From Hector MacLean, Islay.
THUIRT an luch bheag 's i 'san toll,
"Dé 'm fonn a th' air a' chat ghlas?"
"Fonn math is deagh shaod
Gum faodadh thusa tighinn a mach."
"S mor m' eagal romh na dubhain chrom,
A th' agad ann am bonn do chas
Mharbh thu mo phiuthrag an dé
'S fhuair mi fein air eigin as."
Cha mhis' a bha 'sin ach cat mhic Iain Ruaigh
A b' àbhaist a bhi ruagadh chearc,
Ghoid i 'n caise 'bha 's a' chliabh,
'S dh'ith i 'n t-iasg a bha 's a' phreas."
Said the mousie in the hole,
"What is that purr of the grey cat?"
"A good purr and a pleasant mood,
That thou mightest come out of that."
"Great is my fear for the crooked hooks
That thou hast got in the sole of thy feet;
Thou killedst my sister yesterday,
And I myself got hardly quit."
"That was not me, but John Roy's cat,
That used to be the hen's distress:
She stole the cheese that was in the creel,
And ate the fish that was in the press."
This old rhyme has become proverbial. A part of it was sent as a proverb from Inverary.
J. F. C.
404:1 You speak of Nursery Rhymes. The following is a very trifling one, which I remember myself, and have never been able to forget. HECTOR MACLEAN, Islay.