 
bheil e, mar tha an dara sgeul, a' nochdadh gur trend 
fhiadh a bha ann an trend na Glaistige. 

Bha Domhnull Mòr Og Camaron a chòmhnuidh am 
Bràigh Lochabar ann an ceud leth an linn a chaidh 
seachad. Bha e 'na dhuine comharraichte air iomadh 
dòigh. Anns a' cheud àite bha an da shealladh aige. 
Mar dh' eirich do'n Phortair Cham, chunnaic e roimh 
làimh cuin agus c'àite an robh Cailein Caimbeul Ghlinn 
lubhair gu bhi air a mharbhadh ; agus a rèir beul- 
aithris, bha e cho cinnteach gu'n tachradh gach ni mar 
chunnaic e, is gu'n d' thàinig e a h-uile ceum o'n 
Bhràigh 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 la àraidh, am feadh a bha e 
a' sealltainn suas o iochdar a' Ghlinne ri mullach na 
Buidheinnich, thubhairt e ri coimhearsnach, a bha 'na 
sheasamh làimh 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' 


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 

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 


iarradh air, agus chunnaic e nis ni nach faca e gus a 
sin, an aon sealladh bu bhrèagha a chunnaic e riamh air 

Bha Domhnull a ghnàth a' leantainn nam fiadh, agus 
b' i a roghainn thar gach beinne-seilge a' Bhuidheinn- 

Air maduinn chiiiin mu bhristeadh an la, bha e 'na 
shuidhe air aisridh nam fiadh 's a' bheinn le a ghunna 
caol nach do dhiijlt riamh air a ghlùn, agus a' feitheamh 
gus an teirneadh " a' ghreigh uallach " o mhullach na 
beinne a dh' òl an dighe-maidne as na fuarain ghlana 
a bha a' bristeadh a mach o thaobh an t-sleibhe fuidhe. 
Mu dheireadh chunnaic e iad a' tighinn a mach as a* 
cheò a bha a' falach a' chreachainn os a cheann, agus 
Glaistig mhòr 'gan iomain roimpe. Ghrad thug i an 
aire do'n t-sealgair, agus mu 'n d'thàinig a' chuid a 
bha air thoiseach do na feidh an dlùthas 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 Mor deas-chainnteach, agus, le sin 
chuir e seachad i leis an fhreagairt ullamh 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. 


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 


Chaidh ceathrar shealgair a sheilg do Bhràigh Lochabar 
ann an aon de na linntibh a chaidh seachad. An deidh 
do sheilg an la a bhi thairis, thug iad orra gu bothan- 
àiridhe a chaitheadh na h-oidhche. Rainig iad am 
bothan am beul an anmoich, agus an deidh teine a lasadh 
agus an suipeir a ghabhail, shuidh iad mu'n teallach, 
agus thòisich iad ri còmhradh. Dh' fhairich iad iad 
fhèin ro chomhfhurtachail, agus thubhairt triùir dhiubh 
ann am fala-dhà 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 

Sguir an còmhradh an sin, agus tharruing an triùir 
shealgair air falbh do dh' oisinn a' bhothain, ach dh' 
fhuirich an ceathramh fear far an robh e. 

Goirid an deidh sin thàinig ceathrar bhan a stigh do 'n 
bhothan, an cruth agus an coltas leannan nan sealgair. 
Chaidh triùir dhiubh a null agus shuidh iad làimh ris 
an triùir 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 ghlùin. An sin thug e mach da thruimb 
as a phòca, agus thòisich e air cluich orra. Thug a' 
bhean a bha m'a choinneamh an aire dha so, agus 
thubhairt i : 

" Is math an ceòl a tha 'san truimb 

Mur bhi am pong a tha 'na deidh : — 

Is math le fear d' an cuid i bhi 

'Na ghob an àite tè." 


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 tne 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 
drevi' 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." 


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 thòisich i air tighinn na bu dlùithe agus air breith 
air le a cròig; 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 seòl eile 
air. " Thoir dhomh gradan," ars i. Rinn an sealgair 
gradan, agus shin e dhi e air bàrr 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 dèantais cothrom fhaotainn air greim 
a dheanamh air an làimh '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 gàirdean air feadh a bha 
esan a' ruigsinn di a' ghradain, chum e rithe barr na 
biodaige agus thug e dhi sàthadh no dhà leatha. 
Dh'fhoghainn sin leatha. Chaidh i air a h-ais chum 
taobh eile an teine, agus sheas i an sin ag cumail conais 

Mu dheireadh chuala e glaodh coilich mar gu'm 
bitheadh e air mullach monaidh. " Sud," ars an te a 
bha air taobh eile an teine, " coileach dubh a' Mhairt: 
is mithich a bhi falbh." Gun tuilleadh a ràdh thug i 
an dorus oirre, agus ghrad leum a triiiir bhan-chompan- 
ach 'na deidh. 

Cho luath is a thàinig an latha, chaidh an ceathramh 
sealgair a null do'n oisinn, agus fhuair e a thriùir 
chompanach fuar, marbh, le am muineil geàrrta, agus 
gach srad fala sijighte as an cuislean. Cha robh 
teagamh aige nis nach bu Ghlaistigean a bha 'sna 
mnathan. B' iad an triiiir bheistean a rinn sud, agus 
dheanadh an ceathramh te a leithid eile air-san, mur bhi 
air-son nam briathran agus nam meadhon eile a 
ghnàthaich e. 


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. 


Bha gobhainn de Chloinn a' Phearsain a chòmhnuidh an 
Sròn an t-Sithein an aon de na linntibh a chaidh 
seachad. Bha e 'na chleachduinn aige a' cheàrdach a 
reiteachadh 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 ceàrdaich, gheibheadh e a 
h-uile ni air an toirt as an aite 'san d'fhàg e iad, agus 
air an sgapadh air feadh an ùrlair. Cha b' urrainn e 
a thuigsinn ciod a b' aobhar do'n aimhreit so, agus 
uime sin chuir e roimhe fuireachd oidhche anns a' 
cheàrdaich feuch am faigheadh e mach e. 

Sheas e ann an oisinn aig cùl an doruis, agus an 
t-òrd mor aige eadar a dhà làimh, a' feitheamh ciod a 
thachaireadh. Dh' fheith e ijine mhath gun ni 
fhaireachadh ; ach mu dheireadh thàinig Glaistig mhor 
a stigh 'na still air an dorus, agus gun dàil tiota 
thòisich i, le mire chuthaich, air gach iarunn agus gach 
ball acfhuinn air am faigheadh i a làmh, 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 CÙ1 an doruis, agus air ball thubhairt e: " Tha an 
Tamhasg 's a' chùil, a chailleach ! Tha an Tamhasg 
's a' chùil." Fhreagair i gun uibhir agus stad air a 
ceum no sùil a thoirt an taobh a bha an gobhainn: 
" Cha'n 'eil ann ach Logais Beag! Cha'n 'eil ann ach 
Logais Beag! " 


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." 


Mu dheireadh fhuair an gobhainn cothrom oirre 'san 
dol seachad, agus bhuail e an t-òrd mòr oirre le a uile 
neart. Tharruing e an sin an t-òrd a thoirt di ath 
bhuille, ach ghlaodh i ris e chumail air a làimh, agus 
nach cuireadh i dragh tuilleadh air. Rinn e mar 
dh'iarr i, agus cho luath is a fhuair i as, thubhairt i ris 
gu 'm bilheadh gach aon d'a shliochd, a rachadh a 
thoirt a stigh air a fheusaig troimh dhorus na ceàrdaich, 
'na làn-ghobhainn o'n uair sin. 

Mar thubhairt b' fhior. Cha robh aon d'a shliochd 
nach d'fhuair a cheàird air an dòigh fhurasda so, agus 
bha an dream 'nan goibhnibh ainmeil 'san àite rè iom- 
adh linn. 


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. 


Bha Glaistig an Gleann Dùror 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 Dùror agus Gleann a' 
Chaolais, agus tha a h-ainm agus a sloinneadh, agus 
eadhon am baile 'san d'araicheadh i, fhathast air 

Thugadh air falbh i as a laighe-shiùbhladh leis na 
sithichean, agus cha do thill i tuilleadh. Ach a reir 
beul-aithris, thionndaidheadh i 'na ban shithe no *na 
Glaistig, a ghabh fasgadh ann an easaibh agus ann an 
còsaibh nan creag eadar an da Ghleann. Bha i gu 
sònraichte a' tathaich Eas nam Mèirleach 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 spèis a 
bha aice roimhe do chrodh agus do gach seòrsa sprèidhe. 
Gu minic bha i r'a faicinn am meadhon a' chruidh mar 
gu 'm bitheadh i 'gan cunntas, agus roimh fhaidhrich- 
ean, agus aig am 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 
each, bha i ro chijramach m'a sprèidh-san ; agus aig 
am dol air imrich, chuireadh i gach bacadh eadar e agus 
an togail bhàrr an fhearainn. A reir beul-aithris 
thachair so an uair mu dheireadh o cheann deich 


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 


bliadhna fichead. Co dhiiibh, 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 
bàtaichean smùide a' dol sios is suas an Linne Sheilich, 
no le urchairean luchd-buidhinn cloiche na Creige- 
Eiteige aig bun Eas nan Con. Co dhiùbh, 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 airidhean a' Ghlinne. Oir an 
oidhche a dh' fhagadh iad am meadar Ian bainne aice, 
gheibheadh iad gach ni ceart an dara mhàireach; ach 
an oidhche nach fagadh, bhitheadh na laoigh air an 
leigeil a mach as a' chrò, agus an crodh air an deoghal 
air an ath mhaduinn. 


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. 


Bha uair eigin a' fuireachd, aig ceann Loch Raonasa 
an Arainn, bean tuathanaich a bhitheadh a' deanamh 
àite mna-glùin d'a ban-choimhearsnaich. Air latha 
bòidheach fogharaidh thuit dhi fein agus do mhnaoi eile 
a bhi mach air an achadh ag geàrradh coirce. Roimh 
fheasgar leum muile - mhag mhor, bhuidhe gu 
h-eigineach à rathad a corrain ; agus, an uair a chunnaic 
i an creutair truagh 'ga slaodadh fein a cunnairt, thubh- 
airt i: " Tha thusa an sin, a luideag bhoclid; b' 
fheàirrde thu mise mu d' thimchioll an ùine ghoirid." 
" O! am beathach mosach," ars a' bhean eile: " ma thig 
i an rathad agamsa, cuiridh mi barr mo chorrain 
troimpe." " Cha chuir, cha chuir," arsa bean ^n 
tuathanaich; " cha'n 'eil an creutair bochd ach a' 
màgaran mu 'n cuairt a' trusadh a cuid mar tha sinn 
fein." Agus leigeadh air falbh a' mhuile-mhàg le a 

An ceann beagan laithean thàinig 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 
làimh. Chaidh an tuathanach a mach, agus thubhairt 
an gille ris gu'n d'thainig e air-son na mnà 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 


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." "O! 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 


robh e an cabhaig, ach gu'm feitheadh e far an robh 
e gus am bitheadh i deas. An so thàinig 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-mhàg 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 sàs 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 sabhailt i an ceann 
beagan laithean. 

Chuir an tuathanach a bhean air cùl 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 ùine glè ghoirid ràinig e am 
mullach, agus an sin thionndaidh e a aghaidh ri glomhas 
mor 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 dùil 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 fein 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 
teid thu na 's fhaide, innsidh mi dhuit ciod is coir dhuit 
a dheanamh, an uair a ruigeas tu e. Na bitheadh eagal 
ort mo chomhairle-sa a ghabhail, oir cha'n e sithiche 


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 

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 moi^th 
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. 



a tha annam-sa idir, ach duine saoghalta. Tha mi fo 
gheasaibh aig na sithichean 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 fèin a rithist. Chum gu 'm bi agad-sa 
cuideachd comas pilleadh dhachaidh aig ceann do iiine 
fèin, thoir fa-near ciod a their agus a ni thu, fhad is 
a bhitheas tu 'san t-Sithean. Cha bhi nithean an sin 
mar dh' amhairceas iad; ach, dean thusa mar dh' iarras 
mise ort, agus chi thu iad mar tha iad; agus cha bhi 
thu tuilleadh an cunnart a bhi air do mhealladh leò. 
Ma-tà, gheibh thu tri seòrsachan siabuinn, aon aca 
geal, aon eile dhiubh buidhe, agus an treas aon dearg. 
An uair a gheibh thu leat fein, suath an siabunn geal 
OS ceann do shùla deise, agus bheir e air falbh an sgleò 
dhith, agus an sin chi thu nithean gu ceart. Ach thoir 
aire mhath nach bean thu ri do shiiil no ri do mhala 
le aon de 'n da sheòrsa eile. Sin agad mo cheud 
chomhairle; agus so tè eile, agus bi cinnteach nach 
dearmad thu i. An uair a bhitheas do ijine 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 coir 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 
sèimh a' deàrrsadh a mach troimhe. Chaidh bean an 
tuathanaich a stigh, agus b' ann an sin a bha an t-àite 
brèagh. Bha na ballachan agus am mullach loinnireach 
le or agus airgiod; agus air an ùrlar bha bòrd fada, 
uidheamaichte, agus saor do na h-uile a thigeadh. Bha 
an sin cuideachd mhòr a dh' fhir agus a mhnathan òga 


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 


sgeadaichte an aodach uaine, agus a thug bàrr air na 
chunnaic i riamh ann am maise. Chuir iad uile fàilte 
oirre, agus thug aon aca stigh i do sheòmar na 

Rinn a' Bhan-righ gairdeachas rithe, agus thubhairt 
i gu'n robh earbsa aice innte, o'n la a ghabh i truas 
dith air an achadh bhuana. Dh' fhuirich bean an 
tuathanaich greis 'san t-Sithean. Air la àraidh, an uair 
a bha i leatha fein, ghabh i an siabunn geal, agus 
shuaith i e os ceann a sijla, agus an sin ghrad 
dh'atharraicheadh gach ni m'a timchioll. Thionndadh 
an t-àite brèagh 'na tholl ruadh gainmhich, agus na 
daoine mora 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 
thàinig an gille an cabhaig, agus ghlaodh e rithe a bhi 
deas falbh leis-san, a chionn gu'n d' thàinig an t-àm 
anns am feumadh esan a ghealladh a choimhlionadh d'a 

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 or, mar dh' iarradh oirre; agus chaidh 
i mach. An sin dh' fhalbh i 'na suidhe air cijl a' ghille 
air an steud ghlas. Ach ghabh an gille rathad ijr a 
thug iad troimh phreasan dhreas agus dhroighinn. 
Cho luath is a ràinig iad a' cheud phreas, ghlaodh an 
gille rithe aon de thiodhlacan nan sithichean a thilgeil 
ann. Rinn i sin, agus ghrad-sprèadh 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 deidh aoin ; agus mar thachair do'n cheud aon, 
thachair do'n chòrr. " A nis," ars an gille, " na'n do 
glèidh thu na rudan ud gus an deachaidh thu dhachaidh, 


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 

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 her 
w^as 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 


chuireadh iad an tigh ri theine, agus loisgeadh iad thu 
fein is na bhitheadh ann." Ràinig iad tigh an tuathan- 
aich an tèaruinteachd, dh' fhàg an gille beannachd aig 
a' mhnaoi, agus an sin dh' fhalbh e air an steud ghlas 
an taobh a ghabh e an toiseach. 


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. 


Anns an linn a chaidh seaehad, bha fear a Chloinn 
Choinnich 'na aon de thuath Odhanaich an iochdar 
Lochabar. 'Na am thuit gu'n do thòisich 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 moran dolaidh. Cha robh fhios ciamar a bha a' 
bhuaile air a bristeadh sios, agus rathad air a dheanamh 
troimpe oidhche an deidh oidhche. Bha aon ni a mhàin 
cinnteach, agus b'e sin nach d'rinn na coimhearsnaich 
no an crodh fein an obair chronail so riamh. Mu 
dheireadh smaointich MacCoinnich gu'n robh làmh aig 
na sithichibh anns a' ghnothach ; agus le sin chuir e 
fios air a bhràthair, 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 

Thainig am Portair Cam, agus cho luath is a thàinig 
am feasgar, chaidh iad le cheile dh' ionnsaidh an 
achaidh thodhair. An uair a ràinig 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 àite am fagus di, far an d' fheith iad dh' 
fheuch ciod a thachradh. 

An deidh do chuid mhath de 'n oidhche dol seaehad, 
chuala iad air leò na cabair 'gam bristeadh air an taobh 
a b' fhaide air falbh de 'n bhuaile. Ghrad dh'eirich 
am Portair Cam, agus ghabh e cuairt an taobh o'n 
d'thàinig an fhuaim. Cha deachaidh e ach goirid gus 


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 w^ell 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 


am faca e, oir bha an da shealladh aige, mart maol odhar 
a' tilgeil nan cabar as an kite le a ceann, agus an sin 
a' dol a stigh do 'n bhuaile far an do chuir i mart an 
deidh 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' bhò mhaol odhar gus an d' ràinig 
i Sithean Doire-Mhic-Bhranndaidh. 

Dh' fhosgail an Sithean roimpe, agus chaidh i stigh. 
Ghreas am Portair 'na deidh gu ruig an dorus, agu* 
chum a ghlèidheadh fosgailte, shàth e a bhiodag ann 
an aon de na h-ursnaibh. 

Fhuair e nis làn-shealladh air taobh a stigh an 
t-Sithein. Bha an Sithean air a lasadh suas le solus 
dealrach, agus bha teine mòr le coire iaruinn an 
crochadh os a cheann air meadhon an ijrlair; agus mu'n 
cuairt do'n teine bha cròilean de sheann daoinibh mora 
Hatha 'nan laighe air an uilnibh. 

Thàinig an tuathanach a nis gu dorus an t-Sithein; 
ach ma thàinig, 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-aite neo-chneasda fhagail gun dàil. Cha d' thug am 
Portair umhail air bith dha. An àite sin is ann a 
ghlaodh e le guth àrd ris na sithichibh : " Na'n cuireadh 
a' bhò 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 ràdh tharruing e a bhiodag as an ursainn, 
agus air ball dhruid an dorus air fèin agus air a 
bhràthair. Phill iad 'na dhèidh sin dachaidh ; agus o'n 
oidhche sin cha'n fhacas tuilleadh bo mhaol odhar 
Doire-Mhic-Bhranndaidh ann am buaile Odhanaich. 


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 

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 no 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. 


Bha uair-eigin a' fuireachd an Callairt duin'-uasal a 
bha 'na shealgair fhiadh ro ainmeil. Bha cù glas aige 
nach robh a leithid ri fhaotainn 'san am an Lochabar; 
ach, bha e, coltach r' a mhaighstir, a' fas sean, agus 
ag call a luathais. 

Air la àraid 'san fhogharadh dhirich an duin'-uasal 
le a sheann chù glas fein monadh Cheann Loch Mòr 
a leantainn nam fiadh. Ràinig e na coireachan a b' 
àbhaist dhoibh a bhi a' tathaich; ach, ged chunnaic e 
greigh an deidh greighe dhiubh, agus a lean e iad fad 
an la, cha d'fhuair e an astar saighead a thilgeil orra, 
no an cù a leigeil riu. Mu dheireadh aig cromadh na 
grèine 'san àird-an-iar, thàinig e air làn-damh brèagh 
leis fèin, agus leig e an cù air falbh 'na dheidh. Shin 
an cii 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, thòisich an cù a' tuiteam air dheireadh, agus 
an ùine ghoirid chaill e sealladh air gu h-iomlan. 

Shuidh an duin'-uasal sios, gu sgith, aimhealach air 
cnocan uaine an gleann domhain eadar da shliabh àrd. 
Cha robh e fada an sin gus an do sheas da ghruagaich 
a b' aille cumadh agus dreach m'a choinneamh, agus 
cù brèagh aig tè dhiubh air eill. Labhair an te eile an 
toiseach, agus thubhairt i: " Tha thu sgith, a shealgair 
nam fiadh, agus fo aimheal a chionn gu'n do leig an 
seann chii as an damh mor." " Tha mi sgith, gu 


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, 


dearbh, agus duilich gu 'n deachaidh latha a' choin 
ghlais seachad," fhreagair an sealgair. "Tog do 
mhisneach, agus their leat an cù so," ars an dara 
^ruagach, "agus cha'n 'eil creutair ceithir-chasach air 
^ghaidh na talmhainn, o'n mhaighich bhig gus an làn- 
damh cròiceach, air nach beir e, agus nach tabhair e 
gu d' ionnsaidh." " C ainm a tha air?" dh' fheòr- 
aich an sealgair. Fhreagair i gu 'n robh Brodum. 
Rug e air an eill as a làimh, agus thug e buidheachas 
dhi air-son a' choin. Dh' fhàg e an sin beannachd 
aice fein 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 da shliabh, eadar am faca e na 
gruagaichean, thubhairt e: " Am faic sibh an da shliabh 
lid 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 cij ris an duin'-uasal fhad is a bu bheò dha. 
Cha deachaidh iall riamh air cù 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 beò a leanadh e, no fhreagaireadh e, 
:ach 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 da àite 
sin; oir is e a theirear riu fhathast Eas Bhroduim agus 
Uaimh Bhroduim. 


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. 


Anns na làithibh a chaidh seachad is gann a bha baile 
's a' Ghàidhealtachd gun bhadan ghobhar. B' àbhaist 
do 'n tuath an iomain gu srath, agus an cur a stigh 
do chrò nan gabhar 'san fheasgar gu bhi an sin air 
an leigeil. 

Air feasgar àraidh bha tuath Odhanaich ag cur nan 
gobhar gu baile an uair a thug iad fa-near coltas de 
ghobhair mhoir ghlais am measg an treid. Lean i so 
each math gu leòir gus am faca i iad air an iomain a 
stigh do 'n chrò. An sin bhrist i mach asda, agus thug 
i a h-aghaidh ris a' mhonadh. Chaidh na coin 'na 
deidh, agus thug iad di an droch bheubachadh mu'n 
do bhuidhinn i a' Chadha Ruadh. Ach an uair a ràinig 
i a' Chadha, thill i air an lodhainn, agus an iiine gle 
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 deidh dhi so a radh dh'fhalbh i; agus o sin gu so 
cha'n fhacas i an Odhanaich. 


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. 



Bha an Laogh-alla a* leantainn nam bàthaichean bu 
shine 's a' Ghaidhealtachd. A rèir fear-mo-sgeòil, cha'n 
fhacas riamh e; agus air an aobhar sin cha b' urrainn 
e a ràdh cò ris a bha e coltach. Ach ged a bha e a 
ghnàth a' fuireachd as an t-sealladh, rinn se e fèin 
aithnichte ann an rathaidibh eile. Air uairibh bha e air 
a chluinntinn mu mharbh mheadhon-oidhche ag geumn- 
aich anns a' bhàthaich ; a bha daonnan togta aig at)n 
cheann de 'n tigh chòmhnuidh. Bha fios aig an 
tuathanach a chuala an sin a ghuth gu'n d'thainig 
cothrom 'na charaibh, agus gu'm bu choir dha 
fàth a ghabhail air. Le sin dh'èireadh e as a leabadh, 
rachadh e gun lòchran, gun choinneil, do'n bhàthaich, 
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 ghàirdeanaibh e mu'n cuairt a chuirp, 
agus o'n uair sin dh'fhàsadh e 'na dhuine sona mu 
thimchioll feudalach. Is e sin ri ràdh gu'n soirbhich- 
eadh leis mar fhear togail agus glèidhidh sprèidhe; agus 
a thaobh gu'n robh saoibhreas a' Ghàidheil 'sna 
làithibh a chaidh seachad ag comh-sheasamh am mòr- 
chuid ann an sprèidh, tha e ag ciallachadh mar an 
ceudna gu'n cinneadh e 'na dhuine beartach agus 

Chualadh an Laogh-alla an uair mu dheireadh mu 
thuaiream deich agus tri fichead bliadhna roimhe so 
ann an Achadh an Dùin an Liosmòr. B'e am bàthaich 


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 


anns an cualadh e an treas bàthaich a bu shine 'san 
Eilean, agus b'e an t-àm 'san cualadh e, mar dh' 
fhaodadh diiil a bhi againn, marbh mheadhon-oidhche. 
Air do 'n tuathanach a bhi air a dhijsgadh le a gheum- 
naich, dh' eirich e a chHsge as a leabadh. Ach air dha 
bhi fo eagal dol 'na dhàil anns an dorchadas, las e 
coinneil, rug e air a' choinneil 'na làimh, agus an sin 
ghlac e de mhisnich gu'n deachaidh e do 'n bhàthaich 
leis fèin. Ach dh' iarr e an laogh an diomhain, a 
chionn gu'n do bhrist e aon de na cumhnantan air an 
do rinn se e fein aithnichte. Le sin chaill e a chothrom, 
agus cha d' fhuair e air-son a shaothrach ach ciir- 
iomchoire a mhnà. 


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 sufhcient 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. 


Bha Uruisg a' fuireachd roimhe so arm an creig chas 
aig bun Sgùrr-a'-Chaorainn an Lochabar. Bha an 
t-Uruisg so, a reir coltais, ro dhraghail do bhuachaille 
Bhlàr-a'-chaorainn an uair a thuiteadh dha a bhi a' dol 
rathad na Sgùrra. 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 dhèidh : 

" Bodach mac bhodaich 'ic bhodaich ! Tha sin de 
bhodaich a triùir : is bodach thu fhein, 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' fhàg am buachaille so Blàr-a'- 
chaorainn, thàinig fear eile 'na àite ris an abradh a 
luchd-eòlais Domhnull Mòr. Cha robh Domhnull ach 
goirid air a' bhaile gus an robh e cho mor air a 
shàrachadh 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 dhèidh : 
" Dhomhnuill Mhoir, cha toigh leam thu." Bha an 
fhàilte so fada o bhi taitneach le Domhnull coir, ach 
ghlèidh e a bheachd dha fhein 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 fèin na b' fhaide. 

Air feasgar àraidh, is e a' tilleadh gu fuar, ocrach 


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 Mor. 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 Mor, 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 


as a' mhonadh, agus an t-Uruisg ag glaodhaich 'na 
dhèidh, mar b' àbhaist: " Dhomhnuill Mhòir, cha toigh 
leam thu," thionndaidh e air a shàil ann am feirg, agus 
ghlaodh e cho àrd is a rinn an t-Uruisg fhèin : " 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. 


the hill, and the Urisk bawling after him as usual : 
" Donald Mòr, 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. 


Ann an Gleann-Màilidh an Lochabar, tha eas ùigeil ris 
an abrar an t-Eas Buidhe. Anns an eas so bha e air 
a ràdh gu 'n robh na h-Uruisgean ag gabhail fasgaidh ; 
agus b' ann làimh ris a bha bothain-àiridhe cuid 
de thuath a' ghlinne suidhichte. 

Bha aon de na h-Uruisgean, 

" Uruisg an Eas'-Bhuidhe 
*Na shuidhe 'n Gleann-Màilidh." 
ro dhraghail do the de na banaraichean a bha anns na 
bothain-àraidhe làimh ris an eas. Cha robh latha nach 
tigeadh e stigh do 'n bhothan far an robh i; agus nach 
cuireadh e seachad an iiine 'na shuidhe mu'n teine, a' 
feòraich cheisdean dhith, agus ag cur bacadh oirre 'na 
h-obair. Dh' fhàs i sgith dheth, ach cha robh fhios 
aice cia mar a ghràinicheadh 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 àraid a bha e 'na ghurrach mu'n teine mar 
b* àbhaist, dh' fheòraich e am measg a cheisdean, 
c' ainm a bha oirre. Fhreagair i gu'n robh: "Mi 
fhèin is Mi fhèin. " Is iongantach an t-ainm sin," ars 
esan. " Coma co dhiijbh, is e sin a tha orm." 

Bha poit mhèig air an teine, agus an uair a chaidh i 
g'a toirt dheth, bha esan 'san rathad oirre, mar bu 
ghnàth leis. Bhrosnaich so i cho mòr is gu 'n do leig 


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- 


i d'a deòin le taom de'n mhèag ghoileach tuiteam m'a 
chasan, agus a sgaldadh. Leum e gu grad o a àite- 
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'fheòraich iad cò a loisg e. 
Fhreagair e gu 'n do loisg, " Mi fhèin is Mi fhèin." 
" O, ma's tu fhein a loisg thu, cha'n 'eil comas air; 
ach, na'm b' e aon air bith eile a rinn e, loisgeamaid 
e fhein agus na tha 'sna bothain-àraidhe leis. 


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 


Bha Alastair Mòr 'na iasgair-slaite cho math agus cho 
tograch is a bha anns an àite 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 blàth samhraidh, agus ceòban math uisge 
ann, thug e an abhainn air, mar bu ghnath leis; agus 
an dèidh dha an t-slat a chur an òrdugh, thilg e mach 
leatha an acfhuinn. Cho luath is a bhean an dubhan 
do 'n uisge, thòisich an aon ghabhail air an iasg a b' 
fheàrr a chunnaic e riamh. Bha e a' slaodadh nam 
breac a stigh cho tiugh an dèidh a chèile is nach robh 
ùine 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 run tilleadh air an son an uair a bhith- 
eadh an t-iasgach seachad. Bha a aire cho mòr air an 
obair a bha aige is gii'n d'thàinig an oidhche air gun 
fhios da. 

Thug e an sin stjil 'na dhèidh, agus cò a chunnaic 
e ag iasgach r'a thaobh ach Uruisg mòr is e a' toirt a 
stigh breac air a' bhreac ris, agus 'gan tilgeadh còmhla 
r' a chuid èisg-san air an fheur. Cha robh comas air, 
no feum aon diog a ràdh. Ach chuui e ièìn agus a 
chompanach air an iasgach, gus an deachaidh a' chuid 
a b' fheàrr de 'n oidhche thairis. 

An sin ghlaodh an t-Uruisg: "Is mithich stad, 
Alastair Mhòir, agus an t-iasg a roinn." " Ud! Ud!" 


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 


ars Alastair Mòr, " cha mhithich idir, agus an t-iasg 
ag gabhail cho math." Gun tuilleadh a ràdh thill an 
t-Uruisg gu doicheallach ris an iasgach. An ceann 
ùine maithe 'na dheidh sin ghlaodh e rithis: " Stad a 
nis, 'Alastair Mhoir, 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 ùine ghoirid, ghlaodh e an treas uair air Alastair 
stad. Thuig Alastair o fhuaim guth na beiste nach 
robh feum 'sam bith tuilleadh dail iarraidh. 

Le sin thionndaidh e ris, agus thubhairt e: "Co 
dhiùbh 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. " Hù ! cha'n 'eil sin 
duilich. Sgiolam shios, is sgiolam shuas; sgiolam 
thall, is sgiolam a bhos ; agus an sgiolam mhòr mu 
dheireadh dhomh fhèin." 

Cha do chord an roinn so ach dona ri Alastair Mòr, 
oir thuig e gu'ni b' esan an sgiolam mhor a b' àill 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-chriochnaichte gus an 
tigeadh e, bhitheadh e tèaruinte. 

Thòisich 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 lamhan, 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. 


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 w^as 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 t'le 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. 



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 Mhoir! nach toir thu an aire, Alastair Mhoir!" 
Ach leigeadh Alastair le a earail dol a stigh air an aon 
chluais agus a mach air a' chluais eile. 

Mu dheireadh dhùisg an coileach ruadh, agus thug 
e fuasgladh dha as a' chàs 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 la sin gu la a' bhàis cha deachaidh e dh' iasgach 
bhreac air an abhainn an deidh do 'n oidhche tuiteam. 


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, Hig 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. 


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 dùthaich mu'n 
cuairt air. Air uairibh àraid, 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 bhòidhche 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 dàna na chèile 
tuilleadh is dliJth air, chuireadh aon sealladh d'a shùil 
cholgach gris troimhe a fhreumhaicheadh e ris an 
talamh, air chor is nach robh comas aige làmh no cas 
a ghluasad. Na'n di-chuimhnicheadh an duine, leis 
an eagal, e fein a chroiseadh, an sin tharruingeadh an 
t-each dubh bu bhòidhche dealbh, na bu dlùithe agus 
na bu dliiithe dha, agus dh'atharraicheadh sealladh 
fiadhaich a shijla gu sealladh ciùin 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 chòmhnuidh duine d' am 
b' ainm Iain Beag, B' àbhaist do dh'Iain Beag a* 


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 
liand 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 

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 


chuid mhòr de 'n bhliadhna a chaitheadh 's a' 
Bhlàr Bhuidhe a' deanamh mòna, agus air an aobhar 
sin theireadh iad ris am fad is am farsuingeachd na 
sgireachd, lain Beag a' Bhlàir-Bhuidhe. Ged bha Iain 
Beag, mar tha a ainm ag innseadh, ro bheag am pearsa, 
bha e cho neo-sgàtiiach, dàna ri aon de na Fiantaibh 
fein. Bha a smuaintean fad an la, agus a bhruadair 
re 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' fagail Beinn Chromba 'na 
dheidh. An uair a ràinig e bothan na cailHche duibhe, 
bhuail e aig an dorus, agus air ball thàinig an fhreagairt 
a mach : " Thig a stigh, Iain Bhig a' Bhlàir Bhuidhe, 
is ann domhsa is aithne ciod a tha thu ag iarraidh; 
agus CO aig am bheil fios nach cuir thusa agus mise 
teadhair air each dubh Pholl nan Craobhan fhathast. 

An deidh do dh' Iain Beag a leòir cabhruich agus 
bainne milis fhaotainn, ghabh a' chailleach dhubh a 
clach fhiosachd, agus dh'amhairc i innte iiine 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 Ion air feasgar 
Bealltuinne. An uair a thòisicheas a' ghrian air 
tèarnadh o a h-àirde 'san speur, marbhaidh tu an damh 
ballach. Cuiridh tu an sin an craicionn umad fein, 
agus falbhaidh tu air do làmhaibh agus air do chasaibh, 
cosmhuil ri damh. Roimli laighe na grèine, iomaineadh 
cuid-eigin thu fein agus an crodh gu taobh Pholl nan 


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 Fèinn. 
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 

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 


Craobhan. Cho luath is a laigheas a' ghrian, thig an 
t-each dubh a nios as an uisge, agus tòisichidh 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 lugha, is diomhain a bhitheas aig do bhean 
sùil ri d' ath philleadh. Rach air d' athais na's dlùithe 
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 fèin a bhitheas a' choire, mur faigh thu an làmh 
an uachdair air. Cha'n 'eil 'san t-srèin aon chuid 
sparrag no smeachan ; agus, uime sin, an uair a gheibh 
thu dlùth gu leòir, bheir thu leum a dh' ionnsaidh na 
sreine, agus spionaidh 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' thàinig an latha roimh fheasgar Bealltuinne mu'n 
cuairt. Cho luath is a chaidh a' ghrian seach a 
h-àirde 'san speur, mharbh e an damh ballach. Chuir 
a' bhean an craicionn uime air dhòigh cho seòlta is gu'n 
do ghabh an crodh fein e air-son an daimh a chaidh a 
mharbhadh. Roimh laighe na greine dh' iomain 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, thàinig an t-each dubh a nios 
air a shocair as an linne, agus thòisich e air itheadh 
am measg a' chruidh. Ars Iain Beag ris fein: "A 
nis, a mhic m' athar fhèin, na bitheadh eagal ort, " agus 
ag gabhail air a bhi creimeadh an fheòir, 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-srèin loinnirich, spion e bhàrr an eich 


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 wife 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 oflF 


i, agus rug e air a bhad-mullaich air. " Hal Ha! a 
fhleasgaich, tha thu agam, a nis," ars e. Fhreagair 
an t-each: "Tha mi agad a nis, gu dearbh, Iain Bliig 
a' Bhlàir Bhuidhe; ach ma nochdas tu dhomhsa an 
caoimhneas a tha thu leigeil ris do na beathaichean eile 
a tha agad, ni mi seirbhis dhileas duit a la agus a 
dh' oidhche, gus an toir thu air ais dhomh mo shrian 
agus mo dhiollaid fèin le làimh maighdinn ; agus an 
sin cha chuir mi dragh tuilleadh air an dùthaich." 

"Chi sinn mu'n chùis sin," ars Iain Beag. 

Bu mhor eagal mnà Iain Bhig an uair a chunnaic i 
am beathach uamhasach air iomain a stigh do 'n 
stàbull ; 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 diollaid an 
àite uaigneach os ceann leabadh na ceàrna. Cha robh 
duine bu mho as fein na esan ; oir cha robh an ruith 
Spè 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 giùlan, no fodar air bith tuilleadh is làidir ri 
a itheadh leis. Le a chàrn mor fein dh' fhalmhaicheadh 
Iain Beag a nis am Blàr Buidhe de 'n mhòine na bu 
luaithe na chuireadh muinntir a' Chlachain a suas i 'na 

Bha e a' fas beairteach, agus bha moran a' tighinn 
am fad agus am farsuinneachd a cheannach an eich 
dhuibh ; ach bha iad air am fàgail a philleadh dhachaidh 
as a eugmhais. 

Chaidh gnothuichean air an aghaidh mar so le Iain 
Beag fad gràinnein bhliadhnachan gu ruig latha a 
chaidh e fein agus a bhean gu faidhir an Clachan 
Chromba, agus an d'fhàg iad Sine Bhàn, an nighean, 
a dh' amharc as deidh an tighe. B' àbhaist do Shine 
Bhàin an t-each dubh a bhiathadh le a làimh fhèin, 


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 ow^n 
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 


agus a mharcachd a dh'ionnsaidh an uisge; ach air an 
latha dhuÌDh, 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 reis fhada, mhath fhaotainn air druim an eich 
dhuibh; agus air falbh ghabh i leis an t-srèin agus leis 
an diollaid do 'n stàbull. An uair a chunnaic an 
t-each a uidheam fein, shitrich e rithe le gairdeachas 
mòr. An ùine ghoirid chuireadh e fo uidheam; ach 
cha bu luaithe bha Sine Bhàn 'na suidhe 'san diollaid 
na dh' fhalbh e le luathas na gaoithe, cha b' ann do 
Pholl nan Craobhan, ach do Lochan a bha làimh 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 làimh maighdinn, agus cha chuir mi dragh air duine 

Chunnacas an teach agus an nighean a' dol fodha 
an còmhail 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 Bhàin 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 
Bhàin, 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' seideadh gu cruaidh, agus a' sguabadh an 
t-sneachd 'na mhill thiugha o Bheinn Chromba, 
bhitheadh an glaodh tiamhaidh, brònach : "Is mise 
tha fuar, is mise tha fuar," air a chluinntinn os ceann 
fuaim na doininn, a' tighinn o'n Lochan, agus ag cur 


ride him to water; but on this black, evil day she hap- 
pened to light upon the bridle and saddle, where they lay 

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: " 1 
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 w-as 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 w^ater. 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 


gaoir fhuar troimh chridheachan na dream a chuala e. 
Bliadhna an deidh bliadhna bha an guth muladach 
ceudna air a chluinntinn, gus an d'thàinig 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 brònach, thubhairt e 
gu'm faiceadh esan an athghoirid ciod a bha an tannasg 
ag iarraidh. 

Chaidh e mach a dh' ionnsaidh an Lochain, agus 
ghnathaich 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 Bhàine. Bha an 
aifrionn air a leughadh ; agus 'na dheidh sin cha 
chualadh an glaodh tiamhaidh : "Is mise tha fuar, is 
mise tha fuar." Is e theirear ris an Lochan gus an 
latha an diugh Bog-an-Loirein ; agus ris an àite, 'san 
robh Iain Beag a' Bhlair Bhuidhe ag gabhail 
còmhnuidh, Dail-a'-chapuill. 


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 h 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-Loirein ; and the place where 
Little John of the Yellow Moss lived, Dalchapple 


Page 3 — "The white Red-eared Hound" occurs also in Folk and Hero Tales, 
Hi. p. 84. 

Compare also the toUowing passages : — 

"The physicians declared that nothing could cure him but the flesh of a 
perfectly white cow with red ears."— 5ooi 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., ^5, 3. 

Before sunrise yesterday at Knightlowe, Warwickshire, the ancient cere- 
mony was enacted of collecting "wroth silver," payable to the Duke of 
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 
forthcoming, or forfeiture of a white bull with red nose and ears. — Scotsman, 1 2th 
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 WarivickshWe 
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 O'Cruachan, as the last has with The Weaver' 
Son and the Giant of the White Hill, Curtins' Myths and Folk Lore, p. 64. 

Page i3^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 Strays, iii, 185, 

Page 16 — The skill and supernatural power of smiths is early in evidence 

"Very sharp is Goibniu's science." 

— Thesaurus Palceohibernicus, ii. 248. 

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. Dicunt autem Scoti that 

322 NOTES — continued. 

Goibniu the Smith faciebat iuutas by three actions, and the last action was the 
finish. Then Luchtine made the shaits by three cuts, and the last cut was the 
finish. Sk et Creidne Jaciebat the rivets. Goibniu used to hurl the spear-heads from 
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. 
Cormacs Glossary, p. 32, Tr. 123. 

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 CampbelFs Language, Poetry, 
and Musk 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." — Reliquia 
Celtica, 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 
Celtk 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. 

Maitm, writing of lona. Description of the Western Islands, p. 263, says " there 
was a tribe here called Clan Vic n-Oster [the modern òsdair] from Ostiarii, for they 
are said to have been Porters.'' 

The Portair itom whom the Clann a' Phortair MacNaughtons in Glenlyon 
derive their designation was a ferryman (a common meaning ot portair) on the 

NOTES— iontmueJ. 


The Portair Cam, the one-eyed ferryman, was a man sui generis, 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 Pl^aifs and 
Strays, iii. 276. 

Page 57 — " Cathai was to give his wife to the Herd of the Stud if he should 
lose." Cf. 'Twere my advice to thee if thou shouldst win of the Gruagach 
carsalach donn, to get the cropped rough-skinned maid that is behind the door tor 
the worth of thy gaming." — West Highland Talcs , i. 2. 

Midir, King of Faery, won back his fairy wife, Etain, by chess. — ^oyge of 
Bran^ ii. 52. Metrical Dindshenchas,'\\. %<). 

Loth pheallagach odhar (IV. H. Tales, i. 13), may refer to " peallaidh, a 
mysterious being with long untidy hair, haunting streams." — Celtic Hevieiv, 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. — Stezt,art'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 Jievue Celtique, iv. 187. 
Page 9 1 — "Three human bodies, holding their heads between their hands, 
stood before him." See the tale of Coluinn gun cheann, M^.H. Tales, Vi. loi. 
The phrase was almost proverbial — 

'S e 'n trùp GhaJlta g'an robh 'chall sin, 
Bha colainn gun cheann air cuid diubh. 

D. Macintyre, p. 14. 
Ar is colann cen chend duine cen anmcharait. — Fèlire, p. xlvi., cxxix., ed. 
Stokes. Cf. CamphtWs JVitc/icni/t and Second Sight, p. 191. 

Page ICO— For reference to several Irish and other versions ot this tale, see 
Revue Celtique, iv. 185. 

Page 104 — Tàladh na mnatha sithe. The translation was made for Mr. 
MacDougall by Mr. Malcolm MacLucas. 

Page :o8 — " The women of Conall." Conall is represented as the Celtic 
Cupid, and the guardian deity of childhood. — Celt. Rev., v. 64. 

The cateinich, white-crested waves, are so styled. The reference, however, 
is to the "hairy" aborigines [cf gruagach, molach, &c. j, who in the main gave 
rise to the beliei in brownies and certain classes of the daoine sithe. Cf. The 
"shag-boy" in The Testimony of Tradition, p. IC7. — See also Celt. Rev. vi. I72. 
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. 

324 NOTES— ««/;«w. 

Page III — " MacKenzie thou'rt none." For some notices of the confusion 
between MacKenzie and MacLeod, see Maclan's Costumes of the Clans, p. 190. 
Keltie's History of the Highland Clans, ii. 191, 479. For Clann Conn, see Skene's 
Highlanders, p. 1 88. 

" Lochlannach na lann " occurs in Caithreim Ceallachain Caisil, § 63. 

Page 112 — A' bhean-chomuinn. A similar version, without translation, 
will he found in yi' Choisir-Chiùil, p. 58. 

Page 120 — Eadar da bhi an dorus. Ct. Bricrius 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. 

W.H. Tales, ii. 83, where it is said the arrow "was slender like a straw for 

thickness," and MacGregor's Highland Superstitions, p. 15. " These 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 Talis of the Fairies, p. 29. 

Witches were believed to cany 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 Scotl.ind 
in 1800,^. 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 thy 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 
mollachd do d' oid-ionnsachaidh." — 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, oi- the man 
who danced a year and a day with the 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 W.H. Tales, ii. 74. 

Page 168 — The tale is a superior version of Kallundborg Church. — Keightly's 
Fairy Mythology, p. 1 1 6, 1 1 7, note. 

As to divulging the fair)''s name. — Ct. Inge of Rantum, Keightly 232. 

Notes — contiimeJ. 315 

Page 172 — "A Shrutha-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 01 
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 indifTerence — it lacked but little that 
the swelling music, well sustained, had lulled us all to sleep." — Silva 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.H. Tales, 
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 Superstitions, p. 139. 

Page 180 — The Kiss ot the King's Hand. A pibroch so named will be 
found in Thomason's Ceol Mor, p. 156. There is also in existence a pibroch 
called Uaimh an Oir, though probably referring to a different incident. As 
MacCrimmon entered the cave he encountered a wolf and played — 
1$ truagh tha mi gun tri làimh 
Dà làmh 's a' phlob is làmh 's a' chlaidheamh. 

See J. A. MacCulloch's The Misty Lie o/Sive, p. 242. 

Page 186. — Duthil. Mr. MacDougall had decided on writing Daoghall, the 
correct Gaelic. 

Page 192. — Fairies meet periodically to fight. — Sil-va Gadelica, ii. 224; Voyage 
of 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 
fiirth 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 steel put into the bed of a lady "uneasy in her circum- 
stances," will protect mother and offspring from being "fayed." — Stewart's 

Highland Superstitions, p. 9 1 • 

Page 199. — "Fairy sweetheart" or this and other parts ot these tales, cf. 
Keltic's The Scottish Highlands, i. 305, 7. 

326 TSiOTES— continued. 

Page 102. — 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 mise Murchadh Buidhe nam Fiadh, 

A dh' fhkgadh air sliabh Bheinn an Oir 

Is ged tha mi aosda, liath, 

Is fhurasda do Dhia mo dheanamh òg." 

[ 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. Reii., 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 
Lios exceedingly. It is from the lament cry of the women of the Side that t-ie 
musicians of Ireland have retained it." Tain Bo Fruich, 149, and note. O'Curry, 
On the Mann., iii. 383. 

MacLachlan, Celtic Gleanings, p. 76, speaking 01 the Mackays ot 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. 248; The Laughing Gruagach, Curtin's Myths, &c., p. 114; The Fitherman's 

ì<50TES — contlnufd. 317 

Son and the Gmagach o{ the Tricks, p. 139; and in Il^ai/s and Strjys, ii. 97. All 
these partalie of a common character with the Brownie-clod, so called from a habit 
he had of flinging clods at passers-by. — Keightly, p. 395. 

'I'he phonetic Gaelic of Keightly, p. 384, thus corrected, 
Fhuair Brùnaidh cot' is ciirrac, 
'S cha dean Brùnaidh obair tuilkadh, 
might, mutatis mutandis, apply to several of our tales. 
See Campbell's Superstitions , Index. 

Page 228. — '-Sheiling 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,^. 1 3 2. 

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 01 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 Lyra 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 Eò Fe;isa, or Salmon of Knowledge ; and it is to such a salmon that we 
sometimes meet a reference among our old poets, where, when speaking ot objects 

3»8 ìiOTES—contmuei/. 

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^Tx. 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 — This story, or one similar in its main features, suggested to Scott 
his first original ballad, Glenfnlas. 

Page 260 —"The black cock of March." Curtin, Tales of the Fairies, 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' Mhàirt. Cha 'n 'eil coileach eile a ghlaodhas cho fior. 
Goiridh e 's a' mhionaid a thionndaidheas an oidhcbe gu la. 
Coileach dubh a' Mhàirt 
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, p. 88, says — " A black cock born fsicj in the busy 
time of the year," probably seed time. 
See Faclair Gaidhlig, 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 fhein is mi fhein. 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