fire. The evening is a degree cold in itself. There! Perhaps now we are rather snug.
Gob. See how well Sheila settles herself near Kate, and no dread upon her that she would be pinched.
Sheila. Whisper, Kate! What is the name that is on him?
Kate. It is Edmund.
Peg. And his father is Edmund. Young Edmund Edmund óg O’Flynn! It is a fine name, Kate. I congratulate you!
Nora. And I congratulate Seadhna, Peg, because he got the purse, and leave to draw out of it. But how did he part with the rake? Or, did he part with him at all?
Sheila. It is to be feared that he did not part well with him.
Peg. He did not part with him until they reached Seadhna’s house.
They had hardly turned their faces towards home when Seadhna saw again the child, and he having the loaf of bread under his arm, and he was in the form in which he saw him at first. He looked at Seadhna in a very thankful manner, and then vanished out of his sight. It was a short time for them after that until Seadhna saw the barefooted woman, and she also looked at him most thankfully, and she opened her right hand in such a way that he saw the shilling there on the heart of her palm; and then she flew out of his sight in the same way as the child did.
At the end of another while Seadhna saw, walking on the read out before him, the poor man that he gave the first shilling to him. The back of the poor man was towards him; but, even so, he knew him well.
“I don't know,” said Seadhna in his own mind, “has he kept the shilling I gave him, just as the woman kept hers, and as the child kept the loaf.”
No sooner had he that much reflection made than the poor man turned on his heel and gave his face on them. There were two large tears coming down from his two eyes. He stretched out his two hands (and they) wide open, so that Seadhna got a view of his two palms, and they were both empty. When Seadhna saw that, he gave a side-look at the black man; but, if he did, he (the black man) did not take any notice of him. He did not let on to him that he saw the poor man. When Seadhna looked back again the poor man was gone.
They drove on: none of them spoke a word. At last they were making towards the house. One of the neighbours met them, and saluted Seadhna: “God and Mary with you, Seadhna,” said he, “how early in the day you are come home, and alone too.” “I had not much to do,” said the other, and he gave another side-look at the black man. The black man did not take any notice of him, and then Seadhna understood that the neighbour did not see him.
They went into the house. The chair was there near the fireplace, and not a stir put out of it since Seadhna had left it in the morning. The malvogue was there, hanging in the same position in which he had seen it in the morning when he took the last fistful of meal out of it. The black man looked at them, at the chair and at the malvogue. Then he looked at Seadhna: “Remove that,” said he.
Seadhna went over and put his hand on the back of the chair. “Oh!” said he, “it is clung!” He put the other hand on it. It failed him to take a turn or a bend out of it. “Allilloo,” said he, “it is as firm as the leg in the uairgin.” “Remove the malvogue,” said the black man. He went up and put his hand on the malvogue. It was as clung to the side of the wall as the stone would be on the ice.
Seadhna paused and bent his head. “There!” said he, “I am done for, now if ever. I don't know in the world, nor in all creation, what I am to do I don't know from the Five Heights of the Nine Hosts what I shall do! No matter how good the care I take of it, some person will come, and, in spite of my most extreme efforts, sit in it, and the world will be in red war around me! I shall be slain on the flag of my own fireplace, without pity, without compassion! Perhaps, sir, you would be able to take the malediction off them?”
(To be continued).
NOTES.
[It is as well to mention here that Seaḋna may be pronounced Sheina, with the same vowel-sounds as in the word “final.”]
Dé ḃeaṫa-sa, also Dé do ḃeaṫa, Dé ad’ ḃeaṫa, “you are welcome;” Dé ’n-a ḃeaṫa, “he is welcome;” De ’n-a beaṫa, “she is welcome;” nára’ Dé do ḃeaṫa, “never welcome you;” nára Dé ’n-a beaṫa, “never welcome her;” Dé ’n-a mbeaṫa, “they are welcome;” De ḃeaṫa grásda Dé. The full meaning is, “may all the good results of this kind visit of yours go into your life.” Literally, “may there be in your life off it!” Dé, off it, ad ḃeaṫa, in your life. [This may be a correct interpretation of this formula, so grammatically obscure. What goes to strengthen it is, that the usual way of expressing “result, consequence,” in older Irish is by means of de with the verb ḃeiṫ.
Is truaġ a ní nartá de
’N-ar ndaltánaiḃ Sgáṫaiġe.
Sad is the result for us,
Us, the foster-sons of Sgáthach.
Coṁrac Fir Ḋiaḋ.
(nartá, no-ar-tá, which is for us; ar, infixed pronoun 2 plur., in Middle Irish). Lit, “Sad is the thing that is for us from it, in our foster-sons of S.”
Fil ar an nemdénam de
Maíle méiṫe moċléiṫe.
There results, for not holding it (the Fair),
Baldness, corpulence, gray hairs in youth.
Modern, “tá ar a neiṁ-ḋéanaṁ de maoile, méiṫe moċ-léiṫe,” the punishment threatened for the Leinster kings, who neglected to hold the great triennial games at Wexford. Atá de, fil de, occur in hundreds of passages in Mid. Irish, expressing consequence. Hence, nára dé ad ḃeaṫa might mean ná raiḃ ad’ ḃeaṫa de, “may your fife have no (good) result from it!” &c.
On the other hand, the salutation, Dia do ḃeaṫa! a Ṁuire, is used to translate “Ave Maria,” not only in recent publications, but in the words of such masters of Irish as Gernon (author of Parrṫas an Anma), Aodh Buidhe Mac Cuirtin and Donlevy. In Connaught, the salutation, both in the prayer and in ordinary speech is ’Sé do ḃeaṫa, ’sé ḃur mbeaṫa, &c., showing that whether the word Dia, Dé, is corrupted into sé or is avoided through reverence, at all events the popular instinct of the meaning is clearly different from what Father O’Leary understands by it. Moreover, in Connaught Irish and in older written Irish, so far as I have observed, the vowel in de, “off it,” is short. In Connaught, de, di, are short, and dó, “to him,” is long. In Munster generally dé, dí, long, do, short.]
Ní deirim ná go ḃfuil, I don’t say but there is, I think there is.
Note the article instead of the pronoun mo.
