Irisleabhar na Gaedhilge/Imleabhar 5/Uimhir 8/Séadhna

by Peadar Ua Laoghaire

←Faoisidin an Óig-Fhir

Irisleabhar na Gaedhilge, Imleabhar V, Uimh. 8  (1894)  by Peadar Ua Laoghaire Seadhna

A Relic of O'Connell→

[ 116 ]

MUNSTER COLLOQUIAL IRISH.

We wish to direct the attention of students to the following specimen of Munster Irish, one of the best samples, if not the very best, of Southern popular Gaelic that has ever been printed. This has been sent by the same contributor who has enriched several recent Nos. of the Journal, the Rev. Father O’Leary, P.P., Castlelyons.

[ 117 ]

SEAḊNA.

	[ 119 ] TRANSLATION.
[ 117 ] (Cois na teineaḋ: Peg, Nóra, Gobnuit, Síle ḃeag, Cáit ní Bhuaċalla).	[ 119 ](By the Fireside—Peg, Nora, Gobnet, Little Sheila, Kate Buckley).
[ 117 ]Nóra. A Ṗeg, innis sgeul dúinn.	[ 119 ]Nora. Peg, tell us a story.
[ 117 ]Peg. B’ait liom sin![1] Innis féin sgeul.	[ 119 ]Peg. I'd like that. Tell a story yourself.
[ 117 ]Gob. Ní’l aon ṁaiṫ innti, a Ṗeg; b’ḟearr linn do sgeul-sa.	[ 119 ]Gob. She is no good, Peg; we prefer your story.
[ 117 ]Síle. Déin, a Ṗeg; beiḋmíd ana-ṡocair.	[ 119 ]Sheila. Do Peg; we will be very quiet.
[ 117 ]Peg. Naċ maiṫ nár ḟanais socair aréir, ’nuair ḃí “Madra na n‑Oċt gCos” agam dá innsint!	[ 119 ]Peg. How well you did keep quiet last night, when I was telling “The dog with the eight legs.”
[ 117 ]Síle. Mar sin ní stadfaḋ Cáit ní Ḃuaċalla aċ am’ ṗriocaḋ.	[ 119 ]Sheila. Because Kate Buckley would not stop, but pinching me.
[ 117 ]Cáit. Thugais d’éiṫeaċ! Ní raḃas-sa ad’ ṗriocaḋ, a ċailliċín!	[ 119 ]Kate. You lie! I was not pinching you, you little hag!
[ 117 ]Gob. Ná bac í féin,[2] a Ċáit; ní raiḃ aoinne’ dá priocaḋ aċ í dá leigint uirṫi.	[ 119 ]Gob. Don't mind her, Kate. There was no one pinching her, but she pretending it.
[ 117 ]Síle. Do ḃí, astóin;[3] agus muna mbeiḋeaḋ go raiḃ, ní liúġfainn.	[ 120 ]Sheila. But there was; and only that there was I would not screech.
[ 117 ]Nóra. Abair le Peg ná liúġfair anois, a Shíle, ⁊ inneósaiḋ sí sgeul dúinn.	[ 120 ]Nora. Tell Peg that you won’t screech now, and she will tell us a story.
[ 117 ]Síle. Ní liúġfad, a Ṗeg, pé rud imṫeóċaiḋ orm.	[ 120 ]Sheila. I won't screech now, Peg, whatever will happen to me.
[ 117 ]Peg. Má’s eaḋ, suiġ annso am’ aice, i dtreó ná féadfaiḋ aoinne’ ṫú ṗriocaḋ gan fios dom.	[ 120 ]Peg. Well then, sit here near me so that no one can pinch you unknown to me.
[ 117 ]Cáit. Biḋeaḋ geall go bpriocfaiḋ an cat í. A ṫoice[4] ḃig, ḃeiḋeaḋ sgeul breaġ againn, muna mbeiḋeaḋ tú féin ⁊ do ċuid liuġraiġe.	[ 120 ]Kate. I’ll engage the cat will pinch her. You little hussy, we would have a fine story but for yourself and your screeching.
[ 117 ]Gob. Éist, a Cháit, no cuirfir ag gul í, ⁊ beḋmíd gan sgeul. Má ċuirtear fearg ar Ṗeg, ní inneósaiḋ sí aon sgeul anoċt. Seaḋ anois, a Ṗeg, tá gaċ aoinne’ ciuin, ag braṫ ar sgeul uait.	[ 120 ]Gob. Whist! Kate, or you'll make her cry and we’ll be without a story. If Peg is made angry she will not tell a story to-night. There, now, Peg, everyone is mute, expecting a story from you.
[ 117 ]Peg. Ḃí fear ann fad ó, ⁊ is é ainm do ḃí air, Seaḋna; ⁊ greusaiḋe b’eaḋ é; ḃí tiġ beag deas clúṫṁar aige ag bun cnuic, ar ṫaoḃ na foiṫine; ḃí caṫaoir ṡúgán aige do ḋéin sé féin do féin, ⁊ ba ġnáṫ leis suiḋe innti um ṫráṫnóna, ’nuair ḃiḋeaḋ obair an lae críoċnuiġṫe; ⁊ ’nuair ṡuiḋeaḋ sé innti, ḃiḋeaḋ sé ar a ṡástaċt. Ḃí mealḃóg mine aige, ar croċaḋ[5] i n‑aice na teineaḋ; ⁊ anois ⁊ arís ċuireaḋ sé a láṁ innti, ⁊ ṫógaḋ sé lán a ḋuirn de’n ṁin, ⁊ ḃiḋeaḋ sé dá cogaint ar a ṡuaiṁneas. Ḃí crann uḃall ag fás ar an dtaoḃ amuiċ de ḋorus aige, ⁊ nuair ḃiḋeaḋ tart air ó ḃeiṫ ag cogaint na mine, ċuireaḋ sé láṁ ’sa ċrann san, ⁊ ṫógaḋ sé ceann de ’sna h‑uḃlaiḃ, ⁊ d’iṫeaḋ sé é.—	[ 120 ]Peg. There was a man long ago and the name that was on him was Seadhna, and he was a shoemaker. He had a nice well-sheltered little house at the foot of a hill, on the side of the shelter. He had a chair of soogauns which, he himself made for himself, and it was usual with him to sit in it in the evening when the work of the day used to be completed, and when he sat in it he was quite at his ease. He had a malvogue of meal hanging up near the fire, and now and then he used to put his hand into it and take a fist-full of the meal, and be chewing at his leisure. He had an apple tree growing outside his door, and when he used to be thirsty from chewing the meal, he used to put his hand into that tree and take one of the apples and eat it.
[ 117 ]Síle. Ó, a Thiarcais![6] a Ṗeg, nár ḋeas é!	[ 120 ]Sheila. Oh, my goodness! Peg, wasn't it nice?
[ 117 ]Peg. Ciaco, an ċaṫaoir nó an ṁin nó an t‑uḃall, ba ḋeas?	[ 120 ]Peg. Which is it; the chair or the meal or the apple, that was nice?
[ 117 ]Síle. An t‑uḃall, gan aṁrus!	[ 120 ]Sheila. The apple, to be sure.
[ 117 ]Cáit. B’ḟearr liom-sa an ṁin; ní ḃainfeaḋ an t‑uḃall an t‑ocras de ḋuine.	[ 120 ]Kate. I would prefer the meal. The apple would not take the hunger off a person.
[ 117 ]Gob. B’ḟearr liom-sa an ċaṫaoir, ⁊ ċuirfinn Peg i n‑a suiḋe innti, aig innsint na sgeul.	[ 120 ]Gob. I would prefer the chair, for I would put Peg sitting in it telling the stories.
[ 117 ]Peg. Is maiṫ ċum plámáis tú, a Ġobnuit.	[ 120 ]Peg. You are good for flattery, Gobnet.
[ 117 ]Gob. Is fearr ċum na sgeul ṫusa, a Pheg. Cionnus d’imṫiġ le Seaḋna?	[ 120 ]Gob. You are better for the stories, Peg. How did it go with Seadhna?
[ 117 ]Peg. Lá dá raiḃ sé ag déanaṁ bróg, ṫug sé fé ndeara ná raiḃ a ṫuille[7] leaṫair aige, ná a ṫuille snáiṫe, ná a ṫuille céireaċ. Ḃí an taoiḃín[8] déiḋeanaċ ṡuas, ⁊ an greim déiḋeanaċ curṫa; ⁊ níorḃ ḟuláir do[9] dul ⁊ aḋḃar do ṡoláṫar sul a ḃfeudfaḋ sé a ṫuille bróg a ḋéanaṁ. Do ġluais sé ar maidin, ⁊ ḃí trí sgillinge ’n‑a ṗóca, ⁊ ní raiḃ sé aċt míle ó’n dtiġ ’nuair ḃuail duine boċt uime, aig iarraiḋ déirce. “Taḃair ḋom déirc ar son an tSlánuiġṫeora, ⁊ le h‑anmannaiḃ do ṁarḃ, ⁊ tar ċeann[10] do ṡláinte,” ars an duine boċt. Ṫug Seaḋna sgilling dó, ⁊ annsan ní raiḃ aige aċt ḋá sgilling. Duḃairt sé leis féin go mb,ḟéidir go ndéanfaḋ an dá sgilling a ġnó. Ní raiḃ sé aċt míle eile ó ḃaile ’nuair ḃuail bean ḃoċt uime, ⁊ í cos-noċtuiġṫe. “Taḃair ḋom congnaḋ éigin,” ar sisi, “ar son an tSlánuiġṫeora, ⁊ le h‑anmannaiḃ do ṁarḃ, ⁊ tar ċeann do ṡláinte.” Do ġlac truaiġe dí é, ⁊ ṫug sé sgilling dí, ⁊ d’imṫiġ sí. Do ḃí aon sgilling aṁáin annsoin aige, aċt do ṫiomáin sé leis,[11] a braṫ air go mbuailfeaḋ sians éigin uime a ċuirfeaḋ ar a ċumus a ġnó a ḋéanaṁ. [ 118 ]Níorḃ ḟada gur casaḋ air leanḃ ⁊ é ag gul le fuaċt ⁊ le h‑ocras. “Ar son an tSlánuiġṫeora,” ars an leanḃ, “taḃair ḋom rud éigin le n‑iṫe.” Ḃí tiġ ósta[12] i ngar dóiḃ, ⁊ do ċuaiḋ Seaḋna isteaċ ann, ⁊ ċeannuiġ sé bríc aráin ⁊ ṫug sé ċum an leinḃ é. ’Nuair a fuair an leanḃ an t‑arán d’aṫruiġ a ḋealḃ; d’ḟás sé suas i n‑aírde, ⁊ do las solas iongantaċ ’n‑a ṡúiliḃ ⁊ ’n‑a ċeannaċaiḃ,[13] i dtreo go dtáinic sgannraḋ[14] ar Sheaḋna.	[ 120 ]Peg. One day as he was making shoes he noticed that he had no more leather nor any more thread nor any more wax. He had the last piece on, and the last stitch put, and it was necessary for him to go and provide materials before he could make any more shoes. He set out in the morning and there were three shillings in his pocket, and he was only a mile from the house when he met a poor man asking for alms. “Give me alms for the sake of the Saviour and for the souls of your dead and for your health,” said the poor man. Seadhna gave him one shilling, and then he had but two shillings. He said to himself that possibly two shillings would do his business. He was only another mile from home when he met a poor woman, and she barefooted. “Give me some help," said she, “for the sake of the Saviour and for the souls of your dead and for your health.” He felt compassion for her and gave her a shilling, and she went away. He had one shilling then; still he went on expecting that he would meet some good fortune which would put it in his power to do his business. It was not long until he met a child and he crying with cold and hunger. “For the sake of the Saviour,” said the child, “give me something to eat.” There was a stage house near them and Seadhna went into it and he bought a loaf of bread and he brought it to the child. When the child got the bread his figure changed. He grew up very tall, and light flamed in his two eyes and in his countenance, so that Seadhna became terrified.
[ 118 ]Síle. Dia linn! a Ṗeg, is dóċa gur ṫuit Seaḋna boċt i luige.	[ 120 ]Sheila. Oh! God help us! Peg, I suppose poor Seadhna fainted.
[ 118 ]Peg. Níor ṫuit; aċt má’s eaḋ, ba ḋíċeall dó. Chóṁ luaṫ agus d’ḟeud sé laḃairt, duḃairt sé: “Cad é an saḋas duine ṫusa?” agus is é freagra fuair sé: “A Sheaḋna, tá Dia buiḋeaċ díot. Aingeal iseaḋ mise. Is mé an tríoṁaḋ h‑aingeal gur ṫugais[15] déirc dó andiu ar son an tSlánuiġṫeora. Agus anois tá trí ġuiḋe agat le faġáil ó Ḋia na glóire. Iarr ar Ḋia aon trí ġuiḋe is toil leat, ⁊ ġeoḃair iad; aċt tá aon ċóṁairle aṁáin agamsa le taḃairt duit,—ná dearṁuid[16] an Trócaire.” “Agus an ndeirir liom go ḃfaiġead mo ġuiḋe?” arsa Seaḋna. “Deirim, gan aṁras,” ars’ an t‑aingeal. “Tá go maiṫ,” arsa Seaḋna. “Tá caṫaoir ḃeag ḋeas ṡúgán agam ’sa ḃaile, ⁊ an uile ḋailtín a ṫagann asteaċ, ní fuláir leis[9] suíḋe innte. An ċeud duine eile a ṡuíḋfiḋ innte, aċt mé féin, go gceanglaiḋ sé innte!” “Faire, faire! a Ṡeaḋna,” ars’ an t‑aingeal; “sin guiḋe ḃreaġ imṫiġṫe gan tairḃe. Tá ḋá ċeann eile agat, ⁊ ná dearṁuid an Trócaire.” “Tá,” arsa Seaḋna, “mealḃóigín mine agam ’sa ḃaile, ⁊ an uile ḋailtín a ṫagann asteaċ, ní fuláir leis a ḋorn a ṡáṫaḋ innte. An ċeud duine eile a ċuirfiḋ láṁ ’sa ṁealḃóig sin, aċt mé féin, go gceanglaiḋ sé innte, feuċ!” “Ó, a Sheaḋna, a Sheaḋna, ní’l fasg[17] agat!” ars’ an t‑aingeal. “Ní’l agat anois aċt aon ġuiḋe aṁáin eile. Iarr Trócaire Dé do t’anam.” “Ó, is fíor ḋuit,” arsa Seaḋna, “ba ḋóbair ḋom[18] é ḋearṁad. Tá crann beag uḃall agam i leaṫ-taoiḃ mo ḋoruis, ⁊ an uile ḋailtín a ṫagan an treo, ní fuláir leis a láṁ do ċur i n‑áirde ⁊ uḃall do staṫaḋ ⁊ do ḃreiṫ leis. An ċeud duine eile aċt mé féin, a ċuirfiḋ a láṁ ’sa ċrann soin, go gceanglaiḋ sé ann!—Ó! a ḋaoine!” ar seisean, ag sgairteaḋ ar ġáiríḋe, “naċ agam a ḃeiḋ an spórt orra!”	[ 120 ]Peg. He did not, but then, he was very near it. As soon as he could speak, he said, “What sort of person are you?” The answer he got was, “Seadhna, God is thankful to you. I am an angel. I am the third angel to whom you have givea alms to-day for the sake of the Saviour. And now you have three wishes to get from the God of Glory. Ask now of God any three wishes you please and you will get them. But I have one advice to give you. Don't forget Mercy.” “And do you tell me that I shall get my wish?” said Seadhna. “I do, certainly,” said the angei. “Very well,” said Seadhna. “I have a nice little soogaun chair at home, and every dalteen that comes in makes it a point to sit in it. The next person that will sit in it, except myself, that he may cling in it!” “Oh, fie, fie! Seadhna,” said the angel; “there is a beautiful wish gone without good. You have two more. Don't forget Mercy!” “I have,” said Seadhna, “a little malvogue of meal at home, and every dalteen that comes in makes it a point to stick his fist into it. The next person that puts his hand into that malvogue, except myself, that he may cling in it, see!” “Oh, Seadhna, Seadhna, my son, you have not an atom of sense! you have now but one wish more. Ask the Mercy of God for your soul.” “Oh, that’s true for you,” said Seadhna, “I was near forgetting it. I have a little apple-tree near my door and every dalteen that comes the way makes it a point to put up his hand and to pluck an apple and carry it with him. The next other person, except myself, that will put his hand into that tree, that he may cling in it!—Oh! people!” said he, bursting out laughing, “is’nt it I that will have the amusement at them!”
[ 118 ]’Nuair a ṫáinig sé as na triṫiḋiḃ,[19] d’ḟeuċ sé suas ⁊ ḃí an t‑aingeal imṫiġṫe. Ḋein sé a ṁaċtnaṁ air féin ar feaḋ tamaill ṁaiṫ, ⁊ fé ḋeireaḋ ṡiar ṫall,[20] duḃairt sé leis féin: “Feuċ anois, ní’l aon amadán i n‑Éirinn is mó ioná mé! Dá mbeiḋeaḋ triúr ceangailte agam um an dtaca so,[21] duine ’sa’ ċaṫaoir, duine ’sa’ ṁealḃóig, ⁊ duine ’sa’ ċrann, cad é an ṁaiṫ do ḋéanfaḋ san doṁsa ⁊ mé i ḃfad ó ḃaile, gan ḃiaḋ, gan deoċ, gan airgead?” Ní túisge ḃí an méid sin cainte ráiḋte aige ná ṫug sé fé ndeara ós a ċóṁair amaċ, ’san áit a raiḃ an t‑aingeal, fear fada caol duḃ, ⁊ é ag glinneaṁaint[22] air, ⁊ teine ċreasa[23] ag teaċt as a ḋá ṡúil ’n‑a spreaċaiḃ níṁe. Ḃí ḋá aḋairc air mar ḃeiḋeaḋ ar ṗocán gaḃair, ⁊ meigioll fada liaṫ-ġorm garḃ air, eirboll[24] mar ḃeiḋeaḋ ar ṁadaḋ ruaḋ, ⁊ crúb ar ċois leis mar ċrúb ṫairḃ. Do leaṫ a ḃeul ⁊ a ḋá ṡúil ar Sheaḋna, ⁊ do stad a ċaint. I gceann tamaill do laḃair an fear duḃ. “A Ṡeaḋna,” ar seisean, “ní gáḋ ḋuit aon eagla do ḃeiṫ ort róṁamsa; ní’lim ar tí[25] do ḋíoġḃála. Ba ṁian liom tairḃe éigin do ḋeanaṁ ḋuit, dá nglacṫá mo ċoṁairle. Do ċloiseas ṫú, anois beag,[26] dá ráḋ go raḃais gan ḃiaḋ, gan deoċ, gan airgead.[27] Ṫiuḃrainn-se airgead do ḋóṫain duit ar aon ċoinġíoll ḃeag aṁáin.” “Agus greadaḋ[28] tré lár do sgairt!” arsa Seaḋna, ⁊ ṫáinig a ċaint dó; “ná féadfá an méid sin do ráḋ gan duine do ṁilleaḋ led’ ċuid glinneaṁna, [ 119 ]pé h‑é ṫú féin?” “Is cuma ḋuit cia h‑é mé, aċt ḃeurfad an oiread airgid duit anois ⁊ ċeannóċaiḋ an oiread leaṫair ⁊[29] ċoimeádfaiḋ ag obair ṫú go ceann trí mbliaḋain ndeug, ar an gcoinġíoll so—go dtiocfair liom an uair sin?”	[ 120 ]When he came out of his laughing fits and looked up, the angel was gone. He made his reflection for a considerable time, and at long last he said to himself, “See now, there is not a fool in Ireland greater than I! If there were three people stuck by this time, one in the chair, one in the malvogue and one in the tree, what good would that do for me and I far from home, without food, without drink, without money?” No sooner had he that much talk uttered than he observed opposite him, in the place where the angel had been, a long slight black man and he staring at him, and electric fire coming out of his two eyes in venomous sparks. There were two horns on him, as there would be on a he-goat, and a long, coarse, greyish-blue beard, a tail, as there would be on a fox, and a hoof on one of his feet like a bull’s hoof. Seadhna’s mouth and his two eyes opened wide upon him, and his speech stopped. After a while the black man spoke: “Seadhna,” said he, “you need not have any dread of me. I am not bent on your harm. I should wish to do you some good if you would accept my advice. I heard you just now say that you were without food, without drink, wlthout money. I would give you money enough on one little condition.” “And, torture through the middle of your lungs!” said Seadhna, as soon as he got his talk, “could you not say that much without paralysing a person with your staring, whoever you are?” “You need not care who I am; bnt I will give you as much money now as will buy as much leather as will keep you working for thirteen years, on this condition, that you will come with me then.”
[ 119 ]“Agus má réiḋtiġim leat, cá raġmaoid an uair sin?” “Cá beag[30] duit an ċeist sin do ċur, ’nuair a ḃeiḋ an leaṫar ídiġṫe ⁊ ḃeiḋmíd ag gluaiseaċt?” “Táir geurċúiseaċ—bíoḋ agat, feiceam an t‑airgead.” “Táir-se geurċúiseaċ, feuċ!” Do ċuir an fear duḃ a láṁ ’n‑a ṗóca, ⁊ ṫarraing sé amaċ sparán mór, ⁊ as an sparán do leig sé amaċ ar a ḃais carn beag d’ór ḃreaġ ḃuiḋe.	[ 120 ]“And if I make the bargain with you, whither shall we go at that time?” “Will it not be time enough for you to ask that question when the leather is used up and we will be starting?” “You are sharp-witted. Have your way. Let us see the money.” “You are sharp-witted. Look!” The black man put his hand into his pocket, and drew out a large purse, and from the purse he let out on his palm a little heap of beautiful yellow gold.
[ 119 ]“Feuċ!” ar seisean; ⁊ ṡín sé a láṁ ⁊ ċuir sé an carn de ṗíosaiḃ gleoiḋte gléineaṁla fé ṡúiliḃ Sheaḋna ḃoiċt. Do ṡín Seaḋna a ḋá láiṁ, ⁊ do leaṫadar a ḋá laġar ċum an óir. “Go réiḋ!” ars’ an fear duḃ, ag tarraingc an óir ċuige asteaċ; “ní’l an margaḋ déanta fós.” “Bíoḋ ’n‑a ṁargaḋ!” arsa Seaḋna.	[ 121 ]“Look!” said he, and he stretched his hand and he put the heap of exquisite glittering pieces up under the eyes of poor Seadhna. Seadhna stretched both his hands, and the fingers of the two hands opened for the gold. “Gently!” said the black man; “the bargain is not yet made.” “Let it be a bargain,” said Seadhna.
[ 119 ]“Gan teip?” ars’ an fear duḃ. “Gan teip,” arsa Seaḋna.	[ 121 ]“Without fail?” said the black man. “Without fail,” said Seadhna.
[ 119 ]“Dar ḃríġ na mionn?” ars’ an fear duḃ. “Dar ḃríġ na mionn,” arsa Seaḋna.	[ 121 ]“By the virtue of the Holy Things?” (shrines: hence oaths) said the black man. “By the virtue of the Holy Things!” said Seadhna.
[ 119 ] (Leanfar de seo.)	[ 121 ] (To be continued.)

[ 119 ]

NOTES.

​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​

This use of mo ċuid = mo, etc., is very common in the spoken language; mo ċuid fola, mo ċuid airgid, etc.

1. ​ b’ait liom sin—ironical. Used when some thing unreasonable is asked.
2. ​ ná bac í féin, here féin is idiomatic.
3. ​ astóin, but why.
4. ​ toice, a term of mixed affection and reproach, usually to children.
5. ​ ar croċaḋ. Ar is often thus used with the verbal noun, as ar faġáil, ar iarraiḋ.
6. ​ a ṫiarcais is euphemism for a ṫiġearna.
7. ​ a ṫuille, any more, lit. its addition.
8. ​ taoiḃín, a patch on the side (taoḃ) of a boat; a patch on the toe is usually called in Meath bárraicín, from bárr.
9.  ní fuláir leis, he makes it a point; ní fuláir dó, he must of necessity.
10. ​ tar ċeann, over the head of, hence for the defence or protection of. Sians, míṡians, fortune, misfortune.
11. ​ do ṫiomáin sé leis, lit. he drove on, hence, he continued, persevered.
12.  tiġ ósta is now generally used = a public house, lit. a host’s house. The old word aoiḋeaċt is now obsolete with us.
13.  ceanaċaiḃ. See notes on Ballyvourney in last No. of this Journal.
14.  sgannraḋ is pronounced (omitting the nn) as (Skou′-ră). Cf. ceannraċ (k-you′-răCH) a halter.
15.  In the Western Irish would be said an tríoṁaḋ h‑aingeal ar ṫugais.
16.  In Munster dearṁad (dar-oodh) and dearṁuid for dearmad, dearmaid.
17.  ní’l fasg (or f. céille) agat, you have not an atom (oftener splannc) of sense.
18.  ba ḋóbair ḋom, I was nearly, I had like to. There are many forms of this phrase, and we expect to have an adequate treatment of them very soon from Mr. J. H. Lloyd.
19.  triṫíḋe, fits; triṫeaṁ, the fit of coughing which a child gets with the whooping-cough (cf. trioċ, the chincough).
20.  ṫall, cf. ṫall san oiḋċe and anonn san oiḋċe, beyond (late) in the night. This usage of these words is general.
21.  um an dtaca so, about this time. Cf. i dtaca an ṁeaḋoin oiḋċe; bliaḋain as an dtaca so.
22.  glinneaṁaint, steadily gazing at, glaring at.
23.  They often say of one man contending with another, ḃain sé teine ċreasa as. What is creasa? Perhaps cneasa, gen. of cneas, skin? (See p. 96, September.)
24.  The word for tail is eirboll in Munster, and ’rioball elsewhere, as is fada an t‑’rioball a ḃí air.
25.  ar tí, etc., Bent on your destruction. ar do ṫí, bent on doing you a mischief. Is fada do ḃí mé ar a ṫí I was a long time pursuing him (with some deep design).
26.  anois beag, just now.
27.  gan ḃiaḋ. In Irish the preposition is repeated before each word. Thus, not le fuaċt ⁊ ocras, but le f. ⁊ le h‑ocras, also, le fuaċt ⁊ le fán, by cold and homelessness (wandering); tré ṫeine ⁊ tré uisge; gan ċiall, gan ṁeaḃair; gan raṫ, gan seun, gan ċríċ, gan áird, gan tiuḃasgal, (diligence); gan ḃun, gan ḃárr.
28.  greadaḋ ċuġat = “bad manners to you,” not a very strong expression.
29.  Cf. oiread agus feoirlinn, as much as a farthing; oiread agus a ḃfuil duḃ ded’ iongain, as much as there is black of your nail; ní’l oiread mo ḋuirn ann, he is not as big as my fist.
30.  Is it not enough for you? Cf. iṫ uait! ní beag liom. Eat away! I am satisfied.