cheart ruith orra, rug e air an fhear bu motha ceann 's bu chaola casan, 's ghabh e dhoibh leis gus an do chaith e e thun na'n luirgnean, 's an do chur e mach iad 's an robh an tigh falamh. Fhuair nighean an Righ air falbh, ach gheall ise dha tighinn air ais le 'h-athair, 's le maighdeannan coimhideach 'ga iarraidh ri' phosadh. Thuirt esan rithe gu'n robh e dol a dh'fhalbh as a sid, ach gum fuirigheadh e 's an tigh a b'fhaisge do'n chaisteal gus an tilleadh ise chomhlionadh a geallaidh. Dh' fhalbh ise, 's dh' fhag esan an caisteal, 's chaidh e dh' fhuireach do'n tigh a b' faisge dha far an robh bean-shith. Latha sin bha e 'g ol deoch aig an tobair, chual e stairnich tighinn timchioll, ach cha robh e faicinn ni. Chunnaic a bhean-shith, an Righ, 's a nighean 's na maighdeannan coimheadach tighinn ann an cuairteag, 's thainig i gun fhios gun fhath dha air a chulthaobh 's chàraich i prina Druidheachd ann an cul a chinn. Chadail e sin cho trom 's nach robh air an t-saoghal na dhuisgadh e gus an d'thoirt am prina Druidheachd a cul a chinn. 'Nuair thainig an Righ 'ga ionnsuidh fhuair e na throm shuain e, 's thoisich e air a charachadh 's air a thulganadh, ach mar bu mho chrathadh an Righ e, 's an bu truime chadaileadh

esan.

"Cha'n eil fhios de an seorsa duine tha sin," ors' an Righ ri 'nighean, "'nuair nach gabh e dùsgadh idir." Thainig an Righ tri uairean san doigh sin 's dh'fhartlich air a dhùsgadh. A' sin spiol a' bhean-shith an prina druidheachd a cul a chinn, 's 'nuair dhuisg esan thill e don chaisteal a rithisd. Shiubhail e sin an caisteal on leth iochdair gus an leth uachdair. Fhuair e 'chompanaich.

"Bheil sibh dol a dh'fhalbh comhladh riumsa do Rioghachd na Fuarachd?" thuirt e riu.

"Cha'n 'eil," ors' iadsan," ," "tha sinn gu math far a bheil sin." Sheall e so thuige 's uaithe 's chan fhac e ni b'fhearr na thoirt leis na tri chìrean each 's charaich e sud na phòc 's dh' fhalbh e. So thug e ri siubhal 's ri sior iomachd 's beul-uidhe ri anmoch, chunnaic e bothan ri taobh an rathaid ann 'san deachaidh e stigh 's ann 'san robh cnuacaire mòr do sheann duine glas na shuidhe air seana chara cloiche 's e cireadh fheusaig le bàd mòr do fhraoch. Thuirt e ris a bhodach,

"Nach garbh a chir th' agad an sin !”

"Cha'n 'eil nas mine agam," ors' an seann duine.

66

Theagamh gu bheil nas fhearr agam fhein," thuirt esan. Chur e so a lamh na phoca 's thug e dha te do na cìrean bh' aige fhein.

"'S math," orsa 'seann duine sin, "'s aithne dhomhsa ceann d'astar 's do shiubhal. Tha thu dol air toir do leannain nighean

Righ ann an Rioghachd na Fuarachd, cuiridh du seachad an oidhche so comhladh rium fhein 's cha mhiosd do thurus a maireach e." Rinn e so san la'r na mhaireach 'nuair bha e air son falbh, thuirt an seann duine ris. "Tha brathair agamsa 's fhearr a chuireas air do thurus thu, tha e astar latha 's bliadhna as a so, ach bheir mise dhuit paidhear bhrògan 's bheir iad ann thu, ann an aon latha, 'sa 'nuair a ruigeas tu mu thionndas tu an agaidh an rathaid so bidh iad air ais agamsa roi' dhol fodha na greine.'

Dh' fhalbh e 's bha e 'siubhal 's ag imeachd aig lan astair, san cromadh an fheasgair, chunnaic e bothan aig taobh an rathaid ann san robh gnùslinn mòr do sheann duine liath na shuidhe aig an teine air stoc craobh 's bad mòr giubhais aige 'cìreadh fheusaig. Thionndainn e aghaidh nam brògan 's thill e dhachaidh iad. Cha bu luaithe rinn e sin na bha iad as an t-sealladh 's thuirt e ris an t-sheann duine, "'S garbh a chìr th'agad an sin?" "Cha'n eil nas mìne agam," thuirt an seann duine. "Cha chreid mi fhein nach 'eil nas fhearr na sin agam fhein," ors' esan, 's e 'cur a lamh na phoca 's e toirt dha te eile do na cìrean.

"'S math 's aithne dhomhsa ceann d' astar 's do shiubhal," thuirt am fear so ris, "tha thu falbh 'dh'iarraidh nighean Righ ann an Rioghachd na Fuarachd ach cuiridh tu seachad an oidhche nochd comhladh rium fhein 's cha mhiosd' do thuras am maireach e." An latha 'r 'n mhaireach 'nuair bha e air son falbh thuirt am bodach ris, "Tha tigh brathair eile agam-sa dh' fheumas tu ruigheachd, 's tha astar latha 's bliadhna eadar so is tigh mo bhrathair, 's mar cur am fear sin thar an aiseag thu cha'n eil beo air thalamh na ni e. Bheir mi dhuit ceirsle shnamh 's bidhidh tu ga caithe 'romhad 's bheir i far a bheil e thu ann an aon latha. 'Nuair a ruigeas tu, tilleadh tu h-aghaidh air ais's bithidh i agam-sa roimh dhol fodha na gréine." Dh'fhalbh e 's bha e 'siubhal aig lan astair a caithe' na ceirsle 's ga froiscadh 's ga tachras roimhe, 's aig dol fodha na greine, sheall e an rathad a thainig e, 's an cor seallaidh cha d' uair e dhi. Bha bothan beag aig taobh an rathaid 's chaidh e 'stigh. Bha crùislinn do dhuine mor glas na shineadh air seann fhurma daraich 'se cìreadh 'fheusaig le sguab dhreighionn 's thuirt e ris, "Nach garbh a chìr th'agad an sin.”

"Cha'n eil nas mine agam," ors' an duine mor glas.

"Cha chreid mi nach 'eil nis fhearr na sin agam fhein thuirt esan, 's e sìneadh dha na cìre bha fos laimh aige.

"'S math's aithne dhomh ceann d'astar 's do shiubhal," ors am bodach glas ris, "tha thu dol do Rioghachd na Fuarachd air toir nighean Righ, bha thu 'n raoir le' m' bhrathair meadhonach 's air bho'n raoir le m'sheann bhrathair, 's cuiridh tu seachad an oidhche

nochd leumsa 's cha mhiosd do ghnothach a maireach e." An latha 'r 'na mhaireach thuirt an seann duine glas ris. "Tha astar seachd latha's seachd bliadhna agad ri dheanamh as a so, ach bheir mise dhuit lorg 's bheir i thu astar mìle ann a mionaid ach si an iolaire dh' fheumas t-aiseag 's gheibh mise dhuit i. Rinn e fead 's an tiota bha h-uile eun san ealtainn cruinn tiomchioll air ach an iolaire. Dh'iarr e air a nis' seasamh air falbh 'sa lamh a chumail ri 'chluais 's greim a dheanamh air a cheann mu 'n sgainneadh e le cho cruaidh se bhiodh an fhead dh' fhéumadh esan a dheanamh mu 'n d' thigeadh an Iolair'. "S gheibh thu biadh bhith's agad air an rathad dhi, mo'n ith i thu fhein. 'Nuair ruigeas tu Rioghachd na Fuarachd, tha agad ri cur as do fhamhair mor tha dion nighean an Righ, Se an doigh air an dean thu sin, faobhar fuar a chlaidheamh 'chumail ris an smiorchailleach aige."

Thainig an Iolaire 's dh' fhalbh iad comhladh 's chur i esan air tir tioram ann an Rioghachd na Fuarachd. 'Nuair rainig e chual an Righ an fhùslinn a tighinn mu 'n cuairt a philais. 'Nuair a sheall e mach sa chunnaic e co bh'ann, dh' fharraid e stigh e.

"Cha deid mi stigh," ors' esan, "gus am faigh mi Ceile-Comhraig do'n fhamhair mhòr tha agad 'dion do nighinn." Fhuair e na dh'iarr e 's mharbh e am fhamhair. Chunnaic a nighean e 's ghlaodh i ri h-athair,

"O Athair sid an saighdear thug mise a measg nan Amhuisgean."

Rinneadh so banais mhòr aigheareach, ghreadhnach, 'mhair seachd latha 's seachd bliadhna 's dh'fhuirich esan ann san Rioghachd sin gu deireadh a laithean.

THE PIGMIES OR DWARFS; OR, THE THREE SOLDIERS.

They were three soldiers, that left the army and went away from town. After they had been walking for two days, the small quantity of food they had with them began to be well nigh exhausted. They then sat one fine day, on the side of a knoll, to relieve their weariness. They were not long there when they saw a big red dog coming towards them, and they said to each other that a house could not be far away, and that they would not be without food and shelter much longer. One of them rose and away he went after the dug. He did not go any distance when he saw a fine castle down below him, towards which he went straight forward, and when he reached there was no door to be seen. He was going round and round it when he observed a beautiful

woman at a window. She called out to him to go to a back door that was on the castle. He did so and went in, she came to meet him, and took him to a fine room. There was food set before him, and among the food half a cheese. It was now dusk and a light was lighted. When he sat to his meat she took away the light. He now thought of those he had left behind, and be put the half cheese in his knapsack, and he waited for whatever might happen. In a while she returned with the light, and he said to her, "I have been left waiting for whatever may happen and listening to what may be heard; it was a curious thing of you to do to take away the light.”

"There are few people who could not find their mouth, whether it be dark or light," said she, "but it cannot be that the little stranger ate the big cheese." She searched up and down but could not find it. The cheese was in the knapsack. When she found this out she called to have him caught and thrown among the big dogs. He was there picking the bones, which he might catch among them, and which he no sooner caught than they were taken from him. Next day his two other companions whom he had left behind in the shelter of the hillock saw the red dog again. Away after it one of them went, and he was not long following it when he saw a fine castle down before him, and he turned his face towards where it was. When he reached it there was not a door to be seen, and he was nearly becoming giddy going round and round it when he observed a fine looking woman at a window. She made signs to him to go to a narrow door that was on the castle. He went in, she bade him welcome and showed him in to a wide room. Meat was put before him, and among the meat was placed a quarter of mutton. When he went to take the food she took with her the light in the same way as had been done to his companion. He now thought

of the one he had left behind him, and put the quarter of mutton in his knapsack, and remained where he was, waiting and listening. After some time had passed she returned with the light, and he asked why she had done such a senseless thing as leaving him in the dark.

"There are few," she said, "who would not find the way to their mouth, be it dark or light; but it cannot be that the little stranger has eaten the big quarter of mutton."

She sought it as she had previously done, but could not find it here or there. The quarter of mutton was in the knapsack, and, in the same way as was done to the other, he was thrown among the big dogs. He was there along with his companion, picking

the bones that he might snatch, and they could only acquit themselves as best they could, they had neither more nor less of any other livelihood.

Next day the third one of them, waiting at the side of the hillock for the return of his comrades, saw the big red dog coming with speed, and he knew that a house was not far off. He set out after it, and he was not long following when he saw a fine castle in a hollow down below. When he reached there was no door to be seen. He was going round it when he observed, in the same way as the others had done, a handsome woman at a window. She beckoned to him to go to a low door that was on the castle. He did this, and when he went in she made him welcome. Eatables were set before him, and among them a large loaf of wheaten bread. When he went to the table she took away the light, but he had no one to remember, and on her return every thing was right and there was nothing done to him. When night came he laid down, but could not get a wink of sleep. Next morning he said to her-"What men are those making music and merriment that did not let me rest or sleep all night?" She said to him—“I am in the same way for a year and a day, those who are at that work are the Awisks (Dwarfs or Pigmies)." "Are you only here a year and a day?" he asked. more," she said, "I am the daughter of a king in the kingdom of coldness. The Awisks stole me away and left me here.”

"I am not

At any rate the next night he tried to sleep as he had previously done. The music and merriment began. The room next to him was full of them as it was before, and he could not get a wink of sleep When he was tired listening to them and his patience was exhausted, and he could not endure any longer, he went where they were to see what they were about, or if they meant to stop their noisy merriment at all. On seeing him in the door they all laughed in his face. "What are you laughing at?" he said. "It is that your own head will be a football to us for the rest of this night." He laughed in their faces. "What are you laughing at yourself?" they said. He said, that was that he would take the man of them who had the biggest head and the slenderest legs and lay about amongst them with it till there was nothing of it left but the shank. He began on them and he put out every one that there was from the first to the last, and emptied the room of them, and he was alone in peace and quietness. In a while the same noisy work began. He went down where they were and did as before, he took hold of the one with the biggest head and slenderest legs and attacked them with him until he