{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_55232/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_55232","id":"gutenberg_55232","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55232","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - Other","Category: Journals","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Ireland -- Periodicals"],"text":"THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.\n\n        NUMBER 44.        SATURDAY, MAY 1, 1841.       VOLUME I.\n\n[Illustration: ARDFINNAN CASTLE, COUNTY OF TIPPERARY.]\n\nIn some of the recent numbers of our Journal we presented our readers\nwith views of two or three of the many striking objects of picturesque\nand historic interest for which, among our numerous beautiful rivers, the\ngentle Suir is more than ordinarily remarkable; and we return again with\npleasure to its green pastoral banks, to notice another of its attractive\nfeatures--the magnificent ruin of Ardfinnan Castle. This is a scene that\nmust be familiar to many of our readers, for the traveller must have been\na dull and unobserving one, who, journeying between Cork and Dublin by\nway of Cahir, has not had his attention roused by its romantic features,\nand an impression of its grandeur and picturesqueness made upon his\nmemory, not easily to be effaced. Ardfinnan is indeed one of the very\nfinest scenes of its kind to be found in Ireland, and is almost equally\nimposing from every point from which it can be viewed. The Castle crowns\nthe summit of a lofty and precipitous rock, below and around which the\nSuir winds its way in graceful beauty, while its banks are connected by\na long and level bridge of fourteen arches, which tradition states is of\ncoeval erection with the fortress, and which, at all events, is of very\ngreat antiquity. On every side the most magnificent outlines of mountain\nscenery form the distant back-grounds; and every object which meets the\neye is in perfect harmony with the general character of the scene.\n\nArdfinnan is a village of considerable antiquity, and derives its present\nname, which signifies Finnan\u2019s Height or Hill, from St Finnan the leper,\na celebrated ecclesiastic who founded a church and monastery here in\nthe seventh century, previously to which the place had borne the name\nof Druim-abhradb. Of this religious establishment there are however no\nremains, as it was plundered and burnt by the English in 1179; and the\npresent castle was erected on its site in 1185, by Prince John, then Earl\nof Morton, of whom it has been remarked that he achieved nothing during\nhis stay of eight months in Ireland, but the construction of this and two\nother castles, namely, Lismore and Tiobrad Fachtna, now Tibraghny on the\nSuir, which he erected with a view to the conquest of Munster. From these\ncastles he sent parties in various directions to plunder the country: but\nbeing met by the Irish under the command of Donall O\u2019Brien, Dermod Mac\nCarthy, and Roderick O\u2019Conor, they were defeated with great slaughter,\nfour knights having been killed at Ardfinnan; after which John was glad\nto return to England.\n\nPrince John, however, or those under whose advice he acted, showed a\nconsiderable degree of judgment and military skill in the selection of\nArdfinnan as the site of a fortress, which commanded one of the chief\npasses into South Munster; and the castle itself was of a princely\nmagnificence, and of such a degree of strength as must have rendered it\nimpregnable before the use of artillery. Its general form, as its ruins\nstill sufficiently show, was that of a parallelogram, strengthened by\nsquare towers at the corners, and having a strong entrance gateway.\nThis gateway still remains, as well as the greater part of the walls;\nbut the edifices of the interior are in a state of great dilapidation,\nand only part of the roof of one room remains. It is stated by the\neditor of Lewis\u2019s Topographical Dictionary, but on what authority we\nknow not, that this castle belonged to the Knights Templars, and that\non the suppression of that establishment it was granted to the Knights\nof St John of Jerusalem, and subsequently to the Bishop of Waterford.\nBut be this as it may, it was preserved as a military fortress till\nit was dismantled in 1649 by that great destroyer of Irish castles,\nOliver Cromwell, who, planting his cannon on the opposite hill near the\nbridge, made a breach in the walls, which speedily induced the garrison\nto surrender. The breach there is still shown, and according to an\nold tourist the following story is told in connection with it:--\u201cWhen\nthe place was besieged by Oliver, a butcher was within the walls, who\nwhile the siege lasted could never be prevailed on to come out of the\nroom where he had placed himself; but when the breach was made, and the\nsoldiers began to storm, he took up a handspike, and defended the breach\nalmost alone for some time, and knocked down several soldiers that strove\nto enter; but finding none to second him, he retired without the least\nhurt. When the castle was surrendered, he was asked why he would not come\nto the walls before the breach was made? He replied, \u2018Damn them, I did\nnot mind what was doing on the outside, but I could not bear their coming\ninto the house,\u2019 as he called it.\u201d\n\nArdfinnan is a parish in the barony of Iffa and Offa west, county of\nTipperary, above four miles S. S. E. from Cahir, and contains about\nnine hundred inhabitants. The village itself, which extends into the\nadjoining parish of Ballybacon, contains above three hundred. It was once\na place of greater note, and appears to have had a corporation, as it is\non record, 4th of Edward II (1311), that a grant of \u201cpontage for three\nyears\u201d was made \u201cto the Bailiffs and good men of Ardfynan\u201d at the request\nof the Bishop of Limerick.\n\n                                                                       P.\n\n\n\n\nPUSS IN BROGUES, A LEGEND.\n\n\nIt was about Christmas in the year 1831 that I received an invitation\nto spend the holidays with a friend who resided in a valley embosomed\namongst the loftiest of those mountains which form the boundary between\nthe King\u2019s and Queen\u2019s counties. The name of my host was Garret Dalton;\nhe held a considerable tract of land at a low rent, and by hard\nworking and thrifty living contrived not only to support his family in\ncomparative comfort, but to \u201clay up a snug penny in the horn\u201d for his\nonly daughter Nanny, who was at this time about fourteen years of age,\nand, as her fond father often proudly boasted, \u201cthe patthern ov as purty\na colleen as you\u2019d find from the seven churches of Clonmacnoise to the\nhill ov Howth--wherever that was.\u201d\n\nGarret was generous and hospitable; his house \u201cwas known to all the\nvagrant train,\u201d and the way-worn pilgrim, the wandering minstrel, the\nitinerant \u201cboccough,\u201d and the strolling vender of the news and gossip of\nthe day, were always secure of a welcome reception at his comfortable\nfire-side.\n\nAmongst the most constant of his guests was one Maurice O\u2019Sullivan,\na native of the county of Cork. Maurice was a most venerable-looking\npersonage--tall, gaunt, athletic, and stone blind. He was about eighty\nyears of age; his white hair flowed on his shoulders, and he played\nthe Irish bagpipes delightfully. He was the lineal descendant of a\nfamily still famous in the annals of the \u201cgreen isle;\u201d and although now\ncompelled to wander through his native land in the garb and character\nof a blind piper, he had once seen better days, and was possessed\nof education and intelligence far superior to most of his caste. He\nwas intimately acquainted with the sad history of his country, was\ndevotedly attached to the dogmas of the fairy creed, could recite\ncharms and interpret dreams, and was deeply conversant in all those\nwitch legends and traditions for which the Munster peasantry are so\npeculiarly celebrated. Hence Maurice was always a special favourite with\nmy enthusiastic friend, who regularly entertained him at his own table,\nand who, when they would have disposed of their plain but comfortable\nand substantial meal, would treat his blind guest to repeated \u201crounds\u201d\nof good \u201chalf and half,\u201d composed of water from the spring, and the\n_potteen_ of the valley. It was night-fall when I arrived, and the happy\nfamily, consisting of Garret and his wife, Nanny their eldest girl, and\nher two little brothers, with Paddy Bawn the \u201csarvint boy,\u201d and Ouny the\n\u201cgirl,\u201d including blind Maurice, were collected in a smiling group around\nthe immense turf fire. In that day teetotalism had made little progress\nin Ireland; a huge copper kettle was therefore soon hissing on the fire;\na large grey-beard of mountain-dew stood on the huge oak-table; tumblers\nand glasses glittered in their respective places: and, in a few minutes\nwe were all engaged in discussing the merits of a large jug of potteen\npunch. All were happy; Garret talked, his wife smiled; told all the \u201cnew\nnews\u201d of the Queen\u2019s county; whilst the spaces were filled up by blind\nMaurice, who played several of his most delightful national airs on his\nantique-looking pipes, whilst invariably as he concluded each successive\nlay, he would enrich the treat by some tradition connected with the piece\nhe had been playing, and which threw an indescribable charm not only\naround the performance, but the performer.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s a curious thing,\u201d remarked Garret, as the piper concluded one\nparticular rant; \u201cit\u2019s a quare medley, sometimes gay and sometimes sad,\nand sometimes like the snarlin\u2019 of a growlin\u2019 dog, and again exactly like\nthe mewing of a cat.\u201d\n\nThe piper smiled. \u201cAnd have you,\u201d he asked, \u201cnever heard me play that\ntune before?--and did I never tell you the strange story connected with\nit?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever,\u201d was the reply.\n\n\u201cWell, that is strange enough; that tune is an old favourite in Munster,\nand I thought the whole world had heard of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt never kem to Glen-Mac-Tir, any how,\u201d replied the farmer, \u201cor I\u2019d\nsurely have heard of it. How d\u2019ye call the name of it?\u201d\n\n\u201c_Caith-na-brogueen_--that is in English, Puss in Brogues,\u201d said the\npiper.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Garret, \u201cit\u2019s often I heard of Puss in Boots, but I never\nheard of Puss in Brogues afore.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ll tell you and this good company all about it,\u201d said Maurice,\nlaying down his pipes and wiping his forehead.\n\n\u201cAy, but afore you begin,\u201d said Garret, \u201ctake another dhrop to wet your\nwhistle, and you\u2019ll get on the betther with your story.\u201d\n\nThe piper seized the flowing tumbler again, and raising it to his lips,\ngaily exclaimed, whilst his attenuated hand shook nervously beneath the\nweight of the smoking goblet,\n\n\u201c_Sho-dhurtlh_, your healths, my friends, glory to our noble selves; and\nif this be war, may we never have more peaceable times.\u201d\n\n\u201cAmen,\u201d was the fervent response of every one present.\n\n\u201cNow for the _Caith-na-brogueen_,\u201d said Garret.\n\n\u201cAy, and a wild and strange tale it is,\u201d said Maurice. \u201cHowever, it is a\npopular tradition in South Munster, and often when a boy have I listened\nto it, whilst my eyes, now dark for ever, would glisten with delight, and\nI would even fear to breathe lest one syllable of the legend might escape\nme.\u201d Then emitting a deep-drawn sigh, and again wiping his polished brow,\nhe thus began.\n\n\u2018At the foot of a hill in a lonely district of the county of Cork, about\na dozen miles from my native village, there lived in old times a poor\nman named Larry Roche. He was, they say, descended from that family of\nthe Roches once so mighty in the south of Ireland, and some branches of\nwhich still retain a considerable degree of their former consequence and\nrespectability. Poor Larry, however, although the blood of kings might\nflow through his veins, was neither rich nor respectable; and his only\nmeans of support was a patch of barren land, which he held from that\ncelebrated sportsman Squire B----, in consideration of his services\nas care-keeper of a vast extent of bog and heath, the property of the\nsquire, and which extended far westward of poor Larry Roche\u2019s cabin. Yet\nLarry was not discontented with his situation. His father and grandfather\nhad lived and died in the same cabin; and although sometimes he might\nfeel disposed to envy the fine times which the sporting squire enjoyed,\nyet on cool reflection he would console himself with the consideration\nthat \u201cit was not every one that was born with a silver spoon in his\nmouth,\u201d and that even squire B---- himself, as grand as he was, was\non the \u201clook down,\u201d or he would not spend so much of his time wading\nthrough fens and bogs at home, but like his ancestors be lavishing his\nthousands amongst the _Sassenaghs_ at the other side of the lough, or\ndriving about on the continent. Thus rolled away poor Larry\u2019s days in\npoverty and contentment. In the shooting season his time was occupied\nin following his master over heath and hillock with his game-bag on his\nshoulder, and his \u201cdhudeen\u201d in his teeth, whilst the rest of the year\nwas spent in lounging about the ditches of the neighbourhood, chatting\nwith the crones of the vicinity about his family connexions, or the\nfairies of Glendharig, or squabbling with his good woman and his young\nones: for Larry was married; and as his wife was exactly a counterpart of\nhimself, every hour of course gave fresh cause for that bickering and\ndisagreement so often the result of untimely and ill-assorted marriages.\n\nThe only domestic animal in or about Larry Roche\u2019s cabin was a\nferocious-looking old black tom-cat, far bigger and stronger than any\ncat ever seen in that part of the country. His fur was black, he had\nstrong whiskers, his nails were like a tiger\u2019s, and at the end of his\ntail was fixed a claw or \u201cgaff\u201d as sharp and hooked as a falcon\u2019s beak;\nhis eyes also flashed by night with an appalling glare, and his cry was\na savage howl, baffling all description, and unlike any sound ever heard\nfrom any other animal. He was as singular in his habits, too, as in his\nappearance. He was never known to demand a morsel of food; and if offered\nany, he would reject it with indignation. Every evening at twilight he\nleft the fire-side, and spent the night scouring over moor and heather,\nand at daybreak would return from his foray, gaining access through\nthe low chimney of the cabin, and be found in the morning in his usual\nposition on the hob-stone. There he would sit from morning till night;\nand when Larry and Betty and the \u201cchildre\u201d were chatting in a group\naround the fire, the cat would watch them intently, and if the nature\nof their conversation was such as to excite laughter or merriment, he\nwould growl in a low tone, evidently dissatisfied; but if their dialogues\nwere held in a jarring, angry strain, as sometimes happened, he would\npurr hoarsely and loudly, whilst the wagging of his tail testified the\npleasure he felt in their feuds and dissensions. The family had often\nbeen advised to make away with him, but superstitious awe or family\nprejudice prevented them; and although the whole neighbourhood averred\nthat \u201che was no right thing,\u201d yet for the reasons I have stated his\nowners never could be induced to make any attempt to banish or destroy\nhim.\n\nOne dreary evening in October, Larry returned from his day\u2019s wandering\nwith the squire over the bleak bogs, and although it rained, and the\nwind blew bitterly, he appeared in much better spirits than was usual\nwith him on similar occasions. His wife wondered, and made more than\nusual preparations to please him. She trimmed the fire, and assisted him\nin taking off his dripping clothes, and then commenced pouring out her\nsympathy for his sufferings.\n\n\u201cOh, never mind,\u201d said Larry; \u201cI have good news.\u201d\n\n\u201cArrah, sit down,\u201d said Betty, \u201cand tell us what it is.\u201d\n\nLarry sat down, and putting his hand in his pocket, pulled out a\nglittering gold coin.\n\n\u201cArrah, Larry, avourneen, what\u2019s that?\u201d asked the woman.\n\n\u201cFaith, it\u2019s a rale yellow boy, a good goold guinea,\u201d replied Larry. \u201cThe\nsquire gev it to me, and tould me to buy a pair of brogues with it, and\ndrink his health with the balance.\u201d\n\n\u201cOch, musha! then, long life to him,\u201d vociferated Betty; \u201cand, Larry,\na-hagur, will you buy the brogues?\u201d\n\n\u201cFaix and I will,\u201d said Larry, \u201cand another rattling pair for yourself,\na-chorra.\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, daddy, and another pair for me,\u201d shouted young Larry.\n\n\u201cAnd another for me,\u201d cried Thady.\n\n\u201cAnd another for me,\u201d chuckled Charley.\n\n\u201cAy, and two pair for me,\u201d cried the black cat, speaking in a wild\nunearthly tone from the hob-stone, and breaking forth into a horrible\nlaugh.\n\n\u201cDevil knock the day-lights out of yez all,\u201d cried Larry, without seeming\nto take any notice of the strange circumstance, though his heart died\nwithin him with terror and surprise.\n\n\u201cLord have mercy on us!\u201d faintly ejaculated Betty, signing her brow,\nwhilst all the children started up in terror, and ran behind their\nparents in the chimney-corner.\n\nAll this time the cat remained silent on the hob; but his aspect, at all\ntimes terrible, now seemed perfectly monstrous and hideous. For some time\na death-like silence was preserved, but at last Larry plucked up courage\nto address the speaking animal.\n\n\u201cAnd, in the name of God,\u201d he began, \u201cwhat business have you with\nbrogues?\u201d\n\n\u201cAsk me no questions,\u201d replied the cat, \u201cbut get me the brogues as soon\nas possible.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, by all means,\u201d replied Larry, quite gently, \u201cyou must have them; and\nwhy did you not ask them long ago, and you should have got them?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy time was not come,\u201d replied Puss, briefly.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d resumed Larry, \u201cto-morrow is Sunday, and at daybreak I will\nstart off to my gossip Phadruig Donovan\u2019s, in Mill-street, to engage the\nbrogues; he is the best brogue-maker in the county, and he is my first\ngossip besides.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know all that,\u201d said the cat, as he leaped up the chimney, on his\ndeparture to the scene of his midnight wanderings. \u201cGood night, Larry,\nand don\u2019t forget your engagement;\u201d and he disappeared through the\ngathering gloom, to the great relief of poor Larry and his terrified\nfamily.\n\nThat was a sad and uneasy night with poor Larry and his wife and\nchildren. They did not go to bed at all, but sat trembling at the fire,\nexpecting every moment that the black imp would return with legions of\nfiends to carry them away, body and bones, to the regions below. Numerous\nwere the plans proposed for getting rid of their old companion, but all\nwere rejected--some as inefficient, others as impracticable; and the\nonly point on which they could finally agree, was, that their days were\nnumbered, and that perhaps before morning their blood would be streaming\non the hearth-stone, and their souls wandering through mire and morass,\nthe prey of troops of fiends.\n\nAt last the morning dawned, and as Larry disconsolately enough was\npreparing to set forward on his journey to Mill-street, the cat jumped\ndown the chimney, and took his usual place on the hob.\n\n\u201cWell, I am going now,\u201d said Larry; \u201chave you any directions to give\nabout the brogues?\u201d\n\nThe cat did not reply, but uttered a hideous growl, which fell heavily on\nthe poor fellow\u2019s heart; so kissing his wife and children, and commending\nthem to the protection of God, he set out on his sorrowful journey.\n\nHe had not gone far when he perceived through the dim grey of the\nmorning a human figure approaching; and on advancing a little nearer, he\nfound that it was a very old man, of extremely diminutive stature and\nforbidding aspect. He wore an old grey coat and an equally old woollen\ncap, and his thin white hair descended to his knees; he was barefoot, and\ncarried a walking-stick in his hand.\n\n\u201cGood morrow, and God save you, Larry Roche,\u201d said the old man as he came\nup.\n\n\u201cA bright morning to you,\u201d answered Larry.\n\n\u201cHow is every rope\u2019s length of you, Larry, and how is the woman and the\nchildre at home?\u201d demanded the stranger.\n\n\u201cFaix, purty well, considherin,\u201d replied Larry. \u201cBut you have a great\nadvantage of me.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow\u2019s that?\u201d said the old man.\n\n\u201cWhy, because you know me so well, while I have no more knowledge of you\nthan of the man in the moon.\u201d\n\n\u201cOch, I\u2019d know your skin in a tan-yard,\u201d said the old chap, laughing.\n\u201cBut is it possible you don\u2019t know me?\u201d\n\n\u201cFaix if God Almighty knows no more about you than I do, the devil will\nhave a prey of you one of those days,\u201d replied Larry.\n\n\u201cWell, say no more about that,\u201d said the old fellow, rather angrily. \u201cBut\nwhere are you going this blessed Sunday morning, Larry?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo Mill-street,\u201d said Larry.\n\n\u201cAll the ways--musha! what\u2019s taking you to Mill-street, Larry?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy feet and my business,\u201d said Larry, something piqued at the old\nfellow\u2019s inquisitive importunity.\n\n\u201cYou are very stiff this morning, Larry,\u201d said the stranger with a grin.\n\n\u201cI am worse than that,\u201d said the poor fellow; \u201cthe heart within me is\nsick and sore.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what troubles you now, Larry?\u201d\n\nLarry hereupon told the whole of his strange misfortunes to the stranger,\nending with a deep \u201cochone,\u201d and wishing, if it was the will of God, that\n\u201chis four bones were stretched in the church-yard of Kilebawn.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll be there time enough for your welcome, may be,\u201d said the old\nchap, \u201cbut that\u2019s neither here nor there. What will you do with the black\ncat?\u201d\n\n\u201cOch, sweet bad luck to all the cats alive, both black and white,\u201d\nimprecated Larry.\n\n\u201cThat cat\u2019s a devil--a fiend,\u201d said the stranger; \u201cand more than that, he\nintends to murder you and your family this very night.\u201d\n\nLarry groaned and crossed his forehead, whilst the stranger\u2019s hideous\ncountenance was convulsed with half-suppressed laughter.\n\n\u201cWell, Larry,\u201d said he again, \u201cI am your friend, and I have power to save\nyou and yours, on one condition; and that is, that you will stop up the\nwindow in the back wall of your cabin.\u201d\n\n\u201cFaith and I\u2019ll do that with a heart and a half,\u201d said Larry. \u201cBut what\ndo you want that for?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you that another time,\u201d said the little man.\n\n\u201cGo home now, and say you can\u2019t proceed to Mill-street without taking the\nwife and children with you, to leave the measure of their feet for the\nbrogues. Tell the cat also that he must come too, to have his fit taken;\nthen tie him up in a bag, and bring him with you; fasten this hair around\nyour neck,\u201d added the old man, at the same time extracting a single white\nhair from his head, \u201cand all the imps of hell cannot hurt you. But mind\nand don\u2019t open your lips from the time you leave home till you come to\nthis spot; and when you arrive here with the cat, sit down and wait the\nevent.\u201d\n\nA thick fog now suddenly rose, and the old man was hidden from the sight\nof Larry, who, greatly overjoyed, returned to his cabin to execute the\norders he had got, and was met by his wife, who was trembling for his\nsafe return, but did not expect him sooner than night.\n\n\u201cMusha! Larry agragal, you\u2019re welcome,\u201d she exclaimed; \u201cand what in the\nname of God turned you back?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am coming for you and the gorsoons; you must all come to Mill-street\nto have your measure taken for the brogues.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd must I go too?\u201d asked the cat.\n\n\u201cFaix you must,\u201d said Larry; \u201cif natural Christians couldn\u2019t be fitted\nwithout bein\u2019 on the spot, it\u2019s hard to expect that you could.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how am I to travel?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cIn a bag on my back,\u201d replied Larry. \u201cI\u2019ll whip you through the country\nlike a dinner to a hog, and man or mortal shall never be the wiser, if\nthe brogue-maker keeps his tongue quiet.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll go bail he will,\u201d said Puss, \u201cfor I\u2019ll kill him the very night the\nbrogues is brought home.\u201d\n\n\u201cLord have mercy on him!\u201d ejaculated Larry, his heart sinking within him.\n\n\u201cPray for yourself--may be you want mercy as well as him,\u201d said the cat.\n\nThe preparations were soon completed, and the cat being put into the bag,\nLarry tied the mouth of it firmly with a piece of cord, and then slung it\non his shoulder; and after acquainting his wife with his adventure with\nthe old man on \u201cMoin-more,\u201d he departed, whistling the air of \u201cThamama\nThulla.\u201d\n\nHe soon gained the spot where he had parted with the old man, and looking\nround and perceiving nobody, he sat down on the green fern, still holding\nthe bag which contained his terrible fellow-traveller.\n\n\u201cWhat stops you Larry?\u201d asked the cat.\n\nLarry, recollecting the old man\u2019s injunction, spoke not, but continued\nwhistling.\n\n\u201cDoes anything ail you, Larry?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhoo, hoo, phoo, hoo--Thamemo Chodladh.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs Betty and the childre to the fore?\u201d\n\n\u201cThamemo Chodladh.\u201d\n\n\u201cBad luck to you and your \u2018Thamemo Chodladh,\u2019\u201d cried the cat.\n\n\u201cThat the prayers may fall on the preacher,\u201d said Larry to himself.\n\nThe cat now began to make desperate efforts to escape from the bag,\nwhilst Larry redoubled his exertions to detain him. His attention,\nhowever, was soon arrested by the cry of hounds, and on looking westward,\nhe perceived, rapidly approaching over the morass, a big black man\nmounted on a black horse, and accompanied by a numerous pack of black\ndogs.\n\n\u201cOchone,\u201d thought Larry, \u201cnow I am coached of all ever happened me. Here\nis the chap\u2019s black friends coming to rescue him, and they won\u2019t leave a\ntoothful a-piece in my carcass.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet me go, Larry,\u201d said the cat, \u201clet me go, and I\u2019ll show you where\nthere\u2019s a cart-load of gold buried in the ground.\u201d But Larry remained\nsilent, and meantime the horseman and hounds came up.\n\n\u201cGood morrow and good luck, Larry Roche,\u201d said the black equestrian, with\na grim smile.\n\n\u201cGood morrow, kindly, your worship,\u201d said Larry.\n\n\u201cIs that a fox you have in the bag, Larry?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, in troth,\u201d said Larry, \u201cthough I believe he is not much honester\nthan a fox.\u201d\n\n\u201cI must see what it is, any how,\u201d said the sable horseman, with a\ngesticulation which convinced Larry at once that he was the fellow whom\nhe had seen before.\n\nSo Larry opened the bag, and out jumped Puss, and away with him over the\nbog like a flash of lightning. The wild huntsman hallooed his dogs, and\nthe pursuit commenced, but the cat was soon surrounded and torn to pieces.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the horseman, \u201cI must bid you farewell;\u201d and off he went;\nand then Larry returned home with the happy tidings, and the squire\u2019s\nguinea was spent in the purchase of sundry bottles of \u201cTom Corcoran\u2019s\u201d\nbest potteen; but we must do Larry the justice to say that his agreement\nwith the old man was punctually performed, and the back window stopped as\neffectually as mud and stones could do it.\n\nA few nights after, Larry was aroused from his sleep by the merry tones\nof bagpipes at his fire-side, and getting up, he perceived the kitchen\nilluminated with a bright, reddish glare, whilst on the hob-stone he\nsaw, snugly seated, the ever remembered little old man playing a set of\nbagpipes, to the delightful tones of which hundreds of little fellows\nwith red caps and red small-clothes were capering about the floor.\n\n\u201cGod bless the man and the work,\u201d said Larry, \u201cand warm work yez have ov\nit this hour ov the night.\u201d\n\nThe little fellow hereupon set up a shout, and rushing to the door, flew\nthrough it, one of them striking poor Larry a box on the right eye, which\nblinded it.\n\n\u201cGoodnight, Misthur Larry,\u201d said the piper; \u201cand how is your four bones?\nand how is the good woman that owns you?\u201d\n\n\u201cOch, no fear at all ov the woman,\u201d replied Larry; \u201cand as for my bones,\nthey are well enough; but, faith, my right eye, I believe, is in whey in\nmy head.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it will teach you how to speak to your betters in future,\u201d said\nthe little piper; \u201cnever mintion the holy name again, when talking to the\n\u2018good people.\u2019\n\n\u201cBut, Larry, listen: I\u2019ll now tell you why I wanted you to stop up your\nback window.\n\n\u201cYou must know that this cabin of yours stands on the middle of a fairy\npass. We often come this way in our wanderings through the air in cold\nnights, and often we wished to warm ourselves at your fire-side; but as\nthere was a window in the back of your cabin, we had not power to stop,\nbut were compelled to pursue our journey. Now that the window is stopped,\nwe can come in and remain as long as we wish, and resume our journey\nthrough the door by which we enter. We pass this way almost every night,\nand you need never feel in the least apprehensive of injury so long as\nyou let us pursue our pastimes undisturbed.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll be bound me or mine shall never annoy one of yez,\u201d said Larry.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s a good fellow, Larry,\u201d said the little chap; \u201cand now take those\npipes and play us a tune.\u201d\n\n\u201cOch, the devil a chanter I ever fingered,\u201d said Larry, \u201csince I was\nchristened.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo matter,\u201d said the little fellow; \u201cI\u2019ll go bail you\u2019ll play out of the\nsoot.\u201d\n\nLarry \u201cyoked\u201d on the pipes, and lilted up in darling style a merry tune,\nwhilst the old chap was ready to split with laughing.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the name of that tchune?\u201d said Larry.\n\n\u201c_Caith-na-brogueen_,\u201d replied the fairy piper; \u201ca tune I composed in\nmemory of your escape from the cat; a tune that will soon become a\nfavourite all over Munster.\u201d\n\nLarry handed back the pipes; the little man placed them in a red bag,\nand, bidding his host \u201cgood night,\u201d dashed up the chimney.\n\nThe next night, and almost every following night, the din of fairy\nrevels might be heard at Larry Roche\u2019s fire-side, and Larry himself was\ntheir constant companion in their midnight frolics. He soon became the\nbest performer on the bagpipes in the south of Ireland, and after some\ntime surrendered his cabin to the sole occupation of the \u201cgood people,\u201d\nand wandered with his family through all the Munster counties, and was\nwelcome and kindly treated wherever he came. After some time, the cabin\nfrom neglect fell, and offered no further impediment to the fairy host in\ntheir midnight wanderings, whilst Larry followed a life of pleasure and\npeace, far from the scene of his former perils and privations.\n\nThe cat, of course, was never seen after; but the peasantry of the\nneighbourhood say that the screams of the infernal fiend, mingled with\nthe deep howlings of hell-hounds and the savage yellings of the sable\nhunter, may be distinctly heard in horrid chorus amongst the fens and\nmorasses of the broad Moin-more.\u2019\n\nThus ended the strange tale of Maurice O\u2019Sullivan, who in addition to\nthe unanimous applause of the company present, was treated to another\nflowing tumbler of the barley bree, which he tossed off to the health of\nthose who, to use his own words, were \u201cgood people\u201d in earnest--not fays\nor fairies, however, but the hospitable folks of Glen-Mac-Tir; adding at\nthe same time that he was resolved to gratify the lovers of legendary\nlore with another of his wild Munster tales on the following night.\n\n                                                                    J. K.\n\n\n\n\nITINERANT GOLDSMITHS OF INDIA AND SUMATRA.\n\n\nIn the production of beautiful specimens of mechanical art, much more\ndepends upon the natural taste and ingenuity of the workman than upon\nthe completeness and perfection of his tools. To those who are not much\nacquainted with the mechanical arts, this may sound somewhat like a\nself-evident proposition; yet it is far, very far indeed, from being\nconsidered such by European mechanics in general, and by our own in\nparticular. So commonly is the blame of clumsy workmanship laid upon\nthe badness or the want of tools, that an anecdote is related of a man,\nwho, upon being spoken to by a friend for having committed numerous\ngrammatical errors in a letter which he had just written, cursed his\npen, and asked his friend how he could be so excessively unreasonable\nas to expect him or any man to write good English with such a wretched\nimplement!\n\nTo such a degree of excellence has the manufacture of mechanical tools\nand instruments arrived in these countries, that a British mechanic would\nbe utterly astonished could he but behold the process of manufacturing\nvarious articles in the East; such for example as the shawls of Persia\nand Cashmere, the carvings in wood and ivory of China, the extraction\nof metal from the ore in the same country, by which malleable iron\nis produced fit for immediate use, and of the finest quality, by a\nsingle process; and, not to tire by enumeration, the productions of the\nitinerant goldsmiths of India and the island of Sumatra. These last excel\nin filagree work, for which they are celebrated, far exceeding even the\nChinese in its extraordinary delicacy; yet their tools are ruder than\nthose of the Indian goldsmith of the continent.\n\nWhen a Sumatran goldsmith is engaged to manufacture some piece of gold\nor silver work, he first asks for any little piece of thin iron--a\nbit of an iron hoop will answer his purpose--and with this he makes an\ninstrument for drawing his wire. The head of an old hammer stuck in a\nblock of wood serves for an anvil; and for a pair of compasses he is\ncontented with two old nails tied together at the heads. If he has a\ncrucible, good; if not, a piece of a broken rice-pot or a china tea-cup\nanswers his purpose. His furnace is an old broken _quallee_ or iron\npot, and his bellows a joint of bamboo, through which he blows with his\nmouth. If the work be heavy, and the quantity of metal to be melted\nconsiderable, three or four sit round the furnace, each with his bamboo,\nand blow together. It is only at Padang, where the manufacture is carried\non extensively, that the Chinese bellows has been introduced. The art of\nwire-drawing not having been considerably improved upon since the time of\nTubalcain, the Sumatran method differs little from the European.\n\nWhen drawn sufficiently fine, the wire is flattened by beating it upon\nthe anvil, and when flattened, it is twisted by rubbing it upon a block\nof wood with a flat stick. Having twisted it, the goldsmith again\nflattens it upon the anvil, and it is then a flat wire with serrated or\nindented edges, suitable for forming leaves or portions of flowers; these\nhe makes by turning down the end of the wire with a rude pincers, and\nthen cutting it off; this process is repeated until he has a sufficient\nnumber prepared for his work. The pattern he has drawn on a piece of\npaper or card, to the size and shape of which the intended piece of\nworkmanship must correspond. If the work is to be formed upon a plate\nof gold, he cuts the plate to the shape of his pattern, and proceeds\nto dispose the various bits of foliage, assorted according to size,\nand adjusts wire of various thickness for the stems, tendrils, &c.,\nfastening them temporarily together, and upon the plate, with the sago\nberry, called _boca sago_, which they reduce to a pulp by grinding upon\na rough stone; and a young cocoa nut, about the size of a walnut, forms\nthe ointment-box for this gelatinous preparation. When the work has been\nall placed in order, the operator prepares his solder, which consists of\ngold filings and borax mingled with water; this he strews upon the plate\nand applies to the several points of contact of the finer portions of\nhis work; and then, exposing the whole to the action of the fire, in a\nfew moments the soldering is completed. But if it is open work, he lays\nout the foliage and other parts upon a card or thin bit of soft wood, and\nattaches them together, as before described, with the pulp of the sago\nberry, applies the solder to the points of junction, and puts his work\ninto the fire as before; the card or wood burns away, the solder unites\nthe parts, and the work is completed; but if the piece be very large, the\nsoldering is done at several times. When the work is finished as to the\nmanufacturing part, it is cleansed and brightened by boiling it in water\nwith common salt and alum, or lime juice; and when the goldsmith wishes\nto give it a fine purple colour, he boils it in water with sulphur. The\nbeautiful little balls with which the Sumatran filagree work is sometimes\nornamented, are very simply made. The maker merely drills a small hole\nin a piece of charcoal, into which he puts some grains of gold dust, and\nupon exposing it to the fire, it runs into a perfect ball.\n\nAt finishing plain work, however, it must be confessed that the Sumatran\nand Indian goldsmiths fall short of the European; but if the latter excel\nin this, which may be considered the lowest department of the art, they\nare, despite their improvements and the superiority of their instruments,\nvastly inferior in the elegance and delicacy of the finer parts.\n\nThe Sonah Wallah (which signifies in Hindoostanee \u201cthe gold fellow\u201d),\nor itinerant goldsmith of India, is far better supplied with tools and\nimplements of his trade than the Sumatran; and being thus a step higher\nin the grade of civilisation, he exhibits evidences of his advance in\nrefinement by being such a confounded rogue, that it is almost impossible\nfor _even his European employer_ to detect him, or prevent him from\npilfering some portion of the metal consigned to his ingenuity. The Sonah\nWallah may be hired for half a rupee (a little over a shilling) a-day,\nand, like the tinkers in these countries, he brings his implements with\nhim. These consist of a small forge, to the edge of which are attached\nseveral iron rings, which may be turned up over the charcoal to receive\nhis crucibles; a tin tube to blow through, a pair of slight iron tongs, a\npair of small pliers, a hammer, a couple of earthen saucers, and a rude\nanvil consisting of a piece of flint secured in a rough iron frame. The\ngold usually presented to him for working is the gold mohur, a coin worth\nabout 32s. sterling; this coin he places in a crucible with a little\nborax, to make it fuse the more readily; and having fixed the crucible\nin one of the rings, and lighted the charcoal under and around it, he\nblows with his tin tube until the metal is melted, when he practises a\ntrick of his trade by throwing in a small quantity of nitro-muriatic\nacid, which causes a sudden expansion or slight explosion, by which a\nportion of the metal is thrown out of the crucible into the fire, from\nthe extinguished embers of which the rogue separates it at a convenient\nopportunity; and lest his employer should try to detect him by weighing\nthe material both before and after working, he uses a copper rod for\nstirring the contents of the crucible, a portion of which rod melts and\nmingles with the gold, and so compensates for the deficiency in weight,\nor at least so nearly as invariably to escape detection, although it is\nmore than probable that an instance seldom or never occurs in which they\ndo not defraud their employers of a portion of the gold put into their\nhands. The fact is, that their admirable skill so completely compensates\nfor their knavery, that few would think of questioning too closely, for,\nrude and simple as are their tools, they far exceed European workmen in\nthe production of delicate and intricately formed trinkets; their small,\ntaper, and flexible fingers more than supplying the place of the numerous\nvarieties of implements which the mechanic of Birmingham or Sheffield\nfinds indispensably necessary. Indian chains of gold and silver have been\never celebrated for the beauty and complication of their structure; and\nalthough the Sonah Wallah may be considered to excel particularly in this\nbranch of his art, yet he still must be admitted to surpass, or at least\nequal, the European even in the manufacture of finger rings, bracelets,\nand armlets.\n\nMuch of the superior ingenuity of the Indian goldsmith may be\nattributable to the division of the people into castes or sections, by\nwhich fundamental law the same profession is carried on by the same\npeople or family through countless generations; the Shastra, or code of\nHindoo laws, forbidding the mixture of the castes, or interference with\nany business or profession not carried on by their progenitors.\n\nThere are four integral divisions of the people. The first caste, the\nBrahmins, are said by the Hindoo scriptures to have issued, at the\ncreation, from Brahma\u2019s mouth; and being thus the most excellent and\ndignified, are set apart for the priesthood and legislative departments\nof the state. The second, the Cshatryas, are said to have issued from\nBrahma\u2019s arms, and to them is committed the executive--these consequently\nform the armies. The third caste, the Vaisyas, are said to have proceeded\nfrom Brahma\u2019s thighs; they are the merchants, and consequently amongst\nthem are to be found some of the wealthiest men of Hindostan. The fourth\ncaste, called Soodras, being said to have issued from the feet of Brahma,\nare considered the most ignoble and degraded, and to them are left all\nmechanical arts and servile employments, as being beneath the dignity\nof the superior castes. Amongst the Soodras, consequently, are the\ngoldsmiths; and as the different professions form a sort of minor castes\namongst the greater ones, the same business is transferred from father to\nson; and all the powers of the mind being directed undistractedly to the\nsingle object, pre-eminence in that line is naturally to be expected.\n\n                                                                       N.\n\n\n\n\nBARNY O\u2019GRADY.\n\n\nBehold me safely landed at Philadelphia, with one hundred pounds in\nmy pocket--a small sum of money; but many, from yet more trifling\nbeginnings, have grown rich in America. Many passengers who came over in\nthe same ship with me had not half so much. Several of them were indeed\nwretchedly poor. Among others there was an Irishman, who was known by\nthe name of Barny--a contraction, I believe, for Barnaby. As to his\nsurname, he could not undertake to spell it, but he assured me there was\nno better. This man, with many of his relatives, had come to England,\naccording to their custom, during harvest time, to assist in reaping,\nbecause they gain higher wages than in their own country. Barny had\nheard that he should get still higher wages for labour in America, and\naccordingly he and his two sons, lads of eighteen and twenty, took their\npassage for Philadelphia. A merrier mortal I never saw. We used to hear\nhim upon deck, continually singing or whistling his Irish tunes; and\nI should never have guessed that this man\u2019s life had been a series of\nhardships and misfortunes.\n\nWhen we were leaving the ship, I saw him, to my great surprise, crying\nbitterly; and upon inquiring what was the matter, he answered that it\nwas not for himself, but for his two sons, he was grieving; because\nthey were to be made _redemption men_; that is, they were to be bound\nto work, during a certain time, for the captain, or for whomsoever he\npleased, till the money due for their passage should be paid. Although I\nwas somewhat surprised at any one\u2019s thinking of coming on board a vessel\nwithout having one farthing in his pocket, yet I could not forbear paying\nthe money for this poor fellow. He dropped down on the deck upon both\nhis knees, as suddenly as if he had been shot, and holding up his hands\nto heaven, prayed, first in Irish, and then in English, with fervent\nfluency, that \u201cI and mine might never want; that I might live long to\nreign over him; that success might attend my honour wherever I went; and\nthat I might enjoy for evermore all sorts of blessings and crowns of\nglory.\u201d As I had an English prejudice in favour of silent gratitude, I\nwas rather disgusted by all this eloquence; I turned away abruptly, and\ngot into the boat which waited to carry me to shore.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI had now passed three years in Philadelphia, and was not a farthing\nthe richer, but, alas, a great deal poorer. My inveterate habit of\nprocrastination--of delaying every thing till TO-MORROW, always stood\nbetwixt me and prosperity. I at last resolved upon leaving the land of\nthe star-spangled banner; but when I came to reckon up my resources, I\nfound that I could not do so, unless I disposed of my watch and my wife\u2019s\ntrinkets. I was not accustomed to such things, and I was ashamed to go\nto the pawnbroker\u2019s, lest I should be met and recognised by some of my\nfriends. I wrapped myself up in an old surtout, and slouched my hat over\nmy face. As I was crossing the quay, I met a party of gentlemen walking\narm in arm. I squeezed past them, but one stopped and looked after me;\nand though I turned down another street to escape him, he dodged me\nunperceived. Just as I came out of the pawnbroker\u2019s shop, I saw him\nposted opposite me; I brushed by; I could with pleasure have knocked him\ndown for his impertinence. By the time that I had reached the corner of\nthe street, I heard a child calling after me; I stopped, and a little\nboy put into my hand my watch, saying, \u201cSir, the gentleman says you left\nyour watch and these thingumbobs by mistake.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat gentleman?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know, but he was one that said I looked like an honest chap,\nand he\u2019d trust me to run and give you the watch. He is dressed in a blue\ncoat, and went towards the quay. That\u2019s all I know.\u201d\n\nOn opening the paper of trinkets, I found a card with these\nwords:--\u201c_Barny_--with kind thanks.\u201d\n\n\u201cBarny! poor Barny! An Irishman whose passage I paid coming to America\nthree years ago. Is it possible?\u201d\n\nI ran after him the way which the child directed, and was so fortunate as\njust to catch a glimpse of the skirt of his coat as he went into a neat,\ngood-looking house. I walked up and down for some time, expecting him\nto come out again; for I could not suppose that it belonged to Barny. I\nasked a grocer who was leaning over his hatch-door, if he knew who lived\nin the next house?\n\n\u201cAn Irish gentleman of the name of O\u2019Grady.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd his Christian name?\u201d\n\n\u201cHere it is in my books, sir--Barnaby O\u2019Grady.\u201d\n\nI knocked at Mr O\u2019Grady\u2019s door, and made my way into the parlour, where I\nfound him, his two sons, and his wife, sitting very sociably at tea. He\nand the two young men rose immediately, to set me a chair.\n\n\u201cYou are welcome, kindly welcome, sir,\u201d said he. \u201cThis is an honour I\nnever expected, any way. Be pleased to take the seat next the fire.\n\u2019Twould be hard indeed if you should not have the best seat\u2019s that to\nbe had in this house, where we none of us ever should have sat, nor had\nseats to sit upon, but for you.\u201d\n\nThe sons pulled off my shabby greatcoat, and took away my hat, and\nMrs O\u2019Grady made up the fire. There was something in their manner,\naltogether, which touched me so much that it was with difficulty I could\nkeep myself from bursting into tears. They saw this, and Barny (for I\nshall never call him any thing else), as he thought that I should like\nbetter to hear of public affairs than to speak of my own, began to ask\nhis sons if they had seen the day\u2019s paper, and what news there were.\n\nAs soon as I could command my voice, I congratulated this family upon the\nhappy situation in which I found them, and asked by what lucky accident\nthey had succeeded so well.\n\n\u201cThe luckiest accident ever _happened me_ before or since I came to\nAmerica,\u201d said Barny, \u201cwas being on board the same vessel with such a\nman as you. If you had not given me the first lift, I had been down for\ngood and all, and trampled under foot, long and long ago. But after that\nfirst lift, all was as easy as life. My two sons here were not taken\nfrom me--God bless you; for I never can bless you enough for that. The\nlads were left to work for me and with me; and we never parted, hand or\nheart, but just kept working on together, and put all our earnings, as\nfast as we got them, into the hands of that good woman, and lived hard\nat first, as we were born and bred to do, thanks be to heaven! Then we\nswore against all sorts of drink entirely. And as I had occasionally\nserved the masons when I lived a labouring man in the county of Dublin,\nand knew something of that business, why, whatever I knew, I made the\nmost of, and a trowel felt noways strange to me, so I went to work, and\nhad higher wages at first than I deserved. The same with the two boys;\none was as much of a blacksmith as would shoe a horse, and the other a\nbit of a carpenter; so the one got plenty of work in the forges, and the\nother in the dockyards as a ship-carpenter. So, early and late, morning\nand evening, we were all at the work, and just went this way struggling\non even for a twelvemonth, and found, with the high wages and constant\nemploy we had met, that we were getting greatly better in the world.\nBesides, the wife was not idle. When a girl, she had seen baking, and\nhad always a good notion of it, and just tried her hand upon it now, and\nfound the loaves went down with the customers, who came faster and faster\nfor them; and this was a great help. Then I turned master mason, and had\nmy men under me, and took a house to build by the job, and that did; and\nthen on to another; and after building many for the neighbours, \u2019twas\nfit and my turn, I thought, to build one for myself, which I did out of\ntheirs, without wronging them of a penny. In short,\u201d continued Barny, \u201cif\nyou were to question me how I have got on so well in the world, upon my\nconscience I should answer, we never made Saint Monday, and never put off\ntill to-morrow what we could do to-day.\u201d\n\nI believe I sighed deeply at this observation of Barny\u2019s notwithstanding\nthe comic phraseology in which it was expressed.\n\n\u201cAnd would it be too much liberty to ask you,\u201d said Barny, \u201cto drink a\ncup of tea, and to taste a slice of my good woman\u2019s bread and butter? And\nhappy the day we see you eating it, and only wish we could serve you in\nany way whatsoever.\u201d\n\nI verily believe the generous fellow forgot at this instant that he had\nredeemed my watch and wife\u2019s trinkets. He would not let me thank him as\nmuch as I wished, but kept pressing upon me fresh offers of service. When\nhe found I was going to leave America, he asked what vessel we should go\nin. I was really afraid to tell him, lest he should attempt to pay for my\npassage. But for this he had, as I afterwards found, too much delicacy of\nsentiment. He discovered, by questioning the captains, in what ship we\nwere to sail; and when we went on board, we found him and his sons there\nto take leave of us, which they did in the most affectionate manner; and\nafter they were gone, we found in the state cabin, directed to me, every\nthing that could be useful or agreeable to us, as sea stores for a long\nvoyage.--_Incident in a Tale entitled \u201cTo-morrow,\u201d by Miss Edgeworth._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDECISION OF CHARACTER: HOWARD THE PHILANTHROPIST.--In decision of\ncharacter no man ever exceeded, or ever will exceed, the late illustrious\nHoward. The energy of his determination was so great, that if, instead\nof being habitual, it had been shown only for a short time on particular\noccasions, it would have appeared a vehement impetuosity; but by being\nunintermitted it had an equability of manner which scarcely appeared to\nexceed the tone of a calm constancy, it was so totally the reverse of any\nthing like turbulence or agitation. It was the calmness of an intensity\nkept uniform by the nature of the human mind forbidding it to be more,\nand by the character of the individual forbidding it to be less. The\nhabitual passion of his mind was a measure of feeling almost equal to\nthe temporary extremes and paroxysms of common minds; as a great river,\nin its customary state, is equal to a small or moderate one when swollen\nto a torrent. The moment of finishing his plans in deliberation, and\ncommencing them in action, was the same. I wonder what must have been the\namount of that bribe in emolument or pleasure that would have detained\nhim a week inactive after their final adjustment. The law which carries\nwater down a declivity was not more unconquerable and invariable than the\ndetermination of his feelings towards the main object. The importance of\nthis object held his faculties in a state of excitement which was too\nrigid to be affected by lighter interests, and on which therefore the\nbeauties of nature and of art had no power. He had no leisure feeling\nwhich he could spare to be diverted among the innumerable varieties of\nthe extensive scenes which he traversed: all his subordinate feelings\nlost their separate existence and operation by falling into the grand\none. There have not been wanting trivial minds to mark this as a fault in\nhis character. But the mere men of taste ought to be silent respecting\nsuch a man as Howard: he is above their sphere of judgment. The invisible\nspirits who fulfil their commission of philanthropy among mortals do not\ncare about pictures, statues, and sumptuous buildings; and no more did\nhe, when the time in which he must have inspected and admired them would\nhave been taken from the work to which he had consecrated his life. His\nlabours implied an inconceivable severity of conviction that he had _one\nthing to do_, and that he who would do some great thing in this short\nlife must apply himself to the work with such a concentration of his\nforces as, to idle spectators who live only to amuse themselves, looks\nlike insanity. His attention was so strongly and tenaciously fixed on\nhis object, that even at the greatest distance, as the Egyptian pyramids\nto travellers, it appeared to him with a luminous distinctness as if it\nhad been nigh, and beguiled the toilsome length of labour and enterprise\nby which he was to reach it. It was so conspicuous before him that not\na step deviated from the direction, and every movement and every day\nwas an approximation. As his method referred every thing he did and\nthought to the end, and as his exertions did not relax for a moment, he\nmade the trial, so seldom made, what the utmost effect is, which may be\ngranted to the last possible efforts of a human agent; and, therefore,\nwhat he did not accomplish he might conclude to be placed beyond the\nsphere of mortal activity, and calmly leave to the immediate disposal of\nOmnipotence.--_Foster\u2019s Essays._\n\n\n\n\nKISSING OFF SAILORS.\n\n\nAn Irish Guineaman had been fallen in with by one of our cruisers, and\nthe commander of his majesty\u2019s sloop the Hummingbird made a selection\nof thirty or forty stout Hibernians to fill up his own complement, and\nhand over the surplus to the admiral. Short-sighted mortals we all are,\nand captains of men-of-war are not exempted from human imperfection.\nHow much also drops between the cup and the lip! There chanced to be on\nboard of the same trader two very pretty Irish girls, of the better sort\nof bourgeoise, who were going to join their friends at Philadelphia. The\nname of the one was Judy, and of the other Maria. No sooner were the poor\nIrishmen informed of their change of destination, than they set up a\nhowl loud enough to make the scaly monsters of the deep seek their dark\ncaverns. They rent the hearts of the poor-hearted girls; and when the\nthorough-bass of the males was joined by the sopranos and trebles of the\nwomen and children, it would have made Orpheus himself turn round and\ngaze.\n\n\u201cOh, Miss Judy! oh, Miss Maria! would you be so cruel as to see us poor\ncrathurs dragged away to a man-of-war, and not for to go and spake a word\nfor us? A word to the captain from your own purty mouths, and no doubt he\nwould let us off.\u201d\n\nThe young ladies, though doubting the powers of their own fascinations,\nresolved to make the experiment. So, begging the lieutenant of the sloop\nto give them a passage on board to speak with his captain, they added a\nsmall matter of finery to their dress, and skipped into the boat like a\ncouple of mountain kids, caring neither for the exposure of ancles nor\nthe spray of the salt water, which, though it took the curls out of their\nhair, added a bloom to their cheeks, which perhaps contributed in no\nsmall degree to the success of their project. There is something in the\nsight of a petticoat at sea that never fails to put a man into a good\nhumour, provided he be rightly constructed. When they got on board the\nman-of-war, they were received by the captain.\n\n\u201cAnd pray, young ladies,\u201d said he, \u201cwhat may have procured me the honour\nof this visit?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was to beg a favour of your honour,\u201d said Judy. \u201cAnd his honour will\ngrant it too,\u201d said Maria, \u201cfor I like the look of him.\u201d\n\nFlattered by this shot of Maria\u2019s, the captain said that nothing ever\ngave him more pleasure than to oblige the ladies; and if the favour they\nintended to ask was not utterly incompatible with his duty, that he would\ngrant it.\n\n\u201cWell, then,\u201d said Judy, \u201cwill your honour give me back Pat Flannagan,\nthat you have pressed just now?\u201d\n\nThe captain shook his head.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s no sailor, your honour, but a poor bog-trotter; and he will never\ndo you any good.\u201d\n\nThe captain again shook his head. \u201cAsk me anything else,\u201d said he, \u201cand I\nwill give it you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then,\u201d said Maria, \u201cgive us Phelim O\u2019Shaughnessy.\u201d\n\nThe captain was equally inflexible.\n\n\u201cCome, come, your honour,\u201d said Judy, \u201cwe must not stand upon trifles\nnow-a-days. I\u2019ll give you a kiss if you give me back Pat Flannagan.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I another,\u201d said Maria, \u201cfor Phelim.\u201d\n\nThe captain had one seated on each side of him; his head turned like a\ndog-vane in a gale of wind. He did not know which to begin with; the\nmost ineffable good humour danced in his eyes; and the ladies saw at\nonce the day was their own. Such is the power of beauty, that this lord\nof the ocean was fain to strike to it. Judy laid a kiss on his right\ncheek; Maria matched it on his left; and the captain was the happiest of\nmortals. \u201cWell, then,\u201d said he, \u201cyou have your wish; take your two men,\nfor I am in a hurry to make sail.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it sail ye are after makin\u2019? and do ye mane to take all these poor\ncrathurs away wid you? No, faith; _another kiss and another man_.\u201d\n\nI am not going to relate how many kisses these lovely girls bestowed on\nthe envied captain. If such are captains\u2019 perquisites, who would not be\na captain? Suffice it to say, they got the whole of their countrymen\nreleased, and returned on board in triumph.\n\nLord Brougham used to say that he always laughed at the settlement of\npin-money, as ladies were generally either kicked out of it, or kissed\nout of it; but his lordship, in the whole course of his legal practice,\nnever saw a captain of a man-of-war kissed out of forty men by two pretty\nIrish girls. After this, who would not shout \u201cErin go bragh!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nANCIENT IRISH LITERATURE.\n\nNumber 5.\n\n\nThe specimen of our ancient Irish Literature which we now present to\nour readers, is one of the most popular songs of the peasantry of the\ncounties of Mayo and Galway, and is evidently a composition of that most\nunhappy period of Irish history, the seventeenth century. The original\nIrish which is the composition of one Thomas Lavelle, has been published\nwithout a translation, by Mr Hardiman, in his Irish Minstrelsy; but a\nvery able translation of it was published in a review of that work in\nthe University Magazine for June 1834. From that translation the version\nwhich we now give has been but slightly altered so as to adapt it to the\noriginal melody, which is of very great beauty and pathos, and one which\nit is desirable to preserve with English words of appropriate simplicity\nof character:--\n\n\nTHE COUNTY OF MAYO.\n\n  I.\n\n  On the deck of Patrick Lynch\u2019s boat I sit in woful plight,\n  Through my sighing all the weary day, and weeping all the night.\n  Were it not that full of sorrow from my people forth I go.\n  By the blessed sun, \u2019tis royally I\u2019d sing thy praise. Mayo!\n\n  II.\n\n  When I dwelt at home in plenty, and my gold did much abound.\n  In the company of fair young maids the Spanish ale went round--\n  \u2019Tis a bitter change from those gay days that now I\u2019m forced to go,\n  And must leave my bones in Santa Cruz, far from my own Mayo!\n\n  III.\n\n  They are altered girls in Irrul now, \u2019tis proud they\u2019re grown and high,\n  With their hair-bags and their top-knots, for I pass their buckles by--\n  But it\u2019s little now I heed their airs, for God will have it so,\n  That I must depart for foreign lands, and leave my sweet Mayo!\n\n  IIII.\n\n  \u2019Tis my grief that Patrick Loughlin is not Earl in Irrul still,\n  And that Brian Duff no longer rules as Lord upon the hill,\n  And that Colonel Hugh Mac Grady should be lying dead and low,\n  And I sailing, sailing swiftly from the county of Mayo!\n\nFor the satisfaction of our Gaelic readers, we annex the original Irish\nwords:\n\n\nCondae Mai\u0121e\u00f3.\n\n  Is ar an loingseo Phaidi Loingsi\u0121 do \u0121nimse an dubron\n  Ag osna\u1e0b ann san oi\u1e0bche is ag sior\u0121ol san l\u00f3\n  Muna mbei\u1e0b gur dalla\u1e0b minntleacht is me a \u1e03\u1e1fad om \u1e41uinntir\n  Dar a maireann! is mai\u1e6b a chaoinfinnsi condae Mhai\u0121eo.\n\n  An uair a \u1e41air mo chairde bu\u1e0b \u1e03rea\u0121 mo chuid oir\n  Dolainn lionn Spaineach i gco\u1e41luadar ban og\n  Muna mbeidh s\u00edor ol na gc\u00e1rtai san dli\u0121 bheit ro l\u00e1idir\n  Ni a Sant\u00edcr\u00fas a d\u1e1f\u00e1cfainn mo \u010bna\u1e41a f\u00e1n bh\u1e1fod.\n\n  T\u00e1id gadai\u1e0bni\u0121e na h\u00e1ite seo ag eirgea\u1e0b go \u1e41\u00f3r\n  Fa \u010bnota\u1e0ba is fa hairbag gan tra\u010bt as bh\u00facla\u1e0ba brog\n  Da mair\u1e1fea\u1e0b damsa an iar-u\u1e41aill do \u1e0beanfuinn d\u00edobh cianach\n  Muna mbei\u1e0b gur \u1e6bagair dia \u1e0bam bhei\u1e6b a gciantaibh fa bhron.\n\n  D\u00e1 mbei\u1e0b Padruig Lochlainn ma iarla air iar-u\u1e41aill go foil\n  Brian Dubh a chlia\u1e41ain na \u1e6bighearna ar \u1e0bu\u1e41ach-\u1e41oir\n  Ao\u1e0b dubh mac Griada \u2019na choirnel a gCliara\n  Is ann niu bhei\u1e0b mo \u1e6briallsa go condae Mhaigheo.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nCAMEO-CUTTING.--This art is of great antiquity, and is pursued with most\nsuccess in Rome, where there are several very eminent artists now living.\nCameos are of two descriptions, those cut in stone, or _pietra dura_,\nand those cut in shell. Of the first, the value depends on the stone, as\nwell as in the excellence of the work. The stones most prized now are the\noriental onyx and the sardonyx, the former black and white in parallel\nlayers, the latter cornelian, brown and white; and when stones of four\nor five layers of distinct shades or colours can be procured, the value\nis proportionably raised, provided always that the layers be so thin as\nto be manageable in cutting the cameo so as to make the various parts\nharmonize. For example, in a head of Minerva, if well wrought out of a\nstone of four shades, the ground should be dark grey, the face light, the\nbust and helmet black, and the crest over the helmet brownish or grey.\nNext to such varieties of shades and layers, those stones are valuable in\nwhich two layers occur of black and white of regular breadth. Except on\nsuch oriental stones no good artist will now bestow his time; but, till\nthe beginning of this century, less attention was bestowed on materials,\nso that beautiful middle-age and modern cameos may be found on German\nagates, whose colours are generally only two shades of grey, or a cream\nand a milk-white, and these not unfrequently cloudy. The best artist in\nRome in _pietra dura_ is the Signor Girometti, who has executed eight\ncameos of various sizes, from 1\u00bd to 3\u00bd inches in diameter, on picked\nstones of several layers, the subjects being from the antique. These form\na set of specimens, for which he asks \u00a33,000 sterling. A single cameo of\ngood brooch size, and of two colours, costs \u00a322. Portraits in stone by\nthose excellent artists Diez and Saulini may be had for \u00a310. These cameos\nare all wrought by a lathe with pointed instruments of steel, and by\nmeans of diamond dust.\n\nShell cameos are cut from large shells found on the African and Brazilian\ncoasts, and generally show only two layers, the ground being either a\npale coffee-colour or a deep reddish-orange; the latter is most prized.\nThe subject is cut with little steel chisels out of the white portion\nof the shell. A fine shell is worth a guinea in Rome. Copies from the\nantique, original designs, and portraits, are executed in the most\nexquisite style of finish, and perfect in contour and taste, and it may\nbe said that the Roman artists have attained perfection in this beautiful\nart. Good shell cameos may be had at from \u00a31 to \u00a35 for heads, \u00a33 to \u00a34\nfor the finest large brooches, a comb costs \u00a310, and a complete set of\nnecklace, ear-rings, and brooch cost \u00a321. A portrait can be executed for\n\u00a34 or \u00a35, according to workmanship.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nVENETIAN PAVEMENTS.--A most beautiful art may be mentioned here in\nconnection with the last, I mean that of making what are termed Venetian\npavements which might advantageously be introduced into this country.\nThe floors of rooms are finished with this pavement, as it is somewhat\nincongruously termed, and I shall briefly describe the mode of operation\nin making these, but must first observe that they are usually formed\nover vaults. In the first place, a foundation is laid of lime mixed with\n_pozzolana_ and small pieces of broken stone; this is in fact a sort of\nconcrete, which must be well beaten and levelled. When this is perfectly\ndry, a fine paste, as it is termed by the Italians, must be made of lime,\n_pozzolana_, and sand; a yellow sand is used which tinges the mixture;\nthis is carefully spread to a depth of one or two inches, according to\ncircumstances. Over this is laid a layer of irregularly broken minute\npieces of marble of different colours, and if it is wished, these can be\narranged in patterns. After the paste is completely covered with pieces\nof marble, men proceed to beat the floor with large and heavy tools made\nfor the purpose; when the whole has been beaten into a compact mass, the\npaste appearing above the pieces of marble, it is left to harden. It is\nthen rubbed smooth with fine grained stones, and is finally brought to\na high polish with emery powder, marble-dust, and, lastly, boiled oil\nrubbed on with flannel. This makes a durable and very beautiful floor,\nwhich in this country would be well adapted for halls, conservatories,\nand other buildings.--_The Civil Engineer and Architect\u2019s Journal._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHow destitute of humanity is he, who can pass a coarse joke upon the\nemblem of unfeigned sorrow.\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; SLOCOMBE &\n    SIMMS, Leeds, JOHN MENZIES, Prince\u2019s Street, Edinburgh; & DAVID\n    ROBERTSON, Trongate, Glasgow.","title":"The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 44, May 1, 1841","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":11594}