[1] Adam Smith’s “Wealth of Nations.”

[2] Being the substance of a Lecture delivered at the Opening of the Irish National Literary Society—in Dublin, Sir C. G. Duffy in the chair.

[3] But not now of entire words, as in the rime riche of the French, where livre (book) rhymes with livre (pound). English “perfect” rhyme is an incomplete word-echo, which secures some variety.

[4] Sporadic exceptions of course are found in Ovid’s occasional leonine lines. It is suggestive that he lived long and died amidst Scythians, from whom the Irish Gael deduce their descent.

[5] E.g., in its end-words: tracht, eÁcht, fuÀcht, ruacht.

[6] These rhymes are more subtly complete than may be supposed, for the chiming syllables are enriched by this, that the preceding consonants d and g (as “soft”), and t and p (as “hard”), give class-chimes. Besides this, we have alliteration of two vowels in the first line, and of two consonants in the second.

[7] Hunt, “History of Bristol, 1884.”

[8] In the third line, the letters v and r are in (imperfect) concord. They belong to the same class of “light” consonants, from which it might be inferred that the ancient Irish did not roll the letter r.

[9] Thegan; Pithou: Opp. cvii.

[10] Malmesbury is a modification of Mailduff’s burg.

[11] I.e., Hoved, The Head.

[12] Hr. SjÖden, the eminent Swedish harper, noted several Scandinavian airs but slightly varied from the Irish.

[13] Messrs. Vigfusson and York Powell in “Corpus Poeticum Boreale,” &c.

[14] Vigfusson, Prolegomena to Sturlunga Saga.

[15] From the Irish name, Cormac.

[16] Shakespeare mentions an old Irish air, Cailin og astor (in “Henry II.”, act iv., sc. 4); the air itself is give in Queen Elizabeth’s Virginal Book, so that Irish music must have been admired at her court. It is curious to see the Irish alliteration still influential in the verses attributed to her:

“The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy,
And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy;
For falsehood now doth flow and subject faith doth ebb,
Which would not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the web.”

It is most interesting to observe that Shakespeare himself employs alliteration in his epitaph, and used it in a manner so closely conforming to the regular Irish system, as to suggest his acquaintance with it, e.g.:

“Good friend for Jesus’ sake forbeare,
To dig the dust enclosed here,
Blesst be he who spares these stones,
And cursed be he who moves my bones.”

[17] It has been computed that, in the petty princedom of Tyrconnell (now Donegall county nearly) the real estate allocated to maintenance of the literati amounted in value to £2,000 yearly, present currency.

[18] Delivered before the Irish National Literary Society in Dublin, November 25th, 1892.

[19] As an instance of this, I mention the case of a young man I met on the road coming from the fair of Tuam, some ten miles away. I saluted him in Irish, and he answered me in English. “Don’t you speak Irish,” said I. “Well, I declare to God, sir,” he said, “my father and mother hasn’t a word of English, but still, I don’t speak Irish.” This was absolutely true for him. There are thousands upon thousands of houses all over Ireland to-day where the old people invariably use Irish in addressing the children, and the children as invariably answer in English, the children understanding Irish but not speaking it, the parents understanding their children’s English but unable to use it themselves. In a great many cases, I should almost say most, the children are not conscious of the existence of two languages. I remember asking a gossoon a couple of miles west of Ballaghaderreen in the Co. Mayo, some questions in Irish and he answered them in English. At last I said to him, “Nach labhrann tu Gaedheilg?” (i.e., “Don’t you speak Irish?”) and his answer was, “And isn’t it Irish I’m spaking?” “No a-chuisle,” said I, “it’s not Irish you’re speaking, but English.” “Well then,” said he, “that’s how I spoke it ever”! He was quite unconscious that I was addressing him in one language and he answering in another. On a different occasion I spoke Irish to a little girl in a house near Kilfree Junction, Co. Sligo, into which I went while waiting for a train. The girl answered me in Irish until her brother came in. “Arrah now, Mary,” said he, with what was intended to be a most bitter sneer; “and isn’t that a credit to you!” And poor Mary—whom I had with difficulty persuaded to begin—immediately hung her head and changed to English. This is going on from Malin Head to Galway, and from Galway to Waterford, with the exception possibly of a few spots in Donegal and Kerry, where the people are wiser and more national.

[20] The following are a few instances out of hundreds of the monstrous transmographying of Gaelic names into English. The Gillespies (Giolla-Easbuig, i.e., Bishop’s servant) are Archbolds or Bishops. The Mackays (Mac Aodha, i.e., son of Ae or Hugh) are Hughes. The Mac Reevys or Mac Culreevys (Mac CÙil-Riabhaigh, i.e., son of the grey poll) are Grays. The Mac EÓchagains instead of being all Gahagans or Geoghegans have—some of them—deformed their name into the monstrosity of Goggin. The Mac Feeachrys (Mac Fhiachraidh) are Vickors or even Hunters. The Mac Feehalys are often Fieldings. Mac Gilleesa (Mac Giolla Iosa, i.e., sons of Jesus’ devotee) are either Gillespie or Giles. The Mac Gillamurrys (Mac Giolla-Mhuire, i.e., son of the Virgin’s devotee) is often made Marmion, sometimes more correctly Macilmurray or Mac Ilmurry. Mac Gillamerry (Mac Giolla Meidhre, i.e., son of the servant of merriment) is Anglicised Merryman. Mac Gillaree (Mac Giolla-righ, i.e., son of the king’s servant) is very often made King, but sometimes pretty correctly Mac Gilroy or Mac Ilroy—thus the Connemara people have made Kingston of the village of Ballyconry, because the ry or righ means a king. The Mac Irs, sons of Ir, earliest coloniser of Ireland, have, by some confusion with geirr, the genitive of gearr, “short,” become Shorts or Shortalls, but sometimes, less corruptly, Kerrs. The honourable name of Mac Rannell (Mac Raghnaill) is now seldom met with in any other form than that of Reynolds. The Mac Sorarans (Mac SamhradhÁin, the clan or tribe name of the Mac Gaurans or Mac Governs) have become Somers, through some fancied etymology with the word samhradh. The Mac Sorleys (Mac Samharlaigh) are often Shirleys. The honourable and poetic race of Mac-an-bhÁirds (sons of the bard) are now Wards to a man. The Mac-intleevys (Mac an tslÉibhe, i.e., sons of the mountain) are Levys or Dunlevys. The Macintaggarts (Mac an tsagairt, i.e., son of the priest) are now Priestmans, or occasionally, I do not know why, Segraves. The Macgintys (Mac an tsaoi, i.e., son of the sage) are very often Nobles. The Macinteers (Mac an tsaoir, i.e., son of the carpenter) instead of being made MacIntyre as the Scots always have it, are in Ireland Carpenters or Wrights, or—because saor means “free” as well as Carpenter—Frees and Freemans. Many of the O’Hagans (O h-AodhgÁin) are now Fagans, and even Dickens’s Fagan the Jew has not put a stop to the hideous transformation. The O’Hillans (Mac Ui Iollain, i.e., sons of Illan, a great name in Irish romance) have become Hylands or Whelans. It would be tedious to go through all the well-known names that immediately occur to one as thus suffering; suffice it to say, that the O’Heas became Hayses, the O’Queenahans, Mosses, Mossmans, and Kinahans, the O’Longans Longs, the O’Naghtens Nortons, the O’Reardons Salmons, the O’Shanahans Foxes, and so on ad infinitum.

[21] It is questionable, however, whether Partholan as a modern Christian name is not itself an Irishised form of Bartholomew.

[22] For more information about Tailtin, see an article by me incorporated in the “Rules of the Gaelic Athletic Association,” recently published.

[23] In Irish it is Beul-Áth-an-righ contracted into B’l’Áth’n-righ, pronounced Blawn-ree.

Transcriber’s Notes:

Punctuation has been corrected without note.

Gaelic passages are represented in larger font.