blame me aroon manima, (secret of my soul) for bringing the cow's head,' she said, 'but when little Biddy, that you doat upon, was putting her bright black eyes through ine, an' Katty and Timmy crying, it wint to my heart. This is no time for us to be proud a-leah An' she wiped her wet eyes with the corner of her apron.

"Woman,' said her husband in a bitter tone, what would you think if I shewed you that the head in that pot is something more than a cow's head.'

666

'Musha, Paddy, what a dale you pretend to,' was the reply.

666

Seeing is believing,' says Paddy Moylan, an' stepping out he soon returned with a sprig o' the lusmore, (great herb) which he held between her an' the pot that he desired her to look into. Great was her astonishment, whin instead o' the cow's head, she saw a christian's head all bloody, with the skin completely taken off. Light o' grace,' she exclaimed, dropping in a mag on the flure."

[Here the bustle occasioned by the arrival of Carroll the dancing-master, and his piper, blind Duggan, who was led along by a shin-burnt gorsoon, completely prevented me from catching this part of Darby Guiry's narrative.]

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Mary Moylan thravelled all day with the childer, asking alms by the way. At length, she came to a part o' the country where the houses was thin; and as the evening advanced-the poor girl who was never on the shachrawn afore, got quite down-hearted; for the sun was going under, and the hour getting as dark as the ace o' spades. She sat down to rest her poor limbs, on a soft, purple bank o'heath. Before her flowed a fine broad river, as smooth as a looking glass; the sides o' the deep glen through which it ran, wor covered with long-armed oak trees, that had'nt a hatchet upon 'em since Adam was a boy. No voice of frind or stranger broke the sleep o'nathur; no twinkling light from the lonely cabin caught her eye; the tall, dark shadows of the trees, seemed to her to be flitting ghosts; she fancied herself in the silent city o' the Dead: and drawing her little ones to her, she hid her face in her lap and wept bitterly.

"When Mary Moylan lifted her head, the moon was rising; and she was glad to perceave a snug-looking house at the other side o' the river, and bright light streaming from the windey. She called up the childer, who had fallen asleep, and easily made her way over the clachaun, across the river. The door o' the house was open; and Mary giv the God save all here;' but she saw no body, though a voice coming as it war, from the wall near the fire-place, answered save you kindly.' She was bid draw down to the blazing fire-an' the same voice, speaking still from the ould place, ordered some one that she could'nt see, to get the thravelling woman her supper. Some invisible hand furnished the table; an' ma-vrone, Mary an' the childer had lashings-go-lore of the best, an' to spare. Thin a bed as soft as down, was made on the side o' the house. Mary put the little ones to bed, an' though, 'tis like enough, she shook with terror, prepared to follow them, whin the same voice said tell us your new story, Mary Moylan.' Musha, sorrow a story have I, plase your reverence,' says Mary, because she was determined to be mighty civil.

"Give that honest woman a new story to tell at the next house that entertains her,' said the voice, in anger; and at the moment my poor crathur was spun like a top out o' doors, and brushed through the air like a sop o' finane, and left sitting under a tree in the middle of a wild mountain.

"O ma-launderig! my crathers, my crathers! O! but I'm the sorrowful mother o' childer. Paddy, Paddy, save your poor Mary! O! but your erribs an' cures is the root of our misfortune; the curse of Cromwell on 'em holus bolus!' Thus she cried; an' her screeching raised the snipe an' the wild plover from their lodging on the heath. "While Mary Moylan was keening herself, she heard the sound o' strange voices, and shortly afther the splashing of footsteps in the loughans of the dark moor. Doubtful whether they wor the living or the dead, she ascended the three under which she sat, and soon perceaved in the eye of the night, four min, who carried a spit an' a bresnagh. They stopped just under the three, an' afther light

ing a fire, three o' the min riz'd upon the fourth, an' sticking the point o' the spit in at his bottom, an' thrusting it out at his mouth, prepared to roast him at the fire they had kindled under the three forninst Mary Moylan, who thrimbled like an aspen lafe at the sight.

"By all accounts the three min had business elsewhere, for one o' thim cried out, 'who'll turn the spit?'

"Mary Moylan will,' says the chap on the spit, 'an' I can recommend her for as purty a cook as you'd find in a twelvemonth. Come down Mary, from your cozy perch on that three, an' roast me.' The poor thing came down, shaking, for all the world, as if she had a fit o' the ague; an' when she caught the spit, the thief she was turning, swore with a horrid grin, that if she singed his beard, or blistered his shins he would be the death of her.

666

I'll do the best for your honour," says Mary, says she, for she wanted to throw it over the chap, an' thin sure you'll not be afther blaming me.'

"She did the part of turnspit purty well, without giving any raison to the ould boy on the spit to complain; when suddenly turning round at a rustling behind her, the fire saized upon his beard. Up he started, ma-boochil, on his legs, while the poor cook, God help her, ran for her life over the dark mountain. He coorsed her like a greyhound through hill and carrigawn, cliff and quagmire, ti'll she heard the spit that stuck in him clattering at her heels, along the stones, as she entered a house which proved to be the very one she was driven from some hours before, to suffer such mortal hardships as no other christian but herself could get through. 'Mary Moylan,' says the man, or the voice rather, because she saw no body in the house at all at all,' may be you could tell me a new story to-morrow night. You need'nt be on the shachraun ma colleen, only for Paddy's cures at Ballyvoorney; but 'tis a pity to see a tidy girl like you in throuble; make the best of way back to-morrow, an' you will find in your thrash-bag a red purse with twenty yallow guineas in it. Let Paddy clear up the rint, and get a receate from the agint; let him buy also at Scartiglen fair, which comes next Monday, as many cows an' sheep as ye lost :-Get the guineas off your hands before tin days :-Lie down with the childer I'll tell you, you'll be the snug woman yet, Mary Moylan; but harkey, tell Paddy to middle with no more cures, from this day out at his peril.' The voice was hushed; an' Mary retired to bed.

now.

your

"Whin she woke, in the morning, Mary Moylan found herself on the same bank where she sat down to rest the evening before. The river was flowing calmly fornint her. The song o' the thrush rose beautiful from the wood; the wild bee hummed in the sweet blossoming heath around her; and the childer wor nestled fast asleep at her side. She struv to collect the scattered thoughts o' last night, the strange accidence of which she considered as an idle drame, 'til sarching the thrash-bag, she found the red purse, an' the twenty yallow guineas shining in it. Upon retching home, Paddy cleared up the rint-got into his snug farm agin-bought the cows an' sheep-an' promised Mary, on his two binded knees, to middle no more with the Good People. They got into the world bether nor ever they wor; an' if they did'nt live happy that we may:-Amen." E.W.

EXTRAORDINARY DISORDER.-The following curious notice occurs in the Annals of Ireland, usually called Pembridge's Annals, as published by Cambden :—

"MCCCXLI. In the county of Leinster, there happened such a strange prodigy as had never been heard of. A person, travelling along the road, found a pair of gloves fit for his hands, as he thought; but when he put them on, he lost his speech immediately, and could do nothing but bark like a dog; nay, from that moment, the men and women, old and young, throughout the whole country, barked like dogs, and the children like whelps. This plague continued with some 18 days, with others a month, and with some for two years; and, like a contagious distemper, at last infected the neighbouring counties, and set them a barking too."!!!

SONNET.

In the desire to make the talents of our countrymen more generally known and admired at home than they have been hitherto, we have already given extracts from the poems of Wills and Anster, and we now add a specimen from the works of another poet, George Downes, who, though of inferior wing to those above named, can occasionally take a short flight, with a graceful and easy motion, and deserves a more extensive reputation than he has hitherto enjoyed. The following sonnet, which is taken from a volume of University Prize Poems, &c., published in 1824, exhibits a fair specimen of the poet's powers. He has lately published a Continental Tour, exhibiting great learning and accuracy of observation.

Let him not say "I love my country"-he

Who ne'er has left it: but what time one hears
The yell of waters ringing in his ears,
And views around him nought but sky and sea,
And sea and sky interminable-then-

Then comes the longing for soft hills, and dales,
And trees, and rivulets, and bloomy vales,
And the green twilight of the shady glen,

And sweet birds welcoming the summer!
Swells the full feeling in my heart, while slow
I sail upon the ocean's shuddering breast:

Oh, Erin! Oh, my country! let me see But once, once more, thy cherished scenery, Then let me lowly in thy bosom rest!

Now

Virgin. The holding of pluralities was not uncommon in our ancient monastic establishments even in very remote times. The name of this abbot M. is not preserved in our ecclesiastical annals of either of the monasteries over which he ruled, as hitherto published; and thus these seals, like those given in former numbers of our work, add facts to our local and monastic histories, which would otherwise be unknown. From the style of workmanship, and form of letter used in the inscriptions, we assign these seals to the close of the thirteenth century.

THE IRISH WOLF DOG.

P.

The following paragraph is extracted from a letter of Lord Conway's to his brother, Sir George Rawdon, in the Rawdon Papers. Perhaps some reader of the Penny Journal might be able to furnish an anecdote of the wolf dog which may redeem its character from the stain cast upon it by this recreant hound.

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We had yesterday an unfortunate passage: Addy Loftus brought an Irish dog to fight with a mastiff before the King; the Irish dog had all the advantage imaginable, and dragged him five or six times about the ring, so that every body gave the mastiff up for dead; all men were concerned as if it had been their general, and yet at last the Irish dog run away; I lost my money; and afterwards the King called me to him, and said he would lay £500, that neither I nor all the men in Ireland could bring an Irish wolf dog that would not run away. I pray speak with my Lord Dungannon about it, for tho' I will not upon any nian's confidence venture so much money, yet I will be willing to go my share, and I am sure the King will lay it. I pray speak with my Lord Lieutenant, and know what dogs he hath, and enquire amongst all your friends, for I would fain recover the credit of our coun try."

The ancient seal, of which the above is an exact copy was found about three months since at Lynberry, within two miles of Mullingar, by a labourer, together with three pins, all of brass, and of curious workmanship. The seal is at present in the possession of Mr. Richard Murray, Mullingar. On the obverse side it represents the whole length figure of an abbot, full-faced, with a crosier and cap, and outside the figure the following inscription, partly abbreviated in the old character:-SIGILLUM M. ABBATIS SANCTE MARIE DE TRUIM-" The seal of M. Abbot of Saint Mary's, Trimm." On the reverse side is also the figure of an abbot, but in profile, with the following inscription, also abbreviated,-SIGILLUM M. ABBATIS SANCTE MARIA DE DURMAG-" The seal of M. Abbot of Saint Mary's, Durmag." The name of the latter place, or its situation, I am perfectly unacquainted with; but it is very probable some of the numerous readers of your talented and very useful Journal may be able to give an explanation, which I shall anxiously expect through the medium of its pages. The blank over the head on the reverse side is occupied by the middle portion of a hinge, and the drawing is the full size of the original. Mullingar.

D.

These seals evidently belonged to an individual who was at the same time abbot of the Augustinian monasteries of Trim and Durmagh, now Durrow, in the King's County, the churches of which were both dedicated to the

CANADIAN BARM.

Supposing that the following mode of making barm may sometimes be found useful by those who live where the ordinary barm is not easily procured, we give a receipt from an extremely interesting book, lately published by Messrs. Curry and Co. of this city, entitled, "Authentic Letters from Upper Canada, with an account of Canadian Field Sports ;" and which, as a manual for emigrants, we think will be found extremely useful.

"Take a pint and a half of boiling water, one quart of cold water; put this in a tin vessel; then put in a teaspoon full of salt, and mix it well; then take one pint out, and throw it away; then get your flour, stir the water and salt well with a spoon, while you are putting the flour in, which is done as if you were making stirabout, make it as thick as beer barm; mind you are to blend the flour well; set this in another vessel, with very hot water in it, and constantly renew the hot water under the barm, and very often stir it up from the bottom of the pan, so as not to let the flour settle; if it is rightly done, it will begin imme diately to ferment; remember to cover it up closely, and let it stand near the fire, as soon as you perceive it rising, let it stand quietly; this process takes from four to five hours. You will then take eight quarts of flour, put in your salt, and butter your pans. When the yeast is risen up pretty high, then commence making your bread; first loosen the yeast from the edges of the vessel it is in, and get some one to pour it into the middle of the flour while you mix it up; then add either warm milk, or warm water, whichever is most convenient, and work up the dough as usual; when this is done, put it into your pans, and set it in a very warm place to rise, which it will considerably, but it often takes a long time; it must be covered over with a cloth. It rises to twice the size of the pieces of dough you first put in, and then it is fit to bake."

DUBLIN:

Printed and Published by JOHN S. FOLDS, 5, Bachelor's-walk. Sold by all Booksellers in Ireland.

in Liverpool by Willmer and Smith; in Manchester by Wheeler: Birmingham by Drake; in Nottingham by Wright; in Edinburgh by R. Grant & Son: in Glasgow by J Nevin, Jun. and in London by Joseph Robins, Fleet-street.

chiuil, at the eastern end of Loch Lein (Lower Lake of Killarney), in the diocese of Ardfert, in Munster, was founded for Franciscan Friars, by Mac Carthy More, prince of Desmond (Donald, the son of Teige), and the chiefs of the country selected burial places for themselves in this monastery. Amongst these were O'Sullivan More and O'Donoghoe."

This evidence might seem conclusive; but we must not too hastily reject the authority of so accurate an investigator as Ware, even on the record of the ancient annalists, who might themselves have been led into an error of transcription, by the mistake of a numeral in the date assigned. If, as Ware asserts, and, as we believe, the Donald Mac Carthy who is stated by both Ware and the Four Masters to have been the founder, died in the year 1468, he could not possibly have laid the foundation of this abbey in 1340; but his name might be associated with it traditionally from the circumstance of his having brought it to perfection, and this supposition appears from evidence to be fact. On referring to the genealogy of the family, preserved in the Office of Arms, we find the foundation of the Abbey not assigned to Donald, but to his father, Teige, usually called Teige na Manistreach, or of the monastery, a cognomen which, after the fashion of the Irish chiefs, he acquired on that account. And, in the same genealogy, his son, Donald, called Donald an Dana, or Donald of the Song, is stated to have finished his father's work in the year 1440, the very period assigned by Ware for its founda

tion.

The Abbey owes some of its present state of preservation to repairs which it received from the Roman Catholics, in 1602; but Archdall erred in supposing that to have been its last restoration, as appears from the following black letter inscription placed on the north side of

the choir :

“Orate pro felici statu fatris Thadi Þoleni, quí hune sacrum conventum de novo reparare curavit, Anno Domini, 1626".

It is a

The Abbey of Mucruss is on a small scale, and but little remarkable for architectural beauty. It is highly interesting, however, for its unusually perfect state of preservation, which enables us at once to become acquainted with the various apartments necessary to the accommodation and habits of a religious community. The church consists of a nave and choir, separated by a belfry of small proportions, and only calculated to hold a single bell. This belfry is pierced by a narrow gothic archway, which connects the nave and choir. On the south side of the nave, there is a small chapel or transept, with which it is connected by a large archway; and on the north side, a small doorway leads into the cloisters, which is the most perfect and interesting portion of the building. square of twelve yards, encompassed by an arcade lighting the surrounding corridore, which is about five feet in breadth. The arcade consists of ten semicircular arches on its north and east sides, and twelve pointed ones on the south and west. The pillars and mouldings are of grey marble. The effect of these cloisters is rendered singularly solemn and imposing by a venerable and majestic yew tree, which rises like a stately column from the centre of the enclosure, and which, from the density of the dark green foliage of its spreading branches-which Smith, with more truth than poetry, accurately compares to "a great umbrella"-permits but "a dim religious light" to penetrate the area. The stem of this remarkable tree, which there is no reason to doubt is coeval with the Abbey, is upwards of twelve feet in height, and about six feet six inches in circumference. It is preserved with religious veneration by the peasantry; and so awful is the effect produced on the mind by its extraordinary canopy, that many persons shrink back with terror on entering within its precincts, and few can remain long without feeling an impatient desire to escape from its oppressive influence.

Adjacent to the cloisters are placed the apartments appropriated to the accommodation of the brotherhood; the cellar, above which is the kitchen, the refectory with its fire place, and the dormitory, which is a long narrow room, adapted to the reception of a number of persons. In one of those apartments, the kitchen, a hermit" named

John Drake, took up his abode for the space of twenty years, and secretly withdrew after this long penance. His example was subsequently followed by a second pilgrim, who chose another chamber for his habitation; but his constancy was not so great, as he disappeared at the end of two years. The ground at the south side of the abbey, is the favourite cemetery of the Roman Catholic inhabitants of the adjacent country, and the choir and nave, of the descendents of its ancient chieftains. The vault of the Mac Carthy Mores, is placed in the centre of the choir, and is marked by a flat stone level with the floor, on which the coronet and arms of the Earl of Glencare are rudely sculptured; a more stately monument, as represented in the illustration, marks the grave of O'Donoghue of the Glens, who is buried in the same vault. It bears the arms of O'Donoghoe, with the following inscription written by Mr. Marcus Hare:

"What more could Homer's most illustrious verse,
Or pompous Tully's stately prose rehearse,
Than what this monumental stone contains,
In death's embrace Mac Carthy More's remains?
Hence, reader, learn the sad and certain fate
That waits on man, spares not the good or great!
And while this venerable marble calls
Thy patriot tear, perhaps, that trickling falls,
And bids thy thoughts to other days return,
And with a spark of Erin's glory burn;
While to her fame most grateful tributes flow,
Oh, ere you turn, one warmer drop bestow,
If Erin's chiefs deserve thy generous tear,
Heir of their worth, O'Donoghue, lies here!
O'Donoghue More of the Glens
departed this life

the 21st day of February, 1808.
Aged 31 years.'

Though there are several other tombs of considerable age, but few of them are inscribed; and of these the most remarkable is one on the north side of the choir, which we transcribe, as it has not been hitherto accurately given :

"Orate Pro Donaldo Mac Finen et Elizabetha Stephens, O Ano. Dn. 1631. Q. S. H, F. F.

The Mac Fineens were a distinguished branch of the Macarthys.

The landed property belonging to this Abbey, consisting of four acres, two orchards and one garden, was estimated, at the dissolution of the religious houses in Ireland, at the value of 16s. per annum. It was granted to Captain Robert Collam: but it is obvious, from the inscriptions given above, that it continued in the possession of the brotherhood for many years after.

Mucruss, like every other spot at Killarney, is not without its legends, which are admirably given in Crofton Croker's merry and elegant little Companion to the Lakes, but which our space will not permit us to pirate. We cannot, however, resist the temptation of appropriating to our pages the following pleasing verses with which Mr. Croker appropriately closes his account of this interesting spot. They are from the pen of G. P. R. James Esq. "I envy them, those monks of old, Their book they read, and their beads they told; To human softness dead and cold,

And all life's vanity.
They dwelt like shadows on the earth,
Free from the penalties of birth,
Nor let one feeling venture forth,
But charity.

I envy them; their cloistered hearts
Knew not the bitter pang that parts
Beings that all affection's arts
Had link'd in unity.
The tomb to them was not a place
To drown the best-loved of their race,
And blot out each sweet memory's trace
In dull obscurity.

To them it was the calmest bed
That rests the aching human head:
They looked with envy on the dead,

And not with agony.

SIR-In looking over your 50th number, I was much surprised indeed by the communication of your correspondent, H. E. who in reply to the inquiry of C. O'H. in a preceding number, respecting a bird which he denominated the "Night Singer," attributes to the Emberiza, or Bunting tribe, a talent which it is demonstrable, from the anatomical structure of their bill and throat, it is impossible they can possess. It is well known that the male robin redbreast, white throat, spotted fly-catcher, fauvette, or hedge sparrow, and wren, (all belonging to the sylvia or motacilla tribe,) sing in the evening, especially at the time when the female is engaged in discharging her maternal duties in hatching and bringing forth her young. these have slender pointed bills, concave in the palate, while the bunting has its upper mandible so occupied by a hard tooth-like process, pressing on the tongue in such a manner, that, united with the inflexion downwards of the open of the bill, at the junction of the upper and lower mandibles, (evidently a provision by nature to enable the bird to break the hard grain or seed on which it chiefly feeds,) as renders it an absolute impossibility for the Bunting to produce anything but a short twittering note.

All

But beside this negative evidence, I can, from experience, venture to say almost positively, that the bird heard at night, in the neighbourhood of Rathgar, must have been the fauvette or hedge sparrow; and as this bird always remains close to the ground, and sometimes even perches on a stone while it sings, it is possible that H. E. may have had the reed bunting in sight while he listened to the song of the fauvette. It happened about seven or eight years ago, that near where I then lived, a pair of the birds I have named, the hedge sparrows, for two or three seasons built their nest in the brushwood of an elm tree, and I have repeatedly heard the male sing at night, while the female sat on the nest. It is an interesting fact, as showing not only the tameness of the little bird, but her excessive attachment to her young, that I have often taken the nest in my hand while she remained sitting on it, and carried all into the house, when I have had a few friends with me in the evening, and the utmost alarm she exhibited was shown by the sparkling of her brilliant eye, as she looked round uneasily at the group about her; and I have replaced the nest without her once quitting her charge.

But if further proof be necessary: in consequence of my having related to a friend, the above instance of the extreme familiarity of the fauvette, he took a nest, and reared in a cage some of the young, and I have seen with him a male which when full grown, frequently sung at night when a candle, or even a knife, or other glittering object, was presented to it.

I have nothing further to add, than that I have spoken to several of my ornithological friends, who all concur with me in opinion, that the bird I have named, the fauvette or hedge sparrow, was the "night singer" of Rathgar. RICHARD GLENNON.

Suffolk-street,

TO THE EDITOR OF THE DUBLIN PENNY JOURNAL.

SIR-Your correspondent, C. O'H. requests that some ornithologist who has the inclination and the time to spare, will inform him if the nightingale has ever visited Ireland. This is a question which could only be answered by one thoroughly acquainted with the ornithology of Ireland, and the different collection of birds formed in different parts of the country. I think there is scarcely any one who could take upon himself the liberty of giving a positive answer to the question before us, but many might, as I do, state their opinions, with whatever information they may possess, which may tend to enlighten the subject.

For my part, I must say, I do not believe that the nightingale ever visited Ireland, or rather that it has never been naturalized in the country; for a single specimen having been shot here, (which might very readily occur, the distance from this to England being so short,) should not induce us to rank the nightingale as an Irish bird.

On examining any works on natural history connected with Ireland, I have never seen any notice whatever of the nightingale; but two or three birds are mentioned as night singers. The woodlark (alauda arborea,) is said to sing all night in fine clear nights and warm weather, and by some has been mistaken for the nightingale. The blackcap, (sylvia atricapella) is a very sweet songster, and its notes are so similar to those of the nightingale, that in some parts of England it is called the mock nightingale. These two birds reside chiefly on the borders of woods, in situations precisely similar to those chosen by the nightingale, and I think it not improbable that your correspondent listened either to the blackcap or woodlark, the former of which has now taken up its abode with us for the summer months, and the latter is a constant inhabitant.

With regard to the powers of song possessed by the blackcap and woodlark, Mr. Selby says, that the former has much melody of song, though unequal in extent or power to that of the nightingale, and of the woodlark, that it is a delightful songster, surpassing the skylark in the melodious richness, though not in the variety of its

notes.

Ire

England possesses many birds which are never met with in this country, although from the similarity of climate and situation, we would imagine that few species would occur in the one which did not in the other. land, on the contrary, does not, as far as I am aware, contain a single species peculiar to itself. Some birds are met with certainly in much greater abundance here, but the species are few. The eagles are, generally speaking, more abundant in Ireland than in the sister country; but with a few exceptions, England is much richer in this department of nature.

I need not say that it gives me great pleasure indeed to see your Journal made the medium of communication on many subjects connected with natural history; and among other contributions lately made, I must particularly advert to the article on the "Corvorant," by Mr. Richard Glennon. It is by notices such as he has given, containing so many original observations and interesting particulars, that science is enriched. Here you have nature depicted as she really is the description taken, with the object itself before you, and followed up by remarks made, either more immediately by the narrator, or some of his friends whose veracity cannot be questioned. Mr. Glennon has entered very minutely into the formation of the bill, feet, and other parts of the Corvorant, and afforded us another opportunity of admiring the beautiful adaptation of every part of the structure to the office assigned to it by the bountiful Creator of the