These also are the personages whom Jeremiah summoned to proclaim the terrible vengeance which should befal Israel— "Call for the mourning women, that they may come; and send for the cun. ning women, that they may come; and let them make haste, and take up a wailing for us, that our eyes may run down with tears, and our eyelids gush out with waters."* The name given to the mourning women among the Irish, who were thus hired to cry at funerals, was of Hebrew origin. Rassaide is the Irish name for such a female, and it is not a remote derivation which traces it to the Ch., razah, luctus, convivium funebre, &c. But the name borne by these women is not the only word of Hebrew origin still preserved by the Irish, which identifies this practice with that of the Israelites. The lugubrious lamentation which they pour fourth in memory of the deceased, his character, and conduct, bears precisely the same appellation in Irish, allowing for the difference of orthography, which it does in Hebrew, Cuoine, cine, or keena, is the Irish word; and ', cine, is the expression which the sacred historian employs to describe the grievous manner in which David bewailed the death of his royal predecessor and his valiant son: "David lamented with this lamentation (cine) over Saul, and over Jonathan his son."+ Concerning this lamentation of David's, it is further remarkable, that it consists of a most pathetic eulogiuni on the departed chieftains, and in the most piteous and expressive terms laments their loss both to the exalted mourner himself, and to Israel at large. The very genius of the IRISH CRY consists in the same skilful and affecting enumeration of all the various circumstances of rank, property, and moral worth, for which the individual may have been distinguished in life, and which may excite the pity and regret of the hearers. In some districts, indeed, these elegiac compositions have fallen into disuse, and the funeral cry more nearly resembles that of the Moors, as described by Shaw: "There are several women hired to act on these lugubrious occasions, who, like the Præficæ, or mourning women of old, are skilful in lamentation (Amos v• 16,) and great mistresses of these melancholy expressions, (roaring out, as he mentions before, for several times, Loo, loo, loo, in a deep and hollow tone, with several ventriloquous sighs,) and indeed they perform their part with such proper sounds, gestures, and commotions, that they rarely fail to work up the assembly into some extraordinary pitch of thoughtfulness and sorrow. The British Factory has often been very sensibly touched with these lamentations, whenever they were made in the neighbouring houses. Neibuhr speaks also of certain woful cries, which were uttered by hired women, on occasion of the death of a Mahomedan's wife, from the time of her decease until she was interred. The Mahomedans, we know have religiously adopted many Jewish practices, which is sufficient to account for the above facts. In the Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy, where the reader will find this subject amply discussed, we are furnished with the whole funeral song, or caoinan, set to music. The subjoined address, from this ancient relic, to the dead body of the Son of Connal, may, perhaps, be considered interesting: 66 "O, Son of Connal, why didst thou die? Royal, noble, learned youth! Valiant, active, warlike, eloquent- why didst thou die? Alas! awail-a-day. "Alas! alas! he who sprung from the nobles of the race of Heber, warlike chief! O, Son of Connal, noble youth! why didst thou die? Alas! O! alas! "Alas! O! alas! he who was in possession of flowery meads, verdant hills, lowing herds, rivers, and grazing flocks—rich, gallant lord of the golden vale! why did he die? Alas! awail-a-day! "Alas! alas! why didst thou die, O Son of Connal, before the spoils of victory by thy warlike arm were brought to the hall of the nobles, and thy shield with the ancient? Alas! alas!" 13. From the parable of the labourers in the vineyard, we learn that it was customary amongst the Jews for the daily workman to take his stand each morning in some public place of resort, till hired for the day by some employer. Morier mentions, that he noticed the labourers standing near the mosques in Persia after the same manner, waiting throughout the day with their spades for hire.* But we need not go to Persia for an illustration of our Saviour's parable. Fifty or sixty athletic Irishmen may be noticed every morning leaning on their feac's (or spades) at the usual lounging place in the principal town of my parish, ready to obey the call of the first farmer who may require their services.-Fac, the name given to a spade in this part of the country surely derives from the Hebrew to disjoin, let loose, or pulverize, the very office for which the spade is employed. 14. The Irish worshipped the same false gods, that were the objects of idolatrous veneration amongst the backsliding children of Israel. The moon in particular was personified, named, and worshipped in the same manner by the Hebrews and the Irish. The moon was called Chiun by the Jews, from the root because her periodical changes served to measure time. The word is preserved in our version of Amos v. 26. The prophet reproaches the house of Israel for withholding the offerings required by Jehovah, while, says he, Ye have borne the tabernacle of your Moloch and Chiun your images, the star of your god, which ye made to yourselves. The ancient Irish worshipped the full moon under the name of Chioun, and offered her cakes upon the monthly festival. The children, says Jeremiah to the Jews, gather wood, and the Fathers kindle the fire, and the women knead their dough, to make cakes to the Queen of Heaven.† When the same prophet threatened them with the severest vengeance for their conduct, they obstinately determined to adhere to their idolatry, while the women in particular attributing the former prosperity of their nation, to the honor they thus showed the Queen of Heaven, account for their recent afflictions by their neglect of her required services, and boast that they did not make her cakes to worship her without the co-operation and approval of their husbands. Alas, their no less criminal de *Morier's Persia, p. 265. + Jer. vii. 18. Jer. xliv. 17. 19. scendants amongst us have only changed the form of their idolatry, and though they do not worship as the Regina Cæli, the Moon, after the manner of their ancestors; they do thus worship the Virgin Mary, who was gradually raised to hold the station of her concious predecessor, by certain superstitious women, who offered her collyrides or cakes, and thence came to be called Collyridians towards the end of the fourth century. 15. In forewarning his disciples of certain judgments to come, our Saviour informed them that at the epoch referred to, two women should be found grinding at the mill, of whom one should be taken and the other left. It was a very general practice for women to be thus also engaged in this country. In some parts of Connaught to this day, two women may be seen grinding corn at mills, which are precise transcripts of those once used in Judea. I have known the stones of such mills found at a great depth in our bogs, where they had remained for centuries. The Customs of the Irish agreed in many other particulars with those of the Hebrews, but the instances adduced above, will suffice for my present design. I hope to be somewhat more brief in considering the question of language, and have to apologize for occupying so much of your valuable space. I trust, however, that the subject will be taken up and pursued by some more competent writer. J. D. S. FATHER BUTLER. (Continued from page 202.) I have first to premise that there is nothing suprising or romantic in what I am about to relate-so that if you expect an extraordinary story, you will be very much disappointed. I had four brothers and one sister, all of whom are now no more. I am the youngest but one of my father's sons, and now the only male survivor of this branch of the family-my younger brother and myself were the only two who lived beyond childhood, the rest all died young. The family estate is between seven and eight hundred a-year-my brother was destined for the church, I as the elder son was heir to the property, and intended for no profession. My brother and I were both educated at a seminary-some call it a college-conducted by a celebrated religious society, that settled lately in one of the most fertile and beautiful parts of Ireland; they have since their settlement there established another colony or two in other parts of the kingdom. Adjoining my father's estate lived a Dr. Upton, a surgeon of much eminence. He was an amiable and charitable man, who, in the exercise of his benevolence, made no distinction between Catholic and Protestant.This gentleman and his lady, who was every way his equal in Christian charity and benevolence, had only one child, a daughter-the same, over whose grave you have seen me shed the tear of bitter, bitter sorrow. Our parents were on terms of the closest in timacy-there, you can see the Doctor's house immediately from the window, a little to the right of the second clump of trees beyond the paling.-Had the Doctor been like many men of his profession, he could have realized by his extensive practice a handsome fortune; but besides his profession he had an independent property-and as his family was not large, his skill and practice were not bestowed so much in the expectation of realizing a fortune, as with the intention of fulfilling a duty-a duty which he thought, and I believe justly too, was incumbent on him, as a Christian physician, whenever poverty and sickness required his assistance. Ellen Upton and I were companions from our childhood-she was some years younger than I, but, as her father and mother were uncommonly liberal in their opinions-my parents, who certainly did not believe that it was possible to be saved out of their church, conjectured that if a matrimonial union were to take place between us, there would be no difficulty on my part to bring her over to our faith, and thus secure the salvation of one of the family-they, therefore, not only encouraged the growing attachment which they saw between us, but spoke to Dr. Upton on the subject of our marriage. His consent was immediately givenand from that period, Ellen Upton and I began to look upon our union with each other as certain. Just at this crisis the typhus fever got into our family, and in a short time my brother was attacked by it with such violence, as rendered his recovery hopeless-alas! our fears were too just; he fell a victim to it in his nineteenth year, after he had been for some time prosecuting his studies in the seminary at C, with the intention of entering the church, and embracing the religious order under which we were educated. This was a severe blow to my parents, and indeed to myself to lose the companion of my childhood and youth-but judge of their affliction, when they saw me, on the very day in which my brother's body was committed to the grave, laid upon the bed of sickness, by the same dreadful malady.Their situation was now indescribable. It was not grief but distraction that they felt-I was now their last and only child, and as the virulence of the disease became progressive, and the probability of losing me greater, their distraction sunk into that stupefaction which swallows up the keen consciousness of ordinary sorrow. There was in the seminary at C, which was only a few miles distant from my father's, a clergyman named A-—, who was next to the superior of the establishment in authority.— He had accompanied my brother home during the vacation, for he usually made us an annual visit at that period. This gentleman was with us during his illness, and at his death, and as he had studied medicine as well as divinity-a circumstance very usual among clergymen of his order-his presence was a great support to us in that afflicting crisis. He paid every attention to my brother gave him his medicine with his own hands-reasoned with -comforted, and supported us under our affliction—and, in fact, left nothing undone which could be expected to proceed from a genuine Christian spirit. During my illness he was equally solicitous and attentive-and when my parents became incapable by the greatness of their affliction to take any part in the conduct of their own affairs, he was always present to see every thing right and as it ought to be. He was a man rather advanced in years, of a meek, mild, and placid demeanour-his countenance remarkable for the impression of benignity and innocence which it conveyed, and an appearance of total unconsciousness, that there was in this world men governed by villainy or deceit. His whole person, dress and all, corresponded to this-for instance, his smallclothes generally wanted a button or two at the knees-his cravat was always tied round his neck as if he had a sore throat-and the knot, which was peculiar to himself, was sure to work itself round until it settled under the left ear-sometimes there was one side, sometimes another, but never both sides of his shirt collar up at the same time. His old-fashioned waistcoat, too, was sure to be embrowned with snuff, and its flaps in the lowest extremities of which were two large pockets, hung down nearly as far as his knees. His coat was in keeping with the other parts of his dress -for the pockets behind were cut so low, that a young wag of the seminary once presented him with a pair of wire hooks-and when he enquired their use, was informed that they were to enable him to hook out his pocket-handkerchief. He was a remarkable connoisseur too in darning and sewing-but paid little attention to the colour of his thread, for, he gave himself no concern whatever on that point-a fact which his own black stockings embossed with stiches an inch long of an opposite colour, and an occasional rent in his gown run up with bleached thread, could shew. He was, in short, a man whom you could associate with nothing but the most perfect and child-like simplicity; yet there was not a quarter of the world in which he had not travelled, and few modern languages which he could not speak. The fever with which I and my brother were attacked was violent from the beginning, and of very long continuance. At length I became if possible worse than he had been, and my father and mother were objects of the sincerest pity. My medical attendant was Dr. Upton, and never did any physician feel more heartfelt solicitude for the recovery of a patient than he did on that occasion. One evening when I was apparently past hope, he came as usual to see me, and after having examined my state very closely, he turned into the parlour, where my father and Father Asitting in expectation of his last opinion upon my recovery."Doctor," said my father, "in one word do you think he'll live? "Mr. Butler," said he, "I cannot equivocate under any circumstances much less now-you have asked me will he live-that you know, my dear Sir, is certainly in the hands of God, with whom nothing is impossible-but as far as my opinion and practice enable me to judge, I should think he will not." As he uttered the latter sentence my mother came in. My father clasped his hands but did not speak, and my mother was so much affected by the intelligence, that she sank powerless on the sofa-she did not, however become insensible, but her lips got parched and whitish-her features became set, and the perspiration fell in drops from her face. The Doctor wet her lips, and applied salts were |