The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 42, April 17, 1841
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Title: The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 42, April 17, 1841

Author: Various

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL, VOL. 1 NO. 42, APRIL 17, 1841 ***

THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

Number 42. | SATURDAY, APRIL 17, 1841. | Volume I.

ANTRIM CASTLE, THE RESIDENCE OF THE EARL OF MASSARENE

The fine old mansion of the noble family of Skeffington, of which our prefixed wood-cut will give a very correct general idea, is well deserving of notice, not only from its grandeur of size and the beauty of its situation, but still more as presenting an almost unique example, in Ireland, of the style of domestic architecture introduced into the British islands from France, immediately after the Restoration.

This castle is generally supposed to have been erected in or about the year 1662, by Sir John Clotworthy, Lord Massarene, who died in 1665, and whose only daughter and heir, Mary, by her marriage with Sir John, the fifth baronet of the Skeffington family, carried the Massarene estate and title into the latter family. But though there can be no doubt, from the architectural style of the building, that Antrim castle was re-edified at this period, there is every reason to believe that it was founded long before, and that it still preserves, to a great extent, the form and walls of the original structure. The Castle of Antrim, or Massarene, as it is now generally called, appears to have been originally erected early in the reign of James I., by Sir Hugh Clotworthy, who, by the establishment of King James I. had the charge of certain boats at Massarene and Lough Sidney, or Lough Neagh, with an entertainment of five shillings Irish by the day, and 18 men to serve in and about the said boats, at ten-pence Irish by the day each. This grant was made to him by patent for life, in 1609; and on a surrender of it to the king in 1618, it was re-granted to him, and his son and heir John Clotworthy, with a pension of six shillings and eight pence per day, and to the longer liver of them for life, payable out of the revenue. For this payment Sir Hugh Clotworthy and his son were to build and keep in repair such and so many barks and boats as were then kept upon the lough, and under his command, without any charge to the crown, to be at all times in readiness for his Majesty’s use, as the necessity of his service should require. John Clotworthy succeeded his father as captain of the barks and boats, by commission dated the 28th January 1641, at 15s. a-day for himself; his lieutenant, 4s.; the master, 4s.; master’s mate, 2s.; a master gunner, 1s. 6d.; two gunners, 12d.; and forty men at 8d. each.

On the breaking out of the rebellion shortly afterwards, the garrison at Antrim was considerably increased, and the fortifications of the castle and town were greatly strengthened by Sir John Clotworthy, who became one of the most distinguished leaders of the parliamentary forces in the unhappy conflict which followed. Still commanding the boats of Lough Neagh, that magnificent little inland sea, as we may not very improperly call it, became the scene of many a hard contest between the contending parties, of one of which Sir R. Cox gives the following graphic account. It took place in 1642.

“But the reader will not think it tedious to have a description of a naval battel in Ireland, which happened in this manner: Sir John Clotworthy’s regiment built a fort at Toom, and thereby got a convenience to pass the Ban at pleasure, and to make incursions as often as he pleased into the county of Londonderry. To revenge this, the Irish garrison at Charlemont built some boats, with which they sailed down the Black-water into Loughneagh and preyed and plundered all the borders thereof. Hereupon, those at Antrim built a boat of twenty tun, and furnished it with six brass guns; and they also got six or seven lesser boats, and in them all they stowed three hundred men, under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Owen O’Conally (the discoverer of the rebellion, who was a stout and active man) and Captain Langford. These sailed over the lough, and landed at the mouth of the Black-water, where they cast up two small forts, and returned. But the Irish found means to pass by these forts, in dark nights, and not only continued their former manner of plundering, but also raised a small fort at Clanbrazill, to protect their fleet upon any emergency. Upon notice of this, Conally and Langford manned out their navy again, and met the Irish near the shore of Clanbrazill; whereupon a naval battel ensued: but the rebels being fresh-water soldiers, were soon forced on shore; and the victors pursuing their fortune, followed them to the fort, and forced them to surrender it: and in this expedition sixty rebels were slain, and as many were taken prisoners, which, together with the boats, were brought in triumph to Antrim.”

But Sir John Clotworthy’s little fleet were not always so successful against the Irish as on this occasion. In an Irish MS. journal of the rebellion it is stated that on the 15th September 1645, a boat belonging to the governor of Massarene was captured by Sir Felim O’Neil, in which were two brass cannon, ten muskets, twelve barrels of salted fish, some sailors, and a company of soldiers. They brought it to the mouth of the river Black-water, at Charlemont. The journalist coolly adds, “Some of the men were hanged, and some redeemed!” And again, according to the same authority, in May 1646, Sir Felim had the good fortune to capture seven boats, taking fourteen men prisoners, and killing above twenty more. However, upon the whole, the governor of Massarene did good service to the cause of the Protector, for which, in consideration of the surrender of his pension of 6s. 8d. a-day, &c. an indenture was perfected on the 14th of August 1656 between the Protector and him, whereby a lease was granted him for 99 years of Lough Neagh, with the fishing and soil thereof, and the islands therein, and also the lough and river of Ban, and as far as the Salmon-leap, containing six salmon-fishings, and two mixed fishings of salmon and eels, &c.; and being instrumental in forwarding the restoration of King Charles II. after Cromwell’s death, he was raised to the peerage by patent, dated at Westminster, Nov. 21, 1660, by the title of Baron of Lough Neagh and Viscount Massarene, entailing the honours, in case of failure of his issue male, on Sir John Skeffington and his issue male, with whom they have since remained. A new patent, constituting Sir John Skeffington captain of Lough Neagh, was granted to him in 1680.

We shall conclude with a few words upon the castle itself, which is beautifully situated at the extremity of the principal street of the town of Antrim, on the banks of the Six-mile-water river, and immediately contiguous to Lough Neagh. The entrance from the town is through a fine gate-house, in the Tudor style of architecture, built of cut lime-stone, and closed by two folding-doors of cast iron, which are opened from a room overhead by means of machinery. The principal front of the castle faces the gate-house, and is in the centre of a curtain wall, connecting two large square towers placed at the angles of the building, and which again have smaller circular towers at three of their angles. This front is approached by a magnificent double stone staircase, and presents a great variety of enrichments in the French style of the seventeenth century, and is also decorated with shields having the armorial bearings of the founder’s family, and with medallions containing the portraits of Charles I. and II. The greatest length of the castle, however, runs parallel with the river, from which it is separated only by a low parapet wall, while the terraces of the gardens are situated on the other side. These gardens are no less attractive than the castle itself, with which they appear to be of equal age; they are laid out in the French style, the flower-beds being formed into a variety of patterns, among which that of the fleur-de-lis is the most common and conspicuous. This design is in its way extremely beautiful, and to carry it out fully, no expense or trouble seems to have been spared. The borders are often of triple and quadruple rows of box, between which is laid fine gravel of different colours, which adds greatly to the effect. It is said that a red kind of this gravel was imported from Holland, and cost upwards of 1s. 2d. a quart. This garden is traversed from east to west by a succession of fish-ponds, of which the most central one is circular, and the rest oblong: and miniature cascades conduct the water from the most elevated of these ponds to the lowest. The timber in this garden is of great age and beauty, particularly the lime and oak; and it contains two or three specimens of the rhododendron, which are celebrated for their magnificence, being fully fifteen feet in height, and of corresponding circumference.

The house contains some fine pictures and curious articles of antique furniture.

P.

ORIGIN AND MEANINGS OF IRISH FAMILY NAMES.

BY JOHN O’DONOVAN.

Second Article.

In returning to the subject of the origin of Irish family names, I feel it necessary to adduce two or three additional instances of the erroneous statements put forward by Mr Beauford, as they have had such an injurious influence with subsequent Irish writers on this subject:—

3. “Osragh, derived from Uys raigagh, or the kingdom between the waters, the present Ossory, called also Hy Paudruig, or the district of the country between the rivers, &c., the hereditary chiefs of which were denominated Giolla Paudruig, or the chief of the country between the rivers, called also Mac Giolla Padruic,” &c.

This seems an exquisite specimen of etymological induction, and I have often heard it praised as beautiful and ingenious; but it happens that every assertion made in it is untrue! Osragii is not the Irish name of this territory, but the Latinized form of the name of the inhabitants. Again, Osragii is not compounded of Uys and raigagh; and even if it were, these two vocables are not Irish words, and could not mean what is above asserted, the kingdom between the waters. Again, Ossory was never called Hy Pau-druic, and even if it were, Hy Pau-druic would not mean “district of the country between the rivers.” Next, the hereditary chiefs were not denominated Giolla Paudruic, but Mic Giolla Paudruic (a name afterwards anglicized Fitzpatrick), from an ancestor called Giolla Paudruic, who was chief of Ossory in the tenth century, and who is mentioned in all the authentic Irish annals as having been killed by Donovan, the son of Imar, king of the Danes of Waterford, in the year 975. Moreover, Giolla-Phadruic, the name of this chieftain, does not mean “chief of the country between the rivers,” as Mr Beauford would have us believe, but servant of Saint Patrick, which, as a man’s name, became very common in Ireland shortly after the introduction of Christianity, for at this time the Irish were accustomed to give their children names not only after the Irish apostle, but also after other distinguished saints of the primitive Irish church; and the names of these saints were not at this period adopted as the names of the children, but the word Giolla, or Maol, servant, was generally prefixed to the names of the saints to form those of the children: thus, Giolla Padruic, the servant of St Patrick; Giolla Ciarain, the servant of St Kieran; Giolla Caoimhghin, the servant of St Kevin; Giolla Coluim, the servant of St Columb, &c.

4. “Conmaicne mara, or the chief tribe on the great sea, comprehending the western parts of the county of Galway on the sea coast; it was also called Conmaicne ira, or the chief tribe in the west, and Iar Connaught, that is, west Connaught; likewise Hy Iartagh, or the western country: the chiefs of which were denominated Hy Flaherty or O’Flaherty, that is, the chief of the nobles of the western country, and containing the present baronies of Morogh, Moycullen, and Ballinahinch.”

This is also full of bold assertions, unsupported by history or etymology. Conmaicne does not mean the chief tribe, but the race of a chieftain called Conmac; Conmaicne mara, which is now anglicised Connamara, was never called Conmaicne ira, and Conmaicne mara and Iar Connaught are not now coextensive, nor were they considered to be so at any period of Irish history. Conmaicne mara was never called Hy Iartagh, and O’Flaherty was not the ancient chief of Conmaicne mara, for O’Flaherty was located in the plains of Moy Seola, lying eastwards of Lough Corrib, until he was driven across that lake into the wilds of Connamara by the De Burgos in the 13th century. Again, the surname O’Flaherty does not mean “the chief of the nobles of the western district,” but is derived from Flaithbheartach, who was chief of Hy Briuin Seola, not of Conmaicne mara, in the tenth century; and this chief was not the first who received the name, for it was the name of hundreds of far more distinguished chieftains who flourished in other parts of Ireland many centuries before him, and O’Flaherty became the name of a far more powerful family located in the north of Ireland; which shows that the name has no reference to north or west, but must look for its origin to some other source. Now, to any one acquainted with the manner in which compound words are formed in the Irish language, it will be obvious that the name Flaithbheartach is not derived from a locality or territory, but that it is formed from flaith, a chief, and beart, a deed or exploit, in the following manner: flaith, a lord or chief, flaithbheart, a lordly deed or exploit; and by adding the adjective and personal termination ach (which has nearly the same power with the Latin ax), we have flaithbheartach, meaning the lordly-deeded, or a man of lordly or chieftain-like exploits. According to the same mechanism, which is simple and regular, are formed several other compound words in this language, as oirbheart, a noble deed; oirbheartach, noble-deeded, &c.

Finally, Mr Beauford is wrong in the extent which he gives to Conmaicne mara. He is wrong in giving Morogh as the name of a modern barony, for there is none such in existence; and we have the most indisputable evidence to prove that the territory of Conmaicne mara, now called Connamara, never since the dawn of authentic history comprised more than one barony. It is to be regretted that these etymological phantasies of Mr Beauford about the country of O’Flaherty are received as true history by the O’Flahertys themselves, and repeated in modern topographical and literary productions of great merit.

I shall give one specimen more of this writer’s erroneous mode of explaining topographical names, and I shall then have done with him.

5. “Cairbre Aobhdha, or the district on the water, from cairbre, a district, and aobhdha, waters; the present barony of Kenry, in the county of Limerick. This country was also denominated Hy dun na bhan, or the hilly district on the river; the ancient chiefs whereof were called Hy Dun Navan or O’Donovan, that is, the chiefs of the hilly country on the river.”

Here every single assertion comprises a separate error. Cairbre does not mean a district, and aobhdha does not mean waters. This territory was not otherwise called Hy Dunnavan; and even if it were, that name would not mean “the hilly district on the river.” Again, the territory of Cairbre Aobhdha is not the barony of Kenry, neither is it a hilly district, but one of the most level plains in all Ireland; and lastly, the name O’Donovan does not moan “chiefs of the hilly district on the river,” for this family name was called after Donovan, the son of Cathal, chief of the Hy Figeinte, a people whose country extended from the river Shannon to the summit of Slieve Logher in the county of Kerry, and from Bruree and the river Maigue westwards to the verge of the present county of Kerry. He flourished in the tenth century, and was killed by the famous Brian Boru in a pitched battle, fought in the year 977; and his name was derived, not from his “hilly country on the river” Maigue, as Mr Beauford would have us believe (though it must be acknowledged that he resided at Bruree, which is a dun-abhann, or dun of the river), but from the colour of his hair; for the name is written by Mac Firbis and others Dondubhan, which signifies brown-haired chief.

I trust I have now clearly proved the fallacy of Mr Beauford’s mode of investigating the origin and meaning of the names of Irish families and territories. It is by processes similar to the five specimens above given that he has attempted to demonstrate his theory, that the names of Irish tribes and families were derived from the territories and localities in which they dwelt, a theory never heard of before his time; for up to the time of the writers of the Collectanea de Rebus Hibernicis, all were agreed that the Irish tribes took their surnames from certain distinguished ancestors, while the Saxons and Anglo-Normans took theirs generally from their territories and places of residence. For further information on this subject I refer the reader to Verstegan’s work, entitled “Restitution of Decayed Intelligence” and Camden’s “Remains.” The learned Roderic O’Flaherty, in his Ogygia Vindicated, p. 170, speaks on this subject in terms which Mr Beauford could not have mistaken. “The custom of our ancestors was not to take names and creations from places and countries as it was with other nations, but to give the name of the family to the seigniory by them occupied.”

To prove that I am not alone in the estimate that I have thus formed of the speculations of Mr Beauford, I shall here cite the opinions of a gentleman, the best acquainted of all modern writers with this subject, the venerable Charles O’Conor, of Belanagare, who, in a letter to the Chevalier Thomas O’Gorman, dated May 31, 1783, speaking of two tracts which he had published, to refute some errors of Dr Ledwich and Mr Beauford, says—

“Both were drawn from me to refute very injurious as well as very false representations published in the 9th number of the same Collectanea by Mr Ledwich, minister of Achaboe, and Mr Beauford, a schoolmaster in Athy. Little moved by any thing I have written against these gentlemen, the latter published his Topography of Ireland in the 11th number, the most flagrant imposition that I believe ever appeared in our own or in any age. This impelled me to resume the subject of our antiquities, and add the topography of Ireland, as divided into districts and tribes in the second century; a most curious record, preserved in the Lecan and Glendalough collections, as well as in your Book of Ballymote. I have shown that Beauford, a stranger to our old language, had but very slight materials for our ancient topography, and distorted such as he had to a degree which has no parallel, except perhaps in the dreams of a sick man in a phrenzy.”[1]

Again, the same gentleman, writing to his friend J. C. Walker on the same subject, expresses himself as follows:—

“Mr Beauford has given me satisfaction in his tract on our ancient literature, published in the Collectanea, and yet, in his ancient topography of Ireland, a book as large as his own might be written to detect his mistakes.”

It is quite obvious from the whole testimony of authentic Irish history that the names of tribes in Ireland were not derived from the territories and localities in which they dwelt, but from distinguished ancestors; for nine-tenths of the names of territories, and of the names of the tribes inhabiting them, are identical. The tribe names were formed from those of the progenitors, by prefixing the following words:—

1. Corc, Corca, race, progeny, as Corc-Modhruadh, now Corcomroe in Clare, Corca-Duibhne, now Corcaguinny in Kerry.

2. Cineal, race, descendants; cineal Eoghain, the race of Eoghan; cineal Conaill, the race of Conall. This word is translated Genus throughout the Annals of Ulster.

3. Clann, children, descendants; as clann Colmain, the tribe name of a great branch of the southern Hy-Niall.

4. Dal, tribe, descendants, as Dal-Riada, Dal-Araidhe, Dal-g-cais, Dal Mesincorb, &c. This word has been explained by the venerable Bede, and from him by Cormac Mac Cullenan, archbishop of Cashel, as signifying part or portion in the Scottic language; but from the manner in which it is used in Irish genealogies, this would appear to be but a secondary and figurative meaning. O’Flaherty seems to doubt that this word could be properly translated part; but Charles O’Conor, who gave much consideration to the subject, writes in a note to Ogygia Vindicated, p. 175, “that dal properly signifies posterity, or descent by blood; but in an enlarged and figurative sense it signifies a district, that is, the division or part allotted to such posterity: that of this double sense we have numberless instances, and that in this second sense Bede’s interpretation is doubtlessly admissible.”

5. Muintir, family, people; as Muintir Murchadha, the tribe name which the O’Flahertys bore before the establishment of surnames.

6. Siol, seed, progeny; as Siol Aodha, seed of Hugh, the tribe name of a branch of the Mac Namaras in Thomond; Siol Maoluidhir, the progeny of Maeleer, a great tribe in Leinster, who gave name to the territory of Shelmalier, in the county of Wexford.

7. Tealach, family; as Telach Eathach, the family of Eochy, the tribe name of the Magaurans in Breffney.

8. Sliocht, posterity; as Sliocht Aodha Slaine, the progeny of King Hugh Slany in Meath.

9. Ua, grandson, descendant; nominative plural, ui; dative or ablative, uibh. This prefix in its upright uninflected form appears in the names of Irish tribes oftener than any of the other seven. Some ignorant Irish scribes have supposed that it signifies a region or country, and some of the modern transcribers of Keating’s History of Ireland have taken the liberty to corrupt it to aoibh, a form not to be found in any ancient or correct MS. In support of the meaning above given may be adduced the high authority of Adamnan, abbot of Iona in the 7th century, who, in his life of his predecessor St Columbkille, invariably renders ua, ui, uibh, nepos, nepotes, nepotibus, in conformity with his habitual substitution of Latin equivalents for Irish tribe names, as often as he found it practicable. Thus, in the 16th chapter of the second book, he renders Ua Briuin, nepos Briuni; in the 5th chapter of the third book he translates Ua Ainmirech, nepos Ainmirech; in the 17th chapter of the same book he translates Ua Liathain, nepos Liathain; in the 49th chapter of the first book he renders Ui Neill, nepotes Nelli, i.e., the race of Niall; and in the 22d chapter of the same book he translates Ui Tuirtre, nepotes Tuitre.

We have also for the same interpretation the authority of the annalist Tigernach, who, in his Annals of Ireland at the year 714, translates Ui Eachach (now Iveagh, in the county Down), nepotes Eochaidh.

On this subject it may not be uninteresting to the reader to hear the opinion of the learned Roderic O’Flaherty. Treating of the Hy Cormaic, a tribe located near Lough Foyle, in the present county of Londonderry, he says—

“Hy or I (which calls for an explanation) is the plural number from Hua or O, a grandson, and is frequently prefixed to the names of progenitors of families, as well to particularize the families as the lands they possess, as Dal, Siol, Clann, Kinel, Mac, Muintir, Teallach, or any such name, pursuant to the adoptive power of custom.”—Ogygia, Part III. Chap. 76.

Besides the words above enumerated, after which the names of progenitors are placed, there are others to be met with after which the names of territories are placed, as Aes, people; Fir or Feara, men; Aicme, tribe; and Pobul, people; as Aes Greine, i.e., the people of Grian, a tribe located in the present county of Limerick; Aes tri Magh, the people of the three plains, in the same county; Feara Muighe Feine, the men of Moy Feine, now Fermoy, in the county of Cork; Fir Rois, the men of Ross, the name of a tribe in the present county of Monaghan; Feara Arda, i.e., the men of Ard, a tribe in the present county of Louth; Pobul Droma, in Tipperary.

Many other names were formed by a mode not unlike the Latin and Greek method, that is, by adding certain terminations to the name or cognomen of the ancestors of the tribes. These terminations are generally raighe, aighe, ne, and acht, as Caenraighe, Muscraighe, Dartraighe, Calraighe, Ciarraighe, Tradraighe, Greagraighe, Ernaidhe, Mairtine, Conmaicne, Olnegmacht, Connacht, Cianacht, Eoghanacht, &c. &c. This is the usual form of the tribe names among the descendants of the Belgic families enumerated in the Books of Lecan and Glendalough, as existing in Ireland in the first century, and it is not improbable that the tribe names given on Ptolemy’s Map of Ireland are partly fanciful translations, and partly modifications of them.

It appears from the authentic Irish annals, and the whole tenor of Irish history, that the Irish people were distinguished by tribe names only up to the period of the monarch Brian Boru, who published an edict that the descendants of the heads of tribes and families then in power should take name from them, either from the fathers or grandfathers, and that these names should become hereditary and remain fixed for ever. To this period we must refer the origin of family names or surnames.

Previously to this reign the Irish people were divided into various great tribes commanded by powerful chieftains, usually called kings, and these great tribes were further sub-divided into several minor ones, each commanded by a petty chieftain, but who was subject to the control of the Righ, or head of the great tribe. Thus, in Thomond the name of the great tribe was Dal Cais, from Cormac Cas, the progenitor of the regal family, and of all the sub-tribes into which this great race was divided. Immediately before the establishment of surnames, Brian Boru, whose descendants took the name of O’Brien, was the leader and supposed senior representative of this great race; but there were various other tribes under him, known by various appellations, as the Hy-Caisin otherwise clann Cuileain, who after the reign of Brian took the name of Mac Namara; the Kinel-Fearmaic, who took the name of O’Dea; Muintir Iffernain, who took the name of O’Quin; the Kinel Donghaile, who took the name of O’Grady; the Sliocht Dunchuain, who took the name of O’Kennedy; the Hy-Ronghaile, who took the name of O’Shanaghan; the Hy-Kearney, who took the name of O’Ahern, &c.

The chiefs of these tribes had generally the names of their fathers postfixed to their own, and sometimes, but not often, those of their grandfathers; but previous to the reign of Brian in the tenth century, these appellations changed in every generation.

The next article shall treat of surnames.

[1] Original in possession of Messrs Hodges and Smith, College Green, Dublin.

BOYHOOD AND MANHOOD.

Oh, for the merry, merry month of June,

When I was a little lad!

When the small birds’ throats were all in tune,

And the very fields were glad.

And the flowers that alas! were to fade too soon,

In their holiday clothes were clad.

Oh, I remember—remember well,

The scent of the morning grass,

Nor was there a sight, sweet sound, or sweet smell,

That can e’er from my memory pass:

For they lie on my heart with the power of a spell,

Like the first love I felt for a lass.

Ay, there is the river in which I swam,

The field where I used to play—

The fosse where I built the bridge and the dam,

And the oak in whose shade I lay:

But, oh, how changed a thing I am!

And how unchanged are they!

Time was—ah! that was the happy time!—
When I longed a man to be;
When a shaven chin was a thing sublime—
And a fine thing to be free:
And methought I had nought to do but climb
To the height of felicity.

But, alas! my beard is waxen grey
Since I mingled among men;
And I’m not much wiser, nor half so gay,
Nor so good as I was then;—
And I’d give much more than I care to say
To be a boy again.

N.

Old Age.—Remember, old man, that you are now in the waning, and the date of your pilgrimage well nigh expired; and now that it behoveth you to look towards your final accounting, your force languisheth, your senses impair, your body droops, and on every side the ruinous cottage of your faint and feeble flesh threateneth the fall; and having so many harbingers of death to premonish you of your end, how can you but prepare for so dreadful a stranger? The young man may die quickly, but the old man cannot live long; the young man’s life by casualty may be abridged, but the old man’s term by no physic can be long adjourned; and therefore, if green years should sometimes think of the grave and the judgment, the thoughts of old age should continually dwell on the same.—Remains of Sir Walter Raleigh.

EXTRAORDINARY DETECTION OF MURDER.

It is a speculation perhaps equally interesting to the philosophic as to the untutored mind, and dwelt on with as much placidity by the one as by the other, to reflect on the various and extraordinary modes by which the hand of Providence has through all ages withdrawn the dark mantle of concealment from the murderer’s form, and stamped condemnation on his brow—sometimes before the marks of the bloody deed were yet dried, and sometimes after long years of security had seemed to insure final escape, whether the detection arose from some peculiar circumstance awaking remorse so powerfully as to compel the murderer to self-accusation through an ungovernable impulse; from the hauntings of guilty terror; from over-anxiety to avoid suspicion; or from some utterly slight and unforeseen casualty.

The popular belief has always been, that of all criminals the shedder of blood never escapes detection and punishment even in this life; and though a very limited experience may show the fallacy of such belief as regards the vengeance man can inflict, who may conceive that inflicted by the tortured conscience?—that hell which even the unbeliever does not mock, which permits neither hope nor rest, invests the summer sunshine with a deeper blackness than that of midnight, peoples the air with moving and threatening spectres, embodies the darkness into terrible shapes, and haunts even slumber with visionary terrors more hideous than the worst realities.

The records of crime in our own and other countries contain numerous striking examples of the detection of murder by singular and sometimes apparently trivial means. These have appeared in a variety of published forms, and are of course generally known; but we shall select a few unpublished instances which have come within our own cognizance, and seem to us to possess peculiar and striking features of their own, in the hope that they may be found to possess some interest for the readers of the Irish Penny Journal.

The case we shall first select, not so much for the manner of the murderer’s detection as for the singular plan he struck out to escape suspicion, and the strange circumstances connected with the crime and its punishment altogether, is that of a man named M’Gennis, for the murder of his wife.

M’Gennis, when we saw him on his trial, was a peculiarly powerful-looking man, standing upwards of six feet, strongly proportioned, and evidently of great muscular strength. His countenance, however, was by no means good, his face being colourless, his brow heavy, and the whole cast of his features stern and forbidding. From his appearance altogether he struck us at once as one eminently fitted and likely to have played a conspicuous part in the faction fights so common during his youth at our fairs and markets. But though we made several inquiries both then and since, we could not learn that he had ever been prominent in such scenes, or remarkable for a quarrelsome disposition. He was a small farmer, residing at a village nearly in a line between the little town of Claremorris, and the still smaller but more ancient one of Ballyhaunis, near the borders of Mayo. With him lived his mother and wife, a very comely young woman, it is said, to whom he had not been long married at the time of the perpetration of the murder, and with whom he had never had any previous altercation such as to attract the observation or interference of the neighbours.

It was on a market evening of Claremorris, in the year 1830, that the mother of M’Gennis, a withered hag, almost doubled with age, and who on our first seeing her strongly reminded us of the witches that used, in description at least, to frighten and fascinate our boyhood, hobbled with great apparent terror into the cabin nearest her own, and alarmed the occupants by stating that she had heard a noise in the potato room, and that she feared her daughter-in-law was doing some harm to herself. Two or three of them accordingly returned speedily with her, and, entering the room, saw the lifeless body of the unfortunate young woman lying on the potatoes in a state of complete nudity. There was no blood or mark of violence on any part of the body, except the face and throat, round the latter of which a slight handkerchief was suffocatingly tied, by which she had evidently been strangled, as both face and neck were blackened and swollen.

Who then had perpetrated the deed? was the question whispered by all the neighbours as they came and went. M’Gennis, according to his mother’s account, had not yet returned from the market; the hag herself would not have had strength to accomplish the murder even if bloody-minded enough to attempt it, and it was next to an impossibility that the young woman herself could have committed self-destruction in that manner.

While the callous hag was so skilfully supporting her part in the murderous drama, the chief performer, who had not been seen to return from the market, immediately after the commission of the horrid deed, through whatever motive he had done it, crossed a neighboring river to Bricken, where it intersects the high-road by means of stepping-stones, as bridge it had none,[2] though it is occasionally in winter a furious torrent. On the opposite side he chanced to meet a country tailor (we forget his name), who was proceeding from one village to another, to exercise his craft in making and mending; and the devil suggesting a plan on the spur of the moment, which was to recoil with destruction on his guilty head, he forced the tailor to take on his knees the most fearful oaths that he would never divulge what should then be revealed to him, and that he would act in strict conformity with the directions he should receive, threatening, if he refused compliance, to beat out his brains with a stone, and then fling him into the river.

The affrighted tailor having of course readily taken the required oaths, M’Gennis confessed to him the murder of his wife, using at the same time horrible imprecations, that if ever a word on the subject escaped the tailor’s lips, he would, dead or alive, take the most deadly vengeance on him. He then proceeded to cut and dinge his hat in several places, and inflict various scratches on his hands and face, directing the tailor to assert that he had found him attacked by four men on the road, on his return from Claremorris; after which, to give the more appearance of probability to the tale, he obliged his involuntary accessory after the fact (as the law has it) to bear him on his back to a cabin at some distance, as if the murderer were too weak to proceed himself after the violent assault committed on him. And here, if we could venture to raise a smile in the course of so revolting a detail, we would observe, that it must have been a ludicrous sight to see the tailor, who was but a meagre specimen of humanity, trailing along the all but giant frame of the murderer. The poor tailor’s own feelings were, however, at the time much more akin to mortal terror than to mirth or humour, as he found at the same time his mind burdened with an unwished-for, terrible, and dangerous secret, and himself in company with the murderer, who might at any moment change his mind, repent his confession, and take his life too.

On reaching the cabin, the tailor told the story of the pretended attack, as he had been directed, while M’Gennis himself, showing his scratches, and detailing in a weak voice the assault on him by men he did not know, affected such faintness as to fall from the chair on which he had been placed. A farrier was then procured at his request; and to such lengths did he proceed with the plan he had struck out, that he got himself blooded, though the farrier shrewdly perceived at the same time (according to his after evidence) that there seemed to be no weakness whatever about him, except in his voice, and that his pulse was strong and regular.

It may seem strange at first that M’Gennis should have divulged to the tailor, an entire stranger, the secret of his guilt, then unknown to any being on earth but his mother; an instant’s reflection will show us that when once the thought occurred to make use of the tailor’s assistance in the manner described to aid him in avoiding detection, he might just as well confess the whole terrible secret, which, coming from him, would strike additional terror—the only engine on which he could rely for procuring the secrecy and assistance he required. Accordingly, so strongly was the terror impressed, that on the following day the tailor disappeared from that part of the country, and reappeared not, though M’Gennis and his mother were at once committed on suspicion, till the approach of the ensuing assizes, when he came forward, probably as much induced by the large reward offered for the murderer’s conviction, as for the purpose of disburdening himself of his fearful secret in aiding justice.

There was much interest excited at those assizes, we recollect, by the trial of M’Gennis and his mother, who were arraigned together, and of a grey-haired man named Cuffe, for a murder committed twenty-four years previously, of which more anon; and with respect to the former parties, there was unmixed abhorrence expressed by the numerous auditors. It was indeed a revolting sight, and one not readily to be forgotten, the towering and powerfully proportioned son in the prime of life, and apparently with the most hardened callousness, standing side by side to be tried for the same heinous offence with his withered parent, whose age-bowed head scarce reached his shoulder, while her rheumed and still rat-like eye wandered with an eager and restless gaze round the court, as if she was only alive to the novelty of the scene, and utterly unconcerned for the fearful position she stood in. It was absolutely heart-sickening to see how repeatedly the wretched hag pulled her guilty son towards her during the trial, to whisper remarks and inquiries, frequently altogether unconnected with the evidence, and the crime she was accused of and believed to have instigated and aided in.

Even in the strongly guarded court, it was on the side of the dock remotest from where M’Gennis stood that the tailor ventured forward to give his evidence, though the murderer’s reckless hardihood of bearing altered not for a moment, either in consequence of his appearance, or during the course of his evidence; in fact, he seemed to be principally occupied in answering his mother’s queries, and quieting her.

The testimony of the tailor, bearing strongly the impress of truth, singular as it was, was strengthened by that of the brother of the deceased, who seemed greatly affected while deposing that he had met M’Gennis in Claremorris on the day of the murder, and that the handkerchief afterwards found round his sister’s neck had been worn by the murderer on that occasion. There was not an iota of evidence for the prisoners, and accordingly a verdict against the son was instantly handed in, though the vile hag was acquitted for want of substantiating evidence against her, to the regret of a crowded court.

After condemnation, M’Gennis was placed in the same cell with Cuffe, the other murderer, who had been also convicted; and nothing could be more dissimilar than their demeanour while together. Cuffe was calm, communicative, and apparently penitent, while M’Gennis was sullen and silent; nor could all the exertions of the clergymen who attended him induce him to acknowledge either guilt or repentance. On the morning after conviction, an alarm was given in the cell by Cuffe, and on entering, the turnkeys found that M’Gennis had anticipated the hangman’s office, by rather strangling than hanging himself. He had effected the suicide by means of a slight kerchief appended to the latch of the door, which was scarcely three feet from the floor, and on a level with which he had brought his neck, by shooting the lower portion of his body along the cell-flags from the door; and perhaps not the least remarkable fact connected with this extraordinary suicide is, that the handkerchief was the very one with which he had effected the murder of his wife, and which had been produced on the trial. It is very unusual for any article produced in evidence to find its way to the dock, but in this case it appears the handkerchief must by some strange casualty have come into the hands of the murderer again; and having soaped it highly (he was allowed soap even in the condemned cell), he consummated his fearful deeds with it.

Shortly after the discovery of the suicide, we among others visited the cell to see the body, when, in a conversation with the acute and highly intelligent physician to the prison, he observed what iron nerves the murderer must have possessed to effect such a suicide, as from his own height, and the lowness of the latch, he must, in order to complete the strangulation, have persevered for several minutes in keeping his neck strained, during any one of which, up to the last few, he might have readily recovered himself. The body was still stretched on the flags, and exhibited the appearance of a very powerful frame; and when we considered the desperate and utterly fearless mind that had actuated it, it struck us, and others who spoke on the same subject, with more surprise than ever, that M’Gennis should not have been implicated in outrage and bloodshed long before. Such, however, it would appear, was not the case.

On being examined at the inquest, the other occupant of that fearful cell denied all knowledge of his brother convict’s intention to commit suicide, or of his having committed it, until morning, stating that he had slept soundly, and heard no noise whatever during the night—a circumstance which seems rather curious, as the cell was but of small dimensions, and M’Gennis must have certainly made some noise, from the manner in which he had perpetrated the horrid deed. On the other hand, it is well known that persons, no matter how restless or uneasy they may have been previously, almost invariably sleep soundly on the night before execution. All doubts and uncertainty are then over: the mental struggle has ceased.

Rumours, indeed, were afloat that Cuffe had witnessed the commission of the suicide, and that M’Gennis had urged him to do the like also, in order not to give their enemies and the crowd the gratification of witnessing their execution. But how could this circumstance be known, as Cuffe himself did not admit it? Another rumour was, that M’Gennis’s mother, at parting with him, had instigated him to the terrible act; and this we would be more inclined to give credit to, from what we have heard of her character, as well as from our own observation of her demeanour throughout the trial.

The crime of murder is always that most revolting and abhorrent to our nature; but when committed on our bosom partner, whom we have sworn to defend and cherish, and who in her helplessness looks up to us as her only stay and protection on earth, it assumes an utterly fiendish character. That it was felt to be so in M’Gennis’s case, unfortunately prone as we sometimes are to have sympathy for crime, we were ourselves a witness, as, on the verdict against him being proclaimed, there was an audible buzz of applause through the court; and when the account of his suicide afterwards became public, men expressed the most heart-felt gratification that the world was rid of such a fiend. Yet, singular it is that never since has it transpired, at least as far as we could learn, what motive M’Gennis could have had for the murder of his wife, to whom, as was before stated, he had not been long married. Reports there were, to be sure, that the wife and mother had led an uncomfortable and bickering life since coming together—unfortunately a very frequent case, and one which often produces much misery and crime in humble life; and that it was in consequence of the division of some milk at their homely evening meal, that an altercation arose, which, through the hag’s instigation, led to the destruction of the daughter-in-law, and eventually to that of the son. But as these rumours only became current after the murder, it is not easy to attach much credit to them, especially if we place any reliance on the statement that M’Gennis had returned home from Claremorris through fields and bye-paths to avoid being seen, as if he had been contemplating the crime. At all events, whether he had contemplated it, or whether it emanated from a sudden burst of wrath fanned by his parent’s wicked suggestions, it seems clearly not to have arisen from jealousy, hatred, or revenge—those passions so generally productive of such crime; and there is no one now living to explain the mystery, as the hag died without a word in explanation of it.

The space we have limited ourselves to, prevents us from saying more in this number of Cuffe, whose crime was of a much more national character, and occupied a good deal the attention of the government of the period; and whose detection, after a lapse of twenty-four years—in fact, after his having declined gradually from the prime of manhood to hoary-headed age—seems to go farther in supporting the popular prejudice that the murderer can never escape detection. But we shall take an early opportunity to detail to the reader his case, and the state of society that led to it.

A.

[2] There is a bridge now in progress of erection over it at this spot.

THE BALD BARRYS,
OR
THE BLESSED THORN OF KILDINAN.

“——Make curl’d-pate ruffians

Quite bald.”

Shakspeare.

The breeze of the declining March day blew keenly, as I strode across the extensive fields towards the old burial-ground of Kildinan, in the county of Cork. On reaching the ancient church, I rested on the broken bank that enclosed the cemetery, to contemplate the scene before me, and pause upon the generations of men that have been impelled along the stream of time towards the voiceless ocean of eternity, since the day on which an altar was first erected on this desolate spot, in worship of the Deity. The most accurate observer would scarcely suppose that this enclosure had ever been a place of interment, save that certain little hillocks of two or three spans long, and defined by a rude stone, were scattered along its surface. To a fanciful imagination these would seem to have been the graves of some pigmy nation, concerning which tradition had lost all remembrance. But the little sepulchres were the resting-places of unfortunate babes that die in the birth, or but wake to a consciousness of life—utter the brief cry of pain, and sleep in death for ever. These unbaptized ones are never permitted to mingle with Christian clay, and are always consigned to these disused cemeteries. With this exception, the old churchyard had long ceased to receive a human tenant, and its foundation could scarcely be traced beneath the rank grass. The father of the present proprietor of the land had planted the whole space with fir-trees, and these flourishing in the rich soil formed by decomposed human bodies for many a foot beneath, have shot up to an unusual size, and furnish a proof that even in death man is not wholly useless, and that, when his labour is ended, his carcase may fertilize the sod impoverished by his greedy toil. In these tall firs a colony of rooks had established their airy city, and while these young settlers were building new habitations, the old citizens of the grove were engaged in repairing the damage their homes had received from the storms of winter; and the shrill discordant voices of the sable multitude seemed to mock the repose of them that occupied the low and silent mansions beneath.

While indulging these grave reflections, I saw a man approach by the path I lately trod. He was far advanced in the decline of life; his tall figure, which he supported with a long staff, was wrapped in a blue-grey coat that folded close under a hair cincture, and the woollen hat, susceptible of every impression, was drawn over his face, as if to screen it from the sharp blast that rushed athwart his way. He suddenly stopped, then fixed his glance upon a certain spot of the burial ground where stood a blasted and branchless whitethorn, that seemed to have partaken of the ruin of the ancient fabric, over whose gross-grown foundation it yet lingered. Then raising his eyes to heaven, he sank upon his knees, while his lips moved as if in the utterance of some fervid ejaculation. Surely, thought I, this old man’s elevated devotion, at such a place and time, proceeds not solely from the ordinary motives that induce the penitent to pray—some circumstance, some tradition connected with this ancient place, has wrought his piety to this pitch of enthusiasm. Thus did my fancy conjecture at the moment, nor was I mistaken.

As the old man rose from his attitude of supplication, I approached and said, “My friend, I hope you will pardon this intrusion, for your sudden and impassioned devotion has greatly awakened my curiosity.”

He immediately answered in the Irish tongue, “I was only begging mercy and pardon for the souls who in the close darkness of the prison-house cannot relieve themselves, and beseeching that heaven would cease to visit upon the children the guilt of their fathers. This spot brought to my memory an act of sacrilege which my forefathers perpetrated, and for which their descendants yet suffer; and I did not conceive at the moment that a living being beheld me but God.

“Perhaps,” he continued, “as you seem to be a stranger in these parts, you have never heard of the Bald Barrys, and the blessed Whitethorn of Kildinan. It is an old tradition, and you may be inclined to name it a legend of superstition; but yonder is the whitethorn, blasted and decayed from the contact of my ancestors’ unholy hands; and here stands the last of their name, a homeless wanderer, with no other inheritance than this mark of the curse and crime of his race.” So saying, he pulled off the old woollen hat, and exhibited his head perfectly smooth and guiltless of a single hair.

“That old heads should become bald, is no uncommon occurrence,” I observed, “and I have seen younger heads as hairless as yours.”

“My head,” he returned, “from my birth to this moment, never knew a single hair; my father and grandfather endured the same privation, while my great-grandfather was deprived of his long and copious locks in one tearful moment. I shall tell you the story as we go along, if your course lies in the direction of this pathway.”

As we proceeded, he delivered the following legend. The old man’s phraseology was copious and energetic, qualities which I have vainly striven to infuse into the translation; for an abler pen would fail in our colder English of doing justice to the very poetical language of the narrator.

“Many a biting March has passed over the heads of men since Colonel Barry lived at Lisnegar. He was of the true blood of the old Strongbow chiefs, who became sovereign princes in the land; and forming alliances with the ancient owners of the soil, renounced the Saxon connection and name. This noble family gloried in the title of M’Adam;[3] and the colonel did not shame his descent. He kept open house for all comers, and every day an ox was killed and consumed at Lisnegar. All the gentlemen of the province thronged thither, hunting and hawking, and feasting and coshering; while the hall was crowded with harpers and pipers, caroughs and buckaughs, and shanachies and story-tellers, who came and went as they pleased, in constant succession. I myself,” said the old man, sighing, “have seen a remnant of these good old times, but now they are vanished for ever; the genius of hospitality has retired from the chieftain’s hall to the hovel on the moor; and the wanderer turns with a sigh from lofty groves and stately towers, to the shelter of the peasant’s shed!

David Barry and his seven brothers lived with M’Adam, and were of his own name and race; and whether he enjoyed the sport of the chase, or took the diversion of shooting, or moved among the high and titled of the land, they always accompanied him, and formed a sort of body-guard, to share his sports or assert his quarrels. At that time, on the banks of the Bride, near the ruined tower of Shanacloch, lived a man named Edmund Barry. A thick and briary covert on his farm had been for many years the haunt of a fox celebrated all over the south of Ireland for the extraordinary speed and prowess he evinced in the many attempts made to hunt him down. Many gallant and noble huntsmen sought the honour of bearing home his brush, but in vain; and it was a remarkable fact, that after tiring out both hounds and horses in the arduous pursuit, and though his flight might extend over a considerable part of the province, he invariably returned at night to his favourite covert. A treaty of peace, it would seem, had been tacitly instituted between Edmund Barry and the fox. Barry’s poultry for a series of years, whether they sought the banks of the Bride or the neighbourhood of the barn door, never suffered by the dangerous vicinity: Reynard would mix with Barry’s dogs and spend an hour of social intercourse with them, as familiarly as if he belonged to the same species; and Barry gave his wild crafty friend the same protection and licence that he permitted his own domestic curs. The fame of this strange union of interests was well known; and to this day the memory of Barry’s madra roc survives in the traditions of the country.

One evening as M’Adam and his train returned from a long and unsuccessful chase of Edmund Barry’s fox, their route lay by the ruins of the ancient church of Kildinan; near this sacred spot a whitethorn tree had stood, and its beauty and bloom were the theme of every tongue. The simple devotee who poured his orisons to God beneath its holy shade believed that the hands of guardian spirits pruned its luxuriance and developed its form of beauty—that dews from heaven were sprinkled by angel hands to produce its rich and beautiful blossoms, which, like those of the thorn of Glastonbury, loaded the black winds of December with many a token of holy fragrance, in welcome of the heavenly advent of Him who left his Father’s throne to restore to the sons of Adam the lost inheritance of heaven. M’Adam was charmed with the beauty of the tree, and little regarding the sanctity or the superstitious awe attached to its character, was resolved to transfer it to Lisnegar, that his lawn might possess that rare species of thorn which blooms in beauty when all its sisters of the field are bare and barren.

Next day, when M’Adam signified his intention of removing the whitethorn of Kildinan, his people stood aghast at his impiety, and one and all declared they would suffer a thousand deaths rather than perpetrate so audacious a sacrilege. Now, M’Adam was a man of high blood and haughty bearing, and accustomed at all times to the most rigid enforcement of his commands. When he found his men unhesitatingly refuse to obey him, his anger sent the glow of resentment to flush his cheek; he spurned the earth in a paroxysm of rage, exclaiming, ‘Varlets! of all that have eaten the bread of M’Adam, and reposed under the shadow of his protection, are there none free from the trammels of superstitious folly, to execute his commands?’

‘Here are seven of your own name and race,’ cried David Barry, ‘men sworn to stand and fall together, who obey no commands but yours, and acknowledge no law but your will. The whitethorn of Kildinan shall leave its sacred tenement, if strong hands and brave hearts can effect its removal. If it be profanation to disturb the tree which generations have reverenced, the curse for sacrilege rests not with us: and did M’Adam command us to tear the blessed gold from the shrine of a saint, we would not hesitate to obey—we were but executing the will of our legal chief.’

Such was the flattering unction which the retainers of M’Adam applied to their souls, as they proceeded to desecrate the spot hallowed by the reverence of ages, and around whose holy thorn superstition had drawn a mystic circle, within whose limit human foot may not intrude. Men have not yet forgotten this lesson of the feudal school; the sack of cities, the shrieks of women, the slaughter of thousands, are yet perpetrated without ruth or remorse in obedience to superior command, and the sublime Te Deum swells to consecrate the savage atrocity.

On that evening M’Adam saw the beautiful whitethorn planted in his lawn, and many were the thanks and high the reward of the faithful few who rose superior to the terrors of superstition in the execution of his commands. But his surprise was great when David Barry broke in upon his morning’s repose, to announce that the tree had disappeared during the night, and was again planted where it had stood for ages before, in the ancient cemetery of Kildinan. M’Adam, conjecturing that this object of the people’s veneration had been secretly conveyed by them during the night to its former abode, dispatched his retainers again to fetch it, with strict injunctions to lie in watch around it till morning. The brothers, obedient to the call of their chief, brought the whitethorn back, and having supported its stem, and carefully covered its roots with rich mould, after the most approved method of planting, prepared to watch round it all night, under the bare canopy of heaven. The night was long and dark, and their eyes sleepless; the night-breeze had sunk to repose, and all nature seemed hushed in mysterious awe. A deep and undefinable feeling of dread stole over the hearts of the midnight watchers; and they who could have rejoiced in the din of battle, were appalled by this fearful calm. Obedience to the commands of M’Adam could not steel their bosoms against the goadings of remorse, and the ill-suppressed murmur rose against their sacrilegious chief. As the night advanced, impelled by some strange fear, they extended their circle round the mysterious tree. At length David, the eldest and bravest of the brothers, fell asleep. His short and fitful snatches of repose were disturbed by wild and indistinct dreams; but as his slumbers settled, those vague images passed away, and the following vision was presented to the sleeper’s imagination:—

He dreamt that as he was keeping watch where he lay, by the blessed thorn of Kildinan, there stood before him a venerable man; his radiant features and shining vesture lighted all the space around, and pierced awful and far into the surrounding darkness. His hand held a crosier; his head was crowned with a towering mitre; his white beard descended to the girdle that encircled his rich pontificals; and he looked, in his embroidered ‘sandal shoon’ and gorgeous array, the mitred abbot of some ancient monastery, which the holy rage of the Saxon reformation had levelled in the dust. But the visage of the sainted man was fearfully severe in its expression, and the sleeping mortal fell prostrate before the unearthly eye that sent its piercing regards to search his inmost soul.

‘Wretch,’ said the shining apparition, in a voice of thunder, ‘raise thy head and hear thy doom, and that of thy sacrilegious brothers.’

Barry did raise his head in obedience to the terrific mandate, though his soul sank within him, before his dreadful voice and eye of terror.

‘Because you,’ continued the holy man, ‘have violated the sanctity of the place consecrated to God, you and your race shall wander homeless vagabonds, and your devoted heads, as a sign and a warning to future times, shall abide the pelting of every storm, and the severity of every changing season, unprotected by the defence which nature has bestowed upon all men, till your name and race be faded from the land.’

At this wrathful denunciation the terrified man falls prostrate to deprecate the fearful malediction, and awakes with a cry of terror which alarms the listeners. As he proceeds to reveal the terrible vision which his sleeping eyes beheld, the crash of thunder, the flash of lightning, and the sweep of the whirlwind, envelope them. As the day dawns, they are found senseless, at a considerable distance from the spot where they had lain the preceding night to guard the fatal tree. The thorn had likewise disappeared; and, strange to relate, the raven hair which clustered in long ringlets, that any wearer of the ancient coolin might well have envied, no longer adorns their manly heads. The fierce whirlwind, that in mockery of human daring had tossed them, like the stubble of the field, had realized the dream of the sleeper, and borne off their long profuse hair in its vengeful sweep.”

Such was the narrative of the last representative of the “Bald Barrys.” I bequeath it to the reader without note or comment. He of course will regard it according to his particular bias—will wonder how an imaginative people will attribute the downfall of families, or the entailment of hereditary disease, to the effect of supernatural intervention; or exclaim, as some very pious and moral men have done, that

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

E. W.

[3] Dr Smith, in his History of the County of Cork, thus mentions Colonel Barry:—“The town of Rathcormack also belongs to this gentleman, who is descended from an ancient branch of the Barry family, commonly called M’Adam, who have been seated here 500 years, and formerly sat in parliament; particularly David de Barry of Rathcormack, who sat in the upper house, in a parliament held 30th Edward I., 1302. South of Rathcormack is a fair stone bridge over the Bride, upon which is this inscription,—‘The foundation of this bridge was laid June 22, 1734; Colonel Redmund Barry, Jonas Devonshire, and James Barry, gentlemen, being overseers thereof.’”

The Influence of Women.—How often have I seen a company of men, who were disposed to be riotous, checked all at once into decency by the accidental entrance of an amiable woman; while her good sense and obliging deportment charmed them into at least a temporary conviction that there is nothing so beautiful as female excellence, nothing so delightful as female conversation. To form the manners of men, nothing contributes so much as the cast of the women they converse with. Those who are most associated with women of virtue and understanding will always be found the most amiable characters. Such society, beyond everything else, rubs off the protrusions that give to many an ungracious roughness; it produces a polish more perfect and pleasing than that which is received by a general commerce with the world. This last is often specious, but commonly superficial; the other is the result of gentler feelings, and a more elegant humanity: the heart itself is moulded, and habits of undissembled courtesy are formed.—Fordyce.

Our Attachment to Life.—The young man, till thirty, never feels practically that he is mortal. He knows it indeed, and if needs were, he could preach a homily on the fragility of life; but he brings it not home to himself any more than in a hot June we can appropriate to our imagination the freezing days of December. But now—shall I confess a truth? I feel these audits but too powerfully. I begin to count the probabilities of my duration, and to grudge at the expenditure of moments and shortest periods, like misers’ farthings. In proportion as the years both lessen and shorten, I set more count upon their periods, and would fain lay my ineffectual finger upon the spoke of the great wheel. I am not content to pass away “like a weaver’s shuttle.” Those metaphors solace me not, nor sweeten the unpalatable draught of mortality. I care not to be carried with the tide that smoothly bears human life to eternity, and reluct at the inevitable course of destiny. I am in love with this green earth—the face of town and country—the unspeakable rural solitudes—and the sweet security of streets. I would set up my tabernacle here. I am content to stand still at the age to which I am arrived—to be no younger, no richer, no handsomer. I do not want to be weaned by age, or drop, like mellow fruit, as they say, into the grave! Any alteration on this earth of mine, in diet or in lodging, puzzles and discomposes me. My household gods plant a terribly fixed foot, and are not rooted up without blood. They do not willingly seek Lavinian shores. A new state of being staggers me. Sun and sky, and breeze and solitary walks, and summer holidays, and the greenness of fields, and the juices of meats and fishes, and society, and the cheerful glass, and candle-light, and fire-side conversations, and jests and irony—do not these things go out with life? Can a ghost laugh, or shake his gaunt sides when you are pleasant with him?—Life and Remains of Charles Lamb.

A man cannot get his lesson by heart so quick as he can practise it: he will repeat it in his actions.

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; Slocombe & Simms, Leeds, John Menzies, Prince’s Street, Edinburgh; & David Robertson, Trongate, Glasgow.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL, VOL. 1 NO. 42, APRIL 17, 1841 ***

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Table of Contents

- THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

- ANTRIM CASTLE, THE RESIDENCE OF THE EARL OF MASSARENE

- ORIGIN AND MEANINGS OF IRISH FAMILY NAMES.

- Second Article.

- BOYHOOD AND MANHOOD.

- EXTRAORDINARY DETECTION OF MURDER.

- THE BALD BARRYS, OR THE BLESSED THORN OF KILDINAN.

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE