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                        THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

       NUMBER 33.      SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1841.      VOLUME I.

[Illustration: CAHIR CASTLE, COUNTY OF TIPPERARY]

To a large portion of our readers it will be scarcely necessary to state,
that the little town of Cahir is in many respects the most interesting of
its size to be found in the province of Munster, we had almost said in
all Ireland; and that, though this interest is to a considerable extent
derived from the extreme beauty of its situation and surrounding scenery,
it is in an equal degree attributable to a rarer quality in our small
towns--the beauty of its public edifices, and the appearance of neatness,
cleanliness, and comfort, which pervades it generally, and indicates
the fostering protection of the noble family to whom it belongs, and to
whom it anciently gave title. Most of our small towns require brilliant
sunshine to give them even a semi-cheerful aspect: Cahir looks pleasant
even on one of our characteristic gloomy days. As it is not, however, our
present purpose to enter on any detailed account of the town itself, but
to confine our notice to one of its most attractive features--its ancient
castle--we shall only state that Cahir is a market and post town, in the
barony of Iffa and Offa West, county of Tipperary, and is situated on the
river Suir, at the junction of the mail-coach roads leading respectively
from Waterford to Limerick, and from Cork by way of Cashel to Dublin. It
is about eight miles W.N.W. from Clonmel, and the same distance S.W. from
Cashel, and contains about 3500 inhabitants.

The ancient and proper name of this town is _Cahir-duna-iascaigh_, or,
the circular stone fortress of the fish-abounding Dun, or fort; a name
which appears to be tautological, and which can only be accounted for by
the supposition that an earthen _Dun_, or fort, had originally occupied
the site on which a _Cahir_, or stone fort, was erected subsequently.
Examples of names formed in this way, of words having nearly synonymous
meanings, are very numerous in Ireland, as _Caislean-dun-more_, the
castle of the great fort, and as the Irish name of Cahir Castle
itself, which, after the erection of the present building, was called
_Caislean-na-caherach-duna-iascaigh_, an appellation in which three
distinct Irish names for military works of different classes and ages are
combined.

Be this, however, as it may, it is certain that a _Cahir_ or stone fort
occupied the site of the present castle in the most remote historic
times, as it is mentioned in the oldest books of the Brehon laws; and the
Book of Lecan records its destruction by Cuirreach, the brother-in-law
of Felemy Rechtmar, or the Lawgiver, as early as the third century, at
which time it is stated to have been the residence of a female named
Badamar. Whether this _Cahir_ was subsequently rebuilt or not, does not
appear in our histories as far as we have found; nor have we been able
to discover in any ancient document a record of the erection of the
present castle. It is stated indeed by Archdall, and from him again by
all subsequent Irish topographers, that Cahir Castle was erected prior
to the year 1142 by Conor-na-Catharach O’Brien, king of Thomond. But
this is altogether an error. No castle properly so called of this class
was erected in Ireland till a later period, and the assertion of Conor’s
having built a castle at Cahir is a mere assumption drawn from the
cognomen _na-Catharach_, or of the Cahir or Fort by which he was known,
and which we know from historical evidences was derived not from this
Cahir on the Suir, but from a Cahir which he built on an island in Lough
Derg, near Killaloe, and which still retains his name. The true name of
the founder of Cahir Castle, and date of its erection, must therefore
remain undecided till some record is found which will determine them; and
in the meantime we can only indulge in conjecture as to one or the other.
That it owes its origin, indeed, to some one of the original Anglo-Norman
settlers in Ireland, there can be little doubt, and its high antiquity
seems unquestionable. As early as the fourteenth century, it appears to
have been the residence of James _Galdie_ (or the Anglified) Butler, son
of James, the third Earl of Ormond, by Catherine, daughter of Gerald,
Earl of Desmond--whose descendant Thomas Butler, ancestor to the present
Earl of Glengal, was advanced to the peerage by letters patent, dated at
Dublin the 10th November 1543 (34 Henry VIII.) by the title of Baron of
Cahir.

In the subsequent reigns of Elizabeth and the unfortunate Charles I,
Cahir Castle appears as a frequent and important scene in the melancholy
dramas of which Ireland was the stage, and its history becomes a portion
not only of that of our country generally, but even in some degree of
that of England.

It will be remembered, that, when by the battle of the Blackwater in
1598 the English power in Ireland was reduced to the lowest state, and
the queen felt it necessary to send Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex,
with an army of more than 20,000 men--the largest body, as the Four
Masters state, that had ever before come into Ireland since the time of
Strongbow--to subdue the rebels, that unfortunate favourite, neglectful
of the instructions imperatively given to him that he should prosecute
the Ulster rebels, and plant their strongholds with garrisons, marched
into Munster, where the only deed of importance he achieved was the
taking of Cahir Castle, and the forcing of the Lord Cahir and some
other disaffected noblemen of Munster to submit, and accept the queen’s
protection. The only favourable result of this misguided enterprise, as
Morrison acquaints us, “was the making a great prey of the rebels’ cattle
in those parts; he cast the terror of his forces on the weakest enemies,
whom he scattered and constrained to fly into woods and mountains to
hide themselves.” But these weak rebels did not remain long inactive, or
exhibit weakness in attack; and the earl’s journey back to Dublin towards
the end of July was marked by a series of disasters that sealed his doom;
or, as the Four Masters remark, “The Irish afterwards were wont to say
that it were better for the Earl of Essex that he had not undertaken
this expedition from Dublin to Hy-Conell Gaura, as he had to return back
from his enterprise without receiving submission or respect from the
Geraldines, and without having achieved any exploit except the taking of
Cahir-duna-iasgach.”

The taking of Cahir Castle was not effected without considerable trouble,
though it is stated that Essex’s army amounted to 7000 foot and 1300
horse. O’Sullivan states that the siege was prolonged for ten days, in
consequence of the Earl of Desmond and Redmond Burke having come to its
relief; and the Four Masters state in their Annals that “the efforts of
the earl and his army in taking it were fruitless, until they sent for
heavy ordnance to Waterford, by which they broke down the nearest side of
the fortress, after which the castle had to be surrendered to the Earl of
Essex and the queen.” This event occurred on the 30th of May 1599.

As Morrison, however, remarks, the submission of the Lord Cahir, Lord
Roche, and others, which followed on this exploit, were only feigned, as
subsequent events proved. After the earl’s departure, they either openly
joined the rebel party again, or secretly combined with them; and on
the 23d of May in the year following, the Castle of Cahir was surprised
and taken by the Lord Cahir’s brother, and, as it was said, with his
connivance. Of this fact the following account is given by Sir George
Carew in his Pacata Hibernia:--

“The president being at Youghall in his journey to Cork, sent Sir
John Dowdall (an ancient captain in Ireland) to Cahir Castle, as well
to see the same provided of a sufficient ward out of Captain George
Blunt’s company, as to take order for the furnishing of them with
victuall, munition, and other warlike provision; there he left the
eighth or ninth of May, a serjeant, with nine-and-twenty soldiers, and
all necessary provision for two months, who notwithstanding, upon the
three-and-twentieth of the same, were surprised by James Galdie, alias
Butler, brother to the lord of Cahir, and, as it was suspected by many
pregnant presumptions, not without the consent and working of the lord
himself, which in after-times proved to be true. The careless security of
the warders, together with the treachery of an Irishman who was placed
sentinel upon the top of the castle, were the causes of this surprise.

“James Galdie had no more in his company than sixty men, and coming to
the wall of the bawne of the castle undiscovered, by the help of ladders,
and some masons that brake holes in some part of the wall where it
was weak, got in and entered the hall before they were perceived. The
serjeant, named Thomas Quayle, which had the charge of the castle, made
some little resistance, and was wounded. Three of the warde were slaine;
the rest upon promise of their lives rendered their armes and were sent
to Clonmell. Of this surprise the lord president had notice when he
was at Kilmallock, whereupon he sent directions for their imprisonment
in Clonmell until he might have leisure to try the delinquents by a
marshals’ court. Upon the fourth day following, James Butler, who took
the castle, wrote a large letter to the president, to excuse himself of
his traitorly act, wherein there were not so many lines as lies, and
written by the underhand working of the lord of Cahir his brother, they
conceiving it to be the next way to have the castle restored to the
baron.”

Cahir Castle was, however, restored to the government in a few months
after, as detailed in the following characteristic manner by Sir George
Carew:--

“Towards the latter end of this month of August, the lord deputy writing
to the president about some other occasions, it pleased him to remember
Cahir Castle (which was lost as before you have heard), signifying that
he much desired to have that castle recovered from the rebels, the rather
because the great ordnance, or cannon, and a culverin being left there by
the Earl of Essex, were now possessed by the rebels. This item from the
lord deputy spurred on the president without further delay to take order
therein, and therefore presently by his letters sent for the lord of
Cahir to repair unto him, who (as before you have heard) was vehemently
suspected to have some hand both in the taking and keeping thereof. The
Baron of Cahir being come, the council persuaded him to deal with James
Butler (nicknamed James Galdie) his brother, about the redelivering
thereof to her Majesty’s use; but his answer was, that so little interest
had he in his brother, as the meanest follower in all his country might
prevail more with him than himself (for he was unwilling to have the
castle regained by the state, except it might again be left wholly to
him, as it was before the first winning thereof); which the president
surmising, told him, that if it might speedily be yielded up unto him,
he would become an humble suitor to the lord deputy (in his behalf) for
the repossessing thereof; otherwise he would presently march with his
whole army into those parts, and taking the same by force, he would ruin
and rase it to the very foundation, and this he bound with no small
protestations. Hereupon Justice Comerford being dispatched away with the
lord of Cahir, they prevailed so far with young Butler, that the castle,
upon the twenty-ninth following, was delivered to the state, as also all
the munitions, and the great ordnance conveyed to Clonmell, and from
thence to Waterford.”

Notwithstanding these imputed crimes of the Lord Cahir, and the open
treason of his brother, he received the queen’s pardon by patent,
dated the 27th day of May 1601, and died in possession of his castle
and estates in January 1628. His brother James Galdie, however, lived
to take his share in the troubles that followed in 1641, and suffered
accordingly.

From these stories of violence and treachery we turn with pleasure to
record a fact of a peaceful character, in which Cahir Castle appears as
a scene of hospitality and splendid revelry. This occurred in 1626, when
the Lord Deputy Falkland, in making a tour of Ireland, after residing a
considerable time at the Earl of Ormond’s castle at Carrick-on-Suir, in
some time after came to the lord of Cahir, and was entertained by him in
his castle with the greatest splendour.

But if these old walls had tongues, they could probably tell us of many
scenes of a different character from that we have just narrated, and of
which one has been dimly preserved in history. Immediately after the
death of Thomas, the fourth Lord Cahir, in 1628, as already stated, his
property having passed to his only daughter and heir Margaret, who was
married to her kinsman Edmund Butler, the fourth Lord Dunboyne, the
latter, while residing in this castle with his wife, slew in it, or
murdered, perhaps, would be the more correct word, Mr James Prendergast,
the owner of Newcastle, for which he was confined a prisoner in the
Castle of Dublin; and his Majesty having granted a commission on the
4th of June in that year, constituting the Lord Aungier high steward
of Ireland for the trial of his lordship, he was tried by his peers
accordingly, but acquitted, fifteen peers voting him innocent, and one,
the celebrated Lord Dockwra, voting him guilty.

During the troubles which followed on the rebellion of 1641, Cahir
Castle was taken for the Parliament, by surrender, in the beginning of
August 1647 by Lord Inchiquin; and it was again taken in February 1650
by Cromwell himself, the garrison receiving honourable conditions. The
reputation which the castle had at this period as a place of strength
will appear from the account of its surrender as given in the manuscripts
of Mr Cliffe, secretary to General Ireton, published by Borlase. After
observing that Cromwell did not deem it prudent to attempt the taking of
Clonmel till towards summer, he adds, that he “drew his army before a
very considerable castle, called Cahir Castle, not very far from Clonmel,
a place then possessed by one Captain Mathews, who was but a little
before married to the Lady Cahir, and had in it a considerable number of
men to defend it; the general drew his men before it, and for the better
terror in the business, brought some cannon with him likewise, there
being a great report of the strength of the place, and a story told the
general, that the Earl of Essex, in Queen Elizabeth’s time, lay seven or
eight weeks before it, and could not take it. He was notwithstanding then
resolved to attempt the taking of it, and in order thereunto sent them
this thundering summons:--

    ‘SIR--Having brought the army and my cannon near this place,
    according to my usual manner in summoning places, I thought fit
    to offer you terms honourable for soldiers, that you may march
    away with your baggage, arms, and colours, free from injuries
    or violence; but if I be, notwithstanding, necessitated to bond
    my cannon upon you, _you must expect what is usual in such
    cases_. To avoid blood, this is offered to you by

                              Your servant,

                                                       O. CROMWELL.

      For the Governor at Cahir Castle,
        24th February 1649’ (1650.)

“Notwithstanding the strength of the place, and the unseasonableness of
the time of the year, this summons struck such a terror in the garrison,
that the same day the governor, Captain Mathews, immediately came to the
general and agreed for the surrender,”--&c.

It was well for Captain George Mathews, or Mathew, as the name is
now generally written, and his garrison too, that he had not the
hot-headedness of an Irishman, or he would probably have set this
“thundering summons” at defiance, and Cahir Castle would not only have
shared the fate of most Irish fortresses at that period, but, what would
have been a far greater loss, the Apostle of Temperance, who has done as
much to regenerate the people of Ireland as Cromwell did to destroy them,
would in all human probability never have existed.

But we are exceeding the limits assigned to us, and can only add a
few words of general description. Cahir Castle is built upon a low
rugged island of limestone, which divides the water of the Suir, and
which is connected by a bridge with the two banks of the river. It is
of considerable extent, but irregular outline, consequent upon its
adaptation to the form and broken surface of its insular site, and
consists of a great square keep, surrounded by extensive outworks,
forming an outer and an inner ballium, with a small court-yard between
the two; these outworks being flanked by seven towers, four of which are
circular, and three of larger size, square. From a very interesting
and accurate bird’s-eye view of the castle, as besieged by the Earl of
Essex, given in the Pacata Hibernia, we find, that notwithstanding its
great age, and all the vicissitudes and storms it has suffered, it still
presents, very nearly, the same appearance as it did at that period; and
from the praiseworthy care in its preservation of its present lord, it is
likely to endure as a beautiful historical monument for ages longer.

                                                                       P.




IRISH MUSICIANS OF THE LAST CENTURY, STORY OF DOCTOR COGAN.


In this grave cigar-smoking age of ours, in which Irishmen exhibit so
little of the love of fun and merriment--the drolleries and _escapades_
which distinguished them in preceding ages--it is a pleasant thing to
us septuagenarians to look back occasionally to our youthful days, and
call up from the storehouse of our memories the merry men whom and whose
merry freaks we were either familiar with, or at least had heard of or
seen. One of these choice spirits is just now present with us in our
mind’s eye, and we are certain that we have only to mention his name, to
bring him equally before a great number of our Dublin readers. We mean
the late musical doctor, John Cogan. There, now, Dublin readers, some
thousands of you at least have the man before you, though many of you
are unfortunately too young to have heard his exquisitely delicate and
expressive hands on the piano, extemporising with matchless felicity
upon Garryowen or some other melody of Old Ireland; or participated in
his playful and always inoffensive merriment and good humour. Even the
youngest of you, however, must surely remember the little man--little
indeed in size, but every inch of him a gentleman, who but a few years
since might be occasionally seen taking an airing, when the sun shone
on him, in Sackville Street, sometimes leaning on his servant’s arm,
and at others driven in his pony-phaeton, which his prudence in youth
had enabled him to secure for his days of feebleness and old age. That
pleasant intellectual countenance, bright and playful as his own music
even to the last, has disappeared from amongst us; but the memory of
such a man should not be allowed to die, and we will therefore, while in
the vein, devote a column of our Journal to a sketch of one of the many
incidents remembered of his long life, as illustrative in some degree not
only of his character, but also of that of society in Dublin during the
last century.

From what we have already stated, it will have appeared that Doctor
Cogan was not only great as a musical performer, but also as a performer
in innocent waggery. It would indeed have been difficult to determine
in which performance he most excelled, or whether he most loved his
music or his joke. He was not only a good theorist, but loved a bit of
_harmony_ intensely, and a _laughing chorus_ was his prime delight. Those
he would often accompany or direct as occasion required, to heighten
the pleasures of a musical treat, when he rarely neglected a happy
opportunity of introducing some _vivace_ movement of his own composing,
provided he could previously prepare a _score_ of good fellows capable
of performing effectively the several parts assigned them in it, which
among his apt compeers was rarely a difficult task. A lover of good
cheer and hospitality, which he both gave as well as partook of with a
true Irish spirit, it was a settled point with the Doctor that brother
professors should at all times live in harmony with each other, and
receive brotherly encouragement; nor were such feelings of an exclusively
national character, but extended equally to foreigners coming to Ireland,
who, if at all known to fame, were sure of receiving a friendly and _cead
mile failte_ reception at his hands. If, it is true, he could on such
occasions indulge a little innocent joke, by playing off a specimen of
Irish _counterpoint_ at the expense of such visitors, it was so much the
more agreeable to him, as in the following instance of the concerted
movement which he got up to do honour to the celebrated violinist Pinto,
who visited our city about sixty years since. But before we detail the
circumstances attendant on this reception, it is necessary that we should
tell our worthy readers something of the person who was selected by the
Doctor to play a leading part--the principal fiddle--on the occasion; and
the more particularly as his name is unknown to the great majority of the
present generation, and almost forgotten by the few who may still survive
him.

The person we allude to was Robert Meekins, or, as he was familiarly
called, “Bob,” a violinist of great tavern-playing notoriety in his
day. Like his brother professors, the harpers of the last century, of
whom Mr Bunting has given us such characteristic anecdotes, Bob was a
thoroughly Irish musician in every sense of the word; and though, as
we believe, he had never travelled out of Dublin, his native city, few
were found to equal him on his instrument either in tone, execution, or
expression of feeling. From the earliest period of his musical studies,
however, he had indulged in a wild and extemporaneous mode of practice,
which proved most injurious to his professional career in after life, and
unfortunately for him, being moreover an inveterate hater of _dry_ study,
Bob more frequently wetted his whistle than he rosined his bow. Under the
influence of such _bad practice_ he became at last incurably vicious,
and rarely kept within reasonable bounds, either in the way of drinking
or fiddle-playing. Indeed, whatever command poor Bob retained over his
instrument, he had none over himself. Leader after leader sought to curb
him in his wild extravagances of style, in the vain hope of diverting
his great natural musical powers into legitimate courses; but Bob would
never be led, and as to driving him, that was found to be equally
impracticable. He would go his own way, and no other. He would read
concerted music, not as it was intended, but as he thought it should be.
His passion for _obligatoes_ was unconquerable, and he rarely arrived at
an _ad libitum_ that he did not avail himself of it with a vengeance; and
thus, while his brother musicians were attending to the pauses, perfectly
content with the single note before them, an impromptu cadence would be
heard meandering through a chord, telling of Bob’s wanderings, and he
the while so absorbed as to be equally heedless of the elbow-punchings
of his neighbours, the authority of his leader, or the intentions of the
composer. No composer indeed came up to his fancy--entirely; something
was always wanting, and his fingers were ever upon the alert to supply
that something which was not set down for him: and should a remonstrance
come from the leader, it but too frequently produced a _presto_ movement
on the part of Bob, leaving a vacancy in the orchestra to be filled up
as it might, at the shortest possible notice. Vain of his powers, and
scorning restraint, his kicks against orchestral rule became beyond all
bearing, and so he was himself at last kicked out from all decent musical
society. Thus finding himself alone, he naturally turned _solo_ player,
and became one of the lions of Dublin, drawing nightly crowds to the
taverns he frequented, where he could indulge his love for flights of
fancy to his heart’s content. But, unfortunately for him, in this new
sphere he was enabled by the liberal contributions of his admirers to
indulge also without restraint that more fatal passion for drink which
had proved his bane through life, leading him step by step, as usual
with such reckless characters, to an untimely and degraded grave. It
is generally believed that poor Bob Meekins died from the effects of
intemperance in some wretched doorway in an alley of our city.

Such, then, was the person selected by Doctor Cogan to perform a
principal part in the little musical drama which he had prepared for
the reception of the great foreign violinist of the day, and the place
chosen for its performance was the once celebrated hotel or tavern called
the Pigeon-house, which at that period was the common resort for the
meetings or departures of friends to or from England by the Holyhead
packets. Thither accordingly the Doctor and his musical companions
repaired, to await the expected arrival of the Signor, and ordered
dinner with the determination that he should be their guest. It is not
necessary to dilate upon the reception given to the brother professor,
or to particularise all the good things that were said, sung, and eaten
upon the occasion. It is sufficient to say that every thing passed off
in true Hibernian style, to the astonishment as well as gratification
of Pinto, who was delighted to find himself surrounded by so many new
and warm-hearted friends, each keeping up the tide of merriment by a
rapid circulation of the bottle amid the joyous flow of song, jest, and
laugh. But where was Bob all this time? He was placed in an adjoining
passage awaiting a silent signal, and being primed for action, was
impatient for the moment of attack upon the excitable nerves of the
delighted Italian. This signal was at length given, and so effectually
arranged were the parts given to each of the Doctor’s apt pupils, that
as the soul-thrilling tones of Bob’s violin vibrated through the room,
it seemed to produce no other effect upon their ears than a _sotto voce_
expression of displeasure, or _forzando_ of horror. All this seemed quite
spontaneous, and was at the same time so judiciously managed as to allow
the instrument to predominate over the voices, and thus enable the
practised ear of Pinto to discover in the invisible minstrel a master
spirit--nor did the well-timed _crescendo_ of “Turn the scraping villain
out,” “Curse the noisy blackguard,” &c. &c. arrive at its climax, until
Bob’s varied and expressive execution had completely bewildered the poor
Signor with amazement. To him, indeed, the scene was one as unusual as it
was unexpected; and when silence was somewhat restored, he eagerly asked
in his broken English whence the tones had come; and truly ludicrous
were the varied expressions of the Italian’s intellectual countenance
on being assured by the Doctor and his assistants that the performer
who had so enraptured him was a rascally itinerant fiddler, who gained
a precarious livelihood by scraping at taverns. The effect may easily
be imagined. The Signor insisted upon seeing him; and when Bob’s whisky
face and tattered habiliments became visible, Pinto sat fixed in mute
bewilderment, conjuring up in his excited imagination the apparition of
a Meekins at the corner of every street; and the success of the Doctor’s
joke was complete, when the poor Italian, with a forlorn and chopfallen
visage, was heard to mutter, “Lit-el fid-el--lit-el fid-el--you call--if
dis lit-el fidel, me go back, me no use!”

A simultaneous burst of laughter was the response to these hurried and
broken accents of surprise and chagrin. But enough was effected, and
in quick compassion for poor Pinto’s feelings, he was at once made to
understand the whole contrivance, on which he laughed as loudly as any
of the merry Irish group around him. The scene of joyousness was kept
up till an _early_ hour, during which Meekins occasionally revelled in
the music of his own dear land, to the increased delight not only of the
Signor, but of all present on the occasion.

                                                                       W.




THE INQUIRY.


        Tell me, ye winged winds,
          That round my pathway roar,
        Do ye not know some spot
          Where mortals weep no more?
        Some lone and pleasant dell,
          Some valley in the west,
        Where, free from toil and pain,
          The weary soul may rest?
    The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,
    And sigh’d for pity as it answered “No!”

        Tell me, thou mighty deep,
          Whose billows round me play,
        Knowest thou some favour’d spot,
          Some island far away,
        Where weary man may find
          The bliss for which he sighs?
        Where sorrow never lives,
          And friendship never dies?
    The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow,
    Stopp’d for a while, and sigh’d, to answer. “No!”

        And thou, serenest moon,
          That, with such holy face,
        Dost look upon the earth
          Asleep in night’s embrace,
        Tell me, in all thy round
          Hast thou not seen some spot,
        Where miserable man
          Might find a happier lot?
    Behind a cloud, the moon withdrew in woe,
    And a voice, sweet, but sad, responded “No!”

        Tell me, my secret soul,
          O! tell me, Hope and Faith,
        Is there no resting-place
          From sorrow, sin, and death?
        Is there no happy spot
          Where mortals may be bless’d--
        Where grief may find a balm,
          And weariness a rest?
    Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given,
    Waved their bright wings, and whisper’d, “Yes! in Heaven!”

                                                       --_Mackay’s Poems_




ON THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS BY MEANS OF CHARMS, INCANTATIONS, AND DRUGS.

Second Article.

SERPENT-CHARMING AS PRACTISED BY THE JUGGLERS OF ASIA.


In my last paper I endeavoured to furnish my readers with a description
of serpent-charming, as at present practised by the jugglers of Egypt,
Arabia, and India. I now come to a review of the opinions maintained
respecting this mysterious art, and the secret on which it depends, by
some of the most eminent philosophers who have turned their attention to
the subject.

These opinions are as various as they are numerous, no two individuals
who have written upon the practice agreeing in any one particular, save
only their determination to regard the whole affair as an imposture--the
snake-charmers as clever and designing cheats, and all who believed in
the reality of their performances, as silly dupes. I shall merely advert
to some of the most striking of these suppositions, and then proceed to
an investigation of their merits, ere advancing my own theory on the
subject.

Many travellers who have written on the practice of serpent-charming have
declared it as their conviction that the process is based in deception,
that is, that the serpents charmed forth from holes are by no means wild
creatures, who really and naturally inhabit those recesses, but animals
which have been previously tamed, their poisonous fangs extracted, and
placed there by the juggler or an accomplice, in order to the performance
of his pretended miracle. Amongst the most prominent of these objectors
are to be found the Abbé Dubois and the traveller Denon; and the latter
author even goes so far as to affirm that the secret of the Psylli was
a piece of nonsense that he might easily have discovered had he been so
disposed. A precious traveller truly! to have had it in his power to
discover a secret that a hundred naturalists would have given their very
eyes to become acquainted with, and yet to neglect taking the necessary
trouble. Ah, Monsieur Denon, how you do remind me of the witty fable of
the fox and the sour grapes! The Abbé Dubois, though equally sceptical,
does not venture to handle this mysterious subject quite so cavalierly as
Denon. He says that the Psylli perform various _tricks_ with serpents,
which, though apparently terrible, are not very dangerous, as they
_always_ take the precaution to have the fangs previously removed, and
to have with them the venomous vesicle extracted. He likewise informs us
that they are _supposed_ to have the power of charming those dangerous
reptiles, and of commanding them to approach and surrender themselves
at the sound of music; and he quotes the passages of scripture to which
I referred in my preceding article, as confirmatory of the authenticity
of the practice; yet he will not admit that even this mass of evidence
will convince that the charmer’s art is aught but an imposture. “Without
dwelling,” says he, “on the literal accuracy of this striking passage
of Holy Scripture, I may confidently affirm that the skill which the
Indian _pretenders to enchantment_ claim in this particular, is rank
imposture. The trick consists in placing a snake, previously tamed and
accustomed to music, in some remote place, and they manage it so that in
appearing accidentally to approach that place, and beginning to play,
the snake comes forward at the wonted sounds. When they enter into an
agreement with any simpleton who fancies that his house is infested with
serpents--a notion which they sometimes contrive to infuse into his
brain--they cunningly introduce some tame snakes into some crevice of
his house, which come to their master as soon as he sounds his musical
call. The chuckling enchanter then instantly whips up the serpent,
claps it into his basket, pockets his fee, and, all the while doubtless
laughing in his sleeve, goes to some other house, to renew his offers of
assistance to similar dupes.”

As to the idea that the snakes are previously deprived of their fangs,
and that the jugglers secure themselves against all danger of being
injured by the regular dancing snakes that they carry about with them in
baskets, a single anecdote related by Forbes, in his Oriental Memoirs,
will I think suffice to combat and refute it. Not having the book by me
while I write, I hope my readers will excuse any slight discrepancies
which they may detect on a reference to my authority. Forbes states
that on the cessation of the music the reptiles lapse into a sort of
lethargy, and appear motionless. It is, however, he adds, necessary that
they should be immediately covered up in the baskets, as otherwise they
may spring upon and wound the spectators; and he informs us that fatal
accidents frequently occur from inattention to this precaution. Amongst
his drawings is that of a Cobra de Capella, which, under the magic
influence of a professed serpent-charmer’s music, danced before him for
an hour upon his table while he painted it, and during that period he
repeatedly handled it and carefully examined the structure of its head,
hood, and jaws, and inspected minutely the variety and extreme beauty
of its spots. The following day an upper servant of his rushed into
his apartment, and cried out that he was a fortunate, a most fortunate
man, doubtless under the immediate protection of the Prophet--that
his devotions had proved acceptable, and sundry other expressions,
totally incomprehensible to Forbes, who inquired his meaning. The man
then related that he had just been in the bazaar, where he had seen
the same juggler who had entertained him the day preceding, performing
before a crowd of people, who, as was usual on such occasions, formed a
circle around the operator, seated on the ground. At the close of the
performance, the reptile, whether infuriated from the music ceasing too
suddenly, or from some other cause not to be explained, darted amongst
the spectators, and seizing a young woman by the throat, inflicted a
wound of which she died in about an hour. Here was proof positive that
the extraction of the serpent’s fangs was thought by no means essential
to training him to his performance.

So much for the idea that the _dancing_ snakes are always deprived of
their fangs--now as to the reality of the circumstance of the _wild_
serpents being drawn forth from their holes by the charmer’s pipe, and
not being _tamed animals_ placed in those holes for the express purpose
of deception.

Perhaps the best refutation of this idea that I can adduce, will be found
in a highly interesting account I received lately from a friend resident
for many years in India, and who directed a more than ordinary degree of
attention to snake-charmers and their feats; nay, not merely to them,
but to every other description of magical rites, of which no land now
furnishes so many wonder-working adepts as India, not even Egypt.

He told me of men who would sow a seed of corn in a flower-pot, and by
sundry mysterious incantations cause it to sprout, grow up, throw off
leaves, bud, produce grain, and ripen, all within the space of an hour.
He told me of men who would turn an empty hamper upside down, and produce
from thence shawls, jewels, strings of beads, muslin turbans, and, in
short, any article the spectators chose to demand. He told me many other
singular and wondrous stories; but, what at present is of more immediate
importance, he gave me a singular account of serpent-charming. I need not
recapitulate its details, as they precisely resemble those quoted in a
former article: I need only observe, that he assured me he had examined
the subject too closely, and had taken too many precautions to prevent
the possibility of fraud, to admit of its being, in any one instance,
practised upon him. He had sent a distance of fifty miles up the country
for a snake-catcher, and had set him to work in a spot entirely unknown
to all as the place he had selected, until he conducted them and the
juggler thither; and he had dozens of times seen the reptiles drawn from
their retreats by the sounds of the flute or fife, which they evidently
derived extreme pleasure from hearing. It was my friend’s opinion
that the chief agent in the operation of serpent-charming was music;
the animals positively delighted in the sound of the soft instruments
employed by the performers, and were by its influence lulled into a sort
of pleasurable trance whenever the exciting cause was put in operation.

My friend once sat beneath the shade of a spreading tree, and was
amusing himself with his flageolet, an instrument on which he performed
with much skill; he had not been thus employed above an hour, when a
native, happening to come up the approach to his residence, suddenly
started, and began muttering prayers as fast as he was able. My friend
could scarcely refrain from laughing at this singular exhibition, being
entirely ignorant of its cause, and was about to rise up, when the
stranger called out to him to remain where he was, and keep playing upon
his instrument if he valued his life, for that imminent danger threatened
him. This announcement, instead of producing the desired effect, only
confirmed my friend in the supposition that the strange Hindoo was some
mad fakir, who, half knave and half crazy, was endeavouring to play
upon his feelings, as he so frequently and successfully did upon those
of his silly countrymen. He accordingly sprang to his feet; but what
his consternation was, you, reader, may judge. As he rose, a prodigious
Cobra de Capella presented itself to his astonished and affrighted gaze,
hanging by its tail from the tree, its gleaming eyes and hooded head
not more than two feet from his own! For a moment he felt as it were
fascinated, rooted to the spot; but in a second afterwards, terror acted
in her more legitimate manner: he sprang several paces backward, and
running to the house, procured assistance, on which he again sallied
forth, accompanied by several natives, who by their cries and hooting
succeeded in inducing the snake to beat a retreat. He was watched,
however, in his departure, and traced to a hole; a guard was placed over
it, and that too of Europeans, so that no confederacy could exist. A
snake-catcher was procured from a distance of ten miles; he approached
the hole, played upon his instrument, and at length the reptile crawled
forth, and was captured and secured in the usual manner.

I think that even this brief and hurried account must have compelled my
readers to cast from their minds all notion of the snakes being _laid
in the proper places_ by the jugglers beforehand, as preparatory to a
performance, as I have shown in the instances above mentioned that no
such thing could have been done. And the idea of the creature’s having
been previously rendered harmless, is also overturned by the circumstance
of the Cobra de Capella, handled one day with impunity by Forbes, having
on the following morning bitten a young woman, who died of the effects
of the poison within an hour. I trust, then, that I have brought you to
admit that the art of snake-charming is a _genuine_ art, whether simple
or not remains to be proved when the true secret shall have been found
out; and that the professors of this secret are not impostors, at least
not in this particular, but at the very least as respectable characters
as the rat-catchers of our native country, who, my readers are of course
aware, pretend likewise to possess the secret of charming and enticing
rats from any place. In my next paper I shall conclude this subject of
_charming_, and endeavour to explain some of the modes by which various
animals are thus seduced.

                                                                 H. D. R.




KNOWLEDGE AND IGNORANCE.--No. I.

BOULDERS.


In using the above terms, let it not be supposed that I mean to imply
by the one a perfect knowledge, or a knowledge of everything, and by
the other a perfect ignorance, or a total want of any knowledge. Either
of such conditions of the mind is incompatible with human organization;
the one, a perfect knowledge, belongs alone to an order of intelligence
infinitely excelling that of man; and the other, a perfect ignorance,
must be sought for in creatures so far below him as to possess no
intelligence. The idiot is not without perception and knowledge, though
of an imperfect and irregular kind. The dog knows its master, recognizes
and obeys his voice. The horse knows and traces, after years of absence,
the road he had once been accustomed to travel; and even reptiles and
fishes acquire a knowledge of persons, of times, and of things; all
this being independent of that range of intelligences which has been
given to every creature for the preservation of its own existence, and
for ensuring the continuance of its species. The terms Knowledge and
Ignorance are used, then, in a comparative sense, being, according to
circumstances, convertible one into the other. What, for instance, is
knowledge at one time, becomes ignorance at another; and the man who
seems wise to those who know less than he does, seems equally foolish to
those who know more--a strong reason surely why no one, however gifted he
may to himself appear, should despise his less gifted brethren. Mounted
he may indeed be on a hill so high that he can discern objects in the
distance which are hidden from the more humble plodders of the plain
below, and yet his own horizon be proportionately limited when compared
to that of others who have climbed the still higher mountain above
him. Can we not all bring home to our minds this varying value of our
acquirements at successive periods of our lives? and are we not sometimes
surprised to reflect that some problem was once difficult, or some fact
obscure, which is now as familiar to our understandings as the daylight
to our eyes? We have, in short, as regards these particular objects,
passed from the night of ignorance into the day of knowledge. And us
with the same individual, and even with whole classes of individuals,
at different epochs, so is it with different individuals at the same
time: one person holding in his hand the dim taper of ignorance, sees
by its flickering and ill-directed light the object of his examination,
distorted by partial and shifting shadows--just as some timid traveller
on a dusky night sees in each waving bush, as to his alarmed imagination
it grows to a portentous size, or assumes a fearful form, some aërial
phantom, or some terrestrial monster. The other, raising the bright lamp
of knowledge, dispels at once by its clear and steady light, uncertainty,
and sees the object as it is.

So many indeed are the practical illustrations of the different manner
in which the same object is viewed by knowledge and by ignorance, that
it is difficult to make a first choice. All around us there are objects,
the nature and qualities of which are known to the few, unknown to the
many, and hence either overlooked or misunderstood by the latter, studied
and understood by the former. Each portion, however minute, of our own
body, and of that of every other organic being, has in it wherewithal to
exercise the ingenuity and reflection of the wisest; and yet how many
thousands live and die without having even desired much less sought after
such knowledge! Nor is the inorganic world less fruitful in subjects
of inquiry, nor less neglected. The ploughman “whistles as he goes for
want of thought,” not because nature has failed to spread around him
inexhaustible food for thought, but because his mind has not been trained
to think. By each movement of his ploughshare, page after page, as it
were, is opened to his view of new and interesting matter--and yet he
sees before him nothing but silent and unmeaning clods. By each movement
of his foot he disturbs those pebbles which, speechless to him because he
questions not, return to the interrogations of knowledge wonder-stirring
answers, when asked,

    1. Of what they are composed?

    2. Whence they came?

    3. And how they came?

For the present we shall pass over these more humble whisperers of things
curious and strange, and turn to those massive fragments of rocks which,
far removed from their original site, are now scattered either singly or
in groups over a large portion of the earth’s surface, resting sometimes
on the slopes of hills composed of materials totally different from
their own, seen sometimes on the sand and gravel of extensive plains,
and distant from the mountains of which they were once a part, sometimes
from one to three hundred miles: they are Boulders. Can we not picture
to ourselves, in that remote period of our island’s history when forest
and morass occupied the place of its bogs, and when the winds sighed
over comparative desolation, an ancient inhabitant, imbued with nature’s
living poetry, pausing before one of those grey lichen-covered masses
which had withstood the warrings of the elements for perhaps thousands
of years, and, as the awe of the surrounding solitude came like a charm
over his soul, gazing with growing veneration at the venerable rock?--to
him it would appear as if cast down from heaven, or planted where it now
stands by some supernatural or giant hand. What spot, then, more fitted
for the simple worship of nature’s child?--what temple, what altar more
suited to his simple rites?

A rock such as we have here described may have been found supported in
part by lesser fragments, or such supports may have been introduced by
partial excavations under favourable projections of its surface; and
in either case, the superfluous earth, sand, or stones under and about
it, being removed, this ancient monument of the operations of Nature
would henceforth become an instrument in the worship of Nature’s God--a
Cromlech!

Whether, however, this be, or not, a correct view of the original impulse
which led to the selection of these giant stones, or of the purpose to
which they were applied, it is for our antiquarian friends to decide.
Suffice it here to add, that the transportation of such huge masses from
their native beds, by the power of man or of giants, was at such a remote
epoch, and under the circumstances of the country, impossible; nor will I
stop to inquire whether a work so mighty was performed by spirits light
as air.

Let us turn to the consideration of the phenomenon of Boulders, as it
has appeared to the eye of science. And perhaps there are no two facts
which place it in so strong a light, and embrace so fully the reasonings
founded upon it, as the dispersion of blocks of the granite and other
rocks of Sweden over a large portion of Northern Europe, the boulders,
either singly or in clusters, being disposed in long parallel lines
or trainées, for upwards of two hundred miles from the mountains of
Scandinavia, to which, by identity of mineral composition, they have
been traced, although separated from them by the Baltic Sea; and the
occurrence of boulders of alpine granite resting on the secondary rocks
of the Jura chain, between which and the Alps are situated the deep
valley of the Rhone, the Lakes of Geneva and Neufchatel, the distance
travelled by the boulders being sixty miles. Saussure, struck by the
spectacle of clusters of these fragments so far removed from any rock
resembling them, declared that they looked as if rained down from heaven;
a sentence strikingly expressive of the difficulties which attend on an
explanation of their occurrence. De Luc rightly speaks of such travelled
masses of stone as being “one of the most important of geological
monuments, since they offer a rigorous criterion of the different systems
concerning the revolutions which have happened on our globe;” and in
describing the vicinity of Cuxhaven, situated at the extremity of the
Bremen country, which lying between the Gulfs of the Elbe and Weser, is
as it were a peninsula, he cites the very forcible example it affords of
a vast abundance of boulders at a distance of more than two hundred miles
from the Scandinavian chain, the outlet, itself sixty miles wide, of the
Baltic, forming part of the intervening space.

At the time of De Luc’s visit to Cuxhaven (1797), a dike was constructing
to secure the port from the violence of the sea, and the plan of
employing blocks for this purpose was suggested by the quantity which
were scattered over all the neighbouring country. From the vicinity alone
of Hornburg, an inland town between the ports of Stade and Harborg,
600 lasts of blocks, amounting to 240,000 quintals, or 23,679 tons,
had at that time been brought and consumed in the dike, which, with
the thickness necessary to resist the utmost impetuosity of the waves,
and a height of about eight feet, already extended three leagues to
the westward of the town. The country in which these accumulations of
erratic boulders had taken place, is an expanse of sand covered with
heath, except where broken by cultivated patches around the scattered
villages, the surface being undulated by hills composed either of sand or
of heaps of boulders. De Luc adds, “that he travelled ten miles without
perceiving in the whole horizon any house, or even a hovel, or a single
tree”--desolate and dreary indeed to the eye of painter or poet, yet rich
in all the elements of sublimity to the eye of the geologist.

It is quite unnecessary to adduce other and less imposing examples
from Great Britain and Ireland of similar facts, the difficulties of
explanation being fully embraced by those selected. How have they been
brought to their present places? is then the question mentally asked, as
well by the learned as the unlearned.

Saussure, celebrated for his examination of the Alps, imagined a great
debacle and retreat of the sea from the strata that had been formed, as
he supposed, by chemical precipitations; and to the violent rush of the
vast current he ascribed the excavation of the valleys, and the transport
of immense masses of stones from the central chain of the Alps, beyond
the precincts of those mountains, to the Jura. Here, then, the excavation
of the valleys of the Alps, and the transport of the boulders, are
considered results of one great catastrophe, by which the bottom of the
sea became hard dry land, its waters descending into huge abysses which
had burst open around the Alps. The phenomenon of Boulders is general in
a large portion of the northern hemisphere; the explanation however is
local and hence insufficient; whilst the philosopher’s machinery, of huge
abysses, like the peasant’s giant, is born of necessity, not deduced from
experience.

Others, and even yet they are many, attribute the transport of both
gravel and boulders to the Noachian deluge, which is their great
geological catastrophe. The application, however, of that great
historical event to such physical agencies, is beset with great
difficulties. The words of scripture do not support, but rather oppose,
the notion of a huge wave rising in the north to a great height, then
rushing southwards over the dry land, and rooting up or sweeping before
it, by hydrostatic pressure, fragments of the earth’s crust. Nor are
facts more in accordance with that notion--the boulders of Scandinavia
were moved from north to south--the boulders of the Alps from south
to north, passing over the Jura mountains into Franchcomté--the
stratification of many of the heaps of sand and gravel--the position
of the boulders generally on the surface, whether of rocks, of sand,
or of gravel--and the valleys, lakes, and seas now lying in the line
of movement, which, if existing before the catastrophe, must have been
filled up before the boulders could have travelled farther, if formed
after, must have required the action of a second catastrophe of equal
violence for their formation. And if, which is more in accordance with
scripture, we consider the waters rising from the surrounding seas over
the dry land, and then suppose them urged on with immense velocity, the
effect would be a heaving up and moving forward of fragments from the
lower land, by which the surface of the higher would be partly covered
and protected; and at the return of the waters to their ancient beds,
these fragments would be swept off, and carried back the same way they
came. Neither, then, the words of scripture, nor the facts themselves,
require us to seek in the Noachian deluge for an explanation of these
phenomena. Another theory, still adhered to by many modern geologists,
is, the action of submarine currents, at a time when the present dry land
had only in part emerged from the sea. This theory has the advantage
of dealing with bodies of diminished gravity, in consequence of their
immersion in a fluid, and consequently of having to provide for the
movement of weights less by one-half or one-third than they would have
been in air. In conjunction with the theory of raised beaches, it
explains many of the phenomena of accumulations of sand and gravel, but
not all. And as regards the transport of boulders, it fails; the great
size and angular form of some--their occurrence at various levels,
resting on various strata--sometimes connected with, and sometimes
unconnected with sand or gravel--their position frequently on the top of
heaps and ridges of gravel, being facts in seeming opposition to such an
explanation, even were it conceded that all the depressions now existing
on the line of travel, as lakes and seas and valleys, were scooped out
subsequently to their transport.

The geological system of the illustrious Hutton assumed as an essential
principle, that as the present continents and dry land were once the
bottom of the ocean, and have been formed, either in greater part or
entirely, of fragments of pre-existing continents now submerged, so is
the work of destruction and renewal still continuing, the substance of
our present dry land being loosened, abraded, or worn down by meteoric
agencies, and carried by torrents and rivers to the ocean, to be there
by currents distributed over the bottom of the sea, and by internal heat
consolidated into new strata, which in time will be elevated into new
continents and islands. To apply this theory in the case of the Jura
boulders, Playfair assigned their transport to an epoch anterior to the
formation or excavation of the deep valleys and lakes which would now
form an insurmountable obstacle to such transport, and thus obtained a
greatly inclined plane, extending from the summit of the Alps to the
Jura, on which to trundle the fragments gradually downwards, by aid of
the numerous streams and torrents descending from the higher to the
lower ground. But as this theory would, as thus applied, premise that
the land had been raised above the sea-level prior to the transport of
the boulders, no means of effecting the great excavations, including the
Lakes of Geneva and Neufchatel, which are supposed to have been formed
subsequently, are left, except the slow erosive action of rains, frost,
torrents, and such-like agents--means which few will consider adequate to
the desired object; and hence the explanation of Playfair, resting solely
on a bold hypothesis, must be rejected. As most of the preceding theories
referred to the usually rounded condition of the granite boulders (many
boulders of other rocks are angular), as an evidence of movement through
the agency of water, De Luc, preparatory to the promulgation of his
own theory, thought it expedient to show that blocks of granite, even
as they stand tranquilly braving the storms, are gradually weathered
into a rounded form. He thus cites the granite of Darmstadt as an
example:--“Here I found a striking example of the manner in which blocks
and even rocks of granite are rounded by the decomposition of the angles
of their masses. I perceived it first in some angular pieces that had
been detached and lay at the foot of the rock, surrounded with rubbish;
for, on giving them a strong blow with an iron at the end of my stick,
the angles fell off, detaching themselves with a concave surface on their
inner side; and I thus produced rounded blocks, exactly resembling those
which I had seen scattered on the plains.” This spherical concretionary
structure has been noticed in the granite of Dublin and Down, and is
common in trap rocks. Having smoothed away this difficulty, De Luc tacks
on the boulders as a corollary to his theory of subsidences. Immense
masses of strata, subsiding into huge caverns or hollows beneath them,
fragments of the lower strata were broken off and blown upwards by the
force of the pent-up air and gases rushing through the cracks of the
sinking strata, the weight of which continued more and more to compress
them, so that the boulders of M. De Luc came from below, and not from
above. This is also a gratuitous hypothesis; and as the localities of
many boulders exhibit no signs of such subsidences and explosions, it
has obtained few if any adherents. So far, then, it would appear that
philosophers, though armed with all the powers of mind invigorated
by study and sharpened by research, have fought in vain against the
difficulties which like a rampart fence in this rugged problem. For a
moment they have appeared illumined by the light of knowledge, and have
then sunk into the darkness of ignorance. But though philosophy may
yield, she never will despair. And now, having marshalled new forces for
the combat, we shall see her, with brighter hopes and prospects, again
renew the assault. To the consideration, therefore, of a widely different
class of explanations, I shall proceed to direct attention in a second
paper.

                                                                 J. E. P.

       *       *       *       *       *

INTELLECTUALITY OF ANIMALS.--Father Bougeant, a Jesuit, was placed in
confinement by his superior in the College of La Fleche, near Paris, for
what he had written on the subject of the intellectuality of animals. His
views, if not orthodox, were certainly curious and amusing, and there
is a sprightliness in his mode of treating the subject, graceful at
least in the Frenchman, if not conformable to the divine. The following
observations, extracted from that section of his work which treats of the
language of beasts, may amuse the reader:--“Our first observation upon
the language of beasts is, that it does not extend beyond the necessaries
of life. However, let us not impose upon ourselves with regard to this
point. To take things right, the language of beasts appears so limited to
us only with relation to our own; however, it is sufficient to beasts,
and more would be of no service to them. Were it not to be wished that
ours, at least in some respects, were limited too? If beasts should hear
us converse, prate, lie, slander, and rave, would they have cause to
envy us the use we make of speech? They have not our privileges, but in
recompense they have not our failings. Birds sing, they say; but this
is a mistake. Birds do not sing, but speak. What we take for singing is
no more than their natural language. Do the magpie, the jay, the raven,
the owl, and the duck, sing? What makes us believe that they sing is
their beautiful voice. Thus, the Hottentots in Africa seem to cluck like
turkey-cocks, though it be the natural accent of their language; and thus
several nations seem to us to sing, when they indeed speak. Birds, if
you will, sing in the same sense, but they sing not for singing’s sake,
as we fancy they do. Their singing is always an intended speech; and it
is comical enough that there should be thus in the world so numerous
a nation which never speak otherwise but tunably and musically. But,
in short, what do those birds say? The question should be proposed to
Apollonius Tyaneus, who boasted of understanding their language. As for
me, who am no diviner, I can give you no more than probable conjectures.
Let us take for our example the magpie, which is so great a chatterer.
It is easy to perceive that her discourses or songs are varied. She
lowers or raises her voice, hastens or protracts the measure, lengthens
or shortens her chit-chat; and these evidently are so many different
sentences. Now, following the rule I have laid down, that the knowledge,
desires, wants, and of course the expressions of beasts, are confined to
what is useful or necessary for their preservation, methinks nothing is
more easy than at first, and in general, to understand the meaning of
these different phrases.”--_Dublin University Magazine._

       *       *       *       *       *

ATMOSPHERIC RESISTANCE ON RAILWAYS.--In Dr Lardner’s third lecture on
railways at Manchester, he detailed a variety of experiments made in
order to ascertain the source of resistance. “He found that an enlarged
temporary frontage constructed with boards, of probably double the
magnitude of the ordinary front of the train, caused an increase of
resistance so trifling and insignificant as to be entirely unworthy of
account in practice. Seeing that the source of resistance, so far as
the air was concerned, was not to be ascribed to the form or magnitude
of the front, it next occurred to him to inquire whether it might not
arise from the general magnitude of the train front ends, top and all.
An experiment was made to test this. A train of waggons was prepared
with temporary sides and ends, so as to represent, for all practical
purposes, a train of carriages, which was moved from the summit of a
series of inclined planes, by gravity, till it was brought to rest;
it was next moved down with the high sides and ends laid flat on the
platform of the waggons, and the result was very remarkable. The whole
frontage of the latter, including the wheels and every thing, a complete
transverse section of the waggons, measured 24 feet square, and with
the sides and ends up, so as to present a cross section, it amounted to
nearly 48 square feet. The uniform velocity attained on a plane of 1 in
177, without the sides up, was nearly 23 miles an hour; whereas, with
the sides up, it was only 17 miles an hour; so that, as the resistance
would be in proportion to the square of the velocity, other things being
the same, there would be a very considerable difference, due to that
difference of velocity. Then, at the foot of the second plane, while
the sides were down, an undiminished velocity remained of 19½ miles an
hour, whereas, with the sides up, it was reduced to 8½ miles an hour; so
that a very extensive difference was produced. They would see at once
that this was a very decisive experiment to prove that the great source
of resistance was to be found in the bulk, and not the mere section or
the form, whether of the front or the back of a train; but simply in the
general bulk of the body carried through the air. It was very likely to
arise from the successive displacements of a quantity of the atmosphere
equal to the bulk of the body; or still more probably, from the fact of
the extensive sides of the train; and indeed there was little doubt that
the magnitude of the sides had a very material influence; for if they
consider what is going on in the body of air extending from either side
of a train of coaches, they would soon see what a mechanical power must
be exercised upon it. Thus, when a train is moving rapidly, the moving
power had not only to pull the train on, but it had to drag a succession
of columns of air, at different velocities, one outside the other, to a
considerable extent outside the train; and it did more, for it overcame
their friction one upon the other; for as these columns of air were at
different velocities, the one would be rubbing against the other; and all
this the moving power had to encounter. This would go far to explain the
great magnitude of resistance found, and its entire discordance with any
thing previously suspected.”

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GILDING OF METALS BY ELECTRO-CHEMICAL ACTION.--M. de la Rive has
succeeded in gilding metals by means of this powerful action. His method
is as follows: he pours a solution of chloride of gold (obtained by
dissolving gold in a mixture of nitric and muriatic acid) as neutral
as possible and very dilute, into a cylindrical bag made of bladder;
he then plunges the bag into a glass vessel containing very slightly
acidulated water; the metal to be gilded is immersed in the solution of
gold, and communicates by means of metallic wire with a plate of zinc,
which is placed in the acidulated water. The process may be varied, if
the operator pleases, by placing the acidulated water and zinc in the
bag, and the solution of gold with the metal to be gilded in the glass
vessel. In the course of about a minute, the metal may be withdrawn,
and wiped with a piece of linen; when rubbed briskly with the cloth,
it will be found to be slightly gilded. After two or three similar
immersions the gilding will be sufficiently thick to enable the operator
to terminate the process.--_Athenæum._----[By referring to the article
on the Electrotype which appeared in No. 20 of the Irish Penny Journal,
the reader will be enabled clearly to understand the mode in which the
gold is separated from the acid, which holds it in solution, and forced,
or attracted, to deposit its particles upon the metallic surface; the
solution of gold bearing in this case a precisely similar relation to the
metal plate, as the solution of copper in the other.]

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DEFINITION OF CHERUB.--A lady (married of course) was once troubled with
a squalling brat, whom she always addressed as “my cherub.” Upon being
asked why she gave it that appellation, she replied--“Because that it is
derived from cherubim, and the Bible says, ‘the cherubims continually do
cry.’”

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