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                        THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

       NUMBER 34.      SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 1841.      VOLUME I.

[Illustration: BARRACK BRIDGE AND THE MILITARY GATE, DUBLIN.]

Though our own good metropolis is confessedly one of the most ancient
cities in the empire, yet there are few towns of any importance either
in England, Scotland, or Ireland, that have so little appearance of
old age; we have indeed a couple of venerable cathedrals, which is
more, we believe, than any other city in her Majesty’s dominions,
except London, can boast of; and we have a few insignificant remains of
monastic edifices, but hid in obscure situations, where they are only
known to zealous antiquaries:--with the exception of these, however, we
have nothing that has not a modern look, though too often a tattered
one; nor is there, we believe, a single house within our Circular Road
that has seen two hundred years. Our bridges and other public edifices
in like manner are all modern--specimens of mushroom architectural
aristocracy--very dignified and imposing, no doubt, in their aspect, but
without any hallowing associations connected with remote times to make us
respect them.

It is owing, perhaps, to these circumstances that we have always had a
pleasure in seeing the old-looking bridge and gateway which form the
subject of our prefixed illustration--we say old-looking, for in reality
neither is very old: but they have an antique appearance about them which
prevents us from thinking our city a mere creation of yesterday. They are
very picturesque also, and contrast well with the other bridge scenes
along our quays, which, though more splendid and architectural, are as
yet too new-looking and commonplace.

Though Barrack Bridge, or, as it is more popularly called, Bloody Bridge,
is now the oldest of the eight bridges which span the Liffey within our
city, its antiquity is no earlier than the close of the seventeenth
century: and yet this very bridge is the second structure of the kind
erected in Dublin, as previously to its construction there was but one
bridge--_the_ Bridge, as it was called, connecting Bridge-street with
Church-street--across the Liffey. And this fact is alone sufficient to
prove the advance in prosperity and the arts of civilised life which
Dublin has made within a period of little more than a century.

Barrack Bridge was originally constructed of wood, and was erected in
1670; and its popular name of Bloody Bridge was derived, as Harris the
historian states, from the following circumstance, which occurred in
the year after. The apprentices of Dublin having assembled themselves
riotously together with an intention to break down the bridge, it became
necessary to call out the military to defeat their object, when twenty
of the rioters were seized, and committed to the Castle. It happened,
however, afterwards, that as a guard of soldiers were conveying these
young men to the Bridewell, they were rescued by their fellows, and in
the fray four of them were slain; “from which accident it took the name
of Bloody Bridge.” In a short time afterwards, this wooden structure
gave place to the stone bridge we now see, which is of unadorned
character, and consists of four semicircular arches. Its rude and antique
appearance, however, harmonizes well with the military gateway placed at
its south-western extremity, on the road leading to the Royal Hospital
at Kilmainham. This gateway, which was designed by the late eminent
architect, Francis Johnston, Esq. P.R.H.A., and erected for government,
under his superintendence, in 1811, consists of a square tower, having
smaller square towers projecting from three of its angles, and a circular
one of greater diameter and altitude at its fourth or north-eastern
angle. The object for which this gateway tower was erected, as well as
the period of its erection, is indicated by escutcheons on its east and
west sides, bearing the arms of the Duke of Richmond and the Earl of
Harrington, the lord-lieutenant and the commander of the forces of the
time. A similar shield on its north side facing the river, sculptured
with the armorial bearings of the family of Johnston, indicates the name
of its architect; and it is worthy of mention as a characteristic of the
love for posthumous fame of Mr Johnston, that this tablet was not known
to exist till within a few years back, and after he had himself paid the
debt of nature; having been concealed from view by a box of wood fastened
against it, and which was suffered to remain--a strange mystery to the
curious observer--till it fell off from decay.

                                                                       P.




ON THE IMPORTANCE OF ATTENDING TO THE QUALITIES OF SEED, AND THE
CONDITION OF THE SOIL, IN THE SOWING SEASON.

BY MARTIN DOYLE.


Among the common Irish farmers, indifference to the quality of all seeds
is still remarkable. Even in respect to wheat, that most valuable grain,
stupidity and carelessness are observable, though the loss sustained in
consequence, both in the quantity and quality of the produce, is very
great. It is no doubt principally owing to the superiority of climate
that wheat and other corn crops grown in the midland counties of England
are so far superior to our grain productions; but much of the excellence
which we perceive is attributable to the care taken in changing seed, and
using that only which is really good. An English farmer will send his
waggon a considerable distance for the seed which will best answer for
his land, and he is willing to pay an advanced price for it, as he knows
that his advantage will be proportional.

We do not import from the principal wheat counties of England a
sufficient quantity of seed: degeneracy rapidly takes place in the
quality of that which we do sow of imported grain, and on that account
a regular and frequent change is necessary, and by the more economical
distribution of this, the difference between the prices of home-grown and
imported seed would be scarcely felt. Not that I would recommend, except
in some of our most calcareous inland counties, those _white_ varieties
which flourish in Kent, or Suffolk, or Buckinghamshire, but the hardier
red Lammas kinds which succeed with us in general, but which require
frequent renewal, else they become thick skinned and dark coloured, and
consequently of inferior value to the miller. By substituting the drill
system for the broad-cast in fit seasons, and on land perfectly suited to
it, one part in four, certainly one in five, is saved, even by those who
sow in the narrowest possible drills, and thickly.

I shall detail the mode by which the land is prepared for sowing, and
the process of sowing, in Buckinghamshire, on clover ley, the most
troublesome for the purpose:--

Farm-yard manure being spread upon the surface, wheel ploughs drawn by
three powerful horses are set to work to plough the land in the usual
British way. In wide lands or stitches, after the sod has been turned and
laid at an angle of forty-five degrees, the seed is sometimes then sown
and harrowed down. But the neatest farmers, instead of sowing at this
stage of the work, employ a compressing implement formed of two parallel
metal wheels at one end of an axle, and very close to each other, and
a guide wheel of the same diameter at the other end. The interior rims
of the compressing wheels (or rollers) are four inches wide, and nearly
touch each other; the exterior surfaces are narrowed to two inches; these
wheels sink into the earth at the junctions of the furrow slices, and
by pressing down the grassy edges, and forming perfect grooves at the
intervals of seven or nine inches, the seed may be sown with extreme
exactness, and without the loss of a single grain, and at a uniform
depth. But though the seed is frequently sown with the preparation just
stated, the practice of the neatest and most judicious farmers is to
harrow down these drills after the rollers have formed and completed
them, and then to sow with the Suffolk drill-machine in the free and
pulverized surface. This implement forms and sows several shallow drills
at each bouting, and with perfect precision; the experienced eye of the
man who follows in the rear, enabling him in an instant to perceive any
possible irregularity in the movement of the hoppers and distribution of
the seed.

The great advantage derived from the action of these compressing wheels
is, that the grassy edges of the furrow slices are prevented altogether
from vegetating by the depth to which they are removed from the surface,
and that the pressure of the portions into which the rollers sink, is
far more effective and consolidating than if an ordinary broad roller
were to pass over the entire area. In preparing any loose fallow land for
vetches, these compressing rollers are very serviceable. By following two
ploughs, and in the same tracks, the ploughing and the perfect formation
of the drills by pressure are accomplished in the same space of time, the
two wheels obviously describing double the number of furrows described by
each plough in the same period.

In heavy clay soils this compression is at least unnecessary, and in
stony land drilling is difficult and unadvisable, but in light open
soils the advantages of this system are considerable. The proper season
for sowing is also a point of great consideration, both as regards the
economy of seed of any kind, and the productiveness of the crop.

Some people labour to effect their seed-sowing on a particular day or
week without other calculations, and are quite satisfied that all is
well if the seed is in the ground at the precise time which they have
appointed for the purpose. Now, any rule as to _time_ alone is especially
absurd in our variable climate; even in the midland counties of
England, where extreme vicissitudes of weather are less frequent, it is
injudicious to fix any certain rule as to the exact time for committing
the various sorts of corn to the ground. Experience has taught those who
have considered the subject, that it is unwise to _force a season_. For
example, the middle of October is considered in Buckinghamshire to be
the best time for sowing wheat; but the earth at that time may be so dry
(and actually was so in the past year) as to be more fit for barley than
wheat; or it may then be so wet as to be equally unfit for the reception
of the seed. In either case the judicious farmer waits for the correct
season, which experience has taught will have a corresponding harvest.

After a wet cold summer the light dry soils of that county being firm and
consolidated, it is perhaps desirable to sow wheat at a very early period
of the autumn; and after a hot dry summer, when the land is in a contrary
condition, it would be better to wait for the autumnal rains to obtain a
firm seed bed. Again, with barley on the same soil, the first of April
is considered a good time; but the farmer who should persist in sowing
just then in spite of the weather or the unprepared state of the land,
would be a fool indeed, and would discover the effect of his blunder
in the shortness of his crop. It is true that the superstitions of the
ancients which so ridiculously influenced the affairs of husbandry, have
long since ceased to be regarded. No one in these days would think it
expedient to steep his seed in the juice of wild cucumbers; nor to bring
it into contact with the horns of an ox, for luck; nor to cover the seed
basket with the skin of a hyæna, to keep off by its odour the attacks of
vermin; nor to sprinkle corn before sowing with water in which stags’
horns or crabs had been immersed; nor to mix powdered cypress leaves
through the seed--though pickles and solutions for destroying insects
are not to be despised. Neither are the planetary influences now much
respected; yet there are many foolish old farmers who attach no little
importance to the state of the moon, the dark nights in November being a
favourite season, without the really important considerations that the
earth and the weather are in an appropriate and congenial state.

I have stated that the drills formed by the Suffolk drill-machine are
very shallow; they are merely sufficient to afford about an inch of
covering to the grain; but I have been assured by the best judges that
the natural tendency of the cereal grains to strike their fibres is such
that a heavy covering is unnecessary. _Our_ national opinion is in favour
of a heavy covering, and our wheat especially is actually imbedded deeply
in the ground with a plough.

The practice in Great Britain universally is to _harrow in_ the grain.
The same practice is universally prevalent in France, where the land is
left roughly harrowed (in the case of winter wheat), in order that the
mouldering of the clods in spring may afford a kind of earthing to the
plants, and prevent the running together of the earth in the wet winter
months, as is too frequent on tenacious soils too finely harrowed.

It is not very long since the advantage of compressing the soil, for
wheat in particular, was discovered in Buckinghamshire, by the accidental
circumstance of a roller (which had been used for some different purpose)
having been drawn in a zig-zag direction across a wheat field. The
plants tillered better, looked far more vigorous during their advance to
maturity, and yielded a far better return on the part of the field so
distinguished by the course of the rollers, which soon after became a
favourite implement in the culture of grain crops.

There is no doubt that all seeds are frequently sown with wasteful
prodigality, because they are cheap or indifferent in quality. How much
better then is it to have those of superior quality, though at a higher
price, and to encourage the distribution of them in the soil by a careful
_mode_ of sowing!

Grains of corn of superior excellence are frequently selected with great
care, as by Colonel le Couteur, in Jersey, and then sown with a dibble
in seedling beds. The plants thus carefully treated tiller surprisingly,
and produce accordingly; after two or three seasons, a fine variety, or
a _renovation_ of some previously established one, is obtained, and the
seed is anxiously sought for.

Do any of our farmers ever dream of going through their corn fields in
harvest, and thus obtain choice seeds? And yet what is there to prevent
success in this respect? A poor farmer who cannot afford to purchase
celebrated varieties at a high cost, may become his own seedsman, by care
and assiduity, in an incredibly short time. Let some of our readers make
the desired experiments for their own sakes.




SUSPENSION BRIDGES.

    On the Theory of Suspension Bridges, with some account of their
    early history. By Mr G. F. FORDHAM. Head at the Scientific
    Society, March 12, 1840.


Suspension Bridges appear to be of very ancient origin: travellers have
discovered their existence in South America, in China, in Thibet, and in
the Indian peninsula. They are most frequently met with in mountainous
regions, and being suspended across a deep ravine, or an impetuous
torrent, permit the passage of the traveller where the construction
of any other kind of bridge would be entirely impracticable. Humboldt
informs us that in South America there are numerous bridges of this kind
formed of ropes made from the fibrous parts of the roots of the American
agavey (_Agave Americana_). These ropes, which are three or four inches
in diameter, are attached on each bank to a clumsy framework composed
of the trunk of the _Schinus molle_; where, however, the banks are flat
and low, this framework raises the bridge so much above the ground as to
prevent it from being accessible. To remedy this inconvenience, steps
or ladders are in these cases placed at each extremity of the bridge,
by ascending which all who wish to pass over readily reach the roadway.
The roadway is formed by covering the ropes transversely with small
cylindrical pieces of bamboo. The bridge of Penipé erected over the
Chamboo is described as being 120 feet long and 8 feet broad, but there
are others which have much larger dimensions. A bridge of this kind will
generally remain in good condition 20 or 25 years, though some of the
ropes require renewing every 8 or 10 years. It is worthy of remark, as
evincing the high antiquity of these structures, that they are known to
have existed in South America long prior to the arrival of Europeans.
The utility of these bridges in mountainous countries is placed in a
striking point of view by the fact mentioned by Humboldt, of a permanent
communication having been established between Quito and Lima, by means of
a rope bridge of extraordinary length, after 40,000_l._ had been expended
in a fruitless attempt to build a stone bridge over a torrent which
rushes from the Cordilleras or the Andes. Over this bridge of ropes,
which is erected near Santa, travellers with loaded mules can pass in
safety.

But suspension bridges composed of stronger and more durable materials
than twisted fibres and tendrils of plants, are found to exist in these
remote and semi-barbarous regions; in Thibet, as well as in China, many
_iron_ suspension bridges have been discovered, and it is no improbable
conjecture that in countries so little known and visited by Europeans,
others may exist, of which we have as yet received no accounts. The most
remarkable bridge of this kind of which we have any knowledge in Thibet,
is the bridge of Chuka-cha-zum, stretched over the Tehintchieu river,
and situated about 18 miles from Murichom. Turner, in his Embassy to the
Court of Thibet, says, “Only one horse is admitted to go over it at a
time: it swings as you tread upon it, re-acting at the same time with a
force that impels you every step you take to quicken your pace. It may be
necessary to say, in explanation of its construction, that on the five
chains which support the platform, are placed several layers of strong
coarse mats of bamboo, loosely put down, so as to play with the swing of
the bridge; and that a fence on each side contributes to the security of
the passenger.” The date of the erection of this bridge is unknown to
the inhabitants of the country, and they even ascribe to it a fabulous
origin. The length of this bridge appears to be about 150 feet.

Turner describes in the following terms a bridge for foot passengers of
an extraordinary construction. “It was composed of two chains stretched
parallel to each other across the river, distant four feet from each
other, and on either side resting upon a pile of stones, raised upon each
bank about eight feet high; they were carried down with an easy slope
and buried in the rock, where, being fastened round a large stone, they
were confined by a quantity of broken rock heaped upon them. A plank
about eight inches broad hung longitudinally suspended across the river
by means of roots and creepers wound over the chains with a slackness
sufficient to allow the centre to sink to the depth of four feet below
the chains. This bridge, called Selo-cha-zum, measured, from one side of
the water to the other, 70 feet. The creepers are changed annually, and
the planks are all loose; so that if the creepers give way in any part,
they can be removed, and the particular part repaired without disturbing
the whole.”

Numerous suspension bridges formed of iron chains exist also in China;
and though the accounts which travellers have transmitted respecting
them are less detailed and explicit than would have been desirable,
descriptions of two of them have been furnished, which are sufficiently
minute and intelligible to excite considerable interest. The first to
which I refer is contained in Kircher’s China Illustrata. The following
is a translation of the author’s words: “In the province of Junnan, over
a valley of great depth, and through which a torrent of water runs with
great force and rapidity, a bridge is to be seen, said to have been
built by the Emperor Mingus, of the family of the Hamæ, in the year of
Christ 65, not constructed of brickwork, or of blocks of stone cemented
together, but of chains of beaten iron and hooks, so secured to rings
from both sides of the chasm, that it forms a bridge by planks placed
upon them. There are 20 chains, each of which is 20 perches or 300 palms
in length. When many persons pass over together, the bridge vibrates to
and fro, affecting them with horror and giddiness, lest whilst passing it
should be struck with ruin. It is impossible to admire sufficiently the
dexterity of the architect Sinensius, who had the hardihood to attempt
a work so arduous, and so conducive to the convenience of travelling.”
Another suspension bridge in this country is described in the 6th vol.
of the “Histoire Generale des Voyages.” The following is a translation:
“The famous _Iron_ Bridge (such is the name given to it) at Quay-Cheu, on
the road to Yun-Nan (Junnan?) is the work of an ancient Chinese general.
On the banks of the Pan-Ho, a torrent of inconsiderable breadth, but of
great depth, a large gateway has been formed between two massive pillars,
6 or 7 feet broad, and from 17 to 18 feet in height. From the two pillars
of the east depend four chains attached to large rings, which extend
to the two pillars of the west, and which being connected together
by smaller chains, assume in some measure the appearance of a net. On
this bridge of chains a number of very thick planks have been placed,
some means of connecting which, have been adopted in order to obtain a
continuous platform; but as a vacant space still remains between this
platform and the gateways and pillars, on account of the curve assumed
by the chains, especially when loaded, this defect has been remedied by
the aid of planking supported on trusses or consoles. On each side of
this planking small pilasters of wood have been erected, which support
a roof of the same material, the two extremities of which rest on the
pillars that stand on the banks of the river.” The writer proceeds to
remark, that “the Chinese have made several other bridges in imitation of
this. One, on the river Kin-cha-Hyang, in the ancient canton of Lo-Lo,
which belongs to the province of Yun-Nan, is particularly known. In the
province of Se-Chuen there are one or two others, which are sustained
only by ropes; but though of an inconsiderable size, they are so
unsteady and so little to be trusted that they cannot be crossed without
sensations of fear.”

While our attention is directed to early accounts and to the origin of
suspension bridges, it may be proper to remark, that although, as we have
seen, the inhabitants of the mountainous districts of South America,
or the wild and barbarous regions of Thibet, appear to have been well
acquainted with the purposes for which these structures are best adapted,
and to have practised their construction from the most remote ages,
neither the Greeks, the Romans, nor the Egyptians, according to all we
know of those nations, had any knowledge of their uses or properties,
or ever employed them as a means for crossing a river, or other natural
impediment. It is not, therefore, from these celebrated nations of
antiquity that the engineer has derived his first hints for the
construction of suspension bridges, but from those rude and unpolished
people, the results of whose ingenuity have just been described.

But it will now be interesting to inquire how far we can trace back the
antiquity of suspension bridges in more civilized countries--on the
Continent, in the British Isles, and in the United States of America.
Scamozzi speaks of suspension bridges existing in Europe in the beginning
of the seventeenth century, but it is very questionable if he employed
that term to designate the same structure to which it is now applied;
and this is rendered the more improbable, as no such bridges are now
in existence, and other writers are totally silent upon the subject.
It does not appear, then, that suspension bridges of other than recent
erection have existed on the Continent, and in England the oldest of
which we have any account has not been constructed more than a century.
The first suspension bridge in the United States was erected in the
year 1796. In England the oldest bridge of the kind is believed to have
been the Winch Chain Bridge, suspended over the Tees, and thus forming
a communication between the counties of Durham and York. Mr Stevenson
(Edinburgh Philosophical Journal) expresses his regret at not having
been able to learn the precise date of the erection of this bridge; from
good authority, however, he concludes it to be about the year 1741. It
may also be mentioned here, that at Carric-a-rede, near Ballintoy, in
Ireland, there is a rope bridge, which in 1800 was reported to have been
in use longer than the present generation could remember.

In the years 1816 and 1817, some _wire_ suspension bridges were executed
in Scotland, and, though not of great extent, are the first example of
this species of bridge architecture in Great Britain. As, however, full
descriptions of these bridges are to be met with elsewhere, it will not
be necessary to notice them further.

In 1818, Mr Telford was consulted by government as to the practicability
of erecting a suspension bridge over the Menai Strait, and was
commissioned to prepare a design, if upon an examination of the
localities he found the project feasible. Having accordingly surveyed the
spot, he was led to propose the construction of a suspension bridge near
Bangor Ferry, and in 1819 an act was obtained, authorising the erection
of the bridge, a sum of money having been previously voted by Parliament
for that purpose. This structure, which will always be regarded as a
monument of the engineering abilities of Telford, was commenced in August
1819, and opened to the public on the 30th January 1826, having occupied
six and a half years in its erection. The Union Bridge across the Tweed
was designed and executed by Captain Brown, and was the first bar chain
bridge of considerable size that was completed in this country. It was
commenced in August 1819, and finished in the month of July 1820. After
the completion of the Menai Bridge, bridges on the suspension principle
began to be universally adopted throughout Europe; but it was not till
_iron wires_ had been proved to be more _firm_ than bars _of a greater
thickness_ that these bridges received their most extensive applications.
Since 1821, Messrs Sequin have constructed more than fifty wire bridges
in France with the most complete success. The wire suspension bridge at
Freyburg, in Switzerland, the largest in the world, was erected by Mons.
Challey, and depends across the valley of the Sarine. It was commenced in
1831, and thrown open to the public in 1834. A suspension bridge has also
been erected at Montrose, the size of which is scarcely inferior to that
of the Menai Bridge. At Clifton a very large suspension bridge is now in
progress of erection by Mr Brunel, and a suspension bridge of 1600 feet
in length is about to be erected over the Danube, between Pest and Offen,
the design for which is the production of Mr W. Tierney Clark, and under
whose able superintendence its construction will be effected.--_Civil
Engineer and Architect’s Journal._




REMONSTRANCE WITH THE SNAILS.


            Ye little Snails,
            With slippery tails,
            Who noiselessly travel
            Along this gravel,
    By a silvery path of slime unsightly,
    I learn that you visit my pea-rows nightly.
      Felonious your visit, I guess!
        And I give you this warning,
        That, every morning,
            I’ll strictly examine the pods;
          And if one I hit on,
          With slaver or spit on,
            Your next meal will be with the gods.

    I own you’re a very ancient race,
      And Greece and Babylon were amid;
    You have tenanted many a royal dome,
      And dwelt in the oldest pyramid;
    The source of the Nile!--Oh! you have been there!
      In the ark was your floodless bed;
    On the moonless night of Marathon
      You crawl’d o’er the mighty dead;
        But still, though I reverence your ancestries,
        I don’t see why you should nibble my peas.

    The meadows are yours--the hedge-row and brook,
      You may bathe in their dews at morn;
    By the aged sea you may sound your _shells_,
      On the mountain erect your _horn_;
    The fruits and the flowers are your rightful dowers,
      Then why--in the name of wonder--
    Should my six pea-rows be the only cause
      To excite your midnight plunder?

    I have never disturbed your slender shells,
      You have hung round my aged walk;
    And each might have sat, till he died in his fat,
      Beneath his own cabbage-stalk;
    But now you must fly from the soil of your sires,
      Then put on your liveliest crawl;
    And think of your poor little snails at home,
      Now orphans or emigrants all.
      Utensils domestic, and civil, and social,
        I give you an evening to pack up:
    But if the moon of this night does not rise on your flight,
        To-morrow I’ll hang each man Jack up.
      You’ll think of my peas and your thievish tricks,
      With tears of slime when crossing the _Styx_.

    POSTSCRIPT.

    If darkness should not let thee read this,
                  Furtive Snail,
    Go ask thy friend, the Glow-worm,
                  For his tail.

                                                    --_From a Newspaper._

       *       *       *       *       *

That man should be happy, is so evidently the intention of his Creator,
the contrivances to that end are so multitudinous and so striking,
that the perception of the aim may be called universal. Whatever tends
to make men happy, becomes a fulfilment of the will of God. Whatever
tends to make them miserable, becomes opposition to his will.--_Harriet
Martineau._




IRISH SUPERSTITIONS.--No. III.

GHOSTS AND FAIRIES.

BY W. CARLETON.


When a superstition is once impressed strongly upon the popular
credulity, the fiction always assumes the shape and form which the
peculiar imagination of the country is constituted to body forth.
This faculty depends so much on climate, temperament, religion, and
occupation, that the notions entertained of supernatural beings, though
generally based upon one broad feature peculiar to all countries, differ
so essentially respecting the form, character, habits, and powers of
these beings, that they appear to have been drawn from sources widely
removed. To an inquiring mind there can be no greater proof than this of
their being nothing but the creations of our own brain, and of assuming
that shape only which has uniformly been impressed upon our imagination
at the precise period of life when such impressions are strongest and
most permanent, and the reason which ought to combat and investigate
them least capable of doing so. If these inane bugbears possessed the
consistence of truth and reality, their appearance to mankind would be
always uniform, unchangeable, and congruous; but they are beheld, so to
speak, through different prejudices and impressions, and consequently
change with the media through which they are seen. Hence their different
shape, character, and attributes in different countries, and the frequent
absence of rational analogy with respect to them even in the same.

Where now are the multitudinous creations of the old Greek and Roman
mythologies? Where are their Lares, their Penates, their Fauns, Satyrs,
Nymphs, Dryads, Hamadryads, Gods, and Goddesses? And yet the peasantry
of the two most enlightened nations of antiquity were so firmly fixed in
a belief of their distinct and individual existence, that the worship of
them formed an essential part of their religion. Where are they now? And
who believes in the existence of a Faun, a Dryad, or a Hamadryad? They
melted into what they were--nothing--before the lustre of Revelation,
which, by bringing the truth of immortality to light, banished the whole
host of such incongruous monsters from the earth, and impressed the
imagination of mankind with truer notions and simpler imagery. The pure
but severe morality of the Christian religion, by making man sensible of
his responsibility in another life, opened up to the good and rational
the bright hopes of future happiness. But we have our fears as well as
our hopes, and as these preponderate in proportion to our fitness for
death, so will we view the world that is to come either with joy or
terror. Every truth is abused and perverted by man’s moral delinquencies:
and the consequence is, that an idle fear of ghosts and apparitions is an
abuse of the doctrine of our immortality. Judgment and eternal life were
brought near us by Revelation, but we fear them more than we love them,
and hence the terrors of our imagination on thinking of any thing that
is beyond the grave. As the old monsters of the mythologies disappeared
before reason and religion, so also will ghosts, fairies, and all such
nonsense, vanish when men shall be taught to reason upon them as they
ought, and to entertain higher notions of God than to believe that his
purposes could be thwarted by the power or malignity of a fairy. Why,
what, for instance, is every ghost story that we have heard, granting
them to be true, but a direct revelation, and so far antiscriptural and
impious? What new truth has the information of a spectre ever conveyed
to us? What knowledge of futurity beyond that which we already know have
these dialogues with the dead ever brought to light? What view of our
moral, religious, or social duties, with which we were not acquainted
before, have apparitions ever taught us? None. Away, then, with these
empty and pusillanimous chimeras, which are but the mere hallucinations
of a weak judgment, acted upon and misled by a strong fancy or a guilty
conscience.

The force of imagination alone is capable of conjuring up and shaping
out that which never had existence, and that too with as much apparent
distinctness and truth as if it was real. We all know that in the ease of
a female who is pregnant, a strong impression made upon the imagination
of the mother will be visible on the body of the child. And why?
Because she firmly believes that it will be so. If she did not, no such
impression would be communicated to the infant. But when such effects
are produced in physical matters, what will not the consequence be in
those that are purely mental and imaginative? Go to the lunatic asylum
or the madhouse, and there it may be seen in all its unreal delusion and
positive terror.

Before I close this portion of my little disquisition, I shall relate
an anecdote connected with it, of which I myself was the subject. Some
years ago I was seized with typhus fever of so terrific a character,
that for a long time I lay in a state hovering between life and death,
unconscious as a log, without either hope or fear. At length a crisis
came, and, aided by the strong stamina of an unbroken constitution, I
began to recover, and every day to regain my consciousness more and
more. As yet, however, I was very far from being out of danger, for I
felt the malady to be still so fiery and oppressive, that I was not
surprised when told that the slightest mistake either in my medicine or
regimen would have brought on a relapse. At all events, thank God, my
recovery advanced; but, at the same time, the society that surrounded me
was wild and picturesque in the highest degree. Never indeed was such
a combination of the beautiful and hideous seen, unless in the dreams
of a feverish brain like mine, or the distorted reason of a madman. At
one side of my bed, looking in upon me with a most hellish and satanic
leer, was a face, compared with which the vulgar representations of the
devil are comeliness itself, whilst on the other was a female countenance
beaming in beauty that was ethereal--angelic. Thus, in fact, was my
whole bed surrounded; for they stood as thickly as they could, sometimes
flitting about and crushing and jostling one another, but never leaving
my bed for a moment. Here were the deformed features of a dwarf, there an
angel apparently fresh from heaven; here was a gigantic demon with his
huge mouth placed longitudinally in his face, and his nose across it,
whilst the Gorgon-like coxcomb grinned as if he were vain, and had cause
to be vain, of his beauty. This fellow annoyed me much, and would, I
apprehend, have done me an injury, only for the angel on the other side.
He made perpetual attempts to come at me, but was as often repulsed by
that seraphic creature. Indeed, I feared none of them so much as I did
the Gorgon, who evidently had a design on me, and would have rendered my
situation truly pitiable, were it not for the protection of the seraph,
who always succeeded in keeping him aloof. At length he made one furious
rush as if he meant to pounce upon me, and in self-preservation I threw
my right arm to the opposite side, and, grasping the seraph by the nose,
I found I had caught my poor old nurse by that useful organ, while she
was in the act of offering me a drink. For several days I was in this
state, the victim of images produced by disease, and the inflammatory
excitement of brain consequent upon it. Gradually, however, they began
to disappear, and I felt manifest relief, for they were succeeded by
impressions as amusing now as the former had been distressing. I imagined
that there was a serious dispute between my right foot and my left, as
to which of them was entitled to precedency; and, what was singular, my
right leg, thigh, hand, arm and shoulder, most unflinchingly supported
the right foot, as did the other limbs the left. The head alone, with
an impartiality that did it honour, maintained a strict neutrality. The
truth was, I imagined that all my limbs were endowed with a consciousness
of individual existence, and I felt quite satisfied that each and all
of them possessed the faculty of reason. I have frequently related this
anecdote to my friends; but, I know not how it happened, I never could
get them to look upon it in any other light than as a specimen of that
kind of fiction which is indulgently termed “drawing the long bow.” It
is, however, as true as that I now exist, and relate the fact; and,
what is more, the arguments which I am about to give are substantially
the same that were used by the rival claimants and their respective
supporters. The discussion, I must observe, was opened by the left foot,
as being the discontented party, and, like all discontented parties, its
language was so very violent, that, had its opinions prevailed, there
is no doubt but they would have succeeded in completely overturning my
constitution.

_Left foot._ Brother (addressing the right with a great show of
affection, but at the same time with a spasmodic twitch of strong
discontentment in the big toe), Brother, I don’t know how it is that you
have during our whole lives always taken the liberty to consider yourself
a better foot than I am; and I would feel much obliged to you if you
would tell me why it is that you claim this superiority over me. Are we
not both equal in every thing?

_Right foot._ Be quiet, my dear brother. We _are_ equal in every thing,
and why, therefore, are you discontented?

_Left foot._ Because you presume to consider yourself the better and more
useful foot.

_Right foot._ Let us not dispute, my dear brother; each is equally
necessary to the other. What could I do without _you_? Nothing, or at
least very little; and what could you do without _me_? Very little
indeed. We were not made to quarrel.

_Left foot_ (_very hot_). I am not disposed to quarrel, but I trust you
will admit that I am as good as you, every way your equal, and begad
in many things your superior. Do you hear that? _I_ am not disposed to
quarrel, you rascal, and how dare you say so?

Here there was a strong sensation among all the right members, who felt
themselves insulted through this outrage offered to their chief supporter.

_Right foot._ Since you choose to insult me without provocation, I must
stand upon my right----

_Left_ (_shoving off to a distance_). RIGHT!--there, again, what right
have you to be termed “_right_” any more than I?--(“Bravo!--go it,
_Left_; pitch into him; we are equal to him and his,” from the friends of
the Left. The matter was now likely to become serious, and to end in a
row.)

“What’s the matter there below?” said the Head; “don’t be fools, and make
yourselves ridiculous. What would either of you be with a crutch or a
cork-leg? which is only another name for a wooden shoe, any day.”

_Right foot._ Since he provokes me, I tell him, that ever since the world
began, the prejudice of mankind in all nations has been in favour of the
right foot and the right hand. (Strong sensation among the left members).
Surely he ought not to be ignorant of the proverb, which says, when a man
is peculiarly successful in any thing he undertakes, “that man knew how
to go about it--_he put the right foot foremost_!” (Cheers from the right
party.)

_Left._ That’s mere special pleading--the right foot there does not mean
you, because you happen to be termed such; but it means the foot which,
from its position under the circumstances, happens to be the proper one.
(Loud applause from the left members.)

_Right foot._ You know you are weak and feeble and awkward when compared
to me, and can do little of yourself. (Hurra! that’s a poser!)

_Left._ Why, certainly, I grant I am the gentleman, and that you are very
useful to me, you plebeian. (“Bravo!” from the left hand; “ours is the
aristocratic side--hear the operatives! Come, hornloof, what have you to
say to that?”)

_Right hand_ (_addressing his opponent._) You may be the aristocratic
party if you will, but we are the useful. Who are the true defenders of
the constitution, you poor sprig of nobility?

_Left hand._ The heart is with us, the seat and origin of life and power.
Can you boast as much? (Loud cheers.)

_Right foot._ Why, have you never heard it said of an excellent and
worthy man--a fellow of the right sort, a trump--as a mark of his
sterling qualities, “his heart’s in the _right_ place!” How then can it
be in the _left_? (Much applause.)

_Left._ Which is an additional proof that mine is _that_ place and not
yours. Yes, you rascal, we _have_ the heart, and you cannot deny it.

_Right._ We admit he resides with you, but it is merely because you
are the weaker side, and require his protection. The best part of his
energies are given to us, and we are satisfied.

_Left._ You admit, then, that our party keeps yours in power, and why not
at once give up your right to precedency?--why not resign?

_Right._ Let us put it to the vote.

_Left._ With all my heart.

It was accordingly put to the vote; but on telling the house, it was
found that the parties were equal. Both then appealed very strenuously to
Mr Speaker, the Head, who, after having heard their respective arguments,
shook himself very gravely, and informed them (much after the manner of
Sir Roger De Coverley) that “much might be said on both sides.” “But one
thing,” said he, “I beg both parties to observe, and very seriously to
consider. In the first place, there would be none of this nonsense about
precedency, were it not for the feverish and excited state in which you
all happen to be at present. If you have common sense enough to wait
until you all get somewhat cooler, there is little doubt but you will
feel that you cannot do without each other. As for myself, as I said
before, I give no specific opinion upon disputes which would never have
taken place were it not for the heat of feeling which is between you.
I know that much might and has been said upon both sides; but as for
me, I nod significantly to both parties, and say nothing. One thing,
however, I do say, and it is this--take care you, _right foot_, and you,
_left foot_, that by pursuing this senseless quarrel too far it may not
happen that you will both get stretched and tied up together in a wooden
surtout, when precedency will be out of the question, and nothing but a
most pacific stillness shall remain between you for ever. I shake, and
have concluded.”

Now, this case, which as an illustration of my argument possesses a good
deal of physiological interest, is another key to the absurd doctrine of
apparitions. Here was I at the moment strongly and seriously impressed
with a belief that a quarrel was taking place between my two feet about
the right of going foremost. Nor was this absurdity all. I actually
believed for the time that all my limbs were endowed with separate life
and reason. And why? All simply because my whole system was in a state
of unusually strong excitement, and the nerves and blood stimulated by
disease into a state of derangement. Such, in fact, is the condition in
which every one must necessarily be who thinks he sees a spirit; and
this, which is known to be an undeniable fact, being admitted, it follows
of course that the same causes will, other things being alike, produce
the same effects. For instance, does not the terror of an apparition
occasion a violent and increased action of the heart and vascular system,
similar to that of fever? Does not the very hair stand on end, not merely
when the imaginary ghost is seen, but when the very apprehension of it is
strong? Is not the action of the brain, too, accelerated in proportion to
that of the heart, and the nervous system in proportion to that of both?
What, then, is this but a fever for the time being, which is attended by
the very phantasms the fear of which created it; for in this case it so
happens that the cause and effect mutually reproduce each other.

The conversation detailed above is but a very meagre outline of what was
said during the discussion. The arguments were far more subtle than the
mere skeletons of them here put down, and very plentifully sprinkled
over with classical quotations, both of Latin and Greek, which are not
necessary now.

Hibbert mentions a case of imagination, which in a man is probably the
strongest and most unaccountable on record. It is that of a person--an
invalid--who imagined that at a certain hour of the day a carter or
drayman came into his bedroom, and, uncovering him, inflicted several
heavy stripes upon his body with the thong of his whip; and such was the
power of fancy here, that the marks of the lash were visible in black and
blue streaks upon his flesh. I am inclined to think, however, that this
stands very much in need of confirmation.

I have already mentioned a case of spectral illusion which occurred in
my native parish. I speak of Daly’s daughter, who saw what she imagined
to be the ghost of M’Kenna, who had been lost among the mountains. I
shall now relate another, connected with the fairies, of which I also
was myself an eye-witness. The man’s name, I think, was Martin, and he
followed the thoughtful and somewhat melancholy occupation of a weaver.
He was a bachelor, and wrought journey-work in every farmer’s house where
he could get employment; and notwithstanding his supernatural vision
of the fairies, he was considered to be both a quick and an excellent
workman. The more sensible of the country-people said he was deranged,
but the more superstitious of them maintained that he had a _Lianhan
Shee_, and saw them against his will. The Lianhan Shee is a malignant
fairy, which, by a subtle compact made with any one whom it can induce
by the fairest promises to enter into, secures a mastery over them by
inducing its unhappy victims to violate it; otherwise, it is and must be
like the oriental genie, their slave and drudge, to perform such tasks
as they wish to impose upon it. It will promise endless wealth to those
whom it is anxious to subjugate to its authority, but it is at once so
malignant and ingenious, that the party entering into the contract with
it is always certain by its manœuvres to break through his engagement,
and thus become slave in his turn. Such is the nature of this wild and
fearful superstition, which I think is fast disappearing, and is but
rarely known in the country. Martin was a thin pale man, when I saw him,
of a sickly look, and a constitution naturally feeble. His hair was a
light auburn, his beard mostly unshaven, and his hands of a singular
delicacy and whiteness, owing, I dare say, as much to the soft and easy
nature of his employment, as to his infirm health. In every thing else
he was as sensible, sober, and rational as any other man; but on the
topic of fairies, the man’s mania was peculiarly strong and immoveable.
Indeed, I remember that the expression of his eyes was singularly wild
and hollow, and his long narrow temples sallow and emaciated.

Now, this man did not lead an unhappy life, nor did the malady he
laboured under seem to be productive of either pain or terror to him,
although one might be apt to imagine otherwise. On the contrary, he
and the fairies maintained the most friendly intimacy, and their
dialogues--which I fear were woefully one-sided ones--must have been a
source of great pleasure to him, for they were conducted with much mirth
and laughter, on his part at least.

“Well, Frank, when did you see the fairies?”

“Whist! there’s two dozen of them in the shop (the weaving shop) this
minute. There’s a little ould fellow sittin’ on the top of the sleys, an’
all to be rocked while I’m weavin’. The sorrow’s in them, but they’re the
greatest little skamers alive, so they are. See, there’s another of them
at my dressin’[1] noggin. Go out o’ that, you _shingawn_; or, bad cess to
me if you don’t, but I’ll lave you a mark. Ha! out, you thief you!”

“Frank, aren’t you afear’d o’ them?”

“Is it me? Arra, what ’ud I be afear’d o’ them for? Sure they have no
power over me.”

“And why haven’t they, Frank?”

“Becaise I was baptized against them.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Why, the priest that christened me was tould by my father to put in
the prayer against the fairies--an’ a priest can’t refuse it when he’s
axed--an’ he did so. Begorra, it’s well for me that he did--(let the
tallow alone, you little glutton--see, there’s a weeny thief o’ them
aitin’ my tallow)--becaise, you see, it was their intention to make me
king o’ the fairies.”

“Is it possible?”

“Devil a lie in it. Sure you may ax them, an’ they’ll tell you.”

“What size are they, Frank?”

“Oh, little wee fellows, with green coats an’ the purtiest little
shoes ever you seen. There’s two o’ them--both ould acquaintances o’
mine--runnin’ along the yarn beam. That ould fellow with the bob wig is
called Jim Jam, an’ the other chap with the three-cocked hat is called
Nickey Nick. Nickey plays the pipes. Nickey, give us a tune, or I’ll
malivogue you--come now, ‘Lough Erne Shore.’ Whist, now--listen!”

The poor fellow, though weaving as fast as he could all the time, yet
bestowed every possible mark of attention to the music, and seemed to
enjoy it as much as if it had been real. But who can tell whether that
which we look upon as a privation may not after all be a fountain of
increased happiness, greater perhaps than any which we ourselves enjoy? I
forget who the poet is who says,

      Mysterious are thy laws;
    The vision’s finer than the view;
    Her landscape Nature never drew
      So fair as fancy draws.

Many a time when a mere child not more than six or seven years of age,
have I gone as far as Frank’s weaving-shop, in order, with a heart
divided between curiosity and fear, to listen to his conversation with
the good people. From morning till night his tongue was going almost as
incessantly as his shuttle; and it was well known that at night, whenever
he awoke out of his sleep, the first thing he did was to put out his hand
and push them as it were off his bed.

“Go out o’ this, you thieves you--go out o’ this, now, an’ let me alone.
Nickey, is this any time to be playin’ the pipes, and me wants to sleep?
Go off, now--troth if yez do, you’ll see what I’ll give yez to-morrow.
Sure I’ll be makin’ new dressins; and if yez behave dacently, maybe I’ll
lave yez the scrapin’ o’ the pot. There now. Och! poor things, they’re
dacent crathurs. Sure they’re all gone barrin’ poor Red-cap, that doesn’t
like to lave me.” And then the harmless monomaniac would fall back into
what we trust was an innocent slumber.

About this time there was said to have occurred a very remarkable
circumstance, which gave poor Frank a vast deal of importance among the
neighbours. A man named Frank Thomas, the same in whose house Mickey
McGrory held the first dance at which I ever saw him, as detailed in a
former number of this Journal--this man, I say, had a child sick, but of
what complaint I cannot now remember, nor is it of any importance. One of
the gables of Thomas’s house was built against or rather into a Forth or
Rath called Towny, or properly Tonagh Forth. It was said to be haunted
by the fairies, and what gave it a character peculiarly wild in my eyes,
was, that there were on the southern side of it two or three little green
mounds, which were said to be the graves of unchristened children, over
which it was considered dangerous and unlucky to pass. At all events, the
season was mid-summer; and one evening about dusk, during the illness
of the child, the noise of a handsaw was heard upon the Forth. This
was considered rather strange, and after a little time, a few of those
who were assembled at Frank Thomas’s went to see who it could be that
was sawing in such a place, or what they could be sawing at so late an
hour, for every one knew that there was none in the whole country about
them who would dare to cut down the few whitethorns that grew upon the
forth. On going to examine, however, judge of their surprise, when, after
surrounding and searching the whole place, they could discover no trace
of either saw or sawyer. In fact, with the exception of themselves, there
was no one, either natural or supernatural, visible. They then returned
to the house, and had scarcely sat down, when it was heard again within
ten yards of them. Another examination of the premises took place, but
with equal success. Now, however, while standing on the forth, they heard
the sawing in a little hollow, about a hundred and fifty yards below
them, which was completely exposed to their view, but they could see
nothing. A party of them immediately went down to ascertain if possible
what this singular noise and invisible labour could mean; but on arriving
at the spot, they heard the sawing, to which were now added hammering
and driving of nails, upon the forth above, whilst those who stood on
the forth continued to hear it in the hollow. On comparing notes, they
resolved to send down to Billy Nelson’s for Frank Martin, a distance only
of about eighty or ninety yards. He was soon on the spot, and without a
moment’s hesitation solved the enigma.

“’Tis the fairies,” said he. “I see them, and busy crathurs they are.”

“But what are they sawing, Frank?”

“They are makin’ a child’s coffin,” he replied; “they have the body
already made, an’ they’re now nailin’ the lid together.”

That night the child certainly died, and the story goes, that on the
second evening afterwards, the carpenter who was called upon to make
the coffin brought a table out from Thomas’s house to the forth, as a
temporary bench; and it is said that the sawing and hammering necessary
for the completion of his task were precisely the same which had been
heard the evening but one before--neither more nor less. I remember the
death of the child myself, and the making of its coffin, but I think that
the story of the supernatural carpenter was not heard in the village for
some months after its interment.

Frank had every appearance of a hypochondriac about him. At the time
I saw him, he might be about thirty-four years of age, but I do not
think, from the debility of his frame and infirm health, that he has
been alive for several years. He was an object of considerable interest
and curiosity, and often have I been present when he was pointed out to
strangers as “the man that could see the good people.” With respect to
his solution of the supernatural noise, that is easily accounted for.
This superstition of the coffin-making is a common one, and to a man like
him, whose mind was familiar with it, the illness of the child would
naturally suggest the probability of its death, which he immediately
associated with the imagery and agents to be found in his unhappy malady.

[1] The dressings are a species of sizy flummery, which is brushed into
the yarn to keep the thread round and even, and to prevent it from being
frayed by the friction of the reed.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANTIQUITY OF RAILWAYS AND GAS.--Railways were used in Northumberland
in 1633, and Lord Keeper North mentions them in 1671 in his journey to
this country. A Mr Spedding, coal-agent to Lord Lonsdale, at Whitehaven,
in 1765, had the gas from his lordship’s coal-pits conveyed by pipes
into his office, for the purpose of lighting it, and proposed to the
magistrates of Whitehaven to convey the gas by pipes through the streets
to light the town, which they refused.--_Carlisle Journal._

       *       *       *       *       *

THE HUNGARIAN NOBILITY.--There is no country under heaven where nobility
is at so low a par, or rather perhaps I should say, on so unequal a
basis; and I was so much amused by the classification lately bestowed
on it by a humorous friend of mine, to whom I had frankly declared my
inability to disentangle its mazes, that I will give it in his own words.

“The nobility of Hungary are of three orders--the mighty, the moderate,
and the miserable--the Esterhazys, the Batthyanyis, and such like, are
the capital of the column--the shaft is built of the less wealthy and
influential; and the base (and a very substantial one it is) is a curious
congeries of small landholders, herdsmen, vine-growers, waggoners,
and pig-drivers. Nay, you may be unlucky enough to get a _nemes_ as a
servant; and this is the most unhappy dilemma of all, for you cannot
solace yourself by beating him when he offends you, as he is protected by
his privileges, and he appeals to the Court of the Comitat for redress.
The country is indebted to Maria Theresa for this pleasant confusion;
who, when she repaid the valour of the Hungarian soldiers with a portion
of their own land, and a name to lend it grace, forgot that many of these
individuals were probably better swordsmen than proprietors; and instead
of limiting their patent of nobility to a given term of years, laid the
foundation of a state of things as inconvenient as it is absurd.”

I was immediately reminded by his closing remark of a most ridiculous
scene, which, although in itself a mere trifle, went far to prove the
truth of his position. My readers are probably aware that none pay tolls
in Hungary save the peasants; and it chanced that on one occasion, when
we were passing from Pesth to Buda over the bridge of boats, the carriage
was detained by some accidental stoppage just beside the tollkeeper’s
lodge, when our attention was arrested by a vehement altercation between
the worthy functionary, its occupant, and a little ragged urchin of 11 or
12 years of age, who had, as it appeared, attempted to pass without the
preliminary ceremony of payment.

The tollkeeper handled the supposed delinquent with some roughness as he
demanded his fee: but the boy stood his ground stoutly, and asserted his
free right of passage as a nobleman! The belligerent party pointed to the
heel-less shoes and ragged jerkin of the culprit, and smiled in scorn.
The lad for all reply bade him remove his hand from his collar, and let
him pass at his peril; and the tone was so assured in which he did so,
that the tollkeeper became grave, and looked somewhat doubtful; when
just at the moment up walked a sturdy peasant, who, while he paid his
kreutzer, saluted the young nobleman, and settled the point.

It was really broad farce. The respectably clad and comfortable looking
functionary loosed his hold in a moment, and the offending hand, as it
released the collar of the captive, lifted his hat, while he poured
out his excuses for an over-zeal, arising from his ignorance of the
personal identity of this young scion of an illustrious house, who
was magnanimously pleased to accept the apology, and to raise his own
dilapidated cap in testimony of his greatness of soul, as he walked away
in triumph. Cruikshank would have had food for a _chef d’œuvre_.--_Miss
Pardoe’s Hungary._

       *       *       *       *       *

AFRICAN ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE.--On coming out of my hut at Fandah
one morning, I saw the king seated at the gate of his palace, surrounded
by his great men, administering justice. At a little distance, on the
grass, were two men and two women, who were charged with robbery. The
evidence had already been gone through before my arrival. The king was
the principal speaker, and when he paused, the whole court murmured
approbation. The younger woman made a long defence, and quite astonished
me by her volubility, variety of intonation, and graceful action. The
appeal, however, seemed to be in vain; for when she had finished, the
king, who had listened with great patience, passed sentence in a speech
of considerable length, delivered with great fluency and emphasis. In
many parts he was much applauded, except by the poor wretches, who heard
their doom with shrieks of despair. The king then retired, the court
broke up, and the people dispersed. None remained but the prisoners and a
decrepit old man, who, with many threats and some ceremony, administered
a small bowl of poison, prepared, I believe, from the leaves of a
venerable tree in the neighbourhood, which was hooped and propped all
round. The poor creatures received the potion on their knees, and before
they could be induced to swallow it, cast many a lingering look and last
farewell on the beautiful world from which a small draught was about to
separate them. They afterwards drank a prodigious quantity of water; and
when I next went out, the dose had done its deadly work. I cannot tell
how far justice was truly administered, but there was a great appearance
of it; and I must say that I never in any court saw a greater display of
decorum and dignity.--_Allan’s Views on the Niger._

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PLANING-MACHINE ROOM IN MESSRS FAWCETT AND CO.’S ENGINE FACTORY,
LIVERPOOL.--In this room are valuable and elaborately contrived machines
for the planing or levelling of large plates, or other pieces of iron
or brass, so as to give them a smooth, true, and polished surface. The
article or piece to be planed is securely fixed by screw-bolts, &c. to
a horizontal iron table, perforated with holes for the insertion of the
bolts from beneath it in any required point, to suit the size or form
of the article. This table, when put in motion, travels backwards and
forwards with its load on two iron rails, or parallel slides. Over the
centre is perpendicularly fixed what is called the “planing tool,” an
instrument made of steel, somewhat in the form of a hook, with the point
so inclined as to present itself towards the surface of the metal to be
planed, as it approaches it on the table, so as, when all is adjusted,
to plough or plane it in narrow streaks or shavings as it passes under
it. The extremity of the tool is about half an inch to three quarters
in breadth, and being of a round form at the under side, and ground or
bevelled on the upper, presents a sort of point. If a plate of iron is to
be planed, the operation commences on the outer edge, and each movement
backwards and forwards of the table places it in such a position under
the tool, that another small parallel cut is made throughout its whole
length. The tool, in ordinary machines of this kind, is fixed so that
it cuts only in one direction, as the plate is drawn against its edge
or point, which is raised to allow of the backward motion of the plate.
A new patent has however been obtained for a great improvement in this
respect by Mr Whitworth, of Manchester, and several of his machines are
on Messrs Fawcett and Co.’s premises. In these, by a peculiarly beautiful
contrivance, the cutting instrument, the moment the plate passes under
it, “jumps” up a little in the box or case to which it is attached, and
instantly “turns about” in the opposite direction, and commences cutting
away, so that both backwards and forwards the operation goes on without
loss of time. The workmen very quaintly and appropriately call this new
planing tool “Jim Crow.” A workman attends to each of the machines; and
when the piece to be cut is fixed with great exactness on the moving
table by a spirit-level, he has nothing to do but to watch that it remain
so, and that the machinery work evenly and correctly. Where a very
smooth surface is required, the operation of planing is repeated, and
two plates thus finished will be so truly level, that they will adhere
together. It should be added, that so perfect are these machines, that
in addition to planing horizontally, they may be so adjusted as to plane
perpendicularly, or at any given angle.

       *       *       *       *       *

The planet revolves for ever in its appointed orbit; and the noblest
triumph of mechanical philosophy is to have ascertained that the
perturbations of its course are all compensated within determined
periods, and its movement exempted from decay. But man, weak and erring
though he be, is still progressive in his moral nature. He does not move
round for ever in one unvarying path of moral action. The combinations of
his history exhibit not only the unity of the material system, but also
the continually advancing improvement belonging to beings of a higher
order.--_Miller’s “Modern History philosophically considered.”_

       *       *       *       *       *

TO PREVENT HORSES’ FEET FROM CLOGGING UP WITH SNOW.--One pound of lard,
half a pound of tar, and two ounces of resin, simmered up together. Stop
the horses’ feet, just before starting, with this, which will prevent the
feet from balling.--_Suffolk Chronicle._

       *       *       *       *       *

Conscience is merely our own judgment of the moral rectitude or turpitude
of our own actions.--_Locke._

       *       *       *       *       *

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