The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 17, October 24, 1840

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Title: The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 17, October 24, 1840

Author: Various

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Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL, VOL. 1 NO. 17, OCTOBER 24, 1840 ***

THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

NUMBER 17.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 24, 1840.

VOLUME I.

NEW BRIDGE, COUNTY OF KILDARE.

It is a curious circumstance, that while among the most humble and illiterate, as well as among the high and educated classes of society in Ireland, a certain degree of interest and respect is usually felt for the ecclesiastical and military remains of past ages, those of a purely useful character, as ancient bridges for example, excite no corresponding sentiments, and are destroyed without causing the slightest feeling of regret in the minds of any portion of society. Strange, however, as this may appear, the fact is undeniable, as the recent destruction of Thomond Bridge at Limerick, and the intended destruction of other ancient bridges on that noble river and elsewhere, sufficiently testify; and in a few years more there will, in all probability, scarcely remain in the country a single example of monuments of this class. Yet it cannot be said that such memorials of the progress of civilization in past ages are without their hallowing associations, or that their moss-stained and ivy-mantled arches are less pleasing to the lover of the picturesque than those of the ruined castle, church, or abbey. Who that has ever seen the ancient bridge of Limerick, with its fifteen arches, exhibiting every variety of form, its horizontal line contrasting so admirably with the upright forms of the adjacent objects, and calling up in the mind recollections of the finest landscapes of Claude—who, we say, that has enjoyed this pleasure of a refined taste, but will hear testimony to the truth of our assertion, and regret the circumstances which have given birth to it? Who, in like manner, that has ever seen the ancient bridge which forms the embellishment of our present number, but would deeply lament its destruction? Yet such was the fate to which it was doomed, but a few years since, by a county grand jury, and from which it only escaped through the influence of the worthy proprietor of St Woolstan’s, Richard Cane, Esq., who, in a spirit equally honourable to his taste and his nationality, declared that sooner than permit so interesting a monument of antiquity to be destroyed, he would build a new bridge at his own expense. Alas! that we have not amongst us a greater number of gentlemen of his taste, wealth, and spirit!

Despite of its contradictory name, New Bridge is the oldest bridge now remaining on the beautiful Liffey, and, with the exception of the ancient Bridge of Dublin, which was taken down and rebuilt some years since, is probably the first bridge of stone ever erected on it. From Pembridge’s Annals, as published by the Father of British antiquaries, William Camden, we learn that this bridge was erected in the year 1308, by John le Decer, the Mayor of Dublin in that year, at his own expense. So that by a curious and not uninteresting coincidence, it owes its erection to one worthy and patriotic citizen of Dublin, and its preservation, after a lapse of more than five hundred years, to another.

New Bridge is situated in the barony of North Salt, about one Irish mile south-west of the town of Leixlip. It consists of four arches, some of which are semicircular and others pointed; and, like most ancient bridges, it is high and extremely narrow. Mantled with luxuriant ivy, and enriched with the varied and mellow tints of so many centuries, it is in itself an object of great picturesque beauty; but these attractions are greatly enhanced by the quiet yet romantic features of the scenery immediately about it—particularly the woods and the ruins of the venerable Abbey of St Woolstan, of which we shall give some account in a future number.

P.

ANCIENT IRISH LITERATURE.

NUMBER III.

For our third specimen of the literature of our ancestors we have selected an example of what may be called the fireside stories, in vogue from a very ancient period till the last century. These stories are for the most part only personal traditions, and as they are not found in any vellum manuscripts which have descended to us, it might be concluded that they are of very modern date. Such conclusion, however, would be erroneous; there is no doubt that in their groundwork at least they are of an antiquity of several centuries, although modified in their language and allusions in conformity with the changes in manners and customs of succeeding times. The personages who figure in them are always either historical, or belonging to the ancient mythology of Ireland, and they are well worthy of preservation, for the light which they reflect on the habits of thought, as well as the manners and customs of bygone times.

BODACH AN CHOTA-LACHTNA, OR THE CLOWN WITH THE GREY COAT,

A FENIAN TALE.

On a certain day a fair and a gathering were held at Bineadar, by the seven ordinary and seven extraordinary battalions of the Fenians of Erinn. In the course of the day, on casting a look over the broad expanse of the sea, they beheld a large, smooth-sided, and proud-looking ship ploughing the waves from the east, and approaching them under full sail. When the capacious vessel touched the shore and lowered her sails, the Fenians of Erinn counted upon seeing a host of men disembark from her; and great was their surprise when one warrior, and no more, came out of the ship and landed on the beach. He was a hero of the largest make of body, the strongest of champions, and the finest of the human race; and in this wise was the kingly warrior equipped:—an impenetrable helmet of polished steel encased his ample and beautiful head; a deep-furrowed, thick-backed, sharp-edged sword hung at his left side; and a purple bossed shield was slung over his shoulder. Such were his chief accoutrements; and armed in this fashion and manner did the stranger come into the presence of Finn Mac Coole and the Fenians of Erinn.

It was then that Finn, the King of the Fenians, addressed the heroic champion, and questioned him, saying, “From what quarter of the globe hast thou come unto us, O goodly youth? or from which of the noble or ignoble races of the universe art thou sprung? Who art thou?”

“I am,” answered the stranger, “Ironbones, the son of the King of Thessaly; and so far as I have travelled on this globe, since the day that I left my own land, I have laid every country, peninsula, and island, under contribution to my sword and my arm: this I have done even to the present hour; and my desire is to obtain the crown and tribute of this country in like manner: for if I obtain them not, I purpose to bring slaughter of men and deficiency of heroes and youthful warriors on the seven ordinary and seven extraordinary battalions of the Fenian host. Such, O king, is the object of my visit to this country, and such is my design in landing here.”

Hereupon uprose Conán the Bald, and said, “Of a truth, my friend, it seems to me that you have come upon a foolish enterprise, and that to the end of your life, and the close of your days, you will not be able to accomplish your purpose; because from the beginning of ages until now, no man ever heard of a hero or ever saw a champion coming with any such mighty design to Ireland, who did not find his match in that same country.”

But Ironbones replied: “I make but very little account of your speech, Conán,” said he: “for if all the Fenian heroes who have died within the last seven years were now in the world, and were joined by those who are now living, I would visit all of them with the sorrow of death and show all of them the shortness of life in one day; nevertheless I will make your warriors a more peaceable proposal. I challenge you then, O warriors, to find me a man among you who can vanquish me in running, in fighting, or in wrestling; if you can do this, I shall give you no further trouble, but return to my own country without loitering here any longer.”

“And pray,” inquired Finn, “which of those three manly exercises that you have named will it please you to select for the first trial of prowess?”

To this Ironbones answered, “If you can find for me any one champion of your number who can run faster than I can, I will give you no further annoyance, but depart at once to my own country.”

“It so happens,” said Finn, “that our Man of Swiftness, Keelte Mac Ronan, is not here at present to try his powers of running with you; and as he is not, it were better, O hero, that you should sojourn here a season with the Fenians, that you and they may mutually make and appreciate each other’s acquaintance by means of conversation and amusements, as is our wont. In the meanwhile I will repair to Tara of the Kings in quest of Keelte Mac Ronan; and if I have not the good fortune to find him there, I shall certainly meet with him at Ceis-Corann of the Fenii, from whence I shall without delay bring him hither to meet you.”

To this Ironbones agreed, saying that he was well satisfied with what Finn proposed; and thereupon Finn proceeded on his way towards Tara of the Kings, in search of Keelte. Now, it fell out that as he journeyed along he missed his way, so that he came to a dense, wide, and gloomy wood, divided in the midst by a broad and miry road or pathway. Before he had advanced more than a very little distance on this road, he perceived coming directly towards him an ugly, detestable looking giant, who wore a grey frize coat, the skirts of which reached down to the calves of his legs, and were bespattered with yellow mud to the depth of a hero’s hand; so that every step he made, the lower part of that coat struck with such violence against his legs as to produce a sound that could be distinctly heard a full mile of ground off. Each of the two legs that sustained the unwieldy carcase of this horrible hideous monster was like the mast of a great ship, and each of the two shoes that were under his shapeless, horny, long-nailed hoofs, resembled a roomy long-sided boat; and every time that he lifted his foot, and at every step that he walked, he splashed up from each shoe a good barrelful of mire and water on the lower part of his body. Finn gazed in amazement at the colossal man, for he had never before seen any one so big and bulky; yet he would have passed onward and continued his route, but the giant stopped and accosted him, and Finn was under the necessity of stopping also, and exchanging a few words with the giant.

The giant began in this manner:—“What, ho! Finn Mac Coole,” said he, “what desire for travelling is this that has seized on you, and how far do you mean to go upon this journey?”

“Oh,” said Finn, “as to that, my trouble and anxiety are so great that I cannot describe them to you now, and indeed small is the use,” added he, “it would be of to me to attempt doing so; and I think it would be better for you to let me go on my way without asking any more questions of me.”

But the giant was not so easily put off. “O Finn,” said he, “you may keep your secret if you like, but all the loss and the misfortune attending your silence will be your own; and when you think well upon that, maybe you would not boggle any longer about disclosing to me the nature of your errand.”

So Finn, seeing the huge size of the giant, and thinking it advisable not to provoke him, began to tell him all that had taken place among the Fenians of Erinn so short a time before. “You must know,” said he, “that at the meridian hour of this very day the great Ironbones, the son of the King of Thessaly, landed at the harbour of Bineadar, with the view of taking the crown and sovereignty of Ireland into his own hands; and if he does not obtain them with the free and good will of the Irish, he threatens to distribute death and destruction impartially among the young and old of our heroes; howbeit he has challenged us to find a man able to surpass him in running, fighting, or wrestling, and if we can find such a man, then he agrees to forego his pretensions, and to return to his own country without giving us further trouble; and that,” said Finn, “is the history that I have for you.”

“And how do you intend to oppose the royal warrior?” asked the giant; “I know him well, and I know he has the vigour in his hand and the strength in his arm to carry every threat he makes into effect.”

“Why, then,” said Finn, in answer to this, “I intend to go to Tara of the Kings for Keelte Mac Ronan, and if I do not find him there, I will go to look for him at Ceis-Corann of the Fenii; and it is he,” said he, “whom I mean to bring with me for the purpose of vanquishing this hero in running.”

“Alas!” said the giant, “weak is your dependence and feeble your champion for propping and preserving the monarchy of Ireland; and if Keelte Mac Ronan be your Tree of Defiance, you are already a man without a country.”

“It is I, then,” said Finn, “who am sorry you should say so; and what to do in this extremity I cannot tell.”

“I will show you,” replied the gigantic man: “just do you say nothing at all but accept of me as the opponent of this champion; and it may happen that I shall be able to get you out of your difficulty.”

“O,” said Finn, “for the matter of that, it is my own notion that you have enough to do if you can carry your big coat and drag your shoes with you one half mile of ground in a day, without trying to rival such a hero as Ironbones in valour or agility.”

“You may have what notions you like,” returned the giant, “but I tell you that if I am not able to give battle to this fighting hero, there never has been and there is not now a man in Ireland able to cope with him. But never mind, Finn Mac Coole, let not your spirits be cast down, for I will take it on myself to deliver you from the danger that presses on you.”

“What is your name?” demanded Finn.

“Bodach-an-Chota-Lachtna (the Churl with the Grey Coat) is my name,” the giant answered.

“Well, then,” said Finn, “you will do well to come along with me.” So Finn turned back, and the Bodach went with him; but we have no account of their travels till they reached Bineadar. There, when the Fians beheld the Bodach attired in such a fashion and trim, they were all very much surprised, for they had never before seen the like of him; and they were greatly overjoyed that he should make his appearance among them at such a critical moment.

As for Ironbones, he came before Finn, and asked him if he had got the man who was to contend with him in running. Finn made answer that he had, and that he was present among them; and thereupon he pointed out the Bodach to him. But as soon as Ironbones saw the Bodach, he was seized with astonishment, and his courage was damped at the sight of the gigantic proportions of the mighty man, but he pretended to be only very indignant, and exclaimed, “What! do you expect me to demean myself by engaging in a contest with such an ugly, greasy, hateful-looking Bodach as that? It is myself that will do no such thing!” said he; and he stepped back and would not go near the Bodach.

When the Bodach saw and heard this, he burst into a loud, hoarse, thunderous laugh, and said, “Come, Ironbones, this will not do; I am not the sort of person you affect to think me; and it is you that shall have proof of my assertion before to-morrow evening; so now, let me know,” said he, “what is to be the length of the course you propose to run over, for over the same course it is my own intention to run along with you; and if I do not succeed in running that distance with you, it is a fair conclusion that you win the race, and in like manner if I do succeed in outstripping you, then it stands to reason that you lose the race.”

“There is sense and rationality in your language,” replied Ironbones, for he saw that he must submit, “and I agree to what you say, but it is my wish not to have the course shorter or longer than three score miles.”

“Well,” said the Bodach, “that will answer me too, for it is just three score miles from Mount Loocra in Munster to Bineadar; and it will be a pleasant run for the pair of us; but if you find that I am not able to finish it before you, of course the victory is yours.”

Ironbones replied that he would not contradict so evident a proposition, whereupon the Bodach resumed: “What it is proper for you to do now,” said he, “is to come along with me southward to Mount Loocra this evening, in order that we may make ourselves acquainted with the ground we are to go over to-morrow on our return; and we can stop for the night on the Mount, so that we may be able to start with the break of day.” To this also Ironbones acceded, saying it was a judicious speech, and that he had nothing to object to it.

Upon this the two competitors commenced their journey, and little was the delay they made until they arrived at Mount Loocra in Munster. As soon as they had got thither, the Bodach again addressed Ironbones, and told him that he thought their best plan would be to build a hut in the adjoining wood, that so they might be protected from the inclemency of the night: “for it seems to me, O son of the King of Thessaly,” said he, “that if we do not, we are likely to have a hard couch and cold quarters on this exposed hill.”

To this Ironbones made reply as thus: “You may do so, if you please, O Bodach of the Big Coat, but as for me, I am Ironbones, and care not for dainty lodging; and I am mightily disinclined to give myself the trouble of building a house hereabouts only to sleep in it one night and never see it again; howbeit, if you are desirous of employing your hands there is nobody to cross you; you may build, and I shall stay here until you have finished.”

“Very good,” said the Bodach, “and build I will; but I shall take good care that a certain person who refuses to assist me shall have no share in my sleeping-room, should I succeed in making it as comfortable as I hope to do;” and with this he betook himself into the wood, and began cutting down and shaping pieces of timber with the greatest expedition, never ceasing until he had got together six pair of stakes and as many of rafters, which with a sufficient quantity of brushwood and green rushes for thatch, he carried, bound in one load, to a convenient spot, and there set them up at once in regular order; and this part of his work being finished, he again entered the wood, and carried from thence a good load of dry green sticks, which he kindled into a fire that reached from the back of the hut to the door.

While the fire was blazing merrily he left the hut, and again addressing his companion, said to him, “O son of the King of Thessaly, called by men Ironbones, are you provided with provisions for the night, and have you eatables and drinkables to keep you from hunger and thirst?”

“No, I have not,” said Ironbones proudly; “it is myself that used never to be without people to provide victuals for me when I wanted them,” said he.

“Well, but,” said the Bodach, “you have not your people near you now, and so the best thing you can do is to come and hunt with me in the wood, and my hand to you, we shall soon have enough of victuals for both of us.”

“I never practised pedestrian hunting,” said Ironbones; “and with the like of you I never hunted at all; and I don’t think I shall begin now,” said he, in a very dignified sort of way.

“Then I must try my luck by myself,” said the Bodach; and off again he bounded into the wood, and after he had gone a little way he roused a herd of wild swine and pursued them into the recesses of the wood, and there he succeeded in separating from the rest the biggest and fattest hog of the herd, which he soon ran down and carried to his hut, where he slaughtered it, and cut it into two halves, one of which he placed at each side of the fire on a self-moving holly-spit. He then darted out once more, and stopped not until he reached the mansion of the Baron of Inchiquin, which was thirty miles distant, from whence he carried off a table and a chair, two barrels of wine, and all the bread fit for eating he could lay his hands on, all of which he brought to Mount Loocra in one load. When he again entered his hut, he found his hog entirely roasted and in nice order for mastication; so he laid half the meat and bread on the table, and sitting down, disposed of them with wonderful celerity, drinking at the same time precisely one barrel of the wine, and no more, for he reserved the other, as well as the rest of the solids, for his breakfast in the morning. Having thus finished his supper, he shook a large bundle of green rushes over the floor, and laying himself down, soon fell into a comfortable sleep, which lasted until the rising of the sun next morning.

As soon as the morning was come, Ironbones, who had got neither food nor sleep the whole night, came down from the mountain’s side and awoke the Bodach, telling him that it was time to commence their contest. The Bodach raised his head, rubbed his eyes, and replied, “I have another hour to sleep yet, and when I get up I have to eat half a hog and drink a barrel of wine; but as you seem to be in a hurry, you have my consent to proceed on your way before me: and you may be sure I will follow you.” So saying, he laid his head down and fell again a-snoring; and upon seeing this, Ironbones began the race by himself, but he moved along heavily and dispiritedly, for he began to have great dread and many misgivings, by reason of the indifference with which the Bodach appeared to regard the issue of the contest.

When the Bodach had slept his fill he got up, washed his hands and face, and having placed his bread and meat on the table, he proceeded to devour them with great expedition, and then washed them down with his barrel of wine; after which he collected together all the bones of the hog and put them into a pocket in the skirt of his coat. Then setting out on his race in company with a pure and cool breeze of wind, he trotted on and on, nor did he ever halt on his rapid course until he had overtaken Ironbones, who with a dejected air and drooping head was wending his way before him. The Bodach threw down the bare bones of the hog in his path, and told him he was quite welcome to them, and that if he could find any pickings on them he might eat them, “for,” said he, “you must surely be hungry by this time, and myself can wait until you finish your breakfast.”

But Ironbones got into a great passion on hearing this, and he cried, “You ugly Bodach with the Big Coat, you greasy, lubberly, uncouth tub of a man, I would see you hanged, so I would, before you should catch me picking such dirty common bones as these—hogs’ bones, that have no meat on them at all, and have moreover been gnawed by your own long, ugly, boarish tusks.”

“O, very well,” replied the Bodach, “then we will not have any more words about them for bones; but let me recommend to you to adopt some more rapid mode of locomotion, if you desire to gain the crown, sovereignty, and tributes of the kingdom of Ireland this turn, for if you go on at your present rate, it is second best that you will be after coming off, I’m thinking.” And having so spoken, off he darted as swift as a swallow, or a roebuck, or a blast of wind rushing down a mountain declivity on a March day, Ironbones in the meantime being about as much able to keep pace with him as he was to scale the firmament; nor did he check his own speed until he had proceeded thirty miles on the course. He then stopped for a while to eat of the blackberries which grew in great abundance on the way, and while he was thus employed, Ironbones came up with him and spoke to him. “Bodach,” said he, “ten miles behind us I saw one skirt of your grey coat, and ten miles farther back again I saw another skirt; and it is my persuasion, and I am clearly of the opinion, that you ought to return for these two skirts without more to do, and pick them up.”

“Is it the skirts of this big coat that I have on me you mean?” asked the Bodach, looking down at his legs.

“Why, to be sure it is them that I mean,” answered Ironbones.

“Well,” said the Bodach, “I certainly must get my coat skirts again; and so I will run back for them if you consent to stop here eating blackberries until I return.”

“What nonsense you talk!” cried Ironbones. “I tell you I am decidedly resolved not to loiter on the race; and my fixed determination is not to eat any blackberries.”

“Then move on before me,” said the Bodach, upon which Ironbones pushed onward, while the Bodach retraced his steps to the different spots where the skirts of his coat were lying, and having found them and tacked them to the body of the coat, he resumed his route and again overtook Ironbones, whom he thus addressed: “It is needful and necessary that I should acquaint you of one thing, O Ironbones, and that is, that you must run at a faster rate than you have hitherto used, and keep pace with me on the rest of the course, or else there is much likelihood and considerable probability that the victory will go against you, because I will not again have to go back either for my coat-skirts or anything else;” and having given his companion this warning, he set off once more in his usual manner, nor did he stop until he reached the side of a hill, within ten miles of Bineadar, where he again fell a-plucking blackberries, and ate an extraordinary number of them. When he could eat no more, his jaws being tired and his stomach stuffed, he took off his great coat, and handling his needle and thread, he sewed it into the form of a capacious sack, which he filled with blackberries; this he slung over his shoulders, and then off he scampered for Bineadar, greatly refreshed, and with the speed of a young buck.

In the meantime Finn and his troops were awaiting in great doubt and dread the result of the race, though, without knowing who the Bodach was, they had a certain degree of confidence in him; and there was a champion of the Fenians on the top of the Hill of Howth, who had been sent thither by Finn, and had been there from an early hour of the morning to see which of the competitors would make his appearance first in view. When this man saw the Bodach coming over the nearest eminence, with his heavy burden on his back, he thought that to a certainty it was Ironbones whom he beheld, and fled back quite terrified to Finn and the troops, telling them Ironbones was coming up, carrying the Bodach dead over his shoulders. This news at first depressed Finn and the troops; but Finn by and bye exclaimed, “I will give a suit of armour and arms to the man who brings me better news than that!” whereupon one of the heroes went forth, and he had not proceeded far when he espied the Bodach advancing towards the outposts of the troops, and knowing him at a glance, he flew back to Finn and announced to him the glad tidings.

Finn thereupon went joyfully out to meet the Bodach, who speedily came up and threw down his burden, crying out aloud, “I have good and famous news for all of you; but,” added he, “my hunger is great, and my desire for food pressing; and I cannot tell you what has occurred until I have eaten a very large quantity of oatmeal and blackberries. Now, as for the latter, that is, the blackberries, I have got them myself in this big sack, but the oatmeal I expect to be provided for me by you; and I hope that you will lose no time in getting it, and laying it before me, for I am weak for the want of nutriment, and my corporeal powers are beginning to be exhausted.” Upon hearing this Finn replied that his request should be at once attended to, and in a little space of time, accordingly, there was spread under the Bodach a cloth of great length and breadth, with a vast heap of oatmeal in the middle of it, into which the Bodach emptied out all the blackberries in his bag; and having stirred the entire mess about for some time with a long pole, he commenced eating and swallowing with much vigour and determination.

He had not been long occupied in this way before he descried Ironbones coming towards the troops with his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes flaming like red coals in his head, and ready to commence slaughtering all before him because he had been vanquished in the contest. But he was not fated to put his designs into execution, for when the Bodach saw what wickedness he had in his mind, he took up a handful of the oatmeal and blackberries, and dashing it towards Ironbones with an unerring aim, it struck him so violently on the face that it sent his head spinning through the air half a mile from his body, which fell to the ground and there remained writhing in all the agonies of its recent separation, until the Bodach had concluded his meal. The Bodach then rose up and went in quest of the head, which after a little searching about he found; and casting it from his hands with an unerring aim, he sent it bowling along the ground all the half mile back again, until coming to the body it stopped and fastened itself on as well as ever, the only difference being that the face was now turned completely round to the back of the neck, while the back of the head was in front.

The Bodach having accomplished this feat much to his satisfaction, now grasped Ironbones firmly by the middle, threw him to the ground, tied him hand and foot so that he could not stir, and addressed him in these words: “O Ironbones, justice has overtaken you: the sentence your own vain mind had passed on others is about to be pronounced against yourself; and all the liberty that I feel disposed to leave you is the liberty of choosing what kind of death you think it most agreeable to die of. What a silly notion you did get into your noddle, surely, when you fancied that you, single-handed, could make yourself master of the crown, sovereignty, and tributes of Ireland, even though there had been nobody to thwart your arrogant designs but myself! But take comfort and be consoled, for it shall never be said of the Fians of Ireland that they took mortal vengeance on a single foe without any warriors to back him; and if you be a person to whom life is a desirable possession, I am willing to allow you to live, on condition that you will solemnly swear by the sun and moon that you will send the chief tributes of Thessaly every year to Finn Mac Coole here in Ireland.”

With many wry faces did Ironbones at length agree to take this oath; upon which the Bodach loosed his shackles and gave him liberty to stand up; then having conducted him towards the sea-shore, he made him go into the ship, to which, after turning its prow from the shore, he administered a kick in the stern, which sent it seven miles over the waters at once. And such was the manner in which Ironbones executed his vain-glorious project, and in this way it was that he was sent off from the shores of Ireland, without victory, honour, or glory, and deprived of the power of ever again boasting himself to be the first man on the earth in battle or combat.

But on the return of the Bodach to the troops, the sun and the wind lighted up one side of his face and his head in such a way that Finn and the Fians at once recognised him as Manannan Mac Lir, the Tutelary Fairy of Cruachan, who had come to afford them his assistance in their exigency. They welcomed him accordingly with all the honour that was due to him, and feasted him sumptuously for a year and a day. And these are the adventures of the Bodach an Chota-Lachtna.

THE BARGAIN.

“What have you there, husband?” said Mrs Courtland to her thrifty and careful spouse, as the latter paused in the open door to give some directions to a couple of porters who had just set something upon the pavement in front of the house.

“Just wait a moment, and I’ll tell you. Here, Henry! John! bring it in here,” and the two porters entered with a beautiful sofa, nearly new.

“Why, that is a beauty, husband! How kind you are!”

“It’s second-hand, you perceive; but it’s hardly soiled—no one would know the difference.”

“It’s just as good as new. What did you give for it?”

“That’s the best part of it. It is a splendid bargain. It didn’t cost a cent less than a hundred dollars. Now, what do you think I got it for?” “Sixty dollars?”

“Guess again.” “Fifty?”

“Guess again.” “Forty-five?”

“No. Try again.”

“But what did you give for it, dear?” “Why, only twenty dollars!”

“Well, now, that is a bargain.”

“Ain’t it, though? It takes me to get things cheap,” continued the prudent Mr Courtland, chuckling with delight.

“Why, how in the world did it go off so low?” “I managed that. It ain’t every one that understands how to do these things.”

“But how did you manage it, dear? I should like to know.”

“Why, you see, there were a great many other things there, and among the rest some dirty carpets. Before the sale I pulled over these carpets and threw them upon the sofa; a good deal of dust fell from them, and made the sofa look fifty per cent. worse than it really was. When the sale commenced, there happened to be but few persons there, and I asked the auctioneer to sell the sofa first, as I wanted to go, and would bid for it if it were sold then. Few persons bid freely at the opening of a sale.

‘What’s bid for this splendid sofa?’ he began.

‘I’ll give you fifteen dollars for it,’ said I; ‘it’s not worth more than that, for it’s dreadfully abused.’

‘Fifteen dollars! fifteen dollars! only fifteen dollars for this beautiful sofa!’ he went on; and a man next to me bid seventeen dollars. I let the auctioneer cry the last bid for a few minutes, until I saw he was likely to knock it down.

‘Twenty dollars!’ said I, ‘and that’s as much as I’ll go for it.’

The other bidder was deceived by this as to the real value of the sofa, for it did look dreadfully disfigured by the dust and dirt, and consequently the sofa was knocked off to me.”

“That was admirably done, indeed!” said Mrs Courtland, with a bland smile of satisfaction at having obtained the elegant piece of furniture at so cheap a rate. “And it’s so near a match, too, for the sofa in our front parlour.”

This scene occurred at the residence of a merchant in this city, who was beginning to count his fifty thousands. Let us look at the other side of the picture.

On the day previous to this sale, a widow lady with one daughter, a beautiful and interesting girl about seventeen, were seated on a sofa in a neatly furnished parlour in Hudson-street. The mother held in her hand a small piece of paper, on which her eyes were intently fixed; but it could readily be perceived that she saw not the characters that were written upon it.

“What is to be done, ma?” at length asked the daughter.

“Indeed, my child, I cannot tell. The bill is fifty dollars, and has been due, you know, for several days. I haven’t got five dollars, and your bill for teaching the Miss Leonards cannot be presented for two weeks, and then it will not amount to this sum.”

“Can’t we sell something more, ma?” suggested the daughter.

“We have sold all our plate and jewellery, and now I’m sure I don’t know what we can dispose of, unless it be something that we really want.”

“What do you say to selling the sofa, ma?”

“Well, I don’t know, Florence. It don’t seem right to part with it. But perhaps we can do without it.”

“It will readily bring fifty dollars, I suppose.”

“Certainly. It is of the best wood and workmanship, and cost one hundred and forty dollars. Your father bought it a short time before he died, and that is less than two years past you know.”

“I should think it would bring nearly a hundred dollars,” said Florence, who knew nothing of auction sacrifices; “and that would give us enough, besides paying the quarter’s rent, to keep us comfortably until some of my bills come due.”

That afternoon the sofa was sent, and on the next afternoon Florence went to the auctioneer’s to receive the money for it.

“Have you sold that sofa yet, sir?” asked the timid girl, in a low, hesitating voice.

“What sofa, miss?” asked the clerk, looking steadily in her face with a bold stare.

“The sofa sent by Mrs ——, sir.”

“When was it to have been sold?”

“Yesterday, sir.”

“Oh, we haven’t got the bill made out yet. You can call the day after to-morrow, and we’ll settle it for you.”

“Can’t you settle it to-day, sir? We want the money particularly.”

Without replying to the timid girl’s request, the clerk commenced throwing over the leaves of a large account-book, and in a few minutes had taken off the bill of the sofa.

“Here it is—eighteen dollars and sixty cents. See if it’s right, and then sign this receipt.”

“Ain’t you mistaken, sir? It was a beautiful sofa, and cost one hundred and forty dollars.”

“That’s all it brought, miss, I assure you. Furniture sells very badly now.”

Florence rolled up the bills that were given her, and returned home with a heavy heart.

“It only brought eighteen dollars and sixty cents, ma,” she said, throwing the notes into her mother’s lap, and bursting into tears.

“Heaven only knows, then, what we shall do,” said the widow, clasping her hands together, and looking upwards.

There are always two parties in the case of bargains—the gainer and the loser; and while the one is delighted with the advantage he has obtained, he thinks nothing of the necessities which have forced the other party to accept the highest offer. But few buyers of bargains think or care about taking this view of the subject.—From the New York Mirror.

SONNET—THE DEPARTURE OF LOVE.

Spirit of wordless Love, that in the lone

Bowers of the Poet’s museful soul dost weave

Tissues of thought, hued like the skies of eve,

Ere the last glories of the sun have shone,

How soon—almost before our hearts have known

The change—above the ruins of thy throne—

Whose vanished beauty we would fain retrieve

With all Earth’s thrones beside—we stand and grieve!

We weep not, for the world’s chill breath hath bound

In chains of ice the fountains of our tears,

But ever-mourning Memory thenceforth rears

Her altars upon desecrated ground,

And always, with a low despairful sound,

Tolls the disastrous bell of all our years!

M.

THE MANUFACTURE OF CLOTH.

In the present limited and daily declining condition of the woollen manufacture in Ireland, so few individuals in the country can be acquainted with the mode of preparing the clothing of the sheep, and altering its form so as to make it suitable and fit for the clothing of man, that we deem a short account of the various processes through which it passes may be acceptable to many of our readers.

When the sheep-shearer has taken off the fleece, he ties it up in a peculiar knot, which is not opened again until the wool-sorter takes it in hands. It is his business to open it, and having spread the fleece upon a table, and cast his eye over it, he separates it into the number of sorts required, the wool being of different degrees of fineness upon different parts of the animal. The coarse qualities of fleeces, from which low descriptions of cloths, kerseys, blankets, and friezes are made, are seldom divided into more than three sorts, the finer into four or five, and the finest Saxony into seven, eight, and sometimes nine. With the latter we have little to do in this country, there being but one factory (that of Messrs Willans) where it is worked; and we shall therefore merely follow the progress of a piece of ordinary coarse cloth, there being but little difference between it and the finest in the general detail: indeed very little at all, except in the additional care and expense.

The sorted wool having been carefully examined by women, and freed from straws and motes, is taken to the scouring department attached to the dye-house, where it is immersed in a hot ley with soap, and well scoured, after which it is washed in clean water and left to drain.

It is then coloured, and either allowed to drain, or the colouring matter is wrung out, and it is again washed in water until the water runs from it unsullied. The apparatus in which it undergoes this process is called “the washing-box:” one side and the bottom being of metal perforated with innumerable small holes, the water has free ingress and egress, whilst the wool is securely retained. Having been thoroughly cleansed, it is taken to the drying-loft, if the weather be fine, or to the stove if it be unfavourable, and there perfectly dried. From thence it is carried to the factory, and placed in the first machine called “the willow,” or more generally “the devil”—a machine formed of five or six cylinders of different sizes, armed with steel spikes three or four inches long: the motion of the cylinders being contrary, the spikes pass between each other, tearing the wool open if it should have clotted or got into lumps. Cheviot and Scotch wools, and wools damaged by shipwreck, must be willowed before they can be even scoured, in consequence of their being always matted.

The willow, and all the machines which shall be subsequently mentioned in this paper, are driven by the water-wheel or steam-engine—in this country almost uniformly by the former. Having been thoroughly opened by the willow, the wool is spread upon a floor and oiled, about a quart of fine olive oil being the proportion to every stone weight of wool. The effect of the oil is to cause the fibres of the wool to separate more easily upon the carding-machines, and prevent the too rapid wearing of the cards.

The next machine that takes up the work is called “the teazer:” it has a greater number of cylinders than the willow, with shorter teeth, about an inch in length, and hooked, and some of the cylinders have coarse wire cards. Having passed twice or thrice through the teazer, the wool is transferred to that part of the mill called, by way of pre-eminence, “the machine-room,” where the great scribbling machines, or, as they are styled, “scribblers,” are placed. These machines have a great number of cylinders of different sizes covered with wire cards of various degrees of fineness, so arranged that they take the wool from one another, separating the fibres, and transferring it until it has passed quite over every cylinder, and is carded out at the farther end of the machine (sixteen or eighteen feet from where it was put in) in a thin flake like gauze. Having been run through two or three scribblers of various fineness, it is passed to the carding machine, or “carder,” which resembles the “scribbler,” but is smaller, and instead of the wool falling out at the end in a flake, it is caught by a fluted cylinder of wood, which, revolving in a semi-cylindrical box, divides and converts it into separate soft rolls, about the thickness of ordinary sash rope; and these are thrown out upon a sheet of canvass stretched horizontally upon rollers, which from its slowly moving, so as to prevent one roll from falling upon another, is called “the creeper.” The rolls are taken to “the billy,” a sort of preliminary spinning-machine, sometimes worked by the water-wheel, but (as yet, especially in Ireland) more generally by a man called a “slubber,” who is enabled by it to form from fifty to one hundred threads at a time, children being employed to stick the ends of the rolls together, which is done by lapping a small portion of the tip of one on the other which lies on the “billy-sheet,” and then giving them a slight rub. The soft thick thread which the slubber forms is made up in conical rolls or “cops,” and is taken to the spinning-machine, “the mule,” which has now quite superseded the spinning-jenny, which in its day superseded the spinning-wheel. The wheel could spin only one thread at a time: the jenny was first made to spin thirty, then forty, then fifty, sixty, seventy, and eighty threads at once, by a man’s hand. By the “mule,” worked by water, a man can now spin from five hundred to one thousand threads of woollen yarn, and of cotton two or three thousand, at once.

The thread for the warp is taken from the mule to the “warping-mill,” where it is prepared according to the number of threads for the breadth of the cloth, the length arranged, and being tied up in a peculiar kind of ball, it is called a “warp,” and is taken to the sizing shop, where it is dipped in melted size; and having been opened, perfectly saturated, and wrung out gently, it is carried to the field, or stove, to be dried. The weaver then fixes it in the loom, and procures the “weft” thread, which is spun differently from the warp, and is wound upon wooden bobbins; having wetted these in water, he fixes one in his shuttle, and the threads of the warp being lifted alternately, and the shuttle shot between them, the beam of the loom strikes each thread home, and in due time the piece is woven. A good weaver with a sound warp can weave in a hand-loom from six to nine yards of cloth in a day, but with the new power-loom he can weave twenty.

The cloth when taken out of the loom is examined by the overseer, and having been passed and dried, is taken to the “scouring-machine,” where it is submitted to the action of a strong ley, with fullers’-earth, &c., and worked by the rollers of the machine until both the oil and size have been extracted; it is then washed clean with water, taken out, and dried. It is next transferred to the tuck-mill, where it is spread out, a large quantity of melted soap poured upon it, and being rolled up in a peculiar manner, it is placed in “the stock,” where two huge hammers made of oak, weighing from two to three cwt. each, called “stock-feet,” being raised by a wheel and then let go, fall upon it alternately, until the soap has been forced through every part of it, and the cloth has narrowed, or, to speak technically, “milled in,” a half yard or three quarters, and shortened a fourth or fifth of its length, when it is pronounced to be “milled.” It is then again placed in the “washing-machine,” washed clean, and transferred to the “gig-mill.” The “gig” is a machine having a large cylinder in which teasles, a vegetable production somewhat resembling thistle tops or burs, are set, and the wet cloth being dragged by a set of rollers against the hooked spikes of the teasles, whilst the cylinder in which they are set goes rapidly round in a contrary direction, a portion of the short fibres of the wool have one of their ends disengaged and exhibited upon the surface of the cloth, forming what is called the pile or face: this process is called “raising.” When the piece has been sufficiently raised, it is taken to the “tenter field,” and stretched on frames called “tenters,” by means of hooks, to the proper length and breadth, and it remains thus until thoroughly dried, when it is carried to the “shearing loft,” where immense shears or machines called “knives” are passed over the surface, cutting all the wool on the face to an equal length. One of the improved knives can do as much work as twenty hand-shearers did formerly. Having received what is technically called a “cut” or two, it is returned to the gig mill to be “struck,” that is, “raised,” or submitted to the action of the gig in a dry state, and it then goes back again to the shear loft, and receives three or four more cuts on the face. It is then passed to the “burlers,” women who pick out all motes that have accidentally clung to or become embodied in the cloth, with steel pincers having very sharp points called “burling irons.”

If it is to be finished by being napped, that is, to have the surface covered with little knots, as petershams and women’s cloaking, it is taken to the “napping engines,” where it is submitted to the action of a board curiously covered with sand, so firmly attached as not to wear off for a considerable time; this is wedged down upon the cloth, and then set in motion, describing small circles whilst the cloth is forcibly drawn from under it by a strong roller, and thus the whole surface is covered over with little knots; having been passed through the napping engine three or four times, it is returned to the shear loft to get one or two cuts on the back, thence again to the napping engine, where it receives a final run or two, and is passed to the wareroom to be measured and made up.

But if it is to be finished as a cloth, instead of the napping-engine it is sent to the steam-brushing mill, where it is passed against a revolving cylinder covered with brushes and teasles alternately, and working within a case, into which a stream of steam rushes constantly; thence it passes to another machine nearly similar, but having brushes only. Having undergone this process for several hours, it is dried, taken again to the shear loft and properly cut, then carefully “burled” and brushed, again to the “knife,” where it is “backed,” that is, cut or shorn on the back, and then brushed again, preparatory to being placed in the press, in which it is arranged in neat folds, with thin pasteboard called “presspaper” between the folds, and hot metal plates at intervals. The press is then screwed down, and after a proper lapse of time the cloth is taken out, the folds altered in order that every part may be properly pressed, and again screwed down. It then goes to the brush-mill for the last time, from whence the measurer at length gets it to make up.

Fine cloth sometimes undergoes another process called “singeing,” in which it is passed over hot cylinders; but as our object is merely to give a general idea of the complicated processes of the manufacture to our readers, and not to make them at once masters of the business, we do not think it necessary to go into very minute detail. The entire length of time occupied may be estimated at from one to nearly two months.

The machinery in the woollen factories of Ireland is certainly inferior to that of our English neighbours, and the decline of the trade renders improvement difficult, if not altogether hopeless. Power-looms for the weaving of woollen cloth, so generally at work at the other side of the Channel, have been only this year introduced for the first time to this country by Mr Moore, proprietor of the Milltown factory near Dublin; and that Irish mechanists are not inferior to any others, is evidenced by the fact that the power-looms erected at Milltown are vastly superior to those imported, and which were on the most improved construction. Whether the experiment will have any effect in reviving this sinking business, remains to be seen; but it is much to be feared that as a great branch of trade it has deserted our shores altogether; certain it is, that the great factory at Celbridge (within ten miles of Dublin), which was dismantled about five years since, employed so lately as the year 1829 more looms than are now (1840) at work in the whole county of Dublin, probably in the entire province of Leinster, and yet the introduction of machinery could be effected much more easily in Ireland than almost any where else, in consequence of the absence of a manufacturing population, whose interests might be so compromised as to make them adverse to such change, and water power, so much cheaper than steam, is both abundant and unemployed.

N.

ENIGMA,

BY P. M’TEAGUE, ESQ.

Who or what am I, that, dwelling amongst the most humble, can associate with the highest? I am low in the scale of rank, but at the head of my race, and the most ancient of my tribe; the offspring and representative of want, and despised by multitudes, yet of regal descent. I have the likeness of woman and man, but I am neither man nor woman. I have neither father nor mother, and I am childless. I have the appearance of a potentate, yet I am not a potentate, but the companion of the lowly, and their most frequent visitor and guest. It is my destiny to live equally in palaces and farm-houses, jails and hovels. I am a traveller, though one who is always obliged to journey blindfold, and sometimes bound in cords with vulgar companions, and strictly guarded.

No creature undergoes greater vicissitudes. I am the attendant of most that walk, sail, and ride. I am attached to the pedestrian, yet generally kept in confinement; or when at times liberated, exposed to the rudest scoffs and sports of the vulgar, who toss me up in the air, pelt me with sticks and stones, tumble me on the earth, and stamp on me; and if I am raised again, it is either to endure a repetition of insult, or administer to the cupidity of vagabonds.

Though I never push myself forward, I have a face of brass, and yet my eyes can never look you straight in the face. I am fickle and changeable as the wind, yet I am a friend in adversity, and never desert those who do not first discard me. I may be the first to leave you; but in the hour of your utmost necessity you will acknowledge with a sigh that I have been the last to desert my post.

I am frequently trusted, though I often betray. How many petitions may have been offered up to heaven for my coming, no man living can tell, and yet I appear every where.

I have been in the earth, I have been in the sea, I have been in the air, I have been in the fire, and can endure unhurt, and with fortitude, greater extremities of heat and cold than any mortal. All the blows in the face I have ever received have never made me move a muscle. I have been crushed, but am sound and whole; and notwithstanding the contempt with which I have been treated (thanks to the present feelings of the age), am more and more respected every day—sought after indeed with eagerness, though seldom long retained. I am the beloved of schoolboys, but as quickly discarded by them. I attend churches and chapels, fairs and markets; yet though a friend and supporter of the Bible and many pious institutions, I am a heathen in religion, nor can I partake of any thing which I buy. Though my letters may be read by every body, I can neither read nor write. I am a proud stickler indeed in the school of aristocracy, for I never move out of my own circle; and with my associates, both male and female, am often nearly squeezed to death, according to the highest forms of fashionable usage.

I have given birth to hundreds of thousands, and with me fortunes invariably expire. My existence may continue for a thousand years, nay, to the very end of time, and yet may be cut short in a moment. But if you destroy me, which it is certainly in your power to do, know that innumerable myriads are at my back, and always ready to replace me.

Though committing no offence, I am liable to transportation without even a trial, but I am always well received after my return from exile. A master of all languages, but speaking none, I find my way in foreign countries without difficulty, for, though speechless, I am eloquent enough in my own way. From my features and head-dress you might suppose that I belonged to some Indian tribe, but I am British and Irish all over, and flourish best upon my own soil. I am an ever-welcome friend to the forlorn, but am myself very poor. I have a mint of money at my back, but am not worth three half-pence. At the moment you are reading this, you will indeed be wretched if you cannot command my services.

And now, having by the unwearied diligence, talent, and influence of Mr Rowland Hill, been enabled to give myself up for the support and encouragement of the IRISH PENNY JOURNAL, I hereby particularly enjoin it upon all my brethren more and more to patronise that excellent work.

IRISH BRAVERY.—The following instance of Irish bravery, recorded in Falkner’s Journal, March 18, 1760, is too remarkable to be buried in oblivion:—“On Saturday last, arrived at Youghal the ship Good Intent, belonging to Waterford, but last from Bilboa: she was taken the Tuesday before by a French privateer off Ushant, and had on board ten or twelve hands, her lading brandy and iron. The French took away the master (Bongar), and all the men, except five and a boy. On Friday last, four of them (the fifth not consenting) formed a plan to surprise the nine Frenchmen who were navigating the vessel to France, and succeeded therein. Four of the Frenchmen were under deck, three aloft, one at the helm, and the other man near him: three of the Irishmen were under deck, one at the helm, and the fifth hiding. One Brien by surprise tripped up the heels of the Frenchman at the helm, seized his pistol, and discharged it at the other, at the same instant making a signal for his three comrades below to follow his example: they assailed the Frenchmen, and by getting at their broadswords soon compelled them to be quiet; and immediately getting above, shut the hatches. After a desperate cut which one of the Frenchmen received on the arm in defending his head, and another a bruise by throwing the pistol at his head after it was discharged (for he missed him), those above likewise called out for quarter, and yielded up the quarterdeck to the intrepid Mr Brien. Not one of these fellows could read or write; of consequence they knew not how to navigate the ship, but Brien said that as he knew his course was north in general, being near Ushant, he steered at a venture, and the first land he made was near Youghal, where he happily arrived and landed his prisoners, who are now in Youghal gaol.”

MIGRATION OF FISHES.

Amongst the migrations of fishes, I must not neglect those that take place in consequence of the water in the ponds or pools that they inhabit being dried up: some of these are very extraordinary, and prove that when the Creator gave being to these animals, he foresaw the circumstances in which they would be placed, and mercifully provided them with means of escape from dangers to which they were necessarily exposed.

In very dry summers, the fishes that inhabit the above situations are reduced often to the last extremities, and endeavour to relieve themselves by plunging, first their heads, and afterwards their whole bodies, in the mud to a considerable depth; and so, though many in such seasons perish, some are preserved till a rainy one again supplies them with the element so indispensable to their life. Carp, it is known, may be kept and fed a very long time in nets in a damp cellar, a faculty which fits them for retaining their vitality when they bury themselves at such a depth as to shelter them from the heat.

But others, when reduced to this extremity, desert their native pool, and travel in search of another that is better supplied with water. This has long been known of eels, which wind, by night, through the grass in search of water, when so circumstanced. Dr Hancock, in the Zoological Journal, gives an account of a species of fish called by the Indians the Flat-head Hassar, and belonging to a genus of the family of the Siluridans, which is instructed by its Creator, when the pools in which they commonly reside in very dry seasons lose their water, to take the resolution of marching by land in search of others in which the water is not evaporated. These fish grow to about the length of a foot, and travel in large droves with this view; they move by night, and their motion is said to be like that of the two-footed lizard. A strong serrated arm constitutes the first ray of its pectoral fin. Using this as a kind of foot, it should seem they push themselves forwards by means of their elastic tail, moving nearly as fast as a man will leisurely walk. The strong plates which envelope their body probably facilitate their progress in the same manner as those under the body of serpents, which in some degree perform the office of feet. It is affirmed by the Indians that they are furnished with an internal supply of water sufficient for their journey, which seems confirmed by the circumstance that their bodies when taken out of the water, even if wiped dry with a cloth, become instantly moist again. Mr Campbell, a friend of Dr Hancock’s, resident in Essequibo, once fell in with a drove of these animals, which were so numerous that the Indians filled several baskets with them.

Another migrating fish was found by thousands in the ponds and all the fresh waters of Carolina, by Bosc; and as these pools are subject to be dry in summer, the Creator has furnished this fish, as well as one of the flying ones, by means of a membrane which closes its mouth, with the faculty of living out of water, and of travelling by leaps to discover other pools. Bosc often amused himself with their motions when he had placed them on the ground, and he found that they always direct themselves towards the nearest water, which they could not possibly see, and which they must have discovered by some internal index; during their migrations they furnish food to numerous birds and reptiles. They belong to a genus of abdominal fishes, and are called swampines. It is evident from this statement that these fishes are both fitted by their Creator not only to exist, but also move along out of the water, and are directed by the instinct implanted by Him to seek the nearest pool that contains that element; thus furnishing a strong proof of what are called compensating contrivances; neither of these fishes have legs, yet the one can walk and the other leap without them, by other means with which the Supreme Intelligence has endowed it. I may here observe that the serrated bone, or first ray of the pectoral fin, by the assistance of which the flat-head appears to move, is found in other Siluridans, which leads to a conjecture that those may sometimes also move upon land.

Another fish found by Daldorf in Tranquebar, not only creeps upon the shore, but even climbs the Fan palm in pursuit of certain Crustaceans which form its food. The structure of this fish peculiarly fits it for the exercise of this remarkable instinct. Its body is lubricated with slime, which facilitates its progress over the bark, and amongst its chinks; its gill-covers are armed with numerous spines, by which, used as hands, it appears to suspend itself; turning its tail to the left, and standing as it were on the little spines of its anal fin, it endeavours to push itself upwards by the expansion of its body, closing at the same time its gill-covers, that they may not prevent its progress; then expanding them again, it reaches a higher point: thus, and by bending the spiny rays of its dorsal fins to the right and left, and fixing them in the bark, it continues its journey upwards. The dorsal and anal fins can be folded up and received into a cavity of the body.

How exactly does this structure fit it for this extraordinary instinct! These fins assist it in certain parts of its progress, and when not employed, can be packed up so as not to hinder its progress. The lobes of its gill-covers are so divided and armed as to be employed together, or separately as hands, for the suspension of the animal, till, by fixing its dorsal and anal fins, it prepares itself to take another step: all showing the Supreme Intelligence and Almighty hand that planned and fabricated its structure, causing so many organs, each in its own way, to assist in promoting a common purpose. The Fan palm in which this animal was taken by Daldorf, grew near the pool inhabited by these fishes. He makes no mention, however, of their object in these terrestrial excursions; but Dr Virey observes that it is for the sake of small Crustaceans on which they feed.—Kirby’s Bridgewater Treatise.

“THY KINGDOM COME,”

BY MARY ANNE BROWNE.

Thy kingdom come! but where shall it be?

In the sweet, wild groves of Araby,

Where the citron groves and the date-tree grow,

Where the fair and thornless roses blow,

Where the sunlight falls in radiant streams,

And the moon on forests of palm-trees beams?

Fair are its roses and clustering vine,

And its kingdom is bright!—but it is not Thine.

Thy kingdom come! shall it be in the land

Where the wrecks of the mighty and valiant stand;

Where the temples, once by the heathen trod,

Resound to the holy name of God;

Where the fallen pillars and sculptured stone

Are ’midst sweet wreaths of wild flowers thrown?

It hath a sad grace, that land so fair,

But thy kingdom—thy kingdom is not there!

Thy kingdom come! oh, wilt thou reign

Within some grand and mighty fane?

By the work of our hands we will raise the pile,

We will strew with flowers the vaulted aisle,

We will toss the silver censers around,

And a thousand voices of sweetest sound

Shall breathe at once; but it may not be—

Such a kingdom accepted is not by Thee!

Thy kingdom come! in our cottage homes

We will give thee our hearts, by our kindred’s tombs,

By the rippling streams, in the ancient woods,

Alike in clouds and in solitudes:

When the sun in his glory is beaming on high,

When the moon and stars are lighting the sky,

Our souls shall be breathed in praise and prayer,

So Thou wilt make thy kingdom there!

—From the Knickerbocker.

LOVE OF CHILDREN.—Tell me not of the trim, precisely arranged homes where there are no children—“where,” as the good German has it, “the fly-traps always hang straight on the wall:” tell me not of the never-disturbed nights and days—of the tranquil, un-anxious hearts, where children are not! I care not for these things. God sends children for another purpose than merely to keep up the race—to enlarge our hearts, to make us unselfish, and full of kindly sympathies and affections; to give our souls higher aims, and to call out all our faculties to extended enterprise and exertion; to bring round our firesides bright faces and happy smiles, and loving, tender hearts. My soul blesses the Great Father every day, that he has gladdened the earth with little children.

Printed and Published every Saturday by GUNN and CAMERON, at the Office of the General Advertiser, No. 6, Church Lane, College Green, Dublin; and sold by all Booksellers.

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Table of Contents

THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

NEW BRIDGE, COUNTY OF KILDARE.

ANCIENT IRISH LITERATURE. NUMBER III.

BODACH AN CHOTA-LACHTNA, OR THE CLOWN WITH THE GREY COAT, A FENIAN TALE.

THE BARGAIN.

SONNET—THE DEPARTURE OF LOVE.

THE MANUFACTURE OF CLOTH.

ENIGMA, BY P. M’TEAGUE, ESQ.

MIGRATION OF FISHES.

“THY KINGDOM COME,” BY MARY ANNE BROWNE.

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