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diff --git a/38817-h/38817-h.htm b/38817-h/38817-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0deb52b --- /dev/null +++ b/38817-h/38817-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1917 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Irish Penny Journal, No. 1, Vol. 1 by Various Authors. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.bbox {border: solid 2px; padding:0.5em;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:50%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em -8em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i8 { + display: block; + margin-left: 8em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.ralign {text-align:right;} + +.w100 {width:100%;} +.w65 {width:65%;} + +.gap4 {margin-top:4em;} + +.margr20 {text-align:right; margin-right:20%;} +.smaller {font-size:smaller;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Irish Penny Journal, No. 1, Vol. 1, +July 4, 1840, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Irish Penny Journal, No. 1, Vol. 1, July 4, 1840 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: February 10, 2012 [EBook #38817] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IRISH PENNY JOURNAL, JULY 4, 1840 *** + + + + +Produced by Brownfox and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team at https://www.pgdp.net ((This file was produced from +images generously made available by JSTOR +http://www.jstor.org/stable/i30000991)) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></p> + +<h1>THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.</h1> + +<table class="w100" summary="Headline layout"> +<tr> +<td class="smcap">Number 1.</td> +<td class="center">SATURDAY, JULY 4, 1840.</td> +<td class="smcap ralign">Volume I.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<div class="figcenter gap4" style="width: 679px;"> +<div><span class="caption">THE CASTLE OF AUGHNANURE.</span></div> +<img src="images/castle.png" width="679" height="509" alt="THE CASTLE OF AUGHNANURE." title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>THE CASTLE OF AUGHNANURE,<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smaller">COUNTY OF GALWAY.</span></h2> + +<p>Not many years since there was an extensive district in the +west of Ireland, which, except to those inhabiting it, was a +sort of terra incognita, or unknown region, to the people of +the British isles. It had no carriage roads, no inns or hotels, +no towns; and the only notion popularly formed of it was +that of an inhospitable desert—the refugium of malefactors +and Irish savages, who set all law at defiance, and into which +it would be an act of madness for any civilized man to venture. +This district was popularly called the Kingdom of +Connemara, a name applied to that great tract extending +from the town of Galway to the Killery harbour, bounded on +the east by the great lakes called Lough Corrib and Lough +Mask, and on the west by the Atlantic Ocean, and comprising +within it the baronies of Moycullen and Ballinahinch, and the +half barony of Ross. It is not an unknown region now. It +has two prosperous towns and several villages, good roads, and +comfortable hotels. “The Queen’s writ will run in it;” and +the inhabitants are remarkable for their intelligence, quietness, +honesty, hospitality, and many other good qualities; and +in the summer months it is the favourite resort of the artist, +antiquary, geologist, botanist, ornithologist, sportsman—in +short, of pleasure tourists of all descriptions, and from every +quarter of the British empire; for it is a district singularly +rich in its attractions to all those who look for health and +pleasure from a summer’s ramble, combined with excitable +occupation. Of its picturesque beauties much has already +been written. They have been sketched by the practised +hand of Inglis, and by the more graphic pencil of Cćsar +Otway; but its history and more important antiquities have +been as yet but little noticed, and, consequently, generally +passed by without attracting the attention or exciting any +interest in the mind of the traveller. We propose to ourselves +to supply this defect to some extent, and have consequently +chosen as the subject of our first illustration the ancient +castle, of which we have presented our readers with a +view, and which is the most picturesque, and, indeed, important +remain of antiquity within the district which we have described.</p> + +<p>Journeying along the great road from Galway to Oughterard, +and at the distance of about two miles from the latter, the +attention of the traveller will most probably be attracted by a +beautiful little river, over which, on a natural bridge of limestone +rock, the road passes; and looking to the right, towards +the wide expanse of the waters of Lough Corrib, he will perceive +the grey tower or keep of an extensive castle, once the chief +seat or fortress of the O’Flaherties, the hereditary lords of +West Connaught, or Connemara. This castle is called the +Castle of Aughnanure, or, properly, <i>Achaidh-na-n-Jubhar</i>, +Acha-na-n-ure, or the field of the yews—an appellation derived +from the number of ancient trees of that description +which grew around it, but of which only a single tree now +survives. This vestige is, however, the most ancient and interesting +ruin of the locality. Its antiquity must be great indeed—more +than a thousand years; and, growing as it does +out of a huge ledge of limestone rock, and throwing its withered +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>and nearly leafless branches in fantastic forms across +the little river which divides it from the castle, the picturesqueness +of its situation is such as the painter must look at +with feelings of admiration and delight. It has also its historical +legend to give it additional interest; and unfortunately +this legend, though quite in harmony with the lone and melancholy +features of the scene, is but too characteristic of the +unhappy social and political state of Ireland at the period to +which it relates—the most unfortunate period, as it may be +emphatically called, of Ireland’s history—that of the civil wars +in the middle of the seventeenth century. The principle, however, +which we propose to ourselves in the conducting of our +publication, will not permit us to give this legend a place in +its pages; it may be learned on the spot; and we have only +alluded to it here, in order to state that it is to the religious +veneration kept alive by this tradition that the yew tree of +Aughnanure owes its preservation from the fate which has +overtaken all its original companions.</p> + +<p>The Castle of Aughnanure, though greatly dilapidated by +time, and probably still more so by the great hurricane of +last year, is still in sufficient preservation to convey to those +who may examine its ruins a vivid impression of the domestic +habits and peculiar household economy of an old Irish chief +of nearly the highest rank. His house, a strong and lofty +tower, stands in an ample court-yard, surrounded by outworks +perforated with shot-holes, and only accessible through +its drawbridge gateway-tower. The river, which conveyed +his boats to the adjacent lake, and supplied his table with the +luxuries of trout and salmon, washes the rock on which its +walls are raised, and forms a little harbour within them. Cellars, +bake-houses, and houses for the accommodation of his +numerous followers, are also to be seen; and an appendage +not usually found in connection with such fortresses also appears, +namely, a spacious banqueting-hall for the revels of +peaceful times, the ample windows of which exhibit a style of +architecture of no small elegance of design and execution.</p> + +<p>We shall probably in some early number of our Journal +give a genealogical account of the noble family to whom this +castle belonged; but in the mean time it may be satisfactory +to the reader to give him an idea of the class of persons by +whom the chief was attended, and who occasionally required +accommodation in his mansion. They are thus enumerated +in an ancient manuscript preserved in the College Library:—O’Canavan, +his physician; Mac Gillegannan, chief of the +horse; O’Colgan, his standard-bearer; Mac Kinnon and +O’Mulavill, his brehons, or judges; the O’Duvans, his attendants +on ordinary visitings; Mac Gille-Kelly, his ollave in +genealogy and poetry; Mac Beolain, his keeper of the black +bell of St Patrick; O’Donnell, his master of revels; O’Kicherain +and O’Conlachtna, the keepers of his bees; O’Murgaile, +his chief steward, or collector of his revenues.</p> + +<p>The date of the erection of this castle is not exactly known, +though it was originally inscribed on a stone over its entrance +gateway, which existed in the last century. From the style +of its architecture, however, it may be assigned with sufficient +certainty to the middle of the sixteenth century, with the +exception, perhaps, of the banqueting-hall, which appears to +be of a somewhat later age.</p> + +<p>While the town of Galway was besieged in 1651 by the parliamentary +forces under the command of Sir Charles Coote, +the Castle of Aughnanure afforded protection to the Lord +Deputy the Marquess of Clanricarde, until the successes of his +adversaries forced him and many other nobles to seek safety +in the more distant wilds of Connemara. This event is thus +stated by the learned Roderick O’Flaherty in 1683:—</p> + +<p>“Anno 1651.—Among the many strange and rare vicissitudes +of our own present age, the Marquis of Clanricarde, +Lord Deputy of Ireland, the Earl of Castlehaven, and Earl +of Clancarty, driven out of the rest of Ireland, were entertained, +as they landed on the west shore of this lake for a +night’s lodging, under the mean roof of Mortough Boy Branhagh, +an honest farmer’s house, the same year wherein the +most potent monarch of Great Britain, our present sovereign, +bowed his imperial triple crown under the boughs of an oak +tree, where his life depended on the shade of the tree leaves.”</p> + +<p>There are several of the official letters of the Marquis preserved +in his Memoirs, dated from Aughnanure, and written +during the stormy period of which we have made mention.</p> + +<p>The Castle of Aughnanure has passed from the family to +whom it originally belonged; but the representative and the +chief of his name, Henry Parker O’Flaherty, Esq. of Lemonfield, +a descendant in the female line from the celebrated +Grania Waille, still possesses a good estate in its vicinity. P.</p> + +<hr class="w65" /> + +<h2><a name="THE_IRISH_IN_ENGLAND" id="THE_IRISH_IN_ENGLAND"></a>THE IRISH IN ENGLAND.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smaller">NO. 1.—THE WASHERWOMAN.</span></h2> + +<p class="center">BY MRS S. C. HALL.</p> + +<p>The only regular washerwomen extant in England at this +present moment, are natives of the Emerald Isle.</p> + +<p>We have—I pray you observe the distinction, gentle reader—laundresses +in abundance. But washerwomen!—all the +<i>washerwomen</i> are Irish.</p> + +<p>The Irish Washerwoman promises to wash the muslin curtains +as white as a hound’s tooth, and as sweet as “new mown +hay;” and she tells the truth. But when she promises to +“get them up” as clear as a kitten’s eyes, she tells a story. +In nine cases out of ten, the Irish Washerwoman mars her own +admirable washing by a carelessness in the “getting up.” +She makes her starch in a hurry, though it requires the most +patient blending, the most incessant stirring, the most constant +boiling, and the cleanest of all skillets; and she will not +understand the superiority of powder over stone blue, but +snatches the blue-bag (originally compounded from the +“heel” or “toe” of a stocking) out of the half-broken tea-cup, +where it lay companioning a lump of yellow soap since +last wash—squeezes it into the starch (which, <i>perhaps</i>, she +has been heedless enough to stir with a dirty spoon), and then +there is no possibility of clear curtains, clear point, clear any +thing.</p> + +<p>“Biddy, these curtains were as white as snow before you +starched them.”</p> + +<p>“Thrue for ye, ma’am dear.”</p> + +<p>“They are <i>blue</i> now, Biddy.”</p> + +<p>“Not all out.”</p> + +<p>“No, Biddy, not all over—only <i>here</i> and <i>there</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, lave off, ma’am, honey, will ye?—’tisn’t that I mane; +but there’s a hole worked in the blue-rag, bad luck to it, and +more blue nor is wanting gets out; and the weary’s in the +starch, it got lumpy.”</p> + +<p>“It could not have got ‘lumpy’ if it had been well +blended.”</p> + +<p>“It was blended like butther; but I just left off stirring +one minute to look at the soldiers.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Biddy, an English laundress would not ‘run after +the soldiers!’”</p> + +<p>Such an observation is sure to offend Biddy’s propriety, +and she goes off in a “huff,” muttering that if they didn’t go +“<i>look</i> afther them, they’d <i>skulk</i> afther them; it’s the London +Blacks does the mischief, and the mistress <i>ought</i> to know that +herself. English laundresses indeed! they haven’t power in +their elbow to wash white.”</p> + +<p>Biddy says all this, and more, for she is a stickler for the +honour of her country, and wonders that I should prefer <i>any</i> +thing English to <i>every</i> thing Irish. But the fact remains the +same.</p> + +<p>The actual labour necessary at the wash-tub is far better +performed by the Irish than the English; but the order, +neatness, and exactness required in “the getting up,” is +better accomplished by the English than the Irish. This is +perfectly consistent with the national character of both +countries.</p> + +<p>Biddy Mahony is without exception the most useful person +I know, and <i>she</i> knows it also; and yet it never makes her +presuming. It is not only as a washerwoman that her talent +shines forth: she gets through as much hard work as two +women, though, as she says herself, “the mistress always +finds fault with her <i>finishing touches</i>.” There she stands, a +fine-looking woman still, though not young; her large mouth +ever ready with its smile; her features expressive of shrewd +good humour; and her keen grey eyes alive and about, not +resting for a moment, and withal cunning, if not keen; the +borders of her cap are twice as deep as they need be, and +flap untidily about her face; she wears a coloured handkerchief +inside a dark blue spotted cotton gown, which wraps +loosely in front, where it is confined by the string of her +apron; her hands and wrists have a half-boiled appearance, +which it is painful to look at—not that she uses as much soda +as an English laundress, but she does not spare her personal +exertions, and rubs most unmercifully. One bitter frosty +day last winter, I saw Biddy standing near the laundry window, +stitching away with great industry.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing, Biddy?” “Oh, never heed me, +ma’am, honey.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Biddy, what a state your left wrist is in!—it is positively +bleeding; you have rubbed all the skin off.” “And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +ain’t I going to put a skin on it?” she said, smiling through +the tears which positive pain had drawn from her eyes, in +spite of her efforts to conceal them, and showing me a double +piece of wash leather which she was sewing together so +as to cover the torn flesh. Now, was not <i>that</i> heroism? +But Biddy <i>is</i> a heroine, without knowing it.</p> + +<p>And in common with many others of her sex and country, +her heroism is of that patient, self-denying character which +“passeth show.” She is uniformly patient—can bear an extraordinary +quantity of abuse and unkindness, and knows +quite well that to a certain degree she is in an enemy’s +country. Half the bad opinion of the “low Irish,” as they +are often insultingly termed, arises from old national prejudices; +the other half is created by themselves, for many of +them are provokingly uproarious, and altogether heedless of +the manners and opinions of those among whom they live. +This is not the case with Biddy; she has a great deal of what +we are apt to call “cunning” in the poor, but which we genteelly +denominate “tact” in the rich. While you imagine she +is only pulling out the strings of her apron, she is all eye, +ear, and understanding; she is watchful as a cat; and if she +indulges in an <i>aside</i> jest, which sometimes never finds words, +on the peculiarities of her employers, there is nothing very +atrocious in the fact. Poor Biddy’s betters do the same, and +term it “badinage.” It is not always that we judge the +poor and rich by the same law.</p> + +<p>With young servants the Irish Washerwoman is always a +favourite: she is cheerful, tosses a cup to read a fortune in +perfection, and not unfrequently, I am sorry to say, has half +of a dirty torn pack of cards in her pocket for the same purpose. +She sings at her work, and through the wreath of curling +steam that winds from the upraised skylight of the laundry, +comes some old time-honoured melody, that in an instant +brings the scenes and sounds of Ireland around us. She will +rend our hearts with the “Cruskeen laun,” or “Gramachree,” +and then strike into “Garryowen” or “St Patrick’s Day,” +with the ready transition of interest and feeling that belongs +only to her country.</p> + +<p>Old English servants regard the Irish Washerwoman with +suspicion; they think she does too much for the money, that +she gives “Missus” a bad habit; and yet they are ready +enough to put their own “clothes” into the month’s wash, and +expect Biddy to “pass them through the tub;” a favour she is +too wise to refuse.</p> + +<p>Happily for the <i>menage</i> of our English houses, the temptation +to thievery which must exist where, as in Dublin, servants +are allowed what is termed “breakfast money,” which +means that they are not to eat of their employers’ bread, but +“find themselves,” and which restriction, all who understand +human nature know is the greatest possible inducement to +picking and stealing; happily, I say, English servants have +no temptation to steal the <i>necessaries</i> of life; they are fed +and treated as human beings; and consequently there is not a +tithe of the extravagance, the waste, the pilfering, which is +to be met with in Irish kitchens.</p> + +<p>For all this I blame the system rather than the servant; +and it is quite odd how Biddy accommodates herself to every +modification of system in every house she goes to. The only +thing she cannot bear is to hear her country abused; even a +jest at its expense will send the blood mounting to her cheek; +and some years ago (for Biddy and I are old acquaintances) +I used to tease her most unmercifully on that head. There +is nothing elevates the Irish peasant so highly in my esteem +as his earnest love for his country when absent from it. Your +well-bred Irishman, in nine cases out of ten, looks disconcerted +when you allude to his country, and with either a +<i>brogue</i> or a <i>tone</i>, an oily, easy, musical swing of the voice, +which is never lost, begs to inquire “how you knew he was +Irish?” and has sometimes the audacity to remark, “that +people cannot help their misfortunes.”</p> + +<p>But the peasant-born have none of this painful affectation. +Hear Biddy when challenged as to her country: the questioner +is a lady.</p> + +<p>“Thrue for ye, madam, I am Irish, sure, and my people +before me, God be praised for it! I’d be long sorry to disgrace +my counthry, my lady. Fine men and women stays in +it and comes out of it, the more’s the pity—that last, I mane; +it’s well enough for the likes of me to lave it; I could do it no +good. But, as to the gentry, the <i>sod</i> keeps them, and <i>sure +they might keep on the sod</i>! Ye needn’t be afraid of me, my +lady; I scorn to disgrace my counthry; I’m not afraid of my +character, or work—it’s all I have to be proud of in the wide +world.”</p> + +<p>How much more respect does this beget in every right-thinking +mind, than the mean attempt to conceal a fact of +which we all, as well as poor Biddy, have a right to be proud! +The greatest hero in the world was unfortunate, but he was +not less a hero; the most highly favoured country in the +world has been in the same predicament, but it is not less a +great country.</p> + +<p>Biddy’s reply, however, to any one in an inferior grade of +society, is very different.</p> + +<p>“Is it Irish?—to be sure I am. Do ye think I’m going to +deny my counthry, God bless it! Throth and it’s myself that +is, and proud of that same. Irish! what else would I be, I +wonder?”</p> + +<p>Poor Biddy! her life has been one long-drawn scene of +incessant, almost heart-rending labour. From the time she was +eight years old, she earned her own bread; and any, ignorant +of the wild spirit-springing outbursts of glee, that might +almost be termed “the Irish epidemic,” would wonder how it +was that Biddy retained her habitual cheerfulness, to say +nothing of the hearty laughter she indulges in of an evening, +and the Irish jig she treats the servants to at the kitchen +Christmas merry-making.</p> + +<p>Last Christmas, indeed, Biddy was not so gay as usual. +Our pretty housemaid had for two or three years made it a +regular request that Biddy should put <i>her own</i> wedding ring +in the kitchen pudding—I do not know why, for Jessie never +had the luck to find it in her division. But so it was. A +merry night is Christmas eve in our cheerful English homes—The +cook puffed out with additional importance, weighing her +ingredients according to rule, for “a one-pound or two-pound +pudding;” surveying her larded turkey, and pronouncing +upon the relative merits of the sirloin which is to be +“roast for the parlour,” and “the ribs” that are destined +for the kitchen; although she has a great deal to do, like all +English cooks she is in a most sweet temper, because there +is a great deal to eat; and she exults over the “dozens” of +mince pies, the soup, the savoury fish, the huge bundles of +celery, and the rotund barrel of oysters, in a manner that +must be seen to be understood. The housemaid is equally +busy in <i>her</i> department. The groom smuggles in the mistletoe, +which the old butler slyly suspends from one of the bacon +hooks in the ceiling, and then kisses the cook beneath. The +green-grocer’s boy gets well rated for not bringing “red +berries on all the holly.” The evening is wound up with potations, +“pottle deep,” of ale and hot elderberry wine, and a +loud cheer echoes through the house when the clock strikes +twelve. Poor must the family be, who have not a few pounds +of meat, a few loaves of bread, and a few shillings, to distribute +amongst some old pensioners on Christmas eve.</p> + +<p>In our small household, Biddy has been a positive necessary +for many Christmas days, and as many Christmas eves. +She was never told to come—it was an understood thing. +Biddy rang the gate bell every twenty-fourth of December, +at six o’clock, and even the English cook returned her national +salutation of “God save all here,” with cordiality.</p> + +<p>Jessie, as I have said, is her great ally; I am sure she has +found her at least a score of husbands, <i>in the tea cups</i>, in as +many months.</p> + +<p>The morning of last Christmas eve, however, Biddy came +not. Six o’clock, seven o’clock, eight o’clock, and the maids +were not up.</p> + +<p>“How did they know the hour?—Biddy never rang.” The +house was in a state of commotion. The cook declaring, +bit by bit, “that she knew how it would <i>hend</i>!—it was +<i>halways</i> the way with them <i>Hirish</i>. Oh, dirty, ungrateful!—very +pretty! Who <i>was</i> to <i>eat</i> the copper, or boil +the <i>am</i>, or see after the <i>sallery</i>, or butter the tins, or <i>old</i> +the pudding cloth?”—while Jessie whimpered, “<i>or drop the +ring in the kitchen pudding</i>!”</p> + +<p>Instead of the clattering domestic bustle of old Christmas, +every one looked sulky, and, as usual when a household is +not astir in the early morning, every thing went wrong. I +got out of temper myself, and, resolved if possible never to +speak to a servant when angry, I put on my furs, and set +forth to see what had become of my poor industrious countrywoman.</p> + +<p>She lived at the corner of Gore Lane!—the St Giles’s of our +respectable parish of Kensington; and when I entered her +little room—which, by the way, though never orderly, was +always clean—Biddy, who had been sitting over the embers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +of the fire, instead of sending the beams of her countenance to +greet me, turned away, and burst into tears.</p> + +<p>This was unexpected, and the ire which had in some +degree arisen at the disappointment that had disturbed the +house, vanished altogether. I forgot to say that Biddy had +been happily relieved from the blight of a drunken husband +about six years ago, and laboured to support three little +children without ever having entertained the remotest idea +of sending them to the parish.</p> + +<p>She had “her families,” for whom she washed at their +own houses, and at over hours “took in” work at her small +cottage.</p> + +<p>To assist in this, and also from motives of charity, she +employed a young girl distinguished by the name of Louisa, +whom she preserved from worse than death. This creature +she found <i>starving</i>; and although she brought fever amongst +her children, and her preserver lost much employment in consequence, +Biddy “saw her through the sickness, and, by the +goodness of Almighty God, would be nothing the worse or +the poorer for having befriended a motherless child.”</p> + +<p>Those who bestow from the treasures of their abundance, +deserve praise; but those who, like the poor Irish Washerwoman, +bestow half of their daily bread, and suffer the +needy to shelter beneath their roof, deserve blessings.</p> + +<p>The cause of Biddy’s absence, and the cause of Biddy’s +tears, I will endeavour to repeat in her own words:—</p> + +<p>“I come home last night, as usual, more dead than alive, +until I got sitting down with the childre; for, having put two +or three potatoes, as usual, my lady, to heat, just on the bar, +I thought, tired as I was, I’d iron out the few small things +‘Loo’ had put in blue, particularly a clane cap and handkercher, +and the aprons for to-day, as yer honor likes to see +me nice; and the boy got a prize at school; for, let me do as +I would, I took care they should have the <i>edication</i> that makes +the poor rich. Well, I noticed that Loo’s hair was hanging +in ringlets down her face, and I says to her, ‘My honey,’ +I says, ‘if Annie was you, and she’s my own, I’d make her +put up her hair plain; the way her Majesty wears it is good +enough, I should think, for such as you, Louisa;’ and with that +she says, ‘It might do for Annie; but for her part, <i>her</i> mother +was a tradeswoman.’ Well, I bit my tongue to hinder +myself from hurting her feelings by telling her <i>what</i> her mother +was, <i>for the blush of shame is the only one that misbecomes +a woman’s cheek</i>.</p> + +<p>But I waited till our work was over, and, <i>picking her out +the two mealy potatoes</i>, and sharing, as I always did, my half +pint of beer with her, when I had it, I raisoned with her, as +I often did before; and looking to where my three sleeping +childre lay, little Jemmy’s cheek <i>blooming like a rose</i>, on his +prize book, which he took into bed with him, I called God to +witness, that though nature, like, would draw my heart more +to my own flesh and blood, yet I’d see to her as I would to +them.</p> + +<p>She made me no answer, but put the potatoes aside, and +said, ‘Mother, go to bed.’ I let her call me mother,” continued +Biddy, “it’s such a sweet sound, and hinders one, <i>when +one has it to call</i>, from feeling lonesome in the world; it’s the +shelter for many a breaking heart, and the home of many a +wild one; ould as I am, I miss my mother still! ‘Louisa,’ I +says, ‘I’ve heard my own childre their prayers—kneel down, +a’lanna, there, and get over them.’</p> + +<p>‘My throat’s so sore,’ she says, ‘I can’t say ’em out. +Don’t ye see I could not eat the potatoes?’ This was about half +past twelve, and I had spoke to the po-lis to give me a +call at five. But when I woke, the grey of the morning was +in the room with me; and knowing where I ought to have +been, I hustled on my things, and hearing a po-lis below the +window (we know them by the steady tramp they have, as if +they’d rather go slow than fast), I says, ‘If you plaise, what’s +the clock, and why didn’t you call me?’ ‘It’s half past +seven,’ he says; ‘and sure the girl, when she went out at +half past five, said you war up.’</p> + +<p>‘My God!—what girl?’ I says, turning all over like a +<i>corpse</i>; and then I missed my bonnet and shawl, and saw my +box empty; she had even taken the book from under the +child’s cheek. But that wasn’t all. I’d have forgiven her for +the loss of the clothes, and the tears she forced from the eyes of +my innocent child; I’d forgive her for making my heart grow +oulder in half an hour, than it had grown in its whole life +before; <i>but my wedding ring</i>, ma’am!—her head had often +this shoulder for its pillow, and I’d throw this arm over her, +so. Oh, ma’am darlint, could you believe it?—she stole my +wedding ring aff my hand—the hand that had saved and +slaved for her! The ring! oh, many’s the tear I’ve shed on +it; and many a time, when I’ve been next to starving, and it has +glittered in my eyes, I’ve been tempted to part with it, but +I couldn’t. It had grown thin, <i>like myself</i>, with the hardship +of the world; and yet when I’d look at it twisting on my poor +wrinkled finger, I’d think of the times gone by, of him who +had put it on, and <i>would</i> have kept his promise but for the +temptation of drink, and what it lades to; and those times, +when throuble would be crushing me into the earth, I’d think +of what I heard onct—that a ring was a thing like etarnity, +having no beginning nor end; and I’d turn it, and turn it, and +turn it! and find comfort in <i>believing</i> that the little penance +here was nothing in comparison to that without a +beginning or an end that we war to go to hereafter—it +might be in heaven, or it might (God save us!) be in +the other place; and,” said poor Biddy, “I drew a dale +of consolation from <i>that</i>, and <i>she</i> knew it—she, the sarpint, +that I shared my children’s food with—<i>she</i> knew it, and, +while I slept <i>the heavy sleep of hard labour</i>, she had the +heart to rob me!—to rob me of the only treasure (barring +the childre) I had in the world! I’m a great sinner; I can’t +say, God forgive her; nor I can’t work; and it’s put me apast +doing my duty; and Jessie, the craythur, laid ever so much +store by it, on account of the little innocent charrums; and, +altogether, it’s the sorest Christmas day that ever came to +me. Oh, sure, I wouldn’t have that girl’s heart in my breast +for a goolden crown—the ingratitude of her bates the world!”</p> + +<p>It really was a case of the most hardened ingratitude I +had ever known—the little wretch! to rob the only friend she +ever had, while sleeping in the very bed where she had been +tended, and tendered, and cared for, so unceasingly. “She +might take all I had in the world, if she had only left me +<i>that</i>” she repeated continually, while rocking herself backwards +and forwards over the fire, after the fashion of her +country; “the thrifle of money, the <i>rags</i>, and the child’s +book—all—and I’d have had a <i>clane breast</i>. I could forgive +her from my heart, but I can’t forgive her for taking my +ring—for taking my wedding ring!”</p> + +<p>This was not all. The girl was traced and captured; and +the same day Biddy was told she must go to Queen-square +to identify the prisoner.</p> + +<p>“Me,” she exclaimed, “who never was in the place of the +law before, what can I say but that she tuck it?”</p> + +<p>An Irish cause always creates a sensation in a police-office. +The magistrates smile at each other, the reporter cuts his +pencil and arranges his note-book, and the clerk covers the +lower part of his face with his hand, to conceal the expression +that plays around his mouth.</p> + +<p>Biddy’s curtsey—a genuine Irish dip—and her opening +speech, which she commenced by wishing their honours “a +merry Christmas and plenty of them, and that they might +have the power of doing good to the end of their days, and +never meet with ingratitude for that same,” was the only +absurdity connected with her deposition.</p> + +<p>When she saw the creature with whom her heart had +dwelt so long, in the custody of the police, she was completely +overcome, and intermingled her evidence with so many +entreaties that mercy should be shown the hardened delinquent, +that the magistrate was sensibly affected. Short as +was the time that had elapsed between Louisa’s elopement +and discovery, she had spent the money and pawned the +ring: and twenty hands at least were extended to the Irish +Washerwoman with money to redeem the pledge.</p> + +<p>Poor Biddy had never been so rich before in all her life; +but that did not console her for the sentence passed upon her +protegé, and it was a long time before she was restored to +her usual spirits. She flagged and pined; and when the +spring began to advance a little, and the sun to shine, her +misery became quite troublesome, her continual wail being +“for the poor sinful craythur who was shut up among stone +walls, and would be sure to come out worse than she went in!”</p> + +<p>The old cook lived to grow thoroughly ashamed of the +reproaches she cast on Biddy, and Jessie shows her off on all +occasions as a specimen of an Irish Washerwoman.</p> + +<hr class="w65" /> + +<p><span class="smcap"><a name="Quick_Senses_of_the_Arab" id="Quick_Senses_of_the_Arab"></a>Quick Senses of the Arab.</span>—Their eyesight is peculiarly +sharp and keen. Almost before I could on the horizon +discern more than a moving speck, my guides would detect a +stranger, and distinguish upon a little nearer approach, by +his garb and appearance, the tribe to which he belonged.—<i>Wellsted’s +City of the Caliphs.</i></p> + +<hr class="w65" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="THE_IRISH_IN_1644" id="THE_IRISH_IN_1644"></a>THE IRISH IN 1644:<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smaller">AS DESCRIBED BY A FRENCHMAN OF THAT PERIOD.</span></h2> + +<p>We are indebted to our talented countryman, Crofton +Croker, for the translation of the tour of a French traveller, +M. de la Boullaye Le Gouz, in Ireland in 1644. Its author +journeyed from Dublin to the principal cities and towns in +Ireland, and sketches what he saw in a very amusing manner. +The value of the publication, however, is greatly enhanced +by the interesting notes appended to it by Mr +Croker and some of his friends; and as the work is less +known in Ireland than it should be, we extract from it the +Frenchman’s sketch of the habits and customs of the Irish +people as they prevailed two centuries back, in the belief that +they will be acceptable to our readers.</p> + +<p>“Ireland, or Hibernia, has always been called the Island +of Saints, owing to the number of great men who have been +born there. The natives are known to the English under the +name of Iriche, to the French under that of Hibernois, which +they take from the Latin, or of Irois, from the English, or Irlandois +from the name of the island, because land signifies +ground. They call themselves Ayrenake, in their own language, +a tongue which you must learn by practice, because +they do not write it; they learn Latin in English characters, +with which characters they also write their own language; +and so I have seen a monk write, but in such a way as no one +but himself could read it.</p> + +<p>Saint Patrick was the apostle of this island, who according +to the natives blessed the land, and gave his malediction to all +venomous things; and it cannot be denied that the earth +and the timber of Ireland, being transported, will contain +neither serpents, worms, spiders, nor rats, as one sees in the +west of England and in Scotland, where all particular persons +have their trunks and the boards of their floors of Irish +wood; and in all Ireland there is not to be found a serpent +or toad.</p> + +<p>The Irish of the southern and eastern coasts follow the +customs of the English; those of the north, the Scotch. The +others are not very polished, and are called by the English +savages. The English colonists were of the English church, +and the Scotch were Calvinists, but at present they are all +Puritans. The native Irish are very good Catholics, though +knowing little of their religion; those of the Hebrides and of +the North acknowledge only Jesus and St Colombe [<i>Columkill</i>], +but their faith is great in the church of Rome. Before the +English revolution, when an Irish gentleman died, his Britannic +majesty became seised of the property and tutellage of +the children of the deceased, whom they usually brought up +in the English Protestant religion. Lord Insequin [<i>Inchiquin</i>] +was educated in this manner, to whom the Irish have +given the name of plague or pest of his country.</p> + +<p>The Irish gentlemen eat a great deal of meat and butter, +and but little bread. They drink milk, and beer, into which +they put laurel leaves, and eat bread baked in the English +manner. The poor grind barley and peas between two +stones, and make it into bread, which they cook upon a small +iron table heated on a tripod; they put into it some oats, and +this bread, which in the form of cakes they call haraan, they +eat with great draughts of buttermilk. Their beer is very +good, and the eau de vie, which they call brandovin [<i>brandy</i>] +excellent. The butter, the beef, and the mutton, are better +than in England.</p> + +<p>The towns are built in the English fashion, but the houses +in the country are in this manner:—Two stakes are fixed in +the ground, across which is a transverse pole to support two +rows of rafters on the two sides, which are covered with +leaves and straw. The cabins are of another fashion. There +are four walls the height of a man, supporting rafters over +which they thatch with straw and leaves. They are without +chimneys, and make the fire in the middle of the hut, which +greatly incommodes those who are not fond of smoke. The +castles or houses of the nobility consist of four walls extremely +high, thatched with straw; but, to tell the truth, they +are nothing but square towers without windows, or at least +having such small apertures as to give no more light than +there is in a prison. They have little furniture, and cover +their rooms with rushes, of which they make their beds in +summer, and of straw in winter. They put the rushes a foot +deep on their floors, and on their windows, and many of them +ornament the ceilings with branches.</p> + +<p>They are fond of the harp, on which nearly all play, as +the English do on the fiddle, the French on the lute, the Italians +on the guitar, the Spaniards on the castanets, the +Scotch on the bagpipe, the Swiss on the fife, the Germans on +the trumpet, the Dutch on the tambourine, and the Turks +on the flageolet.</p> + +<p>The Irish carry a scquine [<i>skein</i>] or Turkish dagger, which +they dart very adroitly at fifteen paces distance; and have this +advantage, that if they remain masters of the field of battle, +there remains no enemy; and if they are routed, they fly in +such a manner that it is impossible to catch them. I have +seen an Irishman with ease accomplish twenty-five leagues a +day. They march to battle with the bagpipes instead of fifes; +but they have few drums, and they use the musket and cannon +as we do. They are better soldiers abroad than at home.</p> + +<p>The red-haired are considered the most handsome in Ireland. +The women have hanging breasts; and those who are +freckled, like a trout, are esteemed the most beautiful.</p> + +<p>The trade of Ireland consists in salmon and herrings, +which they take in great numbers. You have one hundred +and twenty herrings for an English penny, equal to a carolus +of France, in the fishing time. They import wine and salt +from France, and sell there strong frize cloths at good prices.</p> + +<p>The Irish are fond of strangers, and it costs little to travel +amongst them. When a traveller of good address enters +their houses with assurance, he has but to draw a box of +sinisine, or snuff, and offer it to them; then these people receive +him with admiration, and give him the best they have +to eat. They love the Spaniards as their brothers, the French +as their friends, the Italians as their allies, the Germans as +their relatives, the English and Scotch as their irreconcileable +enemies. I was surrounded on my journey from Kilkinik +[<i>Kilkenny</i>] to Cachel [<i>Cashel</i>] by a detachment of twenty +Irish soldiers; and when they learned I was a Frankard (it is +thus they call us), they did not molest me in the least, but +made me offers of service, seeing that I was neither Sazanach +[<i>Saxon</i>] nor English.</p> + +<p>The Irish, whom the English call savages, have for their +head-dress a little blue bonnet, raised two fingers-breadth in +front, and behind covering their head and ears. Their +doublet has a long body and four skirts; and their breeches +are a pantaloon of white frize, which they call trousers. Their +shoes, which are pointed, they call brogues, with a single +sole. They often told me of a proverb in English, ‘Airische +brogues for Englich dogues’ [<i>Irish brogues for English dogs</i>] +‘the shoes of Ireland for the dogs of England,’ meaning +that their shoes are worth more than the English.</p> + +<p>For cloaks they have five or six yards of frize drawn round +the neck, the body, and over the head, and they never quit +this mantle, either in sleeping, working, or eating. The generality +of them have no shirts, and about as many lice as +hairs on their heads, which they kill before each other without +any ceremony.</p> + +<p>The northern Irish have for their only dress a breeches, and +a covering for the back, without bonnets, shoes, or stockings. +The women of the north have a double rug, girded round +their middle and fastened to the throat. Those bordering +on Scotland have not more clothing. The girls of Ireland, +even those living in towns, have for their head-dress only +a ribbon, and if married, they have a napkin on the head in +the manner of the Egyptians. The body of their gowns +comes only to their breasts, and when they are engaged in +work, they gird their petticoat with their sash about the abdomen. +They wear a hat and mantle very large, of a brown +colour [<i>couleur minime</i>] of which the cape is of coarse woollen +frize, in the fashion of the women of Lower Normandy.”</p> + +<hr class="w65" /> + +<h2><a name="BARBARITY_OF_THE_LAW_IN_IRELAND_A_CENTURY_AGO" id="BARBARITY_OF_THE_LAW_IN_IRELAND_A_CENTURY_AGO"></a>BARBARITY OF THE LAW IN IRELAND A CENTURY AGO.</h2> + +<p>“Last week, at the assizes of Kilkenny, a fellow who was to +be tried for robbery, not pleading, a jury was appointed to +try whether he was wilfully mute, or by the hands of God; +and they giving a verdict that he was wilfully mute, he was +condemned to be pressed to death. He accordingly suffered +on Wednesday, pursuant to his sentence, which was as follows:—That +the criminal shall be confined in some low dark +room, where he shall be laid on his back, with no covering +except round his loins, and shall have as much weight laid, +upon him as he can bear, <i>and more</i>; that he shall have no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>thing +to live upon but the worst bread and water; and the +day that he eats he shall not drink, nor the day that he +drinks he shall not eat; and so shall continue till he dies.”—<i>Reilly’s +Dublin News Letter, August 9, 1740.</i></p> + +<hr class="w65" /> + +<h2><a name="WHIPS_FOR_A_PENNY" id="WHIPS_FOR_A_PENNY"></a>WHIPS FOR A PENNY.</h2> + +<p class="center">BY MARTIN DOYLE.</p> + +<p>“Whips for a Penny!” This cry attracted my attention; +I looked about, and saw a stout young man with a bundle of +children’s whips under his arm, standing on a flagway in Ludgate-street, +in the centre of a group of little boys, who if not +wealthy enough to buy from his stock, were at least unanimously +disposed to do so. The whips, considering the price, +were very neatly made, and cracked melodiously, as the man +took frequent opportunities of proving, for the cadences of +his almost continuously repeated cry “Whips for a penny, +whips for a penny!” were emphatically marked by a time-keeping +“crack, crack,” to the delight of the juvenile auditors.</p> + +<p>Curious to ascertain if this person would meet such a demand +for these Lilliputian whips as would afford him the +means of living with reasonable comfort, I watched his movements +for nearly an hour, during which period he disposed of +five or six of them. One of the purchasers was a good-natured +looking woman, with a male child about two years old, +to whom she presented the admired object. The infant, with +instinctive perception of its proper use, grasped the handle +with his tiny fingers, and promptly commenced a smart but +not very effective course of flagellation on the bosom from +which he had derived his earlier aliment, to the infinite delight +of the doting mother. A fine boy, strutting about in +frock and trousers, was next introduced by his nurse to the +vender of thongs, and the first application of his lash was +made to an unfortunate little dog which had been separated +from his owner, and was at this time roaming about in solicitude +and terror, and probably with an empty stomach, when +Master Jack added a fresh pang to his miseries.</p> + +<p>A hardier customer came next, and flourished his whip the +moment he bought it, at some weary and frightened lambs +which a butcher’s boy was urging forward through every +obstacle, with a bludgeon, towards their slaughter-house. A +half-starved kitten, which had ventured within the threshold +of a shop, where in piteous posture it seemed to crave protection +and a drop of milk, caught the quick eye of a fourth +urchin, just as he had untwisted his lash, and was immediately +started from its momentary place of refuge by the pursuing +imp. A fifth came up, a big, knowing-looking chap, about +twelve years old, who, after a slight and contemptuous examination +of them, loudly remarked to their owner, “Vy, these +ere vhips a’n’t no good to urt no vun—I’m blowed hif they his.” +You young tyrant! thought I to myself. I was moving off in +disgust, when a benevolent-looking gentleman came up and +was about to buy one for the happy, open-countenanced boy, +who called him uncle, when I took the liberty of putting +one of my forefingers to my nose, as the most ready but quiet +method of indicating my desire to prevent the completion +of his purpose. The gentleman took my hint at once, supposing +in all probability that there was some mystery in +the matter—perhaps that I wished to save him from the awkward +consequences of purchasing stolen goods, and walked +away. I followed him, and overtaking him, touched the rim +of my beaver, as nearly as I could imitate the London mode, +and at once said, “My dear sir, excuse me for obtruding my +advice upon you, but as <i>you</i> have the organ of benevolence +strongly developed, and your little nephew has already indication +of its future prominence, if duly exercised, I thought +it better that you should not put a whip into his hands, lest +his better feelings should be counter-influenced. Look there,” +continued I, as we reached the steep part of Holborn-hill, +“see that pair of miserable horses endeavouring to keep their +footing on the steep and slippery pavement; hear the constant +reverberations of the driver’s whip, which he applies so +unmercifully to keep them from falling, by the most forced +and unnatural efforts; see them straining every muscle to +drag along their burden, while they pant from pain, terror, +and exhaustion; look at the frequent welts on their poor +skins. Depend upon it, the fellow who drives had a penny +whip for his first plaything!” The gentleman looked rather +earnestly at me. “You are right, sir,” said he; “early initiation +in the modes of cruelty”——“Precisely,” said I. +“The boy-child is taught to terrify any animal that comes +within his reach, as soon as he is able to do so; his parents, +sponsors, nurses, friends, are severally disposed to give him +for his first present a toy whip, and he soon acquires dexterity +in using it. Man, naturally overbearing and cruel, is +rendered infinitely more so by education. He first flogs his +wooden horse (the little boy pricked up his ears, and I hope +will retain the impression of what passed) and then his living +pony or donkey, as the case may be; he whips every thing +that crosses his way; and even at the little birds, which are +happily beyond the reach of his lash, he flings stones, or he +robs them of their young, for the mere satisfaction of rendering +them miserable.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, sir,” said the gentleman, “and he becomes a sportsman +in course of time, and flogs his pointers, setters, and +hounds, for pursuing their instincts—he becomes their tyrant. +He goes to one of our universities, perhaps, and drives gigs, +tandems, and even stage-coaches, without knowing how to +handle the reins; he blunders, turns corners too sharply, pulls +the wrong rein, diverts the well-trained horses from their +proper course, which they would have critically pursued but +for his interference, nearly oversets the vehicle by his awkwardness, +and then, as if to persuade the lookers on that the +fault was not his, he belabours the poor brutes to the utmost +of his power; or it may be, lays on the thong merely for practice +until he is proficient enough to apply it <i>knowingly</i>. Are +the horses tired,” continued he, “worn out in service?—he +flogs to keep them alive, and makes a boast of his ingenuity in +forcing a jaded set to their journey’s end, by establishing a +‘raw,’ and torturing them there.”</p> + +<p>“Depend upon it,” said I, “such a chap had ‘whips for a +penny’ when he was a child.” “Quite so,” said my companion; +“you have put this matter before me in a new point of view.” +Here we were startled by the familiar sound of the coach whip, +and saw a stage-driver flogging in the severest style four +heated, panting, and overpowered horses, coming in with a +heavily laden coach; the lash was perpetually laid on; even +the keenest at the draught were flogged, that they might pull +on the rest, and the less powerful were flogged to keep up with +them. The coachman, no doubt, when a child, had his share +of ‘whips for a penny.’ When he grew up and entered upon +his vocation, he perhaps at first compassionated the horses +which he was obliged to force to their stages in a given time; +he might have had his favourites among them too, and yet +often and severely tested their powers of speed or endurance; +and at length, as they became diseased and stiff in the limbs, +and broken-winded from overwork, he may have satisfied himself +with the reflection, that the fault was not his, that his +employer ought to have given him a better team, and that it +was a shame for him to ask any coachman to drive such “rum +uns.” Habit renders him callous; he does not now <i>feel</i> for the +sufferings of the wretched animals he guides and punishes; +nay, he often coolly takes from the boot-box the short handled +<i>Tommy</i>, which is merely the well-grown and severer whip of +the species which his employer and himself had used in childhood, +when they both bought “whips for a penny,” and lays it +as heavily as his vigorous arm empowers him, on one of the +worn-out wheelers, which unhappily for themselves are within +range of its infliction. The hackney-coachmen and cabmen, +too,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Though oft I’ve heard good judges say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It costs them more for whips than hay,”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>are not much worse than their more consequential brethren +of the whip; all of them consider the noble creature, subjugated +by their power, and abused most criminally through +their cruelty, as a mere piece of machinery, to be flogged +along like a top as long as it can be kept going.</p> + +<p>We reached the upper end of one of the numerous lanes +leading from the Thames; five splendid horses were endeavouring +to draw up a heavy waggon-load of coals; but as the +two first turned into the street at right angles to the others, +they were not aiding those behind them. Being stopped in their +progress for some time, by a crowd of coaches, chaises, cabs, +carts, and omnibuses, the labour of keeping the waggon on +the spot it had already attained, and which was steep and +slippery, rested upon the three hinder horses. At length the +team was put in motion, all the leading ones being useless in +succession as they turned to the angle of the street; and just +at the critical point, when the whole enormous draught rested +on the shaft horse, the waggoner, taxing its strength beyond +its capability, struck it with the whip. The noble brute made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +one desperate plunge to execute his tyrant’s will, and fell—dead +upon the pavement. “I think,” said my companion, +“that we have had a good lesson upon whips to-day; I should +prefer any other gift for my little boy here; for though it may +be urged that he, like the rest of his sex at the same age, +would merely make a noise with a whip, and would inflict no +serious pain, I am bound to bear in mind the actual fact, that +with the very sound of a whip is associated in the imagination +of all domesticated animals, the apprehension of pain; that +they are <i>terrorized</i> when they hear that sound, even through +a child’s hand, and I must therefore conclude that this symbol +of cruelty should not be his plaything.” I agreed with him +fully, and as our business lay in different directions, we parted +at Blackfriar’s Bridge, not, however, until my companion of +the hour had handed me his card of address. This was an +act of unexpected compliment which I could not return exactly +in the same way; I told him that I had never written my name +on a visiting card in my life, but that I was Martin Doyle, +at his service, and a contributor to the new <i>Irish Penny Journal</i>, +just started in Dublin. “Is not Dublin,” said he, +“in Ireland?” I stared. “I believe,” added he, “that Ireland +is a pretty place.” I wished the geographical gentleman +a rather hasty farewell.</p> + +<p>As I walked on, I pondered on the many other instances in +which the whip is an instrument of terror or tyranny. First, +I thought of the Russian bride meekly offering a horsewhip +to her lord, as the token of her submission to the infliction of +his blows, whenever it might suit his temper to bestow such +proofs of tenderness upon her, and of the perpetual system of +flagellation, which, as we are told by travellers, is exercised +in the dominions of the great autocrat upon wives, children, +servants, and cattle. I thought of French postilions—flagellators +of the first order, at least as far as “cracking” without +intermission testifies; and, finally, of the British horse-racer.</p> + +<p>Horses high in mettle, ardent in the course, without a stimulus +of any kind, struggle neck and neck for victory; they +approach the winning post; one jockey flogs more powerfully +than his compeers; the agonized horse, in his fearful +efforts, is lifted as it were from the ground, by two or three +desperate twinings (the stabbing at the sides is but a variety +of the torture) of the cutting whalebone round his flanks; and +at the critical instant, making a bound, as it were, to escape +from his half-flayed skin, throws his head forward in his +effort, half a yard beyond that of his rival, who has had his +share of torture too, and is declared the winner—of what?—a +gold-handled prize-whip, which is borne away in triumph +by the owner of the winning horse! To be sure, he pockets +some of that which is so truly designated “the root of all evil;” +but the acquisition of the whip is the distinguishing honour.</p> + +<p>And how does this whip in reality differ from any of the +“whips for a penny?” It is of pure gold and whalebone; the +others are but of painted stick and the cheapest leather; yet +they are both but <i>playthings</i>—the one in the hand of a man who +has spent, it may be, half his patrimony, and as much of his time +in the endeavour to win it, while he attaches no real or intrinsic +value to it afterwards; the other in the hand of the child, +to whom it appears a real and substantial prize. The jockey-man +is not a whit more rational in this respect than the boy +who bestrides his hobby-horse, and flourishes his penny whip.</p> + +<p>Then succeeded to my imagination a far more brutal scene, +the steeple-chase. A horse is overpowered in a deep and +heavy fallow; he is flogged to press him through it; he reaches +a break-neck wall; a desperate cut of the whip sends him +flying over it; again and again he puts forth his strength +and speed, and falls, and rises again at the instigation of the +whip. He comes to a brook; it is too wide for his failing +powers, and there is a rotten and precipitous bank at the +other side; he shudders, and recoils a moment, but a tremendous +lash, worse than the dread of drowning, and the goading +of the spur, force him in desperation to the leap; his hind +feet give way at the landing side; he falls backward; his spine +is broken, and at length a pistol bullet ends his miseries.</p> + +<p>In a word, the donation of “whips for a penny” to any +child, fairly starts him on the first stage of cruelty; and if, from +peculiarity of temperament or the restraining influence of the +beneficent Creator (who, though he has allowed man to have +dominion, and has put under his feet all sheep and oxen, yea, +and the beasts of the field, has withheld from him the authority +to abuse his privilege), the child grows into the man who +is merciful to his beast, the merit is not due to the injudicious +person who first presents him with his mimic whip in +infancy.</p> + +<hr class="w65" /> + +<h2><a name="THE_WORLDS_CHANGES" id="THE_WORLDS_CHANGES"></a>THE WORLD’S CHANGES.</h2> + +<p class="center">“Contarini Fleming wrote merely, <span class="smcap">Time</span>.”—</p> + +<p class="margr20"><i>D’Israeli the Younger.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Solemn Shadow that bears in his hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The conquering Scythe and the Glass of Sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Paused once on his flight where the sunrise shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On a warlike city’s towers of stone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he asked of a panoplied soldier near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“How long has this fortressed city been here?”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the man looked up, Man’s pride on his brow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“The city stands here from the ages of old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as it was then, and as it is now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So will it endure till the funeral knell<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of the world be knolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As Eternity’s annals shall tell.”<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">And after a thousand years were o’er,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">The Shadow paused over the spot once more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And vestige was none of a city there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lakes lay blue, and plains lay bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the marshalled corn stood high and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a Shepherd piped of love in a vale.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“How!” spake the Shadow, “can temple and tower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus fleet, like mist, from the morning hour?”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the Shepherd shook the long locks from his brow—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">“The world is filled with sheep and corn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus was it of old, thus is it now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus, too, will it be while moon and sun<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rule night and morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For Nature and Life are one.”<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">And after a thousand years were o’er,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">The Shadow paused over the spot once more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And lo! in the room of the meadow-lands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sea foamed far over saffron sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flashed in the noontide bright and dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a fisher was casting his nets from a bark;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How marvelled the Shadow! “Where then is the plain?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where be the acres of golden grain?”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the fisher dashed off the salt spray from his brow—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">“The waters begirdle the earth alway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sea ever rolled as it rolleth now:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What babblest thou about grain and fields?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By night and day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Man looks for what Ocean yields.”<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">And after a thousand years were o’er,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">The Shadow paused over the spot once more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the ruddy rays of the eventide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were gilding the skirts of a forest wide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moss of the trees looked old, so old!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And valley and hill, the ancient mould<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was robed in sward, an evergreen cloak;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a woodman sang as he felled an oak.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him asked the Shadow—“Rememberest thou<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Any trace of a Sea where wave those trees?”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the woodman laughed: Said he, “I trow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If oaks and pines do flourish and fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">It is not amid seas;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The earth is one forest all.”<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">And after a thousand years were o’er,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">The Shadow paused over the spot once more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And what saw the Shadow? A city agen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But peopled by pale mechanical men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With workhouses filled, and prisons, and marts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And faces that spake exanimate hearts.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange picture and sad! was the Shadow’s thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, turning to one of the Ghastly, he sought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a clue in words to the When and the How<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the ominous Change he now beheld;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the man uplifted his care-worn brow—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">“Change? What was Life ever but Conflict and Change?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From the ages of eld<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath affliction been widening its range.”<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Enough! said the Shadow, and passed from the spot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At last it is vanished, the beautiful youth<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of the earth, to return with no To-morrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All changes have checquered Mortality’s lot;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But this is the darkest—for Knowledge and Truth<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Are but golden gates to the Temple of Sorrow! M.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="w65" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="ANCIENT_MUSIC_OF_IRELAND" id="ANCIENT_MUSIC_OF_IRELAND"></a>ANCIENT MUSIC OF IRELAND.</h2> + +<p>A great and truly national work—the Ancient Music of Ireland—collected +and arranged for the piano-forte by Edward +Bunting, has just issued from the Dublin press; and whether +we consider its intrinsic merits, the beauty of its typography +and binding, or the liberal and enterprising spirit of +its publishers, they are all equally deserving of the highest +approbation. This is indeed a work of which Ireland may +feel truly proud, for, though in every respect Irish, we believe +nothing equal to it in its way has hitherto appeared in +the British empire, and we trust that all the parties concerned +in its production will receive the rewards to which +they are so justly entitled. To all lovers of national melody +this work will give the most intense pleasure; while by those +who think there is no melody so sweet and touching as that +of Ireland, it will be welcomed with feelings of delight which +no words could adequately express. It is a work which assuredly +will never die. To its venerable Editor, Ireland owes +a deep feeling of gratitude, as the zealous and enthusiastic +collector and preserver of her music in all its characteristic +beauty; for though our national poet, Moore, has contributed +by the peculiar charm of his verses to extend the fame +of our music over the civilised world, it should never be forgotten +that it is to Bunting that is due the merit of having +originally rescued from obscurity those touching strains of +melody, the effect of which, even upon the hearts of those +most indifferent to Irish interests generally, Moore has so +feelingly depicted in his well-known lines:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The stranger shall hear thy lament on his plains;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sighs of thy harp shall be sent o’er the deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till thy masters themselves, as they rivet thy chains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall pause at the song of their captive, and weep.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The merits of this work are, however, of a vastly higher +order than those of either of the former collections which +Mr Bunting gave to the world; for, while the melodies are +of equal beauty, they are arranged with such exquisite musical +feeling and skill as to enhance that beauty greatly; and +we do not hesitate to express our conviction that there is not +any musician living who could have harmonized them with +greater judgment or feeling. This volume contains above +one hundred and sixty melodies, and of these only a few +have been previously made known to the public. It also +contains an interesting preface, and a most valuable dissertation +on the ancient music of Ireland, in which its characteristic +peculiarities are admirably analysed; and on the method +of playing the Harp; the Musical Vocabulary of the old +Irish Harpers; a Treatise on the Antiquity of the Harp and +Bagpipe in Ireland by Samuel Ferguson, Esq., M.R.I.A., +full of curious antiquarian lore, and in which is comprised an +account of the various efforts made to revive the Irish Harp; +a dissertation by Mr Petrie on the true age of the Harp, +popularly called the Harp of Brian Boru; and, lastly, anecdotes +of the most distinguished Irish Harpers of the last two +centuries, collected by the Editor himself. To these are +added, Remarks on the Antiquity and Authors of the Tunes +when ascertained, with copious indices, giving their original +Irish names, as well as the names and localities of the persons +from whom they were obtained. The work is illustrated +with numerous wood-cuts, as well as with copperplate engravings +of the ancient Irish Harp above alluded to. This +slight notice will, it is hoped, give our readers for the present +some idea of the value and importance of this delightful +work; but we shall return to it again and again, for we consider +it is no less than our duty to make its merits familiar +to our readers, as our music is a treasure of which all classes +of our countrymen should feel equally proud, and in the honour +of extending the celebrity of which they should all feel +equally desirous to participate. P.</p> + +<hr class="w65" /> + +<h2><a name="SIMPLICITY_OF_CHARACTER" id="SIMPLICITY_OF_CHARACTER"></a>SIMPLICITY OF CHARACTER.</h2> + +<p>Dr Barrett having on a certain occasion detected a student +walking in the Fellows’ Garden, Trinity College, Dublin, +asked him how he had obtained admission. “I jumped over +the library, sir,” said the student. “D’ye see me now, sir?—you +are telling me an infernal lie, sir!” exclaimed the Vice-Provost. +“Lie, sir!” echoed the student; “I’ll do it +again!” and forthwith proceeded to button his coat, in apparent +preparation for the feat; when the worthy doctor, seizing +his arm, prevented him, exclaiming with horror, “Stop, +stop—you’ll break your bones if you attempt it!”</p> + +<hr class="w65" /> + +<h2><a name="TO_OUR_READERS" id="TO_OUR_READERS"></a>TO OUR READERS.</h2> + +<p>The want of a cheap literary publication for the great body +of the people of this country, suited to their tastes and habits, +combining instruction with amusement, avoiding the exciting and +profitless discussion of political or polemical questions, and +placed within the reach of their humble means, has long been +matter of regret to those reflecting and benevolent minds who +are anxious for the advancement and civilization of Ireland—and +the reflection has been rather a humiliating one, that while +England and Scotland abound with such cheap publications—for +in London alone there are upwards of twenty weekly periodicals +sold at one penny each—Ireland, with a population so extensive, +and so strongly characterised by a thirst for knowledge, +has not even one work of this class. It is impossible to believe +that such an anomaly can have originated in any other +cause than the want of spirit and enterprise on the part of those +who ought to have the patriotism to endeavour to enlighten their +countrymen, and thereby elevate their condition, even although +the effort should be attended with risk, and trouble to themselves.</p> + +<p>It may be objected that some of the cheap publications already +and for some years in existence, though in all respects fitted for +the introduction of the people, and enjoying such an extensive +circulation in the Sister Island as they justly deserve, have never +obtained that proportionate share of popularity here which +would indicate a conviction of their usefulness or excellence +on the part of the Irish people. But the obvious reply to this +objection is, that, undeniable as the merits of many of these publications +must be allowed to be, none of them were adapted to +the intellectual wants of a people, distinguished, as the Irish are, +by strong peculiarities of mind and temperament, as well as by +marked national predilections—and who, being more circumscribed +in their means than the inhabitants of the Sister Countries, +necessarily required a stimulus more powerful to excite +them. A work of a more amusing character, and more essentially +Irish, was therefore necessary; and such a work it is now +intended to offer to the Public.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Irish Penny Journal</span> will be in a great degree devoted +to subjects connected with the history, literature, antiquities, +and general condition of Ireland, but it will not be devoted +to such subjects exclusively; it will contain, in a fair proportion, +articles on home and foreign manufactures, information on the +arts and sciences, and useful knowledge generally.</p> + +<p>All subjects tending in the remotest degree to irritate or offend +political or religious feelings will be rigidly abstained from, and +every endeavour will be made to diffuse Sentiments of benevolence +and mutual good-will through all classes of the community.</p> + +<p>The matter will also be, to a considerable extent, original—and +to render it so, contributions will, be obtained from a great +number of the most eminent literary and scientific writers of +whom Ireland can boast.</p> + +<p>A publication thus conducted, and, as may be confidently anticipated, +displaying merits of a very superior order, while it will +effect its primary object of conveying instruction to the people +generally, will at the same time, it is hoped, be found not undeserving +of the support of the higher and more educated +classes, while to the inhabitants of Great Britain it will be +found extremely interesting, as embodying a large amount of information +respecting Ireland, and the manners of her people as +they really exist, and not as they have been hitherto too frequently +misrepresented and caricatured.</p> + +<p>To give to such a work a reasonable prospect of success, it is +indeed essential that it should be patronised by all classes; and +an appeal is therefore confidently made to the high-minded and +patriotic people of Ireland in its behalf, as without a very extensive +circulation it could not be given at so low a price as +would bring it within the reach of the poorer classes of the +country, whose limited means would preclude the possibility of +purchasing a dearer publication.</p> + +<p>On their own parts, the Proprietors of the <span class="smcap">Irish Penny +Journal</span> have only to observe, that no efforts shall be spared +to render their Work deserving of general support; and that +as their expectations of immediate success are not extravagant, +they will not be deterred, by temporary discouragements in the +commencement of their undertaking, from persevering in their +exertions to establish, upon a firm basis of popularity, a publication +of such merit in itself, and so essential, as they conceive, to +the improvement and advantage of the people of Ireland.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Irish Penny Journal</span> will be published every Saturday +morning at the Office of the <span class="smcap">General Advertiser</span>, Church-lane, +College-green. It will be printed upon fine paper and +each Number will be embellished with at least one wood-cut +Illustration of high character as a work of art; and in point of +quality as well as quantity of letter-press, it will be inferior to +no Publication of the kind that has hitherto appeared.</p> + +<hr class="w65" /> + +<p>Printed and Published every Saturday by <span class="smcap">Gunn and Cameron</span>, at the Office +of the General Advertiser, 6 Church Lane, College Green, Dublin.</p> + +<hr class="w65" /> + +<div class="bbox"> + +<h2><a name="TRANSCRIBERS_NOTES" id="TRANSCRIBERS_NOTES"></a>TRANSCRIBERS’ NOTES</h2> + +<p>General: Corrections to punctuation have not been individually noted.</p> + +<p>Page 2: skillits corrected to skillets after “and the cleanest of all”</p> + +<p>Page 3: eqally corrected to equally after “The housemaid is”</p> + +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Irish Penny Journal, No. 1, Vol. +1, July 4, 1840, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IRISH PENNY JOURNAL, JULY 4, 1840 *** + +***** This file should be named 38817-h.htm or 38817-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/8/1/38817/ + +Produced by Brownfox and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team at https://www.pgdp.net ((This file was produced from +images generously made available by JSTOR +http://www.jstor.org/stable/i30000991)) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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