THE COWHERD AND THE PARISH MINISTER.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume III, Issue 512, 19 December 1881, Page 1

THE COWHERD AND THE PARISH MINISTER.

The following is a translation of “Am Buachaille - Laogh Agus Am Minister,” which appeared recently in the Gaelic columns of the N. Z. Public Opinion : Once upon a time there was a young boyj the son of a poor widow, herding the cattle of a certain farmer. He got his food for his wages from the farmer, and his mother maintained herself as best she might by working for the neighbors, assisted by a pittance from the parish. It happened that the farm bordered on the minister’s glebe, and whether the herd allowed the calves to get at the minister’s oats, or from some other cause, he took a great dislike to the boy, and nothing pleased him better than miscalling the boy on every possible occasion. The minister had a crawling, slavish boy, who used to I drive him about in his gig. One day they sgtw the herd sitting by the roadside, clad in a new suit of clothes; the

-- minister knew very well how the boy the clothes, and he thought it a chance for putting him to the blush. c .. minister said to the boy—“ My Who put that fine suit on your hack?” “With your leave,” replied the boy, lifting up his head, “the very ' people who clothe you—the parish.” When the minister saw that such a rebuff was so cleverly thrown in his ' face hb put the whip to his horse and off he went. He had not gone far When he thought it shameful that he he should have suffered such a defeat before his own boy ; he stopped the ’ gig. and sent his boy back to ask the herd if he would engage to take the situation of Barraidl {t.e., fool or block- . head) in the manse. The boy returned in great glee and put the question to the herd. “ Are you then going to leave?" asked the herd. “No 1,” replied the boy. “ Well, if not,” replied the herd, “go back and • tell the minister that I am ol opinion that his income is not sufficient to maintain two blockheads, to say nothing about,seeking a third.” The few lines following are so idiomatic that we have no time to translate them, suffice if to say that the minister’s boy went home to digest the pill he had to swallow. .