{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_43817/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_43817","id":"gutenberg_43817","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43817","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - Other","Category: Journals","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Ireland -- Periodicals","The Irish Penny Journal"],"text":"THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.\n\n    NUMBER 4.      SATURDAY, JULY 25, 1840.      VOLUME 1.\n\n[Illustration: CAISLEAN-NA-CIRCE, OR THE HEN'S CASTLE.]\n\n\nOur prefixed illustration gives a near view of one of the most\ninteresting ruins now remaining in the romantic region of Connemara, or\nthe Irish Highlands, and which is no less remarkable for its great\nantiquity than for the singularly wild and picturesque character of its\nsituation, and that of its surrounding scenery. It is the feature that\ngives poetic interest to the most beautiful portion of Lough Corrib--its\nupper extremity--where a portion of the lake, about three miles in\nlength, is apparently surrounded and shut in by the rocky and precipitous\nmountains of Connemara and the Joyce country, which it reflects upon its\nsurface, without any object to break their shadows, or excite a feeling\nof human interest, but the one little lonely Island-Castle of the Hen.\nThat an object thus situated--having no accompaniments around but those\nin keeping with it--should, in the fanciful traditions of an imaginative\npeople, be deemed to have had a supernatural origin, is only what might\nhave been naturally expected; and such, indeed, is the popular belief. If\nwe inquire of the peasantry its origin, or the origin of its name, the\nready answer is given, that it was built by enchantment in one night by a\ncock and a hen grouse, who had been an Irish prince and princess!\n\nThere is, indeed, among some of the people of the district a dim\ntradition of its having been erected as a fastness by an O'Conor, King\nof Connaught, and some venture to conjecture that this king was no other\nthan the unfortunate Roderick, the last King of Ireland; and that the\ncastle was intended by him to serve as a place of refuge and safety, to\nwhich he could retire by boat, if necessity required, from the\nneighbouring monastery of Cong, in which he spent the last few years of\nhis life: and it is only by this supposition that they can account for\nthe circumstance of a castle being erected by the O'Conors in the very\nheart of a district which they believe to have been in the possession of\nthe O'Flahertys from time immemorial. But this conjecture is wholly\nerroneous, and the true founders and age of this castle are to be found\nin our authentic but as yet unpublished Annals, from which it appears\ncertain that the Hen's Castle was one of several fortresses erected, with\nthe assistance of Richard de Burgo, Lord of Connaught, and Lord Justice\nof Ireland, by the sons of Roderick, the last monarch of the kingdom. It\nis stated in the Annals of Connaught, and in the Annals of the Four\nMasters, at the year 1225, that Hugh O'Conor (son of Cathal Crovedearg),\nKing of Connaught, and the Lord Justice of Ireland, Richard De Burgo,\narriving with their English at the Port of Inis Creamha, on the east side\nof Lough Corrib, caused Hugh O'Flaherty, the Lord of West Connaught, to\nsurrender the island of Inis Creamha, Oilen-na-Circe, or the Hen's\nIsland, and all the vessels of the lake, into Hugh O'Conor's hands, for\nassurance of his fidelity.\n\nFrom this entry it would appear that the Hen's Island, as well as the\nisland called Inis Creamha, had each a castle on it previously; and this\nconclusion is strengthened by a subsequent entry in the same Annals, at\nthe year 1233, from which it appears that this castle, as well as others,\nhad been erected by the sons of Roderick, who had been long in contention\nfor the government with Cathal Crovedearg, and his sons Hugh and Felim,\nand had, during these troubles, possessed themselves of O'Flaherty's\ncountry. On the death of Hugh O'Conor, who was treacherously slain by\nGeoffry De Mares, or De Marisco, in 1228, they appear to have again\nseized on the strongholds of the country, that of the Hen's Castle among\nthe rest, and to have retained them till 1233, when their rival Felim\nO'Conor finally triumphed, and broke down their castles. This event is\nthus narrated in the Annals of the Four Masters:--\n\n\"1233. Felim, the son of Charles the Red-handed, led an array into\nConnaught. Cormac, the son of Tomaltagh (Lord of Moylurg), went to meet\nhim, and brought him to Moylurg, where they erected a camp at Druim\nGreagraighe, and were joined by Cormac, by Conor his son, the inhabitants\nof the three Tuathas, and by the two sons of Mortogh Mac Dermot, Donogh\nand Mortogh. They here consulted with each other, and resolved upon going\nin pursuit of Hugh (King of Connaught) and the other sons of Roderic.\nAfter overtaking them, they defeated Hugh, slew himself, his brother,\nHugh Muimhneach his son, and Donogh More, the son of Dermot, who was the\nson of Roderic, and many others besides. There were also slain Raghallach\nO'Flanigan, Thomas Biris, Constable of Ireland, his relative John Guer,\nand many other Englishmen. This was after the bells and croziers had been\nrung against them, after they had been cursed and excommunicated by the\nclergy of Connaught; for Hugh Muimhneach had violated and plundered\nTibohine and many other churches, so that he and his adherents fell in\nrevenge of their dishonour to the saints whose churches they had\nviolated. The kingdom and sovereignty of Connaught were wrested from the\nsons of Roderic, the son of Torlogh, on that day. Felim, the son of\nCharles the Red-handed, then assumed the government of Connaught, _and\ndemolished the castles which had been erected by the power of the sons of\nRoderic O'Conor and Mac William Burke_, namely, the Castle of Bon\nGaillimbe, _Caislen-na-Circe_, Caislen-na-Caillighe, and the Castle of\nDunamon.\"\n\nIn subsequent times the Hen's Castle reverted to the O'Flahertys, and was\nrepaired and garrisoned by them till the time of Cromwell, when, as we\nare informed by Roderick O'Flaherty, it was finally dismantled and left\nto decay. Still, however, enough remains to exhibit its original plan,\nwhich was that of an Anglo-Norman castle or keep, in the form of a\nparallelogram, with three projecting towers on its two longest sides; and\nthe architectural features of the thirteenth century are also visible in\nsome of its beautifully executed windows and doorways.\n\nThe Hen's Castle is not without its legendary traditions connected with\nits history anterior to its dilapidation; and the following outline of\none of these--and the latest--as told at the cottage firesides around\nLough Corrib, may be worth preserving as having a probable foundation in\ntruth.\n\nIt is said that during the troubled reign of Queen Elizabeth, a lady of\nthe O'Flahertys, who was an heiress and a widow, with an only child, a\ndaughter, to preserve her property from the grasp of her own family and\nthat of the De Burgos or Burkes, shut herself up with her child in the\nHen's Castle, attended by twenty faithful followers, of tried courage and\ndevotion to her service, of her own and her husband's family. As such a\nstep was, however, pregnant with danger to herself, by exciting the\nattention and alarm of the government and local authorities, and\nfurnishing her enemies with an excuse for aggression, she felt it\nnecessary to obtain the queen's sanction to her proceedings; and\naccordingly she addressed a letter to her majesty, requesting her\npermission to arm her followers, and alleging as a reason for it, the\ndisaffected state of the country, and her ardent desire to preserve its\npeace for her majesty. The letter, after the fashion of the times, was\nnot signed by the lady in her acquired matron's name, but in her maiden\none, of which no doubt she was more proud; it was Bivian or Bevinda\nO'Flaherty. The queen received it graciously; but not being particularly\nwell acquainted with the gender of Irish Christian names, and never\nsuspecting, from the style or matter of the epistle, that it had emanated\nfrom one of her own sex, she returned an answer, written with her own\nhand, authorising her good friend \"Captain Bivian O'Flaherty\" to retain\ntwenty men at her majesty's expense, for the preservation of the peace of\nthe country; and they were maintained accordingly, till the infant\nheiress, becoming adult, was united to Thomas Blake, the ancestor of the\npresent Sir John Blake of Menlo Castle, and proprietor of the Castle of\nthe Hen.\n\nTo these brief notices of an ancient castle, not hitherto described, or\nits age ascertained, we shall only add, that there are few military\nstructures of lime and stone now remaining in Ireland that can boast an\nequal antiquity.\n\n    P.\n\n\n\n\nOCCUPATIONS FOR THE YOUNG.\n\nBY MARTIN DOYLE.\n\n\nHabit is said to be a second nature, and it is often stronger than the\nfirst. At first we easily take the bend from the hand of the master, but\nthe second nature, which is of our own making, is frequently proof\nagainst any alteration. How important, then, is _education_, which gives\nthe turn and moulding to the mind while it is flexible, fixes the habits,\nand forms the character! The discipline of the mind, with respect to its\nnatural bias, is either misdirected or misunderstood in nine cases out of\nten, and latent talents or tendencies, which by proper culture might be\nrendered sources of enjoyment to the possessor, and useful to the\ncommunity, are restrained, if not too powerful for suppression, from\ntheir proper developement, by absurd and artificial treatment.\n\nIn the upper classes, a parent, perhaps, incapable of estimating the\ncapacity of his son, determines with himself that the profession, suppose\nof divinity, of law, or of medicine, is the most lucrative,\ngentlemanlike, or otherwise eligible, and that the boy shall be educated\naccordingly.\n\nThe unfortunate youth who has no talent for the acquisition of languages,\nand cannot comprehend the simplest proposition in geometry, is condemned\nto pursue a prescribed routine, and to pass many of the most precious\nyears of his life in the unavailing effort to learn, through the drudgery\nof a classical school, what is repugnant to his taste, and beyond his\npowers of comprehension; and all this time, from being constantly engaged\nin _thumbing_ the elementary books of the dead languages (which are never\nat his _finger ends_, in the acceptation of the common phrase), he grows\nup shamefully ignorant of his vernacular tongue, in which he can neither\nread with fluency nor spell with correctness.\n\nThe schoolmaster, however, is expected to prepare him for the university\nwithin a given time, and he must be _made up_ for entrance accordingly.\nIf the parents are told that Young Hopeful has no turn for a literary\nlife, no capacity for learning what is required, they doubt the judgment\nof the informant, who tells them the truth; for the acknowledgment of\nthis would be an indirect admission of their own incapacity; and in\nproportion to their ignorance and dullness, is their self assurance that\ntheir booby has excellent abilities. The youth is therefore forced\nforward in spite of his natural repugnance to books; and if afterwards\nsmuggled through the university into a profession which may give him\nplace or emolument, without ability or exertion on his part, he disgraces\nhis station by general ignorance and unfitness; and if he be admitted\ninto a profession which yields honour or emolument only in proportion to\ntalents and industry, he totally fails of the object, and it is\ndiscovered too late that the selection of his avocation was in some way\n_unlucky_.\n\nNow, it is very probable that if such an every-day boy had been permitted\nto pursue some track for which his inclinations qualified him, instead of\nbeing limited to a course of unsuitable and distasteful occupations, he\nmight have acquired useful knowledge of some sort. For example, supposing\nhim to stumble at metrical \"longs and shorts,\" or to be stuck between the\nhorns of a dilemma, or be lost amidst the mazes of metaphysics, he might\nhave that peculiar turn which would render him a good farmer, an\nexcellent judge of \"long and short wools\" or of \"long and short horns,\"\nor that shrewdness which would render him a clever tradesman, a man\n\n    \"Who knows what's what, and that's as high\n    As metaphysic wit doth fly.\"\n\nAnd so certain am I that many young men who enter our university would\nprefer and far better comprehend the plain and practical lecture of a\nprofessor of agriculture, surrounded by models of machinery and plates of\ncattle, &c., than lectures of a far more pretending character, that I\ncannot avoid lamenting the deficiency in the department of agriculture\nwhich Socrates designated \"the nurse and mother of all the arts,\" and\nGibbon \"the foundation of all manufactures.\"\n\nThe example afforded in this respect by the University of Edinburgh is\nworthy of the imitation of Trinity College. To afford at least the\nopportunities of gaining such information on this subject as the mind may\nbe capable of receiving or predisposed to receive, cannot but be deemed\njudicious. And the theoretical knowledge of husbandry is incalculably\nmore needed by the gentry and middle classes of Ireland than by those of\nthe same grades in Scotland, where almost every land-proprietor and\nfarmer understands the subject more or less.\n\nFar be it from me to decry the advantages of what is called learning, but\nI would have a more diversified course, both in our schools _of every\nclass_, and in the universities, so as to comprehend those useful\nbranches of information, to which the student, if denied by Providence\nthe faculties requisite for the attainment of others, may apply himself\nwith pleasure or advantage.\n\nI have met with many young persons of exceeding dullness in _book\nlearning_, of decided distaste to the pursuits of _literature_, who have\nmanifested a quick apprehension of _mechanical contrivances_, practically\nexhibited a love of natural history, of gardening, of agriculture, of\nsomething, in short, of a utilitarian character. If these tendencies had\nbeen duly cultivated, the results would have been favourable to the\nindividuals themselves, and probably to the public also.\n\nI have often been puzzled to account for the pre-eminence of the Scotch\nas a clever and a _thinking_ people: it cannot be from atmospheric\ninfluence; and I am disposed to question the correctness of the assertion\nof a grave Caledonian, that the fine spirit of philosophical inquiry\nwhich distinguishes his countrymen is mainly attributable to their use of\noatmeal porridge; it must rather be from well-directed education, from\nthe early acquired habit of _thinking for one's self_, and of giving _a\nreason_ for every thing as far as they can, that the Scotch are so\nintelligent and so fitted for their respective stations in the social\ncircle.\n\nMy own countrymen are _naturally_ as shrewd and intellectual as the\nScotch, but their minds are too generally ill disciplined, and school\neducation, for all classes, is too generally defective _every where_.\nSeveral hours of the day are passed in wearisome restraint within the\nwalls of a schoolroom, in learning words without ideas, sounds without\nsense; the mind being seldom engaged in the tasks with either pleasure or\nprofit.\n\nAnd besides the impediments which obstruct the progress of useful\noccupation, arising from the blindness of parents, the unfitness of\nteachers, and the incapacity of pupils, there are to be encountered in\nall schools the natural preference of idleness to any kind of systematic\noccupation, the love of mischief and freaks, which prevail among\ncombinations of boys, and the difficulty of analysing character and\ndispositions in crowded seminaries.\n\nBut in schools for the poor, where order and discipline are easily\nenforced; in places of _private_ education, and under the paternal roof,\nwhere, by far the greatest degree of happiness and simplicity of\ncharacter are enjoyed and preserved--in such cases, in which instructors\nand parents are qualified to educate, a system of literary instruction,\ncombining with it relaxation of a useful kind, may be pursued.\n\nAmong the latter I would place gardening and botany foremost among the\nout-of-door occupations, and these pursuits apply to both sexes, and to\nthe humblest of the peasantry, as well as to the nobles of the land, for\nwith the idea of a garden is connected every association that is pure and\nheaven-born. I myself even now look back upon those of my childish hours\nwhich were employed in the garden, with unmixed pleasure, and the first\nearly crop of radishes which I raised with my own hands in a garden\nborder, afforded me more innocent pride than any far more valuable crop\nthat I have subsequently raised upon my farm. The care of flowers and\nshrubs, and the absence of corrupting influences, during the indulgence\nof this pursuit, render it a subject of extreme interest in the formation\nof individual and national character.\n\nThose of the poor who are disposed to take a real interest in their\ngardens as is the case of thousands of the English peasantry, instead of\nfinding their summer evening occupations in their allotments wearisome\nafter their day of other toil, seem to find relaxation in the\ncomparatively light work which they thus perform for _themselves_; and in\nthe pleasurable contemplation of their own flowers, though they be but\n_common_ beauties, and of their own tiny crops, they feel that calmness\nand tranquillity, that quiet satisfaction, which lay the passions at\nrest, and therefore indispose for the boisterous mirth and the ungodly\nsociety of the frequenters of the beer-house or the gin-shop.\n\nPoultry, pigeons, and rabbits, may be reared by young people, both for\namusement and profit. The child who understands much of the natural\nhistory of domestic animals from practical observation, and perceives the\nforce of those influences which unite the parent and the offspring, will\nso far sympathize with, and apprehend the nature of, those influences, as\nto feel pain at the thought of wantonly dissociating that connection, and\nwould be far less likely \"to rob the poor birds of their young,\" than the\nchild who had not been familiarized with the nature and habits of the\nfeathered race.\n\nChildren who have watched over a brood of chickens from the moment of\ntheir first disengagement from the shell, and witnessed the instinct with\nwhich the Creator causes them to come at the call of their mother, and\ncontemplate the love with which \"the hen gathers her chickens under her\nwings,\" will take no pleasure in destroying that life of which they had\nanxiously traced the progress from the hour in which the first sign of\ndeveloped animation appeared. It is improbable that the boy (and far more\nso that the girl, who is naturally kind) to whose hand the birds have\nfearlessly looked for food, while they clamorously delighted in his\npresence, could in his manhood witness any torturing of the feathered\nrace, such as the diabolical barbarity of throwing at cocks on Shrove\nTuesday, which used to disgrace Great Britain; or take pleasure in the\nbarbarities of a cock-fight[A] or a gander-fight.[B]\n\nFor those who are excluded from the enjoyments of rural life, and those\noccupations to which I have referred, there remain other pursuits of\nextreme interest, according to their respective tastes--geology,\nchemistry, mechanics, which employ both the head and the hand. Many a\nyouth may be taught \"sermons in stones,\" &c.--see the quotation in\nShakspeare, _As You Like It_--and be kept from bad company, by having\naccess to a lathe, and becoming practically \"a tool-making animal,\" who,\nfrom his distaste to books, would be otherwise miserably destitute of\nrational employment. I do not wish to see either young or old persons too\nmuch\n\n    \"Agog for novelty where'er it lies,\n    In mosses, fleas, or cockleshells, or flies\"--\n\nBut natural history, to a reasonable extent, is surely a useful and\nimproving study for both rich and poor; it leads them to look from the\ncreature to the Creator; to contemplate His works, His glories, and His\nbeneficent _designs_, both in the material and the spiritual world. In\nshort, I would supply the mind and body with those occupations which best\nharmonise together, and most powerfully tend to overcome the degrading\nand demoralising effects of ignorance, which is confessedly the greatest\nenemy to religion, to peace, good order, and social happiness.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[A] We learn from a German writer the origin of this cruel custom. When\nthe Danes ruled In England, the native inhabitants of some town formed a\nconspiracy to regain possession of it by murdering the Danish usurpers.\nTheir design, however, was defeated by the crowing of some cocks. When\nthe English afterwards regained authority, they instituted the barbarous\nand childishly resentful practice of throwing at cocks tied to a stake on\nthe commemoration day of their disappointment through the vigilance of\nthe cocks.\n\n[B] \"At St Petersburgh, in Russia (says Dr Granville), they have no\ncock-pits; but they have a goose-pit, where in the spring they fight\nganders trained to the sport, and to peck at each other's shoulders till\nthey draw blood. These ganders have been sold as high as five hundred\nroubles each; and the sport prevails to a degree of enthusiasm among the\nhemp-merchants. Strange that the vicious and inhuman curiosity of man can\ndelight to arouse and stimulate the principles of enmity and cruelty in\nthese apparently peaceful and sociable birds!\n\nThe barbarities of which the human character is capable from habitual\nindulgence in such brutal sports are almost inconceivable.\n\nEvery one has heard the horrible story of Ardesolf of Tottenham, who,\nabout forty years since, bring disappointed by a famous game-cock\nrefusing to fight, was incited by his savage passion to roast the animal\nalive whilst entertaining his friends. The company, alarmed by the\ndreadful shrieks of the victim, interfered, but were resisted by\nArdesolf, who threatened death to any who should oppose him; and in a\nstorm of raging and vindictive delirium, and uttering the most horrid\nimprecations, he dropped down dead. I had hoped to find this one among\nthe thousand fanatical lies which have been coined in the insane\nexpectation that truth can be advanced by the propagation of falsehood;\nbut to my sorrowful disappointment, on a late inquiry among the friends\nof the deceased miscreant, I found the truth of the horrible story but\ntoo probable.\"--_Mowbray's Treatise on Poultry._\n\n\n\n\nALEXANDER AND THE TREE.\n\n     \"From this tree it was that the Voice came which spake of old\n     to Iskander (Alexander the Great), saying, as an oracle,\n     'Iskander indeed cometh into India, but goeth from thence into\n     the Land of Darkness.'\"--_Apocryphal History of Alexander the\n     Great._\n\n\n    The sun is bright, the air is bland,\n      The heavens wear that stainless blue\n    Which only in an Orient land\n      The eye of man may view;\n    And lo! around, and all abroad,\n      A glittering host, a mighty horde--\n    And at their head a demigod\n      Who slays with lightning-sword!\n\n    The bright noon burns, but idly now\n      Those warriors rest by copse and hill,\n    And shadows on their Leader's brow\n      Seem ominous of ill:\n    Spell-bound, he stands beside a tree,\n      And well he may, for through its leaves\n    Unstirred by wind, come brokenly\n      Moans, as of one that grieves!\n\n    How strange! he thought:--Life is a boon\n      Given, and resumed--but _how_? and _when_?\n    But now I asked myself how soon\n      I should go home agen!\n    How soon I might once more behold\n      My mourning mother's tearful face;\n    How soon my kindred might enfold\n      Me in their dear embrace!\n\n    There was an Indian Magian there--\n      And, stepping forth, he bent his knee:\n    \"Oh, king!\" he said, \"be wise!--beware\n      This too prophetic tree!\"\n    \"Ha!\" cried the king, \"thou knowest, then, Seer,\n      What yon strange oracle reveals?\"\n    \"Alas!\" the Magian said, \"I hear\n      Deep words, like thunder-peals!\n\n    \"I hear the groans of more than Man,\n      Hear tones that warn, denounce, beseech;\n    Hear--woe is me!--how darkly ran\n      That stream of thrilling speech!\n    'Oh, king,' it spake, 'all-trampling king!\n      Thou leadest legions from afar--\n    But Battle droops his clotted wing!\n      Night menaces thy star!\n\n    \"'Fond visions of thy boyhood's years\n      Dawn like dim light upon thy soul;\n    Thou seest again thy mother's tears\n      Which Love could not control!\n    Ah! thy career in sooth is run!\n      Ah! thou indeed returnest home!\n    The Mother waits to clasp her son\n      Low in her lampless dome!\n\n    \"'Yet go, rejoicing! He who reigns\n      O'er Earth alone leaves worlds unscanned;\n    Life binds the spirit as with chains;\n      Seek thou the Phantom-land!\n    Leave Conquest all it looks for here--\n      Leave willing slaves a bloody throne--\n    Thine henceforth is another sphere,\n      Death's realm, the dark Unknown!'\"\n\n    The Magian paused; the leaves were hushed,\n      But wailings broke from all around,\n    Until the Chief, whose red blood flushed\n      His cheek with hotter bound.\n    Asked, in the tones of one with whom\n      Fear never yet had been a guest--\n    \"And when doth Fate achieve my doom?\n      And where shall be my rest?\"\n\n    \"Oh, noble heart!\" the Magian said,\n      And tears unbidden filled his eyes,\n    \"We should not weep for thee!--the Dead\n      Change but their home and skies:\n    The moon shall beam, the myrtles bloom\n      For thee no more--yet sorrow not!\n    The immortal pomp of Hades' gloom\n      Best consecrates thy lot.\n\n    In June, in June, in laughing June,\n      And where the dells show deepest green,\n    Pavilioned overhead, at noon,\n      With gold and silken sheen--\n    These be for thee--the place, the time;\n      Trust not thy heart, trust not thine eyes,\n    Behind the Mount thy warm hopes climb,\n      The Land of Darkness lies!\"\n\n    Unblenching at the fateful words,\n      The Hero turned around in haste--\n    \"On! on!\" he cried, \"ye million swords,\n      Your course, like mine, is traced;\n    Let me but close Life's narrow span\n      Where weapons clash and banners wave;\n    I would not live to mourn that Man\n      But conquers for a grave!\"\n\n    M.\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\n\nNo. II.--THE THREE RINGS.\n\nIn the reign of the Sultan Sal-ad-Deen there lived in the city of\nDamascus a Jew called Nathaniel, who was pre-eminently distinguished\namong his fellow-citizens for his wisdom, his liberality of mind, the\ngoodness of his disposition, and the urbanity of his manners, so that he\nhad acquired the esteem even of those among the Mooslemin who were\naccounted the strictest adherents to the exclusive tenets of the\nMahommedan creed. From being generally talked of by the common people, he\ncame gradually to attract the notice of the higher classes, until the\nsultan himself, hearing so much of the man, became curious to learn how\nit was that so excellent and intelligent a person could reconcile it with\nhis conscience to live and die in the errors of Judaism. With the view of\nsatisfying himself on the subject, he at length resolved on condescending\nto a personal interview with the Jew, and accordingly one day ordered him\nto be summoned before him.\n\nThe Jew, in obedience to the imperial mandate, presented himself at the\npalace gates, and was forthwith ushered, amid guards and slaves\ninnumerable, into the presence of the august Sal-ad-Deen, Light of the\nWorld, Protector of the Universe, and Keeper of the Portals of Paradise;\nwho, however, being graciously determined that the lightning of his\nglances should not annihilate the Israelite, had caused his face to be\ncovered on the occasion with a magnificent veil, through the golden\ngauze-work of which he could carry on at his ease his own examination of\nhis visitor's features.\n\n\"Men talk highly of thee, Nathaniel,\" said the sultan, after he had\ncommanded the Jew to seat himself on the carpet; \"they praise thy virtue,\nthy integrity, thy understanding, beyond those of the sons of Adam. Yet\nthou professest a false religion, and showest no sign of a disposition to\nembrace the true one. How is this obstinacy of thine reconcilable with\nthe wisdom and moderation for which the true believers give thee credit?\"\n\n\"If I profess a false religion, your highness,\" returned the Jew\nmodestly, \"it is because I have never been able to distinguish infallibly\nbetween false religions and true. I adhere to the faith of my fathers.\"\n\n\"The idolaters do so no less than thou,\" said Sal-ad-Deen, \"but their\nblindness is wilful, and so is thine. Dost thou mean to say that all\nreligions are upon the same level in the sight of the God of Truth?\"\n\n\"Not so, assuredly,\" answered Nathaniel: \"Truth is but one; and there can\nbe but one true religion. That is a simple and obvious axiom, the\ncorrectness of which I have never sought to controvert.\"\n\n\"Spoken like a wise man!\" cried the sultan;--\"that is,\" he added, \"if the\nreligion to which thou alludest be Islamism, as it must be of course.\nCome: I know thou art favourably inclined towards the truth; thou hast an\nhonest countenance: declare openly the conviction at which thou must have\nlong since arrived, that they who believe in the Koran are the sole\ninheritors of Paradise. Is not that thy unhesitating persuasion?\"\n\n\"Will your highness pardon me,\" said the Jew, \"if, instead of answering\nyou directly, I narrate to you a parable bearing upon this subject, and\nleave you to draw from it such inferences as may please you?\"\n\n\"I am satisfied to hear thee,\" said the sultan after a pause; \"only let\nthere be no sophistry in the argument of thy narrative. Make the story\nshort also, for I hate long tales about nothing.\"\n\nThe Jew, thus licensed, began:--\"May it please your highness,\" said he,\n\"there lived in Assyria, in one of the ages of old, a certain man who had\nreceived from a venerated hand a beautiful and valuable ring, the stone\nof which was an opal, and sparkled in the sunlight with ever-varying\nhues. This ring, moreover, was a talisman, and had the secret power of\nrendering him who wore it with a sincere desire of benefiting by it,\nacceptable and amiable in the eyes of both God and man. It is not\ntherefore to be wondered at, that the owner continually wore it during\nhis lifetime, never taking it off his finger for an instant, or that,\nwhen dying, he should adopt precautions to secure it to his lineal\ndescendants for ever. He bequeathed it accordingly first to the most\nbeloved of his sons, ordaining that by him it should be again bequeathed\nto the dearest of _his_ offspring, and so down from generation to\ngeneration, no one having a claim in right of priority of birth, but\npreference being given to the favourite son, who, by virtue of the ring,\nshould rule unconstrained as lord of the house and head of the family.\nYour highness listens?\"\n\n\"I listen: I understand: proceed,\" said the sultan.\n\nThe Jew resumed:--\"Well: from son to son this ring at length descended to\na father who had three sons, all of them alike remarkable for their\ngoodness of disposition, all equally prompt in anticipating his wishes,\nall equally loving and virtuous, and between whom, therefore, he found it\ndifficult to make any distinction in the paternal affection he bore them.\nSometimes he thought the eldest the most deserving; anon his\npredilections varied in favour of the second; and by and bye his heart\nwas drawn towards the youngest:--in short, he could make no choice. What\nadded to his embarrassment was, that, yielding to a good-natured\nweakness, he had privately promised each of the youths to leave the ring\nto him, and him only; and how to keep his promise, he did not know.\nMatters, however, went on smoothly enough for a season; but at last death\napproached, and the worthy father became painfully perplexed. What was to\nbe done? Loving his sons, as he did, all alike, could he inflict so\nbitter a disappointment upon two of them as the loss of the ring would\ncertainly prove to them? He was unable to bear the reflection. After long\npondering, a plan occurred to him, the anticipated good effects of which\nwould, he trusted, more than compensate for the deceit connected with it.\nHe sent secretly for a clever jeweller; and, showing him the ring, he\ndesired him to make two other rings on the same model, and to spare\nneither pains nor cost to render the three exactly alike. The jeweller\npromised, and kept his promise: the rings were finished, and in so\nperfect a manner that even the father's eye could not distinguish between\nthem as far as mere external appearance went. Overjoyed beyond expression\nat this unlooked-for consummation of his wishes, he summoned his three\nsons in succession into his presence, and from his deathbed bestowed upon\neach, apart from the other two, his last blessing and one of the rings;\nafter which, being at his own desire left once more alone, he resigned\nhis spirit tranquilly into the hands of its eternal Author. Is your\nhighness attentive?\"\n\n\"I am,\" said Sal-ad-Deen, \"but to very little purpose, it would seem.\nMake an end of thy story quickly, that I may see the drift of it.\"\n\n\"It is soon ended, most powerful sultan,\" said Nathaniel, \"for all that\nremains to be told is what doubtless your highness already half\nconjectures--the result, namely, of this good-natured deception. Scarce\nwas the old man laid in his grave, when each of the sons produced his\nring, and claimed the right of being sole master and lord of the house.\nQuestions, wranglings, complaints, accusations, succeeded--all to no end,\nhowever; for the difficulty of discovering which was the true ring was as\ngreat then as that of discovering which is the true faith now.\"\n\n\"How!\" interrupted the sultan indignantly, \"this to me? Dost thou tell me\nthat the faith of the Mooslemin is not acknowledged by all right-thinking\npersons to be the true one?\"\n\n\"May it please your highness,\" said the Jew, calmly, \"I am here at your\nown command, and I answer your questions according to the best of my poor\nability. If the allegory I relate be objectionable, it is for the sultan\nto find fault with it alone, and not with the reflections which it must\nnecessarily suggest.\"\n\n\"And dost thou mean, then, that thy paltry tale shall serve as a full\nanswer to my query?\" demanded Sal-ad-Deen.\n\n\"No, your highness,\" said Nathaniel, \"but I would have it serve as my\napology for not giving such an answer. The father of these youths caused\nthe three rings to be made expressly that no examination might be able to\ndetect any dissimilarity between them; and I will venture to assert, that\nnot even the Sublimest of Mankind, the Sultan Sal-ad-Deen himself, could,\nunless by accident, have placed his hand on the true one.\"\n\n\"Thou triflest with me, Nathaniel,\" said the sultan; \"a ring is not a\nreligion. There are, it is true, many modes of worship on the earth: but\nhas not Islamism always remained a distinct system of faith from the\nfalse creeds? Look at its dogmas, its ceremonies, the modes of prayer,\nthe habits, yea, the very food and raiment of its professors! What sayest\nthou of these?\"\n\n\"Simply,\" returned the Jew, \"that none of them are proofs of the truth of\nIslamism. Nay, be not wroth with me, your highness, for what I say of\nyour religion I say equally of all others. There is one true religion, as\nthere was one true ring in my parable; but you must have perceived that\nall men are not alike capable of discovering the truth by their own\nunassisted efforts, and that a certain degree of trust in the good faith\nof others as teachers is therefore essential to the reception of\nreligious belief at all. In whom, then, I would ask, is it most natural\nfor us to place our trust? Surely in our own people--in those of whose\nblood we are--who have been about us from our childhood, and given us\nunnumbered proofs of love--and who have never been guilty of\nintentionally practising deception upon us. How can I ask of you to\nabandon the prepossessions of your fathers before you, and in which, true\nor false, you have been nurtured? Or how can you expect, that, in order\nto yield to your teachers the praise belonging solely to the truth, I\nshould virtually declare my ancestors fools or hypocrites?\"\n\n\"Sophistical declamation!\" said the sultan, \"which will avail thee little\non the Judgment Day. Is thy parable ended?\"\n\n\"In point of instruction it is,\" replied Nathaniel, \"but I shall briefly\nrelate the conclusion to which the disputes among the brothers conducted.\nWhen they found agreement impossible, they mutually cited one another\nbefore the tribunal or the law. Each of them solemnly swore that he had\nreceived a ring immediately from his father's hand--as was the\nfact--after having obtained his father's promise to bestow it on him, as\nwas also the fact. Each of them indignantly repudiated the supposition\nthat such a father could have deceived him; and each declared, that,\nunwilling as he was to think uncharitably of his own brethren, he had no\nalternative left but that of branding them as impostors, forgers, and\nswindlers.\"\n\n\"And what said the judge?\" demanded Sal-ad-Deen; \"I presume the final\ndecision of the question hung upon his arbitration?\"\n\n\"Your highness is correct: the judge at once pronounced his award, which\nwas definitive. 'You want,' said he, 'a satisfactory adjudication on this\nquestion, which you have contested among yourselves so long and so\nfruitlessly. Summon then your father before me: call him from the dead\nand let him speak; it is otherwise impracticable for me to come at the\nknowledge of his intentions. Do you think that I sit here for the purpose\nof expounding riddles and reconciling contradictions? Or do you, perhaps,\nexpect that the true ring will by some miracle be compelled to bear oral\ntestimony here in court to its own genuineness? But hold: I understand\nthat the ring is endowed with the occult power of rendering its wearer\namiable and faultless in the eyes of men. By that test I am willing to\ntry it, and so to pronounce judgment. Which of you three, then, is the\ngreatest object of love to the other two? You are silent. What! does this\nring, which should awaken love in all, act with an inward influence only,\nnot an outward? Does each of you love only himself? Oh, go! you are all\nalike deceivers or deceived: none of your rings is the true one. The true\nring is probably lost; and to supply its place your father ordered three\nspurious ones for common use among you. If you will abide by a piece of\nadvice instead of a formal decision, here is my counsel to you: leave the\nmatter where it stands. If each of you has had a ring presented to him by\nhis father, let each believe his own to be the real ring. Possibly your\nfather might have grown disinclined to tolerate any longer the\nexclusiveness implied in the possession of a single ring by one member of\na family; and, certainly, as he loved you all with the same affection, it\ncould not gratify him to appear the oppressor of two by favouring one in\nparticular. Let each of you therefore feel honoured by this all-embracing\ngenerosity of your parent; let each of you endeavour to outshine his\nbrothers in the cultivation of every virtue which the ring is presumed to\nconfer--assisting the mysterious influence supposed to reside in it by\nhabits of gentleness, benevolence, and mutual tolerance, and by\nresignation in all things to the will of God; and if the virtues of the\nring continue to manifest themselves in your children, and your\nchildren's children, and their descendants to the hundredth generation,\nthen, after the lapse of thousands of years, appear again and for the\nlast time before this judgment seat! A Greater than I will then occupy\nit, and He will decide this controversy for ever.' So spake the upright\njudge, and broke up the court. Your highness now, I trust, thoroughly\ncomprehends my reason for not answering your question in a direct\nmanner?\"\n\n\"Is that the end of thy story?\" asked Sal-ad-Deen.\n\n\"If it please your highness,\" said the Jew, who had by this time arisen,\nand was gradually, though respectfully, proceeding to accomplish his\nretreat.\n\n\"By my beard,\" said the sultan, after a considerable pause, \"it is an\ningenious apologue that of thine, and there may be something in it too;\nbut still it does not persuade me that thou art excusable in thy\npertinacious rejection of Islamism. I own I tremble for thee after all.\nGo thy ways, however, for the present, with this purse of tomauns, by way\nof premium for thy mother-wit; but I shall shortly send for thee again;\nand as I do not much fancy remaining in any man's debt, thou shalt then,\nas a wholesome counterpoise to thy sophistry, obtain from me in reply\neither a parable of my own, or one from the Koran, upon which I will\nargue with thee to thy signal confusion!\"\n\n    M.\n\n\n\n\nANECDOTES OF MACKLIN,\n\nTHE IRISH COMEDIAN.\n\n\nMacklin was exceedingly quick at a reply, especially in a dispute. One\nday Doctor Johnson was contending some dramatical question, and quoted a\npassage from a Greek poet in support of his opinion. \"I don't understand\nGreek though, Doctor,\" said Macklin. \"Sir,\" said Johnson, pompously, \"a\nman who undertakes to argue, should understand all languages.\" \"Oh, very\nwell,\" returned Macklin; \"how will you answer this argument?\" and\nimmediately treated him to a long quotation in Irish.\n\nOne night, sitting at the back of the front boxes with a gentleman of his\nacquaintance, one of the underbred box-lobby loungers of the day stood up\nimmediately before him, and being rather large in person, covered the\nsight of the stage from him. Every body expected that Macklin would have\nknocked the fellow down notwithstanding his size, but he managed the\nmatter in another temper. Patting him gently on the shoulder with his\ncane, he respected of him with much apparent politeness, \"that when he\nsaw or heard any thing _very_ entertaining on the stage, he would be\npleased to turn round and let him and the gentleman beside him know of\nit; for you see, my dear sir,\" added the veteran, \"that at present we\nmust totally depend upon you as a telegraph.\" This had the desired\neffect, and the lounger walked off.\n\nTalking of the caution necessary to be used in conversation amongst a\nmixed company, Macklin observed, \"Sir, I have experienced to my cost that\na man in any situation of life should never be off his guard. It is the\nfault of the Irish that they are too ready to 'commit' themselves. Now,\nthis never happens with the Scotch:--a Scotchman is always on the\nlook-out; he never lives a moment _extempore_, and that is one great\nreason why he is so successful in life as we see.\"\n\nMacklin was very intimate with Frank Hayman (at that time one of our best\nhistorical painters), and happening to call on him one morning soon after\nthe death of the painter's wife, with whom he (Frank) had lived but on\nindifferent terms, he found him wrangling with the undertaker about his\nhigh charge for the funeral expenses. Macklin listened to the altercation\nfor some time; at last, going up to Hayman--\"Come, come, Frank,\" said he,\n\"this bill is to be sure a little extravagant, but you should pay it, if\nit were only on account of the respect you owe your wife's memory; for I\nam sure,\" he added with the greatest gravity, \"she would have paid twice\nas much for your burial with the greatest gladness, if she had had the\nopportunity.\"\n\nA notorious egotist one day in a large company, indirectly praising\nhimself for a number of good qualities which it was well known he did not\npossess, asked Macklin the reason why he should have the singular\npropensity of interfering in the concerns of others for their benefit,\nwhen he so often met with unsuitable returns. \"I could tell you, sir,\"\nsaid Macklin. \"Ah! well do, then, my good fellow; you are a man of some\nobservation; and--I--a--should be glad of your--a--definition.\" \"Why,\nthen, sir,\" replied Macklin, \"the cause is _impudence_--nothing but stark\nstaring _impudence_!\"\n\nA gentleman at a public dinner asking him, rather inconsiderately,\nwhether he remembered Mrs Barry the celebrated Irish actress, who died\nabout the latter end of Queen Anne's reign, he stared him in the face\nwith considerable ferocity, and bawled out, \"No, sir, nor Harry the\nEighth neither!\"\n\nAn Irish dignitary of the church, not remarkable for his veracity,\ncomplaining that a tradesman of his parish had called him a liar, Macklin\nasked what reply he had made him. \"I told him,\" said the bishop, \"that a\nlie was among those things that I _dared_ not commit.\" \"And why, doctor,\"\nreturned Macklin, with an indescribable sort of comic frown, \"why did you\ngive the rascal _so erroneous a notion of your courage_?\"\n\nOne of the band of the Covent-Garden theatre, who played the French horn,\nwas telling some anecdotes of Garrick's curiosity, and withal praising\nthe great actor incessantly. Macklin, who heard him from the lower end of\nthe table, and who always fired up like lighted straw at the praises of\nGarrick, exclaimed aloud, \"I believe, sir, you are a trumpeter.\" \"Well,\"\nsaid the band-man, \"and what if I am?\" \"Nothing more, sir,\" vociferated\nMacklin, \"than this, that, being a trumpeter, you are by profession a\ndealer in _puffs_!\"\n\n\n\n\nBAD AIR AND GOOD AIR.\n\n\nIn a former number we directed attention to the many remarkable\nproperties of the air we breathe, and pointed out how dependent we are\nfor comfort and even existence on the maintenance of the air in a state\nfit for respiration. The difference between good air and bad air can be\neasily collected from that article; but as the peculiar conditions of the\nair which are capable of affecting health deserve very careful\nconsideration, we are tempted to resume the subject.\n\nThe even balance which, as was explained, is struck between the two sorts\nof breathing, that of the animal which gives out carbonic acid, and that\nof the vegetable which takes it in, is capable of maintaining the air\nupon the large scale always in the proper state. But in order that the\npeople may be benefited by this wise arrangement, it is necessary that\nthey should be living abroad in the open air and in the fields; that a\nman, in proportion as he destroys the oxygen of the air, should have\naround him plants to give out an equal quantity in its place; that, in\nfact, mankind, in order to avail themselves of the providential security\nfor breathing permanently good air, should live out of doors, engaged, at\nleast principally, in agricultural employments, as was the condition of\nsociety in the early ages, and in some portions of the globe to a certain\nextent is so still.\n\nBut in countries like ours, where vast numbers of families are collected\nin cities, with narrow streets and lanes; where an open place like\nStephen's Green or Merrion Square is anxiously sought after, and\ndisproportionate rents paid for the houses which are around it, this\nimmediate restoration of the injury done to the air by breathing, and the\nburning of lights and fuel, cannot occur. The air is vitiated\npermanently, and those resident in towns require for their health's sake\nto understand how the evil may be rendered as small as possible. Even in\na town, the total quantity of air is so great, that if it all come into\nplay, it can be but slightly injured. But such is often not the case. How\noften, when there is a fine healthful breeze outside the town, do we\nfind, on entering a narrow street, the mass of air perfectly motionless,\nand all the mischievous vapours which are produced, collecting until they\nbecome almost irrespirable. This is a great source of disease in towns;\nand to prevent or remedy it, requires but frequent change of the air\nwhich a room or a street contains: it requires but ventilation.\n\nIt is by means of a fireplace that a room is generally ventilated. The\nair which has served for the burning of the fuel is thereby made very\nhot, and hot air, being much lighter than cold air, rises up the chimney,\ngenerally mixed with soot, and is then called smoke. According as the\nhot air leaves the room, cold air enters to supply its place through the\nopen doors or windows, or, if these be closed, through every little\ncrevice which can give it passage. There is thus produced a rapid current\nof air, or draught, as it is termed. The air vitiated by the breathing of\npersons in the room is carried away along with that vitiated by the fire,\nand at any one moment the air in the room is found to be almost\ncompletely pure. It is therefore to proper ventilation that the\ninhabitants of towns must look for the maintenance of health. Disregard\nto this precaution has been the means of increasing to a frightful extent\nthe mortality of large cities, and instances have been given, where an\ninfectious disease, which had ravaged a number of low and confined\nstreets in a large English town, stopped suddenly, and avoided a street\notherwise no better than the rest, but which had been kept clean, and the\nrooms ventilated, by the exertions of some well-informed persons. For the\npreservation of the health of the poorer classes in large towns, medicine\nis of far less importance than cleanliness and ventilation.\n\nWe are sure, however, that many of our intelligent readers are ready now\nto start an objection to the account just given of the cause of bad air\nin cities. If the air of a city be injured by the large quantity of\ncarbonic acid which is formed, a city should be the best place possible\nfor the health of vegetables. If the air which is bad for man be good for\nplants, the vegetation in a confined street should surpass, in brilliancy\nand verdure, that of the most open and best attended gardens. It is true,\nunfortunately, that the only produce of our once industrious Liberty is\nnow the grass which is growing in the seats of former bustle; but we have\nnot even the satisfaction of knowing that that flourishes. It is pale,\nsickly, and stunted; for the air of the city is vitiated by causes\ndifferent from that which alone has hitherto occupied us, and these\ncauses are as injurious to plants as to man. The carbon of our fuel\nproduces, in burning, carbonic acid, but carbon is not the only substance\nin ordinary fuel. Most coals contain sulphur, and in burning, this body\nproduces sulphurous acid, also a gas, which is highly irritating and\npoisonous, particularly to plants, and which, mixing with the air,\nrenders the city as injurious to the organization of a plant as the\ncarbonic acid to the respiration of an animal.\n\nTo render air fit for respiration, it is necessary to do more than keep\nthe proper quantity of oxygen in it; the carbonic acid must be taken\naway. Plants, our readers have already remarked, do both, and hence the\nadmirable fitness of external nature to the objects for which the Creator\nhas designed it. If the carbonic acid were not taken away, all animals\nwould be poisoned, even if the proper quantity of oxygen remained, for\ncarbonic acid is a positive poison, which kills by acting on the brain\nlike opium. A person can live, breathing with only one lung; in the\ndisease of consumption, an individual may live for months with only one\nlung, or even only part of a lung, remaining fit for use; but if\nperfectly good air be breathed with one lung, and carbonic acid with the\nother, the person will be poisoned after a very short time; consequently,\nit is of great importance to prevent the accumulation of carbonic acid,\neven where it is not produced at the expense of the oxygen of the air.\n\nCarbonic acid is indeed produced in a great variety of ways, besides by\nanimals in breathing, and fuel in burning. It is remarkable that it is\nonly the green parts of plants which breathe as has been described; the\nleaves and stems giving out oxygen, and absorbing carbonic acid. The\nflowers and the ripe fruits of plants act on the air in the same way as\nanimals, and hence deteriorate it; and the rooms where stores of fruit\nare kept, are known to be very unwholesome, and persons have been\nsuffocated by sleeping in a room where there was a very great quantity of\nflowers. Oils, particularly drying oil, and spirit of turpentine, act on\nair also, absorbing oxygen and giving out carbonic acid; and the air of a\nnewly painted house, if the doors and windows are kept close, is\nconsequently found to be very unfit for respiration. In many countries,\nparticularly where there are burning mountains, carbonic acid is given\noff from the ground, and it collects in every hollow or cave, in\nconsequence of being much heavier than the air. There is a cave in Italy,\ncalled the Dog's Grotto, because a dog on entering it is instantly\nsuffocated, though a man may walk in without injury. The cause is, that\nthe cave is filled up by carbonic acid to about four feet deep; a dog, or\nany animal that holds its head lower than that height, breathes carbonic\nacid and is choked, but a man breathes the pure air which is above it,\nand escapes. In deep dry wells which have been neglected, carbonic acid\naccumulates, and workmen who go down to clean the pit are sometimes\nsuffocated. In such cases a candle should first be let down, and if it\nburns, the air is fit to breathe. If the candle be extinguished, it is\nunsafe for an individual to descend.\n\nIn the Island of Java, however, perhaps the most remarkable collection of\ncarbonic acid is to be found. On the summit of the highest mountain there\nis a circular valley of considerable depth, and presenting to the eye a\nspectacle combining the utmost beauty and horror. The sides of the valley\nare clothed with the richest perennial verdure of the tropics; all the\nplants which grow on that fine island are there found of surpassing\nmagnitude and beauty, but intermixed with the skeletons of tigers,\nwolves, and men. There is no living animal. The greatest developement of\nvegetable life goes hand in hand with absolute destruction to all animal\nexistence. The natives call this place _the Valley of Death_. It is the\ncrater of an extinct volcano. From its bottom issue perpetually watery\nvapour and carbonic acid, the elements which clothe its sides with\nvegetable riches; but the whole being an invisible lake of carbonic acid,\nproves instant destruction to the unwary animal that passes over its\nbrink. Some deserters from an English regiment concealed themselves in\nit, and their bodies, seen through the transparent but deadly gas by\nwhich they were surrounded, verified a fact which had been previously\nsuspected to be a fable of the natives.\n\nIn the fermentation of corn, for making malt liquors or ardent spirits, a\nlarge quantity of carbonic acid is generated, and workmen who heedlessly\ndescend into the vats to cleanse them, are very often suffocated. The\ntrial by a lighted candle should never in such cases be omitted. In the\nburning of lime there is a very large proportion of carbonic acid set\nfree; and poor persons who are tempted to sleep on the platform of a\nlime-kiln for the sake of the warmth it affords, are sometimes suffocated\nby the vitiated air they breathe.\n\nThe air, so far as regards its influence on health, is modified in a very\nimportant manner by causes which are not so positively known and measured\nas those we have hitherto examined. The spreading of odours through the\nair, whether they be the \"spicy gales of Araby the blest,\" or the more\nunwelcome indications of putrescent matter, takes place by means of\nquantities of substances so small as to defy the powers of detection we\npossess. Many diseases, it is well established, arise from the formation\nand diffusion through the air of peculiar poisons in amazingly small\nquantity. Thus ague is produced by a specific poison generated in\nmarshes. These poisons resemble other ordinary poisons, inasmuch as we\ncan decompose them, and thus destroy their power. The chemical substance\nchlorine decomposes almost every vegetable or animal material that it\ntouches. Thus it destroys all colours, and is hence of the greatest use\nin bleaching; it also destroys all atmospheric poisons, and,\nconsequently, in hospitals and in private houses it is used to disinfect\nor prevent the spreading of disease, by decomposing the material which\nconveys it through the air.\n\nFor change of air we therefore, with reason, go to the country when we\ncan; but whether to the sea side or to the interior, to Enniskerry or\nKingstown, is not dependent on the nature of the air. Wherever the\ninvalid finds most amusement, and agreeable occupation which does not\nfatigue; wherever the beauty of scenery, and the society of those to whom\nthe heart is bound in ties of mutual esteem and love, present to the mind\nof one harassed by intense exertion of thought, or broken down by disease\nof body, a relief in admiration of the wisdom and goodness of his\nCreator, and in sympathy and kindliness towards his fellow men, the\natmosphere is clearest; the bracing, enlivening influence of the pure\ncountry air is the most sensible, and the mind and body are most\neffectually restored to the condition of perfect health.\n\n\n\n\nIRELAND FOR EVER! AND KILMAINHAM TO THE DEVIL!--Mr Egan, better known as\n\"Bully Egan,\" held the chairmanship of Kilmainham at the time that the\ngovernment were using their utmost endeavours to pass the Act of Union,\nand, of course, expected to be deprived of his office if he should oppose\nit. However, when the time for the division had arrived, his love of\ncountry preponderating over his love of self, he voted against the\nmeasure, exultingly exclaiming, \"Ireland for ever! and Kilmainham to the\ndevil!\"\n\n\n\n\nPERSEVERANCE.\n\n\nPerseverance in the steady pursuit of a laudable and lawful object, is\nalmost a sure path to eminence. It is a thing which seems to be inherent\nin some, but it may be cultivated in all. Even those children who seem to\nbe either indolent like the sloth, or changeful as the butterfly, by the\nskilful training of a watchful parent, may be endowed with the habit of\nperseverance. The following anecdotes may aid in illustrating to youth\nthe nature and value of this virtue. The celebrated Timour the Tartar,\nafter a series of the most brilliant victories, was at length conquered\nand made captive. Though confined in a prison, whose massive walls and\nthick iron bars discouraged every attempt to escape, he still strove at\neach chink and crevice to find some way of deliverance. At length, weary\nand dispirited, he sat down in a corner of his gloomy prison, and gave\nhimself up to despair. While brooding over his sorrows, an ant, with a\npiece of wood thrice as large as itself, attracted his attention. The\ninsect seemed desirous to ascend the perpendicular face of the wall, and\nmade several attempts to effect it. But after reaching a little\nelevation, it came to a jutting angle of the stone, and fell backward to\nthe floor. But again, again, and again the attempt was renewed. The\nmonarch watched the struggles of the insect, and in the interest thus\nexcited forgot his own condition. The ant persevered, and at the sixtieth\ntrial surmounted the obstacle. Timour sprang to his feet, exclaiming, \"I\nwill never despair--perseverance conquers all things!\"\n\nA similar anecdote is told of Robert Bruce, the restorer of the Scottish\nmonarchy. Being out on an expedition to reconnoitre the enemy, he had\noccasion to sleep at night in a barn. In the morning, still reclining his\nhead on a pillow of straw, he beheld a spider climbing up a beam of the\nroof. The insect fell to the ground, but immediately made a second essay\nto ascend. This attracted the notice of the hero, who with regret saw the\nspider fall a second time from the same eminence. It made a third\nunsuccessful attempt. Not without a mixture of concern and curiosity, the\nmonarch twelve times beheld the insect baffled in its aim; but the\nthirteenth essay was crowned with success. It gained the summit of the\nbarn; and the king, starting from his couch, exclaimed, \"This despicable\ninsect has taught me perseverance! I will follow its example. Have I not\nbeen twelve times defeated by the enemy's superior force? On one fight\nmore hangs the independence of my country!\" In a few days his\nanticipations were fully realised, by the glorious result, to Scotland,\nof the battle of Bannockburn.\n\nA few years since, while travelling in an adjacent state, I came to a\nlittle valley, surrounded by rocky and precipitous hills. In that valley\nwas a single house. It was old, and, by its irregularity of form, seemed\nto have been built at various periods. It was, however, in good\ncondition, and bespoke thrift and comfort. Not a shingle was missing from\nthe roof, no dangling clapboards disfigured its sides, no unhinged blinds\nswung idly in the wind, no old hats were thrust through the windows. All\naround was tidy and well-conditioned. The woodhouse was stored with tall\nranges of hickory, the barns were ample, and stacks of hay without\ndeclared that it was full within. The soil around, as I have said, was\nrocky, but cultivation had rendered it fertile. Thriving orchards, rich\npastures and prolific meadows, occupied the bed of the valley and the\nrugged sides of the hills. I was struck with the scene, and when I\nreached a village at the distance of two or three miles, I made some\ninquiries, where I learnt the story of the proprietor. He was originally\na poor boy, and wholly dependent upon his own exertions. He was brought\nup as a farmer, and began life as a day labourer. In childhood he had\nread that \"procrastination is the thief of time.\" He did not at first\nunderstand its meaning, and pondered long upon this desperate thief who\nbore the formidable title of PROCRASTINATION. It was at length explained\nto him; but the struggles he had made to comprehend the adage fixed it\ndeep in his mind. He often thought of it, and, feeling its force, it\nbecame the ruling maxim of his life. Following its dictates with\ninflexible _perseverance_, he at length became proprietor of the little\nvalley I have described. Year by year it improved under his care, and at\nthe period of which I am speaking, he was supposed to be worth at least\ntwenty thousand dollars.\n\nSuch is the force of perseverance. It gives power to weakness, and opens\nto poverty the world's wealth. It spreads fertility over the barren\nlandscape, and bids the choicest fruits and flowers spring up and\nflourish in the desert abode of thorns and briars. Look at Boston! Where\nare the three hills which first met the view of the pilgrims as they\nsailed up its bay? Their tops are shorn down by man's perseverance. Look\nat the granite hills of Quincy? Proudly anchored in the bosom of the\nearth, they seem to defy the puny efforts of man, but they are yielding\nto man's perseverance. Forbidden and hopeless as they would appear to the\neye of indolence and weakness, they are better than the treasures of Peru\nand the gem-strewn mountains of Brazil, to a people endowed with the\nhardy spirit of perseverance! They are better, for, while they enable\nthem to command the precious metals yielded by other climes, they cherish\na spirit and a power which all the gold of Golconda could not\npurchase.--_Fireside Education, by S. G. Goodrich._\n\n\n\n\nLOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP.\n\n\n\"Look before you leap,\" is an advice applicable to many circumstances of\nhuman life, besides the mere examination of the locality in which, on\nwhich, or over which, you are about to exhibit your own or your horse's\nagility in the performance of a saltation. Such was the course of\nmeditation that suggested itself to my mind, as I beheld an old woman\nstep slowly and deliberately off the foot-path of Carlisle Bridge, and,\nwithout looking right or left, walk directly across the path of the\nKilkenny mail-coach, that was just then coming in, the driver, of course,\nmaking his cattle do the thing handsomely, as they were so near home.\nBefore he could pull up, the leaders had upset her, and the coroner had\ntenpence of his shilling surely counted, when a tall, athletic-looking\ngentleman, stooping suddenly, seized her by the legs, and dragged her\nfrom under the horse's feet, somewhat to the disarrangement of her\nattire. \"Look before you leap,\" said he, giving her a smart shake; \"did\nyou never hear that adage, you stupid creature?\"\n\n\"Arrah!\" said she, with the most perfect innocence, \"sure I was'nt goin'\nto jump. Such a sayin' was'nt made for the likes iv me.\" \"Poh! you stupid\nbeing,\" said he, and walked on.\n\nI followed, making the above reflection, when, about half way over, the\nactively benevolent gentleman saw a little boy about nine or ten years\nold put his hand into a gentleman's pocket; he instantly, with a\npromptitude similar to what he had just exhibited, dealt him a blow that\nnearly knocked the breath out of him.\n\nThe proprietor of the pocket, startled by the \"_Hagh_\" that announced the\nsudden and almost total expulsion of the sufferer's breath, turned\nsharply round, and, as the boy staggered over against the balustrades,\nfiercely asked, \"Who did that?\"\n\n\"That young rascal, sir, had his hand in your pocket,\" said the striker.\n\n\"Well, sir, and what if he had?--He's _my son_.\"\n\n\"Your son! Sir, I beg a thousand pardons. I--I--I--\"\n\nThere is nothing I hate more than to see an unfortunate individual in an\nawkward dilemma. Maybe it is from having so often suffered, that I have a\nsort of fellow feeling. So, merely repeating to the recent promulgator of\nthe old adage his own words, \"Look before you leap,\" I passed on.\n\n    N.\n\n\n\n\nEPITAPHS.--The shortest, plainest, and truest, are the best. I say the\n_shortest_, for when a passenger sees a chronicle written upon a tomb, he\ntakes it on trust that some great man lies there buried, without taking\npains to examine who it is. Mr Cambden, in his \"Remains,\" presents us\nwith examples of great men who had little epitaphs. And when once a witty\ngentleman was asked, what epitaph was fittest to be written on Cambden's\ntomb, \"let it be,\" said he, \"Cambden's remains.\" I say also the\n_plainest_, for except the sense lie above ground, few will trouble\nthemselves to dig for it. Lastly, it must be _true_; not as in some\nmonuments, where the red veins in the marble may seem to blush at the\nfalsehoods written on it. He was a witty man who first taught a stone to\nspeak, but he was a wicked man who first taught it to lie. A good memory\nis the best monument; others are subject to casualty and time; and we\nknow that the Pyramids themselves, doting with age, have forgotten the\nnames of their founders.--_Scrap Book._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     Printed and Published every Saturday by GUNN and CAMERON, at\n     the Office of the General Advertiser, No 6. Church Lane,\n     College Green, Dublin.--Agents:--London: R. GROOMBRIDGE, Panyer\n     Alley, Paternoster Row. Manchester: SIMMS and DINHAM, Exchange\n     Street. Liverpool: J. DAVIES, North John Street. Birmingham: J.\n     DRAKE. Bristol: M. BINGHAM, Broad Street. Edinburgh: FRASER and\n     CRAWFORD, George Street. Glasgow: DAVID ROBERTSON, Trongate.\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBERS' NOTES\n\n\nCorrections to punctuation have not been individually documented.","title":"The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 04, July 25, 1840","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":11374}