An Comunn Gàidhealach Publications > Deo-gréine > Volume 13, October 1917-September 1918

AN DEO-GREINE.
151
RIDIRE NAN SPLEADH.
No. 330.
Thuirt a h-aon, aon uair, ri Rid ire nan
Spleadh, “ Am faca tu a riamh roiinhe, damh
cho mor ris an damh sin ? ”
“Chunnaic mise,” ars’an Ridire, “damh a’s
momha na an damh sin ; tha damh agam fein
ann an Eirinn, agus tha e cho mor is gn ’n ruig
an adharc aige an iird gu ruig na speuran, tra
bhitheas e ’na luigh; agus ma’s i an ardharc
fhein, sin adharc nan car trie : tha ceud car
innte ! A Righ ! ged a theirinn mile ris ! ”
Thuirt fear a bha ’ga eisdeachd, “ Ach, a
Ridire, cia cho ard is a ruigeas adharc an daimh
mhoir sin an uair a dh’ eirease ? ”
“U!” arsa Ridire nan Spleadh, “an uair a
dh’ 6ireas e, theid an sin car eile ann an adharc
an daimh.”
THE KNIGHT OF TALL 5TORIES.
No. 320.
Some one once said to the Knight of Tall
Stories, “ Hast thou ever before seen an ox as
big as that one 1 ”
“ I have indeed,” said the Knight,” I have
seen an ox bigger than that; for I myself have
an ox in Ireland, which is so big that his horn
reaches right up to the skies, when he is lying
down; and as regards the horn itself, it is a
horn of many twists: why, there are a hundred
twists in it! My King! I might even say a
thousand ! ”
Some one who was listening to him, said,
‘‘ But, Oh Knight, how high will the horn of
that great ox reach when he gets up?”
“Ah!” quoth the Knight of Tall Stories,
“when he gets up, then, ah then, the horn of
the ox develops another twist.”
An uair a dh’ innseadh a h-aon naigheachd
bhosdail’s nach deach a chreidsinn, na’n inns¬
eadh e a rithisd air d6igh eile i, bha e air a
mheastaireil da, na’n abairteadh ris—“Chaidh,
a nis car eile ann an adharc an daimh.”
When any one tells an extravagant story
which is not believed, and if he then tell it
again in another way, it was thought that he
had incurred contempt, if any one said to him—
“ The horn of the ox has now received another
twist.”
Nicolson in his Gaelic Proverbs, 355, gives the following—“ Tha car eile ’an adharc an daimh.” There's
another twist in the ox's horn.
An imaginative traveller gave an account of a wonderful ox, whose horns reached the sky when he lay
down. On being asked “ What became of the horns when the ox stood up ? ” he gave this answer.
RIDIRE NAN SPLEADH.
No. 321.
Uine ’s aimsir mu ’n d’ rugadh mo sheanair
no mo sheanmhathair, ’s gun m’ athair fhathasd
ach ’na sguitseanach maol dubh mu’m chois,
bha mise an siod agus cas mor orm, cia an doigh
air am faighinn siol, as an deaninn min, airson
a’ bhidh-aoibhinn, agus na bangaid [a bhitheadh
ann ri linn am breith.] Ach chuimhnich mi
air Brusgac, piuthair m’ athar anns na speuran
a bha chbmhnuidh, gu h ard aig cul na geal-
aiche. Ach cha robh fios agam, ciamar a
gheabhainn an aird.
Ach bha mi an siod latha,a’ direadh fala,
agus a’ tilgeil beinne, an uair a thachair gainmh-
each bhoidheach reidh, mhin orm. Cha robh
fios agam cia de bu stath do ’n ghainmhich, ach
smaointich mi gu ’n rachainn’s gu ’n d&mainn
sioman di.
Chaidh mi, agus thbisich mi, ach na h-uile
car a chuirinn-se de’n t-sloman, bhriseadh e,
ach fa dheireadh, chuir mi os mo cheann e,
shminn mo lamh an fdrd, ’s bheirinn air a’
cheann a b’ fhaide uam, agus leiginn as do 'n
cheann a b’ fhaisge dhomh, agus mar sin. chaidh
mi greim air ghreim an iiird, gus gu ’n d’ rkinig
mi cul na gealaiche.
Dh’ innis mi do Bhrusgac, piuthur m’ athar,
THE KNIGHT OF TALL STORIES.
No. 321.
Sometime before my grandfather and my
grandmother were born, when my father was
yet but a wee stumpy stousie at my fee, there
was I, in a great puzzle and predicament, not
knowing how I might get grain to make meal
for the merry-makings and banquets [that
should take place at their birth.] But I hap¬
pened to remember Brusguc, my father’s sister
who was dwelling in the skies, high up at the
back of the moon. But I knew not how to get
up there.
But one day when I was scaling turf-dykes
and throwing mountains about, I came upon a
stretch of beautiful sand, smooth, and tine. I
could not think at first what could be the use
of the sand, but determined to go and make
ropes of it, twisted straw ropes
I set to work and began, but every time I
twisted the rope, it broke. However, I raised
it above my head at last, and stretching my
hand aloft, seized hold of the far end of the
rope, let go the end nearest to me, and thus
went aloft hand over hand, till I reached the
back of the moon.
I told Brusgac, my father’s sister, what I