Title: The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 48, May 29, 1841
Author: Various
Language: English
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                        THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

         NUMBER 48.      SATURDAY, MAY 29, 1841.       VOLUME I.

[Illustration: ORMEAU, COUNTY OF DOWN, THE SEAT OF THE MARQUESS OF
DONEGAL.]

In the selection of subjects for illustration in our Journal, there are
none which we deem more worthy of attention, or which give us greater
pleasure to notice, than the mansions of our resident nobility and
gentry; and it is from this feeling chiefly that we have made choice
of Ormeau, the fine seat of the Marquess of Donegal, as eminently
deserving an early place among our topographical notices. Many finer
places may indeed be seen in Ireland, belonging to noblemen, of equal
or even inferior rank; but there are, unfortunately, few of these in
which the presence of their lordly owners is so permanently to be found
cementing the various classes of society together by the legitimate bond
of a common interest, and attracting the respectful attachment of the
occupiers and workers of the soil by the cheering parental encouragement
which it is the duty of a proprietor to bestow.

Ormeau is situated on the east side of the river Lagan, above a mile
south of Belfast.

The mansion, which, as our view of it will show, is an extensive pile
of buildings in the Tudor style of architecture, was originally built
as a cottage residence in the last century, and has since gradually
approximated to its present extent and importance, befitting the rank
of its noble proprietor, by subsequent additions and improvements. It
has now several very noble apartments, and an extensive suite of offices
and bed-rooms; but as an architectural composition, it is defective as a
whole, from the want of some grand and elevated feature to give variety
of form to its general outline, and relieve the monotonous effect of so
extensive a line of buildings of equal or nearly equal height.

The original residence of the family was situated in the town of Belfast,
which may be said to have grown around it, and was a very magnificent
castellated house, erected in the reign of James I. Its site was that
now occupied by the fruit and vegetable markets, and it was surrounded
by extensive gardens which covered the whole of the ground on which
Donegal-place and the Linen Hall now stand. Of this noble mansion,
however, there are no vestiges now remaining. It was burnt in the year
1708, by an accidental fire, caused by the carelessness of a female
servant, on which occasion three daughters of Arthur, the third Earl of
Donegal, perished in the flames; and though a portion of the building
which escaped destruction was afterwards occupied for some years, the
family finally removing to their present residence, its preservation was
no longer necessary.

The demesne surrounding Ormeau is not of great extent, but the grounds
are naturally of great pastoral beauty, commanding the most charming
views of Belfast Lough and adjacent mountains, and have received all the
improvements that could be effected by art, guided by the refined taste
of its accomplished proprietress.

We have only to add, that ready access to this beautiful demesne is
freely given to all respectable strangers--a privilege of which visitors
to the Athens of the North should not fail to avail themselves.

                                                                       P.



THE IRISH SHANAHUS,

BY WILLIAM CARLETON.


The state of Irish society has changed so rapidly within the last
thirty or forty years, that scarcely any one could believe it possible
for the present generation to be looked upon in many things as the
descendants of that which has immediately gone before them. The old
armorial bearings of society which were empanelled upon the ancient
manners of our country, now hang like tattered scutcheons over the tombs
of customs and usages which sleep beneath them; and unless rescued
from the obliterating hand of time, scarcely a vestige of them will be
left even to tradition itself. That many gross absurdities have been
superseded by a social condition more enlightened and healthy, is a
fact which must gratify every one who wishes to see the general masses
actuated by those principles which follow in the train of knowledge and
civilisation. But at the same time it is undeniable that the simplicity
which accompanied those old vestiges of harmless ignorance has departed
along with them; and in spite of education and science, we miss the old
familiar individuals who stood forth as the representatives of manners,
whose very memory touches the heart and affections more strongly than the
hard creations of sterner but more salutary truths. For our own part,
we have always loved the rich and ruddy twilight of the rustic hearth,
where the capricious tongues of blazing light shoot out from between the
kindling turf, and dance in vivid reflection in the well-scoured pewter
and delft as they stand neatly arranged on the kitchen-dresser--loved,
did we say? ay, and ever preferred it to philosophy, with all her lights
and fashion, with all her heartlessness and hypocrisy. For this reason
it is, that whilst retracing as it were the steps of our early life, and
bringing back to our memory the acquaintances of our youthful days, we
feel our hearts touched with melancholy and sorrow, because we know that
it is like taking our last farewell of old friends whom we shall never
see again, from whom we never experienced any thing but kindness, and
whose time-touched faces were never turned upon us but with pleasure, and
amusement, and affection.

In this paper it is not with the Shanahus whose name and avocations are
associated with high and historical dignity, that we have any thing to
do. Our sketches do not go very far beyond the manners of our own times;
by which we mean that we paint or record nothing that is not remembered
and known by those who are now living. The Shanahus we speak of is the
dim and diminished reflection of him who filled a distinct calling
in a period that has long gone by. The regular Shanahus--the herald
and historian of individual families, the faithful genealogist of his
long-descended patron--has not been in existence for at least a century
and a half, perhaps two. He with whom we have to do is the humble old
man who, feeling himself gifted with a strong memory for genealogical
history, old family anecdotes, and legendary lore in general, passes a
happy life in going from family to family, comfortably dressed and much
respected--dropping in of a Saturday night without any previous notice,
bringing eager curiosity and delight to the youngsters of the house he
visits, and filling the sedate ears of the old with tales and legends, in
which, perhaps, individuals of their own name and blood have in former
ages been known to take a remarkable and conspicuous part.

Indeed, there is no country in the world where, from the peculiar
features of its social and political changes, the chronicles of the
Shanahus would be more likely to produce such a powerful effect as in
Ireland. When we consider that it was once a country of princes and
chiefs, each of whom was followed and looked up to with such a spirit of
feudal enthusiasm and devoted attachment as might naturally be expected
from a people remarkable for the force of their affection and the power
of imagination, it is not surprising that the man who, in a state of
society which presented to the minds of so many nothing but the records
of fallen greatness or the decay of powerful names, and the downfall
of rude barbaric grandeur, together with the ruin of fanes and the
prostration of religious institutions, each invested with some local or
national interest--it is not surprising, we say, that such a man should
be welcomed, and listened to, and honoured, with a feeling far surpassing
that which was awakened by the idle jingle of a Provençal Troubadour, or
the gorgeous dreams begotten by Arabian fiction. Neither the transition
state of society, however, nor the scanty diffusion of knowledge among
the Irish, allowed the Shanahus to produce any permanent impression
upon the people; and the consequence was, that as the changes of society
hurried on, he and his audience were carried along with them; his
traditionary lore was lost in the ignorance which ever arises when a ban
has been placed upon education; and from the recital of the high deeds
and heroic feats of by-gone days, he sank down into the humble chronicler
of hoary legends and dim traditions, for such only has he been within the
memory of the oldest man living, and as such only do we intend to present
him to our readers.

The most accomplished Shanahus of this kind that ever came within our
observation, was a man called Tom Grassiey, or Tom the Shoemaker. He was
a very stout well-built man, about fifty years of age, with a round head
somewhat bald, and an expansive forehead that argued a considerable reach
of natural intellect. His knowing organs were large, and projected over a
pair of deep-set lively eyes, that scintillated with strong twinklings of
humour. His voice was loud, his enunciation rapid, but distinct; and such
was the force and buoyancy of his spirits, added to the vehemence of his
manner, that altogether it was impossible to resist him. His laughter was
infectious, and so loud that it might be heard of a calm summer evening
at an incredible distance. Indeed, Tom possessed many qualities that
rendered him a most agreeable companion: he could sing a good song for
instance, dance a hornpipe as well as any dancing-master, and we need not
say that he could tell a good story. He could also imitate a Jew’s harp
or trump upon his lips with his mere fingers in such a manner that the
deception was complete; and it was well known that flocks of the country
people used to crowd about him for the purpose of hearing his performance
upon the ivy leaf, which he played upon by putting it in his mouth, and
uttering a most melodious whistle. Altogether, he was a man of great
natural powers, and possessed such a memory as the writer of this never
knew any human being to be gifted with. He not only remembered everything
he saw or was concerned in, but everything he heard also. His language,
when he spoke Irish, was fluent, clear, and sometimes eloquent; but when
he had recourse to the English, although his fluency remained, yet it was
the fluency of a man who made an indiscriminate use of a vocabulary which
he did not understand. His pedantry on this account was highly ludicrous
and amusing, and his wit and humour surprisingly original and pointed.
He had never received any education, and was consequently completely
illiterate, yet he could repeat every word of Gallagher’s Irish Sermons,
Donlevy’s Catechism, Think Well On’t, the Seven Champions of Christendom,
and the substance of Pastorini’s and Kolumb Kill’s Prophecies, all by
heart. Many a time I have seen him read, as he used to call it, one of Dr
Gallagher’s Sermons out of the skirt of his big-coat; a feat which was
looked upon with twice the wonder it would have produced had he merely
said that he repeated it. But to read it out of the skirt of his coat!
Heavens, how we used to look on with awe and veneration, as Tom, in a
loud rapid voice, “rhymed it out of him,” for such was the term we gave
to his recital of it! His learning, however, was not confined to mere
English and Irish, for Tom was also classical in his way, and for want
of a better substitute it was said could serve mass, which must always
be done in Latin. Certain it was that he could repeat the _Deprofundis_,
and the Seven Penitential Psalms, and the _Dies Iræ_, in that language.
We need scarcely add, that in these learned exhibitions he dealt largely
in false quantities, and took a course for himself altogether independent
of syntax and prosody; this, however, was no argument against his natural
talents, or the surprising force of his memory.

Tom was also an easy and happy _Improviser_ both in prose and poetry;
his invention was indeed remarkably fertile, but his genius knew no
medium between encomium and satire. He either lashed his friends, for
the deuce an enemy he had, with rude and fearful attacks of the latter,
or gave them, as Pope did to Berkley, every virtue under heaven, and
indeed a good many more than ever were heard of beyond his own system of
philosophy and morals.

Tom was a great person for attending wakes and funerals, where he
was always a busy man, comforting the afflicted relatives with many
learned quotations, repeating _ranns_, or spiritual songs, together
with the Deprofundis or Dies Iræ, over the corpse, directing even the
domestic concerns, paying attention to strangers, looking after the
pipes and tobacco, and in fact making himself not only generally useful,
but essentially necessary to them, by his happiness of manner, the
cordiality of his sympathy, and his unextinguishable humour.

At one time you might see him engaged in leading a Rosary for the
repose of the soul of the departed, or singing the Hermit of Killarney,
a religious song, to edify the company; and this duty being over, he
would commence a series of comic tales and humorous anecdotes, which he
narrated with an ease and spirit that the best of us all might envy. The
Irish heart passes rapidly from the depths of pathos to the extremes of
humour; and as a proof of this, we can assure our readers that we have
seen the nearest and most afflicted relatives of the deceased carried
away by uncontrollable laughter at the broad, grotesque, and ludicrous
force of his narratives. It was here also that he shone in a character of
which he was very proud, and for the possession of which he was looked
up to with great respect by the people; we mean that of a polemic, or,
as it is termed, “an arguer of Scripture,” for when a man in the country
parts of Ireland wins local fame as a controversialist, he is seldom
mentioned in any other way than as a great arguer of Scripture. To argue
scripture well, therefore, means the power of subduing one’s antagonist
in a religious contest. Many challenges of this kind passed between Tom
and his polemical opponents, in most or all of which he was successful.
His memory was infallible, his wit prompt and dexterous, and his humour
either broad or sarcastic, as he found it convenient to apply it. In
these dialectic displays he spared neither logic nor learning: where an
English quotation failed, he threw in one of Irish; and where that was
understood, he posed them with a Latin one, closing the quotation by
desiring them to give a translation of it; if this too were accomplished,
he rattled out the five or six first verses of John in Greek, which some
one had taught him; and as this was generally beyond their reading, it
usually closed the discussion in his favour. Without doubt he possessed
a mind of great natural versatility and power; and as these polemical
exercitations were principally conducted in wake-houses, it is almost
needless to say that the wake at which they expected him was uniformly a
crowded one.

Tom was very punctual in attending fairs and markets, which he did for
the purpose of bringing to the neighbouring farmers a correct account
of the state of cattle and produce; for such was the honour in which
his knowledge and talents were held, that it was expected he should
know thoroughly every topic that might happen to be discussed. During
the peninsular war he was a perfect oracle, but always maintained that
Bonaparte never would prosper, in consequence of his having imprisoned
the Pope. He said emphatically, that he could not be shot unless by a
consecrated bullet, and that the said bullet would be consecrated by
an Irish friar. It was not Bonaparte, he insisted, who was destined to
liberate Ireland: that could never be effected until the Mill of Louth
should be turned three times with human blood, and that could not happen
until a miller with two thumbs on each hand came to be owner of the mill.
So it was prophesied by _Beal Dearg_, or the man with the red mouth, that
Ireland would never be free until we first had the Black Militia in our
own country, and that no rebellion ever was or could be of any use that
did not commence in the Valley of the Black Pig, and move upwards from
the tail to the head. These were axioms which he laid down with great and
grave authority; but on none of his authentic speculations into futurity
did he rely with more implicit confidence than the prophecy he generously
ascribed to St Bridget, that George the Fourth would never fill the
throne of England.

Tom had a good flexible voice, and used to sing the old Irish songs of
our country with singular pathos and effect. He sang Peggy Slevin, the
Red-haired Man’s Wife, and Shula Na Guira, with a feeling that early
impressed itself upon my heart. Indeed we think that his sweet but
artless voice still rings in our ears; and whilst we remember the tears
which the enthusiasm of sorrow brought down his cheeks, and the quivering
pause in the fine old melody which marked what he felt, we cannot help
acknowledging that the memory of these things is mournful, and that the
hearts of many, in spite of new systems of education and incarcerating
poor-houses, will yearn after the homely but touching traits which marked
the harmless Shanahus, and the times in which he lived. Many a tear has
he beguiled us of in our youth when we knew not why we shed them. One of
these sacred old airs, especially, we could never resist, “the Trougha,”
or “the Green Woods of _Trough_;” and to this day we remember with a
true and melancholy recollection that whenever Tom happened to be asked
for it, we used to slink over to his side and whisper, “Tom, don’t sing
_that_; it makes me sorrowful;” and Tom, who had great goodness of heart,
had consideration for the feelings of the boy, and sang some other. But
now all these innocent fireside enjoyments are gone, and we will never
more have our hearts made glad by the sprightly mirth and rich good
humour of the Shanahus, nor ever again pay the artless tribute of our
tears to his old pathetic songs of sorrow, nor feel our hearts softened
at the ideal miseries of tale or legend as they proceeded in mournful
recitative from his lips. Alas! alas! knowledge may be power, but it is
_not_ happiness.

Such is, we fear, an imperfect outline of Tom’s life. It was one of ease
and comfort, without a care to disturb him, or a passion that was not
calmed by the simple but virtuous integrity of his life. His wishes were
few, and innocently and easily gratified. The great delight of his soul
was not that he should experience kindness at the hands of others, but
that he should communicate to them, in the simple vanity of his heart,
that degree of amusement and instruction and knowledge which made them
look upon him as a wonderful man, gifted with rare endowments; for in
what light was not that man to be looked upon who could trace the old
names up to times when they were great, who could climb a genealogical
tree to the top branch, who could repeat the Seven Penitential Psalms
in Latin, tell all the old Irish tales and legends of the country, and
beat Paddy Crudden the methodist horse-jockey, who had the whole Bible
by heart, at arguing Scripture? Harmless ambition! humble as it was, and
limited in compass, to thee it was all in all; and yet thou wert happy in
feeling that it was gratified. This little boon was all thou didst ask
of life, and it was kindly granted thee. The last night we ever had the
pleasure of being amused by Tom was at a wake in the neighbourhood, for
it somehow happened that there was seldom either a wake or a dance within
two or three miles of us that we did not attend; and God forgive us,
when old Poll Doolin was on her death-bed, the only care that troubled
us was an apprehension that she might recover, and thus defraud us of a
right merry wake! Upon the occasion we allude to, it being known that
Tom Grassiey would be present, of course the house was crowded. And when
he did come, and his loud good-humoured voice was heard at the door,
heavens! how every young heart bounded with glee and delight!

The first thing he did on entering was to go where the corpse was laid
out, and in a loud rapid voice repeat the Deprofundis for the repose
of her soul, after which he sat down and smoked a pipe. Oh, well do I
remember how the whole house was hushed, for all was expectation and
interest as to what he would do or say. At length he spoke--“Is Frank
Magaveen there?”

“All’s that left o’ me’s here, Tom.”

“An’ if the sweep-chimly-general had his due, Frank, that wouldn’t be
much; and so the longer you can keep him out of that same, the betther
for yourself.”

“Folly on Tom! you know there’s none of us all able to spake up to _you_,
say what you will.”

“It’s not so when you’re beside a purty girl, Frank. But sure that’s not
surprisin’; you were born wid butther in your mouth, an’ that’s what
makes your orations to the fair sect be so soft an’ meltin’, ha, ha, ha!
Well, Frank, never mind; there’s worse where you’ll go to: keep your own
counsel fast: let’s salt your gums, an’ you’ll do yet. Whisht, boys; I’m
goin’ to sing a _rann_, an’ afther that Frank an’ I will pick a couple o’
dozen out o’ yez ‘to box the Connaughtman.’” Boxing the Connaughtman is
a play or diversion peculiar to wakes; it is grotesquely athletic in its
character, but full, besides, of comic sentiment and farcical humour.

He then commenced an Irish rann or song, the substance of which was as
follows, according to his own translation:--

“St Patrick, it seems, was one Sunday morning crossing a mountain on his
way to a chapel to say mass, and as he was an humble man (coaches wern’t
then invented, at any rate) an’ a great pedestrium (pedestrian), he took
the shortest cut across the mountain. In one of the lonely glens he met
a herd-caudy, who spent his time in eulogizin’ his masther’s cattle,
according to the precepts of them times, which was not by any means so
larned an’ primogenitive as now. The countenance of the dog was clear
an’ extremely sabbathical; every thing was at rest barring the little
river before him, an’ indeed one would think that it flowed on with more
decency an’ betther behaviour than upon other sympathising occasions.
The birds, to be sure, were singin’, but it was aisy to see that they
chirped out their best notes in honour of the day. ‘Good morrow on you,’
said St Patrick; ‘what’s the raison you’re not goin’ to prayers, my fine
little fellow?’

‘What’s prayers?’ axed the boy. St Patrick looked at him with a very
pitiful and calamitous expression in his face. ‘Can you bless yourself?’
says he. ‘No,’ said the boy. ‘I don’t know what it means?’ ‘Worse and
worse,’ thought St Patrick.

‘Poor bouchal, it isn’t your fault. An how do you pass your time here?’

‘Why, my mate (food) ’s brought to me, an’ I do be makin’ kings’ crowns
out of my rushes, whin I’m not watching the cows an’ sheep.’

St Patrick sleeked down his head wid great dereliction, an’ said, ‘Well,
acushla, you do be operatin’ kings’ crowns, but I tell you you’re born
to wear a greater one than a king’s, an’ that is a crown of glory. Come
along wid me.’

‘I can’t lave my cattle,’ said the other, ‘for fraid they might go
astray.’

‘Right enough.’ replied St Patrick, ‘but I’ll let you see that they
won’t.’ Now, any how St Patrick undherstood cattle irresistibly himself,
havin’ been a herd-caudy (boy) in his youth; so he clapped his thumb to
his thrapple, an’ gave the Soy-a-loa to the sheep, an’ behould you they
came about him wid great relaxation an’ respect. ‘Keep yourselves sober
an’ fictitious,’ says he, addressin’ them, ‘till this boy comes back, an’
don’t go beyant your owner’s property; or if you do, it’ll be worse for
yez. If you regard your health durin’ the approximatin’ season, mind an’
attend to my words.’

Now, you see, every sheep, while he was spakin’, lifted the right fore
leg, an’ raised the head a little, an’ behould when he finished, they
kissed their foot, an’ made him a low bow as a mark of their estimation
an’ superfluity. He thin clapped his finger an’ thumb in his mouth, gave
a loud whistle, an’ in a periodical time he had all the other cattle on
the hill about him, to which he addressed the same ondeniable oration,
an’ they bowed to him wid the same polite gentility. He then brought the
lad along wid him, an’ as they made progress in the journey, the little
fellow says,

‘You seem frustrated by the walk, an’ if you’ll let me carry your bundle,
I’ll feel obliged to you.’

‘Do so,’ said the saint; ‘an’ as it’s rather long, throw the bag that the
things are in over your shoulder; you’ll find it the aisiest way to carry
it.’

Well, the boy adopted this insinivation, an’ they went ambiguously along
till they reached the chapel.

‘Do you see that house?’ said St Patrick.

‘I do,’ said the other; ‘it has no chimley on it.’

‘No,’ said the saint; ‘it has not; but in that house, Christ, he that
saved you, will be present to-day.’ An’ the boy thin shed tears, when
he thought of the goodness of Christ in saving one that was a stranger
to him. So they entered the chapel, an’ the first thing the lad was
struck with was the beams of the sun that came in through the windy
shinin’ beside the altar. Now, he had never seen the like of it in a
house before, an’ thinkin’ it was put there for some use or other in the
intarior, he threw the wallet, which was like a saddle-bag, across the
sunbeams, an’ lo an’ behould you the sunbeams supported them, an’ at the
same time a loud sweet voice was heard, sayin’, ‘This is my servant St
Kieran, an’ he’s welcome to the house o’ God!’ St Patrick then tuck him
an’ instructed him in the various edifications of the larned languages
until he became one of the greatest saints that ever Ireland saw, with
the exception an’ liquidation of St Patrick himself.”

Such is a faint outline of the style and manner peculiar to the
narratives of Tom Grassiey. Indeed, it has frequently surprised not only
us, but all who knew him, to think how and where and when he got together
such an incredible number of hard and difficult words. Be this as it
may, one thing was perfectly clear, that they cost him little trouble
and no study in their application. His pride was to speak as learnedly
as possible, and of course he imagined that the most successful method
of doing this was to use as many sesquipedalian expressions as he could
crowd into his language, without any regard whatsoever as to their
propriety.

Immediately after the relation of this legend, he passed at once into
a different spirit. He and Frank Magaveen marshalled their forces, and
in a few minutes two or three dozen young fellows were hotly engaged in
the humorous game of “Boxing the Connaughtman.” Boxing the Connaughtman
was followed by “the Standing Brogue” and “the Sitting Brogue,” two
other sports practised only at wakes. And here we may observe generally,
that the amusements resorted to on such occasions are never to be found
elsewhere, but are exclusively peculiar to the house of mourning, where
they are benevolently introduced for the purpose of alleviating sorrow.
Having gone through a few more such sports, Tom took a seat and addressed
a neighbouring farmer, named Gordon, as follows:--“Jack Gordon, do you
know the history of your own name and its original fluency?”

“Indeed no, Tom, I cannot say I do.”

“Well, boys, if you derogate your noise a little, I’ll tell you the
origin of the name of Gordon; it’s a story about ould Oliver Crummle,
whose tongue is on the look-out for a drop of wather ever since he went
to the lower story.” This legend, however, is too long and interesting
to be related here: we are therefore forced to defer it until another
opportunity.



SEALS OF IRISH CHIEFS.

By George Petrie, R.H.A., M.R.I.A.

(Concluded from No. 45.)


The next seal which I have to exhibit, belongs to a chief of another
and nobler family of Thomond, the O’Briens, kings of the country, and
descendants of the celebrated monarch Brian Boru. This seal is also from
the collection of the Dean of St Patrick’s, and was purchased a few years
since in Roscrea. Its type is unlike the preceding, as, instead of the
armed warrior, it presents in the field the figure of a griffin.

The inscription reads, _Sigillum: Brian: I Brian_.

[Illustration]

In the genealogies of this illustrious family, which are remarkable for
their minuteness and historical truth, two or three chiefs bearing the
Christian name of Brian occur. But from the character of the letters on
this seal, I have little hesitation in assigning it to Brian O’Brian,
who, according to the Annals of the Four Masters, succeeded to the
lordship of Thomond in 1343, and was killed in 1350.

The next seal which I have to exhibit is also from the Dean’s collection,
and, though of later date, is on many accounts of still higher interest
than perhaps either of the preceding. It is the seal of a chief of the
O’Neills, whose family were for seven hundred years the hereditary
monarchs of Ireland.

[Illustration]

This seal was found about ten years since in the vicinity of Magherafelt,
in the county of Derry, and was purchased by the Dean from a shopkeeper
in that town some years after. The arms of O’Neill, the bloody hand,
appear on a shield, and the legend reads, _Sigillum Maurisius_ [Maurisii]
_ui Neill_. The name Mauritius, which occurs in this inscription, does
not occur in the genealogies of the O’Neill family, and is obviously but
a latinised form of the name Murtogh or Muircheartach, which was that of
two or three chiefs of the family; and of these I am inclined to ascribe
this seal to Murtogh Roe, or the Red O’Neill, lord of Clanaboy, who,
according to the Annals of the Four Masters, died in 1471.

These are all the seals of Irish princes which have fallen under my
observation. But there remain two of equal antiquity, but which belonged
to persons of inferior rank, which it may interest the Academy to see.
The first, which is in my own collection, exhibits the figure of an
animal, which I must leave to the zoologists of the Academy to describe,
with the legend _Sigillum Mac Craith Mac I Dafid_.

[Illustration]

The O’Dafys were an ancient family in Thomond, and are still very
numerous in the county of Clare.

The next and last is from the cabinet of the Dean, and is very remarkable
in having the head of a helmeted warrior cut on a cornelian within the
legend, which reads, _Sigillum Brian: O’Harny_.

[Illustration]

The O’Harnys are a very ancient and still numerous family in Kerry,
descendants of the ancient lords of that country, and remarkable in
history as poets and musicians.

I have only to add, that it will be observed that these seals are all of
a round form, which characterises the seals of secular persons, while
those belonging to ecclesiastics were usually oval.



ORIGIN AND MEANINGS OF IRISH FAMILY NAMES.

BY JOHN O’DONOVAN.

Fourth Article.


Having in the last article spoken of the origin of surnames in Ireland,
and of the popular errors now prevailing respecting them, I shall next
proceed to notice certain epithets, sobriquets, &c., by which the Irish
chieftains and others of inferior rank were distinguished.

Besides the surnames, or hereditary family names, which the Irish people
assumed from their ancestors, it appears from the authentic annals that
most, if not all, of their chieftains had attached to their Christian
names, and sometimes to their surnames, certain cognomens by which
they were distinguished from each other. These cognomens, or, as they
may in many instances be called, sobriquets, were given them from some
perfection or imperfection of the body, or some disposition or quality
of the mind, from the place of birth, or the place of fosterage, and
very frequently from the place of their deaths. Of the greater number of
these cognomens, the pedigree of the regal family of O’Neill furnishes
examples, as Niall Roe, _i. e._ Niall the Red, who flourished about the
year 1225, so called from his having red hair; Hugh Toinlease (a name
which requires no explanation), who died in 1230; Niall More, _i. e._
Niall the Great, who died in 1397; Con Bacach, _i. e._ Con the Lame, who
was created Earl of Tyrone in 1542. Among the same family we meet Henry
Avrey, _i. e._ Henry the Contentious, Shane an Dimais, _i. e._ John the
Proud. Of the cognomens derived from the places in which and the families
by whom they were fostered, the pedigree of the same family affords
several instances, as Turlogh Luineach, so called from his having been
fostered by O’Luney, chief of Munterluney in Tyrone; Niall Conallach, so
called from his having been fostered by O’Donnell, chief of Tirconnell;
Shane Donnellach, so called from his having been fostered by O’Donnelly
(An Four Masters, 1531 and 1567); and Felim Devlinach, so called from
his foster-father O’Devlin, chief of Munter-Devlin, near Lough Neagh,
in the present county of Londonderry. Various examples of cognomens
given to chieftains from the place or territory in which they were
fostered, are to be met with in other families, as, in that of O’Brien,
Donogh Cair-breach, who was so called from his having been fostered by
O’Donovan, chief of Carbery Aeva, the ancient name of the plains of the
county of Limerick. In the regal family of Mac Murrough of Leinster,
Donnell Cavanagh was so called from having been fostered by the Coarb
of St Cavan, at Kilcavan, near Gorey, in Hy-Dea, in the present county
of Wexford. This cognomen of Donnell has been adopted for the last two
centuries as a surname by his descendants, a thing very unusual among
Irish families. In the family of Mac Donnell of Scotland, John Cahanach
was so called from his having been fostered by O’Cahan or O’Kane, in the
present county of Londonderry.

In the pedigrees of other families, various instances are on record of
cognomens having been applied by posterity to chieftains from the place
of their deaths; in the family of O’Neill, for example, Brian Chatha an
Duin, or “of the battle of Down,” was so called by posterity from his
having been killed in a battle fought at Downpatrick in the year 1260;
in the family of O’Brien, Conor na Siudaine, from the wood of Suidain in
Burren, in which he was killed in the year 1267; and in the family of Mac
Carthy, the celebrated Fineen Reanna Roin, from his having been killed
at the castle of Rinn Roin in the year 1261, after a brilliant career of
victory over the English.

On this subject of cognomens and sobriquets among the Irish, Sir Henry
Piers wrote as follows in the year 1682, in a description of the county
of Westmeath, written in the form of a letter to Anthony Lord Bishop of
Meath, and published in the first volume of Vallancey’s Collectanea:--

“Every Irish surname or family name hath either O or Mac prefixed,
concerning which I have found some make this observation, but I dare
not undertake that it shall hold universally true, that such as have O
prefixed were of old superior lords or princes, as O’Neal, O’Donnell,
O’Melaghlin, &c., and such as have Mac were only great men, viz,
lords, thanes, as Mac Gennis, Mac Loghlin, Mac Doncho, &c. But however
this observation [may] hold, it is certain they take much liberty,
and seem to do it with delight, in giving of nicknames; and if a man
have any imperfection or evil habit, he shall be sure to hear of it
in the nickname. Thus, if he be blind, lame, squint-eyed, grey-eyed,
be a stammerer in speech, be left-handed, to be sure he shall have
one of these added to his name; so also from his colour of hair, as
black, red, yellow, brown, &c.; and from his age, as young, old; or
from what he addicts himself to, or much delights in, as in draining,
building, fencing, or the like; so that no man whatever can escape a
nickname who lives among them, or converseth with them; and sometimes so
libidinous are they in this kind of raillery, they will give nicknames
_per antiphrasim_, or contrariety of speech. Thus a man of excellent
parts, and beloved of all men, shall be called _grana_, that is, naughty
or fit to be complained of; if a man have a beautiful countenance or
lovely eyes, they will call him Cueegh, that is, squint-eyed; if a
great housekeeper, he shall be called Ackerisagh, that is greedy.”
(_Collectanea_, vol. I. p. 113.)

In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, when the Irish families
increased, and their territories were divided into two and three parts
among rival chieftains of the same family, each of the chieftains adopted
some addition to the family surname for the sake of distinction. Thus,
among the O’Conors of Connaught we find O’Conor Don, _i. e._ O’Conor the
brown-haired, and O’Conor Roe, or the red-haired. This distinction was
first made in the year 1384, when Torlogh Don and Torlogh Roe, who had
been for some time in emulation for the chieftainship of the territory
of Shilmurry, agreed to have it divided equally between them; on which
occasion the former was to be called O’Conor Don, and the latter O’Conor
Roe. (See Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Charles O’Conor). It is
now supposed by many of the Irish that the epithet Don postfixed to the
name of the chief of the O’Conors is a Spanish title! while those who
are acquainted with the history of the name think that he should reject
it as being a useless sobriquet, and more particularly now, as there is
no O’Conor Roe from whom he needs to be distinguished. It is true that
the O’Conor Don might now very lawfully be called the O’Conor, as there
is no O’Conor Roe or O’Conor Sligo, at least none who take the name; but
as he had borne it before O’Conor Roe disappeared, we would not advise
it to be rejected for another generation, as we think that an O’Conor
Roe will in the meantime make his appearance, for we are acquainted with
an individual of that name who knows his pedigree well, but is not
sufficiently wealthy to put himself forward as an Irish chieftain.

In the same province we find the Mac Dermots of Moylurg divided into
three distinct families the head of whom was, _par excellence_, styled
the Mac Dermot, and the other two who were tributary to him called, the
one Mac Dermot Roe, _i. e._ the Red, and the other Mac Dermot Gall,
or the Anglicised. In Thomond we find the Mac Namaras split into two
distinct families, distinguished by the names of Mac Namara Fin, _i. e._
the Fair, and Mac Namara Reagh, or the Swarthy. In Desmond the family
of Mac Carthy split into three powerful branches, known by the names of
Mac Carthy More or the Great, Mac Carthy Reagh or the Swarthy, and Mac
Carthy Muscryagh, _i. e._ of Muskerry. Beauford asserts with his usual
confidence that Mac Carthy Reagh signifies Mac Carthy the King, but this
is utterly fallacious, for the epithet, which is anglicised Reagh, is
written _riach_ and _riabhach_, in the original annals of Inisfallen and
of the Four Masters, and translated _fuscus_ by Philip O’Sullivan Beare
(who knew the import of it far better than Beauford) in his History of
the Irish Catholics published at Lisbon in 1621. The O’Sullivans split
into the families of O’Sullivan More and O’Sullivan Beare; the O’Donovans
into those of O’Donovan More, O’Donovan Locha Crot, and O’Hea O’Donovan;
the O’Kennedys of Ormond into those of O’Kennedy Finn, O’Kennedy Roe, and
O’Kennedy Don; the O’Farrells of Annally into those of O’Farrell Bane,
_i. e._ the White, and O’Farrell Boy, or the Yellow, &c., &c.

The foregoing notices are sufficient to show the nature of the surnames
in use among the ancient Scotic or Milesian Irish families. It will
be now expected that I should say a few words on the effect which the
Anglo-Norman invasion and the introduction of English laws, language,
and names, have had in changing or modifying them, and on the other hand
the influence which the Irish may have had in changing or modifying the
English names.

After the murder, in 1333, of William de Burgo, third Earl of Ulster
of that name, and the lessening of the English power which resulted
from it, many if not all of the distinguished Anglo-Norman families
located in Connaught and Munster became hibernicised--_Hibernis ipsis
Hiberniores_--spoke the Irish language, and assumed surnames in imitation
of the Irish by prefixing Mac (but never O in any instance) to the
Christian names of their ancestors. Thus the De Burgos in Connaught took
the name of Mac William from their ancestor William de Burgo, and were
divided into two great branches, called Mac William Oughter and Mac
William Eighter, _i. e._ Mac William Upper and Mac William Lower, the
former located in the county of Galway, and the latter in that of Mayo;
and from these sprang many offshoots who took other surnames from their
respective ancestors, as the Mac Davids of Glinsk, the Mac Philbins of
Dun Mugdord in Mayo, the Mac Shoneens, now Jennings, and the Mac Gibbons,
now Fitzgibbons. The Berminghams of Dunmore and Athenry in Connaught,
and of Offaly in Leinster, took the name of Mac Feoiris, from Pierce,
the son of Meyler Bermingham, who was one of the principal heads of that
family in Ireland. The head of the Stauntons in Carra took the name of
Mac Aveely. The chief of the Barretts of Tirawley took the name of Mac
Wattin, and a minor branch of the same family, located in the territory
of the Two Backs, lying between Lough Con and the river Moy, assumed that
of Mac Andrew, while the Barretts of Munster took the now very plebeian
name of Mac Phaudeen, from an ancestor called Paudeen, or Little Patrick.
The De Exeters of Gallen, in Connaught, assumed the surname of Mac Jordan
from Jordan De Exeter, the founder of that family; and the Nangles of the
same neighbourhood took that of Mac Costello. Of the Kildare and Desmond
branches of the Fitzgeralds there were two Mac Thomases, one in Leinster,
and the other in the Desies, in the now county of Waterford, in Munster.
A branch of the Butlers took the name of Mac Pierce, and the Poers, or
Powers, that of Mac Shere. The Freynes of Ossory took the name of Mac
Rinki, and the Barrys that of Mac Adam. In the present county of Kilkenny
were located two families, originally of great distinction, who took
the strange name of Gaul, which then signified Englishman, though at an
earlier period it had been a term applied by the Irish to all foreigners;
the one was Stapleton, who was located at Gaulstown, in the parish of
Kilcolumb, barony of Ida, and county of Kilkenny; the other a branch of
the Burkes, who obtained extensive estates in that part of Ireland, and
dwelt at Gaulstown, in the barony of Igrine. The writer, who is the sixth
in descent from the last head of this family, has many of his family
deeds, in which he styles himself sometimes Galle and sometimes Galle
alias Borke; on his tomb, however, in his family chapel at Gaulskill, he
is called Walterus De Burgo without the addition of Galle, and is there
said to be descended from the Red Earl of Ulster. His descendants now
all retain the name of Gaul, as do those of his neighbour Stapleton. The
Fitzsimons, in Westmeath, took the name of Mac Ruddery, and the Wesleys
that of Mac Falrene, &c. &c.

Edmund Spenser, secretary to the Lord Arthur Grey (deputy of Ireland
under Queen Elizabeth in the year 1580), attempted to prove that many
distinguished families then bearing Irish surnames, and accounted of
Irish origin, were really English. This, however, is undoubtedly false,
and is a mere invention of the creative fancy of that great poet and
politician: but as it has been received as truth by Sir Charles Coote
and other English writers, we shall show how Spenser deceived himself or
was deceived on this point. He instances the following families: 1, The
Mac Mahons of Oriel in Ulster, who, as he states on the authority of the
report of some Irishmen, came first to Ireland with Robert de Vere, Earl
of Oxford, under the name of Fitz-Ursula: 2, The Mac Mahons of the South:
3, The Mac Sweenys of Munster: 4, The Mac Sheehys of Munster: 5, The
O’Brins or O’Byrnes of Leinster: 6, The O’Tooles of the same province:
7, The Cavanaghs: 8, The Mac Namaras of Thomond. But he gives no proof
for his assertions but the report of some Irishmen, corroborated by
etymological speculations of his own; and as the report of some unnamed
persons can have no weight with us when in direct contradiction of the
authentic annals of the country, I shall slightly glance at some of
the most important of his etymological evidences, and then give my own
proofs of the contrary. To prove that the Mac Mahons of Oriel are the
Fitz-Ursulas, he says that _Mahon_ signifies _bear_ in Irish, and hence
that Mac Mahon is a translation of Fitz-Ursula; but granting that _Mahon_
does mean a _bear_, it does not follow that Mac Mahon is a translation of
Fitz-Ursula. But we have stronger reasons to urge than to prove that this
is a _non sequitur_, for we have the testimony of the authentic pedigree
of the Mac Mahons of Oriel, and of the annals of Ulster, that the Mac
Mahons had been located in Oriel and had borne that name long before
the English invasion. The Mac Mahons and Mac Namaras of the south are a
branch of the Dal-Cais, a great tribe located in Thomond, whose history
is as certain from the ninth century as that of any people in Europe.
The Mac Sweenys and Mac Sheehys of Munster are of Irish origin, but
their ancestors removed to Scotland in the tenth century, or beginning
of the eleventh, and some of their descendants returned to Ireland in
the beginning of the fourteenth century, and were hereditary leaders of
Gallowglasses to many Irish chieftains. To prove that the Byrnes, Tooles,
and Cavanaghs, are of British origin, he has recourse also to etymology,
which is a great lever in the hand of a historical charlatan, and says,
in the first place, that _Brin_ in the Welsh language means woody, and
that hence the O’Brins or O’Byrnes must be of Welsh origin. But admitting
that _Brin_ does in the Welsh language mean woody, what has that to do
with O’Brain, the original Irish name of O’Byrne, especially when it can
be proved that that surname was called after Bran, king of Leinster, who
was usually styled Bran Duv, _i. e._ the Black Raven, from the colour of
his hair, and his thirst for prey. Secondly, to prove that O’Toole is a
Welsh name, he says that _tol_ means hilly in the Welsh language! and so
does _tol_ in Irish bear this meaning. But what, I would ask, has that to
do with O’Tuathail, or descendants of Tuathal, the son of Ugaire, from
whom this family have taken their surname? The name Tuathal, signifying
_the lordly_, has no more to do with _tol_, a hill, than it has with the
English word _tool_, to which it has been anglicised for the last two
centuries. Thirdly, to prove that the name Cavanagh is of Welsh origin,
he asserts that Kaevan in Welsh signifies _strong_ in English. This may
be true; but what has the signification of the Welsh word Kaevan to do
with the name of the Mac Murroghs of Leinster, who assumed the cognomen
of Cavanagh from Donnell Cavanagh, the son of Dermot Mac Murrogh, who had
himself received this name from his having been fostered at Kilcavan in
the north-east of the present county of Wexford? _Spectatum admissi risum
teneatis amici?_

These errors of Spenser have been already exposed by Dr Jeffry Keating, a
man of learning and undoubted honesty, but of great simplicity, which is
characteristic of the age in which he lived, also by Gratianus Lucius,
and by the learned Roderic O’Flaherty, who has devoted a chapter of his
Ogygia to prove that Spenser, though a distinguished poet, can have no
claim to credit as a historian. Spenser’s purpose in fabricating this
story about the Mac Mahons was to hold them up as objects of hatred
to the Irish and English people, as being descended from the murderer
of Thomas à Becket. He never succeeded, however, in convincing Ever
Mac Cooley, or any other of the rebels of the Farney, that they were
descended from the Beares of England! Spenser also asserts that _it was
said_ that most of the surnames ending in _an_, though then considered
Irish, were in reality English, such as Hernan, Shinan, Mungan, &c. I
do not, however, believe a word of this latter assertion of the great
English poet, but conclude, with the simple and honest Keating, that, “as
being a poet, he gave himself, as was usual with the profession, licence
to revel in poetic fictions, which he dressed in flowery language to
decoy his reader.” For we know that there is not a single instance on
record of any Anglo-Norman family having taken any Irish names except
such as they formed from the names or titles of their own ancestors by
prefixing Mac, which they considered equivalent to the Norman Fitz, as
Mac Maurice, Mac Gibbon, Mac Gerald, Mac William, which are equivalent
to Fitz-Maurice, Fitz-Gibbon, Fitz-Gerald, Fitz-William. In this manner,
however, the great Anglo-Norman families of the south and west of
Ireland, who were after all more French and Irish than they were English
(their ancestors having dwelt scarcely a century in England), nearly all
hibernicised their names. It seems rather curious that Spenser has not
furnished any list of those Anglo-Norman families who really hibernicised
their names, while he was so minute in naming those who were not English,
but whom he wished to make appear as such, in order to be enabled to
censure them the more harshly for their treasons and rebellions. He
contents himself by stating that there were great English families in
Ireland who, he regretted to say, had become Irish in name and feeling.
The manner in which he states this fact is worthy of consideration, and I
shall therefore insert his very words here as they appear in the Dublin
edition:--“Other great houses there bee of the English in Ireland, which
thorough licentious conversing with the Irish or marrying or fostering
with them, or lacke of meet nurture [_i. e._ education or rearing],
or such other unhappy occasions, have degendred from their auncient
dignities, and are now growne ‘_as Irish as O’Hanlon’s breech_,’ as the
proverbe there is.”

Sir Henry Piers of Tristernagh, in the county of Westmeath, complains of
the same custom among the families of English descent, in about a century
after Spenser’s period.

“In the next place, I rank the degeneracy of many English families as
a great hindrance of the reducing this people to civility, occasioned
not only by fostering, that is, having their children nursed and bred
during their tender years by the Irish, but much more by marriages
with them, by means whereof our English in too many great families
became in a few generations one both in manners and interest with the
Irish, insomuch as many of them have not doubted [_i. e._ hesitated]
to assume even Irish names and appellations: instances whereof are but
too many even to this day: thus a Bermingham is called by them Mac
Yoris, Fitz-Simmons, Mac Kuddery [_recte_ Mac-Ruddery], Wesley [_i. e._
Wellesley], Mac Falrene, &c., and from men thus metamorphosed what could
be expected?”--_Collectanea_, vol. I. p. 105.

On the other hand, the Irish families who lived within the English
pale and in its vicinity gradually conformed to the English customs,
and assumed English surnames; and their doing so was deemed to be of
such political importance that it was thought worthy the consideration
of parliament: accordingly it was enacted by the statute of 5 Edward
IV (1465), that every Irishman dwelling within the English pale, then
comprising the counties of Dublin, Meath, Louth, and Kildare, should take
an English surname. This act is so curious as illustrating the history of
Irish family names, that it demands insertion in this place.

“An act, that the Irish men dwelling in the counties of Dublin, Myeth,
Uriell, and Kildare, shall goe apparelled like English men, and weare
theire beards after the English maner, sweare allegeance, and take
English surname.”--_Rot. Parl. ca. 16._

“At the request of the Commons it is ordeyned and established by
authority of the said parliament, that every Irish man that dwells
betwixt or amongst Englishmen in the county of Dublin, Myeth, Uriell,
and Kildare, shall goe like to one Englishman in apparell, and shaveing
off his beard above the mouth, and shal be within one yeare sworne the
liege man of the king in the hands of the lieutenant or deputy, or such
as he will assigne to receive this oath for the multitude that is to be
sworne, and shall take to him an English surname of one towne, as Sutton,
Chester, Trym, Skryne, Corke, Kinsale; or colour, as white, blacke,
browne; or arte or science, as smith or carpenter; or office, as cooke,
butler; and that he and his issue shall use this name under payne of
forfeyting of his goods yearely till the premises be done, to be levied
two times by the yeare to the king’s warres, according to the discretion
of the lieutenant of the king or his deputy.”--5 _Edward_ IV. cap. 3.

“In obedience to this law,” observes Harris, in his additions to Ware,
“the Shanachs took the name of Foxes, the Mac Gabhans of Smiths, Geals of
Whites, the Branachs of Walshes, and many others; the said words being
only literal translations from the Irish into the English language.”
Harris, however, I may remark, is very much mistaken when he supposes
that the Branachs (Breaṫnaiġ, _i. e._ _Britones_) of the English pale in
Ireland are an Irish family, or that any ancient Irish family had borne
that name before the Anglo-Norman and Welsh families settled in Ireland
towards the latter end of the twelfth century; and he is also wrong in
assuming that the Irish word for _Geal_, white, was by itself ever used
as the name of any family in Ireland. In the other two instances he is
correct; for the head of the O’Caharnys of Teffia, who was usually styled
the Shinnagh, translated his name into Fox, and the Mac-an-Gowans and
O’Gowans translated their name into Smith.

The importance thus attached by this act to the bearing of an English
surname soon induced many of the less distinguished Irish families of the
English pale and its vicinity to translate or disguise their Irish names,
so as to make them appear English ones, as Mac Intire to Carpenter,
Mac Spallane to Spenser, Mac Cogry to L’Estrange, &c.; but the more
distinguished families of the pale and its vicinity, as Mac Murrogh,
O’Brennan, O’Kayly, and others, retained with pride their original Irish
names unaltered; for while they could look back with pride on a long line
of ancestors, they could not bear the idea of being considered as the
descendants of tradesmen and petty artizans, a feeling which prevails at
the present day, and will prevail for ever; for though a man has himself
sunk into poverty, he still feels a pride in believing that he is of
respectable origin. It is certain, however, that the translation and
assimilation of Irish surnames to English ones was carried to a great
extent in the vicinity of Dublin and throughout Leinster; and hence it
may at this day be safely concluded that many families bearing English
surnames throughout the English pale are undoubtedly of Milesian or
Danish origin.

It appears, however that this statute had not the intended effect; for,
about a century after its having passed, we find Spenser recommending a
renewal of it, inasmuch as the Irish had then become as Irish as ever.
His words on this point are highly interesting, as throwing great light
on the history of Irish surnames towards the close of the sixteenth
century, and we shall therefore lay them before the reader:--

“Moreover, for the better breaking of these heads _and_ [of?] septs which
(I told you) was one of the greatest strengthes of the Irish, methinkes
it should be very well to renewe that ould statute which was made in the
reigne of Edward the Fourth in Ireland, by which it was commanded, that
whereas all men used to be called by the name of their septs, according
to the severall nations, and had no surnames at all, that from henceforth
each one should take upon himself a severall surname, either of his trade
and faculty, or of some quality of his body or minde, or of the place
where he dwels, so as every one should be distinguished from the other,
or from the most part, whereby they shall not only not depend upon the
head of their sept, as now they do, but also in time learne quite to
forget his [their] Irish nation. And herewithal would I also wish all the
O’s and the Mac’s which the heads of septs have taken to their names,
to be utterly forbidden and extinguished. For, that the same being an
ordinance (as some say) first made by O’Brien for the strengthening of
the Irish, the abrogating thereof will as much enfeeble them.”

Towards the close of the next century we find Sir Henry Piers of
Tristernagh, in his account of the county of Westmeath, rejoicing that
the less distinguished Irish families were beginning to take English
surnames:--

“These, I suppose, may be reckoned among the causes of the slow progress
this nation hath made towards civility and accommodation to our English
laws and customs; yet these notwithstanding, this people, especially
in this and the adjoining counties, are in our days become more polite
and civil [civilized] than in former ages, and some very forward to
accommodate themselves to the English modes, particularly in their habit,
language, and surnames, which _by all manner of ways they strive to make
English or English like_; this I speak _of the inferior rank of them_.
Thus you have Mac Gowan surname himself Smith; Mac Killy, Cock; Mac
Spallane, Spenser; Mac Kegry, L’Estrange, &c., herein making small amends
for our degenerate English before spoken of.”

But I have exceeded the space which the Journal allows for this article,
and I must defer the remainder to a future number, promising the reader
that I shall make every effort to bring the subject of Irish surnames to
a conclusion in two additional articles.

       *       *       *       *       *

ARISTOCRATIC TRAVELLING.--Mr Theobald was at that instant speaking to
Lord Bolsover. “Listen,” said the Earl of Rochdale to Arlington, “and
you will hear some of the uses and advantages of travel.” Arlington
accordingly directed his attention to the speakers. “I will just tell
you what I did,” said Mr Theobald. “Brussels, Frankfort, Berlin, Vienna,
Munich, Milan, Naples, and Paris, and all that in two months. No man
has ever done it in less.” “That’s a fast thing; but I think I could
have done it,” said Lord Bolsover, “with a good courier. I had a fellow
once who could ride a hundred miles a-day for a fortnight.” “I came from
Vienna to Calais,” said young Leighton, “in less time than the government
courier. No other Englishman ever did that.” “Hem! I am not sure of
that,” said Lord Bolsover. “But I’ll just tell you what I have done: from
Rome to Naples in nineteen hours; a fact, upon my honour; and from Naples
to Paris in six days.” “Partly by sea?” interrogated Leighton. “No! all
by land,” replied Lord Bolsover, with a look of proud satisfaction.
“I’ll just tell you what I did,” Mr Leighton chimed in again, “and I
think it is a good plan--it shows what one _can_ do. I went straight on
end, as fast as I could, to what was to be the end of my journey. This
was Sicily. So straight away I went there at the devil’s own rate, and
never stopped anywhere by the way; changed horses at Rome and all those
places, and landed in safety in----I forget exactly how long from the
time of starting, but I have got it down to an odd minute. As for the
places I left behind, I saw them all on my way back, except the Rhine,
and I steamed down that in the night-time.” “I have travelled a good deal
by night,” said Theobald. “With a _dormeuse_ and travelling lamp I think
it is pleasant, and a good plan of getting on.” “And you can honestly
say, I suppose,” said Denbigh, “that you have slept successfully through
as much fine country as any man living?” “Oh, I did see the country,”
replied Theobald, “that is, all that was worth seeing. My courier knew
all about that, and used to stop and waken me whenever we came to
anything remarkable. Gad! I have reason to remember it, too, for I caught
an infernal bad cold one night when I turned out by lamp-light to look
at a waterfall. I never looked at another.” There was a pause in the
conversation, and the group moved onwards to another room.--_Arlington, a
Tale, by the Hon. Mr Lister._

       *       *       *       *       *

Truth will never be palatable to those who are determined not to
relinquish error, but can never give offence to the honest and
well-meaning; for the plain-dealing remonstrances of a friend differ as
widely from the rancour of an enemy as the friendly probe of a physician
from the dagger of an assassin.--_E. W. Montague._

       *       *       *       *       *

PARENTAL DUTIES.--Bring thy children up in learning and obedience, yet
without outward austerity. Praise them openly, reprehend them secretly.
Give them good countenance and convenient maintenance, otherwise thy
life will seem their bondage, and what portion thou shalt leave them at
thy death they will thank death for it, and not thee. And I am persuaded
that the foolish cockering of some parents, and the overstern carriage
of others, cause more men and women to take ill courses than their own
vicious inclinations. Marry thy daughters in time, lest they marry
themselves; and train not up thy sons in the wars, for he that sets up
his rest to live by that profession can hardly be an honest man or a good
Christian; besides, it is a science no longer in request than use, for
soldiers in peace are like chimneys in summer.--_Lord Burleigh’s Maxims._



HALF AN HOUR IN IRELAND.

(_From Charles O’Malley._)


When the Bermuda transport sailed from Portsmouth for Lisbon, I happened
to make one of some four hundred interesting individuals, who, before
they became food for powder, were destined to try their constitutions on
pickled pork. The second day after our sailing, the winds became adverse;
it blew a hurricane from every corner of the compass but the one it
ought; and the good ship, that should have been standing straight for the
Bay of Biscay, was scudding away with a double-reefed topsail towards
the coast of Labrador. For six days we experienced every sea-manœuvre
that usually preludes a shipwreck; and at length, when, what from sea
sickness and fear, we had become utterly indifferent to the result, the
storm abated, the sea went down, and we found ourselves lying comfortably
in the harbour of Cork, we had a strange suspicion on our minds that the
frightful scenes of the past week had been nothing but a dream.

“Come, Mr Medlicot,” said the skipper to me, “we shall be here for
a couple of days to refit; had you not better go ashore and see the
country?”

I sprung to my legs with delight; visions of cowslips, larks, daisies,
and mutton chops, floated before my excited imagination, and in ten
minutes I found myself standing at that pleasant little inn at Cove,
which, opposite Spike Island, rejoices in the name of the Goat and
Garters.

“Breakfast, waiter,” said I; “a beefsteak--fresh beef, mark ye; fresh
eggs, bread, milk, and butter, all fresh.” No more hard tack, thought I,
no salt butter, but a genuine land breakfast.

“Up stairs, No. 4, sir,” said the waiter, as he flourished a dirty
napkin, indicating the way.

Up stairs I went, and in due time the appetizing little _dejeune_ made
its appearance. Never did a miser’s eye revel over his broad acres with
more complacent enjoyment than did mine skim over the mutton and the
muffin, the teapot, the trout, and the devilled kidney, so invitingly
spread out before me. Yes, thought I, as I smacked my lips, this is the
reward of virtue; pickled pork is a probationary state that admirably
fits us for future enjoyments. I arranged my napkin upon my knee, I
seized my knife and fork, and proceeded with most critical acumen to
bisect a beefsteak. Scarcely, however, had I touched it, when with a loud
crash the plate smashed beneath it, and the gravy ran piteously across
the cloth. Before I had time to account for the phenomenon, the door
opened hastily, and the waiter rushed into the room, his face redolent
with smiles, while he rubbed his hands in an ecstacy of delight.

“It’s all over, sir;” said he, “glory be to God, it’s all done.”

“What’s over? what’s done?” said I with impatience.

“M’Mahon is satisfied,” replied he, “and so is the other gentleman.”

“Who and what the devil do you mean?”

“It’s over, sir, I say,” replied the waiter again; “he fired in the air.”

“Fired in the air,” said I. “Did they fight in the room below stairs?”

“Yes, sir,” said the waiter with a benign smile.

“That will do,” said I, as seizing my hat I rushed out of the house, and
hurrying to the beach took a boat for the ship. Exactly half an hour had
elapsed since my landing, but even those short thirty minutes had fully
as many reasons, that although there may be few more amusing, there are
some safer places to live in than the green island.

       *       *       *       *       *

All men are masked; the world is one universal disguise, each individual
endeavouring to fathom his neighbour’s intentions, at the same time
wishing to hide his own, and, above all, striving to secure a reputable
character rather by words than deeds.

       *       *       *       *       *

Persons who are always innocently cheerful and good-humoured are very
useful in the world; they maintain peace and happiness, and spread a
thankful temper amongst all who live around them.--_Miss Talbot._

       *       *       *       *       *

    Printed and published every Saturday by GUNN and CAMERON, at
    the Office of the General Advertiser, No. 6, Church Lane,
    College Green, Dublin.--Agents:--R. GROOMBRIDGE, Panyer Alley,
    Paternoster Row, London; SIMMS and DINHAM, Exchange Street,
    Manchester; C. DAVIES, North John Street, Liverpool; JOHN
    MENZIES, Prince’s Street, Edinburgh; and DAVID ROBERTSON,
    Trongate, Glasgow.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 48, May 29, 1841" ***

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