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                        THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

         NUMBER 49.      SATURDAY, JUNE 5, 1841.      VOLUME I.

[Illustration: VICTORIA CASTLE, KILLINEY, COUNTY OF DUBLIN.]

Our metropolitan readers, at least, and many others besides, are aware
of the magnificent but not easily to be realised project, recently
propounded, of erecting a town on the east side of Malpas’s or Killiney
Hill--a situation certainly of unrivalled beauty and grandeur. Plans,
most satisfactory, and views prospective as well as perspective of this
as yet non-existent Brighton or Clifton, have been laid before the
public, with a view to obtain the necessary ways and means to give it a
more substantial reality; but alas! for the uncertainty of human wishes!
Queenstown, despite the popularity of our sovereign, is not likely, for
some time at least, to present a rivalry, in any thing but its romantic
and commanding site, to the busy, bustling, and not very symmetrically
built town which has been erected in honour of Her august eldest uncle.
The good people of Kingstown may therefore rejoice; their glory will not
for some time at least be eclipsed; and the lovers of natural romantic
scenery who have not money--they seldom have--to employ in promising
speculations, may also rejoice, for the wild and precipitous cliffs of
Killiney are likely to retain for some years longer a portion of their
romantic beauty; the rocks will not be shaped into well-dressed forms
of prim gentility; the purple heather and blossomy furze, “unprofitable
gay,” may give nature’s brilliant colouring to the scenery, and the wild
sea-birds may sport around: the time has not arrived when they will be
destroyed or banished from their ancient haunt by the encroachment of man.

But however this may be, the first stone of the new town has been laid;
nay, the first building--no less a building than “Victoria Castle”--has
been actually erected; and, as a memorial of one of the gigantic
projects of this speculating nineteenth century of ours, we have felt it
incumbent on us to give its fair proportions a place in our immortal and
universally read miscellany, in order to hand down its pristine form to
posterity in ages when it shall have been shaped by time into a genuine
antique ruin.

Of the architectural style and general appearance of Victoria Castle, our
engraving gives a good idea. Like most modern would-be castles, it has
towers and crenellated battlements and _large_ windows in abundance, and
is upon the whole as unlike a real old castle as such structures usually
are. It is, however, a picturesque and imposing structure of its kind,
and, what is of more consequence to its future occupants, a cheerful and
commodious habitation, which is more than can be said of most genuine
castles, or of many more classical imitations of them; and its situation,
on a terrace on the south side of Killiney Hill, is one as commanding and
beautiful as could possibly be imagined.

Nothing in nature can indeed surpass the beauty, variety, and extent
of the prospects which may be enjoyed from this spot or its immediate
vicinity, and we might fill a whole number of our Journal in describing
their principal features. To most of our readers, however, they must
be already familiar, and to those who have not had the pleasure of
enjoying a sight of them, it will convey a sufficient general idea of
what they must be, to acquaint them that Killiney Hill from the same
point commands, towards the west, views of the far-famed Bay of Dublin,
the city, and the richly-cultivated and villa-studded plains by which
it is surrounded, towards the north, the bold, rugged promontory of
Howth, with the islands of Dalkey, Ireland’s eye, Lambay, and the peaked
mountain-ranges of Down and Lowth in the extreme distance; and lastly,
towards the east and south, the sea, and the lovely Bay of Killiney,
with its shining yellow strand, curved into the form of a spacious and
magnificent amphitheatre, from which, as in seats above each other,
ascend the richly-wooded hills, backed by the mountains of Dublin and
Wicklow, with all their exquisite variety of forms and fitful changes of
colour. In short, it may truly be said of this delightful situation, that
though other localities may possess some individual character of scenery
of greater beauty or grandeur, there are few if any in the British
empire that could fairly be compared with it for its variety and general
interest.

Of the great interest of Killiney to the naturalist, and the geologist
more particularly, we have already endeavoured to give our readers
some notion in a paper, in a recent number, from the pen of our able
and accomplished friend Dr Schouler; and Killiney is scarcely less
interesting to the antiquary than to the man of science. Though till a
recent period its now cultivated and thickly inhabited hills and shores
presented the virgin appearance of a country nearly in the state which
nature left it, the numerous monuments of antiquity scattered about them
clearly evinced that man had been a wanderer if not an inhabitant here
in the most remote times. Numerous kistvaens containing human skeletons
have been found between the road and the sea, undoubtedly of pagan times;
and we have ourselves seen in our young days six very large urns of
baked clay, containing burned bones, which were discovered in sinking
the foundations for a cottage, near the road between the Killiney and
Rochestown hills. We have also seen several sepulchral stone circles,
now no longer remaining; and there is yet to be seen of the same period,
a fine cromleac, situated near Shanganagh, and that most remarkable and
interesting pagan temple, near the Martello tower, with its judgment
chair, and the figures of the sun and moon sculptured on one of the
stones within its enclosure. Nor is Killiney without its monument of
Christian piety of as early date as any to be found in Ireland. In the
beautiful ivied ruin of its parish church, the antiquary may enjoy a
sight of one of the most characteristic examples of the temples erected
by the Irish immediately after their conversion to Christianity, and make
himself intimate with a style of architecture not now to be found in
other portions of the British empire.

                                                                       P.




THE CASTLE OF AUGHENTAIN, OR A LEGEND OF THE BROWN GOAT,

A TALE OF TOM GRASSIEY, THE SHANAHUS.

BY WILLIAM CARLETON.


When Tom had expressed an intention of relating an old story, the hum
of general conversation gradually subsided into silence, and every face
assumed an expression of curiosity and interest, with the exception of
Jemsy Baccagh, who was rather deaf, and blind George M’Givor, so called
because he wanted an eye; both of whom, in high and piercing tones,
carried on an angry discussion touching a small law-suit that had gone
against Jemsy in the Court Leet, of which George was a kind of rustic
attorney. An outburst of impatient rebuke was immediately poured upon
them from fifty voices. “Whisht with yez, ye pair of devils’ limbs, an’
Tom goin’ to tell us a story. Jemsy, your sowl’s as crooked as your lame
leg, you sinner; an’ as for blind George, if roguery would save a man,
he’d escape the devil yet. Tarenation to yez, an’ be quiet till we hear
the story!”

“Ay,” said Tom, “Scripthur says that when the blind leads the blind, both
will fall into the ditch; but God help the lame that have blind George
to lead them; we might aisily guess where he’d guide them to, especially
such a poor innocent as Jemsy there.” This banter, as it was not intended
to give offence, so was it received by the parties to whom it was
addressed with laughter and good humour.

“Silence, boys,” said Tom; “I’ll jist take a draw of the pipe till I
put my mind in a proper state of transmigration for what I’m goin’ to
narrate.”

He then smoked on for a few minutes, his eyes complacently but
meditatively closed, and his whole face composed into the philosophic
spirit of a man who knew and felt his own superiority, as well as what
was expected from him. When he had sufficiently arranged the materials in
his mind, he took the pipe out of his mouth, rubbed the shank-end of it
against the cuff of his coat, then handed it to his next neighbour, and
having given a short preparatory cough, thus commenced his legend:--

“You must know that afther Charles the First happened to miss his head
one day, havin’ lost it while playin’ a game of ‘Heads an’ Points’ with
the Scotch, that a man called Nolly Rednose, or Oliver Crummle, was
sent over to Ireland with a parcel of breekless Highlanders an’ English
Bodaghs to subduvate the Irish, an’ as many of the Prodestans as had been
friends to the late king, who were called Royalists. Now, it appears by
many larned transfigurations that Nolly Rednose had in his army a man
named Balgruntie, or the Hog of Cupar; a fellow who was as coorse as
sackin’, as cunnin’ as a fox, an’ as gross as the swine he was named
afther. Rednose, there is no doubt of it, was as nate a hand at takin’
a town or castle as ever went about it; but then, any town that didn’t
surrendher at discretion was sure to experience little mitigation at
his hands; an’ whenever he was bent on wickedness, he was sure to say
his prayers at the commencement of every siege or battle; that is, he
intended to show no marcy in, for he’d get a book, an’ openin’ it at
the head of his army, he’d cry, ‘Ahem, my brethren, let us praise God
by endeavourin’ till sing sich or sich a psalm;’ an’ God help the man,
woman, or child, that came before him after that. Well an’ good: it so
happened that a squadron of his psalm-singers were dispatched by him from
Enniskillen, where he stopped to rendher assistance to a part of his
army that O’Neill was leatherin’ down near Dungannon, an’ on their way
they happened to take up their quarthers for the night at the Mill of
Aughentain. Now, above all men in the creation, who should be appointed
to lead this same squadron but the Hog of Cupar. ‘Balgruntie, go off wid
you,’ said Crummle, when administering his instructions to him; ‘but
be sure that wherever you meet a fat royalist on the way, to pay your
respects to him as a Christian ought,’ says he; ‘an’, above all things,
my dear brother Balgruntie, _don’t neglect your devotions_, otherwise our
arms can’t prosper; and be sure,’ says he, with a pious smile, ‘that if
they promulgate opposition, you will make them bleed anyhow, either in
purse or person; or if they provoke the grace o’ God, take a little from
them in both; an’ so the Lord’s name be praised, yeamen!’

Balgruntie sang a psalm of thanksgivin’ for bein’ elected by his
commander to sich a holy office, set out on his march, an’ the next
night he an’ his choir slep in the mill of Aughentain, as I said. Now,
Balgruntie had in this same congregation of his a long-legged Scotchman
named Sandy Saveall, which name he got by way of etymology, for his
charity; for it appears by the historical elucidations that Sandy was
perpetually rantinizin’ about sistherly affection an’ brotherly love: an’
what showed more taciturnity than any thing else was, that while this
same Sandy had the persuasion to make every one believe that he thought
of nothing else, he shot more people than any ten men in the squadron. He
was indeed what they call a dead shot, for no one ever knew him to miss
any thing he fired at. He had a musket that could throw point blank an
English mile, an’ if he only saw a man’s nose at that distance, he used
to say that with aid from above he could blow it for him with a leaden
handkerchy, meaning that he could blow it off his face with a musket
bullet; and so by all associations he could, for indeed the faits he
performed were very insinivating an’ problematical.

Now, it so happened that at this period there lived in the castle a
fine wealthy ould royalist, named Graham or Grimes, as they are often
denominated, who had but one child, a daughter, whose beauty an’
perfections were mellifluous far an’ near over the country, an’ who had
her health drunk, as the toast of Ireland, by the Lord Lieutenant in the
Castle of Dublin, undher the sympathetic appellation of ‘the Rose of
Aughentain.’ It was her son that afterwards ran through the estate, and
was forced to part wid the castle; an’ it’s to him the proverb colludes,
which mentions ‘ould John Grame, that swallowed the castle of Aughentain.’

Howsomever, that bears no prodigality to the story I’m narratin’. So
what would you have of it, but Balgruntie, who had heard of the father’s
wealth and the daughter’s beauty, took a holy hankerin’ afther both; an’
havin’ as usual said his prayers an’ sung a psalm, he determined for
to clap his thumb upon the father’s money, thinkin’ that the daughter
would be the more aisily superinduced to folly it. In other words, he
made up his mind to sack the castle, carry off the daughter and marry
her righteously, rather, he said, through a sincere wish to bring her
into a state of grace, by a union with a God-fearin’ man, whose walk he
trusted was Zionward, than from any cardinal detachment for her wealth
or beauty. He accordingly sent up a file of the most pious men he had,
picked fellows, with good psalm-singin’ voices and strong noses, to
request that John Graham would give them possession of the castle for
a time, an’ afterwards join them at prayers, as a proof that he was no
royalist, but a friend to Crummle an’ the Commonwealth. Now, you see, the
best of it was, that the very man they demanded this from was commonly
denominated by the people as ‘Gunpowdher Jack,’ in consequence of the
great signification of his courage; an’, besides, he was known to be
a member of the Hell-fire Club, that no person could join that hadn’t
fought three duels, and killed at least one man; and in ordher to show
that they regarded neither God nor hell, they were obligated to dip one
hand in blood an’ the other in fire, before they could be made members
of the club. It’s aisy to see, then, that Graham was not likely to quail
before a handful of the very men he hated wid all the vociferation in his
power, an’ he accordingly put his head out of the windy, an’ axed them
their tergiversation for bein’ there.

‘Begone about your business,’ he said; ‘I owe you no regard. What
brings you before the castle of a man who despises you? Don’t think to
determinate me, you cauting rascals, for you can’t. My castle’s well
provided wid men, an’ ammunition, an’ food; an’ if you don’t be off, I’ll
make you sing a different tune from a psalm one.’ Begad he did, plump to
them, out of the windy.

When Crummle’s men returned to Balgruntie in the mill, they related
what had tuck place, an’ he said that afther prayers he’d send a second
message in writin’, an’ if it wasn’t attended to, they’d put their trust
in God an’ storm the castle. The squadron he commanded was not a numerous
one; an’ as they had no artillery, an’ were surrounded by enemies, the
takin’ of the castle, which was a strong one, might cost them some
snufflication. At all events, Balgruntie was bent on makin’ the attempt,
especially afther he heard that the castle was well vittled, an’ indeed
he was meritoriously joined by his men, who piously licked their lips
on hearin’ of such glad tidings. Graham was a hot-headed man, without
much ambidexterity or deliberation, otherwise he might have known that
the bare mintion of the beef an’ mutton in his castle was only fit to
make such a hungry pack desperate. But be that as it may, in a short
time Balgruntie wrote him a letter, demandin’ of him, in the name of
Nolly Rednose an’ the Commonwealth, to surrendher the castle, or if not,
that, ould as he was, he would make him as soople as a two-year-ould.
Graham, afther readin’ it, threw the letther back to the messengers wid
a certain recommendation to Balgruntie regardin’ it; but whether the
same recommendation was followed up an’ acted on so soon as he wished,
historical retaliations do not inform.

On their return the military narrated to their commander the reception
they resaved a second time from Graham, an’ he then resolved to lay
regular siege to the castle; but as he knew he could not readily take it
by violence, he determined, as they say, to starve the garrison leisurely
an’ by degrees. But, first an’ foremost, a thought struck him, an’ he
immediently called Sandy Saveall behind the mill-hopper, which he had now
turned into a pulpit for the purpose of expoundin’ the word, an’ givin’
exhortations to his men.

‘Sandy,’ said he, ‘are you in a state of justification to-day?’

‘Towards noon,’ replied Sandy, ‘I had some strong wristlings with the
enemy; but I am able, undher praise, to say that I defated him in three
attacks, and I consequently feel my righteousness much recruited. I had
some wholesome communings with the miller’s daughter, a comely lass,
who may yet be recovered from the world, an’ led out of the darkness of
Aigyp, by a word in saison.’

‘Well, Sandy,’ replied the other, ‘I lave her to your own instructions;
there is another poor benighted maiden, who is also comely, up in the
castle of that godless sinner, who belongeth to the Perdition Club; an’,
indeed, Sandy, until he is somehow removed, I think there is little hope
of plucking her like a brand out of the burning.’

He serenaded Sandy in the face as he spoke, an’ then cast an extemporary
glance at the musket, which was as much as to say ‘can you translate an
insinivation?’ Sandy concocted a smilin’ reply; an’ takin’ up the gun,
rubbed the barrel, an’ pattin’ it as a sportsman would pat the neck of
his horse or dog, wid reverence for comparin’ the villain to either one
or the other.

‘If it was known, Sandy,’ said Balgruntie, ‘it would harden her heart
against me; an’ as he is hopeless at all events, bein’ a member of that
Perdition Club’----

‘True,’ said Sandy, ‘but you lave the miller’s daughter to me?’

‘I said so.’

‘Well, if his removal will give you any consolidation in the matther, you
may say no more.’

‘I could not, Sandy, justify it to myself to take him away by open
violence, for you know that I bear a conscience if any thing too tendher
and dissolute. Also I wish, Sandy, to presarve an ondeniable reputation
for humanity; an’, besides, the daughter might become as reprobate as the
father if she suspected me to be personally concarned in it. I have heard
a good deal about him, an’ am sensibly informed that he has been shot at
twice before, by the sons, it is thought, of an enemy that he himself
killed rather significantly in a duel.’

‘Very well,’ replied Sandy; ‘I would myself feel scruples; but as both
our consciences is touched in the business, I think I am justified.
Indeed, captain, it is very likely afther all that we are but the mere
instruments in it, an’ that it is through us that this ould unrighteous
sinner is to be removed by a more transplendant judgment.’

Begad, neighbours, when a rascal is bent on wickedness, it is aisy to
find cogitations enough to back him in his villany. And so was it with
Sandy Saveall and Balgruntie.

That evenin’ ould Graham was shot through the head standin’ in the windy
of his own castle, an’ to extenuate the suspicion of sich an act from
Crummle’s men, Balgruntie himself went up the next day, beggin’ very
politely to have a friendly explanation with Squire Graham, sayin’ that
he had harsh ordhers, but that if the castle was peaceably delivered to
him, he would, for the sake of the young lady, see that no injury should
be offered either to her or her father.

The young lady, however, had the high drop in her, and becoorse the only
answer he got was a flag of defiance. This nettled the villain, an’ he
found there was nothin’ else for it but to plant a strong guard about the
castle to keep all that was in, in--and all that was out, out.

In the mean time, the very appearance of the Crumwellians in the
neighbourhood struck such terror into the people, that the country, which
was then only very thinly inhabited, became quite desarted, an’ for
miles about the face of a human bein’ could not be seen, barrin’ their
own, sich as they were. Crummle’s track was always a bloody one, an’ the
people knew that they were wise in puttin’ the hills an’ mountain passes
between him an’ them. The miller an’ his daughter bein’ encouraged by
Sandy, staid principally for the sake of Miss Graham; but except them,
there was not a man or woman in the barony to bid good-morrow to or
say Salvey Dominey. On the beginnin’ of the third day, Balgruntie, who
knew his officialities extremely well, an’ had sent down a messenger
to Dungannon to see whether matters were so bad as they had been
reported, was delighted to hear that O’Neill had disappeared from the
neighbourhood. He immediately informed Crummle of this, and tould him
that he had laid siege to one of the leadin’ passes of the north, an’
that, by gettin’ possession of the two castles of Aughentain and Augher,
he could keep O’Neill in check, and command that part of the country.
Nolly approved of this, an’ ordhered him to proceed, but was sorry that
he could send him no assistance at present; ‘however,’ said he, ‘with a
good cause, sharp swords, an’ aid from above, there is no fear of us.’

They now set themselves to take the castle in airnest. Balgruntie an’
Sandy undherstood one another, an’ not a day passed that some one wasn’t
dropped in it. As soon as ever a face appeared, pop went the deadly
musket, an’ down fell the corpse of whoever it was aimed at. Miss Graham
herself was spared for good reasons, but in the coorse of ten or twelve
days she was nearly alone. Ould Graham, though a man that feared nothing,
was only guilty of a profound swagger when he reported the strength
of the castle and the state of the provisions to Balgruntie an’ his
crew. But above all things, that which eclipsed their distresses was
the want of wather. There was none in the castle, an’ although there
is a beautiful well beside it, yet, _farcer gair_, it was of small
responsibility to them. Here, then, was the poor young lady placed at
the marcy of her father’s murdherer; for however she might have doubted
in the beginnin’ that he was shot by the Crumwellians, yet the death of
nearly all the servants of the house in the same way was a sufficient
proof that it was like masther like man in this case. What, however, was
to be done? The whole garrison now consisted only of Miss Graham herself,
a fat man cook advanced in years, who danced in his distress in ordher
that he might suck his own perspiration, and a little orphan boy that she
tuck undher her purtection. It was a hard case, an’ yet, God bless her,
she held out like a man.

It’s an ould sayin’ that there’s no tyin’ up the tongue of Fame, an’ it’s
also a true one. The account of the siege had gone far an’ near in the
counthry, an’ none of the Irish, no matter what they were who ever heard
it, but wor sorry. Sandy Saveall was now the devil an’ all. As there was
no more in the castle to shoot, he should find something to regenerate
his hand upon: for instance, he practised upon three or four of Graham’s
friends, who undher one pretence or other were seen skulkin’ about the
castle, an’ none of their relations durst come to take away their bodies
in ordher to bury them. At length things came to that pass, that poor
Miss Graham was at the last gasp for something to drink; she had ferreted
out as well as she could a drop of moisture here an’ there in the damp
corners of the castle, but now all that was gone; the fat cook had sucked
himself to death, and the little orphan boy died calmly away a few hours
afther him, lavin’ the helpless lady with a tongue swelled an’ furred,
and a mouth parched and burned, for want of drink. Still the blood of
the Grahams was in her, and yield she would not to the villain that left
her as she was. Sich then was the transparency of her situation, when
happening to be on the battlements to catch, if possible, a little of the
dew of heaven, she was surprised to see something flung up, which rolled
down towards her feet; she lifted it, an’ on examinin’ the contents,
found it to be a stone covered with a piece of brown paper, inside which
was a slip of white, containing the words, ‘Endure--relief is near you!’
But, poor young lady, of what retrospection could these tidings be to one
in her situation?--she could scarcely see to read them; her brain was
dizzy, her mouth like a cindher, her tongue swelled an’ black, an’ her
breath felt as hot as a furnace. She could barely breathe, an’ was in
the very act of lyin’ down undher the triumphant air of heaven to die,
when she heard the shrill voice of a young kid in the castle yard, and
immediently remembered that a brown goat which her lover, a gentleman
named Simpson, had, when it was a kid, made her a present of, remained in
the castle about the stable during the whole siege. She instantly made
her way slowly down stairs, got a bowl, and havin’ milked the goat, she
took a little of the milk, which I need not asseverate at once relieved
her. By this means she recovered, an’ findin’ no further anticipation
from druth, she resolved like a hairo to keep the Crumwellians out, an’
to wait till either God or man might lend her a helpin’ hand.

Now, you must know that the miller’s purty daughter had also a sweetheart
called _Suil Gair_ Maguire, or sharp-eye’d Maguire, an humble branch of
the great Maguires of Enniskillen; an’ this same Suil Gair was servant
an’ foster-brother to Simpson, who was the intended husband of Miss
Graham. Simpson, who lived some miles off, on hearin’ the condition of
the castle, gathered together all the royalists far an’ near; an’ as
Crummle was honestly hated by both Romans an’ Prodestans, faith, you see,
Maguire himself promised to send a few of his followers to the rescue.
In the mean time, Suil Gair dressed himself up like a fool or idiot, an’
undher the protection of the miller’s daughter, who blarnied Saveall
in great style, was allowed to wandher about an’ joke wid the sogers;
but especially he took a fancy to Sandy, and challenged him to put one
stone out of five in one of the port-holes of the castle, at a match of
finger-stone. Sandy, who was nearly as famous at that as the musket, was
rather relaxed when he saw that Suil Gair could at least put in every
second stone, an’ that he himself could hardly put one in out of twenty.
Well, at all events it was durin’ their sport that fool Paddy, as they
called him, contrived to fling the scrap of writin’ I spoke of across the
battlements at all chances; for when he undhertook to go to the castle,
he gave up his life as lost; but he didn’t care about that, set in case
he was able to save either his foster-brother or Miss Graham. But this is
not at all indispensable, for it is well known that many a foster-brother
sacrificed his life the same way, and in cases of great danger, when the
real brother would beg to decline the compliment.

Things were now in a very connubial state entirely. Balgruntie heard
that relief was comin’ to the castle, an’ what to do he did not know;
there was little time to be lost, however, an’ something must be done. He
praiched flowery discourses twice a-day from the mill-hopper, an’ sang
psalms for grace to be directed in his righteous intentions; but as yet
he derived no particular predilection from either. Sandy appeared to have
got a more bountiful modelum of grace than his captain, for he succeeded
at last in bringin’ the miller’s daughter to sit undher the word at her
father’s hopper. Fool Paddy, as they called Maguire, had now become a
great favourite wid the sogers, an’ as he proved to be quite harmless
and inoffensive, they let him run about the place widout opposition. The
castle, to be sure, was still guarded, but Miss Graham kept her heart
up in consequence of the note, for she hoped every day to get relief
from her friends. Balgruntie, now seein’ that the miller’s daughter was
becomin’ more serious undher the taichin’ of Saveall, formed a plan that
he thought might enable him to penethrate the castle, an’ bear off the
lady an’ the money. This was to strive wid very delicate meditation to
prevail on the miller’s daughter, through the renown that he thought
Sandy had over her, to open a correspondency wid Miss Graham; for he
knew that if one of the gates was unlocked, and the unsuspectin’ girl
let in, the whole squadron would soon be in afther her. Now, this plan
was the more dangerous to Miss Graham, because the miller’s daughter
had intended to bring about the very same denouncement for a different
purpose. Between her friend an’ her enemies it was clear the poor lady
had little chance; an’ it was Balgruntie’s intention, the moment he had
sequestrated her and the money, to make his escape, an’ lave the castle
to whosomever might choose to take it. Things, however, were ordhered to
take a different bereavement: the Hog of Cupar was to be trapped in the
hydrostatics of his own hypocrisy, an’ Saveall to be overmatched in his
own premises. Well, the plot was mentioned to Sandy, who was promised
a good sketch of the prog; an’ as it was jist the very thing he dreamt
about night an’ day, he snapped at it as a hungry dog would at a sheep’s
trotter. That night the miller’s daughter--whose name I may as well say
was Nannie Duffy, the purtiest girl an’ the sweetest singer that ever was
in the counthry--was to go to the castle an’ tell Miss Graham that the
sogers wor all gone, Crummle killed, an’ his whole army massacrayed to
atoms. This was a different plan from poor Nannie’s, who now saw clearly
what they were at. But never heed a woman for bein’ witty when hard
pushed.

‘I don’t like to do it,’ said she, ‘for it looks like thrachery,
espishilly as my father has left the neighbourhood, and I don’t know
where he is gone to; an’ you know thrachery’s ondacent in either man or
woman. Still, Sandy, it goes hard for me to refuse one that I--I----well,
I wish I knew where my father is--I would like to know what he’d think of
it.’

‘Hut,’ said Sandy, ‘where’s the use of such scruples in a good
cause?--when we get the money, we’ll fly. It is principally for the sake
of waining you an’ her from the darkness of idolatry that we do it.
Indeed, my conscience would not rest well if I let a soul an’ body like
yours remain a prey to Sathan, my darlin’.’

‘Well,’ said she, ‘doesn’t the captain exhort this evenin’?’

‘He does, my beloved, an’ with a blessin’ will expound a few verses from
the Song of Solomon.’

‘It’s betther then,’ said she, ‘to sit under the word, an’ perhaps some
light may be given to us.’

This delighted Saveall’s heart, who now looked upon pretty Nannie as
his own; indeed, he was obliged to go gradually and cautiously to work,
for cruel though Nolly Rednose was, Sandy knew that if any violent act
of that kind should raich him, the guilty party would sup sorrow. Well,
accordin’ to this pious arrangement, Balgruntie assembled all his men
who were not on duty about the hopper, in which he stood as usual,
an’ had commenced a powerful exhortation, the substratum of which was
devoted to Nannie; he dwelt upon the happiness of religious love; said
that scruples were often suggested by Satan, an’ that a heavenly duty
was but terrestrial when put in comparishment wid an earthly one. He
also made collusion to the old Squire that was popped by Sandy; said
it was often a judgment for the wicked man to die in his sins; an’ was
gettin’ on wid great eloquence an’ emulation, when a low rumblin’ noise
was heard, an’ Balgruntie, throwin’ up his clenched hands an’ grindin’
his teeth, shouted out, ‘Hell and d----n, I’ll be ground to death!
The mill’s goin’ on! Murdher! murdher! I’m gone!’ Faith, it was true
enough--she had been wickedly set a-goin’ by some one; an’ before they
had time to stop her, the Hog of Cupar had the feet and legs twisted off
him before their eyes--a fair illustration of his own doctrine, that
it is often a judgment for the wicked man to die in his sins. When the
mill was stopped, he was pulled out, but didn’t live twenty minutes, in
consequence of the loss of blood. Time was pressin’, so they ran up a
shell of a coffin, and tumbled it into a pit that was hastily dug for it
on the mill-common.

This, however, by no manner of manes relieved poor Nannie from her
difficulty, for Saveall, finding himself now first in command, determined
not to lose a moment in tolerating his plan upon the castle.

‘You see,’ said he, ‘that a way is opened for us that we didn’t expect;
an’ let us not close our eyes to the light that has been given, lest it
might be suddenly taken from us again. In this instance I suspect that
fool Paddy has been made the chosen instrument; for it appears upon
inquiry that he too has disappeared. However, heaven’s will be done! we
will have the more to ourselves, my beloved--ehem! It is now dark,’ he
proceeded, ‘so I shall go an’ take my usual smoke at the mill window, an’
in about a quarther of an hour I’ll be ready.’

‘But I’m all in a tremor after sich a frightful accident,’ replied
Nannie: ‘an’ I want to get a few minutes’ quiet before we engage upon our
undhertakin.’

This was very natural, and Saveall accordingly took his usual seat at a
little windy in the gable of the mill, that faced the miller’s house; an’
from the way the bench was fixed, he was obliged to sit with his face
exactly towards the same direction. There we leave him meditatin’ upon
his own righteous approximations, till we folly _Suil Gair_ Maguire, or
fool Paddy, as they called him, who practicated all that was done.

Maguire and Nannie, findin’ that no time was to be lost, gave all over
as ruined, unless somethin’ could be acted on quickly. Suil Gair at
once thought of settin’ the mill a-goin’, but kept the plan to himself,
any further than tellin’ her not to be surprised at any thing she might
see. He then told her to steal him a gun, but if possible to let it be
Saveall’s, as he knew it could be depended on. ‘But I hope you won’t shed
any blood if you can avoid it,’ said she; ‘_that_ I don’t like.’ ‘Tut,’
replied Suil Gair, makin’ evasion to the question, ‘it’s good to have it
about me for my own defence.’

He could often have shot either Balgruntie or Saveall in daylight,
but not without certain death to himself, as he knew that escape was
impossible. Besides, time was not before so pressin’ upon them, an’ every
day relief was expected. Now, however, that relief was so near--for
Simpson with a party of royalists an’ Maguire’s men must be within a
couple of hours’ journey--it would be too intrinsic entirely to see the
castle plundhered, and the lady carried off by such a long-legged skyhill
as Saveall. Nannie consequentially, at great risk, took an opportunity of
slipping his gun to Suil Gair, who was the best shot of the day in that
or any other part of the country; and it was in consequence of this that
he was called Suil Gair, or Sharp Eye. But, indeed, all the Maguires were
famous shots; an’ I’m tould there’s one of them now in Dublin that could
hit a pigeon’s egg or a silver sixpence at the distance of a hundred
yards.[1] Suil Gair did not merely raise the sluice when he set the mill
a-goin’, but he whipped it out altogether an’ threw it into the dam, so
that the possibility of saving the Hog of Cupar was irretrievable. He
made off, however, an’ threw himself among the tall ragweeds that grew
upon the common, till it got dark, when Saveall, as was his custom,
should take his evenin’ smoke at the windy. Here he sat for some period,
thinkin’ over many ruminations, before he lit his cutty pipe, as he
called it.

‘Now,’ said he to himself, ‘what is there to hindher me from takin’ away,
or rather from makin’ sure of the grand lassie, instead of the miller’s
daughter? If I get intil the castle, it can be soon effected; for if she
has any regard for her reputation, she will be quiet. I’m a braw handsome
lad enough, a wee thought high in the cheek bones, scaly in the skin, an’
knock-knee’d a trifle, but stout an’ lathy, an’ tough as a withy. But,
again, what is to be done wi Nannie? Hut, she’s but a miller’s daughter,
an’ may be disposed of if she gets troublesome. I know she’s fond of
me, but I dinna blame her for that. However, it wadna become me now to
entertain scruples, seein’ that the way is made so plain for me. But,
save us! eh, sirs, that was an awful death, an’ very like a judgment on
the Hog of Cupar! It is often a judgment for the wicked to die in their
sins! Balgruntie wasna that’---- Whatever he intended to say further,
cannot be analogized by man, for, just as he had uttered the last word,
which he did while holding the candle to his pipe, the bullet of his own
gun entered between his eyes, and the next moment he was a corpse.

Suil Gair desarved the name he got, for truer did never bullet go to the
mark from Saveall’s own aim than it did from his. There is now little
more to be superadded to my story. Before daybreak the next mornin’,
Simpson came to the relief of his intended wife; Crummle’s party war
surprised, taken, an’ cut to pieces; an’ it so happened that from that
day to this the face of a soger belongin’ to him was never seen near
the mill or castle of Aughentain, with one exception only, and that was
this:--You all know that the mill is often heard to go at night when
nobody sets her a-goin’, an’ that the most sevendable scrames of torture
come out of the hopper, an’ that when any one has the courage to look in,
they’re sure to see a man dressed like a soger, with a white mealy face,
in the act, so to say, of havin’ his legs ground off him. Many a guess
was made about who the spirit could be, but all to no purpose. There,
however, is the truth for yez; the spirit that shrieks in the hopper
is Balgruntie’s ghost, an’ he’s to be ground that way till the day of
judgment.

Be coorse, Simpson and Miss Graham were married, as war Nannie Duffy an’
Suil Gair; an’ if they all lived long an’ happy, I wish we may all live
ten times longer an’ happier; an’ so we will, but in a betther world than
this, plaise God.”

“Well, but, Tom,” said Gordon, “how does that account for my name, which
you said you’d tell me?”

“Right,” said Tom; “begad I was near forgettin’ it. Why, you see, sich
was their veneration for the goat that was the manes, undher God, of
savin’ Miss Graham’s life, that they changed the name of Simpson to
Gordon, which signifies in Irish _gor dhun_, or a brown goat, that all
their posterity might know the great obligations they lay undher to that
reverend animal.”

“An’ do you mane to tell me,” said Gordon, “that my name was never heard
of until Oliver Crummle’s time?”

“I do. Never in the wide an’ subterraneous earth was sich a name known
till afther the prognostication I tould you; an’ it never would either,
only for the goat, sure. I can prove it by the pathepathetics. Denny
Mullin, will you give us another draw o’ the pipe?”

Tom’s authority in these matters was unquestionable, and, besides, there
was no one present learned enough to contradict him, with any chance of
success, before such an audience. The argument was consequently, without
further discussion, decided in his favour, and Gordon was silenced
touching the origin and etymology of his own name.

This legend we have related as nearly as we can remember in Tom’s words.
We may as well, however, state at once that many of his legends were
wofully deficient in authenticity, as indeed those of most countries are.
Nearly half the Irish legends are _ex post facto_ or _postliminious_.
There is no record, for instance, that Oliver Cromwell ever saw the
castle of Aughentain, or that any such event as that narrated by Tom
ever happened in or about it. It is much more likely that the story, if
ever there was any truth in it, is of Scotch origin, as indeed the names
would seem to import. There is no doubt, however, that the castle of
Aughentain, which is now in the possession of a gentleman named Browne we
think, was once the property of a family called Graham. In our boyhood
there was a respectable family of that name living in its immediate
vicinity, but we know not whether they are the descendants of those who
owned the castle or not.

[1] The celebrated Brian Maguire, the first shot of his day, was at this
time living in Dublin.




THE HERRING.--SECOND ARTICLE.

THE FISHERY.


Having given in a former number some account of the natural history of
this valuable little creature, we now proceed, in accordance with our
promise, to give a description of the various modes of taking and curing
it; and as the Dutch were the first to see the importance, and devote
themselves to the improvement, of the herring fishery, we shall commence
with them.

So early as the year 1307, the Dutch had turned their attention to this
subject; and lest any of our more thoughtless or less informed readers
should deem the matter one of secondary consideration, or probably
of even less, we shall lay before them some statistical accounts of
the Dutch fisheries, extracted from returns of the census of the
States-General, taken in the year 1669. In that year the total amount of
population was 2,400,000.

    Of whom were employed as fishermen, and in
      equipping fishermen with their boats, tackle,
      conveying of salt, &c.                                    450,000
    Employed in the navigation of ships in foreign trade,       250,000
    Shipwrights, handicraftsmen, and manufacturers,             650,000
    Inland fishermen, agriculturists, and labourers,            200,000
    Gentry, statesmen, soldiers, and inhabitants in
      general,                                                  850,000
                                                             ----------
                                                       Total, 2,400,000

Thus nearly a fifth of the population of Holland was entirely engaged in
and supported by the herring and deep-sea fishery, and thus arose the
saying that “the foundations of Amsterdam were laid on herring bones;”
and hence did De Witt assert that “Holland derived her main support from
the herring fishery, and that it ought to be considered as the right arm
of the republic.”

Before Holland was humbled upon the seas, and whilst she was at the
pinnacle of her prosperity, she had ten thousand sail of shipping, with
168,000 mariners, afloat. Of these no less than 6400 vessels, with
112,000 mariners, were employed in and connected with the herring fishery
alone, “although the country itself affords them neither materials, nor
victual, nor merchandise, to be accounted of, towards their setting
forth.” When we come to the subject of curing, we shall take occasion to
point out the modes by which the Dutch attained their excellence, and
established this surprising trade; but at present we have but to describe
their manner of fishing.

The GREAT FISHERY commences on the 24th of June, and terminates on the
31st of December, and is carried on in the latitudes of Shetland and
Edinburgh, and on the coast of Great Britain, with strong-decked vessels
called busses, manned by fourteen or fifteen men, and well supplied with
casks, salt, nets, and every material requisite for catching and curing
at sea. Each buss has generally fifty, and must not have less than forty
nets of 32 fathoms in length each, 8 fathoms in depth, and a buoy-rope
of 8 fathoms; an empty barrel less than a herring barrel is attached to
each buoy-rope. This fleet of nets, as it is called, is divided by buoys
into four parts, by which their position is marked and their taking in
facilitated; the buoys at the extreme ends are painted white, with the
owners’ and vessels’ names upon them. By the Dutch fishery laws it is
provided that the yarn of the nets must be of good unmixed Dutch or
Baltic hemp, which must be inspected before use by sworn surveyors; the
yarn must be well spun; and each full net, or fourth part of a fleet,
must be 740 meshes in length and 68 in depth, and the nets must be
inspected and marked before they can be used.

The Dutch always shoot their nets, that is, cast them into the sea, at
sunset, and take them in before sunrise. In shooting them they cast them
to windward, so that the wind may prevent the vessel from coming upon
them. The whole of the nets are attached to four strong ropes joined to
each other, and are taken in by means of the capstan, to which four or
five men attend, whilst four more shake out the fish.

The SMALL FISHERY, or fresh-herring fishery, is carried on to the east
of Yarmouth in deep water, with flat-bottomed vessels without keels, so
formed for the purpose of being run ashore in any convenient place.

It is forbidden by the 15th and 16th articles of the Dutch fishery laws
to gut the herrings taken by the small fishery either at sea or ashore,
under pain of one month’s imprisonment, and a fine of five guilders for
every hundred herrings, as well as the confiscation of the herrings,
unless special permission has been obtained from the king, at the request
of the States.

The PAN FISHERY is carried on in the rivers, inland seas, and on the
coast of Holland, within three miles of the shore.

The same prohibition, under similar penalties, that exists against curing
fish taken in the small fishery, extends to this.

We have given the first place to the Dutch in this account, in
consequence of their having been the first to see the importance of
the fishery, but they take the lead no longer; the English and Scotch
have successfully rivalled them in curing, and for the quantity taken
during the season the Norwegians surpass all others. The Norwegian is a
wholesale fishery, every description of ship and boat being in demand.
They have curing stations on shore, to which the boats bring the fish
as fast as they are caught; and there are large vessels with barrels and
salt lying out amongst the fishers, buying from those who do not wish to
lose time by going ashore. Every description of net, as well as every
sort of vessel, is in requisition; some fishing at anchor, some sailing,
and others hauling their seines on shore, but the grand method is as
follows:--

An immense range of nets with very small meshes so small as to prevent
the herrings from fastening in them, is extended round a shoal of fish,
and gradually moved towards some creek or narrow inlet of the sea. The
nets are drawn close and made fast across the entrance, and the enormous
body of herrings thus crowded up into a narrow space is taken out and
cured at leisure. This mode of fishing is called a “lock.”

The following passage from a letter written by a gentleman who witnessed
the fishery near Hitteroe, to Mr Mitchell of Leith, will give our readers
some idea of its extent:--

“On the other side of the Sound we saw what is termed a _lock_, that
is, several nets joined together, forming a bar before a small bay,
into which the herrings were crowded. In this place there were several
thousand barrels of herrings, so compactly confined together that an oar
could stand up in the mass. There were in the neighbourhood of Hitteroe
altogether about four or five thousand nets, and about two thousand boats
and vessels; and there were caught, according to the opinion of several
intelligent persons, this day (24th January 1833), not less than ten
thousand barrels.”

The entire quantity taken on the coast of Norway during the fall of
1832 and the spring of 1833 was estimated at 680,000 barrels, which was
considered to be a fair average take.

We come now to the home fishery, in which Yarmouth takes the lead in
the size of vessels and magnitude of tackle employed. The fishing is
carried on by the Yarmouth men in decked vessels called “luggers,”
from 20 to 50 tons burthen, having three masts, and rigged with three
lugsails, topsails, mizou, foresail, and jib: the crew of the largest
consisting of twelve men and a boy, who are paid according to the
quantity of fish caught. Each ordinary vessel carries two hundred nets
of 48 feet in length and 30 in depth, each having meshes of 1 inch or
1⅛ inch, as usual in herring nets. Of these nets they shoot one hundred
at a time, reserving the other hundred for cases of accident or mishap.
When launched, each net is attached by two seizings of 1½ inch rope,
having a depth of 18 feet, to a four-stranded (generally 4 inch) warp of
3600 feet in length; this warp is made fast to a rope from the bow of
the vessel, which in stormy weather can be let out to ease the strain,
to the extent of 100 fathoms, or 600 feet. For each net there are two
buoys (4-gallon barrels) made fast to the warp, and there are four buoys
besides, to mark the distances, two for the quarter and three-quarter
stations, painted red and white quarterly, one for the half distance or
middle of the fleet, painted half red and half white, and one for the
extremity, painted all white; each of them has painted on it the names of
the ship, master, owner, and port, in order that they may be restored in
case of breaking away during bad weather; and so good an understanding
exists upon this subject amongst the fishermen, that the nets are always
restored by the finder to the owner upon payment of only 1s. for each
net; and no one must suffer a stray net to drift away; if seen, it must
be taken in. This fishery commences in the beginning of October, and
lasts little more than two months. The nets are shot after the Dutch
fashion, at sunset; but if the appearances are favourable, they are taken
in once or twice during the night, and again at sunrise. 100 barrels of
herrings are frequently taken by these nets at a single haul, and 600
barrels may be considered as a fair average fishing for one vessel during
the season. The number of decked vessels employed at Yarmouth alone in
the fishery is about 500.

Next, and likely from its steady increase soon to become the first, is
the Scotch fishery.

Like the Norwegian, every description of boat and net is to be found
employed amongst the Scottish islands, but the most regularly employed
vessels are open undecked boats, of 28 to 32 feet in length, or
thereabouts, and 9 to 11 feet in breadth, usually rigged with two masts
and two sails. They have on board from twelve to thirty nets of from 150
to 186 feet in length each, and from 20 to 31 feet in depth.

From the Report by the Commissioners of the British Herring Fishery, of
the fishery of 1838, year ending 5th April 1839, it appears that there
were then engaged in the fishery 11,357 boats, decked and undecked,
throughout England and Scotland, manned by 50,238 men and boys, and
employing 85,573 persons in all, including coopers, packers, curers, and
labourers.

Of the entire number of vessels, about 9000 belonged to Scottish ports.

The entire quantity of herrings exported amounted to 239,730½ barrels, of
which 195,301 barrels were Scotch; and of those exported, 149,926 barrels
were sent to and disposed of in Ireland.

The entire quantity of herrings taken by Scottish boats, and cured both
for home use and exportation, was 495,589 barrels; the total by English
and Scotch 555,559¾ barrels; but this return does not include the
Yarmouth fishery, the herrings there being always smoked, or made into
what are called _red herrings_.

We need not describe the Prussian and other methods, as they resemble
some one or other of those already mentioned. Come we now to our own,
which we have purposely reserved to the last.

Amongst the fishermen of Ireland, the men of Kinsale have long been the
admitted leaders; and the Kinsale hookers are celebrated throughout the
nautical world as among the best sea-boats that ever weathered a gale.
They are half-decked vessels, with one mast, carrying a fore and aft
mainsail, foresail, and jib, and are usually manned by four men and a
boy. They are seldom used in the herring fishery, being for the most part
confined to the deep-sea line fishery upon the Nymph bank, where cod,
ling, hake, haddock, turbot, plaice, &c., abound in such quantity that
many persons affirm it to be second only to the banks of Newfoundland.
But the usual mode of fishing for herrings, and which is adopted all
along the south, south-west, and west coast of Ireland, especially
at Valencia and Kenmare, is with the deep-sea seine. This is formed
sometimes for the express purpose, but frequently by a subscription of
nets. Fifteen men bring a drift-net each, 20 fathoms or 120 feet in
length, and 5 fathoms or 30 feet in depth; these are all joined together,
five nets in length, and three in depth, so that the whole seine is 600
feet in length and 90 feet in depth, with a cork-rope (that is, a rope
having large pieces of cork attached to it at intervals) at the top, and
leaden sinkers attached to the foot-rope, which unites all the nets at
the bottom. Two warps of 60 fathoms each are requisite, and there are
brails (small half-inch ropes) attached to the foot-rope, which are of
use to haul upon, in order to purse up the net and prevent the fish from
escaping.

The seine is shot from a boat whilst it is being pulled round the shoal
of fish. All having been thrown over, the warp is hauled upon until the
net is brought into ten fathoms’ depth of water, when the brails and
foot-rope are hauled in, and the fish is tucked into the largest boat.
In this manner 80,000 to 100,000 herrings (about 100 barrels) may be
taken at a haul. But where the people are too poor to supply themselves
with nets or boats, many contrivances are made use of. For boats, the
_curragh_, made of wicker and covered with a horse’s skin, or canvass
pitched, is used, and often even this cannot be had; sometimes the people
load a horse with the nets, mount him and swim him out, shooting the nets
from his back; and for nets, in many places, the people use their sheets,
blankets, and quilts, which they subscribe and sew together, often to the
number of sixty, and the fish thus taken are divided in due proportion
amongst the subscribers.

After the foreign statistics which we have laid before our readers,
they will doubtless expect us to inform them how many vessels and what
number of hands are _now_ employed in the Irish fishery. This, however,
we are unable to do. The Commissioners of the Herring Fishery have
their jurisdiction confined to Scotland and England, almost exclusively
to Scotland, the fishery of which is thriving under their fostering
care in a most surprising manner. By their judicious attention to the
encouragement of careful curing, and the distribution of small aids in
money to poor fishermen, the number of boats employed in 1839 exceeded
that of the former year by 78; and the progressive increase in the
fishery is fully exemplified by the following table, showing the quantity
of herrings cured during the five years preceding the return now before
us:--

    Year 1835  277,317   barrels.
     ”   1836  497,614¾     ”
     ”   1837  397,829¼     ”
     ”   1838  507,774¾     ”
     ”   1839  555,559¾     ”

By this table it appears that the Scotch fishery has doubled its amount
in five years, without any description of bounty being given. It may,
however, be as well to state, before concluding this paper, that it
appears, by the Reports of the Irish Commissioners, whose sittings
terminated in the year 1830, that during the time that Ireland possessed
a Fishery Board, the number of persons employed in the fishery had more
than doubled. At the time of the first appointment of Commissioners
of Irish Fisheries in 1819, the number of men employed was estimated
at 30,000. By the first return which they could venture to pronounce
accurate, being for the year ending 5th April 1822, the number was
36,192 men; 5th April 1823, the number was 44,892 men, being an increase
of 8700; at 5th April 1824, the number was 49,448, being an increase
on the preceding year of 4556; 5th April 1825, the number was 52,482,
being an increase on the preceding year of 3034; and the numbers went
on regularly progressing every year during the existence of the Board,
until its termination, as the following extract from the last Report will
best exhibit. It is for the year 1830, at which time the bounty had been
reduced to one shilling per barrel:--

“The Commissioners have still the gratification to find, from the
returns made by the local inspectors, that the number of fishermen still
continues to experience a yearly increase. The gross amount, as taken
from the returns of the preceding year, was 63,421 men. The gross amount,
as taken from the returns of the present year, is 64,771 men, being an
increase on the past year of 1350 men.”

By the same report it appeared that the number of decked vessels was
345; tonnage 9810; men 2147--half-decked vessels 769; tonnage 9457; men
3852--row-boats 9522; men 46,212.

The quantity of herrings cured for bounty in the year ending 5th April
1830, was 16,855 barrels, the bounty on which was £842 15s.

The tonnage bounty paid to vessels engaged in the cod and ling fishery
was £829 10s; and the bounty on cured cod, &c. was £960.

There is not in the reports that we have seen any attempt at estimating
the quantity of herrings caught, which is somewhat extraordinary,
considering the accuracy with which the number of fishermen, curers,
coopers, &c., was ascertained; but the quantity cured is given above.

Whilst, however, the number of fishermen employed in the fisheries
generally, increased so very considerably during the period that the
Irish Fishery Board was in operation, it is an extraordinary, and to us
inexplicable fact, that the quantity of herrings cured for bounty in any
one season never exceeded 16,855 barrels, so that even the high bounty
of 4s per barrel was not sufficient to induce the Irish fishermen to
cure their herrings in a proper manner. In short, the fishery board, in
so far as the primary object of its formation was concerned, was totally
inoperative, and the people of this country were as dependent then as now
upon the Scotch curers for the requisite supply of the staple luxury of
the poorer classes.

It is impossible to say to what extent the fisheries may have fallen off,
if at all, in Ireland, since the abolition of the fishery board; but as
the quantity of salted herrings imported into Ireland from Scotland has
not materially increased since, it may be presumed that as many herrings
are caught and cured now as at any former period.

The alleged decline of the Irish fisheries has by many been attributed
entirely to the withdrawal of the bounties and the fishery board. But
when we consider the exceedingly trifling amount of bounty paid on
herrings in any one year, the discontinuance of so small a sum as £842
15s 7d (the amount in 1829-30) could not possibly have any perceptible
influence upon a branch of industry which gave employment to 75,366
persons.

Nor could the discontinuance of the grants made for harbours and small
loans to poor fishermen have produced any material influence upon the
fisheries, as the total amount advanced in ten years for these two
objects was only £39,508 18s 2d, or less than £4000 a-year.

There is then but one other point of view in which the withdrawal of
the fishery board could have operated injuriously, namely, the absence
of that supervision and authority in regulating the fisheries which the
officers of the board exercised to a certain extent, and which in our
opinion ought to have been continued.

The various modes of curing herrings will form the subject of a future
article.




CASTLECOR, A REVERIE,

BY J. U. U.


    Ancient oaks of Castlecor,
    Which the wreck of weathery war,
    Summer’s sun or winter blast,
    Chance and change still sweeping past,
    Still have left thus hoar and high
    While the world hath fleeted by.

    Many a race of pride hath run,
    Many a field been lost and won;
    Many a day of shame and glory
    Past into the dream of story,
    Since the spring time of your birth
    Revelled on this ancient earth.

    Well your crown of age ye wear--
    High upon this noon-day air,
    Broadly waving in the light,
    Thickset tufts of verdure bright;
    While, beneath, your massive shade
    Sleeps upon the ferny glade.

    Where the summer sunbeam plays
    O’er the long-drawn leafy ways,
    Down through tremulous gleams of green,
    On some spot at distance seen;
    Where the foliage opens brightly,
    If the fallow-deer bound lightly;
    Well the swiftly passing gleam
    Mingles into fancy’s dream,
    See in shadowy light appear
    Some old hunter of the deer,
    Through the stillness of the wood,
    Bent in listening attitude;
    Then amid the haunted glade
    Melt away in distant shade.

    Were not life as brief and frail
    As a gossip’s idle tale,
    What eventful hours might be
    Here recalled to memory!

    Straight upon the visioned sight,
    Through the rifts of leafy light,
    Where yon verdurous dusk disparts,
    What strange cloud of blackness starts
    ’Tis the grim and gloomy hold;
    Which ruled here in days of old,
    Leaving a name where once it stood;
    ’Tis the “castle in the wood.”

    Lo! from parapet and tower
    Frowns the pride of ancient power--
    Lo! from out the cullised port
    Pours the storm of raid or sport;
    Haughty eye and ruthless hand
    Iron chief and ruthless band;
    Well the robber chief I know,
    Tracked by many a home of woe.
    Onward bound; nor far behind
    Swells a murmur on the wind--
    From his kerne and lowring prey,
    Pride of pastures far away,
    Hither bound from foray rude,
    To his “castle in the wood.”
    Still the pageant nears--but lo;
    Fancy shifts the gliding show,
    To a sight of gayer mood.

    On free air in sunshine glancing,
    See a jovial train advancing,
    Bright housed steed and palfrey prancing,
    Horn and hound and hawk are there,
    Spear and scarf, and mantle fair,
    Sport and jest, and laughter gay,
    Shout and jolly hark away!
    On the glittering pageant streams,
    Vanishing in golden gleams.

    Next across the shadowy lawn,
    Cowled and cinctured form glides on
    With ruddy cheek though solemn gear,
    Full glad it seems of journey done,
    That started with the rising sun,
    And confident of jovial cheer;
    Such never yet was wanting here.

    Who follows fast, with footstep light,
    And eye of fire, and garment white?
    O, now the child of song I know,
    For the sun on his tuneful harp is bright!
    And free on the wind his long locks flow--
    O! glad will they be in yon halls below.

    But all is gone--one sober glance
    Hath whirled in air the fitful trance,
    The visioned wood that fancy ranged,
    Is still a wood, but O, how changed!

    Ancient Power’s, barbaric sway,
    Iron deeds have passed away--
    Superstition’s gloomy hour,
    With the tyrant’s feudal power--
    All have passed!--and in their stead,
    Piety with reverent head,
    Sense, and mild humanity,
    Polished hospitality,
    Taste that spreads improvement round,
    On the old paternal ground;
    And without its blood and crime,
    Keeps the grace of elder time.




SCRAPS FROM THE NORTHERN SCRIP.

[The following specimens of the Icelandic Sagas have been closely
translated for the Irish Penny Journal, from the publications of the
Royal Society of Northern Antiquaries, Copenhagen.]


NO. I.--KING OLAVE AND THE DEVIL.

And now the enemy of the whole human race, the devil himself, saw how
his kingdom began to be laid waste, he who always persecutes human
nature, and he saw how much on the other hand God’s kingdom prospered and
increased; thereat he now felt great envy, and he puts on the human form,
because he could so much the more easily deceive men, if he looked like
a man himself. It so happened that King Olave was on a visit at Œgvald’s
Ness,[2] about the anniversary of our Lord Jesus Christ’s nativity; and
as all were regularly seated in the evening, and preparations were making
for the drinking bout, and they were waiting until the royal table should
be covered, there came an old one-eyed man into the hall with a silk hat
on his head; he was very talkative, and could relate divers kinds of
things; he was led forward before the king, who asked him the news, to
which he replied, that he could relate various matters about the ancient
kings and their battles. The king asked whether he knew who Œgvald was,
he whom the Ness was called after. He answered, “He dwelt here on the
Ness, and dearly loved a cow, so that she would follow him wherever he
led her, and he would drink her milk; and therefore people that love
cattle say that man and cow shall go together. This king fought many a
battle, and once he strove with the king of Skorestrand; in that battle
fell many a man, and there fell also King Œgvald, and he was afterwards
buried aloft here on the Ness, and his barrow will be found here a little
way from the house; in the other barrow lies the cow.” The drinking bout
was now held according to usage, and all the diversions that had been
appointed. Afterwards many went away to sleep. Then the king had that
old man called to him, and he sat on the footstool by the king’s bed,
and the king asked him about many matters, which he explained well, and
like an experienced man. And when he had related much and explained many
things well, the king became constantly the more desirous to hear him;
he therefore staid awake a great part of the night, and continued to ask
him about many things. At last the bishop reminded him in a few words
that the king should stop speaking with the man; but the king thought
he had related a part, but that another was still wanting. Far in the
night, however, the king at last fell asleep, but awoke soon after, and
asked whether the stranger was awake; he did not answer. The king said
to the watchers that they should lead him up, but he was not found. The
king then stood up, had his cupbearer and cook called to him, and asked
whether any unknown man had gone to them when they were preparing the
guest-chamber. The head cook said, “There came a little while ago, sire,
a man to us, and said to me, as I was preparing the meat for a savoury
dish for you, ‘Why do you prepare such meat for the king’s table as
choice food for him, which is so lean?’ I told him then to get me some
fatter and better meat, if he had any such. He said, ‘Come with me, and I
will show you some fat and good meat, which is fit for a king’s table.’
And he led me to a house, and showed me two sides of very fat flesh; and
this have I prepared for you, sire!” The king now saw it was a wile of
the devil, and said to the cook, “Take that meat now, and cast it into
the sea, that none may eat thereof; and if any one tastes of it, he
will quickly die. But whom do you suppose that devil to have been, the
stranger guest?” “We know not,” said they, “who it is.” The king said,
“I believe that devil took upon himself Odin’s form.” According to the
king’s command the meat was carried out, and cast into the sea; but the
stranger was nowhere found, and search was made for him round about the
Ness, according to the king’s commandment.--_From Olave Tryggvason’s
Saga._

[2] The Norse word which becomes _ness_ as the termination of several
British localities and _The Noze_ in our maps of Norway, means
“promontory” (literally “nose”) and must not be confounded with _The
Ness_ in the county of Londonderry, which is in Irish “the waterfall.”

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