“But the woman wid the wings is only to be in the wildherness for a time, times, an’ half a time, that’s exactly three hundred an’ fifty years, an’ afther that there’s to be no more Prodestans.”
“Faith that’s great!”
“Sure Columkill prophesied that until H E M E I A M should come, the church would be in no danger, but that afther that she must be undher a cloud for a time, times, an’ half a time, jist in the same way.”
“Well, but how do you explain that, Barney?”
“An’ St Bridget prophesied that when D O C is uppermost, the church will be hard set in Ireland. But, indeed, there’s no end to the prophecies that there is concerning Ireland an’ the church. However, neighbours, do you know that I feel the heat o’ the fire has made me rather drowsy, an’ if you have no objection, I’ll take a bit of a nap. There’s great things near us, any how. An’ talkin’ about DOC brings to my mind another ould prophecy made up, they say, betune Columkill and St Bridget; an’ it is this, that the triumph of the counthry will never be at hand till the DOC flourishes in Ireland.”
Such were the speculations upon which the harmless mind of Barney M’Haighery ever dwelt. From house to house, from parish to parish, and from province to province, did he thus trudge, never in a hurry, but always steady and constant in his motions. He might be not inaptly termed the Old Mortality of traditionary prophecy, which he often chiselled anew, added to, and improved, in a manner that generally gratified himself and his bearers. He was a harmless kind man, and never known to stand in need of either clothes or money. He paid little attention to the silent business of ongoing life, and was consequently very nearly an abstraction. He was always on the alert, however, for the result of a battle; and after having heard it, he would give no opinion whatsoever until he had first silently compared it with his own private theory in prophecy. If it agreed with this, he immediately published it in connection with his established text; but if it did not, he never opened his lips on the subject.
His class has nearly disappeared, and indeed it is so much the better, for the minds of the people were thus filled with antiquated nonsense that did them no good. Poor Barney, to his great mortification, lived to see with his own eyes the failure of his most favourite prophecies, but he was not to be disheartened even by this; though some might fail, all could not; and his stock was too varied and extensive not to furnish him with a sufficient number of others over which to cherish his imagination and expatiate during the remainder of his inoffensive life.
[1] There certainly is such a prophecy.
ORIGIN AND MEANINGS OF IRISH FAMILY NAMES.
BY JOHN O’DONOVAN.