716
AN GAOḊAL.
anam as results of the one cause, for
to the old scribes in t-ṡuil was the same
as in-t-uil.
Hence we see the reason for the remark made
on the bottom of page 48 that s fol¬
lows the rules of aspiration for in real¬
ity t-s is not eclipsis but the result of
aspiration and therefore should follow its laws.
Two questions will now naturally arise (1), why
in Modern Irish have we t before ṡ and
not also before ḟ and (2) why have not
feminine vowel nouns t as well as mas¬
culines, why do we not say an t-oiḋċe
as well as an t-anam.
1
You will remember what are the sounds
of ḟ and ṡ, the former has no sound
properly so called, neither has the latter, but both
represent certain emissions of the
breath. ḟ stands for what the Greeks
called the slender breathing e. g., the breathing
observed between "go over:” ṡ stands
for the rough breathing or h. Now we
know that the slender breathing (') aud the rough
breathing are related to s, z, f, v, etc. Thus if you
bring the under lip against the upper
teeth when sounding h you get f, the
slender breathing gives v, therefore we
can make the following proportion:
Rough br. : sl. br. : : f: v, but we know
(a) rough br. = ṡ.=, and sl. br. = ḟ, and
(b) that F: V: : T: D. Therefore we can say
ṡ: ḟ: t: d, and this is the reason why
in Middle Irish we have ind ḟir and in
t-ṡuil not int ḟir or indṡuil.
(To be continued)
THE EXILE'S CHILDHOOD HOME.
BY JOHN COLEMAN.
With thoughts and dreams of other days, the sor¬
rowing exile pine,
For bosom friends and soulful lays, and a genial
sunny clime,
Where cares, though great, were light as air with
music, mirth and tale;
With gleeful bands and golden sands and fragrant,
flowery vales,
’Neath old Macroom's green tangled shades 'twas
sweet to linger there,
Or by her rushing streams, through glades to stroll
devoid of care;
In frigid lands, or burning strands the sighing ex¬
ile roam,
His soul flees back the tear moist track, to his
native childood home.
All nature's charms were surely there, the dance
one could enjoy,
And Gaelic lore with laughter rare, sang out ’mid
beams of joy,
Their cooling drink from the pure sgring the col¬
lien's witching eyes,
The children knew not what was care, the old were
very wise;
When toil was done at twilight hour, then the time
stole laughing by,
Cruhures Veidlinn, and fair Illen raised Gaelic
strains on high,
The turf-fire bright, the Siers delight, his cheering
gra ma chree,
Fond childhood home where e'er I roam, my soul
flies back to thee.
Well I may pine in scorching lands, in fear of poi¬
sonous snake,
Or chilly zones whose freezing bands, the exiles life
may take,
While scoffing fools may point at me, like fiends,
with jibe and jeer.
Their brains are light, they loud blaspheme, of God
they have no fear :
O God! why force us from our land, who gave our
tyrants power,
To wreck fond homes, and scourge each band from
fields not theirs but ours,
Why are close friends thus torn apart through
countless ills to roam,
And die 'mid sighs and tear dimed eyes, far from
their childhood home.
God's wrath be on the fiendish, power, who thus
our peace destroy,
How sad they'd wail, if in some hour we'd steal
their girls or boys,
Yet our hearts feel the pangs as keen, we love our
friends as dear,
They force us part with seas between, they bring
the scalding tear;
In alien lands we drudge and toil, we're slaves to
Godless men,
In burning heat and freezing cold we dwell in
haunts of sin,
Were tossed about with every gale, like the o¬
cean's mad'ning foam,
While scornful tongues do oft assail the exiles
childhood home.
It is singular what sentiments the love of home
inspires in the human breast. In these pastoral eb¬
ulitions Mr. Coleman re-echoes the sentiments of
millions, not only of to-day but of ages past. All
remember the well known lines —
"In all my wanderings around this world of care —
In all my griefs, and God has given my share,
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown,
'Midst these humble bowers to lay me down."
P. McC. — We do not adopt Molloy's grammar.
He revolutionises Irish orthography too much.
But we believe with him that there is no dative
plural in Irish, and that it is the height of non¬
sence to write such words as,
banḃ, leanḃ, luiḃ, tarḃ, marḃ, uḃ &c.,
leinḃiḃ, luiḃiḃ, tairḃiḃ, mairḃiḃ, uiḃiḃ,
forms which are very puzzling to the learner, be¬
cause he never hears any Irish speaker express
them. Also such words as,
dearḃḃráṫair, baintreaḃaċ for driċeáir
baintreaċ.
We see no more necessity for a dative case than
there is for the accusative
The sooner our friends, the Knights of Labor,
separate themselves from the socialistic element
which has crept into their ranks, the better for
the cause which they have at heart.
