AN GAODHAL
417
AN MADA-TIGHE & AN MACTÍRE.
Oidhche ghealaigh amháin do thárla gur
casadh Mactíre seang, ucrach le Mada-
tighe romhar, sar bheathuighthe. Tar éis
a g-g ceud bheannughadh d'a chéile, "Cad
fáth, mo chara," ar san Mactíre, "go
m-breathnuigheann tú cho sgiamhach? nach
maith a thig do bhiadh leat! & táim-se in
seo d' oidhche 's de ló i dreimseachd le
mo bheatha & air éigin ionann mé fhéin a
chongbháil ó ghorta." "Maiseadh," ars
an Mada, "dá m-beidhtheá mar mise,
ní'l agad le deunadh ach mar ghnímse."
"Go daimhin," ar seisean, "a's cad é
sin?" "Ní'l," i d'fhreagair an Mada,
"ach amháin teach an Mháighisdir do chúmh¬
dach & na gaduighthe chongbháil uaidhe san
oidhche." 'Le lán mo chroidhe; óir, i lá¬
thair ní'l ach saoghal dona agam. Is
cráidhte an obair dham an bheatha fhiadh¬
uigh seo, le seoc & báisteach. Saoilim
gur maith an mhalairt dham díon fasgaidh
do bheith os mo chionn & lán boilg de
bheatha do bheith i g-comhnuidhe faoi mo
láimh." "Go cinte," ars an Mada, &
ní'l faice le deunadh agad ach mise do
leanamhuint." 'Nois mur bhidheadar ag
bogadh le chéile, do dhearc an Mactíre
lorg ar mhuineul an Mhadaidh, & mí-shuaimh
neach 'na leith ní fheudfadh sé gan fios¬
radh cad do chialluigh sé. "Uch! ní'l dad¬
aidh," ars an Mada "Ach, abair," ars
an Mactíre. Uch! ruidín suarach, b'
fhéidir gur b'é lorg nairc mo shlábhradh."
"Slábhradh!" gáir an Mactíre le ion¬
gantas: "Ní mian leat a rádh nach d¬
tig leat triall anns gach am & ins gach
áit is áill leat?" "Ní shé sin é go dí¬
reach, b'fhéidir; meastar go bh-fuilim
mur deárthá fiocrach & mar sin ceang¬
altar suas san ló mé cor uair, ach
dearbhaim duit go bh-fuil cead mo chinn
san oidhche agam, & beathuigheann an
máighisdir d'a mhéis féin mé, & tugann
na searbhfhóghantaidhe a m-beaduigheachd
féin dham, & tá mé mo pheata cho mór,
& — ach cad atá ort? ca bh-fuil tú dul?
"Uch! oidhche mhaith leat," ars an Mactí¬
re; "ní mór liom do bheaduigheacht ort;
ach damh-sa, sgreabóg thirm & cead mo
choise anaghaidh sollamhuin righ le slabhra."
THE HOUSE DOG and the WOLF
[Translation in opposite column]
A lean, hungry Wolf chanced one
moonshiny night to fall in with a
plump, well fed House-Dog After the
first compliments were passed between
them, "How is it, my friend,” said the
Wolf, “that you look so sleek ? How
well your food agrees with you and
here am I striving for my living night
and day, and can hardly save myself
from starving." “Well,” says the Dog,
“if you would fare like me, you have
only to do as I do" "Indeed," said he,
"and what is that?' "Why," replies
the Dog, 'just to guard the master's
house and keep off the thieves at night"
"With all my heart; for at present I
have but a sorry time of it. This wood
land life, with its frosts and rains, is
sharp work for me. To have a warm
roof over my head and a belly full of
victuals alway at hand will, methinks,
be no bad exchange.” “True,” says
the Dog; 'therefore you have nothing
to do but follow me." Now as they
were jogging along together, the Wolf
spied a mark on the Dog’s neck, and
having a strange curiosity, could not
forbear asking what it meant. "Pooh,
nothing at all,” says the Dog. "Nay,
but pray — says the Wolf. "Oh! a
mere trifle, perhaps the collar by which
my chain is fastened —" “Chain!"
cries the Wolf in surprise; “you do
not mean to say that you cannot rove
when and where you please?” Why,
not exactly perhaps; you see l am
looked upon as rather fierce, so they
sometimes tie me up in the day-time
but I assure you I have perfect liberty
at night, and the master feeds me off
his own plate, and the servants give
me their tit-bits, and I am such a fa¬
vorite, and — but what is the matter
where are you going?" "Oh, good
night to you,' says the Wolf; “you are
welcome to your dainties: but for me,
a dry crust with liberty against a king's
luxury with a chain."
