The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 23,
December 5, 1840, by Various

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Title: The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 23, December 5, 1840

Author: Various

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Language: English

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                     THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

    NUMBER 23.      SATURDAY, DECEMBER 5, 1840.      VOLUME I.

[Illustration: TULLY CASTLE, COUNTY OF FERMANAGH, LOOKING OVER LOUGH
ERNE.]

We have chosen the prefixed view of the Castle of Tully as a subject
for illustration, less from any remarkable picturesqueness of character
or historical interest connected with the castle itself, than for
the opportunity which is thus afforded us of making a few remarks on
the beautiful lake--the Windermere of Ireland, as Mr Inglis happily
called it--on the bank of which it is situated. We cannot conceive any
circumstance that better illustrates the truth of the general principle
that, as Shakspeare expresses it, “what we have we prize not at its
worth,” than the fact that Lough Erne--the admiration and delight of
strangers, the most extensive and beautifully diversified sheet of water
in Ireland--is scarcely known as an object of interest and beauty to the
people of Ireland generally, and is rarely or never visited by them for
pleasure. It is true that the nobility and gentry who reside upon its
shores or in their vicinity, are not deficient in a feeling of pride in
their charming locality, and even boast its superiority of beauty to the
far-famed Lakes of Killarney; yet till very recently this admiration was
almost exclusively confined to themselves, and the beauties of Lough
Erne were as little known to the people of Ireland generally as those of
the lakes and highlands of Connemara, neither of which have ever yet
been included in the books concocted for the use of pleasure tourists in
Ireland.

But Lough Erne will not be thus neglected or unappreciated much longer.
Its beauties have been discovered and been eulogised by strangers, who
have taught us to set a juster value on the landscape beauties which
Providence has so bountifully given to our country; and it will soon be a
reproach to us to be unfamiliar with them.

It would be utterly impossible, within the limits necessarily assigned
to our topographical articles, to give any detailed account of a lake so
extensive as Lough Erne, and whose attractive features are so numerous;
but as these features shall from time to time be included among our
subjects for illustration, it will be proper at least to give our readers
a general idea of its extent, and the pervading character of its scenery,
on this our first introduction of it to their notice; and with this
view we shall commence with a description given of it by an author of a
History of the County of Fermanagh, written in the seventeenth century,
but not hitherto published.

“This lake is plentifully stocked with salmon, pike, bream, eel, trout,
&c.

Seven miles broad in the broadest part. Said to contain 365 islands,
the land of which is excellent. The largest of the islands is
Inismore, containing nine tates and a half of old plantation measure.
Bally-Mac-Manus, now called Bell-isle, containing two large tates much
improved by Sir Ralph Gore; Killygowan, Innis Granny, Blath-Ennis,
Ennis-Liag, Ennis M’Knock, Cluan-Ennis, Ennis-keen, Ennis-M’Saint, and
Babha.

These are the [islands] most notable, except the island of Devenish, of
which I’ll speak in its proper place; however, by the bye, in Devenish is
remembered the pious St Molaishe, who herein consecrated two churches and
_a large aspiring steeple_ [the round tower], and an abbey, which abbey
was rebuilt A. D. 1430 very magnificently by Bartholomew O’Flanagan,
son of a worthy baron of this county, and was one of the finest in the
kingdom. In this island there is a house built by the Saint, to what
use is not known, but it is as large as a small chapel-of-ease. It’s of
great strength and cunning workmanship that may seem to stand for ever,
having no wood in it; the inside lined and the outside covered with large
flat hewn stone, walls and roof alike. On the east of this island runs
an arm of the Lough called in Irish Cumhang-Devenish, which is of use to
the inhabitants, viz, if cattle infected with murrain, black-leg, &c.,
be driven through the same, they are exempted from the same that season,
as is often experienced. The said waters run northwards for twelve hours
daily, and back again the same course for twelve hours more, to the
admiration of the many.

Some authors write this Lough Erne to have been formerly a spring well,
and being informed by their Druids or philosophers that the well would
overflow the country to the North Sea, for the prevention of which they
caused the well to be inclosed in a strong wall, and covered with a door
having a lock and key, signifying no danger while the door was secured;
but an unfortunate woman (as by them came more mischief to mankind)
opening the door for water, heard her child cry, and running to its
relief, forgot to secure the well, and ere she could return, she with
her house and family were drowned, and many houses more betwixt that
and Ballyshannon, and so continues a Lough unto this day. But how far
this may pass for a reality, I am not to aver--however, it is in the
ancient histories of the Irish. If true, it must be of a long standing,
seeing this Lough is frequently mentioned in our chronicles amongst the
ancientest of Loughs. Fintan calls it _Samhir_.”

We shall not, any more than our old author, “aver for the reality” of
this legend, which by the way is related of many other Irish lakes; but
we may remark, in passing, that the story would have more appearance of
“reality” if it had been told of Lough Gawna--or the Lake of the Calf--in
the county of Longford, which is the true source of the river Erne, of
which Lough Erne is but an expansion. At Lough Gawna, however, they tell
a different story, viz, that it was formed by a calf, which, emerging
from a well in its immediate vicinity, still called Tobar-Gawna, or
the Well of the Calf, was chased by its water till he entered the sea
at Ballyshannon. The expansion of the Samhir or Erne thus miraculously
formed, is no less than forty miles in extent from its north-west to
its south-east extremities, being the length of the whole county of
Fermanagh, through which it forms a great natural canal. Lough Erne,
however, properly consists of two lakes connected by a deep and winding
strait, of which the northern or lower is more than twenty miles in
length, and seven and a half miles in its greatest breadth, and the
southern or upper is twelve miles long by four and a half broad. Both
lakes are richly studded with islands, mostly wooded, and in many places
so thickly clustered together as to present the appearance of a country
accidentally flooded; but these islands are not so numerous as they are
stated to be by the old writer we have above quoted, or as popularly
believed, as accurate investigation has ascertained that their number
is but one hundred and ninety-nine, of which one hundred and nine are
situated in the lower lake, and ninety in the upper. But these are
in truth quite sufficient for picturesqueness, and it may be easily
conceived that two sheets of water so enriched, and encircled by shores
finely undulating, to a great extent richly wooded, and backed on most
points by mountains of considerable elevation, must possess the elements
of beauty to a remarkable degree; and the fact appears to be, that though
the Killarney and other mountain lakes in Ireland possess more grandeur
and sublimity of character, Lough Erne is not surpassed, or perhaps
equalled, by any for exquisite pastoral beauty. Perhaps, indeed, we
might add, that if it were further improved by planting and agricultural
improvements, it might justly claim the rank assigned to it by Mr Inglis,
that of “the most beautiful lake in the three kingdoms.”

Long anterior to the arrival of the English in Ireland, the beautiful
district on each side of Lough Erne, now constituting the county of
Fermanagh, was chiefly possessed by the powerful family of Maguire, from
the senior branch of which the chiefs of the territory were elected. This
territory, which was anciently known as “Maguire’s country,” was made
shire ground in the 11th of Elizabeth, by the name which it still bears;
but the family of its ancient chiefs still remained in possession till
the plantation of Ulster by James I., when the lands were transferred
to the English and Scottish undertakers, as they were called, with the
exception of two thousand acres, left as a support to Brian Maguire,
chief representative of the family. It is not for us to express any
opinion on the justice or expediency of this great confiscation, but
we may venture to remark, that it was a measure that could hardly have
appeared proper to those who were so deprived of their patrimony, or
that would have led to any other feeling than one of revenge and desire
of retaliation, however reckless, if opportunity ever offered. Unhappily
such opportunity did offer, by the breaking out of the great rebellion
of 1641, a rebellion originating chiefly with the families of the
disinherited Irish lords of the confiscated northern counties, and having
for its paramount object the repossession of their estates.

Amongst the English and Scottish settlers in Fermanagh, the most largely
endowed with lands was Sir John Humes, or Hume, the founder of Tully
Castle, the subject of our prefixed wood-cut, and who was the second son
of Patrick, the fifth Baron of Polwarth, in Scotland. The property thus
obtained, consisting of four thousand five hundred acres, remained in the
possession of his male descendants till the death of Sir Gustavus Hume,
who dying without surviving male issue in 1731, it passed through the
female line into the possession of the Loftus family, in which it now
remains.

The Castle of Tully was for a time the principal residence of the Hume
family; and on the breaking out of the rebellion in October 1641, it
became the refuge of a considerable number of the English and Scottish
settlers in the country. The discontented Irish of the county having,
however, collected themselves together under the command of Rory, the
brother of the Lord Maguire, they proceeded to the castle on the 24th
of December, and having commanded the Lady Hume and the other persons
within it to surrender, it was given up to them on a promise of quarter
for their lives, protection for their goods, and free liberty and safe
conduct to proceed either to Monea or Enniskillen, as they might choose.
But what trust can be placed in the promises of men engaged in civil war,
and excited by the demoniac feelings of revenge? With the exception of
the Lady Hume, and the individuals immediately belonging to her family,
the whole of the persons who had so surrendered, amounting to fifteen
men, and, as it is said, sixty women and children, were on the following
day stripped and deprived of their goods, and inhumanly massacred, when
also the castle was pillaged, burnt, and left in ruins. Let us pray that
Ireland may never again witness such frightful scenes!

The Castle of Tully does not appear to have been afterwards re-edified,
or used as a residence. After the restoration of peace, the Hume
family erected a more magnificent mansion, called Castle Hume, nearer
Enniskillen, and which is now incorporated in the demesne of Ely lodge.

In its general character, as exhibited in its ruins, Tully Castle appears
to have been a fortified residence of the usual class erected by the
first Scottish settlers in the country--a keep or castle turreted at the
angles, and surrounded by a bawn or outer wall, enclosing a court-yard.
It is thus described by Pynnar in 1618:

“Sir John Humes hath two thousand acres called Carrynroe.

Upon this proportion there is a bawne of lime and stone, an hundred
feet square, fourteen feet high, having four flankers for the defence.
There is also a fair strong castle fifty feet long and twenty-one feet
broad. He hath made a village near unto the bawne, in which is dwelling
twenty-four families.”

The Castle of Tully is situated on the south-western shore of the lower
lake of Lough Erne, about nine miles north-west of Enniskillen.

                                                                       P.




THE AMERICA LETTER.


“Arrah, Judy!” quoth Biddy Finnegan, running to a neighbour’s door.

“Arrah, why?” answered the party summoned.

“Arrah, did you hear the news?”

“No, then, what is it?”

“Sure there’s an Amerikey letter in the post-office.”

“Whisht!”

“Sorra a word of lie in it. Mickeen Dunn brought word from the town this
morning; and he says more betoken that it’s from Dinny M’Daniel to his
ould mother.”

“Oh, then, troth I’ll be bound that’s a lie, e’er-a-way: the born
vagabond, there wasn’t that much good in him, egg or bird: the idle,
worthless ruffian, that was the ruination of every one he kem near: the,
the----”

“Softly, Judith, softly; don’t wrong the absent: it is from Dinny
M’Daniel to his ould mother, and contains money moreover;” and she then
proceeded to tell how the postmistress had desired the poor widow to
bring some responsible person that might guarantee her identity, before
such a weighty affair was given into her keeping, for who knew what
might be inside of it? though a still greater puzzle was to discover
by what means the much reprobated Dinny obtained even the price of the
letter-paper; and how old Sibby had borrowed a cloak from one, and a
“clane cap” from another, and the huxter had harnessed his ass and car
to bring her in style, and Corney King the contingent man,[1] that knows
all the quality, was going along with her to certify that she was the
veritable Mrs Sybilla M’Daniel of Tullybawn; and how she would have for
an escort every man, woman, and child in the village that could make a
holiday--compliments cheerfully accorded by each and all, to do honour to
the America letter, and the individual whose superscription it bore.

Dinny M’Daniel was the widow’s one son, born even in her widowhood, for
his father had been killed by the fall of a tree before he had been
six months married, and poor Sibby had nothing to lavish her fondness
upon but her curly-headed gossoon, who very naturally grew up to be
the greatest scapegrace in the parish. He had the most unlucky knack
of throwing stones ever possessed by any wight for his sins; not a day
passed over his head without a list of damages and disasters being
furnished to his poor mother, in the shape of fowls killed and maimed,
and children half murdered, or pitchers and occasionally windows made
smithereens of; but to do him justice, his breakage in this latter
article was not very considerable, there being but few opportunities for
practice in Tullybawn. To all these the poor widow had but one reply,
“Arrah, what would you have me do?--sorra a bit of harm in him; it’s all
element, and what ’ud be the good of batin’ him?” At last the neighbours,
utterly worn out by the pertinacity of his misdemeanours, hit upon an
expedient to render him harmless for at least half the day, and enjoy
that much of their lives in peace, with the ultimate chance of perhaps
converting the parish nuisance into a useful character. A quarterly
subscription of a penny for each house would just suffice to send Dinny
to school to a neighbouring pedagogue, wonderful in the sciences of
reading and writing, and, what was a much greater recommendation under
the present circumstances, the “divil entirely at the taws.” To him
accordingly Dinny was sent, and under his discipline spent some five
or six years of comparative harmlessness, during which he mastered the
Reading-made-Easy, the Seven Champions, Don Bellianis, and sundry other
of those pleasing narratives whereby the pugnacity and gallantry of the
Irish character used whilom to be formed, to which acquirement he added
in process of time that of writing, or at least making pothooks and
hangers, with a symmetry that delighted the heart of poor Sibby. The
neighbours began to think better of him; but the “masther” swore he was
a prodigy, and openly declared, that if he would but “turn the Vosther,”
he’d be fit company for any lady in the land. Thus encouraged, Dinny
attempted and succeeded, for he had some talent. But sure enough the
turning of the Foster finished him.

It was now high time for Master Dinny to begin to earn his bread, and
accordingly his mother sought and obtained for him a place in the garden
of a nobleman who resided near the village, and was its landlord: but the
dismay of the gossoon himself when this disparaging piece of good fortune
was announced to him, was unbounded. He was speechless, and some moments
elapsed before he could ejaculate,

“Fwhy, then, tare-an’-ages, mother, is that what you lay out for me, an’
me afther turnin’ the Vosther?”

Sibby expostulated, but in vain; his exploits in “the Vosther” had set
him beside himself, and he boldly declared that nothing short of a
dacint clerkship would ever satisfy his ambition. A man of one argument
was Dinny M’Daniel, and that one he made serve all purposes--“Is it an’
me afther turnin’ the Vosther!”--so that people said it was turn about
with him, for the Vosther had turned his brain. Be that as it may, there
was one who agreed with Dinny that he could never think too highly of
himself, for, like every other scapegrace on record, he had won the
goodwill of the prettiest girl in the parish. Nelly Dolan’s friends,
however, were both too snug and too prudent to leave her any hope of
their acquiescing in her choice, so the lovers were driven to resort to
secrecy. Dinny urged her to elope with him, knowing that her kin, when
they had no remedy, would give her a fortune to set matters to rights;
but she had not as yet reached that pitch of evil courage which would
allow her to take such a step, nor, unfortunately, had she the good
courage to discontinue such a hopeless connection, or the clandestine
proceedings which its existence required. Alas, for poor Nelly! sorrow
and shame were the consequence. The bright eyes, that used to pass for a
very proverb through the whole barony, grew dim--the rosy cheeks, that
more than one ballad-maker had celebrated, grew wan and sallow--and the
slim and graceful figure----in a word, Dinny had played the ruffian, and
had to fly the country to avoid the murderous indignation of her faction.
It was to America he shaped his flight, though how he had obtained the
means no one could divine; and now, after the lapse of nearly a year and
a half, here was a letter from him to solve all speculations.

What a hubbub the arrival of “an America letter” causes in Ireland over
the whole district blessed by its visit! It is quite a public concern--a
joint property--being in fact always regarded as a general communication
from all the neighbours abroad to all the neighbours at home, and its
perusal a matter of intense and agonising interest to all who have a
relative even in the degree of thirty-first cousin among the emigrants.
Let us take for instance the letter in question, for the cavalcade has
returned, and not only is the widow’s cabin full, but the very bawn
before her door is crowded, and the door itself completely blocked up
with an array of heads, poking forward in the vain attempt to catch a
tone of the schoolmaster’s voice as he publishes the contents of the
desired epistle, and absolutely smothering it by the uproar of their
squabbles, as they endeavour each to obtain a better place.

“Tare-an’-eunties, Tom Bryan, fwhat are you pushing me away for, an’ me
wanting to hear fwhat’s become of my own first cousin!”

“Arrah, don’t be talkin’, man--fwhy wouldn’t I thry to get in, an’ half
the letther about my sisther-in-law?”

“Oh, boys, boys, agra, does any of yees hear e’er a word about my poor
Paddy?”

The last speaker is a woman, poor Biddy Casey: for the last three
years not a letter came from America that she could hear of, whether
far or near, but she attended to hear it read, in the hope of getting
some information about her husband, who, driven away by bad times and
an injudicious agent, had made a last exertion to emigrate, and earn
something for his family. Regularly every market-day from that event she
called at the post-office, at first with the confident tone of assured
expectation, to inquire for an America letter for one Biddy Casey; then
when her heart began to sicken with apprehensions arising from the
oft-repeated negative, her question was, “You haven’t e’er a letter
for me to-day, ma’am?” and then when she could no longer trust herself
to ask, she merely presented her well-known face at the window, and
received the usual answer in heartbroken silence, now and then broken by
the joyless ejaculation, “God in heaven help me!” But from that time to
this not a syllable has she been able to learn of his fate, or even of
his existence. Now, however, her labours and anxieties are to have an
end--but what an end! This letter at last affords her the information
that, tempted by the delusive promise of higher wages, her husband was
induced to set out for the unwholesome south, and long since has found a
grave among the deadly swamps of New Orleans.

But like every thing else in life, Dinny M’Daniel’s letter is a chequered
matter. See, here comes a lusty, red-cheeked damsel, elbowing her way out
of the cabin, her eyes bursting out of her head with joy.

“Well, Peggy--well--well!” is echoed on all sides as they crowd around
her; “any news from Bid?--though, troth, we needn’t ax you.”

“Oh, grand news!” is the delighted answer. “Bid has a wonderful fine
place for herself an’ another for me, an’ my passage is ped, an’ I’m
to be ready in five weeks, an’, widdy! widdy! I dunna what to do with
myself.”

“And, Peggy agra, was there any thing about our Mick?”--“or our Sally,
Peggy?”--“or Johnny Golloher, asthore?” are the questions with which she
is inundated.

“Oh, I dunna, I dunna--I couldn’t listen with the joy, I tell ye.”

“But, Peggy alanna, what will Tom Feeny think of all this? and what is
to become, pray, of all the vows and promises which, to our own certain
knowledge, you made each other coming home from the dance the other
night?”

Pooh! that difficulty is removed long ago--the very first money she earns
in America is to be dispatched to the care of Father Cahill, to pay Tom’s
passage over to her. “And will she do such a shameless thing?” some fair
reader will probably ask. Ay will she; and think herself right well off,
moreover, to have the shame to bear; for though Peggy can dig her ridge
of potatoes beside the best man in the parish, her heart is soft and leal
like nine hundred and ninety-nine out of the thousand of her countrywomen.

Another happy face--see, here comes old Malachi Tighe, clasping his
hands, and looking up to heaven in silent thankfulness, for his “bouchal
bawn, the glory of his heart,” is to be home with him before harvest,
with as much money as would buy the bit o’ land out and out, and his
daughter-in-law is fainting with gladness, and his grandchildren
screaming with delight, and the neighbours wish him joy with all the
earnestness of sympathy, for Johnny Tighe has been a favourite.

Woe, woe, woe!--Mick Finnegan has sent a message of fond encouragement
to his sweetheart, which she never must hear, for typhus, the scourge of
Ireland, has made her his victim, and the daisies have already rooted
on her grave, and are blooming there as fresh and fair as she used to
be herself; and the wounds of her kindred are opened anew, and the
death-wail is raised again, as wild and vehement as if she died but
yesterday, although six weeks have passed since they bore her to Saint
John’s.

What comes next?--“Johnny Golloher has got married to a Munster girl
with a stocking full of money;” and Nanny Mulry laughs at the news until
you’d think her sides ought to ache, and won’t acknowledge that she cares
one pin about it--on the contrary, wishes him the best of good luck, and
hopes he may never be made a world’s wonder of; all which proceedings are
viewed by the initiated as so many proofs positive of her intention, on
the first convenient opportunity, to break her heart for the defaulting
Mr Golloher.

But among the crowd of earnest listeners who thus attended to gratify
their several curiosities by the perusal of Dinny’s unexpected letter,
none failed to remark the absence of her who in the course of nature
was, or should be, most deeply interested in the welfare of the departed
swain. Nelly Dolan never came near them. In the hovel where the poor
outcast had been permitted to take up her abode when turned out of doors
by her justly incensed father, she sat during the busy recital, her head
bowed down and resting upon the wheel from which she drew the support of
herself and her infant. Now and then a sob, almost loud enough to awaken
the baby sleeping in a _cleave_ beside her, broke from her in spite of
herself; while her mother, who had ventured to visit her on the occasion,
sat crouched down on the hearth before her, and angrily upbraided her for
her sorrow.

“Whisht, I tell you, whisht!” exclaimed the old crone, “an’ have a
sperrit, what you never had, or it wouldn’t come to your day to be
brought to trouble by the likes of him.”

“Och, mother darlint,” answered the sufferer, “don’t blame me--it’s a
poor thing, God knows, that I must sit here quiet, an’ his letter readin’
within a few doors o’ me.”

“Arrah, you’d better go beg for a sight of it,” rejoined the angry parent
with a sneer; “do, achorra, ontil you find out what little trouble you
give him.”

“It’s not for myself, it’s not for myself,” answered the sobbing girl. “I
can do without his thoughts or his favours; all I care to know is, what
he says about the babby.”

“Pursuin’ to me!” exclaimed her mother, “but often as you tempted me to
brain it, an’ that’s often enough, you never put the devil so strong into
my heart as you do this minute. So be quiet, I tell you.”

“Och, mother, that’s the hard heart.”

“Musha, then, it well becomes you to talk that way,” replied her mother.
“If your own wasn’t a taste too soft in its time, my darlint, your kith
an’ kin wouldn’t have to skulk away as they do when your name’s spoken
of.”

A fresh burst of tears was all the answer poor Nelly could give to
this invective; an answer, however, as well calculated as any other to
stimulate the wrath and arouse the eloquence of Mrs Dolan, the object
of whose visit was to induce Nelly to assume an air of perfect coolness
and nonchalance--in fine, to show she had a “sperrit.” In this it may be
perceived she met with a signal failure; and now the full brunt of her
indignation fell on the unfortunate recreant. Nelly’s sorrow of course
became louder, and between both parties the child was wakened, and
naturally added its small help to the clamour: nor did the united uproar
of the three generations cease until a crowd unexpectedly appeared at the
door of the hovel, and the voice of Sibby M’Daniel, half mad with joy,
was heard through the din, internal and external.

“Well, if she won’t come to us,” spoke the elated Sibby, “we must only go
to her, you know, though ye’ll allow the news was worth lookin’ afther;”
and ere the sentence was well concluded, she with her whole train had
made their way into the cabin.

“God save all here,” continued Sibby, “not excepting yourself, Mrs Dolan;
for we must forgive and forget everything that was betune us, now.”

“An’ if I forgive an’ forget, what have you to swop for it?” asked the
irate individual so addressed.

“Good news an’ the hoith of it,” was the answer of Sibby, as she
displaced her letter; but Mrs Dolan was in no humour to listen to news
or receive conciliation of any kind, and so she conducted herself like a
woman of “sperrit;” and gathering her garments about her, rose slowly and
stately from the undignified posture in which she was discovered, and so
departed from amongst them.

“Musha, then, fair weather afther you,” was the exclamation of Sibby when
she recovered from the surprise created by this exhibition of undisguised
contempt. “Joy be with you, and if you never come back, it’ll be no great
loss, for the never a word about you in it anyhow, you ould sarpint.
But, Nelly, alanna, it’s you an’ me that ought to spend the livelong day
down on our marrowbones with joy and thankfulness, though you didn’t
think his letter worth lookin’ afther;” and down on her marrowbones
poor Nelly sank to receive the welcome communication, her baby clasped
to her bosom, her glazed eyes raised to heaven, all unconscious of the
crowd by which she was surrounded, and her every nerve trembling with
excess of joy and thankfulness, while the bustling Sibby placed a chair
for the schoolmaster near the loophole that answered the purposes of a
window, and loudly enjoining silence, gave into his hands the epistle of
his favoured pupil to read to the assembled auditors for about the sixth
time; and Mr Soolivan, squaring himself for the effort, proceeded to
edify Nelly Dolan therewith.

The letter went on to state, in the peculiarly felicitous language of
Dinny M’Daniel, that on his arrival in New York, and finding himself
without either friends or money, and thus in some danger of starvation,
he began to lower his opinions of his personal worth, and solicit any
species of employment that could be given to him. After some difficulty
he got to be porter to a large grocery establishment, in which he
conducted himself pretty well, and secured the confidence of his
employers, and a rate of wages moderate, but still sufficient to support
him. The sense of his utter dependence upon his character compelled him
to be most particularly cautious of doing anything to affect it in the
slightest degree, and in process of time he became a changed gossoon
altogether, an example of the blessed fruits of adversity. The thoughts
of Nelly Dolan and his old mother never quitted him, his anxieties about
the former clinging to him with such intensity that he began forthwith to
lay by a little money every week to send her, but was ashamed to write
until he should have it gathered. An unfortunate event, however, soon put
a stop to his accumulation, and drove him to use it for his subsistence.
This was no less than the sudden death of the head of the establishment
in which he was employed, which, he being the entire manager of the
concern, had the consequence of breaking it up completely. Thus Dinny
was cast on the world again, and found employment as difficult to be got
as ever. His little hoard was soon spent, and at last he had to turn
his steps westward, where labour was more plentiful and hands fewer.
After many journies and vicissitudes he at length met a friend in the
person of one of the partners in the grocery establishment which had
first given him employment, and who, like himself, had sought a home in
the wilderness. This man had some money, but, unfortunately for himself,
never having “turned the Vosther” or learned anything in accounts, was
unable to put it to any use that would require a knowledge of what a
facetious alderman once called the three R’s, reading, writing, and
’rithmetic. Now, these happened to be Dinny’s forte. So when his quondam
employer was one day lamenting to him the deficiency which forbade him
to apply his capital to the lucrative uses which he otherwise might,
Dinny modestly suggested a method whereby this desirable object might be
effected: the other, after a little consideration, thought he might do
worse than adopt it, and accordingly, before many days elapsed, a grand
new store appeared in the township of Prishprashchawmanraw, in which
Dinny was book-keeper and junior partner. Having brought him thus far by
our assistance, we shall allow him to conclude his letter after his own
way:--

“And so you see, dear mother, that notwithstanding all the neighbours
said, it’s as lucky after all that I turned the Vosther, for it has made
a man of me, and with the help of the holy St Patrick I am well able to
spare the twenty pounds you will get inside, which is half for yourself
to make your old days comfortable, or to come out to me, if you’d like
that better, and the other half for my poor darling Nelly, the _colleen
dhas dhun_, that I am afraid spent many a heavy hour on my account;
but you may tell her that with the help of God I will live to make up
for them all. I will expect her at New York by the next ship, and you
may tell her that the first thing she is to buy with the money must be
a grand goold ring, and let her put it on her finger at once, without
waiting for either priest or parson, for I’m her sworn husband already,
and will bring her straight to the priest the minute she puts her foot
on America shore, and until then who dare sneeze at her? You must write
to me to say where I am to meet her, and by what ship she will come out;
and above all, _whether she is to bring any thing out with her besides
herself_--you know what I mean. And, dear mother, when you write to me,
you are to put on the back of the letter, Dennis M’Daniel, Esq. for
that’s what I am now--not a word of lie in it. So wishing the best of
good luck to all the neighbours, and to yourself and to Nelly, I remain,
&c. &c. &c.”

“Glory to you, Dinny!” was ejaculated on every side, while they all
rushed tumultuously forward to congratulate the unwedded bride. In their
uproarious hands we leave her, drawing this moral from the whole thing,
that it’s very hard to spoil an Irishman entirely, if there be any good
at all in him originally.

                                                                  A. M’C.

[1] Collector of county cess.




THE THREE MONKS.


“It was with the good monks of old that sterling hospitality was to be
found.”--HANSBROVE’S IRISH GAZETTEER.

    Three monks sat by a bogwood fire!
      Shaven their crowns, and their garments grey;
    Close they sat to that bogwood fire,
      Watching the wicket till break of day--
      Such was ever the rule at Kilcrea;[2]
    For whoever passed, be he baron or squire,
      Was free to call at that abbey, and stay,
      Nor guerdon or hire for his lodging pay,
    Though he tarried a week with the Holy Quire!

    Three monks sat by a bogwood fire!
      Dark look’d the night from the window-pane!
    They who sat by that bogwood fire
      Were Eustace, Alleyn, and Giles by name:
      Long they gazed at the cheerful flame,
    Till each from his neighbour began to inquire
      The tale of his life, before he came
      To Saint Bridget’s shrine, and the cowl had ta’en:
    So they piled on more wood, and drew their seats nigher!

    Three monks sat by a bogwood fire!
      Loud wailed the wind through cloister and nave!
    With penitent air by that bogwood fire
      The first that spake it was Eustace grave,
      And told, “He had been a soldier brave
    In his youth, till a comrade he slew in ire;
      Since then he forswore helmet and glaive,
      And, leaving his home, had crossed the wave,
    And taken the cross and cowl at Saint Finbar’s spire!”

    Three monks sat by a bogwood fire!
      Swift through the glen ran the river Lee!
    And Alleyn next, by that bogwood fire,
      Told his tale--a woeful man was he:
      Alas, he had loved unlawfullie
    The wife of his brother, Sir Hugh Maguire!
      And he fled to the cloister to free
      His soul from sin: and ’twas sad to see
    How sorrow had worn the youthful friar!

    Three monks sat by a bogwood fire!
      And red the light on the rafters shone,
    And the last who spoke by that bogwood fire
      Was Giles, of the three the only one
      Whom care or grief had not lit upon;
    But rosy and round, throughout city and shire
      His mate for frolic and glee was none;
      And soon he told how “A peasant’s son,
    He was reared to the church by their former Prior!”

    Three monks sat by a bogwood fire!
      The moon look’d o’er all with clouded ray;
    And there they sat by that bogwood fire,
      Watching the wicket till break of day;
      And many that night did call, and stay,
    Whose names--if, gentles, ye do not tire--
      In next strain shall the bard essay--
      (Many and motley I ween were they)--
    Till then, pardon he craves for his humble lyre!
      And to each and all,
                            Benedicite!

[2] Kilcrea Abbey, near Cork, was dedicated to Saint Bridget, and
founded, A. D. 1494, by Cormac Lord Muskerry. Its monks belonged to the
Franciscan order commonly called “the _Grey_ Friars.”




COMPARATIVE VALUE OF BLACK BOYS IN AMERICA AND IRELAND.


It has not unfrequently occurred to us as a thing somewhat remarkable,
that there is a vast difference in the comparative value of the black
boys of America and those of Ireland; and this was very forcibly proved
to us on a recent occasion. The American little blacks are, as we have
been credibly informed, to be bought for forty dollars and upwards,
according to their health, strength, and beauty; the Irish blackies for
about a twentieth of that sum; and as everything is valued in proportion
to its cost, it follows as a matter of course that the American urchins
are vastly more prized and better taken care of than the Irish. It is
not very easy to account for this, but perhaps it is only a consequence
of difference of race. The American black boys are supposed to be the
descendants of Cham--true woolly-headed chaps, with the colouring
matter of their complexion deposited beneath their outer skin, and not
washoffable by means of soap and water. The Irish black boys generally
are believed to be of the true Caucasian breed--the descendants of
Japhet; and their blackness is on the outer surface of the skin, and may,
though we believe with difficulty, be removed. But we will not speak
dogmatically on this point. In other respects they agree tolerably.
They have both the power of bearing heat to a considerable degree, and
of dispensing with the incumbrance of much clothing. But it is in their
relative value that they most differ, and this is the point we desire to
prove, and what we think we can do to the satisfaction of our readers by
the following anecdote:--

Being naturally of a most humane and benevolent character, as all our
readers are--for none others would support our pennyworth--we have often
lamented the abject condition and sufferings of our black urchins,
and have come to the resolution never to assist in encouraging their
degradation, but on the contrary to do everything in our power to oppose
it. With this praiseworthy intention we recently sent for a gentleman
who professes the art of increasing our domestic comforts by the aid of
modern science as developed in our improved machinery--or in other words,
we sent for him to clean the chimney of our study, not with a little
boy, but with a proper modern machine constructed for the purpose. The
said professor came accordingly, but to our astonishment not merely with
his sweeping machine, but also with one of the objects of our pity and
commiseration--a little black boy! The use of this attendant we did not
immediately comprehend, nor did we ask, but proceeded at once to inquire
of the professor the price of his services in the way we desired.

“Three shillings,” was the answer.

“Three shillings!” we rejoined, with a look of astonishment; “why, we
had no idea that your charge would be any thing like so much. What,” we
asked, “is the cause of this unusual demand?”

“Why, sir, the price of my machine. But I’ll sweep the chimney with the
boy there for a shilling.”

“And pray, sir, what did your machine cost?”

“Two pounds!”

“Indeed,” I replied; “and what was the cost of the boy?”

“Ten shillings; and do you think, sir, I could sweep with my machine,
which cost me so much, at the same rate as I could charge for the boy,
that cost me only ten shillings?”

There was no replying to logic so conclusive as this; and we think it
right to give it publicity, in the hope that it may meet the eyes of some
of our readers at the other side of the Atlantic, who may be induced to
rid us of some of our superabundant population, by importing our black
boys, which they can get, even including the expense of carriage, at so
much cheaper a rate here than they can procure them at home!

                                                                       G.




ELEVATION OF THE LABOURING CLASSES.


We have to express our thanks to the Westminster Review for the
publication of two MS. letters to Leonard Horner, Esq. one of the factory
inspectors, from the proprietor of a cotton mill in the north of England,
whose modesty it is to be regretted prohibits the publication of his
name, and has hitherto prevented the publication of these letters.

The introductory article in the Review contains some admirable strictures
upon the radical defect of governments failing to perceive that the
elevation of the people, in a moral and physical point of view, is not
only one, but the fundamental duty of legislators. The writer points out
that in all countries and ages to the present time, those who have been
placed at the head of public affairs have had little or no leisure, if
they possessed the inclination, to study schemes of human improvement;
their time has been occupied in maintaining order, making war, and
raising a revenue for these and similar objects, whereas the necessity
for police and armies would be lessened by striking at the root of the
evil, and elevating the “hewers of wood and drawers of water” in the
scale of intelligence and happiness.

“Melancholy,” says the writer, “is the result of centuries of mischievous
and often wicked legislation, in the impression it has left upon the mind
of the public. Long after a government has ceased to do evil, it is left
powerless for good by the universal distrust with which it is regarded.
The people have yet to learn to place confidence in their own servants,
and to support when needed in their persons their own authority, instead
of seeking to overturn it as that of tyrants or masters. So numerous
have been the evils which have arisen from unwise interference, that
an opinion very widely prevails that a government can do nothing but
mischief; and the almost universal prayer of the people is to be left
alone.” Again he says, “Why should it not be borne in mind that there
are higher objects for human exertion, whether for individuals or
communities, than the greatest possible aggregate of wealth? And although
the realization of those objects in our time may be but the visionary
dream of the philanthropist, let no one say that good will not arise from
keeping them steadily in view.”

And to explain his sentiments upon the subject of the elevation of the
labouring classes, he quotes the following paragraph from Dr Channing’s
first lecture, delivered at a meeting of the Mechanic Apprentices’
Library Association at Boston:

“By the elevation of the labourer I do not understand that he is to be
raised above the need of labour. I do not expect a series of improvements
by which he is to be released from his daily work. Still more, I have
no desire to dismiss him from his workshop and farm, to take the
spade and axe from his hand, and to make his life a long holiday. I
have faith in labour, and I see the goodness of God in placing us in
a world where labour alone can keep us alive. I would not change, if
I could, our subjection to physical laws, our exposure to hunger and
cold, and the necessity of constant conflicts with the material world.
I would not, if I could, so temper the elements that they should infuse
into us only grateful sensations, that they should make vegetation so
exuberant as to anticipate every want, and the minerals so ductile as
to offer no resistance to our strength or skill. Such a world would
make a contemptible race. Man owes his growth, his energy, chiefly to
that striving of the will, that conflict with difficulty, which we call
effort. Easy, pleasant work does not make robust minds, does not give
men a consciousness of their powers, does not train them to endurance,
to perseverance, to steady force of will, that force without which all
other acquisitions will avail nothing. Manual labour is a school in which
men are placed to get energy of purpose and character--a vastly more
important endowment than all the learning of all other schools. They are
placed indeed under hard masters, physical sufferings and wants, the
power of fearful elements, and the vicissitudes of all human things; but
these stern teachers do a work which no compassionate indulgent friend
could do for us, and true wisdom will bless Providence for their sharp
ministry. I have great faith in hard work. The material world does much
for the mind by its beauty and order; but it does more by the pains it
inflicts; by its obstinate resistance, which nothing but patient toil
can overcome; by its vast forces, which nothing but unremitting skill
and effort can turn to our use; by its perils, which demand continual
vigilance; and by its tendencies to decay. I believe that difficulties
are more important to the human mind than what we call assistances. Work
we all must, if we mean to bring out and perfect our nature. Even if we
do not work with the hands, we must undergo equivalent toil in some other
direction.… You will here see that to me labour has great dignity. Alas
for the man who has not learned to work! He is a poor creature; he does
not know himself.”

That the labouring classes can be greatly, immeasurably elevated in the
social scale, without relieving them from the least portion of that
labour entailed upon the race of Adam, is beautifully exemplified in the
mill-owner’s letters which follow the article from which the foregoing
has been extracted. We regret that their length far exceeds the utmost
space which we could afford them, or we should present them to our
readers in full. The account which they give of the social condition
of the operatives employed in the writer’s factory, more resembles the
details of a Utopian scheme than of one actually carried into effect by a
single philanthropic individual.

The first letter describes the wretched and dilapidated state of the
mill, and destitute condition of the few persons living about it, at the
time (1832) that the writer and his brothers took it, and proceeded to
rebuild and furnish it. This and the collection of the necessary hands
occupied two years. In employing operatives they selected only the most
respectable, such as were likely to settle down permanently wherever they
should feel comfortably situated; and in order to hold out inducements,
these gentlemen broke up three fields in front of the workmen’s cottages
into gardens of about six roods each, separated by neat thorn hedges.
Besides which, each house had a small flower-garden either in front or
rear, and the houses themselves were made as comfortable as possible.

When the mill was completed and the population numerous, the proprietor
called a meeting of all the workmen, and proposed the establishment of
a Sunday school for the children. The proposal was gladly received, and
some of the men were appointed teachers. He then built a schoolroom for
the girls, and the boys had the use of a cellar; but he subsequently
built a schoolroom for them also. In the girls’ school were 160
children, and in the boys’ 120. Each was placed under the management
of a superintendent and a certain number of teachers, whose services
were given gratuitously; and they relieved each other, so that each was
obliged to attend only every third Sunday. They were all young men and
women belonging to the mill, the proprietor taking no further part in
the management than spending an hour or two in the room. As soon as the
school was fairly established, the proprietor turned his attention to the
establishment of games and gymnastic exercises amongst the people, and
having set apart a field he called together some of the boys one fine
afternoon, and commenced operations with quoits, trap and cricket balls,
and leap-frog. The numbers quickly increased, regulations and rules were
made, the girls got a portion of the field to themselves, and there were
persons appointed to preserve order. The following summer he put up a
swing, introduced the game called _Les Graces_, and bowls, a leaping-bar,
a tight-rope, and a see-saw. Quoits became the favourite game of the men,
hoops and tight-rope of the boys, and hoops and swing of the girls, the
latter being in constant requisition. He at first found some difficulty
in checking rudeness, but being constantly on the spot, it was soon
corrected, and gradually quite wore away. The play-ground was only opened
on Saturday evenings or holidays during the summer. He next got up
drawing and singing classes. The drawing-class, taught by himself, on
Saturday evenings during the winter, from six to half past seven--half
the time being spent in drawing, and the remainder with geography or
natural history. To those pupils he lent drawings to copy during the
evenings of the week, thereby giving them useful and agreeable employment
for their leisure hours, and attracting them to their home fireside.

The breaking up of the drawing-class at half past seven gave room to
the singing-class until nine. The superintendent of the Sunday school
took charge of this class, which became at once very popular, especially
with the girls. But what he seems to consider the most successful of his
plans for the civilising of his people, was the establishment of regular
evening parties during the winter, the number invited to each being about
thirty, an equal number of boys and girls, and specially invited by a
little printed card being sent to each. This afforded a mark of high
distinction, only the best behaved and most respectable, or, as he calls
them, “the aristocracy,” being invited. These parties are held in the
schoolroom, which he fitted up handsomely, and furnished with pictures,
busts, &c., and a piano-forte. When the party first assemble, they have
books, magazines, and drawings, to amuse them. Tea and coffee are then
handed round, and the proprietor walks about and converses with them,
so as to render their manners and conversation unembarrassed; and after
tea, games are introduced, such as dissected maps or pictures, spilicans,
chess, draughts, card-houses, phantasmagoria, and others, whilst some
prefer reading or chatting. Sometimes there is music and singing, and
then a wind-up with Christmas games, such as tiercely, my lady’s toilet,
blindman’s-buff, &c., previous to retiring, the party usually breaking
up a little after nine. These parties are given to the grown-up boys and
girls, but he sometimes also treats the juniors, when they have great
diversion. The parties are given on Saturday evenings about once in three
weeks, the drawing and singing bring given up for that day.

He next established warm baths at an expense of £80, and issued bathing
tickets for 1d. each, or families subscribing 1s. per month were entitled
to five baths weekly; and with an account of the arrangements of the
baths, the receipts, &c., he concludes his first letter, which appears to
have been written about the year 1835.

In the second letter, dated March 1838, he developes the principles upon
which he acted, and the objects which he had in view, in answer to the
request of Mr Horner. His object he avows to be “the elevation of the
labouring classes,” or, to use his own language, “promoting the welfare
of the manufacturing population, and raising them to that degree of
intellectual and social advancement of which I believe them capable.” And
amongst the matters which he considers necessary to the attainment of the
object in view, he enumerates “fair wages, comfortable houses, gardens
for their vegetables and flowers, schools and other means of improvement
for their children, sundry little accommodations and conveniences in the
mill, attention to them when sick or in distress, and interest taken
in their general comfort and welfare.” He says that attention to these
things, and gently preventing rather than chiding rudeness, ignorance,
or immorality--treating people as though they were possessed of the
virtues and manners which you wish them to acquire--is the best means
of attaining the wished-for end; and that he has little faith in the
efficacy of mere moral lectures. He established the order of the silver
cross amongst the girls above the age of 17. It immediately became an
object of great ambition, and a powerful means of forwarding the great
object of refining the minds, tastes, and manners of the maidens, and
through their influence, of softening and humanising the sterner part of
the population. He says that he does not want to establish amongst the
humbler classes the mere conventional forms of politeness as practised
in the upper, but he would refine them considerably. He would have the
most beautiful and tender forms of Christian charity exhibited in all
their actions and habits, and mere preaching, rules, sermons, lectures,
or legislation, can never change poor human nature if the people are not
permitted to see what they are taught they should practise, and to hold
intercourse with those whose manners are superior to their own. He points
out the necessity of supplying innocent, pleasing, and profitable modes
of filling up the leisure hours of the working-classes as the best mode
of weaning them from drinking, and the vulgar amusements alone within
their reach. He also points out that merely intellectual pursuits are not
suited to uncultivated minds, and that resources should be provided of
sufficient variety to supply the different tastes and capacities which
are to be dealt with. It is with these views that he provided various
objects of interesting pursuit or innocent amusement for his colony, and
established prizes for their horticultural exhibitions; and to show how
the taste for music had progressed, he mentions that a glee class had
been established, and a more numerous one of sacred music that meets
every Wednesday and Saturday during winter, and a band had been formed
with clarionets, horns, and other wind instruments, which practised
twice a-week, besides blowing nightly at home; and a few families had
got pianos, besides which there were guitars, violins, violoncellos,
serpents, flutes, and dulcimers, and he adds that it must be observed
that they are all of their own purchasing. He goes on to observe that
his object is “not to raise the manufacturing operative or labourer
above his condition, but to make him an ornament to it, and thus elevate
the condition itself--to make the labouring classes feel that they have
within their reach all the elements of earthly happiness as abundantly
as those to whose station their ambition sometimes leads them to
aspire--that domestic happiness, real wealth, social pleasures, means of
intellectual improvement, endless sources of rational amusement, all the
freedom and independence possessed by any class of men, are all before
them--that they are all within their reach, and that they are not enjoyed
only because they have not been developed and pointed out, and therefore
are not known. His object is to show them this, to show his own people
and others that there is nothing in the nature of their employment, or
in the condition of their humble lot, that condemns them to be rough,
vulgar, ignorant, miserable, or poor--that there is nothing in either
that forbids them to be well bred, well informed, well mannered, and
surrounded by every comfort and enjoyment that can make life happy; in
short, to ascertain and prove what the condition of this class of people
might be made, what it ought to be made--what it is the interest of all
parties that it should be made.”

In the name of our common humanity we thank him for the experiment which
has so satisfactorily proved the truth of his propositions; and whilst
wishing him God speed, we shall do what in our power lies to promote
the benevolent object, by directing the attention of philanthropists to
the good that may be effected by the unassisted efforts of a practical
individual.

                                                                       N.




THE FORMATION OF DEW.


During summer, when the weather is sultry, and the sky assumes that
beautiful blue tinge so entirely its own, dew is formed in the greatest
abundance, owing to the phenomena which are requisite for its deposition
being then most favourably combined. It was long supposed by naturalists
that this precipitation depended on the cooling of the atmosphere
towards evening, when the solar rays began to decline; but it was
not properly understood until M. Prevost published his theory of the
radiation of caloric (which has since been generally adopted), which was
as follows:--“That all bodies radiate caloric constantly, whether the
objects that surround them be of the same temperature of themselves, or
not.” According to this view, the temperature of a body falls whenever
it radiates more caloric than it absorbs, and rises whenever it receives
more than it radiates; which law serves to produce an equality of
temperature. Such is exactly the case as regards the earth: during the
day it receives a supply of heat from the sun’s rays, and as it is an
excellent radiator of caloric, as soon as the shades of evening begin
to fall, the earth imparts a portion of its caloric to the air, and the
atmosphere having no means of imparting its caloric in turn, except by
contact with the earth’s surface, the stratum nearest the earth becomes
cooled, and consequently loses the property of holding so much moisture
in the state of vapour, which becomes deposited in small globular
drops. The stratum of air in immediate contact with the earth having
thus precipitated its moisture, becomes specifically lighter than that
immediately above it, which consequently rushes down and supplies its
place; and in this manner the process is carried on until some physical
cause puts a stop to it either partly or wholly. It is well known that
dew is deposited sparingly, or not at all, in cloudy weather, the clouds
preventing free radiation, which is so essential for its formation; that
good radiators, as grass, leaves of plants, and filamentous substances
in general, reduce their temperature in favourable states of the weather
to an extent of ten or fifteen degrees below the circumambient air;
and whilst these substances are completely drenched with dew, others
that are bad radiators, such as rocks, polished metal, sand, &c., are
scarcely moistened. From the above remarks it will appear evident that
dew is formed most abundantly in hot climates, and during summer in our
own, which tends to renovate the vegetable kingdom by producing all the
salubrious effects of rain without any of its injurious consequences,
when all nature seems to languish under the scorching influence of a
meridian sun.

Hoarfrost is formed when the temperature becomes so low as 32 degrees
Fahrenheit; the dew being then frozen on falling, sometimes assuming very
fantastic forms on the boughs and leaves of trees, &c., which sparkle in
the sunshine like so many gems of purest ray.

                                                                       M.




RANDOM SKETCHES.

NO. III.--BLOWING MEN.


What makes men blow? “I’ll be blowed if I know.” Such might be the answer
in nine hundred and ninety-nine cases out of a thousand; and the object
of this paper is to invite that thousandth individual who is versed in
the philosophy of blowing to come forth and settle the question.

Every body knows why butchers blow, and flute-players, and glass-blowers,
&c., and why some men puff at auctions; but the question is, why, without
any conceivable motive either of business or pleasure, certain men, while
circulating through the streets of Dublin perhaps on a breezeless day,
have been seen to distend their cheeks, and discharge a great volume of
breath into the face of the serene and unoffending atmosphere.

One of the introductory chapters in Tom Jones is devoted to proving that
authors always write the better for being acquainted with the subjects
on which they write. If this position be true (as I believe it is), I
may seem deserving of a blowing up for venturing on my present theme.
However, my object (as I have already hinted) in this, as in my first
sketch, is rather to court than to convey information. If my brief
notices of Fox and Smut contained in said sketch could at all serve to
promote the study of _cat_optrics, I would not consider the time it
cost me misspent. (And, by the bye, Mr Editor, I know somebody who, if
he chose, could inform your readers how he once saw one of his own cats
actually _assisting at a surgical operation_!) In like manner, if the
following meagre result of my attempt towards developing the philosophy
of blowing should excite inquiry on a subject never, I believe, broached
before, I would feel very thankful for any information anent it that
might reach me through the medium of the Irish Penny Journal.

Blowing men form a small, a very small, part of the community. During
some forty years’ experience of the Dublin flags, I have met with
only four specimens of this genus. Yet limited as is the number of my
specimens, I am constrained to distribute them into two classes--one
consisting of _three_ individuals, the other, of the remaining _one_. My
first-class men blew all alike--right “ahead,” as the Americans say; my
fourth man protruded his chin, and breathed rather than blew somewhat
upwards, as if he wanted to treat the tip of his nose to a vapour-bath.

What characteristics, then, did my triad of blowers possess in common,
and from what community of idiosyncrasy did they agree in a practice
unknown to the generality of mankind? The latter question I avow my
inability to answer: on the former I can perhaps throw a little twilight.
The principal man among them in point of rank--a late noble and facetious
judge--was by far the most inveterate blower in the class: his puff
was perpetual, like the mahogany dye of his boot-tops. One point of
resemblance I have traced between the peer and his two compeers: he was
a _proud_ man. In proof of this allegation I have the evidence of his
own avowal:--“I’m the first peer of my family, but I’m as proud as the
old nobility of England.” Of the other pair, one I know to be proud,
the other I believe to be so. Here then is one element--PRIDE: another
I conceive to be WEALTH. My first-class blowers were all rich men:
nay, the youngest among them never ventured on blowing, to the best of
my belief, till he had gotten a good slice of a quarter of a million
whereof his uncle died possessed. I was standing one day at the door of
a bookseller’s shop in Suffolk Street, deeply intent upon nothing, when
my gentleman passed by on the opposite side. My eyes, ready for any new
object, idly followed him, and as he crossed to Nassau Street he blew.
The offer was fair enough for a beginner, but it would not do--he wanted
_fat_. No man much under the episcopal standard of girth should think of
blowing: of this I feel a perfect conviction.

As for my solitary second-class man, the unique character of his blowing,
or breathing, may have been but an emanation of his unique mind. He was,
as the song says, “werry pecooliar”--an extensive medical practitioner
among the poor, though not a medical man--the editor of an agricultural
journal, though unacquainted with farming--a moral man, yet the avowed
admirer of the lady of an invalid whose expected death was to be the
signal for their union: the death came, but the union was never effected.

Groping then, as I do, in the dark, I would with great diffidence submit,
that _certain_ individuals, being encumbered with PRIDE, WEALTH, and
FAT, are hence, somehow, under both a mental and physical necessity of
blowing: why _all_ individuals thus encumbered do not adopt the practice,
is matter for consideration. As a further clue to investigation I may
add, that although the union of the above three qualifications in one
individual is by no means peculiar to Dublin, yet in Dublin alone have
I ever seen men blow, and that none of my quaternion of blowing men was
of Milesian descent: one was of Saxon, another of Scottish race, and the
remaining two were sprung from Huguenots.

I now conclude, submissively craving “a word and a blow” from any of the
readers or writers of the Irish Penny Journal who may be able to give
them to me in the shape of facts or fancies likely to lend to the full
solution of a question which has been for years my torment, namely--“What
makes men blow?”

                                                                    G. D.

       *       *       *       *       *

HEAPING UP WEALTH.--It is often ludicrous as well as pitiable to witness
the miserable ends in which the heaping up of wealth not unusually
terminates. A life spent in the drudgery of the counting-house,
warehouse, or factory, is exchanged for the dignified ease of a suburban
villa; but what a joyless seclusion it mostly proves! Retirement has been
postponed until all the faculties of enjoyment have become effete or
paralysed. “_Sans_ eyes, _sans_ teeth, _sans_ taste, _sans_ everything,”
scarcely any inlet or pulsation remains for old, much less new pleasures
and associations. Nature is not to be won by such superannuated suitors.
She is not intelligible to them; and the language of fields and woods,
of murmuring brooks, mountain tops, and tumbling torrents, cannot be
understood by men familiar only with the noise of crowded streets, loaded
vans, bustling taverns, and postmen’s knocks. The chief provincial towns
are environed with luckless pyrites of this description, who, dropped
from their accustomed sphere, become lumps and dross in a new element.
Happily their race is mostly short; death kindly comes to terminate their
weariness, and, like plants too late transplanted, they perish from the
sudden change in long-established habits, air, and diet.

       *       *       *       *       *

AN OLD NEWSPAPER.--There is nothing more beneficial to the reflecting
mind than the perusal of an old newspaper. Though a silent preacher,
it is one which conveys a moral more palpable and forcible than the
most elaborate discourse. As the eye runs down its diminutive and
old-fashioned columns, and peruses its quaint advertisements and bygone
paragraphs, the question forces itself on the mind--where are now the
busy multitudes whose names appear on these pages?--where is the puffing
auctioneer, the pushing tradesman, the bustling merchant, the calculating
lawyer, who each occupies a space in this chronicle of departed time?
Alas! their names are now only to be read on the sculptured marble which
covers their ashes! They have passed away like their forefathers, and
are no more seen! From these considerations the mind naturally turns to
the period when we, who now enjoy our little span of existence in this
chequered scene, shall have gone down into the dust, and shall furnish
the same moral to our children that our fathers do to us! The sun will
then shine as bright, the flowers will bloom as fair, the face of nature
will be as pleasing as ever, while we are reposing in our narrow cell,
heedless of every thing that once charmed and delighted us!

       *       *       *       *       *

    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; J. DRAKE,
    Birmingham; SLOCOMBE & SIMMS, Leeds; FRAZER and CRAWFORD,
    George Street, Edinburgh; and DAVID ROBERTSON, Trongate,
    Glasgow.





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