AN GAODHAL.
919
copy of Tighernach commences at the same date
as the T. C. D. copy, and comes down to 1163.
The second in the British Museum (Egerton 94, —
Hardiman MS.) is but a bad copy of the last men¬
tioned, made by a very inferior scribe.
It is believed that an eighth copy of these Annals
exists in the collection of Lord Ashburnham, but
as that nobleman does not allow any access to his
valuable colection of MSS., I am unable to say
whether this is so or not.
These annals are of such importance to the illus¬
tration of Irish history, that I shall offer no apol¬
ogy for introducing here some particular account
of the copies which still remain.
Dr. O'Conor has carefully examined those in the
Bodleian Library, and from his account of them,
the following extracts are taken.
"It has not been hitherto observed," says the
writer, "that there are two Oxford copies, both im¬
perfect, the first escaped Sir J. Ware, though he
had the use of it, and entered it in his catalogue as
another work. It is marked 'Rawlinson' No 502.
in a label prefixed to it, in Ware's hand it is de¬
scribed thus — 'Annales ab Urbe condita usque ad
initium Imperii Antonin Pii."
"This MS. begins, in its present mutilated con¬
dition, with that part of Tighernach's chronicle,
where he mentiones the foundation of Rome, and
consists only of a few leaves ending with the reign
of Antonius, but it is valuable as a fragment of
the 12th century. Very brief are the notices of
Ireland, which are mixed up with the early parts
of Tighernach. He questions the veracity of all
the most ancient documents relating to Ireland,
and makes the historical epoch begin from Cim¬
baoth, and the founding of Emania, about the 18th
year of Ptolemy Lagus, before Christ 289. 'Omnia
Monumenta Scotorum,' says he 'usque Cimboeth
incerta erant.'
"But yet he gives the ancient lists of the kings
as he found them in the 'Vetere Monunanta.'
,'In the fragment, Rawlinson, 502, fol. 1b. col. 1
line 33, the end of the reign of Cobthach, the son
of Ugaine, he synchronizes with the Prophet Ezech¬
hias thus given — Cobtach the slender, of Bregia,
the son of Ugan the Great, was burned with thirty
royal Princes about him in Dun Riga, of the Plain
of Ailb, in the royal palace of the hill of Tin-bath
(Tin, fire, and bath, to slay), as the ancients relate,
by Labrad, of ships, the beloved son of Ailill, the
illustrious son of Laogare the Fierce, son of Ugan
the Great, in revenge for the murder of his father,
and grandfather, killed by Cobtach the Slender.
A war arose from this between Leinster and the
Northern half of Ireland.
"The second copy of Tighernach in the Bodle¬
ian, 'Rawlinson,' 438, has not this passage, neither
has it any part of this MS. preceding the time of
Alexader. But from thence both agree, to where
the first ceases, in the reign of Antonius, the loss
of the remainder of that MS. is the more lament¬
able, as the MS, No. 433, is imperfect and very ill
transcribed. 'The quotations from Latin and Greek
authors in Tighernach are very numerous, and his
balancing their authorities against each other man¬
ifests a degree of criticism uncommon in the iron
age in which he lived. He quotes Maelmura's
poem, thus —
"Finit buarta ӕtas, insipid quinta, quӕ continet
annos 589, ut Poeta ait, — The fourth age of the
world finishes, the fifth commences, which contains
589 years as the poet says.
From the bondage of the people to the birth of
the Lord,
Five hundred and eighty nine years of a truth;
From Adam to the birth of Mary's glorious Son,
Was three thousand nine hundred and fifty-two
years.]
(To be continued.)
DON'T DRINK TO-NIGHT.
I left my mother at the door,
My sister at her side;
Their clasped hands and loving looks
Forbade their hopes to hide.
I left, and met with comrades gay,
When the moon brought out her light,
And my loving mother whispered me,
"Don't drink, my boy, to-night."
Long years have rolled away since then,
My jetty curls are gray;
But oh! those words are with me yet,
And will not pass away.
I see my mother's loving face,
With goodness radiant bright,
And hear her words ring in my ears,
"Don't drink, my boy, to-night."
My mother now is resting sweet,
In the graveyard on the hill,
But mother's words come back to me,
And haunt my memory still.
I've often passed the tempting cup,
O! then my heart is right,
Because I heard the warning words,
"Don't drink, my boy, to-night."
I've now passed down the road of life,
And soon my race is run,
A mother's warning listened to
An immortal crown is won.
Oh, mothers, with your blessed smile,
Look on your boy so bright,
And say as you alone can say,
"My boy, don't drink to-night."
These words will prove a warning when
In the thorny paths of life
The boy is in the tempter's wiles
And yielding to the strife.
These words stop the morning cup,
And the revelry at night,
By whispering back a mother's voice,
"Don't drink, my boy, to-night."
— Irish World.
THE PUNISHMENT OF THE SLANDERER
A woman to the holy father went,
Confession of her sin was her intent,
And so her misdemeanors great and small,
She faithfully to him rehearsed them all.
And, chiefest in her catalogue of sin,
