{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_54388/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_54388","id":"gutenberg_54388","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54388","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - British","Category: Journals","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Ireland -- Periodicals"],"text":"THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.\n\n    NUMBER 20.      SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1840.      VOLUME I.\n\n[Illustration: MALAHIDE CASTLE, COUNTY OF DUBLIN.]\n\nAn ancient baronial castle, in good preservation and still inhabited by\nthe lineal descendant of its original founder, is a rare object to find\nin Ireland; and the causes which have led to this circumstance are too\nobvious to require an explanation. In Malahide Castle we have, however,\na highly interesting example of this kind; for though in its present\nstate it owes much of its imposing effect to modern restorations and\nimprovements, it still retains a considerable portion of very ancient\ndate, and most probably even some parts of the original castle erected\nin the reign of King Henry II. Considered in this way, Malahide Castle\nis without a rival in interest, not only in our metropolitan county, but\nalso perhaps within the boundary of the old English pale.\n\nThe Castle of Malahide is placed on a gently elevated situation on\na limestone rock near the village or town from which it derives its\nname, and of which, with its picturesque bay, it commands a beautiful\nprospect. In its general form it is quadrangular and nearly approaching\nto a square, flanked on its south or principal front by circular towers,\nwith a fine \u201cGothic\u201d entrance porch in the centre. Its proportions are\nof considerable grandeur, and its picturesqueness is greatly heightened\nby the masses of luxuriant ivy which mantle its walls. For much of its\npresent architectural magnificence it is however indebted to its present\nproprietor, and his father, the late Colonel Talbot. The structure, as\nit appeared in the commencement of the last century, was of contracted\ndimensions, and had wholly lost its original castellated character,\nthough its ancient moat still remained. This moat is however now filled\nup, and its sloping surface is converted into a green-sward, and planted\nwith Italian cypresses and other evergreens.\n\nInteresting, however, as this ancient mansion is in its exterior\nappearance, it is perhaps still more so in its interior features. Its\nspacious hall, roofed with timber-work of oak, is of considerable\nantiquity; but its attraction is eclipsed by another apartment of\nequal age and vastly superior beauty, with which indeed in its way\nthere is nothing, as far as we know, to be compared in Ireland. This\nunique apartment is wainscotted throughout with oak elaborately carved,\nin compartments, with subjects derived from scripture history, and\nthough Gothic in their general character, some of them are executed\nwith considerable skill; while the chimney-piece, which exhibits in\nits central division figures of the Virgin and Child, is carved with a\nsingular degree of elegance and beauty. The whole is richly varnished,\nand from the blackness of tint which the wood has acquired from time, the\napartment, as Mr Brewer well observes, assumes the resemblance of one\nvast cabinet of ebony.\n\nThe other apartments, of which there are ten on each floor, are of\ninferior architectural pretensions, though some of them are of lofty\nand spacious proportions. But they are not without attractions of a\nhigh order, being enriched with some costly specimens of porcelain, and\ntheir walls covered with the more valuable ornaments of a collection of\noriginal portraits and paintings by the old masters. Among the former\nthe most remarkable are portraits of Charles I. and Queen Henrietta\nMaria, by Vandyke; James II. and his queen, Anne Hyde, by Sir Peter Lely;\nQueen Anne, by Sir Godfrey Kneller; the Duchess of Portsmouth, mistress\nto Charles II.; the first Duke of Richmond (son of the above duchess)\nwhen a child; Richard Talbot, the celebrated Duke of Tirconnel, Lord\nLieutenant of Ireland, general and minister to James II., by Sir Peter\nLely; the Ladies Catherine and Charlotte Talbot, daughters of the duke,\nby Sir P. Lely; with many other portraits of illustrious members of the\nTalbot family. The portraits of the Duchess of Portsmouth and her son\nwere presented by herself to Mrs Wogan of Rathcoffy, from whom they were\ninherited by Colonel Talbot.\n\nAmong the pictures of more general interest, the most distinguished is\na small altar piece divided into compartments, and representing the\nNativity, Adoration, and Circumcision. This most valuable and interesting\npicture is the work of Albert Durer, and is said to have belonged to the\nunfortunate Mary Queen of Scots. It was purchased by Charles II. for\n\u00a32000, and was given by him to the Duchess of Portsmouth, who presented\nit to the grandmother of the late Col. Talbot.\n\nAs already observed, the noble family of Talbot have been seated in their\npresent locality for a period of nearly seven hundred years! According to\nthe pedigree of the family, drawn up with every appearance of accuracy\nby Sir William Betham, Richard Talbot, the second son of Richard Talbot,\nLord of Eccleswell and Linton, in Herefordshire, who was living in 1153,\nhaving accompanied King Henry II. into Ireland, obtained from that\nmonarch the lordship of Malahide, being part of the two cantreds of\nLeinster, in the neighbourhood of Dublin, which King Henry had reserved,\nwhen he granted the rest of the province to Richard Earl of Strongbow,\nto be held as a noble fief of the crown of England. It is at all events\ncertain, as appears from the chartulary or register of Mary\u2019s Abbey, now\nin the British Museum, that this Richard Talbot granted to St Mary\u2019s\nAbbey in Dublin certain lands called Venenbristen, which lie between\nCroscurry and the lands of Hamon Mac Kirkyl, in pure and perpetual alms,\nthat the monks there might pray for the health of his soul and that of\nhis brother Roger, and their ancestors; and that he also leased certain\nlands in Malahide and Portmarnoc to the monks of the same abbey. From\nthis Richard Talbot the present Lord Talbot de Malahide descends in the\ntwentieth generation, and in the twenty-fourth from Richard Talbot, a\nNorman baron who held Hereford Castle in the time of the Conqueror. The\nnoble Earls of Shrewsbury and Talbot are of the same stock, but descend\nfrom Gilbert, the elder brother of Richard, who was Lord of Eccleswell\nand Linton, and was living in 1190.\n\nThere can be no question, therefore, of the noble origin of the Talbots\nde Malahide, nor can their title be considered as a mushroom one,\nthough only conferred upon the mother of the present lord; for Sir\nWilliam Betham shows that his ancestor, Thomas Talbot, knight and lord\nof Malahide, who had livery of his estate in 1349, was summoned by the\nsheriff of Dublin to the Magnum Concilium, or Great Council, held in\nDublin in 1372, 46 Edward III., and again to the Magnum Concilium held\non Saturday, in the vigils of the holy Trinity, 48 Edward III., 1374,\nby special writ directed to himself by the name of \u201c_Thome Talbot,\nMilitis_.\u201d He was also summoned by writ to the Parliament of Ireland in\nthe same year. If therefore it could be ascertained that this Thomas\nTalbot actually took his seat under that writ, it would be clear that his\nlineal heir-male and heir-general, the present baron, has a just claim to\nthe honours and dignity which he has so recently acquired.\n\nThe manor of Malahide was created by charter as early as the reign of\nKing Henry II., and its privileges were confirmed and enlarged by King\nEdward IV. in 1475. This, we believe, still remains in the possession\nof the chief of the family, but various other extensive possessions of\nhis ancestors passed to junior branches of his house, and have been long\nalienated from his family.\n\nAmong the most memorable circumstances of general interest connected\nwith the history of this castle and its possessors, should be mentioned\nwhat Mr Brewer properly calls \u201ca lamentable instance of the ferocity\nwith which quarrels of party rivalry were conducted in ages during which\nthe internal polity of Ireland was injuriously neglected by the supreme\nhead of government:--On Whitsun-eve, in the year 1329, as is recorded by\nWare, John de Birmingham, Earl of Louth, Richard Talbot, styled Lord of\nMalahide, and many of their kindred, together with sixty of their English\nfollowers, were slain in a pitched battle at Balbriggan [Ballybragan] in\nthis neighbourhood, by the Anglo-Norman faction of the De Verdons, De\nGernons, and Savages: the cause of animosity being the election of the\nearl to the palatinate dignity of Louth, the county of the latter party.\u201d\n\nAt a later period the Talbots of Malahide had a narrow escape from a\ncalamity nearly as bad as death itself--the total loss of their rank\nand possessions. Involved of necessity by their political and religious\nprinciples in the troubles of the middle of the seventeenth century,\nthey could hardly have escaped the persecution of the party assuming\ngovernment in the name of the parliament. John Talbot of Malahide having\nbeen indicted and outlawed for acting in the Irish rebellion, his castle,\nwith five hundred acres of arable land, was granted by lease, dated 21st\nDecember 1653, for seven years, to the regicide Miles Corbet, who resided\nhere for several years after, till, being himself outlawed in turn at\nthe period of the Restoration, he took shipping from its port for the\ncontinent. More fortunate, however, than the representatives of most\nother families implicated in the events of this unhappy period, Mr Talbot\nwas by the act of explanation in 1665 restored to all his lands and\nestates in the county of Dublin, as he had held the same in 1641, only\nsubject to quit rents. It is said that during the occupation of Malahide\nby Corbet it became for a short time the abode of Cromwell himself; but\nthis statement, we believe, only rests on popular tradition--a chronicler\nwhich has been too fond of making similar statements respecting Irish\ncastles generally, to merit attention and belief.\n\nOur limits will not permit us on the present occasion to enter on any\ndescription of the picturesque ruins of the ancient chapel and tombs\nsituated within the demesne, and immediately adjacent to the castle; and\nwe shall only add in conclusion, that the grounds of the demesne, though\nof limited extent, and but little varied in elevation, are judiciously\nlaid out, and present among its plantations many scenes of dignified\ncharacter and beauty.\n\n                                                                       P.\n\n\n\n\nSAINT BRIDGET\u2019S SHAWL, BY T. E., AUTHOR OF \u201cDARBY DOYLE,\u201d ETC.\n\n\nAmongst the many extraordinary characters with which this country\nabounds, such as fools, madmen, onshochs, omadhauns, hair-brains,\ncrack-brains, and naturals, I have particularly taken notice of one. His\ncharacter is rather singular. He begs about Newbridge, county of Kildare:\nhe will accept of any thing offered him, except money--that he scornfully\nrefuses; which fulfils the old adage, \u201cNone but a fool will refuse\nmoney.\u201d His habitation is the ruins of an old fort or ancient stronghold\ncalled Walshe\u2019s Castle, on the road to Kilcullen, near Arthgarvan, and\nwithin a few yards of the river Liffey, far away from any dwelling. There\nhe lies on a bundle of straw, with no other covering save the clothes he\nwears all day. Many is the evening I have seen this poor crazy creature\nplod along the road to his desolate lodging. There is another stamp\nof singularity on his character: his name is Pat Mowlds, but who dare\nattempt to call him Pat? It must be Mr Mowlds, or he will not only be\noffended himself, but will surely offend those who neglect this respect.\nIn general he is of a downcast, melancholy disposition, boasts of being\nvery learned, is much delighted when any one gives him a ballad or old\nnewspaper. Sometimes he gets into a very good humour, and will relate\nmany anecdotes in a droll style.\n\nAbout two years ago, as I happened to be sauntering along the border of\nthe Curragh, I overtook this solitary being.\n\n\u201cA fine morning, Mr Mowlds,\u201d was my address.\n\n\u201cYes, sur, thank God, a very fine morning; shure iv we don\u2019t have fine\nweather in July, when will we have it?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a great space of ground this is to lie waste--what a quantity of\nprovisions it would produce--what a number of people it would employ and\nfeed!\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cOh, that\u2019s very thrue, sur; but was it all sown in pittaties, what\nwould become ov the poor sheep? Shure we want mutton as well as\npittaties--besides, all the devarshin we have every year.----Why, thin,\nmaybe ye have e\u2019er an ould newspaper or ballit about ye?\u201d\n\nI said I had not, but a couple of Penny Journals should be at his service\nwhich I had in my pocket.\n\n\u201cOch, any thing at all that will keep a body amused, though I have got\na great many of them; but among them all I don\u2019t see any picther or any\naccount of the round tower ferninst ye; nor any account ov the fire\nSaint Bridget _kept_ in night an\u2019 day for six hundred years; nor any\nthing about the raison why it was put out; nor any thing about how Saint\nBridget came by this piece ov ground; nor any thing about the ould Earl\nov Kildare, who rides round the Curragh every seventh year with silver\nspurs and silver reins to his horse--God bless ye, sur, have ye e\u2019er a\nbit of tobacky?--there\u2019s not a word about this poor counthry at all.\u201d\n\nMy senses were now driven to anxiety--I gave him some tobacco. He then\nresumed:--\n\n\u201cOch, an\u2019 faix it\u2019s myself that can tell all about those things. Shure my\ngrandfather was brother to one of the ould anshint bards who left him all\nhis books, and he left them to my mother, who left them to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Mr Mowlds,\u201d I said, \u201cyou must have a perfect knowledge of those\nthings--let us hear something of their contents.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, thin, shure, sur, I can\u2019t do less. Now, you see, sur, it\u2019s my\nfashion like the priests and ministhers goin\u2019 to praich: they must give\na bit ov a text out ov some larned book, and that\u2019s the way with me. So\nhere goes--mind the words:\n\n    \u201cThe seventeenth ov March, on King Dermot\u2019s great table,\n    Where ninety-nine beeves were all roast at a time,\n    We dhrank to the memory, while we wor able,\n        Ov Pathrick, the saint ov our nation;\n    And gaily wor dhrinkin\u2019, roarin\u2019, shoutin\u2019,\n        Cead mille faltha, acushla machree.\n    There was Cathleen so fair, an\u2019 Elleen so rare!\n            With Pathrick an\u2019 Nora,\n            An\u2019 flauntin\u2019 Queen Dorah!\n                On Pathrick\u2019s day in the mornin\u2019.\n                          Whoo!!!\n            County Kildare an\u2019 the sky over it!\n                    Short grass for ever!\u201d\n\nHe thus ended with a kick up of his heel which nearly touched the nape of\nhis neck, and a flourish of his stick at the same time. Then turning to\nme he said,\n\n\u201cI am not going to tell you one word about the fire--I am going to tell\nyou how Saint Bridget got all this ground. Bad luck to _Black Noll_ (a\nname given to Cromwell) with his crew ov dirty Sasanachs that tore down\nthe church; and if they could have got on the tower, that would be down\nalso. No matther--every dog will have his day. Sit down on this hill till\nwe have a shaugh ov the dhudheen. In this hill lie buried all the bones\nov the poor fellows that Gefferds killed the time ov the throuble, peace\nan\u2019 rest to their souls!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut to the story, Mr Mowlds,\u201d I said, as I watched him with impatience\nwhile he readied his pipe with a large pin.\n\n\u201cWell, sur, here goes. Bad luck to this touch, it\u2019s damp: the rain blew\ninto my pocket t\u2019other night an\u2019 wetted it--ha, I have it.\n\nNow, sur, you persave by the words ov my text that a great feast was kept\nup every year at the palace of Castledermot on Saint Pathrick\u2019s day.\nNothing was to be seen for many days before but slaughtering ov bullocks,\nskiverin\u2019 ov pullets, rowlin\u2019 in ov barrels, an\u2019 invitin\u2019 all the quolity\nabout the counthry; nor did the roolocks and spalpeens lag behind--they\nnever waited to be axt; all came to lind a frindly hand at the feast; nor\nwar the kings ov those days above raisin\u2019 the ax to slay a bullock. King\nO\u2019Dermot was one ov those slaughtherin\u2019 kings who wouldn\u2019t cringe at the\nblood ov any baste.\n\n\u2019Twas on one ov those festival times that he sallied out with his ax in\nhis hand to show his dexterity in the killin\u2019 way. The butchers brought\nhim the cattle one afther another, an\u2019 he laid them down as fast as they\ncould be dhrained ov their blood.\n\nAfther layin\u2019 down ninety-nine, the last ov a hundhred was brought to\nhim. Just as he riz the ax to give it the clout, the ox with a sudden\nchuck drew the stake from the ground, and away with him over hill an\u2019\ndale, with the swingin\u2019 block an\u2019 a hundred spalpeens at his heels. At\nlast he made into the river just below Kilcullen, when a little gossoon\nthought to get on his back; but his tail bein\u2019 very long, gave a twitch\nan\u2019 hitched itself in a black knot round the chap\u2019s body, and so towed\nhim across the river.\n\nAway with him then across the Curragh, ever till he came to where Saint\nBridget lived. He roared at the gate as if for marcy. Saint Bridget was\njust at the door when she saw the ox with his horns thrust through the\nbars.\n\n\u2018Arrah, what ails ye, poor baste?\u2019 sez she, not seein\u2019 the boy at his\ntail.\n\n\u2018Och,\u2019 sez the boy, makin\u2019 answer for the ox, \u2018for marcy sake let me in.\nI\u2019m the last ov a hundred that was goin\u2019 to be kilt by King O\u2019Dermot for\nhis great feast to-morrow; but he little knows who I am.\u2019\n\nBegor, when she heard the ox spake, she was startled; but rousin\u2019\nherself, she said,\n\n\u2018Why, thin, it \u2019ud be fitther for King O\u2019Dermot to give me a few ov yees,\nthan be feedin\u2019 Budhavore: it\u2019s well you come itself.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ah, but, shure, you won\u2019t kill me, Biddy Darlin,\u2019 sez the chap, takin\u2019\nthe hint, as it was nigh dark, and Biddy couldn\u2019t see him with her odd\neye; for you must know, sur, that she was such a purty girl when she was\nyoung, that the boys used to be runnin\u2019 in dozens afther her. At last she\nprayed for somethin\u2019 to keep them from tormenting her. So you see, sur,\nshe was seized with the small-pox at one side ov her face, which blinded\nup her eye, and left the whole side ov her face in furrows, while the\nother side remained as beautiful as ever.\n\n\u2018In troth you needn\u2019t fear me killin\u2019 ye,\u2019 sez she; \u2018but where can I keep\nye?\u2019\n\n\u2018Och,\u2019 says the arch wag, \u2018shure when I grow up to be a bull I can guard\nyer ground.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ground, in yeagh,\u2019 sez the saint; \u2018shure I havn\u2019t as much as would sow a\nridge ov pittaties, barrin\u2019 the taste I have for the girls to walk on.\u2019\n\n\u2018And did you ax the king for nane?\u2019 sed the supposed ox.\n\n\u2018In troth I did, but the ould budhoch refused me twice\u2019t.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, Biddy honey,\u2019 sez the chap, \u2018the third offer\u2019s lucky. Go\nto-morrow, when he\u2019s at dinner, and you may come at the soft side ov him.\nBut won\u2019t you give some refreshment to this poor boy that I picked up on\nthe road? I fear he is dead or smothered hanging at my tail.\u2019\n\nWell, to be sure, the chap hung his head (moryeah) when he sed this.\n\nOut St Bridget called a dozen ov nuns, who untied the knot, and afther\nwipin\u2019 the chap as clean as a new pin, brought him into the kitchen,\nand crammed him with the best of aitin\u2019 and drinkin\u2019; but while they\nwor doing this, away legged the ox. St Bridget went out to ax him some\nquestions consarnin\u2019 the king, but he was gone.\n\n\u2018\u2019Pon my sowkins,\u2019 sed she, \u2018but that was a mighty odd thing entirely.\nFaix, an it\u2019s myself that will be off to Castledermot to-morrow, hit or\nmiss.\u2019\n\nWell, sur, the next day she gother together about three dozen nuns.\n\n\u2018Toss on yer mantles,\u2019 sez she, \u2018an\u2019 let us be off to Castledermot.\u2019\n\n\u2018With all harts,\u2019 sez they.\n\n\u2018Come here, Norah,\u2019 sez she to the sarvint maid. \u2018Slack down the fire,\u2019\nsez she, \u2018and be sure you have the kittle on. I couldn\u2019t go to bed\nwithout my tay, was it ever so late.\u2019\n\nSo afther givin\u2019 her ordhers off they started.\n\nWell, behould ye, sur, when she got within two miles ov the palace, word\nwas brought to the king that St Bridget and above five hundred nuns were\non the road, comin\u2019 to dine with him.\n\n\u2018O tundheranounthers,\u2019 roared the king, \u2018what\u2019ll I do for their dinner?\nWhy the dhoul didn\u2019t she come an hour sooner, or sent word yestherday?\nSuch a time for visithers! Do ye hear me, Paudeen Roorke?\u2019 sez he,\nturnin\u2019 to his chief butler: \u2018run afther Rory Condaugh, and ax him did he\ngive away the two hind quarthers that I sed was a little rare.\u2019\n\n\u2018Och, yer honor,\u2019 sed Paudeen Roorke, \u2018shure he gev them to a parcel of\nboccochs at the gate.\u2019\n\n\u2018The dhoul do them good with it! Oh, fire and faggots! what\u2019ll become ov\nme?--shure she will say I have no hospitality, an\u2019 lave me her curse.\nBut, cooger, Paudeen: did the roolocks overtake the ox that ran away\nyestherday?\u2019\n\n\u2018Och, the dhoul a haugh ov him ever was got, yer honor.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, it\u2019s no matther; that\u2019ll be a good excuse; do you go and meet her;\nI lave it all to you to get me out ov this hobble.\u2019\n\n\u2018Naboclish,\u2019 said Paudeen Roorke, cracking his fingers, an\u2019 out he\nstarted. Just as he got to the door he met her _going_ to _come_ in. Well\nbecome the king, but he shlipt behind the door to hear what \u2019ud be sed.\n\u2018Bedhahusth,\u2019 he roared to the guests that wor going to dhrink his health\nwhile his back was turned.\n\n\u2018God save yer reverence!\u2019 said St Bridget to the butler, takin\u2019 him for\nthe king\u2019s chaplain, he had such a grummoch face on him; \u2018can I see the\nking?\u2019\n\n\u2018God save you kindly!\u2019 sed Paudeen, \u2018to be shure ye can. Who will I say\nwants him?\u2019 eyeing the black army at her heels.\n\n\u2018Tell him St Bridget called with a few friends to take pot luck.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, murther!\u2019 sed Paudeen, \u2018why didn\u2019t you come an hour sooner? I\u2019m\nafraid the meat is all cowld, we waited so long for ye.\u2019\n\n\u2018Och, don\u2019t make any _bones_ about it,\u2019 sed St Bridget: \u2018it\u2019s a cowld\nstummock can\u2019t warm its own mait.\u2019\n\n\u2018In troth that\u2019s thrue enough,\u2019 sed Paudeen; \u2018but I fear there isn\u2019t\nenough for so many.\u2019\n\n\u2018Why, ye set of _cormorals_,\u2019 sed she, \u2018have ye swallied the whole\nninety-nine oxen that ye kilt yestherday?\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, blessed hour!\u2019 groaned the king to himself, \u2018how did she know that?\nOch, I suppose she knows I\u2019m here too.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, bad scran to me!\u2019 said Paudeen, \u2018but we had the best and fattest\nkeepin\u2019 for you, but he ran away.\u2019\n\n\u2018In troth you needn\u2019t tell me that,\u2019 sez she; \u2018I know all about yer\ndoings. If I\u2019m sent away without my dinner itself, I must see the king.\u2019\n\nJust as she sed this, a hiccup seized the king, so loud that it\nreached the great hall. The guests, who war all silent by the king\u2019s\norder, thought he sed hip, hip!--so. Such a shout, my jewel, as nearly\nfrightened the saint away.\n\n\u2018In troth,\u2019 sez she, \u2018I\u2019d be very sorry to venthur among such a set of\nriff-raff, any way. But who\u2019s this behind the door?\u2019 sez she, cockin\u2019 her\neye. \u2018Oh, I beg pardon!--I hope no inthrusion--there ye are--ye\u2019ll save\nme the trouble ov goin\u2019 in.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh,\u2019 sed the king (hic), \u2018I tuck a little sick in my stummock, and came\ndown to get fresh air. I beg pardon. Why didn\u2019t you come in time to\ndinner?\u2019\n\n\u2018I want no dinner,\u2019 said she; \u2018I came to speak on affairs ov state.\u2019\n\n\u2018Why, thin,\u2019 said the king, \u2018before ye state them, ye must come in and\ntake a bit in yer fingers, at any rate.\u2019\n\n\u2018In troth,\u2019 sez she, \u2018I was always used to full and plenty, and not any\nscrageen bits; and to think ov a king\u2019s table not having a flaugooloch\nmeal, is all nonsense: that\u2019s like the taste ov ground I axt ye for some\ntime ago.\u2019\n\nBegor, sur, when she sed that, she gev him such a start that the hiccough\nleft him.\n\n\u2018Ah, Biddy, honey,\u2019 sez he, \u2018shure ye wor only passin\u2019 a joke to cure me:\nsay no more--it\u2019s all gone.\u2019\n\nJust as he sed this, he heard a great shout at a distance: out he pulled\nhis specks, an\u2019 put them on his nose; when to his joy he saw a whole\ncrowd ov spalpeens dhrivin\u2019 the ox before them. The king, forgettin\u2019 who\nhe was spaikin\u2019 to, took off his caubeen, and began to wave it, as he ran\noff to meet them.\n\n\u2018Oh! mahurpendhoul, but ye\u2019re brave fellows,\u2019 sez he; \u2018who ever it was\nthat _cotch_ him shall have a commission in my life guards. I never\nwanted a joint more. Galong, every mother\u2019s son ov yees, and horry all\nthe gridirons and frying-pans ye can get. Hand me the axe, till I have\nsome steaks tost up for a few friends.\u2019\n\nSo, my jewel, while ye\u2019d say thrap-stick, the ox was down, an\u2019 on the\ngridirons before the life was half out ov him.\n\nWell, to be shure, St Bridget got mighty hungry, as she had walked a long\nway. She then tould the king that the gentlemen should lave the room, as\nshe could not sit with any one not in ordhers, and they being a little\nout ov ordher. So, to make themselves agreeable to her ordhers, they quit\nthe hall, and went out to play at hurdles.\n\nWhen the king recollected who he was goin\u2019 to give dinner to, sez he to\nhimself, \u2018Shure no king ought to be above sarvin\u2019 a saint.\u2019 So over he\ngoes to his wife the queen.\n\n\u2018Dorah,\u2019 sez he, \u2018do ye know who\u2019s within?\u2019 \u2018Why, to be shure I do,\u2019 sez\nshe; \u2018ain\u2019t it Bridheen na Keogue?\u2019\n\n\u2018Ye\u2019re right,\u2019 sez he, \u2018and you know she\u2019s a saint; an\u2019 I think it will\nbe for the good ov our sowls that she kem here to-day. Come, peel off yer\nmuslins, and help me up wid the dinner.\u2019\n\n\u2018In troth I\u2019ll not,\u2019 sez the queen; \u2018shure ye know I\u2019m a black\nProspitarian, an\u2019 bleeve nun ov yer saints.\u2019\n\n\u2018Arrah, nun or yer quare ways,\u2019 sez he; \u2018don\u2019t you wish my sowl happy,\nany how?--an\u2019 if you help me, you will be only helpin\u2019 my sowl to heaven.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, in that case,\u2019 sez she, \u2018here\u2019s at ye, and the sooner the betther.\nBut one charge I\u2019d give ye: take care how ye open yer _claub_ about\nground: ye know she thought to come round ye twice before.\u2019\n\nSo in the twinklin\u2019 ov an eye she went down to the kitchen, an\u2019 put on a\nprashkeen, an\u2019 was _first dish_ at the table.\n\nThe king saw every one lashin\u2019 away at their dinner except Bridget.\n\n\u2018Arrah, Biddy, honey,\u2019 sez he, \u2018why don\u2019t ye help yerself?\u2019\n\n\u2018Why, thin,\u2019 sez she, \u2018the dhoul a bit, bite or sup, I\u2019ll take undher yer\nroof until ye grant me one favour.\u2019\n\n\u2018And what is that?\u2019 sez the king; \u2018shure ye know a king must stand to his\nword was it half his kingdom, and how do I know but ye want to chouse me\nout ov it: let me know first what ye want.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, thin, Mr King O\u2019Dermot,\u2019 sez she, \u2018all I want is a taste ov ground\nto sow a few pays in.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, an\u2019 how much do ye want, yer reverence,\u2019 sez he, all over ov a\nthrimble, betune his wife\u2019s dark looks, and the curse he expected from\nBridget if he refused.\n\n\u2018Not much,\u2019 sez she, \u2018for the present. You don\u2019t know how I\u2019m situated.\nAll the pilgrims going to Lough Dhearg are sent to me to put the pays in\ntheir brogues, an\u2019 ye know I havn\u2019t as much ground as would sow a pint;\nbut if ye only give me about fifty acres, I\u2019ll be contint.\u2019\n\n\u2018Fifty acres!\u2019 roared the king, stretching his neck like a goose.\n\n\u2018Fifty acres!\u2019 roared the queen, knitting her brows; \u2018shure that much\nground would fill their pockets as well as their brogues.\u2019\n\n\u2018There ye\u2019re out ov it,\u2019 said the saint; \u2018why, it wouldn\u2019t be half enough\nif they got their dhue according to their sins; but I\u2019ll lave it to\nyerself.\u2019\n\n\u2018How much will ye give?\u2019\n\n\u2018Not an acre,\u2019 said the queen.\n\n\u2018Oh, Dorah,\u2019 sed the king, \u2018let me give the crathur some.\u2019\n\n\u2018Not an _inch_,\u2019 sed the queen, \u2018if I\u2019m to be misthress here.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, I beg pardon,\u2019 sez the saint; \u2018so, Mr King O\u2019Dermot, you are undher\npetticoat government I see; but maybe I won\u2019t match ye for all that.\nNow, take my word, you shall go on penance to Lough Dhearg before nine\ndays is about; and instead ov pays ye shall have pebble stones and swan\nshot, in yer brogues. But it\u2019s well for you, Mrs Queen, that ye\u2019re out\nov my reach, or I\u2019d send you there barefooted, with nothing on but yer\nstockings.\u2019\n\nWhen the king heard this, he fell all ov a thrimble. \u2018Oh, Dorah,\u2019 sez he,\n\u2018give the crathur a little taste ov ground to satisfy her.\u2019\n\n\u2018No, not as much as she could play ninepins on,\u2019 sez she, shakin\u2019 her\nfist and grindin\u2019 her teeth together; \u2018and I hope she may send you to\nLough Dhearg, as she sed she would.\u2019\n\n\u2018Why, thin, have ye no feeling for one ov yer own sex?\u2019 sez the saint.\n\u2018I\u2019ll go my way this minit, iv ye only give me as much as my shawl will\ncover.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, that\u2019s a horse ov another colour,\u2019 sez the queen; \u2018you may have\nthat, with a heart and a half. But you know very well if I didn\u2019t watch\nthat fool ov a man, he\u2019d give the very nose off his face if a girl only\naxt him how he was.\u2019\n\nWell, sur, when the king heard this, he grew as merry as a cricket.\n\u2018Come, Biddy,\u2019 sez he, \u2018we mustn\u2019t have a dhry bargain, any how.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, ye\u2019ll excuse me, Mr King O\u2019Dermot,\u2019 sez she; \u2018I never drink stronger\nnor wather.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, son ov Fingal,\u2019 exclaimed the king, \u2018do ye hear this, and it\nPathrick\u2019s day!\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, I intirely forgot that,\u2019 sez she. \u2018Well, then, for fear ye\u2019d say I\nwas a bad fellow, I\u2019ll just taste. Shedhurdh.\u2019\n\nWell, sur, after the dhough-an-dheris she went home very well pleased\nthat she was to get ever a taste ov ground at all, and she promised the\nking to make his pinance light, and that she would boil the pays for him,\nas she did with young men ov tendher conshinses; but as to ould hardened\nsinners, she\u2019d keep the pays till they\u2019d be as stale as a sailor\u2019s bisket.\n\nWell, to be shure, when she got home she set upwards ov a hundhred nuns\nat work to make her shawl, during which time she was never heard of. At\nlast, afther six months\u2019 hard labour, they got it finished.\n\n\u2018Now,\u2019 sez she, \u2018it\u2019s time I should go see the king, that he may come and\nsee that I take no more than my right. So, taking no one with her barrin\u2019\nherself and _one_ nun, off she set.\n\nThe king and queen were just sitting down to tay at the parlour window\nwhen she got there.\n\n\u2018Whoo! talk of the dhoul and he\u2019ll appear,\u2019 sez he. \u2018Why, thin, Biddy\nhoney, it\u2019s an ago since we saw ye. Sit down; we\u2019re just on the first\ncup. Dorah and myself were afther talkin\u2019 about ye, an\u2019 thought ye forgot\nus intirely. Well, did ye take that bit ov ground?\u2019\n\n\u2018Indeed I\u2019d be very sorry to do the likes behind any one\u2019s back. You must\ncome to-morrow and see it measured.\u2019\n\n\u2018Not I, \u2019pon my sowkins,\u2019 sed the king: \u2018do ye think me so mane as to\ndoubt yer word?\u2019\n\n\u2018Pho! pho!\u2019 sed the queen, \u2018such a taste is not worth talkin\u2019 ov; but,\njust to honour ye, we shall attind in state to-morrow. Sit down.\u2019\n\nShe took up her station betune the king an\u2019 queen: the purty side ov her\nface was next the king, an\u2019 the ugly side next the queen.\n\n\u2018I can\u2019t be jealous ov you, at any rate,\u2019 sed the queen to herself, as\nshe never saw her veil off before.\n\n\u2018Oh, murther!\u2019 sez the king, \u2018what a pity ye\u2019re a saint, and Dorah to be\nalive. Such a beauty!\u2019\n\nJust as he was starin\u2019, the queen happened to look over at a\nlooking-glass, in which she saw Biddy\u2019s pretty side.\n\n\u2018Hem!\u2019 sez she, sippin\u2019 her cup. \u2018Dermot,\u2019 sez she, \u2018it\u2019s very much out\nov manners to be stuck with ladies at their tay. Go take a shaugh ov the\ndhudheen, while we talk over some affairs ov state.\u2019\n\nBegor, sur, the king was glad ov the excuse to lave them together, in the\nhopes St Bridget would convart his wife.\n\nWell, sur, whatever discoorse they had, I disremember, but the queen came\ndown in great humour to wish the saint good night, an\u2019 promised to be on\nthe road the next day to Kildare.\n\n\u2018Faix,\u2019 sez the saint, \u2018I was nigh forgettin\u2019 my gentility to wish the\nking good night. Where is he?\u2019\n\n\u2018Augh, and shure myself doesn\u2019t know, barrin\u2019 he\u2019s in the kitchen.\u2019\n\n\u2018In the kitchen!\u2019 exclaimed the saint; \u2018oh fie!\u2019\n\n\u2018Ay, indeed, just cock yer eye,\u2019 sez the queen, \u2018to the key-hole: that\ndhudheen is his excuse. I can\u2019t keep a maid for him.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh! is that the way with him?--never fear: I\u2019ll make his pinance purty\nsharp for that. At any rate call him out an\u2019 let us part in friends.\u2019\n\nSo, sur, afther all the compliments wor passed, the king sed he should\ngo see her a bit ov the road, as it was late: so off he went. The moon\nhad just got up, an\u2019 he walked alongside the saint at the ugly side; but\nwhen he looked round to praise her, an\u2019 pay her a little compliment, he\ngot sich a fright that he\u2019d take his oath it wasn\u2019t her at all, so he was\nglad to get back to the queen.\n\nWell, sur, next morning the queen ordhered the long car to be got ready,\nwith plenty ov clean straw in it, as in those times they had no coaches;\nthen regulated her life guards, twelve to ride before and twelve behind,\nthe king at one side and the chief butler at the other, for without\nthe butler she couldn\u2019t do at all, as every mile she had to stop the\nwhole retinue till she\u2019d get refreshment. In the meantime, St Bridget\nplaced her nuns twenty-one miles round the Curragh. At last the thrumpet\nsounded, which gave notice that the king was coming. As soon as they\nhalted, six men lifted the queen up on the throne, which they brought\nwith them on the long car. The king ov coorse got up by her side.\n\n\u2018Well, Dorah,\u2019 sez he in a whisper, \u2018what a laugh we\u2019ll have at Biddy,\nwith her shawl!\u2019\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t know that neither,\u2019 sez the queen. \u2018It looks as thick as\nFinmocool\u2019s boulsther, as it hangs over her shoulder.\u2019\n\n\u2018God save yer highness,\u2019 sed the saint, as she kem up to them. \u2018Why, ye\nsted mighty long. I had a snack ready for ye at one o\u2019clock.\u2019\n\n\u2018Och, it\u2019s no matther,\u2019 sez the queen; \u2018measure yer bit ov ground, and we\nthen can have it in comfort.\u2019\n\nSo with that St Bridget threw down her shawl, which she had cunningly\nfolded up.\n\nNow, sur, this shawl was made ov fine sewin\u2019 silk, all network, each mesh\nsix feet square, and tuck thirty-six pounds ov silk, and employed six\nhundred and sixty nuns for three months making it.\n\nWell, sur, as I sed afore, she threw it on the ground.\n\n\u2018Here, Judy Conway, run to Biddy Conroy with this corner, an\u2019 let her\nmake aff in the direckshin ov Kildare, an\u2019 be shure she runs the corner\ninto the _mon\u2019stery_. Here, you, Nelly Murphy, make off to Kilcullen;\nan\u2019 you, Katty Farrel, away with you to Ballysax; an\u2019 you, Nelly Doye,\naway to Arthgarvan; an\u2019 you, Rose Regan, in the direckshin of Connell;\nan\u2019 you, Ellen Fogarty, away in the road to Maddenstown; an\u2019 you, Jenny\nPurcel, away to Airfield. Just hand it from one to t\u2019other.\u2019\n\nSo givin\u2019 three claps ov her hand, off they set like hounds, an\u2019 in a\nminnit ye\u2019d think a haul ov nuns wor cotched in the net.\n\n\u2018Oh, millia murther!\u2019 sez the queen, \u2018she\u2019s stretchin\u2019 it over my\ndaughter\u2019s ground.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, blud-an\u2019-turf!\u2019 sez the king, \u2018now she\u2019s stretchin\u2019 it over my son\u2019s\nground. Galong, ye set ov _thaulabawns_,\u2019 sed he to his life-guards;\n\u2018galong, I say, an\u2019 stop her, else she\u2019ll cover all my dominions.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh fie, yer honour,\u2019 sez the chief butler; \u2018if you break yer word, I\u2019m\nnot shure ov my wages.\u2019\n\nWell behould ye, sur, in less than two hours Saint Bridget had the whole\nCurragh covered.\n\n\u2018Now see what a purty kittle of fish you\u2019ve made ov it!\u2019 sez the queen.\n\n\u2018No, but it\u2019s you, Mrs Queen O\u2019Dermot, \u2019twas you agreed to this.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ger out, ye ould bosthoon,\u2019 sez the queen, \u2018ye desarve it all: ye might\naisy guess that she\u2019d chouse ye. Shure iv ye had a grain ov sinse, ye\nmight recollect how yer cousin King O\u2019Toole was choused by Saint Kavin\nout ov all his ground, by the saint stuffin\u2019 a lump ov a crow into the\nbelly ov the ould goose.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, Dorah, never mind; if she makes a hole, I have a peg for it. Now,\nBiddy,\u2019 sez he, \u2018though I gave ye the ground, I forgot to tell ye that I\nonly give it for a certain time. I now tell ye from this day forward you\nshall only have it while ye keep yer fire in.\u2019\u201d\n\nHere I lost the remainder of his discourse by my ill manners. I got so\nfamiliar with Mr Mowlds, and so interested with his story, that I forgot\nmy politeness.\n\n\u201cAnd what about the fire, PAT?\u201d said I, without consideration.\n\nBefore I could recollect the offence, he turned on me with the eyes of a\nmaniac--\n\n\u201cThe dhoul whishper nollege into your ear.\n_Pat!_--(hum)--_Pat!_--_Pat!_--this is freedom, with all my heart.\u201d\n\nSo saying, he strode away, muttering something between his teeth.\nHowever, I hope again to meet him, when I shall be a little more cautious\nin my address.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ELECTROTYPE.\n\n\nAn elaborate and very lucid article on the Electrotype and Daguerreotype,\nbeing a review of \u201cAn Account of Experiments in Electricity made by\nThomas Spencer--Annals of Electricity, January 1840,\u201d and of the account\nof M. Daguerre\u2019s discovery of Photogenic Drawing as published by\nhimself, has appeared in that excellent work \u201cThe Westminster Review\u201d\nfor September. Our space not allowing us to enter so fully into details\nas our admirable contemporary, we present our readers with as concise an\narticle as the nature of the subject will permit, confining ourselves for\nthe present to the Electrotype, as being less generally known, though not\nless curious.\n\nThe electrotype is another instance of the application of invisible\nelements to the uses of man, by which powers and influences, of whose\nnature he is as yet wholly ignorant, are made subservient to his\npurposes, and obedient to his rule.\n\nTo define accurately what electricity is, would be, as yet at least,\nimpossible. Many conjectures have been, are, and will be hazarded, but\nthe knowledge of its production, power, and effects, is only in its\ninfancy, and so full of promise of a gigantic growth, that time will be\nbetter spent in its cultivation than in debating upon what it is.\n\nThe truth of this proposition is fully borne out by the subject of our\npresent paper; for whilst many scientific men have been exhausting their\nenergies in the production of plausible theories upon the nature of the\nelectric fluid, other more matter-of-fact philosophers have addressed\nthemselves to its application; and whilst some of these devote themselves\nto the developement of its motive powers, in the well-founded hope of\nits superseding steam, others press its services to far different uses.\nAmongst the last, Mr Spencer holds a foremost place.\n\nBefore entering into the description of the electrotype, we must say\na few words on the subject of electricity to the less informed of our\nreaders. The electric fluid, as it is called, may be produced in various\nways: the most ordinary is by the friction of glass against silk, as\nexemplified in the electrical machine, which is familiar to almost every\none. But galvanic and voltaic electricity is differently produced. In all\ncases its production is the consequence of combination, but particularly\nin the galvanic battery and voltaic circle. The latter, being Mr\nSpencer\u2019s apparatus, we shall briefly describe.\n\nAn ordinary voltaic circle is formed by a plate of zinc and another of\ncopper being placed upright in a vessel containing acid or a saline\nsolution. Zinc is more oxidisable than copper, that is, it has a greater\naffinity to, or inclination to unite itself with, the gas called\noxygen, the combination of which with the particles of metal produces\nthat appearance which is called \u201crust.\u201d Whilst the zinc and copper are\nseparate, the oxygen of the fluid operates upon both; but if they are\nunited by means of a wire connected with each, the oxygen forsakes the\ncopper altogether, and proceeds with increased force to unite with the\nzinc, and a current of electricity is immediately formed, which proceeds\nfrom the zinc plate through the fluid medium to the copper, thence along\nthe connecting wire to the zinc, and thence round again in a constant\ncirculating stream, until the zinc has been entirely decomposed, or\noxidised.\n\nElectricity being thus produced by combination, its progress and effects\nare marked by a wonderful power of separation or decomposition, which it\nexerts upon substances brought within the circle; and this is the power\nwhich Mr Spencer has turned to his use, the great object which he has at\npresent in view being the multiplication of engraved plates of copper for\nthe purpose of printing from.\n\nEvery person who has seen metal of any description in a state of fusion,\nmust have remarked that it never forms a thin fluid such as water,\ncapable of insinuating itself into the smallest interstices, but is what\nwould be called _thick_ even at the fiercest heat, consequently incapable\nof entering into such fine scratches as are necessary to be accurately\nand clearly defined upon an engraved plate. Again, the contraction and\nexpansion of all metals by the application of heat and cold, would offer\nan almost insuperable bar to the utility of casting, even if the fusion\ncould be rendered perfect. But the application of electricity removes all\nthe inconveniences, and opens a new field of science.\n\nMr Spencer\u2019s apparatus consists of an earthenware vessel, in which is\nsuspended another, much smaller, of earthenware or wood, with a bottom\nformed of plaster-of-Paris. Into the larger vessel is poured a saturated\nsolution of copper (the copper being dissolved in sulphuric acid)\nsufficient to rise up along the sides of the lesser one, which is filled\nwith the acid or saline solution intended to operate upon the zinc. The\nplaster-of-Paris being very porous, allows the two liquids to meet in\nits cells, but prevents them from mixing; by permitting them to meet,\nhowever, the current of electricity is enabled to circulate through all.\nIn the larger vessel, and beneath the bottom of the smaller one, is\nplaced the copper plate from which the cast is to be taken, or upon which\nthe pattern is to be raised. It is suspended by the wire, which is to\nconnect it with the zinc, being fixed on the edge of the inner vessel,\nin which is the zinc plate, suspended by its connecting wire. The two\nwires are then brought into contact, fixed together by a screw, and the\nvoltaic circle is complete. The acid in the upper vessel attacks the\nzinc, the electric current descends through the plaster bottom, thence\nthrough the solution of copper, where its separating or decomposing power\nis brought into operation, causing the infinitely minute particles of\ncopper suspended in the solution to separate from the sulphuric acid, and\ndescend upon the plate, through which itself proceeds to the wire, and so\nround again.\n\nNow, here is probably the most wonderful part of the process. It is only\non the copper plate that the particles of copper, disengaged from the\nsolution, will descend and settle. If the copper be varnished, or covered\nwith a coat of wax, they will not deposit themselves or go together at\nall; but where they find the clean surface of the metal, they at once\nnot only settle, but fix and adjust themselves in their proper forms,\nbuilding up as it were a metal structure, not eccentric or uneven, but\nforming a correct plate of new metal, so pure, so hard, and so free\nfrom defect or extraneous matter, that engravers prefer copper plates\nthus formed to any other for working upon. But the perfection of this\noperation consists in the wonderful accuracy with which the finest lines\nof the most beautiful engravings are copied: the particles which float\nin the solution are so indefinitely small, that they can enter into the\nfinest cuts, the slightest scratches; and as they undergo no process of\nheating or cooling, their form is in nowise altered.\n\nWe have already observed, that if the plate of metal be covered,\neven with varnish, the particles will not descend or form upon it;\nnevertheless, if some slight substance be not interposed, the depositing\nparticles adhere so firmly to it as to be inseparable, and it is upon\nthis property that one of the processes--that of engraving in relief on a\nplate of copper--entirely depends for success. When a cast of an engraved\nplate is required, the plate must be coated with bee\u2019s-wax, mixed with\na little spirits of turpentine. It is laid on the plate in a lump and\nmelted, and when just cooling is wiped off, when, although apparently\nclean, enough remains to interpose between the new and original plates,\nand prevent a too strong cohesion. It is not necessary that the engraved\nplate should be copper: it may be for instance lead or type metal, in\nwhich case it need not be waxed, as the application of heat, expanding\nthe metals unequally, causes them at once to start asunder.\n\nA piece of wire having been soldered to the back of the plate, its back\nand edges should be covered with a double coat of thick varnish, or it\nmay be embedded in a box with plaster-of-Paris or Roman cement. This\nprecaution is necessary, to prevent the plate from being inclosed, and to\nlimit the deposition to a proper extent.\n\nIt may now be suspended in the apparatus, and the wires being placed in\ncontact, the operation begins. Particle by particle the new metal is\nformed, until the plate is of sufficient thickness, when it is withdrawn,\nand heat being applied, the two plates are separated, one being the exact\ncounterpart, in relief, of the other. Care must be taken in all cases to\nchange the solution of copper frequently, for by merely _adding_, the\nseparated particles of the sulphuric acid would accumulate to such extent\nas to mar or injure the operation.\n\nFrom the plate thus formed in relief, as many casts as may be required\ncan be obtained, by making it the mould.\n\nTo copy or multiply medals and coins the operation is very simple, for\na mould can be easily obtained by compressing the medal or coin between\ntwo plates of milled sheet lead, and by varnishing the lead round the\nimpression, the deposit will be formed in the hollow only; and for\nthis purpose a very simple apparatus will suffice, and one that may be\nvery easily made. For the outer vessel an ordinary glass tumbler or\nfinger-bowl will answer; and for the inner, a cylindrical gas-glass,\nhaving a bottom made of plaster-of-Paris. The solution of copper being\nin the tumbler, and the acid with the zinc in the gas-glass, the mould\nshould be suspended by its conducting wire between the bottoms, the wire\nof the zinc connected with it, and the operation will proceed. In all\ncases it must be observed that the edge of the mould should be up, as, if\nit be placed horizontally, extraneous substances, sinking by their own\nweight, may be deposited upon it.\n\nTo produce a raised design upon a plate of copper, or as it is rather\nerroneously styled, \u201cEngraving in Relief,\u201d the operation is thus\nperformed:--\n\nThe plate upon which the design is to be raised having had the conducting\nwire soldered to it, is covered with a coat of wax about one-eighth of an\ninch or less in thickness, and upon the surface of this coat the design\nis drawn. With a graver, the end of which must be of the form of a thin\nparallelogram, so as to make grooves in the wax equally broad at the\nbottom as at the top, the lines of the drawing are to be carefully cut\ndown to the plate; care being taken that the plate is perfectly cleaned\nthroughout each line, and also that the grooves are not narrower at the\nbottom than at the top. In order to lay the surface of the copper at\nthe bottom of the grooves perfectly bare, the plate must be immersed\nin diluted nitric acid (three parts of water to one of acid), and the\nparticles of wax that may have escaped the graver are driven off by the\nfumes of the acid. The plate is then placed in the apparatus, the circle\nclosed as before, and the operation commences. As the particles of copper\nrequire a metallic base, they avoid the wax and seek the metal in the\ngrooves; they there attach themselves to it, and to each other, until the\nhollows are quite filled up, when the plate is removed. If the surfaces\nof the ridges thus built up be not perfectly smooth, a piece of pumice\nstone or smooth flag, with water, being rubbed to them, will soon reduce\nthem, after which the wax can be melted and cleaned off with spirits of\nturpentine; and so firm is this formation of metal thus raised, both in\nthe adherence of its particles to each other and to the original plate,\nthat it may be printed from at any ordinary printing-press.\n\nOne general remark applies to the production of electrotype copper,\nand it is, that the strength and solidity of the formation depends\nupon the slowness and deliberation of the process. The more slowly and\ndeliberately the particles separate from the solution and proceed to\ntheir places, the more fitly they appear to take them up, and the more\nfirmly they adhere; whilst on the contrary, if the operation be hurried,\nthe metal is brittle, so much so as sometimes to powder under an ordinary\npressure. The thicker and finer the partition of plaster between the two\nfluids, the more slightly are they connected, and consequently the slower\nis the circulation of the electricity. The proper length of time to be\nallowed for the process varies according to the nature of the work, and\nthe strength or solidity required. Forty-eight hours seems to be the\nleast time for forming a design in relief, and somewhat more than a week\nfor a plate with sunk lines.\n\nThe laws which govern matter are mysterious. The entire of this process\nis so wonderful, that to descant upon it would be unnecessary; and, after\nall, it is but another step taken upon the path of science, each advance\nupon which, whilst disclosing new scenes and greater wonders, is only the\nneedful preliminary to another which will display yet more!\n\n                                                                       N.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIELD OF KUNNERSDORF.\n\n(FROM THE GERMAN OF TIEDGE.)\n\n\n    Day is exiled from the bowers of Twilight;\n      Leaf and flower are drooping in the wood;\n    And the stars, as on a dark-stained skylight,\n      Glass their ancient glory in the flood.\n    Let me here, where nightwinds through the yew sing,\n      Where the moon is chary of her beams,\n    Consecrate an hour to mournful musing\n      Over Man and Man\u2019s delirious dreams.\n    Pines and yews! envelope me in deeper,\n      Dunner shadow, sombre as the grave,\n    While with moans, as of a troubled sleeper,\n      Gloomily above my head ye wave!\n    Let mine eye look down from hence on yonder\n      Battle-plain, which Night in pity dulls--\n    Let my sad imagination ponder\n      Over Kunnersdorf,[1] that Place of Skulls!\n\n    Dost thou re-illume these wastes, O Summer?\n      Hast thou raised anew thy trampled bowers?\n    Will the wild bee come again a hummer\n      Here, within the houses of thy flowers?\n    Can thy sunbeams light, thy mild rains water\n      This Aceldema, this _human_ soil,\n    Since that dark day of redundant slaughter\n      When the blood of men flowed here like oil?\n    Ah, yes! Nature, and Thou, God of Nature,\n      Ye are ever bounteous!--Man alone,\n    Man it is whose frenzies desolate your\n      World, and make it in sad truth his own!\n\n    Here saw Frederick fall his bravest warriors--\n      Master of _thy_ World, thou wert too great!\n    Heaven had need to stablish curbing-barriers\n      \u2019Gainst thine inroads on the World of Fate!\n    O, could all thy coronals of splendour\n      Dupe thy memory of that ghastly day?\n    Could the Muses, could the Graces[2] render\n      Smooth and bright a corse-o\u2019ercovered way?\n    No! the accusing blood-gouts ever trickle\n      Down each red leaf of thy chaplet-crown!\n    Men fell here, as corn before the sickle,\n      Fell, to aggrandise thy false renown!\n    Here the veteran drooped beside the springald.\n      Here sank Strength and Symmetry in line--\n    Here crushed Hope and gasping Valour mingled,\n      And, Destroyer, the wild work was thine!\n\n    What and wherefore is this doom funereal?\n      Whence this Tide of Being\u2019s flow and ebb?\n    Why rends Destiny the fine material\n      Of Existence\u2019s divinest web?\n    Vainly ask we!--Dim age calls to dim age--\n      Answer, save an echo, cometh none--\n    _Here_ stands Man, of Life in Death an image,\n      _There_, invisibly, The Living One!\n\n    Storm-clouds lour and muster in the Distance--\n      While, begirt with wrecks by sea and land,\n    Time, upon the far shore of Existence,\n      Counts each wavedrop swallowed by the sand.\n    Generation chases generation,\n      Downbowed by the same tremendous yoke--\n    No cessation, and no explication--\n      Birth--_Life_--Death;--the Stillness--_Flash_--and Smoke!\n\n    Here, then, Frederick, formidable Sovereign!\n      Here in presence of these whitened bones,\n    Swear at length to cherish Peace, and govern\n      So, that Men may learn to reverence Thrones!\n    O! repudiate bloodbought fame, and hearken\n      To the myriad witness-voic\u00e9d Dead,\n    Ere the Sternness[3] shall lay down to darken\n      In the Silentness[4] thy crownless head!\n    Shudder at the dire phantasmagory\n      Of the Slain who perished here by thee,\n    And abhor all future wreaths of glory\n      Gathered from the baleful cypress-tree!\n\n    Lofty souls disdain or dread the laurel--\n      _Hero_ is a poor exchange for _Man_;\n    _Adders lurk in green spots_: such the moral\n      Taught by History since her school began.\n    C\u00e6sar slain, the victim of his trophies,\n      Bayazeed[5] expiring in his cage,\n    All the C\u00e6sars, all the sabre-Sophies,\n      Preach the same sad homily each age.\n    One drugged winecup dealt with Alexander,\n      And his satraps scarce had shared afresh\n    Half the empires of the World-Commander,\n      Ere the charnel-worms had shared his flesh.\n\n    Though the rill roll down from Life\u2019s green mountain\n      Bright through festal dells of youthful days,\n    Soon the waters of that glancing fountain\n      In the Vale of Years must moult its rays.\n    There the pilgrim, on the bridge that, bounding\n      Life\u2019s domain, frontiers the wolds of Death,\n    Startled, for the first time hears resounding\n      From Eternity a Voice which saith--\n    \u201cALL WHICH IS NOT PURE SHALL MELT AND WITHER--\n      LO! THE DESOLATOR\u2019S ARM IS BARE,\n    AND WHERE MAN IS, TRUTH SHALL TRACE HIM THITHER,\n      BE HE CURTAINED ROUND WITH GLOOM OR GLARE.\u201d\n\n    M.\n\n[1] A village near Frankfort on the Oder, in which Frederick the Great\nwas defeated on the 12th August 1759, in one of the bloodiest battles of\nmodern times.\n\n[2] An allusion to Frederick\u2019s literary pursuits.\n\n[3] Death.\n\n[4] The Grave.\n\n[5] Bajazet II.\n\n\n\n\nFINE LADS.\n\n\nWe have a mortal aversion to fine lads. And, wherefore, pray? Why,\nbecause in nine cases out of ten, if not positively in every case, they\nare the dullest and most insipid of all human beings: they are good,\ninoffensive creatures, certainly, but oh, they are dreadful bores! If\nyou doubt it, just you take an hour of a fine lad\u2019s company, with nobody\npresent but yourselves. Shut yourself up in a room with him for that\nspace of time, and if you don\u2019t ever after, as long as you live, stand\nin dread and awe of the society of fine lads, you must be differently\nconstituted from other men, and amongst other rare gifts must possess\nthat of being bore-proof.\n\nBut, pray, what after all _is_ a fine lad? To the possession of what\nquality or qualities is he indebted for this very amiable sort of\ncharacter?\n\nWhy, these are questions which, like many others, are much more easily\nput than answered. But, speaking from our own knowledge and experience,\nwe should say that it is not the presence, but the absence--the entire\nabsence of every quality, good, bad, and indifferent, that constitutes\nthe fine lad; and hence his intolerable insipidity.\n\nThe fine lad is a blank, a cipher, a vacuum, a nonentity, a ring without\na circumference, a footless stocking without a leg. In disposition he\nis neither sweet, sour, nor bitter; in temper, neither hot nor cold;\nin spirit, neither merry nor sad. He is in fact, so far as any thing\npositive can be said of him, a mere concentration of negatives. In person\nhe is neither long nor short, neither fat nor lean, neither stout nor\nslender. There must in short be a total absence of all meaning, all\nexpression, all character, in the happy individual whom every body will\nagree in calling a fine lad.\n\nBetween the fine lad and the world the matter stands thus: the latter\nfinding him destitute of all distinctive characteristics, is greatly at\na loss what to make of him. It cannot in conscience call him clever,\nand it does not like to say he is an ass, so it good-naturedly calls\nhim a fine lad, taking shelter in the vagueness and indefiniteness of\nthe term, since nobody can say precisely what a fine lad really means.\nUnlike most other reputations, that of the fine lad is wholly undisputed:\nit is generally bestowed on him by universal consent--no dissentient\nvoice--every body agrees in calling him a fine lad. This is well, and\nmust be a source of great comfort and satisfaction to the fine lad\nhimself.\n\nWe have stated that nobody can say precisely what a fine lad really is,\nand this is true, generally speaking. But there is notwithstanding some\ndegree of meaning attached to the term: it means, so far as it means any\nthing, a soft, meek, simpering, unresisting creature, who will allow\nhimself to be kicked and cuffed about by any body and every body without\nresenting it, and who will take quietly any given quantity of abuse you\nchoose to heap upon him. This we imagine to be the true reason why people\ncall him a fine lad, just because he offers them, whether right or wrong,\nno resistance; hence it is too, we have no doubt, that he is so general a\nfavourite.\n\nAs most people have a great fancy for having as much of their own way as\npossible, and as they find themselves much jostled and opposed in the\nindulgence of this laudable propensity by those who are bent on having\nthe same enjoyment, they are delighted when they meet with one who\nreadily makes way for them, and reward his simplicity by clapping him on\nthe head, and calling him a fine lad.\n\nThe fine lad is a goose, poor fellow--no doubt of it--a decided goose,\nbut he cannot help that: it is no fault of his; he means well, and is\na most civil and obliging creature--all smiles and good nature. Being\nin reality good for little or nothing, having no activity, no tact\nwhatever of any kind, the fine lad would in most cases be rather ill off\nas regards his temporalities, but for his steadiness. He is generally\nsteady, and of sober and regular habits; and this, together with his\nextremely civil demeanour and inoffensive disposition, helps him on, and\nsecures him in comfortable and respectable bread. You will thus for the\nmost part find the fine lad in a well-doing way--in a good situation\nprobably, and with every prospect of advancement. His employer likes\nhim for his integrity and docility. He confesses that he is by no means\nclever, in fact that he is rather stupid; but, then, he is a fine lad.\nThis character he gives him to every body, and every body acknowledges\nits justice, and calls him a fine lad too.\n\nFine lads are in great favour with the ladies, and no wonder, for\nfine lads are remarkably attentive to them: they make the best of all\nbeaus. Thus it is that you are sure to find at least one fine lad at\nevery tea party you go to. You know him at once by his soft speech and\nmaiden-like smile, and by the readiness with which he undertakes, and\nthe quiet gentleness with which he performs, the task of handing about\nthe tea-bread, and discharging the other little duties of the occasion.\nAt all this sort of work the fine lad is unapproachable--it is his\nelement--here, if nowhere else, he shines resplendent. High in favour,\nhowever, as fine lads are with the fair sex, we have sometimes thought\nthat there was fully more of esteem than admiration in the feeling with\nwhich they contemplate his character. They like his society, and have at\nall times their softest words and blandest smiles ready for him; but we\nmuch doubt if he is just the sort of man they would choose for a husband.\nWe rather think not. We suspect they see in his nature something too much\nakin to their own, to allow of their ever thinking of him in the light of\na protector.\n\nThe fine lad, however, _does_ get married sometimes, and in justice\nto him, we are bound to say, always makes an excellent husband. He\nis gentle, kind, and indulgent: for the fine lad generally remains,\nin spirit at least, a fine lad to the last. So the ladies had better\ntake this into consideration, having our authority for so doing, and\nhenceforth look on fine lads with more seriousness than they have\nhitherto done.\n\n                                                                       C.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFIDELITY.--This virtue is displayed in the fulfilment of promises,\nwhether expressed or implied, in the conscientious scrupulous discharge\nof the duties of friendship, and in the keeping of secrets. It is\ntherefore a great virtue, and may be used as a decisive test of\ncharacter. He who has it is entitled to confidence and respect; he who\nlacks it merits contempt. If a man carefully performs his promises,\nmay we not confide in him? If he violates them, must we not despise\nhim? If we find a person is true to friendship, we may be sure that he\nhas just perceptions of virtue. If we find one who betrays a friend,\nor who is guilty of any species of treachery, we cannot doubt that he\nis essentially base and corrupt. To those who cannot keep a secret,\nwe commend an anecdote of Charles II. of England, which ought to be\nengraved upon the heart of every man. When importuned to communicate\nsomething of a private nature, the subtle monarch said, \u201cCan you keep\na secret?\u201d \u201cMost faithfully,\u201d returned the nobleman. \u201cSo can I,\u201d was\nthe laconic and severe answer of the king. Let parents, who desire that\ntheir children should possess the respect of the community and enjoy\nthe pleasures of friendship, take care to imbue them with fidelity of\ncharacter.--_Fireside Education, by S. G. Goodrich._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nANECDOTE.--\u201cGuzzling Pete,\u201d a half-witted country wight, and the town\u2019s\njest, came home one rainy Saturday night so \u201cdarkly, deeply, beautifully\n_blue_,\u201d that he went to bed with his hat and boots on, and his old\ncotton umbrella under his arm. He got up about two o\u2019clock the next\nafternoon, drunk with last night, and took his way to the meeting-house.\nRev. Dr B---- was at his \u201c17thly\u201d in the second of six divisions of a\nvery comprehensive body of Hopkinsian divinity, when \u201cGuzzling Pete\u201d\nentered the church with an egg in each hand. He saw as through a glass\ndarkly, and with evident commiseration, a man in black, very red in\nthe face, for the day was oppressively warm, who seemed to utter\nsomething with a great deal of vehemence, while a considerable number\nof those underneath him were fast asleep--among them Deacon C----,\nwith his shiny-bald head leaning against the wall. Pete, unobserved by\nthe minister, balanced his egg, and with tolerable aim plastered its\ncontents directly above the deacon\u2019s pate! Hearing the concussion, the\nworthy divine paused in his discourse, and looked daggers at the maudlin\nvisitor. \u201cNever mind, uncle,\u201d exclaimed the intruder: \u201cjest you go on\na-talkin\u2019--_I\u2019ll keep \u2019em awake for you!_\u201d By this time the congregation\nwere thoroughly aroused. \u201cMr L----,\u201d said the reverend pastor, with a\nseeming charity, which in his mortification he could scarcely have felt,\nand addressing a \u201ctiding-man\u201d near the door, \u201cMr L----, won\u2019t you have\nthe kindness to remove that poor creature from the aisle? I fear that he\nis sick.\u201d \u201c_Sick!_\u201d stammered our qualmish hero, as he began to confirm\nthe fears of the clergyman by very active symptoms; \u201c_s-i-c-k!_--yes, and\nit\u2019s enough to make a _dog_ sick to sit under such stupid preachin\u2019 as\nyour\u2019n: it\u2019s more\u2019n I can _stand_ under! Yes, take me out--the quicker\nthe better!\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE ASS.--The ass performs so many useful duties besides his _choragic_\nfunctions in our community, that he cannot be respectfully omitted. He is\ncalled a bad vocalist, though some amateurs prefer him to the mule; but\nhe is perhaps underrated. There are many notes which alone are shocking\nto the ear, that have in concert an agreeable harmony. The gabble of the\ngoose is not unpleasant in the orchestra of the barn-yard, and there are\nmany instances, no doubt, in which braying would improve harmony. If\none looks close into nature, he will find nothing, not even the gargle\nof the frog-pond, created in vain. At Musard\u2019s they often improve the\nspirit of a gallopade by the sudden clank and crash of a chain upon a\nhollow platform, with now and then a scream like the war-whoop of the\nSeminoles. What the Italians understand, and what most other nations do\nnot, is the harmonious composition of discordant sounds. If a general\nconcert of nature could be formed, the crow as well as the nightingale\nwould be necessary to the perfect symphony; and it is likely even the\nfile and hand-saw might be made to discourse excellent music. But even in\na solo, the ass, according to Coleridge, has his merits. He has certainly\nthe merit of execution. He commences with a few prelusive notes, gently,\nas if essaying his organs, rising in a progressive swell to enthusiasm,\nand then gradually dies away to a pathetic close; an exact prototype of\nthe best German and Italian compositions, and a living sanction of the\ngenuine and authentic instructions of the Academie de Musique.\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:--R. GROOMBRIDGE, Panyer Alley,\n    Paternoster Row, London; SIMMS and DINHAM, Exchange Street,\n    Manchester; C. DAVIES, North John Street, Liverpool; J. DRAKE,\n    Birmingham; SLOCOMBE & SIMMS, Leeds; FRAZER and CRAWFORD,\n    George Street, Edinburgh; and DAVID ROBERTSON, Trongate,\n    Glasgow.","title":"The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 20, November 14, 1840","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":11501}