{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_42201/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_42201","id":"gutenberg_42201","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42201","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: History - Other","Category: Journals","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Ireland -- Periodicals","The Irish Penny Journal"],"text":"THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.\n\n\n    NUMBER 2.      SATURDAY, JULY 11, 1840.      VOLUME I.\n\n\n[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE GREAT CAVE OF KISH-CORRAN, AS SEEN FROM\nTHE INTERIOR.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE CAVES OF KISH-CORRAN.\n\n\nAmong the many wonders of Ireland, as yet undescribed and little known,\neven to Irishmen, beyond their immediate localities, the subject of our\nprefixed illustration has every claim to find a place, and to attract our\nattention as a subject equally interesting to the geologist, artist, and\nhistorian. That it should have hitherto remained unnoticed, as we think\nit has, while objects of the same description in other localities less\nremarkable and interesting have been repeatedly described, may be\nattributed chiefly to the circumstance of its situation being remote from\nany leading road, and in a wild and rarely visited district of country,\nnamely, the barony of Corran, in the county of Sligo. Of this barony, the\nmountain called Ceis or Kish-Corran, is the most striking geographical\nfeature. It is composed of tabular limestone; has a flat outline at top,\nbut is precipitous on its sides, and rises to an altitude of upwards of a\nthousand feet. To the traveller journeying from Boyle to Sligo it must be\na familiar and pleasing object, as, after passing the little town of\nBallinafad, it offers, for some miles of the road towards the west and\nsouth-west, the charms of a mountain boundary in contrast to the rich\nwoods of Hollybrook, and the delightful vistas of the water of Lough\nArrow, or Arva, which skirt the road along the east. But the most\nprecipitous and noble point of Kish-Corran is presented to the west, and\nis not seen by the traveller on this road, which must for a time be\nabandoned to enable him to see it, as well as the wonderful caves which\nopen on its face, and to which we have now to call the attention of our\nreaders. On this western side, the mountain, to within a hundred feet or\ntwo of its summit, presents a green but boldly sloping grassy face,\nformed of the debris of the rocks above, which rise perpendicularly, and\nlook more like a wall--lichen-stained and ivy-decked--formed by the\nCyclops or giants of old, than creations of nature's hand. And such\nimpression is increased in no small degree by the lofty and magnificent\ncaves, which present themselves like doorways, and lead into the inmost\nrecesses of the mountain. It is of one of these entrances, and the most\nremarkable for grandeur, that our illustration attempts to give an idea.\nIts height is no less than twenty feet. How far the caves extend, we are\nunable to speak with certainty; they are undoubtedly of great extent,\nand, if the local accounts are to be trusted, reach even to the opposite\nor eastern side of the mountain, and contain lakes of unfathomable depth,\nand spars of unimaginable beauty.\n\nA spot so striking to the imagination could not be, in Ireland, without\nits legends of a romantic and singular character; and some of these are\nof a most remote antiquity, and connected with the earliest legendary\nhistory of our country. In the ancient topographical tract called the\nDinnseanchus, which gives the origin, according to the poets, of the\nnames of the most remarkable mountains, lakes, rivers, caves, forts, &c.\nin Ireland, we are told that Corran received its name from the harper of\nDiancecht, to whom that magical race, called the Tu\u00e1tha de Danann, gave\nthe territory as a reward for his musical skill; and popular tradition\nstill points to the cave of Kish-Corran as his residence, according to\nthe ancient form quoted in the Dinnseanchus:--\n\n\"Here used to dwell the gentle Corann, whose hand was skilled in playing\non the harp; Corann was the only ollave of Drancich (with whom he\nlived), in free and peaceable security.\n\nTo Corann of the soft music, the Tu\u00e1tha De gave with great honour a free\nterritory for his skilful playing, his knowledge, and his astrology. Here\nwas he, this generous man, not without literature or in a churlish\nfortress, but in a place where the stranger was at liberty to a free\nsojournment with him, this liberal prosperous man.\"\n\nThe same authority accounts for the prefix _Ceis_, or, as it is\npronounced, _Kish_, which is applied to the mountain by a very singular\nlegend, according to which it would appear that it was originally the\nname of a lady, who with five others were, by a charm compounded with the\nnut-fruit, metamorphosed into pigs, the unhappy Ceis herself being here\nsubsequently slain. However this may be, there is nothing improbable in\nthe supposition that the caves of Kish-Corran were in former times the\nfavourite dens of the wild boar, the wolf, and many other animals now\nextinct; they furnish a secure retreat to the fox and many other wild\nanimals at the present day.\n\n    P.\n\n\n\n\nON BENEVOLENCE OF CHARACTER.\n\nBY MARTIN DOYLE.\n\n\nIf it be afflictive, on one side, to reflect upon the deeds of cruelty\nand oppression which prevail upon earth, through the instrumentality of\nman, it is delightful, on the other, to perceive that human reason,\ninstead of being abused and perverted into a source of tyrannical\noppression, is occasionally exercised, as it ought to be, in promoting\nhappiness and social harmony, even among brutes; in producing that degree\nof peaceful concord, which it has been proved may exist among animals\nwhose natural antipathies are the most violent imaginable--that feeling\nwhich disarms the strong among them of all desire to tyrannise over and\ndestroy the weak, and is brought into exercise by a steady and\npersevering _system_ of early training (and consequent acquirement of\nabiding habits), directly opposed to _that_ which prompts us to place a\nwhip in the hand of a child.\n\nI have been led into this train of contemplation, from having recently\nwitnessed a practical illustration of the wonderful effects producible by\nwhat may fairly be termed a benevolent system, for there is no degree\nwhatever of harsh discipline connected with it--no starvation, no blows,\nnothing of that \"reign of terror,\" under the influence of which Van\nAmburgh has doubtless effected his dominion over the most ferocious of\nbeasts; the exhibition of which power, while it surprises, does not\nplease us; for, though, by an effort of the imagination, the mind may be\nled for a moment to the anticipation of the scene in which \"the wolf\nshall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid,\"\nit quickly considers this surprising display of human power with painful\nsensations, from the conviction that extreme severity of discipline alone\nhas enabled man in this instance to attain his despotic sovereignty, and\nthat the unnatural results which he beholds are an evidence that the\nlegitimate dominion granted to man \"over every thing that moveth upon the\nearth,\" has in this case, as in ten thousand others, been overstrained\nand abused.\n\nWhile animals of prey are in a state of nature, they either avoid each\nother, or meet in deadly contest, according to the degree of their\nantipathies; and until He who has impressed their dispositions upon them\nshall bid them lie down together in peace, no efforts of puny man can\navail in changing their habits, except under such rare circumstances as\nconfirm the general law of instinct which leads them to destroy each\nother. But the dislike which many of the domesticated animals entertain\nfor each other, is greatly increased by the encouragement which they\nreceive from man. The dog, which under other treatment would be familiar\nwith the cat or the hog, is taught from his _puppyhood_ to pursue and\nworry each of them; the cat instinctively defends herself with those\nclaws which are her natural weapons, and she scratches her opponent's\nface, and through their after life they are never thoroughly reconciled\nto each other, but live proverbially as \"cat and dog.\" The hog cannot\ndefend himself from the teeth of the dog; his ears are torn by them; he\ncannot retaliate, but he lives ever afterwards in dread of the whole\ncanine race. Dogs, which otherwise would live in harmony together, are\ntaught to fight; their natural jealousy is encouraged, and they are\nrendered bullies by profession.\n\nThat the dread of man is in a certain degree naturally upon every beast\nof the field and bird of the air, cannot be disputed; but this feeling is\nincreased considerably by the _experience_ which many brutes have of\nman's caprice or tyranny, and this dread is transmissible (as may be\njustly inferred from cases which are perfectly analogous, such as the\nacquired habit of pointing at game) to their posterity.\n\nA benevolent man, living, as we read of Robinson Crusoe, among his goats,\nceases to be an object of apprehension to the animals around him; even\nbirds, habituated to his kindness and protection, would become divested\nof the dread of man; and each successive generation of those familiarized\nbirds would probably become more and more disposed to associate with him,\nif he were systematically kind and encouraging in his manner. Such\nexperiments with the brute kind, it is true, can be but extremely\npartial, and are unattended with any very practically useful results in\n_themselves_; but, as respects _the education of children_, they are of\nextreme utility in exciting tender and benevolent feelings, and awakening\nthe intellectual faculties from subjects merely sensual or idly amusing;\nthey teach us \"to look from Nature up to Nature's God.\"\n\nThere never was a better founded observation than that of the late Mr\nCobbett, that no one should be entrusted with the care of the nobler\nanimals who had not been habituated to treat the lesser ones with\nkindness.\n\nI love to see a child feeding his rabbits or pigeons, and familiarly\nplaying with them, consulting their tastes, and contributing to their\ncomforts by every means within his power. Surely such a pursuit should\nnot be rudely discouraged; how much more humanizing than the desire to\npossess \"whips for a penny,\" to which I have recently adverted! It tends\nto render a child compassionate in his disposition to all God's\ncreatures, and unwilling to hurt, for the sake of inflicting pain, or\nfrom thoughtless mischief.\n\nAnd I am just enough of phrenologist to be of opinion that, if there be\nany remarkable developement of the organ of destructiveness, this may be\nsufficiently counteracted by the exercise of feelings which have\nconnection with the faculty of benevolence, and so modified, by avoiding\nall pursuits of a cruel nature, as to constitute, with God's blessing, a\nbenevolent character, which, by the indulgence of the inherent\ninclination to cruel sports, would become of the opposite nature; for\nthere is unquestionably an adaptation of the mind, as well as the body,\nto the circumstances under which individuals are placed. It is with the\nfaculties of the human mind as with the habits of brutes; when exercised,\nthey acquire strength, and gradually become more developed and confirmed;\nay, and become hereditary too in proportion to their original or\ngradually progressing degree of developement. How important, then, that\nthe higher faculties, on which depends the elevation of the moral\ncharacter, should be strengthened by use and exercise! But I have\ndigressed far from the illustration which I was about to give at the\nbeginning, of a practically benevolent system of brute education.\n\nThere stands on every fine day, near one of the great London bridges, a\nmild, cheerful looking man, who exhibits to the passers by an assemblage\nof animals of the most decided antipathies by nature, who live together\nin the same large cage in perfect harmony. The notion of collecting into\none family such apparently discordant members, originated, I believe,\nwith a gentleman who has long made the brute animal economy the subject\nof his investigations, and who suggested to John Austin the harmlessness,\nat least, of earning the means of his support by the novel and\ninteresting exhibition of a cat, rats, mice, Guinea pigs, hawks, pigeons,\nowls, and starlings, and, I believe, another bird, under the same limited\nroof, and with perfect freedom of access from one to another. One of the\npigeons is now hatching, without any cause of alarm from the hawk for the\nsafety of her anticipated offspring; for that bird is so far from being\nof a destructive temper, that he frequently feeds a young starling with\nmeat from his own bill, and apparently of his own impulse; nor do any of\nthe birds manifest apprehension from the cat, which has been almost born\nin their company, and although frequently permitted to go outside the\ncage and take the air without restraint, returns soon again, without\nhaving had her disposition corrupted by intercourse with bad company,\ntakes up her favourite position in a corner, where the rats most\naffectionately run up to her for warmth and concealment from the public\ngaze, behind her furry and comfortable back. The pigeons are also allowed\ntheir liberty occasionally, but they soon return to their quarters, which\nhabit has rendered pleasant to them.\n\nNow, I by no means recommend to parents, for their children, the\nestablishment of a _domestic menagerie_, for the care of this would be\nextremely troublesome, and occupy time which should be spent to far\nbetter purpose; nor do I recommend the keeping of useless pets of any\nkind, my object being merely to point out, by actual exemplification,\nwhat the benevolent _principle_, systematically exercised, _can_ produce\neven under the most adverse circumstances. On what are called pets, such\nas lapdogs and parrots, much warm, kind feeling is often unprofitably\nbestowed. When PONTO dies of plethora, or POLL from cold or infirmity,\nsensibilities are sometimes called forth, which would not flow from the\ncontemplation of human sufferings. The servant who is daily employed to\nwash and comb the dog, is perhaps never sent upon an errand of mercy to\nany of the distressed families around the mistress, and a wayworn group\nof children may unavailingly solicit the luxurious food which is placed\nbefore the pampered _pet_, without shame or scruple.\n\nI do not intend to maintain the pet _system_ in general; it is the\nprinciple of humanity which I seek, not that mawkish sensibility which\ncauses so many to weep at the dramatic exhibition of fictitious woe, who\nwould not drop one tear of sympathy for real misery, divested, as in the\nscenes of every-day life, of the embellishments and romantic adjuncts\nwhich false sentiment delights in. We all, it is true, require some\nespecial objects of endearment, something on which the feelings of the\nheart may find expansion, else we become cold, selfish, and very\ndisagreeable to every one. In childhood, therefore, the disposition to\nlove even the domestic animals born for our use, should be sedulously\nfostered, but not to such excess as to weaken the affection for parents,\nbrothers, sisters, or friends. The principle should only be checked,\nhowever, in its exuberance, never crushed. In mature years the affections\nshould have the highest objects, and in those instances in which the\nCreator has denied the gift of offspring to us, I would respectfully\nsuggest to those who desire pets, the adoption of an orphan or two, whom\nthey may train both for earth and heaven, in preference to any other\nperishable idols.\n\n\n\n\nLAGHT-E-OURIA.\n\n\"The longest way round is often the shortest way home.\"--_Old Proverb._\n\n\nI was not more than eight or nine years old when the following anecdote\nwas related to me by the actor or sufferer, whichever he might be called,\nhimself. He was a fine stately old gentleman. His family had once been\npowerful; but in the troubles with which the page of Ireland's history is\nfilled and darkened, they had been reduced, and he, fleeced by a\ntreacherous guardian of the last remnant of the property, had been\ncompelled to accept the influence of friends in procuring him a\ncommission in the civil service (for in war he would not serve them) of a\ngovernment which he loathed.\n\nHe was of a stern and rather gloomy disposition, and rarely condescended\nto social or pleasant conversation, much less to notice children; but\nsometimes the genial fire within would thaw the icy surface, and diffuse\nlife and light around. The bow could not be kept ever bent: the garrison\nwas too feeble to keep constant watch and ward, and a view would be\nsometimes gained, through an open door, of a heart fitted by nature to\ngive and receive all sublunary happiness. I heard his history long after\nhis career had closed. But it has nothing to do with the present\nstory--another time for it.\n\nI had been playing marbles with my cousin and playfellows; we quarrelled,\nand were proceeding to blows, when Mr M----, who was sitting, unobserved\nby us, on a stone bench, and had witnessed our dispute, called to us both\nto approach him. He took one on each knee, and looking alternately at us,\nsaid, in a tone so mild and different from his usual harsh commanding\nvoice, that we could scarcely think it was the same man who spoke, \"Boys,\nbeware of sudden ungovernable passion; under its influence you might\ncommit, in one moment, an act which would embitter, with remorse and vain\nregret, all your subsequent life.\n\n\"When a young man, I once suffered so keenly the consequence of my\nungovernable temper, that were I to live a thousand years, I could not\nforget it. I see that your curiosity is excited, and you would like to\nhear the circumstance; but it is connected with a ghost story, and I must\ntell you all.\" \"Oh! do, Mr M----,\" said I, \"for papa says there are no\nsuch things as ghosts or fairies, and nurse says there are; and nurse\nnever tells lies, and certainly papa would not, and I do not know what\nto think between them.\" \"Well,\" said he, \"I shall tell you the story, and\nit will help you to form your judgment.\n\nFrom the high road between Cork and Cloyne, and about three miles from\nthe latter, a small by-road, or 'borheen,' branches off. It is of very\nancient date, belonging to times when men were guided by the position of\nthe sun during the day, and the stars at night, and when, consequently,\ntheir track lay over mountain and hollow, through wood and bog, as the\navoidance of impediments (except to a very short distance) would have\nthrown them quite out of their reckoning, and toil was much less regarded\nthen than in these degenerate days. The road by Laght-e-Ouria is\ndecidedly a shorter way to Cloyne than the high road from which it\ndiverges; but a saying has arisen since it was made, 'the longest way\nround is the shortest way home,' that has been so often used as a\nconclusion to a debate upon 'which of the roads should be taken,' that\nthe wisdom of our ancestors is voted folly, and their ways are no longer\ntrodden.\n\nOther reasons than the unevenness of its surface are however not wanting,\nand many a headstrong drunken farmer, upon whom all other argument had\nbeen tried in vain, has been induced to turn his horse's head to the new\nroad, by the soft voice of the 'Vanitha' whispering in his ear that 'it\nwould be midnight ere they passed Laght-e-Ouria.'\n\nLaght, in Irish, signifies a heap of stones, and it is customary in\nIreland, wherever a murder has been committed, for every passer-by to\nthrow a stone upon the spot. A heap, or 'laght,' is thus soon formed, and\nit receives the cognomen of the unfortunate individual whose untimely end\nit commemorates.\n\nIn the beginning of the month of October 1775, when residing in Cork, I\nreceived a note from the Earl of Inchiquin, desiring me to meet him at\nCloyne between five and six o'clock on the following morning, on most\npressing and important business. I immediately ordered my horse,\ndetermining to dine with a particular friend who resided about half way,\nto jog quietly on in the evening, and have, what I always relished, a\nnight's repose on the spot where my morning's business awaited me.\n\nMr Ahern was one of a class well known in the south as 'gentlemen\nfarmers,' being mostly reduced gentlemen who farmed a portion of the\ngrounds that once belonged to their ancestors, in many instances to\nthemselves.\n\nHospitality, the virtue they most prided themselves upon, they carried to\na fault; and my friend Ahern, in common with the rest, made it a rule,\nwithout an exception, that a bottle either of wine or whisky once opened,\nshould be finished on the spot. Upon this occasion, however, I felt it\nnecessary to demur. The last bottle of whisky having been opened without\nmy consent, and feeling that, although I was still capable of proceeding\non my journey, the half of what remained would put it completely out of\nthe question, I positively refused to take another drop except the\n'Dhuch-an-dhurrish,' or parting glass, and resisting all his\nimportunities to stay the night, not relishing a ride of a dark morning,\nI took my departure about an hour before midnight.\n\nI never was a believer in ghosts or fairies, or any class of idle,\nmischievous, disembodied creatures; but upon this occasion, whether from\nmelancholy or loneliness, or the darkness, which was so intense as to\nforce me to proceed very slowly, or from my friend's stirrup-cup having\nslightly obnubilated my reasoning faculties without producing the usual\nvalour, I know not. Certain it is, I did not feel comfortable, and wished\nmost fervently for just as much light as would enable me to urge my horse\nforward at a quicker pace, but the more I wished for light the darker it\nbecame, until my eyes ached in endeavouring to penetrate the gloom.\n\nA row of tall trees ran along at each side of the road, and nearly met at\ntop, and the fitful breeze just agitating the leaves, or occasionally\nmoving the branches so as to cause a low, moaning, creaking noise, jarred\nmy nerves, and made me feel still more and more unpleasant. At length,\nwhen I had arrived at an intolerable pitch of nervous excitement, the\ndarkness became less intense, and I could just distinguish a breach in\nthe row of trees upon the right, which marked the locality of the\n'laght.' Taking advantage of the opportunity, I pressed my horse. He\nseemed to have become as nervous as myself, for he answered to the slight\ntouch of the spur with a loud snort and a violent spring, which I\nconsidered so totally uncalled for, as to give me a very fair excuse for\nbeing in a passion, and venting my irritability, which I proceeded to do\nwith my whip, as giving my muscles more action than the spur; but\ninstead of plunging along at a mad gallop, as I expected, my horse\nreared, and turning sharply round, attempted a flight back. Again and\nagain I turned his head to the road, but onward he would not go; this was\nvery strange, for he never shied or started. At length I tried the\nsoothing system; for I must confess that the general belief that horses\nsee what is hidden from the eyes of man, occurred to me, and I coaxed and\npatted him, and spoke gently and encouragingly to him, but he kept\nsidling, and tramping, attempting to turn, and answering every word or\npat with a long snore, whilst I could perceive by his forward pricked\nears and the direction of his head, that his eyes were rivetted upon the\nheap of stones. Whilst thus engaged, and having somewhat quieted his\nterror, I heard a sound like the rattling of chains. Round and away with\nRainbow. I brought him up again nearer than before. Again the chains\nclanked, and I could distinctly hear that they were chains, ere my horse\nbolted and ran again. 'The third time,' said I, 'contains a charm, they\nsay; and, man or devil, ghost or fairy, I'll overhaul you. Who's there?'\nNo answer. 'Who's there?' Clank, clank, went the chains. I could see\nnothing. The perspiration was running down my face, but I was furious.\n'By the hand of my grandfather, if you do not answer me, I'll go to you,\nand whilst sinew and whalebone last, you shall feel the butt of a loaded\nwhip. Who are you?' Again the chains clanked, and my horse would not\nconsent to keep such company any longer. I dismounted, and, taking him a\nfew paces back, tied him to a tree, and returned on foot to the spot.\n\nBehind the trees was a deep trench partly filled with water; a hawthorn\nhedge grew at the farther side, and threw its branches nearly across. As\nI approached the 'laght,' the rattling of the chains again rose,\naccompanied by a plashing, scrambling noise, as of something breaking\nthrough the hedge and trench. I sprang forward, striking with the heavy\nhandle of my whip, having twisted the thong firmly round my hand and\nwrist, I had only beaten air, but the violence of the blow and weight of\nthe whip carried me forward; and, missing my footing in the darkness, I\nfell against, or rather upon, the monster of the chains; and having made\na furious grasp to save myself, judge what was my horror at catching a\nhandful of hair, such as might be expected to be felt upon an arctic\nbear! The creature slipped from me, and with a tremendous plunge and\nfrightful rattling of its chains, gained the road, overwhelming me\ncompletely in the muddy ditch.\n\nJust at that instant the whole truth flashed across my mind; and with a\nvengeful rage that I am ashamed to confess, I sprang up, and pursuing my\nunfortunate victim, a jackass, who could make but little exertion to\nescape, being spancelled with a piece of an iron chain, I kept my oath,\nby belabouring poor Neddy until I could strike no more from exhaustion. I\nthen turned to remount my horse; but he was gone, having left the\nprincipal portion of his bridle hanging on the bough for a keepsake.\nNothing saved Neddy from a second edition, with considerable additions,\nbut the recollection of the hour, the necessity of catching my horse, and\nthe confounded distance I should have to travel afterwards, for he was,\nof course, gone the wrong way.\n\nI ran as fast as I could, but was soon obliged to pull up. I found that I\nwas carrying weight, and no light weight, for my clothes were saturated\nwith water, and covered thickly with mud. Having scraped off as much as I\ncould of the latter, I got along, and about two o'clock reached my\nfriend's house again, entertaining a faint hope that Rainbow had returned\nto the last stall he had occupied; and so he had.\n\nNot finding the gate open, he had jumped the road fence, and was quietly\ngrazing with two or three other horses. There was now light enough to\ndistinguish objects at a hundred yards; and I could see his saddle, but\nhow to catch him was now the question, for he had at all times a\npropensity to keep his liberty when he had got it; and to think of\ncatching him without help was idle. I approached the house, but just then\nrecollected that my friend had a couple of dangerous mastiff dogs, of\nextraordinary size and ferocity; and as the entrance to the front of the\nhouse lay through the farm-yard, in which they were kept, it would be as\nmuch as my life was worth to approach it. My only chance was to get at\nthe rere; and having made the circuit of a few fields, I reached it, and,\nselecting a window likely to belong to some sleeping apartment on the\nground floor, I tapped at it with the butt of my whip. Receiving no\nanswer, I repeated the knock, and placing my head close, heard a female\nvoice exclaim, 'Marcy save us, it's the boys;' and the speaker hurried\nbarefooted from the room. I knew that the only female inmate of the\nhouse was the daughter of an old follower of the family, now called\n'_the_ servant man;' for Pat or Paddy fulfilled the manifold duties of\nbutler, footman, gardener, and valet, besides taking a hand at every\nthing about the farm in turn.\n\nWhilst considering whether or not I should knock again, I had the\nsatisfaction to see, by the still increasing light, that the shutter of\nan upper window was cautiously opened; then the window was gently raised;\nand I waited for the appearance of a head to announce myself, when a\nbright flash issued forth, accompanied by a tremendous report. Away went\nmy hat; and at the same instant the dogs opened, not barking, but with\nyells upon yells, as if Pandemonium was let loose. 'Ahern! Ahern!' I\nroared out, 'what are you at? 'Tis I--don't you know me?--M---- My horse\nhas run away; he's in your field, and I want help to catch him.' I\nbellowed this at the top of my voice, in the vain endeavour to drown the\n'bow-wow-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo' of the dogs. The answer I received was, 'You to\n(hiccup) blazes (hiccup); here's at you again, you villains.' I threw\nmyself down as my quondam kind host discharged a second blunderbuss at\nme; but was instantly on my legs again, as the roaring of the dogs\nannounced their rapid approach. They had in some manner got out of the\nyard. I glanced hurriedly round for some place of shelter. A large\narbutus tree was the nearest object, and into it I scrambled, just as the\ndogs appeared in full career upon the field.\n\nThey made repeated springs at me, for I was not above eight feet from the\nground, but I contrived, by well-aimed kicks in the jaws, to keep them at\nbay for a while. I was thus pleasantly engaged for about five minutes,\nwhen Ahern and four or five men made their appearance. He carried a\nblunderbuss in his hand, another tucked under his arm, and a brace of\nholster pistols stuck in his waistband. His old servant had the master's\nfowling-piece, and the rest, who were farm servants, had pitchforks.\n\nAs soon as I espied them, I roared out, 'Call off the dogs, I'm M----,\nyou stupid drunken rascal.' 'Ho! ho! he's--hic--up in the arbutus.'\n'Blur-an-agers, tare-an-taffy, sir, you'll shoot the dogs!' said old\nPaddy, knocking up the levelled blunderbuss. 'It's Mr M----; don't ye\nknow his voice? Down, Fin--down, Oscar--down with ye,' and with\npersuasive words, and still more persuasive blows of the fowling-piece,\nPat drew off the dogs, and took them away. I came down in a state of\nindescribable rage. Nothing vexes a man so much as the consciousness of\nbeing an object of mirth or ridicule.\n\nHaving paused awhile for words, I poured forth a torrent of abuse on\nAhern. He hiccupped once or twice, looked with the most stupid\nastonishment at me, and, when I paused for breath, 'damned me but it\nwould have been due to me to be shot; firstly, for leaving a Christian\nhabitation at the dead hour of the night; secondly, for going at that\nhour by a haunted road; and, thirdly, for attempting to get in at a back\nwindow of his house, when I well knew that I had only to raise the latch,\nand walk in at the front door.'\n\n'How the d---- could I get past your infernal dogs?' said I.\n\n'Good dogs always know friends from foes,' he replied; 'but--hic--it was\njust one of your tricks--you wanted to frighten me, and--ha! ha! ha!--you\ngot frightened yourself, and the devil's cure to you!--hic.' I was\nbeginning again, when he stopped me by saying, 'that if I thought he had\ntaken any advantage of me, matters could be made even;' and he produced\nthe holster pistols, saying 'that they were both double loaded; he had\ncharged them himself, and I might have my choice.' In a minute the ground\nwas measured; the men were ordered not to interfere, but stand aside; and\nAhem himself asked me if I was ready, and immediately said 'fire!'\n\nWell might he say 'the pistols were double charged;' they were trebly\ncharged--loaded to the muzzles. In fact, it was safer to stand before\nthan behind them. I was stunned by the report, and remained standing,\nuntil roused by one of the men asking me 'was I shot?' adding, that 'I\nhad killed the masther.' In an instant the whole impropriety of my\nconduct flashed before me, and I ran to my poor unfortunate friend, who\nlay motionless. I knelt down by his side, and never shall I forget the\npiercing anguish that at that moment penetrated my soul. All his\nvirtues--his amiable qualities--his kind-heartedness--every good action\nof his life with which I was acquainted, and they were numerous, appeared\nin order before my mental vision; and then conscience, shaking the \u00e6gis,\non which appeared, not the Gorgon's, but my poor friend's blackened\ncountenance, before me, and asking, 'Why did you do this?' froze up my\nfaculties, and converted my outward seeming into stone; but within, there\nwas a foretaste of the eternal torments.\n\nInvoluntarily I called upon his name; the sound of my own voice started\nme, arousing me to a sense of keener anguish; and I was about to break\nforth into some violent extravagance, when my unfortunate friend opened\nhis eyes, and, looking at me with kindness, said, 'M----, you did not do\nit; my pistol burst and has hurt me--take me into the house--I'm sober\nenough now.'\n\nUpon examination it was discovered that a piece of the pistol barrel had\nhit him above the forehead, cutting a path through his scalp; one of his\nfingers was broken, and his hand and arm were severely contused, but he\nseemed to think nothing of it, but desired one of the men to go for old\nBiddy Hoolaghan, a celebrated doctress, and the rest of them to catch\nRainbow. I refused to leave him in his then present condition, of which I\nwas the unlucky cause, but he would not hear of my stopping. 'No, no,'\nsaid he, 'your business cannot be neglected; and as to fault, we may\ndivide the matter between us, and bear each his own share. If I did not\nmake the ridiculous rule, that a bottle of whisky once opened should be\nfinished at once, I would not have drunk after you left me, but have gone\nto bed at once; in which case I'd have known your voice, and all would\nhave been right. And if you were not so lazy as to object to a morning\nride (which you must take after all), you'd have staid where you were,\nand saved all the mischief. But, at all events, remember for the rest of\nyour days that 'the longest way round is often the shortest way home.'\n\nRainbow was caught at length. Ahern lent me a bridle, and at four o'clock\nI faced the road again, and arrived at Cloyne, without further adventure,\nat five, thoroughly soaked with the rain, which commenced heavily soon\nafter my second departure, and for which I was thankful, as it partially\ncleansed me from the ditch mud, and accounted for my dripping and soiled\nstate when I made my appearance before the earl, which I was obliged to\ndo, without changing my dress, at half past five.\"\n\n    NAISI.\n\n\n\n\nCHARACTER OF O'DONNELL, PRINCE OF TYRCONNELL IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.\n\n(From the MS. Annals of the Four Masters, translated by Mr O'DONOVAN.)\n\n\nA.D. 1537. In this year died O'Donnell (Hugh, son of Hugh Roe, who was\nson of Niall Garve, who was son of Torlogh of the Wine), Lord of\nTyrconnell, Inishowen, Kinel-Moen,[A] Fermanagh, and Lower Connaught; a\nman to whom rents and tributes had been paid by the people of other\nterritories over which he had acquired dominion and jurisdiction, such as\nMoylorg, Machaire-Chonnacht, Clann-Conway, Costello, Gallen, Tirawly, and\nConmaicne-Cuile, to the west, and Oireacht-ui-Chathain (the patrimony of\nO'Kane), the Route, and Clannaboy, to the east; for of all these there\nwas not one territory that had not given him pledges for the payment of\nhis tribute of protection. It was this man who had compelled the four\nlords who ruled Tyrone in his lifetime, to give him new charters of\nInishowen, Kinel-Moen, and Fermanagh, by way of confirmations of the\nancient charters which his ancestors had held in proof of their right to\ngovern these countries; and this he had done, in order that he might\npeaceably enjoy jurisdiction over them, and have authority to summon\ntheir forces into the field when he wanted them. Neither in all this is\nthere anything to be wondered at, for never had victory been seen with\nhis enemies--never had he retreated one foot from any army, whether small\nor numerous; he had been distinguished as an abolisher of evil customs,\nand a restrainer of evil deeds, a destroyer and banisher of rebels and\nplunderers, and a rigid enforcer of the Irish laws and ordinances after\nthe strictest and most upright manner; he was a man in whose reign the\nseasons had been favourable, so that both sea and land had been profusely\nproductive while he continued on the throne;[B] a man who had\nestablished every person in his country in his rightful hereditary\npossessions, to the end that no one of them might bear enmity to another;\na man who had not suffered the power of the English to come into his\ncountry, for he had formed a league of peace and amity with the King of\nEngland so soon as he saw that the Irish would not yield the superiority\nto any one chief or lord among themselves, but that friends and blood\nrelations fiercely contended against one another; and a man who had\ncarefully protected from harm or violation the Termon-lands (or\nsanctuaries) belonging to the friars, churchmen, poets, and ollaves.\n\nThis O'Donnell (Hugh, son of Hugh Roe) died on the 5th of July, in the\nyear of salvation 1537, being Wednesday, in the monastery of Donegall,\nhaving first taken upon him the habit of St Francis, having bewailed his\ncrimes and iniquities, and done penance for his sins and transgressions.\nHe was buried in the same monastery, with all the honour and solemnity\nwhich were his due; and Magnus O'Donnell was nominated to succeed him in\nhis place by the successors of St Columbkille [viz. the Abbots of\nKilmacrenan, Raphoe, and Derry], with the permission and by the advice of\nthe nobles of Tyrconnell, both lay and ecclesiastical.\n\n[A] Now the barony of Raphoe.\n\n[B] Cormac, in his instructions to his son Carbry, tells him that \"when a\nworthy prince reigns, the great God sends favourable seasons.\" It is\nworthy of remark that, among the oriental nations, the same notion\nprevails to the present day; and the poets of the East frequently express\ntheir anticipations of favourable weather and abundant harvests upon the\naccession of a peaceable monarch to the throne.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HARP.\n\n\nThe harp was the favourite musical instrument, not only of the Irish, but\nof the Britons and other northern nations, during the middle ages, as is\nevident from their laws, and from every passage in their history in which\nthere is the least allusion to music. By the laws of Wales, the\npossession of a harp was one of the three things that were necessary to\nconstitute a gentleman, that is, a freeman; and no person could pretend\nto that title, unless he had one of those favourite instruments, and\ncould play upon it.\n\nIn the same laws, to prevent slaves from pretending to be gentlemen, it\nwas expressly forbidden to teach or to permit them to play upon the harp;\nand none but the king, the king's musicians, and gentlemen, were allowed\nto have harps in their possession. A gentleman's harp was not liable to\nbe seized for debt, because the want of it would have degraded him from\nhis rank, and reduced him to a slave.\n\nThe harp was in no less estimation and universal use among the Saxons and\nDanes; those who played upon this instrument were declared gentlemen by\nlaw; their persons were esteemed inviolable, and secured from injuries by\nvery severe penalties; they were readily admitted into the highest\ncompany, and treated with distinguished marks of respect wherever they\nappeared.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nANECDOTE OF JEROME DUIGENAN, A HARPER.--Some curious tales are told of\nJerome Duigenan, a Leitrim harper, born in the year 1710. One is of so\nextraordinary a character, that, were it not for the particularity of the\ndetails, which savour strongly of an origin in fact, the editor would\nhesitate to give it publicity. He is, however, persuaded that he has it\nas it was communicated to O'Neill, between whose time and that of\nDuigenan there was scarcely room for the invention of a story not\nsubstantially true. It is as follows:--\"There was a harper,\" says\nO'Neill, \"before my time, named Jerome Duigenan, not blind, an excellent\nGreek and Latin scholar, and a charming performer. I have heard numerous\nanecdotes of him. The one that pleased me most was this. He lived with a\nColonel Jones, of Drumshambo, who was one of the representatives in\nparliament for the county of Leitrim. The colonel, being in Dublin, at\nthe meeting of parliament, met with an English nobleman who had brought\nover a Welsh harper. When the Welshman had played some tunes before the\ncolonel, which he did very well, the nobleman asked him, had he ever\nheard so sweet a finger? 'Yes,' replied Jones, 'and that by a man who\nnever wears either linen or woollen.' 'I bet you a hundred guineas,' says\nthe nobleman, 'you can't produce any one to excel my Welshman.' The bet\nwas accordingly made, and Duigenan was written to, to come immediately to\nDublin, and bring his harp and dress of _Cauthack_ with him; that is, a\ndress made of beaten rushes, with something like a caddy or plaid of the\nsame stuff. On Duigenan's arrival in Dublin, the colonel acquainted the\nmembers with the nature of his bet, and they requested that it might be\ndecided in the House of Commons, before business commenced. The two\nharpers performed before all the members accordingly, and it was\nunanimously decided in favour of Duigenan, who wore his full _Cauthack_\ndress, and a cap of the same stuff, shaped like a sugar loaf, with many\ntassels; he was a tall, handsome man, and looked very well in\nit.\"--_Bunting's Ancient Music of Ireland._\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOUNTAIN WALK.\n\nBY J. U. U.\n\n\n    From the haunts of busy life,\n    Homes of care, and paths of strife,\n    Up the breezy mountain way,\n    'Mid the upper fields of day,\n    Let me wander, far and lonely,\n    Without guide, save nature only;\n    And still ever as I go,\n    Lose all thought of things below,\n    Cast all sorrow to the wind,\n    While the low vales sink behind:\n    Fetterless and spirit free\n    As the merry mountain bee.\n    Like a spirit, thought and eye\n    Buoyant between earth and sky,\n    There to bask in free pure light\n    On the joyous mountain height;\n    Dallying with the breeze and shower,\n    Claiming kin with every flower,\n    Catching iris dreams that glance\n    On the breath of circumstance.\n    Changing with the changeful scene--\n    Solemn, sombre, gay, serene:\n    As each change fresh wonders bring,\n    Weaving thought from every thing.\n\n      Oft let shadowy hollows fall,\n    And grey cliffs' embattled wall\n    Crown the gloom with hoary height,\n    Where the raven wheels his flight.\n    Or green vale unfolding soft,\n    In the lonesome crags aloft\n    Shut the far down world from view.\n    There, long up ether's darkening blue,\n    The eye may gaze for worlds unseen,\n    In the skyey void serene,\n    And weave visions strange and fair,\n    Of the starry empires there--\n    Spirits changeless, pure, and bright,\n    In their glorious vales of light;\n    Till some wild note break the spell\n    From sequester'd rural dell\n    Where the mountain goatherds dwell:\n    So to break the wild fond dream,\n    And to man bring down the theme;\n    For all earthly things impart\n    Thoughts of Man to human heart.\n\n      Then from towery crag on high,\n    If far city win the eye,\n    Glittering through the misty air,\n    'Twere a prospect meet and fair\n    For the lone sequestered gaze\n    O'er its wide uncertain maze,\n    Then to muse on wealth and fame,\n    And on every specious name\n    That gilds the dross of earth below,\n    Till, from reflection, wisdom grow.\n    Wisdom:--not that sense which cleaveth\n    To the world where all deceiveth;\n    Not grave prudence, hard, yet hollow--\n    In the beaten round to follow\n    Lengthened aims, in life's short day,\n    While the ages glide away:--\n    But that moral, old and sage,\n    Said and sung in every age;\n    Old as man--yet ever new,\n    Heard by all, and known to few;\n    Murmur of Being's wave, that still,\n    Unheeded as the babbling rill,\n    In the world's noise, makes music only\n    'Midst the hush of deserts lonely.\n\n      Last, from o'er the seaward steep,\n    Let me view the spacious deep,\n    While the billows break and flow\n    In the caverned gloom below.\n    There let cloud and sunbeam flee\n    O'er the sunned and shadowy sea--\n    Light and dark in fleeting strife,\n    Like the vanities of life;\n    So to dream of joy and woe,\n    Imaged in the gliding show,\n    As they come, and as they fly,\n    To the verge of sea and sky;\n    So our joys and sorrows flee,\n    Onward to eternity.\n    Then away in spirit wrought\n    By the voluntary thought,\n    Where the heath is freshly springing,\n    Where the sky-borne lark is clinging\n    On mid air with lively song,\n    Which the echoing cliffs prolong;\n    O'er wild steep and dreamy hollow,\n    On, still onward let me follow.\n    While the airy morn is bright,\n    While rich noon is at its height,\n    Till eve falls with sober grey,\n    Freely let me roam away.\n\n\n\n\nAPOLOGUES AND FABLES,\n\nIN PROSE AND VERSE, FROM THE GERMAN AND OTHER LANGUAGES.\n\n(_Translated for the Irish Penny Journal._)\n\nNo. 1.--THE DISCONTENTED STONES.\n\n\nA mason was one day at work, building a stout wall to protect a garden;\nnigh him lay a piled-up heap of stones, which he took into his hands in\nsuccession, one by one, according as he wanted them. The stones on their\npart submitted with exemplary quietness to be handled and introduced into\ntheir appropriate places; for they were fully aware that the mason's\nobject was to erect a wall, and they knew equally well that that object\ncould not be attained, if they took it into their thick heads to rebel\nagainst the principle upon which he was proceeding. At last, however,\nsomewhat to the mason's amusement, it did so happen, after he had\naccomplished a considerable portion of his task, that one contumacious\nfellow, upon being laid hold of, began to talk very big upon the rights\nof stones, and the tyranny of coercing stonekind in general, declaring,\nthat for himself, whether in a wall or out of a wall, he was determined\nto enjoy that liberty which was the birthright of every stone upon the\nearth, and that he would sooner be trodden into powder than surrender it.\n\n\"I tell you plumply and plainly, Master Mason,\" said he, \"that I will not\nbe subjected to restraint. I must have scope for my energies. I must have\nroom to look about me, and be able to roll to the left side or to the\nright, as I think proper, like a free agent!\"\n\nThe mason, on hearing this, could not refrain from laughing. \"Truly,\"\nsaid he, \"I have lighted here on an eccentric specimen of the stony\ntribe. So, my good friend, you wish to have room to roll about in--eh?\"\n\n\"Precisely,\" returned the other.\n\n\"Did you ever hear of the adage, 'a rolling stone gathers no moss?'\"\n\n\"Yes, and despise it,\" answered the Stone; \"a moss is a token of\nantiquity; and antiquity and absurdity are synonymous terms in my\nvocabulary. May heaven defend me from ever gathering moss!\"\n\n\"Whew!\" whistled the mason, in a manner to indicate mingled surprise and\ncontempt. \"Pray, what do you take yourself to be?\"\n\n\"What do I take myself to be! Just a stone--a wall stone--neither more\nnor less.\"\n\n\"And are you content that I should allot you a position in the wall?\"\n\n\"Certainly I am.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said the mason, \"you declare you will not be satisfied to\nremain under constraint? You must have room forsooth for your energies!\nReally your inconsistency is most ridiculous. Come; I have no time to\nlose; tell me at once what you would be at. Will you go into the wall, or\nshall I deposit you again on the ground?\"\n\n\"I have made up my mind to oblige you by going into the wall,\" replied\nthe Stone, with a patronizing air; \"but I will not be swindled out of my\nnatural rights! Liberty is the first of these--and I must have liberty,\neven in a wall.\"\n\n\"So you shall,\" said the man; \"your liberty will be that of obtaining\nyour just position in the wall, and of maintaining it undisturbedly.\"\n\n\"Bah! what stupid, sneaking notions you have of liberty, surely! I tell\nyou again that I must have space to expand and expatiate in. Do you think\nthat I can stoop to fill the office of a mere wedge?\"\n\n\"You tire out my patience, friend,\" said the mason: \"there is no use in\narguing the matter further. I see I cannot get you to take up your\nlodging in the wall: I see I must throw you on the earth again.\"\n\n\"Very well; be it so,\" returned the Stone: \"liberty before all things!\nPitch me to a respectable distance from the other stones, that I may feel\nmyself unshackled and independent. I have the same right to be a\nfree-_stone_ that you have to be a free-_mason_.\"\n\n\"There, then,\" said the mason, and with the words he cast the Stone from\nhim into the middle of the highway.\n\nThe Stone was now in the full enjoyment of its darling liberty.\nExceedingly did it congratulate itself. For a time also everything went\nwell with it. The summer was a mild one; the skies were bright, and the\nfoot of the passenger was continually transferring it to a new locality,\nand showing it daily more and more of the _ways_ of the world. But, alas!\nthe summer could not last for ever: autumn came, and brought with it\nclouds of dust and showers of yellow leaves; and when the wind-gusts had\nsubsided, there fell on the earth heavy torrents of rain; and the highway\nwas covered with mire, and the measure of the isolated stone was\nforthwith taken for a surtout of mud; and there it lay, fallen from its\nhigh estate, and completely confounded by the passing eye with the vilest\nof the rubbish in its vicinity.\n\nBut this was not the worst: in the course of a few weeks, the rains\ncontinuing still to fall, and the mire to accumulate, the earth gave way\nunder it, and it became, as it were, imbedded in a hole produced by the\nforce of its own pressure on the soft soil, till at last no part of it\nremained above ground except the upper surface. Unfortunately, too, there\nwas no longer a possibility of retracing its steps, for the wall was now\nerected and the mason was far away. Nothing remained for it but to sink\ndeeplier and deeplier into the earth, until not a vestige of it remained\nvisible to the eye. Alas! for our poor Stone! Oh, Liberty! Oh,\nIndependence! ye are indeed desirable objects of attainment; but surely\nthey who seek ye at the expense of the great combining principle of\nsocial order, commit a senseless and irremediable blunder.\n\nIn the spring following, the mason was employed in building another wall.\nHe hoped that his work would be suffered to proceed without interruption\non this occasion at least, but he was speedily undeceived; for one of the\nstones, just as in the previous year, began to grumble, and protest\nagainst the treatment to which it was about to be subjected. The mason,\nrecollecting the former scene, was on the point of flinging it away at\nonce; but second thoughts suggested to him the eligibility of first\ntrying the effect of a little reasoning and remonstrance, \"for, after\nall,\" said he, aloud, \"no two stones are alike, and though I have met\nwith one that was proof against argument, another may be less intractable\nin my hands.\"\n\n\"There it is!\" cried the Stone impatiently; \"no two stones alike!--that's\nyour foolish mistake, your ignorance. I tell you that there is no\ndifference between one stone and another: I am just as good as any stone\nin the wall, and I insist on my prerogatives.\"\n\n\"Hoity-toity!\" exclaimed the mason, \"but you are a sturdy beggar! Will\nyou be condescending enough to define your prerogatives? I will thank you\nto tell me briefly how you would have me dispose of you.\"\n\n\"I want to be a corner-stone, then,\" said the rebel, \"and a corner-stone\nI will be. I stand on my rights: all stones are equal; so, quick!--let me\noccupy a position in the corner.\"\n\n\"That you cannot do, my friend,\" returned the mason: \"don't you see that\nthe corner-stones are already in their places?\"\n\n\"I see that well enough,\" said the Stone; \"but you can take one of them\nout, and install me in its place. I have as clear a right to be there as\nany of them: equality is the badge of us all: every one of us is from a\ncommon quarry: we are all stones alike. Take one of them out, and put me\nin.\"\n\n\"Now, see how grossly inconsistent you are!\" urged the workman: \"all\nstones, you assert, are equal, and have the same rights: yet you would\nhave me rudely displace and degrade one of them for your pleasure,\nthough, according to your own acknowledgment, you are not a bit better\nthan he is! Upon my word, but you have enlightened conceptions of what\nconstitutes equality. But I cannot stand here arguing the question with\nyou all day; my time is precious; I beg you will decide whether you are\nsatisfied to form part of the wall or not.\"\n\n\"Assuredly I am,\" said the other, \"but only as a corner stone. How can\nyou be so blind as not to see that we are all stones alike, and all\ntherefore equal?\"\n\n\"You _are_ all stones alike,\" replied the mason, \"and so far equal, in a\ncertain sense; but your equality consists merely in your being all liable\nto serve as wall-stones, not in your being all qualified for the place of\ncorner-stones.\"\n\n\"A truce with your slavish doctrines!\" cried the malcontent; \"either make\nof me a corner-stone, or build your wall without me.\"\n\n\"Is that your final decision?\" asked the mason. \"I warn you not to trifle\nwith me, for I cannot let my work wait for you any longer.\"\n\n\"I have said it,\" said the Stone. \"I would see your wall trampled into\ndust, and the whole universe along with it, before I would surrender my\ngreat principle. Do what you please.\"\n\n\"Go, then, refractory wronghead,\" exclaimed the mason, \"go and enjoy your\nequality where none will be likely to dispute it!\" And so saying, he cast\nthe Stone from him with a vigorous jerk; and the Stone, after it had\ncompleted its journey through the air, fell down, and from the force of\nits own gravitation sank several feet low into the bottom of a deep and\nslimy pool.\n\nThis was, for all historical purposes, the termination of its existence.\nWhat became of it in the pool ultimately, it is impossible to conjecture,\nfor half a century has elapsed since; but as a total extinguisher was put\nupon its aspirations after notoriety by the accident, it is highly\nprobable that if not worn quite away by the friction of the surrounding\nmud and water, it was at least gnawed to the core, in a moral sense, by\nits regrets for the folly of its past misconduct--regrets which we may\nsuppose to have been shared in a pretty equal degree by its twin-brother\nof the preceding year, which had stickled so stoutly in its colloquy with\nthe mason for its favourite theory of liberty and independence.\n\n\n\n\nTHE AIR WE BREATHE.\n\n\nThe objects which come every day before our eyes, the offices which\ninvoluntarily and almost unconsciously we at each moment must perform in\norder that we may live, are precisely the subjects concerning which the\nmass of mankind are least curious, and of the true nature and utility of\nwhich they are the most completely ignorant. It is thus with the air we\nbreathe. There is no person but is aware of the necessity of breathing,\nand of the motion of the air caused by winds; but how few have asked\nthemselves, What is air? How much is there of it? Could the same air be\nalways used for breathing? How do fishes manage living in water in place\nof air? Yet the information thus obtainable might be the means of saving\nthe lives of hundreds, as certainly the ignorance on these points has\nbeen the source of death, by painful and lingering torture, in many\ncases. We purpose, therefore, now to give some information about air, to\nshow the importance of it to mankind, and to indicate how much we owe to\nthe Omniscient Providence that has given to air the properties that we\nfind it to possess.\n\nAlthough \"trifles light as air\" has become a proverb, yet air is\npositively heavy. A hogshead of air weighs about ten ounces; this is\nheavier than the gas which is burned in the streets and shops, of which a\nhogshead would weigh only seven ounces; and very much heavier than\nhydrogen gas, with which balloons were formerly filled, a hogshead of\nhydrogen gas weighing only two-thirds of an ounce. A balloon filled with\nhydrogen, or even with coal gas, rises into the air, as oil or a cork\nrises up through water. The air being thus heavy, presses upon the earth;\nand by measuring the degree of pressure we can tell how much air there\nis. This is done by an instrument termed a barometer--a glass tube closed\nat one end, and which, having been filled with quicksilver, is turned\nupside down in a cup containing quicksilver also. The tube being shut at\nthe top, the air does not press on the quicksilver inside, but presses\nupon that in the basin; the quicksilver in the tube, which tends\nnaturally to fall down into the basin, is thus forced to remain up in the\ntube by the pressure of external air; and it rises so high that the\npressure inside, of the quicksilver, and outside, of the air, is equal.\nIf the pressure of the air diminishes, the quicksilver falls; if the\npressure of the air increases, the quicksilver rises: and as all great\nchanges of the air are connected with changes of the weather, the\nbarometer is generally known and consulted as a sort of weather-glass.\n\nEvery space of an inch square supports fifteen pounds weight of air; at\nthe rate of ten ounces to a hogshead, the depth of the air would\ntherefore be about five miles. But it is much deeper, for air is what is\ntermed compressible--that is to say, it may by pressure be squeezed into\na smaller bulk; and hence the air next the ground, being compressed by\nthe portions above it, is much the heaviest portion. At three miles high\na hogshead of air weighs only five ounces, and at eight miles high only\ntwo ounces; hence the limits of the air are much farther removed, and it\nis known to extend to at least forty miles.\n\nThe office of the air is to support animal life: no animal can live\nwithout air: even fishes require air. The water in which they swim\ncontains air mixed with it, and this water washing the gills, which are\ntheir lungs, serves to them as the air directly acts on us. If we boil\nwater until the air is expelled from it, and let it cool in a close\nvessel, we may drown a fish by putting it into such water, as easily as a\nland animal; it could not breathe. It is thus that in the lakes on the\ntops of very high mountains there are no fish. The heights are deserted\nby land and by water animals, in consequence of the air being too thin to\nsupport life. The way in which the air acts upon the body is very\ninteresting. The most abundant element of our food is what the chemists\nterm carbon, of which, in a gross manner, charcoal may serve as an\nexample. Now, we eat much more of this than we require for the supply of\nour bodies, and it must be got rid of. This is done by its uniting in the\nbody with a substance termed oxygen, and forming carbonic acid, the sort\nof air which boils up in soda water and ginger beer. This dissolves in\nthe blood, colouring it a deep purple, and escapes from it when by the\naction of the heart the black blood is exposed to the action of the air\non the surface of the lungs. Now, the office of the air is to supply this\noxygen which removes the carbon from the blood. But the air is not pure\noxygen. If it were, it would act too violently. An animal which breathes\npure oxygen, becomes flushed, pants violently, and, if not choked, dies\nof inflammation of the lungs, produced by the intense action. In the air\nwe breathe, the oxygen gas is diluted to the proper degree by another\ngas, termed nitrogen, which is totally destitute of power; it does of\nitself no good and no harm; it is the only substance that could be mixed\nin the air we breathe, without interfering in any way. When thus the\nblood loses, by exposure to the air in the lungs, its carbonic acid, it\ntakes oxygen in its place; from dark purple it becomes bright red, and is\nthen proper to take up a fresh quantity of carbon, and to sustain the\nbody in health by its removal.\n\nWhen any thing burns in the air, it is the oxygen which is active. The\nnitrogen dilutes here also the oxygen, and keeps its activity down to the\ndegree most suitable to our wants. If the air were pure oxygen, all our\ndomestic fires would be violent conflagrations; our iron pokers and\ntongs, if heated red hot, would take fire and burn like squibs; no\ncomfort, no safety for society could exist. But in burning, this oxygen\nis destroyed. If a candle be placed lighted under a glass bell, it will,\nafter a little, go out. The air will become unfit to support combustion.\nHere also, as well as in the burning of coals, coke, gas, oil, charcoal,\n&c. the oxygen is changed into carbonic acid, and precisely as a fresh\nsupply of oxygen is necessary for the continuance of life, so is it for\ncombustion.\n\nThe air contains about one part in five of oxygen, and, as has been seen,\nthis oxygen is liable to continual destruction by the breathing of\nanimals and the burning of fuel and of lights. An ordinary man spoils in\ntwenty-four hours 720 cubic feet of air, that is, a mass of air 11 feet 6\ninches square and 6 feet thick. The burning of three ounces of charcoal,\nor of a mould candle of six to the pound, produces the same effect. It is\nnot unusual in a factory to burn ten tons of coal a-day, which spoils\n3,185,760 cubic feet of air, a mass of a quarter of a mile square and six\nfeet thick. If we multiply these numbers by the number of inhabitants, of\nman and of all other animals upon the earth, and also by the quantity of\nfuel burned all over the globe, it will be evident that without some\nregulating power superior to all that mere human means could devise, the\nair might ultimately become unfit to be the sustenance of living beings,\nand all the numerous tribes of animated nature which now adorn its\nsurface, would be destroyed.\n\nBy the all-wise arrangement of Providence, however, the animals, in thus\nconverting the oxygen of the air into carbonic acid, become the means of\nsupplying nourishment to another class of beings equally interesting and\nnumerous. All vegetables breathe; but as animals take in too much carbon\nwith their solid food, so do plants obtain too little from the substances\nthat give nourishment to their roots. The animal breathes to give off\ncarbon, the vegetable breathes to take it up. The two great divisions of\nliving nature thus act in contrary ways upon the air; the oxygen consumed\nby the animal or by combustion, is given out again by the carbon of the\ncarbonic acid becoming fixed in the plant of which it forms the woody\nmass; and thus the composition of the air is kept balanced at its proper\npoint, and provision for the due nutrition of animals and vegetables is\nsecured.\n\nThe air we breathe serves, however, for other important uses. Without the\nair, the fresh breezes which moderate the heats of summer could not\nexist, and there would prevail in nature an eternal silence, for it is by\nmeans of air that we not only breathe, but hear. The variety of aspect\ngiven to the sky by the formation and rapid change of clouds, arises from\nthe mixture of warm and of cold damp air. If there was no air, there\nmight be dew, but there could never be a cloud.\n\nWithout the air we could not have the bright blue sky which gives to our\nfine season its greatest charm. The heavens would be a vault of intense\nblack, in which the sun would appear alone a glaring ball of fire, whose\nrays, unmitigated by the air which now absorbs them in their passage\nthrough its mass, would be a continual source of ill. The blue sky, the\nbright white clouds, arise from the sun's rays being partly stopped, and\nturned from one object to another. The sun's rays really consist of light\nof all the colours of the rainbow; of these the red portion is lost in\npassing through the air, and the blue remains, giving the colour we\nobserve. Without the air, a place shaded from the sun would be in\nabsolute darkness; as it now exists, a quantity of light is scattered\nabout in every way by the different portions of the air, and thus an\nagreeable shade provided in place of the total absence of all light. On\nvery elevated tops of mountains, where the traveller is placed above the\ngreater portion of the air, all these effects of its absence which we\nhave noticed, are found to exist. On the summit of Mont Blanc, a pistol\ndischarged is scarcely heard, and a companion once out of sight, may be\nlost; for neither can he produce any noise by his own exertions, nor\ncould his voice reach his friends, even if he could speak; the sky is\ndeep indigo-coloured, or nearly black; and those objects on which the\nsun's light does not directly fall, are seen with difficulty.\n\nSuch are the uses of the common air we breathe. Such are the benefits we\nderive from a blessing, of whose existence when at rest we are almost\nunconscious.\n\n\n\n\nABSENCE OF MIND.--A well-known gentleman of Magdalen College, Cambridge,\nhad taken his watch from his pocket, to mark the time he intended to boil\nan egg for his breakfast, when a friend entering the room, found him\nabsorbed in some abstruse calculation, with the egg in his hand, upon\nwhich he was intently looking, and the watch supplying its place in the\nsaucepan of boiling water.\n\n\n\n\nEARLY RISING.--Six or seven hours' sleep is certainly sufficient, and no\none ought to exceed eight. To make sleep refreshing, the following things\nare requisite:--To take sufficient exercise in the open air; to avoid\nstrong tea or coffee; to eat a light supper; and to lie down with a mind\nas cheerful and serene as possible. We hardly ever knew an early riser\nwho did not enjoy a good state of health. It consists with observation,\nthat all very old men have been early risers. This is the only\ncircumstance attending longevity, to which we never knew an exception.\n\n\n\n\nPrinted and Published every Saturday by GUNN and CAMERON, at the Office\nof the General Advertiser, 6 Church Lane, College Green, Dublin.\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBERS' NOTES\n\n\nPage 10: developement as in the original (two occurrences)\nPage 12: rere as in the original in \"My only chance was to get at the\n           rere\"\nPage 13: Donegall as in the original in \"monastery of Donegall\"\nPage 16: Magdalen as in the original in \"Magdalen College, Cambridge\"","title":"The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 02, July 11, 1840","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":11592}