Title: The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 47, May 22, 1841
Author: Various
Language: English
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                        THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

         NUMBER 47.      SATURDAY, MAY 22, 1841.      VOLUME I.

[Illustration: JIMMY DELANY, OR THE ASCENDANT IDEA.]

“A merry morning to Father Connellan! Well, I dare north, south, east,
and west, of our sweet county of Wexford, to produce such another
comfortable domicile as this of your reverence; and the proof that it
is so in every respect, is, that master, man, dog, cat, cow, and horse,
have the same sleek sides and sleek looks. I wish I could say as much
for some of the poor parsons.” “Alack! alack!” sighed Father Connellan
in a lachrymose tone, “you speak of what we _were_ rather than what
we _are_. Poor things! neither biped nor quadruped _here_ carries the
same port as formerly. Now, how can you speak of sleek sides and sleek
cheeks to me?--to me? Take another glance at me: fancy me with a pink
jacket and black cap, and am I not just the cut, weight, and girth for a
jockey? ‘Ah! what a falling off is _here_,’” pointing to a paunch that he
asserted, with serio-comic phiz, was lamentably diminished.

“Oh, most lamentably!” cried I, entering into his humour. “Bless me! what
is the matter? Oh, thou _poor, poor_ disciple of holy mother church!
black was the fast indeed that hath reduced thee to this pickle!”

“_Black_ it has been more than once, sure enough,” returned the priest,
laughing; “and as I am a christianable man, this strict Lent has been
for the sins and follies of _others_, and not for my own. But you shall
know all.” Then raising his voice, he called, “Jimmy! Jimmy Delany!”

Thrice he shouted, and was still unanswered. “Ay,” continued his
reverence, shaking his head and turning up his eyes, “this is the cut!
Job’s boils and blisters were nothing to this! I may call and call, and
have nothing but the echo of my own voice for my pains. Once more I’ll
try, and if he doesn’t come then”---- and, placing his mouth close to
the wall, he sang out, “Jimmy Delany!” so tremendously loud, that the
delinquent must have heard it at half a mile’s distance. At this fourth
summons, shuffling, lagging steps faltered up the hall, the parlour door
opened, and the anatomy of a man presented itself--

    So faint, so spiritless.
    So dull, so dead in look, so woe begone.

While gazing on him, I thought that if such a man were to “draw my
curtains in the dead of night,” he need not cry out “fire!” to appal me.

“Well, Misther Delany,” began Father Connellan, “since you have
condescended to appear--(why don’t you make your obeisance, sirrah?--draw
back your shovel foot, bob forward your great mop-head, and bow to
the lady--soh, that will do)--be plaised to explain how and why I,
your spiritual pastor and lawful master, am reduced to half my natural
dimensions, ‘clipt of my fair proportions.’ As some one says”----

But ere the priest could proceed with his quotation, I broke in with an
exclamation of amazement.

“_That_ spectre--plump, grinning, mutton-headed Jimmy Delany! who used
to wish for a gold chain but long enough to encircle the _disc_ of his
face twice, and it would be as long as the chain of my lord mayor of
Dublin? Impossible! No, no! Reverend father, you may make me believe
much; you are a man of mystery and mirth, potent and pleasant; but you
will hardly bring me to believe that _that_ shadow represents my plump
and good-humoured old acquaintance Jimmy Delany.” “I have my doubts too,”
said his reverence.

All this time the ghost-like subject of our observations stood mute and
motionless, gazing at me with lack-lustre eyes, in which there was no
beam of recognition. Indeed, he seemed dubious of his own identity; for
when I refused to acknowledge him, he passed his hand deliberately and
cautiously over his face and person, much in the way a blind man would
do; and it was a considerable time before he ventured to assert “that he
_was_ Jimmy Delany still--if not in flesh and blood, at laist in skin and
bone.”

“Alas! and has it come to this with thee, Jimmy? I recognise thy voice,
though somewhat tremulous and less stentorian than of old, and I would
fain inquire for what unheard of crime has this severe penance been
imposed upon thee?--the direst that the dire church can inflict, it must
have been! Hast thou made a pilgrimage with _unboiled_ peas in your
shoes, my poor, poor Jimmy?”

“Speak, sirrah!” cried the priest.

“Must I tell the _thruth_, sur?” asked the spectre, reddening, and
scratching his head in a dilemma.

At this juncture I perceived that the person appealed to could hardly
command gravity to answer the important query addressed to him, and, but
that a fit of coughing came to his aid, alas for the decorum of Father
Connellan!

“You are a good boy, Jimmy,” said his reverence with becoming sedateness,
when the teasing cough had subsided; “a very good boy to apply to me ere
you answered a question under circumstances which induce you to conceal
the truth if you could. But, my poor, poor fellow, as I have said and
thundered forth a hundred times from the pulpit, TRUTH _should_ be spoken
at all times, however painful to us; and it is especially necessary on
this occasion, as I perceive a something like a fling at the discipline
of our church; because, forsooth, you have dwindled from a mould four to
a farthing candle! Tell the truth and shame the _devil_.”

Thus admonished, with a desperate effort poor Jimmy proceeded to inform
me that the cause of all his woe and waste of flesh was “Betsy Kelly,
an’ the urchint”---- Here he stuck fast, and I waited in vain for the
finishing of the sentence. I next looked to the merry priest for an
explanation, but I found that it was equally fruitless to expect one
from him _then_. He had fallen back in his chair, in a fit of (to me
inexplicable) laughter; and the confused Delany, still more confounded,
took the opportunity to escape from the room, saying, as he retreated,
“I’ll lave it all to his rivirince!--let him tell what he will--I won’t
deny it.” “A fair stage for a fertile imagination, Father Connellan?”
said I.

“Egad, there is no occasion for a fertile imagination in _this_ case,”
he replied. “Too true it is that the drama of every-day life surpasses
that exhibited on the stage. Now, here is my poor Jimmy--_fiddle-string_
I may call him, because I play upon him daily, and he is almost reduced
to one. If an actor ever so clever were to show off _his_ blunders and
absurdities on the stage, he’d be pelted to a mummy, or hooted into a
coal-hole for the rest of his days, for attempting (mind) to impose on a
discerning public with an outrageous caricature of nature.

_Baithershin!_ let them come to Father Connellan’s cabin for a week, and
I’ll promise them more amusement for _nothing_ than they could get at the
theatre in a year, and pay dearly for it. But the farce is drawing to a
conclusion now.”

“_Farce_, call you it? My good sir, to look at poor Jimmy, I should
suppose he has been enacting a very deep tragedy indeed, and that the
bowl or dagger must end it.”

“Or a marl-hole, or his garters,” said his reverence laughing! “But is it
possible,” continued he, “that you have not dived into the mystery yet?
Is it possible that I, a poor secluded priest, dead to the world these
twenty years, minding nothing but my breviary, the souls of my flock,
the Pope’s bulls, and--and an occasional beef-steak and glass of punch,
was up to the secret in a trice, while you, a gay member of society, are
still in the dark? What direful, by me unmentionable disease, doth these
four ugly, sinful capitals spell, L, O, V, E?”

“Love!--Ha! ha! ha! So Jimmy, poor Jimmy, is a lover! ‘Oh, Cupid, thou
_urchint_,’ as thy woe-begone disciple calls thee, thou wert not blind,
but _blind-folded_; thou stolest a peep, and the barbed dart that rankles
in the heart of poor Jimmy was directed with laughter-loving malice!
Pray tell me, reverend Father, was the heroine--for heroine she must
have been, to have achieved such a victory over dullness--a living woman?
or did she smite him through the pages of a book? for I recollect his
reading mania at one time.”

“Arm yourself with the seven-fold fence of patience for half an hour,
and I shall tell you all I know of the matter. But I must begin with the
beginning, according to the method of all story-tellers. Now, a pinch of
Lundy, a preliminary hem! and here goes:--

“About five years come Michaelmas, I buried my old house-keeper Nell
Gray--I was going to say with military honours, for she was quite a
_trooper_ of a woman--but with the honours due to a faithful deserving
servant which she was, and a treasure in a family, especially for
dressing beef-steaks. But as I saw even in her a good deal of the tricks
of the sex (excuse me), I was determined to have no more womenkind about
me. I therefore set about searching for a good, quiet lad, who would be
tractable enough to learn to do all the ordinary work of the house; and
my wishes being made known to my flock, boys of all ages and sizes soon
clustered about me like sparrows round a wheat stack. Out of twenty-five
’cute-looking chaps, I chose our friend Jimmy Delany, to the rapturous
delight of his mother, a widow, who, as she brought her precious son
to me, with a shining Sunday face, and a clean shirt--or at least a
collar--assured me that though ‘her Jimmy was the laist taste slow at
takin’ up the larnin’, yit wanst he got a hoult ov it, it was he that
would take the hoult in airnest!’

‘Very well,’ said I, ‘he is slow, but sure; the very sort I want. Your
quick people forget as soon as they learn.’

Well, Jimmy entered on his service, and, egad, ere the first day closed,
I found that his mother had told truth to the letter! He was ‘slow,’ sure
enough, and it was equally true that the hoult he took was a ‘hoult in
airnest;’ but the pertinacious ‘hoult’ was a hold of any eatable that
fell in his way, for he was a furious eater--God bless us! By and bye, I
found out more of Jimmy’s perfections, and I lauded my sagacity in having
discovered and appropriated such a treasure. ‘Happy old parish priest!’
ejaculated I in an ecstacy, ‘thou hast but one servitor in this teeming
world, and the head of that chosen attendant admits but of one isolated
idea for a time, which ‘idea,’ be it never so extravagant, rules his
brains, words, and actions, as certainly and despotically as the moon
rules the tides!’

Into that head, by dint of hammering at it day and night, his mother
had instilled the ‘idea’ that he was to renounce his old habits,
playmates, and plays, as surely as he was to fling away his old clothes,
and henceforth to think of nothing but of being a faithful diligent
man-of-all-works to his reverence the priest. In fine, in words suited to
his capacity, he was told that he was to forget the idle gorsoon, and to
put on the sarvint boy. For a week this song was sung to him in a variety
of tones, without producing any other effect on Jimmy than causing a
grin. At last, ‘Ov _all_ works, mother?’ quoth he. ‘Bedad I thinks I’ll
have somethin’ to do. Howsomdever, since I _must_ be a sarvint, why it’s
best to begin.’ And thenceforward he laid his whole soul to the task; and
so earnest and anxious was he, that in little more than three months he
could do a few things decently without having me perpetually pinned to
his tail, and in a year he went through the routine of household affairs
without a blunder, not one thought or wish interfering with his business.
Like the churning-horse of my neighbour Giles, he plodded over the dull
ground allotted for him without grumbling, and without being conscious
that any other mode of life might produce equal happiness. Happy being!
contented, stolid Jimmy Delany!

Things were going on thus smoothly with master and man, while the mother
was inwardly and outwardly fretting. She expected by this time that
her boy was taking a short cut towards being a learned man, if not a
_janius_ all out; and great was her dismay when she heard the truth! So
she comes to me with her humble petition ‘that I would be plaised to
enlighten her gorsoon’s brains.’ ‘I fear that is what no _mortal_ can
do,’ said I, ‘but I will do my best for him.’ Indeed, I was attached
to the creature, and I thought it my duty to endeavour to stretch his
capacity if I could; and, accordingly, I bought a Primer, and set him
to learn his letters. Oh! it was the unfortunate moment that I did so!
From that hour the man has never been himself; the four walls of my
quiet house have been eternally frightened with strange sounds; and I
have never had a comfortable meal since. A new ‘idea’ displaced the
old one:--‘he was no longer a _sarvint_, but a _schollard_;’ business
was nearly suspended; and when strong custom, or my stronger reproofs,
so far prevailed that he could not help going over the most urgent of
the household employments, it was not with even-handed justice; for,
let the _left_ hand be occupied as it might, the _right_ was sure to
clutch _the book_; so that every day and every hour he might be taken
for a clumsy leaden personification of Knowledge extending the volume to
the uninitiated, till the strange sounds issuing from the blubber lips
destroyed the illusion.

These strange sounds were first heard when he had surmounted the Alps of
the alphabet, and attacked the A, B, _abs_; and from morning till night
I could obtain no reply to any question I asked him, without having a
string of _abs_ and _obs_ tacked to it, till my brains and patience could
scarce bear the repetition. Soon after, still sailing away on the stream
of learning, that notable piece of literature the ‘Read-a-made-aisy’ got
into his hands, of which he made such excellent use, that in a few days
he could append a sort of poetical illustration to his replies, according
as my queries were shaped, and sometimes he let fly a squib at me through
their medium. I’ll give you a sample of our colloquies:--

‘Ah, then, Jimmy, did you shoot any birds this morning?’

‘One big fella, sur, choke-full ov the currans,’ quoth Jimmy, bringing in
as chorus, ‘A was an archer that shot at a frog.’

‘Well, what shall we have for dinner to-day, Jimmy?’

‘_Mait_ to be sure, sur--B was a butcher that kept a big dog.’

‘Right, Jimmy, well thought of! Down with you as fast as you can to Doyle
the butcher’s, and see what meat he has got. I think our friend the
_constable_ will dine with me to-day.’

‘I will, sur,’ said Jimmy. ‘C was a captain all covered with lace.’

‘And,’ continued I, ‘as my dinner won’t be very splendid, and I’m sure
to have it very vilely cooked, I’ll bring forth a bottle or two of my
_supernaculum_--the rale mountain dew.’

‘Ay, ay, sur,’ responds Jimmy. ‘D was a drunkard that had a red face.’

There was a good hit of stupidity! By the staff of St Patrick, the patron
of drunkards, it was the keenest _cut_ I ever received in my life, and
the innocence with which it was spoken gave it double effect. I fairly
blushed, and dropped my face over my breast like a great bursting peony
whose stalk is too weak to support it. Ah! my friend, happy would I
have been to endure those little embarrassments--however unbecoming
for _me_ to blush--did I foresee the losses, crosses, confusions and
contusions which followed in the train of this comet, and which I might
have expected, for I partly concur in the old opinion that the fiery
prodigies of the heavens prognosticate dire disasters to man; and the
eccentric course of this ‘hairy star’ in this little world of mine
called Ballygrish was equally portentous. But hitherto he had kept
within bounds. So long as he believed himself the _schollard_ and I
the _schoolmaster_, he conducted himself according to the belief; and
the most fault-finding teacher could not complain of Jimmy’s want of
diligence. Indeed, he rehearsed his lesson much oftener than necessary,
in season and out of season, in bed and out of bed, and that in such
a thundering tone, that I told him his constant petition to ‘hear him
his task’ was unnecessary, as I always ‘heard’ him sufficiently well,
though stone walls were betwixt us. But once he became independent of an
instructor, once he was quit of my assistance, I do assure you severe
chastisement was frequently necessary to restrain his lunacies, and I
much wonder how his skull bore the thumps and cracks which from day to
day I was obliged to inflict, in lieu of shaving and blistering, to
moderate the brain fever of the imagination--of ‘_the ascendant idea_.’

I put up with various annoyances and inconveniences with admirable
patience and temper, and which I shall not now stop to particularize; but
one affair I cannot pass over, as it made a haul on my purse, and I’ll
relate it.

Just about the time that he set up to study for himself, I was much in
want of a pair of new _inexpressibles_. My velveteens were much the worse
for wear, and I was determined to have a bran-new pair for the ensuing
Sunday. So I sent, very thoughtlessly indeed, the said student Jimmy
Delany with an order to Bryan the tailor to get the requisite stuff at
a certain shop. Unfortunately I did not specify any particular colour
or material, thinking naturally that all the world knew the colours and
materials fitting for clergymen; but the shopkeeper and tailor--neither
very much wiser than my messenger, I fancy--were quite astray, and in
their dilemma they applied to my man-of-all-works for information. Alas!
they knew little of poor Jimmy. They knew not that he was then under the
dominion of ‘one idea’--that he was a learned _schollard_, and not a
_sarvint_.

Now be it known to you that his then study was the Universal Spelling
Book (I believe he had it in his pocket at the time), in which is the
story of the town in danger of being besieged. The mason, the currier,
and the carpenter, give their opinion as to the best method of fortifying
it, and each, of course, with an eye to self-interest. The mason
recommends stone, the carpenter oak, and the currier leather.

Well, at the instant of the shopkeeper’s and tailor’s deliberations on
my wearables, Jimmy stood at the shop-door, staring up and down the
street, as far as it was in his ken; and when the tailor appealed to him
to know ‘what sort of inexpressibles did his masther ordher,’ honest
Jimmy, thinking but of the ‘town in danger of being besieged,’ answered
in the words of the currier, ‘take my word for it, there is _nothing like
leather_.’

‘Leather!’ echoed the shopkeeper.

‘Leather!’ screamed the tailor.

‘Ay,’ repeated Jimmy decidedly, ‘there is nothing like leather!’

Well! patience is a virtue. Were it not that the gentle spirit had made
my half-starved frame her tabernacle, I should have been a tenant for
Bedlam on the succeeding Saturday night, when the rascal Bryan brought
himself and his green bag, with a sort of grin, into my parlour, and
untying it, shook out before my amazed eyes a dashing pair of---- you
shall hear _what_, presently.

‘They’re a very neat piece of work, Bryan,’ said I, examining them
without much interest, thinking they could not possibly be for me; ‘they
seem to be well seamed and stitched for aught I know, and I only hope for
_your_ sake that they will fit him for whom you have made them.’

‘I hope so too, sur,’ quoth the tailor, smirking complacently. ‘Be
plaised to thry _them_ on sur, an’ I’ll engage they’ll fit to the peelin’
ov an ingin.’

‘Pooh, pooh,’ returned I, good humouredly, still in the dark, ‘what use
in _my_ trying them on? Indeed, if they had come in my way thirty years
ago, and the _red rogue_ in full chase, I wouldn’t say but I’d pop them
on, priest or no priest; but _now_ there’s no use in talking about them.
Hand me out the _velvets_, and let me try _them_ on.’

‘The _velvets_, yer rivirince?’

‘Ay, the _velvets_, Sir Tailor; and I hope those you bring me now are
roomier than the last pair.’

‘Oh, faix, sur,’ cried the fellow, still shaking the _unmentioned
unmentionables_ at me, ‘_those_ are roomy enough in all conscience,
for I thought as how you wouldn’t like them _quite_ to the skin.’ And
there _he_ stood, holding forth his wearables, and expatiating in their
praise; and there _I_ stood expecting my _velvets_--but in vain! I caught
up the bag, and turning it inside out, I found I had nothing more to
expect--those forbidden ones were for ME!

‘What _colour_ are these in day-light?’ asked I, in that still calm that
precedes the tempest.

‘An iligant yellow, sur!’ responded the stitcher with alacrity, his
countenance brightening with hope.

‘And thou vile fraction of a man!’ thundered I in full storm, and
darting a withering scowl that almost put the little animal into the
earth, ‘hast thou no more reverence for thy church than that, to suit
thy petty interests, thou wouldst see thy venerable parish priest, of
seventy-six, figure in a _pair of yellow buckskin breeches_, like a
huntsman or postilion? Away with them, sirrah, or by the soul of your
grandmother in purgatory--where she shall stay those hundred years for
your assurance--these same breeches shall case your own diminutive
limbs to-morrow, and you placed upon the altar as an exhibition, with
_Tally-ho!_ in capitals upon your back. What a beautiful spectacle for
the congregation!’

Soon I had the dismayed stitcher upon his knees, deprecating my wrath,
and recounting the particulars I have already related in explanation;
ending with ‘my backward blessing on Jimmy Delany!’ intending of course
that all my ire should fall upon the real delinquent. And so it would,
but that there is something in the very name ‘Jimmy Delany’ that
invariably mollifies me. I knew he did nothing out of malice or mischief,
but from the greatest simplicity; and when I demanded to see the book he
was then busy with, and his thumb marks pointing to the ‘town in danger
of being besieged,’ I was at home in the matter at once. But I had to pay
for the leather, and the tailor for making the breeches, which I lost
afterwards at a game of backgammon with Squire Hooligan.

About a month afterwards, a nephew of mine, a midshipman, came on a visit
to me, bringing with him some volumes of Cook’s Voyages. These books
seemed to have a fascinating charm for him, but it was nothing to the
charm they had for Misther Delany. It was downright idolatry--he knelt to
them, I believe--I know he slept with them, ate with them, and drank with
them, and finally became so incorporated with the work--he was its hero!
Yes! all the old ‘ruling passions’ were clean forgotten, and Captain Cook
was lord of the ascendant. Oh! how the young seaman laughed, and roared,
and flung himself on the ground again and again, in ecstacies of mirth,
when he discovered what a jewel of a shipmate Providence had provided
for him in an old priest’s house in the country, where he had expected
little but long faces and long fasts!--how he kicked up his heels in all
the obstreperousness of a sailor’s joy! Still the ludicrous perfections
of my poor Jimmy unfolded themselves--still his matchless simplicity,
his inconceivable infatuation under the dominion of the new ‘idea,’
became apparent! And no wonder; for surely his wholesale assumption
of the renowned navigator, his pompous action, and conversations _in
character_, and the total and absolute oblivion of all former ties and
duties, altogether were enough to raise laughter under the ribs of Death,
and was almost too much for the living. If I asked him, after several
hours’ daily absences, where he had been, his prompt reply would be,
‘_at New Zealand_,’ or ‘_Otaheite_.’ And if I begged to know what he had
been doing in these favoured places, I was instantly told, ‘getting in a
supply of fresh water and provisions for the ship’s company,’ and this
with an earnestness of look and manner absolutely irresistible. ‘So, so,’
I would then say, convinced of the infatuation, and letting things take
their course, ‘I perceive I have got the illustrious Captain Cook in my
house. I thought the great man had disappeared from earth long ago: but
in this age of miracles, either through the power of steam, or a galvanic
battery, here he is again, and I must make his stay as agreeable as
possible. Pray be seated, captain; and if not too much trouble, I would
be delighted to hear some of your adventures.’

Down would Jimmy seat himself, and out would come a fluent description of
the different places he had ‘touched at,’ the customs and manners of the
different islands, the ferocious looks of some savages, and the gentle
countenances of others; the birds, beasts, fruits, flowers, &c. &c.; and
I do declare to you I desired no higher entertainment. For whole hours
would I sit listening to him; and the captain, gratified by my attention,
and utterly unconscious of anything ludicrous, continued from day to day
to pour forth his wonderful discoveries for my amusement.

Meanwhile I missed a fine bathing-tub, a fine spacious fellow, in
which I could float as comfortably as in a little lake. I made various
inquiries about it, but could hear nothing of it. I even spoke of it in
the chapel, but all to no purpose. However, one day as I was returning
from seeing a sick person, I came upon an unfrequented path that led by
the side of a large and deep marl-hole, about half a mile from my house;
and as I got on a height over it, what should I see but my bathing-tub
floating majestically on the water, a pole stuck up in the middle, with
a red handkerchief by way of a flag, and a person seated at one end
with another pole for steering! With half an eye I saw who it was, and
I took measures accordingly. I alighted from my horse, and, getting
behind a clump of ash-trees, quite unnoticed by the navigator, who was
enjoying the fineness of the day, I gathered up all the large stones I
could find into a heap beside me, and, taking deliberate aim, I let fly
two or three huge ones at the stern, in which the captain was seated.
At the first assault he started, and looked about in every direction,
quite thunderstricken and alarmed; at the second volley, as none of
them had hit himself as yet, he shouted in character, ‘The natives!
the natives are upon us!’ and began to paddle with might and main for
shore; but as the stones flew thicker and faster, hopping off his head
and shoulders, whacking, banging, cracking at all sides of him, he lost
all self-command, dropped his oar, and finally, in floundering about, and
starting from one end to the other, in his confusion to avoid the stones,
the boat turned keel upwards, and the captain disappeared to the bottom,
yelling all sorts of ‘murdher!’ And I can assure you, my gentleman
forgot all _ideas_ but that _plain Jimmy Delany_ was on the point of
being smothered, and no sailor with a shark in his wake ever showed more
dexterity. Nobly did he buffet and plunge, and kick and puff for his
life, till he got to dry land, where I was ready to receive him.

‘Are you safe, captain?’ inquired I in a tone of much commiseration.

‘Och, masther jewel!’ quoth Jimmy ruefully, his teeth chattering between
fright and cold, ‘I never was so near death in my life! I was well-nigh
smothered between the eels and the mud at the bottom of that curst
marl-hole!’

‘Ah! my Jimmy,’ observed I pathetically, ‘we should never meddle with
unknown elements. See how uncertain is the life of a sailor!--one moment
floating majestically on the bosom of the ocean, and the next at the
bottom with the fishes.’

‘Thrue for ye, masther darlint!’ replied my man, _once more my man_; and
home I drove my man before me, covered with mud, as if he was preparing
a cast of his beautiful person; and so efficacious were the stoning, the
ducking, my lecture, and the shouts of laughter his appearance raised
amongst the workmen and neighbours, that I had soon the pleasure to
see him return to his original ‘idea’ that he was ‘sarvint man to the
priest,’ and become undividedly attentive.

But I believe this life is to be one of change and crosses. No sooner
had I sat myself down with the hope of peace and ease for the rest of my
days, than there comes another, and the greatest of all annoyances, the
more so that it was totally unexpected. No! I never dreamt that Jimmy
Delany would become _a lover_! and when I _did_ become aware of the
state of affairs, I was as much a stricken deer as himself--paralyzed,
bewildered what to do or say under the circumstances.

I will not trouble you with a detail of the first symptoms I observed,
nor a description of the many outrageous blunders he committed under the
influence of this worst of all ‘ideas’ but one--and here it is:--

It was on a Thursday: I had ordered a beef-steak for dinner. You know
it is my favourite dish, and that I am particular to have it dressed
to a turn. I had taught Jimmy the art; but warned by late failures and
mistakes, I called in one of the neighbours’ wives to have an eye to
Jimmy while dressing dinner. Well, at the hour appointed the dinner
smoked on the table sure enough, and, tucking a napkin under my chin, I
sat down ‘richly to enjoy;’ when lo! a loud scream, or rather yell, from
the kitchen, startled me, and the next instant in rushed Mrs Flanagan,
with outstretched arms, apparently panic-stricken.

‘Oh, holy Mary! did you ait any ov it yet, sir?’ she asked in breathless
haste.

‘Eat what?’ demanded I, surprised.

‘That thing in the dish,’ screamed she.

‘No,’ said I gruffly, and angry at the unseasonable interruption.

‘Nor never shall, plaise God,’ exclaimed she, striding over, and
advancing her profane hands to seize the dish, whilst I, holding it with
one hand, motioned her off with the other, as I angrily desired her to
leave the room, and leave me to my meal in peace.

‘Never, by the hob!’ exclaimed the determined vixen; ‘I’ll never quit
till I get that thing in the dish; and here I’ll stay’--and there she
staid in audacious determination. My mind began to misgive me that there
was something the matter with what I was so pertinaciously defending;
so I raised the cover of the dish. There lay a substance black as the
ace of spades. ‘So, so!’ I began, ‘here is a fine morsel for a hungry
man!--here’s frying with a vengeance! Woman, woman!’ cried I solemnly,
and turning to my obtrusive companion with the dignity of a man who had
received a mortal affront, but who yet hail some feeling of God-like
charity--‘Woman, woman! is there never to be any dependence on your
sex? I am wasted to a thread; I am worked to a skeleton; and I think
this carcase hath need of a little indulgence on one day out of seven.
I pay sixpence a pound for a tender, delicate rump-steak, and I call
you in to superintend the dressing of it, decidedly telling you to have
it done the colour of your own skin, and no darker (dark enough in all
conscience). But here it is now--neither Bedford-brown, Vandyke-brown,
Adelaide-brown, nor _Flanagan-brown_, but a sapless, fatless, cinder
_black_! Nevertheless, such is my resignation under all trials, I shall
endeavour to make a meal of it, if possible: do you but leave me in
peace--vanish!’ and I muttered some words in Latin, and gave two or three
figurative flourishes with my hands, by way of letting her think I was
performing some important ceremony of the church, at which her absence
would be necessary. But she stuck fast.

‘Why, thin, indeed, sur,’ she persisted, ‘if you war to praich Latin an’
Greek from this till mornin’, you’ll never convart an ould black wisted
stockin’ into a beef-staik!’

‘A what, woman, in the name of heaven!’

‘I said it, sur--a black wisted stockin’ into a beef-staik.’

I stuck my fork into the black substance plentifully covered with onion
and gravy. I held it up: it was long, and, like Italy, shaped like a
boot; and however it might appertain to the leg, it had nothing whatever
to do with the rump-steak I had bought in the morning.

‘Ay,’ sighs Mrs Flanagan sentimentally, ‘sitch things comes ov love an’
larnin’! I was mendin’ a pair ov yer reverence’s black stockins at the
kitchen-table, where Jimmy was dhressin’ the dinner. One of the workmen
called me out in a hurry, an’ I threw the stockin’ out of my hands upon
the table: it fell upon the dish. Jimmy turned his head about for a
minnit, and the dog snapped up the mait, an’ carried it off. When Jimmy
looked round agin, he seen a black thing lyin’ on the dish, an’ the
crathur’s eyes, bein’ blinded with this same love an’ larnin’, he pours
the gravy on the top ov it, an’ carries it off to table. So there’s the
explanation.’

I still held up the black stocking on the point of my fork: I gazed on
it in silence: but the blood was boiling in my veins, and I was on the
eve of righteously overwhelming all that had animal life near me with a
fearful burst of volcanic passion, when my frenzied eye caught a glimpse
of a face at the half-opened door. It was a side-face: the mouth and
chin had dropped as if in death, the goggle eyes were fixed and upturned
in all the rigidity of despair--not drops, but streams of perspiration
ran down the pallid jaws: motion seemed annihilated, the senses defunct;
and one loud, angry word would have been a cannon-ball through the heart
of poor Jimmy, had not Mercy or Momus tickled my risibilities at the
critical moment, and a long, loud burst of irrepressible laughter closed
the scene, and saved his life! At the first burst the delinquent fell on
his knees, clasped his hands together, and looked imploringly at me, and
in that humble posture remained till I got breath to say ‘I forgive you.’

Now, my friend, tell me can flesh and blood, especially dedicated to
the service of the church, put up with such treatment long? Impossible.
In addition to my fastings and mortifications on _principle_, is it not
the deuce to be obliged to fast for folly? I have played many a trick on
Jimmy, but he is ever more than even with me. I can get no good of him.
But this I am resolved on: come weal come woe, Jimmy Delany and Betsy
Kelly shall be man and wife on Monday next, and I bespeak your company at
the wedding.”

“Agreed; and I think, reverend Father, this is the very best _idea_ that
has been struck out by you, or JIMMY DELANY.”

                                                                 M. G. R.



THE COMMON BADGER.


Of all the animals with which man has become acquainted, and over which
he has succeeded in establishing his dominion, none have had greater
cause to deprecate his tyranny, and to exclaim, had they the gift of
speech, against his wanton barbarity, than the unfortunate creature whose
simple and unoffending habits I have selected for the subject of the
present paper.

With the appearance and form of this animal most of my readers are
doubtless tolerably acquainted, as it is a pretty common inhabitant of
this country, and would be still more abundant, were not its numbers
checked by that barbarous and brutal amusement, badger-baiting, to which,
despite the interference of the laws, hundreds yearly fall victims. In
general appearance as well as internal structure the badger approximates
closely to the bear, and may, I think not unaptly, be regarded as the
existing representative of that once formidable denizen of the wilds of
our native land. Like the bear, the badger walks upon his heels and his
legs being very short, and his hair remarkably thick and long, his belly
appears almost to touch the ground; a little observation is however
sufficient to show that it does not actually do so. He is a nocturnal
animal, that is to say, he sleeps during the day, and at the approach of
evening leaves his habitation in search of food; yet nocturnal though
his habits, and however closely he may in that respect resemble the
predacious tribes, the food of the badger is of such a description that
its appropriation injures no one, but is on the contrary productive of
great benefit to the agriculturist, consisting as it does chiefly, if
not solely, of roots and reptiles, as frogs, worms, grubs, beetles, &c.
The badger is as far as I have been able to discover, monogamous, lives
affectionately with his mate and little ones in his secluded burrow,
and in his deportment to them displays feelings of ardent devotion
and disinterested attachment which many of this poor creature’s biped
persecutors would do well to imitate.

The common badger is about as large as a middle-sized dog, from two
feet to two feet and a half in length, exclusive of the tail, and about
a foot or fifteen inches high. He weighs from twenty to thirty-five
pounds, sometimes even more--I saw a badger in Edinburgh about six years
ago which weighed forty-seven pounds; such a growth is however very
rarely attained. In coat the badger presents a remarkable peculiarity.
Among nearly all mammiferous animals the dorsal region of the body is
of a darker or deeper colour than the under parts, or ventral region.
The colour of the badger is on the contrary greyish above and black
underneath. The fur of the badger is thick, rough, and by no means
glossy; the skin, with the hair on, is dressed and manufactured into
pistol cases. The skin of the head and face may be frequently seen
forming the “_sporran_” or purse which depends from the girdle of the
Scottish highlander; and the hairs of the tail are in great request for
the manufacture of paint and lather brushes. The badger is an inhabitant
of all the temperate parts of Europe and Asia. In Great Britain and
France it is scarcer, from the assiduity with which it is hunted and
destroyed. Doctor Richardson has identified various new species in his
account of the zoology of the arctic regions. As the object of the
present paper is however a sketch of the European animal, I shall not
notice any other at present, but merely refer such of my friends as
may feel curious on the subject, to Doctor Richardson’s splendid work
entitled “Fauna Boreali Americana.”

In his internal conformation the badger presents two remarkable features,
namely, in the first place a peculiar formation of jaws, which not merely
enables him to retain a firm hold of whatever object he seizes with his
teeth, but absolutely _lock_ in such a manner, that he himself does
not always possess the power of instantaneously unclosing them; and,
secondly, a pouch or bag placed just below the tail, whence exudes a
thick and fetid substance. It is upon this that the strong smell given
forth by this animal depends.

I had once a badger in my own possession, and the study of his habits
afforded me much interest and gratification. He was more than half grown
when I obtained possession of him, and I can assure my readers that
the task of taming him was no sinecure. The first agent I employed for
effecting his domestication was hunger. I kept him fasting for three
whole days, allowing him only a little water in his bowl, which humanity
would not suffer me to deny him. Starvation, however, did not produce
any immediate good effects, and the animal remained as fierce and
irreconcilable as ever. It would but needlessly occupy the readers’ time
were I minutely to recount the process of taming him; let it suffice to
refer them to my late papers in this Journal on the taming of animals.
I followed the rules therein laid down, and I had the satisfaction of
finding them ultimately successful, after from six to eight months of
anxious care, enlivened occasionally by the variety of a severe bite, a
casualty for which every practical zoologist must be prepared, and at
which it would be ridiculous for him to grumble. I have only to observe,
that were any one to present me with a hundred pounds for the mark of
every gash received by its teeth, of which the scars still remain on my
hands and legs, I should be tolerably rich.

After about eight months, however, he gave up his practice of constantly
biting when attempted to be handled, unless under great provocation or
excitement, and was not merely so gentle as to be with safety indulged
with partial liberty, but would come and go when I called him or drove
him from me, would feed from my hand or mount upon my knee, and was,
moreover, soon afterwards entrusted with entire liberty without any
danger of his running away. He was a very cleanly creature, carefully
scraping into one end of his cage whatever unpleasant matters might
collect in it, and he always contrived as much as possible to keep his
bed free of soil. Finding him so remarkably cleanly, I used to let him
out morning and evening, on such days as my absence from home obliged me
to keep him in a state of confinement.

I did not of course give him his liberty all at once, but according as he
grew tame I used to let him out in a room or enclosed yard, according to
the state of the weather, for an hour or two daily, and did not give him
his liberty altogether until his increased tameness gave me confidence
in his thorough domestication. This creature’s diet consisted of bread
and milk, varied with oatmeal porridge or _stirabout_, and potatoes
boiled soft and bruised down fine with milk, with occasionally a bit of
raw butcher’s meat. He was singularly nice respecting his meat; indeed
I suspect rather from the effects of good living in his easy state of
captivity, than from an impulse of nature; for had a piece of meat
once, and that no matter how slightly, known the fire, he would on no
account touch it, unless indeed when very hungry, and no raw flesh to be
had. Milk he appeared very fond of, and would drink freely; potatoes,
especially if mashed up with butter or milk, he would always dine
heartily off; but, which not a little surprised me, I frequently observed
him devouring them raw, and that too in the absence of hunger, and while
surrounded with what might naturally be supposed to be more palatable
food. He had a very strong and by no means very agreeable smell. I had
an old terrier named “Wasp,” who had been a good dog in his day, but,
weighed down by a load of years, was fast hurrying onward towards the
grave. Wasp’s teeth had failed him, his eyes had become dim, his clogged
and tattered ears scarcely informed him when I called his name, yet his
fondness for sport still remained, and he would lie for hours each day
at the door of the little yard in which the badger was confined, as if
resolved that, though his powers no longer admitted of his discovering
and attacking his enemy, yet he would, while he could, inhale the (to
him) delightful odour of his favourite game.

My badger passed nearly the whole of his days in sleep, and if I
attempted to disturb him, he would be sulky and peevish, and in no
humour for play. When evening drew near, however, he might be seen first
stirring, then opening his eyes and stretching himself, with many a
long and hearty yawn. The process of thoroughly awaking himself usually
occupied about twenty minutes, commencing with the decline of day, and
terminating with the arrival of darkness. The beginning of night usually
found him regularly astir; he was then restless and active, pacing to and
fro, examining every nook and cranny, climbing upon everything upon which
he was able to mount, and seizing, if out of doors, upon worms, beetles,
cockchafers, and snails, and if within, seeking for drowsy flies upon the
walls, or for beetles or crickets about the kitchen hearth, or in the
cellars when he could obtain access to them.

Many naturalists hold the opinion that the badger sleeps during the
winter, or at all events hibernates partially, that is to say, sleeps,
like the squirrel, for a few weeks, awakes, and takes a hearty meal of
the store of food it had sagaciously laid by in its nest ere retiring to
winter quarters, and then, coiling itself up in its nest, goes off to
sleep again. Whether this be true or not, I cannot with certainty affirm;
but this I can safely declare, that I endeavoured as much as possible
to make my badger hibernate, by exposing him to the unmitigated cold of
an unusually severe winter, by furnishing him with straw and wool to
line his nest, and with a stock of bread, snails, and potatoes, to lay
up for winter use. He did not, however, avail himself of my assistance,
but remained wakeful as usual during the entire winter. A remarkable
fact worthy of notice here is, that although this badger exhibited no
inclination to hibernate or sleep during the winter, he did display
considerable disposition to aestivate, or sleep during the hot months of
summer, for during that season he became languid and drowsy, lost his
appetite and flesh, became ragged and foul in the coat, and in short
pined away so rapidly that I feared I should lose him altogether; he
however revived completely as winter, and that a cold one, approached.

I made diligent inquiry of those who were in the habit of keeping badgers
for baiting them, and also of the proprietors of several menageries, and
learned from them that this disposition on the part of the badger to
become weak and lose its condition in summer, is not confined to isolated
individual cases, but is common to the entire tribe.

It is truly astonishing to observe with what quickness and dispatch the
badger forms a burrow, for which task indeed he is admirably adapted by
nature, in the construction of his anterior extremities. To give my
readers some idea of these powers, I shall conclude the present sketch
with the following anecdote of an individual in my possession:--Wishing
to increase the happiness of my pet, I procured a female of his own
species to keep him company, and while preparing a large enclosure for
their reception, I shut them both up in an outhouse: I do not think I
was half an hour absent, when on my return I found my new badger gone.
A moment’s investigation discovered the place of her concealment: the
animal had during my short absence formed a considerable burrow under the
wall of the outhouse, which, I must observe, was built against a bank
forming the side of a road. It was into that bank that the creature had
worked its way, and on listening I could hear it delving and scraping at
a great rate, about a yard from the back of the wall. I hastily procured
the assistance of a mason, who pulled down part of the wall, and by
working rapidly, succeeded in overtaking the badger just as she had
worked her way across the road to within a foot of the Edinburgh Botanic
Garden wall, beside which I lived. I may observe that the ground was by
no means soft, the burrow being formed under a hard macadamised road.

                                                                 H. D. R.



EXTRAORDINARY DETECTION OF MURDER.

NO. III.


Some fourteen years ago there was living in the city of Galway a
victualler named Hughes: he was not a Galwaygian by birth, nor
originally a victualler by trade; but having settled there some years
previously, and married a butcher’s daughter, he entered into the
business, and throve apace. At the time we are now speaking of, there
were few gentlemen in the county of Galway with whom his word would not
be sufficient for a hundred pounds’ worth of cattle, and upwards; and
the man who was the envy of all his brother victuallers bore strongly
the apparent marks of prosperity, and a contented mind in his florid,
good-humoured, open countenance. So little do appearances consort with
character and circumstances at times!

He was a kind husband and father, and reared his family well and
religiously; attending himself regularly to his devotions. He was also a
hospitable, off-handed fellow, that would not higgle for a trifle, either
in buying or selling; was equally ready to take or “stand a treat” at
fairs and markets where his business frequently brought him, and was in
consequence a general favourite with high and low. In short, every one
said he was in the way of making a larger fortune than had been made in
his business for many a year in the city; and every one said he deserved
it, as he was an honest, a hard-working, and a worthy man. There were
apparently but two drawbacks on his character, namely, a violent temper,
which at times hurried him on with irresistible impetuosity, particularly
when under the influence of liquor, and a habit of jeering and jibing in
season and out of season. These defects, however, as they never led to
anything serious, were rather pitied than censured, as being the only
blemishes on an otherwise excellent disposition.

Hughes was standing one day at his stall, tapping his highly polished
boots with his whip, and feeling his well-filled pocket, as he was
preparing to set out on a journey for the purchase of cattle. He was in
high spirits, and was liberally scattering about his jibing witticisms
among his admiring brethren, when a travelling basket-maker entered the
shambles. Instantly Hughes directed the current of his jeering towards
the humble newcomer.

“You look as if a good beef steak would lie in your way this morning,
friend.”

“Be goxty ye might sing that, sir, if ye had an air to it.”

“Well, it’s lucky there’s so many about you, any how, as, to tell you the
thruth, I don’t much like your looks, and wouldn’t thrust yon with your
own brogues to the brogue-maker’s.”

“Faix, may be you’d be right too, sir,” rejoined the stranger slowly, as
he surveyed, with an eager and a half bewildered gaze, the jiber’s face,
like one striving to recall portions of a half-forgotten dream, “though
it isn’t every one that’s to be taken by his looks.”

“I wish, any way, I had as good a house as you’d rob. But how come you
to be trading in twigs? You mistook your thrade surely; it’s in hemp you
ought to be dealing.”

“Faix, if every man got his due,” said the basket-maker in a decided
tone, “more nor me would be dailin’ in himp. But ye needn’t be so hard
intirely on us, _Mr M’Cann_.”

On hearing this name, which had not met his ears for many a year, the
victualler gave a convulsive start as if he had received a shot, while
a fierce blaze deepened the hue of his cheek, flitted across his brow,
and the next moment subsided into monumental paleness. He recovered
himself, however, immediately; and, remarking laughingly how curiously
people were often mistaken for others, took an opportunity of following
the basket-maker, who had advanced into the shambles, and invited him to
breakfast the next morning.

Accordingly, punctual to the hour, the rambling mechanic made his
appearance at Hughes’s house, situated in one of those archways
characteristic of the Spanish built city, and which strike the stranger
so much in wandering through it for the first time. The breakfast was
excellent and ample; and the basket-maker was received with great
apparent cordiality and welcome, and pressed immoderately to consider
himself at home, and partake plentifully of such fare as he was seldom
regaled with--a request with which he complied to the utmost of his
ability, notwithstanding that he discovered his entertainer several times
scanning him with an expression of countenance he by no means liked. The
breakfast over, Hughes invited his guest to take a walk, stating that he
would show him part of the city; and accordingly they sallied forth from
the archway, which was off Shop-street, immediately contiguous to the
fine old church of St Nicholas, and within pistol shot of the house over
the door of which is inserted the slab containing the far-famed death’s
head and cross-bones.

“The Queen of Connaught” has been so often and so well described,
particularly by her own gifted son James Hardiman, the distinguished
antiquary, of whom she has such just reason to be proud; and has, these
late years, been so much visited by tourists on their route to the wild
territory of mountain, bog, and lake, Connemara, during the touring
season, that her localities are generally known. Many of our readers will
then, at once, understand the direction taken by the pair, and conceive
Hughes’s probable motive for taking _that_, when we state that he led
his guest to the eminence on the south-east side of the city, designated
Fort-hill, which terminates in a precipice lashed by the waves when the
tide is in, while scattered over its surface are several deep wells.

The victualler had made no allusion whatever, during the breakfast, to
the basket-maker’s having called him M’Cann, nor to the county they both
came from. As they went along, however, he began to make some inquiries
as if to sound his companion. But the latter had become wary. In fact,
as they left the crowded parts of the town behind, fear began to grow
on him, on finding himself alone even in the day-light, and adjoining a
bustling city, with one whom _he_ knew to be a murderer; and that fear
was strengthened by the manner of Hughes, who sometimes strode on a few
steps rapidly, as if labouring under some excitement, and then halted
to stammer out some observation to his companion, while he occasionally
flung searching glances around, as if to ascertain who might be in view.
So, after having twice or thrice expressed his wish to return to the
city, on reaching the first of the wells, the basket-maker refused to
proceed any farther, and turned to retrace his steps at an increased
pace, though he did not venture to run. Calling on him in vain to return,
Hughes now darted furiously after him with the intention of forcing him
back; but he was restrained by the sight of approaching persons, and the
basket-maker pursued his way back into the city with a step quickened by
fear, though he still durst not run.

On regaining his humble lodgings the stranger lost no time in repairing
to the abode of the mayor, Mr Hardiman Burke we think, an active,
intelligent magistrate, to whom he accused Hughes, or M’Cann as his real
name was, of having perpetrated a murder in the county of Down, eighteen
years previously. The charge was so extraordinary and so utterly at
variance with the peaceable, prosperous, and even humorous habits of the
accused, that the mayor at first utterly scouted the tale, saving that
the accuser must be completely mistaken as to the identity of M’Cann. But
the basket-maker was so clear in his statement, recollected M’Cann so
well while a journeyman baker (his original trade) before the commission
of the murder, or his arrival in Galway, and was so intimately acquainted
with everything connected with him, that, in a short time, after having
detailed the morning’s proceedings, he satisfied the mayor of the
well-groundedness of the charge, terrible as it was, and reluctant as he
naturally was to believe it; and the magistrate proceeded forthwith to
act on the information.

At that period the city of Galway containing probably nearly forty
thousand inhabitants, _some_ of them certainly not among the most
peaceable in Ireland, did not possess even a single town constable for
the protection of its peace. Indeed, some years subsequently, when we
first visited it, it had no constabulary, though that force had been
for years appointed in every other portion of the province, and was in
consequence a peculiarly lawless place; so much so, that it was quite a
risk for strangers or natives to venture abroad at all after dark, unless
in numbers, as, were you foolhardy enough to do so, some of a gang of
desperate and daring ruffians that infested the streets by night, and
traversed them openly in the day-light, though branded with a hundred
crimes, were sure to assault you, and take your money, if you carried
any, and if you did not, to give you still worse usage for not having it.
We learned one night while passing the West Bridge, a favourite haunt of
those desperadoes, that the _brother of a priest_ had been just flung
into the river there. Galway is now, however, as efficiently protected
and as well ordered as any town in her majesty’s dominions, west of the
Shannon at least.

The mayor’s first step, then, was to obtain a file of soldiers whom
he placed in his own house; after which he proceeded at once to the
shambles, where he found M’Cann after having returned, not deeming,
probably, that the basket-maker’s informations would be so rapidly given.
The victualler was apparently engaged in his usual avocations, but as
the mayor watched him attentively for a few moments, his motions were so
irregular and so unlike his usual active, bustling habits, as if he was
labouring under some spell, that they utterly put to flight any slight
doubts the magistrate was still inclined to entertain of his being the
guilty person. Accordingly, he proceeded to purchase a quarter of beef
from M’Cann, whom he begged to come at once to his house and cut it up
there. To this request M’Cann made some objections, stating that he
could not then conveniently spare time, but would send an assistant:
his reluctance arising probably from the connection in his mind between
the terrors of discovered guilt and the mayor’s legal functions--of the
latter’s having been made acquainted with his secret crime he had not
_then_ the least conception. After much persuasion, however, he assented,
chiefly through the clever cajolery of the mayor, who stated that he
never could get one to please him in cutting up beef but M’Cann himself
and he accordingly accompanied Mr Burke to his house, on entering which
he was instantly delivered to the military stationed there.

He was forthwith transmitted to Downpatrick, and at the ensuing assizes
there, convicted of the murder of another journeyman baker with a peel
(an instrument used for placing bread in the oven and drawing it when
baked), eighteen years previously. His death, it would appear, was a
torturing one, as the rope broke, and, previous to the consummation of
his terrible fate he was obliged to be strengthened with a draught whilst
seated on his coffin--this last receptacle of humanity being frequently
placed at the gallows foot during an execution.

The singular detection of M’Cann created a great sensation from the
extremity of the Claddagh to that of Bohermore. Yet was it not more
extraordinary than the blameless and perseveringly industrious tenor of
his life, and the apparently utter want of all compunction after the
perpetration of the fearful deed; though these have been paralleled in
numerous instances, as well as in the celebrated one of Eugene Aram;
we allude to the real case, not to Bulwer’s magnificent fiction. His
striking and sudden abstraction from among them, as if a thunderbolt
had cleft him--though every thing connected with him and his family
has long since disappeared from the city, forms still a frequent and
exciting theme among the Galwaygians, who invariably seem to be of
opinion that M’Cann’s object in leading the basket-maker to Fort-hill
was for the purpose of adding another murder to his crimes, by pitching
the stranger into a well, or hurling him over a precipice into the sea.
In this opinion we also fully coincide, as we have little doubt that
the murderer, but for the approach of the chance visitors, would have
attempted, at all risks, to precipitate his companion into a well, where,
entire stranger as he was, he might have remained long undiscovered; or
to consign himself and his fearful secret for ever to those faithful
preservers of innumerable dark secrets, the waves.

                                                                       A.

       *       *       *       *       *

To produce as much happiness as we can, and to prevent as much misery, is
the proper aim and end of all true morality and all true religion.



THE GEOLOGY OF KILLINEY.


Few cities can boast of such a variety of beautiful scenery in its
immediate vicinity as occurs within a short distance from Dublin. We
need not allude to the objects of deep historical interest with which
the natural beauties of Dublin are associated, as they have often been
illustrated in these pages. The picturesque beauties of Dublin Bay and
the county of Wicklow are known to all; but it is less generally known
that the same localities abound in matters well calculated to excite
the curiosity of the naturalist. From the great variety of rocks, and
consequently of soil, around Dublin, we find a corresponding variety in
its vegetable productions; and we believe we are pretty correct when we
state that the botanist may collect specimens of nearly two-thirds of
the indigenous plants of Ireland within the distance of a few miles from
the capital. As regards Zoology, or the study of animals, our position
is equally fortunate. The shores near Malahide are uncommonly rich in
marine productions, especially shells; and the Bay of Dublin is not
inferior to the coasts of Devonshire for the variety of its zoophytes and
corallines. In the work of Ellis on British Corallines, we find that,
although that admirable naturalist resided in London, he obtained many
of his finest specimens from Dublin. In respect to mineralogical and
geological pursuits, we are equally well situated. At Killiney and in the
mines of Wicklow several interesting and some very rare minerals may be
collected. In geology, in the strict sense of the word, there are many
curious phenomena which should be repeatedly examined by the student, and
he will find such a mode of proceeding infinitely more profitable than
the more indolent method of confining his researches to such instruction
as can be found in books and sections. At Howth, or the promontory of
Bray, he may examine every diversity of stratification, and may observe
all the upheavings and contortions to which rocks have been exposed,
displayed as in a model, open to the contemplation of the man of science,
and to the instruction of all. The granite veins of Killiney are also
extremely curious, and well deserve to be repeatedly visited by the
beginner in geological pursuits. It is true that the questions to which
such phenomena gave rise have been long since set at rest; but it is also
true that the questions must be mastered by every student, and we know of
no place where this can be done to more advantage than at Killiney.

Every one is aware that rocks are formed in two very different ways, they
may be produced either from the decayed materials of older rocks, carried
down to the sea or lakes by the rivers, and subsequently consolidated
by various processes, which geologists have explained, or they may be
formed by the solidifying of liquid matter poured forth through some
volcanic aperture from the deeper parts of the earth. The first kind of
rocks are disposed in layers, beds, or strata, by the return of water,
and hence are called stratified, and also aqueous or water-formed; the
second, being liquid matters which have become hard from cooling, are
called igneous, or fire-produced rocks. As volcanoes are at present
confined to particular regions of the earth, some may imagine that such
igneous rocks should only be found in volcanic regions. This, however,
is a mistaken supposition, for geology assures us that igneous rocks are
to be found in every mountain range. The mode of reasoning which they
follow is equally simple and convincing. If we visit Howth, for example,
we find many of the strata resting on their edges, or variously twisted.
At the Killerys in the west of Ireland we find strata composed of rolled
pebbles, elevated to a very considerable angle. It is impossible that
strata of loose sand or gravel would have been originally deposited in
such inclined positions, and we know of no natural power which would
elevate them but that of the igneous agency, producing either a violent
earthquake, or a long-continued upward pressure. This opinion is much
strengthened, when we find in every country, whether volcanic or not, a
series of rocks which appear to have been violently inserted among the
strata, and which we can prove were once in a state of intense heat and
fusion, like the lavas from a modern volcano.

The granite of Killiney is one of those igneous rocks, and the
appearances which we detect in that interesting locality afford
satisfactory evidence of its mode of formation. When we descend to
the shore by the stairs, a little to the east of the Obelisk, we find
ourselves in a little way bounded by perpendicular rocks. These rocks are
of two kinds--granite, and a schistoze or slaty rock, of a bluish colour,
which we may term mica-schist. We then observe that the mica-schist
rests on its edges, on a pavement of granite, and also reclines against
that rock. The junction of the two rocks may be seen with the utmost
perspicuity; and there is no blending of their characters, even where
they are in absolute contact. We may next observe a ledge of rock
partly covered by the waves, and extending in nearly a north and south
course along the shore. This is a granite vein of many feet in breadth,
and several hundred yards in length, and may easily be traced for a
considerable distance. This granite vein is bounded on both sides by
mica-schist; and, what is still more important, we may follow the vein
till it is lost in the general mass of granite of the hill. When we now
remember that the water-formed rock (the mica-schist) is standing on
edge, a suspicion arises that the granite is a fire-produced rock, and
has been the agent of this elevation, and the large wall of granite may
have been intruded in a molten state between the beds of mica-schist. If
it be objected that the granite vein is merely a portion of the strata
of mica-schist, and was like them deposited from water, an inspection
will dissipate this illusion; for we observe that the great vein running
parallel to the strata gives off a smaller vein at right angles to the
direction of the strata. On examining this smaller vein, which may be
seen a little to the north of the stairs, all doubts respecting its
nature or origin are very soon removed. We are surprised to find that
this vein contains fragments of the mica-schist. We may therefore
conclude from this that originally fissures were produced in the schist,
and these fissures were filled up by molten granite, which entangled
fragments of the mica-schist which fell from the sides of the fissure. It
is scarcely necessary to add, that we know of no agent capable of melting
granite but heat.

When we examine this interesting spot a little more minutely, we detect
many other granite veins, each affording some curious and minute fact in
harmony with the preceding remarks. Every one knows that it is easier to
split a piece of wood in the direction of the grain, than transversely
to that direction. In the same way we may infer that it is easier for a
liquid granite to insinuate itself _between_ the strata than to force
its way _across_ them, and on examination we find this to have been the
case. In the first place, the large vein first mentioned running in
the course of the strata is broader than all the transverse veins put
together. Secondly, when we examine the cross veins, we find they have
had more difficulty in forcing their way: hence they frequently contain
fragments. Perhaps, however, an examination at another point near the
entrance of the abandoned lead-mine affords the most curious evidence
of these remarks, for there we perceive that the vein does not hold a
straight course, nor is it of equal thickness throughout, but, on the
contrary, is of unequal breadth, and serpentine, as if the strata had
been violently lacerated instead of being split. In this case the vein
has cut across the strata, and includes fragments of the mica-schist. But
the most curious circumstance in this example is, that the vein itself
has been broken, and its fractured extremities a little displaced and
detached, thus proving that the strata had been exposed to concussion and
displacement at a period posterior to that when the vein was formed.

If this very brief description will induce any of our readers to
visit the granite veins of Killiney, we are sure he will find that
his excursion will not be an unimproving one, and he will perhaps be
convinced that he has only to look about him to find sources of enjoyment
which so many are ignorant of, but which are within the command of all.

                                                                       S.

       *       *       *       *       *

DOMESTIC DISCIPLINE OF THE DUTCH.--There are two things of a peculiar
character in Holland, which deserve to be noticed. One is the enactment
authorising husbands, wives, and children to be imprisoned in a house of
correction set apart for the chastisement of offences against the laws by
which the relations of social life are governed--the other, a contrivance
for compelling the incorrigibly idle to work. In one of the rooms is a
pump, and a stream of water runs in from the ceiling; so that unless the
prisoner labours continually, he must be inevitably drowned.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Printed and published every Saturday by GUNN and CAMERON, at
    the Office of the General Advertiser, No. 6, Church Lane,
    College Green, Dublin.--Agents:--R. GROOMBRIDGE, Panyer Alley,
    Paternoster Row, London; SIMMS and DINHAM, Exchange Street,
    Manchester; C. DAVIES, North John Street, Liverpool; JOHN
    MENZIES, Prince’s Street, Edinburgh; and DAVID ROBERTSON,
    Trongate, Glasgow.

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber’s Note: The line “he accordingly accompanied Mr Burke to his
house, on entering which he was instantly delivered to the military
stationed there” was originally printed “he accordingly accompanied Mr
Burke entering which he was instantly delivered to the military to his
house, on stationed there”, which doesn’t seem to make sense, so has been
re-ordered.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 47, May 22, 1841" ***

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