Title: The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 50, June 12, 1841
Author: Various
Language: English
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                        THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

        NUMBER 50.       SATURDAY, JUNE 12, 1841.       VOLUME I.

[Illustration: THE IRISH PROPHECY MAN.]

BY WILLIAM CARLETON.

The individual to whom the heading of this article is uniformly applied,
stands, among the lower classes of his countrymen in a different light
and position from any of those previous characters that we have already
described to our readers. The intercourse which _they_ maintain with the
people is one that simply involves the means of procuring subsistence for
themselves by the exercise of their professional skill, and their powers
of contributing to the lighter enjoyments and more harmless amusements of
their fellow-countrymen. All the collateral influences they possess, as
arising from the hold which the peculiar nature of this intercourse gives
them, generally affect individuals only on those minor points of feeling
that act upon the lighter phases of domestic life. They bring little to
society beyond the mere accessories that are appended to the general
modes of life and manners, and consequently receive themselves as strong
an impress from those with whom they mingle, as they communicate to them
in return.

Now, the Prophecy Man presents a character far different from all this.
With the ordinary habits of life he has little sympathy. The amusements
of the people are to him little else than vanity, if not something worse.
He despises that class of men who live and think only for the present,
without ever once performing their duties to posterity, by looking into
those great events that lie in the womb of futurity. Domestic joys or
distresses do not in the least affect him, because the man has not to
do with feelings or emotions, but with principles. The speculations in
which he indulges, and by which his whole life and conduct are regulated,
place him far above the usual impulses of humanity. He cares not much
who has been married or who has died, for his mind is, in point of
time, communing with unborn generations upon affairs of high and solemn
import. The past, indeed, is to him something, the future every thing;
but the present, unless when marked by the prophetic symbols, little
or nothing. The topics of his conversation are vast and mighty, being
nothing less than the fate of kingdoms, the revolution of empires, the
ruin or establishment of creeds, the fall of monarchs, or the rise and
prostration of principalities and powers. How can a mind thus engaged
descend to those petty subjects of ordinary life which engage the common
attention? How could a man hard at work in evolving out of prophecy
the subjugation of some hostile state, care a farthing whether Loghlin
Roe’s daughter was married to Gusty Given’s son, or not? The thing is
impossible. Like fame, the head of the Prophecy Man is always in the
clouds, but so much higher up as to be utterly above the reach of any
intelligence that does not affect the fate of nations. There is an old
anecdote told of a very high and a very low man meeting. “What news down
there?” said the tall fellow. “Very little,” replied the other: “what
kind of weather have you above?” Well indeed might the Prophecy Man ask
what news there is below for his mind seldom leaves those aërial heights
from which it watches the fate of Europe and the shadowing forth of
future changes.

The Prophecy Man--that is, he who solely devotes himself to an anxious
observation of those political occurrences which mark the signs of the
times, as they bear upon the future, the principal business of whose life
it is to associate them with his own prophetic theories--is now a rare
character in Ireland. He was, however, a very marked one. The Shanahus
and other itinerant characters had, when compared with him, a very
limited beat indeed. Instead of being confined to a parish or a barony,
the bounds of the Prophecy Man’s travels were those of the kingdom
itself; and indeed some of them have been known to make excursions to the
Highlands of Scotland, in order if possible to pick up old prophecies,
and to make themselves, by cultivating an intimacy with the Scottish
seers, capable of getting a clearer insight into futurity, and surer
rules for developing the latent secrets of time.

One of the heaviest blows to the speculations of this class was the
downfall and death of Bonaparte, especially the latter. There are still
living, however, those who can get over this difficulty, and who will
not hesitate to assure you, with a look of much mystery, that the real
“Bonyparty” is alive and well, and will make his due appearance _when
the time comes_; he who surrendered himself to the English being but an
accomplice of the true one.

The next fact, and which I have alluded to in treating of the Shanahus,
is the failure of the old prophecy that a George the Fourth would never
sit on the throne of England. His coronation and reign, however, puzzled
our prophets sadly, and indeed sent adrift for ever the pretensions of
this prophecy to truth.

But that which has nearly overturned the system, and routed the whole
prophetic host, is the failure of the speculations so confidently put
forward by Dr Walmsey in his General History of the Christian Church,
vulgarly called Pastorini’s Prophecy, he having assumed the name
Pastorini as an _incognito_ or _nom de guerre_. The theory of Pastorini
was, that Protestantism and all descriptions of heresy would disappear
about the year eighteen hundred and twenty-five, an inference which he
drew with considerable ingenuity and learning from Scriptural prophecy,
taken in connexion with past events, and which he argued with all the
zeal and enthusiasm of a theorist naturally anxious to see the truth
of his own prognostications verified. The failure of this, which was
their great modern standard, has nearly demolished the political seers
as a class, or compelled them to fall back upon the more antiquated
revelations ascribed to St Columkill, St Bridget, and others.

Having thus, as is our usual custom, given what we conceive to be such
preliminary observations as are necessary to make both the subject and
the person more easily understood, we shall proceed to give a short
sketch of the only Prophecy Man we ever saw who deserved properly to
be called so, in the full and unrestricted sense of the term. This
individual’s name was Barney M’Haighery, but in what part of Ireland
he was born I am not able to inform the reader. All I know is, that he
was spoken of on every occasion as The Prophecy Man; and that, although
he could not himself read, he carried about with him, in a variety
of pockets, several old books and manuscripts that treated upon his
favourite subject.

Barney was a tall man, by no means meanly dressed; and it is necessary to
say that he came not within the character or condition of a mendicant.
On the contrary, he was considered as a person who must be received
with respect, for the people knew perfectly well that it was not with
every farmer in the neighbourhood he would condescend to sojourn. He had
nothing of the ascetic and abstracted meagreness of the Prophet in his
appearance. So far from that, he was inclined to corpulency; but, like
a certain class of fat men, his natural disposition was calm, but at
the same time not unmixed with something of the pensive. His habits of
thinking, as might be expected, were quiet and meditative; his personal
motions slow and regular; and his transitions from one resting-place to
another never of such length during a single day as to exceed ten miles.
At this easy rate, however, he traversed the whole kingdom several times;
nor was there probably a local prophecy of any importance in the country
with which he was not acquainted. He took much delight in the greater and
lesser prophets of the Old Testament: but his heart and soul lay, as he
expressed it, “in the Revelations of St John the Divine.”

His usual practice was, when the family came home at night from their
labour, to stretch himself upon two chairs, his head resting upon the
hob, with a boss for a pillow, his eyes closed, as a proof that his mind
was deeply engaged with the matter in hand. In this attitude he got some
one to read the particular prophecy upon which he wished to descant; and
a most curious and amusing entertainment it generally was to hear the
text, and his own singular and original commentaries upon it. That he
must have been often hoaxed by wags and wits, was quite evident from the
startling travesties of the text which had been put into his mouth, and
which, having been once put there, his tenacious memory never forgot.

The fact of Barney’s arrival in the neighbourhood soon went abroad, and
the natural consequence was, that the house in which he thought proper
to reside for the time became crowded every night as soon as the hours
of labour had passed, and the people got leisure to hear him. Having
thus procured him an audience, it is full time that we should allow the
fat old Prophet to speak for himself, and give us all an insight into
futurity.

“Barney, ahagur,” the good man his host would say, “here’s a lot o’ the
neighbours come to hear a whirrangue from you on the Prophecies; and,
sure, if you can’t give it to them, who is there to be found that can?”

“Throth, Paddy Traynor, although I say it that should not say it, there’s
truth in that, at all evints. The same knowledge has cost me many a weary
blisthur an’ sore heel in huntin’ it up an’ down, through mountain an’
glen, in Ulsther, Munsther, Leinsther, an’ Connaught--not forgettin’ the
Highlands of Scotland, where there’s what they call the ‘short prophecy,’
or second sight, but wherein there’s afther all but little of the
Irish or long prophecy, that regards what’s to befall the winged woman
that flown into the wilderness. No, no--their second sight isn’t thrue
prophecy at all. If a man goes out to fish, or steal a cow, an’ that he
happens to be drowned or shot, another man that has the second sight will
see this in his mind about or afther the time it happens. Why, that’s
little. Many a time our own Irish drames are aiqual to it; an’ indeed I
have it from a knowledgeable man, that the gift they boast of has four
parents--an empty stomach, thin air, a weak head, an’ strong whisky,
an’ that a man must have all these, espishilly the last, before he can
have the second sight properly; an’ it’s my own opinion. Now, I have a
little book (indeed I left my books with a friend down at Errigle) that
contains a prophecy of the milk-white hind an’ the bloody panther, an’ a
forebodin’ of the slaughter there’s to be in the Valley of the Black Pig,
as foretould by Beal Derg, or the prophet wid the red mouth, who never
was known to speak but when he prophesied, or to prophesy but when he
spoke.”

“The Lord bless an’ keep us!--an’ why was he called the Man wid the Red
Mouth, Barney?”

“I’ll tell you that: first, bekase he always prophesied about the
slaughter an’ fightin’ that was to take place in the time to come; an’,
secondly, bekase, while he spoke, the red blood always trickled out of
his mouth, as a proof that what he foretould was true.”

“Glory be to God! but that’s wondherful all out. Well, well!”

“Ay, an’ Beal Derg, or the Red Mouth, is still livin’.”

“Livin’! why, is he a man of our own time?”

“Our own time! The Lord help you! It’s more than a thousand years since
he made the prophecy. The case you see is this: he an’ the ten thousand
witnesses are lyin’ in an enchanted sleep in one of the Montherlony
mountains.”

“An’ how is that known, Barney?”

“It’s known. Every night at a certain hour one of the witnesses--an’
they’re all sogers, by the way--must come out to look for the sign that’s
to come.”

“An’ what is that, Barney?”

“It’s the fiery cross; an’ when he sees one on aich of the four mountains
of the north, he’s to know that the same sign’s abroad in all the other
parts of the kingdom. Beal Derg an’ his men are then to waken up, an’ by
their aid the Valley of the Black Pig is to be set free for ever.”

“An’ what is the Black Pig, Barney?”

“The Prospitarian church, that stretch from Enniskillen to Darry, an’
back again from Darry to Enniskillen.”

“Well, well, Barney, but prophecy is a strange thing to be sure! Only
think of men livin’ a thousand years!”

“Every night one of Beal Derg’s men must go to the mouth of the cave,
which opens of itself, an’ then look out for the sign that’s expected.
He walks up to the top of the mountain, an’ turns to the four corners
of the heavens, to thry if he can see it; an’ when he finds that he can
not, he goes back to Beal Derg, who, afther the other touches him, starts
up, an’ axis him, ‘Is the time come?’ He replies, ‘No; the _man is_, but
the _hour_ is _not_!’ an’ that instant they’re both asleep again. Now,
you see, while the soger is on the mountain top, the mouth of the cave
is open, an’ any one may go in that might happen to see it. One man it
appears did, an’ wishin’ to know from curiosity whether the sogers were
dead or livin’, he touched one of them wid his hand, who started up an’
axed him the same question, ‘Is the time come?’ Very fortunately he said
‘_No_;’ that minute the soger was as sound in his trance as before.”

“An’, Barney, what did the soger mane when he said, ‘The man is, but the
hour is not?’”

“What did he mane? I’ll tell you that. The man is Bonyparty; which manes,
when put into proper explanation, the _right side_; that is, the true
cause. Larned men have found _that_ out.”

“Barney, wasn’t Columkill a great prophet?”

“He was a great man entirely at prophecy, and so was St Bridget. He
prophesied ‘that the cock wid the purple comb is to have both his wings
clipped by one of his own breed before the struggle comes.’ Before that
time, too, we’re to have the Black Militia, an’ afther that it is time
for every man to be prepared.”

“An’, Barney, who is the cock wid the purple comb?”

“Why, the Orangemen to be sure. Isn’t purple their colour, the dirty
thieves?”

“An’ the Black Militia, Barney, who are they?”

“I have gone far an’ near, through north an’ through south, up an’ down,
by hill an’ hollow, till my toes were corned an’ my heels in griskins,
but could find no one able to resolve that, or bring it clear out o’
the prophecy. They’re to be sogers in black, an’ all their arms an’
’coutrements is to be the same colour; an’ farther than that is not known
_as yet_.”

“It’s a wondher _you_ don’t know it, Barney, for there’s little about
prophecy that you haven’t at your finger ends.”

“Three birds is to meet (Barney proceeded in a kind of recitative
enthusiasm) upon the saes--two ravens an’ a dove--the two ravens is to
attack the dove until she’s at the point of death; but before they take
her life, an eagle comes and tears the two ravens to pieces, an’ the dove
recovers.

There’s to be two cries in the kingdom; one of them is to rache from the
Giants’ Causeway to the centre house of the town of Sligo; the other is
to rache from the Falls of Beleek to the Mill of Louth, which is to be
turned three times with human blood; but this is not to happen until a
man with two thumbs an’ six fingers upon his right hand happens to be the
miller.”

“Who’s to give the sign of freedom to Ireland?”

“The little boy wid the red coat that’s born a dwarf, lives a giant,
and dies a dwarf again! He’s lightest of foot, but leaves the heaviest
foot-mark behind him. An’ it’s he that is to give the sign of freedom to
Ireland!”

“There’s a period to come when Antichrist is to be upon the earth,
attended by his two body servants Gog and Magog. Who are they, Barney?”

“They are the sons of Hegog an’ Shegog, or in other words, of Death an’
Damnation, and cousin-jarmins to the Devil himself, which of coorse is
the raison why he promotes them.”

“Lord save us! But I hope that won’t he in our time, Barney!”

“Antichrist is to come from the land of Crame o’ Tarthar (Crim Tartary,
according to Pastorini), which will account for himself an’ his army
breathin’ fire an’ brimstone out of their mouths, according’ to the
glorious Revelation of St John the Divine, an’ the great prophecy of
Pastorini, both of which beautifully compromise upon the subject.

The prophet of the Black Stone is to come, who was born never to
prognosticate a lie. He is to be a mighty hunter, an’ instead of riding
to his fetlocks _in_ blood, he is to ride _upon_ it, to the admiration of
his times. It’s of him it is said ‘that he is to be the only prophet that
ever went on horseback!’

Then there’s Bardolphus, who, as there was a prophet wid the red mouth,
is called ‘the prophet wid the red nose.’ Ireland was, it appears
from ancient books, undher wather for many hundred years before her
discovery; but bein’ allowed to become visible one day in every year,
the enchantment was broken by a sword that was thrown upon the earth,
an’ from that out she remained dry, an’ became inhabited. ‘Woe, woe,
woe,’ says Bardolphus, ‘the time is to come when we’ll have a second
deluge, an’ Ireland is to be undher wather once more. A well is to open
at Cork that will cover the whole island from the Giants’ Causeway to
Cape Clear. In them days St Patrick will be despised, an’ will stand
over the pleasant houses wid his pasthoral crook in his hand, crying out
_Cead mille failtha_ in vain! Woe, woe, woe,’ says Bardolphus, ‘for in
them days there will be a great confusion of colours among the people;
there will be neither red noses nor pale cheeks, an’ the divine face
of man, alas! will put forth blossoms no more. The heart of the times
will become changed; an’ when they rise up in the morning, it will
come to pass that there will be no longer light heads or shaking hands
among Irishmen! Woe, woe, woe, men, women, and children will then die,
an’ their only complaint, like all those who perished in the flood of
ould, will be wather on the brain--wather on the brain! Woe, woe, woe,’
says Bardolphus, ‘for the changes that is to come, an’ the misfortunes
that’s to befall the many for the noddification of the few! an’ yet such
things must be, for I, in virtue of the red spirit that dwells in me,
must prophesy them. In those times men will be shod in liquid fire an’
not be burned; their breeches shall be made of fire, an’ will not burn
them; their bread shall be made of fire, an’ will not burn them; their
meat shall be made of fire, an’ will not burn them; an’ why?--Oh, woe,
woe, wather shall so prevail that the coolness of their bodies will keep
them safe; yea, they shall even get fat, fair, an’ be full of health
an’ strength, by wearing garments wrought out of liquid fire, by eating
liquid fire, an’ all because they do not drink liquid fire--an’ this
calamity shall come to pass,’ says Bardolphus, the prophet of the red
nose.

Two widows shall be grinding at the Mill of Louth (so saith the
prophecy); one shall be taken and the other left.”

Thus would Barney proceed, repeating such ludicrous and heterogeneous
mixtures of old traditionary prophecies and spurious quotations from
Scripture as were concocted for him by those who took delight in amusing
themselves and others at the expense of his inordinate love for prophecy.

“But, Barney, touching the Mill o’ Louth, of the two widows grindin’
there, whether will the one that is taken or the one that is left be the
best off?”

“The prophecy doesn’t say,” replied Barney, “an’ that’s a matther that
larned men are very much divided about. My own opinion is, that the one
that is taken will be the best off; for St Bridget says ‘that betune wars
an’ pestilences an’ famine, the men are to be so scarce that several of
them are to be torn to pieces by the women in their struggles to see who
will get them for husbands.’[1] That time they say is to come.”

“But, Barney, isn’t there many ould prophecies about particular families
in Ireland?”

“Ay, several: an’ I’ll tell you one of them, about a family that’s not
far from us this minute. You all know the hangin’ wall of the ould Church
of Ballynasaggart, in Errigle Keeran parish?”

“We do, to be sure; an’ we know the prophecy too.”

“Of coorse you do, bein’ in the neighbourhood. Well, what is it in the
mean time?”

“Why, that it’s never to fall till it comes down upon an’ takes the life
of a M’Mahon.”

“Right enough; but do you know the raison of it?”

“We can’t say that, Barney; but, however, we’re at home when you’re here.”

“Well, I’ll tell you. St Keeran was, may be, next to St Patrick himself,
one of the greatest saints in Ireland, but any rate we may put him
next to St Columkill. Now, you see, when he was building the church of
Ballynasaggart, it came to pass that there arose a great famine in the
land, an’ the saint found it hard to feed the workmen where there was no
vittles. What to do, he knew not, an’ by coorse he was at a sad amplush,
no doubt of it. At length says he, ‘Boys, we’re all hard set at present,
an’ widout food bedad we can’t work; but if you observe my directions,
we’ll contrive to have a bit o’ mate in the mean time, an’, among
ourselves, it was seldom more wanted, for, to tell you the thruth, I
never thought my back an’ belly would become so well acquainted. For the
last three days they haven’t been asunder, an’ I find they are perfectly
willing to part as soon as possible, an’ would be glad of any thing that
’ud put betune them.’

Now, the fact was, that, for drawin’ timber an’ stones, an’ all the
necessary matayrials for the church, they had but one bullock, an’ him St
Keeran resolved to kill in the evening, an’ to give them a fog meal of
him. He accordingly slaughtered him with his own hands, ‘but,’ said he to
the workmen, ‘mind what I say, boys: if any one of you breaks a single
bone, even the smallest, or injures the hide in the laste, you’ll destroy
all; an’ my sowl to glory but it’ll be worse for you besides.’

He then took all the flesh off the bones, but not till he had boiled
them, of coorse; afther which he sewed them up again in the skin, an’
put them in the shed, wid a good wisp o’ straw before them; an’ glory be
to God, what do you think, but the next mornin’ the bullock was alive,
an’ in as good condition as ever he was in during his life! Betther fed
workmen you couldn’t see, an’, bedad, the saint himself got so fat an’
rosy that you’d scarcely know him to be the same man afther it. Now,
this went on for some time: whenever they wanted mate, the bullock was
killed, an’ the bones an’ skin kept safe as before. At last it happened
that a long-sided fellow among them named M’Mahon, not satisfied wid his
allowance of the mate, took a fancy to have a lick at the marrow, an’
accordingly, in spite of all the saint said, he broke one of the legs
an’ sucked the marrow out of it. But behold you!--the next day when they
went to yoke the bullock, they found that he was useless, for the leg was
broken an’ he couldn’t work. This, to be sure, was a sad misfortune to
them all, but it couldn’t be helped, an’ they had to wait till betther
times came; for the truth is, that afther the marrow is broken, no power
of man could make the leg as it was before until the cure is brought
about by time. However, the saint was very much vexed, an’ good right
he had. ‘Now, M’Mahon,’ says he to the guilty man, ‘I ordher it, an’
prophesy that the church we’re building will never fall till it falls
upon the head of some one of your name, if it was to stand a thousand
years. Mark my words, for they must come to pass.’

An’ sure enough you know as well as I do that it’s all down long ago wid
the exception of a piece of the wall, that’s not standin’ but hangin’,
widout any visible support in life, an’ only propped up by the prophecy.
It can’t fall till a M’Mahon comes undher it; but although there’s plenty
of the name in the neighbourhood, ten o’ the strongest horses in the
kingdom wouldn’t drag one of them widin half a mile of it. There, now, is
the prophecy that belongs to the hangin’ wall of Ballynasaggart church.”

“But, Barney, didn’t you say something about the winged woman that flewn
to the wildherness?”

“I did; that’s a deep point, an’ it’s few that undherstands it. The baste
wid seven heads an’ ten horns is to come; an’ when he was to make his
appearance, it was said to be time for them that might be alive then to
go to their padareens.”

“What does the seven heads and ten horns mane, Barney?”

“Why, you see, as I am informed from good authority, the baste has come,
an’ it’s clear from the _ten_ horns that he could be no other than Harry
the Eighth, who was married to _five_ wives, an’ by all accounts they
strengthened an’ ornamented him sore against his will. Now, set in case
that each o’ them--five times two is ten--hut! the thing’s as clear as
crystal. But I’ll prove it betther. You see the woman wid the two wings
is the church, an’ she flew into the wildherness at the very time Harry
the Eighth wid his ten horns on him was in his greatest power.”

“Bedad that’s puttin’ the explanations to it in great style.”

“But the woman wid the wings is only to be in the wildherness for a time,
times, an’ half a time, that’s exactly three hundred an’ fifty years, an’
afther that there’s to be no more Prodestans.”

“Faith that’s great!”

“Sure Columkill prophesied that until H E M E I A M should come, the
church would be in no danger, but that afther that she must be undher a
cloud for a time, times, an’ half a time, jist in the same way.”

“Well, but how do you explain that, Barney?”

“An’ St Bridget prophesied that when D O C is uppermost, the church will
be hard set in Ireland. But, indeed, there’s no end to the prophecies
that there is concerning Ireland an’ the church. However, neighbours, do
you know that I feel the heat o’ the fire has made me rather drowsy, an’
if you have no objection, I’ll take a bit of a nap. There’s great things
near us, any how. An’ talkin’ about DOC brings to my mind another ould
prophecy made up, they say, betune Columkill and St Bridget; an’ it is
this, that the triumph of the counthry will never be at hand till the DOC
flourishes in Ireland.”

Such were the speculations upon which the harmless mind of Barney
M’Haighery ever dwelt. From house to house, from parish to parish, and
from province to province, did he thus trudge, never in a hurry, but
always steady and constant in his motions. He might be not inaptly termed
the Old Mortality of traditionary prophecy, which he often chiselled
anew, added to, and improved, in a manner that generally gratified
himself and his bearers. He was a harmless kind man, and never known to
stand in need of either clothes or money. He paid little attention to
the silent business of ongoing life, and was consequently very nearly an
abstraction. He was always on the alert, however, for the result of a
battle; and after having heard it, he would give no opinion whatsoever
until he had first silently compared it with his own private theory
in prophecy. If it agreed with this, he immediately published it in
connection with his established text; but if it did not, he never opened
his lips on the subject.

His class has nearly disappeared, and indeed it is so much the better,
for the minds of the people were thus filled with antiquated nonsense
that did them no good. Poor Barney, to his great mortification, lived to
see with his own eyes the failure of his most favourite prophecies, but
he was not to be disheartened even by this; though some might fail, all
could not; and his stock was too varied and extensive not to furnish him
with a sufficient number of others over which to cherish his imagination
and expatiate during the remainder of his inoffensive life.

[1] There certainly is such a prophecy.



ORIGIN AND MEANINGS OF IRISH FAMILY NAMES.

BY JOHN O’DONOVAN.

Fifth Article.


According to Mabillon, hereditary surnames were first established in
Italy in the tenth and eleventh centuries; but Muratori shows that this
statement cannot be correct, as in the MSS. of the tenth century in the
Ambrosian Library of Milan, no trace can be found of surnames. In the
ninth and tenth centuries, to distinguish persons, their profession or
country is added to the Christian name, as Johannes Scotus Erigena,
Dungallus Scotus, Johannes Presbyter, Johannes Clericus; the dignity is
also sometimes added, as Comes Marchio, without stating of what place.
In the tenth century, “A, the son of B, the son of C,” was another
mode of designation. It is said that the Venetians in the beginning of
the eleventh century adopted hereditary surnames, a custom which they
borrowed from the Greeks, with whom they carried on a great trade. The
Lombards adopted the same practice after the fashion of the Venetians,
and accordingly the great family of Monticuli took that name from their
castle in Lombardy called Montecuculi, it being on the top of a hill. The
great house of Colonna took its name from the town and castle of Columna
about the year 1156; and about the same time the noble family of Ursini
derived its name from an ancestor nicknamed Ursus, or Orso, on account
of his ferocity. Other noble families adopted names from the nickname
given to an ancestor, as the illustrious family of Malaspina (the bad
thorn) of Pavia, and the family of Malatesta (the bad head). The family
of Frangipani, so formidable to the Popes, took that name in the twelfth
century. The Rangones of Rome took their name from an estate of theirs
in Germany. The Viscontes of Milan were so called from their title of
Viscount, which was borne by one of the family. These names appear for
the first time in the latter end of the twelfth century. I consider
it but proper to observe, that for this information on the subject of
Italian surnames we are indebted to the antiquary whose name I have
already mentioned, the accurate and laborious Muratori.

To resume the history of surnames in Ireland. We have seen in the
last article that in the year 1682 the inferior classes in Ireland,
especially in Westmeath and the adjoining counties, were very forward in
accommodating themselves to the English usages, particularly in their
surnames, “which by all manner of ways they strove to make English or
English-like.” This was more particularly the case after the defeat
of the Irish at the Boyne and Aughrim, when the Irish chieftains were
conquered, and the pride of the Irish people was humbled. At this period,
the Irish people, finding that their ancient surnames sounded harshly in
the ears of their conquerors and new English masters, found it convenient
to reduce them as much as possible to the level of English pronunciation:
and they accordingly rejected in almost every instance the O’ and Mac,
and made various other changes in their names, so as to give them an
English appearance. Thus a gentleman of the O’Neills in Tyrone changed
his old name of Felim O’Neill to Felix Neele, as we learn from an epigram
written in Latin on the subject by a witty scholar of the name of Conway
or Mac Conwy, whose Irish feeling had not been blunted by the misfortunes
of the times. The following translation of this epigram is perhaps worth
preserving:--

    All things has Felix changed, he has changed his name;
    Yea, in himself he is no more the same.
    Scorning to spend his days where he was reared,
    To drag out life among the vulgar herd,
    Or trudge his way through bogs in bracks and brogues,
    He changed his creed and joined the Saxon rogues
    By whom his sires were robbed; he laid aside
    The arms they bore for centuries with pride,
    The Ship, the Salmon, and the famed Red Hand,
    And blushed when called O’Neill in his own land!
    Poor, paltry skulker from thy noble race,
    _Infelix Felix_, weep for thy disgrace!

Many others even of the most distinguished family names were anglicised
in a similar manner, as O’Conor to Conors and Coniers, O’Brien to
Brine, Mac Carthy to Carty, &c. The respectability of the O’s and Macs,
however, was kept up on the Continent by the warriors of the Irish
Brigade, who preserved every mark that would prove them to be of Irish
origin; the Irish having at this period become so illustrious for their
military skill, valour, and politeness, that they were sought after
by all the powers on the Continent of Europe. Thus we find O’Donnell
made Field Marshal, Chief General of Cavalry, Governor-General of
Transylvania, and Grand Croix of the Military Order of St Theresa.
The O’Flanigan of Tuaraah (John), in the county of Fermanagh, became
Colonel in the imperial service; and his brother James O’Flanigan was
Lieutenant-General of Dillon’s regiment in France. O’Mahony became a
Count and Lieutenant-General of his Catholic Majesty’s forces, and his
Ambassador Plenipotentiary at the Court of Vienna; Mac Gawley of the
county of Cork became Colonel of a regiment in Spain; O’Neny of Tyrone
settled at Brussels, and became Count of the Roman Empire, Councillor of
State to her Imperial Majesty, and Chief President of the Privy Council
at Brussels. A branch of the family of O’Callaghan, who followed the
fortunes of King James II, became Baron O’Callaghan, and Grand Veneur
(chasseur) to his Serene Highness the Prince Margrave of Baden-Baden. The
head of the O’Mullallys, or O’Lallys of Tulach na dala, two miles to the
west of Tuam, in the county of Galway, settled in France and became Count
Lally-Tollendal and a General in the French service. O’Conor Roe became
Governor of Civita Vecchia, a sea-port of great trust in the Pope’s
dominions, &c., &c.

The lustre derived from the renown of these warriors kept up the
respectability of the O’s and Macs on the Continent, and induced many
of the Irish at home to resume these prefixes, especially the O’. Thus
in our own time the name O’Conor Don was assumed by Owen O’Conor, Esq.
of Belanagare, whose line was seven generations removed from the last
ancestor who had borne the name; and the name of the O’Grady has also
been assumed by Mr O’Grady of Kilballyowen, in our own time, though none
of his ancestors had borne it since the removal of that family from
Tomgraney, in the county of Clare. Myles John O’Reilly, late of the
Heath House, Queen’s County, was at one time disposed to style himself
the O’Reilly, but I regret to say that his circumstances prevented him.
Daniel O’Connell, Esq. of Derrynane Abbey, prefixed the O’ after it had
been dropped for several generations; and I have heard it constantly
asserted that he has no _title_ to the O’, because his father, who did
not know his pedigree, never prefixed it; but such assertions have no
weight with us, for we know that O’Connell’s father never mentioned his
own name in the original Irish without prefixing O’, because it would be
imperfect without it. And whether O’Connell can trace his pedigree with
certainty up to Conall, chief of the tribe in the tenth century, we know
not, but we know that he ought to be able to do so.

In like manner, Morgan William O’Donovan, of Mountpelier, near Cork,
has not only re-assumed the O’ which his ancestors had rejected for
eight generations, but also has styled himself the O’Donovan, chief of
his name, being the next of kin to the last acknowledged head of that
family, the late General Richard O’Donovan of Bawnlahan, whose family
became extinct in the year 1829. His example has been followed by Timothy
O’Donovan, of O’Donovan’s Cove, head of a respectable branch of the
family. We like this Irish pride of ancestry, and we hope that it will
become general before many years shall have passed.

There are other heads of families who retain their Irish names with
pride, as Sir Lucius O’Brien of Dromoland, in Clare; Mac Dermot Roe of
Alderford, in the county of Roscommon; Mac Dermot of Coolavin, who is
the lineal descendant of the chief of Moylurg, and whose pedigree is as
well known as that of any royal family in Europe; O’Hara of Leyny, in the
county of Sligo; O’Dowda of Bunyconnellan, near Ballina, in the county
of Mayo; O’Loughlin of Burren, in the north of the county of Clare; Mac
Carthy of Carrignavar, near Cork, who represents one of the noblest
families in Ireland; Mac Gillicuddy of the Reeks, in the county of Kerry,
a collateral branch of the same great family; O’Kelly of Ticooly, in
the county of Galway; O’Moore of Clough Castle, in the King’s County;
More O’Ferrall, M. P. O’Fflahertie, of Lemonfield, in the same county;
and John Augustus Mageoghegan O’Neill, of Bunowen Castle, in the west
of Connamara, in the same county. We are not aware that any of the old
families of Leinster have preserved their ancient names unadulterated.
Of these, the Cavanaghs of Borris, in the county of Carlow, are the most
distinguished; and we indulge a hope that the rising generation will
soon resume the name of Mac Murrogh Cavanagh, a name celebrated in Irish
history for great virtues as well as great vices.

Among the less distinguished families, however, the translation and
anglicising of names have gone on to so great a degree as to leave no
doubt that in the course of half a century it will be difficult, if
not impossible, to distinguish many families of Irish name and origin
from those of English name and origin, unless, indeed, inquirers shall
be enabled to do so by the assistance of history and physiognomical
characteristics. The principal cause of the change of these names was
the difficulty which the magistrates and lawyers, who did not understand
the Irish language, found in pronouncing them, and in consequence their
constant habit of ridiculing them. This made the Irish feel ashamed of
all such names as were difficult of pronunciation to English organs, and
they were thus led to change them by degrees, either by translating them
into what they conceived to be their meanings in English, by assimilating
them to local English surnames of respectable families, or by paring them
in such a manner as to make them easy of pronunciation to English organs.

The families among the lower ranks who have translated, anglicised, or
totally changed their ancient surnames, are very numerous, and are daily
becoming more and more so. Besides the cause already mentioned, we can
assign two reasons for this rage which prevails at present among the
lower classes for the continued adoption of English surnames. First,
the English language is becoming that universally spoken among these
classes, and there are many Irish surnames which do not seem to sound
very euphoniously in that modern language; and, secondly, the names
translated or totally changed are, with very few exceptions, of no
celebrity in Irish history; and when they do not sound well in English,
the bearers naturally wish to get rid of them, in order that they should
not be considered of Atticotic or plebeian Irish origin. As this change
is going on rapidly in every part of Ireland, I shall here, for the
information, if not for the amusement, of the reader, give some account
of the Milesian or Scotic names that have thus become metamorphosed.

And first, of names which have been translated correctly or incorrectly.
In the county of Sligo the ancient name of O’Mulclohy has been
metamorphosed into Stone, from an idea that _clohy_, the latter part of
it, signifies a _stone_, but it is a mere guess translation; so that
in this instance this people may be said to have taken a new name. In
the county of Leitrim, the ancient and by no means obscure name of Mac
Connava has been rendered Forde, from an erroneous notion that _ava_,
the last part of it, is a corruption of _atha_, _of a ford_. This is
also an instance of false translation, for we know that Mac Connava,
chief of Munter Kenny, in the county of Leitrim, took his name from his
ancestor Cusnava, who flourished in the tenth century. In Thomond the
ancient name of O’Knavin is now often anglicised Bowen, because Knavin
signifies a _small bone_. This change was first made by a butcher in
Dublin, who should perhaps be excused, as he conformed so well to the act
of 5 Edward IV. In Tirconnell the ancient name of O’Mulmoghery is now
always rendered Early, because _moch-eirghe_ signifies _early rising_.
This version, however, is excusable, though not altogether correct.
In Thomond, O’Marcachain is translated Ryder by some, but anglicised
Markham by others; and in the same territory O’Lahiff is made Guthrie,
which is altogether incorrect. In Tyrone the ancient name of Mac Rory is
now invariably made Rogers, because Roger is assumed to be the English
Christian name corresponding to the Irish Ruaidhri or Rory. In Connamara,
in the west of the county of Galway, the ancient name of Mac Conry is now
always made King, because it is assumed that _ry_, the last syllable of
it, is from _righ_, a king; but this is a gross error, for this family,
who are of Dalcassian origin, took their surname from their ancestor
Curoi, a name which forms Conroi in the genitive case, and has nothing
to do with _righ_, a king; and the Kings of Connamara would therefore do
well to drop their false name, a name to which they have no right, and
re-assume their proper ancient and excellent name of Mac Conry, through
which alone their pedigree and their history can be traced.

These examples, selected out of a long list of Irish surnames,
erroneously translated, are sufficient to show the false process by which
the Irish are getting rid of their ancient surnames. I shall next exhibit
a few specimens of Irish surnames which have been assimilated to English
or Scotch ones, from a fancied resemblance in the sounds of both.

In Ulster, Mac Mahon, the name of the celebrated chiefs of Oriel, a name
which, as we have already seen, the poet Spenser attempted to prove to be
an Irish form of Fitzursula, is now very frequently anglicised Matthews;
and Mac Cawell, the name of the ancient chiefs of Kinel Ferady, is
anglicised Camphill, Campbell, Howell, and even Cauldfield. In Thomond,
the name O’Hiomhair is anglicised Howard among the peasantry, and Ivers
among the gentry, which looks strange indeed! And in the same county, the
ancient Irish name of O’Beirne is metamorphosed to Byron; while in the
original locality of the name, in Tir-Briuin na Sinna, in the east of
the county of Roscommon, it is anglicised Bruin among the peasantry; but
among the gentry, who know the historical respectability of the name, the
original form O’Beirne is retained. In the province of Connaught we have
met a family of the name of O’Heraghty, who anglicised their old Scotic
name to Harrington, an innovation which we consider almost unpardonable.
In the city of Limerick, the illustrious name of O’Shaughnessy is
metamorphosed to Sandys, by a family who know their pedigree well; for no
other reason, perhaps, than to disguise the Irish origin of the family;
but we are glad to find it retained by the Roman Catholic Dean of Ennis,
and also by Mr O’Shaughnessy of Galway, who, though now reduced to the
capacity of a barber in the town of Galway, is the chief of his name, and
now the senior representative of Guaire Aidhne, king of Connaught, who
is celebrated in Irish history as the personification of hospitality.
Strange turn of affairs! In the county of Londonderry, the celebrated
old name O’Brollaghan is made to look English by being transmuted to
Bradley, an English name of no lustre, at least in Ireland. In the county
of Fermanagh, the O’Creighans have changed their name to Creighton,
for no other reason than because a Colonel Creighton lives in their
vicinity; and in the county of Leitrim, O’Fergus, the descendant of the
ancient Erenachs of Rossinver, has, we are sorry to say, lately changed
his name to Ferguson. Throughout the province of Ulster generally, very
extraordinary changes have been made in the names of the aborigines; as,
Mac Teige, to Montague; O’Mulligan, to Molyneaux; Mac-Gillycuskly, to
Cosgrove; Mac Gillyglass, to Greene; O’Tuathalain, to Toland and Thulis;
O’Hay, to Hughes; O’Carellan, to Carleton, as, for instance, our own
William Carleton, the depicter of the manners, customs, and superstitions
of the Irish, who is of the old Milesian race of the O’Cairellans, the
ancient chiefs of Clandermot, in the present county of Londonderry;
O’Howen, to Owens; Mac Gillyfinen, to Leonard; Mac Shane, to Johnson,
and even Johnston; O’Gneeve, to Agnew; O’Clery, to Clarke; Mac Lave, to
Hande; Mac Guiggin, to Goodwin; O’Hir, to Hare; O’Luane, to Lamb; Mac
Conin, to Canning; O’Haughey, to Howe; O’Conwy, to Conway; O’Loingsy, to
Lynch; Mac Namee, to Meath, &c., &c.

In Connaught, O’Greighan is changed to Graham; O’Cluman, to Coalman;
O’Naghton, to Norton; Mac Rannal, to Reynolds; O’Heosa, to Hussey; Mac
Firbis, to Forbes; O’Hargadon, to Hardiman (the learned author of the
History of Galway, and compiler of the Irish Minstrelsy, is of this
name, and not of English origin, as the present form of his name would
seem to indicate); O’Mulfover, to Milford; O’Tiompain, to Tenpenny;
O’Conagan, to Conyngham; O’Heyne, to Hindes and Hynes; O’Mulvihil, to
Melville; O’Rourke, to Rooke; Mac Gillakilly, to Cox and Woods. In
Munster, O’Sesnan is changed to Sexton; O’Shanahan, to Fox; O’Turran, to
Troy; O’Mulligan, to Baldwin; O’Hiskeen, to Hastings; O’Nia, to Neville
(in every instance!); O’Corey, to Curry; O’Sheedy, to Silke; O’Mulfaver,
to Palmer; O’Trehy, to Foote; O’Honeen, to Greene; O’Connaing, to
Gunning; O’Murgaly, to Morley; O’Kinsellagh, to Kingsley and Tinsly; Mac
Gillymire, to Merryman; O’Hehir, to Hare; O’Faelchon, to Wolfe; O’Barran,
to Barrington; O’Keatey, to Keating; O’Connowe, to Conway; O’Credan, to
Creed; O’Feehily, to Pickley; O’Ahern, to Heron, &c., &c.

Scores of similar instances might be given, but the number exhibited is
sufficient to show the manner in which the Irish are assimilating their
names with those of their conquerors.



SCRAP FROM THE NORTHERN SCRIP.

Translated for the Irish Penny Journal, from the publications of the
Royal Society of Northern Antiquaries, Copenhagen.

NO. II.--AN IRISH HERDSMAN’S DOG.


After King Olave had married his Irish spouse Gyda, he dwelt partly
in England, partly in Ireland. While King Olave was in Ireland, it so
happened that he was engaged in a certain expedition attended by a great
naval force. When they were short of plunder, they went ashore, and drove
off a great multitude of cattle. Then a certain peasant followed them,
begging that they would return him the cows which belonged to him in the
herd they were driving away. King Olave answered, “Drive off your cows,
if you know them, and can separate them from the herd of oxen, so as not
to delay our journey; but I believe that neither you nor any one else
can do this, from among so many hundreds of oxen as we are driving.” The
peasant had a large herdsman’s dog, which he ordered to sort the herds
of oxen that were collected. The dog ran about through all the herds of
oxen, and drove off as many oxen as the peasant had said he wanted; all
these oxen were marked in the same manner, from which they inferred that
the dog had rightly distinguished them. Then the king says, “Your dog is
very sagacious, peasant! will you give me the dog?” He answered, “I will,
with pleasure.” The king immediately gave him a large gold ring, and
promised him his friendship. This dog was named Vigins, and he was of all
dogs the most sagacious and the best; that dog was long in King Olave’s
possession.

                                                                    G. D.



ANIMAL HEAT.

First Article.


A few years ago a conjuror made his appearance in London, whose
performances were so wonderful that his audience, instead of being
confined to the foolish and thoughtless people who usually encourage
such exhibitions, included many of the most eminent philosophers and
scientific men of the day. It may naturally be supposed that his feats
must have been more than usually ingenious, to attract persons of such
consequence; and indeed many of them were so wonderful, that, had he
ventured to exhibit them a century or two ago, they would inevitably
have led him to the stake or the scaffold, for having too intimate
an acquaintance with a certain disreputable personage whom it is not
necessary to particularize by name. This great conjuror defied all the
ordinary laws of nature. He would not condescend to exhibit such vulgar
mountebank tricks as crunching red-hot coals in his mouth, and dining
on tenpenny nails; but he struck the faculty with the greatest horror,
by making poison of all kinds his common food; breakfasting on a strong
solution of arsenic, and taking a short drachm of prussic acid before
dinner, as a whet for his appetite. More wonderful still was his manner
of preparing this dinner: he used to have an oven heated intensely, every
day, into which he walked, or crawled, with the greatest composure,
taking with him a raw beef-steak, which in the course of seven or eight
minutes was well cooked by the intense heat of the place, whilst the only
effect of its high temperature on him was to quicken his pulse a little,
and produce a gentle perspiration. Fire, indeed, appeared his element,
and so perfectly could he control and master it, that he received almost
by acclamation the title of “the Fire King.”

Human greatness, however is but transitory, and even the laurels of the
Fire King were wrested from him by the envious doctors of the metropolis,
who wished him to drink prussic acid of _their own manufacture_, an
invitation which he very politely and prudently declined. But though on
this account suspicion was cast on his pretensions as a poison-drinker,
yet his reputation as a “Fire King” remained untarnished. He could
continue in an oven heated above the temperature at which water boils,
and he did so daily. There was no trick in this performance, for he
used to take raw eggs into the oven with him, and send them out to the
company, well done by the heat of the place alone. It was thought no
man could imitate his example. But however wonderful the feats of this
conjuror may appear to persons unacquainted with science, and while it
must be confessed they were performed with an appearance of daring and
temerity which certainly entitled the exhibitor to some degree of praise,
yet his performances were merely a striking illustration of the power
which every individual possesses of regulating the temperature of his own
body; and there was scarcely one person of his audience but might himself
have been the exhibitor, with very little training and with very little
courage.

Of all the functions of the human body one of the most wonderful is that
by which it maintains in every climate, and in every variety of season,
an almost equal temperature. It would appear to be necessary for the due
performance of the vital functions that this temperature should never
suffer any great degree of variation, and nature has accordingly provided
the means by which, when exposed to cold, the body can generate heat; and
when exposed to heat, so reduce its temperature that no inconvenience
shall result. Before considering the manner in which these very
different though equally necessary results are produced, it will not be
uninteresting to notice a few examples of the power of endurance shown by
human beings and the lower animals in regard to extremes of temperature.
In another paper we will endeavour to explain the cause.

One of the most striking and familiar of the laws of heat is what is
termed by philosophers “its tendency to an equilibrium.” For instance,
if a heated iron ball is suspended nearly in contact with one quite
cold, the former in a short time will have imparted so much of its heat
to the latter that they will soon become almost of equal temperature.
If a penny piece is thrown into a kettle of boiling water it will soon
become as hot as the boiling water itself. If a cup of water is exposed
to a temperature below 32 degrees, it parts with so much of its natural
heat, to come into a state of equilibrium with the medium in which it
is placed, that it is converted into ice. These and many more familiar
instances might be mentioned as illustrating the law of heat above
alluded to. In short, it may be received as one of the best established
facts in philosophy, that any substance, no matter what may be its
texture or natural qualities, provided it does not possess life, will
soon acquire and maintain the same temperature as that of the medium in
which it is placed, so long as it continues in that medium. A piece of
the metal platinum in the furnace of a glass-house may be kept at a white
heat for years; a similar piece of metal, in an ice-house, will remain
below 32 degrees so long as it is kept there.

It would be unnecessary to notice so particularly these well-known facts,
but that they will tend to render more striking the power which living
bodies possess of resisting the law to which all unorganized bodies are
subject. Any thing possessing life _can maintain a different temperature
to the medium in which it lives_. The natural heat of fishes is two or
three degrees above that of the water in which they live; the natural
heat of creatures which live within the bowels of the earth, like the
earth-worm for example, is as much above the usual temperature of the
earth; while man himself maintains the heat of his body, as shown by the
thermometer placed under the tongue or armpits, at about 98 degrees,
under every variety of season, and in every climate under the sun. Were
a human being to be kept imprisoned in an ice-house, the heat of his
body could never sink to 32 degrees (the freezing point) while life
remained. In these mighty reservoirs of ice and cold, the arctic regions,
the blood of the rude creatures who exist there is as warm as that of
ourselves; and at the torrid zone, where the heat of the sun is almost
insupportable, the animal heat of the human frame is only one or two
degrees higher than it is at the frozen poles.

The power of the superior animals, and especially of man, to resist
high degrees of temperature, is very extraordinary. The account of
the performances of the “Fire King” already noticed, is a sufficient
proof of this. Dr Southwood Smith, in his excellent treatise on “Animal
Physiology,” gives a far more interesting description, however, of the
accidental discovery of this property of life, from which we quote the
following particulars:--“In the year 1760, at Rochefoucault, Messrs
Du Hamel and Tillet, having occasion to use a large public oven on
the same day in which bread had been baked in it, wished to ascertain
with precision its degree of temperature. This they endeavoured to
accomplish by introducing a thermometer into the oven at the end of a
shovel. On being withdrawn, the thermometer indicated a degree of heat
considerably above that of boiling water; but M. Tillet, convinced that
the thermometer had fallen several degrees on approaching the mouth of
the oven, and appearing to be at a loss how to rectify this error, a
girl, one of the attendants on the oven, offered to enter and mark with
a pencil the height at which the thermometer stood within the oven.
The girl smiled at M. Tillet’s appearing to hesitate at this strange
proposition, and entering the oven, marked with a pencil the thermometer
as standing at 260 degrees of Fahrenheit’s scale. M. Tillet began to
express his anxiety for the welfare of his female assistant, and to
press her return. This female salamander, however, assuring him that she
felt no inconvenience from her situation, remained there ten minutes
longer, when at length, the thermometer standing at that time at 288
degrees, or 76 degrees above that of boiling water, she came out of the
oven, her complexion indeed considerably heightened, but her respiration
by no means quick or laborious. The publication of this transaction
exciting a great degree of attention, several philosophers repeated
similar experiments, amongst which the most accurate and decisive were
those performed by Doctors Fordyce and Blagden. The rooms in which these
celebrated experimenters conducted their researches were heated by flues
in the floor. There was neither any chimney in them, nor any vent for
the air, excepting through the crevice at the door. Having taken off
his coat, waistcoat, and shirt, and being furnished with wooden shoes
tied on with lint, Dr Blagden went into one of the rooms as soon as the
thermometer indicated a degree of heat above that of boiling water.
The first impression of this heated air upon his body was exceedingly
disagreeable, but in a few minutes his uneasiness was removed by a
profuse perspiration. At the end of twelve minutes he left the room, very
much fatigued, but no otherwise disordered. The thermometer had risen to
220 degrees; the boiling point is 212 degrees. In other experiments it
was found that a heat even of 260 degrees could be borne with tolerable
ease. At these high temperatures every piece of metal about the body
of the experimenters became intolerably hot; small quantities of water
placed in metallic vessels quickly boiled. Though the air of this room,
which at one period indicated a heat of 264 degrees, could be breathed
with impunity, yet of course the finger could not be put into the boiling
water, which indicated only a heat of 212 degrees; nor could it bear the
touch of quicksilver heated only to 120 degrees, nor scarcely that of
spirits of wine at 110 degrees. But in a physiological view, the most
curious and important point to be noticed is, that while the body was
thus exposed to a temperature of 264 degrees, the heat of the body itself
never rose above 101 degrees, or at most 102 degrees. In one experiment,
while the heat of the room was 202 degrees, the heat of the body was
only 99½ degrees; its natural temperature in a state of health being 98
degrees.”

A similar power of withstanding extreme degrees of temperature is one
of the peculiar properties of every thing possessing life. It is well
known that an egg containing the living principle possesses the power of
self-preservation for several weeks, although exposed to a degree of heat
which would occasion the putrifaction of dead animal matter. During the
period of incubation (hatching) the egg is kept at a heat of 103 degrees,
the hen’s egg for three, that of the duck for four weeks; yet when the
chick is hatched, the entire yolk is found perfectly sweet, and that
part of the white which has not been expended in the nourishment of the
young bird is also quite fresh. It is found that if the living principle
be destroyed, as it may be instantaneously, by passing the electric
fluid through the egg, it becomes putrid in the same time as other dead
animal matter. The power of the egg in resisting cold is proved to be
equally great by several curious experiments of Hunter, the celebrated
physiologist, which were so managed as to show at the same time both
the power of the vital principle in resisting the physical agent, and
the influence of the physical agent in diminishing the energy of the
vital principle. Thus he exposed an egg to the temperature of 17 degrees
of Fahrenheit’s thermometer, he found that it took about half an hour
to freeze it. When thawed, and again exposed to a cold atmosphere, it
was frozen in one half the time, and when only at the temperature of 25
degrees. He then put a fresh egg, and one that had previously been frozen
and again thawed, into a cold mixture at 15 degrees: the dead egg was
frozen twenty-five minutes sooner than the fresh one. It is obvious that
in the one case the undiminished vitality of the fresh egg enabled it to
resist the low temperature for so long a period; in the other case the
diminished or destroyed vitality of the frozen egg occasioned it speedily
to yield to the influence of the physical agent.

Animals can withstand the effects of heat far better than the severity of
cold. The human frame suffers comparatively little even in the burning
deserts of Arabia, compared with what it endures in those wastes of ice
and snow which form the polar regions. Here the body is stunted in its
growth; there is no energy of mind or character; and life itself is only
preserved by extraordinary care and attention. When a person is exposed
to intense cold, it produces partial imbecility; he neglects even those
precautions which may enable him to withstand its severity. He refuses
to exercise his limbs, without which they become torpid; and, unable to
resist the drowsiness that seizes on his frame, he resigns himself to its
influence, becomes insensible, and dies. Even in our own climate this is
not an unfrequent occurrence; and we cannot conclude this paper better
than by quoting the expressive lines of Thomson, describing the death of
an unhappy peasant from the severity of a winter storm:--

    As thus the snows arise; and foul, and fierce,
    All winter drives along the darkened air;
    In his own loose revolving fields, the swain
    Disaster’d stands; sees other hills ascend,
    Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes,
    Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain:
    Nor finds the river nor the forest, hid
    Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on
    From hill to dale, still more and more astray,
    Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps,
    Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of home
    Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth
    In many a vain attempt. How sinks his soul!
    What black despair, what horror fills his breast!
    When for the dusky spot, which fancy feign’d
    His tufted cottage rising through the snow,
    He meets the roughness of the middle waste
    Far from the track and blest abode of man,
    While round him might resistless closes fast,
    And every tempest, howling o’er his head,
    Renders the savage wildness more wild.
    Then throng the busy shapes into his mind,
    Of covered pits unfathomably deep,
    A dire descent! beyond the power of frost;
    Of faithless bogs; Of precipices huge
    Smoothed up with snow; and what is land, unknown,
    What water of the still unfrozen spring,
    In the loose marsh or solitary lake,
    Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils.
    These check his fearful steps; and down he sinks
    Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift,
    Thinking o’er all the bitterness of death,
    Mix’d with the tender anguish nature shoots
    Through the wrung bosom of the dying man--
    His wife--his children--and his friends unseen.
    In vain for him the officious wife prepares
    The fire, fair, blazing, and the vestment warm.
    In vain his little children, peeping out
    Into the mingling storm, demand their sire
    With tears of artless innocence. Alas!
    Nor wife, nor children more shall he behold--
    Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve
    The deadly winter seizes; shuts up sense,
    And, o’er his inmost vitals creeping cold,
    Lays him along the snows, a stiffened corse,
    Stretch’d out, and bleaching in the northern blast.

                                                       J. S. D.

       *       *       *       *       *

GRAVITY.--Gravity is an arrant scoundrel, and one of the most dangerous
kind too, because a sly one; and we verily believe that more honest,
well-meaning people are bubbled out of their goods and money by it in one
twelvemonth, than by pocket-picking and shop-lifting in seven. The very
essence of gravity is design, and consequently deceit; it is in fact a
taught trick to gain credit with the world for more sense and knowledge
than a man is really worth.



WAR.


War, it is said, kindles patriotism; by fighting for our country we learn
to love it. But the patriotism which is cherished by war, is ordinarily
false and spurious, a vice and not a virtue, a scourge to the world, a
narrow unjust passion, which aims to exalt a particular state on the
humiliation and destruction of other nations. A genuine enlightened
patriot discerns that the welfare of his own country is involved in the
general progress of society; and in the character of a patriot, as well
as of a Christian, he rejoices in the liberty and prosperity of other
communities, and is anxious to maintain with them the relations of peace
and amity.

It is said that a military spirit is the defence of a country. But it
more frequently endangers the vital interests of a nation, by embroiling
it with other states. This spirit, like every other passion, is impatient
for gratification, and often precipitates a country into unnecessary
war. A people have no need of a military spirit. Let them be attached to
their government and institutions by habit, by early associations, and
especially by experimental conviction of their excellence, and they will
never want means or spirit to defend them.

War is recommended as a method of redressing national grievances. But
unhappily the weapons of war, from their very nature, are often wielded
most successfully by the unprincipled. Justice and force have little
congeniality. Should not Christians everywhere strive to promote the
reference of national as well as of individual disputes to an impartial
umpire? Is a project of this nature more extravagant than the idea of
reducing savage hordes to a state of regular society? The last has been
accomplished. Is the first to be abandoned in despair?

It is said that war sweeps off the idle, dissolute, and vicious members
of the community. Monstrous argument! If a government may for this end
plunge a nation into war, it may with equal justice consign to the
executioner any number of its subjects whom it may deem a burden on the
state. The fact is, that war commonly generates as many profligates as
it destroys. A disbanded army fills the community with at least as many
abandoned members as at first it absorbed.

It is sometimes said that a military spirit favours liberty. But how is
it, that nations, after fighting for ages, are so generally enslaved?
The truth is, that liberty has no foundation but in private and public
virtue; and virtue, as we have seen, is not the common growth of war.

But the great argument remains to be discussed. It is said that without
war to excite and invigorate the human mind, some of its noblest energies
will slumber, and its highest qualities, courage, magnanimity, fortitude,
will perish. To this I answer, that if war is to be encouraged among
nations because it nourishes energy and heroism, on the same principle
war in our families, and war between neighbourhoods, villages, and
cities, ought to be encouraged; for such contests would equally tend to
promote heroic daring and contempt of death. Why shall not different
provinces of the same empire annually meet with the weapons of death, to
keep alive their courage? We shrink at this suggestion with horror; but
why shall contests of nations, rather than of provinces or families, find
shelter under this barbarous argument?

I observe again: if war be a blessing, because it awakens energy and
courage, then the savage state is peculiarly privileged; for every savage
is a soldier, and his whole modes of life tend to form him to invincible
resolution. On the same principle, those early periods of society were
happy, when men were called to contend, not only with one another, but
with beasts of prey; for to these excitements we owe the heroism of
Hercules and Theseus. On the same principle, the feudal ages were more
favoured than the present; for then every baron was a military chief,
every castle frowned defiance, and every vassal was trained to arms. And
do we really wish that the earth should again be overrun with monsters,
or abandoned to savage or feudal violence, in order that heroes may be
multiplied? If not, let us cease to vindicate war as affording excitement
to energy and courage.--_Channing._

       *       *       *       *       *

Suffer not your spirit to be subdued by misfortunes, but, on the
contrary, steer right onward, with a courage greater than your fate seems
to allow.

       *       *       *       *       *

    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. 50, June 12, 1841" ***

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