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Popular Tales of the West Highlands
From James Wilson, blind fiddler, Islay.

The young king of Easaidh Ruadh, after he got the heirship to himself, was at much merry making, looking out what would suit him., and what would come into his humour. There was a GRUAGACH near his dwelling, who was called Gruagach carsalach donn - (The brown curly long haired one.)

He thought to himself that he would go to play a game with him. He went to the Seanagal (soothsayer) and he said to him - I am made up that I will go to game with the Gruagach carsalach donn."

"Aha!" said the Seanagal, "art thou such a man? Art thou so insolent that thou art going to play a game against the Gruagach carsalach donn? 'Twere my advice to thee to change thy nature and not to go there." "I wont do that," said he. " 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 for the worth of thy gaming, and many a turn will he put off before thou gettest her." He lay down that night, and if it was early that the day came, 'twas earlier than that that the king arose to hold garrung against the Gruagach. He reached the Gruagach, he blessed the Gruagach, and the Gruagach blessed him. Said the Gruagach to him, "Oh young king of Easaidh Ruadh, what brought thee to me to day? Wilt thou game with me?" They began and they played the game. The king won. "Lift the stake of thy gaming so that I may get (leave) to be moving". "The stake of my gaming is to give me the cropped rough skinned girl thou hast behind the door." "Many a fair woman have I within besides her," said the Gruagach. "I will take none but that one." "Blessing to thee and cursing to thy teacher of learning" They went to the house of the Gruagach, and the Gruagach set in order twenty young girls. "Lift now thy choice from amongst these." One was coming out after another, and every one that would come out she would say, "I am she; art thou not silly that art not taking me with thee?" But the Seanagal had asked him to take none but the last one that would come out. When the last one came out, he said, "This is mine." He went with her, and when they were a bit from the house, her form altered, and she is the loveliest woman that was on earth. The king was going home full of joy at getting such a charming woman.

He reached the house, and he went to rest. If it was early that the day arose, it was earlier than that that the king arose to go to game with the Gruagach. "I must absolutely go to game against the Gruagach to day," said he to his wife. "Oh!" said she, "that's my father, and if thou goest to game with him, take nothing for the stake of thy play but the dun shaggy filly that has the stick saddle on her."

The king went to encounter the Gruagach, and surely the blessing of the two to each other was not beyond what it was before. "Yes!" said the Gruagach, "how did thy young bride please thee yesterday?' "She pleased fully." "Hast thou come to game with me to day?" "I came." They began at the gaming, and the king won from the Gruagach on that day. "Lift the stake of thy gaming, and be sharp about it." "The stake of my gaming is the dun shaggy filly on which is the stick saddle."

They went away together. They reached the dun shaggy filly. He took her out from the stable, and the king put his leg over her and she was the swift heroine! He went home. His wife had her hands spread before him, and they were cheery together that night. "I would rather myself," said his wife, "that thou shouldest not go to game with the Gruagach any more, for if he wins he will put trouble on thy head." "I won't do that," said he, "I will go to play with him to day."

He went to play with the Gruagach. When he arrived, he thought the Gruagach was seized with joy. "Hast thou come?" he said. "I came." They played the game, and, as a cursed victory for the king, the Gruagach won that day. "Lift the stake of thy game," said the young king of Easaidh Ruadh, "and be not heavy on me, for I cannot stand to it." "The stake of my play is," said he, "that I lay it as crosses and as spells on thee, and as the defect of the year, that the cropped rough skinned creature, more uncouth and unworthy than thou thyself, should take thy head, and thy neck, and thy life's look off, if thou dost not get for me the GLAIVE OF LIGHT of the king of the oak windows." The king went home, heavily, poorly, gloomily. The young queen came meeting him, and she said to him, "Mohrooai! my pity! there is nothing with thee tonight." Her face and her splendour gave some pleasure to the king when he looked on her brow, but when he sat on a chair to draw her towards him, his heart was so heavy that the chair broke under him.

"What ails thee, or what should ail thee, that thou mightest not tell it to me?" said the queen. The king told how it happened. "Ha!" said she, "what should'st thou mind, and that thou hast the best wife in Erin, and the second best horse in Erin. If thou takest my advice, thou wilt come (well) out of all these things yet."

If it was early that the day came, it was earlier than that that the queen arose, and she set order in everything, for the king was about to go on his journey. She set in order the dun shaggy filly, on which was the stick saddle, and though he saw it as wood, it was full of sparklings with gold and silver. He got on it; the queen kissed him, and she wished him victory of battlefields. "I need not be telling thee anything. Take thou the advice of thine own she comrade, the filly, and she will tell thee what thou shouldest do." He set out on his journey, and it was not dreary to be on the dun steed.

She would catch the swift March wind that would be before, and the swift March wind would not catch her. They came at the mouth of dusk and lateness, to the court and castle of the king of the oak windows.

Said the dun shaggy filly to him, "We are at the end of the journey, and we have not to go any further; take my advice, and I will take thee where the sword of light of the king of the oak windows is, and if it comes with thee without scrape or creak, it is a good mark on our journey. The king is now at his dinner, and the sword of light is in his own chamber. There is a knob on its end, and when thou catchest the sword, draw it softly out of the window case' ". He came to the window where the sword was. He caught the sword and it came with him softly till it was at its point, and then it gave a sort of a "sgread." "We will now be going," said the filly. "It is no stopping time for us. I know the king has felt us taking the sword out." He kept his sword in his hand, and they went away, and when they were a bit forward, the filly said, "We will stop now, and look thou whom thou seest behind thee." "I see" said he, "a swarm of brown horses coming madly." "We are swifter ourselves than these yet," said the filly. They went, and when they were a good distance forward, "Look now," said she; "whom seest thou coming?" "I see a swarm of black horses, and one white-faced black horse, and he is coming and coming in madness, and a man on him." "That is the best horse in Erin; it is my brother, and he got three months more nursing than I and he will come past me with a whirr, and try if thou wilt be so ready, that when he comes past me, thou wilt take the head off the man who is on him; for in the time of passing he will look at thee, and there is no sword in his court will take off his head but the very sword that is in thy hand." When this man was going past, he gave his head a turn to look at him, he drew the sword and he took his head off, and the shaggy dun filly caught it in her mouth.

This was the king of the oak windows. "Leap on the black horse," said she, "and leave the carcass there, and be going home as fast as he will take thee home, and I will be coming as best I may after thee." He leaped on the black horse, and, "Moir! " he was the swift hero, and they reached the house long before day. The queen was without rest till he arrived. They raised music, and they laid down woe. On the morrow, he said, "I am obliged to go to see the Gruagach to day, to try if my spells will be loose." Mind that it is not as usual the Gruagach will meet thee. He will meet thee furiously, wildly, and he will say to thee, didst thou get the sword? and say thou that thou hast got it; he will say, how didst thou get it? and thou shalt say, if it were not the knob that was on its end I had not got it. He will ask thee again, how didst thou get the sword? and thou wilt say, if it were not the knob that was on its end, I had not got it. Then he will give himself a lift to look what knob is on the sword, and thou wilt see a mole on the right side of his neck, and stab the point of the sword in the mole; and if thou dost not hit the mole, thou and I are done. His brother was the king of the oak windows, and he knows that till the other had lost his life, he would not part with the sword. The death of the two is in the sword, but there is no other sword that will touch them but it." The queen kissed him, and she called on victory of battlefields (to be) with him, and he went away.

The Gruagach met him in the very same place where he was before. "Didst thou get the sword?" "I got the sword." "How didst thou get the sword?" "If it were not the knob that was on its end I had not got it," said he. "Let me see the sword." "It was not laid on me to let thee see it." "How didst thou get the sword?" "If it were not the knob that was on its end, I got it not." The Gruagach gave his head a lift to look at the sword; he saw the mole; he was sharp and quick, and he thrust the sword into the mole, and the Gruagach fell down dead.

He returned home, and when he returned home, he found his set of keepers and watchers tied back to back, without wife, or horse, or sweetheart of his, but was taken away.

When he loosed them, they said to him, "A great giant came and he took away thy wife and thy two horses." "Sleep will not come on mine eyes nor rest on mine head till I get my wife and my two horses back." In saying this, he went on his journey. He took the side that the track of the horses was, and he followed them diligently. The dusk and lateness were coming on him, and no stop did he make until he reached the side of the green wood. He saw where there was the forming of the site of a fire, and he thought that he would put fire upon it, and thus he would put the night past there.

He was not long here at the fire, when "CU SEANG of the green wood came on him.

He blessed the dog, and the dog blessed him.

"Oov! oov!" said the dog, "Bad was the plight of thy wife and thy two horses here last night with the big giant." "It is that which has set me so pained and pitiful on their track to night; but there is no help for it." "Oh! king," said the dog, "thou must not be without meat." The dog went into the wood. He brought out creatures, and they made them meat contentedly. "I rather think myself," said the king, "that I may turn home; that I cannot go near that giant." "Don't do that," said the dog. "There's no fear of thee, king. Thy matter will grow with thee. Thou must not be here without sleeping. " "Fear will not let me sleep without a warranty." "Sleep thou," said the dog, "and I will warrant thee." The king let himself down, stretched out at the side of the fire, and he slept. When the watch broke, the dog said to him, "Rise up, king, till thou gettest a morsel of meat that will strengthen thee, till thou wilt be going on thy journey. Now," said the dog, "if hardship or difficulty comes on thee, ask my aid, and I will be with thee in an instant." They left a blessing with each other, and he went away. In the time of dusk and lateness, he came to a great precipice of rock, and there was the forming of the site of a fire.

He thought he would gather dry fuel, and that he would set on fire. He began to warm himself, and he was not long thus when the hoary hawk of the grey rock came on him. "Oov! oov!" said she, "Bad was the plight of thy wife and thy two horses last night with the big giant." "There is no help for it," said he. "I have got much of their trouble and little of their benefit myself." "Catch courage," said she. "Thou wilt get something of their benefit yet. Thou must not be without meat here," said she. "There is no contrivance for getting meat," said he. "We will not be long getting meat," said the falcon. She went, and she was not long when she came with three ducks and eight blackcocks, in her mouth. They set their meat in order, and they took it. "Thou must not be without sleep," said the falcon. "How shall I sleep without a warranty over me, to keep me from any one evil that is here." "Sleep thou, king, and I will warrant thee." He let himself down, stretched out, and he slept.

In the morning, the falcon set him on foot. "Hardship or difficulty that comes on thee, mind, at any time, that thou wilt get my help." He went swiftly, sturdily. The night was coming, and the little birds of the forest of branching bushy trees, were talking about the briar roots and the twig tops; and if they were, it was stillness, not peace for him, till he came to the side of a great river that was there, and at the bank of the river there was the forming of the site of a fire. The king blew a heavy, little spark of fire. He was not long here when there came as company for him the brown otter of the river. "Och! och!" said the otter, "Bad was the plight of thy wife and thy two horses last night with the giant" "There is no help for it. I got much of their trouble and little of their benefit." "Catch courage, before mid-day to-morrow thou wilt see thy wife. Oh! King, thou must not be without meat," said the otter. "How is meat to be got here?" said the king. The otter went through the river, and she came and three salmon with her, that were splendid. They made meat, and they took it. Said the otter to the King, "Thou must sleep." "How can I sleep without any warranty over me?" "Sleep thou, and I will warrant thee." The king slept. In the morning, the otter said to him, "Thou wilt be this night in presence of thy wife." He left blessing with the otter. "Now," said the otter, "if difficulty be on thee, ask my aid and thou shalt get it." The king went till he reached a rock, and he looked down into a chasm that was in the rock, and at the bottom he saw his wife and his two horses, and he did not know how he should get where they were. He went round till he came to the foot of the rock, and there was a fine road for going in. He went in, and if he went it was then she began crying. "Ud! ud!" said he, "this is bad! If thou art crying now when I myself have got so much trouble coming about thee." "Oo!" said the horses, "set him in front of us., and there is no fear for him, till we leave this." She made meat for him, and she set him to rights, and when they were a while together, she put him in front of the horses. When the giant came, he said, "The smell of the stranger is within." Says she, "My treasure! My joy and my cattle! there is nothing but the smell of the litter of the horses." At the end of a while he went to give meat to the horses, and the horses began at him, and they all but killed him, and he hardly crawled from them. "Dear thing," said she, "they are like to kill thee. "If I myself had my soul to keep, it's long since they had killed me," said he. "Where, dear, is thy soul? By the books I will take care of it." "It is," said he, "in the Bonnach stone." When he went on the morrow, she set the Bonnach stone in order exceedingly. In the time of dusk and lateness, the giant came home. She set her man in front of the horses. The giant went to give the horses meat and they mangled him more and more. "What made thee set the Bonnach stone in order like that?" said he. "Because thy soul is in it." "I perceive that if thou didst know where my soul is, thou wouldst give it much respect." "I would give (that)," said she. "It is not there," said he, "my soul is; it is in the threshold." She set in order the threshold finely on the morrow. When the giant returned, he went to give meat to the horses, and the horses mangled him more and more. "What brought thee to set the threshold in order like that?" "Because thy soul is in it." "I perceive if thou knewest where my soul is, that thou wouldst take care of it." "I would take that," said she. "It is not there that my soul is," said he. "There is a great flagstone under the threshold. There is a wether under the flag. There is a duck in the wether's belly, and an egg in the belly of the duck, and it is in the egg that my soul is." When the giant went away on the morrow's day, they raised the flagstone and out went the wether. "If I had the slim dog of the greenwood, he would not be long bringing the wether to me." The slim dog of the greenwood came with the wether in his mouth. When they opened the wether, out was the duck on the wing with the other ducks. "If I had the Hoary Hawk of the grey rock, she would not be long bringing the duck to me. " The Hoary Hawk of the grey rock came with the duck in her mouth; when they split the duck to take the egg from her belly, out went the egg into the depth of the ocean. "If I had the brown otter of the river, he would not be long bringing the egg to me." The brown otter came and the egg in her mouth, and the queen caught the egg, and she crushed it between her two hands. The giant was coming in the lateness, and when she crushed the egg, he fell down dead, and he has never yet moved out of that. They took with them a great deal of his gold and silver. They passed a cheery night with the brown otter of the river, a night with the hoary falcon of the grey rock, and a night with the slim dog of the greenwood. They came home and they set in order "a CUIRM CURAIDH CRIDHEIL," a hearty hero's feast, and they were lucky and well pleased after that.

Received June 9, 1859.

An old man, of the name of Angus MacQueen, who lived at Ballochroy, near Portaskaig, in Islay, "who could recite Ossian's Poems," taught this more than forty years ago (say 1820) to James Wilson, blind fiddler in Islay who recited it to Hector MacLean, schoolmaster, Islay.

The Gaelic is dictated and written by Islay men.


Bha rgh g Easaidh Ruagh an digh dha'n oighreachd fhaotainn da fin ri mran bhachd, ag amharc a mach d a chordadh ris,'s d thigeadh r 'a nadur. Bha gruagach fagus d'a chomhnuidh ris an abradh iad a ghruagach charsalach dhonn. Smaointich e ris fin gun rachadh e a dh' iomairt cluiche ris. Dh'fhalbh e thun an t-seanaghail, 's thubhairt e ris, "Tha mi air a dheanadh suas gun dthid mi dh' iomairt cluiche ris a' ghruagach charsalach dhonn. " "Aha," arsa 'n seanagheal, "an duine mar so thu? am bheil thu cho uaibhreach 's gu bheil thu a' dol a dh' iomairt cluiche ris a a' ghruagach charsalach dhonn? Bee mo chomhairle dhuit do nadur atharrachadh 's gun dol ann." "Cha dean mi sin." "Be'e mo chomhairle dhuit ma bhủidneas thu air a' ghruagach charsalach dhonn, an nighean mhaol charrach a tha củl an doruis fhaotainn air son brgh do chluiche, 's cuiridh e ioma car dheth mu'm faigh thu i. " Chaidh e laidhe 'n oidhche sin, 's ma 's moch a thainig an latha 's moiche na sin a dh' irich an righ a chumail cluiche ris a'gbruagaich. Rinig e a ghruagach. Bheannaich e do'n ghruagaich 's bheannaich a ghruagach d. Thuirt a ghruagach ris, "A righ g Easaidh Ruagh, d thug a' m'ionnsuidh an diugh thu? an iomair thu cluiche rium?" Thisich iad's dh' iomair iad an cluiche. Bhủidhinn an righ. "Tog brgh do chluiche 's gu'm faighinn a bhi 'g imeachd. " " 'S e brigh mo chluiche thu thoirt domh na nighin maoil carraich a th' agad air củl an doruis. " " 'S iomad boireannach maiseach a th'agamsa stigh a bharrachd urra." "Cha ghabh mi gin ach i siod." "Beannachd dhuitse 's mollachd do d' oidionnsachaidh." Chidh iad gu tigh na gruagaich 's chuir a' ghruagach an rdugh fichead nighean g. "Tog a nis do roghainn asda sin." Bha T tighinn a mach an dgh t,'s a h-uile t thigeadh a mach, theireadh i, "is mis' i, 's amaideach thu nach 'eil 'g am thobh airtse leat;" ach dh'iarr an seanaghal air gun gin a ghabhail ach an t dheireadh a thigeadh a mach. 'Nuair a thainig an te mu dheireadh a mach, thuirt e "So mo th sa." Dh' fholbh e leatha 's nuair a bha iad sttuinn o'n tigh dhatharraich a cruth, agus 's i boireannach a bille 'bha air thalamh. Bha'n rgh 'dol dachaidh ln toil-inntinn leithid de bhoireannach maiseach fhaotainn. Rnig e'n tigh. Chaidh e laidhe. Ma 's moch a thainig an latha, is moiche na sin a dh'irich an righ, 'dhol a dh'iomairt cluiche ris a ghruagaich. "Is igin domh dol a dh'iomairt cluiche ris a ghruagaich an diugh," ars' e r'a bhean. "Oh," ars' ise, "sin m'athair's ma thid thu dh'iomairt cluiche ris, na gabh ni sam bith airson brigh do chluiche ach an loth pheallagach odhar a tha 'n diollaid mhaid' urra. Dh'fholbh an rgh, 's choinnich a ghruagach e, 's gu cinnteach cha robh 'm be beannachadh na bu tire na bha e roimhe aig an dithis ri chile. "Seadh," ars' a ghruagach "demur a chrd do bhean g riut an d?" "Chord gu h iomlan." "An d' thinig thu dhiomairt cluiche rium an diugh?" "Thinig." Thisich iad air a' chluiche, 's bhuidhinn an righ air a' ghruagaich an latha sin. "Tog brgh do chluiche 's bi ealamh leis." " 'S e brgh mo chluiche gum faigh mi an loth pheallagach odhar air a' bheil an dllaid mhaide." Dh' fholbh iad cmhla. Rinig iad an loth pheallagach odhar, thug e mach as an stbull i,'s chuir an rgh a chas thairte, 's be 'n curaidh i. Chaidh e dhachaidh; bha lmban sgaoilt' aig a' bhean roimhe; 's bha iad gu sủnndach comhla an oidhche sin. "B'fhearr leam fin," ursa 'bhean, "nach rachadh thu' dh'iomairt cluiche ris a'ghruagach tuillidh, chionn ma bhuidhneas e cuiridh e dragh ann ad cheann." "Cha dean mi sin; thid mi dh'iomairt cluiche ris an diugh." Chaidh e dh'iomairt cluiche ris a' ghruagaich. 'N uair a rinig e, thar leis gun do ghabh a ghruagach boch. "An dthinig thu?" "Thinig." Dh'iomair iad an cluiche, 's mar bhuaidh mhollachd do'n rgh bhuidhinn a' ghruagach an latha sin. "Tog brgh do chluiche," arsa righ g Eas Ruagh, " 's na bi trom orm, chionn cha-n urrainn mi seasamh ris." "S'e brgh mo chluiche-sa," urs' esan, "gu bheil mi 'cur mar chroisean, 'us mar gheasan ort, 'us mar sheisean na bliadhna, am beathach maol, carrach is mithreubhaiche s is mi-threnaiche na thu fin, a thoirt do chinn 's do mhuineil 's do choimhead-beatha dhiot, mar am faigh thu dhomhsa claidheamh soluis rgh nan uinneagan daraich." Chaidh an rgh dachaidh gu trom, bochd, duibhthaimhasach. Thinig a bhnrighinn g na chomhdhail's thubhairt i ris, "Mo thruaighe! cha 1n ni 'sam bith leat a nochd." Thug a h-aoidh agus a h-ailleachd rud-eigin de thoilinntinn do n righ, nur a dh' amhairc e air a gnủis; ach nur a shuidh e air cathair a tharruinn e d' a ionnsuidh, thug e osann as, is sgoilt a chathair fodha. "D th' ort, na bhiodh ort, nach fhaodadh thu innseadh dhomhsa?" ars' a bhanrigh. Dh' innis an righ demur a thachair. "Ud," ars ise, "de amhail a chuireas thu air, s gur ann agad a tha 'bhean is fherr 'an Eirinn, 's an darra each is fherr 'an Eirinn. Ma ghabhas thu mo chombairle-sa thig thu as gach ni dhiubh sin fhathasd." Ma 's moch a thinig an latha 's moiche na sin a dh' irich a bhnfighinn, 's a chuir i uidhearn air gach ni chum gum bitheadh an rgh 'dol air a thurus. Chuir i 'n rdugh an loth pheallagach, odhar, air an robh 'n dollaid mhaide; 's ged a chitheadh esan 'na maid' i, bha i ln dhealrach le r is airgeid. Chaidh e air a muin. Phg a'bhanrigh e, 's ghuidh i buaidh lrach leis. Cha ruig mise leas a bhi'g innseadh ni sam bith dhuit, gabh thusa comhairle do bhana-chompanaich fin, an loth, 's innsidh i duit d 's cir dhuit a dheanamh. Ghabh e mach air a thurus; 's cha bu chianalach a bhi air muin na steud odhar. Bheireadh i air a' ghaoth luath Mhairt a bhiteadh roimhpe, 's cha bheireadh i ghaoth luath mhirt urra. Thinig iad am beul an athaidh 's an anamoich gu củirt agus cathair righ nan uinneagan daraich. Urs' an loth pheallagach odhar ris, "Tha sinn aig ceann turuis, 's cha-n' eil againn ri dol na 's fhaide, gabh thusa mo chomhairle-sa 's bheir mi thu far am bheil claidheamh soluis rgh nan uinneagan daraich, 's ma thig e leat gun sgread gun s grioch, 's comharradh maith air ar turus e. Tha 'n righ nis aig a dhinneir, 's tha 'n claidheamh soluis 'n a shembar fin; tha cnap air a cheann, s nur a bheireas thu air a chlaidheamh tarruinn gu ridh mach a "CASE" na h uinneig e." Thinig e gus an uinneig far an robh an claidhearnh. Rug e air a claidheamh 's thinig e leis gu ridh gus an robh e aig a bhrr, 's thug e sersa sgread as an sin. "Bithidh sinn a nis, arsa 'n loth, aig imeachd, can-n m stad duinn e, tha fios agam gun do mhothaich an righ dhuinn a toirt a chlaidheimh a mach. Ghlidh esan an claidheamh 'n a laimh 's dh' fholbh iad, 's 'n uair a bha iad treis air an aghaidh, thuirt an loth, "Stadaidh sinn a nis 's amhaircidh thu co 'chi thu 'd dheigh." "Chi mi," ars' esan, "sgaoth dh'eachaibh donna 'tighinn air bhinidh." " 'S luaithe sinn fin na iad sin fathasd." Dh' fhalbh iad 's 'n uair a bha iad astar maith air an aghaidh, "amhairc a nis" ars' ise "co 'chi thu teachd." "Chi mi sgaoth dh' eacha dubha, agus; aon each blr dubh, 's e a tighinn air a chuthach, 's duin' air a mhuin." " 'S e sin an t-each is fherr an Eirinn, 's e mo bhrthair a th' ann, 's fhuair e ridhe banaltrachd a bharrachd ormsa, agus thig e seachad ormsa le sreann, s feuch ambi thu cho tapaidh 's 'nur a thig e seachad ormsa an d' thoir thu 'n ceann de 'n fhear a th' air a mhuin; chionn an m dol seachad amhaircidh e ortsa, 's cha-n 'eil claidheamh 'n a chủirt a bheir an ceann deth, ach a 'cheart chlaidheamh a tha'd laimh." 'N uair a bha 'm fear so 'dol seachad thug e amhadh air a cheann a dh' amharc air; tharruinn esan an claidheamh 'us thug e 'n ceann deth, 's cheap an loth pheallagach 'n a beul e. B' e so rgh nan uinneagan daraich. "Leum air muin an eich dhuibh," urs' ise, " 's fag a chlosach an siod, 's bi 'dol dachaidh cho luath 's a bheir e dachaidh thu, 's bithidh mise 'tighinn mar is fherr a dh' fhaodas mi 'n 'ur digh. " Leum e air muin an eich dhuibh, 's am Moire b e 'n curaidh e, 's rinig iad an tigh fada roimh latha. Bha 'bhan-rgh gun laidhe gus an d' rinig e. Thog iad cel 's leag iad brn. An la'r na mhireach thuirt esan, " 's igin dmhsa dol a dh'amharc na gruagaich an diugh, feuch am bi mo gheasan ma sgaoil." "Cuimhnich nach ann mar a b-bhaist a dh' amaiseas a gruagach ort. Coinnichidh e thu gu feargach fiadhaich 's their e riut, 'an d'fhuair thu 'n claidheamh?' 's abair thusa gun d'fhuair. Their e riut ciod e mar a fhuair thu e? 'is their thusa,'mar be an cnap a bh'air a cheann cha d'fhuair mi e.' Foigh-nichidh e rithisd diot, 'demur a fhuair thu 'n claidheamh, s their thusa, 'mar be an cnap a bh'air a cheann cha d' fhuair mi e.' Bheir e 'n so togail air a dh' amharc ciod e 'n cnap a th' air a chlaidheamh 's chi thu ball-dorain taobh deas a mhuneil, agus stob brr a chlaidheimh anns a bhall-dorain 's mar amais thu air a bhall-dorain, tha thuso 's mise ridh. B' e bhrthair righ nan uinneagan daraich e, 's tha fhios aige gus an cailleadh am fear eile 'bheatha nach dealaicheadh e ris a chlaidheamh. Tha bs an dithis 's a chlaidheamh; ach cha-n 'eil claidheamh eile dhear-gas orr' ach e. " Phg a bhanrigh e, 's ghuidh i buaidh lrach leis, 's dh' fholbh e. Thachair a gruagach air anns cheart it' an robh e roimhid. "An d' fhuair thu 'n claidheamh?" "Fhuair mi 'n claidheamh. " "Dmur a fhuair thu 'n claidheamh?" "Mur be an cnap a bh' air a chearm cha n' fhaighinn e." "Leig fhaicinn domh an claidheamh." "Cha robh e mar fhiachaibh orm a leigeil fhaicinn duit." "Demur a fhuair thu'n claidheamh?" "Mur b'e an cnap a bh' air a chearm cha d' fhuair mi e. " Thug a gruagach togail air a cheann a dh' amharc air a chlaidheamh. Chunnaic esan am ball-dorain. Bha e urrant' ealamh; shth e 'n claidheamh s a bhall-dorain, 's thuit a ghruagach sos marbh. Thill e dhachaidh, s 'n uair a thill e dhachaidh, fhuair e luchd gleidhidh agus coimhead ceangailt' an sin củl ri eủl; 's gun bhean, no each, no leannan aige, gun a bhi air an tiort air folbh. 'N uair a dh' fhuasgail e iad, thubhairt iad ris, "Thinig famhair mr agus thug e air folbh do bhean agus do dh each." "Cha d' thid cadal air mo shủil no fois air mo cheum, gus am faigh mi mo bhean agus mo dh each air an ais. Le so a rdh dh' fholbh e air a thurus; ghabh e 'n taobh a bha lorg nan each, 's lean e gu than iad. Bha'n t-athadh's an t-anamoch a tighinn air, 's cha d' rinneadh stad leis gus an d' rinig e taobh na coill' uaine. Chunnaic e far an robh lrach cruthachadh gealbhain, 's smaointich e gun cuireadh e tein' air, 's gun cuireadh e seachad an oidhch' ann. Cha b fhad 'a bha e 'n so aig a ghealbhan gus an d' thinig cu seang na coill' uain' air. Bheannaich e do 'n chủ, 's bheannaich an củ d. "Ubh! ủbh!" ars' an củ "b' olc diol do mhnatha 's do dh each an so an raoir aig an fhamhair mhr." " S e sin a chuir mise cho peanasach truagh air an tir a nochd, ach cha-n' 'eil arach' air." "A righ," ars' an củ, "cha-n fhaod thu bhi gun bhiadh." Chaidh an củ stigh do 'n choille, thug e mach beathaichean, 's rinn iad am biadh gu tlachdmhor. "Tha dủil agam fin," ars' an rgh, "gum faod mi tilleadh dhachaidh, nach urrainn mi dol a chir an fhamhair sin." "Na dean sin," ars' an củ; "cha-n eagal duit a righ, cinn'idh do ghnothuch leat. Cha-n 'fhaod thu bhi so gun chadal. " "Cha leig an t-eagal domh cadal 's gun bharantas orm." "Caidil thus'," ars 'an củ, " 's barantachaidh mis' thu." Leig an righ e fin na shneadh taobh an teine 's chaidil e. Nur a bhrisd an fhire thubhairt an củ ris, "Eirich," a rgh, " 'us gun gabhadh thu greim bdh a neartaicheas thu, 's gum bitheadh thu dol air do thurus. Nis," ars' an củ, "ma thig cruadhchas no cs ort, iarr mo chuideachadh, 's bithidh mi agad a thiotadh." Dh' fhg iad beannachd aig a chile 's dh' fholbh e. An m an athaidh 's an ammoich, thinig e gu h-ailbhinn mhr creige, agus bha cruthachadh lrach gealbhain ann. Smaointich e gun cruinneachadh e connadh, 's gun cuireadh e air teine. Thisich e air a gharadh, 's cha b' fhada bha e mar so 'n uair a thinig seobhag liath na creige glais' air. "Ubh! ủbh! " ars' ise, b' olc diol do mhnatha 's do dh each an rair aig an fhamhair mhr." "Cha-n' 'eil arach' air," ars esan, "fhuair mi fin mran d' an dragh is beagan d' an bhachd. "Glac misneach," ars' ise, "gheobh thu rudeigin d' an bhachd fhathasd. Cha-n' fhaod thu. bhi gun bhiadh an so," ars' ise. "Cha-n' 'eil sel air biadh fhaotainn ars esan." "Cha-n fhada bhitheas sinn a faotainn bidh. " Dh' fholbh i 's cha b'fhada bha i n' uair a thinig i 's tri lachan 's ochd coilich dhubha 'n a beul. Chuir iad an ordugh am biadh 's ghabh iad e. "Cha-n fhaod thu bhi gun chadal," ars' an t-seobhag. "Demur a chaidleas mi gun bharantas 'sam bith orm gu mo dhon o aon olc a tha 'n so?" "Caidil thusa, rgh, 's barantachaidh mis' thu." Leig e e fin 'n a shineadh, 's chaidil e. Anns a mhaidinn chuir an t-seobhag air a chois e. Cruadhchas no cs a thig ort, cuimhnich aig m sam bith gum faigh thu mo chuideachadhsa. Dh' fholbh e gu dian, foghainteach, luath, laidir. Bha 'n latha folbh 's an oidhche tighinn, 's eunlaith bheaga na coille craobhaich, dosraiche, dualaich, a' gabhail ma bhun nam preas 's ma bhrr nan dos; 's mu bha, cha bu tmh 's cha bu chlos dsan e, gus an d' thinig e gu taobh aimhne mhr a bha sin, agus aig bruach na h-aimhne bha cruthachadh lrach gealbhain. Shid an rgh srachdanach trom teine. Cha b'fhada bha e 'n so 'n uair a thinig ann an companas ris doran donn na h-aimhne. "Och," ars' an doran, "bolc dol do mhnatha 'n so an rair aig an fhamhair. " "Cha-n 'eil arach' air, fhuair mise mran d'an dragh is beagan d' an bhachd." "Glac misneach, fo mheadhon latha mireach ch thu do bhean. A righ, cha 'n fhaod thu bhi gun bhaidh," ars' an doran. "Demur a gheibhear biadh an so," ars' an rgh. Dh fholbh an doran feadh na h-abhann, 's thainig e 's tri bradain leis a bha ciatach. Rinn iad biadh is ghabh iad e. Thuirt an doran ris an rgh, "feumaidh tu cadal." "Demur a chaidleas mi 's gun bharantachadh sam bith orm?" "Caidil thusa 's barantachaidh mis' thu an nochd." Chaidil an rgh. Anns a mhaduinn, thuirt an doran ris, bithidh thu an nochd an lthair do mhnatha. Dh fhg e beannachd aig an doran. "Nis," ars' an doran, "ma bhitheas cs ort, iarr mo chuideachadh-a, 's gheobh thu e. " Dh 'fholbh an rgh gus an d' rinig e creag, 's dh' amhirc e sos ann an glomhas a bha 's a chreig, 's aig a ghrunnd chunnaic e a bhean agus a dh each, 's cha robh fios aige demur a gheobheadh e far an robh iad. Ghabh e mu 'n cuairt gus an d' thinig e gu bun na creige, 's bha rathad ciatach a dhol a stigh. Chaidh e stigh, 's ma chaidh, 's ann a thisich is' air caoineadh. "Ud! ud!" ars' esan, " 's olc so, mi fin a dh' fhaotainn na huibhir de dhragh a tighinn ma d' thuaiream, ma 's ann a caoineadh a tha thu nis." "U," arsa na h-ich, "cuir thus' air' ur beulthaobh-ne e, 's cha-n eagal da gus am fg sinne so." Rinn i biadh d, 's chur i air digh e, 's 'n nair a bha iad treis comhla chuir i air beulthaobh nan each e. 'N uair a thinig am famhair thubhairt e, "THA BOLADH AN FHARBHALAICH A STiGH. Ars' ise, "M ullaidh, is m'aighear, is m' fheudail, cha-n' eil ann ach boladh a bhalaidh bhreuna de na h-eachaibh." An ceann treis chaidh e 'thoirt bidh do na h-eich, 's thisich na h-eich air, 's cha mhr nach do mharbh iad e, 's cha d' rinn e ach sngan air igin uatha. "Ghridh," ars' ise, "tha iad a brath do mharbhadh." "Na'm b ann agam fin a bhitheadh 'm anam g'a ghleidheadh 's fhad' o'n a mharbh iad mi," ars' esan. "C' ait' a ghridh am bheil d' anam? An lebhra, gabhaidh mise củram deth." "Tha e," ars' esan, "ann an clach nam bonnach." Nur a dh' fhoIbh esan an lar na mhireach, chuir ise rdugh clach nam bonnach gu fuathasach. An am an athaidh 's an anmoich thinig am famhair a stigh. Chuir ise a fear air beulthaobh nan each. Chaidh am famhair a thoirt bidh do na h-eich, 's leadair iad e na bu mhotha 's na bu mhotha. "Ciod e 'thug ort clach narn bonnach a chur an rdugh mur sin?" ars' esan. "Chionn gu bheil d'anarn innte." "Tha mi 'g aithneachadb nam bitheadh fios agad c' aite 'bheil m' anam, gun d' thugadh thu t'aire mhaith dh." "Bheireadh." "Cha-n ann an ain a tha m'anam 's arm a tha e 'sa starsaich." Chuir ise an ordugh an starsach gu gasd' an la 'r na mhireach. Nur a thill am famhair chaidh e thoirt bdh do na h-eich 's leadair na h-eich e na bu mhotha 's na bu mhotha. "D 'thug ort an starsach a chuir an ordugh mar sud?" "Chionn gu bheil d' anam innte. " "Tha mi 'g aithneachadh na 'm bitheadh flos agad far am bheil m' anam gun gabhadh tủ củram dheth." "Ghabhadh," ars' ise. "Cha-n' ann an sin a tha m' anam, ars' esan. Tha leac mhr fo 'n starsaich, tha molt fo 'n leachd, tha lach 'am broinn a mhuilt, agus tha ubh am broinn na lacha, agus 's ann anns an ubh a tha m' anam. 'N uair a dh' fholbh am farnhair an la'r na mhireach thog iad an leac, 's a mach a thug am molt. Na 'm bitheadh agamsa củ seang na coill'uaine, cha b fhad 'a bhitheadh e 'toirt a' mhuilt a m' ionnsuidh. Thainig củ seang na coill' uaine ugus am molt 'n a bheul. 'N uair a dh'fhosgail iad am molt, a mach a bha 'n lach air iteagach leis na lachan eile. Na'm bitheadh agamsa seobhag liath na creige glaise, cha b'fhada'bhitheadh i 'toirt na lach a mionnsuidh. Thinig seobhag liath na creige glaise 's an lach 'n a beul. 'N uair a sgoilt lad an lach a thoirt an uibhe a 'broinn mach a ghabh an t-ubh ann an doimhneachd a chuain. Na'm bitheadh agamsa doran donn na h-amhann, cha bfhada bhitheadh i 'toirt a m' ionnsuidh an uibhe. Thinig an doran dorm 's an t-ubh na beul, 's rug a bhanrigh air an ubh 's phronn i eadar a da laimh e. Bha 'm famhair a tighirm anns an athamanachd, 's 'n uair a phronn ise 'n t-ubh thuit e sos marbh, 's cha do charaich e as a sin fhathasd. Thug iad mran leo de dh 'r 's de dh' airgeid. Chuir iad oidhche shunndach seachad aig doran donn na h-abhann, oidhch' aig: seobhag liath na creige glaise, agus oidhch' aig củ seang na coill' uaine. Thinig iad dachaidh 's chuir iad an rdugh cuirm chridheil, 's bha iad gu sona, toilichte 'n a dhigh sin.

2. I have another version of this tale, written by Hector Urquhart, told by John Campbell, living at Strath Gairloch, Ross-shire, received June 27, 1859. It is very well told. It varies a little from the Islay version, but the resemblance is so close, that to print it entire would be repetition. It contains many characteristic phrases which the other has not got, so I give this abstract. The Gaelic is as it came to me.

THE "SGEULACHD" OF THE WIDOWS SON. - There was once a widow's son, and he was often stalking (SEALG). On a day of days and he stalking, he "sits" at the back of a knoll, before the sun and behind the wind (RI AGHAIDH GREINE'S RI CUL NA GAOITHE), and there came the way a youth, like a picture (OGANACH DEALBHANACH), riding a blue filly (FAILORE GORM), and he sits beside him.

They played at cards, and the widow's son won, and when evening came the youth said, "What is the stake of thy gaming?" (CE DHE BUIDH DO CHLUICHE?) and he said, "the blue filly under thee." He took her home, and she changed into the finest woman that man ever saw. Next day he went stalking, and on coming home in the mouth of night (AM BEUL NA OIDHCHE), he learned that the big giant had taken away his sweetheart - CHA NEEL COMAS AiR AS EISE ACH NA BO MHISE BO TREASA CHA MHEALLADH EISE FAD I. "There is no help for it," said he, "but were I the stronger, he would not allure her far."

DHERICH MAC NA BANNTRICH. The widow's son arose, 's CHAIDH E NA CHRIOSIBH IALLA S' NA IALLA GAISGICH, and he went into his belts of thongs and his thongs of warrior, S DHFHALBH E LE CEUMANIBH GU TUISLEAG DOMH MHEANMNACH, and he went With leaping strides, cheerful to me (or? Doimhainneachd - of deepness) S' DHEANADH E MiLE THORAN NA SLEIBH LEIS NA H UILLE CEUM A DHEANADH E, and he would make a thousand knolls of the hill with every step he made, S B' FHEAR DHA NAMHAID A SHEACHANADH NA TACHAIRT AN LATHA SIN RIS, and his foe had better avoid him than meet that day with him. He saw a little hut "in the mouth of night," and though far away, not long to reach it, AIR A THUBHADH LE ITEAGAN GARBHA NAN EUN A MUIGH S LE ITEAGAN MINE NAN EUN A STEACH, thatched with coarse feathers of the birds without, and with fine feathers of the birds within, AGUS RUITHAG AN T UBHAL BHON DARNA CEAN DHON A CHIN EILE LE CHO COMHRAD S'A BHA E, and the apple would run from one end to the other end, so even it was. He went in and found no man, but two great fires on the fire place (CHAGAILT) on the floor. SUIL DA DUG E, glance that he gave he saw a falcon coming in with a heath hen in her claws, and the next glance it was, GILLE BRIAGH BUDH, a braw yellow lad, who spoke as in the Islay version, entertained him and told him in the morning to call on SEABHAG SUIL GHORM GHLENNA FEIST - the blue eyed falcon of Glen Feist. Next day it was the same, and he came, AIR CIARADH DON FHEISGAR, at the turning-dun of the evening, to a second hut, thatched like the other, S' BHA SNATHNEAN BEAG SUARACH SIODA CUMAIL DION A DHROMA RIS, and there was a little sorry silken thread, keeping the thatch of its back on. DOBHRAN DONN, otter brown, come in with a salmon, and became a man, and spoke as the other, and told him in the morning to call on DOBHRAN DONN SRUTH ANT' SHUIL - Brown otter of sail stream. The third day was the same, the hut was the same, but that there were two great fires on each fire place, and there came in MADADH MOR, big dog, with a hare by the throat, who became the finest man, AIR AN DUG E ROSK RIAMH, he ever turned face to; who said as the others did - "It was late when the big giant went past with thy sweetheart on his shoulder." At parting he told him to call on MADADH GLAS DRIOMAN T-SHLEIBHE - grey dog of mountain back in time of need. That night he saw, TiGH MOR GEAL AN AN GLEANN FADA FAISICH, a big white house in a long desert glen, and saw his sweetheart with a golden comb in her hand, and she would take a while at combing her hair, and a while at weeping, and when she saw him she said - "My pity, what brought thee here? the giant will kill thee." "Two shares of fear on him, and the smallest share on me," said the widow's son.

She had laid it as crosses and as spells on the giant, not to come near her for a day and a year, and they were together in the giant's house till evening.

She hid him, and had a long talk with the giant when he came home, who was wheedled, as in the other story, into telling first that his life (BETHA) was in (CARN GLAS UD THAILL) yonder grey cairn. The lady was addressed as NiGHINN RIGH CHOIGE MUGH - O daughter of king of COIGE MUGH, which kingdom is not within my geographical studies.

The giant came home, and found the grey cairn dressed out and ornamented, and after a deal of persuasion, gave out that his life was in SEANN STOC DARRICH - an old oak stump on the bank of yonder river. So the next day that was dressed out, and when he came home he said, "Do thou make the stock braw, BRIAGH, every day. On the third day they split the oak stump with an axe, and a hare leaped out. "There now is the giants life away," said the king's daughter, "and he will come without delay and kill thee, and not spare me." Grey dog of mountain back was called, and brought the hare, and a salmon leaped out into the river. Brown otter of sail stream brought the salmon, and a heath hen sprang out. Blue eyed falcon of Glen Feist brought the bird, and the giant came roaring - "King's daughter, let me have my life and thou shalt have the little chest of gold and the little chest of silver that is in yonder grey cairn." The widow's son answered, "I will have that, and I will have this;" and he seized the axe, and the stock fell, and the giant was dead. And the widow's son and the daughter of King Coige Mugh, in Erin, staid in the house and the land of the giant, and their race was there when I was there last.

The warrior's dress of thongs is remarkable, and something like it is described in another tale. There is a curious picture at Taymouth of a man, supposed to be the Regent Murray, in a Highland dress, which may be the dress described. The upper part is composed of strips of some ornamental material, which might be stamped gilded leather; the rest of the dress is a linen shirt, with ruffles, and a plaid wrapped about the body in the form of a modem kilt, and belted plaid; he wears stockings and shoes of a peculiar pattern: the headdress is a bonnet with an ostrich plume; the arms, a dirk and a long ornamented gun.

There is another picture at Dytchley, in Oxfordshire, which represents an ancestor of Lord Dillon in an Irish costume. The dress consists solely of a very short garment like a shirt, coloured, and very much ornamented with tags, which might be leather. The gentleman is armed with a spear, and the dress is probably a masquerade representation of a real Irish dress of some period.

I would here remark that the personages and places in all these tales are like the actors in a play and the scenes. The incidents vary but little, but the kings and their countries vary with every version, though there is a preference for Erin, Ireland; Lochlain, Scandinavia, or rather Denmark and Norway; and Greuge, the Greekdom, Greece.

3. I have a third version of this written by MacLean, told by Donald MacPhie, in South Uist. The old man was very proud of it, and said it was "the HARDEST" story that the transcriber had ever heard. He told me the same.

As often happens with aged reciters, when he repeated it a second time slowly for transcribing, nearly all the curious, "impassioned, and sentimental" language was left out. This is MacLean's account, and it entirely agrees with my own experience of this man, who is next thing to a professional reciter (see introduction). This version is the most curious of the three. I hope some day to get it better copied, so I do not abstract it now It is nearer the Ross-shire version than the Islay story, and carries the scene to Greece from Ireland. The reciter is 79, and says he learned it in his youth from an old man of the name of John MacDonald, Aird a Mhachair.

The principle on which gaming is carried on in this and in other tales is peculiar.

The stake is rather a ransom, for it is always settled after the game is decided.

The game played is TAILEASG, which Armstrong translates as sport, game, mirth, chess, backgammon, draughts.

This story resembles in some particulars -

1. The Gaelic tale published by Dr. MacLeod, printed page 30, Leobhar Nan Cnoc. 1834

2. The Sea Maiden, in present collection, and the stories referred to in the notes.

3. The Giant who had no Heart in his Body. Norse Tales. 1859.

4. The Seven Foals, where a horse advises his rider. Norse Tales.

5. Dapplegrim, where the same occurs, where there are two horses, and where the rider hides about the horses. Norse Tales.

6. Fortunio, where the horse also advises his rider.

7. This also resembles a part of the "Arabian Nights," where the Calender is changed into a monkey, and the princess fights a genius in various shapes.

8. "The Ball of Crystal," Grimm, where the power of an enchanter is in a crystal ball, in an egg, in a fiery bird, in a wild ox.

9. The Three Sisters, page 52, where a little key is found in an egg, in a duck, in a bull. This book is an English translation (1845) of Volks Mrchen, by Musaeus, 1872. Said to have been published in English in 1790.

10. Another version of the Sea Maiden recited to me in South Uist. The soul of the Sea Maiden was in an egg, in a goose, in a ram, in a wild bull, and was got by the help of an otter, a falcon, a wolf and a lion.

Lempriere - Ǽgyptus - Kneph or Knouphis - A God represented as a ram. He was the soul of the world; his symbol a circle, in the centre of which is a serpent with the head of a hawk, or a globe with a serpent turned round it. Together with mind, the primitive matter was given, both produced from the same great principle, existing in it from all eternity, imperishable. The primitive matter was rude and shapeless when the spirit imparted to it the power of motion, and gave it the form of a sphere. This became the sphere or egg of the world which Kneph let fall frorn his mouth, when he wished to form all things.

It is warmly contended by Irish writers that the religion of the Celts, and the Celts themselves, came from Phoenicia and Carthage.

If this story be mythological, here is something like it.

We have the hawk, ram, and a bird; and in the Inverary version we have a fish and the egg, with the life of bird, beast, fish, and man in it.

There is a place called Lok Maaien-ker, in Morbihan, Brittany, a long, dark, underground passage, at the end of which are certain rudely sculptured stones. On one of these is something which bears some faint resemblance to the snake, who appears in the next tale.

There is one word in this tale, "SEANG," which is not given in dictionaries as a substantive. Sing, applied to an Indian prince, means lion, and the beast here described might be one. Seang, as an adjective, means thin, slim, slender, gaunt, and is the root of Seangan, an ant.

In Prichard's "Celtic Nations," by Latham, 1856, a Dacota word is quoted "SUNGKA," which originally comprehended the idea of Dog, Fox, and Wolf.

The word GRUAGACH, which here means some male personage, generally means a maiden. It also means "A female spectre of the class of Brownies to which the Highland dairy-maids made frequent libations of milk - rarely THE CHIEF OF A PLACE." Armstrong dic. This word, which has not its common meaning, may help to trace the language. The root is GRUAG, the hair of the head.

A Gruagach used to haunt Skipriess Castle, and is still remembered there as a supernatural female who did odd jobs about the house for the maids, and lived in the ruin.

"There was also a Gruagach in Kerrisdale, in Gairloch, in Rossshire, once upon a titne."

This may be the same word as Groach or Grach, a name given to the Druidesses, who had colleges in an island near the coasts of Brittany (p. 155, vol.

i., Foyer Breton). The story given has many incidents common to the Gaelic stories.

The sword of light is common in Gaelic stories; and stripped of supernatural qualities, the whole thing seems very like an account of some race contending with another, whose chief wore long hair, who had horses and bright (? steel) swords, to which extraordinary virtues were attributed, and who were at the same time beset by savages who lived in caves, and were assisted by other savages represented by creatures.

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