Previously to this reign the Irish people were divided into various great tribes commanded by powerful chieftains, usually called kings, and these great tribes were further sub-divided into several minor ones, each commanded by a petty chieftain, but who was subject to the control of the _Righ_, or head of the great tribe. Thus, in Thomond the name of the great tribe was _Dal Cais_, from Cormac Cas, the progenitor of the regal family, and of all the sub-tribes into which this great race was divided. Immediately before the establishment of surnames, Brian Boru, whose descendants took the name of O’Brien, was the leader and supposed senior representative of this great race; but there were various other tribes under him, known by various appellations, as the _Hy-Caisin_ otherwise _clann Cuileain_, who after the reign of Brian took the name of Mac Namara; the _Kinel-Fearmaic_, who took the name of O’Dea; _Muintir Iffernain_, who took the name of O’Quin; the _Kinel Donghaile_, who took the name of O’Grady; the _Sliocht Dunchuain_, who took the name of O’Kennedy; the _Hy-Ronghaile_, who took the name of O’Shanaghan; the _Hy-Kearney_, who took the name of O’Ahern, &c. The chiefs of these tribes had generally the names of their fathers postfixed to their own, and sometimes, but not often, those of their grandfathers; but previous to the reign of Brian in the tenth century, these appellations changed in every generation. The next article shall treat of surnames. [1] Original in possession of Messrs Hodges and Smith, College Green, Dublin. BOYHOOD AND MANHOOD. Oh, for the merry, merry month of June, When I was a little lad! When the small birds’ throats were all in tune, And the very fields were glad. And the flowers that alas! were to fade too soon, In their holiday clothes were clad. Oh, I remember--remember well, The scent of the morning grass, Nor was there a sight, sweet sound, or sweet smell, That can e’er from my memory pass: For they lie on my heart with the power of a spell, Like the first love I felt for a lass. Ay, there is the river in which I swam, The field where I used to play-- The fosse where I built the bridge and the dam, And the oak in whose shade I lay: But, oh, how changed a thing I am! And how unchanged are they! Time was--ah! that was the happy time!-- When I longed a man to be; When a shaven chin was a thing sublime-- And a fine thing to be free: And methought I had nought to do but climb To the height of felicity. But, alas! my beard is waxen grey Since I mingled among men; And I’m not much wiser, nor half so gay, Nor so good as I was then;-- And I’d give much more than I care to say To be a boy again. N. * * * * *